#how he made sandy be an accomplice

[michaeltrevino]

I am very disappointed, but I ain’t mad at ya, or I might have pulled the trigger by now.  You see, when you’re lying in the hospital with your leg in a cast, I don’t want you to have any bad thoughts, like wanting to tell the police or anybody... because if you do, I’m gonna come see you again... and I’m gonna put your head in there instead of your leg. You hear me?

BOYD HOLBROOK as CLEMENT MANSELL in JUSTIFIED: CITY PRIMEVAL "Kokomo" (1.04)

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

( @hxzelwallflower ) 🌸

A delayed response ── his swiftness being the reason they're still alive despite her best efforts to follow order . While Butch was use to this she on the other hand couldn't quite keep up , let alone handle a firearm properly resulting in numerous incidents with him nearly getting shot .

She knew the repercussions that'd come traveling these parts , and though the cowboy did his best to keep the situation from escalating there was clearly more to it than just your average gang up . A feeling she couldn't shake well after they retreated .

It's only when he offers to help her down that the emotions kick in , stumbling against the cowpoke as her feet make contact with the gravel road . Her labored breathing coupled with streams of silver , clinging to him like her life depended on it .

Any adventure with Butch was bound to be a chaotic one; this time around, Eileen had tagged along, insisting that she could handle it… though Butch hadn’t exactly disclosed the type of danger they would be getting themselves into as it was quite normal for him to find trouble and for it to find him.

It seems the gang of fellas who had ambushed them may have known Butch, any outsider would be able to tell the matter was personal. The cowboy calls out warnings and the like to Eileen when they get a little too close to her before he steps in, putting a bullet in one of the aggressive men’s shoulders which cause him to stagger back and his accomplices to halt, recognizing that Butch meant business. For anyone who wasn’t used to seeing such a violent exchange so casually, it was no wonder Eileen had become overwhelmed. Not to mention how loud it was.

Once they retreat and find themselves somewhere safe for the time being, he’s surprised when Eileen bursts into tears upon descending his steed and she crashes into him, arms tightly wrapped around his form for security. He thought she had handled it fairly well all things considered, but clearly she had been putting on a brave face. It occurs to him that she had probably never been involved in a shoot out like that before and a pang of guilt is felt in his chest for getting her involved with some of his own dirty business.

“H-Hey now, don’t cry, Darlin! We made it out alive, didn’t we..?” The sandy blonde manages a crooked grin that seems a lot less confident after he speaks. He wasn’t great at managing his own emotions let alone someone else’s, though he does feel bad for the poor girl. He made adventure sound much more glamorous than it truly was. His arms wrap around her form, rubbing her back comfortingly as she cries at his best attempts to reassure her.

“D’awww, look at ya… ya ain’t gotta scratch on you. Yer jus’ fine.”

[monogatcri]

❝ Ugh, great. Now I’m the bad guy. ❞

━━ ˟ ⊰🍁MORAL AMBIGUITY NEVER OCCURRED TO the mind of thousands , writhing onward toward their moral high ground or the depravity of forgoing the quandary of day by deciding solely on the night ; Niwa had taken the high horse in his past, moral righteousness a folly that had led to his own premature burial. Black and white. Black and white... Black and white... That's how he wanted to desperately keep the world, a disgusting habit that made him feel so uneasy when there came those of shades that entered his life ; unfortunately, he knew that the world would never just be a grey spectrum... After all, he currently traversed the lands of Sumeru with the one who'd all but destroyed his lineage.

        From their conversations of mercenaries and shady scholars, the whole of this nation felt painted in hues of silver with the sprinkling of gold mixed in to outline their motivations. Can he blame a hawk for snatching an innocent rabbit when that was the circle of life? Something so haunting about that statement clung to him, soaking into his clothing like the sweat off his neck into the cotton fabric worn upon his back...

        A breath, hot had left him, attempting to cool himself off by swiping a hand over forehead when he'd felt his arms grabbed tightly. Whether by mistaken identity or a random act of violence, Niwa couldn't be sure, but the tightening of joints 'round his skin beneath was enough for him to wince.

        Everything happened so fast -- the yank of his arm hard enough to pull it nearly from its socket, his other arm reaching for his blade at his hip, the gruff vocals that complemented the rugged appearance, the rising of his own sharpened -- oh, no, he could clearly recall how rusted and poorly maintained his blade was -- weapon above his head.

        By chance, the confrontation had an equal chance to end with one of them managing a hit off the other ; however, the one whose bloodlust surpassed that of the one ready to end a life wasn't even in the midst of the battle -- wasn't initially aware in the moment...

        Barely a second to process it, the wind he so cherished on days he sat upon sandy shores to fall into bouts of nostalgia, flew by his countenance, assailant's body flung so aggressively back that the resounding crack! against ruined walls must have been heard for miles, voices were immediately descending upon the scene and irises were quick to flinch as it dawned upon him that who'd once been alive seconds ago no longer released air from his lungs -- what's worse? beneath the exterior was a flash of lightly hued blue fabric -- the worst? the second man standing directly next to him, whose voice called out fiercely for help.

        All possibilities came flooding his mind -- a set up? Was it rational to come to such a conclusion? Were they meant to harm that man...for some purpose to be accounted for?

        Expression lit up in horror, his mind reeled but he'd bury down his feelings, slamming the dirt with the shovel to keep them at bay while hand snatched the wrist of his companion, yanking him away from the scene as the forest path came to life with those who monitored the wellbeing of flora and fauna alike within -- or were they accomplices to this duo...? It was that thought that caused his feet to move, unwilling to risk their lives in disadvantaged territory. The blur of the bark only ceased as breath finally leaves him and the sounds of distressed yelling faded behind, his arm pressed to ancient Adhigama.

        ❝ Ugh, great. Now I’m the bad guy. ❞

        If not for the dire circumstances of what'd transpired earlier, he might have already snapped at him, demanding to know what he was THINKING exerting that much force upon a man like that, but...luck would have it, he cannot find enough energy to unleash a lecture -- not for the moment... There might have been no intention to forgo caution to the wind and cause serious injury such as that ; it must have been an accident -- a slip of power. He, instead, inhales deeply, pulling back a fraction of his energy to turn, pressing back to surface to lean...

        An apology lingered on his tongue for being so distracted to not sense the shift in aura around him, but he resisted ; it'd accomplish nothing except delegating pity. Anger, remorse, swirling repressions spun like a spider weaves a web, yet what comes out is a mess instead of an intricate display: ❝ Is that why you warned me about them? I thought...I thought they weren't scholars. ❞

⊰🍁ᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ sᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ

[honorhearted]

The talk of a "whole brood" made Ben's grin stretch unfettered, no longer quite so concerned about Nathaniel's disapproval. "If this 'alleged crew' starts trying to mooch, then there'll be no question of the paternity," he agreed.

A knock cut through the air then, causing everyone to straighten. Not long after, a singsong, mocking voice carried over through the door, and Nathaniel rose with a sigh. "Well, I'll tell you this much: this is an improvement from when he used to visit us as a boy. Instead of using the front door, he'd always climb in through a window."

Ben chuckled and rose from his seat, fondly pressing Francesca's shoulder as he agreed, "Brewster may be called a lot of things, but you could never claim 'boring' to be on that list."

Once Nathaniel opened the door, Caleb crossed the threshold with an impish twinkle to his eye. "Oi, who's ready to be chaperoned, eh?" Playfully, he socked the reverend on the arm. "Do I smell yer famous buttered eggs?"

"The remnants of them, yes," Nathaniel replied, smiling as he shut the door behind them. "I invited you over to inspire a good influence on these two, not to cause chaos."

Caleb snorted, appraising him with an incredulous sneer. "No offense there, Rev, but when have I ever been deigned a 'good influence,' uh?" With a satchel slung over his shoulder, he gave Nathaniel another good-natured wallop, then moved over before dumping his bag onto the table.

"I brought some apples and bread," he told Ben and Francesca. "Naturally, the apples are from the orchard. Don't ask 'bout the bread...unless you wanna be accomplices, o' 'course." He winked, then assured the reverend, "I'm jus' joshin'! My sister made it 'ersef. Figured the happy couple could use some sustenance."

Ben scowled at his friend, his cheeks turning bright pink. Why was Caleb speaking so candidly, and as though there was anything officially on the table? With a sigh, he helped Francesca up from her seat, then muttered, "Well, as delightful as your conjecture is, Brewster, Frannie has been eager to see the seaside all day. Do you think you can manage to be our shadow?"

"Aye, y'mean seen and not heard? O' 'course!" He winked toward Francesca. "It'll jus' take an awful lot o' effort, that's all." Picking the satchel back up, he encouraged, "Oi! Let's get a move on, then! Days a-wastin'!"

--

The rolling hills overlooking placid, endless blue instilled in Ben a peace he'd long since missed. Despite their ship having been surrounded by the ocean, there wasn’t the same urgency out here in Setauket.

Glancing down at Francesca, he offered a smile while they strode along the sandy embankment. "Caleb, Abe and I would play in these waters for hours," he said. "Sometimes, we'd forget to do our chores...I don't think I need to convey just how poorly that went over."

"Aye, an' we were often buck-arse na-"

"Does everything always have to be a pantsless story with you?" Ben complained. Flushing, he sighed and lowered his shoulders. "Would you mind stepping away for a moment, Brewster? I think...I-I know I would like a moment alone with Frannie."

Caleb's dark eyes shone as he looked between them, his mouth twisting as he pretended to mull it over. Finally, he allowed, "All riiiight, but I'll still need to keep ya within eyeshot jus' in case ya get all frisky."

"Sod off," Ben grumbled. Flushing more deeply, he waited until the whaler had wandered off before he came to a clumsy halt, his eyes wide and almost helpless as he took Francesca by the elbow. "Is now okay?" he softly asked. "May I finally make my intentions known?"

"I do not think that a stick is quite necessary,” Francesca remarked, mirth alight in her gaze as she caught Ben’s eye. Finding the prettiest of seashells had always been a worthy past time during family outings to the coast, the activity always becoming a steadfast competition of who could find the most, the biggest, the loveliest. She knew that Ben was being fictitious with his threats, of course, but Francesca still could never begrudge a child for finding treasure amongst the rocks. “I could never be the reason that your strict moral code becomes tarnished.”

“You are practically family now!”

It may have been a thought crossing her mind that she felt treated like a beloved family member, but Francesca had not expected such a sentiment to be verbalised, the words startling her as a pleased pink rouged her cheeks. She wanted to look over towards Ben, to catch sight of his expression and whether it mirrored her own, but she found that she could not for fear that her face would flush even further – Family. How strange to even think it.

“A whole brood?” she repeated, raising a brow at the notion – An entire clan of miniature Calebs was a fearsome thought indeed. “Well, it would seem that he has a readily-made crew if he is ever in need. If they are anything like him, then I pray for those who cross them all together.”

As though conjured from word of mouth alone, there was a sudden rap at the door, an unmistakeable voice carrying alongside. Francesca grinned as she lifted her final forkful of eggs to her lips, exchanging a quick glance with Ben. “His timing is impeccable, as always.”

[deadstrangeblog]

The Unsolved Murder of Sandy Drummond

33-year-old Sandy Drummond was known to be a loner, rarely talking to anyone other than his brother, James. The brothers lived together in an isolated cottage in rural Scotland, and both of them preferred a quiet lifestyle. Sandy worked at the local papermill but he was once a soldier of the Black Watch, stationed in Ireland as an apprentice engineer. He only returned home to his parents' cottage to look after his father who had dementia and give his elderly mum, Effie, a well-deserved break. This selfless act was not out of character for Sandy, as he was known for his kindness and love for his family. With his quiet nature and kind personality, he was the last person you would think of to have any enemies. But in June 1991, somebody strangled Sandy to death. Decades later, his death remains a mystery. Who killed him, and more importantly- why?

On the night of June 24th 1991, his lifeless body was found on a farm track close to his home. He was lying face down on the grass with his arms underneath him and his legs straight out. From the position he was in, police believed that Sandy had collapsed clutching his stomach in pain. His family recalled that he was acting strangely before his death. Just days before, he had withdrawn his life savings from his bank account. The £850 was later discovered in his house after his death, ruling out robbery for a motive. On the same day, he had also resigned from his job at the papermill, giving no reason as to why. Hours before he was found dead, a witness saw him sprinting from his house to fields opposite carrying a blue sports bag which has never been found.

Other witness reports only add more mystery to the case. At 4pm, Sandy was seen running along the road. At the same time, an orange car was seen parked outside his home, and two unknown men were seen through the living room window. At 7.15pm a red hatchback car was seen reversing away from the farm road where Sandy was found 45 minutes later.

After his death, police looked into Sandy's co-workers at the papermill. Apparently, his final months had been made a living hell by certain people at work. He always seemed happy with his job but suddenly, he got transferred to a new department and something inside him changed. He became troubled and secretive, not sharing his secret with anyone. His mother feared he was being persecuted or blackmailed for something, but no matter how much she tried to talk to her son, he just shut her out.

The night before he died, he had written down the names of several employees, perhaps meant as a clue for police. Every mill employee was questioned. Detectives agreed that somebody knew something, but nobody was talking.

Sadly, this case remains a frustrating mystery. Whoever killed Sandy Drummond had accomplices and will probably take the terrible secret to their graves. His tortured mother died not knowing what happened to her son, and the case is likely to remain cold.

[thewritingginger]

Will It Ever Be The Same? P.1

Ok I made the first part of this idea I had that was going to be a one shot but it was getting kinda long so here's what I've got so far!

The beginning was a trip for me to write/edit when I decided to change the tense it was in 🥴  So forgive any mistakes, I’ve read and edited this as many times as I physically could handle before I got tired of the words on the screen :)

Enjoy ~

Fandom: Blood of Zeus Pairing: Seraphim x Fem! Reader Word count: 4.5k+ words  Warning(s): 16+, Mentions of violence and death, Angst, Fluff, (More might be added over course of writing)

Summary: Seraphim saved you from a pair of boys when you were young and from then on your friendship grew. Everything was perfect till disaster struck, causing you to flee. It’d be 10 year till you saw each other again. Will this rekindled friendship grow to be much more or will it end in disaster once again?

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

The midday sun was high in the sky, beating down on the flooded marketplace. There were stall keepers hollering their offers and deals that blended together with the rest of the nonsensical crowded chatter. “Make sure you keep up with me. You wouldn’t want to get lost again.” The boy's mother said, giving him a knowing glance as he refocused on their path.

He stood in a shaded bit by the shop hut as his mother was exchanging herbs and spices for coin pieces. His attention was then drawn to the sound of children yelling.

“Hey, wait up guys!” A girl, younger than he, yelled winded as she chased after a pair of boys.

“Leave us alone! We don’t want a girl with us, you’re too slow!”

“Yeah so go away.” A boy with sandy hair added as he shoved the girl to the ground. The duo started to laugh and make fun of her as she began to cry.

“Well that’s not very nice.” The boy’s mother said, breaking his attention. He turned to her with a raised brow.

“Well not like we can do anything about it.” He shrugged, about to walk away.

“Seraphim.” He stopped. “You should always try to help others if you can.” She smiled at him, sweeping her palm over his hair as she walked past him to the next stall. Letting out a huff he glanced up at the back of her head then back to the girl crying in the dirt.

Walking over to the two boys still joking and laughing he strode right up to the sandy haired boy and shoved him to the ground with a hard thud. “What the heck! What was that for?”

“Now you know how it feels to be pushed in the dirt.” With his hands on his hips Seraphim looked down at the boy then up to his accomplice - who took a step back.

“Whatever.” The boy stood up, dusting himself off. “Let’s get out of here, he can deal with her.” The two of them scampered off through the crowd as Seraphim turned to the sniffling girl.

Looking up she saw his extending hand. Hesitantly she reached for it and got up. “I’m… Seraphim.” He introduced awkwardly as she whipped away the remaining tears and snot on her sleeve.

“I’m Y/n.” She stuttered. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Yeah it was whatever. My mom said it’s good to help people so… that’s why I did it.” He scratched his head and looked around like he wished to be elsewhere than in silence with the snot nosed girl. “Well I’m gonna go, bye.”

“Wait!” She interjects. Twisting her hands together she then shook her head and looked down. “Nevermind.” Seraphim looked at her for a second more and before he could say or do anything else he heard his mother’s voice.

“Seraphim are you ready- Oh hello.” She smiled before looking down at her son. “I saw that some boys were giving you trouble. I hope my son wasn’t one of them.” Seraphim tsked and looked at his mom, a small curve of her lip grew while she kept her gaze towards the girl.

“Oh, no. He actually helped me, he pushed the boy that hurt me and got them to leave.” Seraphim gave a nervous smile to his mom when she raised a brow at him.

“Well I’m glad my boy could help you. I’m Ariana, would you like to join us for lunch?” His mother asked, which caused Seraphim’s head to whip towards her but she just chuckled sweetly.

“Uh, I don’t want to be a bother…” the girl trails off meekly glancing at the dark haired boy before looking to the ground.

“Nonsense! We would love to have you join us. Right Seraphim?” She places her hand on his bare shoulder.

“Yeah, sure.”

~~~

Seraphim’s mom directed the two of you to go hangout in the shade as she gathered a few more things.

Sitting under a tree, Ariana’s back still in sight, you and Seraphim were in silence. He was standing with a  stick in hand, prodding the ground and loosely swinging around like a sword as you ran your fingers in the grass picking at the small white flowers littered about. Growing bored you asked, “How old are you?”

“Twelve.” He responded, crouching down to look in the dirt.

“Oh well I’m ten.” You started to feel like he didn’t want you around because the conversation just teetered off from there.

About 15 minutes later you heard Seraphim’s mom “Okay, are you two ready to get some lunch going?” She smiled at the two of you. Walking a bit ahead of them you noticed Ariana whispering to her son before she directed you towards the entrance of the forest. “This way, my dear.”

After walking for about 10 more minutes you were in a clearing with a river and a small cave. “Wow, do you guys live here?” You asked, looking at the pretty flowers around the edges.

“Yes we do. You know Seraphim was gonna catch us some fish, if you’d like, I’m sure he’d enjoy the help.” You turned to join them by the river and you heard Seraphim give a quiet whine.

“Mom I can do it myself.” His mother just shook her head and walked away to get things together in their rock home. Then it was just you two. Again.

Maybe I should just go help his mom instead You thought, as you turned to walk away Seraphim interrupted you.

“Where are you going? Aren’t you gonna help me?” He asked, looking up from the spear he was sharpening with a pointed look.

“Oh I thought I could go help your mom. I don’t want to get in your way.” Standing up with a small huff he walked away towards the hut leaving you alone by the river. A few minutes later he arrived back, breaking your thoughts as he stuck the base of a spear in the ground next to you, his other hand holding another.

“Here. Now you can actually help me instead of standing around.” He leaned it towards you to take with a trace of a forced smile on his lips.

So for the next hour you were practically just standing in awe of how Seraphim stood in the gentle flowing river looking for fish and throwing his spear in the water. He even tried to teach you the best way to catch fish as well.  “You want to make sure you don’t disrupt the water too much when you move or you’ll scare them away.” You just nodded and focused on what he is doing in hopes to replicate it.

Standing in the middle of the river a few pases away from the boy you suddenly felt something slippery touch your ankle. Letting out a squeal Seraphim looked at you just in time to see you fall back in the water.

“Something just touched me!” Looking up with eyes the size of dinner plates, you just saw Seraphim laughing. Really laughing, with his spear in the water using it as a crutch as his head reared back. “What’s so funny?” You asked, your face began to heat up.

“It was just a fish you scaredy cat.” He said between laughter. “Are you okay?” He walked over to you offering a hand, much like he did earlier in the day but much warmer than before.

Standing up dripping wet you decided you were done “fishing” for one day. Besides, Seraphim had already caught five fish to your zero.

Walking back to the cave where a fire has been made you sat on a log.

A hand rested on your shoulder, “Here Y/n. How about you change into this and we can lay your clothes out to dry.” Ariana said, handing you what looks to be one of her simple cotton dresses. You accepted it and trudged into the cave to do so. The dress, as you expected, was way too big on you. You had to hold the skirt up so it wouldn’t drag on the ground as you made your way back to the fire pit. Seraphim was roasting the fish over the fire, snorted when he saw your new attire. You were right to think you looked ridiculous. “Y/n, you look lovely. Doesn’t she?” Ariana gave her son a look.

“Yup, she sure does.” He said, trying to hold back another chuckle. You just rolled your eyes at him and took a seat.

Ariana laid your drenched clothes out on a giant rock that was soaked in the sun's rays.

From there everything went quite smoothly. You actually ended up spending the rest of the day with them till the sun was beginning to hang low above the horizon. You honestly had so much fun. Once the newness between you two wore off it became much easier to talk and play.

After your clothes weren’t soaking wet anymore you spent much time after eating, running around in the forest and even playing in the river looking for cool rocks.

But all things have to come to an end at some point.

“Y/n, don’t you need to head home? It’ll be nightfall before you know it.” Ariana reminded the two of you of the time. As you walked back to the cave you thanked the woman for allowing you to stay. “It was not trouble. You’re more than welcome to come back anytime, I’m sure Seraphim would enjoy the company as well.” She smiled. The boy in question looked at her.

“Mom!”  He whispered, embarrassed.

“Oh hush now. You should walk her home, make sure she gets back safe.” His mom nudged him forward as she left you two.

At that point walking side by side wasn’t too weird anymore. “Thanks for letting me play with you.” You said.

“Yeah, it was fun.” He smiled.

A few times throughout your journey home the two of you got side tracked, to look at different rocks, flowers and even by an animal passing by.

“That’s my house over there.” You pointed towards a modest cobblestone hut with a straw roof. “Thanks, again.”

Standing at the door Seraphim gave you a nod. “You’re welcome. See ya.” He turned but you stopped him.

“Wait, would you like to- Maybe we can hang out again? There’s a place over here that has a lot of rocks. Maybe you can find some for your collection?” You said, wringing your hands together, admittedly a nervous tic. He thought about it for a few seconds then nodded his head again.

“Sure, that sounds cool. But I should go now before my mom worries. See ya later Y/n.” He said with a slight smile and wave.

~~~

The next few weeks you and Seraphim began hanging out more and more till it became an everyday occurrence. After the first week Seraphim’s mom wasn’t even surprised by your presence.

“Good, you two are just in time to help me pick apples.”

That day you met their bears. It came as quite a startle when you just saw a bear walking up from behind Seraphim. “Oh my god, there's a bear!”

“Don’t worry, these guys won't hurt you.”  He said as he scratched the animal next to him. Taking a few experimental steps forward, the bear accepted your touch when Seraphim guided your hand atop the creature's head. It’s black fur was so soft you couldn’t help but wrap your fingers in it and smile. Then not only did you have Seraphim to play with but also a few adorable bear cubs to pet and roll around with as well.

~~~

Though all this joy would soon come to an end a few short weeks later.

You and Seraphim were fishing in the river a bit away from his home. That day he brought his bow and you your spear. You were actually getting better and even managed to catch one that day. Heading back to the camp laughing Seraphim stopped abruptly making you bump into him. “Hey, wha-”

“Shh.” He cut you off. You felt uneasy by the seriousness on his once smiling face. You heard male voices and then a woman’s cry. Sticking close behind him, he crept around the lightly wooded area of your destination. Peering through the foliage of the forest you saw that it was Seraphim’s mother who cried and she was with company that seemed less than welcomed. There was a group of men holding swords talking to Ariana that was kneeling on the ground before one of them.

“Where’s the boy?” The man barked.

Seraphim? You look at your friend, his eyes glued on his mom. The grip on his bow tightened.

“I swear there is no one here but-” Her pleas are cut off by a sharp smack, you saw Seraphim’s body tense as if he was about to stand up. You grabbed the cloth around his waist to silently stop him, your eyes pleading. He glared at you, eyes locked. As you are growing more frightened you can see the fire in him was building.

Your staring contest was broken by a new voice. There was another  woman the man referred to as Ariana’s sister. Your blood ran cold when you witnessed her apologizing before one of the men stabbed their sword through the back of her neck. Covering your mouth your eyes began to brim over with tears. Seraphim’s reaction was just as shocked till he saw another man grab his mother’s neck, strangling her.

Pulling out one of the arrows he readied his bow, his mother looked at the two of you with worry filled eyes. They were screaming for you to run, to leave before the two of you were hurt. Which was exactly what everything inside you was telling you to do but your body felt numb and unable to move. You were then soon brought back to earth when Seraphim released the arrow into the back of that man’s skull, the head sticking out his mouth.

Before climbing the tree he shoved you to the ground. “Get out of here!” His command startled you. You couldn’t just leave him.

After that everything happened so fast it felt like daze. First the bears you’ve played with countless times charged in mauling the men as Seraphim shot arrows at others. Then everything slowed when you saw your friend racing towards his mother as the man in charge grabbed her and sliced his blade across her throat, a wicked grin you’ll never forget played on his lips. Your heart broke for the loss for your friend and from his cry.

You wanted to look away or run, anything besides watching this nightmare playing out before you. The family you found was getting cut down one by one. The bears, Ariana, and all that was left was Seraphim.

You wanted to scream. Get to him. Anything to stop what was happening in front of your eyes. But you couldn’t. What could’ve you done? You could barely catch a fish without Seraphim’s help so you were forced to watch him face off against a grown man with a sword. This can’t be happening! Run! Your mind was pleading but you were frozen in fear once again. No matter how much you prayed to the gods it was all a dream and to make it stop, it didn’t.

Then in a horrifying moment you witnessed the vicious man’s blade strike down Seraphims face. He fell and so did you. Hiding behind the bushes your palms cupped over your mouth, trying to muffle your tears and quickened breath. Then once more a fire was lit under your ass when you heard more screams from the men and the roar of another bear. This time you got up and ran like Seraphim told you to. Glancing back all you saw was someone riding away on a horse and the blurred image of two figures crumpled on the ground.

~ 10 years later ~

For the past few years you’ve been working odd jobs where you can to earn coin. You’ve swept shop fronts, washed and fed horses, and stocked shop stalls with newly delivered goods.

At the moment you were working at a small tavern, filling drinks and cleaning tables.

You were out front serving a couple when you heard some commotion.

“Hey! Watch where you are going asshole!” A man yelled to another.

Probably just a drunk that wasn’t watching where he was going and is looking for a fight. The man just tsks, “Freak.” Before walking past you. Looking up, you catch a glimpse of the man he was referring to as he was pulling his hood back up. You paused. 

That guy- 

But you’re pulled from your thoughts by a voice. “Excuse me.” An older woman calls you, cup held up. You sighed and got back to work.

~~~

Another long day of work is over, thankfully. “Okay, I’m heading home. See ya tomorrow.” You wave to your friend as you leave through the back of the tavern. Turning the corner you see a large figure in a cloak. It resembles the man you couldn’t shake from your thoughts some weeks ago. You decide, against your better judgment, to take a detour and circle around a building hoping to be in a position to catch another look at his face. You don’t allow yourself a moment to really answer yourself as to why it was so important, you just let your legs guide the way.

Crossing the road, the evening sun casting it in a warm orange glow, you stopped at an abandoned stall that was shaded behind the building, trying to get a look of him from the corner of your eye.

Then your eyes locked!

You looked down and tried to walk away as nonchalantly as possible but you were stopped by a booming voice.

“Why are you following me?” The mystery man asks. You froze, turning on your heel to face him. You are about to respond when your words get caught in your throat. You must’ve looked like an idiot with your mouth ajar. It can’t be, can it? He gives a tsk as he begins to step away

“Seraphim?” You finally say. It came out as more of a whisper to yourself but he must’ve heard cause now it was his turn to freeze. You shake your head, That’s ridiculous! “I-I’m sorry. I must have the wrong-”

“How do you know my name?” He cuts you off, turning towards you, advancing a few steps. His build is much more threatening at a closer distance and his question certainly didn’t help. Though it was more of a command. You just open and close your mouth to find the words. Any words, literally anything at all would work just so you could stop looking like a fool that hit their head. Which you might have because this can’t be happening.

“Is it really you?” He just squints his eyes. “You remember me right? We played together a lot as children.” You can tell your words have begun to sink in the more his eyes scanned you, his face drops. Standing there, nerves getting the better of you, you began to rub your palms together awaiting his response. You’d be relieved even if he just spat a “fuck you” in your face cause than atleast there wouldn’t be this deafening silence. Unable to keep his gaze you look away but you can still feel his eyes burning a hole into the side of your head.

“…Y/n?” He finally says. Your name travels hesitantly past his lips. You feel like you might pass out or scream or just simply cry cause it’s him. It’s really him!

His expression reads the same as yours. For a final silent second of looking over each other you take a tentative step towards him, he stays like a statue.

Standing before him you think about touching him.

He is just like you remember, minus the height and strong build, his tanned skin and long brown hair you were always so jealous of. Though when your eyes reach his face yours falls, he notices and turns his away slightly.

His eye.

The right one is the same hue of obsidian as you remember but his left is cut through with a scar and left white.

That must have been from that day. You shudder at the thought.

Reaching up your palm grazes his cheek, he stiffens from your touch. You don’t know why you did that. Maybe you just needed proof that this wasn’t all a dream. That your old friend really is flesh and blood before you.

Turning his gaze to yours, you tilt your head taking him in. He really is the Seraphim you remember just… hardened.

“I- I thought you died.” You say, voice threatening to cry, because perhaps some part of him did that day and in the years apart.

He stays silent a moment longer, you assume it’s due to the similar shock you’re feeling. But then he pulls your hand away before turning. “You’d be better off keeping it that way.”

His body moves further into the shadows and you feel your blood begin to heat up. Does he really think he can just walk away like that?

Stomping after him you catch his shoulder and spin him back towards you, his brows raised. “What’s the big idea? What do you mean I should keep it that way?” Your hands are on your hips, chest is heaving. Unsure as to why you’re reacting like this you just keep your eyes locked with his.

“Do you have any idea how many nights I spent beating myself up for not going to you? The countless years I’ve spent wishing I could see you again? Just for you to tell me, now that that would be possible, that it’s better that I think you dead?”

After your outburst your arms drop to your side. You look up hoping to halt the tears threatening to seep out and just when you were about to tell him to forget it he responds.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping for Y/n but -” He trails off.

“You want to know what I was hoping for? That you were alive and I could see you just one last time even if that was all I’d be allowed.” You let out a breathy chuckle. “Call it pathetic if you want but… you were my only friend and I missed you. I mean it became pretty lonely without you.” You wipe away a loose tear that betrayed your will.

“Then what do you want?” He asks. You look back up with glossy eyes.

“Meet me tomorrow. I have work but I’ll be off two hours till nightfall and if either of us wants to leave after, then that will be that.” You say matter of factly with your hands on your hips. Another moment passes with him in silence. You let out a defeated sigh. “You know what, forget it.”

“I never said no.” His eyes bore into you in thought before continuing. “Meet me at the river.”

And that was it.  He turned and walked back into the dimming streets, hood pulled high before you could say anything else.

So to say you were a bit shaken would be an understatement. Walking home you just kept replaying the image of his face and his voice.

He’s changed so much. Well of course he has, it's been a decade since you last saw him. He’s practically a stranger at this point.

A stranger…

And you’re going to be meeting with said stranger at the river before dusk tomorrow. Leaning against the door of your home you knock the back of your head against the wood. Y/n, what have you gotten yourself into?

Getting through the door you just flop yourself onto your bed, not bothering to change. The whole night was spent tossing and turning thinking about the coming day.

This is a bad idea! You don’t even know him. I mean sure he is your friend but what if he isn’t the boy you remembered? What if things are weird? What if he’s... different?

You somehow managed to sleep, though your unconscious mind was still spinning with thoughts of Seraphim. You had a dream, a memory actually. One you almost forgot.

~~~

You were running around in the forest like you guys did countless times. But this time the two of you were ‘battling’ but you were doing a lot more running than fighting.

“Come back and face me! For I the mighty Seraphim will take you down!” The raven hair boy declared boisterously, making you laugh. The air was filled with the sound of rustling leaves and laughter from the two of you. You saw a clearing up a head which would make a perfect arena. However, you didn’t make it there before your foot got caught on an outstretched tree root. Tumbling to the ground you let out a small cry. “Y/n! Are you okay?”

Seraphim kneeled beside you on the damp earth. Looking you over he sees you clutching your knee to your chest. “Let me see it.” He said. You removed your hands to show him, you scraped your knee pretty badly. It was starting to bleed a little but nothing too unmanageable. “Stay here, I'll be right back.” He instructed before rushing towards his home.

About 10 minutes passed and your tears had stopped, though you were sure your eyes were red and your nose snotty. You hear rustling coming towards you and looking up you see the boy returning with a small pale of water and a cloth. “My mom is still at the market so this is the best I could do.”

He soaked the clean cloth in the water and started to wipe your wound. “OUCH!” Your knee jerked away from his touch.

“Sorry. But you need to wash it so it doesn't get worse.” You nodded your head and allowed him to continue. You kept wincing and hissing every so often.

Whilst cleaning your knee Seraphim saw you had a big splinter. “Uh this might hurt but I’ll do it quickly.” He tried to reassure you. Bracing yourself he took out the small piece of wood, you actually started to cry again - which felt embarrassing.

Once your knee was as clean as he could get it he then wrapped the clean side of the cloth around your knee. “Are you okay?” He asked, his onyx eyes laced with concern.

“Yeah, thanks.” you sniffle, wiping away the tears from your cheeks. Seraphim leaned towards you and placed a small peck on your cheek, which startled you. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, well I uh- you were hurt so I gave you a kiss better.” He hastily stuttered as he got up and dusted himself off. Without looking at you he extended his hand for you to take. “We should head back, my mom should be there by now.” He then took your hand and started walking back.

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

Wow. Okey if you made it through that I hope you enjoyed it. This start feels a bit rocky but lets hope it only goes up from here 😅  

I’m definitely more of a One shots & HCs kinda girl not a big Fic writer, perhaps that’s because I haven’t done much multi part/”chapter” writing before so 🤷🏻‍♀️

If you enjoyed this let me know your thoughts :3

💛 ~

~ Masterlist ~

[alecmagnuslwb]

Teenagers, We Think We’re Smart

Read on AO3

Zatanna’s one hundred percent certain that her father rues the day he brought John Constantine home as his latest project as he paces the floor in front of her running a hand along his goatee with a loud sigh every few minutes.

“He’s a smart young man,” she remembers her father saying to her as Constantine roamed the edges of her father’s study picking up magical tidbits here and there and flipping them around haphazardly. “He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s got a sorcerers mind. With the right tutelage he might even catch up with you one day.”

Rough around the edges had been her father’s polite description. Really he was the father of a teenage daughter’s worst nightmare, he just somehow missed that part as he allowed John into their home and began training him.

The sandy blonde hair always purposefully tousled, the tattoos that peaked from the edges of his ratty old jacket covered in patches and pins, the line of piercings along both ears and the handsome face with a nose that had been broken a few too many times were exactly what any girl would bring home for dinner to terrorize her parents. And here he was already sitting at the dinner table.

But Zatanna had no interest in making her father angry about the boys she spent her time with. She told herself that to her Constantine would be just another in a long line of young proteges her father picked up hoping to challenge her a little more.

They never did and she was content with letting the Constantine phase pass quickly. Constantine was talented her father had been right about that, but he was also a shameless flirt who liked to live a little too dangerously. It annoyed her to no ends, or at least that’s what she told herself the first few months.

“You’re exhausting,” Zatanna said standing up from her seat at the table they’d been occupying quietly reading until he’d started on a rant about some ancient demon he’d been reading up about. For all that she claimed he was exhausting, she chose to stay at the table for the entire rant. Just like he’d listened to her talk about the finer, boring details of backwards magic the other day. She was just keeping things civil, balanced, that’s all. “And one of these days my father is going to hear you going on about raising demons to fight just fights and he’ll never let you in here again.”

Constantine chuckled standing and following her as she made her way to the door. He caught up putting an arm in front of the exit loosely and just high enough she could still leave if she wanted, but with a quiet request to stop if she chose to as well. She should have ducked under his arm and gone on, but she stayed put turning her head to meet his eyes.

He looked her up and down once that little frustrating almost smile he always seemed to sport when he looked at her on his lips as he held her gaze.

She squirmed under the look. “You know this whole hot, bad boy schtick thing you’ve got going on, doesn’t work on me, right?” she said pulling the book still in her arms tighter to her chest.

“You think I’m hot?” he said with a raise of his left eyebrow, the one with the little scar from where his father had thrown a bottle at him when he was nine. She’s not sure he meant to tell her that story, too vulnerable of a moment to share, but he’d let it slip one night when her father had rushed off to some meeting of sorcerer’s or something of the like leaving the two of them to their own devices. Something had shifted from there; she couldn’t quite be as annoyed with him as she wanted to be anymore.

“Not the point,” she scoffed loosening her hold on the book and letting one of her arms drop to her side. “What I mean is the schtick doesn’t work, because I see there’s more underneath it.”

She didn’t really think after that she just acted lifting herself up and kissing him on the lips once hard and quick. She smiled at him before ducking underneath his arm that had slipped just a little from the shock of her kiss and walked off. She turned back just once before heading up the stairs passing her father who was oblivious to what had just happened to catch sight of Constantine running the tips of his fingers across his lips shaking his head with a smile.

Since then five days a week when he’s at the mansion they’ve been stealing kisses in shadowy alcoves and holding hands a little longer than necessary when conjuring something and the other two days either John’s in the audience of her father’s shows while she assists him or they’re slipping off to get into their own brand of trouble.

Tonight had been the latter and finally after months of caution and her father not so much as batting an eye at them, they’d been caught.

“I cannot believe you did this,” her father says finally speaking for the first time in nearly twenty minutes. Zatanna sits up straight from where she’s been slouched over her head resting on her hand watching as her father’s pacing comes to a stop.

“How long has this thing been going on?” he asks gesturing to the closed door on the other side John is, as far as she knows, still waiting for her father to inevitably ban him from the mansion.

“A few months,” Zatanna shrugs not wanting to go into the details. If he knows it’s been six months and that as weird as it can feel they call each other boyfriend and girlfriend and that a few short days ago John casually and quietly told her he loved her for the first time he’d flip out even more than he already is.

“Months,” he mutters under his breath rubbing a hand across his forehead. “And how long have you been spending your nights in pocket dimension magic bars that you’re not old enough to be in?”

“Just the once,” she quickly answers. He doesn’t need to know about the other pocket dimension magic bar they found themselves in last month and the subsequent bar fight John got into when a four-armed creature got three of his hand’s way too close to her. He’d probably be proud she’s perfected a spell to fix a broken nose without any pain however.

Her father opens his mouth about to say something else when suddenly the faint smell of smoke drifts under the door freezing him in place.

“That better not be a cigarette in my house out there Constantine,” he shouts loud and angry, the fearful sorcerer he is on full display. The smell of smoke dissipates almost instantly just as the clatter of something metal, a conjured ash tray she’d bet, falls to the ground.

She smiles a small amused smile that drops as soon as her father turns back to her.

“You are a child,” he says and Zatanna straightens up even more.

“I’m seventeen,” she says indignantly.

“Exactly, a child, both of you are,” he says once again gesturing to the door John sits behind. “A place like that is no place for you to be.”

“We didn’t even drink or buy anything,” Zatanna defends knowing it’s a weak defense that won’t win this argument. It’s the truth though, her father had just happened to walk into that same bar the moment when John had picked up an empty glass to show her a new trick he’d learned, which looked pretty suspect with no context she’s willing to admit.

“That is not the point and you know it. You have been lying for months and,” he says stuffing his hand into one of the pockets of his fancy black slacks. He pulls out a key with a bright pink motel keychain attached to it, John’s room number blazoned across it in bold black letters. “I found this by your door, you must have dropped it on your way out for drinks.”

She rolls her eyes and he gives her a sharp look that stops the roll in its tracks.

“How many nights have you not slept here?” he asks an eyebrow raised angrily.

“A few,” she shrugs, slinking back into her chair. It’s fifteen to be exact, another thing he doesn’t need to know all the details of.

“So, not only have you been galivanting off in bars you shouldn’t be in and lying about what you do with your free time, but my little girl has also been spending the night with some boy?” he says his voice getting a little louder. Not quite yelling, but definitely not happy.

“A boy you brought around,” she scoffs crossing her arms.

Her father let’s out an angry huff. “Well, not anymore. He’s done. I won’t have a bad influence around my daughter any longer.”

Zatanna stands from her chair grabbing his arm as he turns to the door on a warpath to kick John out for good.

“You can’t do that,” she pleas tugging his sleeve so he looks back at her. “He’s worked so hard, he’s bright just like you said when you first found him.”

“Bright doesn’t excuse lying and dragging my daughter around god knows where,” he says, but Zatanna holds tight to his arm pleading their case, pleading John’s.

“He didn’t drag me anywhere,” she practically shouts to hold her father’s attention.  “I was the one who wanted to go tonight, I’m the one who kissed him first, I’m the one who asked for a key. Me. Not him.”

She takes a breath soldiering on.

“You never want me to go anywhere, I ask for you to show me more and you won’t. I know my magic has limits that you won’t let me discover, but I want to,” she pauses dropping her hand from his arm. “I know you worry and it’s dangerous, but I’m not a little kid anymore. So I went to some of the places and learned some things I’ve been curious about not because John is a bad influence, but because I wanted to. At best he was a protective hand to hold mine if things got too scary and at worst a willing and caring accomplice.”

“No matter what, you’ve still been lying to me, both of you have,” her father says eyes still hard, but softening just a bit.

“Yeah, you’ve got us there and if you want to make us sit in silence and read history of magic books for weeks on end as punishment for sneaking around you can, but don’t send him away. He’s no angel, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not a bad influence, if anything I’m too good of an influence on him that’s the first he’s smoked in weeks,” she says gesturing to the door with a chuckle. “You said it yourself we’re kids. Dumb kids who lied, but every choice I made was mine, and everything we did was between two people who lo-“ she pauses not really wanting to share that with her father right now. She hasn’t even said it back to John yet so she course corrects. “Care for each other in a fully consenting way.”

She finishes her argument off with emphasis hoping her father doesn’t try and go there specifically tonight. She doesn’t need another birds and bees talk from her dad. The first one was painful enough.  

Her father’s shoulders slump and he lets out a sigh more dramatic than necessary.

“Fine,” he says before reaching for the door and turning the handle. John practically falls through it when it opens, catching himself at the last moment.

He clears his throat standing to his full height and gives her father a smile that’s perfectly balanced between apologetic and humble, trying to play off the fact he was very obviously listening to everything that was said through the door.

“Three weeks,” her father says as John settles next to her. He starts to reach out for her hand, but thinks better of it at the last second. “You will both be sitting quietly reading magical history books that will bore you to tears for three weeks, no spells, no conjuring, no magic of any sort.”

“Yes, sir,” they say in unison. John’s shoulders which were rigid with tension, clearly worried he was going to be sent packing all the way back to London, drop and he steps a little closer to Zatanna.

“There will be no more lying, no more magical bars until your both of age,” he continues on holding himself in a parade stance in front of them, all business. “This key,” he says pulling it back out from his pocket and shockingly handing it over to Zatanna. “May be used, but you will come home at a prompt and discussed time when it is.”

“Yes, sir,” they say once again. John seems to feel a little braver now and reaches out tangling his fingers with hers.

“And if you do stay the night, you better be as sly about it as you have been and you must be safe,” he says his eyes staying put on John’s specifically in warning.

“Yes, sir,” he says with a confident nod. “Always am.”

“Good,” her father says softening his stance. “As for tonight though, I think it’s best you went home, John. I’ll let you say your goodnights.”

Her father gives her a small smile before swiftly leaving the room.

John lets out a long-relieved breath once he’s gone.

“Bloody hell I thought for sure he was going to send me packing, or just kill me,” he says letting his head drop down to her shoulder. “Definitely assumed he was about to melt that key right in front of us.”

Zatanna chuckles ruffling his hair and tugging at the ends until he lifts back up.

“Good thing he didn’t cause that one’s yours actually,” she says with a smile dropping it in his hand and pulling her own key from her shorts pocket dangling it in front of his eyes.

“Shit,” he says slipping it into the inside pocket of the long black trench coat he’s taken to wearing of late, she weirdly thinks a tan one would suit him better. “When the hell did I lose that?”

“This morning probably,” she says referring to when John had been sent upstairs by her father that morning to retrieve her for an early morning lesson. Things had gotten a little out of hands in the doorway when they’d been given a moment alone.

“Oops,” he says with a chuckle. He leans down kissing her lightly on the lips once, twice until the loud definitely magically manufactured sound of a ticking clock breaks them apart.

“Sounds like that’s my farewell song playing,” he says leaning in one last time, the linger of the cigarette he barely smoked in the hall still on his lips. “I’ll see you Monday for history lessons.”

Zatanna nods her head smiling as their arms travel along one another until it’s just their fingertips and he’s backing out of the door.

He turns and she follows watching as he heads for the intricate stained glass front doors.

“Hey, John,” she says leaning against the stairs. She can feel her father lingering at the top of them just out of sight, but she doesn’t care. “I love you too.”

He turns half in the door, half out with a big smile on his lips that she’s still getting used to seeing.

“Telling me just as we’re grounded, damn Zee. You’re gonna be the death of me luv,” he says smile still in place, he gives her a wink as he finally makes his way out the door the magic of the mansion closing it behind him.

She hears her father’s footsteps heading down the stairs as she pushes herself off of them.

“You two are going to make me regret giving you that key back aren’t you?” he says with a put-upon sigh.

Zatanna just smiles and makes her way up the steps patting him on the shoulder playfully as she passes.

“We’ll behave, I promise,” she says once she hits the top of the stairs and turns the corner.

“Go to bed,” he shouts after her sounding more like an exasperated single father than he ever has before as he trudges his way back up the stairs.

“As you wish father,” she shouts back playfully making her way down the hall to her room. As she turns the knob to her bedroom door she hears her father mutter with another loud sigh one solitary word: teenagers.

[northcarolinanative]

𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗/𝙲𝚑 𝟷𝟹

Chapter 13: Don’t Remind Me 

A/N: I am so sorry for the late update. I haven’t been feeling particularly motivated the past week or so, but hopefully, I am back and will be writing more:) thank you guys so much for reading my stuff, it means the world really. As always my asks/requests/messages are open:) 

Description: John B’s Sister comes home from staying with their mom, only to find out that her brother is missing and her dad was murdered. JJ may have just lost his best friend. Her and JJ have to figure out what to do and how to pick up the pieces.

Need to catch up?  Full Collision Masterlist

JJ insisted that we both text Kie and Pope about the previous encounter with Barry. He wanted to make sure that they were aware of the situation, and were looking out for Rafe. If anything, after the way Rafe looked when I saw him, Pope should be scared. JJ was getting frustrated, repeating what we had to do to me. He kept pacing through the kitchen, clearly still on edge from the encounter with Barry. 

“Deny, Deny, Deny,” I spoke cutting JJ off. “I know,” I spoke standing up and walking to the opposite side of the bar that JJ was leaning against. “We don’t know anything, the hot tub was a gift from uncle T, felt bad for leaving JB here alone so much right?” I questioned him. 

He shrugged his shoulders before nodding. “I need to get 50k quick, Y/N.” He said again. “How the hell am I gonna do that? I mean Pope said he’d help me pay back the restitution, but I can’t ask him to do that.” He shook his head. 

I hated how JJ was so stubborn, especially now. “Hey, you didn’t pull the plug on Topper’s boat yourself right?” I looked at him raising an eyebrow, the stern tone of my voice was evident. 

“I talked him into it though. You and I both know Pope would not have done that if I wouldn’t have been there.” He fired back. 

“Well, he still did it JJ, which is why I think that you should let him help you pay back the restitution. You put this on your record, this isn’t just a fight on the point or shoplifting JJ, you took the fall for a felony.” I said emphasizing what he did. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I really needed a reminder of that” He spat out, pushing himself off the counter turning and pulling his hands through his hair. I could tell that I was getting under his skin, but he needed to hear it. At least that’s what I was telling myself. “You gonna remind me that I also stole money from a drug dealer, or that the cops could come banging on the door because Rafe was found innocent and I am an accomplice to murder, or that just lost my best friend searching for a damn ship?” He said turning around, his voice rising with each point. 

“Oh don’t even go there JJ,” I said warning him about his last statement, standing up from my seat. He scoffed and shook his head.

 “I lost my best friend, and you lost your brother dude. The guy who’s guilty just beat you in front of the other fucking kooks. How are you not pissed?” He asked as he moved closer to me. I could feel the anger radiating off his body. I was almost always the one to stay calm when the boys would get hot-headed. I was always the level headed one, especially last summer when Kie wasn’t around. “We’re alone Y/N. How are we gonna do this?” He said. While he fronted the statement with rage and anger I heard the pain behind it. We didn’t have parents to run home to at night, or a rich family to bail him out, we had us and the small hope that John B and Sarah were alive. Alive in Nassau. 

“JJ, take a deep breath alright,” I said trying to calm him down. I didn’t want him to break. I felt it coming, with all the pressure that he was feeling right now, I could sense that a breaking point was close. “Please,” I whispered to him, putting my hand on his bicep trying to get him to look at me. 

“No, Y/N, I won’t calm down.” He said shaking my hand from his arm. “I’m fucking livid and you should be too.” He said before storming out of the house. 

“JJ please wait.” I yelled as I stepped out onto the porch, but it was too late. I heard the familiar sound of his bike as it revved and the cloud of sandy dust was kicked up behind him. 

I sighed, leaning my head against the door frame leading outside. I had been through this before, but it was different this time, this time it was JJ instead of John B. After the disappearance of our father John B and I would stay on the phone for hours recounting memories and talking about what he could have been doing. Neither of us was ready to think of the alternative, so we would say that he fled into Canada, or that he was on some island he bought with the gold. We made up crazy theories and laughed but the conversations almost always took a turn to JB recounting the last few moments he had spent with his father. I could hear the guilt that he felt for what he had said to him. Even after months, during our last phone call, he was angry, talking about how DCS wanted to move him because Uncle T was off somewhere and JB couldn’t get to him. 

When I offered to get to reach out he said he didn’t want her help. While mine and my mother's relationship was definitely not something I bragged about, her relationship with John B was worse, almost nonexistent, but with a heavy seasoning of hate. John B blamed her for the divorce, saying she could have stayed on the Island, saying that she ran away from her mistakes. Both John B and I were too young at the time to understand what had happened between our parents. All we had been able to piece together from the two of them was that our mother had an affair with someone from Figure 8, causing their divorce. 

I looked out over the yard, seeing the hot tub as the sun reflected off the still water, my thoughts made their way back to JJ. I understood why he was mad. He had 30k in restitution, while Rafe and Ward Cameron walked, untouched by the law, for killing the sheriff. I wanted Rafe to rot in a prison cell, but knew that mine and the pogues' statements held nothing against Ward's “eyewitness testimony.” 

I was shaken from my thoughts as a loud knock echoed through the house. I was startled, about to make a run for it when I heard it again followed by a loud male voice. “Kildare County Sheriff’s Department.” I froze walking into the house looking for anything incriminating that they might try to take from us. Another knock echoed and seemed to shake the house with it.

 I made my way to the door, taking a deep breath before turning the handle and pulling the door open, just enough for them to see me and my face. “How can I help you?” I stated, putting on the friendliest smile that I could muster up. 

I recognized the officer as Shoupe, but the other was a female, had a few old cuts, and bruises littering her face. Shoope looked at me and then back to the officer to his right. I could see him putting the pieces together. Why did I open the door? I knew this was gonna happen eventually. “I knew you looked familiar when I saw you at the point the other day,” Shoope said as he finally put it all together. His partner had a look of confusion covering her face as she looked between the two of you. “Y/N Routledge” He spoke, the officer’s eyes widening as she looked over me. I nodded sarcastically in her direction, letting her know that I was not satisfied with her facial expression. I looked over at Shoope the same expression towards him, letting him know I was not happy with him. “You here by yourself?” He questioned, trying to look past me in the doorway. 

“No, My mom went to get some stuff from the mainland. We’re cleaning out, going back and forth.” I said quickly. It was a vague enough lie that I hoped he believed. The last thing I need is DCS here, starting the cycle over like it was with John B. 

Shoupe nodded his head but scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. “Is there something I can help you with or where you just coming to check up on me?” I said leaning against the door frame. 

“We’re looking for JJ, got a few questions for him. He here?” Shoup cut straight to the point. 

I shook my head. “JJ isn’t here,” I said plainly. Technically it wasn’t a lie. Shoupe gave me a questioning look. I shrugged my shoulders, last time I saw him was yesterday morning, he was making deliveries to someone over on Figure 8.” I lied again. This one seemed to please Shoupe as he nodded before stepping back from the door. 

“Thanks, Y/N.” He nodded before moving down the stairs, followed reluctantly by the other officer. He turned one last time and spoke, “We’ll be back to talk to you, your mom, and the rest of your friends.” He smiled, but it just caused my stomach to turn at his words. I watched as they looked back over to me while backing out of the driveway. I smiled before waving to them. I closed the door behind me, sliding my back down until my butt hit the ground. I let my head fall in my hands. JJ was gone, god knows where and the police were looking for him? I slipped my phone out of my pocket, sending a quick text to the other’s saying that the police were sniffing around the area, to lay low. 

I hit my head back against the door and let out a long deep breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. I was starting to stress out as the day's events seemed to just keep piling up. It was barely 7:30 but I was exhausted, from my encounter with Rafe to the Wreck to Barry to JJ to the cops. I needed a break. 

I made my way over to the bed in the living room, slowly sinking down into it. I rolled over, close to JJ’s side. I wrapped myself in the blanket that somehow managed to smell like him. I laid there, happy for the calm and quiet. One thought kept circulating my mind though. JJ was right, What the fuck are we gonna do?

Full Masterlist

Taglist: @nikki082489 @lovelymaybankk @dolanfivsosxox @alexa-playafricabytoto @downbytheouterbanks @heyhargrove @heywards​ @kayln021 @readysteadygo23​ @im-a-stranger-thing​ @thatsonobx​ @dumbxgurl​ @ameeraaa21@zehnuhrfunf​ @imagines-and-preferences1216​ @mileven-reddie​ @sw-eat-ing​ @tangledinsparkles @shawnssongs @karleeluv @rockyyc77​ @omigodyall @whoreforouterbanks 

If you wanna be added to a tag list please send me an ask, it makes it easier to keep up with:) if your user is crossed out it wouldn’t let me tag you?

[justjessame]

Sins of the Father: Chapter 13

Danny announced the table was ready for us and Tom was on his feet faster than a man in his still less than perfect condition should have been.  Holding out his hand to help me to my feet, I shook my head at the grand gesture, but took it.  I ignored how it felt - his skin on mine - focusing instead on not tripping over my own feet or remembering how little clothing I was wearing.  

He held my chair for me, causing Danny’s grin to grow - though I wasn’t sure how he managed it - whispering, when he thought my little brother’s attention was taken by the spread that he was helping create, how delectable I looked.  I hoped I’d gotten enough sun that it hid the blush I felt blossoming across my face.  

“Thank you,” I wasn’t sure how my voice stayed so steady when I felt so breathless, but I was grateful for it.  “This looks lovely,” Danny beamed at me from his seat.  “Though it is slightly more than a ‘snack’.”  My tone was dry, but my smile told him that he was forgiven for his meddling.  

“Mr. Quince -” Tom cleared his throat and my little brother nodded and corrected himself.  “Tom has been stuck in his room, Esme.”  I agreed that he had, and Danny rushed on.  “It only seemed right that he had a proper lunch outside with us.”  

I was having difficulty holding back a chuckle and it was made worse when a long fingered warm hand touched my bare thigh under the table.  Suddenly my mouth felt dry and I lost a beat in the conversation - what was I teasing my brother about again?  The hand squeezed gently and I remembered - Tom and the full lunch versus the snack he’d gone for -

“I see,” my hand reached for the glass that had been thoughtfully filled by Danny’s accomplice before she’d left.  I needed to sate the dryness, some way somehow.  Taking a careful sip, since Tom’s hand was still touching my thigh and I wasn’t completely used to the feeling of his hand on my skin, I listened as my dining companions discussed the game that Danny wasn’t having luck teaching me to play.  “Perhaps Tom could take my place in the game play?” 

“Oh I wouldn’t think of it,” Tom teased, his finger tracing my knee, nowhere near being indecent, but wreaking havoc on my entire being.  “Though I might like to see -”

“Me beat her again?” Danny joked, but I couldn’t be angry with him speaking nothing but the truth.  “You could always try to teach her -” he tried to sound offhand, he even looked at his plate when he offered the suggestion, but his smile was a little too broad to be as innocent as he was trying for.  

“Maybe,” Tom agreed, his hand cupping my knee gently as he caught my gaze full on.  “If Esme agrees to allow me the privilege?”  

“The privilege of what?” Dad’s voice came as a slight surprise, flanked by Sandy and Corky, he was staring down at the three of us from beside Danny.  “This looks cozy.”  He was staring at me with interest and as though I’d created the scene he was witnessing.  

“Yes,” I smiled up at him and his cohorts.  Unwithered and unruffled, the family traits coming easily even as Tom’s hand stayed on my leg.  “Danny invited Mr. Quince to join us when he came across him on his way to the kitchens.  The doctor advised that he get more fresh air.”  

Dad nodded as he pulled up a chair to join us.  Sitting beside Danny and studying me, he considered how best to reply.  I waited him out, and so did everyone else.  A study in silence.  “The doctor mentioned that you’ve recovered, but you’re not completely healed up,” he didn’t do more than glance at Tom and his eyes were back on me.  “Esme is a wonder, isn’t she?”  I wondered what he was playing at, was he trying to trap Tom in something from the tattling from the others or was it something else?  

Tom squeezed my knee and answered with the same ease that I had.  “Yes, she is.”  He reached for his drink and took a sip before he spoke again.  “And Danny has been a steadfast visitor, keeping up my spirits while I was bedridden.”  My little brother, knowing from experience that the tension around the table was something he should take note of and keep quiet throughout, smiled and I winked at him.  

“My children are very special, both of them.” Dad was still staring at me and I was trying to figure out what the fuck he wanted me to decipher from his expression.  “Esmeralda has what was once called ‘the royal touch’,” I rolled my eyes and his smile grew. “She thinks I brag too much, but she’s always been the first to rush to anyone hurt and she manages somehow to find precisely what it is that will help them recover more easily.”

“Divine gifts?” I knew that Tom was looking at me, but I was still staring at my dad.  “I had no idea that I was in the presence of such magnificence.”  

“And that,” Dad offered, standing staring down at both of us, “is why Esme will have such a difficult time finding a worthy match.”  I felt a knot forming in my stomach.  He was warning us, both of us.  “She is magnificent and so few can rise to her level.”  

“Perhaps,” I countered, knowing that he was planning on giving another edict, but unwilling to let him go without a fight.  “Part of my ‘gift’ is that I can raise my partner to my level.”  

Dad chuckled, dry and deep, and I knew there wasn’t a single ounce of humor in it.  “Perhaps.”  His smile dropped and his attention left me to focus on Tom.  “Mr. Quince, once you’re finished with lunch,” he glanced at me. “Esme can show you to my office.  I’d like a word.”  

“Of course.” Tom agreed, still light and easy.  

With that Dad and his two shadows left, Danny let out a long breath.  “That was -”

“It’s over,” I finished, picking up my fork.  “Let’s eat, and get back to our conversation.”  

Tom gave me another comforting squeeze under the table, then his hand left my skin so he could have both on the table to join the meal and we could try to recapture the simple enjoyment of a meal with people we actually wanted to share time with - even if it felt like a cloud was hovering over us. 

[littlewhitemice-blog]

The Voyage of the Thursday Princess

Up to three hundred years ago Europe was a happening place. Culture. Literature. Knowledge. Soaring cathedrals. Kingdoms bristling with warriors and weapons. But then something happened. Like a candle being snuffed out. The llamapox hit, along with polio, chagas fever, and the mould. Within a few years 98% of the population had died. The forests reclaimed the farms, the villages, even the cities. Skeletons were left scattered over the earth.

About the same time dozens of new foodstuffs appeared. Hot peppers. Chocolate. Corn. Potatoes. And potent medicines, rumoured to have come from Atlantis. Coincidence? Who could tell? Everyone was dead, and civilization had evaporated.

Africa wasn't hit as hard. It expanded to fill the vacuum. Within two hundred years all of Europe was split into colonies of Morocco, Ethiopia, and the Bantu Nation. Wales was now a wholly owned property of the Western European Trading Association. A company archaeologist who had been digging in Portugal found documents which suggested that Atlantis was real, it had been the source of hot peppers, and it had also been the source of the mould. The records of Atlantis were sketchy and fantasmic. Something about golden cities, living lights, and visions. Which brings us to the present day: I, David, a lowly Welsh slave, shoveling coal aboard an iron trading ship of the WETA flying the Bantu flag, setting off across the Atlantic to rediscover Atlantis.

Atlantis was a mythical evil we'd been taught since childhood. The laws against venturing West were still rigorously enforced. We set sail from Oko aboard the Thursday Princess with little fanfare. The cover story was that we were headed to Ireland. But where we should have hugged the coast of Africa and turned north, we took down the sails, fired up the boilers, and we continued due west. The iron ships had evolved naturally from the making and the defense from cannons. My iron boiler was a recent novelty from my own country. Messy, temperamental, often fatally explosive. But, combined with a screw, with the power to cross unheard of distances quickly. Our ship doctor had another forbidden preparation: a stash of malaria mosquitoes, tsetse flies, guinea worms, plague rats, smallpox blankets, and all the other nasties the company had been able to gather covertly on short notice.

The Atlantic knocked us about with its usual violence, but we plowed straight through it. What we didn't know, exactly, was how far Atlantis WAS. We knew the earth was round. About 25,000 miles in circumference. And we could account for about 10,000 miles of that. We had enough coal to drive us three months at 10 knots. If we were lucky, we could get there and back no trouble. Unlucky, we could just get there. Our crew was heavy on skilled slaves; our cargo heavy on war supplies and cannons.

To our great surprise, we made land after only three weeks. How could we be this close without there already being active trade routes? We hoisted sails and turned off the boilers. The land was low, sandy, with palm trees. To the south the land stretched east, so we'd actually sailed further than we needed to. We sent a landing party in, but they found no inhabitants. Campfires, paths, yes. Inhabitants, no. No wildlife larger than a squirrel, either. On the beach there was a pole with a board with squares of squiggles, and a cartoon of a campfire with a blue slash through it. The landing party planted the Bantu flag, claiming Atlantis in the name of the WEPA. The doctor let loose some of his nasties. They gathered some of the local plants. Then returned to the ship in hopes of finding a town. We followed the land southeast.

At dusk we saw more signs of habitation. Some huts, docks, boats and rafts. But no people. Suddenly, a thin glowing beam came from the shore, twisting slightly in the wind. It cut through our mast, which fell burning to the deck. People covered head to toe in white suits appeared from hiding, mounted rafts, and started paddling towards us. Our captain, a big black bald headed fellow, was yelling to the crew to fire the cannons. As soon as the gunports opened though, the beam appeared again, along with cries and awful noises from the cannon crew. It smelled like steak. A cannon let loose aimlessly, punching a hole in the dock. They closed the gunports, but the beam cut through the iron siding like paper. There was an explosion belowdecks. The captain issued new orders: retreat! We found, though, that our ship had been anchored. Crewmen started dropping like flies. I felt a prick, saw a dart sticking out of my arm, then everything went dark.

When I came to, I was tied up in a stone cell with a thick wooden door on iron hinges. A black-haired swarthy fellow with a wide mouth was squatting on a stool next to me, dressed in a white tunic and skirt with a rope around his waist. "You're being held as an accomplice to attempted murder," he said, in passable Bantu. "I expect it to be as an accomplice to actual murder shortly. You are NOT going back home, ever. Or at least until we've conquered you Aztecs. Now, do you have any questions? We've got all the time in the world."

I asked what Aztecs were. He said it was a general term for senselessly violent, but backwards, people.

After talking awhile they untied me and let me go. I was in a city like none I'd ever seen. Streets of yellow brick. Main thoroughfares with steps right in the middle of them. Houses crafted from living trees. Occasionally, a giant sloth, bigger than a house, that they'd bred for hauling. And their fruit! Their food! Indescribably good, and varied. And some food made you happy, or relaxed, or energetic, or sweaty, or have strange dreams. Whatever you wanted.

Pretty soon I had a smiling girl, Akna, hanging on my elbow, too. They even gave me apprentices to learn how to build and operate boilers. Good ones, too. Apparently, gears and engines had never occurred to them! Even though they had wheels and complicated manual devices. They'd always used manual power. I was able to give them a bunch of metal making tips too, since boilers are finicky that way. They'd never taken ships seriously either. Or carts. Or pulleys.

They had apparently tamed lightning, for that death ray we'd seen (it was lightning and metal shavings), and to make machines that could reason and remember, and to talk at great distances. Just the other day one of my apprentices brought in a lightning-driven engine they'd just put together. They were simultaneously proud, and apologetic they hadn't done it ages ago. This lightning craft is beyond me.

And they'd tamed life. They'd been expecting the doctor's nasties and could actually cure most of them. But what is more, they were able to breed new things almost at will. They were going on about cells and atoms, with pictures drawn by lightning, but so far I haven't followed. When the Portuguese first visited Atlantis, the visitors had seen fungus on rags that had been bred to glow bright enough to read for hours when the rag was soaked in sugar water. That was three hundred years ago. It would be child's play for them now.

It's been several years, and true to their word, they never let me go back. I don't know what happened to the rest of the crew. But why WOULD I go back? Back there, I was a cog in their machine. Here, they tell me to tell them stories and eat their roasted sloth. And I've got my Akna.

[livingmybestfictionallife]

Knife in a Gun Fight

Colson Baker/MGK 1920s bootlegger AU

A/N--This is the very short intro/prologue of my Colson Baker/MGK 1920s gangster AU. Message me to be added to the tag list, and chapter 1 will be up in a few hours.

Established in the plains of north Texas, a solitary, Irish Catholic family existed solely on their ability to farm and sell—farm, sell, farm, sell. For generations, farming produce, such as wheat and corn, was all any member of the Nevin family knew. There was nothing outside of the small, flat farm; no prospects of any other career, no hope for advancement, no life for a person with the last name Nevin, and the same could be said about the Klaffs. This was a fact of nature known for generations upon generations, until the birth of Siobhan-Honora Nevin.

As a bitter cold air pierced her neck, Siobhan peeled her eyes away from the newspaper she had been examining and carefully scanned the room. Sure, there was a sense of protection as she sat in a semi-circle booth surrounded by her cousins and brothers, but it didn’t take away from the sheer danger she knew they were in. The cozy and welcoming feeling of the small café she sat in did nothing to ease the gnawing within her stomach as her eyes nervously danced across the room once more before she returned her attention to the paper before her.

A fresh mug of steaming hot coffee was placed in front of her by a young woman who couldn’t have been much older than herself, and she tried to ignore the flirtatious glances the woman exchanged with her older cousin, George Klaff. “Do you mind,” Siobhan huffed under her breath as she pulled the paper back to her line of sight and cautiously examined it for any tips or leads that contained information about any of the five individuals gathered around the table.

“Get off it, Shiv,” George grumbled as he leaned over and propped his elbows up onto the table. “We’re in Saint Paul. Ain’t no body going to find us here.” Shiv eyed her cousin as she chewed anxiously at the inside of her lip.

“We’re ‘hiding out’ in the place all criminals go to lay low. It’s a safe haven for the lowly, and it’s the first place someone will come looking for us,” Shiv retorted as she lowered her voice and glared across the table at George.

“Lay off her, George. You know she’s right,” George’s little brother, Walter, piped up. At only twenty-one, Walter was the youngest of the bunch of familial misfits. He hadn’t meant to get mixed up in the actions of his older brother and cousins, but once he had, he knew there was no going back.

“Who’s the oldest one here?” George retorted as he scanned over the faces before him. “Who formed this operation nine years ago?”

“You know your role, George,” said Shiv’s older brother, Arthur, in a deep and low tone. “All of us do, and right now, it’s time for us to back down and for Shiv to take over. Got it?” George scrunched up his face and pursed his lips in aggravation, however he knew the words Art had spoken to be true.

Had it really been nine years? Shiv thought as she looked over the men’s faces around her. George was a year away from thirty with nothing to show as proof he’d lived life other than a few scars from narrow escapes from death. George was a fairly tall man, standing just below six foot, with a stocky build. His dark eyes were clouded with hooded brows and his black hair fell over his forehead in shaggy strands. The energetic and playful look he’d once had when he first, unintentionally, introduced his cousins and brother to this lifestyle was replaced with a stoic and mysterious grimace which instantly tied together his allure of being the tall, dark, and handsome stranger of the group.

Art stood slightly taller than George with a leaner frame but equally as strong and muscular as his older cousin. He was only seventeen when he began driving George around to neighboring counties, unaware at first of what they were doing, however upon realizing there was something to do with his life other than farming, Art willingly continued working with George. His deep blue eyes had only grown sharper with time and his once sandy blonde hair had darkened into a light brown.

A year of Art and George wandering throughout Collin, Grayson, and Hunt counties was more than enough time for Shiv to connect the dots and blackmail her way into the non-nefarious criminal activities the pair of cousins were performing. At sixteen, she could see the benefits her brother and cousin were bringing their families, and being the only educated member of either family—aside from their parents—Shiv demanded to be let into the operation. She’d always been tough and stronger than other girls her age. Being a girl didn’t excuse her from working on the farm once she returned home from school or had no where to go during the summer, however it did damn her to the fate of being nothing more than bride-wealth for her family. She saw what her cousin and brother were doing to be a means of escaping her fate, and like the older two members of the group, she embraced it.

Undenounced to Shiv, her younger brother Edmund had overheard her conversation with George and Art, and threatened to tell their parents if they didn’t include him. Two years later, when Walt was fifteen, he joined what would become known across the country as the Nevin-Klaff gang.

The papers have it wrong, Shiv would constantly tell herself as she read article after article in nearly every Tribune, Press, News, Gazette, and Journal from Texas to Minnesota containing the words Nevin and Klaff. They only see us as breaking the law. They don’t care that it’s a stupid law, and they certainly don’t try and see the benefits small farms across the country are reaping because of it. Shiv knew the papers didn’t care, that law enforcement didn’t care, and that no glory would ever be sent their way, but she knew that because of her, her brothers, and her cousins, farmers that would have otherwise lost their land to banks are now developing nest eggs, and that was all that mattered to her.

“I wonder how Ma and Pop are doing,” Eddy sighed as his eyes trailed the paper over his sister’s shoulder. She knew he was trying to read, and after what she’d been teaching him, she assumed he could come to the same conclusion she had—they were going to be on the move for quite some time.

“Sometimes I have dreams of Mom and Pa swinging out on the porch swing with Auntie Johanna and Uncle Owen, not having to worry about a damned thing anymore, but then I remember they’re probably worrying about us,” Walt sighed as he scooped some eggs up on his fork and shoveled them into his mouth. “It makes me want to see them again.”

“Y’all know we can’t ever go home,” Shiv commented sharply as her eyes darted between the two younger members of the group. Edmund was only a year younger than her, but only growing up on the farm and not having any friends outside of their cousins made him seem much younger than his biological age, and even thought Walter was only three years younger than Shiv, he shared a similar outlook as Eddy. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but you knew this was a possibility when you signed up,” she said in a softer and more gentle tone after seeing how her brother’s face fell at her harsh words.

“They’re still kids, Shiv,” George whispered into his cousin’s ear only to have her turn her head to face him. Her pale eyes shone up at him as her dark hair fell around the soft, pale skin of her face. Everything about her was binary; her features were sharp yet gentle, she was dangerous but offered safety and comfort, and the one he struggled most with: the wisdom that aged her stood in stark contrast to her youth. Too many times both George and Art forgot that the brains leading them across the country and into safety while still calculating ways to help others was barely older than the two members he still considered kids.

“So, what do we do?” Art asked as he looked at his sister for guidance. Shiv laid the paper down in her lap and looked nervously over her accomplices’ shoulders before lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Local cops are looking for us in the towns we hit on the way up here. We stuck to smaller cities and already returned the profit to the farms. We have enough cash to keep us tied over for a bit, but we have to be careful. No blowing cash, starting fights, or trying to find a quick score or fast job, got it?” she asked as she met each of her family members’ eyes. “Don’t draw attention to yourself by any other groups hanging around here. Most of the country’s attention is on Capone, so there’s still a way we can slide by unnoticed.”

“We can’t stay here forever, Shiv,” Art said softly as he stretched his back and looked out over the café.

“We just have to stay long enough for me to pull off one last scheme.” A devious smirk tugged at her lips as she plotted what was sure to be a one-way ticket to safety for her and her family. Shiv thought through everything: how to gain protection and ensure safety, how to pass through dangerous territory without feeling the threat of danger, how to not only survive, but thrive. She knew her plan inside and out, but there was one obstacle that stood in her way, one uncertainty she figured she could face and be done with, one man who was known by outsiders solely as The Gun.

Next Chapter 

[artboitrash]

His Bloody Rose (Stefano Valentini fanfiction) Chapter 26 - Nightmare

-Stefano's P.O.V.-

My Obscura faded from the world I had placed her in. Each of the consciousnesses laying within the body I had constructed drifted away into the eternal night I had control of.

No matter. It wasn't anything to me. My greatest piece was being created before me.

As enraged as I was that he had destroyed three of my works now, it didn't waver me. I knew what I had to do. I could create a new Obscura. I could remake the photos I had developed.

With the power of the core, I could do anything I wanted.

I could destroy the man who had brought harm to my art. To the philistine that dared lay a finger on all my hard work. I would take immense pleasure in his death. It would be my crowning achievement. I could replace anything I chose when the core's power was all my own.

I sat the last body in the spot I chose. The perfect setup for my greatest masterpiece. I stood back, watching as they regained consciousness and yanked on their binds. I tied the arms to the seat, as I had to each of the materials I had in the theater.

This philistine walking into the theater, running to save his daughter. I glowered as he entered the area. I disappeared in the the auditorium, appearing in the surveillance room.

"You dare to destroy my work?!" I said aloud, the theater's announcement microphone projecting my voice through the theater. "You expect me to bend to your will?! Just like them, thinking they could sculpt me into what I am not...?!"

My voice caught in my throat as I felt something come over me. I remembered, just so briefly, that my Obscura had said that too. Before I could turn her into my Obscura, she had mentioned she had forgotten me. She had missed me and forgotten me.

I stood up away from the microphone, holding onto my head.

"Stefano..." A singing voice filled my head, making me jerk.

I looked for the sound, the echoing being irrational in a small enclosed room like this.

The voice of that floating woman appeared from time to time. I knew better than to follow it, but it's been getting into my head much more often now.

I could hear her screaming.

What...? Screaming?

That didn't make sense. She sings. Singing is what I hear.

I turned back to the microphone, not realizing I had begun using my powers. I allowed myself to  move with the regular time.

"... What they created in here..." I gathered my thoughts, still hearing that song playing in my mind. "It's marvelous. They wasted it! Because they had no imagination. Because they are not artists."

Who are they? I found myself thinking. I shook my head, ignoring that thought.

"They want to control me. Manipulate me..."

No one will manipulate me again... No one will make me think things I do not wish to again. I will not feel anything I do not wish to ever again.

"You want to stop me." A smile spread across my lips. "But you have failed. Because with the power of the Core... I can create my art, forever..."

The singing became louder, making me stand up again. I frowned, unhappy that I had been interrupted. I was tired of this woman's screaming. She kept making the same nonsensical sounds again and again.

I went to the door, jerking it open. I walked into the hallway to confront the floating woman who kept interrupting me as I worked. The air around me felt dryer as I stepped away from the room I had been in. The world changed around me, and I found myself walking along a desert. Somewhere in the back of my mind I recognized it.

I gasped aloud as I saw a familiar group of people running forward. I had seared this day into my mind, trying to know what I could have done differently. If I could have saved myself, my eye. If I could have still had my vision and save myself from the scarring that took over my face.

I heard the singing behind me, and I turned around. The floating woman was before me, singing and swaying in the sandy breeze that I remembered too well. She stood there, watching my reactions as I took in the scene before me, reliving all at once the time that had taken me away.

However, I wasn't focused on the ghost of the woman before me.

A young woman was standing in front of me. In front of the image of the ghost. My eye flickered across her body, the purity of her skin. Her short, brown hair swaying delicately in the breeze, untouched by the dirt and sand that had consumed and buried so many bodies that day. She wore a white dress, short sleeves just barely passing over her shoulders, skirt fluttering just above her knees.

She looked up at me, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Stefano..."

Her voice rang out in my mind, and I somewhat knew she wasn't real.

I took a step back as I took in her form. The difference from when I had last seen her like this, aside from the dress, was her large, protruding belly. Her hands were wrapped around it delicately, holding it gently in her grasp.

I reached for her as it set in what the ghostly woman was showing me, just as the first bomb went off.

-

-Rose's P.O.V.-

I awoke with a gasp. I was laying on a bed, a soft and inviting, normal-sized bed. I glanced down, seeing something I never expected to see again. I saw two, normal-sized legs. I sat up, feeling tears slip from my eyes. I was wearing a white dress, exactly like the one I had been wearing the first day I had been in Union. I was wearing clothing, real clothing. I pressed a hand to my face, realizing I could feel the skin and see through two eyes.

"I'm so sorry." I hiccuped. "I'm so, so sorry. I never wanted my life to be like this."

I caused myself so much trouble, and so much trouble for the man I loved. It hurt to think that I let myself become this entranced as much as I had. I shouldn't have fallen for him. I shouldn't have loved him. And I shouldn't have let it go on for so long.

I should have gone to the police with what I knew. I should have taken it in stride, whether it made me an accomplice or not, I should have taken whatever would happen to me and turned him in. So many people would have been saved. So, so many people would have been saved.

I heard quiet singing as I sat up. A single vocalization being repeated in different tones. The woman's voice sounded less like it was coming from any direct place, and sounding like it was inside my mind.

I realized I was in my home. I was in my apartment, back in Krimson city. I looked around my room, something not quite right as I observed it. I realized the door was in the wrong spot, and my bed was against the wrong wall. Staring at the details made my head spin. My door was to my left, and my bed was against the right wall. It was supposed to be reversed.

How... How is this possible?

I stood up from the bed, looking for the answer of why I was here. How  I was here.

I wandered down the hallway, moving through the familiar rooms I had lived in for years. The hallway turned to the right, which didn't seem quite correct. I could have sworn it had turned to the left before.

I stared at it, trying to imagine how I could have been this wrong. I looked down the hallway, seeing a large woman standing floor to ceiling. Fabric from her dress floated as though she was underwater, her hair floating out and touching the ceiling above her. In front of her, I saw someone familiar.

Ryan was standing at the end of the hallway, just before the tall woman. He had a wide smile on his face, and something looked wrong. His nose looked flipped, and a small faded scar on his chin was in the wrong place. My ex began to slowly move towards me as I studied him.

I gasped as he moved with the woman, coming down the hallway. I backed into the wall behind me, then turned and fled away from them. I ran to my bedroom at first, but I froze. The door slammed in my face as I watched it.

A light flickered to my left, and I turned to it, seeing a bathroom in the wrong spot. I gasped, and ran into it. I shoved the door closed, it all feeling far too familiar.

This was almost exactly like the night I decided to leave him.

"Rose~..." sighed Ryan, singing along with the tall woman.

I heard a knock on the door as I turned the lock on the handle. After a few moments, I heard his voice twist in rage, still mixed with the sound of the singing woman. The knocking turned into banging, knocking me off the door with the force. I turned to the door, watching it shake and vibrate.

"Rose..." came Ryan's voice again. "Open the door, Rose..."

I jumped away, turning to the mirror in my bathroom. I was faced with a blank wall on my first impulse, but saw something odd when I turned the right way. Two people stood before me, but I didn't recognize one of them.

A girl with short hair swooping to the left standing next to a well-dressed man with a similar hairstyle.

"Stefano!" I cried out, seeing the woman moving her mouth with me.

He stood, watching me through the mirror. I could feel his eyes meeting mine, and I saw that the bathroom door in the mirror was open.

"Rose, I'm getting impatient..."

I gasped out, turning to the door. It was bent into the room, the wood buckling and beginning to give.

"You promised me, remember...?" Ryan's voice was more clear, and I could see his eyes looking at me. "You promised forever..."

I jerked away from the door. I saw the woman's hands beginning to make their way into the room, fitting through the cracks. Her voice was growing louder, and the floating fabric of her dress entering the room. Some were floating out towards the middle of the room, while others skirted along the barriers of the room.

I looked back to the mirror, seeing Stefano standing alone now. I couldn't see the girl in it.

As the fabric moved out of the room, I stood up, the terror of the situation making me almost too scared to move. As I moved in front of what should have been the mirror, I saw the same woman moving with me. She wore the same dress as me, cradling a large stomach with her left hand when I froze. I lifted the corresponding hand that she was using, watching it move perfectly with me.

I grabbed onto my bangs, pulling a small clump of hair down over one of my eyes. She did the same, and pulled down a small strand along with her, at the same time as me. I slid a hand over my hair, realizing the usual part was on the opposite side of my head. I slid a hand over my stomach, watching her do the same. The flatness of mine wasn't translated, her hand curving over the large hump of her body.

Is this... a mirrored world?

The door buckled and splintered. I glanced over at my version of the bathroom door. Ryan had broken in, and the door began to fall from its hinges. He grasped at the wall, trying to push his way through.

My stomach turned. The odd, flipped version of Ryan shoved his way into the room. He hadn't been able to get in that night, but I wouldn't put it passed this world. I jerked away from him, feeling terrified of him all over again.

"I'm getting angry, Rose..."

I glanced toward the mirror again. I saw the door shatter and fly off the hinges again. I slammed my hand against the mirror, cracking it violently. I closed my eyes, feeling my hand push through the glass, through the pain of the moment. A pair of fingers fit through mine, and I opened my eyes, seeing my reflection, or rather the real me, reaching forward and holding onto me. I watched myself break through the world, passing through it as glass cut at my skin and passed through me.

The part of me I hate, the part of me I blame... She spun me in her arms. She held me tightly, feeling myself hold her back, and feeling ourselves feel combined.

After a moment, I felt ourselves part away, and I watched the flipped version of myself go back. The part of me that was only ever relived the past, that blamed myself for getting stuck with Ryan... She left me, slipping away from me.

I looked down at myself, realizing we had transferred bodies. Now I was the one with the correct hair part, and I was the one with the large stomach protruding from my abdomen.

I wrapped my arms around the bump, holding myself closer. I could feel a heartbeat pulsing under my fingertips that didn't correspond to my own. I felt tender arms wrap around me, pulling me backwards into him.

"Come now, my love..." sang a voice in my ear. "It's time to wake up. Stay. You can move on to the next tomorrow."

-

I opened my eyes wide. I gasped and sat up, startled.

Am I alive? How am I alive??

I looked over my body, seeing that telltale white dress covering my form. There was no bump, no gained weight, no change to my body. There weren't any bandages, and there weren't any scars where I had been attacked by the creature when everything fell apart. I sat up, seeing my living room laying before me. My living room from Union.

I remember fighting that man, Sebastian, and awaking in my old apartment... And now I'm here? How? I wasn't even whole when I fought him.

I glanced around, hearing something moving around in the house. I swallowed quietly, and moved my way out of the living room.

The world was falling into pieces. Large chunks of ground were floating in the sky. I stared up into the sky, seeing everything completely in pieces. Something else caught my eye as I looked into the sky, a large being staring at something.

What appeared to be a giant camera lens stared down at the theater of Union. Large tendrils floated in the air around it, part of it holding itself to the floating island of this area of town. I heard a loud rumbling take over the ground, what felt like an earthquake hitting where I stood.

The aperture disappeared from the sky, and I realized I knew what was happening.

Stefano is fighting Sebastian. Stefano is fighting Sebastian in an impaired and completely broken mind.

Perhaps I could not forgive him just yet for how he's treated me. But he's setting himself up for disaster. If he's fighting Sebastian him just after his work was destroyed, he won't be thinking straight and likely will put too much faith in his own abilities.

I took off towards the theater. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me.

Please, please let him be okay. Please let him be safe.

I was still angry that part of me cared about him, but I didn't think about that now. I didn't want to go to war with myself while someone I love is in danger. I just wanted to act on this fear. I wanted to keep the man who I love safe. I want to bring him back into the man I fell in love with.

The hows, the whys, the whats will all have to wait. I have to save him. If nothing else, from his own stupidity. He has to survive this.

I held a hand to my flat stomach. For their sake, at least. Please, he has to survive this...

[missfeisty199]

“What About Our Tea?”

(Friendlypack Fic)

Summary: They were going to be enjoying a nice cup of hot tea to warm from the overbearing wintertime outside, but things get thrown in a whole other direction when Stan walks in on Jimmy changing.

Content warnings: major angst with a very happy ending, mention of prostitution/sex work, mention of abuse, mention of self-loathing, loss of one’s virginity, explicit sex between male and male (with consent of course). 

Rating: Explicit/NSFW

Author’s Note: WOW, this was WAY longer than I had initially planned! This idea was only inspired by this scene from “Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World”, but the thought of what it would be like for Stan to (finally!) lose his virginity to Jimmy got a hold of me, so here we are. Hope you still love this fic!  

It has been unusually frigid in the bustling city of Los Santos lately. Even in the wintertime on other occasions, the city still maintains a sort of warm climate with soft winds and clear skies. Fall, Winter, Spring, or even come Summer, the Los Santos sun still shines on as it stares down the city with raging heat.

This time, however, wintertime is actually what wintertime entails. Freezing winds, light fall of snowflakes, thick attire, snow as white as a pure lamb covering every inch of ground, and plenty of hot drinks to go around. It was currently this that Stan Wheeler and Jimmy Bending were discussing as they walked along an empty central park at night.

“Surely you wouldn’t just have straight hot water with nothing in it,” Jimmy muttered to Stan as he lit a cigarette to get some sort of warmth through him. “I’m not even sure that’s healthy.”

“Oh, but it sure is, Friendly J! The warmness kills off all the bad stuff inside and cleans the pores!” Stan replied with confidence.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure it doesn’t work that way, but whatever.”

The pair had just recently finished off what was thought of to be a normal delivery in the Sandy Shores area until it turned out to be another accomplice bait thrown by Mr. Lang Buddha and his stooges. Memories of the Polito Bank robbery came flooding into both men’s conscience, sending panicked chills down their spines. Luckily the men played both their cards right exactly the same way they did in Polito, managing to get off safely just the same way.

Mr. Buddha did manage to take Jimmy’s car keys again, along with the actual vehicle itself instead of just abandoning it this time, and with Kiki being too busy with a film shoot to pick them up, the two were left no other option but to go on foot in the snow. They had been walking for what felt like hours until they finally made it back to Vinewood, catching sight of the park in which they presently found themselves strolling through.

Reflecting on all that has happened in the day, Jimmy let out a deep sigh as he exhaled the smoke from the cigarette, seeing his own breath in the chilled air. “Well, this has been a pretty lousy excuse of a date.” He did not intend for the wording to be taken so seriously, but it apparently caused Stan to stop walking and look at Jimmy perturbed.

“S-so t-this is a d-date, eh?” the older companion stuttered.

“Oh, did I say this was a date?” Jimmy sarcastically questioned.

Even with the freezing temperature, Stan felt his face heat up in a blush. “W-well uh...um...i-it sure sounded l-like you did.”

Seeing his friend fluster gave Jimmy the leverage to tease him. “Hmm, guess it was just a slip of the tongue, Staniel.”

He flashed Stan a mocking smirk, actually getting quite amused at the fact that he was so stunned about this that his frequent bold speech had melted into a sheer blubbering stutter. Jimmy even winked at Stan, even though his dark shades would thankfully prevent him from seeing so. Not only that, but it secretly made Jimmy feel honored that even he had that effect on Stan and not just beautiful women.

“O-oh…tongue, yeah...”

Remembering where they were and what weather they were standing in reminded Jimmy of where the two were heading to. “Anyways,” he began, “we gotta get out of here before a blizzard freezes us stiff.”

Clearing his throat, Stan agreed. “You’re right, Friendly J.”

“Besides, the night ain’t over just yet, Sunflower. I think there’s a thingy over here somewhere.”

The perplexed look returned in Stan’s expression. “A thingy?”

“Ya know, a shortcut to the apartments,” Jimmy corrected as he made his way across the road and in the direction of behind some buildings, Stan obviously tailing right behind him like a loyal puppy.

They may have spent God knows how long walking straight from Sandy Shores in the heavy snow, but for whatever reason, it was as though the way to the apartment complex had the duo fly by in a dazed void. Stan was about to head over to his apartment when he felt Jimmy hold on to his hand suddenly, the touch startling him.

“I ain’t gonna leave ya to sit with just a cup of hot steaming water,” Jimmy chuckled as he pulled Stan towards his own place. Stan had no other choice but to go along with it.

They entered Jimmy’s apartment, thankful for the little warmth it brought at the very least. Jimmy stubbed out the butt of his cigarette on a small ashtray buy the window and shrugged off his thick jacket, chucking it at the sofa that rested in the corner of the living room. He gave Stan the okay to do the same for his winter coat as they made their way to the small kitchenette.

“Ya ain’t tricking me into having that devil’s juice, are ya?” Stan asked Jimmy as he took a seat at the far-too-small table in Jimmy’s kitchen.

“I wish it was that easy, Wheeler,” the younger of the two replied. “I’m not. However, since you are so damn picky about what you put into your body, I’m gonna treat you to a nice hot cup of tea. ”

Stan was taken aback. “Tea? You mean the beverage that entitles dirty leaves contaminating the drinking water?”

As if Stan’s own lead-filled bottled water was any better, Jimmy thought to himself. “Look, it shouldn’t be all that bad since ya technically have to use pure clean water to make it.” Jimmy opened his fridge to take out a Brita-filter pitcher full of cold water. “Besides, ya have to boil said water as well.”

Stan was still reluctant given his own biased preferences, but he was grateful that Jimmy was being generous to help them warm up from the weather. “O-oh alrighty then,” he mumbled.

“So, what kind of tea do ya want?” Jimmy asked the blond man once he had poured water into the kettle pot and turned on the stove.

“There’s more than one kind?”

Jimmy had opened one of the cabinets and took out a box full of mixed tea bags. “Let’s see... we have Raspberry Zinger, Country Peach Passion, Wild Berry Zinger, True Blueberry, Black Cherry Berry, Peppermint, Sleepy Time...”

He continued on listing off what seemed like a tremendous assortment of tea flavors, so much so that Stan had begun to wonder if Jimmy was pulling his leg and just making up names to spite him. When he had not said anything after a while, Jimmy took advantage of picking out a flavor himself.

“I think I’ll go with a nice cup of Sleepy Time,” he said, enjoying the fact that Stan had no say in it otherwise.

Stan knew this as well, accepting his defeat. “That sure sounds good to me.”

Jimmy had set two separate tea bags on the kitchen table, taking a seat across from Stan.

Neither of them said anything for a while, the only sounds filling in the room coming from the soft bubbling of the boiling water in the kettle. Jimmy ran a hand through the tealed locks of his hair before going to rub his face, the other hand pulling off his shades, but not entirely so that Stan could see his eyes. Stan always wondered to himself why Jimmy would never let him see what his actual eyes look like. He has only caught very quick glimpses when his seizure spasms would cause him to accidentally knock off Jimmy’s sunglasses, but the younger man would turn away in pain and frantically search for his shades.

Stan could not remember if Jimmy’s eyes were a dark hue of hazel or brown or perhaps a unique color of green. The only thing he knew was that Jimmy suffered from migraines from time to time, so it was best that he always had his shades on to block out any bright lights and such.

Stan was about to bring it up with Jimmy at last but thought against it at the last minute. He decided to go with some other topic. “So, I never figured a cool guy like ya would be into some of the tea.” Then he felt bad for even saying anything at all.

“Oh, I have some once and a while,” Jimmy said, making Stan thankful that he had not offended him. “I drink tea when my migraines just really get to me, or to relieve some stress from a day or night’s work. Like tonight.”

Stan could only vouch for that as well. “Yup yup,” he sighed.

Jimmy had finished massaging his face from all the stresses, putting his sunglasses back on.  

“You should really save the damn phone number for when they call again, that way you know to just fucking ignore it. Put the contact under something obvious, something like ‘Big Dick and His Henchmen, Don’t EVER Answer’.”

“B-but they said they know what we look like,” Stan nervously answered back. “Ignoring their call would just mean bullets planted into our skulls, Friendly J.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see them fucking try it,” Jimmy scoffed. He saw the scared look in Stan’s crystal blue eyes and sighed. “I’m kidding, Stan. Besides, if they hadn’t done so this second time around, they probably ain’t got the gonads to do it a third time...if there is a third time. I know I said to watch out for drug dealers like Buddha, but I’m sure they’re just putting up a front. All bark and no bite.”

“We should have seen it coming when they told us to meet them in Sandy Shores,” Stan uttered.

“The place where there ain’t hardly any service around, not even a bank to rob,” Jimmy finished off. “A big fucking waste of our time.” He glanced to the kettle pot on the stove, waiting to soothe his nerves of frustration as patiently as he could.

“I...I’m sorry about them taking your brand new vehicle, Jimmy.”

“Why’re you sorry, Stan? It wasn’t your fault.”

Stan shifted in his seat, a look of culpability in his eyes from what Jimmy could tell. “It...it kind of is. I was foolish to answer the call and agree to the deal.” His voice was quiet, so much so that Jimmy had to apply some extra hearing than normal, but he understood Stan clearly nonetheless.

“Aww, Stan. You didn’t know.” Jimmy reached across the table and placed a hand on Stan’s in a reassuring nature. “You were just looking to make some cash, doing your job as usual.”

“S-so you’re not u-upset with me?” Stan sounded like he was seconds away from shedding tears, and it hurt Jimmy to see him be so hard on himself. Yes, Jimmy had just bought the car today. Yes, they had to walk all the way back to the city because of it. Yes, Buddha threatened their lives if Jimmy were to call the cops or AAA.

However, he was not upset with Stan.

“It’s the whole circumstance I’m upset with, but not you, Stan. Never at you.”

This gave Stan a sense of relief. No, a lot of relief actually.

He still felt shivers from the outside run through his body, especially in his arms since he had on his regular baby blue polo shirt.

Jimmy took notice and got up from the table. “Let me go fetch you a blanket.” With that, he left Stan alone in the kitchen to head into his bedroom just down the hall. It gave Stan some time to be with his thoughts.

Gosh, darn it, Stan! You know you really fudged it up this time! Jimmy may not be fuming with you, but you know it really was all your fault he lost his brand new car! You know Mr. Buddha is a very dangerous man. You’ve seen and heard things about him. You know what he’s like! You know what he can do! When will you learn, Stan?! When will you learn that your actions have consequences?! Wait...where have I heard this before? Ah, darn it all, it doesn’t matter! What matters is that you could have gotten you and Friendly Jimmy killed! All because you wanted to make a quick buck, some quick dosh! I mean yes the people of Los Santos need water, and it is your dream to sell them the sweet glorious 10% lead-filled water, but you definitely should have known better! You gotta stop being so naive! Think about what you’d do if you lost Jimmy, all because of your actions! You would be nothing without Jimmy! No Jimmy means no point of living! You’ve lost Denisse, you may have lost the respect of your sweet baby boy Roy, but you certainly haven’t lost Jimmy just yet! Wait...speaking of Jimmy, how long does it take to grab a gosh darn blanket?

Stan quieted the voices in his head to look out for any clear sign that Jimmy was still around. The only thing he heard was the shrilling whistle of the kettle pot, signifying that their tea was ready. He got up from the kitchen table and turned off the stove, easing the cry of the appliance.

He figured since he was already up he might as well check up on his dear friend. The apartments are only so small enough for what they are worth, every room only being a few steps away, so it wasn’t like Jimmy could have gone too far. He made his way through the short hallway where he saw an open door to a room that Stan could only assume was Jimmy’s bedroom.

What he saw when he entered said room stunned him into a frozen shock. Stan saw Jimmy standing half-naked in front of his closet, his boots were scattered across the floor along with his velvet-hued T-shirt. His exposed back was towards Stan, and he was about to work on pulling down his black jeans when a gasp Stan had not noticed he was holding escaped him. Jimmy had turned his body around in a haste, his face immediately blushing crimson red against his light skin once seeing Stan in the doorway. It was then that Stan took note of Jimmy’s sunglasses off, at last, seeing that his eyes were indeed a dark brown color from where he was standing.

“STAN, WHAT THE FUCK? I’M CHANGING!”, Jimmy screeched.

“I...duh...I...o-oh...uh I...eh um...I...I...S-SORRY!” The only thing Stan knew of to do in such a flustered state was to cover his face with his hands and turn his body a full 180 degrees. His feet did prevent him from walking out though as if they had been nailed down to the floor.

Gah Stan look what you’ve gone and done now! You gosh darn idiot! How could you walk in on your best friend in the whole world being almost completely naked?! How dare you?! You gosh darn frickity pervert! How could you go and do such a thing?! You could have waited! You could have waited for Jimmy in the kitchen! How could you go and invade Jimmy’s privacy - WAIT someone’s touching me!

Even with his hands still enclosing his eyes in the darkness, Stan felt his body being turned back around in such a fragile manner. Then came when another set of hands uncovered his face, and a familiar and near voice instructed him to open his eyes. When he did, there was Jimmy only an inch away from him this time, and there was a smile on his face.

“J-Jimmy…,” Stan began softly. “Your eyes…” He now had the chance to examine the other’s facial features. With Jimmy’s shades off, Stan was able to see that there were very obvious bags under Jimmy’s eyes, along with bloodshot redness in his scleras.

“Yeah, cocaine does that,” Jimmy chuckled. “In all seriousness, though, I have trouble sleeping at night. That’s why they’re so bloodshot and exhausted, and any brightness that comes in just hurts them. ”

“Oh...w-well how come?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why can’t you sleep at night?”

Jimmy nonchalantly shrugged. “Um, I suppose from the line of fucked up work I do. Work involving strangers...paying strangers... naked paying strangers. Does that ring any bells, Stan?”

“Oh! Right, right!”

Stan really did tend to forget that one of Jimmy’s so-called occupations under his belt was prostitution. Maybe because the thought of Jimmy having to forcefully sell his own body to people and let them do whatever they want with it made Stan’s stomach turn. He did not like the image of Jimmy having to do such a thing in his head, so that was probably why Stan would block it out from his memory.

“So, did you come in here just to watch me strip tease or what?” Jimmy said. Kind of half-jokingly, yet also half serious.

“Wh-n-no! I-I didn’t mean to...I...uh…”

“It’s alright, Stan,” Jimmy said, his face slowly inching closer to Stan’s. “You don’t have to answer that.”

It was then that Jimmy softly pressed his lips to Stan’s, leaving the older man speechless. He did not know what else to do, or better yet his body did not know. He just...stood there with his lips sealed shut, and Stan wasn’t sure why though. He wasn’t sure why his body had just shut down.

Yeah, it was a surprise to see Jimmy kiss him...but it wasn’t like Stan hadn’t thought about doing the same thing before…

“J-Jimmy…,” he murmured. Stan had wished he had not said anything if it meant for Jimmy to stop.

Blushing, Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I...I’m sorry, Stan. I guess my job as a sex worker has got me - ”

“No, it’s not that at all,” Stan had cut off.

Jimmy blinked. “Then what’s wrong?”

“I...well...I...I want to kiss you back...but…you recall the story of my ex-wife and I, right?”

It took Jimmy a while to figure out what Stan meant, then he remembered that his ex-wife Denisse would never allow Stan to touch her at all. Puzzle pieces came together and created the full picture.

“You’ve never even kissed anyone before,” Jimmy said.

“Exactly.”

Jimmy was a bit relieved to know he hadn’t done anything to make Stan uncomfortable, but it also made his heart ache for him.

“Besides,” Stan added, “I-I don’t know if I’d do a good job...with you...with everything that goes along with it.”

“Everything that goes along?”

Stan shifted his weight, having become so restless. He felt like a loser. He felt so small. It irritated him that he knew what he wanted, but his low-self esteem and inexperience got the better of him. If his own wife at the time never wanted him to lay a single finger on her, then who the hell would? With Jimmy, on the other hand, and the line of unfortunate work he has been dealt...well...

“Damn it,” Stan sighed.

He was tired of beating around the bush. He didn’t care one single bit if he just rambled on and on to Jimmy.

“I want to kiss you, Jimmy! I want to kiss you, and I want to touch you...but I don’t know how to do any of those things! My ex-wife wouldn’t let me do that, so why would someone like you?! I also don’t want to do anything that makes you think of me like all those other folks that take advantage of you and your body! I would never want to use you like they do! I wouldn’t want you to flinch if I were to lay even a fingertip on you!”

It was Jimmy’s turn to be surprised. He knew all about the whole ex-wife thing, but he hadn’t realized Stan was extremely bothered about Jimmy being used as a fuckboy since the middle-aged man always forgot or was insensitive about it. The occupation conditioned him to have the mindset that anyone he’d get intimate with would just end up using him like a cum dumpster and hand him some major hundreds of paper greens. It made him think that this was all his body, or even his own existence, was good for.

That’s exactly why he was never able to sleep well at night. Every chance he’d get at closing his eyes, he’d be transported back to clients that would intimidatingly tower over him, assault his asshole until it’d hurt too much to sit or lay on a bed, or even choke and beat him if he did something they did not like.

So the fact that Stan was worried about making him feel uncomfortable if he’d touch him...really just made Jimmy’s heart melt straight to his stomach. He thought it was the sweetest thing ever.

“S-Stan…” Jimmy cringed at his own voice shaking like he was about to cry. Fuck, maybe he actually was.

“It’s the truth,” the blond lamented. He set his eyes on anything other than Jimmy at the moment, but the younger man had suddenly cupped Stan’s cheek, causing him to look back at Jimmy. Back to those beautiful, yet tired, bloodshot eyes of his.

“Stan, you wouldn’t be like any of them. Not by a long shot.”

“Then I’d be lousy at pleasing you since I don’t know where to even begin.”

Jimmy placed his hand on the other side of Stan’s face. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll show you.”

“R-really?”

Jimmy nodded, even throwing in a genuine smile. It made him so happy to see Stan, his Stan, smile back at least. “Your pathetic excuse of an ex-wife may never have let you touch her, but I will gladly allow you to.”

Stan cleared his throat. “S-so, where should I s-start?”

Jimmy smirked, tilting his head to mimic the expression of deep thought. “You said you wanted to kiss me back, didn’t you? We can start with that.”

They brushed their noses against each other before Jimmy brought them back to a kiss, pressing his soft lips to Stan’s just as gently as before.

This time, Stan reciprocated it, finally taking control of his senses. He even let his eyes close as he tilted his head to really kiss Jimmy with meaning. Stan then picked up the distinct taste of the cigarette Jimmy had a while ago, along with the smell of cigarette ashes and sweat and bold cologne. All these overloads of tastes and scents should have disgusted Stan but he couldn’t have cared less. He didn’t mind it at all because he was kissing Jimmy at last. To say it felt like nothing Stan’s ever felt before was a stretch, but nevertheless, he knew for certain that he was loving it.

Because it was with Jimmy.

One of Jimmy’s hand let go of Stan’s face and trailed it down his neck and chest, not wanting to break their lips’ exchange for one second. He knew it was definitely safe to touch Stan this way because he heard a soft moan come from the older man. If anything else, the contact even urged Stan to open his mouth to get more of Jimmy’s lips, and he had to desperately restrain from pushing Stan up against the wall and take him then and there.

Instead, Jimmy took one of Stan’s hands and gently placed it on his own bared hip.

It was like a switch had turned ON in Stan’s brain, and he knew what he was asked to do without any words from Jimmy. He placed his other hand on Jimmy’s exposed chest, allowing him to gradually feel all of him at once.

They then separated for breath, much to Stan’s dismay. Jimmy moved down to kiss Stan’s neck, delicately at first and then sucking at the skin. He felt the goosebumps from Stan rise under his lips, signifying again that this was fine to do.

“You learn fast,” Jimmy chuckled. “It’s okay, you can continue doing what you’re doing.”

Seeing as Stan was given the green light to keep touching Jimmy, he smoothed the palm of his hands over every inch of his body. His hands admired the buff of Jimmy’s biceps, the light hair on his arms and chest, the broad of his shoulders, and even the slight flex of his abdomen when Stan’s fingernails brushed over it. One of Stan’s hands went as far as catching Jimmy’s nipple, causing the other to let out a low groan and dig his head into the crook of Stan’s shoulder, suddenly nipping his teeth on the sensitive skin.

Stan flinched a little, then giggled nervously once he realized why it had happened. “Did I do something right?” he sheepily asked.

“You did,” Jimmy reassured. “Could...could you maybe do it again?” Jimmy’s voice was shy when he said it, but it made Stan’s heart flutter knowing he was leisurely on the path to satisfying Jimmy.

His fingers graced against Jimmy’s nipples like before, even pressing down into the buds and feeling them get hardened. It reduced the younger of the two to become a purring mess. The sounds from Jimmy and the attack of his lips on Stan’s neck and shoulders urged the blond to explore all the ways to work his companion. It was as if endless treasures were unlocked for him to cherish from the very second he met Jimmy. It may have taken Stan long to get over Denisse, remembering all the days and nights he had cried about their divorce.

It made him feel foolish beyond belief to think he had wasted all this time chasing around beautiful women all over Los Santos, only to find that the key to all heaven was right next to him. That key just so happened to have a name; Jimmy Bending.

“J-Jimmy?”

“Yeah?” Jimmy answered when he separated from Stan, looking into his eyes.

“Were you just going to bring the blanket from your bed?”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows before remembering that they had tea awaiting them and Jimmy was supposed to bring him a blanket. “I...guess so. Do...you still want a blanket, Stan?”

Putting some thought into it, the blond shook his head, placing kisses on Jimmy’s face instead. “Later.”

“Oh? What about our tea?” Jimmy inquired playfully. He was actually astonished at Stan’s new-found confidence. He still hasn’t quite nailed the seductive part just yet due to his inexperience, but that doesn’t mean Jimmy didn’t also think of it to be adorable at the very least.

Stan ran his fingers through the tealed part of Jimmy’s hair before cupping the back of his head. “I can...not have tea.”

Before anything else was said, the two returned to kissing with so much vigor put into it. Jimmy gently led them over to his bed, turning them around so that it was Stan who would lay on the somewhat decent mattress and Jimmy towering over him. Although the way they were positioned easily reminded Jimmy of various “appointments” with clients, he knew for certain that this moment here with Stan was nothing at all like those. Just the way they took the time and care to discover what turned them on and turned them off said enough.

“Do you want to take anything off?”, Jimmy asked.

“I...I’m not sure. I’ve never been naked in front of someone before.”

Jimmy chuckled, mentally cursing Stan for always being so cute in everything he says and does. “You don’t have to be completely naked if you don’t want to, Stan. I’m not entirely naked myself, as you can see.”

“Well...you were about to b-before I walked in.” Stan blushed a beet red.

“True, but I originally wasn’t planning on being naked for long. Now, however, I don’t mind it at all.”

Neither did Stan apparently, considering that his eyes couldn’t keep from staring at the shirtless young man above him. “I do feel bad for being the only one in clothing out of the two of us,” he admitted. “I..I just don’t think I-I’m all that...you know...compared to you and all.”

“Oh nonsense, Staniel,” Jimmy comforted. He massaged the older man’s arms before trailing down to Stan’s waist to untuck his polo shirt just enough to slip his hand under. He felt his stomach, then up to his chest where there was evident curly, thick hair on pecs. Jimmy wrapped a finger around some of the tuffs, amused at seeing Stan sigh at the touch. The blond even pushed his body up against Jimmy’s hand to get more feeling. “Still not sure about getting undressed there?”

“U-um…”

“Would it make you feel better if I turned off the lights?” As much as Jimmy wanted to see all of Stan clearly, what he wanted more than that was for him to be safe in however way he wished. “It wouldn’t be all that dark,” he added. “There’s a faint glow from the city lights at this time, even with the curtains drawn.”

“O-okay then,” Stan said. “We can do that.”

With that being said, Jimmy got off of the bed to quickly turn the light switch to OFF. Just like he described, the entire room was pulled into slight darkness with the illumination of blue and pink from the lights outside the complex. Jimmy returned to his place above Stan. “So, you wanna start with the fanny pack?”

Stan nodded, and so Jimmy reached his hand down to his waist as the other lifted his body up to help. Jimmy unclipped the accessory and gently set it on the nightstand. “What’s next, Staniel?”

“You can do my shirt.”

Jimmy pulled Stan’s polo shirt up from the bottom as he lifted his arms up to assist. Stan may be a light-skinned fella as it already is, but his bared chest and stomach were even lighter now that Jimmy saw him shirtless finally. He leaned his face down to the exposed fleshy skin, making sure to worship every spot of Stan by planting attentive smooches. He also wanted to make sure Stan knew how beautiful he was to Jimmy.

“What were you so worried about, Staniel?” he said between kisses. “You already look gorgeous and strong as it is. I wouldn’t even dream of you looking any other way.”

Words could not describe how grateful Stan was for Jimmy to show his body some rightful appreciation. He decided not to even use words at all, and just let sounds do all the talking. He let out moans as his hands roamed their way over Jimmy’s hair and then down that smooth back of his. He gripped Jimmy’s hips to pull him down closer to him, pressing their torsos tight with so much need to feel skin to skin.

Jimmy made his way up to devour his lover’s lips as if his life depended on Stan’s kisses, never getting enough of them. It was already becoming his new favorite drug, and it delighted him to no end to hear the beautiful man beneath him moan and whine and sigh, all because of his doing. Even the strong grasp of Stan’s hands on his body excited Jimmy, and the feeling of one of them going as far as cupping one of his arse cheeks sent Jimothy spiraling into aroused bliss himself.

Without any warning whatsoever, he thrust his still-clothed groin against Stan’s, a deep moan emitting from both of their throats. When they broke apart to catch their breaths Jimmy starred into Stan’s bright eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Stan. What are you doing to me?” he gasped.

“Touching you? I thought that was obvious?”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know you’re touching me, Stan.”

“D-did y-you want me to stop?” Stan asked nervously.

“Are you kidding me? Of course not! The complete opposite actually.”

It overjoyed Stan so much to know that Jimmy was loving his touch, mentally shouting a sort of “take that!” at Denisse. He squeezed Jimmy’s buttocks again, getting the same reaction from him as he rubbed against Stan. The blond was surprised to feel a distinct hardness this time around from Jimmy, and his own khaki shorts felt tight around the edges, meaning only one thing.

“J-Jimmy…”

“Yes, Stan?”

“Can...can I take off your pants while you take off mine?”

Jimmy soon widened his eyes at how direct the request was. “Are you absolutely sure you’re ready for that?” he questioned.

“I mean…” Stan chewed his lip anxiously. “M-my undercarriage is losin’ some empty space here…”

“Stan.”

“Yes, Jimmy, I am absolutely sure. I’ve gone these long forty years of emotional twists and turns without losing my virgin-card even once. I thought it’d be over and done with when I married my ex-wife, but that certainly was with no prevail. I thought that the women I’ve desperately pursued after in this city would be the answer, but still nothing. Then, here you...here we are…”

Stan didn’t even have to finish his sentence. Jimmy’s eyes softened. He cupped Stan’s face in both hands and kissed him. “Stan, I am honored to relieve you of your position as a forty-year-old virgin,” he whispered.

“Jimmy?”

“Yes?”

“I...I love you.”

Hearing something like that would usually make Jimmy feel nauseous. Like Stan, he never thought he was someone worthy of being loved by another person. Love was something Jimmy didn’t believe in anymore, losing hope in it long ago. So long ago that he couldn’t even remember the exact date and time.

To Jimmy, love meant a lot of things:  

punches from strangers, bruises, abuse, pain, being thrown around like a ragdoll, money, drugs, sex, forced sex, nightmares, not being able to look at yourself in the mirror, feeling disgusted with everything about yourself, and not being able to love yourself.

Love was something that Jimmy believed only to be in movies. Movies with happy endings, and it’s happy endings he thought he would never receive for as long as he lived.

Until now with Staniel Wheeler.

“I love you, too.”

With all that was said and done, both men got to work on unbuttoning one another's jeans and shorts. There was no need to be in any hurry, so they took all the time they wanted, admiring every curve of their hips, thighs, legs, and calves. The men kicked off their bottoms and tossed them aside, along with Stan’s boat shoes.

Jimmy palmed the self-evident bulge in Stan’s boxer briefs, causing him to whimper and shimmy his hips to maintain the contact with the other’s hand. It wasn’t even much that Jimmy was doing but it still sent rushes of arousal through Stan. Out of nowhere he grabbed Jimmy’s wrist and pressed his hand farther down on his crotch, letting out an elongated moan louder than what Jimmy’s heard from him yet.

It felt like Jimmy’s head was spinning just from watching Stan go crazy right now, and they were only still in their underwear. It caused his own member to twitch with lust. He had never thought that he’d ever find a man twice his own age to be so God damn attractive.

“What do you want right now, Sunflower?”, Jimmy inquired. “How can I take care of you?” Usually, when these kinds of questions were asked by Jimmy to people he’d be with, his tone would be that of forced passion with no other need than to only get his clients off. Now, his tone was affectionate and with meaning.

Stan looked up at the young and handsome man above him, not even being shy about what his body needed from him anymore. He was giving himself to Jimmy and he couldn’t have thought of anyone else in Los Santos or even the entire world to finally lose his virginity to. “I want you to jerk me off, Jimmy. I want your hand to wrap around me.”

In all truthfulness, Jimmy never thought that he’d hear such a request of him coming from Stan of all people, but it added more fuel to Jimmy’s fire in his stomach. “Of course,” he whispered. He pulled Stan’s boxer briefs down ever so carefully like he was unwrapping a fragile gift on Christmas morning, and he certainly was in a way. Just like that, Stan’s dick sprang out of the fabric. Jimmy looked him up and down, taking in the reality that Staniel Elizabeth Wheeler was fully naked in front of him. “Holy shit,” he muttered.

“W-what is it?” Stan began to worry that Jimmy was suddenly turned off by him, thinking that he was disgusted and had changed his mind.

That wasn’t the case, however, as Jimmy smiled at him. Even with very little light in the room, Stan could see the love in Jimmy’s eyes. “You are so beautiful, Stan.”

Relief washed over Stan. “Come here.”

He pulled Jimmy down and the two shared a quick chaste kiss before the other already sat back up again. Jimmy reached his arm towards his nightstand and opened a drawer. His hand fumbled in dimmed darkness for a bit before he had pulled out a small bottle full of clear liquid and a Trojan condom. He sensed hesitation in Stan’s eyes, and he was quick to calm his anxiousness.

“The bottle is lube. It’s going to make my hand slippery so that giving a handjob is easy. We won’t use the condom just yet until you’re ready.”

“Ah, alright.”

“And wouldn’t you know, the lube is actually water based!” Jimmy thought this would excite Stan at least.

Instead, it perplexed the older man. “Water-based lubricant? Why would that be a thing? Water is for drinking, and only for drinking! It’s for quenching the thirst of parched people - ”

“If you utter one more word, I will send you out into a snowstorm with your boner hanging out. I won’t even give you back your clothes, you’d just walk up the stairs to your apartment cupping your shivering balls.”

The interruption from Jimmy cut Stan off, and he giggled embarrassingly. “R-right, I’m sorry.”

Jimmy popped the cap of the bottle open and poured a very little amount on his palm. He then placed the lube gently on the nightstand and looked down at Stan. “My hand’s going to feel a little cold at first,” he warned. “You ready?”

Stan nodded. “Yes.”

Jimmy gently wrapped his hand around Stan’s erection with a firm grip. At hearing him groan at the touch he started a slow and steady rhythm, aiming for Stan to get used to the feeling of what a hand on his dick felt like. It was clear that Stan was enjoying it as he sucked in air and swirled his hips to get more friction. “Do you want me to go faster, Staniel?” Jimmy asked.

“Y-yes...please?” It came out more like a desperate beg than just a simple answer, and it sure got the message across to Jimmy.

He began to pump his fist at a quicker pace, and as expected Stan went crazy over the sensation. There came a heat in his pelvis and his hips would spring upwards here and there. Stan’s head rolled back into the pillow under him and he placed his own hand on his mouth to muffle his moans.

“Aww, you don’t have to be shy to moan in front of me, sweetie,” Jimmy reassured. “I wanna hear you.” With his free hand, he caringly moved Stan’s own hand away, giving a small peck to his soft lips, letting Stan’s blond mustache tickle him. Never did Jimmy pause his other hand that was occupied on the older man’s shaft, stroking it rapidly than before.

“Jim...Jimmy...mmm feels so nice…haaaaaah.”

Stan had thought that he was going to release himself onto Jimmy’s hand right then and there, but was proven wrong when nothing happened. Nevertheless, Stan was in heaven as Jimmy catered to his body and needs while continuing the work on his dick. Jimmy’s free hand caressed both of his nipples back and forth the same way Stan had done for him moments ago.

Not only that but then Jimmy soon replaced his fingers and leaned down to Stan’s chest. There then came the feel of something warm and wet and Stan looked down to see that Jimmy was running his tongue on his nipples, sending him into a frenzy.

Throughout this whole time, Jimmy had held off from giving any attention to his own hard-on, wishing to put more focus onto Stan. That is until one of Stan’s hands reached out and palmed Jimmy through his briefs, causing him to shot up and let out a yelp of both surprise and extreme lust. “S-Stan,” he gasped, “what’re you…”

“It ain’t fair that you’re taking care of me while nobody’s doing it for you.”

Jimmy’s heart jumped. “It’s not...about me, Stan. You’re the one priority here…”

Stan obviously ignored Jimmy and pulled his briefs down swiftly, his erection flying out in a single swoop. It was somewhat already wet with pre-cum so it was easy for Stan to mimic Jimmy’s hand on him, wrapping his fist and jerking the younger man. Unlike Stan, however, Jimmy let out a high pitched moan and immediately started thrusting himself into Stan’s hand.

“F-fuck Stan...I...I don’t...oh Jesus fucking Christ…” Jimmy’s mind raced as he tried his very best at fight off the imminent heat pooling in his stomach already. He was overwhelmed that someone wanted to take care of him for once instead of the other way around. “Stan...S-Stan please s-stop….STOP IT!”

The outburst made the older man pause what he was doing, and a look of horror was on his face. “I...I’m sorry, Jimmy...I just wanted to -”

“I know, Stan. You did nothing wrong, and I’m so flattered that you want to pleasure me at the same time. I love you for that.”

“Then why’d you tell me to stop?”

“Because...because I don’t want to finish just yet. Once I cum it would take a good while for me to fully take your virginity. I’d just be too exhausted to do it, Sunflower.”

Stan hadn’t thought of it that way, obviously for reasons they had already addressed. He recoiled his hand away from Jimmy’s member and interlaced his fingers with the others. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.”

Jimmy smiled and brought their intertwined hands to his lips, giving a sweet kiss to Stan’s fingers as a way of saying everything was fine.

“Um...Jimmy?” Stan uttered softly.

“Yes?”

Stan was quiet for a good while then. He even shifted his eyes away from Jimmy’s and he bit his lip. Jimmy began to think his outburst had scared Stan too much to request or do anything, and he mentally kicked himself in the ass for having him stop taking care of him. “Stan, I’m sorry for yelling at -”

“I’m ready,” Stan suddenly spoke up.

Jimmy blinked. “W-what?”

“I’m ready,” he repeated, even gesturing at the packed condom wrap on the nightstand.

A shiver ran down Jimmy’s back. So they were going to do this. They were really going to do this. He was really going to do this. It was then that he realized he was actually quite nervous about it, which was really ironic for many reasons. It wasn’t like he hadn’t taken other people’s virginity in his lifetime. Then again, those people were around Jimmy’s own age range. Stan was different, but not to say that it was a bad thing. Jimmy had to remember that while Stan is older than him, he had circumstances that led them to where they are now.

When Jimmy really thought about it, the fact that he was going to take the virginity of a way older gentleman excited him. Besides, there was another way this moment with Stan would be much different than the others.

Jimmy was not going to simply fuck Stan...he was going to make love to him...and that made everything so much better.  

“I love you, Stan,” he said as he reached for the lube bottle again along with the condom.

“I love you too, Jimmy,” Stan had answered back.

Jimmy carefully opened the thick wrapper and pulled out the prophylactic, then rolled it ever so gradually onto his dick. Then was for him to prep Stan, who had been attentively watching Jimmy as he himself nervously anticipated what was to come. Even he knew that this was going to be it, a major moment in his life right now. Albeit it took Stan way longer for this to happen to him, he thought better late than never.

He watched as Jimmy popped the cap of the lubricant bottle open and poured the liquid onto his fingers again, only this time he separated Stan’s legs apart with just enough room to fit in between them. Stan flinched a bit when he felt the coldness of the liquid on Jimmy’s finger on his exposed hole. “Okay,” Jimmy began. “This is where things start to get heavy. What I’m gonna do is what’s called prepping, where I’m sticking in my fingers little by little until your body is used to having something foreign inside of you.”

“L-like a prostate exam?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy chuckled. “Just...yeah, just like that. So what I need you to do is relax, and breathe in and out. Can you do that for me, baby?”

The new nickname made Stan’s heart soar, and he smiled up at Jimmy. “I can do that.”

Jimmy lined up the tip of his index finger and instructed Stan to start the breathing process. When he heard him suck in a breath, Jimmy slowly inserted his finger inch by inch into Stan’s hole, whispering affirmations to ease Stan as he would groan and flinch again here and there. It went on for a bit until Stan gave him the alright to add in a second finger, and then the whole process repeated as Jimmy eventually added a third and final finger, then urged him to relax as he moved the digits in and out of Stan. After a good few minutes or so, Stan went from groaning because of the foreign feeling to then letting out faint moans.

“You okay to move forward?”, Jimmy asked.

Stan nodded.

With that, Jimmy took out his fingers and added a small addition of more lube to Stan before taking the tip of his protected member in his hand. He leaned forward to bring his body even closer to Stan while also maneuvering him to have his ass off the bed just a bit.

“I want you to breathe more, the same way you’ve been doing.” When Stan did what he was instructed to do, Jimmy pressed himself through the tight ring with care. He repeated lines of “you’re doing so good” and “keep going” throughout the process, even placing reassuring pecks on Stan’s nose and face. Again Stan would go from groaning to soon sighing and whimpering with pleasure the deeper Jimmy went in. It did hurt him, to say the least, but he knew it wouldn’t be that way for long, and the focus on Jimmy and how good it will feel helped ease himself.

At last, Jimmy was fully inside Stan. “How are you feeling?”

Stan exhaled the last breath he was holding and gazed into Jimmy’s doting brown eyes. “Ain’t gonna lie, it feels strange, but it’s a good strange.”

Upon getting his answer that Stan was alright, Jimmy smiled and kissed him. “I’m going to start thrusting now. Let me know if we need to stop at any time, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jimmy began a steady pace of shallow thrusts into Stan. The other smoothed his hands over on down to Jimmy’s back just to have something to hold on to. At a given point Jimmy’s steady rhythm increased and they both began to feel ultimate pleasure, with Stan being the first to moan lowly and the other followed. Jimmy’s weight shifted on top of Stan as he placed both of his hands in between Stan’s head and buried his face into the crook of the blond’s shoulder. He kept pushing in and out of Stan even faster and deeper until he felt him wrap his strong arms around him and let out an elongated gruffed whimper. He had already managed to find and hit his sweet spot. Jimmy lifted his head a bit to inspect Stan’s face for any warning and was met with such a breathtaking sight. Stan’s eyes were closed and his jaw was hung open. “You okay, there?” Jimmy made sure.

“O-oh Jimmy…”

Just the way he had moaned his name out like that was enough of an answer for Jimmy, and so he lost himself in his own aroused bliss. He locked his lips onto Stan’s in a passion-fueled kiss as he let his hips run on auto, even slipping in his tongue for a good measure, not even knowing if Stan would like it or not. Apparently, Stan did as his own tongue had run against Jimmy’s, and only then did things really get carnal.

Jimmy brushed against Stan’s prostate and the bottom man tightened his grip on Jimmy’s body, his fingernails digging into his back. The mattress below them soon squeaked the more Jimmy drove himself into Stan, making both grateful for the fact that he only lived on the ground floor. He took in everything about Stan in that moment, from how so unbelievably amazing it felt to be inside Stan, the way their heated skin slammed into one another, the moans that he was driving out from Stan, the mysterious yet sweet taste the inside of his mouth held, the way their lips devoured each other greedily, and then finally the reality that he was sharing this moment with him.

They soon parted for much-needed air, a given chance to hear their moans more clearly now. “S-Stan...Staniel…mmm my Staniel....fuck you feel so damn good, my precious Sunflower!”

“Jim...Jimmy...o-oh s-sweet Lord y-you fill me up so d-darn well!” There was an evident heat spreading all through the depths of Stan’s being, and it was something that he knew could not be contained for very long. He didn’t ever want to have this, all of this, to stop. He wanted nothing more than to stay this way with Jimmy forever, them being connected together and become one with their bodies. It was all just so addicting, not even his addiction to oxy could ever match what’s happening here.

The burning pool inside of Stan was approaching quicker than he could have held off and he clung onto his lover as if he’d fade away if he didn’t. “Jim...Jimmy I...I feel s-something…”

“Go ahead, Stan,” Jimmy finished him off, his own release catching up. He reached down to stroke Stan off to help him reach his climax, sending him over the edged.

“J-Jimmy...Jimmy...o-oh h-haaaah J-Jimothyyyyyyyyy!”

Everything had gone bright has Stan lost himself. His hips stilled and he came into Jimmy’s fist, his lover’s name on his lips as he rode off his orgasm.

It did not take very long for Jimmy to follow right behind Stan as he gave one last powerful thrust into him, letting out a hoarse groan while he spilled all of his hot load into the condom. He thought he saw stars even as he clenched his eyes shut and collapsed onto Stan’s sweating body.

The men had stayed that way while they waited for the high to wear off and regain their normal breathing. When they did Jimmy gently pulled himself out of Stan. He unrolled the soaking prophylactic on his spent member before tying a secured knot on it like it was a balloon and getting up from the bed. It was cute to hear Stan whine out of protest from the loss of Jimmy’s warmth on him. He went into the hallway to throw away the used condom in his bathroom waste bin and grabbed a hand towel from the shelf.

Jimmy returned to his room and his place on top of Stan, cleaning both of them up with the rag before setting it aside and laying his body back on top of him. He tiredly lifted his head to meet his eyes with the very man he loves, smiling weakly at him.

“How was that?”, he mumbled out, running his fingers through the curly and damp blond strands of hair on Stan’s head.

“Do I even have to answer that?”, Stan lightly laughed. Still holding onto Jimmy, he pulled him in for a chaste and fatigued kiss.

“I take it that I did pretty well then,” Jimmy chuckled.

“You betcha. Thank you.”

Jimmy grinned and kissed the tip of Stan’s nose before resting his head on his chest. “You’re welcome. I should also thank you as well.” The steady beating of his heart next to his ear easily lulled him to sleep. He knew from this very moment that he would never dare to try and fall asleep with someone he’d have intercourse with unless it was with Staniel Elizabeth Wheeler. There was possibly no escape from the life and job of a male prostitute, but at least Jimmy had someone at home to come back to every time.  

The last thing Jimmy heard before falling asleep in the safety of his lover’s arms was Stan whispering, “You’re welcome as well”.

[anomaly00-archive]

When Comes the Dawn Writing Update #1

Word Count: 1582 out of ?

Pages: 6

Status: Drafting

Hey! Hi! So...this is a thing now.

Imma be honest, I totally procrastinated on Ch.5--like, I haven’t even finished writing it. I just have a vague idea of cinematic scenes that I want to put in. But, uh, progress is progress, right? Even if it is like five and a half pages of crap. But before we dive into what the happens in Ch. 5, I should probably give you some context.

-----

LAST TIME ON WCTD...

The story starts with Fenice, 15 years old and absolutely craving for a life outside of her comfy countryside manor, having something similar to a panic attack (I say similar, because I didn’t do much research on panic attacks on writing this scene because I wanted to capture the emotions I wanted without getting side-tracked) because she may-or-may-not have accidentally poisoned her own mother.

After being helped to calm down by her governess Misstress Leda, Fenice is told that her mother is still barely alive but will probably not survive through the night.

Mother and daughter have their last moments together, during which her mother (Titania) warns Fenice to be careful, as the people who targeted her may come after Fenice next.

Titania die at the end of the day

A funeral was held at the capital where Fenice meets her estranged father (the king) for the very first time.

After the funeral, King Dantalion can be seen stressing in his study because oh gods his ex-wife is dead, he just met his daughter after more than a decade and when did she get so big??? and what in the abyss is he supposed to do with Fenice??

Fenice plays a game of chess to prioritize her goals. Strangely enough, it works

-----

AND NOW, BACK TO THE PRESENT

So, chapter five is primarily to introduce the second main character (who is also, technically, the antagonist?) Prince Charles, the de facto heir apparent. A regular ol’ prince charming with a penchant for sneaking out of the palace walls to have some fun and becomes insanely curious of his new neighbor. You can check out the character intro I made for him here

-----

Scenes

As of now, Ch. 5 has only two scenes, most of it being comprised of

Scene 1: There are rumors about the palace of a deadborn, a word that Charles doesn’t exactly know the meaning of, thinking that it means a ghost. He doesn’t believe in spirits but does start putting some stock into the rumors when he notices the presence of another person living in his wing of Erthain palace. A wing that he and his servants has been the sole occupant of for twelve years.

It’s not that he’s the sort of person to believe in spirits and superstitions--really, all that stuff is nonsense people say to scare children--so the first few days of people talking about the deadborn was met with scoffs and rolled eyes.

Then Charles started noticing things. Erthain palace held a separate wing for royal children and visiting royalty, and for most of his twelve years of existence, Charles was the sole occupant. It’s why he took note of the extra guards stationed in the wings or the two new maidservants milling about the halls. The maids--twins from the looks of it—always report to the chambers a couple of doors away from his, but whenever he’d ask about his new neighbor, they’d always give a vague answer.

A slightly extended version of this scene is in the character intro post I linked above.

-----

Scene 2: A flashback scene where Charles iterates his first-ever encounter with the ‘deadborn.’  

The distance between them and the shadows that streaked her face obscured the woman’s features from his sight, but her red hair could never be missed. In Aetier, or even in lands of Southern Raia, the people’s hair ranged from palettes of a sandy brown to  deep obsidian; a rare few, those whose blood originates farther north, could flaunt fair and golden hair. But never red.

To Charles’ knowledge, he only knew of one Aetierian that could boast hair so red.

And the king held a proper funeral for her mere weeks ago.

Shock, awe, indifference, he could not say what emotion it was that came over him at that moment. Only that her gaze rooted him to his spot--that is, if she even noticed him--as if she had cast a spell to turn him to stone.

Who was she?

-----

This is also the chapter that everyone including the author is introduced to Gwyn Aelid, a young Witch Doctor-in-training (or just Witch), whose serving as the apprentice to the Royal Healer/studying to become a Healer (So like, think a nurse practitioner studying to become a doctor). I don’t really know how the hell he came to be, but I blame it on Charles. Gwyn, from an author’s point off view, is like that one character that just randomly appeared on the page. Like, you never planned for him, never thought of his existence, but then he’s there and you already named him, and well, I guess he can stick around. He may or may not become one of my favorite children in the future.

He’s about a year older than Charles, skinny in the way that mothers and grandmothers everywhere are affronted and want to start shoveling food in his mouth, and whose sharp features contrast with his overall soft personality. Despite his somewhat respected status as an apprentice, he comes from humble origins and mostly relies on his benefactor (the Royal Healer) for necessities.

He’s also the unwilling accomplice to prince Charles’ escapades.

“Look, I need a favor from you.”

At those words, Gwyn slumped his shoulders. His eyes lowered, lips twisted as if he was about to release a groan or a sigh but then thought against it. Charles has seen that look more than enough times to know what was coming next.

“Again? Sir, you cannot keep asking me to do this,” he hissed, eyes shifting at their surroundings. “If anyone--or gods forbid, the king— found out my role in your ‘disappearances’ they’ll have my head! Or worse, my career!”

Charles smiled, the corners of his mouth stretched to the corner of his eyes in that charming way the ladies at court praised him for. “Oh don’t be such a worrywart, Gwyn. I’m a prince; nothing is going to happen to you while I’m around.”

“No, of course not. But what if you’re not around because you died or got kidnapped, and the king found out and arrested me for treason. I’ll be a traitor, a criminal! Then I’ll never be able to finish my apprenticeship because I’ll be rotting in a cell and no healer would ever take a prisoner as an apprenticeship because— “

“Gwyn.”

“Shut up?”

“Good lad.”

The Witch sighed, his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. I get it. You want to go out, but you have to understand that this—” he waved his hands around— “thing isn’t just affecting you.”

As you can see, I’m absolutely shitty at dialogue.

That last bit of conversation (the shut up part) was actually inspired by the dynamic between Prince Arthur and Merlin in BBC’s Merlin, though a more tone-downed version because Gwyn is very much a law-abiding/respect your betters type boy.

-----

Fun Fact: I wrote the entirety of Ch. 5 on a plane during the start of my vacation and haven’t touched it since, except for doing a few read-throughs. I’m probably going to end up changing a lot of this by the time I finish the chapter.

Also, how do 12/13-year-olds talk????? Like? They sound so formal in my wip? But that makes me see them as a lot older than they actually are which really goes against my “timeline”?? Maybe it’s the cause of a strict upper-class education and a sheltered childhood...yeah...

That’s all I have written so far. The next scene I have planned introduces Fenice’s secondary antagonist, Queen Kathleen? Adelaide? Elizandra? god she’s gone through so many names I give up

-----

Here’s a dialogue snippet I’ll be writing/expanding soon:

“Mother?”

“Yes, dearest.”

“What’s a deadborn?”

“Someone you should be grateful for.”

-----

Taglist (Message me if you want to be added/removed): @schwarzekatze1999​

@aloonycynic​

That’s all for now folks! I’m still trying to figure out where I want this chapter to go, but I think I’m getting close. It’s going to be a bit difficult to continue writing through with school just around the corner, so I’ll be praying for some time and motivation to push me along. Either way, I’m pretty happy with how some of the scenes turned out :)

Signing off!

-Maddie

[lit-works]

More Untitled Daredevil fanfic. Pt.4, i think?

I have no idea what time it is when i return to the apartment. My muscles ache and all i can think about is collapsing in bed, leaving my costume on.

I awaken sometime the next day to the clatter of garbage truck hydraulics and cans being tossed cavalierly on the sidewalk. The apartment is empty, i guess that it's nearly noon.

It's not the first time I've missed the morning. I smell coffee in the kitchen, made fresh hours ago. After a quick shower, where i discover a few scrapes and bruises i didn't know i had, i get dressed. I toss my spare costume into my attache case--it may be a while before i get back to the apartment.

By the time i make it to the drop-in center, Karen is already having lunch. To my surprise, Foggy Nelson is with her.

"Nice to see you up at last." Karen says.

"Hi, Matt," Foggy adds, his voice tentative. Once we were best friends--partners. But Foggy made it clear which side he stood on concerning my current legal status.

"Good to see you, Foggy." i say, walking over to my desk.

"Matt, Foggy says that subpoena--" I hold up my hand.

"I don't want any lectures about the injunction. Not today. Not--"

"Matt," Foggy says, "This is something you can't ignore. They'll drag you into court, cite you for contempt--"

I stand up. "Don't quote the law to me, Foggy. The law is one thing. This," i snap, picking up the crumpled subpoena from where it sat the day before. "Is harassment, and here's where it belongs." i toss it into the corner, and it bounces to the floor next to the trash can.

I sense Foggy turn to Karen. They're closer now. Closer than ever before. They both think I'm out of control.

"I tried, Karen," he says, and walks out of the door with Karen following. She returns, exasperated.

"That was clever. Why don't you just alienate anyone who's ever tried to help you?"

"I suppose you'd like me to just give up? Walk right out of here, too? Spend years trying to clear my name--"

She walks over to the small laptop on her desk. "You'd better listen to this. It was on the news this morning."

"Why? What is...?"

"This city cannot--must not--become a breeding ground for vigilante groups of any stripe, costumed or not--"

Alex Wriley, a young, rich candidate for mayor. Running on a platform that includes shipping every costumed crime-fighter to Lower Slobovia or the Negative Zone. And he's doing real well with the voters, real well.

"--streets to be safe, under the protection of a properly trained and armed law enforcement department."

"Doesn't he know we work with them, for Chris'sake?! What's--"

"Wait," Karen says, "It gets worse."

His speech over, Wriley takes questions from the reporters.

"Mister Wriley, what about last night's reports that the Daredevil was seen fleeing a burning building? There are rumors of an extortion racket to get special protection."

I almost feel Wriley gloating.

"Precisely my point. Is Daredevil working for the side of the law and order, or is he just another freelance thug? Hands open to the highest bidder? I think my campaign will find the truth!" Karen clicks off the video.

"That lousy--"

"Matt, you're going to have to be careful. This Wriley is after you. He's got money. He's powerful."

I start to explain to Karen about the trap--but hold my tongue. There'll be time for talking later, when i know what's really going on.

"Right," i say, "Now, how about a trip to Staten island? Can Martin hold down the fort?"

Martin, my all-purpose file clerk, secretary, and hot-shot investigator is dealing with a crowd of people out front.

"Sure, he'll moan and groan, but love it."

"You can drive," i say smiling. "I could use another forty winks."

The ride is quiet, almost serene, and I'm glad when we reach the Nature Preserve.

"So peaceful," i say, stepping out of the car. "Hardly a breeze. I can pick up gull sounds from the shore. Smells pretty nice, too."

Karen takes my hand. "The factory is over here, over that hill."

I turn, straining to pick up anything unusual.

"Seems empty. Shall we go closer?" i ask.

"Sure, let's drive..."

"No." i give her hand a squeeze. "Let's walk. There's a path ahead. Some kind of opening."

"Yes, but--"

"I don't want to announce our arrival." I pull her along, leaving behind the gently wooded area of the nature preserve, following a makeshift trail up a scruffy hill.

"God," Karen says. "What a mess!"

I can make out the rough outline of the buildings, some gutted, some intact, a few completely gone, leaving only empty, gaping foundations.

"Must be an ugly sight." i say. Then i smell it. Something foul, noxious. It seems to scar my nostrils and burn as it enters my lungs. "There's something wrong here."

Then i hear the sound if a truck entering the property from a distance.

"Someone's coming." Karen says.

Above the roar of the truck, i sense three people, their heartbeats, the rhythm of their breathing. One of them is, yes, familiar. It's quite clear, in fact, that i met him last night--and he got away from me. That won't happen again.

"Can you see where they're headed?" i ask Karen.

"To one of the buildings, one that looks fairly intact."

"Then that's where we're headed."

Karen grabs my arm. "Matt, shouldn't we call the police and let--"

"Let them what? We're trespassing as it is, Karen. The only evidence we've got is a little old lady and my radioactive nostrils. If you want to help change the situation, then we have to see what's going on."

She nods, and i sense her trust, her faith in me, lapsing. Just another battle I'll have to fight to win back her confidence--her love.

The back of the building abuts the river. I hear the water moving back and forth, splashing onto the sharp rocks.

"Do you hear anything?" karen asks.

"Yeah, lots. There are voices, machinery, and--"

"There's a window, Matt. Hoist me up?"

"My pleasure." i reach down and pick up Karen, quickly raising her to look inside.

"A bit higher."

"I can't fly, Karen."

"That's good. I can...oh, Matt! This is terrible. This is..."

"What's the big piece of machinery, Karen? It's growing louder."

"It's digging into the ground, and there are stacks of barrels ready to be rolled into the hole. Matt, she was right, she--"

I turn, picking up the faintest footfall coming around the corner of the building. I lower Karen and try to get ready.

"Matt, what the--"

But behind me there's another sound, and i find myself between two thugs.

I might be out if costume, but I'm not about to let that slow me down. With a speed that startled the two goons, i send my hands out, using precision moves that are made possible only by boxer's reflexes.

Perfect shot--if smashing another humans jaw could ever be described that way.

Lately, i winder whether Karen is right, thinking that i like the violence...need it.

I catch the goon at my left on the chin, and he flies backward, cartoon-style. With time to spare, i cuff the other on the side of the face. Not hard enough to knock him out, but with plenty of force to send him tumbling to the ground.

Now, to just find out who these lovelies work for.

The air is suddenly filled with a high-pitch siren.

"What is it?" Karen asks.

Then i sense the two guards scrambling to their feet, running away.

"I've got to catch up to them." i say.

Karen holds me back, trying to keep me from the danger she now fears i live for.

I pull away, turn and begin running.

The sandy ground offers little support for my feet, especially when I'm wearing my clod-hopper city shoes. If only there were time to change into my costume.

The truck is already moving down the road and the two guys who attacked me climb onto the back as it pulls away. I run as fast as i can, ignoring the growing oxygen debt in my body, until it seems as if a successful leap might send me onto the back of the truck.

Despite the inelegance of my leap, I'm amazed to find that my hands close around the back panel of the truck. With one kick, i climb over.

"Hi, boys. Mind if i catch a ride?" the two thugs seem disturbed by my appearance.

"What's with the glasses--are you blind?"

"Why, are you making faces at me?" I reply.

I hear them separate, slowly moving towards the front of the truck, then they come at me. I crouch, ready to dispose of them quickly, when the truck suddenly barrels over a curb. Sending me crashing into the side wall.

Then they're on me, eager to take advantage of their lucky break. One of them closes his hand firmly around my windpipe, while the other digs into his back pocket for something.

No time for fooling around.

The truck lurched to the left--the driver doesn't seem concerned about what he's driving over. His two accomplices are jostled by the bump, and i move quickly to grab both of them, placing them in simple but effective headlocks. I squeeze just enough to let them know i might be stronger than they imagine.

"Ow." one of them yelps over the truck's engine.

"Where's this heap headed?" I yell. "Come on, guys, let's make this easy."

A small window leading to the cabin opens, and a pudgy face with pinholes for eyes looks back at me.

Then, suddenly, the entire floor of the truck flips upwards, like some kind of garbage truck. That's what it is, hauling toxic waste and dumping it where no one can see. No, no one would ever know about it until it's too late.

The three of us start sliding backwards. I let go of the thugs, but not in time to grab on and stop my fall out of the truck. I land on my feet, while the two henchmen tumble awkwardly in the sand. When they stand up, i grab them by their collars.

"I hate to get unfriendly again. Now, tell me where that truck is going."

They look at each other, then one of them begins jabbering away. "It's heading--" but he doesn't finish his sentence. He screams and the other one joins on, both of them reaching for the backs of their heads, before crumpling into the sand.

I kneel, trying to sense their heartbeats, their breathing, but get nothing.

Karen runs over to me, "Are they...?"

"Dead."

"But how? You didn't do anything?"

I feel behind one of the men's necks, find a small protrusion, and pull it out.

"Here it is." i say, handing the small device to Karen. "Radio operated, I guess. Guaranteed to keep people in line. Nasty, very nasty."

"But who'd use such a device?"

"Someone big, powerful, and unless I'm wrong, new to this town."

"Well, I've got the license plate number, we'll call the police and--"

I put my hand in Karen's shoulder. "You'll call the police. Later. After you've taken me to Brooklyn."

[gretchensinister]

Stating the Facts (Jack/Sandy)

WHATUP @ksclaw, happy belated birthday &etc.

I wrote a fill for your “Pitch the Matchmaker” prompt, and here it is.

Original Prompt:

Pitch is still the boogeyman we know and love. But he found out at some point that he likes playing matchmaker, making couples come together through the power of fear in various ways (mainly by making say, girls get spooked so their SO is all protective. Or something simple, like making couples snuggle up while watching a scary movie). What happens when he decides to try his luck with matching up the Guardians with each other in some way? + Can be whatever pairing you like + Pitch finds an accomplice in someone unexpected (Jack, the fairies, hell even the elves or yetis) + somewhere along the line, someone decides they would like to be paired up with Pitch o3o

Jack’s been following Sandy at a distance for a while, and when he sees Pitch watching Sandy, too, he goes into emergency mode. But Pitch was just trying to get Jack to make a move. It’s so much easier to do this sort of thing with humans...

Jack was almost upon the tall, thin shadow standing in the crown of a tree bare of leaves before he saw it—or, well, before he saw him. There was no mistaking the silhouette, and Jack knew it had only been a matter of time before he ran into Pitch doing something like what he was doing now: skulking around, watching Sandy. If he’d taken the time to stop and think, Jack might have realized that he recognized the behavior because it was intensely familiar to him, though he’d prefer to avoid being described as “skulking.” But Jack knew that his purposes weren’t evil, and it was all too likely that Pitch’s were. And that was why, upon seeing Pitch, a chilly lightning bolt of fear shot down Jack’s spine, and Pitch turned toward him as unerringly as if he’d shouted out his location. To hell with it, then. Jack sped toward Pitch, staff ready before him. “You’re never getting a second shot at Sandy!” Jack shouted. “If I ever catch you looking at him again I’ll do things to you that are worse than you’ve ever imagined!” Jack was close enough by this point to see Pitch’s flatly skeptical look. “I think it’s unseemly in a Guardian to take preemptive revenge,” he said. “Also, your threat is categorically impossible, and, finally, if you are willing to defend Sandy in such a grandiose manner, why don’t you, oh, I don’t know, tell him how you feel instead of following him around night after night.” The last part of what Pitch said brought Jack up short, and he landed less than gracefully, cracking more than a few twigs on the tree before he found his footing. “What?” Pitch shook his head. “I check in on you Guardians every once in a while in relation to my side line, and when I saw you following Sandy around it was easy enough to see that I actually had something to do this time. Unfortunately, you were taking so long to do anything, I realized I had to get involved directly.” He gave Jack a put-upon look. “And I did so at considerable risk to life and limb.” “All right, that explanation didn’t start anywhere near I needed it to,” Jack said. “Do you mean to say you’ve been following Sandy around at night? No, you’re lying, I would have noticed you—” “Because you’ve also been following Sandy around? And, yes, you should be embarrassed, very good. Just because you’re immortal and a winter spirit doesn’t mean you have to take things so glacially slowly. Anyway, to answer your question, I’ve been following you follow Sandy around. And, no, you wouldn’t have noticed me if I didn’t want you to. It’s night, the shadows are mine, and I’ve had thousands of years of practice being seen only when I want to. If you Guardians would only realize I don’t want to tapdance around a child’s room before their terrified eyes, that the briefest glimpse of me where nothing should be is enough—but that isn’t the point of our conversation tonight. Suffice to say, no, Jack, you wouldn’t have noticed me, and you, in fact, didn’t.” “So why did I see you tonight?” Jack started to bring his staff up again. “I intended to give you a little spur towards acting on your feelings for Sandy,” Pitch said, as if this was a normal thing for him to say. “But you’re apparently so dense, and also stuck on hate for me, that my plan backfired, because Sandy’s moved on, and instead of a pretty little golden dot to stare at, now all you have to look at is me.” Pitch rolled his eyes and opened his arms to the stars, as if they might sympathize with him regarding how ridiculous Jack was being. “When you saw me, you were naturally reminded of the incident in which I appeared to kill Sandy. And yet, for some reason, this reminder of his potential mortality did make you afraid, yet didn’t spur you to stop wasting time and go tell him you love him.” Pitch folded his arms and turned slightly away from Jack, muttering to himself. “I always have such trouble with immortals, maybe I ought to simply stick to humans…” “Wha—what on Earth are you talking about?” Jack knew he was gaping at Pitch, and blushing, too, but he couldn’t help either response. “I—Sandy is—” “Sandy is, as you’d see if you’d ever work up the courage to get close to him again, a remarkable being: talented, wise, playful, creative, generous, affectionate, brave, and strong, among other qualities; he’s got a sweet face, eyes like suns, soft golden hair, a pliant, warm body with skin as smooth as cream, hands and feet so delicate they might have been made by the greatest goldsmith in history, etc.…But of course you know all this, you’re just too afraid to act on it.” “Um.” Jack couldn’t do anything but stare at Pitch for several seconds. “Um, I know most of that, but not all of it, and you—I mean—the texture of his hair—the texture of his skin—how—no, no, better question: I thought you hated Sandy, so why’d you just describe him the way you just did?” Pitch gave Jack another condescending look. “I do hate Sandy. That doesn’t mean I’m going to lie about qualities he obviously possesses.” “Right…” Jack said slowly. He felt like he’d just been handed a tangled ball of pitch black yarn, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to unravel it all the way. Fortunately, he’d spotted a way to change the subject. “You said you ought to stick to humans. That means you’re still messing around with people!” Jack brought up his staff. “Didn’t you learn your lesson on Easter? Did you think I’d be anything close to sympathetic now that you admitted you’re up to your old tricks?” “You’ve never seen me do what I was talking about just now,” Pitch said. “I don’t know about that, it seemed like you were using every trick in the boogeyman book a few months ago,” Jack said. Pitch gave a startled, incredulous laugh. “Sometimes I forget you’re only three hundred, and then you go and say something like that.” He looked off in the distance and muttered to himself: “Maybe Sandy’s right to be afraid that you’re too young for him…” Jack determinedly ignored this comment. “If you want to spend the rest of your night not frozen in an iceberg, you’d better show me what you’re doing and prove that you’re not hurting anyone.” Pitch stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, all right. If you’re going to be following me, though, you’ll have to deal with the fact that I’m riding a nightmare. Unless, of course, you want to follow me through the shadows.” “I’m not that easily fooled,” Jack said. Pitch gave him a perplexed look. “I thought Guardians didn’t like lying,” he said. “Anyway…” He mounted the nightmare that had silently appeared at his side and tore off into the night before Jack could reply, or do anything except fly after him as fast as he could to keep up.

*

They hadn’t gone far before Pitch and the nightmare slowed, and when Jack took stock of their surroundings, he frowned in puzzlement. “This is a college campus,” he said. Pitch took a deep breath. “Ah, and the air is thick with the smell of finals. I feel refreshed already. Of course, there won’t be much for you here right now, at least not compared to some other times of the year.” “So…are you showing me that you can get fear without deliberately scaring anyone?” Jack asked. “That’s…all right, I guess, but I don’t see how it has anything to do with what you were talking about before, and if that’s what you’re showing me, then why did Easter go the way it did? Couldn’t you—” “You’re getting into stuff that’s a lot more complex than what I’m here to actually show you,” Pitch said. “Here. Look through this window.” Jack did. Inside, a couple of college kids sat on a small and hideous sofa facing a large television. On the screen, a dog was having the worst day of its life. “The Thing,” Pitch clarified. “One of my favorites. And it creates emotional states I can really work with. You see, that one”—he pointed to the person on the left—“is afraid that that one”—he pointed to the person on the right—“wouldn’t want to spend time with them anymore if they admitted that they were falling in love with them. On the other hand, righty’s afraid that they won’t be able to tell lefty they’re in love with them before lefty graduates.” “Wouldn’t it be easier to refer to them as “he” and “she”?” Jack asked. Pitch shrugged. “Normally I don’t have to explain myself to anyone,” he said. “I don’t bother looking deeply enough into them to observe their gender. I only pay attention to what they’re afraid of, and if they’re in love.” Jack didn’t reply. He hadn’t looked into the two people sitting on the couch at all. He wasn’t even sure he knew exactly what that meant. He’d just looked at them, and assumed. He was going to have to really work on that if he was going to be interacting with people a lot more often. “Anyway,” Pitch went on, “the point is that both of them are too afraid to speak the truth about their love for each other. And both of them are longing for any excuse, any little push, to get things out in the open, so that the worst will be over. However, at the moment, both of them fear that the results of speaking will be worse than the results of not speaking. I know that’s not true.” Pitch walked up right to the window and pressed his hands against the glass, looking down at the couple. “So I just need to change the dynamic just a little bit for both of them, to make them fear the consequences of staying silent more than they fear the consequences of speaking—delicate work, but really just moving fear around—and then the movie, well…” Something happened on the television screen and the people on the couch reached for each other’s hands. And they didn’t pull away, then, but instead met each other’s wide, wide, eyes. They started to smile at each other. Pitch drew away from the window with a surprisingly good-natured laugh. “And that’s what the movie is for. To give them any excuse to reach out to each other.” “This is something you do…often?” Jack asked. Inside, the couple had paused the movie and were talking excitedly with each other. “Sometimes it’s all I do for days,” Pitch said. “At my strongest, I can even work with couples without any movie going on at all. But then I start to think about how it takes all my strength to even cause a suspicious rustling in a park’s bushes, or whatever, and then I start getting ready to cause trouble again.” “What if one person’s in love and the other person’s afraid of them?” Jack asked. “Then I push them apart, not together, obviously,” Pitch said. “It’s not obvious at all,” Jack said. “I mean, you’re the boogeyman. And you’re flinging the term ‘love’ around, and like, these are some pretty young people here. How many people that age are really in love? And love is so tricky anyway, like there’s friendship, and romance, but there’s also possessiveness and jealousy and danger, and meddling with it, that can’t be a game, and—” “Jack, shut up.” Pitch gave him a weary, level stare. “It should be obvious. I’m the boogeyman. That means I do a certain number of specific things related to my center, which is fear. I would just like some recognition for my work, especially because without my help probably many more of the rapes and murders you’re worried about me causing would take place. The reason I’m the Guardians’ problem is because we haven’t figured out how to coexist yet, the Man in the Moon personally hates me, and being unseen for thousands of years doesn’t do much for my mental stability.” “That doesn’t sound like what you told us at the Tooth Palace,” Jack said. “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not responsible for keeping track of memories,” Pitch said. He folded his arms. “And I don’t ‘fling’ the word love around. I use it as it should be used. Those young people in there really are in love. They wouldn’t have been the couple I went to show you if they weren’t.” He turned away, looking out over the campus where the soft white light of streetlamps made the brick walls and immaculately kept lawns numinous and eerie. “I’m not a catchall of all kinds of evil, Jack,” he said. “If you can’t understand that being the boogeyman is different from being someone who hates everything good in the world and works to destroy it, I can’t understand why you’ve allowed me to stand here talking to you for so long.” “I guess I do understand that,” Jack said. “But, I mean…damn. You did your best to murder me and my friends.” “I did,” said Pitch. “I’d never come so close before. I’ve lost so often that I stopped thinking through the full consequences of the success of my plans. It sounds like a mad excuse when the stakes are so high, but if our status quo hasn’t changed in a few thousand years, I think you’ll have started to understand.” “Right…well, I guess we’ll see how that goes.” Hearing Pitch mention a few millennia like a few months was more troubling than anything else he’d said that night so far, and Jack wanted to change the subject if he could. “So, you act as a matchmaker for humans that are in love but are afraid to say it,” Jack said. “And that’s pretty easy for you, at least in comparison to…um…” Maybe it would have been better to keep talking about immortality and the perspective it brought. “At least in comparison to spirits,” Pitch said. He smirked at Jack’s discomfort. “Let’s go find Sandy again, shall we? We’ll at least be able to talk in private. I know a college campus should be private for both of us, but, well, belief gets weird when people are under stress.” Pitch called his nightmare without waiting for any answer from Jack and leapt into the sky. “How are you going to find Sandy?” Jack asked, once he caught up with him. “Sometimes it takes me days to track him down, though I am getting better at it.” Pitch shrugged. “I can’t really explain it. I just always seem to know where he is.” “And yet…you never attacked him before you attacked all of us,” Jack said. “Well, it wouldn’t have helped me gain anything I wanted,” Pitch said. “I don’t act without purpose. Now, we should talk about when I did attack Sandy. It was awful for you to see, wasn’t it?” “Uh, yeah, it really was. Why are you bringing it up now?” “Because it’s why you nearly blasted me when you first saw me tonight, watching Sandy. We got sidetracked, but here’s why you saw me: I wanted you to see me, remember the horror of watching me shoot him, and then realize you ought to tell him that you love him, because even the immortality you both share isn’t a guarantee that you’ll always have time in the future.” Pitch paused and looked around. “Ah, there he is.” He gestured at a golden dot slightly larger than the stars around it and turned the head of his mare towards it. “Nothing else was getting through to you. And as a matter of fact, my plan tonight didn’t work either, considering you’re talking to me and not Sandy right now.” “Well, you’re still a pretty big threat,” Jack said. “Even if you did remind me of my fear of…of losing Sandy, I couldn’t just let you wander off to do who knows what.” “Most of the Guardians do just that, you know,” Pitch said. “They—and you, now—are supposed to have much better things to do than keep watch over what I’m doing. The only time anyone pays any attention to me is when I’m deliberately interfering in Guardian work.” “You know, maybe if you didn’t—hey! Wait a second, why are we getting so close to Sandy, anyway? You already said your plan didn’t work on me!” “I have reasonably good aim,” Pitch said. “If you won’t approach Sandy on your own, I can throw you at his cloud and you’ll probably land on it.” “…was that a joke?” Jack asked. Pitch looked at him coolly, his face perfectly straight. “Don’t ask me to do your job for you.” “All right…anyway, even if you do throw me, it’s not like I’m going to confess my love for Sandy! I mean, you listed off all the amazing things about him, and I’m—I’m—” Pitch rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, you’re afraid you’re not good enough for him, you’re afraid to ruin your friendship, you’re afraid that he won’t take you seriously, you’re afraid you’re too dead to get it up for him—and, Jack, seriously, you can fly to places no human has ever been, you have plenty of privacy to try stimulating yourself, please do so and get an answer so you can stop worrying about this, because I have to know about this fear as long as I’m close enough to talk to you—” “If you’d brought up this kind of thing at Easter you could have embarrassed me to death,” Jack muttered, his face red. “Don’t be absurd. You hadn’t thought of sex in years at that point. Anyway, that’s not the point. Pull yourself together. The point is, those are all the fears that are keeping you from talking to Sandy.” “I don’t see what good listing them is supposed to do,” Jack said. “I mean, you also had that neat little list of everything that’s good about Sandy, but I bet you don’t have a list of anything good about me, or any of Sandy’s fears!” Pitch threw his hands in the air. “You haven’t been paying attention to half the things I’ve been saying! And, really, I’m sorry that I have to speak in a way that relies on sound and time, so I can’t tell you everything you need to know at once, you slush puddle! Now try to actually listen this time: I only mess around with this matchmaking business when love is mutual. So, yes, Sandy loves you. You, Jack Frost, ready to laugh and ready to smile, able to fly through the air as if you were born to it, sky-blue eyes and graceful hands, playful and inventive, daring, brave, hair fine as cirrus clouds, loyal and always ready to help your friends, slender and strong like a new sapling.” Jack blinked at him. “Again, that’s kind of weird for you to say when you hate me.” “And again, even though I hate you, I’m not blind to the truth,” Pitch said. “Right…wait, you didn’t say anything about my texture or temperature like with Sandy, and, like—” “Anyway,” Pitch interrupted him, “I also think you have a great deal of foolishness in addition to all those other qualities. “Well, that sounds a lot more realistic,” Jack said. Pitch raised his eyebrows. “I’ll have to add ‘not entirely un-self-aware’ to the other list.” “I think you just genuinely complimented me,” Jack said. “It was weird.” “It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Pitch said. “Now, I wasn’t quite done. I told you the things Sandy sees in you. Now here are Sandy’s fears: that he’s too old for you, that you’ll find the fact that he can’t speak too much of a barrier between you, that you won’t find him attractive because he’s too short and too fat, that you aren’t interested in any of the things he does, that because you’ve only lived the last three hundred years you’ll be appalled by the idea that another man—in a manner of speaking—is in love with you—” “No!” Jack interrupted. “Sandy shouldn’t have any of those fears!” “And Sandy would say that you shouldn’t have any of yours,” Pitch said. “And what have either of you done to assuage these fears. Oh, right. Nothing!” Jack looked like he wanted to scuff his toe against the ground, however, since he was about a thousand feet in the air, this wasn’t an option. “You could have bothered Sandy, first.” “Quit being a soggy mitten. I didn’t even intend to bother you. You were supposed to see me and then become frightened enough of your possible limited time with Sandy and go confess to him. Telling you about each other and your fears wasn’t part of the plan. But now that you have all the facts, are you actually going to talk to him?” Jack looked out through the night sky towards the bright spot that was Sandy. He and Pitch had somehow drifted close enough for him to be able to see Sandy’s arms moving as he wove glittering dreams to send out into the world. He could just imagine the quiet joy on Sandy’s face as he worked, the quickness of his fingers as he shaped the dreamsand… “You’d better answer soon,” Pitch said. “I’d never let anyone call me Pitch if I didn’t have a great throwing arm.” Jack groaned. “All right, I’m not letting you literally throw me at Sandy. I just…I mean, us. In love. With each other. It just seems so incredibly unlikely, so incredibly lucky that it’s us…” “Yes, yes, go tell it to Sandy. I’m going to make sure you do, even if you are trying to make me leave by saying stuff I’ve heard a thousand times before.” Jack took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “All right. All right. I’ll go to Sandy.” He turned to Pitch. “I’m still confused about one thing, though.” “One thing?” Pitch asked. “Ha ha. So Sandy and I have this conversation, and we, we finally know…” He trailed off and smiled widely before shaking his head and continuing. “Um, that is, this is going to make us both really happy. And you’ve said tonight that you hate us both. So won’t you end up hating us and our happiness even more once we’re together? Would we be putting ourselves at risk by getting together?” “Hm. I see. Well, your happiness really doesn’t affect how much I hate you. My hatred is rather impersonal, and I harbor it because you and Sandy—and the rest of the Guardians—refuse to allow me to seek my own completeness and happiness, and to understand that it will look different from your own.” “Really?” Jack asked. “So, you’ve managed to grow some skepticism of the things I say. Good for you. And, well, I do have individual personal grudges for everyone, but I believe these would subside fairly quickly if the larger existential problem was solved.” Jack nodded seriously, paused for a moment, then laughed. “I wonder if that might not make things a little awkward for you, then, seeing Sandy and me so impartially, after all,” he said. Pitch stared at him with true, offended astonishment, but before he could reply, Jack had zipped off toward Sandy. Pitch had to stay to make sure Jack didn’t chicken out of the conversation, and was uneasily gratified when he didn’t. Uneasily because, well, Jack and Sandy were looking at each other as much as could be expected, certainly…but they also seemed to be too often looking towards him.