#i couldn’t find the stuff i usually use so i tried new stuff and ughhhh

[napping-sapphic]

The bracelets i’ve been making are fraying so much that i’m half convinced soaking them is just going to dissolve them into nothing

[spoopydooblr]

My King Will Be Kind Chapter 1 / Kendall Roy x OC

an: hiiiiiiiii first time posting here ughhhh anyways enjoy this kendall fic bc i binged succession with my roommate

pairing: Kendall Roy x Original Female Character

tw: mentions of drug use, cursing

Stella fixed her black Valentino dress in the bathroom mirror of the club. She looked okay.  Not bad, not great.  It was hour three at the club, and Stella was really over it.  The bass felt like it was pumping through the walls. She needed a break from the craziness. It was usually like this, work all week and stupid events like this all weekend. And this weekend was her friend's birthday.  

Not that she didn't love her friends—or the free drinks.  And the guys could be fun...sometimes.  Tonight they partied with some semi-professional baseball players who were okay at best.  One even tried to follow her into the bathroom, but she declined.  

Even now, four movies and two shows under her belt, Stella struggled to a guy that actually gave a fuck.  Her most recent role, a side character in HBO's Delirium, was by-far her biggest break.  They had just wrapped season two, so she was taking some time in New York to work on her writing.  By dumb luck a studio was interested in her writing and wanted some pilots.  After spending the last few years in Los Angeles, Stella decided to come back to the east coast for a bit.  

So here she was now, walking back from the bathroom of some club, trying to think of the best excuse to leave the party and get the fuck home.  Stella weaved through the VIP line, arriving at the private section where her friends were.  The baseball guys were still evident, but two other men--in very expensive suits--stood with the group.  She made her way over, grabbing a drink from the waiter.  It was time to find the birthday girl and say goodbye.  Stella spied her friend from across the room, but was interrupted by one of the suit-men.  She immediately recognized him.

"Roman Roy." He stuck out his hand.  

Roman Roy.  Son of media bigwig Logan Roy.  Stella knew exactly who he was.  Not that she was a big fan of business stuff, but she knew all about ATN and their hateful broadcasting.  She knew all about his billionaire family and their insane antics.  

She shook his hand reluctantly.

"So you're a big deal I hear?" He laughed. "Well I've never heard of you."

"I've been in a few movies—" She started, but is again interrupted by him.

"Argh, actress, never mind." Roman scoffed at her and made his way to another one of her friends.

Stella was just drunk enough to feel pretty embarrassed. Normally, she would brush something like this off, but he was an important person in the city.  The Roy's could make or break her career if they really wanted to.  They controlled the media.  Hell, they were the media.  

"Hey. I'm sorry about my brother." A deep voice said from her side. "He's a fuck."

Stella looked at the man who was now in front of her. The first thing she noticed was how tired he looked.  The second was that he was Kendall Roy.  And he was just as hot in person.  

"Oh, um, it's okay."

"I'm Kendall, by the way." He held out his hand. He had a fancy ring on his pinkie finger.

"Stella."

"Matchstick Funeral." He said.

Stella couldn't help but light up. "Yes!"

It was one of her first roles. She played Jude Law's estranged daughter. That was three years ago, now.

"It's my uh, ex-wife's favorite movie."

Stella laughs, accidentally. "Sorry, um, wow, I feel like a lot of people don't remember that film."

"It's so fuckin good."

"God, thank you, wow."

They stood there for a minute.

Stella decided to play dumb. "So what do you do?"

Kendall laughed nervously. "Uh—"

Stella batted her eyelashes, then laughed, "I'm kidding, jeez!"

"Oh," Kendall smiled. "I suppose you're familiar."

"With the sexual abuse on the cruises?" She continues. "Or your rap song?"

Kendall scoffs.

"Before I was, um, like this." Stella gets quieter. "I loved celebrities and all that. I read like, every magazine." It was true, she loved stealing her mother's People Magazine as a kid.  

"Ah, I'm surprised you're even talking to me, then."

"Me too."

"Do you wanna uh, go outside?"

She was still a little unsure about him, but she wasn't really a fan of crowds and honestly really needed to smoke.

"Yeah, sure."

Kendall led her to a private balcony. Stella had never been to this part of the club, even with her own notoriety.

"Do you smoke?" Kendall revealed a pack of American Spirit yellow.

"Well," Stella rummaged through her Prada purse. "Not nicotine." She pulled out a joint.

"Need a light?" Kendall asked, moving towards her. Stella put the joint in her mouth, leaning over to Kendall's lighter. She pulled away quickly after, the scene becoming more and more intimate.

This was the same guy that yelled "Fuck the Patriarchy" to paparazzi last year. And he could be her dad. He probably wasn't that old, but he had to be a good ten years older. At least.  She remembered the tabloid photos of him snorting cocaine off of a strippers boobs.  Didn't he have a couple of kids, too?

Stella took a long drag of her joint.

"Can I get a hit?" Kendall stated, and it's as if they're teenagers hiding weed from their parents.

She nodded, handing him the joint.  He didn't look like he was on anything else, so she obliged.  

He took a long drag and looked her up and down.  She felt objectified, but it kind of turned her on.  Kendall probably knew that.  

"I bought a fucking company today."

"What?"

"Me and my siblings.  We bought Pierce."  She kind of knew what he was talking about, based on the Twitter trending page from that morning.  #Roy was third on the page.  

Stella laughed,  "Congrats, Kendall."  She touched his arm, mentally noting to stop drinking and smoking so much.  It was crazy to her, all this.  He casually dropped billions of dollars and goes to the club.  

"If I called a car right now, would you want to uh, go to my place?"

Stella couldn't believe it. Kendall fucking Roy.

"I don't really do that sort of thing, I'm sorry. It's like an image thing, and I'm so young I can't—"

"Of course." He looked genuinely disappointed.

Stella cursed internally as she whispered, "do you want my number?"

"What?"

Stella rolled her eyes. "You heard me."

"Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it again." He smirked.

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 14: Commend

“Uh…hey there, Haurchefant. You’re not mad, right?”

The Lord Commander told her how it took six knights to wrestle him back to his post, keep him from rushing to her side in the face of Shiva. He certainly looked as though he fought off a small militia, what with the ragged hair and the small bruises on his cheeks.

His arms were folded. A stern look fell over his face. This was not a happy man.

“What were you thinking, Dia?!” he exclaimed. This took her aback. For as long as she’d known him, he’d been quite polite, always using a gentle tone of voice with her. To hear him scold her so was…different, to say the least.

“Wagering your very being on a dubious theory which might allow you to enter Iceheart’s lair- knowing full well that she could have sufficient forewarning to complete her ritual to summon Shiva, anyway…? And then- And then- engaging the abomination in mortal combat?!”

“…Chief, that’s a morning warm-up for me.”

“By the Fury, Dia!” He was in no mood for her cavalier attitude towards her heroic actions. “‘Tis the stuff of ballads! A battle for the ages!” He slammed a fist on his desk and continued, “Would that I could have been there to fight by your side!”

“Haurchefant, you would have been tempered!”

“Yet, here I was, forced to wait- condemned to wonder at the fate of a dear friend for a veritable eternity! I would not wish such torture on my most hated enemy…”

The tension on his shoulders started to release, the fire in his words began to dim, and whatever appearance of civility he could muster returned. He let out a long sigh as if to release the anger through his breath, and said while attempting to sound calm, “…but you are here now, and that is what truly matters…”

“Chief…do you need a hug?”

He shot a devastating glare at her, making Alphinaud leave the room before the tempers would flare. “I’m serious!” she assured, “I wish I could have told you that I was going, but the moment sort of just…came together perfectly. Time was of the essence.” He shook his head. “I know. But truly, no reinforcements, Dia?! None whatsoever?!”

“Unless you have another fighter who can resist tempering, it’s hard to ask that of someone.”

“Ser Aymeric couldn’t even think of a contingency plan, should you have fallen?!”

Dia felt the crease of the missive from him in her pocket. She took it from the Temple Knight, who attempted to read it aloud for her, after pointing out to him, “I can read, you know”, and read it through silently before entering the amphitheatre.

“That’s the Scions’ job.”

“Well, what is their contingency plan should you have been mortally wounded? Is there a batallion of blessed champions that secretly lies in wait in the Rising Stones?” he questioned sarcastically.

“No, there isn’t.”

“Then how do they ensure your safety? Surely, they understand that if you go, so too does the future of the realm.”

She hesitated, feeling incredibly obstinate in the face of his challenges, but was ultimately forced to concede to that one with an “I don’t know.”

“There’s nothing that they do to make sure that the Savior of Eorzea can continue to save Eorzea?”

“There’s nothing they can do, I just go in and do what needs to be done.”

“But why?” he asked incredulously, “What good does it do for anyone to leave you as the only one capable of defeating these monstrosities?”

“I don’t know, Haurchefant! Okay?! I don’t know! But I am the only one, and there’s nothing that can be done to change that!” She reached the end of her rope with an argument that should have ended before it even began when she opened her mouth. It was his turn to express shock, his eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. His usually calm and collected dear friend, quick with a joke and happy to help, has put in place an impenetrable defense. She revealed a crack, however, when she took a breath and admitted, “A break would be nice.”

The two of them took a deep breath together to release the tension at the same time.

“What do you acquire from doing this, my friend?” he asked calmly, carefully tiptoeing about the topic to ensure they don’t fall back into hostility. She kept her cool and answered with a soft smile, “Adventure.” She let out a dharp breath from her nose. “I wish I knew why, but…there was always something about exploration that drew me. I love journeying into the unknown, I love seeking new paths…but sometimes, it’s nice to rest and know my surroundings.”

Haurchefant hummed in a tone that indicated both satisfaction and curiosity. “‘Tis interesting to hear your prerogative, Dia. Many take adventurers to be self-serving, glory-seeking ignoramuses.”

“That’s because a solid majority of them are just that.” She shook her head at the notion. “Glory feels rather hollow when you’ve seen just where it lands you. No, I’m an adventurer because there’s much to see and do…but I think I’ve seen enough for a while.”

He flashed his winning smile and assured, “None deserve respite more than you, my friend. Take heart, and enjoy what you have accomplished for now. I apologize if my venting of my anxieties have dampened your victory.”

She returned the smile and replied, “No, it didn’t. Call me weird, but…there’s something refreshing about someone close reminding me that what I do could kill me. Everyone always seems so sure that I’ll emerge victorious.”

‘Was there every any doubt that the Warrior of Light would succeed’, Alphinaud’s words rang in her head.

“There is never a guarantee in battle. I feel young Alphinaud should learn such a concept if he is to lead men.” Haurchefant shook his head and sat back in his chair. “You are indeed blessed as Hydaelyn’s champion, but you remain mortal, with limits. You have escaped the impossible on more than one occasion, but nothing that you’ve survived was incapable of killing you. I would much rather know that if you were in danger, that someone, preferably myself, would be there to do everything they could to protect you.”

She stared to the floor. “You very much are a knight, Chief. You couldn’t have protected me from Shiva.���

“Perhaps not, but it would be remiss of me not to try.” Haurchefant snapped back into reality when he reminded himself of orders he received. “Ah, Ser Aymeric wished to have words with you and Master Alphinaud in private. He awaits us in the Intercessory.”

“Ughhhh, do I have to?”

Haurchefant replied to her groans with laughter in his voice, “Is there something wrong with the notion?”

“I already had to accompany him back to Camp Dragonhead. If he needed to exchange words with me, he could have done so from Whitebrim, but we barely said a word to each other. We didn’t even look at each other. I don’t get it- I saved his people from a primal. Did I do something wrong here?”

Haurchefant knew exactly why the Lord Commander would do such a thing. A conference with the Warrior of Light was one thing, but a personal interaction? No work or other business to buffer? And with such a stoic hero (or so she pretends to be), seemingly larger than life? The man was probably a puddle.

“Perhaps he just wanted Master Alphinaud there to say these words to as well. Pray, go on ahead without me, Dia. Another matter requires my attention, but I shall join you anon.”

“Fine, but hurry up. I don’t want another awkward silence, especially if Alphinaud tries to harangue him into joining the Alliance again.”

“Halone be good, you must stop him if he tries again.”

“The kid’s tongue has a mind of it’s own, I swear. If he tries, maybe I’ll cast Repose on him.” Haurchefant laughed at what he hoped was a joke as she left the office to see for just what he requested privacy.

*************

Would Minfilia yell at me if I kicked Alphinaud in the head, Dia thought. For whatever genius he proclaims to be blessed with, subtlety consistently managed to escape his grasp. That in mind, she was more than a little relieved to understand fully the intention of their dealmakers. All they hid was a desire to keep the Garleans away, a desire she shared personally.

With that done, she followed the young Brave’s Commander out of the intercessory.

“Er, Dia, if I may have a moment…”

Or she would have, had Ser Aymeric not stopped her from doing so.

“I have no idea if there will ever be enough thanks for what you’ve done, but… I would like once more to say it: Thank you, Dia. Your risk was unimaginable, and that you were so willing to do it for a country you barely know… it’s astounding. While we owe the Scions much, to whom we’ll begin to repay by delivering supplies to Revenant’s Toll, I would also like to find some way to repay you personally. Mere words feel insufficient.”

Dia felt unsure what to make of the Lord Commander, but she appreciated the thought.

“Don’t worry about it”, she replied with a soft smile. She nodded to him and turned around to finally return to Revenant’s Toll.

Once she was out of the building, she retrieved the missive from her pocket, and re-read it once more to herself.

Inside the intercessory, Aymeric turned to Haurchefant with a question in mind that the lord of Camp Dragonhead could read with ease with the expression he wore on his face.

“Haurchefant, you’ve grown rather close with her, have you not?”

“As one should expect with one’s dear friends, yes. Why do you ask?” Haurchefant attempted to bury any hint of amusement.

“Have I insulted her? Has she said anything to you?”

He failed to hide it and released a closed-mouth chuckle.

“Ser Aymeric, she asked the same of you!”

His eyes widened in mortification, and his jaw dropped slightly. That he should be perceived as being insulted by someone like her, as if he had the nerve, felt unsettling.

“I…”

“She mentioned the return trip to Camp Dragonhead was… not the most pleasant of exchanges, to put it nicely. Now, Dia tends to do more than say, so it can be hard to interact; I cannot fault you for struggling to communicate. She does take some time to warm up, but with all due respect, Ser Aymeric, you must offer the hearth. I did so, and now, I couldn’t ask for a better friend and ally. You might find the same results, and clear up any misunderstandings, an important step if you truly wish to express personal gratitude.”

Aymeric kept his gaze to the floor. “Thank you for your candor, Haurchefant.” Soon after, he turned and exited the Intercessory alongside Lucia.

Haurchefant stayed behind to think. Perhaps it would be best to refrain from further intercession; ‘tis so amusing to watch Aymeric like this, he mused.

[barbaracleboy]

Can’t Come Back

Another kinda angsty blurb thing. I dunno, I want to write and draw comedy most of the time but sometimes the odd sad idea pops into my old noodle. Also, Spoilers for Leif’s Request.

Leif woke up, and he was laying in some grass, though that was the extent of his knowledge on his location.

Leif: Kabbu!? Vi!? Chompy!?

Leif looked around desperately for his team, but found them nowhere. Something he did find, however, was a small pond close to him. He briefly saw something red in the pond as he scanned the area, but he snapped his attention back to it upon realizing what he might have just seen.

Leif looked into the pond, and noticed the strangest thing in his reflection: his eyes were brown, rather than the blank white he’d known them to be for so long. What’s more, his wings and carapace were a warm, wood-like red, instead of a cool, icy blue. Leif just stared at his reflection for a while, to the point you’d be forgiven for thinking he was some sort of narcissist. Leif didn’t quite feel love for himself as he stared, though. Rather, he felt a sort of peculiar mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity, like he had come across a long lost twin.

Leif: W-what?...We...

With too many thoughts going through his head Leif just looks around the area again, the thoughts of his team being much less prominent now: instead, Leif was just wondering what the hell happened to him. While looking around Leif noticed something else familiar: he saw the Anthill Palace. He was close to the Ant Kingdom. Now Leif wondered about something else...

Leif ran to the Ant Kingdom Plaza and dashed through, past various bugs, many of which looked to him with pure shock. He didn’t greet any of them, he didn’t stop to answer their questions. One bug in particular was on his mind, and he needed to make sure if she was there. Leif ran until he reached a quaint wooden house. It was in the same spot he remembered Muze’s home being, but he knew exactly who this home belonged to.

Leif: I’m home...

With no hesitation this time, Leif knocked on the door of the house. A voice responded, but it didn’t sound willing to open.

???: I-I’m sorry, can you please come back later?

Leif has heard this voice before. He knew exactly who it belonged to. Even harder, Leif knocked on the door.

???: Please, I asked you to come back later...

Leif was feeling saddened, but he refused to leave. Once more he knocked on the door, and this time heard it opening.

Pink Moth: Listen, jackass, I said-

It was Muse. Leif didn’t think he’d ever see her again, but he knew it was her. It was Muse, his wife...a great, powerful Moth to whom he was closer than any other bug. It looked just like her, and her attitude when opening the door was just as rude as how he saw her half the time. The other half she was cheerful, of course, but somehow he found-

Muse kneed Leif in the groin and yanked his face towards hers by his fluff.

Muse: WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU!?!?!?!?!

Leif: (Weakly) It is so nice to see you again...

Muse: THAT WASN’T WHAT I ASKED, MOTHERFUCKER, IF YOU COULD HAVE JUST FUCKING COME HOME WHY DIDN’T YOU!?!?!? I THOUGHT YOU DIED!!!!!!!

Leif: Me too...

Muse: WHAT!?!

Leif: Forgive me, your majesty, but may I come inside, get something to eat or drink? Maybe then I can, er, attempt to explain things.

Muse almost couldn’t believe it: not just that Leif was alive, but that he had the gall to crack jokes despite her concern. She wasn’t too shocked, though: she knew him pretty well. Still gripping Leif’s neck fluff, Muse pulled him into the house as he closed the door behind them.

Muse forced her husband into a nearby chair before she looked into his eyes with a fiery intensity.

Muse: When me and Rebecca left Snakemouth, we last saw you cornered by a Spider, just about dead. Why are you here now?

Leif: Listen, I genuinely don’t know why.

Muse: The hell kind of explanation is that!?

Leif: It is so, so complicated of a story, I’m not sure I can really get through it all.

Muse: You’d better try, or else-

Leif: Or else what, you’ll beat me up? You really think I’d take that as a punishment?

Muse just stood there for a moment, trembling with rage. After a few moments tears began to flow from her eyes and her fury-filled expression turned to one of relief. She almost tackled Leif and gave him the sweetest hug she ever had, unusually careful and light.

Muse: I-I missed the crap you’d spew so much...

Leif was happy to be so close to Muse again. She was crying, but that was fine. They were together again, and he knew deep down, that they could do great things together...He knew that he should get to explaining his situation soon, it could make things easier...

The two Moths stopped when they heard the sound of a nearby hungry larva. They were so focused on each other that Muse had forgotten of it, and Leif had failed to notice.

Leif: Hey, is that ours?

Muse:...

Leif:...When’d you have him?

Muse:...I laid his egg shortly before we left for Snakemouth...

Leif: What? Why didn’t you say anything?

Muse: I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to come back from our mission and...

Suddenly, Muse was angry once more. As she picked up her baby she stared daggers at Leif.

Muse: Why did you leave us?

Leif: Wha-I-I didn’t try to! Things just...happened...it’s funny, isn’t it? How things just kind of happen? Of all the great things that happen, often due to mistakes?

Muse: I didn’t ask for philosophy, Leif.

Leif: Heh, we...I-I know.

Leif looked to his and Muse’s child. It was small, but it was to be a Moth one day. What great potential it has...what...

Leif was still feeling odd. His mind was still racing, he still had so many thoughts. Before Muse could ask what in the world he meant by “We”, the two of them heard another bug coming down the stairs.

Muse: Rebecca? I thought you were sleeping?

Rebecca: Yeah, but I heard you yell...Leif?

Leif: Rebecca...

Leif stared at her for a moment. The Ant he had known for a while as short, old, and blissful was now looking taller, younger, and more stern. She even had a belt and scabbard around her waist, this Rebecca was clearly more active than the one he had become accustomed to. One trait remained between the two forms he knew her in, though...

Leif: Your arm...

Rebecca looked to her missing limb. The wound was still relatively fresh. It still hurt. Leif knew that fighting was harder for her now...

Rebecca: Mm. I don’t really care, I’d rather lose a limb that I liked than a whole bug...

Rebecca looked to Muse a moment, the two of them sharing concern.

Rebecca:...Speaking of which...(Looks to Leif) What happened? We all presumed you were dead.

Leif: All?

Rebecca: You think the Queen could send a scouting party, have only two-thirds of them come back, and nobody would care? Guard around Snakemouth was expanded heavily afterwards, it was made completely off-limits to anybody without explicit permission from the Queen...And she personally held a funeral for you...

Leif didn’t realize just how much of an effect his disappearance had. Clearly the bugs around here liked him, cared for him...they probably trusted him...Leif began to feel a bit of uneasiness inside of himself, but he knew it was fine. It was normal. It was what he was made for...

Leif: Ha...can’t believe you guys all cared for me so much...I’m so lucky to have made it back.

Muse: We’re lucky that you made it back, Leif.

Rebecca: You’re gonna be a big deal, I can tell: You beat death!

Leif: We didn’t do it alone, Rebecca...

Muse: You said “We” again, what’s wrong with you?

Leif:...There’s nothing wrong with us, love...let us show you what this pathetic, insectoid body has been blessed with...

Before Muse and Rebecca could question Leif’s strange words, he turned to them...and pale white stalks started bursting out of him, all over him. Muse clutched her larva hard and fell to the floor, screaming as her beloved seemingly died before her eyes once more.

Leif: This is good, Muse...we now have such power, such life...let us share it with you...

Leif began walking towards Muse, his stalks squirming all around, but before he could get very close Rebecca unsheathed her blade and swung at him...

Leif awoke with a shout, and was left panting and sweating as he collected his thoughts. He looked to his hands and found them to be blue, as usual...

His teammates were awake as well, no doubt because of him. As Chompy tried getting up to Leif, full of concern, Vi just grumbled at him.

Vi: Ughhhh, what the hell’s wrong with you?

Leif: W-we’re sorry...just had a bad dream...

Kabbu: Would you like to talk about it? Mayhaps that can help you feel better?

Leif:...Look, i-it’s fine. We don’t need to talk, it’s...nothing we haven’t said before

Vi: Then why’d you have to wake me up, dummy?

Kabbu: Vi!

Vi: Ugh...look, Leif. You’re fine. I know you’re like, all weird. I don’t really understand it that much, but worrying so much about stuff none of us can control won’t make you not weird, and it obviously won’t make you feel good either. The life you got now is all special and junk, rather than crying over stuff from the past and thinking “what if this, what if that???”, just think about what you know you can do. Think about what you’re gonna try to do, think about the good stuff you did, and think about all the stuff you can do things about. You can make your new life good and yours, so do it.

Kabbu:...

Leif:...

Vi: Did that help?

Leif:...A little, probably. Thanks.

Vi: Yeah, whatever, I’m going back to sleep, wake me again and I’ll punch you.

Kabbu: (Sigh) I pray you rest easy, friend.

Leif: Thanks, Kabbu.

Chompy has now successfully reached Leif’s bunk, and she rubs her head all over his fluff. Leif chuckles a bit before petting her a little.

Leif: Thank you too, girl...

Chompy curls up next to Leif and gets to sleeping herself. Leif lays in his bed for a moment, his head yet again racing with thoughts. He thinks about his dream, Vi’s words, what he is...It’s all so complicated, but maybe Vi’s (perhaps overly simple ) talk could be what he needed? Vi’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer but she isn’t the dullest either...Whatever the case, Leif slowly shuts his eyes and drifts back to sleep...

[maybe-your-left]

Cowboy Blues: Rhinestone Cowboy

Here is a link to my Masterlist with all the WIP I have! 

Clyde wasted no time making you cum after you screamed at the top of your lungs when Mellie hung up. Rolling off of him onto the floor you blew into the bathroom. Showering away the tears, and other bodily fluids that stained your body. You heard the bed creak and footsteps leading to the bathroom. 

“Y’okay sunshine?” Clyde spoke from behind the shower doors. 

You couldn’t respond. You were so upset with yourself, you just needed to wash away the sins and go face Mellie with a somewhat clear conscience. The door cracked slightly and Clyde peered inside, concern coloring his face. 

“Do y’ want me t’ wait outside?” 

“No, I just, I don’t,” you hiccuped between breaths, “Just get in dammit.” 

He quickly slipped in and positioned himself behind you and tried to get under the water to clean his face and hand from your juices. 

“I just feel shitty, not about what we did, just that I forgot about her…” 

“I know, I forgot too, y’ don’ have t’ be so harsh on yerself.” 

“Ughhhh,” you let out and laid your head against Clydes’ broad chest. “I’m not mad at you, I just wish Mellie wasn’t mad at me.” 

“She’ll get over it, don’ worry.” He kissed the top of your head and wrapped his arms around you, his hand tracing up and down your spine. You looked up at him and placed a kiss on his beard. 

“Thank you,” you sighed, “Now let’s wash off and get going.”

-----

The ride to Duck Tape was quick, Clyde told you to follow him to the salon since you had never been before. You decided to drive in silence, wrecking your brain trying to figure out how to casually talk about your phone conversation. Had she really heard Clyde? Was she just messing with you? Clyde was sure Mellie would get over it, in fact, he said she was rooting for the two of you and was one of the masterminds behind getting you to the bar. So it was kind of her fault you ended up together. No like she forced you to ride his beautiful face but come on there was room to share the blame. 

The both of you pulled into the salon and you shut off your car and made it out as slowly as possible. You were dragging your feet to the front door, even though Clyde was far enough in front to hold the door open you semi wished he had gone inside by himself. 

Mellie was sitting in a salon chair, arms crossed, legs crossed, tapping her heel away on the tile. She stared at the two of you with unforgiving eyes, it felt like she was staring into your soul. 

“Hey Mellie, we made it…” you stuttered. 

“I take it y’all had a nice morning?” her eyes narrowed at the both of you. 

Gulping you looked at Clyde who was trying his hardest not to make eye contact with his sister. You were on your own. 

“I’m really so-“

Mellie burst out in laughter. 

“You two look so damn guilty!” She started holding her sides and tried to calm herself down but burst into another fit of giggles when Clyde turned around and walked outside. 

“I can’t even believe you answered your phone!” she motioned out to Clyde, “while doing THAT, with Clyde!” 

“Mellie I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting-“ you tried to explain yourself but found her laughter infectious. You started laughing and Mellie ran over to you and took you in a hug. 

“Now I know you’re sorry, just don’t make me go through that again, please.” 

“I won't, I promise!” 

You felt so relieved. You thought she was mad at you, but really she was so tickled by how stupid you were and clearly how horny you were to just answer the phone during a moment like that. She explained that her husband had always tried to do shit like that when she was on the phone but she never let him get away with it. You seemed to have changed her mind though. 

After a few minutes chatting about your evening, leaving out spicy bits for Clyde's benefit, you went outside to wrangle in Clyde. 

“You can come in now, she's not mad at us,” walking over to him sitting on the hood of his car. 

“I know she ain’t,” he sighed “it’s embarrassin’ though, I don’ want her thinkin’ of me like that.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up, now let’s get our hair cut and just move on with our day, okay?” 

Clyde grumbled as you pulled him up by his hands. Following you back inside Mellie did Clyde's hair first, seeming to try and get him to relax. You tried to strike up a conversation with Mellie since he was in no mood. 

“So Mellie, who is your husband?” you couldn’t remember if she had told you last night or not so it seemed like a good starting point.

“Oh his name's Joe Bang, we’ve been together for a couple years.” 

“How’d you two meet?” 

Mellie paused and shared a weird look with Clyde before answering. 

“Um I met him in 2017, he and Clyde were in prison-“ 

“Mellie,” Clyde growled at her. 

Prison? Clyde was in prison? This was news… 

“Wait what? Clyde, you were in prison?” you stared at him dumbfounded. How long was he in prison, why would Mellie marry a convict that Clyde met? Why did this never come up!? 

“Anyway, I started seein’ Joe after he got out and we got married about a year ago.”

“Oh okay… well, that’s nice,” you were trying to play off the bombshell that she dropped. 

Clyde's hair was finished in silence, as the two of you switched seats he hovered over you. 

“Sunshine, I gotta head home n’ take care of the horses n’ Leroy. I’ll be at the bar if y’ what t’ stop by.” 

“Okay, I’ll see you later?” offering him a smile in hopes he would tell you about the ‘prison’ thing at some point. Leaning down he kissed your forehead before walking out. 

—��� 

Clyde did not want to leave yet. He was so worried about Mellie and (Y/N) being alone together. There were so many things they could talk about in his absence. He wasn’t sure how the salon trip was going to go but he did not expect it turning out like that. He wasn’t expecting Mellie to start laughing at them when they came in, nor was he expecting her to bring up his time at Monroe.

He wasn’t ready to tell (Y/N) bout that yet, he was scared she would run away. He didn’t want her thinkin’ he was a criminal, he wasn’, he just didn’ drive ‘legally’ and he may have robbed a speedway. 

No big deal right? 

Right? 

It wasn’ long before Clyde made it home. He was greeted by Leroy at the front door who was so happy to see him. He had Earl come by and give him his medicine last night, and he was sure he hadn’t fed him enough. 

“Come on in Leroy, let’s get y’ some late breakfast.” 

Clyde was a good pet owner. He didn’ feed Leroy any artificial shit that clogged their arteries. He was a firm believer in givin’ dogs natural foods. So he was spoiled. Spoiled rotten, every mornin’ Clyde would make Leroy some bacon n eggs and they’d sit together before seein’ the horses. It wasn’ that Clyde meant to overfeed him, he just would beg him if he didn’ share his food and he couldn’ stand his puppy eyes. 

Clyde took the same care with feeding out to the horses, making sure that they were well fed with the best oats and hay that money could buy. Since he took them to shows he wanted to make sure their coats were shiny and they were healthy weights all year round. 

The silence around the barn calmed him, he had had a rough go of things as of late. Ever since meetin’ (Y/N), his usual routines were plagued with emptiness. He had felt it the day he met her and couldn’ shake the feelin’ that he was missin’ out on her company. 

She had such a warmth to her, genuine and caring. Albeit clumsy and a lil stubborn but she seemed to like him which in theory should’ve been enough. But no. 

It wasn’ enough. 

Every time Clyde was around (Y/N) he felt like he couldn’ get enough. He needed to show her how he felt, but now he was worried that she would be scared away from him. 

Makin’ his way back to the house he heard a beep from the answering machine. A message? Must’ve just missed the call… 

“Hey Clyde, it’s (Y/N). I just got done with my hair and was hopin’ we could talk and stuff. Call me back?” 

Shit. 

Clyde quickly grabbed the phone and began dialin’ (Y/N)’s number. He was prepared for the worst, she would want him to leave her alone after this mornin’. Clearly Mellie had told her about his sentencin’ and now she thinks he’s a know good criminal. He held his breath until the phone picked up. 

“Hello, this is (Y/N).”

“Hi, it’s Clyde,” he cleared his throat, “M’ sorry I missed yer call.”

“Oh, Hi Clyde!” 

“What did y’ want t’ talk about?”

A pause. 

“Well I just,” (Y/N) let out a long breath, this was it, “I just wanted to talk about us…I just don’t feel comfortable continuing-”

Clyde took a deep breath, “Ya I know darlin’, M sorry fer puttin’ y’ in those situations. I’ll let y’ be-”

“Clyde, will you let me finish?”

“O’course, sorry.” 

“I don’t feel comfortable continuing without us being…” another pause, “exclusive?”

Clyde dropped the phone. He was so sure she was goin’ to call and tell him to take a hike but now? Now she was tellin’ HIM, that she wanted to be exclusive! He scrambled and picked the phone up and (Y/N) didn’ seem to notice he was absent since she was still prattlin’ on ‘bout their situation. 

“Would y’ like t’ do horseback ridin’ Saturday?” he interrupted her word vomit. 

“Uh, well yes, but that doesn’t answer my earlier-”

“M’ not gonna ask y’ on the phone t’ be my girl, so jus’ be ready fer Saturday.” 

“Okay, I’ll see you Saturday, bye Clyde.”

“Bye Sunshine.”

-----

You hung up the phone after Clyde said goodbye and nearly screamed into your pillow. You couldn’t believe Clyde was taking you horseback riding, it had been years since you rode one. Not since your days back in Montana for vet school. You didn’t even own riding clothes. You would have to go shopping, maybe Mellie would go with you and get you all set up before Saturday. 

It was a whole week away so you had time to prep, you were so relieved that Clyde had asked you out. It wasn’t a traditional date but Clyde wasn’t really a traditional guy you were finding out. Mellie had told you all about him after he left the salon. 

About how back in high school he was on the rodeo team and rode broncos at the fairs, Jimmy their oldest brother apparently was the football star so Clyde had tried to make himself someone different. Mellie also told you about him going overseas to Iraq. You didn’t want to pry Clyde about his arm but you had noticed his tattoo while the two of you were intimate and obviously had to ask someone. Apparently Clyde was a Green Beret in the Army for two tours before he was discharged due to the bomb blowing his lower forearm off. You couldn’t believe that he still was so independent. That type of injury had to have been so traumatic, but it was clear he took comfort in the animals and people he surrounded himself in. 

Walking over to your closet you ripped through half your clothes to try and find an appropriate outfit for riding. What was Clyde planning? Were you just doing a day ride, or were you doing an overnight camping trip? You should’ve asked more questions. Whipping through dozens of drawers of clothes you found nothing. Nothing that screamed ‘please make me your girlfriend’ with subtle tones of ‘fuck me in the bushes’. 

You wasted about ten minutes before caving and calling Mellie, telling her all about Clydes ‘plan’ to take you riding after you pushed about your relationship. Mellie squealed when she heard that Clyde was taking you on a ride and insisted on just the place to go shopping tomorrow for your outfit. 

——

Monday morning had come quickly and you were eager to get done so you could meet Mellie at the salon. You had no clue what to buy but you had been browsing online at boots and already had a few in mind. 

You also were meant to stop and grab some intimate wear in case things got spicy with Clyde while on the ride. 

Patients were coming in left and right, you barely had time to breathe between rooms. Between the vaccines and frantic pet owners coming in because their animals were overheating in the West Virginian heat, you couldn’t catch a break. 

Finally, 2 o’clock rolled by and you could check your phone and eat your lunch before closing in an hour. Plopping down in your office you started inhaling food and scrolled through your notifications. Texts and phone calls from patients were all over along with Snapchat’s from your old college friends, but one text caught your eye. 

It was an unknown number. 

Hi Sunshine, can I ask you a question? 

Must be Clyde, he’s the only one that calls you that. 

Of course, what’s up? 

Setting your phone down to gather your stuff to head to Mellies, it buzzed again. 

Are you allergic to anything? 

What? What could he possibly be asking about your allergies for? 

TAGLIST: @finn-ray-nal-beads​ @morby​ @clumsycopy​ @desiraypark​ @kirah36​ @onlykyloscenes

[thebestestboyo]

How Remus Started Working For Patton: Part Three

Masterpost

Tw: eating? I mean it mentions fries/Remus being Remus/Swearing/Panic attack

After these nights out, Remus usually enjoyed the feeling of being in control of his body. But this time, all he felt was sore. He had forgot all the stuff he did before he decided to flirt with a gang member. Several of which left bruises.

"I knew I shouldn't have picked a fight with that seagull."

"Which one is it that you hate again?" Virgil piped up from his spot on the couch, one of his earbuds out to listen for Remus. Ree couldn't see much of his face from how his dark bangs covered his eyes, the roots beginning to return to their natural blonde.

"That one with the black markings on it's back. It has a personal vendetta against me, I can FEEL IT."

"Or maybe you just keep provoking it? I keep telling you to stop trying to steal it's french fries, it's unsanitary, and, the french fries are cold and those are gross."

"But cold french fries are my favoriteeeeee."

"Then get some that aren't from a deranged seagull?"

"Ugh. That's no challenge though!" He hopped over the back of the couch, collapsing over Virg's legs. "I need to feel the rush of running away from an angry flock! Natural instincts! We as humans were made to hunt!"

"Not in this day and age. Species develop over time, and as far as I can remember, you can get french fries at any fast food joint." It was clear Virgil was humoring him, prodding at his face. "Though, I suppose it's better than you chasing after people for their french fries. I remember you used to do that when we were younger."

"Ugh, I would, but I got away with so much more things when I was small. Nowadays it's less like 'oh a rambunctious boy!' and more like 'what are you doing??? Why are you wearing a toga covered in marmalade and trying to take my fries?'"

Snickering, Virgil merely tweaked Remus's nose, before turning serious. Ree had expected this coming, it wasn't like Virg to let things go that easily. "As much as I love discussing how much of a gremlin you are, I still wanna talk to you about last night."

"Ughhhh but we were having such a nice timeeeeee."

"Remus."

"Fine. Its not like we can change anything about it! It already happened! And I got this weird-ass earring from it which may have brought me into a cult or whatever. And now I have to wear a different earring in the new piercing and clean it because otherwise will get infected!"

"..." Virgil merely raised an eyebrow, not amused at Remus's usual shenanigans.

"Okay I know I'm not taking this seriously, but come on. You have piercings. You know how new piercings are."

"This is serious though! What if they're planning to kidnap you or something??? What do we do then??"

This whole matter was clearly bothering him, and when Virgil got too stressed, it didn't exactly do wonders for his mental health.

"Hey. Its gonna be alright. Let's just..." Remus wracked his brain for something that might soothe him, finally coming upon a phrase he remembered Logan using when he was stuck on one of his experiments. "Think things through logically?"

Surprisingly, it did not end in Remus's ass getting kicked, and instead on a quiet Virgil, who simply nodded as he messed with his earbuds, trying to keep calm.

"So. What do we know."

"We know that these are dangerous people who know where we live."

"Ok, and we also know one of them is an absolute candied vescular organ!"

"You don't know for a fact that they're a sweetheart Remus." He wasn't even thrown off by Ree calling it that, clearly more anxious than he originally thought.

"I do! He was very..." Remus tried to think back to some of the phrases Roman used, since he couldn't use his own and have it sound good. "Charming. If you will."

"Oh boy, this gang member must be something if he has you borrowing words."

"Hey! I can use words like charming! It's not borrowing!"

"Uh huh sure. Next you'll be saying-"

He was cut off by the buzzing of their apartment's old doorbell, an outdated thing that sounded like drunk and angry hornets. Virgil absolutely hated it, resorting to knocking if he ever got locked out, while Remus delighted in it, annoying the other with the horrid sound whenever he came home.

"Who the fuck could that be?" Curious, Virgil gently pushed Remus off of him, going up to the door and attempting to see through the peephole, even though the glass was cloudy and cracked.

Ree saw him begin to fuss with his headphone wires, mouth pursing as he began to overthink who was on the other side. This always happened when they weren't expecting someone, and even when they were, it wasn't much better unless Remus got up and checked whoever it was first.

"Don't worry Virgy! I'll get the door."

"Oh thank god."

Unlatching the lock, he made sure to have Virgil move out of the way, joking that 'if you're standing right behind it, I might make your body into a pancake!' He was expecting their landlord, or perhaps a neighbor, and maybe even Logan or his brother, though that was doubtful. What he most certainly didn't expect, was-

"Patton?"

Pat was standing beside...someone? He wasn't exactly sure, but this guy was pretty tall, even considering Remus's own height. Tall, a little lanky, but there was something in Ree's instincts that told him that he'd lose to this guy in a fight, not even including that splotchy looking scar on his face.

But back to Patton, why was he here?

"Sorry for the sudden visit Remus, I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay after last night." Pat was fiddling with his hands as he spoke, delicate fingers picking at stray pieces of lint or something.

"Oh! Yeah, I had a bit of a hangover earlier, but otherwise I'm as right as a guy without his left hand!"

Oops. Tall dude was looking a little more sour at that. Maybe he should-

"Ha! Is it because he's got nothing left?" Patton giggled, cheeks flushing a little at his clever pun.

Ok, scratch that, whatever keeps Pat smiling was worth whatever that other guy was cooking up. To his surprise though, tall bro seemed pleased, glancing between them.

"Remus...." Virgil called from inside, voice shaking. That was a bad sign.

As much as he wanted to figure out the mystery man, and to talk with Pat, he knew that if he left Virgil alone right now, it wouldn't be good. Leaving the door open for the other two, he turned to see Virgil attempting to ground himself at the thought of these two strangers.

"Hey. Hey tarantula. Its all cool. Is touch good right now?"

A nod was the only response he got, which was better than nothing. Remus lifted Virgil up into his arms, letting him rest his head on his chest to hear his heartbeat.

"Can you try and match my breathing? 4-7-8 right?"

Another nod, and the clench of Virgil holding onto Remus's wrist.

It took a while, but eventually Virgil was calm enough to mumble to be let down from Remus's arms. Vee clearly wanted to rest after that, so he took him to his room, letting him lie down on the mattress before he went back to the other two, who he had forgotten to take care of beforehand.

"I had to take care of him." He wasn't about to apologise for watching after Vee, even if the big guy expected him to. "How about we talk outside? I wanna let him get some quiet after that."

Patton seemed stunned at this stark change, but nodded, and let Remus lock up the apartment before leading them down to the complex's garden. The other one didn't say anything, just wordlessly followed after.

When they were finally settled down in the outside seats, Patton burst out immediately. "I'm so sorry! We didn't mean to make your friend scared!"

"He'll be ok. He's never been especially good with new people. You're okay though Pat and...you are?"

Turning his head to glance over at the other guy, he was surprised to find that his eyes were different colors, one more of a dark brown, and the other yellow.

"Demetrius. But you know me as Dee."

"Ohhhhh you're that guy! That guy who lifted me!"

He seemed surprised that Remus remembered him, or maybe just that he wasn't pointing out the obvious here, that because of Dee and Pat, Remus was apperantly part of their gang.

"Yes, I am...that guy."

Patton stopped fussing with his overalls to look over at Dee, perking up at that answer. Did he even know how cute he was?? Sure, Virgil had said that he and this Dee guy were part of a gang, but he did not have the rights to be so impossibly pretty.

"You're probably wondering why you now have a tag in your ear, am I correct?" Dee cut into Remus's thoughts with his voice, stern.

"I assumed it wasn't just a kink thing." Winking at him, Ree leaned back against his chair, legs propped up on the table.

"No, it was not a 'kink thing.' It was to give you clearance into our home of sorts. Since Patton clearly-"

Remus couldn't tell exactly, but he though he saw Patton jabbed his arm into Dee's side? Or something?

"-wanted to talk to you more."

"Oh! Alright. I have no idea where you live."

"In hindsight, we should have told you about it. But first-" Dee pulled down the collar of his shirt, showing the beginning of a tattoo. An anaconda, wrapping around his neck and disappearing into his shirt. "-I assume you know who we are."

"Dee! That really isn't necessary!" Patton frowned, pinching at Dee's cheek like a mother would to a naughty child.

"We need to make sure he doesn't tell anyone!"

Rolling his eyes, Pat leaned over the small table, clasping Remus's hands in his. "We're not exactly on the police's good side you could say. We'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell them where we live?"

Was he making puppy eyes? And, were those sparkles on his cheeks or was Remus just seeing things??? He couldn't tell, the image of dissapointing Patton was too much for him either way. "Yeah, yeah sure."

"Wonderful!!!"

The sight of his smile was dizzying, god it felt more intoxicating than the strongest drug. Was this that heaven Roman was always going off about?

Dee cleared his throat, throwing Ree off again. How many times was he gonna interrupt his inner monologues??? "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to hurry this moment up. I have a meeting later, and watching you two stare into each other's eyes isn't the best use of my time."

"Dee!"

"Not much of a voyager huh?" Remus wasted no time clearing the air, attempting to ignore the way his own face was beginning to turn red.

"Considering it's my brother, no."

While both him and Virgil had confirmed it, it was difficult for Remus to accept it. There was a couple similarities, sure, the way that their jaws sloped into soft lines, their hands, both worn with use, and their curly brown hair. But the glint in their eyes was different, not to mention the scars that seemed to line Dee more frequently than Pat, at least from what Remus could see.

"Can I grab my phone?"

"...grab your roommate too."

"What?"

"So he knows where you are."

"I'll see if he's okay, but it's not a guarantee."

Surprisingly, Virgil was already calm enough to answer Remus. "What the fuck would they want with me???"

"The big guy, Dee, said it's so you know where I am. I guess they'll want to suck out our brains together!"

"...as if they'd get anything from you. Your head is empty."

It was surprising that Virgil didn't fight about it, by his reaction earlier, Ree was almost certain that he wouldn't come.

The four met back up downstairs, Patton already chatting up a storm with Remus, leaving Virgil and Dee walking beside each other.

"What do you want with Remus?" Hushed, Virgil watched his friend and...Patton, walking ahead, the two already gushing to each other about who knows what.

"Oh I want nothing with Remus. My brother on the other hand has taken a liking to him."

"And that's enough to straight up make him part of your gang???"

Virgil couldn't believe this guy. Who the fuck does that??? Shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket, he continued staring ahead, not wanting to have to look at him.

"Well, I'd like to see you try and resist him. He can be very...persuasive."

"Oh am I gonna have to worry about him threatening me too?"

Demetrius (he felt weird thinking of him with the informal title of 'Dee,' when he already hated this guy's guts) seemed to bristle at that, and from the corner of his eye Virgil could tell he was glaring at him.

"Patton would never threaten someone!"

"Listen, considering your guys' jobs, I wouldn't be surprised if he did."

"Well if you're such a smart-ass, then why did you come along?"

"To make sure my friend didn't turn up on the news by the end of the day, why else?"

Demetrius shrugged off his leather jacket as they all walked, probably due to the afternoon heat. Virgil snuck a look over at him, about to make fun of him before he noticed that Oh Lord He Was Fit. He looked so lanky before though??? Where did those arms come from???

Demetrius didn't seem to notice Virgil's stare, or if he did, he ignored it, tying the jacket around his waist. "I doubt he'd be dead. You on the other hand, would not fare well under the gang."

"Oh you think I'd be useless???"

"No, just your pretty-boy ass would get torn to shreds."

"Oh so now you're saying I'm pretty." It was mocking, but he couldn't help a twinge of curiosity. Demetrius was handsome after all, even if he was a gang leader. But that was no excuse for him to fantasize! He probably killed people!

"Wha- no!!!"

"Mmhm sure."

The two continued bickering behind Patton and Remus's backs, the odd group traversing the city until they reached...well...home.

It certainly was going to be interesting...

[pochijaser1978-blog]

Captain Fitz Roy offered to take any three of them on board, and all seemed determined to be of the three. It was long before we could clear the boat; at last we got on board with our three giants, who dined with the Captain, and behaved quite like gentlemen, helping themselves with knives, forks, and spoons: nothing was so much relished as sugar. This tribe has had so much communication with sealers and whalers that most of the men can speak a little English and Spanish; and they are half civilized, and proportionally demoralized.. Couldn't agree w this more. For the most part I go for a pretty full coverage glam look every single 장수출장안마 day, which apparently is bad and wrong and 장수출장안마 cancelled till the end of time. Sam made that video about "doing my makeup with techniques I hate" and everyone went insane saying how the beauty community needed that and blah blah. I been trying to seriously build a butt for about two years now, ever since we bought our house and a weight bench and set of weights. I tried a couple of different programs to no avail, ended up doing a ton of research (even though I knew that eating was important), figuring out my macros, and jacked up my protein intake. I don really track much except protein (because I know I eat enough fat and carbs), and did start to see some progress with a new program, but I got really bored of it and designed my own. You need to get familiar with warping full tracks in the first place. I usually use complex warping mode, this allows you to play tracks out of their original tempo without sounding awkward. When you get into the midi mapping mode you can see the play button under the tracks, you can map it for one of the pads on your controller, same thing with the stop clip button. I apologize in advance bc I knowwww this is the most annoying type of question y'all read on here. (Ughhhh I hate I'm thattt person rn) I honestly haven't had much time to catch up and read the sub with so much on my plate atm. No excuse but the honest truth. I really don wanna move back in with my parents. I really want to know how to get myself back together and become a real adult. Would you give me some advice?. The texture is more gel like and less like a moisturizer. I would gladly use this in the summer as I think it wasn overly drying and my oily skin didn feel like it was being clogged with a moisturizer (if that makes sense). That slight sunscreen scent is almost nonexistent with this sunscreen. 3. How can you be confined by an outline? If you wanted to write a different story, then you can just modify the outline to accommodate the new idea. I find that most of my meandering ideas could have been put in the outline in a better way, rather than just extemporaneously throwing them into the menagerie.. ELF Flawless Finish Foundation in Porcelain: Honestly, this isn that bad. It definitely full coverage and requires some skin prep (which is fine because I prep my skin anyway). It can look heavy or cakey if you not careful and if you rush. As each day goes by, I wondering if I actually make it through the end of May. Maybe end of April. Ugh.. I can talk myself out of stuff, even on sale, so easily. Do I need it? What else could I use this money on? I don need anymore makeup. Etc. It basically a toner; if you turn the bottle upside down the product just falls out in big drops. Unless you did the 7 skin method with this, you never get 1/4 teaspoon of it onto your face. Also, there a gritty texture to the product, probably from the "sebum cut pink powder.".

[lastoneout]

Darling, Hold My Hand

Chapter 1: Go Weave A Basket

Rating: G

Ship: Poppy/Branch (Broppy, Boppy)

Fic Summary: Pre-movie AU where Poppy falls for Branch and decides to do something about it. An exploration of how Grey!Branch and Poppy would make a relationship work.

A03

Poppy didn't remember when she started having feelings for Branch. Honestly, he was the last person in the world she imagined falling for, but somewhere between chasing him around trying to cheer him up and watching him from a distance catching those rare glimpses into what she figured was his true nature, she fell. And she fell hard.

It was one of those fleeting moments that she realized it. She was nearly nineteen, laughing with her friends after another intricate song and dance number, when she spotted him. He was standing in the distance, almost hidden behind a mushroom, staring at them with that odd, cryptic look. She gave him a small smile and waved, and for once he waved back. Then, as if startled by his own actions, a blush bloomed across his face and he turned, trudging back into the woods.

It hit her all at once. The smiles, the hidden glances and hesitant waves and oh goodness--she liked him. She liked him a lot.

Trolls were very straightforward creatures. Concepts like lies and sarcasm were not unheard of, but certainly weren't normal. So when one person liked another they always admitted it outright. There was no point in hiding it, and sure it didn't always work out, but after a while the troll in question would get over it and not let awkwardness come between them and their former crush.

But Poppy wasn't so confident. Had it been anyone else she would have gone and just told them, but this was Branch. And Branch...was different. Very different. She had no idea how he would react. Would he feel the same? Would he get mad and yell? Tell her to stop being stupid and to leave him alone?

And what if he did feel the same...what then? How would her friends react? He surely wouldn't suddenly want to go to parties and sing, and she was mostly fine with that. Branch was Branch, she liked him and would try to respect what he wanted. But her friends, her dad, the village...what would they say?

She worried over it for a whole week before she decided that damn the consequences she just had to tell him. It was the right thing to do, and sitting on the feelings was driving her up a wall. So the next day she got up, squared her shoulders, and marched off into the forest to find him.

The walk was blessedly short, giving her no time to second guess herself, but when she found him sitting in the shade just outside his bunker she felt her heart give an involuntary leap. She swallowed and tried to calm herself before walking up to him.

“Hey Branch!” She called. He visibly tensed, before sighing and looking up at her.

“What do you want, Poppy?”

She froze, this was it. Just breathe, be honest, and tell him. Easy as pie. “I...” Suddenly the words grew heavy on her tongue and she felt the panic rise again. “I...um...”

“Well?” He asked, clearly annoyed.

“Um...nothing...” She deflated, all courage and hope leaving her. She fiddled with her hands, struggling to find an excuse, “I just wanted to say hi and uh...see what you were doing.”

He gave her a confused stare. “...really?”

“Yeah! Um,” she gazed down at the piles of long leaves and sticks he had gathered, “What are you doing?”

“If you must know, I'm making a basket.”

“Oh..um...will you teach me?” She asked, trying to find a reason to stay. If she couldn't confess at least she could spend some time with him.

“How to make a basket?”

“Yep!”

“...Why?”

“Well,” she said, sitting down in front of him, “I'm going to be queen one day, and uh...a queen should know how to do things...like making baskets.”

He furrowed his brow and turned his head slightly, clearly trying to discern if she was pulling a prank, “What's this really about?”

She shook her head, reaching down grabbing one of the sticks, “Come on, just show me.”

“...Alright fine. But no singing. Or dancing.”

She nodded, “Deal.”

“Ok,” He took the stick from her, “I'll start it for you but you're gonna have to do the rest yourself. It isn't as easy as it looks so pay attention.”

Poppy was true to her word, even going so far as to ignore her hug time bracelet, and they passed the afternoon in comfortable silence. Usually the reserved atmosphere would drive her up a wall before long, but today she found that she enjoyed it. Branch was there, and quiet fit him, and if she liked him then she figured she could learn to like the quiet too. Besides, without any of her usual theatrics she could hear the sounds of the forest around them, mixing with the relaxing noises of the grass sliding against itself as they worked on the baskets. It was nice. Really nice.

Of course the silence also left room for her mind to wander. She found herself stealing a glance at him from time to time, the deep, concentrated look on his face making her cheeks grow warm, and her heart fluttered every time he reached over to correct a mistake she had made.

In the end Branch made two baskets in the time it took her to finish one, and while her’s resembled a tumbleweed more than anything she was proud of it. She helped him gather the leftover supplies(and tried not to blush when their hands inevitably touched.)

“Well...thanks for the...” he said as he glanced at her basket, “...help, I guess.”

“Aw, Branch, that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”

“Yeah, well don't get used to it.” He said with a poorly concealed blush, “Anyway, you should go. It’s going to be dark soon.”

“Right.” She paused, mulling over telling him now. She didn’t like keeping secrets, even small ones had always felt like lies to her, but she still couldn’t bring herself to utter the words.

“Thank you for teaching me.” She said instead, “I had fun.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He gathered the last of his things and walked back to his bunker.

“Wait!” She called.

He looked back, “What?”

She held out her basket, “Don’t you want it?”

“Uh....” He said, “No, that’s ok. You made it, you should keep it.”

She smiled, deciding that he was very cute when he was trying to be nice, “Ok! Well, thanks again.”

He nodded awkwardly and Poppy held her composure until she heard his door close and the last of his 16 locks and bolts click into place.

“Ughhhh....” She buried her face in her basket, stomping her foot weakly. ‘Dummy! Why didn’t you just tell him?’

She brought the basket away from her face. ‘At least I tried...’ she reasoned, ‘And there’s always tomorrow.’

That was it. She’d just try again tomorrow. And the next day, and the next. Eventually she could confess or Branch would get tired of her pointless visits and get the truth out of her. He was good at that. It was foolproof. Until then she would at least get to know him a little better. That couldn’t hurt.

She nodded, held her basket close and made her way back home.

And she returned, not just the next day, but every day that week, and that month. Each time Branch seemed more and more confused by her presence, but she always waved it off, insisting that whatever survival skill he was practising was important for her to know. He was hesitant, but in the end always gave her the same terms. No singing or hugging or dancing, and she could stay and learn. And she always agreed.

She did miss it, dancing and singing were part of her, but she made due, focusing instead on fire-making or trap building or rope spinning, hardly ever slipping up. She learned to scavenge for food and water, how to start a garden, the basics of navigation and even some hand to hand combat.

As the hours passed she found that she actually enjoyed learning. Sure, it wasn't her usual thing, but she couldn't deny that it was all important knowledge that could help her people when she became queen. Not that she imagined that anything bad would happen, she still believed that she and her people were as safe as safe could be, but she supposed it couldn't hurt to prepare, just like Branch did.

And yet, for all of the time she spent with him, she still lacked the courage to just tell him why she was there in the first place. She told herself that it would come when it came, but a month later she still hadn't come any closer to spilling the truth.

"Poppy..." Branch asked one day, a half eaten sandwich in his lap. She had spent the morning helping him dig a new room in his bunker, getting a crash-course in underground architecture in the process(She also ended up covered in mud, but that was fun in its own way, so she didn't mind.) They both sat in the light of a few bio-luminescent mushrooms eating the small lunch Branch had offered her.

"Yeah?" She replied.

"...Every single day this month you've come and helped me. You don't sing, you don't hug, you don't dance, and you haven't even complained about it."

"Yeah...?" She shrunk away from him slightly as her heart started pounding. She could tell where this was going, and she certainly didn't like it.

"So what's the deal? And don't pretend it's just 'cuz you want to learn because I know that's not true. You've never shown any kind of interest in this stuff before. Is it just some new ploy to try to get me to open up?"

"Well...no, not exactly..."

"Then what is it?"

"...um..."

"Poppy. Just tell me." He said, annoyed. She felt herself blush, lowering her food to her lap. She still felt so scared, her heart pounding away in her chest more fiercely than ever. But...she knew it was time to tell him. She had danced around the topic for too long. Sure, he probably didn't feel the same, and while she would lose all of the private moments and hesitant touches and smiles they had shared in the past days, she just couldn't keep lying to him.

"I...I like you."

"Well, yeah, that's obvious, you haven't left me alone for days." He said with a laugh, "What's the real reason?"

"No, Branch. I like you. Like...like-like you."

His eyes snapped to meet hers, his gaze deep and clouded with mistrust. He let the words hang in the air before speaking, his voice quiet, all traces of humor gone. "That's not funny, Poppy."

"What...no, I'm not kidding. I do!"

"Yeah, whatever. We're done for today." He got up, gathering what was left of his lunch and as she watched him she felt anger rise in her chest. He really didn't believe her! She stood as well and grabbed his hand. He stopped, but refused to look at her.

“I do.” She grasped his hand tighter, “I have for a while now actually...I was just too scared to tell you.”

He turned back to stare at her, still unsure.

“When have I ever lied to you?” She asked, trying not to sound hurt.

“Poppy..." He sighed, "Even if you do like me...I can’t be all the things you'd want me to be. I'm never going to...be like you."

“I just want you to be you, Branch.” She said honestly, giving him a shy smile. He didn’t speak, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he gazed at their joined hands.

“Do...do you like me too?” She asked after a moment, and he nodded his head and blushed deeper.

“...Of course I do...”

“Really!?” She gasped.

“Yes, Poppy, I do.”

She felt dizzy suddenly, and her face glowed with a deep blush. She took her hand back and smacked herself on the arm, hissing at the pain. "I'm not dreaming..."

"I could have told you that." Branch said, grinning at her antics. "But by all means, continue."

She instead rushed forward, pulling him into a tight hug. He was warm and solid, and she felt safe...for a moment. Her actions caught up to her almost instantly and she stepped back, sheepishly looking at the ground. "Sorry, I know you don't like hugs."

He seemed sad for a second, before reaching forward and pulling her back into the hug, "I don't...but for you...I guess I could make an exception." She wrapped her arms around him again, savoring the feeling. She never realised how much she wanted this. Just him and her, close and safe and maybe...happy. She could only hope he was enjoying it as much as she was.

"Poppy..." He whispered, not pulling away, "I really can't be everything you want me to be..."

"Branch, I told-" She tried to pull back but he held her fast, and so she leaned back in and kept quiet.

"Just hear me out, okay?" She nodded.

"I just don't...I don't want you to do this because you feel like you have to or something..."

"Why would I do something if I didn't want to?" She asked quiety, still shocked at his uncertainty.

"Because you’re a people pleaser, Poppy. You just want everyone to be happy."

"So...?"

"So...I just want to make sure you know what you're doing...and why."

"Branch..." She leaned back, and he let her look up at him. He was still blushing, but he looked more scared and vulnerable than she had ever seen him.

"I’m doing this because I do like you. A lot. It just...took me a while to figure it out.” She squeezed one of his hands, “Can you at least give me a chance?”

“What about...everyone else? Your dad? The village?”

“Who cares? It’s none of their business.” She said adamantly, as if she was trying to remind herself as well as him.

“But it will be.” He said, ever the voice of reason, “You’re gonna be queen one day.”

She shrugged, “So we’ll figure it out. Together.”

“Together...” He repeated.

“Yep. Together. What do ya say?”

He paused again, considering her words, “...Together...sounds nice.”

“I think so too.”

He gave her a soft, adoring look and she blushed before collapsing back into the hug.

“You know for someone who doesn’t like hugs,” She said with a smirk, “you’re pretty good at them.”

“Ok, that’s just rude.”

“More like true.”

“Nope, too late. I changed my mind.” He picked her up and she let out an involuntary gasp, breaking out into giggles as he carried her to the elevator, “Time to go, Poppy.”

“Branch, put me down!” She wiggled against his grip, still laughing, “As your future queen I command it!”

“As you wish, your majesty.” He deadpanned, dropping her onto the soft moss of the platform. She made an indignant noise and stubbornly grabbed him, pulling him down on top of her. The pair blushed furiously for a moment before dissolving into giggles.

“You’re awful.” She laughed.

“You know you love it.” He replied, taking her hand.

She hummed, entwining their fingers, “Yeah, I do.”

[whatever-the-fucky-i-writes]

Caught Somewhere in Time - Part 4

Word Count: 6,272 (I’m sorry)

Pairing: None (Maybe a very slight OFC x OMC)

Main Characters: Sam, Dean, OFC - Andi, OMC - Max

Warnings: Mentions of injury, Mentions of death, Swearing

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9 (Final)

Series Masterlist

Author’s Note: Obviously, this is a longer part. Sorry about that. When I was doing my light editing, I couldn’t find a good spot within here to split it up and I’ve decided to have faith in my initial ruling. None of the other parts are this long, I promise.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters from Supernatural, only my OFC and OMC. Also, the plot line is basically a mash-up of a couple different episodes so I don’t own those either.

Previously:  “Son of a bitch!” I say under my breath. He’s gone. I walk up to where he was and look around. He’s nowhere to be seen. Just as I’m about to give up hope, I hear a sickening scream. It’s coming from within the alley, I run towards the sound. I can hear Sam and Dean running not too far behind me. I turn the corner of the alley. That’s when I see the poor homeless man lying there.

         I solemnly walk out of the alley. I come out onto a bustling city street. People are walking left and right, cars are driving by. I quickly duck back into the alley, looking down at my attire. I’ll probably stick out like a sore thumb. I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves.

        Come up with a plan, I tell myself, Find a store. Figure out when you are. Get some food. Figure out the rest from there. I hop out of the alley and once more onto the busy sidewalk. I turn and begin to walk with the flow of the traffic quickly. A few people look at me weirdly, but I ignore it the best I can, keeping my cool. “Thank God,” I whisper to myself as I see a gas station up a ways ahead. I pick my pace up a bit. Once I finally step inside, my eyes immediately find a newspaper stand. I pick up a copy and take a look.

        The date reads November 16, 1947. Well, this just rocks, I think, the thought covered in a thick layer of sarcasm, I’m stuck in freaking 1947. Ughhhh… I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. I feel a massive headache coming on. Focus, I internally tell myself, What’s the next part of the plan? Get some food. I browse around for a few minutes. One benefit of going back this far is that all this stuff is much cheaper. I buy myself a small stockpile of food with $10 out of the $20 that I found stashed in one of the inner pockets of my coat. I tuck the newspaper in the bag with my food as I step back outside. I look up and down the street. I see a park about a block and half up the street. I walk over and sit on one of the benches there. I pull out the newspaper as I begin to munch on the first thing I saw in my bag. I flip through the pages absentmindedly until something catches my eye. A report on a recent death... or deaths I should say. It didn’t say how the victims died exactly, just that it was “unusual” and that the police were basically chasing their tails.

        Could be my kind of thing, I think, nodding to myself, Couldn’t hurt to check it out. Might as well get something done here seeing as how I don’t have the slightest idea as to where to start to try and get myself back home. I look down at my attire. But first, I’m going to need a change of clothes. I look up and down the street once more. Damn, this street has everything doesn’t it? I think upon seeing a clothing store. I throw my uneaten food back in the bag and tuck the newspaper in there as well. I cross the street and walk into the building. The walls are lined with clothing as is the rest of the place. I browse up and down the aisles made by the racks of clothing. I end up picking out a pair of black dress pants with a matching black button up shirt, and a pair of killer black heeled boots. I buy these with another $3, leaving me with $7. I walk over to the register to purchase the clothes. Again, another strange look from the lady checking me out, but I brush it off. She hands me my new clothes in a bag and I take them over to one of the changing rooms where I change into them quickly. 

         I exit the store and look back at my newspaper. It seems that the murders fell under the jurisdiction of the 13th precinct. Lucky me, it even lists the address of their building. I stop a random guy on the street and ask politely for some directions. When he’s done, I give him a rare, courteous smile, thank him, and begin my walk. It takes me about half an hour of walking to get there. Just before I enter, I remember my badge. I quickly retrieve it from within a pocket in my trench coat and stick it in one of my pant’s pockets. I look around a bit and find a secluded place to stash my bags. I’d hate to rouse suspicion in a place full of armed people. That probably wouldn’t end well. I walk back over to the doors and take a deep breath before walking in. I enter in a cramped room. It has a high ceiling with marble floors and walls. There are two hallways leading up the sides at the opposite end of the room and in the space between them, on the wall, is a giant sign with the emblem the Chicago PD. Desks line the floor in rows with one big gap going up the middle to a row receptionist’s desk. I make my way up to the receptionist. I hope I don’t look too out of place.

        “Hello,” I say to the nice, middle-aged lady, “I’m Agent Jett with the FBI.” I flash my badge, not long enough for her to read the date of issue, which is some forty years in the future.

        “Oh!” she says, “You must be the partner of the other guy who just got here. I knew it was odd that he was by himself. Don’t you guys usually have partners?”

        Okay, I think to myself, This puts a twist in things. Say no and it looks suspicious. Say yes and we could get caught and thrown in jail for fraud. I make my decision.

        “Yes,” I say cordially, “that’s my partner. Could you please direct me to him?”

        “Sure thing,” she says, smiling and gesturing to her right, “Go down that hallway and up the stairs. Get off at the first landing. From there, there will be directions to the homicide department. He should be talking with Sergeant Barnes. Have a nice day!” I make my way down the hallway and up the stairs, following all her directions. I walk into another room with more desks. I see a man in a grey trench coat that looks like it’s made of wool. He’s got a matching grey fedora on with black leather gloves. I can see the top of a white dress shirt peeking out around the collar with a blue tie. He towers over the short guy he’s talking with, looking like he’s around 6’2”. As I finish sizing him up, I think,

        Now or never. It’s showtime. I plaster on a convincing, if fake, smile, walking over and addressing the guy in the trench coat as I say,

        “Sorry I’m late. Got caught up in some nasty traffic. I’m Agent Jett. I see you’ve met my partner. Nice to meet you Sergeant Barnes,” I say, pulling out my badge once more and then shaking his hand.

        “Agent Jett. It’s nice to see you got here in one piece. I was just talking with the nice Sergeant here and he was telling me about that string of deaths we’ve come to investigate.” He’s playing along. That’s either a really good thing or a really bad thing because he’s either a fellow hunter who doesn’t want his cover blown or a real FBI agent who doesn’t want to make a scene.

        “Sure was. Say, are there many women like you?” The Sergeant asks me bluntly. Some people have no appreciation for tact.

        “No,” I reply, “There’s not that many of us, but we manage to keep up with the men.”

        “Huh,” he says, assessing me.

        “Could you please continue?” my “partner” asks.

        “Sure. I’m not really sure what to make of this. The people at the brewery really want some closure, but I’m afraid I can’t give them any. Do you want to examine the bodies?”

        “Yes,” I say, “That’d be really helpful. Could you instruct us the ME’s office?”

        “Sure thing,” he says. He gives us detailed instructions and even goes so far as to write them down for us.

        “Thanks,” the guy and me say at the same time. Weird.

        “Oh,” he says quickly, seeming to have remembered something, “If any new information should be brought to light on the case, contact me here.” He hands him a card with an address on it. The Sergeant nods and we turn around and start to head out. Just as we enter the hallway, he looks around quickly. Seeing nobody, he tries to slam me into the wall. I duck and pin him up against the wall, holding a knife that I’d been smart enough to strap on my leg earlier against his throat.

        “Who are you?” he spits at me.

        “Agent Jett,” I reply, the lie coming out easily, “I should be asking you the same question. You’ve got sideburns that extend below your ear, which is against real FBI policy. You’d have to have them trimmed before you were even let out in the field so you’re not real FBI. And if you’re not FBI, then who are you?”

        “I’m a specialist who knows a few things about some things. I’m here to help,” he says after a few seconds of consideration, raising his hands in surrender.

        Great, I groan internally. I’ve heard Dean and Sam give that line plenty of times. Another hunter. Whatever, I suppose. “Sorry about this,” I say. I don’t really mean it.

        “About what?” he asks right as a press the knife into his throat a little. I’d had that knife custom made to meet all my hunting needs. Forged from silver and iron with some salt and holy water mixed in. A little blood begins to leak out of the small cut. No reaction. I lower my knife. “You’re not a monster so I guess that’s good. My name’s Cassandra Singer. What’s yours?”

        “How do I know you’re not a monster?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. I roll my eyes saying,

        “This is made of silver and iron forged in salt and holy water.” I slice the palm of my hand, proving my humanity. He nods before saying,

        “Max Harvelle. Even though this is my case, you’re already here so why don’t you stick around and we’ll work this one together?” he replies.

        “Works for me,” I say nonchalantly, “Let’s get going to the ME’s.” As we exit the building together, I turn and say to him, “Do you mind if I grab my stuff first?”

        “Not at all,” he replies in a businesslike manner, “Lead the way.” If this guy was going to be so formal about this, it was going to be one long hunt. I duck into the alley and retrieve my bags. “Here,” he says, “You can place these in my car.”

        “And where might that be?” I ask.

        “Follow me, m’lady,” he says with a comical bow. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. “I parked it right over here,” he says, gesturing to a car that’s parked right in front of the precinct. I’m met with a  black and dark blue ‘35 Triumph Gloria Vitesse. “Bought her for a steal,” he says proudly, “Reinforced her until now she’s like a tank. Your bags’ll be safe in here.” He opens up one of the doors and steps aside. I place my bags in the back and step back. He closes the door and locks it. We head one building to the left of the precinct and walk through the glass doors. The inside walls are white tiles and the floor is a dull gray. The front room is small. It has a few chairs lining the walls, a door on the back wall, and a few feet to the left of it is a desk with  young man sitting at it. He looks up from the newspaper he was reading and asks us,

        “Who are you?” We pull out our badges simultaneously.

        “I’m Agent Smith and this is my partner Agent Jett. We’re with the FBI,” Max lies smoothly. I wonder how long he’s been at this. He doesn’t look a day over 30, if that.

        “Okay. How can I help you fine officers of the law today?” the attendant replies.

        “Is the medical examiner in?” I ask, “We’d like to take a look at a few bodies.”

        “Let me check,” he says, his boredom dripping from every word. “HEY DOC!” he bellows over his shoulder, the extreme loudness of his voice seeming out of place in the quiet building.

        “WHAT IS IT NOW ARTHUR!” echoes from behind the door.

        “He’s here,” Arthur tells us calmly, “Would you like to speak with him?”

        “Yes, that would be really helpful,” Max says with a forced smile.

        “THERE’S SOME PEOPLE FROM THE FBI HERE TO SPEAK YOU!” Arthur shouts over his shoulder once more.

        “WELL WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR YOU FAT-HEAD! SEND THEM BACK HERE ALREADY!”

        “The Doc will see you now,” Arthur says, getting up from his chair, “If you’ll please follow me.” He opens the door and walks us down a hallway and past a few doors to the last door on the right. “He should be in here,” he says, promptly leaving. We step inside to a pristine, but sparse office. There are no windows and only a few pictures on metal desk to the right of us. Behind the desk are a few filing cabinets and a very small bookshelf that has few medical-looking books on it. A middle-aged man sits at this desk. He has red hair with gray around his temples and ears and glasses pushed down his slender nose. His cheeks are slightly sunk in, making him look older than he probably is. He’s wearing a suit underneath a buttoned up white lab coat. He looks up from the book he was reading, closing it and setting it down.

        “I’m sorry about my assistant,” he apologizes, “I would have thought it would have gotten through that thick skull of his that the FBI get sent straight back. Oh well. No use wining about it now. What’re your names?”

        “I’m Agent Smith and this is my partner Agent Jett,” Max says, repeating his line from before.

        “Okay Agents Smith and Jett. Welcome to the Chicago PD’s 13th Precinct Morgue. What can I do ya for?”

        “We understand that the bodies related to the brewery case are being held here?” Max says, “We would like to examine them.”

        “I’ve already completed my reports. Wouldn’t you rather look at those?” he asks back.

        “No offense, but we’d like to conduct our own investigation of the bodies. But if you don’t mind giving us your reports, that would be helpful too,” I say.

        “No, I don’t mind,” he says, turning around. Muttering names under his breath, he searches around through his filing cabinets and pulls out four manilla folders. He hands them to me, saying, “I’ll show you to the bodies.” We walk out of his office and enter the room directly across his hallway. The floor is the same gray color as the rest of the place, but the walls are no longer white. Instead, the walls are stainless steel with rectangular doors of varying sizes. There are a few autopsy tables going down the center of the room as well. There are lights hanging from the ceiling, bathing the room in a pale white light. “Let me see…” he trails off, “C4, D10, M3, and Z9…” He pulls open various doors around the room. These should be the corpses you’re looking for. I suppose I’ll leave you to it. If you should need anything, don’t be afraid to holler. Have a lovely day.” Once he’s left the room, Max turns to me and says,

        “He seems oddly perky for a guy who’s surrounded by death.”

        “No, he’s not,” I mutter kind of under my breath. Seeing the quizzical look I’m getting from Max, I elaborate, “I saw the extensive collection of empty and full bottles of Jack in his trash and where he thought people can’t see them. He’s not ‘oddly perky’. He’s hammered.”

        “Hammered?” Max asks.

        “Umm…” I say, searching for an equivalent, “Sauced?”

        “Oh,” Max replies, realization dawning on his face.

        “Yep, Doc over there’s got a bit of a booze issue. Anyway, you take those two over there and I’ll take these two?”

        “Sure,” Max says, “Mind giving me their files?”

        “Catch,” I say, tossing the files in rapid succession at him. He catches one in each hand. He’s got good reflexes. He walks over to the bodies and pulls out an EMF meter. Nothing.

        “Mind if I use that?’ I ask.

        “No problem,” he replies, “Here.” He sets in on one of the tables. I pick it up and run it by my bodies. Still nothing. “No EMF so it’s not a ghost,” I say, setting it back on the table.

        “Their hearts are still intact and it’s not the correct lunar phase either so it’s probably not a werewolf,” Max adds, moving on to his second body.

        “No bite marks and plenty of blood left in them so not a vampire either,” I say back.

        “Wait, did I hear you right?” Max asks, not looking up from the body he’s examining, “You said vampire, right? Aren’t those extinct?”

        “Nope,” I say impassionately, popping the p, “Just laying low is all.”

        “No hole by the base of the skull so also not a wraith,” Max chimes in, “Besides, those tend to stick to looney bins and psych wards. Doesn’t seem to be any of the usual suspects.”

        “No, it does not,” I say, accenting each word. “Nothing seems too out of place besides one gaping hole right clean through their midsection. Have you talked to many people yet?”

        “I really don’t think this is the best place to discuss this,” Max says, eyes darting over to where the doc’s office is. “He might hear. Speak of the Devil.” The Doc peaks his head through the door and says,

        “I don’t mean to be impolite, but you guys came in kinda late and it’s basically time to call it a night. Are you done with the bodies?”

        “Yes, I believe we are,” Max says.

        “Thank you for your cooperation,” I say as we walk out. Once we’re standing by his car, he says, “Where are you staying? I could drop you off there if you want. I’ve got to get a few things and then I’ll swing around.”

        “Ummm…” I trail off. It now occurs to me that I don’t have a place to stay. The look on my face seems to give me away.

        “You don’t have a place to stay?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

        “No, I guess not,” I say, looking down and to the side as if the smudge on the sidewalk has all of sudden become very interesting.

        “Well,” he says, his face looking as if he’s thinking something over. “I suppose you could stay with me for tonight.” I consider his proposition for a moment. I don’t really have any other options. The nights are usually too cold to spend outside this time of year. But on the other hand, I just met this guy and I don’t exactly trust him that much. It’d be very awkward, at least for me. Just for tonight.

        “Sure,” I say, looking up at his face, “I suppose I could do that.”

        “Now that that’s settled,” he says, opening the passenger door, “Your chariot awaits you.” I internally smile at his attempt at lightheartedness. I hop inside. He closes the door and walks back around to the driver side. We take off and start winding down an impossible number of turns and streets until we stop at an older looking apartment building on the edge the industrial district. The faded red bricks are cracked, the rough wooden window sills are rotting, and the windows themselves are smudged with soot and dirt. The cement steps that lead up to a front door that looks like it’s barely hanging on to its hinges are ridden with cracks and have whole chunks missing from them. The sad thing, I realize, is that I’ve lived in worse places on hunts. “I’ve got to pull ‘er ‘round back,” Max says, “This is a bit of a sketchy neighborhood and I prefer to keep this car in good condition. Can you just wait for me out front here?”

        “No prob, Bob,” I say, grabbing my bags from the back and stepping out of the car. Max pulls away and turns around into the alley next to the building. I stand there, in the light of a single lamp post casting a soft orange light on the street and sidewalk around me. I hadn’t noticed how dark it had gotten; I could see the Sun setting behind of a few buildings, the most vibrant reds and oranges light up the horizon with hints of pink. After a few chilly minutes of waiting, Max emerges from around the corner with a rucksack slung over his shoulder and begins to ascend the stairs to the door. I follow suit and am greeted by an entryway that seems to be in a slightly better condition than the exterior of the building. It’s a narrow hallway, barely enough room for one to walk down, old, dark, wooden doors with faded bronze numbers line the walls. At the end is a spiral staircase that leads upwards. 

         We begin our ascent up the stairs. We pass by twelve floors before we finally reach the top floor. We trudge all the way down to the end of the hallway. Max pulls out a key from his coat pocket and shoves it into the lock, turning it. We step inside, into a small room that was probably meant as a place to hang coats and place shoes. Instead, there’s a reaper trap on the floor and a devil’s trap on the ceiling. I see some other sigils and wardings painted on the walls. Most people wouldn’t see them because the paint’s the same color as the walls and floors, but I can see it in the right light because the new paint of the wardings is oh-so-slightly lighter than the aged off-white of the walls. In front of me is a door that is made of what looks like solid iron. I can see small granules coating it, salt I presume. Max pulls out a huge key and shoves it a hole in the door. He turns it slowly and with a groan, the door unlocks. He stuffs the key pack in a pocket and shoves the door open with his shoulder. “Nice job you did on the place,” I say as we step through the doorway.

        “Thanks,” Max grunts back as he pushes the massive door back into place and slides the humongous deadbolt back into place after turning on the lights. We stand there awkwardly for a few seconds and I take the time to check out his apartment. We’re in the main room. I’m facing the way we just came in and in the corner behind me and to my right is a counter, an oven, a refrigerator, and a sink. There are some dirty dishes sitting in the sink with some clean ones on the side and a few empty beer bottles laying around as well. On the wall to my right, about ten feet over from the kitchen, is a door. I don’t know where it leads, but judging from the lack of bed and bathroom in the room I’m in, that’s probably where it leads. The whole half of the room to my left is a living space with a couch, a recliner, and a few bookshelves stacked to the brim with books of all shapes, sizes, ages, and language. There’s also a table over there with a few chairs around it and a lamp sitting in the center. The furniture all looks a bit rundown, which seems to fit the apartment. There are cracks in the wall and the walls are stained and dirty. Max clears his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck while gesturing around with the other and says, “Well...Umm… Yeah. I apologize for the state of the place. It’s not everyday I entertain guests.”

        “It’s fine,” I say, brushing off the apology, “I’ve stayed in motels and houses much worse than this. This is like a five-star hotel compared to the place I was just staying in.” I set down my gas station bag and ask, “Do you have any place I can change? This whole FBI get-up thing is kind of uncomfortable.”

        “Sure,” he says, still rubbing the back of his neck. He gestures to his left, my right, and says, “The bathroom’s through that door on your left.”

        “Thanks,” I say. I open the door and step through. I was right. That door did lead to the bedroom. While the floor of the main room was a dark oak, this had short carpeting on its floors. The walls are a light gray, and there’s a small bed on my right side, the long side of it flush against the wall. A window is over it, letting in the pale moonlight. The room is sparse. Aside from a photo of Max with an older man and a man about his same age, there are no personal effects. There aren’t many clothes hung in the closet on the wall opposite the entry door. I think I see a false wall panel in the center, but I’ll leave Max’s privacy as intact as possible. I am his guest after all. I turn into the bathroom quickly. It’s better than some I’ve seen, but not by much though. The whole ambiance of the place is that it needs to be cleaned. I’m sure if he cleaned this it wouldn’t be so bad. I pull out my clothes from my bag and look over my options. I don’t think wearing the tank top would be appropriate. Besides, I’m not that comfortable with him anyway. I settle on just wearing my Henley with the jeans. I look at myself in the mirror. I frown. I’m not exactly sure if I’m right, but I’m pretty certain most women these days didn’t have tattoos winding up their arms. There’s also a few buttons undone at the top. I really wish I knew more about the standards of this era. 

         Ultimately, I decide I’m too lazy to fix anything so I just leave the sleeves rolled up so they’re more like ¾ length and leave the top few buttons undone. I fold up my new FBI outfit and place it inside the bag with the rest of my clothes from my time. God, my time. How I was really missing that. I redo my ponytail that I’d taken out earlier and head back out. Max is sitting at table. I think I see him raise an eyebrow slightly at seeing my apparel, but he says nothing aside from, “You done?” I nod. “Swell,” he says, “I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself at home, I guess. Mi casa es su casa.” He heads off through the door and I sit down on the couch. I sigh, looking over at his bookcase. In the back of my mind, I register the sound of the shower turning on. I wander over, running my fingertips along the dusty backs of the aged books. I stop when I reach one in Greek. I hadn’t really stopped to think much about how I got here. I figured Chronos had something to with it because, besides angels, who, by the way, don’t emit a red light when time traveling, he’s the only thing out there with enough mojo to swing this. I think again to myself,

        I hate gods. I grab the book open and flip through until I find a page with the top labeled χρόνος, which I roughly translated to Time, aka Chronos. I skim through, thankful that years of hunting and research have given me a basic understanding for the classic languages. I find nothing of particular use so I put the book back. Maybe I’m not looking in the right book, I think. That seemed like more of a reference book; I needed an encyclopedia. I skim through the rest of the bookshelves and find a stack of Greek books from throughout the ages. I lay them out on the table and start reading. I’ve got multiple open books laying out across the table. I’m so engrossed I don’t hear Max reenter the room. I don’t realize his presence until I hear his voice come from behind me, asking,

        “Why’re you so interested in Chronos? You don’t think he’s causing the deaths, do you?” I sigh, rubbing my hands on my temples.

        Damn it, I think. I’d really hoped to avoid this conversation. But it’s better to come clean I suppose. “This is going to sound really crazy. At very least, pretty messed up,” I say to him, only slightly turning my head towards him over my left shoulder.

        “We’re hunters,” he states, “If you haven’t noticed, our lives are pretty much ground zero for crazy and pretty messed up.”

        Here goes nothing, I sigh to myself internally, No use in going soft, I suppose. Turning around to fully face him, I look him in the eyes and say, “I’m from the future. 2016 to be specific. My friends and I were tracking a string of deaths where all the victims were mummified. Long story short, it was Chronos, I tackled him as he was glowing with his red time energy, which apparently means he’s traveling, so I inadvertently hitched a ride to 19-freakin’-47 and I’m stuck here for who-knows-how-long now. I’m so interested in him because I’m seeing if there’s anyway to hitch a ride back or reverse this or something. I’m so interested because I just want to go home.” That last sentence comes out more as a softly spoken afternote that I actually hadn’t meant to say aloud.

        “Oh,” he says, at a loss for words, “Where- I mean- When you come from, is there a lot of this… time… travel… stuff?”

        “No,” I reply with a light laugh, “There’s only about 3 things that can do this without a blood spell.”

        “If there’s a spell that does this,” he asks, “then why don’t you use that to go back?”

        “Because when I said blood spell, it’s not just what you have to write it in. It’s the destination. It takes you to your nearest living blood relative, which I’m all fresh out of. Long line of only children plus people who didn’t have kids equals me, literally the only member of my entire bloodline left alive on the face of planet Earth,” I say with a bitter undertone.

        “Oh,” he says again. Something flashes behind his eyes and he’s striding over to the bookcase. He runs his finger back and forth, pulling out a few books here and there until he’s at one of the thickest. “Here,” he says, setting the stack on the table, “These are some of the grimoires I’ve collected over the years from various witches. I know some of them could pack a real punch so maybe there’s something in these potent enough to get you back.”

        “Thanks,” I say, giving him a grateful smile, “I think, though, that I’ll leave this research for a little later. There are people dying and we’re on the case… So, what do you know?” I listen attentively while quickly bookmarking all my pages and setting the grimoires as well as the Greek books in a stack over by the couch.

        “Well, for starters, the people that are getting bumped off are all someway connected to the founders of this local brewery called DeWinter’s Brews. One of the co-founders, a Mr. Jonathan DeWinter, who also happened to be the brew master, died recently. Some sort of stress induced heart attack. I talked to his widow. She said he traveled a lot for work; that the company was like his baby, his most prized possession, second only to her so he’d said. She says he was the one of the kindest individuals you could ever hope to meet. The company’s going the through the process of selling out and, since he was apparently unwilling to let it go, the other three voted him out of his own company. His wife said that there wasn’t any bad blood, though. According to her, he even bought them a gift, a bottle of saké if I remember correctly, on one of his last trips to Japan to show them his forgiveness. I was going to go talk with the other owners tomorrow. The victim’s are Miss Florence Creighton, girlfriend to Mr. Ryan O’Doherty, Mrs. Thelma O’Doherty, Mr. Ryan’s mother, and Mr. and Mrs. Schmitz, the parents of Mrs. Francis Pond. In related news, Mr. Pond’s parents also recently died, although they check out as normal deaths. Like I said, the victim’s connections to each other is their affiliation with someone who’s a founding member of the brewery. Their causes of death are all the same, massive trauma to the abdomen. The sciency way of sayin’ that they got their guts punched out. There is one other strange similarity, though it’s above my pay grade. They smelled like alcohol, like they’d been buzzed when they died or something. That’s pretty much everything I got at this point.” I sit in silence for a few more moments, mulling the new information over.

        “I’m at a loss,” I say at last, “I don’t think I’ve ever taken on anything like this. I suppose going to see the other co-founders is our best move at this point. I’ll go with you tomorrow to interview them. That okay?”

        “Yeah,” he says, standing up, starting over to the bedroom door, “sounds swell. I think I’ll call it a night. Good night, Cassandra.” He’s halfway through the door when he finishes. He turns around and gives me a little smile before stepping through and closing the door behind himself. I sigh and turn back to the stack of books. I skim through the Greek ones, though they yield no new information. I put them back where I found them on the bookshelves and start going through the grimoires. This turns out to be more time consuming than I expected. I only make it through a few before I look at the clock sitting on the counter in the kitchen. It reads twenty-two hundred hours. It’s not like I haven’t stayed up longer, but I’d need my energy tomorrow so I needed some good rest. I lay down on the couch, getting mildly not uncomfortable. I close my eyes, but after a while, it becomes clear that this is bound to be another insomnia-fraught night. I roll over and grab my phone and earbuds out of my bag. I put the earbuds in just as a light rain starts; a November rain. I start a random song up and lo’ and behold, none other than my favorite Guns n’ Roses song comes on. I laugh a little at the coincidence. The rain plus the soothing beginning of the song are lulling me into sleep in record time as I’m fading into sleep.

        I awake to darkness. I groggily sit up and quietly trudge over to the clock. I can barely read it, but I can still see it says 0500 sharp.

        Right on time, I think sarcastically to myself. I really wish I’d been able to shake that habit after these years, but no dice. I wander over to the table and turn on the small lamp sitting on it. I pull up a few of the remaining grimoire’s and begin my search once more. Thank God this one’s in Latin. The other one was Romanian and that was really starting to get taxing to translate. After sifting through about half of one, I see a spell that catches my attention. I read it closer. This could definitely be of use. The name of the spell alludes to something in the neighborhood of “The Spell of the Traveler”. I nod, thinking, This could work. But there’s a catch. There’s always a catch. It’s a two party spell. One group is the person or persons traveling and the other group acts as an anchor for the first group. A traveler and a summoner.

        I need to get a message to Sam and Dean, I think, But how? I think it over for a few minutes before an idea dawns on me. I know where they should be in the future, so I’ll just leave them a message from here in the past! I can write them a letter and leave a marker there for them to see in the future! Although how I’ll get their attention is another matter. I look up for inspiration. Nothing. Down in desperation. Something. I look next to the spell, there’s another spell for illuminating writing when exposed to moonlight on specific days, handy for witches trying to be secretive. And their secretiveness is my fortune today. But I’m halfway across Chicago from where they are. I’ll need a ride. Max picks that moment to wake up; I can hear him through the door.

        “Hey Max!” I call.

        “What?” he calls back groggily.

        “Know any good places to score some wheels?”

To Be Continued...