#you can bluff everywhere but inside your own damn head good for you

[muscari-melpomene]

I’m listening to Juno Steel and the Man in Glass again, and y’know what just struck me?

Juno is smarter than Nureyev.

Nureyev is presented as the polished master thief with a thousand faces, sure, but all his skill points are in bluff. He knows how to blend in, how to thieve, and most importantly, how to handle people, string them along with pretty words and meaningful glances. He’s the face, the charm, the trickster.

Juno is none of that. But what we sometimes forget is that Juno was able to make a living as a detective for a while for a reason. He acts as though he doesn’t care, like he isn’t paying attention, but he notices things, and connects one thought to the other fast enough that sometimes even he doesn’t realize it until he’s already acting. He has impeccable instincts, but more often than not, instincts like that come from absorbing dozens of tiny bits of information and subconsciously stringing them together until the conclusion suddenly seems obvious, and it doesn’t occur to him that it’s very likely no one else has noticed.

Juno can’t bluff to save his life (as we’ve seen) and he does tend to the quick & dirty approach to crime solving/crime committing, but even the decision to let himself get beat to a pulp is, at least subconsciously, calculated. Juno is really incredibly intelligent, but with how he presents himself, nobody really notices until it’s too late.

& tbh I love that for him.

[lovelylogans]

the parent trap

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: i said a boom chicka boom!

Logan's swept off his feet. As is Maddox, in an entirely different way.

⁂

Janus breathes deeply and slowly as he fills out the information to check out of the hotel, signing the paper with a final flourish.

This weekend. Done with. The reunion with his son and ex-husband, done with.

The extensive legal battle they’re now apparently embroiled in? Just beginning. Remy Zawistowski has told them it will be a long, long lawsuit. But that paperwork will simply have to wait until he returns to London. 

Now to that damned plane.

“Have a good flight, Mr. James.”

He manages to tell the concierge thank you instead of asking if he’s being mocked.

“Where’s Roman?” Janus asks Logan, tucking his wallet into his jacket pocket.

“He said he’d be down in just a moment,” Logan says, signing off his own paperwork and quadruple-checking for the presence of his passport.

“All right, then,” Janus sighs.

Patton smiles from where he’s waiting, that bashful, sweet smile.

“Have a safe flight.”

“I’d certainly hope so,” Janus mutters.

Patton’s smile turns more sympathetic. “Still not a big fan of planes, huh?”

“I don’t know how anyone can be a fan of planes,” Janus says, scowling.

The elevator door dings, and Janus looks. Ah, there’s his sons. Except…

“Oh, Remus, what on earth are you about to do,” Patton groans quietly.

…except the two boys are dressed identically from head to toe: hair mussed, gold-and-green earrings, button-downs, black jeans, each wearing one of the other’s trainers to create a mixed pair—one with red right-green left, the other with red left-green right.

And one twin is wearing an orange shirt, and the other twin is wearing a pink one.

“Boys,” Janus says. “What on earth are you both doing? We have a plane to catch.”

“Here’s the deal, Dads,” the twin in orange says, in an American accent. “We thought it over, and we decided we’re being totally hornswoggled.”

“Goldbricked.” The pink twin says in the same accent.

“Swindled, even!”

“I blame you for getting Roman that thesaurus,” Janus tells Logan.

“Papa promised we’d go on our camping trip, and we wanna go,” the orange twin says, switching the accent to English. “Together.”

“What camping trip?” Janus says, turning to Patton.

“The one we go on every summer together before school starts,” the pink twin says in an English accent.

Patton visibly falters.

“Roman, this is ridiculous,” Janus says. “Go upstairs, get your things, and put your proper clothes on.” 

The pink twin smiles up at Janus. “Are you sure I’m Roman?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Janus bluffs.

“But it’s kind of hard to be 100% positive,” the pink twin says, switching accents again. “Isn’t it?”

Janus chews the inside of his cheek.

“Boys,” Patton says in a stern tone, putting his hands on his hips. “This is not the time for tricks. You’re going to make your father miss his flight.”

Janus wouldn’t mind prolonging the inevitable flight, actually.

“I know!” Patton says, turning to Janus and brightening. “We’ll check the—”

Except, in a move that must clearly be choreographed, each twin turns, pulling down their left ear.

To reveal identical winestain birthmarks.

Patton slumps, but Janus licks his finger and, in the tradition of parents everywhere, takes the nearest twin and tries to clean away any makeup with spit and his own verve.

“Aw, Dad,” the orange twin says with a laugh. “Won’t it be a shame if you spend all this time trying to rub it off only to find out that one of these is hypothetically applied with waterproof makeup?”

Janus releases the twin, frustrated.

“Remus!” Patton calls.

But the twins are prepared for this too.

“Yes?” They chorus in sly London accents.

“Say ‘ears,’” Janus demands.

“Ears!” Both twins declare, in a thoroughly American accent.

Patton bends forward, staring the orange twin in the face, then the pink.

“This one’s Remus,” he says, pointing to the orange twin. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Pa!” The orange twin says, bright and chipper. “It’d sure be a pain if you ended up sending the wrong kid all the way back to England.”

“But hey, if you’re totally sure,” The pink twin says.

For not being raised together, the pair of them wear smug on their faces in the exact same way.

“Here’s our proposition,” the pink twin says, stepping forward, then beckoning the orange one to stand beside him. “We go back to Pa’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Janus splutters.

“And,” the orange twin says. “When we get back, we’ll tell you which one’s Remus, and which one’s Roman.”

Oh, nuh-uh, no way.

Janus James does not do camping.

“Or,” Janus says. “You do as we say, and I take one of you back to London, whether you like it or not.”

The twins beam up at him.

⁂

Patton probably should be acting a bit stricter and sterner about this.

Probably.

But he’s just so gosh darn excited.

For the first time in their lives—in his life—he gets to bring both of his boys along on the yearly Big Camping Trip. Remus, naturally, has thrived in the times of Big Camping Trip; he’s always been the sort to run out and get muddy, he’s a quick learner, and, of course, all things gross and mucky in nature that seem to drive some away only draws him in.

But now he also gets to bring along Roman.

He is a bit nervous; Roman is, after all, a city boy. But Roman’s also a city boy who just spent his entire summer at an outdoorsy camp. 

Patton hopes, very selfishly, that camp didn’t teach Roman everything about thriving outdoors. He’d like to share this with him too.

But there is someone who isn’t very happy about this latest predicament.

“Patton,” Maddox hisses as Patton hauls the boys’ bags of supplies into the trunk. “What am I meant to do at home for three days—sit at home and knit?!”

“It’s a bit of a sticky situation, honey,” Patton says.

Maddox buzzes right on by the pun. “Sticky situation?! What do you mean, sticky situation, what exactly—?”

But, as if on cue, Janus, with sunglasses and wrapped up in a yellow-and-brown flannel that Patton would put ten bucks on him not owning the day before, descends the stairs.

Maddox whirls back to him.

“Excuse me,” he says through clenched teeth. “What is he doing here?!”

Patton sighs, running a hand over his stubble. “That’s part of the sticky situation I was just about to explain, honey. The boys want the four of us to… y’know. Go together.”

“What?!” Maddox says. “What are you, suddenly, the Brady Bunch?! This is ridic—”

“Hello,” Janus says, smoothly cutting off Maddox’s gathering up of steam. “Everything all right?”

“Actually, no,” Maddox says before Patton can jump in. “It isn’t. I didn’t realize you were going on this little outing, and to tell you the truth, I’m not so sure I’m okay with it.”

Janus shrugs. “I agree.”

That seems to take some of the heat out of the situation. Maddox blinks at Janus.

“I mean—ex-husband in the next sleeping bag is a little weird.”

“Thank you,” Maddox says, smiling at Patton, as if to say, there, you see?!

“I absolutely insist that you come with us.” Janus says brightly. 

There’s something about the curl of his lips… something about the shine in his eye… But Patton’s too excited about the concept of sharing this camping trip with almost everyone he loves to really dissect it.

“Janus—” Maddox starts, the smile fading from his face.

“No, really, Maddox, it’s the least I can do,” Janus insists. Patton tries not to narrow his eyes at him; that chipper, cheerful voice… Patton’s heard it reflected through their son back at him over the years.

“Oh, Maddox, that would be perfect,” Patton says excitedly. “What a great opportunity to bond with the boys!”

“Well—” Maddox falters.

Janus smiles, placing a hand over his heart, as beatific as an angel. “I’ve messed up your entire weekend, really, please.”

Maddox hesitates. And hesitates some more.

“I don’t know if I have a ton of supplies.”

“I’ll share!” Patton says happily. “Virgil always says I buy too many camping supplies anyway.”

“I’ll…” Maddox swallows, then, “I don’t know if I have the proper things—”

“Oh, Patton’s an experienced outdoorsman,” Janus says briskly. “I certainly don’t have anything. If he says he has enough supplies to cover you, he surely does.”

Maddox sighs.

“Let me go pack some clothes.”

Patton kisses him quickly on the cheek. “I’ll make sure we’ve got all the things you’ll need!”

And so Maddox goes inside to pack.

⁂

“All right, boys, pay close attention to how I tie in everything,” Patton instructs. “You’d be shocked at all the things in your life that can be helped by a well-placed, well-tied knot!”

“Uh, Dad,” one of his sons says; if solely from the color he’s wearing, a green t-shirt under a black flannel with a black handkerchief tied around his wrist, it’s Remus. “What’s Maddox doing?”

Patton glances over, then down at the boys, beaming. “Your father invited him!”

“What?!” The other twin says; white t-shirt, red flannel, red handkerchief tied to keep his hair out of his face.

“I know it’s a change in plans, but don’t worry,” Patton says brightly. “We should have everything we need, and Remus—whichever one of you is Remus,” he adds obligingly, in case they’ve double-bluffed him, “You know this trail well, we’ve gone on it before, you remember that nice, quiet lake up in the mountains? Oh, it’ll be so beautiful at this time of year, I can’t wait for you two to see it!”

The boys exchange a look.

“All right, back to the knot, now,” he says merrily. “I know you two spent eight weeks at summer camp, but I bet your old man’s still got some tricks up his sleeves!”

The boys sigh, but return their attention to Patton fastening the last of their luggage.

Once Patton ties the knot, tugging on it to demonstrate its sturdiness, he opens the door for Maddox to hop in the truck, then the back door for the boys, then hopping into the driver’s seat himself, and—

“All right, all set?” Janus says briskly, and pokes his head in through the driver’s side door, tapping at the window. “Have fun, you four!”

Patton blinks at him. “I thought we were all going?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” Janus says, turning his face up to Patton’s. “I really think you and Maddox ought to have some time alone before the big day. Plus, it gives me more time to get a solid sketch for Maddox’s wedding suit.”

“C’mon, Dad, that’s not the deal!” The green twin cries out in dismay.

“Oh, honestly,” Janus says dismissively, waving a hand at the boys. “You’ll have so much more fun without me.”

“Look, if you’re not going, I don’t have to go,” Maddox says hastily. “Trust me, I’m not exactly a big nature guy.”

“But this’ll be your chance to really get to know the boys,” Janus insists, his eyes round and shiny as marbles. “After all, after the wedding… they’re half yours.”

Wait. No. His eyes aren’t shiny. They’re glinting.

But Janus just smiles and steps back from the truck, waving. 

“Have fun, you all!”

Patton sees the twins, not quite in unison, cross their arms and scowl and roll their eyes at the world in general.

“Aw, lighten up, kids,” Patton says brightly, turning so they go down the lane. “We’ll have a great time, just the four of us bonding together!”

Weirdly, this doesn’t seem to cheer them up much. Instead, they bend their heads together, whispering in each others’ ears and starting some kind of rollicking hand-slapping game.

⁂

Well, say this for this hiking experience gone awry: it really is beautiful out here.

Roman is in constant awe of how big things are here in the states, this hiking trail being no exception; the woods sprawl as far as the eye can see (some number of miles that Papa has mentioned that Roman has not bothered attempting to calculate into proper metrics) the mountains looming huge in the sky, the trees as tall as skyscrapers. The air here is crisp and fresh; it’s sunny and breezy, meaning it’s not too hot or too cold. 

And Papa, seemingly so caught up in the whimsy and beauty of nature, is having the time of his life.

He knows a surprising amount about wildlife, which, when Roman thinks about it, isn’t too surprising; he makes his living growing grapes, it makes sense he knows a great deal about plants, and therefore a great deal about the animals around them.

Also, Papa just seems like the sort who likes all things four-legged and furry, whether they’re Sammy the dog or a cute little beaver that Papa excitedly points out as they’re near the mouth of the river at the very start of their hike.

Roman learns a lot, actually: like the state wildlife for California (grizzly bears, California red-legged frogs, California dogface butterflies, and golden orange fish for animals; California poppies for flowers, and purple needlegrass for grass), the reintroduction of the once-extinct California Condors and Humboldt Martens, and California’s native and invasive snake populations, most of which are perfectly harmless, but there’s easy ways to recognize the seven venomous ones to steer clear from.

Papa knows quite a bit about snakes, actually, which does strike Roman as odd. It doesn’t fit the furry categories most other animals of fascination have in common.

It’s really interesting, so long as he ignores the one huffing and puffing in the back.

Well. Ignoring him and, of course, arranging some tomfoolery.

They’ve arranged themselves strategically; Papa forging the way, Remus behind him, Roman blocking Maddox’s view, and Maddox trailing behind.

It’s not hard, after all, to nudge a rock in the way enough times that Maddox has to constantly keep his eyes on his absolutely impractical, if cute, shoes, to prevent twisting his ankles even more than he already has. 

Which gives Remus the cover to sabotage tree branches, which gives Roman plenty of time to trip the trapped branches to thwack back into Maddox’s face with just enough inconsistency to be startling each time.

Roman hears Maddox swear—not even remotely creatively, Remus would certainly do better—and grins to himself, watching Remus’s hand come up to his mouth, surely to stifle his own cackling.

It doesn’t take long until Papa’s distracted, having come to a complete stop, his head craned back to look up at the trees.

“Oh, wow, boys,” Papa calls in a hushed voice. “Shh, c’mere! Look, look—up in those branches!”

Roman obligingly hustles forward, falling into step beside his father as Remus takes his other side.

“Look, right there—do you see that? That pretty shade of blue, by this river?”

Roman puts a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun to see a bird—fairly big, and impressively hidden from their main sightline—a big bird with a straight bill, vibrant as a bluebird, winging from the branches down to the riverbank, flapping its great impressive wings.

“That, boys,” his father says, voice soft, “is a tricolored heron.”

Remus makes a sound of recognition; Roman tilts his head at it, then looks curiously back to his father.

Papa smiles, putting a hand on his shoulder, and nods back to it.

“These ones pretty solitary; they usually live in swamps, or by the coasts. Some other herons live by lakes.”

“There were some at camp,” Remus offers. “But I think those were great blue herons.”

Papa absentmindedly reaches over to ruffle his hair. Remus just continues staring, but he leans into the touch.

“Tricolored herons,” Papa continues, “are more common in this area of the world, but pretty rare outside it. I think they’ve been seen as far south as Brazil, almost always by oceans. I’d bet that one’s near breeding season; a male, probably, judging by that color blue, see how vibrant it is?”

“Cornflower,” Roman provides. “On the body, anyway. It’s a deeper blue near the face.”

Papa smiles at him.

“Yeah, sweetie,” he says, gently adjusting his red handkerchief back into place to keep tidy. “Like cornflower blue. That’s a great observation.”

They all stand in silence, for a while, watching the heron bob about the riverbank, eventually splashing in and diving its head down, coming up with something in its beak that it didn’t have before.

“Cool,” Remus says with relish.

“Yeah,” Papa says. “Really cool. Did you see that, Maddox? What a gorgeous bird!”

“Yes,” Maddox says, through gritted teeth, having caught up to them but standing several feet away, eyeing the nonexistent path they’d taken with some caution. “Nature is so… beautiful.”

Remus turns to smile up at Maddox. “Isn’t it just?”

Roman is the one who has to put a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter then.

⁂

And so they trek along; they stop here and there for water breaks, or witnessing some of the unique flora and fauna in this region of California; once, Papa manages to peek through the trees and point out a doe and a fawn just in time for the three of them to watch them cavort about a sun-dappled valley, all of them silent, as if worried that a single word would shatter their Disney-esque sense of peace.

There is a lot of flora and fauna to be seen. Roman spots the promised California poppies, the great pops of orange against the lush green of the grass, which he’d forced Remus to take a picture of for him to paint later. He also gets to see a variety of little mammals scurrying about—squirrels and chipmunks and voles, mostly, but also the occasional little dormouse or kangaroo rat, which makes Remus coo and Maddox squeal. 

No bears or mountain lions or any of the seven venomous snakes that Papa made Remus swear up and down not to mess with, Remus, I’m serious, they could cause some really serious injury, which suits Roman just fine, but seems to make Remus pout a little whenever it’s pointed out.

They also just get to behold some gorgeous scenery: sunlight dappling through the leaves, the view from when they get high up the rocks looking down into the vast forest below, the glimmering, constantly-moving lakes and rivers. 

They make a pretty good pace, except…

“I’m gonna kill my trainer,” Maddox wheezes, plopping down onto a rock and slinging his backpack off his shoulders. “He says I’m in such great shape.”

Roman watches Remus bend down and pick up a rock the size of his fist. Roman quickly busies himself with catching up with Papa, doing something to keep himself from giggling.

“I can’t believe people actually do this for fun,” Maddox grouses.

“Hold on,” Papa says, gesturing to Roman as he’s about to buzz by. “We’re stopping.”

“Again?” Remus groans. Roman turns; Remus has done a decent job of hiding his rock of choice from any prying eyes. Instead, he’s got his Polaroid and digital cameras in hand, as if he’d been evaluating which one to use to take a picture rather than weigh Maddox down. “Pa, it’ll take us three days just to get to the lake at this rate.”

Remus, Roman has noticed, only voices this complaint when it comes to Maddox bringing them all to a halt. He hadn’t breathed a word when Roman demanded they stop for photos of the poppies.

“Maddox isn’t used to the altitude,” Papa explains patiently, for what feels like the hundredth time. “Besides, it’s nice to take our time and pause, it doesn’t have to be such a rush all the time. We probably wouldn’t have seen that neat heron if we hadn’t stopped, would we?”

Roman sighs. “I guess.”

Papa pats Roman on the shoulder. “I want to check our progress and consult my compass, anyway. How about you go grab Remus and use his camera to take a picture of something you want to sketch later?”

Roman pauses. “Erm—”

“Oh, sweetie, the jig’s up,” he says in a warm, friendly voice.

“Aw, man,” Remus says from a distance.

“I guessed on each of you before we even hit the road,” Papa says, fiddling lightly with Roman’s handkerchief. “But the heron confirmed it; Remus would know those types of birds after this camping trip, and you kind of tipped yourself off with knowing some niche color names. Your dad always knew the perfect name for any color we ever saw.”

“Aw, man,” Roman echoes, but does as his Pa says.

“If it makes you feel better,” Papa after Roman’s retreating back, “the pair of you can change on the final day before you get out of the tent and I won’t know which of you’s which for the hike back down!”

That does make Roman feel a little better, but Remus just sighs and holds out the Polaroid for Roman to take.

“I already got some wildflower pictures,” Remus says, “on my digital one” and Roman brightens.

“Thanks!” He says, and pivots to pretend to evaluate. “Let’s see… Maddox,” he says. Maddox turns to him, and Remus immediately takes his opportunity to start piling Maddox’s backpack full of stones, “what do you think I should draw?”

“Oh, what do I care,” Maddox groans. “I’m in serious pain—someone hand me my Evian—”

“Sure,” Remus says, zipping up the offending stone-filled pocket in question, then pausing.

“Excellent,” Roman hears Remus whisper, and spies Remus reach for something out of the corner of his eyes. 

Roman turns slightly to look.

And he sees a squirming lizard cupped carefully in Remus’s hands, only to find purchase on Maddox’s water bottle.

Roman puts the Polaroid in front of his mouth to hide his grin.

“Here you go, Maddy!” Remus says in a bright, friendly voice, handing over the water bottle.

Maddox unscrews the water bottle, tilts it to his mouth, and comes face-to-face with Roman’s new favorite reptile.

Roman snaps a pic.

The resultant high-pitched scream is absolutely music to Roman’s ears.

Maddox hurls the water bottle away from him and falls off of his rock entirely, screaming still; Papa moves past Roman.

“Honey, are you okay?” He says in concern. “What happened?”

“Aw,” Remus says, as sweet as he can possibly sound, carefully lifting the lizard to eye level. “Pa, look! This little guy was on his water bottle! Isn’t he cute?”

“Oh,” Papa says, sounding relieved that it wasn’t an ax-killer come barreling through the woods, from the sound of the screams. “Here, Remus, put the little fella down, he probably doesn’t want to be held that much. He won’t hurt you, Maddox, that’s a perfectly harmless little guy! I bet he’s a—”

“Ugh!” Maddox shrieks, cutting off any semblance of animal identification that might follow. “Get that thing away from me, I hate things that crawl! Ugh!”

Remus looks offended on the lizard’s behalf, but obligingly secrets the lizard out of Maddox’s sight.

He doesn’t, Roman notices, actually let him go.

“Oh—uh,” Maddox falters, making embarrassed eye contact with Papa. “I’ll be fine—just a shock—you go on, you go on ahead—”

“You’re sure?” Papa says.

“Yes, go on, keep going,” Maddox says, “I’ve just about caught my breath!” 

So Papa turns back to his bag, resuming his examination of both compass and map.

And so Papa doesn’t see Remus carefully place the lizard atop Maddox’s once perfectly coiffed hair, falling out of its precious styling with the addition of the sun’s heat and his own sweat.

“Make sure to help Maddox, boys!” Papa says, and briefly forges ahead.

“Sure, you’ll help me,” Maddox growls, pushing himself to his feet and pushing past the twins. “Right over a cliff, you’d help me.”

“Not a bad idea,” Roman mutters into Remus’s ear.

“Yeah,” Remus whispers back, “see any cliffs?”

“Need a hand, Mads?” Roman calls in his brightest voice.

“Not from you, thank you,” Maddox snarls, turning to face them again. “Don’t think I can’t see right through those excuses; I swear I will make your lives miserable from the moment I say I. Do.”

Roman crosses his arms. 

“Got it?” Maddox snarls, and pivots again to follow Papa.

“Got it,” Remus says, then, not quite so loudly, “Cruella.”

“What did you just call me?!”

“Oh nothing, nothing,” Roman says breezily, then, so quietly that Maddox would surely question if he heard it again, “Cruella.”

“Oh,” Roman says, pivoting once they’re both past him. “By the way, Mads? I think there’s something in your hair.”

And with that last rebuttal, as Maddox begins to pat at his temples with a confused look on his face, the lizard slithering forward to put a clammy toe on his forehead, Roman turns and hightails it to catch up with Papa before either of them can be blamed for any resultant screeching.

⁂

Janus excuses himself from any semblance of group activity, citing work, which is good. Virgil only kind of knows how to navigate conversation with his best friend’s ex-husband.

But then that leaves him and Logan, alone in the kitchen together.

“Erm,” Logan says. “Do you have any plans for the day?”

“No,” Virgil says, awkwardly patting the counter. “No, not really.”

“No. Me, either. Would you be open to a proposal?”

“...sure.”

“Roman will be upset he’s missed it,” Logan murmurs, then, “I think the weather today is meant to be wonderful. Would you like to go on a picnic?”

“A picnic?” Virgil blurts out.

“You’d know the most picturesque location, of course, given that you live here. We could pack a lunch, a bottle of wine…”

Logan trails off, then takes his glasses off, removing a small cloth from his shirt’s pocket to polish hem.

“You can say no, if you’d like, I wouldn’t be offended.”

His voice is very even and emotionless. 

“No!” Virgil blurts out. “I mean—No, that sounds… nice. I would like a picnic. That sounds really nice.”

Logan finishes polishing his glasses, settling his glasses on his nose. “Good! Shall we pack?”

“Okay,” Virgil says, “okay. Um—let me grab something from the cellar.”

“I’ll find lunch supplies,” Logan says, and so they part ways, only to reunite at the back door.

“After you,” Logan says, and so Virgil leads him to the stables, and the question begins to echo around Virgil’s mind.

Is he trying to ask me out on a date? he thinks, even as he introduces Logan to the wonder of petting a horse.

“This is Sprout—have you ever ridden a horse before?” Virgil asks.

“Once.”

“Are you comfortable with riding one again? She’s good for beginners; we got her for Remus when he was a kid. I can ride with you, she can take two.”

“Well—yes, riding with someone else would make me feel more comfortable. So long as you don’t laugh at me for how I attempt to mount it,” Logan says.

“I’ll help—here,” Virgil says, moving closer and offering a hand. “Just put your foot in the stirrup—”

Logan does, uncertainly, but then he takes Virgil’s hand, and Virgil helps push him the rest of the way up so that he slings a leg over Sprout, sitting astride.

“Perfect,” Virgil says. “Just like that. I wouldn’t have laughed at you at all.”

“Well, that must be a success,” Logan says. 

Virgil goes and gathers the basket, mounts Sprout sitting in front of Logan, and Logan wraps a surprisingly muscular arm around his waist.

His chest is warm against Virgil’s back.

It’s… very distracting. It’s a good thing Sprout knows the grounds so well, and she never goes into anything quicker than a canter.

“Have you lived in California long?”

“Since Remus was born,” Virgil says. “I was born and raised in Philadelphia—I met Patton when we were pretty young, he was in college and I was bouncing around looking for work…”

And so Virgil tells his life’s story; moving from east coast to west, moving in with Patton to help with Remus and the vineyard, the work he does around the house and around the fields…

Is this a date? Virgil thinks. These feel like the sort of questions one would ask a date.

“What about you?” Virgil prompts. “Have you lived in London long?” 

“All my life,” Logan says, and then he starts talking about it—raised with Janus like a brother, doing a lot of the financial, hard numbers-side of the business for the wedding outfits, living with Roman and Janus’s father to help with Roman all this time…

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Logan says as they come to a stop.

It’s field full of local Californian wildflowers; a hidden gem of the vineyard. Riots of blues and yellows and reds against the lush green grass, hidden from most of the rest of the world by a loose ring of trees.

“This is my favorite place here,” Virgil says, and he loops Sprout’s reins about a tree branch so she doesn’t run off.

Logan’s set out a picnic blanket as he does that; Virgil removes the bottle of wine (a classic Parker Knoll chardonnay) and begins to pour it into plastic cups, passing one to Logan.

“Thank you,” Logan says, accepting it, then, “oh, this smells lovely.”

“I’m pretty biased—but thanks,” Virgil says.

“Cheers,” Logan says, lifting the glass. “To you.”

Is this a date?

“To you,” Virgil echoes, and they move to touch glasses. 

But Logan’s hand brushes against his, and that does it.

“Is this a date?!”

Virgil’s words hang in the air. 

Logan blinks. “Would you like it to be?”

“Do you want it to be?” Virgil says. “It’s just—I’m very out of practice, but. Impromptu picnic… horseback riding… wildflower field… bottle of wine… touching hands…?”

Logan considers this. “I suppose it meets the metrics, doesn’t it?”

Virgil nods.

“All right,” Logan says. “It can be. Only if you’d like it to be, of course.”

“I do,” Virgil says.

Logan breaks out into a relieved smile. 

It’s dazzling. Virgil loses the very breath from his lungs at the sight of it, and he realizes that he really quite strongly wants to see that smile again.

“Good,” Logan says. “I hadn’t considered it, but I would like it to be, too.”

“Okay,” Virgil says, then pushes a hand through his hair, swallowing. “Okay. A date.”

“You say that as if it worries you.”

“Everything worries me.”

“Surely not everything.”

Virgil snorts. “I promise if there’s a thing happening, I can find a way to worry about it. All the psychologists and psychiatrists I’ve ever had say so.”

Logan considers this. “Would establishing clear parameters help? In terms of expectations and potential outcomes.”

“Probably,” Virgil says, which he thinks is the nicest way to say sure, it’ll help some, but I’m going to be anxious about this regardless of how often I’m reassured.

“For me too,” Logan admits. “I was never much of a dater. I have very little grasp on how this sort of thing normally goes.”

“Our situation’s not exactly normal, either,” Virgil points out. “I’m your cousin-once-removed’s caretaker…”

“And I’m your ward’s cousin-once-removed,” Logan says. 

“No mutual friends who intended to set us up, no lonely hearts ad, no speed-dating conference…”

“Just the matter of my cousin’s divorce,” Logan says.

“Yeah,” Virgil says with a big sigh. “That.” 

“Salient points. All right, I suppose it’s time we consider this carefully,” Logan says. “Firstly, if we do indulge in potentially delightful things, and neither of us enjoy it, I suppose we’ll have to suffer a very awkward walk back up to the house and then pretend to find other things to do, at which point we’ll reconvene for dinner and then depart for separate continents shortly after.”

“Only a little painful,” Virgil allows.

“Rather minor hits to the ego, yes, but ultimately survivable,” Logan says. “Then, if we do do those very delightful things and we both enjoy it, then we both enjoy a couple days spent in another man’s company, with the potential to see each other again, considering each of us has a young charge who must be trotted between continents to see each other.”

“Hm,” Virgil allows.

“Not necessarily a deeply romantic long-distance relationship, if we don’t like,” Logan says, scrupulously casual. “Perhaps just a…”

Virgil arches his eyebrows. “An occasional romp in the sheets?”

Logan flushes. “I was going to say mutually-enjoyed dalliance.”

“Oh—yes,” Virgil says, his cheeks heating. “That works as well.”

“We can. Erm. Revisit that proposal.”

“Oh?”

“Perhaps we should start with a kiss first,” Logan says. “Our options are, as discussed—mutual, brief embarrassment; mutual, brief enjoyment; mutual enjoyment that could have the potential to be discussed to be not quite as brief.”

Virgil considers this. He can’t really find a hole in this proposal. So long as Logan keeps to his word—and he seems like the sort who would—the worst of it really is just a little embarrassment. And Virgil gets embarrassed all the time. He can barely check out at the grocery store without getting embarrassed that he’s doing something the wrong way.

With the concept of something so promising… And Logan really is quite handsome…

“Whichever way you consider it,” Logan continues. “I do believe we have nothing to lose.”

“Well,” Virgil says, his voice gone much huskier than normal. “I certainly can’t argue with that logic.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” Logan says, and he leans in and kisses him.

He moves gently and gingerly, as if he’s a little nervous even after all that discussion of the logical thing to do; Virgil certainly can’t blame him, he’s got his hands fisted in his lap to keep from doing anything too improper.

Logan’s tongue brushes against his bottom lip before he pulls back.

“All right?” He murmurs very quietly.

“All right,” Virgil says breathlessly, and they come eagerly back together, and he is no longer worried about propriety, not with the promising hint of tongues and hands and Logan’s body pressed to his…

And so Virgil kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him…

⁂

Roman makes his excuse to step aside as Remus spends a lot of time distracting Pa with questions about potential invasive species they should be worried about. It’s almost too easy, really.

But that provides a fair bit of cover as Pa talks about various fish and plant and bird species that might cause various problems, and the more he talks about various fish and plant and bird species that might cause various problems, the less time he has to notice that Roman is off causing various problems.

Roman slips back at Remus’s side, beholding the lake before them.

“All good?” Pa says, glancing at them.

“Yep!” Roman says brightly.

“Did you do it?” Remus mutters into his ear.

In answer, Roman slips a small piece of sandpaper out of his pocket for Remus to see, then quickly replaces it so no one else will.

“I did the mountain lion stick thing too,” he breathes out, pretending to busy himself with checking his fishing line.

Remus grins. Excellent.

“All right, boys, worms on hooks?”

“Yep!”

Pa glances over at the tent.

“Maddox?” He calls out.

Maddox pokes his head out, looking very uncalm.

“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Pa says. “We’re fishing for dinner!”

“Fishing?” Maddox says. “With worms?!”

“Yep!” Pa says cheerfully. “Should be a lot of trout this time of year.”

Maddox’s eyes go to the twins and, surely imagining what they could do with a canister of unsupervised worms, calls “I’ll spectate!” and quickly reaches for a pair of shoes.

From Roman’s quietly hissed yessss, they’re the ones Roman’s just spent filing away the soles.

“Okay, boys, let’s cast our lines before Maddox gets here,” Patton says. “You always want to look back, to make sure no one’s caught on your hook—here, you two space out, that might get a bit messy later.”

The twins obligingly shuffle apart.

“And back,” Patton says, demonstrating with his own pole, “and… cast!”

Remus and Roman watch their kid-friendly bobbers land gently in the water.

“Good one,” Remus says, “yours got out pretty—”

“OH!”

The Parkers (and James) turn at the abrupt sound.

“Oh, Maddox!” Pa cries out, taking in the scene. “Maddox, are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” Maddox says, teeth gritted, from where he’s landed sprawled in the dirt. He, slowly, gets to his feet. “Must have slipped. Um… I’ll just sit right here.”

And he sits on the rocks right next to the canister of worms, giving them a deeply disgusted look.

Roman and Remus snicker together.

And that’s how their afternoon goes: Maddox, keeping a wary eye on the worms and therefore missing the tiny seashells that Remus sneaks into his pockets for the sole purpose of sticking into his shoes to make them even more uncomfortable; Patton, patiently walking them through the finer arts of fishing; and Roman and Remus, each trying their very best to taunt fish into coming to bite by waggling their poles to and fro to make the bait dance appealingly under the water.

And all the while, whenever Maddox seems to try to get up, he slips and falls on the slightly slicker rocks by the lake.

It’s a lovely way to spend time, Remus thinks, even as Maddox manages to make his way over to Pa, to press his reddened lips against his jaw and murmur in his ear.

Pa squeezes Maddox’s waist comfortingly.

“Papa!” Roman cries. “Papa, I think I’ve got a big one!”

“Oh—coming, sweetie!” Pa pats Maddox’s shoulder before he splashes through the shallows to come help Roman haul a fish to the surface; Roman, straining, looks grateful for Pa’s help to pull it to the surface.

Maddox, seeming to realize that he’s left both Remus and the worms unsupervised, takes one step. Two.

Then he yelps and falls, yet again, right on his ass.

But this time, he manages to land in the muddy banks of the lake.

Remus buries his face in his flannel sleeves before he loses it entirely.

⁂

There is something so soothing to Remus’s animal hindbrain about sitting in front of a crackling bonfire, warmed by it as the lakeside night air cools rapidly around them, huddled in a hoodie alongside his brother, and eating something he’s caught and killed.

And also to see the abject, absolute misery on Maddox’s face as he sits, scowling at them, wrapped up in the itchiest blanket that Pa’s brought. That’s pretty soothing too.

“Here we are, fellas,” Pa declares, approaching with an armful of sticks and branches, “this ought to hold us for a while.”

He tosses a thicker branch onto the fire, poking it into place with a stick, before he settles alongside Maddox.

“You sure you don’t want any trout, Daddox?” Remus says, then, “I hope that’s okay, by the way, if I start testing out dad-type nicknames with you.”

“I think your Dad would prefer if you called me Maddox,” he says pointedly. “And no, thank you. I do not eat trout. For the thousandth time.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Pa says, sounding genuinely contrite. “You liked salmon and tilapia, I just assumed seafood would be a go…”

“I will wait for breakfast,” Maddox says. “What are we having?”

“Trout!” Remus and Roman chorus together, in their most annoying voice.

Maddox lets out a great, frustrated sigh, then slaps at his wrist, missing the buzzing bug.

“I’ve got a protein bar, I think, if you’d like—the trout’s part of the experience,” Pa says.

“Mm, and what’s the other part?” Maddox snaps, getting out the bottle the twins had planted in his pack. “Being eaten alive by mosquitos?!”

“Let me see what you’re using,” Pa says, holding out a hand, and Maddox passes it over then grumpily scratches at the bug bites on his legs.

Pa sniffs it, then, frowning, dabs out a bit of the solution onto his wrist, touching his tongue to it.

“Well, you’ll attract every bug in the state with this stuff,” Pa says. “It’s sugar and water, where’d you get it?”

Maddox glowers at the twins.

“Oh, is that where that went?” Remus says cheerfully. “I saw the idea in a magazine, Pa, sugar-water for your instant coffee in the morning.”

Pa levels a stern look over at him. 

“In a bottle with a dropper?”

Remus just smiles.

“That’s it,” Maddox declares, throwing off the blanket in a huff. “I am taking one large sleeping pill and going to bed.”

Then Maddox gets up and picks up two sticks from the firewood. 

And then he starts clacking them together, leveling an anxious look to the darkness of the woods, where positively anything could jump out at them.

He fell for it, Remus thought gleefully. I can’t believe it, he fell for it—

“Uh, honey,” Pa says. “What’re you doing?”

“I don’t want the mountain lions to—”

But then Maddox falls quiet. Remus snorts around a mouthful of trout.

“There aren’t,” Maddox says, practically gnashing his teeth, “any mountain lions up here. Are there.”

“...No.”

Maddox contemptuously casts the sticks aside. 

He promptly cups Pa’s face in his hands, bends down, and tries to suck the very life out of his mouth, clinging to him like some kind of lousy, lusty octopus.

Remus grimaces at Roman, who looks similarly repulsed.

Pa awkwardly clears his throat, smearing a hand over his stubble, before he sets aside the trout and gives the boys an unsmiling look.

“Boys,” he says. “Those were a couple of unkind tricks to pull. Sugar water? Mountain lions?”

Ah, so he hasn't caught on to all the other ones, Remus thinks. Good.

Pa continues, “I’m not marrying him because he’s Annie Oakley.”

Roman blinks. “Who’s Annie Oakley?”

“This isn’t his thing,” Pa says. “You don’t have to make it harder for him. I know that tricks like this are sometimes the way you show affection, Remus, but he doesn’t know you like I do. Just… cool it. Okay?”

The boys exchange a look.

“Okay,” Remus says. Roman’s staring down at his dinner plate. Remus copies him, trying to seem properly repentant. He looks up just enough to see Pa chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“This is going to spoil that talking-to,” he admits.

“No, no, it won’t spoil it,” Remus says hastily. “You were very effective. Practically harsh, even. I feel real chastened.”

“Yes, definitely,” Roman says. “We’ve been told.”

A grin splits Pa’s face. “Who wants some s’mores?”

“Me! Me!” The boys cry out, and so they set aside the issue of Maddox entirely to enjoy their fire-roasted sweets.

⁂

“Okay,” Remus says. “We have to do something tonight. Something big. Maddox said he’s taking a sleeping pill; that give us a lot of ammo.”

Roman hesitates, scratching a fingernail against the artificial material of their tent.

“I’m not sure about this,” Roman admits. “Do you think Papa will get very angry?”

“Pa? He doesn’t really get mad.”

“He might,” Roman says anxiously. “He seemed upset when he caught us at it.”

“Okay, well,” Remus says. “Think about it. Which is more likely to make him upset? Us pulling a couple measly little tricks, or getting trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who’s only with him for his money, who’s bound to start trying to ship us off to military boarding school in Sweden or some crap, and getting Virgil to move out, which means Pa is going to be all alone with him and powerless to do anything, because he still thinks he loves him?!”

Roman’s face has gone paler and paler, while Remus feels himself getting madder and madder.

“And,” Remus pushes, “all the while, Dad is single and standing there as the worst the one that got away ever? Which one would make him more upset, Roman?! I think the tricks are pretty small fry compared to that!”

Roman sets his jaw. Remus meets Roman’s eyes, which have gone flinty and cold.

“Give me every awful idea you’ve got.”

And, gleefully unfurling the pages of his notepad, Remus does.

⁂

It’s very easy for Janus to get lost in his work.

The idea for a design there, a decent surface for him to doodle here, and suddenly hours have slipped away from him. 

Being in his ex-husband’s house apparently does not quell that urge.

Janus stands, stretching out his arms and wrists, wandering from his office into the hall.

“Hello?” He calls. “Hello, anyone home? Are you back yet?”

His voice echoes down the way; Janus pivots to examine the (surprisingly modern) tastefully decorated living room.

“Logan?” Janus calls. “Virgil?”

Still nothing. He goes, then, to the kitchen, where Logan’s spare glasses cloth is still waiting.

Clutter. Left on a counter. If Logan were here, it would be unheard of.

So he isn’t.

Logan, swept away on a date. For hours and hours.

“Unbelievable,” Janus mutters, and goes about scrounging for dinner.

previous chapter | masterpost | next chapter

[yandere-sins]

I just finished reading all your Haikyuu Kitsune fics and I am obsessed. I was wondering what would happen if kitsune Suna just kidnapped the reader one night and she just wakes up in his Kitsune village tied up lol.

(╯‵□′)╯︵💗

Glad you enjoyed them! Thanks for reading & requesting ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————««       

You were awake for a while already, pondering, when you finally heard the door to the basement open again. Even though you felt exhausted and anxious after the last few hours that you spent alone in the dark, you still mustered up the strength to glare, enough hatred in your gaze that the person entering the basement should have dropped dead if looks could kill. Person? Entity? You weren’t sure how to title him, but any name that came to mind wasn’t a very friendly one.

“You’re scrunching up your face... again,” he noted, and now pointed out, you grimaced even more. Suna either didn’t want to understand why you were looking at him, clearly finding discomfort in your gaze as he opted to avoid your eyes, or he decided to play dumb. Whichever it was, it only made you angrier!

“Seriously...” he mumbled, sighing deeply before placing down the tray he had been carrying, on a barrel next to the stairs. The whole basement was stuffed with things that seemed like they had been standing there for a while, unused and covered in thick layers of dust. Some of the stuff looked like ancient versions of modern tools for farming, but with that man nearby, your whereabouts were your slightest worry.

“I got you some food.”

Placing a spoon into the bowl he had brought, he stirred it briefly, a gooey, thick substance dripping of the cutlery when he lifted it into the light of the candle accompanying him. You, right away, felt anything but hungry, even if you assumed it was just oatmeal. Still, judging from the looks of it, you couldn’t find even one thing that was appetizing about it.

Taking the bowl with him, he walked over to you, a hand reaching out towards your face as you reacted, pushing yourself backwards until your back hit another barrel behind you. The metal chains wrapped around your wrists rattled upon your stir, making Suna flinch away for a second, his whole body stiffening as he looked back over his shoulder and up the staircase. He remained silent for a moment as if he waited for the door to open, but nothing happened.

“Don’t be too loud,” he reminded you for what must have been the fiftieth time since he threw you over his shoulder and made a run for it to this place, a strange, abandoned village in the forest. “They could hear you. Just be warned that other than me, my kin might eat you on the spot.”

Part of you wanted to call this a bluff—just a trick to keep you quiet. But knowing how unpredictable he was, you didn’t want to get to know any other ‘of his kin’ either. This time, you drilled a hole into the hand slowly approaching your face, strained your neck to get it off you. But lastly, he managed to pull on the cloth wrapped around your head and gagging you, making you fear more scratches from the claws on his fingers.

You didn’t know it was possible to feel sore around your mouth but being free of the gag it was the painful reality you were facing. “Eat,” Suna decided, gathering the gunk of a meal on his spoon before lifting it to your lips. “Fuck off!” you hissed at him quickly, turning your head away and making him struggle to hold the spoon properly, dripping its contents everywhere.

“I am doing this for you, you know?” he growled as you two fought over whether you were going to eat or not. Until Suna had enough, his second hand much quicker and less careful in its approach as it clipped over your nose, pulling you forward. You didn’t have enough time to see it coming, gasping as he cut off your air supply and tugged, making you open your mouth wide enough for him to press the spoon forward.

The taste of unseasoned oats and the wooden spoon mixed with your saliva while you tried not to gag from the slime that seemed to slip right down your throat. Before you knew it, Suna let go of your nose, and you didn’t hesitate to spit out whatever hadn’t been forwarded to your stomach yet, the mass spilling all over the floor.

Disgusted, Suna watched you as you coughed, wishing the taste would pass immediately, not even a hint of understanding in his gaze. “For someone so worried about food, you’re very wasteful. Open up, come on.”

You barely had time to recover as he scooped up another mouthful, but this time you felt ready nonetheless. Clenching your teeth together, you waited for him to do the trick again, deciding you’d rather suffocate than accept any food from him, especially one that you couldn’t be sure where, when, and how it was made.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he pressed the spoon up to your teeth, growing impatient as you wouldn’t open up no matter how much pressure he applied. Suna even gripped your chin from below, trying to slam both forces together, but you persisted. You would have been mighty proud of yourself for resisting if not for the oatmeal getting plastered all over your face, its consistency running down your cheeks and lips as Suna threw away the spoon in frustration.

“Fine!” he gnarled. “You want to show me how tough you are? I can do that too!”

As if on cue, the light flickered before going out, but even just the three seconds that you were able to see his bared teeth - his pointy fangs looking even longer than you imagined them from that time he bit you - scared you. It was the first time, but certainly not the last, that you felt yourself submit to him. Like an animal who tugged in its tail, you flinched away, ducking lightly until all you could see were his golden, shining eyes in the dark. Even if it was just a spur-of-the-moment action, you instantly felt embarrassed and upset you reacted the way you did.

“Good,” he appraised your recoiling motion before he moved closer. You felt his body leaning towards you, the warmth impossible to ignore as his arms caged you on either side, barrel in the back and fox in the front. You felt something wet and rough drag over your chin, lips, and cheek before you felt it trying to intrude on your mouth. Even if you wanted to complain, scream even, you found yourself cut off by Suna exploring the inside and catching your voice, the damn taste of oatmeal back on your tongue with no way of spitting it out.

His arms closed in on your hands, long fingers wrapping around the metal restraints and pulling your shoulders down until your hands pressed against the dirty ground, making it almost impossible to move your body like you wanted. The kiss continued, mouths opening for quick breathers in between, and you had to realize that these fangs weren’t optimal to be used for kissing, your teeth colliding with his a few times, and your lips getting caught on the fangs. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but every time it happened, you felt a spark of pain going through you.

The sounds very quickly changed from sloppy to passionate on his side, soft whines and groans escaping him in the breaks. You felt like you were going to die from either shame or the pain of him ending up dislocating your shoulders as Suna kept pressing in further and further, his chest soon enough resting on yours while your hands hurt from being caught in his grip and bracing against the ground.

All that was left when he very suddenly, very unpredictably, pulled away was the taste of iron as his fang finally managed to rip open a small part of your lip. You cursed inwardly as you took deep breaths, trying to regain air and your composure, while you barely heard him whisper something under his own breath. “... too much,” you made out, coming from him before he turned around, taking deep breaths.

“What the fuck--!” you cursed, but Suna was quick to return to you, clasping his hand over your mouth before listening intently. “Shhh!” he hissed, listening again, just like before. However, this time, you collected all the courage you had in you to bite him in the hand, catching a finger to latch on to. Suna noticeably flinched before he pulled away, seemingly looking at his hand for a split moment in an emotion you couldn’t make out. Still, before long, he clicked his tongue and pressed the gag he had taken off you back in place.

Even if you struggled now, he was stronger than you as well as relentless, and after tying a knot in the back, his hands lingered on each side of your head briefly. You could only see his eyes coming closer, but next thing you knew, you felt another kiss to your exposed lips before he seemed to notice the blood, his tongue coming forth to lick the wound tenderly, different from how he treated you before. “Fuck...” he whispered before he finally let you go and got up, his feet barely making any sound as he moved away.

“I’ll be back in the morning, don’t make a sound if you want to survive the night,” were his last words before he swiftly walked up the stairs and out the door, again leaving you behind all by yourself.

What were you supposed to make out of the situation? Why did he bring you here anyway if he was just going to leave you alone? What was ‘too much’, and why did he kiss you again and again? It felt like every time you saw him, you had more questions left unanswered than before. All you knew was that you wanted to go home.

And hopefully, this was just a very awful nightmare you’d soon wake up from.

[stylistiquements]

The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated.  {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing 

Masterlist | Next 

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101​ ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy​ ; @bizarrebibitch​ ; @bellomi-clarke​ ; @ladybismuth​ ; @katyasrussianaccent​ ; @satanhauntedourcats​ ; @owl-llie​ ; @teenloves​ ; @notannis​ ; @mcntsee​ ; @rottenroyalebooks​​ ; @peachdoppi​ ; @mirahg​ ; @foxxtrot-116​ ; @koi-soi​ ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

[spn-rewrites]

01x15 (part 2)

Season One Episode Fifteen: The Benders

A/N: hey guys, keep sending me feedback it’s very much appreciated and also let me know if you’d wanna be added to the taglist for future parts/episodes! please REBLOG if you enjoyed !

SYNOPSIS: on a caffeine high and human remains

WORD COUNT: 2763

Dean tried to avoid the topic of coffee as best as he could, but Kathleen admitted to being a feign and if she was going to help you find Sam, she was going to need the caffeine. 

Even you tried to stop yourself from ordering one but the smell intoxicated you and you couldn’t say no, so now a steaming cup of coffee sits in your hands as you walk down the street. Three sips and your fingertips are already feeling tingly.

“Okay, Officer. I don’t mean to press my luck,” Dean starts as you head back to the cruiser. 

“Your luck is already pressed,” you tell him, earning a wicked glare from his green eyes. “Sorry,” you mumble and look down at the ground, watching your steps. 

“Anyway,” Dean continues, “I was wondering. Why are you helping us out, anyway?” He stops and Kathleen turns to look at him. Your legs are bouncing and you’re itching to keep going but you linger anyway. “Why don’t you just lock me up?”

“My brother Riley disappeared three years ago. A lot like Sam,” she explains. Her voice is strong and sure. Regretful. “We searched for him but…nothing. I know what it’s like to feel responsible for someone and for them….” She trails off and then it’s quiet. No one speaks. Except for the dispatcher on Kathleen’s radio that’s tucked in her cruiser. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s keep at it.”

Kathleen walks away and you bounce on your toes, eager to follow her but you stay back with Dean. He looks down at you. You’re like a little kid waiting for recess or a dog ready to go on a walk. “I really should not have let you get that,” he moans and takes the coffee out of your hands. 

You pout and reach for it back but it’s now a foot above your head. “Give it back!” You huff but Dean chuckles and shakes his head, tossing it in the trash as he heads for the car. 

You drive the same road that you had the night before but now with the sun out, it’s easier to see into the wooded areas surrounding you. Your fingers dance on your knees and you bob your head to the music playing in your mind until Dean makes Kathleen pull over. 

The car tumbled over gravel and dirt and the three of you jump out of the car the moment it’s in park. “This is the jest turnoff I’ve seen so far,” Dean says. If that was true, you wouldn’t have a clue but you trust him anyway. 

The fallen leaves and twigs snap under your feet as you get closer to the tree line. A turnoff would be a bit of a stretch. This is just a muddy pathway that may eventually lead to a house. All you see is dark. “You stay here. I’ll check it out,” Kathleen says. 

“No, no, no. We’re going with you,” Dean says, stopping her in her tracks. She turns around to face Dean, a stern look on her face. It was the first time you’d seen her really look like a cop. 

“You are a civilian and a felon, I think. I’m not taking you with me,” she says. You’d probably feel better staying in the car anyway, but even your racing heart knows that if Sam is down there - you have to go. 

“You’re not going without me,” Dean argues. 

“It’s probably best not to argue with him,” you tell Kathleen. She looks over at you for the first time since leaving the car and she exhales sharply. 

“All right,” she sighs and looks back at Dean. “You promise you won’t get involved?” Dean nods and she looks at you and you nod, too. “Shake on it.” 

Dean holds out his hand, putting it in her small one but she quickly whips out her handcuffs and snaps one around his wrist “What the-“ he mumbles. 

She drags him to the cruiser and snaps the other cuff around the door handle. “Oh, come on. This is ridiculous,” Dean says. You can’t help but laugh at him. “I really think you’re gonna need my help,” he calls out for her as she heads back for the woods. 

She stops where you stood and gives you a look that makes all your jitters stop. “Don’t let him go.” And for some reason, she trusts you when you nod and let her strut off into the woods on her own. Dean looks at you expectantly once she’s out of your sight and you walk over to him, putting no spring in your step. 

“Are you gonna let me out or what?” He asks, throwing his hand up in the air. You cross your arms over your chest and narrow your eyes at him. 

“I don’t know. Should I?”

“Umm, yeah.”

“You threw away my coffee.”

“If I let you drink that coffee you’d be even more useless than you are right now!” He spat. Your jaw drops and you take a step away from him. He reaches his free hand out for you, his fingertips just barely grazing your arm. “Oh, Y/N I’m teasing.” 

“You’re so not teasing,” you call his bluff and his face falls. He’s looking at you the way he always looks at you when he wants something he knows he’s going to get. You know that look all too well. “She took the key with her.” 

“I know you know how to pick a lock,” he says. You let out a breath and search your pockets for a bobby pin but you know you don’t have one. You entertain him, anyway and pretend to look which makes Dean exasperated and annoyed. “Seriously? I should start carrying them around.” 

You look around for something to use. The twigs littering the ground are either too thick or too fragile but your eyes land on the antenna of her car. “You think that’ll work?” You ask, raising your eyebrow at him as he follows your gaze. 

Dean breaks out into a smile. “I could fucking kiss you right now,” he announces, cupping your cheek with his free hand and kissing your other cheek, leaving you a wet and slobbery mess. 

“Gross,” you groan and wipe off his saliva on your face before snapping the antenna off the car. You work the lock as fast as you can but your hands stop moving when you hear voices coming from the woods. “Who was that?” You whisper. 

“Who cares, keep going,” Dean tells you as he glances over his shoulder in the direction the noise came from. You try to focus on the lock but your hands are still shaking from the caffeine and your eyes keep wanting to look over into the woods as the voices grow louder. “Hurry,” he hisses. 

“I’m trying!” You hiss back. It feels like ages until the lock pops open and Dean’s wrist breaks free. He pulls you down to the ground and you cover yourself behind the car. Dean peaks around the hood of the cruiser and when the coast is clear, he grabs your hand and you take off into the woods. 

“That was a close fucking call,” you say, glancing back to the cruiser now that you’re safely tucked away in some trees. Two men surround the cruiser, looking inside it. 

“No kidding lets go.” 

You walk in the woods until you find what looks to be an abandoned house. As the sun goes down, the house looks creepier and creepier. “There’s a barn,” you point. Surrounding the barn it looks like a junkyard. Old cars everywhere. Some stripped for parts, others completely intact. 

It’s just as abandoned-looking as the house. The windows are cracked, the siding isn’t kept well and the lawn looks disastrous but you creep around the side of the barn until you find a door propped open. “Well, here goes nothing,” Dean whispers and kicks open the door with his toe. 

The door freaks and you wince, waiting for it to fully stop and for there to be no noise to continue forward. Inside is dark, hay lining the entire floor. Chains hanging from the ceiling and barrels of garbage everywhere. 

You creep around a corner and your eyes land on a cage. Your brain doesn’t register it at first until you land on Sam. “Sam,” you breathe and run to the cage. He’s sitting on the floor, his knee up and his arm propped up on it. “Are you hurt?” Your little fingers wrap around the bars. 

“No,” he tells you. Dean is soon at your side and he pounds on the cage. 

“Damn, it’s so good to see you,” he says. Sam chuckles and you stick your hand as far as it can go between the bars and Sam grabs it. 

“How did you get out of the cuffs?” Kathleen’s voice makes both you and Dean turn around and your breathing catches, seeing her inside of a cage just like the one Sam was in. 

You blank. Don’t say a word. Luckily for Dean’s quick wits, he answers. “Girls not as innocent as she looks.” You send her an apologetic smile but turn back to Sam. 

Dean starts to look for a way to open the cages while you stay with Sam, rubbing your thumb along the back of his hand. You wonder if he thinks you should be helping Dean but he doesn’t say it. “These locks look like they’re gonna be a bitch,” Dean groans. 

“There’s some kind of automatic control right there,” Sam says and sits up, letting go of your hand. You take this opportunity to see if Kathleen is okay. She’s got dirt all over her white shirt, a cut on her cheek and dried blood under her chin. A quick nod is all you need to feel comfortable enough to return to Sam. 

“Have you seen them?” You ask Sam and he chuckles under his breath. You watch Dean go where Sam directed but his eyes are stuck on his brother. 

“Dude, they’re just people.” 

“And they jumped you?” Dean snaps. Sam shrugs. “You’re getting a little rusty there kiddo.” 

You roll your eyes and wave off Dean. “What do they want?” You ask. Sam grabs your hand again and your wrist starts to hurt from being inside the bars but you ignore it. 

“I don’t know. They let Jenkins go but it was some sort of trap,” Sam explains. Dean flips a few switches, the metal scraping together but nothing happens. “It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, that’s the point,” Dean mumbles, chewing on his lower lip in focus. “You know with our-“ He pauses and looks over at Kathleen, choosing his words carefully. “Our other playmates. There’s rules, patterns. But with people, well, they’re just crazy.” Dean closes the fuse box he was in with a sign. 

“Anything else out there?” Sam asks. 

“Uh, he has about a dozen junked cars hidden out back,” you tell him. Dean checks the locks on Kathleen’s cage and tugs on a chain. “Plates from all over. They probably take their cars when they take someone.” 

“Did you see a blank mustang out there, about 10 years old?” Kathleen asks. She’s looking at Dean but you answer her. 

“We did, actually.” 

Her face falls. Probably not the answer that she was looking for, but maybe the closure helps. “Your brothers?” Dean asks and she nods. “I’m sorry.” 

“Let’s get you guys out, okay?” You say to her. She nods again and you squeeze Sam’s hand and he squeezes it back. 

“I think this thing takes a key,” Dean finally says. “You seen a key?”

“I don’t know.” Sam shakes his head. 

“Let’s go find it,” Dean tells you and you look over at Sam. You pause and he nods at you, reassures you and you stand. 

“Be careful,” Sam calls to both of you right as you’re about to push open the barn door. Dean nods at his brother, the sibling mind communication hard at work and you smile at him. 

The hay and gravel crunch under your feet as you walk from the barn where Sam was being kept to the main house. Inside was dark, the light only from a single lamp hanging from the ceiling. You found a cellar door outside that was open, giving you a perfect way inside through the basement. There wasn't a lot in the basement besides junk, just glass jars filled with, you assume, human body parts. 

Dean leans down to inspect one, his flashlight shining through and he taps on it. “Yikes,” he mumbles. You shiver and continue going. 

The entire space is littered with clutter, so it’s hard to tell exactly what room you’re in but you round a counter and notice a wall, mostly chicken wire, hung with photographs. You shine your flashlight on them and gasp just as Dean finds you again. 

The photos are not of a family, normal humans with mundane lives. No. They are photographs of hunters with an evil grin on their face as they hold up their prize. Not deer. Not bears. Not even fish. Humans. Other humans are their prey. 

“I’ll say it again,” Dean whispers. “Demons I get but people are crazy.” You nod in agreement and head for the stairs that bring you to the main floor. Now, instead of silence, you hear classical music. 

Lightheaded music filled the house. Light from inside making it much clearer in there than in the basement and it seems like maybe a family does live there, just not a clean one. 

The floor creaks under your feet as you sneak down the hallway and past one of the doorways to the kitchen. You sneak a peek inside and there’s a man wearing an apron, cooking something. You’re so busy watching him that you don’t see something dangling from the ceiling and you run right into it. 

They clatter together and Dean grabs them to stop the noise and cringes. You check on the man in the kitchen, luckily the music too loud for him to hear. “What is that?” You ask looking at whatever you ran into. Dean grabs one and looks closer. “Bones?” Dean drops it from his hand and he pulls you further into the house. 

As the main room approaches, Dean grabs a wooden plank from up against the wall and ushers you forward. Your back is pressed against the wall, your whole body tense as you inch closer to the kitchen but Dean stops you and he points to a table across the way. 

The table was cluttered with keys. You nod and silently cross the hall to the table while Dean watches your back. You grab the keyring and loop it around your finger while Dean inspects a jar sitting next to it. A jar of eyeballs. “Please put that down.” 

He does but the sound of feet catch your attention. You stiffen and look back in the kitchen. The man has his back turned toward you, the island counter covered with blood and knives and saws. The last thing you want is to know what he’s doing. 

Dean turns the other way and he grabs your hand firm. You turn to face in the same direction as him and are confronted by a girl. A young girl. With disheveled hair and ratty clothes and a terrified expression on her face. 

Dean hands you the wooden post and you take it. He holds his palms out. “It’s okay. I'm not gonna hurt you,” he says. He approaches her slowly but she takes a step back. 

“I know,” she says and before you have time to react, a knife is pulled from her dress and it’s stabbed into Dean’s jacket. “Daddy!” She yells over and over again until the man from the kitchen appears just as you pull the knife from Dean’s coat. 

Not one, but two men come out of nowhere and attack you and Dean. You whack the girl in the stomach with the wooden post and then go for the man that’s beating on Dean. Dean takes one and you take the other but just like demons, they have no sexism. They beat on you the same as they beat on Dean and then for some reason, they stop. 

“I’m gonna beat your ass first,” Dean says, pointing at one guy. “And then yours.” He points at the other and then all is black.

tagged:  @matchamendes @stuckupstucky @sillydecoy@kaelyn-lobrutto24@liztorr1212 @icanreadbookstoo @rachael-mae @jessewa26 @sundownridge@givemebooksorgivemedeath @alienemilyyyy @teenwaywardasgardian @mpmarypoppins

[forbetterorworsefinalspace]

Shonky

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Final Space

Part: 2

Link-  🌌

__________________________________________________

Still trying to leave Earth, Sheryl is reminded time and time again that bringing her son along is a big mistake. However he can prove useful. 

Meanwhile Gary is reminded that his mother is a very different person from his father.

For Better Or Worse AU

__________________________________________________

“Is this wrong?”

Sheryl Goodspeed paused her actions to looked up at the sky, annoyed beyond belief. They were only a day or two into their journey, they hadn’t even left Earth yet for fuck sake, and the kid was already driving her up the bloody walls! Kid was a friggen Stickybeak, with no idea about his own personal safety, (She pulled him out of traffic twice already.) but somehow was insightful enough to know when she was breaking the law.

Trust John to raise him properly. Now she had to wreck all his hard work…

“Yes, Gary, but we need to do this.” Sheryl said, going back to her work.

They had driven down to a place Sheryl knew people stored their space vehicles during the off season. Rich tycoons that camp in space or some other nonsense. If they could get a craft that doubled as a living area, that be perfect… However she’d settle for whatever was stored in the fenced in yard.

They just needed to break in and steal one.

“Why?”

God fucking damn it.

“I’ll tell you later Gary.” She muttered, shaking her head. “We just have to.”

“But-!!”

“SHH!!” Sheryl spun to looked at him angrily, practically hiss in his face. “Listen here you little Drongo, see that there?!” She yell whispered, jutting her finger to the house just a few feet away. “That house?! If you wake up the person inside, then they’ll call the cops and take us away! You want to go into foster care?!”

The boy gave a frightened shake of his head.

“Right, then you’d best PULL your head IN!” She growled, then was back at the locks. She fiddled away for a few more moments, grumbling when she realized how rusty she had gotten. However she finally heard the tell tale click, pulling it apart and easing the door open with an ominous creek.

She looked around quickly. No signs of dogs. Or anything else. Suppose the guy just trusted his community. It was a high end area of town.

Sucks to be him.

She stepped in and could feel Gary follow behind her. She shut the door so it wouldn’t slam before leading deeper into the yard. Gary wandered a few steps away, with wide eyes.

“Are these… spaceships?” He asked in awe.

“That's a bit generous.” Sheryl shrugged. “More like space campers, space RVs and space cars, I suppose.”

“Wow…” Gary didn’t seem deterred by the explanation. He walked closer to a sporty looking craft. Likely a racing model. “W-what are we gonna do?”

“Steal one.” Sheryl said, looking over a large camper, only to deem it too noticeable and cumbersome.

“Why?”

Fuckin’....

“To go to space.” Sheryl glared at him. “Why else?”

Gary turned to her quickly, slack jawed and wide eyed. He began to bounce in place, growing a very large smile on his face. Sheryl realized what he was going to do a few seconds before he did.

“Don’t you dare!” She snapped, thankfully stopping him from squealing in excitement. She pointed forcefully to the house again, before going back to her search. As she looked, she kept having to make sure Gary wasn’t about to give them away. Sometimes he started talking too loudly and she’s hush him, forcefully. Sometimes he knocked over tins on the ground or started babbling to himself...and she kept having to stop him, wasting time they didn’t have.

This was a mistake.

He was a mistake…

Focus Sherie, focus.

Finally, near the back, she found a suitable ride. Perfect actually. It was a tow along trailer that had a self contained bubble at the front, where you could put a vehicle to move it, one just like her bike. The trailer area was smallish, but suitable. It had a mini fridge, sink, a few storage areas, a tiny bathroom at the back and two slim beds.

First, getting it out.

“Go hold the door.” She whispered to Gary, who actually ran off to do as he was told. With a heavy grunt she started to pull the vehicle from the storage area, hefting with all her might until her arms ached and her legs burned. Halfway to the exit she started to hurt.

Think of John. This is for John.

She managed it out before taking a second to breath. Gary scampered to her side, looking concerned and slightly upset. She frowned up at him from her seat on the ground.

“W-what?” She huffed.

“How were you moving that?” Gary asked. “Didn’t it hurt? Like a whole bunch? Forever?”

Sheryl moaned, standing up. “Well, sometimes you gotta work through the pain.”

“Why?”

Ah, this kid…

“Unpack our bags and get them in the camper.” Sherly grumbled. Thankfully the boy seemed interested in looking inside and ran to see.

Though still sore, Sheryl forced her bike into the bubble to act as an engine. Thankfully the bags were off it now, but looking inside, she could see Gary jumping from bed to bed, a big smile on his face as he made a mess.

Good lord this kid…

Sheryl leaned against the bubble. This was a mistake… and this was her last chance to leave the kid behind. Or at least on Earth anyway. She was tempted, so very, very tempted to just dump him here.I mean, sure he might get blamed for stealing the camper, but he was a kid. They’d let him off easy…

The boy giggled loudly, beds squeaking under his weight as he hopped around like a roided up Roo. As Sheryl put her head in her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose, the boy leapt from the trailer and ran to take a look at the rockets on the back.

This is a mistake.

“HEY!”

Sheryl looked up into the barrel of a gun, she went rigid as a man dressed in his pajamas started to come closer. “Who the hell do you think you are?!” He asked crossly, waving the weapon around.

God damn it, she hadn’t heard the man coming because of all of Gary’s noise!

Still she shifted to an unimpressed stance, scowling slightly. “That supposed to be a trick question?” She asked dryly.

The man huffed and went fumbling for his pocket, not taking his eyes off her. “N-now you just stay right there until my help arrives, or I’ll shoot you! Don’t you make any sudden moves!”

Where did this guy get his dialogue, a cop movie? Sheryl scowled when he pulled out his phone.

“Wassa matter? Can’t handle a lady on your own?” Sheryl scoffed. The gears were turning in her head, trying to think of a way out of this. Thankfully Gary was quiet now, which was making it a lot easier.

She had to kill him. She just needed to do it before he called for this so called help, or else they’d have to make a runner. She tried to lean to one side, inching her hand down her waist to a knife hidden in her boot. Guy was still trying to dial his cell, which was perfect for her. The longer he struggled, the more time she had to arm herself.

She closed her hand around the hilt when the man seemed to notice her strange posture. He straightened his gun out. “Hey! What are you-”

BANG!

Sheryl started, eyes rounded, as the man straightened like a board, then fell to the ground in a heap. Behind him stood Gary, who slapped his hands over his mouth when the man folded before him. A brick clattering down with the guy.

Sheryl blinked.

“O-Oh no! Oh no!” Gary whined, shaking his hands. “I killed him! That not good! Thats super not good!” He grabbed his hair tightly. “I friggen wreck his stuff!”

“Calm down.” Sheryl knelt, feeling the man’s neck. “He has a pulse Gary, you just knocked him out.”

Gary slumped in relief. “Oh thank crap!- Oph!” He flinched. “Sorry…”

“Fer what?”

“For swearing…”

Sheryl stared at him before laughing. “Ah you can swear all you fuckin want. I don’t give a shit. Just be quiet when we’re sneakin around, yeah?”

“Oh.” Gary stared back at her, processing this information, then hunched in on himself and spoke in a very soft voice.

“Fuck.”

Sheryl was… actually amused by this. She chuckled. “Feel good?”

“Yeah.” Gary looked up at her, but seemed a bit gloomy. “It just, dad said I shouldn’t…”

Sheryl darkened as well. “Hmm, he ain’t here now, is he?”

“No…”

Sheryl glanced back down at the man before taking his gun, she inspected it quickly, lining up her sights with it, then checked the chambers.

Empty.

So he was all bluff.

Sheryl tsked, but put it on her bike. Looking over she could see the house was still dark, but the door was open…

“Come with me.” Sheryl ordered before marching to the house. She nudged the door open, looking into the building. She flicked on a few lights once she knew no one was in the shadows.

For such a nice area of town, this sure was a dump. Everything was in a state. Newspapers and used dishes everywhere. There was no art on the walls, hardly any furniture, and it was cramped to hell.

She pushed Gary to the kitchen. “Find some bags and grab some food yeah? I’m gonna look upstairs.”

“Isn’t that stealing-”

“Gary, we’re already stealing. You konked this dude on the head with a brick not five minutes ago.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Just grab the food.”

Sheryl headed up the stairs, to a small bedroom. It was also sparse, the bed was unmade and every surface was covered in junk. She checked a few drawers and looked over the clutter. Then she found something interesting.

“Well, well, well. No wonder this place is a mess.” She said, holding up a tiny baggie of white powder. She opened it, dipping her pinky in and rubbed it on her gums. It dissolves instantly, leaving a bit of her mouth numb. Sheryl smiled. “Hello Basuco, its been a very long time.” She spotted a large amount of the baggies under a shirt. “And you brought the whole family!”

Sheryl wasn’t one for cocaine. She tried to steer clear of it, if mostly because she saw addiction as a weakness. She did, however, dabble in a few when… when John tossed her out. Thankfully she managed to slapped herself out of it a few days in and just stick to beer and smokes.

These would, however, sell very nicely.

She tossed the lot in a bag and kept looking. Eventually she found the ammo for the gun under the bed. Huh, maybe the guy thought the gun was loaded. Then a large wad of cash in his underwear drawer. After stealing her fill she came down, finding Gary struggling with a large bag of food. It was all junk food and things like that, but Sheryl didn’t care.

“Give.” She ordered, snatching it from him. She took everything down to the trailer, before tossing it inside. She looked back to Gary, but the boy was worriedly hunched over the man he knocked out. There was a sizable puddle of blood on the ground now, which she could see from the light of the house.

“Is he gonna be ok?” Gary asked, frowning.

“Hell if I know.” Sheryl scoffed, coming over. “Bleeding like a faucet though.”

“S-so I did kill him?” Gary asked, sniffling a bit.

Ugh!

“What? Your sad that you killed him?” Sheryl frowned. “He was gonna die someday.”

“Yeah, but I killed him! Me!”

“For the love of-” Sheryl knelted, pulled out her knife, and slit his throat in a quick motion. Blood splashed out, but not as much as she expected. He was likely running low, bleeding in the brain. She wiped her blood off on the grass before looking back to her son. “There. Now I killed him.”

Gary stared at her, eyes the size of pin pricks.

“What now?” She asked, exasperated.

“Y-you killed him…”

“Thats right.”

“...Why?”

She rolled her eyes. Again with the why! “To shut you up and because the less people who see us the better.” Sheryl grunted. The boy just stared back, horrified, making her scoff. “Just get in the bloody camper. I’m gonna hide the body.”

Gary slunk away and Sheryl grabbed the corpse by the legs, dragging him into the junk yard, where she covered him with a metal sheet. Her body groaned, unhappy with all the heavy lifting and pulling.

As she finished up, the dark sky rumbled, a few raindrops coming down from above. It was an ominous sign, but also a stroke of good luck. The water would ruin evidence, and the thunder would hide the noise of their take off.

Walking back to their new home, Sheryl could see Gary curled up inside, clutching the bug jar like a lifeline and wrapped tightly under some blankets. She paused, biting her lip and staring at him. He looked pretty messed up…

Well, he’d get used to it. She had grown up around that sort of thing. Maybe not people per say, but animals definitely.

She came to the bike and closed the bubble, climbing on so she could pull the ship into the sky.

“Mom..?”

“Eh?” She didn’t look at him.

“W-why did that guy have to die?” Gary mumbled. “Was it me?”

Sheryl paused again, and then turned to him.

“Gary. In this world, its either you or them.” She said lowly. “Sometimes the best thing to do is make sure there is no them at all. He would have made it harder for us to get away to space. Now that he’s dead, less problems.”

“Oh… ok.” Gary looked to the window as they started to rise in the air. “But why are we going to space?”

Sheryl looked back out the bubbled, which was rippling with raindrops.

“We’re gonna bring John back.”

The ship took off with a rumble, blending into the thunder as they rose to the cosmos.

And one step closer to John.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Light was what destroyed Griffin and Valtor's relationship but she needs to find some more of that if she wants to survive the darkness he left in her soul.

16 - daybreak

Night was the time when witches were at their best, when their spells were strongest and they made their moves, when the darkness wasn’t just inside them but everywhere around them as well and the light coming from the moon was only a warped reflection of the sun rays that didn’t have enough strength to chase away the shadows and they swallowed everything, deciding on a whim whether to spit it back out in the morning or not. Night had been their time as well, when they’d been together and it had been just the two of them, no missions and dangers, no ambitions and goals, and nothing to keep their attention off each other, their passion for each other running free and unrestricted as it only could in the darkness where it was kept safe. So it had been logical for their love to fall apart during the day.

She’d loved the quiet of the mornings when she’d always been the first to wake and she could look at Valtor who’d still been asleep next to her in her bed. Or it had been her who’d been in his bed – it had depended on the perspective. Either way, it had never been their bed. It just hadn’t been meant to be. And Griffin suspected that somewhere deep down she’d always known that. Still, she’d loved to watch him while he slept. It had been the only time she could see the real him. In the day he’d been wearing the veneer of arrogance like a second skin, and at night she’d been too busy exploring his body and enjoying his touch on her skin for her to care about anything else. But when he’d been asleep and the early rays of sunlight had softly caressed his face, she’d been given the opportunity to see through him.

He looked like an angel, and held the soul of a demon, a beast, a monster. And it had scared her as much as it had excited her, for she knew how to deal with monsters, but she’d had no clue how to stop herself from falling in the inviting embrace of the angel. And in the hesitant light of the dawn everything had seemed softer, kinder, friendlier. It had seemed like they could have been happy. And she’d wanted to freeze the sun in that moment because the bright light of the day revealed all the ugly parts that had simply looked mysterious and tempting at daybreak. And how could her light be the source of the strongest darkness in the universe?

It had hurt to accept it, to leave him and betray not only him but herself as well. But really, it was her own damn fault. He might have been made from the Dragon Fire but he’d never been meant to be on the side of light, and she’d known that. He was darkness powered by the strongest source pf magic, the darkness that could snuff out all the light, and she had to stop him. She had to find another source of light for herself to chase away Valtor’s shadows from her soul. So she’d decided to take the hand Faragonda had offered her and join the Company of Light. Maybe that could restore the balance in her soul.

Griffin is studying some books in her quest to track down the Coven and Valtor when Faragonda interferes and learns something she didn’t know about her friend. Could be considered a sequel to “What is the One Thing That Can Never Break?” but can be understood on its own as well.

I’ve had this idea since my birthday so... for three and a half months. I did manage to write it at last though.

44 - study

“Why are you still awake?” Faragonda’s voice startled her.

She’d been so concentrated on studying the maps that she hadn’t heard her approach even in the dead silence of the library in the middle of the night. It was just proof that her work was too important and she couldn’t abandon it in favor of sleep. They had a hot trail on the Coven and it was their first real chance in weeks to actually turn things around. It would be a crime to let that opportunity slip through their fingers, and while she hadn’t protested when everyone else had gone to bed, she’d stayed up to work. Somebody had to.

“I’m not done here,” Griffin said, making her voice cold so that Faragonda would get the message. She wasn’t joking around. She wouldn’t let anyone pull her away from her work right now when she was on the cusp of finding them, of finding him.

“Step away from the books,” Faragonda’s tone was just as grave, making the temperature in the room rise as the atmosphere became tense with the intent they were both putting in their respective stances on the matter. There was no room to breathe as their silent battle of wills gained speed, both of them not moving a muscle in their refusal to budge.

It was the wave of energy that spilled from Faragonda that made Griffin look at her to see the serious expression on her face as the magic flowed from her, both light and dark. It was untypical of Faragonda to let the side of her powers that fed from the negative emotions at play and Griffin wasn’t exactly certain what her friend was hoping to accomplish. If the fairy was trying to convey to her that her actions were hurting her enough to power her dark magic, then it was a waste of time. She wouldn’t let even that deter her from her task.

“Griffin, I am serious,” Faragonda said when Griffin turned back to her books. “You need to go to bed and I will make sure that happens no matter what,” she said, more magic spilling from her in support of her words and it finally dawned on Griffin what was going on in Faragonda’s head.

“You won’t fight me in the library,” she said as she turned to look at her friend, the smile on her face more intended to hide her hurt rather than to express smugness over calling Faragonda’s bluff. It wounded her that Faragonda would try to manipulate her like that, and her heart quivered in fear for a moment as the thought of all of it being an illusion of Lysslis’ crossed her mind but she shrugged it off. She knew Faragonda’s magical signature. It was her friend who was trying to manipulate her. And she had yet to decide whether that was better or worse.

“Oh, yes, I will,” Faragonda said, her body shining as she transformed in her Enchantix to prove her words, the light blinding and painful, and not just because Griffin had spent hours staring at endless strings of words in different languages as she was hunting for the Coven.

“So you’ll fight me–in the library–even though you think I’m too exhausted to be reading?” she asked, no fake smiles this time, just the genuine disbelief in her eyes as she tried to show Faragonda that it was madness. That whole conversation was insane. They were supposed to be friends, not fight each other–in the library–when she was only trying to help.

“If that will convince you to get some rest, then yes,” Faragonda said, her own voice carrying hints of desperation as her eyes begged Griffin to just listen to her and make things easier for both of them. It wasn’t in her power, though, and the energy coming off of Faragonda was only tugging at her own feelings, pulling them to come forward and power her magic to put a stop to this before anyone could get hurt.

She let them out, let them flow and seek out the energy hidden in her, merge with it and power it for her purposes. There was too much hurt and resentment and despair for her to contain them if she wanted her trick to be efficient but there were also the good things. Her love for Faragonda that would never let her hurt her, the gratefulness for having such a devoted friend even when they disagreed, and her desire to protect all the books from any possible damage this argument could have on them. She couldn’t let that burn – all the magic, and beauty, and knowledge. It would be a sin.

It all flowed together and closed around Faragonda, weaving a silvery sphere around her that held her trapped so that they would all be safe, so that no one would get hurt. Griffin had had too much of that, too much of hurting and getting hurt. She had no more strength to go through more of that. She would break too much, more than she already had, and that scared her more with the possibility of it going on rather than with the possibility of it ending when she tired out and was so crushed that there wasn’t even dust left. It was more terrifying to think that it wouldn’t stop even then, that the relentless conflict inside her that kept breaking her apart would go on even when she was just the stardust left after the star had died and its existence was long forgotten.

Faragonda tried everything to break free from her magical prison but none of her tricks worked, even though they had been almost equally powerful the last time they’d sparred together. It had been long ago, though, when they’d still been studying magic in a carefully controlled environment and not in the realities of the war, and Griffin had never suspected she could do the magic she was currently performing. And it had changed.

“How is this possible?” Faragonda asked when she tried to use her fairy dust to escape but it had no effect whatsoever. “How can you be maintaining this level of magical concentration for so long?” she looked at Griffin, leaving the fairy dust alone now that it had proven useless.

“There’s just enough light magic in this to withstand your fairy dust,” Griffin explained as she basked in the feeling of the positive emotions running through her and making her sphere unbreakable. It was proof that she could do something other than destroying and she could keep it up forever. She wanted to. “I can explain if you’re ready to stop this fight and listen?” she offered even though she wasn’t tired and didn’t want to end the connection between her feelings and her magic that made them both much more distinguished and intense than they were when separated. But she didn’t want to physically be in a fight with Faragonda. It was one of her biggest nightmares.

Faragonda nodded calmly and had her winx vanish, leaving her in her normal clothes and as her usual self, as Griffin's best friend that wasn’t trying to fight her when everyone else was, as the warm presence she could always count on when the fissures inside her filled with too much cold.

Griffin slowly let the feelings fade, causing the sphere to do the same and let Faragonda out so that she could join her as she sat down. Probably for the first time in the last two hours. And now that her resolve when it came to the whole situation with Faragonda was more or less put to rest, her energy drained out of her slowly but surely, letting the exhaustion seep in. Though, that could be caused by what they had yet to discuss.

“What we study in Cloud Tower and Alfea respectively is not all there is when it comes to magic,” she said, her gaze on the books in front of her to occupy the part of her mind that wasn’t captured by her explanation but was rather prompted by it to wander back in memories instead. “The schools teach a more clinical approach to magic which is probably a good idea when you have young and inexperienced magic users on your hands, but it leaves so much potential unexplored.” She took a breath, preparing to dive into the topic truly. “We’re taught that magic is a tool and that it needs to be controlled when you use it but that puts a divide between you and your magic that renders you unable to use your full potential.” She chanced a glance at Faragonda to find her listening carefully and if she was drawing any side conclusions, it didn’t show on her face. Griffin’s own thoughts were scattering now that her whole attention wasn’t occupied, though. “We’re taught to look at magic as something that stands beneath us and not as something that stands next to us, inside us, and is a part of us.” You can’t just do magic, you are magic. “When you really connect with your feelings and let them flow without holding them back, they can power your magic with unlimited power,” she said, her voice shakier now as all her strength was going in just getting the words out, and she hadn’t noticed when her vision had filled with tears as her eyes had been busy watching the memories play out in her head.

“Griffin,” Faragonda called, her voice quiet and full of understanding now, asking to stand next to Griffin and not against her as she understood Griffin needed support since rest wasn’t an option currently, and the warmth that washed over her was a shocking contrast to the cold that had lived inside her for so long now. It had her tremble and that, in turn, forced the tears to spill, which also dragged out the sobs in an avalanche of feelings she’d been doing her best to hide ever since she’d arrived and joined the Company. Ever since she’d left him.

Griffin nearly threw herself at Faragonda’s open and welcoming arms, clutching hard at her because she was one of the only two things that she knew for sure. “I have to find him,” she choked out. She had to see him. She had to stop him. But before that she had to see him.

[kaunis-sielu]

Starstruck: 9

You can’t believe it. You cannot believe this. Carol liked your designs, even asked for a few more tops but was already going to begin the process of making your pieces.

You’d picked out some fabrics together and she’d been impressed with your eye. You’re in a daze.

She liked them. You text Steve. Still hardly believing it.

That’s amazing sweetheart! I knew she’d like them! We should celebrate!

A few seconds later you get another text.

If you want to. Of course.

He’s so sweet. Remembering his promise to let you set the pace. You bite your lip, you want to see him but could do without the stress and drama of going out.

I’d really like to stay in if you don’t mind? I could cook dinner or something?

You offer. Almost half hoping he doesn’t agree, your place isn’t one he’d usually spend time in.

Why don’t you come here? You’ve got work. I’m just hanging out right now so I’ve got plenty of time to spare. What do you want to eat?

Oh god. He’s gonna cook for you? More importantly he can cook? You stare at the screen for a second, could he get hotter?

Any kind of pasta.

Something easy. You don’t want him to feel like he has to make some crazy fancy meal.

Sounds good sweetheart. Is Friday okay?

Perfect. What time?

7?

I’ll see you then.

I’ll send a car.

Thanks Steve.

You get back to your desk, a small smile on your face.

“Oooh, you were talking to Steve huh?” Nat teases from where she’s propped against Mora’s desk.

“Yea, he wanted to know how my meeting went. Fun fact. Gamora has a boyfriend.”

You’re successful in completely sidetracking Natasha and Gamora who is now a deep shade of red.

You get back to work, after all you haven’t sold your own line yet so you can’t exactly quit your day job.

“Hey, I got a commission from Steve’s manager Tony for a dress for you for some awards show?” Manti asks a few hours later.

“Yea, any chance you can get me something?”

“I have the perfect dress. It’s a dark green, floor length off the shoulder. It’s fitted through the hips but I want your measurements, like now.”

“Okay, two minutes?” You ask, you need to know how nice you need to dress.

“Sure.” Manti says as she scurries away toward her workspace. You grab your phone and call Steve.

“Hey sweetheart everything okay?”

“Yea, just wondering. This awards show, which one is it?”

“Oh, it’s the Oscars.”

“The Oscars!” You hiss, “Oh my god! Steve!”

“Yea. This is why I didn’t tell you.” He says with a soft laugh. “It’s gonna be totally fine sweetheart.” He’s right. You’re going to be just fine. He’s the one they care about. Not you, you’re just his date, you never see stuff about the dates. It’s fine. You let out a deep breath.

“You’re right. So that answers my other question about dress.”

“Yea, formal.”

“Do you want me to get you a tie?”

“I was thinking of doing a bow tie. But I will need a pocket square.”

“Oh god yes.” You mutter, his booming laugh fills your ear and you place a hand over your face. You can’t believe he heard that. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He says, his voice low.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Thank you for the flowers and the note. They’re stunning.”

“I’m glad you liked them.” He pauses, “Hey, sweetheart I’ve got another call, it’s Tony. I’ll see you Friday.”

“See you Friday.” You hang up then and make your way down to Manti’s space. When you get there she makes you strip to your bra and underwear then measures you. She measures your hips, waist, bust, shoulders, butt, inseam, outside of your leg, even how wide your stride is.

“Damn Manti, how tight is this dress going to be?”

“Not that bad I just want to be sure I have all the measurements that I might need.”

“Can I put my clothes back on? It’s freezing in here.”

“Yea, sorry. It can get pretty hot in here when the machines are all up and running so we keep it cool. Carol showed me some of your line, I love the ones you guys picked.”

“Thank you again for your help.” You tell her tugging on your skirt. You pull it over your shirt then pluck the shirt out a bit over the top edge of your skirt.

“Anytime.” She passes you your blazer and you shrug it on, “What are you going to name your line?”

“I was thinking Knowhere.”

“Knowhere? Why?”

“It’s a pun, since most of my clothes are everyday to business casual, you can literally wear them anywhere.”

“Oh. I like it.” She says with a laugh. “What did Carol say?”

“I haven’t told her yet. So fingers crossed!” You call as you head out the door, “Thank you again!” She waves and you make your way back up to your office.

Carol loves the name and approves it for your line. She also asks you to meet with Viz and have him work with you a little on your men’s line for fall.

You and Steve continue to text throughout the week. He’s sweet and funny, completely charming. Friday night comes fast, faster than you were expecting. The car picks you up at 6:30 and drives you up into the hills. You’ve never been up here before but the view of the city laid out before you is stunning. Steve meets you outside his home, it’s a two story house grey stucco and brick with an arch over the front door. It’s on the side of the hill that overlooks the city and you’d bet the views are phenomenal.

The car rolls to a stop and Steve is somehow faster than you are, popping the door open with a broad smile.

“Hey sweetheart.”

“Steve.” You smile up at him, moving into his embrace easily.

“Is it weird that I missed you?” He hums, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Not at all. I’ve missed you too.” You tell him honestly. He pulls away from you but keeps an arm around your shoulders, you wrap yours on his waist and he leads you into the house.

You were right, the view is stunning. Dinner is wonderful, you and Steve eat out on his porch, it’s so nice to be able to just talk with him. To not worry about putting up a facade in front of the press or any of his fans.

Steve is genuinely stoked for you. It’s so rare to have someone in this city root for someone else to succeed.

He almost forgets to tell you that he landed the role in the action movie.

This also brings his confession that he’s going to have to be gone for a few weeks shooting.

That actually might be okay. You’ll be able to take the relationship even slower if you have to be long distance.

Obviously you’ll miss him, but you’d miss any of your friends that would be gone for a long time and that’s what he is. A friend.

“I’m really looking forward to Thursday.” You tell him, leaning slightly against his arm as you sit together, sideways on a recliner on the porch.

“Good. James Rhodes sent me a tux with a pocket square. You’re going to look stunning in that shade of green.”

“I’m jealous. I haven’t seen the color yet.”

“Do you want to? I can go get the pocket square.”

“You don’t have to. Manti wants to have a fitting tomorrow anyway.” You just don’t want him to move. While you do live in LA it is early February and now that the sun is down you’re getting cold.

“You okay sweetheart?”

“Yea, why do you ask?”

“You’re shaking. And you keep leaning into me more, if you’re cold we can go in.” He says calling your bluff.

“Sorry.” You pull away from him and he loops an arm around you sliding your body flush against his.

“No need.” He mutters, you feel his voice rumble through you. It’s soothing.

“How are you so warm?” You ask burying yourself into his side.

“I have an idea.” He gets up and goes inside, he’s back less than a minute later he’s back with a blanket. Steve sits on the chair like normal then waves you up toward him. “Come here sweetheart.” He says softly and you scoot up in between his legs. He throws the blanket over both of you and you hum happily.

“So warm.” You say relaxing back into him.

It’s not long before your eyes start to droop, your answers to Steve’s questions get shorter and the silence in the conversation is getting longer.

“Do you wanna go home?” Steve asks and you honestly don’t want to.

“No.”

“How about we go inside?”

“So warm.”

“I know sweetheart but you’ve fallen asleep twice and I’ve almost fallen asleep. It’s warm inside and I have some clothes you can sleep in.”

“Fine.” You mumble scooting forward then climbing off of the chair. Steve takes your hand and leads you through the house.

“Alright. This is what my sister always sleeps in when she forgets pajamas.” He says pulling a T-shirt with a club logo on it. “It’s the biggest shirt I own, they were just handing them out at the door.”

“Thank you.” You mumble sleepily, “Bathroom?”

“There.” He points to a door and you go change. When you come back he’s in a pair of athletic shorts and nothing else. The bed is turned down on the other side and Steve is texting someone, he glances up when you come into the room.

“I hope this is okay. My guest room has all my workout stuff everywhere. I can go sleep on the couch if you want.”

“No.” You mumble before climbing onto the bed and collapsing against him. Steve laughs softly before putting his phone on his nightstand, clicking off the light then he wraps an arm around you and sighs softly.

“Night sweetheart.”

“Night.”

Tag list:

@dsakita @patzammit @memyselfandmaddox @dragonborn791924 @dramadreamer14 @mychemicalimagines @albinotigerpython @thinkwritexpress-official @mia-at-work @emotionallysalty @shynara51 @alexfayer @thefanficfaerie

[dtmkarma]

Weird Cutie series

I like to give the men that im romantically interested in space,I never wanted to feel like I was nagging anyone. So I left him contact me. I didnt hear from him again for a few days then he texted if I was free the following week. Of course I'm free, I'm single without kids 26 struggling to run a start up in the south. "Yes, I'm free to hang out". He invited me over to watch this show called pose; it was a show based on the drag seen in the 80s based out of new York. Hed talked about it since I met him so I told him id watch it with him. I was excited again, I drove home after work, showered and shaved my legs finally than put on a pretty ivory dress with pastel pink and black flowers. The dress material hugged my curves just right. I grabbed matching pastel pink high heels and brushed out my pretty wig and left. His house was much emptier, he was almost completely packed up all that was in the living room was a blow up mattress and his laptop. I sat on the floor he removed my shoes and rubbed my feet smiling at me. I smirked "what?"...." Nothing I just thought maybe you were mad at me our something, you didn't even hug me today". I pulled my feet out his hands and crawled to him on the blow up mattress and hugged him, another one of his typical male,ploys for attention. He pulled my face to his into a kiss. "If I didnt know any better of say that you miss me", I teased. "Meh, maybe. Did you miss me?"......"eh". He tickled me "you did miss me, your dress is pretty". I laughed "please stop , thank you bit I think I'm kangaroo pouching"..... He stopped tickling me "kangaroo pouching what does that even me?" I sat up and looked down at my stoma ch, I can be self-deprecating. I grabbed my stomach like I'm a little chubby I guess that's why the last few dates haven't gone so well other than the guys that clearly just want sex. He smiled "no I think you loo great, but if wish you'd wear your real hair". This was the second time he'd mention my wig, the first time we met he mentioned it and now again, I made a mental note to show him my hair eventually. "Anyways what do you want to do?"..he pulled me back onto the mattress, "lets watch this Netflix documentary Paris is burning, then,pose". His fascination with drag and trans people made me wonder if he was Bi sexual but I ignored the thoughts. We watched Paris is burning, I could feel his eyes on me while we watched, he put his hand around my waist and kissed me on the shoulder. I looked at him, he looked like he was studying me and wondering why I was laying next to him, I smiled "what?" .... He laughed "nothing", he leaned in and kissed me. We stopped watching the documentary and started making out he slipped his finger in me and started creating puddles on the air mattress I told him he was ruining my panties so he took them off he spread my legs and positioned himself between them. He lifted me dress up and over my head and started caressing my breast before frustratingly pulling my bra off I was conpletely naked in my own wetness on his air mattress. I tried to cover my body with my hands but he pulled them above my head and looked me up and down. He took his shirt and pants off. He looked down at me nd asked if I was ok. I said yes. "Are you sure, do you want to do this?" Thinking he didn't have any condoms I said "yes, as long as you have condoms" he smiled and kiss me before leacing down stairs and coming back with a box of condoms. I was nervous and excited he called my bluff. "The air mattress is wet, you made a puddle". He went back,down stairs and grabbed a towel. He laid it over the puddle. I wat hed him still,laying on the other side of the mattress. He got on top of with towel grabbed my hand and pulled me on to him.I covered my breast, he held my waist, I started to become very shy. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked making sure I was sure. "Yes o just havent done this in a while so I'm nervous" I rolled off him to his side he leaned up and caressed my face. He leaned in and kissed me before asking me "lay on your stomach and arch your back, I promise ill go slow and it'll feel good" I felt like this was my first time all,over again but I laid on top of the towel. I lifted my ass into the air and arched my back like,how I learned in yoga. He ran his hands across my wetness up and down and slid his finger in it then rubbed it on his dick. He then spread my legs and rubbed his dick against my wet pussy causing us both to moan in unison. He slipped the tip in again and I gripped the towel letting out a "fuck", he felt so good inside of me. He slid it out and put the condom on then held my waist and entered me more forcefully. He was thrusting hard deep strokes and I was loving every inch. It felt so amazing, he was going to make me vim in no time, he was moaning "fuck, its so tight. Damn" I started to feel slightly embarrassed between breaths I apologized "I'm.so.sorry.fuck.fuck.fuck.your.so.deep.inside.of.me........I'm.ga.ga.ga.ga.goona.cum" he was making squirt everywhere and it felt so good. He leaned down and was kissing m back then moved his hands to my breast and trusted harder while squeezing them. He bought his ass to mine and started kissing me. My body was moving with his or felt perfect was this what sex was really suppose to feel like it felt so right, before this I gladly pass on sex as it bored me but this experience was different than the 3 prior to him. I broke our kiss to moan loudly "fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuuuuuck, your hitting my spot" he was fucking me so good , he slowed up and started doing slow deep hard pounds that mafe my toes curl every time he entered me. This made me beg him "FUCK.MMMAAAA.MAKE.ME.CUM.PLEASEEEEEEEE", He picked up his pace with fast strokes "immmm.immm.immmmimmmmm.ummm.about.tttttoooo.cummmmmm.baby" I felt my legs shaking and an explosion go through my body andexit as he made his last stroke.he squeezed my breast so tight. While also biting it all felt so amazing. We were cumming together. I collapsed forward and he fell on top of me and rolled to the side removing the condom. He quickly pulled me close to him and wrapped a blanket around us. Between deep breathes his kissed me back. My stomach growled, he laughed. "Would you like to go get some food and come back here?" "This is so weird for me", I'm thinking. "Does he like me like me?" I smiled. "Sure let me just find my undies I hope theyre not still wet". He laughed Part2

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Floating, Pt19

Word Count: 2403 Author’s Note: I didn’t realize I was this far into posting this! ACK! I’m gonna have to start writing again soon!! Tags: @medicatemedrmccoy​, @from-kitten-to-kitsune​ @suzen23smith​ @outside-the-government​ @sistasarah-sallysaidso​ @nymphadora-blurryface​ @bluebird214 @flirtswithdanger, @to-pick-ourselves-up-7

Katie proved to us that her childhood had not been bereft of fun by completely destroying us at bowling. Every time she got a strike, there was a dance and some good-natured gloating. Paradoxically, Leonard proved he’d been an old curmudgeon by guttering almost every ball.

“It’s a damn good thing that you’re so good at poker, Bones,” I laughed as I turned back from knocking down most of my pins. He grimaced.

“There’s a reason I said it was a bad idea when we were on Proxima B,” he complained. “I could lose money to an infant playing this.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle Bones,” Katie reassured him. “We’ve only got a few more frames left, and then you can go back to your room and lick your wounds.”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. Leonard scowled at me and took his turn. I saw him take a different stance and he slowed down, like he was intent and focussed. The ball still went in the gutter. Katie cackled. I bit my lip trying not to laugh. He wagged a finger at me.

“Did you know there’s a zero-grav amusement park on this starbase? Wouldn’t that be fun?” He raised an eyebrow in challenge. Katie squealed in excitement.

“Are you serious? That would be amazing!” She looked between Bones and I for an answer.

“He’s lying.” I called his bluff.

“Your mother doesn’t like floating,” he told her. Katie laughed. “Besides, sweetheart, it’s just about your curfew.”

“Can we go tomorrow then?” She asked, throwing the ball down the lane without paying attention. And getting another strike. Leonard made a disgusted noise and threw up his hands in defeat.

“There isn’t a zero-grav amusement park, Katie-cat,” I laughed. “But nice try, Bones.”

“Besides, tomorrow is your presentation,” Leonard pointed out. “Can’t miss that.”

It was close enough to curfew that Leonard decided to wrap the game up quickly by just throwing balls down the alley until all the frames were finished. Katie still won, although he did finally manage to get a strike. Katie was all laughter and jokes at his expense on the walk back to the quarters the kids were sharing. She stopped at the door and threw herself into my arms.

“Thank you for coming to see the project tonight, Mama.” She bounced from my arms into Leonard’s. Surprised, he threw his arms up, looking at me. I shrugged, and felt my chest tighten as his arms settled around her. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I love you, Uncle Bones.”

Leonard let out a sigh, and his shoulders slumped. His arms tightened around Katie, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head. “You need to get some sleep, sweetheart.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” She asked as turned back to her door. I wasn’t sure which of us she was talking to.

“Yes,” we said in unison. Leonard winked at me, and took my hand. Once we’d stopped at the turbolift, I turned to look at him. His eyes were still a little misty from Katie’s impulsive pronouncement.

“You okay?”

“I think Joey would love Katie. They have the same silly sense of humour.” His smile was sad, and it broke my heart. I squeezed his hand and leaned against him. The turbolift opened and Jim stepped out, talking with Scotty. He saw us standing together, holding hands and smirked.

“Well, of all the turbolifts in the starbase, look what we’ve bumped into, Scotty,” he laughed. I fought the urge to drop Leonard’s hand, but couldn’t stop myself from flushing. A quick glance at Leonard showed he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed, which made me feel less concerned.

“You should join us for drinks,” Scotty suggested.

“We’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” Leonard excused. “Katie’s holographic simulation project is amazing, and she and the other kids are presenting on it early in the morning.”

“Oh?” Jim asked. “I’d love to see that too. When is it?”

“Oh-eight-hundred, Jim,” I answered, pulling Leonard onto the turbolift. Scotty looked back at us as the door slid shut.

“Are they holding hands?” I heard him exclaim. “Is that a doctoring thing?”

I looked at Leonard. “Are you sure you don’t care about gossip?” He turned to face me, and leaned forward to kiss me. Something inside me snapped, and my arms came up around his neck, and I dragged him against me, losing my balance and crashing into the turbolift wall. He laughed against my mouth, and braced his hand above my head, returning my enthusiasm with his own fevered response. His free hand came up under my ribs and held me against the wall. I broke away, breathless.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this in here,” I gasped. He nodded. When the turbolift door slid open, he dragged me down the hall to our quarters, and pressed me against the wall as soon as we were inside. His lips trailed down my neck and came to rest on my collarbone. He traced his tongue along the bone, pushing my shirt off my shoulder to follow it to the sloping curve of my arm.

“Leonard -” I breathed.

“I didn’t realize I’d been waiting so long,” he murmured against my skin, his voice all wonder. My skin tingled everywhere his lips had touched, like the residual sensation left by the transporter. I pulled away.

“This isn’t too soon?” I asked, uncertain.

“Is it? You’re overthinking this.” His lips found mine again, and I could feel the burn of the stubble on his jaw across my cheek. His hands traced up my back, the fingers digging into the tense muscles of my shoulders. “Relax.” His voice was barely a whisper. His hands traced back down to my waist, and slid under my shirt, spread wide against my ribcage as he pushed my shirt up. There was no way I was relaxing. I wanted to memorize every sensation as his skilled surgeon’s hands caressed me. He broke free of me long enough to pull his shirt over his head, and then pull mine off as well. He crashed back against me, every spot our skin met branding me. He pressed my arms into the wall above me, lacing his fingers in mine. His tongue tangled with mine, pulling me deeper into him.

I pulled a hand free of his, and traced my fingers down his sternum, through the scant dusting of hair on his chest. His free hand slid across my ribs, across my belly, finding the flesh of my hip and digging in. I moaned against his mouth.

“Bryn,” he breathed, breaking the kiss. He sounded hesitant suddenly. I ran my fingers through his hair, drawing him back to me.

“Who’s overthinking now?” I asked, dropping a string of kisses along his jaw, following his carotid artery, and then trailing the tip of my tongue along the same path my fingers had traced down his sternum. He drew in a ragged breath.

“Damnit, woman.” The words made me smile, and I tilted my head to look up at him through my lashes. Leonard let out a feral noise and pulled me to my feet, hauling me over his shoulder. He marched us to the tiny single bed in his room, and dropped me on it, tugging his jeans off quickly. I struggled with my leggings for what felt like mere seconds before he pulled them down my legs and tossed them across the small room. He knelt between my legs, and dropped his hands beside my hips, dipping his head to kiss me just below my belly button. His thumbs traced the faded scars at the edges of my hips, and I writhed away, self-conscious. “Don’t.”

“They’re -” I paused. “Katie -” I explained, trying to cover the loose striations.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmured, his breath hot against the pale streaks.

“Leonard,” I protested. “They’re awful. I don’t -”

“There’s nothing I’ve seen so far that I would call anything but stunning,” he interrupted, resuming his worship. I closed my eyes and felt a tear trace down my temple into the hair above my ear. It felt stupid and ridiculous to be so moved by that acceptance, which made my breath catch and more tears spring to my eyes. Leonard paused when I dragged in the unsteady breath, and he shifted his weight so he was facing me. “Darlin’, what did I do?” He smoothed my hair with his hand, and moved so he was laying on his hip beside me. I shook my head, flushing.

“I always seem to cry when I’m with you,” I accused with a weak laugh.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t my plan, sweetheart.” He dipped his head and kissed the tears at my corner of my eye. “At least, not before we started.”

I turned my head away, embarrassed by my tears, and by my blushes. “I must seem like some immature child,” I complained, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Not at all.” He shook his head. “A woman who hasn’t been loved honestly,” he countered.

“Loved?” I asked, my eyebrows furrowing. He couldn’t possibly be saying what I thought I’d heard. He laughed and turned my chin to force me to look him in the eyes.

“Loved,” he replied simply. “Like it or not, kid.”

“How could you possibly love me? Already?” I asked, surprised.

“How could I not?” He laughed. “You’re clever, and funny. Smart. A good mother. Compassionate and brave. Not afraid to be vulnerable. You’ve got the soul of a warrior and the hands of a surgeon. It’s like you were put in this galaxy just so I could find you.”

“You make it sound like I’m special,” I laughed. “I’m just -”

“Every single being in our universe is special, Bryn. And there’s a lot of universe out there,” he interrupted.

“So in all that universe, how did I luck into you?” I asked. He kissed my forehead and gathered me into his arms.

“Did you ever think that maybe I’ve lucked into you?” He murmured against my hair, smoothing the tangles with his fingers. I tucked into his side, and listened to the rhythm of his breathing until I felt his heart rate slow under my hand, and his breathing became deep and even. My eyelids grew heavy and just as I was drifting off to sleep, he began to snore lightly.

“Oh my god. Is this why you call him Bones?” The familiar voice was like a bucket of cold water. I was instantly awake, and sitting, holding the blanket up to my chest. Kara stood at the end of the bed, her jaw gaping. “I thought you were banging the captain?”

“Kara!” I hissed. “What the fuck are you doing here? Am I hallucinating?” I heard a low chuckle from behind me, and whipped my head back to look at Leonard. He had one arm under his head and was smiling at Kara.

“Katie told me about her science fair, and I thought it would be fun to check it out. When the fuck did,” she gestured vaguely at the tiny bed Leonard and I were sharing, “this all start?”

“You’re the friend from the bar!” Leonard suddenly exclaimed, sitting up beside me. “I remember you. How did you not know an Orion girl would give you a headache? That’s first year interspecies relational anatomy knowledge.”

“She was gorgeous. You thought so too!” Kara protested. Leonard laughed.

“I did, but even I know better than to tangle with Orion girls.”

“Nice deflection, by the way.” Kara winked, “but that doesn’t answer my question about you and my best friend.”

“It’s not what you think,” I started.

“Right, so just tripped? Fell on his penis?” She demanded, eyebrow arched.

“Actually, no. Just fell asleep, unfortunately,” I admitted.

“With no clothes on?” Kara demanded. I narrowed my eyes.

“How did you get in here? How did you even know how to find us?” I asked, changing the subject. Kara grinned.

“I may have used the medical override.” She winked and turned to leave the room. “So you might want to get dressed before the emergency team arrives.”

I shot out of bed with the sheet wrapped around me, and dashed through the bathroom to my own room, quickly pulling clothes out of my closet and tugging them on. When I made it out to the living area, Bones was standing at the override panel in his underwear, turning the alarm off. Kara was sitting on the couch, smirking, holding a cup of coffee. I replicated coffee for both Leonard and I and sat down across from Kara.

“So why are you here?” I asked. I knew she’d already told me, but I’d only just wakened.

“Katie told me a few days ago about the science fair, and their project sounds so cool. I was due a few days leave.” She shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“I wanted to surprise you. That kind of backfired.” Her gaze flashed over to Bones, who was walking toward his coffee cup. He flopped down on the couch beside me. Kara rolled her eyes.

“I thought the captain was the cocky one,” she commented.

“Oh, darlin’, you have no idea.” He stood up and kissed my forehead. “I’m going to hit the shower and get ready for Katie’s presentation while you catch up.”

Kara said nothing until the bathroom door slid shut and then she pounced. “What the ever-loving fuck, Bryn?”

“Uh -”

“When did this start? What happened with Kirk? Why didn’t you let me know?” She looked genuinely hurt with the last question. I sighed and looked at my feet before looking back at her.

“Jim and I, uh, that ended a while ago now,” I paused. She looked like she was going to interrupt and I held my hand up to stop her. “Long enough ago that you’re right, I should have told you.”

“And McCoy?” She pressed.

“I guess that really started a couple of days ago?” I thought. “Maybe even just yesterday. Depends on how you look at it.”

“First kiss,” she decided.

“On the mouth? A few days ago then,” I admitted.

“He’s kissed you other places?” She leered. I rolled my eyes.

“On the forehead a few times.” I nodded. She raised an eyebrow.

“You’d best be careful, Bryn,” she warned. “He is your direct superior.”

“I’m aware of that, Kara.”