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genevievemd · 3 years ago

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A Call to Arms

Book: Open Heart: Second Year (Post 2.7) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 1693 Rating: G Category: Angst Trope(s): and they were in the office, and there’s some good ol’ pining

Summary: After Ethan’s reset continues to fall short, Genevieve gives him an ultimatum.

Warnings: none

A/N: This is part 1 of the lead up to Ethan going to try and have a ONS (one night stand) and then realizing he’s pretty much a goner for G and then decides to kiss her after the softball game. This is literally like the night before the game.

Thank you to @jerzwriter and @liaromancewriter for their prompts, I hope you enjoy the pain you caused. (Prompts are in bold)

The diagnostics office is quiet for the first time that day. No longer filled with a group of doctors scrambling to find funding after losing a potential research grant. Now, as the sun began to set, it housed only two members of the team: Dr. Ethan Ramsey and Dr. Genevieve McClure. Both quietly packing up their things, avoiding eye contact. As if to look was to cause pain.

Which it would, at least for her.

In the months since Ethan declared a reset, a total recall on their feelings for each other, he’s had her trapped on a ride. A rollercoaster with too many turns and flips to keep her head straight.

One minute he wants to see other people, keep true to his word of a reset. Then the next he’s looking at her like he wants her, talking to her and treating her like more than his friend. It’s exhausting and whether Ethan is aware or not, he’s being cruel. Confusing her, hurting her day in and day out.

Giving her hope and then taking it away.

She had the opportunity to turn her friendship with Bryce into something more. Accepting his kiss at the music festival a few weeks back, thinking it would finally open the door to something new and close the one that Ethan was standing behind.

But it hadn’t. All it did was make her heart ache for him. Miss the touch and taste of Ethan’s kiss. The way his arms felt around her. Make her long for him even more.

She was hopelessly infatuated with Ethan Ramsey, and Gen knew the only way to cure her was for him to stop with the back and forth.

If he didn’t want her, like he claimed, he needed to act that way. Stop treating her like his desire one day and all but hating her the next. He needed to do what he vowed and put his foot down.

Close the door, and throw away the key.

She could no longer be dangled like a carrot, waiting for him to decide if he truly wanted her or not.

Against her better judgement, Genevieve looks over at him. The exhaustion of the day heavy on his broad shoulders, his face dark and clouded with worry and regret.

As if he could sense her eyes on him, Ethan looks up. Longing blue meeting broken green.

“You did good this week, G.”

“Yeah,” She scoffs, swallowing down her wayward feelings the best she can. “Losing our research grant because I opened my big mouth was good work.”

“Hey,” He drops his briefcase onto the desk, walking over to her.

He towers over her – and while his height is intimidating to many, it’s comforting to her. She feels protected when he’s standing this close, like nothing could ever get near her because Ethan is there to push away any enemy that comes her way.

Expect when he, himself, is the unknowing adversary.

“You put the patient first, and that is what we’re supposed to do. Whether that means we lose or not. Furthermore, you didn’t let that loss stop you from moving forward towards another solution to our problem. So, as I previously stated, G, you did good.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Genevieve wonders briefly if he can hear how fast her heart is beating. If he caught the way her eyes flickered down to his lips, or saw the twitch her in fingers as she fought the urge to touch him.

“Is there something else that’s bothering you?” Ethan tilts his head, looking down at her with concern.

“Just tired, and hungry.”

“Would you,” He pauses, looking past her to the door. No doubt to make sure whoever was walking past didn’t enter the office.

She hates that, having to be so careful around each other. Always be aware of who was potentially watching them.

June already has her suspicions and Gen was waiting for the moment Ethan found out, and uses that as an excuse to push her away again. Act as though she is nothing to him once more.

Another twist and turn on the endless ride.

“Would you like to join me for dinner? After the last few days, you deserve a nice meal. My treat.” He smiles at her like a man who didn’t declare their relationship doomed.

A nonstarter.

It’s another glimmer of hope that Genevieve can no longer take.

“I have plans. With Bryce.” She quickly lies, before her heart has the chance to answer for her.

“Right. Of course.” Ethan nods, turning his back to her and walking over to his desk, regret washing over him.

She knows he knows about the kiss. That he’d overheard her in the hallway with Sienna the day after it happened. Gen hates that it hurt him, but it was no more pain than it caused her to know he’d gone on a date with someone else.

“I hate this.” She says it more to herself than to him, her longing heart finally making itself known. Taking over what her rational mind was trying to control.

“Hate what?”

“This.” Gen gestures between them, the empty space dividing them seeming to get larger. She leans against the chair at her side, taking a deep breath. “Myself. I hate myself.”

“Yourself?”

“Yes!” Her voice, loud and dangerous, echoes against the glass walls, no doubt turning the heads of people passing by. “I hate myself for not hating you. For not being able to just move on and forget about the way you make me feel.”

“You…” It’s Ethan’s turn to take a deep breath, once neutral eyes now filled with the same pain she feels.

It’s as if her words are a double edged sword. One end penetrating her own heart and the other his. Causing them even more agony.

It shouldn't be this hard. Love, or whatever it was she was beginning to feel for him, shouldn’t be this way.

“You honestly feel that way?” His voice trembles with every word, sinking backwards to lean against his desk. One hand gripping the edge so tightly she watches his knuckles turn white.

“Yes, no. I don’t know.”��

Gen watches him nod again, the hand not holding the desk’s edge running down his face.

“All I know, Ethan, is that I can’t keep doing this. I can’t.” She swallows back tears, forcing them down to the pit of her stomach. “You said you wanted a reset, you go on a date with someone else but still act like you want me. You hate texting but you text me all the time, you get an extra coffee from Derrys for me everyday — I mean, you have all of my freakin orders memorized!

“You hold my hand whenever you get the chance and make me feel like you never want to let go. But then the next day you act like you hate me, like I really am nothing to you at all. Nevermind that stupid Influencer’s Ball when you looked at me like I was the worst person on Earth and the thing you wanted most. Can’t you understand why that hurts me? Why I wish I could hate you?”

“I do, but it’s not any easier for me.”

“You wanted this!” She yells again, throwing her arms up in defeat.

She was so tired of his excuses, his reasons. Tired of feeling like a pair of gloves he keeps stashed away in a drawer, only being taken out when he needs her. He was being unfair to her and she could no longer stand it.

“You wanted to let go of what we were becoming, so I don’t really care if it’s not easy for you.”

“What do you want from me, Genevieve? Honestly?” Ethan stands, arms now crossed in defiance.

She can see his walls going back up, the fortress he’s built over years of disappointment and heartbreak. It wasn’t something she ever wanted to see, but perhaps the best outcome. If it granted them peace from the carnage they caused.

He caused.

She has been steadfast in her decision, never hiding the truth. No matter how painful it had been, Gen was far from shy about where she stood with Ethan and what she wanted.

And now, whether he liked it or not, it was Ethan’s turn to be truthful.

“I want you to decide what you want, for real.” Gen stands as tall as she can, staring into his eyes with determination. “If it’s me, then we find a way to be together and stop this stupid reset. If it’s not…”

Against her will, a single tear escapes, running slowly down her cheek. His eyes tracking its movement,

Furiously, Gen wipes it away, taking a deep breath to try and settle her rattled brain. “If you really want a reset and you, honestly, don’t want me like I want you, then I need you to close the door. Stop giving me these little glimmers of hope, because I can’t move on, like you said you wanted me to, until you let me go.”

Silence falls on them once more, her words prickling in the air like tiny bolts of electricity. Ethan keeps his eyes on her, breathing slowly.

“What if I don’t know what I want?” His voice can barely be heard, the ticking clock on the far wall almost drowning him out.

He looks like a lost boy, scared and defeated.

“Figure it out.”

Genevieve turns away to collect her things, swallowing back more tears as she hears him sigh.

If they were in a fairytale, this would be the moment he declares his everlasting love for her. He’d vow to never let her go. But they aren’t in a fairytale, and Gen has come to learn in the last ten years that the fantastical kind of love she’s always dreamed of doesn’t exist. No matter how much she believes Ethan Ramsey to be her soulmate, her white knight, this was the real world.

And fairytales don’t exist here. Here she must learn to cope with the loss of him. Because come morning, he’ll most certainly let her go.

A/N: Just keep remembering that they’re married now!! It’ll all be fine. Especially because I’m writing the “Part 2″ which is Ethan trying to hook up with someone else so...

Love you, mean it!

(Tagging separately)

#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #ethan x gen

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waywardwhump · 3 years ago

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You draw away when she approaches. Gaze off to the side, cowering against the wall, hands pressed to your throat as if you could protect yourself.

It always hurts. It always hurts. You aren't fooled by her quiet demeaner, vampires were never kind when they fed. Every one had their own special way of putting you through hell and the fact that this one had broken in to get to you only made you fear her intentions more.

She hushes you when you whimper, her skin like ice against yours. Her fingers wrap gently- yet insistently- around your wrists to pry them away from the vulnerable curve of your neck.

The bite doesn't come right away. She nuzzles, exhales against your skin. For a moment she just holds you. Your heartbeat races painfully in your chest, the blinding rush of panic rolling through you like a wave.

"I don't want to hurt you," she says. "I don't want this to hurt. You don't deserve to be hurt."

You shudder despite yourself. Your frantic breathing hitches, and when you blink you feel hot tears fall down your cheeks.

A part of you aches, a part of you craves the kind words, the suggestion of an embrace from someone who doesn't want to rip you apart in every way they can. You don't believe her, you can't, you know she has to be baiting you. A new method of torment, dangling a carrot in front of you just to make the pain worse.

But she presses her mouth against you, lingering over the vein in a slow back and fourth motion. Her efforts draw out another shudder. You've been starved for contact for so long, and your poor worn-out exhausted body can only supply you with so much adrenaline before its dwindling reserves run out.

Your tears run their course, and she keeps holding you, keeps breathing against you, she lets your rising panic reach it's peak and waits patiently for it to recede.

Her nails scrape soothingly against your scalp. Your breathing slows, too tired to fight against her coaxing.

You're about as relaxed as you could be when she finally bites. Her hand clenches at the back of your neck to keep you from yanking yourself away as her teeth skink in. You flinch, crying out, but the pain is less than you'd expected, she's not as rough as the others.

And unlike the others, her bite is quickly followed by a rush of warmth. The pain falls away, the spike in fear smothered by a feeling of calm.

She doesn't suck at the wound, doesn't chew or rip to make your blood come out faster. She drinks slowly, and closes the bite as soon as she's done.

Her skin grows warm. You find yourself leaning into it, leaning into her, seeking her comfort as your eyes slide shut.

#whump #Vampire whump #vampire caretaker #mine #comfort whump #second person whump #waywards favorites

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kkeidawrites · 4 years ago

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That Night

Chp. 3

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Another banquet was in full swing in the next couple of days that the moon goddess had first arrived and once more the same activities from before resurfaced. The sunrays of Asgard minimized to a light hue of yellows and purples, it would soon be night.

Gods and Goddesses, Dukes, Duchesses, Lord and Ladies alike littered the alabaster halls of the banquet hall. Each one dressed to impress, all colorcoded for the theme. How can anyone have so many parties every other day? It’s exhausting to say the least. Just imagine how much the servants had to prepare in such little time, it will amaze you.

This time the party was held in the gardens, overlooking Asgard’s lavish lands of green fields. Men and women rode horseback to play games, others included themselves in a fighting ring while everyone else lounged about and talked.

The food never disappoints and it seemed to never run low. Before your head would turn away from the lavish feast, it would automatically refill itself. Everything looked beautiful, the gold trim that surrounds the white pillars and green shrubbery elongated and twisted in beautiful vines around the pillars and added a bit to the dining tables as well.

For someone who has never been to Asgard and this was their first time they would be enthralled with the beauty of this place; the gold, the alabaster stone walls, the food, the style, the attire. It was like a dream come true. Except maybe a certain, moon goddess, who thought differently.

Mawu was bored. Stupid bored in fact. She was that bored that she had brought along Irawo to the banquet to keep her entertained. And let’s not forget the God of Mischief himself to keep her company as well. How delightful.

They stood at two different tables although it didn’t help the fact that Frigga used her powers to make sure that the tables were at least facing each other and with it she spelled the tables to only allow them to walk to and from their tables.

“Three hours you two,” she told the two as her fingers flexed to allow her magic to filter from her fingertips. “The spell will break once the hours are up, until then why don’t you both talk. Get to know one another.” She gave her charming smile and left the two beings.

“‘Get to know one another’.” Mawu mocked them scoffed in annoyance as she watched Irawo hop around on the table.

Mawu saw that there was no point in trying to break the All-Mother’s spell and occupied her time playing with Irawo; Loki in the meantime was doing everything in his ability to break his mother’s spell. From time to time you would see the illuminated green light of his spells.

Mawu feeds Irawo another carrot and the chunky rabbit munches it down, greedily and wiggles his nose in Mawu’s direction, happily waiting for the next carrot to be given to him and the goddess smiles.

“Sorry, Irawo. I don’t want you to pass out on me and go into a carrot coma,” Mawu teases and the rabbit stomps his foot.

“No more carrots right now, okay?” She watches as the rabbit begins to groom his head aggressively to show that he was unhappy. Mawu shakes her head and placed a hand under chin as she watched the festivities unfold.

She couldn’t believe that she had to stand in this one spot for the next, now two hours, and not be able to move anywhere. Mawu so desperately wanted to go horseback riding, and use swords against the opposing team. Hell, even the fighting ring looked appealing. It was much more entertaining than stand here and be bored.

“Damn it.” She hears Loki sigh out in frustration and looks to her right to see the green wearing God cross his arms and lean against the table in frustration.

“Having fun over there?” Mawu teases and Loki glares at her.

“I thought we agreed to only tolerate one another until you left Asgard.” Mawu rolls her eyes and turns back to Irawo.

“You spoke to me about it. I didn’t agree to ahem, tolerate you. As long you don’t bother me I won’t bother you.” Mawu tells him and Loki grits his teeth.

Irawo turns to Loki and wiggles his nose, sniffing the air and his gold eyes noticed the carrots on Loki’s plate. He squeaks and jumps from the table making Mawu gasp.

As he landed on the grass, Irawo uses his paws to groom his face once more then used his nose to snif around the area then pounces over to Loki’s table.

“Irawo! Come back!” Mawu calls to the black bunny, who promptly ignored her and began pawing at Loki’s leg to have him pick him up.

“Heh, little mongrel.” Loki reluctantly picks up the rabbit and placed him on the table where he quickly grabbed a carrot from his plate and proceeds to eat.

Mawu sighs heavily and moved over to Loki’s table to look down at the rabbit. She placed her hands on her hips and glared, disappointed at the bunny.

“I said, ‘no more carrots’.” Mawu said and watched as the rabbit takes a lettuce and eats that just as quickly as the carrot.

“You would refuse your pet food? How cruel of you, I thought you were the Goddess of Knowledge and Wisdom, shouldn’t you know that everyone has the chance to eat?” Loki says and Mawu frowns in annoyance.

“I am trying to limit him from eating so much, he had dinner less than an hour ago and the snacks I had was his snack. Breaking him of this, won’t allow him to limit what he eats.” Mawu says trying to pick up the rabbit but, Irawo squeals and moved over to Loki, the God of Mischief barks out a laugh in victory and Mawu glared at him.

Irawo snuggles his muzzle into the God’s hands and Mawu crosses her arms.

“Fine, stay here with him then.” Mawu pouts as she returns to her table and takes a sweet bun and begins to chomp on it, annoyance written all over her features.

Loki grins triumphantly and scratches under the rabbit’s chin to have his foot stomp in pleasure of the scratches.

“Well done, little hare.” He praises the furry creature. “Well done indeed.”

The next two hours went by excruciatingly slow and Mawu breathed a sigh of relief as the feeling of restraint on her body lifted off of her.

Stretching her arms, Mawu sighed and looked to Loki’s table to see the trickster playing with Irawo. He dangled the silk rope that held his cape against his back, above Irawo as the rabbit hopped to try and grab it.

It would seem that she didn’t need to keep an eye on Irawo and Mawu hopped that Loki wouldn’t do anything to her little friend. Not sensing any ill intentions towards Irawo from Loki, Mawu made her way over to the stables where the horses were being tended to for tonight’s parties and approached a stablemate. She could see that all the horses were gone and prayed that at least one horse was still available.

“My lady we unfortunately do not have any available horses for you to use.” The young male stablemate told her and Mawu pouted a bit.

“I guess it can’t be helped-” The sound of neighing turned Mawu’s body to watch as two stablemates that could be strongmen in the circus back on Earth, hold the reigns of a large black unicorn. It tussled with the reigns it was bonded in and pulled on it to make the men stop pulling it.

The unicorn neighed in anger and stomped the ground to force the men to drag it. Mawu was amazed at how big it was and seemed drawned to the unicorn.

Mawu felt her feet move as she approached the mystical being. The stablemate watched her in perplexed fear and reached out to stop her.

“My Lady, you mustn’t approach him!” The stablemate stepped in front of her making Mawu stop and look down at the young man.

“That colt was bred by a demon horse and ever since it has been a struggle to keep it under control. It won’t let us come close to it and we have to use force in order to control it-”

“Him.”

“M-My Lady?”

Mawu glared at the young man.

“Do not call him, ‘it’ he is a strong horse and surely calling him out of his name does little to gain his trust.” Mawu says as she walks past the man and continues her travel to the two bigger men.

The one on the right holding the unicorn’s reigns turned to Mawu and fear lit up in his eyes as the Goddess continued to approach the horse, who reared back in effort to be released from his clutches.

“My Lady, please stand back! He’ll kill you!” He warned but Mawu stops and turns to the two men.

“Let him go.” Was all she said.

“But-But, My Lady-!”

“Let. Him. Go. Please.” Mawu says again, still watching the unicorn who began to huff out angry air from his large nostrils. His green and gold eyes glared at the goddess and stomped his upper left hoof in anger.

The two strongmen looked to one another and then released the reigns taking several steps back readying themselves for the horse to begin to buck and cause havoc around the stables.

The unicorn did indeed rear back on its hind legs and Mawu watched him intently, being mindful of his hooves. Once the horse returned to all fours, Mawu raised a hand out, her palm facing the horse who huffed out another angry snort.

Trotting around Mawu, the Goddess didn’t let up from her spot, her hand still out, waiting patiently. Her plan was to allow the unicorn to relax around her and let him come to her. Let him trust her in his own time.

As the unicorn calmed, he nods his head up and down, snorting the last of his anger out and trots over to Mawu. He sniffs the back of her head and then nibbles her neck, making the goddess stifle a giggle. He then moved to the left side of her face and sniffs her some more. All the while the three stablemates stared in disbelief. They have been trying to get close to the unicorn for the past two months and the moon goddess was able to allow him to get close to him in less than 30 minutes.

Mawu showed that she wasn’t a threat to the unicorn and her calming aura allowed the horse to calm him down.

The unicorn then nibbles on her raised hand then sniffs it. Taking a step back, the unicorn looks in the goddess’s eyes and sees that he was indeed not in danger and hesitantly allows his muzzle to press into her palm.

Mawu gently rubbed his muzzle then moved her other hand and scratched under his chin. The unicorn neighs in delight and moves his head closer to receive more scratches.

“What is his name?” Mawu asked her eyes still trained on the unicorn.

“H-He d-does not h-have a name.” The youngest stablemate says and the unicorn neighs softly.

“Hmm....how about Gbekele?” Mawu asked the horse who unexpectedly nodded his head, then nibbling her scratching hand.

“My-My Lady, do you p-plan on riding him?” The young man asks the goddess.

“He still does not trust me, I do not think he would let me ride him.” She says and grabs the unicorns reigns, leading him to a stall. As he approached the stable Gbekele began to trot in place, fear returning to his eyes as Mawu did her best to calm him down.

“Gbekele, please calm down,” she tells the beast but, it rears back in terror making Mawu release his reigns.

“Lady Mawu, stand back!” Her eyes cut to the left and she sees Thor and two more stablemates come rushing into the stables.

“No! Don’t come any closer!” She tells the men but, they seemed to not hear her as the four stablemates run past her and try and grab the reigns of the beast. Gbekele rears back and neighs in anger.

Mawu felt his aura become more and more confused and his anger rose tenfold.

“No, please! Don’t touch him!” She yells to the men who once again either ignored her or didn’t hear her. One man was able to grab the reigns and another grabbed the back of his bridle. The horse rears back in anger and begins bucking. The unicorn spins in a circle as he continues to buck and Mawu was unfortunately close enough to luckily miss the hooves of the horse, make her stumble on her feet and fall hitting her head on the large salt lick.

Mawu couldn’t open her eyes anymore and allowed unconsciousness to take her.

A few minutes prior to the accident...

With Loki

Growing tired of playing with the rabbit, Loki sighed and looked around the area at the many nobles. He was insanely bored and he honestly wondered where that little moon goddess went. Now that he thought about it, he never realized how beautiful she looked tonight. For someone who is undeniably insufferable, she was a beautiful woman. Loki twisted his fist under his lips and felt his cheeks flush.

Yes, he thought about her, and what of it? She was beautiful, headstrong, and she spoke of war games like a veteran. She was perfect. If anyone offered her hand in marriage she would make a great queen. He didn’t know what it was that kept making him follow wherever she went, but, he didn’t want to stop.

It was fun messing with her, and mess with her, he shall. He wasn’t named the God of Mischief for shits and giggles.

He saw she had went to the stables and decided to check there. Not wanting to leave the rabbit, he used his powers to make Irawo disappear and made his way to the stables.

As he grew closer to the stables, the sound of shouting and a horse grew louder. Something inside of Loki made him begin to feel a sense of worry in the pit of his stomach. Walking closer, a yelp of pain was heard and by the time Loki turned the corner to enter the stables his eyes widened at the scene unfolding before him.

A black unicorn was stomping his hooves in the hay based ground being held by the reins by three men and Thor and a younger man was helping up a smaller body up from the ground. Loki’s eyes looked where the body once was and his green irises noticed the blood on the salt lick and then his eyes traveled to the one person he has been looking for this evening. Mawu was cradled in his brother’s arms bleeding profusely from the head and Loki phased over to his brother’s side.

“What. Happened.” Loki gritted out as he glared at his brother.

“A stablemate came over while I was in the fighting ring and told me that Lady Mawu was in trouble. I wrangled a couple more stablemates and I saw that Lady Mawu was trying to tame the beast but, it reared back and made her hit her head on the salt lick.” Thor explains and Loki takes the goddess in his arms and gently turns her head to see the extent of damage. He then stands up, while carefully holding the goddess in his arms. Her head landed on his chest, her lips were close enough to his neck and he held in a gasp from the sensation.

“I will take her to the medical clinic,” his eyes turns to the slightly calm unicorn that huffs in Loki’s direction.

“Get rid of that beast. I don’t want to see it in any stables of Asgard.” Loki says and a green light allows the God to disappear from view.

Arriving at the medical clinic, Loki kicked the double doors and called for a physician. Not a second later, a woman in grey robes came rushing towards him and she saw the injured goddess in his arms.

“Place her here, your majesty.” She instructs, pointing to a cot and Loki carefully set Mawu down moving back to allow the physician to do her job.

Loki didn’t know what to do. How did this happen? Why did he allow this to happen? Loki moved the cloud of hair she possessed and held her cheek.

“Thankfully, her wound is not severe,” the physician says making Loki look up at her.

“I will have to monitor her for the rest of the night.” She continues and Loki nods.

“Keep me updated on her well-being.”

“Yes, your majesty.” She bows and Loki uses his powers to disappear.

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The God of Mischief slams the doors of his room open and stomps over to his bed, plopping down in anger. Why was he so angry? He didn’t even know. Or perhaps he did.

He was frustrated about seeing her that way, but, then again why did he care so much anyway? Running his hands through his inky locs, Loki sighed in irritation then used his powers to allow Irawo to reappear. The rabbit snuggles into the side of his thigh as soon as he was released then squeaks.

“Your mother is in the clinic,” he tells the rabbit and the creature tilts it head. “She was hurt. How she handled the situation was so reckless of her!” He ranted to the rabbit as the furry begins to groom his head.

“She should have realized that that beast was unruly and she goes and gets hurt anyway!” He continues as he stands up and begins pacing, ranting still.

“She’s such a insufferable, uncouth, bratty, disobliging...beautiful, caring, degnified woman.” Loki’s rant slowly turns and he returns to sitting on his bed sighing with his hands folded in his lap. Irawo squeaks and Loki casts a spell and hands the rabbit three carrots. It happily eats the treats and Loki grins wryly.

“At least you are a better listener than Thor, then again I wouldn’t go to him with my problems, he’s just as insufferable as the Goddess.” Irawo squeaks once more as if agreeing with the trickster.

“You’re right, he is much more unbearable. My mistake.” He scratches under the rabbits chin and then thinks about the well-being of the moon goddess. Hoping, praying she would be alright.

Something like this was unfamiliar for the God of Mischief but, perhaps it was finally melting his frozen heart.

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Ch. 1⬅️

Ch. 2⬅️

Here’s Chapter 3 enjoy it! Like, comment, reblog and be sure to ask me anything in the inbox.

See you guys!

#black reader #black!reader #fanfiction #my writing #loki x black!reader #loki marvel #loki laufeyson x reader #black oc #marvel x black!reader #african!goddess reader #that night chp. 3

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chelsfic · 5 years ago

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Words, Spoken and Unspoken - Donald Pierce x Tracker!Reader - Logan/X-Men fanfic

This is part of a series which includes: Hunted, Loving Mourners Be , Magic Words. You can read any of them on their own, but this one falls loosely after Hunted.

A/N: As you can tell I really just wanted to write some more praise kink shit with Pierce.

Summary: Another glimpse at the relationship between Donald Pierce and his “pet” mutant.

Content Warnings: Angst, Smut, Intense! Praise kink, Blow job, Stockholm Syndrome, Abusive relationship dynamic

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Donald figures out early on what works with you. He’d tried the stick for days before realizing his mistake. All you need is the carrot.

“I’m not going to ask you again, mutie,” he growls, digging the muzzle of his gun into your temple as you cringe on the ground at his feet. “You know those doctors have all the DNA samples they need to recreate your little magic trick in a test tube. One word from me and we’ll put you down like a dog. Where. Is. The mutant?”

“I’m trying!” you cry. Your eyes burn with tears and you’re exhausted from straining your powers but it’s pointless. You’re too terrified to function. You couldn’t pinpoint a mutant if they were ten feet away from you. Normally your power comes to you as easy as breathing but...when you’re this stressed there’s only ever one thing that helps. And you’re unlikely to get it from this man whose native language is cruelty.

Donald sighs, tucking the gun back into its holster and crouching down beside you in the dirt. He ducks his head to catch your gaze with piercing blue eyes that seem to cut right into your soul.

“Alright, baby…,” he drawls. “Last chance--”

He’s crouched so close you can feel the heat of his body. With no other options you close your eyes against his penetrating gaze and whisper the words under your breath.

“What’s that?” he asks with an edge of annoyance.

You take a tremulous breath and lean forward, pressing your forehead into his strong shoulder as you speak, “Tell me I’m good…”

For a long moment he’s silent and then you feel the vibration of his laughter through his shoulder. It makes you want to melt into the ground in embarrassment.

“So that’s it, huh?” he takes your face in his hands. His warm, rough palm cupping one cheek while the cold metal of the prosthetic cups the other. “You want me to tell you you’re a good little girl, is that it?”

You let out a shuddering gasp at his words and nod your head, keeping your eyes shut tight. Your fingers curl around his forearms, holding his hands in place.

“Look at me,” he whispers, brushing the tears from your cheeks, “Go on, look at me.”

You open your eyes. His face is only inches from yours, your breath mingles together. If you leaned forward even an inch you could kiss him. Why did you just think that?

He offers you a smile, his gold tooth catching the sunlight as he speaks, “Thatta girl. Now you’re gonna calm down right now and help me find this mutant, alright? Can you do that? Can you be a good girl for Donnie?”

You nod and he leans forward, pressing his forehead into yours. It feels so intimate...so real. You can pretend you’re someplace safe with someone who cares for you. And just like that your mind unfogs and your senses come to life, telling you exactly where you need to go.

---

Later, after you’ve started sleeping together, Donald comes to learn just how much his praise affects you.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing great. You’re doing so good,” Donnie’s words come out hot and heavy on his breath. His pleasured groans vibrate down into you as he thrusts his cock deeper into your mouth; saliva dribbles out the sides of your lips. You roll your eyes up to catch his as the words fall from his tongue, “Mmm, that’s my good girl.”

He thrusts into you a few more times, cupping the back of your head with a firm hand before pulling out with an obscene pop. You fall back on your haunches, eyes blown wide with lust and drool pouring from your swollen lips. Donnie smirks looking down at you, loving the way his debauched little mutant falls apart for him.

“C’mere, baby,” he holds out his hand and helps you to stand on shaky legs. He guides you over to his king size bed, pushing you down until you're laying flat on your back with your legs dangling over the sides. He pulls off your light weight pants and underwear, tossing them to the floor behind him before rounding back on you and pushing the t-shirt up past your bare breasts. He’s still fully clothed, standing between your knees with only his jutting erection exposed.

“You like this don’t you, baby?” he taunts. “You like being naked and vulnerable for me. Are you gonna let me do whatever I want to you? Hmm? My little mutie?”

He grasps his thick cock in his hand, dragging it up and down the length of your wet pussy. You let out a mewling cry at the contact, bucking your hips enthusiastically.

“Use your words, baby,” he says in a calm tone that contradicts the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“You know I like it, Donnie,” you hiss, impatient to feel him inside you.

Donnie chuckles at your tone, “I think you’re getting spoiled, darlin’... I’m gonna have to fuck some manners back into you.”

And then he’s thrusting himself inside you without a hint of warning. Donnie’s a big man, in every sense. Even as turned on as you are you can still feel the stretch of him as his cock bottoms out inside you. He anchors his hand on your hip, fingers firm but gentle, rocking into you at an unrelenting pace as he murmurs every dirty thought that flies through his head.

“That’s good, baby. You take it so good for me, don’t you? Fuck, you’re so tiny, ain’t you? I love watching you take me inside you. My good little mutie...”

He releases his grip on your hip and drives the heel of his palm over your clit, rubbing frantic circles into the tender bundle and reveling in the twitching puddle you dissolve into so quickly. Your whole body tenses and pulses as you climb toward your orgasm. Donnie slows his hand, his eyes glinting with mischief as he watches you pant with frustration.

“Don’t--don’t stop, baby!” you urge him, writhing on his cock. “Please, Donnie! I fuckin’ love you...don’t stop...I love you…”

“Good girl,” his gruff voice is strained as he slams his hips into you at a faster pace while he continues his attentions to your clit. “Come for me, baby. Come on my cock, baby.”

You cry out his name as the orgasm hits you, stars flashing in your vision and muscles quivering with your release. Donnie pulls out of you just in time to spill his semen over your stomach. He rubs his cock in the mess, painting you with his seed as you come down from your high.

Afterwards you’re as limp as a ragdoll, laying wantonly spread out on his bed. Donnie cleans you up with a warm towel and tucks you under the covers before joining you. He can be so soft in these moments. He lays down behind you, pulling you close and curving his body around yours, kissing your shoulder as you start to drift to sleep.

“Donnie?” you murmur sleepily.

“Yeah, baby?”

Do you love me?

…

“Do you...do you hate me?” Coward.

“What?” he sounds nonplussed.

You curl inward on yourself a little and Donnie’s body moves with you, keeping you snugly tucked against him.

“I mean...because I’m...a mutant,” you explain, hating how fragile your voice sounds. He could crush you right now if he wanted. With nothing but his words.

He squeezes his arms around you and sighs, grasping for answers in the sweet feel of your body against his.

“No, baby, I don’t hate you…”

I...

You fall asleep in his embrace. And as you drift off you let yourself forget. You let yourself forget that he’s your captor, your jailer. You forget that he thinks mutants are less than human, a plague of genetic mistakes. You forget that he will be the one who escorts you back to your cell in just a few short hours.

You forget everything but the feel of his body curved around yours. And the weight of unspoken words pressing on the air around you.

Tags:

@nothing-but-a-comedy @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @theplumsoldier @meri47

#donald pierce #donald pierce x reader #boyd holbrook #smut #chelsfic

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wordywarriorwrites · 5 years ago

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Chapter 3: Sleight

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration & Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge. Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities.

After surgery, Natasha was wheeled into a private room at NYP/Weill Cornell Medical Center, and once it had been made clear she would make a full recovery, Bucky called a meeting.

Five plastic chairs situated around the bed; every pair of eyes narrowed; each mind determined. Out of all the potential outcomes, none of them could have anticipated this, and it wasn’t just because Steve had chosen to defend himself.

Natasha was dutiful, cautious, and extremely versatile. She’d carried more than her fair share of the water and had never shirked or shied away from any of the endless lists of tasks and responsibilities they’d given her. Over the years, she’d become the Queen in their metaphorical game of chess, was welcomed and respected in every territory, and was often the envoy, enforcer, and enticer. She was integral to the Families and invaluable to Bucky.

She’d also never been injured this badly before and that put them all on edge.

“How did this happen?” Wanda inquired quietly.

Thor grunted, “We know how it happened.”

“We need to focus more on the why instead of the how,” Tony remarked.

Clint nodded in agreement, “If I’m being honest, I was glad to hear he’d returned, but now…”

As comptroller, Maximoff was most concerned with finances. Odinson, in his capacity as recruiter, was having trouble getting the fresh meat to settle down. Stark made sure law enforcement on their payroll turned a blind eye to Steve’s return, but this had drawn a lot of attention, and as a result, Barton had been forced to place a temporary hold on all incoming and outgoing product.

One thing they could all agree on was that the matter needed to be approached with even more caution. They still didn’t know the whereabouts of the deceased senator’s wife, nor the motivation behind Steve’s aiding in her escape. Bucky had assumed he’d returned for the funeral, but whether or not that was his primary reason for staying in town was unknown. Nevertheless, Bucky admitted he’d made the mess, and told them he would clean it up.

Clint was tactful when he pointed out they’d tried it his way and it hadn’t gone well. When Bucky asked for suggestions, Thor threw out the obvious option of having someone else finish the job. Wanda alternatively asserted that if he intended to let Steve live, he needed to be placated. Tony decreed it was best to keep enemies close and that Bucky should simply seduce him. Clint recommended backing off and giving Steve a wide berth for the time being.

Bucky sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. While everyone continued to discuss how best to resolve the brewing conflict, he averted his attention to Natasha, who had woken up mid-way through the conversation. If anyone had the right to an opinion, it was her, and when he held up his hand for silence, everyone quieted down.

“Natasha?” Bucky prompted.

“Use him,” she rasped. “Make him an ally again.”

He’d never considered bringing Steve back into the fold, but it was the most practical way to resolve things. As the Families had never formally voted him out, he technically still had a seat at the table, and could return to it at any time. If Steve did return, things would change, but adjusting parameters and expectations wasn’t the issue.

Steve was a natural leader and would’ve been Boss had he not left. Loyalty and tribute were given and paid to the Families as a whole, but Steve inspired a level of fanaticism and devotion that Bucky just could not replicate. Though the title alone commanded respect, Bucky knew some considered him a placeholder; there were big players who’d been waiting for Steve to return, and if he was welcomed back, there would be a power shift. Even though Steve had never expressed a desire to run things, it was a mantle Bucky, if pressured, would be forced to let him have.

War and peace, love and hate, progress and tradition – they were often two sides of the same coin, one that had been flipped many times over many generations. As head of the Families, it was left to Bucky whether or not to toss it in the air again, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was a gamble, a fifty-fifty chance, and he wasn’t the type of man who enjoyed playing the odds. He tried to look for a clear outcome, but the tide kept shifting, the waters were murky, and he couldn’t yet see in which direction the wind would blow.

“We tried the stick,” Wanda gently reminded him. “Let’s see if the carrot fares better. I’ll reach out.”

Bucky inclined his head, “Very well.”

With the decision made, the others departed, but Bucky remained. He scooted his chair closer to the bed and when Natasha held out her hand, he took it. She’d been hooked up to an intravenous analgesia pump, but had yet to use the medicine, and that meant both her grip and her words were fierce.

“Whatever you do, don’t fuck with him,” she warned. “I don’t know what Steve’s up to, but I can tell he’s changed, and he’s dangerous. You watch your six, you hear me?”

“I’ll be as careful as I can be.”

“Have you said anything to the press?”

Bucky hummed noncommittally, “They believe it was an attempted robbery gone wrong.”

Natasha nodded, let go of his hand, and depressed the button to release the morphine, “Good. Now, go away – you got shit to do and I need rest.”

If anyone else had dismissed and dictated to him like that, Bucky would have broken their jaw, but since it came from Natasha, he just smiled. Even with a foot dangling over the grave, she still busted his balls, and because she was the only real and true friend he had, he didn’t fight her.

The drive back to the penthouse was a slow one because of traffic and when he finally pulled into the private parking garage, he was exhausted, irritated, and starved. The guard at the desk greeted him politely and Bucky waved back. It was a quick, smooth ascent to the top floor, and when the elevator doors parted, he stepped into the foyer, and was greeted by an unexpected albeit not entirely unwelcome visitor.

“In the span of twenty-four hours, you’ve botched a takedown and you let me get the drop on you,” Bruce stated blithely. “Didn’t I tell you to change the security code after I installed the system?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and gestured toward the kitchen, “What do you have for me?”

Bruce tossed a folder onto the island’s marble countertop and gave him a rundown on Steve’s activities. The man was good at keeping a low profile, but he was able to piece together some of what Steve had been up to while he was away, and squeeze a bit of information out the people who’d been helping him stay under the radar since his return.

“Steve is independently wealthy now, but where the money came from is a mystery,” Bruce informed him. “If the olive branch Wanda plans to extend involves cash, it’ll be useless. He’s got holdings and properties both in this country and abroad. I can’t find any red flags and it all appears to be legit.”

Bucky furrowed his brow and opened the fridge, “And the plot thickens.”

“Sam admitted he stopped in, but wouldn’t give details on what was purchased,” Bruce explained as he accepted a beer with a nod of thanks. “But knowing what Wilson keeps in that back room, Rogers is probably armed to the teeth.”

He flipped through the photos and the intel, “I want to know who else he’s visited and where he’s holed up. And find out where he’s hiding that fucking widow.”

“He knows how to avoid being seen, so, it’s not an easy task. It’s going to take time and cash.”

“Money you can have,” Bucky told him as he headed for the living room.

Bruce followed and sipped his beer while Bucky keyed in the combination to the wall safe. Once it was opened, he collected a few stacks, and handed them over.

“Grease palms and keep digging,” Bucky insisted.

“Will do.”

If anyone could find a needle in a haystack, it was Bruce, and Bucky knew he could rely on him to get it done. The man was a genius with a mind that absorbed and retained information like a sponge. Publicly, he put his Ph.D. to good use via publications and giving lectures at various universities; privately, he helped the Families by being a shadow in the world of data collection. Skeletons in closets, economic shifts, voter mindsets, new product on the street, backroom deals, who was getting up to what behind closed doors – Bruce knew it all, and on the off chance he didn’t, he always managed to find out.

Bruce tucked the money away, tossed the bottle into the recycle bin, and as Bucky escorted him out, he strongly urged him to reset the alarm code. As soon as the door was shut, he did just that, and went back to the living room.

Exhausted down to his bones, he plopped down on the couch, loosened his tie, and kicked off his shoes. Cellphone in hand, he mulled over what to order for dinner, and after he decided on Italian, he closed his eyes, and settled back into the cushions. He must’ve nodded off for a moment, because when the doorbell rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered as he rushed for the door.

Bleary-eyed and absentminded, Bucky didn’t check to see if it was actually his food delivery, and within seconds, he was made to regret it.

He saw the fist that barreled toward his face, but wasn’t fast enough to block it or duck out of the way. Bucky was hit with such force that his head snapped back and he fell right down onto his ass.

Blood gushed from his mouth and nose and the copper-flavored taste rolled over his tongue and slid down his throat. There was only one person in the world who could ring his bell like that, and when he looked up from his prone position on the floor, he cursed.

“Hello, JB,” Steve deadpanned. “Mind if I come in?” Chapter 4: Erstwhile

Everything: @jennmurawski13 @nerdy-bookworm-1998

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard @lilliannaansalla

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mostlywritersblock · 5 years ago

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Dracula 2019 fic

Part 1

****

Is this a dream?

Of course it is.

You’re drinking my blood.

But my blood is deadly to you.

Yes.

So you’ll die.

So will you.

After all this time

Did you think I’d let it hurt?

****

Dracula awoke.

It was disorienting, not because of any lack of vision but simply because he had awaken.

Something he’d thought he’d never do again.

By all rights, he should be dead.

Well, dead-er.

He was laying on his back, comfortably mind you, staring up at the ceiling when a familiar voice punctured his thoughts.

“I thought it might happen today, or rather I’ve been telling myself that for the past two weeks.” The woman from the foundation spoke.

Bloxham was it or something other?

“Just so you’re aware it’s been a total of 19 days since your attempted suicide”

Attempted suicide? Is that what happened?

“Your lawyer has been dutifully notified of your condition and current occupation of our facility. For more economical reasons I’m sure you can see why you’ll be staying here instead of a hospital until we can safely monitor your progress and rehabilitation.”

Progress? Rehabilitation? What was wrong with him?

“What is wrong with me?” The statement came out far weaker than he intended, and by god was that really his voice? Such a pitiful thing!

Bloxham stared at him blankly. “I just told you, attempted suicide.”

She stepped out of view but he could still hear her. “Now that you’re awake I’ll have the doctors come examine you. Try not to hold back on anything, the more information you provide the better.”

A series of scenes played out suddenly before him, ripping his focus away from the present to-

A flash of light, so intense, like the sun itself-

The sun.

Agatha.

He could hear retreating footsteps.

“Wait.”

Bloxham hesitated. “Yes?”

“Aga-Dr. Helsing. Zoe, where is she?”

There was a long pause.

“She’s alive, I’m not allowed to say anymore on the subject.” And she briskly walked out of the room. Dracula listened as the soft hiss of the door sealed behind her.

Ah.

So he was back in the glass cage. Wonderful.

****

The doctors poked, prodded, and took blood samples for a sum of 75 hours before Dracula got fed up and snapped one of their necks. The rest quickly fleeing the room as he viscously bit into the dying mans jugular. It was delicious.

Keep dangling a carrot in front of a starving rabbit and they’re bound to take your finger along with it.

****

The blood seemed to have done some good, and he wasn’t the only one to notice. The next following days consisted of Bloxham gathering up as many volunteers as she could to start giving him blood. It wasn’t the greatest thing ever but he felt he should play by the rules just for a little while longer.

Just until he had regained his strength.

****

By the gods. He was going to go mad of boredom. He’d requested -what - at least a dozen times by now, for some form of entertainment. A book, magazine, some new eletro-technological gizmo. Anything. But it was as if his request fell on deff ears. Which wasn’t possible. Which meant they were ignoring him.

Dracula sighed dramatically. He’d also requested for his lawyer, though he now supposes that won’t be happening anytime soon either.

****

He kept seeing her.

Not in his dreams - because, well, that wasn’t really possible at the moment- but in the shadows of his cage.

Agatha.

He hadn’t heard anything more since he’d first asked about her. It was as if the topic of one Dr. Zoe Helsing was taboo, classified, unmerited information that he was definitely not privy to.

No matter. He was counting down the days now.

Soon.

****

He’d surmised he’s been held prisoner at the foundation for a total of 39 days, 14 hours, and 45 minutes when the alarm sounded throughout the corridor. An unnecessary red light bouncing about the walls.

He slid the key card into place and a mechanical hiss sounded as he pushed the the final door open.

Fresh air rushed to great him. Along with twenty or so armed guns.

Dracula didn’t bat an eye as he rushed them. The sun grinning down on him when he slaughtered them all.

***

All that time in the foundation and no one had been one step closer to discovering how he was still alive. The one mystery he was actually hoping they’d solve before he jumped ship. Oh well. Now to find the real answers, with the only person who could possibly provide them.

He hoped at least.

****

He was surprised to find that Zoe was not actually where he had expected her to be.

He had thought, naturally, that with all the secrecy that obviously whatever information they had was not of the positive sort. Meaning he assumed he’d find her half dead in a hospital riding out the tale ends of her cancer.

Not. Outside a cheap flat lounging in the shade with a beverage smelling strongly of alcohol.

When Zoe finally noticed his chilling presence she gifted him with a small smile.

“Took you long enough.”

*****

He was to say very bluntly. Not pleased. Not pleased at all to discover Zoe did Not in fact have all the answers.

He was pleased however to note that she had miraculously been somewhat cured of the cancer. A miracle they were both certain he had a hand in doing.

Another piece of the puzzle yet unsolved.

She’s currently undergoing chemo, a last ditch effort by her doctors to make sure the cancer never comes back. But Zoe says everyday she feels a little stronger, a little less like the poison is in her veins.

Dracula supposes he’s happy for her.

Happy to have the company now that they’re not constantly at each other’s throats.

But he’s still a vampire, a fact they’re both acutely aware of as time passes by.

Dracula leaves sometime in the night, Zoe’s warm body curling into the space he previously occupied.

It’s not goodbye. But he needs sometime to collect his thoughts and -

He needs to feed.

****

Zoe finds him not even two days later.

“You know running off in the middle of the night is not going to solve any of your problems.” She states taking a seat in his temporary domicile.

Dracula rolls his eyes, “It doesn’t unsolve them either, Zoe. I’m driving myself mad with explanations, scenarios that make no sense and facts that don’t add up.”

He paces a few steps. “By all accounts I should not be here. I should dead, not undead.”

“Careful it almost sounds like you’re regretting being a vampire.”

Dracula frowned. “You know that’s not what I’m saying. I just wish to understand, nothing like this has happened before.”

Zoe sighed, “ Look it’s not like you went around drinking sick blood all the time, or for the length you drank mine. Who’s to say you can’t die from it. Maybe it just severely weakens you, like a vampire kryptonite.”

“Like a vampire what?” Confusion crossed his face as he tried to distinguish the strange word. And here he’d thought he was doing pretty well in this century.

“It’s Superm- you know what I’ll get you the comic sometime. Anyway, we really don’t know what kind of effect sick blood may have.”

Dracula scoffed. “Oh and me practically dying isn’t effective enough for you?”

“Not when you can come back good as new, no.”

Dracula smiled dangerously, “There’s the cold nun we all love to hate. Don’t suppose you’re hoping I’ll try it out again and stay dead next time.”

“One can only hope.” Came the distinctive foreign reply.

“Well I’m not, so there’s another dead-end for you.” He sneered. Zoe took in a deep breath

“Look, I want to get to the bottom of this just as much as you do, but you ran away from the one place that could possibly offer some kind of scientific explanation.”

Dracula released a low growl, “I’m not going back there.”

“I’m not asking you to I’m just-“

A loud buzzing filled the room, Zoe frowned sharply before tearing into her purse to dig out her phone. She glanced at the screen briefly before answering.

“Yes? What is it now?”

Dracula stared intently at his shoes trying not to grow impatient.

“Again? This is the third time this month, yes I know he escaped twice thank you Margo. Yes. Yes he’s with me. Yes I’ll tell you. Look, now isn’t a good time, I’ll call you later. Tell Florence to just reschedule their meeting, I won’t be in tomorrow. Thursday? Fine, yes, whatever works. Yes, goodbye.” Zoe let out an exhausted sigh as she lightly slammed her phone face down onto her lap.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Trouble you caused.”

“Oh what have I done now?” Dracula mock pouted

“The contributors - our sponsors are reviewing the foundation, again. Apparently the fact that you escaped twice puts us under strict scrutiny.”

“Ah, I don’t blame them, for the price they’re paying I’d put your organization under strict scrutiny too.”

“It’s your bloody fault!” Another deep breath, “And it isn’t my organization, I just help run it.”

“What happened to early retirement?”

“I’m not dying now, why should I give up when we were really starting to see a breakthrough.” She quipped sarcastically.

Dracula chuckled, “Point taken.”

****

Turns out running an organization that your not legally obligated to run takes a lot of time and effort, both of which Zoe was finding hard to balance, especially with an over demanding, narcissistic, ego-centric vampire breathing down her neck. Oh and she also wasn’t trying to kill him, or capture him, or run test on him this time.

So.

There was that.

Zoe figured her sudden lack of animosity towards the man remained largely on the fact that he saved her. Or rather drained the sick right out if her.

So now she can’t help but feel a little obligated to offer aid in this troublesome mystery. Even if that means lying to half her staff the whereabouts of Dracula’s location.

However, the animosity spikes at certain moments too.

They usually coincide with Dracula’s feeding habits.

*****

TBC

#I’M SORRY IF THERE ARE SPELLING ERRORS #I tried my best but I wrote this weeks ago at like 3am #dracula #agatha van helsing #dracula 2019 #johnathan harker #part1 of idk #takes place after the last episode bc I was not happy with said ending #my boy harker gonna get a better story this time just you wait and see #this is probably going to be Dracula/Harker eventually js #but maybe Zoe/Drac if you squint reaaall hard #zoe van helsing

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nom-the-skel · 6 years ago

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[vore] Redbunny is a Good Snack, chapter 10

Mean pred, soft safe vore

[chapter 1][chapter 9][on AO3]

“Look what I got!”

Sans just wanted to go back to sleep, to ignore the fact that he was huddled in the corner of a cage. The fact that Papyrus was there too—and what’s more, injured—just made it worse. Blueberry and Papyrus were apparently talking now, and they’d teamed up to badger Carrots into rinsing him off before breakfast, but that just left him wet and miserable and still not entirely rid of Carrots’ orange magic residue.

He could tell Papyrus was worried that Sans had barely eaten. His brother had given him his sweater back and only grumbled, not scolded him, when he didn’t put it on properly but just curled up with it to try and nap. All he wanted to do was sleep; it was the only escape from his situation.

“Chili was right,” Blue continued, piercingly loud. “You can’t just leave them in the cage all the time! They need exercise.”

“Chili needs to rest after you bit him,” Carrots argued, disdainfully.

Sans reluctantly lifted his skull. Blueberry was clutching a book with a picture of a rabbit on the cover. Papyrus was strategically restraining his indignation at being thought weak.

“Maybe, but I bet he’d like to explore the house!” Blueberry said, “It’s fine so long as he takes it easy, right?”

Carrots looked toward the cage. “Are you gonna take it easy, Chili?”

Papyrus rolled his eyes. “If I must.”

“And Cherry really does need exercise!” Blueberry added. “Look at him. He barely moves!”

“I must agree with you on that,” said Papyrus, a predictable betrayal.

Sans groaned. Maybe he should be pleased at the prospect of not being in a small enclosed space for once, not to mention the opportunity to look for potential escape routes, but it wasn’t worth being conscious.

“See?” Blueberry put his hands on his hips. “He’s miserable in there. Bunnies need exercise and stimulation.” He raised the book and pointed at something on the page. “He isn’t eating. He might even die if you don’t care for him properly!”

“All right, fine. But I bet he just hides under the couch and naps.”

Sans again found himself pressed against the floor as Carrots turned his soul blue—then falling upward, his fingers hitting the metal bars on the way out of the cage, until Carrots caught him.

“Remember, Cherry. Even if you escape, you’ll just find out that the monsters out there aren’t as friendly as us, and by the time you regret it you’ll already be dust. I don’t care if you hide, but you better come out when I call you, or else.” Carrots gave him a warning squeeze.

Sans nodded meekly. “You got it.” Maybe it would be easier to pretend he was somewhere else without the bars of the cage around him.

“And don’t get yourself dirty,” Blueberry added. “Papy probably won’t go to the trouble of washing you off before he eats you.”

“Right,” Sans agreed, making a mental note to pick up as much dirt as he could find.

“Okay then.” Carrots lowered him near the floor and then dropped him.

Fortunately the carpet was soft and he was only dazed for a moment. He looked up at the foxes from this unfamiliar vantage point, glanced at his brother, who had climbed out of the cage and was standing on the table next to it, then made a dash for under the couch. Nobody tried to stop him, but his soul was pounding by the time he reached the center, as far as possible from any fox that tried to reach in after him.

It wasn’t terribly comfortable, he realized. The cage at least had some reasonably soft bedding; the bare carpet was a slight step down. He sat and waited, too anxious that Carrots might decide he wanted Sans to stay within sight after all to seriously consider napping.

“What’d I tell ya?” Carrots said. “Right under the couch. If he doesn’t come out—”

“It’s okay! I can pick up the couch! If we have to,” said Blueberry. “Chili? You don’t want to hide? Come help me in the kitchen!”

Blueberry’s voice grew distant, and Sans heard the sound of Carrots flopping himself onto the couch above him. He flinched, even though it was unlikely the couch would collapse at this exact moment after surviving the same treatment countless times. After Carrots had been silent for a while, he was finally able to relax. Before he fell asleep, he took a closer look at his surroundings. There was dust—the innocuous kind, not dead monsters—on the floor, where even Blueberry apparently didn’t bother cleaning often. A few candy wrappers and a solitary coin were accompanied by some less identifiable odds and ends. The coin was so large that if they’d been back home, Sans might have tried to use it to buy his freedom, but here it was probably only worth 1G. Even if he had any use for it, it was far too big to fit in his pocket. The candy wrappers were no help. The rest of it was stray bits of plastic that had probably been parts of larger, more useful objects at some point, a few bent pieces of metal, and a paper clip. Sans lay down in the dust to sleep until Carrots called him back.

***

“Boss. You awake?”

“Yes. I can’t believe you just walked up to Carrots when he called you.”

Sans rolled his eyes, hoping it was dark enough that Papyrus wouldn’t see the gesture. He’d voluntarily climbed back into the cage when Blueberry had asked, himself. “Never mind that. I got somethin’.”

“What is it?”

“Shh, we don’t wanna risk wakin’ up the foxes.” Sans pulled up the sweater and dislodged the paper clip from inside his rib cage. He was lucky Carrots hadn’t forced him to undress, or it would have been noticed. “Can you help me get close to the door?”

Of course the cage was kept locked when the rabbits weren’t wanted, or Edge would have escaped on his first day. It was far from a given that Sans would be able to pick the lock, and it made it significantly harder that the door was on the top of the cage. Papyrus was still injured, even if he was hiding it, but he managed to help prop Sans up so that the weaker skeleton could hang onto the bars while working on the lock.

Sans was stiff and exhausted by the time the lock popped open with a satisfying click. He was afraid to believe he’d actually succeeded until he pushed up on the door and it moved freely.

“Come on up, Boss,” he said, not letting the door fall back into place for fear that it would re-lock itself.

Papyrus climbed over him and pushed the door all the way open, and Sans let himself fall back into the cage.

“What are you doing?” Papyrus hissed. “I’m not going without you!”

“Course not, Boss. I just couldn’t hang on any longer.”

Papyrus had to come back down and haul Sans out of the cage, but at last they both hopped down from the table. It involved some acrobatics on Papyrus’s part to not only reach but turn a doorknob, but they made their way to the machine in the basement.

“Can you get us home from here?” Papyrus glared up at the machine, and although most monsters wouldn’t have been able to tell, Sans could detect the note of uncertainty in his voice.

“Yeah, I’ve got a plan.” Sans clambered his way onto the control panel. He knew how the machine was supposed to work, and he’d been thinking all evening about what he was going to do. The interface was about what he expected, thank the stars. He set about implementing his plan. The portal made a noise, and if Carrots could hear it from his room, he didn’t want to risk summoning the fox until he was ready to leave.

“Can you operate it?” Papyrus called up, impatient.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem! I gotta do somethin’ to stop Carrots from comin’ after us again. Just take a few minutes.”

“Hurry up!”

Sans muttered to himself. Papyrus could show a little more gratitude, or at least patience, since he was covering their tracks. He finished what he was doing and then looked down at Papyrus. “I’m gonna open it now. Go on through the moment it’s open, and I’ll be right behind ya.”

“Understood.”

Sans activated the portal home, and when he turned to make sure Papyrus had gone through, he saw only his tail and leg vanishing into the energy vortex. Satisfied, he hopped down to follow. He stumbled on the landing, but kept his feet. The portal would close in only a few seconds, and he absolutely couldn’t let himself be trapped on this side.

The pop of a teleport, almost indistinguishable under the fizz of the portal, was an extremely unwelcome sound. Sans didn’t stop to make sure of what he’d heard, but leapt for the glowing gateway.

A familiar hand snatched him out of the air before he reached it. As it drew him back and upward, the portal shrunk and popped out of existence. The hum of the machine fell and vanished as it powered down.

“No!” Sans struggled wildly for a moment, then went limp in the fox’s grasp. There was no point. It was over.

“How’d you get down here, bunny? Where’s Chili?” Carrots asked, his tone deliberately casual.

Sans didn’t answer.

“You opened a portal, didn’t you? Clever bunny,” the fox snorted sarcastically. “I bet Chili got through, didn’t he? You’ve put me to a lot of trouble recapturing him.”

Sans hung from his hand, staring at the floor.

“You didn’t think I’d let him go, did you? I have to get back my bro’s pet.”

“You can’t.” Sans lifted his skull to grin darkly up at him.

“Sure I can, same as I did the first time.”

Sans laughed. “Maybe, but you’re gonna start from scratch.”

“What do you mean?” Carrots lifted him to eye level, glaring.

Sans shrugged. The fox would figure it out pretty soon anyway. “Memory’s wiped. You’ll hafta reprogram it from the ground up.”

Carrots bristled. “Don’t tell me you—!” He smoothed his ears with one hand, letting Sans dangle from the other. “That’s unfortunate. For you. You’re really stuck here now, aren’t ya?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Serves you right.”

Carrots lifted Sans above his skull, and as heartbreaking as it was to face this again when he had been so close to being finished with it forever, Sans didn’t really care. He was used to it, being teased with the view of Carrots’ wide-open mouth, the rush as he was dropped in—

Carrots caught the bunny with his teeth, and Sans squeaked in terror. One hard bite would be more than enough to dust him. But the fox was satisfied with his fear, and only held him in place, poking at him a little with his tongue before finally pulling him inside, letting his teeth scrape against bone, just short of painful, so Sans felt like it ought to hurt even when it didn’t. After that the embrace of the soft wet magic was almost soothing.

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uas-fics · 6 years ago

Text

Title: Kitty Kiss

Summary: Tweek’s a witch whose magic is wild, and Craig his boyfriend who he accidentally turned into a cat last year.

Rating: T

Ships: Creek

Other: This was actually a request by LonelyLesbianspizza on instagram from...October. ^^; It got lost under my messy files.

~~~~~

His professors must have a screw loose, that's the only explanation for assigning this much work over the holiday weekend.

Or, they just hate him.

Actually, that's probably it.

Tweek's professors just hate him. Given that he's accidentally set no less than three classrooms ablaze, that fact shouldn't come as a surprise to him.

Tweek scratched his scalp with his chewed down nails.

"How is that wrong?!" He muttered, flipping to the back of the book to double check. "Frog's sweat and carrot juice have always been a substitute for eye of newt. Why wouldn't it work here?"

Tweek slumped forward, scanning the answer glossary. As he read something about the effects of frog's sweat in potions containing nightshade, his familiar trotted up to his chair.

Craig looked at him for a long moment, eyes gleaming in the lamplight, before tensing his muscles and taking a leap.

He landed neatly on Tweek's shoulders. Tweek jumped, nearly bolting up and knocking the creature from his back. He caught himself and froze just in time when he heard a soft mewl.

Craig sprawled out over Tweek's warm shoulders, his head, and front paws dangling down his front on the left with his tail and hind legs on the right.

He purred against Tweek's neck as he nuzzled his nose against the fabric of his shoulder.

Tweek smiled softly. He reached up and began to scratch Craig behind the ears.

"Thanks, Craig," Tweek mumbled, feeling a little of his stress melt away.

"No problem, honey," Craig meowed. He gently headbutted Tweek's palm, forcing his boyfriend to pet his thick black fur.

Craig always knew when Tweek was overworking himself. He had long ago taken upon himself to make sure that Tweek took a break before he collapsed from exhaustion.

Craig had been especially diligent lately. He saw how Tweek threw himself into his school work. At one point, Craig had to take Tweek’s sleeve in his teeth and pull him to the kitchen to eat after a ten-hour cram session.

It was hard work, but Craig didn’t mind. How could he? Tweek put out all this effort for him, after all.

Tweek maneuvered so he could take Craig from around his shoulders into his arms. Holding the cat his chest, his pressed his nose into the warm fur. His fur smelled like pine again. Clearly, he’d been sleeping in Stripe’s cage again.

Craig purred louder, reaching up his front paws up in a fruitless attempt to wrap them around his shoulders like he used to do — before the accident.

Tweek felt his stomach twist.

Craig knew Tweek was a witch since the day they met. Craig had stopped by the Tweak family coffee shop with some friends and saw Tweek get egged on by his parents to perform some prestidigitation spells.

He also saw the magic backfire and a muffin turn a glowing neon green and then deflate like a balloon into a puddle of floury mush. Tweek’s magic was wild. A simple color change glamour might turn into garish glitter bomb. The most basic of levitation spells could send items through the roof into the stratosphere.

Tweek was a terrible witch. He knew it. His parents knew it. His teacher and friends knew it. Craig knew it, too, but he didn’t seem to care and still gave him his number on a napkin.

Of everyone, Craig was about the only person who ever truly still believed Tweek would ever get a handle on his hectic spell casting.

He was so sure of Tweek's control, that when he came across a spell in one of Tweek's textbooks (one about giving humans the ability to talk to animals), he had no qualms asking Tweek to perform it on him.

If only Tweek hadn't beefed the spell so bad. Talking with Stripe the guinea pig would have been loads of fun!

But Tweek did beef it. He beefed it so bad, and now his boyfriend was a magic, talking black cat.

"Craig," Tweek mumbled into his neck, "Why don't you hate me? I took your life from you."

Craig pressed his head under Tweek's chin. "It's not your fault. You tried to talk me out of it, but, no, I was too stubborn."

Tweek made a sound of uncertainty in the back of his throat. True, Craig hadn't backed down when Tweek started to get nervous while preparing the spell, but Tweek knew the spell was too difficult for him.

"Shouldn't matter." Tweek started to shake. "I've taken nearly a half a year from you, and probably even more before I can turn you back." He pulled him closer. Sobs started to crawl up his throat.

Craig scrambled back, flipping over himself and landing on all four paws atop Tweek's open textbook. A determined fired burned in his eyes.

"We're not going through this again, Tweek. I wanted you to cast the spell on me. I am at fault here, not you. Never you, ok? Jesus, Tweek." His tail lashed, knocking a pen to the floor.

Tweek shirked back, looking away. "But — "

"No buts." Craig cut in. He took a breath. The raised fur on his shoulders flatted back down. "Sorry, Tweek, but, I hate you blaming yourself for this. Besides, it's not that bad. I like being a cat. It's pretty sweet to be able to sleep anywhere I want. I can almost understand what Stripe is saying, sort of," he dragged his tongue along his paw, "and I don't need to waste time showering."

Tweek wrapped his arms around himself, shaking his head. "You couldn't finish getting your degree."

"Fuck school." Craig ran his paw over his ear.

Another 'but' pressed against Tweek's teeth. No matter what Craig claimed, guilt still gnawed at his stomach.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair Tweek was born with unstable magic. It wasn't fair Craig fell in love with him. It wasn’t fair Craig was a cat. None of it was fair.

Craig turned his head to the side. "You know, there is one thing we haven't tried to turn me back.” His ear flicked. “A way that doesn’t require you to cast any magic at all.”

"I told you, dude,” Tweek shook his head, “this is the kind of transformation magic that only the one who cast it can remove." Tweek slumped down. "I just have to buckle down and study harder. I have to cast the reverse spell, no one else."

Craig wrinkled up his nose at the mention of studying.

"No, I mean, we haven't tried 'true love's kiss'," Craig nodded sharply at Tweek. "True's love's kiss fixes everything in fairy tales."

Tweek chuckled. A smile played on his lips as he reached out to stroke Craig's side. Craig really was the best at calming him down when he overdid himself.

"The paper I wrote to get the scholarship to this school was how true love's kiss is bullshit magic. It's just a placebo." Tweek scratched under his chin with a smile. "Besides, how am I suppose to kiss you? You don't have lips, Mr. Kitty-Cat."

"Straight on the mouth," Craig explained as he ducked his head down before pushing it to Tweek’s palm. "It can't hurt to try, can it? Besides, I miss kissing you."

Tweek dropped his hand with a chuckle. "You know what? Alright. Let’s try it." He scooted his chair back so he could lean forward and look eye to eye with his boyfriend.

Craig's eyes glinted with delight. He straightened up, puffing out his chest. Tweek snorted a laugh as he leaned forward with his lips pucked. He felt like a child, giving an awkward kiss to his grandmother.

Craig leaned forward as well, gently tapping his kitty lips to Tweek's.

It wasn't a kiss like they had before — not even close — but Craig didn't dwell on that. Instead, he let the warm feeling of love and affection grow in his chest. It grew and expanded, filling every limb. It intertwined with the fibers of his muscles and within each strand of fur.

He raised his paw and pressed the pad against Tweek's cheek. A terrible kiss or not, he didn't want that feeling to ever leave, but it did. In its wake, Craig's body began to ache and feel heavy.

He winced back, sitting back on his legs before going to rub his elbows joints.

"C-Craig!" Tweek gasped, scrambling to his feet. His chair fell back with a clatter that didn't seem to be as loud as it should have been. Even standing, Tweek should have towered over Craig, but he didn't. Instead, he stood at the same height, eyes even with each other.

He reached out, then froze as his eyes landed on his very human hand, attached to his very human arm, and then his very human body.

"It worked..." Tweek's mouth gaped. "It worked?!"

Craig patted his furless chest and shoulders down before reaching up to feel his face. No whiskers, no cold nose. His ears were on the sides of his head and so very human.

He laughed breathy once, running his hands through his hair.

"It did! It really did! Holy--I was just trying to be romantic!" Craig scrambled off the table. After months of being on four legs, he’d forgotten how exactly one walked on two legs and stumbled. Tweek grabbed him, partly for support and partly to pull him into his arms.

He nuzzled against him. Tweek's chest felt tight with relief and happiness. Tears began to well up in his eyes. Sobs of joy hiccuped from his throat.

Craig laughed, wrapping his arms around Tweek. "Looks like you'll need to rewrite that paper, huh?"

"Fuck, I'll change my whole field of study for this!" He hugged him back, squeezing him a little too tightly around the chest.

But Craig didn't complain. Even if true loves kiss was a fluke and this was the result of Tweek's wild magic, he wouldn't ever complain.

#creek #sp creek #south park #tweek tweak #Craig Tucker #fanfiction #one-shot #witch tweek #request

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carmenlire · 6 years ago

Text

The Son’s to Bear

read on ao3

With a wave of his hand, a viewing window opens on the wall, allowing Asmodeus to watch his son unobtrusive.

He sees matted hair, greasy and unkempt. There are circles under his eyes, dark bruising that betrays his bone-deep exhaustion. Laying limp in his bed-- with its Egyptian cotton and hand-woven duvet-- Magnus looks broken.

It’s a sight for sore eyes and Asmodeus drinks the scene in hungrily.

He’d tried. Lilith knew that he’d tried his damnedest to mold Magnus into the man-- the king-- he was born to be. He’d known from the moment his son was born, wails echoing around the little village he’d slipped through several months earlier-- that this would be his heir. None of his other children had ever been so powerful from the start. From Edom, Asmodeus could feel the strength in the babe, the magic already so bold and strong.

When he’d visited the little house on the outskirts of the village, he’d crept through the house as silent as a shadow. He’d frowned at the little mementos that mundanes liked to scatter around their homes-- bibles and trinkets and wasteful possessions.

Following the beckoning of the blood in his veins, Asmodeus had found the child swathed in cotton and sleeping peacefully, thumb in its mouth and expression serene.

He’d stared down at his son for long moments, cataloging the dark hair and tawny complexion. Suddenly, the child shifted in his sleep, reaching out to Asmodeus before opening eyes that were identical to his own.

Captivated, Asmodeus has slowly reached his own hand out, allowing his son to wrap a little fist around his finger. Paternal pride had clenched his chest at the power contained in such a little body. Asmodeus could detect the magic running through the child and it was potent.

Asmodeus had stood over the crib for hours, watching his son sleep while his mind churned with plans. Lost in thought, he’d stayed until the night sky started giving way for dawn’s weak light and he heard the stirring of the house on the other side of the door.

It had been nothing to keep a watchful eye on that corner of the world and when he’d heard rumblings about a little boy wreaking devastation in a tiny village, Asmodeus had known it was time.

The boy-- soon enough, Magnus-- had been distrustful, frightened. Asmodeus had coaxed him closer, though, with a sincere smile and gentle touch. He’d waited for his son to accept him, to welcome him, to reach for him before whisking the two of them away from this pocket of the world.

The next decades had been everything Asmodeus had hoped. He’d honed Magnus’s magic and watched as his son grew into his power, as he wielded devastation on his own terms and not as an act of fear.

And what devastation it had been.

In some places, there are still whispers of The Great Destruction. Asmodeus’s tutelage had been as complete as it had been uncompromising. Magnus learned to control his magic until it was second nature. Mercy wasn’t a concept the boy had known and he’d watched, time and time again, as Magnus destroyed villages and punished the people who scorned him, who shrank back in terror at eyes that should have instead commanded respect and awe.

Still, he’d failed. As Asmodeus watches the way Magnus seems to sink into the bed, listless and disgusting with it, he shakes his head mournfully.

Somewhere, he’d gone wrong. Magnus had turned against him, against the father he’d never had but always wanted, against the one person who would have given him the world on a gold-plated platter.

He still remembers the day Magnus had turned his back on his legacy. It had seared through him, a maelstrom of disbelief and rage and sorrow. He doesn’t know where he went wrong, just that Magnus had sworn that he’d never become his father-- as if that was a bad thing, as though it was shameful to fall into Asmodeus’s shadow.

But look where they are now, Asmodeus thinks with a slow, private grin.

His son never learns. His spirit is indomitable but it can be manipulated as easily as any mundane’s. All he’d had to do was dangle Magnus’s lost magic before him like the most persuasive carrot and his son had completed a little mission for dear old dad, leaping through the fires of the damned a second time in as many months.

He’s had Magnus in Edom for several days and he’s greedily watched as Magnus’s spirit had plummeted hour by hour until he was left in his room, pitiful and pathetic.

The shadowhunters are chasing their tails in the city. Magnus’s boyfriend is beside himself and it’s been an amusing diversion to watch as Alexander runs himself into the ground trying to find where Magnus had gone.

Everyone around him has started suggesting that it might be time to give up the search. It will be interesting to see how long it takes for Alexander to follow suit.

Asmodeus can already picture telling Magnus-- showing him-- that his lover had given up on him. Yet another fickle human unworthy of his son.

They’re all the same, honestly. Asmodeus wonders if this time, Magnus will listen to him, if he’ll understand that his father is his one constant, the only person who loves him and will love him through the passing centuries.

Magnus was a fighter, he’d give his son that.

No one understands a father’s love, Asmodeus muses. No one can understand the depth of feeling, the pride that is just as easily displaced with bitterness. Asmodeus will always welcome Magnus to Edom with open arms and his vision of the future has never wavered-- Magnus at his side as they rule together.

A legacy that strikes fear and respect and admiration and awe in the hearts of demons and mortals alike.

At first, Magnus had been furious at the perceived betrayal. Asmodeus had returned his magic to him-- what lost was so easily regained-- and locked him in his old suite in Edom until he’d seen reason. He’d watched as Magnus had been consumed with fury as he’d searched feverishly for an escape.

He’d watched as Magnus’s shoulders had slumped as he hadn’t found anything, as the days had passed and he’d remained trapped. It was for his own good and Asmodeus knows that he’ll come around eventually, that all will be forgiven as soon as Magnus realizes just how much Asmodeus loves him.

Taking a step back, Asmodeus waves away the viewing window and turns on his heel.

Magnus is breaking but he isn’t broken yet. His thoughts fill with ideas as Asmodeus walks away from his son without a backwards glance.

Magnus barely looks up as the doorknob turns.

He’s angry but it’s distant. His goddamn father always has another trick up his sleeve and Magnus will never fucking learn that apples from Asmodeus are poisoned to the core.

He’d naively thought that he could regain his magic if only he completed a little mission for Asmodeus. But he’s stuck here, in this filthy ruin of a castle.

He’s sworn time and time again that he wouldn’t return to Edom, that he’d walk away from his father and never come back but here he is like a fucking fool, playing right into Asmodeus’s hand.

It’s galling. It makes bile rise in his throat.

Magnus is stuck here until he can find a way to escape. The days have started blending together and he’s tired. It seems like Edom saps the soul right from his body. His dreams are plagued with nightmares and his thoughts turn to Alec whenever the darkness is particularly heavy.

Alec is his lighthouse in the thunderstorm. When things get too hard, when the nightmares leave him gasping and sweating, he thinks of his boyfriend.

He wonders what Alec’s doing now. He wonders how Alec’s doing. Hopefully, he’s taking care of himself and Magnus desperately hopes that Alec knows where he is.

After all, he was only supposed to be gone for an afternoon. Like an idiot, he hadn’t told anyone where he was going and his appointment book only has the ever helpful client designation in the time slot.

“Magnus?”

Magnus blinks slowly before it registers who’d just spoken and then he’s sitting up so fast he’s dizzy.

Alec is standing in the doorway.

Alexander.

His expression is grim but Magnus sees emotion in those lovely hazel eyes. Alec’s gaze is watchful, ever the soldier, as he takes a look into the corridor before focusing back in on the room.

His bow is ready in his hand and he takes a single step inside. Magnus cringes a little as Alec studies him, eyes sweeping from head to toe. He knows that he’s a sight for sore eyes and he wishes that he could look better for Alec, even if the thought is ludicrous right now.

“Are you alright?”

Alec’s tone is curt but Magnus tells himself that Alec’s just hypervigilant right now. For heaven’s sake, the man has stormed hell to save him. Now wasn’t the time for grand declarations.

Standing, Magnus straightens his shirt. It’s both a nervous tic and an attempt to look not quite as ghastly as he’s sure he does.

Alec doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m better now that you’ve arrived, darling. Where are the others?”

“The others,” Alec asks, frowning for a moment before his expression smooths out.

Magnus stares at him, incredulous. “Don’t tell me that you’ve come here by yourself, Alec. As happy as I am to see you, I don’t want you pulling hare-brained schemes in an attempt to rescue me.”

“I’m your boyfriend,” Alec says, shaking his head impatiently. “It’s my job to protect you.”

Something about his tone is off but Magnus can’t put a finger on it. The words are halting, frozen. They don’t fill Magnus with the warmth he’d ordinarily feel and it’s jarring.

Chalking it up to the trauma of Edom, Magnus walks toward Alec, smiling. “I assure you, Alexander, I very much appreciate this mission but let’s not be hasty. I don’t need protection. I think you’ll agree that Asmodeus is a particularly vile devil and that these are extenuating circumstances.”

Clenching the bow, Alec’s shoulders are rigid as he replies, “I don’t think you know who you need protection from.”

Magnus rears back as though he’s been slapped. “Excuse me.”

Grabbing his hand, Alec pulls him closer. His grip hurts and Magnus has to fight his instinct to pull out of the hold.

“You think your father’s the devil incarnate but he saved you from starvation, from filthy streets and certain death. His power runs through your body. He’s given you everything you could wish for and more. He lauded you over his other children and this is how you repay him? You sicken me.”

Magnus chokes on a breath as he stares into Alec’s eyes. The grip has turned punishing and he feels bone grind against bone as a dull ache starts in his wrist.

“What,” he whispers. Swallowing painfully, Magnus bites his tongue. He hopes the pain will clear his head or awaken him if this is yet another nightmare but it doesn’t do anything, it doesn’t change anything and Magnus is left standing in front of Alec as confusion and dread swirl around him.

“I don’t love you,” Alec says coldly. “You were a convenience, a way to test the waters but I’m tiring of you. Do you really think that a shadowhunter could want a warlock, could love something half-demon? Did you think I could? Yeah,” Alec says softly as his nails dig into the softness of Magnus’s skin, leaving bruising crescents in their wake. “I bet you did. And that makes you stupid as well as weak.”

His stomach turns and it’s all Magnus can do to swallow the bile that scalds his throat. The words pierce him, splintering his heart into a thousand pieces before crumbling it to dust.

“Alexander,” he mutters hoarsely. “I don’t--”

Before he can finish the sentence, something’s happening. Alec’s face blurs, morphs. His body changes, leans out as thin fingers dig into him.

And then it’s not Alec standing in front of him but Asmodeus.

Everything crashes down on Magnus in an instant. It’s a burden that bows his shoulders, that makes them tremble as he tries to keep his knees from buckling at the realization that Alec was never with him, that escape is as far away as ever.

“You bastard,” Magnus hisses and recoils as Asmodeus smiles warmly.

“You’re welcome, son.”

Biting back a retort, Magnus can only ask, “What are you talking about? Why the hell should I be thanking you for pulling such a heinous stunt?”

“You think that was a stunt?” Asmodeus’s mouth forms a moue of distress. “That was a lesson, my boy. Alexander Lightwood is the latest in a long line of self-righteous shadowhunters who think it sport to hunt our kind. You are nothing to him but a willing body and it pains me to see you sink so low. You need help, Magnus.”

“And what,” Magnus bites out. “I’m supposed to believe that you’re the kind of help I need?”

“I’m your father, boy. I’ve only ever had your best interests at heart. Forget about Lightwood and come home. Return to my side and we will forget about mortals who are beneath us, who could be so easily crushed under the heel of our boot. You’re made for better things, bigger things, than to degrade yourself with a shadowhunter and pander to people who will never know the kind of power you possess-- and would condemn you if they ever found out.”

“No,” Magnus says. “I will never forsake everything that makes me human just to turn into you. I made that clear centuries ago and that will never change, not as long as there’s a heart beating in my chest.”

Asmodeus doesn’t say anything for a moment, studying Magnus with eyes that make Magnus’s skin crawl. Alec might love them, might’ve tried his damnedest to make Magnus love them, but every time he looks into his unglamoured gaze, Magnus is reminded of his father and of a past that haunts him, even after centuries.

“We’ll see about that,” Asmodeus finally says. “Sooner or later, we all must return to the houses of our fathers. You’re lucky that yours is so benevolent, Magnus. I know it will take time for you to come around.”

He steps closer and Magnus stands still through sheer force of will as his father tilts his head up with a finger under his chin.

“Lucky for us both then that we have all the time in the world, isn’t it?”

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves as suddenly as he’d arrived. Magnus stumbles back as the door closes and sags onto the bed. It feels like he collapses in on himself as he bends over, burying his head between his knees and trying to get his breathing under control.

God damn Asmodeus for wearing Alec’s face and damn him for believing it.

“Jesus Christ,” Magnus whispers, throat working as he gasps out a breath. He’s shivering, cold even in the infinite warmth of Edom.

He knows-- damn him, he knows-- that Alec didn’t say those words, that Alec hadn’t flung those vile words at him.

He can’t stop repeating them, though.

I don’t love you.

Did you really think that I could love a demon?

Burying his hands in his hair, Magnus grabs fistfuls and pulls until his scalps stings, until the pain clears the fog.

Edom is nothing but tricks, but smoke and mirrors, and Magnus has been away for far too long-- yet never long enough-- if he’s forgotten that painfully learned lesson.

Alec’s out there and he’s looking for Magnus. Magnus needs to remember that, to believe it, otherwise he’ll go insane and when Alec really does find him, there will be nothing of worth to bring back.

Magnus crawls into bed and lays on his side, tense as if waiting for another blow, this one fatal.

He’s still in the quiet of the room, all of his thoughts focused on Alec, on the love that burns bright between them. It will be his saving grace, that much Magnus knows without a shadow of a doubt. He plans and he plots but Asmodeus won't let him go so easily again and Magnus despairs of finding a way out without help.

His boyfriend’s voice is a soothing background in his mind as Magnus stares at the chipped, ruined paint of his bedroom wall.

There’s something dark lingering under the surface, though. Magnus tries to ignore it but it seems to spread like ink on parchment.

It stains his heart even as he fights against it.

Asmodeus watches as Magnus breaks a little more over the next weeks. The next time he’d masqueraded as Alec, Magnus had fallen for it again.

Along with the time after that, and the time after that.

He’d watched the light go out a little more each time Magnus’s hopes were dashed. Every time he heard Alec denounce him, reject him, Magnus grew a little smaller, his eyes a little more hollow.

Remembering Magnus’s vow-- not as long as there’s a heart beating in my chest-- Asmodeus works, slowly, painstakingly, to grind the offensive sentiment into dust.

By the time Asmodeus is done with him, love will be an anathema to Magnus. All that will be left will be power and strength and a duty to his father.

Asmodeus loves Magnus but he doesn’t need that love returned. No, he just needs Magnus with him. Whatever that takes, Asmodeus is more than willing to do.

With that thought in mind, Asmodeus closes the window on Magnus, who was babbling to his imaginary love about Tokyo of all things.

It’s less than a thought to shift form into Alexander as Asmodeus reaches for the door to Magnus’s quarters.

By all the demons in hell, Asmodeus will break Magnus if it’s the last thing he does.

There is no escape. There is no respite.

Magnus is his and it’s time that the world remembered that-- that his son remembered that it was him, Asmodeus, who was responsible for his very existence.

Opening the door, Alec is greeted with a dull stare. Magnus tries his best to ignore him but like a moth to a candle, he’s pulled into the scene for the dozenth time, hope flaring bright before being mercilessly crushed.

Alexander will be Magnus’s downfall.

Asmodeus will make sure of it.

#jesus i go on here to post this #and the first thing i see is a gifset of tonight's episode #which im watching as soon as i post this!#ahhhh #the son's to bear #my writing

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gch1995 · 6 years ago

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The Big Problems With OUAT’s Writing:

My favorite characters were Rumple, Belle, Emma, and Nealfire. Once Nealfire got killed off though, their characterizations and their relationships, as well as everyone else’s thereafter, went to total shit in canon. Adam and Eddy obviously couldn’t come up with any more than two-and-a-half seasons of organic or satisfying character growth for the original main cast, and it should have ended in 3x11, in my opinion. I’m pretty sure that Damon Lindlelof helped them out with the writing a lot for the first two-and-a-half seasons, which is why the story is at least coherent enough to be enjoyable up to 3x11.

But after 3A, Lindlelof’s plans for the show were butchered, Kitsowitz completely took over the show with Captain Fuckboy, PLOT, and making money their main focuses, so they kept it on air for the next four-and-a-half seasons not knowing what else to do now that they had run out of new story. Thus, it got to the point where it essentially devolved into such badly written crack!fic soap opera on screen by the end of 5A where the writing for everyone’s characterization had become so unbelievably OOC, annoyingly self-contradictory, changeable, hypocritical, illogical, melodramatically problematic, and toxic in favor of the PLOT that I had to quit to preserve my sanity.

I enjoyed reading Rumbelle fanfic moreso than the actual show because it made sense and felt more satisfying, well-written, in-character, and entertaining than the nonsensical toxic garbage the show had devolved into.

After 5A, Eddy Kitsis said in an interview that he thought “good storytelling” was making sure the audience goes “WTF? This makes absolutely no sense! This isn’t fair! This totally contradicts everything that I was shown before, and feels too stupid, too contrived, and too OOC to even believe possible.”

It wasn’t worth getting emotionally or mentally invested in this show or any of the remaining characters as written in canon anymore post 3A because A&E and these writers formula kept becoming more and more of “We’re doing our jobs if we can trick our audience after deliberately teasing them by dangling the carrot of organic growth of character that we’re too lazy to follow through on by yanking it away from them as soon as they start making logical predictions abruptly, cruelly and inorganically with constant twist of ’HOLY SHIT, CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT JUST HAPPENED?”

When Eddy basically said that at the end of 5A, I realized I was done with having any hope for this show, and I decided to finally quit watching after 5B because I knew every time something started to seem to make sense and go in a direction of organic growth for the characters, A&E and these writers would deliberately pull the rug out from under them and their audience for trying to get invested in them with some inorganic contrivance that ruined everything in an unfair way that made no sense and never would make any sense in canon from what we were led to believe would happen beforehand on this show by them because that was the whole point: A&E and these writers so often didn’t want you to make sense of their show because they were lazy hacks who didn’t know how to write a cohesive plot or organic character growth/realistic characterization after 3A.

They admitted that they liked whiplashing their audience for using common sense and logic in regards to fans whenever the story and the characters would seem to be potentially headed in a way that would make sense. They considered that “genuis” storytelling with their overinflated egos, rather than just very cruel, mean, lazy, and low bad writing that ultimately destroyed most of their main characters’ credibility and their fans willingness to stay emotionally invested in their canon show that the creators/writers refused to let unfold organically in a way that made consistent sense long term.

Instead, they used a constant series of contrived magical macguffins and twists of “WTF just happened? This makes no damned sense from what was just previously established on screen, and does not at all relate to it! This is unbelievably absurd! The characters would never do or say this shit in real life!”

It destroyed the credibility of most of their characters’ in canon and their fans willingness to stay emotionally invested in their show, and it was insulting, especially when you had showrunners like Eddy Kitsis admitting to the fans “As always with this show, once the audience gets onto what we’re doing, we have to change it.”

When they said “We hope things will be ‘fun’” for the character assassinating, wildly OOC, nonsensical, and melodramatic garbage writing of 6A for Rumbelle with the Morfetus bs twist or in 5A of the Dark Swan arc, they didn’t mean that we would necessarily be legitimately entertained as an audience when they threw in a character destroying inorganic magical contrivance or bizarre twist out of nowhere that forced the characters into weird directions that made no sense from what had been previously established.

Adam and Eddy meant that they would be having fun pissing those of us in their audience off by insulting our intelligence and common sense by constantly giving us inorganic contrivance of OOC characterizations, magical macguffins, and bizarre PLOT twists and contrivances that didn’t consistently, logically, and thus satisfyingly add up with what had been previously established, rather than entertaining us with organic character growth that made satisfactory sense by letting our predictions for characters come true in their sheer laziness to slow down and write organic character development.

There were even hints of this problem before 3B-S7 that I was seeing potential for in 2B. OUAT could have gone strong for longer than two to three ish seasons if A&E and these writers had slowed down from 2B, not gotten obsessed with Hook, not gone to Neverland, and not gotten so obsessed with the next big, bizarre, and contrived magical PLOT twist or macguffin that, oftentimes inorganically forced their characters to 180 regress in ways that made no sense for moments of “HOLY SHIT! WTF JUST HAPPENED?”

I have no problem with characters regressing when it’s done organically, slowly, relatably, and realistically. The problem with OUAT was that they used inorganic contrivances to push them back-and-forth between increasingly bizarre extremes that made no sense, rather than focusing on human or realistic motivations to get them from point A to point C organically. It felt fake, and it felt forced. I know it was fiction, but it felt like lazily badly written fiction when the characters swung back-and-forth by the writers playing God with them on the strings of their asinine PLOT twists inorganically.

It had gotten beyond exhausting trying to invest in a show run by petty hacks who were never going to allow their audience’s common sense and intelligence lead them through an organic path of growth for these characters with the writers dangling the carrot in front of them for a story that actually could make sense, and then abruptly, cruelly, and inorganically yanking it away from them with an absurd twist because they were too lazy to come up with any more ideas for organic character growth after 3A.

Let’s talk about Hook and CS becoming such a main focus on this show, and the romantic male lead/couple.” It’s not that Hook couldn’t have been organically developed into a sympathetic character worthy of redemption in his own right. A&E couldn’t write that, though. He also didn’t fit together with the ensemble main cast in the place of Nealfire as Emma’s main love interest. He and Emma had absolutely no chemistry. Hook’s sudden interest in her was bizarre and creepy.

Then, they killed off Nealfire through absurd means for Hook to take his place in the picture where he didn’t fit in the family circle, so they could have CS. They broke their own rules to bring Rumple back from the dead to turn him into the wildly OOC on-and-off-again “big bad” scapegoat cartoonish villain PLOT twister “foil” to Hook, even after having been given two-and-a-half seasons of the most well-written and well-earned sympathetic reforming anti-villain/tragic hero backstory and redemption arc from S1-3A. They destroyed Emma’s, Belle’s, Snow’s, David’s, and even Henry’s original sympathetic characterizations by obliterating their self-respect, intelligence, self-awareness, and moral integrity, so that they could inorganically force this bullshit narrative of Hook/CS being the “best hero” ever in a world of now meaningless, shallow, and simplistic black versus white hypocritical morality that Nealfire and the common goal of family balanced out with a sense of realism, common sense, organic growth and emotional depth that got lost with his death in favor of contradictory character destroying magical PLOT-twist driven Drama™️ soap opera “hero versus villain” fuckery and Hook/CS.

No wonder they lost more and more viewers as every season passed...Getting emotionally invested was no fun when the writers deliberately pulled the rug out from underneath your favorite characters whenever things started to seem making sense by totally ruining it with some bizarre magical contrivance or characterization that doesn’t add up to what we were shown before, and your logical predictions for stories that made organic and consistent sense for character growth were mocked by these writers because they refused to slow down and develop the characters after S1-3A. You were punished for being smart and using common sense, and that’s why most of these main characters’ credibility and integrity got completely destroyed in one way or another by this very lazy, petty and unfair bad writing technique of theirs that made them mostly feel like pod!people after just the first two-and-a-half seasons of the series.

tldr; You could only suspend your disbelief by turning off your brain to disregard the bullshit writing choices on OUAT and just blindly enjoy the show by getting invested in the characters for so long as written in canon without asking any questions before the writing became too infuriatingly repetitive, too contrived, too OOC, too character assassinating, and too stupid to believe. Also, Captain Fuckboy ruined the show after 3A, and he should have died and stayed dead back in early S2. It could have been different if A&E were good writers who could come up with organic character growth, and not shoehorned him in as Emma’s love interest in a way that ruined the whole show’s dynamic and sense of emotional depth by replacing Nealfire with him.

Nealfire’s death was the metaphorical death of the show’s canon, though. My personal headcanon was that the real show ended with “Going Home” (3x11) because that’s the last time there was any sort of compelling, consistent, organic, realistic, or relatable characterization or growth. After that, it all went to hell (literally), and I had to finally quit watching after S5 to preserve my sanity before anything got any worse, and on this show, it only would because A&E and these writers never learned.

A&E didn’t trust or respect their audience, so after awhile it felt like why should I respect their shitshow’s canon if it doesn’t make any consistent or well-developed sense, and they don’t care that it doesn’t themselves anymore either?

#anti ouat #anti kitsowitz #anti ouat writers #anti ouat 3b s7 #anti hook #anti cs #rumplestiltskin #belle #nealfire #emma swan #swanfire #rumbelle #snow white/mary margaret #prince david/david nolan #snowing #henry mills #I think trying to watch this show after 3A started eating away my brain cells with its sheer ridiculousness!#Mindfucking your audience with bizarre and stupid ass contrived twists is NOT good storytelling!#You don’t punish your audience by changing the plot out of nowhere just because your audience uses logic to predict where it could go #because your fragile egos and lazy asses are too lazy to write organic character development #since you’d have to slow down and do something NEW then instead of recycling the same old storyline by going back to the status quo #and fans would recognize that your creator pets/self-insert ship suck anyway #You don’t outright destroy sideline and/or kill off other characters/ships because they could be competition #for the characters/ships YOU want your general audience to like as a creator/writer of a work of fiction #because you’re too fucking lazy to actually organically develop Hook as a likable individual character!#That’s so fucking petty and unprofessional!#I’m NEVER going to watch another movie or show with A&E’s or ANY of these writers names attached to it EVER AGAIN!#I’m so bitter about how much they abused and misused their main characters for PLOT fuckery and Hook/CS ESPECIALLY the Goldstiltskin family #I’m pretty certain Lindlelof outlined most of S1-3A for them. It’s probably why 3B-S7 feels so ooc cheesy shallow repetitive and stupid

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taehyungiejiminie95 · 7 years ago

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6 Bullets: Chapter 08

Warnings: Death, violence, blood, suicide, deception, sexual harassment, swearing, angst

Jin takes one step closer to the end of his investigation.

Word count: 4417

Jin’s eyes are slightly glazed as he stares at the small glass display case that was locked away inside the most inconspicuous gap in any wall in this huge mansion. The bullets are polished, and blink at him in the light of the early morning. The numbers are set into it, along with the names of those who they had killed - number 6 beside Park Jimin, number 5 beside Kim Taehyung and number 4 beside Jung Hoseok.

If Jin looks inside himself, he’ll have to face how heartless this is. It’s disgusting and dehumanising to reduce an entire human life to a simple number like this - another tally in his thirst for revenge. But as awful as it, seeing that he’s halfway there heals something inside of him. After his parents deaths, Jin never spoke about it to anyone. He waved therapy in favour of seeming unbothered in front of the business he acquired. Jin learned very quickly how to supress any and all feelings.

It’s not long left until he can finally end this investigation and leave this business. He wants it more than anything.

While Jin loses himself in his thoughts in the way he’s beginning to do far too often, Namjoon comes into the office and stands himself just behind his friend, eyebrows pulled together in a mix of disapproval and confusion,

“I don’t understand you, Jin,” Namjoon sighs. His feelings of uselessness and stupidity are increasing in recent times. He’s here because Jin asked for his help with you coming home at such a crux in his career, but Namjoon knows he isn’t doing as much as he normally would. It’s not that Namjoon doesn’t do a brilliant job, it’s just that Jin doesn’t know who to trust. Namjoon doesn’t really blame him, if he’s being totally honest, “If you told me what you were planning, maybe I could help you,” Namjoon tries, despite knowing that his attempts are completely futile. Jin’s eyes flicker to meet Namjoon’s in the reflection of the glass, and Namjoon thinks he sees unshed tears,

“You’d only try to stop me,” Jin says, voice rough and tired. And with that, Jin’s face changes. His features sharpen and he stands up straighter, smoothing his jacket down. He puts the display case away before sitting down at his desk. Namjoon’s no longer looking at his friend. He’s looking at the boss of the Kim mafia, “Do you have updates on Suga’s movements?” He questions, his tone business-like and professional.

Namjoon wishes he could do that. Just pretend he’s not struggling and become a new person. Namjoon has a mask that he uses, but he doesn’t have the energy when it comes to this. What they did to Suga was inhuman. His husband was murdered, and they dangled that fact in front of him like a carrot in front of a donkey. Jin’s playing with the emotions of his greatest rival, and despite the fact that Namjoon hates him too, he can’t help but have a heart. Suga may have ordered the killing of Jin’s parents, but he’s still human,

“Nobody’s seen him, but he’s expected to turn up soon. Definitely before the end of the day,” Namjoon replies curtly. He’s never voiced his opinion to Jin, but there’s no way he doesn’t know. The two grew up together, learned together and trained together. Jin knows. But unfortunately, Jin can’t make allowances for it. Weakness and vulnerability only make you crazy, lead you to rash decisions. If you internalise it and pretend it’s not there, you can make sound decisions. Namjoon would disagree, especially if he knew what Jin was planning for the future, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters,

“Make sure Y/N is well out of the way when he arrives, and ensure that he comes here first. I won’t lose any more men to him,” Jin says flatly, standing up to gaze out of the window, as if he’s going to see a silhouette crossing the lawn. His eyes revert back to their glazed state as he wonders how long it’ll be. Jin’s so tired. All he wants to do is rest, and get rid of this nagging feeling in his chest that won’t let him stop just yet.

Namjoon doesn’t bother to reply before he leaves. Jin might not even hear it, anyway. He’s been distant lately, as if there’s something he knows that he’s not telling anyone. Namjoon in particular. It shouldn’t be anything new, but it feels different this time. It’s the way that Jin looks at Namjoon sometimes, it’s like his eyes are begging for help, but his face never changes. He’s always wearing a mask.

But two can play at that game, so Namjoon stifles the thoughts. For now, all be has to do is find Jungkook. There are only so many places that he can be at such an early hour.

~~~

After the meeting yesterday, the last thing you wanted was to be alone. Jungkook understood this without even needing to ask, so he just didn’t leave your side. He took you down to dinner at an appropriate time - well, it wasn’t a sit down meal in the dining room like normal, but he did go into the kitchens and persuade the increasingly irritable chefs to let him take your plates through to the cinema room. Once you were in there, he dragged forward a desk from the front of the room to eat off of, wrapped you up in a fluffy blanket and turned on some sweet family films to distract you.

He was half tempted to feed you too, but he didn’t want to take it too far. You didn’t feel like talking much, but mumbled a few words of thanks when Jungkook tucked you up in front of the cinema screen like a little blanket burrito. The dinner was tasteless in your mouth, but the concerned looks that Jungkook kept giving you from the corner of his eye made sure you ate all of it.

The food sat warm in your belly as your eyes drooped, and you found yourself unable to keep yourself awake anymore. With Jungkook’s calming presence right next you, you weren’t as afraid of J-Hope or what he was going to do to you if he had got his hands on you. You were okay because it’s not J-Hope with his hands on you, it’s Jungkook smoothing your hair out and lowering the volume of the film, careful not to make a sound as you fall asleep.

It seems almost familiar as Jungkook carried you to bed, having done it once before not all that long ago. You didn’t stir in his arms this time either, but Jungkook’s was a little clumsy from exhaustion as he tucked the duvet under your neck. At the last second, you manages to fumble for his hand, still not quite ready to be alone. Jungkook understood, so he didn’t leave. He settled down on top of the covers next to you, not dropping your hand for even a second.

When Namjoon couldn’t find Jungkook in the dining hall or his own bedroom, the first place he thought about was your room. You must have been pretty shaken up last night, but Namjoon had been too caught up in himself to come by and check on you. Luckily, it’s clear that Jungkook stayed right there with you to make sure nothing happened to you. When Namjoon comes in, he finds you snuggled into Jungkook as much as you possibly can, one hand resting on his chest and the other holding his hand around your waist. The raven-haired boy’s mouth is open slightly as he snores, and the two of you just look so innocent and… in love.

Finding something so sweet and untainted is so rare in this world that Namjoon can’t help but go all gooey-eyed over it. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s you. The two of you didn’t quite hit it off quite right, but Namjoon knows that there are no love stories without bumps in the road. If he could leave the two of you to be like this forever he would. But of course, there are always more pressing matters at hand, like your safety.

Jungkook is roused by a gentle shaking, and someone whispering his name in his ear. His entire body protests as he wakes up, as if begging to live a little longer in the moment. Then he sees Namjoon leaning down over him and he jolts. Jungkook looks to you, and then back to Namjoon. It’s a very compromising position, even though Jungkook isn’t under the covers. The last thing he wants is for Namjoon to get the wrong idea,

“Mr Kim- I- this isn’t what it looks like- I didn’t-“ Jungkook stutters, very formal as he looks up at Namjoon in utter horror. His voice is raspy, but he’s trying to keep it down so you don’t wake up. It takes a few moments for Jungkook to realise that Namjoon doesn’t look mad. In fact, his eyes seem to be almost proud. But before Jungkook has time to dwell on it, Namjoon is speaking,

“I understand, so don’t worry. I also won’t tell Seokjin,” Namjoon says, and Jungkook realises that Namjoon is actually joking with him. Teasing him, like they’re friends. It’s weird but surprisingly welcome. Maybe in another life, they’d be close friends, “But I do need to speak with you soon,”

“She can’t be alone,” Jungkook quickly interjects, eyes wide and serious. If you woke up alone it could really upset you, and Jungkook never wants to see you frown again. Your smile brightens his day, and he’ll do anything to preserve it. Luckily, Namjoon’s not an idiot, and was more than ready for Jungkook to say something like that,

“That’s fine, just take her down to breakfast or up to Seokjin when she wakes up. Then give me a call and we can go from there,” He assures the younger man, who nods gratefully. He won’t try to wake you, so you can just get up on your own terms. After Namjoon’s words register in his mind, his eyes seem to droop almost immediately. He’s tired too, and could use a few more hours of sleep. Namjoon checks his watch with a slight curse - it’s earlier than he thought, so he edges out of the room without another word. Jungkook is snoring again before the door shuts.

~~~

Your eyes open slowly, the sunlight filtering in through your clumsily shut curtains causing you to squint. You go to get up when you realise that you can’t - you’ve trapped yourself under Jungkook’s arms, still clinging to his hand. Jolting back, you wonder if you can get up without waking him. It’s at that moment that you realise you drooled a little onto his shirt, and he’s also awake and looking at you.

The most adorable squeal leaves your mouth, and Jungkook can’t help but smile, eyes tracing over your every feature with a gentle affection. You relax into his arms a little more, especially when his eyes settle on your parted lips, looking slightly hungry. He’s leaning in just a little, and you think he’s going to kiss you. You want him to kiss you, so you lean in too. At the last moment, Jungkook jerks back, thinking better of it. Surely it’s wrong to do this… so why does he want to do it so badly?

You roll away from Jungkook, his grip having loosened when he pulled back. You stretch your arms up over your head and realise how genuinely relaxed you feel. You’re not quite at ease, but you’re far better than you were yesterday. It might have something to do with how last night went, and how understanding Jungkook was, and you’re thankful for that,

“Thanks for taking care of me. I’m just gonna wash my face, I won’t be long,” You tell Jungkook over your shoulder as you head to the bathroom. It seems a little unnecessary to thank him (he’ll already know you appreciate it) but you worry that if you don’t say something, you’ll both dwell on that moment. Jungkook didn’t want to kiss you, and that’s fine. You won’t let it get between such a pure friendship.

You’re dressed and washed, and about halfway through brushing your teeth when Jungkook walks into the bathroom with a wide grin. He gets a new toothbrush down from the cabinet above your sink and starts brushing his teeth too. It’s just an innocent and domestic moment - even more so if you cast you mind back to the day before - that a smile matching Jungkook forces its way onto your face. This, of course, makes it very difficult to brush your teeth,

“I’ll take you up to Seokjin’s office if you’re ready. I think he wants to spend some time with you,” Jungkook tells you a few minutes later. Your relationship with your brother has been volatile at best since you arrived back here, so you’re not sure if it’ll do more harm than good spending time with him. But, there’s a chance it’ll make things better so you’re willing to take the chance. The only issue is what Jungkook’s wearing,

“That’s fine, but don’t you wanna change first? What will everyone think if you leave my room wearing the same clothes that you did yesterday?” You tease, pulling at the shirt that Jungkook’s got on. Looking down, he sees that you do have a point. His clothes are wrinkled and he could probably use a shower too, so he agrees,

“I think you’re right, the men in this place are worse than housewives when it comes to gossip!”

Jungkook’s room is on the floor below yours - it’s not as grand or elaborate, but it’s comfortable. The walls are a shade of beige that match the curtains and the bedsheets, and the furniture is all very modest. His bathroom only has a toilet, sink, and shower. You think up to your en suite, with it’s expensive touches and huge hot-tub-slash-bathtub, and wonder if Jungkook thinks you’re spoiled for having what must be one of the best kept rooms in the mansion without working for it.

There aren’t any personal touches at all, apart from his slightly messy bed and a battered old photo on his bedside table. It’s been folded too many times, the colour is fading and it has no frame, but it’s still a sweet picture. It’s of a young couple with a small toddler with a bunny-like grin plastered on his chubby face sat between them. The child’s hands are raised towards the camera, like he’s trying to grab it from across the room,

“That’s me with my parents. It’s my second birthday,” Jungkook supplies you with the identities of those in the photo when he comes out of the bathroom to see you holding it. You look up to ask him a question, but you have to tear your gaze away quickly. He’s not put a shirt on yet, so you can’t let yourself look too long and risk drooling over his shirtless body. You didn’t realise he worked out so much, but he must do to look like that.

Jungkook pulls on a simple white t-shirt, dressing a little more casual today. He still tucks it into his slacks though, before telling you that he’s ready to go. His hair is still a little damp from the shower (and thus unstyled) but it actually quite suits him.

Once you reach the stairs up to the security door that protects Jin’s offices, you tell Jungkook that you’ll be okay from there. He looks uneasy about sending you off on your own, but you’re not a baby. You can walk a few metres without a big strong man to hold your hand. Regardless, he still waits for the security door to close behind you before turning away and phoning Namjoon, as he was told to do at an ungodly hour that morning. He says he’s down by the kitchens, and asks Jungkook to hurry. There’s no teasing tone to his voice as there was earlier.

Jungkook takes the stairs two at a time, but still meets Namjoon with a slightly disapproving expression. The younger of the two thinks a smile suits him better, but that would only be for the kind of Namjoon that doesn’t work in the mafia,

“Is Y/N with Jin?” Namjoon asks, and Jungkook nods curtly, sensing the tense atmosphere in the mansion, “Then we don’t have much time. I probably should’ve asked you to bring her to me instead, but what’s done is done,” Namjoon sighs, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. He doesn’t look even nearly as composed as he did earlier, “I’ll bring you up to speed. Yesterday, J-Hope was shot and killed, and his body was sent back to Suga. It’s expected that he will turn up soon to… express his anger,” Namjoon says. He doesn’t totally understand it all either, since Jin’s explanation was vague and hurried, but in this world you don’t really need to understand things, you just need to accept them, “So I need you to keep Y/N out of sight. Seokjin is likely his target, but his sister will work just fine,”

Jungkook can feel the familiar sickening nerves bubble up in his stomach, but he knows he’ll keep you safe so he just nods, assuring Namjoon of what he already knows Jungkook will say. He’ll make sure nothing happens to you. After ensuring Jungkook knows that Suga’s arrival is seriously imminent, he sends him off to wait by the security door for Jin to send you out. Namjoon watches Jungkook hurry off, the back of his t-shirt slightly wet from the water dripping off of his hair. That boy really does care about you, and you care about him. It’s sweet, but Namjoon wonders if he’s quite right for you. Something about Jungkook isn’t entirely honest.

~~~

In the office, Jin seems on edge as he scrambles around to find something to talk to you about. He realises that he doesn’t know much about you anymore, and is surprised that you seem perfectly happy to wander around his office while he works. You feel awkward too, but you’re just better at hiding it. You find yourself in front of the locked cabinet as you often do when you’re in here, and Jin spots something he can talk about. His investigation,

“Do you want to have a look?” He offers, and you nod in response. The pinboard hidden behind the locked doors is as messy as ever, and you trace your fingers over the string and look at the pictures. There are so many that you don’t get a chance to look at them all before your eyes fall onto a blank polaroid photo, with the word ‘unknown’ scrawled in Jin’s handwriting along the bottom. You point to it and ask what he means. Jin’s jaw tics before he answers, not quite meeting your eyes, “I know there’s one more person involved, but I don’t know who it is yet. Hopefully I’ll find out soon,” He tells you rather cryptically. You’re just about to ask one of your thousands of questions when Jin’s phone buzzes. You wait patiently for him to text back, but he just takes one look before pocketing the phone,

“What’s going on?” You ask nervously, when Jin quickly locks the cabinet back up and pockets the key once more. Jin’s voice is low and fast as he tells you that you have to leave as quickly as possible, giving you no room to protest. You try your absolute best not to give in, but Jin’s hands are firm on your shoulders as he all but pushes you out of the office and down the hall. Maybe you should start working out with the recruits so he can’t do this in future. You want to put your foot down and demand answers, but you really can’t.

You basically tumble into Jungkook’s arms when the security door opens and Jin gives you a final shove. You take the chance to turn back and chew him out, but you close your mouth when you see his face. In just moments, he’s transformed from your composed older brother to a man in a panic, skin flushed as he tells Jungkook that ‘he’s here’ and ‘you need to hide her’,

“Y/N!” Jungkook all but shouts, pulling you to face him, eyes just as wild and desperate as Jin’s, “You need to come with me right now, please don’t argue, just do it,” He says, nodding to Jin before the older man retreats back through the security door, not closing it. You notice for the first time that there’s no guard stationed there. You’ve only ever seen that once before, and that was when Jimin was killed. That’s not a good sign.

Jungkook is struggling to hurry you through the halls. He wanted to take you to a panic room where the other workers are, but after checking his watch he realises he has no time. When Suga arrived, Jungkook was told he had no more than three minutes to hide you. It’s already been two, and the panic room is too far to reach. He will not chance Suga seeing you. He knows your face. J-Hope saw you on your first day here,

“In here,” Jungkook hisses, followed up with a few curses. He’s opened a door in the wall and is hurriedly ushering you in, dark eyes darting all over the place. It’s dark and smelly in this room, and also incredibly cramped. You huff and ask what Jungkook’s problem is. You were fine this morning, but now he’s shoving you in closets and swearing? It doesn’t make any sense, and you hate feeling helpless, “Please be quiet. There’s an unwelcome visitor that might want to see you, so you need to stay safe. Trust me,” He whispers in your ear, voice slightly less harsh now you’re hidden away. You huff again, leaning your head onto Jungkook’s chest. You want to complain, but it’s best to stay silent.

~~~

Jin’s stood by the open window, eyes hard as he looks over the grounds of the empire his father built during his life. It’s times like this that Jin wonders how many times he nearly died before he actually did, but his father was never as problematic as his son turned out to be. Jin’s life is only being threatened because he’s looking for answers some people don’t want him to have. And to be fair, he really did poke the hornets nest with Suga. Not the best idea. He can feel a slight breeze on the back of his neck, since he left the security door open. His phone buzzes - it’s Namjoon. Everyone is out of sight, but Suga is making his way to the main offices. Maybe a smarter man wouldn’t go where he’s obviously being herded, but Suga’s not smart at the moment. Grief is a powerful drug, and Suga’s high on it. Jin’s shoulders tense as he waits, but he doesn’t turn around. This is all about appearances, and he must stay composed. It will only serve for a grander finale. He hears heavy footsteps behind him, followed by a growl. Suga’s here,

“Hide all your little workers from me?” Suga goads, stepping into the office. Jin’s domain, “What’s wrong? Afraid of danger all of a sudden?” Jin laughs slowly. His mask comes down, and he’s no longer Jin. He’s Kim Seokjin, Boss of the Kim Mafia,

“Not in the slightest. I just know what grief does to a man. I gave you some payback. You killed my parents, and I killed your husband. Must have been awful to see him like that. Dead. Past saving,” Jin says, voice lithe and provoking. Suga all but howls, pushing the barrel of his gun to Jin’s forehead. The older of the two doesn’t even flinch, continuing his well-rehearsed speech. He’s always wanted to break Suga like this, especially after the part he played in the assassination, “That’s how I felt when I found my parents. Like you, seeing little Hobi killed by me,” Jin’s voice rises to a growl, and tears start to drip down Suga’s face. He’s shaking, “Do it. Shoot me. End it,” Jin goads, and part of him means it.

But, of course, survival instincts kick in. Suga’s thumb goes to flick off the safety mechanism, and Jin’s hand comes up. His palm hits Suga’s nose, possibly breaking it, and it gives him time to knock the gun out of his hand, sending it crashing into the glass-covered bookcase. It shatters it, and it shatters Suga’ last shred of composure with it. Jin punches him once more in the face, sending him to the floor. The blonde haired man is broken beyond repair, so he doesn’t even try to get up. Hoseok’s gone, and it hurts so badly,

“On your knees,” Jin orders, grabbing the revolver from where it was placed under his desk. Easy access, and all that. Yoongi gets onto his knees, shoulders shaking not from tears, but from laughter. He’s as crazy as his husband was. Like Jin, he doesn’t flinch at the feeling of a barrel against his forehead,

“You can kill me if you want. I don’t care. You’ll be searching forever, never knowing when your investigation is over. You’ll drive yourself crazy, because you have no idea how many people were involved,” He laughs, volume rising exponentially. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard, but it doesn’t take Jin much to silence the grieving man,

“You’re wrong,” He sneers, and the smirk falls from Suga’s face. Jin smiles wickedly as he continues, “I know all about your magic number. I know everything about you, and your little spy Jimin couldn’t tell you that, could he?” Jin demands, lips curling back. He can feel his finger twitching. He wants this over, “I know you, Yoongi. You won’t beg for your life, but you regret coming here. You won’t die as Suga, the great mafia boss. You’ll die as Min Yoongi, the widowed husband who came looking for a fight,”

The trigger is pulled, and Yoongi falls to the floor, no longer smirking. He’s died as nothing more than a simple number,

“Three,”

#bts #bts mafia au #bts angst #bts fluff #6 bullets

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365-money-diary · 4 years ago

Text

DAYS 50 - 56

DAY FIFTY

6:25 AM - Up an at ‘em. It’s vaccine day! The State Farm Stadium is 30 minutes away from my house and I kind of have a history of feeling light-headed and such so I eat a piece of toast before we leave. Prep our water bottles and coffee in our respective hydroflasks and we’re out the door.

7:25 AM - We arrive to the stadium and go through a slew of checkpoints. Unfortunately because of the storms they aren’t giving out plus ones today so we will try for K again when I get my second. The process is pretty easy and we are out of there in 30 minutes. I get the Pfizer vaccine. :)

8:30 AM - K and I take a walk since I still have some time before work starts.

10:00 AM - Today is going to be super easy workwise so I just kind of take my time easing into it. I start to feel some tingles from the shot as well as arm soreness. Nothing I can’t handle though!

12:00 PM - Annual charge for my recipe plugin comes through for my blog. Heat up broccoli fried rice for lunch. $49.00

2:00 PM - My arm is starting to hurt but nothing I can’t handle. Eat pretzels.

4:00 PM - Ditch work early to take a walk to the lake. Bring wine in a hydroflask to just sit and enjoy the weather. I chat with T on the way and then FaceTime with H who says he’s moving to Philly. Super bummed honestly. DJing with him is one of my favorite things on this planet.

6:00 PM - Arrive home to find a sleepy K. My arm is really hurting at this point and we decide to take a nap.

7:30 PM - Wake up feeling groggy and in pain. Remember they advised drinking water before taking Tylenol so I down 48 ounces and actually start to feel better. Heat up a Big Sur Breakfast burrito for dinner and K and I watch the first 30 minutes of Uncut Gems. K’s brother hits him up to play RocketLeague and so he breaks away to that and I watch more of The Challenge.

11:30 PM - I am tired of being awake and would just rather be asleep.

DAY FIFTY TOTAL: $49.00

DAY FIFTY-ONE

8:30 AM - Wake up feeling like my body has been doing work to fight something, but without any external symptoms (fever, chills, fatigue) minus my sore arm. Continue hydrating and make a chemex.

9:00 AM - I can’t really work on the trim today as planned because of my arm, so I decide to work on my blog instead.

11:00 AM - Make pancakes and hashbrowns for breakfast.

2:30 PM - Post a recipe for Greek Salad. The Internet seems to be receptive which is nice… my last few recipes have flopped. Finish The Ruins. Actually bummed Sara & KellyAnne didn’t win. Evan, Kenny, and Johnny suck and needs to rot in hell. Make a giant bowl of popcorn.

5:00 PM - Drop off a ball and a tube to a friend who is starting to take Pure Barre classes again. Walk back and then K and I walk to the lake with the dog. Feels like the best thing we’ve done all day tbh. My arm still hurts too much to exercise so this is the best it’s gonna get.

7:45 PM - Arrive home and roast potatoes for buffalo chicken sandwiches. I’ll definitely be shooting this for the blog.

8:00 PM - It’s one of those nights where I already did everything and I’m tired of screens. I reached out to a friend a few days ago for book recs and I pick one from the list called The Guest List. Buy it on kindle. $16.40

9:30 PM - I’m already ready to start a new season of The Challenge. This one is Fresh Meat II. Can’t believe Darrell gets eliminated on the first episode. Dang.

10:45 PM - K and I decide we’re tired and that it’s time for beddie. My body is definitely ready for sleep.

DAY FIFTY-ONE TOTAL: $16.40

DAY FIFTY-TWO

8:30 AM - Wake up feeling pretty rested. Definitely a lot better today. Arm is mildly sore. Might be able to ride the bike or play DDR today. Maybe modify Pure Barre but probably not. Take a shower for the first time since Thursday because I usually shower after I exercise and that hasn’t happened in a while… hah.

9:00 AM - My kettle has been here for a few days but I haven’t broken it out of the shed yet. Unbox the beauty, give it a little rinse and make my first cup of coffee. I like how quiet it is and how little space it takes up. 10/10.

10:15 AM - I notice I still have a half block of tofu leftover so I make tofu/egg tacos for breakfast with Field Roast Sausage, mushrooms, onions, and jalapenos.

11:15 AM - Clean the kitchen and prep for shooting. I am feelin’ the vibes from my last post so I don’t want to lose motivation. Make miso butter pasta since it’s really all I can swing with the ingredients in my pantry.

1:15 PM - Finish shooting and import the photos into my library while watching The Challenge in the background. Decide might as well start editing. I don’t have much else going on and I’m again, feeling motivated.

4:30 PM - K goes on a drive and I decide to play DDR. My arm is not ready for barre but it can dangle a bit while I stomp on some arrows. I decide I really want to learn Afronova on heavy which is something I never was really able to pass consistently in my youth. It’ll be a good thing to work toward over the next few weeks.

5:30 PM - Pour a glass of wine and hop on zoom with K’s family. It’s nice to see them.

7:30 PM - Make buffalo chicken sandwiches for dinner with potatoes.

9:00 PM - Walk to the lake with K.

12:00 AM - Finish my entire post for miso butter noodles. I don’t think I’ve ever shot and posted something in the same day. Exhausting! Hah

DAY FIFTY-TWO TOTAL: $0

DAY FIFTY-THREE

8:00 AM - Pure barre charge. Make a chemex. And eat half a bagel with earth balance and nooch for breakfast. Also get charged for my automatic payment to Amazon for iron pills $27.93

9:00 AM - Today is my officemate’s birthday. My boss and I pitched in to get her a Lululemon gift card. $35

12:00 PM - Leftover miso butter noodles for lunch with air-fried broccoli.

5:00 PM - Today was honestly exhausting but I am ready to move. Play a few games of DDR and then do a barre class.

7:00 PM - Rinse off and make the last of the buffalo chicken sandwiches. We’re very excited for groceries tomorrow hah.

9:30 PM - Buy a phone tripod. I suck at doing videos one-handed and I know I can grow my pages like bananas if I can actually shoot the content correctly. I apply the gift card my boss got me for building her website so this is on the house.

DAY FIFTY-THREE TOTAL: $62.93

DAY FIFTY-FOUR

7:00 PM - Long ass day. Groceries are slated to arrive. Incoming of bell peppers, tomatoes, grapes, tofu, cucumber, broccoli, red onion, limes, lemons, bananas, jalapenos, serranos, clementines, bread, chickpeas, tortilla chips, tortillas, sprouts, potatoes, baby carrots, onions, salsa, cauliflower rice, cilantro, gf mini pretzels, apples, hashbrowns, oat milk, cheese, vegan cheese, brown rice, white rice, gf pasta, spring mix, romaine, tomato paste, dark chocolate, red wine and balsamic vinegar, pineapple, scallions, oregano, shallots, mushrooms, orzo, kale, chipotle peppers, eggs, brown sugar, burger buns, corn, parsley, veggie straws, vanilla bean, asparagus, snap peas, a pound of coffee, plant sausage, plant yogurt, zucchini, radish, cabbage, seltzer, plant yogurt, pasta sauce, plant pizza, jelly, and mustard. $350.86

8:00 PM - Eat red lentil pasta for dinner.

DAY FIFTY-FOUR TOTAL: $350.86

DAY FIFTY-FIVE

1:00 PM - Done with meetings for the day. My brain hurts. Hah make salad (bbq chicken, spring mix, carrots, bell pepper, onion, corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, and ranch is the combo for the week), drink seltzer, tryyyy to calm down.

3:40 PM - Actually hoping no one bothers me for the rest of the day. Change into workout clothes and sneak in my last barre class for the challenge.

6:00 PM - Get charged for CBS all access. Craving a cocktail instead of wine. Pick some grapefruits from the backyard, text J to ask how to salt a rim, then make a grapefruit + mezcal drink with a chili-lime salted rim. YUM. $6.48

7:00 PM - Veggie sandwiches with potatoes is the name of dinner for the next few days. So good!

DAY FIFTY-FIVE TOTAL: $6.48

DAY FIFTY-SIX

8:30 AM - Make a chemex and “get to work.” Today is super slow. I finish the last of my outstanding tasks, make 2 batches of chex mix which I regret because K says he won’t be eating any since he’s trying to avoid salt. Snack on that and then make salad for lunch.

1:30 PM - Literally no one has pinged me so I take the opportunity to play some DDR. I play for nearly an hour before anyone bothers me and nail down the steps to this one section of Afronova at ⅕ the speed. I’ll try ⅖ tomorrow!

5:30 PM - K and I are both starving so I make us dinner early today. Drink a grapefruit + mezcal cocktail after din.

8:30 PM - K asks if I’ll walk to the lake with him and the dog. I kind of don’t want to since I played my heart out already but he asks pleeeassse and I oblige. The walk is really really nice. We even sit near the waterfront for a while watching people do this cheesy skate routine.

10:30 PM - Make it back. I work on my blog in K’s office while he edits video stuff. I have The Challenge on in the background and finish Fresh Meat II. Only 11 more seasons before I can cancel my membership! Hah.

DAY FIFTY-SIX TOTAL: $0

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theredpendulum · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: Welcome

“Alright, that’ll be thirty-four eighty-one. Go ahead and insert your card.” My smile is getting tired. I hate this town.

The middle aged white woman at my register has already snapped at me twice in the last two minutes, and I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m having violent thoughts.

She swipes her card, and I repeat to her that it has to be inserted since it’s a chip. While she reads the LCD screen she opens and closes her lips like a sixth grader, mocking me for speaking. Once the transaction processes, I wish her a good day, and she leaves the store in a flurry of leopard print leggings and Barbie-pink cowgirl boots.

“I hope your car’s heater is broken, you smooth-brained troglodyte.” I whisper through my grinning teeth quiet enough that she can’t hear me.

“I hate customers.” Jeb pulls his pocket knife out to open a fresh box of plastic bags to reload his station. It’s chipped here and there along the blade, and the handle has a long thin crack going down the left side. I hate that I’ve worked here long enough to be familiar with that stupid knife.

“Me too. At least we’re getting paid.” I shrug.

Jeb nods while distractedly cutting small notches in the edge of the now empty cardboard box, and his eyes look unstable. Distant, and turbulent.

“You should put your knife away before Aubrey sees you have it out.” His eyes roll back into his skull.

“Whatever.” He mutters and stabs the box. Lifting the box like a slab of ham on a carving fork, he begins to carry it to the back. I watch him go for a moment to make sure he actually closes his blade. He does.

Working with Jeb is like… well he’s a 16 year old boy. That should be sufficient information. He can be funny, and friendly, and bizarrely entertaining, and just the worst sometimes. Today feels like an off day for him. I wonder what went wrong in his morning. Maybe Henry dumped him. They’ve been having drama lately. I should ask. There’s only about five customers in the store right now, and they’re all still milling around aimlessly so we probably have a minute or two to chat. I can see him coming back over. His eyebrows look like they weigh a hundred pounds each.

“Hey.” I tap my fingers on the counter.

“Hey.” He’s got a rubber band in his fingers. He’s twisting it and squishing it into a wiggly blob of dusty red rubber.

“So… How’s Henry?” I bite the inside of my cheek. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.

Jeb looks up at me like I just gave him socks for Christmas.

“He’s fine.”

He sucks his teeth, and stretches the rubber band across his hand, and aims at me. I flinch, and he pulls a half-dead smile. He switches his aim to the ceiling, and lets go sending the rubber band into the brightly colored foil snow man above our heads. I catch it, and toss it in my drawer.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“I’m taking self-protective measures.” I wink and aim finger guns at him. “Pew pew.”

The rest of the day goes by just as boring and frustrating as usual. A man asks me if my hair is a wig, a woman tells me that her apples are apples, and a child asks me if I am pregnant. I’m...definitely not. When 10pm finally makes it’s blessed arrival, Jeb and I wish our last customer a good night, and then play Mother Mother from my phone while we wipe down the registers and sweep the floor. My feet feel like ground beef. My shoes are coming off.

“It’s a sin that these stupid Christmas decorations are up already. We literally just had Halloween. The Spook Gods are gonna be displeased by Craig’s heinous actions.” I enter my employee code, and take my till out of the drawer.

“Yeah he’s gonna get hexed or something for sure. We have witches in this town, you know. Henry told me.” Jeb sticks his broom between his legs, squats, and cackles.

This makes me crack up. I’m glad today hasn’t completely beat the immaturity out of him.

“You look like Discount Harry Potter. And they’re not that kind of witch. They just like collecting crystals and wearing black.” I walk past him into the manager’s office to count up my till. Jeb makes fart sounds to himself to the rhythm of the music and resumes sweeping.

“Hey Aubrey.” I sit down at the desk, and start punching numbers. “It’s all wiped down out there.”

“Cool. Thanks.” My Manager has drifted off to another universe. The sounds of some kind of puzzle game beep and boop from her phone.

*fwAHP*

“OW. WH?!”

Jeb cackles at the doorway at having successfully hit his target. I look down at the desk in front of me and see the rubber band.

“I should’ve put that in my pocket, you wiener.” I rub my forehead, and wish Aubrey a good night.

Jeb waves to me as he walks out the door. “G’night, Marlo!” he crows.

“Night, Jeb!” I half heartedly salute him, and sit down to put my sneakers back on. I would just carry them, but I remember seeing broken glass outside when I got here.

By the time I have finished tying my laces Jeb has driven away, and Aubrey has made her way to the door.

“Let’s go.” She motions for me to follow.

I flop my bag onto my shoulder, and step out the door. She turns the key, and gives the door a test tug to make sure it’s secured.

“Hey have a good night.”

She gives me a tired smile, and a wave before climbing into her car and pulling away. I throw up a peace sign and head to the back of the lot towards my beat up 2001 Honda prelude. There’s duct tape on the back bumper from a hit and run that happened four years ago. I still haven’t gotten around to replacing that yet… I should do that at some point… I’m so tired. I open my door and climb in. I want nothing more than a hot drink, and some me time. My legs are numb from standing up all day.

Suddenly, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Warm air is being blown onto my skin from behind. I’m not alone. Horror injects itself into every cell in my body in a single millisecond.

“Welcome.”

A voice like a creaking floorboard rasps behind me. My keys fly out of my hand, and I lurch out the door. I leave it hanging open and run towards the store front. “HELP!!! HELP ME!!!” I scream as loud as my panicking heart and lungs can muster. I don’t slow down. I slam into the front door, and grab the handle. I desperately tug, but the dread is only getting stronger within my body. I know it’s locked. I watched Aubrey lock it.

I turn too look behind me to see if anyone is chasing me. No one. Nothing there. There isn’t a living thing in sight. There are tears running down my nose. I can’t breathe right. My lungs are twitching and lurching like beetles turned onto their backs. I stand still clutching my sleeves for a moment. It’s completely quiet. The moon lights up the lot with a cold distant glow. The moon is usually comforting to me, but right now it feels menacing.

What do I do??? ….911! I’ll call the cops!

I scramble to get my phone, but I quickly realize that it is sitting hostile in my bag on the front seat. Whoever is in my car has everything. My phone, my wallet, my keys, …I’m dead. I’m so dead. My eyes shiver and start to squeeze out sharp cold tears.

“Crap.” My voice cracks as it shudders back and forth. I can feel my knees wobbling, my back muscles twitching. I have to decide on something to do. My feet sting. I can’t stand here at the shop door all night. I step slowly towards my car. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it’s just exhaustion. I know I can have an elaborate imagination. I might be freaking out over nothing.

“Hello?” I call out.

Nothing.

“HELLO?!” Louder.

Nothing.

I walk closer and closer to the dangling door. It looks like a dislocated jaw. I hate this.

I hate this.

I hate this!

I HATE THIS!

“If there’s anyone there, I’ll beat the- the SHIT out of you!” I yell at my car. I ball my fists up, and raise them to my chest.

Nothing. Not even a rustling.

“I’m serious! I’ll end you!” I say with a little less conviction.

“This is your last chance! h-Here I come!” I step slowly towards my car and look into the back window. I don’t see anyone. My car is completely empty except for my bag which lies undisturbed on the seat. My keys are still on the floor. Frick. I’m not okay.

“Get home. Get in, get home, get in. Just get home.”

I get into my car as fast as I can, and shut and lock the door in one motion. My head on a swivel, I stick my key in and turn. The engine makes a wheezing warbling sound and then sputters into a steady hum. That’s not normal. I don’t have time to worry about that right now. I speed out of the parking lot like a squirrel on caffeine. My leg won’t stop bouncing as I drive. It still feels like someone is in the backseat. I check the rear view mirror a thousand times in the fifteen minutes it takes me to drive home. At the first stop sign I reach I stand on the break, and crane my neck back to check the floor in the back in case someone is crouching down back there. There’s nothing. I’m still scared. What if I’m being followed?... I can’t think about that. That’s too scary right now.

I pull into my driveway, and sprint to my front door. Feeling paranoid now I jiggle the knob to make sure it’s still locked since I left it this morning. It is. I unlock it, go inside, and slam the door behind me. I lock the knob and the bolt. I can’t stop shaking. Everything hurts. I might vomit. I turn on the lights to my living room and kitchen, and grab a chef’s knife from the block. I carry it with me to the pantry and retrieve the kettle and a box of red raspberry leaf tea. I need to calm down. This is the part of living alone that seriously sucks sometimes. I have no one here to watch my back if something happens. I need a dog or something. A really big dog.

I make my tea, and sit down at my computer. I load up Pitchfork, Cottage Simulator. The wholesome artwork and cute villagers in my little pixelated mountain town will hopefully at least bring my heartrate down. I work on my little carrot garden, trade some wool for a fish at the little market, and get started on decorating a new room in my cottage. The next several hours melt away into the night. Eight-bit guitars and hot herbal tea are really great for anxiety attacks.

Lying in bed, my room feels crooked. The energy is bad. My body is a lot more calmed down, but my brain won’t settle into place. I really wish I had a dog…

#horror #creative writing #fiction #mac omer #the red pendulum

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