#i still have both of the original jars on display in the kitchen

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Just Another Night at Sparky's

(Disclaimer: Ness/WaiterPat and Jack/Cabbie!Cory are not my creations. I gave Jack his name because he wasn't given one in the movie. Now, one of the characters you'll be seeing here technically belongs to me, but I don't really consider him a full fanego.)

(I was already planning to write for Ness and Jack, but after I learned how Mark was originally intended to play the role of that first security guard who died, I decided to adopt that abandoned character. Go here for headcanons and a more thorough explanation.)

(Certain plot-points in this story were inspired by @flawlessstriker and @insane4fandoms! These two are very talented artists, and I'm not sure I would've thought of such clever/funny easter eggs if I hadn't seen some of their own work, so please go check out their blogs and show them some love!)

(Trigger Warnings: food and drink, eating/drinking, implied trauma, mentions of past violence, mentions of blood, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

In Ness’ personal experience, the people who dined at Sparky’s could be divided into three sections on a metaphorical pie chart. 

Twenty-four percent of customers were. . .just a little off. Not like that was necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Working in the restaurant business meant having to interact with lots of people each and every day. At some point, you’d learn to pick up on certain things that were odd in the way you couldn’t quite put your finger on (or, perhaps you just knew deep down that you didn’t want to). 

Ness strolled out of the kitchen and into the seating area, expertly balancing a tray on one hand. He approached a couple of bespectacled young women in one corner of the diner. 

Their visits to Sparky’s were a bit sporadic, but they never failed to claim that one booth in the corner that no-one else ever sat at no matter how crowded the joint was. The backpacks they always hauled along were positioned further up the booth’s seat cushions, half-open and nearly overspilling with various books. 

They always used indoor voices, but he could still pick up bits and pieces of their conversation whenever he was near. 

Tonight was no different:

“—he’ll be hungrier than usual,” murmured the one on the left, who boasted short, wavy hair that had been dyed a dark shade of violet. It complimented her shirt, which read ADOPT A FAMILIAR at the top. Pictures of creepy-looking critters were displayed beneath the message, orange-eyed and outlined by blue against the black fabric. “And he’ll need a live one this time.”

“Ooh,” replied the one on the right, who sported a yellow shirt with the screen-printed likeness of some obscure, spikey-haired cartoon character near the collar. A blonde ponytail spilled out from the back of her ball cap. “Who’s it gonna be? The lady whose eyes were found in that jar last month?”

“Nah, she’ll be in some psych ward. Too far-gone to keep on the playing board, y’know?” A sly grin etched its way across Urban Fantasy Nerd’s features. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to choose. Your guy is making the delivery, after all.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Cartoon-Fan snickered in a way that was just a teensy bit unhinged. “I can already see him slipping on some of the blood."

“Third time’s a charm?” Ness asked as he halted, carefully setting this duo’s Usual on the table. 

(Two milkshakes: one chocolate, the other strawberry. Yeah, it was kind of basic, but he wasn’t too much of a judgemental guy. Besides, Sparky’s shakes were a much safer option than the lilac-colored drinks that chicken shack around the corner had started selling. And Ness didn’t just carry that opinion because of his employment. During one of his typical night-walks, he’d passed an alley just in time to see said purple beverage oozing through said chicken shack’s windows. The strong, sugary smell wafting off it had reminded him of prion disease.)

The girls both paused. Though they smiled up at him and offered quiet “Thank-yous,” as they moved their respective, sticker-covered laptops out of the way, visible confusion mixed itself into their gratitude. 

“For the university’s creative writing contest, I mean,” Ness elaborated. “There were articles in the paper about the last two, and I saw your pictures in the list of winners. Congratulations, by the way.”

“. . .Oh,” Urban Fantasy Nerd answered, exchanging careful glances with her friend. “Yeah. Writing. Let’s go with that.”

“If anyone asks, we were also writing here two months ago,” Cartoon-Fan added with a conspiratory wink. “On Friday, between five-thirty and nine o’clock.” 

Ness chuckled, raising one hand to pull an invisible zipper over his lips. “You’ve got it. Enjoy.”

As he retraced his steps to organize some stuff behind the coffee counter, a little voice in the back of his theater-trained head wondered if the girls’ tones had been joking enough. Unlike many times before, he pushed that voice aside.

On one hand, missing person cases did always seem to pop up on the news channels a few days after the two students stopped by to enjoy milkshakes while typing away and occasionally turning the screens of their laptops toward one another. 

On the other hand. . .well, those cases were always located states and states away, typically near more seaside areas. None of them had been anywhere close to Utah. (Not yet, at least.)

Besides, even if those girls were somehow connected to more sinister things than their coursework, they were still very nice. Good tippers, too. Nowhere near the worst patrons Ness had served in his time.

The strange customers almost always seemed to come in pairs.

Like the duo of twenty-somethings from last week. One sported ginger hair and a She/They button pinned to their  jacket. The soot-stains on said jacket had been very obvious, as were the burn scars on their palms, but she’d still been a delight to make smalltalk with.

The other, a pale young man, had been much more quiet, but still friendly. He’d kept peering through the window at (what was presumably) his or his friend’s car, shakily fidgeting with the headphones around his neck, so it’d taken some time for Ness to realize that his eyes were just as reflective as mirrors.

(For the duration of their stay, the jukebox over by the counter had spat out songs that most certainly weren’t on its index cards. Fine, that might’ve caught Ness a bit off-guard at first, but he still knew to appreciate variety.)

Or the two men who’d come in a few months ago, wearing battered navy-blue bomber jackets and thousand-yard-stares. The one with a dyed-red fauxhawk had screamed and practically leapt out of his skin when Ness came over with menus and his usual greeting, but he’d apologized soon enough. After giving Ness a thorough look-over, that is.

His companion, a similarly dark-eyed man with a larynx that could only be found on seasoned musicians, had muttered, “Don’t mind him. We’ve just. . .had a bit of a rough trip.” His voice hadn’t been unkind, but he’d kept glancing at Ness whenever he thought he wasn’t looking. 

Well, perhaps that particular pair had broken the trend a bit. Because a few hours after they’d paid for their food and left, a lone traveler had come in.

His bloodshot eyes—which Ness could’ve sworn were orange instead of brown—had never stopped bulging, never stopped darting this way and that above his rictus of a smile. When he wasn’t speaking, he’d hum or murmur things with a shakiness that was typically found in rabid dogs.

He’d asked for way more coffee refills than could ever be considered healthy, as well as if Ness had seen anyone fitting the descriptions of Red-Haired-Screamer and Wary-Possible-Musician. Ness, following his instincts, had said no, to which the loner started simply shaking his head and grinning with a mouthful of teeth that looked a smidge too sharp.

Or the scruffy man who'd started coming in for breakfast every other week with his young sister in tow. He was living proof that you could recognize someone without officially knowing them. After all, it was pretty damn easy for Ness to remember almost making eye-contact with him, barely moving out of reach of his flashlight’s beam in time, and then having the seconds feel like hours as he watched him shake his head and mutter to himself about seeing things. 

It wasn’t like that’d been Ness’ first little midnight rendezvous around Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaria. Just like how that particular man wasn’t the first security guard who’d gotten dangerously close to spotting him during his unofficial, self-driven investigations.

For the record, Ness knew that said investigations weren’t legal—especially not if you counted some of the things he’d. . .borrowed from the old animatronic jamboree restaurant—but he’d made his peace with that.

He hadn’t been sneaking around there to deal drugs or partake in any himself.

He wasn’t exactly chasing the adrenaline that always came with an evening full of ducking around corners and trying to ignore how loud his shoes sounded against linoleum floors when he rushed to find anything he could feasibly hide behind, underneath, or inside of.

He never meant any harm when it came to snooping.

It was just a simple case of having a little too much curiosity.

Thankfully, Security Guard #13 still had yet to show up at Ness’ place with some accompanying cops, so it seemed he didn’t recognize Ness as anything other than a humble waiter. (Or, if he did actually recognize Ness from that night, then he was miraculously chill enough to not bring it up and get him in trouble.)

The very first time they’d paid Sparky’s a visit, it would’ve been impossible to ignore the distinct smell that had been wafting off of Security Guard #13. It’d had a bite to it; like machine oil mixed with something much more. . .organic.

From that bleak look Ness had seen in his eyes, Security Guard #13 was most certainly NOT what anyone could call unbothered, but he was still polite. Plus, Kid Sister was the type who just deserved all the crayons in the world, what with the little masterpieces she’d decorated the paper menus with.

So, yeah. There was a genuine difference between oddball customers and customers that made you lose some of your faith in humanity. 

People who asked for trout to be blended into their yogurt parfait or for their donuts to be topped with slices of pickles that had gathered fuzz from their mysterious journeys at the back of the refrigerator were still easier to handle than people who threw temper tantrums because they didn’t get a refill in under thirty seconds. 

Back to the pie-chart—another forty-six percent of customers were perfectly decent and standard.

Plenty of the locals had a soft spot for this joint; Ness had lost count of all the times he’d been told that the pancakes served here were some of the best on planet Earth. Yeah, praise like that technically wasn’t directed at him, but the cooks were great people to work with, so it still made him happy to relay said praise to them. 

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t awkward for someone to confusedly ask if they’d already seen him working at the bar on the other side of town. Even so, that once-a-month occurrence always left him amused rather than annoyed. If anything, it attested to that particular customer’s observation skills. 

Sure, he and Sans were identical twins—the fact that their uncle had mixed them up on several different occasions when they were little was still a running joke in the family. But it’d been years since Sans had decided to remedy that via a skeleton face-mask and a dark blue leather jacket, and he’d made a habit to don both aforementioned garments each day ever since then. (Ness was still in partial disbelief that the manager at Grillby’s was cool enough to let Sans wear them over his uniform.)

Just as many of Sans’ customers apparently ended up mistaking him for Ness. Sans got a nice little kick out of that, of course. He hadn’t just been born with a comedic heart—it truly seemed every bone in his body was a funny one. Some people would argue that he just delivered puns upon more puns upon even more puns, but Ness knew his brother better than that. 

After all, Sans had been the one to train him to deal with the last category of customers: the thirty percent of entitled neanderthals who thought treating staff as less than human would somehow magically make their miserable lives more interesting. 

“Food work is all about balance,” Sans had explained sometime after he and Ness had grown tall enough to take plates and cups from a counter without having to stand on their tip-toes. “You’ve gotta be nice and still let people know that you won’t take their crap. If they’re civil, then you’re helpful. But if they’re rude. . .” Sans had paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “. . .then you have a little fun.” 

Ness had always been a pretty fast learner. It’d taken a week or so of practice, yeah, but with his twin’s help, he’d developed a tongue sharp enough to rival any butcher knife in the kitchen.

“You use a lot of big words for a waiter,” snorted a wannabe business bigshot with a wrinkled clip-on tie and a way, waaaaaay over-gelled hairdo that spoke volumes of desperation. 

Ness, who’d been explaining the differences between certain ingredients and flavor-enhancing chemicals because Hair Gel’s girlfriend had asked a fair question about the smoothies on the menu, barely batted an eyelid when he came back with, “And you smell a lot like hotdog water for someone who apparently doesn’t work with food.”

“This was the WORST thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” Exclaimed a woman with an unidentifiable crust caked around the corners of her eyes and an ill-fitting shirt that was advertising some essential oil brand.

“I highly doubt that,” Ness mentioned, raising an eyebrow as he took the plate (which was suspiciously much emptier than when he’d first brought it out) from her table, “but whatever you say. . .”

“Oh! Thank you!” A tiny boy who couldn’t have been older than seven chirped, bouncing in his seat when Ness placed a sundae down in front of him.

Ness had been about to reply, but the boy’s mother—a lady who was trying very hard to look posh (but not succeeding very well due her asymmetrical haircut, as well as all the little green marks around the jewelry she was practically drowning in)—cut him off. 

“You don’t need to thank him, sweetheart,” she’d instructed, reaching across the table to corral her son. “That’s his job.”

That one had, admittedly, forced Ness to take a deep breath and appeal to his higher self for a few seconds.  Despite this, he’d still made sure to look that Karen dead in the eyes when he observed, “I’m not sure what your problem is, ma’am. But it must be hard for you to pronounce.”

(At least the boy didn’t seem to be too influenced; his bright eyes were nothing but apologetic when Ness came back with the check.)

The relative silence was shattered by the jingling call of that little bell suspended over the front entrance. Ness blinked, his train of thought screeching to a halt. He glanced over in the door’s direction, grinning at a familiar sight. 

Another regular; one that Ness got to have actual conversations with on nights like tonight. 

Mason glanced around at all the empty tables, brushing back his nearly shoulder-length raven hair and quickly getting the hint that he could just seat himself.

A golden retriever trotted beside him, connected to a leash in his hand via a pink vest that’d been fastened around her shoulders and belly. It was adorned by black velcro straps that read THERAPY DOG in a bold white font. The forest-green sherpa hoodie Mason always seemed to wear was only about half as fluffy as her fur.

Ness ducked into the kitchen. No more than three seconds had passed before the last cook on duty for tonight—a lanky blonde guy who was perhaps the most unapologetically flamboyant foodie you could ever have the honor of knowing—called, “Order Up! Your buddies’ Usuals, fresh from that babbling kiddie pool of oil.”

Dylan set a triad of dishes onto a waiting platter: the first held a stack of waffles (much like Sparky’s pancakes, their recipe was a secret that his very own grandmother had entrusted him with) and fried chicken tenders. The second supported a small mound of bacon. The third was adorned by a couple club sandwiches with a side of mozzarella sticks.  

“Thanks, man. Right on time,” Ness called back as he hefted the platter up, balancing it on the anterior region of his forearm like he'd been taught so long ago, and traipsed back out. The door swung to and fro behind him as he headed over to Booth Five. 

Though she wasn’t actually in the booth, Checkers was still right by her owner’s side, sitting in a way that could almost remind you of those lion statues guarding the entrance to a Chinese temple. She spotted Ness before Mason did. Her ears perked up, tail starting to wag. Her tongue lapped in and out of her mouth like a party favor as she smiled in that way only dogs could.

Mason, who’d been gazing through the window and fidgeting with his hoodie’s drawstrings, ever-so-slightly flinched as Ness began setting the plates down on the table with a chorus of small clunks. He blinked at the food, as if suddenly remembering the weekly tradition he’d made here.

“How do you always do that?” Mason asked as he turned his head toward Ness, a small smile etching its way across his features. 

“Magic,” Ness answered. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He carried the now empty tray back over to the counter. There, his hands became a blur as he snatched up the coffee pot and produced a trio of mugs. After stirring memorized amounts of cream and sugar into the fresh brew, he returned to the table, setting two of the beverages beside the plates.

Ness hovered, his own cup of smoldering caffeine in hand, and glanced around the restaurant. Aside from Mason and those two writers in the corner (who, as Ness had learned, took generous amounts of time with the shakes they always ordered), Sparky’s was empty tonight. 

With that in mind, Ness dragged a chair away from one of the other tables, positioning it at the end of the booth. Yeah, he could’ve just sat on the opposite side of Mason, but that part of the booth was typically reserved for another one of his friends.

Subtle relief washed over Ness’ knees as he took a seat; he’d been standing and walking pretty much all day.

Mason plucked a strip of bacon from one of the plates, checking to make sure that it was nice and warm without threatening to burn the palette. He then lightly tossed it over to Checkers, who snapped it out of the air almost like a frog catching flies. She lowered her head as the treat crunched between her teeth.

“How’ve things been?” Ness inquired, taking a sip of his coffee. “The theater’s gotten busy, yeah?”

Mason nodded as he took a fork and knife into his hands, cutting a piece off of one of the waffles and dipping it into the complimentary cup of syrup. “Yeah, it really has. Feels like whenever one movie runs its course and is taken off our roster, two more pop up in its place. Especially now that Scream 3 is finally on the market."

“. . .Oh, that’s right! It is!” Ness ever-so-slightly jumped in his seat. After enjoying the first two movies, he’d been meaning to give the latest installment a look. But so far, whether it was Sparky’s being slammed on the more favorable days or Royal Edgar’s Cinema being too crowded for his liking, things had just kept getting in the way.

Acting on instinct, Ness fished a pencil from one of his waist-apron’s pockets. At first, said pencil might not have seemed like anything special. But then you saw Fabio: a priceless treasure shaped like a rubber chicken’s head covering up the eraser. Ness started spinning the pencil between his fingers, causing Fabio to wiggle as though it was alive.

“Have you seen it already? Is it good? I have so many ideas about where the story could pick up from—”

“Hey, hey. Slow down," Mason remarked with some clear exasperation. “I haven't, but I am scheduled to project its last showing sometime next week. . .” He took a bite out of one of the chicken tenders, humming thoughtfully as he chewed. He must’ve seen the glint in Ness’ eyes, because he offered a sly smirk and lowered his voice as he continued.

“Tell you what: I’ll find a way to sneak you into the projection booth. That way, we can check it out together when the day comes.” 

“Really? You’d do that for me?” Ness asked, jokingly clutching his mug in both hands and bringing it close to his heart. 

“Sure. It’s really not too different from the customers smuggling their own snacks past the ticket desk,” Mason shrugged, though his mischievous demeanor briefly turned deadpan. “So long as you don’t play detective the entire time. My boss would rip me a new one if I just paused the movie every five minutes to let you brainstorm and talk.”

Ness scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be every five minutes.”

Mason raised an eyebrow. “You’re right; it’d probably be every two minutes.” He forked up another bite of the waffles, firmly ignoring the offended waiter noises. 

“Oh, and don’t try to guilt-trip me out of my food, either. I’ve already got one moocher to deal with.” Mason scratched Checkers’ ears, to which she responded via tilting her head to the side, an undeniable trace of smugness in the warmth of her amber eyes.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Ness pronounced, his voice dripping with much more sarcasm than usual, “but fine. I can work with that.” 

“Uh-huh. You’d better,” Mason snorted, reaching over to shake hands with his friend as though the two of them were lawyers who’d just settled on some sleazy business arrangement. 

Mason was a complex person. Everyone had issues, and he was no exception to that. Not like he was at all open about said issues, but once you got to know him, you’d start to see them. (Plus, that just seemed a lot nicer than describing him as a swarm of issues shaped like a man.) He was the type to constantly shift in his seat, to give most people the side-eye, to get lost in his thoughts and grimace at nothing until he snapped himself out of it. 

At least he seemed content working at the theater. Even with the spark of horror that never seemed to leave his eyes, Mason was clearly a creative bastard. Sometimes he’d bring notebooks in and take breaks from his meal to fill their pages with paragraphs or sketches. He really did seem to have the potential for acting, maybe even directing. If his critiques and commentary on the movies he had to watch from the projection booth were anything to go by, then the projects he could possibly work on would be nothing short of awesome. 

He’d actually been one of Freddy’s past security guards. Ironically enough, he and Ness hadn’t met there. Not that Ness minded, since A. if that’d been the case, there probably would’ve been way more confused screaming than there usually was at Sparky’s, and B. considering the fact that Mason’s employment had apparently lasted a whopping one singular night. . . 

Ness still didn’t know the full story, and he could tell pressing Mason for info wouldn’t end well. But with the few snippets Jack had carefully enlightened him with. . .well—

Speak of the devil. 

The front door’s bell only had about half a second to chime yet again, almost drowned out by rapid footsteps.

“You’re late,” Ness jokingly chastised as he caught dark brown skin and black hair in his peripheral vision. He shifted in his chair, moving his legs to make some room under the table as another one of his regular-friends hurried over to claim Booth Five’s empty seat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sue me,” Jack retorted, instantly propping his elbows on the table to knead at his forehead. It took a few long seconds for him to notice how one of his favorite dishes had apparently been waiting for him. He squinted at the food, then at Ness. “. . .I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to make it tonight?”

“And yet, here you are,” Ness replied, the definition of coy with how his shoulders popped up and down again. 

Jack might’ve wanted to ask more questions, but Mason cut him off. “Look, I don’t get it either. He doesn’t know, but he just knows.”

Jack considered this, then tilted his head to convey the type of acceptance that only came when you couldn’t really question things that probably should be questioned because you already had too many things to focus on. 

“Thanks, dude,” he murmured, nodding to Ness as he plucked one of the mozzarella sticks from his plate.

Ness nodded back, taking a few more gulps of coffee. “No problem.”

Jack paused mid-bite, eyes darting over to the brew that’d been poured for him. He scrutinized it, then raised the mug up and started chugging like a champ. 

The display made Ness glad that he’d taken the time to experiment with coffee so long ago. There was no doubting how he could now calculate exactly how much time it took for coffee to go cold. Yeah, this particular serving had been fresh out of the pot a few minutes ago, but by now it had to be at optimal temperature. Neither scalding nor tepid: just nice and warm. 

After about a moment, Jack pulled the now empty mug away from his face, taking a deep breath as he set it back down on the table.

“Rough day?” Ness inquired, specific parts of his brain starting to tick. 

Something seemed off. 

It wasn’t like he had any room to talk about slight bean juice addictions. And he certainly couldn’t blame Jack for a dependency (especially since he’d even shown some undeniable intrigue at Ness’ argument that coffee was a type of soup). Sure, Jack wasn’t narcoleptic, but when a day-and-night operating cabbie didn’t have access to some perks, things just wouldn’t go well for him or his passengers. 

But whenever Jack popped in for a bite and a chat, it was easy to assume that he’d be heading home and going to bed right after his meal. Right now, however, his demeanor was anything but tired. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were more or less threatening to pop right out of their sockets. In fact, he almost seemed to be weighing the options of never sleeping again. 

Jack chewed his lip as he glanced in the waiter’s direction. He slowly nodded. “. . .You could say that.”

Ness exchanged glances with Mason, who had obviously seen the signs for himself. As did Checkers, since she quietly maneuvered around Ness’ chair to rest her head on Jack’s lap, peering up at him with an almost human-like air of understanding. Jack didn’t hesitate to pet the shiny fur along the dog’s neck, to which her tail started wagging but she otherwise remained still.

“What happened?” Mason asked, sitting up a little straighter. “If the vibes you’re giving off got her attention, then it must be something serious.”

Jack grimaced, closing his eyes with what seemed to be more force than necessary, taking a few long seconds to rub at their lids. 

“Did you see any rabbit-shaped things out by the dumpster? I think they only come around once a month or so, but I always feel strange if I look at them.” The words glided out of Ness’ mouth and into the air before he could think. 

Self-induced humiliation wrapped its awful, clammy hands around his ribcage as two confused glances were aimed in his direction.

“. . .What?” Jack and Mason blurted in near-perfect unison.

“What?” Ness echoed, blinking as his voice instantaneously grew a smidge louder than before. He rushed to plaster his typical, happy-go-lucky demeanor back onto his face, hoping that pretending he hadn’t spoken at all would convince his friends that he actually hadn’t. 

Not only did his latest sentence sound weird as all hell, but it’d also been downplayed as all hell. Because when Ness had said strange, what he’d really meant was the pounding, churning, pummeling agony that should only ever be present in your stomach after you’ve accidentally swallowed a few dozen live rats that just so happen to be whacked out on cocaine for whatever godforsaken reason. 

And while he wasn’t a perfect angel, Ness would never wish that particular pain on anyone else. So, the fewer people who knew about the floppy-eared cryptids (which Ness could’ve sworn looked like they’d been covered in mucus) that were apparently engrossed in  gang warfare with the local raccoons, the better. 

“Ah, did you get a bad passenger today?” Ness coughed. Jack had to deal with as many entitled idiots as Ness, if not even more. Hell, taking turns venting about that stuff was something they’d initially bonded over.

He peered through the window next to the booth—Jack’s cab was parked close enough to see that there wasn’t anything to indicate an accident. Not a life-threateningly serious one, at least. 

“Not exactly,” Jack replied, following his gaze. Where Ness’ eyes were curious, Jack’s were currently anxious and mistrusting. That was another red flag: Jack may not have treated his taxi like it was his baby, but he still took pretty good care of it. “Just a few more weirdos.” 

Mason hummed, tilting his head. “How weird specifically?” He’d heard plenty of Jack’s tales from the road; as he called on Jack for rides somewhat often, he’d even ended up being part of those tales. 

Jack knitted his brows, fidgeted in place. “You don't want to know."

“. . .Then why did you make it sound so damn vague?” Mason retorted, now dripping with incredulousness. “The less specific details are, then the more they’re gonna nag at someone’s brain.”

“He’s got a point,” Ness agreed, lightly tapping Fabio’s pencil against his mug. 

“Like that’s my fault,” Jack snorted. “Most people wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”

Ness offered an encouraging smile. “Good thing we’re not most people, then.”

Mason nodded. “Damn right. C’mon, Jack; are you really saying something could top the crackhead I had to share the backseat with last month?” 

“Yes, I am,” Jack whisper-shouted through gritted teeth, “because it was a bear!” 

Silence (save for the soft click-clack of keyboards from the corner of the diner, that is).

Jack pursed his lips, looking equal parts exasperated and worried. He sighed yet again, reaching up to press his fingers against his temples.

“. . .What kind of bear was it?” Ness eventually tried. 

Mason, who’d previously been squinting while his mouth opened and closed with no words coming out, turned his head to face Ness with such speed and force that he might’ve actually given himself whiplash. “That’s the first thing you focus on?!”

Ness made a shaky lame gesture. “It’s a fair question! What’re you focusing on?” (He wasn’t wrong. There was a lot of variety among bears, after all. And a bear that lived in the woods and had huge claws and could outeat, outrun, outswim, and probably even outdrink the average person would be a lot more to handle than one of the bears that had attended the latest local Pride parade.) 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you,” Mason declared, returning his attention to Jack, “look significantly less mauled than most people who get close to bears! Seriously, how is your face still connected to your skull?!” 

“I didn’t mea—!” Jack was about to go on the defensive, but stopped short. “What, were you expecting me to get ripped to shreds tonight? So damn sorry if I didn’t get the memo!”

“No! Of course not!” Mason contended. “Look, you can’t just say you had a run-in with a bear and leave it at that!”

Jack threw his hands up. “Well, I told you you didn’t want to know!”

“How the hell can we not NEED to know now?” Ness pointed out. Though he was growing just as confused as Mason, he tried to keep his voice even.

Jack gave him an exhausted look before craning his neck to rest his head against the booth’s seat, staring at the ceiling. 

“It was a huge robot,” he finally clarified. “Looked like it’d been at the bottom of a scrap heap for years; I’d guess it was older than my dad. But its eye glowed blue like the machines inside it were still working. It made the car shake—I’m honestly surprised the back tires never gave out. And God damn, the smell. . .rust and blood and mucus, I swear!”

Now it was Mason’s turn to go rigid. A tidal wave of emotion seemed to sweep through his features; first surprise, then recognition, and then dread. He placed a hand on the nearest corner of the table as if to steady himself. 

“It was wearing a black top hat and bowtie, wasn’t it?” He murmured. It sounded much more like a statement than a question, and the way his tone had become so hollow didn’t help.

Jack lowered his head, clearly unsure whether or not to make eye-contact as he nodded. 

“Sounds like the way Freddy was designed. . .” Ness mused without quite meaning to. 

Memories of the huge sign that had been built to loom over the old pizzeria’s front entrance flooded into his head. The blinking lights that bordered the establishment’s title and seemed to chase each other around and around and around. The life-sized cutout of the one and only Freddy Fazbear himself, using one paw to adjust his bowtie and the other to wave, seemingly beckoning customers to wander inside. 

Those memories dissolved as Ness winced and glanced back at Mason, who was now reaching up with a shaking hand to grasp at his hoodie’s collar, tugging it to cover up the top of an old, deep scar that dragged along the skin of his neck. Ness shuffled in his seat, trying not to stare at how quickly the color drained from his friend’s face. 

Checkers was back by Mason’s side in an instant, bracing her paws against the seat as she licked at his face. Mason blinked, a huge shudder rippling through his chest as he hugged his pet.

A few minutes dragged by, feeling like an hour apiece and jeering at the trio as they went.

“So.” Mason finally announced, still keeping his gentle-yet-obviously-desperate hold on Checkers. “Let me get this straight: that. . .that thing got into your cab like it paid rent just a few hours ago?” 

Jack pursed his lips, nodding again. “There was a kid with it, too. A little girl. She didn’t even seem scared at all. The whole ride, she was smiling and hugging the bear’s arm—”

“Wait, you actually drove it somewhere?!” Mason demanded.

Jack sputtered. “What other choice did I have?!”

“I mean, that’s kind of literally his job,” Ness mentioned. 

True, he was grappling with the fact that he and his friends had apparently been transported into some cheap bizzarofiction novel. And yet, somehow, this wasn’t even the craziest story that’d been relayed to him from a customer. He peered down at Fabio as though it was about to start contributing to this conversation. “Where did you take them?”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Ness (which he guessed couldn’t be helped. Ness already had an idea, but it was rude to just assume, wasn’t it?). “Where else? That old pizza joint you’ve been trying to write an encyclopedia on.”

Mason was about to say something else, but stopped short in favor of turning his shock toward Ness.

Ness raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Look, I know you don’t like that place, but just remember that I don’t question what you do with your free-time.”

“That’s right. And even if you did, you wouldn’t have to, because I don’t spend my free-time poking around the fourth Circle of Hell!” Mason snarked. 

“I won’t lie and say it’s not creepy,” Ness admitted, unable to stop a chill from racing down his spine at the memory of the restaurant’s grimy wall posters, the draft that always seemed to be in the air over there, the disturbingly sour tang of what he’d hoped was just ancient pizza sauce, “but that still seems pretty harsh.”

Mason gawked, fragments of words leaking through his teeth.

“If we’re looking at the bigger picture,” Jack coughed, probably attempting to steer Mason away from a potential stroke, “then nothing really happened tonight. The bear didn’t even make a peep the whole time. I didn’t get hurt, and that girl didn’t get hurt. She even left a handful of change when we got to the restaurant.”

Ness squinted and tilted his head at that. As far as he knew, the rules Jack applied to his cab were pretty lax and basic, but he’d always been firm on never taking money from lone child passengers.

Then again, if the child passenger in question was traveling with a huge robotic animal that apparently had enough sentience to use a taxi in the first place, it was probably best to just go along with whatever happened and leave the sanity-questioning session for later.

Jack fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “. . .That actually wasn’t even the worst part of tonight’s shift.”

Mason leaned back against the leather seat, looking very much lightheaded. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he furiously motioned for his friend to elaborate. 

Jack hesitated before explaining, “Well, once the girl and the bear were out, I decided to just call it a day. After I got far enough away from the pizzeria, I parked by one of the downtown curbs and switched the car’s sign to Off Duty. I was trying to get a catnap in—”

“It’s a miracle you could even try to sleep after that damn bear basically held you hostage,” Mason interjected.

“—when someone knocked on the window. I told ‘em to read the sign and come find me later, but they opened up the door and got in anyway. So, I was about to kick them out and. . .” Jack trailed off, shaking his shoulders as though a few dozen cockroaches had spontaneously taken up nest in his jacket.  

“And. . .?” Ness echoed, the curiosity-concern cocktail in his mind getting stronger.

“And there was some tiny doll in my passenger seat,” Jack concluded. “Looked creepy as hell.”

Ness hummed in consideration. “Sounds like it could just be a weird prank? The teens in that area are always following strange trends.”

Jack nervously shook his head. “I couldn’t see anyone outside the cab. It only took a few seconds for me to look; there’s no way anyone could move fast enough to hide after they put the doll in.”

“A tiny doll. . ?” Mason’s brow furrowed in thought for a couple seconds, then promptly returned to its collision course for Mars. He leaned over the table. “Did it have bug-eyes and buck teeth? Was it wearing one of those stupid propeller hats and holding a red-and-yellow striped balloon?”

Jack’s face contorted in confusion as he nodded. “. . .That pretty much sums it up.”

Though his expression was still grim, Mason’s fear quickly metamorphosed into some good ol’ fashioned aggravation. “That’s the bastard,” he seethed, knuckles turning white. 

Jack blinked, perplexity slowly overtaking his latest case of heebie-jeebies. “Wait, you’ve seen that thing before?”

“I have, unfortunately.” Mason grimaced. An odd type of adrenaline etched its way across his face. “Is it still in the cab?”

Jack nodded again. “I didn’t want to risk touching it.”The words were barely out of his mouth when Mason rose from the booth and stalked outside through Sparky’s front entrance. Checkers trotted after him, the tiredness of an actual nurse flickering in her eyes.

Ness and Jack basically had frontrow seats to observe their friend approaching Jack’s cab, ripping the passenger-side door open and fishing something out before slamming it closed again.

With that, Mason raced to the edge of the parking lot and proceeded to dropkick what had to be the mysterious balloon-toting doll out of sight.

Despite his shock, part of Ness still felt relieved that Mason hadn’t simply deposited it into the dumpster. Just in case those awful rabbit-looking things happened to be paying a visit tonight. . .

@sammys-magical-au @that-bat @th3w00ds @bee-the-matpat-simp @touyubesposts @crazy-obsessed-enby @i-used-to-wear-the-fedora @holyawesomestitches @s-e-v-e-n-24 @sotogalmo @ciphershadow @deethedustyassdumbass @theechoingmadness @its-a-goddamn-ass-race @zam-witch @box-goat @redd-byrd @icantmakeupagoodname @pleasedontmind-the-emerald @transparentghosty @vegaslvrr @itzqueers-blog @wannabeavocaloidmystery @shivr0ygf @ciara-clycone @not-made-of-actual-rye @m0on-shro0m @imafruitbowl @azure-trash @il0v3mus1cals @v1r-x @kafkaisnotdead @junaslagoon @alicethemenace @ilovenikkisixx @m00nlight-mexican @w0rd3855 @head-without-a-fucking-brain. @unkn0wn-nys @not-made-of-actual-rye @101k-t101 @theonlykala @dividel @riff-is-on-a-fucking-crisis @roselily2006 @max-afton @abe-the-detective-blog @floating-above-sea-level @madhare051

[missnoirr]

No I don't remember tbh

picture this. it's 2009, you're at the supermarket - coles, to be exact - you look to the shelf full of spreads and see a brand new product. for the first time since 1922 vegemite has released a new product. it's a "creamer version." it's just a cheese + vegemite spread we've all been making ourselves for yonks. the jar doesn't have a name, though, it just says "Name Me." you take it home, you think "cheeseymite, duh" that's what we all call it anyway. months go by and they re-release the cheeseymite, this time with a name that apparently "won" the competition. the name is "iSnack. 2.0". I cannot stress to you enough that the country is incensed. morning news shows straight up laugh at it. youtube is full of angry middle aged men complaining about it. the general attitude is one of "get fucked." to make matters worse vegemite is owned by an american company at the time. think pieces are written, jars are smashed. there is true fury in the australian people. within four days iSnack is pulled from shelves and replaced with "cheeseybite." the legacy lives on.

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

I and Love and You

The fifth in Rafael Barba/Reader/Frederick Chilton threesome verse written in collaboration with @pascalispretty . Mood board also by the lovely and talented @pascalispretty !! Yep. We did this. Was it necessary? No. Did we enjoy it? Sometimes. Are you going to read it? I sure hope you do and that you like it! Cross posted on ao3!

Part Five of the series So Much Easier than You Realize

Warnings: Total and complete tooth rotting fluff. Schedule an appointment with your dentists, ladies and germs. Rafael is, as always, a bit of a jackass. You will probably have an incurable craving for breakfast food. And the teeniest tiniest mention of daddy kink. Rating: E for everyone because there is nothing objectionable in this at all, I did not think we could actually write something this sweet lol. Word Count: 3725 Summary: Mornings are for cookies and contemplation.

When Rafa wakes up, he spares a moment to sympathize with his growling stomach. More than one moment, if he’s being honest with himself. He isn’t normally an early riser but his stomach wouldn’t be so empty if he’d been allowed to have his bedtime snack and not rudely distracted by his two partners and an ingenious application of his second favorite blue tie. The result is pleasantly sore abdominal muscles and the rare opportunity to wake up in time to see the both of them still peacefully asleep in bed next to him.

Fred’s back is pressed close to his chest and his legs brush against Rafa’s as he levers himself up onto his elbow to look at her on Fred’s other side. Her face is tucked against Fred’s neck and the doctor’s arms are wrapped tightly around her, and Rafa smiles at them both, still asleep in the soft grey early morning light.

Fred shifts, and an irritable frown passes over his face the longer Rafa uses him to balance himself to stare at the two of them, so Rafa quickly presses a kiss to his temple before settling back down with a sigh.

It’s too early to be up, really, but he’s starving and is not getting back to sleep without eating something. He grunts and sits up before pressing another kiss to Fred’s shoulder. He swings his legs out of bed and grabs a pair of grey sweatpants.

Rafa trudges down the hall to the kitchen. There were still Bugles hidden in the back of Fred’s Tupperware cabinet. Oh shit, had he eaten them all? He flicks on the light to the kitchen and huffs a quiet laugh when he finds a sticky note on the door of said cabinet in Fred’s small, precise handwriting.

Sorry, I ate the last of your chips two days ago. In my defense, counselor, you left them in my house and I was having a very stressful day. I made you cookies instead, they’re on top of the microwave. I figured you’d be up before the both of us this morning since you didn’t get your snack. --An Apologetic Psychiatrist who feels like he shouldn’t be apologizing for eating food in his own cupboards.

Rafa runs his fingers over the note a few times, smiling like an idiot, his heart feeling full and warm and about seven sizes larger than it was when he woke up. He turns his head and sees a plastic container (with a green lid because the green Tupperware was for storage of baked goods as Fred was constantly reminding him) right where Fred said it would be, and when he steps over to investigate it further he finds a batch of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. Another note is stuck to the lid.

I know these aren’t your favorite. I know that you don’t really enjoy white chocolate. Consider this my attempt to make sure you don’t eat all of these in one sitting. Please limit yourself to two; you aren’t in your 20’s anymore, Rafael, and it’s not even a normal time for breakfast yet, much less cookies. --A Not Apologetic Psychiatrist who doesn’t want your first heart attack to be in his apartment, thank you very much.

Rafa rolls his eyes and peels the lid off, smirking as he deliberately takes three out of the box. He doesn’t hate white chocolate, after all, and he does love macadamia nuts. And he has always had a problem following instructions.

Standing at the kitchen counter, Rafa eats his cookies with a pleased groan, once again thanking whatever saints or angels his mami appeals to for sending him a partner that bakes. Not that he thinks his mother would have prayed for someone at all like Fred. Fussy, officious, arrogant, snobby, and, well, a man. His mother would have had someone like their younger lover in mind however. Smart, pretty, and willing to stand up to his attitude. Most of the time anyways. Well, what did Lucia Barba always say? You can make as many requests of God as you want to but remember that He has a sense of humor too? She got him a little extra than what her original request probably specified.

Rafa snorts at the thought and brushes crumbs off his bare chest, leaning back against the counter and surveying the kitchen in the growing light. He’s still hungry but he knows he’ll hear about it if Fred wakes up and all of those cookies are gone. And today is supposed to be the one day this whole month the three of them can spend just being quiet together with no plans, no work, and no prior obligations. He’d rather not spend it all dodging Fred’s passive aggressive jabs and her pouting looks and quiet pleas to please just be the bigger man and apologize.

He stretches his arms out on the counter behind him and tips his head back, staring absently at Fred’s kitchen ceiling as he contemplates making his way back to bed and napping until Fred wakes up and decides to order in breakfast. He’s nearly settled on that plan when he catches sight out of the corner of his eye of the bright blue note on the cupboard. He doesn’t remember Fred spending any time in the kitchen before the two of them dragged Rafa into the bedroom to put his ties to a much more interesting use. He must have gotten out of bed after Rafa fell asleep to put this together, and Rafa can’t help the smile that spreads over his entire face.

Rafa slaps his palms on the counter and shoves himself off, making his way over to the fridge to see what Fred has in the way of actual food. He’s already awake; the least he can do is make breakfast.

He finds the ingredients for pancakes easily enough--Fred is a stickler for organization. Rafa tries not to make a mess as he moves around the perfectly arranged and spotless kitchen. He stirs the batter by hand rather than risk the noise of the KitchenAid but pauses over whether or not to put chocolate chips in.

She would be pleased, her sweet tooth nearly rivals his own, but Fred would almost definitely be annoyed. Especially because Rafa has already had chocolate earlier in the morning. With a fond sigh, Rafa puts the glass jar back in the cupboard, though not before tipping a few of the chocolate chips out into his hand.

It reminds him of cooking in Fred’s beautiful house in Baltimore, his sweet girl laughing and dancing around the kitchen in one of Fred’s shirts, barely being any help at all. All three of them adore the big, beautiful house that Fred had shyly shown them--as if they could have done anything else other than fall in love with it.

Fred relaxed slightly when it became clear that his guests found the house as beautiful as he did. Rafa tried to help her in slowing Fred down as he showed it to them, asking questions about particular objects or features and pointing out the things they especially admired. Every sincere compliment kept a gratified little smile plastered on Fred’s face--and there was plenty to compliment him on.

It’s clear that it holds a special place in Fred’s heart. It’s so him, every inch of it reflecting back the man who poured so much time and effort and money into making it a home. From the collection of antique medical texts carefully displayed on the shelves to the exact shade of teal velvet upholstery on some of the armchairs, Fred had lavished attention on the house to surround himself with things he loved and found beautiful. It amused Rafa to wonder if he’d taken that into account when he’d invited his partners over; whether they’d laud the elegant aesthetic he’d established in his home.

Shifting the spoon briefly to give his right hand a break from mixing, he smiles at the memory. He’s never actually admitted to Fred how much he likes playing house with his two partners there. Rafa is fairly certain that the kitchen in the Baltimore house is larger than the apartment that he grew up in and he knows that a wine cellar is an absurd luxury. But it’s a place where the three of them are free to be themselves, without worrying about nosy neighbors and doormen.

Rafa snorts quietly, folding the batter briskly to get out all the little flour bubbles. That pretty well explains how he feels about Fred too. Fred is too high maintenance, too abrasive in all the ways Rafa normally hates, too… prep school, but Rafa can’t help but smile indulgently every time he turns his nose up at a meal that costs less than fifty dollars, or every time he gets that prissy stubborn look on his face, or juts his chin out and point blank refuses to admit that he’s wrong (even though Rafa can tell that he knows that he is).

He never apologizes either. Ever. He’ll be proven wrong, he’ll hurt both their feelings, and the closest to any sort of acknowledgment of wrongdoing that the both of them will get will be a cup of coffee in bed the next morning, one of Fred’s most handsome smiles, and the complete and sudden cessation of all hostilities like the fight never happened. Rafa knows that with anyone else that kind of behavior would be a relationship killer.

Rafa looks over the batter and nods to himself, satisfied with the consistency, and balances the spoon against the side of the bowl. He stares at the oven and frowns. Just pancakes hardly make breakfast. Going over to the fridge, he grabs bacon out of its particular place, rolling his eyes as he does so, and tosses it on the counter next to the pancake batter, reaching under the silverware drawer for a frying pan.

Maybe it’s the way Fred ‘apologizes’ with the perfect cup of coffee instead of actual words. Maybe it’s that same perfect cup of coffee that somehow manages to find its way onto his desk at work when he’s too swamped to go out and get one--just because Fred knows he needs it. Or a sandwich from his favorite deli and a quick flash of that handsome smile on Fred’s lunch break.

Rafa gets started on actually cooking said breakfast, hissing and swearing quietly when he gets a first-hand demonstration of why you shouldn’t fry things without a shirt on. Fred would have more than a few words to say to him about the relative intelligence of what he’s doing right now. He grins. Maybe that’s it--the way he cares while trying desperately to make it seem like every time it’s an inconvenience of the highest order.

Maybe Rafa loves Fred because every once in a while, when he’s very drunk, very tired, or the perfect combination of both, Fred slips a little and calls the both of them by those cute, ridiculous southern pet names that before now Rafa would have put money on being more myth than fact. And how embarrassed he is when it is pointed out to him that he just called a forty-something year old man ‘pickle’.

Fred is arrogant, prickly, particular, and both overindulgent and overly judgmental of vices depending on if he himself shares in them. He is a pain to get along with most of the time and sometimes treats the two of them like they’re made of spun gold--things to be cherished and well looked after and shown off to the best of his ability. He’s a contradictory monster and Rafa loves him.

He has a feeling that the smile on his face is sappy and ridiculous, but as he turns the bacon and settles to wait a few more minutes, he shrugs. There isn’t anyone else around this early to see him; his reputation as a son of a bitch and a jackass won’t be ruined. He loves Fred. He loves her. He loves both of them--sometimes so much it’s hard for him to keep it to himself and wait for them to come to the same conclusion. Their individual faults, foibles, and perfections and the way they mesh with each other and fit so surprisingly well in his own life.

Like getting new book recommendations from her--whenever he has the time to actually read something for fun. She leaves them on his home desk with a brief explanation why she thinks he’ll like them. That almost always makes up for the numerous occasions he has gone looking for one of his own books and found it had mysteriously jumped off its shelf and walked itself three rooms over, or managed to find itself completely out of order.

He drains the bacon onto a paper towel covered plate and gives the pan a quick rinse. He loves finding packets of M&M’s in his briefcase or in his suit coat pockets, loves knowing they’re from her and that she braved Fred’s ire to indulge his habit of constant snacking. A habit Fred particularly despises. He loves--most of the time--being a couple minutes late to work some mornings because she got into a nearly incoherent argument with him about what color tie he should wear. He loves that she loves his wardrobe as much as he does.

Rafa loves ganging up with her to tease Fred and loves that she can take some teasing herself. He loves that she just rolls her eyes and plays along when his puckish side emerges and he can’t help but be an asshole even though he can tell she would rather he didn’t.

Rafa starts pouring pancake batter, chuckling to himself when he recalls the mood she’d gotten into the last time his sense of humor had gotten the better of him. While waiting for a table in a restaurant, a strange woman had made a snide comment about ‘men dating women young enough to be their daughters’ and Rafa had been unable to resist feigning outrage and asking what was so terrible about a man taking his daughter out for a nice birthday dinner.

The woman had been mortified, and Rafa had enjoyed the look on her face so much that he’d only hammered the point home further, telling her it was hardly his fault he was a widower and a single parent. He hoped it had taught her a valuable lesson in boundaries. His sweet girl had been so embarrassed but it had been so worth it.

Flipping the first pancake, he thinks about the flaws that come with her youth. She’s always the first one to joke about having daddy issues and Rafa can hardly deny how much he enjoys hearing her call him papi--and Fred daddy--in bed. He just has to try not to think too deeply about it. Not that Rafa really has a leg to stand on where difficult paternal relationships are concerned. But her jokes mask an insecurity and a clinginess that Fred has a habit of overindulging. More than once when he’s been trying to work she’s tried to distract him or cuddle up to him and then gotten sulky when he had to gently but firmly rebuff her.

When he finally finishes work on those evenings, he usually finds her wrapped around Fred instead, giving him a wounded look when he finally emerges from behind his case files. Those looks are wordless guilt trips every time he’s on the receiving end of one--no matter how right he feels in his decision to work instead of play.

And yet somehow she’s worked the same magic on him that Fred has. A flaw that in anyone else would have stopped any idea of a relationship in its tracks is something that he’s come to love about her. Her clinginess comes from a place of emotional fragility and it must be hard to let her partners see that. The fact that she trusts them enough to be so vulnerable around them makes Rafa’s heart swell. He can’t help but love her, even when he’s dealing with her pouting and huffing.

Fred talks about it like Rafa is somehow being ungrateful, that he should drop everything to spend time with his beautiful, smart, young lover, and it drives Rafa crazy. He knows that Fred generally means well when he tries to appeal against his more workaholic tendencies, but he also knows that Fred could retire now and live off his trust fund if he wanted. It rubs him the wrong way when Fred tries to discourage him from working hard because he’s never needed to understand why Rafa works as hard as he does.

He starts stacking the cooked pancakes on a plate on the stove and furrows his brow in concentration. Fred gleefully indulges her in her clinginess, dropping everything to scoop her into his arms or take her to bed. They’ve even taken to napping together with his cock still tucked inside her, as if they can’t bear to be anything other than as close as physically possible. He’s stubbornly blind to the fact that Rafa can’t just drop what he’s doing. If Fred misses a deadline for submitting a journal article the worst that happens is it gets pushed back an issue. If Rafa misses something in his case files or submits something late or fails to prepare as fully as he should, it can ruin lives. Dangerous predators can be let out on the street to offend again. People don’t get the justice they deserve. And even in this day and age, a poor boy with a Spanish name is granted a lot less leeway with employers than a rich boy with a nice American name and family money.

They come from very different worlds, even if Rafa has carefully and thoroughly infiltrated Fred’s, and Rafa loves and hates it a little that Fred forgets that most of the time. Rafa has to always be ‘on’ and can’t afford the same kind of laxness that Fred can.

Sometimes he even has to be ‘on’ at home when he’d rather put his fist through a wall or wrap himself in every blanket in the apartment with a bottle of scotch and pass out. Like when he walks into whichever apartment they’re spending the night at to find Fred in a screaming match with her that he has to moderate. She likes to complain that he and Fred can really get into it like a pair of children, and he isn’t saying she’s wrong—they definitely can—but she and Fred are just as bad. Frankly, the three of them are cut from the same cloth when it comes to being pig headed and it makes for some rather loud and spirited fights.

Like the frequent battles she has with Fred over her occasional smoking habit. They always start out with Fred gently chiding and somehow end up with Fred snidely pulling out his “I went to medical school, therefore everyone else is a moron” voice and her reminding him that he couldn’t cut it as a real doctor and she’ll “smoke a goddamn fucking cigarette every once in a while if she fucking feels like it.” Rafa tries to interfere before it descends to “as much as you like to act like it sometimes, Frederick, you aren’t my father” and “maybe if you knew how to make better choices you wouldn’t be constantly seeking validation from older men,” but he doesn’t always get home in time and instead walks in to the both of them glaring icily at each other or shouting as many deliberately hurtful things as they can.

He likes to leave his courtroom face at work, but it’s generally the only thing that will defuse those battles, or at least calm them down into cold wars. Rafa doesn’t particularly enjoy playing mediator on the best of days, especially not when one wrong word from him will have one or both of them turning on him as another enemy combatant. He likes his occasional cigarette too, and he snacks constantly, and eats terribly; all things that Fred will use to drag him into a fight.

But while he hates trying to calm them down enough to at least stop yelling, he has to admit he loves having people around to yell in the first place. Yes, these fights mean he has to put on his lawyer face when he’d rather get drunk and pass out. But he has people in his life to break up fights between. He can come “home” to people who care about him. People who, when they aren’t screaming, see him come through the door and smile. People who would, and have on occasion, drop what they are doing to bring him something he left at home and needs now. People who drop a sandwich on his desk when he’s working and quietly--most of the time-- leave him to it.

People who care and appreciate him.

Rafa finishes setting plates and cutlery out on the island and starts the coffee maker. He loves having them a few rooms away. He loves knowing that they like him enough to put up with his “shoebox sized apartment”, with him being an incurable workaholic, with the fact that when he gets stressed or angry he lashes out at anyone around him. With the fact that when he does he can be more than a little cruel.

Rafa makes his way back into Fred’s bedroom, wincing as always at how bright it gets when the morning sun fully hits it. He smiles when he sees them still tucked against each other just like he had left them. He loves this view the most.

Rafa grins mischievously. They put up with his innate tendency to be a complete and utter jackass, and that is one more thing he loves about them.

“I just rearranged every single cupboard, bookshelf, and drawer in your entire apartment, Frederick!” Rafa informs the room in general. Loudly.

Fred’s eyes snap open and he sits up, dislodging his sleeping companion without a second glance. His gaze lands on Rafa, who is smirking next to him, and his eyes go comically wide in horror.

“Rafael Barba, you didn’t.”

Tag List: @sassyada, @dreamlover31, @prurientpuddlejumper, @storiesofsvu

[little-mad]

Little Jackpot Pt. 11

~ Last Part ~ Next Part ~

The first thing Ambry noticed when she began to regain consciousness was the fact that she very much was not on solid ground. In addition to a slight but persistent up and down movement, she could also feel a strong heartbeat that was not her own pulsing through her body. It was then that she noticed the spongy texture of the surface she was lying on.

With her senses finally together enough to finally fully wake up, Ambry’s eyes flew open. The moment they did, memories of the past couple hours began to flood in. She’d been abducted by Kole, stuck in his grasp, and then...then she’d done something drastic, something that explained why the surface she was resting on was so absurdly big.

Ambry swallowed down a wave of intimidation as she shifted into a sitting position atop Sebastian’s palm. She had been in the human’s hand before, but she had been quite a bit bigger then. Now her entire body easily fit into the cup of his palm.

With the massive black clad wall that was Sebastian’s chest blocking one side, and his right hand blocking the other, Ambry couldn’t see much of the world around them. From the glimpses she got though, she could tell they were outside, walking down a street in the city. Normally she would have considered Sebastian’s behavior to be smothering, but at that moment she was honestly grateful. She didn’t think she could handle experiencing the whole world at an increased scale right now.

“Ambry?” A voice softly called from above. Ambry had to tilt her head back quite far in order to see Sebastian’s vast facing staring down at her in concern.

The up and down movement she’d been experiencing, which she now realized had been Sebastian’s gait, came to stop, indicating he had halted his journey.

“H-hey.” Ambry greeted with an awkward wave. “I can’t believe how huge he is!” She thought to herself incredulously. Any natural, instinctual fear she’d had of creatures of human size now seemed to be on overdrive. Despite knowing the human holding her was a friend that would look out for her, Ambry’s increased heart rate and the nervous sweat developing on her brow told her that her body didn’t buy it.

“She’s awake?” Ambry jumped slightly at the sound of Adrien’s voice coming from somewhere out of her view.

“How are you feeling? Are you hurt?” Sebastian questioned, managing to keep his voice low and steady despite the urgency in his tone.

Ambry shook her head. “I’m fine, just a little lightheaded is all.” She called up to the witch, being sure to raise her voice so it would reach his faraway ears.

A small yelp slipped out from the pixie’s mouth when the hand she was sitting on suddenly began to move upwards. The movement was slow and careful, but still jarring for the tiny passenger. When Sebastian’s palm stopped its ascent in front of his face, Ambry hurriedly tried to compose herself.

Rather than saying something immediately as she had expected, Sebastian remained silent while his deep green eyes carefully inspected the pixie resting in the palm of his hand.

While Ambry liked being the center of attention at times, she did not like being an object of close examination. Having such a massive being drink in every detail of her much smaller form gave her a swirly feeling in her stomach.

A touch of red began to tinge Ambry’s cheeks. “Wh-what are you doing?” She asked, shifting uncomfortably.

There was a pause, in which Sebastian didn’t respond and instead continued to look Ambry over. Just when she was about to snap at him to knock it off, he moved the hand containing Ambry slightly down and away from his face. “Physically you look alright.” He noted, some of the tension in his face easing up. “Let’s just get you home, then we can discuss things.” Ambry gave a small nod of agreement.

With that, Sebastian returned his hands to the position they had been in when Ambry woke up before setting off again. While she still wasn’t able to catch sight of him, she could hear Adrien’s footsteps following behind Sebastian. She was once again appreciative of Adrien’s ability to know what a person needed without having to ask. Rather than get close to Sebastian and crowd Ambry, he had elected to stay back and out of view so as to not overwhelm her. She’d have to find a way to thank him for his consideration later.

The rest of the trip from there was brief. It was only a couple of minutes before they reached home. Once inside the house, Sebastian made his way to the kitchen. He pulled up a stool at the peninsula before very slowly lowering the hand holding Ambry down to the surface of the counter. Taking the cue, she rose to her feet and stepped off of the soft palm.

It was at this moment that Ambry finally started to take in the larger environment. As expected, everything looked even bigger and heftier than it used to. The countertop she stood on now was like a vast expanse of endless sleek white marble. Needless to say, she felt positively minuscule.

With cautious and measured movements, Adrien took a seat at the stool beside Sebastian. This left Ambry standing on the countertop with two absolute titans looking down at her. She gulped heavily.

“Your wings, are they ok?” Adrien asked gently. At their mention, Ambry’s wings gave an involuntary twitch. She realized Adrien’s question must have been brought on by the fact that she had opted to continue riding in Sebastian’s hand rather than fly herself. It was true that normally Ambry would have flown by now. And while her wings weren’t injured, they did feel heavy behind her back. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, she’d experienced it before after flying excessively and overworking herself. This time she wasn’t exhausted from flying, but rather from the size reduction process she had undergone.

“Yeah, I’m just exhausted.” Ambry admitted. “Which is why I passed out earlier.” She tacked on. She supposed it must have been alarming for the two humans to find her not only a couple inches smaller, but also inexplicably unconscious.

“Why--Ambry, what happened to you?” The intensity of Sebastian’s question drew her eyes to meet his. She could see the concern still tugging at his brows, and his pale lips were pressed together in that way they always did when he was fretting over something.

Ambry blew out a sigh. It was time to unveil the pixie secret. While there were no rules or laws in place restricting pixies from revealing their hidden ability to humans, it was something of an unspoken rule that it not be brought up unless necessary. Given that Sebastian had just witnessed Ambry shrink before his very eyes, she figured it was pretty necessary at this point.

“Every pixie has the natural ability to decrease their size at will.” She started, instantly earning wide eyed stares from both of the witches sitting in front of her. “But, because of how draining it is, on top of how fickle and unpredictable it can be, we rarely ever use it.”

“Fickle how?” Sebastian pressed.

Ambry shrugged. “In various ways. For one, it's easy for a pixie to end up shrinking more or less than they meant to.” She explained. “It’s also completely impossible to control how long we remain at our reduced size.” This was the bit that most nagged at the back of Ambry’s mind.

“You won’t stay this size forever, will you?” Adrien inquired.

“As far as I know, a pixie will always return back to their original form eventually. It could take a couple minutes, or a couple weeks.” Ambry had only personally known one pixie who had ever used their shrinking ability. He had done it just to test to see if it would actually work. It had taken four days for him to go back to normal. Apparently there were stories of pixies who had been stuck at their reduced size for nearly a month. There were even some legends that claimed it was possible to stay reduced forever, but those were mostly dismissed as old wives tales.

“So it’s essentially a waiting game.” Adrien concluded.

There were worse things than having to be so small for an indeterminate amount of time, still being in Kole’s hands came to mind. Yet Ambry couldn’t help but be filled with dread at the prospect of potentially being stuck this way for weeks on end. It would be like starting her adjustment to the human world all over again. Not to mention how much more vulnerable she was at this size.

Ambry was forced out of her worrying when she noticed something large steadily approaching her. She instinctively cringed back when Sebastian’s finger got near to her. However, when the fingertip big enough to cover her whole face gently touched her cheek, she found herself surprisingly not pulling away.

His skin was warm, and she could feel the ridges of his fingerprint on her cheek. It was an overwhelming comparison between their individual sizes, and while there was that part of her that was completely intimidated, it was quieter than usual. As Ambry locked eyes with Sebastian, she, in a strange way, actually kind of found his gesture comforting. Sebastian wasn’t particularly good with physical displays of affection or consolation, so for him to even attempt this was shocking in and of itself. But the fact that it was actually sort of working was even more shocking.

“If we have to wait, we have to wait. We’ll do it together.” The white haired witch assured her.

“Yeah, we’ll do whatever we need to make you more comfortable.” Adrien put in, a soft smile on his lips.

Were Ambry one prone to cheesy emotional displays, she would have teared up then and there. But as it was, she opted to choke out a quiet “thank you” instead.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 121

Insert Winter Holiday is here, again!

I’m queuing this ahead of time, and I originally had a really cute message about the end of the year. Then, I realized what year this is and said “Yeah, nope. Not jinxing it, will not have the actual end of the world be my fault.”

I am going to leave it at this: thank you to @baelpenrose, @raven-fae, and @charlylimph-blog for all your help with this story in 2020. Thank you to every single one of you who bombed by notes this year when you found The Miys. Thank you @janeshadow for talking me into getting off my rump and making the story easier to navigate.

Standing to my feet after putting the last dish in the oven, I couldn’t help but smile as I looked around my quarters. Despite the fact that we had forgone a tree this year for Insert Winter Holiday, there was a definite festive feeling as everyone packed themselves in as much as possible. Derek had clearly found my lights again, as they circled every public space in my quarters, including the kitchen.  Furniture was pushed as far against the walls as possible, and everyone had been advised to bring their own cushion to sit on.

In the two celebrations since waking up on the Ark, dinner and gifts had largely been a smaller, more typical dinner-style affair.  However, without my noticing, my family had grown exponentially since then, and this year finger foods passed from hand to hand as everyone relaxed and chatted. Charly, Tyche, and I took turns in the kitchen, with Hannah waving us all three to sit while she checked on something in the oven so that we could rest and enjoy ourselves, too.

“Where’s Derek?” Charly asked as she approached me to take her shift watching the last batch of food bake.

“He isn’t great with crowds, so he and Sam already came for lunch and to exchange gifts,” I explained, stroking the scarf they had given me. “They already left and took Mac with them.”

“Aww, they’re hogging the Christmas Cat… No fair!” she pouted comically.

“Eh, Mac’s not a fan of crowds either. Besides, I’m pretty sure someone gave him cheese - again - so I’d rather the little gas bomb not be here tonight.”

“Fair enough,” she laughed before popping me with a tea towel. “Go! Your turn to socialize and cuddle!”

I held up my hands in defeat before carefully picking my way around people. Coffey was gracious enough to take my hand and guide me around him and over to where Conor and Maverick were guarding the astonishingly huge pile of gifts. Arthur was nearby, arguing with Conor and trying to drag Simon into it every chance he could. The topic sounded like a rehash of the one regarding fortifications, only this time it was Fortification Redux: The Plant Edition. “We’ve already confirmed there are no megafauna on Von!” Arthur exclaimed wearily. “Not even vegetarians. Why would we need fortifications?”

I could tell Conor was just provoking him when he lazily waved a hand. “It’s psychological, to make people feel safe. Besides, agriculturally, it serves as double duty.”

“He has a point,” Simon conceded, wincing when Arthur turned a playful squint his direction. “He does!”

“Whatever,” Arthur surrendered with a mock-sulk. “Sophia…”

“You know where I stand on this argument, don’t even try it,” I laughed as I dropped in between my partners.

“You wound me! I was going to offer to whip up some goulash, but now I don’t think I will since someone thinks she should accuse me of such atrocious crimes.”

I rolled my eyes at his theatrics. “Whip up whatever you want, I’m done with kitchen duty, and so is Tyche. Charly’s on her last lap.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Maverick laughed, catching Coffey’s careful eye on his beloved bundle of energy.

Arthur practically leapt to his feet. “That decides it. I am so offended by Sophia’s accusations that I am going to share the kitchen with Miss Chaos Incarnate and leave you all to wonder what wound up in the food.”

Tyche tipped her head back to scowl at him from where she was draped across Antoine’s lap. “If I find a single eyeball…”

Muttering something suspiciously close to “Dammit”, Arthur prowled across the room as though the entire floor wasn’t draped in legs and people.

I opened my mouth to whine about how he could do that, only to be cut off when a piece of pastry was stuffed in my mouth. Grievances forgotten, my eyebrows shot up as I chewed. “Tyche! When did you make donuts!?”

“It may have involved time travel,” she waggled her fingers at me. “But no blood magic or ritual sacrifices, swear.”

I could see Antoine shake his head before responding over his shoulder. “She made them this morning.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Travelling forward through time is still time travel, mon coeur.” He tapped the tip of her nose with one finger, eliciting an expression from her that promised swift and painful retribution.

A soft rustle of fabric caught my attention, and I turned to see a pile of purple and jade-green silk land beside me before a long, dark braid came into view. “The donuts are quite delightful,” Parvati declared as she yanked Xiomara down beside her in a graceless heap. Grabbing a dark brown one from the plate, she popped it in her lover’s mouth just as Xiomara was about to complain. “That one is a Black Forest, I believe. You’ll love it.”

“Careful on those,” Conor warned. “I think they’re half booze.”

“I only soaked the cherries in kirsch,” Tyche corrected. “Not the whole thing.”

“So yeah, half booze,” I corrected.

Giving her most fearsome scowl, Xio snatched the rest of the Black Forest donuts off the plate and balanced them in one hand.

A squeal of laughter interrupted our shenanigans, and we whipped our heads around in time to see Hannah holding a plate of mini-Wellingtons over her head without even looking, while Charly struggled to get up from where she was sprawled across both the other woman’s lap and Coffey’s.  Zach stared at Hannah like he just saw his first sunset, and Maverick snorted behind me.

“He is such a goner over her,” I heard him say, followed by a light smack.

“Because I have certainly never seen you look at Conor or Sophia in such a way,” Parvati added lightly. “And obviously not when Conor is baby-talking to the plants around the ship, or when Sophia is so busy working she will eat whatever is handed to her.”

He buried his face in the back of my hair before squeaking. “Nope. Never!”

I twisted around so I could see them both. “Wait. When did this happen?”

“Three times a week, in your office,” Tyche interjected in a bored tone. “And pretty religiously.”

I felt my face heat up. “Does everyone know about this except me.”

Xiomara nodded furiously, cheeks plumped out and a suspicious number of donuts missing from the pile in her hand. Parvati shook her head at the antics and smiled gently. “Someone needs to make sure you eat… He brings you gyoza, and you don’t even notice. It’s quite adorable.”

Conor laughed. “She’s got you there, love.”

Eyes flashed as four heads snapped around to him. “Oh, don’t think you’re off the hook, mister!” Charly scolded at him. “He does the same thing to you. Those little pasties you like so much, with the potato and onion.”

Maverick groaned his embarrassment into my shoulder, while Conor’s smile faltered. “I would remember that,” he insisted.

“Not even once,” Charly confirmed.

Rather than being embarrassed, Conor just laughed again and reached to drag us both over to him. “I don’t know how someone so tall can be so sneaky, but I won’t argue.”

That moment was when Arthur decided to return, a trail of slurps in his wake as he handed out goulash. “No eyeballs,” he sighed dejectedly as he handed one to Tyche.

“You guys are no fun,” Charly muttered as she took her own bowl.

Poor Simon eyed the offering hesitantly. Arthur gently wiggled the bowl at him. “I promise, you’ll like it.”

Carefully, as though it would explode at any moment, Simon took the dish and managed a small bite.  After a few seconds - presumably to confirm there was no trick - he chewed and immediately started bolting it down at a rapid pace. “I thought it would be spicier,” he admitted as he snaked a hand out to grab another.

“That would be the paprika.  Really red, not really spicy.”

Maverick laughed as he took a bowl, but poked it with his fork before wrinkling his nose. “Sorry, Arthur, not happening.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than Simon’s hand darted out again, eliciting laughter from everyone.

Arthur shrugged, well aware of Maverick’s food aversions by this point. “It’s not for everyone. You keep your tofu, I’ll keep my goulash.”

Not long after that, the last of the food was gone and dishes were cleared. Hot drinks were handed out by Zach and Conor, and then it was finally time to exchange gifts. Baked goods from Tyche made the rounds, along with beautiful accessories from Parvati, carefully curated books from Alistair, plants from Conor and Sam, and more.

At one point, Arthur was staring at his gift from Charly like it would bite him. “It’s… a pen?”

She nodded, producing a small jar of black ink from somewhere. “A fountain pen, with black India ink. I made them both myself.”

Arching an eyebrow, he brought the pen closer to examine the engravings. “An otter… with a sword?”

“With a saber,” she corrected. “I tried to make it look like yours, but do you know how hard you make it to get a good look at that thing!?”

“It’s literally on display in my office when I’m not practicing with it.”

“And how am I supposed to get in there when you aren’t? You booby-trapped the door!”

“Wonder why….” he mused with a small smile. “This is very intricate,” he finally admitted.

“Consider it an apology for the other ones.”

“Oh!” I realized.  “Give me just a second, everyone.”  Scrambling, and with nowhere near Arthur or Tyche’s grace, I managed to make it to our bedroom to grab an armful of boxes. Once I was back at the doorway, I peeked around the stack and smiled. “These are from Derek, with a little bit of help from Hannah.”  Checking names, I distributed the boxes before making my way back to my spot.

“This is… It’s so soft!” Parvati exclaimed. “And the colors are beautiful!”

I smiled as I rubbed the scarf I wore. “He wanted to show his appreciation for how welcome he feels, even if he was overwhelmed at the idea of being here.”

Hannah nodded as she brushed her scarf against her cheek. “We worked on these for months, but I didn’t realize he found time to make one for me… All the colors and patterns are different for each person, by the way. They’re meant to show us how he thinks of us.”

Conor held up the green and orange fabric that his box revealed. “I love it, but I’m confused.”

She rolled her eyes, and tapped her own scarf. “This goldish-brown is my eyes, and this olive green are the clothes I usually wear.”

Coffey’s laughter rang through the room as he unfolded his to see a pattern like Neapolitan ice cream: Rich brown, bright pink, with white swirled throughout. “I think he nailed it.”

Antoine’s head tilted until it almost met his shoulder. “Our eyes… Every single scarf has the color of our eyes in it.  That must have been so hard for him to do.” I could see what he meant - Derek did not look people in the eyes, as a rule.

“He wants us to know that he sees us, and that he likes that we see him,” Zach shrugged. When we all stared at him, he just blinked. “What? You don’t work with him as much as I do without figuring those things out.”

Without exception, everyone wrapped their gifts from Derek around themselves before the next set of gifts were handed out. “These are from me,” Arthur explained. “Hopefully I got it right.”

Like Alistair, Arthur had gifted everyone a book, but rather than a book that furthered a current interest, he had sought out historical insights into extremely niche topics for everyone. Some made pretty obvious sense - a book on the historical events leading to and the impacts of the Harlem Renaissance for me, a book on the evolution of law in various cultures for Xiomara - but some were far less obvious.

“A book on Roman law?” Charly asked, confused.

He reached over and tapped on the cover. “Specifically, this is about how much of Roman law was the result of litigation, with some pretty hysterical results. I think you’ll get a huge kick out of it.”

She cracked the book open to a random page and looked at it. “If you weren’t home when you were subpoenaed as a witness, you didn’t have to testify, but if you didn’t the person could stand outside your house and - “ she snorted before continuing in a fit of giggles. “Yell at you… for no more than three…. Three hours a day, three days a week - “ another snort “for up to a year!” She wiped a tear from her eye and surrendered to her giggles. “Oh that’s amazing! Thank you!”

Charly wasn’t the only one laughing. Even Xiomara was snickering. “That is an incredibly specific law.”

“Absurd laws are best laws,” he shrugged.

Eventually, all the gifts were distributed, but nobody was in a rush to leave. Instead, we lounged around, quietly catching up and talking about our plans for the upcoming ‘year’. At some point, Insert Winter Holiday had, unanimously and without fanfare, become the end of the year celebration on the Ark, even as far as the Council made plans. With that in mind, we were taking a chance to celebrate our continued survival for yet another cycle, and tried to look forward with optimism toward the next one.

I just let the feelings sink into me, enjoying the presence of the people who moved into my life.  Had I been asked fifteen years ago where I saw myself in the future, ‘on a spaceship, as the last of the human race, about to colonize another world’ would have been nowhere on that list.  But here I was, with a larger family than I had ever dreamed.

Despite all that we had been through, I couldn’t wait to see what the future would bring.

 (A/N: Keep your eyes out for an announcement on New Year’s Eve!)

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[impala-dreamer]

Ecstasy

SPN FanFic

~Sam's major headache leads to a major oops on Dean's part and some major fun for Sam.~

Sam x Reader, Dean

3,969 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Accidental Drug Use. Smut. Hair Pulling. Stoned!Sex

A/N: This will stand as my Free Square for @spnkinkbingo​ 2020. I'm doing "Hair Pulling Kink" bc Sam totally likes to have his hair pulled. ;) Hope you all enjoy!

2020 KinkBingo Masterlist ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ Find My Original Works on Amazon

Sam pressed his forehead deeper into the ledge of his knuckles, hoping the pressure would distract his ears from the beeping and ease the headache pounding behind his eyes.

It did not.

“Shit.” Dean was across the way, kicked back in his chair, ankles cross on the tabletop, phone in hand. In between alternating whispered curses and victory cheers, his phone was making the most irritating bleeping noises. “Yeah, baby!”

A devastated and annoyed sigh filled the air and Sam let his hand fall to the table with a thud. “What are you doing?” he snapped, eyes wide, head shaking at Dean.

Green eyes popped up innocently. “Playing Tetris, what are you doing?”

Sam tossed his hands up and sat back. “I’m trying to work! Why is it so loud?”

“I don’t know, Tetris is loud.” Dean shrugged and hiss disappointedly as he put a cube in the wrong spot. “You’re distracting me, shut up.”

“I’m distracting you- I- what!”

A melodic whistle from the next room caught their ears and both boys looked up to see Y/N dancing about, shaking her ass as she cleaned up last night’s messy dinner. Headphones snug in her ears, she whistled along to the music as she picked up empty beer bottles and a few scattered napkins.

Dean leaned over the table to get a better view, humming in approval at the curves on display. “Nice.”

“Dean!” Sam scolded in a low voice, quickly looking away and back to his book.

“What? She’s got a nice-”

“Just stop it.”

Dean laughed and licked his chapped lips as he settled back in place. “I know you like her, it’s cool, man. She’s all yours.”

Sam’s spine straightened in defense even as a blush filled his cheeks. “She’s not- mine. What? I don’t-”

“Sammy,” Dean grinned, dropping his chin as his eyebrows rose knowingly. “You can’t hide this stuff from me. I see all.”

Sam cleared his throat and tried to end the conversation, ducking his gaze back to his text. “You don’t see anything. There’s nothing to see.”

“Lucky for you,” Dean went on, ignoring him, “she likes you too.”

“H-how do you know?” Sam refused to look up, but lifted his eyes slightly.

Dean sighed happily and puckered his lips. “Because she turned me down.”

That lifted Sam’s entire frame. “What!”

“I know, shocking, right? I mean…” Dean waved a hand down the length of himself Vanna White style. “How could she say no? But she did.”

“When?”

“Few months ago. We were working that case in Ossining- remember? And… we got a little buzzed and I made a move and…”

“Wow.”

“I know. It was a pretty good move.”

“No, not- I just- wow.”

Dean laughed and dropped his feet so he could lean over the table and lower his voice. “Look, she likes you. You like her. It’s cool.”

The tip of Sam’s tongue snuck out to hang on his lower lip as he looked a little to the left, contemplating Dean’s confession. “Huh.”

“Yup.” Satisfied that his point was made, Dean sat back and started the game again, bleeping away without a thought.

Sam soon turned back to his research, trying to forget what Dean had said about Y/N. If it was meant to be, it would be; there was no use dwelling on it, especially when there was work to be done.

Very time consuming, tedious work that involved translating handwritten Romanian from a faded text while listening to Dean's Tetris antics.

Thoughts of Y/N were soon drowned out by a sharp pounding in his left temple, and Sam gave up, throwing his pencil down like a gavel and leaning back. He clutched his skull and groaned.

“Dude, go take something,” Dean suggested after slipping a bar into place and clearing three lines at once.

Sam sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah. You want anything?”

“Nah. Awe, damnit! Freaking cube again!”

The farther from Dean he walked, the calmer Sam felt, but his head was still pulsing.

The kitchen was practically bare and no meds were to be found. Sam growled lowly as he shuffled back to the library and paused in the archway.

“There's an empty bottle of Excedrin in the pantry,” he said cooly.

Dean looked up from his phone with a lingering smile. “OK. Did you take some?”

“Empty. Bottle.” Sam enunciated each letter and Dean's smile fell.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Dean closed one eye as he thought up both an excuse and solution at once. “Uh, I think there's some Tylenol in my room.”

Sam grit his teeth and nodded curtly. “Thanks.”

A handful of little white pills later, Sam was back in his seat, head in hand, waiting for relief to find him. He cradled his head in his hands, fingers splayed across his forehead, eyes glazing over the words set before him. It was slow going.

“Hey, bros,” Y/N greeted, taking the seat next to Sam as she set down three beers on the table. “Whatcha doin’?”

Dean happily reached for a beer. “Beating my high score.”

Sam sighed. “Working. Or trying to.” He looked up to find Y/N watching him intently and it made his heart race. “What’re y-you up to?” He could feel his cheeks flush and Y/N smiled.

“Oh, big day for me,” she said, sitting back with a beer. “I cleaned the bathroom- gross by the way,” she said, casting an eye at Dean. “You know you can rinse out the sink after you shave. It’s not hard.”

Dean waved a dismissive hand and failed to flip a Z piece in time. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” She sighed and turned back to Sam who’s eyes had never left her face. “Then I did two loads of laundry,” she continued, ticking her chore list off on one hand. “Found my lost Blues Traveler tee- under the bed,” she added in a whisper, cupping her hand to her cheek as if it were a secret, “and just finished reorganizing 6A. Did you know we have jars full of random animal bones? Because...ew.”

Sam managed a daze laugh, but found it hard to look away from her perfect lips as they frowned in disgust. “Yeah. Bones.”

“So whatcha working on?” Y/N smiled and leaned over to look at his book, and Sam’s breath nearly stopped.

His eyes zoomed in on the delicate lines on her lips, the hint of teeth just between as she spoke, the way she bit the tip of her tongue just slightly when she smiled. His mouth was watering, his pulse pounding, so focused on her mouth as she came closer.

“Sam?”

Y/N laughed at his awkward stare and he nearly jumped out of his skin, startled back into himself.

“Yeah. Yes. Working.” He swallowed hard and shivered, prying his eyes from Y/N to the book. “Um… It’s-er- lore. From the- Romania on things.”

“OK…” Y/N shook her head at his ramblings and sat back, lifting the beer bottle to her lips. She puckered her mouth and took a delicate sip as her head tipped back, and Sam made a noise that turned all their heads, even his own.

“Dude,” Dean gasped across the table at the audible moan that pushed up from the back of Sam’s throat, and Sam quickly coughed, hoping to cover his mishap.

Y/N politely ignored the noise, turning her face away as an embarrassingly pleased smile tickled her lips. She took another drink, slower this time, and Sam could not stop himself.

His pupils went wide as he watched the muscles in her throat contract, as he saw her mouth move around the thick bottle neck. He groaned again and shifted in his seat, his pants growing tighter with unsolicited lust.

Dean sat forward and slapped a hand on the table to get Sam’s attention. “You OK, man?”

Sam startled and twisted in his chair, rubbing his damp palms over his thighs to dry them. “What? Yes. What? Why?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed in concern. “You’re all… shaky.”

Y/N, too, was watching Sam carefully. “And you’re sweating.” She put the beer down and leaned over, gently placing her wrist on Sam’s forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

Her touch felt like lightning, his entire body sparking with the feeling of her skin upon his. His heart skipped too many beats and when it came back, it was frantic and loud, banging against his ribs. He closed his eyes, wishing it all away, but Y/N’s sweet voice tickled his ear.

“Sam, are you feeling alright?”

His stomach tightened and his cock jumped, painfully swelling against the roughness of his jeans. “Uh…” He shuddered and took a deep breath, holding it until his shoulders stopped shaking. “W-will you excuse me, please?”

Sam jumped up before she could answer, dragging the old Romanian book on gypsies with him, holding it over his crotch as camouflage. He ran from the room, and Y/N looked at Dean with worried eyes.

“Something I said?”

Dean chewed his lip, pondering the situation, and excused himself as well after finishing his beer in two long pulls. “I’ll be right back.”

Sam was in the mouth of the hallway, filling up the cavernous passageway with not only his height but his frantic movements. He paced back and forth across the seven foot wide tiled expanse, his teeth gnawing at the middle nail of his left hand.

Dean approached quickly but gently. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Sam skidded to a halt and turned on his heel, eyes wide, sweat glistening on his forehead. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t calm down. I’m like, my- with- and she- there was- I couldn’t sit there anymore. Do you know how soft her skin is?”

“Whoa.” Dean raised his hands carefully, trying to get Sam to calm down. “Reel it in, man.”

“I can’t. I can’t. It’s like my brain is jumping. And my heart is like- boom boom boom. Did you see Y/N’s lips on that bottle? Oh my god- it was like- wow.” Sam’s stomach flipped again and he bit his lip to keep in a moan. “What is happening!”

Dean shook his head, dumbfounded. “What the hell did you take?”

“Tylenol!” Sam snapped back. “You told me to take the tylenol in your room! Because somebody finished the Exce-”

“Oh...fuck.” Dean exhaled slowly and sought sanctuary on the ceiling, but found none.

“Dean…”

“Which bottle?”

Sam’s shoulders rose up to his ears. “Which bottle! The one in your nightstand. You said to take the Tylenol. I took the Tylenol. You said the one in your room. That’s the one I took. Why the fuck? What!”

Dean tread carefully. “Ya know, it’s no big deal,” he said with a fake laugh. “You’ll be fine.”

“What did you do!”

“I did nothing!” Dean defended, backing away slightly as Sam lurched forward. “You… may have taken some-”

“Some what, Dean?”

Dean let out a breath that rumbled his pursed lips. “Ecstasy?”

Sam’s explosion was instant and a little bit terrifying. The book dropped to the floor as both his massive hands rose to strangle the air in front of Dean’s face, inching ever closer to his actual neck. “What is ecstasy doing in the Tylenol, Dean!”

“You remember Chloe, right?” Dean said quickly, hoping to weasel out of danger with a memory. “The waitress from Lincoln with the sister who had the big…” He smirked, hands out and curved around his chest. “You remember. Anyway- I didn’t want to just leave it laying around so…”  

Sam’s jaw was near to breaking with how tightly he gnashed his teeth together. “So you put it in the Tylenol?” His voice echoed down the hall and Dean shushed him quickly, lest Y/N come running.

“I forgot, OK? I was drunk. Anyway, it’s old. That was like three years ago. You’ll be fine. Just...go lay down. You’re freaking vibrating.”

Sam spun around three times, tugging at his hair as his muscles twitched. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Go lay down and sleep it off,” Dean ordered, clamping a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You’re fine.”

“Remind me to kill you tomorrow.”

“Will do, buddy.” Dean patted his back and gave him a push, sending Sam off to bed. “Goodnight.”

The sheets were so soft, Sam couldn’t stop touching them. He ran his hands down across the mattress, feeling every single thread in the woven fabric, wondering if he could count them all if he concentrated really hard.

The pillow was cool against his cheek. It rubbed against his face, so soft and cool, wicking away the heat from his skin until it was warm and he frowned, quickly flipping it over to feel the cold again. It was amazing.

He was burning up, sweating and prickling with energy. He could feel every hair on his body, every cell was alive and moving. It was maddening and incredible, and he wanted… something. He needed...something.

Y/N knocked, but Sam was too lost in his own frantically dancing thoughts to acknowledge her. She opened the door a crack, peeking in just to make sure he was decent.

“Sam?”

He jumped at the sound of her sweet voice and turned over quickly, sitting up to face her. “Hey, Y/N/N.”

She stepped inside and kicked the door shut with a tap of her heel. “I just wanted to check on you,” she said cheerfully, tossing a water bottle at him. “Feeling any better?”

He missed the catch and the bottle landed by his side on the bed. “Uh, yeah. Good. Why? How are you? Are you ok?” He rambled while trying to pick up the bottle, immediately distracted by the weight of the water and the way it felt moving in his hands. He stared into the clear plastic and Y/N raised her brows in worry.

“What is going on with you?”

“It's like holding an ocean,” he mused, entranced by a bubble near the cap.

“Right.” Cautiously, she came close and touched his hand, moving it and the bottle away from his eyes. “Sam…”

The touch of her fingers on his made Sam's blood sing. His focus zoomed in on her delicate hand, the supple, soft skin, the dimples of her knuckles. He couldn't breathe for what seemed like forever, his lungs frozen, body void of all function except the nerve endings that sizzled with her touch.

“Want…”

She cocked her head at his faint whisper and moved her hands to his cheeks, looking him over with concerned eyes. “Sam, what's wrong? Tell me what you need.”

He took a quick breath and looked up into her eyes, losing himself in the heat of her hands. “I need…”

She leaned closer, wanting to help, scared of the wild look in his eyes. “Tell me. Anything you need, Sam. I'm here.”

His pulse was pounding, loud in his ears; his skin was on fire, stomach churning with nerves. He breathed deep, trying to calm himself but finding no point. She was what he needed. Always had been. “I need...you.”

Her breath caught and Y/N shook her head gently, in confusion not disapproval. “What?”

“You,” he said again, eyes looking deep into hers. “I need you, Y/N.”

“Are you-”

Sam laid his hands on top of hers, his eyes rolling a bit at the softness of her skin. “High? A little. Yeah. Dean and the- it's a long story there was a waitress with- it doesn't matter.” She let him ramble, amazed by the strange lightness of his voice. Sam stumbled over his own tongue, words spilling out before he could think them through. “The point isn't about the waitress. I had a headache and- Y/N… can I?”

She laughed gently. “Can you what, Sam?”

“I wanna kiss you. Can I- um...may I kiss you?”

Heart in her throat, unable to answer, Y/N simply nodded and chewed nervously at her lip, waiting for the kiss she'd wanted since the moment they'd met.

Sam's face lit up with a smile. “Really?” He moved his hands from hers to hover over her cheeks, unsure if he should let them land. He could feel the space between them, their auras touching, atoms ricocheting off each other in the tiny gap.

“Yes, Sam,” she sputtered in a whisper. “Kiss me.”

It wasn't a kiss, it was an explosion. Sam let go of every nervous doubt, every worry, every self conscious thought that had ever passed behind his hazel eyes and finally took a leap two and a half years in the making.

His fingertips landed on the apples of her cheeks and he pushed upwards, taking her lips without a second thought. The feeling was maddening and Sam sealed his eyes shut tight, enjoying the sensations sparking against his mouth. She breathed against him, parting her lips to snake her tongue across his mouth and Sam moaned loudly, his hands moving to grab hold of her neck and shoulders, pulling her down.

They fell onto the bed; sheet billowing around them as their bodies tangled. Sam kissed her again and again, unable to decide which kiss felt better: the quick press of warm lips, or a lingering, soft pull. When her tongue touched his again, he gave up trying to analyze and licked into her mouth like a starving man.

Y/N tried to roll off of his chest, but Sam followed her, turning onto his side so that as much of him was touching as much of her as he could manage. The very thought of moving his hands away from her body was sheer panic, and he clung to her with all he had.

“God, you feel so good,” he panted in between kisses, holding her close. He ran his hand up and down her side, marveling at the dip at her waist and the softness of her hips. “I never knew it could feel so good. Fuck. I…” His voice was cracking, nervousness creeping back into his mind. What if she didn't want more, what if she was just here because he was a wreck? His fingertips paused at the hem of her shirt, twitching as he debated reaching under the cotton. “Can I- I need to- feel you.”

Y/N kissed him hard and grabbed his hand, guiding it up underneath her shirt. Sam stiffened as she pressed his palm against her breast and he let loose a husky growl.

“Touch me, Sam,” she urged, squeezing his hand so that his fingers curled around her. “I want you to.”

He sighed against her lips and the animal inside took over. Sam lifted her with him as he sat up, quickly pulling her shirt off. He stared for a moment, stunned by the dip between her breasts and the soft mounds caged and held high by her bra. When Y/N unhooked the clasp and pulled the fabric away, Sam dove down, locking his mouth around her nipple, and feeling the flesh harden against his tongue. He hummed, feeling every dimple like a spark of fire on his lips, and he sucked hard, drawing a husky moan from Y/N.

“Fuck, Sam!” She pushed her fingers through his hair, nails scraping his scalp. When he bit down on her, she yanked a fistful of hair and Sam let her tit fall from his mouth as his head flew backwards, eyes rolling as tortured pleasure spread through him like icy fingers down his spine.

“Do it again,” he breathed, chest heaving, lips wet and parted.

Y/N pulled his hair again and he let out a wail of desperation and sank back onto the bed.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, reaching for her hips to pull her close. “Everything feels so good.”

She wiggled her arm out from beneath his head and tossed a leg over him, straddling his trim hips. Sam looked up with dark eyes that struggled to focus, his lips trembling as she plucked his shirt buttons open. His hands traveled slowly up her thighs, massaging with unmappable touches as he tried to feel all of her at once. By the time his hands cupped her breasts again, Y/N had his flannel open and she bent down to lick at his chest while pushing the cotton further from his broad shoulders.

“Oh-my-god.” He was near to hysteria, every atom in his body craving more. “Please.”

The tip of her tongue flickered, hot, over his left nipple and Sam nearly roared as the sensation zapped through him. Y/N sat back then and rubbed her ass over his jeans, making his eyes roll back hard.

“I-I-fuck, please...” His jaw dropped as she rocked forward again, denim on denim, rough yet gentle; friction heating the air between them and making his cock swell even harder.

Y/N tugged her hand through his long hair once more, loving the silkiness between her fingers, the pathetic cry it pulled from his throat. “You need something else, baby?”    

“Need-”

She yanked the chestnut strands, winding her fingers around the soft locks until her knuckles grazed his scalp.

“Tell me.”

Sam opened his eyes, struggling to focus on her, panting as the pain spread like delicious fire across his skull. “Need to fuck you. Please.”

Another firm tug lifted his chin and Y/N kissed him hard, plunging her tongue into his dazed mouth, lapping at the stale taste of beer and mint that lingered on his tongue. “You sure?”

His head lolled to the side when her hand disappeared. “Yes. Please. Please.”

Zippers were ripped, buttons snapped and belts opened, drawers discarded. Sam could barely stand it. The slide of his own hands as he undressed drove him insane; the sight of Y/N stripping for him made his heart beat dangerously fast.  

Finally, she came back to him, hopping back into his lap, taking his lips again as she slid down, slowly impaling herself on his enormous erection. She inched down as gently as she could, holding her breath against his mouth as her cunt stretched for him.

Sam held on, wrapping his arms tight around her back, holding her close so neither would fall. His head was spinning, his blood rushing too fast, pounding in his ears.

“Please…”

“It’s OK, Sam,” Y/N whispered, kissing his cheek sweetly, “I got this…”

Dean tripped over his bootlace in the hallway but caught himself and laughed it off, thankful that no one was around to see his balancing ballet. Realizing he was putting himself in mortal danger, he finally shut down his game and stashed the phone in his back pocket, sighing as he said adieu to his high score.

“I could go professional,” he mused as he passed Sam’s room. “Do they do tournaments for Tetris?” He paused, scrunching up his nose as he thought about the ridiculousness of such an idea.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean spun on his heel and headed back to Sam’s bedroom, lifting a closed fist to knock on the door. “Do they do Tetris- oh...”

Just as quickly as he had before, Dean spun around again, this time smirking as the unmistakable sounds of fevered lovemaking made their way through the ancient door. Shaking his head, Dean made a mental note to ask Sam about his new money-making idea in the morning. That, and what he and Y/N had gotten up to thanks to his accidental drugging.

Dean laughed to himself. “Poor kid needs to be stoned to make a move.”

From behind the door, Y/N let out a wail, screaming Sam’s name without care.

Dean paused for a moment to listen, nodding proudly before heading off to bed. “That’s my boy.”

2020 Forever Tags: @67-chevy-baby​ @akshi8278 @akhuna01​ @amanda-teaches​ @because-imma-lady-assface​ @blondemarvelchick​ @blushingjared​ @broiderie​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @classic-rock-angel​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @covered-byroses​ @crashdevlin​ @deansgirl215​ @deans-baby-momma​ @deangirl7695​ @deanwanddamons​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @defenderrosetyler​  @dolphincliffs​ @dontshootmespence​ @edge-oftonight​ @emoryhemsworth​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @flamencodiva​ @focusonspn​ @herbologystudent252​ @heycasbutt​ @hornyandsmol​ @ilovefanfic86​ @i-love-superhero​ @ilsawasanacrobat​ @imjustadrummer​ @ivvitm1109​ @joseyrw​ @justagirlinafandomworld​ @justcallmeasmodeus​ @katymacsupernatural​ @laxe-from-outer-space​ @leatherandfrackles​ @lessons-of-red​​ @letsby​ @letsdisneythings​ @lonewolf471​ @maddiepants​ @mariekoukie6661​ @meganwinchester1999​ @missjenniferb​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @mummybear​  @onethirstyunicorn​ @our-jensen-ackles-love​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @starboycas​ @stephaniecanfield96us​​ @stoneyggirl​ @squirrelnotsam​ @thebookisbtr​ @thehardcoveraddict​ @thevelvetseries​ @veevm​​ @winchestersister55​​ @wendibird​ @winecatsandpizza​ @winterpoohbear​

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

FEMSLASH FEBRUARY 2021 #5: In which Donna’s wish is Cameron’s command

[CN: food, eating mentions, and descriptions of food displays]

.

.

.

After Donna asked her if she might consider putting up Valentine’s Day decorations for February of 2021, Cameron went directly into research mode. She didn’t plan to admit it to Donna, but Cameron felt like a holiday decor project was exactly what she needed. From the comfort of the living room couch, Cameron began her hunt for useful information on her laptop.

She became frustrated much more quickly than she thought she would. Eyebrows scrunching behind the frames of her reading glasses, Cameron griped, “Okay so the first problem here, is that the origin of Valentine’s Day isn’t anywhere near as compelling as the origin of Halloween, or ghost stories. I mean, a Christian martyr? Really?” Wrinkling her nose skeptically, she scrolled further down the webpage she was on, and said, “Not only am I not moved by his story or his proselytizing, but none of this has anything to do with love or couples or even fertility or family!” Clicking back to the search engine page, she said, “The second problem is that doing research used to be satisfying, but now it sucks. And it’s all because of the internet. We ruined everything with the internet and search, Donna.”

Donna, sitting several feet away on their recliner, looked up from her crossword puzzle. “So, no decorations then?” 

Cameron sighed. “I didn’t say that. I just think that I’m gonna have to take a different approach. The literal origins of the holiday are not the angle for this particular project.” Quietly, she switched over to researching the origins of the commercial version of the holiday. “Maybe,” she said to herself, “a more aesthetic-based approach?” She looked up at Donna, and said, “Do you mind if I turn on the tv and stream something? I was thinking about putting on the more recent Picnic at Hanging Rock.”

“Oh, that’s perfect! That literally starts on Valentine’s Day!” Donna enthused. “We should sit down and rewatch it sometime in the next couple weeks!” Then, calming herself down, she added, “But sure, go ahead. Whatever your research requires,” Donna smiled at her. 

Cameron picked up the remote, turned on the television, searched for the show, found it, and started the first episode. She went back to looking at her computer, and searched for basic decor ideas. After a few minutes, she said, “The third problem is that traditional Valentine’s decorations are just, like, red. Like really, extremely red.”

“What’s wrong with red?” Donna pouted.

“Nothing, but I just don’t feel like it really goes with the whole ‘I throw stones and I live in glass houses because I’m a modern woman who has it all!’ thing you have going on in here?”

“Hey, it’s your house, too!” Donna chuckled. “You have a point, though.”

Defiantly, Cameron said, “That’s okay. I will figure something out. My wife asked me to decorate for Valentine’s Day, and I don’t plan to let her down.”

Cameron spent the next morning sorting through their collection of fall and winter holiday decorations, and pulled out items to be repurposed, and wound up looking through their other supplies for inspiration. In the afternoon, she was back on the computer, searching this time for items to buy. Sitting at the kitchen island, Cameron sighed heavily. “I wish…” she started. She sighed again, and said, “I really wish that we could just go to a craft store and wander through it for hours.”

Donna, who has sitting across from her, and scrolling through one of her social media feeds, looked up, and snorted, “What, so you could complain about how everything looks ugly and cheap under the fluorescent lights, only to then buy a ton of it, take it home, and then somehow make it look beautiful and amazing?”

“Yes,” Cameron replied. “Exactly.” It took over an hour, and much agonizing, but eventually, she made her selections, entered her billing information, and closed her browser. She managed to stay offline for the rest of the day.

Early the next morning, Cameron asked Donna, “A great big outdoor garden store, that should be like…relatively safe to go to, right? As long as we wear our masks and gloves? And we go early?” Donna didn’t have to be asked twice. They got dressed, and arrived at their favorite garden store a few minutes after it opened. Cameron hurriedly bought a large quantity of potted violets and a bunch of metal flower pots before hustling Donna back to the safety of their car. 

Over the next few days Cameron began to work on crafting, baking, and candymaking, as deliveries of her ordered craft supplies started to trickle in. (She compulsively wiped every new item down with disinfectant out of an abundance of anxiety and caution.) By the next weekend, she had everything she thought she needed. On the first Saturday of the month, a week before Valentine’s Day, she gathered everything that she’d amassed so far in the dining room. 

She set the last of several boxes down on the table, and Donna, who was drinking a second cup of coffee, looked up just in time to see Cameron tying her bandana around her head like a headband. The bandana, which had accompanied Cameron all the way from Tokyo, was white, and it had the red circle of the Japanese flag, or the Hinomaru, on it. On both sides of the red circle there was lettering, Japanese kanji. The first time Donna saw Cameron put the bandana on, just before they deep cleaned Donna’s house together for the first time, she had asked Cameron what the kanji said. Gravely, through gritted teeth, Cameron had replied, “Kamikaze.” Donna had laughed, and then realized that she was being serious. 

Putting down her mug, Donna exclaimed, “Daniel-san!” 

Cameron took a deep breath, and said, “I’m trying to center myself and focus, Donna. Please.”

“I’m flattered by all the work you’ve already put into honoring my request,” Donna said. “But I think I’m gonna go upstairs so you can decorate in peace. I’d like to be surprised when I see the final result!” She stood up, taking her mug and phone with her, and headed toward the den, stopping to kiss Cameron on the cheek on her way. 

When Donna returned to the kitchen several hours later to make lunch, the dining room table was covered in silk flowers, jars, doilies, and print outs and paper lace and all sorts of colorful paraphernalia. “How’s it going?” she called out.

“Slowly,” Cameron answered, “but it’s going. And it’s not like I’ve got anywhere to be, so!”

She took a quick break to eat a sandwich with Donna, and then went back to the dining room, and Donna went up to the bedroom, where she checked in with Joanie and Haley and their families, sent text messages to Tonya, Risa, and Katie Herman, and then started reading about current tech and social media platform news. She was clicking out of an article on Section 230 reform when Cameron knocked on the door frame. 

Looking up from their bed, Donna asked, “Is it done? Can I see?” She jumped up from the bed and ran toward the door.

“I need you to adjust your expectations,” Cameron said, walking her down their hallway. Cameron stopped by the door to the den and switched on the light. Donna peered in, not seeing any difference at first, and then she noticed the faux ivy that Cameron had carefully attached to their bookcases. She stepped into the room, and then noticed the doilies on every surface, and the mason jars of high-quality pink and white silk peonies, which were surrounded by cards from a Victorian-themed tarot deck, which Cameron had stuck down to the doilies under them, to make them look as if they’d casually been left on the table. There were two sets of gloves by one jar, an aged-looking leather diary by another one, and a small framed print of a hand-drawn portrait of two Gibson girls by another. 

“It’s subtle, or subtle-ish,” Donna smiled back at Cameron, “but it’s really nice. It’s very Picnic at Hanging Rock, but with maybe a better adjusted headmistress, right? I love it.” 

They went down the hall and down the four steps to the ‘first’ floor, and then into the kitchen, where Donna’s eye was drawn to the centerpiece Cameron had arranged on the island. She’d repotted the violets into three of the metal pots, and had made and cut out a silhouette of two young women in full-length Victorian dresses, hand in hand, attached them to skewers, and stuck them into the flower pots. It looked almost as if the girls were walking through a field of purple-blue flowers.

Donna went to smell the flowers, only to be distracted by the display on the dining room table. Eyes wide, she instead walked toward the table. She turned to look back at Cameron and said, “Did you make all of this?”

“No, some if it I definitely ordered off the internet,” Cameron admitted. She’d set up an elegant silver multi-tiered pastry stand and loaded it with paper cups full of homemade white and milk chocolate truffles and squares of peppermint bark that had red and pink swirled into them, squares of milk, dark, and peanut butter fudge, bite sized anatomical hearts molded from red-tinged milk chocolate, and red cinnamon candies, cherry sours, and raspberry flavored hard candies. Next to the pastry stand was Donna’s trusty cake server, which was piled with red velvet crinkle cookies. Both were set up on top of large doilies, underneath their accompanying glass covers, and both were surrounded with red silk flower petals and an eye-catching design of heart and diamond and playing cards, all of which Cameron had somehow sewn down so that it would lay flat, but somehow still look slightly rumpled. 

“Remember a few years ago when we did Penny Dreadful Halloween for the trick-or-treaters? During our Vanessa Ives phase? A lot of that stuff came in handy for this,” Cameron helpfully explained.

“Did I miss anything?” Donna looked around. She turned toward the living room, couch, and then noticed a large heart-shaped box placed in the center of the coffee table, with Donna’s pair of good candlesticks and brand new red candles set up on both sides of it, yet another doily underneath it all The box was anchored by a large, white, ceramic anatomical heart, and surrounded by shells, smaller porcelain rabbits and birds, and dried flower petals. 

“It’s not much, but, it was fun to try?” Cameron shrugged.

“Oh, shush!” Donna threw her arms around Cameron’s neck, kissed her, and said, “It’s beautiful, and I love it. Thank you for trying to make things feel festive even though almost everything in the world totally sucks.” She kissed her again, and said, “Wanna go celebrate by making out?”

“Yes,” Cameron said, “but, I haven’t eaten in hours, can we have dinner first?” 

“Yes, absolutely! Whatever my doting wife wants!” Donna agreed. 

[twokinkybeans]

Shocked [ELECTRIC PLAY] - Starker

Hi everyone! Kim here! As a nice and fun addition to our Jar of Dirt challenge, Lien and I decided to join! I got “Electric Play” from the jar, so here’s what I wrote! I hope you enjoy! <3

Summary: In which Peter decides to take ‘Electric Play’ to a whole other level: puppy training. 

Written by: Kim

Warnings/Tags: Nff, Adult Peter Parker, Dom/sub, Puppy Play, Daddy Kink, Humiliation, Praise Kink, Electric Play / Shock Collar, Oral Sex and Hand Jobs.

Read it on AO3 here!

Find the original story here ^^

---

Peter grins as he makes his way to Tony’s office. About a week ago, they’d used the jar again. It’d been dusting away in their kitchen cabinet for so long and somehow- after pulling the breeding kink, they’d been picking a note from the jar almost every single night. Yesterday it’d been Peter’s turn to pick one and as he read it, he knew he had to keep it a secret for Tony just a bit longer. He needed time to prepare for it. 

Which, he had.

He clutches the shock collar in his hand more tightly. He has no clue if Tony will like the idea. Of course, the older man is the one who put ‘Electric Play’ in the jar in the first place. Peter figures Tony probably had something else in mind when he put it in there, but there’s no harm in tweaking it a little bit, right?

Peter knocks on the door of the office and laughs as his enhanced hearing picks up on Tony’s startled breath, smiling when Tony walks to the door to open it.

“Hi, Tones!” Peter saunters into the office without even waiting for a reply. He hops onto the desk. His feet dangle in the air and he swings them back and forth playfully. Tony stares at him for a good second, shaking his head as he closes the door again.

“Sometimes,” he teases, “-I wonder why I ever fell in love with you, kid.” Tony turns around, the playful gleam in his eyes giving away that it’s exactly this why he loves him so much. Peter just hums and brings up the hand in which he’s holding the collar. Tony’s eyes widen in an instant.  

“Peter, is that…”

“A shock collar? Yes.” Peter tilts his head and extends his arm to Tony. The man bridges the gap between them and takes the collar within his own hands. He sniffs once, cocking an eyebrow at Peter.

“Tell me, kid. What’d the note say?”

“Electric play. I know that you were probably imagining tying me up in your lab and experimenting on me true mechanic-style,” Peter starts and licks his lips when he sees the dark look in Tony’s eyes. Cool, another thing to put in the jar. “But I… I figured- why not train your puppy instead?”

“So, you saw the words electric play and the first thing you thought was to electrify your own neck.”

“Eh, yes?” 

Tony growls low in his throat. He grabs Peter’s hips and leans in for a hot, passionate kiss. Peter whimpers into the sudden touch. Ever since he walked into the pet store this morning he’s been super excited about this. In all honesty, he isn’t sure if he’ll like it. But he does recall that one time he got shocked by Dum-E. Thrice in a row. As scary as it’d been, it’d resulted in a stupid hard-on that Tony noticed. Where the temperature play all those years ago was a big no-go, maybe… Maybe this could be fun. The puppy training aspect of it sure makes it all the more exciting. 

“Tony,” Peter whispers and moans into the kiss. He presses himself closer. “Collar me?” 

“Mmh,” Tony hums and pulls back slightly. His eyes are dark. Hungry. Peter swallows. When Tony brings the collar up and wraps the strap around his neck it feels so real suddenly. Oh God. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. He feels the thrum of his heartbeat where the collar presses into his jugular veins. The cold, metal pins are so evidently there. Both a threat and a promise of something good. 

“How’s that feel, pup?”

“Strange. A, eh, a bit scary. But it’s good. It’s good…” Peter’s voice trails off and he looks up at the man. Speaking words he hasn’t spoken in forever. “-Mr. Stark.” Tony sucks in a sharp breath and hooks his finger into the collar, pulling Peter in for another sloppy kiss. Peter whines and melts into his lover’s arms. Daddy’s arms. He giggles when Tony shifts his hands a little, lifting him up. Peter wraps his legs around Tony’s waist and grabs his shoulders to steady himself.

“Let’s get out of the office. No place for a pretty thing like you.”

“Nggh, da-”

“Shhhhh now, Petey. No more talking. You know the rules. Or do you need me to zap you right away?” Peter blinks, shaking his head quickly. The metal pins against his skin feel even more threatening now. Tony frowns at him. “Speaking of which, where’s the remote?”

Peter sends the man a smug grin, tilting his head. As if to say ‘you told me I can’t talk, so I won’t’. Tony needs a few seconds until he gets it. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“You brat.”  

Tony lowers Peter onto the floor and Peter stares up at the man- now towering over him. Tony squints his eyes at him.

“I need that remote, buddy. Fetch.” Uh oh. Peter already feels torn. He knows that one way or another, Tony will find the remote. If Peter gives it to him, he won’t be zapped. If he disobeys and Tony finds it himself, he will be punished. Such a hard choice. He sighs, turns around and crawls toward the elevator. When he reaches it, he eyes Tony first, then nudges the metal doors with his nose.

“Ruff!” 

Tony ruffles through Peter’s hair and presses the button, waiting for the elevator to come down to their floor. The man wonders where Peter hid the remote. If he even hid it at all. Seeing the boy’s naughty posture the answer to that is yes. It’s probably in the penthouse though.

The elevator doors open. Tony steps inside and snaps his fingers, ordering Peter to crawl into it too.

“Heel.” Peter rushes forward, pressing himself into Tony’s side. Tony smiles at him. Puppy Peter is the cutest thing. Switching between the most obedient little thing to straight-up naughty within the span of a couple of seconds. At each command, it’s a surprise how Peter will respond. The shock collar is a promise though. A promise that Peter will be misbehaving. Tony can’t wait. His cock is already half-hard in his jeans.

“Take us up to the penthouse, Fri.”

“Of course, boss. Should I mute any incoming calls until you’re done?”

“Oh, yes Fri, you’re the best.”

“I know.”

Peter chuckles beneath him and Tony smirks. About two years ago Tony had installed the new feature and it’s been an absolute game-changer. No more stupid phonecalls when Tony was pounding him. 

It doesn’t take long for them to actually reach the penthouse and Tony clicks his tongue once. Peter’s head whips up. He stares at Tony wide-eyed, waiting for the next command. Tony pets him once and repeats his earlier order.

“Fetch, Pete.”

With his head hanging low, Peter makes his way out of the elevator. Tony takes a second to stare at him. Peter on his knees, crawling, is a sight that has his heart skip a beat every fucking time. The way his strong shoulders stick out. The slight arch in his back. The way his ass moves with every step he takes, wagging his imaginary tail. It’s cute and sweet and so insanely hot. So much more than Tony ever thought possible. Yes, it’s his kink. But Peter truly takes it to another level.  

He saunters after the pup, curious to see where Peter hid the remote. Peter easily hops onto the couch, a naughty sparkle in his eyes as he nudges the pillow aside and clasps the small zapper between his teeth- presenting it to Tony proudly. Tony smirks.

“Good boy.” Peter blushes, the praise never failing to make him feel good. “C’mere, bring it to daddy.”

Peter seems to hesitate again. Just as Tony expected him to. Peter has to make a very deliberate choice as to whether he already wants to get punished or not. Just moments ago, it seemed Peter would start out good. But now, the boy didn’t seem too sure. Tony growls at him.

“Pete, I’m not saying it again. Get over here or there will be consequences.” Peter whines and hops off the couch again, apparently choosing to be good for just a bit longer. He drops the zapper into Tony’s open hand and sits back on his butt. Tony pets his hair absentmindedly and brings the remote closer to his face.

“Mmh,” he hums, playing with the controls for a second. “It’s got quite the voltage range uh?” He looks down at his boyfriend again. Peter’s eyes are wide. Apprehensive. Tony crouches, hooking his fingers into the strap around Peter’s neck to pull him in close.

“I know you want to try this, pretty pup. But your safewords still count and I’ll take it slow, ‘kay? Use your words.”

“T-thank you, daddy. I really want this, I- just don’t know what to expect.”

“That’s alright. Want to have a tiny break and just try out a couple of settings?” Peter visibly relaxes and nods. Tony leans in and kisses the boy on his forehead. 

“Alright,” he whispers sweetly, showing Peter the little display. “It’s at the lowest setting now. 400 volts. I-”

“Press it. Let’s get it over with.”

“Are you-”

“Please?” Peter stares at him intently, nodding. Tony sighs. His thumb circles the little button underneath and then decides that Peter is asking for it. It’s okay. So he presses. Peter’s body jerks and he makes a strangled noise. Tony sniffs.

“How’s that?”

“Ah- Not that bad, actually. It startled me more than it shocked me. Which is, fair cause it’s basically the duration that would hurt and it’s just a millisecond. And of course, it’s the amperage that makes it-” Peter stops himself and grins up sheepishly. “You obviously know all that.”

“Hmmm, then you do know that as much as that’s true, you will feel more if I turn it up.”

“I- yes.”

“Wanna try?” Tony hadn’t quite realized how nervous he’d been about the first shock too. Now that it’s been done, he starts to feel the very familiar rush of power course through his veins, already turning the voltage up by a step. Peter nods, seemingly more into it now as well. Tony doesn’t wait, pressing the button again. Peter flinches at the electric shock. His shoulders slump down afterward, trying to hide the blush on his face. Tony grins and reaches forward, palming the growing hard-on in Peter’s pants.

“Oh, you liked that one, uh?” Tony rubs the bulge, Peter whines. The kid is already slipping back into his role. “Whenever you’re ready for more, just say green and we’re on yeah?”

“Just, one more? Maybe turn it up a little higher? I kinda want… Eh-”

“-Yeah?”

“Ikindawantthesting,” he rushes out mumbling. Tony understands him though, so he takes a look at the display and turns the level up by five steps, pressing the button again without warning. Peter jolts, clearly taken aback. The loudest, filthiest moan falls from his lips.

“Perfect, perfect- green oh god Tony green.” Tony zaps him again, relishing in the way Peter’s body jerks at the shock.

“No more words then buddy,” he growls, palming his own, aching dick through his jeans. “You’re my naughty little pup and I’m going to train you so well. Gonna make you a perfect, obedient plaything.” 

Peter nods feverishly, pressing his lips together to keep from talking back. He wants to chant it. Please please, please. But he knows he can’t. He has to show Tony. Has to-

“Gimme your paw.” Wha-

Peter yelps when yet another shock electrifies him for a split second. Pleasure shoots down his spine, making his cock twitch and throb with need. Warily, he raises his right hand, no paw, and puts it in Tony’s hand.

“Good booooooy,” Tony coos, playing with the remote in his free hand. “Gimme the other.” Peter is quick to comply, nearly tipping himself over in his hurried movements as he switches sides.

“God, look at you,” Tony breathes heavily. Peter stares up at the man. Tony looks… Oh, he looks so out of it in the best way possible. His ragged breath, hungry gaze. The large bulge very visible in his jeans. Oh, how Peter wants it inside of him. Where doesn’t matter. He just wants- needs to please Tony so badly. He shuffles forward and bows his head, pressing it into Tony’s thighs close to his groin. With his nose, he nudges the hard-on and tilts his head. He gives the jeans an experimental lick and yips at the musky smell lingering in his nostrils.

“Oh,” Tony mumbles, “-you want a treat, buddy?” Peter nudges him again, wagging his butt. Yes, yes he wants it.

“Mmh, you gotta earn it though. Down, boy.” Peter leans back at the command, putting both his paws on the floor between his knees. Tony licks his lips and brings his hands down to open the fly of his jeans. Peter stares, whimpering when the large cock springs free.

“Listen carefully, pup. I’m allowing you to suck me off, but I will give instructions. If you fail, I zap you. If you bite down, I’ll turn up the voltage. Understood?” Peter nods. Tony hums appreciatively and steps out of his pants, shoving it to the side using his foot. Then, he wraps his own fingers around the shaft. He strokes himself, slowly. Teasing.

“Come here,” Tony growls. “Suck.” Peter lunges forward, craning his neck to catch the head of Tony’s cock between his lips. The boy moans as the taste of precum fills his mouth. He does as asked, sucking the cock into his mouth as far as he can. It’s sloppy when he bobs his head up and down, saliva escaping from his lips- trickling down on Tony’s cock. It’s difficult to not use hands in this position but Peter manages to make it work. He pulls back a little and laps at the head, pushing the tip of his tongue against the slit to feel more precum oozing out of it. Peter whines, sucking, relishing in the increasingly heavy moans that leave his daddy’s mouth.

“Stop moving, Pete.” Peter hesitates and realizes his mistake when Tony lifts the remote.

“Tsk, bad boy.” A sharp, jarring sensation sizzles against his neck and Peter sobs with pleasurepainpleasurepain. He tries very hard to not graze his teeth past Tony’s cock in his mouth but he can’t help it. Another blow follows and Peter surges backward. Panting, staring up at Tony with reddened cheeks. His entire body is tense, his cock hard and leaking in his sweatpants.

“I didn’t tell you to pull back, Pete, but I’ll let it slide for now. You’re such an eager puppy, it’s not your fault you can’t control yourself just yet. But no worries,” Tony murmurs, caressing Peter’s cheek and gently dragging him toward his cock again. “-I’ll teach you. Get back to it.” 

Peter shifts, quickly getting back in the right position before closing his lips around the shaft again. He presses down, ignoring the probing of Tony’s cock against the back of his throat. His nostrils flare as he tries to breathe through them calmly. He has to impress daddy, has to show him he’s got this, has to-

“Nnngh, so greedy. Impatient little thing.” Tony moans and Peter takes it as an invitation to press his tongue up. His neck still burns, a tingly, numb feeling where the now body-temperature-warm pins still press into his skin. He starts sucking his daddy off real good then. Swirling his tongue around the head before pushing down, suckling and drooling and whining. Tony’s fingers tug on his hair to spur him on even more. Peter’s eyes flutter shut, keenly waiting for Tony’s next command. It doesn’t take long.

“Off. Sit back. Wait.” Peter whimpers as he listens, not wanting to listen but needing to show Tony he’s still a good boy. He slumps back onto his own heels. He whimpers in surprise when Tony crouches down and hooks his finger into the waistband of Peter’s sweats. Tugging and sliding them down far enough for Peter’s cock to spring free.

“You’re so hard, little pup,” Tony mumbles, giving it an experimental tug. Peter gasps, a surge of arousal shooting through him at the slight shame of feeling his cock bounce back up like that. Tony’s fingers wrap around him. “Don’t move just yet.”

Tony’s hand moves up and down in a relentless, deliciously torturing pace. Peter tries, oh fuck he tries with all his might. But the feeling is so overwhelming and good and hot and he – as Tony predicted earlier – he can’t help himself. He ruts forward, only then freezing completely as he awaits the next shock. Instead of just once, Tony pushes the button thrice. Peter sobs, dropping himself forward on all fours. His breathing is erratic. His instincts are telling him to rip the collar off his neck and toss it out the tower windows. His dick doesn’t quite agree. He looks up, teary-eyed.

“Please,” he croaks. “Please daddy I need more. ” The shock that follows hits him like a punch, his entire neck jerking to the right at the sudden harsh sting. Tony turned it up again. Oh god-Oh god.

“Well, if you’re that desperate, why don’t you fuck my fist like a needy little bitch, uh?” Tony speaks, his voice rough and dripping with white-hot arousal. Peter whimpers, not sure if he should move or if it’s a trick. But when Tony zaps him for not moving this time, he rolls his hips forward.

Peter’s movements are slightly awkward and messy. His thrusts unsteady as he tries to chase the friction that’s Tony’s squeezed fist. His knees hurt where they press into the harsh, cold floor. Yet, it only adds to his pleasure. It’s ever so humiliating and it has him over the moon.

“That’s it, that’s it Petey. You’re gonna come all over the floor, just like this?” Peter sobs in pleasure, only thrusting faster and faster.

“Ngggh, yes baby, I’m gonna zap you five more times, ‘kay? Increasing voltage with every single one. At the fifth, you’re allowed to spill your mess.”

Peter doesn’t even have the time to process what Tony’s saying before the first blow hits. Peter gasps, jolting and rolling his hips down faster. If he wants to come, he’s gotta stop holding off from the edge.

“Alright, buddy. Brace yourself.” Peter sucks in a sharp breath at the warning, almost wishing Tony wouldn’t have said it as the anticipation only increases the insane dread of what’s to come. It’s almost as if-

“A- AAH!” Peter cries out at the next shock. The sting is definitely harsher, burning and powerful and Peter claws at the floor beneath him. His thrusts are already erratic. The tingly sensation he’s left with is enough to draw him close and closer to that edge. Vaguely, barely registering it, he sees how Tony brings the remote up, then pushing it between Peter’s teeth.

“Wha-“ He mumbles around it, but Tony’s stare is enough to shut him up in an instant.

“You’re gonna shock yourself for me, cucciolo. Daddy needs both his hands now, thanks to your neediness.” Peter stares at how Tony uses his now free hand to pleasure himself. Peter whimpers, wanting Tony to cum all over his face. They don’t do it often, but somehow whenever they’re doing the puppy thing something in Tony is desperate to visibly claim Peter as his.

“When I tell you to shock yourself, you will. So- Shock yourself, Pete.” Peter breathes heavily, his hips rolling and stuttering into Tony’s touch.

“Fucking do it, Pete. Don’t you wanna please me?” Peter squeezes his eyes shut and bites down into the button. The shock that follows is the most intense one he’s felt and it takes everything to not gasp and drop the zapper to the floor. He’s floating, floating through the weird buzzing sensation of the reverberating electricity in his system. He knows it’s just his nerves firing without pause, but it feels like he’s channeling the power and as if the only way to ground himself is through his release. His head drops, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as he keeps rutting and thrusting and rolling his hips in the air.

“Oh fuck oh fuck, Peter, I’m gonna cum all over your pretty face. Take it, take it, take-” Tony grunts, and Peter gasps when the hot stripes of cum land on his face. It trickles down and Peter desperately opens his mouth in the hopes of catching the last drops.

“S-shock yourself, Pete-“ Tony chokes out as he rides out his orgasm. Peter doesn’t hesitate this time, clamping his teeth down onto the button. The movement has the drops of cum mix with his saliva and he flinches, twitches. His entire body trembles at the delicious overstimulation. He’s so close. So close. One more shock, one more and then he gets to spill his seed all over the floor like the naughty little thing he is.

Tony slumps down into a seated position, watching Peter. Panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. Peter loves it. Loves being watched. He keeps fucking into Tony’s fist. The man squeezes a little more, the friction already nearly tipping him over the edge. He gasps, trying to pull back, but one little tap against his balls has him obedient enough.

“Nnnn,” he mumbles around the zapper. He needs it. He can’t hold back. Not any longer. His vision is blurry, his stomach coiling and burning with an all-consuming need to release. Thank god, Tony is in a forgiving mood today. He nods once, and Peter gulps. Yesyes yes.

“Do it, pup. Shock yourself for daddy and… cum for me. ” Peter is so desperate that he doesn’t even think twice, doesn’t even realize that the shock is gonna hurt cause holy fuck he’s going to explode. He bites down, the shock surging through him like a sizzling fire that sets off the bomb. Peter cries out and drops the remote onto the floor as he spills into daddy’s tight grip. His arms no longer support the weight of his body and he groans, shivering as he lowers himself onto the floor. He doesn’t care- doesn’t care that the floor is hard and cold and stained. He’s spent. Truly, utterly, spent. Tony’s lips part with a soft sigh and he cradles the boy into his lap.

Peter doesn’t know how long he’s been there, his head resting on Tony’s strong thigh. He’s slowly starting to come back from his high. Becoming aware of their surroundings again.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony whispers sweetly. Peter just hums and snuggles closer. The shock collar around his neck no longer a threat, but a sweet reminder of what happened. “How’re you feeling?”

“Mmmmmfeelin’ good,” he mumbles. He doesn’t want to form coherent sentences yet. He wants to bathe in the aftermath of this for just a tad longer. He never thought he’d like it this much. They didn’t even fuck but it feels like they have. He feels ravished in the way he absolutely loves. “Hold me, daddy, pleeeease?”

“Yes baby, won’t let you go. I’ve got you, buddy. I’ve got you.”

[borealis-strange]

Chapter 1: Changes

Summary: 

Vitalina is a 15 year old girl who was born with the ability to see and to communicate with ghosts. She likes to explore abandoned houses and "hunt" ghosts. But she isn't alone, Aiden, the spirit of her cousin, is always with her, making sure she doesn't get hurt.

Notes:

I wrote this back in OCtober but until now I had the courage to post it.

There are going to be two chapters of this story only. Mainly because I don’t know what direction I want to take with this. 

But tell me, do you’ll like it? Should I post more original stories?

Trigger warning: This is story about ghosts and contains topics about death and horror.

-Well you've already appreciated it enough. Now let's go home- Aiden spoke in his husky voice.

Aiden tried to go away a bit but I took him by the hoodie so he wouldn't stray too far.

"We can't go home" I told him "We haven't explored it yet!"

We were both outside an old house in the city.

-I'm not interested. I do not want to die or see ghosts - Aiden said annoyed, marking his Spanish accent even more.

"You can't die" I reminded him without looking away from the house "You're already dead"

Unfortunately, it was true. Aiden had died when he was only 19 years old and before I was born. They were strange circumstances and not even he remembered very well what had happened, more than fleeting memories.

-I know but a ghost can still hurt me -

I decided to ignore him. This always happened. Every time I wanted to explore a little Aiden would constantly complain and he couldn't allow me to do that to me because "His duty was to take care of me." I don't know how true that was; maybe he just wanted to keep me from getting in trouble or hurting me.

Aiden was still complaining when I began to climb the fence that separated us from the house.

-Where are you going? -

I did not answer. I just jumped off the fence to finally be in the yard.

-Vitalina!- Aiden yelled from the other side of the rusted metal fence.

I walked slowly through the main garden of the house. It looked abandoned. Broken glass, worn walls, and a swollen wooden door. The grass was so long that it reached up to my waist; I had to tread carefully so as not to trip over abandoned bricks from those poorly façade walls.

I walked through the porch of the house toward the door. I turned the knob and tried to open it, but it was so swollen with moisture that it didn't budge a bit.

-Too bad we can't get in - Aiden commented sarcastically. - Well, let's go. - And began to float away slowly.

I had walked too much, climbed a fence, and generally tried too hard to just walk away. Besides that the curiosity that everything that was said about this house had generated in me won me over. I pulled up and hit the door with all my weight, hoping it would open, and after a couple of tries I managed to do it. I smiled to myself. As I felt how Aiden put on the same frustrated face that he always did when I achieved my goal and he was dragged by me into a possible problem, again.

I carefully entered the house and left the door ajar behind me, fearing that I would not be able to reopen it.

As soon as I walked in, the first thing I noticed was the pungent musty aroma, it was incredibly strong. The furniture in the living room was cluttered and thrown as if someone had fought inside, quite a violent fight. There were plants crawling through the swollen wooden slab of the floor and moss growing on the walls.

I walked across the room seeing the terrible state of things in there. Books, paintings, furniture, everything spoiled. I kept walking towards the kitchen and walked over to a display case next to the dining room. Inside were some china sets that were immaculate, somewhat strange considering the state of the rest of the house. The most they had was some dust, but other than that they were intact.

-Vitalina, I don't know what you want to get to with this, get out of there and let's go home please, an animal or something is going to come out for you. - Said Aiden, notoriously nervous.

-Come on, it's fun to explore, you better come check out the amazing china here. Hopefully they are even collectible. - I replied to Aiden, who was looking at me worriedly from the door.

-Come on Vida, I don't have a good feeling about this place-

-It's just your nervousness, Aiden. Come, let's go to the warehouse to see what there is. -

I peeked through a door that was between the kitchen and a hallway. I opened it and to my surprise it opened without the greatest care. Making an irritating (and creepy if I may say so) screeching, you know, typical of haunted houses. When the door opened, I noticed that it was a narrow corridor, with some stairs of which I only saw 3 or 4 wooden steps leading to total darkness. A switch and a light bulb hanging from the low ceiling just above my head. I was pondering whether to come down or not, leaning in, when I heard Aiden from the living room.

-Vitalina! You are not thinking of going down to an abandoned warehouse in total darkness of the most haunted house in the area, are you? You know that someone can hurt us, right?

Exploring houses was a strange hobby I had had since Iwas twelve. And from the first time I did it Aiden always tried to stop me for fear that he would hurt me. He was partly right, going to an abandoned house was not the safest thing in the world, I usually chose the ones that had a story behind them, the ones that everyone rumored voices were heard; I chose where there were ghosts.

Another reason I liked doing this was because of the history behind these houses. Many times they had antique furniture, books and all kinds of things that one could not imagine, and despite explaining thousands of times and assuring him that everything would be fine, Aiden always insisted that he not do it because it would get me in trouble. I could be right, but I always ignored it because nothing ever happened to me.

I was standing in front of those wooden steps and that threatening darkness. I checked the switch next to me, but it didn't turn the light bulb on. After my vision adjusted a bit to the darkness, I managed to make out an old oil lamp on a ledge almost above my head, along with its respective spare oil. Luckily, I remembered that I had seen a box of matches in the trench cabinet where the dishes were, so I went to get them, leaving the lamp on the shelf again.

Aiden watched me as he walked back to the kitchen.

-Did you already regret doing this? - Aiden said slightly mockingly, waiting for the opportunity to boast of always having been right, but deep down he hoped that he would answer yes to leave without risk.

-No. I actually came to find something to help me down, and you will come with me. Or well, you can stay in the living room and wait for a ghost to come out. After all, we don't know what we can find around here ... - I said lighting a match to see if they still worked so that we could light the lamp.

The match lit, emitting a small flame of fire that danced with my breath. The match being old was a bit longer, so I walked back to the warehouse covering the flame so it wouldn't go out. I lowered the lamp from the mantel and turned it on, all this while Aiden looked at me concerned, nothing different than usual, although this time I noticed that his concern was slightly greater. Maybe it was just that this was a considerably different situation because most likely that place was guarded by some ghost, one that may not be quite good.

-Come on, Aiden, let's get down. -

-You can not be serious. -

-Do you want to see I am? - I said, starting to go down the stairs that creaked with every step I took.

-Well, I'll go, but if there's a ghost, don't say I didn't warn you.

We started going down the stairs and it seemed eternal, but I counted about 17 steps.

As we went down, Aiden reminded me of all the legends that had been told of that supposedly haunted house, since he used to be part of those who told those stories. That the old man lived there in the 1920s, and was a bitter old man who did not allow even daylight or fresh air, but the few times he was seen outside, it was narrated that he had a grotesque and unkempt: Covered with layers of clothing and the scent of sweat; with thin, graying and battered hair, and bulging yellow eyes. Around his isolation and strange appearance, legends began to be generated around him, that he was a very eccentric collector, or he was a kind of child-eater and roamed the streets at night looking for victims. In my opinion, he surely was just a sturdy and bitter man who avoided contact with other human beings at all costs for sheer comfort.

We finally reached the basement, so dark and icy that I was sure the little lamp would go out at any moment, although it was lighting better than I thought, but still it was not enough, since the room looked huge. Once my eyes adjusted a little better, I began to move around the room. I pointed the flashlight at a wooden beam in the ceiling, which looked full of small lumps. Suddenly, a group of bats spread their wings and flew off into another dark corner. Wow, this basement was quite an ecosystem.

I pointed the lamp elsewhere in the dim room and could only glimpse a few shelves with empty glass jars and other shelves and furniture covered in dusty sheets. Well, it was somewhat gloomy, but my desire to know what would be under those blankets got the better of me and I started to get closer making the wooden planks under my feet creak.

I finally got there, and as I carefully tugged on the sheet I was horrified and Aiden looked paler than he already was. The shelves were crammed with jars labeled in minute handwriting and filled with liquid with human organs floating in them. We uncovered each of the covered furniture and they all had the same. We were horrified watching the scene when a gust of icy wind assaulted us accompanied by a shiver and an awful deep, hoarse voice telling us: You shouldn't have come here.

Aiden and I turned and froze. A horrendous specter, which perfectly fit the description of the urban legends about the man who used to live there, only about 10 times more horrifying. Huge, greenish, hunchbacked, sloppy looking, and drooling ectoplasm, stood a specter that was undeniably evil.

The ghost threw his hand out to catch us, but we jumped and Aiden yelled "run!" while he floated in terror. We began to run avoiding obstacles guiding us with the remaining light of the lamp towards the stairs.

The ghost was chasing us as we started up the stairs. On the run, I tripped and one of my hearing aids fell to the ground. I hurried back to pick it up (and praying nothing happened to it) Aiden tried to outwit the ghost. I got up and we kept running towards the door. We opened the basement door, ran through the kitchen, and as we were about to reach the living room where the front door was, the ghost got in the way of the door that Aiden had left ajar, but the wind just opened it all the way. I managed to slip under the ghost, ran through the main garden and managed to escape through an opening in the metal fence that we did not see from the outside, but Aiden did not have the same reflexes, so he slammed into the ghost on his first attempt to run and then slipped down just like me. Filled with greenish ectoplasm, he floated over the garden quickly with the ghost following him and flew over the fence. From the other side of the sidewalk, we saw how the ghost could not get past the metal fence. It was as if some force field stopped him.

I couldn't help but laugh out loud once the danger was over.

-What are you laughing at !? - Aiden yelled, regaining his composure after the tremendous shock that we both had.

-Well, you are ... Green and slimy! - I said laughing even more.

-You can't perceive it, but this smells awful. - Aiden said annoyed

-That makes it even funnier. -

-Well, stop laughing and let's go home. If I remember correctly, your mother had said that she wanted to see you.

We walked back to the house, and I couldn't look at Aiden for more than three seconds without starting to laugh again, because his bitter face matched the green slime soaked in his clothes and hair. I preferred to keep my composure, since whoever saw me would think I'm crazy for laughing out of nowhere.

We finally arrived and I went into my house being careful not to make too much noise. It wasn't especially late, it was just getting dark, but still I had been scolded long enough to always be careful.

My mother was in the living room, reading the newspaper. As soon as she heard me she got up and walked towards me, apparently, she was waiting for me.

-I'm glad you came back - My mother pointed out with soft gestures - You have to see the things in the cellar, you've already put it off for a long time and I really need you to check it.

I looked away. I had been avoiding that at all costs. It had been almost a year since my grandmother passed away and it seemed like a few days ago. In the cellar were the things that she had kept for me. To no one's surprise, I was my grandmother's favorite, which is why several of her cousins disliked me, and that meant keeping her most special belongings for her. It wasn't anything of great value, just things that she had collected over the years that carried great sentimental weight. In part I knew why I had to keep them: we both shared the same "ghostly" abilities. But even so I flatly refused to review them.

My mother took me by the shoulder to get my attention back.

-I know this is difficult,-she signed out, trying to comfort me.- But you have to. Even though Grandma is no longer here with us, you know that all her love stayed with you, baby, and part of it is in having left you all those belongings that were important to her. She will always be with you,Vida. You know it right?

I nodded slightly and blinked quickly to keep the tears that were forming from falling onto my cheeks. My mother hugged me. We last like this for a few seconds before we part.

"I’ll do it" I signed slowly.

My mother smiled at me and let me go.

-Are you sure you're ready for this? -Aiden asked, floating behind me.

"When will I be?" I told her as we headed to the backyard.

I climbed the metal stairs to get to the cellar. I sighed deeply before entering.

The cellar was the size of a small room, crammed with boxes that obscured the walls. It had a strong dusty smell that made my stomach turn. This was where they kept the Christmas decorations and all the things that my mother did not want in the house, mainly things from my father that I never knew where he got them from. There were also a couple of things from my older brother, Ricardo, that he had left at home when he left the town to study but never came back for them.

It was easy to identify where my grandmother's things were, it stood out a lot. It was a rather large and heavy wooden chest, with metal edges, engraved with the initials “L. V ". I approached the chest and sat in front of it, still not wanting to open it. This chest was owned by my grandmother for as long as I can remember; I remember that when I was a child she always showed me all the wonders that were in there, from little glass figurines to old books that she used to read to me before bed.

Finally I plucked up my courage and opened the chest.

At the top were two cards and a faded blue blanket that covered the rest of the contents. I put the letters aside and moved the blanket to see what else was inside.

-Are you not going to read it?- Aiden said as he took one of the letters. - He says it's for you -

"I'm not ready yet" I said.

Aiden didn't insist further for which I silently thanked him.

Inside the chest were several neatly organized small boxes, old books and other items covered with cloth to protect them.

I took one of the boxes and inspected its interior. I took one of the boxes and inspected its interior. It had several colored marbles that reminded me of a galaxy. I set them aside and continued exploring the contents of the chest.

I continued to investigate the inside of the chest. Old books, some manuscripts, more photos, some beautiful embroidery and other curiosities, such as a peculiar wax seal and small boxes with funny items inside.

-Hey-Aiden got my attention-I think you should read this-he said as he handed me one of the letters.

The envelope was yellowish and had a red wax seal on it. On the back it said:

“For Vitalina Steklov Romero. By Mirabella Strange Open as soon as it is received "

I remembered this letter. It had been given to me by my grandmother before she passed away. I never opened it, obviously, because I didn't want to read what was inside. I hadn't even seen the back because I assumed she wrote it. After a year I found out that it was from a complete stranger.

I broke the seal and took out the letter. It was completely blank. I looked at Aiden confused as if he had the answer but he was the same or more confused than me.

Suddenly, a lot of letters began to be written on the old paper at a speed that made them unreadable. They filled the paper from both sides and kept popping up, to the point that it looked like the paper was going to explode. They began to shoot forward in spurts, the paper began to heat up rapidly, and out of nowhere the letter began to burn in green flames. Instinctively I released it and took a few steps back until I hit the wall. Aiden was just as scared as I was.

What started out as a small green flame began to spread.

The flames intensified without burning anything and a whirlwind of letters began to form a female figure. Tall, incredibly thin and with remarkable elegance. Her features were defined, but as the fire intensified, they became more and more marked. Finally, the flames spun rapidly, formed a cocoon and disappeared, leaving green glows in the air and a woman standing on the letter paper on the ground. Without a doubt she was quite different from any woman I had seen, because although I am thin, she was at least 10 times thinner than me. She was… skeletal. Very elegant to wear, with a large hat and with many flowers, the gaze towards the floor, long black hair with flowers stuck in it, a tight and light Mexican pink dress with long sleeves with traditional embroidery. They were very much like the things my grandmother did. Finally when she lifted her face, her skeletal body made sense. A thin face, made of bone, that made it clear that she was the Grim reaper.

The woman when she saw me began to tell me something but the terror and the fact that my hearing aid was damaged by the fall that it suffered, I could not understand anything she told me. I managed to read her lips a couple of times but I couldn't concentrate.

The only thing I managed to grasp was: "I've been waiting for you" "You have to come with me" and something from the ... Underworld?

When the woman finished her impressive presentation, she looked at me for my answer. I thought about telling her that I was deaf and she hadn't gotten anything, but I preferred to just nod my head slowly pretending I knew she had told me.

She said something else with an angry face but this time I didn't understand anything. Fortunately Aiden was the one who spoke to her since I could not articulate a word.

-Excuse me, but my friend can't hear you - Aiden said with a slightly annoyed tone and his voice still shaky.

The woman's face changed to one of concern. She said something else to Aiden, without changing her worried face.

-Yes- Aiden answered a question -She can hear me perfectly.

The woman smiled in relief and Aiden began to recite what the woman was saying.

"Vitalina Steklov. I have been waiting for this meeting. I'm sorry for the sudden arrival but you were supposed to receive that letter a year ago. Let me introduce myself; I am Mirabella Strange better known as the grim reaper. I need you to come with me to the Underworld, immediately. "

Was I understanding her well? The grim reaper herself was looking for me.

-Why? - It was the only thing I managed to say.

-Didn't your grandmother tell you? - Aiden asked. I did not know if it was a question of him or of the Grim reaper.

I just shook my head in Aiden's direction.

-Vitalina, - Aiden repeated the words of Grim reaper - You were born with a very unique ability, the ability to see ghosts. Which makes you ... An heir of the grim reaper. -

Now I was more confused than before. It was obvious that I was special for seeing ghosts but I never thought I was an "heir of the grim reaper", whatever that means. And apparently my grandmother knew something about it but she had never told me. Did anyone else know this? Did my mother know or did she hide it? I had to talk with her.

-I know you are very confused - Aiden continued - But it is your duty to continue with your grandmother's legacy.

Her death offered me her hand to go with her to the Underworld. I took a step back, rejecting her offer.

-I can't leave - I said in a low voice - At least not yet -

Death looked at me with sad eyes and said something else that Aiden didn't repeat.

The envelope fell apart and the pieces of paper floated in the air, forming a whirlwind that engulfed Mirabella and finally disappeared, dropping the small pieces of paper all over the room.

As soon as death was gone, I quickly left the cellar and headed for the house.

-Where are you going? -Aiden asked, floating behind me.

-To my room, where else? - I answered annoyed.

I went into my room and threw myself on my bed. My head was spinning. Not knowing what to do. How come I didn't know about this? Did my family know anything about it?

-Are you alright? - Aiden asked.

-No, why would I be? I just found out something that is VERY significant in my life and that will change it completely, and worse, that my grandmother kept it from me all the time.

Suddenly I thought about it. If my grandmother knew it and she had kept it from me, maybe Aiden has always known it too.

-Did you know anything about it, Aiden? - I asked without seeing his face.

He was silent for a few seconds. He stuttered.

-Yes-he said almost in a whisper.

Deep down I expected it, but, what a stab.

And why the hell didn't you tell me? - I said hurt, almost crying.

Aiden sighed moving slightly closer to me, to which I ducked away on the bed.

-I couldn't -He said heavily-It was a ... secret -his tone of voice denoted guilt.

-How can you keep something like that a secret? And why me, Aiden? - I started crying.

-I couldn't say it as much as I wanted to. I promised. Sorry, Vida. -

I wanted to hit Aiden right then but unfortunately I couldn't.

[flowerslut]

With a world in mourning, a return to normalcy is nothing more than a fantasy. Trust betrayed and thousands gone, there are whispers of a movement stirring; and it has the potential to upend life as everyone knows it.

Meanwhile, Alice seeks to uncover her own mysterious origins, leading her down a dangerous path. Deception runs rampant, and secrets can’t be kept forever. Everything is shifting, and Alice can’t find her footing.

WALK IN THE DARK

An Alice and Jasper fanfiction. Sequel to Call of the Night. Coming this fall to an AO3 near you.

(preview under cut)

The car was barely shifted into park before Alice was flying out the door and up to the house, completely abandoning her bags inside of it.

Before she could reach the door Jasper was already there, standing in the doorway, bracing himself.

Alice didn’t give him the chance to say a thing before she launched herself into his arms with a laugh. When he wrapped his arms around her, holding her off the ground like she weighed absolutely nothing, she felt complete again.

She was kissing him before she knew what she was doing.

He returned the affection with a fervor and her sudden arousal was entirely out of her control. Tightening her legs around his torso she deepened the kiss.

When he pulled back slightly, smiling widely, she wanted to groan.

“Not now,” he muttered softly before pressing a few—decidedly more chaste—kisses to her lips. “I have something for you.”

She scoffed, pulling back enough so that he could see her pout. Then, loudly, she spoke. “If it’s Josie I already know she’s here.”

The responding cackle she heard from the nearby kitchen filled her with warmth.

“I told you!” Josephine Foote laughed, the noise echoing through the house. “You couldn’t surprise her if your life depended on it!”

Jasper rolled his eyes, arms still wrapped around Alice and keeping her suspended in the air. “I knew you would know but—”

Alice silenced him with another quick kiss. “Shush. It’s sweet of you, thank you.” Jasper didn’t need to surprise her for it to mean anything more to her. It was more than enough to have to people she adored this much under the same roof.

She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if Jasper could surprise her with little, mundane, every day gestures. She’d thought about it before, but then quickly realized she much rather preferred knowing. It gave her something to look forward to.

And when all you did was look forward to things (literally) it was nice to have at least one thing consistent amongst the ever-changing future ahead of them.

Jasper released his hold on her, his arms dropping down to his sides, but Alice still clung to him tightly.

“Come on,” he laughed, pulling lightly at one of her arms that was still wrapped snugly around his neck. “She’s been talking my ear off. It’s your turn.”

“Hm, go ahead,” she tightened her embrace and leaned her head forward until it was resting against his shoulder. “I’ll be right here.”

She was sure it looked comical—after all, his arms were completely at his sides as he walked across the foyer and toward the kitchen where Josie eagerly awaited her company—but she wasn’t about to release him yet. She didn’t care if she looked childish. She’d missed her Jasper.

Josie chuckled as Jasper entered the room, Alice still very much clinging to him firmly. Then, the woman clicked her tongue. “Now get down from there, child. You look ridiculous. Jasper! Put her down!”

He held his arms out, as if attempting a shrug, displaying that it wasn’t him keeping her up there.

Alice smiled to herself, pecking Jasper on the cheek before hopping down and landing softly. In the next instant she was across the room.

Josie was sitting on one of the stools that was usually kept tucked beneath a granite countertop. Her purse sat opened in front of her and next to it, a few magazines.

Oh no. Even as she reached forward and hugged her mother, Alice suddenly knew—both because of her visions, and because she knew her mom—that she was about to get scolded.

“Hi honey,” the older woman hugged her tightly and Alice took a long moment to enjoy the warmth of her familiar embrace. Inhaling deeply she couldn’t help but notice that something was off.

“New perfume?” It was a simple change but a jarring one. As long as Alice had known her, Josie had only ever worn one perfume. Well, that was if they didn’t count the two months in ’96 when Macy’s hadn’t had it in stock, but still. But now, where there was usually a floral, citrus fragrance, this one smelled more… soapy.

“Of course that’s the first thing you comment on,” it was half of a scolding and half in amazement. “Daisy has me turned onto this new one. It’s not as classic as Chantilly, and it’s more expensive, but it’s helping with my headaches, I think.”

That sobered Alice up immediately. “Headaches?”

The woman smacked her arm, shooting her an unamused look. “Don’t you start. I’ve been getting these for thirty years now, you know that.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Alice knew better than to attempt to breach the subject of Josie’s health. The woman had hated talking about it with her before, but she downright despised any discussion of her human issues when she was amongst vampires only. According to her, it was an insult.

And Alice had missed her mother far too much to want her upset with her upon reuniting.

“If you start worrying about nothing I’ll damn well give you something to worry about!”

Josie’s annoyance was cut off when Jasper placed a hot mug of tea in front of her.

Alice mouthed a ‘thank you’ as he smirked and turned back to clean up the kettle. “How long are you here for?”

“I’m making Jasper drive me back in a few minutes actually,” Josie leaned forward, blowing on the hot liquid, before taking a small sip. “Needs more sugar.” Jasper appeared instantly, setting an entire jar and spoon next to the mug. “But it’s getting late and I’ve been up since nearly four. I just wanted to see you when you got back.”

The disappointment that formed low in her belly was heavy. Josie’s fleeting presence was something she hadn’t taken note of in her visions. All Alice had seen was that she would be there, and things would be nice. She didn’t know that she’d only be able to calmly enjoy that for ‘a few minutes’.

“Oh, don’t look so sad,” the woman frowned and then opened her arms back up. Alice fell into her embrace easily, hating that she couldn’t hide her disappointment if her life depended on it. “When do you hit the road again?”

“Not sure yet. Carlisle comes back this weekend, and I’m sure I’ll find out after that.”

“Perfect!” Josie brightened up at that. “He can give this one a break and drive me to my service on Sunday morning.” She threw a thumb over her shoulder and Alice could hear Jasper scoff under his breath. “Child won’t even walk through the doors of the damn church,” her words were more than loud enough for Jasper to hear, but Josie had never been one to gossip. Oh no, if there’s something she wanted to tell you, you were going to hear it from Josie herself. “You’re not going to combust when you cross the threshold you know?” She turned on her stool to fix a glare onto Jasper’s back.

“I’m not taking that chance,” he deadpanned in reply, washing dishes in the sink.

Alice couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure Carlisle will be happy to go with you. I wish you would stay a little longer though.”

“By the time you and Jasper drop me off we’ll have spent plenty of time with each other. Besides, I think he’s had enough of me for one day.”

The drive to Josie’s place was a little over a half an hour away. Not as much time as Alice would have preferred, but better than nothing.

“What’s this?” Alice gestured to Josie’s choice of reading material. The three magazines looked brand new, but Alice knew that Josie had already rifled through them and dog-eared every page that mentioned Alice or Jasper.

“They spelt my name wrong!” As if reminded of a terrible atrocity Josie reached for the first magazine and flipped it open. “You need to email these people at US and tell them that my name has an ‘E’ on the end! It’s not Foot, it’s Foote! Ridiculous!”

Alice suppressed a smile. “That’s the only comment you have?”

“I mean, these people haven’t said anything that rude article didn’t already say,” she flipped through a few more pages on the same magazine and pointed to a photo, frowning. “You don’t think they could’ve used a better picture?” It was a photo of Jasper, Josie on his arm as he guided her to the car in the church parking lot.

It would’ve been a heartwarming picture if it weren’t for the disturbing fact that it was snapped by a pap trying to make some money.

“I don’t even care that they took it at church—I always look good for my services,” she spoke as if it were a point of pride. “But this damn caption ticks me right off—acting like I don’t know who I’m dealing with. They wouldn’t say a thing about being ‘uncharacteristically calm’ if they knew the first damn thing about my character!”

“Where did you get these?” Alice was a little annoyed. Josie had promised her a few weeks ago she would lay off the gossip mags; she’d even cancelled a few subscriptions. Alice had seen as much in a couple of visions.

“Daisy, of course. She’s a bad influence,” she spoke simply, as if that was all the explanation that they’d get. “Not a day goes by where she doesn’t have something new to share with me.” She sighed over exaggeratedly. “It can’t be helped when your baby is a celebrity.”

“I hate that word,” Alice muttered for what felt like the thousandth time.

“I’m shocked you’re not used to it by now. If the Times wrote an article on me I’d be signing autographs when the pastor isn’t looking,” she cackled at her own joke, closing the first publication and then opening the third. “This is nice,” she flipped through the pages before landing on one with a smaller blurb. It was just a photo of Jasper and Alice holding hands. Taken the week he’d returned to Rickett’s, if their exhausted state was any indication.

Directly next to the photo, a close-up shot of their intertwined hands.

The caption inquired their marital status, pointing out the lack of wedding rings.

Alice felt acute embarrassment at that. “Josie…”

“All I’m saying,” the woman lifted a dark, wrinkled hand in surrender before quickly closing the magazine, “is that they’d stop asking if you two just tied the knot already.”

“Stop,” she begged, suddenly uncomfortable with the topic.

At first the media’s focus on her and Jasper’s relationship had been a strange thing. But that was back when they hadn’t quite been in a relationship. After the war had finished up and they’d returned back home, the media was still a bit obsessed with them, but now it had gotten out of hand.

A photo could be snapped of either of them by themselves in any environment and the next day the presses would be saying things like ‘TAKING TIME APART?’ or ‘TROUBLE IN PARADISE!’ as if their relationship was simply a game to them.

Most days, Alice had to remind herself that it was.

“Oh, don’t take it too seriously,” Josie commented just as the thought crossed her own mind. “I’m just saying. It’s been ages since I’ve been to a wedding.”

“You were just at one two Saturday’s ago,” Jasper chimed in from across the kitchen. “I picked you up and drove you to it myself.”

“You be quiet!” Josie snapped at him, rolling up one of the magazines and swinging it toward him. “Unhelpful, rude boy! Where’s Emmett?” She frowned, tossing the publication back onto the counter. “He’d be on my side for this.”

“He’s in…” Alice paused, flickering through a few visions, “he’s either in San Diego or he’s heading there now.”

Josie hmphed. “This one, you can keep.” She handed Alice the third magazine, and that’s when she noticed that it wasn’t just another one of her mindless gossip columns, it was a wedding magazine…

“It might trigger some inspiration,” Josie shrugged, acting innocent again. Reaching forward she patted Alice’s cheek lightly. “Oh, smile why don’t you. What the hell do you vamps have against marriage? It’s just a piece of paper, really.”

“Exactly,” Jasper finally chimed in, sitting at the table across from her. “So what’s the point?”

Alice knew that look in his eye. It was the look that he got before he decided that he was going to actually entertain a topic of conversation that could very well lead to an argument. It was the face of a man who knew how to argue and who knew how to win…

Not now, Alice shot him an unamused look as she stepped closer to her mother. She wasn’t about to spend the last few minutes with her while Jasper provoked her ire.

“Thank you,” she tried to make her words sound genuine as she accepted the magazine. “I can’t promise I’ll read it end to end but,” she glanced at the cover, trying not to grimace, “I’m sure I’ll have some fun studying gown designs.” And the prospect of sitting at her little work desk, stitching together a dress for the summertime, made old excitement begin to flicker inside of her.

“Send me pictures of your sketches when you start designing.” Josie reached for her bag and looped it through her arm. “Oh! Before I forget,” turning to dig through the oversized, brown bag, it took her a long moment before she retrieved something.

Alice accepted the white paper envelope as Josie handed it to her, and promptly froze.

“That’s for you. I didn’t get it until recently, but judging by the stamp they sent it last August. The post office held onto it once everyone went on lockdown. Took them until a couple of weeks ago to finally send all of my mail up here.”

Alice could hardly focus on her words. The moment she’d taken the letter into her hands, the vision of what lay inside struck her like a lightning bolt.

[musingsofsaturn]

Opening Up [Kristanna ‘Waitress AU] - Chapter Three

[Masterlist for this fic]

Fandom: Frozen/Frozen II

Ship: Anna/Kristoff

Side Pairings: Anna/Hans, Elsa/Honeymaren, Bulda/Cliff

Chapters: 10/10 [COMPLETE]

Rating: M

This Chapter’s Rating: M for scenes of domestic abuse

This Chapter’s Word Count: 2,000+

Summary:  Waitress and baker Anna Westergaard’s life changed forever when she discovered some startling news. Dr Kristoff Bjorgman didn’t anticipate liking his new patients quite as much as he did. For better or worse, the residents of the small town of Småby Bend were about to be changed forever.

Author’s Note: Trigger warning for this chapter: it contains a scene of domestic violence and verbal abuse. Please protect your mental health!

Some of you may notice that I've changed the rating of this fic. I was originally planning for it to be a bit smutty, but I've pre-written the chapter where that would be and actually thought that it was better without the explicit content. So it's mature, but it's no longer going to be explicit. Hope you continue to enjoy it nonetheless!

~ Saturn

[Picture from Where is my Spoon. This chapter’s recipe is for Treacle Tart - one of my absolute favourites!]

Anna walked out of the doctors’ office quickly. It was chilly, and she stuck her hands in her coat pockets to seek some warmth. Her fingers brushed against two pieces of paper, and she stopped walking, pulling them out of her pocket to look them over.

The alcoholism leaflet was designed to look unthreatening, but Anna knew that in reality it was a grenade with the pin pulled. She knew from past experience what happened if she dared to comment on Hans’ drinking habits, even in passing. It infuriated him, and his fury was always directed at Anna with savage words and strong hands. She’d quickly learned not to broach the topic.

If she brought home that leaflet, told him that he had a problem, and that he needed help, she knew he wouldn’t see it as a kindness. No, he’d see it as a humiliating attack, and would strike back, lashing out at Anna with all the aggression of a raging bull.

It wasn’t as if Anna wasn’t used to Hans’ anger. In truth, after the first few months of their marriage, not a week had gone by where he hadn’t shouted at or hurt her. She was a brave young woman; she could take it. But now, if she let him hurt her, she’d be letting him hurt the baby. A fiercely protective instinct inside her could never allow that to happen.

Walking towards the nearest bin, Anna tore the alcoholism leaflet in half, then into quarters for good measure, before quickly throwing the pieces away. Kristoff’s phone number was still in her hand. She gazed at it for a long moment.

‘If you ever feel unsafe, I don’t care what time it is, you can give me a call.’

It had been a genuine offer, she knew that. This phone number could be her lifeline. The next time she felt threatened, she could phone this man she barely knew, and he would do everything in his power to come to her rescue.

But what if everything in his power wasn’t enough? Then Hans would know that she had gone behind his back, and nothing would be able to stop his rage then. What if he hunted her down, killing her in cold blood and leaving her child to fend for themselves? Worse – what if hurting Anna wasn’t enough, and he resorted to harming the baby as well? No, she couldn’t risk it.

Anna felt the pinpricks of tears forming in her eyes as she shredded her lifeline in the same way she’d torn the leaflet. After tossing it in the bin, she sucked in a deep breath, and turned to head home.

The journey was a familiar one, and it took her less than five minutes before she arrived at the doorstep, swiftly turning the key and stepping inside. On autopilot, she turned to close the door behind her, closing her eyes and allowing herself a few moments more of peace.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Hans’ voice, cold and hateful, caused her to spin around.

“At the café-”

“-No.” He stepped closer, and Anna could smell the stench of alcohol rolling off his tongue in waves. “I called the café. They said you left at two thirty. It’s half four, Anna. So, where the fuck have you been?”

“I-” She wasn’t sure what she was going to tell him. Should she lie? Or would the truth be better? “I’m sorry,” she mumbled in lieu of making a decision.

Hans stormed towards her, shoving her backwards and grabbing her jaw firmly in his hands. She let out a yelp as the door handle jabbed into her back, but he didn’t let up. He twisted her head at an uncomfortable angle, and he leaned in close to her to shout, “Where the fuck where you, Anna? With some other man? Huh? You think you can fuck some other man and I wouldn’t know?”

“I didn’t- I wasn’t-” Anna felt panic rising in her as his other hand snaked into her hair, pulling it hard so she stood no chance of getting away.

“Don’t lie to me!” he hissed. His voice was full of venom.

“Hans, please-”

“You stupid fucking bitch! I give you a roof over your head, food on your table, clothes on your back, and you think you can just betray me?” He spat at her. Anna felt it running down her cheek but didn’t dare move to wipe it away.

He released her hair and jaw, but Anna didn’t feel any sense of relief. She felt only a sickening dread as she saw him pulling back his fist, which was aimed squarely at her face. Her eyes squeezed shut and her hands flew up to protect herself as she screamed out, “Hans, no, I’m pregnant!”

The blow never came.

Limbs trembling, Anna opened her eyes in time to see his fist lower. She followed suit, dropping her hands. “We’re going to have a baby,” she whispered. “I was at the doctors to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Oh, princess.” Anna couldn’t help but flinch as he reached for her, placing his hands on her stomach. “This is amazing.” She felt the urge to move away as he knelt down in front of her, giving her belly a drunken kiss. “This is going to fix us, princess, you’ll see.”

His words surprised her. She hadn’t thought that he was aware that the pair of them needed to be fixed. Maybe he could be a great dad after all. She sank to her knees as well, joining him on the floor. Hans’ pulled her into a hug, and she prayed to whatever God might have been listening that he hadn’t felt her shudder at his touch.

“I need you to promise me something.” Hans didn’t wait for her to answer. “I need you to promise me that you won’t love the baby more than you love me.”

Anna stiffened, and tried to recover herself before he felt it. He was too close to her now to allow her body to get carried away with its reactions. Did she love Hans? It was true that she had done, once. They wouldn’t be married now if that was the case. And she knew that she could love him just as much if he reverted back to who he was when they were younger – charming, sweet, and utterly devoted to her. But the version of Hans that she’d come to know was not the man she fell in love with. He terrified her.

She knew that there was only one answer that she could give in that moment, and she felt her fingers cross ever so slightly, out of sight. “I promise,” she whispered. In truth, as they embraced on the floor of the hallway, Anna thought that this was the closest to loving him that she’d felt in years.

“This is going to change everything for us, princess,” he whispered into her hair.

“Yes,” she murmured back. “I think it will.”

 ~

 Almost a week later, Anna was carefully arranging a display of pies in the chilled cabinet beside the till of The Snøffnug Café. She and Hans had no further arguments since she’d told him the news, and the subsequent contentment within her had inspired her to craft all sorts of sweet pies, which had delighted her customers.

Well, all her customers except Elsa, who was absolutely frantic with nerves for a date she’d arranged with a woman she met online. For as long as she had known her, Elsa had been a decidedly anxious woman, and the dating profile that Bulda set up for her a few months before had only elevated that anxiety. As Anna worked, she could hear Bulda talking their friend through her third panic attack of the day in the kitchen.

The bell chimed just as Anna finished slicing a key lime pie to place in the cabinet. She glanced up at the sound, offering the customer a quick greeting before she recognised who it was.

“Oh, Kristoff! Hi.” She wasn’t entirely sure why she felt so nervous, and given the curious looks she received from both Elsa and Bulda, it wasn’t just in her head.

She smiled warmly as Kristoff strode over to her. He really was very handsome. In an outfit as simple as jeans and a jumper, Anna realised he’d captured the attention of every woman in the cosy dining area. She couldn’t help but feel the warmth of pride as she also realised that out of all the women in the room, he was only paying attention to her.

“Hi, Anna. How are you feeling?”

“Feeling? Oh, with the- good. I mean, I’m feeling good.”

He chuckled, and she honestly could have kicked herself in the shin. Fortunately, he didn’t see the blush that crept to her cheeks, because he’d turned to the display cabinet and was admiring her creations hungrily.

“What can I get for you?”

“Get for me? Ah.” Anna couldn’t help the smile that came to her face as he so perfectly mirrored her confusion from earlier. “Actually, I came to give you this. Back. Give it back… to you.” Fumbling, he placed the cake tin she’d delivered the pie in the other day onto the counter. Anna thanked him, taking the container and placing it on a shelf behind her with other jars and tins on it. When she turned back to him, he was looking decidedly sheepish. “I have a secret to tell you, Anna. I finished that pie three days ago but I held on to the tin until today so you wouldn’t judge me for eating it all so fast.”

To her credit, Anna did manage not to giggle for at least two seconds. “Well, doctor, if you liked that Mermaid Marshmallow Pie so much, can I interest you in a slice of Treacle Tart? Seems like you love sweet things.”

“You got me,” he grinned. “Can I get that to go, please? I have an appointment in ten minutes.”

Anna swiftly placed the slice into a cardboard container, fastening it shut with a couple of snowflake stickers. She rang him up, and he moved to the door, before turning back to her with a smile.

“It was great seeing you, Anna. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

Then he was gone, and before she knew it, Anna was being bundled into the kitchen by a very excited-looking Bulda. Anna hadn’t realised that she and Elsa were even done with the pre-date anxiety attack.

“And just what was that?” she all but squealed. “Wait, first, who was that?”

“That’s Kristoff,” Anna replied, confused. “Dr Bjorgman. He’s my doctor. For the baby.”

“Well, judging by the way he was looking at you, Anna, I’d say he’s willing to take very good care of you.”

Shocked, Anna hit her arm lightly. “Bulda! That is so inappropriate! He’s my doctor.”

“He’s very handsome,” Elsa said wistfully.

Bulda let out a hearty laugh at her friend’s embarrassment. “Look, honey, you don’t see it yet, and that’s fine. But you will, Miss Anna. You definitely will.”

A shout from outside the kitchen got their attention. “Are you three gonna come back out here any time soon, or should I put on an apron and do your jobs for you?” Anna couldn’t tell if Cliff was genuinely angry at them. He could sound angry while cooing at a kitten.

Bulda either knew he wasn’t annoyed, or didn’t care if he was, as she snarked back, “You should. And while you’re at it, try on one of these dresses. You’d look lovely in blue.”

They shared a hushed laugh at Cliff’s expense, as they heard him grumbling something incoherent outside. “We’d better go, before His Majesty decides to come in here and drag us out by our ears.”

Bulda was still chuckling quietly to herself as she and Elsa left Anna alone in the kitchen to consider her earlier words.

Next Chapter

[edenofmonsters]

xenophobia | one.

xen·o·pho·bi·a | [zen-oh-foh-bee-uh]

definition:

extreme or irrational fear of strangers or foreigners or of anything that is strange or foreign.

subject:

bogeyman | xavier

notes:

originally documented january 28th, 2018

4,000 words | 01 part | s. f. w.

family friends ask you to babysit their son, zach, but the night becomes increasingly disturbing from unnatural occurrences playing out by an imaginary friend he insists is real.

*✧🌙✧*

“Again, thank you so much for agreeing to this last minute,” Lucy breathes out, tugging on her coat in haste at her husband’s ushering. You watch her struggle to get her other arm through its rightful sleeve for a second before you snatch the other end which keeps escaping her grasp. The display earns a chuckle from Samuel who snaps around to tap in his shoes when his wife tosses a glare his way. You can’t help but smile a little. “You’re a lifesaver; I don’t know what we’d do without you."

You offer a modest shrug in response to her praise. “It’s no problem at all, you know I adore Zach.”

She beams, despite having heard your declaration a handful of times in the past. “Have I ever told you how great of a mother you’d make?”

“Lucy,” Samuel stresses, although amused at your knee-jerk reaction.

You can only manage an embarrassed laugh, waving her words away. Thankfully, Samuel reminds his wife they don’t have all the time in the world to get to their three day getaway.

Lucy finally gives in, mumbling about men having no patience, a remark you choose to ignore while Samuel gives an indignant "Hey!"

“Alright, as usual, you have both of our numbers for emergencies; the kitchen is free reign, so you're welcome to make whatever you find in the pantry and fridge; and since it’s a Friday night, Zach can stay up until 10 p.m.”

You salute playfully, bidding the couple a good night afterward. “Understood. Have fun on your vacation,” you call out to them. You wait until the taillights disappear far into the road before locking up the front door, glad to close off the mid-winter air.

As soon as you swivel around, you find Zach standing in the entrance hall, waiting for his parents to take their leave to make an appearance. Staring up at you, he bears a wide, knowing smile. From where he stands, you can see him jittering with excitement. In return, you raise an eyebrow and crook a smile in challenge, already anticipating what’s to happen. In record time, the eight year-old ball of energy shoots off into the depths of the house. You follow him, mocking the roar of an animal eager to rain tickles on his belly.

You allow the boy his fair share of running before you swoop down to seize him into your awaiting arms. The momentum sends the two of you flying straight into the living room couch, thankfully. No need for accidents this early on. Upon immediate landing, your hands begin their merciless attack on his sides and belly, prompting Zach to violently squirm and howl.

“What do you say?” you taunt, getting him just under his ribs and pulling an ear splitting screech from his little lungs.

“Please!” he begs, pushing at your hands which are much stronger than his.

You instantly stop your torture at his cry, unable to help the infectious mirth spilling from your own mouth. “Okay, I’ll stop, but only because you asked nicely.”

“Thank you,” he giggles.

“Alright, time for dinner.”

“But I’m not hungry yet.” He pulls the puppy eyes, folding his arms and jutting his bottom lip out in hopes of convincing you with his childish charms, which would be hard to argue against if you were anybody else. That kid can be a clever little thing when he wants to be. Fortunately, you’ve been caring for him since the cradle, so you’ve built up quite the resistance.

“Eat first, play later,” you reaffirm, leaving no room for argument.

While you handle the dangerous parts, you task him with stirring and plating the food. You place used dishes in the sink to wash later when you notice Zach filling a third plate. Curious, you opt to observe the boy build a mountain of pasta, emptying half of the extra in the skillet.

“Zach, there’s only two of us eating.” You come up beside him but don’t stop him from his mission.

“No,” he begins, finally setting the serving spoon away and admiring the piled plate, “my friend is eating with us, too.” He beams at you, but confusion knits your brows together at his statement.

“Did you invite someone from school?” If that was the case, Lucy would have told you.

Zach shakes his head, blonde strands swaying. “He lives with me.”

Ah, an imaginary friend, you conclude. Although, you think it’s odd for a boy his age to still have an invisible pal. “Oh, I see. What’s his name?” you humor, grabbing the plates to set on the table, reluctantly letting him take the third one.

“Xavier.”

With impressive reflexes, you catch the other end of the platter when the contents begin slipping forth, tilting it up properly and taking it from Zach to place it across the others. “What’s Xavier look like?” you ask.

“He’s black, super tall, has long arms and legs, eyes that light up in the dark, and he has sharp teeth.” He sounds so exuberant you almost dismiss the rather monstrous description.

You’re no expert, but this Xavier sounds nothing like the silly, made-up creature of a child, he sounds like a nightmare. But then again, every child’s imagination does differ, so you decide not to think too much of it.

“Hm, he sounds scary,” you say, pouring water for you both.

“Nope, Xavier is really nice. He protects me when I sleep.”

You smile, brushing away a tuft of hair from his eyebrows. “He does sound nice. Okay, let’s eat.”

“Can we play hide-and-seek after?”

“‘Course, but you gotta finish all your food first, buddy.”

Once finished, you take your dishes, ready to wash up. You reach for the third, untouched plate, but Zach protests.

“No, wait!” He snags onto your arm. “Please leave it out for Xavier. He’s really shy, so that’s why he didn’t come eat with us.”

You purse your lips for a moment, contemplating whether to continue playing along or not. You wouldn’t dare disappoint him so leave the plate as it is. “Help me clean up and I’ll leave it out for him. How’s that sound?”

Zach’s already in the kitchen, calling for you to hurry up. You laugh at his antics, relieving his worries by making way to him. Some time during the chore, a breeze rolls over your nape, inducing a shiver. You don’t remember cracking open a window. Zach’s chatter distracts that thought and it’s forgotten.

Suddenly, he turns sharply to his left, tossing his head nearly all the way back and looks into the air. Your face shifts in faint concern as you watch him nod intently at seemingly nothing. After a moment of silent conversing, he turns back to you. “Xavier says he wants to play with us, can he?” he asks.

You glance to where the boy was directing his attention to seconds ago. “Sure,” you say, albeit hesitantly.

He jumps in success, sending droplets of his still wet hands everywhere. “Yes!” You force a smile, trying to ignore what just happened. “Xavier says you should be the finder the first round,” he says, glancing back over to where his friend is supposedly standing.

“Whatever Xavier says,” you agree, wiping your hands dry. “I’m counting to ten, okay?” You shield your eyes and begin counting. You hear Zach giggle, calling for Xavier to follow after him. At the last moment, you peer through the gaps of your fingers and catch sight of the blonde boy’s hand out, like he’s clutching another and pulling them forth. You swear you see another set of fingers around the little ones, but you blink and he’s gone. Shrugging it away, you refocus.

“Ready or not, here I come,” you announce to the silent house once reaching ten.

You sweep through the rooms upstairs, peeking into closets, under beds, between furniture. When you come up with no signs of Zach, you decide to head back downstairs. Your feet touches the last step, and you hear shushing from the living room. Grinning, you quietly tiptoe toward the soft noise. 

Your eyes lock onto the bay window curtains that sway the slightest. Cautiously, you approach to grab one of the folds and jerk it back with a “Gotcha!” What greets you is emptiness. You blink rapidly, expecting Zach to be there. There was no mistaking the curtain movements; it was so obvious and clear that you couldn’t chalk it up to paranoid imaginings even if you wanted to. Then another breeze, almost like a wisp of breathe, hits your hairline. Gasping, a hand slaps over the area of raised hair and you whip around to nothing.

Relax, it’s just the heat. Yet you’re suddenly on edge, the silence an overwhelming substance in the air. You’re tempted to call the game off but hear the patter of feet from the kitchen. That is definitely Zach. With a sigh, you trail after the noise, glancing back at the alcove. Still nothing. Maybe you were seeing things. You stow your worries away for now, tearing through the kitchen, only to come up Zach-less.

“When did you get so good at this?” you ask out loud, more to yourself than him. Naturally, there’s no response. There’s only the bathroom left, so you check in there. You poke your head into an empty shower. Did he go upstairs?

So you go back up and hear a resounding thump and shuffling from the guest’s bedroom while you pass by. You slide up against the door, turning the knob in a slow twist and prepared to catch Zach in the act of scrambling for a hiding place. Then you hear a crash followed by Zach’s yelp from downstairs and you pause. Knowing you didn’t mistake the sound from the guest’s bedroom, you barge in.

Again, nothing.

A splice of jarring fear clinches you, making it impossible to breathe. “What the hell?” You reel from the doorway, as if the room’s come alive and is about to devour you. Your eyes dart everywhere, seeking the source of sound. Nothing. Your insides constrict at the aspect of the undisturbed room.

Zach’s cry of your name draws you away from the ominous enclosed section. If it had been an intruder, he or she wouldn’t have had time to hide and the window would be open. It was only you and Zach in this house.

And Xavier, you faintly think to yourself, shutting the door with vain hope that it might close off the impending aura brewing within.

You retreat from the door and sprint to the boy without a backwards glance. One comfort session with an ice pack to a skinned knee later, you question Zach on his imaginary friend.

“Where was he hiding?” you ask, putting the first-aid kit away.

“In the guest’s room,” he replies.

A fist closes around your throat. “Yeah?” you croak out.

“Uh-huh. He likes hiding under the beds or closets. That’s where he sleeps in my room.”

Speaking of sleep. You glance at the clock, seeing it’s nearing 10 p.m. “It’s almost time for bed, buddy. Let’s go wash up first, okay?”

You direct Zach to brush his teeth and change into pajamas. Paranoid, you watch him ascend the stairs, fearing that something might jump out from the guest’s room and snatch him; however, when he passes by with no incident, you release the breath you’re holding. While waiting, you remember the third plate left out for Xavier. You tell the boy to wait for you and go clean up, almost not wanting to leave him out of your sight.

The plate is empty.

You don’t move, seemingly cemented to the tiles as you eye the ceramic with streaks of sauce. Hardly breathing, choking on dread, you check the trash bin. There’s no pasta and leftovers are packed away in the fridge. Zach wouldn’t voluntarily do that. Icy terror slams into you, weakening you so that you cave in and grasp the counter for support.

“Is this a joke?” you whisper to the air. You refuse to touch the plate, backing away from it like it were a ticking time bomb seconds away from triggering. 

You don’t believe in the supernatural, but the events playing out are beginning to make you doubt that notion. A tide of nausea drowns you, blistering into a cauldron of interweaving black and white vertigo that leaves you shaking. You need to be with Zach, now. Fleeing from the scene, you burst into his bedroom. He’s tittering beneath a hand like he’s been exchanging secrets. At your arrival, he brightens up.

“Can you read me this story? Mom started it yesterday night, but didn’t finish,” he asks, already with a specific book in hand. Instead of complying, you sit across him and gaze over his innocent features.

Maybe you’re being ridiculous, maybe you’re overthinking. There’s no way Xavier’s real. You repeat that over and over again, like a mantra that might save you from who knows what. Ghosts? Marginally calming your jumbled nerves, you pick up the book and begin reading him to sleep even though you wish for nothing more than to haul Zach and run out the front door. As the story progresses, you also lose yourself within the words, urgently seeking out a distraction. Zach is already hovering between the realms of consciousness and unconsciousness before you can finish, but you can’t help the question that falls from your lips.

“Did Xavier eat?” you ask, voice quivering with mounting fear.

The boy nods, yawning. “He said dinner was great. Can we make him some pancakes tomorrow? He likes it whenever mom makes them. I think that’s his favorite food.”

He prattles on and on, but your mind is stuck on his first words. “Aren’t you a little too old for imaginary friends?” you whisper, wanting to hear him agree more than anything.

His initial joy melts into puzzlement. “But Xavier isn’t imaginary.”

You slowly shake your head. “I can’t even see him.”

“He’s real, though. I don’t know why not everyone can see him. But it’s okay; I think Xavier still likes you a lot. He says you smell really nice, which is kind of weird. It makes him sound like a dog, right?”

You nearly fold into yourself, on the verge of panicking. Miraculously, you gather the strength to hold your place. You sink your teeth into the fleshy inside of your lip, fighting the urge to ruin his fun by reaffirming your disbelief of Xavier.

“Zach…” Defeated, you sigh heavily, feeling everything weighing you down.

He then points behind you. “But he’s right there; look.”

Your blood bursts through your veins, sending your heart wild in overdrive. With an agonizing pace, you turn, turn, turn and come face to face with twin white orbs against a black figure. You stop breathing, eyes growing to a painful size, and a scream rips from you. You recoil away from the monster that’s also backed away at your violent reaction, and you reach for a startled Zach with intentions of fleeing downstairs.

The second you take off, Xavier darts from its position and chases after you. You don’t make it far, only to the beginning of the stairs before it jumps in front of you, thwarting your plans for escape. It stands to full height, looming over you by, what looks to be, three whole feet. It looks exactly like described: tall, long limbs, black with glowing eyes, and a mouth that splits its face, showcasing a row of sharp maws. What Zach failed to mention was its colossal frame that ripples with intimidating muscles. Its body is grotesque and unlike anything you’ve seen before, as if it attempted to mimic a human but failed and resulted in something horrific. And, gods, does it look the manifestation of raw fury.

Xavier growls at you, rigid and in the position to lunge should you make a movement. You back into the banister, arms coiled around the boy.

“W-what are you?!” you demand, trembling and overflowing with crippling terror which burns your eyes with tears. Xavier only releases a guttural, alien sound that rumbles from its throat, inching closer to you with a wicked snarl contorting its entire face. “Stay away; don’t you dare come any closer!” you threaten in a pathetic attempt to ward it off.

Zach wriggles in your tight hold. “Wait, Xavier won’t do anything; he’s not bad, I promise!” he cries.

“Zach, that’s…I-I don’t know, that’s a monster, can’t you see?!” Never once do you take your eyes off the being.

Xavier takes another step with a menacing hiss, and you flinch. Just then, the boy slips from your clutches and sprints to the creature. It welcomes him into its arms, protectively cradling its companion and holding him away from you. “No!” you jerk forth but freeze when the monster bares its teeth at you with a blood curdling screech that makes you back down. You stumble away, tripping on your feet and arms out to defend yourself.

“Xavier, stop!” It immediately obeys, hovering over you. “She didn’t mean it, she just got scared. She’s really nice, you saw it, too. I love her, and if you hurt her, I won’t forgive you.” Xavier bristles at the claim in disbelief but doesn’t make a move. “Let go of me, please?” It hesitates, but does as its asked.

You quickly scoop Zach up, cautiously eyeing Xavier and waiting for it to try anything. It crouches on its haunches, naked muscles swelling and coiling and imprisons you with its arms on both sides of you. A thundering growl reverberates from its body, like some warning sound. You’re surprised it hasn't broken the banister yet.

Zach, seeing the obvious tension, speaks up. “Please be nice to each other, I like you both a lot. I don’t want you guys to get hurt.”

“Zach, but he’s, its…” You lock eyes with the creature, shriveling up from its predatory stare.

“Just because he looks different doesn’t mean he’s bad,” Zach chastises.

And just like that, shame scorches you. Even a child knows better than you. Sighing, you shift the boy so he’s equally between you two but still keep a hand on him. Reluctantly, you say, “You’re absolutely right. I can’t judge anyone just because they don’t look like me; I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “You have to say sorry to Xavier.”

Swallowing through the grip on your throat, you face the creature who’s looking at you expectantly. “I…I’m sorry, Xavier,” you murmur after a stifling minute, earning a smile from Zach.

“Xavier, you say sorry, too, for scaring her.”

You don’t expect it to be able to speak, despite its mouth, but you certainly aren’t prepared for when it leans forward despite being so near already. Your faces are unbearably close that you feel its breath. You don’t move a muscle, anticipating whatever Xavier has in store for you. You watch it part its teeth and unfurls an elongated tongue in horror. Tense, you hold your breath as Xavier angles its head and lodges its face into the juncture of your throat. You jerk back, hitting the rods preventing you from moving. The monster wraps its enormous hand across your chest—huge enough to span beyond your width—to keep you in place, but you have an inkling suspicion that’s a display of power and dominance than anything else.

A strangled protest of a sound warbles from your lips, afraid he might bite out a chunk of your neck. Instead, it nuzzles into your pulse. A sort of purr releases from the being while it strokes its nose and cheek further into your jaw, like an attempt at imprinting. It’s not as bad as you dread until its tongue comes into play. The hot flesh laps the column of your throat without any qualms. You shriek, pushing it away with all your strength, which is nothing against Xavier. Somewhere among the heat of its tongue, purring, and tight grip, Zach giggles.

Xavier is still slathering the entirety of your neck with the flat of its thick muscle that can wrap around your throat whole, while you’re fighting the urge to recoil in disgust at the thick saliva painting your skin. You’re surprised it isn’t toxic and burning through. Involuntarily, you tilt your head away to avoid its tongue, only to give it all the access it could want to the side of your neck. Gleefully, Xavier playfully gnaws on the skin. Nothing enough to break it, but enough to prick and make you scream in alarm, fueling your fear of being eaten.

“Okay, apology accepted!” you shriek out, fighting to escape. Thankfully, it lets up with a final nip. Positive you’re thoroughly traumatized and about to faint, you remind Zach of his bedtime.

“Aw, but I’m not tired anymore,” he pouts. He turns to Xavier for help, who only shakes its head.

“Come on, Zach.” You stand, mentally exhausted, and lead the boy back into his room. Xavier is on your heels. Again, you feel its breath, eliciting a terrified shiver.

You tuck Zach in, read him another story, and collapse into the guest’s room, leaving both doors open. Xavier slipped under his bed earlier, presumably sleeping. Initially you wanted to stay with Zach, but it seems the monster has been here for some time, and if it had intentions of hurting the boy it would have done so already. And you can’t rid of the image of it protecting him from you of all people.

You curl into yourself, letting the flow of emotions get the better of you. You cry. From relief or fear, you aren’t sure. A settling weight at the end of your bed slices through the moment and you bolt up with the comforter clutched to your neck scrubbed tender and raw. In the mesh of the darkness, you can see Xavier’s outline as it sits on its haunches once more. Neither of you do anything, heightening the pressure that makes you restless.

Finally, you’re brave enough to question him. “What do you want?”

Its head tilts, glowing eyes ever unblinking. Deliberately, Xavier crawls toward you. Even with its slowness, you let out a keening pitch and throw yourself against the cushioned headboard, predicting the worst now that Zach’s away. You can’t formulate any words that may halt him. Instead of heeding your rejection, it advances right into your face, inches away. The proximity drives you to tussle out of the bed, but it's frighteningly quick. Xavier’s hand shoots out to capture you before you have the chance to break away. It drags you onto your back, pinning you there, and towers over you. Your breath comes out in short pants as your hands fly out to any part of it to hold it back. 

“Please,” you gasp, an onslaught of tears blinding you, “please, don’t hurt me.”

Xavier shakes its head in negative. You still whimper, though, thousands of scenarios sprouting within your mind. Once again, it slowly descends its face toward you, only stopping when your noses are an inch apart, spurring a soft cry from your trembling lips. For the longest time, the monster does nothing but appraises you with such a staggering intensity you’re glad that you’re not standing.

You’re on the verge of lashing out, but a single finger strokes from your temple to your chin. Its touch is so startling ginger you find it hard to believe it’s from the same creature that was moments away from harming you earlier.

It rasps out a gravelly, “No crying.”

You’re so shell-shocked that all you can do is nod.

“Good. Night night,” it whispers, feathering its finger over your tear streaks.

Your eyes flutter once. “Good—good night,” you whisper back. The second it slithers into the darkness and out of your temporary room, you curl back into the fetal position, wondering what happened. That night you fall into a fitful sleep.

*✧🌙✧*

to be continued.

*✧🌙✧*

thoughts:

the entirety is 20,000 words, and thus i don’t want to split this into five parts, nor do i want to post a single chapter with this much content. i haven’t tried it before, but i fear i may break tumblr if i attempt it. instead, i will provide a link to my ao3, where you may read it in all its nsfw glory. a tremendous apology to those who have been waiting for its return. this if for you, my little monster lovers: archive of our own

resources:

monster masterlist by thespelia

encyclopedia of monsters by thespelia

[1-1snailxd-art]

Libraries are for Meetings

Master List —– Chapter 9

Chapter 10 - A tale of the Lost

Warnings: negative thoughts, homophobia, death mentioned

Summary: Logan and Virgil share a pleasant meal before their pasts bring it to a tear-filled end.

Word count: 4419

Note: reading on mobile can remove the paragraphing sometimes. Use desktop site or visit my Ao3 page if it bothers you as much as it bothers me.

This chapter includes art by @the-pastel-peach​. Respect the artist and myself and please do not repost. Share this post or the artists original links only.

 ____________________

  Logan held the door open and gestured for Virgil to enter; pizza boxes securely in his hands. The apartment was rather deceiving; though it had appeared narrow from the outside, the inner layout made it feel spacious and welcoming. Stepping past the kitchen to the small dining table, Virgil set the boxes down and eagerly flipped them open to reveal the greasy pizza, garlic knots and chocolate brownie. It was a meal fit for a king in his mind and he eagerly grabbed a slice to start eating before Logan appeared with napkins; humming as the treat warmed his very soul.

   “I take it you don’t get pizza very often?” Logan inquired, raising an eyebrow at the others euphoric face.

Instinctively shaking his head, Virgil swallowed and sheepishly took a napkin to wipe his face.

“Sorry. I was in such a hurry this morning I skipped breakfast.”

“That isn’t a frequent habit of yours, is it?” Virgil shrugged and chewed on the pizza crust; causing Logan to sigh and reach for his own slice. “Though some research suggests skipping meals, such as breakfast, is good for weight loss, the more prominent effect is reduced energy levels. If you want to be able to function at your best, you should have regular healthy meals.”

“Thanks, Google.” Virgil grinned, licking the oil from his fingers. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future. How’s this pizza look in terms of health factor?”

“Well, it does cover most of the major food groups; so, I think you will be okay.”

 The pair laughed and continued eating; Virgil once again impressed that Logan could be both serious and easy going. It was a comforting balance and with each exchange, he felt himself relaxing more and more in their presence. They bantered back and forth overeating habits and better food options until Logan excused himself to collect the hard drive he needed looked at.

Virgil moved the remains of their lunch to the kitchen and took a cloth to wipe the table clean of any oily residue. Satisfied, he set up his laptop before pulling his phone out, almost thankful to see Ben hadn’t replied; though he did wonder what it meant in the long run. Anxiety melted away when Logan returned, and he eagerly took the drive from his hands to dive into work. Pulling up screens with strings of file names and codes, Virgil clicked and scrolled through windows with the confidence of a child turning the pages of a book. Logan was lost watching him; same as the last time he watched him work.

   “Your intelligence certainly exceeds my own, Virgil.”

“What are you talking about?” He scoffed in reply, not looking away from the screen. “Who’s the science major with, I’m guessing, a full academic scholarship in this room?”

“I actually had offers for my academic and athletic abilities from various higher education institutes; but that’s beside the point.”

“Humbling remark there, Lo.”

“Yes; but, you certainly best me when it comes to computers. I honestly have no idea what it is you are doing right now. It just looks like keyboard smashing to me.”

The laugh that shook Virgil’s thin body was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was weightless, uplifting and pure; and he could feel that it brought fresh colour to his cheeks.

“Just know,” he gasped through stifled giggles, “I will only see this as a keyboard smash from now on, and I love the fact that you compared it to that.”

“You’re welcome. Now, can you please explain what you are doing?”

“Oh, I’m cleaning the files. You haven’t been ejecting the disc properly and there was a lot of rough data. You gotta take care of your files man, it’s a delicate system.”

“Right,” Logan nodded but looked even more confused. “Would you show me how to - um - eject this… disc properly, at a later date?”

“Sure, Logan.” Virgil beamed, shaking his head slightly at the man’s uncertain tone.

   Clicking a file, an image loaded on the screen and Virgil grinned at Logan in triumph. A small smile sat on his face as he inspected the picture from his and Patton’s high school graduation.

“Looking good there, Lo.” He mused, pointing at the obviously fake smile plastered on their face. “That is a brilliant smile if I do say so myself.”

“I didn’t particularly enjoy the public display, nor the outfit. Have you saved all the images?” As Virgil nodded, Logan shuffled closer and reached towards the arrow keys. “Would you mind if I have a quick look?”

“The laptop is metaphorically yours.” He replied, angling the device closer for Logan to reach.

   Shuffling through the images, Virgil watched Logan’s face light up as each image loaded on the screen. Familiar faces of Roman and Katie flashed up, as well as many selfies with Patton. It wasn’t until Logan must have shuffled into another folder that the tone of the moment shifted; nostalgic joys replaced with sadness as Jason’s face began appearing in each photo. Selfies, photos taken from a bystander of the two close together, and shots from track races slid across the screen. 

*art by @the-pastel-peach​*

A new emotion snaked into Virgil’s gut that he hadn’t felt in a while. Jealousy. The happiness that emanated from every photo of Jason and Logan made Virgil’s stomach churn. It was different to the smile he saw in the photos with Patton; a clear indication of how different Logan’s relationships with both were.

Logan paused on an image of Roman holding Patton bridal style with Jason hugging Logan to their left; the biggest smile Virgil had ever seen spread across Logan’s face.

“You look really happy there.” He noted, half smiling at the sad man beside him.

“We were… but it wasn’t enough for Jason.”

“What do you mean?” Leaning back in his chair, Virgil knitted his brow in confusion. “Everything I’ve seen, and from what you’ve told me, it seemed you were both very happy. He loved you.”

A breathy laugh left Logan’s lips and he pressed the arrow key again, causing a video to begin playing. “Not enough.”

   Virgil watched the recording in silence; Logan leaning back and staring at the screen sadly. Jason held the camera on himself in dim flickering light, the muffled thump of music in the background as he spoke.

   “Hey, Lo, you left your phone behind, so I thought I’d leave a little message for you. I don’t know when you’re going to watch this or if I’m going to be with you, but whatever.”

He took a breath to steady himself and looked straight into the camera with soft determined features.

“Logan, we met in the best way possible; beating up a homophobic asshole and getting locked in a cell together. You were the first person from school I came out too and, by default, I was the first person you came out to. We went from strangers on the track, to friendly competitors, and I relished every opportunity to take you on. I held your hand when you came out to your parents. You were there when my Dad passed away. You supported my move to help Katie and Roman. I watched you beat my school track record and handed over that title with pride and an embrace they’re still talking about.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled to himself.

“And shit, you’re a good hugger, Logan. I mean, 10 out of 10 better than Patton.”

      Logan let out a small laugh and swiped a tear that escaped his eye; ignoring the voice screaming for him to stop the video before it ended.

      “Anyway, what I’m trying to get at is, we’ve been through a lot together… and, I want to go through more. So, Logan Mars…will you marry me?”

Jason broke into a laugh and swiped his eyes, before steadying the camera again.

“Let me know at your earliest convenience. And if not convenient, let me know all the same. I love you, Logan. But I know that’s no mystery to you.”

       The video ended on Jason’s half smiling face and Virgil sniffed, not even registering that he had even started crying. He had no reason to cry, really. He didn’t even know Jason, and yet he was crying. Jason had proposed. Logan had been engaged to marry the man he’d lost. It made it even more jarring when Logan spoke next.

   “He didn’t love me though.”

“Are you insane?” Virgil gasped, gesturing to the screen. “He proposed. Isn’t that the very definition of love, Logan? I didn’t know him, but Jason clearly loved you a lot.”

“That’s just it, Virgil.” The man turned and met his eye, “it looked that way to everyone, but I wasn’t enough.”

“Wha- How?”

“Do you know what happened after he recorded that message?” Logan paused but he wasn’t expecting an answer; merely allowing himself the chance to take a breath. “E’s sister had thrown a party at her house for the science majors. I’d just left because Patton wasn’t feeling well and accidentally left my phone behind in my rush. After recording that message, a fire broke out in the house and Jason went in to help get everyone out.”

Silent tears slipped from Logan’s eyes as he spoke, but his voice didn’t waver as he continued; Virgil remaining transfixed by every word.

“He pulled E out of the flames because she passed out in the lounge room; dropping my phone as he left to go back inside. He went back into a burning building, Virgil. The man who just proposed and was safely outside, went back in because he couldn’t leave it alone. His need to save everyone outweighed his love for me.”

Now Logan’s voice broke; no longer holding back his emotions.

“I wasn’t enough. My love wasn’t enough. Why wasn’t I enough for him, Virgil? Why didn’t he love me enough?”

   The room froze and Virgil’s lungs stopped working as he was hit with déjà vu. His own voice asking similar questions.

Why wasn’t I good enough for him?

Why doesn’t she love me?

Am I not good enough anymore?

   “You are enough.” Virgil demanded, initiating a hug he never thought he would ever willingly engage in. “We both are. Regardless of what others say.”

The words weren’t his own; parroted from a voice of his past that Virgil struggled to believe most days, but today he needed to believe it for Logan’s sake. They both needed to believe it.

Hands gently rubbed each other’s backs, a soothing support for each as their breaths calmed. Silence filled the air the longer they remained pulled close; neither wanting to move while they were raw with emotion.

“You are the first person I’ve shown that video,” Logan whispered; breaking the silence. “I kept his proposal to myself this whole time.”

“Why me now?” Virgil said in confusion, shifting slightly as his muscles ached from being still so long.

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you regret showing me?”

Logan shook his head against Virgil’s shoulder and breathed deeply. Despite his response, part of him posed the same sort of questions - why did he show Virgil? Why was he so eager to share everything with someone who was still an acquaintance? As his mind wondered, the silence stretched on again until a sigh cut through the still air.

“I’m no stranger to loss, Logan.” Virgil whispered; all fear washed away with his tears from earlier. “My only family is an aunt that I’m paying back for bailing me out, so I know what it’s like to feel alone…but you are far from alone.”

As each word was comprehended, Logan found his mind clearing; accepting the words of the man that felt far from a stranger to him.

“You have Patton, and Roman, and Katie, and E and…”

“You?”

Virgil chuckled and gave him a squeeze, “Yeah. I guess you can have me too.”

   They stayed together for a moment longer before slowly separating so Logan could grab something softer than the napkins they had on hand to clean up. Virgil picked up his phone and saw his dishevelled face in the reflection, before setting it down on the table and requesting directions to the bathroom.

“Upstairs. It’s pretty easy to spot.”

“Thanks. I’ll, um, be right back.”

   Logan sat back down at the computer and continued clicking through photos. He still didn’t understand why he allowed himself to get caught up in the images and reveal so much to Virgil. He was suddenly very aware of how impolite it was to meet someone and show them videos of your deceased partner so you could cry on their shoulder. Confusion aside, he felt a lot better in doing so and Virgil had even opened up slightly. The younger man had obviously lost his family in a way Logan could only assume was outside of the norm, and he was thankful they opened up slightly.

Watching the images flick by, he jumped as Virgil’s phone vibrated on the table. On impulse alone, Logan tilted the phone up to look at the illuminated screen before realising it wasn’t his own. Quickly setting it back down he moved into the kitchen and opened the fridge just as Virgil made his way down the stairs. He hadn’t meant to read the message, but he couldn’t take it back now and Logan knew he couldn’t broach the subject with Virgil. It left him silently shuffling through the kitchen in silence as he mulled over the message’s meaning while Virgil tapped away at the laptop keys.

   “Um, I’ve cleaned the drive and it should work fine for you now.” Virgil proclaimed, packing up the materials on the table.

“Thanks…for everything.” Cheeks heating with embarrassment, Logan took the drive from Virgil’s outstretched hand. “I got a little caught up in the moment and wen-”

“It’s fine, Lo.” As Virgil looked up from his bag, a genuine smile spread across his face. “Really. It was…nice and - um - I-I have a question.”

“Oh, sure. What is it?”

Pulling his bag up and over his shoulder, Virgil fiddled with his bag strap nervously and forced his mouth to cooperate.

“I know you’ve got a busy few days ahead, but…would you like to hang out again? At some point.”

“I’d like that.”

   Looking at Logan had Virgil’s heart racing and suddenly the voices were back. The woman’s voice disgusted at the idea of a man loving a man. The young men joking and teasing. The woman’s screams of anger. But then there was another.

I will still love him regardless of who he loves. He’s my son. Nothing will change that.

   "Logan?" Virgil's voice was suddenly small and quiet, and Logan peered over his glasses in confusion by his sudden change in demeanour. "Can I... Can I hug you? Again."

Though initially taken aback, Logan nodded and closed the gap between them; Virgil dropping his bag strap as he wrapped his arms around Logan’s torso. Their heights weren’t close, so Logan lowered himself slightly to allow Virgil’s head to rest comfortably on his shoulder. The hug was different from what Logan had previously experienced. Not awkward and full of sadness like before. Not dainty like his past girlfriends. It was hardly snuggly like with Patton and nothing like Jason. Jason had been a rock. Firm and supportive. Virgil was... Sturdy and soft. Like he would hold him up but could also crumble at any moment.

   The instant Logan’s arms embraced Virgil, he felt safer. The negative voices were silenced and all he heard was the voice of his grandparents. Supportive, accepting and kind. It felt right and for that time, he felt truly safe.

The sound of Logan's phone broke the peace of the moment and Virgil quickly drew back; not wanting to keep the man from checking it. With a sigh, Logan looked at the message on his phone and then back to Virgil.

"I need to go into work for a bit; Maggie isn’t well. I'm sorry, Virgil. This was meant to just be a nice lunch and I-"

"Thank you, Logan."

"What?"

"I think. I think I really needed today."

"Oh. Well, you’re welcome, Virgil."

Lifting his bag back over his shoulder, Virgil smiled up at Logan. "I should get back to the library and do some work befo-"

He was cut off by his phone ringing; Logan noticed Ben's name lighting the screen and the way Virgil’s hands immediately began to tremble. "I've got to go."

"I just have to grab my uniform and I'll drive-"

"It's fine, Lo. I'll walk, I really need to go."

There was a significant shift in Virgil’s tone and demeanour that had Logan very concerned about the message he’d seen earlier.

"Virgil? What’s wrong?"

“Nothing. I’ll catch you later, Lo.”

The door accidentally slammed shut as Virgil rushed out, swiping the screen to answer Ben’s incoming call; leaving Logan alone with seeds of worry taking root in his stomach.

   *************************

    "Bless you." Patton maintained a smile as he offered the tissue box to the student that had just covered their worksheet in a spray of saliva. "Cover your mouth next time, please."

"Yes, Mr Smiles."

Ignoring spit and snot was all part of the job in Patton's eyes as he continued to read the questions on the slightly soggy sheet. Working with children was something Patton had known he wanted to do since he was in middle school. It was one part wanting to encourage creativity and another part wanting to be better than some of the teachers he had had. The volunteering he did at the moment did nothing for his bank account, but Patton found he was learning a lot more in those few hours he could manage in a classroom compared to the hours spent on campus.

   As the final bell rang, the small group farewelled Patton with hugs before racing out the door and, after bidding the supervising teacher farewell, he soon followed behind. Despite being eager to leave, Patton did make the effort to stop by the staff bathroom and smother his hands in disinfectant; knowing how crippling a cold was for Roman in more ways than one. Leaving the bathroom, the school echoed with the students' yelling and laughter as they flooded the sidewalks to begin their journey home. When Patton finally exited the building, he found himself quickly dodging the kids to reach the man leaning against a tree to the side. Pocketing his phone, Roman looked up just as Patton wrapped their arms around his neck; teasing him with a kiss.

"I come to pick you up and all I get is a lousy kiss on the cheek." Roman pouted.

"There are children present, Ro, and I don't see your valiant steed anywhere to take me away." There was a wicked gleam in Roman's eyes at Patton's words that made him giggle in anticipation. "Unless you've got your car hidden nearby?"

"My car wasn't coming anywhere near these little door bangers." The comment got an eye roll in response, but Roman stepped back and grinned regardless. "However, I will still be picking you up." "Oh no, no, no." Red bloomed on Patton's cheeks as he realised his partners plans. "I can't do that here, Ro." "Why not? It's just a piggyback, Pat. No one will even notice if you don't screech like a banshee. Now hop on."

Patton glanced around nervously as Roman turned and braced himself for him to jump on. Part of him knew it wasn’t professional to behave in such a manner; however, his inner child could not be denied for long and Patton was soon on Roman’s back. Ignoring the few looks of distaste, Roman strode down the path as Patton recalled his day happily in his ear.

  It wasn’t long before Patton noticed the change in Roman’s pace; tiring from early morning rehearsals and a shift at work. Knowing he would never admit to his aching muscles, Patton turned his head to whisper towards Roman’s ear.

“Time to put me down, dear prince.”

“What are you talking about?” Roman huffed, shifting his arms to rebalance the weight on his back. “I could do this all the way home.”

“I know you think you can, but you shouldn’t.” Patton said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Now, put me down, please.”

It took a bit of wriggling on Patton’s part, but eventually Roman admitted defeat and let the man down. Standing beneath a tree, Patton shook his head as he watched his partner run through a series of stretches.

“Maybe it isn’t a good idea to do stuff like that anymore, Ro. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Are you implying that I am too old to give piggyback rides?”

“No,” Patton fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he spoke; feeling guilty as Roman continued to stretch. “But I am. And I know I haven’t kept as fit as Logan sinc-“

“Don’t you dare go there, Patton.”

  The use of his name in such a serious tone, had Patton gluing his gaze to the ground. Roman was no stranger to his partners train of thought, and they were about to jump onto a negative track he didn’t want them travelling down.

“Age is but a number and you know how I feel about body image.” Straightening, Roman reached out to lift Patton’s chin and make them meet his soft brown eyes. “I want to carry you around until we’re old and grey.”

“And even then, you will probably still try.”

“You bet I will, because I just love the way it makes you smile.”

Dropping his eyes, Patton smiled as he pictured an elderly Roman trying to lift him from a wheelchair. His thoughts were pulled back as warm lips connected with his own. Lifting his arms to wrap them around Roman’s neck, Patton lent into the kiss and allowed himself to get lost as they automatically responded to each other’s movements.

  The serenity of chirping birds was broken by rolling wheels clacking on concrete and children’s laughter was carried through the air. As the noise came closer, a smile pulled Patton’s lips away and he pressed his forehead on Roman’s; breathing deeply as he watched his partners eyes shift behind closed lids.

“I can feel you staring.” A wicked smile spread across Roman’s face and one eye slid open slightly. “You like what you see?”

“Not really,” eyes snapped open as Patton lent back with his own mischievous look, “I’d prefer to see it with a hint of powdered sugar.”

With a wink, Roman knew exactly what Patton was insinuating; they had baking to do.

“What are we waiting for? We have some sugar to acquire!”

Grabbing his partners hand, Roman practically dragged him down the path in excitement; quickly overtaking the group of children that had just past them.

    ****************

    As the afternoon began its shift into evening, the meeting members each prepared themselves for the emotional catch up ahead. Ethan finished boxing up mixed sliders for the group just as Roman messaged that he was parked around the side of the diner. The couple had changed clothes following a messy baking session at Roman’s house; kitchen quickly wiped clean to hide their shenanigans from Katie. The sugar scent from the cookies filled Roman’s car and was soon mixed with the diner’s aroma as Ethan climbed inside. Keeping their greetings brief, the music was turned up as the group made their way to the library.

    Collecting a cooler bag from the passenger seat, Logan locked his car and headed into the library through the back door. He was surprised to find Katie alone and setting up a picnic rug in the middle of the reading area.

“Hey Katie. Where’s Virgil? I thought he was helping you set up?”

“I was going to ask you about that.” Katie said as she straightened and followed Logan towards the kitchen area. “He called and said he had a friend to visit and he’d do the clean in the morning instead. But, I’m not sure about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something was off.”

Logan placed bottles of drink in the fridge and looked over to Katie’s thoughtfully knotted brow.

“How so?”

“Something in the way he spoke. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something definitely wasn’t right. Did everything go okay with you two today?”

“Well… it didn’t go bad.” Sliding the leftovers he had forgotten to give Virgil into the freezer, Logan turned and shrugged at the woman behind him. “There were some… low points. But, otherwise, it was a rewarding experience.”

It didn’t feel right to disclose all that had occurred, and he didn’t see any reason to share the private message he’d seen. Katie didn’t seem convinced and Logan sighed as he took out his phone.

“If you give me his number, I can send him a message and check in.”

“Thought you would have exchanged numbers by now.” She commented, setting her phone to send Logan the contact information he needed.

“I’m not going to feed your little fantasy and respond to that comment.” Logan smiled and sat on a nearby chair to type out a message. “Why don’t you go finish shutting up the front of the library and I’ll set up back here.”

“Sure, Lo. I’ll give you and your phone some privacy then, shall I?” With a wink, Katie headed towards the libraries front to lock up and shut the main computer down for the evening.

Alone at the back, Logan typed out a brief message and waited patiently for a reply.

  Logan: Hi Virgil, this is Logan. Thank you again for your assistance today. It was very much appreciated. In our rush this afternoon, I forgot to pass on some additional payment for you. Could we possibly meet at the library tomorrow for me to exchange it?

Virgil: let it go Logan. I don’t need anything else from you.

  Logan was unsure of how to interpret the tone of Virgil’s message. There were multiple ways he was able to hear it in his mind. Left to dwell he would have fixated on the negative connotations, but Patton, Roman and Ethan’s entrance pulled him away. Sliding the phone into his pocket, Logan shifted his focus to the friends he had in his company. An overdue meeting was ready to occur.

____________________

End Note

Wow, it has been over a month since I updated. Jeepers that’s a bit of a wait. Sorry about that. It may be a similar thing for the next chapter because my idea of updating fortnightly just hasn’t worked out in the long run. Too much untamed creativity and not enough time.

 I have mixed feelings about this chapter. I love my analogical, but the royality just isn’t flowing for me at the moment. Not quite sure why.

 Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter and the art by @the-pastel-peach. Now you can get a bit of an idea of how I see Jason. The red streaks were my way of connecting him to Roman (red, Roman, fire – it all relates). I think that might do for commissions for this for now though. I haven’t really got any scenes that stick in my brain (even though I would love to see E and Katie). Don’t forget to like and share Peach’s post if you enjoyed their artwork. Please don’t repost the art yourself, only share posts by Peach or myself.

 Thanks again for reading. Happy timezone, friend 💜🐌

Tag List (let me know if you want to be removed)

@notalwaysthebadguy​      @thequeensphinx​    @ollyollyoxinfree​   @celeste-tyrrell​     @pumpkinminette​    

_____________________________

Chapter 11   — MasterList

What else have I done:

The Perfect Ring (oneshot - analogical proposal)

You Promised (oneshot - prinxiety angst/injury/near death)

Sides of a Hero (Completed Fic - sides are fusions of impulses and aspects of Thomas. Virgil has a depressing past that he is forced to face thanks to Deceit and Rage. Was canon compliant at the time of completion)

The Shield to your Sword (WIP - A fantasy/magic au - Prinxiety (Royal Roman and orphan Virgil - they’ll admit to their love eventually), Virgil angst, non binary, healer Logan, *spoiler* Patton)

Writing Master Post

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles​

[themockingcrows]

Familiar ch. 3: Sensory Overload

Also available on AO3! This chapter is SFW. John/Dave

Prepared to learn or not, there's only so much a human can do in the face of sensory overload. Especially when that human used to be a bird.

    One thing that John had not anticipated for those first few weeks with Dave was the sheer amount of sensory changes his friend was having to cope with all at once due to his transformation. Noises that would startle a bird were still enough to make Dave caw in upset and flare his wings out, though now it was a lot more to contend with than just a large bird. A human shouting in upset at noises and knocking things over with wings was a lot to handle in the face of breakable objects around the house. Emotions were confusing and hard to deal with when there wasn’t vocabulary for it yet, things much more complex now than they used to be in his mind. Tactile touch, sense of smell, taste, different textures. Comfort things that Dave had done before were either out of reach or very different now, leaving him with fewer ways to soothe himself to boot.

    This burden fell to John, and to a bigger extent his more prepared father.

    Between lessons on the alphabet and colors and shapes and words for household objects came time experimenting with basic things like wearing clothing, using the utensils right, and building up hand eye coordination for complicated tasks. When there was time, they tried to find things that would help Dave be comfortable and calm, trying to teach him words and phrases to match different emotions and feelings and sensations so he could develop opinions and let them know more of what he was thinking or feeling when upset. It was stressful, all of it, and there wasn’t even the comfort of being able to perch on John’s shoulder again like the old days. Years of the same habits had died the day Dave was changed, with nothing remaining exactly the same. Only he had changed, but the entire world may as well for how it left him free falling those first few weeks.

    When he reached his limits Dave bit his nails, bit his forearms, bit John, even bit James a few times when he was startled or angry, unable to give warning pecks and too upset to remember the words to signal that he needed something to slow down or stop for a second. Touch was difficult sometimes, different textures made him upset as often as they made him croon with wonder and delight, and different noises were as hit or miss as the music John played. Scaling high places to glide, wings too small for proper flight, was a consistent way to upset the others in the household, same as splashing as much as he wanted in the tub despite needing to clean his feathers now that he couldn’t simply preen with his beak. John helped with loose feathers now, with itches, with simply ruffling his fingers through the body warmed feathers to make him croon softly in relief, but the words he now knew to give his thanks felt hollow compared to the sounds he knew instead.

    Today was originally going to be some writing alphabet practice, but when Dave was too frustrated it had turned to shapes, then to simply coloring to try staying inside the lines best he could while being told the colors he picked up and repeating them. It wasn’t as much as they were aiming for that day, but if it was what Dave could handle, it’s what they’d do instead.

    “Dave, do you want a snack?”

    “Want a snack?” Dave repeated without looking up. Of course he wanted a snack, he always wanted snacks, treats were important gifts from John and all the snacks he’d been presented with so far had been delicious. He glanced up before following when John rose to get what he recognized by now as popcorn from the pantry, putting it into the microwave and starting it up. Popcorn butter quickly melted as the pops began, and Dave’s feathers ruffled as he stared at the rotating bag from the doorway, unblinking in case the repeating sounds turned to something new.

    “I don’t think Dad’ll mind if we have some of this, we ate a real lunch,” he said. Ham sandwiches with cheese made melty in the microwave had been pretty satisfying, especially once he got Dave to stop playing with the cheese strands after every bite he took. James had set off early in the morning once the boys were fed and settled, promising to be back later in the day once his errands were done. A normal premise, John was no stranger to being home alone.

    Er. Well. Semi-alone. Less alone now that his playmate was the same size as him.

    When the popcorn popped, John transferred it carefully to a large bowl and brandished it at Dave with a grin. “Hey! Want to try catching it? You were pretty good at it before,” he said, tossing a soft white kernel into the air before casting a quick breeze at it, letting it bob in place.

    “Catching it!” Dave repeated eagerly, entering the kitchen with heavy steps to hop after the kernel on the balls of his feet, wings flapping to try gaining extra height every time John bobbed it away. Eventually he dropped it, letting Dave catch it in his mouth before he danced back with a handful and a laugh, sending them up to gently float at different heights. They both spent the next few minutes devouring the popcorn that way, first Dave hopping around merrily catching popcorn bites in his mouth whenever he could reach them same as he would while he was a bird, then with John joining in by bouncing around to try getting to them first.

    The game ended when they wound up smacking face first into each other and falling over, John clasping his mouth with a wince and Dave flailing his wings as he struggled to right himself before remembering… oh, right, arms and hands. John didn’t rise quickly, instead focusing on his mouth still, cussing under his breath.

    “John?”

    “Ow, ow, ow. ...Oh!” he said, finally sitting up. A thin trail of blood ran down over his lips, with more on his fingertips. A small white object rested between his fingertips, pink and red at the edges. When John grinned, there was a gap at the left corner of his lip where a canine once rested. “Dave, you knocked out my last baby tooth!”

    Blood. Dave saw the blood and despite the smile on John’s face, started to tear up.

    “Dave? Wait, wait, no, it’s okay! They fall out! I’ll have another one!” he tried to explain. “Remember when I was younger, I’d put teeth under my pillow? And you kept trying to take them? Remember me wiggling them all the time? Same thing! It was gonna fall out anyway sometime. Promise, it’s okay!”

    “It’s okay,” Dave repeated, though he still looked ruffled at the edges, eyes watery and red and his nose sounding stuffy. He came closer and reached his hands up to pat at John’s cheeks, at his shoulders, wanting to nudge and nuzzle at his face despite the blood to make absolutely sure his friend was okay. John tolerated it, but eventually had to push him gently off.

    “Here, let me rinse this off and rinse my mouth real quick, everything tastes gross,” he said. “You can stay close, just give me a second.”

    John was rinsing his mouth out in the sink when James came home, a box under one arm and a curious look on his face as Dave turned to look at him. Oh, no, tears again? What happened this time, had there been a squabble over something? John turned immediately and beamed, displaying his tooth like a trophy.

    “Dad! Look what Dave knocked out!”

    “Excuse me?” he asked, setting the box down before coming closer to take a better look at his son’s new gap, hands on either side of his face to try holding him still while he squirmed.

    “I mean. It was an accident,” he explained, gesturing to the bits of popcorn on the floor and the few that remained in the air. “We were having fun and kind of uh.. Yeah, bashed into each other.”

    “Does it hurt?”

    “A bit, but not a ton,” John promised. “It literally just happened, you almost walked in on it!”

    James released John’s face and accepted the tooth he offered instead, lifting it up to look at it. “It’s a beaut though, isn’t it. Tooth fairy wll have to pay nicely for it since it’s one of your last ones,” he chuckled.

    “Daaaaaaaaaaad.”

    “All I’m saying is certain fairies appreciate how hard you’ve worked at dental hygiene over the years,” he continued, leaving the room for a moment with the tooth.

    Dave rubbed his face and watched him leave with the tooth before looking to John curiously. “Dad?”

    “He’s just going to put it with the other ones probably,” John soothed as he went to the popcorn bowl, taking a handful out to carefully pop a piece at a time into his mouth, avoiding the new gap for now by chewing in the back. “He has a jar with every one of them in it in his closet. It’s kind of weird to see just how many I’ve lost.. It’d be like if I kept every single one of your feathers. The big ones, at least.”

    Dave gave him a look, trying to wrap his head around it, and nodded. Teeth were confusing. So far all he knew about them was that they could fall out, and needed to be cleaned with sweet tasting paste every night or they’d.. also fall out but in a bad way? Maybe the bad kind meant they wouldn’t come back, which was kind of a scary concept. With a beak he’d been able to do just fine, but now that he’d experienced teeth and chewing it was hard to imagine not having them. He’d starve. John would starve.

    He made a mental note to ensure John brushed his teeth with him every night, just to be sure he was safe.

    When James walked back into the room, it was to return to the box he’d brought in, pulling it open before gesturing to Dave.

    “Before I forget, come on over here. I brought some toys you might like.”

    “Toys?” John and Dave said at the same time, both coming closer to munch and examine what was on offer, John a bit dubious as to his dad’s choice of toys for a former bird. He looked even more doubtful when what was inside looked like-

    “Dad, these look like toys for babies,” he decided.

    “There’s one for dogs, too,” he said. “But that’s not the point. The point is that Dave might like some of these, they’re a bit similar to his bird toys.”

    James tipped the box Dave’s direction and encouraged him to paw through it, grinning when he discovered a soft elephant toy with a flat body that crinkled like thick plastic underneath the fine cover of cloth and started to crank it this way and that with both hands. Another item jingled, another squeaked, another crinkled with finer plastic. Nothing to choke on, everything looked sturdy. There was even a fidget spinner inside, which absolutely fascinated him into a delighted cawing fit once he realized that now he himself had one that he was able to use with his own hands instead of just pecking at the one John had played with for a while.

    “There’s one more thing, though I don’t know how long it’ll last,” explained James as he reached to the bottom of the box and lifted up what looked like a necklace with a pendant on it, carefully sliding it around Dave’s neck. When the boy froze and looked confused, he simply picked up the pendant portion and pressed it against his lips for him. “Go ahead. This is alright to chew on, apparently. Don’t bite yourself anymore, okay? Bite this if you need to chew something.”

    “That’s kind of gross,” John admitted as Dave opened his mouth and bit down tentatively. A few more attempts and he seemed content to gently nibble at it before looking back to the crinkling toy, taking it with him to the living room and abandoning the rest of the box for now.

    “It may be, but if we keep it clean it should be fine. He’s shat on your face as a bird, John, I think a bit of spit won’t kill you,” James said simply, dusting his hands together to signal a job well done.

    “...Why the baby toys, though, Dad? I don’t get it.”

    “They’re similar to his bird toys, like I said. ...But I also did a bit of looking around and guessing,” James said as he took some of John’s popcorn for himself, popping a kernel into his mouth before crossing the room to check in where Dave had gone, content to find him settled on the couch with his new treasure placidly. “A lot of his senses are new, and he seems kind of overwhelmed all the time. He bites things. So.. why not give him familiar things in pleasant packages, and something that’s not us to bite on for now? I don’t imagine he’ll need or want them forever, but until he can adjust more it seemed a kind idea.”

    John pursed his lips in thought and let his mind walk through that. Okay, sound logic, he could follow it. Even if it was weird to him that Dave was so enthralled by a baby toy, it made more sense when he thought about it in the context of a bird playing with something. Dave was notorious for plastic bag playing and things that made sounds, he’d have loved all these things if he’d been able to play with them the same way.

    “...Should I do anything different?” John asked suddenly. “I mean. I’ve been trying to teach him stuff and you’ve been teaching him stuff, but he’s been really upset recently. Am I doing it wrong?”

    “I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong, son. I think it’s just a lot for him to take in, and that’s nobody’s fault,” James reassured him.

    “Except for the one who turned him into a person,” John muttered under his breath, sulking.

    “What I’m saying is it should get better in time. Just try to have some patience, and take it one day at a time,” chuckled James warmly. “Things are already going by quickly. Someday you’ll look back at this and remember it all fondly.”

    “...I don’t think I’ll remember being bit fondly, Dad.”

    “You’re being too negative, John. I remember you biting me constantly when you were a baby. Those teeth of yours could do some damage when they were coming in,” James said as he went to get the broom, idly sweeping the few fallen kernels up to tidy his floor. “Now. Go keep Dave company and see if you can squeeze a few more things in before later. It’ll be time for your lessons soon. Did you remember to get some practice in with your spellwork? Manage any good ice?”

    “Does thinking about ice count..?”

    “Not quite, son. Not quite”

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

    The new items seemed to help, much to John’s relief. Whenever Dave grew frustrated and tried to bite, he could tell him to chew his necklace instead and deal with the agitated grumbled caws as those sharp white incisors dug into the chewy material instead of his skin. He tended to keep one of the new toys with him whenever a lesson was happening, sometimes interrupting John’s talking with crinkles or jingles but otherwise paying attention and doing his best. With work and patience they mastered the alphabet, mastered writing Dave’s name, John’s name, and started to tear through a first grade reader by writing different words as they read them.

    John’s lessons progressed over the months as well, keeping up to date for his age and otherwise progressing in honing and casting his magic. His scores were always on the average side of things, but that was far from discouraging. So long as he wasn’t behind, that’s what truly mattered, and that he was happy learning. ...And that he was keeping that blossoming magical ability in check. A lesson on weather charms had brought about a multi-day rain that not even James was able to break without causing a lot of people to notice, leaving the boys stuck indoors save for brief dashes Dave made outside to spread his wings and shake water between his feathers.

    James glanced out the window with John as fat droplets spattered the glass and showered the muddy yard with cascades of water, clouds heavy and dark over the tops of the trees. He hummed a bit.

    “Perhaps I should have taught you a smaller charm first. You’re so inclined to weather, it’s hard to judge how strongly you’ll cast one of these.”

    “Should I just kind of avoid weather charms?” John asked, a little eager to avoid this happening again. Being stuck inside was fine and dandy when there were video games or other things to do, but when storms were bad his dad said it was safer to leave some things unplugged to avoid them being ruined.

    “No, they’re important to learn and can come in handy. They’re traditional,” James said. “Mages were called upon for ages to help with the weather, and sometimes even when they weren’t called upon directly they’d lend a hand when they could if it was safe and prudent to. And with you having such a strength for storms and wind, knowing how to control that is important.”

    “How about making it stop.”

    “Yes, that’s important too,” he sighed. “Order of operations failure on my part. Like getting you on a bicycle and letting go without teaching you how to stop first at the top of a hill.”

    “At least there’s no tornado?” John said hopefully.

    “I’m still listening for any sirens, this is a big storm,” James said. “But I think you’re right, no tornados. ...At least we don’t live down by the ocean, I’d need to worry about typhoons and hurricanes from you as a toddler.”

    A shape darted past the window, dark and light in unison, catching them both by surprise. Dave had made another run for freedom, wings spread and feet sinking into the mud. He’d ditched his shirt but seemed to have left his underclothes on at least after the last break for freedom, standing in the downpour and shaking his feathers out blissfully as if it were an icy cold shower.

    John sighed.

    “Lemme go get my umbrella,” he said before his father could even ask him to go fetch his friend. “Dumb bird brain, he’s gonna get sick if he keeps it up!”

    “I don’t think he really understands that risk, John. Perhaps if he does get a cold it’d be a learning opportunity,” said James with a chuckle.

    “Says the one who doesn’t have to sleep with him plastered all over his side, I don’t want snot on my neck!” John complained, stomping his feet into his boots and popping his umbrella open outside the door before darting outside.

    James stayed where he was to watch the conversation back and forth between the two boys, John trying to talk Dave indoors and Dave stubbornly cawing and resisting. They both wound up in the mud, umbrella snatched from John’s hand by the same breeze that tipped his balance just enough off kilter to make him fall ass over tea kettle and into the mud puddle of a yard with Dave. A wrestling match ensued, none of it in anger, though some of it in frustration on John’s part considering how well he’d been doing at personally keeping dry during this entire storm till then.

    “They’ll both end up sick and I’ll have to explain why chicken soup isn’t cannibalism,” James sighed. “...Perhaps it’s time to think about bunk beds, though,” he mused to himself, taking in the general size of both boys. John had yet to hit his next growth spurt, and there was no telling what Dave would wind up growing like for certain, but one thing was for sure: space would soon be at a premium in the house with two growing boys inside of it. Mind still full of thoughts, he went to the front door to call out into the downpour.

    “Rinse your feet by the door and go straight to the bathroom for a warm shower, I’ll set clean clothes on the hamper for both of you. Chop chop, you’ll catch your deaths out here!”

    “HE STARTED IT!” John declared, face a mud pie and glasses askew.

    “Started it! Started it!” Dave declared merrily, teeth flashing in a grin before he laughed a bright, natural sounding laugh with only a hint of a caw.

    John stared at him before looking to his dad, then down at himself briefly.. before breaking out laughing as well at the entire situation, noise half drowned out by the rain.

    Okay. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

    “Finished it!” Dave amended suddenly, jumping up and shaking off thee excess mess he’d accumulated on his skin and the lower edges of his feathers, splattering John with mud anew and getting some in his mouth.

    ... Then again, maybe it was.

[olliefilm]

Films of the Decade (1 - 10)

10. Bait

Bait slips onto the list in the nick of time It is a 90 minute, black-and-white film, shot on 16mm with a fully post-dubbed soundtrack, set in a Cornish fishing village. As a technical exercise, Bait is enrapturing. The village is trapped in a filmic past, with a Pathé-like atmosphere tied with a bygone era of thick fog and a thriving industrial landscape. This stylistic choice pares back the clutter of modern soundtracks and brings to the fore an elegiac and foreboding mood. Bait is a wonderfully strange film, and let’s hope the enthusiastic reception in Britain spreads internationally.

9. Mad Max: Fury Road

Mad Max: Fury Road has become the model/rebuttal for how high octane action should work. I don’t think it’s an original model. I still think a lot of the giddy nut-and-bolts foundations of Ozysploitation is carried on into Fury Road. Of course, this time the budget is larger and the audience is wider. Fury Road will be on many people’s list due to many technical elements coming together - believe or not - carefully and with precision. No big wonder that it was the most awarded film of the 2015. George Miller brings out the eccentricity of the characters and the cars with the same glory as we’d expect from a Tex Avery cartoon. So often we are used to action fatigue that when something like Mad Max: Fury Road crashes in, it’s like fresh oxygen. Too right, good action is the hardest feat to pull off.

8. Araby

Araby is a 2017 Brazilian film I just saw this year. A few critics have mused whether what they saw is the Film of the Decade (this claim was initiated by The Hollywood Reporter’s Neil Young, and followed up by Guy Lodge of The Guardian). It would probably be a stretch for me to include it as one of my Films of 2019, but no matter how many cinemas it missed, I still think Araby is indicative of the one-man’s odyssey through worn-down labour. What astounded me is how the film itself stumbles into a story: the first twenty minutes is a kitchen sink drama until a young boy finds a journal of a recently deceased factory worker. From there, it is a film about somebody else; the factory with a more lyrical story than expected. It’s a simple turn which makes sense. Araby is that journal; a precious story stumbled upon.

7. The Master

There Will Be Blood was the film of the Noughties. Over this decade, there were two end-of-year lists which had a Paul Thomas Anderson film at the top. Last year it was Phantom Thread, and back in 2012 it was The Master. The coolness of The Master is that most of the cinematic elements displayed have a drift to them - the hypnotic Jonny Greenwood score, the near-floating camera movements, and the frames which show Joaquin Phoenix as a character who could fly into an explosive rage or lie aimlessly hanging off a ship. It is, indeed, a demonstration of a filmatic masterclass. Phoenix and Philip Seymour Hoffman are the compelling acting duo ever put to film this decade.  

6. Burning

South Korea has built a reputation of making some of the most warped psychological thrillers of the 21st Century. This year, Bong Joon-Ho’s simmering social treatise Parasite became the first Korean film to win the Palme d’Or at Cannes. The year before, Burning was touted as the being the frontrunner at the same festival. It is a film which is beautifully mysterious and an outstanding example of side-swiping the audience. What starts off as a love story turns into social critique, but then becomes a film about a possible murder mystery. It might be asking more questions than answering them, but all the questions are tactfully scintillating. Burning is two-and-a-half hours long, I was gripped enough to yearn for an extra hour.

5. The Act of Killing / The Look of SIlence

Joshua Oppenheimer’s double bill The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence make up for the most revealing documentaries of the decade. Both are gut-wrenching, devastating, and mentally exhausting. Especially in The Act of Killing. In what could’ve been a chargeless stunt, the participants of the Indeonesian Communist Massacre are given the resources to produce a film depicting their crimes. The end result is something disorientating, gleeful, and utterly grotesque. Something that lets us, the audience, into their callous ego. By the end, something manages to penetrate. One of the massacre orchestrators find introspection. It is an extraordinary moment. Unforgettable.

4. La Quattro Volte

La Quattro Volte is a made up of four segments, each encompassing the Pythagorean “Four Turns” of life: the human realm, the animal realm, the plant realm, and finally the mineral. As the synopsis indicates, it is a film with a lot to project. Deep thought, awe, and contemplation; the wonderful thing about La Quattro Volte is that it is dialogue free, only an hour-and-a-half long, and spatially aware without coming across as sparse. It’s a methodical film with room for humour. In fact, one long static shot of an uphill street gave one of the biggest laughs of 2010. It will be known as That Goat Film, but La Quattro Volte has more to say than most films twice its length.

3. The Social Network

For half the decade it seemed that The Social Network was set to be the defining film of the decade on the basis of social relevance and evocation. Yet Facebook grew exponentially and so are its issues and, arguably, its dangers in modern society, to the point that the Facebook of 2019 is not the Facebook of 2004. Yet David Fincher has a grapple on the foreboding; of what is lingering in the air. With Aaron Sorkin’s script, the characters are intimidating in their quick-fire smartassery. In the end, there is an inclination that they are stepping down into a rabbit hole. The Social Network is expertly crafted and understands that it need not be a film about Facebook. It’s a film about reputation, legacy and control.

2. Boyhood

For the last three years of the decade, I knew that the toss-up for the top spot was between Moonlight and Boyhood. It was pretty close to being a tie, and part of me wishes it would be. However, Richard Linklater’s Boyhood is an epic which lives up to its broad title. Better yet, it doesn’t follow through just one person’s navigation through life and phases: it follows the mother, the father and the sister. Linklater does it on a level which is without any hint of labour. Even with music and technological cues, it is still hard to pinpoint any jarring moments where the boy has gotten a year or two older. So take this as being indicative to Boyhood’s effortless brilliance: only now am I mentioning how the director filmed it over the span of twelve years.

1. Moonlight

Frustratingly, the envelope mix-up at the ceremony overshadowed any right Moonlight had to bask in prestige. It should’ve been a moment of pure celebration, because Barry Jenkins’ film is tremendous: a semi-tragic parable of a boy in three stages of inner turmoil. It is about sexual awakening, parental guidance and, yes, racial preconceptions of manlihood. On a stylistic level, Moonlight has a wealth of cinematic hues; Nicholas Britell’s poignant score feels like a boy trying to float on the surface of the ocean, the lighting is beautiful and it heightens those interludes in between the fights and shouting. Far from me to fawn over what has already been trumpeted, but Moonlight is extraordinary. The Academy may never be this right again. 

Top 20 Films of the Decade

1. Moonlight

2. Boyhood

3. The Social Network

4. La Quattro Volte

5. The Act of Killing/The Look of Silence

6. Burning

7. The Master

8. Araby

9. Mad Max: Fury Road

10. Bait

11. O.J. Made In America

12. A Separation

13. You Were Never Really Here

14. Force Majeure

15. Paddington 2

16. Girlhood

17. Under The Skin

18. Dreams Of A Life

19. Song Of The Sea

20. Locke

[ariadnelives]

Chapter 7 -- The Nightmare

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3]

“I hate this lady so much,” Pilar practically snarled as she adjusted the ship's course. “Was she ever young, do you think?”

“Nah,” Ariadne said from the passenger seat, trying in vain to get a spoon to stick to her nose, “I feel like she's probably been an unpleasant old crone forever.”

“She was probably already on Calisto when they got there and they just built the bio-dome around her stupid rocking chair.”

The Jovian moon Calisto was now within visual range, and the rest of the viewport was filled with yellow and orange swirls. No matter how many operations they ran through the colonial moons, they never quite got used to the scale of a gas giant. Jupiter and Saturn took their breath away every time they looked at them. Something primal and hard-coded into their DNA told them that this was not something they were meant to see, and yet, here they were, a stone's throw from Jupiter.

The ship pulled closer to Calisto and Ariadne abandoned her spoon effort to pull out fake IDs to get into the bio-dome.

They got into the dome without incident, found a small garage to park in, and gave an almost comically large tip to the downtrodden-looking lot attendant.

La Pesadilla's high-rise apartment was at the top of a building whose elevator was constantly broken. While a woman of her means would be able to have it fixed, she liked that it was broken because it meant anyone who wanted to visit her would have to take the stairs.

Ariadne quickly repaired the electromagnets, actually making the elevator much faster than it was before it had broken, and wrote “HA” on the “Out of Order” sign. They were at her door in seconds.

La Pesadilla answered and, like Jupiter, her appearance never ceased to shock Ariadne and Pilar. At a glance, one might guess she was 90 years old. Her skin was eerily reminiscent to a well-worn catcher's mitt both in texture and coloration. Her expression was about as friendly as a large-mouth grouper, and under her tattered bathrobe was an inexplicable t-shirt depicting what appeared to be a zebra wearing sunglasses and smoking a cigar. Whether she wore pants under the bathrobe was up for speculation.

She walked with a cane, even though she did not need one, simply because she liked to jab it at people when speaking.

“You didn't fix my elevator, did you?” she more snarled than said.

“Nope,” Ariadne lied.

“Good, I like it broken,” La Pesadilla grumbled, “makes it harder for people to drop by and ask me favors.”

There was a moment of silence in the hall as Pilar and Ariadne struggled to find the words to respond to this statement.

“Well, come in if you're coming in,” she said, gesturing into the apartment with her cane, “I pay to air condition the inside of the apartment, not the hallway. Every second this door is open is a waste of my money.”

Ariadne and Spacebreather, still at a loss for response, stepped into La Pesadilla's apartment.

The place was decorated like a family-style restaurant, which is to say, the walls were covered with hundreds of curios, oddities, and other units of nonsense which begged the question, “what exactly is the difference between vintage collectibles and old garbage?”

Two other women sat on an overstuffed couch in the corner, their focus divided between small information terminals affixed to the armrests and a holographic table at the center of the room playing an old rerun of Val Deimos, P.I. at an almost obscenely loud volume.

“Balotelli's cheating on his wife again,” said the one on the left, a relaxed-looking black woman of approximately 70 with wraparound sunglasses (worn indoors for reasons that were known only to her) and a blue-and-purple sweater knitted to look like a particularly starry galaxy that Ariadne thought might be subtly swirling and twinkling. “How much do you think he'll pay us to keep it under wraps this time?”

“No dice,” replied the one on the right, a strong-jawed white woman of perhaps 65, wearing a tank top, cargo pants, and combat boots with an iron-gray buzz cut. With one hand, she rapidly tapped on her terminal. With the other, she repeatedly lifted a rather heavy hand weight. She did not seem to break eye contact at any point with the flickering rerun streaming on the surface of the coffee table. “His wife knows. Hired a private dick to tail them last week. Tried to have 'em whacked but lost her nerve at the last second.”

“Do we have the records?” Galaxy-sweater asked.

“I have the contract here,” Tank-top replied.

“We double down. He's up for reelection in May, and I'm sure neither of them wants the scandal breaking in April. Probably pay a pretty penny to keep it under wraps.”

“Sex, betrayal, and intrigue?” Tank-top asked. “This sounds like a pretty valuable story. It'd be a shame if some reporter outbid them for it.”

“Oh my god,” Ariadne cut in, “do you always talk in clichéd banter or is this for our benefit?”

Tank-top stopped her arm curls for half a second and then continued. Galaxy-sweater raised an eyebrow at her.

“Who's this lunchbox?” Galaxy-sweater asked in a derisive way that seemed to be second nature to mean old ladies and made even the most baffling of insults seem to make sense.

“This is that brat I was telling you about,” La Pesadilla growled.

Tank-top did not look away from her television program. “The one who always fixes the elevator?”

“I think so,” La Pesadilla grumbled. She wandered into the kitchen but continued speaking, incrementally increasing the volume of her voice so she could still be heard. “Her name starts with an A, and her wife here is named after … I don't know, some kind of rice dish.”

Pilar pondered this for a moment and resolved to ask Cookie about it later on.

“Shoot, hope that elevator is fixed.” Galaxy-sweater smiled, “I got bad knees and shit to do.”

La Pesadilla returned with two brightly colored plastic cups, filled with a cloudy yellow substance. She practically shoved these into the hands of her guests with a grunt.

“What do… what is…” Ariadne was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. She was barely reaching adulthood herself and she still had very little experience in the department of respecting her elders. She suspected that perhaps sixty percent of the people in the room were not acting as they should, but she was unsure of where she fell in that ratio.

“It's lemonade.” La Pesadilla removed a smallish disc-shaped tin from her bathrobe pocket, pulled out a handful of leaves, jammed them into her cheek, and began chewing them. “You're kids, you drink lemonade. You're in my house, I offer you a drink. The elevator's out of order, you take the fucking stairs instead of trying to fix it. There's rules to this sort of thing.”

“I said I didn't fix your elevator,” Ariadne stammered.

“You always say that.” La Pesadilla rolled her eyes. “What do you want? You're talking through our program.” She gestured at the hologram. The show was popular enough that Pilar had seen this particular episode several times with her parents, and since she had not had parents in approximately a decade, it was a safe bet it was not their first viewing.

“You could always pause it while we conduct our business,” Pilar offered in a tone she hoped would come across as helpful. She took a polite sip of her lemonade, which had no ice and seemed to be little more than powdered mix stirred into room-temperature tap water.

“You could've shown up on the hour, like a normal person, so you don't interrupt the last five minutes of my show.” La Pesadilla slumped into an old, heavily-patched recliner, searched for a small metal jar, and spat the leaves out into it. “So, spit it out.”

Galaxy-sweater let out a small “heh” at her phrasing.

“Why do you come here and bother me again?”

Ariadne finally seemed to find her voice. “We're looking for information.”

“Well, you've come to the right place,” Tank-top grunted, somehow still lifting her weight, “we've got all of it.”

“The Red God cult that's formed on Mars in the last year or so. We need to know everything we can about them.”

“What do we get?” La Pesadilla asked. “I mean, you're asking me to do the opposite of my job here. People pay me to keep their secrets. If I tell you about these guys, I ain't got no leverage on 'em, can't charge 'em for my services, feel? If I'm gonna spill the beans, I gotta know it's worth more than keeping my mouth shut.”

“Cut the crap,” Pilar said simply, “money is no object to us, and I think you'll be pleased with the amount we've deposited in your account as an act of good faith.”

La Pesadilla tapped at her display and raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Well, I'll be damned.”

“You'll get the other half when we have our information,” Pilar said.

La Pesadilla looked at Galaxy-sweater and nodded.

“Think we got something on them.” Galaxy-sweater said, tapping away on her own display. “Yeah, their leader's this fancy scientist turned whacked-out bible nut, calls himself the Zealot.”

“Real original nickname,” Tank-top added.

“Got into some real shady shit.” Galaxy-sweater furrowed her brow at the display. “We got our hands on a few black market ledgers about 20 years back, and the shit he was buying? Banned on just about every rock in the system.”

“Why would someone selling illegal goods on the black market keep a ledger of their customers?” Ariadne wondered out loud. Galaxy-sweater looked at her flatly and gestured vaguely at the blackmail operation they were currently sitting in the middle of. Ariadne took a sip of her lemonade. “I see.”

“You said 20 years ago?” Pilar looked confused. “These guys have only been operating for the past year, year and a half.”

“Nah,” La Pesadilla grunted, “they been around longer'n you kids have been alive. The Red God stuff is new. They used to walk around the moons, door to door, saying that the Earth was a New Sodom that was to be destroyed due to its sin and heresy and that the only way to be sure Jesus would spare the rest of the system was to join their church.”

“Or make a donation,” Tank-top said.

“Course, the day they predicted came and went.” Galaxy-sweater chuckled. “The Earth was still there. Then that happened, oh, five or six more times before everyone stopped giving them the time of day.”

“Buncha idjits,” La Pesadilla mumbled, “Jesus don't need our money, and he's got a whole universe to run. He doesn't go around blowing up planets because some people didn't pray right. All he cares about is if you're a good person. He don't even care if you believe in him if you ask me, just live your life best you can and he won't bother you.”

“Like bees?” Galaxy-sweater asked, smirking.

“Exactly, like bees. You don't bother him, he don't bother you.”

Ariadne thought this moralizing was rich coming from a professional blackmailer, and she couldn't help but think she'd been given the same advice about what to do when you encounter a swarm of bees, but she bit her tongue to avoid starting another tangent.

La Pesadilla took a sip from a nearby mug that seemed to be full of red wine. “Anyway, nobody bought his end-is-nigh crock and, last I heard, he was a pretty sick fucker. He bought a bunch of illegal shit and went underground. Nobody heard from them for a while, and they came back with a new god and a shiny new preacher. Little white girl, 'bout your age.”

Ariadne scowled. “Not even close.”

La Pesadilla matched her scowl. “Kid, if we're talking years, I'm easily five of you. You both got all your original teeth? You're the same age, far as I'm concerned.”

“What exactly did he buy?” Pilar attempted to break the tension. She, at times, was confused by Ariadne's talent for locking horns with grumpy older women, but suspected this was a deeper issue than they had time to unpack at the moment.

Galaxy-sweater looked at her screen. “We got three Cortex brand neural implants. Those things were all the rage back in the 90s, companies used to get them for all the employees so memos would go right to their brain.”

Tank-top laughed slightly. “Yeah, but they got banned pretty quick.”

La Pesadilla took another sip of mug-wine. “Security risk… a lot of bosses got caught snooping in their employee's thoughts. There was one big scandal where a manager tried to increase productivity by planting thoughts in his employees heads while they slept. An entire office working 16-hour shifts and sleeping at their desks because their brain was telling them 'if I stop working I'll die, if I ask for overtime I'll die, if I make a mistake I'll die.'”

“Yikes,” Ariadne concluded. “Go on, what else?”

“Blueprints for immersion pod,” Galaxy-sweater  explained, “That's a VR capsule that uses the brain's visualization center as a processor to create realistic simulations of pre-programmed scenarios. Originally designed for video gaming, scrapped because every focus tester who attempted to play a children's shoot-em-up game had to be treated for very real PTSD, and made illegal after the prototypes were found being used as training simulators for a radical Earth-based supremacist paramilitary corps.”

“I'm sensing a theme here,” Pilar chimed in.

“Here's where it gets really interesting,” Galaxy-sweater said, pointing at the screen, “he bought up a bunch of medical equipment. Machines for growing and implanting new organs.”

“Shouldn't need that,” Tank-top piped up, still watching her show but seeming to slow down on the weights. “I know he was sick, but if he needed a transplant he could get one at any hospital and be home for supper.”

“Could've been for implanting the Cortex device,” Ariadne suggested.

“Could be,” La Pesadilla said. “We ain't here to speculate, we just give you the information.”

“Aaaaand,” Galaxy-sweater reached the end of her list, “one Quantum Shift Generator. Weird little devices, designed for the Shop-n-Go corporation. They had this idea for expanding to the colonial moons that they could just build a single store interior which all of their storefronts would lead into, that way they could have a dozen stores in a bio-dome but only pay one set of overworked employees.”

“Wonder why that got banned.” Ariadne smirked.

“If you're thinkin' it's some worker's rights whatever, you're wrong,” La Pesadilla grumbled, pouring herself another mug of wine from a bottle that had been conveniently located next to the mug on the table. “It's because all the exterior doors led to the same interior, but they ain't give you the same courtesy on the way out.”

“What she's trying to say,” Tank-top said, placing her weight on the ground and reaching for a nearby bottle of water, “is that people would attempt to leave the store only to find themselves coming out of the wrong one. You could end up 15 miles across town in the 40 seconds it took you to buy an iced tea and a candy bar.”

“Would've made a great public transit system if there was some way to predict which storefront you'd come out of,” Galaxy-sweater offered.

“That's all we've got,” La Pesadilla said. “Where's the rest of my money?”

“Now, hang on,” Galaxy-sweater said, easing herself off the couch, “these girls paid good money and we have got one more thing. Been meaning to get rid of it anyway.”

She ambled over to a bookshelf, grabbed a small, shabby-looking paperback, ripped the back cover clean off, and handed it to Ariadne. “They dropped this in our mailslot back when they were still pretending to be Christian. Got a picture of the Zealot on the back. Might help.”

La Pesadilla jabbed her cane towards the closed door. “Now, get out of my house and put that money in my account.”

Ariadne and Pilar put down their half-finished lemonades, more than glad to not have to finish drinking them, and walked towards the door. As they exited, they heard La Pesadilla mumble, “and so help me if that elevator is working.” The door closed behind them and they immediately heard it lock.

In the elevator ride down to the first floor, Ariadne looked at the laminated cover she'd been handed. The photograph was of a white man, perhaps in his 40s, with squinting, intense eyes, a full but neatly trimmed gray beard, a straight, pointed nose, and a wide-brimmed black hat.

She felt uneasy and turned the book over. Something about him, something she couldn't quite place but knew very few others would see, hit upsettingly close to home. She didn't look at it again for the rest of the trip back.