#—remaining. stalking them through the night. and then choosing the perfect moment to sneak in and slice their arteries.

[starlight-storytime]

essay in tags :p

[tmwcs]

T̴̶̨̨̢̛͇̱̙̭̳͚̼͍̪̮͔̯͍͎͔͔̽̿͊ͥͨ͗ͬͧ͑̓̌̓ͫ͋̇̂̈́̀͘͠͞͠ḩ̵̶̧͈̜͇͖̮͚̟͉̝̤̘̹̬̎̍͊͑̋͌͂̏͒̾̇̌ͩ́͂͛͊̾̂ͩ̀͆̓ͮ̚̚͢͢͠ë͍́̾ͭ O̶̼͚͐̌́ͦ́͆͋̌͡t̷̴̴̩͓͍͔̣͖̟͈͕̰̱ͨ́͛̾̎͐̽͐͑͒̏ͮ̃̀͂ͧ̔̾̚͘͘͢͠͝͡͡ͅh̥͉͂ę̜̮̱͕̟̘ͧ̄̃ͣ̋ŗ̢͔̖͎̪͚͇͕̩͖̹͒ͮͬ̎̃̽͆ͫ̏ͩ̀͆̇ͬͣ̃̄̚͟s̸̴̶̨͇̣͈̪͕̯̺̮͇ͦ̏̓ͤ͛ͥ͑̆̋̏ͦ̀̊̃͢_̢̛͍̖̩̞̬ͨj͇͓͚̝͑̇̊̒͐ͥ́̚͞ḍ̵̵̸̡̨̧̢̛͉̣̜̗̦̫̮̪̰͂̌̃̌̽̀̌́͑̏̑̂̊ͯͩ̀̊͌͆ͬ͛ͧ̑ͦ̉̕͟͝͝ẽ̸̸̢̖͕͙̦̄ͭͪ̈̊̈͐̂͝

CHAPTER FIVE

The Otherside Chapter 5 here!!!! If you wish to be added to the Taglist, please let me know. If you’ve already asked and are not on it, please give me a reminder, it’s been a while since I’ve posted the previous chapter.

Warnings: reader gets attacked, attempted r@pe, stalking, mentions of death through torturous acts, rough home life, parental neglect, sibling rivalry, death threats, some cursing, and I think that’s it.

The park looked too enticing to merely walk pass. With the full moon peeling in between the trees, you just had to take a moment to appreciate the beauty of the brightened night sky. A lonesome bench offers the perfect view of the scenery and so, you rest your gift bag to the side as you perch yourself and sit nearly over the curved edge and admire the glorious pearl in the sky.

Not long after you sat down, your mind drifts away as you are reminded of the harsh reality of coming home to an ignorant mother and shameful father. As a daughter, you loved them and hoped they would become better, but as fate would have it, they would continue to let you down as you witnessed the constant habit of them choosing to be better parents for your elder brother. Some days, you really try to see it from their perspective, yet at the end of the day, the chapters in your story end the same. Your brother got away with everything….everything. He abused the trust and goodliest trait of all around him. There were countless times when you came to witness his terrible deeds or capture sustained evidence of his unlawful ways; whether it be theft, fibbing, or drug use, yet due to the persona he portrayed in front of open eyes, no one would ever believe you whenever you presented the proof. Nobody could ever believe that the local church boy preparing for college would ever do such terrible deeds. So much for knowing “thy neighbor”. The worst was when your mother responded so carelessly as you displayed the video evidence of him stealing money from your wallet, no doubt to pay for his drug habits. Despite the act being caught in plain sight, her unusual response of “I will talk to him, and the Lord will take care of the rest.” Was the most disappointing thing you ever did hear. Then of course there was your father who claimed that his son would never do such a thing, and even dared to accuse you of conspiring against his only son. That’s right, “his only son”, the ultimate statement that gave constant reminder that in your dads eyes, his son wasn’t your brother, how could he be if you were never accepted as a daughter?

Maybe the troubling home life is a blessing. After all, it was all that motivates you to earn decent grades, and apply to numerous universities; you should be hearing back from one of them any day now, and once you do, you’ll take your packed bags and hike your way into adulthood. You’ll get a part time job to pay for your living expenses and continue to study hard and get through this life, while never looking back. Since you had come to accept that the family you were born with could never find love in their hearts for you, you reserved all of your heart for yourself. Perhaps someday you’ll find someone who is worthy of it.

Lost in your thoughts, you remained distracted under the stressful circumstances of your family life, so much that you failed to hear the unknown man sneaking up behind. Your view of the moon is suddenly enclosed by complete darkness as you feel a pair of strong hands covering them and blocking your screams. You kick and attempt to peel his fingers off as he lifts you from the bench and rams you into the grassy ground. The person was not gentle, you felt your knees, shoulders, elbows, and back being scrape as you roughed you up and straddled atop your frame. You struggled as you found it hard to breathe with his hands blocking your airways. Finally he exposes his voice as he leans in and through a clenched jaw, he grits out his warning. “Stop moving or I’ll fucking slit your throat.” With a cold metal edge of what you suspected to be a knife, he presses it against your delicate skin, just underneath your jaw.

You refrained from making any sudden movements, only admitting a gentle nod as you complied with his order. “Good. Now stay still.” He demands as he begins to unbutton your blouse. You panicked internally but calmed yourself as you wait for the perfect moment to make a striking move that would allow you to get away. Said opportunity presents itself as you felt him ease his grip over your mouth just as he was placing his disgusting mouth over your exposed chest. With a swift knee to his shaft, you rammed the bone edge of your joint as hard as you could, rendering him to toss over and groan in agonizing pain.

Quickly, you turn over and lift yourself from the ground as you stumble for balance. Lightheaded and dizzy, the limited air flow had caused you to nearly pass out. Had you not made your move in time, you surely would have passed out. As you level your feet, you lean forward and prepared for take off as your body develops a swift running stance, when you felt the man’s hands grab on to your ankle. With a harsh pull towards his chest, your body’s momentum fails you as your chest falls to the ground, knocking the breath out of your chest. He roughly turns you over and once again, straddles your waist line as he pinches his knees to close you in. You watched as he raised the knife above head, ready to strike down and deliver a finishing blow. Your breathing escalates as your eyes frown fearfully. With his words, you scream out as you’re about to meet your demise. “Stupid little bitch!”

You wince your eyes shut and turn to face away. The sudden burst of stingy tears squeezed out from the corners of your eyes drip along the contour of your cheek, providing the only warmth you could possibly feel at that moment.

The sounds of choked up gasps caused you to slowly open your eyes and face forward. You could feel your brows raise in confusion, but migrate to sudden shock as you witness a clear view of the man’s throat. It was all you could see and yet you were able to ascertain that something was pulling the man’s head back, far back.

“W-w-wha-at….the fffuck!” The man was barely able to spew out as he struggled to speak and breathe. Inch by inch, you saw his head being peeled back. Whoever it was that had a hold on him definitely had the intention of snapping his neck in half.

With the man struggling for release, you felt his hand gripped around your neck tightening. You wiggle around, attempting to remove his hand while the other still grips the blade above your face. Suddenly, a deep voice comes from behind your would be killer. It was calm and flared a peculiar accent. “Let go of her neck, otherwise I’ll break yours.”

Another man? And he came to save you? How lucky for you! Though it was too soon to act joyful as you felt the grip around your throat pinching tightly. You felt your throat closing inward as you found yourself unable to breathe. Pounding against the man’s chest, your eyes develop tunnel vision when finally, the weight of his body is drastically lifted from you. Laying in a dazed and confused state, your narrowed vision allows you to look at your savior. He wore a mask, with a jean jacket under a black vest. A black cap covered most of his hair, with only the wispy ends peeking from underneath. He throws the man off to the side. The heaving rise and fall of his chest tells you of his immaculate strength as he resorted to using his upper body weight to lift the other man and toss him over as if he was nothing. For one second, his face turns down over to you, where your eyes meet briefly.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Is all he tells you before he takes his step and disappears from your view. You barely had any strength to move as your body recovers from the fatigue from the loss of oxygen. Your hearing on the other hand seemed to work fine as you listened in on the muffled screams of your attacker. It all faded as you finally succumbed and drift off to a state of unconsciousness.

You awoke in a darkened room, enclosed by silk and warmth, a total contrast from the environment you were in earlier. Despite not being able to see, you were able to ascertain that you were on a pillow top bed in what appeared to be a sky rise apartment, as deduced by the massive window view of the bustling streets and flashy media billboards on the neighboring towers. Whoever it was that saved and brought you back certainly was a person with great affluence. The comfort of the room enticed you to remain however, you knew you had to get up and grasp some answers.

Getting up, you realize that your phone was missing. More than likely it fell out of your pocket at the park during the struggle. Maybe your rescuer will take you back and help you find it.

You open the door and admire the main living room. Just like the bedroom, it has an impressive row of large windows that view the entire city.

“Wow…” you breathed out as you witnessed the apartment being lit up by the outside lights. What a fabulous place to live in.

Tip toeing into the main area, you looked around trying to find your shoes, but no luck. You peeked into all the bathrooms, guest bedrooms, and even inside the kitchen cabinets but to no avail were you able to find them. Strange.

The night view of the city captured your attention as you pondered the whereabouts of your shoes. The beauty of the starry sky hovering over bright city lights seized your attention for much longer than what you had anticipated. You lightly jump as you hear quiet footsteps from behind.

Snapping around, your eyes meet him once again. “It’s you…” you quietly murmured as he stepped into the light.

“Yeah…it’s me.” He responds back while licking his lip.

“You’re the one that…well, you saved me from that man earlier.”

He chuckles at your prospective point as his hands remain tucked into his jean pockets, causing for her his shoulders to shrug slightly. “Heh…yeah.”

His voice was so deep and alluring.

“Well…thank you.” You lightly chuckled. Without his mask you were able to see just how handsome he was. He appeared to be Asian, perhaps Japanese? Chinese? Or maybe Korean. Either way, he was perfectly sculpted and well built. “What was your name?” You ask shyly as you took notice of his intense eye contact.

“Jake. Aaaand you?” The way he drew out his tone and playfully pushed out his request caused you to melt. You’ve never seen anyone with such intense sex appeal. “It’s…y/n.”

“Huh…I dig the name.” His tongue rolls offensively in his mouth as his lips part open, allowing you to view the act.

“Could I ask you a question?” You propel shyly once again. “Sure.”

You take up on his answer and politely asked him about a stumbling thought that suddenly hit you. “Can I ask how you knew I was in trouble? The park was large and it was so empty. Did you know that man that attacked me?”

Your question was out of pure curiosity, not at all suspicious. It’s not uncommon for a person to walk alone at the park, even at night. But you had a gut feeling that it wasn’t just pure luck that your savior happened to be at the exact location at the right time. You smiled lightly as you felt yourself being quite smitten with the man before you.

“I didn’t know him…but I knew of his intentions.” He calmly breathes out. You nod lightly as you chuckled. “Oh so you must be a detective or something.” You playfully pushed out, yet the sincerity was genuine as you really had thought that the man was investigating the attacker. It wasn’t until he shook his head, your brows furrowed in slight confusion. “Oh…well how did you know then?” You asked, formulating a slight smile as you yearned to hear out the explanation.

“The look in his eye.”

You shift your gaze from left to right before making it back to center. You were so confused by his vague statement, you urged him to elaborate. “The look?”

“Yeah, the look.”

He remained evasive to give closure, which caused you to feel a little uneasy as you noticed his steps forward. “That same one that I get…from time to time.”

You piece the code of his wordings all too quickly, yet you felt frozen as he closes the distance. With a terrible feeling in your gut, you listen as he continues to enlighten you with his shuttering voice.

“As many times as I get that feeling…that look in my eye…it always came with the intention of taking something valuable away. I violate and plunge to destroy their minds endlessly…but with you-“

He pauses as he reaches up and softly punches your hair, rubbing them together. “This is the first time I’ve wanted to give…and build something beautiful.”

His hazy look showed you that the man seemed to be in lust or smitten. But it was also dangerous, and the meaning of his words told you of his intentions. You backed away, trying to figure out your next move as you find it impossible to believe that you went from one attacker to seemingly another. “D-don’t…wait…just-“ you stutter out as Jake predicted your movements. With force and strength, he grips your arms and levitates your entire weight in mid air as he lays you down on the couch. His movements were much more gentle than the previous attackers. He even went so far as to gently trail his fingertips along your scrapes, which he had cleaned while you were unconscious.

“Poor babygirl…he hurt you, huh?”

You wiggled and tried to break free as he hovered above. Leaning into your ear, he whispers a deadly conclusion of the other man’s end. “He‘s never going to hurt you again, Princess.”

Your movements come to a pause as you look at him confused and shocked. Watching as Jake bit down on his lip, he smiles deviously as he proceeds to fill you in.

“I made him promise not to.”

You breathed cautiously as you eagerly asked. “…what…did you do?”

Unexpectedly, his words told you of a different ending than what the previous has led you to believe.

“I killed him anyway. You can’t trust a man like that, believe me.”

Burrowing his head into your neck, you felt the sweet kisses of his lips as you screamed out, trying to break free from the developing grasp he formed around your wrists. He continued on as you squirmed from under him. “I tore his mouth apart, and pissed in it. I did it for what he was trying to do to you…babygirl…”

You panic as you kick into open air, he was so much more strategic with his hold and movements that he left no part of him vulnerable to your creativity. “No one is ever going to hurt you. You’re safe. You’ll always be safe. I’m going to keep you. I’ll make you happy….as long as you make me happy.”

You felt his tongue trailing over your collarbone as his large hand took hold on both of yours. Pinning them over your head, he unbuttons your blouse and unzips your jeans. “Stop!” You cry out.

“You belong to me. I'm never going to let anyone touch you like that…the way you have me feeling right now…you wicked girl.”

Raising his head, he pinches your chin with his two fingers as he levels your vision with his. A dangerous smirk on his face tells you of a heated passion, lust, desire and even love…but not the type that you read in romance stories or saw in movies. No. This was a type of sentiment that was full of conflict, chaos, and poison…coming from him, it was going to be deadly.

With a few strokes of his thumb, he softly tells you…

“Just relax baby…I’m not going to treat you like the others. You deserve better…you deserve the world, and I’m about to give it to you.”

Taglist: @nshmrarki , @lprww , @baekxo07 , @m7omo@nikstrange@heeshees@moonmoongi@heesitation@heeseung-min @nctsslut @heeseung-min @addictedtohobi

[pascalpanic]

Okay hi I’m back with an IDEA☄️

So. I’ve been thinking about how stubborn javi would be with his feelings. Like maybe he’s being messing around with this girl and he knows he has feelings for her and she knows it too but both of them are so stubborn so they go out of their way just getting under each other’s skin.

Like imagine they’re at a bar with steve and she’s just flirting around and dancing with guys all the while shooting him bedroom eyes and he’s just there BROODING AND ANGRY n Steve is just like “you guys are so insufferable” UGH

aaaaaaa i love this so much!! here we are:

Always Been Yours (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: Javier doesn’t take kindly to having his dance partner stolen from him.

W/C: 2.7k

Warnings: language, lots of bad flirting, mentions of sex and sexual topics but nothing too explicit, Javier is his own warning. alcohol and cigarettes.

A/N:  ☄️ anon you have done it again!! this was so much fun to write I hope it’s what you were thinking!!

Restraint is one of Javier’s best qualities. He can hold back when he needs to, save his emotions until they’re all too much then channel them out by fucking or drinking them away. He does it often, in fact. Sometimes, that restraint is too strict. Javier never allows himself to relax, never allows himself the luxury of feeling the powerful emotions his mind creates. 

This restraint can sometimes transfer over even when Javier doesn’t mean to. He wants to let loose, he really does, but he physically can’t most of the time. Contrary to the men at work who tell him he’s too impulsive, he’s an overthinker. He mentally runs every possible outcome of any situation he’s in. He just picks the more dangerous options sometimes.

Javier holds back his emotions even more when it comes to romance. He sleeps around quite a bit, does what he pleases with whomever he chooses. It’s not because he lacks feelings or attachment, it’s because he fears them both. He knows what he did to Lorraine hurt her immensely. He never wants to hurt someone again, and so he avoids romantic relationships. 

He fell for you when he met you. It was as plain and simple as that. When you moved your cardboard box into the desk in the corner of his and Murphy’s bullpen, his eyes were drawn to you. You had such an elegant and beautiful walk, he noticed. Your head was held high, your hips swayed like you were dancing. When you shook his hand, when he felt your soft fingers in his calloused palm, he was fucked. 

He flirted with you. Of course he did. That’s how Javier does things. The flirting was subtle and quiet, not loud and brash like he normally was. He told you he loved those earrings, that that blouse was really beautiful. It always tied back to how beautiful you were. 

It escalated when he realized you were into him too. You’d flirt back shamelessly, telling him that you wished you were involved with the narcos so that he'd pay more attention to you. He’d shoot back that you weren’t looking right, because his eyes were always trained on you. Steve made a vomiting noise at that and left for more coffee. “You’re just jealous he’s flirting with me and not you, Murphy,” you called out after him. You looked back at Javi with a devilish grin, and he shot one back in return.

That’s how your relationship has been going this time. You’re down hard for Javier, completely entranced by him. When he talks about cases, you have a hard time listening. Your eyes trace his biceps, the way they bulge against the sleeves of his shirt. You make snarky comments just to see the fire in his eyes ignite again.

Javier really wants to ask you out, he does. But he fears it’s unprofessional. He fears that you just want to hook up with him, and he likes you too much to do something like that. He wants you fully, in an all-consuming way. 

You really like him, but you fear the same from him. His reputation precedes him, and you know all about Javier’s habits. You know he sleeps with informants to get information in those quiet moments after the work is done. You know he flirts with anything in a skirt around the office, and has slept with a decent number of those women too. Javier is a tornado, tearing through women faster than they can recover. If that’s not enough for him, you know he loves to frequent certain brothels in the area. You notice the sneaking way some of the girls there will grab his arm and murmur something as he walks past, the way he’s far too into it for being on the job. They know him by name sometimes. He knows them too. 

As much as you want to be with Javier, you don’t want to be with the womanizer. You want to be with him in the early hours of the morning, want to tighten his tie for him before you walk into work together. You want to make him laugh and want him to stay with you and hold you after the events of the night. 

You’re practical though. That’s not really who Javier is. You know that as well as you know the man. You want him in any way you can get him, really. That means you’re willing to just sleep with him. You’d take a night with him over never touching him at all. 

Drinks after work are a common occurrence for you, Steve, and Javier. All three of you need the assistance of alcohol to relax after the chaos that is working for the DEA. The two men order beers, and you order a strong cocktail the bar you frequent is known for.

Tonight is a rare night where Connie is out of town. You and Javier, the two single ones, demanded that the three of you absolutely must go to the club. It’s a Friday night, you got off work early for once, and you want to let loose. Steve reluctantly agreed, and now you’re sitting in the backseat while Steve drives you and Javier. 

As you enter the club, the music is loud and the bass pounds. You whoop excitedly and wander into the dance floor. Steve and Javier find barstools and sit. 

You return after that initial song ends, resting one arm on Javier’s shoulder. They ordered a drink for you, the one they know you love. “Aw, thank you guys,” you coo and rest your head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, kid. You haven’t even had anything to drink yet and you’re acting like this?” The blonde scoffs and looks down at you.

You frown. “Steve, come on. It’s a Friday night, I’m with my favorite guy, and Javier is here too. How couldn’t I be this happy?”

Javier rolls his eyes at you. “Thanks for that, princesa,” he murmurs as he sips at his whiskey.

The three of you remain at the bar for a while, chatting and laughing. Eventually, a song comes on that you know Javier loves. “Alright, you big buzzkill,” you laugh and grab Javier’s strong bicep. “Come dance with me.” 

Javi groans as he stands and sets down his glass. “Fine. Only because you look so good tonight,” he mumbles to you.

Once you reach the floor, his arms wrap around your waist and yours encircle his neck. His hips start moving against yours to the music and you shudder, bare arms prickling in the humid air of the club. You rest your face in the curve of his neck as you dance, both of you moving your feet in perfect time with the other. 

He’s a wonderful dancer, you already knew, but something about it is extremely intimate. Your bodies, which have long desired the other’s, are flush against each other. He can feel your tits pressing into his chest and one of your hands slides up into his hair, toying with the waves it finds there. He uses all of the power he physically has to stop the blood from flowing straight to his dick. 

“You’re good at this,” you mumble into his ear.

“Only because it’s you I’m dancing with.”

Your time in Javier’s arms doesn’t last long. You dance more separately now, one hand of his still on your waist. It all shifts when another man puts a hand on your hip and turns you his way. “Can I steal you away?” He asks. He’s handsome, dark hair and dark eyes. He’s tall, taller than Javi. You don’t want anyone but your DEA agent, but this presents a wonderful opportunity. 

“Of course,” you nod and he twirls you into his arms, wrapping one arm around you and taking one of your hands in his.

Javier watches in disbelief at the ease the man had in taking you from him. You’re now pressed to this random man’s chest, one hand resting over his heart. You giggle at something he murmurs to you and your body is pressed tight against his. 

Javier stalks off back to the bar, sitting back down next to Murphy and slamming his whiskey. “Another one,” he calls from the bartender, who has another glass tumbler sitting in front of the man in a matter of seconds.

He watched you from the bar with a growing fire in his eyes. The way your hips moved was like the spinning of a hypnotist’s wheel, drawing him in until he couldn’t look away. You were passed around from man to man, grinning and laughing the entire time. You were having fun, that much was clear, and it almost made Javier feel bad for the jealousy that burned a pit in his stomach. He lights a cigarette to dull the want he feels for you.

Your partner spins you around and you lock eyes with Javier. They’re trained on you, they have been the whole night. You smirk a little before continuing the turn, wrapping yourself into your partner’s chest as he pulls you along across the floor. 

Steve rolls his eyes and downs the rest of his beer. “For the love of fuckin’ Christ, Peña. Either quit staring at her like that or go fuckin’ get her from that man.”

Javier glares back at Steve. “Shut the fuck up. You’re supposed to be my wingman, not to fucking yell at me.”

“You need to be yelled at. I am being your wingman. In my professional opinion, as a man who’s fucking married to a woman who played the hard-to-get deal, you need to go show her that you actually do like her or she’s gonna end up going home with that fucker.”

Steve always gives Javier the tough love he needs. He groans as he realizes that Steve is probably right. He needs to go do something now. You lock eyes with him and give him your best teasing smile, your eyes showing everything. You’re having fun, but if Javier comes and stops you, you’d let him do whatever the fuck he wants. “Come get me,” you mouth to the man before resting your head against your partner’s chest, laughing and swaying along with him. 

Javier downs his second whiskey and stands. “Fuck it.”

“Atta boy,” Steve laughs and claps him on the back. “I’m telling you now, I’m not driving the two of you home if you’re gonna be making out in the backseat.”

Javier smirks and stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray on the bar. “I live close enough to walk.” He cracks his neck and makes his way out into the rainbow-colored chaos that is the crowded dance floor. 

You’re hard to find in a sea of people, all of them twirling and moving. Some women have their heads on their partner’s chest, making it even harder to find you. Javier finds the last man who held you in his arms, the one wearing a green shirt. He’s got someone else now. 

Javier is caught by surprise when two arms wrap around his neck and his naturally find their way to rest on the hips of the person: you. “Hey, Peña,” you grin at him, one hand resting on his chest. “Sorry I got pulled away.”

“No you’re fucking not,” the man laughs, moving you along to the music.

“I am,” you refute him, frowning a little. “I wanted to dance with you, but I figured I’d give the other guys a shot. Especially since you’re taking your sweet ass time with me.”

Javier’s eyes darken slightly. “They should’ve realized you’re mine.”

You look up at him, tilting your head and eyes narrowing. “Oh, I’m yours?”

He shakes his head. “We both can tell. You know that, know what’s between us.”

“No clue what you’re talking about.”

“Can I show you, then?” He offers. 

You nod, scrunching your nose. “Do your worst, Javi.”

He cups the side of your face with one large hand and kisses you deeply. You gasp in surprise, even though you knew it was coming. It’s warm and perfect, Javier’s strong arms holding you in place.

The rest of the dance floor twirls and moves along, but you and Javier have stopped moving. Your feet are planted firmly to the ground, arms wrapped around him like an anchor point in a sea of people. He kisses you harder and you allow it, kissing him back just as deeply. He tastes like whiskey and you taste like the fruity cocktail you drank earlier. Normally, the two would taste awful combined, but it doesn’t matter because now it tastes like you and Javier and anything with him included is the most delicious thing you’ve ever had the pleasure of gracing your tastebuds.

He breaks away a moment later. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asks teasingly.

“Not if you want me in your bed tonight,” you flirt right back. You can feel the apples of your cheeks warming with a rush of blood from the kiss, from what you’re insinuating, from the alcohol and from the movement on the floor.

“I don’t. I just want you in my arms and maybe on my lips some more.”

You look up at him, truly astounded. “I thought you’d just want to fuck me and be done,” you admit honestly as you push back a strand of dark brown hair that fell into his face while the two of you moved.

“I don’t want that,” he shakes his head still breathless from the kiss. “I want you to be mine. I wanna take my time with you, and yeah I wanna fuck you, but I wanna date you properly and bring you flowers and walk you home late at night, and then I wanna rail you into the mattress so hard all you can feel is me. But that can wait. For now, I just wanna dance with you and tell you that I really like you. Have for a while now.”

You’re grinning ear to ear at his words. “Really?” You ask.

“No,” he deadpans. “I just said all that shit for fun.” 

“Your sarcasm is really annoying when I’m trying to be sweet and sincere with you.”

He sighs. “Yes, really, princesa. I just want you to be mine.”

The grin on your face only widens, your heart in your eyes as you look at him. “You don’t need to want it. I’m already yours. Didn’t you say that?” The music changes into a new song, something slower and sultry. “Ooh, I love this one,” you sing to Javi, forcing him along so that the two of you are once again dancing. “I’ve always been yours, Javi,” you admit, your thumb softly tracing the side of his neck from where your hand rests on his shoulder. “Since the moment we met. I really like you.”

“I really like you too, dulzura,” he murmurs and kisses you again. It’s not all-consuming or hot and sloppy like the last one. It’s warm and chaste with only the purest of intentions, Javier’s hands gripping your waist a little softer. 

He gets carried away by the way your lips meet his. One of his feet steps on your toes, exposed by the heels you’re wearing. “Fuck,” you cry and wince. 

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, instinctually taking a step back from you so that he can’t possibly do it again.

You smile up at him softly as the pain subsides. “It’s alright. Maybe we’ll just need to get you some dancing lessons,” you tease and pull him close again.

You spend the rest of the song like that, slowly swaying along. Javier’s arms wrap around your waist, and he softly kisses the side of your head a few times. Eventually, your head finds its way to his shoulder, where it rests as Javier quietly mumbles the lyrics of the song to you. 

He’s not very good at it, and he’d be the first to admit it, but it’s beautiful when he’s soft and quiet. He’s doing it just for you, this quiet act of intimacy. You press a kiss to the skin of his neck when the song ends and he hums a chuckle. “My girl,” he murmurs and kisses you one last time. “Let’s go home.”

-

taglist: 

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867

[what-big-teeth]

Spark (Male Fire Elemental, pt. 1)

When graduate student Simone Price inherits her deceased grandmother’s house, she hopes to mend bridges that were long burned prior to the sudden passing by way of fond memories. But she soon learns two important truths. One, the cause behind those severed connections is still around. Two, the childhood fables her grandmother told her are more rooted in reality than imaginative fantasy.

Female Human (POV) x Male Monster [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] ”It’s...charming, you know? Really rustic.” Mica carefully chooses her words and attempts a cheerful smile. When she fails, she settles on tucking a loose microbraid behind her deep brown ear. “Right, Mason?”

Mason hefts the large, black garbage bag full of cleaning tools off the ground, gives the old house a once-over from top to bottom, then snorts. Loudly. Mica swiftly elbows her twin in the ribs for “being rude”, but even I can’t stop my nose from scrunching up in displeasure. 

She can dress up her opinion with as many euphemisms as she wants. But the truth is plain as day: Nana’s place has gone to the dogs. 

The two story’s once brilliant white paint is a dingy, chipping mess that reveals the underlying dark decay. The windows, always transparent enough to see through when the curtains were drawn back, are caked with grime and rust. And the front door, a deep, beautiful burgundy my mind can still picture, has dulled into a paler shade of red. I wouldn’t be surprised if Nana’s little garden in the backyard has been choked by weeds and overrun with wild plants. It saddens me to see the current state of her home compared to when my visits were more common. That was before Dad suddenly severed all contact with Nana ten years ago, when I was only thirteen.

A warm weight settles onto my shoulder, fending off the morning’s autumnal chill. Mica wears a sympathetic smile.

“Are you alright, Simone?”

I’ll never be able to thank Mica and Mason enough for sacrificing part of their Thanksgiving break to help me out. But I can try by remaining as positive as possible. 

“I will be,” I say. “Once Nana’s place starts looking like it used to.”

“It’s your house now,” Mason says, adjusting his grip on the garbage bag. Oddly enough, his words sound sad. “You sure you don’t want to do anything different with it?”

It came as a shock when Nana’s last will and testament bequeathed the entirety of her property and assets to me. Dad did all he could to contest the document, but his attempts failed. I’ll never forget the haunted look in his dark eyes when I asked him why he disagreed with my newfound inheritance.

“That place isn’t a home, baby. Not with what it’s got locked inside of it.”

I later refused to budge on the matter, even when he begged me to. After that, Dad told me to do as I wished, but to be careful and stay vigilant. I didn’t understand what he meant then and I still don’t. But I hope, with some hard work and lots of love, Nana’s house will be whole again. Then with time, Dad will come to visit and remember the good times before his mother’s passing.

“Earth to Simone,” Mason says. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, and I’m sure.” I fish out the front door key from my coat pocket and smile. “Let’s get to work.”

We hang our coats in the entryway. Once the buckets, brooms, and mops are divvied up among us, Mason works on doling out the cleaning solution. We then decide on who gets what area. Mason is quick to claim the upstairs, citing the possibility of rotten wood weakening the floor.

“I’d rather fall to the first floor and get hurt than see it happen to you two,” he says in an obstinate tone. “Especially since you two might end up worse off.”

“Always the gentleman,” Mica mutters, rolling her light brown eyes. “I’ll take the kitchen and dining room. Might be worth it to see what condition your Nana’s cookware is in.”

“Good idea,” I say. “Just be sure to yell if you find anything interesting.”

“Will do!” She grabs her broom, bucket, and mop,then leaves the foyer.

“Guess that leaves me with the living room and fireplace,” I say.

Mason replies with a hum I can’t discern, which is weird since Mica and I are fluent in Mason-ese. Always have been since we were little kids.

“Something up?” I ask.

His neutral expression doesn’t reveal a thing and that worries me. He’s always had a tell or two, even when he’s tried to hide something from me. Instead of talking, he just ties back his dreadlocks, grabs his share of the cleaning supplies, and walks towards the stairs.

“Call me if you need anything.”

I follow his old sneakers until they vanish from my line of sight. That was weird. But there’s no point in digging to figure out what’s going on. He’ll tell me when he feels like it.

After locking the front door and grabbing a broom, my feet guide me down the main hallway towards the living room. And my heart nearly breaks at the sight. Just about everything is covered in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs, including Nana’s knitting basket and needles. The floor and rug are worst off and I’m somewhat scared to tackle the fireplace. But if I don’t, no one else besides Mica and Mason will. Especially not anyone in town.

After asking for directions and mentioning our reasons for being here, nearly everyone bid us a swift farewell, claiming they had something to do. Only a few upfront people told us to leave the estate alone and head back home, claiming that a witch once lived there.

My grip on the broom handle tightens to the point of pain.

Nana was many things; a huge sun tea addict, an amazing storyteller, and a wonderful knitter. She may have used Black folk magic to help me with my childhood night terrors, but she wasn’t a—

“Ow!”

A thick wooden splinter peers up at me from my index finger alongside a bead of blood. This is why I told Mason we should’ve packed the plastic brooms instead. I lean the broom against the brick mantle, swiftly remove the sliver, and flick it into the dead fireplace.

The piled ash sparks with light and heat, singeing the cobwebs. 

“What in the…”

“Simone!”

“Gah!” I wait until my racing pulse calms a bit then respond. “Yeah?”

“I found your Nana’s bundt cake pan,” Mica yells out, “but I can’t tell if it’s still usable.”

“I’ll be there in a moment!”

I look back at the fireplace. Nothing but cold ash. I shake my head and make my way to the kitchen, trying to recall where Mason keeps the mini first-aid kit in his pickup truck.

Midday sneaks up on us, warming the chilly house a few more degrees. Mica decides it’s the perfect time to break for lunch and Mason agrees.

“We passed by a burger joint on the main road,” Mica says, wiping off her hands. “Wanna give it a try?”

Even with the tempting prospect of a patty melt, my mind keeps drifting back to the fireplace. And what I think I witnessed.

“Sure, but do you guys mind going without me? I want to get more cleaning in before the day’s out.”

“Seriously?” Mason is quick to call out my attempt at an excuse. “We’ve been at it for four hours.”

Before Mica can chastise him for being, well, himself, I think up a compromise.

“What if I took an extended break instead? I won’t touch a broom, mop, or bucket while you guys are out and I’ll eat with you once you get back. Sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect!” Mica chirps up. She grabs Mason by his forearm and starts hauling him towards the foyer before he can object. “We’ll be back soon. A patty melt with onions and a small fry?”

“And a bottled water too, please!”

The front door slams shut, the sound echoing until the truck’s engine revs up. I let out a heavy sigh and plop down onto the couch, uncaring of the weak cushioning.

“Finally. I thought they’d never leave.”

I stop myself from launching off the sofa, but my feet still slip on the area rug. My ass slams onto the floor with a hard thud and a deep chuckle follows soon after.

“You’re not very graceful, are you?”

“Who—!”

A large, bright flame emerges from the ash piled in the fireplace. It twists and curls in random patterns until it settles into the distinctive outline of a humanoid face. It grins. I scramble away and slam into the opposite wall.

“What’s this?” it says. “A descendant of Abigail, afraid of me?”

No shit. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be? But, as the barely-calm-and-reasonable part of my brain points out, I won’t get any answers if I let my tongue turn into lead.

“Who are you? How do you know Nana?”

The flame…face…creature remains silent far longer than need be. Its eyes narrow.

“Don’t mock me, girl. You know very well who I am. Or did you forget Abigail’s tales all too quickly?”

The creature’s words slowly begin to make sense, as much as my mind begs them not to. Nana used to tell me all kinds of stories when I was little. But she’d always retell my favorite whenever I asked: the story of a fearless Black girl who trapped an evil flame spirit, thereby saving the town she lived in.

“Oh my god. That story was about you?”

“Cruel, isn’t it? Conditioning a child to believe a lie through a simple fable. All whilst I could hear and see everything. Abigail was always a manipulative, abusive wench.”

Hot, white anger floods my body, wrenching me to my feet. 

“Like hell,” I hiss, stalking towards the fireplace.

The creature peers up at me, stunned and silent. Good.

“Nana would never harm anyone. But she sure as hell didn’t take shit from anybody. Ever. What did you do?”

The story always characterized the fire spirit as evil, but never gave a reason. So why not ask the source?

“Well?!”

“Simone?”

My gaze snaps up. Mason stares at me with brows furrowed with concern and confusion. My rage dissipates into nothing, leaving me drained.

“You alright?” he asks.

I glance down at the fireplace. The creature’s vanished. Leaving me to look like an utter fool.

“Uh, yeah! I was just…re-enacting a scene from my favorite drama! Nothing else to do while waiting for you guys to get back, right?”

Mason’s eyes narrow, the simple action screaming ‘bullshit’. “Not even looking at your phone?”

I jam my hand inside my back jeans pocket and pull out my smartphone. Surprisingly, there’s service.

“Not enough bars,” I lie.

Mason doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, but thankfully, he lets my horrible excuse slide. He holds up a large, white paper bag stained with grease. The scent wafting from the inside makes my empty stomach clench with anticipation.

“Mica and I will be in the dining room. Be sure to come and eat while the food’s hot.”

He walks off, the wooden floor creaking underneath his every step. With a heavy sigh, I start to follow.

“Perhaps you are more like Abigail than I first believed: utterly stubborn and foolishly brave.”

I stop moving. If the creature’s words were meant to insult me, they fail. Pride wells up in me and it takes all my willpower to not smile. It somehow notices and scoffs.

“To answer your earlier questions, past humans have called me a fire elemental. And one gave me the name Ignis.”

The creature...Ignis begins to recede back into the ash pile, but my mouth opens before it can vanish.

“Wait.”

He does, to my surprise.

“You weren’t awake before we arrived, right? Which means something made you come around.”

I carefully recall Nana’s story, then all of the related events leading up until now. My eyes widen.

“It was my blood on the splinter. That’s what woke you up. Because I’m of her bloodline.”

Ignis continues to sink further into the ash, but says one last thing.

“You have a sharp mind as well. How interesting…”

The fireplace goes dark, but I stand before it, staring.

I get it now. I understand why Dad severed contact with Nana ten years ago and never wanted me to inherit this place. Why Nana told me those childhood fables and willed her home to me.

But Dad’s still wrong. This house will be a home. But first, I have to finish what Nana started.

[safetyprivacy1]

A reflection on “The End” and its themes of privacy and transgression by Jeremy Calderoni

I chose to review the song “The End” written by Justin Furstenfeld, one of this generation’s most proficient storytellers, in my opinion. The lyrics in question tell the story of a broken man that stalks his ex wife as she is having a sexual affair in his old house, which he breaks into and proceeds to commit murders and suicide. Although explicitly graphic and grimly detailed, this beautiful piece of music epitomizes why society can be afraid of the night and darkness as a concept. In his text, Williams writes, “night for humans is associated with certain activities and possibilities, whether they entail criminal acts [or] a rendezvous for lovers…” as it provides a time and space that facilitates getting away with things (Williams,p518). In other words, the lack of visibility, and the hours away from the mundane wheel of the everyday proves to be a perfect recipe for transgression. (Williams,p518). This is exactly the path that the protagonist in the song follows. “Worms squeezing their way through my toes, tonight that’s how it goes I’m at your window kneeling quiet I thought at least I’d maybe try to get your head right, Your heart right, let him go”(Furstenfeld). Evidently premeditated, the tormented man uses the night as a veil to spy on his ex wife. This line is an oxymoron because if he just wanted to go talk to her to get her head right, he wouldn’t be kneeling at her window in the dark. He would arguably have gone when the sun was out, to remove any suspicions of threat. He was there because he gave in to his deepest sinful thoughts; those of voyeurism, vengeance, and violence. Furstenfelds text brings Williams idea of territorialization to a more personal plane. Where Williams speaks of the government designating spaces for the night to encourage a certain order and obedience: “The night spaces created by government policy or business strategy are attempts to exert physical control over people’s actions and a “power over” that frames their desires, common sense, and life [choices]”(Williams,p.525) Although still socially constructed, the idea of private property and trespassing ones residence is much more personal than hopping a gate to a closed off park, for example. This makes the experience of “The End” much more visceral and relatable. The idea of privacy as we know it is very fragile and even more so during the night. The man in the song crawls in through the back window, which means the doors to the house were locked. In our society locking doors can be seen as a symbol of one’s privacy. Many of us lock our doors only when the sun goes down, and this is an individual’s attempt at territorializing their space, because “darkness threatens to deterritorialize the rationalizing order…” (Williams,518). The reason I mention that privacy is very fragile concept, is because it is very easily invaded. Locking doors doesn’t keep anyone out, as we see in “The End’, in reality it just tells people not to enter, and gives people a sense of security or “power over” their own “desires”, “and life choices”(Williams p.525). In the song, The woman’s desires are with another man, and she chooses to pursue the relationship sexually at a place where our vulnerabilities are mitigated; a place of darkness where ones imperfections are less visible, and where sexual deviances might remain in the shadows. The protagonist “Sneak[s] into the room among the corner darkness gloom” while the two unsuspecting lovers are engaging in sex (Furstenfeld). At that moment, he breaches the furthest line of intimacy, and no amount of darkness could shield the lovers from the gruesome fate that awaits them. This very powerful song about jealousy, adultery, and murder, provides insight on cultural expectations and manifestations of privacy, and shows how transgressive acts that breach this concept of privacy can quite easily be carried out at night.

[seriouslyhooked]

Lost Souls and Reveries (Part 11)

22 (I know! I added more, couldn’t help it!) part AU written for @cssns​. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10. Story available on AO3 Here and FF Here. Banner created by the amazingly talented @shipsxahoy​!!

Killian Jones is a wolf shifter without roots, without plans, and without a pack. He’s a rogue, someone humans should avoid and shifters should be wary of given his lineage. But one night years back set him on a path he didn’t realize he was taking, a path leading to a future he is destined for. That future is tied up in one woman – a human named Emma Nolan. Together Emma and Killian will find not only answers, but a love that’s truly fated. But will love be enough to set them free, or will past demons win out in the end? (Answer: love always wins – I am writing this so despite some tiny pockets of angst it’s basically a fluff-filled insta-love fest). Rated M.

A/N: Hey everyone! So as I have said, originally I was going to have last chapter and this chapter be combined, but in doing that I was going to have to sacrifice some of the smut or cuteness. Instead I have broken it up into two chapters, but don’t worry – this one is going to be pack a bit more punch than last time (mostly because the story finally earns the M rating). I’m hoping you all like it, and I can’t wait to see what you all think. Thank you so much for reading!!

While in theory it had been gentlemanly and necessary to allow Emma to be away from him until she was ready to commit to everything he wanted, following through on that promise was more difficult than Killian could have ever imagined.

Whatever urges he felt before, and whatever pull Killian felt to Emma that was rooted deep within, it was apparently just a mild iteration of his want and need for her. For today, when he’d woken just as the sun was dawning on Storybrooke, his very being was altered. Today he felt the separation from his fated mate as a sharp and constant pain instead of a subtle ache. Emma being far away was unnatural to him. His wolf was clawing to the surface, battling it out with him that waiting wasn’t an option. They needed to come together and make this real now. It was what his animal craved, and truly what Killian desired as well.

Yet despite the torture it felt he was going through, Killian had remained remarkably strong. He’d managed to keep himself from tracking Emma and stealing her away. Well, he’d managed part of that. See, he was only so strong after all, and there was only so much physical distance the mating heat would allow. He had to be near her, and so he had come to the space at her apartment and the grove of trees out by the clinic. He was in wolf form, and far enough away as to still be giving her space, but in the few times Emma had been outside or by a window, she looked in his direction and he wondered if she knew he was here.

“Gotta say I admire your restraint,” Tink’s voice said from about fifteen yards away. Killian was in wolf form, and as such did not jump or flinch, but he shook his head again at the fact that Tink could get the jump on him. How did she always manage to sneak so undetectably? “With the full moon tonight I assumed you’d be way farther gone. Every shifter I know who has found their mate goes full blown loony toons by now. Light stalking is child’s play really.”

It’s not stalking, Killian pushed with his mind, unable to speak when he was in his animal’s skin. It’s… protecting.

“Well whatever it is, keep it up. You were right in your instincts. Emma has to be the one to make the choice, and she’s choosing you, you know.”

She is? Killian asked.

He was hopeful – so bloody hopeful – but he had purposefully kept enough distance so as that he couldn’t hear inside the clinic. He assumed that at some point Emma would speak to her father, and that was a conversation that deserved privacy. He was close enough that if Emma was in trouble he would know, but far enough away that the noise inside the veterinary office was more a murmur than identifiable tones.

“Mhmm. I’ve been listening to her chat with her Dad, and things are looking good.”

Killian tensed at the admission from Tink. Part of that was because he was glad for the feedback, but there was a bigger chunk of him that felt like he needed to defend Emma. This wasn’t something that Tink should be eavesdropping on. It was a private moment between his mate and her father.

“Relax, Jones. I already knew it all – well most of it.”

How? Graham said he didn’t know Nolan’s reasons for all this.

“And he doesn’t,” Tink responded. “But when Mary Margaret found out I was a shifter, she was… well let’s just say far more forthcoming with how this all came to be. It worked out though. I know enough to keep the town safe, and she gets a go-to shifter for all her questions, of which there are many. It’s a pretty even trade.”

Killian was stunned, but he didn’t know why. He should have realized by this point that Storybrooke was never all that it seemed. Just when he thought he had things figured out, there was always another twist. It was why he’d been so anxious today. Part of him was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was terrified Emma would decide against this and chose to resist this natural tie that bound them together, but Tink said she was choosing him, and Killian had to believe the Lynx wasn’t lying.

“There’s only one problem,” Tink said with a wry grin toying at her lips. Killian let out a growl and then Tink laughed, the sound chiming through the trees and the light breeze that was always blowing in Storybrooke. “Calm down, it’s not actually a problem. Well not if you can run fast.”

Killian didn’t know what she meant and then he heard the door to the clinic opening. There was Emma, and she was on the move. Instinctively Killian knew where she was headed – she was headed to him, and he was… Shit he was here instead of waiting for her! As such, he had to follow Tink’s advice. He had to run back home, being sure to dodge any unsuspecting humans along the way. In the end he only got back with a minute or so to spare. He was able to put on some fresh clothes and run a hand through his hair, and then he heard Emma’s footsteps up the walk and her soft knock at the door.

“Whatever you do don’t pounce on her,” he whispered aloud to himself. “She’ll want to talk. Talking is good.”

The muttering was a signal that Killian had pretty much lost his mind at this point, but it couldn’t be helped. His human and his animal were nearly at war right now, given how different their priorities were. Both wanted Emma more than they could conceive, but only one part of him knew how important restraint was in this moment. There were things that needed to be said and discussed. He and Emma had to lay it all out there between them and consider every angle of their future together, and even then she may not be ready. Killian didn’t know what he would do at that point. Short of chaining himself up and begging her to leave him for the next few days, there were few things he could think that would subdue his wolf, but as he opened the door to see this woman who had become the center of his entire universe, those thoughts melted away. For there, clear as crystal in her beautiful jade eyes, was Emma’s want for him as well. She hadn’t come to say no or to put a pause on things. She wanted him, and by God she would have him.

“You came,” Killian said, his voice filled with the awe that reverberated through him. He cleared his throat, trying to dispel that charged tone as best he could, but it lingered as he clarified. “Is everything all right love? You’re early.”

Well, actually, ‘early’ wasn’t really the right word. In fact, Killian had been waiting for what felt like forever, but the tides had a few hours yet before the strongest pull would form between them. Emma’s coming this quickly could mean a number of things, and he waited eagerly to hear any possible explanation. 

“I couldn’t wait,” Emma confessed, taking a step towards him but stopping before she was touching him. She hesitated and Killian hated it. He didn’t want her to in any capacity that he was truly and irrevocably hers. Beyond that he would also give her anything he was capable of providing. Whatever she wished for, Killian would make it so.

“And I wouldn’t want you to. God knows how I missed you, Emma. Only a few hours but it felt like lifetimes to me.” With the confession he pulled her into his arms, taking comfort in her immediate exhalation of a deep and tension-filled breath. She leaned into him affectionately, her body seeking out his as much as his did hers, and he felt the moment where their heartbeats began to sync, their breathing both evening out somewhat. Still, Emma clearly had more on her mind, and since his wolf was rioting with impatience, Killian found himself compelled to ask her straight out how she was feeling. “Have you realized what you want, love?”

“I already know what I want,” She said with firm resolve as her fingertips traced a perfect path along his chest. “I knew what I wanted last night. Hell, part of me has known forever, I think. But there’s something… something I have to tell you.”

Killian’s stomach plummeted at the fear that he heard in her voice. It wasn’t subtle in the slightest. Emma wasn’t attempting to shield what she felt from him, but whatever it was he wanted her to know that he would fix it. Nothing could come between them if she loved him as he loved her. If she, as he knew she did, accepted him for every part of who and what he was, then love would find away. She just had to believe, and right now he had to remind her of that, by getting her to tell him what was worrying her.

“You can tell me anything, Emma,” he said as his fingers traced across her cheek. He looked at her, taking her in in all her splendor, and he hoped she knew how much he meant that. To be on the safe side, he assured her again. “You can tell me anything at all. Do you want to come inside?”

“I don’t trust myself inside,” Emma said. Her reason was clearly the same as Killian’s: she would be too tempted to take things further if they were alone and in his home together, and Killian’s chest swelled with pride, both at her candor and at how much she wanted him. Still it couldn’t fully take hold, not until all Emma’s doubts were alleviated.

“How about your spot, love. Would you feel safe there?”

Emma nodded, her eyes growing misty at his offer, and they walked together, hand in hand to the glen she’d shared with him only a few days ago. On the way, Killian gathered bits and pieces of what was to come. She had spoken with her father, and her worries stemmed from that. But it wasn’t because her father didn’t approve. He was on board, but there were parts of her past Killian still didn’t know.

When they arrived in the place that Killian would always think of as belonging to his mate, Killian waited until Emma was comfortable enough to tell him everything. They sat there in the subtle quiet of the woods for a moment, the hum of life around them calming even though he himself was agitated. Every second that he didn’t know what was wrong felt just a little bit painful, but finally, with a bravery he admired and adored, his Emma told him everything, sparing no detail, and leaving no stone she knew of unturned.

What Killian heard over the next few minutes astonished him. This new reality that Emma spoke of was so far away from anything he’d ever considered in the time since finding her again. Yes, hunters were talked about in shifter circles. They were a part of life for all clans and packs for centuries, a deadly threat that did exist and were known to take out rogue shifters or small groupings of them, but Killian had never really been afraid of them. His father was a terrible beast of a man, but he had always been able to protect the pack from those kinds of outside threats. Then, when Killian and his mother and brother ran away from his father, hunters had been more a legend to ponder than a real and actualized threat. For what were hateful humans compared to the brutality of Brennan Jones? Surely nothing that would keep Killian up at night.

Still it was wild to consider this new development. What were the chances that Emma’s family would be a part of this culture? For centuries they had known of shifters and chose to try and rid the world of them. That no doubt came from prejudice and pride, two things Emma spoke of as if she was trying to make sense of their terrible choices. Of course Emma had never been a part of that life, and her father had left it as soon as he could, making amends by healing shifters instead of harming them, but while Killian would never dream of attributing blame to Emma simply because of her heritage, she was clearly terrified that that was exactly what would happen.

“I can’t even imagine what you’re thinking,” Emma said in a rush, after confessing the whole story so quickly that parts of it still hadn’t fully sunk in with Killian. “This isn’t what you signed up for I know. I have… baggage, I guess? Can you even call a segment of your family tree who were homicidal crazy people baggage? I don’t know. All I know is I don’t want to trap you. If this is too much I need you to tell me. I need you to -,”

Though Killian knew Emma wanted to discuss this more and to try and talk through it, in this moment he knew what his mate truly needed. She needed to be assured of the truth – that he was going nowhere if she wasn’t by his side. She was his life, his love, his whole world, and nothing and no one was going to change that. This news was staggering. It was a complication in a tapestry between them that was already convoluted and filled with more intrigue than most, but it played no role in his love for her. Nothing would ever be able to chase his desire for her away. She was his forever, and it was time that Emma knew that once and for all.

To show her, he silenced her with a kiss and he didn’t bother with politeness or gentle touches. It was hard, fast, and forceful. One minute he’d been holding her hand, quietly listening to her, and the next he’d pulled her to him. She was on his lap, straddling him where he sat in an instant, and as his intentions became clear, Emma gave herself to the sensations too. She met him for every lick and stroke and nip. Her hands traced their own frenzied patterns on his skin, as her heart beat accelerated to a pace that thudded loudly in his ears. Without words Killian knew that he was telling her everything she needed to know, but just at the moment where sanity was about to leave him and he almost moved to claim her out here in these hidden woods, he pulled back, filling the space between them with a simple truth.

“This is too much, Emma, but not in the way you’re thinking. I’m not sitting here worried about your family or mine. The past is the past. It doesn’t define us. It never has. What matters is the way I feel when you’re here with me. I feel like I can only breathe when I’m with you. Life is duller and darker without you, even if it’s only hours that we’re apart. I need you more than I need anything else. Without you… well, love, I simply can’t fathom a world where I even exist without you now. I need to be yours Emma, and I am desperately hoping that you need to be mine too.”

“I do,” Emma whispered, pressing her forehead against his as she closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. “I really really do. I love you, Killian, and I don’t want to wait anymore. Make me yours.”

It took everything in Killian to resist that all-too-sweet request. He actually growled at the thought, his animal living for the idea of laying Emma out here on the grass and making her fall apart a thousand ways before taking her and mating her out here in the natural world. But for their first time – for the mating they would remember most of all – Killian knew Emma deserved better. She deserved romance, and he had planned for this, hoping such a moment would come for both of them.

Sweeping her up into his arms, Killian moved as quickly as he could through the woods with Emma in his hold. She giggled at the gesture, commenting that he was so strong, and that it must be some kind of ‘shifter bonus,’ but she really didn’t grasp how true that was. Tonight she’d find out, when he waivered between the tenderness of his love for her and the roughness of his animal instincts. But for now he would let her think he was simply her valiant protector. If she wanted a white knight, then that’s exactly what he would be.

When they made it inside his home once more, Killian let Emma down to her feet and he closed the door behind them. He kept her wrapped up in him, unable to let her go, but when they shifted their position, Emma looked from him to their surroundings and she gasped. He knew what she saw though he didn’t dare to take his eyes off of her. He had filled the space with beauty, trying to change his ordinary cottage and make it someplace more magical. There were tiny tea lights everywhere, and he’d chosen them specifically because he knew that Emma would love them.  They were classic and romantic, at least according to the woman in the shop he’d gone to just outside of Storybrooke a few days back. Amongst those soft flames there were also flowers. They spanned all types and species. Some he’d found out here in the woods he’d grown to love, and that he knew Emma loved too, but others he had gotten from the florist today. The mix of roses, sunflowers and a wild mixture filled the air with a sweet, pleasant scent, but all Killian could sense was Emma in all her perfection.

“Killian, this is…” Emma’s words caught in her throat and though he knew she was talking about the ambiance around them, he filled in her statement with his own thoughts about the woman who stood before him.

“Entrancing. Totally and completely.”

Emma looked back at him, seeing his intent was to compliment her and then she was on him, closing the space and taking another kiss. That kiss turned hotter and more seductive, and soon Emma was tugging at the clothes that separated them. They made quick work of stripping those away, leaving layer after layer on the ground and revealing more of each other as they did. Their movements were guided by instinct, but it flowed with a grace Killian never expected. Perhaps it was a gift of true mates, but there was no jerkiness or awkward moments. Though this was wholly new, it was also the most familiar dance for both of them.

Moving Emma from the living room to what would forever more be their bedroom, Killian felt his needs rising by the second. He had a million ways he wanted to love his better half. He had to hold her, taste her, mark her. By the end of the mating moon, Killian wanted him and Emma to both know that she was fully claimed. He craved the chance to leave traces all along her beautiful body, most of which she’d be able to hide, but some of which the world would have to see. Claiming Emma would be extensive and all consuming, and for Killian’s sanity, there needed to be no avoiding how tied together they were. The only problem was that Killian didn’t know where to begin, but he followed his instincts as he lay Emma out on his bed, examining every inch of her bared body and salivating at the sight.

Gazing down at his fated mate, there was no denying that Emma was perfection itself. From the creaminess of her skin, to the lithe but still full curves of each slope of her figure, there was nothing in the world more gorgeous than her. Killian was mesmerized by her eyes, her lips, her slender neck. His eyes moved lower, down to her breasts where they held a moment. He imagined the pleasure he’d create for both of them there, then his eyes tracked lower, seeing her toned, flat abdomen and thinking that someday he’d make her swell there. When she carried their children – their pups as wolf shifters often called them – she would grow into something even more remarkable. He growled at the very thought, his eyes tracking lower to the vee between her legs that he had to get his mouth on. But in the heat of the moment, the last thing he expected was to hear the musical melody of Emma’s laughter. It was a surprise, even as it washed over him and made him feel so bloody good. He was powerless to ignore the sound, and when his eyes climbed back up to hers she smiled and explained.

“I can’t help but think of all those stories about the big bad wolf I heard as a kid when you look at me like this,” Emma said, biting her lip absentmindedly and drawing his gaze back to her tempting mouth. Killian hummed a sound of appreciation and understanding, after all, it was only natural she should think of such a thing, her being human and all, but when he actually spoke his voice was gruff and growly, feeding into those old fairy tales more than he meant to.

“And are you frightened, love?”

“Hardly. Well…” she drew out the word on purpose, knowing what it did to him. “I guess I am a little scared. Scared that you’ll keep looking and not claiming me like you promised.”

The words were all Killian needed to pounce, and Emma’s responding sounds of shock and want only spurred him on further. He set about tasting her as he wanted, trailing kisses from that fierce and feisty mouth of hers down her jaw and to her neck. Once there he left a trail of kisses and of bites that didn’t quite break the skin. That part he would save for when they were finally joined together, but that didn’t mean these perusals wouldn’t leave marks of their own. In the morning light, Killian knew Emma would be a certifiable map of all the places he had touched and pleased her, and as he moved down to her breasts as one of his hands moved down her body and slipped between her thighs, he was certain that pleasure was exactly what she felt.

“Killian!”

Her heady sigh, turned to a moan as his fingers went from teasing her, to purposefully pulling at the strings of her desire. He circled her clit with his thumb as two fingers moved inside her and his mouth remained at the swells of her breasts. He could hear her straining for breath, seconds from falling apart and then he demanded that she do so, and in an instant Emma came, crashing into the wave of ecstasy that he’d wanted to give her since the moment he arrived in Storybrooke.

“Fuck, how can you be real, Emma?” he asked his sincerity bleeding through as he watched her in awe while she came down from her high. She blinked away the haze of her climax and quickly returned to him and this moment again, the lust and love in her eyes shining through. Then she smiled and ran her fingers through his hair in a gesture that somehow gave him just as much pleasure as seeing her fall apart. “You’re too remarkable – too incredible to comprehend.”

“I think that all the time, only I think it about you.”

Killian breathed her in and exhaled fully. He wanted to stay in check for this. Being too rough would not be good. Emma needed him to be stronger than that. She needed –

“Don’t hold back with me, Killian. Never with me.”

Her insight into his thinking and her gentle affirmation was too much to be born. He was in motion again, moving down her body until his lips were at her sex. He’d imagined this moment countless times. Her scent called to him in every way and her taste was somehow more sublime. He was a starved man for her, and he took her with his mouth without any kind of calm. Emma, for her part, loved it. She writhed beneath him, begging for more and taking it when he gave it to her. He made her fall apart once, twice, and only when she’d cried out his name in that raspy, lust-filled way a third time did he move back up her body again, leaving his marks along the way. This was all, no doubt, exhausting to his mate, but soon enough he’d share his essence with her, and between their bond and the strength of the full moon, she’d be revived, finding the energy to continue their mating for hours to come.

When he was finally back above her, looking into Emma’s eyes and seeing so much trust and hope Killian was speechless. For a moment, he couldn’t imagine a way to speak the words that still needed saying, but the tension in his body and the aching hardness of his own need clawed at him. He somehow found a way to form the words, and they were ones she most certainly needed to hear.

“Before we do this, Emma, I need to tell you one more time that this means forever. Shifters don’t usually marry. There’s nothing more intense or all consuming than mating as one on the first full moon. We’ll be together forever if we do this now. Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Emma agreed immediately, leaving him no room for doubt or insecurity.

“Thank God for that,” he said angling towards her and feeling the flushed heat of her skin on his.

“Full disclosure my Mom is going to demand a wedding, shifter bond or not.”

“If she doesn’t, I will. My only request is that it happens soon,” Killian said, surprising Emma by shifting their positions and putting her on top. She wouldn’t stay up here all night, and when he claimed her, this position would have to change, but for now he needed the vision she made for with her hair tumbling down around her, her eyes filled with a heady mix of satisfaction and hunger for more. In a word she was everything, and he could never dream of deserving her.

“How soon?” Emma asked as she got her bearings and Killian growled. He knew she was simply curious, not trying to deny him, but if he had his way they’d be married as soon as he’d finished claiming her today and tonight.

“I’ll let you decide that, love.”

“You’d let me have control?” Emma said, her tone suggesting things far beyond the particulars of their would-be wedding. It was matched by her actions as she came above him, teasing them both without actually taking him inside.

“I’d let you have anything, Emma. Everything I have to give.” It occurred to him then there was still one tiny part that needed disclosing. “And speaking of. There’s a chance I’d give you more than just my love tonight, love.”

“I’m on the pill,” Emma countered, somehow knowing when he looked down at her exposed stomach that he meant a baby and Killian shook his head.

“Human forms of contraception aren’t exactly designed with fated mates in mind, love. I could still get you pregnant.”

“Oh my God, seriously?” she asked, and for only a split second Killian was worried, then he saw her delight at the revelation. “God, why is that so hot?” she said with a groan and Killian growled himself, finding his control had slipped too early. He was back to being above her now, but Emma didn’t seem remiss. Instead she clearly wanted that. “Claim me, Killian. Make me yours like you’re already mine.”

He had no choice but to heed his mate’s request, and from there the heat of mating frenzy took over. The power of the moon was guiding them both, even though the moon still wasn’t at her strongest. It heightened everything. Every sensation was stronger and surer, and both Killian and Emma absorbed the strength too. It could have been hours that they continued this way, the pleasure washing over them more times than they could count, but finally, things slowed, if only for a moment. Killian came with a final roar, a sound more befitting a beast than a man, and then he solidified the mating with a sharp bite to her perfect flesh. Emma did the same instinctively without his having to tell her, and he felt the added euphoria of her mark in that moment, the pleasure of it rocking him to the core. With that, the mating was official – they were one now, one soul in two bodies, and Killian had never felt more at peace.

“That was…” Emma trailed off, failing to find the words for all that was as Killian chuckled, not sure where he found the strength after taking her so hard. It had to be the mating heat. There was no other earthly way that someone could muster the energy with all they’d just done.

“Aye, love. And there’s more where that came from.”

“Are you serious?” Emma asked, and though she sound somewhat appalled at the thought that there could be more, there was also something else lacing her beautiful voice – desire. For as much as they’d already had, Emma still wanted more, and Killian felt himself falling just a little more for her because of it.

“Afraid so,” he said, already feeling himself growing hard for her again and knowing that mating heat or not, it would always be like this with Emma. Once would never be enough. No amount could ever be.

“You, afraid?” Emma said, smiling like the secret vixen that she was. “Now that I don’t believe.”

And though she was right, for he wasn’t actually afraid of this pull between them, Killian did show her over and over again just how serious he was. And when the night was over, and the moon had mostly played her part, the heat and love still remained, a testament to all that they were building, and all that they would share for now and forever more...

…………………

Staring out the window of the coffee shop where he currently resided, Liam Jones felt the weight of the summer rains washing down on this Seattle afternoon.

The air around him was heavy and wet, and the inside of this café did little to counteract the dreary feeling. The downpours dulled his senses and filled the world with an ambient hum, and his wolf hated that, snarling from within to let Liam know just how distasteful his animal found their current dwelling. Tonight was the full moon, and a wolf was meant to be outside, to live in the wilds, to cave to the creature within. But where the beast wanted to roam and track and hunt, the man knew to play this smart. It was how he’d made it this long without fully breaking – he never shifted. He hadn’t in a very long time.

The reason for the restraint was simple; with each shift another piece of him would fall away, crumbling into nothing. At first it hadn’t been so apparent. He believed he was okay, that the bite couldn’t truly control him. But slowly sickness crept in, and the only way to keep a steady mind was to resist his baser instincts. He couldn’t give in, though fighting off the twisted alpha call inside of him exhausted him to no end. Liam pretended that this caffeine fix would help, but he knew it wouldn’t. It would take a dozen cups of coffee to make a dent on a normal shifter, and he was no longer normal anymore. He was… well Liam didn’t know what or who he was anymore. He was a stranger and a monster even to himself.

“Can I get you anything else, sugar?” The barista who had been circling for the hour he had been here asked. Liam shook his head, not caring that he was rude and aloof. This woman was barking up the wrong tree as the terrible saying went, and he wasn’t interested, despite what she may want. “Are you sure? You went through that first one real quick and you’ve just been sitting here since, staring out that window. Are you waiting for something?”

Liam was about to stand to leave, dismissing the woman without giving her anything, but then something happened. He was suddenly hit with a sense of knowing that defied description and it came seemingly out of nowhere.

The force of awareness that slammed into his mind and body physically caused Liam to flinch in his seat. It was an impact he had long hoped for, but never truly imagined would ever come. After years of feeling severed, like a part of him was amputated from his very flesh, at last he had his senses back. Killian – his brother – he was alive, and Liam knew immediately where he was. For some reason their pack bond had been reinstated, or at least to a point. Their connection wasn’t clear as it had once been, but it was there. It was there!

The details of where this connection was coming from were shaky. Liam dealt with nothing more than flashes for a moment. Visions of green leaves in an untamed northern climate, of a calm sea off a rocky shore, and a small town set up moved through his brain like fragments of memories he’d made himself. There were people in the line up, ordinary people, but one woman came up over and over again. A blonde woman with green eyes. She was pretty, but the feelings attached to the image told Liam the truth – this girl mattered to Killian. No, she more than mattered. She was his life – his mate. How unbelievable.

In the midst of these waves of feelings and fragments, a sign appeared for context. It was the best clue Liam had of where his brother might actually be, a green placard on which there was script: Welcome to Storybrooke, it said, and Liam knew that wherever the bloody hell Storybrooke was, that was where he had to be.

“Brother,” Liam said, his voice harsher than even his ears were used to.

“Your brother?” the barista asked, her tone confused and pulling Liam back into the café where he was instead of the memories where he’d been. “Is he coming here?”

“No,” Liam said, not explaining himself as he grabbed his coat and immediately strode as fast as he could from the coffee shop. I’m going to him...

Post-Note: So… do you hate me? Do you love me? Where are we at with this chapter? I mean Emma and Killian are very in love and the mating has happened. They are in this together forever now, but I couldn’t just let it end there. I had to include Liam, and I do have to be honest with you guys, Liam is very much an unknown at this point. I always knew the mating would reopen the former pack link that Killian and Liam had, and now… well we have to wait and see what happens now that Liam is able to track him again. Is Liam good or bad? Is he somewhere in between? I’m not telling, at least not for a few weeks yet. Hopefully I can get the next chapter out in two weeks, but because I have been so bogged down with school work, this is actually the last full chapter I have written. As such it might be more like three weeks for the update to come. Anyway, can’t wait to hear what you all think, and thanks so much for reading!

Tag list (if you would like to be added, please let me know):@jennjenn615 @winterbaby89 @kmomof4 @teamhook@ultraluckycatnd @coliferoncer @resident-of-storybrooke@artistic-writer @snowbellewells @snarkycaptainswan4@allofdafandoms-blog @eastside-divebar

[almostafantasia]

Lancelot (4/14)

Lexa Woods, an impeccably dressed British secret agent for the covert Kingsman organisation, whose latest mission sees her sneaking through the corridors of the White House in the middle of the night, finds herself having to seduce the daughter of the newly elected President of the United States in a bid to save the world. It’s a surprise to Lexa when she ends up falling for her target as fast as she does, meanwhile Clarke doesn’t expect her gorgeous date for an international political gala dinner to drag her into a world of thrill and danger where one wrong move could cause a global disaster.

a clexa kingsman au | chapter 4/14 read on ao3

It takes Lexa a few seconds to register that Clarke Griffin is talking to her, though she has no idea what has just been said.

“Pardon?”

Clarke smiles as she takes a couple of steps closer, then repeats, “I asked if you could point me towards the bathroom.”

Lexa exhales in relief. In her surprise at seeing Clarke, she had forgotten that she is dressed as a Secret Service agent, and when she processes Clarke’s question, Lexa realises that although Clarke has caught her sneaking through the hallways of the White House in the dead of night, Clarke doesn’t yet know it. Lexa’s disguise has passed yet another test, though her nerves remain sky-high as Clarke watches and waits for an answer to her question.

Rather unhelpfully, Anya, who is getting a live feed onto a laptop of everything that Lexa can see through her special glasses, chooses that moment to speak up.

“Oh, she’s pretty, isn’t she?” teases Anya, and Lexa hates how well Anya knows her, even when they aren’t physically together. “Don’t let yourself get distracted, Lancelot.”

“Shut up,” Lexa growls through clenched teeth.

Only too late, Lexa remembers that she isn’t alone, and that she’s just spoken aloud in a hallway with only one other person. A person who is going to think that Lexa is talking to her.

“Sorry, what?” frowns Clarke.

“Oh! Not you! Just … a voice in my head.” Lexa realises that her attempt at backtracking is only making her seem like more of a crazy person, and she desperately tries to claw back some of her dignity as she adds, “Telling me to get back to work, when clearly I should be helping you.”

If she wasn’t in the middle of a high stakes mission and relying on Anya’s intel for support, Lexa would pluck the earpiece out of her ear, drop it onto the carpeted floor, and grind it under the heel of her shoe. She’s pretty sure that Clarke must think she’s clinically insane, and the laughter that she can hear through the earpiece as Anya takes joy in Lexa’s discomfort is only making Lexa feel more on edge.

To Lexa’s relief, Clarke doesn’t seem to take notice of the actual words, instead the way that they are spoken.

“Wait, you’re British?” she asks confusedly.

The question takes Lexa by surprise, and her brain momentarily forgets how to work.

“Am I? I mean,” Lexa sighs, about ready to throw herself out of one of the windows that lines the hallway, prepared to face the wrath of the guards and the snipers on the roof outside if it means escaping her current situation, then takes a deep breath to compose herself before she continues, “I am. Yes. British. Me.”

In her ear, Anya’s laughter intensifies and turns into what Lexa can only describe as a cackle.

“I’m sorry,” apologises Lexa, sure that her cheeks must be fiery red. “I’m making a terrible first impression.”

Clarke regards her with curiosity, her eyes scanning the entire length of Lexa’s body, from Lexa’s head right down her Secret Service disguise to her feet.

“Not entirely.”

Anya falls oddly silent for a few seconds, then exhales softly, “What the fuck?”

The surprise is mirrored in Lexa. Though she knows she’s not unattractive and she’s certainly no stranger to a pretty girl, it normally takes a little more effort than staring stupidly and tripping over her own words to charm somebody. Perhaps Clarke is still half-asleep, and this entire interaction is one that she won’t be able to recall in the morning.

Her confidence boosted slightly, and remembering that she still has a mission to carry out that relies on her not being outed as an intruder by anybody that she comes across, Lexa keeps up the guise of being a White House security guard as she takes a few steps forward to Clarke and offers out her hand.

“Lexa,” she introduces herself. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Griffin.”

Clarke takes Lexa’s hand tentatively, then rolls her eyes as she says, “Ugh, call me Clarke, please. ‘Miss Griffin’ make me sound way more important than I actually am.”

“Clarke,” Lexa nods. “Of course.”

Anya’s voice in her ear is a most unwelcome introduction, as she says, “You’re on a mission, Lexa. Don’t let the pretty girl make you forget that.”

Lexa wishes once again that she could get rid of the earpiece and remove Anya from the situation entirely, though she reluctantly has to admit that her fellow agent has a very good point. If she continues like this, they’re never going to get to the bottom of the security breaches at the White House and the President’s life could be in danger, and the lives of those around her, including the girl standing right in front Lexa.

Thankfully, Clarke also has a more pressing thing on her mind.

“Anyway, bathroom?” she asks Lexa, a pleading look in her eyes.

“Isn’t this your house?” Lexa asks in amusement.

“Not really,” answers Clarke, with a small shrug. “I’ve been away at college. Tonight is actually my first night here. And I could have sworn it was a left out of my room to the bathroom but apparently not.”

“Bathroom,” Lexa says aloud as she desperately tries to recall where the bathroom is, though her study of the White House’s floor plan earlier on in the day focused on the location of offices and security personnel, rather than its hygiene facilities. Coming up short, she repeats, this time in a slightly urgent growl that is for Anya’s benefit, “Bathroom.”

“Oh, right!” comes Anya’s voice in Lexa’s ear, and Lexa knows that Anya has got the hint and will be using the floor plan on her laptop to guide Lexa in the right direction so that she can get Clarke out of the way and complete the mission unimpeded by pretty girls and their dangerous allure. “Bathroom. Go back where you came from. Second door on the right.”

Lexa relays the instructions to Clarke, who smiles her thanks, but Clarke barely has the chance to take a single step before a third voice speaks up from the end of the hallway.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be up here!”

It’s a guard, a real member of the Secret Service, slowly stalking towards them. His eyes are on Lexa, not Clarke, and she tries to keep herself calm and focuses on the fact that she doesn’t look like an intruder.

Putting on the American accent again, Lexa says, “Just showing Miss Griffin to the bathroom.”

Beside her, Clarke looks at her inquisitively and asks, “Your accent?”

Lexa can feel the mission start to crumble around her, echoed by the hitch of Anya’s breath through the earpiece. If she can just keep Clarke on her side for long enough to sweet-talk the guard out of the way, then maybe all won’t be lost.

“Just go with it,” Lexa mutters under her breath so that only Clarke can hear her. “Please?”

Clarke’s eyebrows furrow into a hardened frown as she tries to figure out what Lexa’s game is, and whether Lexa is worth protecting against the people who are paid to keep Clarke and her family safe. Clarke weighs it up for a few long seconds, during which the guard continues to move closer, before she finally seems to agree.

“It’s my fault,” Clarke turns to tell the guard. “I got lost and asked Lexa to show me the way to the bathroom.”

“Lexa?”

Only too late, Lexa realises Clarke’s slip up. Her heart stops in her chest. This is the most tense moment of Lexa’s entire life.

Hearing the entire exchange, Anya realises that the mission is plummeting south too.

“Shit!” hisses Anya. “Lancelot, get out of there. Abort mission. Abort!”

“There’s no Lexa that works here,” continues the guard.

At this stage, Lexa realises that her persona is busted. She needs to stall for long enough to get out of here, and fast. There’s no time to worry about the fact that she hasn’t made it to the security office yet - there’s always Anya’s backup plan of attempting to externally hack into the White House security. What Lexa needs right now is to escape from this current predicament before she finds herself unable to leave.

“I’m new,” Lexa improvises, hoping with every ounce of her being that this guy isn’t too high up in the White House security team. “Last minute replacement for that guy who got sick.”

The guard reaches for the walkie talkie attached to the front of his jacket and presses a button as he says, “I need backup on the upper floor.”

Lexa absently remembers the tampon in the pocket of her jacket and wonders dumbly if hurling it into the security guard’s face might provide a split second distraction and allow her to make an escape.

Beside her, Clarke exhales dumbfoundedly and asks, her voice laced with a mixture of confusion and awe, “Who the fuck even are you?”

Lexa has a strange feeling in her gut, one telling her that she could explain the entire situation to Clarke and still have the girl on her side, helping her to execute the perfect escape. But unfortunately there just isn’t the time. The guard has already reached for his gun and Lexa knows that more just like him will be on the way, ready to shoot at Lexa first and ask questions later if she doesn’t get out of here now.

“I’m sorry we got off to a weird start,” Lexa says to Clarke, wishing that she had gone against her better judgement and decided to bring a gun of her own, despite not particularly wanting to use it on White House staff, especially when the President herself could be around. “For the record, I think you’re really pretty.”

“Lexa, now is not the time,” comes Anya’s frantic voice in Lexa’s ear. “Get out of there!”

“What’s going on?” says another new voice, this one behind them. “Clarke?”

Lexa turns around slowly to face the newcomer, though she recognises the voice from months of political campaigning televised around the globe. Lexa’s worst fears are correct - President Abigail Griffin is walking towards Lexa, wrapped in a silky dressing gown that covers her pyjamas, and flanked by two more armed Secret Service agents.

There’s no way out now.

“Well, it’s been nice knowing you,” comes Anya’s voice through the earpiece.

In one last ditch attempt, Lexa decides that maybe sweet-talking the President will get her out of the stickiest situation of her entire career as an agent.

“Madam President,” says Lexa, inclining her head out of respect. “What an honour. Can I start by saying what a huge fan I am of-?”

Lexa doesn’t get the chance to finish her sentence because she is suddenly overcome with the most crippling pain she has ever experienced in her life, perhaps even worse than the knee injury she sustained when she was eighteen. She tries to move her arms instinctively, wanting to curl up into a ball to protect herself from the mysterious source of the pain but it’s like her body won’t respond. All Lexa can do is let her body fall to the carpeted floor. Lexa doesn’t even know if she cries out in pain, or if the screaming is just happening in her head, begging for it all to be over.

Lexa doesn’t know how long the pain lasts for, but it feels like an eternity. When it’s finally over, and Lexa is nothing more than a limp body on the floor, aware of her surroundings but limbs too numb to move, she realises that the first guard to find them is standing over her with a stun gun in his hand, and that he must have shot the probes into Lexa’s back while she was facing the President.

“Clarke,” gasps out Lexa, as two other guards bundle on top of Lexa and roll her onto her front, pinning her arms together behind her back and locking a pair of handcuffs around her wrist with a metallic click.

As Lexa is hauled to her feet and the guards start to drag her away down the hallway, all she can focus on is the way that Clarke watches her go, eyes full of curiosity.

Lexa doesn’t know how long she’s been wasting away in a jail cell. There are no windows, only a heavy iron door with a slot that a tray of barely edible food gets passed through three times a day, and the flickering bulb that hangs from the ceiling hasn’t been turned off since she was thrown in here and left to wallow in her own shame however long ago it was.

Lexa would hazard a guess that it can’t have been much longer than a day, and certainly no longer than two, but with no form of entertainment, nothing but four plain walls and her own miserable thoughts, it feels like an eternity since she last saw daylight.

The cell is uninspiring. There’s a bench set into the back wall, upon which lies the world’s thinnest mattress - if it can even be called a mattress. Lexa has tried and failed to get some sleep on it, but slumber has evaded her. It’s probably not entirely the bed’s fault though. The lone bulb is yellow in colour, and it flickers in a way that became annoying after barely two minutes in this cell. The only other object in the room is a bucket, and though Lexa waited as long as possible before relieving herself into it, the urge to piss eventually became too strong and the cell hasn’t smelt quite the same since.

God knows how Lexa will cope if she needs a dump before she gets moved out of this cell.

It’s not the worst cell she’s been in - that particular title goes to a cell she once found herself in Panama, though the word ‘cell’ should definitely be used lightly because it was hardly more than a filthy pit, with not even the luxury of a bucket to shit in. But at least when she was captive in Panama she had some human contact and brief moments of respite from the endless tedium, even if it was only so that her captors could beat the crap out of her in an attempt to get information from her.

Lexa would almost rather take the beatings than this, to be stuck staring at the same four walls with nothing but her own depressing thoughts for company.

There are two ways forward, as far as Lexa can decide. Either President Griffin has a sudden change of heart and orders Lexa’s immediate release from jail, or she gets transferred to a maximum security prison and eventually gets tried for breaking and entering and probably treason too. Lexa sincerely hopes it’s the former. Orange has never been her colour.

That, and life imprisonment doesn’t appeal. As an active person whose job revolves around thrill and danger, even the last day and a bit of being stuck in such a confined space with nothing to satisfy her hunger for adventure has been torture. If Lexa was to go to prison, she wouldn’t just miss Anya and her dads and her dog, she would miss her lifestyle. Her freedom.

When Lexa plays the first of the two scenarios out in her head, President Griffin’s change of mind is usually sparked by a conversation with her daughter. Lexa keeps herself entertained by imagining that Clarke has been so charmed by the mysterious and suave British stranger in her house that she begs her mother to release Lexa without charge, before arriving at the federal jailhouse to collect Lexa so that they can ride off into the sunset together on the back of a motorcycle.

And then Lexa remembers her brief encounter with Clarke, remembers how stilted and awkward their conversations were because Lexa could hardly string two words together in her presence, and realises that her fantasies are only ever going to be just that. Fantasies.

Lexa is so mortified at the memory of talking with Clarke that she wants to bang her head against the solid stone wall of her cell. She’s never had trouble in the presence of pretty girls before, not since she was sixteen and trying to catch the attention of Costia Amari in the year below Lexa by making eye contact with her in the school lunch hall, only to end up spilling her drink over both of them when she finally plucked up the courage to say hi after four months of wistfully staring at Costia from across a crowded room. Lexa has had significantly more experience of flirting since that particular incident, and she likes to think that she’s mastered the art, but standing down the hallway from Clarke Griffin made Lexa feel like a jittering teenager again, a flirting novice, the epitome of the useless lesbian stereotype.

Well, at least Lexa never has to see Clarke again. That would probably be more embarrassing than the encounter itself. No, the only future shame Lexa is going to have to deal with is Anya’s teasing, after Anya listened to the entire thing over Lexa’s earpiece.

Providing she gets out of this cell at all. At the moment, Lexa is fairly certain that the next time she’ll see Anya will be on the other side of a prison visiting table.

Lexa hears footsteps on the other side of the door and thinks nothing of it until it is followed by the creak of the heavy bolt being drawn back across the door to Lexa’s cell. Lexa’s head snaps up as the door opens for the first time since she was locked in here after the disaster at the White House, and the very last two people Lexa expects to see wall into her cell.

“Get up, you big twerp,” says Anya, extending a hand, which Lexa takes, letting Anya help her get to her feet from where she has been sitting on the concrete floor with her back against the wall.

“Anya?”

Lexa is confused by her friend’s sudden appearance in the cell when just a minute ago Lexa was so certain of her impending incarceration in the American prison system. But Anya is here, alongside Merlin, who must have flown across to the States when news of Lexa’s gigantic fuck-up made it back to the UK.

Anya pulls Lexa in for a hug, wrapping her strong arms around Lexa and holding her tight. It’s a nice moment, but it only lasts for a couple of seconds. Anya withdraws quickly, wrinkling up her face in disgust, and she raises a hand to cover her nose and mouth.

“God, you stink!” she exclaims.

Lexa is still wearing her clothes from the other night, black slacks now crumpled and a little dusty from sitting on the floor of her cell, shirt open at the collar and unbuttoned at the cuffs so that the sleeves can be rolled up to the elbows. The jacket was taken from her when she was arrested and her tie lies discarded on the floor. Lexa knows that she smells less than fragrant, but she’s become accustomed to the smell of her own B.O. while in this cell and she imagines that it’s much worse for somebody else walking in from the fresh air outside.

“It’s okay,” replies Lexa. “I know.”

Anya takes a step back, then lowers her hand once she’s out of Lexa’s immediate vicinity. And it only takes a fraction of a second for the ribbing that Lexa expected upon a reunion with Anya.

“So, the President’s daughter?” teases Anya, raising her eyebrows knowingly as she shoots Lexa a smug grin.

Lexa can only roll her eyes and hope that the heat she can feel rising to her cheeks doesn’t turn her entire face the colour of a tomato in embarrassment.

“Save it for when I’m not in a cell,” retorts Lexa.

“Oh, you’re getting out, by the way,” Anya tells her.

“I am?” asks Lexa, exhaling in relief.

“You are,” nods Merlin, speaking up for the first time since entering the cell alongside Anya.

They’re both dressed very smartly in suits and ties, and Merlin crosses the cell to place the leather briefcase he carries onto the bed. He flips open the clasps on either side of the handle and pulls out a sheaf of paperwork, which he shows to Lexa. The sheet on top looks like the start of a very good fake copy of an MI6 agent profile that has a small photograph of Lexa’s face attached to the top with a paperclip.

“We couldn’t tell them who you are without exposing Kingsman but we’ve got a connection in MI6 who managed to acquire these,” Merlin tells her.

Lexa’s eyes flick across the sheet and settle on the name they’ve given to the fake MI6 agent with her face.

“Alicia Clark?” she frowns. “I don’t think I look like an Alicia.”

Lexa’s stomach chooses that moment to growl thunderously.

“Oh, I brought you food,” says Anya, reaching into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulling out a cellophane-wrapped sandwich.

“Oh my god, thank you!” says Lexa, forgetting her earlier irritation at Anya as she hastily peels back the wrapping and examines the sandwich filling. “Cheese and pickle?”

“The best I could do at short notice,” nods Anya.

Lexa takes a huge bite from the sandwich and lets out an ungodly groan as the flavour fills her mouth. She never thought that somebody as basic as a slice of cheese and a dollop of chutney between two pieces of slightly stale bread could taste so good, but after a day of jailhouse slop, Lexa is pretty sure that anything would taste good.

While Lexa is enjoying her sandwich, Anya reaches inside her jacket again and pulls out a small box of ibuprofen, throwing it at Lexa, who catches it against her chest with the hand not holding the sandwich.

“For your knee,” explains Anya.

“Thanks,” says Lexa, taking a seat on the edge of the bed so that she can place the sandwich on her knees, freeing up her hands. As she pops two of the painkillers through the foil that contains them, she adds, “I know you think I play up the knee thing for sympathy, but you should try sleeping on this “bed”,” Lexa makes air quotes and rolls her eyes, “with a pre-existing injury. Hurts like a bitch.”

“I never said you were faking it,” says Anya.

Lexa shrugs and then looks up at Merlin.

“So I’m getting out of here?” she asks him. “They bought the MI6 story?”

“It took a little bit of convincing but when we started bluffing about getting the Intelligence Minister on the line they seemed to decide you could be released,” answers Anya.

“It’s late in London,” says Merlin. “I expect they’ll wait until the morning to actually follow up with MI6.”

“By which time we’ll be out of the States and there will be no record of an Alicia Clark ever here,” adds Anya. She nudges Lexa, then says, “Come on, let’s get out of here. Hotel room service awaits.”

Lexa’s stomach gives another traitorous growl, despite the sandwich that she’s nearly finished eating, and she gets to her feet again, glad to be finally leaving this dismal cell. She leaves first, closely followed by Merlin and Anya.

The air feels fresher outside the cell, and Lexa takes a deep breath so that it fills her lungs. Maybe it’s just her imagination, or perhaps freedom actually has a taste, and Lexa feels it seep into every cell in her body with each breath that she takes.

The guards eye them suspiciously as they pass, and Lexa wonders if it’s because they’re sceptical about the MI6 ruse, though Lexa supposes that the curious looks they receive as they walk out without reprimand might be because they believe the story and are intrigued by the three secret agents. If the guards are manning a reception desk at a low security jailhouse, Lexa decides that they can’t be very high-up government officials, and seeing three supposed members of a foreign intelligence organisation is probably the most interesting thing to happen to them while at work all year.

They make it outside and Lexa stops in her tracks, closing her eyes and basking in the afternoon sun that hits her skin. Though she knows it’s only been a day and a half, Lexa feels like it’s been weeks, months even, since she last saw daylight, and she never wants to take it for granted again.

“Come on,” says Anya, tapping Lexa’s arm and drawing her out of her little reverie, gesturing to the taxi waiting for them at the side of the road, having been flagged down by Merlin.

Lexa slides into the backseat of the cab next to Anya, clicking her seatbelt into place as Merlin reels off the address of a hotel and the cab drivers pulls away from the side of the road.

“So are we going to talk about how you fluffed a mission because of a girl?” asks Anya, tilting her head to look at Lexa and arching an eyebrow.

Lexa looks away in shame, glancing out of the window of the cab and wondering whether the pain and inevitable hospital visit that would occur if she opened the car door and threw herself out into another lane of moving traffic would be worth it if it meant getting away from Anya’s insistent teasing. It’s only when Lexa remembers that healthcare isn’t free in this country, that she decides that facing up to Anya might be the better option.

“I didn’t…” Lexa starts, letting out a sigh. “I was talking to her for literally five seconds before the guy showed up. He would have found me regardless.”

“Talking?” snorts Anya. “Oh no, you don’t get to call that talking. Bumbling. Flustering. Making a tit of yourself. But not talking.”

Lexa groans and leans her head against the window, staring out at the traffic that passes in the other direction.

“Wait ‘til I tell Aden what a disaster you were.”

Lexa turns back to look at Anya and shakes her head disapprovingly:

“Okay, first of all,” she starts, folding her arms across her chest in indignation, “the fact that you’re good friends with my brother is a little weird because you’re twice his age. Secondly, there are certain things that my little brother doesn’t need to know about - my personal life is one of them. Thirdly …”

“Fine, maybe I won’t tell him,” concedes Anya, pouring like a small child who has had their favourite toy taken away as punishment. “If only you were as good with women as you are at ruining my fun.”

“Maybe if you had a personal life of your own you wouldn’t need to cohort with my brother to make fun of mine,” retorts Lexa.

“Ouch.” Anya shrugs and then adds, “Though you have a point. Which is why we should use our last night in the States to go out and have some fun? Make some new stories?”

Merlin, who sits in the front seat next to the cab driver and has left them to their conversation until now, turns around and says, “Actually, you should probably stay in your hotel rooms tonight. I think you should keep a low profile, especially you Lancelot.”

Anya waits until Merlin is facing the front again, then sticks out her tongue and rolls her eyes to show her distaste for the idea of staying in their rooms.

Lexa actually thinks the idea sounds pretty good. With a transatlantic flight in the morning and having spent the last day and a half in a cell unable to properly sleep, Lexa wants nothing more than to collapse into a bed and spend the next twelve hours in a deep slumber. What she doesn’t want, is to let herself get dragged into whatever plan Anya’s mind is concocting that will inevitably involve drinking too much and staying out too late.

Already, Lexa’s eyes are beginning to droop. The movement of the car, the low rumble of the engine, and the soft fabric of the seats in comparison to the hardness of every surface in the cell, means that sleep threatens to wrap her in its embrace and Lexa tries to fight it for as long as possible.

She must drift off because it feels like they pull up at the hotel barely two seconds later and Anya is nudging her awake. Lexa blinks her eyes open and follows Anya out of the cab, leaving Merlin to settle the fare. She’s still half asleep as they take the lift up to their rooms, and hardly registers saying goodbye to Merlin as he gives them one final reminder to stay in their rooms.

Anya follows Lexa into her room, and she has barely closed the door behind them when she hisses, “Like hell we’re staying in our rooms. We’ve got one night left in this country and I’m going to make the most of it.”

Across the room, Lexa’s bed looks so inviting, with its quilted covers and four plush pillows against the headboard, and anything that is going to keep her from that bed seems like a terrible idea.

“Anya,” protests Lexa, “I think we should listen to Merlin and…”

Anya shakes her head, marching over to the wardrobe and sliding open the door. She starts rummaging around inside, pulling out items of Lexa’s clothing and holding them up against each other, before roughly shoving them back onto the railing and doing the same again with another garment. Lexa is far too tired to protest the treatment that Anya is giving her clothes.

“You need a shower, then change into this,” says Anya, taking out a pair of dark jeans and a top and thrusting the hangers at Lexa. “We’re going out.”

Though she feels too tired to go out, Lexa also doesn’t have the energy to argue.

“You’re not going to change your mind, are you?” she sighs in resignation.

“What happens in D.C. stays in D.C.,” grins Anya.

“It’s funny you should say that,” says Lexa, raising an eyebrow, “because I remember you saying something very similar when we were in Prague, only you ended up dating a Czech stripper for the next four months.”

“You say that like it was a bad thing,” shrugs Anya, with a little smile. “If you’re trying to persuade me to have a quiet night in, you’re doing a terrible job.”

It only takes a moment to realise that Anya will be much easier to appease if Lexa agrees to go out. Besides, Lexa only needs to stay for one drink. By that time, Anya will have probably chatted somebody up and Lexa can return to her hotel room for a long sleep before the flight in the morning.

“Fine. Let’s go out.”

[l-hore]

Something I'm working on

The frosty winter air of New York City's night hit like knives against Michael's skin, as he stealthily stalked his target: a lowlife villain who had owed the Diamond Gang some hard cash. The target had no idea he was watching him and waiting for the right moment to strike. The poor sucker couldn't supply the money and Michael would simply have to end his life for it. Oh well, at least he'd be paid enough to last him through the coming months.

Who was he kidding? Michael wasn't doing this for the money; it was always about the thrill of the chase and the thirst for a kill in the cold hours of the night. The pure adrenaline of seeing the fear in his target's eyes was like a heroin for him: he could never get enough, and to say that he was addicted to it was a gross understatement.

The dark haired male had made sure he was properly concealed, choosing to hide in the shadows of a large skyscraper. He was mounted on the roof of a smaller building, staring down his target with a cold hunger in his eyes; one that could only be satisfied with a kill. The target was sitting at a second-rate restaurant in the city, one that didn't have many people there but was still popular at that particular time of the night.

Michael had to be patient as there were too many people around to witness his target's untimely demise. The target — he decided to call him "X" — must have known about the bounty on his head because he looked around him in a rather paranoid fashion.

X seemed to be constantly on edge, the slightest sound was making him jumpy. It made Michael's fingers itch to pull the trigger on his loaded Heckler & Koch MP5SD gun. He smirked at the obvious discomfort on X's face...God, he was about to have such a shitty time to say the least. Michael must have waited hours for his target to finally leave the restaurant and return to his home, which he had already stalked.

The home wasnt anything extraordinary; it was a regular apartment in the city but it was close to the slums and it would be easier to kill him there with fewer people around. However, Michael was never one to run from a challenge and he approached the situation with logic as the target unknowingly walked towards him. Big mistake.

As X approached the assassin's hiding spot, he got ready to strike down, hard. Gun in hand, Michael dropped silently from the roof of the building and into the empty alleyway. The police would be patrolling this street at any moment. Given the rate of violence in New York, it was only normal for law enforcement to perform nightly rounds in the crime-infested area. He had obviously timed and recorded when and where each round was being performed and from his observations, he'd have a few minutes to take his enemy down before cops from Precinct 20 would make their appearance and Michael knew that he'd have to make every second count. It wasn't that he couldn't handle the police — he just preferred not to make do things messily.

X turned into Sinner Street. "Oh the irony," the male chuckled softly to himself as his footsteps raced along the alleyway, silently making his way towards his target but still keeping a decent distance between them. The silent clock in his head was ticking down the seconds:

300, 299, 298, 297, 296…

As Michael turned the corner into X's location, he heard the cock of a gun and the hair on the back of his neck stood up, signifying that X had brought backup. His eyes remained on X, who was still running away, however, there were now at least two men: one in front of him and behind him and he'd only have moments to act before the person behind him would pull the trigger. The person in front of him had his gun drawn, a triumphant expression painting his face. But Michael wasn't all that interested in dying that night. The challenge had just gotten harder — but it was a challenge nonetheless.

The two men would act soon and law enforcement would be upon all of them soon. Michael simply couldn't have that. He would NOT be taken captive by the law no matter what. His eyes twinkled with the threat of a cornered animal and he didn't hesitate to take the two down in one fell swoop. The man behind him lunged but he dodged, kicking his legs under him. Crony #1 fell to the ground, as Crony #2 aimed at Michael.

Oh, hell no.

The assassin lunged at the other, grabbing the gun and aiming it above his head as Crony #2 fired it. It missed its target and Michael smirked devilishly, seeing the look of surprise on his face. He quickly disarmed the crony, using his elbow to push down on his arm and force the gun out of his hand. A quick shot from his own gun soon eliminated Crony #2.

Now, back to the other one. The remaining crony charged at him with a knife, catching him by surprise. Michael's face was sliced with the knife, only angering him. Great, he'd have to explain that to his roommate with another bullshit story about a cat scratching him. Just perfect. Oh, Crony #2 had really done it now. Warm blood trickled down the left side of his cheek and he seethed in pain.

Michael's hands reached for his Fairbarn-Sykes fighting knife, which he kept handy in his belt. It only took a matter of a few seconds to disarm the crony, who had no idea what Michael was capable of. Clearly, X had underestimated the kind of assassin that the Diamond Gang would send after him. Oh well, that was the poor bastard's mistake then, wasn't it?

142, 141, 140, 139…

Time was running out and law enforcement would be on it's way soon. He needed to finish up here — and fast. Crony #2 had picked up the gun on the ground and fired several rounds at him, however the man's aim was horrible on account of its shaking. Michael used this to his advantage dodged the bullets as best as he could, getting scraped with only one, near his ear. Well, it could have been worse.

He was slowly being backed into a corner of the wall and he knew that if that happened, the crony would win for sure. X would be getting away, probably fleeing to another city to avoid him, and Michael wouldn't be able to enjoy the thrill of the kill.

My kill. I'm totally getting him for the scratch mark on my face. Gotta do it fast, the police will be here in… 80 seconds, dammit!

He groaned audibly at the duration of the fight. "Listen, man, can you do me a favour and not shoot at me? I'm on a tight schedule here, buddy," he called out, back against the wall. Crony #2 had just run out of bullets. Now was his chance!

Michael pushed himself forward, using the wall as his propellant. He landed on top of Crony #2 and instantly plunged his knife into the other's throat, effectively silencing him for good. He'd made quite a mess, oh dear.

The police will have fun cleaning this shit up

However, there was no time to revel in his current kills. There was work to be done. This time, Michael didn't try to hide the sound of his footsteps as he ran towards X's last known location. X couldn't have gone far and he really needed to catch up to him if he was to complete the job; so Michael once again perched himself on the rooftops. His watchful eyes scanned the area for any signs of his target. The neighborhood wasn't busy that night, thank fuck.

A flash of light caught his attention and he turned his head in it's direction. Sirens soon followed and he threw his head back and groaned audibly. The police had gotten to X before he could. He watched as the officers began to load him into the car, bound by hand cuffs. But Michael refused to leave a job unfinished. They had made his job a whole lot harder and he'd have to take extra special care with his actions now.

The enforcement officials were standing outside their car, towards the front, calling for backup. He waited until the officers were distracted, as they called for backup, when he made his move. There were two of them, as per the usual nightly routine. The assassin sneaked behind their car and slashed the rear tires. Then he aimed his knife at one of the officers, catching him in the throat. The other officer was too focused on helping his partner and didn't immediately notice that X was now banging his fists against the doors of the car, begging to be let out.

"I'll deal with YOU later," he rolled his eyes at the target playfully, focusing his attention on the other officer. Michael shot three quick rounds into the officer's skull, chest and neck.

Boom, dead.

Now, on to the target. How to kill him?

"Buddy, you've caused a lot of problems for me," he called out, watching X continue to bang his fists against the car. The target had begun sobbing and pleading for his life, as they always did.

"If you had just let me kill you back in the alley, you and I both could have avoided this—" he waved his arms at the obvious violence around him, "two police officers are now killed because of you. You should be ashamed of yourself." Michael sighed, pretending to be disappointed with X. "Fortunately for you, I know how you can make up for it. You can do me a favour and die a painful death," he grinned.

Michael walked to the front of the car and opened the hood, cutting a few wires connected to the engine and coolant. He then broke the window of the vehicle and turned the key, watching X's look of horror one last time, before stepping back and retrieving his knife from the officer's throat. He walked away quickly after that. Michael didn't have to wait long for the desired effect to kick in. The car exploded into smithereens as he watched from a nearby alley. The flames enveloped X and the two officers in a fiery embrace. He should have brought popcorn.

No evidence. Clean as usual.

He walked away, wiping the blood off of his left cheek. Michael was pleased with himself but he probably could have made the kill a bit faster. He always made notes about what he could and couldn't have done better so that he could learn from his mistakes. But, seeing as how the day had brought about five kills, Michael was happy with himself and decided to treat himself to a nice whiskey at the local bar.

///

I don't remember the last time I wrote something this long

@thenotoriousbrownkid

[fireflyof-hope]

Loving the Dangerously Broken (March 2020)

DEAR MARK- I really hope the best for you, and in your life. I hope you dont end up in prison, at eastern, or dead. I hope you can get the help you need, to rewire the parts of you that are so jagged and broken, that as a survival coping mechanism to deal with such pain, your soul openly hugged insanity for any escape from your turmoil. It's not your fault, that all you know now is survival and pain. Not your fault, that you lack the ability to trust anyone, including people willing to get hurt for you, or with you if it meant lessening the weight of your pain even a tiny bit. We are products of our environments. You are living proof of how cruel this world is, and what can become of us who lose everything to live for. You are living proof that some people can live through immense pain, without having no purpose to reason to continue. You are living proof that sometimes survival wins, and even without anything to live for, you havent taken your own life. I hope one day your heart, mind, soul, spirit can find true peace. I hope humbleness and peace overcome your paranoia when you put your heart into being the best you that you can be, when you open your eyes enough to realize, that you can only save yourself, and have the power to create the outcome of your life. I dont want to see you, nor do I care for much for having contact, but the impact you had on my life, I'll never forget. You've managed to become the inner voice that lives inside me, that makes me question my own choices, and if they are logically safe for me. Your voice of reason and protection echos inside me now. I'll always love you, but love wasn't enough for us. Our damages were just far to great, neither of us being healed enough to not have anything but toxic intimate relationships. It greatly saddens me, that this whole time we've known each other, you always thought that I was trying to get you in trouble be it with cops, friends, family, exs or whoever. You always thought I was faking tears, or intentionally acting like a victim, as an attempt to make you look like a POS. Fact is, I couldnt fake tears if my life was dependeing on it. I wish now, that I never cried and allowed myself to be so broken and vulnerable around you, because you could only ever get it twisted and think badly of me when I let myself feel pain around you. You always thought more was going on than what you could see or hear, than what was even possible at times. I will forever be haunted by your suspicious comments towards me, like "What's really going on Joelle?". I felt so bad, helpless, and sometimes horrible that I didnt understand you being suspicious of me, even felt worse that I had nothing to say to you in respond, because there honestly was nothing shady or sneaky ever going on at my house, despite what you convienced yourself of and what you were set on determined to beileve. Any efforts to show you nothing was ever going on, failed because your ego was to prideful to let itself be faced with anything that gave you any room to have to question your sanity. You always over analyzed everything, and determined that you were being set up somehow, someway, by someone or something. You always thought various people were hiding from you, everywhere you went, now just my place. You somehow put it together in your head, that you'd be worth the effort, time, and the actual self neglect by not eating or using bathroom it would require from any person who had any willingness, or time to waste of thier own life, to even hide from you, while remain in the same building. I dont know a single person, who would be so absurd to take the time from their own life, their own comforts in order to stalk, or hide from you. Honestly, and logically, I believe that even your enemies wouldnt go out of thier way to waste time out of their life on such extreme levels to hide in your mom's basement, Lorenda's basement, or in a nasty attic where someone had killed themselve all for the sake of hiding from a crazy paranoid guy who constantly yelled at bickered at any noise around. Not even for shits a d giggles would a person want to hide from you. Sure you might have fucked up in life, done people dirty, or seriously hurt people, but even at that, no one would ever make personal vengeance against you what they live for. Despite what you think, I will confidently, lovingly and bluntly tell you as a matter of fact, that it is no ones life mission to destroy you or fuck with you. Wish you could see it, that you really arent that special of a person. Your paranoid thinking about people being sneaky and hiding from you was just so absurd, and even impossible when you actually try to use reason with how you thought these things. People all have thier own lifes to worry about, and I promises no one wants to take any time away from the real important things in their life all for the sake of keeping a paranoid tweaker on edge. It's not funny, not amusing to watch you distrust everyone and everything around you, even the people who have opened thier heart, and home to you. It's not a joke. You are not a joke when you get this way. It's actually very hurtful, pitiful, sad, and frustrating when you refuse to combat your paranoia with logical reason. Your so smart, I know you can combat your paranoia with your own logic and reason, if you would only try. For your own sake, I dont get why you havent even tried, other than maybe its your prideful ego, maybe the importance of being right on your first impuslive thought of what you assume is going on, just sadly means far to much to you, or maybe Kevin is right, and the even sadder possibly for why you dont try using logic or reason when you think someone is hiding from you, is that your paranoia isnt even real, that its all just a fat act you put on, because you want or like special attention from people having to question you, even if they begin to fear and hurt for your sanity. I just couldnt ever understand how nearly ever single time you let your paranoid thinking overpower your intelligence. Seriously how you be so paranoid that your intelligence vanishes in those moments, so unless either the paranoia was really a fake act, or you faked being intelligent, to hide and cover up how much of an idiot you are. I've tried hard to understand your paranoia, to understand all of you and what makes you tick as you do, I wanted so badly to help you. I have no answers, I have only theories that scare me about you faking paranoia and/or insanity, or you lying about your own intelligence. I've realized that there is just impossible for the genius that you have claimed to be, to not be able to rationalize and reason with your own paraniod behaviors and/or thoughts. Do you listen to much to your fearful and wild imagination when paranoia causes panic to settle in? Did you just imagine people sneaking around hiding from you and plotting against you? When and why do you let your imagination cross over into externally reality? Is there a trigger? Do your memories, or inner pain associated with the person who you think is hiding from you trigger painful flashbacks with the person that your mind chooses to beileve is hiding from you? At what moment within your frantic racing thoughts, do you stop being able to separate and reason what your truama and imagination have you thinking is happening, vs what is our shared external reality, aka what is really happening, where you can prove or disprove your paranoia if you allowed yourself. You always hold back, on fact checking yourself in reality. It's not hard to disprove your paranoid thoughts, if you would only try more. That's part of the issue, everytime you've been on a wild goose chase in my house, your paranoia was always 100% been wrong and disproven. I think sometimes that being right is most important to you, maybe you'd rather not even clarify for your own peace of mind, because you don't want to risk the proof or embarrassment that your mind is anything but perfect. Maybe your pride is just delicate, and you'd rather not know, than to know for sure, and admit to yourself that it's your overactive mind having an episode that's now took control of you of your reasoning skills, making you seem like a arrogant lunatic, jackass and a fool to yourself and anyone around. I'm still learning to not take it so harshly, and so personally hurtful that it can be so easy for you to beileve that the very same person who opened thier home to you, risked all they have by even associating with knowing you, who forgives you constantly, who writes to you if you go to jail, who isnt even bothered by the fact you might not be sane or even safe, and even considers you to be one with them, as if you are part of the house family, the person who got nothing but endless ride or die love for you and only seeks to nurture and sooth your paranoia in hopes it can vanish, the person that you feel safe enough to fall asleep with, the person who would stay the night in Newport in their car for you and fight the systems bullshit by your side, the same person who discards people who try to force them to cut you off, the same person who ignores the darker parts of you, the same person that wants to count on you so badly, the same person who bite off the head of any person to dare speak of you like your a monster, the same person who tries so hard with nothing but love and healing intentions to get through to your thick skull, the same person who your existence in thier life allowed your impact to be so great, the same person who broke and ditched the heart of their mexican high school sweetheart all for you, the same person who is a bit damaged and broken by life just like you, the same person who unsuccessfully tries very hard to give up on you but just can't, the same person who has a worn out heart because all the effort and energy they put into ressuraning and loving you even when it was only ever a losing battle, the same person who's effort and loyalty towards you remained unshakable, the same person who wants to hate themselve for how much they love you, the same person who recklessly gave a felon/criminal their priceless heart to only to end up feeling unappreciated and depleted entirelly, the same person who fears and hurts when your suffering, the person who wants the best for you in life whether it's with or without them in it, the same person who wants you to realize such things about yourself so you can decide how and who you want to be and gain control of your mind back, the very same person that you seemed to push away of the love of, and punish with painfully doubting everything they stood for in loving you, the same person who cherished the time they had with you in the moments that matter rather than paying any mind to your outrageous wild goose chases, the same person who would use their own body as a shield over your body when fear of being shot dead paralyzed you, the same person who continues to die and bleed out while determined to climb over your thick painful spikey wall, the same person that loves you so much that they found enough value in themselve to not have meaningless sex, the same person who has undying painful hope in you when you havent even given them a reason to continue hope, the same person who only ever wanted you to feel and accept such crazy love they have for you, the same person who gets to feel more pain than love come from you but choses to love you regardless, because they are selfsacrficing, and dont love you for their benefit, but chose to love you, for yours, the same person for forgave you at your very worse towards them, the same person who deserves so much better treatment and yet wants no one else, the same open who has nothing to hide, is a complete open book, and operates on being a healer, the same person who actually got ran over and nearly died because they couldnt help but have such adoration and fondness over you... this person, is all actually the very same person that youd rather believe is lying about no one being in the attic or whatever sneakness you think is happening, the same person that you'd rather beileve has something to hide, the same person you'd rather distrust and doubt, the same person you beileve wants you beat up or in prison, the same person you'd rather beileve cant own up to thier bullshit, that you'd rather beileve is sneaky around doing sexual acts, the same person's who house you do but dont feel safe at, the same person you enjoy calling names and lashing out at, the same person you think you read the emotion of, the same person who can be crying to themselves for thier own reasons who you heartlessly and suddenly accuse of laughing at you, the same person you think is fun to make angry, the same person that you trash the room of and show no value or respectful for, same person that you beileve is lying about noises, the same person that you think behind it all on some freak show of a malicious plot, it's the same person you think always has another agenda in mind, it's the same person who gets dragged through mud by ignoring themselve inwardly and by staying so focused on only just helping lessen your pain, paranoia, and doubts, the same person who's unconditionally loved you without expectations, same person who cant stop loving you who only hope that one day the love they have for you can reach deeper than any pain you've felt and all accusation, doubts can disappear into nothingness. The same person who's heart is broken, who's entire world shakes when facing the reality that the doubts never ended and that there was never any trust no matter what everything they tried to do right by you, the same person who feels utterly ripped into pieces by your disbelief and doubts, the same person that found love for themselve through all the pain they felt that came with loving a broken forbidden impossible person. It really breaks my heart, that this person I've described willing to endure so much, give so much, and end up so much more broken inside all for you, is in fact ME. I was just to eager to give love to someone, who had maybe never known real love, and that's on me. I should have ran when I had the chance, like anyone in thier right mind would do. I'm talking about details of your paranoia so much, because that's how our first fight started, and I beileve is the core issue in a lot of our fights. You'd rather beileve that after all I've done for you, and would do for you, that me the person who wants you to feel love greater than pain, wants you to feel the safest and be able to have internal peace and self love so that you can heal, and overcome your pain and paranoia. I want so desperately to make a difference and be the loving healer that people like you have searched for all thier life. I really do live to bring light, and hope to others, for you to even think that I could possibly have the ability to set you up, lie to you, ruin your life or do you wrong in anyway, straight crushes my soul. This whole time you've known me, you haven't really known my heart, your accusations, doubts, distrust, disbelief that I ever want to intentionally go against you, is proof of just how much of a stranger you've stayed to my heart. It hurts very badly. God only knows if you actually really do care for me, if you will ever actually read this I dont even know. You'd rather believe that I'm lying to you about people, my house, my attic over the idea of having to admit to yourself, that maybe you are losing it a bit. It's easier for you to beileve that the person who will probably intimately love you more deeply in your life than any other person is capable of is untruth, is intent on destroying what's even left on you. I dont know what to do anymore, sit with my pain and grieve it maybe, again it turns I'm that I'm just throwawayable chopped liver in the life of who Ive dearly love, with more fierce love to give that I didnt even know I had. I feel my efforts, energy, words, heart, loyalty, tears, my forgiveness, honesty, patience, pain, heartbrake is just all worthless to you. Why did you trick my heart, when you never trusted it and never even wanted it? All the pain and doubts that I've endure from you the entire time I've known you, it's all been for you, the dangerously broken one, who had managed to help me feel alive again without even meaning to. I feel like I've wasted my time and my love, on someone who couldnt even see me standing there trying to help you to carry your pain, despite any potential risk to myself. I tried to kill the monster within you with the purest love that I'm capable of, and yet that same monster it seems, would rather kill the light within me, than let down its guard and wholeheartedly believe that someone be capable of loving it and embracing it as if it were my own. Your monster is a reflection of your soul's deepest pain, and it doesnt scare me. I've never considered you to be a joke or a fool with your paranoia. I know that you arent a joke, and my heart doesnt operate of thinking it's funny to see such loved ones hurting. It pisses the fuck off you think I'm some sick person who is capable of laughing at your misery. Ive loved you with the purest love and intentions I've had to give, and it wasn't even good enough. In you thinking your pain, brings me laughter to any degrees has again shown more proof that you've actually stayed a stranger to my heart. I've never been called a liar or accused of being a sick fuck that enjoys when people hurt in ALL of my entire life until you. You really dont think healers, who selflessly try to better the world and give impossible broken people like you hope actually exist dont you? Your a stranger to my heart, because you dont even believe what drives my heart to continue to beat even through my own brokenness. Why did you asked if I was an angel all those times, when you wouldnt beileve me anyway? Im someone with such a powerful heart and the rare gift of such intense love to give that has the power to move mountains. And here I am moving mountains for someone who doesnt even see me, stretching myself out so thin, with just barely enough hope that it will all me something to you. I really hope that you didnt just act out your paranoia this entire time for your own amusement. I hope I fell for a real person, and not some gaint act. I'm the joke and the fool for possibly loving a felon and a person who might live thier life acting. I will straight say with nothing but love for you, that your paranoid thoughts have always been 110% WRONG. I know you couldnt help it, you just knew survival so well, and the things that you've already been through. Never have I tried to get you in trouble purposely. Never had even been a throught or objective of mine. I DONT live my life with the agenda of destroying broken souls. Broken soul and me find each other naturally, yes, but I just try to shine light on reasons to get back up again when their darkest is drowning them, when pain is to intense to see any good in life, I can only try to show them any reason, light, hope to not give up on themselves. I dont live my live trying to ruin people that I love. I just dont, that is my word, mind, heart, soul and my bond. That is what makes me, me. The whole reason I ever took my chances with you as a roommate even though, I knew you were a wrecking ball, because i saw behind those sad eyes, behind the hustling, behind the needles, behind the drug use, behind the distrust and paranoia of the world, were such loud soul wrecking- ear piercing cries for help, cries for love, even though you already knew that you didnt know how to accept what you really longed for most, unconditional love. Someone who would get you, understand all of you, and still love you through all the pain, anger, bad, grief, passion, love, darkness, selfishness, selflessness, stubbornness, abusiveness towards yourself & others. I live trying to build broken people up by bringing out their rawness and showing them, even at their worse, they deserve to feel loved to. I live my life trying to bring people light and hope, because I'm lost and broken myself and in helping people, i find reason not to kill myself. I loved to feel needed, love to nurture, love to pant seeds of hope in the shattered hopeless souls and hearts. I love to feel like I'm making a real difference for anyone in life, even if I only made a difference for but a moment in another's life. I dont know if i actually make a difference to you, and that's okay. In my heart I've succeeded in how I had shown you, that even your darkest, your most feared demons deserve to be loved, unconditionally. If only you had felt loved all your life, those demons wouldnt have such power within you, if only the world didnt rob you of being a father, how much different of a person you would be. Love is foolish, and I love all of you, just as you are. I've always been me, Mark. The girl who tries to bring people back to life, because I painfully understand all to well what that inner void feels like of having lost all that I was living for. No lies. No bullshit. No acting. I PROMISE you that no one has ever hid from you in my attic, accept for me myself when I needed space. You always wanted me to and demanded of me to "own up to my bullshit" in your hurtful accusatory ways, well fine. Here we go. I'll proudly own up to it, and who I've become now. I own up to how I allowed myself to fall in love with the most too far gone, most broken, most dangerous, most worthwhile, most doubtful, most hurtful, most strongest at surviving, most saddest, most childlike, and yet the most wise wild and goofy person, that I've ever known in my life, and although there is continually great heavy pain, I will never regret having known you, and you cant make me. I will love you, with or without contact. My spirit stays with you. You can run, you can hide, but my love for you is carried inside. The person who had been my greatest life mentor and teacher in my life, as been unregrettably, non the less, you Mark Conner. Maybe it wasn't me who was suppose to make a difference in your life, maybe it was you who purpose was to completely shake and rock my entire heart and world.... and my goodness, you fucking did! I now have new strength, self love, and survival instincts within myself, that I didnt know even existed. I'd rather have an empty bed, and no cuddles than to be with less that I deserve, than to tolerant bullshit treatment from myself, or anyone else. I feel okay being alone now. Actually okay in my own skin now. Holy shit the chick who tried to pay $200 to kevin just for cuddles, the chick who brought $100 stuffed animal to cuddle, the chick who had reckless sex and let people use her with just mere hope that someone could really love me, need me, just a little bit. Im the very co dependent chick, who never couldnt picture herself single, never picture myself alive without no man at my side, and with no kids at my side to pour my precious love into. Im the burdensome chick who was always desperate for closeness, would settled for anyone who would give it. Your own darkness and pain brought to light for me, my own inner power, and as it turns out, I'm dont being prey that men/predators thirst for and seek out to just use and discard. Done playing the mental games of others who I was just trying to show them the way out of consuming darkenss. I know now, my thoughts and my reactions to my thoughts and feelings, are what allow me to be the creator of the outcomes in my life. Even if you really truly are a hopeless tweaker, a monster, or some unsolved mysterious wonder Mark, I refuse to accept that there is no hope for you, even if you've made a mess out of my heart by turning me to chopped liver by trusting paranoia over love. I refuse to beileve you cant do better for yourself. I refuse to think your future will be in prison or eastern. I gave up on us as a couple, at least for now, but I havent, and will not give up on you as a person. Your heart feeling sincerely loved, is worth all the pain I've endured, that I'd go through repeatly for you if I had to. All I can do is still have hope for you, for YOUR sake, because you deserve to not live in such torment, to never be able to feel safe, to never feel trust, to always think that something, or someone, somewhere is plotting against you no matter where your at or who your around. I've fallen for and have embraced and chosen to love the toxic impossible parts of you, even if I do discarded, or dont feel loved in return. I dont love you without expectations for my benefit, I love you for your benefit. You would not be you, without your imperfections, and I love every bit of you so much, that I cant be around to watch you destroy/hurt yourself, and/or your loved ones unintentionally. I know when you hurt others and are aware of it, the painful guilt you have to live with inside, for surviving the ways the you knew how, is your greatest enemy. You are you own enemy. You hold yourself to the highest standards. You can't forgive yourself either, that grudge you hold against yourself is so power, that you cant see it when others have already forgiven you and have attempted to move forward with you in the present moment. Your own survival game is real. Your intense af, and your brokeness, your intense emotions, your pain, your will to survive, is how I was able to feel alive again, instead of just floating around like some darkness engulfed broken depressed empty lifeless thing that only desired for death. That isnt me anymore, thanks to knowing you, and mostly thanks to me for seeing myself through my own loving eyes and ways. One day I hope Mark that your PTSD gets treated, and that you can learn how to just live and cruise through life enjoy all life has to offer instead of fear it. One day I hope you can feel safe in your own skin, with the people who love you. Home is where the heart is, but your heart is in so much pain, that your in denial of even having a safe loving home. Your insecurity and vindictiveness got you to cut my vibrator cord at some point, and has your goodbye to me, you poured gatorade on my jeep seat like a child having a tantrum as if I had done something to even deserve that episode from you in my jeep, joke is on me for loving the impossible. I went from being all eager to feel valued and worthy by a good steady stable man, to developing actual self value. Im awake now, and there is no going back. No one can take that away self value from me, and it cant abandon me. Your solo ways, have taught me much needed tools to get through life when it storms. I dont care about our feelings towards each other, I just care that you one day can see and feel your own inner power to. I'd often wonder if there was a God, how dare you have been made to suffer all your life, but your right when you told Trina when we were both in Springdale, that "God wouldnt ever give us more than we could handle." Your darkness, your incredible survival rate, the deep footprints (or should I say BMX tire tracks) that you leave behind you, that you left on my heart, are very loud, and impossible to be overlooked by someone with a very rare and real heart like mine. The broken who cant escape darkness because they chose to run back into the fire (pits of hell) trying to save people from bone chilling pain, because we understood it, and have endured it ourself with no real escape. Empaths, healers, people who can see the good in you, know what I'm talking about. You showed survival be possible with nothing to live for, and you lead the way, for probably not just me, but others who have lost their way and own sense of hope or belonging. If you couldnt see no way, you created a way, and I'll cherish witnessing how you could start from nothing, and how you just kept going, no matter the curveballs. You didnt surrender your life to this hell, even when you've felt dead and hopeless inside, even when the flames gave you third degree burns. Your living prove at how possible life is, even when you have nothing, but yourself. "Coming in hot!!" You'd say. Damn right you are hot, you came into my life on fire from both hell and holy flames. You can light a fire within anyone, who can see into and feel your very wounded, yet shattered warrior soul, or at least, you did for me. I hope that counts as something towards you finding self love. I want you to see your value, through my eyes, my heart, my soul. I want you to feel it in the core of your being and never doubt that you are so very loved, never doubt that you make a difference in someone's life, to love yourself enough to be able to stop thinking that your just a failure, to stop thinking that your loved ones think or fear that your just some psycho monster. You ignited my healing firefly flames again, which were well burnt out after my divorce, Trench suicide, Ordai's betrayal, and my children having to live in a different place than me. I'm a firefly Mark, I was given that nickname for a very real reason, when times are dark, I still have light flickering, even if the darkest of places, it's my gift to still have light and life within me to share when others have died inside. I'm glad we touched each others lifes. I had no beacon of hope, until you, I was always the person, everyone themselves turned to for help... it was finally my turn to get the help, get the inner healing, that I didnt realize I ever needed, through knowing and having such love developed for you inspite the pain. You unintentionally lead the way, and even paved it for me. Us going through our own individual inner hells, and how you left me alone at the many times when you knew I could handle it. You didnt piggyback me through hardships, instead coldly, and harshly, you demanded I got up and fought my will to die away, you didnt jump in and saved me from my self hating bullshit, you did more more for me. By watching you torment yourself mentally, you brutally and painfully taught me the strength it takes and how to have power over my own darkness that tries to control my life. You showed me, and unknownly taught me how to save myself. For that, I will always be thankful. Mentally a lot of what we both went through together was just flat abusive, but through the sick mental illnesses we both suffered, and the shit that we dragged each other through, I've trained myself very well in adapting whatever life throws at me. Stress doesnt break me anymore. Rarely does anything scare me anymore, I'm scared of loved ones dying, scared of unintentionally hurting people I love, but that is about it for my fears. I want you to face it, like a man should, that whether you believe yourself to be a prison/drug/felony flats-made monster, You just might of did something good, and wonderful, and life/heart/soul changing for someone you love in your life. I want you to own it that you arent all bad, that through your existence, I picked up on self love, self value, and survival tactics. I also didnt know had it in me to love such scary, damaged, spung out of their mind, hurtful yet loving in balanced ways, unpredictable, unstable, controlling, broken, addicted, pos, dangerous and yet safe, insane, older gentlemen with southern/Christian ethics, and just all around love a person who could actually survive so much pain. I'm your biggest fan and cheerleader. Ordai a long time ago when he first left Feb 2019, Nick told him that my buddy would go after him with a gun. I'm sure or at least hope that Ordai knows kevin now, and can see how ridiculous it was back than to be in fear of Kevin coming after him with a gun, but Nick had created those fears in Ordai, in hopes ordai wouldnt come around me ever again. But as it turns out no was ever gun needed, I was given something far more special in meeting and falling in love with you. Thank the universe, the trees, Kevin, drugs, ex roommates, Ordai for first leaving me, or even thank God for me knowing you, because I now wield a secret invisible gun at my side, thats well cared for, well polished, and locked away when it's not needed. This gun that I call self love and survival, is the only weapon I need, and it was you that taught me how to aim with it. I'm unbreakable now. Thank you Mark, if you get nothing out of this message, than please just try to be good to yourself, gentle on yourself, because you do create inner miracles within at least with me. You will never be a lost cause, no matter how much you try, it's to late for you to not have worth to me. Your impact on my life, is part of who I am now. I didnt even figure that in loving a man so much who is so rough and jagged around the edges, a felon, a broken surving badass who lost so much in life, that I'd end up becoming a badass myself. May warmth, and love, not doubt or paranoia follow you, and be with you everywhere. THE AFTERMATH & PROCESSING OF MY THOUGHTS Now I'm realize, my upbringing.... it wasn't my fault, I didnt ask for it, I didnt do anything wrong to deserve it, that my parents neglectfulness wasn't because they didnt love me and my brother. But it was only because they both had a very deep lack of love for themselves, and learned to cope through making pain with emotion numbing substancesain order to survive. I cant even be mad at my parents as an adult for kt. They didnt mean it. Nor could they even ever comprehend the long-term outcome it would have on thier full grown children unable to stop questioning love, and at a painful war with having to decide to chose whether or not to hate themselve, or to love themselve. I realized we each have our own power within us, and I will be a model of self love now, no more self destructive bullshit. My children will know love. They will feel so overall loved and overwhelmed with love, that they wont have to experience questioning the love either of their parents have for them. My children deserve to have a mother who loves herself and can thrive and be happy, with or without a partner. I'm worth the entire world to my kids whether I'm with them or not, and that wont go unnoticed by me again. Loving myself shouldnt be to difficult, now that I chose to open my eyes, and see my priceless value. I'm actually not the garbage that I treated myself to be. I let the actions, or lack of actions of others hurt me a good bit, but I know that I'm not chopped liver. I have so much to give to myself, and those who have endlessly loved me when I couldnt love myself. I have so much to live for. My existance can and might one day be just one living proof of an example for other shattered by life, broken and self hating souls. Through how I love and live, maybe people can start to uncover their own inner voice, worth, and love. Its amazing at how much power and control we have in our lifes, to share with all we cross paths with, if we chose to take back our life and become our own pilots. Its magically to become the love that I've needed my entire life, instead of putting it in the hands of others, instead of burying the ability to love myself because I blamed myself for my life, instead of substance abuse, instead of lashing out and hurting others we love out of never knowing how to accept being loved. I think I might have figured out a major life hack, and the short cut to inner healing through our own childhood and past relationships.This shortcut to happiness might be real? What we think, we create and become, we are the masters of ourselves. The answers to how to be alone, and not dependent on another's value and love for us, can only be found within our own self. Not another person, not substances, not money, not travel, not sex, not working, and not escaping from reality with friends, tv, videos games or school are part of it. Gotta be okay with facing yourself, head on without distractions. I've tried so hard, and for such a long time to hope for a sincere strong willed, adventurous, steady, and stable, man, who just incapable of abandonment, abuse, or giving up without any effort. I wanted my fairytale to be real, wanted a man to come along and magically love me unconditionally in the ways my broken self had always freely given, but had gone without. Ive learned that no perfect match for me exists. The joke was on me, but the fact is, I acccidentally fell in love with the least likely type of person that I would ever let in or trust in my life and heart. I blindy fell for someone and I knew it was the most toxic relationship that I would ever experience, yet my idiotic heart didnt care. I learned that happy ever after is a overrated unreal concept. Through this on and off crazy yoyo relationship I had over the period of a year with Mark, I started to give up entirelly on the idea of my heart being unconditionally loved and accepted without expections. I seemed to feel accepted just for being me with all my intenseness, my wildness, my BPD, my selfless ride or die love, and my total inner indecisiveness about whether I'm monogamous, polyamorous, open to kinks, or if I had just enjoyed bring healing energy to others through intimacy. All I knew was that just once, I didnt want to feel like loving all of me would be such an inconvenience for someone, just once I wanted to experience feeling that I was more than enough, instead of less than what was hoped for. I dont know if the cupid in my life just is a wingnuts or what happened, because I fell in love with the complete opposite of what I'd ever search for within a potential partner. I fell for the most broken, dangerous, controlling, closed minded, arrogant, possessive, needy, lost, abusive and damaged soul that I had ever come to know. The hardest part about loving this person, was how full of expections he was for me, and how he didnt agree with how the healer within me freely gave endless love to broken souls like ourselves. He couldnt love the core healer that I truly was inside, that even make me, me. The only reason I even could befriend this guy in the beginning, was because the way my healing empathic heart could hear and even feel the pain his heart would sing. It seemed he was only out to try change and shape my heart. It seemed that his greed wanted to kill the healer inside of me, instead of love me for the healer that I was.... This experience taught me so much. I wasn't willing to bend to his demands and expections, I wanted to be free to be true to myself. Many times I'd be feeling so down on myself about his treatment towards me, I'd isolate myself to my room out of fear of upsetting him if I was to try to hang out with my roommates. I allowed him to put distance between me and others, and even allowed his presents in my life and home chase people away from me. At times I didnt even feel like my life was my own, I just did what was I told, just did what I knew was allowed, just barely even allowed myself to move, use my phone at all, or cook or use the bathroom, or even breath in the wrong way with him around me, because that was the only way to stop the painful demeaning nonstop doubts and accusations. I automatically started obeying all his passive aggressive signals, in order to keep any sense of peace in my life. I felt trapt as my life became constantly just tipy toeying on eggshells, receiving lots of concerned looks from friends and very bad inner anxiety in the mist of trying to keep the most impossible, dangerously broken man happy at the cost of allowing myself to get robbed of everything I was.... I stopped feeling like this man loved or cared for me at all, because while I was being a stranger to myself, he was a stranger to my heart. My feelings and emotions when mentioned went entirely ignored, or back fired on me and gave him reasons to guilt me into feeling worthless by just trying to be me. Only he mattered, his greed, no one and nothing else. My voice, values, beliefs werent ever even heard in his mind. He just demanded that he be the Alfa while telling me hurtful things to crush my spirit. I couldnt use my phone, playing video games, do art, or listen to my own music without his attitude changing on me, he was okay with my entire life stopping, if it meant that my focus was on him and nowhere else be it person, animal, nature, errand, or hobby. I wanted this man to feel loved so badly, wanted him to trust me, to stop doubting me, so I willingly self sacrificed, overlooking myself, my own free will, because I had desperately hoped it would all be for something, hoped with time that he would loosen up, that he would open his eyes and realize just how much he was suffocating the life out of me. He didnt, it didnt get better, when I expressed how at times everyone needs breaks from each other, his grip on me would get even tighter. At times it got to the point in our fights to where I'd just have to take off, away from him, to where I'd find myself hiding from him in my own house silently letting tears fall, because only in that very moment of hiding, could I even seriously fully take deep breaths again. It's threw going through this time with him, that I gained a backbone with how I would let him treat me. The break I got from him felt so good, that I learned to pamper myself in the little moments I had to myself. I began to learn self love through this scary possessive abusivness. I learned that I could never do right by him, and that he would always need someone to control of entire day of in his life. After learning that from someone who also loves him and been in my shoes, naturally my heart and adoration started to repell and withdraw from him. It was about time that i embraced some of the love that I freely gave away and would throw into the darkness hoping it would touch the life of someone who'd value and cherish it. It's about time that I allowed my own damaged heart, to grieve, heal, and feel the absolute love that I carried within myself. It was a lucky miracle that became and gave to myself what I couldnt find in a man. I literally embodied and became love, as a result of feeling of the lack of safe comforting love, and no one can take it from me. That is such power. My life is my life. I'm responsible for myself, not the entire world. I must be good to myself first, so others can witness and feel the best of my healing heart and soul, so it wont be hard for others to just naturally feel they are valued and loved by me, instead of having to only witness and share in just feeling the pain I hadn't accepted within myself. I am much more than just my darkness. I do more than just drown, in fact I was giving up feeling alive, before my own survival called bullshit and my own hidden will to live forced me to learn to stand up for myself and on my own. I survived it all, but the fact that I had allowed myself to go through such a thing, reflected that I was my own worst enemy. Sure that I took a dangerous risky route, to find self love. That it did in fact take me falling in love with, and seeing the only the best within a very deeply disturbed, broken, truamatized, and paranoid person who needs the type of help that goes beyond my control and power, to see that the only way to survive through the dark hardships of life, and the pain that comes with unconditionally loving impossible people, was to learn to love myself, find truth and beauty in my own pain and grow from it instead of become a monster myself. I'd learn to be, what I needed and couldnt find. I wish for all the broke souls I love in my life, for their eyes, hearts, minds to be open to their own inner power. This abusive man who I very dearly do love, torments himself greater than it even be possible for another human to do to him. It was honestly through being part of watching him destructively cope with his sadness, paranoid thinking, helplessness, unforgiveness and lack of trust towards himself, and the inner misery he inflicts on himself, that I was even able to recognize myself, and how much I was alike to him within our inner pain. I felt trapt in ways of never knowing how to stop repeatly breaking myself through using the pain I've lived to justify all ill treatment towards myself from myself and all my interactions with people. He cant save himself, but he isnt a failure. Somehow he taught me how to save myself by isolating and silencing me, by being my most toxic relationship, and by watching him drown himself and survive the entire time. It was through the worse mental pain I felt and seen in life, that wasn't even my own that I was lucky to been gifted such an ability to intensely directly empath the pain from Mark's inner turmoil. It was within hurting so deeply and helplessly for him while he allowed himself to burn alive and internally suffer deeper as he lashed out and hurt people who he said he loved, that Mark had accidentally showed me the way out of our own inner hell. I didnt want him to hurt alone, didnt want him to roll over and surrender his life, so i let the flames that continued to burn and consume his fragmented self, also lick me. I tolerated absurd bullshit and treatment for long, because that is the nature of my love, to ways forgive, to ways see the best, to kill everything I know with love. I willing chose to love the darkness and demons that had shown him how to survive. I decided that it was wrong of me to have expectations on how he should love me, especially when he couldnt even love himself, and was quickly becoming more and more of a stranger to my heart. I only started diving into self love, because I had helplessly hoped for so long that Mark would find it for himself, so that he could be able to heal and see the endless love and light that lays right beyond the all consuming pain that keeps his soul dead. I love myself now, I had to learn it quickly for my own survival and sanity after I would embrace his flames, and let them surround me with flame kisses and burn me alive, along with him. Mark is like that of a burn victim. The on going effects of his trauma have been everlasting. I got out and away from my hell engulfing me, I can only hope that he isnt too far gone himself, and that he would stop squeezing his eyes so tightly shut from the pain he experiences. If he just opens his eyes wide enough to see, there is a way out, that pain doesnt have to consume him, that only he can put his own fire out, and find inner love and forgiveness for himself, how much he could change his entire life around. He just needs to see and come back to reality just enough to register that the waterhose to put the fire's flames out he is already gripping in his hand. He can stop the burning so easy, so quickly and regain his life back, find his self love, just like I'm doing, he just has to chose the outcome he wants in life.

[wits-writing]

Riverdale Reviews: Season 2 Ep 3 “The Watcher in the Woods”

[My other Riverdale Reviews here]

Archie starts a vigilante group and that’s all you need to know about how crazy Riverdale is getting.

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Ok, I’ll tell you more.

[Full review under the cut]

Maybe one of these reviews I’ll be able to talk about an episode without going into stuff I had a problem with previously that they end up fixing the very next episode, but it’s not this one. (Though the fact that the problems I have with these episodes aren’t lingering is a major step up from season 1.) Midge and Moose were not killed at the end of last episode like I assumed. My own critiques of how weird it would be to cast a major Archie Comics character, introduce her, then kill her off probably should’ve helped me guess that cliffhanger was a fakeout. The couple don’t play a large role in this episode except to further establish the threat posed by the now name serial killer stalking Riverdale, the Black Hood.

We get a glimpse into the Black Hood’s motives this week since he spells them out in an open letter to Alice and Hal Cooper that he wants published in their newspaper. He’s looking to “cleanse” Riverdale of its sinners; going after Fred for his brief relationship with Hermione, Grundy for being a sexual predator and Midge and Moose for their drug use and premarital sex. This motivation is write out of an airport novel detective thriller, meaning it’s a perfect fit with the tone of Riverdale. This public reveal of the villain that’s been stalking their streets ends up being the point most of the plots this episode spinoff from how the characters react to it. Starting with the character who finds Midge and Moose right after their encounter with the Hood, Kevin Keller.

One thing I was often disappointed with in season one of Riverdale was how Casey Cott as Kevin didn’t get much story or screen time that was truly his own. Even his relationship with the Southside Serpent Joaquin was had more to do with the overarching mystery of the show than with Kevin himself. However, in the pattern of season two finding ways to fix problems I had with season one, Kevin’s story this week is fully his, even if it’s also about his friendship with Betty. The reason Kevin is the one to find the couple right after Moose is shot protecting Midge is because he was jogging the trails of the woods looking for guys to hook up with. That wouldn’t be the best idea under normal circumstances and with the Black Hood on the loose, Betty warns him to stop before something terrible happens. A lot of this story consists of Kevin talking to other characters about what he’s doing and why he’s doing it. He has a conversation with Moose, the first time the show has built on their hookup in the woods in any meaningful way since it happened, and Moose is probably the most understanding of anyone he talks to about it. Moose understand that it’s hard for guys “like them” (i.e. not-straight) to find any sort of happiness in a town like Riverdale and that if Kevin can find with someone in the woods what he has with Midge, even for a moment, he should go after it.

On the other hand, there’s Betty and her worries about the possible danger for him. Egged on by an eavesdropping Cheryl Blossom, Betty keeps warning him against these hookups. She wants her friends safe while the Black Hood is still out there and that’s the only lens she can view what Kevin is doing through. After she (with Cheryl in tow) confronts him in the woods on his way to hookup, Kevin lets loose on her exactly why he keeps doing this despite the danger. He doesn’t feel he has many options in Riverdale to start with and seeing his friends go through all their relationships make him feel like he’s missing out. The friends part on bad terms, but Betty’s words still stick with Kevin the next time he goes out into the woods and finds himself unable to go along with hookups as the opportunities present themselves. This story ends with Kevin talking to his dad about how alone he feels and his dad telling him that they can start talking about that stuff more often.

Another character dealing with being in the path of danger this week is Jughead as he starts his life at Southside High, a place where the gangs of Riverdale operate openly. The Serpents at the school, including Toni Topaz (Vanessa Morgan), offer him a space in their circle plus protection from rival gangs that might want the credit for taking out FP Jones’s son, but Jug is determined to remain a loner. Southside High is presented as a rundown place with outdated teaching equipment, graffitied walls and open drug use, namely the drug “jingle jangle” that’s been making its way through the town recently (it’s also what Reggie was dealing last week to Midge.) When Jughead decides to bring back Southside’s school paper, the Red and Black, the drugs moving through the school are the first story he chooses to cover. After he finds out that the gang known as The Ghoulies are behind the distribution, he gets beaten in the halls after school by their members when he plans to write about it. Toni helps him keep this from Betty, as she tells him that the Serpents will have his back. Since he has no other options left, Jughead lets himself be part of the Serpents at the school if it’s the only way he’ll be safe.

Archie’s also seeking strength in numbers this week as he decides to be more proactive in his efforts to protect the people closest to him from the threat the Black Hood represents. This decision takes the form of the Red Circle (a reference to Archie Comics’ old line of superhero books), a group of Riverdale High students dedicated to at least protecting their friends and family connected to the school. The sequence where him and the others in the Red Circle spread fliers about their intents and existence is set against the audio of Sheriff Keller reading the letter the Black Hood sent the Coopers spelling out his motives and it’s the best executed sequence in the episode. Another of Archie’s concerns this week is Veronica’s efforts to get him to have dinner at her house with Hiram, as a test to see if Hiram can “just be a dad” with no alternate motive.

But if that was her goal, it’s almost immediately undermined by Hiram’s own actions this episode. He’s the one who first plants the seeds of the idea that becomes the Red Circle in Archie’s head. Hermione warns Veronica against her efforts to get close to her father again this week, but Veronica tells her that if she thinks Hiram is dangerous she should say it in those words. When she doesn’t, Veronica moves forwards with her plans to have Archie over for dinner. Meanwhile Hiram warns Hermione against speaking ill of him to their daughter again.

On Archie’s first patrol night with Reggie, we get a sense of how he really intends the Red Circle to run as he treats the “no weapon, no violence” rule he established early in the episode loosely, bringing his baseball bat with him. When they get a call from Ethel about a creepy van following her on the side of the road they’re able to spring into action and find her, with the van driving away as they arrive. This encounter is something Hiram brings up to Archie after the dinner, talking about how he admires what Archie is willing to do but that he needs to start using the Hood’s own terror tactics against him if he wants to make a real difference. But he also warns Archie against ever sneaking into Veronica’s room at night or hurting her in any way. Taking these words to heart, Archie makes a viral video with the members of the Red Circle in red hoods where he tells the Black Hood that they will hunt him down. And the closing shot of the episode is Hiram watching the video in his study, clearly pleased at the outcome of their conversation.

“The Watcher in the Woods” accomplishes a lot by being the episode where the characters become more aware of what they’re really dealing with this season. Archie founding a vigilante group is the clearest example of this, but there’s also how it effects the relationships between characters like with Kevin and Betty. Jughead had to accept that he has to be part of the Serpents, if only as a matter of survival in his new environment. Veronica does finally manage to build a new connection to her parents as she gets Hiram to agree to let her be a more active part of Lodge Industries. The way things are heating up is building to something and if Riverdale season 2 manages to stick the landing, it could be something truly spectacular. Though that’s still far off, for now we’ll see what happens as the show moves forward next episode in “The Town that Dreaded Sundown.”