#if my fingers would do the do of getting the clips off nd back on they r used to this task now

[saxifactumterritum]

I know I am a boy and am therfore supposed to yearn but I do not get people who keep their genitals outside. Like it seems so impractical to have a floppy tube just.... Hanging there. There is nowhere practical to keep such a thing!

[ninguitar]

୨୧　𝓧O TATTED ALL OVER HER BODY　˒˒　MMB

─── ﹙🎱﹚wanting to get your first ever tattoo, you take a recommendation from one of your college friends' on which parlor to go to, and which specific tattoo artist—meret manon bannerman, who was ultimately drop-dead gorgeous.

pairing. tattoo artist!manon x f!r genre. fluff wc. 1.7k+ notes. missing manon sb nd i JUST saw the clip of her w dominic fike w a cigarette in her hand. 💔💔 all the freaks on twt nd tt hating on her gmfu 😒 ⚠️ PLEASE NOTE THAT I DO NOT CONDONE THE DEPENDENCE ON ANYTHING NICOTINE-RELATED—IF EVER USED, USE IT AT A MODERATE PACE. ( MASTERLIST )

now playing ⋆ timeless by the weeknd, ft. playboi carti

THE BUZZING OF TATTOO GUNS spread across the parlor, as manon runs a hand through her hair, adjusting her white tank top and leather jacket. a cigarette remains slack in between her index and ring fingers, a sigh drifting from her lips. contrasting her cold demeanor was the hello kitty lamp sitting on her desk accompanied by a tattoo gun.

grabbing disinfectant spray, the ghanaian girl meekly disinfects all the surfaces, sterilizing all her equipment. tattooing other people's bodies—leaving parts of herself and her art forever on them—always seemed magical to manon, and so, she started in highschool, buying a shitty tattoo gun online. eventually, while at high school parties, she'd take commissions from people begging her to etch designs into their skin, usually taking cash as payment—sometimes nicotine, even.

simple, rugged designs on random people's skins at parties eventually turned into nights spent in her bedroom, practicing her apprenticeship by cross-hatching designs on mannequins. every night, the ghanaian girl would be at home, cornered in her bedroom—sometimes with her friends to keep her company—shading with pointillism from designs she found.

meret manon bannerman was never the type to really think about tattooing newbies, especially with the way her temper sometimes ran short, barely able to have the patience to deal with their face. however, because of her charming character, her co-workers usually assigned her to tattooing newbies, never letting her protest.

grabbing her phone, a myriad of notifications pop up on her lock screen. her eyes narrow at seeing daniela's name pop up, as she swipes up.

dani: turn the lights off before u leave manon. dani: if i see that the electric bill is high again im gonna fr gonna pocket ur paycheck

manon huffs, though a smile tugs the corners of her lips, before her thumbs move a mile a minute, typing back cheeky responses.

manzanita: i willll promise 🤗🤗 manzanita: pocket my paycheck nd im telling ur mom.

the ghanaian girl plops her phone onto the counter, setting it face down. the bell at the front door rings, making manon slightly jolt up, a chain of shivers running down her back. a muffled curse escapes her breath, as she whips her head towards the front door, noticing you gingerly leaning against the front door.

"i- one of our mutual friends, lara, suggested for me to come here. i don't know if she told you considering the look on your face," you shrug, your voice barely above a whisper. with the ghanaian girl nodding, you saunter towards her, a meek smile on your face.

"yeah, she told me—just didn't think you would be so… gorgeous," she bluntly drawls out, making you cock your head to the side. a giggle escapes your breath, both your cheeks and ears tinted with flushness. a small puff of amusements leaves your plush lips, shaking your head.

"look at you—talented, creative, and stunning," you reciprocate her energy, a wide grin painting your face. the ghanaian girl pats the seat beside her at her station, beckoning for you to sit down. you slowly sit down, your heart practically pounding—your first tattoo, and it was done by the most gorgeous girl ever?

an unbearable grin quirks up at the corners of her lips, your words garnering a chuckle from her, "yeah, you think so? you new—to tattooing, i mean?" her eyes trail from your eyes down to your lips, her gaze piercing. with your eyebrows furrowed and knitted together, you nod sheepishly at her question.

"no need to worry 'bout the pain; you got me," she lets out a giggle, making your heart tremble at the thought of a tattoo gun against your arm, held by a pretty girl, at that. the ghanaian girl crushes the cigarettes in her hand, disposing it into the ashtray by the window. she continues, "trust me; i've gotten a few tattoos and piercings."

"you got any ideas?" manon asks, as she disinfects her supplies once more, being cautious, especially with somebody who was only getting their first tattoo. that same smile lingers on her face, wanting to try to rid the worry lines creasing your forehead.

you shake your head, "still dunno what to get, i just know i want it on my hand. any ideas from you? i know you have good ideas in that head of yours." your eyesbrows furrow in question, your eyes fixating on the girl's features. a smile dances on her cheeks, almost elated to recommend any.

"what category? like funny, memorable, y'know," manon bites the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from just pressing your velvety lips against hers. her eyes scan your features, trying to think of an idea.

"surprise me?" you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper, as your gaze softens, your breath hitching in anticipation. and manon was just a simple girl—a girl who couldn't help but indulge in your pleas, especially when you were the textbook definition of adorable.

and so, over and over again, the needle of her tattoo gun hits against your delicate skin. sometimes it breaks, though other times, your skin is left raw and swollen. her dark eyes bore into your face, chuckles escaping her breath at the way you tried to suppress your winces.

a smile dances at her cheeks, "you okay, pretty?" making your heart pound. you nod, your eyes bright, as you ease into manon's touch, the needle lifting every few minutes to give you some clarity. she rubs your shoulder gently while pausing, before continuing.

while she continued, you mindlessly rant on and on about work, your mouth running miles a minute. words spill from your lips, as the ghanaian girl softly hums, showing indication that she was listening. every few minutes, she makes small, humorous quips, playing along to your jokes.

"y'know hand tattoos can fade away easily," manon hums, her hand rubbing against yours to soothe your worries. she sucks a breath in through her teeth before continuing, "it's a shame, isn't it?"

"i could always come back to you—no big deal," you shrug, taking deep breaths to suppress the sounds of pure pain escaping you.

"already wanna see me again? i'm just that great, aren't i?" she teases, as she wears a shit-eating grin on her face. that same grin morphs into a smirk, the corner of her lips lifting into one hastily. manon cocks her head to the side, her eyebrows slightly raising.

the ghanaian girl continues, faking a questioning face, "well, i don’t know. you may have to convince me to do a touch-up on it." she scrunches her eyebrows, giggling.

a pout juts on your lips, "i could take you out for dinner, or well, advertise you! the same way lara does—always talkin' about your beautiful self and your work." you taunt, giving her a gentle smile.

"trying to bribe me now—wow! did not expect that," manon coaxes, as her gaze fixates back on your hand, the needle leaving marks on your hand. as she finishes it up, she softly hums. standing up, manon grins at her work.

the tattoo had come out flawless, the cross-hatching done by the girl practically perfect. you blink your eyes, almost shocked at the sheer precision and patience needed for the perfect thickness of the lines; you knew manon was talented, but fuck.

on your hand was a crown etched onto it; you didn't know the meaning of it at all, but you could tell it meant something to the ghanaian girl. breaking your train of thought was her gentle, melodic voice.

"you like it?"

"'course i do! holy shit," you exclaim, immediately standing up, and pressing yourself against manon, wrapping your arms around the ghanaian girl's neck. safe to say, you were practically over the moon.

raising her fists, manon reciprocates your sheer enthusiasm, "i've won! you ought to take me on that dinner date, y'know." your eyes widen at her request, your eyebrows shooting up, alongside your smile wide. excitement bled from you, traveling through your veins.

shameless, without little thought in your head, you plea, "really? we have to!" your pleas elicit a series of chuckles from manon, the girl rubbing your shoulder. catching her breath, she nods.

"you and i, tomorrow night. i get off my shift earlier tomorrow," the ghanaian girl proposes, her eyes scanning your face for any indication of emotions. in response, you press your lips against manon's cheek gently.

"see you then, pretty girl," you drawl, slipping your payment into her pockets, as you saunter away.

tucked away in a small, up-scale restaurant in the heart of the beach, you and manon made quip remarks towards one-another. with your cheeks and ears flushed, you kept a lingering smile adorning your face. the moon hung low in the sky, as you two look out the window, your gazes' tracing the stars. a giggle escapes your breath, as your hand cups manon's jaw, gently drawing patterns on her cheeks.

shortly, though, the ghanaian girl dragged you to the waves, swinging you around in exhilaration. sitting down on the sand, you two ease against one-another's touch, interlacing hands. the beach ripples crashing harshly contrast your guys' gentle touches, the dark, midnight-hued water glimmering.

"thank you for this date," manon murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, as she swallows a lump down her throat, "maybe i'll actually touch-up your tattoo now." her words elicit a giggle from you, as you nudge her.

feeling the breezy, cold air hitting against your skin, you take deep breaths—only for the ghanaian girl to cover your shoulders in her jacket. a wide, animated grin plasters her face, making you swoon in endearment.

"what was the crown for anyway?" you mumble, turning your head to face the girl, as you raise your hand up, your new crown tattoo now in sight. she shakes her head, her gaze softening.

"it's like, a light of hope—just a small touch from me to you," manon rasps out, leaning further towards you, as her eyes were practically of hearts while etched on your lips. your lips fall open, as the ghanaian girl presses her lips against yours, her touch firm and precise.

her hands find its way to your hips, your breath hitching. a playful glint appears in manon's eyes, as she nips at your lower lip, her kisses fervent and magnetic. your hands meet her neck, the ghanaian girl shivering at the trifling lace of your cold hands.

"i better get that touch-up for my tattoo if it fades away," you playfully assert, now straddling the girl's lap, as you cup her cheeks, tenderly squeezing them. before you could press your impatient lips against manon's, her phone blares out a ding.

dani: you forgot to turn the lights off today.

xo tatted all over her body, yeah (body, yeah)

she just wanna roll, and i don't mind it, yeah

taglist. ୨ৎ @lararajjj @kisshae @sed7ction @yeetaberry127 @vrtualstar

@jellaaa @artrizzler19 @falling-intoo-deep

[benevolentsam]

They hit up a Goodwill a week before Sam's 16th birthday. It's kind of an apology, since Dean and their dad would be gone again before April let out. Sam tried not to care. She'd buried the anger she felt when John had told her, spent so long scubbing a blood stain out of one of his shirts that she'd ripped a hole in it. Nothing she couldn't fix, but she hadn’t bothered. He hadn't asked about it, so she would worry about it later. Worry about her actual birthday later. Dean was taking her shopping and she couldn't remember the last time she had something new. A whole $25 dollars to spend on herself. The shelves were full of crap she'd never wear. There were knitted sweaters that just seemed too homely for someone without a home. Colourful tees, too bright. Sam liked dark colours, liked when the boys at school called her a witch. Maybe they'd seen The Craft one too many times. But if they stayed away from her, Sam didn't care. And when she saw the navy blue slip dress, she had to have it. It was worn in places, the fabric just a bit too thin, but Sam could sew it up if it tore. When she held it against herself, it rested perfectly. Maybe a bit big for her spindley body but. It was perfect enough. "Dean, look!" Dean frowned when he saw the dress. He had his fingers on another Metallica shirt, they slipped away. The space between them, only an aisle, felt like an ocean. "You know how Dad feels about dresses, Sammy," Dean said. And maybe he was right, because John was always funny when Sam dressed like a girl, but she still wanted it. Flashed Dean her prettiest eyes. "You know boys'll just try 'nd look up your skirt?" "It comes to my calf, I think it'd be a bit obvious if they tried," Sam laughed. Dean didn't. He worried his lip, frowned, forehead crinkling. "I'd wear a shirt under it, you know?" But Dean obviously wasn't convinced. So she hung the dress back up on the rack and went to look at jeans. Hoped there was a pair that fit her better than Dean's hand-me-downs. There were some other gems in the store. She found a Hole tape for her Walkman. There were some pulp crime novels that she could fill up her time with. A pair of blue jeans and a few worn out band tees. Punk bands from the 70s, stuff she barely recognised from the radio. And of course she bought Dean his new Metallica tee. She hoped he'd wear it when he was away on his next hunt, think of his little sister spending her sweet 16 alone. Maybe she was a little bitter. Tried harder not to care. And when they got in the Impala, Dean let her put in her new tape. He paused before he started the ignition. They sat, Sam waited but Dean didn't seem to want to move. Then- "I'm sorry, Sammy, I shouldn't have got snappy with you in the store." And was ready to forgive him, it's okay forever poised on the tip of her tongue. But Dean was thrusting something in her hands. "I'm sorry." Sam was holding a dress. The dress. It felt so soft in her hands. She flung her arms around her brother, hugged his neck so tight she accidentally choked him. "Thank you," she whispered. And she whispered it again and again until Dean was sick of hearing it. "Yeah, yeah, kiddo. Just don't tell Dad how much we spent because I had to five finger discount that." And they were back to their usual routine. Dean was frowning, trying to look cool. Like he didn't care about his little sister at all. Sam was smiling, trying not to think too far ahead. Like she didn't care her brother would be leaving in a couple of days. Again. She wore the dress the next day. She had school, and afterwards her and Dean were going for milkshakes and a movie. She wanted to look her best. Wanted to feel pretty, just once. So she wore the dress, Led Zeppelin shirt underneath, and combat boots. She pulled her tangled hair back, half up half down, clipped tight and out of her face. And maybe she was pretty. John was awake as she stepped out of the bathroom. Sat on the sofa cleaning his guns. He pulled a face when he saw his daughter. "Sammy, sweetheart, you look so... pretty," he said. There was a bottle of whiskey by his foot, not even 8am. He paused for a minute while Sam stood there, arm stretched across herself to hide her stomach. "You uh... You look just like your mother." And bile rose in the back of Sam's throat. So much so that she wanted to get changed. Rip the dress off and never wear it again. But Dean was stood by the door, car keys in hand and ready to go and Sam couldn't be late for school but God. She felt sick. She climbed in shotgun, bit back tears. "You do look pretty, Sammy," Dean said. "But you don't look like Mom. Don't even have the right hair colour. Dad's just sentimental, ya know?" Dean was laughing. Not a real laugh, but one to fill up the awkward space. And Sam was nodding, because she needed so desperately to believe him. "I know you’re not used to it, but it suits you. And if any guy gives you crap or creeps on ya, point ‘em out to me when I pick you up and I’ll kill ‘em. ‘Kay?" "Okay?" "Sam, you look good. Very... you." "Thanks, Dean." Because like Sam is all she really wanted to be.

@fascra

[secondhand-trash]

The Last Petal Falls

A/N: this is my part of the bnharem may flower collab (and also my comeback fic? If that’s a thing?)! Special thanks to our girl @jojosmilktea​ for making the masterlist which you can find over here uwu 

Big shoutout to @redbeanteax​ too because I thought this was a hot mess at some point and she calmed me down aha-

Pairing: Todoroki Natsuo x reader

Description: “I think I’m dying.”

Warning: hospital setting, unknown disease (it’s a plot device that I have no research direction in please forgive me), mentions of death

Word count: 5191

-

“Natsuo?”

“Yes?” He looked up from the foot of your bed where he was checking the clip board that held all your information. 

You stared mindlessly ahead as if you were looking past him. Everything in the room was white. The sheets, your gown, his hair, the lights that made your head hurt, the pot by your bed that held the only bits of colour in your life at this point. It had been a while since there was more colour to your life than just the daffodils in the pot. You slowly lifted your hand up until it was right at your eyes.

Had your skin always be this lifeless?

“I think I’m dying.”

Natsuo froze at the spot when he heard what you just said, blood retreating from his face as your words made his heart shake. Your eyes were hollow as you slowly put your palms down again. You said with a such casual tone, one so nonchalant that it probably shouldn’t be used to announce something that held as much weight your own death.

He was shocked, but you didn’t look away. In fact, it wasn’t a prediction, you knew your end was near no matter what other people kept trying to say to you.

Natsuo blinked before regaining his posture, a stiff smile and forced chuckle finding its way to his lips. “Don’t be silly, of course you aren’t.”

You tilted your head and hummed, eyes not once leaving his broad frame when he sighed and ran his hand through that well-groomed hair.

Todoroki Natsuo. Friend first, doctor second. 

Just as you couldn’t remember how long it had been since you arrived at this ward, you couldn’t quite put a number on how long you had known the kind doctor as well. It must had been quite some time though, that you were certain of. Because you did have a distinct memory of laughing with him on the grass field of your old campus, the one with wild daffodils all around. It was when there was still a lingering boyishness to his laugh, one that you didn’t think you had heard in some time. You remembered the sun warming up the tip of your finger to which you were thankful for, because there was no way the uncomfortably pale lights above your head could compare to that.

Had it really been that long? You thought to yourself, subconsciously wrapping one hand around the other, and shivered when you felt how icy your fingers were. 

“Do you need me to get you a thicker blanket?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing as he watched your every move. 

“No,” you smiled, and somehow the slight lift of your lips that didn’t reach your eyes hurt him even more than it would if you had frowned, “I’ll be fine.”

He shook his head, slipping the clip board back into the holder by the side. “Wait for me here.”

Natsuo stopped on his tracks the moment he took a turn at the corridor and reached a corner where he knew was out of his sight. He let out a heavy sigh, his breath trembled as his shoulder dropped. Had you expected him to just carry on like nothing happened? You just told him that you were dying for the love of god. Running his hand down his face in a desperate attempt to keep himself together, his mind was in pieces as he thought of you.

You. Patient first, crush second. 

He could remember the exact moment he met you. He had just got into college, finally away from the things that had kept him trapped for so long. He was young, ambitious, full of aspirations and anger. He had made a promise to himself that these coming years would be about him. For the first time in his life, he could finally had the privilege of having something that was all for him. 

Until he met you, and his entire world was flipped upside down.

He couldn’t pin point what it was that made him gravitates towards you. But the moment he heard your laugh from across the end of the hall, he knew he wanted to know you. You were walking with your friends, laptop in hand and pen behind your ear. Your eyes twinkling as you walked past him, completely unaware of how you had changed his entire life from that moment on. Natsuo didn’t even notice that you were gone like a flash until he finally regained his sense seconds after you walked past, cursing himself for acting like a dazed creep and just stood there instead of doing something useful. 

But thankfully, luck was on his side for once. When he opened the glass door to the nearest canteen, he had to physically restrain himself from gasping out loud. There you were, with an apron on and standing right in front of the cashier, bright smile on your face as if you were doing something more exciting than handing people change. He started showing up to that exact canteen every day in hope of being there during your shift, and he could not forget the joy that erupted in his chest the time you talked to him for longer than usual with no one else behind him in the line.

Short exchanges turned into paragraph long text messages into being near inseparable. For a long while, Natsuo told himself that he was content with being your friend. That was way more than he had expected when he stubbornly tried to get you to talk to him more by eating at the same canteen consecutively for months anyways. But the more time he spent with you, the more he realised that he could never truly wave away the lingering thought in his head that he wanted more. That if he had a choice and you wanted to give him a chance, he would not mind being the reason behind your smile every single day. 

It had been an awful long time since he saw you smile.

There were multiple times when he was very close to letting the bubbling feelings inside his chest took over the better part of him and every time he had caught it at the tip of his tongue just as it was about to slip. When you turned to him and asked him if there was anything wrong, he would always smile back and brushed it off, trying to fight the lasso around his heart that was pulling tighter and tighter until it became hard for him to even breath. 

It was almost shameful in a way, but he was scared. Every time just as he made a promise to himself that it would be the time he tell you how he truly felt, it was the same smile that attracted him to your side making him swallow his own words back into the pit of his stomach. It was precious, you were precious, what if he lost it in just mere seconds because of his own impulsiveness? He was scared of the idea that one day your eyes would dim when you see him, that you would turn away nd try your best to end the conversation when there was a time when times flew by as you talked and talked and talked. He loved you badly, but he was afraid of losing you even worse. So he hid it, tried his best to soothe the pounding in his chest in exchange to keep what he had right now for longer.

Todoroki Natsuo spent years being your friend, and in all honesty, with all the sincerity in his heart, he was grateful for it. Really, but it did not stop him from imagining the way your hand would feel fitting into his and the thought of waking up to your every morning. It was a shock to him even, that even after so long, he still failed to convince himself that he was content with being your friend.

It was a warm, summer afternoon. He remembered very clearly, because it was supposed to be the day he stopped running away. He had planned to tell you that he loved you, in a way far beyond what you expected him to. For real this time, he had told himself when he got a text from you asking if he was free to come meet up at the spot that used to be your favourite when you were at school, this time he would not back away no matter what the result might be. 

That was what he had told himself, but when he saw your lips pursed together and your hands fidgeting from the far corner of the field among the yellow dots of wild daffodils with a sorrow he had never seen in your eyes before, he knew that he might have to betray his own promise for once more. 

You had planned to be calm when you eventually tell him the news, but all of your composure was shattered the moment Natsuo kneeled down beside you and asked you if everything was alright before you even saying anything. There was something about being treated with tenderness at a time of vulnerability that touched your soul to the depth of its core and it did not even take you to open your mouth for him to know that you were putting up a front you could not carry on with. 

He panicked when the first drop of tears rolled down your chin, his frame towering over yours as he tried to comfort you by shielding you from the rest of the world.

He was gonna tell you how much he loved you, he was certain that this was the day his years of yearning finally ends. But as the world melted away and all he could focus on was your muffled cries as you told him, struggling and pain dripping from your cheeks, that your body was being slowly decayed away by a sickness no one could manage to name, he came to the realisation that whatever he had to say, it could wait.

He had loved you silently for years and he decided that could do it for as long as you were around. For now, you needed him as your friend, and so that was what he would do.

He stayed by your side through each step you took further down the road, even as his heart shattered at the sight of you growing weaker and weaker. It wasn’t your shaky hands or the hollow of your face that pained him, it was the dullness in your eyes that he could not ignore as much as he tried. He took his field of study for a reason, but there wasn’t a time when he had prayed to all the gods he could name that there was a cure somewhere hidden within the stacks and stacks of reports he drilled into his head as much as he did when he saw you sitting by the window, staring outside at the hospital courtyard almost lifelessly.

He fell in love in an instance the first time he caught a glimpse of the stars in your eyes, but he wasn’t sure what he would do if the day when there was no more light in the sky descends.

“I think I’m dying.”

Your voice echoed through the void in his head that he tried to fill with happy memories of the past and brought him back to the present, when he could hear the ac of the hospital and the beeping of machines. Natsuo shook off the terror that loomed at the back of his head as he clutched the blanket in his hand. 

He was overthinking, he thought to himself as he spun on his heels. His steps heavy and more rapid, nearly as messy as the million of thoughts that was screaming in his head right now. 

(How could he live thinking you couldn’t?)

They were overthinking, the forced voice of rationality repeated as he took a deep breath at your door. It would be alright, they would be alright.

He didn’t eve notice how natural it was for the corner of his lips to lift up the moment he pushed open the door. As if he could pretend the weight pulling his heart all the way down to the pit of his stomach wasn’t there if you didn’t see past the smile on his face.

“I got you a blanket.”

“Thank you.” You smiled softly as he laid the soft fabric on top of you.

“I think I’ll have to go, my shift is about to start.” He said as he tucked down the corners. He didn’t even work in the wing of the hospital you were staying in but yet he was here every day, no exceptions. You had tried to tell him that there was no need to check up on your every day, guilt lumping at your throat when you caught him yawing when he thought you weren’t looking. It was no use, of course, Todoroki Natsuo was a rather stubborn one if he had already made up his mind. “I’ll come check back on you before I leave today, yeah?”

“Of course,” you replied, pushing down the urge to tell him to rest a little, that you would rather have him spend that time on himself than on you. He would argue that he did it because he wanted to and you could already imagine the look of hurt and disapproval when you eventually let slip that you thought there was no hope for you. You weren’t even sure if he truly believed that there was hope in your recovery or that it was for the mere purpose of cheering you up at this point, but he had always held more hope for you than you did yourself. 

You paused as he was about to turn away.

“Natsuo?”

“Hm?”

“Can you help me water the flowers before you go?”

The ceramic pot sitting by your bed was no fancy item and neither was the small flowers standing up soundly inside. Natsuo got you the small plant when you first moved into the ward and he beamed when he saw how fond you were of the buds of chamomile. They reminded you of happier times, you had told him as you traced one of the petals with your finger. Even though you did not even dare to think of the possibility of ever seeing the daffodiles fields again, at least the faint smell of the flowers could bring your mind a bit of peace.

You took great care of the plant and it was the little bit of leisure you could steal from the dullness of having no where to go. It had barely blossomed when he bought the plant but it had grown so much taller now that he paid attention to it. 

If only some of its vitality could be spared to you... 

“Sure.”

As he carefully wet the soil, he was almost shocked when he saw that one of the flowers had wilted. It was dried out, lifeless as it curled at the roots. You were always so attentive to the pot of flowers that any browned leaves would be plucked away before anyone could notice, how come one of the flowers had died and you didn’t do anything about it?

“I’ve decided to leave it there,” you were quick to noticing his silence, “I woke up this morning to see that one of the flowers died. I was going to pick it out but not doing that. There isn’t much point denying a natural process anyways.” 

He could almost hear the hollow of your words in his head again as he looked at the dying flower.  

(”I think I’m dying.”)

“Maybe it’s only this one,” he said, trying to ignore how odd your calmness was to him, “I’m sure the rest will keep growing strong.”

You sighed, and he wasn’t sure what to do with how defeated that sound was. “I hope so.”

-

“Do you think the flowers are dying because it has been trapped here for too long?”

You didn’t look away from the pot as you talked, your brows furrowing together as you spotted more and more of the stems showing signs of yellowing. It had only been days since the first flower wilted but there seemed to be no sign of slowing down for the decay of the plant. What went wrong? You wondered, remembering clearly that you had taken care of it just the same way you did all along. 

Perhaps it really was a signal.

“Maybe it’s the lack of sun light?” Natsuo said, containing the urge to just snatch the pot out of your hand as he pick up the visible downturn of your mood the longer you look at it. “Should we put it somewhere near the window?”

You stared at him for a while as he extended his hands to you before gingerly handing the pot over. 

Could it be that the stuffy room had sped up the years? Or did you water it too much? Not enough? You could push it to the back of your head at first. You could try to pretend it didn’t bother you at all for as much as you tried but it would be a lie to say you had already accepted it. You didn’t look away when they showed you the black and white cast on the film that was supposed to be your body, you did not even budged when they pointed out where it went wrong. You nodded without a hint of grimace when they later told you that they didn’t know what exactly went wrong, only that it was slowly reaping you away.

At first it was regular check ups, and then at some point the doctor advised that it was best for you to stay in the hospital all together. You only cried once. Not when you knew that all your plans were shattered by this unknown illness that was eating at you, not when you realised it would be a long time until you could see the fields you loved again. The only time you cried was when you told him that maybe nothing in your life would stay the same anymore. You weren’t sure what it was about Todoroki Natsuo that made you feel so strong and so small all at once. Perhaps it was the knowing that even for just the split second you stood with him among the dandelion, you were safe. 

You couldn’t fathom what your world would be like if you didn’t have at least someone to look forward to each day in this plain ward, you could imagine that it must be lonely.

Todoroki Natsuo. Friend first and foremost, even though sometimes you wonder if you deserve it.

He had so kindly bought you those flowers as a way to make the four walls a bit less cold, putting bits and pieces of life back into you for as much as your weakening hands can grab onto. But now they were dying, and it seemed like nothing you do could stop life from slipping away.

“There,” Natsuo said as he placed the pot on the windowsill, “I’m sure it’ll be better now.”

You did not have the heart to say that you were almost sure that there was no turning back at this point. 

“Should I help you water it before I go?” he asked, rolling up the sleeve of his coat as he said so. Tilting his head as he saw that your mind was elsewhere, he took one step closer to you. “(y/n)?”

“Hm?” You snapped up to look at him. Pausing to think about what he had just said, you tried to brush off all the thoughts and doubts in your head with a smile. “Yeah, that would be nice. Thank you.”

“It’ll be growing again in no time,” He said, trying to sound as convincing as he could be, “don’t worry about it.”

You could only force yourself to nod.

-

It seemed like nature was not on his side after all.

Natsuo nearly gasped when he saw the pot of daffodil, no, the tangling weed on your window. There was only one left, one last yellow flower standing among the dried out leaves that surrounded it. 

“I don’t think it will last till tomorrow.” you said. You were leaning against the headboard, it was starting to get harder and harder for you to sit up without any help now. You had no idea why, you had barely done anything but you were always tired. You couldn’t even water the flowers yourself if you try, you always get Natsuo or the nurse who checks in on your every once in a while to do it for you. “It is still watered regularly and all that, I have no idea what went wrong.”

“Would it be that we water it too much?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t think that’s it. You even asked the florist for directions, remember?”

“The pot is not big enough?”

You let out a weak laugh, one that sounded more like a cough instead and he winced at how you almost sounded hoarse. “But it was fine for weeks after the flowers grew out?”

“Maybe it’s ventilation-”

“Natsuo,” you cut him off, your head dropping as his face softens at your calling of his name, “it’s fine.”

Running his head through his hair, he sighed before swinging it down in defeat. “I’m sorry”

“What are you apologising for? It’s not your fault.” You chuckled, your head tilting as you fidgeted with your hands. You could barely feel the temperature of your own skin. “All things have an end, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

It wasn’t, but deep down he still had a feeling that he had failed the one role he tried so hard to keep up with. He wanted to make it less painful for you, whether it was possible or not. He felt a horrible stir in his stomach upon the instinct that you were not talking about the flowers. He wanted to stop you, but you didn’t let him as you carried on.

“Daffodils are the prettiest when it’s out in the wild, with the sun and the wind blowing through,” you looked almost enamored by the sight you were conjuring in your head, a dream-like trance draping over your eyes, “you can only keep it in a room for so long until it eventually gets sick of the lights and the walls.”

You wished you could see the daffodil fields one more time.

He didn’t even realise how his nails were dug into his palm until the ache turned dull. Natsuo sighed, “Do you want me to water it anyways? Maybe we can keep the last flower.”

“No need,” you shrugged a little, your breath almost shaky as you exhaled, “I say we let it be, maybe it’s better that way.”

And there it was, the same acceptance in your tone as if it didn’t bother you at all. But he knew you better, acceptance only came after you give up on the possibility that you would be given a chance not to accept fate. 

("I think I’m dying.”)

“But-”

“It’s fine, Natsu, really,” you said, shaking your head a little as if to wave away whatever it was lingering in your mind before looking up at him with a smile. You smile, but there was no twinkle in your eyes anymore. “You should go get some rest, you have a long shift today.”

“It’s ok, I-”

“I’m feeling tired anyways,” you laughed when you saw that he didn’t even budge, your eyebrows raising a little to the best of your ability, “go!”

Despite your persistence, Natsuo could not bring himself to leave without taking one secretive glance at the last standing daffodil at the window. Maybe you were right, maybe it would not last till tomorrow. HIs heart sank at the thought and how even though you sounded like it was all set in stone for you, he knew that stripping away this last memory of the life you had before falling ill would be the final stone to your desperation. 

He wouldn’t pretend that he was going through all the turmoil for nothing but his care for you. Perhaps it was a bit selfish too, but he secretly wished that there would be a day when he could finally told you those words he buried deep within time after time. 

He was hoping, praying that you could see the day it happens. But for now, as he stared at the lone yellow flower under the golden hour sunlight from outside the door, this plan that seemed near impossible would just have to make do.

-

Your head was heavy when you wake up again.

You dreamt of home last night only to open your eyes to face the harsh reality of the white ceiling. It had been so long, honestly it was more surprising that it could still faze you. In your dream, everything was so real, so real that the disappointment when you broke out of it hurt even more.

You thought you had accepted that this was all there was left to your life already.

“Morning (y/n).”

You twisted your head to the side to see the nurse in charge of your ward fixing the curtains. She was very nice, and you always enjoyed seeing her every morning. You wondered if she had seen you stirring awake just then.

“Morning,”

Gripping the bar of your bed, you tried your best to sit yourself up. Your eyes fell onto the pot when she moved. It was a gut feeling when you said you knew it wasn’t going to live past today, and you were almost said to say that you were right. It was just dried out leaves laying lifelessly on the soil now, who would have known how beautiful it once was if they had seen it now?

“It’s so sad that the flowers wilted,” the nurse pitied, “they make the room so much nicer.”

You sighed, letting out a mindless mumble of agreement.

“You have been so out of your element lately,” she said, “maybe we should open the curtains in here, sunlight would be good for your spirit, no?”

Seeing as you did not object, she held both curtain in hand and pulled it apart. The morning sun immediately shined into the room through the window, you could almost imagine the warmth on your skin.

But the moment she looked out, she gasped.

“Oh my...”  she clasped her hand around her mouth in shock, “(y/n) you need to see this!”

Your brows locked together in confusion. You had seen the court before, you used to sit by the window all day long when you felt better. What was it that made her reacted like that? 

Your eyes squinted from the light as she helped you to the window. Putting a hand on your forehead to block the sun, you looked out as you pondered what could possibly be out there that she insisted that you must see it yourself.

Your breath stopped when you finally saw what was in the court.

That was not real. You could not believe your own eyes, how was it even possible?

You did not look away even once when the hand supporting your arms slowly retreated away, replaced by a pair of larger palms.

You could feel your eyes welling up when you heard his voice.

“So,” you did not need to look at him to know that Natsuo was smiling, “thoughts?”

“Did you do this?”

He chuckled, “Do what?”

Your gripped his arm as you turned to look at him. He was grinning ear to ear, and that was the answer you needed.

All you saw was an ocean of yellow flowers. Down in the hospital courtyard, every inch of the ground was covered with daffodils. They were blooming, every single one of them as the sun shined onto each bud. It was almost like the petals were emitting a golden glow. It was still the same grey walls, but for the first time since you got here, you found yourself not wanting to look away.

You never thought you would ever get to see this sight again, but somehow he managed to bring the fields to you.

You didn’t even know you were laughing as the tears roll down your face until his swept away the drop with his thumb. It was the same smile that pulled him to you and never left. He didn’t even know how much he had missed the sight of it until butterflies erupted in his chest as you looked up at him.

He would give you all the flowers in the world just to keep that smile.

“How did you do that?” you were at awe as you looked between the sea of flowers and back at him.

“Well,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I called in every single florist in town to see if they have daffodils. It was probably the universe helping that I could get that many, really.”

You sucked in a deep breath at the thought of him going from store to store even when he was probably already exhausted from work just to make you happy. “You really shouldn’t-”

“But do you like it?” He asked, eyebrows raising like he knew he could win you over any argument you were trying to raise.

You paused, biting your lips before replying. “Yeah?”

“Then it means I should do it.” He said, and you felt like you could get lost in his eyes as he stared right into the depths of your soul, “I’ll do anything for you, you know that.”

It was not a question, he had always supposed you should know that he meant every word and as much as you knew that he was the best thing to have ever happened to you, there was so little things you could think of that was more precious than someone believing in a future for you more than you did yourself.

You never deserved him, although he would be the one to protest against that thought.

Todoroki Natsuo. Friend, now and always would be, but maybe something more too.

“You’re gonna get into so much trouble for that...”

“I could get it here in one night, I’m sure I can get it out in just as little time too.” You laughed as he poked his tongue out and winked. 

His hand was so warm against your back.

“When I’m finally out of here,” you said and he nearly beamed, “let’s go see the daffodils again.”

Natsuo had waited years to tell you that he loved you. But at that moment, he was starting to believe that there was never a need for that.

“Of course.”

[xxxrubytuesdayxxx]

If you’re too insecure to tell him...

Word Count: 2,085

Disclaimers: This is part (49) of a Choose Your Own Ending!

Check at the end for glossary of Korean terms*

Start here:

You’re still weighing your thoughts when he shrugs, cute, and pulls at the blanket in your hands.

“Ah never mind. It’ll give me an excuse to do another load of laundry,” he jokes. Sensing that the moment is lost, you surrender the blanket and perch yourself on the low stone wall at the park’s entrance to wait for him, as you know how particular he is when it comes to cleaning his own things. He doesn’t take long but you close your eyes to rest, enjoying the shaded sunlight on your face and the feel of the light breeze letting you know autumn is approaching. You jump when you feel his breath warm on your neck.

“Not sleepy already are you?” murmurs Jeongguk’s voice as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into him. You open your eyes and smile at him.

“Mm-mm,” you tell him, shaking your head for emphasis. “Just enjoying the weather.” He smiles back at you, his eyes darting down to your lips then back up to meet your own. His lips twist into a smirk when you give him a warning look and he leans forward to assault your lips, his tongue insistently seeking entry as his hands explore your lacy bodice for points of ingress. You open your mouth for him but gently remove his hands from their vantage point at the front of your bodice.

“Ani, Kook! You’ve already pushed enough boundaries for one day. Besides, even you need a rest between orgasms,” you tease.

“I’m young,” he shrugs with a little pout, as if he’s accusing you of questioning his virility. “And anyway you look sexy…” he assesses you, his sleepy, post-coital gaze raking your body.  He leans in for another kiss, nipping your bottom lip impatiently. “I could easily go for round two with you tempting me like this…” he puts a finger to your lips to hush you when you open your mouth to object. “Relax,” he smirks. “I said ‘could’ not will. “I have other plans.” He pulls you to your feet before you can drown in his hungry, dark eyes. “Gaja,” he whispers, making you blush at his intimacy as he pulls you into the autumn-crisp park.

“Kookie…” you object in a faint voice. “You know you shouldn’t use banmal with me: I’m your noona.” He stops, turns, contemplates you with another cheeky smile playing around his lips.

“I dunno, I mean...I think the rules change after like the third time you ‘service’ me?” he ponders, acting like he’s seriously considering the concept. “Maybe even the second time.”

“Brat,” you hiss, blushing hotly. He smiles beatifically and pulls your hand behind his back with his.

“You love it when I use banmal with you almost as much as you love it when I use satoori,” he points out, giggling when you give him a baleful look, knowing full well that you can’t contradict his accusations. He shepherds you past the pagoda and the kids playground, guiding you up onto the wooden steps that ascend up the side of the hill, into the trees.

“What kind of a picnic are we going to manage with no food and now no picnic blanket?” you tease him. “Wait...Are you bringing me up here to murder me?” He looks mock-indignant.

“How dare you?” he sasses you. “Do you think I’d have used my own car to do something like that?” You roll your eyes and hold back a snort of laughter as you pick your way carefully through the fringes of trees that protrude on your path. “I just thought it would be cute to go for a walk with you where nobody can spy on us,” he sulks, cozying up to you as you near the top of the hill, approaching the tennis courts. All very sweet yet you can’t shake the uneasy feeling that he’s up to something. That feeling intensifies when he steers you right through the park and back into Gangnam’s narrow streets, stopping abruptly in front of a dilapidated building.

He bows politely to the sinister-looking doorman who nods in acknowledgement and then lets you both into a tiny room, decorated in red and looking like a cross between a private singing room and a bordello. You look around warily, noting that it’s devoid of people but that Jeongguk seems to know the place well. He leads you over to one of the armchairs lining the walls, pulls you into his lap and starts to kiss you like you’re in private again. You kiss him back, but all your senses are on red alert - you can’t even close your eyes and you’re certainly not relaxed.

He must sense your hesitation, as he grabs your hand and pulls it into his lap, closing his eyes and moaning loudly and theatrically when your fingers curl instinctively to caress his erection through his jeans. You jerk your hand away and clap it over his mouth, your heart thundering in your chest as you scan the room. He watches you over the top of your cautionary hand, his huge Bambi eyes wide and curious. You’re just about to ask him why on earth he’s doing this in a public place, when you sense the door open and then clang shut again. 

You glance over instinctively just in time to see a beautiful, immaculately-dressed young Korean man step inside. He greets Jeongguk with a nod, glances down at where his hand is placed provocatively high on your thigh, and then offers you a friendly but knowing smile. Idol. It’s easy to tell even though you can’t place his face, so you know he’s not one of the company’s idols or even a trainee.

Your new friend has just settled himself into another chair when a rolling shutter slides up and a very pretty woman pokes her head through the gap, takes note of the three of you, and then retreats, bringing the shutter down before you can properly register what just happened. Next minute a door opens and the same girl joins you, clutching a clipboard and giving you the evil eye. She smiles at the boys though, turning up the charm when Jeongguk gives her a predatory look.

“Has she signed the ND form?” she asks him, as if you’re not right there.

“She works on our staff, noona. Does she even need to?” he whines, darting a look at you that silently conveys his need for you not to ask any questions right now.

“House rules,” the girl tells him firmly, handing you the clipboard with a form attached, which you reluctantly fill out. “I’m assuming you want a private room then?” she continues, still addressing herself solely to Jeongguk. “Unless...you want me to join you?” she offers, sneaking her hand onto his shoulder in an overly-friendly manner. To your indignation, he doesn’t blow her off but instead gives her one of his sexiest pouts, thinks it over for way too long, and then reluctantly decides to tell her that a private room is fine.

When you’re finally alone, Jeongguk grabs you by the waist and pulls you over to him greedily. “Irionna,” he growls, slipping into his satoori accent and kissing you messily. His hands get to work on your bodice, but you stop him gently. He looks surprised at the interruption, but pauses his seduction routine and looks at you questioningly. “Mwo, noona?” he huffs. “We only have an hour, c’mon,” he cajoles you, his hands slipping down your back to cup your ass in both his hands. When you don’t answer, he lifts you off the ground, so that you have to wrap your legs around his waist to balance. “We can talk about it later, okay?” he bargains, as he pulls back the bedcovers to lay you tenderly on the king-sized futon that takes up most of the room, before covering your body with delicate kisses.

You shelve your concerns, as he asks, but not before contemplating that his current confidence belies his earlier innocence. Just how practiced at this stuff is BTS’s seemingly-innocent maknae? you wonder. He clips you in his arms, pushing all your reservations clean out of your mind with his grinding hips and sinful kisses. You wrap your legs up around him, letting him press your skirt up above your hips and yank your knickers down to your knees, where you can kick them off. You grab his tiny waist to manoeuvre him between your legs so that he can thrust his quivering erection straight inside you. You gasp as his tip brushes your clit and all vestiges of his virginal innocence dissipate entirely with his moans.

You realise, with a start, that he was actually holding it in back at the dorm, as he gives the whores a run for their money with the effort he puts in now. You kiss him hard, threading your fingers through his hair and nipping his perfectly-sculpted bottom lip in an effort to quiet him, just in case you’re disturbing anyone outside, but it’s no use. He seems to just take your bites as encouragement, and you can’t deny he’s pretty sexy in this state. Just as you can’t take it much longer, you feel his hips dance, he gives one final extended groan of pleasure and your thighs are suddenly wet with his semen, pushing your orgasm over the edge as well. He collapses, panting, on your chest, then rolls off you to cuddle into your arms and you don’t have the heart to ruin the moment with your misgivings.

Back in the car though, you take a deep breath and ask, because you have to know. “Do you...go there a lot?” you murmur, willing the answer to be something other than what you know in your heart. He nods and winks at you, seemingly completely unaware of why it might bother you. “And is that the real reason why you don’t want to do the show? Cos you’ll have cameras following you around and won’t be able to squeeze this into a double-schedule?” you prompt him. Another nod. This time he has the grace to blush and avoid your eyes, despite the fact that he hasn’t started the engine yet. His shoulders slump as he does so and the car roars to life, but he sneaks a hand onto your knee while he’s driving and when you look at him questioningly, he just gives you a cute little smile and squeezes your knee, so you figure he’s not too annoyed by your questions.

“It’s only for a few months, Kook,” Namjoon points out, Jeongguk having begrudgingly admitted to his extra-curricular activities as well as his hesitations regarding being made a fool of on live television. “Don’t worry about looking silly. It’ll be like any other variety show. We’ll have our people on set and at script meetings to make sure they don’t go overboard. Besides, the girl might be cute,” he cajoles, trying to ignore your death glare. You tone it down a bit because, as much as you hate to admit it, it could be great for publicity. You wait for Jeongguk to mull it over. It doesn’t help that he’s rarely looked so lovely and you can’t resist slipping your hand onto his thigh. He smiles and plays with your fingers distractedly. Namjoon gives you a warning look but you clear your throat and meet his gaze levelly.

“I think you should do it, JK,” you concede. “Get it out of the way, grab some extra publicity and then your fans think they know what you’re like in a romantic relationship without having to worry you’re actually dating someone behind the scenes.” He scrunches his nose up, cute and gives you both an adorable grimace. “Okay,” he agrees, before giving Namjoon a defiant look and kissing you softly. “I’ll do it if you turn a blind eye to what happens outside filming hours.” Namjoon’s shoulders slump defeatedly but he nods his agreement. “Whatever it takes,” he sighs.

Unfortunately for you ‘whatever it takes’ turns out not to be merely Jeongguk dating you on the sly, but rather Namjoon allowing BTS’s golden maknae to bestow his favours on an ever-increasing roster of willing women, leaving you without a leg to stand on if you raise any objections, as Joon smugly points out. Seems that, despite the premise of the show he manages to shine in, the word “commitment” just isn’t in Jeongguk’s vocabulary.

THE END

Glossary: (feel free to submit corrections for these ^.^)

Gaja (가자) - Let’s go (casual)

Banmal (반말) - Casual language

Satoori (사투리) - Regional dialect

Irionna (이리온나) - Come here

Mwo? (뭐) - What?

[chiefnooniensingh]

I Won’t Hesitate (For You) Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Come Back (I still need you)

In this chapter: In the past, Michael and Alex, scarred both physically and mentally, part ways. In the present day, Kyle Vale's trustworthiness is called into question. Some new information about Michael comes to light, once again shaking up Alex' theories. Meanwhile, time is running out on solving this murder. 

A/n: As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!

Last week's chapter title hasn't been guessed yet! I have to admit, it might be because it's a niche song? I have no idea about it's popularity, the only reason I know it is because we sing it in my Rock Choir. So it's still open, be my guest and keep guessing!

Can anyone guess this week's?

also on: ao3

other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

February, 1925

Alex stood at the regional airport, the most basic of his belongings in a duffel at his feet, looking miserably at the small plane that would fly him to Albuquerque, where another plane would take him across the country.

Today was the start of basic training, and Alex was absolutely miserable.

He hadn’t even said goodbye to Michael.

Since the…incident, they’d barely seen each other. Alex’s father had put him on house arrest and Michael had been in hospital for a while. When he came back to school – the only place they could still safely see each other – his hand was in a thick bandage and he told Alex in clipped tones that it would probably never heal properly. Alex had barely been able to look at him and also noticed that Michael was avoiding him.

Alex never blamed Michael for that. No, that was Jesse Manes’ fault.

Jesse Manes, the man who called himself his father, who threatened Michael’s life. After Michael had left that night, Jesse Manes had sat Alex down and instead of beating him, had done something far worse.

“If you value that boy’s life at all, you will do as I say from here on out. The army is recruiting a new wave of soldiers. You turn 17 soon. You’ll start your training in February.” Alex had tried to protest, but Jesse Manes went on, “You will go into the army, Alex. They will beat this disgusting perversity of yours out of you. If you don’t go, or if you have the nerve to desert, a very nasty accident might happen to rash, hot-headed Michael Guerin.”

Alex’s heart still ran cold at the memory, and he shut his eyes against the pain. He knew he had no choice, knew his father had finally found the one thing that would keep Alex in line. Threatening Michael was so much more effective than the threat of personal physical harm.

So Alex was here, five feet away from his father at all times, watching as Master Sergeant Jesse Manes conversed with the officer that was going to take him away from his home, his life, his Michael.

And Michael would never know why. Alex could still see the hurt and anger in Michael’s eyes when Alex told him he was leaving the next day. He hadn’t been able to tell Michael why, and it had sparked a fight between them unlike any Alex had ever had. Michael had stormed off, and Alex had left.

Maybe it was better like this, Alex tried to convince himself. Michael would be better off hating him. It would hurt less.

“Alex!” Master Sergeant Manes called authoritatively, and like an obedient dog, Alex came. “This is private Jackson. He’ll escort you to basic training.” Alex nodded to the young man, who seemed fairly nervous in the presence of the Master Sergeant. “Now,” Manes continued, “I expect you to uphold the valour and honour this society has begun to expect from the Manes family. Your brothers are war heroes. Try to live up to them. Then maybe, finally, I can be proud of you.”

Alex hated the way his heart jumped, hated that after all this time, making his father proud still held appeal. Alex hated everything about the man. But he was still his father. “I’ll try,” Alex said shortly. He took up his duffel and nodded to his father. “Bye, dad.”

His father gave no reply but watched Alex board the plane and the plane start to take off. “You did well,” Master Sergeant Manes said coldly. From behind a crate, Michael Guerin appeared, watching the plane take off with red-rimmed eyes. He didn’t comment, so the Master Sergeant continued. “This is what’s best for him, Michael. You pushing him away only made it easier for him to go after his destiny. It was the smart decision.”

Michael snorted, flexing his healed, but permanently disfigured fingers in anger. “It wasn’t my decision. You said you’d do to Alex what you did to me. I couldn’t let that happen. At least now he’s safely away from you.” Michael spat on the floor in front of Jesse Manes’ feet and turned on his heel, leaving the man behind.

On the plane, Alex was oblivious to this exchange. He and Jackson were laughing together, bonding over their mutual dislike of the Master Sergeant. “Hey, did you see the news?” Private Jackson held up the newspaper, and Alex took it. The paper was a local Roswell paper, the headline was in aggressive bold letters, shouting: Sheriff Jim Valenti found dead at Santa Fe, New Mexico home. Police suspect suicide.

“Jesus,” Alex murmured, scanning the rest of the article. Apparently, the unsolved case of Rosa Ortecho had always haunted him, even after moving to another town and trying to start over. The pressure and the guilt seemed to have finally gotten the better of him.

Rosa Ortecho’s murderer was still wreaking havoc, even five years after the murder.

Jim Valenti (41) leaves behind a wife, who will take over his position as sheriff in the interim, and their fifteen-year-old son, Kyle. The family was not available for comment.

Present day, 22nd of October, 1935

“Son of a bitch,” Alex cursed, taking off towards the corridor, barely avoiding a full-on collision with a wide-eyed Max Evans as he made his way quickly towards the voice of miss Otto. Kyle Vale – no, Valenti, son of disgraced Sheriff Valenti, who killed himself because he couldn’t solve Rosa Ortecho’s case – was standing over her, inspecting the wound and looking up startled at Alex’s less than subtle entry. “You!” Alex said, his heart beating fast. “You’re Kyle Valenti, aren’t you? You’ve been lying about your identity all this time, haven’t you?”

Kyle’s eyes widened almost comically, basically giving himself away before he could ever defend himself. “Alex, you don’t understand…”

“No, I think I understand perfectly,” Alex said, controlling his voice with difficulty. “Your father was on Rosa Ortecho’s case. He couldn’t solve it and killed himself over it. This was cold-blooded revenge.”

Several gasps sounded behind him. Alex turned and realised he hadn’t exactly been quiet. Every passenger was standing at the door, staring at the two men staring each other down, with miss Beth sitting in between them, looking shocked. Not very professional, Alex. “Kyle Valenti?” he heard someone whisper incredulously.

“Alex, I didn’t – ” But Kyle could only bluster, his face red, as good as a confession.

“You knew the open window would speed up the temperature changes in a dead body. You purposefully pretended not to know that! You murdered him and opened the window and then lied to my face about everything!”

“No, I – ”

“It’s true, Alex, he didn’t!” Maria said loudly, pushing forward and shrugging off her mother’s hand. “I’m sorry, Alex, I lied to you. I was with Kyle the entire night. After our game of cards that night before, Kyle invited me back to his cabin for a nightcap, so that my mother could get some rest, and we just…kept talking. I promise, Alex. Kyle had nothing to do with this.”

Alex turned towards Kyle, who shrugged with a half-smile. But Alex was done. This entire case had fucked him over multiple times, nearly cost him his life and also cost him a second chance with the love of his life. He wasn’t going to bend so easily. “Then why was your identification altered? Kyle Vale?”

Kyle’s smile vanished immediately and opened his mouth to reply. He closed it again after a few seconds. “Yeah,” said Alex, scoffing, “that’s what I thought. Michael!” Michael stepped forward, his eyes barely meeting Alex’s. “Please take Mr Valenti’s keys from him and lock him in his cabin. I want him locked up until the matter is resolved,” Alex said, throwing a hard look at Kyle as he did, who had the decency to look ashamed as he handed over his keys.

Alex turned around, but not before he saw the look Kyle was shooting Maria, who was looking wide-eyed at the scene before her. “Alex, you can’t – ” Maria said desperately, grasping Michael by the arm to stop him. “Michael, don’t let him do this!”

“Miss DeLuca, while I appreciate your input, this is the first solid lead this case has had so far. Unless you can provide me with a better one, I have no other choice than to detain Mr Valenti for the time being. If he didn’t do this, we’ll know soon enough. If he did, do you really want a murderer in your midst for even a second longer?”

To that, Maria had no retort, and Michael escorted Kyle to his cabin. A dreadful, pressing silence filled the train. Even the noise of the engine seemed to bend to its presence. Alex immediately knew that the equilibrium had shifted; before, everybody could still believe the other innocent. Now they had a target. Someone they liked, someone they trusted.

Alex knew how they felt.

And yet.

It didn’t feel right.

Kyle was his best suspect, and yet only a fraction of the evidence pointed his way. It was more than to other people, to be sure. But still, Alex mused, it wasn’t his most solid case by far. He knew the courts would probably not even touch this case on this little evidence.

Sighing, Alex left Miss Otto’s cabin, with Beth still looking stunned, behind and went back to the dining carriage. He pushed open the door thoughtlessly, and found it was not empty.

“Michael, please, just a few more – ”

“ – no, Max, I can’t do this anymore! I can’t lie to – Alex!”

Michael and Max Evans were standing very close together, both with red faces and looking as though Alex just caught them having a very heated argument. “Is everything okay?” Alex said, suspiciously, closing the door behind him. “What can’t you lie about, Michael?”

“It was nothing – ” Max began, but Michael cut him off.

“Max, for once in your life, shut the fuck up.”

Both Max and Alex looked at him in surprise. Alex knew Michael had a foul mouth, but he was polite when he needed to be, when his job required him to be. He would never talk to guests this way… “What’s going on, Michael?”

Michael ran his hands through his curls, trying to make up his mind. “Damn it. Alright." He sighed. "I've been sick of secrets for a long time now. It's time." Alex frowned, his heart picking up its pace as Michael straightened up and looked him square in the eyes. Was Michael going to confess...? "You remember I told you my siblings found me?” Alex nodded, a realisation dawning on him. “Max is my brother. Isobel is my sister. I’m sorry,” Michael said to Max as the latter began to protest, and then again to Alex, who stared, open-mouthed, at the two, “I just can’t lie anymore. Not to you.”

“Michael, I – ” Alex looked from Michael to Max and back. The two couldn’t be more different. Where Max and Isobel shared the same bone structure, the same facial features, even the same shape of their mouths, Michael didn’t look anything like his siblings. He was soft where they were hard, wild where they were reserved. But now that he was looking closer, he could see it in the colour of Michael’s eyes and the set of his shoulders. “How?” he managed to choke out. “How are they both here? Why? Precisely on your train?”

Michael shook his head miserably, but Max stepped in. “Michael got us the tickets. We wanted to be with our brother. It was easy to pull Noah along. He didn’t even realize.”

“You realize how this looks, though. A man gets murdered, and his wife’s two brothers are on the train. One of which, they didn’t have contact with until a couple of years ago! What am I supposed to make of this?!” Alex was well aware his voice was beginning to crack. So many emotions raged through him. He wanted to get to know Michael’s brother, wanted that happiness for Michael, but he also was scared of what it all meant. The coincidences just kept piling up around Michael.

“Nothing,” Michael said, stepping forward and taking Alex’s hand.  “You’re not supposed to make anything out of this, because it’s not anything! Alex, please.”

“Why did you lie?” Alex croaked, his eyes boring into Michael’s. “Just give me a reasonable explanation. You sat there,” Alex gestured wildly at the table they had sat at not a day ago, “and told you me your siblings found you and you just…neglected to mention they were on this train? Why?”

“Max asked me to. He didn’t want you to think exactly what you’re thinking now. Alex, I would do anything to protect my family. You know that better than most.”

“Oh, do I?”

“You think I got this,” Michael held up his maimed hand, and Alex flinched at the memory that surfaced with it, “for fun? You think I would’ve let you go to the army if I didn’t think you were safer there than you were with me?”

“Let me?!” Alex yelled, near hysterical now. “I chose to go into the army! To protect you, from my father! He would’ve killed you, Michael! You couldn’t have stopped me, even if you tried! Which you didn’t!”

Max was backing away from the conversation, looking startled at this sudden change in subject, but Alex barely noticed. Michael was eyes were wide and tears were threatening to spill over. “I didn’t stop you, because your father threatened you! He said he would do to you what he did to me! And I couldn’t let that happen! Your father was going to kill you one day, and I knew that pushing you away and towards the army was going to save you!”

A ringing silence hung between the two of them as they processed what the other had just said. “He did what?” Alex eventually managed. Michael nodded, a few tears escaping. “So my father threatened both of us.”

“We both thought we were doing what was best for the other.”

“And in the end, it was Jesse Manes who got what he wanted,” Alex finished bitterly. “As per fucking usual.”

“I’m so sorry, Alex.”

Alex let out a broken laugh. “What for? You were trying to protect me, I was trying to protect you…we were both hurting and stopped communicating. Jesus, we’re both fucking idiots.”

Michael let out a surprised laugh as well. “Yeah, we are.”

And without waiting another second, Alex flung his arms around Michael’s neck and pressed him into a hug. Michael wrapped his arms around Alex’s waist and squeezed tightly. Alex felt warm and fuzzy inside, and for a second – as happened often around Michael – he forgot his current predicament. The hug lasted forever, or so it felt to Alex, and it made him feel warm inside, giving him a strength he hadn’t realized he had been missing. In the end, it was Max’s uncomfortable cough that broke the two apart.

“So,” Max said, scratching his ear, “you must be the Alex Michael’s always going on about.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at Michael, who shrugged noncommittally. “I guess I am.”

“Then let’s start over. I’m Max Evans, Michael’s brother.” Max extended his hand to Alex, and Alex took it without hesitation.

“Alex Manes. I’m Michael’s…well, we don’t have a name for it.”

“I think I got what you two are from the many, many, many stories Michael has told us,” Max said teasingly, winking at the pair of them, earning a disgusted scoff from Michael and a chuckle from Alex.

Michael sighed, rubbing his forehead. “So what now?”

Alex rarely encountered three words that could change an atmosphere so profoundly. What now, indeed? “It’s all going in my book, that’s step one.” Alex took out his notebook and traced a line between Max, Isobel and Michael. SIBLINGS, he wrote over the line. “And as for after that? I honest to God have no fucking clue.”

The train slowed down and Michael, Alex and Max watched as the train pulled into a train station. The sign on the platform read LAUSANNE. They’d reached Switzerland.

Their final stop before Paris.

Time was running out.

[worddevdealswithml]

Side Effects Include: Empathy

Chapter 34 (End):

Three plates of leftovers, a couple best-of-three mechastrike duels, and two completely unexpected kisses later (what could she say, he turned really red, and it was too adorable to pass up), Adrien finally ran out of excuses to stay. Not to say that she wanted him to leave; it was just that according to all stated logic, he had come here to make sure she was okay, and the longer he stayed, the more awkward questions there might be all round.

So, when his ride finally arrived, she’d made no bones about him needing to leave promptly.

She’d said it honestly, but he’d leaned in, and wrapped his arms around her, and she’d had a hard time holding onto that commitment.

“See you tomorrow night?” he whispered.

She tried to maintain her composure, an effort that was made all the harder by the fact that she knew he was entirely aware of exactly how she felt, and laughed.

“I’ll leave the skylight open.”

His arms tightened for a second, and then…

He pulled away, took a deep breath.

“I’m glad that you’re feeling better after your nightmare, Marinette,” he said, a trifle too cleanly, and winked at her.

She giggled.  “Well, I’m certainly glad you stopped by to make sure I was okay, and for no other reason.”

He started walking away.

--

It had been over a month since Ladybug had done, that, to Destruction Worker, and Hawkmoth was rapidly losing his mind.

He was nowhere near giving up yet, but it seemed like every villain he sent out… Grandshake, defeated in 4 minutes, Zillionaire, just over 2, and the 42nd rendition (43rd?  He was losing track) of Mr. Pidgeon…  Of course, he never really amounted to much, but under ten seconds of not amounting to much?

Ladybug had been bad enough before, when she just had a knack for planning around his supervillains, but now the balance had shifted, and unless he focused on strength, she could usually win in a straight-up fight.  And if he did focus on making them strong, they were usually animalistic, and she just planned around them like it was nothing, to say nothing of the fact that Chat Noir was still a completely viable threat in his own right, and the other Miraculouses she could call on…

Nathalie had visibly deteriorated since she’d started working with him, and if he kept this up, he’d lose the only asset that was keeping him from being completely outgunned…

And… And also Nathalie. It wasn’t like he’d enjoy that, either.

He could try turning her into Catalyst again, but that would require engineering another mass event like he’d done on heroes’ day, and he didn’t even know where Lila Rossi had gone.  He didn’t have Volpina, and he could barely afford to have Mayura.

Still.  He’d keep trying, and eventually, he’d hit on something that could get him a victory, or, if nothing else, at least another Miraculous that wouldn’t put his assistant into a coma.

But for now, who knew when that would happen.

--

A particularly astute observer would likely have noticed that something was going on, starting shortly after a nightmare-inducing villain had attacked.

And now, two months hence…

Ladybug stood there, a bored expression on her face, finger wrapped up in the cord of her yo-yo.

“I told you I would,” she said, sounding almost annoyed, “so I don’t think you have anyone to blame but yourself.”

Chat Noir laughed. “And I told you that I’d welcome it, and I certainly do.”

“I remember you saying that, certainly,” agreed Ladybug, “but I don’t see any of the reporters you were hoping for, which I think leaves the advantage with me.”

From the way Ladybug rolled it her eyes, it was safe to say that Chat Noir had winked at her.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to entice you into doing this again at a better time.  In the meantime, I’m not complaining. You already had me wrapped up in your charms.”

Ladybug sighed, and Chat Noir rose slightly higher above the ground as she put her face in the hand that was holding onto her yo-yo’s string.

She muttered something under her breath that an astute listener would have parsed to be something about regretting that his Miraculous was keeping him from being affected by his position.

“I get plenty of practice with the blood rushing to my head anyway,” he said, “after all, I spend plenty of time with-

“You already used that line!” cut in Ladybug.

“And it worked so well that time!”

“Well, maybe I don’t want it to be that simple for you,” said Ladybug.

--

The clip went viral almost the instant Alya posted it, but deep down, she knew that if they hadn’t prevailed on her to cut it off there, it would have been even more popular.

--

“Alright then,” said Chat Noir, craning his neck so his face was a bit closer to her.  “Then how about this one…”

He said something, not quite audible, and Ladybug went pale, the string she’d been holding onto almost popping off of her finger.

“Ah—” said Chat Noir, now in a pile on the floor, “too… Too soon?  I’m…  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, if you want me to wait until some other time, or—

His rapid backtracking was suddenly cut off, as Ladybug, who seemed to have pulled back into white so that she could slingshot directly into a bright red, wrapped him in what must have been a bonecrushing hug.

Most viewers would have agreed that Ladybug didn’t say a word, but Chat Noir, apparently would have disagreed with them.

“Oh,” he said, after a second, “I see.  I really do mean it, you know.”

Ladybug let out a weak giggle.

“I know you do, you silly kitty.”

--

Alya of course, told them all about what she’d seen, in person, the next day at school.

“I’m serious,” she said, leaning forward onto the table they’d co-opted to eat on, grinning wide, “I swear to you, after everything, they’ve got to be together.  Like, I don’t know what he said, but from the way she just dropped him, it must have been something serious.”

“Or it was just like, ‘I’m covered in mud, and you’ll get your yo-yo’ dirty,” said Nino, shrugging.

“Hush, you,” said Alya, “I’m not kidding.  They asked me to cut the footage, seemed really serious about it.  I’m pretty sure it was something personal.”

Adrien idly reached out a hand, and rested it lightly on Marinette’s back, low enough that nobody else at the table would see it.

//

Relief, presumably that Alya actually did cut the footage, sparks lightly into shock, and settles back down, as she almost casually accepts the contact.

“Well,” she says, “I think it’s great that you at least respected their wishes.”

Alya laughs, a trifle ruefully.  “Yeah, I mean…  I’m just imagining how popular the clip would have been if I’d gotten the whole thing, but… I guess it’s for the best, right? I’m fairly certain that at least a few Akumas were caused by a lack of privacy, and… just imagine Ladybug and Chat Noir turned against the city.”

“Well, I mean,” says Nino, as there’s a twist of distaste from Marinette, “he’s after their Miraculouses, right?  He’d probably just have them hand them over, and untransform them.”

“Well, I don’t want to find out what he’d do with them anyway,” says Alya.

“Probably something big and villain-y” says Nino.  “Hey, maybe that could be your next article.  Top 5 things Hawkmoth would do if he did get Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculouses.”

Adrien rolls his eyes, and as Alya and Nino continue their discussion, he looks over at Marinette.

She catches the movement and looks back at him.

Her expression is even, and more questioning than anything.

She feels… Honest, and open, more than anything, and right now, that is exactly the thing calibrated to set his heart racing.

Alya and Nino are busy with something else, so it’s not like anything stopping him from…

No.

As much as he’d love to even the score between them, vis-à-vis who catches the other off-guard with a kiss, right now, what he really wants…

He wraps his arm the rest of the way around her waist, and slides her closer, until she bumps up against him.

And there, the sun shining through the window, his friends hammering out the details of a new article, and Marinette beside him, lighting up his heart from the inside out, Adrien is happy to sit, and he knows, knows for a fact, that she’s happy, too.

And that’s all he needs to know.

 -The End

[thebrotherswholoved]

unconditionally

summary: A short lil’ drabble in which Sam and Dean have a teenaged kid who reveals a secret to them.

words: 1.7k

read on ao3 (please)

⇣ ⇣ ⇣

Sam and Dean’s daughter comes home from school one day with a black eye, bruises, and a limp, making it difficult to sneak past her overbearing dads unnoticed. Her arm is probably broken given the deformity in her wrist, but that’s not what really hurts—no, it’s now how those kids beat her up, it’s why. Her secret is killing her, now literally as well as figuratively.

When the fifteen year old tries to get through the door after walking from her bus stop, she doesn’t expect her fathers to be home. Her dad works as a forensic analyst down at the police department and her papa is a medical assistant, so they rarely get home before five o’clock even if they work the same hours. So when she stumbles into the foyer like a fawn learning to walk, wincing with every movement because god, those kids fucked her up, she’s surprised to hear a concerned gasp and footsteps running toward her weakened body.

“Jenna, what the hell happened?!” Dean asks as he takes his daughter into his arms, trying to be as gentle as possible with her while he carries her to the couch. A Maury Povich rerun is still playing onscreen from seconds earlier when he and Sam were snuggling together on their break, but he drowns out the results of Donna whatever-her-name-was’s paternity test to take care of his little girl.

Sam hustles in from the powder room with a hospital-worthy first aid kit in hand and joins his husband and daughter on the sofa to get a better look at her wounds. She’s got bruises running up and down her arms, a laceration on her forehead, a sprained ankle, a black eye, and a fractured wrist (that would have to be determined by a doctor, but he’s basically one, right?)—a whole mess of blood and hurt.

“Oh, baby…” he pushes her hair back and hisses at the dried blood staining her skin, “what happened? Who did this to you?”

Jenna, scared to death, attempts to stand up and ‘walk it off’ only to be ushered back to a sitting position between the two men.

“Uh…” she winces at her split lip, making it incredibly difficult to talk coherently, “these kids, four or five of ‘em I think, ganged up on me. I’m fine, though; you don’t have’ta baby me.”

Dean shakes his head and tries to remain calm, even though every fiber of his being is telling him to track those bastards down and make sure they’ll never come after his little girl again. “Jen, you got hurt pretty bad. If Sammy can’t fix you up, we’re takin’ you to the hospital.”

The teen shakes her head in an adamant plea, tears coming to her emerald eyes. “No! Please, no. That’ll just make it worse.”

“Hey, we’ll only go if we have to.” Sam assures the brunette in his arms, knowing full well that she hates hospitals. In the fourth grade she had to go in for an emergency appendectomy, and she passed out when the nurse put her IV in. “Can you lift up your shirt a little, bug? I’m not gonna look, I’ve just gotta check your stomach.”

Her face goes pale at this, but she reluctantly nods her head and pulls her flannel shirt up to expose her abdomen. To his relief, Sam finds no hardness or tenderness when he presses around her midsection, instead becoming perplexed at another finding. When he pulls her shirt back down, his finger brushes against something that feels like an ACE bandage.

Biting his lip, he looks down at her as she places an ice pack over her left eye. “Did you try bandaging yourself already, Jen? ‘Cause I thought I felt a wrap around your ribs.”

Jenna looks like she’s going to be sick with anxiety. Ignoring all the pain in her body, she begins hyperventilating when she tries to speak, and Sam holds her tight to calm her down. Dean works her through her breathing—4, 5, 7—and they wait until she had enough control over herself to finish her thought.

“N-no, I—that’s for s-something else.” She’s crying now, borderline hysterical: a sight that makes her fathers want to start weeping as well. They look at her and silently ask her to elaborate, but she bites her bloody lip and shakes her head. “I don’t…I can’t tell you. I just can’t. You’ll be pissed and hate me forever.”

Her papa takes her hand in his and looks her in the eye. “Bug, you can tell your dad and I anything. We’ll never judge you, ever.”

“We promise,” Dean chimes in. “I mean, your papa and I were literally in a sanitarium for, like, a week. Right, babe?”

“Yeah.” Sam nods with a chuckle. “So, whatever you need to tell us, we can guarantee that we’ve heard and dealt with worse.”

These words seem to help Jenna compose herself and conjure up the courage needed to reveal this part of her identity she’s kept secret for so long. It’s been so rough lying to her dads since she discovered that she is who she is two years ago and she’s exhausted. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll be alright with it.

“Okay,” she whispers, lowering the ice from her bruised eye. “You know how there are some kids who…I dunno, they don’t feel comfortable in their bodies, I guess?”

The younger brother thinks for a moment then nods like a lightbulb went off in his head. “Yeah! Those teens with gender identity disorder and stuff. I worked with a girl who had that, got her on estrogen.”

Dean smiles at his husband’s comment and ponders the correlation before turning back to Jenna, thoroughly confused. “What about them?”

The fifteen year old is fumbling with the hem of her shirt now. She’s barely been able to come out to her best friend, and now her parents? That’s a huge leap. But, she’s hidden for long enough—she won’t let this kill her. Not like how it’s killed so many others. “I…I’m one of those k-kids. I’m sorry, Dad…Papa…”

Sam sits in silence for a few seconds before he hears crying from beside him, the figure in his arms shaking violently. He locks eyes with his husband, who nods with a small, understanding smile, and clears his throat.

“Hey, don’t cry,” he cooes, running his fingers through the long hair rubbing against his arm—that will probably have to go. “This doesn’t change a damn thing, bug. Your dad and I love you more than anything else in this world, and something this isn’t going to change that. You don’t have to be our Jenna for us to love you.”

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t agree with your papa when he chose your name,” Dean leans in to mutter, earning him a bitch face from Sam and a small chuckle from the ball of emotion beside him. “Do you want us to call you somethin’ different? I can’t promise that I’ll get it immediately, but I’ll try my best.”

The teen looks up at him with reddened eyes and smiles a bit. “Jack. I like the name Jack…is that okay?”

“Sure thing, Jack,” Dean kisses his son’s head and feels his tears wet his Led Zeppelin lounge shirt. He’s not alarmed, though; he knows that these tears are happy ones. “Alright, now that you’ve got that off your chest…get it?”

His husband snorts a bit and Jack laughs from beside him, now confident in his choice to tell the two idiots he’s proud to call his dads.

The older man coughs and carries on talking. “Now that that’s aired out, how ‘bout we watch Maury Povich while Papa patches you up, yeah?”

No longer hesitant, the boy nods and doesn’t really feel his physical pain over his emotional exuberance. Sam moves to grab some antiseptic but stops himself, first turning back to Jack and nodding at his chest.

“Will you take that off? It’s bad for your lungs and ribs,” he asks in a gentle voice.

The teen frowns to himself but still nods his head, reaching to his side to undo the clips fastening the bandage wrap around his chest. Once it ceases impairing his ability to breathe, Jack exhales and stretches his back, still grimacing at the feeling of his breasts against his shirt. His papa notices and pats his leg.

“I’ll order you a real binder online tonight, I promise,” he murmurs while Dean is fully indulging in his talk show obsession.

Jack beams and mouths a ‘thank you,’ which is answered with a ‘no problem, son.’ At that moment, Jack can’t remember why he was ever hesitant about telling his dads at all. They’ve always said that they’d be there for him through thick and thin, bad and good, no matter what—and they’ve come through time and time again.

”Hey, you wanna know a secret?” Dean asks his son in a whisper. Jack nods with a skepticism head tilt—damnit, Uncle Cas—and the father smiles. “When your Papa and I found out we were expecting you, I made a promise. I swore I’d always love you no matter what happened, and that I would do everything in my power to protect you and make sure you’d never be afraid to tell us anything.”

Sam sheds a tear at his lover’s words, taking his hand and looking at their son, who they’re meeting for the first time; god, he already looks so much happier and full of life than their daughter. “He did. I was there, he thought I was asleep. I made the same promise, Jack. We’re always in your corner,- nd we’ll never stop loving you.”

Jack sobs and embraces his dads. He’s never been happier than at this moment, getting his injuries nursed by his overprotective Papa and having his Dad nudge him to point at the TV and laugh at something dumb. Little does he know, his Dad is gonna come after those kids that beat him up with a BB gun and chase them off, all while screaming: “this is for my son, Jack!”

Everything is going to be alright, and he knows it. Family don’t end in blood, and he’s proud to be Jack Winchester.

[chrysolina]

Mi familia

Summary - In a world where copious women throw themselves to the oncoming path of he mobster King of New York himself, the strain on yours and Steve’s relationship was growing by the day - how long would it be until you two both snapped and gave in?

Word count - 2.5k (and I wanted this to be under 1k..)

Warnings - unexpected happenings

A/N - Hey y’all!! I know I’ve got like tonnes of asks still left to do - of which I am going thro, pls be patient with me on - here’s a little fic that’ll keep you guys warm through the cold. Enjoy!! <3

M A S T E R L I S T

"Yes I'll get someone to do that right away, thank you." Steve ended the lengthy call with a sigh and a hand through his lightly gelled golden hair. It would be an understatement to say that business was booming for Steve - the notorious mafia king of Brooklyn, Manhattan, the Bronx and now the whole of New York.

After arduous months of battling the Black Order for the rest of New York, the shrinking mafia group conceded defeat a little under a week ago and were currently being flushed out of all the systems in New York City - the security and public safety of the city now in good hands. His parents would've been proud.

What his parents wouldn't have been so proud of however, was the way he was treating you - the golden girl, the new Queen of New York; his one and only. With his appearance in high demand from his lackeys, the city officials, residents and others who worked under his ruling, he was neglecting you of even the mere opportunity of seeing him.

For days and nights at a time, he would be out and about securing deals, having drinks with his most loyal lackeys and doing the job he was destined for - the King of New York.

Steve could never match up to his father, he knew that for a fact. His father was so skilled in handling the worst situations the city had faced; whether it'd be the Black Order causing chaos to dishonest lackeys slagging him off from behind - he always seemed to have enough time to spend with Steve's mother and himself.

But there again, he was a father of one - Steve was a father of three that was soon to be four.

A knock on the wooden doors of his elegant office brought Steve back out of his head and called out to the person to come in. Much to his chagrin, the newest member of his lackeys - Flash - had come to visit him and the thoughts of you and the children plagued his mind again.

It was known by all who had met Flash that he was your assigned lackey that would protect you from any danger that may or may not come your way whilst you were out running errands. Although he was assigned to your months ago when the Black Order were fighting back against Steve and his reign, Flash couldn't find it within him to part ways with you and found himself falling under your beauty and charms like a moth to a flame.

And god did Steve know this.

With a grunt, Steve stood from his chair and wandered over to the young man and snatched the papers he was holding right out of his hands. Flicking through them absentmindedly, Steve focuses more on the topic of where Flash was going next; he could always read over the papers again another time.

Before Flash could turn to walk out of the office door, Steve's deep voice caught the sneaking lackey on a whim and made him freeze in dread. "Where are you off to now, Bolton?" Flash froze at the sound of Steve's voice and creeks round on the spot to face him with a pleasant grin.

"It's two o'clock sir so I'm off to pay a visit to your wife." Flash smiled and fished a thin cigarette from the insides of his trouser pocket in an attempt to relieve the tension between the two.

Steve's face was cool and unemotional, his eyes drifting to the floor as his hands toyed with a corner of the paper clipped papers, his mind deep in thought. For what could've been an act out of mercy or something else, Steve allowed Flash to swagger off to the main double doors and called out to him again, his voice a deadly river of demand.

"That won't be necessary, Flash."

Flash stopped again and paled at the tone of Steve's voice that led to no room for bargaining. With scrunched brows, Flash turned to look at his boss again and found himself catching the end of his icy blue glare that could've froze hell if he tried hard enough.

"But you have meetings all day sir!" Flash stammered with the cigarette hanging limp from his fingers and a hand scrunched up tight in the other trouser pocket, his nerves begging him to just run out to the car and drive off to see you.

"I cancelled them." Steve spoke with no emotion.

"But-" Before Flash could counter anything Steve had said, he was silenced with a deathly glare and took notice of the tapping of Steve's finger on his bulged trouser pocket, the personalised gun you had got him on your first wedding anniversary was his favourite weapon and wasn't afraid to use it whenever possible.

"I'm sure you'll be able to spend the rest of the afternoon with Bucky won't you?" Steve question left the boy speechless and disappointed, he wasn't keen on the boss' closest and longest lackey - he always had a way of finding out the truth from someone as quiet as a huff of wind and flash knew that he was the one who'd ratted him and his crush out to the boss.

With a short yes, the young recruit scurried away to light his cigarette in shame and left a slightly triumphant Steve to finish what he was doing and close up for the foreseeable two weeks - if no jackass got on his nerves and ruined his plans.

———————

It's a universally known fact that every house has a specific smell, a scent that brings you back to where you need to be without the necessity of spoken reminders of beautiful memories. Steve knew this to be all true as he stepped through the threshold of the elegant house that situated itself in a very secluded estate on Long Island. 

It never failed to make him smile, the lingering scent of laundry detergent, not-so sickly vanilla and whatever pleasant scent that touched his nose - and even now, as he threw his car keys into the bowl on the counter next to the door he couldn't help but think why the hell he didn't come back to this?

Although nobody had heard his entrance, the sound of cartoons playing on the TV caught Steve’s attention and found himself being drawn to the arches leading to the sprawling living area.

With a grin on his face, he couldn't help but stop to watch the most heart-warming sight he'd seen in weeks unfold before him; swallowed into the large fluffy beanbag with a bowl of half-eaten snacks either side of the bag was his two children, his first daughter Charlotte Rosaline and his first son, James Thomas, their two opposite coloured tresses nestled together in a engrossed mistaken embrace.

Much like her father’s unaccquired ‘third sense’, Charlotte could feel a stare on the back of her blonde head and turned to look who it was, scrambling to her small feet once she realised who it was standing there in an all smart, black suit. "Daddy!" The now four year old screeched out and threw herself into her father's crouched down body, her brother soon following suit at the mention of his dad.

"Hey sweetheart, daddy missed you." Steve chuckled and kissed at her rosy red cheeks whilst tickling her sides lightly, her laugh a symphony in his ears.

"Daddy!" Three year old James similarly yelled out and collided into his father's other arms welcomingly, his little arms finding their way around Steve's neck in seconds.

"There's my man, how are ya bud?" Steve turned and kissed one of James' cheeks over and over whilst still tickling his sister out of his embrace. Under a giggle, James told his father of his mood and slipped out of his father's ticklish hold, making Steve rise to his feet again and look around the living room for anyone else.

"Charl, James? Where's mommy 'nd Sarah?" Steve asked whilst dipping his head into the joined kitchen and dining room to see where you were. Instead of finding your melodic voice calling him, he was met with the buzzing of the dishwasher and washing machine instead.

"They upstairs." James chirped out in a muffled voice, to which Steve turned around and found his kids already settled in their rightful beanbags, apple chips stuffed in their tiny mouths. With a roll of his eyes, Steve took to the stairs and wandered silently along the threshold of the landing to see if he could hear any such noise of you or Sarah.

It wasn't until he was nearing your shared bedrooms that Steve could hear the tell-tale sounds of Sarah's dolly plucking a tune out from its insides. As quietly as he could, Steve stepped into the room and found himself sliding towards you ever-so carefully, your back turned to him absentmindedly as you folded up his freshly washed shirts on the dresser. 

Without the need for words, Steve slid his arms around your distended torso and slid himself firm against your stiffened back with a sly grin - thank god, he still had it. Placing one lone kiss to the skin behind your ear, Steve found his hands wrapping their way around your five month bump and warmed it for safe measures.

"Missed me much doll?" Steve coaxed your eardrums with his tantalisingly low toned words and made you relax ever-so slightly into his touch, the craving for his touch making you slightly giddy in the head.

"Mm think the question is, did you miss us?" If it wasn't by your beauty and charming elegancy, Steve could’ve fallen for you just as easily by your tendency to quip back at others that made you feel less than your worth.

In all his days, not just the days back when he met you, nobody spoke back to the Monster King; it just wasn’t heard of. Everyone followed the wording of him and only the close few challenged him on his words, that only one being Barnes - now imagine his shock when you snapped back, telling him you’re not some possession anyone tan take for the winning.

Yeah, you impressed him alright.

With a tired sigh, Steve hoped that you knew the answer to your own question - that you did ever-so slightly - but much to his distaste, you didn’t respond immediately.

“If you’re hinting at Kathrine again then you already know the answer to that question,” Steve gripped your shoulders and made you lock eyes with his, your eyes never leaving his as you read them like a book.

“Sometimes it’s hard to believe your words Steve,” You spoke in a mumbled tone that made Steve sigh in defeat, ever since he got that new assistant that just had to have goo-goo eyes for him his marriage was cracking day by day.

Instead of getting himself stuck into the same argument as last week, Steve removed his hands and paced over to Sarah, scooping her up in the process and cooing at her - the sight making your heart flutter although it felt so heavy.

“Give me five sweetheart.” Steve spoke in a calm yet pointed tone and made quick work of taking Sarah and her belongings out of the room, shutting the door in the process. With tears threatening to spill, you distracted yourself and made a point to fold all the shirts still left on the dresser before Steve had come back from ‘cooling down’ - of which he always did when the touchy conversation arose.

After folding all the many coloured shirts and Steve had not returned, you paced to the door and went to stick your head out to see where he had escaped off to. Although to your shock, just as you were going to touch the door handle Steve opened the door again and shut it again in his wake.

“Sit on the bed,” In a tone that could’ve paralysed any newbie on the block if it had reached their ears, you slowly did as your husband said and sat as best as you could on the bed and watched as he undressed himself carefully, right until he was standing before you in only his tight black boxers.

Judging by the look in his eyes as he stalked back to you, you 100% believed this was going to turn into a sexual escapade that involved you being the Sub to his Dom - the thought made you queasy as of now.

However, like he always had a tendency to do Steve didn’t ask you to do anything but only scooped you up into his arms and lowered you down onto the thick plush bedding with gentle hands.

In a bid to reconnect with his distant wife, Steve clambered up the bed and held you and the bump as close to his body as he possibly could. A gentle hand soon ran through your locks and you found self soon losing your memory to the past conversation, your hands winding their way up Steve’s muscular back.

“Steve? Where‘d you put Sarah?” You mumbled into your husbands slightly hairy and freckled chest with a confused look.

“I called your mom and dad and they’ve taken them for the night.” Steve shrugged his reply with a knowing smile.

“Wha—“ You hesitated as to why the sudden departure of the kids. “Wha—why?” You looked up at Steve’s stubbled jaw in shock - did he really just send his children away for the first night he’d spent at home in almost three weeks? You bloody hoped not.

“Because I need you Y/N. Call me selfish and ol’ fashioned but I love you, and only you - ‘nd it’s about damn time I started showing you that.” Steve tenderly caressed your face with his hand as he spoke. “ I wanna show you not only how much I love you but how insignificant Kathrine is compared to you.”

If his eyes couldn’t tell you the truth he was trying to convey them you didn’t know what would, instead of choosing to doubt him like you did as always you squeezed Steve tighter and smooshed your face into his bare chest at the bubbly feeling in your heart.

“But seriously,” You interjected and looked back up at him after a minute. “What about the kids? They haven’t seen you in forever.” You made a point to look him dead in the eyes and grabbed his chin by your thumb and index finger.

“And that’s why I’ve taken all of this week and the next off to be with them and you,” Steve smiled whilst he kissed your forehead tenderly, sweeping away the hairs that framed your face with a gentle hand. “And the week after that. I just wanna spend one night with my wife if that’s okay with you.”

“If you order a curry and naan bread from that takeaway down on seventh, you’ve got a date.” You smiled with elation at your husband whilst cupping his cheeks in your small hands.

“Deal but first, I want my starter.” Steve grinned like a Cheshire Cat and rolled on top of you in a flurry of kisses all over your face, a hand dipping into your leggings and tugged at your panties.

—————————

Chris / Steve rogers tags - @patzammit @tacohead13  @youreahandsomedevil @thisismysecrethappyplace 

Permanent tags - @multireality @its-a-pretty-interesting-wall​ @coffeebooksandfandom​

[punknerdmusings]

Control is All, pt. 1

So uh... I saw a post chronicling a conversation between @ask-the-egos and @fairykats, and @turquoisemagpie‘s drawing... and then another one down the thread as well.

So this came about. It’s a fic where Dark had Bing’s personality, and Bing has Dark’s. In addition, Google has Wilford’s and Wilford has Google’s.

I have too many headcanons for this goddamn thing.

anyways @sunstar121 here it is

Next Last Masterpost

Dark giggled as he landed a kickflip, in the hall of course. Bing groaned, the monochrome ego did this every goddamn day, it seemed like. And it was extremely annoying to Bing.

Not to mention, dangerous. He had been knocked over too many times by Dark barreling down the hallway, uncaring for who might be walking. Bing rubbed his neck with a muttered curse, stretching it and quietly groaning as he heard a snap, the feeling in the right half of his body going away. At least it wasn’t the motor function wire again, he could at least live like this for a day or two.

Of course, Dark might not, seeing as the other ego had stopped next to Wilford and was showing the other man his newest trinkets. Bing internally groaned, not looking forward to going by the only ego whose entire attitude was the complete opposite of what it should be. And as he got closer, Wilford’s disinterest was clear, the mustasched ego even saying “Please shut up. Your stupidity is making my brain hurt.”

This time, his breaking point was when Dark took out that infernal fidget spinner with those annoying light-up colors. Bing growled and strode over, knocking out of the demon’s hands.

“S-Stop playing with th-that stupid t-toy or I’ll en-nd you-u-u.” Despite the glitching, Bing’s voice had a hard edge to it, and Dark flinched away.

“Yes, Bing…”

The android nodded and turned away, a clear dismissal sign. The demon turned tail and hurried off, shivering as his red and blue aura around him shrank in fear. And as he went off, leaving the Iplier area for the Septic, Bing sighed and flicked his security feed away. He walked off towards the clinic, humming a tune to himself, to check up on Host and Dr. Iplier, Wilford sighing in relief and trailing after Bing to wait for a chance to speak.

“Doctor. Host. How are you two today?” Bing’s voice, while angry and glitchy when reprimanding Dark, was smooth, warm, and welcoming with these two egos. However, he could pick up on Host’s too-quick swallow and slight tremble before the blind man answers, the barest hint of fear in his voice.

“The Host would like to inform Bing that the Host is well, and he appreciates you asking. Dr. Iplier is also well, and was just about to help the Host with changing his bandages.”

Bing nodded. “Good, good.” He made no move to leave, instead just turning to Wilford. It was clear Host was uncomfortable with this, and Bing had to fight back a grin. He kept the two in his sights as Dr. Iplier slowly started to unwrap Host’s eyes, trying to block as much of Host as possible from Bing. His efforts were futile, as Bing was in a perfect position to have a full view of his handiwork. The mangled eye sockets, still weeping blood due to nanobots Bing had inserted into Host’s bloodstream that kept the wounds gaping open. Nanobots that could and would increase the blood flow to dangerous amounts if Host tried to leave or defy him. And it had the added benefit of keeping Dr. Iplier under control as well, as the dear doctor cared far too much about his precious Host.

Bing nodded after Wilford was done relaying information, dismissing him. Of course, he hadn’t paid attention to a single word, and the egos knew that unless he spoke after they were done talking, whatever they had been saying was instead recorded to watch back later. It was a feature BIng both loved and hated about himself, it certainly made things more convient, but it also reminded him of just how robotic he was. He loathed it, all he wanted was to be human again…

He shook his head before walking out of the clinic, starting to watch back the newest Wilford clip. It was mostly business things, but one thing caught his attention.

One of Wilford’s main jobs was to keep Bing notified about Dark, on everything from Dark’s happiness levels to his aura to what Dark was planning on doing that day. And apparently, Dark’s aura had been getting stronger over the past few days. Bing flicked through some security footage from Dark’s room, and sure enough, the red and blue that surrounded Dark was getting wider every day. There was going to be a break here soon. Judging by the growth and past breaks… It was going to happen tonight.

Bing swore as he ran through the hallways, his gait off because of the numbness in his right leg. How could have let Dark get too happy? Dammit, dammit, dammit, he needed to subdue this and fast.

Dark’s breaks were harmless in and of themselves. They indicated he was extremely happy, and while sometimes there would be some property damage, it wouldn’t be severe. No, the real danger of breaks came with how hard it became to control Dark. The man would be too happy to be brought down easily, and if nothing major happened to lower his mood, Dark could get dangerous ideas in his head. Bing, as much as he despised the other ego, needed Dark for the very last stages of his plan.

Dark was the only one who could put Bing back in a human body, put him in Mark’s body. And Bing could not afford to lose him.

Bing skidded into his control room, his eyes searching the display. Dark was outside with Chase, in the garden. Bing breathed a sigh of relief, Dark was still in range. Bing pulled up the security feed, Dark and Chase were close but not touching, walking along one of the many garden paths. Good. Bing pressed a button and instantly, Dark dropped to his knees, and although the camera carried no sound, Bing could tell Dark was screaming, his hands clutched around his head. Chase was instantly trying to help the other ego, but as Bing turned up the dial, Dark curled in on himself, sobbing. Chase then scooped Dark up and Bing started to slowly ease off, typing something to ensure Dark would be kept incapacitated for the next few hours, if not a day or two. Bing nodded, leaving the room and dimming the lights, knowing that Dark wouldn’t be having a break any time soon.

Chase cradled Dark, who was far lighter than he looked. The gray ego was clinging to Chase, tears streaking down his face, his red and blue novelty glasses askew. Behind them, Dark’s eyes were tightly shut, trying to block out the massive pain in his head as Chase took him to the Septic area of Ego Inc, to Chase’s room. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights, instead laying Dark down on the bed. He laid next to his boyfriend, running a hand through Dark’s hair. Gently, he took off Dark’s glasses, setting them on the bedside table. Schneep, who had seen the two come in, entered to room with a cold washcloth, some pain pills, and a glass of water. Chase took them and started to coax Dark to sit up and take them, and after a while, Dark did, before Chase gently helped him lay back down and draped the washcloth over Dark’s forehead and eyebrows. Chase himself then laid back down, rubbing Dark’s back as his boyfriend wrapped his fingers into his shirt. Soon, Dark was asleep, and Chase carefully and gently got up, sighing as he left Dark to sleep off the pain.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

TF2 Fanficlet - Sniperscout request for @camiluna27​

Title: 

"What's your problem, Snipes? This was your idea, after all!" Scout shouts over the shrieking of the wind. The little fucker was beaming, wide-eyed and wild in high delight as nature threw a right old temper tantrum about the mercenaries.

The fingers of his right hand barely managed to maintain a grip on the slick rocks as the wind buffeted his lanky frame against the cliff face mercilessly. The sharpshooter had been in some pretty serious situations before, but this was in the top-ten... if they lived, he was going to kill Scout for enjoying this, then himself for proposing this mess.

"Shuddup and keep going, Scoot..." he grumbles, feeling the strain in his arm, but flat out refusing to surrender his hat to the elements in order to gain a better grip. "Outta respawn range an' all, ain't gonna have 'em find us a pile of mush at the base of a fucking hill 'cause of a little storm..."

A flash of lightning illuminates the almost manic grin, the whites of his eyes almost glowing in the split-second. Scoot was clearly having the time of his bloody life in this crazy weather, even if the situation wasn't ideal. Sniper kind of wanted to be pissed off at the mouthy little bugger for it, but... well, they'd all been young once, and had the rush of youth flooding their veins. That sense of invulnerability that not even being sticky-bombed twenty times a day could ever seem to defeat.

And let's be real, it was a little bit... attractive. Or endearing, or whatever the bloody word was that meant it was kinda hot and horrifying all at once... how he'd ever fallen for such an impulsive young wanker, the sharpshooter would never know.

Nor could he understand what the runner saw in him... but then, they just seemed to click. Somehow. And neither of them felt all too inclined to go about poking and prodding as to the why. They liked each other, and that was good enough, alright?

Sniper's heart catches as he feels his fingers slide free from the rock, slick with rain and the biting cold of the wind. He can't even find the time to shout an expletive or call for assistance, as gravity yanks his slight form away from the solid cliff-face.

And then, it stops. Or rather, it finds an opponent in the sturdy rope currently threatening to squeeze Sniper in half at the waist. He takes a second to breathe, then lurches awkwardly at the nearest surface, latching on like a koala joey to their mum.

"Crikey..." he mutters, and then frowns because he just knew Scout was going to make fun of him, albeit playfully, for the accidental stereotypical slang.

But none comes. The sharpshooter risks a glance upwards as the rope jerks at him, an insistent urge to keep going, to find the other mercenary haphazardly scrambling up the cliff and away from him. Movements rapid, strained and almost frantic...

"Steady on mate!" he call up, but he's drowned out by the rain growing heavier. There's not much he can do but  jam fingers and boots in any crack or crevice he could find and climb up, as the rope continues to pull him up.

'Can't see Scout, where the hell is he?' Sniper thinks, belatedly wishing he had his bushwaka with him, it could've helped him ascend, as it were.

Suddenly, the rope slackens, and Sniper is forced to catch himself hard; telling himself to remain calm, that there's a lot of good reasons that the other might have given him a bit of rope...

"Scoot, y'up there, mate?" he calls, uncertain if the sound carried. But a second later, there's a strong pull on the rope, dragging him upright far faster than before, the sharpshooter scrambles to find footholds before they're too far out of reach to be useful.

Sure, he was an active man, but scaling cliffs like this wasn't something he did on the regular, especially not in a bloody thunderstorm, if you catch his drift. The extra help was appreciated, but he couldn't help wondering where he was heading...

His sharp eyes detected the ledge far before Sniper would have been able to reach it, which gave him a chance to prepare. A sudden surge of strength compelled his movements, he worked in tandem with the ever-tugging life-rope, to scramble up the cliff towards his goal.

Just a bit further, c'mon mate, just a bit.

It was almost surreal to reach the lip of the cliff, to feel flat under your fingertips after so much vertical rock... and yet, even more reassuring was the shaking, yet strong hand that wrapped around his wrist to pull the sharpshooter over the edge. Two bodies colliding and hitting the hard ground in a sodden heap of aching limbs and curse words so foul you could almost sense Scout's Mother on her way up the mountain (heels and all) ready to wash their mouths out with industrial-strength soap.

Before he can even catch his breath, Sniper feels the hands running over him, and his own darting out in response. He winces as Scout's battle-worn fingers take stock of his bruised torso, the rubble-encrusted gravel rash all over his hands where he scrabbled for purchase on an unforgiving stone monolith, and the angry throb in his cheek where the wind had slammed him into something.

Likewise, Sniper could feel the way the runner was shaking, sodden and exhausted after the whole ordeal. The runner's bandaged hands are bare and angrily raw, clearly from yanking the rope up so swiftly. The fabric was in tatters; a trail of shredded bandage that stemmed from Scout himself, across the surface and off the side of the cliff.

Scout hisses as Sniper tries to inspect the palms. "I know it stings, Jer, but I gotta check how bad it is... bloody hell why'd you take the bandages off?"

"Didn't..." Scout answers through clenched teeth as Sniper presses at the angry marks winding about the runner's forearms. "Came off when I was... ow! Hey, knock if off, I ain't a baby!"

Sniper fixed him a long, hard look... then sighed. "Know ya ain't, Scoot... it's just, look what you've done to yourself."

Now he had a second to think, Sniper put two and two together. "They fell off when you were just about running up the hill to rescue my arse, didn't they?"

"Uh, yeah... well, wasn't like I was gonna let ya die or nothin'... Ma's already makin' you a Christmas card and all. She'd kill me if I let ya fall for me twice..." the shit-eating grin returned.

Sniper suppressed the urge to smack him, and rolled his eyes. "Dunno why I put up with ya..."

"Maybe 'cause you love me?" Scout says, trying to use the moment between them to get his hands free.

"Oi, you keep those hands where I can see 'em..." he warns, mentally running through a catalogue of everything in his pockets right now, trying to locate anything he could use to help cool off the angry raw skin. "And yeah, I suppose you could call toleratin' your bad jokes and weird aversion to vegemite... love."

With every word, he manages to draw them a little bit further across the flat surface towards a bit of a ledge. Wasn't perfect, but shelter-wise, they could do worse until this all blew over...

"...-nd another thing, my jokes are fan-friggin-tastic! Ya lucky ta have someone as awesome an' funny as me around, ya lanky bastard!" Scout is saying, there's no real heat behind the words, just a sort of... duty. Like he was filling the silence with sound, like that would stave away the reality that the pair were injured, alone, a hundred metres or so straight up from their campsite in the middle of a ferocious storm... and out of respawn range.

If their teammates even bothered to come looking before tomorrow, how'd they know to look up?

Well, bugger it. That was a problem for tomorrow, right now... gotta look to  making it to the other side of dawn.

Ambling slowly due to his aching ribs, the sharpshooter manages to drag a few things from his vest pockets. A lighter, some newspaper clippings and photos with red X marks across the faces... and a handful of little wooden items that had been an attempt at whittling from earlier today.

Wasn't easy to get it to light, but if they both faced their backs into the wind, it could catch. Sure, things could have been better, but they were alive and sort of warm, at least.

Sniper fishes out some lip balm, something Spy often mocked him about having, but who knew when you'd need it for dry lips or a bee sting or to disguise your finger prints on a discarded weapon and the like?

"Not the best thing for it, but it's something..." he explains, before trying to make the small blob of lipbalm spread over the surface of two large palms. His mind did get a little distracted, thinking about other applications, but a cool wind snatching at his hat dragged Sniper back to the here and now.

Scout's pale expression was morphing into something mischevious.

"No." Sniper said, automatically. "The cliff practically banged me senseless the entire way up, and your hands're just about barbecued. We'll just have to wait til Doc's fixed us up before we do anything like that..."

"Aw Snipes... you know we don't gotta use our hands to have fun, right? And just think," says Scout, trying to be diplomatic as his interest began to visibly peak, "it's a good way to get warm, yeah? Survival and all..."

Well, when he put it like that... might as well find a way to enjoy the last night of their camping trip, even if it was a bloody disaster. Sniper sighed.

"Yeah, alright, sounds like a good idea to me." He shrugs, getting up slowly as if his bones had forgotten how to stand upright. "For survival and all..."

"Yeah," Scout repeats, licking his lips as his boyfriend pressed tenderly, slightly awkwardly close. "Survival..."

The End

Have this quickly-written nonsense

[creativitytoexplore]

Candy by Dave Wakely https://ift.tt/306W3OW Dave Wakely's character has to look after his estranged fifteen-year-old daughter for a few days.

"God, you're so useless!" She stands before me, two skimpy candy-pink tops dangling from their hangers like the discarded skins of lurid reptiles, her ferocious glare expecting me to choose. Decisions, decisions... Luminous Lycra or acrylic machined-lace the colour of bubblegum. I scratch my chin while her right foot counts out the seconds on the rough concrete floor. Tap tap tap. This is her second day with me after half-an-hour's notice, after what passes for an explanation from her mother. Just a text, neither predictive nor predictable. Hasn't her daughter told her? Abbreviations are sooo last year.

Moved in new house but hv chickenpox + R on business in Singapore. B not had it. Don't kno neighbours so cant ask. Yr office sed u r on study leave, so sending her over w driver. Shd be ok in 2 wks. Will xfer £s to yr a/c. Spk later. J.

Since she arrived, we might still be in my town but we're in her world now. Mine never smelt of fast food and unisex perfumes. The lighting was kinder, and it was quieter there. How's a man to think? More to the point, what would the man she now calls Daddy do? Would he even allow her in a place like this? The tapping stops, and then comes the outburst. "You're supposed to be GOOD at this!" Her tantrum is, I understand, designed to drag me back into the moment. I've been lucky to escape so long. She lives for now, not for later, even if that's when most of her life is going to actually happen. At fifteen, hormones trump strategic thinking. Frankly, it's still a tussle at thirty-eight. For twenty minutes now, I've lurked in the shop's darkest corner while Bonnie has ransacked the rails, the gum-chewing sales assistant eyeing me like I'm an old paedo lurking behind a playground fence. Above my head, a speaker booms like the daytime disco Bonnie probably wishes she was in. Eddie would cope with this so much better than me. He usually says I'm trying to be kind when I tell him I envy his deafness, but right now... Still, it's her mother's money I'm spending, I remind myself, not mine. B nds new summer tops: put xtra £150 in yr a/c, this morning's text said. No sign-off - not even a J, let alone an x - but Jess has an encyclopaedia of reasons to hate me. My uselessness isn't news, just an echo sounding down the years. Whether I dress her daughter as a teenage hooker or a day-glo Edwardian vamp, it will be just another erratum slip tucked inside the bulging catalogue of my failures. I wonder if she ever reads them to Bonnie, bedtime stories with a pinch of deadly nightshade. Bonnie was twenty-three months old when Jess finally realised the main reason I'd spent the afternoon on the balcony, our baby girl cradled in my arms. Not to revel in the sunshine and the miracle of my daughter's existence, but for the view of the man next door and the shadows flickering across his sunburnt-pink back as his muscles danced the lawnmower to and fro. My life started then, or at least the life I lead now. I'd seen the pain in Jess's eyes when she gave birth, heard her screams, but I gave birth to myself - to the honest version - in the spare-room, on my own. No gas, no comforting hand, no drugs beyond the illicit. If Jess heard me cry, she didn't say. Tap tap tap... Bonnie's left foot jerks me back into the day once more. "Hold them up against you," I tell her, buying time I've no urge to spend. At least not here, not now. She holds first one hanger and then the other against her, arms signalling a bad-tempered semaphore. I admire her energy, but with every flourish of her elbows I get the message: I am rubbish, a desperate case. Eventually she pauses, the skimpier blouse's lacy material as transparent as her mood. "The other one?" I ask. "Just for a few seconds?" I watch her dial her loathing up another notch, glowering as she slams the second hanger against her collar-bones, letting the first fall to the floor. I expected Till Girl to complain, but she just scrolls her head from left to right like a security camera, purple hair swishing as she scans first Bonnie and then me. Her lip-stud winks with every grind of her jaw, a twenty-first century beauty spot. Maybe, behind her carefully applied overlay of tedium, she's as baffled as me. It's not just the fashions that I'm out of touch with: it's the girl. For twenty-four hours we've skirted each other, any moments in the same room an uneasy truce. I'm like a wary gardener, too daunted by the thorns to venture a nostril nearer to the rose. I've seen Bonnie grow, but in giant leaps rather than baby steps. Standing on the porch, face caught between smiling and blankness as I drove away in a borrowed car after six months of sleeping on an old sofa, stemming the draughts under the garage door with the boiler-suit I'd worn to half-finish painting her bedroom. Outside the divorce court three years later, beaming and waving as she held Roger's hand. "Daddy," she called out, till she was shushed into silence. "I'm right here, darling," I heard him say. Then at nine-and-a-half, when Jess's mum died and her father invited me to the funeral, still preferring me to Roger. Close enough to see her tug Jess's sleeve while she pointed at me, for Eddie to lip-read her mother calling me 'Uncle Desmond'. Since then, mostly snatches of conversation at weddings or old friends' parties before Jess or Roger could steer her away. Perfunctory paragraphs in Christmas cards, letters send via lawyers' offices. As I wait for her scowl to turn vocal again, I remind myself that I am the adult here, even if I'm not the precise adult either of us might have chosen. She knows me as little as I know her, and taking a gay man shopping hadn't turned out as fabulously - and that would be the word, wouldn't it? - as she'd hoped. I turn to Till Girl, her face dead-pan. "I need your help here," I tell her, shouting over the music. "This is Bonnie. She's fifteen years old..." "I'm nearly sixteen," Bonnie interrupts with a shrill squeak of outrage. "She was fifteen four months ago," I continue, hearing my voice coarsen into a bark. "Her mother's ill, so I'm looking after her. She needs a new top." I can feel my emotions bubbling like a percolator, finer manners sinking like silt. "One that doesn't make her look a total slut." As the words leave my mouth, I hear the shame under the rage, feel the realisation that it isn't really Bonnie I'm angry with. Till Girl flicks her tongue across her lip, a snake tasting the air. Contempt, or contemplation? One hand drops below the counter and the music abruptly dies. Bonnie is silent now too. The girl steps round from behind the counter, nods once at me and strides to a rail by the changing-room. "What size, please?" she asks, her crystal vowels a surprise. I motion Bonnie to reply. "Six," she mutters, absorbed in staring at her feet. Till Girl's fingers fly through a mass of hangers, pulling out a blue velvety creation with an asymmetric hem and sparkling embroidery. "This suits your colouring more," she tells Bonnie firmly, "and the cut will make you look taller. Slimmer." There's a subtle emphasis on the second adjective. "And I think you're more like an eight." She pushes open a changing room door and waits as Bonnie half-drags, half-stomps her way across the shop. As the door swings shut behind her, the girl raises one artfully-pencilled eyebrow at me and struts back to her counter. A seemingly eternal silence later, Bonnie re-appears, tugging down the shorter side of her new hem. Till Girl knows her stuff: she looks taller and more graceful, almost adult. Differently dressed, she has the beginnings of a figure, shaded and outlined without anything being underlined or underwired. "Well?" she says, more tremulous than truculent. Till Girl beats me to it. "Quite sophisticated, actually. Yes, I like that," she says. There's an undertone of surprise. "What does your father think?" "I think you look great," I say, before Bonnie can speak. Before she might deny my existence, or I might do the same. Even here where it would never matter, where it's already assumed, it seems an acknowledgement too far. "Not that my opinion matters, I suspect. I'm just the wallet carrier. Is there a younger man she might impress?" Till Girl almost smiles, and turns her head towards the back of the store. "Jamie!" Her shout would stir a catacomb. A boy of eighteen or nineteen shuffles out of the stock-room, all ear-tunnels, piercings and ink-black tattoos, halfway between Meccano and a badly-photocopied medieval map. He moves inside his baggy clothes like a man wrestling inside a duvet cover, the waistband of his unbelted jeans sitting below under-developed buttocks. There's a flash of gaudy yellow underpant, bright as cupcake icing, the only hint of sweetness he's allowed himself. "Trade Descriptions Act," Eddie always says when he sees a boy dressed like that. "If it's not for sale, don't put it in the window." Till Girl does her security-camera head-swivel thing at Bonnie, and then back to the boy. "Cool," he says, his voice as flat as Lincolnshire. "Wicked." Whether from shyness or lust, he rubs his palms on his thighs, a blush spreading through the few patches of bare skin left on his neck. Is this how straight teenagers flirt nowadays? It's like watching a wildlife documentary. Bonnie's face is as pink as the clothes she would have chosen, but she's clearly persuaded.

Twenty minutes later - after she's convinced us both that her new look requires black metallic leggings and, two stores down, petrol-blue patent leather stilettos that of course she insists on wearing - we walk the mall's marble walkways, a stable-hand leading a prize filly into the dressage ring. Each time I hear a pause in her erratic clip-clopping, I take her hand for a second before she teeters, sparing her more the embarrassment of toppling than the pain of a twisted ankle. I watch the eyes of teenage boys as we pass, scanning her like bar-code readers assessing some new exotic fruit. Whenever a woman Jess's age comes close, I try to read her expression as if I might read Jess's mind by proxy. As if I ever could. Bonnie's eyes dart from window to window, feverish with the shopping bug. Each time we stop, it's not the display I dissect but our reflection. The young woman, dumped on an almost-stranger but bursting to be happy. The gangly man in the biker jacket and faded 501s, sullen as a teenager and anxious to be somewhere else. And the way they avoid each other's eyes, stranded in a no-man's-land between anger and apology. We pause on the benches by the fountains in the open courtyard, faces splashed with spray, pretending that an icy slab of damp marble under our buttocks comes as some kind of respite. I take her picture on her phone so she can send it to Jess. My new look, her message says. Like it? B x. There's no reply. As we drift back into silence, I watch her attention scampering from one boy to another, so blatantly she triggers more blushes than smiles. Maybe this is the kind of moment Jess and Roger would never allow her, a chance to make mistakes. Perhaps she's even enjoying being here, with me, just a little. I police my own gaze more carefully. Here and there, middle-aged fathers sit with teenaged daughters, carrier bags at their feet and shoulders turned a fraction against each other, seeing the world at different angles. Maybe this is what teenage girls think fathers are for: for presents and treats, but not for company or conversation. "I'm sorry I made you lose your temper," Bonnie says, looking down at her feet as she breaks our silence. She's shaken off one of her new shoes and there's the start of a blister on her heel, already rising a livid red. "I'll buy you some plasters," I tell her. "Unless you want to put your trainers back on?" I pat the growing pile of carrier bags beside me. "Thanks," she mumbles, shaking her head, "but I can afford Elastoplast, at least." She takes my proffered tissue and folds it over, wrapping it round her heel before she slips the shoe back on, trying not to wince. "And I know me being here isn't your fault. Just 'cos Mum's using you doesn't mean I should. It's not like you're responsible for me or anything." I want to protest, though it would do no good. Jess didn't get herself pregnant: if I'm not responsible for her, who on earth is? Without me, Bonnie wouldn't be anywhere - wouldn't even be. But it's not what she means, and complaining won't help. Roger's her father now: I abdicated and I can't expect loyalty. "It's ok, I'm sorry too. I know I'm kind of the last resort," I tell her. "Like being promised a trip to the zoo to see the tigers and winding up in the reptile house with some cold-blooded thing staring at you through the glass." She looks as embarrassed as I feel. The fountains spray our faces with cold water as the silence grows again. "How about I treat you to something?" she asks me, suddenly a child again. A fifteen-year-old girl wanting to impress. "Have you ever had bubble tea?"

The concession stall is a cartoon-coloured laboratory of bubbling liquids in luminous columns. Their high-buttoned uniforms as white as surgeons', Asian boys barely older than Bonnie strain alien concoctions into transparent beakers, inscrutable stewards in a Martian cocktail bar. I scan the menu, pretending to understand. "Extra bottom, 50p," it declares. With Eddie, I could have pointed and laughed, but not now. I turn to Bonnie. "Help me out here?" "OK," she says, "are you more milky? Or more fruity?" "I guess I'm more the fruity type," I say, stifling a snigger I can't quite prevent. "Apple, if that's possible?" "How are you with things that burst in your mouth?" she asks, all wide-eyed curiosity, and I wonder if she's trying to provoke me, testing my boundaries, or if being fifteen is still as innocent as I dimly remember. The students I teach are older: nineteen, twenty... women, not girls, though their counterparts are still more boys than men. "I'll try anything once," I say. Her face stays straight. My offer to pay refused, I perch on a ridiculously tall barstool while she places our order, passing over her little sequinned purse from her backpack when she remembers her new outfit has no pockets. I watch how she keeps it hidden below the counter-line, too girly now for her chic ensemble, for the suddenly mature Bonnie. Young enough to blush and giggle, but old enough to play the scene to suit the audience. She passes me a see-through cup filled with something bile green. There are viscous black lumps clumped at its base and a thick purple straw sticking out like a drainpipe. Hers is a shade of lilac only chemicals could conjure, but she slurps at it happily. We swivel on our seats, our feet dangling in mid-air, two satellite dishes scanning the ether for different channels. "Go on," she teases. "Try it." I lower my head and suck. The glowing gunge fills my mouth, cold and thickly chewy. I give silent thanks that I've mastered my gag reflex, and swallow with what little elegance I can muster. "So, how does it taste?" she asks, apparently blind to my discomfort. Preoccupied with not throwing up, my manners go AWOL. "Like it looks," I mutter, scrambling for tissues to wipe stray globules from my chin. "Dragon sperm." I watch her roll her beaker across her cheek, either hiding a blush or cooling one, and wonder if I've gone too far. There's a pause before she replies, but no coyness in the question. "You recognise the flavour?" Her eyes signal a smile that's yet to reach her lips. "I've had... similar." It's taken twenty-four hours, but finally I've made her laugh. "You're much more fun than Roger," she tells me. "Or Mum. And it's ok - leave it if you don't want it."

The concrete park bench feels warmer than the mall's marble, although the landscaping's manicured scrubland is no more sincere. In the dogwoods behind us, I can hear the underground pump that sends the curiously tidy stream trickling down through the artificial hills. She wants me to choose a place for lunch, but where would she enjoy? I can hardly take her to The Taverners and spend an hour explaining the difference between bears and otters, cubs and twinks. That menu would mean as much to her as the bubble tea bar did to me. What have we got in common? She has my nose, my eyes, but it's only genetics. What do we share beyond a woman neither of us seem to love anymore and a weakness for letting our eyes wander over the bodies of men we don't know? Bubble tea might be thicker than water, but blood? I ask a question that I probably shouldn't. "So, what kind of boys do you like?" She looks a little flustered. I'm probably creeping her out more than earning her interest, but my mouth keeps moving. "I mean, what kind of boy do you dream of being with, one day?" I wonder if I'm blushing now. "Intelligent," she tells me. "Clever. Someone that reads. Proper books, not comics." Hardly the answer I expected, but heart-warming: maybe Eddie might like her after all. I won't tell him she asked me yesterday why I 'went for' a deaf guy, like he was something sub-standard I'd settled for. As if I'd told myself that was what I deserved. She didn't say it quite like that - although he did, once. "Just checking," he said afterwards. "Making sure." I wonder what she'd make of him, proof-reading in his brother's spare room to escape a girl he's pre-judged as shrill and vacant, if she got to know him. Maybe she'd see what I love, if she took the time to look. "Someone who cares about more than money and deals and profits and all that," she says. "Not like Roger." I feel an eyebrow rise and I struggle to keep it level. "Or like Mum. Thinking a turtleneck jumper or a squirt of scent covers everything. Even when it gives her away." My eyebrow drifts aloft like a balloon slipping from a child's hand. "Last time she farmed me out, she said she had a migraine..." Bonnie pauses, her face wondering if she should tell me. "When I got home, I sat on the sofa with her. The cushions smelt of cologne. I recognised it." She's looking down at her hands, her fingers knotting and unknotting. "It wasn't Roger's." She unclasps her hands and they lie in her lap, palms upturned. "Not that he's any better. Coming home late reeking of breath mints, a plaster over a love bite and some crap about cutting himself shaving." She looks almost like she's going to cry. I slip my arm round her shoulder and she nestles her head into my chest. I can't think of a thing to say. "So I'd like a proper man. Classy. Faithful." She's almost mumbling now. "Not like someone you'd find in a shopping mall then," I say. Her smile is half-embarrassment and all charm.

The canal-side bookshop café's an oasis after the mall, tables far enough apart for your conversation to be your own. Away from the neon and the noise, Bonnie's quieter too. We take a balcony table with a view out over the water, a gaggle of Uni students messing about in punts. She chooses mushroom risotto - no meat, Jess's texts had reminded me, she's veggie now, apparently - although she seems to live on Haribo and Diet Coke. She has a sweet tooth and the world is her candy store, eyes still darting from one man to another with the indiscretion of youth. Mine too, pretending to soak in the view but drawn more honestly to the rowers. One of them wears only cut-off jeans, torso already lobster-pink and shiny with sweat. He must have been in the water, thick hairs flattened against his legs, droplets catching the sunlight in his dense black beard. He could be a satyr from an old Greek vase: all he needs is a horn to blow. I barely register when Bonnie asks if I'd mind if she reads the paper, although I notice it's a broadsheet she brings back from the rack, unfolded to the crossword and pen in hand. "The waiter guy said it was ok," she says. "Although he doesn't think I'll manage it." I look occasionally as she starts to fill it in, resting the paper on the table's edge as she either writes in an answer or stares into space, temples lined in concentration as she grasps for solutions. My cheesecake devoured, my attention drifts back to the other temptations. I don't even notice when she gets up to go to the loo. It takes a second or two before I realise the insistent throb in my pocket is my mobile - another command from Jess, no doubt. But I'm wrong: it's a message on Grindr. "Well, this is kind of sweet ☺" There's no profile photo, just a name - Huxley92. Checking Bonnie's not back yet, I send a simple "?" "Her watching me watching you watching him." I'm scanning the room, trying to work out whose eyes are on me, whose fingers are tapping away. "Behind the counter. Goatee. Glasses. Reading Brave New World. Or pretending to ;-) As I turn my head, he smiles casually, paperback propped against a serviette dispenser. I recognise him now. Graham, a former colleague of Eddie's. Cheeky, Eddie says, and flirty with it, although it's only ever just words. We met at some Department evening, me joking with Eddie that every time I turned round I caught Graham pretending not to be looking at me. "Oh, you're his type," Eddie told me, laughing. "Scruffy." Then a pause that could have been shorter. "And gorgeous with it." He planted a theatrical kiss on my cheek, making sure Graham saw him pinch my arse. "She's my daughter," I type back. "It's complicated." "Sure is! Still, she has taste. You too, dude. Eddie's always said so." "Thx. I think." "She's coming back now, btw - you want coffees?" I nod, grinning sheepishly, before I'm distracted by a noise outside. The rower has capsized his boat and he's spluttering in the water, spitting out the rancid taste of city centre canal. As Bonnie sits back down, Graham's right behind her, bringing two large lattes. We each get a shot glass full of Smarties. "Enjoy," he says, as he glances over Bonnie's shoulder. Her crossword puzzle is complete, her handwriting all the more girlish for the pink pen she's been using. "Oooh, cryptic," Graham tells her. "I'm impressed. Where did you learn that?" He's looking at me as he speaks, and I could swear there was a wink. "This hip dude here?" Yep, definitely a wink. "It must just be genetic," she says, cool and coy. As I sip my coffee, I realise my phone is still on the table and Bonnie's been reading it out of the corner of her eye. I play it deadpan, face as inscrutable as an exam invigilator till she looks up at me. I nudge my glass of Smarties across the table. "You have these. My eyes are bigger than my appetite." She nudges them aside and smiles back. "Well drink up, then. We've got more window-shopping to do." She giggles as she reaches across the table to take my hand. Her mother's laugh, perhaps, but her father's sense of humour.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Seven Times Great: Part 4

Pairings: John Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut, fluff

Word Count: 4,668

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, I’ve brought cherry pie for Dean, cranachan for Sam, Crowley & John and angel luv, I made ye peanut butter and jam cookies cuz Dean said ye really luv the sam’wich, but ‘e also said…” Cas smiled at you and gently put his hand on top of yours on the plate.

“They’re perfect. Thank you.” You smiled at him as he took the plate and turned to start serving the rest of the desserts.

“Dove, would I be able to steal you for a moment?” You looked up from the cherry pie you were cutting and nodded. You finished cutting a quarter of the pie for Dean, knowing that anything less was unacceptable, and passed him the plate before following Crowley out to the war room. He pulled out a chair for you and sat down in front of you with a smile. “I have a couple things I want to give you. Not really family heirlooms but…” He tilted his head back and forth as a small smile spread across his face. “Well darling, as close as I can get to it.” You smiled as he pulled a small box from his pocket.

“I may have cheated a bit with this and piggy backed onto John’s gift.” He chuckled as he opened the box. Inside was a small, round silver charm with something engraved on it for your bracelet. He pulled it from the box and stuck his hand out so he could add it to your bracelet. “On the front would be our family coat of arms. My grandfather, the drunken bastard, was the one who designed it.” He slid the charm onto the bracelet with the coat of arms symbol facing up and clipped the bracelet back on. “I’ve done some research into the ancestry between myself and you and am having it put into a small book along with anything I have before my generation. Just so you know a little more about your… eclectic heritage. On the back…” He flipped the charm toward him so it landed on the heel of your palm and you tilted your head to the side to see.

“This is our crest. I don’t know much about it as it was created after I passed. But that’s all in the book as well. I would have it today but my demons have proven, once again, to be unreliable.” You giggled as he let go of your hand and made two, large, boxes wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine appear on the table. He sat up a little straighter and grabbed the newer looking one off the top.

“Now, typically this is a tradition passed from witch to witch from generation to generation however you are a special case.” He handed you the package and you were slightly startled at how heavy it was. You pulled the end of the string and pulled off the paper to reveal not a box, but a thick, dark brown, leather book that was the size of your lap. You ran your fingers up the spine and across the cover as Crowley explained.

“A Grimoire or a Book of Shadows is a witch’s personal collection of spells, instructions, useful information… essentially a notebook of sorts. Sort of like the one John carries for his hunts; but meant for you. As you learn, as you do spells, you can write down what spell you did, when and why, what herbs, crystals or talismans you use and how they react with you and each other. You write your mistakes and successes.” He carefully picked up the book on your lap and exchanged it for the next package with an almost shy smile.

“This was mine from when I was a child.” He said as you carefully unwrapped the second book. “I didn’t have the natural talent you or my mother did but I still practiced here and there when I was younger and more once I got… older. You’ll notice that mine is written in mostly Gaelic so you may not…” He carefully opened the book to the middle and you smiled.

“I read Gaelic. Took that an’ Latin in uni.” He smiled up at you and nodded.

“You’ll have no problems figuring this out then. Now, do not feel overwhelmed by this; we’ll go through all of this in time. I promise you, I will teach you everything and anything I know. There are also thousands upon thousands of spells in this bunker and I know John and the boys will teach you everything they can as well once you get the basics. I also know a few witches…” His words were cut off as you leaned forward and gave him a hug.

“Thank ye.” You said softly. He wrapped his arms around your waist and tears welled in his eyes.

“Of course, my little dove.” You smiled as you pulled away and looked back down at the book. “All I ask is that you are careful with this book. Physically, obviously because it is as old as I but because in the wrong hands, this could be very, very dangerous. Any personal grimoire could be, which is why you will see a lot of them written in dead languages, ruins or code.” You nodded as you closed the book and looked up at him.

“I’ll guard it wit’ m’life.” He gave you a short nod as he snapped his fingers, making the book on your lap disappear.

“I know Sam would love to get his hands on that. That boy can never have to much to read.” You giggled as he stood up. He kissed the top of your head just as Dean came sliding around the corner like Tom Cruise in Risky Business (but thankfully for you he was fully dressed.)

“Did you by chance make another one of those pies for later?” He asked as he walked over to the two of you. “Because I think that one was better than every other one you’ve ever made if that’s even possible.” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed your blank book to put it in the basket you had brought the desserts in.

“John, ye owe me fifty.” You called out as you headed back toward the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and your basket so you could get the gift for the boys, Cas and Crowley… and to put the extra pie you did bring in the fridge. John, Cas and Sam looked up at you as you turned into the kitchen. “‘e asked for more pie. Told ye.” Sam and Castiel laughed as your boyfriend shook his head.

“She makes you a pie a week, Dean.” John said as Dean and Crowley followed you back into the kitchen. “Did you at least thank her for slaving away for your ungrateful ass?” You smiled as you grabbed the extra pie you made from the basket and handed it over to Dean.

“Thank you, (Y/N). You’re the best.”

“Ye don’ ‘ave to tell me tha’. I a’ready know.”

“Alright, unfortunately, we have to go presents quickly because while you two were talking, I got an email about a case from Jody so Dean and I gotta get on the road.” You nodded at Sam as the three guys stood up from the table.

“Ain’t no rest for the wicked even on Christmas.” Dean complained as he put the pie in the freezer to save for when he got back.

“I’ve faith ye will knock it out of the park before New Years.” You said as John traded you your new book for the basket so you could all head to the library to open presents by the Christmas tree.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So we’ve black, blue, pink ‘nd silv’a.” You said as you watched John (and his rock hard length) spread the white, cotton canvas on the plastic painters tarp in the middle of your living room floor in front of a large fire. You looked up at him with a smile as he sat back on his heels and looked over at you. “May I?”

“You’re the artist, baby girl.” You got onto your knees and walked on them so that you were directly in front of him. You popped the top of the black and set the other three bottles by your knees as John pressed his body against yours. He wrapped his hands almost hungrily around your nude body as you spread the black paint in a half-assed, heart. As you switched to the silver paint to do the same thing, John growled. “Faster, baby. You’re driving me even more crazy.” You hummed as you purposely pressed your hips back against his and took your time to draw a second, upside down heart.

“Am I?” You asked cheekily as you sat back to grab the last two colors. “Oh, you’ve not seen aaaannnnnyyyyy thin’.” You leaned forward with the blue and drew a splattered, cursive ‘J’ as you rocked your hips back and forth against his. You could feel his hard length rubbing against your wet, sensitive core with every movement and his hands flew to your hips. His fingers curled into your skin and he let his head fall back with a moan as you wrote your first initial in pink. Once you were satisfied, you put all four paint bottles on the coffee table and used your powers to push it far out of the way.

“Keep that up, sweetheart and this’ll be over ‘fore it starts.” John growled as you sat up completely so your bare back was against his chest. You rolled your hips a few more times as you lifted your hands above your head and ran your fingers through his short, brown hair.

“What if I don’ wan’ ta?” You asked as you tilted your head to the side to look at him. He had his bottom lip bit hard between his teeth and a sheen of sweat across his forehead from a combination of the flames to your left and the foreplay you had both thought would be better to do without the paint.

“I’m about to make you stop.” He threatened as he looked down at you. You smiled because despite what he was saying, his hands were dragging your hips harder on his length.

“Tha’s wha’ I want, m’luv.” His fiery eyes found yours and he smirked.

“Good.” He leaned forward and crashed his lips to yours, pushing and pulling at your hips so that you would turn around in front of him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as his large hands gripped the backs of your thighs and your ass and lifted you up. You kicked your legs forward on either side of his as he carefully laid you down on the paint covered canvas. Your hiss from the cold paint touching your back turned into a moan as he sunk his whole length into you in one fluid movement; stretching you and filling you perfectly.

“I love you.” John said softly as his eyes searched yours while he let you readjust to his size. You smiled as you wrapped your legs around his hips and tangled your hands in his hair.

“I luv ye.” With an award winning smile, he leaned down and captured your lips with his as he picked up a strong, steady pace. There was no urgency, no rush to finish, just turning your love into art. Your fingernails dragged lazy stripes up and down his back as his hands wrapped around your shoulders to keep you from sliding too far away. He kissed his was down your jaw to your throat as your hips rolled to meet his. Your coil tightened slowly, maddeningly with each pump of his hips. As his hips began pumping faster, you knew he was starting to get desperate for his release.

“On top.” He growled when he had reached his limit. You giggled as the two of you switched places, slipping slightly in the paint before he laid down on the canvas in your place. You straddled his hips and slid down his hard length.

“I’m not ‘oldin’ back.” You told him as you braced yourself on his chest, leaving splotches of colored paint on his pecs and in the hair that decorated his chest. He smirked as he grabbed your hips.

“I don’t want you, too.” You leaned your weight onto his chest and picked up a punishing pace; his hips thrusting up to meet yours, both of you chasing your releases; suddenly desperate. You moaned his name as he shifted you to the left the slightest bit to hit that sweet spot he knew so well. Your coil tightened deep in your stomach as your slick coated his cock.

“Fuck, bae’, righ’ there.” You groaned as you leaned forward and let him take control, not able to keep up the pace he suddenly picked up if you wanted to. He wrapped his hands around your hips and slammed into you as he growled deeply.

“Can’t…” He groaned through grit teeth. He bit your shoulder; something he knew was a kink of yours, and you snapped.

“J-j-j-… I… I… I… gaa!” Your whole body tensed as your walls tightened around his length, convulsing around him and coaxing his release. He swore, slammed into you once more and his whole body shook as you pulled him over the edge. The living room was filled with small gasps and moans as your highs carried you into levels of over sensitivity; a place neither of you ever minded to be. His grip on your hips lessened as his body relaxed onto the floor and you settled in comfortably on top of him to ride out your highs.

Neither of you said a word as you laid on the floor, watching the fire burn in the glow of the Christmas lights from your tree. His fingers dragged lazily along your spine as you drew senseless patterns in the paint on his chest in front of your face. He kissed your forehead and wrapped his arms around your waist with a sigh.

“That paint tastes really bad.” You burst out laughing and picked your head up off his chest to look at him.

“Yer the one who ate it.” You snarked.

“I think that was the most fun Christmas present I’ve ever gotten.” He said as he carefully pulled out of you. “I’m gunna roll so it’s easier to get up, OK?” You nodded as you shifted so you were laying on him and not straddling him. He put one hand on the back of your head and rolled you over carefully; rolling to his knees on the tarp. You both looked at the design on the canvas as you floated the booties off the table to him.

“’t’s perfec’.” You looked up at him as he slipped a bootie on each of his feet. He nodded in agreement as he leaned back and put the other booties on you. In one nearly fluid motion, he stood up and pulled you to your feet and into his chest.

“You’re perfect.” He said softly as he wrapped his arms around your waist and gave you a chaste kiss. “But let’s go shower. I got paint in places it shouldn’t be.”

~~~~~~~ 2 YEARS LATER ~~~~~~~

“I swear ta Christ, Dean.” You grumbled as you set your hand flat on the Impala’s car seat. “Ye need ta learn ‘ow ta do this yerself.” He groaned as Sam, who had managed to get himself turned into a rat, darted out of the cage Dean had trapped him in, scrambled up your arm and perched on your shoulder, squeaking loudly at his brother as you headed inside.

“Oh come on, (Y/N). Rat’s are gross and you’re an actual witch now.” You rolled your eyes as you headed into the library.

“Ye know tha’s yer broth’a yer gripin’ about.” You reminded him. “Who did this?” Dean stopped walking in front of you and your stomach did a small flip. “Dean…” He glanced back over his shoulder with a hesitant smile.

“Rowena. That’s why we called you because you have the same DNA and…” He rambled quickly. You growled and glared at him.

“My gran’ moth’a did this ‘nd ye call me ‘nd not Crowley? Are ye out’a yer bloody mind?” You pulled your phone out of you back pocket as you headed over to the table to grab your grimoire to find the reversal spell as you called your uncle. As you pulled the book over, Sam squeaked almost apologetically in your ear before running down your arm to wait.

“Hello dove. To what do I owe the pleasure, today?” You smiled to yourself, knowing how pissed he was going to be, as you flipped open the thick book.

“Figured ye’d like ta know… Sam ‘nd Dean ‘ad a run in wit’ me gran’ bitch t’day ‘nd I’ve been recruited ta clean up…”

“What, did ye boys find anoth’a witch ta clean up m’mess?” Your phone fell from your hand and your blood went cold as your eyes shot up to your left toward the voice. You met your eight times great grand mother’s green eyes; the same shape eyes that you had seen in the mirror every day your entire life, for only a moment before a flash of a black, tailored suit blocked your view.

“Are you two morons…!” Crowley started but Rowena screeched behind him.

“Who is she?!” She screamed as she took a step to the side, pointed at you and looked at her son. “Fergus, I know ye know who she is.”

“She’s no one, mother! Leave it alone.” He snapped as he moved himself between you and Rowena once more. She scoffed as she raised her hand to cast a spell and you popped up in front of Crowley and reacted.

“Manete!” You screamed, throwing everything you had into the word and praying to anyone that it worked as a spell. You watched her hand freeze, mid-spell and anger ripped through her eyes. Crowley and Dean stood frozen for only a moment before Crowley grabbed your arm.

“Take Sam with you and go.” He hissed as he shoved you behind his back. “I’ll follow you in a minute.” You nodded as you scrambled to grab your book and laid your hand on the table. Sam scrambled up on to your palm a second before you disappeared.

The second your feet hit the ground in your living room, you set Sam and your book down on the dinner table to get Sam changed back for protection’s sake. You ran and grabbed your box of spell ingredients, a gift from Sam and Dean two years before hand, from your room as your hands shook. You set the box down on the table and threw it open.

“Ye think I can do this, Sammy?” You asked as you flipped through the book to find the reversal spell he had given you over a year ago. He squeaked once as you pictured the jaw bone of the first murderer you could think of, Clyde Barrow, in your hand. When it appeared; covered in the dirt from the grave you just robbed it from, you set it on the table and started listing off ingredients, more to yourself. Within only a few minutes, you had everything you needed in a bowl and you looked up at the light brown guest on your table.

“C’mon, off m’table.” You said as you put your hand flat in front of him. He climbed on and let you put him on the floor as you grabbed the dagger John had given you for Christmas. You cut your hand and dripped the blood into the bowl just as Crowley popped in with John; who had been away on a hunt. You glanced over at them and pointed at Sam on the floor as you grabbed a pack of matches from your box. With a sigh, you picked up the bowl, kneeled on the floor in front of Sam, set it down and lit a match.

“Airmidh mi air maponus, dia— na hogalachd. Gairmidh mi air sucellus, dia na time. Till an-dràsda obair uile gu bheilair a bhith deànta. Mar sin bitheadh.”

You dropped the match in the bowl and with a ‘pop’, the area in front of you filled with smoke. It took a second for the smoke to clear but once it did, Sam smiled at you and sat back on his heels.

“Thank Chuck for you, right now, (Y/N).” He said with a smile as you grabbed your bowl and stood up.

“Good job, dove.” Crowley said as you pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.

“Is it bad?” You asked as you looked over at Crowley. He sighed and shook his head slowly.

“’s'not great, dove. But it’s not bad.” You sighed as John walked over and grabbed the first aid kit from on top of the fridge.

“So wha’ so we do from ‘ere?” You asked as you boyfriend kneeled down in front of you and put the white medical box on the table.

“We keep doing what we’ve been doing.” He said as he flipped the latch and opened the box. He grabbed some clean gauze and some tape and looked up at you with a smile. “We keep you safe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took Rowena five days (and eight murdered demons) before she found out who and where you were. That is how you found yourself in an hour long, early morning stare off with the woman from your front porch swing. You and John had been enjoying your morning coffee and the barely chilly, fall breeze when she walked up to the far side of your white picket fence, right on the outside of your and Crowley’s protection spells. She was close enough that if she wanted to talk to you, she could but neither of you said a word. You just simply stared.

“She’s making me nervous.” John said quietly as he watched the two of you, knowing that she wasn’t going to be able to get any closer than she was. You shrugged as you refilled your coffee mug for the third time.

“Call Crowley then.” You responded behind your mug as you took a sip. He shook his head, not ready to have Crowley breathing down his neck just yet. Once he finished his mug, he set it down on the table beside him.

“I’ll be right back.” He said as he got up and headed inside to go to the bathroom. You watched your grandmother watch him and the moment he was out of sight, she turned to you.

“‘ow long ‘ave you known who ye were?” She finally asked. You tapped your nail against your mug and gave her a small shrug.

“Long enuf.” She gave you a curt nod and tilted her head to the side.

“Can’t even say ‘ello ta yer gran’ moth’a then?” You smirked at the way she embraced the title and nodded your head.

“‘ello ta m’gran’ moth’a then.” Her lips curled into a smirk as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Aye. Yer a Macleod a’right.” You nodded in agreement as her eyes darted toward your front door. “Can I get ta know m’only gran’chil’?” You shrugged your shoulder as John stepped back out onto the porch with a gun in his hand.

“Ye take’t up wit’ Crowley.” Her eyes darted between you, John, and his gun.

“Aye.” She nodded as she dropped her arms to her side. “I’ll take’t up wit’ Crowley, then.” She gave you a small nod and glared at John before she turned on her heel and walked away. The moment she was far enough away, you willed your phone into your hand. Crowley picked up on the second ring.

“Yer moth’a paid John and I a visit this morn’.” You told him as John sat down on the swing next to you.

“What did she want?” He snapped as he appeared on your porch; his eyes searching the area in front of your house for Rowena. You glanced over at him as you took a sip of your coffee.

“Well, she stared at us for an ‘our. Then she wan’ed ta know if she could get ta know me.” His phone rang in his hand and he answered it on speaker.

“Yes, mother.” He sighed as you turned him in the direction she had gone with your mind as you took another sip of coffee.

“Ye’ve known I’ve a gran’daught’a for years ‘nd ye neva told me?” Rowena yelled into the phone.

“That’s because the last grandchild I brought you around, you murdered.” He snapped as his eyes searched the street for Rowena. You heard her scoff on the other end of the line.

“Ye deserved that one; Gavin didn’t belong ‘ere. And you won’t find me, Fergus so quit tryin’ ta look.” With a sigh, you stood up and moved so that you were standing right inside your front door behind Crowley.

“Ye want sumthin’ done, ye do it yerself.” You said as you pulled your grimoire toward you. “Keep ‘er talkin’.” You knew you had summing spell in there and you would put money on the fact that with a little alteration, you could get Rowena out of hiding.

“Mother, what do you want with my niece?” Crowley asked as you went into your room and grabbed the couple things you needed.

“Ye mean yer gran’daught’a?” Rowena laughed as you came back to the door. John looked at you curiously as he leaned against the door frame to watch you. “I’ve the right ta know ‘er. She’s my blood, too. Besides, she’s a witch. What betta person ta teach a witch than another witch?” You huffed a laugh to yourself as you pulled the drawer to the table open and grabbed the knife John had there. You picked up the bowl, a pack of matches and glanced at the incantation; changing it in your head on the spot.

“I have done just fine teaching her, thank you!” Crowley yelled as you walked back onto the porch. You set the things down on the rail, re-opened the cut on your palm from the week before and dripped a few drops onto the herbs in the bowl; hoping that your DNA would be enough in this quickly made summoning spell.

‘Thoir na rudan a tha falaichte dhomh.’ (Bring what is hidden to me.)

The second you dropped the match, you heard a loud, feminine yelp as Rowena flew out of the woods across from your house and slammed into the wall of the protection spells.

“‘e teaches me jus’ fine.” You told her as she growled and rubbed her shoulder. You heard John walk into the house, fighting hard to control his laughter as Crowley cleared his throat to hide his.

“We’ll arrange a lunch, mother.” Rowena glared at him as you picked up your bowl and gave her a small wave.

“Good-bye gran’ motha’.” She sighed and rolled her eyes as she quietly walked away. Crowley looked back at you as you simply walked into the house with your coffee mug floating in behind you.

“We need to start working on doing all your basic spells without the use of ingredients.” He said as he followed you inside with a glance over his shoulder. He chuckled as you set your bowl down on the table by your box of ingredients to deal with later. “And make sure you write that spell down.” You smirked back at him as you reached up and grabbed your coffee mug.

“Aye. Don’ think I’ll ever forget tha’ though.” He and John chuckled as the latter walked toward the kitchen past you to make something for breakfast.

“Neither will I.”

Part 5

[kaylakeane890-blog]

matur xnxx - Eight Ways You Can Get More New Jersey Milf While Spending Less

OK it's long... .. TL;DR I got drunk and hooked up in front of a friend while he jacked off his big cock. http://ift.tt/RaXZOc For starters, hubby is the only man who has seen me naked, and he's the only guy I've seen naked. I've only ever even kissed him to put it into scope. So on NYE, hubby and myself got drunk with an old friend we've known for years, he was from out of town, and was staying with us. When we got back from the bar, we were all smashed. We decided to watch some Netflix on the couch, and smoke a bowl. Hubby and I were on one couch under the covers, and his friend was on the couch next to us. Well hubby and I start feeling each other up and pulling things out. I was slowly stroking him and he was rubbing me. The room was dark with just the glow from the tv, and we were all really really drunk. I'm not normally this way, but something got into me. I was super horny, and his friend was so still and silent, he had to have been passed out or somhow not even there anymore. Hubby started fingering me at my g spot and kissing my neck to the point where I stopped thinking clearly, and got a little louder lol. He had my dress up around my waist, and my top pulled down with my tits out, but we were under the covers still. We're hardcore into it at this point, and I'm feeling so horny just grinding on my hubby's hard cock, and he was rubbing all over me. Without even thinking, just like always, I stand up and pull my dress off. forced by milf I get my panties unbunched from being pushed to the side, and pull them down. Then unclasp the bra thats been pulled down around my waist. I give hubby the I'm gonna fuck your brains out face while standing there naked. I grab my tits and rub one hand up my neck and hair, and rub the other hand down my side in between my thighs. I turn to show him some booty then it hits me. I didn't even remember his friend was staying with us on the couch ft away. I looked over for a spit second in the darkness, and there he is staring at me completely naked. I jump over to the couch and yell something like,"omg I forgot" and grab for the blanket. Hubby just laughs the whole time. I yelled at him for letting me embarrass my self like that. I said to him "like wtf you don't care he just saw me ?!" And of course then hubby being the gentlemen he is says, he didn't care, and laughed while jokingly saying , "let him watch!" and "you have nothing to worry about" and I heard our friend chime in with something like "no no you're so sexy" w.e. I heard hubby say "aww man" and they both start laughing. I'm pretty sure they just saw each others cocks. It wasn't until hubby was saying "he didn't care" that I even had the courage to poke my head out of the covers and look at our friend. I was so embarrassed. Then I finally get a look at him... Right when I hear hubby say "let him watch", I see his friend's hands holding his cock. Now I've only seen hubby's dick outside of porn online. This was the first new dick I had seen. He had both hands on it and I could still see more of it. It looked like a giant cucumber or zucchini. Now hubby isn't small, maybe a good banana lol but this was insane. It looked as thick as a soda can... I was in shock and embarrassed at this point, but I mean I was still wet and horny from hubby fingering me seconds before. I guess I was flattered he thought I was sexy enough to get hard. He kept saying nice things like "you have such a perfect body" or "you have nothing to worry about I'd never judge you". He said something like "look you can see me" and I quickly was like "you aren't kidding lol" Hubby was then like "Jesus dude, you gotta hide that thing" jokingly like he didn't want me to see it. Hubs knew I'd be impressed lol Now, I'm normally a very conservative quite girl. He's the nd person to ever see me nude and the only other dick I've seen. I locked eyes with hubby's friend as he jacked off his huge dick. I looked over at hubby with an evil smirk, then back to his friend, stood up, and then dropped the blanket. I could tell hubby was worried but turned on and most of all suprised. I stood there naked for a second and kinda rubbed my tits and all over my body. I kinda did that hair flip dancers do, and turned towards hubby. They are both ear to ear smiling. I straddled hubby, and put my tits in his face. Stuck my ass and wet kitty out. I kissed the head of his cock with my kitty lips, then stood up again and turned around. I sat down on hubby's cock reverse cow girl on the couch facing his friend's big dick. It was so hot seeing another guy get off to us. He had such a thick cock it made this loud slap on his leg. It was hot milfs. I kept fucking hubby, backing my booty up on him mature lady big ass and touching my self all over. His friend was beating it basically in my face. I would lean forward towards our friends cock like i was gonna touch it. It was basically inches from my head and tits while I was blowing him kisses and moaning from hubby's cock. Then I would lean back against hubby on his cock reverse cowgirl, reach back and pull his head close. Moan out loud dirty things to both of them like, "I wanna be a dirty little slut tonight" and "I know you're gonna fill me with some cum tonight", or "god I love it deep, go deeper honey, strech me out deep baby". I really don't like his friend physically, but his cock is just so god dam big. I never hooked up with his friend, just let him jerk off his monster of a dick lol Hubby came in me and I stood up with it leaking down my leg. His friend still waving his big dick around. I started to get ready to go get cleaned up and his friend was like "wait wait, I need to finish." I looked at hubby like, what do I do?, and hubby looks at me like "I guess go for it". I could tell he was worried for me to have a new guy. I said to our friend, "I'll let you watch me take a shower if that helps" Of course the boys jumped up and followed me upstairs. They took turns in the bathroom with me. I showered, while they stood in the room jerking off out of the shower watching me. When it was our friends turn, I leaned in with my tits all soapy and said "your cock is the biggest I've ever seen, and I would die trying to fit it in me" Yeah that did it for him lol He came on my soapy tits and then hubby came in to do the same except I blew hubby. So it's the day after, hubs and I haven't really talked about it much. It's kinda the elephant in the room. I think we're gonna have him over again soon. Hubby just said it was alot of fun, and he just wants me to be happy any way possible. I asked if he cared if I hooked up with our friend, and he just said I can do anything or anyone as long as he is there... . If you liked this write-up and you would like to obtain extra info regarding mom milf clips kindly stop by our internet site. jackpot. Throwawaydda

[katrinawritesthings]

Onjongtae; love nd support; PG

[[taem voice]] i cant make bad decisions if i tell my babes to not let me also its group chat au

“Here, Taem,” Jinki says after another minute. “Trade.” He holds out the bowl of oranges; Taemin takes it with a small hand and hands over his chips.

Group Chat: Wumbology, The study of Wumbo, it’s first grade, Spongebob taem: i'm standing in front of a mound of oranges and a bag of chips someone pls guilt me into taking an orange Keytty: Take an orange. You like them. Jongie: idk how much junk food have you had today already? taem: nothing but Jongie: yeah okay then Jongie: take an orange babe ✨Minho✨: 🍋 ✨Minho✨: No wait :v ✨Minho✨: 🍊* Jinks: No grab both and come share with me on the couch Jongie: hey yeah Jongie: grab two i’ll share also

Taemin chews on the insides of his cheeks as he looks down at his phone. Yeah, that’s… yeah. That’s good. Sharing is good. He can’t fill up on chips if the other two eat them all. And he won’t have to struggle to peel an orange himself if he gets them to do it. Minho and Kibum are out doing things, but they can help him with something like this another time. He reads the two offers over again before clicking his phone asleep and sliding it into his hoodie pocket.

WIth the bowl he already has, he reaches into the bag of oranges on the counter and pulls out two that look nice. Then he grabs another bowl from the dish rack, takes the clip off of the Doritos, and pours a good amount into it. With one in each hand he shuffles out of the kitchen, peeping into the living room and finding Jinki easily.

He’s on the couch, where he said he was, the tv playing Next Top Model in front of him. Taemin is never really feeling up to making expressions, but he nuzzles his cheek into Jinki’s shoulder affectionately when he sits down. Jinki smiles encouragingly at him as he takes the bowl with the oranges.

“Hey, bean,” he says, pulling his pocket knife out and stabbing it into the peel of the first.

“Mmh,” Taemin hums back. He pulls his knees up and leans them against Jinki’s thigh. As he watches Jinki slice open the first fruit, he brings a chip to his mouth and pops it in. He chews slowly, not wanting to wolf all of them down since he has to share and since he has to eat an orange as well. When Jinki pauses to reach for a napkin on the desk next to the couch, Taemin offers him a chip. He eats it with a small “thanks” and that warm smile that makes Taemin feel okay with everything in the world.

“Hello, I have arrived,” Jonghyun says then. Taemin leans his head back to look behind the couch, and then to follow Jonghyun’s blanket-caped journey from the hallway, around the couch, and to Taemin’s other side. He smiles sweet and bubbly and nestles right up against Taemin’s side, taking Taemin’s arm and pulling it around his waist easily. Taemin curls his fingers into Jonghyun’s shirt and squeezes him gently, grateful for him being here too.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Here,” Jinki says, handing Jonghyun an orange segment over Taemin.

“Ooh,” Jonghyun says, taking it and popping the whole thing into his mouth. Jinki hands Taemin one next and Taemin takes it, copying Jonghyun and savoring the fresh taste. This is good. This is nice.

As he chews, Jonghyun pulls his laptop from under his blanket, setting it on his lap and opening it up to what looks like lyrics he must have been working on in the bedroom before he came out here to join them. Taemin wiggles to rest their heads together and watch while Jinki finishes with the second orange. Jonghyun takes a second from his work to turn and press his lips to Taemin’s cheek in a quick peck.

“Here, Taem,” Jinki says after another minute. “Trade.” He holds out the bowl of oranges; Taemin takes it with a small hand and hands over his chips. Jinki takes the bowl and eats another chip with another “thanks.” Jonghyun reaches into Taemin’s bowl and takes an orange segment, but instead of eating it, he wiggles it up to Taemin’s face.

“Ahh,” he says, and Taemin feels the tiniest smile pulling itself onto his lips. It’s gone soon, but he still opens his mouth and lets Jonghyun feed him. Jonghyun pats his leg after he takes it and grabs another segment for himself, smiling cheerily as he pops it into his mouth and looks back to his work.

Taemin looks from him to Jinki and finds that Jinki is already back to paying attention to his show. Taemin glances at the tv for a few seconds; then he stares into his orange bowl and entertains himself instead with peeling white pieces of pith from the fruit.

He’s not exactly sure how much time passes like that, but all of it is good time. When he wants a chip, he creeps a little hand over into Jinki’s lap and takes one. When he wants an orange slice, he nudges Jonghyun until he feeds him one and gives him a little kiss. He doesn’t accidentally eat too many chips and feel dead inside like he normally would and he doesn’t feel guilty for not finishing a full orange because Jonghyun and Jinki finish the rest for him. He’s full, but not too full, and he feels warm and content between two of his babes.

At some point Jinki holds the chip bowl out to him. Looking at it, Taemin sees that he’s offering the last one to him. He squeezes Jinki’s leg gratefully before he takes it. A few minutes later, Jonghyun does the same, gently pushing the last orange slice passed his lips. Both bowls go onto the coffee table after that and Taemin slouches in his sheet, squeezing Jonghyun closer and linking his arm with Jinki’s.

That was good. This is good. Jonghyun gives him some of his blanket to snuggle under and Jinki shifts so they’re pressed comfortably together, and Taemin breathes deeply as he sits between them.

[tamarinfrog]

Unwanted House Guest Part 27 - Tetrox Vs. Cosmo

“C…” Cosmo muttered as he moved the joystick on the arcade cabinet, “I… M!” he said triumphantly. “Nice!  1st Place on the High Score List for today!”

Tetrox had just finished entering her initials on the cabinet and smiled, “And 2nd Place for me!  Not bad if’n I do say so myself!” she stated confidently.   It was another 10 or 15 minutes before Tetrox and Cosmo finally beat Metal Sea Slug 2XLT with the destruction of the Crustaceanoid mother ship. “Gotta say, sugar, you a pretty good shot there!”

“Likewise!” Cosmo smiled as he returned the compliment.

Sorrel and Arnick just glared at the two of them from a distance.  Arnick had folded his arms and was tapping his finger against his bicep impatiently.  “If you two are finished patting each other on the proverbial back, can we PLEASE get going now?!” Arnick complained, “The noise and din in this place has already pushed Tiny Splat Tim here off his rocker, and I’m not interested in the same happening to me!”

“Staring at your ugly mug doesn’t help either, Monkeyface!” Sorrel shot back.  Arnick turned, growled, and made a mental note to show this kid a thing or two about who’s boss if they ever run into each other on the Splattlefield.

“Just one more game, sugar!” Tetrox called out with a smile to Arnick.  She then turned to face Cosmo who was cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms over his head.  It had been a while since he had a good video game challenge, and if Tetrox was as good at other games as she was at Metal Sea Slug, then he figured this little competition of theirs ought to be fun.  “How about that one?!” Tetrox said excitedly as she pointed to a larger arcade cabinet over in a corner.

Cosmo smirked as he saw what game Tetrox was pointing at, “Splatter House of the Dead Crisis Time, huh? Good choice!” he said with a smile. The two walked over to the cabinet that had two small light guns connected by a cable to the large cabinet. In front of them was a large 60” screen that was playing the introduction for the game.

11,998, 12, 18…

A phone sat on a small desk and began to ring.  It went to the answering machine and a woman’s voice could be heard.  “HELP! E-EVERYONE’S BEING SPLA- “was all she said before the call cut off.

A middle-aged Inkling man in a black suit and tie was sitting near the desk, and listened closely to the call through an ear piece.  “I know who that is…” he said solemnly before turning to an Agent standing by their side.  “Get Agents 1 & 2 on the line!  We have a situation!”

It then cuts to an overhead panning view of an island covered in lush forests with a single tall mansion sticking out from the foliage.  A helicopter came into view and zoomed towards the island as the government official from before narrated.

“Agent 1.

Agent 2.

There’s been a kidnapping. It’s Rasbora: daughter of the President of Lemuria!  She’s been taken captive and brought to an uninhabited island by Sherman Garibaldi, the last blood relative of the Lemurian royal family that was exiled years ago.  He’s demanding secrets belonging to the Island Nation of Thule in exchange for Rasbora’s life.  Get inside, and rescue her!”

The scene changes to a clearing as Agents 1 and 2 hop off the helicopter before it takes off again. Agent 2 scanned the perimeter. “This is Agent 2.  Performing communications check.  Agent 1, can you read me?”

The headset on Agent 2’s head crackled to life and she could hear, “ɹǝƃpop ɹǝƃoɹ”, as a response.

Agent 2 then turned to Agent 1 who smiled and waved at them.  Agent 2 just scratched their head and said, “How do you do that with a headset?!”

“ǝɯ sʇɐǝq”

“Well anyway, stay alert. Approaching this island was way too easy.  I got a bad feeling about this,” Agent 2 said with a serious tone in her voice.

A narrator began to speak as the two Agents began to walk into the dense jungle, “Sometimes, somewhere, someone is plotting a government overthrow…”

*SQUISH*

Agent 2 froze up and looked at her foot in horror.  Lifting it up, she saw an ink-like substance cling to the bottom of her shoe.  There was an eyeball stuck in the ooze.  It blinked.  The camera pans out to a wide view of the island as an ear-piercing shriek echoes through the trees, causing several birds to fly away in surprise.  

The narrator continues, “And sometimes, somewhere, someone is plotting something even worse!”

The introduction then cuts to a montage of cut scene clips as an orchestral musical score plays over them.

Agent 2: “There was someone else here before Garibaldi showed up!”

Agent 1: “Who?!”

A lobster wielding a cane and wearing a white lab coat laughs maniacly.

It then cuts to a fish-man in an ornate navy blue suit.

Garibaldi: “YOU TRICKED ME!”

It cuts to a scene where Agents 1 and 2 are running and firing at unseen pursuers.

Agent 1: “THEY’RE GAINING ON US!”

Another scene appears where Agent 2 is reading a document in an abandoned lab.

Agent 2: “Progress on the Atlantis Project is advancing swimmingly…”

It cuts to a mysterious man in sunglasses and a trench coat, holding a detonator in one hand.

Wild Dogfish: “Just to be sure.  HA HA HA HA HA!”

Cut back to the lab.

Agent 2: “…the secret of eternal life is within my grasp, and nothing will stop me now!”

A large anemone tendril bursts through a glass ceiling and begins flailing around wildly.

A large conch shell sits before Agents 1 & 2 before two glowing yellow eyes appear from underneath.

A shadowy figure with shark-like features screams in the distance, eclipsed by moonlight.

Once more to the lab.

Agent 2: “…there is only one more thing I need, and it’s already on its way.  By the time anyone reads this, I will be a Cod among Squid! Signed…”

Close up shot of Agents 1 and 2 cocking their weapons.

Agent 2: “…Dr. Crucian.”

A close up of Agent 1 smiling wide appears before zooming out so the Agents can strike a pose.

Agent 1: “IT’S TIME FOR THE TWO-SQUID ARMY!”

A shot rings out as a crosshair zooms in on the title against a black background.

“SPLATTER HOUSE OF THE DEAD CRISIS TIME!”

Scene changes back to show Garibaldi holding a fileting knife next to Rasbora’s neck.

Garibaldi: “Your mother will pay the price for destroying-“

A large crash is heard as an anemone tendril bursts through the wall, wraps around Garibaldi and pulls him away.

Garibaldi: “AAAAAAUUUGGGHHHHHhhhh!”

???: “HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!”

“Oooooooooohhhhhhh!” Tetrox awed.

Arnick meanwhile was looking thoroughly disgusted.  “Are you squidding me?” he said to no one in particular, “Agents 1 & 2 licensed their likenesses to this… this… Travesty!?”

“Hey man, don’t knock it until you tried it!” Cosmo said with a smirk as he walked up to the cabinet. He leaned on the edge where the light guns were holstered and looked at Tetrox with a confident, smug grin on his face. “Alright, rules are simple!  We start the story mode off and play from here to the end of the game.  Winner will be whoever has the highest score by the time we get to the Initial Entry screen.”

“Sounds good tah me!” Tetrox said with a gleeful smile.

“But remember,” Cosmo said while lifting a finger in caution, “If you lose all your health and have to continue, your score resets back to 0 and you’ll have to start from the bottom back up!  Think you can handle it?”

Tetrox exuded confidence, “Honey, I betcha I could do this blindfolded with an arm & tentacle tied behind my back!”

“I’d like to see that,” Arnick muttered under his breath. Sorrel, in the meantime, was standing a little further back and wondering why he was still here.

Tetrox walked up and took the light gun for Agent 1 while Cosmo grabbed the light gun for Agent 2. The two of them put two tokens in and both hit start.  A scene from the intro clip replayed with Agent 2 screaming after stepping in the strange goop.  Suddenly, a small Splatoon of Horseshoe Crab soldiers appeared.  

One of them cried, “THERE THEY ARE!  GET THEM!”

Agent 1 smiled and cocked her weapon, “IT’S TIME FOR THE TWO SQUID ARMY!”

The game was on.

Arnick slumped back against the side of another arcade cabinet and watched Tetrox and Cosmo begin their game.  He thought they looked absolutely ridiculous swinging those brightly colored plastic toys that could barely be called “guns” around.  He looked over to Sorrel and decided that given this could easily take a good half hour for them to beat, he may as well attempt to make small conversation.

“I don’t understand how you can stand having a superficial slacker like Cosmo on your team,” Arnick said, “Doesn’t it make your ink boil knowing that your team loses whenever he’s acting like a blithering idiot?!”

“Tell me about it,” Sorrel deadpanned.

Seeing a chance at finding some common ground to discuss, a dislike of Cosmo, Arnick decided that it would be better to find something to talk about than simply stand there in silence. “So-“

*EXPLOSION*

“WHAT?!” Cosmo cried out in disbelief.

“WHOO-HOO!” Tetrox whooped, “GOT ‘EM!”

A 10,000 point bonus went to Tetrox for blowing up a crate of explosives and taking out all the Horseshoe Crab soldiers that were on the screen.  It then changed to a summary of Stage 1-1, and upon moving a bit closer, Arnick’s eyes widened a little.  Displayed on the screen were the respective scores for Tetrox and Cosmo…

…and Tetrox was in the lead!

Sorrel was also dumbstruck, “SHE BEAT YOU?!  HOW THE SHELL DID SHE DO THAT?!”

“Whoa! Whoa!  Easy there, Sorrel.  It’s just the first stage!” Cosmo reassured.

“DUDE!  Nobody has EVER gotten a higher score than you on the first stage!” Sorrel exclaimed, “Cod knows I’ve tried something like a million times trying to get the high score!”

That piqued Arnick’s interest.

“So I underestimated her. Big deal!  Just means I’m going to have to get serious!” Cosmo said confidently.

“As if you could,” Arnick thought to himself.  He was now standing closer and began to pay more attention to the game.  Normally, he wouldn’t have been caught dead anywhere near this thing, but deep down he began to feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time:

A genuine feeling of excitement.

A cut scene began to play on the screen.

Agents 1 & 2 flanked a doorway and peeked inside.  There they could see Sherman Garibaldi in his navy blue suit standing before Rasbora. She was tied to a chair and appeared very frightened.  The dandyish Garibaldi brandished a filleting knife from his coat sleeve and looked at it with admiration.  “Ahhhh…” he said with a dramatic gesture, “Isn’t it wonderful when everything goes your way?  Once I get the launch codes for Thule’s Inkstrike Warheads, I’ll have enough power to take back Lemuria and not even those pesky Agents will be able to stand in my way!”

Rasbora was quite defiant, “You’ll never get them!  They’ll never give in to your demands!”

Agent 1 nearly gave a cheer of “Yeah!  You tell him, sister!” before Agent 2 slapped her hand over Agent 1’s mouth and shooshed them.

“A setback, but a temporary one at best!” Garibaldi said with a smile, “As it just so happens, there’s someone who is VERY interested in you and was willing to pay top sand dollar to anyone able to deliver you to their doorstep.  I’ll either get the codes, or I’ll get the money to finance an even grander operation to take back Lemuria!”  He then slammed his fist into the wall behind Rasbora and held the fileting knife close to her neck.  “Your mother will pay the price for destroying-“

With a crash, a large, gelatinous, magenta tentacle bashed through the side of one wall and began to flail wildly.

Garibaldi turned in shock and uttered a loud, “What?!” before the tentacle wrapped itself around him and pulled him through the newly formed hole in the wall.  “AAAAAAUUUGGGHHHHHhhhh!” he screamed before another tentacle burst through the wall.  Another smashed through the glass ceiling of the room Rasbora was in, sending shards of glass falling to the ground.

Agents 1 and 2 burst in. “WE GOTTA STOP THAT THING BEFORE IT HURTS RASBORA!” Agent 2 yelled over the commotion as she and Agent 1 turned to face the owner of the gelatinous tentacles.  A massive Sea Anemone with a head full of tentacles, red glowing eyes, and a mouth with razor sharp teeth burst through the wall and roared.  On the screen, underneath the creature, the words “THE TOWER” appeared.

“WHOA!”

Tetrox hooted in surprise, “What in Tarnation is

THAT

?!”

“Just the first boss,” Cosmo said as a matter of fact, “This gal’s not too terrible.  Just shoot where it tells you to shoot.  Nothing to it.”

Tetrox and Cosmo both began shooting at it as colored circles appeared to mark the weak points that needed to be hit for massive damage.  Arnick was standing almost behind Tetrox now.  She and Cosmo were aiming quickly at the circles which were gradually changing from green to red, indicating how much time they had to shoot them before it was too late.  At first, there were only two circles on screen at a time.  Then there were three.  Then four.  Then six.  

Tetrox had maintained a solid lead going into the boss fight, but it soon became apparent that she was beginning to struggle a little.  Both she and Cosmo were mashing the trigger on their light guns as fast as they could.  Unlike the rest of the stage leading up to the boss, there was nowhere to hide for cover, and the only way to avoid taking a hit was to fire fast enough to push the boss back so they couldn’t get too close.  

Here, Cosmo had the advantage since he had the boss’ attack patterns practically memorized.  It took him little effort to aim at just the right spot and fire just the right number of times to keep the anemone tentacle away whenever it targeted him.  Tetrox was also firing at the tentacle aimed at Cosmo, expending a lot of energy even when she wasn’t in danger.  But when the tentacle was aiming for Tetrox, Cosmo only made a “show of effort” to help.  Even though teamwork was supposed to be an important part of the game, this was still a competition and Cosmo was playing to win.

Arnick furrowed his brow as he saw small beads of purple sweat begin to form on Tetrox’s.  He had been silently watching the boss fight carefully and could tell that Tetrox was barely able to keep herself from taking damage. She was surviving on pure force and willpower alone.  If this kept up, she would become too exhausted to see the game through to the end. Arnick didn’t want that to happen, so if what he saw on the game screen was what he thought he saw…

“How many times I gottah shoot the Dang Thing?!” Tetrox complained as she frantically tried to keep up.

“Oh don’t worry!  It’s almost dead,” Cosmo said before thinking to himself, “Or at least it’s FIRST form is. Once it changes to its second form, it’ll be so fast that there’s no way she’ll be able to keep up!  Well, unless you know the secret to skipping the second form altogether like I do!  Time to show her how it’s-“

Cosmo thoughts were interrupted when Arnick suddenly shouted, “BOTTOM LEFT CORNER, BETWEEN THE THIRD AND FOURTH TENTACLES! 

FIRE!”

As if by reflex, Tetrox swung her light gun away from the tentacle that was approaching her and fired right where Arnick had said.  As the tentacles that weren’t attacking Tetrox whipped around every which way, they spread apart just enough to create a space between them large enough for a shot to pass through.  Time seemed to slow down as Tetrox unconsciously put her faith in Arnick and pulled the trigger.  

The shot rang out, and as it did, a small red circle, barely visible to the naked eye, appeared for a split-second.  The circle was over a giant flagellum which had a slightly different color than everything else on the screen.  The shot connected and the screen changed to a cut scene.  It showed Tetrox’s shot hitting a very sensitive spot causing the slimy appendage to drop what it was holding:

Garibaldi.

As the agitated despot in the navy blue suit landed on the floor, he stood up and gritted his teeth in rage.  He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled a miniature Splat Pistol that contained a strange colored liquid that was most definitely not ink.

“YOU DARE ATTACK ME!  TAKE THIS!”

Garibaldi fired a shot at the creature’s back which connected.  The creature howled and screamed in agony as a strange chemical reaction began to resonate through it.  Its tentacles began to swell and puff up before the rest of it began to follow suit.  Agent 2 grabbed Agent 1, “GET DOWN!” she shouted as they both dived behind a table.  The creature grew and grew until finally it stopped.

*KER-SPLAAAAATTT*

It exploded and covered the entire room with its remains.

Agent 1 stood up and looked like they were going to be sick, “EWWWWWWWWW!” she whined.

Agent 2 snapped at Agent 1, “NEVER MIND!  WHERE’S RASBOR-“

*CLICK*

“HEY!”

 Tetrox said defiantly, “I wanted tah watch that!”

Cosmo seemed non-plussed, “Yeah, Yeah.  Found the secret alternate route, got the hidden cut-scene, blah blah blah blah. Let’s get going to the next stage!”

Tetrox pouted and prepared for Stage 2.  Before it began, their scores appeared on screen hinting that Cosmo had got a gain on Tetrox’s lead.  She was still ahead, but the gap had narrowed.

Arnick scowled at Cosmo from behind Tetrox.  “That little Sneak!” he thought to himself, “Don’t think I didn’t see what you just did there, Cosmo!  You can’t fool me!  You didn’t skip that cut scene to get on with it!  You skipped it so that Tetrox wouldn’t have enough time to rest her trigger finger!”

Arnick didn’t know it at the time, but his hunch was correct.  Cosmo had built up a callous that makes wielding weapons such as his N-Zap ’89 a breeze thanks to years of practicing with light gun games.  So long as Tetrox didn’t have that kind of tolerance for toy, plastic weaponry, then Cosmo had a good chance to wear her finger out which would allow him to not only take the lead but surge past her.

After blasting their way into the mansion, the enemies on screen started to become a mix of soldiers and strange creatures.  Tetrox kept her focus trained on the screen and continued to fire at almost anything that moved.  With her eyes still staring straight ahead at the game, she gave a small smile and said, “Thanks for the assist, Nicky,” knowing he was behind her, “How’d you know to do that?!”

Arnick smiled a confident smile, “I didn’t!” he said plainly, “I just noticed something kept appearing on the screen every now and then and since it seemed to be following a pattern, I figured-“

Tetrox interrupted him, “You noticed a lil’ ole’ thing like that?!”

“How could I not!?” Arnick defended himself, “Frankly it was becoming quite annoying how it would stick out like a sore thumb about every 15 sec-“ he interrupted himself, “Yellow soldier hiding behind the table.”

*BANG*

The table broke apart as the Horseshoe crab soldier in yellow garbs fell back and a stylized +5000 point bonus appearing above them.

As Cosmo silently grit his beak underneath closed lips at the missed bonus, Tetrox couldn’t help but be impressed by Arnick, “You could tell that lil’ ole’ thing was there the whole time?” Tetrox said in awe, “AND how often it showed up?!  Nicky, that’s amazing!”

Arnick actually felt himself blush a little from modest embarrassment.  “Oh it’s nothing that spectacular,” he dismissed.

“Nuh-Uh,” Tetrox said as she blasted three guys and a mutant sea cucumber away, “Seeing a tiny lil’ thing like that with all them big tentacles flying around?  I know I ain’t capable of doing something like that, sugar.”

“It does take some practice,” Arnick admitted, “Although if you’re really interested in that sort of thing, maybe I could teach you how to notice details like that someday.”

“Maybe you will!” Tetrox said sweetly.

Sorrel was about to gag. “Oh! My! COOOOOOOD!” he loudly complained, “Would you two Kissing Gouramis stop already!?  It’s bad enough I don’t have the money to play anything without having to watch you two flirt with each other!”

Arnick’s eyebrow twitched as he whipped around to look menacingly at Sorrel.  “WHAT?!  WE WERE NOT FLIRTING?!”

“You squidding me?!  You totally were!”  Sorrel quipped, “I mean c’mon: ‘If you’re really interested in that sort of thing, maybe I could you teach you how’ and junk!?” he said while making finger quote signs as he spoke, “That’s like flirting One-Oh-One right there!”

“NO IT ISN’T!” Arnick denied, “I was genuinely offering to tutor her on ways to improve her perception!”

“You were not!”

“YES!” Arnick barked, “I WAS!”

“I dunno, Nicky,” Tetrox said with a smile, “You kinda were!”

“WHAT?!  Tutelage is NOT a dating tactic!”

“Dude, it 

totally

 is!”

 Whinter thought to himself as he continued watching the events transpire from a distance.  It was just last week that he was two hours late for team practice after a one-on-one lesson session with Clementine.  He had a perfectly good alibi ready for being tardy too, but the hickey marks on his neck and face gave him away.  Marian chewed him out something royal that day.

Normally, Cosmo would have been all over this conversation like a fly to honey, but he still had ground to cover if he was going to surpass Tetrox.  “Okay, guys,” he called out calmly enough, “Hate to be a buzzkill, but could you keep it down a little?  Kinda throwing off my groove here.”

“What’s the matter, sugar? Having trouble over there?” Tetrox teased.

“What? Me?! Pfft!  No!  I got this,” Cosmo said even though he knew full well that he hadn’t got this.  For someone who had never played or even seen this game before, Tetrox’s aim and reaction times were incredibly good.  It was like she had been practicing or training for something like this.

The second stage boss came and went, and the tallied scores on the screen showed that Tetrox was still in the lead, but Cosmo was slowly catching up.  Cosmo breathed a small sigh of relief before turning to Tetrox, “You sure, you never played this before?  You ain’t hustlin’ me, are yah?”

“Nope!  Just a girl out lookin’ for a good time is all,” Tetrox said with a smile, “Ain’t nuttin’ wrong with that, right sugar?”

Cosmo smiled confidently back at Tetrox.  It was a smile that Arnick noticed and immediately became concerned about.  “But we’re only halfway through this game, and I still got a few tricks up my sleeves!”

“Might as well lay all your cards out on the table, sugar, ‘cause I’m calling!” Tetrox said with a grin.

Cosmo then peered behind Tetrox and grinned at Arnick, “See that?  Now THAT was flirting!”

“THAT WAS BANTER!” Arnick shot back.

“That’s a kind of flirting,” Cosmo stated

Arnick was clearly getting steamed, and Cosmo took a small comfort in knowing that he could still rattle his cage.  Now if he could only figure out how to get under Tetrox’s skin, then he’d be able to shake her off her groove and reclaim the lead.  Fortunately for him, he knew exactly where in Stage 3 he could make that happen.

To Be Continued…

Written by

Some Squid Named Steve [Patreon]

Art by

Oranguin and Splatatattat

WORD FROM THE UHG CREW 

You may have noticed we have a new artist contributing to our silly cause!

Please welcome the newest member of the Unwanted House Guest crew, everyone’s favorite:

Splatty Tatty Tat!

Look forward to more of Tat’s colorful and dynamic work in future updates!

Previous Parts:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Holiday Special

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Bonus 1

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 22

Bonus 2

Side-Story 1

Part 23

Part 24

Part 25

Part 26

Tammy’s comments: WOO! A great new chapter once again and welcome to the team Tat! Lovely work from everyone!