#I wrote that a while back... and in French.... but it seemed fitting so uh there it is

[nerdraging4point0]

November Moon

CW: 18+, oral sex male receiving, language, dirty talk, oral sex female receiving, PIV, protected sex. Exhibitionism, partner sharing.

Authors note: @tearfallpixie and I had .... thoughts.....conversations. It wasn't what I had in mind but as I wrote it, something took on a mind of its own. She was kind enough to offer one of her OC characters to the story. I have been in a rut for a few weeks now, so this is the first thing that has actually reached the finished stages. Enjoy

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 Rick came out of the kitchen a large bowl in each hand filled to the brim with popcorn. He was nothing if not predictable. He set the bowls down on his new extra-large coffee table-a rustic French farmhouse type made of birch wood that looked weathered-it wasn’t his usual style, but he picked it up because one it fit the length he wanted and two he liked the way she looked at it. They hadn’t been together long before Rick had asked Anya to move in with him, he had never been so sure of something in his life.

Horror, the cute pup he had adopted just the year before jumped onto the couch, his tail thumping on the fabric tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. There was a full table of drinks and snacks that Rick and Anya picked up from the store earlier and a couple bags of burgers and fries with milkshakes included from Five Guys. If Rick knew his friend it would be to order Five Guys for dinner, especially when he was about to propose something that could be considered completely insane.

Just a few weeks ago he’d come home from a long tour, finally set to be home for a full eight months, ready for some much-needed rest and relaxation. Yeah right. Rick knew better than to have any kind of relaxation, after he’d properly welcomed himself home to Anya and their pup, he’d immediately started working on his film projects. She had been talking to him from the couch in his office, slumped over his laptop clicking away at videos as he edited them, giving her an occasional ‘uh huh’ ‘really’ or even a ‘hmm’ all things to make it seem like he heard her.

"You know what would be hot?"

"Hmm?" The guitarist hummed quietly, not lifting his eyes from his computer.

"If we had a foursome with Vinny and Dana."

"Wait what?!" Rick exclaimed, turning in his chair to face her. After a long period of silence, he’d waited for her to say more but when she didn’t, he had to process what she’d said. His brain took the suggestion, fumbled it around amongst the other thoughts currently occupying its space, until figuratively tossing everything from its desk inside his head to focus on the idea she proposed.  

"What? Vinny and Dana are hot as fuck. And don't think I don't know you and Vin have fooled around before. It's so obvious." Rick sputtered as he processed her words. Seeing her raise an eyebrow at him, realizing his darkest secret had been found out. He sat back further in his chair eyes darting to the ceiling as he thought the idea through.

“Oh my GOD!” She squealed pulling herself to the edge of her seat on the couch “I was only joking; I wanted your attention you perv!” They had put the idea aside for a while talking again about idle things this time with Rick’s attention on her. But he’d be lying if his mind was drifting back to the earlier topic.

He couldn’t deny that the thought of seeing his best friend and girl get it on wasn't intriguing. Not only that, but he found Vins girl appealing. Anya and Dana were like night and day. Dana was shorter in stature, standing only at 5’2 long sandy brown hair, light skin tone, and eyes that he couldn’t determine were either green or blue. He imagined how her soft curves might feel under his hands, if she’d groan at his touch like Anya did or whine. Anastasia was 5’6 dark brown hair just past her shoulders, deep green eyes and a full sleeve of white roses on her right arm, the spaces between the leaves blacked out. She was athletically built, the muscles from her years of sports softened under her skin leaving her with a relaxed toned look.

Anya was his spitfire spastic girl, she could talk for hours if the subject intrigued her, and there were a lot of subjects like that. She was never not at a loss for words on any given subject, always wanting to learn and express herself. Outsiders might think they were arguing with how they spoke to each other during their debates, but it was all understood, they were communicating on a different level.

While on tour Vin and Rick had stayed up later than the rest of the band and crew, just talking about their girls back home. The girls had gotten close, so closely bonded they weren’t above holding hands and kissing each other on the lips occasionally. They had gotten so deep in conversation that night Vin started to talk about his sex life with Dana, while he never discussed much with anyone else in the band and crew, he and Rick had a mutual understanding to share everything with one another.

Rick had expected Dana to be shy and innocent, inexperienced, somehow the thought of having to break her and teach her a lesson made his sex throb with anticipation. But when he heard how dark she could be for Vin he was surprised. The way Vin described her she was mouthy, sassy even. Rick liked that. The idea that he could still break her gave him some satisfaction.

The couple walked through the door of Rick’s house, greeted eagerly by Horror, Dana seemed to take great interest in petting the pup’s belly while Vin made a quick bee line for the food on the table. Anya caught her friend in a hug, bringing her in by the waist to the couch. Dana had chosen a simple pair of leggings and hoodie to wear tonight. Although she matched in all black with her boyfriend, Rick couldn’t help but feel cheated, what could she possibly be hiding under there?

He'd never seen Dana wear anything outside of leggings, sweatpants, hoodies, and the occasional pair of jeans. Anya said it was something about being self-conscious around a lot of people. What could she have to be self-conscious about? He’d seen some of the photos on Vin’s phone. Not on purpose, anything that had to do with Dana and Vin was all found out by accident. He either happened to be looking that way just at the right time or Vin was scrolling through his phone passing by a saved photo of her pausing only for a minute before continuing through his gallery. Rick just always acted like he didn’t see it.

Vin didn’t know it but a few nights after that conversation Rick had gotten up in the middle of the night making his way to the bathroom for a late-night piss, on his way back to his bunk he could hear the private conversation between Vin and Dana. Vin seemed to think everyone was asleep and opted for no headphones, in whatever way, to the universe or deity of some kind he thanked him for the absentminded mistake.

She was moaning on the other end, giving a sexy giggle, maybe in response to Vin’s reaction.

“Sugar, come on don’t tease me.” He whined, his voice climbing higher than a whisper.

“What are you gonna do? Make me?”

Rick had to suppress the growl in his throat. Oh, he’d make her alright. Miles away or not, he’d have her follow his every direction without hesitation.

They watched a movie together, eating and making small talk. But it seemed that no matter how much he tried to bring up the subject he just couldn’t get the words to come out of his mouth. I guess it was a good thing his girlfriend was better at breaking the ice than he was. He wasn’t sure what she’d said, or how she had said it, but when Rick looked over in the dark living room toward the girls, they were practically in each other’s laps hands wrapping around each other, lips locked. He tapped his friend’s thigh unable to tear away from the scene in front of him, the sudden thud of Vin’s phone on the floor was confirmation he was seeing the same thing.

It wasn’t much to convince them to take everything back to Rick’s room. He’d lead them down the hall and into the master bedroom tearing Anya’s top and bra from her body the minute she was inside their door. He held Anya against his chest, her breasts in each of his hands, kneading the flesh and pulling at her nipples while he kissed the exposed skin of her neck, cheek and shoulder. He heard a sound that made his eyes fly open and search for the source.

Across the room Vin had his girl in his arms teeth sinking into the flesh at her neck, Dana’s mouth dropped open and her nails digging into Vin’s shoulder, a look of pure ecstasy on her face. Rick drank in the sight looking her over, her pale skin was completely exposed her hoodie, shirt, and bra had been discarded and he could see her breasts pressed into Vin’s chest.

God damn she was beautiful.

“Fuck, Vin. That’s what you’ve been hiding from us?” It had been a comment Rick wanted to utter more times than one after seeing photos of her but knew better than to do it. Now he had no reason not to.

Dana’s cheeks went pink when her eyes opened landing on Rick’s from across the room. So sweet. She was still so shy. Rick wanted to taste her, he wanted to make her come first. The way Vin was playing with her, it was driving Rick insane. Like a kid on the playground who wanted his turn with the new toy, he seemed to be losing his patience.

“Think Vin would let me suck his cock?” Anya’s breathy voice was at Rick’s ear, her soft moans between words making his cock twitch.

“I don’t know,” he drawled “Why don’t you go over there and find out.”

Anya crossed the floor quickly, pulling herself between Vin and Dana, giving Dana a soft kiss on the lips before turning to face Vin. Her eyes focused on him as she dropped to her knees fingers already working the button of his cargo pants.

Dana stepped back, giving her friend room, her arms crossing over her chest as she pulled her thumb nail between her teeth. She was distracted, not paying any attention to Rick as he crossed the room coming up slowly behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist letting his chin rest on her shoulder as he pulled her into him his cock sliding between the cheeks of her ass. She tightened in his grip going stiff.

“Shhh.” He whispered letting his lips trail soft kisses from her shoulder to the bend of her neck. “Since he’s a little occupied. Let me take care of you.”

He spun her in his arms making her face him he squatted down grabbing her thighs and hoisting her up to wrap her legs around his waist. Rick climbed onto the bed, letting her back fall softly into the black duvet. He kept his eyes on hers, taking in the beautiful glassy green color as he watched her pupils dilate and shrink with every move of his hands over her body.

“Would you let me eat you? I’m sure Vin does it a lot.” Ricks fingers were already teasing the hem of her leggings, waiting for the approval before tearing them down her thighs. He watched as she covered her body with her arms, hands making a tent over her mouth and nose while her cheeks turned that adorable pink color.

“Why do you think I call her sugar?” Vin teased moaning when Anya giggled, his cock still down her throat.

“You have to say yes.” Rick gave her an encouraging look, or maybe he was pleading, he wasn’t really sure what expression his face was making at this point. Whatever he’d done made her nod her head slowly, he understood the hesitation and although he wanted to tear her clothes off and bury himself between her thighs, he felt he should treat her a little more delicately. Pulling the clothes from her body he looked back up to see she had completely covered her face. He crawled up her body taking her wrists in his hands as he pulled her away to look in her eyes.

“No need to hide. I’ve seen it all already and trust me, you are beautiful.” Her face went completely red but as Rick made his way down her torso, she didn’t bring her hands up to hide again. Opening her thighs she parted them easily for him, letting him find his way between them as he licked a stripe between her folds the intoxicating taste of her burst through his mouth, he groaned wanting more but having to hold himself back from devouring her. “I see why he calls you sugar, you do taste sweet.”

Fingers pressing her open he lapped at her clit listening to the pleased sounds she made as he found the spot, she liked the most. Her hips rocked into his face, and he grabbed her thighs in order to brace himself for the moment she came on his tongue. She moaned, the dirty words falling out of her mouth all that Ricks’ ears hoped they would be.

Shuffling, the tear of a foil packet, a sudden keen from Anya and the sound of skin on skin meant Vin had taken it upon himself to move his moment along. They hadn’t discussed how it would all make them feel, but then again, Vin didn’t have much emotion when he was horny. Rick liked to think things through even now, he could feel the pang in his chest that someone else had his girl, but the knowledge that she was always his softened the blow.

Dana’s hands tangled into Ricks hair desperate to pull him off her as her body started to shake and seize from her orgasm. He continued to hold her clit between his lips, letting his tongue flick along the edge as she spasmed against his face. When he opened his eyes and looked up at her, she was flat against the bed panting, her breasts rising and falling with her deep breathing. Some of the muscles in her thighs and arms were shaking from what he’d just done to her. The pride in swelling in his chest.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Vin.” He looked to his friend who had Anya bent over the side of the bed taking her from behind. Vin’s green eyes looked up from under his lashes, the red streaks falling over his face. “Toss me one.”

The drummer groaned as he pulled out of Anya, she whined at the loss of him, Vin spinning around to slap her ass before digging through the drawer of the nightstand. He tossed the purple foil to Rick, catching it mid air he ripped it open sliding it down his length before bracing himself at her entrance. He wanted to go easy, maybe take his time, but if Vin finished soon, it would just be awkward for the whole room.

He bottomed out watching as she folded herself up arm latching around Ricks neck. He moved his hips immediately filling her up quickly and starting a pace that was sure to give her another orgasm. She moaned, keened and whined in his ear. The sounds making his brain fill with fog. She fits him so easily, her walls parting for him only to tighten around as he withdraws. She is just as soft as he imagined she’d be, fingers tracing the scars of her stretched skin, stripes that were no doubt earned and should be appreciated.

Under his touch she trembles, but then relaxes as he strokes her back, he can feel her shake every time he thrusts deep inside her. She is close and he knows it. The familiar shrieks from Anya tell Rick she’s enjoying herself. He was sure he’d have time to take Anya too, his ego telling him he had the stamina for it all. But as reality sank in it was evident, he wouldn’t. He felt in his lower belly that he was close, she was clenching harder around him, feeling her walls coat him with her slick his own body trembling.

“Fuck Rick.” She moaned in his ear as her arms clutched to him tight the orgasm breaking her. He couldn’t hold out anymore. Getting a hard grip on her body he thrust into her several more times before he moaned her name as he came.

The chorus of the four of them breathing heavily, smacking their lips from their mouths running dry was all the room could hear. The heady smell of musk and body fluid assaulting their sense of smell. Vin withdrew from Anya pulling the condom off quick and discarding it. Anya didn’t seem to notice him either walking around the bed to her drawers looking for underwear and something to wear.

Rick pulled out of Dana quickly making his way off the bed and tossing the condom away. He pushed the windows open behind his bed letting the cool night air waft the smell from the room. Anya’s warm hands wrapped around his waist, holding one of his t shirts and clean boxers in them. He took the clothes from her grip, bringing one of her hands to his lips before placing a chaste kiss on the back.

He slipped the clothes on seeing Vin help Dana into his sweatshirt, he was still naked, but after making sure his girl was dressed, they cuddled under the blankets.

“I told them they can sleep here tonight.” Anya stood up on her tiptoes to give Rick a kiss on his cheek.

“And where will we sleep?”

“In the bed silly. Where else?” she giggled crawling into the bed and settling next to her friend. Rick was too physically tired to care who slept in what bed. While the idea of a foursome wasn’t exactly what he’d imagined, it wasn’t a waste of time either. Now that the ice had been broken maybe there was just a little room to have more.

She woke to the faint sound of moaning.

The chill in the room made her shiver under the sweatshirt Vin had given her last night, she rolled into him seeking the warmth of his body. The window he’d opened was left that way all night, the late November air making the room go chill. Settling into Vin’s chest he was fast asleep, his arms not even moving to hold her, shivering as she pulled the blankets up over her nose. She tried hard to go back to sleep, squeezing her eyes shut as if that would force them to stay closed and bring sleep on faster.

Another soft moan carried through the room, and she realized that it wasn’t the sounds of her dreams from last night anymore. Turning slowly in the bed she saw Rick and Anya over her shoulder. Rick had Anya’s back pressed firmly into his chest, his hips rocking into her from behind, one ink clad hand wrapped around her waist disappearing between her thighs his fingers moving in and out of her sex with slow strokes. Anya had her head tipped back, hands wrapped around Rick’s head as he kissed into the bend of her neck, eyes were held shut pulling her lip between her teeth to suppress more of her moans. Rick’s grey eyes met hers from across the bed, they held the stare for only a few seconds before he gave her a wink and a seductive smirk. Pressing his lips once again to the neck of his girl. She turned back into Vin, not shy about what she saw, but disappointed that her boyfriend wasn’t awake to join in the fun.

She snuggled into Vin’s chest more drinking in the smell of his cologne, the fragrance still potent even though he’d applied it yesterday morning. She was close enough to hear his heart beating in his chest, the steady rhythm drowning out the sound of the couple next to her. Vin shifted in the bed allowing her to sink deeper into his bare chest.

“You to huh?” his gravely morning voice made heat pool into the space between her thighs. She was very pleased with herself that all she was wearing was his sweatshirt and panties from the night before. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth before she nodded her head. “Turn around then.”

She rolled to her other side making sure her ass rolled over him in a suggestive way. He groaned when she rolled over his cock, realizing quickly that he hadn’t dressed himself after their games last night. He kept his eyes closed, hand taking her hip and pulling her close to him. She glanced over at Rick and Anya, he seemed to have lost patience with only his fingers. Anya was pressed firmly on her belly into the bed one of Ricks’ hands tangled in her hair holding her head up off the mattress, his other had both her wrists clasped firmly into her lower back. Rocking his hips into her from behind, his black hair was already falling in his face lips parted breathing getting heavy. The sight turned her on to watch and when Vin started to rock his hips into her from behind slowly grinding himself against her ass, she let out a whimper Anya’s eyes only opening a little to look her friends way before giving her a satisfied smile.

Suddenly the chill from earlier was gone, the room filling up with a sudden heat she couldn’t explain. She pushed the blankets down and off her with her feet trying to cool her already sweaty skin. Vin’s fingernails were digging into the flesh of her thigh as he pulled her closer to him, continuing to grind against her. She was soaking through her panties as Vin would move her the friction of the material clothing her sex gave just enough friction to stimulate, but not enough that she’d be able to come. She wanted more. He was hard the feel of him pressing into her cheeks erotic the length not giving from the pressure of her on him.

He suddenly stopped fingers frantically trying to find the edge of her panties to bring them down her legs. She rolled onto her back grabbing the sides and pulling them down to toss the wet garment somewhere. Vin rolled onto his back motioning for her to come to him, she straddled his lap her knee barely coming to rest next to his hip before he pulled her down into a needy kiss. Her mouth distracted he lined up, pushing himself between her folds before bottoming out with no hesitation. She squealed into the kiss letting his tongue push past the barrier and into her mouth. He already had a grip on the sides of her hips rocking her over his length pulling her up before bringing her back down. They had barely started, and she was already about to burst.

Pulling herself out of his mouth she sat up grasping his thigh and bracing herself on the soft of his abdomen before she rocked herself back and forth, letting him fill her completely. While she rolled her head back she let her eyes wander over to their friends. Anya had her lip in her mouth teeth bearing down into the skin it was turning white, her forehead was sticky with sweat and her eyes were shut tight. Rick’s grey orbs looking directly at Dana. He had a feral look in his eye and it only made the coil in her belly tighten, watching him fuck Anya with sharp snaps of his hips was a show. She looked down at Vin who beneath her was arching his back Adams apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed before letting his mouth fall open again with his heavy breathing. She was so close, her rhythm stalling, feeling like she couldn’t continue. He sat up with her, head placed into her chest, he let his hands roam up the sweatshirt she was wearing fingers running along her spine and over her skin.

“Gonna come for me, sugar?” She wrapped her arms around his neck letting her fingers lace through his messy curls. Her hips moved faster as he spoke, driving herself to a quick release, beyond speech she only nodded her head. She looked over to Rick whose own hips started to falter, his eyes still on her, she threw her head back watching as he stilled in his movements spilling into Anya with a loud groan. It put Dana over the edge, clenching hard around Vin’s cock she squeezed his hair as her body shook with her orgasm. He wasn’t far behind her, taking her hips in his hands and slamming her down on him one more time before she could feel the warmth of his release inside her.

They fell back on the bed, her ear pressed against his chest to hear his heart thudding loudly. As they caught their breath, she heard the couple next to them whispering softly to one another, followed by a comfortable silence. The serenity of the moment lost when Vin cried out to the room,

"I'm hungry."

[butnobodycame627]

I feel invisible in this glass prison

In the glass, there is too much water and it spills out

When my tears fall, the flood starts

I feel like I'm drowning, even if everyone else knows how to swim

I, all alone, am a drop of water

Lost among the others

A drop of water that does not know how to breathe

[thismaydestroyme]

Little Did I know Pt. 2

summary: in this short story, harry is famous, and he moved into a town during the summer to relax and potentially write some new songs for his upcoming album. i included some song lyrics from different amazing artists, and i pretended that harry and y/n wrote it.

author’s note: i wrote the beginning of this two months ago me being lazy i picked up where i left off because i’m too lazy to read through this. so if there’s any major fuck ups then…. i did warn you that i’m incompetent

word count: 3165

“I’m a SLAVE FOR YOU!” Y/N shouts out, and little did you know Harry was front and center watching your trainwreck of a performance. 

Harry did a whole french inhale without breaking eye contact with you. “I really wanna dance tonight with you.” Y/N hears Brittany playing in the background which you pause the music, to see what Harry would say about your little ‘performance.’ 

“Really? A slave? don’t you think it’s pretty dramatic don’t ya think?” Harry says, raising one of his eyebrows. You know he’s just playing around, but you coudn’t help feeling embarrassed how he fucking witnessed… that. You don't want Harry to know that you’re embarrassed, so you did the next best thing. 

“That fucking snake was huge. Did you know she was holding an Albino Burmese Python? I bet MTV wasn’t expecting that. Do you think MTV got filthy rich from that performance? Everyone tuned in for that performance and till this day it’s still the most talked about.” You ramble and spew out random information you bet Harry couldn’t care two shit about.” Harry has a smirk on his face, you bet he was enjoying you looking like a damn idiot. 

You start profusely apologizing until Harry interrupts you, “Do you want to come over?” He says all nonchalantly and walks away without you even agreeing. You’re all stunned and weren't able to even say one single word or even move your two feet. Harry doesn’t need to turn around to see you not moving, “C’mon weirdo, don’t act all shy with me now.” He threw back. 

“Fuck.” You whisper, but your feet finally start to move and your feet are heading straight to Harry. 

Harry turned his head and started to smirk, but he kept walking which had you feeling some nerves building up in your stomach. You’re not scared per se, just you’re going to Harry Styles house. This is normal. This is fine. This is just a once in a lifetime opportunity. 

Cool. 

When you finally get to his entrance Harry is already inside and he disappears somewhere because you don’t see him. You hesitantly walk inside and shut the door behind you. When you turn around you couldn’t help, but notice the disarray this house is covered in. Your mouth gape opened, but you immediately brought your hands to cover up how shocked you are. You couldn’t help but gawk at Harry’s place. There’s a big pink couch in the center of the room which is covered in boxes and clothes. There’s a TV on the floor which doesn’t seem to be plugged in because you don’t see it even plugged in. You try not to be too judgy because he did just move in, so what do you expect?  Harry having his life all sorted out in a span of a couple of weeks? 

You almost missed the nice white fluffy carpet that’s underneath the couch. Even though Harry’s place is a disaster, you can envision what Harry is planning on doing when he has his stuff all situated. In the back of your mind you hope he might even invite you back if he does a ‘welcoming party.’

Before you could even investigate more Harry walks back in with two bottles of water in his hand. He’s already drinking out of one of them, so he handed the one that hasn’t been opened to you. You reach your hands over to grab it. 

“This isn’t safe for the environment.” You states while unscrewing the cap. 

“Well.. you belting out to Britney is an endangerment to our society, so I guess we both got the short end of the sticks.” 

You immediately start drinking your water because you didn’t have your next rebuttal. You start scanning the room and hoping it’ll have your heartbeat settle down because you can feel it through your chest. Harry moves from his spot and starts taking boxes off the couch and to make some room for the both of you. He had to take down three boxes, so you could both sit comfortably. 

Harry walks over to you, but you freeze. Harry was pleased knowing he had you all flustered. It was one of Harry’s turn ons. Harry sits and brings his arms draping on the back of the couch which would have you being in his arm if you decide to sit right there. A couple of seconds of you contemplating you walk towards Harry and hesitantly sit down. 

“I’m not going to bite.” he whispers in your left ear. Feeling his breath in your ear made you slightly clench your thighs together, hoping Harry doesn’t notice. But knowing your track record he probably did notice.

You try to come up with a conversation starter that hopefully doesn't hold all the spotlight on you. You look down at her close water bottle and scrambling for something in her head. 

“Now you’re shy. The last time I checked up you were coming for my head after that  mishap with your dog earlier.” 

“You deserved it. You were attacking Cosmo, so yeah. I was in fact coming for your ass.” You glance your eyes to Harry. You’re overly protected over Cosmo. Cosmo is your life.

Harry gave you a smirk. He couldn’t help but to admire your bluntness. He barely comes across people who lit a fire inside of him. They always try to please him because he is a celebrity, and people just want to please him- which he doesn’t mind, but he does wish they sometime bites back. Having you in his presence he doesn’t want to let you go just yet, little did he know, he wants to get to know you more. 

“What do you do, Y/N besides piercing people’s eardrums and being a dog mom.” 

“Ummm.. that’s a loaded fucking question. But you being Harry fuckin’ Styles I guess I have to come up with something to make myself more interesting and less… chaotic. Well I’m a 21 years old who doesn’t have anything to offer to this world. I live my life accepting I’ll probably be working at Newbury Comics. And on top of that I love music, but I’ll be considered unqualified because I have no talents, and all I could do is muster up some mediocre lyrics that I have stored in my notes app.” 

Harry didn’t break any eye contact when you were summarizing your sad life. That created a pit in your stomach because you never experienced anything that could ever compare to Harry’s tense gaze. 

Harry never encountered anyone in the span of meeting them baring their skin to him. He couldn’t help, but feel some sort of pride knowing he created a space for Y/N to be able to let your hair down and express herself in full detail. He feels more drawn to you because he knows what you’re feeling. The unknown is a scary thing to feel, but you’re doing that with grace without you even realizing it. Just accepting reality is the biggest thing to acknowledge, and you’re doing just that. 

“What do you have on your notes? Could you even help me write my next album.” Harry shrug glances his eyes away from you. 

You feel a surge of worries entering her body. You don't know what’s going on, and you don't like it. “What?! You barely know me. My so-called ‘lyrics’ could be shitty and cliche. What are you getting out of this? My humiliation?” You don't like being taken as a joke, but that’s all  you could come up with this peculiar interaction. Harry sees a naive little girl. 

“You’re pretty,” Harry says. And that’s all he said. He got up and walked out the room. You're left on the couch alone, and not understanding what he just said. Just a few minutes ago he asked for your help, and now just a few seconds ago he said you’re pretty. What kind of fuckery is this?!

You immediately got up and walked to whatever room you could find Harry in. It wasn’t that hard because Harry is in the kitchen. 

“Harry! I need you to explain. Talk to me, please.” You say while running her hands down your face. You thanked yourself for not wearing any makeup.

“Uh, you beg. I like that Y/N,” Harry chuckles and closes his fridge door. 

“Well…. I do find you attractive and I see a potential in you. I might be wrong or I might be right. There’s nothing wrong with finding out and seeing what you have.” Harry says. Harry isn’t afraid to look people in the eyes, but you sure do. You’re debating if you should  take this risk. Harry did say there’s nothing wrong with finding it out. 

“Fine. I will take that jump with you.” You say unsurely, but you have some faith in him and a little bit in yourself. 

“Good. Now can you stop being tense and enjoy yourself. You’re in fact talking to the one and only Harry Styles.” 

“Shut up, doofus.” 

One month Later

After Harry made the deal with you a month ago,  you guys have been surprisingly working together quite nicely. You guys wrote one complete song, and that song is now called, “Dirty Little Secret.” You can’t wait to hear Harry sing that song with his band because you’re pretty sure it will fit the band theme for his upcoming album. Harry doesn’t want to limit himself, but he does have an idea to make his third album mostly rock. 

Harry didn’t expect you to be a fuckin’ genious. Watching you in the corner jotting down lines in your beat up notebook with a pen in your hand made you start feeling someway. You always appreciate the art seeing people enjoy what they do, but Y/N is truly gifted because she has no experience with producing music. One long night two weeks ago you guys were sleep deprived because there was a week where you guys would stay up all night to write and you would stop when you saw the sunrise. Y/N found her love in music because of her father. He was a huge factor that made her who she is today. There was substance in her when she would talk about the accent in a song, how she would bounce that off with the bar while you would play the instruments. Y/N is truly a force to be reckoned with and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would be like to have her on tour with you. 

Y/N never felt more alive after her father passed. It’s like Harry woken something inside of her. You never thought you would experiment with music with Harry Styles, the artist for this generation. You’re not going to lie that you would watched all of his interviews and he would talk about when he write songs he has no boundaries, and it’s crazy he upheld that ideology because Harry made sure you know that there’s no right or wrong way, the only way is to play around and see how it goes. 

“I’m going to get some water. Do you want some?” You ask Harry dropping your notebook on the coffee table that’s covered in rolled up papers and a lot of take out boxes.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He says. You nod at him, and you got up to grab two cups of ice water for you both. 

Your notebook page flipped to a new page and Harry couldn’t help but notice to see “Bubblegum Bitch” written in all caps. Harry got intrigued, so he happily kicked the table so the book could fall, so his excuse could be, “Y/N it fell.” 

Harry kicked the coffee table with his big ass feet and the notebook happily splat on the floor. Harry reached for it and started flipping pages to see that title again, and it took him a couple of tries to find it. 

“Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll

Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all

Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored

I'm the girl you'd die for”

Harry couldn’t help but not try to read all the lyrics. He wants to digest it all, but he knew Y/N could walk in any second. He couldn’t help but make a small gasp when he skimmed to the part of the song that had him falling on his knees 

“I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch.” 

“Harry, what are you doing?” Y/N says timidly. On the outside Y/N is calm and cool and collective, but on the inside you’re shaking and screaming. Your songs are attended only to you, not for other eyes to see. You’re still not confident with your writing abilities when it comes to songs for yourself, but knowing your idol probably read more than one line of your song is having you want the ground to swallow you up. 

“I’m not going to tiptoe around you and pretend Y/N. Bubblegum Bitch is amazing, fuck maybe fucking brillant Y/N. Shit.” Harry says he looks at you but goes back down to your notebook flipping pages after pages. 

You’re stuck where you’re standing. Feeling the condensation of two cups of water you’re currently holding is the only concept you’re able to maintain. 

Did Harry say that he likes your songs? Did he say brilliant? You’re not able to speak, all you’re able to do is walk up to the coffee table, drop the cups down and grab your notebook from Harry's grabby hands and collect your belongings. This is too much. You feel too much. You simply can’t right now. 

Harry sees you picking up your stuff and shoving your notebook and pens in your purse you bring every time you visit him. Harry couldn’t help, but feel bad that he could possibly make you feel uncomfortable. 

Harry stands up and starts walking up to where you are putting the last thing in your bag, “Y/N I’m sorry if me going through your stuff made you angry, but I couldn't help it Y/N. What I read was amazing, you’re amazing.” Harry hurrys out his words because he felt if he didn’t say it fast enough you would vanish. 

You’re trying to hold back your tears because it’s getting too much for you. The last time somebody read your stuff was your father, and right now you feel like you’re betraying the intimate moments you had with him. He was the one you would share your songs first with him. Now that he’s gone, you couldn’t put yourself out there to have someone else read it. You turn back around and you try to give a smile to Harry. 

“It’s okay, I- I just have to go. I’m sorry. We can talk later.” You push past Harry to make it to the front door, but you feel someone hand on your wrist so you immediately stop. 

“Y/N, I can’t have you leave, when I know that you’re not okay. Can you please talk to me? Please?” There’s a hint of sadness in Harry. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave him without having the answer he’s yearning for. 

You turn around and there’s Harry. His green eyes are pleading with yours, and you couldn’t help, but do what Harry is asking you to do. 

“Okay, I don’t want pity. Okay? Tell me you understand.” You ask Harry because the last thing you want from him is sympathy. 

“I promise Y/N. Would you mind if we sit down?” You nod your head and he walks you back with his hand in your hand. You both couldn’t help but feel some sort of palse running inside you both while holding each other's hands. It’s something both of you guys can’t simply forget. 

You got to the couch and you both sat down, no longer holding hands. You adjust yourself so you can face him. “Okay. My father died a couple of years ago and he was the only one I let read my stuff first. After he passed I never showed anyone my stuff because it would feel like I’m replacing him. I’m not mad that you read my stuff- I was just surprised, and I couldn’t help it but feel sadness creeping over me. Once again, I’m not angry at you, I’m just adjusting to a new milestone I just crossed without me not realizing it.” You say, and you’re hoping Harry doesn’t say, “Oh I’m sorry”  because you’re sorry to. 

“Well, I’m not sorry for your loss,” Harry says and you couldn’t help, but smile and laugh. “but I’m not sorry that I read it. You have something Y/N and I know you told me you haven’t had any experience in music industry, but fuck that. You have passion and I feel that every time we write something together in the past month, I don’t think I'll be able to forget about you when the summer is over.” Harry says. There was so much sincerity in what he just said.  

You thought it was all one sided because you felt so much being with Harry. You felt you were finally seeing a rainbow you hadn’t seen in a very long time. Harry brings so much out of you that you. Harry was always there when you were scared to take the first step. Him being there with you made it less scary because he was there every step of the way.

Harry didn’t expect he would’ve met someone this summer who would make such an impact on him. Harry thought he would do a lot of hooks up, go to parties and write for the entirety of the summer. But the universe had something planned for him. He met Y/N. He didn’t want to tell Y/N he that he found his first and only love, but he didn’t want to scare her. She could probably feel the same way or she only saw him as a friend but neither of them were ready for that big leap of faith. Even Y/N knew Harry is someone she couldn’t live without because he brings something out of you that you never felt in your entire life and that was courage and faith. 

Y/N met her faith. Only time could tell if faith would lead Harry and Y/N the soulmate they both were looking for.

“Harry, I don’t think I could possibly forget about you.” Y/N whisper because you felt if you used your normal voice the bubble you guys created would shatter within seconds.

Faith is a silly thing because faith could have you longing for something that’s impossible to grasp or faith could have you leaving you vulnerable, but that vulnerability could unlock something you never dreamt was even possible. 

[phrynewrites]

Ok the teacher's au sex ed drabble is getting too much to finish tonight so here's a little peek (relief from angsty fake dating jasco)

-----

“Fucking pamphlets,” Bosco mutters, pulling a fat stack of papers out of their mailbox. They turn and throw behind them, “Camden, does your girlfriend know why I’ve got all these dick papers in my mailbox?”

Tomato soup and a half-melted grilled cheese suddenly seemed less interesting to Jasmine.

“Why are there dick papers?” she asked, framing with air quotes. “Is that even allowed in a school?”

“Jazzy, baby, it’s not porn,” Bosco slid her one across the table. “It’s like, Planned Parenthood papers.”

As it hit her soup, Jasmine choked. “That sure is, uh, anatomy.”

“Yeah, ah…” Camden jumped in. “So it’s not Angie’s fault.”

“Never is, babe. As long as you two keep playing doctor, hmmm?”

Camden ignored Bosco, turning her attention to the pamphlet instead. “School board isn’t renewing non-cert staff for the school year. Maddy caught onto that and she quit. So now there’s no one to teach health, well really sex ed-”

“Wouldn’t you teach sex ed?” Jasmine picks at her sandwich. She may or may not have peeled the plastic off the cheese before putting it in the sandwich…. "You're a nurse. Bosco just teaches French.”

“Just French. And here I thought you thought it was a sexy language,” Bosco replies, beaming at Jasmine, tongue between their teeth.

---

Upon entering the room, Jasmine saw Bosco trying to shove the baby back into the anatomical model, finding it didn’t fit.

“You’re causing brain damage.” She grabbed the baby doll and stuck it into the model. “They come out head first, genius.”

Bosco nods. “So that’s how you fell on yours, or?” Bosco gives her a shove. “No one there to catch you?”

“Yeah no, I fell head first into the earth’s molten crevice, from which you emerged. Centuries old legend says that once every millennium, a child with a mononym and a frozen heart shall grow to-”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Bosco says. But their tone isn’t pointed. Not a lick of irritation can be found. If anything, their cheeks are puffed out as they reach for the dry-erase marker, like they would have laughed if they hadn’t caught themself.

“What’s got you smiley?” Jasmine poked their side. “You excited to teach about diaphragms? The miracle of life? Feeling warm and fuzzy reminiscing about your time in the molten crevice?”

“Sure, in a way.” Bosco numbered the board from 1 to 10 in perfect, straight handwriting. “I…I had a date last night and she was nice.”

While Bosco wrote out STDs, Contraception, and Consent, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary, Jasmine’s eyes blew out wide.

“Oh my god, you are capable of love.”

Healthy relationships. Pregnancy and Childbirth.

“I didn’t say love. I said she was nice.” Life Skills.

“Oh my god.” Jasmine gripped their hand, a smile remaining even as they shook her off. “You have to tell me everything. Are you going to see her again? Oh my god you had a date.”

“The more you say that, the sadder it makes me look, Mademoiselle Kennedie.” Bosco pats her shoulder, retreating as the first student enters.

[chemicalvelocity]

Happy Friday! I need therapy

So I wrote a fic for Fingers in my mouth Friday! Hope Y'all enjoy it.

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No warnings apply

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel

Word Count: 3545

Read Below the Cut:

Dean's not a creep. He's not, he swears. It's just that he's... noticing things now that he's not on high alert for monsters anymore.

He remembers the first evidence of Castiel he'd ever seen, an angry burn scar of a handprint. He thought it was a demon's for christ's sake. He hadn't paid mind at the time to the fact that it took up his entire deltoid.

Now, however, he was absently tracing its outline after a shower, staring more through the mirror than at it while recalling the events of breakfast. Jack had playfully started the comparing hand sizes game that seems to entertain kids so much.

Dean hadn't even put any thought into it until it turned into everyone else doing it to humor him; which culminated in Dean foolishly slapping his palm to Cas's and then realizing just how much smaller his hand was.

Naturally, he'd joked it off and found his way out of the conversation, acting like it wasn't a bruise to his ego. He had thousand-yard stared his way through a shower, and now, here he was.

He carefully fitted his hand over the scar tissue on his shoulder, and yep, there it was, a literal physical reminder of Cas's massive hands. He got over himself as quickly as he could and threw on his clothes before going to the garage to wash Baby.

*

That turned out to be a bad idea, as many of Dean's ideas do. Cas was sat in a lawn chair with the tunnel doors cracked, rolling a joint. Dean had pointedly ignored him, turning to rinse the car until Cas spoke up.

"Would you like some?" He asked, looking over at Dean with a twist of his slender fingers as his tongue darted out to wet the rolling paper's adhesive. Dean swallowed.

"Y'know that shit's bad for you, right?" Dean grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. He opened a drawer to pull out sponges and brushes, tossing them into nearby buckets and setting them  down near Baby's rear fender

"I think you know that's not true." Castiel hummed, placing the fresh joint between his lips, bringing the flame of his zippo to the end, and inhaling deeply.

"Whatever, Stoney baloney... Don't you usually smoke out on the roof, anyway?" Dean asked, filling up the first bucket with hot water and suds, the second with only cold water.

"It's raining," Cas replied, voice husky from the strain of holding in a hit. "Frankly, the Bunker is well ventilated enough that I could smoke in the library... where we still keep ashtrays on the table, but I figured I'd come in here to keep it away from Jack." He mused, blowing his lungful of smoke out the door.

"Right... Gotta say Cas, I'm sure second-hand smoke doesn't affect 20-year-old Nephilim toddlers." Dean chuckled, saturating the sponge in the first bucket and slung the soap across the Impala's roof, leaning up to scrub away the dust and bugs that come from hauling her back and forth across the Midwest.

"No, but I don't want to influence him, he's very impressionable, you know." Cas flicked the collecting ash into a labelless beer bottle that sat discarded in his chair's cupholder.

"I wonder where he could've gotten that from. Claire came to visit for one weekend and all of a sudden you're Bob Marley!" Dean teased, and Cas narrowed his eyes at him.

"I am not a musician, nor a Rastafarian, Dean. Claire simply pointed out that I think too much, and that cannabis is known to help." He drew in a deep hit and outstretched his arm to Dean, the cigarette balanced between two fingers. Smoke twirled lazily into the air around him.

Dean made a show of rolling his eyes before coming over to pluck the smoke from Cas's possession. Cas watched him appraisingly as he took a drag, then another, and Dean almost choked when Cas's lips parted for the stream of smoke to travel neatly into his nostrils.

Okay, so Claire taught him how to french inhale. Dean idly wondered if he knew what ghosting was, before passing it back and returning to his task, pretending like his lungs didn't burn from the comparative lack of practice.

*

Dean hit the wall hard, his breath punched out of him with a grunt. He scrambled to his knees and whipped his head around to see Sam in a similar position nearby. Cas was still standing though now surrounded by three, very pissed-off demons, one of which had Dean's angel blade. Dean attempted to gather himself and help out, but his vision went sideways and he steadied himself against a table, opting to call out the angel's name, stupidly.

Cas had slashed the leg of the demon to his right and grappled the one to his left. As the first one went down, his palm met its forehead and smote it out of its meatsuit. The middle one charged him, but he spun the demon in his grip, shielding himself by launching his captive forward onto the blade, then seizing the neck of the remainder, holding him in place firmly. He turned to the bewildered hunters casually.

"Did you need him for anything else?" Dean bit down on his tongue in a failed attempt to reintroduce moisture to his mouth.

"N-No, Cas I think we're good, knock yourself out..." he rasped as Castiel tightened his grip on the demon's throat, and light burned out from under its skin. Sam and Dean had picked themselves up off the floor by now and made their way to the middle of the room.

"Good work, buddy," Dean panted as Cas piled up the bodies at his feet, and wiped blood away on his jeans. "Guess you hardly need us."

"Of course I do, You made an excellent distraction." Cas smiled and while Dean was sure it was a genuine statement, definitely felt the hit to his pride. Maybe he was just getting too old for this shit. Sam snorted at something and walked out. Dean didn't know what, but he didn't want to hit him any less for it.

*

"Hey, Cas, I have a bit of a concussion from the hunt the other night. Can you work a little magic?" Sam rubbed at his eyes, setting his laptop aside. Dean raised his eyebrows from his seat, taking a sip of beer. He wouldn't have asked Cas to expend any healing energy on himself, but Cas didn't protest. Instead, he hardly looked up from his book and snapped his fingers. Sam visibly relaxed. Dean did not.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it. I'm gonna go grab some grub, probably just pick up a pizza and some beers or something." Sam held his hand out for the impala keys. Dean tossed them to him with half a mind.

When Sam was gone, he was still staring at Cas in confusion.

"Can I help you with something too, Dean?" He quirked an eyebrow over his book. Dean cleared his throat and shook his head.

"Nope, no, I'm okay, just a few scrapes. Can't have you wasting your mojo on that... I was just wondering why you didn't, uh, y'know," He tapped two fingers to his forehead and Cas's eyes turned up in a half-smile.

"I don't need to do that to heal."

"Oh... okay." He'd already asked a weird question, probably best not to pry into why Cas always touched him to heal.  He tipped back the rest of his beer and fumbled around for an excuse of some sort to break the silence, but Cas stood first.

"I'm going to go find Jack. Let me know when Sam's back with dinner." He passed Dean with a  warm squeeze to his shoulder. Dean watched him go, then realized just how long it's been since he's been laid. Too fucking long, apparently.

*

Yeah, no. Way too long. Dean's half-convinced Cas is fucking with him, too. His suspicion stemmed from Cas's sudden love of eating every meal with them and requesting things like wings or fries.

"Morning sunshine, Sam and Jack already left to go check out a case. I made pan...cakes..." Dean's sentence fell flat when his eyes met Cas entering in a half-buttoned-up shirt. His long fingers slipped buttons into place as he yawned his greeting and trudged his way to the coffee maker.

Dean was a little concerned that he noticed Cas's hands before he noticed the toned and tanned chest underneath the shirt. He ran a hand down his face and moved to pour more coffee. Cas passed over the pot and turned to the stack of pancakes, tossing two onto a plate and proceeding to destroy them with fruit and whipped cream.

"When was the last time we cleaned our firearms?" Cas asked, swirling his finger through the toppings of his breakfast before popping it in his mouth. Dean set his mug down, a little too hard. Cas gave him a look.

"Are you fucking with me?" Dean tried not to sound petulant, but he can't catch a single break.  Cas bit his lower lip, and then cleared his throat.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Was his response, innocent and hid behind a sip of coffee. Dean pursed his lips.

"You- you don't?" Dean was momentarily taken aback. Was he so unbelievably tense that he'd imagined the whole problem?-

"No, Dean, you've been staring at my hands all week, I have no idea what you're talking about." he deadpanned.

Dean's face burned. He didn't think he was being obvious about it or anything. Cas was observant, though.

"At first I thought you were just insecure about your hand size, but surely you'd have gotten over that in a day. Then I did some research and decided to... Encourage you." He continued casually as if Dean wasn't praying for the earth to swallow him whole.

"I uh, appreciate that, Cas... Um, what conclusions exactly did you draw?" Dean squeaked out because frankly he still wasn't sure what was going on here.

"You may have a sexual preference for hands, which makes sense, given your previous statements regarding slapping." Cas hummed into his coffee and, yeah okay Dean needed to end this conversation before he melted from shame.

"Okay, right, got it, I'll stop staring." He managed, grabbing his mug and turning to leave before Cas grabbed his arm. He glanced down at the sudden warmth around his wrist, then up to meet Cas's cobalt gaze.

"I never told you to stop," Cas said calmly, loosening his grip to slip his fingers into Dean's hand and pull him closer. "Dean, I researched it." His expression was earnest, and Dean shuddered involuntarily.

"Listen, man, It's not like, a thing... It's just, well, you have nice hands, and you kinda marked me... with your very large hand." Dean still wanted to disappear, but Cas didn't seem too bothered.

"I wanted to tell you, I touch you when I heal because I like the excuse to," Cas murmured, raising his other hand to cup Dean's jaw. Dean's breath hitched. "I enjoy the warmth. Everything else is always so cold." Cas whispered, running his thumb lightly across Dean's bottom lip. Dean couldn't stop the noise he made as it caught on his nail.

Cas's pupils grew wide, and he curiously pushed his thumb deeper. Dean closed his lips over it and sucked gently, noting the faint taste of the strawberries Cas had put on his pancakes. Dean pulled back before he embarrassed himself any further.

"Uh," Dean's brain replied dumbly. "Can I kiss you?" His dick helped with that one.

"I just put my thumb in your mouth and you feel the need to ask-" Cas's snark was cut short by Dean pressing him up against the counter and slotting their lips together. Cas gripped the front of Dean's shirt and kissed him back like a man dying of thirst. This is why Dean's thought process is filled with question marks when Cas puts a hand firmly on his chest and pulls back to speak.

"I don't think the kitchen is the best place for this." He rumbled into their shared space. Dean perked back up when he realized the proposition.

"Did you wanna finish your breakfast first? I can't guarantee we'll be back in here any time soon." Dean wiggled his eyebrows at the angel.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Dean," Cas smiled. "I'd love to. While I do I think you probably want to go get ready." Cas wiped the look off Dean's face when he reeled him back in for another kiss.

"O-oh, yeah, okay. Meet you in my room in ten." And then he was speedwalking out of the kitchen.

*

Dean turned off the shower after a very thorough cleaning and wrapped his towel around his waist, hurrying back down the hallway to his room. Cas was sitting on the bed patiently.

"Hello, Dean." He smiled, reaching up to tug off his tie. Dean's throat went dry again.

"Hi," Dean was clutching his towel like a lifeline. Cas observed him fondly as he unbuttoned his shirt. "Did you want me to put something on? Or..."

Cas just chuckled and beckoned him closer. Dean stood between his legs and his heart dropped out of his ass when Cas took his hands and pulled gently, signaling for Dean to kneel. He lowered himself slowly to his knees and looked up at Cas, expectant, and not at all freaking out on the inside. Cas leaned in to kiss him again. That, he could work with.

"I want you to put your hands on my knees, and you can't move them unless I say so, is that alright?" Castiel spoke when they parted.

Oh.

Apparently, hand kink isn't the only thing Cas researched. Dean felt the command go straight to his dick. He nodded hastily, but Cas said nothing, only waited, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes, Cas." He breathed, and Cas grinned and shrugged off his shirt, tossing it into Dean's desk chair.

"Good. Get comfortable." Dean sat back on his heels and placed his hands on top of Cas's thighs. Cas placed both of his hands on Dean's shoulders, rubbing small circles in the muscle before he slid them upwards to massage the back of Dean's neck. When Dean was staring up at him with hooded eyes and humming his appreciation, Castiel's patience grew thin.

Cas held the back of Dean's neck steady, tracing the fingers of his right hand down Dean's temple and across his lips. This time, Dean didn't have any reservations about darting his tongue out to meet them. Cas inhaled deeply through his nose and pushed his index and middle fingers into Dean's mouth.

Dean sighed and let himself go, he lapped at Cas's fingers like he was starving. He held Cas's heated gaze and felt his dick wake back up, twitching underneath his towel.

"So good, you're such a good boy for me, Dean." Cas praised. Dean thought he might pass out. The feeling of Cas inside him, even if it was just his fingers sliding along his tongue was heady. He looked down and took notice of the increasing tightness of Cas's pants. Cas slid his fingers out and leaned back on his elbows. Dean panted, his fingers gripping Cas's thighs with the effort of keeping still.

"Would you like something else, Dean?" Cas smirked down at him. "All you have to do is ask." Dean screwed his eyes shut and swallowed his pride.

"I want," He let out a shuddering breath as Cas ran a hand through his hair. "I want to suck you off."

"You can move your hands now." Cas hummed and leaned his head back. Dean practically sprung forward, ignoring the ache in his calves as he latched his mouth onto one of the angel's nipples. His hands made quick work of Cas's belt and fly, tugging firmly at his pockets to get them off. When Cas's flushed erection came free, Dean leaned forward to mouth at the head and cup his balls.

Cas wove a hand into Dean's hair and pulled. Dean moaned around the cock in his mouth, drawing a deep groan from Cas in response. Dean drank in the sound and relaxed his jaw to swallow him down further, bobbing his head rapidly.

"Dean." Cas sounded wrecked, and Dean's head snapped up to attention.

"Yeah?"  He asked, breath heaving as he leaned up to his eye level.

"May I-"

"Anything, Angel, seriously." He pressed his lips to the heated flesh under Cas's jaw, sucking hard and nipping gently.

"I want to fuck you." Cas gasped, leaning into Dean's mouth. Dean nodded and climbed to his feet to get the lube from his nightstand. Cas sat up and wrenched Dean's towel away. His eyes roved Dean's body appreciatively before pulling him down on the bed. "Lie down on your front, please." He purred, and Dean was on his elbows in an instant, handing back the lubrication.

Cas caressed the contours of Dean's back reverently, before gingerly parting Dean's cheeks and licking a broad stripe across his hole. Dean felt his whole body twitch.

"Fuck, C-Cas..." Dean whined out, completely sideswiped by Cas's impromptu rimjob. He helplessly thrust his hips back against Cas's grip. Castiel reeled back a single hand and gave Dean's ass a hard smack. Dean dropped his face into his pillow with a keen from the back of his throat.

"Sit still, Dean. Let me take care of you." He growled, mouthing kisses from the base of Dean's spine to the cleft of his ass again. He laved his tongue in tantalizing circles, fucking it in and out nimbly and drawing a chorus of breathy sounds from the hunter.

"Please, Sweetheart... I need you... Need you inside me, c'mon." Dean whimpered, writhing under the sensation of Cas's hot breath and slick tongue. Cas finally gave in and sat up, reclaiming the bottle of lube to squeeze a sizeable portion directly onto Dean's entrance. Dean shivered from the sudden cold, only to cry out again when Cas's strong index finger slid in with very little resistance.

Cas continued to pepper Dean's shaking shoulders with wet kisses as he thrust his finger in, curling it hard against Dean's prostate and savoring the faint sound of Dean nearly wailing into his pillow. He slid in a second finger and scissored them back and forth to make way for a third. At this point, Dean had lifted his head and turned towards Cas with pleading eyes. Cas leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

"You're doing so well, Dean... Are you ready?" Cas mumbled into Dean's mouth.

"Yeah, Christ... Yes, Cas, please." Dean managed to get his knees under himself and Cas slicked himself up, working the head of his cock into Dean's fluttering hole. He clutched at Dean's hips and slowly rocked himself in deeper. "Fuck!" Dean yelped, trying to meet Cas's thrusts to no avail.

"Relax, my love." Cas moaned, rolling his hips into Dean, captivated by the catch of skin around him. "Do you want to move?" He asked, and released his iron hold on Dean's waist with a chuckle when Dean nodded eagerly. Dean thrust back against Cas with abandon. A surprised gasp was drawn from both of them as Cas sped up his thrusts to match. Dean was going to come if Cas didn't slow down, so he gathered his thoughts enough to speak up.

"Cas, wait. Can I flip?" He panted, and Cas's onslaught came to a stop.

"Of course, Dean." He pulled out carefully and leaned away for Dean to position himself on his back. Castiel admired the flush that spread down Dean's neck and covered most of his chest. He leaned forward to suck dark hickeys into Dean's collarbone to contrast. Dean reached down to guide Cas back inside, sighing amorously when he was seated again.

Cas rocked in and out once more with renewed enthusiasm. He snapped his hips forward, causing Dean to arch up off the bed with a shout. Stars burst behind his eyelids as Cas lifted Dean's legs to wrap around his waist and repeated contact his prostate shot sparks through his bloodstream.

"Ah-fuck, Cas, Baby... I'm gonna come. Are you almost there?" Dean gasped and reached up to pull Cas down for a vehement kiss when he grunted his confirmation. Dean felt the heat of his release coil deep in his gut and rocked up into Cas with a fervor, moaning heavily into Cas's mouth with each collision of their hips.

Then the tension in Dean's core snapped, and he was coming without so much as a moment's attention to his dick, clinging to Cas's shoulders with a fucked out whine. Cas kept going and Dean's synapses felt like they were being deep-fried as Castiel's stuttering hips drove him in deeply one, two then a final time as he emptied himself into Dean with a low groan. He then pulled out slowly and rolled off a now depleted Dean to spoon him.

"I think I'm in love with you." Dean wheezed, and Castiel grinned into his hair.

"I'm glad I could help you come to that epiphany. I love you too, Dean."

[uglymanchronicles]

Ugly Man Chronicles Reignition Book 2 Chapter 2: My Breakfast With Evan

Just a couple dudes getting to know each other.

“If you must know,” Evan sighed, spearing a glistening sausage on the end of a flimsy plastic fork, “my jackass older sister thought it would be hilarious to give me a cupcake she'd baked with about a dozen powdered viagra for my fifteenth birthday. I wound up passing out eventually. Burst a lot of blood vessels. Damaged the erectile tissue beyond usefulness.”

Titus froze mid-coffee-sip. “Seriously? What a bitch!”

“Buddy, you don't know the half of it.”

“So... no signs of life down there?”

“Nothing for twelve years.”

“I think I would literally kill myself.”

“It's not so bad, I guess. At least I don't have to drain the blood out of it any more.”

“Eugh! Fuck! Did not need to hear that!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answer to.”

“Do you get, like, blue balls all the time, then?”

“That's basically my ground state of being.”

Titus whistled flatly, avoiding looking Evan in the eye. He settled for staring at the table. There wasn't a lot of Evan's face that he felt comfortable looking at; every part seemed to at least be adjacent to some unpleasantry or another. About the only safe area was his right eye, which, as luck would have it, was directly opposite Titus's 'good' eye. Titus rallied and met Evan's gaze again. “Alright, your turn.”

They'd agreed on a sort of mutual interview process, taking turns asking questions to suss out what the other was capable or if he was worth having around. Evan took a bite out of the sausage and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

“Who's Moreno?”

Titus hissed through his teeth. “A real piece of shit.”

“I'm going to need more than that.”

“I'm getting to it. He's basically, like... a freelance henchman? Like, sort of a mercenary criminal. Sells his services to the highest bidder.”

“And why's he matter?”

“That's another question.”

“No, it is not,” Evan said, quiet and serious. “Do not argue with me in bad faith, Titus. I have very little patience for it in the best of times.”

Titus regarded him for a long moment. The man across from him was wider than the table they sat at. His muscles were so pronounced in some points that Titus could tell when he was about to move by the way they bulged and contracted. Yet he gave the impression that he was constantly trying to pull himself inward, to make himself smaller. He spoke quietly and with a simple formality, but only hours before Titus had watched him single-handedly beat down some of the nastiest people he'd met in the past month.

Hmm.

“Fine. Moreno matters because I'm after the guy he's working for. You see, Moreno isn't just a normal scumbag. He works for people who need nasty things done. Not like regular nasty, either. How much do you actually know about magic?”

“I've got some... notes. So far I'm not able to find a lot of coherent rules. It mostly seems like it relies on things that nobody would normally do.”

Titus snapped his fingers and pointed at Evan. “Hit it right on the head. Rituals, reagents, that kind of thing... the reason—well, one of the reasons—magic doesn't just happen all the time by accident is that it's all weird little things. A lot of the more heavy magic relies on some pretty elaborate and obtuse shit to get it going.”

Evan momentarily thought back to the Book of Fate and his ritual in the woods. “So Moreno does these things for people?”

“Yeah. Thing is, though...” Titus stopped raising a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth and set it down again, as if he'd momentarily lost his appetite. “The people who use his services generally practice some pretty vile magic. Real depraved shit. And to empower depraved magic, you need depraved rituals. Moreno is the guy you go to when...”

“I think I get it,” Evan interjected, since Titus seemed to be struggling with deciding whether to continue. “Your turn.”

Titus tapped his fingers on the table for a moment, then looked Evan in the eye. “How smart are you?”

The scars on Evan's face squirmed around as he actually smirked. “What kind of question is that?”

“Hey, we agreed no 'whys'.”

“Alright, alright. Well, there's really no objective metric for it, but... I have Master's degrees in computer science and theoretical physics, Bachelor's in those in addition to mathematics and electrical engineering, and associate's degrees and certificates in everything from EMT training to ballet. I should have my doctorate in physics, but...” he said, with a bitterness that Titus made a note of, then changed gears. “Oh, and I also speak Mandarin, Spanish, Japanese, French, and Arabic pretty fluently. I also know ASL. I can get by in German and Russian, too. I don't know if any of that is what you meant but--”

“Jesus, I get it,” Titus muttered, rubbing the side of his head. “How the fuck do you make money?”

“Software consulting, mostly. I specialize in security and processing efficiency. People pay me to break into their systems and then patch the holes, or to make their code run quicker or make their programs smaller. I've got a few patents I've licensed that bring in most of my income nowadays, though.”

“Anything I would have heard of?”

“If you've used a computer made in the last four years it probably has something I wrote integrated somewhere into it. I also helped develop a protein-sequencing program that helped develop a vaccine for this nasty SARS variant that broke out in China last year. They say if they hadn’t nipped it in the bud it could’ve spread worldwide and we’d be looking at millions of deaths by now.”

Titus scrunched up his face. “Oh yeah, just say that like it’s no big deal.”

“I’m just glad it turned out not to be one. What I'd really like to do is get my compression algorithm out there, but if I do that, somebody's going to try to hoard it all for themselves.”

“Are you talking to yourself or me?”

“Look, I... a few years ago I figured out a way to compress memory down by a exponential factor of six with zero loss. All it takes is a couple software plugins that don't take up much room themselves. Essentially, I could make a gigabyte fit in a kilobyte with very little trouble, now that the math's figured out.”

“Holy fuck, that's insane! Why haven't I heard anything about this?”

“Mainly because I don't tell people. If I put it up on the market, some ISP would buy it and bury it. If you make information smaller, you make it faster. Can you imagine what it'd do to internet access if dial-up and barebones cellular networks suddenly had the bandwidth of fiber optics? It would... maybe not revolutionize our society, but it would level a lot of playing fields. Bring a lot of underdeveloped areas of the world—hell, this country—up to modern levels with no extra cost. The telecomms would crash and burn so hard. But I don't have the means to get it out there without going through someone else. Yet,” Evan added. “So I basically work watered-down versions of the compressor into the software I make. Nothing that can be duplicated, and nowhere near its full potential, but enough to get me hailed as some kind of genius and pay the bills.”

“So why aren't you on your own private island or something somewhere instead of puttering around God's Ashtray in a shitty old Bug?”

“Hey, the Beetle is not shitty,” Evan said, defensively. “And I'm just waiting for the AC in my RV to get fixed or I'd be driving that.”

“Oh hot damn! Now that's the way to live!”

“Not the one I'd choose voluntarily, but it could be worse.”

“How come you're doing it, then?”

“I think it's my turn to ask,” Evan said, mildly.

“Fine,” Titus said grumpily, crossing his arms.

“How do you make money?”

“That's easy. I'm basically a freelance bailbondsman. I just roam around, drop my advertising around bars and courthouses.”

“You get many clients that way?” Evan asked, cocking his remaining eyebrow.

“Oh, you'd be amazed how desperate people can get,” Titus said, shrugging. “Of course, they're usually not the most responsible people, so when they bounce, I track 'em down myself, drag ‘em back to jail, get the money back. My eye usually makes it super easy. Sometimes they don't even see me before I get the cuffs on 'em.”

“Why did you feel the need to rob a bunch of drug dealers, then? The thrill of it?”

“I had a pressing need for a large amount of cash that my normal work doesn't bring in. That got me enough to hold it off for a while. My turn.”

Evan waved down a waitress for a refill of his coffee, trying not to take it personally when she gasped upon seeing his face. “Go ahead…”

“No, no, hang on.” Titus waved a hand dismissively. “I want to try something. Take your hair out of the ponytail.”

“What? Why?”

“Humor me.”

Evan groaned and reached back, removing his hair tie. After shaking his head, his hair fell over his face, obscuring everything but his nose and mouth. Titus pursed his lips and regarded him seriously for a moment.

“Can you see?”

“Yeah, I guess. Well enough to not walk into things, I think, and I could probably read if I had to.”

Titus snapped his fingers. “Good. Go with that from now on.”

“Why?”

“Because now you don’t look like God’s mistake. Now you look like a big, dumb-but-lovable goon. Like Jack Black would voice you in a cartoon.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Do you like seeing people contemplating their own mortality and the general cruel absurdity of the tragic farce that is human existence when they get a glimpse of your face?”

Evan felt his cheeks burn and was actually grateful his hair was covering most of his face. “…not particularly, no.”

“Then there you go. You’re welcome. Okay, question time. Uh… how did you get your powers?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, now who’s arguing in bad faith? Fucking all of them, you thick-lipped gargoyle.”

Evan had the feeling he hit a sore spot. Titus's easy-going, jocular tone had bled away from him, leaving behind the hard-edged razor-blade of a man that had ambushed him the night before. He decided not to belabor the point.

“I don't know why I can rege—why I heal so quickly. No, I'm serious, as far as I know, it just started happening sometime in the past few months. I can't remember. Don't look at me like that, I'll get to that in a minute. When I was younger I recovered from a lot of injuries a lot quicker than the doctors thought I would, so maybe it's something I was born with and it just got stronger recently for some reason.”

Evan took a sip of coffee, mainly to buy a few seconds to think of how much to explain for the next part.

“The ability to shut off powers... that's part of, well, I guess you'd call it a magic ritual, because I don't know what else to call it. I found a weird old book that said it contained the key to making someone an instrument of universal justice, or something of the sort. Since then I can see... I guess they're souls? Maybe? I can sort of move mine and when I run it into someone else's it seems like I can shut off their powers. Or... take them entirely, if they're dying.”

“Horseshit!” Titus scoffed. “That's... that's like meta-magic. I don't even know if that's real.”

“No, seriously! I don't think it's just magic powers, I think it... 'normalizes' things.” He briefly recounted his encounter with the pain monster.

“Are you kidding me? That...” Titus took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, exhaling slowly and loudly. “Look, I don't know much, but the fact that you even ran into something like that, let alone survived... those odds are astronomical. And you say you negated not just its powers, but its whole form?”

“Yeah. Once I... reached into it, like I did with you—oh don't make that face. Grow up—I kind of disrupted what made it... different, I guess? Like I cut it off from its special qualities. Like it was...”

“Disjuncted,” Titus cut in.

“Yeah, that's a good word for it. Like the old Mordenkainen spell?”

“Fucking nerd.”

“Eat my ass. Anyway, after I killed it, I was able to reach into its... soul? Animating force? Aura? I don't know what to call it. I was able to grab something and pull it out and it just got pulled into me.”

“Not aura.”

“What?”

“Aura's a different thing,” Titus said, dismissively. “So what did you get from doing that?”

“I.. I feel pain differently. I don't flinch or get adrenaline rushes from injuries that don't actually impede my ability to function. I think I have a better sense of what is actually dangerous to my body now. It still hurts, but I don't react to pain like people normally do. It's like...hmm.” Evan drummed his fingers on the table. “Do you know anything about video games? Fighting games, specifically?”

“I used to fuck around on an old Alpha 3rd Strike cabinet when I was a kid. Why?”

“Do you know what 'super armor' is?”

“Isn't that where a move can't get stopped by being hit when you're doing it?”

“Right. I'm kind of like that now. Pain doesn't interrupt me.”

“Fucking nerd.”

Evan's fist involuntarily clenched. “I'm trying to put this in terms you can understand, you stupid reprobate. My experience with your judgment thus far hasn't given me much faith in your intellect.”

Titus burst out laughing. “So he does know how to banter! I thought you might be one of those Rainman types.”

“Oh sure, call it 'banter' to try to excuse the fact that you've been insulting me for the past half hour. Do you say you're ‘just joking’ when people get mad at you for saying stupid shit, too?”

“C'mon, lighten up! We're partners now! Tell me more about this soul thing. I still think you're full of shit.”

Evan sighed through his nose, then held up his left hand, forming his fingers into a circle and peering through them.

“Yours is... a sort of cross between a sea green and an oil slick. The tendrils of it keep reaching out and snapping back, going all over the place. It seems to keep expanding and contracting. It's almost flickering, like... it's indecisive. Very chaotic. The tendrils that aren't snapping around seem to be kept pretty close to your body, wrapping around you like... I can't tell if it's protective or restrictive.”

Titus's expression slowly became serious. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know. I have a lot of theories, but nothing solid to go on. I'm not sure if it's allegorical or a literal representation of a person's... power, maybe? Yours definitely looks a lot different than most people's.”

“I don't believe this for a second. Let me see.”

“How would I do tha—hey!”

Titus grabbed Evan's wrist and held his hand up to his eye. “Ho-lee...”

He pulled back from Evan's hand, staring at him. Then he looked around the room, mouth slack as he took in the diner's other occupants.

“Huh. Did you know it keeps working until you blink?” He said after a moment, a faraway tone to his voice.

“I didn't even know other people could do it,” Evan said, awe in his voice. “Hey, wow, you're right!”

“Jesus, yours is, like, really blue. It looks like... a bunch of steel cables. It's weird, I felt like I both could and couldn't see the edges of it...”

“I can kind of move it, but I'm not sure if I can do anything with it beyond interfering with people's powers. It's like learning to use a muscle you didn't know you had.”

“Huh.” Titus was again silent for a long moment. “Your turn.”

“Can you do anything else supernatural? Besides your time-eye?”

“Don't call it that, it sounds stupid. And... sorta. I seem to have whatever innate talent you need to actually do magic, but it's not like it's easy to find instructions. Most of the people I know who can use it just dabble with half-broken magic items—wands, amulets, charms,” he pulled the silence charm out from under his coat and bounced it at the end of its chain. “I guess I'm sort of a dabbler. I know a few tricks, I can use a lot of magic tools, I can sense magic pretty well, I can dowse... Most of the time I really never have to use anything besides the eye, though.”

“Is the eye all-or-nothing?”

“Yeah. It's not nearly as useful as you'd think, but any edge is an edge.”

“When I turned off your power and it was coming back, though, you started speeding up—or, I guess, everything else was slowing down? You were moving faster, one way or the other. You were able to touch me, and those punches hurt.”

“Huh, yeah, you're right.”

“Do you think there's a way you could learn to only partially activate it?”

“That'd be great, wouldn't it? Thing is, just using it is a huge strain, and that time spend outside of time adds up. Going by normal calendar time I'm only 26.”

“Fuck, I'm 27!” Evan laughed.

“Yeah, well, I'd rather be prematurely gray than what you've got going on. My turn. Uh... huh, I can't really think of anything else. Uh... are you gay?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“No, but the question still counts.”

“I'm bi,” Evan mumbled, crossing his arms across his prodigious chest. “Not that it matters. And before you ask, no, you are not my type. We're done talking about this.”

“Huh. You ever sucked--”

“We. Are. Done. Talking about this.”

“Fine, God. Go.”

Evan mentally circled back to an earlier question he felt hadn't been properly answered. “Why are you after Moreno?”

To Evan's surprise, Titus didn't hesitate. “I'm actually after his current boss. He's just the best lead I have to go on.” He took a deep breath, then started talking with a rushed, deadpan pace, as if he was eager to get the words out as quickly as possible so they wouldn't be in his mouth very long.

“Moreno is working for a guy only known as the Soultaker. He has an innate supernatural ability to pull a person's soul out of their body. When that happens, the person just... shuts down, usually. No motive force behind them. Eventually they just die of dehydration, usually. I've seen some people so set in routine that they keep going without a soul, but... it's not really life.

“It seems like the extraction process takes a while, so he can't just walk past you on the street and pickpocket your entire essence. So he needs people rounded up for him, held until he can do his nasty juju. So that's where a degenerate like Moreno comes in.

“So when he pulls out a soul, it, well, it looks like this.”

Titus pulled a battered, faded Crown Royale bag out of his jacket. It bulged strangely and made a quiet clacking when he set it on the table. He pulled out what looked like a large marble, or maybe a dull pearl, and handed it to Evan.

Evan brushed his hair out of his eyes and peered into the milky depths of the sphere. After a few moments of staring, the murky clouds inside the thing seemed to clear and a face floated to the surface. A black man, maybe in his late 40s, going thin on top. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping, but his expression had a look of discomfort to it, as if he was having a bad dream.

“Jesus Christ,” Evan whispered, “I've seen this guy... Martell Calloway? I saw some news article about how his family found him tied up in his apartment and completely comatose! But he didn't have any injuries beyond being a black eye... so he's dead?”

“Life support,” Titus said, taking Mr. Calloway's soul back from Evan's unresisting fingers, “technically, he's one of the lucky ones. They found his body before it wasted away to nothing, and I was able to intercept his soul before it got to a buyer.”

“Why would someone buy something like this? What use is it? Can you fix him?”

“A human soul is a damn near exhaustible arcane battery,” Titus said gravely. In the split second between sentences, Evan noticed something—after he'd put the bag back into his jacket, Titus surreptitiously touched a pocket on the other side of his jacket, as if he was making sure something was still there.

“If you know what you're doing, you can power a lot of magic using a soul. And you can reuse them as long as you don't overdo it. If you know what you're doing, you can wring all but the last drops of essence out of a soul and let it heal or recover or whatever, and it'll eventually be back to full strength. Very resilient things,” Titus continued. “I don't think they're conscious in there, but... anyway, it's supposed to be really hard to extract a soul. But this guy was born with or spontaneously developed or somehow figured out a shortcut to the whole process. So the market is getting flooded with torture-batteries and ECUs are getting flooded with vegetables. And families are winding up with loved ones who are as good as dead, without having any idea why this happened to them. Dozens of them have been taken off life support in the past few months. Half these souls have no body to return to. And no, I can't fix it. At least not yet,” he sighed again. “I was hoping once I found him, I could somehow get the secret out of him or force him to put them back, or... maybe I thought if I killed him it'd reverse the effect. He needs killing, either way.”

Titus's eye widened as a thought struck him and he looked Evan in the eye for the first time since he'd started the story. Evan realized what he was thinking and looked down at the tattoo on his left arm, flexing his fingers.

“If you can take people's powers after they die...”

“...then we can save these people.”

Titus put a hand over his mouth and for a moment Evan thought he saw his eye well up.

“I'm in,” Evan said, a sense of righteous purpose welling in his heart. “I don't really know what the universe wants, but I doubt... I know it's not this. We'll find him, we'll stop him, and we'll save as many of these people as we can.”

“...thanks,” Titus mumbled behind his hand. He swallowed hard, then seemed to come back to himself. “We're back to square one, though.”

“You said you could dowse? Like, for real?”

“Yes, for real. I can find things and people with the pendulum method. It's handy for tracking down bounties.”

“Why don't you dowse Moreno?”

“Why didn't I think of that?!” Titus said incredulously, smacking his forehead. “Because he's warded. He's not magic himself, but he's collected enough gear through his career that my normal methods don't work.”

Evan rubbed his chin. “What if we used an abnormal method?”

-------------------

An hour later, they were in the RV. Titus was poring over the collection of Evan's notes and the strange papers he'd bought from Delmann's shop. Evan was very carefully slicing a strip of skin from his own ankle up all the way up his leg. The Guiding Light—the Finder's Follysat on the table between them, filled with fresh blood.

“Even if this works, he's going to know we're coming,” Titus muttered, engrossed in the pages. “Remember what I said?”

“That's why we're not going to look for him,” Evan said, adjusting his grip on the potato peeler. “I don't know how we'd even write his name. Can you read that, by the way?”

“Kind of. This is... most of this is written in, like, arcane pidgin. Who compiled these notes?”

“I did, I think.”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to clarify on that. Apparently a couple months ago, before the ritual, I drilled a hole in my own brain to erase some kind of very dangerous memory.”

“You what.”

“That's not a metaphor or anything. Really did it. I could show you the video.”

“I'll pass. So you don't remember where this came from?” Titus shook the Book of Fate at him.

“Nope.”

“Jesus shit, do you have any idea--”

“How reckless that was? Yeah, yeah, I'm still here and I'm the answer to your fuckin' prayers, aren't I?” Evan gave a whoop as the peeling skin reached his thigh. “Got it this time!” he said cheerfully, snipping the flesh-ribbon off with scissors.

“God, that's so fucking gross. Anyway, you haven't explained how we're going to use that thing to find Moreno.”

“We don't set it to look for him. We look for somewhere he's been. Maybe the last place he slept. Do you think you can describe him well enough in that language for it to work?”

Titus looked like he might actually be impressed, but he hid it well. “Yeah, probably.”

“Good. I've got a dictionary I've put together on that tablet next to you, but I'm not sure how accurate it is. Maybe it'll help?”

---------------------

Two hours later, they had it.

Find where a man born between the 27th and 28th north parallels during a new moon under the sign of capricorn with black hair and green eyes who has killed at least 10 people slept in the past week.

They really had to squeeze the letters in, but when Evan put a flame to the wick, it sprung to life, wavered for a moment, and then pointed east. Both men cheered. Evan threw Titus the keys.

“Drive! Drive north until I tell you otherwise!”

While Titus started the engine, Evan spread a map of the United States on the table in front of the lamp, then produced a protractor and a notebook from a drawer. “Okay, you bastard... let's see where you've been hiding...”

It took three days—one spent driving north, one spent driving back to where they'd started, and one spent driving south. While Titus drove, Evan made meticulous notes of the flame's direction, marking angles on the map. Finally he threw the pencil down triumphantly.

“He's in Salt Lake City.”

“Well, that narrows it down a little, I guess. So what, do we just go there and hope this thing points us in the right direction?”

“Too slow,” Evan called, stepping back into what used to be his bedroom and sitting at his computer. “Now I work my magic.”

After parking, Titus walked back to look over Evan's shoulder. The half-dozen monitors on the wall were flickering between rapidly-changing pictures of faces and what appeared to be CCTV footage.

“What is this?”

“This,” Evan said with dramatic pride, “is Blaccat. Facial recognition algorithms that the CIA wishesit had. I actually started working on it years ago before I thought about the implications of it, but I shelved it. I figured since I may be needing to, uh...”

“Be Batman?”

“...yeah...that I should get back to work on it. Right now it's comparing faces to the description you gave me and cycling through every damn security camera in the city looking for it.”

“How illegal is this?”

“Soooooo illegal.”

“Oh, hey, can you get into police department records?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

“See if you can get into the Las Vegas mugshots from... February 2019. Run your face-recognition thingy there.”

“Alright.... and... is that our boy?”

A handsome Latino man in his early 30s with shoulder-length jet-black hair and piercing green eyes stared at them from over a booking clipboard.

“That's him,” Titus breathed.

“Perfect! Now I just have to feed that into... wow.” Evan made a gesture and a black and white video popped up on the biggest monitor. The man in the mugshot was walking along the street, flanked by a short stocky man in bandanna and a lanky man with the ugliest white-boy dreads Evan had ever seen.

“That's him! Where is that? When is that?”

Evan grinned up at Titus. “That's live. I can track him and put us at the nearest intersection.”

Titus smiled, eye overbright, and began breathing heavily through his nose. “We got him.”

Evan met his eye and nodded. “Let's get him.”

[baby-grayson]

Sweet Enigma: Part 2

Word Count: 2918 

Tag List: @wheezeatmedolans​ @styles-dolan​ @prettyboydolan​ @evergreendolan​ @baby-turtles​ @dolanstacoma​ @not-gbd​ @graysavant​ @someonetogray​ @dolansficsandpics​ @ batgirl099 @voguekristens 

Grayson’s eyes shifted from his seat in Kate’s car to his front door. His mouth folded into a tight ball, while he huffed out of his nose. His weak sinus responded by triggering a cough that filled the space of Kate’s car.

She winced and gave him a sideways glance from the driver’s side, “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

Grayson nodded and cleared his throat. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down, thankful to see that he was no longer wet—although he was highly disheveled. He pushed the passenger side door open and convinced his legs to walk toward his front door.

For a moment, he second guessed whether his key would open his own front door. Something about his house made it seem like foreign territory, like it belonged to another version of Grayson with much different priorities than the one that walked over that threshold.

Almost immediately, Grayson was faced with the tall, looming, svelte figure of Calvin Maddox.

Calvin Maddox was a slim shouldered, lengthy man with perfectly kept white hair: who walked with all the power, elegance, and traditionalism that came with having old money. Maddox had inherited a fortune from his bloodline: he maintained his money via his status as a Real Estate Tycoon in the deep South. Up until the night before, Calvin had liked Grayson. He had looked forward to being his father-in-law one day. Calvin would have never uttered this out loud in front of his family, but he even favored Grayson over his current son-in-law, Sherry’s sister Coral’s husband, Jackson White.

In that moment, Calvin’s steely blue eyes were forged with hatred and detest while he looked down his nose at Grayson while he made his way through the front door. Calvin’s figure reminded Grayson of a wolf, as the older man prowled his way across the living room and silently stepped in front of Grayson’s path. For a second, Grayson could have sworn he saw the man snarl at him.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Calvin’s Southern accent was thick and slathered with a calm anger, “Walking through that door, like nothing ever happened.” Grayson’s pupils trembled in his eyes as Calvin crossed his arms.

“I-uh,” Grayson stammered, “I just wanted to get a few things. I’m uh—I’m sorry—I am but—I’m not looking for a problem.” Grayson held out his palms in from of him, taking in a few shaky breaths. Calvin stepped toward Grayson, keeping his arms crossed. “You know my daughter wasn’t looking for a problem when she agreed to be your wife. But now I’m wondering if that’s really the case, son.” In the past year, Calvin had started calling Grayson ‘son’, in act of Southern hospitality. Usually, Grayson found it comforting; on that day, the word was charged with antagonistic energy.

Grayson gulped down, feeling his heart pound from deep within his chest. He opened his mouth to say something but found his entire mouth was dry, with his tongue hanging heavy against his palette.

“Now,” Calvin took another step toward Grayson. He narrowed his eyes at Grayson before continuing, “You want to tell me what happened last night Grayson.” Calvin took another step toward Grayson, leaving only a few inches of space between them, “Or are we going to have a problem?”

Grayson went blank, staring up at the older man with wide eyes and shallow breaths. His tongue flopped inside of his mouth, failing to create anything that could become coherent words. His bottom lip trembled as he tried to find a response that could face the moment.

From inside the house, behind the pair, a few footsteps came sauntering through the hallway.

“Hey,” Ethan’s voice was low and calm, “What’s going on out here?”

Grayson’s eyes immediately found Ethan’s: a pair of unsure, nervous eyes meeting an identical pair laced with assurance and relief.

Calvin did not shift from his position in front of Grayson. “Nothing Ethan,” he looked over his shoulder to find Ethan standing in an identical position: crossed arms and steely eyes. Calvin dropped his hands at his sides and stepped back from Grayson’s personal space, “Just asking your brother if he could explain why he decided to break my baby girl’s heart last night.” Grayson gulped again. He saw an accomplished look wash through Calvin’s eyes for a moment.

Calvin looked down, surprised to see Ethan place a hand on his shoulder, “I think my brother will talk, when he’s ready to talk.”

Grayson’s mouth fell into a tight line and he pushed his shoulders back: trying to feign confidence. Ethan patted Calvin’s shoulder chummily, nearly mocking the tension of the moment, “C’mon Calvin, I think you should eat something.” Grayson was extremely grateful to see Ethan lead the man away coolly. Finally alone in the room, Grayson breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t aware of it at the time, but Ethan had made excuses for Grayson’s disappearance the night before. In the weeks prior, Ethan had noticed his brother’s confidence slowly fade into a squirrelfish demeaner: he knew it was just a matter of time until Grayson’s façade broke. Ethan was shocked that Grayson chose his own engagement party to accept his inner qualms. Ethan wrote it off as another example of Grayson being the dumber twin.

From the car, Kate pulled down the sun visor in her car to inspect herself in the mirror. While Grayson mentally sparred with Calvin Maddox in the house, Kate discovered a few stress pimples forming between her temple and her left eye. She sighed and bored holes into the front door with her eyes, silently begging Grayson to come back as quickly as possible. She looked back in the mirror to recognize the under-eye bags and frizzy, unkept hair that came as a consolation prize with being a third-year doctoral student.

Grayson’s steps were hurried and frantic as he raced to his own bedroom: barely recognizing it under the hoards of overturned drawers and bags laying out the room. In a manic fit, Sherry had scoured and destroyed everything she could get her hands on, in a mad effort to understand where Grayson had gone and why he would want to leave her. Grayson’s heart stopped for a second, but his mind emphasized the importance of haste.

Moving quickly, he grabbed his orange, leather, Louis Vuitton duffel bag from the top shelf of his closet. He shuffled through piles of clothing to find the few pieces he though he would need in the coming days. He didn’t pay attention to the shoes he grabbed from his closet, putting whatever he found first in the bag. He was looking down at the bag, taking an inventory of what he had packed when the door to his on-suite bathroom slowly opened with a painful screech on its hinges.

In the door frame, was the image of Grayson’s exhausted, angry, and frenzied fiancé.

Sherry Kerrigan Maddox was drawn into the world with womanly curves and a Cheshire Cat smile. She knew nothing except for the high-class, debutante life of a Southern heiress. She grew up trailing her mother and sister at high-profile events: wearing big hats, drinking sweet iced tea, and laughing politely at the jokes of the country’s richest southern dynasties.

Sherry spent most of her teenage life away from her mother and father, attending a private boarding school with her older sister, Coral. Unlike Coral, Sherry never did particularly well in school. The only subject she was ever mildly interested in was French, which she learned to speak with superb proficiency, something that came in handy with her future modeling career. Once, Sherry had cried when she was handed a math test. Her teacher, who had just graduated from college, excused Sherry from taking the test in an act of kindness, not wanting to subject a young girl to public emotional strife. When the board of Sherry’s private school found out, they threated Sherry with suspension on the order of disobedience and violating the academic validity code. A cool word and hot money from Calvin Maddox promised that the teacher would be let go from the school, while his daughter could continue to happily doodle in her notebooks and forget about Algebra.

She was, objectively, beautiful. Her round face was complimented with full cheeks and a soft jawline. Her blue eyes were wide but almond shaped: inherently sensual. She wore a strong, arched brow: the brunette color of which exposed her as a fake blonde. But her hair was a gorgeous golden hue, always sitting exactly perfectly on her head. Sherry Maddox knew, quite well, that lipstick lasted longer, but always preferred to wear gloss, because it was more fun.

Her voice was choked with waves of torment, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Every muscle in Grayson’s body stiffened. In a deep place, he knew this conversation was coming he just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. He swallowed hard, meeting his lips together in a flat pout. He let out a hard breath as Sherry spoke again, “What are you doing here?” Grayson didn’t turn to face her, “Sherry-I-“ “NO!” Her usual Southern elegance was gone from her presence, replaced with the unhinged pain of a woman with a broken heart, “You don’t get to say my name! You don’t get to just,” she motioned her arms in the air, “waltz in here!”

Grayson stammered and turned to find Sherry with tears in her eyes, shaking a pointed finger at him. He closed his mouth.

“So?” Her voice held a sharp edge, “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?” She gritted her teeth, “You leave me there. Alone.  In front of everyone. And you can’t even apologize.”

Grayson exhaled; his jaw shook in the attempt at finding something to say. He signed, “I’m sorry. I—I don’t know—I” Sherry interrupted him, “You? You embarrassed me? You humiliated me? You left me to explain to TMZ and Page6 why you weren’t there? You left me there to listen to Ethan’s pathetic excuses for you?” She sneered at him, “You must think I’m really stupid.”

Grayson reached an arm behind him, placing it on his duffel bag. He silently wished that he could run away, and leave this moment frozen for a more prepared Grayson to handle. “I don’t think that Sherry. I just –I need time.” His eyes pleaded with her; his heart felt like it was being plucked at by a thousand angry, clawed birds.

Sherry laughed: a cold laugh without an ounce of humor in her face. “You need time?” Her voice was vicious. “You need? Wow. We’re talking about what you need. What about what I need? What about the fact that I needed you last night? Thought didn’t cross your mind did it?”

Grayson’s face folded into a pained position, “I’m sorry Sherry. I really am. I—We—I can’t do this anymore.” In one swift motion, Grayson picked up his duffel bag and headed for the door. He tried to block out the sounds of Sherry’s cries and screams.

Making his way to Kate’s car, Grayson’s internal structure was panged with guilt. His mind tremored with the realization of the gravity of his actions.

Grayson landed in Kate’s passenger seat in a hectic, distressed position. Kate silently wished she had suggested that Grayson call Ethan to collect his things. Grayson turned to face her; a distraught form of inner terror palpable in his eyes.

His voice was low, “We’re really doing this.”

She gave him a sideways glance, “You’re really doing this.”

Grayson’s mouth flatlined. His jaw locked with tension and guilt. He thought back to Sherry, peering at the front door through the car window, he turned to face Kate.

The wounds in his heart burned when she said, “I’m not the one who needs a second chance because I treated you right the first time.”

The car ride to Kate’s apartment was silent except for the gentle buzz of her engine. She parked on the street and didn’t say a word to Grayson as she exited the car.

With her keys dangling in her hand, she quickly marched up the stairs and through her front door. Her energy was fluxed by the sight of Wesley in her living room. “Hey,” his voice was heavy with concern, “I texted you. I thought we were going for breakfast this morning?” His big brown eyes were weighed down with his care for her.

Kate’s mouth went dry as he tongues floundered for a moment, “Sorry—I must have forgotten. You know how things have been lately, I’ve been working more than I’ve been breathing.” Her words mushed together, making her sentence sound like one over-extended syllable.

Wesley stood up and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “You doing alright Katie? I’ve been worried about you but this—this isn’t like you.” He gently thumbed her clavicle, “Maybe you should put work down for a little bit.”

Kate shook her head quickly, “No-I mean yes. Yes. That’s exactly what I am going to do. I was going to call you. I’m leaving. For now. To go to..Philly! I’m going to spend time with my mom in Philly.” She nodded enthusiastically, trying to fake a smile.

Wesley seemed satisfied with this answer, as his eyes lost some of their murk, “Good. I’m happy for you. When are you leaving?” “Today!” Kate’s answer came a bit too fast and too loud.

Wesley furrowed his brow, “And when are you getting back? Maybe we can take a weekend together before you go back to work?”

“I’m not sure,” Kate gave a weak shrug, “I didn’t book my return ticket yet.” She sucked in her top lip, “I was going to wait—for the weather. Wouldn’t want to book a ticket during a snowstorm.” Wesley placed a gentle kiss on her head, “Say hi to your mom for me. And remember, I’m a phone call away.” Kate’s own heart betrayed her as her pulse quickened under Wesley’s lips, “Will do.” She sighed in relief when she stepped away and headed for the door, “Enjoy your trip. Love you Katie.” “Love y-“ Wesley shut the front door and she did not finish.

Kate was emotionally uncomfortable. Not from lying to Wesley because this was not the first time she had lied to him. She was uncomfortable with how nearly comfortable she was in this dialogue.

She shifted her emotions to a distant place in her mind, deciding to struggle with them later. She worked methodically to pack a backpack with the clothes and toiletries she would need for the trip. At the bottom of her closet, she pulled out a shoebox with the two t-shirts and one pair of sweatpants she was left with after breaking up with Grayson. She included the pieces in her backpack, figuring this was as good a chance as any to give them back to him.

Hustling out of her door, she looked down to see her school bag thrown against the floor. She picked it up, her research in the back of her mind. With two backpacks and a jacket slung over her shoulder, she made her way to Grayson in her car outside.

Kate shoved her things in the back seat, next to Grayson’s duffel bag. With a huff, she dropped herself in the driver’s seat and turned to face Grayson.

He started first, “I’m sorry.” He spoke quickly, “I’m so sorry. I know I’m dragging you into this when you don’t deserve to be here. I should have never assumed that you would even be remotely interested in trying to—” Kate held up a finger to his lips. “This is my decision too.” Her voice was steady, the opposite of his frenzied tone. Grayson shook his head, his mouth felt sparks under her slender finger. “You’re not responsible for sorting through my emotions.” She looked at him, a serene balance in her eyes. She spoke with a confidence, “If I didn’t want to help you, I wouldn’t be here.”

[ariparri]

The Camping Trip

Written by cursedautumn on Instagram. We did another story for art trade and she wrote out another scenario I had in my drafts for a couple of months now. As mentioned in the Flowers Fic, English is not Autumn's first language so she apologizes if there are any mistakes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Veruca stepped out onto the summer sunlit porch of a small house in a Scottish forest, closed her eyes, and stretched. It was summer, the wet, green, cool Scottish summer of 1993. Under a sky as blue as Wedgwood porcelain, the emerald plain was spread out with a delicate lavender pattern, and in the distance, there could be seen the Balmoral castle, where their group went on a tour a few days before. In the air hovered a sleepy morning haze, still pale sunlight slid through the trees, the fields and the wooden house, and Veruca, despite the fact that she was dressed in her pajamas, and early in the morning in Scotland wasn't always warm, so it was a little chilly, with pleasure has substituted her face under the breeze and, looking out over the yard, still turned to the door and slipped into the cramped hallway and from there into the kitchen.

The first thing Veruca saw when she entered was a bare swarthy back, and then tousled chocolate hair and funny pajama pants with rabbits on them. The smell of melted cheese and coffee wafted through the small, uninviting kitchen, and there were three pairs of plates on the table covered with a white tablecloth, presumably for him, her, Carson and Tulip, and Autumn with Talbott. Diego was humming to himself and deftly manipulating cups and pans, and he didn't notice Veruca coming up behind him.

"Good morning," she purred. Diego turned around, his handsome face with dark, hot chocolate eyes lit up with a gentle smile. "Good morning," they hugged and kissed. "The others are still asleep. Would you like cheese toast, scrambled eggs, and coffee? We've got a long way to go home today, and we could use a good meal." "You're right, "Veruca agreed. Today they were going to return home from a two-week camping. "Should I wake the others up?"

"Uh-huh," Diego said. "I don't think they're awake yet..." Veruca left the kitchen and climbed the creaking wooden steps that made up the somewhat rickety staircase. The house they had rented while roaming the Scottish castles was quite old and a little out of keeping with the conditions and weather around them, but there was a strange sense of unity with nature, calm and peaceful — that's what this old building could not take away. Autumn had found the house, and at first Veruca had been surprised by her friend's choice: why would the granddaughter of a French count, the heiress of several pureblood families, and a half-aristocrat prefer a lonely old cabin to a posh cottage or hotel?

Autumn was always full of surprises, though. That's probably why she and Veruca understood each other so well and were so close friends... As she went up to the second floor and down the narrow corridor, Veruca couldn't help but remember how, just before the hike, she had come to Coby and told him that she was going to Scotland with her friends and her boyfriend. Coby, who was already wary of Diego, became concerned, and when Veruca made fun of him and told him that she was "already grown up and ready for things that couples in love usually do," he began to look like a madman in his nervousness and worrying. She had expected to just play on her brother's nerves a little, but now, leaving him there, restless and alone, she felt a gnawing sense of guilt. Well, it was a kind of revenge for the real paranoia of the eighties, a major period of her life that had been taken away because of him and R.

"Hey, you!" called Veruca, coming to the next room; Talbott and Autumn were sleeping in the left room, and Carson and Tulip were sleeping in the right. The door on the left immediately opened, and a girl with disheveled dark, almost black hair, beautiful pale skin, and thin hands appeared on the threshold. Autumn hill narrowed her sleepy, transparent eyes and murmured, “Good morning to you, too. What time is it?"

"Almost eight," Veruca told her friend. "Is Talbott up yet?"

"Yeah," Autumn nodded. She looked happy and rested, and it seemed that the reason lay not only in a good two-week hike, charging mental strength. "He's washing up."

Veruca knocked on the door to the right-hand room. A few seconds later, it also opened, and Carson appeared in the doorway, fully dressed in a shirt and shorts. "Oh, you're awake! Come down for breakfast right now!"

At Breakfast, everyone, barely able to fit at the table, chatted casually, pushed each other with their knees at the table and exchanged memories; Tulip rememberd some fun school story and almost made everyone choke. Veruca looked at her friends and thought about how well they had spent their time here — swimming in the forest lake, frying sausages by the fire, walking around Scottish castles and attending fairs and dances.

Here, in nature, Veruca was able to relax a little, forget that her parents had neglected her, that Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban, that until recently she had been all alone — in general, about all the bad things that had happened to her over the past two years. Here, in the company of friends, where she was her own and familiar, it seemed to become easier to breathe, and the muscles of her face stopped straining, forever making her serious and sad. With Diego, Carson, Talbott, Autumn, and Tulip, she could be as much herself as she liked and not be shy about it.

"Thank you for breakfast," Veruca said to Diego after everyone had eaten their fill of cheese toast, scrambled eggs, and coffee, washed the dishes, and gone to their rooms to change, and kissed him. Diego immediately responded to the kiss and did not let go of her for a long time. "That's it, that's it," Veruca laughed as he tried to get his hands under her T-shirt. "So, get ready, Romeo! We have to apparate several times to drop everyone off before Coby."

"Oh," Diego drawled in mock displeasure, hugging her. "Alright. But I promise you, you won't get rid of me when we get home, my beautiful green-eyed Juliet." Veruca laughed and threw a pillow at him. Half an hour later, everyone came down to the porch: Carson and Tulip, both wearing identical white shirts with lettering on them: "I'm hers" and "I'm his" in blue shorts and caps, Autumn and Talbott in loose sweaters and light trousers, and Veruca and Diego — she in a dress with a leather belt, he in shorts and a T-shirt with a strange pattern. There wasn't a lot of luggage, so no one was worried about possible problems with apparating. Veruca took one last look at the lush and vibrant Scottish landscape, sighed, and asked, "Home?"

"Home!" Tulip answered loudly, and six people joined hands and disapparated with a pop sound, leaving only an empty house with keys under the rug, the smell of morning in the cramped kitchen, and the sense of human presence in the damp woods near Balmoral castle. Carson and Tulip were the first to drop off. They were saying good-bye to the others for a long time, then held hands and headed for their home. Looking at her happy friends, Veruca thought that the wedding was just around the corner. Then it was Autumn and Talbott's turn to say their goodbyes even longer, because they were planning to leave to Italy indefinitely due to the escalating situation in the country and it was not known how soon they would see each other.

After watching them go, Veruca and Diego finally apparated for the third time, finally to Coby's house. Her brother lived on a lonely Irish island, in a cozy modern cabin, simple and bright. When Veruca entered it, everything inside her immediately became warmer and calmer. She didn't come here very often, but now she and Diego had a little idea for a prank that they were going to put into practice. Veruca didn't expect to frighten her brother too much, but as she walked up the path to the cabin, holding Diego's hand, she chuckled nervously, knowing that Coby would not be indifferent to this "news.”

Diego remained on the narrow stone path that wound up to the house and was surrounded by low green bushes; Veruca went to the low wooden porch with a flowered rug and pulled the chain that hung from the canopy. Somewhere inside the house, a chime sounded like a trill, then there were slow footsteps, and a fewseconds later a dark-haired man appeared in the doorway with a cup in his hands. He was dressed in a shirt and jeans, and his face was pale and sleepy, as if he had just gotten up, though Veruca thought he probably had. Coby McQuaid stared at his sister for a few seconds, then smiled, "Oh, Veruca!"

"Coby!" Veruca dropped her duffel bag and took a step toward her brother. "As you can see, I'm back!"

"I definetely do!" Coby said exaggerated-loudly, as if she'd interrupted his peaceful awakening. "Come in, don't stand on the doorstep." They went into the wood-paneled living room through the hall. Here everything was the same as before: wooden furniture and walls, chequered sofas and the same chequered curtains, a cozy atmosphere and the smell of wood. She sat down on the cushioned sofa opposite Coby, who poured a cup of tea from a small teapot on a low table and handed it to her, "Here you go."

"Thank you," Veruca said, and looked at Coby. He was looking at her. There was a hint of concern in his eyes. "You know, I have so much to tell you!" Over the next thirty minutes, she hurriedly, almost excitedly, told everything she could remember: how Tulip had fallen into the lake, her feet tangled in the grass (she had a special ability to fall out of the blue, or, like that time, getting tangled in places where it was impossible), how Diego had hidden in the tent because a butterfly was flying outside, and yelled when it sat on him, and Veruca fell down the stairs, and Talbott almost burned his hair by the fire, so she told her brother about the whole trip.

Coby listened with genuine interest, but Veruca could see that he was waiting for her to mention something about "adult stuff." Finally, Veruca decided to do it. When she finished telling them how Tulip and Carson had tried to fry sausages and ended up burning them, she giggled, "You know what else happened?”

"What?" Coby asked too quickly. Veruca laid her hand on the back of the sofa, smiled, and said: "Diego made me a woman."

The room remained silent for several seconds. Then Coby dropped the empty cup and it hit the carpet with a thud. Then her brother screamed and threw himself on the floor and rolled around on it, and Veruca heard a muffled cry and mutter; she got up, put the cup down on the table, and craned her neck to see Coby sprawled on the floor, howling inarticulately, beating the carpet with his weak fists. He seemed to be cursing Diego and the whole world for what had fallen on his poor head; Veruca knew it wasn't real grief, just shock, so she didn't rush to reassure him. Coby slammed his fist down on the floorboards. She was both amused by the sight of her brother and somewhat disturbed by the shock that had overtaken him.

Coby muttered, "How so?.. how?.. You're still a little girl!" Veruca decided not to mention that she was nineteen. Coby continued to howl and roll listlessly on the floor. Apparently, he wasn't going to stop, because his torment didn't get any quieter or even a little calmer. The girl slipped past her brother, who was lying on his face, went out into the hall and found herself on the street, hearing a surprised, muffled cry behind her. Veruca ran quickly down the steps, feeling a rush of laughter, and ran down the paved path toward Diego. Coby's screams subsided a little, and then he suddenly yelled sharply, “VERUCA CARLYN MCQUAID, COME BACK HERE NOW!".

"High five!" Veruca laughed, running up to Diego, who was waiting for her where she had left him some time ago. He dutifully gave her a five and looked cautiously towards the hut from which came Coby's cry. "What a reaction!"

"Let's go quickly," Diego laughed, "before your brother decides to cut off our heads."

"Yeah, the main thing is to write him a letter later and explain that this is just a joke," Veruca chuckled and looked around. They joined hands and disapparated with a bang just as a distraught Coby McQuaid threw open the doors of his cabin and ran out; he ran down the winding path, but found neither his sister nor her boyfriend, and cursing, turned and trudged back, feeling as if someone had hit him very hard on the head. And his "little" sister, returning to her home, immediately went to her cabinet, hastily took out parchmentand ink, sat down at the table and began to write a letter, simultaneously remembering the white face of her brother and how he rolled on the floor, learning about her growing up, and laughing heartily.

"Dear Coby,

I hope you're not too nervous...".

[365days365movies]

January 20, 2021: Taken (2008)

Well, I know one thing about this movie. He’s gonna find ‘em. And he’s gonna kill ‘em. And also, Luc Besson didn’t direct this movie! Yeah, my bad, he wrote this movie. But, then, he also wrote Leon, so I wasn’t entirely wrong. Anyway, 2008!

I remember this year well. Obama was elected the first Black president of the United States of America; the Olympics took place in Beijing, months after a massive earthquake in Sichuan; the Large Hadron Collider was totally gonna make a black hole; and, of course, the most important news event of that year: Iron Man and The Dark Knight came out.

And of course, the film Taken came out, creating what is arguably the most repeated film meme ever. Or, at the very least, it’s WAY up there. It’s a 12-year old meme at this point, but lemme tell ya: this thing was HUGE in 2008. Not the movie itself, just the meme. And I could lie and tell you that I’m watching this movie because it’s another French action thriller, and it’s fitting, but…

...it’s the meme. It’s 100% the meme, I’m not gonna lie to you guys. So, uh...yeah, Taken, let’s do this. SPOILERS AHEAD!

Recap

Bryan Mills (Liam Neeson) is dreaming of his daughter and wife. In the modern day, he brings a birthday gift to his daughter, Kim (Maggie Grace), and his bitter ex-wife Lenore (Famke Janssen), who is married to a very wealthy man, Stuart (Xander Berkeley). Bryan, meanwhile, is a recent and comparatively poor retiree, whose friends come over for a night of drinks.

Retiree from what, you ask? Well, it’s likely the CIA, given that his friends refer to military missions and Langley. They invite him to join security detail for a pop star, Sheerah (Holly Valance), In the process, he saves her from crazed fans, including a knife-wielding assailant. Not sure why that guy wants to LITERALLY STAB HER, but somebody needs to look into that guy!

Out of gratitude, Sheerah gives Bryan some references to give to his daughter, who wants to be a singer, apparently. However, when he sees her and Lenore the next day, all she wants from him is permission to go on a trip to Paris with her friends. When he shows his doubts for her safety, she’s upset, and his wife berates him for...government and military service? I mean, that stuff breaks up marriages, of course, but GODDAMN, Lenore’s bitter about it! Whoof.

Bryan’s definitely being made to be sympathetic, while Lenore’s the opposite of that. And Bryan’s understandably worried about his daughter’s safety, as she’ll be abroad. And we get the idea that Bryan’s a bit of a helicopter parent, but...c’mon! He’s underage daughter is asking to go to Paris with her friends! It’s cause for a parent to be worried, and yet Lenore is like, “She needs to be freeeeeeeeeee!” And that’s made even WORSE by the fact that both of them lie to Bryan, a father who clearly loves his daughter, because she’s actually following U2 on a music tour around Europe!

Which...really? U2? Who the hell can stand that much Bono, for their ENTIRE EUROPEAN TOUR? Anyway, what I’m saying is, Lenore sucks, and I’m not Kim’s biggest fan either. But I get the feeling that, given the one thing I know about this movie...Bryan’s gonna be proven right. So Kim and her friend, Amanda (Katie Cassidy) go to Europe, alone, despite Bryan’s understandable misgivings. 

They IMMEDIATELY get hit on by Peter, a French boy who gives them a ride. He invites them to a party, Amanda accepts for them, and this is OBVIOUSLY A BAD IDEA. That’s even further confirmed by Peter making a mysterious call, telling the other person about the girls’ location. Kim doesn’t call Bryan, as promised, and Amanda is clearly a TERRIBLE influence. Looks like Bryan was completely right to be concerned, if his daughter’s gonna be so irresponsible. Oh, also because they’re about to get kidnapped.

Luckily, Kim had called Bryan just before, after realizing that he had called her, and he guides her through the upcoming kidnapping. With his help, although she gets kidnapped, Bryan is able to figure out that the kidnappers are Albanian, and that one of them is a six-foot tall bearded man with a moon and star tattoo on his right hand DAMN THAT’S OBSERVANT. But still...she’s been Taken.

Someone picks up the phone...and he says the speech.

Had to do it, folks. It’s the most iconic scene in the film. Time for action! Bryan calls a friend with Langley connections, then goes straight to Lenore and Stuart’s place, who find out that BRYAN WAS FUCKING RIGHT GODDAMMIT HOW DO YOU FEEL NOW 

 Having COMPLETELY FUCKED UP, Lenore asks Bryan to get her back safely. They actually figure out that the men who kidnapped her are professional sex-traffickers, who specialize in kidnapping travelling women and putting them in prostitution. But they tend to disappear...within 96 Hours. That’s how long Bryan has to find her, as well as being an alternate title for this film!

The time limit, by the way, is a common construct for the action-thriller. You know, “she has 12 hours to live,” that kind of deal. Thrillers are going to be peppered throughout this year, and there are a few coming up as well, so might as well start with this one, right?

Bryan flies to Paris, then makes his way to the apartment, tracing Kim’s steps up to her kidnapping. He also finds her destroyed phone, alongside an SD card with photos. From this, he gets a blurry look at Peter. I get the feeling that his face isn’t about to look much better. Speaking of, Peter’s playing his old tricks at the airport, and is caught by Bryan. Painfully caught. After Bryan fights off another guy, and chases Peter up a road, Peter also gets caught by karma.

80 hours left. Having exhausted options, Bryan meets an old contact, Jean-Claude (Olivier Rabourdin), who tells him where the Albanians hang out. He hires an Albanian translator, then heads for a prostitute-heavy area. He harrangues a prostitute until her manager comes out, whom he puts a small microphone on. With the translator’s help, he discovers that they’re having “merchandise problems” at a construction site. 

Following a hunch, he makes his way there, and sees several drug-addicted young women in a makeshift brothel. Also there is his daughter’s jacket. The prostitute that has it, however, is not exactly cognitively sound at the moment. So...she’s Taken. By Bryan, who fights his way out of the brothel and construction site, with gunshots, explosions, and car chases along the way.

Bryan brings the girl back to a hotel, where he somehow gets ahold of an IV and medicine, and detoxes her in the room. Which, given the time frame and other factors...seems like a very large risk to take for testimony that, let’s be honest, right not exist. Still, as this is happening, he gets a call from Jean-Claude, asking to meet.

56 hours left. After 7 people dead, a destroyed trailer, and 3 people injured (and probably stolen medicine from a hospital, let’s be honest), Bryan isn’t exactly the best friend of the French government. He escapes police custody and heads back to the hotel, where the girl is cogent enough to remember where she got the jacket: from Kim herself, at the house with the red door on the road of paradise. No, really.

Bryan gets to the house, and poses as Jean-Claude...badly. He apparently passes his bluff check, and takes advantage of a corrupt police system, and makes them give him protection money. Over the course of the conversation, he figures out that one of them is Marco. Which means that he found him. And he said that when he found him…

After that spree is done, he searches the facility and looks for Kim. He doesn’t find her...but he does find Amanda. And sadly, he’s too late for her. Turns out, though, that he didn’t kill Marko (Arben Bajraktaraj), the leader of the group. And of course not! He has some questions.

Bryan tortures Marko using electricity, and he reveals that Kim’s been sold quickly, as she is a virgin. She’s been sold to Patrice Saint-Clair (Gerard Watkins), although Marko doesn’t know where he is. And so, Bryan fulfills his promise, and electrocutes him. He then makes his way to meet Jean-Claude at his home. And, uh...that’s when he crosses a line.

...Um. Bryan shot his wife. And yeah, Jean-Claude’s clearly not on the up-and-up, but he’s not directly complicit in the kidnapping of his daughter. And yeah, he’s in Bryan’s way, but JESUS CHRIST DUDE. He officially loses the moral high-ground here for me, even if his cause is just. Jean-Claude concedes, and Bryan gets the information that he’s looking for and leaves, knocking Jean-Claude out in the process.

Bryan goes to the Saint-Clair residence, where an auction is taking place for various young women. The last of these is, of course, Kim. Having barged into a booth of one of the buyers, he forces him to buy Kim (ew). Unfortunately, he’s caught and chained to a pipe, where Saint-Clair’s henchmen are about to kill him. But, of course...

Bryan escapes and kills Saint-Clair in the process, but not before finding out that Kim’s been Taken to a boat. He obtains a car, and after a length (and seizure-inducing) car chase, gets onto the boat, which is owned by the Sheik, a man of unknown Arabic origin. And yeah, in case you were wondering, this feels very...VERY...wrong. It’s brief, yeah, but...you gave a rich Arabic guy multiple wives obtained through illegal means and made them the main villain? FUCKIN’ OOF BRUV

Anyway, as expected, Bryan kicks the asses of everybody on the boat, and finally rescues Kim, killing the Sheik in the process. The two have a tearful embrace, and Bryan NEVER LETS HER OUT OF HIS SIGHT AGAIN PROBABLY. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT BONO. THIS IS ALL YOUR GODDAMN FAULT.

Well, Bryan wins the I WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG GODDAMIT award, Kim gets to go home and meet that singer from before, Lenore gives Bryan some consideration as a human being for once, Stuart stepfathers, and that’s Taken! Also, WHERE IN THE HELL ARE AMANDA’S PARENTS, A GIRL IS DEAD

Epilogue soon!

[gloves94]

To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 16

Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC Chapter warnings: None

CHAPTER MASTERLIST MY MASTERLIST

Living in the House of Lestrange, was, well, strange for less of a better word. It didn’t take Nel long to learn two things about Ms. Cloelia Lestrange. The main thing was she had a knack for polished manners. Apparently, the missus ran a primary school for Pure-Blood children, she taught everything from reading, writing and other educational basics to extra curriculars such as proper etiquette and ball room dancing. Things that were considered to be essential to the people running in these circles. Since Elowen was under her thumb and guardianship it was essential that she be a fit representation of this. For the first time in her life the teenager had the proper guardian of what seemed to be a proper motherly figure.

Despite her opposition to it Elowen as she was now to be addressed according to Cloelia, learned to dress, groom herself like a proper lady. This she surprisingly didn’t mind too much, as a young child she had been curious by makeup once sneaking into Wool’s room and putting a pink lipstick all over her face and a street dog. This earned her twenty slaps on her hands with a snappy ruler. She never went near the damn things ever again.

However, what she did mind was sitting in the old dining table that kicked you whenever you committed an etiquette mistake. Talk with a mouthful. Kick. Reach for jam without asking for it to be passed. Kick.

Use the wrong utensils in the wrong order. Kick.

Eating your soup towards you instead of away. Kick.

Kick the table for kicking you. Kick.

Cloelia would always sit at the head of the table which seemed to dictate the meal’s accepted and unaccepted manners.  “Nuh-uh-hu,” She’d warn whenever Nel reached for a bread roll across the table. “Too many and you’ll get plump.”

The girl shot her a glare. Kick. “Mind your manners,” She’d smile smugly at her. When the table would attack her. It almost seemed to bring a strange type of sadistic pleasure to her.

Because of this Nel’s shins were painfully bruised in shades of violet, purple, green and yellow. When confronting Cloelia about it she simply sipped on her tea and told her Nel was asking for it.

Being at the Lestrange’s was like some twisted charms school. Perhaps the abuse wasn’t physical, but it was certainly emotional.

The second thing about Cloelia was that she absolutely adored her only son Ellar. The only time that Ms. Lestrange seemed to remove her hawk like eyes from Elowen was when she was reading her son’s leaders. There weren’t many recent pictures of the two in the walls, but the woman would constantly praise him and remind the girl just how handsome and terribly smart her son was. She would even gush when receiving letters and French pastries from him. There didn’t seem to be a Mr. Lestrange in the picture. Nel didn’t ask why. Apparently Ellar who Nel had already boxed as pretentious racist like most of the other Pure-Bloods she had met was away doing an internship in France.

It was strange being in the life. She finally had the same clothes as the other Slytherin girls, but they still weren’t hers. Accepting them felt like granting Cloelia ownership over her person. Something Nel felt like was a given to the older woman consider how she took her liberties in making harsh comments about her appearance constantly.

One of the bright sides of living with Cloelia was that she did not mind if Nel had contact with her friend which was a breath of fresh air. However, Nel still had to work up the courage to ask if she could attend the Quidditch World Cup Final Game with Theo and Tracey. Presently…

‘Harder. Up, down, up down, left, right, left, right- That’s right! Keep it up! Transform those buns into steel!’

Nel was currently coated in sweat working out to an old record of witch-lattes or aerobics, she wasn’t sure which one was playing. All she knew was that she was exhausted and Cloelia was watching her from a comfortable sit while eating a large pumpkin pastry.

“You’ve got to maintain your figure,” She said licking her greasy lips before taking a small lady-like bite from the pastry.

‘Easier said than done,’ the girl bit her tongue and rolled her eyes. She was sweating bullets and felt she was in desperate need of a shower when she heard the front door slam. She paid it no mind much to focused on the exercise.

“Maman!” An unfamiliar voice entered the room.

“Ellar! Oh! Welcome home mon cœur!”

Nel had never seen Ms. Lestrange move so fast before. She jumped from her seat and exclaiming other French words in excitement advanced towards her son whom she embraced and showered in kisses.

“I wanted to surprise you!” He stated hugging his mother back.

Elowen remained quiet at the interaction. Not because she had always wanted somebody to welcome her home like that. In that moment she realized she wanted to die.

He was hot.

He was a couple of years older than her and very handsome. In contrast here she stood a sweating mess. She had never seen a more beautiful person before. With a strong jaw, sleepy eyes and dark curly hair, Ellar looked like the protagonist of a period drama. He was dressed in soothing tones of velvet blue and turned to acknowledge her with his hazel eyes.

She wanted to look away but couldn’t and felt her skin heating in unflattering patches of red. She prayed he’d assume they were from the exercise and not his presence.

“This is Elowen Saintday,” Cloelia introduced. “She’s the young lady I wrote to you about.”

Nel was too busy drooling at her son that she didn’t snap out of her trance until she heard the woman addressing her. “I expect you’ll be gracious towards my son.”

You bet that would not be a problem. His mother gave Ellar what seemed to be a knowing look. He approached her and reached for her hand bringing it to his lips in an antiquated gesture. He said something she didn’t understand in French.

“What?” She asked flushing nervously. She wanted to slap herself and mentally beat herself up for not responding “Hi.” She was shellshocked never having had her hand held and kissed like that, specially by an older boy. “I’m enchanted,” He now said in English flashing her a charming smile. “I said the pleasure is all mine,” he translated. Was he blatantly flirting with her, in front of his mother? Ms. Lestrange seemed unbothered or completely oblivious to this. She had been around the opposite sex her whole life. Back at Wool’s, Back at Hogwarts. Why would this one be any different?

That day Nel found herself actually looking forward to dinner. You bet she picked out her nicest clothes and did and re-did her hair over and over again until she just gave up on it. At dinner she learned that Ellar was a sixth-year student at Beauxbaton Magical Academy in France. He had spent his summer at an internship with the French Ministry of Magic working in the Department of Mysteries. He said he was particularly studying certain enigmas of magic such as death, time, space, thoughts and love, it was fascinating. Even Bindi the Lestrange’s House Elf, whom Nel wasn’t allowed to speak with, had gone all out with the dinner. However, she did not seem happy to see her master return. Cloelia was stern with her but as far as Nel knew she had never seen her be stern or particularly cruel to the female elf.

Ellar drank his wine and lay a hand on his stomach taking in the familiar meal he had just had. “Everything magnificent as always mother,” he let out a long breath as he relaxed into his chair.

Her hand was halfway reaching for a second slice of cake. It was then that she noticed the older teen was looking at her, and she was staring at the beautiful stranger back. “Should you really be having another slice?” He arched an eyebrow in the direction of the beautifully decorated vanilla cake in the center of the dining table.

Embarrassed she lowered her fork and looked away from his perturbing gaze. “Will we be attending the Quidditch World Cup Finals this year?” Ellar added turning to face his mother.

Forgetting her embarrassment at wanting another slice she turned to attentively listen out for Cloelia’s answer.

“Of course, dear, the Minister has invited us to his personal box,” His mother responded pompously. “And I trust both of you,” Her eyes shot the girl a look, “Will be on your best behavior.”

Nel couldn’t help but smile a little.

Don’t count on it. She winced when she felt the dining table kick her shin. Could the stupid table read minds too?

Alright, maybe do count on it. “I was actually planning on attending with some friends of mine. If that’s alright,” Elowen butted scanning her guardian’s face for any hint of disapproval.

Ms. Lestrange put her utensils down and gaped at the girl in appalling horror. “And refuse the Ministry of Magic’s invitation?” She brought a hand to her chest in offense. “You will sit with us in the box,” She said in a term that was non-negotiable.

“Minister of Magic can choke,” Nel grumbled underneath her breath earnings her a well-earned kick from under the table.

“Friends?” She was surprised to see Ellar scoffing and judging her answer. He learned slightly forward in her direction. “Why would you rather see your friends when you can network with the Minister himself? Think about it Elowen,” He began speaking in an eloquent tone. “If you’ve got Fudge on your side it could open a lot of doors for you,” He smirked slightly in her direction. “How do you think I got my foot in the French Ministry of Magic’s door?”

He spoke like a true Slytherin. This was the type of cunning talk about ambition she would’ve heard in the Common Room or perhaps the type of advice that Professor Snape would’ve given her if she had asked for any.

Nel wanted to disagree but Ellar was right.

She had to respect his ambition.

Xxxxx

Meanwhile, that same night, in a dark room, in an old broken-down house just outside of Little Hangleton a vile ploy was being orchestrated.

Whispers and hushed voices could be heard echoing the dusty, cob-webbed corridors of the house. Their only companions a howling wind and a nosey old man.

“Oh, no, no, no my Lord. I only meant... Perhaps if we were to do it without the boy. We could use the girl; the girl is ready…” A large man with the face of a rat cowered before his master. “She’s under the guardship of Lestrange. We could take her now, do what we need-“

“NO!” The master’s dark tone bounced off the walls. “I need them both. Together. It will be done exactly as I say.” He stretched out a hand calling for his snake to come and gather around its master. “The boy, he’s everything, and the girl…” He went silent for a moment. “Everything will be done with precision at the right time. I’ve been waiting fourteen years for this. I can wait one more…”

Without much of a choice Pettigrew lowered his head as he groveled to Voldemort. “I will not disappoint you my Lord.” He bowed.

“Good,” Voldemort rasped. “First, gather our old comrades. Send them a sign.”

xxxxx

AN: Short chapter but brief introduction to Y4. What do you guys think Voldy is up to? Also, thoughts on Ellar’s character? Next chapter we’re going to the Quidditch World Cup!

[zwritestuff]

Kitty (One-shot) - Kyara

A/N: I wrote this loosly based off this comic, because I wanted to read this with Kyara, and I knew that if no one did it, I would have to do it myself (like everything I do). Hope you guys like this! It’s short-ish, unbeta-ed, but cute (I hope, at least.)

Summary: Kyne’s cat, Alexander, keeps getting chubbier by the day, despite feeding him all sorts of healthy food. (AO3 Link)

***

“Have you seen Alexander?” Kyne asks Rita, roaming around the apartment to find her cat. Rita pauses the show she’s watching, looking behind the sofa.

“Nope, haven’t seen him since last night,” she replies, looking back at Kyne. “Doesn’t he stay in your room most of the day? You’re the one with a widow, he must’ve escaped,” Rita offers as an explanation, though it doesn’t really ease Kyne’s worry.

Alexander is an old cat, he rarely leaves his spot in Kyne’s room unless it’s for sunbathing or following Kyne around the apartment. It’s unlike him to just straight up disappear, even when Kyne leaves the window open in the nights where she feels like she’ll melt if she leaves them closed. She tries not to worry, to tell herself that he must be somewhere, but she has already searched under her bed, in the kitchen cupboards, the closets and every place that can fit a cat as big as him.

Rita, sensing her bad wording, quickly corrects herself before continuing watching her show. “He’s probably roaming around the building, you know, doing cat things. I’m sure he’ll be back,” she assures her with a comforting smile, and Kyne muses a thank you, wanting to believe that.

She goes back to her room, scratching to the back of her brain to think of places where Alexander could be. She goes to check inside the closet yet again, realizing she hasn’t checked the top part of it. Kyne swears under her breath that if it turns out Alexander was up there all this time, she’ll lower his amount of treats and—

Kyne hears a purr behind her, and she almost snaps her neck with the speed she turned around with. 

Alexander is looking up at her, with his little black eyes full of curiosity, tilting his head in an adorable way that always gets him out of trouble. His fur is dirty, a proof that he was probably roaming around the cornices, taking naps under the sun. She scoops the cat up, scolding him with a maternal tone, as if he could understand what she’s saying.

“Where did you go, buddy? You don’t usually like going out, huh,” Kyne says, only getting a meow as a response. “Look at you! You’ll need a bath with how dirty you are.”

This time, Kyne got a high pitched meow in response, and she could swear Alexander was throwing a tantrum.

***

Days pass, and Kyne all but forgets about Alexander’s little adventure - he hasn’t escaped again, and has rather gone back to sleeping on his bed under the window all day, distracting Kyne when she tries to do her homework by sitting on her notes or demanding food. Nothing out of the usual.

Well, except a tiny detail that almost escaped Kyne.

“Alexander has gotten a little chubby,” Rita says one day; it’s not a question, it’s an affirmation. Her eyes are glued to the cat that’s stretching all over the sofa, while she tries to write an essay.

Kyne looks up from her papers sprawled all over the coffee table to meet her roommate’s gaze, focusing on Alexander. The cat, oblivious to their stares, starts to lick himself, and Kyne realizes that Rita is right.

“That’s weird, I haven’t overfed him,” she mumbles, furrowing her brow as she reaches for Alexander. The cat meows, clearly offended that she interrupted his bath session, but his annoyance is lost on Kyne as she realizes he feels heavier as she picks him up. “Have you been feeding him when I’m not around?” Kyne asks towards Rita, who shakes her head.

“No, feeding him is your thing, I haven’t even offered him a treat,” Rita replies, going back to focus on her computer. “Maybe he sneaks into the cupboards when we’re asleep and eats the cat food,” she offers, and Kyne hums noncommittally, settling him down. 

“That must be it,” Kyne says, deciding to hide Alexander’s food somewhere else before going to sleep, thinking that will do.

Turns out, that doesn’t help at all.

Alexander’s belly does nothing but grow, and Kyne would be worried about her cat having kitties if he wasn’t a male cat. Rita swears she hasn’t been feeding him behind her back, nor she has seen him actively search for food around the house, neither in the past weeks nor ever. 

Kyne buys different brands of food, hoping that would stop this out of the blue growth, but Alexander keeps getting chubbier by the day, and Kyne’s wallet pays the price when yet another so called healthy brand doesn’t seem to work.

Rita advices to take him to the vet, that he perhaps is sick and needs actual care instead of having his food switched all the time. Kyne, already tired of dragging a bag of cat food for five blocks every other week and getting weird looks from people, promises she’ll take him to the vet as soon as her parents send her money for her monthly expenses. 

It’s a hot night, and Kyne can’t sleep. The fan barely helps her to cool down, and she feels sticky despite having showered already. She blindly reaches for her phone from the nightstand, squinting when the light hits her straight in the face. It’s 2 A.M., and the streets are lively outside her window, but she’s had a rough week and all she wants to do is sleep as peacefully as Alexander is, hovering a corner of the bed.

She reluctantly gets up, careful as to not startle Alexander, groaning under her breath when she feels the warm tiles under her feet. She supposses another shower won’t hurt - Rita is still out with her friends, it seems, so she makes a note to not use all of the hot water. Rita had asked her earlier that day if she wanted to join her and her friends for drinks, but she had politely declined, not only because she didn’t know any of her friends, but because after an exhausting week of midterms, all she wanted to was sleep until she recovered her will to live.

The heat, however, was making that difficult.

She comes back with a towel wrapped around her torso, feeling less sticky at least. As she dries up and rummages through her closet for some pyjamas, Kyne hears a meow come from Alexander, so she looks at him over her shoulder, finding him stretching lazily.

“You can’t sleep either, huh?” Kyne asks aloud, finding a sports bra and settling for that. “We could turn on the living room AC and sleep there - the couch is better than this broken fan, anyway,” she proceeds, pulling up her pyjama bottoms.

She turns to look at Alexander, and she’s surprised when she finds him on the verge of the window, staring at something. Kyne makes her way up to him, but he jumps before she can reach him.

Kyne yelps, dashing towards the window, calling Alexander’s name. She lets a sigh of relief when she sees the cat walk along the edge of the cornices, trotting up until he reaches another window, and begins patting his paws against the glass, meowing loudly. Kyne calls for him, does that stupid pstpstpst that allegedly all cats answer to, but Alexander stays firmly put where he is.

She’s wondering what has gotten into him when the window is opened, a woman poking her head full of curls out the window, audibly cooing at the cat. Kyne can’t distinguish her face, but she hears her words clearly; she says something in what Kyne guesses is French, softly stroking Alexander’s fur, and the cat actually leans against her touch.

It takes her about two seconds to put two and two together to realize she’s probably the one that has been feeding Alexander extra meals, and that Alexander has been cheating on her with a neighbor she didn’t know until then.

The woman goes to pick Alexander up, and that’s when Kyne snaps out of her surprise.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, that’s my cat,” she exclaims, poking her body out the window. The woman turns to see her, craning her neck up, and Kyne sucks in a breath. She’s gorgeous - no wonder Alexander is cheating on her.

“Your cat? I thought he was a stray! He always comes to visit at night, keeping me company while I study,” she explains, her hands still stroking Alexander’s fur, who meows impatiently, clearly wanting to be picked up. The woman looks back at the cat. “No wonder you’re so big, Bunny! I should’ve known, you always smelled like vanilla and strawberries,” she says with a giggle, and Kyne wonders why hasn’t she met her before. “What’s Bunny’s real name, uh—”

“I’m Kyne,” she quickly introduces herself, “And his name is Alexander.”

“That’s a nice name - better than calling a cat ‘Bunny’, anyway,” she says with a laugh. “I’m Kiara, by the way. Nice to meet you, Kyne.” Kiara smiles at her and Kyne gulps, suddenly intimidated at how pretty her neighbor is. 

“Nice to meet you too, Kiara, uh. Would you mind if I pick up Alexander from your apartment?” Kyne tentatively asks, as the cat continues to meow to be picked up. Kiara finally gives in with a chuckle, cradling him like a baby. Alexander rests his head against Kiara’s chest, and it occurs to Kyne that he’s one lucky bastard.

“Sure, no problem, I live in the 4-C,” Kiara informs her, “We’ll be waiting for you.” She gives her a sly wink, entering back into her apartment shortly after that.

Kyne wastes no time in finding some decent shorts and a shirt to put on. Who would’ve thought she would meet a pretty girl on the hottest night of the year because of her sneaky, gluttonous cat? 

[ssttitdramon]

Tax The Rich [alternative title: Out]

Ramón Morales x Reader

Request from @im-just-babey: Hey bro, could I request a Ramón x reader where the reader has a wealthy but shit family.

-Rules for requests can be found here-

Word Count: 2,046

Note: For a while the only thing I had for this fic was “tax the rich” so that’s the title now. Also, you may have been expecting something where they’re rebellious and it’s all a big huge middle finger to the stuck up wealthy family, but uh it’s been a while since I wrote some spooky fuckery -since Ham Sandwich Boys- so I took the liberty of leaning more towards that. Sorry this took forever to post, thank you for your patience.

Ramón scrunches his nose, the house was as big as the mansions his aunts would tell him about. Si nomas vieras, ya parecen castillos.

Looking around at the extensive foyer, he takes in the double staircase and stained glass ceiling piece above him, he doesn’t feel right. Stepping foot into the lavish home was a mistake. Ramón needed to be on the road again, not letting himself get distracted by whatever this was. 

He’s not gonna tell you that, of course. Something told him to follow along with your eager eyes and smile.

“Well, what do ya think?” you ask as you jump on the first step of the left staircase. Ramón smiles and takes another look at the “french polish” you had mentioned on the staircase railing, whatever that meant. 

“It’s… a lot, but it’s nice.” he responds dryly and laughs at the unimpressed look on your face.

“You would hate listening to the guy that designed this house,” you begin to walk up the stairs as you imitate ol’ John, “Ah yes, I told Doris myself that the finishing Italian light oak stain would not be proper for the west study. Why, it would clash terribly with the evening sunset.” sending you two into a fit of giggles until you hear footsteps upstairs.

Ramón steps back from the stairs, “You sure no one's home? I don't want any trouble and I should get going anyway.”

You were confused too, your parents have been out for a week and the maids were given the weekend off, “No, I thought everyone would be out by today.” you respond, peeking at the empty hall upstairs. Even your siblings had planned a small trip to the beach for a couple of days without you.

Suddenly, you see your younger sister walk out of her bedroom, “And who’s that? Does dad know you’ve got a little friend here or should I tell him?” she snickers.

You roll your eyes, “Go ahead, I’ll join you and together we’ll see what he thinks about your secret powder stash you’ve got in your room.” you snap back, glaring at her as she descends from the right staircase.

“Fine,” she scowls and takes a quick look at Ramón before leaving, “but you better take out the trash while we’re out.” 

Ramón’s face gives away his discomfort and as you begin to apologize for your sister’s rude comment you hear a loud thud above you. “Did you hear that?” you ask him. You could’ve sworn the two of you would be alone by now. Another muffled thud, still somewhat louder than the first. 

“C’mon.” you wave him over. The two of you walk through two hallways and another flight of stairs, reaching the third floor living room. Then you hear it again, something shuffling from the attic, “Great.” you sigh.

Sharing an anxious look with Ramón, you pull down the squeaky attic ladder and stare into the darkness. "I haven’t been up there in a while.” you whisper, “It’s been under construction since the beginning of the year.” The attic was being remodeled as a space for you and your siblings, a plan agreed by everyone before they all started being complete assholes.

Ramón begins to climb up the ladder, "How many rooms do you really need?" he jokes and reaches for the temporary light switch on the floor beside the opening. He takes note of the iron set of lights over the double pool tables, the dark leather couches, the soft bearskin rug and a tall bookshelf that extended across the east wall, interrupted in the middle. The attic was half finished, but there was no sign of a recent disturbance. “Nothing’s up here.” he tells you.

You warily climb up the ladder, stand over the hardwood floor and look around. “They told me renovation was to be completed next month,” you eye down the dark unfinished half of the attic, “It had stopped a few weeks ago due to a ‘change of plans'.” you form air quotes with your fingers. You walk underneath the overhead attic light and listen to its strange buzz.

Ramón walks around one of the pool tables, rolling the cue ball under his palm, "What's that over there?" he points at the far corner of the unfinished half. The corner had boxes piled one on top of the other, held in place by bricks and several wood planks leaning against the pile.

You shrug, "The small closet, it might still be there behind all the junk."

Suddenly, you hear heavy breathing behind your right ear, making you both whip around as you slowly get closer to Ramón. You see nothing. Still, you couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched.

"You uh, forgetting to tell me your house might be haunted?"

"Shit, I- no." you stammer, he raises his eyebrows. "I don't know, okay? I've been having weird dreams of the old maid since we let her go about a month and a half ago. I always see her standing at the edge of my bed.” you explain, remembering your last nightmare of Mrs. Clarice. You also recall dreams of another woman growling from inside your bedroom mirror, often joined by disembodied voices that would cry for revenge, curses and to be “let out”. You never understood the pain and anger in their words, until now as you stand on the other side of the tiny door. The tiny door anyone could just seal and forget about...

"Let her go?" Ramón interrupts your thought process, "Got any clue where she went?" 

"Well, my parents had also fired two other maids after her and they never told us why, nor did I think much about her absence until I began to have the nightmares.” you explain, panicking at the thought of what really happened to the three women. “Shit, you don’t think my parents-” you can’t bring yourself to finish your question as you begin to hyperventilate. Your head runs wild with possibilities of the women’s fate and what the closet could be hiding from the world.

You notice Ramón stand in front of you, blocking your view of the corner. He takes your shaky hands and asks you to slowly breathe in and out. “For all we know, those women are probably fine and you’ve just got a family of rabid raccoons holed up in there.” he suggests.

“What about my nightmares? She tries talking to me and I hear other voices. She seems like she’s angry and crying for something, like she’s hurt or-” 

“Trapped?”

You wipe tears away from your eyes, glance at the pile behind him and nod, “I might find her or something there.”

His silence is alarming and you turn to look at him, expecting an annoyed glare for dragging him into the situation. Instead, he turns around and takes a few steps back. You hear a floorboard creak under Ramón's foot, which somewhat prompts another thump from the boxes. Along with the buzzing of the overhead light that grows loud and erratic now.

Ramón turns to you wide eyed and as he’s about to speak, there’s another thump and a plank falls. Your heart begins to pound against your chest and you begin to hear a faint voice in your head, one of the few from your nightmares. “Out. I need out. Out. Out. Let me out.” 

You feel an invisible pull from the corner, sensing the voice in your head calling for you from underneath the pile. Suddenly, you feel Ramón grab your elbow, "Wait, I don’t think it’s a good idea to get closer."

"Someone is in there, behind all that. I can feel it." your eyes begin to sting, but you refuse to look away from the pile. 

Ramón feels it too, there is someone else in the attic. Their presence heavy on his shoulders, pressing on the back of your necks. Angry. Demanding. He knows that they, whoever they are, is not going let either of you leave now. 

"Fine, but we gotta be careful about this." he sighs and reaches for a long hammer inside an abandoned toolbox by the wall.

The two of you walk closer and hear ragged breathing from under the mess. He pokes one of the bottom boxes with the end of the hammer, but nothing moves. Your shaky hands begin to gently remove the planks and bricks. In silence. One by one. Ramón takes two boxes off from the top, surprised by their weight and opens both to find them full of sand. He attempts to push one of the larger boxes at the bottom, but it seems too heavy to move with one arm alone. 

“Someone’s definitely been hiding something in there.” he points out, “Do you still wanna dig through this?” 

You can still hear the voice ring inside your head, “Out. Out. Out.”

“No, I don’t,” you shake your head, “but we also can’t leave this, can we?”

He hums in agreement and the two of you continue moving the rest of the boxes. One by one as you remove the boxes, you notice an awful smell. Ramón notices as well and he asks again if you’d like to continue. 

You don’t, but you grab another box. 

You just want to get this over with. 

You grab another box. 

You just want the angry hissing in your head to be gone now.

Finally, you get to the bottom, the two of you work together to remove the remaining bulk. Once the last box in front of the small door budges, a pungent smell seeps out. You gag and Ramón begins to cough.

“Yup, there’s a dead body in there.” he declares and covers his nose with his jacket. He was right, any remaining hope you had of finding something else is gone now. 

You turn to look at him, “I’m sorry,” you cough, “just wanted to show you around and hang out. Not discover a fuckin’ body in my attic.” you give the box a kick.

Ramón smirks under his jacket, or maybe it’s a grimace; nevertheless, he wiggles his eyebrows, “It’s alright, just another casual hang out with a brat inside their castle. The usual.”

You laugh and shake your head, “You haven’t even seen our giant kitchen.” you quip. 

Thanks to Ramón, you feel numb, or rather prepared for the other side of the door. Sure, you barely met the guy only this morning and you’re on the brink of discovering what could be a corpse in your own home, but you feel like you can trust him. He could’ve left you to face this on your own, especially when he’s been itching to leave, yet he’s sticking around. You believe he’s simply interested enough to stay, but the concern in Ramón’s eyes tells you otherwise. He’s choosing to stay and face whatever is on the other side of the door with you.

“Alright, if anything jumps out, grab the hammer.” you bury your nose into your sweater, knowing it may not even mask the foul odor, but it wouldn’t hurt to try anyway.

On the count of three, you and Ramón push the last box away. The closet door is worn down and bits of the wooden panel in the middle stick out from the inside. You grab a nearby flashlight, turn it on and slowly open the door. The voice in your head dies down with a final “OUT.” and the buzzing of the overhead attic light stops.

Sure enough, you’re met with a swarm of flies, several maggots and three figures wrapped inside what used to be white sheets. The smell is overpowering and although you feel the urge to run from this, your eyes are drawn to the holes made at the mouths that have been cracked wide open, fear frozen in time. Above them each are two black circles, oozing dark liquid from underneath the sheets. 

You hear Ramón gag and you open your mouth to scream, yell, anything. Nothing. You attempt to reach for Ramón, barely able to move an inch. You turn your head to check on him. As soon as your eyes meet, you hear a pop echo from the closet. 

Then, as clear as day, a groan. 

“Out.”

-Feedback is always appreciated-

[galadrieljones]

Yours, Sadie Adler.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Sadie Adler | Rating: Mature (Grief/Mourning, Coping, Adult Content) | Length: ~6,000

Summary: Eight years after the fall, Sadie Adler is very good at hiding her pain. But her relationship with Arthur was more complicated than anybody knew, and without him, deep inside, she still struggles every day to reconstruct the pieces of her puzzled heart. So when John shows up, out of the blue, with a relic from their shared history, Sadie finds herself reliving the past, facing the hard realization that she does not have to suffer alone.

Read at AO3

Sometimes Sadie Adler looks back, but not often. When she is making her home in a good town. Blackwater. Valentine. She knows the bartenders who rent her rooms on a discount tab. They make good conversation. She smokes and plays solitaire or else she folds paper into delicate animal shapes like her mother used to show her. Once, many years ago, when he was still alive, she went down to Flat Iron Lake with Arthur, as she had complained of being bored and so he took her out fishing. She put her feet up on a log while he stood out by the water with his rod and reel. She folded up a little elephant and then a polar bear. When he came over to see what she was up to he was taken with the paper animals. The level of detail very much impressed him. She let him have them both and would make many more in the coming months and sometimes surprise him when they were out riding or robbing or shooting or other such unsavory enterprise. The little animals always made him smile, and he was good to her. She thought smiling is something he deserved.

John is back in town.

He comes to meet her in Valentine. They visit for a while at the saloon bar, drinking warm whiskey out of glass cups. He looks older but in a handsome way, the way some men get with age. He has filled out and seems adult in the manner that he is full of problems in the world: his marriage, his property, his money. Abigail has left him, apparently, and she took the boy, and he is in a somber way. She’s never seen him so stressed.

And yet John wears his stress in a simple manner. He seems to meet it like a challenge. He does not let it consume him. He is full of eternal youth, she thinks.

“I found Arthur’s old journal the other day,” he says after a little while. This is a surprise. John is wearing an old pair of fingerless gloves that she thinks she recognizes. He is turning a quarter between his fingers. She wonders how much of Arthur is left behind now, in John, and then she looks away. “Couldn’t bring myself to open it for...years.”

“So, did you?” says Sadie, peering down into her glass.

"Did I what?"

"Finally open it?"

“Not yet,” says John. “But I might.”

He sighs. She drinks. Somewhere in the back of the bar, a scuffle breaks out. They both glance, disinterested, only in momentary fashion.

“Don’t you think it’s...disrespectful?” he says eventually. He is pensive.

She thought they were there to talk about bounties. “What do you mean?” she says.

“I mean, reading a man’s private thoughts. Arthur never meant nobody to see what he wrote, I reckon. He kept his journal a secret his whole life. Even when we was younger.”

“He ain’t here no more,” says Sadie, shrugging. She throws back the remainder of her whiskey. She gestures to the bartender for a refill. “Anyway, he left it to you.”

John nods his head, defeated. He pockets the quarter. “Still feels...wrong."

Sadie says nothing. She taps her fingers on the table.

#

Sadie and John go along and get one of the bounties the very next week. Having John along makes it a lot easier, she thinks. For as brash as she is, there is nothing quite like a trusty van der Linde gun to help speed things up in a pinch. But John is grittier than Arthur, she thinks. With the gun, on the job. Arthur was more like a surgeon. He operated with such technical skill and proficiency. He never made mistakes, was the cleanest, quickest, most accurate and intelligent gunslinger she ever knew. But this meant that jobs with Arthur could take a long time. He liked to plan. He liked things to be just right. Meanwhile, John is somewhat explosive in his demeanor if pressed to the brink. He tries to make plans but when he does this she can see it is like him wearing his big brother's clothes. It is unnatural. Meanwhile, he'll kick your jaw clean off in a temperamental fit if you rile him up enough. She thinks he must still have some unresolved anger inside him that ain't yet simmered.

"You seem rusty," says Sadie on the ride back to Blackwater. "What you been up to these past eight years?"

John sighs. He seemed exasperated. "Odds and ends," says John. "I don't know. Worked on a ranch for a long time. I can't seem to keep my hands clean."

"Is that why Abigail left you?" says Sadie.

John gets quiet, but there is little darkness there. Everything with John is right on top, right on the surface, real bright. "Guess so," he says. "I don't know what she wants me to do. She wants me to...live straight. Live a quiet life. But I don't see how that's possible. I still got a price on my head. People want to see me hang. It's hard to live a...quiet life when there's always something."

Sadie laughs, real calm. "I hear that."

“Anyway,” says John after a little while as they ride. They're trotting side by side, straight into the dusk. "I, uh, I finally did it. I wanted to tell you."

"Did what?"

"I opened Arthur's journal."

Sadie lights a cigarette. "And?"

“And,” says John, “I’ve been reading it, a little, steady every night. It...calms me. I thought it would make me feel guilty but it’s like having him back in a way. It’s been so long, you know? It’s like--it’s like I pushed that whole day so far down, I almost couldn’t feel it no more.”

“Ain’t that what you’d prefer,” says Sadie, flicking the cigarette. When the bounty on the back of her horse starts to bicker, she puts his lights out with the blunt end of her pistol. “Not feeling it no more?”

“I thought so,” says John, scratching at his overgrown beard. “For a long time. But now I don’t know. Maybe I was wrong.”

Sadie nods. She has little to say.

"You wanna see it?" says John. "It's okay. You guys was friends."

"No," says Sadie without delay. "That's okay, John. You hang onto it and...well, it's yours now."

They get back to Beecher’s Hope together in the early night. There are coyotes and cougars screaming in the distance, but she's tired. She will not set foot inside.

“Come on,” says John, elated. “You should come in. We got food, whiskey. There’s a bed for you. Or, it’s more like a pile of blankets on a bunch of hay, but it beats the cold, hard ground.”

“Not tonight,” says Sadie. She hustles up her pretty horse and smiles. “Give Charles my best though, and old Uncle.”

John sighs, salutes her. "Well, we'll be in touch."

"Sounds good." She tips her hat, says she’ll see to it his funds get straight to the bank. As she rides away, she thinks that she sensed a boyish kind of disappointment upon her departure. Maybe he wanted to talk more, about the old days. He seems the sort. For a moment, it warms her heart, but then it’s gone. She rides.

#

Usually, Sadie would make camp or go back to her rented room in Blackwater. But tonight, she doesn't feel like stopping. She rides to Valentine, getting in in the very early morning hours. She realizes she wants to be somewhere familiar, but she has a hard time articulating this to herself. She goes to the saloon where the hall is mostly empty, but the bartender is a veritable night owl. He is still wide awake and serving the passers-through. She orders a bottle of gin, which she intended to share with him. Sometimes, she preferred conversation with strangers, as she could make things up as she went. The bartender is friendly, as usual. His name is Earl, but this all turns out to be a bad idea in the end. She is unable to stomach the company and finds herself being short with him in ways she will later regret. The bartender though, he is simple in his soul and takes it upon himself to compliment her hat.

“What’s that lining you got in there, Miss Sadie?” he says. “You know, I never noticed that before. I never seen a hat with such a delicate lining as that. Is it French?"

Sadie scoffs and pushes off the bar. “Ain’t no miss,” she says. “It’s missus, remember? And the lining of my hat ain’t none of your business.” She gives him a sly look, but it is all an act. He finds her to be humorous, another reason why she likes this place. She then says thank you and rides out of town and camps in that old spot of theirs--Horseshoe Overlook. She has almost forgotten what it was like, but she remembers the trail like it's yesterday. She’s not sure why she’s doing this to herself all of a sudden. She thinks about John and his aimless, boyish sadness and how he seems so alone without Abigail, and yet, he doesn't let it consume him. She sits down to remove her hat. She builds a fire and her tent. She sharpens her knife on a whetstone and cooks up a rabbit. The sound of the meat on the spit quiets her brain for a while. When she is full, she moves on to the bottle of gin. She puts the hat back on and leans against an old tree stump. She feels wistful.

#

“I feel like a boarded up window, Arthur,” she said one day, in St. Denis. Eight years before. Arthur had been up in Wapiti for a while, doing god knows what, but now he had returned and he was full of weariness. He didn’t have much to say about it. They were meeting because she wanted to ask him if he would ride with her to Hanging Dog Ranch. She didn't want to go alone, and there was nobody else she trusted. Nobody else she wanted. They were sitting at a table, by the window, in the saloon. Arthur had not really touched his whiskey. It was late at night.

"How do you mean?" said Arthur.

“I mean, I can’t see nothing in front of me but dark no more. It's maddening.”

Arthur sighed. He clearly had something hidden deep inside of him that she knew was there but she could not see. Tragedy here, tragedy there. Just dustings along the lining of his sad heart. “You’re just grieving,” he said eventually, real straight with her, as he always was.

"I can't still be grieving," she said, full of impatience and heat. "It's been months."

“I know how that goes," said Arthur. "And truth be told, months ain't nothing, Mrs. Adler. It can be years before...anyway, I know it don’t mean nothing right now, but give it time. You’ll see the daylight again.”

He drank, finally. He smiled. He was filled with wisdom, she thought. Always. And yet he had grown so defeated. She wondered how it was he had gotten to this place.

“Will you ride with me?” she said after a little while, sensing something was wrong. Really wrong with him. She placed her hand on his. He seemed a little surprised by her touch. He looked at their hands, touching, if it were all a foreign entity, but he did not pull away.

"I will," he said.

He hesitated after this, seeming tired, but then he placed his other hand on top of hers. His hands felt like canvas, she still remembers. Worked too hard. Stretched and scraped.

#

She decides to stick around New Hanover for a couple more weeks, chasing a curious lead on an outlaw fitting the rank description of Micah Bell. She ends up at the fence in Emerald Station, who says he pulled a stage through on a sale from a man who mentioned running with an old van der Linde gun. She wouldn't have thought twice about this, except for the fact that, according to the fence, there was a dead body in the cabin when he bought it, a woman, stabbed up pretty bad. Stabbed women didn't sound like no van der Linde gun but for Micah Bell.

The fence in Emerald Station is an old friend that Sadie has been relying on for some time. In the mood to visit that day after a bunch of riding alone, Sadie finds herself drinking with him out in the warm sun, sitting on folding chairs next to the cattle yard. They have never discussed her past before, preferring to stick to matters of enterprise, but that day, with mention of the old gang, he becomes sentimental.

"Hey," he says to her after a little while. "You ever hear from that one feller anymore, used to run with your kind? Another van der Linde. Name of Hosea Matthews."

"Hosea?" says Sadie. She smiles and shakes her head. She's slicking up a peach with her knife, eating it piece by piece. "Yeah, I knew Hosea. He's dead though. Been dead for...more than eight years."

"Oh, that's too bad," says the fence, sighing, looking down into his bottle. "He was a real good guy. And a fine thief. He brought a feller around her once, came back a lot with goods for selling, fine coaches. He wasn't much for conversation but seemed decent. He liked to camp in the hills around here. I remember once, he cleared a true-to-life escaped lion out the barn, armed with nothing but his wits and his shiny volcanic."

"A lion?" says Sadie. "What the hell are you on about, mister?"

"It's true!" says the fence, laughing. "Ask anyone. He's a legend around here. Big man. Light hair. Blue eyes. Was always carrying really beautiful guns. Engravings and such, fully customized. Real works of art. He took great care of them guns. I offered to buy a few of them on more than one occasion, but he wouldn't part. I can't remember his name though."

"Arthur Morgan," says Sadie. It is strange to hear him described like this, and he never told her about no lion. She finishes the peach. She is sucking on the pit. "The man you're describing, that's Arthur."

"Arthur," says the fence, reminiscing to himself. "Yes, that was it. Arthur. Whatever happened to Arthur?"

Sadie sighs. She hocks the pit and takes a toothpick out from behind her ear to pick at the loose pulp in her teeth. "He got sick," she says.

"Sick?" says the fence. "What kind of sick?"

"Tuberculosis," says Sadie. She drops the toothpick, stares at the place where it sticks into the dirt. "He died, too. Not long after Hosea."

"Jesus," says the fence. He seems downtrodden by this. He takes a long drink from his flask. "Tuberculosis? Did any of the old van der Lindes survive? Besides you, of course."

"There's a few of us," says Sadie. "Here and there. Though I don't much consort no more with those unseemly in the sight of the law."

The fence waves this off as a joke. "Aw, shit on the law," he says. "Wasn't the law who cleared the damn Murfree Brood out the Roanoke Valley. Wasn't the law who got them vaccinations for the poor Indians up north. Shit on the law. Things is changed, sure. But the law don't do nothing worth remembering. You all, however...nah. I remember you." He drinks more, and then more. "Yeah, I remember."

Before long he tips over, sleeping in his chair. Sadie folds him up a little paper dragon and leaves it sitting on his knee before riding off into the sunset. On that paper dragon, she has written a note:

Thank you for the company, says the note. I will return in a few months, probably. Try not to die. Yours, Sadie Adler.

#

“Buy me a damn drink, Arthur,” she said, exhausted and all fucked up. “I deserve it.”

They were in the old farmhouse of Hanging Dog Ranch, in the dark. They were alone now, their hands and clothes covered proper with O'Driscoll blood. Arthur said that he would buy her ten drinks. "How's that?" She laughed in her sad way as he patted her on the shoulder. She didn't know what the hell she was anymore.

Before they rode away, he helped her clean up her face with a handkerchief from his pocket. He tucked the loose hair behind both her ears and smoothed her hair in the back. He even fixed up her braid. He had a tender touch for an outlaw, she thought. More tender than she could have realized. He gave her his jacket, and they burned hers in the pit out back. Death hung all around them, everywhere, like jungle vines.

It was hard to tell at this point, what level of affection this all was between them. Somewhere between comrade and lover, she thought, and she didn’t know the difference anymore.

She didn’t much care.

#

A long while back, right around when the gang got down to Shady Belle, Sadie finally got the guts to ride her horse back up to the old ranch in Ambarino. She went to try and salvage a few things that had not been lost to the fire, and to take communion with her grief. She told only Arthur what he was doing, and he thought it was a good idea. He offered to ride with her, but she wanted to be alone, and of this, he was always respectful. It was cold up there, but she was used to it, even still. She preferred it to the swamps and the disgusting heat of Lemoyne. The cold made her lungs feel clean and wide open. Among the salvage of the old house was Jake’s wardrobe. It was merely singed, and inside of it, she found many items of zero consequence, but importantly, she found his hat. It is the hat that she continues wearing today, but at the time, the lining had grown thin.  She wore it every day like a testament to her old life and sadness, but after a while, it became near on unwearable.

She showed Arthur, who advised she speak to Abigail. "She's real good with a needle and thread," he said. "She's mended my hats on more than one occasion."

Sadie did as he suggested. But nothing Abigail suggested would do. She then took it to a tailer, and a milliner in St. Denis. But nothing was right. Nothing was soft enough. She retired the hat for a long time, worried all of a sudden that she would lose it or that it would fall to pieces.

When she and Jake were married, it was in June, and she was twenty-four. It was the best night of her whole life. They had drunk beer and danced in the church. But at the end right before they went to sleep she got a bee sting. It was strange. Why was there that bee in the house? How had it got there? Did it fly in through the door after them, or through an open window during the day? There weren't many bees in Ambarino, even in summer, so this was a mystery. Jake removed the stinger for her with a little pair of tweezers and kissed the tender, swollen spot on the inside of her arm. She was hardened in many ways in life, but not to this. Not to him. They made love finally as husband and wife, and they slept in the bed well past sunrise.

She hoped for many years to become pregnant with his child, but it just wouldn't take.

After Arthur was gone, Sadie hid out for a couple weeks all alone, way up north in the Grizzlies. She rode back south to Butcher Creek at some point to see what she could make of the wreckage. This had become a pattern, she realized. Arthur’s tent was rumpled, but sort of like with Jake, he had left a hope chest behind, filled with his belongings. Among his belongings was an old white french dress shirt with a delicate collar. She recognized it, and it still smelled like him still, a little. She folded it up and tucked it into her saddle bag and rode away like hell, leaving everything else behind. She rode out to Big Valley where it was she could be incredibly alone. When she got there, she set up her camp in a huge, vast and never-ending, breathing field of lavender. It was beautiful. It was not far from the ranch at Hanging Dog. She took out her needle and thread, and using tips given to her by Abigail, took Arthur’s old french dress shirt apart seam by seam and sewed it right into the lining of her hat. It worked. Finally she had found something soft enough.

#

They rode a long way that night, after the massacre at Hanging Dog. They stopping in Valentine. She had a hard time admitting to herself that he looked unwell, and that he had for some time, ever since he’d got back to Lakay, but she could not yet find the courage to ask him what was wrong. He was turning a coin in his fingers in the saloon there, wearing fingerless gloves that were unique to him. They drank until they were soft, and they leaned against each other in a booth at the back of the bar.

"Arthur," she said after a little while, her brain filled with an old pain and a new sense of relief.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"I know I ain't a lady of frills. I ain't mild."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was just wondering if..." She sat up. She did not finish her question.

"What's wrong?" he said. He cared so genuinely about everything he touched.

She kissed him.

He was taken by complete surprise, but he kissed her back.

The next morning, when she woke up they were in one of the saloon hotel rooms, upstairs. Arthur was already dressed, sitting in a chair across from the bed, writing in his journal.

"What are you writing?" she said, looking around for her hat.

He was quiet when he saw her. He closed the journal. He seemed hesitant. "Sadie," he said. "We oughta talk."

She huffed. "Don't you give me them puppy dog eyes." She got out of bed. She buttoned up her shirt. She went right over to him and grabbed his face with her hands. "That was my choice, last night, Arthur Morgan. You hear?"

"You was vulnerable," he said, shaking his head.

"Well, you was vulnerable, too," she said. "And I don't regret it. It was what I wanted. Is it what you wanted?"

He blinked. He nodded. "Yes," he said. "It was."

She half-smiled. Half-smiles were about as good as it got with Sadie Adler. "Good," she said. She noticed the shirt he was wearing--a white, french dress shirt that she had never seen before. Its delicate nature balanced finely with his otherwise rugged demeanor. “New shirt?” she said.

He looked down at his sleeves as if he had forgotten what he was wearing. “Oh. Yes. I suppose it is.”

"It looks good," she said.

He was pleased. "Thank you, Mrs. Adler."

"Please Arthur," she said, tugging him on the collar, "it's just Sadie."

#

They went on and on like that, in and out for months in the end. It was a whirlwind and a secret. Sadie cried herself to sleep some nights.

The night before the last train, she asked him to ride with her to the coast of the Lanahechee, north of Van Horne, like a punctuation of all they’d been through. It was not a short ride. He was weary and did not ask many questions, and when they got there, he set up their camp in his rote but reliable fashion that made her feel safe.

He didn’t cough a lot when he was with her, not really ever. If ever he did, he walked away. She had never asked him what it was that he suffered from so, but she had guessed by now. She thought she remembered Hosea having a similar affliction and wondered if that was where Arthur had caught it, or if it was something else. Again, she would not ask. For she had loved a man who was doomed without her knowing, and now she was loving a man who was doomed, and she knew it. She began to wonder if it was her. If she was cursed. If she was the reason.

“I just needed to get away,” said Sadie when he asked what they were doing there. She tossed her cigarette into the fire. “I didn’t wanna come alone. I hope that’s okay.”

He seemed surprised, but pleasantly so, like he always did when she just liked being with him, as if the prospect of her simply wanting to spend time with him were foreign. He took a drink of the gin and passed her the bottle. “I am flattered, Mrs. Adler,” he said. He smiled. "And relieved. To be away from there. You know I am."

They looked out at the water. They sat together for a long time. The river was so big and wide you could not see to the other side. It felt like they were looking at the sea. There were fireflies everywhere. She felt like crying. She did not. He was strong beside her, his jaw set. It didn't matter how bad things got, he never complained.

Sometimes, Sadie Adler thought she might tip over in the wide, frustrating world. Even in sickness he held her up. He was like a pillar.

“I am truly grateful,” he said to her at some point, out of nowhere it seemed.

"For what?"

He took a deep breath. It all rattled around in his lungs and she closed her eyes. "You and me," he went on, "we're more ghosts than people. But as a ghost, I am mighty glad for your company, Mrs. Adler.”

This broke her, in the end. She set her head on his shoulder because it was the only thing left to do. “Thanks, Arthur,” she said. He put his heavy arm around her to shield her from the cold. “And it’s just Sadie. For the umpteenth time.”

He laughed, deep in his warm chest.

When she glanced up at him a little later, he had his eyes closed. He looked so tranquil, she thought, his chin pressed to the top of her head, like he was asleep.

It was the last night they’d ever spend before the storm.

#

Now, tonight, camping out at Horseshoe Overlook, she gets very drunk and passes out in the chilly weeds. She dreams of guilt. She dreams of regret. She dreams of eating fresh berries under the wide, warm sun in St. Denis and of Arthur Morgan. Normally, Sadie would kick and scream her way through the pain. She might even take a swing. But just like with Jake, she is realizing that she is not so hard as she thought. She is not so hard, just alone.

When she wakes up, it is morning and she feels stupid, and she feels like hell. She puts on her hat, and she pens a letter to John, letting him know of some more bounties she has learned of in the greater region of New Austin, and the information she has gathered on Micah Bell.

I’ll be riding back your way if you’re interested, in the coming weeks, she writes. You can find me at the saloon in Blackwater if you so please. I rent a room upstairs, and I will be there most days.

Yours, Sadie Adler.

She postmarks the letter in Valentine, and she goes back to the saloon for a quick bite to eat before heading back out to Blackwater.

"Well if it ain't the missus with the gun," says Earl the bartender when she comes through the door. He is shining up a glass and smiling. "What can I pour for you today, my lady?"

#

In the meantime, John finishes reading Arthur’s journal. He stays up late many nights to do so. He grows rapt in the beauty on the pages. Everything Arthur wrote about, John recognizes to some extent, but the way that Arthur saw the world and funneled it through words and pictures--it is truly remarkable. The ending brings surprises that even John could not have foreseen. He tells Abigail all about it one night while they are lying in bed together. She seems pained but happy as she listens. Thinking about Arthur makes her sad.

“Did you know?” she says. "About the two of them?"

“No,” says John. “Arthur was so secretive. I had no idea.”

“Well you gotta show Sadie,” she says eventually. “Didn’t you say you got a letter from her the other day? Saying she'll be in Blackwater?”

“I did,” says John, scratching at the beard on his chin. “And you’re right. She should see this.”

Abigail kisses him, this man who she has chosen. Things aren’t perfect yet, but they’re trying. They are. She asks if she can see the journal then. He gives it over, and she holds it in her hands. It is heavier than it looks. When she opens it up to flip through the pages, a bunch of little paper animals fall out into her lap. They are delicate and fancy, she thinks, and they come in many colors and shapes.

"What are all these?" she says, sifting through them, delighted. "Little animals? They're wonderful. You ever seen Arthur make one of these?"

"No," says John. "But then again, there was a lot I didn't see. It seems like something he would do though."

Abigail asks if she can keep just one. "Of course," John says, putting his arm around her. "Take your pick."

She chooses the little cat with the long tail. She will keep it displayed on her piano, a keepsake.

#

Abigail is not happy about the bounties, but John goes anyway after meeting up with Sadie at the saloon. Together, they ride out to Tall Trees, handle the bounty, and then they ride right back to Rhodes. They run into some trouble, but for a couple of old van der Linde guns, it’s no big deal.

When they are finished, they go to the saloon, which reminds them both of old times, bad and good. John is nervous. He gives Sadie the journal and tells her that he has finished it, read it front to back, and that she ought to do the same.

“I don’t think so,” she says, smoking and drinking and acting real tough. “But thanks for the offer."

John is nursing his whiskey. She drinks him under the table most of the time, and he is man enough to admit it. He sighs. “You might just...want to,” he says. “Or, just flip to the last entry. Just read the last entry. Please. For me. For Arthur. Just do it.”

She takes the journal, even as she seems reluctant to do so. She nods, and she promises she will read the last entry, but another time. They drink, and John makes sure to remind her that she is always welcome at Beecher’s Hope. Then he leaves, and Sadie is alone again.

#

Sadie stays in Rhodes for another two days, drinking and avoiding. In a fit of restlessness and sobriety one night, she gets on her horse, and she rides due south to the swamps where she feels endangered and full of electricity. She finds refuge at an old haunt. Shady Belle, which has been abandoned by all but the gators. She goes upstairs and she sits on a chair on the balcony. It is late. She remembers all the good times. She drinks a little gin and removes her hat. She does not think about how that hat is a composite of the two of them. She thinks she can almost hear Cain barking. She can hear little Jack Marston making his ruckus in the puddles. She takes out Arthur’s journal and thinks about how he was about as closed and tough as it was, with so much sadness and mystery hidden inside. She runs her thumb along the sturdy leather spine. She flips through the pages, finally. She finds all her old paper animals, which make her smile, and she reads the occasional entry, sure, but mostly she finds herself lost in the drawings. She knew he had liked to sketch but he had never shown her. The familiar sights and sounds of the world as rendered by his hand in pencil make her feel like he is here, with her. Alive. Just like John said. When she feels one little piece of warmth unleash into her bitter heart, she becomes emboldened. She vibrates. She turns to the last page, like John told her to do. She takes a sip of gin, and she reads. She is surprised by what she finds there.

#

My Dearest Sadie,

If you are reading this, that means that I am gone, and that John has done me a great favor. I do not have much time, but what little I do have, I will spend writing this, to you:

We will never spend another moment of peace together, Mrs. Adler. It is true. But please know that even though our circumstances meant it never could have worked out between us, and I am certainly a damn fool for even thinking it could, I want you to know that if we had more time, I would try. I ain’t a good man, but you made me feel like one, for a little while.

I will miss you and what poor, little iteration of time we have spent together these past months. I know that you get sad. I know that you have demons that you bottle up and you hide from me and everyone. I know that you are like me in a lot ways, but I hope that you will remember that you do not have go through all of this alone. That is what you showed me, in the end.

At this point, it goes without saying, but even in these final hours, I am yours, Sadie Adler. No woman ever really got me but you. Thank you.

With Love,

Arthur Morgan

#

Sadie Adler cries alone at Shady Belle. She is a haunted woman in a haunted house. Her whole world is ghosts. She thinks of Jake, and how after he was gone, she stopped feeling things for a long time. Then Arthur was there, and he was gone, and she stopped feeling things again. For a long time. She holds the journal to her chest as if she can feel its beating heart.

But she is feeling things now, the full brunt of her entire sad, burnt out existence driving straight into her chest. She cries until her lungs hurt in the swampy heart of Shady Belle. It is daylight when she is finally finished and the whole world is a jungle, mean and pretty. She carefully removes that last entry from Arthur’s journal, tears out the page. She’s gotta let John have it back, because it is his now, but she just wants that last entry. She folds it into a simple square. She puts it away. She mounts her horse then. She doesn't know what to do or where to go, but she decides to head back west, toward Beecher’s Hope, to see the only people left who truly know her. It has been such a long time, but she is not without love in this world. Cursed or not, she never was.

So, Sadie Adler puts on her hat in the early morning sun, and like she is always wont to do, she rides again.

[fruitquake]

One Night Stand

Here’s something I wrote because school is boring and I was inspired. Let me know if you want a part 2? 

This was not how Remus had imagined his night to go.

He didn’t remember everything from last night. He’d been at a bar with Tonks, a gay bar, mind you, to help her “pick up hot chicks” as she so nicely had phrased it. At some point into the night, she had disappeared with a blonde girl, French judging by her accent, and Remus had been left alone.

He hadn’t been trying to get with anyone. No, he had just been trying to enjoy himself, talk to a couple of people, have fun until Tonks possibly came back (unless of course, she went home with the French girl, in which case she wouldn’t come back).

It was supposed to have been a normal, peaceful night, but instead, Remus woke up the next morning in a bed that wasn’t his own.

He sat up, looking around the room. He had a pounding headache. He was most definitely hungover.

The room didn’t look like any place Remus had been before. A small studio of some kind, and incredibly messy. He let his eyes dart across the unfamiliar room for a while, before suddenly noticing something. A man, lying next to him in the bed. Remus yelped, thrusting himself back in the bed, away from the stranger.

Who was this man? How had Remus not noticed him before now? That seemed like the kind of thing you would notice right away.

The stranger stirred, probably woken up by Remus’ yelp. It took him a while to notice that he wasn’t alone but when he did, he looked just as surprised as Remus.

“Oh good morning,” the stranger said, eyes widening as he took in the sight of Remus.

Remus shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with the red and gold bedsheet. He didn’t know what to do or say.

The stranger was handsome, no doubt about that. He had dark, wavy hair, currently ruffled and a bit all over the place, a charming smile, and grey eyes that shone as bright as stars on a cloudless night.

“I’m sorry,” the stranger said, chuckling softly. “I guess I got pretty drunk last night, and I don’t really remember much of last night. Can you maybe tell me your name?”

Remus smiled shyly, grateful that he wasn’t the only one with a sudden memory loss. “It’s Remus. And  don’t worry about it, I barely remember anything either.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Remus.” The stranger grinned, pushing a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. “I’m Sirius.”

Sirius, like the star. A fitting name, Remus thought, blushing lightly. “Yeah, nice to meet you.” He looked around the room once again. “Is this where you live?”

Sirius nodded. “Sorry about the mess,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it.” Remus went to stand up but quickly stopped, realizing he was completely naked. He looked around, spotting a pair of pants on the ground. Whether it was his pants, he didn’t know. He blushed, wrapping the covers around himself.

“Oh.” Sirius laughed, a bit awkwardly. “You can borrow some of my clothes if you want to.”

The man picked up a pair of underwear, putting them on before standing up and walking to his dresser, all the while Remus watched him from the bed, not quite sure what to do with himself.

“I should probably get going,” he muttered.

Sirius turned around, a pile of clothes in his arms. “You don’t wanna stay for breakfast?” he asked, sounding a bit disappointed.

Remus hadn’t considered staying. He’d expected Sirius to want him to leave, but now that he thought about his, he was quite hungry. “I guess I can stay if you don’t mind.”

Sirius shook his head, throwing him the pile of clothes. “Not at all,” he said. “I’ll go make something. Do you prefer your eggs boiled or scrambled?”

Remus shrugged, in the process of getting dressed in Sirius’ clothes. “Make them however you want.”

Sirius quickly threw on some clothes before leaving the room to make breakfast. Remus took a while to get dressed. Sirius’ clothes were soft, comfortable: a pair of sweatpants and a band tee.

A phone buzzed beside him, on the bedside table. His own phone, it seemed.

There were two missed calls from last night, both from Tonks, as well as two messages, one of them very recent.

Remus opened the two messages.

Around midnight, Tonks had texted him: ‘I’m going home with a beautiful French girl. Hope you’ll be okay on your own’

And a minute ago, at 10 AM, she had sent another text: ‘You still alive mate?’

Remus chuckled softly, typing in a reply: ‘I’m still alive. I’ll tell you everything later’

Sirius turned out to be a good cook, despite his kitchen being just about as messy as his room.

“Smells delicious,” Remus said as he entered the kitchen to see Sirius shoving scrambled eggs from the pan and onto two plates.

“Hope it tastes just as good,” he said, setting down the two plates at a small table next to the window.

Remus only now noticed the beautiful view. They were in a tall building and the huge windows gave the perfect view of the city skyline, as well as the sea in the horizon. It was probably even prettier at night, Remus thought, sitting down at the table.

They ate in silence for a little while, both of them unsure what to say.

After a while of awkward silence, Sirius spoke. “So, tell me more about yourself, Remus,” he said, sounding genuinely interested.

Remus looked down at his plate of scrambled eggs, cheeks going faintly red. “Okay, uh... I’m 25. I graduated from university almost two years ago and now I work as a teacher,” he smiled shyly, looking back up at Sirius who appeared to be listening intently to what he had to say.

“What do you teach?” the man asked.

Remus smiled, poking at the scrambled eggs with his fork. “English,” he said. “And Social Studies.” He took a mouthful of eggs, looking out of the window as he chewed. “What about you? Tell me about yourself.”

Sirius sat back in his chair, biting his lip as he seemed to consider what to say. “I’m 24. I work as a bartender, at the place we met last night,” he said. “Or at least I assume we met at the bar. I don’t actually remember, as you know.”

They talked for a while, about everything from random shit to incredibly deep topics. Remus didn’t learn much more about Sirius, but in a way, he quite liked that. The mystery of it all. After a little while, Remus’ phone buzzed and he checked it, muttering a quick apology to Sirius.

It was a message from Tonks: ‘You were supposed to meet to for coffee, you fucker’

Remus sighed. “I have to go,” he said as he stood up. “It was really nice meeting you, Sirius.”

In a way, he hoped he would get to see Sirius again, but he wasn’t sure that’s what this was. Sirius seemed more like someone who was looking for a one night stand and someone to keep him company for the day, only to never talk to them again.

Almost as if Sirius had read his mind, he said, “So, what exactly is this?”

“Huh?”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, carefully avoiding Remus’ eyes. “Do you wanna, like… stay in touch? Or is this goodbye?”

Remus shrugged. “I can give you my number?” he offered. “Then you can get to decide what you want us to be.”

They exchanged numbers. Remus quickly grabbed his things from Sirius’ room. He stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Want your clothes back?” he asked, referring to the clothes he’d borrowed from Sirius earlier.

“Nah, keep it,” Sirius said. “Maybe you can give it back to me on another occasion.”

[theladylovingcrow]

High Sex is the Best (Just Don't Fall Asleep) - Sanny

Author (As known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, luluthechoosingcrow- AO3, theladylovingcrow- Devianart and Wattpad

Fandom: Greta Van Fleet

Pairing(s): Danny Wagner/Sam Kiszka, Jake Kiszka/Josh Kiszka in background, slightly implies Danny/Sam/Josh/Jake

Warnings/Tags: Drug use, marijuana, shotgunning, making out, mild smut, gay, voyeurism, masturbation, first kiss, incest, twincest, some attempts at humor

Word Count: 3715

Summary: Sam figures out that he's attracted to his best friend after catching Danny jerking off in the shower. (BTW this story focuses on Danny and Sam, though Jake and Josh are definitely in there)

Author's Notes: Yes, I wrote incest/twincest. If it bothers you, don't read it. This is pure, ridiculous, speculative fiction. I was hesitant to write it, at first, but the twins are so cute and I think it fits well, at least with this story.

Also I kinda realized the title sounds a bit rapey? Its not, they just fall asleep before it gets to the sex because I lost inspiration. Sorry not sorry.

------------------------------------------

"Welcome to your room, Monsueir, I hope everything is to your pleasure," Sam said in an awful French accent, bowing as Danny walked past him into their hotel room.

His best friend giggled and surveyed the room they had rented for the next two and a half days. The boys of Greta Van Fleet had elected to go to a Motel 6 during their longer stay in Minnesota instead of sleeping on the bus. Overall, the room was plain and oddly sea themed, but it would do the job.

"I think it's lovely! Very nice view, here," Danny replied, opening the puke orange curtains to survey the parking lot and Kmart across the street.

"Yes, very cozy," Sam said in his regular voice, kicking their duffel bags to one side of the queen sized bed. "But no, honestly, the room sucks. I might go back and sleep in the bus."

"What? I thought you said you didn't mind? It was all about the music, and that we play better together because we're so close and in tune with each other. Change your mind?"

Sam snorted and looked back at Danny, still by the window.

"Oh, no, I still believe all that. I just have a headache and I don't wanna listen to whatever the hell Jake and Josh are doing next door. I'm kind of in a crappy mood, sorry."

Danny grinned to match the

bassist. That was the Sam he knew.

"What makes you think they're gonna be at it tonight? Josh was complaining about *his* headache from your snoring all the way here."

Sam looked affronted.

"I do not snore!"

"Nuh-uh, you totally do. Remember, we even video taped it that year we went to the cabin on the lake."

Sam just pouted and threw a pillow from the bed at Danny, who caught it and tossed it right back at his face. They both set to work unpacking a few choice items and familiarizing themselves with the motel room's meager offerings.

"Hey, mints!" Danny cried from the corner, bent over the rickety desk to inspect what was on it. "And menus. Wanna order pizza?"

"You know I do," Sam said, "but let's see if my brothers have plans to go somewhere, or if they already ordered something."

"Hmm, yeah, good idea," Danny replied, already immersed again in going through the contents of the desk.

Sam pocketed the key card, just in case Danny wasn't able to open the door again for some reason, and went to the room directly to their left.

Jake answered the door, cheeks flushed and expression annoyed at being interrupted in whatever he was doing. Peering past him, Sam could see his eldest brother Josh lying on the bed, looking pretty well on his way to being fucked (and not the drug kind).

Ah, so Josh was what he had been doing. Okay, cool, that was pretty normal. Well, most people would disagree, horrified, but Sam's brothers had always been like this, and he saw no problem with the love and understanding they clearly had. He was a little bummed that he most likely wouldn't be getting a good night's sleep, though.

"Hey, do you guys have dinner plans? Danny and I want to order pizza."

"Nah, pizza sounds good. We'll, uh, come by and get it when we're ready to eat," Josh said from the bed, his voice raspier and deeper than normal.

Sam noticed that Jake's pants were also undone and slipping off of one bony hip, having been pulled on in a hurry.

He smirked at his brothers, and said, "Okay, sounds good. Enjoy the blow job!" Before pulling the door shut himself and turning to his and Danny's room.

He knocked on the blue door, and waited for his best friend to come let him in. Danny didn't come to the door, though, and if Sam strained his ears, he could hear the faint sound of the shower running through the clanking pipes.

'Thank God I thought to grab the key card, wouldn't want to spend the next twenty minutes in the twins' room cockblocking them. They always get so cranky when they can't get it on, damn horndogs.'

He let himself in, ordering the pizza then sitting down on the bed him and Danny would share the next two nights. They were all used to passing out in a pile on the floor, or sharing tents and bunks when camping, or even hotel beds like tonight when they still preferred to save money by getting one queen. Basically, they all slept together all the time and thought nothing of it.

Other people probably thought it was weird. Weird that his brothers were fucking, weird that he lay snuggled up to Josh's back with Danny's arms around his waist while they did it. Sam pondered what an outsider's perception to his life would be. But it didn't really matter in the end, did it? Like he told Danny, he was in this for the music. And it really did make them play better, he thought, knowing each other so closely.

Speaking of Danny, he was taking a long time in the shower. He could be washing his luxurious hair, or he could be jerking off. Maybe he was listening to Jake and Josh through the thin motel walls.

Sam grinned, and stealthily tip toed over to the bathroom door. He turned the knob, and smiled even wider when it opened without a noise. Looks like hotel maintenance actually upkept this room.

Creeping over to the sea horse patterned curtain, Sam prepared to rip it open and hopefully scare Danny out of his mind.

With a sudden "Hyyahhh!", he tore open the shower curtain to find his best friend with his hand wrapped around his erection.

"Ahhh!" Danny screamed, higher pitched than Josh's wailing onstage.

"Gotcha!" Sam cried, curiously pleases that he caught Danny jerking off.

It was just that he'd caught him doing something embarrassing, right? But, no, not really. His brothers didn't really make any attempts to mask their sounds of pleasure and shifting movements in the dark, and neither did Sam when he felt the need. Once Danny had gotten used to that (and it sure was a shocker the first few times), he hadn't hesitated to take care of a boner either. Danny had even fucked a girl while sitting on a couch right next to Sam.

So, 'embarrassing' wasn't the reason he was absolutely gleeful at catching (aka seeing) this. Danny didn't seem to mind, either, as he'd gone right back to stroking himself once the surprise of Sam's sudden appearance wore off.

"Is the pizza here already? I swear it hasn't been *that* long."

"Nah, man. Still probably have twenty minutes or so."

"Okay, so, did you- uhhh- did you need something?" Danny asked, moaning softly as his hand sped up.

"I dunno, I was bored," Sam answered. What was he supposed to say now, especially with the way he was mesmerized with seeing the mess of soap suds Danny was using as lube slide down his balls?

"I'm pretty entertained now, though," he blurted out. Sam guessed his mouth had decided that flirty and playful was the way to go in this emotionally confusing but increasingly hot situation.

"Uh- okay, sure. Just don't pull the curtain back any, anymore or water will- *fuck*- go everywhere. *Shit*." Danny got out, sounding breathless and preoccupied.

Sam wasn't going to pass up this opportunity to really observe, not just listen, so he leaned against the wall and watched to his heart's content.

Danny was stroking fast, now, his feet widened so that he could thrust his hips in tiny circles and not slip on the slick floor. His balls, much darker than the rest of his body and still covered in soap, swung gently with the motion. Sam couldn't get enough of seeing his dark pink head poke out from the foreskin every time Danny's hand started on the downstroke.

Sam stood and watched as Danny threw his head back, groaning low at the back of his throat as cum fell onto his fist and the shower floor. His own skinny jeans were noticeable tighter, he realized, after awareness of what just happened came to him.

Ehh, whatever. This wasn't the weirdest thing they'd done, and he doubted that it would make things awkward.

Sam whistled. "Damn, dude, that was kind of impressive."

"Kind of? Fuck you, Kiszka, I'm hotter than a shish kebab."

Sam snorted at the odd saying, but had to agree with it none the less. Danny was *really fucking hot.* That was why he's so exited, then: He's attracted to his best friend. Oddly, the thought didn't cause him alarm or disgust, just a level of clarity.

"You are. That was great, and now we get to have pizza!"

There had been a knock at the door a few seconds before, which could only be one thing: warm, cheesy, greasy pizza. Okay, it could have also been one of his brothers, but he didn't think they'd come up for air for another hour.

Danny smirked at his boner, but said nothing. Sam went to grab the food, being the clothed one, while Danny dried off and slipped on a pair of boxers. Danny didn't seem bothered by what had happened, either, in fact he appeared to be in a great mood. And that was just fine with Sam.

They both settled against the pillows on the bed, Sam now in his boxers and a soft tee shirt. An old western that neither of them had ever heard of was playing on the TV, and a pizza box lay by their feet.

"Hey, Danny, what's the best thing about Switzerland?" Sam suddenly asked.

"Um, I don't know. I don't know much about Switzerland. The chocolate?"

"I don't know either. But, the flag is a big plus!" Sam said, obviously trying to hold back his giggles. An ugly snort broke loose, though.

Danny bit his lip in an effort not to laugh, but Sam's ridiculous face and noises were hard to ignore. And it *had* been kind of a funny joke, if a really corny one.

They laughed together at the stupid joke Sam totally got off the internet, and polished off their box of pizza.

Danny groaned and rubbed his full belly; Sam yawned and stretched.

"Man, that was great. I swear the Dominoes at home doesn't make it like that," Sam said, yawning again.

"Yeah, I don't know what it was, but that pizza tasted ten times better than it normally does. Maybe because we haven't had any in awhile?"

"You call three days a while? But, yeah, it does tend to taste better when you've been craving it. What do you want to do now?" Sam asked.

"I dunno, dude, it's kinda early to go to bed but there's not much else to do. This motel has shitty channels."

"All motels have shitty channels, Dan. Wanna catch a drink, maybe? Go out?"

"Hmm, not really in the mood to get dressed again. I just wanna chill, you know? But some beer would be good, or a joint. You got shit?"

Sam grinned at him. "Of course I do. Here, let me put some music on. Maybe Jake and Josh will join us, they should be about done and hungry now."

The twins were indeed done (for the moment) and ready to eat their dinner. Danny got up to let them in as Sam put on his favorite Miles Davis album on his phone and lit up.

"Alright, it's a party! Pass that over, Sammy," Jake demanded, plopping down on the bed next to him.

Sam took a hit, shot gunned the smoke into Danny's mouth, then passed the joint over to his brother.

There: that was practically a kiss just then! And neither of them thought anything of it! Maybe watching Danny jerk off was just the next natural step in their relationship. After all, they were already extremely close, and, some might consider, intimate.

They all bobbed their heads to the music and slowly got high together; Sam was sharing more stupid jokes while the twins snuggled and breathed smoke into each other's mouths in between lazy kisses. Danny was lying in the middle of the bed, his head in Sam's lap so his best friend could play with his hair. They talked and laughed for hours, about everything from their show the next day to that chick from their high school who was STILL trying to bang Josh, no matter how many times he said no.

Eventually, Sam's brothers said goodnight and left, whispering much louder than they thought about how high sex was the best and that they were totally going to fuck until they passed out.

Sam waved them out with one hand, the other still tangled in Danny's thick hair. He felt so relaxed and content in that moment that a landslide coming towards the hotel couldn't of made him move.

"They're right, high sex is the best. Every thing feels so much- so much *more*."

Sam looked down at Danny and nodded in agreement.

"Hey, we're high. Wanna have sex?" Sam asked. Would Danny say yes? There was actually a possibility that he would, but, if not, that would be fine, too. Just hanging out with his best friend was enough.

"Sure, why the fuck not?" Danny replied.

Alright! What's it gonna be like, Sam wondered. Hot? Probably. Awkward? Not likely, at this point. How far were they gonna go? Danny was a fine looking guy, and Sam trusted him, but he was not ready to take it up the ass if they lasted that long.

Sam sucked in another lungful of smoke and scooted down the bed so that he was lying next to Danny, arms around him and a hand still curled into his hair. He leaned forward to shotgun the smoke, but, this time, he didn't pull away immediately.

One of Danny's hands found its way underneath his shirt, smoothing over his flat stomach. Sam gripped the side of his best friend's face and breathed out, passing the high between them as their lips mushed together. It was nice.

Really nice, actually. Sam was feeling very calm about the whole experience, practically watching it from outside his body on another plane. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was the comfort of being right next to his best friend, but Sam felt at ease.

Also pretty horny, because hot DAMN was Danny doing something with his tongue. He kept licking at the seam of their lips like he was trying to taste the smoke escaping from the sides of their mouths.

Sam sucked on Danny's lower lip, making it dark and swollen. He then pulled back to catch a breath and look at his bandmate.

What a sight Danny was, with his long hair flowing around his shoulders, kissed lips, and heavy lidded eyes. Not to mention the blissed out expression on his face.

"Mmm, that is nice, and all we've even done is kissed."

"No, I watched you earlier, remember? I'm pretty sure that counts towards the... the sex."

"Oh, yeah," Danny remembered with a dopey smile on his face. "I liked having you watch me, it was hot. I haven't cum like that in a while."

"Wanna do that again? I liked watching you. You can watch me too, if you want."

Danny nodded and leaned back in for another cannabis flavored kiss. They finished off the joint in between slow, heavy french kisses and dropped the roach in a marinara sauce container, now more occupied with making out.

Sam was in heaven, there was no other way to describe it. Danny's large, warm hands roamed all over his torso: pressing flat into his stomach, gripping his hips, smoothing down his shoulder blades and pinching his nipples. The feeling of his best friend's hair was smoother than silk in between his fingers, and it was so thick that he was able to grab handfuls of it just so he could hang on for the ride.

Sam should have known that, out of anyone, Danny would be the person who had him whipped. They kissed and they moaned and they dry humped, just a little bit, until they were so sleepy and contented that they passed out on top of each other. What a disappointment.

//////////////

Sam woke up with a mothful of Danny's hair and a warm belly pressing on his erection. He smiled as hazy memories of the night before ghosted through his head: the pizza, the weed, the kissing, his newfound love interest.

He realized that he should probably spit out the hair in his mouth so that he wouldn't suffocate before him and Danny actually got a chance to have sex. Because he was pretty sure that hadn't happened last night. Pretty sure. It was kind of fuzzy.

"Hey, Danny, did we fuck last night?"

Danny groaned in response and pulled him closer, causing the drummer's own boner to rub against Sam's. How long had he been awake?

"No, no, I don't think we did. We could now, though."

Sam grinned. What an excellent idea! He rolled them over so that this time, Danny was lying on top of him.

They kissed, sloppy and sweet, musty breathes mingling in the air between them. Sam ran his hands up and down Danny's strong back, then traced the edge of his pants. He reached in between them to pull out Danny's co-

Jake busted through the door. "Hey! Which one of you took my sunglasses? I know you have them."

He paused for a minute to stare at their compromising position.

"God dammit! Josh is gonna be so fucking smug, you couldn't have waited another year to shack up?"

Sam and Danny just smiled at Each other and went back to kissing. They'd get to sex eventually. And Sam was looking forward to it.

[bittysvalentines]

Switcheroo

From: @justlookfrightened

To: @happyzimm

I tried to give you some mild angst, through the eyes of both Jack and Bitty, with a happy ending.

No real content warnings, although sexual activity is discussed.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Happyzimm! I had a lot of fun looking through your blog before I wrote it. I hope you like it!

JLF

Switcheroo

Jack woke up and stretched. He felt … lighter than usual. Not as sore, anyway. Well, last night had been good. Really good.

He reached over to run a hand down Bitty’s side, to see if he would be amenable to waking early. Maybe reprise last night.

But when he reached over to where Bitty should be, his hand bumped the back of a shoulder rather than dropping onto Bitty’s arm. It was like Bitty had grown several inches broader across the shoulders overnight.

Jack opened his eyes and nearly jumped out of bed. Whoever that was, it wasn’t Bitty. The man was turned away so Jack couldn’t see his face, but he was big and had messy dark hair.

Then Jack saw his own hand. Or the hand attached to his arm, which was definitely not his. It was small, with slim, tapering fingers. The hair on the back of it was barely visible in the clear morning light. Blond. It was blond.

Instead of caressing his boyfriend, Jack used his small hand to prod the man’s shoulder.

“Wake up,” he whispered.

The man grumbled – a deep voice, not Bitty’s tenor – and turned over, opening ice-blue eyes.

Then he scrambled to a sitting position, arms and legs flailing.

Whoever it was was in Jack’s body, complete with pale skin, the bruise over his ribs from the Bruins game, and stretch marks that were visible as the man pulled his thighs to his chest, eyes raking over Jack.

“Jack?” the man asked in Jack’s own voice. “You look like me.”

“Bitty?” Jack said, relief flooding him at the sound of Bitty’s drawl, even if the pitch and timbre of the voice was all wrong.

“What happened?” Bitty asked, looking down at himself. “You’re … me? And I’m you?”

“I still feel like me,” Jack said. “But, yeah, it looks you have my body, and I have yours.”

***********************

Jack had to move the seat in his truck up almost as far as it would go to drive Bitty to Samwell. Actually, to drive himself to Samwell. Where he would go to Bitty’s class on the creation of consumer society and take Bitty’s French quiz.

“I can’t go,” Bitty said. “Madame Battier knows me. Or what I look like. And you can’t go to practice looking like that.”

“I don’t know, bud,” Jack said. “I think I look pretty good.”

Jack had spent extra time in the shower, getting familiar with Bitty’s body. So many things were different: The angle of the shower head was all wrong, and the front of his hair drooped into his eyes when it got wet. His toothbrush felt too big for his mouth, and when he went to shave, he realized it really wasn’t necessary.

He wore a pair of Bitty’s skinny jeans, which were more comfortable than he expected, with a black T-shirt and a flannel shirt that didn’t fit him (Jack) any more. Bitty had to help him get his hair right.

Bitty found a pair of blue sneakers in the back of Jack’s closet, refusing to wear Jack’s favorite yellow shoes. He’d pulled on a pair of Jack’s tailored jeans and a sweater, with Jack’s usual athletic gear in a gym bag in the back of the truck.

Bitty had accompanied Jack to morning skate often enough to know the Falconers’ routines. He was a good skater, a good hockey player, and he knew Jack’s style of play better than anyone.

When Jack pulled up in front of the Haus, he pulled Bitty’s messenger bag from the back seat, then tried to kiss Bitty goodbye. Except he forgot he had to look up.

“Up here,” Bitty said. “Ugh. I still sound like me, don’t I? It’s your voice and my accent. I’ll just try not to talk much to the Falcs. They’ll believe I’m you if I just grunt at them, won’t they?”

“Haha,” Jack said. “I’m planning to stay out of the Haus as much as I can. You have practice tonight, right? Maybe we can meet up and try to switch back before then.”

“And how are we gonna do that?”

“You know how last night was so good?” Jack said. “I thought maybe that’s what did it. I mean, I felt like we really connected. Maybe if we do it again, we’ll switch back.”

“You think we should …”

“Well, yeah,” Jack said.

“And not just because you want to try that in opposite bodies?”

“Not just because of that,” Jack said, then watched ablush rise in his own face, and saw himself giggle before Bitty leaned down to kiss him and climbed in the truck and drove away.

***********************

Of course Tater was the first person Bitty saw when he arrived for morning skate. Of course he wolf-whistled at what was really a very unexceptional outfit. The only reason it looked good was the body inside it, and Bitty couldn’t take any credit for that.

But Tater didn’t know that.

“Looking good, Zimmboni,” he said. “B picked out your clothes today?”

Bitty snickered – drawing a strange look from Tater – and said, “Something like that.”

“Is B coming to the game tonight?” Tater asked. “He’ll bring pie? Or jam? Or cookies?”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Bitty said. “I think he has practice.”

“He was here, I think,” Tater said. “You sound like him, a little bit.”

Dang. Bitty shrugged. “He went back to Samwell this morning.”

Then he ducked into the locker room to change.

Warm-ups in the gym weren’t bad – between watching the other guys and knowing Jack’s routines, Bitty did alright at imitating Jack. Until he tried to lean over to stretch and couldn’t reach his ankles. How did Jack even move around like that?

Skating like Jack was more difficult. Jack was a good skater, clean and efficient in his use of edges, but he was all power. Any grace was a side effect of his commitment to getting from Point A to Point B in the straightest line possible.

Which was not at all how Bitty skated. He was powerful too, but he put his momentum to use, swinging around defenders, going right when they thought he’d go left, spinning away from defensemen instead of skating through them.

He thanked whatever deity was looking down on him that he was mostly over his checking problem, and soon realized that both giving and taking hits felt far different in Jack’s bigger body.

He thought he was succeeding at skating like Jack until he was faced with Guy looming in front of him. He deked around him, spun off of Thirdy and carried the puck in on Snowy, leaving much of the team slack-jawed in his wake.

“It’s just practice,” Thirdy said. “No need to show everyone else up, right?”

Bitty looked back, suddenly uncertain, and Thirdy grinned to show there were no hard feelings, but it looked a little shaky. Because, yeah, morning skate before a game was not the time to make the Falconers’ defensemen question their skills. And it wasn’t Thirdy’s fault; he had been expecting Jack to skate like Jack.

“What’d you have for breakfast?” Marty said. “You’re spinning around like your boyfriend.”

“B was here,” Tater chimed in.

“Then maybe don’t tell me what you ate,” Marty said. “But keep it up, kiddo.”

He kept to himself and thanked his lucky stars that Jack wasn’t the motivational speech kind of captain while he stripped out of his gear and headed for the shower. Then he dressed for the fourth time that day. No wonder Jack favored athletic clothes with as few fasteners as possible.

Bitty joined the lunch line, loading his plate with chicken (bland), sweet potatoes (baked) and steamed asparagus and broccoli. He was starving like he used to be when he was thirteen and had just started working with Katya five days a week. Jack must feel like this every day.

He took his lunch to the end of one of the tables, hoping the team would get the message and leave him alone.

“You okay?” Marty asked, speaking softly as he approached. “If I was over the line before, implying – well, if I went too far, I’m sorry.

“I’m fine,” Bitty said.

“Are you sure? Because you’re usually in a better mood when Bitty’s been in town,” Marty said. “You don’t really seem like yourself.”

You don’t know the half of it, Bitty thought.

“Yeah, I don’t feel quite right,” was all he said.

“Do you think you can play tonight?” Marty asked.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “I’ll go home and nap and – and I’ll be fine by the game. Y’all don’t have to worry.”

Bitty re-ran the sentence in his head when he saw Marty’s delighted look. Dang.

“Y’all?” Marty said. “That kid really is rubbing off on you.”

“Haha,” Bitty deadpanned.

There was a brief film session after lunch, which Bitty tried to pay attention to, even though he was sure Jack had watched these clips last night. Then, mercifully, he could head for Samwell.

***********************

Pick me up at Annie’s? Jack texted.

He’d tried to avoid Bitty’s team, but it seemed like wherever he went on campus, he was accosted by someone Bitty knew. Nursey waved from across the quad, and Dex walked the last stretch to the history building with him, complaining about his own history class all the way. At least Dex didn’t seem offended that Bitty wasn’t talking much.

Then a woman – Jack thought it was Shruti, the women’s rugby captain – caught up to him near the D-hall, followed him to a table, and started talking about a joint fundraiser for a local charity.

Jack knew the event was happening – Bitty had been talking about for the past month – but it hadn’t seemed like something Jack needed to retain details about, especially since the details Bitty went on about were mostly what he could make for a bake sale.

After ten minutes, Shruti seemed less than impressed with his (Bitty’s) commitment to the project. That really wasn’t fair, because Bitty had probably done everything he promised. Probably at the expense of his schoolwork, even.

“Look,” Jack broke in. “I have to go study for my French quiz, but would it help if I got Jack to come and sign autographs and take selfies and such?”

Shruti pulled up short.

“That’d be great,” she finally said. “But you said at the beginning of the year that one thing you would not do was bring your boyfriend into things like this. ‘He deserves to live a normal life,’ I believe you said.”

Jack shrugged.

“The cause means a lot to him,” he ventured.

“Providing feminine hygiene supplies to a domestic violence shelter means a lot to him?”

Her disbelief was plain.

“Well, yeah,” Jack said. “Did you ever meet Shitty Knight? He played with Jack all four years.”

“Shitty who now?”

Anyway, Jack didn’t trust himself to go to the Haus.

He was standing outside Annie’s with his herbal tea, looking for his truck, when Chowder ran up to him, calling and waving.

“Bitty! Bitty, did you get the message?” he was saying.

“Uh, no?” Jack said.

“No practice. There’s a problem with the boards at Faber,” Chowder said. “You know – new Zamboni driver and all.”

“Okay,” Jack said.

“So I was wondering if maybe you’d make –”

Jack didn’t let Chowder finish.

“I think I’ll take the free night to see Jack’s game,” he said.

“Oh, okay,” Chowder said, still cheerful. “Oh, is that why you have the tea? Did you already know? Tell Jack good luck!”

“I will,” Jack promised as his truck appeared. Crap. He should have gotten a latte for Bitty.

“See you tomorrow!” Chowder said as Jack climbed in the passenger seat.

***********************

The attempt to switch back didn’t work.

With practice being canceled, It seemed like the universe was paving the way for them.

But when they got back to Jack’s condo, and tried to find the connection they’d felt in bed the night before, it just wasn’t there.

First, they had to decide just how to do things. Did it matter who had done what, or just what body had done what? When it came to some things, they just decided to play it safe and try it both ways. They couldn’t do everything like that, both because there was such a thing as a refractory period and because Jack had a game in a few hours.

Maybe they still could have found the connection, if they tried hard enough, but Jack found it distracting to feel things the way Bitty did, to find spots on Bitty’s body that he hadn’t yet discovered were extra sensitive. Bitty seemed thrown by having a bigger body than he was used to.

“Oh, my gosh, look at us,” Bitty said. He had Jack’s body curled around Bitty’s body, and Jack found the sense of being surrounded oddly comfortable. “I can cup your rear end in my hands.”

“It’s your rear end,” Jack protested. “And we knew it fit in my hands. I do that all the time.”

“I know, and now I can see why,” Bitty said. “It’s kind of fun.”

“It’s a nice feeling from here, too,” Jack said. “But I guess I never asked – is it okay that l like to do that? Do you like it?”

“Sweetpea, of course I do,” Bitty said. “You know how nice it feels now, and if I didn’t like it, I would have said. Don’t worry yourself. You’ve got a game tonight.”

“Looks like you might have a game, bud,” Jack said. “If we don’t switch back. What do you say we both get some sleep?”

“That’s probably smart,” Bitty said. “After all, we were asleep when it happened.”

***********************

Bitty knew he was still in Jack’s body when he woke up. His own body never ached so much. He slipped out of bed to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, using the whole-grain bread he baked especially for Jack, the organic peanut butter and Aunt Judy’s strawberry jam.

He was staring at the sandwich when Jack stumbled out of the bedroom.

“You’d better get ready to go, bud,” he said. “You need to wear a suit.”

“I can’t do this, Jack,” Bitty said. “Going to morning skate and team lunch is one thing. This is a game. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Jack said. “You belong out there more than I do right now. I don’t know exactly what happened, but Marty texted to see if I was feeling better, and he said, ‘As long as you skate like this morning, you’ll be fine.’”

“But I don’t play like you.”

“Just try,” Jack said. “Play like me as much as you can, but if you can do a spinorama and make a shot, feel free. You’re a good player, Bits. I’ll be there watching; I texted George to get a ticket for you.”

An hour later, Eric walked into the arena, dressed in Jack’s charcoal gray suit with his favorite blue tie. He changed again – for the the sixth time? – and took the ice for warm-ups. He didn’t look for Jack in the crowd. He just skated his circles and took his shots, and made sure to make encouraging noises at the rookies.

Then the game was starting and Bitty skated into position across from Foligno for the faceoff.

He lost it and had to chase the puck. The Jackets passed it around until Poots managed a steal and Bitty chipped it down ice and came off.

He won his first faceoff on his third shift, mostly by not thinking about it and letting Jack’s hands do what Jack’s hands did.

By the middle of the second period, the game was tied 1-1. Bitty didn’t feel like he (Jack) was having his best game, but he was holding his own. Then Thirdy leaned over and said, “Skate like this morning, man. You gotta get around them.”

So Bitty did. He won a faceoff from Foligno, passed to Poots at the blue line and headed into the zone past Savard. Then he took the pass back, spun away from Johnson, and buried the puck over Bobrovsky’s right shoulder.

His hands were still in the air when he realized he wasn’t on the ice. He was on his feet, in the stands, wearing his own jeans and Jack’s jersey over a T-shirt, cheering for himself. His eyes were on Jack, now on the ice, looking right where Bitty was sitting.

He pointed at Bitty, skated past the bench for fist-bumps, and lined up for the faceoff.

Bitty pointed back and sat down to enjoy the rest of the game.

***********************

Jack pointed at Bitty in the stands, embraced Poots, and headed for the faceoff dot.

He didn’t know how he got here from the stands, but he wasn’t about to question it.

Later, driving back to the condo, Jack said, “Congratulations on your first NHL goal.”

“Not really,” Bitty said.

“Yes, really,” Jack said. “You might have been in my body, but it was all you. Maybe that was the point of the switch – for you to know you could do that.”

“Maybe,” Bitty said. “But the NHL was never my dream. Maybe the point was for you to know I could do it.”

“I always knew that, bud,” Jack said.

“Do the words ‘checking practice’ and ‘lucky shot’ ring any bells?”

“Okay, not always, but for a long time,” Jack said.

“Maybe it’s just – the ice is how we met, and how we got to know each other, and how we came out,” Bitty said. “Maybe it’s just a little ice magic for us, because on the ice is when we’re most ourselves.”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “I’m glad we’re back to normal, though. I’ve missed looking at you.”