#＆ HE'S A THUNDERSTORM IN DISGUISE. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rollup2theparty · 11 months ago

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—₊˚⊹♡ round & round! eunseok

❦ cold and aloof, it drives you nearly insane how difficult this man is to read. your blood boils at the thought of him, yet you seem to encounter his impeccable being in every spot of your mind. by some twist of fate, the two of you find yourselves trapped behind the locked doors after hours with nothing but fragile silence and a lot hanging at the tip of your tongue.

౨ৎ HIGHSCHOOL AU (fem!reader x s.eunseok)

⟡ enemies to lovers / mutual pining / forced proximity

⚠︎ minor angst / sfw

notes!! y/n is slightly embarrassing forgive me but she has it together i promise (NOT PROOFREAD YET)

cold and aloof, it drives you nearly insane how difficult this man is to read. from snoring through class or absent-mindedly staring out the classroom window, as the reigning rank 5 and class president you cant seem to figure out how this privileged jerk seems to not have a single care in the world despite being 4th from the bottom. his desks and lockers overflowed with snacks and flirty post it notes from his many admirers, and he doesn't seem to care. not like you were unpopular yourself, you never let the admiration get to your head but he? he's an inhospitable, cold blooded pain in the ass who conveniently has a face sculpted by the Gods. a face you find yourself thinking about a lot before you go to sleep (angrily, of course). he is a glass half empty person with a muted demeanor and you always thought of yourself as a person with a lot of love to give. really there is no better combination in the face of this earth. your hands are itchy with the urge to poke at him until his face explodes, or do basically anything to see him show emotions for once but your pride reprimands you to sit still.

the 6pm rush hour trip could give anyone a stroke, thats why you avoid it at all costs (its totally not because you know eunseok rides the 730pm bus after his basketball practice). your day starts and ends with his figure, a few seats in front of you on the 0119. how "unlucky" do you have to be to be stuck on the same commute to and from school daily? oh the disdain for his unchanging figure. every single day without fail, he sits next to a window with two wired earphones plugged in each ear, head off into space. a brawl could ensue and he would still be seated there, perfect unmoved. like being pulled in with a magnet, your pupils could never seem to wander elsewhere, even when foxy shy freshmen giggle as they hand out their phones in hopes of a connection. how can you erase this blurring unwanted regard when he haunts your every breath? your blood boils at the thought of him, yet you seem to encounter his impeccable being in every spot of your mind. sometimes you wished the bus would crash into a pole, maybe that'll stop you from thinking.

______________________________________________________________

friday mornings always caused your heart rate to fluctuate, it flutters with the thought of a weekend of glory ahead of you. but today its beating hard for a different reason. you scan each passenger a multitude of times, yet you can't see the sight of him. he's a no show. your brain scrambles for possible explanations, 'his parents gave him a ride? he got up late? he's home with a fever? gasp he's on his death bed?? no, he moved halfway across the country to be with his secret lover?? god no'. manually, you shut down your brain's intrusive notions and instead you force out a sigh of relief. yeah, maybe this is a blessing in disguise. the school festival was coming up and as a proud student council member, you had a lot to prepare for and everything would be made easier without a constant mind interference.

"attention, all students are expected to be dismissed by 530pm due to the forecast of tonight's upcoming thunderstorm, expect school doors to be locked by 6." the muffled voice over the intercom sends the classroom into a frenzy but everything other than your half done event proposal was mere white noise. your were ambitious by nature and by the work of some deity, today your mind was on focus mode, not even the clutter of joy behind you could get you to lift your head from the word file on your laptop. you were invincible, typing in the speed of light. you were at an intellectual high only to be washed down low with a light tap on your desk. breath halting, you were ready to give the coarse, senseless dimwit a good mouth beating until you lock eyes with his.

"y/n. im late, please hand this to our homeroom teacher." his voice departs from his lips in a monotone as he places his tardy slip on your desk.

"me?" you ask, almost hopeful.

"admin staff said to give it to the class president."

"oh! yes of course, i'll hand it to mr lee during recess, if thats okay with you. do you need anything-"

"thanks." frigidly, eunseok halts your ramble with a flat bread smile and a close up view of his back as he walks away.

no this isn't the first time he talked to you. he apologized once when he accidentally poked you with his umbrella at the bus stop, and another time when water bottle made you trip during recess. he remained reticent even when he bumped into your shoulder in the cafeteria, only offering a slight dip in his head as an apology. granted he doesn't actually speak to anyone beside his friend group, today marks the third.

oh you were in a constant bind, like a swing that tumbled from one side on another with the passing wind. do you like him? do you hate him? you two barely spoke, barely interacted but he called you by name. 'y/n'. oh you're aware you sound borderline delusional and psychotic but the ring of your name will forever be intimate. no one, not even your subject teachers or closest friends ever refer to you by 'y/n'. it had always been 'class president', nothing more nothing less. you've been crowned as the classroom's leader since elementary school, at this point there should be a ceremonial plague with your name engraved on it, thats how often you had the throne. people say the main thing that ties a human to their identity is their birth name, well this position is yours. you hear the title more than anything else, at one point you wonder if that should be what would be written on your headstone. so why does your name sound so natural when it rolls of his tongue?

your mind was balancing on a rather precarious tipping point when a reality check crashes onto you. every second you spend on this superficial distress is a second wasted. you were sitting there mouth agape, fighting a dilemma you didn't physically have, over some guy who barely acknowledged your existence when mid year examinations are soon and the school festival counts on your ability to drive it to success. you are a standalone piece, confident and able. a crush? unrequited love? some things are just so minuscule in this great world of troubles. you drag yourself back to earth by the hair and untangle your bundle of thoughts, you had to focus on what was important.

by lunch time, you were a changed man.

“hey, did mr lee get my slip?” he questioned as you crouch by your decorated locker at the far corner of the room. without missing a beat, you nod soullessly and wander back to your seat. but not before you look into his eyes. there was something more than an empty stare, yet you wasted no time jumping into conclusions. you could no longer drown yourself in an pool of wishful thinking

______________________________________________________________

not even a split second after the ring of the dismissal bell and you were out of your seat, making a bee line through the chorus and chaos of the narrow hallway. the pop up notice declaring your impending doom gave you adrenaline like no other. '5%', the glaring red battery symbol taunted you to break into a sprint. your campus was the size of a local mall but the only decent place with electrical sockets was the desolate east wing library. does this make any sense? absolutely not. even while bolting, you make time to write up a mental note to file an official complaint to the office.

you shut the unnecessarily heavy door behind you and in the nick of time you manage to breathe life back into your computer. with 30 minutes on the clock, you knew you could finish up the paper in 20, giving you a perfect 10 to pack up and leave before they lock up. your epiphany of plans is interrupted by a trickle of footsteps and the bump of a book to its spot on a bookshelf. you were never one to believe in ghosts but then and there your heart was tied up into a knot. maybe all the tales told by the bonfire last camp season finally got to you. your skittish hello echoed through the airtight room to no avail. would this be a life changing episode about your first ever encounter with a ghostly apparition? while it would make for a good application story, you silently beg with your life for any possible logical explanation.

from shelf to shelf, you tiptoe across with your breath held tight. 3/4 your way into the room, you manage to convince yourself it was nothing but the sound of the rumbling, worn out and abused air conditioner. yet you don't stop checking (for good measure). as the tip of your toes hits the floor of the final shelf, you feel the fear finally catch up to you, it was as if the room is closing in, you feel the motion in your gut as the world around you spins in a blur and like clockwork, the lights turn off. in an instant, the blurry pandemonium crashes into a black purgatory of nothingness.

a rock is now permanently lodged in your throat and you struggle to swallow the saliva that has run dry. you scream as if an invisible knife sliced your heart open and your mouth goes numb. the muscles holding up your limbs are forced to halt and you fall to your knees. you swear if anything else happens, you would melt together with the ground to form nothing but a puked up puddle of a mess. together with the prerequisite drizzle to the forewarned rain, a tap to your shoulder almost sent you running for the heavens.

"y/n?" there it was, again. the same word, the same intonation of voice. the arms that wrapped around your knees as you crouched fell back and you finally muster up the courage to look up.

this was all either a figment of your hallucination or that by some twist of fate, eunseok was standing over you. somehow, through a series of (un)fortunate events, you came to a quick conclusion that the latter was true. hesitantly, you pull yourself together and got up to your feet with the help of his offering hand. it seems that even in a situation like this, your heart can't help but flutter at thought of his touch. your dedication to a love life of abstinence down the drain just like that.

you only manage to mutter a subdued "thank you" before rushing to the door for some air. you've studied there enough times to know the door is a pull not a push, but no matter how hard you tug on the handle, the obnoxiously large gateway just wouldn't budge. your heart pounds against the safeguard of your chest as you feel the hot air of his steady breath on the crown of your head. he approaches your side only to be greeted with the same futile attempt over a shut door. they must have locked up early unbeknownst to the both of you when you lost your mind over a pseudo shadow encounter.

sometimes life throws out a wild card and traps you behind the locked doors of the school library after hours. no amount of knocking, yelling or pulling on the shut knob of the oak door could save you from this ticklish torture. with the gush of the pouring rain interfering with cell service, your sanguine shot at dialing any number on your phone also lets you down. you flounder to the ground with your back against the wall, your energy depleted and your hope ran slim.

"we'll have to wait until the morning staff clocks in in the morning." to your disbelief, he broke the fragile silence.

eunseok took the spot across from you with his back against a collection of encyclopedias. you briefly message your parents in hopes that the signal would come through when the shower starts to fade. out of his black nike heritage backpack, he pulls out two bottles of peach soda and an uneaten sandwich only to tear into halves, mindlessly offering you each a piece. does he not know how staggering each and every one of his moves make you?

"the gs25 egg sandwiches and this sparkling drink are my all time favorites, thank you" you chirp, in effort to kill the stuffy air.

"i know, i got it in the convenient store across from our station" he muttered, unthinking.

his brazen declaration made you choke, your esophagus begs to breathe as a piece of toast hinds its entrance. your brain instantaneously flashes back to the plastic bottle that would sit on the right corner of your desk after recess. you always assumed it was an underclassmen braving declaring their interest but now you've come to realize that you have never expressed your interest in it anywhere else other than during the long waits at your bus stop.

whatever bit of rationale left in you begs you to not get ahead of yourself. you, however, takes it as a green light to make conversation.

"hey, do you know what major you're choosing for college counseling?"

"child psychology." eunseok's answer startles you. you were guessing finance or accounting, something to match his logical disposition.

"but my grades are unsteady so im unsure." he says in passing.

"let me tutor you." you offer with vigor and he nods near automatically, you were almost sure you could see him fight a smile.

"we take the same bus home, we can review a bit on our way back. only if you would like to of course, i can come up with a learning plan."

he beats his reddish flush to speak, "can we start right now? we have time to kill." you softly tap the space next to you twice and he gets up before you even finish the first.

the two of you have never been in such close proximity of each other. you have always been in his orbit, but it was never enough to make contact. if eunseok was the unwavering earth and you were the persevering moon.

you learn that he's been there since free period, tasked to set up the new influx of books as a punishment for being tardy. you also learn that he couldn't make it on time because his white poodle, charlie, required immediate veterinarian attention after hurling all night. in the world filled with phony personalities and kids doomed to mediocrity, your heart fluttered at the thought of someone with genuine, authentic convictions. you revise literature devices and math formulas for hours, nonetheless his eyes never lost focus. your unimpeded voice brought him more clarity than any high paying academy ever could.

the storm reaches an all time high as the clock strikes midnight, you can't help but stretch out your limbs in exhaustion as your body dozes off to sleep. but who were you kidding? despite the physical need to shut your eyes, your brain could only beg to stay still.

a shift.

you could hear a soft shuffle but you wouldn't dare open your eyes. all you could do was sense his body moving closer to yours. his hands reaches out to delicately push your head to rest on his shoulders.

you hitch in breathing.

if only humans could communicate through telepathy, or you were mythically born with a divine skill to read minds. maybe then you would finally see how smitten he was all this time. only then would you know how he kicked his blanket, restless with apology when the point tip of his umbrella pricked your skin, or how he stopped bringing his litre tumbler, afraid you would fall, or how he fought his anxious silence only to miss the chance to express his sorry when his shoulder grazed yours in the dining hall. you were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own, you never noticed his nervous tick of biting the inner corners of cheek as he gives himself a peptalk to finally call out your name.

"thank you, for giving me a chance." his whispers only for himself to hear. despite your desires and inhibition, you reluctantly fall into a slumber, with a inkling feeling this conversation won't be your last.

by the time the sun makes it's daily appearance, his frosty demeanor fades and you awake to his blazer as a blanket for your knees and a newfound tenderness for one another.

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catiecat1320 · 3 months ago

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Participating in Sonadowtober this year!! Really excited and probably gonna fail but we ball

Prompt 1: “I Found You, Faker!”

Read Below 🔽

Of course it had to rain.

It was as if some higher force had cursed him with terrible luck. It might as well suddenly start thunderstorming now.

The original plan had been simple enough, but things rarely ever turn out as expected. For once Sonic wished everything would go smoothly. But no, there was a faker using his face, running around and getting him accused of unspeakable acts.

Heh. Sounds familiar…

He absentmindedly played with the device on his wrist, hoping to trigger something that could help him. An umbrella, maybe. He was getting drenched.

Stupid imposter and their stupid tricks. Although he wasn’t exactly playing hero here, he wouldn’t ever go out of his way to hurt someone purely for the sake of an act. But the few that had spotted his face probably didn’t believe that, and so he’d rather keep anyone else ignorant of his true identity.

Hard to do when his face is uncovered.

Sonic smacked the device and sighed. Standing up, he wiped the rain from his eyes and looked up at the whole procession of vehicles, hoping to find a relatively clear path. He needed to keep up. Man, it’d been so long since he’d been chased like this, he was getting out of practice. Let’s see…

“Found you.”

A sharp PING of metal on metal, and the next thing Sonic knows, he’s falling, the gear knocked out from right under him. Managing to snag his perpetrator’s board just barely, he sighs a short lived breath of relief as an all too familiar voice whispers, “...Sonic?”

Ruby eyes bore holes in him as he looks up. Protected by a hood, they seem to glow in the dark. A bit too menacing for his liking. “Hey, Shadow! Fancy seeing you here!” Sonic laughs, flashing the best smile he could muster while dangling what was likely thousands of feet above ground. “New fit?”

His rival scowled, tugging his brown cloak tighter. “I should be asking you that.”

“It’s… not what it looks like, I swear.”

“Then explain. Now.”

“Could I at least get my gear back first?” Sonic eyes the board floating away in the wind, silently willing it to return. It didn’t work.

“I said now.”

“Alright, alright! Long story short, something fishy’s going on with Cleansweep. Tails and Amy are in the big shuttle right now, investigating it. I was supposed to create a distraction with this fancy getup, which worked pretty well until someone copied my whole schtick and made it worse. And now my thingy’s broken—” he shakes the malfunctioning device for emphasis “—and everyone who saw me thinks I’m the bad guy. Crazy, I know. But you gotta believe me—”

“I do.”

“I…! Uh… wait what?”

“I believe you.” Shadow grabs his wrist and pulls him onto the board. “You do many things, but you’d never hurt anyone without cause. That whole act was unlike you.”

“Gee, thanks I guess.” That saved a lot of talking. Sonic supposed he underestimated his rival’s understanding of him. He couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth as Shadow flew him over to his drifting Eggstreme Gear. Of all people… Shadow might have been the best one to run into, ironically.

“Stop smiling like that. You look stupid.” Shadow undoes his cloak and tosses it at Sonic, who fumbles with it in surprise.

“What’s… this for?”

“You are stupid.”

“What—!” Then it clicks. “Ohhhh. Oh yeah, I knew that. Cloak. Disguise. Duh. But uh… don’t you need it?”

Shadow shakes his head. “I brought it along for the rain. It’d be of more use to you. I can handle getting wet.”

“...Thanks, dude.” Sonic smiles as he puts it on. Unfortunately, his rival immediately ruins their nice moment with a glare.

“Don’t ‘dude’ me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He rolled his eyes. Typical Shadow. He can’t say he was surprised. “Didya have to ruin the moment?”

Shadow doesn’t answer his question, instead turning his board around to leave. He doesn’t get far before Sonic calls after him. “Wait… where are you going?”

“You’re handling this just fine on your own.”

“But… That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I have faith in you. You don’t need me to hold your hand any more than I want to. Do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

Shadow’s expression is the perfect blend of unreadable and untouchable. Crimson eyes lock onto emerald with a look that makes Sonic glad he’s no longer on the opposing side.

“If you’re really curious… I’ve got a faker to find.”

#sonadowtober #sonadowtober 2024 #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonadow #phantom rider #sonic idw #oneshot #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #cross posted on ao3 #CatieCatWorks

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obxone · 1 year ago

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Pick the Right Guy

Edited-ish. ~3.5k words.

This is my first Topper story (and he is not my favorite), so please be gentle with me.

Warning: SMUT (do not engage if you are underage!)

Taglist: @gillybear17

The rain is coming down in thick sheets from the summer thunderstorm that is tearing across the island. You are already soaked to the bone, but it also works as a disguise for your tears. A chill crawls across your skin, and you hug yourself as you sniffle. The trek back to Figure 8 is more than you had initially thought. The storm had moved in after ten minutes of walking. But you do not have your car, and your phone is dead, so calling your sister or even your brother is out of the question. And you refuse to go back to the Chateau.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the image of your boyfriend kissing your best friend that is now seared into your mind. The profuse apologies and begging from both had not helped the sting of their make-out session. When his hands held you, trying to keep you there with him it had been too much. His touch used to make your heart race, but now it only makes your stomach churn. You shudder, opening your eyes and nearly jumping out of your skin.

“What are you doing out here, y/n?!” Topper stares at you from the rolled-down window of his jeep. “This is a tropical storm!”

You look away, lips parting as a thick sheet of cold rain slams into you. “I don’t know.”

“What?!” He yells over the wind.

“I don’t know, Top!”

He exhales, shaking his head. “You Cameron girls are something else.”

You stay silent, looking at the road head, and he does the same. Neither of you can barely see twenty feet in front of you. Topper had almost driven by you until the bright color of your summer top caught his attention in the middle of the road.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m walking.”

He shakes his head. “There are nine more miles until Figure 8. Eleven to Tanneyhill!”

“I know!”

“What are you doing out here?” He tries again. You shake your head, looking away, and tears well in your eyes again as you think about what you witnessed—an ache and some rage filling you.

“Top, you should go.”

“I can’t just leave you here!”

You turn back to him. Annoyance with not being left alone how you wanted rushes through your body, and you glare at him. “I’ll be fine!”

“No!” He parks the jeep before starting to open his door.

You turn away, resuming the walk back to Figure 8 before he can get close enough. “Go home, Topper!”

“Not without you!” He yells, and you can hear him jogging to catch up with you. “Are you crazy? You can’t stay out here!”

“I can!” You yell over your shoulder, pausing to see how close he is. His white linen button-down is soaked and painted to his skin. “Topper! You’re getting soaked.”

“I don’t care.”

You huff and look away. “I’m not worth it!”

He scoffs, pushing his soaked hair back off his forehead before reaching for you. “Where is Sarah?! Or even Rafe?!”

You shrug, silent, hands tightened into fists by your side. Of course, Topper is true to his nature and refuses to leave you out here alone in the storm. The good guy he strives so hard to be is not allowing him to walk away like you want.

“I can’t believe you are out here.”

Again, you stay silent, looking down at your feet. Your sneakers are soaked and muddy.

“Get in the car, y/n. Please!”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

You lift your head, tears welling in your eyes. “No. I want to be alone. I need to be alone.”

“You are going to hurt out here if I leave you.”

You straighten your shoulders and lift your chin. “So? Would it really be that bad?”

Topper’s lips part in shock, and his hands reach out for you. "What the hell happened, y/n?"

“No, don’t.” You take a step away from him, shaking your head.

“I’m not leaving you out here!” He crowds you. His hand clasps your arm before you can run away from him. “What the hell happened to you?”

You try to tug free, fighting his grip on your arm, and you cry full force again. “Let me go, Top! Let me go!”

“What happened?!” He snaps, pulling you into his chest. He is much stronger than you anticipated as you collide with him. The warmth of his body seeps into our soaked clothes immediately. “Talk to me.”

You sniffle, burying your head in his chest, and he holds you. His hand strokes your back as the other cups the back of your head. You should not be doing this. You should not be in the arms of your sister's ex-boyfriend.

“JJ cheated on me.”

“What?”

You sob quietly, the image flashing through your mind again. When you do not lift your head to look at him, he continues to cradle you against him. “He was…” You hiccup, trying to hide your face further into his chest. Your hands fist his shirt, clinging to him like the rain will wash you away any second. “He was kissing Kiara.”

“Fuck,” Topper grumbles, squeezing you tighter in his arms. “I’m so sorry, y/n.”

Both of you stay like that for a moment. Thunder booms overhead shortly after a strike of lightning illuminates the road. After you flinch, you push closer to him.

“And he just let you leave?!” He spits with venom. You shiver when his head drops, his face pressing to yours. His lips brush the shell of your ear. “I know we aren’t exactly friends anymore, but please come get in the jeep. It’s warm and dry.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to go home.”

“We don’t have to. We can go somewhere else, somewhere safe.”

You toss the idea around in your head, thinking about whether it is a good idea to trust him. But he is your best bet to get out of the storm and regain some semblance of composure after having your heart shattered. You whisper your agreement, lifting your head to look up at him. He loosens his arms, clasping your hands in his.

“Okay, come on.”

You jog back to the jeep with him, and he opens the door helping you in before getting into the driver’s seat. Topper shakes his head, water droplets flying everywhere, and you shield yourself from the droplets with a laugh.

“I have a towel from surfing earlier back there. It’s not clean, but it’s dry.” He reaches behind your seat to pull a beach towel forward and hands it to you. “I have a shirt too.”

You smile weakly, taking the towel. “The towel is fine. You should wear the shirt.”

He mumbles his disagreement, saying that you are shivering, but grabs the cotton shirt that has one of his surf sponsors stamped on the back.

"Why didn't you call someone?" He asks while you focus on drying your hair.

"My phone died while I was with JJ."

He pauses, looking at you after he has pulled his soaked shirt off. You look away, cheeks heating, and try to focus on patting the water off your face and arms. His linen shirt is discarded in the back as he tries to find the armholes of the t-shirt.

"I could knock his lights out for what he has done." He basically growls. "First, he cheats on you, and then he leaves you to walk home alone in this storm. Fucking asshole, man."

"I'm okay now, Top."

He looks over, not missing the change in your tone, and catches you staring again. You clear your throat, looking away with your cheeks heating once more.

“Better?” He asks after his shirt is in place.

You thank your stars that he is not pointing out your red cheeks or that you were checking him out. You nod, humming your approval.

The jeep rolls forward, and you buckle up before looking out the window on your side. The storm is just starting and will only grow nastier as the night continues.

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. Not home.”

“Plug your phone in, please,” he mutters, rubbing his hand over his lips. “I’m sure your family is worried sick.”

“Doubt it.”

He snorts. “Right? The perfect oldest Cameron daughter.”

"I'm nowhere near perfect."

"Then why are you everyone's favorite?" He glances over, flexing his grip on the steering wheel. "Everyone in your family, including Rafe, has never said a bad thing about you. Sarah would lose her shit if she knew you were out here right now."

You frown, looking down at your hands. “We don’t have to talk about her, you know.”

He is quiet for the longest before he reaches over. His fingers brush your palm before squeezing your hand once and letting go. “We don’t have to talk about JJ either.”

You smile gratefully.

“Since nothing is going to be open during this storm, do you want to go to my house?” He asks, glancing over at you before looking back at the road. “Uh. Maybe… M-maybe watch a movie? You can sleep in my bed tonight if you don’t want to go home at all.”

You are quiet, turning over his suggestion before looking over at him. “Where will you sleep?”

“The floor or downstairs on the couch.”

You nod before exhaling and attempting a smile. “Sure. A movie sounds nice. A distraction.”

"We have plenty of junk food to snack on too." Topper grins while focusing on the drive back to Figure 8. It takes longer than usual with the storm, and you both stay quiet, watching for any road hazards. As soon as he parks the jeep in the garage, you feel the tension leave your body.

“Top?”

He looks over at you, pausing from unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Thank you,” you murmur before leaning over to peck his cheek.

His cheeks warm at the press of your lips on his skin, and he unbuckles before coming around to you. He helps you out, his fingers slide through the spaces of yours as you both go inside. You discard your ruined sneakers in the garage to keep from tracking mud on the hardwood floors. He glances back at you once the door into the house shuts behind you.

“Are you nervous?” He asks when your fingers squeeze his.

You nod, laughing lightly. “I don’t know why.”

He smiles before leading you up the stairs and to his bedroom. The house is silent and empty, mostly dark and you cling tightly to his hand.

“Dry clothes and then a movie? Maybe some snacks. I’m sure you are hungry after walking through all that…”

You bite your lip as you move past him and into his room. Your attention shifts around the room, noting the surfing trophies and gear scattered around.

He disappears into his closet for a few moments before returning with a small stack of dry clothing. “Do you want a shower? Warm up a little bit?”

You glance at his bathroom and then back at him.

“I have plenty of towels and stuff…”

You smile, crossing to him and taking the clothes he offers. “I’m not worried about towels, Top.”

He frowns, his hand brushing your hair back from your face. His touch is gentle and soothing. “Then what?”

Your heart rate spikes, and you breathe deeply before stepping away from him. “You’re being so kind to me after everything my sister has done to you.” You try to change the subject, spilling your thoughts about a different aspect of your situation. “I probably looked like a drowned rat out on the street. You could have just driven by, but you didn’t.”

“I never would.”

You smile a little. “You are too kind; you know that right?”

He moves closer to you, crowding your space. “And you deserve better than what that pogue has given you.”

You look away, tears collecting at the thought of your boyfriend cheating. Ex-boyfriend now. But Topper’s finger hooks up your chin, and he turns your face to his.

“You deserve the world, y/n.”

You blush, body warming at his words. “Too bad I picked the wrong guy.”

Topper frowns, not liking your words. “You could always pick the right guy. This time around.”

“I don’t know if he exists anymore.”

“Don’t say that.”

You inhale sharply, feeling the shift in both him and you. “Top…”

He exhales before his face lowers, and his lips brush yours before he leans back. “I didn’t pick the right girl either.”

Your cheeks flame and you look down at your feet. You understand the hidden meaning in his words and it makes you feel like a terrible sister.

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Don’t say anything. Go get a warm shower, change, and we’ll watch a movie before bed.”

You smile before taking a step back. “See you in a minute?”

“Take your time.”

You disappear into his bathroom. Before you shut the door, you look at him one last time, offering a small blushing smile. He watches you, a small smile playing on his lips.

After you both settle in the comfortable depths of his bed and the movie is playing, you feel his attention shift onto you off and on until you meet his gaze head-on.

“Topper? Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” You ask and shift deeper into his pillows. “Because you are missing a lot of the movie.”

He blushes and looks down at his lap. “About earlier…”

“Don’t,” you say quickly, placing your hand over his mouth. “Don’t apologize. I get it. I am the damsel in distress and we are in a peculiar situation. So, don't apologize ”

He reaches up and gently moves your hand from his mouth to the side of his face. Your palm is warm on his cheek. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Oh.”

He shifts closer to you. His lips brush the inside of your wrist. “I was going to ask to do it again.”

You swallow and look at him with wide eyes. “Why?”

He grins before he moves the last few inches closer. His breath fanning over your face. “Can I?”

Your heart leaps in your chest, and your hand drops to his shoulder, squeezing. It is an attempt to make sure this moment is real, and he is real for sitting here, asking this question. “Yes.”

His lips press to yours, and you hum, touching the back of his neck as you shift closer to him. The tip of his tongue teases your bottom lip, and you let him deepen the kiss.

Slowly you move on to straddle him. The kissing grows intense until you pull away to steady yourself. You close your eyes, resting your forehead against his.

“What are we doing Top?”

His fingers brush your waist under the shirt you have borrowed. He is running through this in his head, and you know you should probably move off him and firmly set boundaries back in place, but you cannot. Not after everything that has happened tonight.

“This… feeling,” you murmur against his lips. “I’ve never felt this with anyone… not even JJ.”

“Me either.”

“I think I want to keep doing this,” you murmur, fingertips brushing his lips. “I like the way you look at me and treat me. I like you, Top.”

He smiles, cupping your face before pecking your lips. “I like you too.”

You kiss him again, melting into him. Hands tremble as you grasp the hem of his t-shirt and slowly ease it up his torso. He ends the kiss and lets you remove it from him before you toss it away. His toned and tanned upper body is on display. You trace lines across his pecs before pecking his lips.

“I don’t think I want to stop,” you whisper, swallowing your nerves. “Do you?”

“Are you kidding me?” He laughs before nudging your nose with his. “This is the first time in weeks, I’m not questioning everything.”

You kiss him, looping your arms around his shoulders and pressing your chest against his. “No more stopping this. I want to feel everything with you tonight.”

“Are you sure?” He pants. His chest rises and falls harshly against yours. His swollen lips brush your cheek. “We don’t have to. I didn't bring you here for this.”

“I want to,” you whisper back.

Your lips brush his. He chases you, kissing you, and his hands move around to unbutton the borrowed shirt you are wearing. The buttons unfasten with ease, revealing you are braless and covered in goosebumps. You shiver, pressing closer to his naked torso. The feel of his naked upper body against yours has you sighing into his mouth. Topper’s large hand cups your breast, squeezing while his tongue explores your mouth. A needy moan falls from your lips. When he is satisfied, his hand skims down your stomach to the band of your shorts, his fingers working to pull the knot you have tied to keep them up around your hips.

His strength plays in your favor when he helps you remove your shorts with ease. Your body barely leaves his. A giggle escapes from you, and your hand skims down his upper arm, touching the thick bands of muscles. He is fit from all the surfing and working out with your brother and Kelce. You tip your face to the side, allowing his lips to attach to your neck, and you work on untying his shorts.

Topper shifts, laying you down before sitting on his knees between your thighs while he reaches for his nightstand drawer. After he digs for a moment, his attention shifts to your face, and you see the black foil between his fingers. His blue eyes lock on yours for reassurance before you take this further.

You nod, biting your lip before reaching for him. He falls into you willingly. Mouths meshing, and you slide your hands over his shoulders and down his back to waist. You moan his name, and he works to remove your underwear before his shorts and underwear follow. Watching him roll the condom on has your heart racing and your stomach doing flips.

Topper’s gaze flashes up to yours, and you squeeze your eyes shut when he drags his tip across your dripping center. You gasp, hand pressing into the mattress at the feel of him teasing you. He watches you, teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he guides himself into you.

“Topper!” You gasp, reaching for him, and he comes willingly into you. His skin searing hot against yours. Every inch of you that can touch is now touching.

“Y/n,” he pants your name over and over with each roll of his hips.

His hand grips your thigh after you hook your leg over his hip. The harsh press of his fingertips into your skin grounds you, and you moan into his mouth while both of you move together. It feels like it is meant to be, both of you are meant to be together in this moment and doing exactly this.

Your hand finds his hands, and your fingers interlace against the mattress. He grips your hand tighter with each thrust. Your other hand brushes across the width of his shoulders. He shudders on top of you when your nails scratch at him and twist into the hair at the back of his head. He kisses you desperately, drinking down every sound of pleasure you make, and you do the same. Both of you do your best to stay quiet even though the storm outside would likely hide any noises you make from anyone else home tonight. You stay close to him, feeling as much of him as you can until you both lose yourself in one another. The waves of pleasure wash over you both. His face nuzzles into your neck when your movements slow to a halt.

The moments after are better than you anticipated, you expect awkwardness, and maybe some mumbled apology from him, but instead, he cradles you against his chest. His lips brush your temple, and your hand touches his hands, tracing the lines in his palm.

“Will you still stay?” He asks, his fingertips skating down your spine. “Stay tonight, okay?”

You nod, closing your eyes against the storm raging both outside the Thornton home and inside of you. He watches you. You can feel the familiar burn of his stare.

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” you murmur, opening your eyes and tipping your face to look at him. “If anything, I’m questioning why we have never… considered one another before.”

He smiles before kissing you. You slip up his chest and cradle his face in your palms. When the kiss ends, his nose brushes yours before he pecks your lips. His palms are warm and gentle as he strokes your back.

“Are we together?” You whisper against his lips. “Is this more than a hookup?”

Topper smiles, his eyes lightening as he cradles the back of your head. “Do you want to be with me, y/n?”

You blush before nodding. “I do.”

He sits up, arms wrapping around you to cradle you against his chest. “Will you, y/n Cameron, be my girlfriend officially?”

You laugh at his cheesy nature before pecking his lips. “Yes.”

------

Do we need a part two?

#outer banks #obx #topper thornton #topper thorton x reader #topper thornton x you

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cccccmiklosovic · 1 year ago

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the secrets of thunderstorms

pairing: sirius black x potter!fem!reader word count: 2.6k warnings: fluff, angst, cursing, not proofread summary: when sirius knocks on your bedroom door in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm

a/n: first fic hehe i hope you all like it! it kinda went a different direction than planned and idk if i fully like it, but here it is!

----

it was the middle of the night, probably close to one o'clock in the morning, rain was pouring on your windows and rolling thunder could be heard every few minutes. maybe that's why you didn't hear the knocks at first. they were quiet... well, quiet compared to the thunder that didn't seem to be able to just stop. it was keeping you awake, and we were just about to go crazy from frustration. so, perhaps, the knocking was a blessing in disguise.

the knocks were coming from your bedroom door. specifically, the one that led to your garden patio. it was your favorite relaxing spot on sunny days, but it wasn't sunny then. it wasn't sunny and it wasn't daytime. it was storming and it was one-in-the-fucking-morning.

whoever was at your door was about to feel your wrath.

you rolled out of bed with a groan, slipping on some slippers and pulling on your robe. shuffling to the door, you pulled your robe further around your body to fight the chilled night air and pulled the door open.

the sight in front of you was a surprise. usually he went to your twin brother, james potter, when he needed something, so why was he standing at your door? he looked rather pitiful. his long, dark hair was soaked and dripping water onto his already more-than-damp clothes, which were sticking to his skin. he seemed to be out of breath, and his hand was raised in a fist, as if he was about to knock one more time.

you pull him inside without a word and rush to find a towel in your bathroom, finding a recently washed one, you throw it to him, not looking to see if he's caught it. instead, you rush to james room, effectively sneaking in as you had done a thousand times before. you steal some shorts and a shirt before shutting the door soundlessly, tiptoeing back to your bedroom.

when you arrived, you threw the clothes at sirius.

"change in the bathroom." you nodded your head in the direction of the bathroom, taking a seat on the edge of your bed.

sirius nodded, "thanks, love."

knowing he was in a distressed mood, you held back your glare at the nickname. he wasn't supposed to call you that anymore, not after everything. you closed your eyes and leaned your head back with a sigh.

you didn't acknowledge him until he took a seat in the desk chair across from you.

"why are you here, sirius?" you kept your voice even as you stared at him.

"to get away." it was a believable enough answer to someone who knew his situation.

you kept your stare on him, picking apart his expressions and body language. he looked down to avoid your eyes. looked like a ashamed puppy, who was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

you were so confused, honestly so fucking hurt. you refused to show him that, though. you just hoped your tone didn't betray you. "not good enough. why did you come to me, sirius? you always go to james."

he dragged a hand through his hair. fuck, you loved his hair, you missed running your fingers through it. you missed him. he looked at you with a sheepish smile. "i didn't wanna... wake him?"

never mind. you didn't miss him. you wanted him to leave.

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep your tears at bay. when you open them, you look around the room. looking everywhere but him.

god, he hated that.

when you answered, your voice sounded slightly desperate and hurt and vulnerable. "why are you here?" you ask just once more.

he sighed, he came here to make you like him again, he might as well give you the truth. "listen, y/n, i fucked everything up-" he tried to explain, but he couldn't concentrate when your eyes were everywhere but on him. "fuck, y/n, could you just look at me?" his tone was desperate. "please?" he refused to continue till your eyes met his, and the tears in your eyes broke his heart.

"i messed up that day, i know i did. i was with her and all the sudden she was kissing me, and i was kissing her back. fuck, i was so drunk. that's no excuse, i know, but i-" he took a deep breath to gather his thoughts and stop his rambling. "james was telling me you liked me back, so i thought, 'shit, maybe i'll go for it.' so i did. i started talking with you more, spent more time alone with you, and i just- i fell for you even harder." he wanted you to believe him so badly. he needed you to.

"i was walking to ask you out, on a real date, and you were sitting with fucking lucius malfoy. he was fucking flirting with you, and you weren't stopping him." he looked away from you for a minute before continuing, "i didn't think to ask you about it. i just- i saw red. i took the rest of moony's liquor and got shit-faced. i don't even remember the girl's name, maybe that makes it worse, i don't know. next thing i know, i see you there, and you're runnin' away crying and i didn't even run after you. i just kept on kissing the girl."

silent tears were streaming down your face at this point, and you kept your eyes on him as he finished his story.

"when i got back to the common room the next morning, i was violently hung over, and the first thing that happened was james punching me right in the left eye. had a bruise there for two weeks after," he laughed softly, "he told me that you were stuck with lucius for a school project so you had to deal with him. i knew i fucked it all up then." he met your eyes again, a desperate look in them as he came and took your hands in his. he so badly wanted to wipe your tears away. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. fuck, i never wanted to hurt you. i promised james i wouldn't. i need you to believe me when i tell you: i want you. i don't want anyone else but you."

you took another deep breath and wiped your tears away on the sleeve of your robe. you took in his story slowly, you understood where he was coming from, and you wanted him, too. you knew you did.

sirius looked at you with hopeful eyes. you pulled him up from his knees. "come get some sleep, okay? it's been a long night."

it wasn't quite forgiveness yet, but you weren't turning him away. he knew you'd come around, but that you wanted to sleep it over. you faced away from him in bed and tried to steady your breathing. hesitantly, sirius pressed his chest to your back and put his arm around your waist, pulling you to him.

he just wanted to hold you.

you didn't move away. instead, you relaxed at his touch and fell asleep. he placed a small kiss on your temple before falling asleep right after you.

----

you woke up to someone's fingers running through your hair. your head is on said someone's chest, and your legs are intertwined. the memories of the

whoever was at your door was about to feel your wrath.

when you arrived, you threw the clothes at sirius.

"change in the bathroom." you nodded your head in the direction of the bathroom, taking a seat on the edge of your bed.

sirius nodded, "thanks, love."

you didn't acknowledge him until he took a seat in the desk chair across from you.

"why are you here, sirius?" you kept your voice even as you stared at him.

"to get away." it was a believable enough answer to someone who knew his situation.

you kept your stare on him, picking apart his expressions and body language. he looked down to avoid your eyes. looked like a ashamed puppy, who was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

he dragged a hand through his hair. fuck, you loved his hair, you missed running your fingers through it. you missed him. he looked at you with a sheepish smile. "i didn't wanna... wake him?"

never mind. you didn't miss him. you wanted him to leave.

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep your tears at bay. when you open them, you look around the room. looking everywhere but him.

god, he hated that.

when you answered, your voice sounded slightly desperate and hurt and vulnerable. "why are you here?" you ask just once more.

silent tears were streaming down your face at this point, and you kept your eyes on him as he finished his story.

you took another deep breath and wiped your tears away on the sleeve of your robe. you took in his story slowly, you understood where he was coming from, and you wanted him, too. you knew you did.

sirius looked at you with hopeful eyes. you pulled him up from his knees. "come get some sleep, okay? it's been a long night."

he just wanted to hold you.

you didn't move away. instead, you relaxed at his touch and fell asleep. he placed a small kiss on your temple before falling asleep right after you. the memories of the previous night come back as you slowly open your eyes to you meet sirius' grey ones.

"mornin', love," he spoke in a whisper and a soft smile graced his lips.

you looked back at him and wanted to kiss that adorable little smile on his lips. but instead you apologize. "'m sorry, siri."

sirius frowned at you. "for what?"

"for not listening to you sooner," you whispered back. the moment felt intimate in a way you had been craving for a long time. "i should've at least heard you out."

"you did last night, lovely," his tone matched yours as he stroked his fingers through your hair some more. "even if you didn't, no one would've blamed you. not even me."

"is it true what you said last night?" you asked softly, tracing aimless shapes on his clothed chest. "that you want me still?"

"of course it's true," he chuckled softly. "why do you think i went through all that to get you to hear me out?"

your hand went to find his cheek, he leaned into your touch. "i still want you, too, sirius."

"really?" he had a hopeful smirk.

you grinned at him. "why do you think i let you sleep in my bed with me?" scooting closer to him, you leaned your face closer to his, lips almost touching, breaths mingling. "now, let me kiss you?"

"whenever you fucking want, love, these lips are yours."

----

#sirius x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x female reader #marauders #marauders era #marauders x reader

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popculturebuffet · 3 months ago

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Transformers Cyberverse: Megatron is My Hero Review (Patreon Review for Brotoman.exe)

Hello all you happy autobots. If you've been missing my look at more than meets the eye, don't worry as we're back with some robots in disguise. Transformers ONE is here and it is incredible and while i'll gladly review it next week for now we're looking at something related, another look at Megatron as he broke bad, the Transformers Cyberverse episode, Megatron is My Hero.

Transformers Cyberverse is a series I tried but could not get into. I loved animated, tried prime but fell behind on it, and fresh off getting into MTMTE I very much wanted more Transformers. I tried the first ep.. but it's just bumblbee using the radio gimmick and Windblade being the straight man.

Cyberse's problems, as I expected and tv tropes helpfully confirmed come from executive mandates: exceutive swanted Bumblbeee to have his car gimmick from the movies, which dosen't work nearly as well when you can't lisence songs or car commericals for it, the heavy flashbacks. These were ditched with season 2 and apparently the show picke dup from there so i'm more than happy to give it a full look at some point, as it does seem to get genuinely better and has an arc focusing on my boy hot rod. That alone is enough.

For now we're looking at an early episode under the cut as Bumblbee makes friends, gets throat crushed and otherwise is kind of an accesory in his own memories

We begein with Bumblebee is in his mind palace , which I suspect was a way to let bee talk normally before doing away with the voice box gimmick the second they could in season 2. He's reliving his past memories of Megatron and opens with Bee in the past chilling with Shockwave of all bots as they watch Megatron easily win as a gladiator.

Megatron as a gladiator happens in way more continuties than I realized which I found out thanks to reddit, starting wtih the UK G1 comics and continuing into both IDW continuties , the alligned continuity and more. I mostly associate it with IDW where he went from miner to gladiator hero. It's a backstory I like, that he was a hero of the people.. but in a way that still kept him down as like gladiators of old he has little choice

Here it's santized slightly being more like pro wrestling, though Megatron still beats the crap out of his opponent, gladly working the crowd. Bumblbee also high fives Shockwave, an image I will never forget and will treasure forever.

So Bumblebee declares Megaton is his Hero and this annoys his mind palace roomate Windblade. Windblade is a recent addition to the franchise, being added in the idw comics but quickly appearing in cyberverse and elsewhere. She's a cityspeaker, who can talk to city sized transformers and is generally pretty goo din the comics. In this season she's more an overprotective big sister and gets mad at an amnesiac for not remembering his greatest foe sucks dirty ass in thunderstorms. So she gestures him to a ... memory of Megatron holding a rally.

Rather than talking about his good friend hanniballectertron, Megatron is a good politican with an actual point: that cybertron needs to be better and optimus and co are all behind him.. literally and figuratively.

So to help the next memory... abrubtly skips to Megatron being awful.

Yeah this is what happen when you DEMAND the writers make every episode self contained yet also part of a larger story.. in 11 minutes. Hasbro.. thought none of this through and as such the crew kinda had to speed run his origin, which means the key pieces that make Megatrons origins in IDW and One so intresting.. are missing. We don't know WHY he went from a beloved politican to having his minons torture people and a tense conversation with optimus. Marc Thompson does a good job as Megs, easily.. but he dosen't really get filled out. He just goes from seeming genuine and helpful to

He COULD have been faking, true.. but we never get that. Or any sense at least in this episode WHY he's like this. I get it's from Bee's perspective, but we know Bee looked up to him, genuinely idolzied him and we could've gotten some insight into who megs is and why he became the monster he did thorugh how he handled bumblbee's disllusionment. Instead by the time we catch up Bee's already mildly scared of the guy. We miss a whole chapter of Megs life that explains why shit is this bad for him just in his villian later chilling and vaugely threatning optimus and bee.

That said the crew still did their best and the final scene.. is genuinely chilling. It's also one Windblade is TRYING to keep from Bee, wanting him to stop digging as she apparently just realized "Shit he'll probably relive the worst moment of his life" as it involves megatron.. and thus Bee directly looks for it.l

Bee was on a mission for the autobots early in the war when , despite his best efforts he was captured and taken directly to Megatron. Megatron is at his best all episode here: he offers bee a choice, making a case for how the strong must rule and all that jazz. Well okay maybe not that Jazz he's on the Autobots but Megatron is working on him. Bee refuses.. and Megatron shifts, revealing his evil plan and i'ts chilling: to make EVERY cybertronian a decepticon wether they want it or not. Peace through Tyranny. It works well.. and it makes what he does next chilling.. so Bee dosen't tell anyone.. he crushes his throat. And while we don't SEE most of it, we hear it and it.. is chilling

Bee takes it in stride, restored in who megatron was.. and okay with it. He can talk in his brain at least.. and talk and talk and.. maybe shut up now please?

Megatron is my hero is .. okay. That last scene does most of the lifting, but i'ts a hint at what the show COULD be and apparently is after this point. It's very much a one sccene an done high five episode but at 11 minutes it wasn't painful either. It was just kinda there. Still it does have me curious about the rest of the series at least so that's.. something. Thanks for reading

#transformers #transformers cyberverse #megatron #bumblebee #windblade #optimus prime

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appygrey · 11 months ago

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my biggest problem with the PJO show right now is that the gods have been stripped of deity. none of them really feel like *gods,* they’re all just… guys. they have moments of power, but most of it just feels so situational— ares feels just about as threatening to the trio as any biker is to any set of children. it feels like they’re up against “an adult”, not the actual incarnate god of battle. poseidon is announced by a thunderstorm when he comes to talk to sally— fantastic, i love that touch, bring out POSEIDON, god of the sea, of the depths, earthshaker, STORMBRINGER— and two seconds later, he’s indistinguishable from any other mortal deadbeat dad in a bar. none of the gods have a proper AURA about them that makes you feel the way their domain should. poseidon should make you feel the way the SEA does, but all he is is a guy with an accent.

dont get me wrong, making the gods mortally relatable is a good angle! they feel more like people, and definitely *can* be more interesting characters for it. but i think the show just strips them of so much of what makes gods so interesting inherently that it doesn’t balance out. the greek gods are lenses through which generations of people for thousands of years managed to wrap their minds around their lives and the natural world. but wouldn’t it be funny if hades was silly and goofy?

my favorite gods in the series so far have been hermes and dionysos, probably because their characterizations in classical mythology fit best with disguising themselves as mortals the way they do. when hermes eyed the children from across the busy room, and without a thought for the dozens of mortal witnesses, openly greeted them and named them as demigods? i LIKED that, because it *felt* like he was very powerful, but was being sly with his power, as you would expect hermes the god of thieves and trickery to be. when i looked into his eyes, for a moment, it felt like a liminal space. like he was staring at me from outside of time, *as you would expect hermes to do as the liminal god.* and then, a few minutes later, his conversation with the children strikes a great balance between relatably mortal and also deific feeling. he *was* the liminal god outside of time, and this was at conflict with his very earthly and grounded love for his son. there was a good and interesting tension presented between those two worlds.

#percy pjo #percy series #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo tv show #pjo fandom #pjo series #pjo #pjo spoilers #pjo hermes #percy jackson and the olympians hermes #hermes #hermes percy jackson #hermes pjo

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makemeimmortalwithahug · 4 months ago

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7 and 8 from the game?

YEs! Thanks!

7. Favourite headcanon from the fandom so far?

It's gotta be that Edwin regularly reads to Charles when they wind down together! It's such a sweet idea and I love the visual of Charles with his head in Edwin's head in the small hours.

Although Edwin fencing and Charles being absolutely love-struck has a special place in my heart!

8. A headcanon you have (that you havent seen talked about yet)!

Well, I have talked about them xD I couldn't decide which one, so here are two headcanons:

Edwin loves thunderstorms because sometimes, his memories of Hell get a little too vivid and the clapping thunder drowns out the screams he hears

and

Edwin can knit! And he's really good at it, too. We see him knitting in ep1 while he's disguised but I think he genuinely loves it. He knits scarves for the girls and Charles every winter

#dbda #dead boy detectives #ask game #save dead boy detectives

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years ago

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"kabukimono... i'm really flattered, but could you please stop trailing after me like a lost puppy? it's exhausting."

He has to bite down on his bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

The eccentric thinks to take a step back — granting you the space you so desperately long for — but he can’t. He’s frozen, the soles of his feet stuck to the ground. There’s a surge inside his chest. A dull ache that has him wanting to scratch at his perfect skin if it meant distracting him from the pain within.

Apologies stumble from him, quiet and rushed. You don’t depart from him right away, much to his immense relief. He knows it’d agitate you further if you walked off and he still acted as your shadow. He can’t help himself, it’s an instinct, the same you humans have and act on all the time. If you’re hungry, you eat. If you’re thirsty, you drink. For him, if he sees you, he must follow.

Would you believe him if he confessed this? That basking in your presence is as essential to him as breathing is for you?

How can he make you understand when he barely grasps it himself?

You sigh, heavy and tired. He can’t help but wince when you close what little distance remains between you both. He watches with wide, doe-like eyes as your thumb comes to brush against his lower lash line. There’s a glimmering sheen on your skin when you pull away.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you implore, and he tries. Tries to give you what you ask for, what you want. He always does. “I’m... I’m sorry. It’s just been a stressful past few days is all. You’re fine, just— I worry about you, y’know?”

“You worry... about me?” He repeats the foreign concept back to you. He would’ve had an easier time believing you if you confessed to being an Archon in disguise or if you told him the sky wasn’t real.

“Yeah. If you’re always hanging out with me, then you’re missing out on making a whole lot of other connections. There’s plenty more out there for you to see.”

The puppet thinks your argument is sound, yet he can’t abide by it. “But I only want to see you.”

He says it so sincerely too.

“T-This is what I mean! You need to be careful when saying stuff like that. You might give someone the wrong idea.”

You turn on your heel and start back down the path to your abode. He watches your retreating figure with a tilted head, ruminating. You humans make less sense the more time he spends among you. He meant every word of what he said, so it’s beyond him why you’d think he didn’t.

Just when he’s trying to remember the best angles to see in through your windows while remaining hidden are, you stop, glancing at him from over your shoulder.

“Are you coming? There’s gonna be a thunderstorm tonight, I can feel it in the air. I don’t want you to be without shelter.”

He tries not to break out into a run to catch up with you. Elation soars through his artificial veins — the ease in which you can ruin or rebuild him should be frightening. However, he isn’t scared in the slightest. Whichever of the two you choose... so long as it’s brought by your hands, he’ll happily accept any fate you mold for him.

#he is BABY ... although a creepy one at that #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #interactions #my stuff #answered #Anonymous

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pipwasreal · 2 months ago

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Deadboyween week one

i. colours

Flowering meadow —

Yellow-white of teeth and eyes,

Confusion of light.

ii. comfort

Lantern-lit attic —

One boy reads to another

As he lies dying.

iii. disguise

Under London's ground —

Only visible as masks,

Hidden in plain sight.

iv. orbs

Soft glow behind glass —

Formless and nameless in a

Ghost terrarium.

v. family

Warm chai before dawn —

Still observing Karwa Chauth

As the belt comes down.

vi. casefic

Howling thunderstorm —

Good old-fashioned shoe leather...

Churchyard grim again.

vii. the Endless

Glowing golden eyes —

Love and lust unlock at last

Feelings long suppressed.

Read week two

#Dead Boy Detectives #deadboyween #pipwrites #poetry #haiku #i made myself sad on day five

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fflewddur-feanorion · 7 months ago

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maglor and eonwe in iowa. why? I don't know.

Maglor cranes his neck to look up at the sky. The clouds are purple and yellow, like a bad bruise that’s just begun to heal. Thunder booms overhead, rattling the windows on the porch.

He steps back toward the door. Nods decisively. “This is a good one.”

“There is nothing good about it,” Eonwë huffs. He’s standing with one hand on the doorknob, every muscle in his body pulled as taut as a bowstring. Ready to bolt inside at the slightest provocation. (He has not relocated to the basement, Maglor notices. After following every one of the rules to the letter for five Ages, this is the time Eonwë chooses not to listen?) “The storm… it is dangerous! You could be killed!”

Maglor raises an eyebrow wearily. When he speaks, his voice carries over the thunder just a bit more than it should. “Remind me again why you’re here?”

“To… to kill you. Or persuade you to return to Valinor.” Eonwë shivers. For some reason, he’s wearing one of Maglor’s tank tops. It’s far too small. Basically a crop top on him. (Maglor admits that it’s not a bad look, but Eonwë is going to get a cold and then he’ll be even more insufferable.)

“Ta-da,” Maglor drawls. “If I get struck by lightning– which I won’t– you can go home. I’m sure all of Valinor will be ecstatic.”

“Are you always this self-destructive?” Eonwë asks.

Maglor laughs. Bitterly. “You still have that armor? I could put it on. Wave my arms in the air and tell Manwë to go fuck himself. Really take it to the next level.”

“Shut up!” Eonwë’s eyes flash. “You don’t know what you are saying! If they hear us–”

The rain picks up. At this point, it’s less of a thunderstorm and more of a river flowing vertically. Maglor does the math in his head: there’s still no tornadoes in sight, and he is very, very hungry. “All right,” he says, pushing past Eonwë to open the door. “You win. I’ll make some dinner, and then–”

As if on cue, the lights go out. The clock on the microwave flickers and disappears.

“Christ alive,” says Maglor. “I just bought milk. What have I done to deserve this?”

“I assume that is a rhetorical question,” says Eonwë.

****

It’s been fourteen hours since Eonwë– Herald of the Valar, Manwë’s golden boy, and royal pain in the ass– arrived on Maglor’s doorstep. In his immaculate silver armor, he’d looked laughably out of place standing among the dusty folding chairs. “Greetings, Makalaurë, son of Fëanor,” he’d intoned in a voice like the crashing of waves. “I bring a message from the Valar.”

To Maglor, this situation presented a number of red flags:

Nine thousand years on this accursed earth have made Maglor wary of people who are clearly dangerous but want you to believe otherwise. That armor has never been worn in a fight.

He doesn’t trust the Valar.

He doesn’t trust Eonwë, specifically.

Back in the Second Age, Maglor would have attacked Eonwë with any weapons he had on hand (teeth and nails included) and almost certainly gotten himself killed. By the Fourth Age, he’d have simply walked away, having tired himself out with millennia of bad decisions. But now…

Well. Maglor isn’t going to slam the door in his face. If he doesn’t let Eonwë in, his neighbors will come out to investigate, and Maglor doesn’t want to inflict Eonwë on them quite yet.

He stretches out on the couch, running through the checklist in his mind. There's no electricity or internet, but he’s found two flashlights. He’ll talk to the neighbors and check for downed power lines once the rain stops. All he can do now is wait. (And also drink ridiculous quantities of milk before it spoils.)

Maglor feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He whips his head around and sees Eonwë standing behind him, motionless as a statue. (He would make a beautiful statue. Even in a human disguise, there's something unearthly about him. Something that draws your attention in like a moth to a flame.)

“Fuck’s sake,” Maglor groans, mashing his face into the couch cushions. “Can you be unsettling somewhere else, please?”

“We could go back to Valinor.”

“I said no.” Maglor pushes himself to a seated position to glare at his companion. “Why are you still wearing a tank top? It’s, like, forty degrees.”

“I have no idea what any of that means,” Eonwë says quietly. He’s still shivering. His shoulders are hunched forward, and he looks on the verge of tears. (Why is he crying? He’s not the one with a price on his head.) “It was much warmer this morning, and I didn’t want to go through your things. I... I am sorry.”

And that makes absolutely zero sense, but… “Ugh, fine,” Maglor sighs. “C’mon. Let’s find you something that fits. We'll figure things out in the morning."

#tolkien #silmarillion #is this maglor/eonwe? you decide!#modern au

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universitypenguin · 2 years ago

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Chapter XIV

Summary: Lloyd sets his sights on orchestrating Holbrook’s downfall and uses skills from his former life to serve up his own brand of justice. Meanwhile, Princess interviews a witness who casts doubt on key information in the case.

Masterlist

Word Count: 7,352

Warnings: Explicit discussion of murder and serial abductions. Mention of extortion, police corruption, drugs, and kidnapping. Spy/intelligence agency themes, general violence depiction of criminal behavior. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

Chapter XIV

Lloyd scowled at the muddy road as he navigated around the section that had been washed out by last night’s thunderstorm. The damage to the ranch’s main road aggravated his simmering frustration. He would need to order a truckload of gravel first thing on Monday.

He’d left the house at dawn and spent the day running around like a chicken with its head cut off, searching for Elliot. As light faded into the western sky, he had nothing to show for the effort. Every potential hiding spot he’d searched turned up empty. He’d spent the morning checking abandoned hunting cabins and old flop houses he remembered druggies frequenting. After lunch he expanded his search radius to the forest service cabins up in the Sawtooth mountains, then hunting blinds, and remote campgrounds.

In the evening, he’d driven out to Redfish Lake, apprehension growing with each mile, and searched the boat shed. It was empty. The only residents he’d found were of the eight legged variety. After closing up the shed, he’d surveyed the lake’s perimeter, visiting the remote places with heavy foliage that could disguise the activity associated with disposing of a body. None of them appeared disturbed. Overall, the day had been a waste.

The weight of failure settled over him as his eyes lit on an unfamiliar sight ahead.

A strange pickup truck was parked in front of the ranch house. Lloyd’s gut tightened. He jerked the wheel and pulled off into the cover of a grove of trees. Holbrook wouldn’t drive the beat up ‘97 Ford parked in the yard if his life depended on it, but it would be just like him to send someone else to do his dirty work. Concealing his vehicle in the trees, Lloyd reached behind the seat for the PTR-91 rifle he’d stashed there and slung it over his shoulder. He secured it to his back and checked his ankle holster for Joe’s Sig Sauer. In the shoulder holster he wore a Glock17 - his weapon of choice in his previous life.

The weight rested comfortably in his palm as he snuck through the trees and across the lawn. He kept his finger wrapped around the trigger guard, and the weapon hidden behind his thigh, as he climbed the steps to the porch. Every creak of the wood under his boots felt magnified as he approached the door. He scanned the shadows along the edge of the porch, searching for signs of movement. The front door was unlocked, and the knob turned easily.

The scent of fresh coffee surprised him. Lloyd stepped inside, gun raised and took measured steps as he swept the living room. His guest hadn’t turned the lights on. He glanced around, seeking signs of the intruder, and spun to the kitchen. The brightness from the picture window stung his eyes, blurring his vision for a moment. When they refocused, his heart skipped a beat.

Elliot Hansen sat at the kitchen table. He was slouched over a mug of coffee, which if the dark rings under his eyes were anything to go by, he desperately needed.

“Lloyd. I’ve been waiting for you.”

The tension drained away. He lowered the gun and studied his cousin for a moment before turning back to shut the front door. Lloyd laid the Glock on the table and sat down across from Elliot. A dozen questions filled his mind, but he hesitated to ask them. Elliot didn’t fill the silence. He just took a long drink from his coffee, looking ready to fall asleep at any moment.

“Elliot?” Lloyd found his voice unexpectedly soft as relief shifted to concern. “What happened? Why did you come here?”

“I need your help.”

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

You picked your way through the crowd of shoppers, scanning ahead. The entrance to Zach’s office was between a hand-rolled ice cream shop and a Kate Spade store. If you weren’t paying attention, the discreetly placed entry was easy to miss. It was painted the same color as the wall and served as access to the outlet mall’s second floor, which had been converted to office space during the Great Recession. You found the door and unlocked it with the code he’d sent.

The curving marble stairs led to a wide corridor brightened by tasteful chandeliers and intermittent skylights that invited in the natural light. In sharp contrast to the busy mall, this level was quiet. At the end of the hall you reached his office, pressed the button, and waited for the chime that announced the door had been unlocked.

Zach was in his office with his feet propped up on his desk. The soles of his moc-toe Carhartt boots were so worn that you could hardly make out the original tread pattern. The deep worry lines in his forehead and the dark circles under his eyes immediately caught your attention. Before you could ask, his expression shifted into a smirk.

“Morning, Princess. What brings you in so early on this lovely Saturday?”

“Ha ha. You called me.”

“And was shocked when you picked up the phone. I was going to leave a voicemail.”

“I got up early to meal prep, then remembered Lloyd’s fridge is fully stocked.”

Zach made a face. “Be careful in there, he eats weird stuff.”

“I can’t take that warning seriously from a man who ate fried rattlesnake and liked it.”

“A man has to draw the line somewhere and I draw mine at blood pudding.”

“Do I want to know?”

“If it looks like sausage and it’s in his fridge, don’t touch it.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Now, why am I here?”

“With Lloyd in Idaho, we don’t have a Mandarin translator, so I called in a favor from an ex-teammate. Roth has cleared him to work on the case.”

“What are we doing that requires a translator?”

“An interview. I got in touch with the archivist in Julia’s home town. He asked to meet after work, so you have an hour to prepare.”

You took the overflowing file he extended.

“When did you put all this together?”

“Yesterday and last night.”

“Have you slept?”

“No, which is why you’re doing the interview. I’m heading home to crash once your translator gets here. He’s apparently running late.”

“It’s Saturday, no one’s late on Saturday,” you said.

“I like the way you think.”

A deep voice behind you made you jump. You dropped the file and whirled, catching your heel on the threshold, and falling with an undignified squeak. A pair of strong arms stopped you from hitting the ground and pulled you upright. Gasping, you braced a hand on your rescuer’s shoulder and turned ninety degrees to look at him. He had dark brown hair and a short, trim beard that emphasized his high cheekbones. His eyes, an unusual blend of blue and green, were crinkled with amusement. A full, expressive mouth was drawn into a crooked half smile at your expense.

“Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The newcomers’ accent was crisper than Zach’s drawl, but not as familiar.

You noticed he dropped the ‘r’ in darling, turning it into ‘dah-ling.’ Immediately, your mind went to New England, but the way he rolled his vowels was distinctly Southern. The vestiges of a southern accent, perhaps?

“I’m fine. I didn’t realize you were behind me.”

“How’d you get in?” Zach asked, his voice edged with annoyance.

“I slipped in behind her.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“To see if I could.”

He flashed a Cheshire Cat grin, full of mischief. Your disapproval melted at his boyish enjoyment. Wasn’t it better to find a weakness now, than when it really counted?

“I’m having Jake update the alarm system first thing when he’s back. Y/N, this is Marco Lattimer. He and I served together on the teams. Besides being a first class troublemaker, he’s fluent in five languages.”

Marco smirked. “Fluent in five, but I speak seven.”

“Wow. That’s… impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“Marco will be your translator. I’ve already briefed him on the case.”

Zach turned to Marco, eyes sharpening. “Lattimer, don’t even think about flirting with my colleague.”

“What if she doesn’t mind?” Marco said, winking at you.

“She’s Lloyd’s research assistant and you’ll have to deal with him regarding the ‘what if’ part, but I’d advise against finding out. Princess, you’ve still got that taser I gave you? Marco’s harmless, but if he gets on your nerves, you have my permission to zap him.”

You grinned at Marco’s disgruntled expression.

“I’m sure we’ll get along fabulously,” you said. “Go home Zach, I can handle this.”

Ten minutes later you were in the conference room with Marco, waiting for the Zoom call to start.

“So, how’d you end up working with Lloyd?” Marco asked.

“I interned at his law firm. He stole me from the paralegal department for my research skills.”

“Sorry to hear that. It must be miserable to be around him all the time. I swear, he’s the reason lawyers get a bad rap. He could teach classes on how to be insufferable.”

This was a sentiment you’d heard many times before.

“Lloyd and I get on fine.”

“Do you have the patience of a saint, an addiction to benzos, or just do a lot of meditation?”

“It depends on the day. Most of the time meditation works, but a stash of benzos is always a good back up plan.”

By the time the computer lit up with the incoming call, you and Marco were on friendly terms. He was charming, funny, and definitely flirting with you. The flirting didn’t concern you because you sensed his pursuit was less about genuine interest and more about target practice. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and folded his arms in a way that showcased his biceps. You would’ve thought it was deliberate but his posture was too nonchalant to be premeditated.

You relied on Marco to make sure Mr. Liu was comfortable and let him engage Liu in small talk for a few minutes. Working with a translator always provided a great excuse to sit back and observe your subject’s mannerisms before starting the interview. Mr. Liu appeared to be in his sixties, with horn-rimmed glasses and neatly combed hair. He wore casual office attire and judging by the fit of his light blue button down, he starched his shirts. He fit the role of village archivist like he’d been sent straight from central casting. After he was settled, you turned the discussion toward pressing matters.

“Did you have any personal connection to Julia or her family?”

Mr. Liu spoke and Marco translated.

“Yes, I knew her family. Her parents were lovely people. Unfortunately, they passed away some years ago.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Are you familiar with the circumstances of Julia's death?”

“Yes, we were all horrified by the tragedy. It was a shocking incident that saddened the entire community. The pain it caused her family was immeasurable.”

“The investigation into Julia's death has been reopened based on fresh evidence. DNA tests have revealed a connection between her and another woman who was murdered in a similar manner. They’re believed to be full siblings. Does Julia have an older sister?”

Mr. Lui’s brow furrowed, and he paused for a long moment.

“That's impossible. Julia's parents were not together for long before she was born. Her father had left the island to serve in the army and spent three years stationed in Vietnam prior to her birth. There is no chance of an older sibling.”

His certainty piqued your attention.

“So, her father was away during that time. Do you have any records that could shed light on Julia's family or explain the existence of an older sibling?”

The archivist’s voice was firm as he responded. Even without Marco’s translation you would’ve understood the statement as a denial.

“I assure you, there was no other child. Julia's parents were committed to each other and their daughter. The entire village would have known if there was another pregnancy or a sibling. It's simply not possible.”

You leaned closer, eager to see his reaction to your next words.

“Mr. Liu, we have evidence suggesting otherwise. We need to uncover the truth about Julia's past, no matter how unsettling it might be. Can you think of any reason they kept this information hidden?”

His head lowered, shoulders rising in symmetry as he frowned.

Liu stumbled over his words as he answered. Translating like you’d asked him to, Marco repeated his statement verbatim.

“I… I can't imagine why or… how such information would have been concealed. Our village is tight-knit, and secrets are rare. Not rare to be kept, but rare not to be noticed and revealed. If there's something hidden, it must have been for a grave reason and Julia’s parents weren’t that sort of people.”

“Thank you for speaking with us, Mr. Liu. We appreciate your time. If anything further comes to mind, please contact us, or the Virginia State Police, directly.”

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

Lloyd sat down across from Elliot. He didn’t totally disarm himself but rested the rifle on his thighs under the table.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Joe had a stash of drugs. A big one, according to Holbrook. He thinks I know where it is.”

“Why?”

Elliot rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been taking care of the ranch. Joe paid me for it. He could have hired a cowboy, but you know Joe. He didn’t trust people he didn’t know. The work brought me up here at least a couple times each week for the past three years. What conclusion do you think Holbrook drew from that pattern?”

“And? Was he right?”

“No! Damn it, Lloyd! It took me years to get clean, I wasn’t moving his drugs!”

Lloyd knew, given Elliot’s history, Joe wouldn’t have trusted him around the product. All the same, he had to ask, because one good look at his cousin tipped off Lloyd’s intuition that Elliot wasn’t as clean as he claimed to be.

“I don’t know about a stash of drugs. Joe never told me anything about his business and I didn’t ask. We barely talked, except for emails and text messages about the ranch. He always paid me on time and I appreciated the side income. That was it. But the Sheriff won’t let this thing go.”

Twenty kilos of coke, thirty of heroin, either would be worth more than a million on the street and small enough to hide in a carry-on case.

Lloyd sighed. “Holbrook has to go.”

“He’s untouchable.”

“If I learned anything in the past twenty years, it’s that no one is untouchable.”

“This isn’t London, or Berlin, or some fancy place you’ve been. It’s southeastern Idaho and Holbrook is the King.”

Lloyd grunted. “To be clear, you’re sure this stash actually exists? It wasn’t sold off years ago?”

“I can’t be sure, but Joe always preferred to have a backup plan.”

That rang true. A stash of drugs would’ve served as insurance against stock market fluctuations, housing crises, or whatever rattled the economy next year.

“Alright. Tell me about Holbrook. What’s his weak point?”

Elliot stared. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. Who has a grudge against him? Are there any deputies on his payroll?”

“Aside from me, I don’t know of any grudges, but his department has a suspiciously high turnover rate.”

“Ex-associates? A disgruntled secretary? Jilted lover?”

“Uh… would a former drug dealer count?” Elliot asked.

“Does this drug dealer have a name?”

“Carl Shepherd. The Sheriff gave him carte blanche to deal locally, then the feds came sniffing around. Holbrook cut him loose and they’re not on good terms, but Shepherd says he has Holbrook in his pocket.”

If the dealer had two brain cells to rub together, he’d have exhorted Holbrook for protection. Lloyd begrudgingly approved of the plan.

“But he’s too scared of the Sheriff to flip on him.”

“Why bite the hand that feeds you?” Lloyd murmured.

His mind moved quickly, considering the various options available. Elliot grimaced.

“I’m never going to get out of this mess.”

“How do you feel about pulling a kidnapping? Say, tonight?”

“Uh… given how that worked out for you last time… lukewarm.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve turned over a new leaf. Carl Shepherd doesn’t have any ex-spooks overly invested in his well-being, though, right?”

“Not that I know of,” Elliot said.

“Great, then let’s get this show on the road.”

After some persuasion, Elliot agreed to the plan. He was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs as he drove them into town in his rattle trap pickup. In contrast, Lloyd was bubbling with excitement, a feeling that intensified as they navigated the narrow lanes of the Oxiana Trailer Park. It was akin to the anticipation before a rollercoaster dropped into free fall - an exhilaration he’d missed from his old life but only realized now. Elliot parked in a shadowy spot about a hundred yards from Shepherd’s house.

He pointed to a gray trailer with peeling paint. “That’s his place. He drives a ‘68 Camaro.”

“Nice car.”

“Uh-huh. What’s your plan, again? You weren’t exactly clear about the how.”

“We’ll see how it plays out. Kidnappings never quite go according to plan.”

“You’d know.”

Lloyd snorted. “Shut up. I’ve seen your rap sheet, you’ve got no room to talk.”

“I was high for that stuff.”

“Yeah? Same.”

Elliot turned, resting an elbow on the steering wheel as he studied Lloyd. “Are you kidding? You were the quarterback, the golden boy. You never touched that shit.”

“I took Adderall to cope with test anxiety and smoked weed.”

“That’s your drug of choice? Adderall? Dude, that’s pathetic.”

“It started with light stuff. Weed, then Adderall. Senior year I started popping Xanax to cope with anxiety. At first it was just when I was struggling, then it became a daily habit.”

Elliot considered him. “I knew you were into weed, but not the rest.”

“Things didn’t get serious until I was at Harvard. I got hooked on pain pills after a football injury and when the team doctor wouldn’t give me more Vicodin, I bought Percocet on the street. From there I got into Ketamine, Valium, and Prozac. The market for drugs was thriving on campus, so I bought extras and re-sold it to the partiers. It didn’t take long before I was taking my own product.”

“Joe would’ve skinned you alive.”

“Beaten me to death is more likely.”

“What’d you get hooked on the most? Percocet?”

“Cocaine. I had a taste for Ecstasy, too. My main addiction was Coke, with a little Xanax in the mix. When I graduated and had the money for it, I got back on Vicodin.”

“Damn. You know what really shocks me?” Elliot asked.

“What?”

“You went for the cheap stuff. Coke? Back in the day, I could get a bag of Coke for like sixty, seventy bucks. Meth was like six times that much.”

Lloyd chuckled. “I’d seen what meth and heroin did to a person. Cocaine felt less risky and more… fun. Until I was in prison, I didn’t think I was addicted.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I kept a lot of secrets before. Now I try not to. Also, if you think I don’t get what it’s like to have your past catch up with you, I want you to know that I do.”

Elliot ducked his head, looking away.

Lloyd turned back to the road. They sat in silence for the next twenty minutes while the sun dipped behind the horizon. A car pulled around the corner with no headlights on and Lloyd squinted, trying to make out the model.

“Is that him?”

Elliot straightened up. “Yeah. That’s him.”

They watched as Carl turned into the driveway and parked, then walked around to the trunk to unload grocery bags.

“What now?” Elliot asked.

“Wait here for thirty seconds, then go up to him. Get his attention. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Elliot nodded and wiped his palms on his jeans. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Lloyd slid out of the truck and shut the door quietly. Keeping one eye on Carl as he took in the first load of groceries, he snuck through the neighbor’s lawn and around their house. Maneuvering through a hole in the chain-link fence he crossed into Carl’s backyard and used the cover of the peeling gray trailer to mask his approach. He listened to footfalls on wooden steps, then pavement, and gauged the distance. A truck door slammed and a moment later, Elliot’s voice rang out, calling a greeting to the drug dealer.

Lloyd burst from his hiding place and ran, aiming at Carl’s back. Electricity crackled as the taser found its mark. The volts sizzled in the air as Carl convulsed, then dropped to the pavement, unconscious.

Elliot jerked back, his face leaching of color.

“Holy shit! What voltage is that thing?!”

Lloyd smirked. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle a little excitement? Help me get him in the trunk.”

“You don’t mean…”

“Leaving his car here will arouse suspicion. If we take it, the neighbors will assume he’s out of town.”

“Maybe we should stop adding to our rap sheets while we’re still ahead,” Elliot suggested.

“I usually agree with the principle of only committing one felony at a time, but we’re on the clock here. Grab his feet, would you?”

Elliot groaned, but obliged, taking Carl’s feet while Lloyd guided his upper body into the trunk. He slammed it shut and grinned at his cousin’s pale face.

“There. Felony number six, complete. Although technically, in this state kidnapping isn’t a felony until you’re a hundred feet away from the property on which the abduction occurred. So, to be precise, we’re still in the act of felony number six.”

“You’re insane.”

Lloyd smirked. “Not according to my doctor. And given the circumstances, I think this was the most appropriate course of action we could’ve taken. Now, go on ahead of me and make sure everything is set up. I can’t speed with a body in the trunk.”

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

You sat next to Marco, looking at the murder board.

Zach had set it up in the corner of the conference room and after the interview you’d migrated over here naturally. Your chairs were adjacent, facing the bulletin board like students in a classroom. Marco had ordered coffee and a late brunch for the both of you while you explained the details of the case.

“And they found the sister’s corpse right next to the first victim?” Marco said.

“Yeah. It’s mind-boggling.”

He shook his head. “What’s weirder is that these two are sisters, but the rest of the girls on this board are as different as night and day. Different hair colors, ethnic backgrounds, different kinds of jobs.”

You turned your attention to the victim’s pictures. They were organized by date of disappearance and below them was a horizontal timeline that stretched from left to right across the width of the board. There was a topographical map of the Fairfax area in the lower right corner, with colored pins making locations.

“There’s a variety in the women, but what’s mostly consistent is the age range, the manner of disappearance, and their social status.”

Marco leaned back, hooking his left ankle over his right knee.

“How do you investigate a case with so many missing variables?”

“You’re referring to the other six corpses?”

“The lack of them, specifically.”

His comment tickled a thread you’d been playing with since Singapore. Rather than answering, you stood up and crossed to the bulletin board. First, you untacked the sketch on the far left of the timeline. It was of the unknown victim - Julia’s supposed sister - and then took down the photo underneath her, representing her daughter. Then from the far right of the timeline, you untacked Julia’s photo.

You sat down next to Marco and faced the board again.

“What about now? Does that make more sense?”

His mouth tilted in a half smile. “I’m not the investigator here. How would I know?”

“Technically, Lloyd and Zach are the investigators and I’m their errand girl. You’re a fresh set of eyes. I’ve been trying to figure out how removing the sisters and the little girl changes things.”

“Do you see a pattern here?” Marco said.

“Maybe. If Lloyd were here, I’d bounce this off of him, but look…”

You laid the photos you’d removed on the table and returned to the board, pointing to the photo of the first woman to go missing.

“The first victim, Stacey Moore was twenty-six. She worked at an indie publishing house in D.C. and had just graduated from G.W with her master’s. She disappeared in June of 1999.”

You pointed to the next photo.

“Maya Sutton. Twenty-four. Tax associate at PriceWaterhouseCoopers, recently hired off an internship program, master’s degree in accounting from William & Mary. Disappeared in August of 1999.”

Marco listened as you ran down the list of victims, and reported their ages, jobs, and degrees. He was nodding along by the time you reached the last photo.

“The women were close in age. Twenty-three to twenty-seven, born and raised in the U.S. and focused on their careers. They were successful despite being young, and except for Lucy Lund, they all came from upper middle class backgrounds.”

“They’re all born in eastern Virginia, too,” Marco said.

You checked the notes and sure enough, all the victims had been born along the Virginia coast. The pattern was even closer than you’d realized.

“Good catch.”

You rehung the photos of Julia, her sister, and the niece, off to the side, separate from the serial killer victims.

“They found these victims. That doesn’t feel like an accident. If he made six women disappear without a trace, why leave three corpses in the same spot? And Julia’s body wasn’t even properly disposed of.”

“That deviates significantly from the pattern,” Marco said.

“And with the timeline laid out like this, it looks like Julia’s abduction occurs too early in the year. He’d abducted someone during the last week of May before, but Julia disappeared in April, which is a month before he usually began taking victims. There’s also a stopping period between the 1999 victims and the 2000 cases. In 1999 the last victim disappeared on September 3rd. In 2000 the last victim was August 15th.”

“Seasonal employees might be a good suspect pool to explore.”

“Removing the discovered bodies gives us a pattern. But when you add these three cases, it muddies the waters. I think we’re looking at two different crimes. A serial killer and… this mess with Julia, whatever it is.”

Marco crossed his arms, studying the altered layout of the board.

“You’re right. Julia really doesn’t fit his victim type.”

“She was too tall, not from the United States - and not from Virginia. She didn’t have a college degree, let alone a graduate degree, and didn’t work outside the home. The serial killer’s victims were ambitious, professional women. They were all under five foot five and didn’t weigh more than a hundred and sixty pounds, but none of them were exceptionally thin. The abductor seemed to pursue women of average build.”

“Julia was five-nine and weighed about one-thirty,” Marco said.

“Going off victim type, that made her not only too tall, but too thin.”

“What’s hard to understand is that he’d suddenly screw up a body dump after getting it right so many times. For his first victim, sure. He’s inexperienced. But doing it again with Julia, several years later… the only way it makes sense is if he put the sisters together.”

Goosebumps raised on your arms. If he put the sisters together…

What if the sisters’ deaths were connected? Maybe even to the serial killer, but not as victims who he’d hunted. Had they gotten in the way? Or was there something else, completely unrelated to the disappearances, going on at the same time? Was that possible in a town as small as Harmony?

“What are you thinking?” Marco asked.

“I think it’s two different cases. Everyone was waiting for the pattern from ‘99 and 2000 to re-emerge. They were mentally preparing for the next victim and Julia was the next woman to disappear. In a small town riddled with disappearing women, why wouldn’t they think she was part of the spree?”

“That’s logical, but the way you’ve explained it makes better sense. What about the sister and the niece? They’re an even bigger deviation from pattern than Julia. How can they be identified when there’s nothing to go on?”

“I’ll figure out something,” you said. “Lloyd won’t be back until Tuesday, so I’ve got time.”

“Where is he?” Marco asked.

You noted his demeanor changed when Lloyd’s name came up. His arms crossed, creating a subtle barrier between you, and the paper cup in his hand crumpled in his grip. His attention was riveted on you, belying the casual tone he’d spoken in.

“He’s out west, taking care of family matters.”

“Huh. So, Lloyd didn’t hatch from an egg?”

“You worked with him before, you’d probably know more than me.”

The comment slipped out, not entirely by accident. Meeting people who’d known Lloyd in the past alway stirred your curiosity. Lloyd’s life had been a series of transformations: a gifted law student turned cold-blooded intelligence officer, then a disgraced ex-spy who’d become a ruthless mercenary and landed himself in prison. You’d only known Lloyd after his metamorphosis into a law-abiding citizen. Discovering the previous version that had existed before was a constant source of entertainment. Gruesome entertainment, perhaps, but you couldn’t check your impulse to fish for information whenever the chance presented itself.

“Do you enjoy working with Lloyd?”

Marco’s question took you off guard.

“Yes. He was a bit of a pill at first, but then I discovered he could be charming when he wanted to be. After that, I made sure he had reasons to be charming.”

“What makes him want to be charming?”

“Rewards. Lloyd responds best to positive reinforcement. It works wonders.”

“Really?”

“He’s like a border collie. If you don’t keep him occupied and engaged, he’ll start chasing squirrels and digging up the yard.”

Marco chuckled. You pressed him harder.

“What was working with Lloyd like for you?”

He pursed his lips. “I knew him when he was on Zach’s team. They were doing God-knows-what in the same area where I was deployed. He was obnoxious.”

His fingers tightened on the paper cup, crushing it nearly in half, unaware of the action.

“Yeah. But Special Forces attracts a lot of obnoxious people.”

His lips twitched, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“One day Lloyd showed up with extras. Tag-a-longs from Langley, I think. They assigned my team as their support crew. We were waiting at a checkpoint to help them exfiltrate, which should have been simple, but things went sideways and we had to extract them. Everyone was accounted for - except Lloyd’s extras.”

You watched Marco’s lips compress. His shoulders bunched and you read anger in the lines of his body and the set of his jaw. He’d crumpled the coffee cup flat. Silence stretched. You waited, knowing he’d eventually fill the silence.

Marco’s eyes flickered, shifting to internal focus. You could tell he was picking his words carefully.

“The most dangerous predators wear the most charming masks. Lloyd… Lloyd is a viper in Gucci loafers. He takes pleasure in manipulating people, especially emotionally. Lloyd comes across brash, but underneath it he’s malicious, with a ruthless streak ten miles wide. I’ve seen it in action. Trust me, his blood runs cold.”

You were silent, thinking of Lloyd’s revelations in Qatar. He’d cultivated a certain image in the intelligence community, and clearly, Marco had experienced it. Silence hung over the room as he continued to weigh his words.

“We were behind enemy lines at that point, but I offered to turn back and try to save the tag-a-longs. Lloyd laughed. Straight up laughed, and told me everything had gone according to plan. The agents had been on a one way trip from the start and he’d risked the whole team’s lives to dispose of them.”

“What did you do?”

His eyes flashed.

“I went back for them. One was alive. They’d slit the other’s throat. I reported the incident to command and got transferred to a different continent the next day. Later I found out the guy I’d saved died in the hospital because of a medication error.”

You nodded, studying his reactions. They were full of anger and distaste. Marco’s story was authentic and his emotions genuine. Defending Lloyd, explaining that he’d changed, wouldn’t help Marco. He’d known a different person than you did. That version of Lloyd had done terrible things without remorse and he was still capable of it, when pushed.

“Lloyd is charming, but be careful. He’s not trustworthy.”

“I appreciate the warning, and I’m familiar with his background. He’s changed a lot since prison. There are still rough edges, and the ruthless streak is still there, but the malice isn’t.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting conclusion.”

“If you want to say ‘bullshit,’ just say it. There’s no need to take that tone.”

“Noted. Why don’t we find something more pleasant to talk about than Lloyd? Say, over coffee? Or better yet, dinner?”

You wanted to accept, so you could find out more about Lloyd, but the invitation was clearly romantic.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m seeing someone right now. Maybe another time.”

His lips curled into a rueful smile. Before he could speak, there was a loud buzz. Your heads turned toward the front door in unison.

“Where’s the video feed?” Marco asked.

“I think there’s one at the front desk.”

The buzzer sounded again. Who would visit Zach’s office on a Saturday? Anyone who had business being here on the weekend would’ve had a key. With Marco on your heels, you headed for the lobby. Behind the receptionist’s desk, you found a monitor discreetly mounted into the wall, displaying the feed from the hall. A man in a shirt and tie, with a gun holstered on his right hip, stood outside.

He looked into the camera and you recognized Detective Roth.

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

Carl Shepherd woke up with a headache. A second later, he realized someone had tied him to a chair with his hands cuffed behind him. There was duct tape securing the cuffs to prevent him from picking them.

“What the fuck?!”

“Well, well, look who’s awake. Had a good nap, Sleeping Beauty?”

His head swung, searching the darkness for the owner of the voice. A switch clicked and Carl hissed, whipping his head away from the 10,000 lumen work lamps that burned his eyes. His head throbbed in protest at the dazzling light and the quick movement.

“Fuck! What are you doing? Are you trying to blind me?!”

The beams from the industrial lamps were like looking at the sun. He squinted out of the corner of his right eye, trying to see his kidnapper.

“You can’t do this! I’m untouchable, damn it! I make one call to Sheriff Holbrook and you’re running for the rest of your lives. What kind of psycho are you?!”

“We’re the Canadians,” the voice said. “We’re here for a stockpile of drugs a former business associate of ours misplaced. Rumor has it you’d know something about it.”

He laughed. “Canadians? You don’t scare me.”

“I don’t need to scare you, but what should scare you is suffocation. Because guess where we are?”

Carl looked around, noticing the corrugated walls of the room.

“A shipping container.”

“Bingo. We seal the vents and shut the door and you’re dead. It’s not the lack of oxygen that kills you, it’s the carbon dioxide poisoning from your own exhalations. First, you get a headache, then nausea sets in and your heart rate spikes. You pant for breath, but you can’t get any, so you start to feel dizzy. Then vomiting, seizures, and finally you pass out before officially suffocating to death.”

Carl considered the threat. His kidnapper took this pause as defiance.

“I’ve run the numbers and given the volume of this container, the ratio of oxygen, the probable rate of consumption, and other variables, suffocation should take about 22 hours. Horrible way to go, trust me. I’ve seen it before.”

He could easily imagine the owner of the voice hovering in the shadows, wearing an oxygen mask as he watched his victim suffer. A long silence lingered as he waited for the kidnapper to continue.

“Alright, suffocation it is…”

Clothing rustled and the lights illuminated the outline of a man as he stood from a chair on the other side of the work lamps.

“Hey! Wait, don’t!”

“You want to talk?” the kidnapper asked.

“I can’t give you the drugs. You’re looking for Joe Hansen’s stash, right? I don’t have them, it was Deputy Russell who took them!”

- - - - -

Elliot leaned against the Camaro, staring straight ahead.

“We’re screwed. We’re totally screwed.”

Lloyd resisted the urge to point out that Elliot was screwed, not him. If push came to shove he’d kill Holbrook and slip out of town. That wasn’t something his cousin was hardened enough to consider. At the moment taking out the Sheriff might not be the worst plan. Elliot could serve as his alibi. After seeing how he’d handled the kidnapping, it was obvious he’d be a terrible accomplice, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t set Lloyd up for an acquittal based on reasonable doubt.

“Holbrook will never believe his right-hand man crossed him,” Elliot said.

“Deputy Russell is his second?”

“Yeah. Luke Russell.”

“Huh. I think I had a run in with Deputy Luke the other day. Is he partial to a pump-action rifle?”

Elliot’s eyes widened. “That’s him. How’s you get away?”

“Charm, wit, and of course, I’m too pretty to kill,” Lloyd said, and winked. “Listen, this is just a setback. We can work with this. The plan is the same as before - we get the Sheriff busted. Once he’s locked up, you’re in the clear.”

“How? We don’t have any drugs!”

“Tell me about Deputy Russell.”

“He’s careful. Paranoid. Kind of off-kilter, socially. When he tries to cover it up, he comes across as creepy. He’s almost as crazy as the Sheriff.”

Lloyd considered the odds that Holbrook had found another psychopath to partner with. Someone less polished than him, so he’d never have to worry about competition for his elected position. Birds of a feather flocked together, especially the unstable personalities with criminal tendencies, like Joe and Holbrook. They had remained allies for fifteen years before their falling out. Perhaps history wasn’t exactly repeating itself here, but it seemed to rhyme.

Joe and the Sheriff had gone from partners to enemies. Now, Holbrook and Russell’s alliance was approaching the same crossroads, and Elliot was caught in the middle.

“He wouldn’t move the drugs? Or check on them?”

“No,” Elliot said. “If he had the slightest idea we knew about the stash he’d destroy it. Russell is paranoid, in capital letters.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Lloyd mused. “Would he sell them?”

Elliot frowned and scratched his jaw. “Maybe. He’s in this for the money and a quick sale would cover his tracks.”

“Alright,” Lloyd said. “Here’s the new plan.”

- - - - -

Carl watched the two men enter the shipping container. His eyes had adjusted to the brightness, but he still couldn’t see anything but shadows past the work lamps. To his surprise, the kidnapper in charge stepped into the light. Dread curled in Carl’s stomach. If he was seeing his kidnapper’s face, that only meant one thing.

“What? What do you want from me?”

“Call Deputy Russell and tell him you found a buyer for the drugs.”

“Are you out of your mind? He’ll kill me!”

The mustached kidnapper sneered. He reached behind his back and pulled out a Glock.

“Listen up, Carl. You have two choices. Get us a meeting with Russell, or say goodbye to your kneecaps.”

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

Detective Roth hadn’t spoken for twenty minutes. He sat with his arms crossed in the waiting room, opposite from you and Marco. The clock ticked loudly, counting off the seconds as you waited for Zach.

Marco shifted beside you, his leather jacket creaking. He’d refused to leave you alone with Roth. The protectiveness amused you, since you had no qualms about being alone with the detective, but Marco had taken an instant dislike to the man. It didn’t help that Roth had refused to explain the nature of his visit. He’d breezed in like he owned the place and immediately demanded you round up Zach, Bishop, and Lloyd.

Your phone vibrated with a text from Zach.

On my way up.

A moment later, the door opened, and Bishop entered, followed by Zach.

You did a double take at the sight of Bishop’s outfit. He wore khaki slacks and a novelty golf shirt that made the patterns in Lloyd’s closet look tame. His black polo was decorated in neon-sign print. Hot pink flamingos, lime green palm leaves, turquoise margarita glasses, magenta watermelon slices, and chartreuse pineapples covered the material.

For a man who wore nothing but white or blue shirts and neutral ties to the office, he apparently swung to the opposite end of the spectrum on the weekend. Next time you needed a gift for Lloyd you’d ask Bishop where he bought his golf shirts.

Zach pinned the detective with hard eyes.

“What brings you here, uninvited, on a Saturday afternoon, Roth?”

“Which one of you contacted the press?”

“Excuse me?” Zach said, tilting his head.

“Who leaked evidence to the media? If you speak up now, the punishment won’t be as bad. I’d recommend doing so quickly, because I’d rather not get angrier than I already am.”

“None of us would do that,” Bishop said.

Roth grunted. “What about Lloyd Hansen? Why isn’t he here?”

You answered. “His father died. He’s in Idaho taking care of family matters.”

You tried to speak neutrally, but despite your best efforts, anger sizzled in the words.

“The Rolling Stone ran a cover story on the unidentified victims of Shun Nguyen today. The highlight of the piece was that the recently discovered victim was found by the Xiarong crime scene, where she’d been lying undiscovered for the past twenty years.”

He paused, letting the statement sink in, then continued.

“A podcaster was waiting for me in the parking lot this morning. Guess what he wanted? He wanted to know how we could miss a second victim only a few hundred feet away from the first. That was a fun question to field at six a.m.”

Zach’s lips compressed and goosebumps rose on your arms as the shock settled in.

“Do you have any idea how much harder my job just got?” Roth demanded.

“Our job,” Zach said.

The detective snorted. “Given the magnifying glass we’re about to be put under, go ahead. Call it your case, please. It’ll keep a few reporters off my back while they chase you around.”

Zack and Bishop exchanged a glance. You wondered if you should mention what you’d learned from Mr. Liu this morning. Questioning the DNA test when Roth was already upset didn’t feel too smart, but you didn’t want him to think you were hiding information. One look at his tight-lipped expression decided your course of action.

“We weren’t the ones who contacted the media,” you said.

“We’ve had limited hands on this case in the department and only a few people knew the details published today. I trust all of those people. By default, that puts you all at the top of my suspect list.”

Roth looked around, studying each face.

“The only explanation is that someone in this room compromised the investigation. You betrayed your responsibility, mishandled classified information, and screwed me over. As of right now our cooperation is over. Until you hear differently, stay the hell away from my department.”

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

Next - Chapter XV

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