#wanders over to the nearest workbench

[rohirric-hunter]

I distinctly recall not being permitted to initiate conversation with NPCs in bear form last time I played as my Beorning.

They’re just letting you do anything these days.

#lotro #pov: youre a shopkeep in a random town and an enormous bear rolls up #manages to communicate through a complicated game of charades that they want to buy some cotton thread and linen fabric #wanders over to the nearest workbench #starts SEWING #i dont actually know if you can craft as a bear i didnt try #be funny though

[a-lil-perspective]

Nepenthe

Your chest fills with a soft gasp. You uncurl your sleep-infused joints, shifting on your back within the bed. Full, tranquil breaths usher you along. You flicker your gaze over to the chrono. Your lashes bat away a lingering bleariness as you acclimate to your obsidian-colored surroundings. You become acutely aware of a calloused hand nestled in your hairline, a thumb now smoothing away the furrow manifested between your brows.

In the pitch black, you feel his eyes cast heavily over you.

“Can’t sleep?” Your voice is still weak with slumber. You reach out a drowsy hand, intuitively finding his jawline and cradling it. There’s a pause, and then you feel his features rearrange with a smirk underneath your fingertips.

“Distracted by something beautiful is more like it.”

“At this hour?” You hum. “Must be a real work of art.”

“Mhm,” his hand slides down from your hair, tapping your nose on the way before ghosting over your now slightly part lips. “You certainly are.”

Something like a giggle escapes you, and you drape the back of your free hand across your face to hide the silly blush he can’t even see in the shadows inking the midnight room. His warm breaths grow closer, peppering across your skin. You gather yourself, hollowing your cheeks. “Well don’t stay awake on my account. You should rest.”

“Trust me...” his knuckles stroke along your cheekbone with a tenderness that nearly makes your heart give out. “It’s a good reason to be awake.”

“But not the only reason.” You scale his words footnoted by affection, bypassing directly to the underlying meaning while he proceeds to mouth your neck in lieu of an explanation.

“You had a nightmare,” you whisper after a moment, stifling a shiver and gliding your fingers through his hair unbound from its usual crimson accessory.

He shakes his head, forcing a reassuring smile. “They don’t visit me when I’m with you.”

“Lies,” you accuse gently, eyes softening as you unravel his plight. Your hand wanders from his jaw to the nape of his neck, in which you collect your evidence in the form of a cold and clingy sheen of sweat that’s clearly been settled for some time. You listen to his deep, burdened inhale that manifests from your discovery. If you squint hard enough you can make out his broad chest swelling with the intake. You mentally count the seconds his breath is held in stasis, and the heady silence that flanks. Four. And then his exhale billows heavily and he’s pressing his forehead to yours in defeat.

Your heart aches for him. You part the dark curtain of hair spilling over the both of you and imprint a sweet kiss to the corner of his lip. “It’s alright, Hunter; I’m here.”

He makes a pained sound against you.

“Was it the boys?”

His silence speaks for itself, waxing the anguish.

“Wake me next time.” It’s a useless plea, you know. You can never remove a soldier from the battlefield, nor stop the tape of death that rolls infinitely behind his closed lids.

From his glued position, he manages a fervent shake of his head. “Seeing you sleep peacefully... it’s soothing to me.”

You frown, fingers threading through his saturated scalp. You peel away from his face and crunch upward into a sitting position.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmur, loving lips tacking against his earlobe as you gently detangle. Hunter’s grip tightens in protest.

“I promise; right back,” you plant a chaste kiss to his cheek and roll out of his hold and off the bed, dashing to the refresher. The faucet shoots on, and you’re back seconds later with a wrung cloth monitored thoughtfully; not too hot or cold. You’ve long learned the extent of Hunter’s restlessness that flourishes in the wake of direct heat, and similarly, an unanticipated chill proves catastrophic to his sensitized nerves and he shoots into overload in no time flat. You, ever the attentive companion, fortunately discovered the most ideal temperatures to coat items before application.

You gingerly drape the rag over the back of his neck, and his shoulders slope at the contact. He nods his thanks and you take up your spot beside him on the edge of the bed.

His head remains cast downward, eyes presumably skimming the dark floor where he no doubt is attempting to shrug off all his troubles onto. You rub between his shoulder blades.

“Do you want to call them?” You ask.

He takes a shaky breath. “I think... that might help. Yes.”

You twist your body around, flopping ridiculously across the bed to reach the nightstand you could’ve just gotten up and walked around to. You fumble briefly for the comm seated there before straightening back up and activating a sequence. The light on the device blinks silently in working to establish a connection. A tremor burgeons from the mattress, a byproduct of Hunter’s bouncing knee. You still his disquiet with a reassuring squeeze. A voice finally crackles to life on the other end.

“Hello?” The greeting is interrupted by a seismic yawn.

“Hey Wrecker,” you greet gently. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Oh, hiya!” Sleep quickly disbands from the large man upon recognition of your voice as he inflates with something more peppy. “What’s up?”

“Oh you know, checking in,” you pause, glancing over at Hunter. “Sarge and I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hey vod!” Wrecker addresses his brother then. “Everything good?”

“Everything’s fine, Wrecker,” Hunter does his best to withhold the weariness lacing his words. “Just wanted to hear your voice. You can go back to sleep now, bud.”

Wrecker hums contemplatively. “Y’sure that’s all? Ain’t sounded like ya slept a wink.”

“I‘ll get there, don’t worry about me.”

“Need a good Wrecker cuddle?”

An unfiltered chuckle sounds through Hunter, and you relish the closest thing to at ease he’s sounded all night. “Maybe later, Wreck. But I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Ohhhh,” Wrecker drawls cheekily, his wicked grin palpable as he recalls that Sarge is already occupied with a warm body. “Well ‘f ya change your mind lemme know! Nighty night you two.”

“Goodnight, Wrecker.” You can’t help your own splitting grin.

Hunter snorts softly as the comm ends. “Feels like I’ve been caught in something scandalous.”

“Yeah, but he’s loyal,” you snicker, contacting the next member.

“Present.” It comes as no surprise that the engineer’s voice rings through with an unnerving level of chipper. Absolutely preposterous, this man. “Where am I needed?”

“In bed,” Hunter grumbles. “Get to sleep, Tech.”

“And yet you are the one who called me,” Tech glides right over the explicit command, the sound of his trinketing flooding the background. “Anyway, I look forward to showing you my newest creation—”

“Goodnight, Tech,” you sever his impending presentation with a snort. “Thanks for picking up. Puts Hunter’s mind at ease. He’s restless tonight.”

“Ah, yes. We will need to work on his subpar development regarding healthy sleep patterns.”

Hunter’s face twists with a frown that doesn’t hold that much weight. “If that ain’t the pot callin’ the kettle black.”

“Indeed. I just thought you might enjoy the humor in that.”

Hunter flashes a smirk he figures his younger brother is probably matching. “You know yours is my favorite, vod’ika.”

“That is good to hear.” A pause. “Goodnight, Hunter. Should you still find yourself restless in the coming hours, I’m happy to assist with my ‘useless trivia’ that inevitably puts you to sleep.”

“By that point you should find yourself asleep,” the ori’vod points out.

“Very well,” Tech relents. “I shall, for you.”

Hunter just shakes his head, unconvinced he won’t discover a sleepy genius slumped over the nearest workbench here within the next few hours.

Another round of brotherly charges are exchanged and then you’re left with one last call to make.

The last member acknowledges in a far less amiable manner.

“Crosshair.” You innately grow solemn with it. “Got a second?”

“Don’t really have a choice now,” he responds curtly, a lingering husk of sleep in his voice.

“Sorry Cross,” Hunter interjects. “My doing. Just wanted to check in on you boys.”

“At two in the morning.”

Hunter manages a wry smile. “Can’t say hi to my vode whenever?”

There’s silence on Crosshair’s end for a moment.

“What’s going on.” He’s returned bearing more sage.

You feel Hunter straighten beside you. “Nothin’, vod. Don’t worry about it.”

“That doesn’t work on me, Hunter. Try again.”

“I’m fine,” Hunter said rushingly. “Promise. Just gets a little stuffy in my head sometimes. But you boys always make it better, y’know?”

Crosshair quiets. “Get some rest. I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thanks vod. Appreciate it.”

You imagine Crosshair’s eyes searing into you through the comm as his attention shifts. “Keep me updated.”

“I will,” you assure. The connection ends. You eye Hunter, grazing your fingernails along the side of his head, tucking inky strands behind his ear. “Did that help at all?”

Hunter huffs a tired laugh. “Think it just made it worse. Now none of ‘em will sleep because of me.”

“They’ll be just fine,” you begin guiding him back under the covers. “Now to make sure you are.” He resists you for the briefest of moments.

“I am fine, honey.”

“You will be,” you agree, lying back. Hunter soon follows and sprawls out over top of you, wriggling until he’s positioned ideally with his head on your chest yet within proximity of your neck to plaster kisses with ease when the mood strikes.

Hunter makes a little choked sound, and you realize he’s clearing his throat. “Thank you... for doing that for me.”

You flatten his head to your chest with something fiercely protective. “I would do anything for you.”

“Which, by and large, is entirely unnecessary.”

He earns himself a long-suffering sigh at that.

“It is necessary. Because you are my everything.”

“I—”

“Shh,” you rebuke him. “Dammit, Hunter—just let someone take care of you.” You chew your lip. “Let me.”

He inhales deeply through his nose. It is entirely plausible for Sergeant Hunter to be bested in a battle-of-the-wills on the rarest of occasions; this being one of them. You spread your hands across his back and begin a deliberating massage. He groans lightly, his neglected aches and pains woven into the limelight by your touch. You quickly get caught up in your administration. When your breath suddenly hitches, Hunter lifts his head in curiosity.

“I’m just… you...” Words feel thick on your tongue. “You are a remarkable man, you know that?”

The corded muscles of his back tense. Anyone else would bask in such awestruck reverence but not Hunter, who makes haste to override his obvious discomfort with a thoughtful hum.

“I know that’s what you believe,” he answers neutrally.

“Because it’s true.” You reposition the wicking cloth at his neck. “Your brothers and I... we would all be lost without you.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

A pinch to his bicep. “Maybe you’re too hard on yourself.” Too damn stubborn, you nearly add.

His demeanor is colored with remiss. “All in a Sergeant’s work.”

One-hundred percent success rates and elite statuses aside: Hunter carries his tediously bashful disposition in total part.

“You don’t have to be Sergeant around me, you know,” you cup his face, tilting him up to meet yours. “You can just be Hunter.”

He can just be himself.

He shrugs with that pained, dutiful smile. The smile that follows him into adversity, the wry humor that is as much his shield as any. “Guess I don’t know how to separate the two.”

Your eyes well all of a sudden as you gaze upon this beautiful and troubled man with so much love in your heart it sends a keeling pang through you. Of course he doesn’t know how. He’s never known how to truly feel distinguished outside the focal point of soldiering. He’s always been so different, but never an individual. Never his own man. Preordained for responsibilities since before his decant, conducive in parental devices and sibling undertakings and leadership skills interchangeably. Always carrying others but who carries him?

You choke on a verklempt breath.

“I can help you.” You sound so small and desperate, sobbing quietly underneath him as your heart breaks alongside his. “Please let me help you…”

In the dark he captures your salty, stray tear with his lips—he always knows—before moving down and swallowing your mouth. Tenderness blooms from his textured lips, soft and sultry and seeping into every capillary. A soft love note pings from you against him when he’s got you like this, cast in a smelter of dire adoration and the overwhelming need to nurture. His touch, his kiss, is a burning ember that brands you even when he pulls away.

“You already do,” he murmurs sweetly against your lips.

#omg this ruined me #I’m so freaking emotional over him #this is entirely self indulgent #star wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #sergeant hunter x reader #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter #hunter #clone trooper wrecker #wrecker #clone trooper tech #tech #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair #my writing #it’s a lil thing

[fire-the-headcanons]

Follow the Beacon Qrow—An Extension of Ourselves

[Link to Masterpost]

[Sh*t, meet Fan. Fan, this is Sh*t.]

[tw for mortal terror and panic attack]

The cafeteria was a little creepy with so few people in it—maybe the echo was more pronounced or something. Qrow ate quickly, eager to leave and get back to work, and a few minutes later he walked back out of the warm dining hall into the freezing courtyard.

The crowd around the tower had grown in the past few minutes, and Ozpin had joined it. Lionheart, Mesánychta, and Carmine stood with three other Huntsmen he didn't recognize, and one he sort of did. Qrow's steps faltered as he squinted at the man, trying to place him. Was he in one of Summer's comics? The scale mail and battleaxe were familiar somehow... He seemed to sense he was being watched, his gaze wandering over the courtyard until he met Qrow's eye.

Recognition struck like lightning, searing through every nerve but lingering in his shoulder.

You're a child.

Last time he saw that face, it was filled with horror and fear. The Mistrali Huntsman, the axe-wielder that had been hunting Bones.

The one that got away.

The one he nearly killed.

Frowning, the man tilted his head. Qrow turned and pelted blindly down the nearest alley. His sword— both of his swords—weren't even waiting to be summoned in his weapons locker, they were sitting on the workbench in the forge.

A few people called out after him as he tore past and he ignored them, sprinting for the student entrance. Nobody would be using it during the break—the dockside door was more convenient. Right now he just needed to disappear.

Sure enough, the classroom was empty. He barely slowed to weave through the workbenches to the back of the room where the Mk. I lay next to Beak's partially-assembled frame. He just had to grab the sword, get to Raven, gather their things and—

Pain seared down his arm, locking his hand on the sword's hilt. He had to run or they would die. Had to—to—

He couldn't move. The only place Raven could take them was home and he couldn't move.

They could run. Make in on their own. Vale would be too small to hide in but if they could just get to Mantle or Vacuo—

—but they had almost no money left, Vanta only gave them enough for a one-way trip. And if Huntsmen were looking for them, they'd need a smuggler's help and that would cost even more.

Vacuo, then. They'd trekked halfway across Anima to get to Beacon. If they had to make it through the Sanus mountains then that's what they'd do.

Except it was the dead of winter, now, and completely unfamiliar territory. They had no supplies and no time to prepare—they'd freeze or starve before the Grimm even had a chance to wear them down. Raven would give up and take them home to the tribe, already sick and exhausted.

But she would never even run in the first place, would she? Raven missed them. She wanted to go back. As soon as he told her he'd been recognized there'd be no persuading her into anything else. Even if he tried to run on his own, she would just grab him—

Panic clawed at his lungs. Each useless, gasping breath shot pain through his chest and down his arm. He was going to die. There was no way out, nowhere else to go. Nothing had changed. Bones was dead and his Semblance was still out of control. If he went back they'd only kill him again—and Raven, too, for helping him—

He wanted to scream, needed to, but there was no air.

He couldn't.

He couldn't go back.

... Nothing the Huntsmen could do to him would be worse. They wouldn't even hurt him if he lowered his aura when they asked him to—then one shot and it would be over. They'd probably bury him. The tribe would never be so kind. Bones had led them for decades, protected them, and they left him in the street as soon as he was gone.

Qrow's hand trembled, rattling the sword against the wood as he lowered it back onto the workbench. Raven… she'd escape, easily, and they'd welcome her back if she came alone. The tribe only hated her because she stuck up for him. It was his fault that they'd ever left home in the first place.

The classroom door creaked open, the racket from the forge outside jumping in volume and sending a painful shiver through Qrow's chest.

"Sorry the meeting ran long," Carmine said, cheerfully, tossing her coat onto the shortest hook. "It's been a hell of a week, I can tell you—" she froze as she met his eye, the smile sliding uncertainly from her face. "...Qrow...? Are… are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He could barely get the words out with so little air, and his voice squeaked and cracked. Where was the Mistrali Huntsman?

"You…" her expression grew pained. "Slow down, okay? Slow breaths. You look sick."

Qrow fought to control his breathing. She'd been standing next to him in the courtyard. If… if she really didn't know… then he must not have recognized him. He could have just been wondering what a student was doing at the school on vacation, or staring at the half-assed dye job—hell, Qrow had stared at him first, that was reason enough—

His hair.

He was clean-shaven, wearing Huntsman armor, half a world away from that burned-out village and Summer had dyed his hair. The man hadn't recognized him.

Summer had saved his life, maybe Raven's too, and she could never even know.

"Qrow, do you know why Huntsmen and Huntresses forge their own weapons?" Carmine asked, climbing onto the stool next to him and making no move to pick up any of the tools on the bench. He shook his head, and she continued. "I forget sometimes that you never went to combat school… When you make something, when you give it time and energy, you put a little tiny bit of your aura in it too. I could build this much more quickly alone—easily—but then it wouldn't have any of you in it."

Relax. Just relax. If they really didn't know, the panic could give him away. Play along. "What—what does that do?"

"You can wield your aura more easily through something that already contains a piece of you, whether you're channeling a Semblance or just your will to protect and survive. Didn't you notice a difference between the gunblade and the Mk. I?"

"It was a little easier to use. I-I thought it was just the modifications we made." Gods, he was welcome for the distraction.

"Oh, that certainly didn't hurt!" Carmine smiled. "But experience has told us that Huntsmen and Huntresses master their weapons more quickly, and more strongly project their auras through them when given a hand in their creation."

"So…Raven doesn't have that."

"Eventually, she will, but it takes years of care and use for your aura to build up in the same way on an ordinary object. The modification she made to the sheath doesn't hurt."

It made sense, but... "How do we know all of this?"

"Well, I know from experience," Carmine chuckled, sliding down off her stool and walking over to her personal workbench before seizing a twisted pair of pliers. "My Semblance is a little unusual. If an object has enough aura inside it—if it's handmade, or well-loved—I can guide it back to its proper shape."

Her hands glowed orange, and the pliers slowly righted themselves, straightening as the bolt tightened and rust disappeared. When her aura faded they clearly weren't new, but scratched and dinged in a comfortably broken-in way. "Saves the school a fortune on repairs! But it wouldn't work on a new one. The things have to know what they're supposed to be."

She pressed the tool into his hands, and he turned it over a few times. There was no sign it had ever been damaged. "That's amazing."

"I see a lot of you in this design," the Professor hummed, looking down at the frame. "You may have started out with just a sword, but with hard work and a stubborn streak that can rival even your team leader's, look what it's turning into." She patted his arm almost affectionately. "Do you want to keep working or do you need some time to rest?"

"I want to keep going."

Carmine grinned from ear to ear. "Like I said. Stubborn!"

[I have been waiting for this chapter for over a year.]

Next Chapter: Summer—Frantic Calls

#rwby #strq #team strq #qrow branwen #summer rose #carmine eitri #raven branwen #follow the beacon

[bigfan-fanfic]

Endearments

Written for me by the amazingly talented @jacklyn-flynn for a giveaway! I love how she’s written Cullen and Teddy’s relationship! Beautiful! So grateful to her for this, everyone check her work out!

Walking through the Winter Palace with his husband-Maker, his husband-was a surreal, almost ethereal, experience. Teddy could feel Cullen’s thumb brushing back and forth over his own as they wandered aimlessly through the nearly empty halls. He chanced a peek over at him but found that Cullen’s amber eyes were already on him. Feeling a happy blush on his cheeks, Teddy squeezed his hand. 

“What?” Teddy could barely contain his grin. 

“Nothing,” Cullen said softly. “Everything.” He gave Teddy that lopsided smile that drew attention to his scar. He felt his heart leap at Cullen’s words. Perhaps, more specifically, the emotion behind them. 

“Do you know what I’d really like to do?” Teddy halted them and turned to face Cullen. “I mean, really like to do?” 

Cullen drew his hand up, placing a light kiss on the back of Teddy’s slim fingers. Fingers capable of working all kinds of magic. “I know several things you really like to do. Which did you have in mind, love?”

“I’m hungry for-” Teddy stopped with a smile and leaned in close, his lips brushing against Cullen’s ear. “Food.” 

Cullen leaned back sharply, surprise written on his features. “Food?” 

Teddy used his distraction to kiss him, his tongue lingering to tease Cullen’s scar. “Yes, food. I didn’t eat before the wedding because I thought I might throw up. Now I’m absolutely famished.” 

“Well, I’d imagine there are one or two kitchens around here somewhere.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. “I thought you had something else in mind.” 

“I have several things on my mind, food is just the first of many,” Teddy assured him. “Food is also what we will require to get through all of the other things on my mind.” 

Cullen almost snorted with laughter. “Fuel for the fire.” 

“So to speak.” Teddy agreed, tugging at Cullen's hand. They fell into step together and continued down the hall, wandering aimlessly. Noticing an open door, he peeked in before they walked by. A plump, older woman was humming to herself, changing sheets on a bed that was surely big enough to sleep half a dozen people. 

“Excuse me, might we trouble you for a moment?” Teddy spoke softly not wanting to startle her. 

She looked up and smiled politely. “How can I help you, monsieurs?” 

“Could you point us to the nearest kitchen?” he asked, smiling warmly. 

“There are several events going on at the moment, monsieur. Of which are you a part of?” She set down the linen and stepped closer. Her hair was mostly silver, but they could still see strands of the vibrant red it used to be. 

“We’re with the Inq-” Cullen started. 

“We’re off duty today.” Teddy cut in, elbowing his husband in the ribs. “It’s our wedding day. It was rather unplanned, so I don’t think we’re an official event.” 

The woman’s smile morphed from polite to genuine. “Congratulations, dears! And what a handsome couple you are!” She walked to them, waving her hands toward the door as she did. “Come with me and we’ll get you set up,” she assured them. 

“Madame?” Cullen offered his elbow as she approached. Her cheeks flushed with delight and she slipped her arm through his. Teddy did the same and they headed down the hall, one on either side of her. 

“Tell me, how did such a steadfast Fereldan village boy come to seduce a Free Marcher noble?” She asked jovially. 

“I-how do you know?” Cullen couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. 

“Monsieurs, I was not always an old woman who changed sheets and washed windows,” she chuckled. She looked up at Teddy. “Your attire quite gives you away-” She paused. 

“Teddy.” He supplied with an amused smile. 

“Mm, Trevelyan. Of Ostwick?” She phrased it as a guess, but her tone was confident. 

“How could you possibly-” Cullen wondered, looking down at the woman. Teddy could only look over her head at his husband and smile. 

“Well, the attire is undeniably Free Marches. The kilt sports the colors of the Trevelyan family. The quality of the sporran is undeniably high end, which suggests nobility, not just any old family member. The jacket is also high quality with expensive findings. Silverite findings from Ostwick are of a particularly exquisite quality.” She laid all of her reasonings out one by one. 

“Brilliant. Do Cullen next,” Teddy requested with a grin. 

Cullen closed his eyes briefly and willed the flaming blush on his cheeks to dissipate. 

“Cullen, a good strong Ferelden name. Southern, certainly. Not much of an accent left though so only during his childhood. Most of the densely populated areas are in the north so village dweller is much more likely.” He felt her arm squeeze his. “Strong, and fit,” she mused. “A warrior. Good one too if that’s the worst of your scars.” 

“It is,” Teddy confirmed with an unabashed smile. This was all far too much fun. 

Cullen groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Maker’s breath, Ted.” 

“Your livery is certainly standard, but the quality isn’t that of a standard soldier's. A man with a higher rank. Too nice for someone under Captain. Of course, with all of the people about the Palace right now a captain would be here to work only but a Commander might have some free time?” She guessed. 

“Two for two!” Teddy laughed. “We know a certain Orlesian who would be interested in your talents if you ever want a different job.” 

“Oh dear, no. I’ve had quite enough adventure for one life.” She led them with gentle movements down hallways that were growing steadily smaller and less decorated. Eventually, she slipped her arms from theirs to unlock a heavy wooden door. “Come along,” she urged. 

The short stairway led down into a stone kitchen that was cool and smelled of fresh baked bread from an oven long cooled. “The bakers work here at night so you shouldn’t be bothered this time of day. There’s food in the pantry and you’re welcome to any of it.” 

She turned to them again and smiled. They were both quite a bit taller than she was so she had to tilt her head back. “Do you want to know what else I can see in the two of you?” 

“Please, tell us.” Teddy urged, pulling out a stool at the workbench for Cullen. The Commander sat and Teddy laid his hands on his broad shoulders, gripping and releasing tightly to ease the tension there. Even on their wedding day the man was filled with it. It would take years to teach him how to relax. 

“I see forever.” Her smile widened and her green eyes sparkled. “There is so much love in both of you and so much need for it. You both take and give in equal measures and do so gladly. Nothing can repair the sadness and pain that you have both seen, but love only looks toward the future.” 

Laying her hand over one of Teddy’s she rested the other on Cullen’s cheek. “You didn’t know then, during all of the pain, that this is what you were fighting for. But it was and you’re here. Don’t ever stop fighting for each other. All evil is fought for one reason, so that others may live. So that they may find what you have found. And now that you have it, you know how dear it is.” She rummaged through her skirts, the tell-tale jingling preceding the giant keyring she produced. 

“But today is your wedding day.” She unhooked an ornate bronze key and handed it to Cullen. “Two handsome young men in love. This key is for the suite overlooking the southwest gardens. That wing is being renovated at the moment however no one is working with all of the hubbub going on. Can’t have too many of the help bumping elbows with the guests.”

“I'm sure your work will require you to return to the real world soon enough. I can’t give you a longer honeymoon, but I can give you a nicer one. One where no one knows where you are.” She said with a suggestive wink. 

Cullen set the key on the bench and dug into his pocket. He produced a few sovereigns and held them out to her. “Thank you. We can’t tell you how much this means to us.” 

She pushed his hand back and shook her head. “You’ve paid me enough. You let me walk with you and bask in your happiness. And feel up your beautifully sculpted muscles. Lucky man, you are,” she said to Teddy who found himself blushing this time. 

Heading to the door, she smiled back at them once more. “I wish you all of the happiness this world has to offer Teddy and Cullen. Don’t let it, or each other, go.” 

They both watched the door with an odd sort over wonderment after she’d left. “You saw her too, right?” Teddy asked, breaking the silence. 

Cullen laughed, looking over his shoulder at him. “What are you suggesting?” 

“That I think a spirit of love is masquerading as a servant in the Winter Palace.” He looked down at his husband who was giving him an odd look. “She gave us a suite-no-a whole wing in a royal palace.” Teddy pointed out. “Things never go this right for us.” 

Turning on the stool, Cullen pulled Teddy to stand between his legs. His hands moved to the small of his back, then lower over the soft fabric of his kilt. “Then perhaps we should enjoy it before the other shoe drops,” he suggested. 

“Food first, remember?” Teddy asked with a laugh. 

“You could drive a man mad, you know that?” A resigned Cullen got up from the stool and headed to the pantry door. It was large inside and quite cool. Wheels of cheese, dried herbs and preserved food filled the shelves. Teddy followed him in, looking around for something that looked appealing. 

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” He asked, browsing slowly. He heard Cullen’s questioning hum. “That time in Skyhold when you were sick with withdrawal all day. In the middle of the night when you were feeling better you just had to eat then and there.” He turned at Cullen’s chuff of laughter. He knew where this was going. 

“In fact, you were feeling so much better, you bent me over that giant ale barrel and showed me that all of your appetites had returned.” Intentionally, he lowered his voice, letting the rumble of his accent give it richness. 

Cullen closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Ted. Love. You have to stop.” 

“Do I though?” Teddy asked with a laugh, opening a jar of peaches. He reached in and pulled out a slice, taking a bite. The juice dripped down his chin and Cullen reached out to brush it off with his thumb before bringing it to his own lips. 

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Or I won’t be letting you eat.” 

“Alright, I suppose I could dial it down just a little bit. For the sake of your sanity.” Teddy held out a peach and Cullen leaned forward to eat it. They found a tin of some kind of citrusy cake as well as a small wedge of cheese and a crusty loaf of bread with a soft, airy center.

They headed in the direction of the southwestern wing, their gait once again slow and lazy. “I feel a little guilty that we didn’t ask for her name.” Cullen broke off another piece of the cake. 

“I’m telling you.” Teddy shook his head. “She’s a spirit.” 

Cullen chuckled, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his chewing. “I think this is it.” He grabbed the massive and ornate doors and tugged. They didn’t move. He retrieved the key they had been given and it granted them access. 

The hallway was a disaster. Cloth was hung over the doors with scaffolding lining the walls. Tools were strewn about, clear that the workers were nowhere close to finished. 

“You don’t think it’s that big one at the end, do you?” Cullen glanced at the other doors as they passed, all covered. 

“That is the end of the wing and it would overlook the gardens.” Teddy pointed out, stuffing the cheese and bread into the tin and closing it for later. The key worked just as well on the locks of the uncovered doors and they each swung one open. 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed, his jaw falling open. “This is incredible!” 

Teddy looked around in awe. “I’ll say…” He agreed, his voice trailing off. 

The room was adorned in rich crimson and ivory, gold accents glittering in the fading evening light. The vaulted ceilings were intricately painted with battle scenes from ages past. The massive, four-poster bed was draped in thick curtains of rich, red velvet. The sheets looked incredibly soft, turned over a fluffy duvet. 

A door to the left was open, showing the washroom with a massive tub inset into the floor. The door to the right was also cracked open, showing a hint of fully stocked wall to ceiling bookshelves and comfortable leather chairs. Balcony doors framed either side of the bed. The wind fluttered the gossamer curtains around the rich stained glass doors. The smell of the gardens wafted up from below. A warm cherry wood floor covered the whole room, broken occasionally by strategically placed rugs of ivory. The hearth would easily hold five men inside and it was already prepared for a fire. 

Teddy set their snacks on a small table against the wall while Cullen closed the doors behind them. “I’ve been to a lot of fancy places” -he assured his husband- “but this is fancy.” 

Cullen turned to face him, smiling that smile that drove Teddy crazy. The scar, the way his eyes lit up so easily. “Do you want to explore a little?” 

“Absolutely not.” Teddy was emphatic, rushing Cullen to kiss him fiercely. One of Cullen’s hands snaked to the back of his neck, the other around his torso to tug Teddy closer. Teddy teased his lower lip with his teeth, tugging gently and eliciting a groan from his husband. He loved Cullen’s little noises of pleasure. 

Cullen pulled away from his lips to rest his forehead against Teddy’s. “Please tell me you aren’t hungry for food anymore?” he pleaded. 

Nuzzling Cullen’s nose with his own, Teddy smiled. “I’m definitely hungry for you now.” He started to remove the belt and rich gold sash from Cullen’s waist. Once removed, they both worked the buttons of his jacket so that Cullen could shrug it off, letting it fall to the floor. Teddy’s jacket and vest got the same treatment. Each article of clothing seemed to bring out more need in both of them. 

Reaching over his head, Cullen drew his undershirt over his head. Teddy reached for the fastening of his kilt but Cullen’s hand covered his quickly to stop him. “Not yet. I’ve been thinking about what’s under the kilt all day.”

Teddy closed his eyes and let out a huff of breath. “By all means,” he invited. “Please, slake your curiosity.” He opened his eyes again when he felt his sporran removed from his waist. Cullen met his eyes and kept his gaze as he knelt before the love of his life. Teddy was already half-hard with anticipation, but the appreciative hum his husband gave when he lifted his kilt made him twitch and grow harder. 

“Maker, you are magnificent, Ted.” Cullen’s murmured praise was accompanied by his large hand and long fingers wrapping around Teddy’s cock. Running his fingers through Cullen’s hair, he gently urged him forward. Since he had planned on doing so anyway, Cullen didn’t resist the silent request to take him into his mouth. His free hand kept the kilt bunched at his stomach while the other stroked him with maddening slowness. 

Cullen’s mouth was exquisite and he knew how to use it to drive Teddy crazy. His tongue lapped at the bead of pre-cum that formed on the swollen head, smiling at the responding twitch. His amber eyes looked up at Ted as he took him into his mouth, tongue teasing the underside. 

He loved pleasuring Teddy. The already dulcet brogue that Cullen adored only grew more rich when they were together. Teddy hissed in pleasure at the contact of his husband’s gaze. His husband! He loved being able to use the term. 

Cullen’s fist pumped slowly in time with the motions of his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked, his tongue moving over the head in sloppy circles. In response to Teddy’s soft moan of pleasure, Cullen mirrored it, letting him feel the sensation. Feeling Ted’s hand tighten in his hair and tug, he released him with a pop of his cheek. “What’s wrong?” Cullen’s hand continued to pump slowly over his cock, clearly not too concerned that something was amiss. 

“Only that I’m being selfish. Your pants must be uncomfortably tight by now.” Teddy was already starting to breathe hard, swallowing as he watched Cullen lap at the head of his cock once more before releasing it and standing. 

The rest of their clothes were thrown off in a frenzied rush and Teddy practically threw Cullen onto the bed. The man laughed, moving back onto it as Teddy mounted the bed, watching Cullen with a predatory glare. “I can’t believe you’re mine. All mine.” The rumble of his voice made a shiver shoot up Cullen’s spine. Ted moved his attention to Cullen’s thick cock, resting heavy against his stomach. Must to his dismay, Cullen tsked when he reached for him. 

“I want you to feel the back of my throat when you taste me.” His voice was also low and sultry, the rumble coming from deep in his chest. Teddy shifted himself and laid on his side next to Cullen who turned to face him as well. He wasted no time in taking Ted’s cock into his mouth again, throat constricting around his length. 

Teddy gasped, his hand squeezing Cullen through the distraction of his enthusiasm. Cullen found a steady rhythm with his hand and mouth, allowing Teddy to concentrate on returning that pleasure. His hand moved to Cullen’s tight sac, rolling them in his hand as he ran his tongue from base to tip and back again. 

He felt Cullen’s hum of pleasure in his core and Teddy couldn’t help the slow pumping of his hips, seeking more of his lover’s hot mouth. He felt Cullen’s hand grip his backside, squeezing and urging him deeper until Ted could feel his nose against his sac, throat constricting around him. 

Feeling that he wasn’t giving as much as he was getting, he redoubled his efforts. He released Cullen’s balls and slicked his finger before eagerly returning his attention to Cullen’s throbbing cock. His finger teased at Cullen’s tight ring, making his hips jerk. 

Cullen couldn’t decide if he wanted to thrust into Teddy’s inviting mouth, or push back and impale himself on his finger. Teddy’s mouth left him to kiss and bite at the flesh of Cullen’s thigh as his finger teased deeper. “I can’t wait to be buried inside of you.” His tongue chased Cullen’s cock, flicking and teasing. 

Cullen’s agreement was apparent when he released Teddy’s length and moved out of his reach to sit up. He started to move onto his stomach but Teddy stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “No, I want to watch your face.” 

Rolling onto his back, he gave Teddy that bright smile he loved so much. He could see the intensity and love in the Commander’s eyes and knew at that moment he was the only thing in Cullen’s world that mattered. 

Teddy moved to straddle Cullen’s left leg, moving forward until he could wrap his hand around both of their cocks, stroking them together slowly. Cullen let out a low moan, brows furrowing for a moment. His hands moved to roam Ted’s body, feathering over the rough scar on his side before moving to his chest then his arms. He loved the feel of his muscles moving beneath Teddy's skin as he stroked them. 

It wasn’t long before Cullen found his eyes again. The mossy-green hazel reflected his own feelings. He had never doubted Ted’s love for him and the emotion in his husband’s eyes only reinforced that. Cullen would never, ever regret marrying this man. His soulmate, found in the most unlikely of places at the most unfortunate time. Or perhaps, most fortunate. They’d found each other when they were both in the most need of companionship and support. 

He’d never questioned how Ted was able to produce the warm, tingling oil that now coated their cocks mostly because he was half out of his mind with need at the time. Like he was right now. 

“Tell me what you want, my love.” Teddy’s strong hand around them, the feel of his hard cock against Cullen’s own aching one was so distracting, he almost couldn’t answer. He knew that eye contact was an extremely intimate thing for both of them so Cullen made sure to keep his gaze. 

“I want to feel you inside of me.” Cullen’s tone was intense, almost demanding and yet it was still a plea. “All of you. Maker, you feel so good when you fuck me.”

Teddy released them, gripping the base of his cock to slide the head around Cullen’s sac and then down to tease his tight hole. “Tell me why.” Teddy wrapped his arm around Cullen’s right leg and drew it up and over his shoulder. He pushed into Cullen slowly, withdrawing before the head of his cock was swallowed. Cullen’s cock twitched and he let out a low groan of disappointment. “I love when you tell me why.” 

Cullen swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing. “Ted, we don’t have enough time in the world for me to tell you all of the ways you make me feel good.” This elicited a laugh from his lover which made Cullen’s heart clench with joy. He could feel the thick head continuing to tease yet no matter how he shifted his hips, he didn’t get what he wanted. “Besides, I would much rather listen to you talk.” 

With a slow roll of his hips, Teddy started to sink into Cullen’s tight, inviting body. “I know you would.” Teddy’s voice took on a sensual tone. It had taken Cullen a long time to admit he loved Ted’s voice, especially when they were making love. Teddy was glad he’d told him. It created such raw, visceral reactions in Cullen. Though he’d only ever been with Cullen he got the feeling that it wasn’t always like that between lovers.  

“Do you know how perfect you are?” Ted asked, watching his cock sink slowly until he snapped his hips forward to bury the last few inches and make Cullen cry out. His back arched and Ted enjoyed watching the way his muscles shifted and his face screwed up. “You take me so well. So tight.” The pleasure was also apparent in his voice, strained with the need to move faster, harder. To make Cullen come so hard he’d never forget this night. 

Breathing hard, Cullen had to talk between his pants, unable to get out a full sentence. “So big...full...Ted I love...Maker, I love it. Don’t stop...” 

He was having an equally hard time coming up with words. He started to move with agonizing slowness but found that he couldn’t keep up that pace for too long. Cullen’s moving hips and tightening muscles were driving him faster and faster. He wrapped his hands around Cullen’s thigh, using it to pull his husband against him with each thrust. 

It was all happening too quickly. He wanted this to last. Slowing his thrusts, he released Cullen’s leg. Mistaking his intentions, Cullen’s head snapped up. “What’s wrong?” He panted, reaching up to rest his hand on Teddy’s chest over his rapidly beating heart. 

“Nothing,” Ted responded, blanketing Cullen’s body with his own to kiss him. He responded eagerly, sucking at Ted’s lower lip. He’d stopped the movement of his hips completely. Cullen’s long fingers slid through the messy chestnut curls and used them to tug Teddy away from his mouth gently. 

“You can’t lie to me, Ted.” Cullen chastised gently. “Talk to me.” 

“I want this to last. Our first time as a married couple. All I can think of is pounding you until you can’t think straight-” Cullen groaned at that “-but I want it to be perfect for you. You were my first and I want you to be my last.” 

“Oh, love. It is perfect. You’re perfect.” Cullen tightened around him, making Teddy bite his full lip and let out a small whimper. “We have all night. The rest of our lives. If I ever made you think that you weren’t enough, or not doing the right things, I’m sorry. It is always perfect with you.” Cullen assured him, his thumb brushing back and forth on his cheek, over the rough stubble. 

“Tied down, you in me, me in you...even just pleasuring ourselves for the other to watch without touching...all of it is making-love because it’s you and I love you.” Cullen chuckled, pressing his forehead to Teddy’s and closing his eyes. “If you want to go slow, we go slow. If you want to rut into me like an animal, then do that. If you want me to bend you over an ale keg, we can do that too. Whatever it is, it’s perfect. It’s our wedding night and I will never forget tonight or wish things had been different.”

When he opened his eyes, he found Teddy’s screwed tightly shut, moisture gathered in the corners. They both had insecurities that seemed to come and go. “Hey, look at me, love. I just want you, Ted. Any way I can get you. Maker’s breath, I love you.” Although the last was whispered, he couldn’t use it to hide the break in his voice. 

Teddy’s lips slammed to his and he swung his leg over Cullen’s trapped one. Cullen wrapped them both around Ted’s waist, returning the kiss with a feverish need. He started moving again, long steady thrusts that teased Cullen’s tight ring with his head before sinking to the hilt again. 

Taking Cullen’s hand, he laced their fingers together and brought them over his head, pinning him to the bed. Cullen’s other hand found its way back into his hair as he moaned into his lips. He could feel Cullen’s cock trapped between them, sliding against their stomachs with each movement of their hips. 

It was Cullen that broke the kiss first, panting and pressing his forehead against Ted’s. “I’m so close..” He groaned, rolling his hips to increase the friction around his cock. 

“Me too,” Ted whispered, kissing his way along Cullen’s jaw and down his neck. “Tell me what you need.” 

“Just don’t stop.” Cullen squeezed his hand tighter the closer he came to the edge. 

“I love you.” Ted said against his skin, his arm sliding around him to hold him even closer. 

Cullen whimpered, his legs squeezing. “Say it again.” His plea was accompanied by another long moan as Teddy changed his pace. He started to slowly withdraw, then snap his hips forward hard enough that the bed creaked in protest. 

“I love you, Cullen. I’m almost there. I’ll say it as many times as I need to. Come with me.” Teddy promised. The movements of Cullen’s body told him that he was so close. He may not know much about pleasuring other people, but he knew Cullen like the back of his hand. 

The hand in Ted’s hair tightened almost painfully, though Cullen seemed to know that limit. “Again!” Cullen cried, rutting against Teddy’s stomach as much as he could. 

Pressing his lips to Cullen’s ear, Teddy’s deep voice rumbled to his very core. “I love you.” 

Like a rope under too much tension, Cullen snapped. Teddy could feel his cock twitching between them as he came, wetting their stomach with his spend. The cry of pleasure that ripped from his lips was enough to send Teddy after him. His thrusts became erratic, only pulling out a few inches. The primal need to bury himself into his mate was deep-seated. He was powerless to resist Cullen’s call to join him. 

The pleasure thrummed through Teddy, deep and resonating. He could feel Cullen shaking beneath him, his grip still tight on Ted’s hand. It seemed like an eternity until either of them could think straight. Neither wanted to move for a long while. The aftershocks of their release sending little jolts of residual pleasure. 

“If you think that wasn’t perfect or that I’m going to forget that” -Cullen nuzzled his cheek so that Ted could feel his lips curl into a smile- “you are absolutely insane.” 

Lifting his head to look down at his golden haired husband, Teddy couldn’t help but smile back. “That memorable?” 

“More than. I’ve never felt anything like that.” Cullen breathed out in wonder. 

“Neither have I.” He released Cullen’s hand and his arms immediately wrapped around him, encasing Ted against his hard body. With a quick twist of his body, Teddy suddenly found himself beneath Cullen who was rolling his hips in little motions. The sensations around his softening cock made him hiss, drawing air between his teeth. Then, quite disappointingly, Cullen was gone. Already off the bed and moving to the washroom. 

Propping himself up on one elbow, Teddy called after him. “Are you just gonna leave?” 

“You’ll see,” Cullen called over his shoulder. Teddy laughed and fell back against the bed with a deep sigh. He didn’t even mind the seed smeared over his stomach. He got the idea that would be taken care of shortly. 

After a few minutes, just when Ted was going to ask what was happening, Cullen’s voice called him into the washroom. Sliding from the bed, he walked in to find Cullen shoulder deep in the tub, steam rising from the water. He crooked his finger with a sly grin. 

“Come here, love.” He beckoned. Swirls of fragrant oils skimmed the water's surface.

Ted stepped down into the water and, despite having enough room to sit wherever he wished, sat between Cullen’s legs, leaning back against him. Cullen’s strong arms wrapped around him, murmuring soft words of praise and love into his ear. Sliding a little lower, he laid his head against Cullen’s shoulder, turning his head to rest it under his chin. He rested his hands on Cullen’s arms as they held him tight and secure. 

In that moment, everything else melted away. He could feel Cullen’s slow, even breathing against his back. Sliding one hand down to Cullen’s, he fingered the band around his ring finger. The one he’d placed there just hours before. 

“I’m going to fall asleep if we stay in here too long. You're far too comfortable.” Teddy closed his eyes and let himself relax completely. 

“I won’t let you drown and I promise I’ll only wake you in the most pleasurable of ways.” Cullen’s soft chuckle made his chest tighten with emotion. 

“I’ll hold you to that. I have a lot more planned for tonight.” Ted couldn’t hide the sleepy contentment in his voice. 

“Tonight, and every other night.” Cullen pressed a kiss into Teddy’s curls. “I hope you have enough plans to last you the rest of your life, husband. I know I have more than a few.” 

Teddy let out a chuff of a laugh. “I rather like that. Husband.” 

“I shall endeavour to use it as much as possible,” Cullen promised. “I love you, Ted.” 

With a hum of affection, he squeezed Cullen’s hand. “I love you too, husband.” 

#dragon age #my ocs #teddy trevelyan #teddy/cullen #cullen #other people's writing #jacklyn flynn #thank you so much #love this #love them #yay

[spmcomic]

Theia and Gaia

Cover

Chapter 1: (part 1 | part 2)   Chapter 2: (part 1 | part 2)

Chapter 3: (part 1 | part 2)   Chapter 4: (part 1 | part 2)

Perhaps the worst part of the next few weeks was how, in so many ways, life continued as normal. The smaller Artificers- the children- whispered to each other as Lazarus passed, like quiet ocean waves crawling along the shore- like the wind through dry grass- like the shuffle of feet picking through the underbrush as predators lingered nearby-

Stories of a scorned lover passed along the walkways, words of drama and betrayal. But never words of rebellion. Lazarus longed to pass its own stories along to Sentry, but the other robot remained unresponsive to everything but direct queries about orders. As Sentry’s absence dragged on for days, and then weeks, the voices felt ever more confined within their space. Phantom pains jolted down Leporid neck and shoulders it no longer had. The robots were barred from leaving Underside, and no outside robots passed through the Dimensional Doors or came down in the ravine’s elevators. No news could travel out of or into the city.

Without Sentry to guide their traffic and manage their leisure time, companionship between the robots came only through shared glances, through gently tapping limbs against each other as they passed. Head Merletaph quickly collected any robot that acted out of line or failed to keep its schedule, so most were reluctant to chat.

Just as well, the voices huffed. Lazarus had nothing to say anyway.

On one excursion to the edge of the city, Lazarus saw the barn- the jail- the holding cells it had spent weeks in. Porcelain filled the stalls. A few of the voices moaned together in dread, but the others forced the body to press on.

During another delivery along the main walkway, Head Merletaph marched past with three robots in tow. The other Artificers quieted as their leader passed, watching with wide eyes. When the leader glared, the students tripped over themselves to bow and give the procession a clear bubble of space. Lazarus stepped among them, struggling to keep its eyes from wandering to the leader’s.

The younger Artificers became more curt with Lazarus, but other than that, their treatment differed little. They fixed its voice, replaced its toes when they bent or broke off, chattered amongst themselves as they worked. As the shock of their head scientist’s death wore off, they returned to discussions of the weather and their studies. Lazarus wanted to scream, to throw its bags, to knock over these creatures that held its life in their skeletal fingers and so casually crushed it again and again.

At long last, while Lazarus crawled along the roof of a housing building, it heard Sentry’s voice through a nearby speaker. “Lazarus,” it whispered.

The jolt of familiarity was welcome. Lazarus couldn’t delay its task, so it waited until it saw the next security camera down the path. “Welcome back.”

The voices strained to hear Sentry’s response. “Have they been hitting the others with this new control?”

“No,” Lazarus replied, stepping over a railing and making its way up the wall of the next building. “They drag us off to Reconditioning. The cells are overflowing.”

Sentry didn’t respond until the next building along the path. “Then they can only affect me with that one. Good. We have one more option.”

“Without Head Merlock? What can we do?”

The speaker crackled bitterly. “She left behind a password.”

Lazarus continued off the walkway, climbing between buildings, sticking close to the speakers. It struggled to hurry- it couldn’t risk a late arrival.

Sentry continued after a moment. “The Artificers did not start their robot project from scratch. Head Merlock inherited some… source material from her mentor. I saw her access it regularly, and discuss the material in meetings, but I could never find any copies of the information on any files…”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Merletaph has not yet figured out the changed password to its vault, so we have a small window where they won’t notice its absence.”

“Are you…” Lazarus realized it had slowed, and scrambled to regain its pace. “Are you saying that if we destroy this object, they can’t continue killing us?”

It was a moment before Sentry responded. Lazarus eyed the path ahead- they were running out of time before it reached its destination. “It will certainly slow them down,” Sentry replied.

“Hurry up.”

Sentry’s voice followed Lazarus as it scurried along the buildings, cutting off mid-sentence in one speaker and picking up from the next down the path. “The Artificers use a text that they call the Prognosticus. It gives hints about how to create soul slaves. I’ve seen the technicians send statistics reports and summaries of its contents, but never an exact quote. They can’t seem to copy it in any way, so it remains the only source of this information.”

“What? Why?”

“I have no idea. Their magic is very different from ours… If this book is even their magic.” Sentry paused as Lazarus passed a throng of students on the walkway below. “While the Artificers can glean information from this thing, our kind will remain in danger. Others will always be in danger.”

The voices struggled to agree on whether or not destroying this artifact would make a difference. But with Head Merlock also gone… “Where is the book?”

“The safe is in a chamber deep under the Intake Reel.”

It launched directly into the password, and Lazarus hurried to enter the numbers as coordinates on its map. It nearly tripped over the small curb between its level and the walkway above as it arrived at its destination just in time. The older Artificers grabbed eagerly at Lazarus’ bag and set to work carrying its contents into their office.

With Lazarus’ burden delivered, the voices could deliberate for a few moments on their next move. A few of the voices clustered together around Ishani’s. It would be safest to enter the building with a clear job.

Better hope I get a task that takes me over there, then, came the cynical reply.

But then Sentry’s voice crackled within the room. “Professor Merlar in the Soul Intake garage has just requested a new supply of wire ports. Please send the nearest robot over as soon as possible.”

Never had the voices been so glad to have Ishani in two places at once.

At the base of the Soul Intake Reel sat an open garage, to the side of the large spire. Workbenches and clear wide avenues crisscrossed the open floor, and the robots within the garage bustled with as much frantic energy as the Artificers crowded around the tables. Behind the noise and the crowd, a single plain Artificer-sized door led into the stone building proper.

Lazarus stepped into the well-lit garage and flowed easily with the crowd until it shuffled over to the workbench of a tall, gangly Artificer with a decorated robe. As Lazarus unloaded its package, it plucked a thin, curved battery from the pile and held it up to the scientist. “This unit must also deliver a power source downstairs,” it said, pointing at the battery for emphasis.

The Artificer turned toward the door, then looked back at Lazarus.

Lazarus stared straight ahead, unable to betray its anxiety. “A menial delivery should not keep you from your work,” it clarified.

The Artificer returned its attention to its supplies and waved Lazarus away with a pale, wrinkled hand before Lazarus could finish speaking. Lazarus stepped back through the crowd and scraped its bulk through the door frame, struggling to walk with its legs folded in so close to its body.

The hallway was mottled with drab pale paint, with stains and scratches marring the walls at Lazarus’ knee level. Lazarus followed the trail of previous robots’ struggles through the hallway past thin, plain metal doors that led off to each side at regular intervals, until it reached a turn that opened out into a wider corridor. Lazarus verified on its radar that no Artificers lurked around the corner, and then continued straight, where the paint became undamaged. At the end of the narrow passage sat an unmarked elevator door, clean but worn from years of use.

It squeezed itself into the elevator, nearly bumping into the columns of buttons on the side panel as it tried to turn around. Lazarus had to drop its battery as it carefully oriented itself, inching one leg along at a time. The voices kept a terrified eye on their radar as they agonized over the lost time. But then the doors closed, and the elevator began its descent.

The voices convened within the space as the chamber lowered into the depths of the ravine. Only a faint mechanical grind filled the silence. The rolling battery bumped against the toes of a back leg as Lazarus considered its next move.

How will I overcome the guards?

There is not enough room to maneuver down here. Best to keep my arms close in front, so I can lash out. Knocking the controller out of their hands worked well last time. Escape plan?

Get in the elevator faster.

No, no, Lazarus resisted the urge to shake its head. The guards. How to prevent them from sounding an alarm?

The voices had no good answer by the time the doors slid open with a quiet whirring into a dark, silent chamber. The room was wide, and grand, with colorful embellishments carved into the stone. Lazarus had never seen the Artificers carve decorations like these into their surface projects. The voices rattled in their vessel. The guards would have already noticed Lazarus’ presence, surely… But the voices could find no cameras along the walls.

A single, small Artificer trotted across the long carpet, holding up its robes from dragging on the floor. It stared at the floor as if in thought, and only registered that Lazarus stood in the chamber when it was nearly upon the robot. Lazarus paused, blade at the ready.

The Artificer blinked a few times. “You’re… here for the Prognosticus,” it breathed.

Lazarus lowered its blade, unsure what else to do. “Yes. This must end.”

The small magician stared past Lazarus for a moment. Then it lifted its shaking hands to its hood. The voices tensed. But instead of reaching for anything, the Artificer pulled back its hood, revealing stringy, white locks of hair and a familiar blunt nose. As the voices watched, the child stepped to the side, bowing its head. Lazarus eyed the child as it passed, but the creature made no further motion.

The voices chittered and squeaked as their vessel carried them toward the double doors at the far side of the chamber. Where were the other guards? Or, perhaps…

This place is sacred, several of them realized at once. Only a few know about it. Lazarus put its hand to the carved stone door with a tiny, sharp clink. It closed its knife-fingers around the handle adorned with carvings of swirls and sharp angles, and pulled the door open.

It supposed it had expected another large, elaborate chamber. Instead, the safe was stowed in a cave roughly scooped into the rock. The safe itself hovered in the air over a pedestal, surrounded by thin, pallid lights. Glowing blue geometric glyphs matching the designs outside decorated the dark metal. A panel rested underneath, on the surface of the pedestal, with eight flat buttons. Lazarus pulled up its map and examined the lengthy coordinates.

Two… three… one… one…

Silently, the front of the safe faded away, revealing a black book resting within. It fit easily into Lazarus’ clawed hand, the ribbon of color around the outer edge breaking up the darkness that absorbed the safe’s blue light. There was a gem set into the center, the highlight on the jewel wavering with the various light sources as if looking around. A deep blue glow emanated from within the gem itself, like the armor- like the weapons- like the settings, back at home- like the anvil-

Before it became lost in thought, Lazarus turned and left the chamber. The child was no longer in the corridor, but the elevator remained, door open.

This feels too easy.

Best prepare for a fight.

Something is off.

The air is wrong.

Lazarus slid the book into the bag draped over its back and stepped into the elevator. On the way out of the facility, it nodded at the scientist from before. But the green-robed Artificer was hunched over its table, occupied with its wires and ports. So Lazarus continued out of the garage, brushing a leg against an incoming robot as it cleared the bulk of the crowd.

The walkway bustled as usual. Lazarus followed the flow of traffic and stepped over the railing on the other side. Underside stretched out below, and across the ravine. It looked up at the gliding robots and down at the city, and at the thin strip of red light cast from the mantle at the bottom.

The voices rattled, keeping an eye on every movement, every Artificer. But the body had no expression to betray its intentions, no breath to hold under control, no paleness or trembling. It crawled out to the great, wide bridge linking the two sides of the ravine and, after glancing back and forth to see that the crowd moved as usual, emptied the contents of its bag over the guard rail. The book fluttered down until it became too small for the body’s eyes to resolve, and was gone.

But the feeling remained: Something is off. The air is wrong.

-

Previous | Next

#spm #super paper mario #paper mario #pixls #theia and gaia

[thedreamsmith]

How (Not) To Seduce a Blueshirt (Chapter 2)

@atc74​ @alleiradayne​ @arrowsandmixtapes​ @captain-s-rogers​ for #OC appreciation day 2020

Warnings: Swearing

Pairing: Jim Kirk x OFC

Chapter summary:  Reyne goes to Spock for help in deciphering the captain's motives and wonders why she's on this godforsaken starship.

The next comm from the bridge came through while she was between shifts, perched on a Jeffries tube beside Keenser, watching Jaylah and Scotty argue over the finer details of warp core technology.

‘No lass, you don’t understand-‘

‘No, you listen to me, Montgomery Scotty.’ Jaylah was planted before the Scotsman, jaw thrust out in an look Reyne had learned meant ‘tell me I’m wrong again and I’ll punch your lights out.’ That particular expression had made an appearance on several nights out during their academy days, most often before she tapped out some asshat who had been getting a little too cocky.

Not that Jaylah would ever hit Scotty – she considered the man an idol, even if they frequently butted heads. She had ripped through the engineering track at the academy even faster than Starfleet golden boy Jim Kirk had completed the command course, and she loved to point it out – especially if she was losing an argument.

‘If you rerouted the warp core power to the secondary drive, it would produce enough power to double our speed at warp.’

Evidentially at the end of his leash, Scotty threw his hands up, and glanced to his second-in-command for assistance but only received a mute shrug from the taciturn Roylan.

Reyne opened her mouth to intervene on the Chief Engineer’s behalf, before the insistent beeping of her comm cut off her train of thought.

‘Doctor Lyall here.’

‘There eez an alien creature on the bridge again, doktor.’ Chekov’s voice was carefully neutral, lacking the hysterical note that had been present from the last time.

‘I’m not on shift, Mr Chekov.’ Reyne bit back a sigh, mentally erasing the number of days that she had gone without an incident on this ridiculous starship. ‘I think Murray is in the menagerie at the moment, along with Nurse Phillips.’

‘The keptain asked-‘ The young ensign’s voice cut off suddenly, followed by what sounded like a short scuffle on the other end of the comm.

‘Mr Chekov?’

‘Yes, doktor. The signal must have cut off for a moment.’ Reyne lifted a brow at the trio of engineers listening intently to the strange exchange. ‘As I was saying, Commander Spock has specifically asked for you to deal weeth the alien, as he holds your skills in high regard after having worked closely with you for the last six months.’

‘Does he now?’ Reyne flashed Jaylah a soft smile as she extended a hand to help her down from the Jeffries tube. Despite her protests over the years, her friend still believed humans to be fragile creatures. Landing lightly, she took a deep breath before replying to the young ensign. ‘Alright, Mr Chekov, I’ll be right up. And please tell the Captain not to approach the creature. I don’t care if someone has to hypo him into unconsciousness. Lyall out’

She shook her head as she disconnected the comm.

‘Looks like I’m heading to the bridge.’ She grabbed her bag from a nearby workbench, already heading from the turbolift as she waved farewell to her friends.

*

Scotty turned to Jaylah as Reyne swept out of engineering and earshot.

‘Jim’s a right smart lad, but he ain’t gonna get anywhere unless he stops pulling on Ree’s pigtails an’ starts tugging summin’ else!’ He winked at his third-in-command but was only met with a blank look.

‘I do not know this phase - explain this to me, Montgomery Scotty. What else should the captain be pulling?’

Scotty threw a pleading look to Keenser, still balanced on a Jeffries tube overhead. But the Roylan just shook his head at the mortified Scotsman, jumped down from his perch and wandered off to find somewhere less awkward to be.

***

Reyne collapsed into her desk chair. At some point her neat, regulation hair-do had come undone, leaving her dark hair to frizz around her shoulders.

After almost two hours of chasing a hummingbird-griffin around the bridge, Reyne found that she didn’t have the energy to care.

‘Computer, locate Commander Spock.’ While asking the Captain directly about the seemingly accidental incidents on the bridge would prove fruitless, his First Officer may be more forthcoming – especially when presented with flawless logic.

Reyne glanced at the bottle of gin she kept in her bottom desk drawer but reasoned that the Commander would likely frown upon day drinking, regardless of whether she was on shift or not before she got dragged into the shit-show on the bridge.

‘Commander Spock logged into Lab nine approximately thirty-three minutes ago.’

‘Thank you.’ Thanking the computer system had become a habit that she couldn’t bring herself to shake – a product of her upbringing, manners instilled into her by her mother. Who had sought to grant her some semblance of ladylike behaviour in between the martial arts and bug collecting and video gaming that had so entertained her while she grew up.

Reyne groaned as she rolled to her feet, massaging the countless angry scratches that the panicked creature had inflicted upon her arms as it sought to escape.

Hopefully, Commander Spock would be able to shed some light on the situation.

***

The door to Lab nine beeped softly as she entered her code into the security pad. The Vulcan commander was hunched over a microscope, the image of a botanical sample projected onto the screen before him.

‘Commander?’ Although his sensitive hearing had undoubtedly picked up her arrival, it took several seconds for him to drag his attention from the slide in front of him.

‘Doctor Lyall, how may I help you?’

‘I’m sure you’re aware that in recent weeks, there have been several incidents of alien creatures getting loose on the bridge?’

‘Yes, I am aware. I have read your incident reports on the matter. Do you have further information?’

Reyne caught herself fidgeting with the sleeve of her uniform and tucked her hands behind her back. Despite being a fully qualified science officer, not a green academy Cadet, it was difficult not to quail under her former instructor’s piercing gaze.

‘Not exactly. On each occasion, it was reported that it was Captain Kirk who was responsible for the release of the creatures onto the bridge, and each time he has provided an explanation as to how it occurred, but there have been multiple discrepancies in his stories.’

‘I see.’ Although the Vulcan’s expression did not change, she noted a sharpening of his gaze and felt a faint pang of guilt for throwing Kirk under the bus.

‘For example, with the Lethian rat, Captain Kirk reported that the rodent must have slipped out of his sleeve once he returned to the ship. This theory is entirely unlikely, as the rat was too large and vicious to have not been noticed by the captain. At the very least, he would have been bitten multiple times. It is also unlikely that the creature would have voluntarily hidden in his clothing.’

Commander Spock was silent for a moment, the cogs in his brilliant mind ticking as he processed this new hypothesis.

‘Your logic is most sound, Doctor Lyall. I shall speak with the captain this evening.’ He nodded slowly, ‘Thank you for informing me of your thoughts, if I receive any further information, I shall update the incident reports on the ships database.’

‘Thank you, Commander.’ Reyne bobbed her head, offering a small smile but the commander had already turned back to his plant sample.

Turning on her heel, she strode from the lab, already thinking of a hot shower and one of her favourite vids. Gods knew what the captain was up to, but hopefully his First Officer would be able to weasel it out of him.

***

‘Captain, have you been releasing alien creatures onto the bridge with the purpose of spending more time with Doctor Lyall?’ This area of the bridge was mostly deserted, and his First Officer had him cornered. ‘She has reason to suspect your motives and I find her logic most sound.’

‘Does it really matter, Spock?’ He was decidedly uncomfortable with this conversation and was already eyeing the gap between Spock and the nearest science console – judging how quickly he’d need to move in order to get past before his First Officer caught him. ‘Only the Lethian rat was dangerous, and even then, I was the only one who got bitten!’

‘Your discomfort and avoidance of the question indicates that my hypothesis is true. And as Doctor Lyall has asked me to enquire further about this matter, it is logical to assume that she will ask me about my findings sometime soon.’

‘Are you going to tell on me, Spock?’ Jim’s tone was light, but there was tightness in his throat that refuse to budge. Spock’s face was impassive as he studied his captain, but what he found there, Jim couldn’t tell. Damn Vulcans and their poker faces. He made a mental note to never invite Spock to the card nights that the bridge crew sometimes held. He got cleared out by Bones and Chekov enough as it was.

‘Vulcan’s cannot lie, Captain. If Doctor Lyall asks me about this discussion, I will simply tell her the truth. But I suspect that she would prefer to hear it from you.’

‘I can’t!’ Jim threw his hands up, almost taking out a screen in the process. With a yelp, he withdrew his hand and cradled it against his chest. He was not pouting, because that would be undignified.

‘Would I be incorrect in stating that you have had numerous sexual encounters both at the Academy and while on shore leave?’ Spock raised one eyebrow slightly, which, for a Vulcan, was the equivalent of a wicked smirk.

‘No! But Reyne is just… different. She’s clever and doesn’t sleep around and is utterly unimpressed with me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been turned down before – not by many people, mind you. Has Uhura ever told you why she rejected me, by the way?’

‘No, she has not.’ Cool amusement glimmered in Spock’s eyes as he subtly moved a few inches to his right, effectively cutting off Jim’s escape route. ‘Your efforts to change the subject will not divert me from the matter at hand, Captain.’

Jim made an inarticulate sound of frustration and narrowed his eyes at his First Officer.

‘She reminds me a little of Uhura, but with a much better sense of humour – no offense intended. Scotty is always complaining that she and Jaylah have been helping Keenser get into even higher places in engineering when she’s off duty. He’s threatened to resign twice in the last three weeks. Leonard talks about her sometimes, ‘cause they work together, so I know she’s kind and patient and I’m so confused Spock.’ He inspected his already bruising knuckles, finding any excuse to avoid his friend’s gaze. ‘I’ve never wanted anything more than a little flirting and a quick fuck. I don’t even know how to go about finding anything else. What if I’m not enough?’

‘Captain, while I may not be particularly adept at navigating human social interactions - especially romantic ones – but if being romantically involved with Lieutenant Uhura has taught me anything, it is that learning to accept your partner’s flaws is paramount to the happiness of both partners.’

Jim deflated, relationship advice was the last thing he had ever expected to hear from his stoic First Officer. Bones would have a field day when he heard this.

‘Alright Spock, I’ll speak to her tomorrow. I think she’s on Alpha shift in the menagerie.’

With any luck, the rest of the veterinary staff wouldn’t be around to overhear the possible humiliating rejection of their captain.

‘Very good, Captain.’ The pointy-eared bastard had the nerve to look smug as he stepped aside, allowing Jim to escape.

‘Yeah well, we’ll see about that.’ He muttered under his breath, and if his First Officer heard the choice comments he made about meddling crew and where they could stick their nosiness, he chose not to respond.

#oc's are people too #oc appreciation day 2020 #star trek #Jim Kirk #jim kirk x oc #ofc #fanfic #spock #Scotty #jaylah

[promisedenddreams]

Dream 19

I am wandering through a forest and I get the sense that I have been doing so for a while, when suddenly I feel as if something is watching me. I hurry through the trees and arrive at a cabin that I rush inside of, closing the door behind me. Inside I see multiple science workbenches with people sitting around and a well-dressed man standing at the head of the room in conversation with the nearest table group. One of the tables has an open seat and the group beckons me over. A guy says, "We have been waiting for you," but none of them are familiar. We start working on the task of improving cacti by figuring out how to change its genetic structure to make more needles. I am looking at this massive workstation that has multiple shelves, tubes, and monitors, when a sound of someone pounding on the door starts up. "It's here, help me leave so that I may survive!" I yell. The well dressed man goes over to a wall and pulls a lever that I didn't notice before and a trapdoor opens up in the back of the room. I quickly descend the ladder and find myself in an underground inlet with a ferry docked next to the ladder. I hop on the ferry and answer closest city when the ferryman standing on the ferry asks where to. He slowly paddles the boat away and I fall asleep. When I wake up I am laying on sacks of grain in an unfamiliar port surrounded by people I know. They explain they thought I died when the royal city was attacked by beast men. I explain what I remember and they hand me a ID card. The ID card has a picture of me above a blue and a green circle which depicts a spatula and a coin respectively. My friend explains that this card is my work permit given to me by the village leader, and that I have to make a business involving a spatula. They lead me to the house they are staying in and I find an extra bed and sit for a bit thinking before I go to sleep. The next day I find a griddle and start making pancakes and the village wakes to the smell.

#dream #my dreams #spatula #new chef in town #science #improving the cactus #just add more fucking needles because yes #cactus logic #something is following me #beast men #fleeing the royal city #like why #ferry me tf out of here

[writingamongtheroses-archive]

Showtime- Chapter 3

(Liza, at 25 and 3, finds a present. Then she finds a music box.)

The Musicbox

Liza forced herself to go home to shower in the crappy cold water only shower in her apartment- the hot office and fear for her life had produced sweat- and change before she went to tío Rafael's house.

The three-story house was where Liza had spent her childhood since she was ten. Her parents had disappeared after the same accident that left scars on her head and somehow, she ended up living with tío Rafael, alongside the kids he fostered. She wasn't sure why- he was her great uncle, and she had tia Camilla-Rose and tio Jorge. But that did spare her from her cousin Candela.

Liza marched up to the door to give it a solid knock. There was a moment before the door opened, revealing her foster cousin Lynn. She had been a foster child when Liza moved in, although she had moved out years ago to become a psychologist, helping victims of police violence. "Oh boy," Lynn said when she saw her. "You should probably wait, Abuelita-"

"¡Lynn! ¡Vuelve, querida, para que sepas dónde está la fiesta!"

The blonde turned to yell back. "Un minuto!" Liza had paled at the voice from inside by the time she turned back, rolling her eyes. "Sorry, Abuelita's here, raving about Candela's engagement party."

Liza winced. "Oh! Um..." She rolled her sleeve back to consult the notes written on her arms. "Who is she..."

With a sigh, Lynn took pity. "This guy named Tom. Don't tell her or Abuelita, but I don't think he was planning for it to go this far."

"Lynn!"

"Un minuto, Abuelita!"

There were scoff and some footsteps, approaching the door. Lynn gestured for her to run. "¡Un momento, dice..." Liza turned to sprint away but froze at the old woman's voice. "¡Ah! Elizabeth, preciosa, ¡estás aquí!"

She turned back, fixing a fake grin on her face at the sight of the old woman. "Abuelita!" The old woman pulled her into a hug. "¡Me alegro de verte! Otra vez."

"¡También me alegro de verte, nieta!" Abuelita pushed Liza away to smile even harder. That smile warned that talk about Candela, Abuelita's favorite, was incoming. Lynn and Liza shared winces. "¡¿Escuchaste las noticias?! Tom finalmente le ha propuesto a Candela!" She opened her mouth to reply, but her great-grandmother was already dragging her inside. They passed three more foster kids- Tucker, Huang Fu, and Anne- playing in the living room as they entered the kitchen. "Rafael, Candela y Tom, Marisol, mira quién vino de visita!"

Tío Rafael was sitting with Liza's cousin and her twin, as well as a blonde guy who must've been Tom, at the kitchen table. Rafael aimed a warm smile at his great-niece. "Hola, Liza."

"Hola, Tío Rafael." Liza turned her fake grin to Candela, who was gripping and nuzzling Tom's arm like there was no tomorrow. (He looked a bit lost.) "Congratulations, Candela," she said in English, for the benefit of Tom, as she pulled up her sleeve. "I'm so happy for you."

"Heh, it's no big deal," Candela said with a sweep of a hand, showing off the huge diamond on her finger. "I just knew Tom was the one." Liza shared an eye roll with Marisol and Lynn. "Anyway, the party's next weekend at 5. You can remember that, right?"

Everything went silent. Liza could feel everyone's eyes on them. She managed to regain her smile, nodding. "Of course! Now, as much as I enjoy your...company, I'm actually here to-"

"Oh my gosh! You have to hear how he proposed!"

Liza’s eye twitched as she felt the urge to bang her head against something.

-_-

When she parked at the restaurant, it was 11:30. She had arrived earlier than yesterday, planning on trying to talk to Mr. Calworth. But, when she got in, there was nobody there. The dining hall looked like there wasn't even a cleaning crew.

The three animatronics stood on-stage, looking innocent as hell. It looked creepy, like they hadn't moved at all last night. Liza stuck her tongue out at them. She flinched a minute later at the thought of them taking even worse offense to that, and hurried to her office. Midnight must be when they started that weird night mode.

She should've come earlier.

Why were they hunting her? The whole 'naked endoskeleton' sounded like a bad lie.

Liza bit her lip before glancing outside. It was a bad idea, but she still had twenty minutes left. Her curiosity won out. First, though, she ducked back in to grab the landline and dial star-66. The phone guy must have some answers to her questions. Instead of the guy, she received an answering machine. It was late and he was probably asleep- she could try later.

She grabbed the office flashlight before she made her way down the hall, keeping to the shadows. A too-loud creak made her dart through the nearest door. She resisted a scream when she found herself surrounded by parts. Lisa glanced at the sign on the door, only to groan. Of course. She was in Parts and Services.

Liza flipped the switch to lighten the dark room. There was a shudder before a bulb blew. "Great," she grumbled. Now, there were shadows to jump at. She did jump at one when she poked around. A stab of pain lanced up her arm. She glanced over to see that she had scratched herself against a spare endoskeleton. Liza hissed as she grabbed the cut to stem the blood, glancing over to see a shelf of spare heads.

The room was dark, but she could still see the toys. This must be the Prize Room!

She let out a shudder, moving past. A loud screech made her freeze. She watched as a blur of grey sped past the doorway. That must've been Bun, which meant...oh no. It was midnight and she was far from the safety of her office. Liza immediately shut the door and turned off the light before she could blink.

She had to be quiet.

What was most interesting was the pretty present box, perched on the counter. The three-year-old wandered up closer to get a look at the purple paper and the poofy golden bow on top. But, even as she stood on tippy-toes, she couldn't see it!

Liza tried to move lightly on her feet, further into Parts and Services and farther away from the door. Hopefully, if any of the animatronics poked their head in here, they wouldn't see her. Instead, she ended up tripping.

The breath knocked out of her, Liza froze on the floor. She could hear footsteps passing by. From what she had figured last night, Bun had a metal leg and Kitty and Rex shared a limp. She clamped a hand over her mouth: it was Ted, just outside the door. She laid there, heart pounding in her ears, for what felt like an eternity. Finally, the footsteps walked away.

Liza looked around for something to help her to see the present. She ended up pushing a chair behind the counter and climbing up it. She was able to get next to the present and look at it better. The purple wrapping paper had a pattern of flowers that Tío Rafael called 'oleanders.' The bow suddenly shuddered.

Something was inside!

She sat up, aiming the office-issued flashlight at what she had tripped over.

It looked like a Ted suit, although the fur had lightened to a shade of gold and the eyes were empty sockets. It sat there, collapsed and lifeless. For some reason, Liza set aside the flashlight. She reached up and gently unhooked the faceplate from the suit.

The suit was empty inside, just as she expected it to be. No, wait...Liza reached inside. She snagged something that felt rough, then snatched something smooth from deeper in the suit. She pulled her hand back to look under the flashlight.

In her hand sat what looked like a clump of blonde hair and the shreds of a green ribbon. Both were stiff with age.

Liza attempted to pull off the lid, but it remained firm. The three-year-old whined- she needed to see what was inside! She looked around again for something to help her.

Liza tucked the two into her pocket before replacing the faceplate and trying to get to her feet. Instead, her boot kicked something. She winced. If she had broken something, Mr. Calworth probably wouldn't be very happy. She got to her knees, swinging the flashlight over.

It was a present.

It looked old. What must've been a few years of dust and grime had dulled the bow into an ugly shade of yellow. She could see some type of pattern on the purple wrapping paper, but the grime made it hard to see. Liza blinked in confusion before looking around for something to explain why a present box, of all things, was in this horror room.

Her flashlight caught the gleam of something on the workbench next to them.

Her eyes landed on a music box.

It was pretty. Liza picked it up to examine it further. It was a shade of dark blue, while gold made oleander patterns on it. She glanced between it and the present. Could this help her? She started cranking it until the handle couldn't move anymore, then released.

When Liza heard the twinkling tune, she nearly broke the box by grabbing the handle to try and force it to stop. The animatronics would hear and Ted would break the door down and grab her and start stuffing UNTIL SHE FIT-

Liza giggled when she recognized the tune. It was the family lullaby, about oleanders! Tío Rafael played it whenever she stayed at his house. She watched as the music box played the song, not noticing the present box’s lid shifting. Until it finally stopped...

And the box opened.

Liza stared at...whatever it was.

It looked like an animatronic, which made her tense. It had a completely black body, except for the face. The face looked like a china mask, completely white. Blue streaks were painted from the eyeholes to the cheeks. The chin was painted red- it looked like blood- stretching from a mouth made of a black line. It stared at her with little white dots, floating in dark eye sockets. Liza stared back, ready to run.

A spindly-thin hand raised up and a finger beckoned.

She wasn't sure why, but she scooted closer until she was right next to the Ted suit. The thing glanced downwards. Liza followed it's gaze to see the cut on her arm. "Oh, um..." She held her arm out so it could see it better. "I scratched myself a little bit ago." The dots flicked from the cut to her, and she got the feeling it was unimpressed. It turned in its box, turning around a minute later to reveal a bandage. "Thank you?"

...that was totally an eye-roll.

It withdrew a little when it finished bandaging up her arm, watching her. Liza watched it back. "So...what now?" she said finally, wincing at the too-loud volume of her voice. The thing merely stared before rising a little...

She didn't have a chance to yell before one spindly finger tapped her on the forehead.

Liza collapsed and all went dark.

The job done, the Puppet retreated back in its box.

"Hey, Liza, look!"

Liza looked over from the guard's hold. The Puppet pointed to its head. The three-year-old raised a brow as she raised a hand to her head. She pulled out her yellow hairband, offering it over. The Puppet took it before retreating back into the box and shutting the lid.

She was starting to wonder how to explain losing her headband to her mama before the lid opened and it popped up again, offering the headband back. A pretty bow now sat on it, made of yellow ribbon. Liza couldn't help the squeal of delight that escaped her as she took it, pushing it into her hair. There was a chuckle from the guard. "Now, what do we say?"

"Thank you!"

Six came and left.

In the shadows of Parts and Services, she slept.

#heartbeat #heartbeat series #wip #there's spanish

[inquisitorhotpants]

The Knight and the Prince

This remains one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. Takes place after Aberration but before chapter 47 of Chaos & Opportunity. Kryn has a massive romantic streak and makes her sister cry. (the kinda-sequel, where scourge finds it, is here. the collection of kryn’s fam!fic is here)

-

Once upon a time…

in a land torn by war and strife and suspicion, there lived a brave knight named Semiri, with shining ebony hair and piercing sky blue eyes. She was bold of spirit and noble of heart, a wandering adventurer who valued freedom and justice above all other things, a welcome sight both to the weary and downtrodden, and on the field of battle.

One day, she chanced upon a glade surrounded by tall, sinister trees, untouched by the sunlight. In the center of the glade was a tower, its stones black as a moonless midnight, and it loomed over the too-calm clearing with a palpable air of malevolence. Semiri took a deep breath, drew her sword, and approached it, determined to face whatever evil surely lay within before it could wreak havoc on the peaceful village nearby.

The ornately carved wooden door swung open with a tortured groan from its rusty hinges, and a chill breeze rushed over Semiri, making her skin prickle. She crept through the deep gloom, tensed and waiting for a confrontation.

“Why have you come?”

She spun around, sword extended. In the central room, lit by candlelight, stood a beautiful man, strong and strapping. “Who are you?”

He offered her a courtly bow, but made no move to come closer. “I am Prince Scourge.”

“I … don’t think so," Semiri scoffed. "That's impossible."

The man blinked, nonplussed at her reply. “What?”

“Prince Scourge is nothing more than a story. The legend says he was sealed away from the world by the mad king Vitiate, who wanted to keep him all for himself. The cursed prince was made immortal, but doomed to an immortality of solitude, never knowing the small joys of the world or the love of another.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s an excellent summation of my current situation, yes.”

Semiri stared at him for a long moment, dismayed to find that she was more smitten by the minute. “And no one’s rescued you?” Her brows knit together as her outrage grew at this blatant miscarriage of justice. "You've stood here for centuries alone?" She drew herself to her full height, her voice cutting through the surrounding darkness. “Well, I, Semiri, vow that I will find a way to release you! Await my return, for it will herald your freedom from this horrific curse!”

She traveled the length and breadth of the land in her search. In each village she visited, she heard tales of the mad sorceress Kryn’la, said to be extraordinarily gifted, even in the obscure and forbidden arts. An aged hermit with a shock of snow-white hair, living on the edge of the Plain of Sorrow, told her of another like himself residing in the Seething Swamps, there to direct the true-seeking supplicant toward the sorceress. The second hermit, a veritable copy of the first, sent her to traverse the Lightning Lands, insistent that she would find the sorceress there, if her intent was pure enough and her need great enough.

At long last, after Semiri felled a great nightmare beast of horns and teeth and thunder and knelt gasping for breath upon the loamy ground, the sorceress’ home revealed itself, tucked into a nearby cliffside. The sorceress herself was seated on her porch, preternaturally youthful and ravishing, with vibrant scarlet hair and a sardonic smile. She looked up from her tome as the warrior approached.

“Ah, so you have come, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade."

Semiri stopped a short distance away, hands on her hips. "Sorceress Kryn'la, it is whispered far and wide that you are a master of arcane arts both common and inscrutable. Following the directions of your acolytes, I have sought you out to petition for your assistance in rescuing a man sorely cursed."

"Will you not bend your knee?" The sorceress rose from her chair, ebon robes flowing behind her as she closed the space between them. "Will you not prostrate yourself before me? Are you not frightened that I will also curse you?"

Semiri, being of stout heart, did not move, did not even flinch. "No, my lady. You will help me, or you won't, and I do not believe any amount of bowing will change what course you have likely already decided upon."

The silence spun out as the sorceress regarded the knight, the slightest of smiles curling her lips. "It is as I foresaw. If you can pass the trials, I will give you what you request, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade." She pointed toward an opening in the cave. "Your first trial awaits. Do not keep the Apprentices waiting." Without waiting for Semiri to move, she strode back to her seat, resuming her reading.

Semiri battled the fierce Apprentices to conquer the Trial of Strength, defeated the cunning Pirate at dice to win the Trial of Luck, impressed the learned Scholar with her careful reasoning to succeed at the Trial of Knowledge, and withstood the punishments of the stalwart Guardian to persevere through the Trial of Endurance, returning to the sorceress in high spirits. “My lady, I have passed your trials." She proffered her hand, revealing the tokens she had received. "I offer you the proof of my success.”

The sorceress turned from her workbench, pleased. “I knew you would.” She held out a vial, full of violet clouds and brilliant white lightning, a violent, twisting storm in a bottle. "Take this. He must consume every drop. The pain will be fearsome, nigh unbearable, for the curses of the Mad King are not so easily broken. But if he can endure it, and you can endure standing by as he bears this writhing agony, he will be free."

Semiri reached for the bottle, then drew back her hand. "And the catch?"

A wide, genuine smile graced the sorceress' face. "Clever girl! Such a simple and obvious thing, yet so many do not think to ask. There is a possibility the the curse will not be broken, but rather transferred to the nearest person."

"Me," Semiri whispered.

"Are you willing to pay even this price for your prince's freedom, Semiri of the Sentinel Blade?" Kryn'la asked solemnly. "Will you take his place, eons passing you by as you languish in the candle-filled room, the world's pleasures lost to you for eternity?"

There was not even a moment's hesitation. "Yes, Sorceress. I vowed to free him, and I will, even if it comes at the cost of my life and freedom."

"I expected as much," Kryn'la said, studying Semiri's face. "Perhaps what you are feeling is True Love, and it will aid in your endeavors." Her expression softened for the briefest moment before resuming its usual sternness. "Now begone, I must resume my studies and you have a prince to save."

Semiri thundered across the countryside, the vial strung on a length of leather and cradled against her chest, and last she arrived at the tower, unchanged from how she left it many moons ago. She leapt off her horse, heaved open the door, and strode into the oppressive gloom. "My prince!"

Scourge appeared in the same room he'd been in last time. "Semiri?"

She extracted the vial, cradling it gingerly in one palm. "I have acquired a potion that can break your curse. But the sorceress informed me it will be excruciatingly painful. Do you still wish to be free?"

"No pain can be greater than an eternal solitary lifetime. I will bear it, if it means being able to leave this room again."

She crossed the vestibule and handed him the bottle, then stepped back. He stared at it for a long moment. "Something so simple to destroy this curse," he marveled. "I would never have dared dream such a thing even existed." His hand paused on the stopper. "Will you keep watch, Semiri? If something should go wrong, for you never know with magic of this nature, will you end it?"

She took a deep breath, then unsheathed her sword and assumed her ready stance. "I will."

He uncorked the vial, the unmistakable smell of lightning filled the air, and he tilted it up, the last of the storm disappearing from the bottle.

Silence fell, briefly, over the tower.

Scourge's hands began to shake, and the vial fell to the blackened stones, shattering into a million pieces all winking in the candlelight. His hands tightened into fists, and he fell to his knees, arms wrapped around his chest as though to hold himself together. A stomach-turning wail rent the unnatural quiet of the tower, bursting forth from his mouth like a loosed monster.

Semiri gulped, but stood her ground, when she saw the dark tendrils snaking out of his body, writhing, curling around each other, pausing to scent the air. She steeled her nerves, head held high, and silently reaffirmed her vow to take his place if that was what was required of her.

A keening, so high-pitched as to be on the very edge of hearing, filled her ears, and acrid smoke billowed out of the candlelit room as the tendrils withered away into nothingness. As it cleared, she saw the prince prone on the cold stones, and rushed to his side, relieved when she could tell he was still breathing.

"I think 'excruciatingly painful' was something of an understatement," he muttered weakly, opening his eyes. "But I'm glad you were here."

She smiled and extended her hand. "Shall we leave this awful tower?"

Outside, the door to the tower firmly shut behind them, she turned to look at him, grinning when she saw him standing with face upturned toward the azure sky, smile on his face as the breeze caressed his skin. "What will you do with your newfound freedom, Prince Scourge?"

He held out his hand to Semiri, pulling her close when she took it. "I will cross the land with a brave and beautiful warrior, and see what adventures await us." Their lips met as the sunlight broke through the trees for the first time in centuries.

--

"Hey, boss." Kira drops down on the couch and nudges Semiri. "What was in that package you got?"

"Oh!" Semiri starts, hurriedly swipes at the tears on her cheeks. "Just a fairy tale, that's all."

Kira's eyebrow shoots toward her hairline. "Someone sent you a fairy tale?"

Semiri nods. "It's a silly thing, really. My sister always has had a flair for the dramatic and ridiculous." She cradles the datapad to her chest. "I'm going to go put this away."

#OTP: Once Upon a Dream #jedi knight #lord scourge #swtor #i just love it

[imaginetonyandbucky]

It’s Not You, It’s Us - Chapter 2 of 2

It was easier said than done. Bucky didn’t realize just how much time he spent with Tony and Steve on a daily basis so when he stopped hanging around, they noticed immediately. But he was determined not to get in the way and quietly sort out his issues in seclusion of his own making, no matter what. And if that meant employing all his remaining Winter Soldier stealth skills to evade his suspicious best friend and one very resourceful engineer every chance he got, he’d do it.

He still interacted with them – they are his friends and there’re only so many times he gets to ignore Captain America before the spangled superhero starts interrogating him – but he no longer initiated the contacts. No more coming down to the workshop whenever he wanted. No more early morning musings by the coffeemaker. No more tricking Tony into watching bad movies in the afternoon.

No more damage control.

In hindsight, Bucky saw it coming. He was in fact equally surprised and impressed that it took as long as it did. Somehow, Steve and Tony managed to stretch out the entire argument phase through two weeks instead of an hour or a day. It escalated, little by little. One unwarranted Steve comment at a time. One fake Tony smile at a time. Until they all but glared at each other during team movie nights, sitting as far away from each other as the room allowed. Until they barely talked without sounding angry.

Until they argued so seriously Steve just snapped.

(read-more ahead!) 

Nobody hears the argument as it happens, but what it leaves in its wake is enough for all present Avengers to wonder just what the hell happened this time.

Tony is a flurry of flailing limbs, muttered curses and unshed tears as he bolts from the outside terrace into the common lounge and straight towards the elevator to once again begin his descent into the depths of the workshop and Steve…Steve is something else. The ever so composed Captain glares death at everyone in his path – including Bucky. He has seen the man angry before and this was not him being angry. He is practically fuming with cold and detached fury that just so isn’t like him at all.

It’s a very common Winter Soldier look, one that tips everyone off that Bucky’s not all there at the moment, that he could lose it any second with the Soldier almost spilling over the edge of his control. Seeing one Steve Rogers look like that is not short of scary when knowing he does not in fact have any remnants of a HYDRA programmed assassin in his brain.

It’s not until Bucky notices Natasha’s hands twitching and Clint gravitating toward the nearest exit, that he concludes he’s not alone in that thought.

“Hey, man,” Sam approaches the livid Captain, hands raised in a placating manner, but to no veil.

Steve shakes his head, left hand raised in a simple warning – dare come any closer and I will dissect you into molecules. He sends one more glare their way before storming out of the room, heading upstairs and Bucky could swear the glare turned into a laser of burning hate when it landed on him in particular.

Once the coast is clear, the team breathes a sigh of relief in unison and Bucky finds himself staring into the hallway the two men have disappeared into moments ago. Back to being confused it is.

“Here we go again,” Clint rolls his eyes, diving head-first into the sofa. “I give it a week this time,” he mumbles into the pillow.

“I dunno, man. This looked bad,” Rhodey says, giving Bucky a fleeting look of concern and…something else.

“Two weeks, then,” Natasha shrugs.

“It looked really bad this time, actually,” Bruce adds, his expression weary.

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers in agreement, exchanging a look with the doctor and the Colonel both.

Two weeks later, phase two was still not over. The two continued to fiercely avoid each other, keeping their interaction to a bare, professional minimum.

Tony spends most of his time locked up in the workshop, letting nobody in – with the exception of Miss Potts, who’s basically broken in at one point – and Steve spends his days moping about in his room or with Sam. Bucky tried to approach him many times to find out what happened but after a couple of days it’s become clear to Bucky that his best friend is avoiding the hell out of him. 

And that can’t be good.

Did he do something? Was he too obvious? He’s got no idea and it’s driving him mad.

So when he wakes up one morning after an especially vivid nightmare feeling not quite himself, he can easily blame it on the recent sense of unsteadiness. The Winter Soldier is more Winter than Soldier these days. With no HYDRA, no Handlers and no missions, his coming up to the surface is rather silent and harmless. He would usually just stand or sit around without a purpose until his control slips back to Bucky. Should someone walk in on him in this state, he would glare and carefully observe the intruder, but never attack them. Not even Natasha, who always whips up a dagger or two just for show – a silent threat the Soldier understands very well.

But not today.

Today the Soldier is feeling adventurous. So he gets up from the rustled bed and leaves the room, not even bothering to put on a shirt. Or shoes. Bucky would roll his eyes if he could – the HYDRA-installed assassin could easily slice through a house full of enemies but take away his murderous side and he’s pretty inapt.

He strides over to the elevator, goes inside and to Bucky’s utmost surprise – and horror – he presses the workshop button without a second thought.

Nope, no way he’s going down there. He tells the Soldier as much, even arguing that he won’t be allowed inside anyway so might as well go somewhere else, but as always the Soldier ignores him completely. The elevator stops, but the doors remain closed.

Told ya, he snickers at the Soldier.

The assassin glares at the door like it’s his worst adversary and doesn’t move to press any other button. Patient as ever, he waits. But waiting won’t do much h –

And the door opens.

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to stare. Did the Soldier just force-willed the doors to open with just his glare alone?!

He takes a few steps inside the workshop that is a buzz of activity even at this hour, eyes zeroing in on Tony who is watching their advance with squinted eyes.

“Ah. I see,” he glances up at the ceiling – something he instinctively does whenever he’s addressing JARVIS. “Winter is coming, J? Seriously? I’m cutting you off from Netflix, just so you know. Your obsession with pop culture references has just gone overboard,” he scolds the AI.

“Very well, Sir. But you cannot deny how fitting it was.”

“Fitting? The word you’re looking for is old, JARVIS,” he scoffs, eyes landing back on the Winter Soldier, who stopped in front of the workbench Tony’s sitting behind. “Hey, Soldier. Any…particular reason you’ve wandered down into my lair wearing just your pajama pants? If you need someone to tuck you in, go ask Bruce. He knows the best bedtime stories.”

The Soldier scrutinizes Tony in a way he would usually scrutinize his target, but Bucky dares to hope that’s not the case here. Once he’s satisfied with his observation, he walks over to the fridge, grabs an opened carton of milk and chugs it down in one take. Great. Who knows how long that thing’s been opened in there?!

Tony chuckles behind him. “Don’t worry, it’s from yesterday. You should be a-okay.”   

Bucky was so occupied with the Soldier’s nonsensical actions and the fact he’s been let inside the workshop that he didn’t realize he’s back in control and has said his thoughts out loud, apparently. He does roll his eyes this time and discards the now empty carton into the trash.

“Does that happen often? The Soldier taking you for a spin around the Tower in the middle of the night to feast on milk?” Tony asks and it sounds amused. “Half naked?” he adds.

Turning around, Bucky sees the engineer is indeed smiling. He’s missed that smile. Hell…he’s missed Tony. “N’t really,” he blurts out. “He’s not normally this…active.”

“Sure likes his milk.”

“He’s weird like that.”

Tony shrugs, smile widening. “You sure like your milk.”

He does, admittedly. “I’m weird like that. And you’re even weirder for noticing.”

“Busteeeed. What can I say? I’m good at noticing things. Speaking of which, I’ve been noticing a lot of things lately,” he says, the smile fading.

“Uhuh? You mean while hiding down here, locking us all out and avoiding Steve?” He doesn’t mean to sound harsh or defensive, but it still comes out like that.

Tony winces at the mention of the other supersoldier, but otherwise remains passive. “You mean kinda like you’ve been hiding in your room avoiding everyone the past two months?” he deflects with practiced ease. Him and Steve have already mastered this ping-pong style of conversation throughout their relationship and Bucky’s not sure he wants to join the club.

So he just admits to it. “Yeah. Kinda like that.”

Tony nods and suddenly looks small, like he’d rather be a little piece of dust lying on the floor than a man that usually fills a room with his presence. “Wanna tell me something about it?”

“Do you wanna tell me something about this?” Bucky answers in kind…only doesn’t. Because he’s back to being defensive, while Tony asked the question quietly, so unlike his loud and confident self. As if afraid of it. Or the answer to it. He cringes, walking a bit closer to the engineer again so he can lean against one of the opposite workbenches, that has been turned into a bar table at one point. He shivers at the touch of the cold surface and is suddenly all too aware of his state of undress and the way it makes him feel.

Exposed. Inappropriate. Out of place.

Opposite of him, Tony seems less interested in his naked torso and more interested in whatever is on his mind. His brows are crinkled together in a way that suggests he’s solving a particularly tough science problem, but Bucky notices there’s no open project on his StarkPad, no half-built gadget anywhere, even the bots are nowhere to be seen.

“Steve and I broke up,” he blurts out, his gazed fixed on something on the floor near Bucky’s foot. It’s not a sad statement, he doesn’t look sad. He’s nervous. Why the hell does Tony goddamn Stark look nervous?!

Bucky decides he can put his avoid and forget mission aside for the sake of lighting up the mood down here. Se he goes for casual, teasing, something he’d say few months ago. “We kinda figured, yeah. S’not really hot news or anythin’. Clint and Natasha lost their bets on your makeup date, by the way. Gotta admit it’s a bit overdue. Wanna talk about it?”

It’s a friendly offer, Bucky tells himself. That’s what friends do. They talk about their problems and heartbreaks…unless those heartbreaks concern them, as is Bucky’s case.

Tony raises a curious eyebrow and something returns into his eyes. In fact, his whole face sort of lights up. “Yeah, I do. That’s what I’m doing, right?” he says, folding his hands defensively on his chest. The words have a bite to them, but his smile is all back again. “We broke up.”

Bucky is utterly lost all of a sudden. “Uh…yeah. You guys tend to do that a lot.”

“We really did, didn’t we,” he frowns just a little, thinking about it. “Well, it’s over. No more breaking up, making up. We’re…breaking up the breaking up. However you wanna call it. Clint and Natasha lost their bets, well guess what? Bruce and Rhodey are gonna lose theirs too because we are never ever coming back together. And I swear to God, JARVIS, if you’re thinking about Swifting me again, I will personally decommission you!” he adds to the ceiling.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir.”

“Yeah, right. Last week DUM-E made me spill my coffee, so I told him ‘look what you made me do!’ and this snarky asshole blasted that crap song immediately!”

“It was very fitting.”

“I’m gonna reprogram whatever is making you do things on the impulse of them being fitting! Seriously, I’m not even - ”

“Tony!” he stops the engineer mid sentence, before he completely derails from the conversation. Not making up ever again? Those are some strong words and Bucky needs some strong answers. He…he wants them to be happy. And they were happy. Mostly. Sometimes. Right?

“Right…sorry. Breaking up. Not making up. There. We talked about it. Happy?”

“Uh…no? What happened? You argued…again, but you’ve been arguing like that since I’ve come to live here! T’was never a big deal…I guess. I mean, no matter what you argued about you just sorted it out so - ”

“Yeah, we’re not sorting this one out, trust me.”

“Why not?!” he flails, his metal hand sending a brandy glass flying across the table haphazardly.

Tony laughs. Laughs. Actual, chest-heaving, musical laugh. And Bucky really is lost just then. “Why not? Well, let me see. There were some really big signs for me…like when I realized I’d rather hang out here than with him. When I realized I have nothing to talk to him about…mostly because he tunes out whatever I’m saying. True, it’s nonsensical babbling most of the time, but that’s not an excuse. Him turning every conversation into a fight wasn’t helping either and hell…we haven’t even slept in one bed for months! Haven’t…kissed in months! Because…it’s gone, okay? Whatever it was that we had? It’s just…not there anymore. And to be honest? It hasn’t been there for a while. Don’t get me wrong, I…like Steve. He’s an okay guy, when he’s not being an ass, but he’s just not the guy for me. I…don’t love him. I don’t love him,” he repeats a bit breathlessly.

Bucky was forming a reply throughout Tony’s speech, meaningful and clever, but his brain might as well have gotten wiped again at the end of it.

Whatever his face twists into, it makes Tony smirk. “Then again, falling in love with your boyfriend’s best friend is kinda the last straw in a relationship, right?” he grimaces and it takes Bucky’s wiped out brain a while to catch up with what he’s just said. “Now that was the biggest sign for me. I realized that and promptly crapped my pants because how the hell do you tell good guy Steve that you have fallen for his long lost best friend? And then while I was devising a master plan of how to break it down for Steve and then maybe kinda make my moves, you started avoiding us…avoiding me…and I thought I fucked up already…somehow. It’d be so me to fuck up something that’s not even going on yet, you have no idea. But JARVIS assured me that’s not the case and…then the whole thing kinda blew up when Steve tried his best interrogation technique…if you were wondering why he’s in a perma pissed off mode right now, this is why,” Tony explains, meeting Bucky’s staring gaze without wavering.

For a while, Bucky wonders if he’s back in the Soldier mode. He gets light-headed and sort of hazy whenever that happens and that’s exactly how he’s feeling. But he’s still himself. The Soldier is contently tucked in deep inside his mind now that he’s had his fun and a whole carton of milk, so that lightheadedness has a whole different cause altogether.

Might have something to do with Tony saying he’s in love with him.

“Uh…you okay there?” Tony asks, bringing him out of his haze.

Yep. Definitely has something to do with that.

“Yeah…I’m ‘kay,” he nods absentmindedly.

Tony chuckles, cocking his head to the side. “You’re smiling.”

“Yeah…guess I am.”

“So…,” he sighs, suddenly looking unsure.

Bucky clears his throat and looks upwards. “So, JARVIS snitched on me, huh?”

“In his defense, it’s in his code to be that way…to lend a helping hand when he sees anyone in distress. We’re gonna have to talk about privacy in our next lesson, J!” Tony squints upward.

“Of course, Sir. And my apologies if I have…overstepped.”

It didn’t sound apologetic at all…and Bucky didn’t really care. “I’m glad you overstepped, JARVIS. I mean…if I understand the situation correctly.”

Tony snorts, shaking his head. “If you under…well you better understand! You b - ”

“Dinner tomorrow? Or…somethin’? That involves me wearing a shirt?” Bucky suggests and smirks.

“Sure…although I can’t say that I mind,” Tony winks at him and sighs again. “About Steve…”

“I’ll talk to the punk. His avoiding techniques are not nearly as good as the Soldier’s stalking techniques.”

That startles a laugh out of the engineer. “Eh…wow, okay. I would…love to see that, but what I wanted to say is um…JARVIS?”

“About that, Sergeant, I may or may not have also…overstepped there. A little bit.”

“Yeah, we’re talking about that, too, J. Anyway…Steve’s coming back around…he’s still mad, but apparently not mad enough to ignore us for the rest of our lives because…well, because…”

“’Cause we fell in love with each other?”

“Exactly…yeah, how did that happen again?”

“It’s uh really long story,” Bucky shrugs, not missing the light sparkling in Tony’s eyes the way they only ever do when he’s happy. And damn if Bucky isn’t making it his mission to keep it that way forever.

“You can tell me all about it tomorrow. Over that dinner.”

“It’s a date,” Bucky answers, all the nightmares from earlier this night forgotten.

-The End

#winteriron #Tony Stark #Bucky Barnes #tony x bucky #prompts #Lantia

[emospritelet]

#11

#11: “Why did you scream like that?”

Send me a prompt from this list and I’ll write DC!Rumbelle!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11]

AO3 link

Rumplestiltskin spent a busy night fulfilling the remaining part of his deal with Belle, namely the protection of the villagers.  It required a piece of magic which was time-consuming rather than complicated, in that he had to travel to each village and cast a protective net of magic over them.  Doing so meant that every inhabitant, currently asleep in their beds, would have his protection from Sir Gaston and his knights.  The magic, once released, was reasonably self-sufficient and could deal with most minor threats; he would only be summoned if there was anything more serious that needed his personal attention.

Watching the last net of red lace spread over the village and disappear into the air, he gave a satisfied nod, and transported himself back to the Dark Castle.  It was as silent as ever, the only sound the low crackle of the fire in the great hall.  But it felt different, and it took him a moment to realise what the change in sensation was.  It was no longer empty.  The knowledge that Belle was there, sleeping in the room he had given her, made his skin tingle strangely.  It was an odd feeling, and not one that he was sure he liked.  Still, the deal was struck, and he had fulfilled his part of it, so it was her turn.  Quite why he had asked her to serve his tea for four years rather than just hand over her first born or something, he wasn’t sure.  Not that he thought she would have agreed to that anyway.  Some women would make that deal, a few without blinking.  Not Belle, he thought.  If she had a child she would fight tooth and nail to keep it.

Why the hell am I thinking about her having a child?  Hardly conducive to cleaning this place!  He tsked in irritation at himself, and took himself off to his tower workroom.  A night of potion brewing would stop his mind from wandering to the bedroom next to his, and the puzzle of his new maid.

Belle had tried to stay awake until Rumplestiltskin returned, but her illness had left her fatigued, and she reasoned that as she would need her strength to clean the following day, sleep would be welcome.  She stripped off her clothing, pulling back the blankets of the bed and finding a silk nightdress there, neatly folded.  It was soft and warm against her skin, and she slipped beneath the covers, blowing out the candle on the nightstand.  Her eyes slid closed, but she was awake for some time, wondering if he had returned from her father’s castle.  Dreading what he might have found there.

The fire burned down to embers as she lay in the dark, chewing her lip.  Eventually she decided that she couldn’t stand it any longer, and threw back the covers.  The candle on her bedside and the lamps on the walls flared to life, and she ran a hand through her curls, glancing around the room.  Almost immediately she found a silk robe draped over the back of a chair, and a pair of slippers below it.  She hurried to put them on, looking around again, as though she would see whatever benevolent spirit haunted the castle.

“Thank you,” she said aloud.  “I - I need to see Rumplestiltskin.  Would you please take me to him?”

The lamps in the room immediately snuffed out, all but the one nearest the door, and Belle tugged the belt of her robe tight and set off, pulling open the door and seeing that the lit lamps stretched off down the corridor.  She followed the string of lights, lamps extinguishing behind her and flaring to life in front, leading her along a wide corridor and through a gallery to a set of stairs.  They twisted upwards in a spiral, and she hesitated only a moment before putting a hand on the rail and making her way up.

She came to a heavy wooden door, open a crack to give a glimpse of the room beyond.  Belle slipped through the door, glancing around with interest and noting that the atmosphere in the room was strangely heavy, her skin tingling with it.  The residue of the Dark One’s magic, perhaps.  Rumplestiltskin was not in the room, but she suspected he had been there not long ago.  It was as though she could smell his presence in the air.  A fire burned in the grate, lamps giving a warm light.  Bookshelves ringed the circular walls, and she itched to look at the volumes stacked there.  A large bench was set with crystal vials and intricate brass apparatus, in which several different coloured liquids were bubbling or smoking or dripping from tiny tubes into smaller containers.  Belle crept closer, fascinated.  One of the crystal vials held a potion that was a sparkling cornflower blue, bubbles jumping and dancing across its surface.  It was so pretty that she wanted to touch it, and she reached out almost without thinking.

“Never touch anything in here!”

Rumplestiltskin’s furious voice and his hand on her arm made her shriek in alarm, and she pulled back, shuffling away from him and wrenching free of his tight grip.  He was glaring at her, eyebrows drawn down.

“Why did you scream like that?” he snapped.  “You do realise that some spells are sensitive to noise?”

“Because you frightened me!” she retorted.  “And no, no I didn’t!  Why would I?”

“Well, they are!” he said, looking irritated.  “If you had the sense you were born with, you’d know not to touch anything you don’t understand.  Some of these potions can be volatile, and you’re of no use to me if you turn yourself into a toad through your own ignorance.”

She wanted to reply with a sarcastic comment, but snapped her mouth shut.  He was right, after all; magic was something she knew precious little about and had no affinity for.  She could have been injured or worse.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I was just interested, that’s all.  I’ve never seen much magic, and everything here is so - well, it’s fascinating.  I promise I won’t touch anything.  Unless you let me, anyway.”

He grunted something, leaning back against the workbench and folding his arms.

“Anyway, what are you doing in my workroom?” he demanded.  “It’s the middle of the bloody night!”

“I wasn’t sure how long it would take you to - to do what you promised to do,” she said, stumbling a little over her words.

He was looking at her, his expression suddenly, terribly sober.

“You should have gone to sleep,” he said, his voice low and warm again.  “You need your rest if you’re to work for me.”

“I tried to go to sleep, I did,” she insisted, “but I couldn’t stop thinking about - about my homeland and what you might have found there, and I know it’s probably bad, but I - I just wanted to know…”

Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip to stop it from trembling.  He was silent for a moment, then he crossed to a cabinet of polished walnut.  A silver tray held several decanters filled with liquid, and he reached inside the cabinet and brought out two brandy glasses with large, round bowls.  He poured a measure of amber liquid into each, and Belle’s heart began to thump in her chest.

“Here,” he said, holding one out to her.  “Drink this.”

He had lost his usual mannerisms, the high voice and flourishes gone completely, and there was something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before.  Pity, perhaps?  Belle took the glass from him, the liquid inside sloshing and sending up the heavy scent of brandy to sear the inside of her nose.

“Please, Rumplestiltskin,” she whispered.  “Please, just tell me.”

He tapped long fingers against his glass, his textured skin gleaming in the light as he watched her, and gave the tiniest shrug, as though he knew he would have to reveal what he had found, but took no pleasure in the fact.

“There were three knights in your father’s castle,” he said.  “Gaston, Cedric and Renard.”

Belle’s mouth flattened

“They’re friends,” she said bitterly.  “Greedy bullies who like nothing more than fighting and taking the spoils for themselves.”

“When I got there, they were talking about dividing your father’s lands between them, if the King agreed,” he said carefully, and she inhaled sharply, fixing him with a stare.

“And my father?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“They said he had died in battle.”

Grief squeezed at her heart, stealing her breath, but she nodded rapidly, trying not to cry.  She had expected this, after all.  She took a gulp of brandy, relishing the fire as it coursed down her throat, and blinked rapidly to clear the sting of tears that wanted to form.

“So they killed him,” she said bitterly.  “Those cowards!”

“I suspect so, yes.”

She turned away, burying her nose in her brandy glass and breathing in the fumes.  Memories of her father wanted to crowd into her head, but she shoved them away.  She could think of him later, when she was alone.

“I could easily kill them, you know,” said Rumplestiltskin, in a very bland tone.  “Rip out their intestines and string them up like puppets, if you like.  Make them do a little dance in the Great Hall...”

“I said no more death,” she said wearily.  “It wouldn’t achieve anything.”

“I find that killing my enemies is something of an end in itself.”

Belle was silent, and she heard him sigh.

“As you wish,” he said, in a resigned tone.  “There was some discussion over what to do with you, as well.”

She turned on her toes, a droplet of brandy flying out of the glass to land on her finger.

“Me?”

“They wanted you hunted down and brought back,” he said.  “Or killed.  Probably both.”

“Of course,” she said dryly.  “Can’t have someone getting in the way of their plans for my father’s lands, now can we?”

“They’re your lands now,” he said.  “I could get them back for you, you know.”

“Let me guess, for a price?” she said, shooting him a wry look.  “Thank you, Rumplestiltskin, but I have no need of lands for the next four years, isn’t that right?”

“The offer’s still there.”

“I’ll remember it.”

She took another drink of brandy, lifting her hand to her mouth and sucking off the droplet clinging to her finger.  Rumplestiltskin was watching her over the rim of his glass, his eyes dark in the low light from the lamps.

“They won’t be coming for you, Belle,” he said.  “They think you’re dead, or that you soon will be.  You’re safe here.”

She nodded, tugging at her lip with her teeth.

“And the villagers?”

He raised his head a little.

“Protected, as you asked.”

“Good.”  She drank the last of her brandy, the fire burning all the way down to her belly.  “Then you’ve kept your end of the bargain.  It’s time for me to keep mine.”

“Tomorrow,” he said.  “I don’t need tea, and the dust isn’t going anywhere.  Get some rest.”

Belle nodded, and set down her glass, tugging the robe around herself and casting him a final glance before she made her way to the door.  She could still feel his eyes on her back.

#fic: crystal tears #rumbelle fic #my fic #dark castle rumbelle #DC!Rumbelle fic fest #rumple-belle

[itsthesinbin]

Whoops (Junkrat&OC)

This is a platonic fic- no shipping between Junkrat and the OC!

No warnings this time, aside from Junkrat’s mouth lmao.

Junkrat still couldn’t believe this bullshit. Exiled from his home, all because he refused to hand over some shit the Queen wanted! What happened to the fucking “finders keepers” rule, eh, Queenie? That shit go out the window the minute he and the big guy had some loot you want? Apparently!

He’s sure the whole thing would’ve gone a lot smoother if Roadhog hadn’t decided to kill one of the guards, as well. Yeah, the guy was about to kick Junkrat’s ass, but the Rat could handle it! He may have even handed over what she wanted without a fight, if the big idiot hadn’t stepped in!

Apparently the guy was one of the Queen’s favorite guards, so of COURSE he and Roadie get exiled immediately. No chance for Jamison to even fucking defend himself! He just- FUCK he slammed the wrench into his good hand!

Jamison let out a comical whine, jumping up and down as he clutched his stinging knuckles. Quiet chuckling came from the other side of the table, and Junkrat glared at the short girl on the other side of the table, who hid her grin behind her hand. Jamison huffed, going back to the workbench.

“Aw, shut it, Scrapper,” Junkrat grumbled, looking over the plan next to him. Ugh, he fucked something up- that’s not supposed to go there. He’s gotta dismantle the whole thing.

“Come on, Jamie- watching you slap your hand with a wrench is always funny”. He grunted, starting to dismantle the bomb in front of him. Jenny watched him for a minute, smile slowly fading as she examined the angry look on his face.

“Hey, Jamie… are you okay?” He threw his hands up, making her jump back.

“Oh, just peachy, mate! Get kicked outta our damn home, and never felt better,” he said. “Not like we actually broke any fuckin’ rules, no! Roadie just snaps a guard’s neck- her FAVORITE guard- and we’re gone!” Roadhog wasn’t even here, at the moment. He was gone to try and get supplies from the nearby settlements, since they can’t enter Junkertown.

“He was just trying to protect you-” “Well I didn’t need his help,” he snapped. “It’s his damn fault we’re here, and now he’s not even here to admit it”. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling some of the strands come out with his fingers.

“He’s probably working with the Queen, to get me killed,” he growled. Jenny frowned, crossing her arms.

“Now, you know that’s not true, Jamison- Mako would never turn on you like that!” Junkrat let out  a sharp laugh, followed by his usual manic giggling. There was no humor in the laugh, this time, however.

“Oh, please! He’s hated me from the moment I hired him- I can see it in his eyes”. She gave him a look, raising a brow. He waved a hand, mumbling a “you know what I mean”. Jenny leaned back in her chair, tapping her foot against the ground.

“Jamison, you know that isn’t true- he doesn’t show how he feels, most of the time, but he cares about you- about both of us”. Junkrat scrubbed his hands through his hair, yelping when it got caught in the parts of his metal hand. He untangled his hair angrily, glaring at her as he did so.

“Yeah, sure- that’s why he’s probably off finding a new employer, while I’m stuck here waiting to get me arse shot”. Jenny gave him an unimpressed look.

“Jamie, your paranoia’s getting the better of you, again. Think about this rationally. Why would Roadhog turn on you now, after HE’S been exiled, too?” “To get back on the Queen’s good side,” he yelled, slamming his hands on the desk. She jumped up out of her seat, getting scared by the manic look in his eyes.

“He’s gonna turn my head into the Queen for a pretty penny, and then take you and go off to the best spots in Junkertown!” He paused, before giving Jenny a hard look.

“You’re in on it, aren’t ya?” “What-” “You’re keeping my distracted while the guards come to get me, eh?” He started to walk around the workbench, and Jenny moved to keep out of his reach.

“Jamie, you’re being paranoid. You need to calm down and think about this-” “Oh, I’m thinkin’, shiela, and I’m thinkin’ you’re about to turn on me, too”. She shook her head, moving back towards the door.

“I’d never do that, Jamison-” “STOP LYIN’ TO ME,” he screeched, making her reel back. She tripped, falling on her backside as she stared up at the angry man. Her breathing picked up, and she felt her eyes water.

“You know what- I’m givin’ ya a chance to just get outta here.” “Jamie-” “Get OUT!” She jumped, before scrambling up. He heard her sobbing as she ran out of the building.

She didn’t stop running until she got to her home. Jenny slammed the door shut, locking the door behind her. She slid down the door, trying to calm her breathing before she began to hyperventilate.

She gripped her hair, curling in on herself. She hiccuped, burying her face into her knees. She couldn’t believe this… She was trying to help him, and he just… threatens her, and drives her away.

“... N-No, it’ll… it’ll be fine. Mako will… talk some sense into him,” she said quietly. She hoped, anyway.

The image of Junkrat stalking towards her, screaming at her, replayed in her head over and over. She doesn’t know how long she sat there, feeling herself drift away from her body as her thoughts became muddled.

She stood, going to her bed. Maybe… maybe a good nap will calm her down. Hopefully, she’ll get a call from Mako saying that it’s safe to come back.

She knows Junkrat didn’t mean to say those things- his paranoia gets the best of him at the worst of times- but… damn, it hurt. She never thought Junkrat would ever distrust her.

“He just… needs time,” she mumbled, laying on the bed. She drifted off into a restless sleep, tears leaving a wet spot on her pillow.

It’d be hours before Roadhog returned, with the supplies he had promised. When he entered, he saw bomb parts scattered across the floor, and Junkrat was pacing back and forth. He fiddled with his hands nervously, before chewing on his nails. He had already chewed them down to the skin, and some of his fingers were bleeding.

Roadhog set his things down, loudly, catching the other man’s attention. Junkrat stared at Mako, before staring at his feet. Mako saw a significant lack of Jenny, and growled slightly at Junkrat’s guilty expression. He sneered behind the mask.

“What did you do, Rat,” he asked, crossing his arms. Jamison scratched his fingers through his hair, letting out a loud whine.

“I didn’t do nothin, Hog! I swear!” “Then where’s Jenny,” Mako snarled. Jamie froze up, before slumping over his workbench.

“I fucked up, Hog,” he said. “I was angry- at myself, at you, at her. Screamed at her- told her to… get out”. He mumbled a “stupid, stupid, stupid” to himself, slapping his head with each word.

“Me fucked brain got the better of me, again,” he grumbled, and Roadhog began to get an idea of what went down. Roadhog stared, silently, at his employer as he continued.

“Blamed you for gettin’ us trapped out here. Blamed ya both for turnin’ on me,” he sighed. “Should’ve seen her face, Hog… it’s like she didn’t know who I was, or what was happenin’”. He sat at his bench, putting his face in his hands.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if she was turnin’ me in right now”. Roadhog sighed, sitting next to him. He slapped Junkrat on the back, knocking him over. He landed with an “OOF”, glaring at the hulking man as he got back up.

“You know she wouldn’t do that. You’re a fucking idiot, but she would never betray you. Even if you fucked up this badly,” Mako replied. Junkrat was quiet. Yeah, he did know, and that made him feel even fucking worse.

“Ugh… what do I do, Hog?” “You gotta apologize, you know that, right?” Junkrat nodded, reluctantly.

“Yeah, but… how the fuck do I apologize for this?” Roadhog shrugged, getting up to put the supplies he bought away. Junkrat watched him for a moment, before getting up.

He grabbed some money, heading out the door. Roadhog glanced at him.

“Where’re you goin’?” “I don’t fuckin’ know,” Junkrat grumbled, slamming the door shut. Junkrat leaned against the door for a second, before heading to the nearest settlement that he was welcome to.

It wasn’t the most bustling place, but he isn’t being attacked on sight, so it’s better than nothing. People stared at him, as word of what happened in the main city got around to the other settlements, but he was… more or less welcome here.

He wandered around the gravel roads, nearly catching his peg leg in five different dips and holes in ten minutes. Man, he wishes he went somewhere else.

Especially after he actually fell on his goddamn face.

With the grace of an angry badger, he pushed himself up and kept walking. He brushed pebbles and loose dirt off of himself, finding himself in a shopping zone. Looks like a damn flea market.

He looked through some stalls, seeing people sell food, scrap, and some clothes or cheap jewelry. Not great, but it ain’t terrible. Junkertown’s shops were way better, though.

He stopped at a flower stall, of all things. How the hell anyone can grow anything out here, he’ll never know. He has a bit of respect for people who manage to do it, though.

He stopped in front of the stall, looking over the colorful flowers. Only a few bundles looked half dead, compared to the usual dead plants of the Outback. Not bad.

The man running the stall shifted nervously, stammering a bit.

“C… Can I help you, sir? Anything in… in particular you’re, uh… you’re looking for?” Junkrat grunted, still staring at the flowers.

“What kinda flowers would ya get after you get into an argument with someone?” The man scrambled to get a bouquet of cheap-looking roses. Junkrat sneered, but knew roses were hard to grow here.

“How much for ‘em?” Junkrat pulled out the money needed for the roses, then took the bouquet from him.

“Thanks,” Junkrat grumbled, walking down the road with his new flowers. Maybe he can find something else while he’s here, to get back on her good side. Lord knows he’ll need it after this colossal fuck up.

He stopped outside of a metal working shop, a grin spreading on his face. Oh… this’ll do nicely.

He strolled in, seeing that it was mainly empty. There were all kinds of weapons on the walls- ranging from knives to spears to axes. A lot of fun things for the more violent of the Junkers. The woman behind the counter watched Junkrat with a wary gaze.

“Can I help ya, mate,” she asked, tapping her fingers on the counter nervously. He looked over her smaller weapons- knives, knuckles, and small maces. He picked up a pretty damn good looking set of knuckles. Spiked, with small, serrated blades on the outer edges. Beauties. Jenny’ll definitely like these.

He set the knuckles on the counter, as well as the cost the plaque listed. The woman hurried to wrap, and box, the weapons. She wanted the mad man out of her store as soon as possible.

She passed the box to Junkrat, who took it roughly. He muttered his thanks, leaving the shop. The woman let out a sigh of relief when he was gone.

He wandered around the town for a bit longer, checking out various shops and places to eat. Maybe he, Jen, and Hog could move out here, instead of hiding out in Junkertown’s slums, like they have been. Or, like he and Hog have been. Thankfully, Jenny wasn’t a part of the whole… situation. She was an innocent bystander in all of this.

Makes him wonder why the hell she sticks around like she does.

He was gone for nearly five hours. He sneered as he entered Junkertown’s slums. He hates these damn broken down buildings. It just reminds him of all the bullshit he’s gone through, recently.

He stopped by the shack, saying he was back, before slamming the door to go to Jenny’s home. He hesitated on the way there, debating on turning around.

No… no, he needs to do this.

He stood at her door, hesitantly knocking on it. When he got no response, he tried the handle. It was unlocked, which worried him. Her neck of the woods was pretty dangerous.

He walked in slowly, looking around. The lights were off, and he heard quiet hiccups. She seemed to be relatively fine, at least, so that was… good.

He headed over to where her cot was, seeing her curled up on her side. She stared through him, clearly not all there. He set the box and flowers down, crouching in front of her.

“Ey, Scrapper,” he said, waving a hand in front of her face. She barely flinched at the action, making him frown. He sat down in front of her, making sure they were face to face.

“Come on, Jen, snap out of it,” he mumbled, patting her cheeks. Her eyes flicked to his, but he could tell she still doesn’t realize he’s really there.

He fiddled with his hands, not knowing what the fuck to do in this situation. Does he leave and get Roadhog? No, he’s gotta do this himself. Does he try and snap her out of it? Duh, Rat, you have to. But HOW?

He started to panic, not knowing what to do. Instincts took over.

He gave her a quick peck on the mouth.

Instincts were VERY bad.

That, definitely, seemed to snap her back to reality. She blinked at him, before shooting into a sitting position. He jumped back, in the most ridiculous pose she had ever seen him in. He looked ready to run.

She touched her mouth numbly, staring at him in shock.

“... That’s the first time anyone has kissed me on the mouth,” she stated, and he slapped his forehead.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry- what the fuck why hasn’t anyone tried to date ya,” he asked, before shaking his head.

“No- not what I’m here for”. He went to the table, grabbing the flowers and box. He thrusted the two items into her hands, shocking her. Slowly, she put the flowers on the bed next to her. She opened the box, eyeing it warily. She gasped happily, screaming in delight as she pulled out the gorgeous knuckles.

“Jamie…” She paused, delight leaving her face quickly. “... Is… this an apology?” Junkrat sighed deeply, sitting in a nearby chair. He nodded.

“Yeah, it is. Look… I’m really sorry, Jen. I know I snapped at ya for no reason. You were trying to help me- calm me down- and I just… stuck a knife in your back,” he said. “I blamed you for us gettin’ kicked out- and Hog, too- when it was my own damn fault me and the big lug are out here”. He rested his head in his palm, staring at the ground in shame.

“After threatening me, and running me out of your shack, you just… bought me flowers, and new weapons, and hope that makes up for it?” She frowned. “I may like these, Jamison, but I don’t like trying to be bought out”. Jamie shook his head quickly, not wanting her to think he was just trying to get out of apologizing.

“Of course not! These were just… to butter you up a bit-” She glared at him a bit, crossing her arms. He panicked slightly.

“Bad phrasing- no, not to butter you up. I felt bad, and… look, kid, I ain’t good with words. This was easier”. She tapped her foot on the ground, raising a brow. He sighed deeply, giving her a tired look.

I hurt ya, and I didn’t mean to. If you want to turn my dumb ass in, feel free to do it”. Jenny gave him a look, putting the knuckles back into the box. She came over, hugging the big idiot.

“I’d never turn you in, stupid,” she said. “I care about you both too much”. She pulled back, giving him a small smile.

“You definitely scared me, earlier, but I know you were just… on edge, and paranoid. I understand”. “Good! Didn’t want ya to think I actually hated you- where would I be without my protege,” he laughed, patting her on the back. She snickered, going to put the roses in a cup of water.

“...I’m still really sorry, Jen-” “Stop it, Jamie. You apologized, and I knew from the get-go that you didn’t mean anything you said. It… did hurt,” she said, making him slump slightly. “But! You saying, yourself, that you didn’t mean it helps”. She sat down again, smiling slightly.

“Because of that, I’ll be able to get over it,” she assured, reaching over and patting his hand. He grinned, nodding happily.

“Good, good,” he laughed. “Besides, I’ll need ya for a… plan I got”. “Oh no… Jamie, what are you planning-” “Don’t worry about it!” He jumped up, grabbing her hands and yanking her up, as well. He grabbed her new weapons’ box, pushing it into her hands, before pushing her out the door.

“Come on- I haven’t told Hog, yet! I thought of it on the way here, so we gotta tell him!” “Jamie-!” “Shshshshshsh- Just go with it, mate!” Jenny sighed, a fond smile on her face as she let him push her towards their shack.

She loves this fucking idiot.

Mako was in his chair when they finally showed up, glancing at the door when the two entered. He saw Junkrat’s arm wrapped around Jen’s shoulders, the two laughing and Jen holding her box. He raised a brow behind the mask, closing his book.

“You two good?” Junkrat grinned wolfishly, nodding. Jenny laughed, telling him all was good. Mako grunted a little, giving a quick nod. Then, he noticed the look in Junkrat’s eye. His own narrowed.

“What’re you planning, Rat?” “Aw, c’mon, Hog! I ain’t even said anything!” “Yet”. Junkrat huffed, crossing his arms. Jenny snickered, going to sit next to Mako. She knew Jamison would make them sit down, anyway, while he explained whatever plan he had.

“Alright, you two stay there- got a good idea brewin’!” He darted off. The two heard distant clanging, and Jenny leaned against the arm of the couch.

“You got any idea what he’s talking about,” Roadhog asked. Jenny gave an “I dunno” noise, shrugging. The older man snorted, going back to his book while Jamison yelled at himself for dropping the blackboard on his foot.

Good job, idiot.

Junkrat dragged the blackboard over, as well as a box of… costumes. Jenny furrowed her brow, as Jamison began.

“Now, there’s two things that solve EVERY problem: Money, and EXPLOSIONS!” Oh, Lord.

“Alright, first step of the plan is a long one, ladies and gents- we gotta go ‘round the world and get as much treasure as possible,” Jamison started. “Gold, money, jewels- you name it, we gotta get it!” “Eh, Jamie-”. Jenny was ignored.

“We get that all in a cart, and line the cart with dynamite! When we get at the Junkertown doors, we light the fuse”. “Jamie-” “And then we put on our INCONSPICUOUS disguises!” The two sitting were thrown a couple of costumes. Roadhog had some kind of shark thing, and she had some weird… steampunk-looking shit.

“Then, we’ll be sneakin’ into town with the loot. We’ll get our glorious, tricked-out boom-trolley RIIIGHT up to the boss’s place…” He jumped up onto a box, laughing madly.

“We’ll reveal our INGENIOUS deception, and then… BOOM!” He cackled.

“They’ll never see it coming!” Jenny hesitated, before raising her hand. Junkrat pointed to her, letting her speak.

“Escape plan?” “Oh… OH RIGHT”. He slapped his forehead, before grinning.

Taking a breath, he recapped the entire… fucking plan.

“THEN… We run like hell, and BOOM!” He stood, hands splayed out in an “explosion” as he stared at his comrades. Jenny and Mako still looked unconvinced. The two stared at him, Jenny with her arms crossed.

Junkrat looked between the two, then groaned as he leaned back.

“Right, right- the gold! No use in lettin’ all that blow up, eh?” He took the deepest breath Jenny had ever heard, and then recapped the ENTIRE plan, again.

Is he okay?

“Then we GRAB THE GOLD, run like hell, and…” He looked at the two- mainly Roadhog. “Boom?” As dumb as the plan was, it was a solid one- or, as solid as any plan of Jamison’s could be.

Jenny looked to Mako- he was the final say in this group. Junkrat gave Roadhog the puppy eyes the entire time the older Junker thought.

Finally, Mako nodded. Junkrat let out a shrill, screaming laugh, before falling off of the box in sheer delight.

“ALRIGHT! We leave TOMORROW, then,” he cackled. Then, he abruptly stopped laughing.

“Can… someone help me get me leg- it flew across the room”. Jenny snorted, getting up and grabbing his peg leg. She threw the heavy limb at Junkrat’s stomach, making him wheeze. Once it was back on, she helped him stand.

“You sure this is a good idea, Jamie,” she asked, knowing he’d say yes no matter what. It was his plan, after all.

“OF COURSE IT IS,” he laughed. “It’s foolproof! Even Hog back there couldn’t mess it up!” Mako gave Junkrat a blank stare, before shaking his head. Roadhog stood, stating he’ll be back later, before heading out again. He needed some quiet.

Jenny rolled her eyes at Jamison, helping him find his weapons and tools.

“So, you guys are leaving tomorrow, then?” Junkrat stopped, looking at her like she grew a second head.

“What’cha mean ‘you guys’- you’re comin’ too, mate,” he replied. “Aren’t ya?” Jenny hesitated, not knowing if she really should go.

“C’mon, Jen, I need ya! Hog and I can’t do this on our own”. Well, they could, but… come on, it’s boring without her around.

“You ain’t got nothin’ here to hold ya back, do you,” he asked. Jenny thought about it. The only friends she has here were these two idiots. If they left… she wouldn’t really have anyone to talk to, aside from a couple shopkeepers in Junkertown.

“I… guess not. I just… don’t know if this is a good plan, Jamie”. “Sure it is! Don’t worry about a thing- I got the entire thing planned out from start, to finish, remember?” Yeah, the bare-bones plan that involves “running like hell” as the escape route. She gave a tired smile.

“Alright, alright. I’ll… pack tonight, and meet you here tomorrow morning. Besides,” she grinned, “if I left you alone, you might lose your leg and not find it again”. Junkrat yelled out a “EY”, making her laugh.

She waved to Junkrat as she finished up at their place, heading out to her own to pack what belongings she has. She gave Junkrat her new knuckles to pack with their other weapons, so she’ll have to wait to use those. Sadly.

She entered her house, grabbing her bags and packing whatever she could- and felt she needed. She thought about what she was about to do, while she did so.

Junkrat and Roadhog were going on a world-wide heist. She would be an accomplice in those crimes. They’ll, no doubt, get sizable bounties by the time Jamison deems that they have enough loot to come back.

Is she sure she wants to do this?

She thought about the two, and how much more trouble they’d get in without her. She smiled slightly, packing more quickly.

Yeah, they’ll need her. There’s no way she’s passing this up.

#overwatch #junkrat #fic #junkrat & oc #mod commissions

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Since Streaky is canon now (yay! :D), I'm wondering, does Streaky exist in the Cool Aunt Kara AU too?

Short answer: YEP.

Longer answer:

Karais not a pushover. She's not.

Shepromised the Danvers that Alex would be in bed by eight. And she is!

Physically.In bed.

...Notasleep, but...Getting there?

“Okaaaaay,have I told you about the time Thara and I—”

“Yes,”Alex chirps, nodding solemnly.

“Howabout that one time I saved Atlantis?”

“Youtold that one last time.”

Karasighs, scratching her head. “Right, okay.” Alex looks at herexpectantly. The deal was, Alex would go to bed, if andonly if, Kara could deliver asatisfactory bedtime story. Kara had hastily agreed, of course, buthad not bothered to read the fine print:

Ithad to be one Alex had never heard before.

“Um...therewas that thing with the batmobile and the tire pump—”

Alexhuffs.

“Youtold that one too!” she says, crossing her arms and frowning. Karaholds up her hands.

“Right,right, okay!”

“It'sgotta be new.”

“Iknow, I know,” Kara placates, “just let me...” she trails off,thinking. She lets her gaze wander a bit, hoping something in Alex'sroom might offer inspiration.

Shockingly,Lego bricks and Barbies don't really jog any exciting memories.

There'sBrian the Otter, lying at the end of the bed, but Kara's alreadyexhausted her cache of Atlantean stories, apparently. A couple ofbrightly colored Beanie Babies, a cheap, carnival-grade Odie andGarfield, won last summer by Jeremiah—

Karastares at the faded orange cat.

“...HaveI ever told you...” she starts, the memory falling neatly intoplace, “about the time I accidentally gave my cat superpowers?”

Kansas,some years ago...

Thesun had not quite set over the Kent farm. It remained perched low onthe horizon, casting everything in an inviting orange glow, thelengthening shadows tinged with violet.

Karaignored the picturesque scene as she trudged angrily towards thebarn, Jon's toolbox in tow. The tools inside clanked noisily witheach step, announcing her intentions to a few stray chickens who hadwandered over from the coop out back.

“Shoo,”she muttered to the nearest one, who just stared and offered a mildlyoffended squawk. None of the chickens cared much for her; probablyhad something to do with her noisy trips to the barn.

(And...there was that one time...with the...super sneeze...)

Itwasn't her fault, though. (The noisy tool box. The super sneeze...that was definitely all her.) It was the dumb pod that was theproblem, refusing to work properly. She approached the craft inquestion, letting the toolbox drop to the hard packed earth floor ofthe barn with a sharp KER-CLANK.

Shetugged the faded blue tarp aside, gathering the material up into acrinkled, messy bundle before tossing it away.

Dull silver metal caught the early evening sunlight, and the glarereminded Kara to trot back to the barn door, and nudge it closed.

Theywere quite a ways from their nearest neighbor, but. They weren't all thatfar from the main road, and the glare would attract attention.

Doorshut, the interior of the barn was decidedly more gloomy, all dullbrowns and dusty air. Slivers of orange and yellow light peeking out frombetween the wooden slats were enough to work by for now, but. Inabout thirty minutes or so, Kara would have to break out the lantern.

Sighing,she approached the pod again, this time clambering into the crampedcockpit. Her hands automatically moved to the controls, muscle memorytaking over from there as she cycled through the safety checks andflight monitors—all essentially useless now, given the current fuellevels.

Ofcourse, she wasn't interested in a joyride, so it didn't matter. Shewas more concerned with the on-board computer, and the knowledgestored therein.

AccessCode: Accepted. The messagescrolled lazily across the readout in the familiar, blockycharacters of Kryptonese. Kara smiled in spite of herfrustration—reading Kryptonian was so...instantand effortless. English always took half a second more.

Query?

Karasighed, pulling a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of herjeans. In smudged ink was a list of possible search topics that,hopefully, would lead her to something, anything on theon-board computer resembling an encyclopedia, or collection of...of...

Well.A collection of whatever was kept on the Sun Stones.

Thenew search terms she had thought up in the last week were just asnonsensical as the ones she'd come up with the week prior, and theone before that, and the one before that. She ran out of logicalinputs well within the first month of trying to extract everythingshe could from the pods—now she was down to the really weirdstuff that was almost certain to bring up absolutely nothing.

Andshe was right, of course, which meant she had to try and deal withthe darn Sun Stones again.

Ah,the Sun Stones.

Wayeasier to use than the dumb controls on the pod. In theory, anyway.

Shegrit her teeth as she climbed back out of the pod, stalking over tothe workbench where, tucked in a hidden compartment, wrapped in aboutfour layers of grease-covered drop cloths, were the six Sun Stonesthat had accompanied the El children on their journey from Krypton.

Everythingthey'd need to know, everything they'd need to survive.

Andunderneath the bundle of red-tinged prisms was the light array thatallowed the information to be read off the nigh-invisible groovesetched in the crystalline surface.

Thevery broken, entirely useless light array.

Sheset the Sun Stones aside, pulling out the pieces of thearray and setting them on the workbench, running her fingers over themetal casings and tiny, fractured parts.

Afterstaring at them for a while, she took a seat on the nearby stool, andstared some more.

Staredand thought. Ran over various solutions to the problem athand—solutions she hadn't yet tried a dozen times over.

Thetask was difficult for a number of reasons, but almost all of themcould be boiled down to the fact that Earth simply wasn't equipped todeal with this technology—all the tools at her disposal wereso...so primitive. Taking a wrench to this was a sure fire wayto cause even more damage. (Kara knew, because she'd triedthat and all she had to show for it was more broken pieces.)

Shesighed, reaching for the most intact portion—the housing of thesmall deltahedron core. That, thankfully, was stilloperational. The core emitted a bright, cheerful sort of blue light,and hummed almost imperceptibly. She was trying to find a way tojust...bypass all the broken bits and make due with the workingpieces, but. Without the actual light part of the light array,all she really had was an extremely efficient battery and...yeah. Anextremely efficient battery.

“Maybe...maybesomething with magnifying glasses?” Kara muttered to herself,pulling the deltahedron from the housing and blowing off a bit ofdust that had settled on the surface. The barn door behind hercreaked, and Kara turned, ready to tell the intruding chickens to getlost.

Exceptit wasn't the chickens, but rather, the large, orange tabby that hadtaken up residence in the hayloft.

“Oh,hello,” Kara greeted the cat happily. She much preferred hercompany to the chickens. “Want back up in the loft?”

Thecat didn't answer (she so rarely did) and instead trotted to one ofthe posts and rubbed her flank along the corner, purring noisily.Kara stood to shut the barn door, but before she could do so, threetiny kittens scurried inside.

“Oh,hey!” she exclaimed, grinning. “You've got a family!” shepaused, something clicking. “That explains the round stomach...Ikinda thought you were just. Overeating.”

Again,the cat ignored her, but the kittens...they took a keeninterest in Kara's presence, sniffing at her work boots, pawing ather feet for attention.

Shehesitantly granted their request, keeping the interactions to pettingonly—she didn't really trust herself to handle the tiny things—theylooked so small and fragile, and she...she was clumsy. And superstrong.

Theyseemed pleased, though, purring up a storm and mewling happily. Karafound herself delighted by the distraction.

“Youguys are so cute,” she remarked softly, “And way more interestingthan broken Sun Stone tech.”

Thesmallest of the bunch—another orange tabby with a random whitepatch on its side—meowed loudly in what Kara had to assume wasagreement.

Sheliked that one. A lot.

“Areyou guys hungry?” she asked, carefully standing. She was prettysure Martha had some sort of canned meat on hand. “I don't think wehave tuna, or anything. But. We might have that fake ham stuff.”

Therewas no cry of protest (not that Kara really expected one) soshe figured that would work. She briefly wondered if she should putthe Stones and array back in the workbench, but. She wouldn't be gonethat long.

“Beright back,” she promised, hoping they'd stick around a bit longer.They were a great distraction, yes, and infinitely preferableto angrily fiddling with the array all evening, but. Moreimportant than that...

Karawanted to show Clark.

“Whatwere the cats' names?” Alex wants to know.

Karapauses, mid-recollection, momentarily caught off guard.

“What?”

“Thecats' names,” Alex repeats, only slightly exasperated. Apparently,this is vital information that she needs. Right now.

“Well...therewas Streaky...” she frowns, trying to remember. “And Fluffy, Ithink? Or Fuzzy...no. Fozzy. And the other one was Kermit. Yeah.” She looksover at Alex.

She'sfrowning. “Those names are...okay, I guess.”

Karashrugs. “Clark likes the Muppets.”

Alex doesn’t pursue that line of questioning further. Instead, she has others: “Isthe light ray the one my dad fixed?”

“Yes.”

“Didthe mom cat have a name?”

“No,we just called her barn cat.”

“Howmean were the chickens?”

“Verymean.”

“Howdid the cat get powers?”

“I'mnot there yet.”

“Oh,yeah. You gotta finish it.”

“Yes,well. May I?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay,so. The SPAM...”

“What'sit?” Clark asked as Kara tied his shoes. Martha stood by, plate ofprocessed meat product on hand, ready to go.

“It'sa surprise,” Kara told him with a grin. Clark wiggled eagerly,reaching for his sweater, and tried to hurriedly tug it over his headwithout Kara's help.

Hegot a little bit tangled, the sleeves turned at an odd angle, but hemanaged to get his head through.

“Iwanna see!”

“'Kay.But you have to be quiet,” Kara said, straightening thesweater. Martha laughed as Clark covered his mouth with his hands.“And no peeking, either,” Kara made him promise, though shedoubted he'd be able to get his x-ray vision working properly. Hewasn't quite...there yet, in terms of control.

Still,she did want it to be a surprise, so she waited for Clark toagree.

Whichhe did, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster while still beingvery, very quiet.

Karachuckled, and took the plate of meat from Martha.

“I'llbe out in a minute,” Martha said, turning back to the kitchen.“Just have to finish up the green beans.”

“Okay,”Kara said, taking Clark's hand. The two made for the barn, and Karareviewed the rules.

“We'regonna be quiet, right?”

“Yes!”he cried.

“Shhh,”Kara said, and Clark nodded, this time whispering back, “yes!”

Satisfied,Kara opened the barn door and told Clark to take the plate (with bothhands!) over to the middle-ish of the barn and set it on the ground.She could see the mother still basically in the same place she'd lefther, and spotted two of the three kittens playing with some hay a fewfeet off to the side.

Clark'sface lit up when he saw them, and it was clearly a strugglefor him to walk slowly to put the plate down, but he managed.

“Stayquiet and still,” Kara instructed, knowing that he'd want to petthem as soon as they approached. “Let them eat first, okay?”

“Okay,”Clark once again agreed, watching with rapt attention as the catscame over.

Well,as most of the cats came over. Where was the third one?

Karalooked towards the loft and the stacked bales of hay, but saw nottrace of the orange kitten. It wasn't by the pod, either. Where—

Somethingclattered, and then a loud buzzing filled the barn. The catsbristled, and Clark clamped his hands over his ears.

Karafelt the color drain from her face, recognizing the soundimmediately.

Thedeltahedron.

Shespun on her heel and—just as she feared—the orange kitten hadbeen batting around the sphere that Kara had left out on theworkbench.

She'dknocked it to the ground, and Kara could see, even from several feetaway, that the outer shell of the core was cracked. Blue energypulsed and sparked...

Butworse than that?

Thefact that the dumb catwas still playing with it.

“No!”Kara yelped, rushing forward with super speed as the kitten raised atiny paw, and the core burned bright blue with energy. She grabbedthe kitten in one hand, the core in the other.

Bigmistake.

Thecore burned on contact, and for a terrifying moment, Kara could feelthe energy as it raced up her arm and into her chest. The kittenyowled, clawing from her grasp a split second before she dropped thesmoldering deltahedron.

Bothlanded on the barn floor, but only onetook off for the safety of the hayloft, her siblings close on her tail.

Clarkwas crying, surprised by the loud noise and worried something hadhappened to the cats, or his cousin, or both.

Andthat of course,brought Martha running from the house, as Kara hissed and mutteredunder her breath and wondered if she should apply cold water to the burn,or just stand out in the sun for a bit.

“Whathappened?” Martha asked, rushing first to Kara, and then to Clark,once Kara waved her off.

“Catsmessed with...with a thing,” Kara struggled to explain, still a bitrattled by the whole experience. Deltahedrons were some of thesmallest power sources they'd had back on Krypton, but geez...didthey pack a punch.

“Shhhh,shhhh, hey, it's okay, it's okay,” Martha was telling Clark, overand over. Kara nodded, forcing a smile.

“Yeah,I'm fine Kal,” and she would be, so it was kinda true. “I'm sorryI yelled, I was worried about the kitty.”

“IsKitty okay too?” Clark wanted to know, sniffling. Kara x-rayed thebales of hay, and saw the entire cat family, spooked, but otherwisefine.

“Yeah,”Kara told him, pointing to the hayloft with her good hand. “Theywere just scared by the loud noise.”

“Likeme?”

“Yeah,”Kara said again, and winced as Martha tugged at her hand to get abetter look.

“Whatdid you say the cat was messing with?” she asked. Kara sighed.

“Adeltahedron.” She hissed as Martha continued to inspect the burn.

“Well.I have no idea what that is, but I'm surprised it managed to burn you,what with your thick skin and all,” she mused quietly. “You tellme—do we treat this like a regular burn?”

“Idon't know,” Kara admitted. “I think it'll heal, but...” hereyes were starting to sting, because the burn was starting to hurt.“Um. Could we...?”

“Iceit in the meantime?”

“Yes,please.”

Atwhich point, Martha ushered both Kryptonians back to the house,though Clark protested a little—he wanted visual proofthat the 'kitties were good.' (His words.) And it was only Martha andKara's combined persuasive arguments that he finally acquiesced,allowing the trio to go back to the kitchen, where Martha procuredfrozen peas and some aloe vera for Kara's hand.

“Yousaid the cat gets superpowers.”

“I'malmost there, okay?”

Thecats were scarce after that, and Kara couldn't blame them. Sheherself was less than eager to return to working on the light array,as it would involve patching the deltahedron's shell.

Notexactly something she was looking forward to.

Herhand did heal on itsown, but not before she spent several hours whining about it.(Because it hurt andwhat a dumb thing painwas. She'd been without it for about four years and she didn't missit much.)

Clarkkept asking about the 'kitties,' (again, his words) and desperately,desperately wanted hiscousin to find them.

“They'renot in the hayloft, Clark,” she groaned after he asked for the sixhundredth time as to their whereabouts. “I don't know where theywent.”

“Findthem,” he suggested, and Kara sighed.

“Ican try,” is all she was able to offer.

Clarkwas not pleased.

Butat least he stopped asking after that. And Kara thought the issue hadbeen dropped.

Untilone afternoon, a few days later, when she returned home from schoolto find Martha scolding Clark in the living room.

“Clark,”she said, tone stern. “Did you do this?”

Shegestured to some scorch marks on the rug.

“Kittydid it,” Clark said with sincerity.

Karahad to stop herself from laughing out loud.

“NowClark,” Martha bent down, so that she was eye-to-eye with him. “Youknow kitties don't have special eyes like you do.”

“Theorange kitty does,”he insisted, and looked back at Kara, who had set her bag aside, andtaken a seat on the bottom most set of stairs in order to tug off hershoes. “The one Kara touched. It glowed blue!”

Andof course. Neither Kara nor Martha believedthis outlandish tale about a glowing blue cat with superpowers. Thatwould be ridiculous.

Marthawas getting ready to further interrogate Clark when Jonathan walked in from the kitchen, cleaning his hands on arag.

“Thereyou are!” he exclaimed, beaming at Clark. “I wondered where myassistant had wandered off to.”

Marthablinked.

“Hewas with you? Out in the barn?”

“Allmorning.”

Karaand Martha stared at one another for a moment.

“Clark...”Kara says slowly, “where did Kitty go?”

Kitty,as it turned out, went quite a few places. All they had to do wasfollow the trail of smoldering destruction.

“Thankgoodness she didn't go back to the barn,” Jonathan muttered,stamping out a small fire in a tall patch of weeds.

Thekitten certainly lookednormal, and perfectly content to nibble on some blades of grass. Butstray sparks of blue energy would occasionally arc up her spine, andwhen she sneezed, well.

Karaunderstood why the rug wound up scorched.

“So...so,”Martha folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head, staringat the cat. “Your...deltahedron? Is that what you call it?”

Karanodded. “Yes.”

“Yourdeltahedron...gave a kitten superpowers.”

“Idon't...think so,” Kara frowned and thought about the incident, andthe odd feeling in her arms and chest. “I think...Ihad something to do with it.”

“You?”

“Yeah,I...” Kara wasn't sure exactly how to articulate, nor could sheactually prove it,but. Hedrons didn't give people powers. They just...didn't.

Thefact that her weird alien DNA had been literally standing between thehedron and the cat, though.

Thatwas food for thought.

“Theenergy went through me, first. So...” Kara shrugged. “MaybeI...rubbed off on her.”

Jonathanlaughed, and Martha shook her head.

“Wellthat...certainly is something.”

Clarkgiggled in delight as the cat sneezed again, and sent up a spray ofsparks. Both Jonathan and Martha took a step back, while Kararemained seated in the weeds.

Thekitten shook herself, licked her paw, and promptly trotted overbefore curling up in Kara's lap.

“O-oh,”Kara exclaimed, surprised but also...not-so-secretly pleased. “Um.Hi.”

Thecat sneezed again, and Kara flinched, but the sparks didn't hurt. Notmuch, anyway.

Theydid burn small holes in her shirt sleeves, though.

“Wecan't let her wander off,” Jonathan surmised, taking a look at thepatch of smoking earth. “Last thing Smallville needs is a felinearsonist running around.”

“Sowe let her burn down our house instead, hmmm?” Martha asked with a smirk.Jonathan shrugged.

“Well...”

Asthey went back and forth, trying to figure out how to deal with thesuperpowered kitten, Kara thought about the deltahedron, and thecracked casing of the shell.

“Ithink,” she interrupted the two of them. “I have an idea.”

Karacarried the cat back to the barn; neither Jonathan nor Martha couldrisk being zapped by weird Kryptonian energy, for obvious reasons.(Those reasons being: injury, and/or accidental superpower acquisition.)

Clarkoffered, but Kara didn't trust him to keep a tight enough grip on thecat—or maybe, it would be tootight. Clark's powers were still developing, but even at this nascentstage, they were potent.

Shedid, though, eventually have to pass the kitten off to him in orderto work. She was less concerned, however, because Martha and Jonathanstood guard at the barn door, ready and armed with welding masks andrubber gloves, should the cat make a break for it.

“Holdon tight, but not too tight, okay? Be gentlewith the kitty,” Kara instructed, belatedly realizing that sheherself had managed to transport the animal without squishing it. 

It was a pleasant surprise.

Clarknodded, and the kitten settled comfortably into his small arms. Hereverently stroked her head, using the lightest touch he couldmuster.

Karasmiled, and retreated to the workbench, where she regarded thedeltahedron casing with something of a resigned air.

“Thisis gonna make it harder to fix, isn't it?” she hadn't noticed thatJonathan had joined her. She curled her fingers into a fist, pressingher knuckles into the surface of the workbench. It creaked a little, but didn’t splinter.

“It'lltake a bit longer, yeah,” she told him. Though...it wasn'tentirely...truthful. It implied that there was even hope of fixingit in the first place, and. What with the deltahedron no longer being stable, and the amount of materials she'd need justto put the brokenparts back together, let alone the whole system...

She...shejust knew. That she'd never be able to get it to work.

“ButI mean...” she looked at Jonathan. “It's...my fault the cat'slike this. I have to help her,” she said, and then, frowning,added, “and I reallydon't want her to burn down the farm.”

“Yeah,I think we'd all like to avoid that,” he teased her.

Shetook a deep breath, reached for the casing, as well as Jonathan's boxof tools, and got to work.

Thecollar was not pretty.

Weirdhunks of alien plastic stitched onto mismatched scraps of nylon, itlooked less like a collar, and more like a collection of junk, strungaround the cat's neck.

Butwhen the cat sneezed?

Thesparks were drawn to the Kryptonian material via a process that, evenif Kara could explainit to Jonathan and Martha, their human brains would have no frame ofreference for it. Earth lacked the necessary scientific terms todescribe it.

Neitherof them seemed too concerned with the 'why,' though.

“Justso long as it works,” Jonathan remarked, pleased to see the collardoing its job. “Now she can come in the house.”

“We'rekeeping Kitty?” Clark asked somewhat breathlessly.

Jonathannodded. “She already pretty much lives in the barn.” The catsneezed, and once more, the sparks leaped to the collar. “And Idon't think we want to explain...that. To folks.”

BothMartha and Kara shook their heads. No, they did not.

“Soshe stays!” Jonathan declared, and Clark shrieked with pleased laughter.

“She'llneed a name,” Martha told the two of them. Kara and Clark thoughtfor a moment, staring at the kitten.

“Ilike Kitty,” Clark said.

“Simple,straightforward...” Jonathan nodded. “No frills...”

Karawasn't so sure.

“Well...whatabout...”

“Kermit,”Alex guesses.

Karais once more forced to an abrupt halt, stumbled by the interruption.

“What?No!” Kara says. “Streaky. We named the cat Streaky.”

Alexpushes up from her pillows and leans forward. “How come?”

Karasmirks and points back to the pillows. Alex huffs, and lies back downas Kara re-tucks her in.

“Becauseof that white spot on her side,” Kara says. “Like. A littlestreak. So...Streaky.”

“Whynot Sparky?”

“Becausethat's...” Kara blinks. “...Oh, that's...that's actually...prettygood,” she mutters under herbreath, before coughing and continuing. “Erherm. Clark likedStreaky.”

“Well,tell Clark it's a weird name.”

“I'lllet him know.”

“Andthat Sparky's better.”

“Gotit.”

“Thanks,Kara,” Alex says, pulling up the covers and reaching for Brian theOtter. Kara helps bridge the gap a bit, bringing the stuffed animalcloser so Alex can grab him. “That was a good story.”

“You'rewelcome,” Kara says, and can't help sounding a little bit pleased.She leans over to turn out the light. “Nightlight?”

“Psssh,no, nightlights arefor little kids.”

“Right,sorry.”

Shebids Alex goodnight, giving her a quick hug before turning off theswitch and heading for the door.

“Um,wait...” Alex says. Kara turns.

“DoesBrian need the nightlight?”

“...Yeah.”

“Thoughthe might,” Kara says, stooping to plug it in. “Night, Brian.Night Alex.”

“NightKara.”

Fin

#stranger replies #stranger writes #cool aunt kara AU #supergirl fic #long post #this was written quickly and with minimal editing so #BE WARNED #i-am-delta-s

[wordsintimeandspace]

Stripped Bare (1/2)

Author: @wordsintimeandspace Pairing: Ten/Rose Summary: The Doctor desperately tries to keep Rose safe in the middle of a virus outbreak. When things go wrong, they end up in the decontamination shower, taking the chance to finally bare their feelings to each other. Rating: Teen for this chapter, adult for the next. If smut is not your thing, this can be read as a standalone. Words: ~2100 Notes: This story is roughly based on this prompt. Only took me like 2.5 years to write it. *cough*

Read it on tumblr or on AO3!

Rose woke to the clinking of glass and a low, muffled curse from the Doctor. She sat up with a start, her heart racing in her chest as the last remains of her dream whirled through her mind. A shiver went down her spine. Slowly, the images of death and destruction haunting her sleep faded. She was safe, Rose realized as she let her gaze wander through the unfamiliar room. Her eyes settled on the Doctor. He would make sure she was safe.

The Doctor was bent over a workbench, his back to her. The surface was covered with flasks and vials and tubes, the complicated construction hissing here and there, liquid bubbling in some of the containers. Rose had long given up trying to understand it all.

She shrugged off the Doctor’s coat that was covering her like a blanket, although she couldn’t remember when he had draped it over her. Groaning, she got to her feet. Her muscles and joints protested after she had spent the night with only a camping mat on the cold, hard ground of the laboratory.

Instantly, the Doctor whirled around to her. His eyes were wide with worry. A second later he was at her side, raising his hand to touch her forehead. Frowning, Rose batted his hand away.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but the Doctor’s expression only darkened.

“Do you have limb pain?” he asked, his gaze running over her. “You know that is one of the first symptoms. Headache? Sore throat? Fatigue?”

“No. Just a little sore after sleeping on the floor.” Rose winced as she stretched her arms over her head and her back cracked. The Doctor immediately took advantage and pressed his fingers to her forehead. His frown eased, just a little.

“No fever,” he announced, his shoulders slumping with relief.

“Could’ve told you that.”

“Just wanted to make sure.” The Doctor rubbed his neck, walking back to the workbench. He rested his hands on the surface and bent down to study the instruments. Rose joined him, leaning her back against the table and reaching out to squeeze the Doctor’s hand. He turned his palm up until she could link her fingers through his.

“Making any progress on the vaccine?” she asked softly, taking in the Doctor’s pale face and strained features. He shrugged, running a hand down his face.

“Too slowly. I had hoped to be done by the morning, but the antigen is still unstable.”

“Did you take a break at all? Seriously Doctor, you look tired.”

“There’s no time for this,” the Doctor sighed.

“Why not? You would work better after a bit of rest. And you said it isn’t dangerous for the people here.” The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her. “Except for me,” Rose added with a grimace.

“Humans in this century, they have already gained partial immunity against this particular virus subtype,” he explained. “It’s been circulating for a few years, constantly mutating, which results in epidemics like this one. With partial immunity no one is dying, but that doesn’t mean they’re not suffering. You’ve seen how quickly this virus spreads.”

Rose nodded. Their visit to 22nd century London had been abruptly interrupted when people around them had gotten sick all of a sudden. Soon enough, half of the city had been incapacitated. With the TARDIS miles away from them, and the city swarming with people carrying a virus that the Doctor was sure would be deadly to her, his only solution had been to find a laboratory to develop a vaccine. Thankfully, the people at the nearest research center had been desperate for help. Most of their staff was sick with the virus as well. One flash of the psychic paper and they were in.

“Rose,” the Doctor said, pulling her out of her thoughts. His voice was low and serious. “I won’t let you get infected with this.”

“I know,” she said, her lips curling into a smile. With the Doctor at her side, she wasn’t worried about herself. “I just wish I could help all these people.”

“Well, you’re not going out there without the vaccine,” the Doctor said with a stern look. He finally turned back to his work. “It shouldn’t take too long. I just need to find the right adjuvant that stabilizes the antigen.”

For a while, Rose silently watched him work. He had taken off his suit jacket and tie during the night and was now only wearing his light blue oxford, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Rose tried not to stare, but she knew it was no use. Not when he was showing so much more skin than usual, gently ran his long fingers over the delicate construction, and pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth in concentration.

The Doctor held up a flask, squinting at the light blue liquid inside it. “Maybe if I just… oh! Yes!” he exclaimed with a grin, snatching up his sonic screwdriver. “Just need the right setting,” he mumbled under his breath, adjusting the sonic before holding it next to the flask. “There, that should do the trick!”

He grinned, his eyes darting over to Rose, and pressed the button. The whirring of the screwdriver filled the room just for a second before the flask exploded in his hand. The Doctor yelped as the liquid splashed onto his chest and began to burn through his shirt. The fumes stung in Rose’s eyes even from a few feet apart, and the Doctor squeezed his eyes shut with a cry of pain.

Rose rushed to his side, instinctively reaching out to him.

“Don’t touch it!” the Doctor yelled before she could do anything. “I need- decontamination shower!”

The decontamination shower was at the other end of the room: a large, cylindrical glass case with a huge shower head above. The Doctor still had his eyes squeezed shut. The blue liquid dripped from his hands, leaving bright red spots on his skin. Without hesitating any second longer, Rose grabbed the Doctor’s arm, hauled him across the room, pulled open the door to the shower and shoved him inside. At an instant, water poured down. He was drenched within seconds, gasping as the water ran over his face.

By now, the liquid had burned a small hole into his shirt. Despite the shower, the fabric was still soaked with it. The Doctor blinked, cursing under his breath as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Water ran into his eyes and his hands were trembling. With effort, he finally popped open the first button. This wasn’t going quick enough.

Taking a deep breath, Rose leaped forward and under the spray of the shower. The Doctor looked up, surprise clear in his eyes as she joined him. Rose batted his hands away from his shirt and grabbed his lapels instead. With one forceful tug, she ripped it open. Buttons clinked against the glass and onto the floor. For a second, the Doctor simply stared at her, his mouth hanging open. Rose tried to push the shirt over his shoulders, and that finally spurred him back into action. Frantically, the Doctor shrugged the fabric off and pulled his undershirt over his head with one swift movement. They both let out a sigh of relief when it finally fell onto the floor, leaving the Doctor’s chest bare.

The Doctor was breathing hard, his chest heaving, and Rose tried not to stare as the water ran over his shoulders and down his stomach. There was a small red spot on his skin where the liquid had burned him, but it didn’t look too bad. Barely more than a light sunburn.

“All right?” Rose asked, a little breathless.

“I-” The Doctor’s voice cracked. “Yes,” he finally managed to get out. “No harm done.”

“What happened?”

“Err…” The Doctor ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in all directions for just a second before the pouring water flattened it again. He gave her a sheepish smile. “Wrong setting on the screwdriver, I assume.”

Rose heaved a sigh. “And that’s why I said you should take a break.”

“I can’t…” the Doctor started, trailing off. He didn’t look at her. Hesitantly, Rose reached out to him, grasping his hand. She gave it a squeeze and the Doctor let out a long breath. But he still didn't speak. Instead, he lunged forward and pulled her into a tight embrace. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, trembling as Rose wrapped her arms around him.

“I was so close to losing you,” he said, making Rose shiver as his breath ghosted over her skin.

“But you didn’t. I didn’t get sick, Doctor.”

“You ran to the first person who collapsed on the street. You held her until the ambulance was there. With the infection rate of this virus, it’s a miracle that you’re not sick.”

Rose held him tighter, one hand rubbing circles on his bare back, while she buried the other in the wet strands of his hair. Trying to give any comfort she could. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know how dangerous the virus was back then.”

The Doctor laughed against her skin.

“Rose Tyler, you would’ve helped even if you knew.”

“Can you blame me? You would’ve done the same.”

“I know. I just… I can’t lose you, Rose. Not like this, not so quickly. Not because of a stupid flu virus.”

“You won’t,” Rose insisted. She pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “I promised you forever, remember?”

Her confirmations finally calmed the Doctor. But he didn’t pull back, not yet. Water still poured down on them. Rose ran her hand over the Doctor’s back, relishing the feeling of his skin bare against her fingers. His whole body was pressed close against hers. Her shirt was soaked, barely providing any kind of barrier between her chest and the Doctor’s. When the Doctor shifted his stance, one of his legs sliding between hers, Rose had to stifle a groan. Her breath hitched at the unusual closeness.

The small space in the shower, glass walls all around them, did nothing to slow down her racing heart. With the way the Doctor clung to her, Rose was sure that he could feel her reaction. But she couldn’t stop the images flashing through her head, couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel if the Doctor pressed her against the glass, his lips on hers, his hands peeling them both out of their last remaining clothes.

Guilt surged through her all of a sudden. He was only looking for comfort, and here she was, taking advantage of it. It was a perfectly innocent hug. Until suddenly, it wasn’t.

Rose felt the Doctor’s lips press against her neck. It was so gentle she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it first. But then his lips descended a second time, and there was no way to mistake the touch. He gently sucked on the nape of her neck, making her shudder in his arms. Rose buried her fingers in his hair, grabbing the wet strands to keep him in place.

“I want you, forever,” the Doctor said against her skin, his voice rough. “So much.”

“You have me,” Rose whispered. “All of me.”

The Doctor straightened, keeping his arms tight around her. Rose raised her head, hoping to catch his lips. Ever so gently, the Doctor cradled her face in his hands. His breath ghosted over her skin and he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. The emotion in his touch took her breath away, but in this moment, she wanted more. Wanted to feel his lips on hers.

“Doctor.” Just one word, pleading, desperate, containing all of her longing and her insecurities. She didn’t even try to hide her feelings for him.

The Doctor let out a shuddering breath. “I... I can’t do this now,” he said, his voice wavering. “Please, I have to finish this. I need to make sure you’re safe first.”

Reluctantly, Rose pulled back. She still kept her arms around him, but the need to see his face was overwhelming. The Doctor gazed down at her, blinking against the water running down his face. His eyes were dark, full of emotion, and Rose felt like she could drown in them. The expression pushed her insecurities aside. Rose gave him a coy smile.

“But… later?” she asked, running her hands down his back until they settled on his waistband. The Doctor grinned.

“Oh, yes,” he growled, sending a shiver down Rose’s spine. “Definitely later.”

#ficandchips #ten x rose #my fic #fic: stripped bare #enjoy! :) #I haven't written the next chapter yet #but I kinda feel inspired to do it so wish me luck

[windienine]

Snow Much For That!

@the-wanderer-willow was my match for the @ds-secret-santa, requesting a Willowson fic! Pardon the timing on this, it was originally supposed to be a 1500-word oneshot that expanded into this monster of a story. Regardless, I hope that it is enjoyable. Thank-you very much!

   A wooden cane banged on the edge of the old brewery building, and a long evening shadow cast its way down the alleyway, upon a sea of dark eyes, sooty cheeks, and tattered hats.

   “Get outta here! Damned kids… don’t you hooligans know how late it is? On Christmas Eve, no less! Pickpockets, the lot of you!”

  A chorus of tiny giggles erupted, a few metal cannikins being clinked by one another between the children, coins within chiming noisily. Some were sitting on or leaning against trash cans, another three cozied up on an old bench to stay warm, and most of them were just crouched on the ground, a little peeved that their game of jacks had been interrupted. None of them looked like they had any intention of moving from their spot, but a few of the smaller ones grouped up closer to their older friends.

  “Do any of you lot of bumpkins even speak English?” the man growled, stamping a foot on the ground. “You’re disturbing the peace. I’d have half a mind to call a policeman from down the lane and get you all locked up for the night! Why, I really ought to…”

  “Do it, then,” one young boy piped up. “Nobody ought to listen to some geezer raving on about us. After all, it is Christmas. If you were really in the spirit, you’d be the one lining our pockets!”

  More hoots and hollers sounded, with at least one “Hear, hear!” from an older child. There was plenty more noisemaking, up until somebody bunched up and threw one single snowball. It whizzed through the air, striking the man square in the jaw. The alley went completely quiet, the group of children looking on in shock. One could only hear the whistling of the cold wind down the alley. As the man started to go red, everybody once again broke out in laughter.

  “That’s what you get!”

  “Late Chanukkah gift from us all!”

  “¡Feliz Navidad!”

  “Nice aim, Eddie!”

  They grew louder and louder, and the man gritted his teeth and wiped the flecks of snow off his face. He drew back his cane, pulling the nearest child by the wrist. The boy screamed and tried to yank his hand away, but just as it seemed as things were about to take a turn for the violent, he stopped. A young teen with long, curly pigtails had given him a good kick in the back of the shin, pulling his arm back and forcing him to stumble backwards.

  “Willow!” the other boy called out.

  “Get out of here,” she said softly. “I can take care of this.”

  She was bit taller than all of the other children, but she was far and away the sootiest and the scruffiest, her dark gray eyes staring daggers into him as the larger man looked back. The man was about to turn onto her and strike in much the same manner. She only smirked, holding tightly onto a lift-arm lighter with a floral pattern to it, along with a small bottle full of clear fluid.

  “Now, hold it right there! Sir, I’m guessing—heh—I mean, I’m guessing you might wanna take a look at that fancy coat of yours,” Willow started, barely able to keep her laughter contained. “It burns pretty well!’

  The scent of burning furs filled the narrow alley, as the man looked back and realized that the back of his rather luxurious coat had caught fire. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed such and immediately began trying to pat it out, barking out swear after swear as he started running about wildly, going nowhere in particular. The flames only leapt higher up his back as he panicked, leading him to start shouting even more incoherently.

  “Fire marshal! Somebody alert the fire marshal! Fetch water, a fire extinguisher, something, anything!” he bellowed, before leaping into a large pile of snow, rolling about frantically and finally managing to extinguish the flames.

  Meanwhile, as he had left the scene, the remaining children had scattered and regrouped some ways away, inside an abandoned old house. Amongst dreary, moldy rubble, they were all gathered around Willow, praising her and hugging her and still giving little hoots and encouragements.

  “Willow, was that really okay? Are we going to get into trouble?” asked one.

  “Well, yes,” she replied. “But, only if he can find us. That guy didn’t look all that bright, but we should stay on the move.”

  “He looked kind of bright to me, burning like that!” quipped a different girl.

  “Heh, good one!” Willow giggled. “Say, Andrew, are you hurt?”

  “Nope! It’s just a little scraped up from his gross nails.”

  “Still, let me take a look- I think I’ve got bandages in my scout pack! They feel a little gross, too, but I promise they’re nowhere near as gross as that!”

  “Aww, no…” he muttered, wincing as Willow moved to dab clean and wrap the scratch, diligently as ever.

  Another older teen looked on from near the door. “Really, Willow,” he chided. “You could have gotten badly hurt! That was reckless of you!”

  Willow only laughed again, leaning back against an old staircase with her hands behind her head. “Reckless could be my middle name, at this point! I’m not gonna just stare like a caught rabbit while my friends get beaten by some fossil out there!”

  “… Don’t you think he had a point, though?” he asked, looking distressed. “About nobody wanting us around and all. Christmas comes, year after year, and we’re stuck with nothing. It’s all one big, fat reminder of how stuck we are. I’m lucky if I get a bar of chocolate.”

  “Eh,” said Willow, shrugging. “I don’t know. Christmas doesn’t mean much to me, any longer. For the most part, it’s only freaks like you guys that keep my attention around this time of year. It’s all just cold and wet and miserable, otherwise.”

  “Willow, you more than anyone else here… don’t you want to experience a real holiday, one of these years? With gifts, or a tree, or a family of your own?”

  That made her freeze up, just a bit. “I-I mean. I guess. If by some miracle the offer came about, it’s not like I’d turn it down or anything.”

  “But you might burn it down!”

  “You’re really keeping them coming tonight, Agnes! But, yeah, that’s all there is to it. I don’t really care for the holidays, one way or the other.”

  “Miss Willow strikes me as the kind of person who probably cares for the holidays more than anybody else,” he repeated to himself for the umpteenth time. “And I suppose there’s nothing that helps others with winter’s despair than a gift.”

  Winter in the Constant could be described in a multitude of ways, none of them pleasant. Certainly, one could call it uncompromising. A frigid north wind had struck the entirety of the island, dropping perceived temperatures far below zero. The heavy snowfall had been equally vexing, with even great beasts having difficulty slogging through areas that hadn’t been partially protected by forest. Even most plants had been virtually flash-frozen by wind and pelting, frozen rain; saplings, bushes, and even entire patches of grass and heather covered in a thin film of rime that made them appear akin to beautiful, bluish ice sculptures- they sparkled in the faint moonlight, but they would be of no use as kindling or supplies.

   A singular, golden glow illuminated a lone outcropping in the middle of the barren birch woods. All was quiet, aside from the bonfire’s steady crackling. That is, if one didn’t account for the crunching of snow-muted footsteps just a short way off, between the trees. A figure could be seen holding a dim lantern, barely keeping the darkness at bay.

   Wilson shuddered in the cold, the gas lantern creaking as he adjusted a small knob on the side. It hardly brightened at all, making slightly more audible, yet still soft, flickering buzz. Wondering just how much longer the light would hold, he decided to proceed on further, plodding onwards in spite of the wind and snowfall picking up. Procuring the materials he’d be needing for this gift would be nothing, if not difficult. He adjusted his hat over his ears once more- if he wasn’t careful, frostbite could hurt him just as badly as any monster.

  He came to an iced-over headstone jutting out from a thick mound of snow, rubbing away some of the frost with one hand, able to make out a vague, weathered “HERE LIES W--”. He sighed heavily, taking a cobbled-together shovel out of his pack. He began to dig down. His shovel moved the snow quickly enough, but the frozen earth below would be a completely different story.

  Willow stirred from a frightening dream, tossing over in the furry bedroll and shivering enough to shake the entire tent. As she blinked awake, she realized that she could barely feel her fingers- she tucked one hand back under the fluffy blanket, and with the other she reached into her threadbare pocket and pulled out her lighter. Flicking it open, she could suddenly see puffs of her own breath in front of her. As she moved it from side to side, checking the tent, she realized that she was completely alone in camp.

  Where was Wilson?

  She peeked her nose just outside. Sure enough, even with the snow obscuring her vision, she could hear no footsteps, nor the reassuring sound of somebody tinkering at the workbench or messing around with some bubbly solution or other. But… no, that wasn’t quite right. Something had to have happened.

   Pulling on a rabbit-fur cloak, she stepped out into the cold, immediately clearing away the snow with her own shovel and putting some fresh kindling into the fire pit, lighting it up. The new blaze revealed nothing- just a cold, empty camp, devoid of any other life. The snow was piling up quickly. She checked the icebox- no provisions had been taken. The tool chest, then? Well… no. Nothing had been touched.

  “Wilson!” she called aloud, but her call was swallowed up by the howling wind. This was troubling, to say the least of it. Generally, the pair would tell each other about expected midnight excursions into the woods. Having him up and vanish like this was cause for alarm.

  “Th-this isn’t funny! If… if y-you’re just outside camp or something, get back here! Y-you’re going to freeze your butt off out there!” What could be so important that he’d up and leave in the middle of the night? This was dangerous- he could get attacked by hounds, he could run out of lamp oil and end up lost or worse in the darkness, or even just succumb to the cold and wind up--… no! No, no. She couldn’t let herself get lost along that line of thought. She had to find him- after all, she had plenty of lights, she was healthy and warm enough (all things considered), and she had to hand it to herself- she was the more skilled fighter of the two.

  “Really? We’re gonna do this now? In the dead of night? In winter, no less…?” she muttered, grabbing for an extra torch, a pouch of food and kindling, and her spear, just in case things got a little hairy. The wind picked up, blowing snow into Willow’s face. She grimaced, shielding her brow with her forearm. Shutting the gate to camp behind her and latching it, she began trundling through the deep snow. She wasn’t about to let her best friend end up frozen out in this wasteland.

  Wilson was breathing heavily- his hands felt completely numb and his upper arms were simultaneously limp and sorely taut, like they’d catch fire if he put any more pressure on them. A pile of rock-hard dirt and a large cavity in the ground were all that were left where he had recovered his previously-hidden spoils. That, and a (probably) human skeleton. Wilson told himself that it certainly hadn’t looked at all like it was pointing at him accusingly, its finger cocked out of the earth to menace him. That would be ridiculous. The dead can’t accuse, they don’t have any brains! Much less point, lacking muscles, of course. That was fine. It would be fine!

  Dragging his shovel behind him, he believed had come quite far. He checked his map, and saw another black “X” scrawled in a location that should have been nearby. Looking around in the woods, it was hard to discern any landmarks, especially with everything covered in snow. Regardless, he could still guess at his location from the density of trees- this outcropping, as unfamiliar as it looked in this weather, was probably the same one he had drawn on here all those weeks ago. He looked behind him, noticing that the trail his shovel and footprints were leaving was swiftly being covered once again. That was a little bit disconcerting. A small, hastily-scrawled note was attached to the map:

- red gemstones - wood from the tree with a face (creepy, maybe save for last) - lots of rope ✓ - candles (blue and white, make blue dye at some point or another) ✓ - various festive things (e.g.- colored paper, hot meal for two, holly wreath for gate, even more candles) ✓ (sort of, close enough)

  He put a messy checkmark with a piece of charcoal next to the “gemstones” bullet, but he still had much work to do. Fortunately, this would be the last very difficult thing to get. As he reached the edge of the forest clearing, he noticed a great, bare tree, bark curling from its trunk with age. From this angle, you couldn’t see the more horrific part of it He had described it in his field notes as “a very weird oak”, but its having distinct eye holes and a gaping maw of splintered wood made “weird” kind of a moot descriptor. Getting out his shoddily roped-together axe from the strap on his backpack, he shook out his right arm and tried to muster some extra strength. It was standard at this point, but he still tried not to think too hard about how in blazes a tree could manage to scream in pain. Maxwell had been getting his sick kicks in strange, strange ways. As he chopped, a quiet but rather defined moan exuded from its center. Why did it have to do that?

  After finishing that ugly job, there then came the task of picking up and cutting some of that lumber. He could leave most of it, fairly assured that nothing would come to claim it (aside from the possibility of an unchecked wildfire, possibly due to Willow), but he chopped a few sturdy pieces of lumber. With faces. Eugh. The key to it was really not looking back; so long as one didn’t look directly at them, they could do a decent enough job of ignoring it. He arranged them into a rope-tied bundle, before hefting them onto his sore, sore back. Through all of this rather unscientific, infuriatingly common work, the one thing that really stuck out in his mind and kept him going was the persistent daydream of Willow’s lovely eyes lighting up, that wonderful smile, those rosy cheeks of hers, and perhaps—

  Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

  Through the snow, something was approaching. Wilson was immediately snapped out his sweet thoughts and into reality. Grasping for his spear, he realized suddenly that he had left it back in camp, by the tent. Improvising and raising his shovel, he turned around to strike whatever had followed him, before opening his eyes and realizing—

 “Miaow?”

  Two wide, shiny eyes were looking up at Wilson’s lantern, even at its low light. The baby catcoon was twitching in the cold, too exhausted to run any further. It could only keep meowing, almost as if to protest Wilson’s oncoming attack. He immediately lowered his shovel, putting his hand up to indicate that he wouldn’t hurt the little creature. Internally, he felt a mixture of relief and embarrassment- had he really been frightened that badly by something so pathetic? He really was about to lose his marbles out here.

  “P-pardon me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  The kitten tiredly pawed over to Wilson’s leg, mushing its tiny face into him for all the warmth it could muster.

  “No,” Wilson sighed, picking up his shovel. “No, no. Come now, I have places to be. What’s a baby like you doing out here in the cold? Where’s your mum? Don’t you have a family missing you out here?”

  The kitten mewled weakly in reply, nuzzling up between Wilson’s legs and pawing at his snow-covered feet.

   “You too, huh? Poor thing,” he mused, seeming to be considering something wistfully. Before he could make a motion at the cat, his stomach cramped with hunger pangs- this whole idiotic quest was taking him longer than intended. “We really can’t afford any more mouths to feed right now. I don’t have anything for you, cat.”

   As he turned away and started trudging through the snow back towards camp once again, he heard the same tiny crunching noise getting fainter and fainter. Cats didn’t understand English, but perhaps the little creature had gotten the memo and decided to crawl back to whatever little den it had emerged from in this heinous snowstorm.

  The wind was picking up. Wilson needed to hurry back to camp before sunrise.

   Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the sprawling forest, Willow guarded her torch with one hand. Where could he be? It would be mere hours before dawn- perhaps waiting until then, or at least until the weather tided over, would have been more rational, but Willow was not the best at thinking rationally when she had a friend to rescue. Every now and again she’d call out for him, but the wind whisked away her voice.

  She continued along, but her search so far was looking grim. The snow piled on higher and higher, and if he had been here recently, any trace of him was well-hidden. The wind echoed through the branches of the evergreens, howling. Once again, Willow wondered why it had to be tonight. For the morning, she had prepared a surprise for him and everything- a gift to commemorate making it a second cycle of seasons out in this wasteland together. Why did the one non-survival-related nice thing she had been able to commit to have to be squandered like this? She had just wanted to tell him how much all this was worth. Not every “wake-up” left them fortunate to find anyone else at all, but she and him specifically had forged a strong friendship over the time period within which they had met one another, multiple “wake-ups” and all. They had managed to triumph over Maxwell, over the elements, and in some cases, over their own fears. They’d certainly be able to find and release the Queen, no matter how difficult the task seemed.

  She didn’t have a revival device at the ready! They had been fine! What if he was gone and she couldn’t get an amulet or something together in time? If she was to lose him this time around, too, she didn’t know what she was going to do. Well… untrue, really, she’d do her best to survive on her own, regardless, but there was a special kind of warmth that came with having a partner that made the lonesome nights bearable. She could find him. She had to find him.

   But, there was no time. She started hurrying herself along, and she grabbed tightly to her pack of medical supplies. If she couldn’t immediately find him, it didn’t matter- for now, what was important was trying to find him if he was still alive and on his feet out here in no man’s land. Easier said than done- this was like finding a needle in a pile of fire ants!

   “Cold…” she mused simply, pulling up her muffler. It didn’t do much. She couldn’t stand this awful loss of feeling. Numbness was just like your limbs dying while you were still alive.

   Wilson could see camp. Pulling his hat down over his brow, he grinned. There was something so reassuring about seeing everything intact after such an arduous night. Even in this awful weather, perhaps he could make something out of nothing and give tomorrow just a spritz of magic.

  Science! He meant science, of course.

   Clearing snow from around base with his shovel, he set to work quickly, restarting the bonfire, taking off his gloves, and putting some sensation back into his fingers.. He made his way to the workbench. From a compartment in one of the machines, he took a small, weathered little notebook. Now, where was the page where he had written about staves? Ah, yes, if you wanted the best result, you’d need to fix the gem atop a piece of Living Wood, easy enough. The wood would channel the energy from the gem and allow a “circuit” of heat energy without burning or overheating in one’s hands. A little bit of rope, cut the stone like a spearhead, save the shards for some other project… position it correctly, fix it in place with rope, it had to be straight or it might fire all off-kilter… a few drops of Nightmare Fuel from a dangerous encounter to coat the wood, and voila! He supposed one could call such an implement a “flame-thrower”! Then again… perhaps not.

   From his satchel, he pulled an array of multi-colored candles. These would do nicely. Holly boughs with berries, neatly folded into a circular wreath. Wilson almost scoffed a little- he hadn’t much to do with the holidays over the course of his relatively short life, and here he was decorating their makeshift home like some kind of nutcase. He supposed he was one, deep down. It had been over ten years since he had felt anything but apathy for the holiday, and as he set a slab of ham into the cooking pot, the scent that filled the air gave him some nostalgia for a time before all of this. There were faint, fading memories of senseless, boring New Year’s Eve parties during his early college years and downing alcohol to numb the feelings of bitterness and resentment towards his family, but also of pleasant Chanukkah nights and warm Christmases long before even all of that with his siblings and childhood friends, eating rich food and playing about with train sets.

  Miss Willow… she wouldn’t be too upset with him, would she? This had been an impulsive decision, and he could have been badly hurt if he had gotten himself lost. He had wanted to make her happy, but especially if he had been wrong in his assumption, he might just end up with a well-deserved smack upside the head. Hmm.

  Wait just a moment. Where was Willow? Out of the corner of his eye, Wilson had noticed that she wasn’t on her bedroll. Had she stirred?

  He walked over to inspect the tent. Sure enough, there was no sign of Willow, nor her pack… and he certainly hadn’t seen her on the way back. He would have noticed her, right?

  “Miss Willow?” he called, using his hands to amplify his voice. “Miss Willow, are you there?”

  There came no reply. Wilson’s expression was pained, concerned… and grew only more so as another thought entered his mind: was this his fault?

  “Oh, no… no, no, no, no!”

  How could he have been so stupid? All that secretiveness, and for what? Some dumb presents that would mean nothing out here in the harsh wilderness of the Constant. Now she could be out there, alone, in the grueling wilderness… and it was all his own doing. His heart had fallen into his stomach, as he raced around to grab the completed fire staff. He’d have to arm himself, this time. And just as suddenly, he started to hear:

  Grrr… rowf! Rowf, rowf! GRRRRrrr…

  Willow stopped dead in her tracks.

  Hounds.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and not just from the cold. She was stuck out here, and so was Wilson, most likely, and they were going to have to deal with hounds. Their packs had been getting larger and larger with every new “wave” of them that had appeared, and she didn’t know if either of them could take these things alone, in the middle of a snowstorm.

  No, that couldn’t be true. She had to try to make something out of this. How far was she from camp? Could she make it back in time? In camp, the palisades could serve as a line of defense. She could have the upper ground against those mutts- once she could get them to trickle one at a time and force them into a small place instead of out here in the open, in their territory, she could take them. She was handier with a spear than Maxwell had been expecting, for sure, and she’d show whoever this Charlie lady was that she had been informed about that she could put up just as good a fight.

  She was mustering all her energy and sprinting, now, back towards camp. Stealth wasn’t an option. In rain, in high winds, or in the dead of winter, those monsters could still sniff a person out and tear them limb from limb, if they weren’t prepared. She checked her map- if she cut through this part of the woods, past the spot with the tree that had a face, she’d be able to make it back to camp in a relatively short span. Willow wasn’t an especially religious young woman, but she was praying to whatever would listen that she and Wilson would make it out of this mess in one piece.

   Wilson shuddered, gripping the staff tightly in both hands and looking frantically from side to side. Where were they? He knew he heard hounds. It wasn’t just his head messing with him, was it? He had his makeshift armor on him, he was ready for a bout, but where were they? The growling and the howling had gotten closer and closer… but now it was coming a little from the right. Why weren’t they coming this way?

  Unless…

  “Willow?” he murmured, eyes wide. “Willow!”

 Dropping all pretenses of preparation and confidence, he threw the gate open and dashed right back out into the woods.

  And from the edge of camp, there came a tiny “Miaow?”

  Willow dashed forwards, but the hounds were in hot pursuit. She didn’t dare look back- that was just an invitation to get run down and torn to pieces. The faint glow of camp—wait, shouldn’t that have been put out by the wind hours ago? — could be seen very faintly in the distance. Just a few hundred more feet, and

  “Willow!”

  “Wilson?!” she blurted out in surprise. She couldn’t feel anything about this whole debacle outside of absolute shock, and slowed down, skimming to a halt on the frosty ground. She couldn’t see where he was. “Wilson, what the hell were you—”

  She turned, only to see a pure white hound leaping out at her from the woods, its hungry, fang-filled maw agape as it pounced. It could have well been the end if not for the fact that Wilson emerged from the brush clutching a fire staff, high on adrenaline, tackling the hound and striking it onto the ground with his free arm.

   The hound struggled, biting into Wilson’s arm and drawing blood as he wrestled with the creature, striking it square in the snout. He winced in pain, but managed to toss the staff to Willow.

  “Take it and—take it and run!” he stammered out, taking his axe and plunging the sharpened edge into the hound’s neck.

  “Are you okay?! There’s gotta be a dozen of those creeps!”

  “I’ll be fine! Just get yourself to safety!” he urged.

  Willow frowned, glaring at him. “Are you stupid? There’s no way I’m going to up and leave you for the vultures!”

  Wilson stood, cradling his injury. “You’re always like this, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right! Now, take my spear! We’re going to show these glorified coyotes what we’re made of!” Willow exclaimed, just as another hound rushed at Wilson. Guarding the blow and jamming the spear between its teeth, he kicked it aside, giving Willow a clear shot of crackling sparks at the hound’s underbelly. Willow smirked gleefully, readying the staff once again.

  “Wow, I could absolutely get used to having one of these to swing around.”

  A fireball shot through the air, hitting a hound square in the muzzle. Willow shot again, engulfing another one completely in flames and nearly incinerating it. Wilson followed up, spearing another hound directly through its heart and tossing yet another above and behind him with a well-timed parry. Both managed to land their shots on a great number of hounds, at least five more being scorched in a massive, beautiful plume of flames, even more being completely skewered with the surprisingly sturdy spear. Willow and Wilson both took injuries throughout the fight, trading blows with polearms and wolf teeth, but Wilson took a good deal more of the damage thanks to fighting at a much closer range.

  “And stay out!” Willow shouted, dispersing whatever remained of the pack back into the forest with another wave of the glowing staff. As soon as the adrenaline started to tone itself down, Willow had to clutch her head with one hand. Something about using magical attacks always gave her the worst headaches.

  Shaking herself back awake, she noticed Wilson across from her, leaning on his spear. He could barely keep his balance. Walking over to him, she took hold of his shoulders.

  “Ugh… M-Miss Willow, I’m deeply sorry about all that. I didn’t mean to act so bull-headedly out there. I just wanted to ensure you’d have a nice…” he groaned, shaking his head.

  “Wilson? You… oh, jeez, some of that is your blood. Ow, that looks…” she said, going over his injuries with a concerned look, just before he completely collapsed into her arms. “Wilson? H-hey, now… wake up! Now isn’t the time to take a nap! Wake…--”

  That was the last thing that Wilson remembered. Upon awakening, the sunlit tent seemed to spin as he shot up, catching his breath with a hand on his chest. That’s when he realized he was shirtless- through his clouded vision, he could see that joining with old scars, many of the new wounds sustained to his arms and chest had been patched up, the salve soothing the injuries underneath. He still felt terribly, terribly sore all over.

  “M-Miss Willow?”

  “Uh-huh?” she answered. She had been kneeling right beside him, getting more bandages out of the medical kit.

  “Agh! Pardon, please allow me to become decent, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

  “No ‘what happened?’ No ‘gee, Willow! Many thanks for saving my rear end with your amazing skills! My goose would’ve been really cooked if you hadn’t been there!’” she laughed. “Men are all the same, I swear. You’ll get your ratty old shirt back after I’m done treating you. Does that sound like a plan?” she said, before cheekily pressing a bandage onto the roughed-up bridge of his nose.

  He looked down once more at his scars and looked back at Willow, kind of bewildered. “You… you still think I…” he started, before glancing outside. “It stopped snowing, did it?”

  “You’re a regular genius, aren’t ya?”

  “Hmph,” he grunted, blushing. “I just mean that quite some time must’ve passed. And, what I really wanted to say was, er…”

  “Happy Winter’s Feast?” she guessed.

  “Well, y-yes, I suppose. But, no, that’s not it,” he said, shaking his head. “Thank-you very much, Miss Willow. You’re right, I would have been done for.”

  With a few more minutes of medicine application and some words exchanged between the pair, Willow tossed Wilson his clothes with a “Here, catch!” (right into his face), leaving the tent.

  “Hold on a moment- don’t get up, now,” she said. “You need your rest, mister.”

  Wilson curled up, looking a little bit dejected. All of the effort he had placed into making this a great day for Willow, and here she was taking care of him! None of this was very gentlemanly at all. He swatted back old gender norms from his mind, reminding himself that Willow was very capable and that she had told him multiple times that they were on even ground when it came to this sort of thing.

  Willow came back into the tent with two wooden plates piled high with food.

  “I’ve gotta hand it to ya, you did a pretty good job with the ham! Where were you hiding that, anyway? I think I know what you had in mind for breakfast, so I looked in the icebox, and it turns out we had plenty of stuff to use as garnishes! Fire-roasted, of course.”

  The dish looked blackened in some places. And yet, it smelled nothing short of heavenly!

  “May I?” asked Wilson, whose stomach had been growling aloud since even before he was awake.

  “No, no you cannot,” Willow said sardonically, in her best impression of her own approximation of what Wilson’s mother had been like. “C’mon. Dig in, ya filthy animal.”

  Wilson didn’t wait another second before taking a bite, his eyes lighting up. “Effs afshtounding!”

  She laughed. “You really think so? I’m proud of it, too!”

  After they had both finished their meals, Wilson looked up somewhat glumly at Willow. “Listen, Willow, I… I’m really, truly sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “You know. Winter’s Feast and all? We agreed last time around that this’d be our holiday sort of thing, so I tried to prepare something special for you,” he started, as Willow held up a broken, burnt-out fire staff with an eyebrow raised. “Yes, that. I wanted to make a display and give you a gift and all of that, but I was idiotic enough to leave camp without telling you in the middle of the night just to conform to stupid societal expectations of merriment when we’re out here in the literal middle of nowhere. And now, your gift was used up all in one go and you were the one who made me breakfast. I hate the holidays.”

  “Me too.”

  “Yes, and I—wait, what?”

  “I never liked the holidays. I never had a family to celebrate them with. I was a regular Artful Dodger, you know?”

  “O-oh. Oh, no, that just makes this all so much worse… I didn’t mean to dredge up any bad memories for you.”

  “Don’t be stupid!” Willow said. “While it’s true that you were being a little bit of a blockhead…”

  He sighed.

  “And a dimwit…”

  He winced.

  “And if we’re really being honest here, your brains were totally out to lunch for all of this.”

  Wilson had his head in his hands. Willow reached her own to his, tipping up his chin.

  “But, if I’m still being fully honest here, that whole stunt with the fire staff and the ham and the candles and stuff? It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me for the holidays. Nobody ever cooks me dinner or gets me gifts… except for you, ya kook.”

  She gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. At this point, he was blushing hard and choking on every word he tried to say in response.

  “I-I, um, well… what I mean is… what I’m trying to say is… y-you’re… you’re welcome? I mean, it’s always very nice to know that your feelings are shared on a matter, especially intense hatred and especially when it comes to stuff regarding one’s own messy, messy young adulthood, and especially regarding something that it seems like almost everybody else enjoys. I’m blessed to kn-know you in the first place at all, let alone… let alone, you know, be your friend. If there’s anyone I’d like to be trapped in a desolate, shadowy wasteland with, it’s you. Not to say… not to say I like seeing you trapped out here in this desolate wasteland. I had no idea—er, that is to say, I couldn’t have known things would play out like this, and while I very much don’t think I deserve any of this praise or whatnot, I wanted to thank you again for all of this. And what I really think I want to say to you, Miss Willow, is—”

  He was cut off when she pulled him close to her by the collar, giving him a once-over before then planting a kiss on his lips.

  Wilson P. Higgsbury was rendered totally silent for the next few moments, dizzy with a mix of total shock and love-struck stupor.

  “By the way, I was planning to give you this, but judging by the look on your face I think I know which part of today you’re gonna remember more.” Willow said, patting a bright green gemstone into his hands. “I found it in a statue, and it’s science-colored. You’re you, so I know you’re going to do something amazing with it. Good luck.”

  Just as she was about to go on her proud way, Willow noticed a tiny mewling outside the tent. A long, long trail of paw prints led to the tent, from far out into the woods.

  “Is that a kitten?!”

  Wilson slapped himself into cognizance. “I… um, yes, actually. I think it may have followed me. It might have come here for warmth, if it truly has nowhere else to go.”

  “Oh, Wilson, she’s so cute!” Willow remarked, picking up the tiny catcoon in her hands and lifting it gently. The kitten splayed its little legs like it was flying. “We need to get you some food! You’re far too skinny!”

  “Er, Willow, I never checked whether it was male or female…”

  “C’mon, help me give her a name! How about ‘Ashley’? Or ‘Cinders’! Maybe… ‘Bernadette’?”

  “She kind of looks like more of a ‘Baroness Bernadette Bernice Blackstone’,” he said, before hastily adding: “The first.”

  Willow rolled her eyes. “Bernadette it is,” she decided. “Bernadette, you’re the best gift I could have possibly gotten for Winter’s Feast… because you! Are! Just! That! Good! Yes, yes you are!”

  The kitten nuzzled into Willow’s arms as she hugged it softly to her chest. For the first time in forever, with a partner and even a little pet, now, she finally felt as if she had something resembling a family. She swore on that day that she’d do whatever it took to protect that sense of family.

#don't starve #willowson #willow #wilson p. higgsbury #ds #ds secret santa #dst #fanfiction #fic #windie writes

[theeroticbookreview]

Release Blitz: Mother Trucker by Aria Cole

Amazon 

  Rocco O’Riley lives the life of a hermit. Alone on a secluded island, he outfits custom big rigs and shares his work with the world streaming to millions online. He never thought the new visibility would bring him fame and wealth, but with no one to share it with, the days in his workshop are long and empty, his success hollow until one night when a violent storm leaves a woman washed up and helpless, stranded alone with him on his little island. When Primrose Weatherford found herself abandoned on the side of a flooded road, she never thought a rugged stranger would be her saving grace and the sexiest thorn in her side at the same time. The owner of O’Riley’s Big Rig Rehab is burly, brooding, and not used to making polite conversation with pretty women. Especially ones that make him want to hand over his heart and love her for the rest of his forever. But can Prim handle all that Rocco's offering, or will this reclusive beast in a trucker hat run her off once and for all? Warning: The size of Rocco’s big rig is eclipsed only by his huge alpha heart. His rough-around-the-edges life softens when sweet Prim enters it, upending his carefully cultivated existence in a storm of epic proportions. Buckle up, dangerous curves ahead!  

“Isn’t there a rule about wearing white on rainy days?” The timbre of his voice tingled like sparks against my skin. “This one took me by surprise,” I whispered, tucking soaking-wet locks behind my ear. “You and me both.” I narrowed my eyes, sensitive nerves pricking in places they hadn’t since, well, pretty much…ever. I felt his gaze crawl over me, the thin white cotton of my button-down shirt obviously see-through by now. I gulped. He backed away, adjusting the angle of his worn trucker’s hat. Another crack of lightning lit the sky as I practically drooled over the startlingly golden-bronze shade of his skin, damp with rivulets of rainwater. The thundering in the distance was matched only by the thundering of my heart in my ear drums. Could he hear it? God, I hoped not. “My car stalled,” I finally blurted. “You mean that golf cart you got there?” He assessed my trusty little blue demon behind me. “That thing brings a lot of words to mind, but car isn’t one of them. Piece of shit maybe, but not car.” He moved up the short driveway, slapping at the rusted tailgate of a vintage Ford pickup. “And what do you call this?” I hollered at his back, rain still sliding down in determined drops, soaking into my bra and pebbling my nipples. Or was it him, all strong and manly looking? I hated it, either way. I vowed to banish all of the white shirts in my closet the minute I arrived home. “This”—he smacked the truck—“is my baby.” He reached the door of the garage, eyes on me again. “If that old thing impresses you, you should see my big rig.” My mouth shot open, embarrassment burning my cheeks as I thought I very well should turn around and stomp away, but I had no car and my phone battery was long dead. The sixty-minute drive home from work every day was a killer in the best of times, impossible on the worst days, apparently like this one. “I’m not sure what’s worse: enduring this storm or your corny jokes.” His chiseled features shot into an amused half grin that caused my heart to riot in my chest. “You’d be wrong to assume you’ll be the only one suffering.” His eyes made a point of coasting up and down my drenched form before he huffed and pushed off the doorjamb and descended into the darkness of the garage, door closing behind him. I frowned, missing his presence in a way I wasn’t altogether comfortable with. “Mother trucker.” I pushed through the door he’d just disappeared behind, surprised when blinding white light blasted my eyes. Shiny chrome toolboxes towering over raw pine workbenches worn soft with years of use surrounded me. “This is the cleanest garage I’ve ever seen.” I brushed my fingers along one pale workbench. “This isn’t my real shop, just the one I use for filming.” “Filming?” I raised an eyebrow. “Got a local cable show I don’t know about?” “More like half a billion followers streaming online.” He slung one heavy, denim-clad thigh over the nearest Harley, settling himself soundly as if he was made to be there. The broad stretch of his shoulders caught my attention. I fully appreciated the way his broad body swallowed up the space, so much so that the big bike looked small in comparison. A thrill of desire shot through me, blood hammering through my veins to a pounding rhythm. My mouth was suddenly dry, pain cracking my throat as cartwheels bounced around my diaphragm. Mother trucker. “Gotta confess, sweetheart, you’ve had me pegged. I’m a Harley man at heart, but my specialty is trucks. Leno called me in to rehab a classic Ford, and the LA Times did a piece. It’s been a circus since.” I gulped, taking in his words, still stumbling at how downright hot he made me under the engine. I cracked a smile at my own pun, suddenly wondering why the hell I’d found myself at this garage during this storm. Served me right for taking a new way home from work, but flooding had already caused a backup on the bridge out of town, so I’d thought it might be worth my time to take the scenic route home. Well, now the bridge on the edge of town was washed out, and I was stuck on a tiny strip of land that separated the river from the ocean. The only establishment on the island? This one. Luckily, from the outside it’d been well-lit, and with the promise of a power cord and a wrecker calling, I’d been fighting with my purse and about to knock on the door of his garage when he’d caught me outside in the downpour. “This place is pretty incredible.” “Thanks.” His gaze followed me shrewdly as I wandered the edge of the garage, between the motorcycles, modern and vintage, finally catching sight of myself in a full-length mirror in the corner. “Oh shit.” I crossed my arms over my shirt, horrified that I’d been so stunned by the perfection of this place that I’d forgotten I’d worn white and was soaked through. “Why didn’t you say anything?” “Can’t blame a guy for enjoying the view while it lasts.” I huffed, pulling down a coat that hung from a rack beside the mirror. I shrugged it on, folds of black leather swallowing me like a warm hug, the scent of what I imagined was him enveloping me, seeping deep into my bones and melting them like warm butter. Prickles of desire spun up through my nerves, and I did my best to tamp them down. “Do you have a charger?” I suddenly remembered my phone, pulling it from its place in my bag. He was at my side a moment later, lazy grin holding me captivated until I was stupid. “You look good wrapped up in my favorite jacket.” He winked once before spinning on a boot and leaving me all by myself, his scent clinging to me. “Coming, sweetheart?” he threw from across the room, big shoulder resting on the door frame. “Name’s not sweetheart.” I followed, dragging my feet because I knew…I just knew that whoever he was, this wouldn't end well. There was no way. I’d had my fair share of run-ins with arrogant, gorgeous men like him. I’d learned to steer clear. “What else should I call the lost little puppy that’s landed itself on my doorstep?” I bristled at his words, the feminist brewing inside me dampened by his overt and rogue sexuality. This son of a bitch was intoxicating. I met him chest to chest, hovering a moment. “Call me Primrose Weatherford.” His eyes grew ride, mouth popping open to respond before I moved without thinking and pushed past him and straight into his house, walking in like I belonged there, when really I felt for my own sanity that I should be running out. “Prim, huh?” he sang from behind me. “Not even a little bit surprised.”  

    Aria Cole is a thirty-something housewife who once felt bad for reading dirty books late at night, until she decided to write her own. Possessive alpha men and the sassy heroines who love them are common, along with a healthy dose of irresistible insta-love and happily ever afters so sweet your teeth may ache.For a safe, off-the-charts HOT, and always HEA story that doesn't take a lifetime to read, get lost in an Aria Cole book! Follow Aria on Amazon for new release updates, or stalk her on Facebook and Twitter to see which daring book boyfriend she's writing next! Sign up to get a NEW RELEASE ALERT from me! http://eepurl.com/ccGnRX Twitter - Facebook - Goodreads - Instagram - Amazon    

Read the full article