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circusgoth-dotcom · 2 years

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Hooky/First Kiss

Ship: Jack Torrance x Keaton Diamond (Childhood Friends AU)

Word Count: 1054

Summary: Keaton & Jack are around 15 in this story. When Keaton isn't seen at school, Jack skips part of school to check up on him. As a result, he gets his first kiss. Attempted to use some fun fifties slang since that would be when Jack was a teenager if we put the events of The Shining in 1980. CWs for mentions of abusive parents, Jack (kind of) breaking into Keaton's house (granted, he was given a key), and self-image issues.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @rexscanonwife

When Jack didn’t see Keaton at school that day, he knew he had the perfect excuse to play hooky. Yeah, maybe his best friend was just sick, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant to go through the school day without him, either. At lunch, he slipped past the uncaring school secretary and began walking through the autumn-coloured neighbourhood and out to Keaton Diamond’s house. Jack and Keaton had been close friends ever since Keaton’s family had moved him out to Garden City, Long Island, and ever since the two confided in each other about their oppressive home lives.

Jack had to deal with his both verbally and physically aggressive father and his devoutly Catholic mother, while Keaton dealt with an emotionally unavailable father and a physically unavailable mother, along with the incessant calling from his overbearing grandparents… needless to say, confiding in each other was quite cathartic and came easily.

Rounding the corner, Jack scrambled over his neighbours’ fences until he ended up in Keaton’s backyard, gold and red leaves crunching beneath his worn boots as he approached the window that would open into Keaton’s bedroom. He knocked on the glass first in an attempt to be polite, but when the blackout curtains didn’t shift, he dug around in his coat pocket until he retrieved the key Keaton had snuck him so that they might be able to see each other without any adults noticing. Glancing over his shoulder, Jack unlocked Keaton’s window and pulled it open as quietly as physically possible before launching himself over the sill and struggling past the thick curtains. The room was completely dark, but Jack could hear Keaton scrambling to sit up in his bed.

The bedside lamp flicked on. “Jack! You can’t be here right now!” Keaton hissed. Jack looked toward him, still halfway through the window, but he was hiding beneath his sheet.

“Whaddya mean I can’t be here, Keats, your dad isn’t home, is he?” Jack asked, beginning to swing his legs into the room.

“You can’t be here because you’re supposed to be in school-- for Christ’s sake, at least take your boots off, I don’t need my dad asking about mud on the carpet…!”

Jack took off his boots and dropped them outside the window before planting his grey socks on the carpeted floor. “Fine, fine. Seeing you was more important than listening to Mr. Inbody drone on about algebra… so what’re you doing in bed, anyway, you don’t sound sick to me.”

Keaton’s form folded his arms subconsciously under his sheet. “I-it’s something you wouldn’t understand…”

Jack scoffed. “Oh yeah? Try me, Diamond.” He leaned over the baseboard of Keaton’s bed and snatched at the sheet, making Keaton bury himself further under his blankets.

“Jack, no! You can’t look at me…”

“Why not?” Still leaning over the baseboard, Jack looked around Keaton’s room. He had been there before, of course, but he always liked it much better than his own. At least Keaton got to have posters from his favourite sci-fi and horror flicks. The walls were painted a soothing navy blue while the carpet was an unoffensive cream colour. A cluttered desk sat in the corner opposite to the bed, where the duvet was a white background patterned with varying shades of blue birds.

“I’m all… broke-out…” Keaton murmured against his blankets.

“Broke-out??”

“Y’know. Red and spotty.”

Jack slowly wandered to the side of the bed and finally sunk down onto the mattress. “Why do you care that your face is red and spotty??”

“I told you you wouldn’t understand, it’s absolutely bogus! I scrubbed my face with soap and water until it bled and I think it just made it worse…”

Jack’s brow furrowed at this. “Keaton…” He felt around on top of the blankets in search of his friend’s hand, making him squirm and squeak when he accidentally grabbed at his side- “Sorry, sorry!” -before finally squeezing Keaton’s hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“It’s disgusting! And it hurts like a bitch on my nose…”

“Didn’t your daddy tell you anything about not having a dirty mouth, you little shit?” Jack grinned as Keaton feebly laughed. “C’mon, I wanna see that smile… spots and all.”

Slowly, Keaton’s dark hair appeared at the top of the sheets, followed by his forehead and bespectacled eyes.

“Well, it’s not looking too shabby so far,” Jack observed, playfully ruffling his hair.

“Oh, trust me, it gets worse…” The sheet slipped down to reveal his nose and cheeks, inflamed, shining, and pimply, followed by his lips and chin. He squeezed his eyes shut as he sat up, drawing his knees to his chest. “I feel like the surface of Mars.”

“Oh, Keaton… can I…?” Jack raised his hand, letting it hover over his cheek. Keaton opened one of his eyes to see what he was doing and hesitantly nodded. Willingly, Jack placed his hand on Keaton’s cheek. “I don’t think you’re disgusting.”

Keaton shuddered slightly, still with his eyes closed. “You don’t?”

“‘Course not. When have I ever cared about appearances?”

Keaton opened his eyes, glancing down at Jack’s outfit. “You can say that again.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Hey, I’m trying to make you feel better, could you do less ragging on my sense of fashion?”

“I don’t know, I think that is making me feel better,” Keaton hid his smile behind his hand. “No, no, I quite like the way you dress, actually… flannel looks real bad on you.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks.” He stroked Keaton’s cheek with his thumb, unbothered by the slick yet bumpy feeling of his skin. He cleared his throat as he admired Keaton, he was cute whether he was sporting clear skin or the worst acne flare-up of the year. “Would it be wrong for me to want to kiss you? Right now?”

Now Keaton’s face was flushed for a different reason. He bat his eyelashes. “I…” He found his hand trailing up Jack’s arm, past his neck, and up into his hair, almost of its own accord… “you… kiss me?”

“Yeah, caveman. I kiss you. Because you big cute. And Jack big handsome, so, only suitable, yeah?”

“Oh my God.”

And suddenly they were leaning in and kissing deeply, sweetly, eyes closed, hands on each other's bodies, and an autumn breeze flicking the curtains behind Jack’s back…

#self shipping #self shipping community #self insert #self insert oc #self insert x canon #self x canon #self insert oc x canon #oc x canon #the shining #jack torrance #circus scripts #🪓Darling - Light of My Life🪓#🌳🥃.s/i [Childhood Friends AU]

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newtonsheffield · 3 years

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Molly I just managed to read the new GG chapter and only one word come to mind AMAZING. I lived the way Tim supported Anthony and I would like to request Mary's set down if you are not planning to include it in canon😁😁🙏💗💗

Anonymous asked:

God I love Anthony and Tom Sharma in Good Girls!!! Also out of curiosity what was Mary saying to Portia????? I hope she got what she deserved

Tom Sharma is an excellent man and the only thing he wants in the entire world is for his three girls to be happy. And I think, as much as it scares Mary and Tom (and Violet as well for sure) that their teenage children are definitely not just dating, not just letting their teenage hormones run wild, they're falling in love, they know that Anthony's a good guy. He looks after his family (A man that looks after his family like that would be a good husband), he might not be that interested in academic pursuits but he's interested in a lot of other things, he's kind, and more importantly Kate loves him. So they may as well hop aboard the loving Anthony train because Kate's got the kind of personality that means once she'd decided on something she'd not easily swayed. And honestly, Anthony makes it pretty easy to like him. Even Sassy Edwina is like "Bitch you need to step off, only I get to say things like this about how ridiculous Kate and Anthony Are!!"

Mary should have seen it coming really, the minute Portia Featherington had barged her way over, that sly smile on her face.

"Oh christ she's found us." Tom had sighed, attempting to sneak away into the night, but Mary had kept her hand firmly on her husband's upper arm.

"Thomas Sharma I don't think you're about to leave your wife and daughter here all by themselves."

He'd sighed, "But I really hate her."

"Tom, Mary!" Portia had called out, in that irritatingly slow way she had of talking to them specifically. "Mary, I'm so glad you could get the night off, it can be so difficult to work and parent, but I suppose when you need the money, you need it."

Mary cleared her throat, "Well I like my job, it's very rewarding."

Tom had stayed silent, his gaze a little cold.

Portia hummed, "Well and you must have worked so hard to earn your degree, and in a different country too."

Something burned in her chest, but Tom got there first, "Well, I suppose when you've lived your entire life in Kent, Sheffield must seem like a different world. Because that's where Mary was born."

Portia wasn't deterred, her real intent finally showing itself, "I heard your Katie's found a boyfriend."

Mary felt Tom still beside her. Both of them were generally of the same mind towards behaviour like this: People could say whatever they wanted about them, but not the girls.

“I’m not sure why you’re letting your Kate run around with a useless layabout like that.”

Mary's heart thundered in her chest, a protective instinct firing.

Edwina's head had shot up.“Anthony’s really good to-”

“He’ll be dead at nineteen with a needle in his arm, and she’ll be a single mother, struggling for the rest of her life. And he’s from such a good family as well. Sad, Violet has enough to be getting on with, a dead husband, deaf son, and that wastrel.”

And then Mary saw it, Anthony's face over Portia's shoulder, devastated. And mary saw red. It was true, she'd been a little surprised that first time Kate had slid from his motorbike but by the time they'd finished that first conversation twi things were abundantly clear to Mary. Firstly, Kate was a little smitten with him, and secondly, Anthony Bridgerton was a good boy.

And he'd proved her right, he was always polite, always checking in with Kate, supporting her, respectful of her boundaries, and he was so kind. Shouldering so much responsibility for a boy so young, and Mary knew that Kate had fallen in love with him. Kate, once her mind was made up, was not easily parted.

"Excuse me, please. I need to clean up a mess." Tom said sharply, following Anthony who'd just sprinted off into the night, tears already in his eyes. And Mary burned.

"And that's not the kind of boy you want for your son in law, Mary. She'll be supporting him for the rest-"

"Let's talk about Anthony Bridgerton." Mary said sharply, even startling Edwina with her tone. "Let's talk about the sweet boy who brings my daughter flowers and makes sure she gets to school on time, and drives her home in the evening after waiting in the library for her for hours so she won't have to walk home in the dark."

"Well I-" Portia started but Mary wasn't finished.

"No, you wanted to talk about something you had no idea about so let's do just that." Her pulse was thundering in her ears, "Anthony's father died, very suddenly, right in front of him, I think he's entitled to carry a little bit of trauma from that. But regardless of that if he wants to have tattoos and piercings, he's entitled to do it, it doesn't make him any less an excellent young man that Tom and I are very proud to have as a member of our family."

Portia was staring open mouthed at her, blinking a little stupidly,

"Anthony, is a sweet, kind boy who needs love and support, because he's been going through a very difficult time. He doesn't deserve your judgement, and by the way: He won't even drink legally as he's over 18, if he's driving Katie home. So stay the hell away from my children, including Anthony, and if I ever see you look at Violet Bridgerton again, I'll be back."

Mary gripped Edwina's hand who was staring back at her stunned, turning to march away, one last thing grating in his chest, "And by the way, I grew up in fucking Sheffield!"

And with that she dragged Edwina away who was hissing excitedly "Mum that was fucking amazing. I've never seen you so angry."

"Sometimes bigotry grates for too long, sweetheart." But really, all Mary felt was proud.

#good girls au #kathony #anthony x kate #mary sharma #this is a stanning mary sharma house #mary sheffield #portia featherington #molly's asks and answers

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axwalker · 3 years

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Creep 2: I don’t care if it hurts

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

MASTERLIST HERE

Synopsis: Drake and Lexie are star-crossed lovers. Her father hates him and forces Lexie to stop any contact with Drake. Lost and heartbroken, he “bullies” her for two years until he discovers the truth of Lexie’s behavior.

A/N 1 This came up to me after I got an ask from @nestledonthaveone to write a fic based on the song CREEP.

I used to hear this song when I was a teenager, so when I read this ask, I immediately wanted to write something angsty but situated in high school.

A/N 2: Because they’re younger than usual, I decided to change my FC.

Words: 4,110

WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love.

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express his love. His behavior is not excusable.

This is a dark love story. If you’re not comfortable with it, PLEASE do not read it.

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS

As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapter. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic, please do not hesitate to ask!!

DRAKE

Even if she never looks at me or speaks to me again, she’s mine. Even if I’ve been a horrible jerk to her for two years and she pales every time I pull into the parking lot on my motorcycle, she is mine. Just seeing her with him enrages me, so I walk straight toward my usual seat, directly behind Lexie, and slam my textbook down onto the desk.

Startled, Rys looks up at me, “Hey, Walker. What’s up?”

It’s not the first time he tries to make a move on Lexie. Last time –two years ago, we almost killed each other. Pretty boy might be an entitled ass, but he knows how to fight. Maybe he thinks Lexie is game again after all this time. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“Don’t you have a class this period?” I ask him. Liam cocks his left eyebrow, adjusting the straps of his backpack.

“I fail to see why that concerns you, Creep.”

My smile is murderous. “Get the fuck out of here before I break your face, pretty boy.”

I think he has a death wish because he looks at Lexie when he talks, “See you after class, Alexis, when your watchdog will be busy mowing my lawn.” Finally, he just shakes his head and gets out of the classroom. I resume my daily routine. Staring at the back of Lexie’s head, tracing the curve of her perfect neck, my cock getting hard over her perfect cherry scent.

“So that’s what you like,” I say, leaning forward to speak an inch from her ears. “You like them with blond hair and pink polo shirts. Prospects for Cambridge or shit. A huge trust fund. Don’t you? A brat like you needs someone who can spoil her. I bet you’d introduce him to daddy, wouldn’t you?”

She doesn’t respond. She never does. Her eyes stay stubbornly on the front of the class where the teacher has started writing today’s lesson on the board—my hands fist in desperation. I’m dying for her to talk to me. To look at me. Anything. “Too bad, Lexie. I’ll scare every single one of those fucking entitled boys off. You’re going to sit alone in your house on prom night, crying into your designer sheets like a baby. And I’m going to enjoy it.”

The only sign that she hears me at all is the quickening rise and fall of her shoulders. Even that tiny display that I’ve upset her is agonizing, floods me with self-loathing, but I can never stop. She ripped out my fucking heart, and I can’t deal with the consequences of that alone. I can’t let her go. I’ll never let her go. This toxic feeling is the only thing left between us. My hands shake with the urge to take her in my arms, to stop the trembling I caused. To protect her from everything. Even myself. I’d love to move my fingers up into the silky, brown hair that reaches the middle of her graceful neck. I don’t have a lot of money; most of the cash I earn as a handyman goes to food and fixing my dad’s cabin, but I’d give every last cent for her to turn and lock those soft brown eyes on me, just one last time. Sometimes when I jerk off, all it takes is fantasizing about Lexie looking at me, giving me one of those shy smiles, and I lose it. One stroke. Maybe two. Done. I can’t breathe without having her close. And I can’t breathe with her close. It’s a strange condition, this obsession, but she’s an addiction that I just can’t give up.

How could I? She’s intelligent, strong, and so damned gorgeous. Once upon a time, I thought she had a good heart too. But that was before she broke my pathetic heart only because I’m poor. I’ve been hurting since then, and I need her to hurt too. To know what it feels.

“Do you actually think that dumb rich boy would be a good choice for your first time, Lexie?” I grip my desk so tight it nearly breaks down, just thinking about her being kissed –touched by someone else. “At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with Rys for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my rundown cabin door, begging me to fuck you as we both know you’d like.”

A pretty blush is starting to climb her neck. I have to take a deep breath to keep from kiss her pink cheeks. But I think if I got to touch her skin, my wall of bullshit would crumble. I’ve only fucked one girl. Since seeing Lexie for the first time freshman year, there’s been no one but her. I want no one else. She owns my cock as sure as she owns my heart. How easily she’s forgotten about both leaving me in agony.

“Stop,” she breathes. I freeze. Did she just speak to me? It’s the first time in two years that she’s even remotely acknowledged my existence.

“Lexie,” I managed to say. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s all it took. One pleading word out of her mouth, and I’m done.

“Just stop,” she says again, turning her head slightly. “Please.”

I fall back in my chair, my heart thundering on my chest. If we weren’t in the middle of class, if I didn’t feel like a monster, I would pull her into my arms right now. I’d hug her until she stopped struggling, then beg her to hit me, bruise me, make me pay for every shitty thing I’ve ever said to her. But before long, the class is over, and she’s leaving the classroom to get out of here. To put distance between us as quickly as possible—and I have no choice but to watch her because I feel physically ill. Still, I manage to get out into the student-packed hallway, my plan to apologize for being crude and a jerk and torturing her for so long.

My head is telling me not to apologize, though. It’s telling me she deserved it for being such a snob, for breaking me, for valuing money and status like everyone else. My damned heart is telling an entirely different story. It’s insisting there is an explanation for her behavior. Am I going to apologize or not? The decision is taken out of my hands when Lexie opens her locker, and the little gift I left before class falls down. It’s a picture I cut out from our last yearbook. In the photo is a gorgeous smiling Lexie above the caption Most Likely to Succeed. Except I’ve crossed out the caption and added my own. Most Likely to Be a Trophy Wife. Watching her read it, I almost get sick right there in the hallway. Usually, she’s perfectly composed, not betraying a trace of emotion where I’m concerned—a real Ice queen. I’ve always thought she honestly didn’t care. Today, though… she’s not pulling it off. Something is not okay with her, and I don’t like it. She has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as she puts the photo back into her locker, out of sight, her bright eyes finding me briefly, massacring me where I stand. Betraying with one single look how much she has been affected by my actions. Christ. She hasn’t been indifferent at all.

Before I can react, before I can call her name, she’s gone, vanished into the crowd of wild students excited to be leaving for the day. And I know what I have to do. I have to see her. To apologize. To get an explanation for everything. Tonight. I’ll return to her house for the first time in two years.

LEXIE

I’ve known this was coming all day. Sitting on the couch in my living room, trying to make myself as small as possible, I watch my father pace. He rants, gesticulating noisily. This isn’t new, my father’s rage threatening me. But it’s going to be worse than usual. Business has declined for him and it’s put his temper on a trigger. Dad’s new wife, Nancy, hates to be on a budget, and she’s been spending his money like crazy all over Paris --where she’s now. When dad gets home from the office, he’s rarely in anything but a horrible mood. A tornado eating up everything in its path. Completely terrifying. At least dad’s temper makes me forget what Drake told me today, the ugly words he said to me, the boiling anger in his eyes when he looks at me.

“Are you even listening?” The slap across the face comes as a shock because I’d momentarily disappeared into my thoughts, but the sting quickly brings me back to reality.

“Yes, sir,” I say, my ears ringing. “I’m listening.”

“This C on your algebra test is going to drag your whole average down.” He’s waving the test in my face. “What a disappointment you are, Alexis. Your teacher shared my disgust.” I nod solemnly, but I’m listening for the rain outside. “I guess you’re your daughter’s mother after all. A poor Mexican girl who could barely count.” It’s not true. My mom learned English and Greek by herself, and she was a great Spanish teacher in Portavira, but my father would rather die than acknowledge how smart she was.

“Don’t talk like that about her,” I retort.

My father snorts. “I beg your pardon?” He takes a step towards me, and I can see the threat in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I hate to be such a coward, but I know what he can do to me.” I’ll do extra credit. Something to bring my grade back up to an A.” I wet my lips. “Even if I can’t manage to raise the grade, it’s not going to show up on the college transcripts I sent off with my applications.” That’s the reason I let my focus slip a little in algebra. The finish line is in sight for everyone, and we’re just waiting to find out where we’ll be accepted for college. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to maintain my focus this long in any class, considering Walker sits behind me in every period, brooding making me feel … something. At the reminder of him, I want to close my eyes and dream about him. I replay that night in my garden when he kissed me two years ago, so tenderly and passionately, when he spoke to me so sweetly and honestly before he became the second villain in my story. Someone I dread, as much as I crave the sight of him.

At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with that punk for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my trailer door, begging me to ride you right.

Should I be ashamed of the way my body reacted to those words? I grew uncomfortably damp in the hard plastic chair, the center of my body clenching, seeming to beat like a heart. His breath on my neck made me shiver, head to toe. Even the way he scared off Liam Rys did something to me. Aroused me. Deeply. It got so bad that I broke the rules and asked him to stop. I can still hear him saying my name in that tortured way after. That shocked, uneven sound. Lexie. And whether I’m ashamed of myself for it or not, I know I’ll think of it when I touch myself tonight. His voice, his hands, his eyes obsess me.

“College?” My father snorts, tearing the test in half. “You’re not going to college.”

This grabs my attention. A horrible feeling is making me cold. “I’m…what? What do you mean? I applied to nine different schools. I have a four-point five GPA.”

For the first time, I notice his red face is about more than just rage. There’s…humiliation. I’ve never seen him display that emotion.

“None of the American colleges that accepted you offered scholarships.”

“I’ve been accepted?” I gasp, sitting forward, heart pounding in my chest. “Where? I didn’t see the letters—”

“All the mail in this house goes through me, Alexis. I read them. And you failed to get academic scholarships. You failed. Not that I’m surprised.”

I don’t point out that his refusal to let me participate in any extracurricular activities is more than likely to blame for that. I’m too worried about what he’s saying, what this means. The blood is draining from my head, making the room spin around me.

“Okay, I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry. But…we have money. We can pay tuition, can’t we? Or colleges in Cordonia are almost for free. I can go to any of them; I don’t have to go to NYU.” I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here. This is my way out. College is the escape route. I counted on going back to New York, but I can stay here and go to college in Cordonia City.

“Listen to you, so quick to spend my hard-earned money—spoiled brat. And of course, you can’t go to college in Cordonia. What for? To end up being a schoolteacher like your mom? A housewife as Nancy?” He laughs bitterly. “No, you’ll stay here, and I’ll help you find someone suitable to marry.”

I shake my head. “There’s financial aid, then. Loans or I can get a job and go to college in Portavira…”

“You want to leave, just like her, don’t you? You’re all the same.”

I don’t even flinch when he yanks me to my feet, shoving me into the wall. In fact, for the first time, I took him right into his eyes. And I can see the violence burning on them has nothing to do with me. It never had anything to do with how I behave, my choices, how hard I worked in school. How welcome I made Nancy feel or cooked a roast. It’s about him and his self-loathing. It’s his sickness. Not mine. I can also see that he was never going to send me to college. Because he wouldn’t be able to control me from a distance or stop me from sharing what I’ve been subjected to since my mother died. Not like he does now. He wasn’t physically abusive all the time. Especially not when his new wife is around. But she traveled often, and then he’d push me. Shove me. Slapped me several times. I’ll graduate at the top of my class for nothing. He knew I would all along.

That’s when I realize I’m free. I don’t have money, but college is free in Cordonia. I can work, save a little and go to college in one or two years. I’ll be a writer; it’ll just take more time than I thought. “Go to hell,” I whisper.

He steps back, giving me the momentary satisfaction of his shock. “What did you say?”

Liberated, I scream it this time. “Go to hell!” From the moment I sat down to have this conversation, I knew tonight would be worse than usual, but I’ve just bought myself a ticket to hell. Usually, I can retreat to the untouchable place inside of me as he unleashes his rage, but not tonight. He doesn’t stop at one or two slaps. He punches and kicks, and I’m present for every punch and kick. Every yelled insult. Finally, I start to get scared. I’m crawling across the carpet on my hands and knees, searching for a weapon I can use in my defense when I glance out the window and see Drake staring back at me, his face a mask of horror.

Drake

What I’m seeing just isn’t possible. It can’t be real. My head won’t accept it. Not until her terror-filled eyes meet mine through the window and the truth pounds on my chest, leaves no doubt that this is real life. Lexie’s father is beating her. Her mouth is bloody, one of her eyes beginning to swell, arms and legs visibly weakened. I can barely fucking process it before my body is springing into action, desperate to protect her. To put a stop to the worst thing I have ever seen. What the fuck. Scorching hot rage takes over. I kick in the front door and throw myself between Lexie and her father. His fist is raised, but it pauses when he sees me, his momentary confusion giving me the time I need to knock him out cold. It only takes one right uppercut from someone his own size, and he goes down, his blank, glassy eyes staring at nothing, mouth opened. It’s not satisfying enough.

Nothing will ever be satisfying enough. I want to kill him, destroy him, but my Lexie is struggling for breath behind me, and she’s all I can think about. Turning, I approach her, my heart threatening to jump off my chest. As gently as I can, I catalog all of the cuts and purpling skin. No. No. Who could do this to her? Who could lay a finger on her in anything but reverence? Get her out of here. Calling her name, I reach down to pick her up, but she flinches and hurries back, bringing her body up against the wall.

“Don’t touch me!” Those words filled with fear rip the soul clean out of my body. My hands drop limply to my sides and two years come rushing back, hitting me in the chest like a hammer. Every word, every action. Everything I did to make her life harder when this is what she’s been dealing with at home? Fuck me.

“Lexie…” My voice is as kind as I can. I feel broken. “I’m sorry. I came here to apologize. For everything.”

She puffs a humorless laugh, testing her cut lip with the tip of her tongue. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see this.”

“If I knew this was happening, I would have been here a long time ago. I would have stopped it. I swear Lex.”

Her expression can only be described as stunned. Maybe even a little pissed. “You are not my savior, Drake. You are my enemy. You’ve been for two years, and I want nothing else from you now.”

“I am not your enemy.” Those words barely make it out of me, my chest hurts so fucking bad. “Don’t say that.”

Unsteadily, she uses the wall to try and stand. I try to help her, but she recoils, and it’s a dagger straight into the center of my throat. Nothing less than I deserve, though, isn’t it? Her distrust of me is entirely my fault. I’ve made her hate me. There has to be some way to fix what I’ve done. Please God, let there be away. But right now, my main concern is her physical safety. Knowing she’s been in danger all along is unbearable. I only decided to come here tonight a few hours ago. What if I didn’t? What if I arrived an hour later? The possibilities are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. From the floor, her father groans, shifting slightly.

“We need to get you out of here,” I say, anxious to get her free of this place. “Now, Lexie. I need to get you somewhere safe.”

She’s standing now. Leaning against the wall and cradling one arm to her stomach, regarding me warily. “How do I know I’m safe with you?” It’s so much worse that her question is honest. Not meant to hurt me. She honestly doesn’t know if I pose a threat. It guts me where I stand.

“You are the safest with me,” I say thickly, cursing myself. Wanting to erase the last two years so badly, my hands shake. “Please believe me. I’d die before hurting you. I’d never, Lexie. I’d never do something like that.”

Her father rolls over onto his back and slurs a few words before losing consciousness again. Still, the sound of the older man’s voice seems to scare Lexie, “I…maybe you can just give me a ride to…a motel maybe?” She pushes off the wall, her step uneven as she walks toward the stairs. “I need some things from my room.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we don’t have time, but I’m just grateful she’s trusting me enough to leave with me, so I don’t argue. I just wait until she’s halfway up the stairs, then tie her father’s hands behind his back with my belt in case he wakes up before we leave. I have no problem knocking him out a second time, but Lexie has seen enough violence for one night. Cautiously, I walk up the stairs toward the light coming from a room halfway down the hall. This place is a far cry from my home. It’s elegant and clean, and tasteful, but it lacks any warmth whatsoever. It’s cold, like a museum. Turning the corner into Lexie’s room, it’s time to hate myself all over again. There is nothing on the walls, none of the expensive furnishings. Just four white walls, a bed, and a dresser that doubles as a desk. Several textbooks. She looks back at me over her shoulder as if judging my reaction, and I keep my features impassive, though I’m dying on the inside.

“What can I do?” I ask.

“How long do we have?”

“As long as you need.” It’s physically painful not to pull her into my arms when I’m standing this close, and she’s hurt. Sad. Yet full of more inner strength than I’ve ever witnessed in another human being. I’m lucky just to be in her presence. I fucked up royally. And if she allows me back in, I’ll never do it again. It’s probably, definitely, too much to hope for. Being allowed back in. She doesn’t even look sure about having me in her room. Let alone her heart. I was trying to protect my own heart, but I lost it instead.

“Um…” She closes her eyes to focus, a familiar trait I’ve seen in class countless times. “There is a black bag in the hallway closet. Can you just stuff anything into it from the bathroom that looks useful?”

Ask me to bring you a unicorn. I’ll find a way to do it. “Sure.” We work in silence, Lexie taking things out of drawers and adding them to the bag, which I’ve left open on the floor. I add toiletries from the bathroom, and once it’s zipped, I wait, watching her hesitate in the doorway.

“Lexie?” Conflicted chocolate eyes meet mine.

“I can’t just leave, can I?”

“You’re not safe here, baby,” I say softly, trying to keep the residual rage at bay because it’s the last thing she needs. Not to mention she’s had her fill with negativity from me. No more. “How long…how long?”

She shrugs, the saddest expression in her eyes. “My mom died five years ago. Ever since then, it’s gotten worse and worse. Although I never had a chance to talk to anyone about what happened behind closed doors, you know? I don’t think a person can evolve into a monster. It’s inside him.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I became one, didn’t I?”

That gives her pause, forms a line between her delicate brows. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

She starts to walk past me, stops, standing close enough to fill my nose with cherry. “He told me if I ever spoke to you ever again, he would hurt me. Ruin you, have you evicted. Make sure you never got hired again. I didn’t mean to…hurt you. Or hurt your feelings, if that’s what happened.”

That revelation destroys me, sets me on fire. “Jesus, Lexie. You were protecting me? And I…I tortured you for it?” I twist the neck of my T-shirt, trying to calm down, but it doesn’t work. I’ll never be calm again “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She glances at the doorway, then back at me, eyes closed again in that way that says she’s thinking. “All I want from you now is a ride out of here, okay? And on Monday morning, you’ll stop.” She opens her shining eyes again. “No more bullying, Drake. If you’re really sorry, you’ll do that for me.”

Fuck. I couldn’t say one more single shitty thing to her if my life depended on it. Put me at gunpoint, and I’d rather get shot at than torture this girl for one more second. But I’m highly, painfully aware that with an end to the bullying comes an end to the possessiveness. No more scaring off guys who show interest in her. No more getting close enough in class to count the hairs on her head, to smell her sweet fragrance. And to tell the truth, I’m pretty fucking worried I don’t know how to give those things up completely. I don’t think I can physically do it. This addiction with Lexie isn’t something I can cut off. A leg would be easier to sever. But my hesitation is causing her eyes to worry. If I don’t agree to, essentially, let her go… she’s not going anywhere with me. And that means her safety won’t be guaranteed. I need it to be. More than anything.

“No more bullying,” I say, finally. A moment later, I follow her out of the room and down the stairs, trying desperately to count the hairs on her head before I no longer have the chance.

#tw domestic violence #toxic relationship #tw bullying

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phykios · 3 years

Text

Ain’t No Sunshine, modern royalty, 1970s au [read on ao3] thank you as always to my darling @darkmagyk for taking a true story off the rails

May 3rd, 1979. The date seemed to jump off the page, the loud, bold text almost mocking her.

Not that she was keeping track, but it was just about four years to the day.

She’d woken up this morning, feeling kind of off, wandering around her apartment in a daze as she hustled her children out the door for daycare, losing time on her bus commute to work. It wasn’t until lunch, as she took the time to go through her day planner, that she realized: four years ago was when she had last seen Percy Jackson.

Though why Annabeth was thinking about him right this second was anyone’s guess.

Oh, sure, she’d thought about him a lot all throughout her pregnancy--thought about him, cursed his name, dreamed of strangling him for leaving her alone with these two absolute terrors--but as the years had gone by, and she had lost all hope of ever making contact with him again, he’d sort of fallen by the wayside of her thoughts. Something must have been going on with the navy mail system, because absolutely none of the letters or postcards she’d sent had ever been received, and she couldn’t reach out to Sally, since Annabeth had lost her address as well.

There was always the possibility that he… well, that he wasn’t around to receive letters anymore. But she tried not to think about it.

She tried her best not to think about him at all, these days.

Today, however, her childhood best friend turned US navy midshipman had popped up on her internal radar, and had just decided to take up residence in her brain. Her normally mind-numbing job couldn’t even properly distract her, and she spent all afternoon daydreaming about his messy, perpetually windswept hair, and his toothy, contagious smile, and his gorgeous green eyes like she was some kind of pathetic, lovestruck teenager, obsessing over her rockstar crush. Taking calls, scheduling appointments, and dodging the creepy advances of the assistant CFO were slightly more palatable if she had something pleasant to think about.

Old-fashioned romance was for suckers, anyway. Who needed it?

At least it was Friday. Fridays were KFC days, and she really did not need to accidentally burn dinner today. Again.

She hated it, but her kids loved it. God knows they could barely stomach whatever she usually attempted.

She sent them to bed early-ish, and settled down in front of the TV with a glass of wine. She didn’t usually indulge, but she had had such a weird day, she felt she deserved it.

Taking a long, long sip, she could no longer deny it: she really fucking missed Percy.

She missed him like she’d miss a missing limb, and it was all the more cruel because she’d lost him once, and miraculously found him again, on that fateful trip home from Athens. A military brat stuck at the American naval base in Spain to save money, waiting for a spare seat to open up on a plane so she could go home, by the sheer force of luck, she’d practically tripped and fallen into the lap of her childhood best friend.

And then she did trip into his lap. And then into his bed. And stupid, stupid, Annabeth, she’d always been so bad with her birth control.

Her little boy, he had blond hair, but sometimes he would look at her, or laugh at something, or drool in his sleep just like his daddy, and Annabeth thought she might just fucking die from it.

She loved her children, of course, how could she not? But she wasn’t about to deny it--sometimes, alone in parenthood, juggling dishes and laundry and schoolwork and life, she felt like she was drowning.

Sharp, piercing, the doorbell rang, knocking her out of her reverie. A little tipsy, still in her rumpled work clothes, she set the glass aside, and made her way to the door. “Mr. D,” she said, opening it, prepared speech all ready to go, “I told you, I’d have the rent for you by--”

She stopped, blinking, speechless. It was not Mr. D.

“Hey,” said the man outside her door. The ghost from another world that she had, apparently, conjured with her thoughts.

“...Hey.”

He smiled, a little strained, the light of the streetlamps casting harsh shadows on his face. “It’s good to see you.”

“How did you know where I lived?” It was, perhaps, not the most elegant thing to say, but she hadn’t exactly planned for what would happen when Percy Jackson, love of her life, father of her children, long-lost best friend wandered back into her life.

“Can I come in? Maybe for a Coke or something?” he asked, not answering her question.

She almost wanted to say no. For every letter never returned, for every month gone by without a word, for every day spent raising their children without him, not knowing if he was alive or dead--she almost said no.

But this was Percy. She could spare him a Coca Cola at least. “Sure,” she said, leaning away, “come on.”

“Great,” he said, and this time, his smile was all real.

So focused had she been on him, she hadn’t even clocked the older man who stood behind him. “Sir,” said the other man, with the air of a beleaguered secretary--and Annabeth would know, “I really must advise--”

“I’ll just be a minute,” said Percy, not even bothering to look back at him, pushing past Annabeth’s half-extended arm.

“But, sir, your father--”

Percy let the door shut in his face.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Harsh.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well… I’ll make it up to him later.”

“Who is he?”

But Percy didn’t answer. “Nice place you got here.”

He was being nice, of course. It was a craphole apartment in a craphole side of town--but the rent was cheap and the bus was convenient, and she only felt the slightest bit of shame as she led him to the craphole couch, handing him a coke from her craphole fridge. Christ, his suit looked like it cost more than her TV.

“Is your… husband home?” he asked, delicate.

“My what?”

“Your husband. I saw, um…” Embarrassed, he flicked his eyes to the ring on her left hand.

“Oh, this? It’s--it’s not--” Hastily, clumsily, she fumbles it off, pulling around the knuckle. “I’m not--I’m not.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I just--it’s to ward off creepy guys, right? Like, they won’t take no for an answer unless they think they’ll have to deal with an angry husband, so I just…”

In her more pathetic moments, she pretended that it had been given to her by the man before her. She had picked something small and simple, something that she thought he might have gone with, and pretended he had slipped it into her pocket the day she left the naval base.

“That’s--cool. That’s great, I mean. I mean, that’s--”

“What do you want, Percy?”

Not at all bothered by the shortness of her tone, he sighed, closing his eyes. “I have a… personal question I need to ask you. And I’m sorry to bother you with this, I just--I have to ask.”

Ominous. “Okay?”

“Did we…” He sighed again, mouth twisting. “Did you, as a result of our repeated sexual encounters four years ago, happen to have any children by me?”

He just rattled it off, as if it was something he’d said over and over and over again, tired of receiving the same answer, but never expecting anything different.

“Excuse me?”

“I know, I know, it’s an extremely rude question, and I know I have no right to ask you, especially since it’s been so long, but I swear, there’s a reason I--”

“Did you never get any of the letters I sent you?”

At that, his head shot up. The look in his eyes could only be described as ‘terror.’ “What?”

“I must have sent you half a dozen,” she said, crossing to the kitchen, the wine making her a little bit short. She had, in fact, sent him eight letters, with pictures, and never received a single response, but since he seemed genuinely lost, she decided not to tell him. Plucking the most recent photo down from the fridge, she returned to the man in her living room, his knuckles white around the can.

Standing before him, she handed him the photograph. He took it, fingers shaking. “We… you…”

“Percy Jackson,” she said, like she was introducing him to someone at a party, “meet your children.”

Even after they had just been born, Annabeth had seen how obviously they were his. Only their daughter had the same messy black hair, both both had the same long, straight nose, the same intense, brooding brow as their father--and when her son smiled, or her daughter laughed, it was hard not to see the shades of Percy so strongly in them. It was hard to see them, too.

Percy’s mouth was trembling. His eyes were wide, glassy, fixed on the photo. “My--” he swallowed. “What--what are their names?”

“Alexander,” she said, softly, “and Anne--”

“Annemarie,” he breathed. “Alexander and Annemarie.” He looked up at her, his eyes shining. “You remembered?”

Of course she remembered. Two lonely kids, she and Percy had spent so much of their childhood together, playing house, building their perfect family, even if only in their imagination. Alexander for his mother’s cousin, and Annemarie because he had wanted to name their daughter Annabeth, and she wouldn’t let him. Twenty years later, alone and in pain, holding her newborn children and alternately cursing the man who made them and desperately wishing he were with her, Annabeth had known that they could only have one set of names, even if their father might never meet them.

His face crumpled. He dropped his head into his hand, and groaned, like someone had pressed on an open wound.

“Percy!” Annabeth sat down next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his leg. Four years later and it still felt so natural to touch him like this. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, he grunted. “Yeah,” he croaked, voice hoarse, “I’m okay. I’m fine. I just--” And then he shuddered, a hand coming up to scrub at his eyes.

He was crying, she realized suddenly. Annabeth used to be the one that cried. She could count on one hand how many times she’d seen him cry. He hadn’t even cried when she had finally left the naval base.

Taking a shaking breath, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his expensive suit. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, shattered. “I didn’t--I never--if I had known, I swear, I would have left the navy. I would have come home.”

The silent, unspoken “to you” echoed in the dead air of her apartment. “Why didn’t you?” she asked, quietly.

They held each other’s eyes, an eternity passing in a heartbeat. Neither wanted to break the sacred silence, to bring words into the crystalline moment that hung in the balance between them.

“I never got your letters,” he said, tears in his eyes. “I… after you--left, I…” he sighed, aching. “I… got hurt. Bad.”

Annabeth couldn’t breathe.

“And,” he huffed a laugh, wet and messy, “and then I met my father. Can you believe it?”

Her eyes bugged out of her head. “You what?”

He nodded.

“He’s alive?”

Sally rarely spoke of him, and Percy had always refused to. Annabeth had just assumed he had died, years and years and years ago.

Percy laughed again, humorless. “He’s the king of Thera.”

Her jaw dropped. “He…”

“Yeah.”

“Are you shitting me?”

Shaking his head, he smiled, rueful. “I wish.”

Words from a half-remembered newscast floated through her mind. Alexander and Annemarie had been right terrors that night, and she had only been half-listening as the reporter informed the world that Triton, hereditary prince of Thera, had died, killed in military action. “He… found you?”

Percy nodded, miserable. “He told me--asked--told me to--to find anyone I might have…” And then he swallowed, tears in his eyes again, real, glistening tears. “And I am so, so sorry, I know--I know your job is here, and your whole life, and the children, but I--”

She took his hand in hers, squeezing gently so he didn’t fly away. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just say it.”

“I’m supposed to--I’m supposed to… if you would… come with me,” he trailed off, suddenly shy.

For the second time tonight, she felt like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. “...What?”

“He… my father… the king wants--needs heirs. He… he asked for a list of women, and I… gave him your name.” Stomach hot, Annabeth wished she had the courage to know about the other women on that list. Or to ask why Percy, young and handsome as he’d been at both twelve and twenty, wasn’t out there making some new ones himself. Why was he chasing down old leads? Why was he chasing down Chase bastards? “You’d--you’d live in the castle,” he said, like he was trying to sell her on it, though she could tell his heart wasn’t really in it, “and we, well, we’d technically have to get married, but that doesn’t need to be a big deal. You’d get your own rooms. You can set them up however you want. And you’d have a personal staff, a stipend, and the kids would get private teachers, and--”

“Staff?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Yes?”

Staff. Someone to do the laundry and clean the dishes. Someone to cook dinner and look after the house. Someone to help. Someone to do all the parental things that she just could not do, not by herself. Not without him.

“I know I have no right to ask this of you,” he said, squeezing her hand. His hand was just as big as she remembered, and just as warm. “And I would never, ever force you to do anything that you wouldn’t want to--”

“Yes,” she said, interrupting him.

He blinked, dumbly. “What?”

“Yes. I’ll come with you. We all will.”

“...Oh. Uh, great. That’s--that’s good. Are you sure?” He looked like a lost little dolphin, eyes huge and uncertain, and then, Annabeth did the one thing that she’d been desperately wanting to do for the last four years.

She pulled his face to hers, and she kissed him. Shocked, he stiffened, almost pulling away--before relaxing into her, cupping her face in his big, warm hand. Eyes closed, they leaned their heads against each other, sharing air once more for the first time in years. She had lost him twice already: once as a child, when her father had decided to move her across the country, and once as a lovestruck college girl, when she had to leave the naval base, four years ago. She wasn’t about to lose him for a third time.

And for the first time in forever, she no longer felt like she was drowning.

#my fic #pjo fic #pjo #percabeth #percabeth fic #au #the rivalry ends here #the au which we have affectionately named 'chop chop'#for... reasons...#darkmagyk #perseannabeth

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

One Night🌙6

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (to be warned later in series), nocturnal playtime, unwanted touching.

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: I’m working on more drabbles and Eye of the Storm! But for now, enjoy some Andy.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your appointment went as well as it could have. The doctor ran bloodwork and several other tests as Andy nodded knowingly as if to say ‘I told you so’, which he also did aloud several times after. The drive home was a reiteration of what you should, and more enthusiastically, what you shouldn’t do.

It was really starting to feel like he believed you were an actual child. Your own father had never talked to you in such a way. You couldn’t say the same for your mother but even she could reel it in long enough that you didn’t feel like a complete moron. Andy just seemed to latch onto every mistake you made and sink his teeth in until he tasted blood.

And like the teenager he treated you as, when you got back to his house, you stormed up to the guest room and slammed the door. You fell onto the bed and screamed into the pillow. Oh yeah, that long lost adolescent rage returned. Then it all drained from every inch of you and you rolled over to stare at the ceiling.

You could hear Andy below. You listened to him moving around, the decisive click of his polished leather shoes. He climbed the stairs and you heard him stop outside your door. He sighed and retreated to his own room. Your day off an you’d spend it like this; raging at your new warden.

The knock on your door made you flinch.

“Hey,” Andy’s voice sounded decisively through the door. “I’m going into the office for the rest of the day. I’ll be in around six.” He paused and the handle jiggled but didn’t turn. “You know where everything is.”

You didn’t answer him. You waited until he left, the footsteps on the staircase, the front door, the soft rollover of his car engine. You sat up and pulled out your phone. A single voicemail; your parents’ number.

“Hey, kiddo,” Your dad’s voice rose from the speaker. “Your mom wants to know when you’re getting the rest of your stuff.” A slight pause and a cough. “You know I don’t care and you take your time but if she asks, I told ya to come get it… Love you.” The line buzzed. “And your mom loves you too but she’s just as stubborn as you, you know? Well, anyway, uh, bye.” Another glaring silence. “Oh, and it’s still my house. I’ll be happy to see ya, kiddo.”

You saved the message and dropped your phone to bounce on the mattress. You put your head in your hands as you tried to resist the overhwelming swell of sadness that overcame you. You didn’t care about your stuff and you couldn’t bring it here. You wouldn’t. Sell it, toss it, you didn’t care.

You sat up and dropped your hands to the bed in defeat. You were such a fuck up.

🌙

You avoided Andy for a few days. You found excuses to stay in your room when you weren’t working and even spent a good deal of time in the backyard, weeding the overgrown garden. It didn’t matter. Autumn was close and most of the plants were dead. It must have been her job, or maybe a cherished hobby.

Aside from Andy’s prickly nature, she made it harder. That stranger; Laurie. You were an imposter in her place; usurping her as she laid in a hospital entirely unaware. You only knew what the press put out. He never said much about it. Did you really expect him to? All he ever spoke about was you, the baby, and everything you did wrong.

After a rather long day at work, made longer by your suddenly returned appetite and the smell of cinnamon and coffee, you returned to the house and found yourself back in the yard. You sat at the patio table and scrolled through your phone.

Felicia wanted to meet up the next night. You hadn’t told her yet. If she took you for drinks, as she always did, she’d figure it out pretty quickly. Well, why were you hiding it? You wouldn’t be able to for much longer. You already felt a little bigger, wider at least. Would it be so bad to tell? To not be alone?

You swiped away her text and bit your thumbnail. You’d think about it and send your answer before you went to bed.

The screen door clattered and you sat up straight. You looked up as Andy emerged and strode across the deck. He had a beer in hand and placed it on the glass table as he neared the other side of the table. His tie was gone, his top button undone, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows.

“Here you are,” He said as he pulled out a chair and sat. “How was work?”

You shrugged and turned over your phone. “It was work,” You sat back and crossed your arms. “Do I ask you? Is that the right thing to do?”

He chuckled and popped the cap of the beer and took a swig. “Well, it was an exciting day. Had a defendant attack the judge. Didn’t get very close but a they took him out,” He turned the bottle on the table. “He got me good on his way out, even if he missed my face.”

You let your arms fall to rest over your stomach. You didn’t know what to say. Did he want pity? Surely you couldn’t relate to his courthouse crusades.

“Well, that sounds… scary.” You offered.

“It happens. Not a lot but you can never predict people,” He took another gulp of beer. “What are you doing out here? It’s gonna rain soon.”

“Yeah?” You looked up at the grey clouds. “I never minded the rain much.”

He was quiet as he picked at the label of his bottle. His toe tapped and he pushed his shoulders back.

“Your mother came to see me,” He said gently. “Said something about tossing your stuff out on the lawn.”

“Shit,” You winced. “She shouldn’t have--”

“You haven’t talked to her?”

“And say what, exactly? She made her feelings about me pretty clear.” You played with the case of your phone as you turned it over. “My dad called me but… I don’t care about all that shit.”

“We can go get it. It’s not--”

You laughed and shook your head. “Why? You’re so eager to erase my former life, why would you care?” You threw your hand up and planted your elbow on the table. “It’s just books. A few stuffed animals. I never really could afford much of value. The poor pauper girl.”

“I never--”

You stood and slid your phone into your pocket. You still wore the plain black shirt and matching pants from work. Your fly was half undone to relieved the pressure and your shirt had caught in your waistband. You pulled the hem down and pushed in your chair.

“I’m hungry. I’m going to get changed and make something to eat.” You said.

You left him there and went inside. After slipping into some leggings and a loose tee, you swept into the kitchen and surveyed your options. Some linguine with chicken and spinach. That didn’t sound too bad.

You pulled out a chicken breast and the cutting board. You put the water on boil and heated the frying pan. You started to chop up the chicken into chunks as you heard the back door. Andy appeared and set his bottle down across from you as he stood on the other side of the island. It gave a hollow clink; empty, already.

“So, what are you making?” He leaned on the marble.

“Pasta,” You answered curtly. “You have any hot peppers? Hot sauce?” You opened the fridge. “I wouldn’t mind something spicy.”

“Check the door,” He said. “You must be past the nausea. You know, I always heard the cravings were the worst part. I never really considered pickles anything to drool over but---”

“Stop, please,” You interjected as you turned back with a jar of banana peppers. You could dice them up and mix them into the sauce. “It’s miserable. All of it.”

He sighed and stood straight. He rounded the counter and opened the cupboard. He added oil to the pan and it crackled. He put it back and turned to grab the spinach and rinsed it in the colander. He set it on the counter and turned back to watch you slice the chicken.

“You gonna keep this up?” He asked.

“What?” You set the knife down and dumped the chicken into the pan and washed your hands..

“You gotta try to meet me halfway,” He turned.

“Meet you halfway? Andy, christ,” You spat as you stirred the chicken and seared it. “How much more can I give you?”

“Bit of courtesy, maybe,” He said. “I’m trying here but you won’t even--”

“There you go again, speaking to me like a child. I am not a child. Let’s start there,” You pointed at him with the spatula. “You should know that.”

He considered you, his blue eyes drifted then returned to you. He gave a small smile. “I definitely know you’re not a child.”

“I’m serious.”

He nodded and exhaled. “Alright, I’ll try to ease off.”

You squinted at him. “I really wanna believe you will.”

He scoffed and brushed past you. He went to the fridge and grabbed another beer. He flipped the cap off and leaned against the door.

“I’m a lawyer. I can’t help it.” He shrugged. “But for the sake… of the baby, I’ll take my foot off the pedal. A little.”

“Cool,” You set the spatula down. “So you won’t mind if I go out tomorrow night. My friend Felicia wants to have dinner.”

“Dinner?” He repeated. You raised a brow. “Yeah, fine. That sounds like fun.”

“Great,” You smiled and grabbed the linguine noodles. “And you know, you’ll get a night to yourself. Win-win.”

🌙

You texted Felicia after dinner and for the first time in a while, you felt excited about something. So excited you found it hard to settle down. A bigger problem because you had an opening shift the next morning and you were already constantly exhausted.

You laid in bed and tossed and turned. You stared at the ceiling, then rolled over and stared at the window, then tried laying on your stomach until your leg fell asleep. It was at least an hour of endless turmoil, trying to force yourself to doze, before you just resigned to blinking into the dark.

You listened to the gentle spatter of rain. As always, Andy was right. It was really annoying. You sighed and peeked out the window as the rivulets streamed down the glass. The moonlight shone through the droplets in silver orbs. You turned onto your side and counted them, hoping it would coax you to sleep.

Then you heard it. At first, you were certain it was nothing. The wind, maybe. But it continued, steady, slowly mounting. The heavy breaths coated with sultry groans. You froze and craned your head to look over your shoulder as you listened. You’d left your bathroom door open without thinking and could hear a little too much through the one at the other end.

You dropped your head back to the pillow as the voice continued; deep and drawn out. It wasn’t hard to guess what was going on; what the only other person in the house was doing. Andy was only human after all. Well, you’d fucked him almost on sight. You were no saint. Yet it felt so wrong, hearing him like that. Worse that as you closed your eyes, you could only imagine him in the other room with his hand…

You pulled the duvet over your ear and pressed your head to the pillow. You felt a tickle between your thighs and squeezed them together. Ignore it, just listen to the rain. But his voice only got louder and louder until it finally peaked in a sharp grunt. Your lips parted and you shuddered. He was done, thank god.

It was silent for a few minutes, all but the gentle patter of rain. Then the bed groaned through the wall and soft footsteps. You were tense as you listened, moreso as you heard him near the other side of the bathroom door.

Shit, he had to clean himself up and…

The door opened and you heard his feet on the tile. He let out a growled and cranked the sink on. Your door was still wide open. It sounded as if he was right beside you as the water flowed and his breathing evened out. He turned off the faucet but lingered in the bathroom.

Then he stood in the door to your room. You could feel him there, looking at you. You were thankful your back was to him. Slowly, he crept closer and you felt him looming over you, just at the side of your bed. Your nerves were on fire, every hair on your body was on end.

The blanket moved just a little as he tugged at it. You made yourself stay still as he paused, waiting for you to react. He let out a long breath and yanked harder to dislodge the duvet from under you. You squeezed your eyes shut, terrified. You should say something, do something, tell him to fuck off!

He bared your leg and the cool air raised goosebumps along your skin. Your shorts offered little coverage and had ridden up your ass. He let the blanket rest on the other side of your leg and his fingertips grazed your calf and thigh. He touched your ass and pressed more firmly against it.

Then suddenly he recoiled. You heard him swallow and he pulled the blanket back over you. He turned and retreated into the bathroom, your door clicking closed behind him, the second which led into his own room. The silence was pierced by his muffled voice.

“Shit.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber x reader #dark andy barber x reader #fic #series #defending jacob #dark fic #dark!fic #one night

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malereader-inserts · 4 years

Text

broken crown | iv.

Remus nodded, “Yes, you’ve said it yourself, he’s a wizard. No one knows his life, truly, except the one who shall possess the gifts the old gods have granted him - at least that’s what people say about his writing, no one has ever understood them.”

“It’s a lot of responsibilities,” You said.

“Well, no one really knows when Merlin will pass his powers down, or if he will.”

Word Count: 2,108

A/n: Feedback would be appreciated!

< Previous | Next >

The four of you had sat on the couches in the living room, you looked at the minister of magic, as you looked at your best friends confused to why he was to visit. Rufus Scrimgeour looked at all four teenagers in front of him, there was pity in him as he cannot help but feel sorry for what these teens had to endure, only seventeen.

"Herein is set forth the last will and testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. First, to Ronald Bilius Weasley,” He paused to look at Ron, who straightened his back, “...I leave my Deluminator, a device of my own making in the hope that when things seem most dark it will show him the light."

“Dumbledore left this for me?” Ron asked as he was handed the small little contraption as you and Hermione eyed it, unknown to the both of you as Rufus nodded, “Brilliant. What is it?”

Rufus shrugs his shoulders as Ron flickers it, everyone turning heads to see the light in the nearby lamp was sucked out and into Ron’s new gift, flickering it close. After mere seconds, Ron flicks it open again, releasing the light back to the lamp.

“Wicked,” Ron smiles, holding it tighter as the group looks at Rufus once more.

"To Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of ‘The Tales of Beedle the Bard’ in the hope that she finds it entertaining and instructive." “Mum used to read me those,” Ron says with a smile, "The Wizard and the Hopping Pot. Babbitty Rabbitty and the Cackling Stump." Ron was met with confused and blank looks, “Come on, Babbitty Rabbitty. No?”

You shake your head as Rufus cleared his throat, “To (Y/n) (M/n) Lupin, I leave a compass and that he shall find direction in what he most desired.”

Rufus carefully gives it to you, you rub your thumb upon the engravings of Latin, you opened it, the compass carefully handcrafted in such a delicate and beautiful way. The pointer spinning around before landing towards Harry. You looked up and give him a smile before shutting the compass close.

"To Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill."

Harry holds the item dearly, remembering that Sirius told tales of his father often stealing the snitched despite being a chaser and playing with it. Harry watches as the wings open before closing once again.

Is that it, then?” Hermione asked, holding her gift upon her lap.

“Not quite,” Rufus says looking at Harry once more, “Dumbledore left you a second bequest: The sword of Godric Gryffindor. Unfortunately, the sword of Gryffindor was not Dumbledore's to give away. As an important historical artefact, it belongs--”

“To Harry,” Hermione interrupted as everyone cast her their attention, “It belongs to Harry. It came to him when he needed it in the Chamber of Secrets.”

“That’s not the case,” You spoke, “The sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor.”

Rufus nodded, “That is correct, therefore, that does not make it that wizard's property. And, in any event, the current whereabouts of the sword are unknown.”

“Excuse me?” Harry was confused as he asked the question, tilting his head.

“The sword is missing,” The Minister of Magic explains, “I don't know what you're up to, Mr. Potter but you can't fight this war on your own.”

Remus was beaming to hear that Harry accepts the fact that he would be godfather to his new child. Your mind was wandering as the wedding reception had raged on, not much was asked the day before when the Minister of Magic had turned up - though you were quite thankful. Hermione looked at you, wearing a small bag on her, in there was contents of your bag as well, stuff that you both had packed for this journey.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Remus asked as you jumped, not realising that he had been standing by your side for a few minutes, waiting to see if you had noticed.

“Sorry,” You mumbled as Remus chuckles, “Got lost.”

“I heard Dumbledore left something in his will for you,” Remus continues the conversation as you nodded.

You pulled it out from your inside pocket, “Compass, it should point in the direction of the thing I most desire, whatever that means...”

“You know what Dumbledore was like,” Remus says in good nature, a reassuring smile on his face as you pass along the gift, “Things don’t make sense at the moment but it will do at a moments notice.”

Remus opened the compass, as you shoved your hands in your pocket. Remus observes the pointer, as it spins around before stopping in one direction, he looks up in that direction to see Tonks. Remus smiles to himself before looking back down at the compass, ready to give it back to you before it spins again. This time landing west, looking to his left, he sees you. Minding your business as your eyebrows knitted to see Sirius dancing horribly on the dance floor.

Remus closes it shut, looking at the engravings, “What’s this?”

You looked over to your dad, “Latin. Causa latet, vis est notissima it means ‘The cause is hidden, but the result is well known.’ Which leaves me even more confused.”

Remus hands it back to you, “I didn’t know you have a thing for Latin.”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, dad,” You says, sighing, then looking at your dad, “If I had a choice I would but-”

“I’ll learn them eventually,” Remus smiles reassuringly, as you soften.

“Always positive,” You commented, but there was a tinge of thankfulness gracing your words, thankful that he had not pressed onto the issue.

“Well, when you have a son who is very persistent, it’s hard not to be,” Remus laughs as he watches your lips curve upwards.

You sat in silence for a bit, in fact, the two of you were judging Sirius and Tonks atrocious dancing, they really let loose when everyone is having fun. You leaned on the back of the chair as you shoved your hands further into your pants pocket.

“Do you believe in a God?” You asked out of the blue, your father turns to look at you questioningly.

“Merlin,” He responded as he noticed the slight annoyance.

“He’s not a God, he’s a wizard,” You bit back the bitter tone.

“Might as well be,” Remus shrugs his shoulders, “With the amount of worship many other wizards and witches alike do for him. You often forget that people worship a God when he’s in the picture.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You can say that again.”

Silence.

“Mother told me to worship the old gods, the few, those specialised in us - wizards and witches,” You recalled, standing up straight as your father nods.

“Ah, of course, the old gods that pure-bloods look to. Sirius and Dora say they believe in those gods, and those are the ones who graced Merlin to be like them. I believe the Weasleys also believe in that. Like, said, pure blood families and the rare half-blooded families turn to confide in the old gods.”

“What was that?” You asked, tilting your head, “Those are the gods who graced Merlin?”

“It’s a lot of responsibilities,” You said.

“Well, no one really knows when Merlin will pass his powers down, or if he will.”

You stood silently, there was a chance that you could have lived a normal life, a life that you didn’t need to hide away your true abilities. Your cousins could have easily granted the power of Merlin and yet, he chose you.

Gods knows how, it’s not like he’s alive to pass it down on you and yet, he has left to a purpose to fulfil. One that you feel so subjected to.

“Why do you have such anger towards Merlin?”

As you were about to answer, a shot of Kingsley’s patronus had crashed onto the dancefloor. Harry, who was in the middle of his conversation, stood up to see what is happening. Remus moving away to gain a closer look as Kingsley’s voice bellowed.

“The Ministry has fallen. The Minister of Magic is dead.”

Your eyes widen, as you feel your wand up your sleeve go down, gripping the handle as something unpleasant bubbles within you.

“They are coming.” Kingsley’s voice had started to chant before the patronus disappeared.

You turned around as most people tried to apparate away before Death Eaters had started to raid the wedding, crashing into the reception. You whipped out your wand, flashing a spell before Ron and Hermione had grabbed you by the upper arm.

“Harry-!” You exclaimed as Remus turns to your voice.

Eyes widening when he sees Harry run to you, you locked eyes towards Remus. There was a moment of knowing within Remus, he knows you’ll do anything to be by Harry’s side, and yet it had never occurred to him that you would not be there, in his home - bouncing down the stairs. You looked at your dad with apologetic eyes before flashing away.

Remus sighs, “See you on the other side.”

“Coffee?”

Everyone looked at the woman who stood at the diner, everyone ordering their cups of coffee.

“So where do we go from here? Leaky Cauldron?” Ron asked as you shake your head.

“It's too dangerous,” You responded as Harry, on your left, agrees with you.

“If Voldemort has taken over the Ministry, none of the old places are safe. Everyone from the wedding will have gone underground, into hiding,” Hermione spoke as Harry looked mildly annoyed with himself.

“My rucksack with all my things, I've left it at the Burrow,” Hermione shook her head as if to signal her small bag, Harry looked at the bag before looking at you as well.

You tugged on your bag on your back, “I’ve got stuff, I’ve got some essentials for us,” You backed Hermione, who nodded, “I can think ahead too.”

Harry had noticed that two men had walked into the building, going up to the counter before he realised one had slowly revealed their wand, his eyes wide as he places a hand on top of yours, “Down!” “Stupefy!” You shouted towards one of the men, your wand pointing towards them, causing a blast of the building.

“Expulso!” Harry exclaims, knocking one out as Hermione gets the other.

“Petrificus Totalus,” The poor woman of the diner, comes out from the back to look at the four teenagers in front of her, each looking bewildered as Hermione instructed her, “Go, Leave!”

“Lock the door, get the lights,” Harry mumbled, as Ron takes out his gift from Dumbledore, capturing the lights.

You and Hermione shut the blinds and you locked the door, the four of you had gathered at the feet of the two men, were knocked out.

“This one's name is Rowle,” Harry identified, “He was on the Astronomy Tower the night Snape killed Dumbledore.”

You kicked the foot of the other one, “This is Dolohov. I recognise him from the wanted posters.”

“So, what we gonna do with you, hey?” Ron asked at the man looking up at the two of you, there was a bitter tone to his voice, “Kill us if it was turned round, wouldn't you?”

“If we kill them, they'll know we were here,” Harry said from behind, you sighed, patting Ron on the shoulder.

“He’s right, Ron, it's better we wipe their memories,” You said as Harry and Hermione agrees with your statement.

Ron sighs, knowing what you and Harry had said was true before motioning it to you, “Go on, Merlin, you’re the best with spells.”

You glared him off, Merlin being a teasing nickname between your friends as you looked at the man, lifting your wand towards him, “Obliviate.”

As you exit the cafe, the four of you walking in a hurried pace as everyone tried to think of a safe place to go. Everyone agreed to the Old Order of the Phoenix headquarters, 12 Grimmauld Place. Sirius had evacuated the home right after Harry’s fifth year, and he’s been spotted in multiple different places just to keep everyone guessing where he was.

“Think we’ll be safe here?” Ron asked as Hermione shrugs her shoulders.

“We can only hope.”

Tagged

@carefulthatsharassment-sir @lanlanlan020202 @hanniejji @dumbssbtch @lea-the-foxe @stan-joonies @littertortilla

#Remus Lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x male reader #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x male reader #x male reader #broken crown

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abraxos-is-toothless · 4 years

Text

Surprises- Elriel Multi Chapter

So yes Elriel again, I’m sorry but I’m trash for them:)

This is going to be a fic about teenage pregnancy, I will try my hardest to get everything as accurate as I can during this but if something isn’t right or I need to change anything do let me know!

Warnings: There will be swearing, mature themes, mentions of alcohol at times, and mentions of sex. I will updates warnings as I go if needed.

—————

Chapter 1

Gods above, he had barely even opened his eyes and he just knew that last night was definitely a mistake. Azriel was not, under any circumstances, going to allow Rhysand and Cassian to throw that big of a party again. Ever. Idiots.

Pain killers. Those would help, with a large dose of caffeine and a side of bacon. Lots of it. Walking across to the bathroom was harder than he thought it would be as everything seemed to be spinning. Az cranked the heat of the shower up high just the way he liked and began stripping while he waited. Only then did he realise that all he was wearing was a pair of boxers, yet these were not the ones he originally had on. The brute he called a brother was so very dead. He never forgot the events of a party ever, because he never got that drunk, but Rhys just had to bet him that he couldn’t do more shots that he could. He’d ask what happened when he could function as a normal human being again.

Azriel decided to clean himself up quicker than he usually would, still feeling too drunk to stand. Reaching up for his shampoo on one of the higher shelves had him letting out a hiss as pain radiated from his shoulders and back. Christ, what the hell had he been doing? Ignoring whatever it was he got back to the task at hand, and after about ten minutes he was stepping out of the shower, wrapping his towel around his waist. Waking over to the mirror by the sink, he turned his back towards it trying to get a look at what damage could have been infl—

Shit. Fuck.

Scratch marks. Stretching from the top of his shoulder blades, down towards the small of his back. It was there he found the crescent moon shapes that were dug into his hips. Mother above, what the hell had he done? Quickly finishing up in the bathroom he went back to his room to dress so he could go ask his shithead brothers some much needed questions. But as he walked past his unmade bed that’s when he spotted it; the spotting of blood on the sheet of his bed. Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.

Azriel pulled of the sheets as fast as his body would allow, stopping off to put them in the washer as he made his way to the kitchen. His mind was still whirling with explanations for the already suggestive evidence as he walked through the door into the kitchen. Cass had his head down on the marble counter making small mumbling sounds while Rhys, the smug bastard, was just stood at the counter sipping from his coffee as if he hadn’t pushed himself to a near blackout the night before. Nesta Archeron, Cassian’s girlfriend and older sister to Feyre, the love of Rhysand’s life- or so he said -stood over the stove cooking eggs and bacon. God bless the scariest woman alive.

“Where did you wander off to last night, brother?” Rhys said as Nesta handed him an over flowing plate of food he would no doubt demolish in seconds. “Yeah,” this time a mumble from Cass “one minute you were all smushed up and chatting with Lainy in the corner, the next you were both walking up the stairs.” He remembered someone trying to start up a game of spin the bottle but having always hated that game, he decided he’d disappear upstairs for a while but as he turned to leave- yes, he was with Elain. She had looked uncomfortable at the thought of having to interact so he offered if she’d like to ditch and they could go hang out in his room or something. They knew each other because their siblings were dating but didn’t get the chance to ever speak really, this was his chance to learn more about her and hopefully make her feel a bit less awkward. Az recalled making it to his room, taking several different bottles of alcohol along the way. They spoke for a little bit knocking drinks back as they went. He was vaguely aware of them going to the bed to watch TV, a head on his shoulder and the very strong sent of roses. Hands were moving and there was a gasp as he turned his face towards hers.

And that’s when a memory hit him.

Panting breaths in his ear. Warm lips on his. Hands on his shoulders, his back, and then a sharp stinging sensation followed by overwhelming pleasure. Everything felt warm and soft and so gods damn good he didn’t want it to end. There were small whimpers to which he asked with a heavy strain in his voice, “Are you alright?” He got a small nod and then a small soft voice breathed “Yes. I promise. Just go slow.”

Someone waving their hand in front of his face, clicking their fingers, brought him out of his memories and he looked to see Nesta glaring at him. “I’ve been trying to ask you how you want your eggs for at least five minutes an answer would be good now, or I’ll let you starve.” He swallowed, trying not to get on her bad side and replied with “Sorry Nes, uh scrambled please?” She just nodded and turned back to the stove while Cassian just seemed to watch her with a dreamy smile on his face. He could still feel all of the sensations from that memory as if it was happening now. Azriel already thought he knew what had happened but he tried to push it to the back of his mind. This could not be happening. He tried to make his brain work and tell him how that situation could have even happened but he came up with nothing, absolutely nothing. Rhys was still watching him, waiting for an answer to his previous question so Az pushed back against the raging thoughts of his mind and replied “Elain needed to use the bathroom, but she mentioned that idiot Graysen had been watching her all night and didn’t want to walk up there alone, so I walked her there to keep him away if he tried to follow.” The lie was easy enough and it stopped the death glare he was being given by Nesta at the idea of him taking her sister to bed. He’d overheard Feyre and Nesta talking about the stupid twerp a few times and that he’d always had this fascination with Elain. He was screwed if Nesta found out the mess he was slowly coming to terms with. So fucking screwed.

Wait. What if she remembered and had left a note or a message or something? Making up an excuse of thinking he was going to be sick, he raced back up to his room, closing the door and started walking over to his bedside table. Picking up his phone, Azriel unlocked it to find no new messages. Sighing, he dragged his hand through his hair and let the thoughts take over. What if she didn’t remember? Or even want it? They had both been drinking and all of his memories were still so hazy. This brought another question into mind. Condoms. He didn’t remember any of the fumbling of using protection that usually occurred with previous hook ups either. Maybe they hadn’t gone that far then, and there was just a bit of fooling around, but that contradicted the bloody sheet. He never forgot to use protection. Not once.

He kept telling himself nothing happened, that he was imagining it because there was no way he could have just possibly fucked up his life, Elain’s life, right?

Fuck who was he kidding, he’d taken something that wasn’t his to take from a girl he rarely talked to unless it was something social, and he’d quite possibly had unprotected sex that could lead to a very messy situation. God fucking damn it.

—————

Love it? Hate it? Please do let me know, your feedback is greatly appreciated. If you’d like to be added to the tag list just say and I’ll make sure you’re in there for the next chapter😁 Chapter 2 will be Elain’s messy morning and discoveries😏

Tag list:

@bryaxisthefaceofnightmares (thank you for the beta read!)

@starlitfangirl @starsauroras @drunken-starz @myfriendscallmeraba @thesirenwashere @empress-sei @elrielllll @stars-falling @cirieael @verifiefangirl @verifiefangirl-mainblog @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn @mirainthedark05 @marveil @fancyclodpaintercookie @slightly-sane-fangirl @empress-ofbloodshed @sleeping-and-books @b00kworm @kvi-arts @rhysandhlcor

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saeyoungs-sunflower · 4 years

Text

A Piece of You: Chapter 4

Pairing: Zen x MC

Synopsis: After the death of his sister, Zen is entrusted with raising her daughter. Six years later and MC has settled into RFA, but she just wants to be back on the roof with the love of her life like she was two years before. But dealing with teenage years, dragged out engagements and a lot of unsaid feelings, you start to lose a piece of you. Or, perhaps, find a piece you had that had been missing the whole time.

Warnings: None!

Song: Things You’ve Never Done - Passenger

⇦ Previous Chapter

***

To be honest, Zen was not having a good day.

Although, he wasn’t having a particularly bad one either, it was just…a day. He aimlessly wandered through the convenience store, idly picking things off the shelves and chucking them into his basket, a gaping emptiness inside him that he couldn’t label as anything other than boredom, and he wasn’t even sure it was that. He had done this routine enough times that he didn’t even need to think about what he was buying anymore, his muscle-memory guiding him to each isle and each section.

On second thought, perhaps he really was just bored. He had the week off work and Gi was at school during the day, and to top it all off, the RFA chatroom had been dry as hell lately. Not even Saeyoung was logging in that often to start drama or blabber on about physics for half an hour. Zen was in desperate need of something, anything to do.

“Hyun, sweetie! How are you doing today?” the older lady at the counter beamed.

The creases of her face were enhanced at the sight of Zen approaching, a kind glint in her eye and a gentle spirit to her. Zen couldn’t help but return her warm smile as he lifted his basket onto the counter, “I’m well, thank you, So-yi. And yourself?”

“Same as ever,” she winked, making Zen chuckle, “How’s our little Gi? Still a little terror?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started. You know she got in trouble last week for hiding her teacher’s keys in the fish tank?”

She guffawed, and Zen chortled despite himself, “That’s a smart little girl right there. Sounds just like her daddy.”

“More like her mother, actually…” Zen’s voice trailed off, his smile faltering a little as the light behind his eyes diminished ever so slightly, but enough for the woman to detect.

So-yi had been the owner of the local convenience store since Zen had moved into the area, and from the moment she laid her eyes on the broken man, the broken child, she knew she would have to look out to for him. When he stumbled in at three in the morning requesting liquor and cigarettes, she would sneak a packet of aspirin and a sandwich into the bag as well. Then when he came in to buy diapers and baby wipes, she would slip some cookies in. Little by little, she started to see some colour in his cheeks and a honesty in his smile as he wished her a good day. She was the only person in his life who knew him when he was Hyun, and stayed to witness him become Zen. She was the closest thing to a mother that he had, and he the closest thing she had to a son. It was perfect timing, for the both of them.

So-yi promptly changed the subject, “Have you seen this?” she said, handing him a flyer from the stack that stood proudly next to her. It appeared to be advertising some jazz band playing at a nearby bar, for one night only. “I’ve seen them before, real good music, I’ll tell ya. Came in last week asking if I’d be willing to sell some tickets here, and you know I’m a sucker for jazz. They’re playing tomorrow night, I think you’d enjoy it.”

Zen considered it for a moment. Gi was going to be with Jaehee tomorrow night - by her request - so he’d just be home alone anyway. And maybe…if he asked…

“Sure, sounds like a fun evening,” he looked down to his feet, his shoelaces suddenly very intriguing to him, “Can I get two, please?”

So-yi’s smirk widened, and she didn’t even bother to hide it, “Planning to take someone special?”

He returned the grin in amusement, “Calm down, So-yi. It’s not like that.”

She handed Zen the tickets along with his bag, shooting him a mischievous look, “Mmhmm, okay then. Well, I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Zen rolled his eyes playfully, “There’ll be nothing to hear about. She’s just a good friend,” he called over his shoulder, waving her goodbye as he left the store. Her smile grew wider.

Oh to be young, So-yi thought to herself. Oh to be so naive.

***

Zen pulled up to the school just as kids in tutus started to filter out the doors, darting towards open arms and stumbling into their parent’s embrace. He smiled fondly, getting out of the car and making his way to find his own little monster.

“Daddy!”

Zen didn’t even have time to turn around when Gi threw herself at him, almost toppling him over, though he managed to save himself with an outstretched arm before he smacked against the concrete. He clutched his chest in feign defeat, crying out dramatically as Gi clambered off, “Oh, the beast has slain me. I will never recover, I am mortally wounded!”

“Dad, stop, you’re not at work right now,’ she tutted, crossing her arms, “Such a drama queen.”

“You’re no fun,” he teased, and she stuck out her tongue in response. “How was ballet?” he asked, grabbing her hand as he started to lead her back to the car, only to be stopped by a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, are you Gi’s guardian?”

Zen’s mouth twitched as he swivelled around, carefully watching Gi in the corner of his eye. She seemed unfazed. Good. “I’m Gi’s father, yes. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Oh yes, of course. My mistake,” she said flatly and turned to the young girl, “Gi, why don’t you go and play whilst I have a quick chat with your dad? It’ll only take a moment.”

Gi looked to Zen and he gave her a subtle nod, an indication for her to go. She ran off excitedly, and Zen started to feel a tad defensive about the situation, “So, what did you need to talk to me about?”

They sat down on a nearby bench in the playground, the teacher crossing her legs and her chin stuck out. She eyed him, almost scrutinisingly as she began to talk, “I wanted to talk to you regarding some…concerns I have about Gi’s progress and behaviour.”

“Right,” Zen began, attempting to keep his expression neutral, “What are these concerns exactly?”

“Well, whilst we always value enthusiasm and freedom of expression, her energy could be considered as, how should I phrase this…uncivilised at times. Of course, we want to encourage our students to embrace their passions, and we want her to continue to dance.

He clenched his jaw and counted to ten, trying with all his might to stay calm. It wasn’t working, “Okay. With all do respect, if you feel that her dancing is, as you say, ‘uncivilised’, then isn’t your job to teach her the ‘correct’ way of ballet?”

If she was caught off-guard by Zen’s bluntness, then she did a brilliant job of hiding it, “There’s only so much we can teach her, Mr Ryu. And any how, we believe that the problems are rooted further than just her lessons.”

“I want to know exactly what you mean by that.”

“Ballet is about grace and precision, there is a femininity to it, whereas Gi currently demonstrates a rather wild and boisterous approach. Gi is at an age where her behaviour is heavily effected by her environment, and therefore we feel that this behaviour may have something to do with her slightly wilder upbringing and life at home-“

Zen had stood up now, fists clenched and breaths staggered, “This is ridiculous, Gi is six years old. If she enjoys to dance, then for Christ’s sake just let her dance her way. This isn’t the Royal Ballet. She is a child.”

“A child with incredible potential, Mr Ryu,” she explained evenly, which did nothing to calm Zen’s vexation, “I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t think it mattered. Gi is not like any student I’ve taught before. She has an immense athleticism, and with some discipline, I have faith that she will go far with her ballet. She is capable of great things.”

“I’ve heard enough, you lost me when you brought her home-life into this. You have no right to make comments on her ‘wild’ upbringing. Does she have a typical upbringing? No. Because guess what, it’s pretty damn hard to achieve ‘normal’ when her mother is dead and her biological father is nowhere to be found. Mind your own damn business,” he spat, already walking towards Gi, picking her up and storming to the car.

The drive was eerily quiet, only the sound of Zen’s heavy breaths could be heard as Gi silently watched out the window, blissfully unaware of the event from just before. Zen’s hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were white, and his teeth were gnawing on his bottom lip in an attempt to prevent himself from shouting his anger at the top of his lungs. He was absolutely fuming.

It had gone from ‘just a day’ to a bad day real quick. He needed to calm down.

He needed to call her.

***

The coffee shop was bustling when MC joined Zen, relief instantly washing over him as he caught a glimpse of her through the glass door. They ordered their drinks, and they settled down at a little table in the corner, Zen’s hands still shaking slightly as he placed his cup down.

For the first few minutes, MC remained quiet. She knew by now that when Zen needed to talk, he really needed to think. So she sipped on her coffee whilst she patiently waited for him to gather his thoughts, and prepared herself to give him her undivided attention. He needed to be heard, so she needed to listen.

As soon as he opened his mouth, the words came tumbling out in an exasperated mess. MC was pretty experienced with Zen’s emotions at this point, but today she could tell that something had really hit a nerve with him. He was passionate with his explanation, but MC also clocked a despair in his voice, an ache in his eyes. Zen wasn’t just angry, he was hurt.

“She just…like what does that have to do with anything? Who has a meeting about a student’s home-life when the child seems perfectly happy at school?” he asked defeatedly, his fingers fiddling with the handle of his cup, “Why can’t they just let her do ballet her way if that’s what she wants.”

MC nodded along, reviewing the situation as she took another sip of her drink, “Well, is it what she wants?” Zen eyed her curiously, so she continued, “You said that the problem was that she is incapable of being elegant and graceful when dancing, but is she incapable or is she unwilling?”

Zen looked down into his now empty cup as he considered MC’s words. He had sat in on many of Gi’s classes, and whilst she always seemed satisfied after class ended, she seemed…frustrated during it. Zen always thought it was because she couldn’t get the moves right, but now he wondered if there was something else at play, “I guess she does always appear discouraged during her lessons, like she’s being held back. But she adores dance, it’s all she talks about. She always says that she likes to move with the music, but ballet just seems too restricting. She’s tried other kinds of dance but she likes how ‘pretty’ ballet is…”

“Has she ever considered figure skating?”

Zen quirked an eyebrow. MC chuckled, “Figure skating. She’ll get to use her power and athleticism so she won’t feel held back, but then she can still incorporate the elegance and ‘prettiness’ of ballet. There’s an ice rink that just opened nearby, you should let her give it a go.”

“I don’t know…I don’t know if it’s best to just stop it all together.” MC gave him a glare. “I just don’t want her to end up like her teacher, MC. She’s so..odd!”

MC placed down her cup and leaned forward on the table, waiting for Zen to focus on her, “Zen, I think it was odd that she brought that up as well, but don’t you think she did it because she was desperate? Because she knew that Gi was special? Can you not at least let her try it? You never know, she might surprise you.”

Zen sighed, recognising that MC was right. She very well might be a natural, and even if she wasn’t, as least she tried. “Okay, I’ll bring it up with her. Thank you, MC.”

MC merely smiled and dipped her head, clearly not understanding how loaded that ‘thank you’ was.

They continued to chat casually for a while, when Zen quickly had a realisation, “Oh! I meant to ask you, are you free tomorrow night?”

MC’s face dropped a little, a response that was small enough to go unnoticed anyone, but not small enough to go unnoticed by Zen, “I’m sorry, I have plans with Chul tomorrow night.”

Of course, how could he forget? Obviously he couldn’t just assume that she would available any night of the week anymore. She was in a relationship. She was busy.

The dull ache he felt in his chest surprised him, a disappointment that he couldn’t have anticipated. This was the first time that she had other plans, that she didn’t have time for him. Had he taken her company for granted? Had he taken her for granted? Was this, after all they had, the beginning of the end?

But, the end of what, exactly?

“Ah, no worries,” Zen replied easily, his acting skills being put to good use, “It was nothing, just wanted to hang out. How are things going with Chul anyway?”

“Good,” she responded, a smile playing on her lips and her eyes regaining a bit of their usual glimmer, “Really good.”

“I’m glad,” he said and felt a pang of guilt, because Zen didn’t like to lie, and he certainly didn’t like to lie to MC. But he was going to have to get used to it.

The following evening Zen went back to the convenience store, his best shirt on and the two tickets in hand. So-yi watched him curiously, a melancholic expression on her face. Zen walked up to the counter, “Would you like to come with me?”

She smiled sympathetically at him as she mentally connected the dots, “Of course, sweetie. I get off my shift in five minutes. I’ll meet you outside.”

And so they strolled to the bar together, So-yi holding onto Zen’s arm as they laughed and sang through the street. Not many men his age wanted to spend their Friday night with a little old lady like her, but Zen wasn’t most men, which made So-yi’s heart ache a little more for him. He deserved the world.

She didn’t ask about the girl, because she knew that, even if he hadn’t realised it yet, she was someone special, and she had said no.

She’ll come around, So-yi thought.

They always do in the end.

***

“Saeran, come look at this.”

Saeran strolled over to the couch, milkshake in one hand and a soda in the other. Chucking the can to Saeyoung he sat next to him to get a good view of the laptop that was balanced on his twin’s knees, examining the screen as his eyebrows furrowed, “What is this?”

“I-uh…may have done a background check on Chul.”

Saeran sighed, giving his brother a pointed look, “You know MC told you not to. She’s gonna kill you.”

“I know. I know I wasn’t meant to but I just wanted to be sure and-“

“Wait, is this a criminal record?”

Saeran studied the document, taking in every detail, and his heart dropped when a certain set of words caught his eye.

REASON FOR ARREST: Assault

“It says in his notes that he got into a fight at a bar,” Saeyoung added gently, cautious of Saeran’s reaction, “In his statement he said that it was self-defence-“

“They’re together right now, correct?” Saeran said smoothly.

“Um, yeah. MC said they were going ice-skating, but why do you-“

“I’m going out. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Saeran, you can’t just go and interrogate or beat up the guy. We don’t even know what happened.”

“I’m not going to, I just need to see for myself that he’s okay for MC.”

Saeran didn’t wait for Saeyoung’s reply, instead he just put his hood over his head and marched out the door, missing the look of pure defeat on his brother’s face.

It took him less than half the time it usually took to reach his destination, but as soon as Saeran walked through the automatic doors of the ice-rink, he started his search.

They weren’t in the lobby, and they weren’t in the cafe, so they must still be on the ice. He managed to sneak his way onto the rink without going to the front desk, because of course he could. Saeran had no idea how much longer MC and Chul were going to be there, and he definitely didn’t want them to catch him in the foyer. So, sneaking in it was.

Which, though he would never admit, he found more fun anyway.

After only a few seconds of glancing over the other skaters, his eyes landed on the couple. He was moments away from marching over to them to have a little chat with Chul, but was halted by one thing.

MC’s face.

Saeran had never seen her face so bright, so glowing. Not even when she bought her new apartment, not even on her birthday. Not even when she was with Zen.

Her smile met her eyes, free of restraint and absolutely beaming. And Chul looked the same way, but he was completely enraptured by her, as if he was hanging on to her every word like she was a lifeline to him. They looked happy. They looked in love.

And nobody, especially not Saeran, would ever make that look on MC’s face disappear when it was as rare as rubies. Who was he to judge a man based on his past, anyway? Saeran didn’t know Chul’s story, nor did he know the Chul in front of him particularly well, but he would give him a chance, just like MC had given Saeran a chance.

He’d tell Saeyoung not to worry, but to keep a watchful eye. Because yes, Chul gave MC a spark that had nearly died out, but when there is a spark sometimes it’s hard to see the smoke; and when there’s smoke, there’s fire.

***

Masterlist || Next Chapter

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger fanfiction #mysme yoosung #zen ryu #hyun ryu #mm zen #mysme zen #zen x mc #zen x reader #zen x you #my writing

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asterekmess · 4 years

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S3A - E7

So, I’m starting this episode right after finishing the last one, and I’m still kinda riled up from that bullshit. Let’s get to pissing me off and breaking my heart then. Blood/gore mention warnings for this episode.

Exercise your eyes! Read More!

Let’s just jump right in:

Starting right off with forcing myself into putting the tag in. Scott literally just listened to his mother say that giving this woman something to lessen the pain of her injuries could complicate things and make it harder to treat her. This is like an important medical thing. While yes, it’s really upsetting that she would need to keep being in pain, she needs to be able to identify and explain what exactly she’s feeling to the doctor who is going to be arrive really soon (though I have no idea why the nurses aren’t able to get these people set up. That’s what they did with me? I didn’t see a doctor for like an hour, but they didn’t make me sit in the fucking waiting room before dealing with the blood.) Her pain level will have a direct effect on how quickly she’s seen. This moment is meant to show Scott being soft-hearted, but with the doctor only ten minutes away, he could literally be making this woman’s life a whole lot worse by taking away her pain right now. There is a reason why after I was given pain killers for my surgery I wasn’t allowed to be near any heavy objects. Her pain is keeping her from irritating her wound. She could fuck herself up if she stops responding to the signals her body is trying to send her. This is not the right way to make Scott look kind. He looks like an idiot who doesn’t even listen to his nurse mom.

WHo the FUCK would keep driving with a bunch of bugs in the car? She’s not even on the interstate! PULL OVER IDIOT.

I’m actually agreeing with Scott on this one. I have no idea how medically accurate what melissa just did was, but it look pretty damn cool.

WHat the hell is this conversation? First off, Ethan, you made VERY clear in the last episode that you want to bite Danny even after he said no. Even if that was the possession talking, it was based on what YOU wanted. Danny’s not safe with you. Second, what is this bullshit about knowing Lydia is the important one? Important to Stiles and ALlison maybe. Scott literally never talks to Lydia. THIRD how exactly did you guys come up with that idea when you went after them on the FIRST DAY? You sniff him on them? cus’ if so your noses are damaged.

what...what is with this ghost car shit? She was in the middle of the city, more than ten minutes away from the hospital and behind the traffic caused by the ten car pileup. How did the car drive itself ALL THE WAY here?

Ethan. you’re an alpha. you have night vision. You shouldn’t need to ask what the fucking MOTH in the middle of the driver’s seat is.

HI NOAH! I’ll be honest. I missed you. You’re a really good actor and you just make me feel all safe. WHich is weird bc I hate father figures and I hate cops. Linden Ashby is just too good, I guess.

It’s so frustrating watching Deucalion walk around with humans pretending to be blind. Because he is. He is Pretending to be blind. He’s already proved like a dozen times that he can see just fine when he turns on the Alpha eyes. Which doesn’t make SENSE because Deaton said his iris’ were permanently damaged. He doesn’t have two different sets of eyes! And it sucks, bc they put in these little things that it would’ve been awesome to see if they included an actual blind person properly. The casual use of the cane, taking someone’s elbow and the trust that implies, and even this. Having (that looks like ethan’s coat) Ethan explain what’s in front of Deucalion, describing the scene to him.

DEREK YOUR SECURITY SYSTEM SUCKS. HOW DID THEY DO THAT WITHOUT YOU WAKING UP? WITHOUT CORA NOTICING?

Also, Cora, you look amazing, can you please be my friend and can I hug you? I love your shirt.

I HATE THIS BITCH. Fuck you Julia.

uhh....why is an English teacher filling in for a chemistry/geometry teacher? That’s not how substitutes work. Making a joke out of it doesn’t make it make any more sense. SHe shouldn’t be doing that, especially if Harris has been missing for a while.

So your office can keep werewolves out, but not darach? Okay, let me go full conspiracy theorist here. we only know Deaton saw the moths because we see it. He just tells Scott that he’s going to be taken. This is a story that Scott is telling, so he couldn’t know that deaton saw the moths unless deaton told him. Julia is currently teaching a class. Are you seriously saying she doesn’t need to be involved at all in order to do these kidnappings? She can just put them on a timer and let the autmoatic spellwork do the job for her? OR Is deaton lying about being taken, and this is just a test he came up with to force Scott’s “True Alpha”ness to the surface? JUlia clearly had other plans for her sacrifice. I don’t think Deaton was a ‘distraction’ to keep Scott from finding the actual sacrifice. I think it was Deaton using the situation to his advantage.

why does deaton have a canine acupressure chart on his wall? I’ve never seen a vet’s office have that. Does he do alternative medicine for dogs??

BOYD. ISAAC. MY BOYS. I can’t tell you how much I love this. It’s so sneaky and annoying and so pack-ish I just love it so much.

BOYD YOU ARE A GENIUS BOY AND I LOVE YOU.

I swear, like ninety percent of what the ‘adults’ in this show say is ‘go back to school.’ ‘shouldn’t you be in school’ yadda yadda. Like, they want so badly to write the teens as though they never have to go to class, so they just make them constantly skip and ignore that these are fucking teenagers who would never be able to get out of school that easily, and they handwave it with someone occasionally going ‘hmm, weird that they aren’t in school’ and then just ignoring it? Truancy is like a THING that you can get in major trouble for. At least Boyd and Isaac called in sick. You know how you could have avoided all this class bullshit? PUT THE FUCKING SEASON DURING THE SUMMERTIME DUMBASSES.

It just hurts seeing Stiles beg for Scott not to make him tell his dad, and then turn right around and admit that it’s not okay for him to let other people suffer just because it scares him that he might lose his only parent. Like, he walks into that sacrifice with eyes wide fucking open and it hurts.

I’m not talking about these dumb sex scenes anymore. I’m so tired of them.

OKay, can we talk about the fire alarm thing though? It sounds like a jokey kind of thing with Aiden teasing Lydia about wanting to leave during the fire alarm but... Remember how Lydia was haunted by Peter’s burnt corpse? How she can hear the cries of the dead, and how she went wandering into the crumbling remains of the Hale house? There’s every chance that Lydia remembers the fire through Peter’s eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was forever freaked by fire alarms.

Man, Cora and Lydia, together? The sass involved? If I didn’t ship Allydia so hard, I’d totally ship Cora and Lydia.

ONce again, I wanna point out that AIDEN IS A MURDERER. Literally all it would take is someone Explaining to Lydia that he is serial killer and she’d never touch him again.

Cora and Stiles together? I’m loving it. I just, wanna point out that when Scott showed up Cora couldn’t have given less of a shit. But here....Cora doesn’t remotely question Stiles’ authority here. She immediately goes along with it and when he tells her to let go of Cora she does. Even though she has no real reason to. When she asks about the spirit board, it’s a legit question and she doesn’t argue or make fun.

PLus there’s the whole ‘Well do you know any spirits” which straight up just confirms for me that ghosts and shit are real in this universe. I trust the Hales as lore sources and Cora’s matter-of-fact tone is good enough for me.

jesus christ i wanna get deucalion and Peter in a room together and watch them just...monologue random facts and trivia at each other endlessly. “Lacrosse was originally played by Native Americans.” “Do you know what a metronome is?” Guys. come on.

Exasperated Stiles is literally my favorite Stiles. “We’re trying to save lives here for the love of god” “YOU”RE SOMETHING, OKay? JUST put out your Hand” It’s so fucking good.

Someone EXPLAIN TO ME how Scott learned to do fucking gymnastics. WHEN DID HE LEARN THIS? I hate this bullshit “I’m a werewolf, so I can do anything” shit. Especially since it’s LITERALLY just Scott they let do it. Everyone else has to actually do the work to learn it.

So...how exactly does Deucalion know where Deaton is? This literally just supports my theory that Deaton set the whole thing up.

ALSO, since I already have the tag I feel no shame in pointing out that Scott didn’t even HESITATE when he learned Derek was going to die. He immediately asked about Deaton. Yeah yeah, Deaton is a father figure to him, but if that’s an acceptable excuse for Scott to use now, then it should count as an acceptable one when it’s STILES” FATHER BEING THREATENED (but I digress, we’re not there yet.)

How did I never notice that Lydia’s Left handed?

andd.....how did Lydia know that? How did Scott know that? What did Deucalion say that even remotely hints at Danny? Scott doesn’t know about Danny’s paper...what?

Fuck yeah, vengeful Boyd. I dig it.

uh....why couldn’t allison just stand next to Scott in the closet. you know, like she did while he was getting in? Also, why was Allison hiding with him anyway? It’s HER HOUSE and HER BEDROOM.

um....okay, i know that we all like the sterek fics where they have to hide in the closet and one of them pops a boner...but I’mma be real, it’s a lot more uncomfortable when I know she broke up with Scott and they’ve been in there for like ten seconds. Plus there’s the whole knowing that she DEFINITELY has enough room to move away and so does he. *shrug*

Side note: Allison where the fuck do you get these clothes? THey’re both awesome and...kinda weird? Did you buy that dress in france?

okay, i’ll admit it, i do actually kinda like the camera angle through the map, with the blacklight lighting up the symbols (though the symbols flash on and off a little too fast). It’s kinda cool.

uh, how would taking the picture help? You don’t have the blacklight over it? None of the markings are visible anymore

why does Chris keep walking in and out? AND WHY DIDN”T ALLISON DO THAT THE FIRST TIME?

Stiles in plaid and Converse? Yes. Yes. please. That’s so my aesthetic I’m so fucking jealous. He looks COMFY.

This whole interaction is just so fucking weird XD

But like, why would Stiles know to go through Danny’s stuff instead of just asking him why he might’ve been targeted??

HOW WOULD THEY KNOW TO CUT THE POWER? THIS DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. Why does the ALpha pack keep showing up with way more information than they should have? It’s so annoying! It’s one thing if Morrell is feeding them information, but she wouldn’t have KNOWN about this! This was a good plan and there’s NO REASON the Alphas should’ve known what Boyd, Isaac, and Derek were doing! What the fuck?

....god i love Derek’s red eyes.

....god i hate that I know where this is going.

....god i wish he’d just let them tear her apart.

I know that it’s meant to be setting up the cora/stiles thing, but I love that she doesn’t hesitate to touch him, and that when she stops him it’s with a very quiet “stop.” She’s really gentle with him, which is just fucking nice. Werewolves taking care to be gentle with Stiles is like...nice.

Since when did Scott know about the plan with Boyd and Isaac? Since when did Stiles know? Is Boyd seriously texting Cora while Derek and Kali are fighting, or did he text her as soon as the power was cut?

is this the first time we see a werewolf bounce off the mountain ash? I mean, I think so, but we also see Peter in S1 try to get past some. There’s no glowing when he comes into contact with the shield. It’s the same with Isaac and Erica in s2. I mean...I guess they’re just trying to upgrade the ash stuff? I gotta say though, I kinda prefered when there were no special effects. It seemed cooler when literally the only thing making it work was belief and having this totally invisible barrier that Peter couldn’t cross. It was cool.

....i think i’m procrastinating seeing the end of this fight. I’m gonna fucking cry.

Why...why does Isaac turn and yell ‘wait’ to Boyd when he was the one running forward to Julia? I am confusion.

Dude, if Alphas could break through mountain ash barriers then Talia Hale WOULDN”T HAVE DIED. THE HALE PACK WOULDn’T HAVE DIED.

I wanna point out here, that this fight between Derek and Kali makes sense for once. Him losing makes sense. We know that the Alphas are much older than they look, or at least Kali, Deucalion and Ennis were. Aiden and Ethan don’t show up in that flashback. ANyway, Kali’s probably in her thirties or forties. SHe’s much older than Derek and she’s been fighting for a lot longer, not to mention fighting to kill.

Seriously, someone get my boy a quarterstaff to knock her feet away.

I really really don’t understand this stuff. Why is it whenever people (I mean Derek, because it’s literally always Derek) get forced to use their werewolf claws/teeth (because again I cannot believe this is happening more than once) he for some reason can’t just...shift back? Retract his claws and fangs? Derek has amazing control, he should totally have been able to do it. With the venom it made sense, he was paralyzed. But now??

What exactly was the fucking point of having Scott break the mountain ash barrier, just to have the sheriff show up and shoot Deaton down? That was literally useless.

also, Noah is an amazing shot. Hot damn.

ALSO. LIterally all this info about true alphas is being whispered to Scott when he’s all alone? How the fuck am i supposed to trust that deaton even ever said that shit to Scott? He could totally be lying about it.

WHAT KIND OF TOTAL BULLSHIT BACKWARDS ASS PLOTLINE IS THIS? After half the season being about Deucalion attacking Derek and trying to get him into the pack, suddenly “Deucalion isn’t after Derek, he’s after you” WHAT? THat’s the STUPIDEST LAZIEST SHIT I’VE EVER SEEN.

and to end my rant BOYD SHOULD NOT HAVE DIED. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? PETER STUCK HIS ENTIRE HAND THROUGH DEREK”S CHEST IN SEASON 1 WHIL IN HIS ALPHA FORM AND THREW HIM INTO A WALL AND DEREK SURVIVED JUST FINE. WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE???

Final Thoughts: No. No, no, no no, no, and no. The ‘plotline’ of this episode is literally like fifteen things that have nothing to do with each other.

Admittedly, there were a few nice moments. Cora, Lydia, and Stiles was an awesome trio. Boyd, Isaac, and Derek was an awesome trio. The sheriff? Amazing. Melissa? A fucking hero. Danny, a genius saint.

All in all, I’m going to tear this episode to shreds in order to rewrite it. Get fucked, Davis.

#personal #anti-scott mccall #TeenWolf-Rewatch

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leuces · 4 years

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Riverdale S5E2 Liveblog

- why is everything is so damn dark

- oh my god it’s bret

- did he just call jughead “slughead”?? is it because of the time when jughead knocked him out with just one punch

- BRET IS DEAD?!?! this can’t be true...he was like one of the best villains, and the riverdale writers just decided to kill him off?? please let it be just a false alarm and he actually broke out of prison or something

- wait didn’t bret mention something before about needing to get into solitary confinement?? did one of his fellow inmates murder him?

- cheryl’s really yelling at the teacher for not getting her a special red outfit for graduation

- “fix this, or PERISH” askdfkfkgkfdkl

- why is veronica acting so nice? archie literally cheated on her!!

- oh there’s a toni/cheryl scene

- wait what is cheryl’s “blossom business”??

- okay now betty and jughead are talking to dr. curdle jr

- oh god bret is actually dead

- they gauged out bret’s eyes??? jesus christ

- damn hiram really just came out of nowhere

- hiram’s yelling at archie for cheating on his daughter, and archie’s like “you want a rematch??”

- did hiram really just insult FRED?!?! how dare he, fred is literally the only good adult in the entire series...like he’s a saint compared to hiram

- okay i just noticed how sweaty archie is. do they just like. make kj apa pour water on himself before scenes where he’s sweaty? or do they just make him exercise and then film right afterwards?

- hiram really just spit on the floor

- veronica really just told hermosa “now if you excuse me, i have to go take out the trash, and you’re lucky it doesn’t include you” afdfghdkkdfkfdk

- good god the guy’s really going to shoot veronica point blank

- i’m literally waiting for like any of the riverdale guys (the buff ones, not jughead) to just show up out of nowhere and run and bodyslam the guy holding the gun. you know they would do it

- oh my god hermosa just shot the bad guys this is even better

- oh cheryl and nana rose are having a zoom meeting with the other blossoms

- “speak up i can’t hear you” akdkjfkfkkdf

- OH MY GOD cheryl’s giving land to the uktena (or she’s trying to)

- “why, you hatemonger?”

- god i hate cheryl’s relatives

- “your father is a fool” you’re right hermione, hiram really is a fool

- yes hermosa and veronica plotting together

- “sounds like you two are plotting a hostile takeover...i am so in”

- david’s dead too apparently

- wait...there was a hit-run case for fred...? when was this a thing exactly?

- “we’re shutting you down, daddy” okay miss veronica i see you

- “you need to retire” and “papi, your reign is done” hiram getting bullied by his daughters we love to see it

- did hiram really just say that being a mobster is curing his disease

- thank you veronica for telling him that he’s an idiot

- “all i need to do business is my fists and a gun” sir aren’t you dying of a disease (i know he’s getting better, but still)??

- yes jughead got accepted to the university of iowa!! (though i’m still salty that he had to give up going to yale for betty, even though she cheated on him and lied about it)

- i love how fp is just like “hot damn my boy is going to college” as if his other son - his actual firstborn son - hasn’t already gone to college and doesn’t have a successful career

- wait are falice just like. together while bughead is a couple?? are they just like platonically raising their children together?? what is their relationship status currently??

- wait i don’t like the look on jellybean’s face...what has she done???

- OH MY GOD JELLYBEAN IS THE AUTEUR!!

- okay cheryl’s talking to her mother now

- the “blossom board”? that’s what they’re called?

- “make yourself scarce. go away. but don’t go at night...you need an alibi” is penelope really telling her teenage daughter to kill her relatives? or am i just misunderstanding this?

- aww choni is having their own special weekend

- archie is writing a letter for the hit-run case

- now he’s having flashbacks

- i am so sad right now...i just feel so bad

- donna??? she’s back??? yes!!

- wait she’s asking for betty’s help, just like how bret did...

- if donna dies, i will literally lose it

- betty don’t let donna die!! i mean i understand why, but i know that donna is probably going to die soon

- oh my god joan is actually dead

- donna’s probably dead too

- hermosa and veronica are having a scene together

- now archie’s confronting the hit-and-run guy

- now there’s another tape???

- this is the scariest one, by far

- jesus christ how are they not scared that a murderer is in the house??

- wait i was thinking that jellybean was the killer, but then i realized it was her in the bed

- “your astrological sign may be a scorpion daddy, but you’re like a dog” damn veronica

- hermosa sent the guys to beat up hiram???

- wait nana rose killed the other blossoms???

- jesus christ how many people are going to die this episode?? like there’s been like nine deaths and i’m only halfway through the episode

- (if they kill donna, i SWEAR)

- oh apparently penelope killed the other blossoms

- “consider it an early graduation present, cheryl” jesus christ. some moms give their kids cars or parties, but penelope murders their family members for her daughter

- CHARLES IS THE AUTEUR oh my god i’m calling it

- it all makes sense. like, the person needs connections into the prison to kill bret, which charles has because of chic.

- YES I’M CORRECT!!

- “true love knows no boundaries” charles out here trying to be shakespeare or jane austen or something

- oh my god...black hood and charles parallels!! they both only killed people who they thought deserved it (for Hal, it’s more complicated than that, but you know)

- wait, but like by charles’s definition, chic should also die

- oh god why do i have the feeling that charles is going to turn out to not be the auteur

- i was right

- oh hiram is finally going to retire

- damn hermione’s going to become a real housewife of new york

- oh god mary’s watching the tape with the black hood and fred

- archie why are you destroying the tv oh my god

- this episode is such a freaking rollercoaster of emotions good god

- wait, BETTY IS THE AUTEUR

- she probably isn’t, but you know

- fred’s brother is back, for some reason??

- jellybean is the auteur!! i called it before, and i’m correct apparently!!!

- oh my god, it’s like, everyone in the cooper-jones family (or whatever the hell it is at this point) is a serial killer or a criminal

- okay, jellybean being the auteur makes no sense at all. “she wanted him to stay” by recording him and scaring him?? jesus christ, jellybean has worse plans than her family members

- (deeply sighs) not the darkness thing again

- oh my god archie and his uncle (i think his name is frank??) are going to fred’s grave, and archie forgives the hit-and-run guy.

- this episode was such a freaking rollercoaster of emotions. i don’t even know what to say.

#riverdale #riverdale lulz #riverdale liveblog #liveblog

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rankdisasster · 5 years

Text

naive

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“what about a billy x reader fic wherein the reader is kind of naive to his flirting so after quite some time he ends up having to be really blunt and almost literally BEGS for a date” requested by anonymous.

word count: 2,454

warning(s): swearing

a/n: cutest. idea. ever. I hope I did it justice, thanks for sending a request in!!! had to repost cause I messed up

—

Safe to say that at this point Billy’s been a little frustrated.

Nothing worked for this girl.

He’s never been so conflicted over something that in his eyes seemed to be a pretty black and white thing. When he sees a girl he thinks he could have a good time with, he tells her clearly and honestly and they become putty in his hands he can play with, until he finds something new, some might say akin to how a child goes about with toys. Never just the one will satisfy him. Y/N was meant to be one of his so-called “toys” and he sought after her the day of meeting her at the pool when his shift at the Lifeguard Tower was starting.

Y/N was — she was just something else. Billy went through the plan in his head about how he’d go about pursuing her, slowly reeling her in until hook, line and sinker. But the boy has never met a girl that was in some parts a total Einstein, a real genius. For instance, she aced all her SATs, passed all her classes with flying colors, even; but she was so goddamn stupid. Billy wouldn’t even call that an exaggeration, and he wasn’t trying to be mean. He didn’t know what it was, but she couldn’t pick up what he was putting down if he wrote “I WANT TO DATE YOU” on a baseball then threw it in her face. The poor thing still always excused it as something else. As a compliment, or he’s just a real nice guy, or he’s just kidding her. Playing a joke on her because she’s so gullible.

But he wasn’t a nice guy, and he certainly does not joke around when it comes to getting what he wants. Y/N just never had a clue, and it’s almost like it backfired in his fucking face.

The first time he tried hitting on her he was doing his boring routine at work, aviators shielding his eyes from the sizzling sun, whistle around his neck paired with the little red swim trunks being the uniform. The teen saw the herd of unsatisfied desperate housewives first, deciding to take a pass on that. Also passing by Heather, who he liked to get with in the ladies’ locker room if he was really in the mood while at work, and she shot him a smile with a suggestive wave and he winked right back at her. After all, he was getting hungry for a new chase and although Heather wasn’t that, she was something at least.

Billy did his usual rounds circling the pool, making sure everything was in order before someone wasn’t watching where they were going and slammed into him.

“The hell?” Billy looks down at the source that he collided with, seeing her for the first time. She scrambles to apologize profusely, stammering about not looking where she was going and that she was “super incredibly sorry.” Billy recovers quickly, not quite hurt and thankfully neither was she. He looked her up and down and knew what he wanted right away.

“It’s alright, don’t sweat it. How are you? You okay?” Billy asks genuinely, happy to have an excuse to touch her by helping her keep balance with his hands on her bare shoulders.

“I’m fine! I’m fine, I swear. I’m just not good at being aware of my surroundings I guess,” she says sheepishly, looking down at the ground. She really did look guilty for what she had done, but he’s immedietely glad it happened, seeing as though she looked like a girl in one of his fantasies in her red one piece swimsuit.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Billy inquires, turning the charm on and keeping eye contact with her while he nibbles on his peppermint gum. She looks back up at him then actually laughs at the pet name, holding her hand out to shake.

“Y/N L/N. I went to Hawkins High, s’not like I’m new or anything.”

“Really? Cause I think I’d definetely remember a pretty face like yours,” he slowly gets closer to Y/N’s face in strides, secretly loving the height difference as she looks up at him with her innocent eyes. He notes that she even smells good, and he’s grown to hate the chlorine stench since he started working.

Y/N playfully shoos him away, laughing at him once again as if he’s a comedian or something. He doesn’t remember saying anything funny. “Whatever, man. Do you — oh wait, stupid question. I see your whistle. So you do work here, um...?”

“Billy. Billy Hargrove,” he licks his lips before taking off his sunglasses before seeing a stray piece of wet hair in her face and decides that he’s gonna go for it, as cheesy as it is, but since she can’t take the hint at the compliment he payed, he makes as much contact with her as he can get away with and gently tucks it behind her ear. She reacts with a smile before putting her hair back behind both ears, mumbling something about forgetting her scrunchie before her name is being called by a house mom from the corner.

“That’s my mom, ugh I gotta go. Nice meeting you though, Billy,” she called as she was already walking away from him.

“Hey! Hey, wait—“

Y/N was already gone. No phone number, not even the slightest hint of any plans to come in the future.

The teenage boy shrugs, knowing some days are just gonna be a swing and a miss around here.

—

Y/N becomes almost a regular at Hawkins Pool, dressed in the same daring red swimsuit and always tempting Billy with her greetings and little smiles. Sometimes he doesn’t get a chance to go over and talk because of shitty work, or a kid dives off the “No Diving” end, or eats while swimming. It can get hectic, but the lifeguard doesn’t let that stop him. Using any excuse he has to touch her (without any protests on her end) and any opportunity to compliment her on something she did or her appearance, he’s starting to feel like it’s a dud, and she’s immune to horny teenage boys sweet talk.

“Hey Y/N!”

She turns her head and sees Billy jogging up to see her. He automatically comes in for a hug, and her face warms up at the feeling of his big arms wrapping around her frame. He holds her for a second too long, then let’s her go before taking her hand and asking her to twirl for him. Y/N nearly snorts before doing as she was told, making a show of spinning not too fast while he still has his hand grasping hers.

“Beautiful,” he marvels at her aloud under his breath. Y/N scoffs once again at his words, and it seems as though that’s the only thing she ever responds with when it’s not even a joke.

“You’re joshing me, right? I just got this awkward sunburn because I fell asleep on the lawn chairs at the pool. With my arm on half of my face,” she gestures to her cheeks where her forehead is significantly darker than her chin. “It’s so humiliating especially out in public, dude,” she cracks up, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Billy gives in and laughs along with her.

“And why is it that you go to my work everyday? Oh, right. To see my pretty face right here,” he teases, putting out the bait and waiting for her to take it.

“Oh please. Your ugly mug?”

“C’mon, it’s okay. You don’t have to lie.”

“Nah, I go cause my mom thinks it’s good for me to be active, get outta the house and all,” she answers his previous question, ignoring his banter. “Speaking of which, she left me stranded here because she had errands and I wanted to stay longer to get rid of this ugly tan, so I’m screwed.” Thank God. Finally, he has something to thank Y/N’s mother for.

“I could give you a ride, no biggie,” Billy tried hiding his excitement in portraying nonchalance, barely meeting her eyes and praying she says yes so he can spend more fucking time with her outside of stupid work.

“Would you? I really don’t wanna cause trouble, it’s just—“ he silenced her before she starts rambling again then takes ahold of her hand

“Say no more. I’ve always got your back. And hey, I scratch your back, you scratch mine?” He asks with a devilish grin, raising one brow.

“That’s what she said,” Y/N fires a shit eating grin back, and then starts heading to the parking lot of the pool. “Meet you at your flashy car!”

Billy sighs as he hangs his head in defeat before regaining his composure, calling out a confirmation before going to lock up.

—

The blonde boy still foolishly keeps his hopes up for the car ride back to her place and to fill the quiet, he asks her if she wants to play twenty questions. As much as he knows the little things about Y/N, there’s still lots of simple details he’d like to know because he’s curious.

“Uh, alright. Twenty questions sounds g—“

“Great. Do you have a boyfriend?” He rushes to interject, eager and not hiding it.

“Nope, no boyfriend.”

“And why not?”

“Woah, right to the punchline, aren’t we?”

Y/N boasted as she runs a hand through her hair and for comfort spreads out a little wider in the passengers seat.

“Well, why don’t you?” Billy grows agitated, white knuckling the steering wheel as they wait at a red light, he turns to her. She still looks on ahead at the road, only meeting his gaze for a split second before she asks him if he has any gum. “Jesus Christ. I am so tired of this,” Billy lays his head on the wheel. Y/N inspects him for making sure he’s good before repeatedly calling out his name.

“Billy.”

Nothing. He has nothing.

“Billy, seriously. It’s a fucking green light, go already!” She shakes him before he suddenly presses the gas, speeding down the road.

“What is up with you, man? What was that!”

“In my glovebox.” Billy sighs, still eyeing the road. “My gum. It’s in there,” he answers her silent bewilderment before recognizing that it isn’t important anymore, then prepares to give the most painful explanation to a girl he’s almost ever had to do. Other women he’s been with or hit on either rejected him right off the bat or got with him right off the bat, it’s never been this in between before, this awkward gray area that’s driven his mad. He doesn’t know what he’s trying so hard for anymore, maybe it’s her attention, or something else. But it’s not just one night, not anymore.

Billy recalls the directions she had given to him before all this, and he pulls up to her house at the correct address and stops the engine.

“I want to know why you don’t have a boyfriend because I think you’re great, like really great and -“

“I think you’re great too, though.” She intervenes, as if she’s challenging him once again. Billy has nothing left to do except almost literally write it out for her.

“No! Fuck, dammit. Just... will you go on a date with me? Like, together. Not as friends or whatever, but an actual date that not friends do,” he overly explains hoping that this time that covers it.

Y/N stares at him like he told her that planet earth is fucking flat, then has the audacity to mutter “I don’t understand”.

“What don’t you get here?! What could you POSSIBLY not understand this time!” He’s raising his voice, and it’s coming out all wrong, and he just doesn’t want her misinterpreting what he’s been trying to say all along.

“Billy, what I’ve been trying to say is that I don’t get why you would like me.” Y/N looks like her dog just died, defensively crossing her arms over her chest and stares at her lap.

“What?”

“Guys don’t look at me. They don’t even know I exist,” she sighs and it makes him just feel so bad.

“Sweetheart, I think they look your way, you just don’t have a clue when they do.” Billy hesitantly reaches for her hand and holds it in both of his, begging her to look at him and communicate with him.

Y/N giggles again then looks up, meeting his eyes before leaning in further and further until their lips touch. She tastes like honey and mouthwash, and she kisses like she’s so scared to but wants it so badly. He leads them, cupping her cheek and not stopping until they both need a breath. The blonde boy can’t get enough, trailing little ticklish kisses around her jaw then down her throat, now turned awkwardly to get a better angle and not caring if his car is jabbing him in the stomach while he leans further in.

“I’ve wanted you all this time,” he whispers.

Y/N whimpers quietly before turning his head to meet hers again.

“You’ve had me. I’m just, I don’t know. I don’t do this very much and I didn’t ever think a guy like you would go for me, so I—“

“Shh. It’s fine now. You’re okay. Oh and just so we’re making sure, I don’t kiss my friends like this,” Billy reassures her as she laughs and shoved him away.

“Do you wanna maybe watch a movie sometime? There’s this cool futuristic-y one that’s coming out, the main guy is really cute,” Billy rolls his eyes at her before putting a possessive arm around her and going in for more kisses. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t even come close to comparing to you. But that isn’t the point,” she trails her fingertips over his cheek softly, and he’s never felt something so soft.

“I’d love to. What a train wreck, huh? You’re just a naive little thing,” Billy runs his fingers through her hair, before she lets him know that he’s an idiot and has to get home before her parents notice the flashy car in the driveway and wonder what’s up.

“Fine. I’ll let you go. But how ‘bout this weekend, that movie?”

She nods, kissing his cheek then opens the passenger’s door to get out. His eyes never leave her figure as she skips up to her front door, then catches the kiss she playfully blows and drives off, wondering what he should wear for their movie date that Friday.

#stranger things #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove #billy x reader #my writing #request #stranger things fanfic

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riseofthecommonwoodpile · 4 years

Text

Warehouse of Prayers by Laura Kasischke

It’s dark in here. Please, let me out.

No, I hear him say. I want to show you. And to see it, you have to stay.

And, O, I saw it then. So many prayers. Who could answer them all? And yet

what god would have the heart to toss them out?

Yes, he says, I know. It terrifies. The silence, and the din. The tremendous weight of them. It defies

anything you might think or say

about sound about size.

But, yes, of course. Of course I’ve kept them all.

“We had gone for a walk in the dark.

Of all things, I was deeply in love with my husband! Then

something silent I couldn’t see crept out of the darkness, and bit his hand.”

The beauty of it. The great

beauty. The true beauty of it. The beauty beyond—

It’s

bitten me. I’m bleeding.

In the dark one night you felt around for your blue scarf. Its blue diffusion. Its shameless would-be sky. But it was gone.

Gone, with your watch, and your wallet, and those cheap beads. How

strange to understand, so suddenly

that none of it was yours. Not

a snippet, not a glimpse, not a bit, not

even the dust that had gathered

Amishly on it for years.

And the green lawn rolls, and the green lawn rolls to the foot of it all, to the foot of it all

telling the story of a world created by a god, who wanted to be loved but did not like to talk.

“We predicted this. Something

strapped to the chest of a child. Light pouring up from holes in the ground. A fountain

run dry, and a mild-mannered man on a rampage in July.

Still, we were confused. We

thought we’d looked for this trouble everywhere, and

never found a thing. We

believed there’d be more warning, despite the many warnings. We

deeply believed a mistake had been made.”

10.

Then, in the morning, a mannequin sitting in the rain on the neighbor’s porch. The rain on the mannequin, like so many kisses bestowed upon a corpse.

11.

No. (He takes my hand. He opens a door.)

12.

Wow, I say. So this is all—

and this is the vault in which they’ve hoarded it.

All:

What is, what was, what will be—

added to in increments. (A skyful, a pocketful, a teaspoonful, a pinch.)

13.

And still, mostly vault.

14.

The blood and the bed. The basement full of blankets. The

freezer full of meat. We

all will rise again, and all be dignified.

The vein straight through the center

of the leaf. The woody stem of a rose. The dark suburban fruit of mulberries on the lawn.

We will rise over it all, and all of it will still be here when we are gone.

15.

Hello. It’s me, Eurydice. I want to tell you about his eyes: Stupid

hopeful windows. You

idiot, I said. All this resurrection business just to have your dumb love-glance sideswipe me dead.

16.

Her boy, in the war, the gate, left open, the field full of flowers, the day, so cloudless, she couldn’t help but see the mysterious sense and emptiness of it: As a child, he was so quiet, you could have drawn a circle

around it with a piece of chalk.

You could have taken a bus to the edge of that silence, and stepped off

onto a sidewalk, made of time, and walked

for years and years, all through his childhood and still kept walking.

17.

This is the illegible scroll

on which Orpheus’ reply was written.

This

is the book, thrown from the window.

A cough.

A broken telephone.

A few notes of a song.

18.

And a woman sobbing in a hospital gown, Not fair. Just this one body, and not even the body I wanted, and still it clings to me weeping when I have to leave. Not fair.

19.

“Eurydice? Eurydice? Are you there?”

20.

RSVP: She

will not be arriving by ship of by plane. No car door slamming. No

driver to be paid. She will not be walking. Neither shall she run. Thank you for asking, but she can’t come.

21.

Please, please, please, sweetheart,

pick up the fucking phone if you’re there

22.

“The Czar was killed on the spot, as

were the Empress and the Grand Duchess Olga, neither of whom could finish making the sign of the cross.

But the daughters

wore corsets

lined with jewels. For long moments the bullets, fired at their chests,

ricocheted around the room.”

23.

Please?

24.

One day I saw the divorcée take a letter from her ex-husband. Briefly, his fingertips touched hers, and then she slipped the letter into her purse:

But, O, that purse, full of old pleasure, and that letter. Memory, like a dark hole full of feathers.

25.

“Lust, that goat in violets. Those violets like so much tenderness

scattered in the grass. Love,

that rusty chain dragging you home through your past.”

26.

A woman turns at church in her pew and tell me before the organ starts up, “I know a story about your house.”

27.

Oh? Yes?

28.

“In the forties, a farmer named Elmer Barow, in your kitchen, shot himself.”

29.

Oh, I thought, I know. I know. Time,

passing, all along— the hum of the cobwebs in the corners crocheting their intricate shrouds. The

dripping of the faucet. The blackened toast. Of

course, when we sat down at the table with our heads bowed, that

was him listening in on our prayers— Elmer

Barow with a rifle in his mouth.

30.

Always that

flash of desire, always

in the way (that

gray cat sleeping in the driveway, those

teenage girls bathing in a pond of bees)— that’s

what’s left of the freedom God had to make us, or remain free.

31.

Eurydice?

32.

In winter a woman I work with gets the idea that her hands are poisoned. She can’t touch anything anymore. She wears

gloves to bed, in case, in her sleep—

33.

No, E., of course, your hands aren’t poisoned. You cannot kill your children if you stroke their hair. You

know this, you know it.

34.

But, suddenly, gradually, myself—

everything I touch, there’s—

35.

There’s something wrong. (Not that. But something.) I

spend hours trying not to think about the something, but it’s

always there

in the shadowy tissue, in the silvery microscopic gloom, the lazy fluid slip of it, which,

released by love, billows loosely around the cerebral cortex—

a poisoned flume.

36.

Then—?

37.

“And then the day is over, and the—”

38.

And the day is over.

And in the dark I hear God say,

Laura, go ahead and pray.

39.

Okay.

40.

Okay. I— Okay. I—

Dear God, I—

offer up this prayer of dryer lint and hair.

41.

Orpheus here in a cellar made of glass. In it, with me, a blizzard of small black words. I

am sending this message to you from the world, but “This is a message from the world” is all it says.

42.

“Oh, to the teeth, sweetness is the medium, but the message is decay. Like

the soul, a hunch, wrapped in disintegration. Sweater

wool, skin cells, carpet fibers, ash, a gray

breeze: Virus,

and pollen, and ourselves

blown to breathing pieces.”

43.

And then at the petting zoo I knew

animal terror for the first time. Animal

despair: The trembling of the lamb under my trembling hand.

44.

Suddenly, God answers me!

I am made of the same thing you are, after all, and you

are made of me:

Some darkness, a supplication, a moral silence breezing

over the glassy stubble in a vacant field.

45.

“And let us not forget the petty prayers. The insatiable hunger of seagulls. The sunset

in the blood, and those

birds turning

in on themselves. Crying, reeling, happiest hungry. Let us be

you amphetamines! they scream. The market

full of fruit out of season. The locked

door of the embassy. The high

gate surrounding spring:

Please, God, I want all of it for me.”

46.

To: Orpheus Fr: Eurydice Re: Death

The babble. The cold, teeming, intangible hotel.

47.

God, do your hear that? That

bit of stitching in the wind? It unravels when you listen. Listen.

48.

The Debt Birds screeching, Insufficient! Someone shoveling snow onto a fire. A figure in a black suit swinging a lantern through the dark

in arcs, coming closer, and closer.

And my mother standing by the lilac

(the lilac, which is the suburb’s lyric poem

about death) talking

to a man she never met. I

overhear him say, Whatever

crazy sorrow saith.

49.

“No one was crying, no one was bleeding, but the mail had been dumped in the street, and

someone’s husband a few blocks over was shouting loudly about accountability.

Shadows stuffed into envelopes— as when the forest creeps to the edge of the freeway, perfectly tamed, finally revealed,

and the wild illegal animals people keep as pets,

escape, are seen.”

50.

Jesus Christ, this stuff is everywhere!

51.

Excuse me.

I couldn’t help but overhear your prayer...

52.

“What the bloody hell is this? Someone must have written down every word ever said, then

shredded every word ever written.”

53.

O, honey, O, lovely, O, please. It’s me,

Orpheaus, again, Eurydice.

54.

“Okay, now what we need here is a warehouse, or an abyss. Which one of you guys can get on this—

ASAP?”

55.

trying to hold fire. Like

trying to hold perfume. Like

wearing fog to work. Like

stoppering a bottleful of light—

trying to talk to God.

56.

“Hello. Yeah. It’s me. Is he in? We’ve got a major mess on our hands.”

57.

“Shit. Shit. Is he ever in?”

58.

Like stoppering a bottleful of light. Like wearing fog to work. Like trying to hold perfume. Like

trying to hold fire—

to make the simplest goddamned contact with—

59.

O, wait, look after all— that

warehouse, that

abyss, and

a beautiful naked stranger diligently trying

to ladle the oceans into it.

#laura kasischke #i typed this whole thing out on my old blog so #here it is #my favorite poem

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overheardatthecontinental · 5 years

Text

Kinktober Day 6

Hierophilia

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” Father John swallows, a tremor running through his body at that voice. Helen.

Helen had attended his church for years. Since her family moved to New York when she was a teenager, she had ever been a faithful and pious member of his congregation.

“It has been one week since my last confession but…”

There is a pause. Father John waits. And waits.

“But what, child?” He asks.

There is a hitch in Helen’s breath and Father John squeezes his thighs together, desperate to ignore the ache.

It is not right.

“It has been years since my last pr-proper confession, Father. I have been omitting my sins.”

“Tell me.”

“I…” She pauses again and this time he waits, “Father, I am filled with lust.. It consumes me, day and night. I cannot come into the house of the lord without… feeling myself become aroused.” She whispers the last part, “Even now....”

Divinity school had not prepared him for this.

He had counseled murderers, abusers, countless teenage masterbaters but…

Helen. This was sweet and beautiful Helen.

“And have you,” He swallows again, “acted upon these lusts?”

“Yes father.” She says, and his heart stutters. “I have touched myself. I try not to but sometimes it becomes too much and I have to. If I do not touch myself, it doesn’t go away.”

Oh. He wonders if she is still pure.

“When did you last act upon these feelings?”

“Yesterday, Father. After your sermon.”

“Here?” He asks, and it shocks him to his core.

“I excused myself to the bathroom.” She explains, “I… I felt too hot, Father. I didn’t mean to become aroused but I did. Every time you spoke, I felt myself fill with need. I was so wet I was afraid I would spill down my thighs. I could smell it.”

He bites his lip to cover a groan.

“What made you so lustful, child?”

A moment of silence before she admits, “ I… I hear your voice and I feel myself soak. I see you and I crave you and I know it’s wrong. I know it is.”

Father John realizes his mouth is open and shuts it. Oh. Oh.

There is comfort in knowing they are wrong together but oh. Is she as wet now as he is hard?

Sweet, gentle Helen.

He had always thought her so innocent.

Would she still look innocent with those sweet pink lips wrapped around his swollen cock?

No. He couldn’t think like that. He was her priest. It was wrong. On so many levels. What was he thinking?

But she had come to him.

To confess her sins.

Her dirty sins.

If she wanted him even a fraction of how he wanted her...

“Father?”

He reaches for the door and exits the chamber.

The atrium is empty as he crosses to the side for the confessors and opens her door.

Helen’s eyes are wide and her lips part in surprise as he slams the door behind him.

“Father…” She says again and Father John grabs her head in his hands and pulls her to her feet. He kisses her, hard.

It is so very wrong, he knows it is, but he cannot help the flush of pride that flows through him when she kisses him back. She moans into his mouth as Father John maneuvers her against the conjoining wall to where he sat only minutes before. Her hands reach up, running across his chest.

His own hands wander down from where he had harshly gripped her face. Skirting her breasts, they fall and land on her hips. He pulls her closer and grinds into her.

“Father, yes.” She moans and Father John growls.

It was wrong and forbidden but he was only human. And humans were subject to temptation and Father John knew without a doubt that had Helen offered him an apple, he would have devoured it in a bite before doing the same to her.

He yanks the dress she wears up, the edge past her hips. He bunches it and holds the end against her as he drops to his knees.

It is dark in the confessional but her panties are a pale pink and soaked with arousal.

With a tug, they fall down her legs and onto the floor. Hungrily, he presses his mouth to her center. She is sweet and tangy and delicious. He licks her once, then twice.

She whimpers and he feels like God.

How sacrilegious.

But he cannot bring himself to care.

He looks up at her from his knees. There are much better things to worship than abstract concepts and theories of creation.

He swallows and nips at her thigh.

“Three Hail Mary’s.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as he continued to nibble at her flesh.

“Hail Mary, fully of grace!” She shrieks as he grazes his teeth along her folds. “The Lord is with thee… blessed… blessed art thou amongst women! Oh!” He sucks her clit into his mouth, rolling it along his tongue, “And… blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary! Mother of God!” She moans, “Gooooddddddd! Oh!”

“Keep going.” He orders, sucking her, his fingers dancing at her entrance.

“Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

“Again.”

“Hail Mary, Full of grace… father, yes!” His finger pushes inside her, exploring her most private places. “ The Lord is with thee…” She stutters out the prayer, crying out as he slips his middle finger inside her at the amen.

“Again.”

He kisses her clit, and stands as she begins again. “Hail Mary, full of grace.” His fingers curl inside her and she looks up at him, so fucking desperate. “The Lord is with thee." Her hand tangles in his hair, "blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ!" She shrieks as his fingers tease her. His thumb presses on her clit and she gasps, eyes fluttering shut.

"Don't stop," he flicks her clit again and she cries out.

"Please…" she means as his lips ghosts hers yet again. "Inside me…"

"Not until you finish your penance."

Helen whimpers, "I-I don't remember where…"

"Holy Mary."

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners."

Father John removes his hand, stepping back.

He undoes his belt.

He knows it's wrong even before taking himself out but he is so heavy. This woman, who has given him countless hours of hard-on, wants him. Perhaps she has been possessed but he cannot being himself to care as she readily pants out the last of our prayer.

"Now and at the the hour of our death. Amen."

She reaches for him as she finishes her prayer, wrapping her arms around his neck. He lifts her off the ground, pinning her to the wall.

"I've wanted you for so long."

She whimpers as he angles himself against her opening and slides his length inside her.

"Every Sunday, for years," he rolls his hips until he is buried to the hilt, "watching you drop to your knees, saying prayers to God when you should have been worshipping me."

It's all wrong. A life of being pious only to choose hell now. He damns himself more with every thrust inside her but he finds no longer cares.

Maybe he will resign. Leave the church and fuck her every night without exception.

Or maybe he will stay in the fold and keep her like a secret. Fuck her in confessionals and the dark corners of the cathedral. Use her body for his own relief only to shake her hand as she leaves church each Sunday.

Endless opportunities because he has chosen heaven on earth at the cost of a lifetime of inferno.

"Father…" she moans, clawing at his back as he grunts, moving his hips in a thousand new ways. "Please…"

"Dirty girl, seducing a priest? Do you deserve to cum, Helen? Bouncing on your Father's cock while in the house of the lord? That doesn't sound like the deeds of a pious Christian woman."

She only cries out in response, every sound bringing him farther from God and closer to religion.

She clenches around him, her mouth falling to his shoulder and biting the cloth there to keep from screaming as she comes undone. Helen thrashes in his arms as he feels himself join her.

He spills inside of her with a groan, lifting his head to a God he no longer can claim because what god would keep him from feeling this pleasure?

Father John leans into her, thrusting through the last of his orgasm, watching as she quakes around him. Her arms tighten and she buries her head in the crevice of his neck while she pants out her breath.

If he burns for his sins, she will burn at his side.

Part 2

#this was the most fun to write #sorry not sorry #hierophilia #priest!john wick #john wick #helen wick #incorrect john wick #overheard at the continental #john wick fanfic #kinktober #priest!kink #helen wick deserved better #helen x john wick

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