#hairy hung ginger

[slushycoookie]

My Husband Has a Symbiote! Pt. 2

Pt.1 - Pt.2

Relationship: Symbiote! Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Word Count: 2,804

Content: Smut, p in v, vaginal fingering, Miguel gets choked, Reader can't go ten minutes without being railed, MINORS DNI!

Summary: You try to have a serious conversation about the symbiote Miguel has, but it doesn't really work.

A/N: I'm having so much fun with this, don't mind me. Also, you guys really liked the first part, so here's some more!

After the most wonderful sex you had in your life, you had to get a grip.

It couldn't happen again. Having sex with an alien that your husband bonded with. You were still trying to understand why using a symbiote was the best action out of everything else. You all could try the normal way. Without taking extreme measures. Or, in your case, out-of-this-world ones. That's what you decided to do getting up this morning.

You took your time putting on clothes, your legs wobbling as you stood. You smelled the strong scent of coffee while traversing to the kitchen. Only to get a view of your husband's gorgeous back. 

“Good morning.” Miguel handed you a cup of coffee as a peace offering. As you took it, you tried not to get distracted by his hairy chest and arms. Or how his sweatpants hung low around his waist. 

“Good morning.” You smiled against your cup, “Sleep well?”

He nodded, matching your smile. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” Your eyes darted around his form. No clear view of his new symbiote. Unless he put it in a bottle. “Where is it? Or them?”

Miguel rubbed the back of his neck, “They're still here.” Just then, his new best friend appeared. Only its head, sporting your partner's signature blue and red colors. Its smile and tongue gave you flashbacks of how that was on your lower half last night. Taking exceptionally good care of you. You squeezed your thighs again to ignore the arousal.

“Pretty thing.” A weird form of greeting they uttered before disappearing.

“We should definitely talk about that. In-depth.” You settled your cup down.

Miguel did the same, standing beside you. “What's more to talk about? I told you why I got one.”

“And I understood that.” You sighed, “But that can't happen again. We should try like normal people. Go see a doctor, try more sex positions…”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and holding you close. “We're not normal people.”

“I know.” You let out a slight laugh, “But I think it's best to-”

“Did you not enjoy last night?” 

Your heartbeat picked up. His eyes were lowered, gazing at you with an emotion you knew all too well. It didn't help that he smelled so good. Hints of ginger mixed with the fresh coffee hugged your senses. Or the way his rugged arms held you up last night while thrusting into you. “I did-”

He stole a kiss. Stopping you from regretting anything that occurred last night. You started making out in the kitchen, absorbed in the bitter coffee taste. Which somehow turned into you getting destroyed from behind. Miguel's symbiote form pressed against your back, body rutting into you. His ginormous hands covered the countertops. Little cracks formed with each thrust he took. You couldn't be upset about the destruction of your kitchen. You didn't want him to stop.

“You deserve to have our children…” That deep voice resonated in the room, causing you to shiver. 

“Don’t say that…” You whimpered, pressing your ass back against him. A territorial growl emitted from behind and he went harder. Pounding into you until you screamed his name.

Everything was a mess. 

The countertops were damaged, coffee spilled on the floor along with the broken pieces from your mugs. And a sticky, warm substance was sliding down your thighs. Miguel’s normal hand reached down and scooped up whatever was coming out. Pushing it back in to make sure it didn't go to waste. All while he kissed your head.

You couldn't even talk to him about the symbiote in the room. Whenever you tried to bring up getting rid of it, somehow you were on your back, side, bent over or on top. Taking your partner's cock like a champ. Getting full of his seed. And at the end of it, feeling completely satisfied. 

You ranted to MJ and Jess when you all went out for lunch at a café. It's been a week of Miguel using you like his own sex toy.

“All I heard is that you've been getting some.” Jess remarked while sipping on her drink. “And you're complaining about it.”

“Because he's distracting me! So I don't tell him to get rid of it!” You buried your face in your hands.

“Well…how big is it?” Mj asked, eyes wide with genuine curiosity. 

You raised a brow as your cheeks turned dark. “I shouldn't tell you that.”

“You look the way you did when you came back from your honeymoon.” Jess noticed your body practically glowing from all the sex you were having. “We gotta know how good it is.”

The table they were sitting at was rectangular in shape. Long enough for you to show them how big Miguel was with his symbiote. Which was almost half of the table. 

“Whoa.” Mj gawked at the description. “And tell me why you're complaining again.”

You rolled your eyes, “Symbiotes are dangerous! I don't want him to get obsessed with it all because of a problem I have.” You turned to Jess, “Shouldn't you be agreeing with me here? Didn't you have a symbiote?”

Jess waved you away, “No, because I'm too smart not to put myself through that.” You purse your lips as the Spider-Woman kept going. “They are dangerous, but only if they don't have a decent relationship with who they're attached to.”

“Yeah, Peter was very different when he had it.” Mj explained, twirling her drink around with a straw. “First he was energized and then snippy. He couldn’t part with it until he had a wake-up call that it was destroying our relationship. It was scary.”

That's what you were worried about. Your partner turning into someone you couldn't recognize. You weren't scared of him but for him.

“You know you can say no, right?” Jess said before getting a mischievous glint in her eye. “But you don't want to. The sex is that good, huh?”

You gasped at her accusation, “You are…absolutely right.” Your friends sympathized with you, “But we need to talk…”

You had to come up with a plan. A way so you could talk without having his cock buried inside you. You decided to visit him at HQ, trying to look as unattractive as possible with a hoodie and sweatpants. Being married to the leader of Spider Society had its perks. One of them was looking into mission distribution. You noticed the teen dream, which you called Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, Hobie, and Margo, going to report to Miguel that day. You couldn't barge in when he spoke to Peter. He'd have Mayday with him, adding more fuel to the fire. Or any reports with Ben because Miguel would get jealous and sex would ensue. A bunch of teens on the other hand was perfect.

You approached the group as they were about to make their way into his lab.

“Hey!” Miles greeted with open arms, “What brings you here?”

“Oh, I need to talk to Miguel about something.” You waved it off, not deeming it as important. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Hobie said with a smirk, causing you to shake your head.

“No, no. It's just about the symbiote. You guys think it's weird, right? That he's using it?”

“Actually,” Gwen took over, “some of our people have had success stories in using it. Like me, for example.”

You stared at the girl, surprised. “What? You had a good relationship with one of those things?”

“Yeah. It's no big deal.” Gwen shrugged it off. The entire time they were slowly making their way inside his lab. Going past his equipment in the darkness.

Pavitr jumped on her back, “She says it's no big deal. Like a boss.”

“That's Gwendy for ya.” Hobie winked at her.

“Guys, it really isn't a big deal. Symbiote relationships can be symbiotic. It depends on the person and who they connect with. It could make them better or worse.” 

Everyone blinked at Gwen's explanation. Your knowledge of her connection with the alien made you pause. Was it possible for Miguel to have a healthy relationship with the thing? Were you stressing yourself out worrying about him?

“Miguel has been getting better lately.” Miles cut in.

“Yeah, at first he was moody, but then he gave me the day off so I could play a new game that came out.” Margo added. “He never lets me take the day off for video games.”

You hummed. Sure, his mood was getting better, but they still had to talk. You didn't want to assume everything was okay until they at least spoke about it.

Inside the lab, the teens gave their report to Miguel. The entire time he stood high on his platform, nodding to everything they were saying. Once in a while, he’d glance at you, a trace of intrigue, like he wanted to talk. Or breed you before getting back to work. You couldn’t relax seeing him in his typical suit. The symbiote was still attached to him, just not present. 

“Good work.” Miguel complimented, “Now, my partner needs to speak to me about something.”

You perked up, shaking your head. “They can stay, it’s not that important-”

“I’d rather they didn’t.” His stare shot through your body. It was hard but yet filled with increasing lust. All you did was walk in the room. 

The teens walked past you, shooting apologizing looks. Hobie’s face was amused, giving a reassuring pat on the back before whispering in your ear. “Don’t rough ‘im up too much.”

Miguel called you to his platform. You made your way across, trying to devise a quick game plan as your current one backfired. You placed yourself on the other side to create as much distance as possible. You heard him command Lyla to lock the lab so no one could get in. You took a deep breath to stabilize your beating heart. 

“Why are you over there?”

You shot him a glare, “You know why.”

“Do I?” Miguel tilted his head in question. A rumbling chuckle filled your body when you tsked. He stood on the other end, not making any moves to get closer. Yet his eyes were trailing down your covered body. Picturing himself peeling every layer off of you. “I like your outfit today.”

You saw him take one step closer and you had to straighten yourself. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Another step and you cleared your throat. You could see yourself being bent over that console if the conversation kept up like this. 

“Look, we really need to talk about this symbiote.” Miguel hummed, partially listening. As he took another step, you pressed yourself back against the console. Realizing you couldn’t get further back, you raised a harsh pointer finger towards him. “Miguel.”

“I’m listening, preciosa.” He paused, that same look of hunger in his eyes. 

“Are you? Do you see yourself right now?” You watched him take another step. 

Miguel snorted, “Do you see yourself right now? You’re so sexy. I can’t believe I married you.” 

He closed the gap, one hand on the console behind you. You placed your hands on his chest. At first, it was to try to create some distance, but the hardened muscle under your palms made you reconsider. Those same pectorals you've always felt and pressed up against. Your hands had a mind of their own, running along them. The corner of Miguel’s lips curled up in amusement. 

“You still wanna talk?” He picked you up and placed you on the console. His other hand placed against your lower back, pressing your entire body against his chest. Your resolve was dwindling as he gazed at you. “Or do you want to be bred?”

That’s how you ended up the way you were now. Clothes removed, thrown who knows where in his lab. Legs spread while his gigantic finger pumped into and out of you. Miguel’s symbiote form took over, drooling while watching you take him in easily. You whined while clutching his arm. Small sopping sounds fill your ears. 

A gasp escaped your lips when a second digit entered you. Your back arching at the beautiful friction. How his fingers knew where to touch inside. A satisfied growl erupted from Miguel, mouth wide as his tongue glided across your pleasure-fixed face. 

“Pretty thing. So obedient…” His thumb pressed against your clit. Your nails dug into his sticky skin at the additional sensation. Not wanting him to stop for a second as that familiar burning feeling started to rise. It pooled in your stomach before spreading up and over your body. Miguel didn’t care when you screamed for him in his lab, letting all the spiders know he was pleasing his partner. 

You panted, leaning back a little on the console when his fingers were gone. The familiar sight of his large cock came into view, ready to go in. A rush of clarity filled your mind as you stopped him. He gave you a look in question.

“Lemme be on top.”

Miguel grinned, eyes lighting up with intrigue. “Oh? Pretty little thing wants to bounce?” 

Before you could nod in confirmation, he sat down. Back pressed along the console. Goosebumps formed, feeling the cool steel amongst your feet. You licked your lips, watching your partner observe you. Dark blue cock aching to be inside. You hovered over him, stabilizing yourself by touching his shoulders. Before sinking down. 

Each time Miguel’s cock entered you, it was always as if it was the first time. After a couple of thrusts, You always lost your ability to think straight. Only taking what Miguel gave you. This time was going to be different. 

A moan escaped you, getting used to the feeling before raising your hips again. Before slamming back down on him. His eyes lowered at the sight of his partner fucking yourself on his shaft. Even though Miguel took over most of the time during sex, You had your moments of being the one to make him quiver under your touch. While fucking the symbiote, it was still affected by things that made regular Miguel whine. So you went slow, sliding up and down at an antagonizing pace. Even for you. But you needed to get your point across. Miguel’s hands hovered by your hips, ready to have you pick up the pace. Only for you to use one hand to grip his thick throat. 

His eyes went wide at the sudden action, your tiny hand doing your best to choke him out. “Pretty thing wants to get rough?”

“You like it rough.” You quipped back, still rolling your hips on him. Miguel growled at the sensation before latching his hand on his arm.

“We do.”

It happened in an instant, the symbiote tendrils curling around the lower half of your arm, coating it the signature blue. You felt stronger. Enough to grip his neck tighter. You also picked up the pace, bouncing in a way to drive him crazy. If you could see Miguel’s face, you knew his eyes would be rolled back, while his hips thrusted up in unison with your bounces. 

“L-Let me…speak to him…”

“You are.” The symbiote’s chest heaved, almost succumbing to the intoxicating sensation. 

You shook your head, a whimper coming out as you hit a spot that was too good. “No. I wanna…see him…” Miguel’s face appeared, pleasure permeating his dazed face. If there were any other moment, you wouldn’t stop, help him chase his fucked out high. But not right now. You slowed down, earning a cry from Miguel. 

“N-No. Don’t stop, mi amor.” 

“Listen to me first…” Your pace was torture as you sunk down enough to provide pleasure still. In this position, Miguel was susceptible to agree to anything as long as he made sure he released inside you. “We’re gonna have a conversation about this thing.”

“Okay, okay. We will. Now let’s-” A strangled moan escaped him when you squeezed his neck.

“I’m serious, Miguel. If we end up like this again without talking, you’re not coming back home.” You stared right into his eyes, serious while clouded with pleasure. Miguel stared right back, taking in that you meant every word. You didn’t like it had to come to this, but it would put you at ease if you two talked about it. 

He nodded, taking your words to heart. “Okay.”

With that, your pace picked up again. You bounced on his cock with vigor, hand removed from his throat and back to his shoulders. Miguel’s hands were on your hips as he fucked up into you to meet your own. Both were extraordinarily loud in the lab. Neither cared as they went to chase the high together. A mix of grunts and moans spread amongst the atmosphere. 

Then, a comfortable silence took its place.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #slushycoookie writes

[whitewolfwitcher]

Even in his most positive experiences with royalty, he had never received quite the magnitude of chivalry that Audric had rewarded him with. A feast in his honor, though unwanted, was a huge gesture of his satisfaction for the Witcher’s work. That gesture alone was generous enough, but his kindness extended even further with his arrangement of an assisted bath. This service was reserved only for members of the royal family– and obviously, Geralt had never been granted access to such a thing– except when Jaskier forced him to bathe with a bucket over the head before they met Queen Calanthe. 

The largest gift of gratitude, which Geralt assumed had been done cleverly by Audric, was discovered upon the sight of the maid who had been tasked to bathe him. She was a comely young woman, slender and busty; her long ginger hair hung in a braid that she pulled to one side, guiding his eyes straight to her cleavage which was very hard to ignore, what with how tightly her corset was tied. “Shall I help you undress?” her voice trembled, clearly nervous– not from the act of bathing someone, but from the act of bathing a mutant. Her thoughts were written on her face; she was afraid of him– found him enticingly dangerous.

He raised a single brow, hesitating– because the offer was tempting– but soon shook his head. “I think I can handle that,” he brushed past her and began unbuttoning his ruined shirt, wincing slightly as the fabric had become stuck to the wound on his back and required more effort to remove it. Scars littered his torso– front and back– and he could feel her staring at them, but he was pleased to know that she did not bother with asking about them. Little did he know that she had become enamored with the sight of his body, not the scars that plagued it. He had turned more towards the tub once the shirt was removed, now tugging at the ties at his waistband. A brief glance towards her and she was caught staring; she flushed bright red and cleared her throat, trying to distract from it.

“The doctor will see you after,” she informed him, her eyes turning towards the ground as he pulled one pants leg from his foot, followed by the other. He didn’t respond, aside from a simple nod, wasting no time in getting in the large tub, as he felt a bit awkward wearing only his wolf medallion in front of a stranger. The warm water sloshed around him as he settled into it, ripples taking their sweet time in dying out. His muscular, hairy chest rose towards the ceiling as he drew in a slow breath, followed by an exhale of relaxation. He propped his elbows up on either side of the tub and closed his eyes; his aching muscles found relief within the heat of the bath.

His eyes snapped open at the feeling of a soft sponge on his chest; he glanced briefly over his shoulder and met eyes with the redhead, who seemed to be permanently flushed. A heightened sense of hearing allowed him to pick up on her nervous gulp, just near his ear as she bent over to gently glide the sponge lower. With every inch that she let the sponge fall, she stooped further over him, until her hand was fully submerged to the wrist. He tensed slightly as she circled the sponge beneath the water, just below his naval, unintentionally pressing his upper back into her breasts. 

Thinking she overstepped, the maid pulled back slightly, sliding the sponge back to his upper abdomen. “Did I do something to displease you?” She sounded genuinely concerned. Geralt responded with a soft, breathy chuckle, glancing up at her again with hooded eyes. “Quite the opposite.”

She giggled softly and continued on, gliding the sponge in slow circles all across his ribs, his stomach, then up to his chest again. She became more liberal with her touch– using her bare fingers to sweep his hair behind his shoulder before dragging the sponge across his clavicle. A firm squeeze of the sponge sent water flowing down his chest, a sensation that brought goosebumps to his skin. Her other hand remained in his hair, trying to untangle it with her fingers but realizing she was making matters worse. 

“I didn’t bring a brush– didn’t know you’d have long hair... I’ll be right back,” she assured him, dropping the sponge into the water where it began bobbing slowly away from him. 

“Hm.” he responded with a nod, but kept eyes closed as they had been for a while now; for once, he was allowing himself to fully give in to the simple pleasure that a warm bath provided– Jaskier would be proud.

[wyntereyez]

Hair-Raising

This is what happens when Drama(TM) combines with discussions of hairy men, interspersed by gifs of sassy Sasquatches.

It's crack. Not your thing? Back out. Still feel compelled to respond with hate? I'll randomly select a song from my playlist and post the lyrics. Nothing else, just the lyrics.

My playlist is mostly '80's music. Don't make me weaponize "Africa." 😡

----------

Killian had told Emma, early in their relationship, that he wasn't completely human. His mother had been one of the "Forest People", which Emma had assumed had been some kind of fae, considering his elf ears.

He seemed to be no different from a human man, so Emma never gave it any thought.

Until Hope was born.

She started off normal enough - small, chubby, with a light fuzz of blond hair on her scalp (and, strangely, along the shell of her delicately pointed ears).

Emma assumed it would fall off, like most baby hair.

Except...it didn't. Instead it spread, creeping down her neck to between her shoulder blades. It was so pale and fine, it was barely visible. Emma didn't think Killian had even noticed, but if it kept growing, it would soon become obvious.

The night before Hope's six month check-up, Emma brought it up to Killian. How, she wondered, had her husband, the doting father, not noticed.

He seemed startled by her reaction, and a little hurt by her accusation that he was oblivious to something affecting his child.

"Swan... I told you my mother was one of the Forest People," Killian said. "It's a heritage that Hope shares. Though I wasn't expecting her to have this much hair. She may have a full pelt."

"Pelt?" Emma repeated weakly. "Killian, what exactly is a Forest Person?"

"You mean, you don't know?" Killian scratched behind his ear, thrown by Emma's ignorance. "They're similar to your world's Sasquatch," he said. He smiled wistfully. "My mother had the loveliest ginger pelt, I always envied it. Alas, I was never so blessed."

Emma's mouth hung open. "You're...half Bigfoot..." she said slowly.

Killian scowled. "That's a rude name," he said.

"You're...you aren't that hairy..." Emma said faintly.

"To fit in, Liam and I learned to thin out our hair. I do it once a month."

"Is that why you're always tripping over your own feet? Because they're so big?"

"Oi!" Killian yelped, offended. Then, "Maybe?"

Emma thought this over. "How hairy could Hope get? I don't want her to be teased!"

"Forest People are respected, and even revered by some. No one would think to say anything bad about Hope," he said firmly.

"Then what about you? Why do you hide it? Why don't you grow out your hair? Just how hairy are you?"

"I...I don't know. We had to hide our heritage as slaves, or our price to free ourselves would double, and...I just kept it up. I've been doing it since puberty, so I don't have his much hair I've developed."

"Would you let it grow out? For Hope's sake? She would benefit from having someone like her around." Emma may have licked her lips, and Killian noticed. His eyes darkened.

"Why, Swan...do you like the thought of me with more hair?" he purred.

"... maybe?"

Killian grinned. "Who am I to refuse my wife's wishes?"

------

Killian, it turned out, got VERY hairy, though no more than an unusually hirsute person. The hair was lovely, silky soft, and shot through with ginger.

Hope only ever developed a light dusting of red-blond hair, but she discovered that her magical talents lay in hair manipulation, and would periodically grow it longer and fluff it out, to Emma's amusement and frustration.

Emma loved her unique family, and would never ask them to change, but she hadn't been prepared for the shedding.

So much shedding.

Everything was hair.

EVERYTHING.

But at least it made for a nice bit of revenge when Emma asked Leroy to unclog her tub one day, and he pulled out a knot of hair as large as a cat.

Emma would treasure his shriek of terror forever. She couldn't wait to do it again...

--------

I'M SORRY.

#hair #so much hair #killian jones #emma swan #hope jones #ouat crack #ouat crack fic #author: wyntereyez #i'm sorry #i'm so so sorry #fandom: once upon a time

[belphegor1982]

…it’s done. Finished. My monster Mummy fic, the one I started in 2003, started publishing in 2004, and left dormant since 2008 – I finally completed it o.O Weirdly (or not), this is the chapter which gave me the most trouble, if you don’t count chapters 16 and 17 (which took me 2 and 16 years to write, respectively). It was hard to say goodbye to this story and these characters, even though I knew I literally just had to get an idea for another story :-/

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: Two years after the events of Ahm Shere, the O’Connells are “required” by the British Government to bring the Diamond taken there from Egypt to England. In Cairo, while Evelyn deals with the negotiations and Rick waits for doom to strike again, Jonathan bumps into an old friend of his from university, Tom Ferguson. Things start to go awry when the Diamond is stolen from the Museum and old loyalties are tested… (story on AO3; on FFnet)

(Chapters on Tumblr: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23)

Chapter 24: Departure (on AO3 here; on FFnet here)

London, September 1937

A little off Paddington Station, almost in Marylebone, was a small pub called the Stars and Crown, its red brick façade almost exactly similar to the others along the street. It was an unassuming little affair Jonathan liked to patronise every now and then, and not just because it happened to be situated not too far from his flat.

It was a balmy mid-September late afternoon and one of the double doors was wide open on the quiet street. Jonathan and Tom were seated by one of the stained-glass windows, drinking – G&T and a ginger beer, respectively – and talking. Jonathan, remembering the promise he’d made after blowing up Hamilton’s lorry, had bought the rounds.

But for small details like the mostly healed-over scratches on Tom’s hands, the old scar in Jonathan’s left palm, and all the subtler little ways the past two decades had changed them, they might as well have been twenty year old students again.

Well, apart from the subject of their conversation.

“I got off easy, if you ask me.”

“Nonsense. You were the only one who tried to fix this bloody disaster. It’s only fair that you didn’t… You know.”

“…Pay for my mistakes?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

Tom gulped a mouthful of ginger beer, still looking glum.

“I suppose – I know – I should be grateful I didn’t end up like Hamilton, at least.”

Jonathan winced.

Charles Hamilton had made it back to England in a slightly better state than he had made it out of the pyramid, but that wasn’t saying much. From what they had heard, he was lucid for about an hour a day, and that was it – and not very coherent at that. Which made the fact that he allegedly hung himself in his cell a week before his highly sensitive trial very suspicious indeed. The man didn’t appear capable of putting on his trousers on his own, let alone do anything as complex as a slipknot.

The Lord Chancellor’s Department had issued a statement half-heartedly lamenting Hamilton’s demise, the newspapers had stayed surprisingly quiet about it, and Evy had fumed for an entire fortnight. And that had been it. Hamilton had taken the gentleman’s way out. Case closed.

At least Gabriel Baine had been tried, convicted, and sent behind bars for a lengthy period of time. Jonathan didn’t particularly care where he was, as long as he could be elsewhere.

Baine had stated a few times that there hadn’t been anything personal about shooting and ordering his men to shoot Jonathan, Rick, and Tom. Jonathan had silently begged to differ. Baine’s shouts of “Kill them” followed by the sudden excruciating pain in his back, not to mention the confusion and terror as he fought not to die and lost, had felt pretty damn personal.

Tom stared into his glass for a while, then looked up with a brighter expression.

“But enough about this fiasco. How’s your family? I seem to remember your sister’s birthday was coming up, you were lookin’ for a present when we bumped into each other at that bazaar. Did you find one, in the end?”

Jonathan perked up. “I did, actually. Got her a signet ring. She seemed to like it.”

Now that memory he would treasure as long as he lived.

An inventory of his pockets had revealed a hodgepodge of small trinkets which he was still trying to trace. The little medallion with the amethyst cameo must be early Regency, stolen by the pygmy mummies from some unfortunate Napoleon soldier’s corpse; the lapis earring was probably from the Ramesside period (a few Rameses had sent their armies to find or reclaim Ahm Shere, Jonathan had found); the couple of gold and silver rings bearing the Roman SPQR were a little incongruous but easy to chalk up to Julius Caesar’s expedition. There were also some 4th Century Persian coins, proving Alexander the Great’s men had also reached Ahm Shere – the Oasis, anyway – and a number of little amulets from various Egyptian expeditions, mostly heart scarabs made of red and green jasper, copper, quartz, bronze, or gold. He hadn’t determined the nature of the green gemstone yet, saving it for last.

Jonathan had been so excited by his find that he hadn’t gambled a single object. Tracing their origins took time, but he had not even told Evy about it yet. Instead he had not only called on every scrap of expertise he had concerning treasure, but also on every book he could lay his hands on. Evy would have been very surprised – not to mention highly suspicious – if she learned how much time he had been spending at the British Library lately.

He had always enjoyed a good riddle. For some reason this one looked promising enough to justify doing some actual work for. Besides, having the artefacts authenticated meant he would be able to get a much better price selling them.

The only thing he had parted with was the (probable) Napoleon coin, the soft gold nibbled almost beyond recognition by the pygmy mummies’ teeth. Another look at it the morning after his resurrection had given him an idea.

Before they left the Medjai camp, Jonathan had obtained from Ardeth a sketch of Nefertiri’s personal cartouche and the address of a talented goldsmith in Cairo; once back in the city, he had wandered down to Kerdasa, the coin and the folded paper safe in the inside pocket of his (whole and clean) jacket.

Just before he reached the little shop, however, he heard a yelp and a startled cry, and was knocked off his feet by something large and hairy. His vision was filled by long camel’s lashes and lips drawn back on long yellow teeth in what Jonathan might have taken as a smile if he hadn’t known better.

Why did every single camel have to have such foul breath, he wondered.

“ʾAhlan1, Djem,” muttered Jonathan with a sigh that was half annoyance, and half amused resignation.

And was astonished when the camel immediately disappeared from view, replaced with a familiar face. Satiah’s big brown eyes went wide when she saw him.

“Oh, it’s you, bāša2. Hello,” she said with a smile.

Jonathan got up and dusted himself off, irritation quickly fading away. The jacket could survive a little dirt; besides, Satiah’s smile as she hung on to Djem’s bit had lost some of its previous shyness. Considering how fearful she had been the last time – and who could fault her for that, really – it almost made getting knocked over by a foul-smelling bag of hair and wind worth it.

“Good morning, Miss Satiah,” he said in Arabic, picking up his hat from the ground so he could salute her with a flourish. Her hand flew to her mouth to hide a giggle. “It’s a stroke of luck finding you, really. I wanted to thank you for your help the other day, and for, er…”

He reached his limits of the language, and finished in English, “I mean, thank you for returning my wallet to my sister. That was very kind of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Satiah said in Arabic, her cheekbones a little pink. “I’m glad you and your friends got away from those men.”

Jonathan’s smile slipped a notch or two, but he rallied quickly enough.

“Yes,” he said just a little wryly, “we did, at that. In the end.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve just reached my destination,” he added, pointing to a door above which hung a sign saying something about gold in painted Arabic script, “so I’m going to wish you a—”

“You’re going to see Cousin Ashar?” Satiah interrupted, her eyes shining. Immediately afterwards she clamped both hands on her mouth and cringed. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. Small world, eh?”

She gave a small smile and led the way into the shop, stopping only to tie Djem to a post.

Ashar – the goldsmith Ardeth had recommended – was a tall, wiry man with a long face, his hair going grey at the temples. He welcomed Satiah warmly and sent her to the backroom to get what she came for. Before she closed the door, she gave Jonathan a little friendly wave, which he returned with a smile. Ashar gave him an odd but not hostile look, eyebrows raised.

Jonathan placed his order, left the coin, and was about to leave, when Ashar called him back, frowning slightly.

“You’re one of the O’Connells, aren’t you.”

Jonathan’s mouth opened and closed as though of its own accord.

“You could say that, yes,” he said finally. “Why?”

“Because word of the second raising of Anubis’ Army made it to Cairo recently.”

This time Jonathan’s mouth dropped open and remained like that for a handful of seconds. Ashar gave something that was almost a smile.

“Not all of us wear the ritual tattoos, you know.”

“I do know,” Jonathan articulated with only the slightest difficulty. Dr Hakim was a Medjai, and his face was devoid of any tattoo as well. Dr Bey had been the same, now that he thought of it. His gaze went to the door that led to the backroom. “Satiah, too…?”

“Yes. But her mother’s family has lived in Cairo for fifty years. The girl has never seen the desert. She will get good schooling and find a trade, inshallah3. The time for living legends is coming to an end.” Ashar looked at the cartouche Ardeth had drawn for reference. “I know what this says. Who the name belonged to. Your commission is either a hollow trinket or a great gift.”

Jonathan drew himself up and said, as dignified as he could, “I’m rather hoping for the latter.”

His own signet ring had been gambled and lost in some card game or another, years ago. His parents would have been so disappointed had they still been alive. The least he could do was make sure his sister had a ring of her own, one that paid tribute to the woman she was and the woman she had been, three millennia ago.

Evy’s reaction when she opened his present proved him right, and even surprised him.

She stared into the box long enough for Jonathan’s brain to go into overdrive. Her silence made him panic ever so slightly. Then she looked up at him, her eyes very bright, lower lip trembling.

Jonathan barely suppressed the need to shuffle like a schoolboy and buried his hands into his pockets, hoping his face didn’t give too much away.

“I know I wasn’t… there – or, you know – then,” he said, almost sheepishly. “But I thought… Well. I hoped you’d like it. The cartouche must be right, I got it from Ardeth, and the goldsmith was a bloody good artist, as it turned out, but—”

Evy cut him off by launching herself at him and flinging her arms around his neck, throwing him off balance. As usual, Jonathan stumbled, but managed to catch her in the end.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered into his neck. “Thank you, Jon.”

If his smile was a little wobbly, his eyes a little moist, nobody seemed to notice. Rick and Alex had picked up the little box; Rick’s face lit up in strange recognition, while Alex deciphered the cartouche slowly and grinned.

“Nice one, Uncle Jon. That’s a pretty good present.”

“Yes, about that,” said Jonathan irrepressibly while Evy broke away and wiped her eyes, “I hope you realise that this is the last birthday present you’ll ever get from me, old mum. Since – judging by your reaction – nothing I could give to you could ever top this, I have decided to simply refrain from trying.”

Evy had slapped his arm and called him an idiot with a big smile, then hugged him again. And he had hugged her back, just because he was alive and able to.

The ring hadn’t left her finger since.

“Jon?”

Jonathan was abruptly pulled back to the present, the Stars and Crown, and Tom’s curious smile across the table.

“Hm?”

“You were a thousand miles away.”

“Sorry about that. What about you and Lizzie? Dorset been treating you well, I hope?”

Tom shook his head with a smile.

“It has, sort of, but we’re moving to Oxford. Did Liz tell you she’d been replaced while she was gone?”

Jonathan nodded. Lizzie disappearing for two weeks had not gone unnoticed in her little town, but since the police didn’t have the beginning of a clue and nobody was able to reach Tom, they had moved on to other things and her boss at the telephone exchange had hired someone else. There had been a subtle but definite irony in Lizzie’s letter as she described her and Tom’s return and the scrutiny they’d had to stand up to in order to prove her husband hadn’t killed her and stashed her body away – or vice versa – before his former Chamber of Horus hierarchy stepped in to explain things.

“Well, they needed an operator at the exchange on Pembroke Street. And you know the interview I had this morning at Whitehall? I won’t be too far, as it turns out.” Tom took a deep breath, then said with one of the goofiest smiles Jonathan had ever seen on his face, “I’ll be workin’ from the Bodleian.”

This could only mean one thing. Jonathan grinned.

“The British Antique Research Department accepted your application, didn’t they? Congratulations, old chap. That’s fantastic.”

He downed a mouthful of his G&T and laid an elbow on the table, his chin in his hand.

“Haven’t been to Oxford in almost fifteen years,” he said thoughtfully. “Not since Evy finished her degree. I wonder if the city’s changed.”

“It’s Oxford,” said Tom quietly, looking like his mind was straying down the same path Jonathan’s thoughts were. “I can’t imagine it’ll ever change that much.”

Jonathan smiled quickly into his palm. Then he raised his glass.

“To the two of you, then. And to publicans hopefully not holding grudges, otherwise we’re still banned from half the pubs in Oxfordshire.”

Tom snorted and raised his own glass, now almost empty. “To the three of us, and testing that theory sometime. And let’s not wait two decades this time,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

The two glasses clinked.

For just a second, the decades fell away, and Jonathan was twenty years younger.

Lizzie was already waiting for them on the platform by the time they finished their drinks and walked back to Paddington. She carried a shopping bag that looked entirely too small compared to what should be expected of a woman who’d just spent a few hours in the old metropolis. Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you say you planned to go to Harrods while we were in London?”

“I also said I only needed a new suit and the latest Agatha Christie novel,” she said, light teasing in her tone. “The next one will be out sometime in November, I think. Have you heard what the title will be? Death on the Nile, of all things.”

Jonathan gave a mock shudder. “I might just give this one a miss, then.”

The train’s whistle pierced the air, cutting the rest of the conversation short. Tom picked up his wife’s bag and Lizzie turned to Jonathan with a smile.

“Goodbye, Jonathan,” she said softly.

The use of his first name had always been a signal that the game was paused and the masks were off, as clear as a referee blowing halftime. Jonathan answered in kind, his throat just a little tight.

“Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

They hadn’t even actually said ‘goodbye’ last time. They had just stood there, she leaning out the train window in her brand-new nurse’s uniform, he and Tommy on the platform amidst the soot, the steam, and the throng of people, until the train departed. The memory was an old hurt that still twinged sometimes, like his left shoulder when the weather was bad.

He cleared his throat and smiled.

“See you on the next Christie novel, then?”

What Lizzie did next might have shocked twenty year old Jonathan, who thought he knew her well, and as such very much surprised his current self, who had a little too much experience of the world to truly get shocked anymore. She took his hands in hers, flying in the face of propriety and what had been her rules of conduct in public, and kissed him on the cheek near the corner of his mouth with an aching sweetness. The old Lizzie, so shy and unsure of her self-worth that she was terrified of what people may think, would have been appalled.

It had taken a while for Jonathan to truly grasp how much the years had changed Tommy and start thinking of him as ‘Tom’ to account for that change. Through this apparently simple gesture – simple only to someone who didn’t know Elizabeth Ferguson, née McAllister – Lizzie became ‘Liz’ in an instant.

“I can’t bear to think you died,” she said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. “When I think… Without that – that book…”

She took a deep breath. Tom caught Jonathan’s eye and gave a small nod. Of course he had told her. Knowing Liz, she’d take the secret to her grave anyway.

“Take care of yourself, Jonathan, please. The world would be so dreadfully dull without you in it,” she added with a tentative smile, to which he replied with a smile of his own, one that hopefully looked steadier.

“Likewise.”

Her hands tightened around his. Just for a second or two, he softly ran his thumb on the back of her hand, an echo of the old intimacy that used to bind them; then their gazes fell away, their hands separated, and the moment was over.

Tom held out his hand with a smile, and Jonathan’s mind was whisked back to that sunny afternoon in Cairo, almost two months ago, and a chance encounter that had reshuffled the cards in a major way. Tom’s handshake was slower this time, steadier, warmer.

“Bye, Jon.”

“Cheers, Tom,” said Jonathan, determined but failing to swallow the lump in his throat. “Have a pint at the Oxford Arms for me.”

Tom nodded, and added his left hand to the handshake, not saying anything. He didn’t need to. As usual – almost – everything he meant to say was on his face and in his eyes for the world to see.

The train let out a burst of steam. Tom hastily let go and made for the train door, stopping only to help Liz aboard. Jonathan looked wistfully at the train for a minute and was about to turn around and go home when he heard his name being called over the din of the locomotive and the running gears chugging into motion.

Tom and Liz were leaning out of a window, wearing identical wide smiles. Liz was waving, her other arm wrapped tightly around her husband. The light in her eyes and her curly hair whipping around her face made her look like the girl from Jonathan’s memories.

“Send my love to Evelyn!” she called. “And say hello to your brother-in-law for me! You’re all welcome anytime for tea!”

“I’ll make sure they know!” shouted Jonathan as the train gathered speed.

The blatant disregard of platform etiquette made several passers-by turn and stare at him with a touch of glower. Jonathan ignored them and kept his eyes on the departing train. Tom’s and Liz’s beaming smiles remained in his head a long time after they had gone back inside the carriage.

He would see them again. This time he was determined not to leave the possibility of a reunion to chance and the vagaries of life. They had been through too much – both twenty years and two months ago – to just go their separate ways.

Besides, Jonathan mused as he left Paddington behind to wade through the bustling streets, he still had some research to do before he set out to sell the objects he had found at Ahm Shere. The Bodleian Library was as good as the British Library; at least he didn’t risk meeting Evy there and being subjected to her prodding curiosity, which he wasn’t ready to face yet. At least not before he unravelled the mystery of the little gemstone. It looked like an emerald and felt vaguely familiar, as though he had seen it somewhere or heard a story about it.

This required some investigation, if only to be prudent.

After all, he was particularly well placed to know that you can only go so far on fairy tales and hokum alone.

THE END

.⅋.

1(أَهْلًا): informal “hello”, “hi”.

2باشا (bāša): “sir”, “mister” in Egyptian Arabic.

3ʾin šāʾa llāhu, (إِنْ شَاءَ ٱللَّٰهُ‎) – literally “if God has willed it”, “God willing”

Don’t look for the Stars and Crown in Paddington, or the Oxford Arms in Oxford. Unlike the Turf Tavern they’re entirely fictional.

Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile was indeed published on 1st November 1937. I couldn’t resist, I mean, come on ;o)

The Bodleian Library is the main research library in Oxford and one of the oldest in Europe.

If you’re wondering, yes, that little gemstone might be the basis for a sequel of sorts, but I haven’t really started to plot it. Considering my track record for these things you might see that story sometime in the next decade and a half :P

Writing and publishing Fairy Tales and Hokum has been such an adventure. I was 21 when I started writing it; now I’ll be 38 in four days. Much as I miss the old crowd of 2003-2006, reposting and updating the story here on AO3 allowed me to know some awesome people. I’m so glad these characters somehow – FINALLY – sneaked back into my head and my heart again with their quirks, their (updated) backstories, and their voices and allowed me to finish this story the way I wanted to. Like I’ve said before, whenever you started reading this, I hope you had a good time now that you’ve reached the end. If you’ve read and left a signed comment – if you’ve read and left an anonymous comment – if you’ve read and left no comment at all – know that I wrote this for you and I hope some of it made you smile.

Take care of yourselves, love you all, and see you on the next fic? :o)

#Fairy Tales and Hokum #fanfiction #my stuff #the mummy films

[smartcookie727]

Bruised and Battered

Thanks to @whereisthefood123 for the request! This was a longer one for me. I really wanted to explore the story that led to our lovely couple being in this situation. I also tried my hand at some angst, but never fear, there are some fluffy moments too. This is NSFW cause let’s face it I’m writing. I hope you enjoy! Send me a comment, ask, tag, whatever you feel like. I love hearing about your reactions and what worked in a piece. Ok, I won’t drone on any longer, enjoy!

Pairing: Gajevy 

Prompt: Did you really knock on my door at 1 am just to cuddle?

Length: 3k 

Bruised and Battered

“Guys, I’m alright, really!” Levy stammered through ground teeth. She wasn’t alright and they knew it. Still, they knew they were no longer welcome. Levy was upset and needed to rest. Jet and Droy hung their heads as Levy closed the door behind them. There was nothing they could do for her but dress her wounds. She needed to be alone. Levy sank to the floor of her apartment and wailed. She was covered in cuts, burns, and bruises; her scalp was crusted with blood—her blood. It was supposed to be an easy job, and she hadn’t been strong enough to save anyone.

The bandits had known they were coming. Team Shadow gear had decided to take a rest about two miles from town and discuss their plan. The job was simple. A group of about ten bandits, with two mages at their disposal, had been targeting a small town just off a major trade route. A job had been posted in the guild to remove the bandits. The group had taken on plenty of jobs like this before, so it seemed like a logical choice. They would follow the same plan as always when dealing with bandits, a trap. They even had a plan for the mages; Levy couldn’t stand going on a job without a plan. Levy would act as bait to draw the group out, and Jet would kick up a dust storm with his high speed magic to confuse them. Droy’s plants could immobilize the normal members, and Levy and Jet would take out the mages. If things got hairy with so many members, Levy could always make a cage with her solid script magic, allowing Droy to assist in the magic battle. It was their tried and true method, and it was their downfall.

One of the mages working with the bandits used telepathy magic and prepared an ambush for the Fairy Tail wizards. As Levy stood up from her seat, she was hit by a bolt of lightning. She screamed in pain as her brain tried to comprehend the situation. Droy was tackled by three bandits, preventing him from accessing the seeds his plant magic worked through. Jet was being chased by five others, some desperately hanging onto any appendage they could grab to slow him down. Shit. A surprise attack. The mages focused on Levy. If she went down, the others would no doubt follow shortly. A flurry of sparks exploded around her head, dazing her as she tried to dodge the wooden club the other mage swung. What was happening? The air was forced from her lungs with a blow to her side and Levy crumpled to her knees. This wasn’t good. She needed to do something. Searing pain tore through her body as she took a direct hit from the lightning mage. Levy felt her head spinning as her heart raced in panic. The wooden club hit her hip and she screamed again. Wood. That was it. Levy brought up a barrier of wood in an attempt to stave off the lightning bolts. Levy turned to find her teammates. Droy had managed to get ahold of some of his seeds, and his plants were picking off the bandits one at a time. Jet had also shaken his attackers; there were two bandits groaning on the floor. Her voice was hoarse as she tried to call out to them. No good. She inhaled deeply as her fingers began to write, and then everything went white. Levy could feel blood trickling into her ear as she fell. When had her protective spell failed? Then there was another crack. Every nerve in her body screamed. She screamed. A deafening howl coursed through their battle ground, and her teammates blood curdled. Levy didn’t even hear them call her name as she hit the dirt.

Levy flinched at the memory of the final blow before she’d been knocked unconscious. Her heart raced with the reminded fear, but she steeled herself. She needed to keep moving, to do something, to not drift into that nightmare again. It was already past midnight. She’d lost herself in the throes of her terror for a few hours now. Levy trudged to the shower and hoped the hot water would wash away her fear and blood. While it stung, it did manage to stop her hands from shaking. As Levy stepped out of the bathroom, clad only in a towel, she heard a loud banging on the door.

“Just a minute!” Levy called. As quickly as her injuries allowed her, she shuffled to her room and tossed on one of the oversized shirts she occasionally wore to bed. This one was Gajeel’s, and wearing it comforted her to some degree. The rasping on the door hadn’t stopped. “Hold on! I’m coming as fast as I can,” Levy yelled curtly as she made her way to the front door. She wasn’t moving fast, and the knocking still hadn’t subsided. Tossing her door open Levy barked, “What!?” Her throat was sore from her screaming and crying. Before she registered who was there, she was overtaken by a large mass of onyx hair. It covered her in a tight embrace and pinned her against a heaving chest. Levy balked for a moment before she recognized the smell of trees and iron. It was Gajeel. Crap, it was Gajeel. She had hoped she’d be able to avoid him until at least tomorrow when she went to the guild. She should’ve known better.

“Shrimp! Just what in the hell were ya thinking!” Gajeel yelled as he thrust her away. He carefully examined her battered form.

Levy meekly responded, “I…”

“And to find out from Lily! Who only knew because he ran into Jet and Droy on the way home!” he roared.

Levy was frustrated and tired, “Look…”

“I should’ve been the first place ya came when ya got back! Ya should’ve called me with a communication lacrima as soon as you were ok!”

“Gajeel, please.”

“Levy! Do you not get it? You could’ve died!” He grabbed her again, and drew her close. Softly, he repeated, his voice shaking, “Levy, you could’ve died.” They collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. His hands grasped her firmly, and she ignored the pain from her burns. Her fingers were laced in his hair, pulling him down to cover her. Levy cried uncontrollably into her dragon’s shirt. A little while later, their tears dried and they regained control of their breathing.

“I was knocked out so fast. I wasn’t strong enough” Levy said between sniffles. Her head hung low, averting her eyes.

“Shrimp. What the fuck?” Gajeel asked as he gently lifted her chin, “Yer plenty strong. Yer the strongest one on that damn team of yours.”

“I was the first to go down. The only one to go down! I couldn’t help anyone. They utterly—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gajeel’s voice was like steel. “Why didn’t ya let me know the second ya were in town?” He stared her dead in the eye. “I’m yer man. I’m supposed to be here for ya, right?”

“Yeah.” Levy began rubbing her aching forehead. “I don’t know. I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“I want to see you every time you look like this.” Gajeel helped her to her feet, and Levy shot him a confused glance. “And when yer done being silly about stupid things, I’ll take care of ya. Come on.” Gajeel guided her to the couch and laid down. She followed, curling into him. They barely fit on her small couch, but she didn’t mind.  She was starting to feel at peace. Levy could feel his heartbeat through the thin cloth on her back. Gajeel stroked her head and anywhere she wasn’t burned or bruised. He wanted to take away all her pain, but now right he needed rest. Gajeel inhaled deeply and did his best to lull her to sleep. Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, “From now on, I’ll go with you. I’ll be here to protect you. I’m your personal cuddle dragon for tonight.” Levy chuckled, and between the rhythmic stroking, thump of his heart, and warmth from his hold Levy drifted off.

The smell of stir fry and rice tickled Levy’s nose as she roused. She noticed she’d been covered in a blanket, and Gajeel—Gajeel was gone. Slowly, Levy righted herself until she was sitting properly on the couch. It was dark except for a single light in the kitchen. She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted. Gajeel was hunched over her stove, and a lovely aroma of garlic, green onion, and ginger spread through her apartment. Levy yawned and began to stretch her neck. Sleeping on the couch always left her with a few sore spots.

“Hey, ya up shorty?” Gajeel called over the sizzle of the stir fry.

“Yeah. That smells wonderful, Gajeel,” Levy yawned. Her stomach growled audibly and a bright blush lit up her cheeks. “How’d you know I’d be hungry?”

“Just figured. Knowing you, ya probably kept running through the attack in yer head instead of taking care of yerself once ya got here. Ya need to eat if ya wanna get better,”

“You’re right,” Levy sighed, “that’s exactly what I did. I—I don’t even remember the last time I ate.”

Gajeel chuckled, “That’s what I’m here for.”

“My personal cuddle dragon for the night?” Levy teased.

Gajeel blushed. “I was just trying to make ya laugh and calm down.”

Levy smiled and giggled, “Well, it worked.”

“Ok, it’s ready. Ya didn’t have much to work with here, Shrimp, but I think it came out alright.”

Levy moved to stand and winced.

Gajeel shot her an exasperated look. “Don’t be an idiot. I’ll bring it to ya.” He began to gather bowls and cutlery.

“Thanks.” Levy eased back into as comfortable a position as she could find on the couch. “I’m not really used to being so…well…beaten up, I guess.”

Gajeel looked her over for a long minute. She really had taken a tough beating. He blinked away a tear. Levy didn’t have iron scales like him; she was fragile. “Would some tea help?” Gajeel planted a steaming mug in front of her.

Levy inhaled deeply. It was Jasmine tea, her favorite. Gajeel seemed to know more of her quirks than she’d thought. She watched him as he brought over their bowls. He looked quite handsome with his hair tied back in a bandana. She ran her bandaged hand through her locks. They were sticking out at every angle, she was sure she looked like a mess.

“Eat.” Gajeel ordered as he slumped down next to her.

“You know, Gajeel, you didn’t need to do this,” Levy said bashfully as she took her food.

“I said I’m taking care of ya and that’s what I’m gonna do. Even you can’t stop me, Shrimp.”

He was already scarfing down his food. Levy hadn’t even thought about how he was coping. It was probably hard on him to see her like this. “Ok. I won’t stop you.”

They finished their bowls in silence. Levy wasn’t quite sure what was supposed to happen next. Gajeel darted off to her room and returned with the book she’d left on her nightstand. He sat with his back on the arm of the couch and spread his legs to make room for her. “Ya get half an hour. Lemme know if anything hurts too much.”

Levy eagerly took the book from his outstretched hand. “Only half an hour?” she whined. Gajeel was silent. “Fine.” Levy snuggled with her back against his chest and began to read. Gajeel carefully rubbed her back and shoulders, aware of every flinch when he pressed a tender area. Still, it felt good. Levy’s muscles ached, but just his touch made her feel better. Even holding back, he was a bit strong for her, and she grit her teeth through the pain. She knew that a tough massage would help her muscles, even if it hurt now, and he was trying his best to help her.

“Alrighty. Time for bed.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her to her room.

Levy puffed her cheeks as the sudden motion caused her to drop her book. “Gajeel, really, you don’t need to go this far.” Levy looked up at him only to receive a glare. “Ok, ok.” With that, she let him place her on the bed. Gajeel grabbed his bandana and tossed it on the floor, then began to peel off his shirt. “Are you staying? Shadow Gear will be back in the morning to help me out, you don’t need to—”

“Lev.” He was facing her, moonlight from the window illuminating his bare skin. Gajeel really looked as if he was painted with iron. “I almost lost you today. I told ya, from now on, I go with you.”

Levy smiled, she was again on the verge of tears. Her dragon would always be there to protect her, to make her feel safe. She didn’t need to be scared. She had Shadow Gear, and they had saved her, but this was different. He looked at her like she was his treasure, and she knew a dragon would guard his treasure with his life. “Alright.”

Gajeel’s smile turned from relief to wickedness. “Plus. I didn’t come here so late at night just to cuddle. That woulda been selfish, and I’m not that kinda guy. I came to take care of ya” he paused, “and to make ya feel better.” Gajeel gingerly cupped Levy’s face and bent down for a long, tender kiss. She was his dainty treasure. He kissed her neck all the way down to her collarbone. “Why don’t I help ya with this?” Levy nodded. He pulled up his shirt, it really did engulf her, and tossed it to the side. He looked at her for a moment. Taking in the sight of Levy: bruised, battered, and beautiful as she was bathed in the moonlight. The bruises across her ribs were perfectly visible. As long as he didn’t hurt her he wasn’t going to stop.

Gajeel sat on the bed and pulled her by her underwear into his lap. He kissed her collarbone, circling and placing gentle pecks on some bruises; she didn’t seem to mind. His hands ran circles around her ass. It felt like his cock hardened instantly as Levy moaned softly. This was exactly what he’d hoped for. She wasn’t in pain. He ventured lower, running his tongue around her breasts. He could feel her ass lifting involuntarily as she pressed herself against his lips. He moved one hand to her left nipple and circled it with his thumb as he sucked on her right, gently grabbing the tip with his teeth and twisting slightly from side to side. He knew it would drive her mad with pleasure, and it did. He felt the muscles in her back relax as she fell further into him.  Her moans became deeper as he sucked harder, and he switched effortlessly to the other breast, repeating his wonderful torture.

Gajeel snuck a hand under her panties as he returned to her lips. She kissed him eagerly, her tongue practically begging him for more. She grabbed his back, running her hands over his muscles. She loved to feel them and he knew it. He took a special pride in those muscles, and since he’d first claimed her, he’d made sure they were well developed. Gajeel toyed with her clit, she was so wet, so gorgeous as she turned to putty under his firm hands. Her nails dug into his back as he played with her. He knew all her curves, and during her massage he’d been sure to memorize the places she was too tender to be touched. Levy moaned louder as he dipped a finger into her core. She thrust her head back as he picked up speed; he felt her hard tips ticking his own nipples as she bounced against him. It was torture trying to contain himself, but she wasn’t quite ready.  

Tenderly, he laid her onto her back and set to work, teasing her with his mouth over her underwear. Occasionally he nipped at her thighs, they were too soft and jiggled too wonderfully to ignore entirely. Levy’s mewls of pleasure became higher and more strained, and Gajeel knew she was getting close. He grabbed the fabric with his teeth and swiftly tore it from her soaked folds. Finally, she was completely bare. Gajeel wasted no time and dove back in, sucking feverishly on her clit as his fingers pinched and twisted her nipples. She was so close. Gajeel couldn’t take it anymore, the smell of her need was intense and his cock needed to be inside her. He released one hand from her soft flesh and thrust into her with his finger, curling inside of her until she cried out and her walls began to contract around him. He kept his lips firm against her has she rode out her orgasm.

Levy was breathing heavily when he finally released her. Gajeel tore himself from his desire as he walked to the door. Her head was still in the clouds, and she didn’t register the sound of his boots and belt hitting the floor, nor the rush of fabric as he kicked off his pants. “Gajeel, where are you–”

The lights went out. Then she felt his hot skin press against her again. He ground himself against her core, eagerly coating his length in her wetness. Gajeel kissed her again, strong and eager. “I’m not going anywhere. I haven’t made ya feel better, yet.”

#gajevy #gajevy fanfiction #gajeel​ redfox #levy mcgarden #ftfanfics #gajevy fics #cookie writes

[bearnakedbaker]

DEEP RED STRYKER

#handsome redhead #ginger man #ginger #hung dude #likes to top #redhead guy #smells like ginger #hairy stud #hot ginger #red head dude #big man #ginger dude

[ancientbooshartifacts]

More Tomfoolery

Author: The_Leechwife

Year: 2006

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Naboo/Saboo

A swollen moon hung low over Wickham Caves, casting its wan light over the packed field of revellers, heaving like a huge single-minded disco-entity in time to pounding music. Somewhere near the middle of the throng, a very small man in a lopsided blue turban and a tall individual with ginger hair and a raincoat accidentally knocked into each other. “’Right Barry!” Naboo yelled over the thumping trance. Barry squinted through the strobe lights and his face lit up with recognition. “Alright Naboo, haven’t see you in ages!" The gangly Welshman slapped Naboo on the back so heartily that he was almost knocked of his feet. “Not since Morocco last year!” Naboo grinned fondly at the recollection. “Yeah, you ate that whole sheet of acid because you didn't think you could get it through Carpet Customs.” “I know, I lost two days!” Barry wiped a tear of merriment from the corner of his eye. “What’s new with you, Naboo?” “I’ve found myself a new familiar, met him at the zoo, he’s alright. Hey Bollo!” “Huh?” The gorilla was accosted mid-boogie and turned round, lowering his two handfuls of glow-sticks. “Barry, this is Bollo. Bollo, Barry.” “Alright Bollo!” Barry shook hands with the ape as best he could. “Alright.” Bollo peered over his holographic visor to regard this strange cagooled figure with the massively dilated pupils. Naboo had only hired Bollo three weeks previously, and this was his first festival as an official familiar. He'd never seen so many people off their tits in one place! “’Ere, Naboo, I can’t hear bugger all, let’s pop in there for a bit.” Barry nodded at a huge white marquee at the edge of the field. “Yeah alright, c’mon Bollo” The trio entered the chillout tent and picked their way though the groups of wizards, shamans and assorted occult personages in various states of intoxication. Barry and Naboo found a place on a heap of cushions set up round one of numerous hookahs, there were several other figures in white robes sprawled nearby, but they were mainly transfixed by the patterns of the blue lights, staring up and giggling intermittently. Both shamans picked up the nearest hose and inhaled. “That’s better,” Barry looked around in satisfaction, “I was goin’ a bit mad out there. I’m pilling my face off!” “Get us some drinks, would you Bollo? Get one for Barry too while you’re there.” Naboo patted the gorilla on the arm and he lumbered off with minimal complaining. Barry squinted at his hairy back though thick glasses. “He’s a bit bigger than you usually go for isn’t he?” “Yeah, those frogs were doing my head in, cheeky sods. And there’s no chance of me accidentally smoking Bollo either.” “Ha ha, yeah. You and those frogs. Mental.” Barry turned to pass the hookah hose to the person next to him, and did a double take when he managed to resolve her features into a coherent picture. “Alright sexy, I’m Barry. Remember that name, you’ll be screaming it later.” The ample woman adjusted her robe around her frankly enormous bosom. “I’m Blossom, I’m here with my sisters.” She giggled coyly. “Sisters?” Barry’s smile widened. Blossom gestured to the two prone figures beside her, both in the same shapeless white dresses, “Not actual sisters, we're druids. This is Peaches, and that’s Acorn.” Peaches, a slimmer version of her sister, managed to raise a languid hand in greeting but Acorn, a tiny woman with scruffy pigtails, had long since passed out. “Ladies.” Barry beamed courteously if redundantly. Naboo chuckled at Barry’s indefinable appeal with the opposite sex. He was a divvy in a raincoat, but no one ever seemed to notice. The tiny shaman noticed Bollo, laden with drinks, looking lost. He waved and caught Bollo’s eye, but as the ape changed trajectory he smacked straight into a tall man in black heading in the opposite direction. He was knocked right over, and insult was added to injury when the three glasses Bollo had been holding were emptied onto him. Bollo looked blank for a second. “Shit.” He managed. Naboo and Barry hurried over as Bollo helped the unfortunate newcomer to his feet and received a barrage of curses. “Damn you, you complete and utter knob!” raged the soggy individual as the wet feather on his hat drooped down into his eyes, “I’m with the Board of Shaman you know! You’ll get what’s coming to you, mark my words!” “Hey, it’s that Saboo chapie.” Barry grinned, too blissed-out to acknowledge bad tempers, “Naboo, you remember Saboo?" "Yeah, I went to his workshop on 'Dimensional Portals You Already Own' last year. Good stuff." "Alright Saboo?” “Alright? No I’m not all right! This idiot monkey has just soaked me!” Bollo’s face darkened. He thought this fellow was over reacting slightly, even if he was slightly drunk. Though a pacifist by nature, the put-upon primate was beginning to think that this Saboo character would benefit from a ‘Chico’ haircut. “Chill out, this is supposed to be a party.” Naboo raised his hands, placating, “Let us get you another drink.” “Yes, Mick Jaggers all round!” Barry cried jubilantly, “Come and sit with us, we’ve just met these three gorgeous girls. Three of them, three of us…” Saboo looked as though he was trying to stay in a bad mood, but eventually conceded. Bollo went off to make a second attempt at getting drinks while Barry and Naboo led Saboo to their little nest. "He might just have a chance with the unconscious one." Barry added as an aside to Naboo, who sniggered and elbowed his friend into silence. Saboo's dark eyes flicked about pensively as he sipped his third drink and regarded everyone with a critical and slightly squiffy gaze. His feathers had begun to dry out and fluff up again, and this drink, whatever it was, apparently just sugar and alcohol, was excellent. He hadn't meant to lash out a Bollo like that, but he'd only been with the Board a few weeks and found he was always edgy and paranoid as to what was expected of him. He was embarrassed about this weakness, and to cover himself he glared daggers at the ape who he'd somehow ended up sitting next to. Saboo also did not reckon much to the talent round here; Barry was whispering sweet nothings of ever increasing lewdness to Blossom, who was practically offering herself up to him, the second girl, Peaches, had only just come round and looked set to keel over again any second, and the scrawny one had begun to snore. There wasn't enough booze in the world, Saboo thought to himself. The short-arse with the ridiculous 'jack of clubs' hair do was prettier than these three. He opted to draw a line under that train of thought immediately. "Alright?" Saboo started, he hadn't realised he'd been staring at Naboo. "Yes, fine." He snapped, looking over at Peaches who was spinning her wand on the ground, apparently fascinated. He looked up again despite himself to watch Naboo conversing in low tones with his familiar. Naboo peered up into Bollo's face; he could tell Bollo was really drunk, because he had gone all blurry. "Run that by me again?" "I met dis Valkyrie before, said she could get me a shot as DJ at club in town." Naboo looked doubtful. "Aw please. Anyway, dis guy keeps lookin' at me like he wants a fight." He cocked his head at Saboo, making no effort to be discreet. "Oh alright then, off you go." Naboo conceded, "I'll see you later, yeah?" Bollo clambered to his feet. "Meet you by the hemp turban stall?" "Cool." As Bollo plodded off back to the dance floor, Naboo smiled amiably at Saboo and patted the cushion where the ape had been sitting. Saboo shifted over apprehensively. "Bollo's alright really, he's just new. He didn't mean any harm." Naboo was determined, in his hazy way, to smooth things over. "Yes, well." Saboo tried to remain disapproving. Naboo just smiled with the innocence of one who is too far out of his head to begrudge anyone happiness, and held out his hand. Saboo relented and shook it. "What's your name again?" "I'm Naboo, that's who." Saboo was silent for a while, then: "Did you really like my workshop?" "Yeah, it's come in really handy a few times actually." "Oh?" "Yeah. I've got these friends, they're basically idiots but they're alright, and they're always-" "Hey!" Blossom's high-pitched squeal cut in and made them both wince, "That's a great idea!" She snatched the wand from Peaches and spun it on the floor, slightly frustrated when it didn’t point to anyone in particular. Peaches looked bewildered, took a long drag from the hookah, and passed out next to her slumbering sister. "What?" Naboo looked misty-eyed and confused. “We used to play this at summer camp, you have to make out with whoever it points to!” "Good grief, how old are we?" Saboo scoffed. “Are you allergic to fun?” Saboo gave a snort of derision, “You’re the only woman still awake, what if I have to kiss one of these two?” he waved his hand vaguely at Naboo and Barry. “Are we not quite secure in our masculinity?” Barry mocked good-naturedly. “Of course I am.” Saboo brandished his glass, sloshing liquid down his hand, “I’ll take on any one of you. If you felt the power of Saboo, you’d be bent for life, my friend.” Barry wasn’t listening, and had spun the wand and stopped it blatantly with his finger when it pointed to Blossom. Blossom grabbed hold of Barry and bent him backwards over her knee, kissing him with full-force. Naboo spluttered with laughter, his smile lighting up his face. Saboo pretended he didn't notice. "Get a room!" Blossom released Barry with a noise like a blocked sink. His eyes uncrossed and he glared at Saboo. "Fine. It's your turn." "This is so purile." Saboo rolled his eyes, but spun the wand with a flick of his wrist. Barry was not keen on people who were opposed to a good time. He was moving into the 'hallucination phase' of his evening, but had enough consciousness left to stop the wand with a discrete bolt of magic as it pointed to Naboo. Naboo raised an eyebrow. Saboo panicked. "I'm not kissing him!" "What's wrong with me?" Naboo took on an expression of mock indignance, "I've been told I'm charming." "It would be unethical for a man in my position to-" "Methinks the shaman doth protest too much." Giggled Blossom. "Hey, if he's uncomfortable with his sexuality, leave the man alone." Barry laughed. "You're all mouth and no trousers." Naboo jibbed. "It's not that! I'm just-" Before Saboo knew what was happening, Naboo knocked his hat off with a deft back-swipe, took hold of his face with both hands and kissed him hard on the mouth, then sat back smugly. Saboo blinked in astonishment, and tried to frame some sort of retort, but nothing seemed forthcoming. "I knew it." Naboo slurred triumphantly, "You talk loud enough, but when it comes to the crunch-" "The Crunch? Don't you bring the Crunch into this," Naboo had inadvertently touched a nerve, "I practically invented the Crunch!" And with that Saboo grabbed the smaller man by the shoulders and kissed him back. He tasted sweet and sticky from the alcohol, and was soft and responsive as their tongues met tentatively. Much to Saboo's consternation, the look in Naboo's twinkling eyes when he pulled away did not say 'Well, that taught me a thing or two about the nature of the Crunch'. Saboo determined to teach the insolent tyke a lesson if it took him all night, which he rather hoped it would. It occurred to him that he shouldn't be getting into it this much and that he'd regret it tomorrow. He felt Naboo's hands inside his jacket and decided that rather than worrying he would gently push the little shaman back onto the cushions and make out with him some more. Through his scrambled consciousness, Naboo concluded that this Saboo wasn't as much of a twat as he'd first thought. He sighed happily as he breathed in the smell of burning paper and incense. He felt slender fingers slide over his hips and fumble with the sash at his waist, and in return he pressed himself against Saboo's hardening crotch, satisfied at the sharp intake of breath this produced. Saboo pulled away for a moment and looked Naboo in the eyes; having never propositioned a man before, he was at a loss as to how to put it. "Listen, Naboo, I'm… I really…" Naboo smiled, "I know, me too." Saboo sat up, taking Naboo's hands and pulling him up too. Naboo got to his knees unsteadily; getting up had produced the revelation that he'd really had way too much to drink, and was beginning to feel distinctly dodgy. An ominous stirring in his stomach told him he had to get out of here right away. He put a finger to Saboo's lips and tried to look at him with what he hoped was a seductive and fathomless gaze. "Hold that thought, I have to, y'know, take care of something. I'll be back, wait here for me." "Don't be long." Naboo staggered to his feet and swayed perilously for a moment as his head protested against standing vertical. "I won't. Stay just as you are." He attempted to wink, though he suspected he was just squinting, before hurrying out of the tent as nonchalantly as possible. On his way out he noticed Barry speaking garbled, unrelated nonsense to Blossom, who was beginning to realise this man was in no state to give her the sweet loving she'd been promised. "I can see outlines as if they were… colours… look at that!" Barry had become fascinated by a cushion tassel. When he got outside, Naboo looked about urgently. Most people had gone back to their tents or fallen asleep where they fell, a few were still dancing or wandering from one place to he other. The booze was really fighting back now, and Naboo realised he was going to be sick. He managed to get a few paces before his legs gave up on him. "Ooh it's all gone wrong." He observed meekly as he sank to his knees. His stomach lurched and, finding no better alternative, he took off his turban and threw up in it. Bollo had been roused by a bad feeling, and had gallantly left the dance floor and his potential conquest to look for Naboo. He spotted a small, unmistakable figure hunched on the ground, his glossy black head bent over something he clutched in his hands. Bollo decided he was getting good at this whole intuition lark. Naboo looked up through bleary, watering eyes and spat blue as Bollo approached. The ape knelt down in front of him and gently lifted his head. "You're the best familiar ever, you are." Naboo conjectured before hiccuping and slumping forwards. Bollo caught him before he landed in the mess he'd made and picked him up. "Come on den." He sighed, hefting the limp little body over one shoulder and picking up the discarded turban with his free hand. Naboo moaned something indistinguishable as he was carried back to his own tent. As they made their way across the field, Bollo noticed Barry running wildly with his anorak tied round his shoulders like a cloak, holding a cushion out in front of him and yelling at the top of his voice. These shamans, when they let go they really let go. "Ooh, my head. What did I do last night?" Naboo groaned as a tremendous hangover descended upon him the next morning. "It must have been pretty good for me to end up like this, eh?" Bollo merely grunted as he handed his boss a plastic cup of coffee and two aspirin. Later, they loaded their tent and bags onto Naboo's magic carpet, unaware they were being observed from a distance by a dark, glowering figure with a high feathered collar and hat. Saboo hadn't been this furious since that time in college when Tony Harrison had told Saboo's girlfriend he had crabs. He had waited most of the night for this hot shaman sex he was promised; that idiot Barry had got so far off his chops that he had run off screaming with a cushion, the fat girl had gone to find him, and Saboo had sat there with two unconscious women for three hours feeling like a complete fool. He was vexed and humiliated and all manner of fumingly, seethingly, angry. One day, he thought, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day he'd deal that little bastard such a slice of Crunch he wouldn't know what hit him. He shook his fist in impotent furry and stalked off to pack up his things.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #naboo #naboo the enigma #saboo #naboo/saboo

[superdragonsweets]

Online Hookup Ends With Tickling & Edging in Bondage for a Hung Ginger

Seamus is all alone in his big house and has nobody to play with but himself, so he decides to invite a hot boy over for some fun - but ends up getting much more than he bargained for! Soon he is stripped, bound, and tied up at the mercy of a burly bearded hunk who wants nothing but to watch poor Seamus squirm and plead for release! With his feet bound and his legs spread apart, he has no choice but to endure edge after edge as his tormentor sucks, strokes and tickles him until he begs for mercy. Next Seamus' gorgeous hairy ass is spread and played with before the hitachi dildo is slid deep inside and fired up to full blast - but even the high speed vibrations can't drown out the sounds of Seamus begging and pleading to blow his load. After enduring even more tickling, nipple suckers and a thick vibrator pulsing in and out of his tight hole Seamus finally blows a massive load all over himself in an explosive release! CLICK HERE FOR FULL VIDEOS from freegayslaves.com http://ift.tt/2leNzRl via No shy boys

#freegayslaves.com

[kepesh-yakshi]

Writing Pre-Haven Bairley

A very rough (free) draft of Bairley before going to Haven.  It attempts to establish who he was before it all began.  There is so much to flesh out, but I was just excited to finally have time to write something, I had to share it as it is, right now. I’ll post the edited version on AO3.

----- "Rise and shine, mudface!"  The sweetvoiced woman threw a pillow over her ginger-haired brother's head, who lay face down and was sprawled across the small bed in the family's upstairs guest room.  "Don't make me play big sister again, or I'll drag you out of bed."  She cackled at the thought as she turned back toward the hallway.

The family farmhouse was large and rustic, but not at the cost of modern luxuries; for example, you could pump water through a small spigot directly into a basin in the kitchen, and that was often unheard of, even in the most extravagant buildings.  It even drained out into an irrigation ditch behind the house.  You still had to venture to a small chamber outside to relieve yourself, though.

"You can try..."  The man, somewhere in his early thirties, attempted to roll over onto his back, but instead rolled completely off the bed and onto the floor.  "Umph!!"  He threw the pillow into the hallway behind her, hitting their mother square in the chest as she walked into the room.  "Bairley!"  The portly woman, not in a fat way but strong,  threw the pillow back at him.  "I sent her up here to get you out of bed -- remember, you are all going to Haven, today."  She had her raven dark hair pulled tight in a thick braid that fell to the middle of her back, and a bright blue bandana covered the rest of it, pulling her bangs back out of her eyes.

Lily, also dark-haired and strong like her mother, was formally-attired in chantry scholar robes,the hood still dangling behind her. Her leather cap was thrown onto her head as if she needed a place to put it. Her copper eyes seemed to match the gold and red in the robes.

"I know, I know,"  he sighed.  "I'll be down in a minute."

He began to grab a pair of corded pants and his favorite flannel tunic, but she instead pointed at the huntsman's garb that hung from the coat rack.  "You may need the protection, Bear, so put that on.  And don't forget your bow.  If something happens, you'll need that, too."

I'm not taking my good one, Mother.  I'll just take one of the spares from the smithy."  Bear stood up and threw his shirt off, exposing a hairy chisled frame that went well with the tousled bunch of hair and pork chop, mustachioed face covering he bore.

"Um, Bear, when did you grow muscles?"  Lily laughed out loud at her reaction to his appearance.  She came back to the room to get his travel bag.  "Of course, I saw you last, when, six years ago?  You looked then like the taverns you slept in."

"I've changed a bit, Lily."  Bear finished tieing his pants and adjusting the green semi-armored jacket over his tunic, and threw a scarf around his neck just in case the weather turned cold. "As have you."

"We have things to speak of on the way to the Conclave, then."  

They both made their ways downstairs and outside, where their father, Bann Robert Trevelyan, and the majority of the immediate neighborhood was gathered at a large table -- at least twenty, maybe more -- and a huge smorgasbord of food was just being served to each person.  

"Blood sausage!"  Bairley sat his mother and sister, before sitting down between them.  "And link sausage, and lorne sausage, and oh my!"  He felt like a kid; after all, the last time he'd sat to such a feast was several years ago.  The time he spent training with the huntsmen at the Ostwick templar encampment left him missing home...well, some aspects of home. The politics from his father's work had grown old to Bairley, and he longed for the day that he wasn't tied to the smithy with his mother.  The time at the edge of Ostwick's holdings with the Templars was still not what he craved: the pompousness of some of the knights was almost as bad as the arrogance of some of his father's higher level associates.  

The trip to Haven was going to be yet another escape from home, even if only for a few days.  Plus, he was traveling with his beloved sister, who was older by three years.  He looked up to her.

----

The carriage took off a little after breakfast, and the two of them decided to nap for the first part of the trip. A couple of hours later, Lily woke with stomach pangs and fished in her grub sack for a chunk of waybread and some dried sausage.  Bairley woke soon after, and he too reached into his pack, but for an apple.

"So, Big Bear, what have I missed?"  She asked, smiling at her little brother.  Little only in years -- the pudgy twenty something was now built like a bronto, and just as rugged.  "You look fit and happy.  There's a glow about you."

"Yes, I suppose there is."  He smiled softly at his sister.  "Six years ago, you left for the Chantry in Val Chevin, and a group of templars came through town, looking to train locals for the Ostwick militia.  I jumped at the chance, as the camp was still here in Ostwick, but at the western edge of the holdings proper.  I was part quartermaster, part huntsman.  It was quite the experience."  

"Wow, that's great!"  She applauded him gleefully.  "Any juicy details you wish to share?"

"Wenches are great stress relief!"

Lilly let out a huge belly laugh, then straightened up. "Oh, you're a man, now?"  

"Well!"  Bairley laughed as well, as their sexploits were a common conversation, especially after he realized they did not share the same father in truth.  When Big Bear met the people he was named after (Beatrice and Brand Bairley), and he saw how strikingly similar he was to the patron of their little clan, he grew distant from the Bann, and confided this to Lily, who at the time was 13, and old enough to be sowing her own wild oats -- old enough to be learning and seeing what the adults were doing behind other adults' backs.  She ended up having to explain what happened.  "I guess I did."

"I'm glad you grew out of that fear, Big Bear.  It's a wonder you didn't snag one for good."

"Yeah, well..."  He looked at her with curiosity.  "So what about you?  You look all...scholarly...do you have any juicy gossip?"

"I have had my own occupations, yes."  She grinned, as did he, and they both erupted with laughter.  "I have missed you, Big Bear -- I had one instance where someone wouldn't leave me alone.  I had to throttle him.  I'd rather have had you do it for me, but I am a big girl, I can handle myself."

"Well, if you had to throttle the guy, he must have really been annoying."

"He was, oh he was."  

After several hours of non stop conversation about sex, cooking, food, Chantry rules, subverting chantry rules (the carriage driver joined in at this point), bards versus minstrels, and watching pickpockets in Val Chevin, they stopped at a small village a few hours north of Haven to feed and water the carriage horses, and they also grabbed a quick bite to eat.

The tavern was called The Monstrous Mongrel, and the crest outside depicted a druffalo with a mouthful of grain in its mouth.  Inside, the decor was mostly a mahogany red, laquered benches and stools and tables, and the floor was a well-worn black oak, just like the structure itself. It was at the forefront of the only communal area in the village, which sat on the shore of a beautiful blue lake that was otherwise surrounded by sweet-scented juniper trees. It smelled cold outside, but there was no snow on the ground, yet.

Bairley ordered a druffalo burger patty on a bed of red leaf lettuce with spiced mustard and a ginger ale, and Lily ordered a ham sandwich and a chammomile and herb hot tea.  The carriage driver ordered three links of boar sausage, two eidar cheese wedges, and sauteed mushrooms. Oh, and a ginger root beer.

They sat off again, continuing their conversation about pickpockets and other vandals, then  went from that to day to day life, to things they'd read, to favorite eateries and brewhouses where they were each staying (the driver was from Kirkwall, and loved the Hanged Man).  The time it took to get to Haven -- 10 hours in a carriage -- seemed like just two or thee.

Upon arrival, the three received a quiet welcome, and the siblings were shown their quarters: a small one room cottage in the corner of a path within the walls of the village, only one bed, big enough for both of them.  They didn't mind at all.  They were not there for luxurious reasons, they were there to represent Ostwick at a Conclave that was broght together by Divine Justinia V in an attempt to bring a resolution between the warring mages and templars. They didn't actually have a say; rather, they were merely representing their holdings.

The carriage driver bade them farewell, and Bairley and Lily both invited him to the tavern for a quick drink and dinner before he left, also getting him a bed in one of the shared cottages so he could at least get some rest. They learned he was not doing well financially, and sent him off with 200 royals on the condition that he keep in touch.  With that, they finally got his name, Cabot Furlin, and the dwarf recently came to the surface after being caught pickpocketing, himself. His home was yet to be declared.  Bairley talked him into staying awhile, and maybe he could help their new friend pick himself up a bit.  One thing was certain, though:  Cabot was not letting his situation bring him down.

As the small welcoming party saw them and their belongings into the cottage, Lily looked at Bairley with grim concern.  "Bear?"  She looked as if she was literally turning green.  She ran out the door and lost her lunch outside. "Oh no..."

Bairley grabbed one of the empty tankards on the table and filled it with water from a keg in the room (the one marked "WATER," not the one next to it that was marked "FLISSA'S ALE ~ BATCH 163")  and rushed out to her side, handing it to her.  "Here," he said, "swish."  She started to take it, but turned away and lost more.  "Oh, Maker, what was bad that I ate?"  She pleaded for reprieve, and her stomach seemed to grant her request.  She swished and spat, swished and spat, and finally took a few sips before chugging the rest and asking for more.  Bairley refilled the tankard and met her halfway into the house.  He gave it to her and closed the door behind them.  

"Are you alright, Lily?"  

"I feel horrible."  She was sweating, and in the freezing cold temperatures, she shouldn't have been.

He pressed his hand against her reddened cheeks. "You're very hot -- let me get a healer."

"No, I just need to rest."

"Not this time, Lily.  You rest, I'm going up to the chantry for a healer."  He jogged up the hill and through the courtyard to the chantry, where he met with two elder sisters and explained what was going on.  They sent for a healer, Velarie, who followed him to the cottage and assessed Lily's symptoms.  "It's not food poisoning...but something in the food has made you sick.  Are you allergic to anything?"

"Um...only stripweed -- it makes me very ill like this.  But the field we saw was a mile or more away..."  Lily's voice was reduced to a raspy whisper.

"The tea, Lily -- remember?" "But it was chamomile and herb --" "Those fields were not too far from where we stopped.  I bet stripweed was in the tea." Lily wanted to cry, but she was too sick to do it.  She let out a long sad sigh and closed her eyes.  "I am sorry, Bear." "Don't be, it was an accident, maybe the Maker has other plans for you.  Maybe I was meant to go alone."

#bairley trevelyan #freewriting #first drafts always suck #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #fan fiction