#smothering all other thoughts that dare try to crop up

[pool-core]

Crystal blue water and vibrant pink flowers

The smell of vanilla and sea salt

The sound of flowing water and rustling leaves

Warm wind blowing over you and the gentle rocking of cool waves

The knowledge of a soft towel and a clean bed waiting for you

[cemetery-circus]

Any Madrigal triplet headcanons?

Being the youngest of three, I LOVE writing sibling interaction you know I have some thoughts about the triplets

• As children, Julieta, Pepa, and Bruno would sleep together more often than not, even after getting their magic new rooms. They found each others presence a great comfort second only to their mothers and this is something that persisted into their adult lives. Even before Bruno was returned to them, Pepa and Julieta would lean against one another on the couch and drift off for a short nap before the next thing needed their attention. Now with their "little" brother officially back home, it's not uncommon to find the triplets resting together, Pepa and Julieta leaned against each other with Bruno draped across their laps

• You'd think tempers would be soothed with age, but not even the three eldest of the house are immune to childish disputes. Pepa did this! Bruno did that! Nuh-uh, yeah-huh, you're wrong, no you! If Alma isn't around to do it, Julieta is usually the one to settle the argument.... unless she's part of it and she knows she's right and the other two are just being difficult

"That's it! You're both in time out, go sit on the porch!"

"Go sit on the- we're both grown adults! Grown adults that are the same age as you!"

"I am not going to go sit on th-"

"If I have to repeat myself, you're gonna have to hold hands."

"...."

Luisa is confused on why her tío and tía are angrily sitting hand in hand on the porch after she gets home from her chores, but Mirabel said not to worry about it, so.

• Bruno loves to play pranks on his sisters and now that he's assisted by Camilo, he's making up for all the mischief he missed while he was in the walls. His pranks are never harmful and he knows his sisters well enough to know what jokes they'll enjoy even if they're at their expense. Pepa always gets him back, whistling innocently when she soaks him and his clothes when he goes to fetch them off the line, and Julieta takes her revenge on him sometimes too, smiling to herself when he gags and sputters at the taste of salt instead of sugar in the treat she made for him

• The three of them are very physically affectionate with one another! Pepa is most affectionate out of the three of them and uses her height to this advantage in this, resting her chin in her siblings hair and wrapping her arms around their shoulders, leaning on them casually, and handing out big crushing bear hugs like they're candy. Julieta shows her love for her siblings through smothering cheek kisses and Bruno, trying to remember how to love and be loved, is working on his hugs for now.

• When bored with nothing else to do, a rarity these days, the triplets will sit in a line do one anothers hair. Julieta will do Pepas and Pepa will do Brunos before Bruno moves to do Julietas as well once Pepa is finished, the three of them catching one another up on happenings that the other two missed. Pepa and Julieta are very invested in the telenovelas Bruno came up with in the walls, they aren’t even going to start to lie about being excited for every new storyline he brings up

• Insult one Madrigal triplet, you insult them all. It’s been a rule they’ve had since they were born and it’s only become that much more serious in recent times. There is no “lesser of three evils” when it comes to insulting one of them because the duo you’ll have to face as a result is going to be like fighting with demons regardless of who it is. They are wildly protective of another and will drop whatever they’re doing to jump to each others defense against anyone and everyone who dares to speak ill of one of them. 

Pepa doesn’t often get insulted because people often know better than insult the person in charge of taking care of the crops, but if someone does insult Pepa (often about her difficulty controlling her mood), Julieta and Bruno are by her side in a second, one comforting her while the other lays into the bastard who opened their mouth.

The townspeople have learned not to insult Bruno directly in front of the Madrigal sisters, but if someone has the courage to utter an untruth about their brother- whether he be there or not -Julieta and Pepa have no problem with setting them straight  

You better hope you have some very good graces in your future if you have the senselessness to insult Julieta because Bruno and Pepa are the ones you’ll have to face and Julieta isn’t exactly too keen on telling them to go easy on you after what you said

• “Colombia, Mi Encanto” is a song the triplets used to sing together and I will die on this hill, I will lay down and die on it. It was a fun and lively song they would sing while cleaning or simply when they were just happy at first, dancing along with each other to the music Casita would make for them as they went about tidying the place up, sometimes even dancing with Casita herself if it gave them a way to, but when Bruno disappeared, the song went with him. The older kids remember it vaguely, enough to maybe hum a loose version of the melody, but their mothers would always politely ask them to pick a different song to sing whenever they heard them trying to figure it out. Even so, though, there were times where Pepa and Julieta could be heard humming the same tune under their breath as they went about their days.

The song doesn’t return to the newly rebuilt house until after around a week of trying to get settled back in. Bruno was cleaning and had naturally slipped into humming it while he worked, only stopping when Casita starts to play its music to accompany him and coax him to sing it for real like he used to. Powered by a nostalgia for the tune, Bruno agrees and it takes less than a minute for Pepa and Julieta’s voices to hesitantly join him from where they’re working themselves. They start quietly, anxious about if they remember the melody or the words at all, unsure if he even wants them to join him in the first place, but Bruno hunts them down and pulls them into a familiar dance with him and Casita with the widest smile they've seen on him since he got back.

It’s not uncommon to come home to Casita making music, but it is uncommon to find that music is for the triplets, and it’s even more uncommon to see the three of them singing and dancing so incredibly happily to a song that unlocks a treasured memory in everyone present.

“Colombia, Mi Encanto” spreads through the house like wildfire after that, no one ever teaching one another the words to the song nor the steps to the dance, but everyone learning it all perfectly all the same.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Toffee: Chapter 3

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Gordon, Scott, John, Grandma, Tracy Family

Not quite such a long wait for the next instalment this time.  The next chapter of my response to @gumnut-logic‘s #irrelief prompt “toffee on the couch”, and the second of my three fic offerings for Thunderbirds Day, we have a little more scheming and Scott’s tale of woe continues.

<<<Chapter 2

The explosion of expletives from his eldest brother were clearly audible even from where Gordon was floating in the pool. It didn't take a genius to surmise that Scott had just discovered the toffee on the chair, and probably by sitting on it.

As far as pranks went, it was simple but effective. No-one had been in the room when Gordon had slipped the small chunk of toffee, warmed in the microwave under his watchful eye and Grandma's carefully blind one, onto the seat just after dumping his mud-lathered uniform off in Scott's despairing arms. Barring Grandma, none of the island residents had any idea that the toffee hadn't just slipped out of Scott's pocket earlier a la the first incident style, and both Grandma and their ever-watchful Eye in the Sky were firmly on his team. It had been John that had struck a conversation up with Alan to keep him out of the way, after all.

Grandma's voice carried clearly from the kitchen as she hollered up at Scott about minding his language. There was the vague threat of washing his mouth out with soap in there, and Gordon could well imagine the look on Scott's face as he called an apology back down.

He suspected Scott was already sick of soap. The washing machine had been a stroke of genius, even if he did say so himself. A little bit of toffee in Scott's jean pockets wasn't even suspicious, not when toffee in his pocket had been the start of it all. Add in an unaware Alan proving him the perfect alibi, and there was nothing to even suggest it wasn't an accident. Still, there was revenge and there was cruelty, and even Gordon had limits. Virgil would get the machine repaired by the end of the day, as long as no more rescues cropped up, and Gordon wasn't about to keep crippling it.

Scott wouldn't be the only one getting suspicious if it kept breaking, and he had no plans to get Virgil on his back, especially as his older brother was clearly annoyed about having to fix it the first time. If he realised it was intentional rather than accidental, well, that would probably be the end of a squid. No, Gordon had to keep things fluid, unsuspicious. Neither John nor Grandma were providing ideas, but as long as they kept providing the means and alibis (when an innocent Alan didn't do the job for him), he had a week to prank with his brother with no fear of retribution.

Scott's toffee stash would last a week, easily. Even if he turned to it as comfort food. Gordon hoped he did; it would be much easier to pull off his plan if Scott continued to eat the stuff. He had John on Scott-watch for that exact reason. True to form, John hadn't told him where the stash was, but he had suggested where a really good hiding place away from younger brothers might be, and sure enough, Gordon had found a whole mountain of the stuff there.

It was a literal mountain. Gordon had no idea how Scott's teeth hadn't all rotted yet. His ached just looking at it.

Above him, it sounded as though Grandma had gone to investigate the cause of Scott's language, because she was still berating him for it. As tempting as it was to go up and see the scene with his own eyes, Gordon had been a prankster long enough to know that returning to the scene of the crime automatically made him suspicious. Content that Grandma had it all in hand, he rolled over onto his front and continued his laps.

He eventually left his beloved water at a call for dinner. Reluctantly, of course – the call had come from Grandma, and just because she was helping him prank Scott didn't mean she'd suddenly become a competent cook. Unfortunately, the pool was right by the kitchen, and with his grandmother standing just under the eaves, there was no way for him to pretend he hadn't heard the call.

At least none of his other Earthbound brothers were escaping, either. John was invariably munching on some dehydrated just-add-water feast above their heads, and not for the first time Gordon thought it thoroughly unfair that he had the better deal. Dehydrated food was not supposed to be better than good old fashioned home cooking.

Maybe that was why Dad had spent so much time in space. Gordon could hardly blame him.

None of them even dared to hazard a guess at the name of the concoction on their plates, but with Grandma seated firmly at the foot of the table and watching them all closely, they had no choice but to tentatively take their first bites before simultaneously reaching for large mugs of their preferred drink.

Alan mumbled something uncomplimentary into his juice, and Grandma sent him a sharp look. Virgil chose that moment to speak, and Gordon knew the timing wasn't coincidental.

"I've got the washing machine fixed," he said, sending Scott a glare. "Don't break it again."

"I don't plan to," Scott groaned in response, throwing back his squash to get rid of the taste from his latest mouthful. "I'd like to see something other than laundry this week."

"Speaking of the laundry," Grandma interrupted. "I want that chair spotless, young man."

"What chair?" Alan asked, fixing their eldest brother with a suspicious stare when he groaned. "Is one of the chairs dirty again?"

"Some toffee appears to have found its way onto the desk chair," Grandma explained. "Your brother found it by sitting in it." Virgil stiffened.

"If that washing machine experiences another death by toffee, I am not fixing it," he threatened. Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked tired, not that Gordon blamed him after that hell of a rescue. They were all tired from trudging through mud and then cleaning it off of Thunderbird Two once they got home.

"I'll handwash them," he promised. "I have no idea how toffee even got there."

"You mean it didn't fall out of your pocket this time?" Alan chipped in.

"I didn't have any in my pocket for it to fall out, Alan," Scott defended himself. Alan shrugged as though that wasn't a factor that needed considering.

"You had some in your pocket yesterday, maybe it fell out then?"

Gordon watched a look of uncertainty flicker across Scott's face, before his shoulders slumped.

"I guess that's possible," he admitted.

"You're quiet, Gordo," Virgil commented, and he looked at him.

"Huh?"

"Something wrong?" Toffee incident(s) forgotten, Scott was straight into smothering older brother mode. Annoying, except when it was useful. He poked at the concoction on his plate dubiously.

"I don't think I feel too good." It was hardly a lie; he loved his grandmother but he could also really do without her cooking.

"Try a few more mouthfuls, dear," the wicked witch of the kitchen said. "Some good food should help."

"I don't see that here," Alan muttered under his breath, but Gordon gave her a patented Believable Fake Smile and prodded at his plate some more, reluctantly forcing himself to eat a few more bites. She beamed at him, and he gave her a polite smile back, all too aware that his alliance with her was just as tentative as his alliance with John, and therefore relied on keeping her sweet.

Which, right now, meant consuming as much of her latest cooking disaster as he could stomach.

Scott – oldest, bravest, sacrificial lamb on behalf of his brothers – was the first to cave, begging off on a full stomach and a reminder of the jeans he now had to handwash. His plate was mostly empty, although when he'd managed to stuff that much in his mouth Gordon had no idea, and after a moment of silent contemplation on Grandma's side he was given permission to wash his plate up and leave.

Gordon loved it when his brothers made things so easy for him. He shoved the concoction on his plate around for another few minutes, occasionally taking mouthfuls, before putting his cutlery down with a groan.

"Sorry, Grandma, I don't think I'm going to eat any more." She peered at him closely before standing up and walking around the table to get to him. He wasn't expecting her to press a hand to his forehead, and jumped when she made contact.

"Well your temperature's normal," she mused, and inwardly he groaned. Please let me leave the table, Grandma! "But if you're really not up to eating, off to bed with you." Yes! Grandma you are The Best!

"Sorry," he said out loud, standing up slowly and picking his plate up. "I'll just get this cleared up-"

She whisked it out of his hands.

"I said bed, young man," she scolded. "I can do your dishes for one evening, but I'll be up to check on you once I'm done and I don't want to see you out of bed." She steered him towards the stairs and, once out of sight of his brothers, gave him a wink. He grinned back, before starting the climb to the bedrooms – and, more importantly right now – Scott's toffee stash.

Having Grandma for an ally made a real difference to pranking.

He kept up the pretence all the way to his room, just in case he met Scott. He didn't, but Gordon had long since learnt not to take that for granted. Shutting himself in his bathroom, he called John.

As predicted, the ginger was munching away on cardboard-flavoured food that Gordon would do a lot to have instead of his grandmother's cooking.

"Scott's in the laundry room," his brother told him without preamble. "Brains and MAX are in their lab, and Grandma has Virgil and Alan pinned in the kitchen." Not for the first time, Gordon was pleased Kayo was off doing agent-y things with Lady Penelope for the week. Her allegiance was harder to secure than John's, and even when he had it she was liable to tell on him to Scott or Virgil at any time. Sneaking past her was also much harder. "I'd estimate you have five minutes before any of them move from their current locations."

"Roger that," he grinned. "It'll take me two."

Scott's hiding place was brilliant in its simplicity. It was both somewhere no-one, not even Gordon, would think to look, but so easily accessible that the chances of being caught in the act of retrieving some were close enough to nil – barring John and his All-Seeing Eyeness. Unfortunately for Scott, now that John had Not-Shared it with Gordon, those same factors made it child's play to steal from.

Gordon was careful not to take too much – Scott was the sort of person to know exactly how much toffee he had, and would very quickly put two and two together if toffee kept appearing in places he didn't remember having any and he noticed it vanishing from his stash. Besides, too much and the game would be up before it even began. He took a couple of small pieces from near the back, ones with identical wrappers to many others. Scott would have to be particularly observant and calculating to notice the disappearance of those.

Prizes obtained, he found his way back to his room and connected with John again.

"Grandma's on her way up," his brother warned, and despite having Grandma as an ally, Gordon figured it would be best to throw on some pyjamas and slink into bed regardless – after depositing the toffee in his bathroom cabinet inside one of his boxes of tablets.

Empty tablet boxes that had not yet reached their expiry date made fantastic hiding places for small objects. With the prescription declaring them for the sole use of one Gordon Cooper Tracy, none of his brothers had any cause to ever touch them. Not even John knew about that hiding place. Probably. You could never be too careful with the Eye in the Sky.

"You decent, kid?" Grandma asked, knocking on the door. John flickered out of sight, and Gordon made a noise that was probably an affirmative from under the covers. She took it as such and his door hissed open. Footsteps crossed his floor, and the bed dipped near his head. He looked up to see her grinning back down at him. "As you're in bed, I assume you've done what you needed to?"

He grinned back at her.

"Yup," he admitted.

"Good, good," she said. "I must say, it's a nice change to see your brother away from that desk more. Toffee or not, he was starting to stick to it."

Gordon laughed and she ruffled his hair.

"Now get some shut eye. Your brothers will have questions if you're out and about after I sent you to bed, and with you boys' job, it's something you're all lacking anyway. If I catch you out of bed again, I'll be dragging you back in here by your ear, got it?"

"Yes, Grandma," he agreed; sleep was nice, even if he'd rather be doing a few more laps in the pool. Ah well, sometimes sacrifices needed to be made in the name of pranking.

"I'll see you later," she told him, kissing his forehead – he made a face – before leaving the room.

So, Grandma didn't want to see him out and about? Well, that was what John was for.

"Hey, John?" he called once the door was shut. His brother appeared immediately, and Gordon suspected he'd never actually left, just culled visual. "Let me know when I have another five minutes free on this floor?"

"Sure thing," his brother agreed. "What's your next plan?"

Gordon grinned at him.

"You know the story of the Princess and the Pea?"

Chapter 4>>>

[vegetacide]

Cloak and Dagger

Veg●notable: Okay, I had a little fun with this and took a few liberties with one of the boys… It worked for I wanted but I am not sure how it will be received... ::ducks behind a Tracy so she doesn’t get hit with anything...::

Also I am kinda being a pantser with this chapter.. I have a general idea of where I want it to go but I didn’t suss it out like I have in other chapters so please excuse if the pacing if off. I kinda let the Boys tell me where they wanted to go and what sort of interactions they wanted to have….and they may have gone a bit off course..

As per the norm.. All errors and such are my own.

Read, review, like, reblog.. Whatever the platform, it is very, very much appreciated and it all acts as my motivational fuel.

Previous Chapters

Intro  | One  |  Two 

Chapter 3: Games 

Enjoy!

o0o

Scott drummed his fingers along the careworn surface of his father’s desk, his gaze lost to the middle distance as he thought over the information that had just been brought to him. Not that there was much, which was the problem in and of itself.

Kayo and Lady Penelope had had very little to tell him. After Fuse’s botched attempt at the old, disused power plant to obtain nuclear material he’d just up and disappeared. Their security expert and London agent had been traipsing around the globe trying to track down leads for weeks now but there was no sign of the Chaos member, his sister or for that matter the Hood… anywhere..at all.

For the Hood on his own, it wasn’t that unusual. The criminal would go quiet for a spell and not resurface for months. Now that he was with the Crew, that was an entirely different story.

Normal some tidbit of information would crop up of a sighting in some far corner of the world, or a rumour of some heist or another would drift about on the dark web. Either Lady P would poke at it to figure out if it was worth further effort or Kayo would get a call from the GDF to check with some contacts but everything had gone silent. There was nothing, no where.

Scott looked up at the muted holo-cast. A variation of the same headline scrolled along under the chrome anchors’ desk and something in the pit of his stomach tightened. This eerie feeling of foreboding had been dogging him since the plant and he just knew this wasn’t going to end well.

Picking up an old school stylus that for some reason his father had kept even with the advent of modern computer interfaces, Scott examined its length. His father had owned it for as long as he could remember. He’d once asked Jeff why he insisted on keeping it and his father had smiled in that way he did and had said that ‘somethings were just worth keeping.’ He hadn’t elaborated in any other way or given any other hint to his reasoning after that. It left Scott scratching his head in confusion.

Even now all these years later he still didn’t understand though as he looked at the smooth finish and felt the weight of it between his fingers, he could understand its appeal. It provided something tangible to hold on to, tactile.

In his case not only physically but it also provided him with a psychologically connection to the man they all missed so much. A man he truly wished was with them right now.

Maybe the great Jeff Tracy would be able to wrap his head around all this, come out with a master plan so at the end of the day the world was a better, safer place. Scott certainly didn’t think he had the chops to do it himself. Self doubt was a bitch especially when there was no supporting hand to guide you.

His father was going to come home, Scott knew that for sure. WIth Brains basically locked away working on the zero-x engine it was only a matter of time. Scott just hoped that when they got their father back…. Why was he even thinking about this? Setting the stylus back down, he rubbed at the back of his head in hopes of dispelling the direction of his thoughts. This was not helping.

Snagging his forgotten cup of coffee, he took a swig and grimaced. Cold and it was the good stuff from Virgil’s hidden stash behind the lima bean in the pantry. Eyeballing the drink with its thin layer of cream film on top, he sighed and tossed the rest back. It was too much effort to haul his ass downstairs for a fresh cup, besides his brother would kick his butt if he were to find out he knew of the existence of the rich, smoky ground beans and had wasted it. Better to just suck it up and deal with the cold brew then risk the engineer’s wrath.

“Thunderbird 5 to base.”

“Hey John,” Scott greeted with the raise of his now empty coffee mug. “What’s up?”

“Just letting you know Grandma is on approach. Will be there in t-minus 5”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

John nodded in return and they sat in silence for a moment. By the controlled look on John’s face Scott could tell that the monitor was working up to say something more. Leaning back in his chair, he cocked a foot over one knee and steepled his fingers as his brother processed whatever it was that was on his mind.

Scott didn’t want to push but time was ticking. “Johnny….?��� He knew the use of his brother’s childhood nickname would get the ball rolling.

John’s eyes narrowed in annoyance at the moniker but the redhead let it slide. “How’s it going down there?”

Scott dropped his hands, pushed up to his feet and walked the short distance to the sunken seating area. “As well as can be expected.” Taking the steps down he parked on his usually couch with a heavy sigh. Sinking into the cushions with a slouch and tossing an arm up and over the back.

“That sounds...” John paused as he searched for the appropriate word, “to steal a phrase from Alan.. craptastic.”

One shoulder went up in a shrug and Scott dragged in a deep breathe. “Ya, well. Shitty situation but you know how these things go. Time and space and all that.”

“Time and space?” A smirk settled on John’s face. “This coming from you. Eos mark down the time and date. Scott is being reasonable”

“Time and date noted, John.” Came the young voice of the A.I. “I have also taken the liberty of recording this interaction for posterity in the likelihood that you want to revisit the momentous occasion.”

John chuckled as the light ring came into the view field of the camera. The array of little lights flashing in what Scott could only conclude as amusement at his cost. The A.I was learning and learning fast and Scott didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Hardy har.” A dry sound, accompanied by an eye roll. “Am I really that bad?”

The stare and awestruck look he received by way of answer should have been enough.”Aw, come on…”

“If smother hen was in the dictionary, Scott. You would be the picture beside it.” It was said rather frankly and that irked Scott into yet another eyeroll. “Matter of fact, it might actually already be in Urban Dictionary..”

“Okay. Okay..I get it. Enough already.” Scott’s boredom and disdain at the direction of the conversation wasn’t hard to miss. “I can’t help it. I worry about all of you.”

John took pity on his elder brother, the smile leaving his face. “I know you do, Scott. Especially when it’s Virgil.”

Scott sagged further into the couch.

“We all need to fall apart every now and again. The same applies to Virgil.” John spoke, his voice carrying across the distance. “As much as we rely on him to be the family rock, even a rock wears down over time when enough stress is applied.”

“Ya, I know. You’re right.” Scott leaned forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he looked at the floor. “I just wish…” He didn’t finish his train of thought.

“Scott, he’ll be fine. Just give him the room to breath and in a day or two he will be right as rain again. He needs to stew this over a bit.” John shifted his gaze away from the cam, his projected hand skimming over something off screen.

“Well from what Brain’s has told me, Virgil has him doing system checks on all the wash-bays. Maybe an answer will be there for him.”

“You talked to Brain?”

“Yes, just before calling you. He wanted me to look at some computations. Double check his math and he didn’t want to bother Virgil with it” Floating about the space station some 22,000 kilomitres above them, John glaced backup a moment. “Why? Haven’t you talked to him?”

Scott sat up a bit straighter, sheepishly ashamed that the yelling the night before had sent the mousy genus into hiding in the bowels of the island. “Not since we got back..”

“Oh,” John failed to hide the nonplussed expression that flashed across the screen. “Glad I was off world last night than..:”

“Jay, you’re always off world”

John couldn’t say anything to counter that and Scott knew it. The star obsessed Tracy rarely made landfall and Scott tried to think back on how long it had been since the astronaut had been forced to submit to some down time.

“Scott, you’re getting that look in your eyes again.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I need to smother’ look that comes with the forehead wrinkles of the elderly.. Don’t you dare set your sights on me. I am needed up here with full access to all of 5’s systems and you know it.”

Scott put his hands up in surrender, not wanting to have another sibling forcibly shutting him out. “Message received and watched the old person jokes. They are laugh lines not stress.. The hair though, that’s all from you guys.”

John looked off camera again and his expression changed from brotherly bemusement to curious. “Aunt Val is reaching out. I’ll patch her though.”

Scott cursed under his breath and ignored the admonishing glare from space. Seemed he hadn’t sworn as quietly as he thought, good thing Gran….

“Scott Bartholomew Carpenter Tracy!”

Scott flinched at the sudden loud bark of reproach directed his way as his Grandmother marched into the room, fire and brimstone in her wake. “You were not raised in a barn, young man.” Crap, his diminutive elder was not impressed, especially if she broke out the little known and seldom used ‘Bartholomew.’

He was the only brother out of the five to be graced with the additionally middle name, gifted to him as the first born from his great, great Grandfather. A Tribute to a war vet that his father had been blessed with as well and one that made Scott shudder every time he heard it.

“Well technically… “John piped up earning him a warning glare from Scott.

“Gee John, thanks for the warning.. “ Scott grumbled with little enthusiasm and dripping with sarcastic annoyance.

“I did,” John blinked.

Scott contemplated several ways to seek revenge over the tirade of the fierce and feisty Sally Tracy and most of them involved airlocks and a module full of moldy bagels.

John did his level best to hide his smile at the misfortune of the eldest. “I told you she was on approach and you know she has the ears of a bat, Scooter.”

Scott glared at the space nut but all he got in return was a very large grin before the monitor disappeared and the 3D rendition of his Godmother materialized.

“Colonel Casey” Scott acknowledges, his Grandmother patted his knee in greeting and settled down on the couch beside him, the vexed look still sparking in her cerulean gaze.

“Valerie,” His Grandma piped up. “You’re a sight for sore eyes”

“Scott. Sally.” A crisp, formal acknowledgement. Definitely a business call.

The tone made Scott straighten his spine, posture ramrodding as his years of military training kicked in. Pushing to his feet, the Commander of International Rescue took up the forefront of his mind. The dilemma of the current Tracy drama brushed aside as the call to arms; so to speak, was issued by his honorary Aunt’s projected persona.

“What can I do for you, Colonel Casey?”

“Orders come down the pipe, Scott. General Abner informed me this afternoon that World Council has declared Kazakhstan a no fly zone. All personnel, both combative and civilian are on evac orders effective immediately. As of 23:00, anything in or outbound found crossing restrictive airspace will be termed hostile and dealt with accordingly.”

“And as our liaison..?” Scott asked, bracing for the answer that he feared.

“I’ve been advised to inform you that the restriction extends to International Rescue as well. Under no circumstance is International; Rescue to enter that airspace. Any action will be seen as an act of aggression against the WC and those perpetrating said act are to be shot down.”

“Noted.”

“Scott, you need to abide by this ruling. This is from way up the food chain. There will be nothing I can do to help you if these orders are disregarded. “ Casey stressed. “You will be on your own.I’ve also been instructed that anyone aiding and abetting is to be brought in and prosecuted under the full force of the law.”

Meaning, the whole family would be under threat and the whole might of the GDF would be pointed in their direction. Even though they claimed no allegiance to any known entity, International Rescue and by turn the Tracy’s would be marked as traitors “I understand Colonel.”

Essentially the country has been walled off and Scott wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He just hoped that there would be no call out for iR in the vicinity of the damned country but he knew from experience hopes and wishes were very seldom taken into consideration.

-o-o-

Some 6,500km away, tucked under a remote mountain village on the furthest edge of Kazakhstan a display monitor beeped to life with the flow of garish, green text. Servos hummed, fans ticked on and a smile crept across the harshly angled face with amber eyes.

Piece by piece plans that had taken months to arrange were finally starting to come together. Money had passed hands, people had been bought, information exchanged and like pawns on a chessboard, the players were shifting into their places.

Looking at the board, the queen slipped into place and unbeknownst to all but one, the king now sat vulnerable. The end was in sight.

Let the games begin.

TBC

[sunflowerstrays]

my valentine // yang jeongin (I.N)

my valentine, chapter 1 ~ master list

yang jeongin x reader.

words: 2.2k.

genre: fluff.

summary: you are a fool for love and broken hearts, and jeongin is a fool for you

“I hate them all,” you say into Jeongin’s jumper, trying hard to not blow your nose on it but after having already emptied the only box of tissues in the house, you aren’t left with many options. “All men suck. Except like, two of them.”

“Dare I ask which two?” Jeongin asks, stroking your hair softly and letting you cry on to him for what feels like the hundredth time over a boy.

This always happened to Jeongin. You, his best friend since starting school, would begin talking to this guy you liked, the two of you would grow close and Jeongin would make a conscious effort to smother his feelings for you. Then, aforementioned boy would blow you off and you’d come crying to Jeongin, and as your best friend he would have to comfort you. Following this, whenever he would finally build up the courage to tell you his feelings, you’d find another boy to entertain you.

But this time it had been particularly difficult to support you, as the boy that you had been speaking to you had been since the end of last year, and tomorrow was Valentine’s day. Being the romantic you were, you loved the ideas of dinner and candles and beach walks and cinema dates and just anything that screamed romance. Unfortunately for you, the majority of the boys your age didn’t care for such niceties.

Unfortunately for Jeongin, he did, but you never saw it that way.

“Kim Seungmin is a very decent guy,” you say, “and Nakamoto Yuta.”

“First of all, Yuta doesn’t know you exist, sorry to crush your spirit,” Jeongin says, watching you finally peel yourself from his chest with puffy eyes and a red nose. You wipe the last of the mess away on the back of your hoodie before sighing tiredly, “and Seungmin hates everyone.”

“He loves me.”

“That’s not the point,” Jeongin says with a chuckle, “most people love you, y/n. Besides, what about me?”

“You aren’t a man,” you say blatantly, making Jeongin squeal with laughter. He doesn’t know how to react, but pushes your shoulder anyway as you giggle at his childishness.

“I’ll have you know I am the manliest man-”

“Jeongin you cried last week when Seungmin had taken your juice box at lunch and hid it from you. I don’t think men drink apple juice with a straw,” you say, making him squeal again as he tackles you with a tickle to your sides. You used to be so ticklish as a child, but unfortunately for him you got over that, so now the two of you are just laying beside each other on his bed, his face resting on your shoulder.

“But, out of all the boys, you are my favourite,” you say, poking his nose before rolling over to face him. “It just really, really sucks. I was so looking forward to a fancy Valentine’s date. I even bought a pretty dress for it and everything, Jeongin.”

“Then wear it still,” Jeongin replies halfway in a train of thought, making you raise your eyebrows at him. The two of you sit close enough together that you can see his individual eyelashes, your nose almost brushing his. So many times that the two of you have found yourselves in this position, and so many times Jeongin has dreamed of finally telling you. But he never has, and now definitely isn’t the moment.

“Care to continue that train of thought, bub?” You ask Jeongin, poking his cheek and laughing when he grasps your hand instead.

“Wear the dress, and I can take you out somewhere,” Jeongin says, and your heart launches itself out of the window and into the sky. “It would be really fun.”

“Are you sure Jeongin?” You ask, feeling so soft for your best friend at that moment. He listens to all of your problems, is there through all of your heart aches and still supports every relationship you begin to develop, despite knowing it will most likely fail within a few weeks. Your habit of falling hopelessly for boys so quickly was really becoming a problem, but being the star he is, Jeongin was always there to clear up your problems.

“Of course, y/n,” he grins, giving you your favourite toothy smile of his. “We’ll have a great time!”

“Do I get to know where we are going?” You ask Jeongin, who shakes his head as he pulls out his phone and begins planning the date in front of you, fighting to stop you from looking. The room is filled with your laughter as the two of you play fight, and you remember why you love him so much.

“Just wear the dress and easy shoes, and I’ll pick you up at six,” he winks at you, making you howl with laughter at his weak attempt at being a flirt. Jeongin may be many things - talented, smart, funny, beautiful inside and out - but being flirty was not his forte. He just grew too awkward and red whenever he would speak to a girl that wasn’t you or his mother. Most of the time you found it hilarious, and would try your best to sort it out for him, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the hang of it or his cheeks.

Little did you know it was because the girl he would speak to in that manner was never you, and you were the only one he wanted to talk to like that.

The two of you laid in his bedroom for a while longer before your mother called and asked for you home, fearful of a thunderstorm tonight. You roll your eyes before hanging up and sitting up, facing Jeongin who lays in the same position with sad eyes.

“I will see you tomorrow at six,” you say, reaching down to boop his nose again before climbing rather ungraciously over him and leaving his bedroom. When you turn around Jeongin has sat up and is staring at the various photos on his bedroom wall, his face a mystery. You frown, reminding yourself to text him later to check that he is actually okay; so many times recently he has zoned out like this, and it’s beginning to chew at your insides with worry for your best friend.

Even though, theoretically, tonight was just a meal out with your best friend, you were awfully anxious. There was this gnawing feeling in your gut and you were anxious about something going wrong; which, quite frankly, was ridiculous, seeing as Jeongin and you had hung out a thousand times before, and it had only gone wrong on a few number of occasions. One occasion included when Jeongin had tripped you up on a walk beside a river once, you had fallen in and broken your wrist during the fall. But other than that one time, nothing had ever gone disastrously wrong; so why was tonight any different?

Because it was Valentine’s Day, you told yourself. And best friends didn’t hang out on Valentine’s day.

Because of the occasion though you had made an effort to look nice. You had gently curled your hair, hung the earrings your mother had gotten you for your sixteenth in your ears, and worn the pretty dress Jeongin had told you to wear. It was simple, a flowy dress that was white and had a pretty lace skirt, and coupled with a light jacket and leather sandals, you looked as if you were going on a real date.

But that felt unnatural when describing an outing with Jeongin. Date and Jeongin weren’t two words you had ever really thought of together, except from that one time when you were fifteen and you went through an odd month or so of crushing on him. Now, it just seemed… off.

At six o’clock on the dot Jeongin interrupts you from your thoughts by bashing your front door down like he does every time. You roll your eyes as your mother answers the door, giving you an extra second to put on a swipe of strawberry red lip gloss before grabbing your bag and phone. Jeongin stands at the base of your stairs, chatting about how excited he is for tonight with your mother.

He wears dress pants and a white shirt, even with a cute bowtie that brings a smile to your face, yet his usual jacket is slung over his arm and he wears black trainers under the smart trousers. You giggle at your best friend’s attempt at dressing up, alerting both your mother and him of your presence.

“Oh, wow,” Jeongin lets slip, making you blush as you walk down the stairs. Your mother, who wears the brightest smile on her face, pushes the two of you together for a photo. Jeongin laughs, his body awkward as he stands next to you for one photo, then wraps his arm around you for the second. His hand rests ever so gently on your waist, his touch so light like it isn’t even there, but it still makes you feel giddy. Why, you have no idea.

“Have fun kids! Jeongin please have her home at a sensible time,” your mother says, ruffling your curls before waving the two of you a goodbye.

“I have a confession to make, y/n,” Jeongin says, offering you his hand as you both walk down your garden to the street. Suddenly you launch into panic mood, wondering what he has to confess; what if he hates you, or was planning to ditch you tonight, or- “If we want to catch the bus to get to our destination before nightfall, we are going to have to run.”

You burst into laughter, half at yourself for being such an idiot and half at Jeongin’s inability to coordinate things on time. The two of you break into a jog, and you are glad that you stuck to his idea of wearing normal shoes instead of the heels you had debated over.

“Is this why you told me to wear flats?” You ask, your chest aching and legs slightly sore from running to the bus stop once the two of you sit down. Jeongin, with cheeks as red as the bus the two of you sit on, giggles at you, squeezing your hand and keeping it in his.

“Not quite, but I also didn’t think we’d have to run for the bus,” he chuckles as the two of you grin at each other. This is the same bus you’ve caught a hundred times to go into the city, where Jeongin and you would waste whole days trying on the most ridiculous clothing you could find, or eating an insane amount of food at all the new and different restaurants that would crop up over time.

The two of you ride the bus, and despite your pestering, Jeongin refuses to tell you anything about tonight. The two of you catch the bus into the city, and when you expect Jeongin to jump off, he doesn’t. Instead he just squeezes your fist, rests his head on your shoulder and sings for you to wait.

So you do. You chat with Jeongin softly, eventually giving up on asking about tonight and trying to place where on earth the two of you are going. Jeongin tells you how he had to borrow Hyunjin’s trousers for tonight because he didn’t own any smart ones himselves, and they were secretly rolled up and pinned for the occasion. You can’t help but really laugh at this, because only Jeongin would borrow the trousers of his tallest friend and wear them out to an event like this.

He also keeps complimenting you the whole time, and eventually your cheeks are stained with the constant blush on them. The two of you take goofy photos on Snapchat, trying out all of the different filters and spamming all of Jeongin’s friends with the photos. By the time you have tried all of the filters and annoyed the living daylights out of Seungmin, Jeongin pulls you to your feet suddenly and drags you from the bus.

It takes you a second to realise where you are, but when you do, you hug Jeongin tightly and refuse to let go. It was your favourite place to go, and the place that you went to with Jeongin only at this point. The beach.

He knew it was your favorite because the first time the two of you had gone there, you had told him how in love you were with the sea and open skies. With the sun beginning to set and the sea lapping gently against the beach, your heart was overflowing with love for your best friend; only he remembered these things about you.

The two of you wandered along the beach, Jeongin remaining quiet and observant of you as you drunk in the atmosphere around you; almost every restaurant was full of couples enjoying each other’s presence, and it was leaving you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. When Jeongin brushed his hand across yours, you couldn’t help but cling on to it, wanting to let yourself pretend even for a few seconds that something could happen between him and you. Tonight, you promised yourself, that you’d let this slide. This whole date thing with Jeongin, it was only a one time thing under extreme circumstances, you promised.

[chibiyanai]

My Fated One - Prologue

Summary: Luin Elin has spent life in a hidden clearing, secluded from the rest of Middle Earth, all because of what she is, a dragon. When she is visited by one of her only friends, Gandalf the Gray, who askes her to join him with a company of dwarves, she finally leaves the safety of her home, and goes right to the reason for her seclusion...

Autor’s note: The name Luin Elin is taken from the sindarin words for ‘Blue’ and ‘Star’ making the dragon’s name ‘Blue Star’ because of her hair and eye color. This is my first fanfic (actually tried prompting another author to write it, but they convinced me to try it myself) and I’m not really sure of my abilities. I hope you like it and I’ll do my best to continue writing this, because I really want to challenge myself and actually finish a writing project!

Taglist: @welcome-to-fangirl-hell

Gandalf the gray stood in front of what would appear to be a dense forest, but to the knowing eye of the wizard it was in fact a hidden entrance to the home of a powerful creature. A creature, who some others would believe it wise not to disturb, least of all to ask them to leave their sanctuary of several thousands of years.

The wizard however knew that he was welcome to enter, but whether or not he’d succeed in convincing them to join him in the quest of the dwarves was unclear.

Going past the mirage of densely grown threes and moss he found himself in a small clearing, where in the middle was a humble cottage surrounded by patches of growing vegetables and berries and many a woodland creature wandering about minding their business, not even caring about the old gray man that just appeared.

Hearing the wind suddenly blow past and a growl from above he looked up to see the owner of the cottage, the reason no one dared enter the forest. The white dragon...

the dragon slowly glided down to land in front of him, changing mid air into a beautiful young blue eyed lady with hair the color of starlight. The lady smiled and quickly moved to smother the wizard in a hug, as per her usual greeting when he visited.

“Mithrandir! I’ve missed you, it feels like it’s been a hundred years since last time you were here” she said, still smiling and lead the way inside.

“It has only been ten years, but I’ve also missed you little dragon” he answered “though apart from the increase in animals, there hasn’t been much change around here” at that the lady chuckled.

They sat down and talked, mostly getting to know each other again. The lady served tea and snacks, mostly berries and fruit, though she did ask if she should make something more substantial if the wizard wanted it. He kindly declined, saying that soon had to be on his way to the Shire sooner rather than later. Her smile faded slightly, but she understood the the gray wizard had his duties. Noticing his friend’s change in mood, he took his chance to ask of her what he came to her for. “There is something I was wondering my dear... would you like to come with me this time?”

The lady could not answer, she was stunned. Never had he ever asked her to come along and leave her little sanctuary away from the feast of Middle Earth. He knew perfectly well why she stayed in seclusion, even though she herself was starting to lose her resolve out of loneliness. Sensing her inner struggle the wizard added “it’s been four and a half millennia... I know you wouldn’t even come out to assist in defeating Sauron, but he has been gone for almost as long as you have. So please, I can see that you’re sad at the thought of being alone again when I go this time, come with me to the Shire and help me with the dwarven quest to Erebor?”

At hearing the last word her head snapped up. “You want me to come to Erebor, where Smaug lays slumbering?”

“Yes... and I’m sure you’re aware of the road we will need to take to get there by foot. Unless you’d like to fly us there?”

She looked away, knowing exactly the place he was referring to. If she joined she’d have to go to the place she feared most, to the person she feared.

“You cannot avoid him for the rest of eternity, you two are connected in a way that can never be broken. Eru knows the chance of him even realizing what you are is low, if we manage to avoid being caught by the guards.” The wise wizard mused. Though as intuitive as he was he knew that those dwarves raised the risk quite high.

He also knew that the lady in front of him had an aching heart. Being what she was, she had one weakness, a dragons love of treasure. Even if her definition of treasure wasn’t that for gold or gems, this quest would test her self-control. Hearing her sigh, he was expecting a refusal, but was pleasantly surprised and grinned when she answered.

“I won’t fly them there, but I will join you and the dwarves. Just let me make preparations here first.” She sighted, she had to escalate harvest of her crops. Using some of her special powers, it wouldn’t be a problem and would greatly benefit the adventure she’d be joining.

“I will lead the company across the entrance of your lands in about a weeks time. Will that be sufficient time my little dragon?” All he got as a response was a hug. And then he headed to the Shire to acquire the 14th member of the company. Leaving the dragon lady to her own thinking.

She had lived her life avoiding going to the place she would find the one she was linked to, the one whose hair and eyes that matched her own and the one who hated the very race that she was with burning rage.

The Elvenking, Thranduil.

[sarahwritessirens]

Does Corn Stalk?

I’ve decided to post a short story that I wrote a while ago when I was for certain, absolutely, no take-backs going to run a podcast of Midwestern gothic stories. I have another one I’m working on. They all take place in this little nowhere Midwestern town (like where I grew up!) and the residents have odd stories to tell about their home. I need to continue working on these, but for now, I think I’ll post some short stories/snippets of full-length stories that I’m working on.

***

“Why don’t you ever trust corn with your address?”

Nate had heard his grandfather’s joke every day for his entire thirteen years on earth. He wasn’t sure if the old man thought he had never told it, or knew good and well Nate knew the answer and just didn’t care. But, then again, Nate loved the reaction he got, so he appeased him every time.

“I dunno, Grandpa. Why don’t you?”

“Because corn stalks!” the old man answered before the round of coughing laughter that all grandpas seemed to revert to. His eyes closed tight, the edges folding into gleeful wrinkles as he slapped his knee, rocking a little in his chair on the porch.

The joke was hilarious when Nate was little. Now, it had run its course. Still, it was hard not to smile when his grandpa was happy. Those days were rare after the accident.

It was a warm day at the tail end of summer. It was a corn season, and the stalks across the road from them reached high into the sky. In the past, Nate would be running through the fields chasing his friends, trying not to knock down any stalks, lest the sharp crack of the fall alert the farmer that the kids were playing in his crop again. They would get lost in the waxy, waving leaves of the plants, occasionally ripping one in half, or peeling one down to just below their knees to mark their route.

After the accident, Nate was told to stay out of the fields. The one time his mother had found out he had disobeyed her, he couldn’t sit comfortably for a week. More than the pain, the fright that came over his mother’s face when he came walking out of the edge of the field had shocked Nate. His mother hadn’t spanked him since he tried to touch a hot burner as a toddler, and even now, a year later, the terror on her face did far more to deter him from ever entering the field again than the pain.

“I’m gonna heat your lunch for you, Grandpa,” Nate said, patting the old man on the shoulder as he walked across the front porch and opened the front door. “Mom made you a feast, hope you’re super hungry.”

“Oh, yeah?” the old man asked, standing up with a creak in his knees. “What’d that woman send me today?”

“We got some meatloaf and mashed potatoes with cornbread.”

“Ah,” his grandpa responded. “So glad she found my son. Your dad can’t boil water without burning it.”

Nate laughed a little as he walked into the kitchen to put the glass pan in the oven. Ten minutes, he thought in his head. Not longer than ten minutes.

“So, any updates from the tryouts?”

Nate finished setting the over and sighed, leaning against the counter as he looked toward his grandpa, who was taking a seat in his chair at the table.

“Nothing yet. I dunno, Grandpa, I don’t get my hopes up too much. I’m the shortest kid in my grade.”

“So?”

“So, that matters a lot in basketball.”

“Listen here, Nathaniel,” the old man said with stern authority. “You may not have the height of other boys, but by god if you aren’t the most agile and fastest boy in the whole county. Your uncle used to play, and he wasn’t over two hairs taller than you are now. But nobody, absolutely nobody could ever catch him when he ran across that court. Seeing him zero in on that hoop was like watching a snake after a field mouse in the corn.”

Nate looked down at the ground for a moment. It was happening. The darkness that took his grandpa away was creeping in, fooling him with pictures of children that his grandpa didn’t have. The old man’s eyes were darkening like a sky overtaken by a sudden storm.

Nate never quite knew how to handle it. No big shocks, his father always warned. Don’t let him think too long. Ten minutes. Not longer than ten minutes.

“Have you thought about what color you want the house painted?” Nate asked, shifting from one foot to another. “The best painting days are almost over. We don’t know how bad the autumn is going to be yet.”

The old man watched Nate with a lost, empty gaze for a moment, and then the darkness lifted. Light poured into his eyes again and he focused on his grandson.

“Your dad said ‘no’ to the lime green request, eh?”

“I tried to fight that one for you,” Nate said.

“Course you did. You’re a good kid. Well,” his grandpa said, looking around the room. “Maybe just a nice, clean coat of white. Maybe some lime green shutters, though,” he said with a wink.

Nate laughed as the stove timer buzzed. Not longer than ten minutes.

“You got it, Grandpa. That way, we at least win something,” he said, putting the oven mitts on his hand to pull out the container.

“We take what we can get,” his grandfather said with a sigh, standing to his feet with another creak in his knees as he walked toward the dish cabinet. He pulled out a plate and a fork and set it down on the table. Then, he reached into the fridge to grab a bottle of root beer—his favorite—and sat down.

Then the silence. Nate could feel it. The storm was rolling back in.

“I hope your hungry,” Nate said, with forced cheeriness as he set the glass pan down on the table. “Mom cooked enough to feed—”

His grandfather grabbed his arm just as he set the plate down, his grip so tight that Nate yelped. Shadows smothered the old man’s eyes as he stared into Nate’s.

“Don’t ever trust it, kid. Don’t you ever trust that thing in there. It’ll take what you love and leave you with a hole that you won’t ever cover up. Nothing can stop it. It stalks you. Don’t let it know anything about how to get to you, because it stalks you.”

Nate was frozen aside from the all-over body trembling. “Grandpa,” he managed to squeak out. “Grandpa, you’re hurting me.”

The old man never broke his stare, but promptly let go of Nate’s arm. He stared at the boy for a moment more, that cold, deep darkness still clouding his eyes.

Then the light came back and the man looked at the table with a smile, as though nothing had ever happened. “Well, that looks great, doesn’t it? Sure glad you mom found my son, he can’t boil water without burning it.”

***

Twilight fell over the fields as Nate started walking down the road.

Keep straight ahead, he told himself. He could feel the lure of the field pulling from his right. He always felt it on his walk home; something begging him to explore the cavernous veils of shadows between the stalks. But his mother and father had ordered him to never go into the field again. If he heard or felt anything funny, he was to keep looking straight ahead and, most importantly, keep walking.

The wind picked up and rustled his hair. It felt familiar and soothing. It reminded him of his grandmother, when she would smooth his hair out after he had come in for lemonade breaks while playing with his friends. Long ago, before she died.

Before the accident.

The wind came in small gusts now with a frigid bite—warnings of an evening storm that Nate didn’t want to be in. He picked up the pace, hoping the weather would hold for the remaining fifteen minutes he had left to walk.

“Nate.”

The whisper broke through the stalks. Nate froze in his step. He didn’t dare look at the field, but he listened again. Had he just heard his name?

“Nate.”

There it was, much clearer without the footfall. He could feel his skin prickle as though walking through fir trees. His breathing was jagged as he tried and failed to keep it quiet. What should he do? Should he run the rest of the way?

“Nate.”

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Nate, come in here. I’m lonely, Nate.”

The voice was stronger now, and there was no mistaking it.

“Gran?”

“Just step into the corn, Nate. I miss you so much, I just want to see you. Nate, just come in.”

Nate turned slowly to look into the stalks.

Nothing. No movements in the darkness, no shadows out of place.

He took a step toward the edge, squinting. He stood at the very edge of the concrete, his toes just against the border of stone and dirt.

“Gran?”

Silence.

He stood for a moment more, staring into darkness.

After moments of nothing, when he was just about to turn around, he saw something. It was slight, farther back than he could see to make out details. It looked like a ripple of dark cloth.

“Gran?”

“Come here, Nate,” the voice said. Nate took another step, now in the dirt. He could have reached out and touched the stalks at the edge of the field.

“Gran, can you come here?” he asked, his voice shaking again.

“I miss you, Nate. I’ll give you anything you want. Please come closer. Come talk to me.”

Nate took two, slow steps to stand right in front of the field. There was another rustle of movement, this time much closer. Nate could make out a tall, wide figure that looked like it was draped in dark cloth. It wasn’t his grandmother, but its presence radiated as easily as her voice had. It was foreboding, as twisted and dark as the shadows it moved through.

Nate gasped, taking a step backward.

“Where are you going, Nate?” His grandmother’s voice was different now, as though somebody was mimicking her with a twisted, grating growl. It sounded scathing and derisive. “I want to come, too, Nate. I’m so lonely out here.”

Before Nate could turn, a cold settled over his shoulders and knees. He fell to the ground as the wind began to roar, screeching all around him. He tried to yell, but the air was pulled from his lungs and he swore it was replaced with ice. He gasped and gaped from the pain, covering his head as the wind shrieked all around him. He felt pressure buiding up inside his head, feeling it pulsate from the base of his neck to the top of his skull, feeling as though it might be crushed at any moment.

Then, it all stopped. There was nothing but silence.

Nate took a big gulp of air in as he coughed and repeated. He laid on the ground for what felt like the whole night, though it had to be less than half an hour.

Slowly, he stood to his feet, pushing himself up with his hands. He took one shaking step to the road. Then another. Then another. Finally, he was back on the concrete.

And then, Nate ran. He ran as fast as he could, past the towers of stalks, over rough potholes that slowed him down when he tripped. It never stopped him, though. He would jump right back to his feet and run again, sprinting despite the pain of breathing in. He felt small pitter patters of raindrops hit his hair, his hands, but he never stopped. He ran as fast as he could, past neighbors’ houses, past intersections, until he saw his porch. He stopped only to open the gate, made his way across the large front yard, and then threw the front door open, running up the stairs to his room. He slapped the light switch on his way to his bed, where he pulled the covers over his head, shaking.

Once his adrenaline faded, he felt every stitch in his sides from his run. His legs shook and his mind swam, trying to make sense of what had happened out there.

He had heard her. He clearly heard his grandmother’s voice. Was she trapped out there? Or did that thing pretend to be her the whole time?

A knock from his door made him jump.

“Nate, is that you?”

Nate didn’t come out from under his covers. It sounded like his mother, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was the thing from the corn again?

“Nate?”

“Yeah,” Nate said weakly.

“Did you give your grandpa his food?”

“Yeah, he ate.”

There was silence on the other side.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, Mom. Just really tired.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He heard footsteps fading away from his door. It seemed like his real mother. But, then again, the voice between the stalks seemed like his real grandmother. Had the thing followed him? Was it waiting for him to come out of the room?

He tried to sleep that night, but just as he would doze off, he would hear that voice, his grandmother’s voice.

“I’m so lonely, Nate. Please come in here.”

***

The days were quieter after Nate saw the thing in the corn. No new voices spoke to him from the darkness. Nothing rustled the leaves of the stalks when he walked to his grandfather’s house. Whatever had happened that night, the event seemed to be done.

What Nate couldn’t see was that he was also quieter. He rarely slept through the night, jumping at every noise. He felt a heavy feeling in his stomach as he waited for something terrible to happen, and it made him nauseous to even consider eating more than a few bites of food.

“Are you okay?” his parents repeatedly asked. Nate assured him that he was, but they weren’t convinced. Doctor’s visits, x-rays, and constant phone calls and muttering filled the days after the thing in the corn.

Eventually, it was decided that Nate was showing the early stages of depression. This was an unthinkable taboo in their small town; how would his teachers react? His pastor? His friends? He wanted to tell everybody what he heard and what he saw, but would they believe him? Or would they just think that he was even crazier? They may even want to put him on medication.

In the end, the doctor suggested that Nate should take up more physical activities with people he was comfortable with. His parents believed that staying with his grandfather and helping him prepare the house to paint might be helpful.

As he was packing some clothes into his duffle bag, he heard a knock at the door. “Can I come in?” his mother asked.

“Sure,” Nate said, looking for the oldest, dirtiest shirts he could find to help clean in.

His mother entered his room and watched him for a moment. He felt her eyes following his steps, his hand movements.

“Nate, you would tell me if there was something on your mind, right?”

It wasn’t really a question. Nate’s mother had a way of sounding polite and insistent at the same time.

“Yeah, Mom,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “Like I said, I dunno, I’ve just felt a little weird lately. It’s probably just stress, you know?”

“Nate, look at me.”

Nate took a breath and turned around. His mother watched him again, that kind-but-firm look, as though she were penetrating his eyes and saw straight into his brain. “Please tell me what’s going on,” she said, the calm tone dragged down by a hint of desperation.

Nate watched his mom as he shuffled a little, unsure of what to do. Part of him wanted to tell her everything that happened. But the last thing he wanted was to be branded as crazy by everybody else.

“Mom, if I asked you something, you would tell me the truth, right?”

Her brow furrowed in bemused curiosity. “Of course.”

Nate took a deep, steadying breath. “Mom, what…happened to Gran? I mean, people keep saying it was an accident, but how did she get in the middle of the cornfield accidentally?”

There was a falter in his mother’s stern gaze. She pressed her lips together tightly, her fingers tugging at her sweater a little.

“I told you, Nate, you don’t need to know—”

“You said you’d tell me the truth, Mom.”

His mother looked down at the floor and sighed, sitting on the bed.

“Gran was walking back home when we got a call from your grandpa that night that she never turned up. We went driving down that road and couldn’t find her. We called the sheriff’s office and asked if they could wake up Jennison to see if she had somehow fallen into his corn where we couldn’t find her. But you know how nervous Jennison makes them. They told us to call back in the morning if she didn’t show up.”

“So…Gran was out there alone in the field?” Nate asked, his legs feeling weak, thinking of how she must have felt. She must have been frightened.

Frightened and lonely.

His mother nodded. “We called the next day and, sure enough, they found her in the middle of the field. She was covered—well, she looked bad, but there wasn’t a mark on her.”

“Mom, what happened,” Nate asked, tears welling in his eyes as desperation grabbed his breath from his throat.

“They…never could tell us, Nate,” his mother said, looking at him sadly. “They just said it was an accident.”

“Did they talk to Jennison? Did they think he did anything?”

“No,” his mother said. “I mean—” she looked up and took a deep breath. “Yes, they did talk to him, but they didn’t stay long, and they just said that they couldn’t find any evidence that he did anything.”

Nate couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that his mother was content with the story they gave her. His lips moved soundlessly, trying to tell his mother that she was wrong, that somebody…something…had trapped his grandmother in the corn.

“It’s time to go,” his mother said, trying to snap cheeriness into her voice. “You’ve got everything? Your toothbrush? Socks? Underwear?”

“Mom,” Nate said, dragging out the word, “yes.”

His mother stood and gently pushed against the back of his head, ushering him to the door.

Nate knew there was much more to the story than his mother was telling him. Maybe more than she knew. He knew he needed to find out the truth. This meant that he had to investigate for himself. He had to go out there.

He had to go into the stalks.

***

Three days after Nate arrived at his grandfather’s, he had been tasked with helping to scrape the old, peeling paint off the porch. The task was demanding, but it was simple enough to talk and work at the same time after he found his flow. He and his grandpa talked about all the new goings on, from Andy’s missing work at the mechanic shop again to Isabella’s new friend from out-of-town coming by her fabric shop all the time. As in a town like this, it seemed nobody could keep a secret very long.

Nobody, Nate thought, except for one person.

“Grandpa, why are the police afraid of Jennison?” Nate asked, scraping paint off a particularly obstructive knot near the window.

His grandfather scoffed as he slid the scraper along the railing. “Kiddo, I’ve known Jennison since we were schoolboys. He’s always been an odd bird, you know? A lot of people sorta looked up to his family as some of the original settlers here in town, but the family also isn’t known for being communal and neighborly. Plus, the rumors that have been slung around here sure don’t help ease the nerves of young officers.”

“Rumors?” Nate said, stopping his scraping momentarily to look up, “how come I’ve never heard of any rumors?”

“Don’t know, you’re a pretty big gossiping goose in this town,” his grandpa said, laughing. After he settled a bit, he said, “rumor has it they’re into some strange things. Selling souls and blasphemy kind of things. Supposedly started way back when they got acres of worthless land and somehow made it useful.”

“Their land was worthless?”

“That’s the story,” his grandpa said, moving down the rail with smoother scrapes than Nate was capable of. “Mind you, I wasn’t born yet. Shocking, I know, but there was a time before my time. The story goes that when they came here, the other settlers already mistrusted the original Jennisons. They gave them a ‘generous’ acreage in dead, barren land, hoping they would continue onward and leave. Well, after the first season, a terrible plague hit the other farms. Everybody’s crops rotted on their grounds. The Jennisons, however, grew some of the most bountiful crops any of those more experienced farmers had ever seen.”

Nate looked down at the pale, dead wood of the porch. Dead land didn’t produce live crops, much less bountiful ones.

“Do you know what kind of stuff they were supposed to be doing, Grandpa?”

His grandpa gave one last big scrape and turned around to lean against the rail and watch Nate’s work. “Don’t know much. Had something to do with a bucket of goat’s blood and a missing woman. Paul Fellin said the whole thing was hogwash and that there were documents proving that the woman in question was found and cause of death was determined to be exposure. Lots of people still doubt it, though.”

Along with being the owner of the largest reality firm in town, Paul was also the town historian. He held degrees in both anthropology and historical preservation, and few people every doubted his expertise. If “lots of people” doubted his word, there was definitely some detail missing.

“Look, you don’t worry about Jennison, okay? You stay out of that field and mind yourself around it.”

He could hear the shake in his grandpa’s voice. Nate looked up and saw the darkness clouding again. The darkness that would take his beloved grandfather away and replace him with something different—something scarier.

Nate cleared his throat. “Did you hear about the little Owens girl?”

His grandpa was silent for a moment more, then the darkness lifted again and light came back into his eyes.

“They find her down by the lake again?”

“Yep. She said that she was watching people dance.”

“That dear duckling of ours is a strange one, that’s for sure.”

***

The day moved quickly for Nate. By supper, he could barely lift his arms or keep his eyes open, occasionally nodding off midway through his pork chop.

“Nothing like a nice, long work day to make you appreciate your bed,” his grandpa said, stretching as he stood from the table. He grabbed Nate’s plate of half-eaten food and took it to the counter. “You go on upstairs and sleep. I’ll cover this up for tomorrow’s lunch and we won’t let your parents know that you ate about three bites of dinner.”

Nate only had the strength and awareness to mumble, “thanks.” He slid from his chair and walked up the creaking wooden stairs to his room. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was drifting off. He slowly floated away from the outside world, into the softness of a happy dream. He was running with his friends through the corn again, laughing and yelling, weaving expertly in and out of the stalks.

Why don’t you ever trust corn with your address?

He was racing them to the middle of the field. They had never gotten that far, and he was determined to be the first one to reach it.

Why don’t you ever trust corn with your address?

It was a warm day, the heat soaking into his skin as he ran. The other boys were floundering with the big stalks behind him. This was easy for him. There was no boy in the whole county with his speed or agility.

Why don’t you ever trust corn with your address.

A breeze shuffled through the leaves of the corn, his friends’ laughter slowly fading behind him. He was going to win for sure.

Nate.

The air seemed to cool as the breeze moved across his skin like a breath from somebody looking over him, just out of sight, beyond the stalks. He must have been deeper into the field than he had ever gone. Shadows started to grow all around him.

Nate. Come here, Nate.

The air was crisp now. The shadows stretched further, overtaking the spaces between the stalks. The leaves grew more dense around him.

Why don’t you ever trust corn with your address?

Ahead, he saw a shape in the clear row. It was huddled in a mass, pale and covered in a ratty cloth.

He wanted to stop. He wanted to run back to his friends, but his feet carried him faster to the shape. Everything around him was black, now, except for nearby stalks and the shape, which started to stir.

Nate, stay here. Stay with your gran, Nate.

He saw the shape straighten up and was too terrified to scream. Clammy pale skin made his grandmother seem more like a movie prop than a person. As she lifted her head and her bloody, matted hair fell from her face, her white, dead eyes met his.

Why don’t you ever trust corn with your address?

Because corn stalks.

Nate tried to scream. He put his arms in front of his face, trying to shield himself from the shadow of the figure that was once his grandmother as she started walking toward where he was running.

I’m so lonely, Nate.

***

Nate woke with a sharp gasp. He panted and huffed as though he had just run a marathon. He was shaking all over as the images of his grandmother started slowly to fade from his memory.

Darkness had fallen outside. He looked at his phone. 2:38 a.m. His grandfather would be fast asleep. Now was the best time to investigate. Nate pulled out the black nylon backpack from the closet and pulled out his flashlight. He quietly dressed, lacing up the work boots he packed for the yard work and grabbing his jacket more for the feeling of comfort and security than for warmth.

Quietly, Nate crept down the stairs, freezing with every creak. When he reached the bottom, he stopped. He stared at the door, so close, and so easy to exit. He knew he was breaking his mother’s rule. He knew he was dismissing his grandfather’s warning.

But he had to know. He had to know the truth.

Nate walked across the living room and opened the door. He stepped out into the night air, warm and still in the darkness. In the moonlight, he saw the road ahead of him. Beyond that, the large stalks loomed into the black sky, their depths hoarding a darkness that seemed ethereal and limitless. He trudged across the yard, taking deep breaths. He stepped to the edge of the road. His heart quickened, and he felt a shiver creep across his skin despite the warmth of the night. His right hand started to sweat around the smooth metal of the flashlight as he peered into the shadows between the leaves of the stalks.

Was that movement that he saw?

Nate walked across the road, stopping just at the spot where gravel met dirt.

Through the night symphony of crickets, he heard the breeze blow.The stalks rustled with a small sigh. It was as if the entire field was slowly waking up. He could sense, rather than see, something deep within the darkness between the massive reeds of stalk and leaf. But there was no voice.

Was it waiting for him? Did it know he intended to walk inside, into the darkness?

He took a breath, then a step onto the dirt.

Nothing.

He took another step.

Nothing.

Soon, he was at the edge of the field, within fingertips’ reach of the first stalk.

Nothing.

Though the field and air and night stayed silent and still, Nate didn’t feel reassured. There was a nagging in the pit of his stomach, as though he was walking close to an angry rattler just out of his sight in the darkness; one that he couldn’t see, but could see him very well.

Nate flicked the switch on his flashlight and stepped into the corn.

The surrounding darkness seemed to conform to his body like water as he moved. Yet, the night stayed silent and still. He began meandering through the stalks, hearing nothing but his own footfall.

He walked deeper and deeper into the field, as though following an invisible trail. Occasionally, he would rip a leaf to mark his way.

Soon, the crickets’ song faded, as though before a major storm. The hairs on the back of Nate’s neck rose as he heard a new sound. It sounded as if there was another set of footsteps falling with his own.

Nate’s hands trembled as he wheeled around in all directions, shining the light into patches of deep shadow. The light bounced only feet in front of him, as though hitting a wall in the darkness.

“Is somebody there?”

He noticed his voice didn’t echo. The darkness felt closer, almost suffocating.

“Nate,” a raspy voice called out.

“Who are you?”

“Nate.”

His entire body froze. He tried to back up, but he wasn’t able to move his foot.

Come on, he thought to himself, willing his feet to take him out of the corn.

Finally, they moved—but slowly propelled him forward.

Nate’s breathing went jagged as he felt his heart beating in his throat. He felt as though a giant, invisible hand was grasping him by the shoulder and pushing with otherworldly strength.

“Help!” Nate screamed, knowing deep down that nobody could hear him. “Help me! Help!”

“Nate…they’ll never know you’re gone, Nate. They’ll forget you were ever alive.”

Nate tried to fight, not wanting to know what this meant. He tried to get away from the force.

But then the blackness surrounded him completely, and everything was silent.

***

When Nate awoke, he found he was bound tightly to something hard behind him. It took him a moment to remember where he was or what had happened. Once the memory slowly drifted back into his mind, he began to struggle and scream.

“You’re awake,” he heard a familiar voice. “Good. He hates when they sleep through the whole thing.”

Nate craned his neck as far as he could, but not seeing the figure didn’t matter; he knew Jennison’s voice after all the times the old man yelled at him for playing in the corn.

“Please,” Nate whimpered through tears. “Please let me go.”

“No can do,” Jennison said, and Nate could tell he sincerely felt some sort of regret. “There’s a pact here that has to be fulfilled. It’s an inheritance that I didn’t get to choose, but it is what it is.”

“No, no, whatever—” Nate gasped for air as his chest constricted with fear, “—whatever it is, you don’t have to do it. Please, let me go. My grandpa already lost my gran, and if he loses me too—”

“Yeah,” Jennison said, sadly, now moving to stand in front of Nate. The farmer was wearing something that looked more like a priest’s attire than farm wear. A black, long sleeve shirt was tucked in to black pants that fell just over black shoes.

“Yeah, your grandmother. Look, I’m really sorry about that whole thing. She came in here looking for her son, and he found her, and….”

Jennison trailed off and shuddered. Nate felt a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach. “What? What do you mean, ‘he found her?’ Why was she looking for my dad out here?”

Jennison sighed, rubbing his face. “Not your dad. The one that she lost. The one your grandpa…well, the one that barely made it to adulthood. She probably missed him so much. Probably heard his voice in the corn. They always hear a voice in the corn. Bet you did, too, didn’t you?”

There was a soft breeze blowing. Nate thought he could smell something faint but sharp, like rotten fruit. He struggled against the binds. “Please, please, I won’t tell anybody about this, please let me go back home.”

“Sorry, boy,” the farmer said. “Sorry, but I can’t. My family made a deal with him a long time ago. He’d take care of us, he’d look out for us like nobody ever had before. The Jennisons weren’t a noble group, you see. When we came here, we had a reputation of being thieves, drunkards and liars. They didn’t like us here. But he did. He’s been here forever, and he wanted to help us. He wanted to make sure we survived, that we were dressed and fed. All we had to do in return was feed him.”

“Who is he?” Nate asked in a shaking voice.

Jennison shrugged. “He never told us. We just know that he was here in this land before anybody existed. He won’t leave, either. He does feed, but he isn’t cruel, you know. Oh, no, your family will never know that you even existed, if they just don’t fight too much. Your grandmother fought to keep her memories. Your grandfather did better, but from what I heard in town, people say he’s ‘losing his memory.’”

“Please just let me out,” Nate pleaded again, struggling with futility against the binds.

“That’s a real irony, isn’t it, though? He’s not losing his memory, he’s gaining it back. He’s remembering things like they were before. I imagine he remembers how his son died. How drunk he was when your granddad kicked him out of the house for fighting. That kid always loved speed. Always had to be running or skateboarding or hauling down an old road that he thought was safe.”

“None of this is true,” Nate said in a weak voice. “It isn’t true.”

“Oh, it’s true. If your uncle wouldn’t have been out that night, he would probably be alive. But he crashed into a ditch, right into my corn, and took off running. He ran in here to get far away from your grandfather and, well, he did, alright. My friend was hungry. But my friend did a good thing for your family; he made them forget. Everybody but your grandmother, that is.”

The wind began to pick up, the rotting smell was stronger, making Nate’s stomach turn.

“No, no, please,” Nate begged, “please don’t do this.”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Jennison said again. He walked behind Nate and grunted as he picked something up. He returned into view with a dark, silver washtub filled with an inky liquid. For a second, Nate had no idea what it could be, until the metallic smell rose above the smell of rot and the moonlight hit it just right, highlighting the red.

Blood.

“Oh, come, ancient one, in your sacred field, I offer you this meal so you may protect our family from the adversity and cruelty of the world outside.”

“No!” Nate screamed, frantically struggling with the binds. It was useless; in one, swift motion, Jennison hoisted the wash bin up and tipped it over, pouring it over Nate’s head. He screamed as the thick liquid coated him from his head to his hands, even dripping onto his shoes. The rotten smell had grown stronger, and Nate could hear something that sounded like a long, unending growl in the wind.

Then he saw it, in the long black cloak as it emerged from the stalks. He couldn’t see its face, but its decayed hand was a pale, oozing green against the dark green stalk. The growl was now in Nate’s head, followed by that twisted, rumbling voice that mimicked his grandmother.

“I’m so lonely, Nate. I’m so—”

“Nate! NATE!”

Nate wheeled his head around as something came crashing through the stalks. He saw his grandfather panting and huffing, stopping to take in the scene.

“Let him go! You let him go, Jennison, you hear me?”

“I can’t! I can’t, he has to feed. He has to eat. It isn’t just my field, don’t you get it. If he can’t eat here, he’ll go out looking.”

The creature moved closer to Nate, extending a decrepid hand toward him. Nate felt his stomach try to force out its contents and his blood turn to ice.

“Jennison, he’s a boy. Let him go! You can’t—”

“He needs to feed!” Jennison repeated, more frantic. “And you should go. Go and for the love of God, forget everything when you have the chance to! I would take that if I could. You don’t understand the luxury you have.”

The fingers brushed Nate’s neck as the dark abyss just under the hood loomed over Nate. He could no longer beg, he could no longer scream. He resigned himself to his end. He felt his energy—his very life—begin to leave his body.

“Then take me!” his grandfather snapped. “You let the boy live the rest of his life and you can gladly have me!”

The creature’s grip loosened a little. Nate wanted to protest, but he was too tired, too weak.

“My friend, this is a good deal. We can leave the boy and you can have the husband and father of your previous meals.”

No, Nate thought, but darkness had begun to overtake him. He fought against it, watching the creature round on his grandfather, watching it grab his throat and watching his grandfather’s body slowly go limp. Nate fought against the darkness until he saw his grandfather crumple to the ground like an empty husk.

Then he saw nothing more as the darkness won.

***

It was a warm summer during corn season. The long, stalks at their greenest, just before the farmer would plow at the end of the month. Nate ran around his father easily as he made a beeline for the hoop above the garage. The ball went up and cleared the rim without so much as a tap against the metal, making that satisfying swish sound as it fell back to the ground.

“Holy cow, kid, those practices are turning you into a pro! Hope you get scouted soon.”

“You and me both, dad,” Nate said, looking out past the houses across from him, into the fields of corn as he sat down on the ground to catch his breath. Those fields filled him with a wave of emotions that he didn’t understand. One feeling stood out, though.

Loneliness.

“Hey dad?” he said. “Why don’t you ever give corn your address?”

His dad tensed a little and looked down at Nate with an odd expression of shock and confusion. “Why don’t you?”

“Because corn stalks,” Nate said. The words didn’t seem funny, though. They seemed dark—almost foreboding. Corn stalks.

“Where did you hear that from?”

Nate shrugged, looking at his dad. “I don’t know. I just thought of it, I guess.”

His dad gave a soft laugh. “Your grandpa used to tell that joke over and over when I was your age.”

“Really?” Nate asked.

“Yeah. I thought he made it up. Don’t know how you know it, with him dying before you were born.”

Something about the sentence seemed off. Nate had no memory of his grandfather, but he always felt connected to him, like he had known him a long time ago, as a different person.

But something about his grandfather also filled him with sadness and fear.

“Come on,” his dad said, breaking his thoughts. “We need to get in before your mom throws our dinner away.”

Nate stood up and started to follow his father into the house. Before entering, he stopped and looked back out into the corn, feeling a chill run down his spine.

Because corn stalks.

[nyrandrea]

Breakdown

This chapter is a weird one because it was inspired by a number of things: @themarginalartist's InkDad Henry (loosely), an illustration that popped out at me by @the-vampire-inside-me and various illustrations from @shinyzango, of course.

So...sorry if this may seem like a mess. xD

Once again, this story is inspired by Zango's 2D Bendy AU which is, and always has been, amazing.

Enjoy!

The air was thick with the poisonous stench of the ink that surrounded them.

Henry felt beads of sweat run down his face as he kept swinging his axe at a group of small, crawling ink monsters. Each and every one that he managed to hit dissolved and melted into a black inky puddle, the floor was absolutely covered in the gooey liquid at this point. But it seemed as though that with every Searcher that was defeated, another one took it's place fairly quickly. 

The wooden room was filled with the sounds of the low moans, groans and hisses of the monsters, it started to make Henry wonder if there was just an unlimited number of these grotesque creatures, there always seemed to be more and more of them the further into the studio he went.

He struck another one on the head with his axe before looking over at the huge pack that blocked the path, some of the monsters had even started to meld their bodies against each other, forming huge black abominations of faces, arms and legs, it was honestly hard to tell which part was which. 

Henry took a small moment to stand back and catch his breath, he had been fighting for a solid twenty minutes so far, and it was starting to take it's toll.

Luckily, a large black hand swiped at the Searcher fusions before they could reach and attack Henry again, instantly smashing them into a puddle of ink stains across the floor, saving him the trouble of fighting them himself. He tiredly grinned up at his large, inky saviour and gave him a thumbs up.

“Thanks bud, I owe you one...yet again.” Henry half joked. It was true, he owed Bendy so many times now that he had pretty much lost count.

The large demon simply grunted and grinned back in response before getting back into the thick of the fight as Henry simply watched in mild bemusement. Once Bendy got started, there was no stopping him until he knew for certain that there was absolutely nothing left to endanger them, especially Henry.

The devil kept the large group of Searchers at bay for a few minutes while the older man caught his breath and tested out his injured leg. It was pretty much healed up now but he would have to change the bandages soon if he wanted to keep the wound from getting infected. 

He sighed and pushed that thought to the back of his mind, tending to himself would have to wait. There were more pressing issues to deal with, like getting rid of these monsters so that he and Bendy could move forward. Henry took a deep breath and raised his axe, moving to join the fight once again.

A smooth, whispering voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Sheep, sheep, sheep...” The terribly quiet voice teased, Henry spun around to locate the source of the whisper. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be...

His eyes widened as he spotted a dark but very familiar shape in the far corner of the room. The studio was dimly lit but that was definitely Sammy standing there, and just like in his dream, the musician's limbs were twisted out of shape, his crooked neck barely supported his horrifying masked face. The whole room went deathly silent, Henry couldn't hear or see anything else in that still moment of time, not the Searchers, not even Bendy. Just the cold, blank stare of Sammy's grinning mask. 

Henry could barely breathe.

“S-Sammy...?” Was all he managed to get out before something tripped him up from behind and sent reality crashing back down onto him.

He hit the floor with a loud thud, the impact knocking the air right out of him. The man grimaced as he felt something cold and wet strongly tug at his ankle and lifted his head to see a Searcher hissing at him, hoping to finally claim it's prize. 

But it's glory was short lived as a large inky fist splattered it into nothing. Henry managed to pull his leg back before looking up at Bendy sheepishly, the demon had a brow raised and whined in a questioning manner as he leaned down to check if the human was injured.

“I’m fine, bud. I just...” He paused as he got up from the floor. “...lost focus there for a moment, that's all. Won't happen again.” Henry said with a reassuring smile as he brushed himself off. 

Bendy frowned but didn't get the opportunity to question it any further as the Searchers were gaining in numbers again, forcing the demon to begrudgingly drop the matter and get back to the fight. Henry sighed in relief and quickly glanced back over to the corner, only to find that it was completely empty. The older man frowned, was it just a hallucination maybe? But he seemed so real...

'Figures.’ Henry bitterly thought. 'Lack of sleep at my age, it's probably playing tricks on my eyes...' It was much easier to blame it on sleep deprivation, rather than anything else that might have caused it. 

God, it was getting harder to breathe in this place...

After what seemed like an eternity of mindless fighting, the Searchers were finally gone once more. Although it probably wouldn't be long before more cropped up, it was like an endless loop of fighting, walking and running around in this damn building, and it was getting pretty exhausting. Henry sighed and rubbed his temples, his headache was coming back again...

He honestly felt like they were getting nowhere with this journey, with every step forward there was always two steps back. He shook his head in disapproval, he had to stop thinking like that, he didn't want Bendy to catch on to these negative thoughts and become disheartened, the demon deserved better than that. So yet again, he just pushed the thought to the back of his mind and turned to talk to Bendy, who had been pretty quiet for the past few minutes. 

“Alright bud, you ready to keep moving-“ Henry stopped and flinched when he looked up at the large inky demon.

‘What...? What is...? Bendy?!’ Henry felt himself internally scream at the sight before him.

Bendy seemed much bigger than before somehow, his grin was filled with sharp fangs and his hands were clawed, when did he...? But that wasn't the worst part, no, the most terrifying thing was the fact that his eye was no longer visible, it was completely smothered and covered in ink, and that shape coming out of his shoulder...was it a searcher? No...it had horns...crooked, uneven horns...

The all too familiar shape grinned and waved a clawed gloved hand at Henry in a menacing manner, when did that thing get here...?

‘No...what...what the Hell...this can't be happening...?’ Henry internally questioned himself in disbelief. Was this real? Was Sammy real? Maybe it was just another dream? God, please just let it be a dream...

Bendy’s usually goofy and joyful grin looked extortionately painful and...almost blank, like he couldn't express himself in any way, shape or form. ‘Bendy' on the other hand looked like it was having the time of it's life as it laughed at Henry's expression, the sound came out deep and gargled, making the human flinch. 

The smaller, lanky monster looked as though it had perched and melted itself into Bendy’s right shoulder, controlling him like a parasitic mushroom would control a lifeless ant, completely gaining hold over his mind and movement.

“Bendy...” Henry tentatively coaxed. “Come on...you have to fight it. Please!” He begged, but to no avail. ‘Bendy' whispered into his friend's ear, forcing the larger demon to start moving forward towards the older man in a slow, threatening manner.

“No...please...” Tears threatened to escape Henry's eyes, but he tried to hold them back as he begrudgingly held up his axe. “I don't want to fight you, bud...”

Both Bendy's hissed and growled at him as they got closer to him, moving swiftly together as one entity. Henry felt a quick surge of panic overcome him and swung his axe, forcing the creatures to recoil back slightly, although it didn't deter them in the slightest as they moved in for the kill again and again, making the poor man swing his axe repeatedly.

“Back off! I'm warning you...!” Henry tried to threaten, but his cracked voice gave away his underlying fear. This seemed to please ‘Bendy' even more as it's grin was getting wider and more maniacal by the second, a large hand suddenly swiped at him, the impact knocked the axe out of his hand, sending it clanging to the floor.

‘Shit...!’ Henry tried to quell the panic that was rising within him, but it proved difficult.

However, everything suddenly halted when the lanky creature suddenly held up a clawed hand, signalling Bendy to stop. What was...?

It tilted it's head to the side and started cackling as it pointed at Henry, who was now completely confused. He didn't dare let his guard down though, and kept his arms up in defence in case both monsters decided to suddenly try and go for him again. 

His stoic expression quickly melted into one of grief though as he looked at Bendy's still blank and expressionless face, there had to be a way to snap him out of it...

“Look at you, Henry.” A familiar voice suddenly sounded out, surprising the older man.

“Thirty years and you're still exactly the same, time sure is a funny thing, ain't it?” Henry looked around, his grief stricken expression was soon replaced with one of sheer anger.

“Joey! You son of a bitch...where the Hell are you?!” Henry grimaced as the sound of laughter echoed throughout the room. “Come out and show yourself, you God damn coward!” He shouted out, gritting his teeth. That bastard had a lot of nerve...

“Only thing about time though...” Joey's voice sounded out from above, right where the two Bendys were. Henry squinted, how was that even possible...?

‘Bendy' shrugged. 

“It waits for no one, Henry.” It said with a grin. 

Henry stared with wide eyes as he couldn't even begin to comprehend the situation he was in anymore, his mind just took a complete and utter blank.

‘Bendy' took this cue to continue, “But no matter, soon you will join me, old pal. Us.” It said, still using Joey's voice as it beckoned for Bendy to move forward. “The transformation has even already started to take place, you lucky thing.” 

“The fuck are you talking about...?” Henry questioned in a disgusted tone. “Look at what you've done to this place! To Bendy! For God's sake, you're torturing him! You have to stop-!”

 He stopped mid-sentence as his arms started to feel very bizarre, they felt...cold, wet and...heavy. His instincts screamed at him to not look down, but his fear and confusion overpowered, forcing his line of sight to slowly trace down.

He silently fell to his knees as he stared at his hands in pure horror, he barely managed to resist the urge to suddenly gag and throw up at the sight.

Ink was seeping and bubbling through his skin, and was starting to completely cover and mutate his arm. His hands were growing larger and his fingers lengthened in size as well, forming what could only be described as a complete inky mess of anatomy. Henry wheezed and tried to shake the ink away, desperately thinking that somehow it would just fall off and everything would be normal again.

‘This isn't happening, this ISN'T happening...!’ The older man tried to internally reassure himself. His panic stricken eyes snapped up when ‘Bendy' or...Joey...or...whatever the Hell this thing was, chuckled warmly.

“Oh but this IS happening, Henry old boy...” The lanky monster teased as it started to nonchalantly pet Bendy's horned head with it's claws. “Just relax and let it happen. You're going to be a part of something absolutely remarkable, I promise you.”

Henry backed himself into a corner, with no means of escape now. He could feel the ink slowly slither up his arms and onto his shoulders as if it was trying to devour his body, it felt so unbelievably heavy and freezing cold. The two Bendys were getting closer and closer, Henry's breathing became choppy and shuddered as he felt his fear completely take over both his mind and body, rendering him immobile. 

The two monsters grabbed a hold of him and crushed him up against their melting bodies, he made a weak attempt to fight them off, but the air was getting heavier by the second and he could feel his body start to sink in to Bendy’s torso.

He had let Bendy down, yet again. He had promised his friend that they were both going to make it, he had promised him that they were going to enjoy the outside world together. God, he couldn't have been more wrong, because now they were both going to suffer in this Hell...with that thing...forever...

“I'm so sorry, buddy...” Henry barely managed to whisper as he felt the heavy black liquid envelop him completely.

 The sudden silence was a welcome bliss.

Bendy had absolutely no clue how to handle this situation.

The large ink demon stared in bewilderment as Henry suddenly started acting incredibly strange, the human seemed a little stressed out at times in the past but...never like this. 

The way he looked up at him with that petrified glint in his eyes made Bendy panic slightly himself, the man seemed to be zoned in on his shoulder, but when the devil turned his head to look, there was nothing there. He checked his hands just to make sure he wasn't turning into that crazy form either but no, everything seemed pretty normal. What was up with the human?

“Bendy...” This caught the demon's attention as he gave Henry an eager look, grinning enthusiastically to try and put the older man at ease. 

“Come on...you have to fight it. Please!” Henry seemed to say in an almost begging manner, making Bendy even more confused as he looked around for any danger. Fight what? The other monsters in the studio? But there was nothing left!

“No...please...” Bendy looked back down to Henry and whined in a concerned tone, trying his absolute best to decipher what was going on. 

“I don't want to fight you, bud...” The older man  pleaded while slowly raising his axe while backing away. This immediately rang alarm bells for Bendy, there was something definitely wrong here. What was Henry seeing that he couldn't?

The large demon could feel waves of raw panic and fear go through his mind that was certainly not his own. He didn’t know why but something was terrorising Henry right now, something that wasn't even there, and it was up to him now to calm the human down, just like he had calmed him down so many times before. But he was going to have to be careful about doing it, he didn't want the man to injure himself with the axe that he still had in his possession.

Bendy slowly made his way over to Henry and whined in a reassuring manner, as to not spook him any further, but the fear that radiated from the human was so powerful, it almost made the devil himself scared, but he pushed it to the side, helping his friend was his top priority.

When he managed to get close enough, Bendy lifted a hand to try and gently take the axe away from Henry, but unfortunately it sparked off a snap reaction from the older man as he suddenly swung his axe at the demon, forcing him to move back. 

“Back off! I'm warning you...!” Henry's voice cracked, making Bendy frown in a saddened manner, it was heartwrenching seeing the usually calm human like this.

His frown turned into a determined look however, as he suddenly swiped an inky hand at Henry's axe-wielding arm, knocking the weapon away from him before he could cause any real harm to himself. The impact nearly sent the man sprawling to the ground, which Bendy immediately reacted to by reaching out to catch him. 

Henry's eyes widened at the touch, and he tried to scramble away, but Bendy held on tightly by wrapping his large, inky arms around him. The demon closed his eye and whined as he tried to send comforting thoughts to the trembling human, to let him know that everything was going to be alright. He could only desperately hope that it would be enough to snap his friend out of whatever horrible trance he was in.

Henry woke up to the sensation of being shook around slightly, and the familiar sound of a low whine, although it seemed a little...deeper than usual. He took a deep breath but didn't have the strength nor the willpower to get up, for once he felt at peace and by God he wanted it to last as long as possible. But still the light jostling persisted, forcing him to crack open one heavy eyelid.

What he saw nearly made him leap out of his skin.

“Holy shit!” Henry exclaimed, immediately sitting up. “It’s...It's you...”

He found himself sitting in a familiar clawed hand and staring into the enormous demonic face of the Bendy from his dream, the nightmare. Which must have meant...

“Ah...I must have passed out back there...” Henry muttered to himself as he rubbed the back of his neck, earning an unamused look from the monster. 

Henry felt himself get nervous at the glare that he was getting from Bendy, he knew that the demon was still friendly but...those huge fangs didn’t help at all. Plus the fact that he could probably crush him like an ant if he had really wanted to. Wait. What if ‘Bendy' was here as well? Oh God, if it had gained control here then...not even his God damn consciousness was safe from that thing.

Henry fearfully looked around for any signs of the lanky monster, while Bendy’s unamused look quickly turned into one of sympathy.

“Where is it?” The human questioned, scrambling back, although of course he didn't get far at all as Bendy’s clawed fingers prevented him from falling off. He could feel the panic starting to take hold of him again. “Did it take control over you too?! Shit, I have to-“

A light slap to the face cut him off mid-sentence.

Henry put a hand to his stinging cheek and looked up to Bendy, who had flicked the human with his index finger. The devil frowned, sighed and shook his head, as if in both disappointment and empathy. 

The man suddenly felt a defensive pang in his heart as realisation slowly dawned on him: None of what he had just experienced was real.

 The other ‘Bendy', Joey's voice, Sammy appearing in that corner, his hands and arms turning into ink, they were all just... hallucinations. Christ, had he finally lost his mind? Was it due to the lack of sleep? The lack of clean oxygen in the studio? Both?

“Bendy, I...” He felt like he had to explain himself, to come up with some sort of logical reasoning for acting the way that he had, but the words were struggling to form out of his mouth. “I...”

Bendy let out a small, quiet growl to interrupt the stuttering Henry, who looked up with a nervous glint in his eyes. The demon didn't say or do anything further but the older man's eyes widened ever so slightly, his breathing became quicker as he slowly put a hand to his head and looked down. He could feel something, was he having some sort of panic attack again? 

His breaths slowed down as a wave of calm and understanding washed over him, it felt like a huge weight was being lifted off, assuring him that everything was going to be alright, making him smile and sigh in relief.

 This bond thing was still very hard to comprehend, but he was more thankful than ever that it even existed. He looked back up to Bendy and gave him a grateful look.

“Thanks, bud.” Bendy reacted with a big toothy grin and leaned his head down to gently nuzzle him.

As soon as they made contact, Henry was back in the studio.

He slowly woke up to a wet rubbing sensation on his head, and looked up to see Bendy’s grinning face, it was more rounded and simply shaped than the one he had just seen, meaning that he must have been back in reality again. 

The demon's eye widened when he realised that the human was starting to stir, and nuzzled him a little more enthusiastically while whining happily, making Henry chuckle slightly.

“Whoa there...” He tiredly said, while putting a hand on the devil's head, before gently moving it away to give him a bit of space. “It’s good to see you too pal...just give me a minute, alright?” 

Bendy happily obliged and lifted his head to allow Henry to sit up. As the older man did, he noticed that something heavy was draped around him and looked around, only to notice that Bendy had his arms wrapped around him, almost in a cradling manner. The devil must have tried to make him more comfortable while he was passed out, Henry smiled at the thought.

A soft whine caught his attention, and he glanced up to see that Bendy was watching him intently, the look of worry in his single eye was so obvious that it made the older man cringe slightly. How the Hell was he going to explain what had happened? What was he even supposed to say?

‘Sorry bud, just had a bit of a mental breakdown, no biggie.’ He sarcastically thought, sighing. One way or another, he was going to have to say something.

“Just had a senior moment, bud. It's...a human thing.” Henry knew that this was probably something that he shouldn't be joking about, but he just couldn't bring himself to explain that he had a moment of weakness. Bendy was already sensitive enough, it was supposed to be his job to be strong willed for the both of them. He had to-

He felt himself be pulled in and enveloped gently, Bendy’s head rested on top of his in a silent understanding. Henry just sat there and leaned against the inky monster, he couldn't even come up with any kind of defensive retort.

After a moment or so, Henry noticed that the air seemed a little lighter and fresher in here than anywhere else they had been so far, and looked around in a quizzical manner, it seemed as though they were in a different room from before.

“Bendy, where are we exactly?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at the demon. 

Bendy answered by growling enthusiastically and pointed happily upwards towards the ceiling, which just made Henry even more confused. What could possibly be so fascinating about the ceiling? Intriguingly, he looked up.

What he saw was possibly one of the most glorious sights he had ever laid his eyes on.

It was an air vent, the first one that he had ever seen in the studio, and it was working. It was actually blowing fresh oxygen from outside. Henry felt something take over him, an almost primal instinct, he had to get up to it, his lungs were practically burning due to the constant poisonous stench of ink that he had been inhaling during his prolonged stay in the studio. 

Bendy saw the desperation in the man's eyes, and quickly held out a hand for him to stand upon, Henry all but clambered up onto the demon's hand and was raised up to the level of the air vent. Bendy used his other hand to support the human as he greedily inhaled the air in large gulps, the sudden freshness of the clean oxygen made him cough a little, but by God that didn't stop him from continuing to breathe it in.

His head suddenly felt very light and clear, he had never felt so damn happy just to be able to breathe properly, he had never felt so grateful to be able to feel such a gentle breeze on his face. 

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he felt something just suddenly...snap within him. 

He put a hand to his head and let loose all of the emotions that he had been confining in small, silent sobs. Bendy lowered him down and wrapped his large arms around him tightly, not making a single sound as Henry practically clung to him while he wept. Calm, comforting thoughts were sent both ways through the mental connection of their bond.

It was a rare, blissful moment for the both of them.

Sorry but I had to slot Nightmare in there somewhere, I just... *dabs eyes with tissue* I love him so much, such a pure boi...

Let me know what y'all think!

Chapter 1 - Friend - https://nyrandrea.tumblr.com/post/160888670286/friend

Chapter 2 - Rest - https://nyrandrea.tumblr.com/post/160888769001/rest

Chapter 3 - Enemy - https://nyrandrea.tumblr.com/post/160963746341/enemy

Chapter 4 - Family - https://nyrandrea.tumblr.com/post/161237849016/family

Chapter 5 - Nightmare - https://nyrandrea.tumblr.com/post/161560167591/nightmare

Chapter 6 - Bond - https://nyrandrea.tumblr.com/post/161937236941/bond

[balmerancrystalance]

Of summer loves and other drugs.

klance food truck au inspired on the steven universe comic (x)

Summertime rolled around once again in the blink of an eye.

Golden sunshine sneaking throught to your window bathing the entire room with warmth and light, the raw earthy smell of freshly mowed grass silently inviting you to lay over it, being lulled into numbness by the foamy waves of the ocean till you got rinkled like a raisin, strangers’ smiles passing by with the weight of responsabilities lifted off their shoulders and turned into just desire of having a good time before going back to their routines.

Who wouldn’t love that, right?

Keith, that’s who.

Sun? The poor boy couldn’t spend one second in the open without at least three generous coats of factor one hundred sunscreen and not getting roasted like chicken, he learned that the hard way since he was a child, and let’s not even start with how easily he sweats. Grass? All it did for him was attract mosquitoes and other bugs, leaving him with bites in places very hard, not to mention embarrasing, to scratch. Another lesson learned the hard way and a experience he was definitely taking with him to his grave. Water? He didn’t knew how to swim and never bothered to learn how to do it, he somehow managed to function decently on land until this day and that was more than enough for him thank you very much. People? That was a straight down ugh for him. 

Groaning loudly as he felt his pijama top stick to his body like a second skin, as if attempting to smother him in his sleep and almost succeeding if he was being honest, Keith rolled around under his sheets in desperately need for cool air, the blood running through his veins burning when his mullet held onto his neck, dripping with sweat.

Daring to finally open his eyes, blinded by the amount of sunlight for a few seconds, the boy stretched his arm to get a grip of his phone, unlocking it to read the time.

08:17. This was going to be a long day.

After a inner struggle between actually putting effort into getting out of bed and staying in what will become a pool of sweat if he stayed any longer, the first option winning by far when the familiar smell of eggs and bacons slowly filled the place, he threw his covers to the side, deciding to not wear his slippers since the floor was still chilly enough to enjoy barefoot, and walked down the hallway towards the kitchen.

“Morning.” Keith mumbled covering a yawn with his inner elbow, taking a seat in front of the counter, letting his feet dangle lazily.

“Keith, darling.” Allura’s wide smile fell as soon as she spotted the younger boy, suddenly concern written all over her features as she hurriedly pressed her palm against his forehead without any warning. “Are you coming down with something?”

A snort from behind them caught both of their attention, Shiro placing a plate of food between the two of them and wrapping an arm around his girlfriend’s waist.

“It’s just the heat.” His brother giggled and Keith would really like to stick his fork in his throat if he wasn’t busy devouring his breakfast like he hasn’t eaten in days. But you know like, don’t bite the hand that feeds you or something. Don’t impale them with cutlery either.

“Awe, the poor thing.” Allura cooed sweetly, combing his bangs away from his face as he ate, if she felt grossed out by his sticky skin she didn’t show. “That’s a shame, I was hopping you could join Shiro and I today.” She grinned sympathetically, as if on the inside persuasively hoping he would change his mind.

Oh hell no, those pretty blue eyes only worked their magic on his brother.

“Where are we going?” Shiro quirked a brow taking a seat next to Keith, wipping the foamy mustache above his mouth with the back of his hand, sliding a glass of juice to the boy next to him with his free one. The latter busy snickering to himself at the though of how his brother looked like his boss, Coran, for a second.  

“To the beach!” Allura chirped excitedly waving her arms in the air, the sudden motion making her messy bun fall apart, letting her silver hair cascade down her back. Keith could swear he heard his brother’s heart grow three sizes. Gross.

“I wanted to spend the day with my two favorite boys,” She sighed wholeheartedly, resting her weight on the counter, head nestled between her hands as she looked at them. “but I guess we can do something else here inside instead.” Allura pouted straightening herself up and turning around to glance at the aparment. “It will be fun.” She smiled gently, like she always did, but both boys knew her long enough to distinct her tone betrayed her actions, blue eyes not longer shinning with mirth when she turned back to them once again.

“Keith doesn’t mind.” Shiro was the first one to talk between the brothers, words blurting out from his mouth before he had the time to stop them. Keith nearly choking on his breakfast at the suggestion and all that it implied, giving a sharp gaze in his direction, as if telling him to take it back immediatelly. Also, you just wait until I end swallowing the juice that almost went to my lungs and then you’ll be in serious trouble.

“Um,” Keith coughed roughly on his fist. “Keith does mind.” Realization hiting him only seconds later. Hey, in his defense it was too early for all this, okay? “I do mind.” He corrected himself, earning a kick in the shin as response from his brother under the counter.

Was it too much to ask for everyone in this house to let him eat in peace for a second?

“Awe, come on baby bro.” Shiro joked brightly, already getting under Keith’s damp with sweat skin. Nothing good usually came after he used that nickname and judging by the way his brother quickly got up to take his girlfriend by the waist, this time was going to be not any different. “Little sunblock here, little sun block there,” He went on cheerfully, pulling Allura close with one arm while streching the other across the counter and booping Keith’s nose. He was really having second thoughts about not biting the hand that fed you. “and you’ll be ready to go.” Then he turned to the expecting girl practically bouncing on her feet by now, smile fighting to strech her lips as she looked up at her boyfriend in anticipation. “It’ll be fun, yeah? I’m so glad you suggested it, love.” Shiro leaned down to kiss Allura’s forehead, letting out a muffled surprised sound when she broke away from their embrace to bend him over and kiss the living daylights out of him. Keith not flinching in the sighlest as Allura’s inhuman strength was no surprise for any of them the day she stepped a foot into the household, but actually letting out a groan at how whipped his brother could be sometimes.

As much as Keith would love to stay in the house and do absolutelly nothing, there was no way he could do that. You see, one of the many reasons why Keith hated summer break was because it meant he didn’t had to go to class, yeah he was a nerd but hear me out, the fact of having a schedule to follow everyday took the huge weight of finding something to entertain himself with off his shoulders. Sometimes even weekends were on the edge of driving him insane, being the star student he was having finished his homework back at school and not at home like everyone else. So, no, staying wasn’t an option. 

Besides, he liked to think if he agreeded to third wheel with them he could use it against his brother when needed in the future.

“Let’s get ready then!” Allura hollered throwing her fist in the air, smacking Shiro’s ass on her way to their bedroom, leaving both brothers wide eyed. “I love you!” She called from the corridor, followed by a loud crash but they were sure she was okay. “You too, Keith!”

Shiro smiled sympathetically at him, ruffling his hair in a silent thank you, the younger’s hands too busy holding his knive and fork to swat his hand away, or attempt to cover his flushed cheeks.

“We love you too!” Keith called back, groaning internally when he saw his older brother smirk on his peripheral vision.

Despite all the lovey dovey issues, he really liked Allura. The golden hearted yet awfully quirky girl being the closest he ever had to a mother figure. Not that he would ever admit it out loud of course.

“Don’t.” Was all the younger could growl around his mouthful of food, sending a death glare in Shiro’s direction, his brother immediatelly rising his hands up in defense as if the other have threaten to stab him. Which, has already happened so can you actually blame him.

“I’ll get you all the ice cream you want.” Shiro was quick to follow Allura’s steps to their bedroom. “Today’s on me!”

Keith shook his head slowly while trying to fight back the smile that quirked his lips up, making him drop his utensils to scrub his hands down his face as he let out a frustrated sigh, frowning when he could feel the beads of sweat dripping from underneath his bangs.

This was going to be a long day, indeed.

Keith cringed at the thought of how much the entire dock reminded him of a cheap replica of a white girl’s pinterest board, plaged with small booths in formation selling the most scandalous swimsuits he has ever seen, tie dyed crop tops, ridiculous shaped lifesavers and last but not least the homemade popsicle with chunks of fruit in it already melting in his hand after only one bite.

He wondered how the entire place could look so different from the one he has been traveling across with his bike going to his first year of uni just weeks ago.

The frozen treat not waisting time to slide in between his fingers, falling to the wodden floor and pooling underneath his feet, leaving his hand now slick with both ice cream and sunscreen. The boy snorting wholeheartedly at the thought of how Shiro and Allura insisted to cover him from head to toe, not wanting to run any risk. After all, if they dragged him to the beach with them, they better take care of him. Any trace of smile quickly fading away at the memory of how the couple have left him as soon as they made it to the dock, completely lost in each other and the sunny summertime lansdcape.

Keith couldn’t blame them, after all they’ve been through this year, between Shiro’s new job as teacher at the prestigious Garrison University and Allura’s father passing away back in England few months ago, not to mention the two of them taking the younger boy under their roof, after convencing him for the millionth time he wasn’t a bother to their home of course, they deserved a break.

And if their happiness coasted sticky flipflops and sunburnt chicken skin, he decided it was worth it.

But first, he really needed to get real food.

Clicking his tongue as he turned on his heels, hands itching to comb his bangs out of his eyes but still dirty with ice cream, he started to vigorously bang his head to the side and waiting for the wind to colaborate with him, thanking the gods above he still had his headphones on so he could pretend to awkwardly dance where he was standing without looking like a crazy person. Much.

Once his hair was enough out of the way to actually let him see, he made his way to the parked food trucks they saw earlier, mouth watering at all the options he saw on the menus before Allura pulled him and Shiro for a entire photoshoot he was sure it would end up all over every social media possible.

He just prayed he looked midly decent on at least one picture, unlike his brother and his girlfriend who apparenlty looked flawless in every single one taken ever. Yeah, even highschool yearbooks. Keith liked to think there were only two explanations for it, either aliens or magic.

Making his way between the almost aggressively bright colored vans, neon signs twinkling to life above them as dusk fell over the dock, sun lining up perfectly between the sky and the water, the boy looked around until his eyes setled on a orange subway truck.

With hand fast on his pocket to grab the couple bucks Shiro gave him before disappearing and his stomach growling in anticipation, Keith walked towards the vehicle, a boy probably not older, but definitely bigger, than him with a playful smile and kind eyes behind the counter talking to a customer.

“I promised Pidge try this new game on friday,” He said grimaced sadly, scratching his neck as he looked into he girl’s direction, quickly being interrupted by a voice coming from somewhere inside the truck.

“Sorry, darling! He’s mine until dawn!”

The boy turning immediately to the side with a glare even tho he looked like he wouldn’t hurt a fly to save his life, his frown easing down when the girl giggled covering her mouth.

“It’s okay, Hunk.” The brunette said soflty taking a step closer, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek lovingly. “Weekend, you’re mine.”

They reminded Keith of Shiro and Allura.

“Gross!” The same high pitched voice from before hollered once again, even tho you could actually hear them smile. “There are kids in here!”

Keith’s stiffled laugh hidden behind his sticky hand died down in his throat the moment other boy stepped into the window, making shooing motions.

The boy was tall, tan and handsome, way out Keith’s usual fantasies but more important, way out Keith’s league. Sun kissed cinnamon skin practically glowing underneath the last glimpse of sunshine, electric blue eyes that crinkled with every move of his cheeks and mile long limbs somehow managing to move inside the tiny space.

“Less smooching, more working.” A new and smooth voice said, a mischievous smirk on his lips as he separated the couple, the two of them blushing furiously.

“Lance!” Hunk muttered under his breath, giving him a I can’t believe you just said that face, not that it looked like the other cared much of course.

“Would you look what the tide brought.” The girl outside the truck joked, quircking an daring eyebrow in Lance’s direction, making him gasp with a hand over his chest, mocking hurt as he spoke again.

“You’re spending way too much time with Nyma, Shay.” He acussed outrageously while wagging with his pointer finger in the air, slouching himself over the slightly shorter boy’s shoulder. “She’s mean to me, do something.” Lance said with the smallest voice possible, pouting at his friend.

“Not the puppy eyes again!” Hunk groaned loudly, immediatelly looking away from Lance, swatting his face away when he tried to get closer as he tried to talk back to Shay, who thankfully was laughing hysterically by now. “I’ll call you later, yeah?” He smiled as sweetly as you can look while trying to smother your friend in the back of a truck, only letting go when she waved her hand, turning on her heels and walking away.

“Serioulsy, man,” Hunk sighed finally letting go of his friend with a loud thud agaisnt the floor, a maniacal laugh echoing in sync. Whoever was this Pidge person had a really weird relatioship with their friends. “you gotta stop embarrasing me in front of my girlfriend.”

“Aweee, you still blush when you call her your girlfriend!” The taller boy cooed completelly ignoring his friend’s complaint, playfully poking one of his now flustered cheeks only to get his hand violently swated away. “I’m just bored out of my mind,” Lance took off his cap, combing his short hair back with his fingers and putting it on again, resting his head between his hands, arms against the counter as he looked at the beach in the distance. “I want to get out of here as soon as possible and ride some waves.”

“The water is calling me.” Lance sighed dreamily, eyes sparkling in the dim light of the almost gone sunset, speckles of fuchsia and aquamarine from the neon sign above his head dancing all over his cheeks, sharpening his dainty features.

Keith suddenly felt the sudden urge to take pictures of him.

“I can hear it too.” What Keith supposed was Pidge, said from somewhere the inside truck, amusement lacing their voice so much till the point he took of his headphones off, paying his whole attention to the apparently speaking mother nature. “it says ‘You’re an idiot’.”

“Shut up, Pidge!” The boy growled, cheeks tinted with either anger, embarrasement or a mix of both, chucking the first things his slim fingers found to use as a weapon in their direction, which happened to be apparently Hunk’s cap. “And get to work, those fries are not going to fry themselves!”

“Relax, merman.” A blonde appeared next to him, their height letting Keith see only them adjusting their glasses. “It’s not like anyone else is gonna come anymore,” They gazed at the beach from side to side, watching the larger trucks making their way to the dock, bringing the big guns for dinnertime. “it’s almost closing time.”

“Then maybe today it’s our lucky day,” Hunk smiled brightly. “Can I help you?”

Keith was so immersed into their conversation it actually took him a few solid seconds to realize the other boy was refereing to him, suddenly three pair of eyes fixated on him, waiting for him to function like a normal human being and just answer the question. Shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously, too dry mouth trying to form any coherent word and sticky hands now sweating furiorsly, he waited paciently for death to strike him right away.

But since faith never seemed to be on his side, you can guess nothing happened.

“Umm...” Keith smacked his lips together, knees going week as the taller boy’s gaze follwed closely the movement, placing gently a hand on Hunk’s chest and stepping fowards, closer to the counter and by extention, closer to Keith.

“I’ll take this, big guy.” Lance said somehow sounding a litttle breathless, fixing his uniform and clearing his throat.

“Hello, there.” He said smoothly, flasing the other boy a cheeky smile as he rested his weight on his elbows. “See something you like?”

Keith had to chew the inside of his cheek to not blurt out ‘you’.

The boy’s blue eyes widening and thin eyebrows flying up his hairline at his silence, a blush covering his cheeks as he started to gesture his hands wildely in the air. He seemed to do that a lot. “I meant on the menu!” Lance corrected himself, Hunk giggling behind his hand as he pretended to busy himself with something else and Pidge snorting loudly beside him not even making a weak attempt to hide it. “You know, food?” He tried once again a little louder as the boy outside the truck didn’t muttered a single word back. “As in what would you like to eat?”

Keith could only blink owlishly at him.

“Ugh, let me start again.” Lance scrubbed his hands down his face, groaning loudly in what sounded like both emarrasement and frustration, peeking in between his fingers to see expectantly if Keith was still standing there.

And since it seemed like his stupid flip flops were stuck with super glue to the ground, he was indeed still standind there.

Why was Lance so nervous? Hell, why was Keith so nervous?

Yeah, maybe he wasn’t much of a people person but he had never this much dificulty when it came to socialize with other strangers such as Allura’s family or Shiro’s co-workers before. Not even at the flower shop where he worked after uni with Coran.

So why was so hard for him to just talk to a pretty boy inside of food truck he was probably not going to see ever again but would probably dream about for the rest of the summer what could have been if he wasn’t so shy and just stepped foward and asked for his number so they could talk about nothing and everything until one of them falls asleep telling the other how much they love the them, adopt dogs together that would probably end up with silly names becase the other boy has a terrible sense of humor and he is only a human, grow old together and live happily ever after?

Okay so he might have an idea of what the problem was.

Looking down at his feet and then looking back up at Lance once again, Keith suddenly felt very aware of what the other boy was probably looking at right now. His tousled black hair sticking up in every direction, sunburnt pinkish skin that now he gave it a thought was starting to itch, body drenched in sweat thanks to the heat which possibly left his nipples, now erect product of the night cool breeze thank you very much, on display through his white tank top, red booty shorts Allura gave him as present last Christmas that left little to nothing to the imagination and of course last but not least, his flip flops.

Boy if he wasn’t the defenition of a hot mess, and not in the good way.

Very unlikely like the boy who was staring back at him.

Glancing back at Lance for what he told himself would be the last time, drinking in his vibrant blue eyes and thin cherry lips, Keith sighed loudly, turning around on his heels and starting to walk away not knowing where he was even going, but at the moment any point of the dock seemed a better place to be than there.

“I gotta go.” He mumbled weakly over his shoulder, not wanting to see the expressions on the trio’s faces. He knew it will be something remotely close to that bitter pity cashiers at the movie teather gave you after saying ‘enjoy your movie’ and answering ‘yo too’ out of pure reflex. And being Keith, you could tell he has been into that situation way too many times before, and only to make it worse, it just so happened it was always the same cashier. 

Letting the hunger eat away the butterflies inside his stomach, he dragged his sticky flip flops right back from where he came, in hopes of finding a food truck without a boy who made him want to write songs about behind the counter.

Just a few steps away, still inside Lance and friends’ food truck radio, not that he ever paid enough attention to the actual name of the establishment in case you couldn’t tell, Keith swore he could hear someone calling out ‘wait!’ and if he was being completely honest he would bet it was Lance’s voice. Oh my God, he could already recognize Lance’s voice, this was bad. He needed to get out of there. Now.

Keith decided meatball sandwich were his new passion. Sorry, Lance who?

The boy smiled to himself, laying starfish like on the cold sand letting the soapy water wash him away from his ankles down and looking up at the stars. And if he was slowly pushing his stupid flip flops into the open sea, no one needed to know. Yeah, maybe the start of his day, and the six hours following that, weren’t that much pleasant, but he could definitely get used to this. A snort leaving his mouth at the thought of the faces Allura and Shiro would give him if he said he wanted to come back tomorrow.

A cold shiver ran up his spine in panic.

He hasn’t made contact with the couple since they made it to the beach.

Keith sat up straight immediatelly, digging his hand into the diminute pocket of his booty shorts fishing for his phone only to find out it was dead.

“You got to be kidding me.” He whined rolling his eyes to the back of his head, turning his upper body in direction of the dock, only whinning louder at the thought of having to leave the little sanctuary he built for himself and search for them like lost kid at the supermarket.

Its not that he didn’t knew his way back home, he was a big boy, is just that Shiro got a little paranoid sometimes. Don’t get him wrong tho, he appreciated at least someone looked out for him. He only didn’t wanted the older one to worry all the time. Knowing you were the reason why a good person like Shiro had white hairs and drank five mugs of coffee by day was a huge wight on anyone’s shoulders.

Washing out idly the sand off his hands into the water to push his hair back and out of the way, he let out a breathy chuckle at the sight of his own feet, toes wrinkled like little raisins.

Leaning fowrads to grab a hold of his shoes before they actualy floated far and away, lips quircking up at the freckled sky reflected like a mirror, something at the corner of his perpheral vision caught his attention.

Broad shoulders, narrow waist, pert ass and legs for days.

That was one hell of a attractive raisin.

Even surrounded by the ocean itself, Keith suddenly felt incredibly thirsty.

A slim silhouette was slowly making its way to the water a few feets from where he was sitting, quick to unbutton their jeans and pulling them down their skinny legs revealing blue swimming trunks, letting them pool around his ankles and gracefully spetting out of them, dainty fingers trailing their sides to ruck up the material of their shirt, pulling it over their head and letting it join their pants, and apparently a moss green jacket, bunddled up on the sand.

Spreading their arms open af if they were to take fly, they delved into the ocean in slow motion, immediatelly bursting into a fit of giggles as the waves washed them over soothingly.

Keith couldn’t helping but laugh along in no time even tho he didn’t quite understood what was all the fuzz about.

Dipping both hands into the water to splash it over his face, the man ran his hands through his now completely damp short hair, letting the droplets that didn’t caress his cheeks conect to the ones dripping down his neck and into his back, making the body half that wasn’t submerged glisten with tiny constelations underneath the moonligth.

Keith wanted to reach out and touch the stars with his bare hands.

Suddenly the man turned around and blue eyes were connected to his own.

Of course his bathed in stardust vision was no one else but Lance.

Has he not ridiculazed himself enough to be even with life?

That’s when Keith remembered he was still on his hands and knees, warmth tinting his cheeks and stirring up his belly, sitting back on his heels in one swift movement, the water under his thighs splashing loudly and widly.

Before he had the chance to say something, or grab his shoes and get out of there as soon as possible, which was the original plan in the first place, Lance smiled at him timidly, as if to let him know he recognized him as well but actually afraid he would ran away again at the same time. Maybe Keith was as trasnparent as his wet white tank top to the other boy. The mere thought making him clutch his flip flop close to his chest as he pouted looking down at it.

Keith only snapping back to reality when a gracious laugh broke through the silence, the sound very different from the floating numb conversations back at the dock and the lulling sea at this feet.

“Not trying to sound cheesy or anything,” Lance smirked knowingly in his direction. “but I didn’t catch your name.”

Maybe this won’t be such a bad summer after all.

[remukan]

The Man-Witch, the Modern and the Death of a Microwave

“Eye of toad, heart of newt, now stir the mixture like a brute. The eyelashes of a goat, the tail feathers of a pigeon, gather the dust from an old relic, put just a pinch in. Now that you’ve come to toil, heat the milk of a llama, and bring it to a boil.”

“A BOIL?! I THOUGHT THIS WAS AN INSTANT POTION BOOK! BOILING IS CERTAINLY NOT INSTANT,” he yelled, insulting the book as if it would listen to his scolding. Alas, it just sat there and looked at him dumbly, ignoring the scathing comments he muttered under his breath as he turned his back and grabbed the carton of llama’s milk from the fridge. He started to head over to the oven to turn it on, but stopped mid step, eyes caught on the angrily glaring time of the microwave. The microwave. Nabbing a coffee mug from the shelf, he poured the milk into the cup, topping it up to the brim. He carefully carried it over, hands twitching just enough for it to start to leak down the sides of the black, old mug that’d seen it’s fair share of weird substances. Setting it carefully in the microwave, he closed the door and turned the timer to five minutes. It started with a blugghp and began heating up the milk, angrily groaning as it turned the cup counterclockwise to even out the heat distribution.

“Five minutes should pretty much bring it to a boil, right?”

As suspicious popping noises started erupting from the ‘boiling’ llama milk, the male turned and hopped over to the book again, scanning the page for any further instructions on his concoction. He hadn’t made this one before, and thought it’d be a nice addition to his store full of acne-ridding, confidence-boosting, eye-colour-changing elixirs. He actually had gotten a few requests for a voice altering potion on his etsy store and was short on cash so he couldn’t really turn the money away. It had, however, been difficult to find a book that had this potion in it, without it being expensive or far too high a level for him to do. Luckily for him, there was websites devoted to this and he found the book, trading the seller his oldest elderberry wine for it. Hopefully it was worth it, he thought, as his eyes flickered to the last line of the page.

“Let it sit for three days before consuming. Lasts up to six months. Store in a cool, dry pla-.”

Just as he muttered the last word under his breath, BOOM! Glass shattered as a horrific screaming noise tore through the air and the roar of fire burst to life. Amber optics widened as the man turned around slowly, eyes immediately caught on the, now doorless, burning microwave. He stood there for a second, dazed as the flames licked the ceramic edges of the battered old mug, which was, miraculously, still standing. Snapping back to the danger before him, he scuttled over to the fiery gates of hell, which once was a kitchen appliance, and immediately felt frost in his fingertips. Muttering a few words hurriedly under his breath, the ice reached out to the microwave and smothered the flames in a frosty blue magic. As the ice crackled, snuffing out the flames’ growl, he let out a long winded sigh of relief and peeked in to see the remains of his llama milk. It quietly bubbled, thick, off-white liquid parting slowly as air fought for release from the sticky, chunky milk.

“Well that’s as boiled as it’s going to get,” he said with a sense of accomplishment. He knew his microwave was broken and he was going to have to pay in both money and time to get it fixed, but his plan had still worked right?

Stepping over the shattered microwave door, he grabbed a pair of oven mitts, which were pink and covered in cupcakes, and picked up the boiling mug of milk, careful not to spill it. Teetering back over to the makeshift cauldron he had, he dumped the milk into the vat and set the empty mug down beside it, stirring the mixture with a long wooden spoon. This makeshift cauldron he had built was quite simply a big metal bucket, set into a metal rack above a gas fire pit. Currently the fire was out, but the remote to turn it on was somewhere…

After the mixture turned a satisfying milky yellow colour, he lifted the cauldron by the wire handle and dragged it into the kitchen where it crunched the shards of microwave door beneath it. He grabbed five large plastic Tupperware containers from the dishwasher and set them on the ground, lifting the heavy metal bucket with two hands as he carefully poured it’s contents into each. It was very much akin to pouring cake batter, the slow, viscous liquid inching out and into each container with no sense of urgency. Despite taking painstakingly long, he had filled all five vessels and popped the plastic lids on top, putting a piece of masking tape on each that explained the contents within it. Then, he shoved all five in the fridge, pushing aside other containers, some a sickly green, others a vibrant blue; it was incredibly full and couldn’t possibly fit much more than what was already crammed inside of it.

Shutting the fridge door he ignored both the dirty cauldron and the broken glass on the floor as he lept over the dangers of slicing his feet and fell onto his soggy brown sofa. Nabbing his phone, he opened up his online bank account and checked its contents. With the flashing signs of negative dollars, he quickly shut the app off and moving onto his browser. He needed to find a real job. Stat. He typed ‘Jobs for man-witches in my area’ and hit search, only praying-to a god that didn’t exist-that something would come up. As it loaded slowly, the tiny icon spinning to indicate it was thinking, he narrowed his golden eyes, his confidence in the answers already failing. Suddenly it changed screens, going from black to a big old empty, white page, labelled search results.

Of course, nothing.

Just as the man fell back into his old couch, a knock at the door rang through his apartment, startling him out of his self-pitying session. His mind flickered to all the potential bad outcomes that might happen if he opened that door, but this was counteracted by his logical brain seizing control and assuring him it was probably just the landlord. Still, that outcome was probably no better than the others he’d thought up.

The knock came again, this time more urgent and impatient. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he called out to the invisible knocker, flexing his fingers instinctively at the thought of some stranger in his house. At least high school taught him self-defensive spells or else he’d be a pretty useless witch. His feet scuffed the dirty wooden floor as he tentatively made his way over to the door, filled with regret that he hadn’t gone to college. Had he gone maybe he wouldn’t be struggling to get by each month, and he wouldn’t be afraid to open his door.

And maybe he would know how to make llama milk boil instantly.

Cracking the flimsy wooden door open just enough for his large copper eyes to peek through, he evaluated the strangers who’d been banging on his door. They were… strange, that much was for sure. Four very pirate-esque men, along with two women, stood outside his door, standing a good five inches above his meek, fragile frame. Pushing large, clear rimmed glasses closer to his eyes, a self conscious tick, he tried to stand up a bit straighter, daring to stare the big, rough, tough looking strangers in the eyes. His stomach churned with anxiety, if only that potion had have been made sooner; he could’ve really used a loud, confident voice right about now.  

“A-a-ah yes hello. What...what is it you need?” he said, trying-and failing-to make his voice sound intimidating.

The pirates shuffled, all seemingly taken aback by his pitiful appearance. One of the women stepped forward, her wooden leg scratching along the floor with an irritating ripping noise. “We’re looking for someone to help us on our… travels. Your neighbour said you could help us,” she said, voice clearly impatient with the rest of her uneasy looking party.

His mind flashed to the picture of a tall, pale, willowy vampire he knew to be his neighbour, Elliott. They hadn’t talked much, but did make large orders of rather… unusual ingredients together to save on shipping, He didn’t know him that well, why would he be telling crazy pirates that his neighbour was perfect for their nefarious plans? Opening his mouth to tell the strangers that they were mistaken, the pirate lady spoke again.

“Let’s get to the chase, we need someone to help us navigate through a particularly nasty patch of sirens guarding an untouched island rumoured to have gems, and lot’s of them,” the women spoke briskly, tossing her wildly curly red hair over her shoulder.

Closing his mouth, he stood and pondered on that bit of information he’d been told, trying desperately to make some sort of connection between the two clauses. How was he related to helping them through a bunch of mermaids? He didn’t get it at all, why would they-Oh, Right. Sirens lure sailors to their deaths because their beauty drives men, and women, mad. Sirens wouldn’t affect him because... right. Oh yes. That was it.

Asexuality.

“Our apple stocks crashed and we need some money,” one of the smaller men piped in his black hair tied back into a braid. He was silenced by the other woman shooting a sharp glance in his direction, indicating that he had said too much. She turned, her cropped purple hair seeming to glisten in the afternoon sunlight, and spoke with growing irritability.

“So, mate, can you help us or what?”

He thought about his potions in the fridge, then, about his empty bank account. The witch flexed his hands, ice crackling as he popped each frosty, dirty knuckle in and out of their joint. His initial anxiety had faded to a dull gnawing, and as he glanced to his moth chewed cloak hanging on the rack beside the door, he sighed inwardly. He looked up once again to the odd party standing outside his door, small blackened fingertips adjusting his dirty glasses with finality.

“Well, I did need a job.”