#buy it before its outta stock again

[aita-blorbos]

( 🍤 for tracking purposes. And this is a different POV from an earlier situation.)

Am I the jerk for confronting a shopkeeper over his scummy business practices?

Ugh. Can’t believe I’m doing this. But I’m hiding out from some monsters right now, and it’s better than doing nothing.

I (M, idk and idc. Young I guess?) used to be a part of this dumb kids show. I only participated because I was bored. Not because I wanted to teach kids or anything. Teaching lessons is so boring!!! Where was I going with this? Oh yeah. I had to work with my fellow toons and interact with kids and stuff. And I’m sure you can tell how I felt towards them all.

To tell you the truth, I actually liked it when people stopped showing up at our home, cuz’ then I didn’t have to be a part of the show anymore. The only problem was when toons started going crazy for no apparent reason. We called these guys Twisteds (this is relevant later.)

Out of all the toons, the one I probably dislike the most would be D (M, don’t care. 5 or 6?) D runs a supply shop which is all fun and dandy, but I noticed that he rarely had good stuff for sale. Just useless junk food and cheap trinkets.

It didn’t help that he only accepted VHS tapes. Those things are hard to get, man! And his prices were seriously inflated. After the umpteenth time of getting tapes just to find he had nothing good in stock, I knew something had to be done.

So as any rational toon would, I snuck into the back of D’s shop when he went on a scavenging mission. If he thinks he’s gonna get ME to work my butt off just to buy some junk he thought wrong! Anyways, I start ‘borrowing’ his extra tapes (he had boxes and boxes of the things!) when D shows up again.

He starts YELLING at me to drop the tapes, to which I said no. I told him that he was saving all of the good items for himself, and that his prices were unfair. I wish I could have taken a photo of his face!! The smug, proud D pushed off of his high horse. If I didn’t do it, then surely someone else would eventually.

Dangit. Going on a side tangent again. So I was messing with D, and he kept trying to snatch the tape out of my hand.

To further tease him (as “friends” do), I push a shelf, causing a big box to fall over. Surprise surprise, it’s full of tapes. But D stopped going after me at that point. He just. Froze. And kneeled down by the box of spilled tapes. As the others enter the room to see what the heck is going on, I’m briefly considering if what I did was too much.

That consideration was short lived, as D freaking twisted in front of our eyes!! Twisted? Twist-ified? I dunno!! But he turned into a monster, and beat the stuffing outta me!! This one girl and these twins who I tolerate (F, and both M. They’re both like 5) managed to calm D down, before another guy knocked him out. But not before me, and a few others, were seriously injured. Who knew an angry flower could pack such a punch?!

…I didn’t stick around much longer, especially when D started waking up. Everyone was glaring at me and refusing to even come near, so I knew I wasn’t welcome anymore. Fine by me. I never liked them anyways, and it didn’t help that they all took D’s side. I’ve been wandering the lower levels of our home in search of a place to stay, and now you’re all caught up. So am I really the jerk for messing with D in the first place? I still think he could have run his shop better.

Edit: quit asking what floor im on its not like im gonna tell you. Its also gotten hard to type so no nore edits

Edit 2: MY MOUGTH IS GON WHWRE IS MY MOUTH

[familylightfox]

The silence grew at the top of the final tower, broken only by the sound of a digital distortion of the remaining members of the rookies being dropped onto the platform.

"We're back." Tangle looked herself over, making sure nothing was still 'ghost-like', and returned the sudden hug from Whisper. The pair shared a moment together before their eyes were drawn to Buddy. The way he stood stock still, staring.

It only took a glance around him to see what had caught his attention...

Harmony stood frozen in place, the digital corruption having overtaken her entire body. Eyes locked in a stare off into the distance.

"Harmony!" Their voices rang out in unison as they closed the space around her. Sage turned her head from the three, trying desperately to get a reaction from their teammate. As much as she wanted to help them, she could do nothing.

But she did jump at the familiar voice speaking up over her shoulder.

"The only way this would have been sweeter is if it had been Sonic and his friends." Eggman attempted to gloat, looking down at the scene before Sage came close. He missed how the three teens had turned their narrow gaze in his direction.

"We need to get you back into cyberspace. You will not be safe here when it gets out?"

"When what gets out?" Buddy looked up and fixed Sage with a glare as he kept a hand on Harmony's still shoulder. The answer to his question came from a thundering groan from the sky.

[Since time immemorial, I have languished here. The locks are broken. Now I shall tear down the walls between dimensions and consume all.]

The group looked up at the sky as it began to distort, the teens looking to one another and Harmony as Sage attempted to push the Eggmobile back. As if that would have saved the rotund genius from what was coming. "There is no chance of success. I have run every simulation possible."

"Yeah well. We tend to like those odds." Tangle called up to the girl. "Besides. Harms worked way too hard to get all of us outta there. Least we can do is not go down without a fight."

"And we all saw the same visions she did. We can drive the corruption away and bring her back." Buddy added, gripping Harmony's shoulder before letting go to extend his hands to his teammates.

Without a word shared between them, they knew what they needed to do. They circled the teen and closed their eyes. The energy holding the teen didn't take long to reach out for the trio. Despite the pain they felt from their bodies being corrupted, they remained steadfast, giving up their energy with words of encouragement:

"Stay strong and kick its ass." "You are so buying the next round of snacks when we get home." "I never even got to say... I lo..."

In a flash, they were gone. The flecks of blue static fading into the wind as emerald eyes began to focus.

Harmony blinked once, then again. Her fists clenched, and she took a step before looking around. She could have sworn she heard her teammates. Emerald eyes drifted up to Sage and Eggman, wary but confused. A hand went to her chest as Chip's bracelet pulsed.

"Tangle... Whisper... Buddy..."

"Are safe for now, but we have a bigger threat." Sage said. "I never ran a simulation with you helping us. It might be possible to defeat this enemy and save everyone."

Harmony flicked an ear and looked beyond Sage to Eggman. "Do I get a please?"

Sage turned to look at her creator, hearing the soft snicker of the teen below as Eggman crossed his arms and refused to look in her general direction. Another moment passed before he slammed his hands on the dash of his Eggmobile. The way Sage looked at him stilled his words. Lips pursed, and brow furrowed before he spoke.

"Please..." If it had been anyone else, they might have missed it. Thank Gaia for the teen's sensitive hearing.

"That's all I needed t' hear. Where do we start?"

[captains-simp]

PART 3? TO THE JOCK CAROL WHERE THEY GO TO HER HOUSE SO SHE CAN GIVE R THE AFTERCARE

Dvqkahkjjqwk I hope this is as good as yall have been waiting for

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Warnings: sub space, sub dropping and aftercare

1.1k words

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You almost fell asleep in that bed together, tangled up in each other's embrace. Until Carol decided it wasn't enough. Until she decided she needed to give you everything she could, most of which she couldn't do in that house.

"Baby." She said softly and you gripped tighter on her shirt in response. "I'm gonna get you up." She continued and you opened your eyes slowly to blink at her.

"We're going." She said simply but not demanding. "I'm taking you home." She smiled down at you and started putting her clothes back on as she collected your own and swiftly dressed you.

It was hard for you to sit up so you struggled to see how you would make it out of the crowded house to Carol's car. Was she definitely sober to drive?

You didn't want to make a scene either. You didn't want everyone to see you like that. The thought that they might made your anxiety spike but must have been clearly written across your face because Carol rushed back to you side.

"Hey, its okay. I'll be with you every second." She assured and kissed your forehead lightly before sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to you.

She took ahold of your ankles so you wrapped your legs around her waist and guided your arms around her neck.

"Think you can hold on for me, Princess? Just for a bit?" She asked gently and you weakly nodded.

You would've laughed at the childish gesture of being a piggy back ride if you had the energy too. It was strange, how that was the way to get you out of the house without drawing attention. Anyone would think you were just goofing around, as all the other jocks in that house were. You clung to Carol as tightly as you could. It was far too loud and crowded and you could feel tears prickling at your eyes again. You just wanted to be at home.

Just as Carol hoped, no one batted an eye at her strolling through the house with you on her back, faux calm glued to her features.

"Hey Carol! You playing-" someone yelled as they came bounding up to the blonde but she shoved them aside quickly before returning it to holding under your calf to support you.

"Move." Carol demanded and didn't give him much chance to do so because she was already making her way through the rest of the crowd and on to the drive way.

Carol got to her car in no time and helped you down into the passenger seat and made sure you were comfortable as she murmered assurances to you. She grabbed the blanket from the back that you too had layed on when she took you for a surprise picnic one day that had led to you both stargazing and spending the night in her car. The warmth from the blanket and memory managed to put a weak smile at the corner of your lips.

"Let's get the hell outta here." Carol muttered as she put her hand on your thigh and gave it a reassuring squeeze before going into drive.

You were still exhausted. You almost fell asleep in the car too, but willed yourself to stay awake. Especially when Carol kept asking how you were doing. Thankfully, it didn't take long to get back to Carol's house where her parents were luckily out.

When Carol got out the car and opened yours, she undid your seat belt and picked you up bridal style with a soft smile. You cringed on to her as much as you could as she took you up to her room and laid you gently on the bed.

"Can I take these off?" Carol asked softly as she ran her hands up your stockings. "So I can change you into something more comfortable." You nodded weakly and she rushed to her closet where she took out a pair of her pajama bottoms and your favourite hoodie of hers. She knew it was your favourite fit to wear when you stayed over, yet she asked anyway.

"These okay?" She checked and hummed when you gave a small smile in confirmation.

You didn't notice the bottle of lotion she brought out with the clothes until she was putting it down on the bed. You felt a little more at ease than you had previously as you laid back and let Carol carefully take your tight clothes away. There was still a faint panging in your chest that you knew would last a while longer but you also felt undeniably safe in Carol's care.

Once you were completely rid of your clothes, Carol took the lotion and put some of the deliciously smelling cream onto her hands to warm it up before massaging it into your legs. You groaned softly at the strong motion. Massages were Carol's secret talent.

She took her time treasuring every inch of your body and assuring every part of you had equal attention between peppering your face with light kisses. You would have melted under her touch if there wasn't something holding onto those emotions so strongly. It was like they were under lock and key.

"I need you to drink, Princess." Carol said softly as she tilted your head gently in her hands so you could sip from from glass she help to your lips. You sipped on the water gratefully until you moved away to show you had enough.

"What would you like to eat, baby?" You whimpered slightly in response. You really didn't feel like eating. You didn't have an appetite and you were sure if you ate something you night be sick. Luckily, Carol understood and didn't push it.

"Alright, baby. But we got to make sure you eat tomorrow." She said as she ran her hand down your arm and reached for the TV remote where she put on Netflix and quickly found your comfort show. She put on a random episode she knew you liked and got changed quickly before joining you in bed.

"I got you, Princess. You feeling better?" She asked as she softly wrapped her arms around you and pulled you against her chest.

You hummed in a higher pitch than usual and held onto the loose fabric of Carol's shirt and rested your head against her chest, getting more lost in the sound of her heartbeat than the show she had put on.

"I'm sorry it took a while to get here, Princess." Carol mumbled into your hair. "But you don't ever have to worry, I'll always protect you." There was nothing but truth to those words.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Taglist: @wndrcarol @caroldanvers2019 @marvelwomenslut @marvelwomen-simp

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[theficplug]

Taking Erik To The Beauty Supply Store 2 / Barber Shop With Erik

Erik Killmonger x Black Reader

Warnings : mature/sexual conversations?

it's a regular day in the stevens household. going to the beauty supply store again & the barber shop but hey it's fun cause it's you and your man.

First taking Erik to the beauty supply store fic:

“I could beat the brake off her lying ass. First of all, I should’ve known something was up cause she asked me if I’m natural. I said yes. She said well I normally do relaxed hair.. Then said you got to have your hair washed and blow dried already… Talking about she was going to have me serving 90s Nia Long. This bitch got me looking like big momma when she came home for that motherfucking party.” You continue your rant as Erik moves around the room looking for your body butter and your fluffy shoes to put on for the day.

You wanted a cute 90s pixie cut to go along with the theme of the maternity shoot which was like the cheesy 90s mall style set with the faded backdrop.

180 dollars and a lopsided , almost a golden bob later and you are still thinking about snatching her out of that salon.

“I’m gonna try and trim it up myself and dye it before the maternity photos tomorrow. But I’mma get two wigs just in case I mess up.” You explain to Erik as he begins to spread the body butter up your legs leaving a golden glow on your skin.

“Not you down there cackling after getting some hang time on the locs you been growing since high school... It’s quiet, ain't no back talk.” You banter with him and he stops massaging your legs to give you a look and laughs softly before giving you a retort of his own.

“You got a lot to say for somebody that can’t even lotion they ashy lil knees.”

“Your daughter been pushing against my organs for 8 and a half months. I don’t wanna hear nothing unless its about my push present. You know that I like rings… My engagement ring looking reeeealll lonely.” you say to him as you dangle your hand in front of his face.

“You look so fucking good today baby… Say, Big Fine, lemme get your number… I’mma eat the f-” he trails off kissing your legs and letting his tongue trail up it and you grab his chin softly.

“Boy if you don’t come on before you be late for your appointment… Can I stop and get a blue raspberry slushie first though?” you ask him and he sighs softly before giving you a small smile and nodding.

“Yeah, hold on let me grab your shoes and purse and then we can go.”

“And obviously yes when we come back before I install that lace front you can beat, duh.” you reply to him before giving him a peck to his lips.

After he grabs everything and helps you down the stairs. And with his help of putting you into his big ass truck you two are on your way.

“We’re going to get my hair cut first cause I already know you’re going to want to go to 2 different stores and it’s only gon’ take him about 15 minutes at the most to line me up.”

He wasn’t lying with the way that you liked to scan every section of the store before you left because to be honest where else were you going to get a pair of skittle shorts, bomb ass lip glosses, and a cute little panda hand sanitizer holder all in one place?

“Okay, sounds like a plan.. The way that I was supposed to have a hot girl summer this year and ended up with a damn its too hot for me to even put my clothes on mom summer. You really were not playing about trying to start a family on your birthday.” you joke as you crunch on your goldfish and look over at Erik.

“I think you just got finer through this whole thing. Watching my baby grow my baby is something surreal. In the beginning watching you go through all of the morning sickness and the body aches and stuff. I felt so bad you know not being able to physically take on all that was going on with you. I aint gon’ never not be appreciative and awe of you.” Erik replies with a serious comment that you were not expecting and you’d be damned if the hormones aren’t doing their thing.

“I really did not expect you to say that. Baabbbee, come on. You know I cry about everything right now. Love you.” you lean over to wrap your arms around him gently and kiss the side of his face while he’s focusing on the road.

“I love you too…. I think I’mma get my locs cut off soon. I don’t know why I’m ready to get a fade and just call it a day.” he questions before looking over at you briefly

“Either way you still gonna look good. I knew you before you even got your locs so you’re gonna look even better now because you grew into your head. Dee be cutting the fuck outta your hair even though he been bald for a good 40 years.” you say and it causes Erik to let out a loud laugh and shake his head.

You eventually ended up ordering a blue raspberry lemonade slushie, a hotdog and fries because Sonic basically took all of Erik's money at this point in your pregnancy.

The rest of your ride was chill as you both swayed to the music or turned it down for a little chat every now and then.

In public was always very protective of you but especially since becoming pregnant he has been hovering over you like a lion waiting for someone to even look at you for too long.

He hops out of the sleek matte black truck first to help you out and sling his arm around your waist with a hand resting on your belly.

You feel some eyes on you as you walk through the door. Your multi-coloured sundress that showcased your back, flowing with you.

Some of the men, new to the shop you assumed, were eyeing you down before Erik looked over their way and nods at them and they pretended to check their phones.

“What's up E? Damn lil sis look like she’s about to pop! How you feeling baby girl?” Dee greets you and Erik as you both walk in and some of the regulars in there say hey to the both of you.

“I’m alright Dee. Baby is just really ready to see the world. She has been kicking up a storm at times. I think we might have a little athlete here.” you reply and you watch as the greyed man with freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose eyes crinkle as he finishes cutting the man's hair sitting in the chair.

“I remember when I became a father for the first time. Shits wild because you think that you know everything there is to know and then when you actually see your baby take that first breath. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.” He continues as he shows you a photo of his 4 children and you give him a small smile.

“Ooh, they’re beautiful.” you compliment him as you settle into your seat and scroll on your phone on your phone waiting for Erik to be next.

Some time went by and the men seemed like they were trying to keep their conversation in a hush and you can see some eyes on you as they talked back and forth.

“I’m just saying if you want a threesome with your girl and you expect her to be okay with letting another woman into her bed. You need to match her energy. Could you imagine your girl asking you to bring a whole nother man into your room if that’s not what you’re into? Instead of asking for it. Maybe try bringing toys into the situation. Could spice it up a notch and be in both of your comfort zones. Personally, couples vibrators seem to do the trick just fine.” You advise as you look up from scrolling on your Pinterest feed.

The little huddle of them in front of you stopped talking and immediately looked up at you in silence before Dee’s laugh broke it.

“I don’t know about bringing another man in. That ain't my thing but I get what you're saying. Which ones would you recommend?” The one named Leron asked and you notice Erik is now paying attention , looking from you to them to make sure they stay respectful.

“You better let them know , baby girl! That’s how that baby popped into fruition. She got you with the tantric breathing, huh E?” he jokes and Erik cracks into a smile, his golds gleaming as he looks at you.

“She not wrong. Engage in what your woman like too. Yoga, talking during sex, giving as much as you receive from her, all that. ” He says casually and shrugging and you give him a small smile cause this man done come so far from when you met him.

After he finishes lining up his beard, Erik pays and you’re on your way to one of your favourite places.

“You look so sexy. Your beard is all lined up crisp and stuff. I told you that beard oil was gonna even it out.” you say to him and kiss him below his ear . His hand gripped your thigh gently and you repeated it again.

It didn’t take long before you were at one of your favourite places.

You turned to Erik and asked him to buy a stocking cap for you to try on the wigs that you liked and wanted to see before you purchased it.

You slid on the stocking cap over your hair before grabbing a cute little 27 piece pixie cut wig just to try it on and see what it was giving . You finger combed it and turned to Erik to ask him how it looks.

“Like you finna start singing “Truth is i’m tired. Take me to the king. Here’s my offering-” .” You hold in your laugh as you push Erik’s chest and he grabs your hands.

“I can’t stand your ass !” You say cracking up and Erik grabs the stocking cap from his pocket that he brought himself and slides it over his locs.

You watch as he grabs one of the bobs from the mannequin and sits it half cocked on his head before shaking it side to side.

“What’s cooler than being cool? Ice cold. You know what to do doooo. You know what to doooo.... This is your grand daddy. This is your grand daddy.” Erik starts acting like Andre 3000 and Mr. Brown. You swear this man was gonna make you push out this baby with how hard you were laughing at him.

“Why are you moving your lips like thaaat? What’s your name? B.O.B, so they calling you Bob? Stop playing nigga you know that I’m known for the bob.” you sing the nicki minaj lyrics to him and both of y’all get a good laugh before he takes off the wig and places it carefully back on the mannequin.

He looks over at the one that looked the most like your hair before you got it cut and slides it on.

His expressions changed and he narrowed his eyes at you before putting his hand on his stomach.

“Whew, my god E. You did this to me and for what? My ankles looking like cornbread huh? Look at this shit bae! If my nose swells for real in these next months, we fighting. Damn, I’m getting thick. I look like I'm pregnant in the front and the back. Can you get me two shrimp po’boys and some fries on the way home? ERIK, wake up- You our baby look like Stitch in this ultrasound? Stop playing , im for real.” he sounds exactly like you and mimicked your expressions to a t.

You giggled softly and snatched his wig off leaving him standing there looking crazy in the cap.

“You wanna fight?” You ask him before walking up on him like you’re on bad girls club and swinging the wig at him.

He helped you put the wig back on the mannequin and kissed both of your hands before continuing through the aisle with you.

You both ignored how many times the employee passed by or watched you as you grabbed some of the products from the shelf and put it into your little cart that you wanted to try.

“You wish this was you, huh? You wanted to be Future from 8 Mile so bad, huh? ” you ask Erik , laughing as you point to the full lace faux locs wig that’s in front of you and he shakes his head.

“She got you down bad. This you?” he asks you as he points to the lil gold church wig that’s sitting on the top shelf and you suck your teeth at him .

“You wanna dip dye your hair for tomorrow? A pretty auburn colour would look so good on you or even a baby blue?” You ask him as you move away from the wigs after deciding to put a off black lace front straight wig in your cart and another in sandy blonde with deep waves.

You scan the shelf of dye as Erik wraps his arm around your waist and takes a look.

“This one looks good right here.” He adds as he hands you a colour called Electric Blue.

“This is gonna look so good on you bae.” You compliment him and he leans down to kiss you softly.

“You only tryna compliment me cause you want me to help you install that wig. You think you slick bae.” he calls as he walks off towards the hair care products for his locs.

“Well, if I’m finna use the little energy I have to retwist your hair you could at least extend the helping hand!” You call after him.

“I haven’t tried peppermint oil yet but it should be good to add to my mix? Look, I found this small ass bonnet. She’s gonna be able to match us.” He says walking back to you and showing you the lilac bonnet in his hand and you swear you were about to tear up again cause all 3 of you were gonna have matching bonnets and durag.

“If she takes after both of us she’s gonna have a head full of hair. To cover that melon from your side.” You tease him

“Come on and grab your butterfly wings for your eyes so we can go home and finish our show. I’mma cook them snow crabs for you too.” he says to you and you can see him watching you like you hung the moon in the sky yourself as you venture off.

You grabbed the edge control, lashes, a new lipstick, earrings, glosses, Got2b spray, and some accessories for Erik’s hair before meeting him at the counter.

It took him all of two seconds to pay for your beauty supply store addiction and you were off on your way back to the crib to love on him.

Erik was currently standing behind you while you sat in the chair in his old large tshirt and held down the wig to the Ghost Bond glue.

You were talking him through helping you finish the install because you just didn't have the energy to do it.

“Okay you gon’ take a lil piece and wrap it around the wand. But please be careful baby. This one goes from like 0 to a 400 degrees so fast.” you warn and watch in the mirror as he takes the first piece and follows your instructions.

You watch him for a while focusing on your head and asking if you liked the way that it’s turning out. You smile softly at him and nod.

“I'm so grateful , you know. “ you say to him with a pout

“Damn, I was just about to send you a do you like me back yes or no text after this too.” he jokes and you shake your head.

“I’m tryna be serious and appreciate you-” you are cut off by him leaning down and pushing his plump lips out for a kiss from you

“I love you too. 2 more weeks and I get to have my two babies in my arms. What more could I want? ”

Tag list: @doublesidedscoobysnacks

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@mirandkimy

@doitforthevine67

@dasia21

@depressionandfandomsinc

@wholelotta-melanin

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@bigchoose

@ceo-of-baby

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@lost-ssoull

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@imayhavemisunderstood

(Long post. Sorry I'm still learning how to do the read more thing! Sorry for being gone from here for so long. This one really helped me ease back into writing especially after how much love the first one received!)

[writethelifeyouwant]

Nothing On But The Radio

Pairing: Jared x Jensen  Rating: 18+ Tags: SAXX, clothing kink, dirty talk, degradation, blowjob, anal fingering, object insertion (DO NOT try this at home - not safe), anal sex Word Count: 2.7k  Created for: @spnkinkbingo - SAXX | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Dirty Talk Prompt: @downanddirtydean 's 500 follower celebration challenge: “The internet is more than just naked people. You do know that?” - Congrats on the milestone babe! 

“The internet is more than just naked people. You do know that – right?”

Jared jumps in his chair as Jensen comes up behind him on set. He had been scrolling through the SAXX website to stock up on a few necessities, which isn’t necessarily embarrassing, but still not something you want people looking over your shoulder while you’re doing. “They’re not naked, Jensen,” Jared scoffs, going back to adding more pieces to his cart. “And stop stealing my lines,” he adds as an afterthought when he realises that Jensen was quoting Sam to him.

“Okay, mostly naked,” Jensen laughs and leans over the back of Jared’s chair, their heads almost touching, but not quite.

“Dude, do you mind?” Jared chuckles and tries to put some space between him and his co-star.

“Yeah, I mind. Lemme see,” Jensen grabs for the phone and starts scrolling through Jared’s cart. “I want to pick something out.”

“Why? So you can steal them for yourself?” Jared grins.

“No, so I can tear them in half before I fuck you in them,” Jensen whisper-growls into Jared’s ear so no one else can hear him. Jared goes bright red, checking no one is near enough to overhear them. “What, you embarrassed baby boy? Don’t want everyone around here knowing a big, strong guy like you lets himself get fucked in the ass every night?” Jared is pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. “Don’t want them to know what a little whore you turn into the second I get you alone and on your knees?”

“Jesus, Jen, fuck,” Jared gulps and steadies himself, trying to get a handle on the erection that is starting to push a little too insistently against his zip. “Shove the dirty talk, will ya? We’ve got a whole other scene to film before they let us outta here.”

“So is that a yes to buying whatever I pick out?” Jensen smirks.

“Yes, fine,” Jared concedes and sinks back in his folding chair. “Just nothing pink, yeah?”

“Oh, I am one hundred percent buying you the pink ones now,” Jensen grins and Jared drops his head into his hands. Why is his boyfriend such a doofus?

Their little exchange is all but forgotten until Jared drops by his trailer and sees Jensen waiting on the steps for him, brown cardboard box in hand.

“Terri dropped off a package for you,” Jensen waves the box around in case it hadn’t been obvious to Jared what he meant. “I told her I’d be sure to give it to you,” he grins. Jared’s heart skips, knowing exactly what is in that box. Well – not exactly what is in the box. He knows everything he added to his cart before Jensen got hold of his phone, but Jen hit ‘purchase’ before he passed it back, and deleted the receipt, so there was no way for Jared to figure out what Jensen had ordered.

“Why do I feel like there’s a decent chance you’ve hidden a bomb in here,” Jared asks as he gingerly takes the package from Jensen and pushes into his trailer.

“Because you’re weird,” Jen laughs, staying on the pavement. “They need me for blocking checks but we’re done in time for dinner if you’re free?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Jared nods.

“And, Jar–” Jared turns back around at Jensen’s call. “I count on seeing you in those tonight.”

“Which ones?” Jared calls back, a feeble attempt at a joke.

“Oh, you’ll know which ones,” Jensen laughs, and Jared can feel the hunger in it. He gives Jared a perfunctory salute and makes his way back to the soundstage, leaving Jared with his new package.

As soon as the trailer door is shut, Jared tears into the box. The relief he feels upon not seeing any pink is immediate, but it’s closely followed by suspicion about what Jensen actually did buy him. He quickly skims through the items and finds the culprit – a pair of black briefs that are really testing the limit of the definition of ‘briefs’. Jared is positive that these will barely cover any part of his body, and when he tries them on a few minutes later, his suspicions are confirmed. He looks like a hooker in a g-string. Almost certain that he is going to regret this later, Jared pulls his jeans back on over the new underwear and gets redressed.

When Jared and Jensen stumble back into their shared apartment later that night, very much worse for wear courtesy of the new whiskey bar downtown that Misha recommended to them, Jared had mostly forgotten that he’s wearing ridiculously skimpy underwear. Jensen, on the other hand, hasn’t been able to get the image of Jared in the tight black briefs he’d bought him out of his head – and now he wants to see if the real thing measures up to his imagination.

“Right, J-rod,” Jensen claps once to get Jared’s attention and points to their bedroom, “bedroom, strip, now.”

“Romantic Jay,” Jared grins dopily but does as he’s told.

“Trust me, ain’t nothing romantic about what I’m planning on doing to that ass of yours,” Jensen laughs and follows Jared, catching the recently-shed flannel Jared flings down the hallway at him.

“Bettin’ on it,” Jared smiles, stripping out of his t-shirt in the doorway to their room and dropping it to his feet. Jensen can see the waistband of Jared’s underwear peeking above his jeans, the little ‘SAXX’ right in the centre of the deliciously cut vee of Jared’s hips. Jensen wants nothing more than to run his tongue along the line straight to Jared’s cock – and then he realises there’s nothing stopping him, so he drops to his knees in front of his boyfriend and does just that. He drags his tongue across Jared’s skin, smiling when he hears his intake of breath, and moves lower and lower until he reaches the ‘SAXX’ label and sucks it into his mouth. Jared jumps when Jensen lets it go and the elastic snaps back against his stomach. “Jerk,” he whines.

“Shuddup ‘Sam’,” the intonation is heavy in Jensen’s words and he drops into his ‘Dean’ voice, grinning as he undoes the button and zip on Jared’s jeans, tugging them down harshly and leaving him bare except for the skimpy underwear. “Unless you want me to make you my bitch tonight?” Jensen uses his Dean voice again as he leans into mouth against the erection straining in Jared’s briefs, the black cotton bulging so much Jensen’s surprised Jared actually fit himself inside them in the first place – now he was hard they barely cover anything.

Jared moans at the feeling of Jensen’s mouth against his cock. Something about getting sucked off through fabric always hits a bit differently than just having someone’s mouth on your dick, and right now, with Jensen suckling intently on the tip of his dick through his briefs, this is hitting exactly the right spot for Jared. “Fuck,” he whimpers, threading his fingers through Jensen’s hair, “Jen, you know if you want me to be your bitch, all ya gotta do is ask,” Jared pants, looking down to meet Jensen’s eyes, which are smirking up at him from where he still has his lips wrapped around Jared’s dick.

Jensen pulls off of Jared with a grin and gets to his feet. “Yeah I know, baby boy,” he coos and pulls Jared in for a heated kiss, tongue pushing its way between Jared’s lips, hot and wet. “Now, be a good little bitch and go get yourself ready for me, yeah?” Jensen smirks as he watches Jared nod and trip over his own feet in an effort to get to the bed quickly. He gets the lube out from the nightstand and goes to take off his underwear but Jensen hurries over to stop him. “Nuh uh, sweetheart. Keep those on for me,” Jensen orders with his hand clenched around Jared’s wrist.

“Sure,” Jared gulps, wide eyed, and moves his now slick fingers behind him and sneaks his hand beneath the waistband of his briefs to find his entrance. Jensen watches Jared hungrily as he fingers himself open, undressing all the while; plaid, then t-shirt, then jeans, then boxers – all one by one dropping to the floor. Jared moans when Jensen starts to stroke his own cock, admiring the drop of precum that’s already spilling over the dark pink tip. “C-can I?” Jared stutters, eyes locked on Jensen’s fingers moving slowly up and down himself.

“Yeah, c’mere baby,” Jensen kneels on the bed and shuffles closer so Jared can reach him with his mouth. The second he’s near enough, Jared sucks Jensen between his lips, running his tongue along the underside all the way to the hilt, until his nose is pressed snuggly against Jensen’s hip. “Fuck, forgot how much of a cockslut you are when you’re drunk,” Jensen chuckles deeply, combing Jared’s hair back off his forehead so he can watch him start to move up and down on his dick. “That’s it baby. Shit, your mouth feels so good,” he groans, closing his eyes and bucking his hips into Jared’s eager throat. “Such a good little slut letting me fuck your mouth while you finger that ass open for me. Got you wrapped around my little finger don’t I, bitch?” Jared moans around the cock in his mouth but Jensen doesn’t let up enough for him to get a proper answer out. “Yeah, thought so,” he scoffs.

Jared hums and moans around Jensen’s cock as he continues to finger himself. He’s definitely stretched and slick enough now, but he loves the feeling of Jensen using him like this, so he’s not gonna stop until Jensen tells him that’s what he wants him to do. After a few more minutes of Jensen fucking his throat, Jared feels him start to tense and jerk, and he knows Jen is close.

“Stop, stop, fuck baby,” Jensen groans, pulling Jared off his cock by his hair, and drawing a whine from the younger man. “Don’t want me to cum before I get the chance to fuck that ass, do you?” Jared shakes his head weakly, still pushing his fingers lazily in and out of his hole. He whimpers when he pulls his fingers out, and Jensen smirks down at him as he tries to once again take off the pair of SAXX. Jensen catches Jared’s wrists and holds them behind his back, pushing him onto his stomach. “I didn’t say you could take those off,” he growls against Jared’s ear, nipping at the skin and pulling another whimper out of him. Jensen sits up, keeping Jared’s wrists pinned in one of his hands while he reaches for the lube with the other to slick up his cock. “Your ass looks so good in these baby, look like such a little tease.” He lands a harsh slap against Jared’s backside, making Jared jump and cry out. “Imagine if all those fans saw more than just the label peeking out over your jeans, saw what a big man whore you look like with nothing but these on.”

“Jen, please,” Jared groans, humping against the bed to try to get some kind of friction or relief. “You want me to beg, I’ll beg, please for the love of God, put your cock inside me.” Jensen just laughs and spanks Jared again, even harder this time. “C’mon Jen, please, need you,” Jared pants, looking over his shoulder to catch Jensen’s eye. The desperation on his face is clear as he moans – “Need something inside me, please Jay.”

“You need something inside you baby boy?” Jensen sympathises, relinquishing his grip on Jared’s wrists, but the look of mischief in Jensen’s eyes makes Jared nervous.

“Yes, fuck, please,” Jared begs again.

“We can fix that,” Jensen smirks, reaching forward to grip just under the waistband of Jared’s briefs and wrenching the seam apart, the underwear ripping easily under Jensen’s violent influence. Pieces of the briefs come away in Jensen’s hand and he grins, getting an idea. Eyeing the shine of Jared’s hole, Jensen gathers some of the lube leaking out and smears it over the cotton, which is already damp with lube and Jared’s precum where his cock had been leaking. Bunching up the sopping cloth, Jensen pushes a finger into Jared to check he was still adequately open, then he shoves the torn material inside.

Jared chokes on his moans in surprise at what he’s feeling. The ball of cotton is pressing just against his prostate and it’s a very weird sensation but he can’t deny it feels good. “Fuck Jen,” he groans, pushing off his stomach and onto his hands and knees. Jensen lets out his own groan when he sees Jared’s hole winking up at him, showing him glimpses of the black cotton he’d just shoved inside him. He ruts his cock along the seam of Jared’s ass, catching the tip on the edge of his hole and dragging groans from both men. Jensen can’t hold himself back anymore, and he finally pushes himself into Jared, moving agonisingly slowly to tease the younger man as much as possible.

“You dick,” Jared pants, dropping his head to rest against his arms and pushing his hips back into Jensen’s cock, forcing him the rest of the way inside.

“Someone’s eager,” Jensen tries to keep his tone light, but now that he’s inside Jared, who keeps clenching his ass around his cock in an effort to get him to do something, he’s lost the majority of his composure.

“Just fucking fuck me already,” Jared hisses, bucking his hips back again. Jensen is tempted to make Jared wait, and beg for it – tease him until he’s crying in desperation – but he knows even he won’t last that long. As he draws out and snaps his hips back in, the tip of his cock brushes against the cotton he’s shoved into Jared and the sensation is electrifying. The little bit of slick friction just on the tip of his cock every time he fucks into Jared is so fucking good, he can’t get enough, and his pace turns frantic quickly. “Fucking hell, fuck yes,” Jared moans beneath him, spurring him on even more. “You fuck me so fucking good baby, shit, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’–” Jared’s words trail off into unintelligible whimpers as Jensen pounds into him mercilessly.

“Yeah, fucking love how good you take it baby. Gonna cum on my cock like a good little whore? My good little bitch, huh?” Jensen grits out breathlessly, draping himself over Jared’s back and angling his hips so he knows he’s dragging his cock over Jared’s sweet spot with every push in.

“Fuck, please, please,” Jared whimpers, turning his face to Jensen’s and clumsily trying to press their lips together. “I– I’m.. fuck,” Jared keens and Jensen growls his approval against his ear.

“C’mon, cum for me baby boy, wanna feel you cum,” Jensen snarls and he feels Jared let go, his hole spasming around Jensen’s cock as he empties himself in long white ropes onto the bed beneath them. Feeling Jared lose control is all that Jensen needs to go over the edge himself. He finally lets himself cum, grunting as he slams his hips into Jared one last time and stills, the tip of his cock pressed against the ball of black cotton still nestled inside Jared, now covered in Jensen’s cum. That thought brings a satisfied smirk to Jensen’s lips.

When their breathing has settled, Jensen carefully pulls out of Jared and rolls off of him, collapsing on the bed. Jared drops on top of him, nestling into Jensen’s chest and giving him a small kiss.

“That was really hot Jen,” Jared smiles drunkenly – though whether he’s drunk on whiskey or his orgasm, Jensen can’t tell.

“Just like you, baby boy,” Jensen says softly, kissing the top of Jared’s head.

“But,” Jared says shiftily, glancing up at Jensen.

“But?” Jen prompts, defensively.

“How am I supposed to get this fucking underwear out of my ass?”

Tag List: @vulgar-library @tintentrinkerin @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @whoreforackles @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @delightfullykrispypeach @05supernatural20 @akshi8278 @deandreamernp @lyarr24 @lovealways-j @stoneyggirl @walkersbabygirl @austin-winchester67​ 

[loftec]

Hi! in this prompt, could we know about Mickey's ex boyfriend or something? I think his name was Matt?

thank you for participating + pre NTW - Mickey's POV 👀

Anon: tell us about Matt

Yevgeny: his name was Mark

Mickey, pinching the bridge of his nose: Martin, and no. I’m not gonna tell you about Martin.

Narrator: little did Mickey know that he had zero say on the matter, let’s goooo.

April 13, 2013. Saturday.

Mickey is just off the L when his phone rings. For a moment, he considers ignoring the buzzing in his pocket as he lights up a cigarette and bounds down the metal steps. The list of people likely to call him is very limited, and most of that list is very welcome to fuck off to voicemail on a Saturday evening. Work can fuck off, telemarketers can doubly fuck off. On this particular Saturday, even his extended family can fuck off. It might be Martin, wondering where he is, but he can quite frankly also fuck off, seeing as Mickey is no more than five minutes away from their agreed rendezvous.

That only leaves one, and the thought alone is enough for Mickey to step out of the flow of people rushing to and from the platform, and check the damned call. Seeing the ID, he quickly picks up, pressing the phone to his ear.

”What the fuck?” he asks, unsure if he should be annoyed or alarmed and figuring this would best cover a bit of both.

”Hey dad,” his son says, unexpectedly.

”Yev?” Mickey says, inching towards annoyed. At least his son is unharmed enough to dial a phone, so it can’t be too bad. ”What’s wrong? Where’s Sonya?”

”She’s right here,” Yevgeny says, he sounds fine, normal, good, ”we can’t find the cake poking thing.”

Staring at the empty space in front of him, Mickey feels the rest of his mood swan dive head-first into annoyed. ”The what?”

”The thing we use to poke cakes, to check if they’re done? We can’t find it and we need it, the cake is almost done.”

Taking the forgotten cigarette from his lips, Mickey angles the burning end away from his face as he rubs at the deep line between his eyebrows.

”Kid,” he says, trying to sound calm, ”give the phone to Sonya.”

There are some muffled noises over the line, and then Mickey can hear his son’s distant voice. ”He wants to talk to you.”

”Hey Mickey,” Sonya comes on, breezy as anything. ”Is it supposed to be in the cutlery drawer? Been rifling through that thing for a good minute already.”

”Are you fucking kidding me?”

”What? It’s not such a weird guess, is it? I’d say it’s cutlery adjacent at least.”

”I’ve been outta the fucking house for less than forty minutes!” Mickey says, calmly. He is absolutely not screeching loud enough to have people on the street give him concerned looks. ”And you call me about some fucking–, I don’t have anything like that! Who has a thing specifically for poking cakes?!”

”Oh please,” Sonya scoffs. ”Plenty people do, you being one of them!”

He wants to point out that this is categorically not what he meant when he said ’call me if there’s an emergency’, but he’s got a feeling that this is only going to get him into an argument about the definition of ’emergency’ that he’s not going to win, and besides, he’s got bigger fish to fry right now.

”I absolutely do fucking not!” he splutters, glaring at a couple throwing him side-eye as they rush past him. ”Are you outta your mind?”

”I know you have one, because I gave it to you,” Sonya says, clanking sounds in the background from where she’s still presumably rifling through Mickey’s shit. ”Remember? When you moved in? I got it in Sweden when I was visiting for my cousin’s wedding. It was hand crafted, Mickey, you better not have thrown it out!”

”That thing?” Mickey balks, smoothly electing to not point out that they both know Sonya came home from her trip with like ten of those in her luggage and then spent the next two years giving them to all her friends and family whenever she’d forgot about getting gifts for an occasion. ”I stuck it in Merida.”

The silence on the other end of the line is palpable, and it takes a second for Mickey to hear what he just said.

”Who is Merida, and do I want to know why you stuck my hand-carved Swedish cake poker in her?”

Mickey sighs, and decides that he doesn’t have to answer that. He can try, at least. ”Tell Yev it’s in Merida.”

”I most certainly will not tell your sweet summer child that you’ve stuck the cake poker in–,” her increasingly high pitched voice abruptly falls to a hiss, ”–Merida, who is Merida?”

Luckily, Mickey can hear his son in the background, saving him from having to explain. ”It’s this thing?”

There’s another silence, Mickey takes the opportunity to smoke and accept the inevitable.

”Two questions,” Sonya says, her usual good humor back in her voice. ”One, you stuck my hand-carved Swedish souvenir in a potted plant? And two, you named the plant Merida?”

”It’s cartoon character–,” Mickey starts, before realizing what he’s saying and cutting himself off, ”I didn’t name it, obviously.”

”But you still call it by its name.”

”Whatever,” Mickey blows out a puff of smoke and can’t help smiling. Sometimes he just has to stop and take stock of how fucking ridiculous his life has turned out. And how much he fucking likes it, despite himself. ”Congratulations, you found it. Any other emergency you needed me for, or can I get back to my–”

He swallows, catching himself mid-sentence, suddenly unsure of how he intended to end it.

”–thing.”

”You’re there already?” Sonya asks, sounding genuinely remorseful now. ”Sorry, you left so late I thought for sure you’d missed the train and would still be en route, or I wouldn’t have told Yev to call. How’s the date going?”

Mickey swallows again, throat dry. He starts walking down the street in the direction of the bar.

”It’s fine, still on the way,” he says, ”and it’s not a date.”

”Like heck it isn’t,” Sonya tuts, ”you’re out on a Yev weekend for the first time since I’ve known you, and I saw that shirt you’re wearing.”

He runs a hand self-consciously along his belt, his button-down still tucked in and in place. He refuses to worry about it.

”You looked good, Mickey, I meant to tell you,” Sonya continues, and she doesn’t even sound like she’s teasing anymore which Mickey knows even less how to handle. ”And you’re undeniably on a date.”

”Shut up,” Mickey mutters and smiles to himself when Sonya laughs. Feeling a little more himself, he chucks his cigarette to the curb and stops to look across the road at his destination. ”Maybe.”

He hadn’t really considered the possibility, before Martin asked him. But the sex was always good, they got along really well, and when Martin looked up at him from his bed as Mickey was pulling on his jeans, his hair rumpled and lips still shiny, and asked if he wanted to go to some kind of hipster showcase gig together, Mickey had barely even hesitated.

”About time, too,” Sonya says. ”Was starting to think the guy wasn’t all there, taking his sweet time. Maybe he was waiting for you to ask.”

”Ey,” Mickey shakes his head, ”it’s only been a couple of months.”

”Try six! That’s half of a whole year.”

”Try minding your own fucking business,” Mickey says and frowns. Maybe it has been that long since the first time they hooked up, but it’s not like they’ve been fucking on the regular the whole time since then.

”Just happy for you, Mickey,” Sonya says, like it’s an easy thing for her to say. ”You like him, right?”

He doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t outright deny it either, which probably tells Sonya everything she needs to know.

”Gotta go,” he says instead, ”and don’t call me again unless it’s an actual fucking emergency. See you tomorrow.”

Not waiting to see if she’s got something to say to that, he hangs up and shoves the phone back into his pocket. Staring at the unassuming building across the street, he allows himself a moment to take it all in. He’s just casing the joint before he enters, it’s normal fucking behavior. He isn’t stalling.

It doesn’t look too busy from the outside, there’s no line, and no bouncer or guard by the propped open double doors. The walls of the building are littered with layers of posters, on both sides of the doors and across the covered windows. Not much can be seen through the doors from his vantage point, but he assumes that it’s a front room leading to whatever’s going on inside the building.

There’s a guy standing off to the side of the doors, smoking. He’s got a lanyard shoved down his back pocket, ID badge dangling in clear sight. Most likely someone working at the bar, out on a break. His shoulders are hunched and he’s got a phone clutched to his ear, head bent and lips pressed together in a thin line. He nods at whatever is being said to him over the phone. Mickey looks up at the worn sign above the door.

”Fuck it,” Mickey mutters and, pushing aside the last of his niggling doubt, makes his way across the street and through the doors. It’s dark enough inside that his eyes need a second to adjust, before he quickly orients himself and heads toward the noise and lights leaking out from behind a set of swing doors beyond the coat check.

”Excuse me!” someone pipes up behind him, and he turns back to raise his eyebrows at the girl standing behind a counter by the entrance. ”We’ve got a showcase tonight, you need to buy a ticket.”

She makes an apologetic face as Mickey gets closer and pulls out his wallet.

”25,” she says when he gives her a questioning look.

”Christ,” he mutters, but forks over the money. ”This better be good.”

”We’ve got a really exciting lineup tonight, all local acts,” she says, obviously relieved now that he’s payed and she can tuck away his hard earned cash in her little lock box. ”I’m hoping I can take a break soon so I can sneak a peak of the headliner.”

She winks at him as she hands over a ticket, and he has zero fucking clue what he’s supposed to do with any of that.

”Okay?” he says and accepts the ticket. ”What’s this for? I’m already here.”

”In case you want to go in and out,” she says, and then tacks on when she seems to remember something she’s supposed to say; ”there’s no smoking in the venue.”

Mickey shrugs and pockets the ticket, biting back the urge to tell her that there’s no fucking smoking anywhere these days, thank you very much. The girl is still smiling at him when he turns his back on her and heads for the bar.

”Have fun!”

Finally inside, the place seems to be a collection of smaller rooms with some walls knocked down to make a larger, oddly shaped space. The bar is crowded, three bartenders moving around each other and pouring drinks in the narrow space behind it, and all the tables tucked away in the dark half-room next to it seem occupied. In the main room, Mickey finds the small, raised stage with a bigger crowd gathered in front of it. There’s a guy on stage, talking about something and looking like he’s about to cry while getting thoroughly ignored by a majority of his audience.

Mickey included, when he spots Martin a bit to the left of the stage. He’s talking to a couple of people he must have met in the crowd, smiling in that carefree way of his, eyes squeezed together and head tossed back when he laughs. He seems to do that a lot, laugh and talk and make friends wherever he goes. Open about himself in casual throw-away lines as he lets Mickey into his apartment, takes his clothes off, catching his breath, seeing Mickey off again. It’s nice seeing him out here, in the real world.

Maybe this could work. Mickey really should have tried harder to be on time, leaving your date to make new friends while he waits for you to show up seems like a bad move, now that he thinks about it.

Shit. Here goes nothing.

”Hey!” Martin exclaims, face lighting up with a wide smile when Mickey walks into his line of sight. He doesn’t sound upset, really doesn’t look it either when he pulls Mickey in for a quick kiss. It’s over before Mickey’s had the chance to do much else than blink in surprise.

”I’m late,” he acknowledges and hopes Martin will take the attempt at an apology for what it is.

”It’s fine,” Martin gins at him, tilting his head in the direction of the stage, ”you haven’t missed anything good.”

”– have you ever noticed that?” the guy on stage mutters into the microphone, ”I mean–, uh, I’ve noticed, that–, sometimes–”

Tuning the guy out again, Mickey looks past his date at the two people still standing on his other side, regarding them curiously.

”We got a problem?” he asks them, raising his eyebrows further when the woman just smiles at him.

”Oh,” Martin says, angling himself so the four of them make a little semi-circle in the crowd. ”My friends, Nora, Ethan, this is Mickey.”

Mickey stares at the side of Martin’s face for a moment, before he notices Ethan’s outstretched hand. He feels confused enough to grab it in a quick handshake. The woman, Nora, just keeps smiling.

”Nice to meet you, Mickey,” she says, clearly hiding something. People generally aren’t this smiley without an agenda, in Mickey’s experience.

”Sure,” Mickey says, glancing at Martin for some clue as to what he’s supposed to do now.

”You wanna go get yourself a drink?” Martin asks, pointing in the direction of the bar. ”This comedy train wreck should be over soon, hopefully.”

”Sure,” Mickey says again, wrong-footed by the whole odd situation and frustrated with himself for not being able to shake the feeling that he’s made a huge mistake.

”Go with him!” Nora says, making Martin take a half-step closer to Mickey by shoving lightly at his shoulder. ”We’ll save the spot.”

She gives Martin a pointed look and some kind of silent communication seems to happen between them, ending with her looking victorious and Martin dropping his head back with an exaggerated sigh. Then he turns to Mickey and playfully gestures for him to lead the way.

”Sorry about her,” he says once they’ve reached the bar, leaning in closer to speak directly into Mickey’s ear. The warmth of his breath makes the hairs on his neck stand on end. ”I keep telling her to back off, but she’s got it in her head that we’re doing something we’re not.”

Mickey swallows and turns his head to look at Martin when he leans back.

”And what are we doing?” he asks, and he doesn’t realize how it sounds until he sees Martin’s gobsmacked expression.

He lets out a startled laugh. ”Are we really gonna talk about this now? Here?”

And technically, Mickey agrees with him. He really doesn’t want to have the ’what are we’ conversation, and he definitely doesn’t want to have it now, here. But he’s already said it, and now he needs to know.

”Maybe,” he says and frowns when Martin just stares at him for a moment.

”I don’t know?” Martin eventually says. ”We have fun, right? I didn’t think you wanted it to be more than that?”

Mickey can barely hear his own thoughts over the noise from the bar, but he can practically feel his heartbeat in his throat. ”Do you?”

Martin makes a pained face, like it’s an involuntary reaction to the mere idea, before he shrugs helplessly and gives Mickey an uncertain smile.

”We don’t really have anything in common, Mickey,” he says. ”I don’t know, I just don’t see it going anywhere.”

”Thank you for participating,” the guy on stage says, his voice louder and verging on hysterical. It gives Mickey a reason to look away from Martin’s face for a second, hating the sympathetic twist to his lips. He feels like a fool.

”You suck!” someone yells in the audience.

”Yeah? Right back at you buddy!”

”Get off the stage!”

”Sure,” Mickey says, and nods. ”No, sure. You’re right.”

”Sorry?” Martin says and grins when Mickey rolls his eyes. ”And we can still have fun, right? Hey, I’ll buy you a drink! What do you want?”

”Anything, a beer,” Mickey tries to focus on Martin, on the list of prices pinned to the wall behind the bar, but there is suddenly too much noise, too many people, too much… stuff. ”I just gotta–”

He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, so he stops. He doesn’t know what he wants, but getting out of this room would be a good start.

Martin looks confused, and then tuts reproachfully when Mickey pulls out his pack of smokes and gestures in the direction of the doors. He hates it when Mickey smokes, always makes him brush his teeth before they do anything. Guess that’s another thing they don’t have in common. Mickey hadn’t given it much thought.

He leaves Martin by the bar to fend for the bartender’s attention on his own and goes back outside, ignoring the surprised look on the girl by the door when he strides past her. Once outside, he’d hoped the fresh air and relative silence would knock him back on track, but it doesn’t. Everything is exactly the same, only now he can add ’running away like a pussy’ to the list of tonight’s embarrassments. He hates this, this isn’t him.

He should go back inside, show Martin and his friends that he doesn’t give a shit. Have a couple of beers, get through the night, make that asshole suck his dick until he can’t feel anything but a warm mouth and his own pleasure. But he’s not repaying any favors, not tonight, let that shithead take care of himself, since he can’t see it going anywhere. Fuck that. It’s fine.

”I know–, no, I know…”

Wrapped up in his own bullshit, Mickey hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone. The same man from before is still on the phone, and he looks if possible even more miserable than he did when Mickey first arrived.

”That isn’t–, no, I know you didn’t… listen–”

Mickey ignores him, taking out a cigarette putting it to his lips. Might as well, he’s already out here. He lights it up. He, lights it up… come the fuck on, he lights it up. His lighter is out. Fucking great.

”Ey,” he says and turns to the guy on the phone, ”you got a light?”

The guy stares at him, and Mickey absently thinks he looks even worse up close. Like, disturbingly hot and built enough to properly toss a guy around if he wanted, but absolutely worn down by whatever it is he’s doing with whoever’s on the phone with him. Whatever, not Mickey’s problem. He shakes his empty lighter when the guy doesn’t immediately react.

”Oh,” the guy blinks, his eyes are red. He digs out a lighter from somewhere and hands it over. ”Here.”

”Thanks,” Mickey steps close enough so he can reach out and take it, and consequently hear the distant sound of a man’s voice on the other end of the line. He can’t make out any words, but the tone is unmistakable. The guy frowns and turns away slightly.

”Jesus, Jace, what the fuck?” he says, voice low and sharp. ”Are you serious right now? I’m not–, you know what?”

Mickey lights up and takes a couple of steps away to give the guy some privacy, but might still watch him out of the corner of his eye and hear pretty much everything he says. Call him a nosy bitch, but he really needs the distraction right now.

”I can’t do this right now,” the guy sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. ”We’re on in like ten minutes and I can’t–, I can’t do this with you right now. I asked you for time.”

He listens, and whatever it is that’s being said to him seems to hit a nerve. The general air around him of annoyed resolve slowly shifts into something more resigned.

”Yeah, I know… I’m sorry,” he says, and Mickey doesn’t know him or his situation, but he knows this can’t be right. ”Tomorrow, we’ll talk. I promise. Yeah, thanks… I will. Love you, too.”

Mickey shouldn’t be listening to this, he should finish his cigarette and go back inside. Find Martin and enjoy the night, have some fucking fun. Maybe he should, but he doesn’t want to.

He wants to go home, put on some fucking comfortable clothes and watch a movie with his kid.

”Heads up,” he says and waits until the phone guy looks up before he lobs the lighter back at him. He fumbles, but catches it. ”Fuck him, you deserve better.”

The guy stares at him, and rightly so. Mickey doesn’t know why he said that, he doesn’t know anything about it. But the guy looks… he looks a bit like Mickey’s feeling, deep down and buried many times over.

He looks lost.

”You deserve better,” Mickey repeats, because he already said it and he’s nothing if not all in. The guy opens his mouth on a shaky exhale, but he doesn’t say anything. Probably thinking of ways to get away from the freak accosting him on the street with unsolicited affirmation bullshit. Which, fair enough. Guess that’s Mickey’s cue to fuck off. If the guy would just stop staring at him like that.

A hand-holding couple suddenly walks right through their intense moment, heading for the doors. Mickey comes back to himself and, thinking quick, he takes out his ticket and waves it at the couple to get their attention.

”No thanks,” the man said, probably thinking he’s trying to sell it.

”Just fucking take it,” Mickey grumbles, shoving the ticket at them.

”Uh, thanks?”

Mickey waves a dismissive hand at them, already on his way.

”Thank you!” someone shouts after him.

He can’t wait to get home. Kick off his shoes, wash out the gel in his hair. Untuck his fucking shirt. Investigate whatever that cake poking business was about, hopefully cake. Watch his kid watch a movie, see his little face light up and mouth along with the words. Absolutely ignore Sonya’s inevitable attempts to get him to ’talk about it’.

His life is fucking fine the way it is, he doesn’t know why he got it in his head to try and make it something it isn’t.

[thepaperpanda]

Halloween one shots - Uncharted edition

Summary: two very short stories written for upcoming Halloween.

Warnings: None

Words: 1635

Authors: Cass & Rouge

You remembered how you said you wanted to just spend halloween at home with your boyfriend. Without others lurking around through a mansion you're living in. 

When Rafe was gone, you had the place entirely for yourself, which meant you could do whatever you wanted, as long as it didn't include devastating the property. 

Despite the fact in the house you couldn't find any proper materials, you decided that Rafe will be welcomed with cheerful and resourceful Halloween decorations, no matter how much effort it will cost.

Setting everything around the mansion took you almost a week, with a little help from servants. Soon, a spooky skeleton dressed in a suit with a hat on stood in Rafe's office, right next to his wooden desk. You also used twigs, moss and fake spiderwebs to decorate it, as well as the staircase.

Carved pumpkins also stood on the floors along the corridors, having little candles ignited in them.

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

Rafe saw plenty of Halloween decorations in storefronts on his way home.

He didn't pay much attention to them.

 Halloween was childish to him. All the silly, scary costumes, decorations and trick-or-treating. Stupid reason for kids to bother him every year. Stupid brats thought that if their parents bought them 300$ costumes that they are something special.

 Rafe was more than happy to return home. He missed you and his bed, not to mention a mix of both. He was a horny bastard after those two weeks without you.

 Adler returned home late. Really fucking late but he still had some minor stuff to take care of. After taking his coat off and leaving it in a hallway, Rafe went to his office.

 It was fucking dark. All he could see was a person-like shape standing right next to the window.

Raising an eyebrow, he switched on the light and looked at the fake skeleton.

"I hope it’s Drake's and not some cheap shit she had gotten on sellout,” he muttered unamused with the decoration.

 You were aware of his return, so you went downstairs to greet him. Frowning you found out that his coat was hung on a hanger, yet there was no Rafe in the sight. You tapped your nose, thinking. 

You decided to check within one room he was using frequently - his office.

 Rafe looked up as soon as he heard the door open. "I assume you are the one that put that crap into my office,” he muttered resting his chin on his hand.

 You nodded eagerly at first. “Yes! He does look cute, doesn’t he?!,” you clapped your hands and walked to the skeleton to improve its hat. “Oh, and by the way, hi,” you turned to Rafe and leand forward to place a brief kiss on his cheek. “I missed you and decided to decorate the mansion while you’re gone,” you claimed proudly.

 "First of all, why? And who the hell let you use my clothes?," Rafe asked with a frown.

 You shrugged a little while bending your butt against his desk. “I just thought you’ll be gone for a little longer, so I decided to make something like a substitute of your presence here, maybe just in a more funny way though,” you informed him while playing with the edge of your dress. “Just don’t get me wrong, I don’t think you’re fossilized nor something like that, no. I just thought I could merge this with upcoming Halloween. And I let myself use your clothes. Don’t be mad with me.” 

 "I am mad. You live here for three years now. Have you ever seen me celebrating this bullshit!?," He growled looking at you. "You better remove my expensive clothes off that shit and take it out from my office."

 “But, honey!,” you gasped, “Why? I spent hours preparing all this. I put my heart into preparing decorations, baking your favourite pumpkin muffins,” you counted. “Why are you expecting me to leave my little customs behind?”

 "I don't like pumpkin muffins," he said, crossing arms over his chest.  "Just as much as I hate this shitty holiday or whatever it's called. Get this outta my office or it will fly through the window."

 You lowered your head and let out a sigh. “Okay, as you wish, dear,” informing him, you walked to the skeleton you’d already named Valentino and picked him up with a loud gasp. 

 Rafe sighed deeply seeing your sadness. "Okay, he can stay. Just really, take this expensive suit off. Take my old trousers and t-shirt."

He couldn't bear the sight of your sadness, so maybe keeping that particular decoration and every other you prepared was a good idea. For your well-being at least.

 You stopped and turned your head slightly to look at your boyfriend. “You mean it? Like, really really?,” You asked, blinking.

 Rafe nodded. "As long as your bony friend isn't taking my expensive clothes, this let’s say installation can stay."

 You put Valentino back on his place and walked to Rafe, quickly taking place on his comfortable lap, wrapping arms around his neck. “You’re kind when you want to be,” you reminded him, nudging his shoulder a little. Your hands then cupped his face and held it in place when you leaned forward to kiss him passionately. “I’m glad you’re back and that I’ll have you by my side on the spooky, upcoming night! I hope you’ll be my protector.”

 Rafe hummed deeply. "I can protect you all night in our bed. Just you and me between your legs," he said and wrapped his arms around you before getting up with you.

 “Rafael Adler, you were cute but you had to destroy it with your ambiguity of course!,” You chuckled softly and kissed his temple. “I’ll think whether you deserve the prize or not.”

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

Sam frowned looking at the rubber mask of the werewolf. It wasn't something he was looking for but he got a good idea how to use it this one time.

 He hummed and looked through the shop alleys until he found you in the candy section. After all you both came here to stock up on candies for kids and for both of you.

You wearing a red dress only gave him more ideas.

Putting on the werewolf mask Sam sneaked behind you. He was good at this so why not to use that skill.

 Sam grabbed your hips pulling you tightly against his chest.

"Would you look at that! Big Bad Wolf got his little Red Riding Hood!"

 You let out a loud squeak, which caused few people to look in your direction. You instantly put your hand over your mouth and gasped. “Sorry! I didn’t expect this! Don’t scare me!”

You turned your head slightly and looked at Sam’s mask, which made you scream once more. “Drake, you old bastard!”

 "I am the Big Bad Wolf! And I will eat you!," He growled and picked you up. "Unless the wolf will get a kiss."

 You hummed and shook your head. “No, you won’t get a kiss. I don’t know whether you had your rabies vaccination,” you chuckled at your own words.

 "Oh don't be such a Snow Queen. I had my rabies vaccination, because there is a prince under that fur. So?," Sam hummed, smiling under the mask.

 You leaned forward to reach nis exposed neck where you placed a kiss. “Then I can agree. I want to have the prince only for myself. I demand it. But now, put me down, people are staring!”

 "And that's how the Little Red Riding Hood removed the curse from the prince," Sam said and removed the mask. "I don't know if I will put you down. Why should I?"

 “I’m a little girl that doesn’t like to be lifted up, not counting some particular situations of course,” you smiled. “Put me down, my prince. I need to buy some candies for our subjects for the upcoming fest.”

 Sam thought for a moment and nodded. "Okay. I will but you will do something for me and only then I will put you down."

 You wrapped arms around his neck to support yourself from falling. “What is this?”

 "We will buy those matching pirate couple costumes" Sam asked happily. He knew you hated that idea from the start but maybe this was the right moment to get them.

 You rolled your eyes but nodded in the end. “We will, pinky promise.”

 "Yes!" Sam said loudly, getting other people's attention again.  He kissed you quickly and put you down. "C'mon! They are in a different alley," Sam almost sang, pulling you behind.

 You followed him, gathering packs of candies you had prepared before. When you two got to the point, you checked the costumes out and hummed, thinking. “I need to admit that they look cool. Pity that lady costume covers less than it shows.”

 "Every captain needs his sexy lady," Sam said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. "Besides, we can always use them for some roleplay in the bedroom after halloween."

 As the blush crept onto your lips, you smirked wryly at him. “So, are you a captain, a bad wolf or a prince? Make up your mind, handsome.”

 "I am everything to you. Just as you are to me," Sam explained with a shrug.

 You reached out and stroked his bearded cheek. “I love you. But we gotta get to the checkout now as I’m having a lot of work at home yet, gotta make pumpkin pie, gotta prepare decorations and carve the pumpkins.”

Sam nodded. "Okay. I can't wait to get a slice of that pie." When he started walking toward the checkout, you slightly spanked his butt in fitted jeans. “If you’ll help me then I’ll consider getting you some,” you informed Sam. “Move up, move up, Mister Pirate.”

[anon-e-miss]

Jazz is going prepared to go journey for searching dryad's brother. will the twins coming with them? but punch has to take care of them

They slipped from the Dead End in the cover of darkness. Just across the border, the caravan waited. Ori had already prepared Jazz’s genitors for their secret cargo. Everything would be ready. Smuggling was not a new trick for Rumbler and Sprocket. Most of the caravans had dabbled in it here and there. There could be more shanix in it than the legal trade. No one paid tax on the credits that changed servos when you snug mechanisms or illegal goods across the border. Jazz thought his genitors had a more experienced servo than most. Straxis no longer send goons into the Dead End to confirm his hostages remained. Jazz had been able to go on his runs without detection for stellar-cycles. The way the Dead End was overcrowded, with habs stacked on habs, the goons would rightly think of themselves a target for the poor and frustrated residents. That was fair, they were a target. Swindle’s goons had been the law in the Dead End for a while now. Jazz wondered if Straxis even realized he had been deposed as the true power.

Rumbler appeared on the top of a dune. They spoke via chirolinguisitics. No one “said” a glyph. The mechlings did not stir, deep in recharge as they were. That was not an accident. Silence was of the utmost importance right now, they could make all the noise they wanted once they were deep in the Wastes. A load of duratanium hid the smuggling box set into the trailer. The team of machadron that would haul it across the desert was corralled nearby, leaving the hidden door accessible. Sprocket left the machadron and joined his brother to dare only the briefest of embraces with their sparkmate and creation. Jazz excited and terrified. If this worked, he would never come back to Staniz. His creations would never step ped back in the city. The Wastes bordered many states. They could buy a stake on another trade route if they played their cards right.

“I know it’s a lil cramped,” Jazz said to Prowl after the door was sealed behind them. The floor was covered in blankets. It was as comfortable as it could be. It was tight. There was no way of stretching out without touching. “Once we can drop the load, it’ll be more comfortable.”

“It is fine,” Prowl said, he sat back against wall with Bluestreak cradled in his arms.

Strings of crystals looped around his ankles, wrists and neck. He wore a crystal crown, balanced over his chevron, that bit was at Sunstreaker’s insistence. They were already dimming. The form stayed in was the blandest he had. If Jazz did not know he was anything but a normal Praxian, he would not guess it. Ori had already stashed a few bushes amongst the caravan’s cargo. Jazz could only hope it would be enough to get them to the oasis at Doradus where they would replenish their stock. If it was not enough, Jazz did not know what he would do. The idea that Prowl and Bluestreak could fade before his optics was a living memory purge. He would do everything in his power and beyond to prevent it.

They dozed through the last joors of the dark-cycle. With the light-cycle came the last preparations before the caravan set back into the desert. Through the speaker hidden high on the wall, Jazz heard Sprocket hooking the ornery beasts of burden to the trailer. He relaxed, but it was short-lived. Across from him, Prowl went sickeningly pale as they heard the same voices. Jazz squeezed Prowl’s ankle as he dropped a blade from its sheath in his arm, knowing full well his origin had done the same. As Prowl shivered with fear, Jazz urged the Twins over to him. They cuddled up with Prowl as their genitor and grandorigin slipped into position.

“Ya know ya ain’t welcome in my caravan,” Rumbler’s voice growled.

“I’m just here on a matter of business,” Swindle’s slick prattle earned him a derisive sniff.

“Ya mean the business o’ payin’ me?” Rumbler asked. “Ya still owe me for the last shipment.”

“I paid...”

“Counterfeit don’t count.”

“You listen...” Onslaught’s snarl was silenced as the ground shook below them. The trailer rattled as the machadron roared and stomped.

“Pay what ya owe,” Rumbler said as the ground stilled. “Plus that interest I know ya like so much, ‘n we can talk next time. Happens ‘m full up. Straxis’ got the contract this time. I don’t got room for your scrap.”

“I don’t have goods,” Swindle said. His voice was higher. Fear or frustration, or both. The ground rumbled again and Swindle squeaked. “I’m looking to recover some of my own...”

“Poor bitlet,” Sprocket cackled. The Combaticons grumbled but again the ground trembled and silenced them again.

“Think ‘m gonna let ya poke ‘round Straxis’ cargo?” Rumbler sneered. “Ya must think ‘m stupid. I know how sticky yer digits are.”

“I resent that accusation!”

“Ya mean ya resemble it,” Rumbler countered. “Get outta my camp, Swindle. Don’t show yer face ‘til ya have my credits, less ya want me to feed ya to my Dweller.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

There was a scream, more than one, as the ground shook. Jazz knew the moment Arkus breached. He roared as he leapt from the desert sands. A screech of rotors told Jazz when Vortex took flight. The ground trembled again as the Dweller Rumbler had spent vorns training disappeared back underground.   Swindle had no reason to suspect he had been played. He had no idea Meister was the product of this caravan. The most important lesson Punch had ever taught Jazz was to keep his function and his family well segregated. Swindle might yet turn up, though if he thought he could stalk Rumbler and Sprocket he was going to find himself led on a twisting, turning adventure until was hopelessly lost in the dunes.

Jazz slid his blade back into its sheath when the trailer started rolling. They had passed the first hurdle, hopefully, it would also prove to be the worst. His genitors had not transported a Praxian passenger across the desert, but they had hauled a load of palms to the oasis in Doradus to replace a glade that had been killed by some mysterious plague. It was possible the plague was just a desperate Dryad, or a Dryad had hitched a ride on one of the palms they transported. In any case, Doradus was the most sensible place to start the hunt for Smokescreen. Prowl remained worryingly pale. The crystals the Twins had strung for him were dull. Jazz was not the only one to notice. Ori called the mechlings over and opened a box of unstrung crystals and put them to work. Soon Prowl was draped in fresh crystals. Whether they really improved his colour or not, Jazz was not sure but the Dryad smiled at the Twins when they dressed him in his new finer. At the very least they helped his mood.

“We’re puttin’ down camp,” Rumbler declared before he opened the door, saving himself from getting stabbed by his mate or his creation.

“Looks like a new spot,” Punch observed, looking up at the sky, not at the ever changing dunes, when he stepped down from the trailer.

“Thought that pompous scrapheap was followin’, so we took them on a tour,” Rumbler explained. “Led ‘m into a Swarm’s nest. Outta keep’em outta our platin’.”

They were alone in the desert. The bulk of the caravan had taken off on route to Uraya with Straxis’ goods. It was not uncommon for pairs to split off for private deliveries, though it was not so common for them to split off so early. There was safety in numbers, but the fewer mechanisms knew of Prowl and Bluestreak, the better. Jazz trusted his progenitors and their secret weapon following along under their peds, to keep them safe. Jazz helped Prowl down from the trailer, and led him to the soft carpet set under the awning. The first sacrificial bush was brought over and Prowl placed his root crystal on its trunk. Soon his plating became crystalline as he took energy and comfort from the crystal and the desert.

“Thank you,” Prowl’s voice changed with his plating, taking on the ethereal ting of a crystal. Bluestreak changed to match his originator. When he giggled it had a similar bell-like clarity.

“We’re further out than we wanted to be after the first mega-cycle,” Jazz said as he looked up at the stars. “Gettin’ those afts off out tail took some tricks.”

“I hope the Swarm eat them slowly,” Prowl replied.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

While Sprocket put a sheepicron on a spit to roast, Rumbler used the exoskeleton to unload the trailer. He dragged the duratanium out of camp. The ground shook when Arkus poked his beak up and dragged the beams of metal underground. Somewhere below them, the beast had a nest. It was lined with offerings like this one. They knew from experience that the Dweller would not eat the beams, that was not the substance it lived on. Rather, the Dweller was an energy vampire. He had fed on the sheepicron Sprocket was now cooking. The thing had been a juvenile when Rumbler had found it. Whether it had been abandoned by its originator or orphaned had not mattered. Providing it with the energy it needed to feed had domesticated it and Arkus was now Rumbler’s loyal pet... more or less. They had never tested Arkus’ loyalty by withholding his fuel and they would not. Rumbler was not that stupid.

“I thought he was crazy adoptin’ that thing, but a Dweller’s a lot scarier than a hellhound,” Punch declared as he finished the edges of his weaving project. “‘N easier to keep fuelled.”

“It is ingenious,” Prowl said. “I did not think Vortex would fear anything.”

“Rumbler loves havin’ it rumblin’ under ped when the inspectors come ‘round,” Sprocket said, joining them on the carpet while the sheepicron cooked on the automatic spit. “Gets the machadron jumpy but keeps the inspections short and sweet.”

“Thank you for agreeing to transport us,” Prowl said. Cocked his helm to Punch.

“He asked, that’s enough. Thumbin’ our olfactory ridges at Swindle just sweetens the deal.”

“Grandtor, I wanna bounce!” Sideswipe exclaimed and he jumped into Sprocket’s lap.

“Just one bounce?” Sprocket asked, bouncing Sideswipe once on his knee.

“Lots of bounces! Sing the song.”

It was not long before Sunstreaker abandoned their grandori and the loom to demand a turn at bounching. Sprocket sang the silly tune over and over but never seemed to tire. Punch’s optics glowed with warmth, watching his sparkmate with their grandcreations. Taking turns became more palatable when Rumbler joined them. When one was bounced, the other was given a piggyback ride. Jazz delighted in watching. His attention was only pulled away when he heard sharp intake from Prowl and he turned to look. Prowl was holding a blanket, the very project that Punch had being finishing. There were tears in his optics as he thanked Punch for the gift. Jazz shuffled over to join them and watched Ori show Prowl how to swaddle Bluestreak.

“Beauty work as always, Ori,” Jazz said.

“Thank ya, Love,” Punch replied. He did not preen but he looked pleased.

“I swear I will not lose it,” Prowl promised, cradling his swaddle creation. Whatever else happened, where ever they left Prowl, Jazz got the distinct impression Ori was going to want to drop in to visit. What Punch said next, confirmed it.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” Punch said. “I’d make ‘m another.”

[doodleimprovement]

Everything’s Changed

So. I saw This and This by @cupcakeshakesnake and my brain went “WRITE IT. NOW” 

So, uh, I did

Don’t take this too seriously just about 80 percent self indulgence

-- 

How had they ended up in such a terrible, awful, shitty situation?

Bad luck and impulsiveness, of course.

When was anything involving this hatted brat caused by anything else?

She’d wanted to go back inside to get something. Apparently, despite her abject fear of the other corpse that roamed the forest, She’d seen something important, something precious she just needed to get.

A Subconite had attempted to stop her, but she was not dissuaded, so the poor thing ran as fast as its stubby legs could carry it back to his boss, and told the Snatcher what the hatted child was up to.

The fact that his immediate reaction was a feeling of sickness in his no-longer-functioning stomach said something about his feelings for the little twerp.

He’d gotten to her just after she’d crossed the bridge, and they proceeded to get in a rather heated argument where - funny enough - he felt like he was losing.

The shouting stopped short when the temperature took a sharp drop, and the two of them looked and saw the mangled, rotting corpse of the Snatcher’s former wife, staring at them blankly.

His first instinct was to grab the child and run, and he did in fact grab the child- who was stock still in her fear - picking her up and feeling some sort of relief when she instinctively grabbed onto him. They’d done this song and dance before, awkwardly enough.

He turned his head to the bridge to see it still clear, and turned in its direction, only to be stopped by a jagged wall of ice.

“M-m-my…. P-rince” The queen croaked out

Snatcher didn’t respond, feeling Hat Kid hide her face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Such a meek action for someone so brave. His grip tightened.

“He’s dead” was all he responded with “Dead and gone where you left him, rotting away”

The queen didn’t seem to like that, her red eyes shining

“Come… BACK!!” She shrieked, and they had barely a moment before a wall of ice jutted out, and he stepped back

And he fell.

And fell- 

And heard the child in his arms scream his name, snapping him out of his shocked stupor.

His head turning, he saw it wasn’t as deep as he feared, and his mind tried to figure out a way to spare the Hat kid an unpleasant fate.

If you asked him what he actually did to cushion her fall onto the hard rock he couldn’t tell you.

All he knew was that his hand was about a meter away, and his jaw had been knocked off.

“... Ewww” was all Hat Kid said, sitting up and rubbing at her face.

He could have said something sassy back, if he hadn’t lost his jaw.

“Are… are you okay?” She asked, rubbing her head a bit.

His eyes scanned her. She seemed alright, if not breathing a little heavy from the encounter earlier.

He nodded, using his attached hand to grab at his detached one.

It wasn’t a pleasant sight or feeling, but he did manage to reattach it.

She didn’t budge an inch until his jaw was properly reattached.

“You know, you’re really lucky i can float, kid” He spoke, letting out a grumble as he stood “Come on, we have to walk a bit before I fly outta here. I don’t want to have another confrontation with the ice zombie witch” he looked down the cavern and then back at her.

She wasn’t standing.

“Uh, kid, get up, come on”

“ I uh…. I don’t…” She nervously tittered.

“We don’t have all of my afterlife, kid, come on” He pressed, annoyance bubbling under his tone.

She looked nervous, eyes shining with what looked like tears. He felt a little bad, but he’d find a way to apologize later - probably with some kind of contract.

He watched her get onto her knees, and deliberately use her left leg to push herself to stand. She was leaning

“... Your leg” His shoulders slumped. So she didn’t end up unscathed after all.

She grabbed at the edge of her cloak “It-it’s fine”

Her eyes were still glassy with tears of what he imagined were a mix of shame and pain.

He sighed. Wow asshole, way to not bother to read her body language. You keep saying you’re not heartless and here you are, being unsympathetic. She’s like, 9, you idiot.

He walked over to her, and grabbed her under her arms, placing her at his hip.

“We’ll find some of those healing magics when we get out. Does it ache?”

She didn’t respond. Staring at him with her glistening eyes like he’d grown another head

“What?”

“I… i’m sorry….” she rubbed at her eyes again, desperate not to cry.

Snatcher could feel a certain, strange panic rising in his chest “Hey, hey, it’s fine kid, ah geez don’t cry” the hand not holding her up moved her bangs from her face. It seemed she had a little scrape on her forehead too.

“Just maybe don’t go near her place again, hm? I sent you in there cause I’m a peckneck but I’m not doin’ that dumb shit again, okay?”

The child rubbed at her eyes again and let out a little giggle at his self depreciation. He felt that panic calm.

“... I was.. I was gonna try to get your chest of books. It’s in the attic” She admitted

.. When had he ever mentioned that old chest?

“Kid, that’s not really something I need.” he attempted to brush it off “Sure, it has some stuff in there I miss from when I was alive, but let's be real… I don’t need a more books”

She rested the non-scraped side of her head on his shoulder “I just… wanted t’thank you for that Shadow Puppet cape…”

“Kid, I gave that to you because you beat my contracts. You don’t need to thank me for it” Geez, what was this child thinking?

He finally started to walk, the endless gorge felt almost inviting

“I dunno… I’ve never gotten nice things like that before. I always gotta get them myself” She explained.

“What, your parents never get you birthday presents? You must’ve had some lame birthday parties” Snatcher snarked.

She gave him a confused, bewildered look “Birthday… presents? Is that a thing? You have parties on your birthdays?”

Snatcher had never heard such ridiculous questions in all of his afterlife.

Oh, great. He was going to have to throw her an actual birthday party. And buy her a gift. Gross.

“You know what, we’ll talk about this later. Hold on” he finally wrapped his other arm around her.

She held on him, her head staying firmly on his shoulder.

He took just a second to feel assured at her strong hold. She was fine, a twisted ankle and some scrapes wasn’t the end of the world.

Yeah, they’d be fine. She’d be fine.

He didn’t care. It’s fine.

[magicflowershop]

one day kitty; Kita version

《inspired by movie A Whisker Away》

✿✿ you wished to be with the person you like and wish granted. whiskers, button nose, tail, four legs and ears on top of the head; you turned into a cat. with this, you are given the opportunity to be with the person you want to express your affections to. but as a cat. and only in one day.

― haikyuu characters x cat!reader imagines!

❀ masterlist ❀

the wheel of names have spoken.

kita was having a good time by himself in his grandmother’s rice fields, feeling the breeze like the precious farm boi he is,,, when he saw a cat sleeping on a wet patch in the middle of the field

gathering concern for the little cat, he brought him home and decided to clean it up 

then you woke up

you felt something scrubbing your back when you open your eyes you see a guy aiming a hose at you 

you scream bc obv, but that scream translated into a screech leaving your mouth and you see your hand

homie that was a paw

why do u have a paw?????

"stay still, you might hurt yourself”

and why is there a Kita Shinsuke spraying water at you lmao

you see that he’s kinda annoyed that you’re moving so much while he’s trying to clean you up but at the same time you arent sure since he isnt easy to read and that don’t know him too well rip so you let yourself be cleaned for free ig

but yo what the hell??? so you’re a cat now????

you try to remember what happened before all this and how in the world you suddenly turned into a cat and magically wake up in Kita’s place 

you dont know the exact location of his place so you have no idea how to get back home from here

Kita pulled the cat closer to him, and wiping the wet fur with a towel as generously as he could that the cat soon found comfort from his gentle caresses

okay maybe you could stay for a while yk huehue

“you’re having fun”

you hear a familiar voice from a mile away, you look back and see a fat, creepy cat standing on two of its hind feet

o wait

you saw that cat last night when you were watching the shooting star outside,,, you thought it’d be cute if you suddenly wished for something so you did then that thing appeared outta nowhere promising you that he can make your wish come true than compared to a stupid star

so he forced the wish outta you

that you wished to be closer to a guy you admired,, and you had a lot of crushes in your school ykyk,,, just that Kita takes the entire cake

“you have until midnight to remain as a cat. be sure to leisurely fulfill your desires, y/n.”

and so he vanished

while knowing full well you’re basically Cinderella now, you take consideration of your leisure time with Kita-sama

do you stay or do you go home first to check on your household

“oh what do we have here?”

Kita’s grandma entered the scene and you think that okay maybe this development is a little too quick since you weren’t ready to face his relatives yet

“i found this cat in the fields. it looked like it could get sick so i cleaned it”

o yea you were a damn cat

also Kita calls you freakin “it”

:) 

pennywise who

you chose to stay in Kita’s place bc grandma thought it’d be lovely to let you stay there for a while,, and that you looked like you were starving when you saw the food on the table

thank goodness you were a cat bc jesus were you actually drooling

so you spent time in Kita’s place big deal

but his place isn’t what you’re aimed for no?

“i’m leaving”

Kita says putting on his shoes, ready to leave and he’s wearing casual clothes,, you don’t think he’s going to school for volleyball practice

IS HE GOING ON A DATE????????????

lmao

as if thats actually true cmon Kita doesn’t even hang out with girls that much,,, even though he prolly has a bunch of admirers like the other Inarizaki Vball bois

but what if he swang that wae?

??????????

so you followed him right?

you wanted to find out where he’s headed also that he looked good in casual clothes you just want to keep looking at him like this 

Kita went to the grocery store

ah

and apparently he was buying ingredients to make food

ahh

so you begin to think that you were foolish for lowkey gate-keeping him

like sis cmon you’re a cat rn keep your head in the game,, what do you do with those paws of yours that cant even grab his hand and pull him away when he was about to bump into a girl as he was about to grab a bottle of tomato paste

heck you cant even get inside the damn grocery store and walk in between them cause you’re a fcking cat!!!!!!!!

you watch their mouths say sorries to each other

the girl was blushing

hm?

Kita looked worried that he couldve hurt her since the hag was coverin her face

hm

nani k

n̸̢̪̜͚͑́̾́̑̋ á̴̠̜̳͖̼̃͗̚͘͠ͅ n̵̼͙͇̻̹̓͜͜ i̷̥̲̻̪͈̞̙̩͛̾̅̓͝͝͠ ̶̨̡̜̞̟͆̿̈́͜ḵ̶̂̓̀̚ o̶͎͛̋̋̊͋̊̅̈̅ͅ r̶͙̮̱͊̎͠ ę̷̺̪͎͈̗̖̯̣͍͒͊̒͆͂̈́͛́̒̃

you started tapping the glass windows like mad SKSKD

and ofc since you’re a stray animal ppl wont let u get away with absolutely anything so one personnel saw you tapping the windows and shouted at you from inside the store

Kita and the hag saw you and yea that was enough embarrassment for the day, you ran away and let your feet take you wherever 

its a bit boring that since its a weekend there’s nothing to do,, you never expected that Kita’s weekends would be this boring too :(

so the creepy cat appeared

“what’s wrong you dont seem to be enjoying yourself anymore”

“turn me back to human i need to finish my homework”

maybe thats not the most liable excuse you have but it is true that you need to finish an assignment

“but i gave you a chance to be with the person you admire, no? is this not enough?”

“yea well its-”

“here you are”

you feel someone pick you up and you see that it was Kita:0he must’ve looked for you since you dont even know where you are

oh my god Kita Shinsuke looked for you ma’am eye- or mayhaps you took the route back to his house without knowing since you were busy staring at him when you were stalking him earlier ye

you watched how he looked at the creepy cat you were talking to and and judged it from head to hind feet lmao Kita

“do you have the same owner as this cat?”

he asked you and you gave out every ounce of your energy to shake your head as a no as well as to let out the most disgusted and disapproval meow you ever could-

“the hell would i want to be acquainted with that thing!”

a

what

no way did u just speak

so Kita stared at you for the remainder of the time but decided you speaking isnt physically possible and that he could’ve been real tired since he saw the Miya twins along the way

he took you back home since his grandma seemed to be real happy seeing a little animal in the house with them

but you didnt miss to see the little knowing smile from the creepy cat from earlier, you just knew from that alone that he was messing with you since as you said you were bored 

it was wrong of you to talk to that lil disgusting thing

since that moment you refused to speak with your mouth every again, if you were going to speak thought you would probably just purposely say meow only to not make anymore mistakes

also you’re spending a lot of time with Kita’s grandma than Kita himself

“i wonder what your future spouse is doing at this moment, Shin-kun”

Kita looked like he wanted to roll his eyes so bad lmao since he always hears things about his grandma wanting to see his wedding before she dies :c

and yk it makes you sad too just hearing about this

and you want to help 😔

and you would offer help 😌

they heard the cat speak and now you’re running away bc they heard you talk about wanting to marry Shinsuke 🤡

the day ended and you managed to go home before the sun set basically nothing happened and your transformation was all for nuttin, you were bamboozled by a demon cat you randomly saw one night

the next day you were back to your human self and it was a school day so ofc you have to live on normally in school as if nothing happened, as if you didnt just stalk a guy from your school but we’ll get to that

see, you’re friends are friends with a few of the guys from your school’s volleyball team,,, so you’re within vicinity of Kita’s attention 

when you explicitly did not want to see him atm

BUT THEN YOU REMEMBER YOUR FRIENDS KNOW YOU LIKE KITA

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU DO NOW

you decided to run away but you realize that’s useless bc you’re all going home together :D

now you weren’t the crowds type of person,, you had no idea how it come to this, you’re used to hanging out with your girlfriends yes but they were having fun altogether like this it was fun just watching them goof off and whatnot

“hey”

when i told you you’re almost dropped the second you hear Kita calling to you, you best believe

you said hey but in a different tone of voice bc it was too early for him to notice you had the same voice as the cat he saw yesterday,,, then you both walked in silence

you couldnt take it anymore and decided to go to the nearest convenience store since you had something you want to buy,, you went and whispered this to your friends but when they were asking you to let your voice out, you were deadass croaking

but then you clown yourself sum more bc Kita was concerned of you acting like this and asked if you were alright

now you’re stuck with him in the convenience store bc your friends and his friends thought it’d be a great idea for him to go with you :D

“you should eat something warm before going to sleep, and take a warm bath too”

:((((((

okay now you feel bad for actually making him worry lol

your alibi of getting sick works really well with not speaking at all around him so you used this till the end thinking you can escape him with this until it rained and you dont have an umbrella with you

aight y/n you’re one hell of a clutz

Kita was enough of a gentleman to buy an umbrella for you until its actually out of stock

you guys stayed in the convenience store for the time being

you were losing your mind

how much longer will you stay with him

you thought of an alibi to save you from the embarrassment so you told him you gotta jet and go back to school bc you forgot to bring your notebook with you 

but now you realize you realize you didnt have to tell him bc he’ll still follow you as if his life depends on taking care of you :(

after you randomly stormed out of the convenience store, he caught up to you and pulled you somewhere where there’s a roof over

“are you usually this reckless? or do you just like getting yourself sick?”

homie does not hold back

he pulled a spare shirt from his back and put it on your head,, proceeding to wipe your wet hair with it until he realized he’s subconsciously invading your personal space

he looked right at you, so you two were standing there,,, staring,, his hands on both sides of your head,,,,, both of y’all are wet hunni

he let go and turned the other way,,, the darkness wasnt dark enough to conceal his red cheeks and hunni you made him blush aight

“you reminded me of a cat i saw yesterday im sorry about that”

“you dont have to apologize”

o sis you did it now

you s p o k e

so Kita was beyond surprised to hear that voice again,,,, and this time from yOU,, ALL NORMAL,, NO FROGS

“i, i can explain”

he looked at you confused, hell was he so confused, that you sounded exactly like the voice he randomly heard yesterday which made him think that came from the cat,, he didnt think that was physically possible bc yk but the embarrassment from your face was enough for him to guess

“did you really say you’re willing to marry me”

gOD

“i mean,,, i don’t mind”

“grandma would be glad”

stay tuned for more!

[acklest]

Dean: *in the produce section, watching intently as the automatic sprayer mists some tomatoes*

Sam: *watches Dean, amused* They’re called vegetables. Maybe you’ve seen pictures.

Dean: *excited, not paying attention* Dude. We are idiots. *presents the mister system* Auxiliary water tank, throw in a buncha rosaries, piped in to these things or — *runs his hand under the mist, frowning at the lack of pressure* — somethin’ better. Holy water, motion sensors? *smacks Sam on the chest* That’s so obvious, why aren’t we doin’ that?

Sam: Motion sensors. *dry laugh* Right, so you can “forget” to turn them off when I’m outside?

Dean: *fake smile* Small price to pay for demon protection. *smirks after he turns away*

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dean: *muttering as he wearily flips through a Weekly World News that says “SCALY INFANT FOUND IN TENNESSEE CAVE” on the cover* Fake... fake... no idea... convincing. *laughs to himself* But fake. Fake... oh, come ON... not fake but we ganked it, you’re welcome. *pauses on one page, eyebrows raised* What the fu—

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Sam: *reading the grocery list, huff of annoyance* "One regular toothbrush, one lady’s toothbrush for Sam.”

Dean: *nods, words muffled by free samples* With the soft bristles.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dean: *parks the car*

Sam: *looks up from his phone* C’mon, you only like this place because the pharmacy has a massage chair.

Dean: *counting out quarters* It’s Shiatsu, and it’s amazing. It’s like hands are squeezin’ my butt.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dean: *in the frozen foods section looking at pizzas* You know what? I’m just gonna learn how to make these damn things. I know how to make lasagna, how hard can pizza be? *opens the door and grabs one of them, flipping it over to look at the back, mostly talking to himself* The crust is the pain in the ass part, right? Flour, yeast, a couple of hours for the dough to rise?

Cute employee stocking Hot Pockets two doors down from him: *smiles shyly* It actually only takes an hour or so for the actual rising. It’s getting the texture of the dough right that’s tricky. Took me a couple of attempts before I made something edible.*twinkling up at him* You can cook lasagna, huh? Like from scratch?

Dean: Well, I don’t -- *turns, glances down at her, registers that she’s cute with his entire body, voice shifting gear out of neutral* -- make my own noodles or anything. *pizza completely forgotten* I cook-up a mean burger, though... *looks at her name tag, smiles warmly* ...Kayla.

Sam: *faintly* Oh god. *pushes cart away*

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Sam: *flatly* No, Dean, I don’t think "extra gluten” is a thing.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dean: *casually standing next to some junk food*

Sam: *eyes move suspiciously from Dean to the junk food, then back to Dean before he moves away from the cart* 

Dean: *waits until Sam is farther away*

Dean: *quickly hides three junk food items among the other groceries and places a fourth on top before casually walking away*

Sam: *returns to the cart and picks up the item on top* Oh, look. The decoy. *tosses it back on the shelf, then digs around and finds the other three items and sticks them back on the shelf*

Sam: *pushes the cart forward about three feet, then stops, sighing* Fine.

Sam: *backs up to grab one of the items and puts it back in the cart*

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Clerk: *scanning items, smiles at Sam* Not used to seeing only one of you in here at a time.

Sam: *grins* I can’t bring him shopping for the next few weeks. Girl Scouts can smell a sucker from a mile away.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dean: *to himself, knocking on a lobster tank* Which crazy son of a bitch first yanked one of you eldritch nightmares outta the drink and thought “Let’s eat it”, huh? *frowns over at a crab displayed on a bed of ice* Same goes for you, ugly.

Sam: *behind him for half of that* Are you talking to the lobsters again? 

Dean: *startled* What? No.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Sam: *noticing a rotisserie chicken in the cart* That looks good. Is that what we’re having for dinner?

Dean: Oh, did you want one, too?

⭐️⭐️⭐️ 

Sam: *passes a bag of ground coffee under the scanner, it doesn’t scan* 

Dean: *fidgeting* Hate these stupid things.

Sam: That guy had like 900 coupons, I’m not gonna -- *coffee finally scans and Sam drops it into the bag*

Dean: *tries to grab the item* You hafta... wait for it to tell you or it gets  --

SCAN ITEM BEFORE PLACING IN BAG

Dean: *resigned* -- confused.

Sam: But I just scanned it. 

UNEXPECTED ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA

Sam: What? *gestures angrily at the item and its price on the screen* The screen shows I scanned it!

SCAN ITEM BEFORE PLACING IN BAG

Sam: *angrily, to the machine* I already scanned it!

Dean: *watching him, tries not to laugh but not very convincingly*

Sam: *notices, glares* I’m so glad you’re entertained.

UNEXPECTED ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA

Sam: Alright, fine. *yanks scanned item and hits the “Cancel” button on the screen* Let’s try this again.

AN ATTENDANT HAS BEEN NOTIFIED TO ASSIST YOU

Sam: *shoulders sag, rubs his face in frustration*

Dean: *soft wheeze of laughter as the self-checkout beacon begins to flash* 

Sam: It’s not funny.

Dean: It’s a little funny. *starts to choke with laughter at something over Sam’s shoulder* 

Sam: *doesn’t turn to look but closes his eyes* What now?

Dean: *can barely get the words out* The dude with the coupons just left.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dean: *picks up a box* Sammy, the pads you like are on sale. “Engineered for all-day freshness.” 2 for $10, is that good?

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Clerk at the register: *scans 4 lb bag of salt* You two buy so much salt. Where’s it all going?

Sam: We... cure meats.

Dean: *overlapping* Flotation pod.*winces almost instantly*

Clerk: *smiles politely, eyes slightly widening as she puts the salt in the cart*

Sam: *horrified whisper* Flotation pod?

Dean: *whispering back* I know. It was the first salty thing that popped in, man. *sheepishly looks at his feet* We can never come back here.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dean: *tosses a couple of steaks into the cart* 

Sam: *glances at them and does a double take at the price* Dean, these are almost fifty bucks just by themselves.

Dean: Are you payin’ with the credit card we just got?

Sam: Yeah?

Dean: Then it’s not even our money, Sam.

Sam: *too loud whisper* We don’t have an endless chain of fake identities, Dean, we still need to --

Woman: *walking by, overhears, and stares*

Dean: *tries to nod reassuringly* Hi. 

Sam: *awkward wave*

Woman: *walks faster*

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Sam: Just because it’s on clearance doesn’t mean you’re obligated to eat it.

Dean: *looks from the box of day-old donuts in his hands to Sam* It’s $1.79, Sam. It’s a WHOLE box of donuts for $1.79.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Sam: *checking out at the register*

Dean: *telltale hand resting on the front of his jacket* I’m goin’ out to the car.

Sam: *knowingly* Mm-hmm.

Clerk: Your total is $83.43. Cash or debit?

Sam: *passes a hundred dollar bill*

Clerk: *makes change*

Sam: *awkwardly gives her two dollars of the change back* He just stole two bags of peanut M&Ms.

Clerk: *hesitates* Oh, like accidentally?

Sam: *small nod* Sure.

[jubilantwriter]

Jaspvid Week 2020: Day 3 - Summer

fuck it at this rate i’m just gonna be posting late never get a night shift job y’all

(AO3)   @jaspvid-week​

You Can't be Traumatized if You Don't Go to Summer Camp

Summary:  They met by an ice cream truck as children.  And since then, it’s been a tradition for them to meet up and buy ice cream together.

Word Count: 5088

Jasper loves summer.  Summer means no school, no homework, and no teachers to be bummed out by!  Since he's eleven now, he thinks that maybe his mom will let him go to the community pool more often, since he can totally swim by himself without her worrying that he'll go to the deep end and drown.  

He's too rad for that anyways!  And since summer vacation started, he's been having fun watching the Saturday morning cartoons and hanging out with his friends whenever they want to come over and play.  With the heat bringing it's A game this year though, more and more of his time is spent just lounging inside his house, trying to beat the heat with his mom's rotating fan.

In fact, here he sits, mouth wide open as he makes a long "ahhhh" sound at it, giggling as the fan messes with his voice.  Although summer isn't always about having fun and playing with his mom's fan and going swimming at the pool.  He keeps his ears perked as he waits for a special kind of song to start making its rounds around the block.

And sure enough, the musical notes of a familiar tune rings throughout the neighborhood, and Jasper is already making a mad dash to his mom for some sweet, sweet cash.

"Mom!"  He waves his hands back and forth to get her attention.  "Mom, the ice cream truck!"

His mom smiles, having already heard the tune and pulling her wallet out of her purse.  "Alright, hold on."  A few dollars bills are handed over as Jasper grabs them eagerly.

"Rad!"

"But only buy one, okay?  Dinner's coming up soon."

"Okay!"  He dashes out the door just in time to see the ice cream turn the corner onto his street.  "Hey!"  He waves his hand in the air, flagging down the ice cream truck as it continues past his house.  It slows to a stop as he chases after it when he notices another kid peek his head out.

Red hair.

Green eyes.

And the scariest frown he's seen.

He smiles as he waves at his neighbor.

"Hi, Davey!"

"Don't call me that!"  David yells as he slams his front door shut, disappearing back into his house.

"Jeepers, man."  Normally, all the other kids would feel put out by having their neighbor slam a door shut at them, but Jasper was used to it.  It was pretty rude yeah, but as long as Jasper kept his distance, David wouldn't start throwing rocks at him!  It's a good thing Jasper is a quick learner, otherwise there would have been a lot more rocks in his future.

"Hey, kid."  A man with a scraggly looking face rolls down the window.  The ice cream man!  "You wanted somethin'?"

"Sure do, mister!"  Jasper looks over the ice cream choices on the side of the truck.  There were ice cream sandwiches, drumsticks, those push pop thingies, the faces with bubblegum eyes, that frozen lemonade stuff in a cup that tastes okay he supposes, and-  "One bomb pop!  Please!"

"Sure, which flavor?"

"The one that looks like a rocket!"

"Red, white, and blue, comin' up."  Jasper waits patiently as the ice cream man disappears for a minute before reappearing with the cold treat.  "Here ya go.  One American ice cream."

"Is it really called that?"

"Nah.  That's a dollar."  Jasper hands over the dollar and grabs the frosty treat from the man as he sits on the sidewalk.  As he unwraps the popsicle, the ice cream man grunts in surprise.

"You want somethin' too?"  Jasper looks up and sees David standing not too far from him.  He's biting his lip, fists buried deep in his pockets as he glares at the ice cream on the truck.  "Gotta pay up, kid."

"...Not if I take it first!"  Jasper watches as David runs and leaps at the truck's window, grabbing onto the ledge as the ice cream man looks unimpressed.

"Nice try, kid."  He flicks off every single one of his tiny fingers, making David land on the ground with a soft "oof!".  "Maybe come back with a dollar, and I'll give ya what your bratty heart so desires."

"Whatever!"  David stands up quickly and stomps his foot.  "Ice cream is for squares anyways!"  As the ginger stomps off, Jasper wonders how many times David's tried to pull that off.  He gets up and walks back to the truck.

"Hey, mister?"

"Whatcha want, kid?"  The ice cream man eyes him from the window.  "You better eat that quick 'fore the sun melts it."  

"Oh I will!  It's just, um," he digs around in his pocket and pulls out another dollar, "can I have another one?"

The ice cream man takes it slowly, looking between Jasper and a door that slams shut yet again.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."  Technically, Jasper wasn't breaking any rules.  He grins up at the man brightly.  "Umm, can I have..."

Actually, which one WOULD he like?  It's not like Jasper knows enough about David to make a good guess.  All he knows is that David is grumpy, hates people, sasses adults, and is an overall menace to everyone around him.

But he's also seen David out in the rain, with no umbrella or raincoat to speak of, just picking worms off the sidewalk and tossing them into the grass.  He's seen David yell at bullies, aim only for the legs in dodgeball, and even sit next to a crying kid silently just so he wouldn't be alone.  

Jasper points at the vanilla bar with the hard outside.

"Can I have that one?"

"Sure, kid."  The ice cream man disappears and comes back with the wrapped treat, but he looks hesitant to give it to him.  "Are ya sure...?"

"Totally man!  My mom says that if I treat people the way I wanna be treated, I can make friends way faster like that!"

"That's one way to do it, I guess."  The ice cream man shrugs as he hands over the treat.  "Better give it to him before it melts then."

"Will do!  Thanks, mister!"

The ice cream man waves as Jasper runs to David's house, sticking his melting popsicle in his mouth as he knocks on the door.  The door creaks open slowly, a single green eye peeking out suspiciously before he spies Jasper standing on his doorstep.  Jasper pops his popsicle out and grins.

"Heya, broski!"

"Oh, it's you."  Ouch.  "What do you want?"  Jasper waves the wrapped treat in front of David.

"I did something totally wack and got an extra by accident!  And I'm only supposed to have one ice cream before dinner or else my mom will totally wig out, so I thought maybe you'd like it?"  David stares at the ice cream with a suspicious squint.

"...Why are you giving it to me?"

"Because you're the only kid I know in this neighborhood!"

"Liar."

"Okay, maybe I know a few other kids, but you were closer!"

"What's the catch?"  David glares at Jasper, holding onto his door tight.  "I take the ice cream and then what?  I gotta give you my allowance?  Beat the snot outta someone?  Be your friend because you're a weird loner?"  

Well, Jasper's not exactly a loner, but he wouldn't mind being friends with David if he'd just stop being mean for a second.

"It's just ice cream, dude.  Take it or leave it."

David swipes the bar from his hand and slams the door in Jasper's face.

"Nice!"  The ice cream man calls, laughing as Jasper walks away with a huff.

Well.

At least he took the dang thing. 

////

The ice cream truck comes again, and this time, the man grins as Jasper points at an ice cream sandwich.

"Gonna get a second one too while you're at it?"  He points to a door cracking open, and a familiar tuft of red hair peeking out.

"...I dunno, maybe."  Last time didn't work out so hot.  Maybe David just doesn't want friends.  Maybe he's the loner.

And Jasper's fine with that.  It's not like he has to be friends with David anyways.

"Who knows, kid?  Maybe he's like a stray cat.  Gotta be nice to 'im and bait 'im 'til he comes out."

"You just want my mom's money."

"Absolutely, now are you gonna buy another one or not?"

"I said I dunno."  Jasper huffs as he waits for the ice cream man to give him his sandwich.  As he takes it, he hears the door shut and he turns to find David no longer hiding by his door.

"Looks like the runt went back into hiding."  The ice cream man hums to himself as Jasper unwraps his treat and starts to munch away.  A bright look comes across the man's face as he ducks into his truck as Jasper watches curiously.  When the ice cream man resurfaces from his searching, a yellowish cup is held in his hand as he shoves it at Jasper's face.  "Here, kid."

Jasper scrunches up his face.

"I don't want it."

"Nah, kid, it's free."

"I still don't want it."

"Look, I got a whole bunch of these laying around 'cause kids don't want 'em as much as the other stuff I got.  So why not throw it at that kid's face so you're not wasting your ma's money and I'm gettin' rida stock I don't need?"

"I don't want him to hate me more than he already does!"

"Can't get any lower than rock bottom, kid."

Oh, he'd beg to differ.

But the ice cream man tosses him what was essentially frozen lemonade, but not like, the good lemonade, but the lemonade that was just pure lemon juice with some water, maybe even too much water, mixed in, and then they put it in the freezer, and then put that ice block into a blender, turned it on high, and poured the goop into a cup to be sold to children who actually knew what good lemonade tasted like.

And this was not good lemonade.

Jasper barely manages to catch it as it smacks into his chest.

"Good luck, kid!"  The ice cream man salutes him before rushing off into the driver's seat to drive away.

"But I said I didn't want it!"  Fruitlessly, he yells at the disappearing ice cream truck, groaning loudly as he clutches this awful excuse for a lemony treat.  What was he supposed to do with it?  

...

Well, he could actually give it to David.

Maybe he was into this sort of stuff.

Frozen, bad lemonade.  That was kind of like shaved ice, but not really.  The outside of the cup sweats in his hand, reminding him of the hot temperature.

Maybe he wouldn't care?  Maybe he'll take it because it's so hot out and use it as a, like, ice pack or something.

His feet are already walking him to David's door, and after cramming the ice cream sandwich in his mouth, he once again knocks on the door, but with less enthusiasm this time.  David opens the door, but he looks only a little surprised.

"What do you want, Jasper?"

Oh, he knows his name?  

"Uh, here."  His words are muffled around the sandwich, but David takes the cup regardless.

And scrunches up his face when he sees it.

"Ugh!  I don't want this!"

"Me neither!"

"It sucks!"

"I know!"

David blinks, as if registering that Jasper was actually agreeing with him.

"So why are you giving this to me?"  Jasper swallows a bite of his sandwich and shrugs.

"I dunno, maybe you can like, use it as an ice pack?"

"Pfft."  David snorts, which makes Jasper perk up a bit.  "As if.  This thing'll only last for a few minutes."  

"What are you gonna do then?"  Jasper watches as David wipes the sweat from his brow, frowning as he stares down at the cup.

And sighs dramatically.

"Guess I'll eat the dang thing."

"...You sure?"

"Well it's not like I have a choice."  Jasper expects more bite to his words, but the ginger merely says it with a tired reluctance he doesn't expect.  "Thanks, though."

"Oh uh, sure, duderino."  He expects David to slam the door in his face but the boy just... keeps it open.  "Guess I'll see you around?"

"Whatever."  David shrugs as he pops the lid open.  "See ya."  

He walks away from David's house and doesn't hear the door close.  When he makes it to his own house, he looks over to where David's house is and sees the boy sitting there.  Quietly eating his treat in the open doorway.

And Jasper swears.

He's eating it with a smile.

////

When Jasper approaches the familiar ice cream truck, he can hear two voices yelling at each other near the truck's window.

"You tellin' me this is all two dollars?!"

"I said count 'em, you gigantic square!"

"Uhh...?"  Jasper walks up to find David gripping the edge of the window from where he hangs with a snarl.  The ice cream man glares back down at David as he holds a fist full of coins.  Oh.

"It's two dollars!"

"Quit jerkin' my chain!  As if I'd believe you!"

"Can I count?"  The two of them turn their heads to Jasper as he sheepishly rubs his arm.  "I mean, if I count them in front of you, it'd save you the trouble and prove Dave- David's telling the truth."  The ice cream man rolls his eyes but hands the change over to Jasper regardless.  And so the brunette carefully sorts out the assortment of change, and holy cow, he can see why the ice cream man was angry at first.  It's a big mess of nickels and pennies and dimes, with maybe one quarter in the mix, but he counts out the change dutifully, carefully, and out loud so that the ice cream man can see his work.

"...and two dollars."  He gathers up the change and holds it up to the ice cream man.  "David was telling the truth."

"I told you, you big doofus."

"Watch it, kid, or else I'm taking your money and drivin' away."

"That's stealing!"

"As if you haven't tried stealin' from me before."  But the ice cream man disappears and comes back with two drumsticks.  "Here, your ice cream."

"Yessss!"  David takes them both, before turning to Jasper and handing him a stick.

"...Huh?"

"Here."  He shoves it into Jasper's hand and looks away.  "For the other times you got me ice cream."

"Oh!  You didn't have to-"

"Later, nerd!"  David runs off and into his house, slamming the door shut as he leaves Jasper in the dust.

"...Are you two friends now?"

"Uhh."  Jasper looks down at the drumstick in his hand.  It's the usual kind - vanilla, coated with chocolate and nuts.  He unwraps it and gnaws on the outer shell.

Sweet.

"...Maybe."

"Huh."  The ice cream man sounds amused as he reclines against his window.  "That was quick."

////

It becomes a routine.

Everyday, the ice cream man comes.  Sometimes it'll be Jasper who meets him first.  And sometimes it's David.

But there's an unspoken rule between them.

They have to wait until the other shows up before leaving.

It's like a meeting place, but with a guy who brings the meeting place to them.

Normally, they just buy the ice cream and part ways back to their houses.  

But sometimes...

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"What?"

Jasper and David sit on the curb, the ice cream man already driving away as they eat.  It's too hot to stay indoors, so they find themselves having a rare moment outside in the sun.  Jasper wouldn't mind staying quiet, if only for the fact that David bites down on the bomb pop like it's candy and crunching away at it in his mouth.

Just watching him eat it makes Jasper's teeth ache.

"Biting down on it!"

"No it doesn't."  David chomps down on it again, making Jasper cringe. 

"My mom says that biting ice cream like that can hurt your teeth."

David snorts.

"You're just a chicken."

"Am not!"

"Then do it, chicken."

Jasper looks at his own popsicle.  He doesn't want to hurt his teeth, but he also doesn't want to be called a chicken.  David grins slyly as he nudges Jasper.

"Chiiiickeeeeen," he goads.

"I'm not a chicken!"  Without a second thought, Jasper bites down on his popsicle and crunches down on the block of flavored ice.  It feels as though the ice is freezing his teeth all the way down to his gums, and it sort of hurts, and sort of doesn't.

It's still not pleasant though, so he chews through it quickly.

"See?"  David nudges him again with a lighter grin as he goes back to polishing off the popsicle.  "It's not that bad."

"Ugh."  He determines not to do that again.  "I think I'll pass on eating popsicles like that ever again."

David snickers but doesn't push him.  Instead, they both kick at the asphalt beneath their feet and take in the rays.

////

Summer comes, and summer goes.  They go back to school, pretend they don't know each other asides from a neighborly nod, before continuing on with their lives.

But when summer returns, they find themselves meeting up back at the ice cream truck.

"Wanna try these ones?!"  Jasper excitedly points at the pastel-looking ice cream bars on the truck.

"Are you getting it only for the colors?"

"Why not!"  

"That's dumb.  You're dumb."  

"You just don't wanna admit you wanna try the cotton candy one."  Jasper teases the ginger as David rolls his eyes.

"Whatever.  I'll just take the watermelon one."  

"Well, I'm taking the cotton candy one, 'cause I'm not a chicken."

"You take that back."

"Are you kids gonna pay or what?"

"Here you go, mister!"  As the ice cream man hands them their treats, the two of them sit back on the curb, kicking at the asphalt as they get used to each other yet again.

"You think his menu ever changes?"

"Nah, he seems too lazy to do that."

"But what if something new comes out?  Like a tubular kind of ice cream."

"He already has a tube-y ice cream."

"No, like tubular!  Like wicked?  Gnarly?"

"...I hate you so much.  Just speak like a human!"

"But I am??"  David yells as Jasper laughs.  "Take a chill pill, man!  It's how everyone speaks nowadays!"

"That's a lie.  A big, dumb lie that only a square would make."

"Calling people a square is sooo outdated, Davey."  The nickname slips out before Jasper can stop himself, and he slaps his hand over his mouth in shock.  "Oh, no, I'm sorry!  I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine."

And he blinks.

"...Huh?"

"I said it's fine."  David kicks at the asphalt, keeping his eyes away from Jasper's as he bites into his ice cream.  "...I'm okay with you calling me 'Davey'."

"Are.  Are you sure?"

"Yeah."  David shrugs before turning to face Jasper.  He looks uncertain, nervous even as he twirls the melting treating between his fingers.  "I mean, we're friends, right?"

And he blinks again.

Mouth slightly agape. 

He must have taken too long to respond because suddenly David's ears are bright red as he stands up abruptly.  "Wh-whatever!  If we're not friends, just say it-!"

"We are!"  Jasper stands up just as quickly, a giddy grin making it onto his face as he makes to hug David, only to remember the sticky ice cream in their hands.  "We're friends!"

It's David's turn to blink as he registers the words Jasper says.  And then.

He smiles.

A real, genuine smile.

"...Cool!"

And when summer inevitably ends, he hopes he'll get more than a nod from David as they pass each other in the halls.

////

Summers come, and summers go.  As they pass each other in the halls, Jasper goes for a high-five that David avoids, only to punch Jasper (lightly) in the arm later.

They sit next to each other at lunch, Jasper sharing his snacks with David as the latter pours over Jasper's homework as Jasper explains each problem to him.

They become an odd pair, the two of them.  David's bristly exterior is immediately softened when Jasper is nearby, and Jasper's mood lightens considerably no matter the problem he has to face as long as David is there with him.

People often ask him if he hopes to make David a more cheery person by sticking with him.  After all, Jasper is all smiles and bright colors.  But Jasper just shrugs, saying he likes David the way he is.

If David changes, then he'll still like him.

Because David is David.

Just like how Jasper is Jasper.

Some things about them will change, Jasper knows that's inevitable.  Habits change, opinions change, outlooks change.

But some routines never change.

They're fourteen as they wait for the ice cream truck together, sitting on Jasper's front lawn as the cool grass stains their shorts.

"Aren't we too old for ice cream trucks?"  David is lying down besides Jasper, his eyes closed as Jasper drops torn up grass onto his face.  Jasper giggles as David swats halfheartedly at his hand.

"Nah."  

"We could be doing something else.  Like playing games.  Or eating ice."

"Only you would eat ice."

"Yeah well, maybe if you didn't think your teeth were so fragile-"

Jasper rolls David over, the other boy squeaking indignantly as his words are muffled by the dirt and grass. 

"UGH!  JASP-"  And then a familiar jingle rounds the corner.

"Oh it's Mr. Kevin!"  Jasper bounces to his feet and dashes away to meet the familiar driver.  "What's up-!"

David comes up from behind Jasper and grabs him in a headlock, already yelling at the amused man as he pulls out a few bills.

"HE WANTS THE LEMON ICE!"

"HEY-"

"Whatever my loyal customers want."

"HEY-"

////

A few more summers come and go.  Puberty is wack.  High school is wack.  Preparing for college is super bogus wack.  But David isn't wack.

If time could stop for just a moment, just so Jasper could have more seconds in the day to relish those moments of happiness that escape them more often than not, then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't feel as though everything was falling through his fingers so quickly.

Things change too quickly.

Times change too quickly.

Even old routines, that one routine he'd grown to depend on every summer.

That began to change too.

As the two of them wait for the ice cream man, a man who has slowly begun to fade from their lives as the times change, Jasper finds himself clutching desperately to the past as his feet tap nervously against the grass.  He can feel David's eyes on him, watching as his best friend slowly unravels before him.  With a sigh, David leans against him, forcing Jasper to a halt as he forces the teen to lay down in the grass.

Up above them, the clouds roll by peacefully, completely unbothered and untethered to any sorts of worries.

"...You think he's gonna come by?"

"I don't think he's got enough customers to justify it, Jasp."

"...Bummer."

"Hm."

They continue to watch the clouds for a while, Jasper's disappointment settling on his face as he wonders if he took his childhood for granted yet again.  A finger prods his cheek, and he turns to see David's green eyes.  Calm.  Relaxed, even.  He's mellowed out throughout the years, but he still wears a frown most days.  He's grown up a lot since he was that mean, bratty kid next door.

"You want ice cream that bad?"

"It's not that."  Jasper bites his lip.  He's kind of embarrassed actually, wanting to stick to this routine for so long.  David's probably long since gotten tired of waiting for the ice cream truck, especially during these recent years as the man showed up less and less.  But he never complains or goes against Jasper's wants, and instead plays along patiently as Jasper continues to cling.  

"Then what is it?"

Is it hard to explain?  Or is it just embarrassing to say?  He looks over to David, and there's understanding in his eyes as he props himself up, waiting for Jasper to choose his words without any rush.

How lucky was he to keep a friend like David for so long?

"We stuck together because of the ice cream truck."  David's eyes widen as the words sink in.  Jasper laughs, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away.  "I dunno it just- I'm probably just tripping over this for no reason, dude, sorry-"

"It's important to you."  Jasper feels David lean against him as he thinks out loud.  "I don't think it's wrong that you're upset about it."

"...But it's a dumb thing to cling to."

"Not really.  We became friends because we kept buying ice cream together.  I think that's pretty meaningful."  David rests his chin on Jasper's shoulder as they continue to sit, waiting for nothing to arrive. 

"Is it bad that I miss it?"

"Nah."  

The breeze ruffles their hair.

"...What do you think Kevin is up to?"

"Probably selling drugs."

"Davey!"

"What?"  The ginger laughs, puffs of warm brushing against Jasper's neck as he gradually calms down.  "I'm right."

"You don't know that."

"Maybe."  

Jasper closes his eyes.  It's hot out, but he doesn't mind David sticking so close by.  It's comforting, actually, feeling his warmth like this.  Like, no matter what, even if the ice cream truck doesn't come by anymore, David doesn't really need a reason to just come by and sit next to Jasper and do nothing together.

At least that won't change.

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"Let's do something next year."

"Like what?"

"Something new."  David turns his attention back to the sky and reaches out towards it.  He tries to grab a cloud, but it floats away from his hand.  "I've always wanted to go camping."

"But we don't know anything about camping."

"We can practice."  David pulls back just enough to look Jasper in the eye, bright eyed at the prospect.  "We got a whole year to prepare, and we'll be graduating soon anyways.  Why not do something special for that summer?"

No more ice cream trucks.  No more sitting around.  But something new to fill in the void.

It couldn't hurt, right?

"Yeah."  He smiles as David returns with his own grin.  "Let's try that out."

\\\\

Summers come as they are wont to do.  And they leave as they tend to do.  The ice cream truck never comes back.

But that's okay.

David brightens up significantly as they begin camping, and Jasper wonders if he'd been holding his friend back for so long, making him wait for trucks to come when it was clear they needed to move on.

And yet.

He stood by him the entire time, waiting until Jasper was ready to let go.

An unspoken trust.  With unwavering understanding.

Camping is alright, he supposes, but David loves how the trees surround them, how the birds sing above them, the way they come across streams and rivers as though they were new discoveries.

Camping is alright.  But David's happiness is worth so much more.

"Jasp!"  David pulls him along to the nearby clearing, their campfire crackling softly as he points up to the sky.  "You don't get to see stars like this often!"

"...Yeah."  He watches as David stares up at the night sky, so unlike the boy he grew up with.  It's a side of him he's rarely seen before.

And he thinks that it's a shame that they never got to explore this side of him sooner.

Wouldn't that have made David happier?

David turns to Jasper, head tilted to the side as he catches his friend staring.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, uh, nothing."  He looks away with a blush, scratching at his cheek as he looks for something to distract David with.  "Oh yeah, we should make sure the campfire doesn't burn down anything, right?"

"Oh- yeah!"  David rushes back, already worried as Jasper laughs.

This.

This is different.

But it's a good kind of different.

"Hey."

"Huh?"  David looks up from where he sits by the fire, watching as Jasper plops down besides him.

"Why do you like camping so much?"

"...I dunno it just."  He shrugs, smiling wistfully as he watches the fire.  "I mean, I used to camp a lot with my dad.  Before he left."  

Ah, right.

"Wouldn't you hate camping then?"

"I mean, I did.  For a long time, I did."  David laughs, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he talks.  "But then, you became my friend.  And we grew closer and.  I just wanted to do something with you.  Something that we could claim as our own.  Sure, there was that whole ice cream thing but.  That could only last for so long, and when it ran its course, I saw how you were struggling to just.  Wrap your mind around losing something that was so us.  And I wanted to do something.  Make a new something.  And.  Camping was the only thing I could think of."  He shrugs as he turns to face Jasper, the brunette wide eyed as the ginger grins.  "It just felt... right, you know?"

"...God."  Jasper shakes his head, laughing as he does so.  "You're amazing, you know that?"

"Only because you stuck by long enough for me to be amazing."  David nudges his shoulder playfully.  "...Hey."

"Hm?"

"Thanks.  For actually, um.  Being my friend."  David looks down as he speaks.  "It couldn't have been easy."

"...Nah, thanks for letting me stick to that ice cream schtick for so long."  Jasper bonks his head gently against David's.  "That couldn't have been easy."

"It's whatever."  David bonks back with a smile.  "I mean, as long as I got to spend time with you, it was worth it."

...Yeah.

It was, wasn't it?

He smiles as their fingers brush together.

Yeah, maybe camping was just alright.  If it'd been with anyone else, he'd be pretty indifferent and distant throughout the whole affair.

But.

With David?

Like when they were waiting for the ice cream truck together, the sun beaming down above them, feet kicking playfully at asphalt as they listened to the sounds of the birds chirping in the distance.

Sitting here, by an open fire, underneath the stars and listening to the songs of the crickets and the hoots of the owls.

Just like then.

Just.  Existing next to each other.

It just.

Feels.

Right.

[krumbine]

Videorama: Revenge of the Nooooo!

The year is 2005.

George W. Bush is just starting his second term in the White House.

The hottest game in cell phone technology is the Motorola Razr V3 and the PalmOne Treo 650.

The iPhone is still a few years away.

The Rise of Skywalker isn’t even a twinkle in Disney’s eye––an eye that’s currently preoccupied with an overly optimistic Narnia Franchise Wet Dream.

In fact, Disney wouldn’t even buy Star Wars for another seven years.

It’s summer in 2005 and millions of marketing dollars can still pull the wool over the eyes of a naive movie-going public, dictating box office success regardless of audience consensus or even general quality of filmmaking.

All hail the grand illusion of capitalism.

It’s a warm evening in the summer of 2005 and video rental stores are still a thing.

One particular, independently-run store––freestanding, double glass doors on the left side of the brick facade, small parking lot––was just turning its sign on as dusk settled.

Videorama was open for business.

*

Tobey blinked incredulously at the three teenagers standing on the other side of the counter. His brain hurt as he attempted to summon the endurance needed to fathom the sheer stupidity of their question.

To buy himself some time, Tobey blinked again.

“… well?” asked the one with the long greasy hair. “Do you have it?”

There was no way these kids were serious.

Tobey shook his head in disbelief. “You’re not serious.”

The one with a bad case of acne threw his hands up in exasperation. “Dude, for fuck’s sake!”

Tobey looked over at the other man behind the video store counter, feet up, sketch pad in lap. “I think these guys are serious.”

The third teenager was pale and wore a lot of heavy black eyeliner. He spoke in a flat monotone: “Catwoman. Do you have it or not?”

Tobey broke into a lopsided grin. “Oh, I get it. This is like a prank, right? Where’s the hidden camera?” Tobey propped his elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “Am I gonna be on the internet?!”

Long Hair was reaching his limit. “C’mon, man, we just wanna rent the movie.”

Tobey’s grin dropped. “No joke?”

“Dude.”

“Catwoman?”

They were practically pleading. “Do you have it or not?”

Tobey stood back, somber. This was worse than he thought. “Holy fucking shit.” He turned again to the other guy behind the counter. “Kurt, these guys are actually serious.”

Kurt didn’t look up from his sketch pad. “Hm.”

Zits backhanded Long Hair’s chest. “This is ridiculous, man.  Let’s get outta here.”

Almost through this, Tobe.

Eyeliner started for the exit. “Fuck these asswipes.”

Fuck me.

“Alright, you fucking hormone-addled, gene-pool rejects. Listen.” Tobey leaned forward. “I can appreciate the fact that the three of you otherwise fine young gentlemen are undoubtedly blinded by your adolescent throes of puberty––to saying nothing of the ungodly amount of jizz sprayed in your eyes from the nonstop circle jerk that is your formative years––so it stands to reason that the mere notion of Halle Berry sporting a whip and a leather catsuit is enough to make you pop your collective nut––which, again, I do understand. Halle Berry is a fine specimen of the female gender and I myself have spent many a lonely night pondering Ms. Berry’s lithe and supple … skills.”

Tobey lost himself for a moment and the three teenagers stared at him in confusion. Tobey nodded absently and then returned to the conversation.

“Fellas,” he implored. “All that being said, you cannot tell me that simple, unabashed horniness is just cause for what will amount to the severe rapage of your individual minds––a tragic and unavoidable fate that you will all most assuredly fall victim to should you proceed to rent the motion picture that is Catwoman.”

To buy themselves a moment to process Tobey’s rant, the three teenagers blinked at him.

“… yes?” Zits said, lacking any sense of surety of himself.

Tobey sighed. Definitely worse than he thought. With a sad shake of his head: “Look, let me make a suggestion. Go with Monster’s Ball instead. It’s got our girl in it, bare titties and all. Lots of sex plus it’s a flick that won’t rot your brain. It’s a goddamned win-win for everybody. Especially you.”

Tobey pointed at Eyeliner before changing his mind. “Well, maybe not everybody.”

Eyeliner’s face was as a neutral as his voice. “Isn’t she fucking Billy Bob Thornton in that one?”

“So?”

Zits scowled. “Dude, that is so fucking nasty! He’s all old and wrinkly and shit.”

Tobey wanted to ram an ice pick in his own ear. “What the actual fuck, my man? We've already established that you're watching the flick for Halle Berry's tits, not Billy Bob's ball sack! What the fuck do you care what he looks like?!”

“We don’t!” Long Hair cried. “We just care about Catwoman!”

Tobey threw his hands in the air. There was no reasoning with these kids. “Okay, fine. I see how it is. Get out.”

Incredulous offense from Zits. “What?!”

Ineffable deadpan from Eyeliner. “You’re throwing us out?”

“No. Right now I’m asking you to leave in a gentle yet firm manner, as to assert a polite yet authoritative dominance over this conversation,” Tobey said. “In about twenty seconds I’ll be throwing you out.”

“We just want to rent a movie!” Zits said through gritted teeth and mounting frustration.

“Incorrect,” Tobey responded, raising an index finger. “You want to rent shit. There is a difference, although I can see that the lack of immediate release has caused the cum to bubble up and disorient your brain cells, inhibiting logical cognition. Regardless, I don’t even carry Catwoman since I have a very strict policy on stocking crappy movies.”

Long Hair tilted his head, waiting. “What’s your policy on stocking crappy movies?”

Eyeliner with the deadpan punchline: “He doesn’t.”

“––I don’t,” Tobey said at the same time. He shot Eyeliner an exasperated glare. “C’mon, dude!”

Eyeliner shrugged a shoulder.

Tobey leaned forward. “Now why don’t you three numb-nuts find yourselves a tittie mag, have a circle jerk, and just be done with it already, okay?”

Eyeliner scoffed indifferently. “This is bullshit. Let’s bounce, boys.”

Tobey nodded. “That’s right. But be sure to use plenty of lube. Too much bouncing chafes the shaft.”

Zits lunged across the counter but Long Hair pulled him back. “Fuck you, asshole.”

Tobey glanced down and flipped a page in his Indie Film magazine. “Mm. Clever.”

Zits straightened. He had one card left to play and he was entirely too confident in the move. “Hey. I wanna speak to the manager. Dick.”

Tobey looked up from his magazine. “I am the manager, you dipshit. Now get the hell out of my store before I call the fucking cops and have them throw you out.”

The three teenagers exchanged looks before stumbling to the exit, muttering various expletives under their breaths as they went.

“Yeah, I heard all of that!” Tobey called after them as the bell on the door jingled.

“You handled that well,” Kurt said from behind Tobey.

“You could have jumped in at any time there, buddy.”

“Seemed like you had it handled,” Kurt shrugged.

A young woman stepped up to the counter. Straight blonde hair to her shoulders and curves that Tobey drank in an instant glance, imperceptible the casual observer.

She perceived it. She always did.

“He didn’t have it handled,” the young woman said flatly, placing three DVDs and a member card on the counter.

“I had it handled,” Tobey insisted while he scanned her card. “Sure, I could have used some backup from behind the counter but that’s not to dismiss the overall nature of the situation behind, generally, handled.”

Kurt set his sketch pad aside and fiddled with a television set on the counter. A low-quality video continued playing––it looked like someone had used a cheap video camera to record a movie theater screen.

The girl’s eyebrow went up. “Is that Star Wars?”

Tobey didn’t look. He didn’t have to since they’d been watching the bootleg on a loop for three days. “Yep.”

“The new one?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That just came out in theaters?”

Tobey looked up from scanning the DVDs. “Wow. You’re a regular Veronica Mars. Can’t slip anything past you.”

She all but rolled her eyes and he decided to dial back the sarcasm.

“Yes, Kurt downloaded it a few days ago,” Tobey explained. “I mean, yeah, I paid to see the first two prequels but there was no way in hell I was gonna be stupid enough to let George Fucking Lucas screw me out of another eight bucks for yet another pile of shit he so fondly refers to as epic Star Wars lore.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“It fucking should be.”

“I meant the downloading.”

Tobey held up the three DVDs. “I’m sorry, did you want to rent these movies—” he glanced at the computer screen, “––Alyssa Tanner of 9000 East Westmore Drive, apartment 263? Or is harassing me over my moral obligation to protest the misguided artistic values of a corrupt media empire entertainment enough for you?”

Kurt shot a sideways glance and muttered: “Misguided artistic values?!”

Alyssa shrugged indifferently. “I just thought that in light of your current career path, you might have a better appreciation for the damage caused by downloading movies illegally.”

Kurt put his feet back up on the counter as he turned his attention back to the sketch pad. “Here we go …”

“The damage I cause?!” The mock in Tobey’s outrage was mild at best. “What about the damage George Lucas caused with these blatant cash grabs? Have you seen all the advertisements for this one? He’s spending millions of dollars convincing the world that it’s the greatest film ever!”

“And you’re saying it’s not?”

“If it’s possible, this one is even worse than the last two combined,” Tobey said gravely.

“Dude,” Kurt said, pointing at the television. “It’s the Vader scene.”

Tobey’s hands went up. “Perfect!” To Alyssa: “This is what I’m talking about. This shit is fucking hilarious.”

Alyssa looked at the television as the bootleg copy of Revenge of the Sith played. Darth Vader found out that he killed his girlfriend, clomped around like Frankenstein and then cried out, ‘Nooooo!’

Tobey clicked the television off.

“The only good thing about this movie is that it’s so bad it’s funny,” he said. “We’ve been watching it for days and that Vader scene just keeps getting funnier.”

“You don’t think Lucas deserves a little credit for closing the loop on A New Hope?”

“Does Adolf Hitler deserve credit for closing the loop on World War II?”

“First of all, Hitler lost—”

“Which effectively closed the loop—”

“—and secondly, you’re comparing a movie to a war that literally killed tens of millions of people?!” Alyssa balked.

“I’m comparing three movies to a war that killed tens of millions––”

“Dude!” Kurt cut in.

Tobey sighed. “Fine. Okay. Maybe the prequels aren’t, like, genocide bad––”

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“But they’re still pretty bad.”

At one point, not so long ago, Alyssa had been amused and slightly intrigued by Tobey’s acerbic banter.

That moment had passed.

An awkward silence clung to the air inside the video store. Alyssa glanced at the exit. Kurt’s pencil scratched at his sketch pad.

Tobey held up Alyssa’s rentals. “… you want your movies?”

She took them from Tobey. “Yeah. Thanks.”

She turned for the door and then stopped. “Um …”

“Three day rentals. Due back on Thursday.”

Alyssa turned back to the counter. She grimaced. “Actually, uh, that bootleg—”

Tobey held up a hand. “Wait. Are you saying—”

Alyssa shrugged half-heartedly.

“You wanna borrow my illegally downloaded copy of Revenge of the Sith?”

“I mean, if it’s so bad, you wouldn’t mind letting go of it for a few days,” Alyssa suggested. “Right?”

Tobey studied her grey eyes. There was something about this girl. He chewed his lip, thinking.

“Well?”

Tobey nodded slowly. “Okay, uh, lemme think of a creative way of saying this …” Tobey rubbed his chin and then raised an index finger to the sky. “Oh, I know!”

Tobey threw his hands in the air. “Nooooo!”

*

A VHS rewinder ground on old tape and Kurt cursed as he mashed the eject button, popping the machine open.

“Goddammit,” Kurt seethed. “Why the hell are we still stocking VHS?”

“Same reason we don’t open until four in the afternoon,” Tobey replied as he gathered an armful of DVDs to re-shelve.

“Because you’re too lazy to wake up in the morning?”

“No, because despite appearances, we’re here to serve our customers, Kurt,” Tobey said, strolling the aisles. “Working class Americans. The nine-to-fivers. People rent videos on their way home from work.” Tobey placed a DVD on the shelf. “Or in the middle of the night. There’s been studies. Or something.”

Kurt finished untangling the botched tape and tossed it into the trash. “So what you’re saying is that you’ve got a firm grasp on psychological makeup of our clientele.”

“I’m a savante that way.”

“An idiot savante, sure,” Kurt said with an eye roll.

Tobey placed another DVD. “People mock what they don’t understand.”

“So what about that girl, Alyssa?”

“Pretty sure nobody mocks her,” Tobey replied, scanning a shelf. “Fear her, maybe. Beauty is intimidating. Intelligence doubly so. Beauty and intelligence—”

“I meant her psychological makeup.”

Tobey shrugged absently. “If it’s anything like her physical makeup—”

Kurt sighed. “I mean: why does she come in so often? She was just here yesterday.”

Tobey glanced over at his long-time friend. “She had a two-day rental, Kurt,” he said flatly.

“And that explains why she was here for the past five days in a row, how exactly?” Kurt asked patiently.

Tobey pondered this half-heartedly. “She likes movies?”

Kurt went back to his sketch pad. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m an idiot with a stalker, according to you,” Tobey said, shelving the last DVD and returning to his spot behind the counter.

“She’s not a stalker. She’s a nice girl.”

Naughty thoughts ran through Tobey’s head and his eyes went wide. “I bet she is.”

Kurt put his pencil down. “You know, people might actually like you if you weren’t so sarcastic all the time.”

“What are you talking about? People like me. You’re the one who pointed out that I have a stalker,” Tobey said. “Plus, you’re a person, too. You like me.”

Kurt tilted his hand back and forth. “Eh.”

Tobey shrugged indifferently. “Friends come and go. Porn is forever.”

“That sixty-inch TV in your bedroom working out well for you?”

Tobey turned and leaned against the counter, facing Kurt. “I watch it as I fall asleep so that I have pleasant dreams. Of vaginas.” Tobey spread his hands an arms-length apart. “Ten feet wide.”

“So what you’re saying is that the addition of the big-screen pornocopia has obviated any pressing need to actually be liked by the fairer sex?”

“Who needs to be liked when you have a stalker? Plus, there’s always Horatio.”

Kurt blinked. “Who the hell is Horatio?”

Tobey held up his left hand. “We have a very intimate relationship. He knows how to please me in ways that most women just don’t understand. And yes, the big screen pornocopia helps.”

The bell on the door jangled.

“A vagina ten feet wide?” Kurt asked.

“Ten feet wide.”

“You call your hand Horatio?”

“You spend all day drawing superheroes with their dongs out,” Tobey said.

Kurt nodded. “Point.”

“Good to see you’re being as professional as ever.” The voice came from the other side of the counter. It sounded tired and annoyed.

Tobey frowned and didn’t bother to turn around. He grabbed his film magazine. “You know what? Fuck off, my dude. I don’t have time for your shit right now.”

The man on the other side of the counter glanced around the empty video store. “I can see that,” he said. “These late hours of yours really keep the place hopping.”

Tobey sighed and deliberately turned around to face his older brother. “Fuck you very much, Walt.”

Tobey’s brother was two years older and looked about as tired as he sounded. A dark suit with a loosened tie, coifed hair grown limp, distinct bags under his eyes.

Walt help up his hands in a show of  surrender, car keys dangling from his right fingers. “Just here to drop the car off. I’ve got a guy coming first thing in the morning to detail it. Karen’s picking me up in a few minutes.”

Walt tossed the keys to Tobey. They hit him on the chest and bounced on the counter. They stared at each other for an awkward moment.

Kurt focused intently on giving She-Hulk a very large, very veiny cock.

“Uh, last I checked, I’m not your fucking valet, Walt,” Tobey said.

Walt sighed wearily. “I’m not asking you to be—”

“Cause you just up and threw those keys like––”

“Tobey, we need to talk.”

“I really can’t see why.”

“Can we just––”

“Get the fuck out of my store, Walter,” Tobey growled from across the counter.

Walt ran a hand through his hair. “… it’s gonna be five years next month.”

Kurt glanced up and could see Tobey visibly tense, clenching his fists. He promptly looked back down.

“Yeah, so?”

“So …” Walt said slowly as he nodded. “… I want you to come visit them with me.”

Walt tried to meet Tobey’s eyes but the anger shooting across from his brother was brutal.

“… I think it’ll be good for you, Tobe,” Walt said softly.

“No.”

“Tobey––”

“I haven’t gone yet,” Tobey spat out the words. “I’m not going to go and I’m certainly not ever going to go with you.”

“Tobe––”

Tobey cut him off. “Just get the fuck out, Walt. You can wait for Karen outside.”

“I want to talk about the store.”

Tobey’s hands went up. “There it is! Jesus fucking Christ. You lasted all of two minutes that time, Walter. When are you gonna give that one up? They left it to me, cut and dry.”

Kurt decided that She-Hulk’s cock wasn’t big enough and needed to be more throbby.

Tobey shot lasers at his brother. “… you don’t have anything to do with Videorama.”

“Yeah. Okay. You’re right,” Walt conceded. “I haven’t had anything to do with the store for a long time. But that’s not how I want it to be.”

“Well boo-fucking-hoo,” Tobey spat. “It’s not like you have a lot of options since, again, they left it to me, cut and dry.”

Walt straightened his shoulders and looked up, meeting his younger brother’s icy gaze. “Tobey,” he said, “I want to buy the store.”

Tobey’s anger kept his mouth moving before the words registered. “Don’t even fucking––wait––no––what?”

Walt swallowed. “I want to buy Videorama from you.”

For once, Tobey had absolutely nothing to say.

In the silence, Kurt’s pencil slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor.

“Oh, nooooo,” Kurt said through a quiet grimace.

###

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jordan Krumbine is a professional video editor, digital artist, and creative wizard currently quarantined in Kissimmee, Florida. When not producing content for the likes of Visit Orlando, Orlando Sentinel, or AAA National, Jordan is probably yelling at a stubbornly defective Macbook keyboard, tracking creative projects in Trello, and animating quirky videos with LEGO and other various toys.

Leave a dollar in the Tip Jar: https://ko-fi.com/krumbine

Short stories: https://bit.ly/2XY5D7I Books on Amazon Kindle: https://amzn.to/3bsqK5Y YouTube: https://bit.ly/2W41nSG Twitter: https://bit.ly/2VH0Vbu Facebook: https://bit.ly/2VpnylZ LinkedIn: https://bit.ly/2xnmk1e

http://www.krumbco.com

[thewanderingknight]

Aside the Outlaws, Ch. 4

Life with your newfound family among the Van der Linde Gang is pretty rough and tumble, but your modest skill of riding sidesaddle could benefit the gang while infiltrating a wealthy Lemoyne estate.

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V

The day has come. Time to saddle up Godiva and show everyone that you can do this. Hopefully, the garden party heist goes off without a hitch.

Arthur Morgan & Reader Warnings: Cursing, blood.  Word Count: 4,373 Oops.  Notes at the end!

Where have you been darlin’, what have you done? You were out findin’ trouble again; there’s a fire in your eyes & there’s blood on your hands 🎵

((still mad that tumblr took away the line!)) 

One more night in this cot til the heist, you thought. Your eyes remained shut, hoping that the longer you stayed in bed, time would cease to move forward. You felt the weight of Arthur’s arm sprawled across your torso. He shifted in his sleep, his short scruff scratching your shoulder. You sighed, unable to drift back into a twilight rest. Maneuvering away from Arthur’s weight, you rose from the cot and dressed to face the day.

You rubbed sleep from your eyes as you shuffled towards the campfire and poured yourself a cup of coffee. The cicada song was quiet as a few people were shaking off sleep and beginning to tend to chores. You ambled around camp, finally resting against a large tree, watching Godiva graze next to Brown Jack. Feeling unsure, you quickly drained the hot liquid and rose from your spot, making a bee line for the log on the shoreline. The gentle lapping of water only irked you, so you shot up from the log and walked back to your tent. Arthur had only just gotten up, legs dangling off the side of the cot. He watched you dart from one corner of the tent to the next, opening your chest then closing it, rearranging the keepsakes on the table, organizing the camp’s ammo stock. He stood, silently pulled you close to plant a long kiss on your forehead, then pushed aside the tent flaps to start his day. Deciding to deal with the nervousness that possessed your body, you marched towards Godiva. If you had to look like a society woman, well then, so did she.

Godiva thoroughly enjoyed the attention. You spent the morning on the lake shore with your sleeves rolled up, covered with soap and Absorbine until her brown coat shined. Her ears and bottom lip drooped, hip cocked and relaxed while your scrubbed. You were almost jealous at how much she relished the care, not knowing what would be happening tomorrow. You covered her black hooves with an oily polish and combed out her mane and tail. She looked regal, while you were left looking like you had crawled from the depths of Flat Iron Lake.

It wasn’t fear that kept you moving around camp. Rather, it was anticipation in the wake of what you had assumed was a huge event. Robbing someone like Amos Pilot, right under his nose, isn’t this something huge? For the rest of the gang, it was just another day. You would have almost preferred to have volunteered for this job the day of, just so it would be over and done with, instead of enduring the dreaded slogging of time, filling up your mind with every possibility of what could go wrong.

Arthur strolled up to you as you hitched Godiva. “She’s lookin’ real good. You’ll blend in for sure on ‘er. You, however…” he gestured to you.

“Oh, go on an’ say it. I need a bath.” You rolled your eyes, snapping a dirty towel in his direction.

“Lemme take you into town, getchu cleaned up. Buy you a drink. You sure seem like ya need it.”

You huffed, “Actually, Arthur, that... sounds lovely. Thank you.”

He smiled, extending a hand for you to take. “We’ll take my horse. Don’ wanna mess up all the work you put into yer mare.”

He led you towards Britomartis and climbed into the saddle, holding out a hand to help you mount up behind him, both legs on tucked on the left side. You wrapped your hands around his waist as Arthur ushered Brit into a nice clip towards Rhodes.

*****

The sun burned hot in its descent to the west. You shielded your eyes with your hand as you looked on a dusty Rhodes, glowing with the dying rays.

You followed close to Arthur as he jogged up the steps, waltzed up to the bar, paid for the whiskey, and escorted you up the spiral staircase. You walked passed the Black jack table towards the veranda that overlooked the railroad out of Rhodes. A slight wind shook the ivy leaves that clung to the lattice fencing. Arthur tossed his hat onto a small table in the corner and heavily sunk into the chair.

“Now, Lenny ain’t here, so no gettin’ into trouble,” you teased.

He grumbled under his breath, “It weren’t that bad, really.”

“Oh, the money I’d pay to see something like that,” you shot back, tapping your chin and laughing.

Arthur just raised his eyebrows at you and stretched an arm out behind your back, fingers idly playing with your hair. You fidgeted with the shot glass in front of you, taking in your surroundings. Arthur’s solid warmth, the breeze that blew a few strands of hair into your face, the songbirds chirping in the trees across the rail line. Arthur caught your attention, sliding his glass across the table to meet yours. You smiled, raised your glass to clink with his, and downed the whiskey, feeling it burn on the way down.

“Maybe I don’t gotta make a big deal outta this,” you started, “you boys do this all the time.”

“‘S’your first, normal to feel nervous,” he returned, “He’s got minimal guards, and you’ll be covered on all sides. Nothin’ to worry ‘bout. I wouldn’ send you into the lion’s den if you couldn’t handle it, or if you weren’ prepared.” He tapped your shoulder that his arm was around.

“An’ Dutch would?” you shot back.

He sighed. “Well, no, but-- I don’t think that’s fair.”

“You’re probably right,” you looked back out at the rooftops of the main street. The sky was leaching into a saturated violet. “I don’t mean to sound angry at him. Or that I’m not with the gang. I’ve been a part of it for years, now. An’ he’s the man who raised you.” You glanced back at Arthur; his eyes were already on yours. “It surprised me, is all, when he said I couldn’t arm myself.”

“But you will be.”

“Thanks to you. An’ I know how he is, always preaching about keeping the faith.” You grabbed his hand in yours, and brought it to your chest. You were sure he could feel the nervous pounding of your heart. “But Arthur, I have faith in you, ya hear me?”

You could feel his fingers curl into your top. He said nothing, but moved his hand from your shoulder to the back of your head, gently ushering you forward to meet your lips to his.

“Woman-” he started.

“Just let me be silly and romantic, you fool,” you smiled at him and held his hand in your lap. You looked up to see his blue eyes searching your face. “I’ll be alright,” you sidled up tighter to his side. “Now I do believe you promised me a bath, Mister Morgan.”

Another shot of whiskey found you in the bath and Arthur sitting on a stool nearby, scribbling in his journal. You sunk your head down just enough to submerge your ears beneath the water. You closed your eyes, listening to the muted tones and tinny scrapes of your body in the water.

You opened your eyes and peaked at Arthur, still keeping his eyes locked inside his journal. You moved in the water, leaning over the edge of the tub closest to him. You called his name softly, and he looked up. You reached a hand out, silently asking.

He smirked and sighed, but stood from the stool and placed his journal and hat atop the seat. You bit a finger as you watched him undress, smiling as you felt the water shift when he stepped in behind you. When he settled, you pressed your back to his chest, laying your head on his shoulder. He looked down to steal a single searing kiss from you.

With whisky in your veins and your man behind you, steeped in the steaming bathwater, the edge of anxiety that poked your stomach had rounded, and you were finally able to relax.

*****

The next time I’m in this cot, I’ll be done with this business.

Morning had come, and brought a fierce sunshine upon camp that morning. The girls surrounded you, helping you look like a lady of distinction you were trying to be. You took Karen’s top hat and tipped it forward, the lip of the edge just touching your brow. For good measure, Mary-Beth had attached a cloth of sheer black lace that covered your face and criss-crossed your vision. Tilly had loaned you a pair of white kidskin gloves. Molly had even given you some red rouge to dab on your lips, and Abigail slipped an old brooch into your hand for good luck, which you clasped to the front of your high collar. Miss Grimshaw left a pair of her pearl earrings on your bedside table.

“Oh, it’s so romantic, isn’t it?” Mary-Beth crooned as you hugged them each in turn.

“Sure is, even if you rob’em blind,” Karen rolled her eyes.

“But that just adds to it!” Mary-Beth argued, “a gentlelady thief! That can be dark and romantic, and fun!” She giggled.

You pulled Karen aside as the girls left to carry on with their day.

“Karen? Arthur told me ‘bout a job you did with them a few years back; something ‘bout you dressin’ up as a nun?”

She snorted, “oh, yeah! That was fun. They weren’t expectin’ ‘sweet Sister Karen’ to be packin’ a shotgun ‘neath her habit!”

“I guess, it just sounds an awful lot like what I’m doin’,” you continued. “I guess what I mean is, how’d you do it? You were so sure when you left to rob the Valentine bank. Weren’t you-- don’t you get nervous?”

“I dunno, honey. I guess I just knew they’d have my back. We’d be okay. Arthur was there. That helped a lot. A shot a whiskey before don’t hurt, neither!” You smiled at that.

*****

You rolled your shoulders and straightened your back, waiting for the boys to arrive at the meeting place, just into the treeline a ways before the Pilot Plantation. You could see the top of the stoic house peeking out from above the foliage.

The high collar of your shirt was stifling in the shimmering Lemoyne heat. The faint, whispering breezes seemed like a godsend. Suddenly, velvet seemed revolting to you. Godiva shifted beneath you. You leaned forward and patted her neck. Nervously, you rearranged a part of her mane that had flipped over to the opposite side. She turned her head as she heard a horse approaching. Arthur arrived and slipped off his horse, the sawed-off shotgun hanging from his shoulder.

“You ready?”

“I think so. Can you do it, Arthur?”

“‘Course.” His hands slipped under the drapes of velvet. He gave your calf an encouraging squeeze that made you look down, suppressing a smile. “Okay, all set.”

The shotgun weighed down on your leg, you adjusted yourself in the saddle.“M’okay. There’s a slug in each barrel. Let’s hope you don’t gotta need for ‘em.” He looked up at you as you saw Dutch trotting up on The Count, flanked by Micah on Baylock.

“Is everyone prepared?” Dutch boomed, swinging his leg over the horn and walking towards you.

“Jus’ look at her,” Arthur stated proudly. You sat up straighter as Dutch circled you and Godiva. She curved her neck slightly and into the bit; always the show-off, your horse. Her blood bay coat gleamed in the shadow of the trees. The black points on her legs and hooves shone like the curves of your velvet skirt. Your hair had been put up in a delicate plait on the back of your head, and Godiva’s tack had been oiled and cleaned. You and her were a team of radiance.

“My dear, I do say, you were born for this,” Dutch nodded once. “Now, the boys have already started on the road around the plantation, you should see them from time to time. Arthur n’ Micah will stay here with a scope on you, to make you don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Don’t go drinkin’ too much of that fancy wine, Lady Godiva,” Micah interjected. “We’ll be watchin’ who you end up flirtin’ with.”

You whipped your head to shoot him a glare, but Arthur had moved closer. You reached your hand down, he took it and gently squeezed your fingers,” You’ve got this, sweetheart. And I’ve got you.” “I know you do. Alright, time for me to go. A lady of distinction such as myself can’t be seen runnin’ with a bunch of outlaws,” You squeezed his fingers in return then let go, and gathered Godiva into a trot, leaving the peripheral safety of the tree line.

Your mind blanked as your approached the gate. You glanced down at Godiva, her mane a black sheen of waves, undulating in time with her steady trot.

“Afternoon ma’am,” he said sternly. You noted the sun glint off his repeater. “This here’s private property.”

“I’m very much aware,” you coiled. “I was asked here by an Amos Pilot. He’s expectin’...my company.” A pearl of sweat slid down your back. You watched his eyes follow your hand as you reached into your waistcoat to reveal the invitation Trelawney had recovered for you. He walked forward and snatched it from your gloved hands, then peered at it suspiciously.

He waited for a moment before conceding. “Right this way, ma’am.”

“I should say,” you ruffled his way as he moved to swing the iron gate that yawned a screech. Godiva pushed into a light trot down the pea gravel path that weaved through the property.

The trimmed bushes stood stoic on either side of the white gravel path before the large two-story house. Tables with white cloth fluttered in the wind, and strings of lightbulbs criss crossed through the low hanging trees, whose droopy branches skimmed the red dirt. A small string ensemble sat in a corner of the ivy, bellowing out rolling melodies. Horses and people of all colors and sizes strolled about. You could see some heads bobbing above the straight hedges off towards the property’s edge. The faint sound of a gurgling fountain dipped between the music and conversation and horses. Godiva nodded at the new noises and smells, but quickly calmed down. You stroked her neck, unsure if it was for her nerves, or your own. You looked towards the property line, and noticed Javier and Boaz, looking like they were taking a leisurely stroll; Boaz’s head hanging low and swinging in-time with his strides. Godiva seemed to notice as well, and let out a shrieking whinny at the sight of Boaz. You quickly shushed her, hoping to blend in with the crowd.

“My, what a lovely mare you have.”

You looked up to see an older woman sidle up to you on a large dappled gray Hungarian Halfbred, his mane roached.

“Oh, thank you. She’s my pride,” you replied, continuing to stroke her neck.

“What is her lineage?” Her sharp eyes followed the well-knitted lines of Godiva’s conformation.

“I do know she has a strong Thoroughbred connection,” you started, not wanting to start a lengthy conversation. “Unfortunately, all her papers were lost in a fire. Very tragic.”

The woman frowned a bit. “Shame, she looks so regal. And you’re riding aside. Very traditional of you.”

“I could say the same of you,” you retorted.

She smiled at that. “Can’t seem to shake it! My mother was very insistent on it. Now I can’t get rid of the damned thing. And, Augustus takes to it well, he’s a good chap.” She patted the horse’s shoulder, then looked back at you. “What is your name?”

“Helen. Helen Callahan,” you extended a hand. “My mother insisted on it, as well.”

“Ebba Griffin,” she gave your hand a firm shake. “Care to accompany on a ride around Amos’ gardens?”

“I would be delighted to,” you replied, and followed her on the outer path that snaked around the house.

Ebba turned out to be a fair companion, you thought, as she rambled through stories of her adventures throughout India and China, the men she’s been with (and details that made you blush redder than a shepherds sunset), the sights she’s seen. The rides you took with Arthur were mostly shaped to the comfortable silence that you both enjoyed, but Ebba kept a hold on your attention, and you gasped and nodded at all the right moments, prying more stories out of her. She eventually slowed down after the death of her third and final husband, to where she was currently touring America at her leisure.

“So, my dear, what husband are you on?” she threw you a jesting smile.

“Oh, well actually-”

“Not married yet?” you nodded in response. “Quite unusual, I should say, but I would know, since I myself am quite unusual,” she answered her own question, and you just smiled. “But you’ve got the look of a young woman with something behind those dashing eyes. Must be some kind of love, hm?”

You fought the smile on your face and glanced over at the treeline. ”Yes ma’am,” you answered her, emboldened by the concept of talking about Arthur while he could see you, without hearing what you were saying. “I’ve got quite a man, Miss.”

“You are smitten, aren’t you?”

“Oh, quite. I tell him every day, yet he doesn’t believe me. He’s strong, and silent, and good.”

“What’s his name?”

“Arthur,” your smile widened.

“Good name, strong name!” she raised her hand in the air, and Augustus quickened his stride. “Let’s ride back, I need a drink. Let’s toast to Arthur!”

You laughed, trotting behind her.

Ebba called over attendants holding chittering glasses of champagne on sparkling silver platters. One of those could earn you a new dress, you thought as you delicately plucked a coupe from the platter the waiter had lifted to you and Ebba, still seated on your horses.

She raised her glass to you. “To men like Arthur… and my second husband!”

“To Arthur!” you echoed, and downed the glass in one swig, feeling the bubbles dance down your throat.

An attendant came and helped you dismount Godiva, leading her to a line of posts where other horses were being hitched. Ebba handed you another coupe, and you followed her towards the light and sound emanating from the party that had begun to grow as the night faded into a violet twilight.

Following Ebba became a game of catch, either catching the glasses she idly tossed the more she consumed, or catching her before she fell into bushes or other people. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, finding it great fun to be in the company of someone who seemed so opposite of everything you remembered.

You finally coaxed her to sit in a wrought iron chair, finding an attendant to fetch her some food. Over the sound of her broken giggles, you heard someone urgently whisper the name of Amos, and looked over to see a rotund man with a dark beard leaning towards an attendant who whispered in his ear, then strode towards the house, trying to hide the hurry in his step. You patted Ebba’s shoulder, then quickly followed the man.

You flitted towards the rear entrance of the house, where the road was barely visible through the trees, on the other side of the fence. You slid into the shadowy mudroom, hearing the clunk of footsteps on the second floor. Your body moved, focused, forgetting your earlier anxiety. Creeping up the staircase, you noted a flickering golden light cut into the hallway. Lightly tiptoeing forward, you crept along the walls, closer towards the open door. Peeking your head to just see through the doorway, you spotted a man, hunching over an ornate desk, pressing his knuckles into the wood.

“Amos, darling, please return to your guests! It’s rude to keep them waiting!” A female voice echoed from an adjoining room.

Amos sighed and called out to the voice, then left through the other door. You breathed out, and scurried over the desk that was littered with paper. You sorted through them, some letters, some banking notes, and one heavy handed letter from Cornwall.

“I know your name, Mr. Cornwall,” you muttered as you plucked it from the pile on the desk and began searching for the bonds Dutch had described. You slid the heavy drawers towards you, rummaging through the contents. You found a thin leather envelope that had a money clip in it, and tossed it on the rug. There was some jewelry: a pearl necklace and a few pocket watches that you tossed into the envelope.

The other side of the desk opened as a cabinet, and when you flung it open it revealed a small, burly safe. You let out a breath, and tried to remember what Arthur had taught you about opening these blasted safes.

You got down on your hands and knees, pushing your head into the cabinet and up against the cool metal, listening for the clicks.

“Shit,” you whispered, when you heard the mechanism lock, and twisted the knob a few times to restart. You closed your eyes, listening again for the clicks. On your third attempt, the safe coughed. You gasped when you pushed down on the handle and the little door swung open, revealing sitting stacks of bound bonds.

You picked one up and flipped it through your fingers. It was too much too count. Too many bonds. You smiled, stuffing the bonds into the envelope until it bulged with its contents.

Footsteps were echoing through the hallway outside. You deftly shut the safe door closed, and carefully latched the cabinet closed, tucking the envelope under your waistcoat and scurrying to the door Amos had exited from, hoping it was another way outside.

Once outside, you couldn’t stop the growing smile on your face. Was it really this easy? No wonder they did this all the time! When we return to camp Arthur is gonna get the best--

You stopped mid stride, there was a strong grip on your arm, and a cool pressure on your neck.

“Not good to wander alone in the dark, pretty lady,” you winced away from the scratchy voice in your ear, warm breath on your skin. “Ah! Don’t fight me, if’n you wanna live,” the words slithered around you, as he pushed you towards the crowd.

Ebba, still slumped in the chair, saw you walking back and waved to you. A shot rang out nearby, followed by gasps and screams. Another voice boomed above the commotion.

“Good evenin’!” A man rode through the tables on a stout Appaloosa. “We are the Lemoyne fuckin’ Raiders, an’ we are gonna relieve you of your personal propertah!”

More men on foot began to surround the patrons of the party. The man holding you pushed you forward. You found Ebba, reaching out for each other. You grabbed her arms and held on as the circle around you became tighter. You could feel the shotgun resting against your leg.

A raider holding out a sack began to weave through the crowd. Women were already reaching up to unhook necklaces; men reluctantly tossed money clips into the sack.

One raider roughly grabbed Ebba’s arm, trying to pry a gold ring from her hand. She screamed out. “No, you can’t!” she begged, “it was my late husband’s, please!”

You reached for the raider. “Let go, she don’t wanna be touched!” you yelled, trying to release his grip. Another man came up and struck his hand around your throat. You tried to claw yourself free.

“We take whatever we can get,” he spit in your face. “Let go!” you choked out.

Another shot cracked through the air. The man before you was now crumpled on the ground, blood pooling around his head. You glanced back at the darkened trees before noticing the surprise on the man still gripping Ebba.

“Ebba, get down!” You reached for her head with one hand, and with the other, snaked under your skirt and gripped the handle of the shotgun. You flung it out, aiming it into the raider’s chest and pulling the right trigger. He fell backwards, and chaos consumed you.

Raiders and patrons ran in every direction. You reached for Ebba, but she was grabbed round the shoulders by a man in a disheveled tuxedo, whisking her farther into the commotion. You ran for the rear entrance of the house, hoping someone was there already, ready to cover you. You bumped and clashed with people trying to get away. Someone grabbed your arm, and you screamed with adrenaline, ripping your jacket off to reveal the white sleeves of your shirt and ran faster, still clutching the shotgun. You whistled for Godiva, hoping she didn’t run too far when the shooting started. You scrambled under the fence to see Godiva trot up right after where John and Bill were waiting in the underbrush.

“Where...where are the others?” you huffed between breaths, leaning on your knees.

“Dunno,” Bill replied. “They shoulda been here by now. We came ridin’ when we heard the first gunshot.”

“Damnit,” you huffed.

John dismounted Old Boy and brought Godiva to you. You took her reins and pressed your forehead to her brow, holding her head close.

Micah appeared, charging up on Baylock. He swung his leg over the horn. “That was some fuckin’ mess,” he drawled, and looked at you. “Saw you enter the house. Did’ya get the bonds Dutch asked for?”

You looked around for Brit’s jagged blaze in the darkness, but neither she nor Arthur had yet appeared. You peered around Micah.

“Where’s Arthur?” your heart clenched.

“I thought he was right on my tail, princess,” Micah sneered, glancing around him.

“After he let out that rifle shot, we heard ah group of them movin’, so we started to move.”

“No, no, no, no,” you repeated, marching towards him. You pushed him with the flat of your heels. You grabbed his lapels. Tried to shake him hard.

“Micah, where is he?” you cried. Hot tears outlined your cheeks.

“Micah!” you cried again. “Micah! Where’s Arthur?”

Notes: Anon, this one’s for you!

Sorry (not sorry?) about the cliffhanger. Y’all, I’m excited. Sometimes I feel I have to streamline out all the detail I want to put in. But I’ve got a spicy epilogue brewing! Also, sometimes I’m burning the candle at both ends when I write this, and I don’t realize I’ve changed the tense. If you notice anything, please feel free to leave a comment or message me!

Also, I could have SWORN there was a piece of conversation with Karen where she describes robbing a bank dressed as a nun, but I can’t find it on youtube! Seems like something she’d do, so I kept it in. You’ll just have to take my word for it. 

[pallasperilous]

Morning Glory

Rating: Gen/Teen Word Count: 1795, complete Pairing: Dean/Castiel Tags: Temporarily Human Castiel, Canon universe, anxiety, insomnia, sleep disorders, angel vessels, references to the Empty, references to alcohol abuse AO3 version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163709 Prompt: Written as a lil clapback to the fanon trope that Human!Castiel Is Not A Morning Person. (For @cr-noble-writes and @chuckwinchester)

Dean couldn’t really explain why he’d assumed Cas would suck at mornings. Maybe the 24/7 bedhead and the “it’s always 5 o’clock somewhere” shadow; maybe the fact he never really seemed convinced that “taking a shower” and “eating breakfast” weren’t just some elaborate long con they’ve been pulling on him for the last half a goddamn decade. Maybe just the way he veers into grouchy asshole territory whenever the world takes a dump on his shoes, which is kind of the definition of mornings. 

Whatever: Cas just seems like the kind of guy who’d need forty minutes of silence and three cups of coffee before he’d count as human.

Hey, well, joke’s on Dean, ‘cuz the guy definitely (currently) counts as human, and he’s awake at five fucking thirty in the morning, every morning, bright-tailed and bushy-eyed and talking a mile a minute. A mile a second. He’s breaking the sound barrier and exerting serious G-forces. 

Dean would tear his own face off if he thought it’d make the dude shut up until the Pop-Tarts came up. Instead he just kinda lets the Cas Chatter wash over him, like really phlegmy birdsong, or the world’s weirdest morning chit chat show.  

Cas has at least taught himself to make coffee –– apparently all on his own, since Sam isn’t taking credit for it, and Sam loves taking credit for shit. It’s not the worst coffee, either. I mean, it’s bad coffee, nobody here is drinking Good Coffee, it’s a weapon, not an experience –– but it’s not watery or full of grounds or made with orange juice or some other weird dumbass goof. 

Sam’s take is that maybe Jimmy Novak was a Morning Person and now that Cas isn’t using the guy’s body as a kind of celestial thermos, some of the dude’s original behaviors or genetics or whatever are sort of…coming back online, reasserting themselves. “Like the burger thing,” Sam says, shrugging.

“Well, that’s ten kinds of fucked up,” Dean answers, but then the goddamn ghoul turns out to be a whole Leave It To Beaver nuclear ghoul family and the conversation gets extremely tabled.

There’s a morning awhile after where Dean wakes up still drunk and can’t handle the thought of two more hours riding the motel bed over the rolling seas of FuckUpistan, so he gets up and showers off the townie bar fug as best he can without waking Sam – only Sam, because it’s dawn and so Cas is already up and probably singing Disney princess songs to the seagulls haunting the trashcans in the parking lot. 

Dean reaches to scoop his keys and does a bleary double take when they’re not on the nightstand. He takes a moment to freak out at the possibility of Cas doing his clutch-smiting routine on the Impala, but something twigs and he peels open the door and yep, the car’s still in the lot, outlined in scribbly motel neon and highway dawn pink. There’s a faint warble of bass rolling off it in time tooooo…Dean’s gonna say Hole in the Sky? So he kinda queases his way over the lumpy asphalt and knuckles on the driver side window and Cas jumps a fucking foot, or he would if he weren’t wearing the goddamn lap belt in a perfectly stationary car.

Dean thumbs at the other side and Cas shakes himself off enough to lean over and pop it for him. Dean slides in and the car smells like three hour-old motel check-in desk coffee – his stomach immediately tries to file a lawsuit but the sanctity of the leather interior wins over his bodily need to evacuate poisons every time. Cas’s hands are back on the steering wheel, gripping it at 10 and 2 like a good boy but with his knuckles the color of popcorn, an abused-looking paper cup empty on the seat besides him, and Sabbath is still living on the profits of pride at top volume. Dean rolls it down to conversational levels so he doesn’t have to scream when he says “What’s the story, morning glory?”

Reminder: Dean is definitely still drunk.

Thankfully Cas doesn’t really know from Oasis or Sunday morning BJs so Dean just gets two blue eyeballs full of blank terror. 

Dean tries again, picks the cup up off the seat. There’s a rind of dried coffee juice inside. “What’s up? Sunrise three minutes off? Songbirds outta order? Thought you’d be out here braiding your hair and frolicking in the dew or some shit.” 

Cas blinks, which is something he’s been doing a lot more lately and frankly is a weird look for him. “No,” he says, voice cracking. “I haven’t done any of those things this morning.” He frowns, which is a little better. “Or any morning, to my knowledge.”

“So, what then? Bad dreams?” 

Cas scrunches his face up in his left hand, pulls it back through his already frankly insane hair, sighs out a gust of Eau de Flopsweat. “No. I didn’t dream at all.”

“Congrats.”

Cas goggles back at him. “As much as I dislike dreaming as a…subject, instead of an observer. I find its absence.” He hesitates. “Much worse.”

Dean rubs his eyes because this has that angsty metaphysical angel pong to it and that’s really more of a Sam Specialty. “How’s it worse? I drink for those nights, man. It’s a few hours off of. You know.” He gestures at The Universe, Generally. “All this shit.”

Cas scoffs and leans back in the seat, although he doesn’t release the wheel from the iron grip. “Dean, in almost four billion years of existence –”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters, because this is the traditional overture to an absolute diarrhea of angelsplaining.

Cas ignores him, or maybe Sabbath covers his tracks – “I have never been rendered…unconscious.”

Dean gives him a look, because bullshit. “C’mon. I’ve seen you knocked out before. Down for the count.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’ve been forced to cede control over my vessel. I’ve withdrawn into it to preserve myelf. I’ve experienced a fugue state, or been made to retroactively forget details of my experience. But I have never.” He breathes in through his nose, the edges of his nostrils going white to match his knuckles. “I’ve never been insensate and unaware at the same time.”

Some asshat pulling his rig out of the diner across the way opens up his jake brake and Cas flinches at the crack. 

“Huh,” is about what Dean’s got to serve up. “You worried somebody’s gonna snuff you while you’re down? We can take shifts when we’re on the road, if that’s what’s freakin’ you out.”

Another shake of the head. “Anyone truly invested in eliminating me specifically in this…state would be too powerful or competent to be defended against through normal means. Angels can be killed, Dean. My experience of a mortal death would be – ” he cuts himself off. “Less worrisome than the alternative, in many ways.”

“Cool, so, being murdered in your sleep, not a concern.”

“I’m more concerned,” Cas huffs, “that I am unable to defend you.” His forehead droops down towards the steering wheel, like a houseplant somebody forgot to water before a Disneyland vacation.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Dean says.

“I am not,” Cas answers, “fucking kidding you.”

Dean snorts. “I made it thirty years without your feathery ass watching over me. Now you’ve just got a normal-ass…ass, you think I’m suddenly shaking in my boots? C’mon, man.”

Cas shrugs, which looks even weirder on him than the blinking.

Dean twiddles the paper cup, rolls it between his palms. “You haven’t been, like, watching me and Sam sleep, have you? Because you know I can stand that Twilight shit.”

“No,” Cas says, in a tone of infinite offense, like Dean has suggested he sleeps in girls underwear or something. “But, Dean. The experience of sleep. Dreamless sleep. It’s not. It’s not dissimilar to what we are told to expect, as angels, after death.”

(The music slides over into Symptom of the Universe and Dean desperately wishes he’d left something peppier in the deck when they pulled in last night.)

 “Only I’m given to understand that we are at least…in company with each other. Though silent and unaware. We share the same sleep. In a way it’s a return to our origin as an undifferentiated host. But in human sleep.” He looks over at Dean, face slack. “You’re alone. Prisoner in a corporeal cell. Did you know,” he goes on, practically stepping on himself, warming up the verbal jet engines, “that some individuals experience a phenomenon where, upon waking, they suffer a period of total bodily paralysis?” 

Dean frowns. “Yeah. Sounds shitty.”

Cas nods. “Jimmy experienced it semi-regularly.” Then he looks out and up, squints at the motel sign. Maybe he needs glasses.

“So you inherited it, huh?” Dean says, softly. Cas doesn’t respond. “So, sleeping’s shit. And waking up’s shit.”

Cas’s squint turns into a wince. “In the Bunker, I’ll get up and make coffee.”

Dean waggles the mutilated cup. “Yeah, noticed that. Thinking of buying stock in Folger’s.”

“I’ll visit the archives, or. Write letters.” (Who the fuck is he writing letters to, Dean idly wonders? Dear Angel Abby?) “Go up to the roof to,” he glances at Dean, anticipating the eyeroll, “watch the dawn. On the road, it’s…more difficult to keep myself occupied. Keep my mind off of the fact that I can no longer hear the rest of the host. That I am,” he stretches his palms out over the wheel, tenses his clenched fingers, “quite nearly useless,”

“Cas,” Dean says, even more softly.

“And that, in a mere matter of hours,” Castiel closes his eyes, or the eyes he is currently doing business under. “The cycle will repeat.”

“Cas,” Dean says. And he reaches out what he suspects is the memory of Mom’s hand and sets his palm on the back of the guy’s neck, against the damp skin and unwashed hair. The muscles there relax but the blue eyes stay closed and Dean drops the cup on the floor and sets the other hand that’s just his on the side of Cas’s face, and slowly sweeps the side of his thumb over the sandpaper jaw and waxy cheekbone. 

And he pulls Cas’s head towards him, then down against his own shoulder and chest. Cas’s hands peel off the steering wheel and drift to lie, palms open, up, across their undistinguished assortment of kneecaps and thighs.

After awhile, a few more tracks in the tape, Cas’s breathing goes smoothe and deep. Dean feels eyelashes flicker against his collarbone – guy’s already dreaming.

Dean watches the dawn, reflected on motel windows.  

[lobsters-on-their-heads]

Continuing Travels of Cophine, Part 3 Chapt. 10

Fucking finally. I’ve been trying to get my novel out to literary agents, which has taken up a lot of creative energy on top of regular life activities and things (bipolar doesn’t always work in my favor, either). But, here it is!

You can read all of Part 3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820221

Cosima didn't know how to write a condolence card. She sucked even more at picking one out, but on Tuesday that was her One Job.

At the card-and-party-goods store Sarah brought her to, the card section stretched over three full aisles, and the “sympathy” cards were ten percent of that. “Just grab a card,” she muttered to herself, “any fucking card.” But all of the cards she picked up sucked. Donnie Hendrix just lost his mother – the first person in his entire life who loved him – and the trite pre-written message on a two dollar piece of card stock was supposed to sooth his pain? Were the swoopy cursive letters and watercolor flowers actually supposed to comfort anyone? Or wasn't it all just a ploy to make those who hadn't lost anyone feel better about themselves? Like saying “look, I helped” without actually helping anything at all?

She picked up a card showing a tire swing at sunset. Always remember that every part of life is a part of God's plan, it said.

Cosima huffed. “Is cloning a part of God's plan, too?” she asked the card, and stuffed it back into it's slot.

Another read, Nothing happens without a reason. A whole bunch of Cosima's life experience contradicted that one, too.

Those who love us never really leave us.

“Way to rip off Sirius Black, yo,” Cosima told that card. As she suspected, JK Rowling was not credited with the message anywhere on the back.

She had no idea how close Donnie was (had been) to his mother. If (when) Cosima's mother died, there wasn't a card in existence that would even dent Cosima's pain. To make matters worse, in her search Cosima came across sympathy cards for the loss of a spouse or partner and she nearly fled the card aisle to join Sarah in the “summer fun” aisle with the pool noodles and plastic sand buckets. The two news alerts from Syria she got a few minutes ago really didn't help, and Delphine wasn't even in Syria yet.

Cosima was scowling at a card reading Don't cry. They're in a better place now when her phone rang. She crammed the card back in it's overcrowded slot and answered. “Hey gorgeous,” she said.

“Hey,” Delphine said. “Is everything alright? You said you needed some help?”

Delphine sounded exhausted, and Cosima chided herself. Delphine had treated two Turkish clones in two cities in two days. She deserved some time to herself. “Totally alright,” Cosima assured her. “Nothing to worry about. Forget I asked.”

“Euh, not very likely. What do you need help with?”

“Well, you seem like a classy lady, and so I thought – ”

Delphine's snorted laugh cut her off. “I'm sorry, what?”

“I have to buy a sympathy card for Donnie, and I have no frikkin' clue what to get, or, like, what to do when we see him later today.”

“Oh.” Delphine's mirth vanished. “Why are you buying a sympathy card? What happened?”

“His mom died. She had a stroke on Friday and she never woke up from the coma. Not, if you ask me, the worst way to go, but still sad, you know?” Funny how none of the sympathy cards said that: It wasn't the worst way to go, but it's still sad, I know.

“Hm.”

“Anyway, I'm trying to find the right card, and nothing seems right. Sarah doesn't know either, and the whole “sorry your mom died” thing kind of sent her to a bad emotional place too. Totally understandable, you know? She's distracting herself right now. I'd normally ask Alison, but obviously that doesn't work here. Scott's socially inept in these areas, even worse than me, and my mom's off the grid until June, so I can't ask her either.”

“I see.” Traffic rushed by on Delphine's end, and she said, “hang on,” a couple of times before the traffic noise ceased. “I'm not sure how much I can help, actually. I'm not exactly an expert in comforting phrases or what to say after someone dies. In English or in French, actually.”

Cosima sighed. “Well, you've gotta be better at this than I am. Like, what kind of card would you want if your mom died?”

Delphine laughed again. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“How she died, if she'd decided to talk to me before she passed, if she has a will...”

“Let's say there's no will, you were on speaking terms, and she died of a stroke.” Cosima had no idea about the will part, but assumed it didn't matter here. “In fact, you know what, scratch that. You'd probably want a card saying something like Guess what? She's dead.”

“In my case, yes, that would be fine. But this is not my case.”

“What kind would you want if I died?”

Delphine inhaled sharply, and Cosima kicked herself again. Delphine already had those nightmares. “I'd rather not think about that.”

“Yeah, fair. Ditto.”

“Cosima. What kind of card do you think you should get? What would the right one say in this situation?”

“I just want one that says, This sucks, and we all know it sucks, and we're here for you. None of this greater purpose, heaven and God shit. I mean, I know the Hendrixes go to church and all that, but... I don't know. It seems off base to me, and it'll be super obvious I don't mean it.”

“Don't they have any blank cards? You can write in your own message if you want.”

“I am not sure that would be better, actually.” She sighed again and held a hand to her forehead. Chances were, this would be their only conversation that day – it was dinner time in Bursa, and Cosima would be spending the next few hours with the Hendrixes. She should get the most out of her daily Delphine Time. Walking away from the cards towards the big store-front window, she asked, “How'd your day go, then? How was the treatment?”

“Fine. She's asymptomatic, as we suspected.”

Cosima smiled. “Nice of you to use the plural there. If I remember correctly, you're the one who convinced me not to drop clone fest to inoculate her back in March.”

“You weren't terribly opposed, though.”

“Mostly because I knew Alison would kick my ass.” Cosima giggled. “If only we'd known how Clone Fest would actually go! Alison might've been happy for us to miss it.”

“I thought you two smoothed all that over?”

“Eh. I guess. Forgiven but not forgotten, for my part.”

“Doesn't sound like you've completely forgiven, either.”

“I've forgiven enough to not bring it up again with her. How's that? I'm letting it slide.”

“As long as you're both okay.”

“I am fine. Alison's husband is the one I should be worried about right now. And you. I'm always worried about you.”

“Don't worry too much. Bursa is very nice. Rainy, but nice.”

“Oh, I'm sure it's nice. And it's not really Bursa I'm worried about, either.”

Delphine made a noncommittal noise. Cosima picked up a little animatronic Easter bunny from the store's clearance bin and pushed the button on its ear. While it danced around to its tinny robotic song, Cosima tried to think of something else to say – something other than “you know there have been chemical attacks in Syria recently” and “you know our security team can't really protect you from everything.”

“How's everyone else?” Delphine asked.

“Fine. Charlotte's still being Charlotte. Sarah's worried she's gonna fail her math class, so we're all trying to help her out with that.”

“Wait. Sarah's worried that Charlotte will fail? I thought she was strong in math.”

“No no no. Sarah's worried that Sarah might fail math.”

“Ah!”

“Too many shes, I know.”

“Hm.”

Cosima looked around to make sure Sarah wasn't in hearing distance. “I'm trying to kind of gently coax her into, like, an advisor's office or something. Maybe an academic counselor.”

“Sarah, you mean?”

“Yes, still Sarah. Like, it's weird.” Cosima looked around again. Sarah had moved on to the “Over the Hill” birthday aisle, where she was laughing at some tombstone shaped decorations. “She's obviously smart,” Cosima whispered to Delphine, “and she's doing everything she's supposed to do. She's working her ass off for these classes, and she just can't get it. Me and Scott are still tutoring her like once a week or so, but I dunno. I think she needs something that we're not able to give her, but I don't know what. She just keeps saying she's too stupid to get it, but I don't think that's the case.”

“No, I don't think so either.”

“She was joking the other day that someone must've dropped her on her head as a baby.”

Delphine was silent on the other end, but in the silence Cosima heard her thinking. The gentle tap of a pen or pencil gave it away. Before either of them to continue the conversation, Sarah came over and waved a “old man survival kit” at Cosima.

“Art's birthday's all set, then,” Sarah said. When Cosima just stared, she clarified. “He's turning 40 in a couple weeks.”

“Oh,” Cosima said. “Cool. Um. Send us the date, yeah?”

“Sure. He doesn't want anyone to know, but whatever.” She waved at the phone in Cosima's hand and raised her voice. “Hi Delphine!”

Delphine chuckled softly and said, “Hello Sarah” in a voice soft enough for Sarah to miss it.

“I should get going,” Cosima said into the phone. “I probably can't talk much later, but text me if you want, yeah?”

Delphine agreed to, they both said “I love you,” and Cosima hung up. Then she turned to Sarah. “How'd you know I was talking to Delphine?”

“Your face, mostly. Anyway, you ready yet? Where's the card? I wanna get outta here before I buy too much shit I don't need.”

* * * * * *

On Thursday, as Delphine travelled to Izmir, Cosima sat in their apartment and scrolled through job listings. The exercise was futile – she wouldn't apply to any of them and anyway, she didn't have her PhD yet. Her advisor sent back a list of dissertation edits yesterday, but Cosima had only made two of the smallest ones. More and more, every time she sat at the computer, her mind drifted. Some of it was the same old shit: anxiety over the state of the world and the nagging feeling that nothing she did amounted to much. And worry about Delphine. She always worried about Delphine. The job search began as a combination of those – worry that she'd never get a job good enough to give Delphine the kind of life she deserved.

Her family made sure to get her away from the Rabbit Hole for at least an hour every day now, and Cosima was not allowed to protest. If she did, they pretended to move in with her, loudly, until she left the apartment in frustration. That only happened once, though. Tuesday's outing was to the store and the Hendrixes, where Clone Club gathered to support Donnie in his grief. Yesterday, Cosima was back at Bailey Downs, to “help Helena with the boys” while the Hendrixes attended the funeral in Hamilton. “Helping with the boys” made no sense, of course, since Cosima didn't know what the fuck to do with one-year-olds except make silly faces once in a while, and Helena resented the obvious supervision. Cosima spent half of that visit riding Alison's bicycle aimlessly through the subdivision by herself.

Thoughts of the twins and the suburban expanse of Scarborough set Cosima's mind spinning again.

She remembered the sprawling, packed metropolises of Mexico City, Istanbul, and São Paulo. Those weren't even the biggest cities in the world, and still their size and scope took her breath away. She remembered the bustling streets of Lima and Cairo, and she'd never stopped being amazed at how many distinct individuals existed in the world. Little Arthur and Little Donnie were unique, just like every single one of those people. Just like Delphine. Just like Cosima and each of her sisters.

She shook her head and tapped her own cheeks. Another cup of tea was in order, but before she got up her phone emitted a weak little chirp – another news alert from Syria.

“Fuck it,” Cosima told her laptop. Grabbing her coat and purse, she went outside, leaving the job search and dissertation edits behind.

The Syrian news alerts never made Cosima feel better. Even the occasional cease fires failed to get her hopes up, because most of them devolved into violence again, or yet another armed group entered the scene to fuck shit up again.

At least Cosima now checked those alerts only from outside of the Rabbit Hole, with a view of sky and trees rather than drab walls and a moldy ceiling she lacked motivation to clean herself. Ignoring the chirps from inside the apartment didn't change the situation, but it helped Cosima keep her head screwed on, and it kept her from telling Delphine to just stay far the fuck away and send someone else to cure the Syrian Leda.

Not that she hadn't thought about it. The trouble was that no one else would do it – not the way it needed to be done, or with the appropriate discretion.

Cosima ordered a chai latte at the cafe around the corner, sat near the window, and gave in to her brain's desire to dwell on bad news for the day.

Fighting in Aleppo schools bombed in Hama clinics shot up in Ghouta ISIS kidnapping people in Deir ez-Zor

Hundreds of thousands of people were trying to flee with the clothes on their backs, and the only people trying to get in were ISIS recruits, aid workers, and foreign military “advisors.” By the time this whole shit show ended, Cosima doubted there would be anything left of the beautiful country she'd wanted to visit as a teenager – encouraged by her tenth grade math teacher who just happened to be Syrian and also super fucking hot. But that was now beside the point. The point now was that a different super fucking hot object of Cosima's affections would be in Syria within the next couple of weeks. Their purchase earlier that year of “kidnap and ransom” insurance only made Cosima feel worse.

Skimming over the most recent alert from Damascus, a pair of chimes interrupted her. The first was from Qamar, their remaining Arabic translator, requesting a phone call in a few minutes. She did that often, preferring to relay messages longer than five words verbally rather than in writing. Cosima sighed and agreed.

The other was the semi-daily update from Nabil back in Djibouti. Like most of the children's texts, it was short and random – a picture of a filthy street cat in the shadow of a trash can that he'd captioned “friienb.” Cosima replied as she usually did, with a picture of her own – her chai latte, framed by a glass sugar shaker and a napkin holder. She added a short and simple message of her own. “Lunch.”

She kept thinking of talking with Qamar about Nooran's nieces and nephews. Djibouti was certainly safer than Yemen, and now that Nooran was cured their life could improve somewhat, but Cosima couldn't let go of Nooran's request – to take the children to Canada with them. She also couldn't forget the role they'd inadvertently played in Cosima's current situation by sending a picture of themselves with the flag of the Muslim Brotherhood in the background. It wasn't their fault, and she would never – could never – ask them about it.

Her phone rang and she answered before even checking the caller. “Hello, this is Cosima,” she said.

“Hi, Cosima,” her mother said, a certain heaviness in her voice.

The dissonance between her expectation of Qamar's chipper accent and the sound of her mother's voice made Cosima reel. “Oh. Hey, Mom. I thought you were out to sea right now?”

“Well, we were.”

“Okay. That doesn't sound good. What happened? You said the boat was having some issues, but – ”

“No, honey, the boat's fine. We got that fixed last month.”

“Okay...”

A garbled, wonky announcement sounded through the phone, like the announcements at airports or train stations, but filtered under water. Sally sighed and waited for it to finish before speaking again. “We're at the hospital right now.”

Cosima froze. “Oh shit. Is it your foot?” She'd been worried about that, about her mother going out to sea so soon after bunion surgery, but Sally said no.

“No, honey, my foot's doing fine. It's Gene.”

“Oh. Is he...”

“It's not his heart this time. He's very keen on everyone knowing that. He did not have another heart attack, and he's been taking his statins regularly.”

“Okay, well that still doesn't really tell me what's wrong with him.”

Sally sighed again. “Well, a couple of days ago, he started noticing blood in his urine. Of course, being Gene, he didn't say anything about it until yesterday, when he couldn't urinate at all.”

Imagining that made Cosima squirm and cross her legs in sympathy. “That sounds awful.”

Beeping in Cosima's ear told her Qamar was trying to get through. Whatever. Qamar could wait. Qamar probably didn't have a urinary blockage.

Sally went on. “Yes, well, after several hours of that, he agreed we should turn around and head for shore. Fortunately we were only about six hours out from Eureka, so here we are.”

“So, what, Dad went like eight hours without peeing? Holy shit.”

“Closer to twelve or fourteen, I think. He's on a catheter now and they're running some tests.”

“Jesus Christ, poor guy.”

“Yes, well.” Sally gave a few of her deep sighs – the kind that came from somewhere beneath her diaphragm and that Cosima was all too familiar with.

“Go ahead and say it, Mom.”

She sighed again. “Well, it's just – I know this has been going on longer than he says it has. The doctors were worried about his prostate last year, and sometimes Gene gets this pinched look on his face, you know? This pinched pained look and then he acts like it didn't happen and he's not in any pain, like I'm some kind of an idiot.”

“That... sounds familiar.”

“Oh, so you noticed while we were in Toronto a few months ago? You noticed it too?”

“Uh, no, actually, I didn't. I was thinking of something else.” She was thinking of Delphine, wincing over the phone and over Skype and swearing that nothing was wrong, all the while having a cracked knee cap. “I think you and I have similar tastes in partners,” she told Sally.

Sally laughed. “Don't say that! Delphine's a nice girl.”

“Yeah, nice and stubborn as hell. Anyway. What's next? What's going to happen?”

“We're staying on land for a while. I knew Gene was really hurting when I told him we'd have to, and he didn't even argue.”

Cosima whistled. “Back to Berkeley then?”

“We'll see. I'll keep you posted. Love you.”

Cosima returned the sentiment and hung up. She needed to call Qamar and see what she'd turned up, but that could wait another few minutes. Pulling up her on-going text string with Delphine, Cosima typed, Would you tell me if you couldn't pee for twelve hours? After hitting send, she kicked herself. Over text, she wouldn't see Delphine's face when she read the question, and in regular messenger it was impossible to delete texts.

The phone call with Qamar lasted four minutes. Samira, the one Leda remaining in Syria, still resided in Douma, but had no cell phone or internet access. All the information Qamar had was word-of-mouth, from the cousin of a friend of Samira's husband.

“I tell him, you see her next month,” Qamar said

“It'll be a lot closer than that,” Cosima said. “Delphine's scheduled to meet the security team there on May 9.”

“May 9? Okay, I tell them tomorrow. I talk them tomorrow.”

“I mean,” Cosima cautioned, “there's also always the chance the date could change. Just like the others.”

“Yes yes. I know.” Qamar had been with them since they got the Leda List, or close to it. She knew the deal, even if she never quite understood it.

Off the phone again, Cosima let out a long, slow breath. Different news would have been welcome – that Samira had fled along with her Syrian Leda sisters and Delphine didn't need to go there at all, ever. Or maybe that Samira was in some unique position to hop over the border into Lebanon for a day or two and get treated there.

Not likely.

Finishing her drink, Cosima debated a trip to the aquarium or to see Scott at the university, where he was working on nanotechnology. She'd just settled on visiting Scott when Delphine's reply arrived. Yes, I will tell you if I can't pee for 12 hours but only on one condition.

That was unexpected. What's that?

You have to tell me why the fuck you tried putting a robot worm in your face a few years ago.