#the wheels on thomas' legs and arms are like... really really fast. and the edges are sharp which can slice through things

[bruhstation]

I’ve been thinking about this au for a long time. so here it is….. trainsaw man

[spicycreativity]

Soft-Shoe Shuffle - Ch 5

Chapter: 5/12 Additional Notes: See Ch 1 for more information. Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick." Any formatting/italics errors are holdovers from AO3 that I was too lazy to fix. Chapter Content Warnings: N/A; ask to tag Excerpt: Janus slid a few inches down in the chair, feeling as wrung-out as he did when he used to stay up all night braiding and weaving his influence into Thomas’ thought patterns. “I certainly won’t hold this over your head. Figuratively.” He slid down a few more inches. “If you want to avoid falling out of the chair, I suggest you put the footrest out,” Logan said. “The handle is on the left side.” “Yes, because I’ve never sat in a recliner before,” Janus muttered, balancing his weight on his heels so he didn’t slide out of the chair. Note: The cake is a lie metaphor

It's my job to be cleaning up this mess And that's enough reason to go for me It's my job to be better than the rest And that makes a day for me

Janus awoke to the sensation of something poking the underside of his wrist and a deep conviction that it was going to be one of those days. Mild pain in his wrist aside (what was that?), a sticky sense of malaise clung to his skin like saltwater and pressed into him harder than his blankets ever could.

Janus opened his eyes. Remus had evidently tucked him in, because he was under his blankets with his arms crossed over his chest like a corpse. He was still wearing the onesie and his gloves, and his hat rested on the nightstand beside him. Janus examined his right wrist and found that Remus had slipped a folded piece of paper into his glove, the corner of which was poking Janus in the wrist.

Adjusting his pillows as he went, Janus sat up and pulled the paper out of the glove.

There once was a Snake with a fast wit

Who fell for a Side with dad habits

Poor Janus was sprung

And hoped Patton was hung

So they could make love like two rabbits

"I'm going to kill him," Janus said evenly. He kept his wits about him when disposing of this new poem, merely flicking his wrist and sending it up like flash paper. It disappeared in one satisfying flare of white.

Janus nodded once and hauled himself out of bed. He didn't like that he'd fallen asleep in the common room not once, but twice now. It wasn't his style. He was the puppetmaster, the Lord of the Lies, the doorkeeper who dressed like an 1870s oil baron and took his coffee black like his soul. He didn't fall asleep on the couch.

At least it had been Remus to take him to bed. Janus wasn't sure what he'd do if he woke up in Patton's arms.

It didn't matter. Janus could rehabilitate his reputation today while he lounged around until he felt better. First of all, he had to get this accursed parrot onesie off.

As much as it pained him, he changed right back into his usual outfit. The stiff starched cotton was never the most comfortable even on the best of days, but today it chafed irritably against his skin.

He would have preferred a nice set of fleece-lined pajamas, but his fragile pride simply wouldn't let him go out like that. Not when he had already displayed such weakness in front of the others.

He slunk out of his bedroom and down the hallway in stocking feet, walking toe-heel to muffle the sound of his footsteps.

Logan gave him a curt nod from the couch as he passed; Janus tipped his hat in reply.

He passed the dining room table and rounded the corner into the kitchen. He had been aiming for the coffee pot, but stopped short at the sight of Patton seated on the floor with his legs pulled up to his chest and his forehead resting on his knees. It was the same position he had been in the night Janus found him in front of his door, and it made Janus go hot with worry.

Janus stared. Patton's shoulders rose and fell with his breathing, slow and even. He wasn't crying, then. Janus coughed into his fist.

Patton looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Oh, hey, Janus," he said like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to curl up on the kitchen floor on the verge of tears.

"Good morning," Janus said, going for the coffee maker for the sake of having something to do with his hands. "Please try to convince me you aren't upset about anything."

"It's nothing," Patton said.

Janus was more than content to leave it at that, since he didn't care about Patton's feelings. He poured ground coffee into the filter and shoved it into place with a little more force than was strictly necessary. His eyes fell on Patton when he turned to fill the coffee pot at the sink. Patton, with his shining eyes and quivering lip.

Fuck.

Janus poured the water from the coffee pot into the reservoir, slid the coffee pot into place, gently pressed the button. He stared at the coffee maker until the first drops fell into the coffee pot, tugging at the fingertips of his gloves. It would be so easy to just turn around and go back to the living room. He could even drop a hint and send Logan in. So why couldn't Janus move?

Oh, he knew why.

He set his jaw and turned around, staring down at Patton. "I'm great at consoling people," he said in a voice that came out wrong, all accusatory and angry.

"You don't have to," Patton said, not meeting his gaze. "It's not your job."

"No, I-- That's not what--" Excellent. Janus just loved getting tongue-tied like some flustered adolescent would-be Romeo. Good thing he wasn't defined by his silver tongue. "Feel free to jump in here."

"I don't want to tell you," Patton said in a low voice. "I don't want to make it your problem."

"Like I won't get it out of you one way or another." Janus sat down and crossed his legs, the better to look Patton in the eye without looming over him. Behind him, the coffee maker hissed and gurgled.

"I miss Roman and Virgil, that's all. I'm worried about them."

"I'm sorry I asked."

It was meant to be a joke, but Patton only looked more anguished. "I'm sorry! It's not your job to-- I don't want to make you feel like I blame you for what happened…"

Janus braced himself. "But…?"

"But nothing," Patton said. "I'm sorry; I know I'm being silly."

Ugh. Janus remembered the stab of guilt that had struck him when he'd realized that he might have hurt Remus. How panicked he felt at the idea that Remus might be angry with him. The fear in knowing that Remus' anger would be justified. A nauseating wave of empathy hit Janus with the force of a speeding semi-truck striking a pixelated frog. "Patton, you don't blame yourself do you?"

"I don't know." Patton's voice nearly cracked. He swallowed hard and looked, beseeching, at Janus. "I'm the one who… You know." He waved a hand, presumably to indicate 'morphed into a giant frog-man and tried to kill Thomas and his friends.'

Janus stood at a crossroads. Telling Patton it wasn't his fault would be tantamount to admitting his own guilt.

And hadn't he pushed Patton to the breaking point? Hadn't he aligned the pieces on the chess board? Hadn't he-- His head spun and his stomach dropped. Hadn't he puppeted Roman on his makeshift stage and cast him aside when he was no longer needed? Hadn't he?

But then again. Hadn't it been worth it? Janus would take all the turmoil of the past few days a thousand times over if it meant Thomas would listen to him . Janus had done what he'd had to do, and it had been a net gain for him.

Janus stood at a crossroads, and he walked straight between them, kicking up dust and rocks beneath his feet.

"It was an accident," he said to Patton. "Sometimes, things just happen and it's nobody's fault."

"I guess," Patton said, though he didn't look all that convinced. "You're probably right. You're usually right. You're really smart, Janus."

Janus waited for the other shoe to drop: some insult about his character or choices, but nothing came. Patton tilted his head. "Thank you," Janus choked.

He stood and wheeled around to face the coffee maker but nearly lost his balance and had to clutch the countertop for support. He would keep it to one cup of coffee today and spend the rest of the day hydrating and, more importantly, not having hard emotional conversations with people who made him want to re-examine his entire moral compass.

Not that Patton made him-- Oh, who was Janus kidding? Janus would walk one thousand miles through the desert on his knees if Patton asked him to.

So long as he could complain about it the whole time.

"I'm waffle-y sorry for being such a downer," Patton said. "Want me to make you breakfast?"

Janus stared at the drip-drip of the coffee as it fell into the pot. "Why do you do that?"

"Why do I do what?"

"Cook. It seems like a lot of work when you could just…" Janus snapped his fingers.

Patton either chose not to point out Janus' hypocrisy in brewing coffee or, more likely, didn't think to mention it. "Well, honestly, I like the work," he said. "It feels personal and… Well, it feels like love ."

Janus swallowed hard. "Oh," was all he could think to say. He stared at his warped reflection in the half-filled coffee pot.

"So," Patton said. "Can I make you breakfast?"

Janus lurched forward, putting more of his weight into his hands where they connected with the edge of the counter, and let his head hang. What was wrong with him? Words circled his head in a whirlwind and evaded all his attempts to string them together into complete thoughts.

“Janus?” Patton prompted. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine ,” Janus snapped, acting on pure instinct.  He turned around and forced himself to look Patton in the eye. “Sorry.” The word felt foreign and uncomfortable in his dry mouth. “Yes, Patton. I would appreciate it very much if you made me breakfast.”

Patton took this behavioral change in stride, perhaps even with a knowing look in his eye. Janus realized with a creeping sense of unease that Virgil had probably been equally skittish when he’d made the move from Dark to Light. But Patton didn’t comment on Janus' disgusting predictability. He only smiled and said, “Great! Do you like blueberry pancakes?”

Janus didn’t, not really, nor was he particularly hungry. Janus said, “Yes” and forced himself to smile.

“Perfect." Patton half-turned away before turning back to Janus. “Oh, yeah! Logan said he had something he wanted to ask you.”

Janus manifested a coffee mug onto the counter (the same black and yellow ouroboros one that Patton had visualized for him) and reached for the coffee pot. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“No!” Patton yelped. “I’d actually really like it if you stayed in here with me. Not that I can’t be alone with my thoughts! Because I can and I’m fine. But you’re still kind of an unknown and that scares me and I’d like to get to know you better-- Oh, gosh, um, not that you scare me! I don’t think you’re scary. Unless you want me to think you’re scary? I know Virgil kind of had a whole complex about that. N-not that I think you and Virgil are necessarily anything alike!”

Someday, Janus was going to let Patton keep going just to see how deep he would dig himself. But today was not that day. Today, Janus wanted to sit down and take care of this exhaustion before it turned into something worse. “Patton, relax.”

“I’m relaxed!” Patton said, his shoulders hiked up nearly to his ears.

“I was just teasing you.”

“I knew that.” Patton flushed and pushed his glasses up. “Forget I said anything, okay?”

“Already forgotten.” Janus smiled, actually smiled to reassure Patton that he wasn’t angry. Because he didn’t want Patton to be scared of him. Pain bored into the back of Janus’ skull like a railroad spike propelled by dynamite. Two aspirin jumped into his hand before he even realized he had summoned then. He swallowed them with a mouthful of piping hot coffee and only just managed not to cough.

“You okay?” Patton asked.

A thousand sarcastic misdirections died on Janus’ lips. “Just a headache.”

Patton nodded.

For a moment, they stared at each other with eyes locked. It was Janus who turned away, covering his face under the pretense of swiping his hair out of his eyes. “I’d better go see what Logan wants.”

He fled the warmth and earnestness of Patton’s presence and the trenchant blade of his own desire. When he reached the living room, he forced himself to calm down and took a seat in one of the recliners that stood perpendicular to the couch so he could face Logan. “You had a question for me?”

Logan vanished the book he was reading before Janus could get a good look at the cover. Damn, that could have provided useful insight into Logan's interests. “More of a request for information, to be perfectly clear," Logan said. "I’m interested in Remus.”

“Well,” Janus said, seizing the opportunity for a bit of fun, “I’m not so sure he feels the same way about you, but I suppose I could make an inquiry.”

Logan kept his face blank but Janus could tell from the way his irises twitched and his cheeks darkened that he had understood the joke and was choosing not to acknowledge it. “I’m sorry; I should have been more clear. What I meant is that I am interested to know more about Remus as an individual. A ‘person,’ if you will.”

“I will.” Logan raised an eyebrow and drew the corners of his mouth down in an expression of tense irritation. “You don’t like being teased,” Janus said out loud.

“I don’t find it conducive to productive conversation, no.”

“Well, far be it from me to want to impede scientific advancement.” Janus touched his fingertips to his chest. “Did you have any specific questions about Remus?”

“Yes.” Logan leaned in, a new spark in his eyes. “I was curious about his behavior last night. He was only interested in staying when he felt that he wasn’t wanted-- When he was considered ‘intrusive.”

“Yes.”

“Is that behavior inherent or learned?”

Janus thought for a moment. Logan didn’t like sarcasm. He didn’t want to be teased. So Janus steeled himself and told the truth. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you.”

Logan nodded, head bowed in disappointment. “I had feared you might say that. In that case, Janus, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Janus tried not to wince. He was tired. He really wasn’t in the mood to navigate the potential minefield of Remus as a topic of conversation. On the other hand, he could use all the favor he could get for the inevitable moment that Roman and Virgil emerged and protested his newfound position in the Light. Logan could be a strong ally in that conflict. “Oh? Let’s hear it.” He settled back in his chair and stared at Logan over the top of his coffee mug. At least the headache had receded a little, now only flaring up when he turned his head too fast.

“I am more than happy to speak to Remus directly. In fact, I would prefer it. However, last night demonstrated that Remus is unwilling to engage in social situations where his presence is desired. His rapport with you suggested that this may not always be the case. So I drew the tentative conclusion that you may be able to act as liaison between Remus and me until he feels comfortable conversing with me directly, assuming that time does come. If he really doesn’t want to talk to me, I won’t force the matter.”

Janus took what Logan had said and distilled it to its core: “You want me to arrange a meeting between you and Remus.”

“Yes. Please.”

“Anytime soon?”

“Logically speaking, there’s no hurry,” Logan said, his face neutral. Too neutral.

Janus considered this. “You’re excited,” he said, a smile growing on his face. Ugh, he was excited that Logan was excited. Since when did he care about Logan’s personal growth?

Logan swallowed hard, the line of his jaw sharp and tense. “...Yes,” he said finally. “I am excited. And I don’t wish to impose, but I would prefer you spoke to him sooner rather than later.”

Really, what Janus said next was selfish. “I’ll talk to him today.” It was selfish because it was for his own benefit. Really. If he was responsive to Logan’s desires then Logan would view him in a more favorable light and be more likely to defend him against Roman and Virgil when the time came. That was all. Janus didn’t care about the happiness of pawns and puppets.

Yet still his chest filled with inexplicable warmth and light when Logan smiled (yes, smiled) and said, “Thank you, Janus.”

Janus slid a few inches down in the chair, feeling as wrung-out as he did when he used to stay up all night braiding and weaving his influence into Thomas’ thought patterns. “I certainly won’t hold this over your head. Figuratively.” He slid down a few more inches.

“If you want to avoid falling out of the chair, I suggest you put the footrest out,” Logan said. “The handle is on the left side.”

“Yes, because I’ve never sat in a recliner before,” Janus muttered, balancing his weight on his heels so he didn’t slide out of the chair.

Logan stared at him, eyes calculating. “You may do yourself harm if you hold that position for very long. Ergonomically speaking, the best position for optimal back health is reclining.”

“If you’re going to insist…” Janus scooted back up and pulled the handle, holding up his coffee so it didn’t spill as the chair shifted.

Logan tilted his head. “I wasn’t insisting. I gave you information so you could make an informed decision about how you wanted to sit.”

“...Thanks.” Janus took a long drink of coffee, thought for a moment, and manifested a book that he thought might catch Logan’s attention. He made a show of finding his place in it, and sure enough, Logan shifted like he wanted to say something. Janus looked at him over the top of the gilded hardback copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra; the most audacious thing he could think of in the moment. He had to balance it with one hand, as the other was still holding his coffee mug, and the spine dug painfully into his leg. He looked at Logan and raised his eyebrows in expectation.

Logan shook his head to indicate he had nothing to say. He summoned his own book, the one he had been reading earlier and, with a look of faux innocence that ill-suited him, turned the cover toward Janus just long enough for him to observe that it was an old chemistry textbook before laying it open on his lap.

Janus sniffed and turned the page in Thus Spoke Zarathustra , not at all embarrassed at having been caught out.

--

Breakfast meant facing Patton again, which meant dizzy butterflies in Janus' stomach. At least Logan was there, and his presence helped mitigate whatever sinister magic powers Patton had that made Janus go all warm and soft and giddy in his presence.

Janus cut his pancakes into smaller and smaller pieces and drank orange juice like his life depended on it while Patton and Logan revisited an old argument about whether Thomas should adopt a puppy (or several).

They left Janus out of it, which he appreciated for once. Today, he was more than happy to half-listen and dismember his pancakes. It was easier to eat when Patton wasn’t paying attention to him, anyway; the nervous nausea receded like the tide in the absence of the moon of Patton’s focus.

When Janus had downed his fourth glass of orange juice and realized he was bored, he forced himself to tune into Patton and Logan’s argument so he could find a place to strike and excuse himself. There were other, more aggressive ways to command attention, but he wasn’t in the mood to raise his voice or ‘accidentally’ drop his fork, so he waited with his hands folded in his lap.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, he abandoned propriety and interrupted. “Do you plan to finish anytime soon or do you intend to hold me hostage here all morning?”

“Oh, sorry, champ.” Patton turned to him, eyes wide and beseeching. “We usually all just talk over each other.”

"Oh, please do call me that again."

"You don't like it?"

"No, I love it. Can't you tell?"

"Sorry, Janus." Patton smiled. "Don't worry, though! I'll find a nickname you like."

"Anything's better than 'reptilian rapscallion,' I guess," Janus muttered. "Anyway. I have business to attend to."

"Okay!" Patton said cheerily. "But one of these days it's gonna be your turn to wash the dishes!"

Janus tipped his hat and sank out. They could have that argument another day.

He found Remus in the living room making a Jenga tower out of chicken bones.

"Business or pleasure?" Janus asked, trying not to sway into the coffee table. It was hard to tell with Remus.

"You drunk?" Remus asked, placing another chicken bone on the tower.

"Hammered," Janus said. He perched himself gingerly on the arm of the couch, though what he really wanted was to collapse with his head in Remus' lap. In any case, a little flattery was in order. "I got your limerick."

"And?"

"It was horrifying, thank you. I burned it."

Remus nodded his approval. "So did you miss me or what?"

"I need a favor."

"From me?" Remus puffed out his cheeks. "Who pissed you off? I haven't heard Roman's dulcet declarations from yonder curtain yet."

"I thought we'd moved past Shakespearean sonnets."

"Sorry, Snakespeare." Remus shrugged. "Some habits are hard to break."

"Mmph." Janus rested his elbow on his knee and his forehead in his palm. He just had to finish up here and then he could have the rest of the day off.

"Sooo who do I need to threaten and/or maim?" Remus asked.

Janus squeezed his eyes shut. "Actually, there's no violence involved. It's a real favor, Remus."

"Well, now you have my attention." Remus shifted on the couch, the beads of his shirt rattling. "Are you dying? You have to tell me if you're dying. And let me watch. And dissect your body. And use your skull as a goblet. Ooh, and--"

"I'm tired." Janus lifted his head and came nose-to-nose with Remus, who was peering at him with his eyes opened as wide as they could go. "And I need you to talk to Logan."

"Oh, yeah? Ol' Tight Ass getting on your nerves? Need me to scare him a little?"

Janus pressed his forehead into Remus'. "No."

"Ooh, you're warm."

Janus tugged at his collar. "It's not like I'm wearing layers or anything."

"So why do I have to hang out with All Time Lo?"

Janus usually cloaked his dealings with Remus in a few layers of reverse psychology and the occasional double entendre for good measure. Today, he just said, "Please."

Remus frowned and drew back. "You're sure you're not dying? Pope John Patton III isn't slowly poisoning you, is he?"

"He doesn't have the guts," Janus said. Remus' eyes lit up so he quickly added, "And I don't want to see yours."

"Aww."

"And if you really want to know… Logan wants to talk to you. As a person."

"And what does this have to do with you?"

Janus sighed and finally gave into his desire to flop over onto the couch. He ended up splayed over Remus' lap with his limbs twisted at uncomfortable angles, but couldn't be bothered to right himself. "Logan asked me to ask you because he rightfully guessed that you wouldn't respond to a direct invitation because you have a complex about showing up where you're not wanted unless I'm involved."

"And you said yes because …?"

"You're right, it's not like me at all to want to have something over someone else." No use showing his whole hand unless he absolutely had to.

"Do you like it over there?' Remus asked. "Is it better than…" He waved his hands.

If Janus owed any side honesty, it was Remus. So he sighed and made an effort to speak plainly; no filibusters about the subjective nature of 'better' and 'worse,' no cryptic half-answers. "I want it for you, Remus. It's tense and it's uncomfortable, but this half-acceptance feels more like home than you could ever conceive of from the shadows. It is better. But it won't be enough until you're there, too."

"Jesus, Janus." Remus fake-gagged a few times. "They're turning you into one softboiled snake." But he shifted and gently arranged Janus' head in his lap, placing Janus' hat on his own head. He ran his fingers through Janus' hair and smoothed his bangs out of his face. Like Janus, Remus preferred to disguise his intentions, usually with irony and shock value. They understood each other in that regard. But now, Remus spoke in calmer tones, and lowered his voice. "Hey, Janus?"

"Yes?"

"If you really do have a thing for Patton--"

"I don't--"

"If you did. I really do hope it works out for you. And I know… There's a change involved with crossing over--"

"I won't--"

Remus placed his hand over Janus' mouth. "I just hope it works out for you, that's all. And I'll talk to Logan. Since you asked."

Janus knew better than to lick Remus' hand. Instead, he kissed it.

"Ew!" Remus yanked his hand back and made a show of wiping it off on his pants. "Save your love and affection for the Guilt Trip Tour Guide." He grabbed Janus by the shoulders and sat him up, placing his hat back on his head. "Now where's Logan?"

"You're doing it now?" Janus coated his disappointment in a veneer of skepticism; he could have easily fallen asleep in Remus' lap if Remus had held still for a few minutes longer.

"Might as well rip the Band-Aid off," Remus said. "And a few layers of skin, too. Did you know that your top layer of skin is called the horny layer?"

"Charming," Janus said.

"I aim to please," Remus said. He stood and did a little shimmy.

"Guaranteed to satisfy," Janus agreed.

Remus sank out, leaving Janus alone on the couch. He forced himself to get up before he fell asleep, and walked over to the curtain to listen for a few seconds. There was no sound of screaming, no sound of Remus cackling in fiendish delight, so Janus had to assume that everything was going smoothly.

He sank out and chose to manifest back in the Light Sides' living room. Now he could relax, because he certainly wasn't worried about how Remus' interaction with Logan would go.

"Hi, Janus!" Patton said, springing up from the floor.

If Janus had been startled by this, he would have jumped and gasped, but since he wasn't, he remained still. His heart rattled against his ribcage until he could feel it in his stomach. He took in a breath so deep it made his lungs ache and sat down on the couch. "Patton."

"What are you up to?"

"...Training for the Olympic canoe slalom."

Patton blinked. "So you have time to talk?"

"I suppose…" Janus said, trying to telegraph his irritation without making Patton think that Janus was mad at him. It was a delicate operation, and Janus must have erred too far on the side of caution, because Patton's smile never faltered for a moment. "Great."

He sat down next to Janus, and the inches between their bodies pierced Janus' heart like a deadly insult. But he knew better than anyone that it took more than desire to breach a gap. "I hope I'm not in trouble."

"Of course not!" Patton said. "I'm not-- I mean, I don't think I-- Oh. You're teasing."

"Good of you to notice."

"Um, anyway. I wanted to, um… I wanted…"

"Take your time. I've got all day." Though he played it off as such, the yawn that Janus stifled behind his hand wasn't fake.

"I want to talk about philosophy with you!" Patton said all in one breath.

"Oh," Janus said. He studied the back of one gloved hand. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"We can start small."

"I take it you had something in mind?"

Patton nodded vigorously. "Ends and means."

Janus swallowed. "Well," he said, feeling for all the world like he had just walked into a trap. "By all means, start us off."

"Um," said Patton. "Well. Um." He cleared his throat. "Ah."

"Fascinating. Go on?"

"I'm trying to think of an example that doesn't involve," Patton dropped his voice to a whisper, "murder."

"That's probably a good idea."

"Okay, I don't know, let's say I had this really awesome recipe for strawberry shortcake. And, uh, Logan was trying to make one from scratch for Ro-- For your birthday."

"Mmhm." Janus raised the corners of his lips in what was supposed to be an encouraging smile while he feverishly tried to figure out where Patton was going with this. Preferably before Patton got there, so he could steer the conversation as needed.

"And say Logan was making a real mess of it, and I knew you would be disappointed to receive a not-so-good cake for your birthday. So I go into the kitchen and try to nicely hint that Logan should use my recipe, but he's not having it. Now, I really want you to have a nice birthday cake, so I finally snap and tell Logan that he's no good at baking and he needs to listen to me. And he gets upset and doesn't come to your birthday party, but I make you an awesome strawberry shortcake and you really enjoy it. And all the guests have a wonderful time, even though a few of them really miss Logan and wish he was there."

"Ah, yes," said Janus. "Rousseau's famous strawberry shortcake thought experiment." He rubbed his thumb across his temple a few times. The sooner he helped Patton get to his point, the sooner he could finally relax. "What's the question?"

"Since everybody at the party was happy, including you, the birthday boy, did the ends justify the means?"

Janus squinted, but Patton's face was the very picture of innocence. "It's Logan's fault," he said slowly, "for letting his emotions cloud the bigger picture. If he had just listened to you in the first place , no one would be upset."

"So the ends justified the means because the result was good?"

"Sure. You knew that your plan was the better one."

"So you could say that I was entitled to behave in a way that hurt Logan? Because I knew better than he did?"

"That's what I said," Janus snapped. He took a deep breath through his nose. Patton was behaving with picture-perfect decorum, so Janus had no need to lash out like a cornered animal. "I'm saying Logan shouldn't be hurt. He should think for 3 seconds and realize that he was standing in the way of the greater good."

"But he is hurt," Patton said. "I hurt him. There's no 'should' about it."

"What do you think, then?"

"Obviously I think I should apologize to Logan!" Patton said. "I had no right to hurt him like that."

"So you don't think there's any end result that would have justified those means."

"That's right," Patton said, nodding so hard that his glasses slid to the tip of his nose. "Being mean is a bad means. And maybe someone smarter than me has already said it in better words, but I don't think anyone has the right to hurt another person, no matter what the end goal is. Um, e-especially over something as small as cake."

Janus' first choice of response to this was a new thought experiment involving murder. But that felt a little mean-spirited, even for him and oh, the ends of winning a debate against Patton wouldn't have justified the means of playing dirty to do so. Janus buried his face in his hands. "What if you didn't care about Logan?" he murmured into his gloved palms. Pain pulsed through his head.

"What?" Patton said.

Janus moved his hands so only his mouth was uncovered. "What if you didn't care about Logan? What if you thought he was a pompous ass whose only relevance to you was as an obstacle between you and making a really awesome cake ?"

"My answer hasn't changed," Patton said. "And it's not going to."

"What if you explained yourself and Logan humiliated you in front of everyone ?" Janus used his fingertips to apply pressure to his browbone, but the pain only increased.

"His wrong wouldn't negate my wrong," Patton said gently. He rested his hand on Janus' knee.

Fireworks exploded behind Janus' eyelids. Why did it have to be Patton ? And why did Patton have to be right? He'd even gone to the trouble of presenting his point in Janus' preferred terms, even if his debate skills left something to be desired. "You can go ahead and give me the lecture if you want," Janus mumbled. Shame burned bright and hot inside him and flames danced along the seams of his clothing, pinpricks of irritation on his skin.

"Janus, look at me." Patton's thumb rubbed small circles on Janus' knee.

Janus dropped his hands. The light flashed into his eyes and made him flinch. "Go ahead."

"I don't want to lecture you," Patton said. "I mean, a part of me does. But I realize now that I can't just do that. The only authority I have over you is the authority you want to give me, and I have a feeling that's not much."

Janus scoffed. "You'd be surprised." He looked at Patton's hand and clenched his own into two fists. "I'll… I'll think about apologizing to Roman. I'm getting good at it, these days."

Patton jerked his head up and something seemed to click for him, an unasked question answered. "You apologized to Logan."

Janus nodded, but no happiness touched his heart at the look of approval in Patton's eyes. He just felt shaky and sick and very, very tired. "I didn't mean to, but…"

"You realized you'd hurt him?"

"It helps that he didn't mock me to my face." A particularly intense wave of pain flashed from the base of Janus' skull to his temples and he winced. On impulse, he dug his fingers into the side of his head just beneath the brim of his hat. It didn't help.

"Does your head still hurt?" Patton asked.

Janus nodded. No sense lying now, not about something as petty as this, and especially not now that Patton had a floodlight on him. If Janus was playing 4D chess, he was doing so on the 20 yard line of Patton's football field and he kept. getting. tackled. "It's getting worse."

"Do you usually get headaches like this?"

"No."

"Well," Patton patted Janus' knee and withdrew his hand. "It's been a stressful few days."

Janus blinked, staring at the spot where Patton's hand had been. His thoughts came slow and syrupy.

"Patton?"

"Yeah?"

Janus struggled to keep his eyes open. The gentle honey-toned lights of the living room might as well have been high wattage LEDs beamed straight into his retinas. He blinked away tears. "I'm sorry." Patton gave him a sad smile. Janus continued, brushing away a tear that clung stubbornly to his upper lashes. "I pushed you to your breaking point on purpose. I used you. I-- I tried to push you down for the sake of pulling myself up." Pain flashed through his head and he squeezed his eyes shut against it. "I don't even know if I'm doing this right," he admitted. "I'm sorry I hurt you, but… Hurting you got me what I wanted."

"Hey, kid-- Janus, I think you'd better call it a day," Patton said. There was a nervous edge to his voice that Janus didn't have the mental bandwidth to try to decipher. "Try to sleep off that headache, okay? We can talk about this later."

The pain was so all-consuming, so violent in its demands for Janus' full attention that he wasn't even capable of defending his pride. A vague, hollow shame made its home in his chest. He stood, joints protesting, but Patton stopped him before he could sink out.

"You don't have to go."

Janus nodded and sank back down onto the couch, slowly, so Patton had time to stand up and get out of his way. It made sense. It wasn't like Patton was going to stroke his hair and share his warmth just because Janus wanted it.

Even if he asked.

Patton said something that Janus didn't quite make out before he slipped into unawareness.

[jwillowwolf]

Magic and Miracles - Chapter 10

Sanders Sides Big Bang fic, Chapter 10!

< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter > | Masterlist

(Art by @just-a-pintrovert)

Summary: “Hey, Virgil, what’s this?” Remus asked, pointing at the large flat box thing mounted on the wall.

“A tv.”

“Oh… what’s a tv?”

Warning/s: food mention.

Tag List: s: Logan, Virgil, OCs, Roman, Remy, Remus, Patton, Janus, Emile.

Tag List: @theimprobabledreamersworld @remy-please-come-back

Read on Ao3

10 | This is Not a Place of Logic

“Nico and Thomas have been kidnapped.”

"Did you just say, Thomas and Nico? As in the King and Prince Consort?" Willow asked.

"Yes. They were abducted earlier along with the Magic Council." Remy stated.

The others began asking more questions about the incident but Logan didn't listen to them. Instead, he focused on Virgil's face. He saw little colour in his pale skin slowly fade away. His grey eyes became cold and dull, like a stone, and he stared at Remy. His breathing was beginning to become short and erratic. He began to sway on his legs as if they'd suddenly become numb.

"Virgil," Logan said gently. "Virgil, please look at me."

Virgil turned his blank gaze to Logan.

"Can I touch you?"

Virgil nodded weakly.

Logan took his hand and guided him outside the room, to the hallway where they could sit alone on a bench. The moment Virgil was sat down, he let out a choked sob. Logan began to comfortingly rub his back, then found himself wrapped in a hug.

He froze in shock for a moment, before he began to hug Virgil back. Holding him close as he cried into his shoulder like a scared child. It was metaphorically heartbreaking for Logan to hear, but he could not let go. He had no other way to comfort him at the moment, so for now he would just hold him.

After some time, Virgil pulled away. “Th-thank you.”

“No problem… How are you feeling?”

“…I’m not sure how to describe it... Scared... Lost... Alone...”

“I don’t know how comforting this may be but, you are most definitely not alone. You have our friends, Remy, and me.”

Virgil perked up a bit. “That is very a lot more comforting than you know.”

“Ehem,” the boys looked up to see Remy was standing in the doorway. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but you probably didn’t hear all the details of what happened.”

Virgil nodded and motioned for Remy to fill them in.

“Thomas, Nico, and the Magic Council were having their quarterly meeting to discuss the kingdom’s magical balance. During said meeting, someone cast a strange spell that caused everyone inside the meeting room to disappear. The caster was found dead on site, having used their MP and HP to cast this spell.”

“Was there any evidence on where the caster came from?”

Remy paused and took a deep breath to steady himself. “The caster… was a fae...”

“What?”

“The caster was a fae person. We don’t know who or even how they got into the realm.”

“Has anyone talked to Tía Tanya or Dune?”

“Joan has been named regent while your parents are… missing, and they sent a messenger to fill me in. I’m going to go and talk with Tanya and Dune, then we’ll need to send someone through to the Fae realm to inform your grandmother.”

Virgil nodded. “I’ll come with you then.”

“What? No! You need to stay here where you’re safe.”

“I can’t stay here and do nothing. Besides, you would need me to help with opening the realm gate and getting an audience with my grandmother.”

“Virgil, it won’t be safe, especially if I’m the only one guarding you.”

“We can guard him,” Remus said from behind Remy.

Remy narrowed his eyes. “Who is we?”

“Us, the class,” Janus answered. “We’ve been trained in combat and can wield magic.”

“And are only fifteen.” Remy pointed out.

“We’re young, but that doesn’t make us helpless,” Willow replied. “We faced down that giant mole, all together. The seven of us are a lot harder to take down than you think.”

Logan nodded. “You need Virgil’s help, and we can help to protect him. Plus, if there are people here who want to hurt him, then the best thing to do is probably take him somewhere safe, like to his grandmother.”

Remy sighed. “We don’t even know if the fae realm is secure, Logan.”

“But it would be safer than here, right?”

Remy groaned. “Emile, help me here.”

Emile was quiet a moment and looked directly at his son. “I know I won’t be able to change your mind. You’re too much like your mother for that. Just… Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Logan nodded. “I promise dad.”

“We’ll all be taking care of each other, Mr Picani. Don’t worry,” Roman assured.

Emile smiled. “Well then, I think you’ll all do great.”

Remy looked horrified but he knew he couldn’t win this fight. Virgil, Logan, and the rest of the class would all be going with him to the fae realm whether he liked it or not. Or maybe he could get Tanya to talk this lunacy out of them.

---

“Brilliant idea, darling,” Tanya complimented. “Taking Virgil and his friends will get you to Valeria without any problems about your identity and whatnot.”

Dune nodded agreeingly. “The only thing I am concerned about is the children’s lack of protection.”

“We do have our weapons and magic,” Remus stated.

“That’s good dear, but I think that you’ll need some added protection. Hmm, here,” Dune brought out a box with some beaded bracelets. “These are enchanted with protection spells. Each of you can take one and it’ll be as good as dressing you in full plate armour.”

“These are so beautiful. Thank you so much, Mx Dune,” Patton said

Dune smiled. “It’s nothing really, dear. I’m glad you like them.”

Not to be impatient, but can we get going? Virgil asked.

“Right. You’ll need to be as fast as you can to get the news to your grandmother. I wish the mirrors were working so we didn’t have to send you all off so quickly, but I believe that you will do brilliantly. Follow me to the gate then!” Tanya said, briskly walking out of the room where they had been debriefing her and Dune on the situation.

There were some stairs down to the portal gate, which Logan was very grateful for. He didn't mind flying in Virgil’s arms last time of course, but he wasn’t quite sure that Virgil would carry him this time around. It also meant he was able to take in the brilliant architecture as they descended, so of course he loved that. He didn’t quite love the aching in his limbs when they finally reached the bottom of the stairs but it was so worth it.

At the bottom of the stairs was a lovely area full of rich green vegetation. It looked very much like an enchanted garden, which was impressive considering how far underground they were. At the centre of this garden, there was a tall archway made from black stone with strange runes carved all around it. Tanya and Virgil walked over to this arch and stood directly in front of it a moment.

“You remember how to activate it?” Tanya asked.

Virgil nodded and held his hand out towards the arch.

Tanya did the same and they began to chant in unison, some strange words from a language that Logan had never heard before. Their voices seemed to echo with an ancient power and their hands that were outstretched began to glow with purple light. The runes on the archway glowed with the same strange light which bled into the opening of the arch until it was like there was a door of purple light there.

Once the chanting was done, the light from Virgil and Tanya’s hands faded away, but the light in the archway remained bright as ever.

“There you go, the portal is now active. I’ll make sure to keep it open for you so you can return whenever.”

“Thank you, Tanya,” Remy said. “You kids ready to go?”

The teens all glanced at each other. It had been one thing to agree to help their friend in his time of need, but right now the reality was setting in. They would be leaving behind their homes and families for gods know how long to visit a realm inhabited by a race they didn’t know very much about. Despite all of that, however, it took them less than a moment to decide this was right.

They could feel it in their souls. This was something they had to do. They were ready to do whatever it took to help their friend. It didn’t matter what was on the other side of that porthole because they would be facing it together.

“Well?”

“We’re ready.”

One by one, they walked through the archway. Oddly enough, it felt like walking through a normal doorway, except their skin tingled a bit as the magical light made contact. On the other side, there was a garden that looked nearly identical to where they had just been, except the magnificent greenery was now blue. They also seemed to be on top of a cliff, overlooking a city made of tall glass towers that reflected the bright green sky above.

“Um, is it supposed to be that colour?” Roman asked, pointing to the sky.

“Hmm, oh, yeah,” Virgil answered. “There are a lot of strange things in the fae realm but they’re harmless… mostly.”

“That’s reassuring,” Janus muttered.

“Well, I like it!” Remus declared.

“This place is insane,” Willow stage whispered.

Virgil laughed. “You guys haven’t seen anything yet. Follow me.”

He led them away from the cliff’s edge to a quaint little house that seemed to be strangely overgrown with vines. On the porch of this house, there was a woman sitting reading a book. When she looked up to see the group coming out of the garden gate, her eyes went wide.

“Prince Virgil! What brings you here?”

“I need to see my grandmother. It’s urgent.”

“Well, she’s in the city, of course. I can drive you and your friends over there quickly. Um, if all of you need to go through, I’ll need to get Doug to drive a second car.”

“Great. Sorry for being so rushed.”

“It’s no problem, dear. I’ll fetch Doug.”

“Uh, what’s a car?” Patton asked.

“Well, it’s like a carriage, but it’s powered by magic to drive around without horses,” Virgil explained.

Remus tilted his head to the side. “That sounds crazy... I like this place even more now!”

The cars were indeed very strange. They seemed to be formed from glass and steel, with wheels covered in rubber, and an ‘engine’ that hummed with life as they drove down the mountainside and into the city. At a closer glance, the group saw that the towers were indeed made with many large glass windows, although some seemed to be tinted for privacy. The roads between the towers had many cars driving up and down them, and still, there was an uncountable amount of fae folk walking on the ‘sidewalks’.

The group drove directly to the largest tower at the very centre of the city, which Virgil said was the palace. Once they got out of the cars, a man standing by the door saw Virgil and fished out a small handheld device which he talked into before walking over.

He bowed. “Prince Virgil, welcome back to the Fae Realm.”

“Thank you. Would you please have my grandmother alerted I’m here?”

“Uh, yes, sir. I’ve already called for someone to come and fetch your luggage.”

“We don’t have any.”

“Oh, well, then allow me to escort you to a room to freshen up.”

“I need to speak with my grandmother.”

“Please, sir, I was told to take you to a room.”

Virgil frowned impatiently. “Alright then. Lead the way.”

The man led them into the building’s reception room, and then through a pair of sliding doors into a box room called ‘an elevator’. The doors closed by themselves and the man pressed one of the many buttons beside the door. Logan felt his stomach lurch as the elevator rose up, quickly passing floor after floor until finally, it got to the one he assumed was their destination.

The floor they arrived on was huge, with a sunken lounge area, a small kitchen, and a wall straight ahead that looked like it was made entirely out of the window. The teens looked around in awe at the strange wonders of the room while Virgil tried talking their guide into taking them to his grandmother. The man deflected his request however and declared he would return shortly with some snacks for the group before departing via the elevator.

Virgil groaned. “How didn’t he understand the word urgent. I’ll need to talk to gran about this.”

“Hey, Virgil, what’s this?” Remus asked, pointing at the large flat box thing mounted on the wall.

“A tv.”

“Oh… what’s a tv?”

“It’s for watching movies and stuff. Here, you use this remote to control it,” Virgil explained before turning it on to display a moving picture of what appeared to be a fae person dancing.

“Woah. How does it do that?” Roman asked.

Virgil shrugged. “Magic.”

“Is everything in the fae realm made to use magic?” Logan inquired.

“Well, most things do. Here, everyone has access to the use of magic and magical items are used for most daily tasks, like cleaning, cooking, going places, and even speaking with people via mirrors.”

“This is incredible.” Patton said, staring at the tv which now was showing a kitten dancing.

“Yeah, it’s cool, but we need to go guys-”

Virgil was cut off by a loud sound from the kitchen, which turned out to be Remy using some small device that looked like a glass jug?

“Sorry, kid, what were you saying?”

“Are you making an iced coffee right now?”

“These things are amazing, and we don’t have blenders in the other realm.”

“What’s an iced coffee?” Janus inquired.

“A drink from the heavens themselves,” Remy declared, pouring the drink out of the blender. “Here, have a taste.”

Janus wearily took the cup and sniffed its contents before taking a sip. “Oh… That’s bitter. And so good.”

Remy grinned. “I know, right?”

“Hello, people, we’re on a mission here,” Virgil tried reminding them.

Unfortunately, Remy and Janus were preoccupied with a discussion about iced coffee, and everyone else was captivated by the tv.

“Fine, I’ll just go deliver the message alone!”

Logan looked away from the TV at that. “I can come with you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, we didn’t come here for this. I’m sure I can look at everything later.”

Virgil smiled. “Thanks, Logan. Follow me.”

They both got into the elevator and took it to a different floor with a long grand hallway that Logan could barely keep track of as they went left and right, and up some stairs, then left again -or was it right?- then down some stairs, then another direction? And finally, they came to some huge doors that Logan assumed led to the throne room.

“How is there so much space on this floor?” Logan questioned.

“It’s the fae realm, L, if it doesn’t make sense, just assume it’s magic.” Virgil said before pushing the doors open and walking into the throne room.

Logan followed half a step behind Virgil, but nearly walked into him a few minutes later when he froze. Logan looked around Virgil to see what made him stop and noted that there was a man sitting on the throne. And if Virgil’s reaction were anything to go by, then that man wasn’t meant to be there.

“Prince Virgil! It’s so wonderful to see you again after so long! My goodness, you’ve really grown since I last saw you.”

“It is good to see you as well, Earl Ynclementia, but where is my grandmother?”

The earl’s expression turned sorrowful. “I am afraid that she is unwell, your highness. She’s confined to her bed with terrible sickness and no one but the doctors are allowed to see her. They won’t even let me in there.”

“She’s sick? How?”

“We’re not sure, your highness. We were going to actually send someone to tell your parents immediately when we realised that the mirrors were not working for inter-realm communication.”

“When did she get sick?”

“Only two days ago. As I said, we were going to inform your parents immediately, but there were complications.”

“Do the doctors know what she has?”

“I’m afraid not. Or if they do, they haven’t told me.”

Virgil looked absolutely crestfallen. Logan couldn’t blame him considering all that was happening. His parents were missing and his grandmother was stuck sick in bed. It was understandable that Virgil would be devastated. However, as quickly as Virgil’s sadness appeared, it disappeared. His face became stoic and he looked up at the Earl with a critical eye.

“I need to see my grandmother.”

“Your highness, like I said, even I’m not allowed to see her. The doctors fear her illness may be contagious. You should go home to inform your parents of what’s happened.”

“I will contact them via my mirror.”

“Your highness the mirrors aren’t working.”

“Mine is working just fine. I used it to call my parents and tell them I was safe when I got here.”

“O-oh? You called... your parents?”

“Yes. I’ll call again to tell them what's going on here. I assume you’re currently acting as regent.”

“Ah, yes. I am.”

“Good, they’ll be glad to hear that. If you’ll excuse me then, I’ll inform them at once.”

Virgil turned around before the earl could say anything else, grabbed Logan’s hand and promptly marched out of the room. Logan was very confused about why he’d just lied like that to the earl, but he waited until they were alone in the halls to say anything. When he tried to ask though, Virgil put a finger over his lips and looked around suspiciously first.

“I am quite sure we’re alone,” Logan stated.

“Good, because I think that we’ve walked ourselves into the lion’s den.”

“What?”

“Call me crazy, but things around here are too… calm. If my grandmother were really sick in bed then we wouldn’t even have been able to park out front without getting harassment from the press.”

“Press?”

“News Reporters. People who keep the common folk informed for a living.”

“Couldn’t they be trying to keep things secret to stop any panic?”

“People are naturally gossipy, Logan. Someone would have let it slip to the news by now. Something isn’t right here...”

“...We need to get back to the others.”

---

A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll be posting two chapters a day until the full fic is up, so if you want to be tagged, you can just ask.

I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

You caught my attension with the "Bad end Wizard Wally" Au, what else goes down in there?

A lot of things anon, a lot of things:

-Instead of even so much as humoring the thought of telling Conner, Wally straight up quits and gets a job elsewhere.

-A few years later both Wally and Henry get letters asking them to come to the old studio; one from Joey asking Henry to ‘come visit the old workshop’, the other from Thomas begging Wally to destroy the machine because he can’t do it himself.

-Henry and Wally show up to the inked studio.

-Curiosity leads the pair to activate the ink machine. (Wally thought that Thomas was referring to the other ink machine, not the one suspended by chains.)

-The Ink Demon breaks down the boards and chases them through the studio before the floor breaks beneath them.

-Post-machine activation: the studio fucks with Wally’s magical powers, often having spells backfire on himself. (i.e. if he tries to make something levitate, it automatically flings itself into his face.)

-Due to the fact that Joey found out how to successfully make living cartoons out of people early on, there are no searchers in the studio.

-The Lost ones are still here but they’re much rarer, they flee from sight whenever you see them, and they aren’t made by the machine like canon implied, instead they’re human beings who drank the ink.  

-The two unwilling heroes try to escape via the music department’s flooded stairwell, but they get stopped by Sammy and dragged deeper into ink hell.

-Sammy doesn’t worship the Ink Demon in this AU. In fact, his mind and body are not affected by the ink at all.

-Instead, his mental decline is brought on by his own psychic abilities which he became aware of due to Joey’s meddling. He can’t even think about the past and present anymore, only the future.

-Thus, the man’s new role is not of a desperate madman clinging onto a false savior, but instead a cold and calculating wildcard of an oracle who constantly stalks the two heroes from the shadows and throws wrenches in their escape plans, but also keeps them safe from the wrath of the ink demon whenever he can.

-Boris is still a friend, but he’s a little less chipper and much more on edge than canon.

-Either Wally or Henry can find a tape recorder buried in Boris’s stuff that was made by a gofer who’s talking about the fact that while the living cartoons came out of the machine looking exactly like their animated counterparts, they often try to change how they look, behave coldly and are hostile towards everybody, and are especially hostile towards Joey Drew.

-“The Cameraman is probably the worst out of all of them, it’s almost like he’s trying to make everybody quit their jobs!”

-You know how dogs sigh like they had the roughest time in the world? The only noise Boris makes is that sigh and he only makes it when that tape recording is played.

-Who attacks our heroes if searchers aren’t in the enemy roster? Simple: a hoard of deformed toons.

-We’ve got our classic Butchered gang members, Sliced-Split-n-Stitched Back up SSSB members, and Woolly troubled trios.

-But these appear in the music dep, Bendyland, the village, and the administration offices. Instead of being regular deformed, the enemies in the Heavenly toys department have seemingly been forcefully fused together.

-This makes them slower and weaker, but they also have three times as much health now.

-Susie is referred to as “Twisted Alice” in the studio. This is because she doesn’t look like a more human-proportioned Alice Angel with a deformed face, but instead a mashup of Alice Angel and Miss Twisted.

-Looks like misery loves company.

-Instead of seeking ‘perfection’ Twisted Alice sends Wally and Henry to do tasks for her because she’s trying to make herself be one or the other, she doesn’t care which one she’ll end up as anymore but trying to be two (technically three) different people at once is really messing with her.

-The tasks she gives are still the same, instead of the swollen searcher task, that’s instead replaced with “Gather thick ink from the flooded level”.

-You know how the Projectionist is already scary?

-Imagine him with the ability to raise the dead.

-Like, Henry and Wally are in level 14 gathering severed hearts...

-And then an ear-splitting scream echoes through the area.

-And.

-Then.

-The.

-Fucking.

-Corpses.

-Of.

-The.

-Dead.

-Toons.

-Start.

-Rising.

-And.

-Attacking.

-Norman’s ‘I sees everythang’ tape is slightly altered to include more corpse puns.

-When all the chores are done, Twisted Alice does keep her word and lets Henry and Wally up.

-When they’re *this* close to seeing daylight again, *BAM!*

-The Elevator drops like a hot coal.

-Was it sabotaged? Was it just old and dangerous? Was this just bad luck? That’s up for interpretation depending on who you believe first.

-Boris is kidnapped by a much more Miss Twisted-looking Twisted Alice while the old men are out.

-Intentional murder to commit dog theft, or Miss Twisted being opportunistic?

-Giant cavern? Lame carnival minigames? Air vent maze? Nah, screw that, instead Bendyland gets some more rides.

-Fight off foes in the ferris wheel!

-Avoid killer bumper cars with running chainsaws attached to them while trying to get the haunted house’s power back on!

-Can’t forget Bertrum! In the fight, if he puts down all four of his arms and pushes down hard enough, he can actually walk around the room.

-Kinda like a giant mechanical spider with only four legs.

-This makes it harder to hit his weak points and makes it easy for him to fucking stampede over “Joey”, which is why he does it. But it takes a lot out of him, so he can’t do it for very long.

-And he can’t do it anymore if two or more of his arms are ripped off.

-The Projectionist’s section is the same but with more toon corpses around.

-And if you didn’t get caught in his light or touch the hearts, when Wally and Henry pile into the miracle station and The Projectionist is *just* about to open the door until getting interrupted, instead of screaming at the ink demon and getting into a fight, the Projectionist opens the door and fucking squeezes himself in there.

-Not very comfortable, but better than the alternative.

-Congrats to Henry and Wally, who graduated from ‘trespassing thieves’ to ‘weird but sorta okay flesh things who didn’t take my hearts again and let me in their safe territory in spite of me trying to kill them’.

-Boris actually can be saved.

-Did you give the dog a bone back at the safe house?

-Good, now give him three more.

-The Janitor and the Animator have no fucking clue why throwing bones at this deformed, beefed-up version of Boris managed to melt off the excess ink and junk, or why he can speak now, but they’re not going to look a gift wolf in the mouth.

-Did somebody say back-to-back boss battle?

-I did!

-Sadly, it’s kind of a short fight as it can range from ‘three on one and one of them is a fucking wizard (just because recoil is hell doesn’t mean it’ll stop Wally in dire situations)’ to ‘four on one and one of those four can bring back the dead by screaming’.

-Allison and Tom wrangle the team up and stick ‘em in the “guest room”.

-Tom chews Wally out for re-activating the ink machine, Wally can’t take him seriously when he’s that fucking small and sounds like a mechanical snob.

-It’s even funnier when the Projectionist has been befriended.

-Let him have his tiny camera-headed son back, Allison.

-The river boat chase is longer and there seems to be more than just one hand coming out of the ink.

-Wally swears he sees a bunch of teeth in the river while the hands are down.

-In the village, the group are immediately attacked by a swarm of deformed toons when they approach the boarded up hovel.

-They shout things like “STAY AWAY FROM THE PROPHET!” and stuff like that in their garbled voices.

-When all of them are gone, peering through the boards in the hovel the team approached in the first place reveals that Sammy is indeed in there, just staring off into space and muttering about something the team can’t quite make out.

-Breaking down the said boards might seem logical, but it triggers a brutal boss fight against him. That musical bastard is fast and hits like a freight train. Also psychic powers, you have to be the luckiest person in the world to win a fight against a man who sees your every move before you can even think of it.

-Just... leave him be... and focus on getting outta here.

-The administration maze is as annoying as ever thanks to not having any weapons and the maze itself being magically disabling.

-Beast Bendy gets some bigger legs to go with his giant torso and head.

-Now he’s even faster and more annoying!

-but can’t do shit against the team.

-Good Ending: getting the biggest team you can in game, breaking the machine and punching Joey in the face for doing ...that. It sucks that everything got this bad but at least you helped the others make it outta there.

-Neutral ending: “Come by the old workshop, there’s something I need to show you”

-Bad Ending of the ‘Bad end Wizard Wally Au’  (Worst possible ending): Henry and Wally have fully succumbed to the ink through a path of violence, evading death by the toons, and have fully lost themselves, they do not remember their lives and families before the ink anymore. And Joey couldn’t be more tickled pink! It’s a shame that making perfect demon toons is such a complicated process compared to making an object-headed toon, a ‘human’ toon, or an animalistic toon, but all the trouble was worth it as a trip through the machine later, Joey finally has the last two he needs: A Perfect Papa Pluto and a Perfect Bendy.

[weepylucifer]

Let’s Go in the Garden - Ch. 12

Thomas and David reunite, finally, properly.

(Reader beware: explicit content. Actually, no plot here, just explicit content)

They approached the Jag hand in hand together. It had long since grown dark, and Thomas very much wished to return to the Folly. He didn’t know why, he had used no strenuous magic today, but the evening had left him tired. Apart from that, though, he was perfectly alright. And why shouldn’t he be? The situation had turned out for the best, nobody having gotten hurt.

He waited for David to stash the crystal ball in the trunk and get in the car on the passenger side. He then turned the key in the ignition, shifted into first gear, and found that for some godforsaken reason his hands shook too much on the steering wheel to actually start driving.

It wasn’t cold out, so Thomas really didn’t understand why, even after he took a second to rub the clamminess off his palms on his trousers, that tremor crept over his whole body. He must have made some sound, because David looked over at him and asked, “Thomas? Love?”

Thomas ran his hands across his face and stayed like that, for just a second he told himself, with the heels of his hands pressed up against his closed eyes. “Give me a moment, alright?”

“Is something wrong, love?” Oh, there was that worried voice. David had no place being worried, after all, he’d had a gun to his head very recently. By all rights, really, it should be David who should be a mess as of right now. Not that Thomas wanted that, in fact, he was impressed with how David was holding up. But it would have been the thing to make sense, not this… not the other way around.

“I can’t precisely say,” Thomas replied. He wanted to get himself together and drive back to the Folly, but it seemed… presently insurmountable. But why? Driving to the Folly was something he’d done more times than he cared to count. Why was it impossible now? Good lord, he just wanted to have a bit of a lie-down.

“Switch sides with me,” David said. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

“Why?” Thomas asked.

“Because you’re no good for it right now.” And here was the patient voice. “Do it, you can kip out here for a minute. I am still your lieutenant, you know.”

“Which still makes me the superior officer.” They were falling into their inter-battlefield routine of back-and-forth bickering. It should not have been half as calming as it was. Thomas took his hands off his face and saw that David was giving him a lopsided smile.

“A prudent CO takes the input of his noncoms under advisement,” he pointed out.

Well, that had never stopped being a truth. They switched sides. Thomas wanted to curl up in the passenger seat, refrained from it, and then thought, what the hell. This was David right there. What was he thinking to hide?

David was a comparatively calm driver. This was rather boring, but conductive to any kind of zoning out or drifting off that needed to occur at a given moment. Thomas came back to when David parked the Jag up front of the coach house.

He uncoiled his limbs and reached for the door-handle but David whispered, “Wait,” and slipped out of the car, came around and opened the door for him, and this once, Thomas didn’t find it in him to object. David gave him a hand up and slipped an arm around his waist as they walked to the Folly’s back door and it felt too good and familiar to be touching David in that way for Thomas to stop and insist he didn’t need any coddling. Sometimes, he supposed, there was nothing for it but to drift with the flow of the events and enjoy some nice, warm contact.

Good lord, he had come so close to losing David again today, too close for comfort. Never would he ever let that happen again. In the future, he would have to look out for that. But for now, David was right here and touching him and it seemed that things, for a given value of the concept, were turning out alright.

Molly had waited up for them with a very late supper, which they took in the dining room. She hovered a bit, but left them to it after a while, placing a candle on their table, which David smiled at and lit with a small flame from his fingertips.

The dining room had been meant to house the entirety of the Folly’s residents for mealtimes, back when there had been many. It felt strange for it to be occupied by two people only, but Thomas was used to that particular blend of strangeness by now. Well, two people was already a 100 percent increase from one, the way the status quo had been almost uninterruptedly for the last seventy years. Thomas remembered having a similar thought back when Peter (and later Lesley) had first arrived. But it was different still now, because it was David now.

They started out sitting opposite each other, not touching, but soon Thomas brushed his ankle against David’s under the table. They intertwined their legs, footsying a bit, simply because they were in this room and they could, and it would not have been possible to do back in the day.

“Feels funny doing this in here,” David opined, his voice light, but a kind of wonder sneaking in on the edges.

Thomas gave him a grin. “Know what else we can do in here now?”

And ah, there it was. David’s breath grew that almost imperceptible bit shallower, his pupils beginning to dilate already. “What?”

Grinning ever wider, Thomas ran a foot up David’s inseam. “Oh, just about anything.”

David put his cutlery down. “Quite,” he said eagerly, “Who’s to tell us no?”

“It is my Folly now.”

David laughed. “And isn’t that weird? I’m still getting used to it. My songbird, master of the Folly. Who could have possibly predicted that, hm?” Then his smile fell a little, and he hurriedly added, “Although I’m sure you’re doing splendid at it.”

“That depends on what you would consider splendid.” Well, the Folly hadn’t been overrun or fallen into disrepair during his tenure as head of the Society of Nothing Much, Anymore. But that was largely all he could boast until such time as a stroke of luck had led him to take Peter on. And what changes had occurred since, and would continue to occur, could truly be attributed to Peter and his seemingly endless fount of new exciting ideas, rather than any achievement on Thomas’s part. He harbored no illusions concerning that.

But getting into that now would derail the mood, which, so far as Thomas was concerned, was shaping up into something rather promising. “I was thinking,” he said, “every room in the Folly.”

David blinked at him in momentary confusion. “What about them?”

Thomas twirled his fork in his hand. “Oh, you know. We could take a floor plan. Pick out every room in which you’ve ever wanted to push me up against the furniture and have a go at it. And then we could do that. As you said, who’s to tell us no?”

David visibly swallowed. He fidgeted with his hands in that way that told Thomas he was growing elated. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, goodness, please.”

Thomas pushed his chair back. He was finished eating anyway. “How about we start in my bedroom for now?”

“Oh, you mean, fuck in the master bedroom?” David followed suit so fast he almost toppled his chair. “Well, don’t mind if I do.”

—-

By the time they made it up to Thomas’s bedroom, they were already making out against the door. It was like some barrier that had up until now rather haphazardly kept them apart had fully broken down. Thomas, with his back against the door, shut his eyes and simply enjoyed being kissed by David, so hungrily, so desperately. He plunged both hands into David’s hair, felt the texture of the curls beneath his fingers, and it was as David’s hair always had been. He could have wept at the familiarity, suddenly reawakened.

But he didn’t stay here for long. Soon he ran his hands down David’s back, then up his arms again, caressing his shoulders, his chest, his sides. David wrapped both his arms around Thomas’s waist again, gripped him by the small of his back and pulled him closer, so close that not an atom could have fit between them.

“Yes,” he sighed, breaking the kiss for a moment, “Now I’m truly home.”

This tore something out of Thomas that surprised and startled him, and he stifled a sob into David’s sweater.

Because yes.

David was home.

David was here.

“Davey–”

And just like that, there was a hand in his hair again, stroking it in all the ways that always were sure to calm him down. “I know, sweetheart,” David muttered. “I know.”

“Wait.” Thomas took a shaky breath. “Wait, you’ve been abducted today, you’ve been held at gunpoint, you… shouldn’t be doing this for me.”

David shrugged. “Life is strange sometimes. You… I mean no offense, but you seem to be needing it more than me at present.”

Something changed as David said that, he… tensed, his eyes grew wary, and he took a step back. And… I mean no offense. So formal. As if they were strangers just making one another’s acquaintance.

Thomas put a hand on David’s shoulder and reeled him back in. “Hey. Where are you off to? Stay here.”

“I’m sorry.” David lowered his eyes. Since coming back out of that theatre, he’d seemed so sure, almost serene, always with a handle on the situation. Now this seemed to evaporate. “I don’t mean to offend you by implying… I mean, I’m sure you’re perfectly on top of things.”

David didn’t sincerely believe that. Thomas could tell. David had never been good at lying. Why was he trying now?

Well, perhaps it didn’t go amazing for him the last few times he tried to get close, said a reasonable voice from somewhere in the back of Thomas’s head, a voice that sounded strangely familiar…

Oh. Peter. Thomas’s voice of reason sounded like Peter now.

And it wasn’t like said voice was wrong. Thomas’s mind chose this instance to replay what he had seen earlier in the evening, when he had laid his hand on that crystal ball. David’s thoughts had been loud, a swirl of joy and sheer incredulity that they had come for him.

He had assumed no one would. That he’d stuck his head out too far attempting to fix things, and that Thomas would not care anymore whether he lived or died. He’d settled into certain death. He’d been ready to embrace it, for real this time.

And his reasons for keeping David at arm’s length for all this time… Thomas couldn’t even remember them right now. How inconsequential they all seemed, when life was fleeting, and all it took was one idiot with a gun to tear David away from him again forever.

He pressed a kiss to David’s lips, and another, and another. “Davey…” The surprised puff of breath that escaped David’s lips, that tingled against Thomas’s mouth, was the sweetest sensation in the world. “David, I swear, no more of that. We will get into things, we will get into all manner of things. Everything you want to talk about, we will. No more running from this. If something happened…”

“Yes,” David said. “We must remember not to go angry.”

Back during the war, their company had had a superstition. Such things sprouted among soldiers, little stories and rituals to pass the day, a natural human attempt to turn the vast, encompassing and utterly chaotic machinery of war into something controllable.

Do not go angry, they had said. When heading into combat, beforehand, try to the best of your ability to clear up any open disputes, any conflicts, any grief with your mates. Going into battle in a state of anger and resentment with your comrades, it was said, invited the worst of luck upon a man. On a certain level, this was purely pragmatic. In the thick of combat, you had nothing to count on but the man next to you. You did not want the man next to you to be someone who bore an unresolved resentment against you, who would hesitate even a fraction of a second to protect your life with everything he had, because in the thick of combat, a fraction of a second was all it took sometimes. Unit cohesion had to be total. The bond between soldiers had to be steadfast.

Into Ettersberg, they had gone angry. This had had no bearing on the actual battle, seeing as they’d been assigned to different squadrons, but still it undoubtedly felt like the whole campaign had stood under the unluckiest of stars. There was a myriad of very real reasons for that, but the fact remained that also, apart from that, they had gone angry. They had not settled their dispute, and as things stood, they hadn’t gotten to do it until now, seventy years later. And between then and now there had been a bottomless chasm of grief.

“But let’s not think about any of that now,” David said, reaching up to cradle Thomas’s cheek in his hand. “You’re here. I’m here. Let’s have a proper reunion finally.”

Thomas kissed him.

Soon the kiss grew heated, then downright sloppy as their focus shifted to areas south of the lips. Thomas soon found David’s leg between this thighs, and in a dizzy little moment of objective clarity realized that he was already rutting against it, making urgent little hums from somewhere deep down his throat, all of a sudden utterly in need.

David cursed under his breath as he undid the buttons on Thomas’s waistcoat, and then had to move up again to start over with his shirt. “This,” he almost growled, “is worse than the damned uniform. Why have you got so many things on?”

Through gritted teeth, Thomas replied, “Just get on with it.”

David made a little, understated downward hand motion, there was that gush of air that Thomas knew as David’s signare, and all buttons on his shirt sprang off and rolled away across the floor. A perfectly good shirt ruined. Somehow Thomas couldn’t find it in himself to mind. Immediately, David latched on to the strip of bare skin he’d uncovered, sucking at the hollow of Thomas’s throat, leaving a burning brand of marks behind.

“Hickeys? What are we, fifteen again?” And yet, Thomas could not deny how he arched into the touch. These tiny, blossoming pains felt exquisite, a delicious edge to proceedings.

David detached just enough to laugh. “Above the collar,” he said. “Everyone should see.”

Thomas felt his hips twitch just at the thought. The possibilities of it all made his head spin. “Yes,” he gasped. “Everyone should see.”

David gripped his hips, tugging at his trousers. “Off.”

Somehow, through a common effort, they got to the bed, dropping an array of clothes on the way. Thomas, now in nothing but his undershirt and pants, made quick work of David’s light jumper, pausing however when his wrists were exposed, now bare of his shackles but rubbed raw and red where he’d chafed against them trying to get free in the theatre. He lifted David’s right hand up to his face and kissed his wrist, but David pulled away with a little hiss of pain.

“Ah… I’m sorry. Davey, I’m so sorry…”

David interrupted him by putting two fingers to his lips. “No. Shh. Not now. Let’s just… have this, for the moment, shall we.”

He reached down, unbucked his own trousers and slid them off, and what followed was the fairly unerotic moment known to couples everywhere in which he had to shimmy out of his socks. Thomas, meanwhile, pulled his undershirt off over his head and finally, finally felt David’s inquisitive hand on the wasteband of his underpants, pulling them down as well. For a second, they just stilled on the bed and looked at each other.

“Nothing you’ve not seen before,” Thomas said, but that wasn’t quite true, was it?

David had somehow made it through over five years in the field without getting grievously wounded; the usual plethora of scrapes and bruises on your average soldier had by now healed over. Thomas hadn’t been so lucky, and he’d seen sporadic bursts of action since in service of the Met. Most of these scars David had been present for, and known to expect, but not all of them.

Suddenly David was on top of Thomas, kissing him within an inch of his life, his hands roaming everywhere, seeming to want to map every bit of skin, the hunger for this flaring dramatically.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured between kisses. “Beautiful, you’re always… always so beautiful.”

Thomas found that beyond an ambiguous grunt he could make no reply as David kept on kissing him. There were hands everywhere on his bare skin, now on his arms, soon on his chest and thighs and not yet where he really needed them, and it was at once not enough and almost too much. He’d kept… sporadically busy during the interim decades, in short bursts interceded by long lulls, his appetite waxing and waning irregularly and without any semblance of rhyme or reason in whichever way the bubble of heavy nothing in his chest demanded. In recent years he’d stopped venturing out after hours for light entertainment completely, this maybe or maybe not being connected to Peter’s arrival at the scene. Be that as it may, it had been long since he’d last been touched like that, not just with intent, but with devotion. It ignited him and he burned, and felt his hips jerk upwards for any kind of friction.

Then David finally had mercy, wrapping a hand around him, giving him a few strokes, too brief and too soft. He withdrew too soon.

“Not yet.” He was breathing heavier now, his chest and face flushed. “Not yet. Do you have anything?”

Yes, Thomas had. After all, one never knew. Besides which, he did bring himself off on occasion. “Nightstand, top drawer.”

David draped all across him reaching into the nightstand, fishing for the lube. The heat of his body was beauteous to have on top and Thomas hummed happily, running his fingers down David’s spine, settling on his backside and gripping there, attempting to haul him in even closer. His cock gave off a twitch, already leaking against David’s abdomen.

“I know, songbird, just let me get this,” David said, coming back up with the lube in his hand. He unscrewed the cap and squeezed some onto his fingers, waiting the requisite moment to warm it up.

“Don’t make a huge production out of it,” Thomas warned him. “This… isn’t going to last long on my end.”

David pouted minutely. “But we have all this time now.”

And that was true, and novel to them. Their romance had begun at boarding school, and had for the most part continued here, in a densely populated Folly, never far from the public eye. Trysts had by nature been furtive, quick, with one party stealing away soon after, the ever-looming Damocles sword of discovery preventing any more leisurely approach. But now, with the Folly in Thomas’s purview and the law, for once, on their side, they could afford to take their time. The concept was alluring, but it also only fuelled his need.

“Well, we can do it again, more slowly, later then. Not now, though.”

David pondered this for a second, and nodded. He got back up, kneeling on the bed, making Thomas groan quite inadvertedly with the loss of contact.

“Alright. Turn over?”

“No. I want to see you this time.”

“Right you are.” David grabbed the pillow with his free hand, and motioned for Thomas to lift his hips. Thus elevated, Thomas spread his legs, inviting David to get on with it.

He winced as he felt David’s finger at his entrance, and squirmed a little as he was breached, this having been something he’d rarely done in a considerable while. For a moment, he feared he’d be out of practice.

But there wasn’t anything to it really, was there? Yet it felt like David was taking forever, and soon Thomas was arching up, wanting a second finger at the very least. To his satisfaction, his body was remembering well; he could feel himself opening up under David’s probing touch, so skilled as he’d always been. Slowly, too slowly and too carefully, David slid the second digit in, scissoring both fingers to spread him open, then crooking them both and going after his sweet spot directly. Thomas thrilled at this part, he always did, the slight stretch of it, promising more to come.

“More,” he demanded.

Predictably, David shook his head. “Not yet.”

“David.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Thomas, we’ve had that debate many a time.”

Then David angled his fingers just right, and hit home, and Thomas keened and said and thought nothing more.

David smiled. “That’s the spot, then?”

“Mm,” Thomas uttered (an influx of sensation had the tendency to render him monosyllabic) as he pushed upwards again, wanting David’s fingers back just there, just like that. And David complied, stroking lightly, but steadily, the tips of his fingers not letting up, rubbing up against Thomas’s prostate unceasingly until his vision whited out, until he lay panting and writhing, hands clenching into the sheets. His thoughts whited out too, just pleasure and the demand for more pleasure chasing each other in an endless cycle.

This was exactly why he loved doing this so much: the opportunity it afforded to, for a few precious moments, think nothing. Remember nothing.

David added a third digit, and Thomas moaned. He could have taken three easily, in his prime, back when this had been a habit of some regularity. Now, it required some adjusting. David added more lube and finally slipped his pinky inside as well, by now probably as impatient as Thomas was feeling.

When David eventually withdrew his fingers, the loss was unbearable. Thomas wanted nothing but to move, to do something, to counteract this all-consuming emptiness, but he knew what was to come very soon now (finally, finally) so he held still, and he waited.

Then David lubed himself up and pushed inside, and by now Thomas was whimpering, probably looking so horribly undignified, but he couldn’t care less, because lord, did it ever feel like something - not just David’s cock but some deeper something - was sliding right home where it belonged. Thomas wasn’t given to sentimentalism, but it felt like something that had been absent so long he’d forgotten how to even miss it was slotting back into place, the reunion finally fulfilled in its completion, body and soul, they were one again. He cried as his hips twitched upward to meet David’s thrust halfway, actual tears down his cheeks, and David saw them, (and muffled a sob of his own), and didn’t hesitate and didn’t startle and didn’t try to wipe them away, because he understood. They understood it all. They understood one another.

Nonetheless, because some courtesies must be observed, David halted for a second, and asked, his voice trembling like Thomas was trembling, tears glistening in his own eyes, “Sh-should I…?”

“Don’t stop.” Reaching out, wrapping all his limbs around David’s body and pulling him closer, Thomas said, “Don’t you dare stop.”

And David curled up closer, covering Thomas again with his body, and picked up his pace again. His thrusts were shallow, the angle imperfect, but it didn’t matter; they simply had to be this close. Feeling David’s skin on his, David’s hands pawing at him increasingly uncoordinated as pleasure crested and David’s hold on the situation faded, David’s every breath against his chest, was wildly overstimulating, and Thomas loved it, and never wanted to feel anything but it.

He thrust up blindly into David’s body warmth, rutting against his thigh, so very needful, having to come, and soon. David, as in all things, understood him, and fumbled a hand between them, wrapping it around Thomas’s cock. David’s palm was not soft, had never been, his hands always marred by the work in the lab or, later, the more gruesome labour of war. Thomas knew this, had anticipated it, and loved it for its familiarity, loved that it was David touching him, loved that, against all probability, he was getting to feel that dearest of touches again. He wept still, half driven out of his mind, as he came.

His body clenched with the sudden shock of his orgasm, and David’s breath hitched sharply as he ground down into Thomas in some more shallow, frantic bursts of movement, and not a minute later he followed suit.

David went boneless as he came, (he so often did) his face sweet and open with the flooding sensation of it, and it fell upon Thomas to support his weight. He twined their legs and wrapped his arms around David’s shoulders, scraping his nails down his back lightly. I have not marked him up even a bit, he thought with a tinge of regret. But there would be time for that later. There would be so much time for so many things later.

For a moment David lay still, gasping, coming down. Eventually he moved off, his spend leaking after him, and Thomas enjoyed this too as a bone-deep lassitude began to take hold of him. David rolled off, but he didn’t go far. They stayed on the bed, side by side, catching their breath and touching each other, gently, quietly and with a sort of wonder, need giving way to post-orgasmic bliss.

“That,” David said eventually, still getting his breath back, “felt different.”

Thomas was never inclined to talk much in these moments directly after. “Than?” he simply asked.

“Than it used to.”

“Hrm.”

“We both cried.”

Thomas cleared his throat, willing articulation back into his languid mind. David seemed to want to discuss, while Thomas’s body demanded for nothing but sleep. “That was to be expected, I suppose,” he said.

“Still…” David sighed airily and said nothing further, so it fell upon Thomas to prompt him.

“What?”

“I don’t like this to be tinged with grief.”

Thomas propped himself up on his elbow, and used the other hand to caress David. “It wasn’t grief,” he said, “Not on my part. Just… simply so glad to have you back.”

“Glad to be back,” David muttered. “And I’m so immeasurably sorry you had to spend so much time alone.”

“Shh.” Thomas touched his index and middle finger to David’s lips. “Not right now, please.”

David kissed his fingertips. “My poor darling,” he whispered. “Wherever did you get your entertainment without me?”

Thomas huffed a little laugh. He could go into it all in depth, explain about the bubble of heavy nothing, (as far as he could explain that at all) elaborate about the times spent alone, and the other moments too, the wild times leading up to the legalization, when people were of a mind to seize their rights, and all the insubstantial flings in between, but he really was tired. So he only said, “Where I could get it, if I wanted it.”

David considered this. “And now? If not Peter…”

“Please. He’s seeing a river goddess. I might be inclined, but I’m not suicidal.”

“What about your colleague, that brawny policeman?”

This time, Thomas’s laugh was more of a snort. “Alexander? Hah. Shout me halfway across town if I tried.”

This got a chuckle out of David. “Well, maybe Alexander would calm down if he had a Hephaestion to soothe him at night.”

Thomas yawned. “Hephaestion at my age? That’s asking a lot.”

Mirroring his yawn, David moved to get up. Thomas grabbed his hand, attempting to tug him back down to his side. “Where on earth are you going now? Stay.”

“We should clean up.”

Thomas groaned but allowed it.

“And then… well… do I go back to my room?” David hovered, uncertain. The way they’d done things for so many years was now to become invalid: things were different now, and new traditions were to be made. Thomas had already been through that kind of culture shock before, courtesy of Peter. For David, it was only now taking place.

“Why?” Thomas asked. “Who would mind if you didn’t? Stay the night.”

A look stole into David’s eyes like awe. “The whole night... with you.”

“And wake up here in the morning.”

Quite without advance warning, David launched himself back into bed to pepper Thomas’s face with kisses. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “I love this new world.”

—-

The war stole back into Thomas’s dreams that night, turning them nightmares. This he was not surprised by, not after all these years. A day of action tended to bring these memories to the forefront. What did surprise him was that after a few hours tossing and turning, he woke to a hand on his forehead, petting his hair, a gentle voice murmuring hushed and nonsensical comforts, and a warmth beside him in bed as of another living body there.

Now, after decades of night terrors, Thomas was an old hand at them. They didn’t come with a moment of disorientation anymore they way they’d used to. He half-woke, cracked an eye open and knew that he was in his bed in the Folly and not in fact on any of his battlefields. But this, the warmth, the voice and hand, were new. Never before had he woken from a nightmare to anything other than a cold, dark room and his own hammering heart. Never before had there been someone else to caress him and tell him, by the sound of it, “Shh, it’s alright, we’re not there now, we’re home.” But apparently, tonight, this there was. What was that all about?

Oh, David, right, he then remembered. Only my beloved.

Well, that was quite alright and natural. Blindly, he nestled closer to that soothing warmth, and went right back to sleep.

—-

When he woke, he was alone.

This was the common state of things, nothing out of the ordinary, until he remembered: last night, yesterday, in fact the previous week. David. And where had David got to?

It was barely dawn outside, the curtains hadn’t been drawn, so a pale blue light filtered into the room. Thomas sat up and took it in, and a slight sense of unreality overcame him. Surely he had to have dreamt it? Yes, that bizarre week, that could not have been real. A dream. A wishful figment. David reappearing, them quarrelling for a bit, then at last reuniting into absolute contentment. How nice, but still not real.

Partially, he wanted to shut his eyes and go right back to sleep, hoping that dream returned. The rest of him swung his legs out of bed and reached for his robe and slippers. He got up - oh, well, the soreness in his muscles was real enough, and it felt like a remainder from lovemaking rather than exercise or the convulsions of a night terror. Besides which, he was missing his pyjamas. So might he dare hope…?

Still exceedingly drowsy, Thomas let his feet carry him away from his bedroom, across the hallway and down the stairs. On the stair he met Molly, who took in his frazzled state without him needing to say a word. She pointed downwards, indicating the basement.

Thomas nodded and passed by her. After seven decades in each other’s company, there needed to be no words. He knew she could read in his face whatever was happening inside him right now, better even than he could interpret it himself.

Quite naturally, he stopped at David’s laboratory. The door was cracked, so he swung it fully open.

David was bent over one of the desks, a leaflet open in front of him, some papers next to it, murmuring softly to himself, pencil in hand, marking up things and crossing other things off a list. While it was looking to be another warm and humid day out, the basement was still cool, and David had put on a jumper over his pyjamas, and draped a woollen blanket over his shoulders. With his eyes still heavy and sleepy, his curls untamed and springing every which where, he looked the picture of coziness. Cozy and so inviting, to dive into all these layers and uncover the warm skin beneath.

“What’s got you down here already?” Thomas asked, keeping his voice down for reasons he couldn’t even name. A tribute to the early hour, perhaps.

“Oh.” David looked up, blinking at him owlishly, evidently still half-asleep. “Didn’t know you were up yet.”

Not quite knowing why, Thomas replied, “I woke up and I was alone.”

“I beg your pardon.” David said this sincerely, with a good deal of genuine regret. “I was going to come up again. You know I love going down here first thing in the morning.”

Ah, yes. Indeed, that had been - was - one of David’s habits. He’d always been in the lab way before breakfast, getting an early start on his work. “It’s funny, I’m only just remembering. It’s been so long.”

David looked soft and sad for a moment. It was strange, their whole disparity - that David had not lived these past seventy years. Long enough to make Thomas forget so many of his lover’s quirks - along with his scent, the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin. David had had no forgetting.

“What are you up to, anyhow?” Thomas asked, hoping to distract. He didn’t want to think about all that too deeply now, when relief still overwhelmed him in the face of David being here at all.

“Inventory.” David waved the list he had been making. “I need new lab equipment.”

Thomas shrugged. “I’ll check the budget.”

David suddenly chuckled. “Right. Of course. You’re the one I turn to now for that.” He shook his head, took up a thread again from last night, “Still... you being in charge here now... head of the Folly...”

“Well. By exclusion principle.” The way David said it still made it seem like some sort of achievement. “I was quite literally the only man fit to serve.”

David crossed his arms as he leaned against his desk. “Or the only man willing.”

Thomas sighed. This also wasn’t something that he liked to dwell on. Perhaps there had been a handful of others who might have been able to stay on after the war, and had simply preferred not to. Who had simply wanted to break their staves and never bother again with magic and all the grief it had brought.

“I cannot fault anyone for wanting to have peace and be done with this place. How could I, after Ettersberg? The lads deserved to rest easy.”

David brushed the blanket off himself and draped it over the backrest of his chair. Then he came closer, stopped in front of Thomas and raised his hand to brush a strand of hair (he hadn’t combed it back yet) from his forehead.

“You deserved the same,” he said.

Thomas kept silent, short of a reply. He couldn’t say he had considered himself deserving of anything much. Oh, certainly, he probably subconsciously, by way of his upbringing, felt himself entitled to all manner of things. Working with Peter was making that clear to him time and time anew. But I deserve? The words rarely occurred to him. In the face of facts, what did that matter? Oh, he could have raged against the fates that put him in charge of the Folly even as he’d been recovering from a gunshot wound and everything else besides. Or he could have gotten on with things, and that he had done. Besides, there had been Molly to consider. Would he have left her alone, or with anyone else? Chauvinists the lot, lechers some of them, and barely able to conceive of a fae or a girl or a mute or a member of the serving classes as a full person altogether. Molly had done so much for them in the past, but even if she’d done nothing, casting her out or leaving her to an uncertain fate had simply never been something Thomas could have done.

“Never mind all that now,” he said. “Would you like to come up to bed again?”

David took his hand. “Why, always.”

—-

This time, in the pale morning light, David took a moment to peruse the bedroom.

“Grand,” was his initial verdict. “Much better than we had.” Thomas didn’t quite know which stage of their lives and sleeping arrangements David was referring to: boarding school and dormitories, their former rooms here in the Folly, not nearly as large as the master bedroom, or the war during which they’d slept in a ditch? Probably he just meant that they now had privacy, and the leisure to sleep together, and all the time in the world to do it.

He meant to ask after that, to clarify, but David was by now peering at the pictures on the walls, smiling fondly at the photographs of them with the lads, all in their uniforms, and, “Oh!” he trilled. “You hung up the Leyendecker!”

Thomas grinned. “I did at that. Present to myself on occasion of the legalization.”

He’d had the painting done during his stay in the states, at the tender age of 24. It depicted a youth he sometimes could scarcely remember being - in profile, one arm dramatically extended, a werelight rising from his open palm, a grin on his face communicating look what I can do. It wasn’t a nude, but not much was missing to make it one: a large Union Jack covered the most private bits, but that was it. In reality, the sheet the artist - dear Joseph - had draped over him had been a simple white linen, the circumstances having been quite ad hoc to start a painting, but that was artists for you. The dedication at the bottom of the canvas, half-covered by the frame, ran “To Thomas in gratitude for your ‘enchanting’ company. Sincerely, your friends J. C. L. and Charles.” The whole depicted what Leyendecker had encountered back then as the essential, British Wizard.

Life had quite beaten any surplus patriotism out of Thomas in the ensuing years.

“What was it like?” David asked.

Thomas cocked his head. “What, being painted?” He remembered getting quite fidgety with holding the pose, especially immediately post-coitus. But whenever he’d complained of it - still so full of energy that wanted somewhere, in his youth - dear Joseph had put the paintbrush down and wandered over to… relax him.

“No,” David said, “when you hung it up here. The occasion. The legalization…”

Thomas smiled fondly, recalling. “It was a singular time.” He leaned in and gave David a kiss. “Let’s catch you up on the history later, hmm?”

“Later.” David nodded.

This time, there were much fewer clothes to divest, and they did away with them quickly. In the pale light of the dawning summer day, they beheld each other, and then, with twin sighs of relief, sank into each other’s arms.

“How do you want it?” Thomas asked as they were back on the bed, lying side by side for the moment, touching all over. Though they had been inclined to experiment a bit within their history, they’d established routines by which they gave each other mutual pleasure, and, despite the occasional deviation, had stuck to them more often than not. When coupling, usually, David did the giving, Thomas the taking, but within that seemingly simple dynamic hid a wealth of potential variety.

So Thomas asked, again, “Well? Do you want me in charge, or not in charge?” He could domineer from the bottom, sometimes. Other times, he preferred not to.

David was resting a hand on his flank. He now stroked downwards. “I want to drive you a little wild, my love.” His hand slid up Thomas’s inner thigh, softly cupping his balls, taking hold of his cock, soft still, but things were happening there with rapidity. Thomas groaned unabashedly as blood rushed southward (it had really been a while, excepting the previous night, since he’d been touched intimately). David’s other hand reached around and fondled the cleft of Thomas’s arse. He twitched, already, deliciously, the residual hint of soreness from the previous go only adding to the anticipation for more.

“I want you on your hands and knees,” David went on to say. “Bum up in the air for me.”

And that was David for you: cute and seemingly innocent with his overlarge jumpers, his boyish curls and doe eyes, and then he went and said things like this, or invented a spell that made an opponent’s lungs fill with their own blood on the battlefield, while muttering in Yiddish about vengeance. He steamrolled people. He steamrolled even Thomas, still.

So Thomas assumed the position as he was bid, resting his weight on his forearms.

David dipped into the nightstand again, lubed up his fingers quickly. Oh, he knew what he wanted, didn’t David always, and Thomas felt hands on his cheeks - not indeed on his face - , gripping, kneading, massaging. Well, didn’t that feel awfully nice…

Still, “What are you getting up to back there?” he asked, craning his head over his own shoulder to try and catch a glimpse at his lover.

“I just missed this. Getting to take my time… getting to undress you and have you, here on the bed, and everything soft and nice…” Ah, yes. The last time, again excepting last night, they’d come together had been inter-war, even more furtive and rushed than their usual, in full uniform, probably in a foxhole somewhere, ready to split apart and start in on the action at any second.

Truly, this was better.

Then, a finger moving down the cleft of his arse, leaving a pleasant trail of lube. Downwards and around, David went, all the way across that space in between Thomas’s hole and his balls, and up again, and off for a second, and then back with more lube, until Thomas felt the moisture of it down his sensitive inner thighs. He hummed, shifted up into the touch, pleasured in a mellow way but wanting more than that. David kissed along his shoulder, down his spine, at the small of his back now, oh, he would… oh yes…

And now David was mouthing at his entrance, licking, suckling, kissing, making Thomas give way with just his lips, squirming his tongue inside, oh, that warm, wet, singular feeling…

“Hhhmmmmmnnn,” Thomas uttered, quite involuntarily, muffling it into the pillow.

David pulled off with an obscene smack. “Please,” he said, “make noises, darling. I do so love to hear you, and we are alone…”

Thomas sighed, head swimmy with bliss. An eternity beckoned. Eternity of making noise during this any time he wanted, who could object, what could threaten them now? He could be loud, even… “Yes. Yes… Davey…”

“Good.” David got right back to work, with his fingers now at first, spreading him open, then his tongue was back, and Thomas felt he should howl his elation to the heavens… did so, maybe… all was a blur… or maybe not. Decades of habits not so easy to break as all that…

There was nothing in the world now but this, the sensation of David’s clever mouth at work, this and the needful pulse of blood in Thomas’s cock. So heavy… aching, rather… perhaps he could shift his weight, get a hand down himself, or… lower himself down against the sheets… anything…

“Nn-uhh,” David’s noise, muffled against him but clear in its meaning, and then suddenly there was David’s signare, too, and god, Thomas knew what was to come seconds before it clamped around the base of his cock, not painful, just… tight.

“Oh,” Thomas breathed, remembering. Yes, David had designed this forma too, this one not for wartime exploits, and Thomas knew full well that his lover could hold this spell as long as it took, even rimming him into next Sunday.

He’d denied David his lengthy, drawn-out edging session yesterday evening, but now David was collecting his due.

David kept it up for what felt like hours, licking and stroking inside Thomas, bringing him closer, closer, almost, never quite satisfying, until Thomas was writhing, whimpering, seriously considering whether he should beg–

“Please… Davey, please, Davey…”

Again David pulled off, depriving Thomas totally of any sensation, and he keened–

“What, honey?” David asked, his voice rough, strained, surely he must be as impatient for it now as Thomas was…

“Fuck me now, do.”

David chuckled. “How demanding!”

“You’re wanting to, I know you do. Davey, it’s been ages, you must be wanting to get off as much as I do.”

“Granted,” David said softly. Thomas craned his head again to see what David was getting up to and, oh, David was touching himself. David was applying lube to his own cock. That meant any moment now… Thomas trembled with wanting. In another world, on some distant star, he possessed reticence, even gravitas. Imagine that. Now he was nothing but a receptacle of what David would put in him very soon very soon any second now–

–yearning for it, needing, gasping for it, so open, so ready–

–hard to the point of pain, his cock reddened and plump and so sensitive–

–and there it was, David’s glorious cock at last, nudging against his entrance, breaching him again, sliding inside.

This time, David had barely any difficulty. There was no struggle to ease his passage. Thomas was warm and wet and prepared for him.

David let out a breathy moan of his own, bent double and folding himself over Thomas as he slid further inside, so that he could mouth at his shoulderblade again, too scattered, too incoherent for a proper kiss, teeth digging in a bit, yes god. Now he was fully sheathed, in to the hilt, his balls against Thomas’s crack and they both groaned, nothing but mutual relief. Joined, properly, fitting together so well, David’s cockhead nudging Thomas’s prostate, sending showers of sparks through him with every small adjustment.

For a minute, they both simply stayed still, basking in their complete togetherness. Thomas arched his back, catlike, almost purring like one too. This felt good, better than he had in… oh, years, decades maybe. So hot. So full.

“You should move,” he suggested, after the appropriate moment had been taken. David complied, and his every thrust was heavenly delight, hard and fast the way Thomas loved it. He could hear David’s harsh breaths behind him, but not too loudly through the ringing in his ears as the sensations in him crested, as David’s hot length jabbed into him, withdrew, hit that sweet spot again, and then over, and then over…

…Thomas arching up to meet him halfway, needing David buried in him, filling him up, as deep as possible, and those sparks of pleasure, and he did try to pull at his own cock, but to no avail, David’s spell still held… and he was now making all kinds of noises, deep primal noises down in his throat…

But he needed to come. Had to. Now. Otherwise he’d burst, he’d go insane, he’d die.

David slammed into him once more… twice… growing erratic now, frantic, he was close… he was there, coming in spurts, and as he lost himself in it, Thomas felt the hold on his dick loosen. God, thank god, could not have stood another second, and he reached down, couple of harsh pulls on himself, and he spilled too, erupted more like, long streaks sullying his own abdomen. And it was everything, everything unloading all at once.

----

When David pulled out, he left a sticky commingling of lube and ejaculate leaking out after him, warm now but cooling rapidly, slippery and moist down Thomas’s thighs. Thomas rolled onto his back and appreciated it, trailing a hand through the mess, skimming his fingers gently down the length of his cock (it still felt so sensitive from being in that vice-grip earlier, still a little plumped, every soft touch an exquisite bloom of pleasure-pain), fingering the rim of his hole to trace where David had just been. So empty now, so deliciously sore. He barely resisted stuffing two fingers down there as a placeholder of sorts for whenever David would be up for it again.

David leaned over from where he’d been coming down from it, across on the bed, still panting a bit, and grabbed Thomas’s hand. “Leave it,” he said. “You’ll be sore enough as is.”

“Always so reasonable,” Thomas replied. “What if I want you again?” Because now his body was remembering again, oh yes, and it had been so long without. These embers, now stoked, would probably take a while to stop glowing.

He enclosed his free hand around David’s wrist, meaning to pull him off, but David hissed, a flash of true pain evident on his face as he wrenched his hands away. His wrists were still reddened, chafed, the skin looking raw in some places.

Oh. Right. That.

Very carefully, Thomas fetched David’s hands back, holding them gently up for inspection. “Oh, dear, your poor wrists. I’m so deeply sorry.”

“Please.” David took a shaky breath. “I don’t need an apology from you, Thomas, it’s fine, just maybe… maybe an explanation. Why the cuffs? Why all that time? Was it… vindictiveness, or…?”

“No. Nothing of the sort. It’s simply, being a practitioner, coming out of combat, it’s… prudent to go without for a while. I’ve experienced this firsthand.”

“What do you mean by that?” David asked.

Thomas took a deep breath. “When I was just a few weeks home, when things were… not settled yet within me as they are now… there were times when I wouldn’t quite… maintain control of my magic the way I ought to have. One instance, I was…” He halted. He hadn’t ever divulged the story of this incident to anyone. He’d never spoken of this, not even to Molly. Perhaps it was too much, perhaps it could never be said—But this was David.

David who was owed an explanation.

“There was a thunderstorm,” he said, his voice dipping into a whisper. “It sounded so much like mortar fire. I… confused it. Molly found me under the table in the dining room. Cover, you see. This hasn’t happened to me in, oh, decades. But back then… and Molly reached for me, which perhaps she should not have done. But what did any of us know about it? I didn’t recognize her. In that moment, I…”

He gulped. This had taken on an air like a confessional. “I hurt Molly.”

David held his hands, his eyes deep pity lakes. “Oh, Thomas. With your magic…?”

“Yes.” Thomas hung his head. “It haunts me to this day. Just imagine what might have been if she hadn’t understood. What if this instance had ruined our friendship? What if I’d hurt her worse? What if I’d…?”

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t.

“I see,” David whispered.

“I didn’t want this for you. For your sake and others’, I needed you to be safe. At least until we could get a professional to assess you. But it backfired, didn’t it? Almost got you killed.”

“Don’t blame yourself.��

“Don’t blame myself for something I clearly did?”

David shook his head. “Your intentions were good ones. I know that now. But you have to trust me to know my own needs. To know how to handle my own combat fatigue.”

But how can you know that, Thomas wanted to ask. He certainly hadn’t known how to ‘handle’ his own ‘combat fatigue’ back in ’45. Would have been grateful for a guiding hand. For someone, anyone, anything to make sense of it for him. But he reckoned he could tell what David meant. He wasn’t claiming to have himself all figured out. That would have been a lie, anyways. He was simply asking not to have help forced upon him, and for Thomas to not presume that something that might have helped him would also be good for David. They were very different people still.

“But if you do need anything, you will ask me for it, won’t you?”

David nestled into his side, disregarding for a moment how sweaty and sticky they both were. “Will do, love.”

Thomas simply let that settle in the air between them, contented. They would face things together again from here on out. A double act.

Quite suddenly, he had to muffle another yawn. “Lord, but I’m tired still. Maybe we can go back to sleep.”

David moved against him somewhat. “We need a shower. You especially. And breakfast…”

“Perhaps we can ask Molly to bring a tray up.” It seemed ultimately slovenly/debauched/bohemian/libertine and any other number of such terms, taking breakfast in bed without being sick, the decline of steadfast English discipline. One took breakfast in the breakfast room, fully dressed for the occasion, come hell or high water. On the other hand… it wasn’t every day that the love of one’s life returned from the dead. They had nothing on for the day. And Thomas simply didn’t want to leave their (their!) bed yet, not when it was so comfortable and warm and something within him was still, even after being loved on so lavishly twice, watching the line of David’s body and giving off pangs of hunger that had nothing to do with breakfast at all.

He half-turned, capturing David’s thigh between both of his legs, slowly, lazily rubbing against it. Ohh- he was still very sensitive. He shuddered, half discomfort, half excitement.

“Really?” David raised a brow. “You cannot possibly be up for it again.”

“Maybe if we sleep some first.” Thomas smiled encouragingly, caressing David’s jaw, then wandering lower to the soft little hairs on his chest. “Have something to eat, as you suggested, and then… perhaps just spend the day in here.”

David laughed, and hugged him close. “Impossible. You are impossible.”

[sabine-leo]

Look Left!

Here is the second Oneshot from a raffle winner ! Hope you enjoy!! Comments and reblogs are very much loved !!

I tried to combine @marikochi ideas: 

1 idea : Personally I love storys where the reader (who is friends with Tom but secretly has deeper feelings) is drunk and says some really embarrassing things about her true feelings or does something stupid and gets herself in danger 😂

2: call me weird but I love storys where either the reader or Tom gets hurt and the other one cares for the hurt person.. Idk I just think this kind of stuff is really cute 😅

Pairing: Tom x Reader

Wordcount: 3263

God! You were so stupid! So damn stupid! How could you forget THAT? How could you be so careless? Shit, that hurt…but the embarrassment hurt even more, your dented pride too. There was no way you would get home alone after this, so you had to give them the number. Mentally counting down you waited for the door to open and a familiar face to appear above yours…probably laughing at your stupidity! Seemed like you had THAT wrong too!

Some 15 minutes after the call was made the door to your room flew open and a pretty flustered and pale looking Tom rushed to your side. “I came as fast as I could!!” He proclaimed and softly placed his hand above yours, fishing for a chair with his foot to pull it close. Good, because he looked like he would pass out any second. “Darling, what happened?” Tom sat down with a little thud as if his legs gave out half way down. The young nurse rushing in after him still stood open mouthed in the doorway.

She looked like a lot of women, especially women but not only, who encountered your best friend closely. Tom turned as you didn´t give him an answer and looked at the nurse for a second.

“I´m very sorry if I was a bit bearish, thank you for guiding the way!” With that Tom dismissed her and turned his attention back to you. The nurse closed the door and gave you a little privacy.

“I thought you would not be back until tomorrow!” Tom said and squeezed your hand a little.

 Taking a painful breath you tried to sit up a bit but got stopped directly.

“No (Y/N) don´t…” Tom came closer and rubbed his face as you had settled into your pillow again.

“I am so sorry if I have scared you!” You said quietly.

“Oh, you did!” Tom said but quickly added “Just tell me what happened…please!”

 Sighing you rolled your eyes. “I am so stupid…” you groaned and closed your eyes.

“I came back a day early because my parents had mixed up their flight schedule for their big trip.”

Tom tilted his head. “That explains why you are back, but not why you are hurt and needed me as your emergency contact…I mean, I know I am your emergency contact and you are one of mine but…” His voice was so soft, so worried and his hand stayed on yours as he was waiting for answers.

 “I freakin looked to the wrong side!” You burst out.

“After only 4 weeks back at my parents I FORGOT to look LEFT!”

You waited for the laugh…it didn´t come. Instead the door opened and a doctor came in.

“I´ve looked over the radiograph. You got lucky!” He said and smiled. He shook Toms hand in greeting after the first sentence. “You are good to go home IF your husband is willing to take care of you.” There, another one got it wrong just by judging how physically close you and Tom could get when around each other. You were about to correct the doctor as Tom cleared his throat and nodded.

“Of course, I can move my schedule around a little!” The doctor seemed to be pleased enough and carried on. “Her left shoulder was dislocated but we were able to correct it instantly so that she just has to be a little careful with the movements for a week. The right ankle is swollen and the ligaments are overstretched, walking a bit AND carefully is alright but it should be rested until it´s not swollen anymore.”  The doctor looked at Tom. “She can take something for the pain… and do come back at any time if you feel somethings not right!” The doctor now looked at you.

“Rest and let your husband look after you! You got lucky that only a bicycle has hit you” With that he discharged you and handed Tom some pain meds.

 Sitting up slowly as Tom closed the door behind the doctor again you huffed.

“lucky me! ONLY a bicycle…” Tom chuckled a little and came over to you again.

“Let´s get you home darling…”

You tentatively slid down from the bed but yelped a little as your right foot hit the ground.

“Gimme a second!” you said as Tom wanted to help you directly. He gathered your stuff instead and the both of you were SLOWLY on your way out. Tom helping you as much as you allowed him.

 Not half way through the corridor a nurse came offering a wheelchair. You sighed but at this pace you wouldn´t be home before Christmas…and it was only June. Tom chuckled softly as he saw your face. “Thank you, but I think we won´t need that!” He carefully picked you up bridal style and smiled at the nurse. “Bye!” Walking as if you weight nothing he even managed to open the door gracefully with you in his arms. Outside you huffed. “Thomas William Hiddleston. Making woman swoon since 1981!” Tom laughed and looked at you. “No, I haven´t made you swoon till now. A bike has to hit you before I even get to swoop you off your feet!”

 If only he knew…

 Tom carried you to his car and helped you get in, he even buckled the seatbelt for you. Sitting behind the wheel he looked over. “I´m glad you are not hurt worse…but don´t even think about being alone tonight!” Rolling your eyes you wanted to argue but Tom stopped you as you were taking in a breath to start talking. “You know what…make that a week!”

“Tom! You are NOT really my husband and you don´t have to play that role!”

Tom grinned amused “Darling. I AM an actor, I think I am able to do just that…”

 Great, the way he looked, all intense and dead set on seeing his plan through, you had no chance to talk him out of it. But you really did not know if you would be able to cope with him THAT close over an extended period of time. You had been friends for some years now. Heck, you moved to London because of him and the plans the both of you had workwise. There always had been a special chemistry between the both of you but the timing was never perfect. Your working schedules collided in the first year, then Tom had found a girl or you had casually dated someone…it just never fit and somewhere along the line you had settled for friendship.

 The prospect of having him close for a whole week was scary. You were frightened that the feelings you had under control for now would emerge and taint the friendship you had with him.

“(Y/N)?” Tom got you out of your inner debate. “Hm?” You asked and looked over.

“I asked if you were more comfortable at your place or if you´d like to stay at my home for the next days?” Oh my, you really did not know how to answer that. If he stayed at your home everything would remind you of him when he was gone again. At his place everything smelled like him but you could pretend it had been a dream…

 “Uhm…” you started. Tom decided for you. “You know what. Your bedroom is on the same level as everything else. It´s probably easier without the stairs. I´ll stop at my place and pack a few things then we will stay at your home.” His reasoning was sensible, but one thing he did not mention.

You only had ONE bed and you sure as hell would not let him sleep on the couch for how ever long he decided to play your nurse!

 Some 30 minutes later Tom parked his car in your driveway and came around to help you after he had keyed open your door. “Hold on to me love…” He was careful not to touch your injured shoulder as he picked you up again. Before the threshold he stopped and grinned.

You just shoot him a dirty look “Don´t even think about it!”

Tom chuckled and took a very provocative step into your home. He kicked the door close and asked.

“Directly to the bed?” a smile toyed with his lips.

“You could not stop yourself couldn´t you? Sofa! Thank you very much!”

 Tom grinned and carefully set you down. “Let´s get you comfortable first, then I´ll get my stuff out of the car.” And he did just that. He put a big pillow behind your back, a little one under your foot a glass of water on the table and a blanket above your legs. After dropping his stuff in your bedroom he went into the kitchen. “Darling, your fridge is empty…”

“I know, I got hit by a bike as I was out to get groceries after getting back home!”

Tom came back to you and smiled “Alright, take out it is and tomorrow I´ll go shop everything we need for the next days.” He placed the order after you both decided what you wanted to eat and started a movie you could watch.

 “May I?” He asked and lifted your legs carefully to sit down and put them onto his lap.

“It´s more elevated that way…and I don´t have to sit on the floor!” He winked and you laughed a little. “You are playing the nurse, you know what´s best..” You couldn´t help but tease.

Tom laughed “Oh no, I play the husband.. YOU will play the nurse when I get the next deadly cold! Sexy outfit included!!” The joking eased you a little and soon the both of you were watching the movie and eating the pizza he´d ordered. After dinner you took the meds the doctor had given Tom. Your shoulder hurt quite a bit…

 It didn´t take long for you to get a little drowsy. Tom noticed and smiled. “Time for bed love!” He lifted you up again and carried you to the bedroom. “I´ll give you a minute to change..” he said and went into the bathroom himself. There you sat, on the edge of the bed and could not even get your shirt off. Your left arm would not lift enough to get it out…and you felt a little drunk. Probably the meds in combination with the painkillers you had gotten in the hospital already.

“Tom?” you said quietly. Tom opened the door directly. He had a toothbrush in his mouth and was without his shirt. Nothing you hadn´t seen before but it felt different somehow. More intimate.

 “I think I need help…” You said blushing from embarrassment. Tom lifted a finger “Onemoment” he got out with the toothbrush in his mouth before he vanished into the bath again. “Just bring the scissors and cut it off!” Tom came back with a smile “No, we will manage to get you out without ruining it…” He came around and started with your unhurt arm. He slowly pulled the shirt over your head and made a face as you winced a little. “Sorry darling…can you lift your arm just a little bit?” You tried and he got the shirt off. Now you sat in your bra and jeans before him and somehow you didn´t care. The meds had kicked in. Tom got a shirt from him and said “We´ll put this on, my shirts are bigger and easier to handle for now.”

 He helped you into the shirt and afterwards kneeled before you. “Balance yourself on my shoulder, the jeans has to get off too!” You chuckled a little and swayed a bit on just your left foot.

“Aren´t you prince charming!” Your speech slurred as if you had one drink too much. Tom grinned.

“Just helping my wife undress!” He winked and you giggled. Tom opened your jeans and his hands grabbed the waistband. Slowly he pulled them down and looked up as he heard you take in a breath.

You had closed your eyes and he grinned before his hands left your jeans that pooled around your feet and softly grabbed your waist to make you sit on the bed again.

 You still held on to his naked shoulders. “Darling?” He said softly.

“We are done… you can let go of me and get as comfortable as possible!”

“Ok..” you said and stroked down his chest. Tom took in a deep breath but smiled.

“The meds are working I guess…” Your pupils told him the answer, they were clearly dilated.

You managed to get under the blanket and found a position that was comfortable. Tom cleaned up your clothes and took of his pants to add it to the pile.

 “Youre sooo sexy!” You blurted and watched him. Tom stood with his back to you but he stopped his movements for a second. A look over his shoulder and he said “Well, thank you…” He smiled and now turned fully. “You need something before I hop into bed too?”

You shook your head but simultaneously said “Turnround an…other time…you have a niiice butt!”

Tom chuckled softly not even the slightest taken aback. He climbed into bed next to you and propped himself onto one side. “Maybe we should go easy on the meds tomorrow.. they clearly temper with your judgement.” He killed the light and only a soft glow from outside lit the room.

 “Tom?” You said quietly and somewhat straight. “Yes darling?”

“I got hit by a bike!”

“Yes, but you´ll be ok…I´ll stay with you until you feel better!”

“Then I´ll NEEEEVER feel better!”

Tom chuckled and felt your hand searching for him. “Want me closer?” He asked quietly.

“Mhmm yes please!” Tom scooted closer and you cuddled up as good as possible with your unhurt side. A sigh escaped you and you closed your eyes taking in a deep breath. Some minutes later you slurred  “Love you!” before you drifted into a meds induced sleep.

 Toms eyes shot open. He knew you were under the influence of those meds but his heart couldn’t help but beat faster. “Love you too! Always have…” He said quietly and placed a kiss on your forehead. Maybe this was the time where the both of you were finally on the same page. Where fate and time finally lined up. He never had wanted to be JUST friends, but the both of you had ended up that way. Maybe he had to make you see how good the both of you fit…maybe he had to push luck a bit…maybe you wanted him like he wanted you.

 He promised his heart that he would find out in the next days!

 After 3 days you were able to walk with just a slight limp. You could lift your arm half way again without flinching and currently stood in the kitchen trying to make breakfast. Tom had been curled up behind you as you woke up. Every night that passed he came closer and closer and this morning not even a hair would have fit between the both of you…and damn, it had felt so good!

Lost in your thoughts you jerked a little as 2 arms came around your waist from behind.

 “Morning..” a soft kiss on your healing shoulder. Tom was really good at acting, you knew that but you´d never thought that he would play the role of your husband to perfection. The last 3 days he had helped you whenever you had needed him and made you realise how much you loved having him around. He had joked about why the both of you hadn´t moved in with each other sooner. There had been a lot of innocent kisses on your cheek, a lot of cuddling while you rested on the sofa and it all had felt more than right.

 He hugged you close against his still naked chest. “Shouldn´t I be making breakfast for my wife?” He asked teasingly and pecked your cheek over your shoulder. You were too weak to NOT lean in and enjoy his arms around you. He really had worn you down over the last days. No, not worn you down… that wasn´t the right term. He had sneaked in through the little space you had given him and torn the door to your heart wide open with his irresistible charm and simply by being his usual loveable self.

 Tom felt you cuddling up against him and he smiled. His hand slowly found it´s way under your shirt and came to rest on your belly, his thumb stroking you softly. You had always been close with each other, but that was crossing even your muddy line of balancing friendship and something else you were secretly craving. “(Y/N)?” Tom asked whispering near your ear.

“Mhmm?” You replied with your eyes still closed, absorbing his every touch.

“Do I need to play my act another day?”

Opening your eyes you tensed a little before answering. “No, I… sorry for keeping you the last days…I think I´ll be able to handle myself from now on…” You tried to free yourself but he would not let you.

“That´s not what I meant…” He said quietly.

“No?” You asked and tried to turn instead of freeing yourself. This time Tom let you but still had you in his arms. You tried to look up into his eyes, but his naked chest was more than distracting this close. Tom chuckled softly and leaned back to get your attention again.

 “How much more does it take?” he asked with a deep look into your eyes.

“Huh?” you asked not very elaborate.

“Another night cuddled up together? One more day? Another hug? Another kiss on the cheek?”

Tom softly took your face in his hands. “The first night…before you fell asleep you said you loved me…” You gasped but didn´t deny it…you couldn´t deny it. “I know the meds made you drowsy, but it felt so good hearing you say it…” Tom carried on.

 His eyes hunted yours. “So tell me…I need to know…do you love me as a friend, or…” he could not finish his sentence….he just stared into your eyes and searched for an answer. As you did not make a move to get away from him or to let him down easy with words of friendship a slow smile spread on his beautiful face. Your hands gliding around his narrow waist, tugging him even closer gave him the answer he wanted. He dipped his head slowly, his nose nudging yours.

 “…I said it back, you know..” He whispered before his lips found yours in a soft and slow kiss that tasted of Tom and peppermint toothpaste…but mostly it tasted like a promise. Like a promise that THIS was something special, that this was the right time that your hearts finally had found their way to each other.

 A year later…

 After a nice dinner Tom and you walked back to your joined home. After he had kissed you in the kitchen that fateful morning Tom had made you move in with him very fast saying he would not want to miss another day without you in his arms…and you felt the same. You had wasted enough time not being with him. Stopping at a crossing Tom took you  into his arms and kissed you very thoroughly. He rested his forehead against yours and smiled.

“I love you darling! And now…LOOK LEFT!!”

 You did…and gasped as a bicycle slowly came into view. On it was a big sign….

 WILL YOU MARRY ME?

 @amazinggraces-world @drakesfiance @confessionsofastrugglingteen @inlovewithfreyamikaelson @heart-shaped-hell 

@theoneanna @marikochi @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @awkwardfangirl2014 @rainbowsinthestorm

[badwolf-in-the-impala]

~The Edge of Heaven~

Moodboard credit: Myself, @badwolf-in-the-impala. None of the pictures are mine obviously. Only the editing.

Chapter One || Chapter Two ||

A/N: Sorry I suck and took forever to get this posted. I have one too many fics and not enough brain cells to go around lol...anywho, one minor change that I made, after some more writing/character building for James, is I decided on a different Faceclaim for him, so that has been changed in the Moodboard. I decided that Luke Evans ended up being a better fit than Paul Wesley...cause you know, I’m the worlds most indecisive person. But yeah, I’ll stop rambling now. ENJOY! Let me know if you would like to be added to the TAGLIST ^-^. Sorry if this chapter is kinda shitty.

Word Count: 4,669

Pairings: Thomas Shelby x OC

Face-Claims: Emily Rudd as Aurora - ((Luke Evans as James))

Rating: Mature/18+

General Warnings: Spousal abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence general Peaky related things...none of which I romanticize, support, or condone by any means. 

Chapter Warnings: Controlling spouse. Abuse - physical and verbal. General angst. 

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

Several hours after Aurora and James had returned home from the party, Aurora sat alone in their porcelain, claw-foot tub. Knees tucked into her chest as she rested her chin a top them, trying her best to ignore the throbbing of her freshly bruised left cheek, and the split lower her lip. James’ outburst upon their arrival home having been far greater than she anticipated...and while this hadn’t been a first time occurrence; it was the first one in awhile.

The short drive home had been quiet between the two of them. He was drunk and Aurora could tell by his body language that he was upset with her, even despite his calm demeanor on the outside. But his grip on the steering wheel of their car told a different story. His fingers gripping it so tight, that it caused his knuckles to turn a ghostly shade of white. 

Her first mistake upon exiting the car, had been daring to open her mouth in hopes of giving her husband an explanation; and more importantly, to apologize for leaving him while she went gallivanting off around the property with Ada.  “I’m sorry abou’ this evenin’, James...really, I didn’ mean to be away for so long while I was with Ada; it was jus’ so nice to see everyone again I lost track of--” 

The blow that came from his hand striking her across the face was hard enough to knock Aurora off balance, as it caught her off guard mid-apology. Sending her stumbling backwards as she tripped over the bottom of her dress and collided with the walkway beneath her. The gravel biting into the delicate skin of her forearms and knees, causing her to cry out.

“You shut your Goddamn mouth, you useless fucking Whore! Do you have any idea how much of an embarrassment your behavior was too me, tonight?!” James had roared as he stepped over her, raking an agitated hand through short brown locks of hair, sending it into disarray as he began pacing back and forth, like a lion in a cage, as his temper spiraled out of control. Aurora immediately falling silent as she stared at the ground; cradling her injured cheek carefully as the situation escalated. Not trusting herself enough just yet, to try and get back up on her feet.

“Leave it to my fucking wife, to be the one running around, just like old times, throwing herself at any man who’ll fucking pay attention to her like she’s a Goddamn Harlot! You just can’t fucking help yourself, can you?! CAN YOU?!” He scolded.

“I-It wasn’ like that!” Aurora stuttered, trying to defend herself. “If ye’d jus’ let me explain-”

“I know what I fucking saw, Aurora! Are you trying to say that I’m a liar?!” James fumed as he rounded on her, dark eyes clouded with rage;  his voice starting to go hoarse from all the shouting. Aurora shook her head in reply, falling silent as James continued to rebuke her for the behavior she had displayed earlier that evening, and more importantly, for her actions of spending time alone in the presence of another man without his permission.

Eventually, James yanked her up to her feet once he felt his point had been made, before dragging her alongside him by the arm into the house, where he abandoned her in the foyer of their home and locked himself in his study with a bottle of whiskey for the night. But not before delivering one final backhanded slap across her face, the one that left her lower lip swollen and split. Filling her mouth with taste of copper as she forced herself to keep her chin up in an attempt to hold back the tears that threatened to fall, as her husband glared down at her for one more brief moment. His dark eyes filled with such hatred and disgust towards her that it made Aurora wish she could physically disappear.

Thus, how she came to find herself sitting alone in the tub. Door locked and the water turning cold, as she patiently waited for the sounds of his incessant pacing to finally cease so that she could sneak off to bed. Knowing it would be better for her to avoid being caught in her husband's presence a second time that night.

So when the house had finally fallen silent, Aurora climbed out of the tub and toweled herself off; brushing out her dark hair and braiding it, before slipping into her silk nightgown and tiptoeing carefully down to the bedroom that she and her husband rarely shared. Pausing briefly outside the door of James’ study, just to be sure the pacing had actually stopped. Finding only silence coming from within the room as she pressed her ear carefully against the door. 

Aurora allowed herself a quiet sigh of relief as she turned and hurried the rest of the way down the hallway and into the bedroom...Locking the door behind herself and crossed the room, climbing into bed and burrowing deep beneath the blankets, into the feather tick mattress, as she closed her eyes.

Her quiet, brokenhearted sobs falling on deaf ears as she lay there, silently wondering to herself where she had gone so wrong with her life. The tears that fell from emerald eyes, soaking and staining her pillowcase, as she cried herself to sleep.

~

The next morning when she woke, James was nowhere to be found in their home, and the absence of his car meant that he would likely be gone until late evening; if he even came home at all. Leaving Aurora to enjoy a somewhat stress free day, filled mostly with unpacking the last of their belongings and organizing her new home a bit more, once she had completed all the chores that needed doing out in the Stables. All the work falling to her for now, as James had yet to hire any sort of help since the move.

Aurora had been in the midst of cleaning up her dishes from lunch when the phone started to ring, and thinking it could possibly be her husband, she was quick to stop what she was doing and answer it. “Turner residence?” She answered in a cheery tone, despite the solemn expression she wore on her battered face.

“May I speak to Aurora, please.” The woman asked politely.

“This is her?” Aurora replied.

“Aurora! It’s Ada!” The voice greeted excitedly, putting a small smile on Aurora’s face almost instantly.

“Hi, Ada.” She chuckled softly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”

“Well,” Ada started. “The boys an’ I are still over at Tommy’s, an’ we got to wonderin’, if maybe you and y’er husband would like to come over? Maybe visit over some tea?” The tone of her voice held an air of hopefulness about it, and by the sounds of the scuffle going on in the background, Aurora was guessing that Ada wasn’t the only one listening in on the conversation.

“I don’ see why not.” Aurora glanced up at the clock, noting it was still early enough that a few hours couldn’t hurt. It’s not like James would be back anytime soon and besides, it’s not like he needed to know anyways if he was going to be an absolute dick about it. “Lemme jus’ tidy up a lil’ first and I’ll be over in say, half an hour?” 

“Sounds lovely!” Ada exclaimed over the collection of hoops and hollers from Arthur and John that could now be heard in the background. “We’ll see you soon!” And on that note, they hung up.

Aurora was quick to dress; changing into black pair of riding breeches, long sleeved teal blouse and a pair of riding boots. She touched up what little makeup she already wore and tidied her hair up a bit. Tying it up into a half ponytail, leaving the underneath bit down and throwing on a light wool duster, before heading back downstairs where she left a note for James, just in case he should return before she did, explaining that she had gone out for a ride and would be back before supper. 

She made sure to leave the note where he would be sure to see it and headed out to the stable to saddle up one of her horses. Settling on a Dapple Grey mare that she hadn’t ridden in a while; the horse more than eager to get out and stretch her legs. Especially after all the weeks of traveling overseas they’d had to endure.

“Settle down, Lady.” Aurora told the animal firmly as she gave her a pat on the neck, calming the beast a bit before Aurora finished doing up the saddles cinch. The horse nickering softly and turning her head to nudge Aurora’s arm, demanding more attention and nearly knocking her over in the process. “Oi, don’ go gettin’ cheeky with me now! I’m movin’ as fast I can, you impatient nag.” The horse gave another snort, turning her head away as Aurora finished up and untied her before leading them both out of the stables. Mounting the animal with ease before steering them down the drive and off towards Thomas’ estate. 

 ~

The ride took a little longer than expected, after Lady had decided to take them on a little detour across the ditch bank and through some willows. The trip resulting in a broken set of reins, a missing stirrup, and one bruised ego on Aurora’s part. Mumbling under her breath at the horse about having to walk the last two miles of the way, as they reached their destination finally. 

“Car troubles?” Thomas’ voice caught her by surprise, making her jump slightly as she turned around to where he was standing near the front door, shoulder propped against a pillar, enjoying a cigarette. A small smirk fixed to his lips after clearly having witnessed her mumbling to herself.

“Nah.” Aurora chuckled softly with a shake of her head as she approached him. “But I can sell ye a horse real cheap, if y’er interested?” She joked; Lady giving an unamused snort as she jerked at the broken rein in her hand, catching Thomas’ attention. 

“Rough trip?” Thomas questioned as he pointed to the damaged tack, flicking away the last of his cigarette, one brow raised curiously, as he approached them.

“That would be puttin’ it mildly.” Aurora sighed as the horse bumped her nose against her lower back, pushing her forward a bit. 

“Sounds like ya could use a drink then, eh?” Thomas chuckled as he waved over a nearby footman. “Take Mrs. Turner’s horse ‘ere over to the stables.” He instructed the older man who took the reins from Aurora. “An’ have the stable lads fix up the busted tack for her, eh?”

“Of course. Right away, Mr. Shelby.” The man nodded as he turned, flashing Aurora a quick smile before leading the horse off to the stables.

“Thank you.” 

“Don’ mention it.” Thomas grinned as he looked down at her, though that grin quickly faulted as he took in the bruising on her cheek, as well as the split that adorned her lower lip. Neither of which had been there the night before. He was just about to ask what had happened when the door flew open to reveal Ada, hands on her hips as she glared at her older brother.

“She’s not jus’ ‘ere for you, ya know!” Ada scolded playfully as she started to usher the pair back inside. “I know ya missed her, but ye have’ta share, Thomas!” Aurora gave a soft laugh, watching as Thomas rolled his eyes at his Ada, who’d gone off rambling about the tea getting cold or some nonsense he could have cared less about, as they were dragged along into the drawing room where everyone else sat waiting.

“Jesus! Wha’ happened to y’er face?!” Ada gasped as she turned around to ask Aurora how she liked her tea, finally slowing down long enough to take notice of the injuries.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Aurora brushed it off with a soft laugh as she took a seat in one of the nearby armchairs. “I must’ve been drunker than I realized las’ night...Fell gettin’ out of the damn car when we got home.” 

“Ye really haven’ changed a fuckin’ bit!” Arthur gave a hearty laugh in response, making it Ada’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Aye, she always was a touch acciden’ prone wa’nt she?” John joked, kicking his feet up on the table as he settled back in his own chair. Wiggling his brows playfully at her, as he rolled around the toothpick between his lips as they curved upwards into that cocky grin of his that Aurora remembered so well.

“Yeah? Well, tha’ never stopped me from pullin’ yer dumb arse outta the fire, more times than I should ‘ave, now did it?” She shot back with a playful glare, John holding up his hands in mock surrender, knowing she wasn’t wrong.

“Still feisty as ever too.” Arthur commented as the group broke into a fit of laughter, seemingly convinced that what happened to her face had been nothing more than a mere accident...All save for Thomas. Who was more than a little skeptical. The worry in that icy blue gaze of his, more than evident as he approached to hand her a glass of whiskey. Aurora purposely avoiding his gaze as she fell into conversation with Ada.

Thomas remained silent for the most part during the conversations between Aurora and the rest of his siblings. Taking in every detail about her life, no matter how small and insignificant she wrote it off to be. These parts of her life were new and exciting to him and he very much wanted to hear more about them, and in great detail...All of them.

“Do you ‘ave horses?” Ada inquired as she poured herself another cup of tea, trying to keep the small talk alive, while also trying to find out as much about Aurora as possible, without getting too terribly personal; not wanting to pry to far. 

“Aye, several.” Aurora nodded as she finished the last of her whiskey. “Most of ‘em stayed behind at our property back in America, but my best few made the journey with us.” She added with a soft smile.

“Wha’ kinda horses?” Arthur asked, curiously.

“Mostly event horses.” Aurora replied. “Dressage, showjumping, tha’ sorta thing. We ‘ave several race horses as well though, tha’ I raised for James back home in Louisville. Some of the best.” 

“Well, we would expect no less from ye.” Arthur teased, patting her shoulder on his way by to grab the whiskey decanter from its place beside the hearth. “Aside from Tom, ye always did ‘ave alot’a sense when it came to the horses.”

“Oh please…” Aurora blushed, her voice growing softer as she glanced away at the compliment. Trying to dismiss it as she added, “I was never tha’ good...Tommy was always the better horseman.”

“I beg to differ.” Thomas chimed in, only furthering the blush that tinted her cheeks crimson; making him grin. “Matter o’fact, I bet ye could still out race me any day.” 

Aurora was about to argue how that had always boiled down to luck, more than anything else, when a young stable lad came rushing in, clutching his cap nervously as he stood awkwardly in the doorway. Turning several shades of white as everyone in the room turned to look at him at the same time.

“Lemme guess,” Aurora piped up before anyone else could. Keeping her tone reassuring as she addressed the young man, having already made an educated guess as to what this was about. “Lady let herself out of her stall, didn’ she?” The young man nodded quickly in reply. 

“We’ve been try’na catch her, Mrs. Turner, r-really...b-but she keeps gettin’ away.” 

“It’s quite alrigh’.” Aurora chuckled as she stood up from her chair, motioning for him to lead the way to wherever that crazy beast of hers was currently running amuck. “Tha’ bloody horse is too smart for her own good sometimes.” They were almost to the front door when she noted that Thomas had joined them, giving him a small smile as they made their way outside. Aurora sighing as they watched two more of the stable hands chasing the Grey mare about the yard as she nickered loudly, tossing her head in what appeared to be amusement as she romped and bucked about.

“Oi!” Aurora shouted, her voice catching the mares attention immediately as Aurora stepped down into the gravel of the driveway, one hand propped on her hip, as she gave the horse a rather disapproving look. “Did ye leave all y’er manners back in America? Bloody fuckin’ horse.” Thomas let out a chuckle as he watched Aurora give a sharp whistle, the mare turning and prancing over to her owner proudly; swishing her tail and catching one of the stable hands in the face as she totted by. 

“I swear, y’er gonna be the bloody death me if ye don’ knock off this nonsense.” Aurora muttered as she clipped the lead that had just been brought to her onto Lady’s halter, before passing her off to the stable lad from earlier. 

“Smart horse ye’ve got.” Thomas stated with a hint of amusement to his tone as he came to stand beside Aurora; watching as the stable hands lead Lady back down to the stables. Aurora shook her head with a soft smile as she glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. 

“Oh, she’s smart alrigh’...” Aurora gave a snort as she crossed her arms. “Bloody horse has cost me more in damages than anythin’ else, an’ she’s barely Four!” 

“Does she race?” Thomas asked out of curiosity as they started walking towards the barn. Aurora shook her head in answer.

“No. At least not tha’ I’ve tried. She was meant to be a Show Horse; a jumper, specifically. But the damn Nag’s got the attention span of a nat.” Aurora replied.

“Aye, no wonder she’s bored…” Thomas teased. A slight smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth as Aurora gave him a playful shove; trying to stave off a smirk of her own as she rolled her eyes. “Really though.” Thomas chuckled. “Ye should bring her out to the track sometime. Let’er run. See how she does? Never know, she might surprise ya.” 

“Maybe…” Aurora sighed. “Need’ta do somethin’ with her, ‘fore James decides to get rid of her.” Thomas frowned at Aurora’s answer, noting the slight change in her demeanor at the comment. So subtle he almost missed it, as it was gone in an instant as she covered it up with a smile and added, “He’s not exactly fond of wastin’ money on my hobbies.” 

“Well, if it ever comes to it, I’d be more than ‘appy to take her off y’er hands for ye.” Thomas offered as they entered into the stables, pausing to give Lady -- who was now tethered in the stable lane -- a scratch behind the ears; the Mare letting out a soft nicker as she leaned into the touch. Aurora gave him a soft smile at the offer.

“Aye, well, she seems to like ye well enough, so I’ll have’ta keep that in mind.” She replied, leaning up against one of the empty stalls as she watched Thomas inspect Lady closely; mentally noting things about the horses build, height, and temperament as he circled her slowly. Giving Lady another pat once he had finished, before walking over to join Aurora.

“She’s still growin’, but no doubt tha’ she’d take right to the track. Especially if she loves to run.” Thomas admitted truthfully as he lit a cigarette, taking a drag before offering it to Aurora, who accepted with a smile before taking a drag of her own, wincing as she was reminded of the cut on her bottom lip. 

“Helluva fall ye must’ve taken, eh?” Thomas frowned, shifting so that he was standing in front of Aurora now. Watching as she averted her gaze, exhaling a trail of smoke from the drag she had taken; cheeks tinting crimson out of embarrassment as she fidgeted with the cigarette between her fingertips. 

“Aye, well, I never was very graceful...” Aurora tried to brush off the question with a laugh, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of crimson as Thomas’ fingers gripped her chin lightly, tilting it up as he inspected the bruise on her cheek. His thumb ghosting along the curve of her lower lip gently, the sensation causing a shiver to run down her spine. 

“Hardly how I remember it…” Thomas stated with a frown, though his expression remained soft as his blue eyes glanced up from studying the split on her lip. Aurora swallowing almost audibly as she glanced up finally, green eyes meeting his. The still burning cigarette she held between her fingers falling briefly forgotten; their gazes saying more in that small window of silence, than words could ever begin to cover; Thomas about to speak, when Aurora startled at the chiming of the stables clock, noting that it was well past Five in the evening as she glanced over her shoulder with a frown. 

“It’s late...I should be gettin’ back.” Aurora said softly, clearing her throat nervously as she took a step back, ashing the cigarette between her finger before taking a final drag and passing it back to Thomas as she stepped around him to re-saddle Lady. Thomas giving a nod as he finished off the smoke, grinding out the last of it with the heel of his shoe before lending her a hand. Bridling the mare while Aurora finished doing up the cinch, before giving her a leg up and leading the pair out of the stables and up to the driveway. Checking thoroughly over the bridle, as well as the stirrup, to insure they had been properly fixed before letting her be on her way. 

“Thank you for havin’ me.” Aurora thanked him, her smile seeming a little too forced as she glanced down. “And do give y’er family my apologies for havin’ to cut my visit short...But, perhaps we can get together again soon.” 

“Of course.” Thomas gave her a nod as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, taking a step back as Aurora urged the horse forward, stopping a few feet away to look over her shoulder as Thomas called after her.

“Rora?” Aurora’s expression softened hearing him use the nickname that she had grown so fond of, when they were children. 

“Don’ be a stranger, eh? Y’er always more than welcome ‘ere.” Aurora’s smile grew a little as she gave him a nod, urging Lady forward again as they exited the driveway. Giving Thomas one final wave before taking off down the road at a Canter...Silently praying that James would not be home yet.

~

Aurora was thankful that James’ car was still absent from the driveway upon her arrival home. Heading straight into the stables where she untacked Lady and returned her to proper stall after giving her a quick grooming, followed by feeding her, as well as the rest of the horses before returning to the house where she started on dinner -- a meal of Mutton, fresh baked bread, and potatoes.  As well as unpacking the last half a dozen or so boxes that she had been working on earlier that day before Ada called.

It was well past Ten in the evening before James returned to their home; Drunk, as Aurora had suspected he would be. He barely spoke a word to her upon his return. Simply ordering her to bring his dinner up to the Study, and in a timely manner, along with a bottle of Irish Whiskey from the cellars. 

Aurora did as instructed, without question, just as she always did. Making sure the meal she had prepared hours before -- a meal that she herself hadn’t even touched -- was re-heated and fixed up to his standards, fetching the bottle of whiskey and a glass, before ascending the stairs to James’ study. Aurora paused briefly in front of the solid oak door that lie closed in front of her, swallowing around the thick, dry lump that had formed  in her throat, before raising her hand and giving three sturdy, sharp knocks -- More sturdy than her trembling hands felt, at least.

“Enter.” Was the only response she received, prompting her to carefully balance the serving tray as she reached down and turned the doorknob carefully, stepping inside. She placed his dinner carefully on the cleared area of his desk, specifically designated for his meals, beside him. The silence that hung between them thick, and very unsettling. It put Aurora on edge, but she managed to maintain her composure as she clasped her hands neatly in front of her. Not daring to move from the spot where she stood, until he had dismissed her from his presence. 

And as if he could sense the nervousness that rolled silently off of Aurora, as she stood silently, just behind his chair; James made a point to draw out the dismissal she so desperately waited for. Praying that if he chose to speak, that he would ask her about anything other than what she had done all day.

“Mutton, again?” James questioned her, not even bothering to look up from ledger laid out before him as he studied it closely. Making notes here and there. Aurora shifted uncomfortably as she cleared her throat, nodding even though James wasn’t looking at her to see it.

“Yes…” She answered softly. “I haven’ been able to do the shoppin’ yet, an’ it’s all we had left--” Aurora stopped abruptly as James raised his hand to silence her rambling before she could continue on anymore.

“Take the car tomorrow morning and do whatever needs to be done.” James stated flatly. “The shopping, see about hiring some help…” He continued, retrieving a key from his pocket and unlocking the second drawer to his right, where he pulled out another set of keys and stood. Slowly, he made his way over to the safe that sat in the corner. The safe that he’d had made special, just before their departure to England. Two turns of the key counter clockwise, one turn clockwise, followed by one full rotation, also clockwise. That released the heavy cast iron cover that shielded the dial of the safe.

Clockwise, 32...Clockwise, 18...Counter Clockwise, 53...Clockwise, 15...Click, and the safe was open.

Pulling out a stack of money he counted out more than enough than would be needed for the shopping and hiring of some staff to help around the property. Tucking the rest of the money safely back in the safe before closing it, spinning the dial, and replacing the heavy cast iron covering. Turning, James crossed the room to tower over Aurora. Her first instinct to avert her gaze to the floor, her heart skipping a beat as his calloused fingers came up to grip her chin, forcing her gaze up to meet his dark brown eyes. A frown gracing his thin lips, as he carefully traced a thumb over the mark on her left cheek; trailing it down across the split that adorned her lip before allowing his hand to fall away entirely.

“Use whatever money is left over to buy something nice for yourself...I have an important meeting tomorrow, I’m not sure what time I’ll be finished. Perhaps you should visit that friend of yours, what was her name? Ada! … Maybe inquire about some work. Leave me her number and I’ll ring you when I’m finished. Understood?” 

Aurora nodded as she took the money he held out for her to take. Tucking it safely inside the pocket of her apron before looking back up at her husband, carefully studying the hard to read expression he wore. 

“You’re dismissed.” He added. Turning back to his desk where he took his seat and returned to looking over the ledger. Leaving Aurora to make her way to the door, trying not to appear too eager to escape the study, when his voice caught her attention again. Aurora turning to acknowledge him as he spoke her name.

“And Aurora? You would do wise to stay away from that Thomas fellow. Am I clear?” 

Aurora’s heart nearly stopped beating entirely as she gave a nod, clearing her throat nervously as James straightened in his chair, arching an eyebrow sternly as he awaited her answer. One that came with a forced smile of sincerity, before she closed the door behind herself.

 “Of course, Love.”

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[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 6

I had said goodnight and closed the door on a still speechless Tom, then slid down the back of it and hit the floor with a gentle thud. I sat there like a rag doll, arms hanging loose at my sides, chin resting on my chest as my synapses fired like a fourth of July fireworks show gone awry. I felt like one of the Synths from HUMANS when their code went bad.

Half an hour went by before the world began to come into focus again, and I slowly began to take the vast amount of shit that required my attention into consideration. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands.

“Am I insane? How the hell am I going to tie up all my loose ends and do two seminars in two days? What the fuck was I thinking?!?” My phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my bag…it was Tom. Right. That’s what I’d been thinking. I tapped the answer button.

“What can I do to you, Thomas?” I slapped my hand to my forehead when I realized what I’d said. Nothing like a classic Freudian slip to start off our very first phone conversation.

There was a moment of silence, then a sharp intake of breath that was deliciously tantalizing…which I desperately tried to ignore as I scrambled to recover.

“Whoops. Perhaps I should rephrase that. What can I do FOR you, Thomas?”

“I…I…” He cleared his throat. “Christ, Maude, are you trying to kill me? It took me all this time to cease picturing you strutting naked through your suite and regain enough of my composure to hit the call button.”

I grunted out a hmpf. “If it’s any consolation, I’m still sitting with my back against the room door. Because that happens to be where I landed when I slid down it after closing it in your face. Now my legs are asleep and I’m not quite sure how I’m going to get up.”

“Serves you right, you wicked temptress.” He laughed, then paused. “I know you’re ridiculously busy, but I…well, I suppose I just wanted to hear your voice again so I could reassure myself that this unimaginably marvelous day actually happened and I didn’t dream it all.”

I groaned. “Really, Hiddleston? How the fuck I am I supposed to top that? Anything I could conjure up would pale in comparison, so I’ll simply state that I understand and concur.”

“Good. Now, shall I pay you a visit and help you attain a more desirable position?” I didn’t need to see his face to know he was smirking.

“Thomas. Stahp. I have no time for a cold shower break.” He laughed.

“I guess that makes us even, then. I’ll let you get back to work. Goodnight, Maude.”

“Goodnight, Tom. And if you find you need something to keep you occupied, feel free to make me a list of at least five websites you like the looks of. Don’t forget to include exactly what you like and why you like it.”

He huffed. “Did you just assign me homework? Because it sounds very much like you assigned me homework.”

“Let’s call it project participation instead. Better?”

“Marginally.” He paused for a few seconds. “May I call you tomorrow after your seminar?”

“I’d be rather pissed if you didn’t.”

“And I’d be terribly disappointed if you weren’t. Goodnight again, Maude. Try and get some rest.”

“You too. Goodnight again, Tom.”

I hit end call and began the arduous process of hefting myself off the floor. It was even worse than I anticipated, and I was reasonably sure I bore a strong resemblance to a newborn calf standing up for the first time. Once I felt steady enough, I pulled my dress over my head, yanked off my bra and grabbed a T-shirt off the floor. I sniffed it…not bad. I slipped it on, grabbed my messenger bag and plopped down at the desk.  

***************************************************   My first mission was to find a videographer willing to work on extremely short notice. I’d decided to have these last two seminars recorded, hoping one or an edited combination of both would be good enough to post on my website for sale. Consulting was out of the question, but there was no reason to not make some residual cash after so many years of perfecting my lectures. Plus, it alleviated the bit of apprehension I felt at pulling the plug on everything in the blink of an eye. I found one that was open until 11 PM and had experience with marketing production - Kamana Media. I dialed the contact number, fingers crossed.

The rep seemed very excited when I told him what I wanted, but balked when I casually mentioned that I needed it done tomorrow and Wednesday. It took some seriously high levels of Maude-schmooze and tripling their normal rate, but they’d be at the hotel tomorrow morning at 9 AM.

Next came editing my presentations to remove all references to consultations, followed by a search for a shopping cart that worked with both my merchant account and design software. Then came my favorite part…getting the cart customized, adding items, and figuring out how to embed the code to my site files so it would display exactly the way I wanted. The next time I looked up, it was 1 AM and I still had some text modifications to complete, in addition to a ‘hey, so sorry, but I’m outta here’ letter to post on the site and across all my social media accounts. My phone vibrated, dancing its way nearly out of my reach. I picked it up, hoping it wasn’t a last minute kiss off text from the Kamana people, though they closed two hours prior.

Went out for a night walk and noticed that your lights are on. You can’t possibly still be awake at this hour, can you? –T

I’m not sure awake is an accurate representation of my state of consciousness, but I am not currently sleeping, so…technically, yeah. –M

I waited for his reply for a few minutes, but nothing came through. Figuring he might have gotten a call or had fallen asleep, I set the phone back on the table and returned to work. The text changes were easy, but then I realized the menus needed to be adjusted to remove several links. My ability to focus was fading fast, so I cranked up the volume on my iPod, hoping it would give me enough of a boost to power through. I ignored my mother’s voice in my head saying ‘Turn that down, young lady. Do you want to end up deaf? Everyone will think I’m a terrible mother!’ Junkie XL’s ‘Beauty Never Fades’ came on and I sighed happily…exactly what I needed. I put it on repeat.

The third time through I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye…my phone was doing the jig again. I paused the song and nabbed it just as it started to go over the edge of the desk. There were six texts, all from Tom.

“Damn.” I frowned and began to scroll through them.

I’m out in the hallway with a little surprise for you. Hope that’s okay. –T

Hmm, you aren’t answering your door. –T

Does that mean it’s NOT okay? – T

Still knocking. Can’t be too loud, don’t want to wake the neighbors. –T

Hope you’re alright in there. Starting to fret a bit. Ease my mind and reply, please.  –T

Maude, I know you’re in there, I can hear you singing. –T

The phone vibrated in my hand as I yanked out my earbuds, got up, and headed for the door. I undid the bolt and flung it open to find Tom in a white V-neck and navy shorts with an orange-red stripe, pacing and staring at his phone. He raised his head, exhaling seemingly with relief when he saw me. I spotted a carryout tray with two cups in it on the floor, as well as what appeared to be a bag of Lindor truffles. When I lifted my head to meet his gaze and instead caught him in the act of looking me up and down, I suddenly remembered that I was clad only in a thin T-shirt and panties. His eyes finally met mine again, lips parted just enough for his tongue to slip out and graze over them. I began fanning myself with my hand.

“Is it me or is it ridiculously warm tonight?” He said not a word, continuing staring at me with an intensity that made me want to push him down and ride him like a pony right there in the hallway.

“Yeah. Anyway. I had my iPod turned way up so I wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel, as they say, and totally didn’t hear you knocking. And my phone was on vibrate too. Not that I would have heard it ring if it wasn’t. So. Really, really sorry about that.” I pointed to the truffles. “Please tell me that those are for me. And that the beverages are caffeinated.”

He shook his head as if to clear it and smiled as he put his phone in his pocket, then bent over to pick up the carryout tray. He took two steps towards the door. “Yes, and yes. But I’m afraid you can’t have them unless you invite me in.”

I snorted, stepping back to hold the door for him. “I’d invite Freddy Kruger in if he had Lindor Truffles and caffeine.” He didn’t move. “What? Damn you British and your impeccable manners. Thomas, would you care to enter my temporary domicile?”

He grinned. “Why yes, I thought you’d never ask.” I stuck my tongue out at him.

“You’d best get in here before I snatch that tray out of your hands and slam the door in your face.” He chuckled. I poked him in the chest. “I wasn’t joking.”

He patted my upper arm. “Oh, I’m aware. That’s why it’s funny.” He set the tray on the desk. “You have quite a lovely singing voice, by the way. Have you had any vocal training?”

“Thanks. And no, unless you count the band I was in a thousand years ago when I was young and didn’t know any better. Or when I’m driving. Or working. Or in the grocery store.” I rolled my eyes. “Or everyone’s favorite, when I think of the perfect song for the moment and belt it out no matter the location or company.”

He was leaning on the desk, legs and arms crossed, head tilted. “Do you like to dance, Maude?”

“No, I don’t like to dance.” I watched his face fall a bit. Such an easy mark. “I love to dance. Sometimes I even dance and sing at the same time. It all depends upon how the spirit moves me. Right now it’s moving me towards those truffles, though. Will you do the honors and open them, please?”

I put my phone on the table, walked over to the wardrobe, pulled a pair of cut-off sweatpants out of the drawer and slipped them on. Tom grabbed one of the oversized wing back chairs and dragged it over to the desk for himself. I sat back down in my spot, pulled the earbud jack out of the iPod, put it into shuffle mode and lowered the volume from ‘dance club’ to ‘study session’. He proffered the bag and I took a handful of truffles. I unwrapped one and popped it in my mouth.

“Ung. These are SO good.” I swallowed. “How did you manage to score these at one in the morning?”

“I’ll have you know that they are from my own personal stash. Which I normally never share. With anyone. But, being that you were generous enough to share your cookies with me earlier, I felt it was only fair to reciprocate in kind.” I nodded.

“Let’s not forget about the baked mozzarella, the parmesan fries and the fettucine alfredo I ‘shared’. Totally against my will.” I devoured two more tiny balls of chocolatey goodness. “So, you travel with candy. I would have accepted Luke’s offer immediately and without question if I’d known that.”

He laughed and handed me one of the to-go cups. “Earl Grey tea with a splash of cream. I figured you’d take it with sugar but wasn’t sure how much, so I brought these.”

He pulled a handful of sugar packets out of his pocket and put them on the desk. I took the lid off and took five sugars from the pile. They were warm to the touch, and knowing they had just been so close to his skin made me a little lightheaded. Or maybe it was just lack of sleep. Sure, Maude, keep telling yourself that. I shook my head.

“Damn, did I get that wrong? Luke said you asked for tea earlier so I assumed…” I cut him off.

“Nope, I’m a tea all the way. Coffee makes me ragey for some reason. Let me guess, you travel with teabags too?” He grinned.

“Indeed I do. I got the cups, tray and hot water from the all-night gas station down the road.”

I furrowed my brow. “So you did all this in, like, 15 minutes?” He held his hands out and shrugged, blushing slightly.

“Actually, I stopped at the gas station on the night walk I mentioned when we were texting.” I put the lid back on my tea and swirled it around to mix in the sugar. He pulled a plastic stirrer out of his other pocket and handed it to me, sighing as he realized I’d most likely have guessed that this encounter wasn’t at all spontaneous after hearing what he’d just said. He smiled self-consciously.

I reached out to put a hand on his knee, but he had begun sliding out of the chair towards the desk so he could grab his beverage and it wound up on his bare inner thigh instead. I could feel the muscle tighten under my hand, his hips thrusting upward reflexively in spite of his valiant effort to resist. I bit my lip and closed my eyes, opening them when I felt his hand on top of mine through his shorts. His jaw was clenched, nostrils flaring as he tried to control his breathing. My pulse was pounding in my ears and in my head and in my chest…and, most noticeably, in my groin. We exhaled in unison. He spoke first, taking my free hand in his.

“Maude, I…I am so, so sorry…I didn’t…” I shook my head vehemently.

“Thomas. Please. Don’t you dare apologize for what was perhaps the most sexually exciting moment of my life.” I bit my lip again, leaned in closer and raised an eyebrow. “So far.” He began rubbing my wrist with this thumb, his face a kaleidoscope of emotions.

“You…you’re…you aren’t offended?” He looked puzzled.

“By the fact that just putting my hand on your thigh earned me a pelvic thrust? Um, no. Nope. Not even a little.” I squeezed his hand. “Why would you think I’d be offended by a physical expression of something we’ve been bantering back and forth about for hours? And let’s not forget that you’ve literally seen me naked already.”

He shook his head. “I’m…I…damn. That’s not really what I meant. I was more referring to the idea that I’d arrived with tea and truffles not to spend time with you, but instead as a ruse to get you into bed. I didn’t. Honestly. I just don’t want you to think less of me, or that I don’t respect you, or that this is how I conduct myself with women I’ve just met, despite what most of the world seems to believe, and most importantly I absolutely don’t want you to conclude that I think you’re just another notch on my belt and that all I want from you is sex because that couldn’t be further from the truth …god, I’m fucking this up royally, aren’t I?” His chin fell to his chest.

I let go of his hand so I could touch his face. “You most certainly are not.”

We were both silent for what seemed like an eternity, La Roux’s “Tigerlily’ playing softly in the background.

“I could be here when you call I’ll make you top of the list And in the crush of the dark I’ll be your light in the mist I can see you burning with desire for a kiss Psychobabble all upon your lips”

He slowly raised his head as the chorus repeated, wrapping his fingers around my wrist and holding my hand to his face. I’d heard the song a hundred times, and sung it nearly as many, but suddenly the lyrics held meaning I could have never envisioned. The look in his eyes told me they resonated with him as well.

I slid the hand that was still on his thigh out from under his shorts and got up from my chair, closing the space between us in a single step. He looked up at me, eyes wide, as I climbed into his lap and straddled him. I felt his arm wrap around my waist as I leaned in and touched my lips to his. They were warm, and soft, and I couldn’t resist running my tongue across them. He opened his mouth to me in invitation, and I accepted with boundless enthusiasm. He tasted of chocolate, with a faint hint of something spicy I didn’t recognize. He bit my bottom lip before thrusting his tongue out to meet mine, and I seized the moment to capture and begin sucking on it. He groaned loudly and yanked the tie from my hair, freeing it so he could bury his fingers in my curls. Time seemed to have come to a screeching halt as we devoured each other, completely lost in the moment, until our teeth crashed together with such force that it made my ears ring and brought us back to reality.

I was panting like I’d run a six minute mile. “Shit. You okay?”

His chest heaved as he grinned. “I am positively divine, thank you.” I responded by grinding my pelvis against him, then pushed myself up and off his lap. “Maaauuuuuuddde. Where. Are. You. Going.”

I shimmied out of my sweat-shorts and returned to my spot, grinding against him again. “Mmm, that’s much better.” I dragged my hand down his chest and stomach, smirking as I slipped it under the hem of his V-neck. “May I?”

He leaned forward and lifted his arms over his head. I peeled it off slowly, drinking in the sight of his naked torso. Tossing the shirt to the side, I leaned in and licked the hollow above his collarbone. He gasped, and I traversed to his left nipple, first biting it gently, then suckling. His long, low moan was intoxicating, making me dizzy with want. I felt the warmth of his hand on the skin of my back as he pushed my T-shirt upward. I pulled back and raised my arms above my head before he even had a chance to ask for permission. He laughed.

“Eager, are we?” His voice was deeper than usual, throaty and full of ardor.

“You have no idea.” I was blinded momentarily as he finished removing my shirt. When my view was once again unobstructed, the intensity in his stare as he gazed from my breasts to my face then back again made me wonder if spontaneous combustion was in my near future. He let out a low whistle.

“Oh, but I believe I do, Maude. I believe I do.” He took one in each hand, running a thumb over each already rock hard nipple, then pulled me forward to take one in his mouth. It was my turn to gasp, and I wound my fingers in his hair, holding him to me. He alternated from one to the other, and I felt his hand creep down my stomach, finally reaching my mound and cupping it gently. My panties were soaked through. He let my nipple go with a pop and looked up at me, eyes dark and pupils blown wide with desire.

“My apologies, you were, in fact, correct…I had no idea.” He slid his hand under the elastic waistband, whining audibly when it met skin that was waxed bare and dripping wet. He tugged at the fabric, unable to utter anything other than “Off. Please.”

I stood, pushing them down over my legs, then kicked them off. I paused for a moment to take him in, my eyes resting on the bulge tenting his shorts that made it glaringly obvious he had opted for going commando this evening. I stepped between his legs, leaning down to slip my hands under his shorts at the waist. I hesitated, knowing we were near the point of no return but hadn’t covered all our bases. I looked up at him.

“So. Tests?” It took him a moment to piece together what I was getting at.

“Yes. Last year. Clean. No one since. You?”

“2010. Clean. No one since. On the pill.” His eyes widened in surprise and I didn’t wait for him to comment. “Yes, five years. I’m very…particular.” I grabbed onto his waistband and pulled with one hand, tapping his hip with the other. “Lift.”

He raised his hips up and I eased the shorts over his erection, then slipped them off his ass and down his legs. He smiled as I licked my lips, then grunted as I took him in hand. At least eight inches of glorious purpose, and almost too thick for me to get my fingers around. I leaned in to whisper in his ear as I stroked up and down, squeezing, pausing now and again to run my thumb over his weeping slit.

“It’s no wonder Loki thinks he deserves a throne. THIS is the cock of a king.” He growled, a sound so low and deep that I could actually see his chest vibrating, and began to lift himself up off the chair.

I let go of his cock and put both hands on his shoulders, pushing him firmly back into a seated position as I nestled my knees on either side of his hips. He raised his brows quizzically, eyes narrowed.

“No bed?” I shook my head. He looked down at himself, then back at me, concerned. It finally dawned on me what he was getting at, and I supposed that his size might be a challenge for some women if they weren’t sufficiently aroused. I shook my head again and rubbed my soaked pussy up and down his shaft, groaning as the tip hit my clit over and over.

“Nope.” Groan. “I’m good.” He reached between us, sliding two long fingers inside me. I came instantly, and the look on his face was priceless.

“Di..I…did you…did you just…” I rolled my hips and squeezed his fingers, grasping his face with both hands as I leaned in to pull his bottom lip into my mouth briefly. He moaned as he withdrew his fingers and brought them to my lips. I licked at them, then sucked them clean greedily. I felt him shudder as I rose up on my knees. He breathed deeply, inhaling and exhaling for a few moments as he tried to pull himself back from the edge.

“Maude.”

“Tom.”

“Not going to last long.”

“Don’t care.”

“I…I…Mau…”

I kissed him sloppily, cutting him off, then spoke.

“Thomas. William. Hiddleston. Shut up and fuck me already.”

Before I even got the ‘me already’ out the head of his cock was poised at my entrance, and our eyes locked as I pushed down and he pushed up, meeting no resistance and fully seating himself in a single thrust. He stared at me in wonder, mouth agape, gasping and grabbing onto my hips as I began to ride him.

“Maude…that…you…how…all of me…GOD…feels incredible…you…so warm…so WET.” He began thrusting, and I squeezed, matching his rhythm. His eyes rolled back in his head for a few seconds, then met mine again. “Close. Too close.” He maneuvered his hand between us again, rubbing my clit furiously with two fingers. I rolled my hips faster, chanting his name as my walls clenched around him.

“Tom. Tom. Tom. Tom.” Words quickly failed me and my chant devolved into a monosyllabic keen. His thrusts faltered, stuttering, and he cried out.

“Oh, Maude, god, Maude, oh FUCK, oh Maude…” I felt him pulsing inside me, come jetting in long, slow spurts, the edges of my vision going dark, hearing screaming as I came that I didn’t initially recognize as my own.  

***************************************************   When I began to emerge from what I thought was a post-coital haze, Tom’s arms were wrapped tightly around my limp torso, holding me to his chest. My head lolled on his shoulder, his chin nuzzling my neck. I raised a leaden arm and set about rubbing his back. I felt him smile.

“Well hello there.” His voice was just above a whisper. As I raised my head to look at him, my body shifted and I realized he was still inside me. He smiled sheepishly when I met his gaze. “Sorry about that. I didn’t want to wake you.” I yawned.

“Mmm, I’m totally fine with staying this way forever.” I leaned back, cocking my head, puzzled. “Wake me? What do you mean, wake me?”

He grinned and kissed the tip of my nose. “It appears the vigorousness of our…activities…combined with the lateness of the hour exhausted you completely, resulting in your dozing off for a bit.”

I groaned. “Um, how long was I, you know, dozing?”

He traced my spine with his fingertips. “About fifteen minutes or so.”

I covered my eyes with my hand and shook my head. “Fuck. Me. Sideways.” He leaned in to whisper in my ear.

“Let’s save that for next time. You, darling, need to get some sleep.” I sighed, figuring he’d be out the door as soon as I was off his lap. I tried to reach my T-shirt, which was behind me on the floor, intending to use it to contain some of the mess when I got up. His was already in his hand. “Here, let me help.”

I lifted myself off him slowly, wondering how it was that my legs weren’t asleep. He gently nudged the shirt in place as his cock slid out of me. He was at half-mast. I bit my lip and rocked my hips. He chuckled as he put his hands under my arms to help me stand.

“Don’t tempt me, woman. It’s taking every ounce of my willpower to refrain from fucking you into that mattress all night long.” I whined. “But you have a very long day ahead of you and it’s well past 2 AM.” He walked me to the bathroom, closing the door after I went inside. I bundled up the shirt, tossing it on the floor as I sat on the bowl to pee, wiped, flushed, then brushed my teeth quickly. I opened the door, fully expecting him to be gone.

He was standing right outside, waiting, and kissed me quickly. “Do you have an extra toothbrush I can use?” I shook my head. “May I use yours, then?”

I nodded. “Sure. Yeah.”

I stood in my stupor, listening to the toilet flush again, the water running, him spitting…and suddenly there he was, naked, smiling, beautiful, and herding me over to the king size bed. He pulled back the covers, motioned for me to climb in and glanced at the clock.

“What time do you need to be up?” I blinked.

“Um, seven? I guess?” He set the alarm and stood next to the bed. I just stared at him. He grinned.

“Well, are you going to move over or would you prefer that I get in on the other side?” I moved over and rolled onto my side. He climbed in and nestled in against my back, arm around my waist. He kissed the top of my head.

“Goodnight, my Maude.”

I was sound asleep before I could return the sentiment.

[demented-russian-empress-of-hell]

If the Glove Fits Pt3

Thomas arrived at the palace late, the ball was already in full swing when he entered the grand hall. All eyes turned to him as he descended the staircase, causing a blush to flourish on his cheeks. Thomas was not used to being the center of attention. The intense scrutiny of all who were present put Thomas on edge which caused him to stumble on the final step, sending him flailing face first towards the pristine marble floor. The cool hardness of the ball room floor never reached Thomas’ body, instead he found himself encapsulated in a pair of lean, sturdy arms.

“You certainly know how to make an entrance Tommy,” the same angelic voice that been haunting Thomas’ dreams drifted into the brunette’s ear, once again reminding him of honey, “This is the second time you’ve fallen into my life, I do hope this trend doesn’t continue, I’d much rather you keep your handsome face unmarred. Now would you care to join for a dance?”

Thomas glanced up, even with the metallic, gold mask obscuring half of his rescuers face, Thomas would never forget those gorgeous dark amber orbs. The brilliant red hue that adorned Thomas’ face seemed to want make a permanent home there. Opening and closing his mouth multiple times, Thomas finally just nodded, his brain not allowing him the basic function of speech at the present time. Newt beamed, taking Thomas’ gloved hand, and lead him to the center of the dance floor.

Newt took the lead, twirling and guiding Thomas in an intricate series of movements. All the guests formed a large circle around the pair, watching, some in awe, others in delicately hidden jealousy. Whispers were passed between onlookers, all wondering who this mystery man was, and how he had so easily captured the prince’s heart. Thomas was acutely aware of the whispered voices and the hateful eyes directed his way, but when Newt caught his gaze it all faded away. The blonde spoke soft reassurances in Thomas’ ear in an attempt to calm the young man, but the prince just ended up making the brunette a mumbled, jumbled mess of incohesive sputterings.

“Would you care to join me at my table for the banquet?” Newt asked when the music faded into nothing.

“Y- y- Of c- I- I-” Thomas’ brain still refused to function in an appropriate manner. Newt laughed, a warm, rumbling that reminded Thomas of the first roll of thunder from a summer storm.

“I shall take that as a yes?”

Thomas nodded, wishing his brain would begin functioning properly, and soon, or else dinner was gong to prove to be an interesting game of charades. The pair shared another dance, this time with other guests participating as well, before it was announced that dinner was ready. Newt offered his arm and lead Thomas into the enormous dining hall.

Thomas, still obliviously unaware of Newt’s actual identity, was thrown off when the blonde lead him to the head table. He was even more confused when Newt offered him the seat only one place away from the king’s.

“Wh- what?” Thomas finally managed to choke out.

“Yes Tommy?”

“Wh- why are we sitting here?”

“You still haven’t figured it out?”

The sea of befuddlement swimming in Thomas’ dark, earthy brown eyes told Newt that Thomas had definitely not figured out that Newt was the prince.

“Who do you think I am Tommy?”

“I- I thought you were just the son of one of the noble families, but I’m starting to think I was very, very wrong,”

“You’re as wrong as you may think, I am the son of a noble family, well, more specifically, the royal family,”

“So you, you’re the prince?” Thomas squeaked.

“Yes. Are you alright Tommy? You look a little pale,” Newt observed.

“I- uh… You’re the prince,” Thomas repeated, his brain now working at a much faster pace than it ever had before while also short circuiting from excessive thinking.

“Yes, I thought we established that already?” Newt asked, not understanding why Thomas was mentally freaking out.

“You’re the prince. And you’re talking to me. And I’m rambling. Oh god, how did I get into this situation?” Thomas ranted, panic rising.

“Tommy, breathe, breathe, here follow my lead, in, out, in, out. Good, just like that. Better?”

“Maybe? Why me?” Thomas had finally calmed down enough to form coherent questions.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you talking to me? I can’t imagine your father approving of me, and there must be quite a few nobles here who you would have much more in common with. I’m just the step-son of a former nobleman, I have nothing to offer you, what could you possibly find interesting enough about me to ask me to join you for dinner?” Thomas said dejectedly.

“Tommy-” Newt was cutoff when his  father sat down on his other side, announcing that the meal was now to be served. The king kept Newt’s attention for most of the meal, pointedly ignoring Thomas’ presence at the head table. It wasn’t until right before dessert was to be served that Newt was able to distract his father enough to sneak away with Thomas.

The blonde prince lead Thomas out to the palace gardens, one of his favorite places to go to think. They walked in silence, side by side, shoulders brushing occasionally, knuckles rubbing against each other every few steps.

“Do you want to know why I asked you to dance with me and join me at the head table, even though I knew my father would never approve?” Newt asked suddenly. Thomas nodded, not wanting pointless words to disrupt the relative peacefulness surrounding them.

“I asked you, over everyone else in attendance tonight, because, you see me as a real person, not just a title. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since you fell into my life a week ago. And then when you showed up tonight, once again falling into my life, I knew I wouldn’t be able to love anyone else because you had stolen my heart without even trying,”

“Love? You love me?”

“Yes, I know we’ve only just met, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. You’re all I can think about, I think my steward might strangle me if he has to hear about your ‘gorgeous eyes and adorable moles’ one more time. Now come on I want to show you one of my favorite places,” Newt finished with a grin. He grasped Thomas’ hand and lead the brunette to a well disguised, ivy covered door.

On the other side of the thick wooden door was a small, quaint garden with an old, twisted apple tree growing proudly against the far wall. The stone walls were obscured by the dense vines of the ever growing ivy, and there a simple wood swing hanging from one of the branches of the apple tree. Newt walked over to stand beside the swing with an expectant look on his angelic face.

Thomas took a moment to take in the sight before him. Newt looked very out of place in his white and gold royal threads, dark, knee high boots, and golden blonde locks framing his perfect features. It was all such a stark contrast to the dark colors and earthy, unruliness of the garden. The only thing that seemed to fit Newt’s look was the light of the full moon. It illuminated the cozy little area and was reflected in Newt’s eyes, highlighting a slew of unspoken emotions.

“Are you just going to stand there and gawk at me, or are you going to come over here and allow me the pleasure of pushing on the swing?” Newt asked, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his strikingly pink and plump lips. Thomas tried his hardest to stutter out an answer through his embarrassment, but gave up, choosing instead to let his actions speak for him.

“Are you always this articulate? Or am I just special?” the prince teased as he shifted to stand behind Thomas so he could gently push the brunette.

“I- I don’t talk to many people, s- so I don’t r-really what to say. I’m a- afraid of saying the wrong thing and m- making a fool of myself, or worse, saying something th- that might make you h- hate me,” Thomas stammered.

“Tommy, there is absolutely nothing you could ever say that would make me hate you,” Newt reassured, moving around the swing to stand directly in front of Thomas, “You’re far too kind and caring to ever have to worry about saying anything that would make me, or anyone else for that matter, hate you,”

“Try telling that to my family,” Thomas sighed forlornly.

“Maybe I will,”

Thomas’ head snapped up at the bold statement, he studied Newt’s gaze, searching for some hint of a lie, but all he found was deep adoration and just a tiny hint of lust. Newt slowly leaned down, bringing their faces closer together. The prince’s hands moved from where they had been resting be his side, to settle over the brunette’s steadying the swing, while also steadying himself. Thomas’ eyes fluttered shut when he felt Newt’s hot breath ghost over his lips. There were mere millimeters separating them when the first chime of midnight rang out across the palace grounds.

“Oh no! I have to go, now! I’m so sorry, I had a really excellent time, thank you so much for tonight!” Thomas yelped. He bolted to his feet, startling Newt in the process. He gave the blonde a deeply apologetic glance before sprinting out of the garden, ripping his hand out of the prince’s hold, and also out of his glove. Newt was left, rooted to the ground, staring in bewilderment at where Thomas had been only seconds ago, the blue silk glove clutched tightly in his slender fingers.

Thomas ran. His only thought was to get as far away from the palace as he could before the final stroke of midnight. Thankfully Minho was waiting with the carriage, nervously shaking his leg. Thomas leapt up to join his friend on the driver’s seat and took the reins, setting off at an alarmingly fast pace. The third chime rang out as they passed through the palace gates.

“We’re not going to make it home before the final stroke,” the stable hand mused.

“I know that,” Thomas snapped, “We just need to get as far away from the palace as we can,”

The eighth stroke of midnight sounded as they reached the edge of the village. The magic began to fade on the ninth chime. Horses began to turn back to mice, sturdy wheels reverted back into unsteady green vines, and Thomas’ suit faded back to the torn grey mess it had been only hours ago.

“Brace yourself,” Thomas shouted as the last bit of magic wore off, sending the two men tumbling into the ground.

“You okay?” Minho asked, picking himself up from the dirt path.

“Physically yes, emotionally, I have no idea,” Thomas replied, “I’ll explain as we walk,” he said in response to Minho’s concerned look. As they made their way back to Thomas’ family estate he recounted the night’s events to his companion.

“Well at least you got to keep one of the gloves,” Minho said, trying to cheer Thomas up.

“What?” Thomas said, looking down he saw that Minho was indeed correct. There on his left hand was the blue silk glove that had matched his suit from the ball. “Why do I still have this? It should have disappeared with the rest of the magic,”

“I don’t know what to tell you, maybe because you didn’t have both?”

“I doubt that, magic wouldn’t care if they were together or not, so it must be something else,”

They had made it back to the house and were heading towards the stable when the distinct thundering of hooves alerted them of Thomas’ step-family returning. Thomas removed the glove and handed it to Minho, “You need to hold onto this for me, if Lord Janson finds out I went to the ball I’ll be dead before sunrise,” with that he rushed inside to greet his step-family.

“Thomas! Ah there you are, prepare my nightly tea and scotch, it has been an interesting night and I need to calm myself,” Lord Janson said, throwing his coat in Thomas’ direction.

“Well I don’t see how a ball could be anything but interesting,” Thomas mused, as he moved towards the kitchen.

“Yes, well unfortunately the night was ruined by some charlatan. He was all over the prince, it was disgusting really. Now get me my tea and scotch and bring it to my room,”

“Yes sir,”

Thomas prepared tea for step-siblings as well as his step-father, taking time to deliver each their own cup.

“So what did you do tonight Thomas?” Lord Janson asked when Thomas brought him his tea.

“Nothing sir, finished my chores and talked with Minho,” Thomas answered, doing his best to control his reaction to the question.

“Really now?”

“Yes sir, now if you would excuse me I must get to bed so I can get enough rest as to not fall asleep while cooking breakfast tomorrow,”

“Yes of course, you must had a strenuous night, keeping up appearances and all,” Lord Janson as Thomas shut the door behind him. Heart racing, he sprinted up to his room. There was no way his step-father could possibly know that Thomas had gone to the ball. No, Jorge had assured him that his family wouldn’t recognize him, plus it had been a masquerade, so maybe they just thought someone else looked like him. Thomas did his best to convince himself that Lord Janson had no idea that Thomas was the one who had captured the prince’s attention the whole night. Panic grew as the night wore on.

@noconcernforyou @your-local-geek @comebacknow @newthomally @newtmas @glader-of-wicked @seaselkie @illuminateandrelate @thomasnewts @purplepingupenguins

[thehorde]

We are Originals

Someone said Sander Sides Clones AU and I've been watching orphan black and... this is happening now :))

Summary: When Thomas stops a young man from committing suicide, he is shocked when they turn out to look exactly alike. Life is not nearly as simple as he thought it was... Humanau, thesidesareclonesau,

WARNINGS: depression, anxiety, suicidal behavior, swearing (these are just for the story in general btw) please don't read if that triggers you!

Chapter 1

Thomas hated the smell of bleach. His throat would close and he’d freeze. Right there in the middle of whatever was going on. It made doing laundry take a stupid amount of time. And cleaning was absolutely a non-starter.

It was an unusually cool day for Florida. Rainy and muggy and basically dull but he would rather have been out there in the rain than stuck in here. In this tiny coffee shop.

Usually, it didn’t smell like bleach. Why should it? It smelled like coffee and chocolate and that fresh tinge that coffee shops just have but can’t be really linked to anything in particular. People lounged in chairs and chatted at tables, and he stood behind the espresso machine wondering if he would die or ascend into the astral plane if he filled the entire cup with shots of espresso. Maybe both. Both were good.

He snorted and looked up when a thin woman in leggings approached the counter. “I’d like a vanilla latte with extra caramel on top…”

He had no idea what she was saying. Which was fine because someone else would catch the order. Instead, he wound again through the video he was planning on posting tonight.

It was going to get all of four likes if he anticipated correctly. Joan, Talon, his brother (maybe), and his mom.

Okay, so he was still working on the internet presence thing. But none of this was a one-and-done type of thing. No, he was going to have to be persistent if he wanted to get anywhere.

And besides, it didn’t matter that much. He was just using youtube to practice until he finished this semester. Then, he was leaving this weird ol’ town for somewhere better. He wasn’t trying to be naive, but he really did want to try out his chances in Hollywood. He could act and he’d done so in numerous plays on a multitude of platforms. And he loved it. Every second of it. He’d done some on-camera acting, but there weren’t that many opportunities around here.

Out there, on the other hand…

“Dude. Dude!”

Thomas jerked away from the espresso machine, cursing. The steamed milk pulled away with his sleeve and split all over the floor.

His fellow employee gave him a look. “Seriously?”

Oh sorry, excuse you, not everyone is content being dead to the world. Thomas pursed his lips and snatched the rag out of the employee’s hand. “I’ll clean it.”

“You’re gonna need a mop.”

Thomas glared down at his milk splattered shoes. He lifted a foot and grimaced at the sticky give. He was going to need a mop.

Grumbling under his breath, he left the counter and opened the storage closet in the back. For previously mentioned reasons, Thomas most often avoided this closet.

Someone had the brilliant idea recently to get rid of fruit flies by drenching the entire closet in bleach.

He was already holding his breath when he opened the door, but he could still smell it (and he was crap at holding his breath anyway, which was kinda sad for a singer). He coughed and his stomach twisted as he pulled the mop out.

Might as well mop the whole line…

He breathed shallowly, ignoring his swimming head. It was a mental thing. He wasn’t allergic to bleach or anything. Although, he had fainted at a pool once…

He was definitely not going to faint now. For one that would mean having to explain his stupid thing against bleach, and two, well, he’d faint and fainting sucked.

So yeah. He was just going to have to… get through this.

His chest tightened. An anaconda of panic wound in between his ribs. Get a grip, idiot. He mopped up the milk quickly and shut the mop in the closet again, fingers fumbling on the door in his haste.

Now everything smelled like bleach.

Wonderful.

“You okay?”

Thomas cleared his throat, rubbed his nose, and forced himself to keep breathing. “Yeah. Fine.”

The end of his shift couldn’t come fast enough.

When he finally was released, night had fallen.

The sky was clear of clouds but the city lights blocked out the stars. He stuffed his work hat into his backpack, pulled on a light jacket, and braved the misty weather. Usually, he’d take a bus or ride his bike but… eh. He hadn’t done either today. His bike tires were flat, and the bus was a whole mess of social interactions he just hadn’t been feeling today. So he walked across the wet street and down the riverside, idly counting the halos of light the mist created by street lamps. They were ethereal in their quiet glow. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. His stomach was tight still and he paused for a moment in his walk to figure out why.

Oh yeah. He’d been thinking about California.

He’d told his parents last week, and they didn’t take it well. At all. In fact, they’d called a mandatory ‘family meeting’ to discuss just how horrible of an idea this was. It made Thomas feel like clawing something. He got it. They loved him and he was supposed to take on his father’s business and what about school and etc.. But couldn’t they have at least tried to think about how much he wanted this?

Thomas shifted the weight of his backpack, sniffed, and kept on down the road. He unwound the knot in his stomach bit by bit as he went. He was still pissed off about his bleach aversion and irritated at like, twelve customers who thought they were Prussian royalty equivalents. If he looked farther back, he was worried about passing his midterm, was nervous about whether or not his friend would want to share his apartment and if maybe he should have waited until a better time to ask them.

It would be nice to just feel emotions once instead of getting this clingy, lingering mess he had.

Thomas yawned and walked toward the bridge across the large river. The bridge was lined with those same street lamps, but there was no one around. It had to be past midnight (Perks of closing a coffee shop on a Friday night. Yay.) and the only car on the road was a beat up little truck parked in the middle of the bridge.

Thomas frowned. Actually, that was weird.

It wasn’t parked. It was just… stopped. Right in the middle of the road. Slowly, Thomas walked up to it. He stared from the sidewalk. A stiff wind was picking up in the middle of the bridge, and a bird cawed above him.

The lights dimmed suddenly.

Thomas came close to the car.

Empty. The engine was running but no one was inside. Whoever owned the car had raked the inside walls with their keys, leaving random stripes of cut fabric all over the ceiling and the walls. There were cigarette butt burns on the steering wheel and part of a blue, gas station icy in the center console. The whole thing together tightened up how little he’d managed to loosen the knot at the base of his ribs.

This was… really weird. Something was off.

A bird cawed over his head again.

Were birds usually awake at night?

Thomas backed away from the car and squinted into the mist above his head. The bridge’s tendons and bones extended up above him and disappeared into the dark.

And something up there moved.

Thomas scrambled back to the sidewalk and squinted up. Was that the bird? No. It was much too large to be a bird.

The dark form leaned farther away from the platform it was standing on.

And all at once, Thomas’s heart gave a massive, single thump in his throat. “Oh god,” he breathed. That was a person. There was a person up there.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Hey, you shouldn’t be up there!” You’ll fall. He figured the person knew that.

“Hey, can you hear me? How about you climb down! Your car is j-just out here!” He had no idea what to say. He had absolutely no idea what he could possibly say to make this person come down.

“Don't! Stop!” he screamed up at the figure.

The person did not respond. They did not even seem to register that he was there.

Suddenly, thunder cracked through the sky. No lightning. Just the jagged cracking of the sky. Thomas cupped his hands around his mouth. He needed to get up there. Maybe if he could get up there… He scrambled toward a little, previously chained off worker’s ladder. That had to be how the person got up there. Thomas fumbled up the first few bars. He was close to the edge of the bridge. The wind was much colder now. It screamed in his head and the yawning darkness to his left only made it seem all the louder. “Wait!”

The person leaned farther. Silhouetted in the streetlamps, Thomas could see their fingertips wrapped around a suspension cable. The hand loosened. “No!”

And then the figure fell.

Thomas acted faster than he thought possible. He threw himself sideways, toward the water, and jumped off the rungs of the latter. He couldn’t have said what was his conscious thought at that moment. But he needed to catch the figure.

And miracle of miracles, Thomas’s fingers met with fabric. How had he even done that? He held on. His hands slammed into the edge of the bridge, figure in his grip, and his arms screamed, but that was all he registered before his feet slipped off the edges off the ladder.

He flipped downward with the figure, screaming. The person struggled with him, and he caught a glimpse of white, panicked eyes. A shouted word. Maybe it was NO.

And then his feet slammed into the water.

It was black and so overwhelming he hardly felt anything at all.

It wasn’t far enough to kill him, he thought disjointedly. I’m not dead so it must not have been.

Unless he was dying right now.

Given that, his lungs were screaming. Thomas tried to move his arms but pain arched up them. No. How was he supposed to swim with screwed up arms? His heart thrummed faster and faster in his throat, panting to stay on top of things.

I’m going to die here.

He couldn’t move his arms.

He couldn’t move at all. The water was sealing him inside. They were going to rake the lake for their bodies. They were going to find them on the beach all bloated and disgusting and dead. Dead. ohgod.

Thomas would have cried if he could. Instead, he screamed and bubbles escaped to the surface. The moonlight was bright now, and it filtered down all silvery and… and… something. He couldn’t think of the word. Pretty, though.

Sorry, Mom.

I’m s-

Someone grabbed him by his arms. Shooting pain. A great pull.

And suddenly he was going up. His ears popped.

They burst from the water and Thomas gasped and coughed and choked and most importantly, breathed.

Someone was behind him. At his ear. “S-stupid idiot” the voice choked.

They swam toward the bank. Thomas tried to use his legs, but his vision was narrow and he was so tired.

Sometime later, he couldn’t tell how much, he was on a beach. Pebbles. It smelled like urine and duck poop and dirty water.

He coughed and tried to sit up, but someone lifted him slightly and pulled him farther out of the water. Onto grass.

He lay there gasping.

What the heck just happened? He blinked up.

The stars blinked back.

He shivered and the person at his side was warm but shivering just as much as Thomas, grumbling in between coughs. “What the hell did you do that for?”

Thomas swallowed, suddenly remembering. “You were j-jumping.”

The figure stilled at his voice. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Yeah. I was. I…” He sounded shocked. “... I did.”

Thomas didn’t have the energy to look at him. He grunted. “Don’t do that. Like, ever again.”

He didn’t get an answer.

When he opened his eyes, the figure was staring down at him. Thomas couldn’t make out his features in the darkness, but the figure must have seen something in Thomas’s face because his eyes widened. “The chances…” he whispered.

The figure glanced back at the bridge and suddenly Thomas found the energy. He grabbed the stranger’s arm. “Please,” he croaked. “I did not just jump off a freaking bridge for you to jump again.”

The stranger said nothing for a long time. Then he nodded. He shivered but it wasn’t the cold that shook his voice. “I thought I was going to die.”

“Me too.”

“I… I thought I wanted to but…” the stranger’s voice thickened. “What the hell is wrong with me…”

Thomas slumped back into the grass. His arms were still hurting, but they could wait until suicide juncture here steadied. The stranger wiped his face with a violently shaking hand. “W-we should get you home. Where d-do you live?”

Thomas’s brain scrambled. It took him a second but he spit out the address, and the stranger got to his feet. He reached down a hand, and Thomas took it with his right arm, which didn’t hurt nearly as bad. Even the movement of crawling onto the beach had popped back in whatever he’d disconnected in his arm. They were going to bruise, but he didn’t think anything was torn.

They supported each other in a huddled sort of standing position. “My car is still on the bridge. I can get it.”

Thomas snorted. “We can get it. No offense.”

A sick, wet sounding laugh escaped the stranger. “Okay.”

They were stronger as they walked but still cold. There was still no one around, but the darkness seemed to have lessened and the wind was quieter. Once they reached the car, Thomas crawled into the passenger seat. They’d had a brief argument about who was in better condition to drive the car and ended up deciding they were screwed either way.

“If you drive us off this bridge, I will haunt your ass.”

The stranger tensed in his seat. Closed the door. Their clothes squelched in the leather seats. Thomas was shaking so bad he could hardly take off his jacket, although he managed it. The stranger did not even attempt. “I’m not a murderer,” the stranger said.

Thomas glanced at him. “I know you’re not.” And he did. It had occurred to him that the only reason the stranger hadn’t just floated in the water (if he’d survived without Thomas’s intervention) was because Thomas was drowning as well.

The stranger didn’t bother with headlights. They drove through the city and people continued on their midnight ways like nothing absolutely life-altering had just taken place. Thomas kept gulping, very aware of the oxygen in his throat.

“You shouldn’t have… have…”

Thomas’s jaw tightened. “Sure. I’d just keep walking.”

Silence.

“It would have made this easier.”

Being pissed off probably wasn’t a reaction he should act on. But come on, he nearly died for this sucker. “Well, I am so sorry I ruined your scheme.”

More quiet.

Thomas pointed out a turn in the street.

“You’re right,” the stranger said, softer. “I… I am glad you stopped me. I am less cool about you nearly dying in the process.”

Thomas grunted. “Remember that. Kay? You killing yourself doesn’t just hurt you. It hurts all sorts of people. Including the random dude on the bridge in the middle of the night.”

And there was that sound again. The almost laugh. It made Thomas unnaturally happy. He needed this stranger to laugh. To smile.

“You sound like Roman.”

As they turned on to Thomas’s street, Thomas glanced at the stranger. “Who?”

“M-my brother.”

“... Does he know where you are right now?”

“No.”

Thomas could have guessed as much.

“But that’s okay,” the stranger whispered. “Apparently I can’t get away from you guys...” He parked in front of Thomas’s house, and Thomas was so filled with relief to be home that he nearly missed the stranger looking at him.

They got out of the car shakily and Thomas felt down his wet pants for his keys. Miraculously, they were still with him. He stumbled up the steps, the stranger steadying him at his elbow. Thomas could barely keep his balance, so he didn’t complain, even though he knew the stranger had to be in the same state. He managed to unlock the front door of the apartment, and they both piled inside. It was warm and soft and fuzzy and gentle in there and Thomas immediately set out to his bedroom. “I’ll get you some clothes.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Don’t be an ass. I’m getting you clothes. We’re about the same height.”

The stranger snorted like that was funny, but followed him loosely through the dark hallways. Thomas pulled some sweatpants and shirts and underwear out of his drawers and handed them to the stranger unceremoniously. “Bathro-” he started, only to stop.

There were razors in the bathroom and he was not risking that.

“You dress in here. I’ll go into the hall.”

The stranger grunted. And Thomas got the feeling he knew what Thomas’s thought process had been, but he didn’t protest. Thomas shook his head and slumped outside of his bedroom. He closed the door and quickly stripped his wet clothes and pulled on the dry clean ones. He still smelled like gross pond water, but he could hardly be bothered about that right now. He needed to make sure this person he’d just rescued or who’d just rescued him, was alright. He didn’t want to pressure him. How do you deal with someone like this? Should he be watching what he said closer? Or was it better to just be himself? Thomas groaned slightly and dropped to the floor in front of the door onto the other side of the door, his hair drooping into his face. He couldn’t… leave him… But he was so tired…

He jerked awake when the door cracked open. The light from inside the room spilled into the hallway. “Alright,” the stranger said softly, and Thomas blinked at him. “I’m going to do something now, and you need to not freak out.”

Thomas didn’t like the sound of that. “I-I don’t understand.”

Slowly, the stranger opened the door so that it was bright enough to see him clearly.

And Thomas suddenly forgot about being tired.

Chapter 2

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Director’s Cut Chapter 21: An Unexpected Houseguest.

Director’s cut chapter 20

They set out right after dinner, taking their time to get back to land. Virgil knew the route by heart so he let them wander the town for a bit, showing Logan all the different shops and buildings that were there. Logan seemed to forget what polite talk was in his excitement as he asked every question that came to mind. Virgil answered all that he could, grinning all the while at Logan’s enthusiasm and curiosity. It reminded Virgil why he fell in love with this human in the first place.

Curling his tail in a corkscrew, Virgil twirled in happiness. Logan laughed as they left the edge of the town and entered open waters. Virgil shot forward in a silent dare for Logan to race him. The human caught on quickly and started to gain on him. The mer went easy on him and swam slower than he could. When Logan caught up to him, he slammed into Virgil unexpectedly and sent the pair tumbling through the water, both giggling like mad. He’s stimming.

Their entire journey to land didn’t last much longer than five hours. Five hours of giggling and talking, of bumping into each other and admiring the scenery. Virgil went more in depth about his deal with Remy and his experiences of living on land, mainly discussing the biological aspect of it. Logan listened with rapt attention, soaking in every detail.

They got back to shore just as Logan’s tail changed back to legs. Virgil changed to legs as well before they both walked up the beach. Logan gave a shout and ran forward, skidding to a halt by a wire net thrown over a pile of clothes.

“What’s there?” Virgil asked as he took his time to catch up.

“Some clothes for us. They seem to be in our sizes too.” Logan tossed him a set of clothing before turning his back and changing; Virgil did the same.

Once that was done, they went up to the cliff to find that the note was gone, along with Logan’s jacket. So, they went back to the castle. Along the way, they talked. They talked about anything and everything they could think of, moving from one topic to another with ease. Their talking and walking took another half hour to get to the castle, meaning it was almost one in the morning when they arrived.

They made it to Virgil’s room before the mer took notice of the exhaustion on Logan’s face and invited him to spend what was left of the night in the same bed. His argument was that it was easier and Logan didn’t have to walk as far but the reality was that he just wanted to cuddle. Logan relented and Virgil got to snuggle up to him as they drifted off together, each having a leg draped over the other.

✴ ✴ ✴

Logan woke first, the sun streaming in through the window highlighting just how purple Virgil’s hair was as the mer curled into Logan’s side. He took the time to admire the silent beauty that overtook the usually energetic face before him, brushing a strand of hair off Virgil’s forehead. He attempted to slip away, wanting to grab a change of clothes from his room and perhaps get in a quick shower before waking Virgil for breakfast, but he was stuck fast in his arms. Virgil’s emotions are always on his face, he’s an open book when it comes to how he’s feeling. This is due to not really knowing how to control his expressions.

He gently leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Virgil’s forehead, rousing the mer. “Virgil, my love, it’s time to wake up.” 

Virgil whined, his head finding the crook of Logan’s neck. “Not just yet, pebble.” His voice was still rough with sleep and Logan hoped to be able to wake up to that every day for the rest of his life.

Logan rubbed his back, the other hand carding through his hair. “We need to get up soon.”

“Why?” He drew out the last letter until it was a groan.

Logan chuckled. “Because we need to tell Thomas and my father where we were. We also should deal with the shapeshifter.”

Virgil groaned but rolled out of Logan’s arms and promptly fell onto the floor. “Fine.”

Logan couldn’t help but laugh as he slipped out of bed and made his way to the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve changed and bathed. I suggest you do the same.”

He made the quick trip down the hall to his room but just as he reached his door, his double came out of it. This was the same man who impersonated Virgil and caused that big fight of theirs in the first place, he was sure of it. Before he had time to say anything, Thomas rounded the corner.

The crown prince paused and stared at the two people who both had the face of his younger brother and sighed. “This isn’t even the weirdest thing to happen this week, is it?” He sounded defeated and as if he could use a nap.

Logan thought back to the events of the party four days ago and shook his head. “Not even close.”

Thomas nodded, squeezing his eyes shut briefly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t suppose you’ll just tell me who’s the real one, will you?”

The impostor smirked and shook his head. “Where’s the fun in that?” He sounded like he was genuinely amused by the situation. 

Thomas nodded, rifling through the papers in his arms. “Alright, I guess we’re gonna do this the old fashioned way.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket and called up their head guard. “I’m gonna need at least three guys in the private wing, please.”

Logan nodded. “Seems reasonable. So, how’ve you decided to do this?”

“I’ll wait until the guards get here before answering that.”

“Okay, am I allowed to talk to Patton in the meantime? I need him to do something for me.”

Thomas shook his head, a sad look in his eyes. “Sorry, Logan or not Logan, Patton’s been missing for almost two days.”

“Oh.” He’d been hoping to have him help with preparing a meal for the special occasion but those plans took a backseat to his best friend being missing. 

The other Logan also looked sad. “Yeah, we’ve been looking as hard as we can but he seems to have disappeared.”

The guards arrived soon after so Logan wasn’t able to retaliate properly. Thomas noticed the guards’ presence and straightened his back. “Okay, I’ve only really got one question for you two. Whoever answers it wrong gets thrown in the dungeon. That simple.”

The two both looked at each other, Logan wondering how his brother could possibly tell them apart with just the one question.

“The question is simple: Who was our sixth grade science teacher?”

Logan looked to the other Logan, who was deep in thought. Meanwhile, the middle prince knew exactly who it was. They’d been homeschooled their whole lives, taught either through books or tutors. That year of science had been books so they’d gathered around the life sized skeleton in the corner and called it their teacher. “Mr. Bones!” He said, an almost smug smile on his face.

Thomas nodded and pointed at the shapeshifter. “Guards, take this impostor to the dungeon, please.”

Logan moved to give Thomas a half hug before heading off to take a shower. He didn’t get much farther than his door before the entity from the cliff appeared from Virgil’s room. They strode up to the guards and paused to take a sip from their drink. “I’ll take care of him.”

Thomas looked at him, brow furrowed. “And who are you?”

The entity, Remy, tilted their sunglasses down to see the crown prince over them. “I’m his half-sibling and am currently his legal guardian.”

“Go away, Remy. I had this!” The shapeshifter hissed.

Remy chuckled, walking over to grab him by the collar. “Shut up and let me handle this, Janus.”

Thomas looked to Logan. “Do you know who this person is?”

Virgil walked out of his room before Logan could answer, towel drying his hair. “Remy, what are you doing here? I thought the deal was up?” He still sounded tired.

Remy wheeled around, still holding Janus’ collar. “Yeah, it is. I’m just here to collect someone that shouldn’t be here and I’ll be gone in a bit, babes.”

Logan scowled at the nickname but held his hand out for Virgil to hold. The mer came and stood by his side, slipping an arm around his waist. “Okay, just get out soon.”

“I ask again,” Thomas brought their attention back to himself, “Do you know who this person is?”

Virgil nodded. “They’re some demon I made a deal with to sell my soul for legs, no big deal.”

Logan pinched his shoulder. “That’s not what happened and you know it.”

“Then how would you tell it?”

“Remy is a person of unknown origin that you traded a promise with for legs to get out of a sticky situation.” Logan turned his head to look at Thomas. “As far as I’m aware, Remy is harmless. I can’t vouch for Janus but I have an uneasy trust with Remy.”

Thomas nodded. “Guards, escort the pair of siblings to the front gates.” He turned back to Logan and Virgil. “Why don’t you two come down for breakfast and we can discuss where you’ve been for the past three days?”

“Let me get a shower first, I’ll join you soon.” Logan said as he detached himself from Virgil. He heard the footsteps fade as they went down the stairs and he closed the door to his room behind him.

Director’s cut chapter 22

[writingonjorvik]

The B Team Druids - Chapter 4 - The Storm

There was a series of hills behind Moorland’s riding ring. A few jumps had been set up years ago, though only the championship really utilized the sharp bends. Moorland was more of a training stable than a competitive one from what Carrie had gathered, so a very difficult competition wouldn’t have been helpful for most of the boarders. Or used. As such, this portion of the Moorland ground was in some weedy disrepair and and not often watched.

Ash snorted nervously as Carrie held onto the mare’s bridle as well as Justin’s horse in her other hand. The gelding paced the ground, watching Justin walking down the beach just as intently as Carrie was.

Waiting at the dock was a massive barge, Sabine waiting on the boat with her own horse and a group of shady looking men loading the boat up. She and Justin spoke for a moment before he climbed onto the flatbed of the ship. Carrie wondered why they needed to travel by such a big ship and not just take a little sailboat, but she guessed Sabine probably couldn’t get her horse on a sailboat.

The waves crashed on the hard metal sides. Shouts came from on deck and the docks. A nervous feeling shot through Carrie’s spine, something telling her to stop this. She shook her head, pushing out that voice. Passing both bridles to one hand, Carrie pulled out her phone. “All good?” she texted to Justin.

From where she was standing she could see Justin reaching for his phone. A moment later a buzz came from her palm. “So far.”

As the boat pulled out of the dock, Justin’s horse started pacing hard, drawing up his front legs. Carrie had to let go of Ash to calm the gelding, wrapping her arm around him to comfort him. “Hey, woah, hey. It’s ok, Seasalt. He’s ok.”

Beside her, Ash snorted in contempt. Carrie glared. “Thanks for the support.”

Despite Ash’s protests, Seasalt did relax as the barge started to pull off from the docks. When the horse finally seemed calm, Carrie climbed up into Ash’s saddle. From her perch atop the pony, she could see Justin waving back at her. Carrie raised her hand to wave back, sending him as good a send off as she could manage from her hiding place.

It was supposed to be a secret. As nervous as it made Justin to go alone in the first place, he knew if anyone else found out he was leaving, his father would step in, and the opportunity would be shut off from him entirely. Carrie was going to take Seasalt to Steve’s tonight and let the horse there until Justin got back. If anyone asked around, she’d pretend she didn’t know.

Or that was their plan. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to keep up ignorance about Justin’s location for long. She wasn’t much of a liar.

Just as Carrie was about to start pulling Seasalt away, the air went tense. An electric pulse spread out like a heavy blanket, pressing down like a fog. Carrie twisted around in her saddle, expecting to see Saoirse coming out of nowhere. Instead she saw a blonde sorrel, stocky horse racing down the trail from Nilmer’s Highlands, not Saoirse’s chestnut Icelandic. Sparks were trailing off behind the horse as the rider wheeled the two towards the beaches.

Not far behind came a second rider, though before Carrie could pick out their features, Seasalt yanked himself free of Carrie’s grasp. The reins cut across Carrie’s palm as the gelding yanked himself free, breaking into a panicky race for the beach. Her palm went a hard red, lucky to not have been cut.

With Seasalt sprinting for the beach, and two mystery riders closing in from the other side, Carrie didn’t know what to do. She urged Ash into a gallop to rush after Seasalt, and the mare gladly responded, climbing up through the gaits. Ash nearly vaulted herself off the side of the cliff as Carrie leaned into the turn towards the beach and rounded them off the hill.

No matter how fast Ash could have gone though, she couldn’t have caught up with Seasalt, who cleared the gap between the dock and the barge with ease. The gelding trotted towards-- Sabine? Carrie slowly, watching Justin waving, practically ignoring Seasalt’s presence. The gelding went very stiff by Sabine’s horse, almost frozen.

Ash also couldn’t have caught up on the blonde sorrel and their rider. The rider pulled her horse to a stop at the edge of the grass, her grey beanie and dirty blonde hair jostled by the sea breeze.

The tension died in the air, fizzling out as the rider stopped. Almost defeated. It just faded as the rider watched the barge sailing away, as if the attempt would be pointless. Carrie could hear the other rider approaching, not nearly as fast as this one had approached, but still quickly. She should probably have run, but the rider-- She knew them. How did she know them?

That beanie, like something out of a dream, something she knew out of a dream. You can’t dream a face you’ve never seen though, Carrie thought to herself, watching the back of the rider’s head.

As Carrie waited there, she watched the rider start to turn her head. They nearly made eye contact before the rider looked away. The other rider had caught up. Carrie turned away, wanting to watch Justin sail off, but unable to draw herself to look at the riders on the edge of the beach now blocking the view. So instead, Carrie fell into the trail of the championship, just another idle rider out practicing for a race. The eyes found somewhere else to look.

Rounding the bend of the stable walls, Carrie pulled Ash to a halt. The world went shaky around her, her sight going blurry. What had happened? Seasalt was a casual riding horse, one of the gentlest at the stables. For him to just bolt like that... And how he had gone stockstill once he was on the barge, that wasn’t normal.

Carrie pulled out her phone. “Sorry, he got lose.”

Nothing. Carrie’s hand hovered over the keypad for a minute, waiting for a response. “Seasalt ok?”

Still nothing.

“Are you ok?”

After minutes of silence, Carrie forced herself to believe that there was no reception out in the bay. She shoved her phone back in her bag and kicked Ash on, riding past the stables gates and on up the hill towards Steve’s farm. Even without Seasalt, her mind just broke into auto-pilot about how this afternoon should have gone.

What had happened back there? Who was Sabine, and what did she do to Seasalt? Possibly to Justin? Who were those riders? What did they have to do with any of this? What was that tension in the air? It had felt like the day with Raven and Saoirse, but stronger. So much stronger than whatever Saoirse has done, yet there were no clouds.

“I’m actually losing it,” Carrie murmured, bringing herself to. She looked around, noticing the local smithy down the hill. Justin had said Conrad believed in this Keepers of Aideen faith. Maybe she couldn’t get answers about what had happened on the beach, but maybe she could get some answers on why that name kept ringing in her mind. Even old timey religions were sounding more normal than processing whatever had just happened. And talking to someone was easier than working through what had just happened in front of her.

Leaving Ash at the edge of the small working area, Carrie walked towards the open air tables where she saw Conrad working on refining the details on metal ornament. When Carrie got close enough, the older man looked up. “Afternoon. You’re one of the hands over at Thomas’s, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Carrie replied. “I’ve been over a few times to get some of Jenna’s orders. I’m Carrie.”

“Carrie,” Conrad repeated, nodding. “Sorry, not one for names.”

“Don’t...don’t worry about it,” Carrie said, trying to smile. It was so fake though, she wondered how Conrad didn’t notice.

Conrad returned to his ornament. “I don’t have anything for Thomas right now.”

“Actually I wanted to see if I could ask you about something,” Carrie replied, taking a step closer. “Um, I heard you, um, believed in this local religion. I’ve never heard of, and if you didn’t mind, I wanted to see if you would mind telling me a little about it.”

The blacksmith gave Carrie a sideways glance as he continued with his work. “The Keepers? Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Who is Aideen, I guess is the best start? And what are these Signs?” Carrie inquired, stepping even closer. Conrad looked up at her again, and Carrie stepped back. “Sorry, I don’t want to pry.”

“You’re fine, most of the time when people are eager to learn about the Keepers though they visit Valedale, or Dundall,” Conrad answered. “Aideen is the goddess of Jorvik. She created this island, blessed it with life and horses. Most people who believe in Aideen don’t believe in the Keepers though. The Keepers protect Aideen’s holy relics, or those that aren’t on display in the capitol. Suppose they’re like monks.”

“And the Signs?” Carrie repeated.

“I don’t know about Signs, not for the Keepers at least, but I know they have Circles based on the blessings Aideen gives to her chosen. Say everyone is blessed to be part of one of those Circles, so I suppose that’s their Signs,” Conrad said, raising up his work to study it. “I’ve dabbled in their Moon Circle, the Circle of scholars and craft. But I’m not nearly as active as I used to be. Not old enough for it anymore.” He laughed, setting down the curled piece of metal. “Besides, Aideen tends to bless young ladies. Really learning their magic would have meant I spent my whole life studying it, and I’ve always known this was my craft. A few tomes in the library was enough to satisfy me, but I’m no druid.”

“What about the other Circles, what are they about?”

“Star is the Circle of healers and muses,” Conrad stated, picking up another hammer from his bench. As he started tapping out a few more details, he continued, “I believe Sun is the Circle of spies and travel. Lightning is the Circle of warriors and runes. Might have a few of those mixed up.”

“And Aideen? She doesn’t have a Circle?” Carrie inquired.

Conrad paused for a moment and then laughed. “No, suppose she doesn’t. Of course, no one has ever been blessed by Aideen’s Sign, the Light. I guess if they were, then they’d be able to tap into any of the other Circles of magic. Or dreams. I think Aideen had a thing for dreams, but I’m not a true druid for a reason. You’d have to visit the heads of the order over in Valedale to answer those questions.”

Carrie ran back through everything Conrad had told her. She had expected something to snap into place, like all of the other sudden things that had happened to her. But nothing. That same uneasy feeling sat there about the Keepers, this same curiosity about who they were and what they did. Sure, the symbols she had been seeing had meaning, and she knew a goddess’s name, but no magical ephianany.

“Thank you, Conrad,” Carrie finally said. “I appreciate it. That’s really interesting. It’s not like any other religions I’ve heard of.”

“Sure,” Conrad answered, his attention still on his work. The blacksmith stood up, picking up an unworked bar of metal and a hammer. “Though I don’t know if Aideen can help with colds. I think you might need a better diet for that.”

“Wh-what?”

Conrad laid the ingot of iron over his fire. “You’re looking awful pale. I hope you’re eating right. Hate for a cold to go around the stables.”

Carrie reached up and pressed a hand to her check, as if it would tell her the color of her skin. “I, uh-- That’s not why-- I was just curious in general. Thank you, sir. Have a good day.” She attempted something cheery in her voice, but the cadence failed her as she walked over to where Ash was waiting.

The sound of hammer on metal returned as Carrie climbed onto Ash’s back. She pulled the two of them away from Conrad’s before breaking into thought, her hand occasionally reaching for her cheek to check and see if warmth had returned to them. She looked pale, apparently. Enough to comment on.

Was it any surprise though she looked pale as a sheet? Her afternoon, spent between...whatever it was she and Justin had spent the afternoon doing, only to be following by him maybe being captured. Then some strangers showing up, one emitting something like Saoirse had. And all Carrie could think to do was wander over to the local blacksmith to ask question about some dumb religion that didn’t solve anything important. Why hadn’t she just spoken to those people? What was she stuck in the middle of here? Why couldn’t this move have just been a move?

Dropping the reins, Carrie ran her hands over her face. She was done with this. Sure, yeah, alright, life was weird. And Jorvik wanted to be a step above weird. Cool. But there was a line that reality was crossing, and Carrie did not plan on getting dragged over it.

“Ash, has it always been this nuts here?” Carrie asked, leaning forward in the saddle as she collected herself. The mare tossed her head, and Carrie sighed. “I’m asking my horse for answers now.”

As the two climbed to the top of the hill, Carrie could see Steve’s farm on the horizon in front of her. Craning her head back, she could see Silverglade Castle beside her, towering up into the clouds on its perch within the hills. Its grey stone walls were supposed to be Carrie’s landmark for directions. Without Seasalt though, the farm ahead of her seemed pointless to visit.

Her gaze drifting off to the mountains further on, Carrie considered running away. There had to be somewhere else she could start over on this island. It’s not like she would be leaving much behind here. And no one really knew her well enough. Running away from Moorland seemed to be a theme for her position.

No, that was nuts. She didn’t own Ash, for starters. Not to mention she wouldn’t be able to use this past month or so at Moorland on a resume. What would she eat, with no money? Or where would she live? Just break into someone’s house and start living there? She wasn’t a criminal.

Right? The thing with Justin didn’t make her a criminal, right? She hadn’t kidnapped him. But she might be considered an accomplice. God, those people riding up hadn’t been the police, had they? She should have just called the police when Sabine showed up. Something had been screwy from the start of the whole thing, and she should have been the smart friend and talked Justin out of going. Should have been.

Carrie let out a long drawn breath as Ash continued trotting on towards Steve’s. Should have beens weren’t going to get her anywhere. It had been done, and now Justin was off to the Dark Core oil rig. All she could do now was try to make things right. That meant going to talk to Thomas first. He ought to know where his son was and why he had gone. Surely Thomas would be able to do something about this? It was his son after all. Laws...existed, right?

“Come on, Ash, let’s go back,” Carrie murmured, pulling on the reins to turn Ash around.

Ash stopped.

Just stopped in place, in the middle of the road. When Carrie tugged around, the mare turned her head to look at Carrie before looking back at the road. Carrie pressed a little harder on Ash’s sides, urging the horse to move forward, but Ash ignored all instructions. Instead, the pony turned and started trotting east. Carrie tugged on the reins one more time before she realized Ash just wasn’t going to listen, and let her arms go slack by her sides.

As Ash carted Carrie off between rigged hills and wheat fields, Carrie tried to pretend for anyone who might possible look their way she wasn’t out of control of this little ride. One look at Ash though would have said otherwise, and Carrie wasn’t exactly keeping herself composed in this situation with her nervous looks around. Fortunately for Carrie though the only eyes in the area belonged to birds and rodents. That didn’t stop her from trying, after least for the first ten or so minutes. Then Carrie’s attention drifted to the landscape, which, despite the situation, really was beautiful.

Sunset was fast approaching when Ash stopped an hour later. Carrie had been studying the tree line of the Hollow Woods for so long she forgot to watch where Ash was going. But as the mare pulled them down a path between hills, Carrie was forced to look forward.

In front of them now was a mound. The same mound Carrie had stared into a week before, had almost died looking at. Now it was only feet in front of her.

Carrie pulled back on the reins. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Not a chance.”

Ash snorted, shaking herself before kneeling down on her front legs. As the pony dropped her back legs, Carrie rolled out of the saddle. “Oh, come on.” Carrie tried to push on the mare, but Ash spread out across the path, fully splayed out as she laid down on her side. Ash closed her eyes, her breathing slowing slightly as the horse attempted to sleep.

“Not here, Ash,” Carrie pleaded, dropping down to her knees. When the horse didn’t budge, Carrie sighed. “Really?”

Looking down the path, Carrie tried to look in the maw that had almost consumed her before. She could see maybe two feet instead the dark cavern. Did Ash want her to go in there? Forget that.

“Fine, I’m walking,” Carrie said, standing up. Ash didn’t move. “All the way back to Moorland. Whenever you want to stop napping, you can come too.” She started walking up the hill, expecting to hear Ash following behind. Nothing. No sound of the mare’s tack move as she pushed to stand up, no spiteful snort. When Carrie looked over her shoulder she found Ash in the exact same place, still sleeping.

“Ash, come on.” Carrie headed back to the mare’s side, jostling her lightly on the neck. “Come on, wake up.” When the horse didn’t move, Carrie stood up. This was dumb. This wasn’t how the afternoon was supposed to go. Now her horse wasn’t even listening to her.

Carrie balled her fists. Couldn’t something just go right for once? Couldn’t she just live here in peace? Why was everything working against her and a normal life here? “Ash, wake up.”

The mare didn’t budge. Carrie rocked her head back, shaking her head. She couldn’t believe this. Didn’t want to believe this. Any of this. That Justin might have been kidnapped, that her horse wasn’t listening to her, that there was some kind of magic cult running around the country. Why was she the one getting thrown into this nonsense? Why not that crazy stable hand who had run off with the Keepers anyway? Throw them this nuts life, not her.

“Wake up!” Carrie roared, throwing her fists back as she shouted.

The earth trembled. Ash perked her head up at that, Carrie frozen where she stood beside the mare. A wave of light rushed forward from the maw of the mound. Carrie threw up her arms in front of her, but the wave crashed over her, throwing her back. She felt herself falling backwards, and not falling at all.

Carrie opened her eyes. A misty, twinkling haze hung in the air, the sky turned from peach to gold. Birds flew by, a haze around them, like something else glowing instead was fighting to get out.

After following one of those birds for a moment through skeptical eyes, Carrie rubbed her face and slapped her checks. Some kind of dream. Maybe this was all a dream. Today hadn’t happened at all. It was just some crazy nightmare she’d cooked up from exhaustion. Weird kidnappings, crazy religions, magic, lack of control over basic parts of life. All added up.

Something pressed against her shoulder. Carrie turned to see Ash, or see through Ash. The mare snorted, flicking her tail as if nothing was wrong, but Carrie felt her stomach turn inside out as she looked at the road through Ash’s torso.

Her hands reached for her face, panicking as she expected them to phase through. They didn’t. Carrie let out a sigh of relief. Her chest went tight again when she saw the bodies on the ground. Her own form was crumbled on the ground over Ash’s. Carrie had seen this before though, yet looking at herself this time didn’t do anything, didn’t wake her up. Bending over, Carrie pressed a hand over her own chest, or her body’s chest. Slow steady beats pumped through her. Not dead. Sleeping. Hopefully sleeping.

Ash pressed into Carrie’s side as she stood back up, her breathing uneasy from the novelty of this experience. As the horse’s body pressed into hers, Carrie smiled and threw her arm over the small between Ash’s shoulders and neck. The mare nuzzled her nose into Carrie’s other hand. Carrie managed a breath of a laugh, leaning forward to rest her forehead on Ash’s. Stubborn but sweet company.

After a moment, Ash pulled her head back. She began bouncing it in the direction of the mound. Carrie turned towards the maw. It was a little brighter, bright enough that Carrie could see how deep it was. Or how deep this chamber was. There was a wall on the other side.

“I guess we’re going in there?” Carrie asked, turned towards Ash. Ash faced Carrie for a moment, before she pulled away, trotting up toward the mound. Carrie pulled her arm free of the pony before chasing after her.

Even though Ash seemed set on following her own directions, Carrie held onto the mare’s reins as they walked into the maw. The floor was oddly metallic. There was some kind of silvery ore  streaked through the rocks, a faint glisten peeking through the haze on the world. It rang differently when Ash walked over it, a kind of eerie echo bouncing off with the clop. Whether that was because of the out of body experience or the metal itself, Carrie didn’t know.

At the far end of the room was a stone wall. If it hadn’t been for the haze and they had wandered into the normal darkness of this mound, Carrie wouldn’t have been able to tell anything else about this wall. As it was though, Carrie could see the faintest outline cut into the stone wall. A boulder put into place here. A door further into a tomb. The jagged lightning bolt Carrie had seen in the rafters was etched into the stone, much larger and deeper than the little carving in the wood.

Letting go of Ash, Carrie stepped up to the etched out door. As she drew nearer, Carrie became more aware of something humming through this place. It pushed through her, through the world, full of life and wonder and power.

Taking a deep breath, Carrie looked up at the lightning bolt etching. “Fine.” This place wasn’t going to give up. It was going to drag her along whether she came willingly or not. It had called her here, it had opened the way to bring her here, and it was doing everything it could to push her on now to some kind of fate.

Carrie was done being dragged along in other people’s plans. She was done avoiding the answers that terrified her. She had answered that call to come here. She had brought herself here, knowing deep down it would never be normal. If Jorvik and fate were going to pull her along into some path, she was going to face it head first. Bring on the crazy, on the ancient cults and their goddess, on the horses and the girls with powers and the magic. All of her own magic.

And she had questions she wanted answers to now.

Putting both hands on the stone, Carrie felt magic coursing up to her fingertips. She could hear it, feel it, whispering to her, “Bring us the Warrior. Bring us the Champion. You are not the Storm. We will not part for any other mortal.”

Their voices hissed, crackled against Carrie’s skin. She wasn’t waiting for anyone else to open this door. Whatever it was lurking in here had nearly gotten her killed drawing her in before. It had knocked her out of her body twice, when she got close enough to it. She wasn’t backing down now. It needed to explain itself and what it wanted with her.

“Open,” Carrie hissed back, pushing against the stone and its magic.

And fell through.

[spiritwatch]

05/07/2020 - Trapped on a cursed island with robots, aliens, and ghosts

[PART I/III]

It started with a group of us being shipped over to live on a haven-like island. We only knew half of what we were getting ourselves into but agreed anyway. I’m assuming it was because we really didn’t have any other choice.

The town we arrived in was quaint and a beautiful mix of traditional European architecture and modern designs. The roads were a mixture of cobblestone and gravel and small, round islands of parks and greenery spotted around the land. We were brought to a waiting area by the water where we were told to wait until someone came to assign us our houses. So we obediently waited on those wooden benches by the lake until night fell and the lampposts around us automatically illuminated at their designated times.

My eyes began to wander and I was the first to notice the strange lights and shapes in the clouds.

“Look there!” I whispered to the others. “Does anyone else see those?”

The shapes began to clarify within the clouds as massive UFO’s with their windows and light beams faintly glowing as to not attract too much attention. It was almost comical to me that they were exactly as the media stereotypically portrayed them. They whirled around the area, seemingly surveying, momentarily stopping every now and then to beam something upwards towards them. Instead of shock and terror, we all stared in awe and wonder, as if something we knew for years had just been confirmed.

Then a noise drew our attention back into the village.

Large, egg-shaped robots as large as a car were wheeling around, their four legs extending their bodies up and down as necessary to attend to the houses and buildings. Some were repainting the roofs; others were unscrewing the windows to a veranda to rearrange it.

“So that’s how they do it,” a girl whispered a few seats away from me. 

We were all aware that while living in his haven-like neighbourhood, we had a very strict curfew that must never be broken. We were free to do whatever we wanted within our homes afterwards, but it was absolutely mandatory that not a living soul was out on the streets past the assigned times. Seeing these robots, with their menacingly large sizes and hands transformable into several different tools, we were the first to visually confirm why.

But now what about us?

The realization that we were - although unintentionally - breaking curfew washed over us. Were we safe? What would happen if we got caught? It technically wasn’t even our fault.

Then the new realization that maybe we were purposefully being left out hit us like a rock.

Sensing that everyone was getting restless, I took over, apparently more than confident I knew what I was doing. Gesturing to another boy, I called out to him. “___, shine that flashlight you have onto ____’s glasses so we can lead them further away from us.” At least we’ll feel safer if they weren’t in our vicinity.

They did as they were told and the flight flashed brightly into the trees further down the waterfront, attracting the attention of the robot just at the top of the stairs from us and the other ones around that area too. When they manoeuvred away, the whole group breathed out a sigh of relief.

[PART II/III]

It had been a few days since our arrival and the same people were called back to that meeting point by the water again. This time, several people were looking wide-eyed and dazed despite all the others outside of our group appearing fine. The only people that weren’t losing (or haven’t already lost) their minds were me, a little girl who took a liking to me called Olivia, and a few other young adults, including two of my childhood friends, Thomas and David.

After a few moments of sitting, a group of townspeople wearing ceremonial robes surrounded us with smiles on their faces, singing a haunting song about sacrifices and life beyond the grave being a wondrous place. They handed each person a thick canvas book, bound together by string and leather. The inside pages were empty except for the first one which held a table of contents. There were four listed:

1. Entering the home. 2. Witnessing the beauty of Heaven. 3. Accepting the song and curse of ____. 4. The End.

Several cold realizations hit me upon reading these and I looked to my friends in fright. The song the group had been previously singing was the one titled in the book. Does that mean we’re already nearing “The End”? What does “The End” even mean? Either way, I knew it couldn’t be good for a whole chapter to be titled “The End”.

“Maybe it was just a typo,” Thomas suggested, shrugging. He wrapped his arms around me. “Don’t worry about it, babe, I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe it just means the end of our initiation.”

“I don’t know about that,” David said lowly. “Haven’t you realized how strangely everyone else is behaving?” He rubbed at his arms, his dark skin forming goosebumps despite the warm weather. “Something’s been weird about how they’ve been treating us since the day we got here.”

Olivia tugged at my skirt. “Do you think they put a curse on us?” She asked fearfully, edging closer to me.

“I really hope not,” I mumbled.

Thomas, being the usual, carefree boy that he was, lifted Olivia off the ground and over his shoulder. “Nah, don’t worry about it,” he chuckled while spinning Olivia around to her glee. “Let’s just enjoy the new life we have here! Firstly by,” he grabbed me around the waist, picking me up. “Enjoying the water!”

“W-wait, Thomas,” I laughed, a hint of panic in my voice as I realized his intentions. “D-Don’t you dare!”

Laughing his loudest, he jumped into the water with the two of us in his arms.

For a few minutes, it did feel like nothing was wrong. Maybe I was just imagining things or thinking too much. Little did I know that this was the last time we would ever see each other alive again.

Something stirring in the water caught our attention and I called for David to quickly take Olivia out of the water.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked.

I pointed at the shape forming in the water, just peaking its head above the surface. It was...a horse made of water? Whether it was harmless or not, I knew it wasn’t happy with us disturbing its peace in the water and wanted us out immediately. Sensing it rearing up for a charge, I yelled for Thomas to swim away.

“Swim!” Being too far from the ladder back up to the walkway, we swam as fast as we could away from the creature to find any way out of the water, eventually coming to a bridge and small platform hidden away from the water where we easily climbed onto and away from sight.

Strangely, we weren’t alone.

There was a pink Pegasus lying there, gravely injured with a huge gash on its side and blood pooling around it.

But I recognized her, happiness upon the recognition bubbling inside me. As she lifted her head weakly to see who it was that had joined her, I slowly approached her and gently placed my hands on her uninjured back. “Oh my god, it’s you,” I whispered in shock. “What are you doing here? What happened?” Looking up to meet her eyes, she stared at me, unwavering. Afraid that she wasn’t recognizing me, I raised my palm closer to her head for her to smell my scent. Maybe she would recognize me then?

To my joy she nuzzled her face into my palm. ‘Of course I remember you,’ I heard a voice echo in my head.

“Oh! Is this the Pegasus you told me about from before?” Thomas asked, making the connection. Apparently, I had told him about my previous encounter with the magical creature before arriving to the island.

Nodding my head, I searched around for a sharp object. “Man, why is it that whenever I need a knife, I can never find one? She needs my blood to heal faster.” But as I was about to send Thomas off to find one, the Pegasus motioned me over.

‘Here, I’ll do it,’ she offered, and I brought my arms closer to her. She gently bit at my skin, tearing a pinpoint wound on my arm so she could gently lap at the blood trickling out. Almost instantly, I could see the gash healing itself back up and the colour returning to her coat.

She thanked me warmly, warning me that something evil was watching over me and my friends and that if I wasn’t careful, I would lose everything.

[PART III/III]

I was in one of the large churches’ washrooms, the florescent lights above us flickering as I watched a snake strike a cat to death. I held Olivia close to me, holding her face to my stomach to prevent her from seeing. But instead of consuming it, it turned to me, hissed, and slithered away.

Then a gruesome scene flashed in and out in time with the flickering lights, showing me a large pool of blood on the floor and haunting words scrawled on the mirrors warning me of death. Trying to remain calm as not to scare Olivia, I calmly told her that we should give the cat a proper burial.

Wrapping up the body in my jacket, Olivia and walked down the hall towards the cemetery located in a giant courtyard within the church. But the sight of the courtyard terrified me and it wasn’t at all like I remembered it to be.

Instead of neatly mowed grass and organized gravestones, the ground had all been upturned and piled up unevenly, as if there were too many bodies to bury that they were overflowing. The gravestones were all askew and dirt-ridden, many more unmarked crosses overpopulating the area than those with names. The surrounding trees were decaying and brittle, the roots intertwining with the weeds and vines strewn all over.

“Do you want to help me find a open spot to bury the cat?” I asked Olivia, trying to hide the horror in my voice. Completely innocent and unaware of the scenery and what it means, she nodded excitedly, rushing off to find one. I called after her, suddenly afraid. “Wait, don’t run! You’ll fall!”

And fall she did.

I watched her foot get stuck in a particularly soft spot in the mud and her leg sank downwards. Unbalanced, she toppled over onto her back and I gasped in horror as a sharp twig stuck itself straight through her chest.

As if the pain hadn’t registered yet, Olivia blinked in shock, turning to me with a confused look on her face. “Uh...I think I’m hurt,” she coughed tearfully. I rushed over, abandoning the cat’s corpse to the side. Pulling her out, I took off my sweater to make a makeshift support around the object like I remembered in First Aid to keep it from moving. Cradling her in my arms, I screamed out into the empty hallways for help as Olivia fainted.

After some desperate attempts, David rushed down the hall with the girl who had used her glasses from the beginning of it all. “I figured it’s be helpful if I brought David. It looks like snakes don’t like to be around him.”

“Yeah, they seem to just run away from me whenever I walk towards them,” David affirmed, shrugging his shoulders.

“I figured he could protect you as you two find help for the girl.”

The last thing I remember afterwards is sitting in the hospital with a paling Olivia in my arms.

Additional Thoughts:

Oh my god this dream was so loaded that I’m surprised I remembered it all (although I did rush to record this the moment I woke up). Let’s go in order:

I’m not quite sure where the thought of aliens and UFOs came from but apparently they represent unfamiliarity and isolation in dealing with situations. Maybe the whole idea of being shipped to live on a dystopian island is about my feeling really alone these days when dealing with my stress and the insecurities I feel about myself.

The people that appeared in my dream don’t represent anyone in my life, so I’m not sure where they came from either. My suspicion is that they’re physical formations of what I want in my life: a young child that looks up to me and depends on me, a brother-like figure that I can depend on, and a love interest that deeply cares for me and my well-being.

The book I saw could mean my search for knowledge considering the only thing I’ve been doing these days is study for this test. And judging by the chapters in the book, I’m assuming its foretelling has to do with how this test is part of my future and it’s yet to be seen how it’s going to contribute.

I know the horse-shaped water is from what I’ve seen from Frozen 2 (lol) but the Pegasus is definitely new. What was interesting is that my dream me already met with this creature prior to this encounter. I know sometimes my separate dreams bleed into each other with the plot but I can’t remember ever dreaming about a Pegasus before...unless I have and just forgot. Either way, Pegasus apparently represents agility and swiftness, while a “talking horse” is supposed to represent a form of higher knowledge that is trying to convey some sort of message to me from my subconsciousness. Since the colour is supposed to represent something, I wonder if the fact that it was pink and required my blood to heal means something. Maybe it’s a part of me that I need to take care of more?

As for the darker half of my dream involving the snake and the cat’s death, the snake is supposed to mean a sense of fear and worry (which makes sense) and the symbol of a cat dying could represent a loss of individuality and lack of independence. With this combined together, I suppose this could, again, relay back to my test and my worries about it controlling my life and how I’m not able to do the things I want when it’s in my life. The blood everyone and my cries for help for Olivia are also symbols that apparently represent my emotional cry for help as I struggle. Watching her being impaled straight through the chest could mean a burst of emotion as well.

[rizlowwritessortof]

Make You Mine

I’ve kind of had a craving for angry, jealous Dean lately... 

Gator @salvachester - this one’s for you <3

You climb out of the back seat, tugging your skirt down self-consciously. Dean is staring at your legs, his jaw clenched, and even Sam swallows hard, then turns away.

“Does it look that bad?” you ask, worried for a moment that maybe you're not dressed appropriately to be an FBI agent.

Sam clears his throat, and Dean growls out, “You look fine.”

You straighten your jacket, lift your chin, and get into the head space you need, a little condescending, a little no-nonsense, like you're used to getting what you ask for. Dean gives you one more glance and, looking like he'd like to eat someone, leads the way into the police station.

You and Sam trail Dean to the front desk, standing a step behind and flashing your badges dutifully when the officer on duty asks if he can help you. “What can we do for the FBI?” he asks, just a touch of snark behind his words, and you can almost feel Dean's thunderous frown. He's been on edge for days, and this day seems to be a bad one. His temper has been unpredictable, his level of patience almost zero, and you cringe a little internally at what his reaction might be.

“Is your superior officer around? Maybe the big boys should talk,” he snaps, and the officer behind the desk stands up, all six feet and at least four inches of him, maybe even a little taller than Sam.

“Listen, Agent Hetfield. We don't take kindly to feds coming in and throwing their weight around. If we can help, fine. But don't go making demands like we owe you. We work for a living around here, too.”

You can almost feel Dean’s chest swelling, his temper ready to blow, and you step forward, one hand on his arm as you push your way in front of him. “Sorry, Officer – Thomas, is it? Please forgive my partner, this case has him a little wired.” You turn to look up at Dean, your lips tight as you speak to him in a pleasant voice, aware that he will hear the anger beneath. “Agent Hetfield, Agent Hammett, why don't you go get that coffee we were talking about? I'll get what we need here and meet you outside.” You narrow your eyes at him, the threat behind them clear.

“Yeah. Why don't we just do that,” he grinds out, giving a curt nod to the officer and turning on his heel to stalk to the door, flinging it open without a pause. Sam smiles politely, then turns to follow him.

“I'm so sorry, Officer Thomas. He really has been under a lot of strain. We've been following leads on this case for some time now, and it does tend to wear you down.”

His eyes soften a little as he nods. “Yeah, understandable. I appreciate your – uh – diplomacy. Sometimes situations like this get a little alpha-male, you know?”

You smile sweetly. “Well, Officer, what I really need is to see the files on the so-called ‘Slasher’ murders. Just to compare notes. You've probably got some of the finer points that we've missed, being local and all.”

“Of course. Follow me, I'll get you set up.”

It's an hour or so later, and you tuck your pen into your folder, closing it on the pages of notes you've scribbled down. Officer Thomas escorts you out, his hand on the small of your back, and you laugh at something he says. He believes he's witty, and you play your part well, making him believe that you think so, too. He shakes your hand, rubbing his thumb over the smooth skin, holding on a little too long, but you let it go. Then he asks you out for drinks later, and you smile again, apologizing that you'd love to, but no. Work comes first. When he finally lets you leave, slipping his card into your hand 'just in case,' you thank him, then turn and walk towards the car where Dean waits. His posture is stiff, his hands clenched on the wheel, and you meet his eyes. They are smoldering, his lips pressed tightly together, his jaw working. You can almost feel the fury coming off of him in waves, but you refuse to drop your eyes.

“Where's Sam?” you ask as you slip into the front seat, gracefully pulling your legs into the car. He lets his eyes travel from mid-thigh down as you slip out of your heels.

“Library.”

“Good. Now would you like to tell me what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I'm fucking fine.”

“Right. You've been glaring at me all morning, and you almost blew it with the locals. Seriously, Dean, what's your problem?”

“I don't have to deal with the 'locals,'” he fires back, “because you just hitch up your skirt a little more and flash some cleavage, and they bend over backwards for you.”

“Excuse me?” You are speechless for a few seconds, your hands clenched so hard your nails are digging into your palms. “Was that some kind of accusation?”

“If the push-up bra fits.” He throws the car in gear and the tires squeal just the tiniest bit as he leaves the curb.

You are so pissed off that you can’t even form a coherent string of swear words. “Excuse me, Agent ‘Yeah, this job is dangerous and lonely and some nights you just want another human being to share your thoughts with.’” You glare at him, laser eyes, and he throws a sneering expression your way.

“God, are you ever gonna let that go? I used that line one time!”

“That we overheard, yeah!”

“At least I don’t go around with my assets hanging out all over the place!”

“Fuck you in your fucking face hole, Dean Winchester!” You can feel your face glowing with heat, and you're so pissed that you sound ridiculous, but you are beyond caring. “Stop the car, I'm getting out.”

“No. You're not.” He speeds up, and you reach for the door handle, but he grabs you by the arm and yanks you towards him. You struggle, trying to pull yourself from his grasp, but his fingers are digging in, unrelenting, and you know there will be bruises in their wake. “Stop fighting me, Y/N.”

“Fine! I'm packing my stuff and I'm outta here!” You sit still, refusing to look at him, your chest heaving and your hands shaking as he whips into the motel parking lot and screeches to a halt in front of your door.

The second his fingers loosen their grip, you pull away and are out the door, barefoot through the gravel, digging in your bag for your room key. You can barely make it work, you're shaking so badly, but you finally manage to yank the door open. You turn to slam it shut, but it shudders as Dean stops it with one hand and shoulders his way in, banging it closed behind him.

“Get the fuck out.” Your teeth are clenched as you speak, and you reach for the door handle to open it again.

“I don't think so,” he growls, and then he slams you against the door, one hard-muscled arm braced across your chest, the other hand buried in your hair as his lips capture yours in an almost brutal kiss.

The air is practically crackling around the two of you, and you're too shocked to even struggle. When he raises his head, both of you panting for air, you stare into his eyes, bewildered and still furious. “What the hell, Dean?”

“I can't do this anymore, Y/N. You're driving me fucking crazy.” He kisses you again, and your brain just blanks, reverting to primal instinct, desire flooding through you like a dam has burst inside. He’s still kissing you when he grabs the neck of your blouse and jerks it open, sending buttons pinging across the floor, and then he looks down at you, his stare dark and dangerous as his eyes take in your lavender bra, the swell of your breasts heaving with your agitated breathing.

“You can’t do what anymore, Dean? What the hell are you...”

“I can’t pretend I’m okay with it when those assholes stand there imagining you naked while you give them a little peek just to get some information. I can’t watch while you hook up with some dickless wonder when we go out for a few drinks. I can’t act like it doesn’t piss me off when some fucking jerk has his hands all over you.”

“Oh, but it’s okay when you’re all Agent Casanova, ‘I just need someone to fuck because I might not live another day!’ And look who’s talking about hooking up at the bar, all the brainless bimbos that are always hanging all over you!” You grab his shirt with both hands and give it a yank, sending his buttons flying and his tie all sideways. “And you ruined my suit!”

He’s breathing hard, his jaw working, his nostrils flaring as he stares back at you. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m just getting started.” He moves fast, whipping his pocket knife out and opening it in one smooth motion, startling a soft curse from you.

“And just exactly what do you think you’re gonna do with that?” you demand, trying to sidestep, but he traps you against the door again.

“I’ll show you ruined,” he growls, and then pins you beneath his angry glare, his eyes narrowing a little in warning. “Don’t move.”

He tucks two fingers in the waist of your skirt, tugging it out just a fraction of an inch, then cutting into it carefully with the knife until he has the space to slip the blade, sharp side out, behind the fabric. The metal is cold against your skin, but it isn’t there long. With one flick of his wrist, your skirt splits right down the front, and he drops it at your feet, folding the knife again and stuffing it back into his pocket. You’re left standing there in your lingerie, and his eyes are taking in every inch of you like a man starved. You’re shaking a little now, but damned if you’ll let him know that.

His hand reaches for you, fingers gliding down the side of your neck, pushing what’s left of your blouse off your shoulder, first one side, then the other. The silky fabric falls around your feet, and you raise your chin, defiant. “Feel better now?” you snap, and his smile actually makes you shiver.

“Not yet.” He drags a calloused finger along the strap of your bra, following the lacy edge across the swell of your breasts. “So pretty, I’d hate to ruin this, too...”

“Fuck you, Winchester!” His response to that is to press his body against you, and you breathe in sharply as he grinds his erection against your hip.

“That’s the plan, sweetheart,” he growls, and then his lips are ravenous as they take yours, his hand squeezing your breast, and you both groan.

He has you half crazed, between the arousal and the anger you still feel, and you nip at his lip, hard, making him almost yelp. He draws back, his tongue darting out over the injury, and then he pulls the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping a bit of blood away. “You wanna play rough?”

“Who says I want to play at all?” you fire back, but he laughs harshly.

He shoves a hand between your thighs, rubbing hard against your clit, and you gasp, rearing your head back and banging it on the door. “Who do you think you're foolin', sweetheart?”

“Your ego is unbelievable!” you spit back at him, and a smile curves his lips, sending a chill up your spine.

“Oh, honey, you'll be begging for it before I'm done.”

“In your dreams!”

“Oh, I’ve had this dream.” He bends to kiss you again, then stops short, his lips a breath away. “You bite me again and you'll regret it.” Then he kisses you, really kisses you, his mouth slanted over yours, passionate and hungry, and hurting him is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You're rubbing yourself on the hand he has between your legs, and he's returning the pressure, gentle and steady. Your head is spinning, and you pull away from your kiss, your back and neck arching as you pant, small mewling noises escaping your lips as Dean kisses his way down, sucking a mark into your skin where your neck and shoulder meet.

He takes your hand, stepping back and staring down at you, looking like he'd love to devour you. “Come here,” he almost whispers, leading you to the bed, your legs barely able to function. He sits you down, then quickly strips off his tie, tossing it, and drops his shirt to the floor. He drops to his knees in front of you, slipping his hands up the outside of your thighs and hips until he can get hold of the top edge of your panties. He tugs, gazing into your eyes, and you lift up slightly, letting him pull them down until he lifts each foot and removes them completely, dropping them beside him. “Still think I can't make you beg?” he asks softly, and before you can gather sufficient brain function to think of a comeback, he pulls you to the edge of the mattress, ducks down and swipes his tongue through your wet folds, moaning, sending goosebumps over you in waves.

He lets out a groan that makes you shudder, your fingers clenching into the bedspread as you fight for control. His tongue is leaving trails of fire through your pussy, teasing you, touching every damn place but where you really want him to be. He latches on to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh where it joins your apex, and you whimper as he sucks another mark there.

He looks up at you, his eyes full of dark promise. “You’re shaking, baby. All you have to do is ask.” He  puts one huge hand right at the crease of your thigh, his thumb brushing over your mound, and your hips buck up off the bed slightly, rebelling against your feeble attempt to stay still. He pushes against your soft flesh, pulling back gently, exposing your throbbing clit, and you inhale slowly, feeling as if you’ll explode with the tension. He moves, bending closer until his lips are almost touching you, his breath washing hot over your skin. He watches you as his tongue creeps out, the tip barely brushing the oversensitive nub, and you jerk, crying out.

“Please, Dean...” Your voice is so wrecked that you almost don’t recognize it, and a soft smile curves his lips.

“That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Then everything is hot and wet, quivering and quaking, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you as you collapse back onto the bed, clutching wildly at the bedding, at his hair, at nothing and anything you can grab hold of to anchor yourself. You come so hard that it makes you dizzy, black spots in your peripheral vision, your entire body going limp as you tremble, whimpering as his tongue and lips gently ease you down.

He looks up at you as your eyes flutter open, your pulse still pounding. He brings the back of his hand up to wipe across his face, then lets his hands drop to his knees, not moving from the floor where he still kneels before you. You see him swallow, his eyes sliding off to the side, his teeth worrying at his lip. You can see it in his face – he’s second-guessing, thinking too much. But you don’t want this to stop.

“Hey, Winchester. Is that all you got?” Your voice is raspy, a little breathless, and his gaze jerks back to meet yours, his eyes narrowing a little. You pull yourself back farther onto the bed, then raise to your knees, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. You toss it over his head, and as it lands behind him, he pounces.

You can’t help the little giggle that escapes as he tumbles you down onto the bed, then kisses you. He’s got you pulled halfway on top of him, and you revel in the feel of his heated skin against yours, your breasts crushed to his chest. He runs his fingers through the curtain of your hair, tilting his head back and looking into your eyes, searching. “You sure?”

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t get naked right now, we’re gonna have a problem.” You’re trying to look stern, failing miserably. The corner of his mouth quirks up a little, and he takes you by the shoulders, moving you from him to reach for his zipper. You trail your fingertips across the breadth of his chest, then move down, snagging the top of his boxer briefs and tugging them down along with his pants. He springs free, and you pet him softly, making him moan before you finish undressing him.

When you crawl back towards him, you can’t resist taking a taste. His hips thrust up a little as you lick over him, bottom to top, then sweep across the head, groaning as his flavor bursts on your tongue.

You don't get the chance to continue. Dean sits up and grabs you, lifting you to straddle him as he attacks your mouth again, his arms holding you captive. He kisses you breathless, then leans his forehead against yours, panting as he rocks his hips, rubbing his cock against you, sliding through the slick heat between your thighs. “There's plenty of time for that. I need to be inside you right now.”

“Yes,” you whisper, raising up slightly as he lifts his erection, the swollen head catching at your entrance, your foreheads still pressed together and your eyes locked on his as you take him in, inch by magnificent inch. His teeth are clenched, his muscles corded with tension as he waits for you to stop quivering and whimpering softly at the overwhelming intensity of being filled with him.

It's the hush before the storm, tension strung taut between you, your breath mingling, nerves buzzing. When you shift yourself slightly, the silence is shattered, broken gasps and moans filling the room as you rock against and around and into each other. Every thrust of your hips together grinds your aching clit against his pelvis, and you clutch at his shoulders as you come again. He crushes his lips to yours, then moves them to your throat, your neck, your shoulder. “You're so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, “so fucking gorgeous when you come...”

Somehow he manages to move you to your back without pulling out, maybe because you're clinging so tight to him. He puts your head on a pillow, then kisses you senseless as he nestles as close as possible between your thighs, one hand cupping your breast, kneading gently.

“You feel so good, baby. I wanna stay here forever,” he whispers against your lips, and he runs his other hand down your side, caressing the soft skin on his way to your knee. He slips his hand beneath, lifting your leg as he presses even closer, deeper, and you let out a soft whine. He turns his attention to your nipple, barely rocking into you as he sucks and nibbles, moaning against your flesh as you make soft, desperate noises beneath him. When he finally stops, raising his head to look at you, your eyes are glazed, your breath shaky and uneven, and he smiles. “I'm gonna ruin you for those fucking losers out there. They're not good enough for you, anyway.” His smile fades, his eyes glowing with fiery need. “You're gonna be mine, Y/N. All mine.”

And with that said, he pulls back, the friction of his cock moving within you is the nexus of your world. He slides in to the hilt, then back again, pistoning slowly and smoothly. You are going to lose your ever-loving mind if he doesn't pick up the pace, and you buck up to meet him. “Dean, I need you... to fucking... fuck me...” you manage to pant out, and his upper lip twitches slightly before he kisses you, hard.

“Oh, you got it, sweetheart,” he growls, drawing back and then driving into you to the limit as you cry out. His control slips away, the hunger in him taking over, and your bodies collide with each deep stroke, his arms braced on the mattress, his fingers clutched in the bedding. His hips are a blur as he pounds into you, your hands are tearing at the pillow beneath your head, and he lets out a wordless shout. Your name becomes an invocation on his lips as he swells and throbs within you, flooding you, and you come undone again with a hoarse cry of his name.

Time ceases to exist for a while. When you are able to move again, you put your arms around him, your fingers dragging through his short, sweat-damp hair, one hand resting at the nape of his neck. You feel his lips on your neck, and he moves from you with a reluctant groan, the sensation of him slipping out of you making you shudder. “C’mere,” he rasps out, pulling you close. You feel his breath in your hair, his hand moving to take yours where it lies on his chest. “Still mad at me?” he asks quietly, and you smile.

“Totally. You wrecked my favorite fed suit.”

You feel more than hear his soft chuckle. “Worth it.” His fingers trail up and down your shoulder as he drops a kiss into your hair. “So… are we okay?”

You pull back a little so you can look into his eyes. “I don’t know, Dean. Are we?” He looks back at you, waiting. “I mean, can I do my job? Are you gonna get pissed off at me every time I have to flirt a little to get information out of someone? Can we even work together?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I know you’re gonna be with me at the end of the day.” He looks away for a moment, then back to you, his soul shining in his green eyes. “If you don’t want that, then… I guess we can’t work together anymore.”

You lean in to kiss him softly. He lets go of your hand and moves to cradle your face as he kisses you back, then moves back a little as he trails his fingers over your skin, brushing across your nipple and lifting the weight of your breast in his hand, and the sensation leaves your voice a little breathless. “You owe me a new suit.”

“Done.” He watches your face as he rubs his palm over your hardening nipple, then gives a gentle squeeze. “So… mine?”

Your eyes close as he brushes over you again, and you nod. “Yours.” You move your hand over his chest, laying it warm over the steady beat of his heart. “Mine?”

He leans in again, his lips grazing yours as he speaks. “All yours.”

@saenalife @salvachester @misswhizzy  @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog@geeklibrarian@leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid    @aprofoundbondwithdean  @mamapeterson@mrswhozeewhatsis@littlegreenplasticsoldier  @sleep-silent-angel@darcia22@winchesterprincessbride@jessica-bones-winchester  @ellen-reincarnated1967   @eyes-of-a-disney-princess@deangirl96@iamflanneltrash @deanslittleangel2y5  @melanie451 @juliaspnlover  @lovin-ackles @spectaculacular-sammy   @dyingforlove1992@bookchic20  @jodyri  @selma-jean@avasmommy224 @shadowlightforcast@tonifish @savingapplepie-eatingthings @angelofwinchester17@kittenofdoomage   @masked-maiden42  @lean-mean-deanwinchester@ericuhlorain  @undecided-garden@ceeceewinchester@typicalweirdbookworm@purplecocopops   @feelmyroarrrr@callmesweetheartifyoumeanit  @youtoldalie   @tanithlowisabamf @ch3353y1  @deandoesthingstome @jxackles @nerdwholikesword @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic   @kreweofimp   @deansbaekaz2y5   @trippleberrydeanpie @gabavaldman  @chaos-and-the-calm67  @darkx143@disassociativedogma  @ioanashalala@jencharlan   @deansthirst @randomvlogstuff   @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms  @dorky-and-i-know-it @mischief-maker1  @hamartiamacguffin @winchestersandwordprocessors  @percussiongirl2017

[vowel-in-thug]

@gemma: I read your tag and I'm pulling receipts (and WELL I guess since this is the day, EXCUSE U you're the patron saint of satisfying, beautifully written orangey AUs and your works never fail to make my day

…..[softly] fuck

(but seriously, thank you

(but also, fuck)

okay fine, happy birthday orange flint. here’s part of a 5 things orange verse fic i’m tinkering with while canon continues to draw closer to the end and i’m getting sad about it. a few people pointed out it’s now flint’s turn to get silver a gift, which makes absolutely no sense for a fic on flint’s birthday, but here we are. making no sense.

this is one of five things flint gets silver: drunk. rated E

They’re heading back to the house late one evening. Silver’s up on Solomon the mule while Flint pushes his cart, and neither of them are saying anything, but that’s okay. The rhythmic creak of the wheels, the plod of hooves on the hard packed road, the song of crickets and cicadas in the trees and bushes lining the road – all of it comes together until the night is just another presence on their journey home, telling them its own story.

When they reach the house, Silver ties up Solomon outside while Flint unloads his empty barrels. Beneath one, he finds a bottle that had rolled beneath some of the hay earlier that evening.

“Oh,” he says, picking it up. “I forgot about that.”

“What?”

Flint hands him the rum. “This is for you. Well, actually, it was for me, but I’m giving it to you. Well, we’re going to share it.”

Silver raises an eyebrow. “That was by far your worst attempt at presenting me with something. That was terrible.”

They head inside, Flint going in first. It’s dark, and he immediately goes to light the fire. Silver hovers in the open door, holding up the bottle to read the label by candlelight.

He whistles. “This is – actually decent. Where did you get this?”

Flint struggles to get a spark lit. “About six years ago,” he says distractedly, “I was having a bad day.”

“Only one bad day?” Silver says. “That’s unusual for you.”

Flint ignores him. “I…snapped at Lua,” he admits, huffing as Silver lets out a dramatic gasp. “Shut up. At the time, I’d barely said two words to any of the people in town. They likely would have run me out of St. Augustine, but I was able to apologize and explain why it was a bad day for me.”

He can hear the thud of Silver’s approach from behind. “Why was it?”

“I actually can’t remember the real reason,” Flint says. Finally the fire catches and Flint is able to stand, wincing at the pop in his knee joints. “But it must have been something I couldn’t share with the crowd, so I just said it was the anniversary of my wife’s death.”

It’d been perfect timing, really, because it hadn’t coincided with any real anniversary. It wasn’t the day Miranda died, or the day Thomas was taken away. It wasn’t the day he last saw Silver, or the day he died himself. It was just another day. It made it harder to remember, but he’d rather have to fake torment for a fake loss, than experience real pain for a fake loss.

“So every year,” Flint goes on, “Señor Fernandez, another widower, gives me a bottle of liquor. To drink to her memory, I guess. This’ll be the first year I don’t finish it myself.”

Silver’s smile has changed over the years. As his hands got faster when drawing a weapon, his smile grew slower now, sliding over his face like honey. The end result is always the same, though, as it is when he’s holding a gun or a blade – it’s crooked and dangerous and so, so beautiful.

Silver holds the bottle up to Flint. “For the missus, then?”

Two hours and most of the bottle have disappeared. Flint is spread out in his reading chair, legs splayed and hair loose. Silver is spread out on Flint’s lap, one and a half legs thrown over the arm of the chair. His hair is also down.

Flint is speaking, but he hasn’t a clue what he’s been saying for awhile now. It’s something like, “That fuckin’ bastard Ricardo, you know the one, the one who has about three hairs on his face and I’m including the ones in his eyebrows, the one who was acting too friendly towards Solomon last time we went to church, you know the one? Again, he tries to tell me that shit gamey fuckin’ hen of his was worth a whole barrel of oranges. A whole barrel! ‘Oh, Señor,’ he says, he says, ‘This chicken will lay more eggs in a month than a single tree of yours bears fruit in a year.’ Like I can’t see this fuckin’ bird already looks like it’s been killed and fuckin’ boiled two weeks ago and that fuckin’ bastard Ricardo’s just gone and stuck the feathers back on…”

Silver hums, pulling Flint’s shirt off his shoulder. Flint knows he isn’t listening. When one is as drunk as they are, multitasking is a challenge, and Silver looks much too focused on pouring rum into the hollow of his collarbone and licking it out.

Flint jumps a little as cold liquid drips down his chest, then groans as Silver tries to chase it with his tongue. He can’t get lower without moving, and that isn’t likely to happen anytime soon. Instead, he kisses back up Flint’s neck, over his chin until he reaches Flint’s mouth.

“Open up,” he says, lifting the bottle overhead.

Flint obliges. Silver pours from a height, most of the rum landing in his mouth. Silver is quick to clean up the mess, licking around Flint’s lips before kissing him again hard to chase after the taste.

They kiss for awhile, sloppily and without any clear end goal. Silver is holding Flint’s face in two hands, which means he’s likely dropped the bottle, and the remaining rum is now spilling out onto the floor. Flint doesn’t mind. He likes when Silver holds his face.

Flint slips a hand between Silver’s legs and starts gently rubbing his cock through his trousers. Silver jerks up into his hand, a high whine pushed into Flint’s grinning mouth. At the angle Silver is sitting, he can only get the faintest pressure from Silver’s hip against his own cock, but he is likely too drunk for it to do much anyway. He just feels a pleasant ache shaking every inch of his body, and he likes that, too.

Silver breaks away from the kiss, pressing his face into Flint’s rum-sticky neck. He’s thrusting slowly into Flint’s hand. He drags his mouth to Flint’s ear and whispers wetly, “What was her name?”

“Who?” Flint asks.

“Your – oh – your wife.”

Flint hand stills for a moment, trying to look at Silver. He’s too close for him to see anything other than his hands gripping Flint’s loose shirt, his hips steadily rising against Flint’s frozen fingers.

He starts groping Silver again, not missing the way Silver shudders against him, nails digging to Flint’s skin. Flint holds him tighter. He can feel the hot heat of Silver’s cock outlined through his pants. Silver moans loudly, before silencing himself by biting on Flint’s jaw.

Flint says, “Her name was – Penelope, I think.”

Even drunk and aroused, Silver still finds it in him to snort. “You scholar. Fuck!” He gasps harshly against Flint’s cheek as Flint moves his hand faster. “Was she…was she pretty?”

“Beautiful,” Flint says, pulling on Silver’s hair until he could get at his neck. He mouths along his throat, saying, “Long, dark, infuriatingly curly hair, eyes so clear and so blue you couldn’t even begin to understand their depths until you were already drowning in them. Skin – God, such perfect skin, and a mouth made to be fucking filled, with words or liquor or my cock –”

Silver kisses him again, although it’s more of a bite, really. He sucks on Flint’s bottom lip with all his teeth like he’s swallowing down a sliver of orange. Flint stops rubbing him to push open the top buttons of Silver’s trousers and finally get a hand inside. Silver’s skin is even hotter beneath the cloth, hair wet with sweat, cock slick with precum and so solid in his palm.

Silver’s thrusting with him, forehead resting against Flint’s to watch. Every time Flint’s hand twists up towards the head, Silver lets out this soft, breathy moan and they hit Flint. Every one of them, they hit him, he can feel it down in his gut.

“How did she – Christ, faster,” Silver says, clutching at Flint’s shoulder. “– how did she win your heart?”

“She didn’t,” Flint says, working Silver’s cock faster as ordered, rubbing the head with his thumb. “She didn’t, she fucking stole it.”

Silver is close, Flint knows what Silver looks like when he’s close, but even though he’s at the edge, he still lets out a long fucking giggle. He’s bouncing up fast into Flint’s hand and he’s giggling and moaning so much, Flint doesn’t know how he’s breathing. “Fucking, oh, please, she stole it right out from under you, did she?”

“Didn’t even fucking ask, she just took,” Flint agrees, leaning up to kiss him again. “Good thing I loved her, God, I love you so fucking much.”

Silver is closer and he even stiffens, but doesn’t come yet. All he can do is groan, “Stop.”

“I love you,” Flint says anyway, kissing up his cheek, his broad nose, the soft hollow under his eyes. “I love you, I fucking love you.”

Silver’s face is red and warm, and he squirms on his lap against the onslaught of words and Flint still stroking him, hard and how he likes it. “Stop, Flint, I can’t, please –”

“You can,” Flint says, lips pressing against the swirls of his ear. “You can, because I fuckin’ love you.”

Silver cries out, his back arching towards Flint as his spills out onto his hand. Flint clutches at his back, holding him steady as his body shivers through it. 

After a moment, Silver leans back in his arm. His face is still red, clutching at Flint’s shirt like something might pull him away. He looks lost, but determined to find his way back home. Flint doesn’t know why every one of Silver’s expressions are as familiar and identifiable to him as the stars, but they all serve the same purpose to Flint – they show him where he is. 

Silver blinks at Flint for a moment, his eyes watery. He says, “What happened to the rest of the rum?”

Flint looks around uselessly. He still has a hand in Silver’s trousers. “You poured the rest out,” he says, “for the poor departed Señora Quijana.”

Silver smiles. It’s a shaky thing. “You know I – do too. That I – you.” He takes a deep breath. “I –”

“I know,” Flint says, rubbing his back. “I know. It’s okay.”

“No.” Silver twists his hands in Flint’s shirt like he’s trying to threaten him. “I’m drunk and fucked and that means I can fucking tell you I love you like a goddamn adult.”

Flint looks up at the ceiling. It’s only partly to hide his smile. He keeps looking until Silver says, sounding harassed, “What?”

“Oh,” says Flint, “I was just waiting for the roof to come crashing down on you.”

A pause. “Asshole.” Silver collapses forward onto him, tucking his face into Flint’s neck. “You stink, by the way.”

Flint pulls his hand away from Silver’s spent cock and wipes himself on Silver’s pants, which are already ruined. He wraps both arms around Silver. “You’re the one who decided to bathe me in rum.”

“Don’t blame the rum,” Silver mutters. “The rum is an innocent party in all things.”

He sounds like he’s drifting to sleep, which has the immediate effect of making Flint’s own eyes feel heavy with exhaustion. They will really regret sleeping like this, the two of them at uncomfortable angles and covered in too many different substances to name. But Flint hasn’t felt this comfortable since childhood, perhaps even longer.

He’s almost asleep when Silver shifts in his arms. He moves to Flint’s ear and whispers, “So, did you get that chicken off Ricardo?”

Flint pushes him onto the floor.

[junker-town]

The All-Opening Team: 35 elite recruits from college football’s top showcase

The country’s best college football recruits gathered in one place. Here’s who stood out to us.

Beaverton, Ore. – The last week marked The Opening Finals, the top showcase in college football recruiting. The event brings 160-some prospects, most of them in the class of 2018, to Nike’s world headquarters just outside Portland. It’s a three-day affair (five for QBs, receivers, and tight ends), and while it’s a fun growing experience for the players, it’s also a chance to evaluate the prospects atop so many programs’ boards.

For the second year in a row, SB Nation’s putting together an “All-Opening Team” with our own loose rules. We can take as many players as we want in any position group, because the main goal here is to draw attention to standouts. The All-Opening Team is non-exhaustive, but it’s a way to give a nod to prospects who excelled against the best. Here, for your reference, is last year’s version.

Quarterbacks

Justin Fields Justin Rogers (TCU commit)

Rogers got rid of the ball quickly and smartly, and he overcame the loss of a couple of injured teammates to put together a strong seven-on-seven performance. Fields was the star of the weekend, dicing up defenses in the sort of competition that doesn’t even allow him to flash his full potential. Fields is a classic dual threat — a baseball outfielder who can burn a football defense with his legs as much as his arm. There are no QB run plays in seven-on-seven, thankfully, but Fields was still extraordinary.

Fields’ excellence in Beaverton sets up a debate over whether he or longtime No. 1 Trevor Lawrence is really the class of 2018’s top QB. We still think Lawrence has an edge, despite struggling some in a format that should’ve been well-suited to his dart-throwing skill set. If Fields has a great senior season, though, he could overtake the Clemson commit Lawrence. Georgia, Auburn, Florida State, Florida, and Alabama are the top contenders for Fields, who recently backed off a commitment to Penn State.

Running backs

Jaelen Gill (Ohio State) Ricky Person Jr. (NC State) Ricky Slade (Penn State)

Gill will be compared a lot to Swiss army knife Curtis Samuel as he gets on with his journey to Ohio State, and that comparison makes good sense. Gill is an explosive athlete, as are all of the running backs on this list, but he’s the best at catching the ball down the field. Gill has a polished receiver’s skill set as well as a runner’s.

Person is a similarly multipurpose back, though he’s a bit of a slasher. He’s more likely to catch the ball out of the backfield than on a long wheel route, but he’ll be as dangerous as anyone once the ball gets into his hands. NC State has a good one.

Slade qualified automatically because of this:

Wide receivers

Terrace Marshall Jr. Devon Williams Jalen Hall Amon-Ra St. Brown Justin Shorter (Penn State) Jordyn Adams (North Carolina)

Marshall is the top-ranked receiver in the country, and he didn’t do anything to suggest he doesn’t deserve that billing. Williams is classified as an “athlete” who could play either side of the ball, and he certainly could, but he’s so fast and so good a jumper that it’s going to be hard for his coaches not to deploy him as an outside WR. (He was the best player on the field on Monday, the event’s last day.)

Hall has been a five-star for a long time now, as one of the earliest-to-be-noticed recruits in the 2018 cycle. Hall will turn a lot of 50-50 balls into something more approximating 90-10 balls. Shorter is a big burner who can catch, and Adams is one of the class’ most solid all-around targets. Adams is a baseball player who’s also played QB in high school and can dunk you through the hardwood in basketball.

Tight ends

Jeremy Ruckert

Ruckert is the best tight end in the class of 2018, full stop. He’s big — around 6’5 and 240 pounds — but he moves like a receiver, has absurd hands, and will have a prosperous career as an unstoppable third-down and red zone target. Ruckert has a top four of Ohio State, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Notre Dame. He is likely to commit to the Buckeyes sometime in July, though the exact timeline there isn’t certain.

A sampling of his hands:

At The Opening in Oregon with @SBNRecruiting. Here's a sweet catch by New York TE Jeremy Ruckert: http://pic.twitter.com/TSMmdMUsO9

— Alex Kirshner (@alex_kirshner) June 30, 2017

Offensive linemen

Jackson Carman Jamaree Salyer Justin Dedich (USC) Tyrone Sampson (Syracuse) Curtis Dunlap Delone Scaife (Miami) Trey Hill Penei Sewell Reuben Unije

There was a lot of good offensive line play, but let’s single out a few of these players in particular. Carman is the top tackle in the class, a technician who’s also got that mean streak coaches prefer in their blue-chip tackles. Salyer is as good a high school guard as you could reasonably hope to find, and also the no-doubt best at his position. Dedich and Sampson are elite centers who can put linemen into the ground.

Defensive linemen

Xavier Thomas (Clemson) Michael Thompson Nolan Smith (Georgia) ‘19 Rick Sandidge

Thomas is the surest thing in a class that’s generally light on dominant ends. Thompson is an all-around star in the middle, and Smith is great despite having room to grow both physically and in terms of his technique. Sandidge is one of the most enjoyable players in the class: a hell-on-wheels tackle who has a better burst off the line than any tackle except No. 1 DT Taron Vincent, an Ohio State commit.

Linebackers

Channing Tindall Xavier Peters Palei Gaoteote (USC)

Tindall, a likely South Carolina commit, was a star of “cat and mouse” drills, where a defender (usually a linebacker) and a running back charge at each other and try to be the first to a center line.

Peters, a likely Kentucky commit, isn’t rated among the top few backers in the class, but he should be. It’s not hard to imagine Peters developing into a truly elite outside linebacker in college, who’s also the emotional leader of whichever defense he’s playing on.

Gaoteote looked as good as the top-10 player analysts say he is, and that’s in a seven-on-seven format that doesn’t favor middle linebackers in the slightest.

Defensive backs

Patrick Surtain II Bryan Addison Bookie Radley-Hiles (Nebraska) D’shawn Jamison Josh Proctor (Ohio State) Jaiden Woodbey (Ohio State) Caden Sterns (Texas)

Surtain is one of the best prep cornerbacks in recent times — a defensive back who flies to the ball like a linebacker and closes off entire sectors of the field with his speed and ball skills. He will be a professional someday, and a good one at that. But for now, he’s a recruit who reminds easily of Patrick Peterson. His recruitment shapes up as a battle between LSU, Florida State, and Clemson, but he’ll go wherever he wants.

Addison was impressive during seven-on-seven drills. He’s rangy, and he’s still quite thin, so when he puts on weight, maybe he’ll slow down a bit. But he’s a natural athlete and should be disruptive in the secondary, whether he settles as a safety (as he was this weekend) or an outside cornerback. He could even play offense.

Radley-Hiles is small, but he’s a game-changing talent. Nobody made more plays, and that’s in a setting that doesn’t allow him to return punts, another one of his strengths.

Sterns, an LSU flip now committed to Texas, routinely harassed quarterbacks and had at least two or three interceptions. Proctor and Woodbey, a pair of great safeties, will help ensure that Ohio State’s secondary doesn’t miss a beat when it inevitably sends 14 guys to the NFL in 2018. That program grows elite DBs on trees.