#jus replaced the old one for the night

[gurorori]

nawt the first aid uni classes payin off.

[tojisfourthbiatchoftheweek]

early mornings in the fushiguro household

『••✎••』

toji, from the continuously changing jobs he’s had, is used to a rather fucked-up sleep pattern. he wasn’t the type to sleep from 9 to 6, but rather 2 to 7. he wasn’t insomniac, no no- the sleep always found him- but he was so used to pulling all-nighters in his previous life, that now, he couldn’t go back to sleeping in the early hours of the nights. he was a little night owl, smoking a cigarette at 10, drinking some wine at 11- because, even after his part-time job as a bartender, toji can’t handle such fizzy drinks as champagne or lightweight beer. he’s more of a wine, a rhum, a whiskey or even a strong beer. whatever he can afford. it’s not that he can’t handle alcohol, he just doesn’t enjoy the taste.

after his nightly drink, he’d do some laundry and some dishwashing, squeezing the sponge that’s full of suds, as he had his eyes precisely on the football match he’s been waiting for to start. then, nightly check on megumi- only god knows what the teenager’s doing in such late hours, other than sleeping. but he’s filled with relief as soon as he opens the door, and the loud sound of his snoring reverberating against the walls of his bedroom.

much to his surprise- and delight- since you came in their lives, megumi’s been a better kid. not in behaving, he never was the troublemaker- but megumi is nowadays more open to his dad. he’s much more happy too, not that he necessarily has a smile on his face everyday. but his demeanor is less tense, his expression is relaxed, and no longer carries a very expressive frown, a scowl even. all that thanks to you.

『••✎••』

speaking of, where were you? in your shared bedroom, sleeping with the covers halfway on your shivering body. the night could get quite cold when your lover wasn’t in bed, warming you up with the simple radiations coming from his much stronger, bigger, and imposing body. that’s why, after he checked on megumi, he checks on you- pulling the covers back up, leaving a small kiss on your forehead, as you subconsciously smile. toji wasn’t one to be strong on showing affection, but small gestures like this one made up for it. after the death of his late wife, it was hard for toji to open up. but everything was easier with you. not that he doesn’t struggles with his old ways from time to time- but you’re here.

as the whole neighborhood screams in a mix of rage, laughter, sadness, happiness, toji realizes he missed a goal. and a good one. so he tiptoes back in the living room, sitting on his couch, smirking, as he notices the team he’s bet on has scored a goal. and he bet a whole lot. the lords of football have blessed him.

the night buzzes, with the crowd of people down his complex apartment building all screaming in the pub with each goal- and for the final 10 minutes, you join him, waken up from the constant shouts.

“hey doll. why aren’t ya sleepin’?”

he questions, a visible frown on his face. he doesn’t like it when his pretty baby doesn’t get her beauty sleep.

“nothing, they jus’ keep screaming and ‘s waking me up. so i figured there was a football match tonight, and… wanna watch it with you.”

his eyes widened, but a genuine smile replaced his shocked expression, as he patted the empty spot besides him. it’s not that you hated football, you just were very much oblivious and lost when watching it. so instead of enjoying the game, he’d be explaining to you every move, reminding you of which team you support. not that he disliked it.

soon enough, the match ends, with a whooping 4-1 score from the team toji bet on. it’s euphoria in toji’s head- he’s gonna get money! you and him and megumi are surely going to the restaurant tomorrow night, megumi will get some new shoes or maybe this new game he wants, and you’ll be able to indulge in some shopping, and he… well he’ll spectate. because he already has what he wants. and all he wants is you, and megumi happy.

but the night goes at a fast pace, and before you both realize it, it’s 5 in the morning. but toji doesn’t sleep yet. maybe because it’s his day off,or maybe because he’s too busy admiring you sleeping. the soft, consistent move of your chest, as you breath in and out peacefully. the gentle glow the moon has blessed your pretty face with. the way your breasts are being supported in this tight tank top-

Maybe this is what keeps him awake.

but he doesn’t mind. he doesn’t mind at all. you’re a sight for his sore eyes. a sight he can’t revel in, during the day. but a sight he admires, he adores, during the nights. maybe that’s why it’s already six and you’re stirring up, and the sun is shining in your shared bedroom, and megumi’s preparing his breakfast, and he has not an ounce of sleep in his system. but who cares?

[Pic found on Pinterest, i do not claim credits at all! only the writing is mind 🙂‍↕️]

[thehorrorgirlstyles]

Opposites attract

Part 1

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Find P2 Here!

Warnings: 18+ smut, male masturbation, degradation!kink, pet names, cussing, squirting, little bit of praise!kink, derogatory words, harassment, bullying, public sex, some breeding kink, dry humping

Minors don’t interact!

Summary: You are the queen of Hawkins high, being a cheerleader and dating the football captain Jason, however after spending time with the dungeon master and getting to know just how attractive he is, while Jason shows his true colors one night, your love for the blonde slowly starts to fade away and is replaced by an ache needing to be relieved by Eddie “the freak” Munson…

——————————————————————————

Jason was the love of your life or at least that’s what you told yourself. I mean he was your first everything, boyfriend, v-card, kiss, etc… You loved him and he loved you, you couldn’t be happier, or at least you thought. One night, while your mom and dad where gone on a business trip, you and Jason were laying on your queen size bed in your obnoxiously pink room, while Kate Bush played faintly in the back room of your room, when he decided to express his hatred for the brown haired freak.

“I just don’t get what your problem is with Eddie Jason, he seems nice”. You say as you look into his eyes. “Are you serious y/n, he’s a freak that leads a cult into worshiping the devil!” He looks at you like you’ve just grown two heads. “Jason listen to me… when I talked to Eddie the other da-” He interrupts you, “Talked to him, y/n you can’t be serious, I told you to stay away from him, he’s dangerous.” “Eddie may be different but he’s not dangerous” You look at him as he stares at you in disbelief. “Babe as your boyfriend I’m telling you to stay away from him… don’t talk to him, don’t stand up for him, don’t even look at him… I’m serious y/n”. You’ve never been scared of Jason before but the look in his eyes makes you worry, he must noticed this because he continues, “I’m sorry I just wanna keep you safe, I don’t want anything bad happening to you”. You seriously doubt Eddie would do anything to hurt you, but you stay quiet and nod you head, while giving a small smile to your boyfriend, you just want this conversation to be over with.

On Monday morning, while getting dressed for school you think back to how mad your boyfriend got because of Eddie, but you brush it off because like he said, he just wants to protect you, he doesn’t want you getting hurt or anything bad to happen to you.

When you hop into his car he gives you a quick peck on the lips and heads off to school, not even mentioning the conversation you two had earlier that night.

After you arrive to school Jason gives you a hug and heads off to class, in pursuit of finding his basketball friends. You look around for your best friend Robin but can’t seem to find her in the crowd, so you head to the bathrooms to freshen up before going back out. Just as you reach the bathrooms, you collide with a tall figure. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see where I was going”. You apologize without looking up. “It’s alright sweetheart, I should’ve been more careful”. You recognize the voice instantly and look up to see Eddie staring back at you with a small grin. “Oh hey Eddie, how’ve you been” you smile back. “Oh you know same old same old, still rounding up kids for my devil worshiping cult, in fact we just found a great candidate for our sacrifice tomorrow”. “Oh really” you play along chuckling. “Yup she’s a sweetheart” he smiles at you. You open your mouth to respond, but you hear someone calling your name. You turn around to be met with a not so pleased Jason. “Oh umm Jason I was jus-” he cuts you off again, “What the fuck are you doing to my girl” he seethes at Eddie, while pulling you away from him by your arm. “Oh nothing just turning the queen over to the dark side” he just smiles at Jason’s anger. Jason however doesn’t seem to appreciate it, as he grips Eddie’s shirt by the collar, “Stay the fuck away from her you freak” he spits in Eddie’s face. “Don’t go near her ever again” Eddie just grins at this, “Wouldn’t dream of it”. Jason finally lets Eddie go and turns back around to you. You notice the way his eyes are dark, burning with anger. He grips your arm and basically drags you around the corner. When he gets to a secluded area he pushes you up against the wall, “Remember that chat we had yesterday” all you can do is nod, to scared to say anything. “If you remember then why were you talking to him y/n” the way he says your name makes you want to get away from him, after a while you don’t say anything, so he bangs his fist against the wall right next to your head, “SPEAK TO ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!” He yells. You flinch in shock, Jason has never dared to raise his voice at you before, “WHY THE FUCK WERE YOU AND MUNSON TALKING!” You close your eyes and breathe, was Jason really yelling at you right now, was he really this pissed about a conversation, you and Eddie didn’t even exchange that many words, why was he so freaking pissed, “I’m sorry… it won’t happen again”. You open your eyes and look at him, he seems to have calmed down. “Alright, I-I just want you to be safe baby, that’s all I want” he hugs you against the wall and you’d think that you’d feel safe anywhere else than in his arms.

The next day you forget about the encounter with Jason and go on with your day like normal, going to English class with Robin, doing your cheer routine with Chrissy, during cheer practice, having lunch with your boyfriend, and having physics with Eddie Munson… wait having physics with Munson. As you round the corner for your physics class, you start to grow worry. The teacher recently paired the students up to work on a project and you, of course, got paired to be with Eddie. At first you thought it would be a fun experience, getting to know more about the metal head, but now, after Jason’s warning yesterday, you were terrified. Of course you liked Eddie, I mean you two got on quick a lot, considering how you were you and he was he, but Jason made you distance yourself from a potential friend and you didn’t want to find out what would happen if you were to break the distancing, for your sake and his. When you got to the door, you could see Eddie writing something down in his notes, probably working on his new campaign, you smiled at the thought. You were about to go and sit next to him, when Jason’s voice repeated in your head, so instead you decided to skip, it was the last period of the day anyways.

When you got home, you sat on your bed and wondered what things would be like if Jason wasn’t your boyfriend. You couldn’t imagine life without him, but with the way he was starting to act, it made you scared and a girl should never be scared of the one that’s supposed to love you the most, but maybe that’s it, maybe Jason loves you too much.

Friday comes around and everything has gone back to normal, except for the fact that you haven’t been attending your last period class. You know you owe Eddie and explanation, I mean he is trying to graduate this year and so are you, so you make your way to the place you know he will be.

When you get to the door, where hellfire is held, you pause, should you really be doing this, if Jason found out, you don’t even wanna think about it, but then you think about Eddie and about how nice he’s been too you, how funny and sarcastic he can be in class, how he always asks for your help on assignments, how he isn’t afraid to speak his mind, and how he doesn’t let anyone speak bad about you, not even his club members. Eddie has been nothing but kind to you and here you are blowing him off because of your possessive boyfriend, so to hell with what he cares, you are going to apologize to Eddie. Just as your about to open the door Jason walks down the hall with Patrick and chance. You mentally scream, if he saw you standing outside the hellfire door, you wouldn’t hear the end of it, so you open the door and run inside without looking back.

You hold your breathe as you hear them pass by and exhale with relief. “Umm hello” your head shoots up at the voice, Dustin you believe his name is speaks, “We’re kind of in the middle of a game here” he looks at you. You look around the room, realizing everyone stoped what there doing to look at you. You blush, you didn’t even consider to think that Eddie would be having a campaign going, “Oh right, I’m sorry” you go to leave, wanting to be gone, this was so embarrassing. As you go to turn the knob, Eddie speaks up, “Wait” you turn around and look into his eyes, he stares back and clears his throat, “Uh did you need something… what did you want” you look at him silently praying that he’ll take the hint that you want to talk in private. He looks back at you and then at his friends, “Give me five minutes” in says to them, you hear them all groan in protest, but he’s already up and out of his throne, as he calls it.

When you go out the room you start to realize how nervous you are. Eddie looks at you patiently waiting for you to speak. “I just wanted to come and apologize to you for not showing up to class… I know how much you want to, how hard your trying to graduate this year and me not being there isn’t helping, since we have to work on it together and all”you look up at him and he smiles at you. “It’s not your fault, it’s alright y/n, however I do miss you, physics is so boring without you there to laugh at my god awful jokes” you chuckle with him, god did you miss those jokes. “I’ll be there tomorrow and we can get right back to it” you make up your mind, Jason doesn’t have the right to tell you who you can’t and can speak to, he would just have to deal with it you decide. “Great I can’t wait sweetheart” he grins at you and you smile back blushing. Finally things are actually back to normal. Eddie bids you farewell and goes back to hellfire, you turn around and go to leave school. Just as you turn around and walk a little to the front doors, you see your boyfriend standing there with his arms crossed. You gulp, did he just get here or was he standing there for a long time, how much of that did he see? Telling by the look on his face, he saw all of it…

[tinylilacbun]

hiii! idk if you’re requests are open but I was wondering if you could do a daddy wade x little girl reader (i can already hear him call her peanut!)where she skins her knee playing but tries to hide it from him and when he finds out she tells him she wanted to regenerate like her daddy🥹

Just like you

Pairing: daddy!wade x little!reader

Warnings: age regression, fluff, hurt knee, tiny mention of blood, comfort

As a little with a mercenary as a caregiver who's often gone during the day you know how to keep yourself entertained without getting bored, sometimes watching too much cartoons than you were allowed but other than that you were a good peanut.

Another day with Wade being gone and about to earn some money, with the promise to be there for movie night, you were busy playing to make the time go faster.

Looking through your toy chest you pull out a cape, giggling in delight you quickly fasten it around your neck. You also grab two stuffies to play with, rushing to the living room.

Wade was a hero in your eyes, obviously. He doesn't exactly tells you what happens exactly during his jobs, just snippets and not any gory details for obvious reasons, but nonetheless he's your hero. That's why you love to pretend you are a hero yourself.

As you keep playing that you're rescuing your hostage stuffed bunny from a cat you run around the living room, jumping up and down the couch you lose your balance and fall knees first onto the hardwood floor with a yelp.

You sit on the floor, pouting at your now bloody knees and hesitantly touch one and wince at the sting. "Owie..."

But you don't start crying. Your daddy doesn't cry either, he sucks it up and keeps going with the knowledge that he will regenerate in no time. So, with a huff you get up and continue playing as if nothing happened.

A while later you are sitting on the couch watching a cartoon as you hear the front door unlocking and Wade steps inside, still wearing his suit and carries a bag of takeaway.

"Daddy's home!" He loudly announces himself. "That'll never get old." He walks over to the counter that separates the kitchen from the living area to set down the bag and takes off his mask as well.

The second his hands are free you quickly get up and run into his awaiting arms. "Missed you daddy."

He smiles, picking you up by your thighs and kisses the tip of your nose. "I missed you too, peanut. Bet you had more fun than me. You didn't start our movie night without me, did you?"

"Nooo, I could neva! Waited jus' for you." You giggle, eyeing the bag of food your stomach growls. "What's this?"

"I got your favorite takeout." He says, chuckling at the way you're almost drooling at the sight. "Get settled on the couch and I'll be there in a minute, 'kay?"

You nod enthusiastically, rushing back to your previous spot when Wade set you back on the ground.

Soon enough he got changed into something comfortable and you both are eating your dinner on the couch while he tells you about today's job, making sure it's appropriate for your current headspace.

When you finish eating and Wade has put on the movie you got to choose this week you get more comfortable.

Wade sits back down next to you, grabbing a fluffy blanket to cover you both but stops when he gets a glimpse of your knees. "Peanut, what's this?"

"Huh? Oh, that happened when I was playing hero. S'okay, jus' hurts a little!" You shrug it off with a smile.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" He sighs.

"Wanted to be like you daddy." You mumble, looking down at your hands.

His eyes soften at that, a small smile replacing his frown. "Like me?"

"Mhm, wanted to regenerate like you 'cause is so cool!"

"Oh peanut, you're too sweet for this world. Wait here, I'll be right back."

Sure enough he comes back with a pack of hello kitty bandaids, kneeling down beside the couch and quickly unwrapping two of them, placing them carefully on your knees. "There, all patched up. You're still just like me, y'know? You just need a little longer to regenerate than me and that's okay."

"Really?" You ask a little uncertainty, tilting your head.

"Oh, hell yeah. You're just as cool as me and that means we deserve this." He pulls out two lollipops and you squeal, instantly reaching out for it. "Let me unwrap it first."

He settles back down next to you, letting you snuggle into his side before taking the wrapping off and handing you your treat.

He wraps an arm around you, kissing your head. "You'll always be my cool peanut."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✧˖°

Taglist

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For everything:

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For Marvel only:

@aagn360

[chaosandmarigolds]

( っ'-')╮ 🌲

Adoption Au!! Because again, I miss my unbridled and cute fluff but all I think about is the holidays

Adoptive!Dad Simon was fully aware that the first round of holidays were probably the most important, as far as giving expectations and showing the girls that they were serious

“Don’t stress it, Mister Riley,” Macey had said all too easily the one morning he brought up what she may have wanted for the holiday, not even looking up from her backpack as she spoke, “don’t really…do holidays.”

Taylor heard this and she seemed utterly disgusted, “No!!! no!! I wan-I want Barbie ‘ouse!” Simon! Who takes that for what it was but all the same didn’t want Macey to be left out so he chose to treat it as if both girls were eager for Christmas Simon! Who is generally more of an acts of service person naturally so what did he figure to do for Macey? Fix up her mountain bike

(that thing came with her in the adoption, it was just a bunch of metal and two worn out wheels but she stuck by it)

Simon! Who when the girls first moved in helped Macey mount it on her walls since she loved it so much

Simon! Who spent two days making a replica of the messed up thing just so she wouldn’t notice the original missing

Simon! Who replaced it while she was at school

“Mister Riley!!!” The twelve year old practically came tumbling down from the stairs once she got up to her room, panic in her eyes and a heaving chest. Simon swore he had been caught, “What’s goin on Kiddo?”

“I need a poster board for my science project tomorrow- I’m so so sorry I swear I completely forgot and I’m so-“

“oh thank god.” “What?” “Mmm? Nothin, go on, grab yer mum an’ sis we’ll all go.”

Simon! Who brought the scrap of metal to the boys during a night out and well

“jus get er a new one, LT.”

“no,” Kyle interjected as he looked it over, “well-eh- it’s from the 90’s probably her dad-her uh…”

Simon shrugs it off, “She said it was er uncles fore they passed, old thing but imma fix it up.” johnny downs the beer and walks over to it, “Mm, alrigh- but I wan to come over to Christmas dinner, er missus does it nice.” Of course that motion got seconded by Kyle and Price already had an outstanding invitation so…well he’ll take that on later.

Simon! Who spent about a week working on it, and most of it was waiting for parts

Simon! Who kept all of the gifts in the shed out back with his gear because he knew the girls didn’t like the shed and he had made it a rule to not go since it held all of those more sensitive things

Simon! Who wasn’t super well rounded in traditions but he would happily help the girls frost Christmas cookies every day until he died

matching pjs? Okay, well fine he will tolerate it

Simon! Who accidentally knocked a shelve down in the shed when he was getting all said gifts out so of course the very nosy twelve year old came outside within two seconds

“Mister Riley?” She shines the flashlight and looks outside, and she lets the light adjust before she gasps, “Is that my bike?”

Simon was currently a foot deep in snow and freezing, so the girls remark fell on somewhat deaf ears. “Baby, go back to bed.” “oh my god!” She beams, leaping over the snow to get to him, “It’s my bike!”

( is that it? Yeah that’s it. Anyway, comments mean so so much to me, they truly lift me up. Anyway! Tootles!!)

this is the bike btw

[eyesxxyou]

Confessions pt.iii

♡ hobie brown x religious!reader

rating. m

word count. 7.7k

synopsis. after years of being missing, Hobie finally returns back to his hometown where his childhood crush still waits for him. but you're more dedicated to God than ever and he couldn't care less. he wants you and he intends show you all that you're missing out on

♡ °｡ ⋆⸜ warning: religious themes, straight up blasphemy, like serious sacrilege, abuse, a lot of angst, oral (m.recieving), mentions of other sexual acts (such as fingering, cumming in chest, masturbation, and outercourse), sex in church, riding, first time sex, squirting, confessions ;))), disownment, Hobie being a bit of an avoidant asshole

Part.ii

Hobie let you keep the pictures you took. “So you have something better to touch yourself to at night.” He winked at you as he neatly tucked the two pictures into your bra. Anywhere else, your parents might have found them. He was always thinking ahead, maybe a little further than you.

When Hobie took you home, he told you to tell your parents that the two of you went to the creek for bible study. You’ve never lied to your parents before. You weren’t sure you could do it. You wrung your hands against the gas tank of his motorcycle, the cold air whipping at your face as you flew down the streets. The streetlights were coming on, you had to be home soon. Hobie got you there in record time. Of course, breaking a few traffic laws along the way but he got you there.

You hopped off his bike, readjusting yourself and ensuring that you looked just the same as you did before you left. Hobie offered you back your rosary which you had almost forgotten completely and when you reached out for it, he grabbed your hand. “I don’ wanna wait ‘til next Sunday to see ya, luv. When do y’think we’ll have anotha bible study?”

You looked back at the front door to your house to find a shadow walking through the living room towards the front door. You took your rosary and retracted your hand quickly. “Tuesday after I get off of work. Now go, before they try to invite you inside.”

“I might’ jus’ stay then.”

You hit him on the shoulder and he laughed softly, eyeing the door cracking open over your shoulder. “I’ll see ya Tuesday, then. Keep yaself busy while ‘m gone.” He teased before ripping away on his motorcycle, leaving you flustered and overly aware of the two polaroid pictures pressed against your breast.

“Did he not want to come inside? I made dinner.” Your mother called from the front door. You looked back at her and shook your head. “No, Mama, he has to get somewhere.” You made your way inside. You kept your head low. You set your rosary down on the coffee table and removed your shoes beside the door, replacing them with house slippers.

Your father was already in the dining room eating and as you passed him, he stopped you with a question. “Where were you at?”

Your heart raced and your mouth dried up. You grabbed at your dress then fiddled with a braid from your hair. “With Hobie at the old playground. He finally opened up to listening to the word so I thought it might be good to do bible study together.” You glanced up to look at him, your eyes pleading for approval. You’ve never lied to them before and they had no reason to believe you were lying now. 

“How often will you be doing bible studies?” Your mother asked. Your father continued eating, neither of them suspected a thing. You almost felt powerful, being able to keep this one thing to yourself. You knew something they didn't and it felt like a sort of control you were never before allowed in your life. You didn’t even feel guilty about it.

“Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.” It came out of you so easily. You stopped trembling and fiddling with yourself and went to go make yourself a plate. 

That was the beginning of it, the beginning of everything. The lying, meeting with Hobie, exploring the pleasures of the body with him in the secret of his hotel room. You became someone new behind that door, every moment of it captured by his camera and printed out on his bed for you to later keep. He made you cum in ways you never knew was possible and you learned slowly how to make him cum too.

“Jus’ like– fuck, dove….ngh~ shit.” You sat between his legs with your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, suckling and kissing. You haven’t gone any further than that for the past 2 minutes, too intimidated by his monstrous size to take any more of him into your mouth. “Jus’ a lil’ more tongue,” He hissed when you followed his command, your tongue timidly flicking from the underside of his tip to the end of his slit. You were a natural at this. 

He had you bobbing your head soon enough, his hand on the back of your head to guide your motions. "Open tha’ mouth of ya’s a lil’ more, luv.” You opened your mouth a little further and kept your teeth back like he told you to. You hummed softly and it sent Hobie into a spiral.

You had him moaning, a hand pushing your head up and down on his fat cock, that pretty, little mouth of yours only able to go a little under half way before you began to gag. He grabbed his camera. "Look a' me, pretty girl." Your wet gaze flickered up at him, teary and gorgeous, drool dribbling down the rest of his cock. And when he came, he came, he pulled out from your mouth, jerking off over your face with your tongue hanging out of your mouth while he groaned your name and cursed you for being so pretty.

He came on your face, across your cheek, one of your eyes closed so it didn't get in, some landing on your tongue. He took a picture of that as well, letting the picture print out before grabbing your chin and slapping his cock against your cheek. "You're such a good, fuckin' girl."

Your heart always fluttered when he praised you, each meeting only solidifying what was always there, hiding beneath your love for God which was really only a redirection of your love for him. Did he notice the way you looked at him like he was Christ on Earth, the way you looked at him like he was all you ever wanted in your life. He couldn't be oblivious to the way you worshiped him, like he was your very own messiah.

He's shown you more in a few weeks than God has ever shown you in your entire life. He's shown you pleasures you never before thought existed, done things to you you never wanted anyone else to do. Yet, the two of you still have never had sex in the traditional sense. You've been close, let him rub his cock against your bare clit until you both came, but he never pushed into you, never broke your hymen as you were told happens when you have sex for the first time.

It made you feel better. Made you feel like if this all hit the fan, at least you'd have some semblance of your dignity still left with you, you wouldn't be completely ruined by him. As much as you loved Hobie, you did not trust him entirely to stay, did not trust him not to break your heart.

But you had to ask. Why didn't he want to? He never showed any interest at all to slide himself inside you and claim you as his. Did he truly mean to leave soon? Was it a kindness he was attempting to offer you?"

"Why don't you want to have sex with me… real sex, I mean?" You asked in something of a whisper as you lay in his bed naked, wrapped up in his sheets while he stood in his bathroom to wet a rag to clean you up. He had jerked himself over you and came on your chest because he liked your tits more than you could ever imagine and needed to see his cum on them. He had snapped a picture of it, of course, let you keep it. You’d take it home and store it in a shoebox tucked away in your closet, waiting until your parents were surely asleep before you took it out and chose one to touch yourself to.

Hobie never answered you, just shook his head and murmured something under your breath. “I's almost time for you to go home, isn’ i’? Le’s get’cha cleaned up, doll.” He left you to all your wild conclusions. He was going to leave soon, you figured. He was just trying to preserve something for you, let you have this one thing he hasn’t selfishly taken from you. At least now, clumsy touching down your body when you get married wouldn't be enough to impress you, not when you've felt the skillful hands of Hobie all over your body.

The ride back home was silent. There was a sudden distance between the two of you. Hobie had bought you your very own helmet after you voiced your own concerns about safety. Would he use this for another girl he meets once he leaves? The thought made your heart squeeze. 

In front of your house, you hopped off of his bike and removed your helmet so he could strap it to the side of his motorcycle. Hobie could see the space you had placed between you two and attempted to backtrack to a time when you hadn’t become so upset with him.

“I’ll see ya Sunday… righ’, luv?” His voice was so beautiful, so gentle. Your heart soared and swooned for him. You looked him in the eyes and saw his lighthearted smile in them. It forced a smile onto your face. You bit your lips to hide it and twirled your finger around a braid as you nodded. “Fine.”

Hobie would have kissed you if you weren’t outside your parents house so he nodded softly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he revved up his bike and drove away. You watched him go, letting him round the corner before you turned on your toes and made your way inside the house.

There was no greeting when you came in, no warm smell of cooking in the air. You frowned, not taking the time to remove your shoes as you walked further into the house. “Mama, Daddy? You in here?” You turned the corner into the dining room and found your father sitting at the table with your mother standing behind him and a familiar shoebox sitting in the middle of the table.

Your heart dropped. It sank so low that it boiled in your stomach acid, so low that you thought you might throw it up. You mouth ran dry with fear. "Mama?…Daddy?"

"Get over here." Your father always had a rather authoritarian voice but you had never heard him so angry, so demanding. You lowered your head in shame and slowly, cautiously, made your way to the table, tears already dappling your cheeks. "Sit down." And you sat, your head still hanging low, your tears now falling onto the table and soaking into the tablecloth.

Your father grabbed the box, opened the lid, and dumped all the pictures onto the table. Your lips wrapped around Hobie's cock, his face clearly between your legs, cum on your chest, his long, slender fingers stuffing your cunt, and so much more. All of them incriminating you. Your mother turned her head away, unable to bear the idea of her sweet, innocent daughter participating in such acts.

Your father stood, his hands on the table, his imposing figure looming over you as you trembled beneath him. “Look at me.” His voice was low but dangerous. This was not a time to disobey him. You raised your head slowly, your bottom lip quivering with terror. His gaze was hard and unforgiving. This was not something you just brush off and forgive. How brutal it must be to figure out your daughter is nothing but a whore who’s been lying to you this entire time. 

“Is that you in these photos?”

You sniffled, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. You hesitated, unsure of what to say.

“Don’t you even think of lying to me, girl. Is this you?”

You could do nothing except nod and in an instant, he brought his hand across your cheek and struck you. You cupped your aching cheek and sobbed, choking out apologies and begging for forgiveness in near incoherent babbles. 

Your father paced the length of the dining room while your mother hurriedly picked up the photos and put them back into the box. She was the one who stumbled upon the photos after looking through your closest for a pair of shoes you had borrowed from her. She had cried as she brought the photos to your father who immediately became enraged. She mourned her young, innocent daughter who would have done no wrong before Hobie came back, her daughter who had fallen so far from grace.

“Honey, you can tell us if he forced you to do any of this.” Your mother so desperately wished you would place all the blame on Hobie, that you’d tell them he had tricked you into performing such acts so that you could still be pure, could still be blameless. No one had to know that way.

How could you do such a thing? You were an adult, you could make your own decisions about these things and you made it. You chose to do everything that happened between you and Hobie. You were just as at fault as he was. But you’d never throw him under the bus

“No, no Hobie didn’t force me to do anything. I made the choice myself.”

“You whore!” Your father barked at you. If your cheek wasn’t already swelling, he would have slapped you again. He paced again a little, running his hands down his face as he always did when he was stressed. Then he turned back to you. “Did you have intercourse?”

You shook your head. “No, we didn’t do…that,” you managed to say between hiccups. You used the backs of your hands to wipe your tears from your cheeks. “Nothing like that.”

“Good, you’re not completely ruined then.” There was something soul-crushing about hearing ones father tell them that they were ruined all because someone made them feel good. But sex ruined people here, you forgot. How absurd the idea seemed now. You didn't feel any less than you did before. In fact, you never felt better about yourself. 

“You will not be seeing Hobart again. No talking, no looking, no breathing in his direction. I want zero interaction with him.”

“You can’t do that! I’m an adult!” You stood up from your seat and your father raised his hand to you again, ready to strike you back down. The threat made you sit back down, your lips sealing. Your father smacked his hand on the table in front of you. “You live in my house, you will abide by my rules. You’re acting like an insolent child. You have no idea what you’re doing. You will no longer interact with Hobart, you will no longer be doing anything that is non-essential. You will work, then come home, go to church, then come home. You will do this while your mother and I look for a suitor to take your hand because we cannot trust you to choose someone on your own.”

Shaking your head, you let out a tear-filled yet firm, “No.” 

“No?”

“NO!” You refused. You couldn’t imagine a world where you weren’t with Hobie, didn’t belong to him in every way, shape, and form. You’d rather become a nun before you married anyone who wasn’t him. Even if he didn’t feel the same. Maybe he’d leave again, maybe he’d put you in his rearview and find someone else but you’d always have a piece of him in your soul, you’d look at all your favorite things and find him there. 

Your father fumed. You’ve never refused him before. It was the devil inside you, he concluded. You have been possessed by a demon because his daughter would never act in such a way. He took you by the bicep and began to drag you through the house and up the stairs to your room.

Your mother said nothing to discourage him, did nothing to stop him. Never before had you ever felt more betrayed. The one person in the world meant to protect you and she simply stood by and watched him brutalize you. His grip would later leave a giant hand-shaped bruise on your arm and your cheek would remain swollen into the next morning.

He tossed you into your room and stood in the doorway with his imposing figure standing above you. “Until you give me my daughter back, you harlot, you will remain in here. Tomorrow, you’re going to burn those pictures in the backyard.” He began to leave before turning back to look at you one last time, “Pray for forgiveness and God will lead you back to Him.”

He left you crying on the ground in your bedroom with the peeling wallpaper and your open closet. You curled up into a ball on the carpeted floor and sobbed to yourself. All you wanted was for Hobie to wrap his arms around you and tell you everything would be okay.

You remained awake late into the night, lying in your small, twin size mattress you’ve had since childhood, Your hands stroked your cheeks where Hobie had held your face and kissed you. It’s always the kisses that really get you, the kisses that stay with you. They feel the most intimate of all the actions performed on you, the way he takes you gently and asks with just his tongue for you to trust him and you do every single time. His kisses felt like love, though you knew better than to label it as such.

You’re half asleep, tracing your lips with your fingertips with dried tears streaking your  swollen cheeks when you hear a tap against your window. You thought nothing of it until it happened again, and again, and again. It was very obviously a bird of something tapping its beak against your window but when you turned in your bed, you found that there was no bird, just the moonlight. 

Then you saw a pebble fly up and hit your window and knew that the disturbance was not by accident. You tossed your duvet from your body and slid out of bed to go check it out. At the wet end of your house, the familiar figure of Hobie standing beneath your window with a handful of gravel he had picked up from the front of your house. That coy smile of his as he reached into his pile and tossed another pebble at your window before mouthing, “Open up.”

You sighed with utter relief that he was hear. You moved frantically to unlock the window before sliding it open and sticking your head out. “What are you doing here? My father will kill you!” You asked but all you wanted was for him to be here with you with his hands all over you. You wanted him in your bed with you, whispering promises that he’d never leave you again, that everything was okay, that he was just as in love with you as you were with him and that the two of you would run away together.

“I decided I ain’ wanna wait ‘till Sunday t’ see ya again… and my mum cursed me to hell for ‘what I did to ya’.” Hobie shrugged. He dropped all the gravel in his hands and wiped the dust off on his pants. “Can I come up? I’ll jus’ climb the gutter.” 

You looked back and listened for a moment. Upon hearing one of your father’s monstrous snores, you looked back to your lover and nodded. “Just be quiet, my parents are sleeping.” 

“As a spider, luv, as a spider.” 

You watched Hobie carefully climb his way up the side of your house by the gutter. You were surprised by his strength. He was a rather lanky and slender guy but he had a surprising amount of muscle. He was up to your window in no time. You stepped back to give him the space to get inside. He held your window frame and came in feet first before sliding the rest of his body inside.

Your room looked just the same as it did when the two of you were young, the same floral wallpaper, the same pretty white vanity against the wall on the other side of your room across from your bed, covered in makeup and decorations like bows and pearls. Your stuffed animals were now on a shelf rather than on your bed. Your duvet was still the same too, pink and white with roses. It was all so pretty, so delicate, so chaste.

You were in your pajamas, in a pretty, little nightgown that became see-through under the moonlight. He could see the slopes of your body, the dips and curves, the little bows on the sides of your panties. If only he had come under better circumstances.

You rushed him the moment his feet met the floor, tackling him with your arms wrapped around his slender neck. You sobbed into his neck, babbling on and on about what had happened. Hobie stroked the length of your back and whispered in your ear soft words of assurance.

“You can’t be here, Hobes.” You suddenly retracted from him. Your father was a deep sleeper, but if your mother woke up at any point, your father would follow soon after with his shotgun.

Hobie bent down to begin to unlace his boots, implying that he intended to stay for a while. “I jus’ wan’ed to come see ya, baby. Tha’s all. I needed t’make sure you were okay.” He pulled off his boots and put them to the side, still so tall that you only reached his chest. 

It was only then that Hobie saw the swell of your cheek and was quick to come to caress it. He could feel the welt of a handprint against your once unmarked skin. His eyes, once so nonchalant and lighthearted, darkend with worry, with anger. “Did he do this to ya?” He touched the welt so tenderly and even then you flinched away from him, nodding.

Hobie began to make his way towards your bedroom door, determined to get revenge. Who could ever look at a face like yours and think to hurt you? How dare your own father be the one to hurt you? You had to stand between him and the door to stop him, every word of “stop” falling upon deaf ears, blinded by rage.

“Please, Hobes.” You placed your hand upon his chest and pushed back on him softly. “Don’t make things worse. Just hold me…please. That’s all I need right now.”

You went back to your bed and laid down with enough space for Hobie to join you. Obviously he came to lay down with you. If this was what you needed then he’d be her for you in any way he could. He fit a bit awkwardly, his feet hanging off of the end of your bed in a rather comical way. You laid facing each other, tucked in close together. Hobie radiated warmth and made your duvet completely obsolete. You curled in as close as possible.

Hobie caressed your face tenderly, stared at the beauty of your features even with your eyes cried red and raw, your swollen cheeks, and the tears streaming down your face. How was he supposed to break this recent news to you? It would break you, he knew it would, but he had no time to put it lightly. Time was running out fast. Come morning, the two of you would have one less day together.

"I'm leavin' soon." With those three words, all your fears were confirmed. Your one and only support system was leaving you, your only semblance of relief from this choking world was going to let it suffocate you. You stared at him, your eyes glossing over. "I thought you said–"

"I know wha' I said. I know. 'm sorry." He watched the way tears rolled down your cheeks. His thumbs stroked away the tears that formed before they could fall but you needed to cry, you needed to. If you didn’t cry, what else was there to do? "'M sorry I lied but I need t' leave. My mum doesn’ wan’ me here no more. I gotta leave ya here, dove. ‘M tryna show kindness, not to fuck up ya life even more." 

Kindness? Kindness? This was not kindness. This was cruelty. His solution was to just run? To abandon you? Did you truly mean so little to him that he could just up and leave you again. What were you supposed to do without him? How long did you have left with him.

"When?"

"After Mass on Sunday." Just 3 days. Too soon, far too soon, not enough time to make things right. “Is that what you came here to tell me?” Hobie’s eyes softened with guilt and for the first time, he shifted his gaze away from yours. “I couldn’ go wit’cha thinkin’ I just abandoned ya.”

But that was exactly what he was doing. He was abandoning you. Just like all those years ago. How many more years would it be until he came back? Would you still be in love with him by then, suppressed behind many years of absence? Would you forgive him for leaving or would the resentment stay for the rest of your life? You resented him, his ability to leave when things got rough, his ability to ruin your life then run away when the consequences finally caught up with you.

No need for him to be gone now. You needed him out of your house or you might scream at him, scream your lungs out until your heart was on the floor and your tears drowned your words. Scream until you tore your vocal cords, coughed up blood, coughed up rose petals.

"Get out." Your expression hardened. "Get out of my room, get out of my house, get out of my life. If you're going to leave then stay out. I don't need you coming back in 5 years to just ruin my life again." You got up and marched over to the window where he left his boots. You picked them up and threw them at him. "Leave and stay away. Never come back, Hobie. Never. If you really want to be kind, you'd let me live my life."

Hobie barely managed to get his shoes on before you were pulling him out of your bed and shoving him towards your window.

"Y/n–"

"Get out!" It's the loudest your voice has gotten so far. He's never seen you so angry. He really fucked up, really fucked you up, fucked up your life. It's best if he just left, left this town, left you alone entirely. So he said nothing more and climbed out of the window, sliding down the gutter.

There was nothing left to say.

Your parents made you burn the photos the next day before locking you back in your room for the next 2 days. They only let you out to eat and use the restroom. You weren't allowed any other privileges, not for the damned daughter. They left you with your rosary and your bible, made to only read scripture and pray the evil out of your body and for forgiveness from the Lord.

The only time you were allowed out of your room, out of the house, was on Sunday for morning mass. You were relieved to just be able to get out and get some fresh air. You took a well-deserved shower, your skin pale and your lips were dry, you trembled under the hot shower water as it poured down your body, praying.

You fasted every Sunday morning, breakfast skipped for the meal to be made after. You and your family woke up and immediately went to church at 7 in the morning and all you thought about was if Hobie has already left or if he was truly waiting until after mass to go.

You found out when you got there. Hobie and his mother were sitting on the far opposite end of the church from where you and your family usually sit. You caught his gaze for a moment and broke it as fast as you had gained it when your father grabbed your wrist and dragged you away towards your usual pew. He was still here, maybe waiting to say goodbye, a luxury he would not be afforded. 

Mass went on as usual, with your sweaty parish and his long sermons. An hour in, you asked your mother if you could use the restroom and you were told to make it quick. A small luxury given to you as you stood, adjusted you dress, and made your way to the back of the church towards the old bathrooms in desperate need for renovation.

You passed the confessional cabinet along the way, to and from the restroom. On your way back, you heard the smallest bit of a whisper. “Doll.” It came from one side of the cabinet, the unmistakable accented voice of Hobie coaxing you over. You stood before the booth, debating over whether you should just leave him there or play his stupid little game one last time.

He was leaving today, what more harm can he do to you?

You opened the other door and took a step inside. Never before have you been in the confessional booth. You figured that your parents would eventually make you confess your sins to the Father at some point and you’d fall in with one of the many sinners in town. 

You sat on the bench, looking at Hobie’s obscured face through the carved out design in the mahogany wood of the cabinet. “What do you want, Hobie?” Your voice was cold and uncaring but belied that all you wanted to do was find his tongue with yours and let him take you right here. All or nothing, ‘take the last bit of me before you go’.

“I jus’ wan’ed to talk, dove.” Hobie rubbed his hands together nervously. It’s been so long since he’s been nervous but if anyone deserved such an emotion, it would be you. The two of you had left things off horribly and he couldn’t bear to leave without leaving things off on a better note. “I though’ maybe–” he began to chuckle, “maybe we i’ would be easier to confess wha’s on our min’s in here.

“I know ya have no reason to wanna talk t’me, but jus’... I know you have a lot on ya mind and I wan'ed to give ya the chance to say i'"

You were silent for a long moment before Hobie spoke again.

"Confess ya sins and I'll hold them wit' me foreva."

Something about those words made your throat constrict and your heart squeeze. You could get it all out right now and if it didn't change his mind about leaving, at least you would have held nothing from him. You would have placed your heart on your sleeve and showed him all your vulnerabilities. The sin would be his.

You rested your head against the cut out the two of you were talking to. "Sin? My sin, Hobie, is that you had me in ways I thought only my husband would. My sin was that I thought I meant something to you." Your voice trembled with the tears that began to swell in your eyes and roll like rivers down your cheeks, breaking off and spilling into smaller streams. "My sin was that I was stupid enough to think you wouldn't leave again. My sin was that I fell in love with you and you will never love me the same way."

You placed your hand against the cutout wall and stationed your lips close. "My sin is that I want to run away with you, leave this life and follow you wherever you go. I want you to take me, make me yours, right here, right now. That's my sin, Hobie. You ruined me."

The silence was so loud, filled with the parishes voice describing the sanctity of marriage and how nowadays, the youngins just have sex all over the place without knowing that importance of marriage first.

The cabinet creaked softly as Hobie got up from the bench inside. He pushed open the door, stepped out, and opened the door to your side. He took you up, pulling the door closed behind him, and pulled you in. You didn't look at him, refused to, lip trembling.

"I ruined ya now, did I?" Hobie grasped your chin and forced you to look at him. He was glad to see the swelling of your cheek had gone down. He should have killed your father over hitting you. He would have if you hadn't stopped him. The things he would do for you. "Righ' here and righ' now? I could do tha'"

Hobie had you against the wall in no time, your hands grasping at each other while his teeth bit and licked at your neck in sloppy kisses against your throat. You tilted your head back to allow him more space, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer and hold his body to yours. You missed his touch, the way he smelled, the way his hands grasped at your body, your breasts, your waist, caressing every curve of your body down to your hips. His rough and calloused as he pulled your dress up to pool under your tits, leaving your white, lace panties and thigh-high socks exposed. They were cheeky and childish but Hobie found it cute.

Hobie’s lips found yours and you opened on command for him. He’s got you trained good, his sweet, little flower. You still moaned every time he stroked his tongue against yours, still shivered when his thumbs stroked your cheeks. Heat pooled between your legs, slick wetness coating your lips and soaking your lacy, little panties. Would kissing him always feel like this? Like your heart was exploding in your chest, like you might just cum right here.

He shoved his hand into your panties and dipped his fingers between your swollen, soaked lips. He's barely done anything beyond kiss you and you're already dripping, your body leaning into his. Your body rolled when he found your clit, teasing it with the pads of his fingers in gentle circular motions.

You moan softly against his full lips. His tongue piercing brushes against your tongue before forcing yours down and latching his lips to yours.

"You don' wanna be caught, do ya, doll? You wan’ someone t’come and catch me ruining you, spoiling you?" His words are disgusting, filthy, and such a big turn on. You shivered at his words, with every stroke against your clit, at the way he chuckled at your cuteness.

He continued to play with you, trying to get you wet enough so this all would hurt less. Hobie reveled in your pretty, muffled noises, coaxing more from you by the second. He wished he could take his time with this, go nice and slow while he spoils you, but someone would suspect something and put two and two together if you take too long.

Hobie pulled his fingers from your panties and you whimpered softly, watching him kitten-lick your juices from his digit with teh softest moan.

He leaned in and suckled on your bottom lip softly, whispering into you, “jus’ saty quiet f’me, luv. Can ya do tha’?” You nodded frantically, so hard you made yourself dizzy. His fingers began to pull at his belt, undoing the buckle. He took his time pulling himself out of his restraints and when he popped out, his fat cock slapping against your bare stomach, you gasped. He was just so big, smearing pre-cum against your naval, marking where his cock would rest if he pushed himself all the way into your tiny pussy.

He’d take you right here, deflower you in this sacred place of worship and they’d never know. He’d have your legs quivering, your eyes rolling back, seeing white, and you’d never make a peep because he asked it of you. No one would know that he defiled your sacred body, made it his.

As much as Hobie affected you, you affected him. He was so hard at the mere thought of fucking you that it hurted. Pre-cum beaded at his tip before dripping down his slit. He pumped himself in his hand, thumbing at his head while he kissed you. “Tha’s righ’, keep quiet or we’ll be in trouble, luv.”

Hobie dipped down and grasped the backs of your thighs to lift you up and make you wrap your legs around his slender waist. Your clothed core pressed against the length of his cock and you ground your hips down to get some friction against your aching cunt.

Hobie pulled your panties to the side, let you take what you needed as you humped him. He sat down on the bench, let you straddle his hips, dragging your soaked cunt along the girth of his cock. Every time his thick head caught on your clit you'd shudder yet keep your lips sealed like a good girl. No one would know what was going on if only you kept your lips tight.

Hobie let you take control of yourself, your pleasure, in a place where you've never before had control over anything. He watched you almost lovingly, leaning back with his hands on your hips, trying your best to prepare yourself for a moment you've been waiting for your entire life.

"I need you to do it for me." You whispered timidly, looking at him with those big eyes of yours. "I'm scared." It felt stupid to admit. Something you wanted so badly, something you practically pleaded for, now felt like the most terrifying thing in the world.

Hobie kissed the edges of your mouth. "'ve got'cha. Don't be afraid. We'll go slow." His voice gave you all the assurance you needed as you nodded and closed your eyes, placing yourself entirely in his hands.

Hobie positioned himself against the tight, wet hole of your entrance. The only time you've been stretched out was with his fingers and even then, you had been tight due to anxiety. His fingers didn't even compare.

He took your hips in his hold and brought you down slowly, the head of his cock splitting you apart and a nerve-wracking pace. A sharp pain took you and you cried softly, your fingers digging into Hobie's shoulders as he attempted to get you to calm down. He didn't go any further, just the tip, that was the hardest part. "Jus' breath, luv. You got i'."

You took in a shaky breath, slowly pushing your hips down to take him inch by inch. He stretched you in a way that his fingers failed to prepare you for, intruded in your body in a way that was so intimate that you thought you might cry but maybe that was the stinging pain of him making space for himself inside your body.

He seemed to go on forever but the moment you reached the hilt, you paused, sitting in his lap, rocking your hips gently in an attempt to adjust to his size. You whimpered with each moment, burying your face in the crook of his neck, taking in his scent that makes you deliriously high. “Hobie, I can’t.” You murmured, shaking your head. “I can’t, it hurts.”

“Yes ya can, luv. I got’chu. It’ll feel good in a moment.” Hobie kept your hips rocking back and forth and whispered into the side of your neck. His fingers slipped beneath the band of your underwear, his long, rough fingers grabbing at your flesh. 

With time, your face against his throat, eyes closed, you began to relax. Your once tight muscles loosened slowly and what was once pain shifted into gentle pleasure. Your lips sought out his and you kissed him gently, moaning against his tongue while the ball of his piercing pressed against the soft muscle of your tongue. 

Hobie prompted you to rise and slowly, you did, every vein dragging against your silken walls. You rose until just his tip remained inside you before falling back down upon his cock. He was so big, so thigh, touching places inside you you never knew even existed. His cock dragged against a soft spot inside you and immediately, your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably. Your body rolled with the familiar jolts of an orgasm overtaking your body. You fell away from the kiss, slapping your hand over your mouth as you arched your back and let out a soft cry.

There was a wet sound, a small squirt of something clear coming from between your legs and wetting Hobie’s pants and abdomen. You hadn’t even noticed it until the waves of your climax washed over you and he had barely thrusted into you once. You looked at him, smiling something evil at you. “I ain’ know you was a squirter, doll.”

“I’m sorry, I– I have no idea what that was.”

“Don’ apologize. ‘M just wonderin’ if I can make ya do i’ again.” Hobie hadn’t expected you to cum so fast, much less to squirt all from one thrust. Your pussy gushed with your cum, slicking him up and making the whole debacle a whole lot easier. He rubbed circles on your still trembling thighs until they stopped shaking with the aftermath of your orgasm before he took hold of your hips again and began guiding you movements up and down his length.

You felt like absolute Heaven around him, all wet and silky, tight yet not too tight. He made you ride him nice and slow, sliding his hands up and down the length of your gorgeous, shivering body and whispering quiet praises to you while mass seemed to become all the louder. Songs of worship were being sang and Hobie couldn’t help but to find a steady beat with them.

You had never felt so high before, like you were ascending to whole nothing plane of existence, like you were touching Heaven itself before you were cast down to Hell. The choir sang and you sang Hobie’s name with them, your thighs burning with strenuous use but you didn’t care. You didn’t care that you had solidified your place in Hell, that your parents were altogether ready to disown you, that your rosary sat discarded on the floor of the confession booth. You just cared that Hobie’s cock was bullying its way inside you, that you felt good about yourself for the first time in so, so long. He made you feel so good.

“I love you.” You said to him, fucked out and in a daze, bouncing on his dick and hungry for a second orgasm sitting pretty on the horizon. “I love you more than God, more than anything.” You feel like you can't think straight. You can't even formulate cohesive thoughts for Christ's sake beyond your adoration for him. It was like he was knocking something loose in your brain ramming into you. “I love you, I love you, IloveyouIlove you.”

“I love ya too, luv. Fuck- God, I only came back to this– shit, keep goin’, doll…only came back f’you.” Hobie’s head fell back against the back of the booth and his eyes rolled back in his head. “God, ya feel s’good, s’good. Don’ stop.” Like you ever wanted to. It was like you were both losing hold of yourselves, growing increasingly louder, but the music did a wonderful job at covering it up.

He slides his hand over your mouth as you cry out. "What would your parents think if they saw you like this, getting soiled like this. You think they would notice if I came in your pussy and let it run down your thighs during service."

You whimper a muffled moan against his hand. You don't even care that he's telling you that he's gonna cum inside you. You were too focused on your orgasm approaching like a freight train. It was hot and steamy in this tiny compartment. Your hot breath quickly fills the room that quickly turned into a stuffy sauna as you two sweat.

Hobie could feel his coming too, the quickest he'd ever had cum since his first time. He lets his fingers dip into your mouth and press on your hot tongue. You instinctively begin sucking and Hobie praises you by calling you a "good girl. Always a good girl".

Your orgasm came without warning. It took hold of your like a possession, your muscles tightening with the weight of it. Your hand reached between your legs and eagerly stroked your clit and before you knew it, you were squirting again, just for him. Your pussy pulsated, your eyes rolled, your body relaxed and rolled against his, coaxing his orgasm out of him.

Hobie quickly slipped out of you before you could take his cock into you again. He wrapped a large, wet hand around his cock and stroked himself hard and fast against your wet abdomen. It didn’t take long for him to cum, coating your stomach in thick ribbons of it while he let out deep, panting huffs against your shoulder.

“You think they noticed we’ve been gone?”

“Definitely.”

Mass went on as usual when the two of you finally returned to your seats but you could both tell that your parents had caught on a long time ago and there was no way some kind of reprimanding wasn’t underway.

That night, you left home. Your father had struck you again and told you that you had two options, enter a convert and become a nun or leave the house because he “would not stand for this debauchery”.

You chose to leave. 

You called Hobie on the house phone just before he left his hotel and asked him to come pick you up. By the time he got there, you were sitting on the curb with two bags and in tears. He got off of his bike, grabbed your bags for you, and offered out a hand for you to take. “You ready?” 

You looked up at him, wiped the tears from your cheeks with the backs of your hands, and slipped your hand into his so he could help you up

”As ever.”

taglist: @eldrichhorrornyaa , @coffeeandtealol , @ravieaesthetic , @th3h0nkz , @qxiva , @m00nc4kes , @angel-of-the-eon

[murdrdocs]

Saw your requests thing and saw you do holding piss and… I’ve never really engaged in anything like that but I’m very intrigued. Do you think u could do something w Miguel or Hobie? No other specific things have fun w it if you do decide to write it <3

this is legit a month old but erm ... better late than never obvi tw for piss kink (holding only)

the complaints of having to piss had long melted away from your lips, completely gone from your thoughts and usefully replaced with the want, the desire, to cum.

you couldn't even really remember if you had to pee in the first place, or if this pressure that sat in your loins was a product of the sheer pleasure hobie was delivering to you. his cock filling you up just right, every vein contoured perfectly to your gummy walls. the tip just shy of your cervix, and with an arch of your back, and hobie pulling you closer, your legs spread over his thighs, he reaches just a bit deeper, your head spinning and a low moan ripping through your body.

the vibrator pressed against your clit increases in speed, the pulses massaging your most sensitive spot to the point where you're practically overstimulated. you've been in this spot for what seems like forever now, audible arousal between your legs serving as a testament to the time.

your orgasm approaches, once again, and you feel that this time will be the one where you let go all over hobie. he's been trying to get you to do as much, his motivation clear with the merciless way he's been fucking you through the night even though his words represent the opposite, and it's the thing you'd been dreading. while letting go would be satisfying, another way to increase your orgasm, it's fucking humiliating, especially when hobie coos and awes at you like you're a sight to marvel at.

but this time, you can't control it. you're so far gone, legs starting to twitch and shake as your muscles tense. your words are nothing but a garbled mess of moans and chants of hobie's name, some pleas in there as you beg for mercy.

he's not having it, moving the purple toy at your clit in circles as he pounds into you. "'m not letting you go, love. not until you let go." you groan, trying to run away from hobie but the hand he has on your hip tightens. he shakes his head disapprovingly, tutting as he cocks his head to the side.

"you didn't really think that was gonna work, did you? told ya: 'm not letting you go. so jus' go ahead and cum for me, yeah? you know it'll feel good."

[mikuni14]

Century of Love - Ep 10 Finale

This will be a general summary of the series.

Overall, I really liked Century of Love, except for most of the last 3 episodes, which unfortunately exceeded my tolerance for the soap opera genre, which is high, but also has its limits 😄 There was also too much crying, I don't like watching it and there's nothing I can do about it..

The plot also seemd a bit dull, replaced by an excess of expressive feelings.

And that's all the criticism, apart from that the series met my expectations 😉

DaouOffroad proved that they are one of the best couples in the BL industry, their natural chemistry has been maintained since LiT and they carried this story, this romance, and made the love believable. Apart from that, they are simply incredibly attractive and watching them is a real pleasure

Daou as a 100-year-old man was totally believable, conveying this specific vibe of older, grumpy guys. He was just as convincing when he cried, writhed in pain, as he was totally in love with Vee and discovered the joy of sex 😏

Offroad as a slightly broken young man struggling with adversity, poverty, his grandmother's illness, loneliness, who still retains his kindness and optimism was also very convincing and wonderful. It was obvious that San would fall in love with him, who wouldn't

special mention to Chibi San, what a kid 💯

the other characters (San's family, Tao, Ton and Third) were really nice, I especially liked how supportive they were of San and Vee and their genuine devotion to them. It's also good that they didn't make Third a jealous villain

Ju is one of the most wonderful girls I've ever seen in any production, EVER, but then again I just love the vibe of the Gen Alpha girls, so no surprise that she was my fav 💖

the humor, lightness, funniness, camp of this series was really good

I'm absolutely delighted that the series overall ignored the reincarnation issue and went in the direction I wanted, which was San falling in love with a specific person and when he made a choice, he didn't look back. And Vee was just Vee, no Vad in him, in his memories, his personality. San, Vee and Vad were all DIFFERENT PEOPLE

I like that the series showed that you can fall madly in love once. And then you can fall madly in love a second time.

I liked that when San fell in love with Vee, neither he nor the series introduced any drama with the "choice" between Vee and Vad. San only had Vee in his heart and only wanted him. 10/10, no bullshit, only true love

San and Vee stayed in character until the end. San "nobly and chivalrously" wanted to spare his beloved pain, Vee of course thought that it was all his fault and San was avoiding him because he didn't want to see him. Was San's behavior irritating? Of course, but just as it normally annoys me, here it surprisingly suited San, BESIDES the series showed that this was the wrong approach with Third's words and resolved it without stupid scenes and unnecessary drama and fight. Likewise, their reconciliation was very delicate and kind, as they are

San and Vee barely holding it all together, their last night together - it was very beautiful and moving. Such beauty, raw emotions, despair and nobility are rarely shown in BL series, but it also works best in costume series and soap operas. I also liked how they spent the last night showing that physical contact is not just sex, that it is something important in a relationship and is used to convey feelings

we got a happy ending and their nice scenes together, when they are happy and free

I can only hope that Daou and Offroad will get the opportunity to star in a well-written and directed series in a nice atmosphere on the set, and that we will see more of Pond and the actress playing Juu and her sweet face 💖

Thank you all for the nice time spent together experiencing this lovely i fun series and the awesomeness of DaouOffroad 💖💖💖💖💖💖 See you soon in their next project!

[elvisabutler]

you know how kids are supposed to be good judges of character? i was wondering if you could do elvis x reader where their kids don't like mommy and daddy's manager?

children 'n dogs

summary: your children with elvis never have been a big fan of the colonel and neither have you even if elvis is. but as you and elvis like to say: "children 'n dogs, best judges of character." fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) | austin butler rating: t pairing: elvis presley x female reader ( or austin elvis x female reader ) word count: 1854 warnings: talk of children being absolute menaces. a married couple being very much a married couple. pregnancy. the colonel being the colonel. brief mentions of period typical and culturally typical opinions on child rearing re: discipline and spanking. calling elvis a backwater hick. brief brief mention of vomit. i think that should be everything. author’s note: so hi anon thank you for this prompt, this was actually a really sweet one and i kind of fell in love with it but wasn't too sure how to start it- plus the fun tired exhaustion i've been dealing with. i set this as a sort of continuation of my queen of graceland fic ( that i wrote for specifically austin elvis ), you don't have to read that one, just know it basically has elvis and the reader getting together right before he gets shipped off to germany, and they have a set of twin girls right about that time and i implied they were going to have plenty more kids after those two. read this with austin elvis or elvis in mind, i am not picky, since i left it faintly nebulous.

"Whaddya mean Jess spit on 'im? Damn boy is 6 years old, he knows better." Elvis asks as you start to take down your hair for the night, wincing at one of the pins digging deeper into your hair. "Christ, mama, let me get those ones in the back, ya know ya can't get at 'em."

You roll your eyes but remove your hands only to have your husband's warm hands replace them, finding the pins in your hair with an ease you envy. "I meant exactly what I said, sweetheart. Jesse spit on the Colonel in the five minutes I looked away while tryin' to make sure Loretta and Elizabeth were all ready to go. They all know I'm not movin' all that fast right now." Your hand moves to rub at your bump, an act that has Elvis letting out a heavy sigh above your head, one of his own hands following downward and pressing against it, earning a powerful kick.

"That's what I get for putting another set of 'em in ya, isn't it? My Queen of Graceland too big to be chasin' after my lil' hellion of a boy." He moves his hand off of your stomach, only to watch another kick happen with a chuckle as he busies himself with your hair. "Colonel seemed madder than just a lil spit. Gettin' the feelin' there's more."

There is a moment when you contemplate not telling him the rest, not telling him how your oldest daughters had lost their tempers once you got them over to where their siblings were and how the other two boys promptly followed their older brother and hit the Colonel and how your youngest daughter, your sweet 18 month old daughter had thrown up on the Colonel's shoes. You contemplate all of this only to look up at your husband and realize he's waiting, mid trying to take out a pin. "Everyone might have- well- everyone might have had their own things they wanted to do t'him."

Now you're no stranger to trying to smooth over things your children have done to Elvis, no stranger to making it seem as if your children are far more innocent than they actually are. But in being married to you and in knowing your children together from the day they were born he knows when you're doing it. He knows exactly when you're trying to gloss over things and make them look presentable. He leans down and places a kiss to the top of your forehead. "Darlin'. I ain't gonna be mad at 'em. Or maybe jus' a lil, but ya gotta tell me what they did so I can apologize."

You hum and purse your lips as you move to grab a brush to brush out your hair. "Oh, I don't think any of 'em want you to apologize for what they did. They know very well what they did was wrong." A pause and you shake your head. "Loretta and Elizabeth kicked him in the shin and stepped on his foot. While tellin' him to stop bein' angry at Jesse for spittin' and Anthony and Aaron for tryin' to bite and hit 'im."

The two warring emotions that filter across Elvis's face show just how much of a child he can be even as he's a parent to six kids- eight if he counted the ones inside you. He wants to laugh at the sheer chaos the scene brings to mind but at the same time he knows that he should frown upon everything, that you expect him to be able to discipline them a little but at the same time he looks in your eyes and doesn't see a hint of anger. At the children or him. He raises an eyebrow. "And the vomit on the shoe?"

"Rebecca's lunch." The most simple answer as he pulls out the final pins that you couldn't properly see to pull out. "That one i wasn't expectin' in the slightest. Don't know if it was her tryin' to follow her sibling's leads or jus' an upset stomach. But- she hasn't done it since then."

Meaning it likely was her trying to get in on the action. Elvis sighs, sitting on the chest at the bottom of the bed. "Goddamn, darlin'- Our kids did all o' that to him? Our well behaved kids? The ones who know their manners 'n-"

You hold up a hand waving it for him as a signal to stop talking. "Our kids who know their manners 'cause they know I'd have their hides if they didn't. Yes, those kids. Those kids also hate the Colonel 'bout as much as I do-"

It's Elvis's turn to cut you off, standing up only to kneel down in front of you, taking the brush out of your hands so that he can hold them in his own. So he can envelop them in his own and make you focus on his face as he talks. "I know- I know the two of ya haven't ever gotten along but he's why we have all o'this. Wouldn't have gotten so big and wouldn't be in these pictures if it wasn't for 'im."

There is a part of you, a tiny part that will admit he's right, that the Colonel is the reason he's as famous as he is and why he's able to keep up with paying for your ever growing family but at the same time the man hasn't ever truly liked you and he especially likes you less and less the more kids you bring into the world. "Elvis, if he had his way you wouldn't have me or our kids." You whisper, pulling up your hands in an effort to get him to pull up his own so that you can place a small kiss to them. "He never has liked any of us. Got mad when I was pregnant with Loretta and Elizabeth but liked how he could spin it. Same wit' Jesse. But our other three? And these ones? If he could leave us out in a ditch somewhere, I honestly think he would. He- This doesn't give you the all American, Hollywood star look, it makes you look like a backwater hick."

"A backwater hick." He repeats back slowly, knowing fully well it wasn't you saying that. Oh he'd expect that from your mama, but not you. Which had to have meant that was the Colonel's words, not your own. "He tell ya that? He tell my goddamn wife that?

When you had first gotten married you might have looked away due to how Elvis's voice deepens in pitch, a sure sign of how angry he is simmering under the surface. Nowadays? Now it just makes you shake your head for a moment before nodding. "He has- which might be why your children kinda like a dog know when someone is-"

"Not a good person? Has a bad character?" He finishes for you before muttering under his breath. "Children 'n dogs."

The puff of air that leaves your nose betrays just how aggravated you're getting to be with the entire conversation as does the rolling movement of your twins. "They've done this for years, Elvis, it's jus' today that they've all done it at once. We deal wit' it for ya. I know you won't leave 'im so I handle it."

His eyes drift down to your stomach where he sees his children move a bit angrily and he frowns realizing that you've been stuck dealing with this alone while he sung the Colonel's praises all this time. He had to admit that as of late he was feeling a bit dissatisfied with the man and was beginning to wonder if maybe it was time for a change. A change that would make everyone happy. He pulls his hands away from yours and allows you to start to brush your hair again while he moves to touch and rub your stomach in an effort to calm the children. It works quicker than he'd have thought was possible judging by the way you lean back in the chair a little and sigh. Placing a kiss to your stomach he stands up. "I'll talk to 'im tomorrow, a'right? 'Bout a lot of things. Now come on, lets get your hair all brushed and my teeth all brushed and get ya into bed 'fore these lil ones wake back up and make a fuss."

You tilt your head up for a kiss before you nod. "Don't need to tell me twice. Go on, I got my hair sweetheart." You pause. "I love you. And I am sorry about what they did."

"Don't be, they're- our kids, mama. If they weren't like this- I'd be worried." He kisses you one more time before he pulls away to go to the bathroom to brush his teeth. "Love ya too."

Elvis manages to finish brushing his teeth before you finish with your hair and murmurs something about checking on the kids. It's a quick walk to the bedrooms and when he opens the door he's bombarded by a flurry of hugs and overlapping voices.

"We know we shouldn't have but he's so mean to mama!"

"He was yelling at Jesse and Anthony and Aaron, you'd've been mad too daddy!"

"He spit on me first!"

"He what?" The last words uttered by Jesse are what finally have Elvis putting up his hands and telling everyone to be quiet. "Didya jus' say he spit on ya?"

Jesse looks away when he answers, knowing that he technically is lying but he knows Mr. Parker would have. He just knows. "He didn't but- Daddy we jus'. He's mean. He's never mean when you're here but he's mean."

Elvis frowns and pulls his children in for a group hug, noting how they try and burrow into him as best as they can almost as if they want his forgiveness and protection all in one. When he pulls away he places a kiss to each of their foreheads. "I- I'm hearin' all 'bout this tonight. Listen. You all go on 'n get into bed. Daddy's gonna deal wit' some things tomorrow. Some things wit' Colonel Parker. Don't you worry 'bout it."

The grins so much like his own crossing all of their faces make his heart so full of love he almost feels like crying before he shakes his head. Lights out once I leave. And be nice to your mama tomorrow mornin' ya know your siblings are a lil rough on her right now."

A chorus of "yes daddy" leaves everyone's lips in whatever way they can manage it before he shuts the door and moves back to your shared bedroom. You're already on the bed by the time he comes back, curled up with a pillow fast asleep as he slides in next to you and nuzzles at your neck. "Ya gotta tell me 'bout these sorta things, darlin'. Can't protect ya if ya don't. But I'll deal wit' it tomorrow mornin'. Have some words wit' 'im. Love all of ya too much to not."

taglist: @ab4eva, @eliseinmemphis, @powerofelvis, @headfullofpresley, @precious-little-scoundrel, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, one day i'm gonna keep track of who would want to be tagged with what. today is not that day.

[thegatesofsilverandbone]

The Summer House

Samantha and Lily had been looking forward to a quiet summer together, house-sitting in an old mansion nestled on the outskirts of a quaint, sleepy town. The house was grand but had seen better days, the air thick with dust and the scent of old wood. They knew little about the owners—a couple supposedly off traveling through Europe—but they didn’t care. The isolation and the decent pay were all they needed.

The first few days were blissful. They lounged around the house, taking long swims in the pool, enjoying the sprawling garden, and exploring the many rooms filled with antique furniture. But soon enough, things started to feel… strange.

It began as barely noticeable shifts. One night, as they were watching TV, Lily absentmindedly scratched at her arm. A patch of rough, dark hair had sprouted there. “Weird,” she mumbled, but dismissed it, figuring maybe she hadn't noticed it before. But the next morning, there was more. Coarse hair now lined her arms, and her legs felt thicker, more solid. She shrugged it off as nothing more than a hormonal blip.

Samantha noticed changes too. Her jeans, once loose and comfortable, began to feel tighter around her thighs. Her shirts clung awkwardly to her torso, which felt broader. But it was her face that threw her off most of all. Her jaw seemed squarer, more pronounced, and her skin was rougher, with tiny, prickling stubble dotting her chin and cheeks. She blinked at her reflection, rubbing at her face as though she could smooth it away.

By the end of the week, the changes had accelerated. Samantha’s once-delicate features had transformed dramatically. Her cheekbones had grown sharper, her jawline more defined and masculine. A full beard had begun to sprout across her face, dark and thick, contrasting against the soft curves that were rapidly disappearing from her body. Her hands had grown larger, her fingers thicker, with veins standing out on the back of her hand. When she touched her chest, she was startled by the firm muscle under her skin where there had once been softness. A dusting of hair now spread across her torso, connecting to the thicker mat on her chest.

Lily was undergoing similar changes. Her once-long hair had receded, leaving her with a buzz cut that accentuated the growing strength of her jaw and brow. The slim, petite frame she’d been so proud of was now stockier, her shoulders broader, her muscles more defined. As she stepped out of the shower one morning, she caught sight of herself in the foggy mirror—her chest was covered in a thick mat of dark hair that ran down her stomach, disappearing into the waistband of her shorts. Her arms were now strong, hairy, and muscular, and her legs, too, had thickened, her calves like those of an athlete.

“What the hell is happening to us?” Samantha—or Matt, as the name had started to feel more natural—grumbled one morning, staring at the face in the mirror. He ran his fingers through the thick beard that now covered his face, marveling at how completely foreign he looked.

“I don’t know,” Lily—or Brian—responded, his voice dropping an octave, deep and rich. He scratched at his chest absentmindedly, feeling the coarse hair against his rough fingers. “But I kind of… like it?” He smiled, flashing a grin that now looked much more at home on his rugged, square-jawed face. The concern they’d once felt about the changes was slowly fading, replaced with a strange comfort, a sense that this was who they were supposed to be.

Their minds began to shift along with their bodies. Samantha had always been meticulous and detail-oriented, the planner of the duo, but now, Matt felt a relaxed confidence settle over him. His worries felt distant, trivial. He had a partner, a beautiful home, and a life that felt full and satisfying. He caught himself thinking about the new patio they wanted to build, or about the last barbecue they'd hosted with the neighbors, even though none of it had happened… or had it?

Brian’s transformation was just as profound. Lily had once been more carefree, but now, Brian found himself more grounded, more settled in who he was. His muscles flexed easily under his skin as he moved, his body brimming with strength and purpose. His memories began to align with Matt’s—years of marriage, working side by side on home improvement projects, Sunday mornings spent reading the paper on the porch.

The house around them began to change as well, evolving to match their new tastes. The delicate lace curtains and floral wallpaper were replaced with heavy, masculine décor—dark leather chairs, wood-paneled walls, and sturdy furniture that looked built to last. The old, creaky floors were sanded down and polished to a rich shine, and the cluttered, dusty corners were cleared away, replaced by the sleek, minimalist aesthetic that both men seemed to prefer.

As they stood side by side, their transformations complete, they caught sight of their reflections once more in the mirror. Matt’s beard had fully grown in, thick and dark, framing his strong jawline. His chest was broad and covered in a thick pelt of hair, his muscles rippling as he moved. Brian’s body had filled out, his thick arms bulging with muscle, his legs solid and powerful. His hair was cropped short, and a thick trail of hair ran down from his chest to his stomach, disappearing into his shorts.

They looked at each other, and it felt right. This was who they were, who they had always been. Matt leaned in, resting a hand on Brian’s shoulder, the familiar warmth between them rekindling like a fire.

“Feels like we’ve been here forever, doesn’t it?” Matt said, his voice rich and deep, carrying a tone of love and contentment.

Brian nodded, pulling Matt in closer, his fingers brushing against the waistband of Matt’s shorts. “Yeah… and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he tugged playfully.

The house had transformed along with them, now a reflection of their lives together, steeped in years of memories and love. The rest of the world faded away. They were Matt and Brian, two men happily in love, living in the home they had built, and nothing could be more perfect.

[acozysoulwrites]

Settling down | D.D

Description: It's been months since you and Daryl moved to the cottage miles from Alexandria. Things have settled down, and Daryl has started to think of your future together.

Warnings: none!

The leaves fall from the trees softly, slowly. It is their only purpose. To grow, to sway in the wind, and to fall where they will find their forever resting place in the dirt. They weren't so different, leaves and people.

Daryl throws his bow and bag onto his back, grimacing as his sweaty shirt presses into him. He knows he wore one layer too many.

The seasons were changing. Leaves were falling, the air grew chillier daily, and his nose was stuffy. Clear signs of winter is on it's way. Daryl didn’t mind winter. It slowed the dead down enough to raise their survival rate above 50%, and plus, he thought the snow was pretty.

Rounding the tall oak tree, he knows he’s almost home. Almost safe from everything wrong. He knows he’s almost back to his girl.

Daryl stomps the half-dried mud off his boots, only realizing too late that he’s done this on her clean front porch. Grumbling a bit, he grabs the old broom by the door and sweeps it away before she can get after him.

“Dare? That you?” her voice calls from the kitchen.

“Mm, it’s jus’ me” he replies, opening the creaky door he steps inside, and the smell of her cooking greets him before her.

She looks up, a softness replacing her focused expression. She crosses the room and curls around, grabbing his heavy belongings from his back. “You find anything out there?” She asks as she sets them down beside the couch. She takes care of him better than he does.

“Nah, jus' a load of walkers. This weather always makes em’ frisky before the freeze,” He says solemnly as he makes his way to the kitchen.

The smile lines by her eyes fall, and she nods. “That’s okay” She places her hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry about it. Rick said we are always welcome to their pantry, especially during the winter months,” She reassures.

The corner of his mouth tugs up, remembering Rick's exact words. He was glad to have someone like Rick.

She and Daryl finish supper and head to the living room. Every night they sit together. There isn’t a TV anymore, or the radio. So they sit in silence. She reads stories to him some nights, and he tells her stories other nights. They sit in each others presence like it’s their real home, like even if these walls fell down around them, they’d be content.

“Hey, you awake?” Daryl mumbles, glancing down at her where she lays on his chest.

She stirs and for a moment he regrets saying anything, regrets waking her -

“Yeah, jus’ thinkin’,” she whispers.

Oh.

Daryl nods. “What about?”

“Us” she says simply.

“What’s that mean?”

She sits up, exhaling a tired breath through her nose. There is a mark on her cheek from his shirt and his heart staggers as she looks into his eyes.

“Don’t sound so scared” She teases, “Just us. Our future, that’s all”.

“Oh” Daryl let’s out the breath he’d been holding. “Me too”.

“Yeah?”

He nods again. “Yeah…” Daryl runs his hand up her back. “Maybe taking things to the next level” He finishes, eyes meeting hers again.

Her eyes widen. “You mean?”

He nods, mumbling a quiet mhm before kissing her forehead. “I want that for us” He says.

Her hand slips into his hair and she kisses him suddenly. “Yes, Yes Dare i want that for us too” she whispers happily.

Daryl smiles. “Good, we’ll go to Alexandria, plan it with Rick” He says.

[holdmytesseract]

You're My Destiny

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: Barely after he left his home, Daryl starts to question himself, if he made the right decision. Can he find his way back to you and finally bite the bullet?

Warnings: angst (sorry!), walkers, blood, injuries, uhh, swear words, fluff! I promise, it has a happy end this time! 🥺

Set in Season 11 - or well, rather after season 11!

Word Count: 4,2k (Whoops...)

a/n: This is a second part to 'Missed Chances', in order to make up for this sad ending. ☺️ There's a scene in this one, which the lot of you will find awfully familiar. Daryl kind of experiences something he already experienced before - in Season 2, to be precisely. I had the idea to kind of rewrite this scene, but changing it up. Anyways, you'll see what I mean. ☺️ I hope you guys like this second part! I do! 🥰

Divider by the wonderful @fictive-sl0th ! 💚

Tagging... @in-this-minute @thefemininemystiquee @hotgirlsshareaccounts @azanoni @lokisgoodgirl @goobysgoobers @fuseburner @fictive-sl0thh @alexreadz07 @sweetpeapod ...plus @hxad-ovxr-hxart @browneyes528 @starfirette @nuhogom @faithsreades because you seemed to enjoy the first part as well!

Masterlist

One day and one night. That was how long ago had Daryl left Alexandria and the Commonwealth behind him, in order to search for his brother and friend. One day and one night was he already separated from his friends, from his family - from you. He missed them. Without a doubt. He missed the kids, Carol, Connie - and everybody else. But he missed nobody as much as he missed you. It seemed like the more he distanced himself from home, the more he missed you. It started with a tiny crack in his heart, which had turned within those 24 hours into a gaping wound. Sure, he was out there to find and bring back Judith's and RJ's parents, but all he could think about was you. How sad you were when he left. How you cried. The hurt in your voice and eyes.

A big sigh left the archer's lips, as he sat at the small campfire he had made. He couldn't even consider finding sleep that night; so he stayed awake and now watched how the sun replaced the moon. What am I going to do now? Daryl asked himself, chewing absently on the inside of his lip. Moving on, hoping that the pain in his chest would dissipate and his brain would stop thinking about you all the time? Daryl stared into the dying flame of the fire, taking another deep breath and standing up. Yes. That was exactly what he was going to do. It's jus' homesickness, the archer told himself, brushing it off. He extinguished the fire, grabbed his things and sat on his bike; ready to move on. Although, Daryl didn't get far. He had been driving for a few hours now, trying to focus on his mission - but no matter how hard he tried, his mind was always taking him back to the woman he left behind in Alexandria. In fact, the archer was so in thoughts, that he didn't even see the single walker limping in some distance over the deserted, empty road he drove on. When Daryl realised, that he was about to crash into a hungry, growling monster, it was too late. "Shit!" He cursed, trying to dodge the walker in the last possible second - which worked out; but unfortunately, he lost the grip, went into a skid and fell. Daryl got thrown off the vehicle, landed harshly on the roadside. And with that not enough... He had been just passing by an old, very much destroyed farm - and with that a fence along the street, which had probably lined before the downfall a paddock. The fence was made of wooden stakes and barbwire - and Daryl hit the fence with full force. Human body against steel? It was pretty clear who won that duel. The barbwire ripped the shirt he wore and cut easily through his skin and flesh, leaving a gaping wound on his right side. A painful gasp left the archer's mouth, as he tried to reorientate himself and get up, but it was no use. The fall he had just taken wasn't a small one... Daryl tried to turn to examine his wound. It bled - a lot. And it was quite a deep cut, that much he could tell. His breath was laboured; the sun burning down on him. Suddenly, the world around him started to spin, before darkness overcame him.

Daryl's eyes fluttered slightly open, immediately blinded by the bright light shining down on him. "Hey!" A voice suddenly called out from somewhere above him. "Wake up!" Daryl shifted slightly, gritting his teeth at the pain, shooting through his side. "Brother, you need to wake up!" Listening to the familiar, yet far away voice, he forced his eyes to open again. After getting used to the brightness, he suddenly saw a familiar figure squatted down beside him, looking down in concern at him. Rick. "There ya go, brother." Daryl swallowed, blinking and feeling himself slipping in and out of consciousness. "What ya doin' here?" Rick chuckled, shaking his head. "Lookin' after your sorry ass, of course." Daryl just scoffed. "Listen to me, man. You gotta go back home. You're hurt, brother - badly. That cut needs to get stitched up. You can search for me on another day." The archer scoffed once again. "Pfft. Don need that. 'M fine. That never stopped me before. Been through much worse." Another chuckle left Rick's lips, "You're one hell of a stubborn idiot, ya know that?" as he was shaking his head. "It's not just because of that... You need to go back to Y/N; finally man up and tell 'er that you love 'er." Daryl shook his head. "Can't tell 'er." Rick literally snorted out a laugh at the archer's words, "Yes you can." and looked down on his best friend. "Drive back, get your woman and that wound fixed, then keep on searchin' - with her." The archer huffed out a breath. "Ya really think she wants me to be more than jus' a friend? That's ridiculous." "It's not. I know she does. That girl always had eyes just for you, did you never notice? Always makin' sure you're alright. Always lookin' out for you. That's way more than just friendship. If that ain't love, I dunno what it is." "Ya think?" Rick nodded. "I know it." Daryl could've sworn that Rick smiled at him, but his vision went awfully blurry again. "Trust me, brother." The words were quiet and far away, almost like an echo. It was the last thing Daryl heard, before he slipped back into unconsciousness.  

They next time he woke up, it was due to a sound as well. Although, it wasn't Rick's voice. It wasn't any voice he knew at all, no... It was the familiar sound of snarling and growling; followed by snapping teeth. Walker. Abruptly, as if stung by an adder, Daryl shot up, ripping his eyes open. His survival instincts kicking in. He quickly - almost frantically reached for his knife, which was still tucked in its knife sheath, while the walker came closer and closer. When the undead, skinny man threw himself on top of Daryl, trying to get a bite out of his neck, he used every strength left in his weakened body to keep his snapping teeth at distance. Once he finally got his knife out of its sheath he drove the blade into the walker's skull, causing it to fall limp and lifelessly on top of Daryl, hitting his chest with a thud. The archer closed shortly his eyes, trying to get his heavy breathing under control.

Grunting, he shoved the dead body off of him, feeling suddenly taken back in time. He had been in such a situation before, years and years back, when he was searching for a little girl named Sophia... The accident, the wound, the unconsciousness, the hallucinations, the walker(s)... Only difference seemed to be that he didn't see Merle this time... He had seen Rick.

Rick. His brother's words echoed through his head again. You gotta go back home. You need to go back to Y/N; finally man up and tell 'er that you love 'er. Daryl swallowed. Love her... Did he really? An image of a smiling Y/N popped up in his head next, causing his stomach to flip. Yes... Probably it was true. That he, in fact, did love that woman. Rick was right - even though he had been just a hallucination. He had to go back. Taking a deep breath, he managed to get up, gritting his teeth as another wave of pain shot through his system. Once Daryl was back on his feet, he examined the deep cut on his side again. Hissing, he ripped off the sleeves of his already damaged shirt, tied them together and slung them tightly around his waist, in order to staunch the wound. After that was done, he more or less stumbled back to his bike, bringing up all the strength he got left to pick it up from the ground. Luckily, the damage was not as bad as he anticipated. The archer was way more affected by the accident than his beloved vehicle. He swung his leg over the motorcycle saddle, then tried to start the engine. It started up. Thank god it started up. Inhaling deeply, he started to drive down the deserted street, going as fast as he could. Sure, the archer knew that driving a bike with a deep cut and high blood loss wasn't a thing you should do, but what choice did he have? All he had to do, was drive fast and keep himself awake someway, somehow.

You stood on one of the guard towers, looking at the beautiful world to your feet. Beautiful, yet deadly. So many threats were lurking outside these walls... Not just walkers. Hopefully Daryl wouldn't run into a death trap on his journey. You'd never know if he... You shook your head. No. You couldn't think like that. He was going to come back to you - someday. Like the others said... Like he promised. If somebody could survive out there, it was him. He didn't choose this world.... This world had chosen him - that was how it seemed to be. The distant hum of an approaching engine ripped you out of your thoughts. Squinting your eyes, you tried to make out something between the trees of the forest, but you couldn't see anything. Why didn't I take my binoculars with me? Nevertheless, your senses were sharpened now, always ready to react. Could be a threat...

The closer the sounds got, the easier it was to identify the engine. It was a motorcycle, without a doubt. Frowning, you tried to think who was riding a bike besides... Your eyes widened. Daryl? Could... Could it really be? Once again you shook your head. No. It was impossible. It couldn't be Daryl. He just left. Not even two days ago... Why would he come back?

Well, you were proven wrong. The motorcycle got closer and closer, and when it was in your field of view, you recognised the archer immediately. Once again, your eyes widened. "Daryl..." You mumbled to yourself, literally couldn't believe what you saw. Maybe this was all just a trick? What if your brain was fooling you? It wasn't. You would recognise him anywhere. Your heart skipped a beat, stomach flipping 360 degrees, as you started to smile brightly. "Daryl!" You screamed from the top of your lungs, happily. But as fast as your smile spread on your lips, as fast vanished it again. Daryl didn't make it to the gate. About hundred feet before the steel doors, he stopped his bike, got off it - and immediately tipped over; his body hitting the hard ground, seemingly unconscious. Your heart fell, just like your facial expressions. "Oh gods..." As fast as your legs could carry you, you climbed down the ladder, before opening the big steel door. You could hear the blood rush into your ears, as you ran through the opened gate and straight to Daryl. Fear, you had never felt in your life before pumped through your veins; afraid of losing the man you loved.

"Daryl!" He didn't respond. "Daryl!" You tried again, but no answer. As soon as you reached him, you literally dropped to the ground beside him, placing both your palms on his shoulders. "Daryl!" His eyes were closed shut and his face was quite pale. "No, no, no..." Your eyes frantically scanned his body, searched for possible injuries. You quickly made a find. The sleeves he had apparently torn off his ragged shirt - as you noticed, were wound around his torso. They were literally drenched in dark crimson red on his right side, causing your eyes to widen once again. "Oh no, no, no..." Your shaky hands started to tie the shirtsleeves loose to examine the wound. It was a wide, deep cut, still slightly oozing with blood. The skin around it was unhealthily reddened and swollen. It didn't look good at all. "Shit," you cursed, feeling tears already well up in your eyes. Turning around for help, you saw another Alexandrian. Quickly taking your chance, you called out to him. "Hey!" His head snapped in your direction. "Get help! Get Tomi! Daryl's hurt! Go!" He immediately seemed to understand and ran off. Sure, you could've gotten a doctor yourself, but you didn't want to leave Daryl's side. It was too dangerous out here. If a walker was going to stroll by, Daryl would be easy prey.

Therefore, that your head was turned to the gate, you didn't notice the fluttering of Daryl's eyelids, until a weak, small voice called out your name. "Y/N?" Hearing his voice, you quickly turned around again, eyes landing on his face. "Daryl!" You placed both your hands back on his shoulders. "Why are you back?! What happened?!" He didn't answer you. He had an idle glance, not even looking at you. Only now did you see the sweat, which had gathered on his forehead and cheeks. You swallowed hard. He had a very bad infection. "Y/N." Your name leaving his lips brought you back to reality. "Daryl... I-I'm here. I'm here..." You tried to reassure him immediately. "He told me to go back to ya..." Daryl breathed out suddenly, breathing heavily. You frowned. "Who told you that?" "He told me to tell ya..." Daryl was talking in riddles. "Tell me what, Daryl? Who is he?" "I love ya." Those three words you had waited such a long time for to leave his lips finally urged to your ears. Your jaw dropped as you couldn't believe it. A weak smile spread on his lips. "I love ya." Daryl repeated over and over again, voice growing quieter and quieter; eyes fluttering shut again. That was the moment you awoke from your rigidity. Your hands flew up to cup his beardy, sweaty cheeks. "Hey, hey, hey! No, no, no. Stay with me Daryl, please. Stay with me…" You rubbed his cheeks gently, but it was no use. He was already unconscious once again. You couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They were falling, rolling down your cheeks and dropping onto Daryl's chest. "No, no, no, please... Wake up..." You whispered. "Wake up..." He didn't. You felt so helpless and vulnerable in that moment; not knowing what to do or how to save him. You were lost and almost like paralyzed. All you could do was cry.

Through the haze you were in, you suddenly heard quick footsteps approaching. "Y/N!" Tomi. "Y/N! What happened?!" Miko's brother rushed to your side, quickly kneeling down beside you. As you didn't react, he gently touched your shoulder, causing you to flinch. "Hey. It's alright. It's just me." You looked at him with blurry red eyes. "What happened?!" Tomi asked again, as his eyes landed on Daryl's wound. You shook your head; completely overwhelmed by the situation. "I-I don't know he... He just said someone told him to go back to me to tell me something and-" You stopped abruptly in the middle of your sentence, realising what you were going to say. "And what, Y/N? And what?" You blinked, eyes meeting Tomi's once again. "That he loves me..." The doctor just looked at you for a moment, before his eyes travelled back to the wound. "Okay, this looks really bad. The wound is clearly infected. We have to do something now, or he is going to die of a sepsis." You frantically nodded, fresh tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. "W-What do we do?!" Just as Tomi wanted to answer, another voice cut through the air. "What is happening here?" Ezekiel. Tomi quickly turned around and explained the governor what was going on. "What do we do?!" You cried out again, interrupting the men's conversation. Tomi shook his head. "You are going to do nothing. You stay with Ezekiel, while I try to help him, okay?" You shook your head. "N-No! I-I can't leave him, I-" "Please, Y/N." Tomi insisted, nodding towards Ezekiel, who helped you up gently from the ground and took you with him. "B-But..." "No, it's for the best." You were way too weak to argue or fight, so you just let Ezekiel lead you away. From the corners of your eyes, you saw how quite a few other men came rushing to help bring Daryl inside the safety of the walls; disappearing inside the big building which was the infirmary.

Ezekiel took you to a quiet place in Alexandria and sat down with you on the warm, soft grass. "Firstly, take a deep breath, Y/N." You did what he said, inhaling deeply. "Good. Now tell me what happened - if you want to." You looked at the friendly man with the grey dreadlocks beside you, who gave you a warm, supportive smile. He was a wonderful friend, without a doubt. You nodded meekly, eyes lifting to meet his. "I-I was on the guard tower and saw that bike approaching." You started, fumbling anxiously with your hands. "I-It was Daryl. Gods, I was so happy to see him, a-and then he got off his bike and just... fell motionless to the ground. I-I was so afraid. I ran to him, saw that he was unconscious a-and that wound on his side... He was awake for a short moment. I-I asked him what happened and why he was back, but he didn't answer me... All he said was that someone told him to go back to me, to tell me something and..." You took another deep breath, feeling another tear roll down your cheek. "And that he loves me." Ezekiel's eyes widened, "He told you he loves you?" before a wide smile spread on his face, "Uh.Huh." accompanied by his signature laugh. "Finally! That's wonderful, Y/N. Isn't this what you always wanted to hear him say?" "Y-Yes but... He was more unconscious than conscious; and he had presumably very high fever. What if he didn't mean it?" Ezekiel laughed once again. "Oh Y/N... He may have been not quite in his right mind, but... I insure you, that he meant this with all his heart. You two have been dancing around each other for ages now." The king said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "It's obvious." You just nodded; your mind already bombarding you with the next bad thought. "A-And what if he's going to die?" The man shook his head. "He won't die. Tomi is a great doctor. He's going to fix him up. Hell, he even made it to fix me." Once more Ezekiel laughed, causing you to stifle a small giggle as well. "Trust me. Daryl won't die because of a cut and an infection. It may look bad, but this man went through far worse than that." "I know," you snivelled. "I know."

The waiting was excruciating. Not knowing what was happening to Daryl was eating you up inside. You were really glad that Ezekiel stayed by your side, with the others coming around as well, after they had heard what happened. First and foremost, Carol. It was her best friend, after all.

You couldn't tell how much time had passed, but when Tomi exited the infirmary, you were literally sprinting to meet him. He saw you coming his way, giving you immediately a smile. Must be a good sign, you thought. It was.

"A-And? H-How is he, Tomi?" The doctor nodded, still softly smiling. "He's okay." A relieved breath left your lips and you just couldn't help yourself, but to hug Tomi - who hugged you back with a gentle laugh. "We cleaned the wound, stitched it up and gave him antibiotics. The fever went down. He's asleep now." "Thank god... Can I go to him?" "Of course. Down the corridor, second room on the left." You smiled, hugging Miko's brother once again. "Thank you, Tomi. I mean it. Really. Thank you." The man smiled at you, nodding and squeezing your shoulder, before he turned on his heel and walked away - probably off to find his sister.

You went of course straight inside the building, entering the second room on the left and sat down on the chair beside Daryl's bed. He was still fast asleep and you didn't want to wake him, so you just stayed quiet, taking his limp hand gently into yours. You studied every inch of his face. His closed eyes. His nose. His lips. The slight grey stubble, which covered mostly his chin and upper lip; only a few sparse hairs on his cheeks. You smiled. So peaceful - and handsome.

You didn't know how long you were just sitting by his side, watching over Daryl and waiting for him to wake up again, but suddenly, you felt his hand twitch in yours, alarming you that he might was about to wake up. "Daryl?" You spoke softly, quietly. The archer's eyelids fluttered, face contorting. He blinked, blue, greyish eyes looking up at you. You smiled, squeezing his hand. "Hey." You whispered, "Y/N?" and nodded. "Yes, it's me. I'm here." Daryl swallowed visibly, eyes carefully roaming around the spacious room. "Am I back home?" "Yes, you are. We are in Alexandria." He then eyed you again - almost critically. "Are ya real?" You giggled slightly at his question, "Yes, I am real. I'm here." and squeezed his hand again, in order to 'proof' it. "So 'm not hallucinating again?" You frowned at his words, slight worry coming up inside you again. This meant nothing good... Daryl nodded, clearing his throat - what caused you to immediately jump into action and hand him the glass of water, which stood on the bedside table. Tomi must've prepared it. He literally gulped down the clear liquid. "Thanks." You smiled at him once again, though it was a very uptight smile. Hallucinating? "I was hallucinating. Can't be any other way..." "What happened?" "Well... I was ridin' my bike down that street, was in thoughts, didn't see that damn walker standin' there, lost control over the bike and yeah... Got thrown right into that barb wire fence." Your eyes widened. "You had a motorcycle accident?" "Yeah. It's nothin'. Jus' a lil' scratch. Wasn't the first." You narrowed your eyes, frowning. How could he play this off so easily? As if it was nothing? "Daryl... You could've died... This isn't nothing." "I know… but I didn't." The man paused for a second, biting his lip, before he continued. "Guess I would've, if he didn't tell me to go back." "Who?" "Rick." Now you were utterly confused. Was this the hallucination he was talking about? Must be. "Rick?" Daryl nodded. "Yeah. I saw Rick. He, uh, kinda woke me up, told me that I had ta go back and fix my wound... Like I said, I was hallucinatin'. From the blood loss, I suppose." "Well, that's kind of crazy, but also beautiful? If you know what I mean?" He nodded. "Yeah..."

You smiled and started to trace the shape of his skull tattoo on the back of his hand with your thumb. "I am very glad you are now here and okay... I missed you." The archer smiled back at you softly. "I missed ya, too." Daryl's words followed a somehow weird and awkward silence, like something unspoken hung in between you and him. Well... There was something. "Daryl?" "Yeah?" Now or never. Man up, Y/N, man the fuck up! "Y-You, um... You were saying, uh, things, when I came to you, shortly after you fell of this bike and were conscious for a moment." You paused, had to take a shaky breath. "I-I don't know if you remember, but... Y-You... You said that-" "I love ya?" Daryl interrupted you, finishing your sentence. Your eyes widened. "Y-You can remember?" He swallowed, visibly, nervous now. "Kinda blurry, but I do remember sayin' that." A beat of silence passed, in which you were just staring down at Daryl. Your heart beat rapidly against your ribcage; threatening to just break free. You didn't know if you should be happy now or not. Remembering to have said something - in a not so great condition, and actually meaning it, were two completely different things. You swallowed, trying to scrape together all the courage you had to ask him the question, which was ghosting through your head. "S-So, uh, is... Is it true? Did you... Did you mean it?" The archer bit his lip, recalling 'Rick's' words in his mind. Finally man up and tell 'er that you love 'er. "Yes." You blinked, still just staring at him and probably afraid to trust your ears. "Y-Yes?" He started to nod. "Loved ya for ages, but didn't have the balls to tell ya. I know I should've told ya earlier and-" You quickly jumped to interrupt him, overwhelmed by your feelings. Your lips collided with his, pulling Daryl into a long overdue kiss. You would've anticipated that he was completely surprised by your sudden, rather bold move - but he wasn't. Quite the opposite... Daryl kissed you back on an instant, as if he had been waiting for exactly this moment.

You smiled like a Cheshire Cat, cupping the man's cheeks again. "I've waited such a long time for this to finally happen." Daryl smiled that sweet smile, softly blushing. "Me too." "Everybody did!" Ezekiel suddenly spoke up behind you. He was leaning against the door frame, smiling widely, causing your cheeks to redden as well. Who knew? Perhaps you and Daryl were always meant to be together? Perhaps, he was your destiny.

[gumnut-logic]

“Another boy?”

Jeff grinned. “Yeah. Another one.” He couldn’t help but stare at the photo that had landed on his screen as a good luck token from Earth.

He did of course, know about Lucille going into labour the night before and it was for that reason he hadn’t had the sleep he probably should have pre-history making Mars landing. But honestly, to get this signal from that little blue planet a good eight months away…his heart swelled…his beautiful baby boy had a shock of red hair that screamed their Irish ancestry down through the hundreds of years since their family had left the old world.

Lucille sat holding him, looking tired but ever so proud. Her dark hair was tied back and the sparkle in her eyes brought a lump into his throat. Her mother, pink hair and all, sat beside his wife holding his two eldest boys on her lap. Scott had his hand on Virgil’s arm as the now second youngest reached over towards his baby brother, a frown of concentration on his face.

“He’s beautiful.”

Jeff startled a little. Berry was breaking regs and leaning over the back of Jeff’s pilot couch, her straps unfastened. The cockpit was pretty snug in the lander, most of the room taken up with safety equipment and interfaces, leaving little for the padded personnel support.

He shot an eyebrow in her direction and she smiled a dare back at him. The astrogeologist wasn’t one for breaking the rules, she just liked to taunt him a little.

Ju, in contrast, was checking her harness was secure a second time. “Creating your own crew, Tracy?” Her auburn eyes smirked at him. “Aiming to replace us?”

He grinned. “Could be.” Dare he mention that his four-year-old eldest could already name all the controls in this cockpit? His grin widened. “But we can’t replace the first person to set foot on Mars, now can we?”

Berry snorted, a little abashed. But it was, after all, her part to play once they made touchdown. The words had been rehearsed, the order of exit decided. For very specific reasons, the first human on Mars was going to be Kate Berrenger.

Berry had worked her ass off to make this mission a reality. Her specialisation onboard was astrogeologist, but honestly it was far more. The woman was talent on legs. It was she who had designed much of the equipment they were deploying on the surface, she who had hunted and gathered the funding, she who had put in the sweat and tears to make this work. And Ju wasn’t far behind. The two of them were quite a powerhouse pair. Jeff considered himself and Lee lucky to have been chosen for this mission. Of course, he’d known Berry for a very long time, worked with her for most of it, but it wasn’t a given that the team that had helped populate the moon would also be the first on Mars.

“Given how many life support pods we’re dragging down there, I bet your boys could drop by in about thirty years or less.”

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, Berry?” The thought was tantalising. Not to put pressure on any future careers – Lucy would kill him – but he would hope that at least one out of three might follow in his footsteps.

Maybe?

He turned around and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted. “Major Tracy, tell your team to secure. Two minutes to separation.” Sinclair was his usual grumpy, nervous self.

“Roger that, Orbiter Control.”

He glared at Berry and the redhead bit her lip with a smile, green eyes dancing, before sitting back and strapping herself in preparation for the sequence.

She didn’t stop smiling though.

“So watcha gonna name him?” Lee prodded him with his eyebrows from beside Jeff.

A last glance at the photo before he returned to separation prep, fingers tight in his gloves. “Are you going to remember this one?” An eye in the engineer’s direction.

“Sure.”

Running his fingers over the controls, Jeff ran through pre-flight. “Name my eldest.”

Lee grunted, his eyes darting away. “Not important right now.” A flick of a switch. “I’m green across the board.”

“A-ok.” Jeff ran through the last sequence of checks…and ran them again…for luck. “Orbiter Control, we are green for separation.”

“Roger that, Cornerstone. Separation in sixty seconds on my mark.” A breath. “Mark.” Another pause. “Good luck.”

And the countdown began.

Jeff ran his eyes over everything again. The great ship that had journeyed so far from home was preparing to split in half. The lander at the top of the vessel was to pull away from the orbiter and its massive propulsion engines to begin the historic descent to the Martian surface. Eight months in space, so much preparation time and so many sacrifices before that, had all led to this moment.

History in the making.

His eyes combed the readouts watching like a hawk. The computer had control, but computers could only do so much.

Still green across the board.

Quiet, his fingers touched the screen where the photo had been. “John Glenn Tracy.” A breath. “His name is John.”

Displays shifted as the countdown hit zero and machinery grunted. The Cornerstone drifted apart from its propulsion module and floated free far above the red of the Martian surface.

Jeff eyed his instrumentation and sent a prayer to his family back home.

Today was an important day.

-o-o-o-

Lee watched Jeff side-on as he clicked his helmet into place. Taylor was a realist and he knew he wouldn’t be here without the crazy pilot.

It was Jeff’s drive that had gotten them this far. It was like riding a rollercoaster of determination and outright luck. From the Airforce, through space training and their sojourns on Alfie, Lee had tied himself to the man’s coat tails and hadn’t looked back.

God, it had been fun.

Jeff Tracy was a tsunami that crashed through everything and took everyone with him.

And Lee went willingly.

When they had been chosen for this mission it was a dream come true.

The countdown dropped to zero and machinery clunked as the lander separated smoothly from the orbiter. She drifted momentarily before the computer engaged thrusters to push her gently out of orbital alignment.

“We are five by five for atmospheric entry.” The words he uttered were almost rote after so many practise simulations back on Earth.

Atmospheric entry on Mars was considerably different to entry on Earth. Terran atmosphere was more like soup in comparison to the barely-there Martian atmosphere. Still made for a warm entry though, friction was friction after all.

“Trajectory achieved.” Jeff’s voice was confident and firm. As always.

Lee eyed the computer readouts, mentally ticking off procedure as the lander dipped into the outer reaches of the atmosphere and shifted to its entry interface.

Forces wrapped themselves around Lee and his body responded. After so many months of weightlessness, this was going to be a challenge.

“Ready for deceleration burn.”

The landing module sported early entrance stage retro thrusters designed to slow the vehicle to reduce the friction on the spacecraft’s skin. A new innovation that had proven essential in many return trips to the moon in preparation for the creation of a habitable dome on the satellite.

And here they were attempting to do something similar on Mars.

Cornerstone shook as her thrusters engaged exactly on time.

The craft roared.

Lee revelled in it.

“Three minutes to subsonic.”

“I really hate this bit.” It was barely heard above the commotion.

Lee snorted to himself. Ju was an astronaut in every sense, but she had a thing regarding atmospheric entry and the microscopic bits they could be exploded into if something went wrong.

“We are on track, Ju. Not a thing to worry about.” His voice reassurance itself, Jeff could sell the moon cheese if he so felt like it.

“Orbiter to Cornerstone. Tracy, we have a problem.”

Lee blinked. Sinclair’s voice was ominous.

“Orbiter, detail?”

“Cornerstone, weather has kicked up on the landing site. We have a developing dust storm. Looks to be a big one.”

“Orbiter, we are fixed for descent. Please advise severity.” Jeff’s tone was frustrated and Lee couldn’t help but echo it.

Data landed in Lee’s console and while Jeff continued to monitor their descent, Lee examined the situation. “We have a category five dust storm developing over the landing site. Orbiter is right, she looks like she could actually do some damage.”

Mars dust storms were generally all gust and no guts. The air density and pressure forced storms that were dramatic to look at, but generally little more than a windy day on planet Earth. This one, however... “It’s an anomaly.”

Jeff’s eyes darted from his console to Lee’s, grey eyes assessing the data. “Ju, your opinion?” They had to make the decision fast. Altering their trajectory now was possible, but fuel was precious. Any extra used now narrowed their safety margin for later.

The meteorologist’s fingers darted over her board. “Unusual strength, I agree.” Lee glanced in her direction as she frowned. “But Cornerstone should be able to handle it.”

“‘Should’ is not a good enough assumption, Zhang.” Jeff was frowning. The lander’s retros cut out as they reached a safe enough velocity to manoeuvre and Jeff’s hands curled around the yoke.

Lee’s finger darted over his board and brought up the outside cameras.

The red planet stretched out before them, her slightly blue tinted atmosphere contrasting against the rust of her surface.

That surface was churning.

Ju was outraged. “How the hell did that develop in the time it took us to separate from Orbiter? She was as calm as a sleeping baby!”

“I don’t care about then, I need now. Zhang, recommendation!”

The woman grunted. “I say go. If you think you can handle it. It is well within Cornerstone’s specs. Your decision, Major.”

Jeff’s lips thinned, his eyes darting across the readouts. A moment and he hit the comms switch. “Orbiter, we are go for landing. We’ve come this far, might as well go all the way.”

“Tracy, are you sure?”

“Humanity never got anywhere taking it easy.” He glanced at Lee. “Hold onto something.”

Cornerstone began her turn, orientating her nose to the sky so her retros could lower her safely to the Martian surface.

Or in Jeff Tracy terms, ‘spinning so she could park her ass’.

As if reading Lee’s mind, the glint in Jeff’s eyes was something to both be wary of and to celebrate.

Out of the four of them, Jeff was the most reckless, the most daring. But as he was the pilot, it sometimes called for it. Jeff had already saved them from becoming just another crater on Earth’s moon by pulling the most unconventional manoeuvre ever seen on the satellite when a landing thruster misfired on approach. The craft had shot off on a completely unpredicted vector that would have ploughed them into moon dust...if Jeff hadn’t reacted as fast as he did. He flipped the craft with its remaining three thrusters and, shedding the majority of their velocity in an energy dump that had Lee’s stomach on the outside, planted their craft like a sack of potatoes.

They had landed roughly, but they had landed alive and Lee was still amazed his friend had been able to do that.

So, if they were going down in a cloud of red dust, Lee was quite happy to have Jeff at the controls.

Not to say that Lee himself wasn’t handy with a spacecraft. He had his own experience to be proud of. He flew, but his realm was more the mechanical. He was here as back up and maintenance.

For those times the Tracy fix wasn’t quite enough.

A sigh. He eyed the billowing clouds below as they rapidly approached. They were history in the making. Whatever happened here today would be taught in schools for decades to come.

He had faith in Jeff. They would land, Berry would take those first important steps on a new planet, say the rehearsed words, and join Neil Armstrong in the halls of fame.

But first they had to get there.

-o-o-o-

Jeff swallowed as the cloud of dust loomed beneath the lander. Numbers scrolled across his console. The computer should be able to handle most of it. Its programming was solid. Lucy had made sure of it.

The thought of his beautiful wife...little Johnny.

Dust swelled and wrapped around their craft and visibility became...bad.

Cornerstone shuddered.

Mars dust was a bastard of a thing. Ever so fine and carrying a tiny electric charge that on occasion interfered with instruments.

This was one of those occasions.

“We have blackout on three primary sensors.” Damn. Two others flickered, the screen fritzing a moment.

His fingers darted over controls in an attempt to compensate for the data loss.

Lee was muttering beside him and stabbing at his board. “Rerouting to back-ups.”

Their screens flickered and cleared somewhat.

Numbers plummeted.

Beyond the blinding dust the digital readout that marked the surface of the planet approached.

Far too fast.

Retros crucial to start the landing sequence did not fire.

Shit.

It took seconds for him to compensate and move to manual, but that was enough for the craft to fall many more metres so, when he did manually trigger the burn, they were lower than they should be.

Cornerstone roared as he pushed more energy into braking.

“Lee, we need primary thrust or we are so much pancake!” Her four landing thrusters were not slowing them enough. The math in his head was churning out a fatal result and their history-making attempt was fast turning into a shitfest. “I need that power now.”

“You have it.” Short and sharp as Lee’s hands darted over his console.

On Jeff’s board the main thruster icon lit up.

It wasn’t meant to be used this way. The main thruster was for launching. It was far more powerful than they needed to land. But if he didn’t slow Cornerstone, she was going to take on a big red rock and lose.

The computer ran calculations and spat numbers out at him.

“Firing main thruster.” The icon flashed, Cornerstone roared and g-forces wrapped around all of them and squeezed.

No one said anything for the second of burn that slowed their descent ever so rapidly. Everything shook, the ship’s superstructure groaning.

Jeff’s eyes tracked their velocity, counting down as the surface of the planet rushed towards them. Visually they couldn’t see it. Virtually it looked ready to slap them in the face.

But the main thruster compensated, slowing the craft just enough for the landing rockets to do their job.

Jeff killed the big one and concentrated on the landers to take the last of their speed.

Cornerstone slowed. Five hundred metres. Four hundred metres. Three hundred metres. Two hundred metres. One hundred metres. Landing struts deployed. Fifty. Thirty. Twe-

The whole ship slammed to a stop, its structure groaning and tilting for a second before righting itself. Alarms began shrieking, red lights flashing all over his board.

What the hell?!

The readout had them stalled nineteen metres ‘above’ the virtual surface. Virtual was obviously not lining up with actual.

Another metallic groan and the ship tilted slightly again. This time it stayed tilted. No doubt a landing strut had taken the brunt and folded.

One red light screamed at him more than the others.

Beside him, Lee confirmed his fears. “We have a fuel leak.”

Shit!

He was unstrapping himself even as the craft groaned again. Something sparked not far away. Lee was a split second behind, listing the reason for the malfunction. The exterior hull, and the mangled landing strut responsible.

A rupture in the external hull. Hell.

Jeff undocked a diagnostic pad and slapped it on his belt.

Martian gravity made itself known. So many months without its native pull, Jeff’s body protested the sudden movement, but they didn’t have time. Precious fuel was escaping.

He hit the ladder leading out of the cockpit at a run, feet locking around the struts and his hands pushing him down. The whole sensation of gravity, but only a third of Earth’s was baffling. His body caught between expectations and stumbling along the way. Ultimately, he partly fell his way down through the access ports, hands grabbing at the railings barely preventing him from colliding with each deck.

Cornerstone’s fuel tanks were attached to her four landers, with a fifth fueling her main launcher.

It was number three that was the problem.

His boots hit decking and he scrambled for the airlock. Beside him Lee had a toolkit and they both barrelled through the door sealing it behind them.

The pumps cycled and the pressure dropped, their suits shifting with the change, and then the elevator was lowering them to the ground.

As the doors opened, they were faced with a wall of swirling dust.

Jeff did his best to ignore it but it fast became a problem. The maintenance tab in his hand was directing him to climb ladders up the side of the vehicle, but he could barely see the tablet, much less the ladders themselves through the red dust.

“Stick close, Lee. I’d hate to lose you in this.”

“Right behind you, Jeff. Wouldna want to lose you either.”

It was simple, but reassuring nonetheless. Fumbling, he found the landing strut. It was skewed in a way that even in the thick swirling haze, he could see was far from the right angle for correct support.

Hooking a foot into the lowest rung, he snagged his friend and urged him up the ladder ahead. If anyone was going to save their asses in this situation, it was Lee.

If Jeff could land it, chances were Lee could fix it. The man could jimmy two sticks and a rubberband into whatever was needed. Hell, he’d done almost exactly that on the moon at least twice.

This was just another challenge. Jeff had landed them, no matter how roughly. Now Lee would be able to fix it.

Jeff clung to that maxim.

But the question wasn’t about skill, it was more about whether or not they were going to damn well be able to see what they needed to see in order to do what needed doing.

Red obscured everything. The speed it was all flying past spoke to his earth senses of gale force winds, but the pressure on his suit was little more than a windy day.

Not enough to affect the spacecraft.

Mars was obviously educating them early that this was not Earth. Not in any way shape or form.

Their clamber up the strut was partly a blind one, but they made it to the damaged side of the craft. Through a mixture of touch and virtual readout, it became clear that the outer hull had buckled, forcing the inner hull into the fuel tank. Most of it had held, but there was a small microfracture and the pressure differences were bubbling solid state fuel into gas at a rate that, if it didn’t deplete the tank, would likely cause an explosion that would solve all their problems with a history-making finality.

Jeff climbed up beside Lee as he fumbled at his tool kit. The tank was dislodged off its mounts, something they would need to remedy later, but it was still inset from the hull.

Jeff put his body in position to block the main flow of the dust and wind, jamming himself up against the still warm hull of his ship.

A little less dust swirled over the bubbling crack and Lee didn’t hesitate. Before Jeff could blink, gell bondtape landed smoothly over the area, the engineer sealing it with an electronic nudge from a set-wand. The electricity lined molecules up like soldiers and locked them in place bonding them to whatever the tape was adhered to. They had used the same stuff on Alfie two years ago when one of their habitats had tried to make one with the lack of lunar atmosphere.

An extremely simple solution for a very dangerous problem.

His heart, still adrenalin-fueled, refused to believe the danger was over.

As if reading Jeff’s thoughts, Lee smirked at him through the haze. “Never leave home without it.” A sigh as he ran a gloved hand over the seal. “This should hold for the short term. Once we are sure the strut is stabilised, I’ll give it a good going over. Hopefully, we can lose this storm in the process.”

Jeff would have liked to claim it couldn’t blow forever, but both of them knew Mars storms could be unpredictable and last for months if they so chose to.

Lee ran a scanner over the strut’s connection to the launcher. How the hell the engineer could see the readouts, Jeff didn’t know.

For all future excursions to the Red Planet, Jeff was going to recommend helmet based heads-up displays.

“She’s safe for now. A little bent, but she isn’t going to fall over. Hopefully, once we get out some of the heavy lifting equipment we can bend her back into shape if we need to.” Lee stood up. “Hull patching is going to be an ass, though.”

Jeff’s lips thinned and he dropped a hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “One thing at a time. We’ve got this, Lee.”

Lee grunted. “How the hell do you keep spinning the optimism, Jeff?”

A snort. “What? You’d prefer doom and gloom?” He shuffled back towards the ladder. “That’s it, Lee, we’re never leaving this god forsaken rock. Welcome to your new home.” He raised up his hands and as if the gods declared him some kind of Moses for that very moment, the dust clouds parted as if they were a red sea of sand. Sol, so much smaller this far away, poked its weak light through the hazy atmosphere and lit up the bare red rocks of their temporary home. While on one side, the billowing wall of dust storm swirled on its way, on the other red mountains rose up to a weak blue-red sky.

Lee shifted down beside him. “You know, I figured you had an agreement with the gods of physics, but isn’t this a little ridiculous?”

Jeff was too captivated with the view to respond.

Cornerstone was on the plateau they had been simulating for months on end. She stood tall and proud, if a little crooked and pinker than her promo shots.

“We made it.” The words fell from his lips.

Lee clung to the ladder beside him. “Yeah, that we did.”

Sunlight flickered weakly in the atmosphere and a gust of wind dragged more dust across the view.

Jeff shifted. “We better get inside before that mess starts up again. Take advantage of being able to see where we are going.”

Lee didn’t respond immediately, his eyes combing the jagged horizon. “Thanks, Jeff.”

A frown. “For what?”

“Getting us here.”

“It was a group effort, Lee, you know that. Couldn’t have done it without the team. Couldn’t have done it without you. Hell, you just patched a hole that could have blown us up.”

Lee grunted.

“Are you guys going to hang outside all day, or do we have to guess the sitrep?” Berry’s tone was tight.

“Roger, Berrenger. Situation secure. On our way back in.”

It wasn’t until they reached the elevator that he realised exactly what had happened.

And who he was.

By the doors, protected by the shadow of the lowered module was a single footprint that hadn’t been blown away by the wind.

“Aw, hell.”

Lee, as always, stepped up beside him. “Yeah. I guess that makes you the first man to walk on Mars.”

-o-o-o-

Ju was furious. “It was Kate’s right to be the first!”

The vacs in the airlock had sucked everything off their suits to the point Lee was surprised his hair wasn’t standing on end despite the helmet.

As it was, his hackles were somewhere near orbit as they stood in the conference room that doubled as a mess. “And what exactly do you think we were supposed to do? The ship was going to explode.” It was simple to Lee. Sure, he was all for equality, it was a given, but they would’ve been all equally dead if he and Jeff hadn’t done what they did.

“You didn’t give us a chance!”

“I’m the engineer here, Zhang. There wasn’t time! The decision was made and we are alive because of it.”

“Then why weren’t you first, Taylor? Why the hell was Tracy even out there? He’s not the engineer!”

Beside Lee, Jeff straightened. “Standard procedure, Zhang. We work in pairs. If you think I was going to let Lee go out in that on his own, you’ve been serving while wearing a blindfold.”

The short, dark-haired woman stepped up to the Major, her eyes fiery. “It was Kate’s place in history and you stole it!”

Lee flared. “We did what was necessary! This was not a publicity grab, for Christ’s sake! It didn’t even occur to us until we were returning. It was about saving our lives, Zhang. How can you possibly think it was anything else?”

“Because it always is.” She waved a hand at Jeff. “Always the hotshot. Always the first. Always the hero. Do you ever think, Tracy? Do you ever think about those you barrel past?”

Jeff glared down at the meteorologist. “I will not apologise for my achievements, Zhang. This was an honest to god accident.”

“Due to decisions made by you.”

“What the hell, Zhang?!” Lee pushed forward. That was taking it too far.

“We should never have tried to land in that dust storm. We should have waited it out.”

“You said we could take it!”

“But it wasn’t my decision, was it?” Her tone was a positive hiss at Jeff.

“Screw you, Zhang-“

“Taylor!”

“Jeff-“

The man was still the damn tall walking wall when he wanted to be. “Lee, stop.” He glared at Ju. “I will not apologise for my command decisions either, Zhang. What was done, is done.” His stance softened as he turned to Berry.

She had been ominously quiet the entire time.

Jeff sighed. “I’m sorry, Kate.”

The red-haired astrogeologist straightened away from the bulkhead, her arms still folded across her chest. Lee had always liked Berry. She had her head on much straighter than Ju ever did.

Ju was like a terrier with a bone.

The bone variety today was definitely Jeff-flavoured.

But there was only kindness in Berry’s eyes as she looked up at the Major. “This sucks, Jeff, it really does.” She looked down a moment. “But it is what it is and I guess it was what it was meant to be.” A shrug. “I suppose I’ll have to settle for third on Mars. Still pretty momentous, I think.”

“Kate, it doesn’t have to be that way.” Jeff took a step towards her. “It’s not official. It was a stupid repair. We can do the ceremonial step onto the planet anyway. No one has to know.”

Her head tilted to one side. “So, the ship miraculously healed itself?”

“Berry-“

She closed the gap between them, placing a hand on his arm. “Jeff, honestly, it’s not what is important here. You took the first step. We still have plenty of others that need to be taken. My ego can keep.”

Zhang flared again. “Kate, this was for women-“

“Ju, enough. It doesn’t matter! Humans have just landed on Mars, for god’s sake. I would have thought we would be a little less worried about the gender of the person taking the first step and more worried about the fact we did it without blowing up.”

“It was supposed to be you.” Ju wilted in defeat under Berry’s glare.

“Well, it was Jeff, and I think he is no less deserving than any of us.”

Jeff’s voice was quiet. “Are you sure, Kate?” The use of her first name was a rarity for the major, there was a friendship between those two almost as long as the one between Jeff and Lee. Hell, if Jeff hadn’t met Lee’s sister, Lucy, the engineer wondered what might have eventuated in that department.

Not that he had ever had to worry about that. Jeff was a complete sop for Lucy. His sis had the man wrapped around her little finger.

If that made Lee feel just that touch more protective of the crazy pilot, then so be it.

Kate straightened, her shoulders strong. “I’m sure.” Then her lips curled up a little. “Besides, my lines were so much more elegant than ‘Stick close, Lee. I’d hate to lose you in this.’”

Jeff snorted and shrugged. “If I’m going to make history gotta make sure my best friend is with me.”

Zhang made a disgusted sound and stormed out of the room.

Shoulders dropping, Jeff sighed. “Guess I need to work on my phrasing.”

But Lee was too wrapped in the moment, a little too proud and grateful to care. “She’ll live.”

The grunt from Jeff reminded Lee that they still had months to share living quarters with the fiery Ju.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her.” Berry squeezed Jeff’s arm before reaching out to Lee as well. “Thank you, both of you, for getting us down safely. We’re on Mars, guys. Let the party begin.”

The smile in her eyes was honest and ever so heartening.

-o-o-o-

[charleslee-valentine]

Cats in The Cradle

Characters: Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair (no ships)

Word Count: ~6,000

Warnings: Abuse, cyclical abuse, toxic dynamics, Bo has complications from the surgery (missing cerebellum) and obsessive compulsive disorder, mental breakdowns, gun violence, delusions, religious trauma, implied sexual abuse, murder and the wax figures, Bo being mean to Vincent, blood and injury, vomiting, medical irresponsibility, paranoia, trauma bond.

~~~~~~~

Every day in Ambrose is the same. It’s when there’s change the trouble comes along.

Makes Lester world-weary. Got to run off on his little rot-filled road trips for some air. Though he stays tethered to the house, even if only at the end of the night, when he’s got to wander home for normalcy. It ain’t about the protection, he’s got a slugger under the seat for that, and it ain’t the occasional cooking his brothers get up to and burn each time either. He’s grown enough get shit done, even if it’s the ass crack of dawn outside and he ain’t eaten in a whole day, he’ll whip somethin’ up.

That’s the argument anyhow. That he can take well enough good care of himself to be allowed to roam some. Don’t make sense that he’d be the first, bein’ the youngest and all, but the antsier he got, the messier he got with the huntin’, and suddenly his big brothers had to leave Ambrose to track some fella that got out through the trees Lester was s’posed to be watchin’.

Thought that would get him strung up himself. A perfect wax Lester placed inside Trudy’s pride and joy tendin’ to little, pure wax, babies. Maybe down the pet store with Jonsey’s pups that never come to be, or shovelin’ shit out in the cemetery. That’d be like them, to leave him outside to melt and wither away.

Never come though. Got him a reprimandin’ sure, but he left it with a smile anyhow knowin’ big brother wasn’t gonna use his own bowie to slit his throat. And then again when Vinny told him he could leave on the condition he started tendin’ to himself and his chores without help from either brother, and come home every night.

Really if it were up to Vincent, they’d all get the same freedoms, but it weren’t. Never was going to be, when Mama kept him firm in her shadow. Bo’d kill ‘em all if he caught wind of Lester’s thinkin’ it, but fact is he figures Bo just replaced Mama when she keeled over.

Trudy was out her mind the last few years of it. Never went to no homes, despite what Bo likes to tell folks. They stayed and fixed Mama up. Ambrose got empty and miss Trudy got needy. It was every day pickin’ up shifts the tradesmen was droppin’, leavin’ the schoolhouse forever. Old fashioned as it was, s’not like they was learnin’ anything in a one-room, all-grades schoolhouse anyhow.

Still woulda been nice to have a shot at normal. Coulda left with the rush and forgot about highchairs and smelly wax. Nope.

Now Bo’s jus’ as mean as Trudy, enforcin’ his rule with the same flat palm. ‘Cept’n the part where his is rung around with scars.

Different, ‘cause Trudy’s off burnin’ in hell, not missed by a soul, but they stick close with Bo. Know it ain’t really his fault.

The Doc called it compulsions. Some kinda disorder come from havin’ to lose a piece or two of the lowest part of his brain in the surgery. Lester never gonna forget bein’ tiny as can be, sat on the table cause Trudy put him down and forgot him there, while Bo, who seemed so much older back then when the six years made a difference, was strapped down. They’d use the highchair still if they could, but he was too big and awful by then.

Shove him in a standard dining chair and tape his arms underneath. Let him cry and try to kick and pull and bare his teeth. Lester was just learnin’ to speak, and he’d asked what was happening’, curious about all the shouting and pain.

Bo told a little lie turns out. Same thing with the surgery, his mind would wander back then, forgetting what made reality real and made the stuff in his head not. He carved up some critter and left it in the art studio. Said Trudy gave him permission. Well she didn’t. Little Vinny was her artist, and notably, nowhere to be seen in this memory, autonomous enough to stay away, but never going far.

Must’ve hurt him too, listenin’ to Bo losin’ his mind now and again. Knowin’ it was him that leeched off the back of his head and absorbed that one important little piece out his skull. Payback for the whole, not having a tongue, thing.

Nowadays Bo’s a little better, but Ambrose still got to be pretty particular to not send him right back to the pale, polished arms of the hallucinations. Those belong in the casket down the road.

Lester blames Trudy. Even when he goes with to honor her when Bo needs to do it. Every Sunday is when he’s down there, so ‘less he’s got a job Lester’ll come down to see. Vincent’s usually there too, if nobody been through in a while.

They take off their hats and masks, bow their heads, and pray. They pretend they don’t notice Bo’s hips and knees splayed wide in an arc and struggling to walk straight when that metaphorical mask of the Doc’s training wares off. His hands shake. His words don’t come out right. Sometime’s Lester’s the only one in the house usin’ words, while the twins do their motioning about.

Really should’ve gotten more interested in those sign language books he’d been given way back when. It was funny, a lady on the TV could use sign ‘cause she couldn’t hear words and that meant she couldn’t make ‘em. Trudy saw it and was livid. Banned them all from 123 Sesame Street and whooped Bo for even turning it on. Like it was bad to communicate.

If Vincent knew how to make his signs back then, maybe he’d have told the papers the truth. After all it was Mama that did the talking. Givin’ him words gave him the chance to say no. To bein’ her little protege and heir. Like hell she’d ever let that happen. Had to teach it to himself in secret. Bo picked it up from watchin’ and snatchin’ up Vinny’s books and papers to tease.

Lester wishes he were that smart. Hell, Doc even said it himself, sometimes seemed like he was born with even less brain than Beauregard. ‘Cept he had a different name for Bo all the boys promised never to repeat. They’d get nasty, but none of that usin’ Mama and Papa against each other.

Prolly why they’s too scared to tell Bo he’s becomin’ like Trudy. Stumblin’, shakin’, pissed at everything.

Ambrose falls well into his liking. Bo got it all down to memory.

Bodies he don’t like don’t even go on display. Vincent could work his big ass off on a statue for weeks, but if Bo couldn’t squeeze it into however he’d categorized the town in imaginary gridlines, they’d be put on reserve. The wax house held the rejects, mostly. Once upon a time Vincent left Lester a note tellin’ him he sometimes dressed the statues up funny and messed up their makeup if they were his favorites, so Bo would reject them, and he’d get to keep ‘em. Worked every time too.

Be nice if they could laugh about things like that anymore. ‘Specially with Bo.

A new batch come through back in the early spring, just a couple months shy of a year or so ago then, and filled up lots of the empty space. Mostly went to the theater. Baby Jane and sister Blanche didn’t used to be lightin’ the place up with their sad story, they just tossed an old closed sign up ‘til the bodies rolled in.

It pissed Bo off when Lester was helpin’ him and wanted to put his statues in a line. Made sense, like they was all friends together! But Bo had it all mapped in his head, talkin’ who’s clothes matched who, color in their hair matchin’ with the number on their seats. That was more confusin’ than his fits.

Most of the time in Ambrose his workday was tidying, checkin’ on rat traps and the like. But sometimes when Lester could slip in a lunch break or two off patrol he’d see Bo pacin’. Drawin’ lines in the sky with his hands, mutterin’, kickin’ things. Like inside the theater but on the whole town.

Funny thing is they do gotta crown a new Miss Ambrose once in a while.

The silky bright colors of a beauty queen dress stand out far too much against the pale, sunfaded town they live in. Her smile too white, the makeup too sparkly. Bo tears the bodies to bits and takes them back to Vinny, like a child with his broken toy.

There’s nothin’ he can do, and they both know it, but Bo is different from Trudy in that he will admit regret. Not directly, he’d sooner swallow a gator in one bite, but showin’ the broken pieces is still better than tyin’ ‘em down to hide.

At least most of the time it ain’t like that. One thing he’s always picky about is the lights. Town gotta come to life some time, but Bo’s got a tradition. Generators don’t kick on ‘til he flips the switch manually, else he’ll block the sky with the burning neons of mom’s and pop’s updating with the times, and firey orange street lights. Bo insists they don’t got color. Just a disgusting haze that makes it hard to see. Lester takes the accusation of him being wrong, even though he knows it’s Bo’s head.

And he’s gotta see the sky. Star light, star bright, first star and all that- it’s his one shot at a wish. Not even his brother’s knows what he wishes for each night, peekin’ his head out the window ‘fore callin’ down to Vincent to flip the switch.

Maybe to make Ambrose perfect the way he sees it in his head, so he can stop runnin’ around town tryin’ to adjust it all. Finding those little pockets of feelings and digging in until anythin’ that stands out has to go.

Way back when, Lester kinda hoped Bo would set him free by thinkin’ he didn’t match. Not like he was part of the squirming mass his brother’s was born as. Nobody remembered Lester. Not for bein’ quiet and shy or for bein’ devilish.

Longer he stays though, he knows it’s not really Bo takin’ real care of Ambrose. His head needs it perfect, destroyin’ progress for somethin’ only he can reach and grasp and toss about like it means anything as a scolding hot weapon. Perfection burns hotter, stings worse than wax, and Trudy Sinclair wanted both from her boys.

Trudy might’ve been sick physically, but it come along long before that. Only a matter of time before Bo’s head gets angry ‘bout the dank environment up there and tries to plug it’s missing bits with the same cancer that took Mama the rest of the way to hell.

She had to’ve been there before she died. Else she wouldn’t have done what she did on her way out. Her last words. “Beauregard. Bo.. Promise me you’ll keep Ambrose tidy. You were Mama’s boy. Kept things in line. Don’t let it got to chaos, to hell.”

It was bullshit. If she weren’t already gasping for life Lester might’ve grabbed her throat then and there. Vince knew it too, cause he stepped in front of Les and went to Bo. Chest to back, the way they was conjoined, he’d tried to force his whispers with his half of a tongue, getting at least his twin’s attention to start gesturing.

“Don’t listen.”

“Mama is a liar.”

“You know how you are. You know how she is. Don’t.”

It was hopeless.

That word again. The Doc said compulsions, well sometimes he also said obsessions. Same disorder, different symptom. Neither one Bo could escape. Even if he’d been listenin’ to his brother, which he wasn’t.

All he heard was Hell and that was enough. Bo was terrified of the spiritual. They all oughta remember the way he’d been in church, even when it was full, bawlin’ his head off, havin’ those fits ‘cause he thought he was goin’ to face demons and hellfire for breakin’ rules. The panic meant he kept breakin’ rules, and he kept gettin’ scared, and so on.

It was a trap to scare kids into bein’ good, nothin’ worth anythin’ in adult life, but those Sunday mornin’s Bo kneels at Trudy’s coffin and prays for real, not just at her but at any God that will listen and spare him and his brothers. If Ambrose can be a haven, when it reaches that state of perfection, they’ll be guaranteed eternal life away from screamin’ babies and burning wrists and “please Mama I was doin’ my best-“

The script Bo operates on never ceases. Pretty girls get their mouths glued shut so they have to follow it. Lester drives the same route to catch the same folks and scrape the same families of deer off the roads. Hell it ain’t official, if it were he couldn’t keep the little trinkets and bones he does. Or the meat. But it covers well and no government gonna complain about free labor from a guy like him.

With the girls, they’re just like the deer. Bo takes their pictures and calls them sweet things, but he’s on repeat. Same task, get the restraints, tune out the noise or find a way to stop it, stay sickly sweet with ‘em all the while. Throw in some affection so they don’t fight so much.

Just. Like. Mama.

Lester don’t much like toyin’ with the art. Feels like goin’ in a museum and draggin’ your fingers all over the paint. Which actually is somethin’ Bo would probably do, if it wasn’t up to his standard, takin’ the whole frame and just tossin’ it right out. But they stay neat and displayed on his cellar walls, in scattered checkerboard rows that Bo thinks are straight across.

Thing that always stumps Lester, and Vincent actually, is when he catches Bo slicing little knicks under his fingertips. His palms. Adding newer scars to the thick band around each of his wrists. Always says the girls died too soon. Broke the script, the rules. Now he’s gotta make up for the pain that would be cast into the realm of Ambrose if it weren’t for the failure of another little miss coulda been the one. As if.

They ain’t for keeps. Nothin’ is. Ambrose changes, and changes, and changes. Still every day is the same.

Wake up at a certain time, make the rounds, play pretend, sit itchin’ by the one landline behind a locked door that works, waitin’ for Lester’s call home. If it don’t come in a few minutes, it’s down to make his rounds countin’ heads. Move a few things this way and that on the store shelves. Hang up a picture or two cut out meticulously (as shaky hands can be) from books and magazines, a mimic of the ranging advertisements on display in the bigger cities.

Not a mimic. A replication. Nothin’ bad, nothin’ wrong- that thing is not my baby!

Bo spirals a lot. When he’s on his own. Part of why he’s got to dig his hands so deep into Ambrose. There’s shame in it he tries to squash down with mixtures of somethin’ too strong for a normal day. Mixin’ rum and brandy in a big bottle of orange juice. Vodka in his morning coffee.

Drunk Bo is more coordinated than sober. That little cocktail comes to work with him, and he makes do. Let it be known he isn’t the twin to come away with an issue. Can’t be. He’s mama’s boy, remember?

Lester is sickened by it. Watchin’ his trances like that, knowin’ it’s all ‘cause of Trudy in her final moments.

Shit they didn’t even need to do the killin’, ‘f Bo coulda got his head screwed on a right way. Too late now ‘course. They’re hundreds of innocent lives deep in this thing. Got themselves a dog outta killin’ her owner. Another responsibility, a life to keep up.

Jonsey herself stresses Bo out to no end. Her wagging tail, her happy jumpin’ when she recognizes her dearest friends. When she barks at creaky staircases settlin’ at night, his jaw sets so tight his teeth creak audibly. If he got a cut, he won’t touch the dog. Says it’ll kill him to get any of her in with his blood. Seems silly to Lester, by Bo’s designation the one that plays in guts and bone splinters all day, gettin’ plenty of that himself.

Sometimes a storm’ll roll through in rain season and bring some nasty wind with it, scarin’ the life outta the poor puppy dog. She starts to shake and drool all over. It makes Bo so nauseous to watch he has to leave the room or hack up that nasty concoction he drinks that shouldn’t be stayin’ down anyhow.

Vince stays, always stays, ‘cause someone’s got to. Bo’s a flight risk and Lester just don’t much like bein’ the trapped one. So it’s a system set in stone, or carved in blood and bone more like. Breathed in like the ashes of Bo’s more or less wasted cigarettes.

Way Lester sees it, just like the papery stubs, the routine gotta but extinguished ‘fore they all choke to death on it.

But he hadn’t meant for things to get so different.

Like even thinkin’ it cursed the place, he sends one scrawny group their way and suddenly Bo’s bleedin’ all over the kitchen tiles. Wouldn’t even know it if Vincent hadn’t dialed his bother’s number and left the phone in Bo’s pocket. Keepin’ tabs on his pain so Lester can hear it all and know somethin’s up.

The arrow in his chest stays right there, until Lester pulls up. Somethin’ about knowing Vince called in backup is sign enough to take it serious. Insists on doing it himself though.

Lester says they oughta snip the arrow where it lies and take him to emergency later on. Bo says he’d rather die now than leave a vulnerable spot stickin’ six inches out his chest. Yanks it ‘til his knees buckle and he damn near smacks his teeth off the linoleum. Then vomits stinking alcohol everywhere.

Vincent can see it ain’t gonna happen that way, and locks eyes with Lester. Tells him mentally to pass on an apology for what he’s about to do. Which is, he grabs the arrow by just under the fletchings and yanks the damn thing out before Bo can lose his shit over splinters and weakness and all that.

Well, he loses his shit anyhow, screamin’ bloody murder that he’s gonna kill Vincent for that. Only for a moment before he blacks the hell out from the pain. Prob’ly won’t even remember callin’ Vince a freak.

The hunt goes on without ‘im, without what would’ve been -though Lester never likes admitting when his big brother is right- a weak point for the shifty ass kids to stick their fingers into. End up gettin’ a pretty good knock on ‘em too.

Just like before the girly made it out almost to the roads, but Lester’s a better shot than Bo. Don’t got those phantom shakes and all. Though Vinny would hafta to pick all that bullet scrap out if they was to use her as a figure.

The next time Bo’s conscious, he’s demanding to see what Vincent gonna do with the statues. And it’s a damn good thing they didn’t set out on digging up the shrapnel, ‘cause Bo’s pissed about the arrows, and the shop windows, and the church goers, and the house. It’s all messed up, that safety cushion gone and deflated in one night.

Can’t make art outta enemies. This particukar chase weren’t fun or even close to it. No bright side to it.

Bo wants them destroyed. All of ‘em at first, but Vincent won’t ‘llow that. Threatens to hop in the yellow truck again and take off just like last time knowing damn well it pissed Bo off and was the reason he took two still bleeding blows.

They gets rid of the twins, the girl and the boy ‘ gave ‘em the most trouble. Let Bo decide what he wants done with ‘em.

Could shred ‘em up, sink ‘em to the bottom of the road kill pit, though Lester’s hesitant to do so knowin’ the same group was already thinkin’ he hid bodies in it ‘stead of jus’ Trudy’s old model mannequins. There’s always the marshland they’d rot away in nicely, unnoticed.

He wants ‘em gone though. Not buried and rotting, not waxed over into someone new, gone.

Burn the bodies. Peel the flesh. Boil the bones. Smash ‘em into dust. Mix it in with Vincent’s pigments. Their crystallized, powdered remains make for some perfect shiny makeup on the blonde’s eyelids, and extra sparkle in her wax-cast jewelry.

Felt fitting, to adorn another member of the group in those two’s particular sins. It was them two that got the rest killed so brutally after all.

Speaking of sin.

Bo slept in the church for a few nights, sprawled painfully over a dusty pew, nothing but a jacket as cushion against the solid wood. Ambrose was different now. The order had been broken and he needed to hide from the wrath that would bring.

Mama’s empty husk of a corpse wouldn’t help him. He just hoped the proximity to the altar would get some divine figure’s eyes on him, even if not her. At least send down a quick recovery so he can fucking fix the mess those kids left behind.

The pain, he can swallow, but some part of his system got fucked over right into overdrive and now he’s got no control of his shakes. His legs are as bowed as they’ve ever been, limpin’ and draggin’ himself all this way to the church was humiliating enough. No way he’s installing fresh window panes and rearranging statues to his heart’s content like this.

The dog comes and gets Bo first in the morning. Sunlight pourin’ in through the stained windows, Bo feels like he’s burnin’ up in hellfire instead of kissed by heavenly rays. Or the sticky tongue of a staffordshire terrier. Pitbull mix. Whatever the fuck the mutt is.

Jonesy is always a sign Vincent is close, ‘nd Bo cannot, will not let either of his brotherd see he’s all but given up. Their ignorant little asses are s’pose to be none the wiser he even left the house last night.

The ramblings of a man happens to be clueless that they both watched his sorry ass limp on down there, fallin’ to his knees once and skid down the hill. Anyone alive in Ambrose could’ve heard him cry out when he jammed his busted up shoulder tryin’ to catch himself and struggled for a few minutes to throw weight into his legs and stand. His gait was fucked but so were his patterns, zig-zagging from one side of the road to the next and never knowin’ it.

Really he’d blacked out in the first empty pew, taking no time to get comfortable. It wasn’t about comfort, it was necessity. A shield around his already wounded heart. His brother’s checked on him every few hours.

Bo’s blood stains the church now, far beyond a dried raisin of a corpse in the center of the holy building. Trudy’s eternal wake seems more and more pointless. Her soul can’t be saved for the life she inflicted on her trio of tragic babes. But her son can. Even the devil on earth can be shown God’s graces if he could just fucking stand up and-

He’s humbled by Jonesy. She was his chance to get his ass up and find whichever one of his asshole brothers sicked the bitch on him. The way she curls up next to his boot, singular, that he managed to get off but not back on is her final brag. ‘You lost. Now my caretakers ‘re yours too.’

As expected, right on cue, Vincent creeps in the church then, forever stomping in too heavy boots, settling into the pew in front of Bo. Silent. Back turn so signs won’t work.

“Fuck you.” Is the first thing out of his mouth. Bo repeats it ‘til he vomits a pathetic tiny cough of spit and stomach acid onto the ruined floors.

Vincent doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react to being screamed at. He’s not the one with open wounds. Never fucking has been.

“I’m talking to you, freak!”

That word again. Bo doesn’t know why he keeps saying it. Got him choked up last night, rambling about his promises. Because that should be more important. Vincent’s face don’t mean shit when it comes to Ambrose. Hell, he’d probably be capable if the surgery took his arms too. That talent is unstoppable.

Like the silence.

“Don’t make me say it, Vincent. Fucking.. I ain’t here for your damn power trip, alright? You ain’t savin’ shit.”

Nary a fuckin’ glance. From behind, all inky hair and broad shoulders, it’s hard to pick out Vincent’s feelings. That frustrates Bo. Just like with victims, his brothers got a script too. He’s supposed to be in the know, in charge. Vincent can’t keep secrets from him. Secrets get brothers shot inches away from vital organs and arteries.

“Vincent. Vinny. Help your brother out..”

It reminds him of being younger. The highchair. Pleading with Vincent to cut the tape and let him go because Mama and the Doc never listened. His one little eye would shed enough tears Bo could see ‘em across the room. Stuck in place, while Vincent could come and go as he pleased, but still chose distance. And he never did free Bo from the restraints.

“C’mon, now. Gotta get this fuckin’ shit show on the road. Need a hand, Vinny..”

Begging for help out of the pew, it takes ‘em both back there. Bo hopes Trudy is the one stuck now, held down by ugly demons in that coffin of hers, watching her boys get along enough.

Well, Vincent listens anyhow when he’s talked to softly like that. Gets right up and takes Bo by his palms, never his wrists, and heaves him up. Even doesn’t make a comment when Bo’s ankle twists under itself for some godforsaken cranial reason and he stumbles straight into his brother’s shoulder.

Face first in a grimy sweater, he sort of understands what it’s like to be in Vinny’s place. At least in the conjoinment. Bo hates the pictures, of their little bodies all twisted up and stuck. The weight of Vincent is suffocating like that, not comforting like the feeling of warm cashmere. Makes him want to crawl right out of his skin.

Bo scratches at the bands of scar tissue on his arms, never a day in his life since they formed without drawing blood from a raised line of the itchiest goddamn feeling. Only way to describe it is like mosquitos stakin’ their claim on every last blood cell in the area. Poison in his blood, from his highchair days on.

Gotta push away from bein’ stuck in Vincent’s careful proximity. Can’t get comfortable, vulnerable, like a silent, squirming little bastard child.

Bo can’t do this. This switching places thing. If he’s gonna be the weaker twin, Vincent better fuckin’ do his part. One way or another. Provoking him is the easy part.

“Heard you kept the pretty blonde. Took some video to remember her, huh. You got the hots for some wax bitch, Vin?”

Nothing. He physically pushes Vincent, uncoordinated enough to miss his chest and thump into his shoulder instead.

“Look I don’t got much interest in your creepy fuckin’ Quasimodo dungeon, but I gotta know. D’you fuck her? Get up reeeeal close in that wax pussy?”

Bo swallows down more acrid bile. Forces a tight, painful laugh.

“Of course she’s special. Tiny. Blonde. Just your type yeah? Just like your whore mommy-“

There we go. Vincent shoves him back, both of them knowing damn well that’s enough to take Bo down right now. And it does alright. Knocks some ribs pretty good against the back of the pew on his way down, forcing out a painful puff of air.

While he’s down, Vincent takes a second swing with his boot this time, pinning Bo on down to the floor. Pretty sure he cracked his head when he got forced down. Or maybe just put too much strain on the arrow wounds, ‘cause damn is he seein’ little stars and Angels dancin’ in his narrow vision.

If he wanted to win, Vince would press down with that boot and put his twin out of both of their misery, crackin’ ribs into bits and stabbin’ his heart. That’s not his goal though, never had been. It’s to knock some damn sense into Bo that he’s injured and needs to forget about his spastic bullshit.

Pisses him off. Bo fights back by jabbing his fingers in the back of Vincent’s knee, bringing him down to kneeling on pure instinct. Now Bo can reach the straps of his apron, pull himself back up to Vincent’s level in this fight for his spot.

“You think you get to boss me ‘round jus’ ‘cause I’m fucked up.. Well you’re fuckin’ mistaken, boy! I am in charge ‘round here. Not you. Not Lester.”

Vincent just stares. Tears apart Bo’s attitude with just that familiar glare. Fuck him.

“Look at you, fightin’ your sick brother. Think ‘at makes you better’n me?” Bo feels like he’s suffocating, even without the pressure holding him down. He licks across his lips and ignores the taste, “Guess you oughta put a fuckin’ cap in me. ‘Member? I killed the bitch when she got too fucked up. Two for her and one for the Doc.”

Vincent’s eye contact wavers, drifting over towards the plush coffin, like he’s considering it. So Bo doesn’t shut up, doesn’t even know if he can, “Leaves three more in the chamber. Could take us all out. One for baby Les. One for you. One for me. I’d do it if you left me for last. Don’t got nothin’ without-“

His intense staring finally processes in his brain, noticing the off details about Vincent’s face. The mask, the good one, was ruined in the hunt. There was a smaller one that would make do but wasn’t comfortable. Bo examines it, eyes flitting around, confusion in his bunched brows.

“The fuck happened to your face?”

‘You did.’ Vincent thinks, but he doesn’t tell him that. Instead he shrugs, hopes he won’t press the issue. Redirecting ain’t as easy when Bo’s still askin’ more questions.

And Bo is furious now, “We could fuckin’ quit it, you know. Got no right touchin’ your fuckin’ face. Fuck ‘em, Vinny. Can’t believe they’d fuckin’ lay a hand on you, I’ll kill them all!”

He must know they’re already dead in truth, because he goes silent for a while. When he comes back, he’s talking about their other conversation. The one with the pistol that killed Mama and the Doc in their beds, years and years apart.

Dangerously close to being honest, Bo hisses and acts like he’s adjusting his aching shoulder, but really, the pain is nothing compared to what’s going on in his head.

“Can’t do it on my own. One of us dies, we all die. You fuckin’ promise me that?”

Bo seems to think he’s ill. His eyes blur over and it’s not tears, just a pounding in his head. He’s dehydrated from vomiting so much, delirious from the blood loss, but he thinks he knows better. The tumor. Come for him this time. That’s what he convinces himself.

“You’d do it, Vinny, wouldn’t ya, if I couldn’t?” His nose is running from the humidity, the pain, his body forcing a fever to fight for himself. In his mind’s eye, it’s blood pouring from his nose. Just like Daddy after his skull popped.

Fuck. He’s already dead.

“Vincent. Vincent you can’t let go of me!” He clutches that sweater like his life fucking depends on it, glancing at the ground and back up at his brother, over and over, like it might fall away any second.

His brother tilts his head in confusion, but Vincent obliges his ramblings, holding onto Bo around one arm, the other hand balled in his trashed uniform shirt.

“You let go of me ‘n I’m a goner, y’hear? Don’t you fuckin’ let me go. Hell ain’t ready for me. I’m not- My soul got business here and you ain’t fucking gonna turn me into wax, goddamn it. I ain’t the monstrosity here. Fuckin’.. You aren’t either Vincent. That bitch- That fuckin’ demon in Mama’s coffin, don’t let it take me-“

His rambling goes on like that ‘til he passes out again. Under Vincent’s ill-fitting mask, his best one ruined in the hunt, tears are running down the left side of his face. Finding meaning in this fit, knowing full well Bo won’t remember it tomorrow, is idiotic. But he does it anyhow. Lets himself take it to heart that he’s necessary, and loved, and nothing at all like Miss mama Trudy.

He’s right though, Bo doesn’t remember a thing. Vincent carried him home and Bo woke up on the couch, had a plate of eggs like nothin’ happened. Across from him, he nodded to Lester, “You spot a single soul out there, you let us know ‘n we’ll be by. Not too much work today.”

Lester scowls and nods his head, dumbstruck by how much he forgot this time, “Yeh, alright. Got nothin’ better t’ do myself.”

There ain’t gonna be a hunt for a long while, and just as likely he ain’t gonna leave Ambrose. Too many repairs to leave to Bo in this state, all fucked in the head by his disorder. It’s like that sometimes in cycles, but they ain’t seen it get this bad before.

Routine is routine. Bo’s disorder robs him of his sense, his brain defects makin’ him weak. His brother’s fix everythin’ up ‘til his brain gets all better, and he gets bored of doin’ the small stuff. Thinks Ambrose is always the same, nothin’ ever happenin’ to disrupt his perfect plan.

Make Mama proud. Make Bo calm. Same goddamn difference.

Lester looks at Vincent across the table, and he nods, the signal to keep lying to Bo. “Saw a group campin’ in the woods. Two girls, ‘bout four boys. Teenagers, I could get ‘em back and Vinny can take ‘em.”

They’re already dead. The keepers of the group already a part of Ambrose. Dead men walking.

“You sit tight, rest that arm up. Show you the new figures in the mornin’.”

It’s gettin’ too easy to lie through his teeth, but harder to keep Bo inside.

Neither knows what the stiff nod from Bo means, ‘til he says, “Have your fun. Jus’ be fuckin’ careful. You fuck up my town, I’ll fuck up somethin’ of yours.”

‘Uh-huh, we know, asshole.’ Lester thinks, tension in his jaw pushing it forward. There’s all kinds of words just dancin’ on his tongue, but he swallows them back, if only ‘cause Vince puts his hand on his shoulder.

Instead, he manages to choke out a simple, “Yessir.”

[acat-foryournap]

( Susie mckellan was 'born' into play care with her twin Susan mckellan, the two arrived into the playhouse at 5 years old, at an instant Susan became more popular with sports, math and art while Susie was left an outcast, she was often picked last in soccer or on a game making he smiling critters lecture the others in letting other people play with them, feeling like a burden Susie one night snuck out the play house into he garden and cried their for hours until someone came, it was dogday, the Caine seated next to Susie trying to get her to speak upon why she left the play house and was crying, still getting no answer the dog had an idea, he carefully put Susie on his shoulders and walked through the garden with her hoping some fresh air will calm her down

Hearing the child response dogday asked why she was crying earlier, Susie explains about people comparing her to Susan, leaving her out or overall being an outcast

Dogday happily replied about Susan and Susie being opposites of each other and she doesn't need to change, Susie skilled feeling better, she then asked dogday toake a promise to never leave her for her sister which he happily made

B̴̢̠̋̊͑̈̾̑̊͒͗̽u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽ p̸̢̻͓͎̻͙͂͒̋͒̓̃͊̐̔͘͝ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜ ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝?

The day the hour of joy happened is when Susie was in the garden, hearing the evacuation she checked to see if the cost was clear, she ran into the playhouse where she saw her twin sister Susan in the living room, never in her life Susie felt happy seeing her sister but before she can run to her the prototype jumped on her, he stabbed her eye out making her scream, she looked at the living room for help only to see dogday save Susan and leave her

She felt betrayed and before she can cry the prototype used it's metal fingers to stretch her skull making her smile widely

She then felt 1006 stab her multiple times making her drown in her own pool of blood but none of those wound could replace the hurt in her heart of dogday leaving her

'He lied... '

She thought before finally drowning in her blood, her body being discovered by Andy Smith who died later on

Now: shes a very angry, sad and insecure ghost who forces a smile on anyone jus like her

Fun fact: Susie is the song washing machine heart by mistuki, especially the why not me part

( end of story)

(Woah :0)

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

so take that rage and bottle up (and put a drop into his cup of wine) (Wesper revenge story)

Title is from "as good as a reason" by Paris Paloma. Wesper. Canon divergence- Wylan in an arranged, abusive marriage manages to make plans of murder and make out with the dashing Jesper Fahey all in one night. Crossposted on ao3.

---

In another lifetime, Wylan stays. He diminishes himself for his father and the boy he arranged for Wylan to marry to maintain the family name, makes himself small and silent and a shadow of himself.

He watches himself crumple. He watches himself sleep with Daan whenever he wants, convinced that he will never be able to hold onto anything else.

He watches himself die.

And the pot inside of his chest simmers and simmers, threatening to one day boil over.

Jesper Fahey encounters him on one of Kaz Brekker’s annual raids on the Van Eck household. (They’ve become the sad highlight of Wylan’s year, regardless of how he pretends to hate them.) Daan is out for the night, likely having taken one of his frequent trips to the East Stave. Once Wylan stepped up to the wedding altar with bright eyes and brighter hopes- he has since faded into the background, into silence and hidden bruises, as Daan takes his rightful place by Wylan’s father’s side, fulfilling his role as Wylan’s domineering husband and a proper heir to the Van Eck fortune.

(Wylan’s father got exactly what he wanted. He got his replacement without having to dirty his hands with the blood of the defective original.)

It's not that Wylan's been replaced- he expected that since the day he realized he would never be able to change the part of him that his father deems defective. It's the callouses on his hands from having to cook all the meals and do all the cleaning despite also working a full-time job. It's Daan claiming that he deserves to be able to spend Wylan's money to advance his career with the finest of merchant clothing and constant trips to Ravka and Novyi Zem and Fjerda and Shu Han, where he wastes millions of kruge on this whim or that.  It's knowing Daan is taking constant trips to the brothel and cheating on Wylan without a way to prove it other than "meetings gone long." It's the way that Wylan's so fucking tired, all of the time, because Daan once told Wylan that he wanted a trophy husband but all that Wylan's become is Daan Anderson's glorified sex servant.

Jesper frowns from his perch on Wylan's window. "Whatever happened to the Wylan Van Eck I used to know?" he says, somehow seeing the same things that others in Wylan's life have just become accustomed to: the dark eye-bags painstakingly covered with whore’s paint and concealer, the tired drag to his lips, the disappointment slumping his shoulders.

"He had to evolve," Wylan says with the one and only thing he never lost: the stubbornness in his spine.

Jesper reaches out a kind hand that takes everything Wylan has not to flinch away from. "No one should have to evolve to please Daan of all people."

Wylan gives him a vicious smirk. "Whatever happened to me landing the bachelor of the year?"

Jesper scoffs. "I grew up. Realized there is a great big world out there and that self-obssessed brats like Daan Ijzermans weren’t worth the reputation fools gave them ."

Wylan smothers a laugh. "Not all of us had that luxury."

"I'm sure you'll have plenty jumping to be with you the moment he's gone. You'd be quite the catch, definitely more than him.”

Wylan lets out a hollow laugh. “Surely you’ve heard the rumors about why he’s the one to have dear old Daddy’s favor instead of me.”

Jesper arches a perfect eyebrow. “That you can't read?" His response is so flippant, so casual, nothing like Jan Van Eck's contemptuous condemnation to violence and beatings and a marital bed that Wylan long ago grew to hate. Wylan nods and Jesper snorts. "And?"

Wylan cocks his head. "And what?"

"You're brilliant, Wylan Van Eck. There's a reason why Kaz has been after you to throw your name in with the Crows, and it's not just for your name."

Wylan gives him a chagrined smile. "I'm not that good at demo."

"You're far more clever than anyone gives you credit for, especially that bastard that calls himself your father." Jesper gives Wylan the most charming of crooked smiles. "Look me right in the eye, merchling, and tell me you haven't come up with some plan to get rid of the pest."

Wylan smiles. There's a box of rat poison under the mansion's kitchen sink, perfectly disguised as a box of sugar, sought and found and "misplaced" the night he discovered that Daan was cheating on him again- both physically and financially, making moves to throw the Van Eck family name in with Pekka Rollins, a fate that Wylan would never endorse. Wylan can pull the poisonous powder out and mix it into Daan's parem stash and no one will ever guess that the overdose was caused by a long-labored spouse with bloodshot eyes and a cracked smile. "As a matter of fact," he says, "I might have an idea or two up my sleeve."

Jesper grins, and it's a sharp, predatory thing that stretches from ear-to-ear and sets Wylan's veins alight. "Want a partner to help? Maybe even a friend?"

Wylan glances to the clock. “Doesn’t Kaz need you back?”

Jesper shakes his head. “Kaz wouldn’t mind me engaging in a little bit of revenge. One might even say that he’d support the effort if you gave him the go-ahead afterward. If you finally take him up on that offer to demo for him, he could probably whip up a plan to send your father's entire empire crumbling without a single person able to trace it back to him."

Wylan shrugs, trying to keep the giddy smile from his lips, something in his chest feeling lighter for the first time in years. "I wouldn't be opposed."

"Fantastic," Jesper says, swinging a leg back out the window. His posture is languid, his gray eyes and dark skin and dark hair highlighted silver and gold under the moon and the lanterns on the street below. It has been so long since Wylan felt hunger for another man, but today? Tonight? He wants to feast. "Lemme know the date of our revenge plan so I can make my way back up to the Geldstraat."

Our plan. 

Our.

Wylan can feel his cheeks growing hot, but he still jumps forward, catching Jesper's garish and gorgeous plaid jacket sleeve between his calloused fingers. "Before you go, though- I thought you might like to try something out? With me?"

Jesper's smile is somehow tender, sweet, and starving at the same time. "For you, merchling?" He slides back into Wylan's room, landing inches in front of him. His breath is hot, his eyes brighter than the flash of gunpowder, and everything in Wylan's body craves to reach out. "I'd do anything."

Wylan finds himself kissing Jesper against the servants’ tool brick-built tool shed, heart on fire, nerves alight under Jesper's talented fingers, and he can’t find it in himself to regret a damn thing. Daan made his bed; it’s time to lie in it.

Let the final act of labor begin.