#also i like the idea of knives looking pretty when he's composed but when he shows strong emotions he turns ugly and wrinkly

[angstandhappiness]

DUDE

(13 pages) Forlorn

[caratmagic]

—jung wooyoung—

contains: arguing, pretty offensive words, explicit content

word count: 2.3k

mika's blog🌻 @marigold-sunflowers & yale's blog🦋 @yateez

🌻taglist🦋: @nikkell​ @yunsangoveryonder​ @sunwooyoung​ @hwanderlands​ @multidreams-and-desires​ @reeateez​ @snacksonwang​ @sunsethw4​ @nevieatiny​ 

Let us know if you want to be added to the taglist!~

Enemy Territory 🌻chapter 4🌻

You hate that you find yourself dragging your feet slowly—yet quietly— to Wooyoung’s door. Hoping that the noises you hear from behind it aren’t those of pleasure.

There’s an exchange of them chatting, audible enough to hear but not enough to make out the words. As if snooping like this wasn’t enough, you press the shell of your ear against the door. Using the frame of it to steady your body from making any unnecessary movements or noise.

A rustle. Then several more. You think you hear the sheets move.

They’ve stopped talking.

More silence, then a loud thump onto the floor.

Your heart races out of your chest and you have a hard time picturing what could possibly be going on inside Wooyoung’s room.

Footsteps hurry to the door and before you could get more than halfway down the hall, Wooyoung’s body peeks out from behind his door.

“Snooping on me now?” He scoffs with that annoyingly charming sneer. “I thought we were supposed to stay out of each other’s business? Now look who’s breaking their own rules.”

You shut your eyes tightly while your back faces your ex.

Fuck.

A breath quickly fills your lungs as you turn around in efforts to compose your expressions. You’re somehow confused as to why he was suddenly wearing a shirt.

“I— I was just about to knock and ask you what type of meat you wanted to grill, you idiot.” Your mouth moves faster than your thoughts and you’re so glad that your brain was quick enough to pull something straight out of your ass. “I didn’t want to…  interrupt.”

Wooyoung holds the door open slightly for you to catch a small glimpse of the girl politely seated at the edge of his bed. Blinking curiously at you with a content smile on her face, although her tears still stain her cheeks. “It’s not even noon yet y/n, I’m smarter than that to start having rough sex knowing that you’re in the apartment.”

This thought somehow makes your stomach turn and not in a pleasant way. You didn't want to imagine Wooyoung like this with someone else. Yet, an image of him bare and in his sexual glory flashes across your mind and for a second you forget that you aren’t single. You forget that you have a neglectful boyfriend who likes to have sex with you once a week then proceeds to avoid you until the next weekend arrives.

Does Wooyoung have sex often when I’m not around? Did he have to use the word ‘rough’? Do they have rough sex together?—

Why was the thought of Wooyoung having sex with someone else more distressing to you than the entire problem of your boyfriend literally using you as a weekend booty call?

Not a single soul should know why, because the reality of it all is that: One, Wooyoung is single. And two, you are not.

So you had no right to be bothered about it.

Right?

“Uh. Right,” You subconsciously mess with the tips of your fingers to think of what to say next since you didn’t expect that his comment would throw your mind into a loop. “Just text me when you’ve, um, decided what you want. I’ll head to the store now since you’re busy… so you’ve got 20 minutes to make a choice.”

“No need to wait 20 minutes for me to text you, y/n,” Wooyoung slowly pulls his lips into a gentle smile. A smile that sets off a million bursts of fireworks through your chest. “You already know what kind of meat I like to grill.”

Instantly you blink away the feeling—or at least try to ignore it. “People change. Just wanted to ask in case you had a change in taste.”

Wooyoung presses his lips together before nodding his head slowly. Clearly catching your composure and deciding not to point it out due to the guest on his bed. “Uh, nope. My tastes are constant, y/n.”

The worst part of it all is, your conversation was being monitored by a ditsy flower, just waiting for Wooyoung to come back and take care of her… You hated it. Everything about this set up.

Now, heading out of the apartment to get groceries seemed like a much better idea to you than twiddling your thumbs to wait for Wooyoung’s pretty guest to leave.

“I’ll head out then.”

Upon grabbing your purse and your keys, you curse at yourself mentally for getting caught snooping. Even scolding your heart for causing your mind to lose control of your emotions.

************

It had only been half an hour since you left to get ingredients for the meal with Wooyoung, yet a familiar vehicle pulls into the apartment complex parking lot.

A few flights up and your boyfriend is back at the front of your door. Sure to himself that your car has left and that you’d be gone for a while.

San punches in the code of your apartment door. When it opens, a girl stands on the other side peering up at San with a shocked expression.

“Oh hey, It’s y/n boyfriend.” She smiles before turning to Wooyoung who, at the moment, keeps a straight face.

They had finally completed their 30 minute rant session, where she comes to him for help with her loneliness. Which was a topic to talk about for another time since Wooyoung felt like it wasn’t even his place to do it for her— also, considering he’s rejected her multiple times to be something more than her emotional support friend.

He never felt like a new relationship was something he needed.

As far as relationships are concerned, Wooyoung has enough on his plate to deal with considering the ugly truth he’s recently discovered. And of course, his unsettled feelings for his gorgeous ex.

“What are you doing back?” Wooyoung asks San, holding the door open for his emotionally unstable friend.

“Uh, coming to see my girlfriend??” San exchanges an offended glare at Wooyoung.

“Oh, I thought you already had your fill for her last night… What happened? Fell asleep before you could finish the job?” Wooyoung’s words are calm yet sharp like knives. Attacking San with precision as he tilts his head in accusation. “She’s out getting groceries.” He adds.

“You know,” San narrows his eyes, striding to level his face right in front of Wooyoung’s. “You have a lot of nerve thinking you can have any say in our relationship considering you’re her fucking ex.”

“We only broke up because I decided to switch colleges last minute without telling her.” Wooyoung doesn’t back down. He’s aware that his choice was the reason why the two of you broke up and that he should’ve told you sooner he wasn’t going to go to the same college as you guys had planned. “At least I never snuck out of bed after having sex with her.”

San scoffs at the gall. “Don’t act like you fucking know me.”

“I don’t.” Wooyoung shifts his weight and sticks his hands into his jean pockets. “But I know every part of y/n way better than you do. Every. Single. Part.”

San’s hand clenches into a fist and right before he draws it back to swing at Wooyoung. The girl awkwardly standing beside them in the threshold of the door raises her voice. “Hey, as much as I like the drama, I kind of have work so if I can just pass through…”

San doesn’t steer his eyes away from Wooyoung as he takes a step to the side for the girl to get around his body. Too peeved to realize that he was blocking the door.

“…I’ll see you later, Wooyoung. Thanks for helping me out again.” She waves before disappearing into the hall.

San huffs through his nose. It’s upsetting to him that Wooyoung doesn’t even seem the least bit affected by the situation. “Why aren’t you packing your shit? Isn’t this your last week?”

As if his train of thought derails, without even waiting for an answer to his own questions, San pushes past your ex and heads straight into your room.

Looking for what he left so recklessly before sneaking away that morning.

Wooyoung, with his hands still in his pockets, calmly follows San. Watching your boyfriend’s frantic search for whatever he’s misplaced.

Since Wooyoung respects your privacy, he stops right at the entrance of your room. “Did you wait for y/n to leave the apartment?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” San tosses a pillow off your bed. Not sparing a single glance at your ex.

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung leans against the door. “I mean, if I had something to hide, I guess I’d want to wait until she was gone too.”

San stops completely. His heart drops to his stomach when he turns to your ex standing in front of your room. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Wooyoung shrugs with a playful smirk etching onto his face as one of his hands pulls something out of his right pocket. “You tell me.”

There. What San was looking for.

His phone.

“Where did you find that!?” San yells as he practically dives for it.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Wooyoung shoves it back into his pocket. Placing his hand in front of himself defensively. “Question is, why are you so upset?”

San swallows and processes quickly before clearing his throat. He couldn’t understand why his palms were so sweaty. “It’s—Because it’s fucking mine! Hand it over!”

Wooyoung shakes his head, angling his body away from your boyfriend. “It can’t be yours.”

“Are you fucking mad?” San yells again. Smacking Wooyoung’s arm away from the position he’s guarding his pocket. “Of course, it is. It’s my phone!”

“No, no, no.” Wooyoung’s stupid, playful smile begins to boil hate into San’s veins. “This can’t be your phone.”

“I’ll drop kick that fucking smile off your face, you son of a bitch, give me back my phone!”

“Dude,” Wooyoung chuckles, loving how riled up your shitty boyfriend is getting. “I swear this phone has got to be someone else’s… because when I saw it on the couch, ringing at 4 am, someone named Eunji was calling to ask if her ‘daddy’ was still going to—and I’ll quote her on this, “Rearrange my guts like you always do on Saturday nights.” And you're telling me you’re certain that this is your phone?”

The reality settles into the air and San realizes that he’s been caught cheating on you… by your ex.

This is when Wooyoung’s twisted smirk turns into an angry scowl. He’s disgusted that you found a man so indisputably vile and unloyal.

“You really think you’ll get away with this? Lying to y/n like this and fucking her once every week just to make up for how shitty a person you are?”

San’s gaze falters to the floor and he snatches his phone from the unguarded pocket of Wooyoung’s jeans. “What are you gonna do, huh? Tattle-tail on me?” He shoves it into his back pocket, scoffing. “She’ll never believe you. She hates you.”

“Even if she does,” Wooyoung turns on his heels and enters into his room across the hall. “She’ll wish you were dead after figuring out that you leave her in the mornings just to be in some other woman’s bed the very same night.”

San follows Wooyoung a few steps into the hall. “You wouldn’t dare tell her.” He spits.

An exasperated sigh paired with the front door swinging open, startles the two men away from glaring at one another.

*********

After 30 minutes of shopping, you head home.

The entire time in the parking lot, you were gathering the courage to talk yourself into confidently walking back into your house. 

So what if he was having sex? You have sex all the time with San while Wooyoung stays in the room across the hall from yours.

How is coming back home knowing that he’s having fun with a woman be any different?

Equality at its best example for it. You remind yourself as you exit the elevator.

To your dismay, You were unpleasantly greeted by a very voluptuous woman with intruding questions as to why you were going to enter into her boyfriend’s home.

You push past the nuisance at your front door. Sighing as you lazily drop the groceries onto the floor.

You can only assume that this other girl— an entirely different girl compared to the one from this morning—is Wooyoung's little problem.

This boy must be cheating… What a waste. “Taste’s are constant” my ass.

You pray that Wooyoung’s ditsy girl toy from earlier this morning has left.  Though you liked witnessing drama, you didn’t want to see two girls fight over your ex. “Wooyoung? I think you have a guest.” You call out as you take off your shoes.

To your surprise, Your boyfriend is staring at you from the hallway— eyes wide and stunned.

Wooyoung steps out of his room to stand in the hall next to San. A flat smile sets on his features as he stares at you and eunji. “I won’t need to…” He seems to be talking to San when he speaks. “Next time, set a better password on your phone. You never know who’ll scroll through your messages and send people your girlfriend’s address.”

This confuses you. Immensely. More so, when San’s face drains of all color.

“Baby! Who the hell is this girl?” Miss voluptuous checks your shoulder as she rushes past you. Headed towards Wooyoung with her arms stretched out.

What rattles your world from it’s axis isn’t that Wooyoung doesn’t hold her, it’s that the girl doesn’t even look at him. She doesn’t even acknowledge that Wooyoung’s standing there.

Instead,

She’s all over your boyfriend. Calling him “baby’ and glaring at you as if you were nothing more than a disgusting insect.

No, no… I must be dreaming.

“Sannie, who the hell is this girl and why is she coming into your apartment?”

[ chapter 5 >> ] 

[slasherwife]

(I was originally thinking of Michael Myers for that ask, but honestly any slasher you see fit to add would also be a treat to read 💕)

aww kk! 💕 (i literally love this idea here u go uWu 🥺💖💖)

“Sharp as knives...”

RZ!MichaelxReader

by jena marie

Summary:

Y/n just seems too badass and lethal for anyone in Haddonfield, except for one man. She signs her fate unknowingly when she snaps a pervert in half at the bar. Just like that, Michael wants her. xD warnings: cussing and a wee bit of violence :) also michael being a total stalker but what were we expecting

Her eyes were piercing. Sharp and direct as knives. It was like she looked right through you. She wore eyeliner that made them darker than they already were, and her hair flowed like a waterfall as she walked the streets. When she was angry, her voice could cut metal, and she never showed her teeth unless she was snarling.

Michael was in love. He though she resembled something of a feral wolf, and yet she was such a tiny little thing. One time she went into 7/11 for cigarettes, and her tshirt was so large that the shoulder-sleeves went past her elbows, and the bottom reached her mid-thigh. Her shorts barely showed, and her hair was in a messy bun. He watched her the entire time, practically glowing with dominance over the whole vicinity even though he was nowhere to be seen. He was there for her only. He was going to be the ultimate nightmare to anyone who gave her so much as a wrong look.

One time he got close enough to see her wrists, and how easily he could snap them within his grip. Once he could see her slender neck, and imagined how perfectly it would pulse around his long, thick fingers. He wanted to feel that, and yet the thought of harming her brought him anguish.

Today was hotter than normal, and Michael sought shade in the pine trees as usual. It was quiet in there and no person thought to go wandering, so that was his home for now.

There she was again. Her languid steps and flowing hair, bounced as she walked with purpose to the new bar that had opened up a few months ago. Michael watched, eyes cracked and predatory, his gaze on her pretty little form.

She was getting closer. Her form growing, although not so much due to the height of this pretty girl.

Michael wanted to sneer at how tiny she looked up close, and was too caught up in his fantasies to notice that she caught sight of his face in the bushes, and was making her way to him.

Her eyes were piercing, sharp, direct. They cut through Michael and he loved it. He never wanted to look away from the sheer power she radiated. They were e/c. Beautiful, like gems, against the glow of hell within them.

Then she was still. And they stood five feet apart.

“Have you been following me?” Her voice wasn’t sharp, it wasn’t threatening, nor did it sound frightened or shaky. It stood tall, and Michael couldn’t read her expression. It was a blank page.

Michael nodded slowly, not emitting any sound whatsoever. It was deathly quiet.

“Why?”

She wanted to know if he wanted to hurt her. Maybe he wanted to take her forcefully against a tree or on the asphalt against the dark sky.

Michael didn’t reply. He only stared. It was something intense, brooding, large. The gaze, Michael’s usually and most casual look, emitted danger, darkness, and sadism. It was something that you didn’t want to come near, let alone be in the view of. And yet she didn’t even flinch. She didn’t even blink. They’re gazes we’re locked, like two lions trying to intimidate each other.

Then, Michael wanted to see something. He wanted to see her reaction. He reached out, and grabbed her wrist, his rough hands scratching against her soft skin. He pulled her towards her, to which she obliged with a blank face, and he could finally smell her scent.

She smelled like an oak forest, peppermint, and jasmine. He could smell her perfume and her shampoo.

Y/n caught his scent too. He smelled like every dark thought she had ever had, every sinful desire, every morbid feeling— and yet so sweet.

He dug his fingers into her hair, something that seemed rough to Y/n, but bliss to Michael.

“I have to go.” She said, an edge to her voice that Michael couldn’t name, and his grip tightened. He seemed to growl. The sound echoed, and it swallowed her.

Michael then let go, and the girl stumbled backwards. Then it showed on her face, giving Michael a sense of satisfaction. She wasn’t scared, but she looked up at his in awe. How morbid, how dark, how beautiful it is to experience a scratch of his impulses and want more.

Michael stepped back, disappearing into the pines like a ghost.

The guitar was loud, blaring in the dark lit room, the bass shook the floor, and Y/n was having the time of her life. A man from the bar licked his lips with predatory eyes and Michael was already aware. He was internally shaking at the thought of competition. Then again, when does he ever lose?

The man with messy hair contained within a dirty baseball cap rose from his chair, and stalked drunkenly over to her. Michael seethed, as he watched through the small window of the staff-only room of the bar with the manager strangled dead on the floor behind him. He growled a guttural and animalistic growl, and watched with eyes aflame and murderous.

She strummed, making her guitar wail in a fit of rhyme and rythme, and she never wanted to stop. She didn’t even notice the poor man until he felt her up from behind her. She initially pushed him away slightly and absentmindedly, too caught up in her trance of music and being drunk on rhythm.

Her attention was snagged like a skirt on a thorn bush when the man grabbed onto her and her guitar, making the music stutter to a stop with unwelcome hands on her body.

Rage in her body bubbled up and exploded like an active volcano. She was in such a shaking, violent, overwhelming rage that she wasn’t just seeing red, she was seeing black spots in her vision.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Michael watched in awe as her fist flew to his nose, and the man fell back with a spray of blood from his nose. He clutched it in a pitiful yelp, followed by another pained yell as she, this tiny, petite girl roundhouse kicks him in the ball-sack and he fell to the floor.

“Fucking prick!” She spat, and she whipped her head away from the pitiful excuse for a man keening on the ground, practically immobile. She wiped her nose and fixed her clothing, then sighed, trying to keep her heart rate under control.

Michael was amazed. He was smitten. Yes— The Shape, Michael Myers, was smitten, taken aback, and extremely turned on. He didn’t understand why he felt this way over someone so insignificant, and yet he couldn’t turn himself away. The way she didn’t hesitate to temporarily maim him sent a delicious feeling throughout Michael’s body because it was like she was begging to be tamed. This lone wolf, feral and unpredictable, was undeserved to almost every man alive. Every man alive didn’t have the hands strong enough to carry her crown, but Michael does. And he will.

Her eyes were closed, trying to compose herself when an alarm was pulled, and it was blaring in the ears of everyone.

Police had showed up because one of the employees discovered the body of the manager in the back, and Y/n had her suspicions, and she was smart enough to know soon who the man in the pines was— and she knew.

She knew what would become of her and him, all that was due now was time.

i hope u liked ittt 💕💕

[rainbowrider1290]

Genshin Impact Circus AU

There’s a few AUs that I am absolutely positively weak for and one of them is the Circus AU. Do not ask me why. I was thinking that the characters would look a little like this (art and AU description below the cut)

Aether and Lumine: ringmasters. They co-lead the circus performances. They also used to have a duo act that they had to split up and go to separate circuses bc of lacking job opportunities, they decided to start their own thing.

Xiao and Venti: aerial artists. Trapeze, aerial silks, if it’s in the air, they’ve done it. They are a duo act, but Xiao used to be a soloist until Venti joined and they had a whole character arc about creativity. Venti also helps compose the circus’ music.

This whole AU was inspired by this idea and thus, I had to draw it:

Zhongli: strongman. Man will juggle 50kg balls like it’s nothing.

Noelle: strongwoman. this is based enTIRELY off of my personal headcanon that this woman can benchpress anyone on command. Noelle and Zhongli play catch with crushing weights.

Jean and Barbara: tightrope/hula-hoop tricks. They would have a duo act as well (can you tell I don’t want anyone to be alone ever again) where one of them will be on the tightrope and the other will be doing All The Things with the hula-hoops while they pass the hoops between them. 30 hoops spinning on one arm? juggling the hoops? these ladies are the queens of multitasking.

Kaeya: the guy that asks for a volunteer in the audience, straps them to a moving target, and throws knifes at them proceeding to never miss. Can and will juggle knives. Used to be a duo with Diluc but Things Went Down, so now it’s just Kaeya.

Diluc: stage manager. Mans is so busy getting everyone’s shit together and having custody of the circus’ brain cell.

Lisa: Public Relations. This woman is terrifying and she uses that to her advantage when talking to sponsors, rental theatres, and landowners. No one can escape her freezing-cold smile and calculating gaze.

Fischl, Razor, and Bennett: beast-taming trio. Fischl is super good with birds, Razor’s of course great with the ferocious wolves, and Benny?? You can’t tell me this boy’s kindness wouldn’t attract the little animals like he’s a Disney Princess. So obviously he had to try lion-taming.

Amber is that person that shoots a bow an arrow with her feet except the arrow is on fire, the target is on fire, and her platform is on fire.

Albedo, Sucrose, and Timaeus: magicians. Optical illusions, puffs of smoke, turning a rock into gold, quick costume changes, and making people disappear. No one knows how they do it and their notes are indeciferable. 

Mona: fortune-teller. Need I say more?

Diona, Klee, and Qiqi: everyone’s little adopted siblings that aren’t in the circus acts but are training to be. Diona’s training with some of the gymnasts of the circus, Klee’s into the death-defying stunts and figuring out a way to Not Burn Down The Circus, Qiqi likes the behind the scenes stuff more, so she works with Baizhu (circus healer) and Xiangling to take care of her people.

Ningguang: stage manager and treasurer. Diluc does most of the stage managing, but Ningguang is there for the tech rehearsals and running the numbers. Talks to Lisa a lot for pricing and sponsorship.

Chongyun: mechanic/tech. Man runs the lights, keeps the general stuff of the circus in check. Is probably incapable of actually enjoying a show bc he’s thinking about how to make stronger rope or fix the lighting or Is That A Hecking Ghost?? Not On His Watch Absolutely Not.

Xiangling: cook. Also therapist from time to time because there is no problem that can’t be fixed with food. Also helps Chongyun with tech.

Hu Tao stays exactly the same. She’s a type of magician.

Xingqiu: mentalist. Man will spend the entire time talking at some person on the second row about their five affairs and credit card bills and no one will know how he does it. Thinks hypnosis is bullshit and will not be touching that with a 10ft pole.

Keqing and Ganyu: contortionists. Used to be soloists but their acts got so much more engaging when they became a duo. Have entered the stage as a rolling wheel made of two people.

Xinyan: death-defying stunts having to do with fire. Klee follows her around sometimes. Also works with Venti to compose the circus’ music.

Kazuha: sword-swallowing. Also will perform fancy martial arts routines with swords that are either on fire or covered in paint and not get a single mark on him.

Beidou: either security or houdini-style death-defying acts. Is BFFs with all the sharks and piranahs in her tank regrardless. Helped Bennett when he was just starting out.

Yanfei: lawyer. gets them permits, reminds them to keep up with their permit deadlines, and finds the cleverest loopholes around safety regulations, not to mention that she writes the most nicely-worded documents and consent forms so literally everyone knows what they’re getting into.

Bonus: an actual conversation overheard between Aether, Lumine, and Childe (a wealthy sponsor trying to get in on the circus profits)

Childe: how much for the pretty strongman?

Lumine: I guess he is pretty strong, but he’s not for sale.

Childe: wrong use of “pretty” there.

[beclynn-herondale]

In Another Universe: Chapter 9 - The Greenhouse part 1

He wasn't sure if he had screamed, if he had it would have been again for the hundredth time tonight. The motorcycle was flying, it felt like a rollercoaster almost, it also caused that weird feeling you get in your stomach when you ride one. He looked back at the roof and saw the vampires and werewolves. And looked away honestly if he ever saw that place again it would be way too soon. Jayce was screaming in delight. Clar tightened his arms around her. "My mother told me that if I ever rode a motorcycle with someone, she'd kill me." he called over the sound of the the wind and bike. "Not if she knew me," she called back with confidence. "I am excellent at driving." Clar remembered something suddenly. "Hey, I thought Alec said only some of these could fly?" "Only some can!" "So how did you know this one could?". "I had no idea if it could!" she shouted happily, she did something that the bike ride in the air.

"Look down!" she shouted. "It's so amazing!" Curiousity making him want to, even though he was still terrified, he looked down. They were a lot higher than he had originally thought. They were flying over the city, it was beautiful, in a terrifying way. Jayce tunred the bike towards the brooklyn bridge. "You okay?" she shouted. He didn't say anything, held on more tightly. He felt nauseous all of a sudden and was reminded of how high they were and how they could fall so far down, he shut his eyes. "Clar?" she yelled again. "Are you ok, Clar? He shook his head. Something scratched at him, he ignored it until it scratched again. He opened his eyes slightly, and saw it was Simone, her head out of Clar's jacket, tugging at it. "It's okay, Simone." he said, not wanting to look down. "It was just the bridge—" But she scratched him again, pointing her paw towards the waterfront, rising up on their left. Still dizzy he looked up and saw sunrise. "Yes, it's very pretty," he said, shutting his eyes again. "It's a beautiful sunrise.' Jayce went rigid. "Sunrise?" she yelled, and jerked the bike towards the waterline. Clar leaned as closely as he could without squashing Simone. "What's wrong with the sunrise?" "I told you back on the roof! These bikes run on demon energies!"

She pulled the bike on level with the river. Water splashed them. "When the sun comes up— The bike started to sputter. Jayce said a colorful amount of swear words, and slammed her hand into the accelerator. It lunged forward, jerked under them. Jayce was still swearing, one time in what sounded like french. Clar saw every rock and pebble that was under them as they cleared past the river and over the narrow bank. Below them was the highway, full of early morning traffic.

They barely cleared it, beyond was a parking lot. "Hold on tight, Clar, don't let—" The bike struck the asphalt of the parking lot, the front wheel hitting first. Then it struck a concrete barrier with a terrible force that it lifted him off the bike and threw him sideways, his grip breaking from Jayce. He curled up into a protective ball, hoping Simone wouldn't be crushed. He hit the ground hard, pain shooting up his arm. He flipped over onto his back, the wind knocked out of him. He reached for his pocket, but it was empty. He tried to call for Simone but the his breath was knocked out of him, He wheezed.

His entire body hurt, he rolled over. Dawn had come, he saw the remains of the bike turning into ash as the suns rays shined on it. And there was Jayce, getting to her feet painfully, she hurried to him, and slowed down a little when she got closer. Her jacket sleeve was torn and she had a long graze her arm that was bleeding. Her face was pale under her golden curls, that were now dirty from the events of last night. He wondered why she looked so pale and shocked. Was his leg was torn off, lying across the parking lot with a pool of blood?

He started to get up when there was a hand in his shoulder. "Clar?". "Simone!" She was kneeling down beside him, looking a little dirty and crumpled, her glasses were gone but she appeared to be unharmed otherwise. She reached out and touched his face. "Ow!". "Are you alright? You look good," she said, with a catch to her voice. "The most amazing thing that I've—". "That's because your glasses are gone," he said weakly, but Simone didn't give a smart response back, instead she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly. She was alright he thought, she's alright. "Clar," she said. "I didn't—i didn't think you—". "Come for you? Of course I did," he said. "Of course did." he said and put his arms around her. He stroked her back reassuringly.

He glanced back at Jayce for a moment, she was turning away as if the sun hurt her eyes, he wondered why.

——————

Joan was leaning against a wall in the training room that was in this dimension place, flipping a knife back and forth, she was very good with knives now. Her father wanted to talk with her, she may be more connected with her demon blood now, but that didn't change the fact she still hated the man's guts. She thought his goals were boring and that he was your typical villian, he didn't have any ideals that surprised her. Not to mention a shitty father, and sounds like he was a shitty husband.

"Still having trouble with your anger, I have heard," said Valentine. "Still having trouble finding a Cup, I have heard" she replied. He looked furious for a moment but composed himself. She loved how she could get under his skin. "All in good time," he said. "Yeh? And how much time is that?" "Very soon." She looked at him. "Are you sure it's soon enough?" He smiled a devilish grin. "Yes." She didn't like the grin, there was something he wasn't telling her. "Jonathena," he said. "Yes?" "You have completed much if your training, faster than I had thought," he said. "Soon enough we will be in Idris, and with we'll have your mother, brother, and Jayce." He took a minute before he spoke again. "I have been thinking, if Lucian does decide to make a move, and if he does somehow succeed in getting in my way, I'll need you to play spy for me. Clar will trust you, and believe you. I don't think things will go wrong but I want a backup plan." She was slightly more intrigued now. "Whatever, not like I have a choice in the matter." He stared at her. "Things will not be so boring soon enough, my daughter."

Yeah, soon enough you'll have an angel cup and some sword and be attacking god knows what. She just wanted Clar and her mom, make sure they are safe and do whatever she needed to do to keep them safe. This Jayce did intrigue her though. Valentine seemed to speak slightly softer about her.

She went back to training with Alan, learning how to take on ten people at once. Lilith had some kind of way to strengthen her demon blood, Joan had no idea how, but with Greater Demons you never really knew, she supposed.

——————

Hodge was enraged when they got back, Alec and Isidore in the back lurking behind him. When Clar and the girls came in limping, covered in blood and filthy, he had instantly gone into a lecture that would have made Clar's mom very proud. He also didn't forget the part of how they had lied about where they had gone to—Which apparently Jayce had or the part about never trusting Jayce again. Also bits about breaking the law and being thrown out of the clave, and bringing shame onto the Wayland name. After he calmed down slightly, he looked at Jayce with a glare. "You've endangered other people people with your actions. This time I will not let you shrug it off!" "I wasn't planning on it," said Jayce. "It's kinda hard to shurg anything off at the moment. My shoulder is dislocated." "If only physical pain was actually a deterrence for you," said Hodge furious. "But you'll just spend the next few days in the infirmary with Isidore and Alec caring to your every need. And you'll probably very much enjoy it."

Hodge had been partly right. Jayce and Simone had both ended up in the infirmary, but only Isidore was running around caring for their every need when Clar — who'd gone to clean up — came back a few hours later. Hodge had tended to the bruise on his arm, and almost half an hour in the shower gotten the asphalt that was stuck in his skin out. But he still ached all over. Alec was sitting on the windowsill and looking irritated, angry, maybe almost even sad all at the same time, scowled as the door shut behind him. "Oh. It's you." He ignored Alec. "Hodge says he's on his way and hopes you two can hang onto your slowly fading life forms until he is here," or something of that variation." "I do hope he hurries," said Jayce crossly, she was sitting up in one of the infirmary beds, still in her filthy clothes, the lace top she had worn to the party torn in some places, though he assumed Shadowhunters were used to ruining clothes. "Why? Are you in pain?" he asked. "Nope. I have a very high pain tolerance. But I do get very easily bored." she narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you remember how back in the hotel you promised that if we survived, you'd dress up in a nurse's outfit and give me a sponge bath?". "I think you misheard that," said Clar. "It was Simone who promised you that." Jayce looked over involuntarily to Simone, who gave her a wide smile. "As soon as I'm back to good health, beautiful." "I knew we should have left as a rat," said Jayce.

Clar laughed as he went over to Simone, who seemed uncomfortable surrounded by the many pillows Isidore had gotten for her. He sat down on the edge of her bed. "How do you feel?" "Like someone tried to grate me into cheese," she said, wincing as she moved her legs. "I broke a foot bone. It had swelled so much, Isidore had to cut my shoe off." "Glad he's taking such good care of you," he said with a little bit of acid in his tone. Simone leaned forward. "I want to have a talk with you." Clar nodded. "I'll be in my room. Come see me once Hodge gets you all fixed up, k?" "Yup." surprising him she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. It was a butterfly kiss, but as he pulled away, he knew he had blushed, probably, standing up, because everyone was staring at them.

On his way out to the hallway he touched his cheek, a kiss on the cheek didn't mean much of anything, but it was odd for Simone. Was she trying to make a point to someone? Clar never would understand the whole making someone else jealous thing that people did. And then there was Jayce, doing her wounded princess act.

"Clar!" He turned and to his surprise, there was Alec coming down the hall after him. They both stopped once she caught up to him. "I need to speak with you." Surprised again, he asked. "About what?" She hesitated for a moment. With her pale ivory skin she looked almost as striking as her brother, but unlike Isidore she did anything she could to downplay her looks and not be seen, her frayed sweaters and her bangs and blunt cut of her hair that fell over her shoulders that looked as if she cut it herself in the dark, was only part of it, she looked seriously uncomfortable in her own skin. "I think you should go. Go home, I mean," she said. He knew that Alec didn't like him but it still felt like she had slapped him. "Alec, I can't go home, it has forsaken and demons crawling around it, believe me nobody wants to go home more than me but i—" "You must have family somewhere that could take you in?" he thought she sounded desperate. "I don't have any family, and Hodge wants me to stay here," he said shortly.

"He can't possibly actually after everything you've done—" "Everything I've done?" "You almost got Jayce killed." "I almost— what are you talking about?" "Going after your friend like that—do you even know the danger you put her in? Do you know that—" "Her? Do you mean Jayce?" he cut her off.  "Just so you know it was all her idea. She asked Magna where to find the vampire. She went to that church to get weapons. If I didn't go with her, she would have gone without me.". "By the angel, you don't understand," said Alec. "You don't know her like I do. I know her. She thinks she has to save the world, and she would gladly die doing it. hell I think she wants to die, but that doesn't mean you need to help her along to do it." "I really don't understand you people," he said. "Jayce is a Shadowhunter. This is your job, you help and save people, you kill demons and put yourself in danger everyday. How is it that last night was different from any other time?"

He saw her self control break. "Because I wasn't there!" she yelled. "Usually I am there, covering her back, making sure no harm come to her, keeping her safe. But you are just a burden, a mundane." she said the word like it tasted bitter in her mouth. "No, that's where you're wrong," he said. "I am a Nephilim, just like you." Her mouth curled up. "Perhaps," she said. "But with no training whatsoever, nothing at all, you're not much use, are you? Your mother raised you mundane, raised you in a world where you didn't have to know about the evil and darkness, and that's where you belong. Not her making Jayce act like someone she isn't, like she isn't a Shadowhunter. Making her break her oath. Making her break the law and not care—"

"Here's a news flash," he snapped at her. "I don't make Jayce do anything. Jayce does what she wants. You should know that." She looked at him with disgust. "I always forget, that you mundanes are totally selfish, isn't that right? You don't care about all that she's done for you, what she has risked? This isn't just about her safety and almost getting killed. She could be kicked out of the Clave. She lost her father and mother already, do you want her to lose the only other family she has?"

Rage rose in Clar. Rage against Alec, for being a little right. rage against his mother for not telling him about what the world really was and what he really was, for not telling Joan as well, for bit preparing them for all of this, and being some angel warrior who Clar didn't know, someone she needed so desperately right now but was not there. Rage against the fact that his father had died before he was born. Against Simone for almost getting herself killed and doing dangerous things. Rage against Jayce for not caring about whether she lived it died. Against Luke for not being there.

"You're one to talk about being selfish," he hissed viciously and Alec took a step back. "You don't about anyone in this world but yourself, Alec Lightwood. No wonder you've never even killed a single demon, because you're so afraid." Alec looked stunned, as if he had slapped her. "Who— who told you that?" "Jayce did." She looked again as if she had been slapped. "She wouldn't have. She would never say that." "Well, she did. You can go on and on about honor and honestly and all that but we both know if you were really honest, you would admit this is all because you're in love with her. It doesn't actually have anything to do—" He hit hard against the wall, felt his head hit against it hard. Alec had thrown him against it, she was taller than him and had her Shadowhunter training. Alec with her face inches from his now. "Don't you dare," she whispered with rage. "Say anything like that ever again or I'll kill you. I swear I will." It hurt where she gripped his arms. She let go, pulling back quickly. She looked horrified, like she couldn't believe she had just done that. She spyn around with no words, and stumbled towards the infirmary like she was drunk. "Great, Clar" he thought now she definitely hates you.

——————

He should have gone to sleep, passed out with exhaustion, but sleep wouldn't come. So instead he pulled his sketchpad out of his backpack, he started to draw scribbles at first, he drew the hotel, empty streets with dim lampposts, a shadowy figure at the end of the lamppost. Raphaela all covered in blood. He drew Jayce on top of the roof of the hotel, ten stories high, as if the fall was more a challenge, as if she was invincible. Like in the the dreams he had, he drew her with wings like the ones on the statue on the bone city.

He drew Joan, him and Simone, as kids at Luke's farm sitting in a pile of leaves. Lastly, he tried to draw his mom. He had told Jayce that there was really no difference after he read the gray book, it was mostly true. But now when he thought back to the memories of his mom, he saw the scars that lined her shoulders like snowflakes.

It hurt knowing that it was all a lie. Everything about his childhood and mother was a lie. he slid his sketchpad under his pillow know, feeling more exhausted. A soft tap on his door knocked him out of his thoughts. "Come in." Simone came in, she was still her dirty clothes and looked rumpled. He scooted sideways, so she could be on the other side of the bed with him. Lying a bed with Simone was never odd, they grew up Sleeping over at each other's houses, building blanket forts with the help of Joan, she always helped them build it right so it wouldn't fall down on them. When she had learned how to read, she read to them to get them to sleep on those nights. When Clar and Simone were older they stayed up reading comics and manga.

"You found your glasses," he said. noticing a lens was cracked slightly. "They faired pretty well considering they were in my pocket. I'll have to write a nice not to my eye doctor." She sat down by him slowly. "So Hodge fixed you up?" She nodded. "I still feel terrible though." She looked at him very seriously, her brown eyes fixed on him. "Clar, the fact that you came to save me—that you risked all that—" He held up his hand. "No need," he said. "You'd do the same for me." "Well, of course," she said. "I just always thought that was the way with us. You know." He looked at her puzzled. "What?"

"What I mean is," she seemed surprised it wasn't obvious. "I have always needed you more than you needed me." "That isn't true," Clar said appalled. "But, it is," she said calmly, it was unnerving. "You have never really needed anyone, you've been so I independent, so. . . Contained in your own world inside your head. All you've ever really needed was your pencild, chalk, and imaginary worlds. Sometimes I would say the same thing over and over to you before you'd come back to reality and realize it. And you'd give silly smile you always did. And I knew you had forgotten about the real world, about me, but I was never upset. A little of your attention is better than anyone else's entire attention." He reached out for her hand but instead got her wrist. "In my life, I have only loved four people," he said. "My mom and Luke, Joan, and you. I have lost mom and Luke, and Joan, but not you. Don't you ever imagine that you don't mean enough to me, don't ever think that."

"My mom always says you only need three people for self-actualization," said Simone, voice light but it cracked slightly. "She says you seem pretty self-actualized." Clar smiled. "Does your mom have any other words of wisdom about me?" She gave him a crooked smile. "Yeah," she said. "But i'll never tell." "No fair.". "Life is not fair, Clarus," she said, jokingly. But there was a slight truth to that statement.

——————

Jayce was avoiding Alec and Iz cause they were both trying to pick an argument with her, and Alec would give Jayce one of her usual speeches about responsibility and caring about yourself. She wasn't really in the mood for any of that. So she went off to take a shower and finally after what felt like forever was clean, she threw on a pair of jeans and a plain grey t-shirt. Hodge had reminded her it was Clar's birthday, well almost. So she snuck food from the kitchen and decided she would bring him to the greenhouse to show him the midnight flowers, they were one of the most beautiful things Jayce has ever seen, she couldn't quite describe how beautiful they are.

She remembered the first time she had seen them, the glow of them, all the colors they radiated.  How when you saw them it was like time had stopped for just a moment. Jayce loved plants and even though many people would call it cliche for a girl to love flowers so much she didn't care, Jayce loved plants for their beauty.

She came up upon Clar's door, she held the paper bag that had the food in it behind her back. She knocked gently, he opened the door. There he was in jogger pants and a t-shirt, she looked at the freckles on the pale skin of his face and arms that she secretly thought were cute. He gave her a look up and then down.

"I didn't wake you up did I?" she asked curiously. "No," he said, stepping out into the hallway. "What makes you think that." "No reason." "I layed in bed almost a day," he said. "Aren't you tired though?" "Nope," she said. "Shadowhunters are always hard at work, almost no rest." "Uh huh," he said. "So why are you here, anyway?"

"Do you mean as in at your bedroom door or why am I here on earth, in this time. Do you mean what is my purpose here and what great things will I achieve?" He gave her that usual look he did, the one that said I know you're half joking and I am slightly amused but also slightly annoyed. She knew that look well, Alec gave her similar look at times, but Clar's was different in a way, it for one of the first times since she could remember left her not able to describe it exactly, like he could see through to why she was this way. "Imma go back to bed," he said.

He reached for the doorknob but she slid in front of him. "I am here," she said. "Because Hodge reminded me it's your birthday." He gave a sigh. "It's tomorrow, actually." "Why not start celebrating early," she said, and gave him a grin. He eyed her. "You're avoiding Isidore and Alec, aren't you?" She gave him a nod. "You caught me," she said, and added in a more serious tone. "They are trying to pick fights with me, and I am simply not in the mood." "Do they both have the same reason?' "I don't know." she glanced down the hall, as if she were trying to avoid eye contact with him. "Hodge, as well. Almost everyone wants to talk to me. But not you I suppose. I bet you don't want to talk." "You're right," he said, and for a moment he thought she might walk away, but he continued. "I want food, I am hungry."

She brought up the bag from behind her. "I sneaked food when Hodge wasn't paying attention." He grinned at her. "A picnic? Isn't it late for that? Isn't central park—" "Full of faeries. Yes, yes it is." "I was going to say muggers, actually," he said. "Though I pity the fool who would try and mug you.". "Ah, very wise of you, I commend for it," she said. "But I didn't mean central park. I was thinking the greenhouse." "Won't it be dark? It's night—" She smiled at him. "Come, I'll show you."

Tag list: @khaleesiofalicante @chibi-tsukiko @spotsandclawsthings @megs-readstoomuch @replayfootsteps @magnus-the-maqnificent @simply-ellas-stuff @my-archerboy @jazzkaurtheglorious @bookfast-at-tiffanys

[eatsleepandsupernatural]

Saved - Chapter Eight

Saved Masterlist

Pairings: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Warnings: Character Death, Angst, Character Resurrection, excerpts from 14x08

Word Count: 2,243

A/N: Hey! The following chapter does contain some aspects of the Supernatural episode Byzantium. I would like to just state that I do not own those particular paragraphs of this chapter or of course the characters (but we already knew that). You probably didn’t expect the chapter to go this way, it was my plan from the beginning because of an idea I had, can’t tell you yet. Anyway, hope you don’t mind and I hope you enjoy! XX

Tags: @akshi8278​ @goddessofmischiefs​ @flutistbyday2020​ @samsgirl93​

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 8 

   Tossing and turning, surrounding yourself with your Alphas scent, no matter how hard you tried, you can’t sleep. Your thoughts are on Jack, the image of him collapsing on the floor, coughing up blood, is replaying over and over in your mind. He had quickly become your closest friend, keeping you company while Sam and Dean went on hunts. You had made a habit of sneaking into the ‘Dean Cave’, cooking up some popcorn and watching movies for hours at a time. The way Jack’s eyes fixed on the T.V like an excited puppy always made you smile. You had barely known him, but the memory of him passing away, his hand grasped firmly in yours, was overwhelming. 

   You shove the covers off and leave your room in search of Dean and some comfort. You had gone to bed once he and Cas brought Sam back safely after he had left the bunker, feeling the need for some alone time. Hours have passed and your need for your Alpha grew stronger every second. 

   You find him passed out in the kitchen, surrounded by empty glasses and half drunk bottles of whiskey, snoring louder than you had ever heard. 

   ‘Dean...Dean, you shouldn’t sleep here.’ You speak softly into his ear and gently shake his shoulder in an effort to wake him up. ‘Dean.’ 

   ‘I don’t think he’s waking up anytime soon, Y/N.’ You turn around to face Cas, who is watching you from the doorway. ‘Why are you awake?’ 

   ‘I never went to sleep, couldn't.’ You admit quietly, knowing what was going to come next, silently wishing it was Sam who had found you. 

   Cas glances between you and Dean before sighing and holding out his hand, ‘It would be unfair to wake him now. Come on, I’ll get you settled.’ 

   You place your hand in his and let him lead you back to your room, but you don’t make it easy for him, dragging your feet along the way. There is no hiding the fact that you are frustrated with him, with everyone. Jack is dead and they are still hiding things. You want to know why Jack was sick in the first place, and for how long. You want to know why, whenever you ask about anything supernatural related you are ignored. 

   ‘Y/N, what are you doing? Aren’t you tired?’ Cas asks when you pull your hand from his and take a few steps back to put some space between you. 

   ‘I am tired. I am tired of being kept in the dark. Did you ever think that maybe I would have been able to help Jack if I had known what was going on? He was my friend, and I lost him, and I don’t even know why. All you guys do is keep me in the dark for ‘my protection’, but one day, that’s going to come back and bite you in the arse. I may have been afraid of the idea of monsters being real when I first moved in, but I’ve seen Sam and Dean come back from enough hunts to accept that truth now. I’m ready to fight, to help. Dean, he is never going to let me near a gun. I need you to let me help, teach me to fight Cas, please.’ 

   Cas stares at you, surprised by your outburst. He frowns for a moment, deep in thought, before approaching you slowly. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way. I will talk to Dean.’ 

   You roll your eyes at his response and slouch your shoulders. ‘Like that will do...Hey!’ 

   Cas cuts you off mid sentence, grabbing you around the waist and placing two fingers to your forehead. ‘Go to sleep Y/N’

   ‘Y/N, wake up,’

   ‘Omega.’ A firm hand on your shoulder and the smooth voice of your Alpha draws you from a peaceful, deep sleep. Your eyes meet Deans tired ones, the bags sitting below them prominent. 

   ‘Morning’. You sit up against the bed head, accepting the glass of water Dean offers you. 

   ‘Afternoon, actually.’ 

   ‘Stupid Angel.’ You grunt, making Dean chuckle softly. 

   ‘I had an interesting conversation with Cas this morning.’ He informs you, turning serious once again. ‘He told me you had trouble sleeping, went for a late night stroll.’ 

   ‘Didn’t realise that was something I wasn’t allowed to do.’ You shoot back. You aren’t sure where the attitude is coming from, but you are sick of Dean’s Alpha behaviour. 

   ‘I didn’t say that.’ He speaks quickly, eyes scanning your face in an attempt to read your thoughts. ‘But he told me what you spoke about, and I’m sorry. Truly. My intentions were always to keep you safe, and in doing so, I’ve pushed you away. And you’re right, chances of you holding a gun in this lifetime, or any other lifetime are pretty small. But you’re also right, that I have been letting the Alpha in me control my actions, and I have been unfair to you. If you believe that you are ready, you can be put on research duty. That means books only, no knives, no guns, no ghosts. We got a deal?’ 

   You stare at your Alpha with wide eyes, shocked and disbelieving. Dean stands up from the bed and smiles down at you, ‘You coming? You might want to get dressed. We have a guest.’ 

   You take a few minutes to compose yourself, washing your face and brushing your teeth in the basin, before getting dressed and leaving your room in search of the others. 

   The library is not how you left it last night, furniture has been moved to the side, and Sam and Dean stand next to a table in the middle of what looks to be a very intense discussion making you pause at the door and hide behind the wall, you decide waiting out the conversation is the best idea. 

   ‘Use the soul-sucking magic? Boy, that lady’s a peach.’ Dean’s tone of voice surprises you, and you realise this was one of the things he was trying to hide from you, his hunter side.

   ‘Listen, we talked about this.’ Sam interjects.

   ‘I know. Gotta happen. It’s the only way. Right. But I don’t like rolling the dice on some psycho ex-angel killer.’

   ‘I don’t love it, either, but taking risks, making crappy deals--that’s what we do.’

   ‘Yeah, and they usually bite us in the arse.’ You smile at Dean’s choice of words, remembering what you had said to Cas last night.

   ‘So, what do you want to do about it? Leave Jack in the morgue? Burn him?’ That’s the moment you realise that they were planning to do something about Jack, to try and bring him back. You had heard snippets of conversations before, you knew that both Sam and Dean had died at least once. 

   ‘I didn’t say that.’

   ‘Because, for me, not doing this--that-- that would be like letting him die all over again.’ At Sam’s words your heart almost breaks all over again and you struggle to hold back tears. 

   ‘I want Jack back, too okay? I do. I just don’t trust Lily. Especially with my little eavesdropper.’ 

   If you hadn’t had that conversation with Dean ten minutes ago, your heart would have dropped to your stomach. You straighten your back and peek around the doorway with a small smile on your face. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt.’ 

   Dean rolls his eyes but waves you over, and you reach him the same time Cas comes up the steps looking more than stressed. 

   ‘You got a twenty on Jack?’ Dean asks, eyes pleading for a yes.

   ‘Not exactly. Angel Radio is playing a distress signal.’ 

   ‘Awesome’, He replies, letting his arms fall, surely mirroring his disappointment. 

   ‘All of Heaven’s gates are open, even the ones that Metatron closed.’

   ‘What could that mean?’ Sam asks.

   ‘I don’t know but it’s not good.’

   ‘More awesome.’ Dean says, making you reach out and grab his hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

   ‘All right, well you go. We got Lily. When we’re ready, we’ll pray.’ Sam says, hoping that the solution will be enough.

   Cas shares a look with Sam and Dean before walking away and to do whatever he had to do. 

   ‘What’s going on?’ You ask, turning back to face the two Alphas.

   ‘We may have a way to bring Jack back. It’s risky, but we figured it’s worth a shot. You can hang around for now, but if I need you to leave later, you have to trust me. We’ve never done this before Y/N.’ 

   You are tempted to argue but something in Sam’s eyes makes you change your mind. He is watching you carefully, eyes wide, pleading with you to reassure Dean that you’ll listen. 

   ‘Got it, just tell me to go make myself some lunch, and I’m gone.’ As soon as you see Dean’s entire body relax you know you have made the right decision and Sam shoots you the biggest smile, to which you respond with an eye roll. It’s as if they don’t believe you can behave. 

   ‘Alright, hand me that glass bottle would ya?’ Dean gestures behind you as he moves to fiddle with some paint and a bowl on the table. 

   You pick it up, inspecting the clear liquid inside before handing it over and you and Sam watch as he pours the liquid in and stirs the paint around. He picks up the bowl and holds out a piece of paper for him to copy from and you watch in awe as Dean expertly paints a large symbol on the wooden floor. 

   ‘The instruction manual’. You had been watching Dean so closely you hadn’t heard the footsteps of another person approach the three of you and you jump away in shock as she hands an old leather-bound book to Sam. 

   ‘It’s alright Y/N,’ Sam reassures you before turning to face the older woman who you assume must be Lily gives you a questioning look before turning back to Sam. ‘Thanks. All right, we’re almost set. Just got to get one more thing. I’m gonna go grab it.’ He says, he gives you a second reassuring smile before walking off. You watch him go, as he does, he grabs Dean’s attention and nods in the direction of you and the strange woman. 

   Dean puts the bowl and brush down on the ground as he stands up and walks towards you, watching where he steps. He gives you a quick smile before addressing Lily.

   ‘You know, I think we got off to a bad start. Um, I guess I should be thanking you.’

   ‘Apology accepted.’ You frown at Lily’s response and her attitude towards your Alpha, but you stay quiet, unwilling to test any boundaries on the first day. ‘Are you going to introduce me?’ 

   ‘Uh, right. This is Y/N, my mate. Y/N, this is Lily Sunder, an old...acquaintance.’

   ‘Nice to meet you.’ You nod from your corner with a small smile, not a fan of strangers. Lily was a beta, but she gives off a weird vibe that makes you uncomfortable. 

   ‘There, you’re acquainted, great. Except, something’s been bothering me. Uh, you know, if this magic of yours is so great...why’d you stop using it? You’re letting yourself get old. You’re letting yourself die. Why? Why risk going to hell if you don’t have to? There’s something you’re not telling us.’

   You raise your eyebrows at Dean’s words and look to Lily, waiting for her answer. Is this magic too risky to use on Jack? 

   ‘When Ishim took my daughter, I swore I’d kill him, even if it meant burning my entire soul. But it didn’t. I have a sliver, a whisper of my soul left.’

   ‘And?’ Dean prompts, getting impatient.

   ‘May--my daughter, my little girl--is in heaven. And if there is still a piece of my soul...Now do you understand?’ 

   You are deep in thought when Sam comes back carrying a box filled to the brim with candles. You watch as he places them down at different points on the symbol like he had done it hundreds of times before. 

   ‘Sweetheart.’ Your head whips up at the sound of Dean calling from the other side of the room, breaking you from your thoughts. ‘Why don’t you go make yourself that lunch we talked about.’ You glance back over to Sam who’s already looking at you, one eyebrow raised, a reminder of your promise. 

   ‘I was getting hungry anyway. You know where I’ll be if you need me.’ Sending your Alpha one last long look before making your way to the kitchen. 

   You take your time, deciding to make a pasta salad, one of your favourite home-made dishes from before your parents became alcoholics. 

   Twenty minutes later, one potato salad and a cup of tea, your curiosity gets the better of you. You quietly make your way down the hallway and poke your head around the corner to see Jack sitting up on the table saying words you don’t understand, Sam and Dean standing either side of him. 

   ‘Was that my soul?’ He asks, looking up at Dean.

   ‘How do you feel?’ Dean queries, his hands hovering over Jack as if he is expecting something to go wrong. 

   ‘Good. I feel...good.’

   Sam smiles as Dean gives Jack a quick hug.

   ‘It’s good to have you back’, he says with his hand resting on Jack’s shoulder. 

   You are about to join them when you notice Lily sitting in your favourite chair, umoving.

   ‘Lily, thank you,’ Dean speaks from beside Jack. 

   ‘Yeah. Lily..’ Sam’ voice is halted when he sees Lily. 

   ‘Lily?’ Dean calls once more but there is no response. 

   ‘How about Jack and I go back to his room, I can help him get settled?’ You ask tentatively from the door. 

   The Alpha’s turn to face you faster than you thought possible. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ Sam asks, his lips twitching as he tries to hold back a smile. 

   ‘Long enough. I got bored.’ You smile at Jack who slowly turns around to meet gaze.

   Dean rolls his eyes at your excuse for leaving the kitchen but keeps his opinions to himself all the same. ‘You wanna hang out with Y/N for a bit Jack? We’ve got some clean-up to do.’

   Jack nodded, ‘I like the sound of that,’ he says getting off the table and making his way over to you on wobbly legs. 

   ‘I’ve changed my mind, why don’t we break into Dean’s room instead.’ You suggest, wagging your eyebrows at him in excitement.

   ‘Can we watch Star Wars? I like that one.’

   ‘Jack, we can watch anything you want.’

[songtoyou]

Chapter One: West Bridgewater

Paring: Ransom Drysdale x Fabiola Rossi (OC)

Rating: This story will mostly be rated 18+ as it is revolves around a relationship that is Dominant/submissive. For each chapter, I will do my best to rate it accordingly, but please know that the overall story will have very adult themes.

Warnings: None for this chapter

Word Count: 2,305

Description: Huge “Ransom” Drysdale always thought of himself as a powerful man. With his family’s money and status, Ransom could get away with anything. He had the power and control others would envy. Ransom could get any woman he wanted with a snap of his fingers. He was always in charge. He commanded attention. And he hated it. Never having a job in his life (thanks to his mother, father, and grandfather always there to supplement his bank account) or any real-life goals, Ransom felt incomplete and directionless. That is until Fabiola Rossi entered his life and turned it completely upside down.

A/N: I have not seen Knives Out. This is an AU of that world. I do not own any of the characters created by Rian Johnson. I have always thought of Ransom as a sub rather than a Dominant and this idea has been on my mind constantly that I needed to write it down. Anything in italics are to represent Ransom’s thoughts. 

I do not permit any of my fics to be distributed on other sites without my permission.

Updated for grammar and punctuation edits.

What is a dominant-submissive relationship all about? As mentioned previously, there is an energy dynamic between the two partners. It is the Dominant’s duty to protect and guide his or her submissive. The submissive, also called “the bottom,” relinquishes some or all control to the Dominant. He or she is playing out their own kinds and fetishes through the guidance of a Dominant. No actions or scenes can be played out unless the submissive has consented to everything the Dominant plans to do during a play session. A D/s relationship is not solely about sexual activities but exploring new and interesting ways to connect beyond sex. For example, the Dominate can set up simple rules that the submissive must follow, such as asking permission to stay out late or have ice cream for dessert. A healthy D/s relationship can lead to a life of self-improvement. 

“You got some mouth on you…I bet a ball gag would fit nicely around those pretty lips of yours.”

For some reason, Ransom could not get that comment out of his head. It was so unexpected and out of leftfield. He never had a woman said anything so bold towards him. No stranger to bondage with the opposite sex, it was always Ransom who was the one in charge. Women were more than happy for him to lead the charge. It was the only time Ransom was ever put to work, so to speak. Fabiola Rossi had managed to not only mystify the spoiled playboy, but he was not determined to find out more about her. 

So, Ransom did one any person in their mid-30s did when trying to find information about another person, he stalked her social media. He came up short. No Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram that he could find of her unless they were private.

“This is Fabiola Rossi. She is an inspiring editor herself. I have taken her under my wing as a mentor.” Ransom remembered from the night before when creepy old Charlie Van Houten introduced his grandfather and him to Fabiola. 

Of course, Fabiola had a LinkedIn page as she was a young working professional. Ransom saw that she graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in English and a minor in Psychology at Boston University. He noticed it had only been five years since she graduated from the university, so he suspected she was in her late twenties. Most of the jobs Fabiola received were internships or part-time positions. Not unusual for graduates looking to enter into the workforce. There was not much to offer due to the Baby Boomers not wanting to retire or companies being stingy with providing decent living wages or health benefits. 

“Intern. Van Houten & Thompson Publishing. March 2019 to current. Performs proofreading and editing of manuscripts and additional documents before the final publication,” Ransom read out loud as he continued to look through Fabiola’s profile.

He got up to reach for his coat to pull out his wallet. Inside was a business card of Charlie’s that he gave Ransom before leaving his grandfather’s party. Charlie told Ransom to keep in touch and that they both could talk about possibly working together. 

“If you have been working on anything, send it over. In fact, send it over to Fabiola. She’d probably love to read it and give you feedback. Give him your email address, honey. Any work you send over to her will be in great hands,” Ransom remembered Charlie saying to him last night. He looked over the business card and traced his thumb over Fabiola’s handwriting of her email address. 

He could not understand why this particular woman intrigued him so, despite only meeting her briefly the night before. However, Ransom knew he had an itch to scratch, and it was better to get it taken care of now before things got too out of hand. Before he became too obsessed.

Turning on his laptop, he waited for it to boot up. Opening his email account, Ransom began composing a new email to Fabiola. He kept it short and simple by asking if she was still up looking over what he was currently working on. 

Hi Ms. Rossi,

It was a pleasure meeting you last night. Hope you are doing well. If you are not too busy, do you mind if I send over the story I am currently working on? I do not want to impose if your schedule is too busy, but Charlie had such high praise for you, and I would appreciate the feedback and insight from you.

Talk to you soon,

Ransom 

He clicked the ‘send’ button and waited. Thankfully, he did not have to wait too long for a response back.

Hi Ransom,

I am so glad you reached out. Please call me Fabiola. 

Yes, I would be more than happy to beta read anything you send over.

Sincerely,

Fabiola

“Hook, line, and sinker,” Ransom said to himself with a smirk plastering over his face. He knew exactly which of his work he would send over. It was one Ransom had finished a while back. A story about the measures of what a mother would do to prove her child’s innocence when they are accused of a crime. It was one of his more personal pieces of work. He was somewhat anxious to get feedback on it. He sent it over to Fabiola as an attachment. Now, Ransom was in wait and see mode. ‘Who knows how long until she gets to actually reading it,’ he thought to himself. 

Three long agonizing days later, Ransom finally heard back from Fabiola when he checked his email that afternoon. 

Ransom,

How are you? 

Sorry I have not gotten back to you sooner. Your story is amazing! I could not put it down. I actually read it twice. It had me on the edge of my seat the entire time and had a lot of heart. You are such a good writer.

I do have some suggestions for you if you do not mind. However, I do not want to merely give them to you via email or comments in the document. Would it be okay if the two of us meet up for coffee sometime this week? It would be easier to talk to you about the recommendations face-to-face.

Any suggestions on where we could meet up? I don’t mind traveling to your neck of the woods if it is more convenient for you.

Fabiola

Ransom was thrilled that not only did she like his work but was willing to meet him in person. He quickly wrote her back suggesting a meeting at a little coffee shop in West Bridgewater. It would only be a 34-minute drive for Fabiola to get to him. Honestly, Ransom was a bit taken aback that she was willing to drive all the way out to the boonies to talk to him in person. 

The two decided to meet up on Saturday afternoon at The Bridge Coffee House, a new town establishment. A Starbucks it was not, thankfully.

When Saturday finally rolled around, Ransom dressed in his usual simple attire: gray cardigan, white long-sleeve shirt underneath, dark blue jeans, and Louis Vuitton black loafers. He gave himself a look over in the mirror one last time; he exited the house, got in his 1972 BMW 3.0 CSi, and headed to the coffee shop.

Once there, Ransom ordered an espresso and settled in a seat near the corner, but still visible for Fabiola to see him. As Ransom waited for Fabiola to arrive, his leg was shaking underneath the table. He was nervous, which was an unusual feeling for Ransom. Women hardly ever made Ransom nervous, but the woman he was meeting was for business, not pleasure. 

‘Note yet at least,” Ransom thought to himself as he sipped his espresso. 

The ding of the bell on the entrance door made Ransom lookup. There Fabiola was wearing a white long-sleeved fitted sweater with light blue jeans, white sneakers, and a light gray messenger bag slung over her shoulder. She looked around and noticed Ransom. Giving him a smile and wave, Fabiola made her way over to him. He stood up as she neared the table. 

“Hi. How are you?” she asked and stuck out her hand for Ransom to shake.

He reciprocated the gesture and replied, “I’m good. Do you want something to drink? My treat.”

Fabiola accepted Ransom’s offer with an iced tea. “Is there a restroom around that I could use?”

Ransom pointed to where the restrooms were, and Fabiola excused herself while he got her iced tea. Paying for the iced tea, Ransom went back to the table and proceeded to wait again. 

“That was quite a drive,” spoke Fabiola as she sat down in the seat across from Ransom, “Gorgeous scenery. I tend to not venture too far outside of Boston much.”

“Yeah, it is a nice quiet town. Not much goes on here.”

“I’m kind of surprised that you don’t choose to live in Boston. Figured you would want to be in a more urban area,” said Fabiola.

Ransom shifted in his seat to cross his legs, “I used to live in Boston during my 20s. Decided to move here a couple of years ago. Helped clear my head a little.”

Taking a sip of her iced tea, Fabiola asked, “Is that when you really began to write?”

Ransom let out a small laugh and cleared his throat, “Yeah…I just…needed a hobby to preoccupy my time.”

“Well, I have to tell you that it was a good idea,” said Fabiola as she began to rummage through her bag and pulled out a binder to place on the table.

“This story is outstanding,” she complimented.

Ransom felt the heat on his cheeks from her praise. It felt good to have someone appreciate his work, which was not a feeling he was used to. 

“I do have some questions if you don’t mind me asking? Nothing bad, just some clarifications.”

“Sure. Ask away,” Ransom responded casually. He was doing his best to not seem too eager. 

“What made you decide to have the main character a mother rather than a father? I ask that because, normally, male authors tend to write the protagonist as male. You don’t really see many male authors write crime novels with a main female character,” Fabiola pointed out and went on to tell him, “You also wrote the character really well. Like, she feels like a real person. She was fully developed and fleshed out. I was totally rooting for her throughout the whole story. And the side characters are nicely written as well. Each chapter kept the reader on its toes. You never knew what to expect. Nothing felt forced or out of place. Nothing dragged on. Here is a copy of my notes. Nothing too major. Only certain suggestions like clarification or more descriptive details for certain paragraphs.”

Ransom looked at her incredibly detailed notes. “I appreciate you doing this. Thank you,” Ransom said earnestly.  

“Do you plan on getting that published?” Fabiola asked him.

Letting out a light chuckle, Ransom told her that most likely he would not.

“Why?”

“I prefer to write for myself. Not for an audience. Plus, there is the likelihood that I’ll get compared to my grandfather or people thinking that nepotism is involved,” answered Ransom as he continued to flip through Fabiola’s notes.

Fabiola merely sat back and took the time to really look at the man before her. With dark hair and blue eyes, a strong jaw, and a somewhat crooked nose, Fabiola could not deny that he was handsome. Before the meeting, Fabiola asked Charlie about what he knew about Ransom. Boy, she got an honest earful from Charlie. While Charlie complimented Ransom, there was a hint of pity in his voice.

“He’s got so much potential, but he wastes it with booze and women. The poor boy did have a stint in rehab when he was younger. It’s so parents of his. Always giving him money instead of love and affection,” Charlie shared with Fabiola. 

 “You don’t want to fail at the one thing you believe you are actually good at,” Fabiola stated to Ransom and added, “So, it is easier to not put yourself out there in the first place.”

Scoffing, Ransom sat back and stared at Fabiola. Now it was his turn to really look at the woman before him. With her long dark hair, brown eyes, and slender figure, he had to admit to himself that she was beautiful. But he could tell that there was more to this woman than meets the eye.

“You like to think you have me all figured out, don’t you? You think I’m some poor little rich poor?” Ransom asked with a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

“Yes,” Fabiola simply said as she folded her arms to rest on the table and continued, “You’re not some riddle, Ransom. You are quite easy to figure out. Just as I mentioned to you at the party, you are bored. However, it is not the excitement that you seek. Instead, you want guidance. You want someone to look after you and care for you. You want to surrender control. Am I wrong? Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll shut up.”

With his silence, she had her answer.

“I can give you what you need, but to do that, we need to develop trust between one another,” Fabiola communicated and reached out to grip one of Ransom’s hands. She entwined her fingers within his.

“How much?” Ransom spoke up as they looked at their entangled hands. 

Fabiola shook her head and clarified, “Nothing. I’m not proposing you sex Ransom. I’m proposing to you something completely different. What do you know about BDSM or a D/s relationship?”

[syntaxeme]

Giardino Segreto ch. 6

[Read on AO3] | [First chapter] | [Next chapter] Rating: T Chapter summary: Angel and his fledgling family face down their main rival, but the war is only just beginning. Alastor's willpower is tested yet again, and with Angel's talent for wearing him down, he isn't sure how much longer it will hold.  'Anything you might ask of me' was a provision of the contract, after all.

— — –

At the sound of his father’s voice, Angel went completely rigid in his seat, stricken with panic of a sort Alastor hadn’t seen in him for weeks. Alastor’s head snapped in the direction of the sound and found Enrico leaving a nearby table to approach their booth. Damn it! He had been so lost in enjoying Angel’s company that his vigilance had slipped; he never even saw Enrico enter the bar. Yet now there he was, and there was no way to avoid confronting him.

“I think you got the wrong guy,” Angel answered, sure to keep his voice level as he tilted his hat downward to shadow his face. His grip on Alastor’s hand seemed to steady him. “The name’s Angel Giardino. Whoever you’re lookin’ for, I never heard of ‘em.”

“Very funny,” Enrico said, his expression a mixture of relief and anger. “Where the hell’ve you been? Your ma’s been worried sick, and don’t even get me started on Molly.” Angel winced at that; of all his relatives, Molly was the only one he bore no ill will. Looking around at the group, his father asked, “And who’re you people?”

“This’s my family,” Angel said firmly. They knew his father’s people had been looking for him—but considering they were looking for an Antonia Dellarosa and everyone he dealt with lately knew him as Angel Giardino, the search had been fruitless. The plan was for him to introduce himself and his new position once they were more established, but it seemed that was no longer an option.

“You know this guy, boss?” one of the capos asked, understandably confused. Between Angel’s recently-bleached hair and his softer features, there was little to no resemblance between him and Enrico, and none of the others had heard his old name either. The embarrassment of being outed to his men flashed across Angel’s face briefly before he composed himself again.

“Nah,” he answered coolly. “And he sure as hell don’t know shit about me.”

“In that case,” Venture piped up, watching Enrico with venom in her eyes, “I don’t think we have any further business together.”

“Who d’ya think you are to make that call?” Enrico asked, looking her up and down and seeming somewhat confused by her image. “Another woman that thinks she’s a man?”

“Oh, where are my manners? Venn Hassan.” She offered her hand, but he ignored it, so she instead gestured to Angel and went on, “I’m Don Giardino’s consigliere.”

Enrico let out a bark of cold laughter. “Don? You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me. How much is she payin’ you to play this little game?” Alastor was making a concentrated effort at controlling his irritation so his static wouldn’t give him away, but that man was certainly testing him.

“It ain’t a fuckin’ game, and if you know what’s good for ya, you’re gonna take us seriously,” Angel growled, gripping Alastor’s hand a little tighter. The demon returned the gesture, hoping to convey that he would offer whatever support was needed without overstepping his bounds and trying to speak for the boss. If at any point he felt the situation was getting out of hand, he wouldn’t hesitate to step in—but until then, Angel had the floor. “We’ll see if you’re still laughin’ when I run your ass outta town.”

“All right, that’s enough. This is cute and all, but I’m done messin’ around. Get your ass over here and I’m takin’ you home.”

“Look, he already said to fuck off,” Cherri snapped, unable to subdue her protective feelings toward Angel, especially when it came to his father. “Learn to take a damn hint.”

“Stay out of this, zoccola.”

Angel responded with a string of impassioned Italian, releasing Alastor’s hand and shoving to his feet. “Walk away, Dellarosa,” he snarled.

Enrico let out a scoff and took a step forward to rest both hands on the table. “Or what?”

With a snap of Angel’s fingers, every demon at the table was on their feet and reaching for a concealed weapon, be it the standard pistol carried by the capos or something more creative like Cherri’s knuckledusters or Venture’s knives. Even Alastor had his shadows at the ready, willing to do whatever was necessary if it meant protecting Angel. Maybe part of him was especially eager to repay the suffering Enrico had caused.

With a look of almost giddy delight, Angel leaned against the table to mirror his father’s position and asked sweetly, “You sure ya wanna find out?”

A moment passed in tense stillness as if Enrico were determining how serious the group was about defending their don. Finally, he lifted his hands and took a step back. Looking Angel in the eye, he added, “This conversation ain’t finished.” Then with a last resentful glare, he stalked back to the table where some of his own goons were waiting.

“That was pretty great,” Angel snickered as he sat back down, “but you can all relax now. Sit down; you’re makin’ a scene.”

“You sure you don’t wanna leave?” Cherri asked, eyeing him cautiously.

“What, let that asshole chase us out? No fuckin’ way. Somebody get me another one of these.” He waved his nearly-empty glass.

Despite their efforts, the group couldn’t seem to go back to the same level of carefree enjoyment as before now that they knew there was a hostile presence there in the bar with them. Enrico repeatedly stole glowering looks in their direction, and Alastor tried to return each one with an equally intimidating glare of his own. After another round of drinks, Venture was the first to call it a night, giving some excuse about all the work there was to do in the morning. One of the others offered to ‘escort’ her to the hotel and was immediately shot down with a sinister hiss and a flash of yellow eyes. On her way out, she gave Alastor a look as if to remind him that Angel was his responsibility. As if he could’ve forgotten.

Although it was nearing midnight when the remaining group left the lounge, Cherri and the others were planning to find another bar, one that would be, as she said, “more fun.” Nudging Angel, she asked, “You in, babe?”

“Eh, I don’t think so,” he said apologetically. “Pretty sure I just downed a whole bottle’s worth of gin, so I’m done for tonight. Go ahead; me and Al can get back on our own.”

Cherri frowned, looking up at Alastor mistrustfully as if he were the one who had suggested this plan. “You sure? I can come with if—”

“Babe,” Angel said pointedly. “We got it. Just go.” Though she clearly disapproved, she still conceded, wrinkling her nose at Alastor as she left with the waiting capos.

“I’d ask you to do that shadow thing to get us back,” Angel said, starting down the sidewalk in the direction of the hotel, “but I’m pretty sure it’d make me puke. So I guess we’re walkin’.”

“Normally I would say it’s good to get some fresh air, but I’m not sure that applies to downtown New York,” Alastor noted, pleased to finally have the boss’s attention to himself again. The boy was a social butterfly and, in group settings, always had someone else to talk to, so it seemed the only time they could talk properly was when it was just the two of them. “Just try not to stumble into traffic, would you? I’d hate to ‘make a scene’ trying to rescue you.”

“Hardy-fuckin’-har.” Angel rolled his eyes. “I ain’t that drunk. But if you’re so worried…” He stepped a little closer and slipped his arm through Alastor’s to hold onto him as they walked, the same as he had on the first night they met. And, the same as the first time, it still made Alastor’s heart quicken. They received an odd look or two from others passing by, but he hardly noticed.

It was only a few blocks from the Eclipse Lounge to the hotel, or Giardino Central, as Angel sometimes called it. Alastor spent the time alternating between enjoying Angel’s nearness and debating whether he should bring up the altercation with Enrico. It wasn’t a pleasant topic, but it also couldn’t be ignored forever. He wound up deciding to let the boss bring it up when he was ready; until then, Alastor would keep his mouth shut.

“So, seein’ as I’m sloshed,” Angel said casually as they strolled into the lobby, “you’re gonna do the gentleman thing and make sure I get to my room safe, right?”

While Alastor had never thought of himself as a gentleman by any means, he recognized that it wasn’t really a question. “Better that than have you pass out in the hall halfway.”

They took the elevator up to floor 15. During the ride, Angel’s hand slid slowly down Alastor’s arm to reach his, fingers lacing through the Radio Demon’s while he ‘innocently’ pressed closer. When they stepped out of the elevator, Angel was practically leading him by his hand, and he hardly had the capacity to argue, as his mind was busily racing trying to figure out how to handle the situation if it went where he was expecting.

As they reached his suite, the boss turned to face Alastor, leaning his back against the door. “What’re you plannin’ to do after this? I know ya don’t sleep, and it’s not like you’re gonna go back out. So whaddaya do with yourself?”

“You might be surprised how many ways there are to entertain oneself in a hotel filled with hundreds of mortals and demons alike. There’s always something interesting to be found if you’re willing to look.”

“Uh-huh.” Leaning forward a bit, Angel took both his hands to pull him closer. The spark in his eyes and the silk in his voice said he had only one goal at the moment. “What if I said I had a better idea to keep you entertained?”

Alastor gulped reflexively. “I would be…curious as to what you had in mind.”

“Lemme give you a hint.” Grasping his lapels, Angel dragged him down into a firm kiss. He froze for a split-second, indecisive, before his instincts and desires took over altogether.

His arms snaked around the boy’s slender waist to keep him close, and he easily licked his way into Angel’s mouth, eager to touch and taste, to devour everything that was offered. Angel let out a high-pitched whimper of shock at his enthusiasm but held on tighter and tried to match it. Listening to the boy whine and moan around his tongue was almost too much excitement for the Radio Demon to handle, but eventually, Angel had to break away for a deep breath.

“Shit,” he panted, fingers still tightly clenched on Alastor’s coat. “And here I was…startin’ to think you didn’t want me.”

“I do,” Alastor confessed quietly, and Angel shivered in his arms.

“Then why don’t ya come inside? And we’ll see if you can handle me.”

Despite his every instinct screaming at him to say yes, despite the fact that—for the first time in six weeks—he was finally breathing clearly again, he forced himself to take a step back. “I can’t.”

“Can’t…what?”

“Take you to bed. I’m sorry. You’ve been drinking, and if there’s any chance you might regret it later—”

“I won’t,” Angel insisted. “I told ya, I ain’t that drunk, and besides, I wanted this way before we started drinkin’.” He must have seen that Alastor was genuinely uncomfortable with the idea, as he sighed and changed tacks. Lifting the Radio Demon’s hand to his cheek and nuzzling against it, he instead suggested, “Okay, even if you don’t wanna have sex”—I do! My interest or lack thereof is not the issue here!—“will you just…stay? I mean, actually, literally sleep with me?”

Well. He couldn’t see much harm in that, he supposed. He would hate to give the impression that he didn’t want to be close to Angel; there was little else in the world he wanted more. As long as he could maintain his self-control and not allow the boy to (once again) wear down his resistance, it should be fine.

He nodded, and Angel rewarded him with a bright smile. He unlocked the door and led Alastor in, then asked him to wait in the living room for a minute. Once he disappeared into his room and shut the door behind him, Alastor’s chest seized all at once, forcing him to rush to the spare bedroom, which appeared untouched, and cough out his unexpressed feelings into a trash bin. No matter how many times it happened, it always seemed to hurt as much as the first, and the few seconds of being unable to breathe always panicked him all over again.

What am I supposed to do? He wasn’t sure whom he was addressing. His lungs, maybe. I can’t sleep with him while he’s drunk, and now is really not the time for a full-blown pour-your-heart-out confession. Whatever mercy he was hoping for from his condition wasn’t forthcoming, as he needed another moment to spit out the last few petals, even noticing what might have been rosebuds among them. Lovely. Wiping his mouth, he tied up the trash bag and prayed (figuratively speaking) that housekeeping would take care of it soon.

He left the room in time for Angel’s bedroom door to swing open, revealing a scantily-clad Angel that made his heart skip yet again. He could only hope this wasn’t just a ploy to seduce him, as he wasn’t sure how well he could resist seduction at the moment. Especially after that kiss. Joining Angel in his room, he slipped off his jacket to set it aside, then stepped out of his shoes, removed his tie, and unbuttoned his collar. Angel had already crawled into the king size bed, which made his thin frame look even smaller, and he pouted when he saw that Alastor wasn’t undressing any further.

“You really sleep like that?”

“We’ve established I don’t sleep much, cher,” the demon pointed out, joining him in bed. The boy wasted no time in snuggling up to his side, the softness of his body easily illustrating that he wasn’t wearing much under his long nightshirt. Alastor took a deep breath to center his thoughts on something other than how nice Angel’s body felt against his. “Ahem. Good night.” He gestured distractedly at the lights, and they snapped out at once.

“Mm-hm.” The boy’s fingers curled on the fabric of Alastor’s shirt as if to keep him from leaving. The room was quiet, other than the ambient sounds of the city far below, and Alastor waited a few minutes for his charge to fully relax and sleep.

He didn’t. Instead, he spoke softly. “Al?”

“Hm?”

“Will you…kiss me again?”

“Angel—”

“I ain’t askin’ for anything else,” the boy assured him quickly. “I’m not tryna trick ya into sex or somethin’. I just. It was really nice a minute ago, and…I want more.”

Did he have to phrase it that way? Did his voice have to be so achingly sweet? As if this weren’t difficult enough already. “You were serious when you said you wanted it before you started drinking?” he asked quietly, turning onto his side to face Angel and resting a hand tentatively on his hip.

The boy chuckled. “I’ve wanted it for weeks,” he whispered against Alastor’s lips, and a chill ran down the Radio Demon’s spine. Willing himself to stay in control, he took the invitation for another kiss. As before, Angel opened to him without argument, allowing him freedom to explore as he liked. The boy’s hands slid up his chest to rest on his shoulders, while Alastor’s full attention was on enjoying the sweetness of his mouth.

For maybe twenty minutes, maybe longer, they remained wrapped up in one another, lips moving together, tongues intertwined, Angel pressing closer still to drape his leg over Alastor’s. The demon let his hand slide down to rest on Angel’s bare thigh and told himself firmly that this was as far as he would go, that the pleasure of being so close and being desired should be enough to satisfy him. It wasn’t, of course, as there was no possible way he could get ‘enough’ of Angel’s attention—but his willpower managed to hold, and when Angel pulled away from him, he didn’t protest.

The boy’s head nuzzled into his shoulder, breath falling against Alastor’s neck as he muttered, “G’night.”

“Good night, cher.”

This time, it wasn’t long before Angel’s body softened against his, relaxing further as he slipped from consciousness. It was true that Alastor didn’t sleep often, and this night was no exception. Why waste time sleeping when he finally had his love in his arms?

This was a very delicate position to be in, he knew. There were a million ways it could go horribly wrong, a million ways it could go horribly right, and he was sure to drive himself mad by trying to analyze each one. Instead, he resolved to enjoy this moment for what it was and hope that Angel still felt the same in the morning.

A much less complicated but equally concerning matter forced its way back into his mind: their run-in with Enrico. This conversation ain’t finished, he’d said. That was a threat if Alastor had ever heard one. Now that he knew, more or less, what had become of Angel, he was sure to be plotting some way of ruining it for him and bringing him back under the Dellarosa family’s control. Well, Alastor simply wouldn’t have that. Enrico might be intelligent, he might be strategic, he might be powerful, but the bottom line was that his spite was no match for Alastor’s affection or Angel’s passion.

Still, the sooner they neutralized him, the better.

[fenharel-archived]

Bless me with your OTP!

i was tagged by @lelibela and @noonvvraith, thank you! :D i’ll tag: @thalasians @bleden-mark @lelianasgf @rkyloren @cataclysmic-shadows @arlathen

Avallac’h & Deithwen - The Witcher

How did they first meet?

Although they had heard about each other before, they didn’t meet until they both qualified to study with the Aen Saevherne. They were both, at least for elven standarts pretty young, and Deithwen approched him while he was outside doing botany sketches, telling him she wanted to work with him and that it would be “beneficial for the both of them if they want to keep up with their tasks” lol. She promptly told him everything that was wrong about his sketches, what he needed to improve on, and that she found out what all the other tasks they had to do that month were. Avallac’h thought she was joking, but he agreed anyway. Imagine two kids, their noses somewhere in the air, way too arrogant (especially for their age) finding someone who actually seems to be able to keep up with the other, shaking their hands à la “hello, fellow nerd” skdjjfhskjdhfksdffgdh

Were they immediately interested / attracted, or did that come later?

No they weren’t interested, not romantically at least. They were “just” Science buddies in their little creep labs for the majority of their time together (~100 years of that before they fell for each other), honestly . Although, they always were drawn to each others minds the sapiosexuals at it again and there was always a part of them who always felt something for the other, they never pursued anything beyond the relationship they already had. Deithwen always thought he was intelligent and charming, but that was just a fact to her, just like it was a fact to him that she was beautiful and capable. It wasn’t until some time after Lara Dorrens death had passed, and they met each other again after a long time of going their own ways, that they saw each other through completely different eyes.

What did they think of each other at first?

Avallac’h thought she was extremely bossy, in fact, it was widely known rumor he heard from a friend at the time that she was extremely bossy and full of herself, and above all: insufferable. And when he first met her he thought: Yep. All true. However, he is way to smart and independent to get bossed around by anyone, and he stayed anyway. No one ever mentioned how capable she was. Or, even though she was impatient and a quick-thinker, how willing to listen and learn. How ambitious and kind and cunning. He respected her for that. Deithwen had watched him for a while before approaching him, she thought he was quite mysterious. He was just Crevan then, but he already lived up to his reputation of “The Fox”, she thought, but the one thing she knew for certain was that he knew what he was doing. Back then all she cared about was knowledge and the elder blood, and she knew they had that in common.

Do they fight often? If so, what is their dynamic like?

They don’t fight often, if at all. Sure, there can be disagreements, but they know each other long enough to know that she isn’t blunt because she wants to hurt him, and that he isn’t mysterious because he doesn’t trust her. Once though, they didn’t talk to each other for a while afterwards, it was nasty. Avallac’h catched her testing his loyality and love to her because she wasn’t sure if he was over Lara. He, after watching this happen for a while, exploded, and she, absolutely not understanding what all this fuss was about, laughed and continued to trample all over his feelings. It was bad, that they didn’t set their home on fire was honestly a surprise to both of them.

What their first kiss is like?

Much more... brazen and passionate than both of them imagined? She waited for him to initiate it, not because she wouldn’t have wanted to, but to see if he really wanted her, and then she took over, knocking over wine and food and a paddle of their boat they were on. It was like years and years of pend up emotions washing over them. It took them quite a while for this to happen though, and I’m only talking about the time where they actually courted each other.

Who is the most brutal of the two?

Lmao, I wouldn’t call either of them brutal tbh, at least not in the classical sense? Both of them like the dance, the manipulation, the knive in the back. But Deithwen shows less remorse and can me more hotheaded than Avallac’h tbh, so maybe her.

What would they do if the other was injured in battle?

Panic on the inside, be calm on the outside? Avallac’h already lost someone he loved once, he can’t lose anyone again. And Avallac’h is the only person Deithwen truly loves, and he’s probably the only person that truly loves her, so she’ll set anyone on fire to keep him save.

Who would be most likely to suggest a night of dancing?

Avallac’h...... he’s a romantic at heart

How do their fighting styles complement each other?

They are both strategists, in that sense they are pretty similar. They both like to stand infront of a map and plan, instead of fighting themselves. But when they do, their biggest advantage is that they know each other inside and out, they know what the other is going to do even if they weren’t prepared, so they are still always a step ahead.

Do they want children? Does it frighten them? How many do they want?

It never frightened them, in fact they were incredibly happy when Deithwen found out she was pregnant with their daughter: Elaine. It felt almost like a miracle really, for elves their age getting pregnant at all. Avallac’h always wanted a child, a true sage at heart, he knew his children would be powerful, things changed a bit when he truly fell for Deithwen though, it wasn’t all about the science anymore. Deithwen, although never really dreaming about being a mother, always thought fondly of children. She always liked the idea of passing on everything she had learned and everything she had gained through her successes, like giving it all a deeper meaning.

What happened when they took them home to their families? If their families aren’t in the picture anymore, how do they feel about it?

They are both Sages, respected by everyone, their families couldn’t be happier lmfao. Avallac’h had her family charmed from the beginning beyond that, Deithwen needed a tiny bit more time with his family, they had seen their son heartbroken once, so they were a bit protective at first. lol

How does each person show affection towards the other?

Avallac’h knows all she truly wants is his attention, so that’s exactly what he gives her. He also shows it through acts of services, he has painted her countless of times and he likes to shower her in compliments, and they are never a lie. Deithwen listens, and likes to stroke his hair. Or shower him in gifts. She is also really sensual, at least sensual enough so to be worth mentioning, compared to other Aen Elle their age.

Who cries the most? Who is better at comforting?

They both aren’t criers, both of them being rather private with their true emotions. Avallac’h is generally a bit better at being in control even if they are alone and he is also better at comforting her. He knows by now that she usually just wants to be held, even if it doesn't appear that way. To Deithwen, comforting others was never her strong suit at all and it probably never will be, but she loves him, so she kisses him and strokes his tears away while promising revenge upon whoever or whatever made him upset, because that she knows how to do.

Who is the bigger flirt?

Deithwen. Avallac’h certainly is a flirt, but it’s a bit different with Deithwen, she loves it, she loves the reactions she gets, she loves the way it makes him look at her, she loves whenever she sees that he needs to compose himself because of her and she always uses everything at her disposal.

[gem-quest]

[ M O R N I N G S T A R . . . ]

Real Name: [Mary Michaels]

Age: 17

FC: Yana Shmaylova

Species & Class: half-elven mage-knight [half-elven healer]

Guild: Obsidian

"Who are these like stars appearing these before God's throne who stand? Each a golden crown is wearing; who are all this glorious band?" - 1719 hymn

Description of In-Game Powers: It frustrates her to no end, how paltry her strength is even in a world of fantasy. Morningstar had jumped into Gem Quest so quickly and frantically that she picked her attributes by some fallible combination of instinct and random misfortune, and thus she first found herself in the game as a healer. A weasely, timid mouse of a creature, who could only stand on the sidelines and wait to help others, which only fueled the rage that sent her into the game in the first place. There is very little she can actually do, in terms of magical abilities. She can brew elixirs to heal and potions to strengthen. Her presence is calming, soothing, and her touch can put others at ease. Herbs and flowers blossom at her touch. She is nothing save a tool for others to use on their quests, a pretty gardener who makes the flowers grow.

But soon, she realized she could put these skills to other uses.

She sought out potioneering texts, bribed and bartered and threatened her way into sanctums of learning to glean knowledge of how to brew potions which would make her stronger, faster, more agile, better with weapons and armor. She discovered formulae that let her trap magical energy in her bottles, storing others' offensive spells for her own benefit. Her calming presence could be used to lure her enemies into a sense of ease. She cycled through weapons and armor until she found something that fit her hands at first--not potion alleviated how awful she was at swords, and staves and knives lack panache, but when she took the scythe from a knight she killed, she felt an immediate connection to the weapon. Maybe it was how icily pretty it looked. Maybe it was how dramatic the sheer fact of carrying around a scythe was. Maybe it was how she felt when she swung it, like she could cleave the earth in two.

She can now fight as a mage-knight, a fearsome one who taunts non-believers with the lightness of her lacy dresses and flower crowns before she razes them. Her name is Morningstar, and her name is feared--so long as no one finds out the true reason for the scores of vials in her inventory, so long as she can find victims for her magic theft, so long as she takes the potions every day to keep the shaking and the migraines down, so long as they never see her break.

And rest assured--she will never break. 

Place of Birth: [Burnettesville, Indiana]

Appearance: Small, willowy, with paper-white skin, eyes the color of tarnished metal, and hair shining like pale gold. She always wears long white dresses which flow in the wind and a crown of red flowers and berries. Except for her hair and her clothing, Morningstar looks much as she did in life. She can't get rid of her old face through her potions, no matter how many times she tries. She would have to leave the game to make a new character for that, and she--

She can't go back home. Not after all that.

Places most likely to be found in the game: Her base is a grotto in the Descend, where she brews the potions that let her maintain her illusion. The Euphoria helps dull the near-constant headaches and shakiness she experiences from using strength and speed potions so often. She can also be found walking through the alleys of the City of Magic and training in the Valley of Monsters, with a ferocity that borders on obsession. 

Current Inventory:

Crystal scythe x1

Iron knives x3

Fresh apples x5

Silver dust x2

Throttle dust x3

Medi-elixir x1

Ictuium x3

Dusting x1

[Second page inventory:

 Silver cauldron x1

Pewter cauldron x1

Mortar and pestle x1

Pruning knife x2

Firewood x6

Flint and steel x1

De Artibus Virtutis x1 (c-level scroll about combat potions)

De Potestate x1 (b-level scroll about potions that can manipulate XP and magical abilities)

Fortissime Potion x21 (c-level strength potion)

Celerrime Potion x21 (c-level speed and agility potion)

Vampira Acuta x16 (b-level potion that steals and stores the spells of others)

A plethora of potion ingredients, including a jar of what looks like fresh bone dust.]

Strongest Character Trait: Determination

"Brightest and best of the stars of the morning Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid." - 1811 hymn

Strengths: Morningstar is almost frighteningly single-minded. When she decides to do something, she will stand by it until the bitter end. She can be highly strategic and plans for the long run. With regards to her in-game abilities, she might not be willing to admit to it on most days, but she's currently one of the most experienced potioneers and healers in Gem Quest. Given proper time and resources, she can heal just about any injury on herself.

Weaknesses: She is fueled partially by resentment, anger, and desperation, partially by vanity and pride. Her loyalties lie with no one except herself, and even then, she sometimes seems like she's working against her own interests. She is self-destructive to the extreme. She rarely makes friends and even more rarely keeps them, and she lies out of habit, having kept so much of herself secret in life that she cannot help but do it in the game. Despite her capacity for careful strategy, she is often rash and impulsive with her own safety. She is reckless, belligerent, and often destructive. Many of her own Guild fear and resent her, some tolerate her, but none actually like her, and she is more than content with that.

Aside from her abrasive personality, she is simply not the best combatant the game. Gem Quest is the game of its type she's ever played, and it took her ages to get used to the commands for actions as simple as accessing her inventory. Moreover, no matter how many potions she takes, she will never have the full abilities of a mage-knight. Her strength is dependent on her regularly taking potions which were never meant for long term use, and her combative magical abilities are essentially the fragments of spells stolen from the players she defeats in battle.

Player Stats: All of Morningstar's stats factor in the impact of her strength and speed potions (which also, due to aggressive and repeated use, have started to negatively impact her luck). The numbers have drastically warped from her original stats as a healer. 

STRENGTH: 6

DEFENCE: 5

CHARISMA: 6

PSYCHE: 4

WILLPOWER: 9

CAUTIOUSNESS: 3

AGILITY: 4

ENDURANCE: 3

INTELLIGENCE: 7

LUCK: 2

Personality: A proud and fiercely bitter young woman who has absolutely nothing to lose--is there anyone else more glorious? is there anything else more dangerous?

"Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven." - John Milton, Paradise Lost

Biography: 

Her name is Morningstar.

She has no other name. She picked it for a reason, you know, and the reason is so that she will never be forgotten. She relishes how it resounds with all the gibberish fear of long-dead saints clutching at their unbeating hearts. She relishes its incongruity.

Morningstar knows how people see her. From when she was young, from before she was trapped, or freed, inside a world of lost children with pointy objects, she's always been seen as the pretty one, the dainty one, the little china teacup, so easily broken--and if you have ever thought that about her with that exact metaphor, as a china doll, or a china teacup, or as some other breakable thing with a foreign name. She knows how people saw her back in the town that is no longer her home, a tiny place on a map surrounded by potato farms with a grand population total of 1,346. 

Morningstar is fearsome, somewhere between an angel and a monster. Mary Michaels--was the preacher's daughter. A good girl, a dutiful daughter to her parents, a dutiful sister to her parents' son, pretty as a picture and quiet as one, inoffensive as a still life of pristine white roses. Look at that girl. So pretty. So quiet and composed, all dressed in pastel A-line dresses, strand of pearls like a chain at her neck. Her father is a holy man, which almost makes up for the fact that he married a woman who isn't white, and she knows she's lucky, because she grew up in America, the land of freedom and opportunity and God, and she never knew the sin of a motherland that wasn't God's own country.

What a good girl. Her parents must have read her the Good Book for her bedtime stories.

Which they did. They read her the parables and psalms throughout elementary school, the gospels throughout middle school, and Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained when they thought her mature enough to see something a little darker. She remembers reading Paradise Lost and feeling stunned--at the idea of a rebellion against God, that God could be so fallible. She remembers her mouth going dry and clumsy when she read about the serpent's seduction of Eve, and how the rebel angel loved something that he should not have loved. She saw it in her mind's eye, Morningstar, Light-Bearer, watching and loving the first woman from the branches of the trees, rising up against the heavens themselves, and she thought with a start that Lucifer should have been a woman, and she looked down at her own hands and wept. There was nothing else that she could do. Everyone thought that she was too pretty and quiet, too frighteningly dainty to even think of thinking against her parents' wishes, and back in that little town of 1,346, where everyone went to church and believed so much in damnation, they were right. 

She read Paradise Lost when she was thirteen, and she's known since then that she would go to hell. But it wasn't until her seventeenth birthday that she knew that she deserved it, that she was rotten with sin, down to her core, because that was the day Emily moved away. She knew she would never be free from sin, but she had never wanted to hurt Emily, who was beautiful and kind and wholly good, who made her laugh and never, ever screamed at her when she said she didn't believe in any God. Emily, who was so different from the other girls in her school, who had been her best friend for as long as she could remember--

--who had to move to a city hundreds of miles away because someone saw the two of them kissing in the bathrooms, and the next day, Emily's locker was covered in graffiti and the homeowners' association kicked her family out of their neighborhood, because that seventeen-year-old girl with frizzy hair and stars in her honeyed eyes was the devil, the devil for corrupting the preacher's daughter.

And on the day Emily moved away, Mary was called to the principal's office, and her father the preacher was in there waiting for her, thunderously, hideously angry.

He sent her home to wait for him. When she got home, her mother and brother wouldn't look her in the eyes. She knew something was about to happen to her, something she did not want to endure, and though she knew that such wanting made her disobedient and even more rotten, she ran upstairs and locked herself into her brother's room, which had a door that locked from the inside, unlike hers. He had a VR headset, running some game called Gem Quest. Emily had liked that game too. She tried to get Mary to play it with her before--

None of that matters anymore. What matters is that Morningstar is here, and she doesn't know any Mary Michaels. No, more than that, Morningstar hates the girl that was Mary, so quiet she was afraid to stand up for the only other girl who understood her, who might have seen stars in her eyes in return, so quiet that her only rebellion in seventeen years had been sneaking into her brother's room and running away from everything she ever knew, wanting to be anyone, anything other than Mary.

When the announcement came, she thought for moment that she might believe in God after all. She doesn't want to leave the Guilds. She can't. It would be the cruelest of cruelties, to make her go back, returning to a family who are wanting to beat the sin from her, to a life of endless A-line dresses and pearl necklaces at church socials, of no future outside of hating her parents and herself and the people she loves and the people she'll be forced to love, a future of nothing? She can't leave. If Obsidian wins and they try to make her leave with the victors, she will slice them down with her own hands. She can't leave from here. There are dragons here, and swords and scythes. She can have power here. She can scream and shout and love and destroy. She can call herself the Morningstar and rise up against Heaven. Lucifer is a woman, and Lucifer will win.

Her name is Morningstar. She knows no other name.

Relationships:

ENTHRONED

INFERNA

Playlist:

"Ophelia" by Marika Hackman

“Born to Die” by Lana Del Rey (Woodkid and the Shoes Remix)

"Hope in the Air" by Laura Marling

"Delilah" by Florence and the Machine

"Devil Inside" by London Grammar (INXS cover)

"Chasing Twisters" by Delta Rae

"The One That Got Away" by The Civil Wars

"home with you" by FKA twigs

"We Have It All" by Pim Stones

"So Human of You" by Shireen

[ti-bae-rius]

First Words - Jessa baby fic

So @cordeliashunts requested a Jessa baby fic (I think? Oh god now I’m concerned it was Jemma. Either way...) and so I decided to write it - with a touch of Kitty because, of course. I’m also using these as a little warm-up to my full-length fic so thanks for the request! Click read more for the fic!

Kit had always been an only child. Then again, he’d always been a mundane - or so he thought. For a long time, when he was little, he’d longed for a baby brother. Then when he got older, when the reality of life - with all its demons and Shadow Market scams and danger - fully hit him, like a freight train or a hundred tonnes of bricks, he realised the truth; there was no way he’d want a sibling to be born into this hell-hole of a world. There was no way he’d have been able to give his imaginary brother a good life, what with his dad entertaining clients and summoning demons in the lounge. No infant should be in a house with potion dealers and pentagrams. And just like that, in a puff of smoke like a dust cloud from one of his dad’s old books, his dream of a little brother was gone. It was selfish, he knew, but he’d liked the idea of a companion, someone to be there so he wasn’t alone hiding in the basements when shady people came by the house to collect something. He wanted someone to talk to, to confide in, to teach. He wanted someone who knew how it felt, the mystery and magic and misery. Who he loved, and who loved him. And then there had been someone. There had been someone to hide with and who made him feel brave enough not to hide. Someone who he could talk to and confide in and teach, who did all those things back. Someone who knew how all of it felt. Who he loved. 

And who didn’t love him.

Kit rolled over in bed, sick of waking up thinking of Ty Blackthorn. I love you, I love you, I love you. His hands tightened on the bedding. Still, after just over a year, he was mortified. Embarrassment jabbed at his sides as he read, shook him awake in the dead of night, shoved thoughts out of his brain as he tried to work and filling his head instead with ‘I love you’. He heaved a sigh and shifted onto his back, staring up at the ceiling of his room in Devon. England was pretty - if drizzly and grey - especially when he could see the coast and hear the seagulls from his room. The beach reminded him of Los Angeles, which reminded him of Ty. What didn’t? The local accents reminded him of Sherlock Holmes, which reminded him of Ty. The paring knife in the kitchen drawer reminded him of throwing knives, which reminded him of Ty. Boys with black hair were a no-go, Tessa’s grey eyes ached to look at, and any animal in the world was a punch in the stomach. Ty was in every single part of his life.

Except for her.

Kit heard a gurgling yawn from across the hall and swung his legs out of bed, padding across the corridor to her room and putting his head around the door. She sat up in her crib and reached chubby starfish hands out to him. Even in his daydreams as a little boy, he’d never imagined a baby sister. 

“Hey, Cecy. Hi.”

Cecilia, his little sister, was Kit’s world. Her name was a twist on Will’s sister’s name, Cecily. Though not technically his sibling - she was Tessa and Jem’s daughter - she had always been his sister. Even before she was born, Tessa and Jem used to talk to the baby in Tessa’s stomach about her ‘big brother, Kit’. He heard the tell-tale pad of paws on the wooden floor and turned to see Church jump up and settle on the chair by Cecilia’s cot where Tessa and Jem sat to read to her. Sometimes, when Kit couldn’t sleep, he’d sit there and just watch her, a perfect little human with edges rounded by baby fat and rosy cheeks and tiny little fingernails so small they looked like pink flower petals. Her eyes were like Jem’s, dark and searching, but her tufts of brown hair were all Tessa. Kit couldn’t believe she was real, couldn’t believe he was part of their family. A proper family. 

Church yowled and Kit snapped back to reality.

“I’m already here, you miserable -” He stopped short of swearing at the cat, but only just. Partially for Cecilia’s sake, but partially because it always had a funny way of getting back to Jem. “Snitches get stitches,” Kit hissed at Church, who rolled boredly onto his back with his legs in the air, doing his best impression of being dead. Every morning, if Kit wasn’t awake when Cecilia stirred, Church would sit at the end of Kit’s bed and meow relentlessly until Kit got up, then follow him to make sure he was spoiling her sufficient amounts. And Kit was. He personally believed Cecilia would be a nightmare when she got older, with her parents and Kit doting on her every waking minute.

Kit scooped Cecilia into his arms and held her against his hip as he went downstairs to the kitchen. Tessa and Jem were asleep and Kit was unwilling to wake them. They were up all hours for night feeds and general parental duties. Now she was on formula milk, Kit was more than happy to make up her bottle and let them sleep. It also meant Kit could rant to her. Babies were surprisingly good listeners. Cecilia would babble incoherently along, and Kit appreciated the fact she’d taken on the role of his personal sounding board expertly. 

“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Kit said now, pouring the cooled water into the bottle and scooping in the formula powder. He tapped the base of the bottle on the counter with more force than was probably necessary in frustration. “It’s like he’s everywhere. The beach; Ty. The garden; Ty. The caves...”

“Ty.”

“Exa-” Kit broke off, frozen. He eventually turned to stare at Cecilia in her high chair. “W-what did you say, Cecy?”

“Ty!” She giggled happily.

Kit dropped the bottle he was holding and only noticed when Cecilia wailed in indignation and put grabbing hands out for it, fists opening and closing. Like Ty’s did when he was anxious, Kit thought, then cursed himself. Now was not the time. 

“No no no...” Kit muttered, picking the bottle up from where it had rolled across the floor. He rinsed off the teat of the bottle and dried it on the bottom of his shirt absently, placing it into his sister’s grabbing hands. Kit still felt shell-shocked and stared into space as he sat down on the sofa. His baby sister had just said her first word and it wasn’t ‘mama’, or ‘dada’, or even his name. It was Ty. She’d heard the name so much that the first thing she’d ever said was ‘Ty’. All that time he spent venting to her, he hadn’t realised she’d been taking it all in. He hadn’t thought she’d say his name, at least not before anything else. This was a nightmare. What explanation could he possibly give Jem and Tessa for this? They’d be heartbroken. They’d also be suspicious. What kind of weirdo monologues to an actual infant about his pathetic, unrequited...something. Not crush. He couldn’t say crush. That made it too real. All those feelings he’d had when he saw Ty - his stomach fluttering, his heart flipping and other more embarrassing things - became something dangerous and frightening when he thought of them as symptoms of a crush. If Cecilia said Ty’s name in front of Jem and Tessa, the jig would be up. They’d know. They’d tell people. That’s what you did when your child said their first word, right? They’d probably tell Helen and Aline since they’d just started the process of having a baby of their own. What if they told Helen? What if they told Helen and Helen told Ty? Then he’d know. He’d know, if he didn’t already, that Kit’s ‘I love you’ had been more than friend caring for his friend, more than a brotherly show of affection. He’d know - they’d all know - Kit’s secret, and it was all his own fault. 

He looked across at Cecilia. If she understood him enough to say Ty’s name, then maybe...

“Cecy,” he said, kneeling down beside her high chair. Her rosebud lips puckered around the tip of the bottle and she smacked them happily. “Cecy, please. Please say something else. Mama, Papa, okay? Anything. Not...not that. I...” He could feel his voice starting to splinter and sniffed hard. “I love him, Cecy. And no one can know. No one but you. Please, Cecy.”

Cecilia’s eyelashes were so long as she looked down at her brother that they cast shadows across her chubby cheeks. She reached down and wrapped her whole hand around Kit’s thumb. Kit smiled up at her, seeing his own face reflected in her dark eyes, and hoped to God she understood him. 

“Morning, you two,” Tessa said, coming into the room and tying the belt of Jem’s old dressing gown over her nightdress. “Church has stolen my spot in bed. I’m sure that cat is gunning for my place as Jem’s wife,” she laughed, lifting Cecilia into her arms, beaming. “How are you sweetheart? Have you been keeping Kit company? Smile for Mama.”

“Mama,” Cecilia repeated and Tessa gasped. Kit too feigned something like shock as he straightened up to look at his sister. She was a tiny genius.

“Did you hear that?” Tessa half-squealed at Kit. It was so unlike the composed and sensible Tessa he’d come to know that it was almost funny. “She said her first word! Come on, Cecy. Let’s go and show Dada. Say it again, sweetheart. Say ‘Mama’.”

Kit sunk onto the sofa in relief. His secret was safe. One day, he’d repay her for this, tell her this story with a smile and a ‘thank you’. For now, he’d shower her with kisses and love - as he always would - and hope she kept her unspoken promise. 

[smoochcal]

numb without you (part eight)

a/n: thank you so much for constantly supporting my writing!! A big thank you as always to miss el because she is the main inspiration behind the entire fic. please tell your friends about this series if you have liked it and remember please try your best to get this update to 20 notes so I can post the next update :) please inbox me any suggestions or comments or questions you have regarding this part of numb without you (read part seven here)

pairing: readerxluke

word count: 1.7 k

playlist: numb without you by the maine, sink or swim by lewis watson

summary: calum comes over to check in on you, you feel something strange, luke calls to check up on you

rating: PG-13

warnings: swearing, mentions of being conflicted

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

Y/N’s POV:

Well, Calum kept his word. At 6pm on the dot he came over to see the bump his child was slowly but surely growing inside. You were exhausted from work and you barely had the energy to go to and answer the door to allow Calum in, but you did it anyway. The minute you sat back down on your couch; you had the brilliant idea of giving Calum the spare key you kept in your kitchen drawer under the knives.

“Hey Cal, could you get something from the kitchen for me?” you ask him ever so innocently as you just got comfortable sitting down.

“Sure,” he says getting up from his spot next to you, being the wonderful knight in shining armor you could use right about now. “What exactly am I looking for” he asks, rummaging aimlessly through your various kitchen drawers.

“It’s in the drawer to the right of the stove under the knife organizer,” you respond, hoping he finds what you want him to find without you having to blatantly say it.

“Is it this key with the dogs all over it?” he asks, putting the knife organizer down and closing the drawer.

“Yep,” you reply shortly, trying not to make this conversation as awkward as it is trying to be.

He walks back over to the couch you are sitting on, holding the key in his hand. “And what exactly does this key do?” he asks you quizzically.

“It’s a key to my place. Tired of opening the door for you,” you mumble sheepishly.

“Oh….” he says, not sure how to take this.

“Don’t make it weird,” you remind him as he sits down next to you.

He nods, his eyes slowly moving from your own eyes to your abdomen. You know he is looking at the small bump that has appeared over the past couple of days, but it still feels weird having him look at you in that kind of a way. You know you shouldn’t feel weird about it, you are in fact carrying his child, but it’s weird nonetheless.

You were 16 weeks as of yesterday, which still seemed insane to wrap your head around. There’s still a lot you need to do in the five months leading up to the baby’s arrival. That part kind of stresses you out but you also have to remember that five months is a long time and you will have more than enough time to get everything done. Now that you’re showing you should probably mention to your employer that you will need maternity leave a few months from now. You obviously are kind of lost in your own thoughts and the only thing that brings you out of the abyss of your own mind is Calum asking you a question.

“What was that?” you ask, obviously not paying attention to what Calum just said to you.

“Would it be weird if I put my hand on your stomach?” he asks again, blushing slightly from the awkwardness of the conversation.

“Sure,” you start, “Luke did that yesterday...” you continue.

“Oh…” Calum says and he slowly places one of his rather large hands on the small bump.

You smile at him, hoping he didn’t take your comment about Luke the wrong way. You know Calum is the father of this baby, but the feelings you have for Luke still bubble over a little bit from time to time. You’re glad you have both of them being a big part in the baby’s life, but you know deep down that you will never have a romantic connection with Calum like you do with Luke. Or at least that you hope to have with Luke sometime in the near future.

You feel a weird moving sensation when Calum rubs your stomach ever so slightly, which caused you to jolt a bit. Calum gives you a weird look and slowly takes his hand off your bump.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, worried that he did something that made you feel uncomfortable.

“Nothing,” you assure him, settling back down into the couch.

You know it was probably wrong to keep Calum in the dark about things, especially about the pregnancy and his child, but you did not want to worry him any sooner than you had to. You did not know exactly what was going on, but you did not want to worry Calum before you knew exactly what was going on. It was just a small movement in your abdomen, but it could be serious.

The two of you sit together for a while, his hand on your stomach and you cautiously watching him hoping that strange feeling doesn’t come back anytime soon. You guys engage in some small talk, asking each other random questions to make the time go quicker. He stays for about two hours, thanking you for the house key and reminding you that he will go to the next doctor’s appointment the two of you have scheduled in a couple weeks. This is the appointment that you will hopefully finding out the gender of your baby, which excited the both of you. You were sure that the two of you were going to have a boy, but Calum was sure that you were going to have a girl. You really do not care either way, blessed that you are going to have this baby in general.

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

~later that evening~

Y/N’s POV:

After about an hour of google searching whatever the fuck happened earlier in regard to that strange feeling you had in your stomach earlier when Calum was over, you finally figured out what happened. Apparently, it is called fluttering, the first movement that a mother can feel from her unborn child. After looking up multiple parenting websites and comparing the things they were all saying you felt a lot better about what you were feeling earlier. But after you fully comprehended what was going on, you felt yourself start to cry. You hated how emotional this pregnancy was making you, but you know that it only means that you are a normal human being that is carrying another normal human being. So, you allow yourself to cry, the warm tears spill over quickly making a small puddle on the blanket on top of your lap.

You place your hand on your stomach, trying to calm down for the sake of the little miracle growing inside of you. You focus on taking a couple deep breaths, not wanting your negative emotions and their repercussions to impact you anymore. Just as you took in your fifth deep breath, you felt that weird fluttering feeling again. You smile, laying down to try to relax yourself into your sleep. Your emotions overwhelm you once again as you feel your tears spill over again. This is practically a normal occurrence at this point, which means you should be used to it, but you really aren’t. Not yet at least. You decide to not fight it anymore and you allow the tears to fall and fall and fall some more.

Just then you get a phone call from none other than Luke himself, the one person you were trying to keep OFF your mind. You decide to let it ring for a few more moments as you try to compose yourself the best you can before you answer his call. On the last ring you pick your phone up and answer it.

“Hello?” you say, hoping that the quiver in your voice is gone.

“Hey, sorry it’s late, just wanted to check up on you…” Luke starts.

“No, you’re fine I’m still up,” you respond.

“Okay, good. I know that Calum stopped by to check in like he said he did but we both know he sucks at communicating with others, especially these days, so I wanted to make sure that everything was going good with you…and the baby,” Luke rambles, obviously showing his soft spot for you.

“Yeah uh everything is good, Luke,” you start, “…actually when Calum was over earlier I think I was feeling something called fluttering…have you heard of it?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Luke says, obviously smiling at your excitement and the fact that you are sharing something so personal with him.

“Basically, it is the beginning of the baby moving inside of me which sounds a lot grosser than I meant for it to sound. Since this started today that means that soon I can feel the baby kick and then you and Calum will be able to feel the baby kick too and today was the official sixteen week mark meaning that at the next appointment that I have Calum and I will find out the gender of the baby which is super exciting and shit I’m rambling, aren’t I?” you go on and on until you finally catch yourself talking too much and decide to shut up.

Luke laughs, loving the way that you can go on and on about something that you are obviously so excited about.

“That’s great, Y/N,” Luke replies, obviously happy for you and Calum both, “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow when we go get ice cream.”

“We’re getting ice cream?” you inquire, a little confused.

“Yep,” Luke says a matter of factly, “I’m picking you up at 4pm and we are going to go to as many ice cream shops in the area until you can’t eat anymore.”

“Sounds wonderful, Luke,” you conclude.

The two of you talk for about another hour until you both decide that it is very late, and you should probably go to sleep. You fall asleep with a huge smile on your face, but you can’t help but feel a little guilty that Luke is the cause for that smile and not Calum or even your unborn child that you already adore so much. But at the end of the day you really can’t help it. Luke is the first person you think of when you wake up and the last person on your mind when you finally fall asleep. It’s him and you’re pretty sure it always has been.

[svccbus]

CHALLENGE 002,  compose or share the scariest ( long or short ) story you’ve written

so this is a drabble that i wrote long ago and it’s just. pure gorey madness. i have no idea what came over me when i wrote this, but yeah! this is a character that is hired to kill people and this target spills blood on his designer clothes and he goes absolutely insane. 

 tw for murder, knives, blood, gore, drugs.

The man coughs and a smile spreads through Mitch’s lips. He crosses his lithe arms in front of his chest and watches as his targets struggles to breathe. 

“I said before,” He says almost sweetly. “Pick your poison of choice. You thought it was a figure of speech, didn't you?” 

His target eyes the glass of wine that sits neatly in the coffee table and his mouth falls agape, shock twisting the ordinary features of his face. “You poisoned me?” He shrieks and Mitch frowns. 

“It is true what they said that you’re not very smart.” The boy sighs and looks down as if talking to a child. “Of course I poisoned you, my darling. That’s what I was paid to do.” 

“Paid--” He heaved. What was his name again? Mark? Matthew? “By who?”

“Well isn’t it cliché if I tell you all my plans?” Mitch replies. “And chances are, you know by who. I never killed a person that didn’t know why they were being killed.”

Mark becomes very silent despite of his hard breathing and Mitch smiles in approval, rising from his seat and connecting his phone to some speakers. “Do you mind music?” He asks but quickly adds. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You will be dead very soon and the opinions of the dead are irrelevant.”

“And you plan on listening to music while watching me die?” The accusatory bloodshot eyes were on him again and Mitch simply shrugs. 

“Well I do have to be sure you’re dead. Plus, I need to dump your body somewhere too. I’m just trying to entertain myself meanwhile.”

Mitch wonders if he could shock Matthew even further in this short span of time that he has left. He is definitely not a fun target per se. Poisoning him was so easy it’s almost laughable, but his apparent naivety now that he is dying is quite amusing. It’s almost a shame that he will soon lose the ability to speak. Waiting for them to die is always terribly boring and he almost always ends up online shopping for things that he doesn’t even need. 

The man falls from the couch and Mitch rolls his eyes and steps closer. “Come on, now, don’t go staining my carpet.” He says and he is being friendly. He is reaching for Martin to help him out of the floor when he - the ungrateful little thing - raises his head to spit blood in Mitch’s direction. 

It doesn’t reach anywhere near his face which truly, would make Mitch less upset. He draws a shaky breath as if he was poisoned himself and he looks down. Blood was dotting against his sweater and the pale skinny jeans he was wearing. His hands are shivering when he reaches down to hold the fabric between his fingers and his eyes immediately fill with hot, angry tears. 

“Do you… Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?” He whispers, dropping the sweater. His eyes are black and shiny and a tear slips through his cheek. His target looks at him with more fear than he’s done the whole night and Mitch drops to his knees next to him, cradling his head to his lap and trailing his fingers through the man’s oily hair. 

“Oh honey,” He murmurs almost sweetly and more tears fall from his eyes. “You don’t, don’t you?” Mitch sighs heavily. “This… What you just stained is designer. Not only that, but it’s sold out. It means I can’t buy another one just because you ruined it.” His fingers tighten on Mark’s hair until he’s whining quietly. “This also means, my darling, that you are a fucking ungrateful little bitch.” He yanks the man’s hair now, making him yell in pain. His thumb reaches the blood dotted mouth of his target’s and he smears it until his lips and his chin are painted red. “I would let you die mercifully. I would let you die with almost no pain.” His voice becomes gradually louder. “And THIS is how you thank me?” Mitch shakes the fabric in front of the man’s eyes and with another violent tug in his hair, he crushes his head away from his lap and against the hard floor. 

Mitch sighs and sniffs, shakily dabbing his tears on his sleeves. It doesn’t matter anymore. His sweater is ruined no matter how much he loves it. He could possibly find a knock off but he doesn’t wear knock offs. He deserves nothing but the best. He will definitely charge extra because of this little accident. 

He raises from where he is kneeled and reaches for a drawer on his tv rack, retrieving a rope. Again, it’s not there for this kind of activity, but it will have to do for now. The heel of his boot dig into Matthew’s shoulder and the man cries which only makes Mitch steps harder on it. 

“Shut the fuck up!” He says and quickly works the rope around his target’s wrists in the most painful knot he can manage. Mitch wraps the rest of the rope around his hand and pulls on it, dragging the man through the living room and to the hallway. He only stops by the kitchen, drawing a knife from where it stands on the counter, resuming his journey soon after. He ignores the cries and yells and gasps of the man, satisfied to hear the flesh bumping against wood and concrete. It’s only when he hears the sound of glass rattling that he stops on his tracks, his heel now pressing to Martin’s temple. “I swear that if you ruin my furniture too I will make this even more painful.” 

Thankfully, nothing breaks by the time they get to the room. It reeks of chemicals and Mitch drops  the man on the cold tiles. His eyes are puffy and red and he is still sniffing which would make a heartbreaking scene if it wasn’t for the distinct sparkle in his eyes while he is holding a knife to his hand.

“You are such a fucking fool,” Mitch says, bottom lip trembling. “We didn’t need to get this violent. But you had to stain my clothes.” He is moving around in front of a counter and the man is heaving against the floor, staining it with his blood as another coughing fit shakes him. “There’s a reason why I use poison. It avoids all the messiness. You know, I value more my clothes than the image of your blood spilling everywhere, but now that my clothes are ruined…” Mitch swallows thickly and tears run through his cheeks again. “And you’re such a cheap target!” He cries, accusatory and upset, pointing the knife to Martin.  “What I’m wearing covers more than half of the paycheck I’m getting to kill you!” 

He sobs quietly before grabbing his lighter and his knife, stepping closer to the man who is also crying on the floor. It makes Mitch even angrier. What is he crying for? He has nothing to lose anymore. He was going to die anyway. Mitch has to live and he has to live without his beautiful clothes. Matthew is begging by now, his voice echoing in the most annoying way in the room and Mitch closes his eyes, too annoyed and too upset to endure this any longer. 

“Shut up!” And Martin doesn’t. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He repeats and repeats, the heel of his boot pressing against his target’s teeth and tongue until Mitch hears the satisfying sound of his jaw popping out of place. The man’s yell is muffled by the shoe on his mouth and Mitch finally smiles a little despite the tears on his face. 

“Now that this is taken care of,” Mitch sighs and he drops to the floor, straddling the man’s hips to keep him in place. “You can be a doll and listen to something.” He runs the tip of the knife through his abdomen, cutting the strings that tied the buttons to the fabric and spreading his shirt open. “In movies, they make it look so simple to cut through flesh. But let me show you,” Mitch then presses the tip of the knife to the skin of the man’s belly, but it draws only a bit of blood. “It’s actually not that easy. In fact, you need to put more strength to it, like this,” He raises the knife then and buries it now to the flesh of the man below him. A bit of blood bubbles up and stains the pale skin and Mitch smiles through his tears. “You saw that? Saw how much strength i need to put to break all of your disgusting tissues?” 

The man reply with muffled whines and Mitch frowns while looking at his glossy eyes. “You’re going in shock already?” He huffs. “You’re positively boring. I’ll be quicker then.” He retrieves the knife from where it sits on Mark’s stomach making blood raise to the surface.  “You could’ve been good.” He draws the knife and stabs him another time and another time. “But then again, I think that if you could be good you wouldn’t have people trying to kill you, would you?” His knife is up in the air again but he doesn’t stab the man. Instead, he runs his hand through the open wounds, smearing blood and scraping skin out of the edges of the cuts. Mitch tries to open it further with his hands and it works a little, making his chest swell with pride. “You wouldn’t be in bars, trying to slip drugs into pretty boys’ drinks, right? You wouldn’t leave them to wake up at a cheap hotel in the morning, would you?” He takes a deep breath now, running his knife up the man’s chest. “And if you were good, you wouldn’t stain the clothes of someone who offered you a death without much suffering, right?” Mitch takes a last look at his clothes before burying the knife on the man’s throat, just above his collarbones.

[theshapeshifter100]

Guess What? I’m Not a Robot RC Ch13

Chapter Warning: Nothing I can think of

Word count: 1,866

Masterlist

Previous

Next

8.30AM Thursday 11th November 2038

Paul, Nathan and Ivy got out of the van in a side street near the centre of Detroit, while the supplies team drove further into the city to find some bulk stores. Paul pulled his beanie lower down his face and teased out some red hair over his eyes. He hadn’t ignored Megan, and was going to make sure he didn’t take unnecessary risks.

It was early enough that the stores weren’t open, but late enough that people were trying to get to work. So no one really noticed as the trio walked through the shopping district all wrapped up against the cold.

The three of them split up in the scattered crowd and made their way to the shattered CyberLife store. That was their first stop, since it was easier to get into, given that it was definitely closed and if you removed the cardboard you could easily get in.

They staggered their entrances, Paul going first. The glass was completely shattered behind the cardboard, so it only took a little manoeuvring to get in.

Paul looked around a little while he waited for the other two to get in. The front at least was completely devoid of androids, that he could tell. The cardboard also blocked a lot of the light.

Ivy slipped in quickly, and the two waiting in silence for Nathan to stumble his way in.

“Do you have any grace?” Ivy hissed.

“Nope,” Nathan pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on. “It is creepy AF in here.”

“AF?” Ivy asked. “How old are you? No one’s used that since the 2010’s.”

“I think it sums up things quite well!” Nathan shot back, and Ivy rolled her eyes.

“Alright old man, let’s check out the back.”

The three of them spread across the back of the store, looking behind pedestals and moving aside computers.

Paul was the one who found it, the door was almost exactly the same shade as the rest of the wall. There was a keypad next to it, but the display was dark, so Paul gently pushed the door. To his surprise, it opened.

“Guys,” he hissed, “I’ve found something.”

Ivy and Nathan came over and Nathan shone his flashlight on the door.

“Did you hack that open?” he asked.

“No, the power must be completely out,” Paul guessed. “Let’s go.”

It was somewhere even darker in the back than it was at the front. Even with Nathan’s light Ivy stumbled into tables and metal shelves.

“Why is there so much shit back here?” she asked, irritated. “and why aren’t you two walking into it?”

“There really isn’t that much,” Paul responded, although he lacked night vision, so he couldn’t see much either.

“You’re just a magnet,” Nathan decided, sweeping his flashlight around. “See anything you need Paul?”

“Not yet,” the glimpse he got in Nathan’s flashlight was worrying, the place seemed to be empty.

“Ivy, can’t you use the torch on your phone?” Nathan asked. “We need all the light we can get.”

“Give me a minute, it’s buried under about three layers.”

“You found it that cold?” Paul asked.

“It was more for bullet protection,” Ivy admitted. “I know it wouldn’t have done much, but it was the best we had.”

“You’re all insane,” Paul declared. “You went to go liberate a military camp with layers instead of bullet proof vests, and the only weapons you had were rolling pins and kitchen knives.”

“I had a taser,” Nathan offered.

“You had the only taser,” Ivy corrected. “And Megan had that first.”

“And you all thought this was a good idea?” Paul asked.

“Dude, you’re one of us,” Ivy shrugged. “We weren’t going to leave you behind. Simple as that.”

“Even though,” Paul paused, not sure exactly where his train of thought was going. “Even though I never told you I was an android?”

“Doesn’t make a difference,” Nathan was also looking for his phone now. “You’re stuck with us, and frankly, we missed your level headedness.”

“Yeah, you’d have been the first person to tell us that we did was a dumb idea,” Ivy was smirking as she found her phone and turned on the flashlight. “But since you weren’t there to tell us how stupid we are, we had to cope.”

Something warm was blooming in Paul’s chest and he let out an uncomfortable cough as Nathan handed him the flashlight.

“Thanks,” he said, and it wasn’t just for the flashlight, “Just, er...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ivy brushed off. “Now, you know we’re looking for.”

“Right, yes,” the extra two flashlights made it a lot easier to see. “There’s not a lot here,” he realised.

The back room was tiny and didn’t seem to branch off anywhere. It was clearly set up to handle android repairs, metal tables, re-assembling and resetting machines were crammed into the space.

And not a single tool.

“There’s fuck all here,” Ivy clarified. “You said the stuff you needed was small, so unless we’re taking some of this apart...”

“We’re not,” Paul declared. “Nathan have you found anything?”

“There’s some blue blood bags in here,” the musician was crouched down by some open cupboards. “I don’t know how much we need.”

“Take all of it,” Ivy advised.

“There are other Cyberlife stores,” Paul started, but Ivy shook her head.

“There are, but they’ll probably be the same as this,” she sighed.

“Well, what other options do we have?” Nathan asked, filling his bag with pouches of Thirum.

“Android Zone,” Paul snapped his fingers as he remembered. “I had to get repaired at a branch once, they’re known for repairs and second hand androids.”

“Then why are we still here?” Ivy asked. “Let’s go!”

“I’m still filling my bag with blue blood here!” protested Nathan. “Give me a minute!”

9.30AM Thursday 11th November 2038

It took them a while to find an Android Zone, and when they did, it was closed.

“Did we expect them to be open?” Nathan asked, adjusting his now heavy backpack.

“Not really, it just makes things awkward,” Ivy sighed. “Paul, can you hack the security system? Then I’ll break a window.”

Paul looked at her despairingly. “How good do you think I am?”

“Pretty good, why?”

Paul looked through the glass in the door. “Because the alarm system is in there.”

“You can’t do it remotely?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so, and do you want to waste time for me finding out?”

“Alright, I break the window, then you deal with the security system.”

“You really want to break a window,” Nathan observed.

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it quickly,” Paul hissed. “Before we attract attention.”

Ivy took a moment to consider, before smashing the glass in the door with her forearm. The alarm instantly started shrieking as she shoved her arm through and fiddled with the door handle on the inside.

“Open, sesame!” she declared as the door clicked open.

Nathan was cursing as Paul shoved past, making a beeline for the security system. He reached the keypad and his skin retreated so he could deal with it. The pealing alarms shut off and Ivy and Nathan came in, shutting the door behind them.

The interior of the shop was similar to style to the Cyberlife Store, just smaller and with bright red and blue sale signs. The podiums where androids were sold and held were empty, much to Paul’s relief.

“Score!” Ivy was already clearing out the Thirium pouches on sale in the front.

“I’m going to head to the back,” Paul announced, and his memory told him roughly where it was. It was actually behind the counter to his right, so not the back at all. The point still stood.

The repair area back here took up what must have been half the building, and motion sensitive lighting flickered on as he entered.

There were no whole androids here either, but Paul had to turn away for a second, nausea churning in his non-existent gut.

He felt like he’d walked in Dr Frankenstein’s lab.

Bits of android were scattered everywhere in an organised chaos manner. Arms, legs, heads, bio components.

Paul managed to compose himself, but tried not to look too hard at any of them as she looked around for the tools he needed.

Thankfully for his sanity, an employee had spent time organising the tools into logical places, and he started stuffing them in his bag. Mini blow torches, wrenches, drills, saws, syringes for Thirium took up most of it.

“Whoa,” Nathan had entered behind him. “Pretty grim huh?”

“Let’s just grab everything and go,” Paul couldn’t fit everything and was having trouble doing up his bag. “Get over here.”

Nathan quickly came over and started putting in the last of the tools.

“Are you okay?” he asked as Paul seemed to be staring in one place.

“Imagine those were human limbs.”

“Gotcha,” Nathan swallowed. “Let’s get out of here.”

Paul went to the front while Nathan raided the back for Thirium packets. Ivy was done, so the two waited, keeping an eye on the street outside in case someone decided to actually pay attention to what was happening.

Nathan was out quickly and the three of them slipped out, walking down the street. Paul itched to run, but Ivy put her hand on his arm, as if she knew what he was thinking.

“Walking attracts less attention.”

“I know,” Paul assured. “I’m just, antsy.”

“That’s understandable,” Ivy nodded. “Do we have everything?”

“We have all the tools. I don’t think we should risk going for more Thirium, the last one was dicey.”

“I hear you,” Nathan was fiddling with his gloves fingers. “Let’s just get back to the van. I wonder if the others are finished yet?”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Paul considered calling them on the radio, but figured they might be in a shop. “How are you guys coping with all this by the way?”

“Scared out of my mind,” Nathan admitted, grinning nervously. “It’s getting better, but, phew, I am freaking out a little.”

A quick check of his vitals did reveal a higher heart rate and increased perspiration than normal.

“Ivy?”

“I’m cool,” she shrugged. “I mean, yeah, there’s parts where I’m shitting myself, but, this is kind of, exhilarating, you know?”

“No, I really don’t,” Nathan shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m not crazy, just, trying to find some fun in this, otherwise I might go crazy.”

Paul walked quietly. Of course this was going to affect them badly. He was surprised so many of them had gotten this far, they students, not soldiers!

“No need to look so down,” Ivy nudged him. “We wanted to do this, and it beats sitting around doing nothing and being scared.”

“Yeah, now we’re running around and being scared,” Nathan added, and Ivy pretended to clock him on the head.

“Team bonding! Am I right?”

“If you insist,” Paul chuckled. “I still think you’re all crazy.”

“Well, you chose to hang out with us dude. That makes you crazy too.”

“True, I must be to do this,” Paul agreed, and they continued good naturedly to the van.

Team bonding! As much as I love Megan and Paul bouncing of each other, Paul bouncing off everyone else is also fun. Android Zone if you don't remember, is a canon shop in Detroit Become Human. It's where Kara wakes up at the beginning of her chapter. Also, haven't had a Paul centric chapter for a while. Other Options Flowchart

(Paul) QTEs to get through the shattered glass

(Paul) Try the keypad

(Paul) Say nothing. Ask how none of them died.

(Paul) Ask further on their thoughts on him being an android

(Paul) Agree to tear Cyberlife apart

(Paul) Persuade Ivy to not break the window. Attempt to hack remotely

(Paul) Find another way into Android Zone

(Paul) Leave the backroom to Nathan

Tags @nightmarejim @septicart-appreciation

[atownwithoutthesun]

On Characters: Trick Donovan

One of the five main characters in this novel is a man named Trick Donovan (his real first name is Richard), and until I started crafting him and looking into research I don’t think I realized how unique he was, not just as a vampire character, but as fictional representation in general.

Trick is pretty much the only main character who is inspired by an actual vampire character I saw in a TV show, but it’s probably not someone you’d expect. Back when I was in the midst of my teenager obsessed with Twilight stage I tried to watch an episode of True Blood (which ironically, I am now watching for research). Because I was one of those naive “I don’t want to think about sex types”, it went about as well as you’d expect. However, I did see a character I ended up being inspired by...specifically, this one (we’re gonna ignore the Confederate flag on the hat because admittedly that is less than great)

I think this particular character appealed to me because I spent my childhood surrounded by duck and deer hunters and also because honestly nobody expects the hunter to actually be a predatory beast that may be hundreds of years old.

At the time, there was also something about the whole gritty bayou setting that also appealed to me, and I remember trying to write several different vampire stories with bayou covens. The one problem was that at the time I had never been to Louisiana, and I would also often fantasize about my ideas instead of writing them down.

Anyway, back to the present and Trick. Surprisingly, despite the influence, he is actually a character that I have had in my mind for less than a year. Last spring, I came up with the first two A Town Without a Sun characters as part of a short story called “Texas Dawn”. Shortly after, I started imagining who these characters knew and thus began the first incarnation of Trick.

Initially, Trick was an over-exagerrated stereotype of a cowboy who purposely latched onto everything dealing with being such, yet also had a creepy fondness for knives. His love interest was a spirited redhead who’s name was either Fiona, Felicity or Felicia (I feel like it was Fiona, but I’ve since forgotten).

At some point, I moved the setting for the main story from Texas, which I had never been to, to Illinois where I actually live. At that point I remember looking at my writing professor and asking “There aren’t any cowboys in Illinois are there?”

With that, Trick was changed from creepy cowboy with a bloodsucking rodeo queen sweetheart, to one of those gruff camo clad redneck dudes with the rusty old trucks that probably has “truck nuts”. He also grew a few inches, clocking in at 6′6″. Because I’ve always been a writer who “casts” face claims for her characters (if I know exactly what they look like, I can focus instead on their personalities) My choice for Tricks’ face became South African actor, David Lee.

Except, none of what I’ve mentioned so far is exactly unique, right? Well, initially on a whim, I changed one pretty big detail about Trick. Despite his whole tough redneck stereotype and how a lot of times it carries some assumptions of not so great views about minorities, Trick became a bisexual man with a male love interest.

Initially, I didn’t realize exactly how big what I’d done was until I started describing his history to another professor. You see, Trick has a connection to the female villain, in that she massacred almost his entire family, leaving his wife and three of his four daughters dead. The fourth, like him, got turned into a vampire. 

The moment I stated that he was bisexual and that a female villain had turned him, the professor declared “Oh! He hates women now!”

I remember having to compose myself for a moment before I responded, “No, he hates her specifically, but he doesn’t hate women.”

Luckily, most others have accepted that I never intended for his sexuality to be trauma based (he pretty much always knew he was attracted to other men, but he’d never bought it up as a human because he lived in a small midwestern town in the 1940s and also, he loved his wife and daughters and didn’t see himself ever wanting to leave them.)

However, that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been a challenge figuring out how to describe him/find other characters like him. I’ve always kind of hated when people put LGBT people into these boxes of behavior and dress that supposedly give away their sexuality. Although I am aware these stereotypes fit some people, I didn’t want Trick to fit into any of the gay/bi male stereotypes. Basically the only trait of his that indicates that he likes men is that he has a boyfriend. I feel like ir’s important to keep him like this though, as I want young men questioning their sexuality who think they can’t be gay/bi because they have manly hobbies to have a weird sort of character to look up to.

[besotacito]

Instagram

Group: ToppDogg / XENO-T

Pairing: broken!XeSol (Xero/Hansol/Minsung)

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Angst, AU, romance

Trigger warnings: non-explicit mention of depression/suicide attempts.

Word count: 2,133

Note: This is the first time I make an attempt at writing a fanfic in English. I originally wrote it in Spanish so most of it is actually just translated, but there are some parts I edited and adapted so it’d sound a bit better? in English, I guess. Please do notify me of inconsistencies or grammar mistakes. 

As for the fanfic itself, please note that it is only fiction even if it mirrors some things that happened in reality. I hope it doesn’t offend anyone in any way. I wrote this because I’m an emo lil shit who needed to make herself suffer with a made-up angsty scenario that helps her assimilate that she’s never getting more XeSol moments ever again, probably. So that’s it. I can’t promise you’ll enjoy reading it because I cried writing it, so.

Yeah so how are you these days?

I’m still the same, can’t sleep

Your short hair looked so pretty

But I didn’t press like

‘Cause it just seems a bit ridiculous

His fingers scroll down his white smartphone screen. His room is pitch dark and he has been looking at his phone like this for a while, which is not good at all for his eyes. Or his heart. His mind is going back to a million memories of past years and his heart starts clenching little by little. Judging from his Instagram profile, in the end he followed his alternative path, the ‘B plan’ that he remembers having heard about back in their trainee days.

“I think I’ll just be a choreographer if this idol thing doesn’t work out,” he had said jokingly, although he looked like, deep inside, he meant it.

“Don’t say that. We’ll make it work. We’ll do fine, you’ll see. The name ‘ToppDogg’ by itself already feels successful,” he replied back, ruffling the other boy’s hair.

He was not surprised at all by the quality of his choreographies. Hansol- no, Minsung, Jiho reminded himself, was gifted when it came to dancing and not only that, but he was also an innate performer who knew how to combine both dancing and aesthetic features in a unique artistic way. Even so, he had to reckon the boy had improved a hell of a lot. His dancing style was very far from that of the boy who practiced dancing with him in the academy over 7 years ago.

He accidentally clicked on one of his most recent pictures, but he didn’t press the back button. He stared at it. His face looked radiant in spite of not having a smile on it. He looked fine—stable, calm, perhaps even happy. Jiho hoped it was like that. He hoped that he was at least as happy as he had always wanted and deserved. At least it was noticeable that was not the same sad Hansol- no, Minsung, that he had seen for the last time. It was a relief. He wasn’t the same person. He didn’t even look like the one in the old memories of Jiho, if he took a moment to carefully analyse the pictures. Truth be told, Jiho felt like he didn’t know who that boy in the pictures was. They had lived together for many years and shared countless experiences, but he didn’t know that person. Minsung? Jiho had no idea who that was; where he came from. He could barely remember Hansol and he wasn’t sure Hansol remembered him.

The last time they met… Jiho would’ve never imagined it would be the last time and that everything would go downhill from there. Hansol- no, Minsung, dammit, sent him a text on KakaoTalk asking to hang out in a café, just to get some distraction. Back then, it had been long since they had had a schedule as ToppDogg. The promotions for their last album had finished months ago and they weren’t working on new songs or performances or anything of the sort. Everyone were kind of worried about how things were going. Everyone, but especially Hansol. Minsung.

“Hey, sorry I’m kind of l-”

Jiho remembers coming up to the boy to greet him, but as soon as he came a little bit closer he could see the tears streaming desperately down his face. He couldn’t even finish his sentence before he had wrapped his arms around the other’s small frame. Hansol was trembling. Minsung. No, back then he was Hansol.

“Aren’t you tired?” Hansol asked out of the blue after being quiet for some minutes, just barely sipping on his coffee while trying to calm himself down and stop sobbing.

“Mm? Tired… of what? I’d say I’ve had lots of time to get some rest,” he replied jokingly, pretending he didn’t know what Hansol meant.

“That’s the problem, you see. I’m tired of this. Of trying again and again and failing. I’m tired of everything.”

“Hey, don’t think like that. We gotta stay positive. Maybe things aren’t going the way we’d like them to, but we still have our fans and our company—”

“Don’t be silly, Jiho,” he cut him off. “Do you think our fans are gonna wait forever? That they’ll stay by a failed group? Our company’s trying hard for any other artist that’s not us.”

“Hansol,” he called out, covering the boy’s hand with his own on the table, “we knew it wouldn’t be easy, but we can’t lose hope. I trust us and what we can achieve together.”

Hansol looked like he was actually contemplating what Jiho had said, but replied:

“Your optimism is stupid, Jiho.” And retreated his hand to take a hold of his coffee.

After that, they fell silent for a long time. Jiho fidgeted with his fingers over the table. This conversation was making him feel uneasy and awkward; he didn’t know what to say. But more than anything, he was worried about Hansol.

“Has it gotten worse, lately? Have you been feeling worse?” he asked softly, only for Hansol to hear.

“…I just wanna escape from this hell,” he muttered back, not looking at his eyes.

Jiho didn’t know what to say, as per usual, so he chose to stay quiet. Neither of them said anything else for some minutes. Jiho couldn’t even look at Hansol in the face because he felt horrible for not being able of offering more comfort than his stupid optimism. That’s why he flinched a little when he felt Hansol’s hand back on his, caressing his fingers. Jiho didn’t stop him, because he liked the sensation. Because he missed him. Because deep inside, Jiho knew he had committed a mistake that he would always regret, even if he had done it thinking it was the best option for them back then.

“Hansol-”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

Their voices overlapped.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m leaving to China for a few months. To study dancing.”

“What?”

Jiho retreated his hand and straightened up in his seat, almost in shock.

“But… what about the group? Does the company know about this? Did they approve of this?”

There was this look in Hansol’s eyes while he mustered up the courage to finally say:

“…Jiho, I’m leaving ToppDogg.”

In that moment, it felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. He couldn’t react. It took him a few moments to grasp what was happening. Leaving to China to study dancing? Leaving the group? Had he lost his mind?

“Do you realise you’re sabotaging the group and being selfish?” was the first thing he managed to say, not really thinking about what he was saying.

“Excuse me? I am sabotaging the group?” Hansol raised his tone a bit. “May I remind you, it was Hyunho and Dongsung who left us first. Hyosang and Taeyang left us too.”

Jiho bit his lip. He knew Hansol was right, but right now his heart was in pain from just imagining Hansol leaving the group and going to another country for who knows how long.

“There is nothing we can do about this anymore, don’t you realise that? What do you want me to stay here for? To see how life passes me by and nothing gets better no matter how hard I try?”

“…You could stay with me.”

Everything became quiet for a few moments that seemed to last for way longer while both of them stared into each other’s eyes. Jiho could see the tears welling up in Hansol’s eyes while he bit his lips and shook his head.

“Please, don’t do this to me…” he muttered in a thin voice.

“If you leave the group, then I will too. We can start all over, together. No fearing and no hiding this time, we won’t have to-”

“Jiho, don’t,” Hansol cut him off softly, getting a bit closer and holding his hands on the table. “That’s not what you want. Besides, it was you who took the decision years ago. There’s no going back now.”

Hansol’s voice sounded so gentle and composed in spite of the tears in his eyes that it was hard to believe what he was saying was hurting Jiho as if a million knives were stabbing his body.

“Why’d you ask me to come, then? If it was going to be like this, you could’ve as well just texted me goodbye.”

You shouldn’t have given me hopes that I was still in time of holding onto you, is what he wanted to say. But didn’t.

“I just wanted to see you for one last time…”

Back then, Jiho couldn’t control the burst of emotions he felt. His sadness mingled with the anger he felt towards himself for having been an idiot and also with the frustration of being so helpless—Hansol was slipping right through his fingers and out of his life, and he couldn’t do anything to stop him.

“That’s it, then. You can leave now. Leave and don’t think of coming back. I hope you know you’re being an asshole.”

He raised his voice more than he should have. His word choice was more aggressive than it should have. Unlike his usually composed self, this time he finally burst. His emotions burst in the worse way possible. They ended up yelling ugly things at each other; hard feelings that had been building up inside them for a long time. Jiho smashed his fist on the table before leaving behind an upset and sobbing Hansol. He shouldn’t have done that. He still feels ashamed of his shitty and immature reaction and regrets everything he did and said that day. Hansol didn’t deserve that.

Somehow, he reached the end of his Instagram pictures. They weren’t many. He remembered the boy had a habit of deleting them. He also noticed he kept only a few pictures of his last days in China and seeing him in those pictures makes his heart clench in fear again. In fear of knowing that he was close to losing him for real, forever. Those had been the worst days Jiho has even been through in his whole life and he hopes he won’t have to ever go through something like that again. At least the latest pictures make him feel a bit more reassured, for it seems that old Hansol he knew doesn’t torment Minsung like he used to do. He looks cared for and surrounded by people. Jiho can only hope for him to never be lonely and for all of those people to be with Minsung when he cannot.

A few pictures above the last ones from China is one from their debut. That one was uploaded when his departure from the group was made official. Jiho didn’t come out of his room for a whole week. In the picture, Hansol thanks everyone. Jiho clenches his fist. He should’ve thanked him the last time he saw him. He should’ve thanked him for helping him make it into ToppDogg. He should’ve thanked him for all of the good moments they shared together. He should’ve thanked him for loving him in spite of the big asshole Jiho could be at times and which he was until their last meeting. He should’ve thanked him for existing—he should’ve wished him success. Had he done that, who knows; maybe Hansol wouldn’t have been on the edge of an abyss. Had he done that, maybe he would find his username when he types it into the list of people Minsung follows.

Jiho decides to call it a night, but then he sees there is a picture of Hyosang on Minsung’s account and he clicks it almost immediately. Oh, he wished him a happy birthday. To the one who abandoned them—but didn’t break his heart or curse him out for trying to pursue his dreams—; he wished a happy birthday to him. Then he finally clicks the ‘back’ button, which closes Instagram and, instead and unknowingly, shows him the time and date: 5:24 a.m., February 3rd.

As he tries to fall asleep, he fails to fight back the tears that wet his pillow while he cannot brush off the memories of Hansol coming into his room with a big smile on his face and holding a big cake with tons of colourful candles on his hands just when the clock struck twelve o’clock. He won’t see that Hansol anymore. If he could turn back time and take seriously the three wishes Hansol insisted for him to make year after year before blowing out the candles, he would use one to wish ToppDogg to be successful and two to wish for Hansol to never leave his side.