#i need perhaps two or three because hoo boy it has been a MINUTE since i have written

[denimshortsdean]

destiel content beta reader wanted, apply within ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

[adventuresinwonderlust]

Title: “Two months too long”

Pairing: dom! Yoongi x sub! brat! Reader Ft. Namjoon Ft. Jin Ft. Jimin

Warnings: SMUT like a lot, fluff (just a bit), angst (eh), cheating/talk of cheating, abusive parents, oral (f) receiving, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), rough sex, orgasm denial (f) receiving

*Read in both perspectives, this a long one: over 10,000 words.*

Rating: 18 and over

Y/N:

“Faster, Faster!” You moan, yanking his hair, and grinding your aching cunt against his face. You’ve been at this for 20 minutes and you were no closer to your release than when you started. “Use your fingers!” You cry out. Jimin pops up from beneath your skirt, out of breath, lips swollen. “Jagi, this doesn’t seem to be working. Please, I need to be inside you.” He whispers in your ear, rubbing his erection along your thigh. “I don’t know why I am even doing this. We were supposed to just talk. I have to go.” You push him away. “Perhaps lover boy isn’t doing his job properly.” Jimin quips licking your juices from his lips. “This was a mistake Jimin, I can’t, we can’t do this ever again.” “We shall see Jagi. As always, it’s good to see you.” You rush out of Jimin’s office and race for the street, angry with yourself for thinking you could have a simple conversation with your ex. You hop into your car and pull out your phone sending a text that you know will just fall into the unknown like the rest. ‘I need you, please just answer me. I miss you. I’m so sorry.’ You wait and wait staring at the screen, as tears begin to fall from your eyes, for a response that doesn’t comes.

MIN:

Yoongi quietly contemplates whether he will respond this time. He does this every time you message, each message more desperate than the last. He’s ignored you ever since he walked out on your father’s birthday party, wanting you to suffer and hurt the way he did. A tap on the passenger side window snaps him out of his contemplation as he simply placed his phone in the cup holder. “If it isn’t my baby brother. Have you missed me?” Yoongi’s brother smiles wide, throwing his luggage in the back seat and taking his place in the passenger’s seat. “How was your flight?” Yoongi grumbles. “Nah, come on, is that anyway to greet me?” Yoongi sighs deeply but leans over and embraces his brother. Yoongi had never hated Jin, he was in the same boat as Yoongi, merely a passenger to their parents’ craziness. In fact, Jin and Yoongi had bonded over the years and become a source of comfort to one another. Jin was only older by a year but had taken over his father company after his death, becoming quite successful at his young age, something Yoongi admired and Yoongi’s father lusted after. A fact that neither boy allowed to sully their relationship, Jin even protected Yoongi at times from his father’s wrath. “Have you eaten?” Yoongi asks. “No but I can wait. My mother has instructed me to come straight to the house to see her upon landing.” Yoongi nods and begins driving. “How’s the love life?” Jin inquires, Yoongi chuckles. “I don’t do love lives.” “Good answer bro. I intend to meet many love lives out here. Mother has been pressuring me to choose a wife and I am uninterested.” “Well then, we should throw a welcome home party for my favorite brother.” Jin laughs out loud. “Speaking of, how is Namjoon?” Yoongi joins in on Jin’s joke laughing along with him.

Y/N:

“So, let me get this straight, you want me to convince him to talk to you?” “Yes! Exactly.” Namjoon nods sarcastically. “No.” “What? Why not?” “Well for starters you really messed up this time and second, I don’t care to be involved in your craziness!” You whine obnoxiously. “Joon, please. I need this, this one favor.” “Ah, then one favor becomes two and two three and you see the pattern here yeah?” You drop your head into your hands and begin to cry causing Namjoon to chuckle nervously. “Well, don’t cry. He just needs his space. You need to realize that not everything is your way. The people around you have feelings also and deserve to be treated accordingly.” You wipe your tears and look up at Namjoon. “I fucked up Joon and I don’t know how to stop fucking shit up but I know that I love him and I shouldn’t because he flat out told me he doesn’t love me but I still want him.” Namjoon sighs. “I think the best thing to do is give him space. When I see him, I’ll pick his brain a little but that’s all I’m going to do!” Namjoon warns as your face lights up. “When do you see him?” “Uh, Uh, bro code, remember?” “Yeah, yeah. What about us code?” Namjoon laughs. “That’s the thing Y/n, no one else puts me in a situation to have to play that card but you.” You roll your eyes at his response. “He will come around, hopefully, in the meantime you’ll just have to wait.” “I have to tell you something. I saw Jimin today. I know what you’re going to say. I shouldn’t have but I just wanted to get closure I guess, and it turned into something else completely and the entire time I was with him I just couldn’t stop thinking about Min.” Namjoon just stared at you in a disapproving manner, it made you feel anxious. You always thought highly of Namjoon, he was smart in ways you weren’t, and he always gave the best advice and right now you needed that. “Well, say something Joon.” “I just have one question Y/n, How do you ever intend to move forward if you’re always looking back?”

MIN:

“Okay, okay. How about this one? What do you call a cow with no legs?” Yoongi sighs and rolls his eyes but obliges his brother’s antics. “What?” “Ground beef!” Jin immediately starts cackling while Yoongi just shakes his head disapprovingly. They have been home for a time but no one else was home. “We should’ve just gone out to eat. I fear you’re losing your mind.” Yoongi tells Jin. “Yeah, I agree. Let me call mother and see what’s going on.” Jin walks off. Yoongi pulls out his phone and aimlessly scrolls through his Instagram, stopping when he sees a side profile mirror selfie of you in bed, hair tousled, wearing nothing but a thong and white crop top. He sucks in a breath at the sight, feeling his cock twitch to life. She’s teasing me and its working, Yoongi thinks to himself. He swallows hard, examining the photo with a fine-tooth comb, his heart beating at a rapid pace. His mind playing tricks on him, what if she was just with someone. You have your phone positioned to cover your face so he couldn’t really tell if you looked fucked out. “Wow, she’s hot! Do you know her?” Jin leans in over Yoongi’s shoulder. He fumbles with his phone quickly tucking it away. “What did your mom say?” “Oh! You really like this one huh? You got all nervous and I think you’re even blushing.” Jin teases. “Fuck off.” “Well in any case, mother is almost back from shopping. She’s going to bring food back with her. While we wait, why don’t you tell me about this girl.” Yoongi shakes his head, visibly annoyed. “She’s no one. Someone I was seeing for a bit but she’s just like the rest. Taking what she needs and discarding what she doesn’t.” Jin purses his lips, nodding in understanding. He taps Yoongi on the shoulder, “Day by day brother. Just take it all day by day. Anyone who doesn’t see how great you are doesn’t deserve your time. How about another joke to clear your head?” “Ahh, please spare me. I’d rather jump head-first into the river.” Yoongi jokes. “That can be arranged boy.” Jin and Yoongi both jump up at the sound of Lee An’s voice. They both bow deeply as she shoves past Yoongi and embraces Jin. “My son, my handsome son. Ive missed you so. Come, let’s eat, tell mother everything about your trip.” She takes Jin by the hand and pulls him towards the dining area. “Come brother.” He waves at Yoongi to join. “Actually, I would prefer some time with alone with Jin. I’m sure Yoongi has other things to do today, don’t you boy.” “Mother, Yoongi picked me up from the airport. He hasn’t eaten either and I’ve missed him as well.” She sucks her teeth at Jin. “It’s ok. Your mother is right. I have a lot to do today. We can catch up later.” Yoongi gives Jin a tight smile and turns to grab his things. “Mother that was rude of you.” Jin whispers. “I don’t care. I hate that boy and I don’t want you picking up nasty habits from him.” “I have ears you know.” Yoongi mumbles. “I wasn’t trying to be discreet.” Lee An hisses as she walks off. “Really, stay brother, don’t worry about her.” Yoongi chuckles and taps Jin on the shoulder. “It’s all good, I’ll see you later at Namjoon’s place, besides this will give you a chance to get out all those terrible dad jokes. Women don’t find those things sexy.” Jin laughs loudly. “I find just the opposite. It drives them wild.” Jin gives Yoongi a wink as he takes his leave.

Y/N:

You watch as the likes and comments pour in for your naughty little photo but of course the attention you want you don’t get. Namjoon’s voice rings through your head over and over. He was always right, even more so this time. How did you ever intend to move forward if you were always looking back? You were fooling yourself into thinking you needed closure from Jimin. You had since moved on from what he had done to you without a second thought but still you ran to him when Min left you high and dry because you figured you’d show him who was boss, again only fooling yourself. Now it seemed you may have ruined any chance at a normal relationship. “You told him you loved him? Girl, are you sick in the head?” You sat on your BFFs bed, sulking, filling her in on everything. “It doesn’t matter now, I fucked everything up. He doesn’t feel the same way and hooking up with Jimin again just put the final nail in my coffin.” “Yeah but he doesn’t know about that and you didn’t even cum so technically it doesn’t count.” You groan and throw yourself back on her bed. “Why can’t I just be happy?” Your BFF sighs deeply at your question. “Well for one, I think you might be an actual bitch.” “Wow, thanks! You’re really great at this!” She begins laughing at your response. “Okay, okay. You seem to be hooked on this guy and while I don’t approve, I am always down to help my girl out. With that being said, I happen to know that he is currently with Namjoon.” You hop up at this news. “How do you know this?” She gives you a sly smile. “I’ve been texting Joon and he told me they would be out and about today, planning some party. Maybe we should accidentally show up to where they’re going to be looking fucking bomb. Get that Min boys blood boiling.” “That’s fucking genius! I think I’m in love with you!” You say before jumping on her. “Let me text Joon and see what’s the tea.” “Let me borrow that red mini skirt.” You ask, running to her closet. She nods excitedly while texting rapidly. “Let’s see you ignore me now.” You whisper, looking yourself over in the mirror.

MIN:

“Who are you texting so much?” Yoongi ask Joon while shoving a dumpling in his mouth. “Ahh, Y/N’s friend, do you remember her from the party? I don’t know, maybe I’m reaching but I think we have chemistry.” Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think she liked me very much. She wasn’t very nice if I recall.” “Maybe you should try smiling more.” Yoongi pretends to choke on his food at Namjoon’s comment. “Now where’s the fun in that?” “Namjoon, hello, how are you? It’s so good to see you again.” Namjoon begins to stutter as Yoongi licks his lips looking over the guy who’s approached the table. He furrows his brow, trying to recall where he’s seen him before. “Jimin, what are you doing here?” “Finishing a business lunch. This place has phenomenal food. Who’s your friend?” He looks over at Yoongi, who’s heart drops to his stomach. “I know you. You’re the ex.” Yoongi states through clenched teeth. “Excuse me.“ Jimin questions, leaning in. “Y/N’s ex, the one who kissed her at her father’s party.” Jimin’s eyes widen suddenly. “Ahh, you must be lover boy. I would shake your hand, but it seems tasteless since I was just with Y/N today.” Yoongi jumps up from the table at the remark. “What the fuck did you just say?” Jimin takes a step back as Namjoon steps between them. “Gentlemen please, not in public. We all have reputations to maintain.” Yoongi’s body trembles with rage as he breathes heavily. “Calm down friend, as I recall she kissed me back at that party and came to my office to see me today. A fact I’m sure wouldn’t have been necessary had you been taking care of business on your end. No matter, I made sure she was handled just as she likes.” Jimin provokes with a wink. Yoongi chuckles and nods, passing his hand through his hair. “Let it go, Yoongi, he’s just trying to get under your skin.” Namjoon tries to calm. “Listen to Namjoon here. You wouldn’t want to do anything stupid.” “You’re right, she isn’t worth it.” Yoongi states calmly, grinding his teeth. He places money on the table and swallows hard, examining Jimin one last time before walking past him. “Good choice friend. Being the bigger person. I know how hard it is to resist her but I’m sure it’s harder to see her fucked out in photos on Instagram, knowing I’m the one who did it to her.” Yoongi’s breath hitches at Jimin’s words and he all but blacks out before spinning around quickly to slam his fist into Jimin’s perfect jaw.

Y/N:

“Shit!” Your BFF says aloud. “What? What’s going on?” “They are headed back to Namjoon’s house already.” “What? That was fast! He just said they were eating.” You look over to the passenger’s seat to catch her gnawing on her lip nervously. “Yoongi clocked Jimin.” Your jaw drops as you try to find words, heart frantically beating in your chest. “I don’t understand.” You feel tears burn in back of your eyes. “According to Joon, Jimin was at the restaurant also and approached them at their table and told Min you guys fucked and something about your picture on Instagram. Yoongi flipped and clocked Jimin. Damn that boys got it bad for you.” “Are you crazy!? What are you saying!? I didn’t sleep with Jimin okay. That’s a lie! And why would he even hit Jimin? We aren’t even together anymore; hes been ignoring me for almost two months. Why does he even care? I can’t, I have to pull over.” You abruptly turn the wheel, parking the car on the side of the road, and begin hyperventilating. “Calm down Y/N! What the hell?” Your friend rubs your back to calm you. “He’s never going to talk to me again! Everything is so fucked!” You sob. “I don’t want to be that friend that hits you with an I told you so but girl this Min boy was trouble from the start. You need to just let this thing go. It’s not worth all this grief.” “You’re right. I don’t need to hear I told you so.” You bark at her, yanking out your phone. “Oh, please don’t do what I think you are going to do.” She warns you. You dial Yoongi and wait for an answer. ‘You have reached the voicemail….’, You hang up and dial again. ‘You have reached the voicemail….’, you hang up and dial again. ‘You have reached the voicemail….’ but this time your BFF takes your phone. “Stop,” She shouts, “He doesn’t give a shit about you. He only clocked Jimin because men are territorial pigs not because he cares! I have had enough of that god damn Min boy. Now, we are going back to get you cleaned up and go get nice and shit faced tonight, and you are going to forget all about that ridiculous Min Yoongi!”

MIN:

It had been hours since Yoongi knocked Jimin on his ass. He smirked to himself as he looked over his swollen knuckles. He was good and drunk now, making damn sure he was numb to the pain. He nodded his head to the music playing even though he had no clue what it was. His eyes shifted frantically just trying to focus on something long enough to fool himself into thinking he could move about the party he and Namjoon put together for Jin. “There you are brother! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! This is Lisa and Jess. I overheard them talking about the infamous Min boy and they could hardly contain themselves when I said we were brothers.” Jin gives Yoongi a wink. “Is that so?” Yoongi looks over the two girls, not really his cup of tea but he’s not in the position to be picky. He needed to get his mind away from you and quick! Before he has time to speak Jess leans in for a photo. “Smile for the Gram!” Yoongi leans his head in and gives a sly smile. “Oh, me too!” Lisa leans in next and Yoongi obliges her with a photo as well. “Jin was just telling us he doesn’t have social media.” Lisa pushes herself against Yoongi to say. “Takes away from one on one time. I hate it.” Jin explains. “Maybe we can have some one on one time?” Lisa whispers into Yoongi’s ear. He takes a moment to take in her features. She’s a pretty girl, too much makeup honestly, which surprised him since she didn’t really need it. She begins to run her hand over his arm and press her breasts, which are spilling out of her top, into his chest. “Can we find someplace quiet?” She breathes heavily into his ear. Yoongi nods and leads her off. Jin winks at him, wrapping his arm around Jess, who pulls him into a kiss. Yoongi takes Lisa through the house, trying to get to a guest room. “This is good.” She says, yanking him into a dark room. “This is a restroom.” He drawls, flicking on the light. “I don’t mind.” She giggles, shoving him into the sink and dropping to her knees. He chuckles at her enthusiasm. “We can take our time. I promise I’m not going anywhere.” “I heard you have a big cock. Is that true?” She pants, pawing at his crotch. He growls quietly, covering her hand with his, trying to soften her brutish attempts at stroking him through his pants. “Hey, hey,” He grabs her by the chin and lifts her face up. “It’s not going anywhere.” She giggles while yanking at his belt, undoing his button and fly. “I heard you like it rough.” She yanks down his pants and underwear just low enough to free his semi hard member. “Mm, let’s wake him up shall we.” She states before licking at his shaft like a lollipop. Yoongi’s brow furrows as he tries to calm his mind. You’re fine. He repeats over and over in his head as she laps at his cock. “Don’t tease.” He whispers to her. She smiles up at him before suckling on his tip.

He moans softly, as she swirls her tongue around his now engorged tip. “There’s that big boy I’ve heard so much about.” She comments, examining his fully erect cock. She slowly begins to stroke him, a perfect bead of pre-cum forming at his tip. She swipes her thumb over it and slides it down his shaft. He hums in approval. She wraps her mouth around his tip again suckling at it while using both hands to pump his cock. He groans in discomfort at how tightly she clenches and twist his shaft, her hands beginning to dry around his dick. “Wait.” He says. She releases his now reddened member. “Open up.” He says gently, placing his hand on the nape of her neck. She does as she’s told, and he slowly slides his cock into her warm gaping mouth. He sucks in a breath at the sweet sensation of moisture that finds his irritated dick. He is almost inserted halfway before Lisa begins to gag and shove him back. He pulls away, stroking her cheek gently. “I’m sorry, are you ok?” “I don’t really do the deep throat thing. I know guys like it but to be honest I think you’re too big for my mouth. Literally, my dentist once told me I have an unusually small mouth.” Yoongi purses his lips but soon nods in understanding. “Don’t you worry Min. I can still make you cum.” She smiles seductively up at him, pushing Yoongi’s hands away from his member to insert his tip in her mouth once again. She slurps loudly on it while using both hands to pump his cock again. Yoongi bites his lip to keep from groaning in pain. She slows her pace much to Yoongi’s delight and he releases a relived breath until she twists her head to the side and grazes his sensitive tip with her teeth. “Ah!” He cries out. “Sorry! I just get so excited.” She giggles. Yoongi grips the countertop and tries to steady his breathing. He should stop this right here and now, but he doesn’t want to insult the girl. So, Yoongi just closes his eyes, trying to stay calm in the moment. “Mm, so good.” She moans, moving her attention towards his shaft, wrapping her lips around the left side and gliding her mouth along the side. She begins to twist her closed fist around the tip of his cock, tightening her grip with every turn, causing Yoongi to wince at the feeling. “Fuck.” He whispers to himself. “You like that baby.” She asks, turning her attention to the right side and gliding her mouth along his shaft once more, all the while still twisting his tip tightly. “Wait.” Yoongi cries out, unable to stand the pain any longer. “Gonna cum already.” She teases. “Uh, no, just, um, I like when you use just your mouth.” He mumbles, trying to hold back his need to take control of the situation. Lisa doesn’t exactly look like the type to enjoy Dom play and he wouldn’t dare try it since she seems to live off the rumor mill. “Well, I can’t get the whole thing in my mouth but maybe if I just focus on the tip…” Lisa rambles as Yoongi’s mind begins to wander on how to salvage this moment. He stands there, cock out and losing life, watching Lisa’s mouth move but not processing what she’s saying. Instead he wonders about you, what you were doing, what you were wearing, if you missed him. Try as he might, he can’t stop thinking of you, your cunt, your neediness, and the way you swallow back his cock with ease, like a woman mad. He growls at the thought, his cock coming back to life. He begins stroking himself greedily while Lisa watches in awe. He closes his eyes, imagining you laid out, on display for him, rubbing your perky tits, mouth opened and waiting for his seed. He moans loudly at the thoughts plaguing his mind, feeling his climax approaching from deep within his ball sack. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Open that pretty mouth for me?” He asks of Lisa. “Um, I, uh, I don’t swallow.” Lisa mumbles, eyes wide like saucers, clearly affected by the show. “What?” Yoongi says breathlessly and frustrated. “I don’t swallow, sorry. I hate the taste.” Yoongi groans, heading towards the toilet quickly. He strokes his cock desperately and cries out as he shoots his load into the porcelain. “We could fuck if you want?” Lisa offers. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go.” Yoongi states calmly, fastening his belt and escaping the restroom.

Y/N:

“This is amazing. Really a great idea. Why didn’t we think to do this sooner?” You pass the bottle of Vodka to your BFF and she takes a swig. “I have no clue but Its exactly what we needed. Namjoon is so sweet right? Like he could’ve told me no when I asked to borrow the lake house no questions asked but he didn’t. Who does that?” You squint over at you friend, taking in her newfound glow. “Wow, I’m really sorry.” She looks over to you and laughs. “Why?” “I have been so consumed by everything going on with me that I hadn’t noticed that you were falling for Joon! When did this happen?” “Ok, so, no more Vodka for you.” She scoffs. “Come on be serious! Does he know?” “Ugh,” She throws her hands up in defeat, “I have no clue! Ok, full disclosure, I guess it started blossoming at the fourth of July party and he’s just been so sweet and attentive, and I’ve never experienced anything like that. Now we’re like talking a lot! I mean he sends me a good morning text every day. Who does that?” She passes you the bottle. “No one because chivalry is dead but,” You swallow down some Vodka and the large lump in your throat, “You and Joon are going to be really cute together. I think you’ll make a great couple. I can always ask him how he feels about you.” “Really? Do you think he could like me? Like do you get that vibe. I mean, I know he’s completely out of my league. He’s smart and charming and worldly. I’m just some random chick that happened to become friends with the cool kids if you will.” “Don’t sell yourself short. You deserve the best! And Namjoon is the best in this God forsaken city so you go get your man girl!” Your friend immediately starts laughing and you can’t help but join in. “You are super drunk!” “Are we expecting company?” You ask looking past her. She spins around, “Not that I am aware of.”

Your jaw drops as Namjoon approaches from the house. “Shit, girl. Act natural.” You whisper to your BFF, who’s face is turning a gorgeous crimson. “Sorry to interrupt ladies! I had assumed you would be alone.” Namjoon says directly to your friend. “Nope, no, not a problem. Please join us Joon.” You slap your hand on the blanket laid out on the grass underneath you. He chuckles. “Not to be rude, I was hoping that I could speak to your friend alone?” Your BFF gasps as you try but can’t hide the shock on your face. “Of course, yeah. Um, Is Bear still here? Maybe he can drive me back home. I am in no condition to drive myself.” You respond, shaking the Vodka bottle at him. He laughs and nods. “I can definitely arrange that for you,” He turns and reaches his hand out to your BFF, “Will you do me the honor and join me inside for a night cap and some conversation?” Your BFF nods at him, shock and lust gracing her face. “Hey girl, drive my car back to my place tomorrow?” You ask. She looks over to you and nods as she makes her way to the house. “You ok?” Namjoon asks, holding his hand out to help you stand. “No but I think I will be.” You stand and then pull him into a hug. He squeezes you tightly. “Yeah, you will be. You’re strong like that.” “Hey, Joon, is Yoongi ok?” He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “No, but I think he will be.” You nod. “Be good to her. She really likes you and she deserves to be treated like a queen!” You point at him with warning. Namjoon smiles wide, adjusting his eyes to see you better. “I wouldn’t have it any other way Y/N.” He looks down at his phone and then up at you. “Bear is out front. Get home safe. Promise I’ll take good care of her.” You hug him again and make your way out to meet your ride.

MIN:

“Be quiet. Your mother will freak if she sees you like this.” Yoongi strains, trying to keep a drunken Jin upright on the steps to their house. “She can be very overbearing, but she is a good mother Yoongi. I wish she could love you like she loves me. You deserve to know a mothers love.” Yoongi scoffs at the comment. “My mother wasn’t always how she is now Jin. She loved me once and in her strange way still loves me now.” He responds, leaning Jin against the house to retrieve his keys. He quietly unlocks the front door. “Shh.” Jin says to Yoongi, pressing a slender finger to his full lips. Yoongi throws Jin’s arm around his shoulder and helps him into the house. “That Jess girl really was nice, I might call her again. How was Lisa? Did you like her?” Yoongi shakes his head. “I think I’m good for a while.” Jin laughs quietly at Yoongi’s comment. “Animal! What have you done to my son?” The lights go on in the living room and both Jin and Yoongi find themselves looking up in shock at Lee An. “Mother, we are fine. Yoongi threw me a party. It was wonderful. We had a great time!” “You smell like a whorehouse! I knew I never should have let you hang around with this heathen!” “Stop it mother. I am not a child! Yoongi did a nice thing for me. You are always putting him down and I have had it!” Jin shouts. “Is that so?” Yoongi’s father appears from the hall. Jin swallows hard. “Sir.” Jin bows. “Is that any way to talk to your mother?” Jin drops his head in shame. “No sir. I apologize. I just got frustrated is all.” Jin explains. Yoongi’s father rests his hand on Jin’s shoulder. “Understandable. Why you are just being a proud hyung and defending your brother. Who can ever fault you for that?” Jin continues to look down. Yoongi’s father removes his hand from Jin’s shoulder and turns to face Yoongi, who immediately stands tall. “You should be honored Yoongi.” “He should be punished.” Lee An chimes in. Jin whips his head in the direction of his mother.

Yoongi takes in a deep breath as his father approaches him. “Sir, please, we did nothing wrong.” Jin pleads. “It’s ok Jin.” Yoongi murmurs. His father smirks. “You are almost enthusiastic for punishment son.” “Why fight the inevitable?” Yoongi’s father hums in agreement, turning to face Jin and Lee An for a moment, nodding briefly at a snarling Lee An. He spins suddenly and quickly, punching Yoongi in the stomach. The wind knocks right out of Yoongi’s lungs as he drops to his knees with a strained gasp. “Don’t.” Jin shouts, moving towards Yoongi. Yoongi’s father shoves him back hard, causing Jin to fall on his ass. “Don’t touch my son!” Lee An yells. Yoongi slowly regains his breath but only for a moment as his father kicks him in the ribs. He cries out in pain, rolling onto his side. “Get up!” His father shouts, grabbing him from the top of his head. Yoongi claws at his hand, fearing he will yank out the hair from his roots. His father releases him. He gains his bearings and stands upright on his feet. “Stop this now!” Jin shakes free from his mother’s grasp to intervene, only to be met with the back of Yoongi’s fathers’ hand. “Jin! Stay back.” Yoongi strains. He turns to face his father and reason with him. “Father…” His words are cut off by the intense humming in his head from being struck in the temple by his father’s heavy fist. He stumbles back but remains on his feet. “Do you wish to fight me son? I can see the anger in your eyes. That burning, you wish to strike me, don’t you? Well, come on.” His father moves close to him. Yoongi does not respond nor does he move but instead he drops his hands to his sides. They stare at one another for what feels like forever. Yoongi pants heavily, still struggling to breathe. “Please sir, just stop this now.” Jin calls out to Yoongi’s father. “You will never understand just how much I love you son, until you yourself become a father.” Yoongi’s father explains. “I don’t ever want to love someone the way you have loved me.” Yoongi responds plainly. His father smirks with a nod, striking Yoongi square in the mouth.

Y/N:

Your father was out of town on a business trip and you hated being alone in the house. It just felt empty and hollow without anyone around. You shuffled about in your oversized shirt and fluffy slippers, looking aimlessly for something to occupy your time. It had just started pouring out and you were instantly happy not to be at the lake. The rains usually brought in intense winds when on the lake and it made you nervous that a tree would fall over. You stood in your kitchen snacking on a granola bar, listening to the rain hit the roof, when a desperate slamming on your door caused you to shriek loudly into your empty home. Your heartbeat quickly in your chest and you wondered if you should even answer it. The knocking came again this time more intense than the last. You shuffle over to the door and press your ear against the cold metal. “Who is it?” You shout as bravely as possible. There is no answer, and you can’t help but think of every horror movie ever, where the dumb girl dies after asking who is at the door. “I have a big knife.” You call out now. Still no answer and now you panic wondering if the person on the other end has a gun. “Please go away. I’m calling the police!” You yell. “Y/N,” You hear from the other side, “Please, open the door. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You remove your ear from the door, your brows high in confusion. You yank the door open and gasp at the sight before you. “Oh my god, Yoongi, what happened to you?” You shake trying to grab a hold of a bruised and bloody Yoongi. You frantically look over his bloody nose, lip, and bruise forming under his left eye, unsure of if you should ask what happened. He takes notice of your alarm.

“Do I look so horrible?” He asks, leaning his weight on you. He smells of liquor and winces as you wrap your arm around his waist. “No, I just, are you ok? Did you drive here yourself?” He nods, walking over with you to the kitchen. “You could’ve killed someone.” You hiss, dropping him into a stool and rushing to grab ice and a wet wash cloth. “I needed to see you.” He confesses, stopping you in your tracks. “I thought you hated me.” You bring the ice over and place it on his eye while cleaning the blood from his face. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I couldn’t stay away any longer. You hurt me like everyone always does but you love me like no one else does.” He shakes his head, and you can see his free eye glisten with his held back tears. “Oh, Yoongi.” You swallow back a sob. “Don’t,” He cuts you off, “I don’t know what this is. I can’t decide right now. I just know that I needed to be with someone who doesn’t hate me.” He explains, allowing an angry tear to fall. You wrap your arms around him, his face buried in your chest. “I don’t care what happens after tonight. I just want to be here for you.” You kiss into the top of his head, allowing him to dig his hands into your hips and pull you closer to him. “Let me draw you a bath. It will make you feel better. Wait here.” You walk off to your room and into your attached bathroom. You sit on the side of the tub and begin to fill it with warm water, bubbles, and bath salts. You go back into your room to grab fresh towels and find Yoongi already undressing. You gasp and shift your eyes down to the floor. You hear him chuckle. “Shy doesn’t suit you baby.” He says, standing before you completely naked. Your eyes water at the sight of fresh bruising forming on his ribs. You feel your face flush as he walks over to you and takes your face in his hand. “Will you join me?” He whispers, rubbing his lips over yours and it takes everything in you to not pull him into a kiss. “If you want me too.” He just nods and walks into the bathroom, shutting off the running water.

You undress quickly and head into the bathroom to find Yoongi submerged up to his nose. You thank the heavens that you convinced your father to get the larger soaking tub installed. He shifts only his eyes over to you which causes you to giggle. He slowly slides his body up and waves for you to join him. You gently enter the tub, being sure not to lean against his battered chest but you are caught by surprise when he tugs you towards him. “Yoongi,” You tense up, “I shouldn’t put pressure on these.” “It’s ok, I just need you close.” He tugs at you again until your back is resting against his chest. You suddenly feel emotional and feel the need to tell him everything you’re thinking. “I’ve missed you so much. I’m so sorry Yoongi. I was so stupid. I need you to know I never had sex with Jimin. I don’t know what he said…” “Please stop talking. Just lay here with me.” He cuts you off, frustration lacing his voice. You release a slow sigh and allow your body to relax into his, laying your head in his neck. He rubs his left hand up your arm until it rests on your shoulder and rest his right hand on your belly. His breathing becomes calm and you wonder if he is falling asleep. After a few moments you nuzzle into his neck causing him to moan. Now knowing he isn’t asleep; you decide to inquire on his evening. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” You whisper. “No.” He clips. You raise your body up off his and straddle him instead, taking his face in your hands. “I am big shit in this city. My father knows so many people. I don’t know what happened or why your dad did this but I swear I can make sure he never touches you again.” He licks over his swollen lip, smirking at you. “Who said it was my father? Besides, I don’t need you to protect me but it makes me feel good to know you would call your daddy if ever I needed saving.” “I’m fucking serious Yoongi. I don’t ever want to see you like this again.” He pushes his back up away from the tub and pulls you into a gentle kiss. You melt into his soft lips, opening your mouth for his warm tongue to tease masterfully against yours. You moan into the kiss, nibbling at his top lip while reaching down to stroke his growing erection as it presses against your belly. “Make me cum brat.” He pants into your mouth.

Min:

Yoongi can’t stop kissing her, her soft mouth on his, driving him wild with need. His heart ached at her valiant attempt to provide him comfort, as if she could really protect him. No one could save him now. He can’t help but let a moan escape when she gently begins to pump his cock beneath the water. A flush of relief washes over his body. “I missed you too.” He admits, hitching his hips up as she gently glides his tip through her folds with every up stroke. He breaks free from her mouth and peppers kisses down her neck until he meets her collar bone, kissing and suckling at her exposed skin leaving a perfect purple mark on her flesh. He needed to claim her, show everyone she belongs to him. She shoves him back against the porcelain tub and begins to pump him faster using just her right hand in long languid strokes, being sure to run her thumb against the flesh on the underside of his sensitive tip. “God, how I’ve missed this cock.” She mewls, using her upper arms to squeeze her tits together. Yoongi takes one of her perky mounds in his hand as she continues her steady pace, dropping her free left hand from Yoongi’s chest down to massage his balls. Yoongi throws his head back against the tub in pure bliss as his body catches fire. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.” He pants as he feels his climax rise up. “I’m gonna cum.” He cries out, calling out her name as long white strands shoot out into the bath water. He is completely out of breath and still hard. He looks up into her lustful eyes, wanting so much more of her. “You really didn’t fuck him?” Yoongi asks, he can’t help himself. He needed to know the truth. She shakes her head frantically. “No. I swear it. I couldn’t stop thinking of you.” Yoongi’s heart flips at her confession. He knew he had no right to ask her, having fooled around with Lisa, albeit it was his attempt at retaliation for what he assumed happened. “Couldn’t stop thinking of me huh?” “No, you’re all I want. I need you, so bad. Please.” She whines. Yoongi’s cock twitches at her desperation for him. “Please what?” He moans, grabbing one of her full tits in his hand again and squeezing. “Please, sir.” He plants a kiss on her lips before they step out of the tub. She grabs a towel, attempting to hand it to him. He tilts his head to the side and instead drop to his knees in front of her. “Yoongi.” Is all that escapes her lips before he yanks her by the ass and brings her to his face. He slowly licks a long trail through her folds from her taint to her clit. Her moans echo through the bathroom while Yoongi buries his face deeper within her sopping cunt.

He places her right leg onto his shoulder while resting her plump ass on the side of the tub. He begins to suck on her full folds slowly, loving the soft mewls that escape her as he carefully takes each one between his lips. He swears she’s the most delicious woman he’s ever tasted. She bucks forward with a gasp as he wraps his mouth around her clit, sucking on it hard, becoming intoxicated on her scent and taste. She whines lustfully as he releases her sweet bud, moving down to her entrance. He looks up at her to catch a glimpse of her biting her lower lip as he begins to slowly fuck her with his tongue. He dives in and out of her, lapping up her arousal with lurid slurps and moans. She tangles her hands in his hair, alternating between calling his name out and cursing. When he feels her juices trail along his chin he moves back up to her swollen bud, taking it into his mouth again, sucking and licking in circles, driving her wild. He feels her inner thighs tremble and he knows she’s close. He lifts his right hand up and moistens two fingers with her lust before sliding them into her soaked cunt. She cries out from deep in her throat and Yoongi can feel his cock get harder than it’s ever been. “Whose needy cunt is this?” He asks between laps. “Fuck, it’s yours, it’s fucking yours sir.” She says out of breath, grinding into Yoongi’s face. He curls his two fingers up rubbing against that sweet spongy spot deep inside of her, and he can feel her walls begin to clench around him. “Say my name.” He pants. “Yoongi, fuck, Yoongi, I, I’m, fuck……Ahh.” She shrieks into the room. Her walls quivering, legs shaking, and breathing labored as Yoongi continues to lap at her cunt, riding her through her climax. “I can’t, it’s too much.” She gasps her body trembling. “Who’s pussy is this?” Yoongi asks continuing to lick at her overstimulated bud. “Yours, God, please, it’s yours.” Yoongi finally releases her, pleased with her response. He moves his mouth down, trailing kisses along her inner thigh before placing another purple mark, this time on the center of her inner thigh. She sucks in a breath watching Yoongi work. He slowly removes his mouth from her thigh, observing his handy work with a smile, and slowly stands, pulling her into a kiss. She runs her hand over his cock and he hums in approval. “I want you inside me.” She slowly strokes him, pushing him towards her bed. “I need to feel you deep inside me.”

Y/N:

He smirks suggestively as you push him closer and closer to your bed. He yanks you by your neck into another desperate kiss once you arrive at your destination. You get lost in this kiss however, it’s tender and gentle, so unlike him. He spins you slowly, switching places with you. He takes your bottom in his large hands, lifting you onto the edge of the bed. He trails kisses down your neck, taking your erect nipple into his mouth, hungrily sucking and nibbling on it. He releases with a quiet pop and gently guides you to lay on your back while he aligns himself between your thighs. He drags your body down by the backs of your thighs towards his drooling tip, wrapping your legs around his waist. “My God, Yoongi.” You cry out feeling his swollen head glide between your folds. “Please don’t tease me.” You mewl, pushing your hips forward. He slowly pushes into your entrance. His mouth falls open and your eyes roll back as he slowly adds inch by inch of his cock into you. “So, fucking, tight.” He growls, taking a moment once he bottoms out to allow you to adjust to his size. You buck your hips impatiently and he nods pulling out all the way to his tip and slowly entering you again, stretching you in the best way possible. “No one fills me like you!” You praise. Yoongi hums and begins to slide in and out of you at a methodically slow pace, his mouth wide, you can see he’s savoring every stroke. Still, you can’t help but lift your hips to meet his torturous thrusts. He grasps your waist to still you and continues to roll his hips upwards, releasing a sobbed moan into your room. “You feel so good Yoongi, please, fuck me harder, faster.” He smiles seductively, taking you by the back of the neck and pulling you up so you’re face to face with him, his cock pushing further inside you. “I don’t want to fuck you tonight,” He whispers into your ear, extending his hands down your back, and taking your ass into his large palms. He lifts you off the bed slightly and begins to glide you across his cock, still keeping with his original rhythm. You whimper into his neck feeling your core tighten as your clit rubs against his shaft. “God, Yoongi, feels so good.” You pant into his neck. Yoongi lifts you fully and climbs atop the bed, lying you on your back once more and repositioning himself between your thighs. He takes you in a full deep kiss, swirling his tongue around yours. “Ready to cum baby?” He moans softly, grinding against your G-spot. “Yes please sir. I want to cum all over your cock.” You mewl as he begins to hasten his pace, dropping a hand between you both to twirl circles against your clit. He drives himself harder into you, his tip pressing into your cervix. Your core ignites, as you feel that coil deep inside you tighten and suddenly explode. “Fuck Yoongi, I’m cumming.” You cry out as white-hot waves crash over you causing you to clench your pussy tightly around Yoongi. He releases an animal like moan into your neck, his pace becoming sloppy. “Fuck! Me too baby.” Yoongi cries out and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, filling you to the brim with his hot seed. He continues to thrust through his climax, taking your mouth into a ravenous kiss. You moan lustfully, feeling the slickness of his cum dripping down from your cunt and onto your sheets. He releases you from the kiss, out of breath and looks you over, making no attempt to remove himself from inside you. He presses his forehead against yours and you glide your hands down his back. “Yoongi,” You whisper, running your hands back up his back and into his hair. “Yeah baby?” “I love you.” Your voice cracks at your confession.

MIN:

Yoongi sighs deeply, planting a kiss on her cheek. He wanted so badly to say those words back to her. He felt his heart swell as she looked at him longingly, seeing the truth of those words in her eyes. He swallows down the large lump in his throat and slowly pulls out of her. He makes his way into the bathroom to grab a towel. He brings it back to her and begins to clean her up. He can feel the tension fill the room as she stares at him nervously. “Yoongi.” She whispers. “I should go.” He declares once she’s clean. “Please don’t. I shouldn’t have said that. I meant what I said about wanting to be here for you. I’m sorry.” “No, don’t be sorry. It’s just, I’m just, I’m fucked up Y/N. I’m no good. You shouldn’t want to love me.” She pulls Yoongi towards her until he is forced to stretch his body out on the bed. She cuddles into his side, head resting on his chest, Yoongi feels so at ease with her so why on earth couldn’t he just say the words? After the blow-up with his father, Yoongi drank himself stupid until his head was running a million miles a minute. It wasn’t until you came across his mind that he felt his thoughts ease and he decided he needed to see you. How long had it been, he wondered? Two months? Two months too long. A soft kiss on his bruised ribs jolts him from his head. “Penny for your thoughts.” She lifts her head to look up at him. He strokes her cheek gently, taking in her beauty. “You are mine and I am yours. Do you remember me saying that to you?” He asks, reminding her of the first thing he ever told her the first time they were intimate. She nods. “I meant those words then and I mean them more now. I can’t be without you and I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you. Seeing you kiss your ex brought up so many different emotions. Betrayal is the one that initially comes to mind. Then, meeting him and hearing him say you’d been together. I wanted to kill him over just the thought that he had his hands all over you,” Yoongi slides his body up so he’s resting his back on her headboard and she has no choice but to sit up and face him, “It may seem odd to you based off of my demeanor but I don’t cheat. If I make a commitment to you then I keep that commitment but if you burn me, I can promise, you and I are done. You burned me Y/N and even still I’m having a hard time forgetting you. I think that’s the worst part of this.” Yoongi looks her over, she’s deep in thought. “So, how do we move past this? I want to make it better.” She says. “I need you to be honest with me, always. Do I have anything to worry about with your ex? Is there any truth to what he’s saying? I mean why would you kiss him in the first place?” Yoongi had so many questions, questions he could see were making Y/N uncomfortable.

She shifted her body so she was closer to his. “I want to say that I needed some sort of closure but that would be a lie. I’m just stupid. I am so used to fucking up and still getting my way that it didn’t occur to me that my actions would affect you. The truth is no one has ever been able to make me feel and think about anyone other than myself until I met you. Now I find myself wanting nothing more than to be around you and please you. I fucked up Yoongi and I am so fucking sorry. I don’t want to lose you. I swear nothing more than that kiss happened and nothing will ever happen again. I am yours and you are mine.” She shrugs. Yoongi furrows his brow, searching her face for any doubt. “Come here.” Yoongi says as he leans in and plants a kiss on her lips. She practically melts into him. “Don’t betray me again brat.” He whispers into her lips. “I won’t. I promise.” Yoongi claims her mouth again, this time slower, filling it with his emotions. She moans softly. Once they part, he looks over her face, his heart racing, nerves taking over. “I love you too.” He confesses, feeling a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders.

Y/N:

You wake up feeling the best you ever have, rolling over to find a snoozing Yoongi beside you. After his confession last night, you both kissed until you fell asleep in each other’s arms. “Yoongi, I love you.” You whisper. Yoongi mumbles whilst rolling onto his back, sighing deeply, clearly still asleep. You kiss his cheek gently and climb out of bed, checking your phone. You find a message from your BFF. “On the way with your ride.” “Shit.” You whisper, checking the time to see an hour has passed since she sent the message. You hop in the shower and dress in shorts and an oversized sweater, pondering on how you can convince Yoongi to stay in all day with you. When you emerge from the bathroom you find Yoongi still fast asleep. You smile to yourself at the thought of him being this comfortable with you. Suddenly the doorbell rings and you jump up at the sound. Yoongi only sighs again. He must be extremely exhausted after the night he had; you think to yourself. You head out of your room to answer the door. “Hey bitch!” Your best friend smiles brightly at you. “Hey yourself.” You whisper. She pushes past you and you quickly trail behind her. “Here are your car keys, I can’t stay too long Joon is outside waiting to drive me home. How was your night? I know you hate the rain.” She looks you over suspiciously. “It was good. Quiet you know. How about yours? Did you and Joon…you know?” You raise and shimmy your brows at her. She giggles nervously before nodding hard. “Holy shit girl! About damn time! How was it?” “Amazing! He’s gently and kind and strong if you know what I mean.” She laughs. “Ew, TMI!” “Well anyway, it was a great night. I’m sorry our girls night got interrupted though. I’ll make it up to you another night. How about later?” “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow, I might just stay in today.” “Girl, you cannot lay in bed crying over this Min boy nonsense. Besides, he wouldn’t let Jimin eating you out bother him if he knew you didn’t even cum. He would probably be overjoyed at the thought. Men and their egos you know.” She rolls her eyes as you both hear rustling from down the hall. Your heart drops. “What was that? Is your dad home?” She covers her mouth nervously. You swallow hard but try to laugh it off. “No, he’s gone till next week. I forgot to put some clothes away after I washed them, they probably toppled over. Anyways, you should get going before Joon freaks.” She nods in response and pulls you into a hug. “Call me later if your bored.” “I will.” You walk her out and head nervously back to your room.

As you enter you find the bed empty, “Yoongi.“ You call out before being pulled by the hair into a hard kiss. Yoongi shoves you back towards your vanity, lifting you off your feet and sitting you atop it. You moan into his mouth, your hands finding their home in his hair whilst his hands grip your hips. He drags your aching core up and down his growing erection, moving his wet open mouth kisses down your jaw and neck. “Fuck Yoongi, I want you so bad.” You whine, raking your nails down his back. He bites down hard into the soft flesh of your neck causing you to cry out, your cotton thong sticking to your moist cunt. You reach down and rub at his cock through his briefs. “I want to suck your cock.” You whisper in his ear. Yoongi says nothing, he just grabs a fist full of your hair again and yanks your head back, suckling at your exposed neck. You pant and moan loudly as Yoongi slides his hand up your short leg and rubs at your clothed center. “Please don’t tease me.” You beg, hitching your hips forward. Yoongi just smirks, still gripping your hair tightly. He carefully slides your cotton barrier to the side and glides his middle finger between your slit, coating it in your juices. He brings it up to his lips but before he inserts it in his mouth, he looks over to you lustfully. “Open.” You pant desperately and do as your told. He waste no time shoving his soaked finger in your mouth, allowing you time to suck your own juices from his finger. He grips your face with his remaining free fingers, causing the one in your mouth to glide dangerously close to the back of your throat. You take a deep breath to calm your gag reflex. He releases his grip on your hair and pulls your face towards him, “See how sweet your cunt taste? It’s no wonder all the men in this shit city want a piece of you.” Your eyes go wide and your heart races as you wonder if he overheard your conversation with your BFF. He pulls his hand from your face. “Yoongi…” You start before he quickly shoves two fingers inside your sopping pussy. You gasp at the feeling of pleasure that courses through you and immediately forget what it was you wanted to say. Yoongi curls his fingers inside you, stealing the moan that escapes your mouth with an aggressive kiss. He expertly fucks your cunt, his fingers moving in and out of you at a toe curling speed. The lurid sounds of your moisture and moans filling the room. “My greedy little brat loves getting finger fucked huh?” Yoongi grunts, wrapping his free hand around your throat. “Yes, fuck, God. Yes!” “Yes what?” “Yes sir! Fuck, yes sir! I fucking love it!” You practically shriek as he applies pressure to your clit with his thumb and you can’t help but grind your hips up with every circular movement he makes on your sensitive bud. You feel your core burn as your climax fast approaches. Yoongi clamps down on your neck causing you to grab his wrist as you pant desperately with your rising orgasm. He stares at you, mouth opened, with lust filled eyes, watching your every reaction. You whimper as your walls clench, “Fuck, sir, I’m gonna cum.” Yoongi smirks, pulling his fingers from you abruptly. You try to raise your body up in protest but he keeps you down with his tighten grip on your throat. He yanks your short leg and thong to the side again shoving his cock into you without warning. You cry out at the burning mix of pain and pleasure.

He yanks you forward into a painful kiss, your teeth clashing with his. You attempt to speak but Yoongi’s forceful thrust keep your head too dizzy to forms coherent sentences. “Does my brat like getting fucked stupid?” Yoongi growls between clenched teeth into your ear. You can only mewl and whimper, choosing to show your satisfaction by thrusting your hips forward to meet his. “I’m gonna cum into this needy cunt.” He whispers into your ear and you nod frantically, dying to feel his cock twitch inside you. You lower your hand from his wrist to attempt to rub your swollen clit but Yoongi uses his free hand to stop you, crying out as he fills your cunt with his hot seed. You clench around him, whining and thrusting trying to build up your high while Yoongi rides out his. “Don’t stop.” You plead. Yoongi releases your hand and you immediately drop it down to your needy bud, rubbing frantically as Yoongi continues to thrust into you. “Yes, fuck yes, don’t stop, I’m right there. God.” You cry out as your walls tremble. Yoongi kisses you hard and yanks his member from your aching walls. “What the fuck!?” You shout, swatting at Yoongi who steps back and begins dressing. “Tell me brat, is that what it felt like when Jimin left you wanting? Or do I do it better?” Your jaw drops as you watch him finish dressing. “Yoongi, you don’t understand.” You begin, sliding off the vanity. “That you’re a liar? No, I get that part. See, Y/N, I’ve been surrounded by liars my whole life. It’s no surprise to me that you’re one too.” “I didn’t want to hurt you Yoongi. It was insignificant.” He huffs at your comment, standing as he finishes lacing his shoes. “Am I insignificant as well?” He cocks his head to the side. “No, I love you. Jimin means nothing to me.” He nods and moves towards the door. Your heart seizes at the sight. “Please don’t leave!” You yank at his arm. He pulls his arm from your grasp. “On your knees brat!” He shouts and immediately you do as your told, tears streaming down your face. “Yoongi, please don’t leave like this. I’m sorry.” He walks over to you, pulling your face up by your chin. “My gorgeous brat,” He whispers, rubbing your wet cheek, allowing you to lean into his hand, “Keep testing and pushing my love because in the end, you will submit. I’ve made the mistake in thinking I could let my guard down but that was just me being foolish. I know what my spoiled little brat needs.” He grips your hair and yanks your head back, rubbing his lips across yours. “She needs to be punished. Craves it even.” He whispers before kissing you deeply. “Yoongi please, I’m sorry, I love you.” “I will forgive you for lying in exactly two weeks’ time. Let’s call it a cooling period. A time for reflection. Until then, you’ll be a good girl for me, wont you?” He looks over you lovingly and you can’t help but nod in response, wanting so bad to please him. He kisses you again. “See you then brat. You can stand when I’m gone.” He releases you and walks out, slamming the door behind him. You cup your aching cunt and drop to the floor, groaning in defeat, knowing Yoongi was right. You would always push but in the end you would always submit.

[theshapeshifter100]

Wolf and Raven: Old Friends Chapter 7

First

Previous

Next

Masterlist

tw dissociation not from character POV

---

Several minutes later a black dot appeared among the rainclouds, and Raven landed nearby. She shifted and started walking over briskly.

“Is everything alright? That was quite the message.”

“My apologies, I could not wait for Haryad,” Erina gestured to Wolf. “Do you have any idea of how to help?”

Raven looked at Wolf and her brow furrowed. “I have not seen this before.”

Erina and Satyarani looked at each other, concerned.

“What happened to cause this?” Raven walked over to Wolf, cautiously waving a hand in front of Wolf’s face, which got little reaction.

“She walked into the tent, and froze like that,” Satyarani shook her head. “Even if you do not know what happened, you might still be the best person to help her.”

“Aye,” Erina agreed. “I will brew some more potion of Dreamless Sleep.”

“I thank you,” Raven said before turning her attention to Wolf. “Can you hear me my friend?”

No response.

“That is fine. I will… I will wait with you,” Raven stood next to Wolf under the tree, staff planted into the ground and occasionally being dripped on. The rain continued to hammer down and the light faded, and still she waited.

A small campfire was crackling away fiercely by the time Wolf moved.

She turned her head slightly, confused.

“…What…?” dread and unease still curdled in her belly, and she sat down heavily. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted her staff in the ground, and stared at it like she couldn’t believe that it was there. She slowly reached her hand out, afraid that it would disappear.

Her hand touched warm wood, and she wrapped her hand around it, gripping it tight and pulling it closer.

“Wolf?”

Wolf startled and looked to her other side, seeing Raven.

“Raven! What, what are you doing here?”

“Erina called for me,” Raven slowly sat down. “She was worried about you. You, you were not here.”

The huff of disbelief faded as Wolf’s face furrowed.

“Aye. I was… I was not quite here. I… I do not know. I am sorry,” she pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead.

“I do not think you need to apologise, although Erina and Satyarani are both confused as to what caused it.”

“I do not think that I know,” Wolf rested her forehead on her free hand. “There was a smell, mud. The smell of mud, and I… I walked into the tent…”

Raven waited for Wolf to gather her thoughts.

“… I know why,” she sighed. “It was often muddy in Nevar’s camp, and I did not leave that tent for months,” Wolf growled under her breath. “First nightmares, then rope, then the potion not working and now this. I thought I was better than this!” she slammed her fist into the ground. “Why?! Why is this happening now?!”

“That I cannot answer.”

“I do not expect you to, my apologies,” Wolf looked out towards the Shadow Wood. “I am so tired Raven. I am tired of my mind turning against me, I am tired of not being the person I used to be. You never met that Wolf. She was confident, and bright. It felt as though nothing could touch her.”

“She is still you, merely changed, as we all do.”

“Aye, I suppose. Still I will ask, did the potion work for you last night?”

“…It did not,” Raven admitted.

“It did not work for me either. I may take a stronger dose tonight.”

“I believe Erina is brewing a fresh batch,” Raven nodded over to the small campfire, where Erina was indeed brewing in a small cauldron. “Perhaps I should ask her for some?”

“It will do no harm,” Wolf agreed. “I apologise for dragging you from your task to tend to me.”

“You need not apologise. I do not feel I did much, I merely waited to see if you would come back.”

“And I am grateful for that, truly,” Wolf’s eyes trailed north to a mountain just beyond the River of the Diving Bird. “My apologies, I do not think I can be around too many people tonight,” the idea of sharing a camp with Erina and Satyarani turned her stomach into knots.

“I heard wolf howls last night. Is there a pack nearby?”

“I know of a pack within the Forest of Dawn Time and another in Triple Thorn Wood. They travel though, they may be in their seasonal grounds.”

“But you know where they are?”

“Aye, but they do not remember me.”

“But they heard you last night?”

“…Aye.”

“Then go if you need. I will tell Erina and Satyarani.”

Wolf looked over at the other two, before looking back at Raven. She nodded briefly before shifting into a wolf, and with one more glance over her shoulder, she disappeared into Shadow Wood.

 ---

Satyarani watched Raven fly back to the west side of the island from underneath the tent. The rain was coming down harder than ever now, and Erina was holding her cloak over the pot she was brewing from.

After a while Erina took the pot off the fire and brought it inside the tent, where gentle steam wafted off it.

“All finished?” Saytarani asked.

“Almost. It needs to sit for three hours,” Erina found a small hourglass in her pack and turned it over. “I cannot give Raven any tonight, but I told her that she is free to collect some before we break camp tomorrow.”

“I see,” Satyarani sat properly in the tent, hanging the damp fur cloak from one of the tent poles. “It was interesting to see Wolf with Raven, even after all of that. It was the first time I have seen her relaxed.”

“Aye…” Erina sat down properly. “It, it does not require much thought to work out why.”

“You have been somewhat antagonistic,” Satyarani pointed out. “However you have calmed down this last day.”

“That is some relief,” Erina rubbed her eyes. “Lack of sleep has been affecting me as well, I do not have energy to start an argument… and… I am reminded of why Wolf and I were friends,” Erina lay her staff across her lap. “And I no longer think she is lying. That display earlier… I do not think that could be faked, not for as long as that.”

“Then you would be wise to tell her that.”

“That I will, that I will,” Erina looked out at the rain. “She should be back before morning.”

“I will trust your judgement on that matter, you know her better than I do.”

“I am not so certain of that. I know the old Wolf would be back before dawn. I cannot be quite so certain nowadays.”

“You are all different people, and people change.”

“Aye,” Erina looked over at Satyarani. “I must ask, you do not know anyone here. Why do you still aid us?”

“I knew Raven, Raven of Old,” Satyarani corrected. “He is a good man, and I am here to aid him. I will admit that this island has taken some getting used to, and the magic here is very different to that of my country. However, it does have its charm.”

“If this is successful then all of Alaunus would be in debt to you twice over.”

“Then I will know who to call should my homeland ever be in danger.”

“That is a deal I would be happy to make.”

“I do not find it likely anytime soon, but as I understand, you are not mortal.”

“I was not mortal since I carved my staff,” Erina lifted it slightly to make the point. “The magic of the Enchanted Oak can change you.”

“I see, so you were once mortal?”

“Aye.”

“Raven of Old I recall being born immortal, for he could not enter the Chamber of the Three-Headed Serpent, what of Wolf?”

“I am uncertain, though it is likely that she is the same. They are both unusual individuals. Their ability to change form is not confined to their Staffs of Power, it is an ability they possessed since birth, as far as we know,” Erina paused to think, “as for this new Raven, I cannot say for certain. I do not know of anyone who has passed on their staff and mantle in such a way before.”

“We will have to wait and see I suppose,” Satyarani drew a knee up and rested an arm on it. “I myself am fashioned from the earth of my homeland. I was never mortal.”

“I see. I do not think I have heard of such a thing before.”

“The world has many magics, many secrets. Your Cyrus seems like the kind of man who would wish to learn all of them.”

“Aye. I fancy if he could spend his life travelling and learning new magics, he would.”

“What is stopping him?”

“…I do not entirely know. I should ask him when we meet up again.”

“As long as he obeys the laws of my land, he will be welcome in my country.”

“Did Raven obey the laws of your land?”

“For the most part. He did strain against them at times, and lose his temper several times. His anger was understandable, but there are laws in my homeland that cannot be broken in order to retrieve the Elixir of Life.”

“I can imagine,” a fond smile crossed Erina’s face. “He was always somewhat impatient. And could have quite the temper when he felt that not enough was being done.”

“Indeed, that sounds about right. The Raven of now does seem much more patient.”

“Aye, that she is. I wonder if she feels as though she has to prove herself? I do hope that is not the case.”

“Raven of Old casts a long shadow. It will be difficult for her to step from it.”

“If she can free Raven of Old and keep Nevar in the desolate realm, she will certainly step from his shadow.”

“Indeed,” Satyarani looked outside the tent, watching the rain fall. Erina followed her gaze, and the two fell into companionable silence.

---

Hoo boy, still not certain about the dissociation, but there you go I guess. Some time away from people and with wolves will be good for her I think

Erina and Satyarani talk of immortality. I had to change this real quick since I rewatched a Secret Temple story compilation yesterday, which had some info I had forgotten. Including the fact that Raven of Old was born immortal. This is important because I have a whole thought dump on immortality in the Raven series and that did answer one of the questions I had. I just had to separate Erina's thoughts from my own.It's mostly that Secret Temple often uses the term 'born mortal', implying that Raven of Old is not, but Nevar is, and I would assume Erina is too, which leads to the idea that possession of a Staff of Power can make you immortal, but then there's the whole of using it for evil taking time off your life and if that's the case how is Nevar still alive, what decides what is an evil deed? Is that why Raven of Old will not attack dishonourably, because it might be deemed evil by, something? And where in bloody hell do the Warriors with Staffs fit into this?! I was talking about this with my beta writer @fairyofsomething​ and honestly, I had thought that having a Staff of Power made you a sorcerer (to use DnD terms), but now it seems more like a warlock thing! Still, I have thoughts, that will be organised, somewhat, and put separately somewhere. Since you know, I'm overthinking a children's game show that might not have had as much thought put in.

[shhhlikeme]

“Losty Aone” / “Losty Mountain Man🏔” Series:

Outtake Collection #14:

———————————

TABLE OF CONTENTS

———————————

Kenji & Kanji Try To Purge Aone’s life of Y/N 😂🙄 - STEP ONE 

Since Y/N is back at school and life will get that much harder for Aone Takanobu, The problematic K_nji’s devise a plan to help their white haired middle blocker survive his heartbreak.

In Aone’s den, Futakuchi stood facing the couches like Captain America while Koganegawa stuffed his face with half of Aone’s fridge and Aone was sitting on the arm chair as if he had been called to the principals office, because, well—he kind of had. 

“While I am very happy you got Aone-san out of his room, what is this about, dad? Can I put on the baseball game now? You’re standing in front of the tv” 

“No, and shut up. I’m recording it and you know that.” 

Kanji pouted, lifting the bag of chips upside down so that the crumbs dumped in his mouth. The chips spilled down his chest and Kenji fumed, scoffing.

“What?! LIKE YOU DIDN’T SPILL THE ORANGE JUICE THIS MORNING AND I HAD TO CLEAN IT UP—“

“Oh boo hoo you big baby It’s the least you can do since I do your freaking laundry—“

“Kusa didn’t call me a big baby when we were on the phone last night—“ 

“Oh? But she sure wanted to when you lost the arm wrestling match to me yesterday and you almost crie—“

“Stop bickering. Or I am leaving.” Aone warned. While he wasn’t speaking as much as he used to, he was getting better within the privacy of his own home, now Uttering several sentences a day only to the two boys that lived with him. Takanobu was even leaving his room a bit more now to spend time with them, whether that be to watch one movie or tv show and then scurry back to his room when he got too sad again. Hey, they would take it.

Kenji shook his head. “Fuck, sorry. Don’t leave. I called you both here because I think it’s about time we did something, Aone. I made a plan to help you, and told this one about it.” 

Mountain Man narrowed his eyes, not sure if he liked where this is going or not. “A…..Plan……” He repeated lowly. 

Kenji nodded. “Yup.” 

“I am not following.” 

Futakuchi was about to explain before Kanji gasped. “OH! IS THIS ABOUT OPERATION: HELP AONE-SAN DEAL WITH HIS BROKEN HEART?!”

Kenji glared at his underclassmen. “That is not what it’s called you idiot. But yes.”

Aone’s face remained rock hard. Kenji mirrored his expression. 

The two 3rd years were completely quiet for a while as they had a silent conversation about whether Aone should agree to this plan or not.

The big boned setter just munched on his snacks while looking between the two of them in fascination. “It’s so cool how you guys do that.” He complimented with a mouthful. 

They continued their speechless chat.

After a minute, Aone broke the silence.

“…….You know how to make the pain……stop?” He asked seriously, his voice cracking from lack of use.

Kenji nodded, crossing his arms, still standing like Captain America. “I think so. But there are multiple steps.” Kenji stopped pacing for a second to stand in front of the white haired giant. “Starting with…. What’s your phone background right now?” 

Aone shrugged and moved a bit to slip his iPhone out of his back pocket. He handed his phone to Futakuchi’s awaiting hand. When Futakuchi pressed the home button to look at it, he immediately let out a loud exasperated sigh.

“Oh hell no.” 

“What is it?!” Asked Kogane, imitating a chipmunks spunk.

Kenji showed the screen to him, who widened his eyes when he saw it and shook his head!

“What is wrong with my background?” Losty Aone asked. 

“It’s of freaking Airhead and Perdu!!! Absolutely -the fuck not. I’m changing it.” 

“Do not call her an Airhead, please...” Aone raised his voice an octave, clearly upset with his friend who knew better.

Kenji only smirked. “Gotcha. Force of habit. Still changing it though.”

Sad, baby Aone thought about protesting—but stopped himself because he thought about how badly he really did want this all-encompassing heartache to let up, even if just a little. If he was going to deal with his unrequited love for you forever, he might as well accept help to make it a bit more bearable. As of right now it was torture, so if his brunette friend knew how to fix that—alright. 

Aone’s heart sunk when he realized Kenji had switched the photo to one of Perdu alone. While he loved that specific photo of his precious turtle, he loved the one with you smiling and wearing him as a hat even more. You are so so so so pretty and so fun.

“That was step one.” Kenji stated loudly, knowing where Aone’s mind headed and snapped him out of it. He began to pace again like a drill sergeant. 

———————————

Kenji & Kanji Try To Purge Aone’s life of Y/N 😂🙄 - STEP TWO 📸🗑

step two was almost abandoned because Aone was not allowing his friends to delete all the photos of Y/N from his camera roll. 

“Let. Go. Mom!!!” Whined Koganegawa as he tried to pry the phone out of his senpais hands. Both he and Futakuchi were tugging with all of their combined might and they still weren’t able to retrieve the device. 

“No. It was a very happy time in my life.” Aone stated, not even breaking a sweat yet as he battled for purchase.

“I SAID I’m not going to delete them! Just gonna send them to my phone for the time being!” Kenji growled, pushing his foot into the couch for more leverage as he tugged. 

Aone still remained unfazed. “No. I know you, Futakuchi-san. You will delete them.” 

Kenji sighed loudly. 

“Okay! I would have. HAPPY I ADMITTED IT? Then, forget me! We will send them to the big boned setter. He won’t delete them, he’s too nice!” 

Kanji fell on his butt as he kept pulling like: 

“Yeah! I would never—UGH how the frick are you so STRONG—delete them, mom!” 

Aone shook his head still. “I truly believe you that you would not delete them, Koganegawa. However, you lose and or break your phone on a trimonthly basis. So I cannot trust you to be a good gatekeeper, either.” 

“We will upload them to Kogane’s iCloud then!!!” Kenji yelled, twisting his arms in an attempt at a better grip. “That way they can never be deleted—“ 

Aone contemplated this. “Hmmmmmm.....” He grunted. 

“Listen to dad, mom, he’s right! Plus.....I know you don’t have social media but if you really wanted to see Y/N you could just go to her Instagram page and—AHHHHHHHH!” 

The two boys toppled over on the carpeted floors because Aone let go of his phone. Not even a little out of breath, Aone nodded. “It hurts to see her…. so I should really take them off, I guess. I will agree to take them off temporarily and upload to Kogane’s iCloud. If I want them back, I get them back immediately. I’ll admit it does make me feel better that I could check her social media page if I really need to see her smile. Staring at photos of our relationship all night did intrude on my sleep. So As long as my photos are not deleted, that should be fine. And Sorry. I hope I did not hurt either of you.” He stated solemnly. 

The two athletes laid flat on the ground, chests heaving, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Deal.” They said in unison.

———————————

Kenji & Kanji Try To Purge Aone’s life of Y/N 😂🙄 - STEP THREE 🙈💥

“Step Three: Avoid that Bimb— uh I mean your ex at all costs. She’s takes one way to class? Start taking the long route. She’s cheering in the gym? Stay outdoors. She’s in the cafeteria? I promise to order us Uber Eats or something and we will eat anywhere else. Normally, the best way to get over a chick is to cut her off cold turkey—but since you are forced to see her 5 days a week at school, the only option is makeshift block out. Pretend she’s still home sick.” 

Kogane snorted. “Haha. You’re good at blocking on the court so this kinda blocking should be a piece of cake, Aone-san, ITAI!!!” The Big Boned setter folded his body in two in order to caress his right toes that his brunette senpai just crushed by stepping on. He tried to swing but Kenji dodged it. “Aoneeee!!!!!!” Kogane whined. 

“Futakuchi, stop hurting our kouhei.”

Kenji smiled, ignoring the whines of the setter. “Got it. Anyway, Aone-san, any questions?” 

Aone shook his head. “Truthfully.... my heart didn’t hurt as severely when she wasn’t at school. The pain is at about an 85 when I am alone or I don’t see her, which is still awful, but whenever I do see her, smell her, or hear her—the pain jumps to about a 130. So perhaps avoiding her is best. I doubt she wants to see me anyway.” 

Kenji grumbled. “I don’t care what she wants to see. Our priority is you: not her. Okay?” 

Aone nodded slowly. 

Koganegawa cut the tension then. wish he hadn’t. “Hey, Aone-san, you should be trying to avoid Y/N-chan at all times no matter what though because from what Ive seen she’s constantly being asked out by all these guys. I even heard guys in my class hoping to have a shot with her but I told them—“ 

Kenji didn’t even need to harm another hair on the setter’s head because the combined menacing glare coming from both Takanobu and Futakuchi told the setter all he needed to know:

(In which Kenji is Regina and Aone is the principal):

“Uh......sorry. I’ll shut up…….. but if it’s any consolation…….. I heard Y/N is rejecting every single guy—even the football team captain who has apparently liked her for a while and when he heard you two broke up he actually said that—“

Kenji started glowering at Kogane like: 

“Uhh....... I think I’m going to use the bathroom….” Kogane started, getting up with his tail between his legs. 

“You do that.” Kenji seethed.

———————————

Kenji & Kanji Try To Purge Aone’s life of Y/N 😂🙄 - STEP FOUR 🍆💭

“Step Four. And we’re all brothers here so I’m just gonna come out and say it, okay?” 

Aone nodded. He had nothing to hide from his two best friends—especially since they had now seen him at his utter worst—so he was all ears. Aone accepted the fact that with these steps he honestly felt like he could manage this heartbreak one day. Not get over you, that was out of the question—but maybe not act like a zombie anymore so that maybe you’d see some worth in him as a friend…..perhaps. 

Listening, Aone didn’t understand why his confident captain looked so nervous all of a sudden to introduce step four. 

“Aone-san...um.... What’s going on with your…..uh…….y’know......” for some strange reason, Kenji couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes. 

“My....y’know?” Aone asked, rather perplexed. 

Kenji sighed in response.

“OH!!!! I remember step four! Don’t worry Futakuchi-senpai, if you’re too nervous... I can say it! Basical—“ 

“—No!” Kenji scrambled to try and stop him, but Kanji spoke fast. And loud. 

“Are you still jerking off to thoughts of Y/N?” 

Aone clasped his mouth shut as a deep blush overtook his pale features. He immediately looked down, realizing he would rather have the pictures of you deleted than confront this part. 

“Well fuck. Do you have any shame?” 

“We are trying to help him, and you’re stuttering like my moms Michael Jackson records. What are you, FIVE?!”

“Grrrrrrrrrrr—“ 

Aone interrupted with his answer, calmly. “The answer is no. Not really.” 

Kenji deadpanned at the reply, his attention leaving the big boned setter. “What do you mean, not really?! That was a yes or no question!” 

“Yeah, mom, I don’t see how you can ‘no not really’ think about Y/N while you—“

“Don’t say it again.” Snapped Kogane’s parents in unison. 

“Sure thing!” Kanji opened the bag of popcorn and started digging in instead. 

Aone looked away. “What I mean is.......no, I’m not still pleasuring myself to thoughts of Y/N…..not successfully. And not for lack of effort, I should say. I wish she didn’t still arouse me as much as she does, but I think I crave her even more now because my feelings have not stopped getting stronger….. I miss her touch.... so when I think about her— her healthy hair, and her expressive eyes, and her smooth skin, and her soft, supple, incredibly soft lips......” Aone paused to bite his own lip, feeling a stir below. Without meaning for them to, his thoughts on your beauty got the better of him. “When I think about her in her bikini, or her cheerleading uniform, or in the genie costume............ or in the birthday lingerie on my day of birth I just........” 

“Imma stop you right there.” Kenji started, familiar with the tone Aone was using because he’d heard it in many a wet dream descriptions before. “So you do still .... y’know .... to thoughts of Y/N.” 

Snapping back into reality, Aone shook his head. “Not exactly. I attempt not to, but because she is still the most attractive girl I’ve ever seen and thoughts of her excite me beyond belief...I can’t help myself .... but then every single time I begin to get into it, my depressive thoughts of the break up end up flooding in and before I know it, the mood is long gone, washed away by my clenching heartache. It basically happens every night.” 

“WHOA. Man. Now I for realllll understand how much your heartbreak must be hurting, Aone, because you mentioned Y/N in the cheer uniform, the costume, and the lingerie, but I mean you’ve also seen Y/N naked, haven’t you Aone-san ?! She must look soooooo fucking hot..... For something to make you feel so terrible that it gets the image of one of the hottest girls in the school naked out of your mind I would say that our steps won’t even work for you, at all, I mean—“ 

Kenji cleared his throat loudly again at his underclassmen, mentally planning how he was going to kill him in his sleep tonight:

Kogane stopped talking. He shrunk in his seat, pretending to busy himself with.....absolutely anything else. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

How absolutely clueless his kouhai was lead Aone face to let out the tiniest of a smile. Something Futakuchi hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. Only Kenji caught it, and it made the brunette feel like maybe all hope was not lost. 

Maybe. 

———————————

Outtake #15: CLICK HERE

[cozycryptidcorner]

Chapter One

Sweat glues your hair against your forehead, droplets running down your temples and down onto your shirt. Your arms protest against the pressure as you lift a rather heavy vase, one painted in tiny, intricate blue details, and stand on the very tips of your toes to push it on top of an old oak cabinet without running the risk of chipping the base. You let out a little wheeze once you manage to wiggle it right into place, taking a moment to crack your knuckles to release some tension, then step back to take one last look to make sure it appears fine. Satisfied, you turn around as your phone begins to chirp, the screen announcing the caller as one of your few employees.

You pick it up, hitting the accept call button and lifting the phone to your ear. “What’s up, Jill?”

“Just giving you an update, boss,” the child-like voice offers, though the owner is well into her late twenties, “the equipment arrived at the next location, Boomer and the others are about to start gutting the kitchen.”

“Sounds good,” you say, clicking the pen lying on a nearby table to help you focus. You try to bring up your memory of the room, having visited for a full day before heading back to the current job at hand, trying to picture just what you plan on doing with it once you get there. “Don’t forget that I want the exposed brick to stay put. The owner said she liked ‘rustic,’ so that’s what we’re going to give her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” there’s not too much respect in the voice, more like Jillian is poking fun at your authoritative stance. “Anything else? Getting lonely?”

You let out a loud snort. “Not yet, can’t say I miss Boomer’s constant arguments with Steph and Jack.”

“Okay, Lemme know if you need any help, I could use a break from the bickering too.”

“Will do, talk to you later.”

The castle isn’t the worst place you’ve had to turn into a liveable space, but it’s not without its challenges, that’s for sure. A crew of people from the local electric plant has had to wire up the entire place, a septic system had to be installed, oh, and also pipes for running water had to be dug. Working around people all trying to do their own jobs without any attempts to stay out of each other’s way has tested your patience to the very most thinnest line you didn’t even know you could take, but at least it’s over.

Your speakers blare music loud enough to be heard on the other end of the castle as you hold out strips of sample colors from the nearest hardware store, comparing and contrasting the two until you come up with a couple of possibilities for the room. The sun shines in through the freshly bought glass panes, warming the room to a comfortable temperature without the need to turn on the newly installed heating system. Carefully and thoroughly, you write down the exact serial numbers of the colors you’re deciding on, and tuck the notebook in your back pocket. You’ll head over to the hardware store tomorrow, but for now, you’re probably good to prime the walls.

The castle isn’t gigantic, it’s not like the kind you’d see in Disney movies that can seemingly house an entire city within its walls, but it’s definitely mansion-sized. A couple dozen rooms, enough to make a decently sized inn, which is exactly the plan you’re running with under the instruction of the castle’s new owner. Oh, speaking of which, they’re visiting the day after tomorrow, so you better have a good report to give to them. You open up one of the cans of primer, the scent of artificial wrongness causing your eyes to water, but you continue working like you aren’t in danger of choking on some wack fumes.

The first layer doesn’t take too much work, the roller sponge reaching all those tough places on the ceiling you wouldn’t manage to get to without the tall ass handle. Your people did a decent job making sure the plaster on the walls is smooth as silk when they painted the stuff on, so you don’t have to sand anything down before the second layer. Since this is supposed to be the ‘renaissance room,’ you’re stuck painting frescos on the walls like the many geniuses did a few millennia ago, and hoo boy do you have your work cut out. The owner seems fine with the outrageous price you named when you heard what they wanted, but a part of you regrets making such a time-consuming decision.

You have a couple of sketches on hand, pre-approved by the person in question, but still, you tap a bit of willow charcoal against the side of the paper as you try to come up with some different options that might be a little more fun for you to paint. But you need to stretch- and get some fresh air before you start feeling lightheaded from the primer fumes. Still trying to filter some sort of decent idea through your head, you wander through the halls, marveling at how your people managed to string up some modern chandeliers in the short amount of time they had. There’s a rather large and curving staircase that connects the first and second floors, one that you just had to keep in all its glory, though now it’s polished within an inch of its life.

There are several exits you can use, but you decide on the one that spits you right out into the garden, which is pretty darn dead for the most part. You know that an army of landscapers is coming to start planting things sometime in the near future. Still, you neither know what company it is or when they will be here, so you untangle the sweater from around your waist and somehow get it on without having to put your sketchbook and charcoal down. There’s a large fountain that hasn’t seen water in probably a hundred or so years, dead leaves collecting in its nooks and crannies, but at the center of the empty pool is a rather incredible statue.

It’s up on a pedestal, body in a suave contrapposto pose. The hair is carved in a mop of unbelievably gorgeous curls, you can almost imagine yourself running your fingers through it despite knowing very well that all you’ll feel is solid rock. Its face is a perfect example of what’ bedroom eyes’ means, its gaze staring directly towards an invisible partner, mouth in a sultry, inviting smile. Whoever carved it, though, definitely outdid themselves with the butt because good god the careful balance between curve and firmness is extraordinarily executed. The thighs, too, look like they could crush a melon between them, but there’s just something about the butt that always makes you stop for a minute to admire it in all its glory, no matter what you’re doing at the moment. Jillian’s mocked you a few times for ogling it perhaps a little too intently, but you know what?

You get your phone out, already formulating a dumb little stunt to put on your Instagram page. Oh, Jillian is the only one on your crew who is going to think it’s hilarious, but maybe your followers will also find it funny. Cautiously, you step over the wall of the fountain, avoiding the pipes that at one time pumped water into the knee-deep pool, and then take a moment to look over the inscription at the statue’s base. It strikes you as rather odd, mainly because you would think that a plaque would instead belong on the outside wall of the fountain, rather than right at the feet of the statue. It’s in ancient greek, or at least, that’s what the owner of the property told you when you asked some time before.

Trying your best not to use the statue’s available limbs for balance, you step up onto the pedestal, getting rather cozy with those lovingly carved abs. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to get your mouth anywhere near his, and yes, up close, those lips look even more inviting than usual. After a moment of fiddling with your phone’s camera filters and trying to find a good angle to show off your jawline and chin, you press your mouth up against the statues, glancing up only briefly to make sure the camera’s got everything. Then you close your eyes and pretend like this is the most magical moment you’ve ever experienced, finger clicking the shutter button. You take a moment to look over what you’ve got, your arm still around the statue’s neck, biting your lip as you pick which one is going to go online.

It doesn’t take you long to pick out two or three. The angle and lighting in those are a bit off from the others, not in a bad way, though, but it kind of almost looks like the statue isn’t just the recipient of the kiss. Actually, now that you really look at it… the shadows make it look almost like it’s leaning into your mouth, which you suppose is going to sell the picture even more. Neat. You hop off the pedestal and step over the wall of the fountain. Enough break time, you decide, picking up your sketchbook where you mindlessly tossed it, and head back into the castle.

You didn’t have any wild inspirations while you were making out with the stone, so you decide instead to start working on something that doesn’t take as much brain juice as, say, designing an original fresco that’s supposed to rival Raphael’s Philosophy. At the moment, you’re probably better off painting the freshly stripped and primed walls of the library, something that doesn’t require intricate thought. The paints for the library have already been purchased and delivered, courtesy of Steph, so buckets of baby blue wait for you on the protective layer of plastic taped to the floor. Turning on some loud music, you begin, stirring up one of the paint buckets and pouring some into a container long enough for the roller brushes.

Throwing yourself into the work is easy, so long as you try to keep yourself entertained. After the music loses your interest, you take a quick break, flipping through podcasts while sipping water. Wiping some sweat from your face, you happen to look through the window and into the garden to see that... Wait- the statue- the statue is missing? You frantically walk over to the glass and look out, your heated breath fogging your view. Your first impression is correct; the statue isn’t on the pedestal, which is fucking impossible? That thing has to weigh almost a ton, it’s a slab of rock, no one can just walk away with it.

You’re outside before you can even register the shock of your feet hitting the cobblestone of the path, your lungs wheezing from the sudden strain of exercise and nerves. There’s no fucking way you lost a whole ass statue after being alone for just three days, but, oh, that’s precisely the kind of stuff you would expect to happen to you. Of course your dumb ass would somehow lose the most valuable thing on this property, oh, god, you’re going to be so fired. This is going to destroy your company’s reputation, you’re never going to be able to get another job again and then you’ll have to dissolve it all once the owner decides to sue and you’ll never be able to so much as breathe in the direction of interior design again-

“Fuck!” You shout, kicking uselessly at the pavement. It’s gone. The whole thing’s fucking up and gone, and you’re doomed.

“What’s wrong?” A new voice says, too close to your body for your liking, so you do what anyone else in your position might and punch the source of the sound on reflex, letting out a loud shriek.

Instead of some rando’s face, you end up striking something stone-like as hard as you can muster, your knuckles exploding with a rush of pain. Your muscles twitch, and then you can’t feel anything but a heated throb pulsing through your fingers, but you don’t pay any attention to your ruined hand. Rather, you’re eyes are glued to the quite literal stony features of a man’s face, a face that would be on kissing level if you stood on the very tips of your toes.

“No,” you say, because, between the pain and the shock, you can’t think of anything else that would entirely summarize what you’re feeling at the moment.

Its smile is radiant despite the fact you had just struck it with the intent to knock a couple of teeth out, eyes somehow wild with an emotion you can’t place, and then it sets a well-sculpted hand on the side of your face. A split second later, you realize that it is leaning forward with the intent to kiss you again, so you do what anyone else might do in the moment.

“No,” you yelp, placing a hand on his mouth, and then repeat, “no.”

Confusion settles on his features, his brows furrowing, his mouth still in an inviting curve. “What’s wrong?”

Oh, dear god. Its voice... is like it was made for sex, melodic, soft, yet also firm. There’s a singer that you love to turn on and kick back in relaxation, the lyrics smooth and accented, running over you like a gentle stream of water, and that’s the only way you can think to describe the way that- that statue speaks, without sounding like an insane person. In fact, you’re so focused on trying to place which foreign singer that he sounds like that you forget that your hand is still firmly on his mouth, pushing his face away.

“I’m going to get fired.” That’s all you can think about. The owner of the property is going to take one look at the living, breathing statue and have a goddamn conniption.

“There is no need to fret, darling-”

“No need to fret?” You’re about to start screaming. “This is supposed to make my fucking career, and now the most priceless part of the fucking property somehow gained sentience is, um, walking around? I’m going to get scalped, no one else is going to hire me-”

“I have naught an idea of what you speak of,” it brushes some baby hairs away from your sweaty forehead, “but all shall be well, so long as you stay with me.”

You’re choking on the air because your body doesn’t know what else to do with itself. Still, somehow, you manage to pull yourself from its arms, needing a moment to breathe in an environment that didn’t involve something trying insistently to make out with you. Deep, deep breath, you coach yourself, dusting your sweaty hands on the front of your shirt, remembering suddenly that you might have accidentally fractured a couple of fingers when a sharp pain runs up the length of your forearm. “Shit.”

“Would-”

“Stop talking!” You need to think, and you need to tend to the already swelling knuckles on your hand. Hopefully, you won’t need a trip to the hospital. Angrily, you pace, two steps to the side, then three steps back, looking at the pedestal, then at the statue, and finally on the castle. “Fuck, just- just follow me, I guess.”

You storm back into the common room, frantically looking for wherever the hell the first aid kit ended up getting stashed. It’s not with the paperwork or folders keeping track of the tabs you’re racking up at the local hardware store, so you run over into the kitchen where the brand new industrial stoves and ovens are and start rifling through the cabinets until you finally find the white tin box. The statue follows you, thankfully, because you aren’t about to allow a potentially million-dollar statue to start wandering the cliffside without adult supervision.

After a minute of fiddling the sides of the locks with one hand, the statue makes a reach for the box just as you manage to open it. Quickly, you shoot it a chilling glare and pull the medical supplies closer, rifling through the contents until you find something for the spots on your fingers where the skin broke open. Okay, yes, it’s a little awkward to be doing this all with one hand, but you’re not going to let that… thing anywhere near you, much less your bloodied hand. Speaking of which, despite the substantial damage done to you, the statue doesn’t seem at all bothered by the strike which would have at least knocked an average person off their rhythm, but…

You reach over and take his jaw into your good hand, moving his head to the side to check for any damage. The stone is still in place, not a single chip flew off, which might be expected because this thing is a fucking rock. Though even now, a part of you wants to believe that this is some kind of ridiculously elaborate prank the owner is pulling for a publicity stunt, and this is a man in really convincing makeup. To call attention to the inn, you know, get some national headlines. Pull in more customers. Haha, look, it’s the stupidly handsome statue that scared the everloving shit out of the poor contractor. But if this were a man, there would be swelling puffing out that ridiculously beautiful jawline because you hit hard.

Angry that you aren’t able to come to the conclusion you want, you let go, returning back to sloppily wrap your wounded hand in some gauze and tape. Tea, you need some goddamn tea, you think, rummaging through the sparse pantry full of some random items you bought while in town, after all, you can’t get takeout for every meal three months straight. Not unless you want to take your bank account to a back alley and shoot it like a diseased dog. Urgh, finally, something relatively strong that might help cool your nerves down a notch or two.

“Do you… like, drink or anything?” You ask as an afterthought, filling a kettle with water from the sink.

“I don’t know.” He regards the kettle with curiosity, eyes following your movement with close precision.

“You don’t know,” you say in your best imitation of someone who is just positively stoked. “Awesome.”

“I have a rather interesting feeling that this is an unexpected happening,” the statue posits, placing its arms on the counter, an action that sends a shot of panic through your chest.

“Get off the granite, get off-” you half push, half lift him away, bending over and running your fingers over the countertop to look for scratches. A bit of relief breaks off into your chest, and then another, once you find no damage to speak of. Angrily, you wave your hands in the direction of a small, nondescript wooden table that’s already stained and pummeled within an inch of its life. “Just…. Take a seat over there, m’kay?”

The statue, thankfully, seems fine with listening to you, moving over to the bench and sitting while you find two mugs to use. There are dishes, at least, which wasn’t the case when your crew first started working on this project, but it’s nice to not have to eat out of styrofoam to-go boxes and drink out of travel tumblers anymore. The statue watches you intently while you work, eyes following every movement like you might offer up the secret to the universe in passing, and as the kettle shrieks, you decide that you’re just about over <em<that. You don’t care to give him any tea options, so you toss halfheartedly bag into both mugs after filling them with near-boiling water.

You set the cup in front of him, your teeth gritted, as you try to wrack your brain for where to start with your questioning because you have thousands of them rattling around in your head. After a moment, though, you decide to start with something easy. “Do you have a name?”

“I don’t know,” he says, too cheerfully for you to deal with.

“Where do you come from?” You try again.

His eyes grow distant for a moment, then suddenly snap back to reality. “I don’t know.”

You let out a frustrated breath. “Is there anything you do know?”

“I do know that you’re the one who brought me here,” he says, looking at you once more like you’re… like you’re a god or something.

“No I didn’t,” you say, as bluntly as you can muster, letting out a dry laugh.

He doesn’t say anything in response, only offers you a sly smile, tapping on his lips with two fingers.

You catch on immediately, a thrill of panic running down your spine. “No.”

His smile widens, and he nods. “Yes.”

“I did not-”

“You did.” He reaches over and gently takes your injured hand, looking over the hasty bindings with interest. “A kiss of someone with love in their heart. That’s what I know.”

You want to throw up. “I don’t- like I’m sure you’re a decent statue person, but I don’t-”

“Love me?” He finishes innocently. “Perhaps not now, but I’m sure you will be… convinced.”

You gently take back your hand, all the nerves in your body running on overdrive, and oh boy, if you weren’t sweating before, you’re sweating now. “The only thing I want to be convinced of right now is that you aren’t going to get in the way of me and my job.” 

 “What would that be?”

“Making this into an acceptable place to live or whatever,” you take a shaky sip of tea, “and the thing about that is that you’re supposed to be the main attraction.”

To your dismay, he seems absolutely thrilled by that statement. “Am I that handsome that people flock from neighboring villages to see me?”

”No, you fucking-” you take a deep, shaking breath to try calming yourself down before you finish that sentence, and start again. “No. You’re a prized relic. The guy who owned the property before the current one was an art collector, and you are kind of a big deal. Um,” you tap your fingers against the table as you try to recall what the new owner said, “you’re one of the oldest statues that have been pulled from Greek ruins,intact, so that’s kind of a big deal.”

That seems to catch his attention. “Greek… ruins?”

“A temple or something, I don’t really remember, she mentioned in it passing.” You cover your face with your hands, trying to get your fucking shit together before a full-blown meltdown happens. “There was an art historian who estimated your value to be in the millions. If the owner stops by and sees that her block of gold is no longer where it’s supposed to be, she’s going to assume theft. And do you know who the only person with unmonitored access to the entire property is? Do you know who is going to get blamed?”

“So tell her of this miracle.” He reaches over and covers your hands, gently peeling them back from your face. God, that smile is awful, mostly because it’s flawless and makes your insides want to melt. “Surely, she will understand that this love is a gift from the gods themselves.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“It will,” he promises, “surely anyone, even those with the heads of asses, will see that a miracle is present.” He’s about to say even more, you can tell by the way he tilts his head and takes a breath, but then your phone rings.

You wriggle out of his grasp and pull it out of your pocket. Oh, good god, speak of the devil. How the hell are you supposed to explain this? Can you even try? Should you? You swallow thickly, your good hand shaking as you hit the button to receive the call. Holding up your hand in the universal gesture for shut the fuck up, you answer, praying your voice doesn’t sound like sandpaper. “Hello, Marge! How’re things going?”

[asterythm]

Born of the Same Impulse

Or; The Abolition of Man(a)

Pairing: Romantic LAMP Prompt: Written for Secret Sanders 2018 with the prompt “magic AUs (especially if someone doesn’t know about the others)” Word Count: 12.8k (oops.) Warnings: Very occasional caps lock, panic, negative thinking, food mention. (But don’t worry, the end is fluffy!!)

General Summary: When an experiment goes wrong, the wizard-slash-scientist Logan finds himself stranded in an alternate, magic-less dimension -- but the more he explores, the less anxious he is to find his way back home again.

A/N: @soft-transboy​ Surpriiise!! It’s me -- @secretsanders herself :D Hoo boy. I had so much fun writing this one, but... let's just say that I definitely bit off wayyyyy more than I could chew with this story (as you might be able to tell from the word count, which is well into the double digits). In fact, I spent so long planning this thing that I ended up being left with under a week to write it all. Meaning I finished this about ten minutes ago, and it’s completely unedited. Oops.  That said, I'm still super proud of how it came out, for the most part. Hopefully, you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

AO3

xxx 

“The serious magical endeavour and the serious scientific endeavour are twins: one was sickly and died, the other strong and throve. But they were twins. They were born of the same impulse.” — C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man

xxx

Logan Sanders does not believe in magic.

This perhaps will seem to most people like an illogical sort of statement, once they’ve taken into consideration the fact that Logan Sanders is a wizard.

Illogical or not, Logan’s mind is made up. Unlike Most People, Logan never has believed in magic. And he never will, either. It’s one of those beliefs that transcend tenses, you see — does not, did not, will not. Past, present, or future, the fact remains that magic is impractical at best.

Magic is real, of course. Logan can hardly deny the presence of magic in his everyday life, seeing as it’s damn near impossible to do anything without it, in this day and age. He’s not saying that magic doesn’t exist. Logan only means that, the way he sees it, magic on its own is completely and utterly useless. In fact, he’s quite certain that he’d be perfectly capable of surviving without relying on any magic at all, given the opportunity.

Life would be so much easier if more people just believed in science.

This is the second of many (many, many, many) seemingly illogical statements — at least, to Most People. Science? Most People scoff. Impossible! A fully automatic life reliant on science is a nice thought, but that’s all it will ever be — a nice thought. Science simply isn’t capable enough to accomplish all that magic does. Whoever this Logan fellow is, he ought to get his head out of the clouds and do some actual thinking. Blah, blah, blah. On and on and on.

Logan, of course, hates hearing Most People saying these things, but frankly he’s come to expect responses like that. He hears the same kind of thing almost every day, after all. It’s quite normal for Most People to doubt that science could ever be useful. And why even bother, really? Magic is perfectly fine as is.

But of course, the first thing you will notice about Logan Sanders is that he is most certainly not Most People.

xxx

Weekends, reflects Logan in between sips of hot tea, are the only part of the week ever worth paying any attention to.

For Logan, Saturdays and Sundays are the busiest days of the week — but they’re also far and away the best. Because rather than spending his hours working a boring day job, he’s hard at work inventing things that he’s passionate about. On weekends, Logan is free to play around with the concept of using science to enhance day-to-day magic. (Or perhaps the magic is enhancing the science? One or the other. Logan isn’t completely sure.) It’s been his favourite hobby for years and years, creating these little devices that make simple daily tasks even simpler by relying on science, rather than on magic.

Take, for example, Logan’s kettle. The one that he’d put away only moments before, after pouring himself a cup of tea. On the outside, it appears to be quite unremarkable. But Logan can assure you that this kettle is anything but. It’s a one-of-a-kind design that Logan invented himself, many moons ago, and it is easily the most efficient kettle that he’s ever known.

Boiling water, as you surely already know, is a tedious and boring task that requires one to channel their mana into heat-energy, focus that heat-energy into a stream, and then direct that stream continuously towards the water until it finally begins to boil. It’s a time-consuming task that Logan’s tight schedule simply cannot afford.

Logan’s innovative kettle combines magic with science in order to significantly cut down the amount of time and energy one needs to boil water. There’s a metal coil inside of it that allows the kettle to heat up water almost all by itself, by converting electric energy into heat energy — meaning that Logan only needs to fire off a quick spark, and his kettle takes care of the rest.

Despite the simplicity of the design, it has always been one of Logan’s favourite pieces of work, if only because of how often he uses it. On the other hand, he’s got plenty of favourites to choose from. Logan’s cozy little apartment is nearly covered with his own gizmos and trinkets, some fully functional, some half-finished with pieces spilling out the sides, some completely abandoned. He doesn’t consider those latter ones “failures”, though. Logan prefers to call them “learning experiences”.

And he does learn. Logan enjoys his work, regardless of whether or not his creations work out the way he plans, because every experiment teaches him something new. Science is so (woefully) underexplored that Logan finds himself discovering new and exciting concepts left, right and centre. Indeed, it's not at all an uncommon occurrence for him to find something that he's never read of or even heard of before. The sense of accomplishment he gets from these not-so-rare occasions is just about enough to make up for the inconveniences of his lifestyle.

The keywords in that sentence being "just about".

Recently, he's been finding aforementioned inconveniences to be growing more and more, well, inconvenient. The impermanence of his living situation, for example. (Just thinking about this subject makes Logan's chest tighten involuntarily. Though he isn't all the way finished yet, he sets his teacup down.) Logan hasn't been able to hold onto a home for more than a matter of months ever since he first picked up this hobby of his.

For some completely unfathomable reason, the idea of having a mad scientist living in their building is apparently one that most landlords consider to be somewhat unsettling.

There are other difficulties, too, that prevent him from finding a permanent place to call home: noise complaints from neighbours, property damage from explosions and acid burns, that one time that he accidentally gave sentience to a small tin-can-and-soy-sauce-packet robot, leading to the creation of an army of small but hostile rodents. The usual.

(Now that Logan thinks about it, he's starting to see where the whole "unsettling" thing might come from.)

The first one or two or twelve times he was kicked out, Logan didn't mind terribly. Change doesn't bother him too much. But as his collection of knick-knacks and doo-dads continued to grow, it began to become a real nuisance to have to pack everything up and relocate so often.

Not to mention, the constant moving means that Logan has never had the time to make any sort of lasting social connections, either. That's not a huge issue, though, since Logan isn't exactly the most social of people anyway. Even when he was younger and by extension wasn't constantly being forced to move around, Logan had never had much luck with friendship. So although his life is a lonely one, Logan's grown quite accustomed to having things be this way. He doesn't mind. Not as much as he used to, at least.

Logan picks his teacup back up again. He swishes the cup around a few times, watching the half-disintegrated leaves swish with it. After a moment, the leaves settle down into a shape that almost resembles a dragon if Logan squints and turns his head a certain way. He takes a sip, notes with displeasure that the liquid inside has grown unpleasantly cold, but finishes it anyway. After his cup is empty, Logan takes a moment to gaze out the window and appreciate how nice of a day it is; both suns are happily shining, and there’s hardly a cloud in the sky. The perfect weather for a weekend, even if he is going to spend the whole day cooped up in his apartment.

Stretching, Logan rises from the comfortable armchair on which he had been sitting and crosses the room to where his latest invention awaits him. Today is going to be a good day, he thinks, allowing a rare smile to slip out as he approaches. He's been working hard on this one, and he thinks now that it may be finished at last; his tests last week, he had been amazed to find, had all gone off without a hitch.

That is, all but one. But that's only because he has yet to run the final test. Logan thought he would save that one for today, just to be on the safe side. But he’s got high hopes for the outcome of this final test. A good day, indeed.

In fact, the best, worst day of Logan's life has already begun — and it's all thanks to the pair of two little round creations sitting right in front of him.

xxx

THREE MONTHS AGO

"Okay, but… I still don't get it," grunts the landlord. "What are they supposed to do?"

Logan smiles wryly. "Permanently revolutionise the way that people get from place to place, that's what."

"Looks pretty typical for something that's supposed to be so 'revolutionary'. Honestly, it kind of looks like a regular TP-circle. Except, uh, portable."

"Yes? Well, I'm glad to hear that, since that's exactly what it is. A portable teleportation-circle. I've very nearly completed the design, and I can promise you that as soon as I've added the final touches, this is going to completely change life as we know it. Then I'll have more than enough money to pay rent. Just you wait, sir." The other man still doesn't look convinced. Logan is getting desperate — he doesn't know where else he can find a home if this doesn't work out. "At least allow me to explain to you how it works before you turn me away."

After a moment, the gruff older man relents. "Alright, fine," he sighs. "How does your portable TP-circle work?"

"Well, the general concept is more or less the same as a regular TP-circle. You step in, it collects a bit of your mana and converts it into a path between the circle you're standing in and whichever circle you want to TP to. The difference is that my design is, well, portable. I mean, TP-circle stations are all well and good, but sometimes they're just located in such inconvenient places. Add that to the fact that there's always such long line-ups for those stations, and... well, suffice it to say, I'm surprised that they've been in use for this long.

"With my portable TP-circles, you can go wherever you want, whenever you want, and you don't have to deal with those annoying line-ups anymore. You can just fold one of these up and use a simple object-TP to send it wherever you want. Anyone can do this. Object-TPs are one of the first spells they teach in school. So, portable TP-circles will make transportation easier and more accessible for everyone. Like I said before, I've already almost perfected the design. I only need to iron out a couple of kinks, then figure out how to make it more lightweight. Once I’ve done that, it’ll be completely ready. Ready for use, and ready to change the world, by extension. I only need a few months, half a year at most. I promise." He’s nearly begging by the time he finishes talking. This location is his last chance, after all. Logan holds his breath, watching the landlord's face change as he weighs Logan's words.

And then, after what feels like an eternity of waiting, Logan finally hears the words he's been hoping for.

"Okay. Four months. That's all you get. You'd better have your portable thingamajig finished by then. Otherwise, you're outta here. You hear me? Out. Of. Here. Don't let me down."

Logan sighs, a wave of relief washing over him. Four months... a quarter of a year. That's going to be tight, but Logan's sure that he'll be able to manage that deadline if he works hard enough.

If there's one thing that Logan has never had a problem with, it's working hard.

xxx

And work hard, he did. For three months straight, Logan’s devoted every second of his free time to perfecting his design. He’s long since lost count of how many tests he’s run, how many times he’s taken his invention apart and put it back together in a completely different way, how many times he’s had to entirely scrap an idea or component… yes, the journey has been anything but smooth. And yet, looking at his finished creation now, Logan realises that every single second spent has been completely worth it.

Technically, Logan shouldn’t be using the word “finished”, since his invention has yet passed its final and most important test. But last week’s testing was the farthest that any of his prototypes had ever come, so Logan can’t help but hope that today, it’ll go just one step farther.

Well. There’s only one way to find out, now isn’t there?

Logan quickly pulls his trusty notebook and pen out of the ether, where he keeps his most important items. He flips the book open to a fresh new page. At the top, he writes the date, then a title: TEST RUN # —

He hesitates.

TEST RUN #WHO EVEN KNOWS ANYMORE, HONESTLY.

There, perfect.

And so he begins. The first twenty or so tests, he completes without even thinking. Logan has done those ones so many times, to say that he could complete them in his sleep would be an under-exaggeration. He tests the prototype’s durability, folding ability, resistance to wind and cold and heat and water. Of course, he doesn’t run into any problems there.

Next comes the slightly more interesting tests. Logan places one of the two circles onto his apartment floor, then folds the second one up so that it’s smaller and therefore easier to transport. With a snap of his fingers, he sends it off to the location that he’s been using for testing: a vast and empty flower field that, as far as Logan knows, no one besides him has set foot in for a couple of years at least.

Next, Logan picks up a small six-sided dice and places it gently onto the circle that he’d laid on the table. He’s barely let go of the dice and pulled his hand back when a familiar flash of bright blue light fills the room. By the time the light is gone, the dice is, too.

Logan grabs a looking-glass off his bookshelf, the one that he’s enchanted to always show the flower field. It only takes him a second to spot his circle lying surrounded by tall blades of grass, and then only a second more to find the dice sitting right there in the center of the circle. Looks like the dice test was successful. Logan isn’t surprised. The dice test is another easy one.

His next few tests are all more or less the same as the dice test. The only difference is that he’s no longer transporting dice; for each test, Logan uses a slightly more difficult object. First, he picks up a —

Hold on.

If Logan were writing this story, he would surely go into incredible detail about each and every test, listing off every single object he tries, telling you which tests have stood in his way in the past and explaining what he did to get around them.

Luckily for you, dear reader, Logan is not writing this story. He's only living it.

Suffice it to say, his portable-teleportation-circles pass each and every test with flying colours, just like they did last week. With every test passed, Logan grows more and more excited. He had already known when he began test run number who-even-knows-anymore-honestly that it was going to be an overwhelming success, but of course there’s such a difference between knowing something is going to happen versus seeing it happen with your own two eyes. Last week felt like a fluke, you see. This week is proof that it was not.

xxx

By the time Logan completes his second-to-last test, he is so giddy with excitement and passion, he can hardly think straight (although to be fair, “straight” never really has been a strength of his). A rush of adrenaline courses through the young inventor as he jots down two familiar words: Trial successful.

And then suddenly, the time has come. “This is it. I am... about to perform the final test,” Logan says to himself, scarce able to believe that he’s actually made it until he says the words out loud. They come out no louder than an awed whisper.

He tucks his notebook and pen back into the ether, smoothes down the wrinkles on his button-up shirt, adjusts his necktie, combs through his hair with his fingers. Not because he thinks someone is watching him; it’s just that Logan can’t help but feel that he should look his best for a moment like this. It’s, he thinks, a moment deserving of trumpet fanfare, of multi-coloured confetti, of a loud and dramatic drumroll.

Alas, Logan has none of these. He’ll have to settle for the loud drumbeat of his heart thumping in his chest, instead.

Logan stares at the devices sitting in front of him. He gets to his feet. Dusts himself off. Starts to back away. As he walks backwards, something swells inside of him; something big and bright and demanding. Pride? Hope? Fear? Perhaps a mixture of the three? Whatever it is, it grows and grows until it threatens to engulf the normally-so-unemotional young man. It’s now or never, Logan suddenly realises. He’s got to move before this strange Feeling-Thing immobilises him.

So move, he does. Logan closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then before he knows it he’s running forward, forward, forward and onward as fast as his legs can go.

Because it’s him, of course; Logan is the final test. Transporting around little objects is all well and good, but the purpose of his invention has always been to transport people, after all.

The tip of Logan’s toe lands in the transportation circle, the rest of him following close behind. As soon as he’s landed, a familiar tingling begins to spread through him; the circle is harnessing his mana and converting it into a teleportation path, exactly as it’s meant to do. For precisely two instants, Logan’s body is suspended in a strange little pocket between time and space. He’s surrounded on all sides by pure light, bright enough to blind even with his eyes closed.

Then, just like that, it’s over. Logan touches down on solid ground, somehow feeling at once like he’s drifted down gently as a feather and like his entire body has been slammed into the ground hard enough to rattle the teeth in his skull. Slowly, warily, Logan opens his eyes to see that… something’s different.

No, scratch that. Everything’s different.

Logan turns around cautiously. The new location he’s found himself in is dimly lit, but it doesn’t take too long for his eyes to adjust.

He takes in old and cracked wooden planks, stains marking leaky spots on the ceiling, and spiderwebs strewn all over the place. He’s standing in what appears to be the attic of an abandoned warehouse of sorts. Maybe not a warehouse — maybe a workshop, or an old storage unit. No matter. Whatever this place is, it’s very clearly not the empty flower field that Logan had been expecting to open his eyes in.

As disappointment shoots through him like an arrow to the heart, Logan realises that he can literally feel his hopes being ground to dust. How curious. It’s not a very pleasant sensation, to say the least. The young scientist had been trying his best not to let his hopes run away from him too much, but after all the success of the previous tests, you can hardly blame him for getting excited, now can you?

Logan sighs heavily. I suppose I have some work to do. He’s not looking forward to resigning himself to yet another month of tinkering and testing, especially now that he’s tasted success. Who knows how long it’ll take to identify and fix whatever problem caused him to end up here?

Speaking of, where is “here”, anyway? Logan, quite frankly, hasn’t the foggiest idea where he is. He probably should figure that out, before he begins worrying about repairs and re-runs. Stretching, Logan looks around for the exit.

Aha! There’s a staircase. Following these stairs down onto the next floor, Logan comes across a door, standing the slightest bit ajar. A warm glow surrounds the doorway; sunlight from the outside world. He smiles triumphantly, allowing himself a little bit of celebration for this small victory (he needs the validation to keep going, after the crushing failure — er — learning experience he’s just suffered).

After the darkness of the warehouse-slash-workshop-slash-storage unit, the sunlight’s sudden harshness startles Logan a little bit when he opens the door. That’s odd, he thinks. I could swear that the suns weren’t nearly that bright a moment ago. He’s still a little lightheaded from the brightness of the transportation spell, so suffice it to say, the abnormally bright sunlight isn’t doing him any favours. Logan blinks as he steps out the door into a forest thick with trees and shrubs. “You’d think that the foliage would block out the suns a little, now wouldn’t you,” he deadpans under his breath. Logan rubs his eyes. Then he rubs them again.

Goodness gracious, why is it so bright? Logan fights back an angry growl as the white spots in his field of vision persist, refusing to diminish even the slightest amount. Today was supposed to be a good day! Channeling his frustration towards the most immediate cause, Logan glares up through the leaves, at the sun —

Hold on.

The sun, singular?

That can’t be right. What happened to the other one? Logan looks away, then looks back, as if he might have somehow missed the presence of a massive star in the sky. Nothing. He stumbles around, straining to see if it’s somehow hidden behind one of the larger leaves. But no — there’s still nothing.

Suddenly, it looks like Logan might have a bigger problem on his hands than simply needing to do some minor repairs.

xxx

There’s a sort of throbbing pain coming somewhere from Logan’s left elbow.

He’s only vaguely aware of this, but vague is better than none-at-all, so he focuses in on that pain to try and ground himself. It works; after a moment, the fractured world begins coming back into focus.

Logan tries to inspect the wound, only to realise that he can’t turn his head, since it’s currently locked tight in an iron grip between his hands. His legs are curled up beneath him, too. He doesn’t remember assuming this bizarre fetal position. In fact, there’s a lot he doesn’t remember. How he got here, for example. From the darkness surrounding him and the hard wooden floor beneath him, Logan guesses that he’s somehow ended up back in the attic of the warehouse. His mind is still too scattered to grasp anything beyond that. But it’s a start.

Stiffly, Logan forces his fingers to relax and, stretching his neck, begins to massage the life back into them. How long did I spend, just… sitting there, waiting for nothing? he wonders, marvelling at how tense his arms still are. As he starts doing the same for his cramped legs, bits and pieces of memories start breaking away and swimming to the surface of his consciousness at last.

He remembers staring. He’d always been taught not to stare directly at the suns as a child; the ultraviolet light might burn his retinas, causing permanent damage or even blindness. But frankly, solar retinopathy had been the last of his concerns once he’d realised that there was an entire star missing from the great blue sky above.

He remembers shouting. Who can blame him for that, really? Something about knowing that you are completely lost and alone… it triggers something primal within the soul, awakening a beast that can only be pacified with a roar. “Lost? Of course not. I’m right here,” Logan wants to argue with himself, but he can’t. He doesn’t have any idea where ‘here’ is, you see.

He remembers sprinting. Illogical, perhaps, to think that by putting distance between himself and the ugly truth, he can make it go away. But we as humans do tend to fear that which we don’t understand, and to run from that which we fear. Logan had always considered himself fearless, and therefore powerful. To have that power taken away? That’s one more thing to run from.

He remembers stumbling. He took the stairs two at a time as he went, trying to go ever faster. At one point, when he wasn’t paying attention, he missed a step and went flailing downwards, landing hard on… his left elbow. The sudden fall didn’t bother him too much, though. In fact, it was almost reassuring, in a twisted way, to have his body’s state match his mind’s.

He remembers squeezing, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could, telling himself again and again that he must be dreaming. Only dreaming. It’s all just a dream, and when he opens his eyes back up again he’ll be resting, safe and sound, in his cozy little apartment with his kettle and his teacup and his comfortable armchair and —

And…

He’s not dreaming, of course. This whole — what even is it that Logan’s gotten himself into, here? Is he in an entirely different world? A different dimension, even? — whatever it is, it’s here to stay. The realisation almost makes Logan want to retreat right back into fetal position.

But… no. No, no, no. Logan catches himself before he can slip back into the apathetic zone. He mustn’t panic; not a second time, at least. Hold it together, Logan tells himself. In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth.

What he wouldn’t give for a calming cup of tea right about now.

The deep breathing does the trick well enough, though; Logan’s head is now much clearer than it had been only moments before. He’s still afraid, of course (he’s just been dumped out all alone into an unfamiliar land; who wouldn’t be?), but for the most part, his logic and reason have returned; thank goodness for that.

There’s a lot about his current situation that Logan cannot control. Not least of all, the fact that his unsuccessful experiment has stranded him in what very well might be an alternate dimension. He can’t control what’s happened to him, or what will happen to him next, for that matter. All that Logan can control is how he reacts.

It’s not about what’s happened. It’s about what he’s going to do about it.

“Giving up” is a completely foreign concept to Logan. He is a scientist, for goodness’ sakes! Not only is he used to things not going exactly the way he plans them to, his hobby hinges entirely on staying determined and finding solutions. Logan does not simply “give up”. And he’s certainly not planning on starting now.

Instead, he approaches the problem like he’s analyzing the results of an experiment gone off the tracks and trying to figure out what went wrong. Step one: observe and gather data. He’ll only be able to figure out the “what comes next” after he’s got all the pieces of the puzzle.

The second time that Logan walks out of the empty warehouse, the immediate glare of the sunlight doesn’t affect him quite as much — possibly because this time, he’s expecting it. Now, this may be silly, but the fact that he copes with the sun so easily this time around gives him a bit of a confidence boost; it’s almost like he’s just managed to defeat an enemy that, the first time around, he couldn’t even bring himself to face. This might not be so bad after all, Logan allows, striding out the door with a newfound sureness in his stride.

And his good mood only gets better as he continues to explore the forest surrounding him, distancing himself with every step from the abandoned warehouse where he had shed his insecurities. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that, besides the singular sun (which he can almost forget about, provided he doesn’t look up), the forest appears to be… exceedingly normal. It’s one that he wouldn’t even take a second look at, back in his origin dimension.

(Goodness, Logan reflects absently, the phrase “origin dimension” sounds so strange, doesn’t it?)

But of course, the flora and fauna in this forest aren’t exactly the same. There’s just enough variation between the two dimensions to fascinate Logan without frightening him, in fact.

That fascination, as it turns out, leads perfectly into step two: record observations, preferably on paper, for reference. Logan quickly conjures back up his notebook and pen to scribble down notes and make rough sketches of the forest’s almost-but-not-entirely-familiar specimens.

The conjuring takes a little more effort than usual, making Logan realise that his mana supply is probably getting dangerously low. Of course — he must have used up quite a lot of it earlier, when he was casting all of those teleportation spells. I’ll have to be a bit more conservative with my mana, Logan decides, until I can find a place to sleep and replenish, that is. The prospect scares him a little. He doesn’t like the fact that people depend on magic so much, but disliking it doesn’t make it any less true, and he’s certainly not exempt from that dependance. What will he do if he runs out?

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Logan’s attention is drawn a beautiful species of butterfly landing on an equally beautiful flower. Uncapping his pen, Logan smiles, grateful for the distraction. Mana can wait, can’t it? For now, he’s merely a scientist investigating an alien world — nothing more, nothing less.

xxx

He’s not sure how long he spends wandering through the forest, jotting down notes and observations, before his feet bring to a well-beaten path. This comes as quite a surprise to Logan, who had somehow been under the impression that he’s alone in the forest. The idea of finding another civilization both excites and unnerves him.

To journey or not to journey? Logan is conflicted on what he should do next. On one hand, if he doesn’t follow the path, he just knows that this decision will come back to haunt him. It’ll simply eat him up inside, the not knowing.

On the other hand… he has no idea what to expect, following this path. Where, or who, will the earth lead him to? How long will he spend walking? Does the path even end, or is this world nothing more than one big forest with a path circling all the way around? Does he want it to end? A path that leads to nowhere is better than a path that leads to danger, but in an unfamiliar land such as this one, the latter option seems a lot more likely.

Yes, it’s clear that the cons far outweigh the pros. Safety ought to be his priority here. The correct course of action, therefore, is to ignore the path and turn back to the forest. Just… just walk away. Walk... away.

Logan tucks his notebook into his back pocket and walks towards the path, cursing his incurable curiosity every step of the way.

xxx

Seconds stretch into minutes, then minutes into hours, as Logan follows the mysterious trail. There are times when he feels like he should stop, turn back before it’s too late, before the universe can throw anything else at him. But he’s too damned curious for his own good, and he can’t bring himself to.

Luckily for Logan, the universe seems to have had its fill of tormenting him today. The path does have an end, one that he reaches without encountering any hostile entities, and what he finds at the end is more than enough to make up for the hours of walking and waiting and worrying.

It’s a city. A city with people walking casually around, completely normal people just like Logan himself, which is exciting enough on its own — but what makes this discovery go from good to great is the city itself.

Simply put, the city looks like it’s been pulled straight out of one of Logan’s favourite science fantasy novels. He sees people riding around in elegant and futuristic vehicles with sleek metal bodies and four perfectly round, perfectly uniform wheels. He sees tall, towering buildings with bright yellow or white lights flickering in their windows rather than the dim, disappointing blue glow that he’s accustomed to. And everywhere he looks, he sees people tap-tap-tapping away on these tiny little handheld devices.

A gaggle of people pushes past him, every one of them fixated on their screens. When he catches a glimpse of what’s on these screens, he doesn’t blame them for being so tuned out to the rest of the world; if he had one, he’d be fixated, too.

On every screen is something different: digital calendars and checklists, looping pictures, games, perfectly uniform writing. Some people even have their devices held up to their ear and are talking into them, showing Logan that they’re able to pick up and store audio.

What kind of world must this be, for every single person to be able to own a piece of technology like this and not think twice about it?

The answer to his own question comes to him almost immediately. “A world where science is king, and magic comes second,” Logan realises out loud.

He knew it. He knew it! Science isn’t useless — it’s not, it’s not, it’s not! And it’s not hopeless to try and pursue a future of science. The proof that it’s possible is right here, in front of him!

His excitement fuels him forwards and into the city, where he begins flitting from building to building in a manner much like the butterfly he’d been sketching earlier; mostly arbitrary, based only on whichever locations catch his fancy. This results in him zig-zagging erratically from place to place, as there’s scarcely a single storefront or skyscraper that doesn’t catch his fancy. Everywhere he looks, he sees unthinkably advanced innovations being used in perfectly natural, casual fashions. Logan’s dreamed of places like this, but never imagined actually getting to see one someday!

What’s more — in all his exploring, he doesn’t once see anyone using magic. The life of these people is completely effortless. Completely automatic.

It’s the very life he’s been dreaming of for over twenty years now.

xxx

As the sun begins to go down, so too does Logan’s stamina. Panic had brought him out of the warehouse, concern had fueled him through the forest, curiosity had led him down the path, and finally intrigue had pulled him through the city — but though the intrigue is still fresh, the burst of energy he’d gained is wearing off, and now Logan finds himself at the unhappy tail end of an exhausting day.

All those emotions!  Goodness, Logan is in no way used to dealing with so many conflicting emotions in one day (indeed, he is in no way used to dealing with emotions, period). A long, long day of feeling has taken its toll on the young man.

He finds a city bench, which he trudges over to and parks himself down upon. Then, his thoughts finally settling down, Logan reflects and starts to develop some hypotheses on his current situation.

First of all, what went wrong with his invention? That seems as good a place to start as any. And he thinks that he might already have a vague idea:

As a general rule of thumb, small, inanimate objects are the easiest to transport from place to place; they’re much less demanding. Logan had tested large objects and they had gone through just fine. He’d tested small plants, with similar results. But his mistake was assuming that this was sufficient proof that his design was advanced enough to handle something as large and… well, “animate” as a human being. The fact is that his devices, despite how long he’d been working on them, were still primitive designs. Too primitive to safely teleport humans, at least. Add that to the fact that he must have already been running low on mana when he stepped in, and it’s not hard to see what went wrong. The teleportation pat created by the circles must have become unstable and broken somewhere between point A and point B, dumping Logan out and into this brave new world of his.

As to what this ‘brave new world’ actually is… now, that’s a little trickier. His best guess is that he’s ended up in some kind of sister dimension to his own. Centuries ago, Logan recalls learning, people had much more faith in the capabilities of science. Nowadays, everyone seems to assume that science was a much more ancient concept than magic, and it was then replaced when intellectuals started “proving” that magic was more reliable — but that’s not true in the slightest. In fact, the two of them started developing around the same time. One might say they were born of the same impulse, as it were: to control and shape the world to fit one’s own desires. That was what introduced science and magic into the world.

During that time, science was at its peak, whereas magic had only just begun to peek out. Over the years, the two battled for dominance. And in the end, magic came out on top and science unfortunately faded into obscurity.

Or at least, that’s what happened to Logan’s dimension. What if this world, then, had the same history up until that point, and then the two timelines… fractured? Magic was considered a foolish endeavour and was cast aside, while science stepped into the spotlight and thrived there.

So, then, it’s not only that people abstain from using magic because science is enough to sustain them. Rather, magic may have in fact been completely erased. But despite that… at its core, this dimension is remarkably similar to his own.

My own. It doesn’t feel exactly right, referring to the magical world as if it belongs to him. Logan suddenly realises that not once since getting here has he thought of that other dimension, or the things in it, as “home”.

A home ought to be a place where he feels comfortable, oughtn’t it? A place that he shares an intimate connection with. By that criteria, then, the ever-changing apartments he’s always cycling through are not his home. The dimension where everyone accepts magic and disregards science is not his home. Even his inventions — they’ve always been an attempt to make up for what he feels he lacks, and therefore artificially construct a home where there is none.

Logan gets back to his feet, leaving the bench behind, and looks around at the buildings surrounding him. At the sun still steadily dipping its way below the horizon, painting the heavens in all sorts of colour. The sight of it all fills him with a sort of serenity that he’s never known before.

Never once has Logan felt a sense of belonging, in the other dimension. Whereas here…

xxx

For some reason, much later, Logan is still walking. He is tired, yes, but his legs seem to have a mind of their own, growing restless whenever he sits still for too long. It’s as if they refuse to relax until he’s walked the length of this city, seen all that it has to offer him. So while the sky goes dark and more and more of those peculiar yellow lights appear in the windows, Logan keeps on keeping on.

Logan doesn’t know what he’s looking for until he’s already found it.

A small theatre, not at all unlike one Logan would expect to see near his old apartment(s), but for the glowing sign on the front.

EVEREST ETHEREUM, ENCHANTER EXTRAORDINAIRE, its large, bold letters loudly proclaim. Directly underneath, in text that’s a much smaller size: Today only — mind-muddling magical marvels for guys, gals, and non-binary pals of all ages!

A little tacky, perhaps, and whoever came up with the name and slogan could definitely stand to ease up on the alliteration, but the message grabs Logan’s attention all the same.

A magician, here! And one powerful enough to call themselves an enchanter to boot. Could Logan have been too quick in assuming that magic doesn’t play a role in this dimension? Perhaps it still exists, to a smaller degree. Perhaps only a select few people have magical capabilities. Perhaps Logan is jumping to conclusions again and really ought to stop doing that.

No, that last one isn’t much of a “perhaps”.

Rather than drive himself crazy with what-ifs, Logan decides to go inside and see this enchanter’s performance for himself. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do.

The inside of the theatre is… underwhelming. That’s not to say the few posters and decorations hung up aren’t nice ones — they’re just not very impressive, that’s all. There’s a very conspicuous lack of the colourful banners and red-carpetry that he’d been expecting. The only other person in the room sits behind a simple folding table, head resting on the surface of said table and the rest of his body completely swallowed up by a baggy black-and-purple hoodie. All the audience members must already be in the theatre. Still, Logan is a little put out by how empty the room is. Surely, someone as powerful as an enchanter deserves a much more handsome welcome than this.

The door swings shut behind him with a loud beep. Logan gives a start and scrambles further into the theatre. As he does, the hooded figure resting on the table looks up for the first time, revealing a young man’s tired-looking face.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat. Speaking of handsome.

The other man blinks blearily a few times before he notices Logan. His eyes (which are smudged with some kind of dark substance — at least, Logan hopes that it’s artificial and not natural bags from sleep deprivation) immediately widen as he scrambles to sit up straight, jostling a plate of cookies resting on the table. The shadows cast by the man’s large hood aren’t quite enough to hide a deep flush colouring his cheeks; Logan guesses that he must be embarrassed at having been caught asleep on the job. “Don’t worry.” Logan quickly tries to reassure the man, seeing as he already appears to have enough stress as is. “I won’t tell your boss.”

The man’s hard, jagged fear visibly softens. “I — Um — thanks.” His voice is gravelly, but not unpleasantly so. Logan thinks the quiet scratchiness is in fact strangely soothing. “I swear that’s not, like, an everyday thing, I’m just…”

Logan quirks a brow, amused. The man checks himself.

“I’m just going to stop talking now. Thanks. Sorry.” Rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck, the man’s eyes dart away. “You’re here to see the show, right?”

Logan nods.

“Great. Tickets are twenty dollars.”

That makes Logan hesitate. “Twenty...?” What does dollars mean? It’s an unfamiliar word to Logan, who’s used to using precious stones or mana to make payments. Does the man perhaps mean sand dollars?

Then Logan notices the metal box that the man is pointing to. It’s filled with colourful pieces of paper and perfectly round metal pieces. Those must be dollars, then. Do they use paper and metal disks as payment here? That’s new.

The man in the hoodie apparently misinterprets Logan’s hesitation. “It’s actually not that expensive,” he reassures Logan. “Like, if you’ve ever tried to get tickets to, say, a Broadway show… well, heh. Let’s just say, twenty dollars is peanuts. Besides, these guys are really good magicians. You’ll never be the same once you’ve watched them perform.” He pauses. “And I’m not just saying that ‘cause they’re my boyfriends.”

If Logan wasn’t already convinced before, he certainly is now. Only problem is, he doesn’t have any dollars.

Then again…

Logan eyes the money box carefully. Many of the pieces of colourful paper are printed with a detailed design and a big number 20. That’s most likely worth twenty dollars, then. So he only needs one of those papers to get a ticket, right?

Or, alternatively, something that looks like one of those papers.

“Pardon me, but would you mind terribly if I...” As casually as he can, Logan reaches into the box and plucks out a paper.

“Hey,” protests the man, leaning forward. “What are you —”

“I promise you, I am not going to steal your dollars. I would merely like to take a good look at this for a moment, that’s all.” He turns it over in his hands, inspecting the detailed design on the front and the back, feeling its weight, even giving it a subtle sniff to confirm that it doesn’t smell of anything. He debates licking it, but something tells him that would be a bad idea.

Then he snaps his fingers, and where there was one piece of paper, there now lies two.

Creating a convincing Duplicate of an item is a difficult task in the magical world, but that’s only because people’s eyes are trained to spot little tells such as slight distortions when held up to the light, or corners and edges that are ever-so-slightly darker or lighter than the original object, or details that seem to blur when you look directly at them.

But people might be less used to spotting Dupes here, since they don’t seem to use magic as often. That’s what Logan is hoping for, at least. He’s just used up the last of his mana creating that Dupe, so it had better work.

Only one way to find out. Feigning calm, Logan hands both of the dollars back to the man with the hoodie.

Their hands briefly touch as he does so; the other man’s fingers are surprisingly soft, especially compared to Logan’s own calloused ones. As you might imagine, this doesn’t help his nerves any.

Then Logan steps back, feeling his heart rate speeding up (for more reasons than one). The man’s mouth has fallen open, and he seems dumbfounded… but he accepts the papers without question. Phew. Logan lets out a sigh of relief and feels himself relax. He’s safe. Nothing to fear.

“That’s a nifty little trick you’ve got there,” a new voice quite suddenly speaks directly into his ear, startling Logan so badly that he lets out a small scream and crashes directly into the folding table, very nearly knocking the dollar-box and plate of cookies over.

With both his tailbone and pride sorely bruised, Logan scrambles to his feet, automatically adjusting his necktie, trying to ignore the burning warmth spreading across his face and neck. So much for ‘nothing to fear’, he thinks, humiliated.

“I’m so sorry!” exclaims the newcomer, who Logan now sees is another young man. His eyes are wide behind the thin frames of his round glasses. “Oh gosh, I didn’t realise I would scare you like that. Did I sneak up on you? Are you hurt? Ah, darn. I should’ve given you some warning, or something, shouldn’t I? Are you okay?”

“I — no — well, yes, but — that is —” Unsure of which question to answer first, Logan fumbles with his words for some time before finally settling on a simple, “I am fine, thank you.”

The newcomer begins to say something else, but he is interrupted before he can get anything out. “Hang on, what do you think you’re doing?” At this, Logan turns to look at the first man, the one selling tickets, worried that he has discovered Logan’s Dupe, but he isn’t looking at Logan. Instead, his finger is pointed accusingly at the newcomer, whose bottom lip is now stuck out in a pout.

“I know, Virgil, I just missed you!” ‘Virgil?’ Ah, that must be the ticketmaster’s name. “Roman and I have been stuck all alone without you for, like, two years already!” Two years? This man has been in isolation for two years? That seems... cruel. “Plus I got hungry and wanted to come grab some cookies.”

“I thought you had cookies backstage, Patton!” the ticketmaster — Virgil — replies, sounding exasperated. (Oh. Backstage. He was exaggerating when he said two years, then, Logan corrects himself.)

Patton shuffles his feet. “Well, yeah, we did. But, uh, we… lost them?” he tries unconvincingly.

“Lost them in your stomach, huh,” deadpans Virgil.

“Hey! No!”

Virgil gives Patton a skeptical stare.

“...Maybe a little. Anyway, the cookies don’t matter!” insists Patton, quickly changing the subject. “Either way, I wanted to come see you again before the show starts. Maybe help you out here, give you less work to do. Um, but that might have backfired, I guess? You know, since I almost scared this poor fellow right out of his pants just now.” He turns to the poor fellow in question, who has been watching this exchange play out, unsure of whether he should be saying anything. “Sorry about that, by the way. I thought that trick you did was really terrific, that’s all, and I guess I got carried away.”

“Not a problem,” Logan replies briskly. “Why don’t we both… forget that whole thing ever happened, please.”

“Aw, but I was going to ask if you could teach me how to do that!” says Patton.

Logan isn’t sure how to answer that. I’m actually a magician from an alternate dimension, and that money is nothing more than an illegal illusion. No, thank you. Besides, from what he’s heard so far, Patton is going to be performing in the show he’s about to see. If that’s the case, shouldn’t he already know how to make a Duplicate? It’s a very simple spell, after all…

Luckily, he’s saved from having to come up with a response when Virgil breaks in once more. “Hey, I hate to cut this whole bonding moment short—”

“I cradled you in my arms,” giggles Patton; Virgil ignores him.

“— but I don’t think you’ve got time to learn an entirely new trick before the show starts. Seriously, you can’t be out here. You’re going onstage in fifteen minutes, tops.”

Patton sighs. “You’re right, you’re right, you’re right you’re right you’re right,” he says, though his voice is barely above a mumble.”

“What was that?” Virgil pointedly cups a hand around his ear.

“You’re right! You always are. Ever the level-headed one, aren’t you?” Patton walks around the table to embrace Virgil affectionately, pulling down the purple-and-black hood to give him a kiss on the cheek. Virgil shrugs out of the hug and shoos Patton away, babbling about showtimes and baked goods and tickets, and all the while trying to hide his wide smile behind dainty hands that aren’t nearly large enough to cover up his joy. Logan pretends not to notice.

“Enjoy the show!” is the last thing that Patton says, grinning with unabashed cheerfulness at Logan and — are his eyes deceiving him, or was that a wink? Before Logan can even process Patton’s words, the charmingly cheerful man has reached around Virgil, snagged a cookie or three, and strolled away. Logan watches him nibble at his newly acquired treat as he disappears through a large door marked BACKSTAGE.

“Don’t worry,” murmurs Logan, fighting a smile of his own. “I have no doubt that I will.”

xxx

As he watches the enchanter sweep grandly into center stage, Logan feels like he’s staring up into the sun’s glare all over again. Everest Ethereum’s regal red velvet robes are illuminated with all manner of golden sequins and sparkling trim, glittering so brilliantly in the dark theatre that Logan briefly has to lift a hand to shield his gaze for fear that he’ll go blind otherwise. His eyes adjust quickly, though, and once they do, Logan is able to look more carefully at the enchanter, Everest. Framing his face is a meticulously styled halo that’s just as red as his robes are, and he’s got a golden crown perched on his head to match the rest of his ensemble. He is, in a word, beautiful.

Moments later, Patton comes trippingly traipsing out from the other side of the stage with a large wooden box in tow. His outfit, a blue skirt-and-tuxedo combo, is significantly less flashy than Everest’s, allowing Logan to conclude that Patton must be the enchanter’s assistant.

Patton and Everest reach the center of the stage at almost exactly the same time — was that choreographed? A coincidence? Or are they just that in touch with each other? — as thunderous applause echoes through the theatre, where Logan is seated among many other eager audience members. Once the applause dies down, the performance begins. Logan leans forward in his seat, eager to catch his first glimpse of magic from this new dimension.

It only takes a few minutes for Logan to realise that there’s about as much actual magic in this so-called “magic show” as there are dolphins in the desert.

What he’s watching is decidedly not magic. There are no spells, no incantations, no nothing. It’s all simply misdirection, distracting audience attention towards one location on the stage while a sneaky sleight-of-hand takes place in another. Patton scurries around and fetches items and tells awful puns while Everest stands center stage and dramatically waves his hands around, but Logan knows that it’s nothing but an act.

He can’t decide whether he’s disappointed or impressed, or an odd mixture of the two.

Very disappointed, for obvious reasons. He’d come into the theatre hoping to find that he isn’t completely alone in his magical abilities. It’s one thing for him to say that he can survive without magic, but it’s another thing entirely to actually try it. He’ll be able to figure it out in time; that much, Logan is certain of. It just… would have been nice to have someone who could help guide him through this transition.

But then, at the same time, very impressed. Despite the letdown, Logan has to admire how clever all of the tricks are. He can’t even begin to guess how many of them work, and isn’t at all confident that he’d be able to recreate the same things with magic. The scientific dimension has yet again proven to be far more inventive and creative than the magical one, it seems.

Plus, he has to admit that though it’s not in the traditional sense, Everest is enchanting. He is nimble fingers and laughing eyes and flaming hair and words that sing as he speaks them, and he is downright bewitching, all of him.

xxx

“Alright, guys, gals, and non-binary pals!” Patton says, walking up to the front of the stage and squinting in the brightness of the stage lights. “Gosh, it is so great to see that we have such a full house today, and especially since we’re going to need to pull up an audience member for this next trick! I’m looking for one very brave soul to come on up here and lay all his cards on the table. Let’s see, how about… you there, in the front!” Patton finishes, pointing directly at Logan.

Directly at Logan.

Logan realises quite suddenly that his hand is stuck up in the air as high as it can go.

Huh.

“Come on up! Don’t be shy, now,” calls Patton merrily, undeniable kindness colouring his every word. Logan debates pretending not to hear him, but eventually decides that that would only do more harm than good, and has no choice but to get up and pick his way through the rows and rows of seats, then climb up onto the stage where the full force of the stage lights hits him so hard, it almost makes his ears ring. Logan watches recognition flicker across Patton’s face, but the blue-tuxedoed man doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s your name?”

Logan, he tries to say. The word gets caught in his throat. He coughs and tries again, awkwardly: “My name is Logan.”

Patton turns back to the audience. “Alright, everyone, give it up for Logan!” The words have scarcely left his mouth before the building starts shaking with applause and a few scattered whoops and whistles. Patton waits for the noise to die down before turning back to Logan. There’s a mischievous expression on his face that makes Logan very uneasy indeed. “You know, I didn’t quite catch you that first time. Guess your volume was too low…”

Logan blinks.

“...gan?”

Low… gan. Lo-gan.

I might scream.

It’s a tempting notion, but before Logan can act on it, Patton seems to read his expression and hurries to move on. “Alright, Logan, your job’s going to be a super simple one, okay? We’re going back to the basics with this trick. I think everyone’s seen this one performed before. All I need you to do is pick a card, any card!” So saying, Patton gestures towards Everest with a flourish; Logan watches on in amazement as Everest pulls playing card after playing card out from behind his ear, until he’s got a full deck in his hands.

The enchanter hands the deck to Patton. The audience applauds dutifully. Patton grins.

“Okay, okay, settle down now. That’s just the beginning,” he calls. Then, turning to Logan, Patton fans the cards out face-down. “Go ahead, pick one. Now look at it. Memorise what’s on there. Don’t show it to me, okay? You can show it to the audience if you’d like, but make sure that I can’t see it.”

Logan obliges, pulling out a 5 of Diamonds and showing it off. He gets the feeling that everyone knows where this trick is going except for him.

“Great. Okay, now just slide that back in here, anywhere you’d like” continues Patton, still holding the cards in the same fanned-out position. Once Logan has done so, Patton shuffles the deck thoroughly before handing it back to Everest. Logan watches as Everest performs a series of complicated hand movements, shuffling faster and faster until his hands and the cards are nothing more than a blur of colour and motion, and then all at once —

“Is this your card?”

Logan’s eyes widen. The enchanter is brandishing the same card that he pulled out! “I — yes, it is!” he announces, nodding. “How did you…”

The other half of his question is drowned out in the cacophony of clapping that follows. Both Patton and the enchanter shake Logan’s hand while Patton’s lips move. Logan can’t hear him, of course, but it’s not difficult to infer that Patton is dismissing him.

Shakily, Logan walks off the stage and returns to his seat, feeling one part alarm, one part confusion, and ninety-eight parts exhilaration.

xxx

Much too soon, the performance is over. Logan surges to his feet along with the rest of the audience as the lights go back up, applauding until the palms of his hands are red and stinging.

The crowd carries him out into the no-longer-empty lobby, where Logan leans uncomfortably against one of the red brick walls. Perhaps he’s supposed to leave the building now, but he hesitates.

He doesn’t know where he’ll go once he’s left. And there’s something else, too, Logan realises after a moment. For some reason, leaving the theatre feels like leaving behind the last trace of magic that Logan will encounter for a long time. Yes, the show was made up of clever illusion rather than actual mana, but something undeniably magical happened in there tonight and Logan doesn’t want to walk away from it just yet.

So, he doesn’t. He stands and he waits, and he watches people animatedly talking to one another as they stream out the door, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He watches the cookies disappearing as they get snatched up into the fists of greedy toddlers and equally as greedy middle-aged men alike.

He is squinting at a young fellow’s t-shirt, trying to decide if the text on it reads Could or Couldn’t Be Gayer (he’s quite fond of the sentiment either way) when a sudden shout and the sounds of scattered applause catch his attention. Logan looks up to see the enchanter walking out the backstage door and into the lobby, Patton trailing close behind.

At the sight of the two of them, Logan is quite glad that he chose to wait around.

A group of small children run up to tug on Patton’s skirt. One of them holds up a black device larger than her own head. “Will you take a picture with us?” Logan hears her say. Patton smiles warmly.

Logan’s heart feels warm, too.

He’s about to move forward in the crowd to try and get a closer look at the pair of them when someone sidles up next to him. Logan glances over to see Virgil, still clad in his black-and-purple hoodie.

“So?”

Logan furrows his brow. “So, what?”

“What did you think of the show?” Virgil clarifies.

“Oh. Oh, it was...” Logan trails off. He’s not sure if mere words can express everything he’s feeling right now.

The silence drags on. Virgil winces. “Uh-oh. Does that mean it was bad?”

“No! Not at all. I just — argh.” Logan runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at his inability to adequately express himself.

“Take your time, buddy.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I guess… it wasn’t quite so bad.” Logan finally gets out. “In fact, it was the best time that I’ve ever had.”

The ghost of a smile flits across Virgil’s chapped lips. “That good, huh? I probably shouldn’t be surprised. Roman and Patton are just amazing, aren’t they?”

“Roman?”

“Yeah. Wait, shoot, I’m not supposed to say that.” Alarm briefly darkens Virgil’s expression, but in the next instant it’s disappeared again. Whatever mistake he just made, he appears to be too tired to care. “Ah, well, secret’s out. Yeah, that’s the enchanter��s real name.”

Logan doesn’t understand. “But the sign says —”

“Yeah, I know what the sign says, I designed it. You didn’t think he was actually named Everest Ethereum, did you?” Virgil makes an odd sound, a cross between a chuckle and a sigh. “Roman just wanted a really fancy stage name and wouldn’t leave me alone until I changed it. I mean, at least it’s not as ridiculous as ‘Sir Squiggles the Brave.’ Don’t laugh.”

Logan arches a brow. “You can’t be serious.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said when I first heard it, too.”

“Okay, I know that you aren’t insulting Sir Squiggles,” a familiar voice interrupts their discussion. Logan and Virgil look up to see Everest — no, Roman, Logan corrects himself — standing in front of them, velvet robes and all. “Especially because you named our hamster that very same thing barely a week after shooting it down for me.”

One of Roman’s arms is slung affectionately around a giggling Patton’s shoulder. He uses the other to gather Virgil up in a tight hug.

“Hey, gross, let go of me! You’re gonna get your sweat from the show all over my new hoodie, Prince Underarm-stink,” Virgil splutters, though Logan notes that he doesn’t make any actual effort to extricate himself from the embrace as he continues to complain loudly.

Roman lets go of Patton to plant a kiss directly into Virgil’s purple hair, who suddenly goes silent. “Good to see you too, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance.”

“Ugh, you are the literal worst,” Virgil tries, but the fact that he’s laughing takes away most of the insult’s sting.

Roman replies confidently, “Shut up, you love me.” And he proceeds to shut him up thoroughly with kiss after passionate kiss, until the man has been reduced to nothing more than a blushing puddle in Roman’s arms.

Logan shifts uncomfortably. He feels like he’s intruding on a very intimate moment. Apparently Patton notices, because a moment later, he grabs his shoulders and very deliberately turns Logan away from the awkward scene and towards him.

“It’s Logan, right?” Patton asks, dropping his arms. This catches Logan off-guard; he didn’t think that Patton would remember him. He nods. “Ever gone up on stage before?”

“No, never.”

“You were really brave to step up onto the stage tonight, you know. That takes guts. It’s always especially scary the first time.” Patton blows a wayward blonde curl out of his face, looking at Logan with interest. “You didn’t seem to be too worried, though.”

“Well, why would I be?” says Logan quizzically. “All I had to do was follow a few simple instructions. That’s hardly something to worry about.”

Patton looks surprised, but only for a moment. Then he starts to laugh.

Logan isn’t totally sure what he said or did that Patton finds so funny, but whatever it is, he doesn’t regret it at all. Frankly, he would be perfectly content to do nothing but listen to Patton’s bubbly laughter for the rest of his life.

“Wow. You know, it sounds so much simpler when you put it that way!” Patton tells Logan once he’s recovered enough to form words again. “Public speaking? Easy peasy, you’re just reading words off a teleprompter. Building a house? Just following the blueprints. Programming the next big social media app? Just writing a few lines of code. Painting the Mona Lisa? All you’ve gotta do is —” he’s starting to snicker again — “is — is put paint on a canvas!” And then he’s off again, laughing, laughing until he’s gasping for breath, laughing with so much joy and mirth that Logan wants to laugh too.

Because even though he doesn’t understand what the joke was or what a teleprompter or a social media app or a Mona Lisa is, he understands that Patton is carefree and smiling and it’s because of him.

How wonderful.

A minute passes, then two, before Patton is finally all laughed out. By this time, Virgil and Roman have separated and are staring at Logan so intently that Logan starts to wonder if there’s perhaps something on his face.

Fortunately, Roman speaks up then, and his words reassure Logan that nothing is wrong. “I’m impressed, specs. The necktie and button-up shirt had me thinking you were bound to be a pretty boring guy — no offense — but it looks like I misjudged you, hmm? Anyone who can make Patton laugh like that is definitely worth my time. And I don’t say that lightly.”

“Roman,” cautions Virgil. “You’re starting to sound like an entitled brat.”

“Excuse you, I am not!”

“Definitely entitled,” Logan mutters. The words come out louder than he meant them to.

Virgil’s face lights up as he pokes Roman playfully in the arm. “Ha! Hear that, Ro? Even he agrees!” He turns to Logan in approval. “You know, I like you.”

Roman huffs, putting a perfectly manicured hand to his chest. “You’re both just jealous of me.”

“Kiddos! Play nice!” It’s Patton this time, swooping in to play mediator before Virgil and Roman can take their play-fighting any further. Logan sends Patton a silent thank-you as Virgil rolls his eyes fondly.

“Okay, yep. That we are, Roman. You got us.” This seems to pacify Roman, who allows his hand to fall back down to his side. Logan is grateful for the comfortable silence that follows.

Said silence doesn’t last very long, though. After just a moment, Roman speaks up again. “Pardon me, Logan, I hope you don’t mind my asking. Where are you from?” Seeing Logan’s confusion, Roman adds, “I mean, did you move here from another country or something? Your accent, it’s one that I don’t recall ever hearing before. And trust me, I would remember if I had.”

“I… have an accent?” says Logan, unable to mask his surprise.

“It’s very subtle,” jumps in Patton reassuringly. “I didn’t even notice, actually. Roman just has a bit of a knack for these things.”

Hm. Well. Considering how Logan lived in a completely separate dimension only a few hours ago, he supposes that probably shouldn’t be that surprising to learn. He doesn’t say this out loud, of course — the three of them would definitely think him crazy if he claimed that he’d come from an alternate dimension where no one believes in science and magic is a regular, everyday kind of thing.

Instead, Logan vaguely replies, “Oh, you’ve probably never heard of the place where I come from. It’s pretty far away.” Which technically is not a lie, unless the space-time continuum works in a very different way from how he thinks it does. Before any of them can ask him for more details, Logan adds, “In fact, I’ve scarcely been in this city of yours for a full day.”

“Ooh! On vacation, are ya?” asks Patton.

“Actually… no. I’m looking to settle down somewhere here.” It’s not until the words have left his mouth that Logan realises how true they are. He doesn’t want to leave the city. “It’s been, well, challenging, adjusting to the knowledge that I’m living somewhere completely unfamiliar. Especially since it wasn’t exactly my decision. I —” He cuts himself off, unsure why he’s confiding in these near-strangers. “I’m sorry, this is probably too much information, isn’t it?”

Roman replies quickly. “No, no, don’t worry. You’re not TMI’ing.”

“I’m not… TMI’ing?”

“Yeah. Like, TMI, but used as a verb.” Roman clarifies, not very helpfully.

“What’s TMI?”

“You know, like… too much information? It’s an acronym.”

“Oh, I see.” That must be a new vocabulary word from this dimension, then. Logan grabs his notebook from out of his back pocket and scribbles that down.

Virgil squints. “Are you making a flashcard?”

“No. Yes.” Logan coughs. “Not important. Are you quite certain that I’m not, er… TMI’ing, as you say?”

“Yes, we are quite certain,” says Patton, straightening his spine and imitating Logan’s posture. He giggles. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Well, there isn’t much else to say. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s it, really. I haven’t done anything exciting yet; I haven’t yet figured out where I’m going to sleep tonight, even,” Logan admits, sliding his notebook back into his pocket. “But to be quite frank with you, sudden change is hardly a new concept for me, anyway. It’s been a while since I was able to hold onto living quarters for more than half a year at most. So you needn’t worry about me.”

The silence that follows is far from a comfortable one.

Eventually, Virgil is the first to speak. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Logan, but… from the way you just described your life in the past, it sounds like you never really felt like you fit in anywhere. And if that’s the case, then I’d honestly say that this change might be for the better. You can move on now, you know?”

“Virgil’s right,” Patton pipes up. “Why not try taking a look at what’s on the horizon, instead? Keep exploring! Don’t just tolerate change, embrace it! Get out there and meet some new people, ya know? In fact, I think you’ve already got that last one in the bag,” finishes Patton meaningfully, gesturing around at himself, Roman, and Virgil.

Roman nods, looking thoughtful. “Ah, it’s just like I always like to say: leave the past in the past, make a plan of attack. Start looking forward and stop looking back.”

“Roman, you’ve literally never said that.”

“Oh, hush, Northern Down-snore.”

Virgil sticks out his tongue.

“Ahem. Anyway. Logan, to welcome you to Florida, I’d like to offer you the best gift you could possibly get. A formality, of course, since I’m already certain that you will accept.” Roman pauses dramatically. “Would you like my phone number?”

Phone?

Logan sighs heavily. He’s getting sick and tired of hearing words he doesn’t understand.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid I don’t own a… phone.”

Virgil’s mouth falls open. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replies Logan crisply. “I’ve never made a joke in my entire life.”

“Oh. Oh, my sweet cheese pastries. In this day and age, you don’t have a phone? Seriously, where did you even come from?” Roman says, scandalised. Without waiting for an answer, he moves on. “This simply will not do. Logan, how in the name of a forest fairy’s hairy armpits do you expect to survive out here without a phone?”

“I’m… sorry?”

“No, no, don’t apologise to me.” Roman rubs his forehead. “Logan, this is unbelievable. Okay, tell you what. I always carry an extra phone around with me, just in case. I’ve decided that you will be taking that phone with you when you leave the theatre today.”

“What? Oh, no no, you don’t have to do that,” Logan protests.

“Don’t even try to argue with me, Logan. It’s an old model, but it’ll serve you well enough until you can buy a phone for yourself. And it’s already got all of our contact information in there and everything!” Roman suddenly stops. “Oh, but… I just remembered I left it at home today. Hmm. You don’t have any plans for the evening, do you?”

Logan shakes his head, dazed.

“Perfect! Everything’s coming up roses, you see? Stick around a little while, then; I just need to get out of this heavy bathrobe here and then the three of us will be heading back to our apartment. You can come with. I’ll give you my — your — phone, and then you’ll be free to go. Or,” Roman pauses and exchanges a look with Virgil and Patton, then continues, “if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you’re welcome to spend the night at our place. There’s a pullout bed in the couch. It’s not exactly a luxury mattress, but it’s comfortable enough.”

“Roman!” hisses Virgil. “You can’t just invite people into our house like that! Like, obviously I’m cool with Logan staying over, but… that’s a really creepy move, dude.” Virgil turns to Logan. “Sorry about him.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, Roman gets fired up a lot — hang on, what did you say?”

Logan shrugs. “I said, I don’t mind.” And it’s true; he doesn’t. In fact, Logan is absolutely blown away by the incredible kindness he’s just been shown. These three young men only learned about his situation moments ago, and now they’re offering him a place to stay and a ‘phone’, free of charge? It all seems almost too good to be true.

Logan opens his mouth to tell Roman something along the lines of thanks, but no thanks, but stops. His only other option, he realises, is to make the long trek back into the forest and along the path, then stumble around with no mana until he can find that abandoned warehouse again. Which sounds less than ideal. Who knows what might be hiding in the dark?

Fortunately, Patton’s voice breaks into Logan’s thoughts before his imagination can answer that question. “So?”

Logan pushes up his glasses. “You’d be willing to let me stay the night with you, just like that?”

“Absolutely,” replies Patton firmly.

“Well, if you’re certain, then…” Logan is aware that this is most likely exactly how most kidnappings begin. But then, there are far worse fates than getting kidnapped by three beautiful young men the same age as him. And he really doesn’t have much of a choice. Logan swallows his pride and nods. “Then, thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this —”

“Don’t worry about it, Logan,” beams Patton. “I’m just glad you’re not going to spend your first night in Florida alone.” Virgil nods. “Seriously, it’s no sweat. You don’t need to repay us with anything.”

“We-ell…” Three sets of heads turn towards Roman as he makes a vague gesture, flourishing a long, crimson sleeve. “There is one thing.”

Logan feels his heart plummet into his shoes. Of course there’s a catch.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” protests Roman. “I’m not about to make you polish our bathroom with a toothbrush or anything; I’m no evil stepmother. All I ask is this: once you’ve found a place to live and gotten all settled in, you give us a call.”

As Patton gasps and Virgil’s eyes widen in understanding, Roman grins.

“Let us all take you out on a date sometime, yeah?”

[omgkatsudonplease]

Lily, you know what I'm going to ask ;) Because that Viktuuri Eurovision commentator/contestant AU is something the world needs to see

guess who has two thumbs and no sense of self-preservation? IT’S ME

so basically kaz and i were talking about eurovision and then i had this sudden thought of a fake rivals-verse fic idea where yuuri’s an exasperated commentator who’s suddenly been forced to host esc and viktor’s the winning contestant from last year who is co-hosting with him and…. because this is rivals-verse, yuuri hated viktor’s entry last year. hoo boy. 

Love Love, Peace Peace

Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov to Co-host 2016 Eurovision Song Contest in Saint PetersburgBeloved TV commentator Yuuri Katsuki, known for his sharp and witty commentary during previous contests, and 2015 ESC winner Viktor Nikiforov will be co-hosting the 2016 Eurovision Song Contest in Saint Petersburg, Russia. This year’s theme will be “Making History” and will be held at the Alexei Panin Arena from 11-15 May. 

Nikiforov won last year with his stunning ballad “Stay Close to Me”, featuring a figure skating segment halfway through the song… (more)

Yuuri clicks out of the article with a groan and takes a sip of his coffee, waiting for his new co-host to arrive. The office is a busy drone in the background, with only the sounds of ringing phones and beeping machines filling the silence. He checks his mobile. Nikiforov is late.

Typical.

Yuuri rubs at his temples, before casting a baleful gaze out the window of this conference room. He hadn’t had much of a say in being asked to host this godforsaken song contest – Celestino had thought it would be entertaining for him, and apparently no other TV host in this entire broadcasting company wanted the job. Probably because Nikiforov’s an asshole, but Yuuri’s not going to let that get to him. Much.

He fires off a text to Phichit, asking the man if he’d seen Nikiforov, and then leans back in his chair to stare at the ceiling, drumming his fingers against the faux mahogany table. If Nikiforov doesn’t show up within the next three minutes, Yuuri’s going to leave. And tell Celestino to find another co-host. Because he’s not going to waste his time on some asshole with a nice voice who doesn’t even bother showing up on time to meetings and who –

“Sorry I’m late!” The door bangs open, and Viktor Nikiforov is in the doorway, silver hair askew, bright blue eyes widened in excitement. “I brought you coffee! Or rather, tea!”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected that. Perhaps an apology? “Thank you,” he says, his tone clipped, as he takes the travel mug from Nikiforov. “Though, I already had some, so that was unnecessary.”

Nikiforov blanches slightly. “Sorry, I just thought –”

“No matter.” Yuuri’s going to be professional about this. Which means he’s going to accept the tea as the peace offering it clearly was. “Thank you.”

“Okay!” And the man beams at him. Yuuri has to suppress the urge to shudder. Nikiforov is far too chipper for someone who’s about to be working with someone who’s expressed their dislike of his entry last year several times on national television, but perhaps all of this is just part of Nikiforov’s facade. “I’ve got these really great ideas for our show this year – I was thinking that we could have half-time musical numbers explaining the history of Eurovision, covering some notable winners, talking about the perfect Eurovision song. And we could also have some pre-filmed shorts about the impact of Eurovision on Russian culture –”

Yuuri nods. “Right,” he says, and then pauses. “Musical numbers?”

“Yeah!” says Viktor, nodding enthusiastically. “We’re being broadcast on Chinese and American networks this year as well, so we’ve got some confused American viewers who’ll probably want to be tuned in in an entertaining way, and I’ve looked up some of the stuff you’ve done in the past besides commentating, and I know you can sing, so, we should do musical numbers. We could duet!”

A duet. With a guy who tried to sing and skate at the same time and who had worn the tackiest costume Yuuri had seen in decades. He sighs, resisting the urge to rub his temples.

“As long as you don’t insist on skating on the stage, I’ll be fine with whatever you do,” he replies.

He regrets those words days (and countless rehearsals) later. 

Nikiforov really can sing. And dance. That’s not really the problem, though. 

The problem is that he’s too nice.

Suspiciously nice. Like he’s buttering Yuuri up because he knows what Yuuri said about his routine last year and he’s just waiting to drop it on him when he least expects it. Yuuri has never felt this paranoid in ages.

The backup dancers they’re working with seem to think the same, as they constantly send Viktor odd looks, as if expecting the other shoe to drop any second. But as rehearsals wear on with no sign of that in sight, Yuuri begins to wonder (with a sort of horror) if this means that Viktor is just genuinely trying to be nice to him.

Viktor Nikiforov - Stay Close to Me (Russia) 2015 + YUURI KATSUKI COMMENTARY

568 Comments

braveliedwow he really doesn’t hold back does he? poor viktor! :(

shiftyshardon’t you love how yuuri katsuki just -clenches fist- hates viktor’s performance

hearseire911 I AM WITNESSING A MURDER

ebbehmoththis makes me sad :( viktor deserved his victory…. who hurt you, yuuri? :(

rosesummerfieldd a n g he really Did That

vodkaluce12 points to yuuri katsuki that was one hell of a roast

And finally, it’s the night of the performance. The light at the end of the tunnel is growing fast and bright and Yuuri has been up since eight, running on nothing but red bull and desperation. All of the costume changes are lined up. He knows most of his lines by heart. He’s been humming his halves of the songs about the history of Eurovision and the perfect Eurovision song in his sleep. And now – 

Viktor greets him, his smile a couple watts less than its usual brilliance. Yuuri’s brows furrow a little at that; he’d gotten accustomed to the man beaming at him every morning like he’d personally hung the sun in the sky. What could have changed? 

“Good morning, Yuuri,” he says. 

“Good morning, Viktor,” Yuuri replies almost automatically, reading the minutiae of Viktor’s expression as the man then turns away to consult some last minute notes from an assistant. His stomach is rolling and churning in a way that he knows has nothing to do with nerves. 

He clears his throat. “Ready to host the semifinals?” he asks.

Viktor nods at him, but the smile that’s there doesn’t meet his eyes. “Can’t wait,” he says, and Yuuri’s heart lurches.

How could this have happened? Yuuri leans his head against the cool metal of the bathroom stall, trying to slow his breathing and the racing of his heart. How could he be feeling such disappointment in seeing Viktor unhappy? 

The door to the bathroom opens, and two people enter. Yuuri freezes when he hears the voice of Viktor’s agent, Yakov, talking to him.

“Just let it go, Vitya. You saw the video. He loathes you.”

“He doesn’t loathe me.” Viktor’s voice sounds almost heartbroken. “I worked with him on this show for months. We’ve gotten to know each other. This shouldn’t matter anymore.”

“He clearly hasn’t changed his attitude towards you, though. Everyone can see it. He still doesn’t think you have any sort of musical talent.”

“No.” And Yuuri can almost imagine Viktor staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, his blue eyes determined. His heart skips a beat. “He’s changed, Yakov. And I’ll prove it.”

[jillmckenzie1]

Almost, But Not Quite, The Abyss

If you’re a regular viewer of movies, you know you can track the seasons by the kinds of movies playing. Are the theaters jam-packed with big, loud blockbusters? You’re in summer. Do you have a wide variety of Oscar bait to choose from? Congratulations, you’ve arrived safely in the fall.

The depths of winter are when studios give up. They already released the films built to either make an assload of money or attract awards. What’s left is the cinematic equivalent of the island of misfit toys, and production companies frequently throw these redheaded stepchildren into theaters with a hasty prayer to any deity still willing to listen.

It gets a little more complex, though. I’ve found that while a good chunk of January and February movies do legitimately suck, decent films sneak in under the radar saddled with an undeservedly poor reputation. These are films made with intelligence and skill that never quite find the audience they deserve. It’s a pity, but there is an occasional upside: a theater all to myself.

And so it was that I boldly strode into my local cinema palace and found that I was the only human being there. If I so chose, I could have treated myself to a full Thanksgiving dinner. I could have tripped balls. I could have viewed the film sans pants. Guys…I did none of those things because a) I take moviegoing far too seriously* and b) my attention was grabbed by the new creature feature Underwater.

As a quick aside, did you know that space travel is easier for us than undersea exploration? I’m not arguing that it isn’t easy to die horribly in space. It is! With a complete lack of breathable air, you have perhaps a minute of survival before things go pear-shaped. I’ll take that over the alternative. The bottom of the Mariana Trench is the lowest point of the ocean, over 36,000 feet below sea level. If you’re able to make it that far down and an accident occurs, you don’t have to worry about that single minute of survival. With water pressure that’s more than eight tons per square inch, you’ll be crushed into a pink mist within picoseconds. Survive that and you also need to reckon with the alarming fact that 95 percent of the ocean floor has been unexplored. So, it sucks all the way around.

With all that in mind, it’s no wonder the heroes of Underwater barely get a moment to breathe. We’re introduced to mechanical engineer Norah (Kristen Stewart), working a job on a deep-sea oil drilling facility at the Mariana Trench. She’s not the most positive person in the world, and you kind of can’t blame her. As soon as she finishes brushing her teeth, things go straight to hell. An earthquake hits, causing catastrophic damage. The hull starts to break up, so Norah does what many of us would do-try to get outta Dodge with a quickness.

The good news is that she picks up a number of her co-workers, including Rodrigo (Mamoudou Athie), Emily (Jessica Henwick), Smith (John Gallagher Jr.) and Paul (T.J. Miller). The bad news is that one of her co-workers is T.J. Miller. The better news is that Captain Lucien (Vincent Cassel) also survived, and he’s a competent and decent enough sort that the group has a fighting chance of survival.

Or maybe not. It turns out all of the escape pods in their facility have either been demolished or used. Plan B is to suit up, take an undersea stroll to another facility a mile or so away, and utilize the pods there—if there are any left. With all that going on, they’ll discover that something else is down there with them, and it’s very, very unfriendly.

It is my pleasure to report to you that Underwater is genuinely pretty good! Permit me another quick aside, but my kid and I were fans of last year’s Godzilla: King of the Monsters. We didn’t care for the ham-fisted moments of pseudo-drama and the attempts to wring two dimensions out of one-dimensional characters.** We absolutely went cuckoo bananapants for the outstanding portrayals of kaiju demolishing everything in sight. Unfortunately, we had to wade through some garbage to get to the gold.

Director William Eubank must have heard my cries of frustration, and it’s almost as if he responded to me, personally, with Underwater. He knows why we’re watching this movie, and he does not screw around. Less than five minutes after the opening credits, there’s running, screaming, people being crushed, and assorted aquatic chaos. Jump scares are kept to a minimum, and tension is effectively developed through a combination of murky cinematography by Bojan Bazelli and Eubank’s skillful usage of geography. While the characters frequently don’t know where they are, Eubank always makes sure we know where they are and where they’re going.

The script by Eubank, Adam Cozad, and Brian Duffield is fairly solid. I appreciated that they kept the action with our primary characters and never had a superfluous b-plot about rescuers up top. I felt like there were a few too many moments of tragic character backstory, but the script never dwells on it for long. It’s constantly moving onto the next moment, and for a movie like this to work, it needs constant momentum.

The cast is a mixed bag. If I’m being honest, there’s only one problematic element, and we’ll get to that shortly. Overall, everybody is solid, with Kristen Stewart being the entirely unsurprising standout. She excels at understated and subtle performances, and as Norah, she does nice work playing an intelligent woman doing her best to get through impossible situations. I like that Stewart has been taking part in genre films, and I very much want her to continue. I also thoroughly enjoyed seeing a rare heroic performance from Vincent Cassel. He excels at playing oily aristocrats and arrogant nogoodniks, and I appreciated him shifting gears to play a guy that you would be happy to be stuck with during an underwater disaster.

The problematic element of the cast would be one T.J. Miller. Between allegations of sexual assault, calling in a bomb threat on a train, and wildly unprofessional behavior on the set of Silicon Valley, Miller is doing a bang-up job of making himself persona non grata within the entertainment industry. Bad enough that he brings a lot of baggage with him, but as far as his role in Underwater goes, it feels like he’s in a different movie than everyone else. He’s playing the comic relief here, yet his wisecracks are never terribly amusing, and he can’t quite sell the terror that everyone else is experiencing.

William Eubank has stuffed a disaster movie and a monster movie into a Brundlepod and given us Underwater. I’m saddened that the film has flopped at the box office, and I hope it finds a second life streaming or on home video. Give it a shot, since its relentless pacing and a strong performance from Kristen Stewart makes it rise above the usual debris released in January.

  *Ordinarily I get bent out of shape by people futzing with their phones and talking during a movie. When I’m the only one there? I gave myself a pass for hooting with laughter and, when a specific cast member is sucked out of his pressure suit, yelling, “HOO-BOY, THAT’S INCONVENIENT!”

**Hoping for three-dimensional characters in that movie is like hoping Donald Trump develops a conscience. It’s so vanishingly unlikely, why bother thinking about it?

from Blog https://ondenver.com/almost-but-not-quite-the-abyss/

[yahoo-puck-daddy-blog]

What We Learned: Is anybody better than the Maple Leafs?

The Maple Leafs look awfully dangerous right now. (Maddie Meyer/Getty Images)

After literal years of speculation and expectation, John Tavares is a Toronto Maple Leaf.

This is a seismic shift in a division that already had two of the best teams in the league, and a conference that’s home to the winners of the last three Stanley Cups. Make no mistake, there hasn’t been a bigger free agent signing in the NHL since Zdeno Chara left Ottawa for Boston, and the impact Tavares will have in more or less immediately making the Leafs a contender is probably even greater.

Let’s even forget that Tavares left money on the table and took a true-hometown discount to sign with the Leafs, because that’s not material this season. And frankly, it probably isn’t material beyond that because if you look at that CapFriendly page, they dont have a huge amount of commitments beyond 2018-19. Yeah, their RFAs are gonna be expensive to re-sign, but they’ll have plenty of cap space to deal with most of those concerns, especially if you can get everyone to do the buy-in on the hometown discounts a la Golden State, as Steph Curry and Kevin Durant both took significantly less money to keep that super-team together.

Anyway, I’m just gonna say it: The Leafs might be the Cup favorites right now.

I know I know: “But what about that defense!” I get it, but look, the Leafs’ D situation probably took a pretty big step forward just with the loss of Roman Polak, let alone the continued maturation of, say, 23-year-olds Connor Carrick and Morgan Rielly. You can’t always trust Mike Babcock to do the best possible deployments of talent but if Nikita Zaitsev and Ron Hainsey get a decent reduction in their run-out and the actual most talented defenders on the team are all playing 20ish minutes, I can see this team taking a step toward being Cup-competitive in a way that it perhaps was not last season.

More to the point, though, the extent to which running Tavares-Matthews-Kadri-whoever down the middle is going to help this team make that step even bigger is significant. There’s an argument to be made that the Leafs shouldn’t even run out a fourth center at all, because those three guys combined deserve to be playing a combined 60 minutes a night. You wanna say it’s like 21 or 22 for Tavares versus top talent with plenty of time on the first unit, and some PK duties. About the same or a little less for Matthews against second lines, plus first-unit power play. Then the rest for Kadri on the second PP unit plus the kill.

Put another way, Matthews and Kadri combined to play only about 35 minutes a night last season and the Leafs got some pretty good mileage out of it, so add Tavares’s 21 or so to that and you only need a fourth-line center for about four minutes a night. What’s the point.

That gives you flexibility to either dress seven defensemen (which I think is smart for any team) or a kind of “flex” forward if necessary, at whatever position you need him.

The other issue for the Leafs, as mentioned above, is that the Atlantic might now have three of the five best teams in the league (the other two being Nashville and Winnipeg in the Central).

It’s reasonable to argue that because of the divisional playoff format, the Leafs’ path to the Cup is probably the most difficult in the league, and the same is true of both Boston and Tampa. To even get to the Eastern Conference Final, they will have to play two top-five teams. Not easy. And it’s not hard to love what both Boston and Tampa will ice this year. But can either of those teams even come close to matching up against that 1-2-3 down the middle? Nope.

Now, obviously both the Bolts and Bruins have better defenses, but the Penguins and Capitals both had kinda middling defenses and won the Cup. More to the point, the Leafs will probably be spending like 55 percent of the game in the attacking end so to the extent that defense matters in the playoffs, they’re going to use their guys to retrieve the puck and stretch the ice rather than actually do as much stay-at-home stuff except situationally.

It’s fair to say that neither Nikita Zaitsev (and yikes that’s not a good contract) or Ron Hainsey (also not a good contract but a less-bad one certainly) won’t be the guys who can do that but you gotta play to your strengths and Babcock probably won’t be allowed to play 22 minutes a night anymore. Or at least, you’d hope so.

Even if you don’t think the Leafs should be considered a prohibitive favorite to win the Cup — I’d argue they’re at least third as of this writing — you have to understand the extent to which they gain even more flexibility going forward. There are a lot of old guys whose contracts come off the books next summer and after 2019-20, and Kyle Dubas can probably find someone to take Matt Martin at $2.5 million given what Ryan Reaves is getting these days. That is, if you really need to free up that little money.

So what the Leafs have done here, is given themselves two No. 1 centers, and you really can’t overstate how valuable having two guys this good is in the NHL. Especially as Matthews and the various other very young wingers continue to mature. Even if you think Tavares starts declining hard in the back half of this contract, they’ve effectively purchased four or five years of extreme Cup-competitiveness.

The pressure’s on, sure, but it’s Toronto and the pressure’s always on, even when you suck. Tavares knew what he was signing up for, obviously, but he also knew what it takes to win from having suffered with the lack of it for so long.

There’s no better way to win the Cup than by getting a ton of talent and now, especially up front, pretty much no one in the league has as much as Toronto.

What We Learned

Anaheim Ducks: When you have a roster this good, you gotta stand pat!

Arizona Coyotes: Adding a guy like Grabner, who’s gonna be 31 on Oct. 5, is something to watch because he’s a speed guy and it’s hard to maintain speed when you’re old and stuff like that. Three years is a lot even if you think his poor career underlyings are overshadowed by his ability to create chances on the rush.

Boston Bruins: I like Jaro Halak as a backup to Tuukka Rask a lot, in theory, but the Bruins’ first few moves of the free agency period were… adding Islanders and Hurricanes. Maybe not the best strategy.

Buffalo Sabres: The Sabres added Carter Hutton as their backup, giving them three Lowell guys for next season. Please note the 2017 Stanley Cup Champion Pittsburgh Penguins also had three Lowell guys. Might not be a coincidence.

Calgary Flames: The Flames really seem to have improved their forward depth, which was always their big problem, but that goaltending situation ain’t getting better. Not sure what’s gonna happen here but I’m not optimistic either.

Carolina Hurricanes: Petr Mrazek getting another chance as a potential 1b with the Hurricanes is a relatively safe bet. And if it doesn’t work out, well, it’s not like this club isn’t familiar with bad goaltending.

Chicago: Giving Cam Ward a full no-trade is redundant. Cam Ward’s save percentage is a no-trade. But hey, if you get a chance to add a guy who is a 20-year-old plus a 19-year-old in 39-year-old Chris Kunitz, that’s the kind of youth movement this team needs.

Colorado Avalanche: Looks like the Avs were all about adding okayish depth guys like Ian Cole and Matt Calvert and that’s fine, if you ask me! Not sure they can count on another playoff appearance with this roster as-is but I guess MacKinnon could have another titanic year.

Columbus Blue Jackets: Little happening for Columbus at the start of July here. Wonder if they’re waiting for some movement with Panarin or something.

Dallas Stars: Intriguing add in Val Nichushkin. Be interested to see what he brings to the table. But here’s something that’s more interesting: How did Roman Polak get a raise?

Detroit Red Wings: The Red Wings adding all these veterans on short-term deals is like, “Well, who cares because it’s one year and they can probably trade them”

Edmonton Oilers: Tobias Rieder is an interesting player. I’m saying “interesting” a lot today but it’s this wasn’t a great UFA class and guys who Have Upside or are otherwise in the Cody Franson All-Stars group of guys whose underlyings make them seem better than the eye test or their scoring numbers do. The deal here is a pretty good gamble, though.

Florida Panthers: I think Michael Hutchinson probably has something to add for this team. I don’t know how much that actually helps in terms of making them any good, but I’m still a bit of a believer.

Los Angeles Kings: I’m gonna have a Kings take in the next day or two on here but this Drew Doughty contract, hoo boy. He’ll be 30-plus for all but like 2 of its 96 months. Way too much money.

Minnesota Wild: Adding a bunch of Leadership guys is gonna be what gets this team over the top –  just kidding.

Montreal Canadiens: That’s a really nice gamble on Xavier Ouellet. I like that deal a ton as a bet on a guy who posted good underlyings with a crap team. He might be able to do that again this season!

Nashville Predators: Yeah they just didn’t need to do anything, so not doing anything of note in the past week is totally reasonable.

New Jersey Devils: An Eddie Lack bounce-back season would be nice but I’m not holding my breath.

New York Islanders: The speed with which Islanders fans went from Needing Tavares to saying, “Actually he’s not even as good as Mat Barzal and the kids will add more than enough goals to make up for his absence.” Deluded.

New York Rangers: Nothing worth doing for a team in their position, so have fun out there.

Ottawa Senators: The revelation in the Ottawa media that the Senators are almost a quarter of a billion dollars in debt is… something else. I guess I’m not surprised but how is it that much? That seems impossible.

Philadelphia Flyers: That James van Riemsdyk contract is defensible but I’m not sure where this team thinks it’s headed. They’re trading Wayne Simmonds real soon here. Maybe it already happened by the time you read this.

Pittsburgh Penguins: The Jack Johnson contract is instantly one of the absolute worst in the league. It’s indescribably bad. Five years for a healthy-scratched a guy who will be three months from his 32nd birthday at the start of the season is, like, what the hell man.

San Jose Sharks: Now it seems like freeing up all that cap space was maybe not advisable. Missed out on Kovalchuk and missed out on Tavares, the latter despite reportedly bidding an extra $2 million AAV per year. Anyway, that’s too much money for Logan Couture.

St. Louis Blues: I pretty much like both David Perron and Tyler Bozak as middle-six guys and I think the money is one of those things that isn’t avoidable. However, I’m not sure where these adds get a team like this, that’s firmly third-best in its own division on a real good day.

Tampa Bay Lightning: Good price for Ryan McDonagh even if he’ll be 30 when the deal starts. Hard to be cynical about this deal for now though, but they might have some more irons in the fire for a brand-name talent (via trade, obviously), and that’s scary.

Toronto Maple Leafs: Underrated aspect of this is Dubas stealing a franchise player from Lamoriello. Very funny, to me.

Vancouver Canucks: I mean if the price of adding Antoine Roussel and Jay Beagle (a combined 12 goals and 32 assists last year) is four years and $6 million, well, you gotta do it.

Vegas Golden Knights: I have to say I literally laughed out loud at the Ryan Reaves contract. I can’t wrap my head around that one. He’s terrible. Like the Stastny deal though.

Washington Capitals: I love that Michal Kempny deal. He was a top-pairing guy for the Cup run and got just $2.5 million for five years. Not bad at all.

Winnipeg Jets: Sucks to clear a bunch of cap space to sign someone and then have him go to the team that beat you in the Conference Final. But hey, that’s hockey baby!!!!

Gold Star Award

Tavares is getting so much of his $77 million in bonuses. Hilarious.

Minus of the Weekend

Just because the cap went up a lot doesn’t mean you have to give fourth-line guys $2 million. Just saying.

Perfect HFBoards Trade Proposal of the Week

User “HailMcJesus” is trying to get out of a jam.

To Edmonton:

Christian Fischer

To Arizona: Milan Lucic, 2019 1st

Signoff

Seymour, the house is on fire!

Ryan Lambert is a Puck Daddy columnist. His email is here and his Twitter is here.

(All stats via Corsica unless otherwise noted.)