#and sorry for in my sleep deprived off the cuff post not making the THIS IS A JOKE I KNOW HE IS SWEET disclaimers more clear and huge.

[androgymagnus]

yeah buddy i was exaggerating for humor. like, joking? you know joking? literally the reason i like dr wolf is because he's kind. i don't think he's an asshole. hell, gordon ramsay--as a persona, and with this meme, part of why it's funny to me (not to speak to his real life because i don't know much about it)--usually is. he's yelling at the adults because they are doing something wrong and should know better and being kind to children because they aren't.

i was more talking about both the difference in both vibe--dr wolf is more likely to say something unintentionally rude/blunt/seemingly confrontational to a non-patient, particularly i was thinking of nichols in the pilot episode as i'd just rewatched it (not that nichols wasn't being kind of rude there too lmao) and just how in general, especially with how closed off he is personally, he tends to focus his warmer/more open kindness and empathy on patients (and dr pierce, his one close friend). this isn't to say he's cruel or intentionally unkind to anyone (though he gives off that impression not just because of his faceblindness, though that's part of it, and again, i don't think that means he is an asshole) beyond being a little confrontational, which is almost always in defense of his patients (or to his mom, which believe me i am not here to judge), even if the other person has a point (which is admirable, once again, since i didn't say it enough apparently, this doesn't make him Actually An Asshole). wow that's a lot of parentheticals. i just woke up, my head's all over the place. anyway, that vibe, of how he's more (if you'll forgive the pun) patient with his patients, while coming off as blunt/rude to others usually because he's so focused on his patients, doesn't mean he's a dick, just that he's like, good at his job. which he is.

AND--yeah i didn't forget i said 'both'--i believe i was thinking of both the aforementioned scenes with nichols and other people he thinks are being dumb in episode one (not that he's wrong, and it's admirable he has his patient's best interests at heart, that's like, again, the whole point, that he cares when other people won't) and he's very... confrontational? i don't know how to describe exactly what i mean, it's not that he's being an asshole but that there are times where he's so frustrated with them he's ironically not seeing their perspective (ie, should we take the mom's kids away forever in the first episode? no! was it reasonable to take them temporarily and require supervised visits for the time being? yeah! then, i don't think he's stupid, i get he was also upset with the implication it could become permanent and i get that, but--you get what i'm getting at here? gestures frusuratedly) which is, again, not unreasonable, but a Vibe Difference. and also of when van first fucks up with the needle and standard biopsy, yes, it is totally reasonable for dr wolf to scold him and be like this is a very basic procedure a doctor has to do and you could have made this worse for the patient, but i admit the first time i watched i kinda thought he was gonna be like okay, what's wrong, because that was not a normal reaction--but he was more concerned about the patient's feelings than what was up with van, which again. is reasonable. and not making him an asshole. but the difference is there. do you see what i'm saying.

i literally do not want him to be an asshole. that sucks. i don't need dr house 2, if i want to watch that i'll watch house or one of the hundreds of terrible sherlock adaptations (i'm talking to you, bbc sherlock. elementary, you can stay.) i much prefer an eccentric genius character who is allowed to be openly kind and empathetic rather than be a cold asshole who maybe, if you're lucky, is ~hiding~ the kind heart under that. not that that trope can't be fun but it gets really stale and a character like dr wolf is way more refreshing and fun.

look bro the original post was a little reductive but it was also a joke i made right before bed after rewatching the first episode (i was forcing my mom to watch lol) like. chill

also really funny how with patients vs almost anyone else dr wolf is just that gordon ramsay with kids vs adults "im not leaving until you laugh" vs "WHAT ARE YOU????? (an idiot sandwich 😔)" meme

[lemonjoonah]

Level of Restraint (M)

Pairings: Jimin x Reader, Namjoon x Reader, Taehyung x Reader Word Count: 13K  Rating: M  Genre: Thriller, smut, office AU, BDSM AU  Warnings(contains spoilers): This story contains very dark themes and may not be suited to all readers, protected sex (vag+anal), threesome, double penetration, bondage (including partial suspension), dom/sub roles (reader is a sub), praise kink, mild degration, sensory deprivation, spanking, fingering, cum feeding, mild breathplay, sex toys, exhibitionism, voyeurism, discussion of safe word, Namjoon is a professional dom/sex worker, referenced discrimination of sex workers and those who participate in BDSM, public outing of sexual practices, inappropriate workplace relationships, referenced death of minor character, yandere character, misidentified sexual partner, manipulation, bribery, blackmail, implied stalking, violence.

Summary: As a co-founder of a consulting firm you can’t afford to be caught in a scandal. So flirting with your secretary, Jimin, would be out of the question. Giving your client’s son, Taehyung, a reference for a sexual partner would be reprehensible. And having regular paid BDSM sessions with your dominant, Namjoon? That would be a career ending disgrace. It’s too bad the only restraints in life you approve of are the cuffs that bind you to the bed, because there are those hiding in the dark waiting to take advantage. 

A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who supported me while writing this story. It was hard not to question the level of darkness this tale descends to. In the end your assurances and aid are the only reason this fic made it to fruition. Upon reading you might notice several thematic references to the ‘Fall of the House of Usher,’ by Edgar Allan Poe  and the Greek myth of Tantalus. They are two of my favourite tales, and together they greatly represent the darkened desires depicted in this oneshot.

...

8:55 am KNJ: Good girl.

Your heart races upon receiving the response you’ve been waiting for all morning. The sender had requested proof that you were wearing his last minute gift, and you were happy to oblige with the lewd photo. Finally seeing his simple praise for your efforts makes you grin from ear to ear, as you enter the front door to your workplace’s building. The message will be enough to get you through the day, high on the thought of his praise while his present is wrapped tightly around your ribs. Though the garment may be confining, you’ll endure anything to receive those two simple words.

Reluctantly glancing up from your phone you look ahead to see the elevator closing.

“Hold the door!” You call out, making a run for it. Mercifully the gap between the doors widens allowing you to climb in before it begins the long haul up. Glancing over to your savoir, you find your secretary standing at the panel. “Thanks Jimin.”

“No problem,” he responds with a warm smile. “What floor do you need?” Joking as he pushes the button labelled 14. 

You playfully shove his arm while trying to catch your breath. Had he left you down on the first floor there's no telling how long it would be before the elevator returned. The building in which you work has been down to one lift for a couple days, with no promise of when the other will be fixed. It’s not a surprise really, ever since you moved into this complex three years ago you’ve been plagued with breakdowns and shotty utilities. Considering how opulent  the tower is, with it’s gilded elevators and halls adorned in finery you expected better, but people often overlook flaws when they have something pleasant to stare at. Allowing the management to slack on some of the failings of the structure. 

“Do you think you could send maintenance another message?” You ask your hand clutching your waist to comfort the stitch in your side, no doubt a result of the corset concealed beneath your clothes. 

“Consider it done.” Jimin replies, pulling out his phone. “Are you okay Miss?” He asks, your heavy breathing failing to go unnoticed judging from the concern in his voice.

“Fine.” You quickly change the subject, not wanting to linger on your current state. “What’s on my schedule for today?”

“You have a consultation with Mr. Kim of HOC Industries in an hour-” 

“Really?” You cut in, confused about the sudden change. “But I just saw him a few weeks ago. Why is he coming in?”

“He didn’t say, I just got a message last night from him stating he required an appointment immediately.”

“That’s not a good sign...” You groan, wondering what information had dropped to spur a need for such an urgent response. 

“Afterwards you have an early lunch with journalist Min. Followed by a one o’clock appointment with Jeon Jungkook to go over the new web layout. And the rest of office hours are slated as admin.” 

You cringe over the prospect of bookkeeping. Your accountant’s involvement in a recent accident, placed him on an extended leave of absence. Since you are the only other member of your small staff qualified to balance the books, this leaves you burdened with his duties. “Remind me later to make a posting for a temp position.”

“Noted,” Jimin remarks as he continues to scroll through his phone. “Oh and don’t forget, you also have your monthly massage appointment with Kim Namjoon tonight.”

You smile at the thought, you would never forget a booking with him, especially since he’s the reason for your current state of breathlessness. You’ve been counting down the days until you get to see him, with only a few hours left you can barely contain yourself. To everyone who asks he’s a masseur, but the services he provides are far more aggressively intimate than a standard massage. You force a small cough to cover the involuntary moan starting to escape. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.” It’s not a complete lie, with the stress from work there have been a lot of restless nights recently, your appointment tonight should help to relieve a bit of that tension. There’s a loud groan as the elevator comes to a stop at your floor. You look up to the top of the lift and over to Jimin with worry, both of you stepping off with haste once the doors open.

Your entire office space consists of only a few rooms. You and Hoseok had started this company only a few years ago, focusing on corporate consultations regarding public image and approval. All things considered you’re doing rather well. With your negotiation tactics, Hoseok's philanthropy efforts, and Yoongi on retainer as your media source, you’ve been able to take on several giant corporations.    

As you walk down the hall you find the temperature starting to rise, and upon stepping into your’s and Jimin’s shared office, you’re hit with a wave of heat. You whisper your curses as you check the thermostat which has been jacked to its highest setting and refuses to shift back down. 

Giving up on the system you turn to the windows, but even those are a struggle after being neglected for so long. You call out to Jimin for assistance, waiting no more than a second before he is by your side. But even with his help you only manage to open them to the grand extent of a sliver before you’re forced to give in. At least with your office door open there’s now a small draft pervading the space.

“I guess I’ll send maintenance another message,” Jimin chuckles.

“You don’t think he’s trying to push us out do you?” You inquire about the building owner, and one of your own clients. You don’t usually make such bold claims, but with Jimin’s ties to the dubious man, it’s hard not to ask.

“I wouldn’t put it past him. Though I think this is more likely due to his lack of regard for the workmanship going into his properties.”

You nod overlooking the now stuffy room which holds both your desks. It serves its purpose with a sufficient amount of daylight from the large windows, and a partial wall giving you each a bit of privacy. You’d rather not have to leave this building and the status that comes with it, but there seems to be no end with these faulty appliances. “So much for being the height of sophistication.”

While you settle into your workspace you’re already dying from the heat, a sweater and camisole overtop your corset was not the best choice for today, but you didn’t want to risk anyone noticing the garment beneath. As you shuffling through your newsite tabs Jimin readies the coffee maker, returning to you with the first dose of your daily caffeine needs. 

“You’re a saint.”

Jimin smiles brightly at your compliment, living for the praise as always. “Do you want some ice on the side?” He laughs as you tug on your sweater to stop it from sticking to your skin.

“Only if I can rub it all over.” You sigh jokingly as you take a sip of the hot beverage.

“I’d be happy to assist.” His smirk and piercing gaze look to be downright serious, his flirtation hitting a new high today.    

“Sorry Jimin, I already have a massage appointment later. I think Namjoon would be very upset if you took his job from him.”

“That’s too bad.” He mutters, his lip still curled into a smile before stepping away from your desk. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’d be more than willing to compensate him for his loss.” Jimin has never been shy about his attraction to you, a desire which you most certainly reciprocate, but your own company policies keep the both of you tied to flirtatious word play. With Jimin winning more often than not when it comes to provocative sentiments.

He hangs around on your side of the room, straightening the chairs and stray flies, while you continue your search for whatever prompted the need for your haste meeting. At last you find it, on the featured articles of a prominent celeb news site, with the headline reading, ‘The Dark Desires of the Kim Family Heir.’

Much to your chagrin the issue isn’t regarding your client, but his son. As much as you try to stay out of personal family matters, sometimes they are unavoidable, and this looks to be one of those cases.

‘Kim Taehyung has long been considered one of the most eligible bachelors. He has it all, money, power, and a spot on every top ten most attractive list, but those who have been with him more intimately say he craves something more...’ 

Your mouth falls open in horror as one of Taehyung's former partners exposes their most intimate moments with him. ‘The Gucci suits and custom cologne are just an expensive mask for the darkness beneath. He would ask to be tied, bound to the bed and struck. He wanted pain and pleasure...’ The further you read the more your chest tightens. You’d rather not jump to conclusions, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. A fact which must make it all the more painful for Taehyung. You can only imagine what he must be going through, to have such private details exposed and exploited. He’s currently living your worst nightmare, a societal judgement over one's deepest desires. For professional reasons it would probably be best to stay out of this private matter, but you can’t in good consciousness let him suffer alone.

“That bad?” Jimin asks.

“Yeah...” You cover your mouth to hide your shuddering breath, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill on Taehyung's behalf.

Jimin shuffles in behind your desk with you. By lowering himself to read off your screen, his face falls next to yours. His hands come to rest on your shoulders as he leans in to eye the article in question. You should shoo him away, but you can’t help but be curious of his response to those who engage in such practices. As his eyes scan the page his grip on you tightens, his breathing erratic just like yours, with a whispered “‘Fuck,” escaping his lips. 

“Are we interrupting something?” A voice calls out from your open door. 

Your head snaps over in shock to find your next appointment waiting for you, with his son in tow. You jump up pushing Jimin back so you can greet your guests properly. “Mr. Kim! No not at all,  please come in. This must be-”

“Taehyung...” The younger man mutters as he walks in, slumping down in one of the chairs in front of your desk. His sunglasses are still in place, the smell of spirits wafts over you along with the spicy scent of what must be his referenced cologne. He’s a sight to behold, a person of his caliber could make a fortune off his looks alone; he wouldn’t even need a drop of his father's fortune. But of course, that would have been before this public outing of his bedroom tendencies. Now he’s more likely to be seen as a pariah rather than an asset.

Directing the elder to the seat next to him, you take your own once again as Jimin retreats to his desk. You don’t even have the chance to exchange pleasantries before Mr. Kim launches into the purpose of their visit. “I assume you saw the article about my son?”

“I did, but-”

“And? What can we do about it? How can we spin it? Our stocks have already taken a hit.”

“Your son just had a serious breach in personal privacy...” You pause hoping that he’ll have some semblance of a realization that he is not the victim here, instead he simply waits for you to continue. Attempt to hold in your dismay, you give him the only answer you can, “Sue for defamation if you’d like, but whether they are printing fact or fiction the damage is done. The press is still focusing on your family due to your early misdealings in your company. I would argue that if you turn the view of operations around then there is a very good chance that the media will start to back off personal affairs.”

“You can’t expect me to twiddle my thumbs and wait. My shareholders are currently questioning his ability to lead, they might seek to replace him.”

“Good.” Taehyung mutters. “If those prudes have a problem with me, I’d rather not have to work with them.”

You bite your lip to conceal a snort of laughter.  Mr. Kim fails to notice but his son seems to have caught your slip, taking off his glasses, he pierces you with a strong gaze.

Kim senior starts up again looking for sympathy and a way out, “Do you know how many of his flings I’ve had to pay off in the past-”

“Maybe you should just stick to your own business.” Taehyung eyes his father darkly.

“They made it my business when they started squealing to the press about what kind of man you are.”

You try to rein the situation in, this battle between father and son having no place in your office. “Mr. Kim! I would actually like to speak to your son for a moment. We can see if there’s a possible remedy for this... exposure.” You stand up, calling over the wall for your secretary "Jimin? Would you mind taking Mr. Kim to see Hoseok?” You turn back to your elder client, practically pushing him out the door into your secretaries’s care. “Jung Hoseok has been continuing his work on your company's philanthropic efforts. I’m sure he would love to show you what he has done with your portfolio.”

“Do you need me to come right back Miss?” Jimin asks with a pleading stare, his eyes flicker over to the young man still slumped in his seat.

“No I think we’ll be okay for a bit.” You mutter to him quietly as Mr. Kim proceeds down the hall. “Just keep him away for a few minutes.”

Once they're both gone you sit back down across from Taehyung with a sigh.

“So are your going to talk some sense into me?” He drawls with disdain.

“Fuck no,” you scoff, rummaging through your drawer. “Can I get you anything coffee, water... advil?”  You finally pull out the bottle of pain relievers and offer one to him as you take one yourself, your head ready to explode in frustration over his father. 

He tilts his head looking somewhat surprised, “So why did you send him away then?”

“I thought you could use a break. I’ve worked with many people like your father, they all want things done their way, and you’ll never be able to tell them otherwise. He’ll never admit to his faults, and the fact that he’s the real reason the media is all over you. So as long as you don’t tattle on me, we both can make it through this meeting with him thinking that he’s won.”

“Deal,” Taehyung agrees while he chuckles at your ploy. 

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” You offer once again.

“Actually I’ll take some advil.”

“I thought you might.” You poor him glass from the cooler and offer up the pill. When his sleeve pulls back to reach for the cup you can’t help but notice the glaring red evidence of a rope abrasion on his wrist. While he throws back the pain killer, you take another sip of your coffee rolling the bitterness over your tongue before breaching the difficult subject. “It can’t be easy to have the press prying into every aspect of your private life.”

“It’s not so much that they pry, but...” Taehyung hesitates, his brow furrows as his fingers run through his hair tugging on the strands between his fingers.  “People know that they can go to them with a story and make money off any relations I have with them. And the press will gladly pay top dollar for what they have to offer.”

“The story is not a complete fabrication then?” You already know it’s not judging from his father's response and the marks on his arm, you just need to hear him say it. 

“No, it’s mostly true.” He admits, watching your reaction.

“Then it would seem that your desires might be thought unconventional by many of your past partners?”

Taehyung nods, taking another sip of his water. 

“From one unconventional individual to another,” you pause waiting for your own admission to sink in. To your delight Taehyung immediately perks up listening attentively as you continue. “There are more discreet ways to fill those needs.”

“Are you offering?” He asks, raising a brown along with the corner of his lips.

“No, I doubt that I would be very good at meeting your cravings, since we both hunger the same type of... attention.” You smile back at him, rejoicing in your mutual secret. “But I do have a friend who will take very good care of you. I’m going to give you a name and phone number, it’s up to you if you want to contact them, but I can assure you any conversations or actions between you and them will be kept strictly confidential. It’s not cheap,” you explain, but doubt that’ll be a problem for him. “But I assure you it’s safe and private.”

Taehyung can barely get the information from you fast enough once you jot it down. His hands, reaching for the sheet, accidentally knock over your coffee instead, sending the drink in your direction and staining your sweater. “I’m so sorry, here let me help you.” Taehyung jumps up and runs and grabs napkins from the coffee station. 

“It’s fine really.” You assure him, making an attempt to stop him as he starts to blot the saturated material. 

Unfortunately it’s at this moment that Jimin walks in to see your precarious state. He stands there for a moment in silence before explaining the reason for his return. “Mr. Kim said he needs to leave soon, Miss. He wanted to see if you two were... finished.” There’s glare set in his eyes for Taehyung's forwardness.

“Yeah, be right there, just one second.” You turn back to Taehyung, exchanging the damp napkin in his hand for the paper you had just written on. “Think about it, I hope you’ll give him a call. I don’t give out his information unless I think it will be of help to someone.”

“Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung mutters quietly while reading the slip. “If I were to go see him, would I find you there too?” He looks back up at you, biting his lip after posing his query.

“Likely not, he keeps his sessions very private, but you can always discuss your...” You glance over to Jimin who is still waiting, and well within earshot. “Preferences with him.”

“Then I’ll consider it, thank you.”

After seeing Mr. Kim and his son off, you're left to deal with the stain on your sweater, with only fifteen minutes before you have to leave for your lunch appointment. “Jimin could you call Yoongi and let him know I’m running a little late? I need to stop by my apartment on the way.”

“No need, I’ve got an extra shirt here.” He pulls out one of his own from his desk. “ I know it’s a men’s fit, but I think we can make it work.” 

“Why do you keep that here?” You laugh. He only looks at you and the stain with a raised brow, no words needed to prove his point. “Never mind, stupid question, but I can’t take your shirt Jimin.”

“I insist, go put it on.” He forces it into your hands as you double check your watch, your time constraints leaving you with little choice. 

Stepping behind the dividing wall, you strip down to your camisole, breathing a sigh of relief that the beverage hadn’t seeped into the fabric of the corset. Quickly throwing his button up over top and tucking it in, you check to ensure your intimate garment is still hidden relatively beneath the shirt before coming back out for his opinion “Does it look okay?”

Jimin nods, but when he reaches out to touch the shirt you recoil, fearing that he will discover what you wear beneath. He chuckles and persists, “I’m just fixing your collar.” He moves in closer standing just a couple inches away. Pinching the two seams of the fabric together, he considers the change. “I think it would look better like this.” You nod, keeping silent as he follows through. Pulling the fabric tight around your throat, your breathing is forced to pause for a moment as he fastens the top button. “Better?” He asks, while his hands linger around your neck.

“Much.” You whisper, as his fingers drift up to hold your chin, with the tip of his thumb dragging along the edge of your bottom lip. You stand there confused as to why your flirtatious game has taken such a physical turn. Although his actions are prohibited and should be censured, you can’t fully condemn them, deciding instead to remove yourself, rather than reprimand him. “I-I should go. I don’t want to be late meeting Yoongi.”  

...

It was a productive lunch to say the least, but that was by no means thanks to you. Your focus was distinctly elsewhere. While you toyed with your bottom lip, thinking of how Jimin had touched it just moments before, Yoongi gave you everything you needed to secure several new clients. Even now as you return, disembarking the elevator on to your floor, you still can’t concentrate on the day ahead.

On the walk back to your office Hoseok catches you, quickly pulling you into his own and closing the door behind. “You need to do something about Jimin.” 

“Wh-what do you mean?” You ask, nervous that he had seen you two together before you left for your meeting.

“Your client earlier, Mr. Kim, he said that he caught you two acting rather close, making suggestions that you two are involved in a sexual relationship. Usually I would disregard a comment like his but-” 

“It’s not true, you know I wouldn’t!” As much as you might want to act on Jimin’s advances you’ve never crossed that line. You know it must have been bad for Hoseok to bring it up, for him to take this serious tone is evidence of his deep concern. 

“I know that, but this isn’t the first time someone has thought you two might be a little too intimate. Some of the staff have also considered the notion. And I can see why, the way he looks at you, talks to you...” Hoseok trails off as his eyes linger on your apparel in confusion. “You weren’t wearing that earlier were you?” 

“No, I had some coffee spill on me earlier. Jimin was nice enough to loan me his.”

Hoseok tilts his head as he raises his brow as if this validates his concerns.

“He was just being helpful!” You offer, but Hoseok doesn’t look to be swayed, and he’s right, this is a workplace not a morning after situation. “Fine, I see your point. So what do you suggest?”

“Redistribute him, send him my way if you have to, god knows that I could use the extra hand. You could even play it off as a promotion, just get him out of your office.” Your heart drops at the thought, not wanting to give him up. Hoseok seeing this takes a softer tone. “Listen I can see that you like him too. I’m sure it feels good to have his attention, but you need to get this out of your system. You have to put a stop to it. We can’t afford a scandal and you know it.” 

With the assurance that you’ll think on the issue, and giving Hoseok your solution by tomorrow, you return to your office. But the problem is far from easy, though you did not lie about your physical relationship to Hoseok, you have been keeping something from him. From all of them. Jimin will never accept a promotion if it takes him away from you. He’s never worked here for the money, he doesn’t need to when his father owns half of the city, this building included. 

...

-3 years ago-

“Mr. Lee, thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me.” You pull out the chair to sit across from him. The massive mahogany desk of his placing a rather large distance between the two of you. 

“Yes well, my building manager said you were very persistent.” There’s a small roll in his eyes as he looks from you down to the computer in front of him. 

“I wanted to discuss one of your properties, an office space in the Madeline Suites.”

He takes a swift glance at your modest appearance with narrowing eyes. “Forgive me, but I believe that location might be out of your price range.” 

“Monetarily yes,” You agree. “But we offer services which might be helpful to you.”

“I do not deal in favours. I can see that this meeting was a waste of time, you may go.” He waves the back of his hand to shoo you out, while his secretary grabs the door from the outside.

“I am not asking for a favour, but offering you my services. I’m the co-founder of a corporate image consulting firm. And come this time tomorrow, I believe you’ll be looking for someone within our realm of dealings.”

“And what makes you say that?” Lee asks, his words laced with cynicism. 

You lay out the first page of the article which Yoongi had sent you, stretching it across the wooden surface to place it in Mr. Lee’s view. ‘Real Estate Developer Lee Gungsang Faced Prior Allegations of Unlawful Evictions and Price Hiking.’ “This is slated for tomorrow morning’s front page.” 

Mr. Lee is quick to send his secretary off, the door shutting once again. “How do you know about this? These cases were settled before they made it anywhere near the courts.”

“I have my sources.” 

“Then stop this! I will pay whomever needs to be paid to prevent this from leaching out. You want the office space, it's yours.” He’s voice is desperate, you have him on the hook, the question now is, how long will he let you drag him for?

“That’s very generous of you, but nothing will stop this from going out tomorrow. My offer is simply to help you get ahead of it and lessen the damage.” You explain, revelling in the fact that money can’t hide everything.

“And how do you propose to do that?”

You pull out a contract for your serves. “I will need you to sign off on my services first. A small fee plus a far more reasonable price for a three year lease of the offices on the 14th floor of the Madeline Suites”

“Without knowing your plan, I think not.”

You give him a bright smile before mimicking his earlier statement. “I do not deal in favours Mr. Lee.”

He grumbles while taking the pen, eyeing you with a dark gaze as he signs on the dotted line.

With the ink still drying you hand over another small document. “Here are a few of my suggestions. Twenty percent of the commercial residences that you have just vacated will be handed over to non-profits for a drastically reduced monthly lease. I’ll even let you pick which you want to support.” 

He looks up at you mortified. “This is excessive.”

“No this is necessary. I’ve seen corporations do far more than this when they are not dealing with a scandal. Your accountants will agree with me that this is the best move, it can be seen as a donation and therefore tax deductible. For the evicted  private residences, I was thinking of partnering with a refugee resettlement program but we can discuss that more in depth later.” 

You carefully tuck away your contract in Lee’s file before dragging another concern to the forefront. “I do have one more request, before I leave today.”

“What more could you possibly want?” He scoffs.

You lean in to deliver your short but important demand. “A heads up.”

“I don’t know what you mean...”

“I mean if there are any other past dealings or actions which might impact your company I need to be aware of them.” There’s always more hidden in the dark, you have one of those secrets on hand now. You need to see if he’s willing to be upfront with you on every dealing of his past, otherwise you might be forced to dig him out from another grave a couple weeks from now. 

“There’s nothing else.” 

“Nothing?” You ask again as you pull out your phone ready to bring forward more evidence. 

“No.”

“So the knowledge of you having and hiding an illegitimate son... you don’t think that’s important? The existence of the only child of the Lee empire, isn’t newsworthy?”

“How did you-” The terror in his face looks to be even greater than the prior accusation. 

“You attempted to evict all of the residents who stayed in your residential apartment for over 10 years if they refused to agree with a massive lease hike. Park Jimin was the only one who wasn’t touched. He has no record of a job, living off what must be money given to him by his parents, so I looked into them. His father wasn’t listed but his late mother, Park Haesoon, used to work for your company, and 22 years ago she signed a NDA issued by your lawyer.” 

You open to Jimin’s public instagram page turning it around for his father to see. “He may take mostly after his mother, but I can still see a few clues to your family resemblance.”

“When does this one drop?” Lee asks in dismay.

“It’s not going to, at least, not from me or my source. We try not to deal in personal life consulting, but I am going to give you some advice in this matter. Get ahead of it.”

“My wife won’t hear of it.” Mr. Lee mutters through clenched teeth, it’s easy to see that this conversation has him very much on edge.

You nod seeing the crux of his dilemma. “I looked into the approximate date of his conception, you were newly married at the time, were you not?”

“Yes. She knows, but her family does not, they have a large political presence and we cannot afford to lose all support from them. Trust me, the boy is not worth the risk.”

“He’s your child!” You berate the CEO, your anger getting the better of you as you think of the emotional toll on Jimin. Not only did he lose his mother but his father won't even publicly acknowledge him. 

“I won’t be swayed on this matter. If you have nothing else to say you may leave.” Mr. Lee rises from his desk and once again gestures towards the door. “I’ll have keys to your new office space delivered to you tomorrow along with the lease. But I should warn you, if there is even a whisper of his name in public in conjunction with mine, I can assure you, your so-called firm won’t last another week.”

...

Less than a month later you and Hoseok have moved your entire enterprise to the new office space. You’re holding an open house for several different staff positions, when the most unlikely of applicants walks in your door, Park Jimin. 

He hands you a piece of paper which you can only guess is his resume, because your eyes fail to leave his face, your mouth unable to form words in your state of shock. Closing the door behind him, he gives you a nervous smile. “Judging from your expression, I take it you know who I am?”

You manage a single nod, still confused as to why he’s here, now, with you. It’s lucky you’re conducting the interviews alone, otherwise it would be difficult to explain your shock to Hoseok without exposing Jimin’s lineage. 

“I’ve been wanting to meet with you,” Jimin confesses, adding sheepishly, “My father told me of your meeting. He said you took a bit of an interest in me, even found my social media accounts.” 

“Oh, oh no.” You finally manage to sputter out, far more anxious with the younger man than his father. You never intended to meet Jimin, let alone have him find out you dug into some very personal aspects of his past and present. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t intend to invade your privacy. I was only trying to figure out what was going on. And when I learned the truth, I wanted him to own up to his mistake of hiding you.”

Jimin chuckles lightly, sitting down in front of you, “I didn’t come here looking for an apology Miss, I know why you did it. I merely wanted to meet one of the few people to ever successfully scare the shit out of my father.” 

The wide beaming smile accompanying his statement spurs a laugh from you, while also allowing you to relax in his presence. “Sometimes you have to intimidate these people to get them to do the right thing. But I’m sorry I wasn’t able to convince him to go public regarding everything.”

“That’s not your fault. In the end it was just nice to hear that there's someone who thinks I deserve better.” Jimin adds, with a look of sorrow leaching into his smile.

“Of course you do, but I must ask, why come here now?” You take a moment to confirm that it is in fact his resume that he’s handed you. ”I can’t imagine that you need a job.” He’s appearance alone is enough to tell you he’s buried in wealth, though his father has not given him the family name, it looks as if Jimin has gained some of the assets.  

“Actually that’s exactly what I was looking for.”

“Your father didn’t pressure you to come here to keep an eye on me did he?” You ask with scepticism. Keeping watch over possible threats wouldn’t be a completely off brand for those of his status. And with you knowing some of his deepest secrets you could likely be considered one of the biggest risks.

“No.” Jimin chuckles, briefly raising his hands in surrender. “I promise I’m here of my own volition. Money isn’t my biggest concern, I’ve been hoping to build connections. I want to use my time wisely and work with someone who is worthy of my focus, and that just so happens to be you.” He finishes with a suggestive smirk, making you wonder if you’ve won his affection too. 

“And what does your focus get me?” You ask, trying to weigh the benefits versus the risk. You doubt that Mr. Lee will respond kindly to you hiring his son, but if he continues to deny his son’s  existence then what right does he have to disagree? 

“Anything you require. I was interested in the posting for your secretary, but any position beneath you would suit me nicely.” 

...

There’s no way you’ll be able to convince Jimin to willingly change roles and work for Hoseok instead. But you can’t deny that your co-founder’s points are valid. 

Jimin greets you warmly as you enter your office. “Did you have a nice lunch?” 

“Yeah, it was good.” You respond, forcing out a smile.

“Really? Because you look upset.” 

You curse Jimin’s ability to read you at a time like this. “I promise, lunch was fine. Yoongi gave me some substantial leads.” You sigh sliding back in your seat. With your values shaken and morals questioned by Hoseok, you are deeply in need of someone to brace yourself on. Wanting to step out of the realm of responsibility and control even if it’s just for a moment, you make a request to Jimin. “Would you go fetch Jungkook for our meeting?”

“I can just call him in.” He makes the case looking reluctant to leave your side.

“Please Jimin just go get him. I need a few minutes for a personal call.”

Jimin looks at you crestfallen before finally leaving. It’s not often you keep things from him, he can scope you out too well for that. But Kim Namjoon’s actual role in your life is the one secret you feel is the most imperative to hide from him.

You pull out your cell, not wanting to use his number on your work phone. After two rings he picks up. “Couldn’t wait a few more hours to hear my voice baby girl?”

You're too embarrassed to admit he’s right, settling on another excuse for your call. “N-no I just wanted to let you know that I’ve sent someone your way... sir.”

“Don’t lie to me I can hear the need in your voice.” He chuckles lightly as he taunts you. “Your reference already reached out to me. I’m excited to play with him, is he just as handsome as he sounds?”

“More so.”

Namjoon hums on the line in gratification. “My babygirl, giving me another pet to play with.” 

You blush from the praise. Taehyung makes the sixth person you’ve suggested following the charity ball you met Namjoon at a couple years ago. Where he, much like you, was secretly scoping out potential clients. Every one of those patrons you’ve given him since then has been his pet, but you, you’re his babygirl. 

“I was wondering...” Namjoon’s carries on, in a tone far more hesitant than usual. “Tonight would you be willing to try something a little unconventional? Would you like to share him?”

“W-would that be okay?” He’s never suggested adding another to your sessions before, but you can’t deny you’re intrigued by the prospect.

“He mentioned an interest in you, and after discussing his needs I feel that I require someone other than myself to pin his desires on. You’ll be the carrot while I’ll be the stick. Do you think you could do that for me?”  Namjoon proposes in a low purr dragging every heated thought and possibility to the forefront of your mind.  

“Yes sir.” Your response is instant, with little thought required. Helping Namjoon with Taehyung? You’d be a fool to turn down the opportunity. There’s a small knock on your office door with the return of Jimin and Jungkook trailing behind him. You start to panic while still on the phone with Namjoon. “I’ll see you later then?”

Namjoon can of course detect the change in your tone, but instead of letting you off the hook he pulls you further. “Did someone walk in on you babygirl? I take it they don’t know about this side of you?”

“No they don’t.”

“No sir.” He calls out your lack of decorum, an error which you know you’ll pay for later. “Such a shame they’re missing out. What do you think they would say if they knew of my plans for you tonight? How I intend to hang you like forbidden fruit above another man. Do you think they would approve?” 

Your eyes widen as Namjoon continues and Jungkook takes the seat in front of you with Jimin standing behind him. You clear your throat and hold up your finger to them, gesturing for another minute. Turning away to hide your face as you continue to try and end the call. But hanging up on one’s dom is never advisable, condemning you to listen for as long as he wishes to torment. 

“I bet you would like them watch, wouldn’t you?” Namjoon asks, egging on your sinful thoughts, transferring them from Taehyung over to your co-workers.

You shift your thighs trying to dispel the building need as you consider the notation of them watching. Imagining Jungkook’s wide eyes taking in the sight, likely with a hand on his cock, he’s an innocent man with strong desires. You’ve known others like him before, they act with naivete but when confronted with an opportunity for more, they don’t hesitate to gorge on what is presented to them.

And Jimin, would he accept your darker needs? You wish he would, desperately wanting him to play along, to help mould you into submission. Your head now filled with thoughts of kneeling before him taking him in your mouth while he christens you a good girl. If only you could be sure that he wouldn’t react like most people, like those who condemned Taehyung. Your eyes flutter back over to your secretary who is looking at you with deep suspicion. You desperately need to end the call or risk giving yourself away. “I should probably-”

“Am I embarrassing you baby girl?” Namjoon teases with an amused laugh. “Does that mean I’m right?”

“Yes...”

“Yes sir.” Namjoon reminds you once again. “I’ll release you for now, but I better see you here at seven o’clock sharp. Is that understood?”

You breathe a sigh of relief at the release.  “Yes sir.” After finally hanging up, you offer up an apology. “Sorry about that.”

“Who was it?” Jimin inquires with a soft tone, but  a quick lick to his lips shows his intentions to be far from innocent. His clenched fists and hovering nature further pointing towards jealousy.

“No one important.” You smile through the lie, careful in your attempt to comfort him. It’s pointless to keep acting in this way, but you still can’t bear the thought of disheartening his feelings or pushing him away. 

...

After your meeting with Jungkook, you're left with a stack of paperwork and your ever persistent lack of concentration as you try to figure out what can be done with Jimin. Should you just tell him the issue, would it help or would it make the situation worse? If he knows how he is perceived then will the affection stop, and if it does, will you struggle with that loss?

“Can I walk you to your car Miss?” Jimin asks with his jacket in hand. You check the time, reading just after five. So lost in thought you had accomplished almost nothing in the last few hours of the day.

“I think I might just stay here until I have to leave for my appointment, I still have a bit more work to do.” You explain rubbing your hands over your face as you pull yourself from your daze.

“Do you want me to stay too then?” 

“No, I couldn’t ask that of you. But before you go I’d like to discuss something” You gesture to the seat across from you which he takes with hesitation. You’re usually not so formal and he can clearly spot the difference. You open your mouth and pause trying to find the right words as his eyes shine in your direction. The evening sun pouring into the room bathing his skin in with golden light makes it so much harder to stick to the issue at hand. You eventually resort to staring at the irrelevant papers on your desk as you open with your concern. 

“I’m worried that our actions towards each other imply that our relationship is not strictly professional.” You blurt it out quickly, hating every word that crosses your lips.

“Have I been making you uncomfortable Miss?” Jimin’s expression falls along with his question, the heartbreak ringing out clear in his voice. 

“No, no. It’s just, I’m concerned about how others see our interactions.”

“Oh, so someone said something to you then?” 

“Hoseok mentioned that a few people think we appear to be a bit more than boss and secretary.” You know it cowardly to bring Hoseok into this, but the information is second hand. You can’t be sure what others have said exactly.

“Well you do know more about me than most.” Jimin laughs lightly. 

“That’s not what they are implying. They think we are engaged in a sexual relationship.”

“And...” He draws the word out as if the implication is nothing, implying there should be a better reason for your concerns. 

“We aren’t Jimin!”

“Well, there's only one way to fix that.” He stands up leaning towards you over your desk. “You can’t say you haven’t thought about it. We could keep it a secret if you’d like, no one has to know.”

You doubt Jimin could keep a relationship between the two of you hidden, with the way he dotes on you already, you’re one passionate night away from finding three dozen roses on your desk. “Someone would find out, and the fall out-”

“Fuck the fall out,” Jimin states with resolve, reaching out his fingers tucking back a strand of your hair before curling beneath your chin. “I’m tired of this charade. Hoseok only said something because he’s jealous. He’s jealous that you want me as much as I want you.”

“Jimin,” You whisper. “Even if that was the case, that still doesn’t make it right.” You pull back from his touch. “You should go. Think about what I said, because if we can’t maintain at least some level of restraint and professionalism... then you might be better off working for someone else in the office.”

“So you’d rather keep your social image than be happy with me?” Jimin accuses, the usual warmth having completely vanished from his face.

“It’s not like that. My standing is my life, it’s my career, any blemish would destroy everything I have.” You attempt to express the fear inside you, the weight that bears on you every day. You already have so many secrets and liabilities, but one as close and extensive as a relationship with him might finally crush you and everything you’ve built. “I like you, I really do, but I can’t take the risk. You have to understand, I’m not like you. I don’t have a secret trust fund to fall back on.”  

Jimin looks as though you’ve stabbed him, pulling away he heads to the exit. “I’m sorry I’m not worth the risk. You know, I thought you were better than that, but it would seem you’re just like everyone else.” 

The door slamming between you echoes through the office as you sag in your chair. Never in all your years have you ever sunk so low. By taking him on you wanted to ensure Jimin’s happiness, to show him his value despite the lack of acknowledgement  from his father, but now it seems you’ve fallen into the same role as those who have hurt him before.

  ...

You type your code into Namjoon’s door, stepping into his hall quickly and shutting the door behind you. It’s just before seven and usually you find him in his living room already waiting, but today it’s empty. Not wanting to disturb him, you take a seat on the couch and wait patiently for him to join you. 

You feel ready to fold in on yourself as you continue to dwell on your argument with Jimin. If you laid out boundaries earlier you likely wouldn’t be where you are now. Hating yourself over his confession, and your inability to accept it. 

There’s movement from the bedroom door as Namjoon’s partner Seokjin comes out to greet you. You look up in bewilderment as he takes your hand, pulling you off the couch. “Namjoon has already started with the other client, so he sent me to fetch you.” 

You nod understanding Namjoon’s divergence from the norm, it wouldn’t be safe practice for him to leave Taehyung alone in a precarious position. Now looking to the door with curiosity, you’re excited by what lustful visions will greet you on the other side. But when Seokjin presents something to you it’s clear that you won’t get to see those sights.

“You’ve been asked to wear this.” He holds out a wide silken strip, one that Namjoon has used as a blindfold in the past. You allow Seokjin to cover your eyes, with a touch far more gentle than you know Namjoon’s to be. You don’t want kindness, craving instead to be broken in by the man in the other room, especially after the damage you’ve done today. The loss of your vision will have to be punishment enough for the time being. 

“Does he want me to undress too?” You ask, touching the silk over your eyes, you're completely blind and already longing for the next step. 

“No he wishes to save that pleasure for himself.”

You smirk thinking he might, you’ve been wearing his gift all day it’s only right that he gets to see it first.  

There’s a knock and a click of the door before Seokjin takes you in hand again, leading you in. The air is warmer and heavier than that of the living room, making it impossible to draw a fresh breath. 

Seokjin pushes down on your shoulder, a wordless order to kneel. The plush carpet meeting your knees as you lower yourself, if only you could reach out to get a better sense of what’s in front of you, but form dictates that you keep your hands on your lap. 

The bedroom door closes, signalling Seokjin's departure. Sending one last wave of clean air before you're smothered once again. Locked away for the night with your master and his new pet. There’s a small creek from the mattress and the familiar rattle of restraints against the bedpost. You can just barely make out the tone of Namjoon’s low whisper as he speaks to the current tenant of the bed. 

Footsteps land to your left, muffled by the wall to wall but still sending vibrations through the floor.  As Namjoon approaches, your heart pounds wondering what his first move against you will be. He takes his sweet time letting the anticipation build as your chest continues to heave in its attempts to take in the thick air. You keep your posture, maintaining your stance with the knowledge that he will inspect you. Head lowered, hands on thighs, perched on your toes as your knees dig into the ground. Your legs soon start to tremble as your feet strain to bear the weight.

Namjoon settles right in front of you, the slow draw of his breath reaches your ears, while the heat of his exhale hits your face. A hand trails up the outside of your thigh stilling the tremor in your legs with a forceful grip. You freeze wondering if your jitters will cost you, you can’t let him find fault not if you want him to reward you with his presence. 

But as he takes your chin tightly between his index and his thumb, you know you're in the clear. He tilts your head up as you breathe a sigh of relief. “Such a good girl, setting the perfect example.” His fingers slide down petting the column of your throat with a firm touch. “I was so happy to receive your picture this morning, did you wear the gift all day as ordered?”

“Yes sir.” You pant back, eager for him to see for himself. 

“It wasn’t too hard for you then, to go so long in such a confined state?”

“No sir.”

“Good girl,” He purrs in your ear as he starts unfastening your shirt. He hesitates on the buttons for a moment. “Babygirl, would you care to tell me why you're wearing a men’s shirt?”

You swallow not wanting to admit that it’s the fault of the man currently lying in his bed. You plan to take the fall, wanting Namjoon’s undivided attention even if it’s in the form of a punishment. “I spilled something on mine sir.”  

“So clumsy.” He has the shirt completely off now revealing the corset for him and likely Taehyung to see. Namjoon helps you to stand, unzipping your skirt he pushes it to the floor. You feel so helpless without your sight but Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind assisting. He uses the soft fabric of the shirt to dab at the sweat beading on your skin. “Who, may I ask, clothed you in theirs? Such an expensive label, he must think highly of you.”

You shift in place, made uncomfortable by your inability to answer. Knowing if you say his name thoughts of him will be summoned to your mind. You don’t deserve to think of him at such a time, not after you led him on and left him dry.

“You don’t wish to tell me?” The feel of Namjoon’s breath leaves you, the sounds of his feet  indicating he’s moved to the right of you. Heading to a space you know to be occupied by a table and closet full of his tools. There’s a scrap of metal and what sounds like the jingle of buckles. 

“No sir.”

“And why is that?” Fingers trail up your arm as Namjoon signals his return to your side. 

“Because I’m not allowed to have him sir.”

“A noble response.” Namjoon reasons while he wraps the leather strap of a familiar collar around your neck. “But I still plan to get that name from you before we’re done.” He buckles it swiftly checking the tightness with two fingers. You thought him finished but he progresses to cuff your wrists in leather too, tethering them together in front of you. 

He leans in again with a hushed request, “Still know your safe word?” You nod repeating is back to him before he leads you on towards the bed. 

Namjoon stands behind you as he presents you to his new pet. When you gave Taehyung Namjoon’s number you hadn’t been expecting this but you can’t deny enjoying the prospect. But you find the silence and lack of reaction from him unnerving. “I asked him not to make a sound,” Namjoon explains, “And he’s abiding by my rules so well it’s he?” 

Namjoon takes your hands helping you to feel the current state in which Taehyung is interned. A Leather cuff just like yours binds one of his wrists with a short chain leading to bedpost. You imagine that his other limbs are restricted to the other corners of the bed, for Namjoon has bound you in the same state before. 

“Can he see?” You ask Namjoon wondering if he has been left blind too, or if he’s eyes are watching you now.

“Can he see you? He can babygirl, in fact, he hasn’t looked away once, and why would he?” Namjoon sits you down on the large bed to join Taehyung before pulling down the matching underwear to your corset. “They’re so wet, have you been soaking these all day?” 

You nod in response. A delighted Namjoon makes an offer to Taehyung. “Would you like a taste pet? A reward for being so good.” Namjoon revels in his situation with a chuckle, the man beneath you must have nodded. “Then open up.” You know what a taste means for Namjoon, those panties of yours are most certainly shoved into Taehyung's mouth. He lets out a groan of satisfaction at the welcome intrusion.

Namjoon’s hands find your waist dragging you up further on to the bed with your knees now resting on the mattress. “You’re going to straddle him for me babygirl.” He shifts you over pulling up one of your legs to settle them on either side of the man beneath you. Your knees bent with your calves coming to rest against his bare hips. Without his billowy clothes he is far more slight than you expected, but his skin feels firm and toned. 

You slowly move to lower yourself knowing what you will come down on top of as you sit, but Namjoon seems to have other plans in mind. He takes your bound wrist, lifting them above your head and latching the cuffs to a chain in the rafters of the canopy bed. Once fixed in place he tests your limitations, a quick tug to show you even with your arms fully extended you are only able to lower yourself to half a kneel. You groan in frustration with the realization you can’t move any closer to the cock that rests below you. It’s just as he promised, hung like forbidden fruit above another man. Your dominant’s flare for the poetic never failing to surprise you.

“Problem babygirl?” Namjoon cooes in your ear. “Do you have something you want to say?”

“No sir.”

“Good, because if I recall you still need to be punished for your lack of formality on the phone earlier today.” 

Your stomach drops as you realize he’s going to discipline you right now, in full view of Taehyung. The heat rises to your face at the thought of being demeaned in front of another. Namjoon’s hand cups your bare ass, readying it for the assault. “You failed to call me sir twice, three for each lapse should do it.”

While the first strike eases you in, those that follow are not so gentle. The ring of his index biting your flesh with each impact. The third strike is so strong you pivot forward on your knees, your back arching as you bare forward still confined to the corset and chains. The weight of your body pulls painfully on your shoulders for a brief second, but Namjoon is there to catch you. Stopping you before you can slip and more, and propping you back in place before continuing. 

One hand lays firmly on your stomach to prevent the shift from happening again, while the other rubs the curve of your ass mapping where he should strike next. You can feel the warmth in your skin as the blood rises to the surface in reaction to his beating. Your nerves are caught in the struggle between pain and pleasure, even as the sixth and final blow lands. 

“Good girl.” Namjoon whispers his touch disappearing, as you ease down against your restraints. You hang completely by your wrists while your legs quake from the shock. Every nerve in your body feels as though it’s been left on fire with nothing to quench the flames. Leaving you to hang there for what seems like eternity.

“Sir?” You whisper in the dark as the heat continues to build inside you. Wondering where he has gone your body reacts, begging for the return of his attention with a dripping cunt. And with Taehyung below that can only mean the steady drip of your arousal is left to fall on him.

“Babygirl you’re making such a mess.” Namjoon confirms along with a groan from the man beneath you. “But he appears to be leaking too. Do you want some?” You nod eager for a taste. 

Namjoon obliges, grabbing your throat in one hand, he presses a damp finger to your lips for you to take. Your mouth latches over the offered digit, allowing the bitter fluid to sweep over your tongue. You're forced to let it sit there unable to swallow as the grip on your throat tightens, with the strap of the collar digging into your skin. Your mouth fills with saliva prompting you to close it despite your desperate need for air. 

“Does he taste good?” Namjoon wickedly possesses knowing you can barely even nod. It’s when you start to tremble that he finally releases your airway. 

You swallow quickly before letting your mouth hang open in a pant. With your lungs still restricted by the corset your breathing comes in short shuddering waves. “Yes sir, so good.”

“I think he likes having you drench him, shall we give him more?”

“Please.” You beg but Namjoon suddenly delivers a staggering blow to your backside, indicating your misstep. You’re left gasping from the sudden impact, swinging in the restraints as you try to recoil. “Please sir.” Your plea comes again this time with the proper decorum.  

There’s a crinkle of what sounds like a condom wrapper as Namjoon readies himself behind you. His fingers damp with lubrication find your back entrance, your tight hole giving way to a single finger. “You’ve been training for me like I asked?”

“Yes sir.” You almost come at the thought of it along with pleasure with the swirling digit. You’ve dabbled in anal before testing out a few toys, but a few weeks ago he sent you a plug with a tapered t-shaped end, giving you strict orders to wear it to work the following day. Unfortunately that was the date you had scheduled a meeting with your whole team. You were a flustered mess as you fought through your presentation, Jimin’s presence by your side making it so much more difficult to maintain control of your arousal . But the full day of public and torturous stimulation was worth it, for the reward that night was a call from Namjoon. His orders led you through every action of self pleasure.  Telling you when and where to touch before finally directing you to come. You’ve used the item several times on your own since, knowing your practice would help you in this moment. You wanted to make Namjoon proud and take him with little resistance. That desire now intensified with having Taehyung as an audience.

“Then you're ready to take me in front of him?” 

You nod gripping chains of the restraints as Namjoon eases into you. “Just relax.” His hands glide down your shoulders and back, coming to rest splayed across your hips, the tips of his finger root under the corset and dig into your stomach. Your grip eases as you lean back into him. “That’s it.” He mutters quietly as you stretch to accommodate him. “Good girl.”

After taking a few inches Namjoon pushes down on the front of your corset bowing the metal latches back to so they release, with a few clicks and swift presses the garment is off allowing you to breathe deeper than you have all day. 

“God you should see him babygirl, he’s so ruined by the sight of you. You have him panting for you.” You wish you could curse Namjoon for his choice to blindfold you and silence Taehyung, you would take any punishment that came of it, but all you can muster is a gasp while he continues to fill you more. “I wonder how he’ll react,” One of Namjoon’s hands leaves your hips coming to rest with something soft against your aching clit. “When he sees you come.” With a click the object vibrates, throwing you back completely onto Namjoons cock from the shock.

You catch Namjoon’s lustful groan between your cries. He starts to thrust inside of you one hand gripping your chest while the other holds the vibrate down in place despite your bucking hips. It doesn’t take long for you to completely fold. As the heat inside you finally reaches its peak you shatter, your head falling back on Namjoon’s shoulder as you convulse and moan. With nothing for your cunt to clench your legs grip the trussed man between them. He too lets out a sinful groan as the fluids from your fold continue to drip down your legs meet his adjoining skin. 

Namjoon turns the device off and slips out, the bed shifts as he moves in front of you. When his hand cups your face you lean into his touch. “You okay?”

You nod hoping he’ll be lenient with your lack of speech. You hear him whisper as he checks in with Taehyung too. “I’m going to take these now.” Namjoon must finally be freeing him from the waded underwear of yours.

Namjoon’s hands find you again, playing with the arousal dripping down your legs as he drags his fingers up to the source. A finger grazes your folds slipping between without penetrating. You pull desperately against your restraints hoping that it might find its way inside.  

“So are you going to tell me who you’re not allowed to have?” Namjoon asks again. “Or do I have to let you hang here all night?” 

“My secretary...” You give in with a  whisper, hoping that Taehyung won’t hear.

“And what’s his name? Say it and I’ll give you what you want.” 

The deal is too good for you to resist, you last only a couple more seconds before finally giving in. Crying out, “Jimin,” as two of Namjoon’s fingers breach you. Your sopping slit squelching as he curls his fingers. 

“There it is.” Namjoon sighs, his other hand brushing your cheek. “Is he the reason you’re so worked up tonight babygirl?”

“Y-yes sir.” You stutter as his fingers continue. He gives you another minute of bliss before removing his digits. 

“You’re going to do something for me, okay?” Namjoon asks. You nod as he continues to hold your face. “That man between your legs, you are going to fuck him and imagine Jimin as you do so, is that clear?” 

“Yes sir.”

“Is that okay with you pet?” He asks the other occupant, who still remains silent with his answers. The sound of another condom wrapper, comes as your confirmation.  Taehyung lets out an unexpected high pitched whine, likely due to the pressure that comes with the latex being rubbed down his shaft. You’re already so invested in the lie that he’s even starting to sound like Jimin. 

Namjoon is once again behind you. You can hear the rattle of the length of chain that holds you up and as he sinks back into you, his cock slipping in far easier this time, your body gladly welcomes the fullness of his intrusion.  He then lowers you inch by inch, with little strength left in your legs you are relying only on the restraints and Namjoon to hold you up. After gaining a bit more freedom you can feel the tip of a cock brushing up against you. Namjoon’s arm comes to rest on your thigh as he lines the erection up for you to take it inside. It’s a slow descent, as you stretch to accommodate both of them. Your thankful Namjoon’s mercy for easing you down gradually. 

When you bottom out Namjoon pulls the chain down from the rafters he releases the length from your cuffs, but rather than discarding it he attaches it to your collar, tugging on it as if it’s a leash. Though your hands are still bound together you have the freedom to rest them on the man laying down in front of you. You take pleasure in dragging the tips of your fingers across his skin, feeling his abs flex and his cock twitch inside you as you do so. 

Namjoon starts to thrust, keeping a close hold on your collar. While he pushes you are sent up and down on what you desperately want to be Jimin’s thick cock. After a few thrusts you are shoved forward entirely by Namjoon, colliding with the man beneath you. Your chest is pushed into his, as your bound hands are pinned between the two of you. While your head is left to rest on his shoulder, the tip of your nose is able to graze his neck. As you breathe in your mind continues to play tricks, the smell coming off him mimics that of the cologne your secretary wears, rather than the scent of Taehyung. 

Namjoon must have unbound his legs as they bend up to cradle your own from behind his hips bucking into yours, with both men taking you at a steady pace.

You move in closer to his neck, with a lick you taste the salt of his skin showing  your intentions. Biting down on the spot, you suck in deeply as your teeth dig in even harder. The carnal groans you receive from him sending shivers to your spine. There’s the sound of a soft slap, Namjoon didn’t hit you, but the man beneath you returns to his ordered silence.

Namjoon thrusts even harder, pushing you into his chest repeatedly. The thought of being fucked into Jimin’s embrace is too much to bear. Your cunt clenches as you continue envisioning your secretary, and how you're grinding your clit against his pelvis. 

You cry out over the swelling girths inside you, knowing their both likely to come soon. Clenching down one last time you dissolve in the pleasure and contentment. Namjoon finishes first remaining inside while his pet comes too. He leaves you there laying upon your imagined Jimin, in your daze  you can barely move let alone focus on reality. With a wave of exhaustion you start to slip from consciousness, but not before one last praise reaches your ears. Your delirium grants you the satisfaction of hearing the voice of Jimin whisper, “Good girl.”

...

You can’t remember the last time you slept so well. You woke early to find Namjoon had taken care of you in the night, he released your wrist cuffs, and removed your blindfold, after you had passed out from the physical exertion. The only restraint to remain was your collar which he asked you to wear today. Taehyung was sadly already gone, but you can’t deny it was nice to have Namjoon to yourself before you left. 

Now as you head off to work, showered and freshly dressed, with a turtleneck hiding your gift, you check your phone for the first time. Finding a string of apologetic messages sent from Jimin in the early hours of the morning. You reply apologizing too and asking to revisit the subject as soon as you get into work. Thankfully he agrees, the smiling emoji he ends his text on sends a wave of relief through you.

You step in the front entrance of your building ready to handle and objectively listen to Jimin’s thoughts and concerns. While you wait for the elevator your phone vibrates listing a call from an unknown number. “Hello?”

“Hey it’s Taehyung. Hope you don’t mind, I stole your personal number from my father.”

“Taehyung...” Heat starts to rise in your face at the thought of last night. The elevator arrives and you quickly step in. “No, not at all, to what do I owe the honour of this call.”

“No need to be so formal,” He giggles at you.

“Sorry, habit,” You respond. “What can I do for you?” 

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday...” Taehyung starts off. 

But his words are soon interrupted by someone shouting, “Hold the door.” You comply, pushing the button to keep them open, while trying to keep your focus on your conversation with Taehyung.

“...It’s not often that I meet someone who I can be so open with. I called the man you recommended and I’ve scheduled my first session with him tomorrow.”  

You freeze, unable to fully comprehend what he’s saying, surely he misspoke. It can’t be his first session. “W-what do you mean your first session is tomorrow? You were there-” The collar hidden beneath your turtleneck feels as though it’s tightening around your throat. “Last night, I saw you-” The line goes dead as the elevator closes and starts to ascend. It was Taehyung in the bed with you and Namjoon last night. You saw... nothing you saw nothing because of the blindfolded that you were asked to wear.

“Everything okay?” You jump at the sound of the other voice, forgetting that some else had gotten into the elevator. Looking up you find Jimin there beaming at you, his head tilted from his query.

“Namjoon,” You flutter with your phone, too panicked to even greet your secretary properly. “I need to call Namjoon.” But the line won’t connect, not with you in the elevator. “Fuck...” You try again your patience not willing to wait the minute it’ll take to disembark on your floor.  

You are almost there when the elevator shudders and stops. The sudden halt sends you off balance, but Jimin’s there to grab hold of you before you can fall. You thank him before stepping back and putting a bit of distance between the two of you again.

Jimin turns his attention to the panel, pushing the call button, he waits for someone to answer, but the call remains silent. 

While he continues in his attempt to make contact, every scene of the night before floods back to your memory as you try to piece everything together. It was Taehyung, it had to be. He must just be playing a stupid joke. He was surely going to shout ‘gotcha’ before the phone disconnected, but you won’t know for certain until someone can get you off this blasted lift. You sink to the floor and Jimin follows, unable to reach anyone on the outside. 

Despite your best efforts to rationalize what happened, your panicked breaths fail to slow, Spots start appearing in your vision as the elevator sways around you. Your breakfast threatens to make another appearance on the polished marble floor. 

“It’ll be fine. Someone will notice soon.” Jimin attempts to comfort you but even that won’t quash the fear raging inside you.

“It’s not just that...” You whisper. “Something happened last night. I need to call Namjoon, I need to figure out...” Who was actually in that bed with you. Your confusion and panic break free sending you into a fit of tears as you hug your knees to your chest.

“Hush, it’s okay.” Jimin readjusts, moving in front of you and taking your hands in his. He leans towards you as he whispers in your ear. “Don’t cry babygirl.”

Your eyes snap to look at Jimin in alarm. Your prior worries are nothing compared to the terror which takes hold now. “H-how do you know that name?” Your stuttered words barely make their way past your lips.

“I think you know the answer to that question.” He pulls at the collar of his shirt allowing you to spot a large red mark on his neck, right where you had bitten the man you once thought to be Taehyung. “I wanted to wait a bit longer, I wanted more moments like we had last night but it would seem that someone had to go and ruin it.” You pull back but Jimin’s hands shift to take hold of your wrists, mimicking the manacles that embraced you the night before. “Are you not happy babygirl? You got your wish. And I... I got what I’ve always wanted.”

“This is so wrong Jimin! You knew I thought you were someone else! You knew that I wouldn’t have done that last night if I knew the truth.” 

“Even though I was the one you really wanted babygirl?”

“Stop calling me that! Just because of what happened last night does not make me yours. You lied to Namjoon. You said that I sent you. You told him you were Taehyung!”

Jimin gives a wicked laugh in response to your accusations. “Oh, but you are mine. Namjoon is the one who’s been keeping things from you. He’s been in my employ far longer than yours.” He coos as his fingers tighten their grip on you. “I was the reason you were introduced to him, and I was the one who bestowed you with that name shortly after.”

“No, that’s not possible, Namjoon and I, we met at a charity event.”

“Hosted by my father. Where I told him to make himself known to you, to entice you to become one of his pets. I may have acted the sub last night but I am the one who holds Namjoon’s reins, I always have.”

“No he would never do that! He’s considerate and-”

“Had so much to gain by dominating you on my behalf. Money, power, and an assurance of safety, he would’ve been a fool to turn my offer down. Especially since you were so willing to play along with him. I dare say he enjoyed his time with you, but I was the one who permitted him to touch you. I was there to listen, to read, and to direct every conversation. Those gifts he told you to wear to the office, they were all from me.” He lets go of one of your wrists to pull down the neck of your shirt. Revealing the leather band strapped around your neck. “Today it’s the collar, yesterday it was the corset, and a few weeks ago...” Jimin smirks as he recalls the memory to your mind. “You barely made it through that meeting thanks to my gift.”

  It’s impossible to swallow the admissions coming from him, but regardless of what may be true or false, you won’t stand for any of it. “You’ve had your fun, but this ends now.” You reach up attempting to remove the collar but Jimin pushes you to the floor pinning your arms above you as he straddles you. The elevator wavers from the struggle, teetering as you lay captive beneath him. 

“I don’t think you understand the situation you’ve placed yourself in. I hold in my possession your darkest secrets. One’s that will ruin you if they make their way out. Your illegal activity with a sex worker, your inappropriate sexual conduct with your secretary. Not to mention the names and dubious activities of every client you’ve recommended to Namjoon’s services.”  

“Why... why are you doing this?” 

“Because you found me. I worked so hard to exploit my father from the outside, getting everything I wanted without the threat of public exposure. I couldn’t let you ruin it all. When we first met I considered you a threat, but then I saw how easy and enjoyable it was to mould to my will. The more intimate you become with someone the more power you give them over you. Simply being your secretary isn’t enough, not if I want you in a more pliable state.” Jimin hushed whisper mixes with a haunting giggle as his lips come to your ear. “I plan to bend you to fit every one of my needs.”

“You’re psychotic!” You lash out trying to throw him off but he stems your revolt by planting himself further down on to you, sitting on your chest as the elevator sways.

“Psychotic? No, I am simply a man who found his passion amidst his revenge. I know what I desire, and vengeance has taught me how best to take it. So if you want to keep yourself and everything else around you from falling, I suggest you play along like a good girl. Or I promise you, my punishments won’t be as kind as what you’ve experienced before.”

“What is it that you want?” You ask, already fearing his answer. He has you trapped in a gilded cage with him, where one misstep will send you plummeting to meet your end. Nothing that comes accompanied by such threats can be palatable.

“At work? To keep the status quo, I’ll remain your secretary, only so I can keep a better hold on you.” 

“Hoseok won’t agree to that. He already thinks I should ditch you. I should have listened to him.” 

“Then you will make him agree or he might have an accident, much like your accountant did. He too thought we were too close, even threatened to say something. Don’t worry I saved us from him, just as I’ll save us from Hoseok if you can’t convince him to back off. Do you think you can get him to agree now?”

You give a solemn nod, with Hoseok on the line you have no choice.

“After hours, we’ll drop the middleman.” Jimin lowers himself further on to you, laying down on top, his weight flattening you to the floor. With his head coming to rest on your restrained arm as he whispers further plans. “Every night you’ll come to me instead, and every morning you’ll have a new gift to wear. When we step off this elevator you’ll act as if nothing is wrong. You will go about business as usual, is that clear babygirl?”

You stifle a sob staring directly up and away from his eyes, not daring to give him the satisfaction of your fear. With little else to cling to, all you can do is agree for the time being, as much as it pains you, you choke out your compliance. “Yes...” 

“Yes what?” Jimin purrs, his lips faintly touching your ear. “Address me properly, or I will find ways to discipline you right here on this lift.” His fingers tighten and nails bite into your skin.

“Yes sir,” you whine as a plea for him to stop. 

Jimin mercifully lessens his hold on your wrists, hitting you instead with a smirk and befouled praise. “Good girl. I knew you’d finally see that I’m worth the risk.”

...

[wherevermyway]

we’re professional. (1/??) // minbin // 18+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

we’re professional. chapter one: sophisticated series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

pairing: lee minho x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, eventual sexual content, age difference, art student changbin, artist minho, fake dating AU. word count: 4,807 also on AO3

originally posted: 17 december 2020

series summary: Lee Minho, or Minho: The Heartless, is a famous artist, which comes with an annoying entourage of paparazzi that are very invested in his life.

Two years ago, a piece at UBC's annual student's exhibit catches Minho's eye: "arranged: in black", a series of greyscale paintings crafted by sophomore Seo Changbin. Minho talks with Changbin at length for hours, then offers to help him financially if they pretend to date for a while, so Minho can please the press. Naturally, a walking exhibit of the "starving artist" stereotype, Changbin accepts the offer wholeheartedly.

There are no strings attached: Changbin can leave at any time. Hell, Minho doesn't even ask him for sex in exchange for the money, just companionship and occasional skinship. Changbin knows that Minho is emotionally damaged from several bad relationships in the past, so to have someone pay him just for providing them company is nice. Sure, he could go off and date someone and work on settling down, but he just doesn't want to. Minho is too interesting, too valuable.

Eventually, something's gotta give. When it does, it could potentially damage their relationship and careers forever.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

chapter summary: Minho brings up an interesting proposal while celebrating the second year of his professional arrangement with Changbin.

“I can’t accept this.” The young, blue-haired man at the opposite side of the table of a middle-aged brunette pushes an open envelope back across the table. “It’s too much. You’ve already given me so much this month, I couldn’t possibly accept anymore.”

“Changbin,” the brunette smirks, bringing the crystal glass of wine up to his mouth. “Please, don’t insult me. I’m not offering this just off the cuff. Besides, it’s not just cash that’s in there.”

The bluenette frowns, bringing his gin and tonic to his mouth, taking a careful, prescribed sip as he watches the older man cautiously. He lets the gin burn its way down his throat before he sighs. “It’s sex, then. That’s what you want, Minho?”

“No.” Minho’s expression quickly turns serious and slightly sour. “Not at all. I told you when we first started this arrangement that this wouldn’t turn sexual.”

“Right.” Changbin cocks his eyebrows up in response, his tone somewhat sarcastic. He brings the glass up again, tilting it and his head backwards, letting the ice slink down and hit him in the nose as he finishes off his drink. He sets the glass down on to the table, ice settling with a soft clink, before he rolls his eyes up and frowns. “What’s all this for, then?” The young man rolls his wrist around, bringing his chin down to his right hand. “You’ve really gone all out for this date.”

Minho softly smiles, then mimics Changbin, mirroring him in the way that he places his head in his left palm. “It’s been two years, officially.” He makes eye contact with a server somewhere off in the distance, and nods upward.

“Two years, eh?” Changbin tuts. “Surprising that neither of us have gotten sick of each other, nor found other people to spend time with.” He takes in a quick breath, then flashes his teeth with a lazy smirk. “Sure you’re not getting serious with me yet?”

The older man opens his mouth to speak, but quickly recedes his statement as a lanky waiter confidently struts over to the table. “Hyunjin, could you please bring me the bottle of Clos D’Ambonnay I have in the back?”

“Of course, Mr. Lee,” the blond waiter nods his head once with a polite smile before he makes his way back to whence he came.

Changbin squinted, knitting his brows together as he shook his head once. “You own this restaurant, too, don’t you?”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t necessarily say own it, no.” Minho hums, bringing his index finger in between his teeth as he ponders. “It’s a partnership with an old colleague of mine, Chan; you met him at the Vivace Vancouver exhibit over the spring. He had that dreadful red hair, the one where you said he looked like he got electrocuted and then spray painted by an angry ex-lover.”

The younger man’s eyes go wide as he tries to hold back his laughter. “Oh my god,” he sighs, “I remember that. How do you forget something so audacious, is that even possible?” He regains his composure and rests upright against the back of the chair. “In my defence, though, I was two glasses of Chianti in when I said that. Please tell me that his hair isn’t that horrible shade anymore. It was so bad.”

Minho smiles widely and softly shakes his head. “No, no, god, no. I met with him the day after and told him that he needed to go back to see my stylist immediately and never go back to the hellspawn that butchered his hair.”

“Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Lee,” the lanky waiter from before returned, presenting a black bottle before he placed it on top of the table. “As requested.” He placed well-crafted champagne flutes in front of both Minho and Changbin.

“Hyunjin,” Minho tutted as the waiter grabbed the bottle, “I’ve told you several times that just ‘Minho’ is fine.”

The blond waiter half-smiled as he wrapped a hand towel around the cork, deftly wiggling it off with a muffled pop. “And I will tell you each time,” he poured some of the champagne into Changbin’s glass first, “you will always be Mr. Lee when I’m at work.”

“You’re too stiff,” the brunette gently pushed his glass towards the blond as he set Changbin’s glass down. “I know that Chan — sorry, Mr. Bang — is strict with all of you, to maintain a pristine image,” Hyunjin picks up Minho’s glass and bites his lip as if he’s holding back commentary, “but you’re still in your prime. Bend the rules a little while you can get away with it.”

Changbin watches the way Minho’s eyes flutter around from the glass to Hyunjin, catching himself getting caught up in the way the light sparkles against his brown eyes, the way his eyelashes paint shadows on his irises. He doesn’t mean for every detail to be etched into his memory, but there was always something about remembering the details of Minho’s soft face that warmed him. If it were any other world, any other person, perhaps he would be catching feelings.

This arrangement, however, was strictly professional. There was no room for feelings.

Hyunjin sets the bottle back down onto the table. “Sure thing, Minho,” he sarcastically scoffs as he wiggles his shoulders in some sort of strange dance of mockery. “Would you like an ice bucket to keep this chilled?”

Minho shrugs, seemingly indifferent, but his expression turns a bit more serious. “I suppose. Don’t worry about us, though. Tend to the other customers first — we’ll be here for a while longer. A bit of champagne slowly warming won’t be the end of the world.”

“You got it, Mr. Lee,” Hyunjin says, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead in some sort of joking salute before he spins on his heel and walks off to another table.

Minho grabs his champagne flute and flashes his teeth at Changbin. “Sorry about that, love, I’ve just gotta give the staff here trouble every now and again.”

Changbin blushes as he picks up his champagne flute, bringing it close to Minho’s. “Don’t apologize.” He tries to restrain his embarrassment, still mentally replaying the way that Minho called him ‘love’, desperately trying to get the sound to imprint upon his memory. “Anyway,” he lifts his head from his palm and stares directly into the brunette’s eyes. “Two years? I can’t believe it’s been this long since I met you.”

“Your ‘arranged: in black’ series captured me, Changbin, what can I say?” The older man tilts his head to the side, tugging his lips into a smile. “I still think about it every day.”

“It’s hard to avoid thinking about it when all four pieces are hanging behind your bed, wouldn’t you say?”

“Suppose that’s fair,” Minho bites his bottom lip as he avoids laughing. “But, wow, two years. Two very eventful years. To think, you were a scraggly sophomore two years ago when I met you. You really kind of fit the ‘starving artist’ stereotype back then, hmm?”

Changbin’s eyes subconsciously darted down to the maroon tablecloth. He avoided thinking about his life before he met Minho, since it wasn’t something he was overly fond of. Sleeping for a couple of hours a night after a late dishwashing shift at the restaurant, waking up before dawn to run to his part-time barista job, then somehow getting to class just in time to nearly doze off mid-project sketch, all to repeat it again the next day. The chronic sleep deprivation painted him in an ashy grey, and he perpetually smelled of instant ramen and coffee.

No. That was in the past.

He shuddered at the thought of his past life. It was stressful, and he was thankful that Minho came along and offered him some kindness. Most art students either came from wealthy families, or lived in the same shoes that Changbin did. The ones that weren’t from wealthy lineage would probably stay under the poverty line for the rest of their lives, but at least they would be happy creating things that came from the depths of their soul.

For some, it was worth the sacrifice. He knew what he was getting into when he was accepted into the visual arts programme at the University of British Columbia, and he was prepared for the pain and agony it would cause him for the small chance he could make it big while doing something he loved.

“Binnie, love?” Minho’s soft voice pulled Changbin from his memory. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Changbin nodded his head a couple of times, almost as if he was willing himself to be calm. “Sorry, I just kinda got distracted. Thought about when we first met and kinda got transported back in time.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it definitely was far from the truth.

The older man softly smiled and nudged his champagne flute forward. “Well, here’s to two years of whatever the hell this is. Here’s to however long we have left and to wherever we may go next.”

Changbin smiled, turning his chin slightly inward as he tapped his flute against Minho’s. “I like that. To whatever the hell is next.”

“‘Whatever the hell is next’,” Minho smiled as he brought the flute up to his lips. “That’s a good one.”

They didn’t get to the bottom of the bottle of champagne until about a half-hour past closing. It had been two years of the same company every Tuesday and Thursday night, and usually most Fridays and Saturdays, yet they still found new things to talk about each time they met. “You’re still so foolishly young and in university,” Minho would scold Changbin over the phone, “so go out and get hammered at a stupid house party and I’ll come by tomorrow and help nurse you out of your hangover.” Minho was really a sweetheart, even if he didn’t want to date and was, to quote Minho himself, ‘emotionally unavailable’.

It had been two years, and Changbin still didn’t fully understand why people were so pressed on calling Minho heartless.

“And so,” Changbin took a sip of water from his glass, setting it down a bit roughly, some of the water sloshing around and splashing on to the table, “I had to sketch a live model, right? Turns out Seungmin makes a horrible model at two in the morning, but we thought the idea was brilliant.”

Minho loudly cackles, throwing his head back and clapping his hands once in front of his face. “You had just gotten done downing several shots at the bar. What made either of you think that sketching in charcoal was a good idea?”

The younger man folds over, resting his head in his palms as he tries not to collapse on to the floor in laughter. “The project was due on Monday! And, hey, we got it done, and I somehow got a decent grade in the end.”

“Ah,” Minho leans back into his chair as he looks up to the wall to his left, smiling as he wipes a tear from his eye. “I’d love to scold you for that, but the truth is, I can’t. I did the same things in uni ten years ago.”

Changbin rests his chin against the back of his hand, languidly smiling as he watches Minho get lost in memories past. These moments that they shared, where they were just so plainly human — not a famous artist, not a struggling art student, but simply Minho and Changbin — these were why Changbin never sought out another partner. It was unconventional to most people, especially those his age, to have such a hands-off relationship, but it just worked for them. Sometimes, the things that came off the most discordant could somehow still find a way to harmonize, and that was what they did.

“You know, you didn’t totally open the envelope,” Minho points at the middle of the table with an open hand, as if he were guiding Changbin back to the thick paper.

Changbin shrugged his shoulders and bashfully looked away for a moment before staring Minho down. “Come on, Min,” he lowers his voice a bit, “I don’t need to know how much you’re giving me, at least not now.”

Minho dismissively waves his hand before nudging the envelope back to Changbin. “It’s not just money, love, I promise. Nothing too domestic, either. Just,” he pauses, bringing a finger to his chin as he looks up at the ceiling, “I suppose it’s partially a token of my appreciation? Yeah, that sounds right. A way to tell you I’m thankful you’ve stuck around for so long, even with all of the weird shit we’ve gone through. There’s more to it than that, but that sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I dunno, you’re making this feel like a real relationship,” the bluenette sarcastically mumbles a bit as he gingerly picks up the envelope, squinting a bit at Minho. He opens it, then pulls out a few plastic-like polymer bills: some green, some red. His expression quickly shifts to confusion when he comes across papery stationary, the textural difference causing a nerve to spark up in his arm. Stationary. A letter? He pulls the light grey paper out of the envelope, eyeing Minho as he opens it. “Really? Getting awfully boyfriend-like on me, Min.”

“Oh, come on, just read it,” the older man tuts, rifling through the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I promise, it’s not as sappy as it looks.”

Changbin plucks his glasses from the table, wiggling the temples to fit just behind his ears, then clears his throat. He tries to swallow down the smirk on his face as he mocks Minho’s intonation and speech. “My loveliest Changbin,” a laugh creeps up from his stomach as he reads on. “Every single day, I wake up and I see your ‘arranged: in black’ pieces, intricately framed behind my bed, and I’m taken aback by the fact that your mind knows no bounds when it comes to expressing creativity.” The younger man peers over the sheet again, studying the somewhat bored, slightly flustered expression on the elder’s face.

“So I had a couple of glasses of wine while writing, I got a bit sentimental.” Minho flutters his lips as he rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist. “At least it’s not as bad as last year’s letter.”

Changbin smiled, but quickly brought the paper in front of his face to hide the subtle reddish tint growing on his face. “I usually don’t like keeping my own work, as you know,” he continued to read off of the letter, still avoiding eye contact with Minho, “but the graphite portrait of you, asleep on my bed from your last bout of finals — it holds a special spot in my heart. I love seeing it every time I enter my closet. It’s like there are little reminders of you scattered across my apartment, and across my heart.”

Oh.

There was a warmth that blossomed and grew in Changbin’s abdomen. The warmth reminded him of ivy hanging off of old buildings, quickly encompassing and embracing everything within its reach. It was a strange sensation, and it gave him pause before he continued reading the note.

Perhaps this was more than sentimental.

Perhaps Changbin was reading too far into things again.

“Changbin?” Minho’s voice pulled the bluenette from the cavern of thoughts he had recessed himself into. “Where did you go?” His tone was firm, distracting Changbin from the fact that Minho had interlaced his fingers between the younger man’s left hand.

This was something they always did. Minho was always touchy-feely, even if it didn’t progress past shirtless embraces as they slept next to each other, or walking hand-in-hand. The way the pads of Minho’s fingertips softly caressed the back of his hand, though, made things seem different. Special.

“Your closet.” Realizing he had spent too much time losing himself in between the grooves of Minho’s fingerprints, Changbin sputtered out some words to barely form a coherent thought. “You reminded me that I still have one of your Burberry hoodies lost somewhere in my apartment.”

Minho furrowed his brows for a moment, trying not to get caught up on how distant Changbin’s response was. “The oversized black one? You know I don’t mind if you keep it, Bin.”

“It was nearly a thousand dollars, Minho.”

The older man scoffs and rolls his eyes a bit, bringing his left hand up to the table, a small brown box of sorts covered up by his palm. “Well,” the brunette squeezed Changbin’s hand a bit, causing them to make eye contact, “when you’re done reading that letter, I’ll be sure to avoid telling you how much your ‘anniversary’ gift is.” Minho winked as he ended his sentence, right when Changbin was thinking about saying something in protest.

“Minho,” Changbin whines, drooping his shoulders a bit as he frowns.

“Changbin,” Minho teases a bit as he mockingly whines in response. “Trust me, it’s not just me spending money aimlessly. It’ll tie into the idea I have in that letter. You know, really make some of those tabloids make us look nice and get off our backs for a while.”

The younger man bit his tongue and scanned his eyes down the letter, trying to find the last spot he had read over. Across my apartment , reading the words caused his hands to sweat, across my heart, made his stomach clench. Domestic and soft, exactly what they were, but also, somehow exactly what they were not. He continued reading off the letter, but his memories started creeping up during the empty gaps between sentences.

There was the callous bite to Minho’s tone during their first real meet-up. “Our arrangement is for mutual gains: you’ll be able to live comfortably, and I’ll get the press off of my back. You won’t be a starving artist, and I’ll no longer be ‘Minho, the Heartless’. We’re professional boyfriends: all of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings.” His bony hands felt cold, like ice, when they shook hands to confirm their arrangement. Changbin had felt in over his head then, but he knew he didn’t have anywhere else to turn.

In contrast, there was the night that Changbin had recently stayed over at the end of October. They had gotten back shortly after one in the morning after celebrating Minho’s thirty-first birthday with a handful of his friends and several well-renowned professional artists and gallery owners. Sure, Changbin had been Minho’s quote-unquote “boyfriend” for the night, but it benefitted his art career a bit, just to branch out and connect. None of that had mattered, though, because the best part was when they had gotten half-undressed and passed out on Minho’s duvet together, giggling about how some of the attendees thought ‘artist’s birthday’ meant ‘licence to dress as insanely as humanly possible’. The one-on-one time was always what Changbin looked forward to the most: that soft, personal connection with another person on such a raw, human level.

That was the weekend he borrowed Minho’s black, oversized Burberry sweater to wear home. Changbin lied earlier. He knew exactly where it was: curled up next to his wall in his bed. The soft scent of bergamot and mandarin of the Dior Sauvage that Minho wore on his wrists and in the divots of his clavicles had slowly started to fade into hints of vanilla and sandalwood. While he knew that his arrangement with Minho wouldn’t last forever, he wanted to live in the moments that made him feel like he was in a true, caring relationship. He had a friend in Minho, he truly did. It would probably hurt like hell when they eventually decided to move on from their agreement.

We're professional. Changbin would remind himself every night as he curled up into Minho’s sweater, remembering the way Minho’s arms felt warm on his back and on his shoulders, how soft his manicured fingers were when they fit perfectly in between Changbin’s. We are not real boyfriends. The sweater would catch his inevitable tears as he lost himself in the confusing haze they had painted themselves under. Business dynamic. This was the price he would pay to get into the elusive elitist art world. Strictly professional.

Even if it cost him his sanity.

“Did I just read that correctly?” Changbin’s voice was alarmed, and he frantically re-read the words on the paper before darting his eyes around nervously. Minho smirked as Changbin leaned over the table, dropping his voice to a just-audible whisper. “You want to do what to get the press’ attention?”

Minho grabbed the ashy brown jewellery box from the table, letting go of Changbin’s left hand. He opened the box and his expression flattened. “Exactly what the paper says, Bin.” Inside the desaturated box sat a contrastingly bright, rose gold band.

It was a ring embedded with actual fucking diamonds.

To anyone else, this would be serious. ‘Call your parents, scream at your best friend, even at two in the morning’ levels of seriousness. However, Changbin and Minho were not ‘anyone else’. They were in their own strange, unique bubble where the rules of modern society did not apply to them.

“How about we graduate from professional boyfriends to professional fiancés?”

Like most Sunday mornings nowadays, Changbin woke up to the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. Minho may have travelled to fancy galleries across the world and tried extravagant blends of coffee during his tenure, but he would always fall back on Starbucks’ blonde roast for his morning routines. “Why bother going through all of the effort of getting my hands on something overly fancy from Europe? I have yet to be let down by this one, and it’s been over ten years since I started drinking it. Why stop now?”

The logic made sense, really, and the coffee wasn’t bad.

“The Vancouver Sun’s already got an article out,” Minho excitedly muttered under his breath, setting a ceramic mug down on the nightstand closest to Changbin. He stared at his phone as he made his way back around the bed, causing the mattress to sink as he sat down. “So many people are speculating, like it even matters. If they had really been following me these past two years, they’d know better.”

It was too early for this. Minho was always business as soon as he woke up: endearing in theory, terribly annoying in practice.

Changbin rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he rolled onto his back, sleepily glaring up at Minho. “You’re loud.”

“And you’re hungover,” the brunette quipped, not looking away from his phone as he smiled at himself. “Drink your water and your coffee, love, you’ll feel better.”

“Whatever,” Changbin grumbled under his breath as he sat up, reaching over to the nightstand. There was a sheen on his left hand that caused him to momentarily lose his breath. Shit. He drew his hand into his face to stare at the ring he had conveniently forgotten about overnight. It felt like nothing before he noticed it, but now that he was staring at it, it felt like the ring was going to cut off the circulation to his finger. It felt like a boa constrictor was tightening around him, making it hard to breathe.

Changbin had every intention to pull himself away from the suffocation of the ring. Instead, he found himself trying to count each small diamond wedged between the two layers of rose gold. A sudden dip right behind him and an arm around his waist literally pulled him from his thoughts. “Min!”

“It’s pretty,” Minho gently grabbed Changbin’s hand, tucking his chin into the younger man’s shoulder. “I didn’t know if you’d like rose gold, but I know you hate gold, and silver’s too simple for you. For a fake engagement ring, seems pretty convincing, hmm?”

As much as he doesn’t want to, Changbin sinks into Minho’s embrace. Blame it on the fatigue, he figured, but found himself surprised that the older man didn’t pull away. For the shortest of moments, it almost feels like they’re meant to fit together like this. “It’s expensive,” the brunette whispers, “to no one’s surprise, so please don’t lose it.”

The younger man squints in disapproval. “How much was it?”

“It’s impolite to ask a fiancé something like that, you know,” Minho huffs a bit dramatically as he feigns irritation.

Changbin, however, seems plenty irritated for the both of them. He rolls around, mere centimetres away from Minho’s face as he frowns up at the older man. “It’s a good thing this is all fake, then, right? How much was it?”

“Bin,” the brunette’s expression falters as he cocks his head to the side. “It’s not important, I don’t understand why you’re so—”

Changbin desperately wants to stay this close to Minho, to drown in his embrace and the warmth of his touch. Professional. Fake boyfriends, fake fiancés. “It’s just for show, I know. Since it’s fake, though, you shouldn’t have a problem telling me, right?” There’s a layer of hurt in his voice that he knows he can’t hide. He dips his chin into his chest and closes his eyes, desperate to make this all just stop and go away. Something about this, though, just felt too real, too close to an actual relationship.

What the fuck were they doing? All of this had to cross some sort of unspoken relationship rule somewhere, right? The blurred lines between what was real and what was fake in their arrangement was causing Changbin's head to spin.

Minho doesn’t seem sure about how to handle the situation. The moments pass by in silence until the older man takes in a deep breath, then he wiggles his index finger under Changbin’s chin, tilting his face upwards. “Hey,” he quietly demands, “look at me, Bin.”

So, the bluenette does as requested. He stares into Minho’s eyes and instantly softens.

“If it bothers you that much, I can go out and get something simpler.” Minho’s voice quivers a bit, almost like he feels how uncomfortable Changbin is. “I just… I don’t know what I was thinking when I went out and I got this one. I looked around with the agent for over an hour, and then that one just caught my eye, just as things were looking hopeless.”

Suddenly, Changbin’s hand is in Minho’s again, and the older man stares at the band with purpose, rotating the younger man’s hand around freely. “I guess I put in a bit too much of a personal flair on this. I really prioritized what I figured you’d like before the importance of keeping up the façade that this is all fake.”

They both stare at the ring for a moment, then look at one another. Neither of them moved, neither of them breathed as they stared at each other with shared panic, concern, worry. There was an unfamiliar emotion that lingered at the back of their gaze, but it was hard to place. Changbin hadn’t felt anything like this before. He was equal parts nervous, nauseated, and lost.

If this were like the romantic comedies that Changbin and Seungmin would watch while hungover, this would be the part where Minho would roll on top of him, say something like “fuck the rules, I just want you”. They would cry and kiss and roll around the sheets together. There would be a swell of uplifting orchestral music in the background, indicating that fate had given its blessing on the couple.

This wasn’t a movie, though. This was fucking reality, and there was nothing but tension in the air and a yearning in the bottom of Changbin’s stomach. Their situation was complex and convoluted and it was going to end in heartbreak for him, and only him. Really, he had no one to blame but himself.

Our arrangement is for mutual gains. Minho’s voice was so loud.

We’re professional boyfriends. It was sour.

All of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings. It hurt as it echoed in Changbin’s head, but Minho’s voice was all he wanted to hear.

Feelings.

Feelings?

That’s when it hit Changbin: he was falling for Minho — Minho, the (supposedly, yet to be proven) Heartless — and he couldn’t stop himself, no matter how stupid he knew it was. Perhaps the most terrifying part of this, though, wasn’t the fact that Minho didn’t feel the same way.

No, the most terrifying thing was that Changbin couldn’t tell if Minho was actually interested in him or not. Minho always felt strongly one way or another. For them to sit here, struck dumb in silence, was unnerving. The silence meant uncertainty.

It meant possibility.

[fanfic-corner]

Under 10,000 Words

16/12/20 - I can never figure out what my favourite length of fic is, but I think it depends on my mood. Sometimes I want a huge, 200,000 word journey, and sometimes I just want a quick drabble. Anyway, here are some fics which are all between 2,000 and 10,000 words, organised by the word count.

Sleep Deprivation by Honey_Honey on AO3. (2,313 words).

Tags: Cute, First Kiss.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: The one where killing monsters leaves Dean without a week of sleep, and Cas has to deal with the consequences.

Notes: This was so fluffy and cute and I can totally imagine Dean overthinking everything while Sam just finds the whole situation hilarious.

That One Time Sam Winchester Googled Something Weird and It Had Pretty Awesome Results by quitepossiblyjanuary on AO3. (2,587 words).

Tags: Romantic Fluff, First Kiss, Stars, Humor, Courtship, Short & Sweet.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: In which Sam Googles something and his curiosity doesn’t kill the cat. Or him. Or anyone. It’s a pretty awesome feeling.

Notes: This was so adorable! Gabe was so sweet, and his mind reading skills made me laugh.

What Can’t Be Seen by destieldrabblesdaily on AO3. (2,639 words).

Tags: Soulmate AU, author!Cas, Strangers to Lovers, First Kiss.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Written for this prompt: Soulmate AU where you first see color after eye contact: Cas is a famous best selling author and he’s promoting his book, so he’s talking to a crowd of people and suddenly his world is in color, and a lot of his fans pretend to be his soulmate. A Cinderella type situation ensues.

Notes: This was really cute and such a sweet and funny idea.

The Tea is Decaf by mnwood on AO3. (3,673 words).

Tags: POV Castiel, Fluff, Sign Language, Castiel in the Bunker, Canon Compliant, Sharing Clothes, Asexual Castiel, Gentle Dean, Non-Explicit Sex, Domestic, Established Relationship.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Based on this text post from thebloggerbloggerfun: “Listen, imagine Eileen sneaking out of Sam’s room at night to go to the bathroom or something and steps out into the hallway in one of Sam’s shirts only to see Cas trying to quietly leave Dean’s room while wearing one of Dean’s shirts and they both just stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before trying to muffle quiet laughter and now they have a late night club where they talk about life and gossip about the Winchesters in sign language"And this anon I received: "what if Eileen and Cas discover there are some things Sam and Dean both do in bed because Dean jokingly gave Sam pointers when they were younger and Sam took the advice”.

Notes: This has to be one of my favourite fics of all time, even though the first time I read it I hadn’t even met Eileen yet! I’m still so pissed off that she wasn’t in the finale (unless we’re counting Blurry Wife?).

surely heaven wants for you by cenotaphy on AO3. (3,782 words). 

Tags: Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Heaven, Coda, Post-Finale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean, Outdoor Sex.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Cas doesn't come to him. Dean can't really argue with that, given the circumstances. In all the history of balls in courts, he thinks there might never have been a ball as thoroughly in a court as this one is in his. He drives for what feels like a long time but might just be a single sunny afternoon, or maybe years (time's funny here, Bobby had said), just enjoying the music, the shifting landscape outside his window, the hum and creak of the engine. Finally the forest opens up and the road narrows down in a way that he's fairly certain wouldn't typically happen on any kind of earthly interstate, and he glides the car to a halt at the edge of a lake.

Notes: This was so beautiful and such a interesting exploration of Dean’s feelings!

a quick salt and burn by xylodemon on AO3. (4,609 words).

Tags: Episode Related, Cemeteries, Case Fic.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: "Fuck," Dean mutters, wincing as pain throbs in his shoulder and neck. After the ghost chucked him into the hedge, he hit the ground like ton of bricks and clipped an exposed tree root so old it was practically petrified. "So much for a quick salt and burn."

Notes: This is adorable and hilarious, so a double win.

Funny Bone by PallasPerilous on AO3. (4,933 words).

Tags: Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Skeletons, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Alternate Universe - No Angels, Canon Divergence, Mild Gore.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland. It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

Notes: This has to have been one of the funniest fics I have ever read, but oh boy did I feel bad for poor Cas.

Grace by july_19th_club on AO3. (5,164 words).

Tags: Fix-It, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Resurrection, Reciprocated Confession.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: A man dies. What happens next will shock you. [script]

Notes: This was written beautifully, and now I really want to see this filmed! So much better than the ending we got.

(un)conventional by imogenbynight on AO3. (6,100 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe, mechanic!Dean, Writer!Castiel, Conventions, Fluff.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Spec Lit Con--Speckly Con, to it’s regular attendees--is an annual weekend-long event held in Chicago, dedicated to science fiction, fantasy and otherwise speculative literature. This year Dean's favorite author, C.J. Novak, is appearing as a panelist. Naturally, he shells out the cash for an all access pass.

Notes: This was so adorable that I nearly screamed in the corridor outside my computer science lesson. Plus, the writing was absolutely gorgeous! I miss conventions :(

La Vie A Plus by K_K_TiBal on AO3. (6,260 words)

Tags: Punk Castiel, Asexual Castiel, College/Uni AU, Roommates, oh my god they were roommates, College Student Dean, College Student Castiel, Pining, First Kiss, Misunderstandings, Art Student Castiel, Love Confessions, Gabriel is a Little Shit, Tattooed Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester is hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with his best friend and roommate, Castiel. Castiel - with his blue hair, and his tattoos, and his artwork, and his perfect everything. Dean never stood a chance, really. It only sucks because, as far as Dean can tell, Castiel is definitely not interested. But love, much like art, has a way of being unpredictable. Even if you think you know where you’re going with it.

Notes: The angst is strong in this one! Again, I feel like many aces have had this conversation or that fear that people (allos, especially) may not want to be with them.

Event Horizon by Winglesss on AO3. (6,442 words).

Tags: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Dean, Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Past Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Texting, Sharing a Bed, Happy Ending, Veteran Dean, Doctor Dean, Writer Castiel, Strangers.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Castiel couldn't have helped his sister. That's why being offered a chance to help somebody else dealing with suicidal thoughts he took it without hesitation. When he gets the first text from someone who needs his help, nothing goes as he expected.

Notes: I don’t know if that kind of suicide prevention scheme exists, but this fic is very sweet.

I Think That’s Mine by palominopup on AO3. (6,804 words).

Tags: Fluff, AU, Reporter!Dean, Writer!Cas.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: A mix up at the Atlanta Airport places Dean Winchester's laptop in someone else's possession. A series of calls and texts bring two men together.

Notes: This was so cute, Cas was so sweet, and Dean was an icon.

Nothing Equals the Splendor by RurouniHime on AO3. (7,865 words).

Tags: Fix-It, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief, Explicit Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Declarations of Love, Canon Compliant, Minor Injuries.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Maybe it’s the cynic in him. The hunter, always under the surface of any quietude he ever found. Or maybe it’s just that he has always had trouble with blind faith. But after a while (a blink? A decade? A century?), Dean raises his eyebrows, looks around, and says—

“Uh. No.”

It’s so close. Just so slightly imperfect. And maybe, he analyzes, maybe that’s the final knell of this bell called contentment. Dean’s experience with happiness has always been that last rise in the road, right before it turns. Right before fate comes barreling around the corner head on. He turns in his spot on the bridge, and suddenly Sam is like a cellophane film through which he can see the light streaming, and the taste of cheap beer on his tongue is much, much older a memory than it should be.

“Oh, you’re good,” he says, and means it.

Notes: What a great idea, and written so well! I always thought the show could have done so much more with djinns, but never mind.

In the House of the Rising Bun by imissmaeberry on AO3. (9,046 words).

Tags: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Baker Dean, Barista Sam, College Campus, Poet Castiel, Mutual Pining, Daddy Issues, Background Sam/Jess, Past Balthazar/Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester only has three rules concerning the cafe he and his brother Sam own, “House of the Rising Bun”.

1. Any and all opportunities to make a pun will be taken. 2. Free regular coffee with your student ID (If you want some of that fancy nonsense you gotta pay, sorry kids). 3. Anyone and everyone is always welcome.

Between Dean running the shop full-time and Sam helping out whenever he isn’t in class, there really isn’t a whole lot of time for romance for either of them. But that all changes when they gain a new regular - some writer from London - who may or may not have the bluest eyes Dean’s ever seen.

Notes: First of all, the puns were amazing and I am willing to fight people on that. Secondly, that was so sweet and funny I am afraid I might have to disappear under mysterious circumstances and open my own cafe…

I hope you enjoy these! I haven’t read any new fics for this list and even then there were way too many to put on one list, so expect a sequel at some point in the future!

[whimperwoods]

29-Day Whump Challenge - Day 16

Day 16: Filmed Whump || Sleep Deprivation

Local Anemic Bitch writes about exhaustion, news at 11. Prompts are by @yuckwhump and found here.

This one’s a continuation of my starvation post from day 9, but set both before and after it. (That’s right, more flashbacks. This one’s less violent and more narrative!)

tw: starvation, tw: slavery, tw: trafficking, tw: conditioning, tw: neglect, tw: electrocution, tw: torture, tw: brainwashing (attempted), tw: people as pets (werewolves as pets but like... werewolves are people), tw: collars

*****

Drew sat in his new owner’s lap in just his underwear, freezing cold and leaning into the man for warmth, his master’s arms tight and warm around him.

He could breathe easier, now that he’d had a little water, small sips when his master said he could have some, before it was taken away again because the man didn’t want him being sick.

Before she’d handed the water over, the woman who worked here had wrenched Drew’s chin away from his master’s side, forcing him to look her in the eye. Her eyes had been cold, and she’d told him that if he bit his new master, he’d be going right back into the cell before the paperwork could go through.

He’d shivered, the trembling in his whole body intensifying in a freezing cold flood, but he’d forced himself to nod, even as the motion made his head spin.

It was strange, thinking of this man as his master, after he’d fought so hard against the whole idea. He remembered more now. He remembered talking back, saying he wasn’t an animal, wasn’t a pet, would never let himself become one.

His whole body hurt, and his stomach felt like it was going to churn itself apart trying to get the water in it out to the rest of his limbs. He was too weak to sit on his own, too weak to hold his head up, much too weak to stand, and everything in his world was the slight, slight chance that the man holding him might be better than this place, and he hadn’t understood, before, but now he did. Now he did.

“Very good,” the woman said, “There’s the first set of paperwork done. He’s yours. We’ll still need to finish the other set, liability and such, but we’ll go ahead and get him settled with his complimentary collar and all that, since you’ve already got him here.”

Drew leaned away from the woman, pressing farther into his master’s side, but she didn’t react, and his master didn’t stop her when she pried his head away from its place beneath his master’s chin and wrapped a cold, metal collar around his neck.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized what it was, when he recognized the smaller plates of a different metal settling against his throat.

“No,” he begged, “No, please. Please.” His voice was hoarse and broken, his throat barely wet enough to make a sound, and his master’s arms tightened around him, making him bite his tongue and whine instead.

“What is it? I don’t think I’ve seen one like this.”

“It will administer a mild electric shock. For control. Of course, our hope here is always that you won’t need such a thing, and our premium pets behave themselves with only a cloth collar, or even with none at all. This one - well, it’s better safe than sorry.”

His master’s arm left his side, reaching toward the woman.

“Here’s your remote control,” she said, “You can test it out if you like.”

Another jolt of fear went through Drew and he closed his fingers as best he could in the front of his master’s shirt. “Please,” he gasped, “Please.”

His master ran the other hand all the way up and down his back, stroking along his spine. “That’s alright. I trust you. And anyway, I can already tell he’s gonna be a good boy. Aren’t you, fella?”

“Yes sir!” Drew panted. “Yes sir, please sir, please.”

“See? If it doesn’t work when I want it, I’ll just come back.”

Drew shivered again, a sob working its way audibly out of his throat and surprising even him. His master held him closer, the side of the remote pressing into his ribs as his master brought that arm up around his body again, and a second sob burst out of him, louder than the first.

“Please sir,” he begged between wracking sobs, “Please.”

“Take it off,” his master said, “I can just get a taser instead.”

Drew retched, vomiting water against his master’s collarbone, but he was actually relieved by the thought of the taser, and the wrongness of that, the wrongness of the feeling he could make sense of but couldn’t stop, turned his empty, weakened stomach inside out.

*****

Drew’s eyes fluttered shut in the chair, and after a few seconds, a jolt of electricity shot through him, the plates of the shock collar burning against his neck as every muscle in his body tensed, wrenching at his bones as the pain rolled jaggedly through him, before stopping again just in time to let him scream.

“I told you not to fall asleep during your lesson,” the trainer said, taking out a remote from his pocket and pressing a button on it, sending a shorter, sharper jolt through him that almost stopped the breath he was still trying to catch.

Drew moaned, keeping his head up to prevent another shock.

The rubber cuffs around his wrists, binding him to the wooden table, wouldn’t let him reach up and wipe away the drool that always seemed to accompany the shocks, so he twisted his shoulder as far as he could to wipe the spit off on it.

He didn’t know how long he’d been here, but he did know, as the audio in his ears started up again, whispering insidious lies, that he couldn’t give them what they wanted. He couldn’t.

The longer the ‘lesson’ went on, the harder it was to stay awake and the more he found himself on the receiving end of the double shocks, the automatic ones from the collar responding to the change in his breathing and heart rate, and the trainer’s shocks growing gradually longer as he followed the automatic shocks up with manual ones.

He’d thought at the start that this seemed like a milder ‘lesson’ than usual, but now it had been hours and hours of the same words pouring through his brain, the same shocks burning through him each time he was asked who he was and he said his name again. Now, he had drool dripping down his face he couldn’t even hope to wipe away, and as he waited for the audio to finish and the trainer to ask him questions again, he wondered if defying them again would actually kill him.

Finally, there was silence, and the trainer came over to the table and wrenched his head up to look into his eyes. “Who are you?”

“A-andrew. Andrew Michael Green.”

The man slapped him hard across the face, and he almost cried with relief because it wasn’t another shock. “Wrong. What are you?”

“I’m a person.”

Another slap, a backhand hard enough to drive his head sideways with it. “You’re a filthy werewolf. Where do you belong?”

Drew gritted his teeth, working up the guts to answer only when the trainer picked up his remote control. “I belong at home, you bastard!”

He wasn’t surprised by the shock, but it still made him feel like the life was being torn away from him, shredded from the inside out. The current went on and on, longer than it ever had before, until he started wondering if his muscles were actually going to tear with the force of the tension on them.

When it stopped, he’d barely managed to gasp in a new breath before the trainer backhanded him again, snapping his head to the side. “We’ll try again tomorrow. The lesson isn’t over until you learn it.”

He’d been dragged away by his arms, too weak from the shocks to stand, but he’d been relieved to get away from the remote control. He’d been a fool.

*****

The woman lifted Drew out of his master’s lap and dropped him callously onto the floor, and Drew felt his side bruise and his bones strain under the force of the landing. She fussed over his master, dabbing at the mess on his chest, and making excuses and offers, one right after the other.

His master waved her off, got up, and knelt over him. He leaned down, whispering right into Drew’s ear. “I’m sorry.” Then he hit Drew in the back of the head, slapping him hard enough to force his head forward, his chin moving toward his chest and his cheek sliding across a little bit of grit on the tile floor.

Drew whimpered.

His master straightened up. “See? He’s not so tough. Take that thing off. I’ll look for a better one over here, yeah? Something more me. Not so utilitarian.”

The woman’s hands weren’t gentle as she removed the shock collar, but Drew sobbed with relief anyway, turning his face into the floor so his master wouldn’t have to look at him, and he wouldn’t have to look at any of this.

*****

Alone in his cell, Drew laid down on his thin mattress and closed his eyes.

The moment he fell asleep, another jolt of electricity ran through him, waking him. It was brief, automated, and weaker now that the trainer wasn’t standing over him turning the power up. He grunted in pain, sitting up.

Fuck.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what this was, what it meant.

It was still hard to wrap his brain around. They weren’t going to let him sleep. They were going to keep him here, awake, and then drag him back in there, awake, to do it all again, and they were going to do it until he gave in or died, and he was going to be shocked all night, the whole time, and that was - he closed his eyes, sighing. That was something he couldn’t just think his way out of.

There was no convincing himself that they’d get bored with hitting him, bored with the shocks, bored with the insults and the mantras and the whole damned system.

This was a computer, and it didn’t get bored and it didn’t care and he didn’t know how to get the collar off.

By the time the guard made his midnight round, Drew was pinching himself to stay awake, his body warn out from a day of electricity coursing through him, his muscles aching and his nerves frayed.

By the 3 am rounds, he knew he’d tell them anything they wanted to hear, tomorrow. He’d been shocked twice more, in spite of his best efforts, and without sleep, all his other aches and pains were getting worse, instead of better.

Breakfast time came and went, and no one came to his cell to get him. The people in the neighboring cells were lead away, and he was still here, exhausted and waiting.

He fell asleep three times before lunch. 5 before dinner. 6 before lights out. He hummed every song he could think of, pinched his arms in a thousand little places, stood up and wobbled to and fro in his cell, and he still kept falling asleep.

No one came, and he sat back down on the bed as the room went dark with a loud, sudden clunk.

36 hours. It had definitely been at least 36 hours.

Everything hurt. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and his head felt too light, reeling as his body tried to fall asleep and he had to force his own head up. His eyes leaked tears, even as he knew, deep inside himself, that he wasn’t crying. They flowed silently, painlessly, unchecked, pooling against the puffy skin under his eyes before they dripped away. They stuck in his eyelashes when he blinked, glinting in the faint bio-luminescence of the woman in the cell across the way.

By midnight, he was falling asleep with his eyes open, only aware of it when another jolt tore through him. He sobbed quietly in the dark, but all of the prisoners slept heavily, their bodies trying desperately to repair themselves in the night, and he was alone.

The guard walked past. He didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t know how long he’d been awake. He didn’t know how to do the math anymore.

He had thought his body hurt before. Now, every blink felt like it might tear the surface off his eyes, and the pain of the shocks sat over a bone-deep, soul-deep ache that he knew wouldn’t heal, that he knew would just grow and grow and grow until it swallowed him alive, unless he was allowed to sleep.

He kept his eyes open. He was shocked. He was shocked. He was shocked. He tried to cry, but he had no tears left, and no energy left for sound.

The lights came on. 48 hours.

No one came.

He was shocked. Shocked. Shocked. His head reeled, lolled, shot back up, and he knew he was going to die like this.

The others got breakfast. The guards passed his cell like he wasn’t here, and he didn’t have the strength or the voice left to call out to them. He kept seeing faint echoes of the guards when they weren’t there, drifting in front of his eyes with no accompanying sounds of footsteps and vanishing into nothing when he blinked and forced his eyes farther open.

Something was coming. Something. He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember. Couldn’t think. He tried to pinch his arm, but his fingers didn’t line up right and slid past each other, leaving just an ineffectual scratch.

He kept his eyes open, but even the light did nothing to keep him alert. He was shocked. He was shocked.

His trainer came with lunch, with the remote, and increased the power on the collar before he slid the food through the bottom of the bars. Kyle stared, his eyes dry and blank, and knew staying alive was all that was left to him. He had to stay alive. His body screamed for sleep, the only thing that might keep it whole in the face of the shocks, and he knew he was going to answer the man’s questions the way he wanted them, this time.

*****

Drew’s master picked him up again, scooping him into his arms like he was nothing, like he weighed nothing, and he went willingly, leaning back up against the damp cloth of his master’s shirt and hoping the man could tell he was being compliant.

The man wrapped a strip of something bright green around his neck, a stiff canvas collar that he secured almost loosely, and Drew fought back more tears.

“Thank you, master,” he whispered, “Thank you.”

He had nothing left. Nothing. No flesh, no hope, hardly even a name. But even in the cell where he’d starved in his chains, he’d been able to sleep, to put himself back together in increasingly small increments, to knit together the frazzled nerves even as the rest of his body tried to shut down.

“I’ll be good,” he whispered.

His master ran a hand up and down his back again. “I know. I know.”

The woman gave his master more paperwork, and the man started filling it out.

Drew closed his eyes, tucking his head back under his master’s chin, curling into his side, and trying to be small and out of the way. Maybe, maybe he could still keep that. The sleep. The only thing left to him to make any part of him whole.

Between the forms, his master rocked just slightly back and forth, just enough that Drew could feel it, pressed against him. It was soothing. Reassuring.

Drew breathed. His master rocked, barely perceptibly. He calmed down. His eyes grew heavy. His master didn’t wake him, and the canvas collar sat, inert, against his skin.

By the time his master signed the last page, shook the woman’s hand, and stood up with Drew still cradled against his chest, Drew was almost asleep, and almost convinced that wherever he was going, he might be allowed to heal.

[monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my]

McDonald's! McDonald's!

I actual posted this a few days ago on AO3 but I’ve been lazy about posting it here, I thought I’d try writing something a little more comedic in tone than what I usually write (even though it has angst by nature of when the story is set).

AO3 Link

Post 13x01 - On the way back to the bunker the Winchesters stop for dinner at a McDonald’s with the day-old Jack. The nonsense you’d expect ensues.

Sam felt like a cosmic joke.

Not in the general constant way that came from his life being an actual, honest to goodness, vastly pre-planned since de-railed cosmic joke, but in the way that he could imagine Chuck standing on a stage in a c-list comic club pitching his current predicament in a nervous voice to a tough crowd.

"So, uh... two brothers and Lucifer's newborn son who just happens to look like a… I-don’t-even-know-what-ager, are on a road trip…"

Sam almost snorted and rubbed at his eyes tiredly, if he was laughing at that he was, well and truly sleep-deprived. It had been a very long very draining forty odd hours filled with loss and death and… and all the other shit their lives entailed, he wanted nothing more than to eat something and pass out.

Dean looked exactly the same as he had when they entered the car hours earlier, staring straight ahead, dead quiet, not even one of his old tapes crooning from the speakers.

And Jack…

Sam glanced behind him expecting to see the boy still sitting stiffly watching both men, but was surprised to see him face squished against the window, eyes closed and breathing deeply, out like a light.

So Nephilim slept...

It dawned on Sam they didn't know the first thing about the kid. Despite what age the boy appeared it was still terrifying to have someone's hours old child depend on you for safety and survival when you had no idea what their needs were.

Was he hungry too? Did Nephilim eat? Sam almost smacked himself. He and Dean could deal with skipping a meal or two to make good time on the road, but it was just wrong to make a kid go hungry.

"Dean?" his brother ignored him staring out at the dark road.

Sam, sighed, "It's been hours, do you… do you want to swap places?"

Dean almost never wanted to switch but it was enough to make Dean raise his eyebrows and get his attention.

"I'm fine," he said gruffly.

"You're not... ready for a break?" Sam said carefully.

Dean shot him a look, "we stopped for a piss break like an hour ago, your bladder isn't that small."

Sam huffed he guessed he'd have to spell it out, "look, Dean, we’ve been running ragged for two days straight, the only calories you’ve consumed was a friggin’ big gulp, and we have a kid in the back seat, we need food, we need sleep…”

Dean shot his brother a sharp look probably about to make another rude comment about said kid, but Sam shot the look right back.

He knew his brother was in a bad place, hell he was in a bad place, he felt like as soon as he let himself think about Cas or Mom or even freaking Crowley he’d fall apart but that didn’t mean he was okay with Dean taking everything out on him, or Jack.

Dean sighed.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Sam couldn’t talk his brother into stopping for the night but he did at least manage to convince Dean to stop somewhere for food.

Judging by the enthusiastic nodding Jack gave when Sam asked if he was hungry, Nephilim, unlike the angelic side of their family tree, did in fact eat.

The only place nearby that was open at half-past ten was a twenty-four-hour McDonald's off the highway.

They decided to actually go inside the restaurant for once since it was nearly empty and no one working the late shift would ask questions about two strange men carting around what looked like a perpetually confused college freshman.

And anyway it didn’t matter how old Jack looked there was no way Dean was letting a twenty-hour-old kid eat in Baby.

Sam made sure Jack's coat was closed enough to hide the bloody hole in his before they headed inside. Dean told the kid to sit down and not do anything in one of the corner booths as they went to actually get the food, but Jack didn't seem to mind, he just keep looking around with a kind of cautious curiosity.

Like all fluorescent lighting and brightly colored window cling ads were the most fascinating things he’d ever laid eyes on.

It made Sam's mouth twitch upward despite everything.

"Do you think the Anti-Christ eats McNuggets?" Dean said bluntly.

Sam shot him a look, "kids like them so it's probably a fair bet, yeah…"

"You're not his nanny Sam, until we..." Dean lowered his voice to a whisper, "until we figure out how to deal with… it, I'm not going to play house or get attached, and you should probably do the same…'

Sam bit back a response that he wasn't planning to let Dean kill a kid who at this point had done nothing wrong, how he thought Jack could be the only way they’d get their mother back. He knew after everything that had happened that if Dean killed the newborn Nephilim it would push him over an edge he wouldn't come back from.

But now… wasn't the time.

Sam wasn’t ready to say it and Dean certainly wasn’t ready to hear it.

“That’s still no reason to... Dean?” Sam snorted as Dean ignored him and walked up to the counter to address the bored-looking teen behind the cash register.

“Sam?” a quiet voice made him jump a foot in the air.

“Jack…” Sam breathed heart racing, “you, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” the boy said sheepishly, fiddling with his hands.

“Did you need something?”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed looking deep in concentration for a moment before looking up with a satisfied smile.

“No.”

Of course not…

“Hey hey… I thought I told you to stay at the table,” Dean pointed a handful of straws at Jack accusatorially.

“I got bored.”

“You got…?” Dean snorted, “Whatever, I don’t care, just go back and sit on your ass until we bring the food over.”

Now Sam was annoyed, “you ordered for me?”

“Yeah, don’t give me that look, you always get the same thing anyway.”

“Excuse me sir…” the bored teenager blinked wearily at them, “what dipping sauce did you want with the nuggets?”

Both brothers looked instinctively towards Jack who just looked confused, “Sauce?”

We’ve got, Barbeque, Sweet and Sour, Signature Sauce, Ranch…” the teen trailed off at the blank look on Jack’s face.

They sighed and clearly having stopped giving a fuck by this time of night reached below the counter and plunked two multicolored fistfuls of sauces onto their tray.

Jack’s eyes went wide, “Thank you, you’re very nice!”

“Go nuts kid," they sighed going back about their business yelling at someone behind the counter about a lack of fresh fries..

Jack beamed at the brothers, Dean rolled his eyes looking like he was about to say something but Sam interrupted grabbing two cups from the tray and pulling the boy away before Dean could say something snarky and crush his enthusiasm.

"Since Dean said he has the food," Sam handed the confused Nephilim a paper cup, "I've got a new job for you…"

Jack followed Sam like a duckling over to the drink machine holding his cup gingerly with both hands and just… staring.

Sam felt incredibly awkward doing a simple task with a rapt audience.

"You just…" Sam gestured for a moment then sighed going through the process of filling his cup with ice figuring it would be better to just show the boy.

He got lemonade as it seemed to be the only option that didn't have a thousand grams of sugar and dye and felt oddly accomplished as Jack watched him work the machine with awe.

He carefully finished capping the cup and putting in the straw, and then found himself almost pushed away in Jack’s eagerness to apply his new skill.

Jack painstakingly and carefully filled the cup with ice and then peered at all the spigots looking mildly overwhelmed.

"Just pick what looks good to you buddy," Sam found himself saying amused.

Jack nodded seriously, at this point in the less than a day of what made up his entire life on Earth it was probably very important to him.

He eventually settled on some strangely flavored Sprite with a bright green and orange label smiling triumphantly at Sam as he managed to start the machine.

It took all of four seconds for Jack’s triumph to turn to horror as the soda neared the top of the cup and then proceeded to fizz over.

Oh right… newborns know nothing about carbonation...

Before Sam had a chance to react Jack panicked and in his hurry to pull the cup away managed to slosh a good bit of it over his hands and part of his jacket cuffs.

"Whoa whoa, hold on," Sam reached out to steady the cup and Jack stepped back with his dripping sleeves held out in front of him.

"I… I'm sorry, did…"Jack looked forlornly up at him, "did I do that?"

"Did you…" Sam blinked perplexed, "Oh no no, no that wasn't… the machine is supposed to add bubbles to some stuff. I really should have warned you… um."

The boy stared at him, wet hands still stuck out awkwardly.

"There should be a bathroom you…" Sam sighed setting down both drinks and gently guiding him in that direction, "you'll need to wash your hands before they get all sticky, do you know how to…"

Jack blinked and said as if it was obvious, "mom taught me how to wash my hands."

Ah yes, the mysterious Nephilim fetus telepathy Jack had mentioned before.

"Right yes, go… do that, and I'll wait for you at the table, okay?"

Jack nodded and headed off to the bathroom arms still stuck out. And Sam dealt with the drinks and went to guard the table while thanking Kelly up in heaven.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

"Where the hell’s the kid?" Dean said when he arrived with their tray of sauces and food.

"Bathroom, there was uh… a mishap with the soda machine," Sam said sheepishly.

Dean put down the tray with a little more force than necessary and looked around wildly, like he was half ready to draw his gun..

"Seriously?" Sam deadpanned, "dude, would you just chill, he's not going to open up a hell gate in the men’s room."

"You were supposed to watch him," Dean said accusatorily.

"Half of creation wants him dead and we're literally the only living people he knows, where would he even go?'

"You're really buying this lost puppy routine Sam?"

"Ah yes, because we all have such devious plans when we're a day old," Sam muttered dryly.

Dean rolled his eyes, "You know that’s not the same. And this is exactly what I'm talking about Sam, he already has you under his thumb."

"He's a kid not a prisoner, and I'm not going to treat him like one when he hasn’t actually done anything."

"Because waiting until he kills someone is a great idea,”Dean muttered darkly unwrapping his Big Mac and taking a pointed bite.

Sam ignored him, snatching a few of Dean's fries petulantly.

"Really?" Dean huffed with his mouth full, "eat your own food…"

Sam blinked innocently, "I wanted fries, you got me salad, you should’ve asked."

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam snorted a laugh pulling his actual meal off the tray.

"How long has that kid been gone anyway?"

"Uh, ten minutes…?" Sam said sheepishly.

Dean paused, "to wash his hands?"

"It's fine," Sam said, coating his salad with dressing, definitely not concerned.

Dean looked about ready to leap up and make sure Jack hadn't teleported off to destroy Chicago, but thankfully about then the kid finally emerged.

"What took you so long?" Dean asked, annoyed when he reached the table.

"It… it was different than at the house," Jack said playing with his hands nervously, “there were two sinks…”

Dean and Sam both looked at each other in confusion, Sam shrugged, maybe it was a kid thing?

"It's fine, just come sit down," Sam brushed it off patting the seat beside him Jack took it, still eyeing Dean a little warily.

Dean grabbed his fries and did his best to move them out of Sam's reach then pushed the tray with the rest of the food towards Jack.

"Here, McNuggets, fries, eat," Dean said gruffly.

Sam handed Jack his drink he’d salvaged with a little less roughness, the boy thanked him and everything lapsed into awkward silence.

Sam cleared his throat, “so um… I was thinking, in the morning we need to stop at a thrift store or something.”

“Yeah, why?” Dean asked, preoccupied with his food.

“For Jack,” Sam explained, “he only has the one set of clothes, and his shirt already has a big bloody hole in it.”

“Just lend him some of your clothes if it bothers you so much,” Dean balked.

Sam snorted at the image “We’re not exactly the same size, he’d be swimming in them, and besides Jack doesn’t even own his own underwear.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “there’s no point in buying a bunch of crap he’s probably never going to get the chance to-” Dean paused distracted.

He reached over to grab the sauce Jack was struggling to open and tore off the top, “you pull the tab,” he said gruffly.

Jack gave a small unsure smile and went about more cautiously opening more of the sauce packets, “Is your house close by?” he asked hopefully.

“It’s not a house, it’s a bunker…” Dean said bluntly, his voice softened to normal after catching Sam’s glaring at him, “And no, it’ll take a few more days..”

Jack shoulders drooped for a moment before he sighed softly, shook himself and got back to contentedly opening and lining up one of every sauce in a big arc.

Maybe the long hours on the road were tiring him out to… Sam made a note to find something for the kid to do besides nap and sit in awkward silence over the next few days.

“Is it a very big place?” Jack asked after a minute.

“Just eat your McNuggets,” Dean sighed.

Jack looked sheepish but, seeming satisfied with his rainbow of sauces, finally opened his box of chicken nuggets and took one out eyeing it a little warily.

“They’re good I promise,” Sam prompted him gently.

Jack nodded seriously and finally took a cautious bite.

The kid’s eyes lit up and he looked up at Sam, a big smile quickly spreading across his face as he chewed..

Sam was unable to stop himself from smiling back.

"They're good!" Jack declared happily.

Sam chuckled and stabbed a fork into his own food ignoring the look he could feel Dean giving him. “Bite me Dean,” Sam thought. Good things in their life were too rare not to smile at a kid’s obvious joy.

Jack hummed happily to himself as he sampled his fries next but he again ran into a bit of snag when it came to his drink, he put his mouth over the end of his straw-like he saw Sam and Dean do, but then paused and looked perplexed. He pulling the straw out of his mouth and then tried again, still clearly not getting anything. He huffed and pressed his lips together in frustration.

Sam noticed and cleared his throat to get the boy’s attention telegraphed the process for Jack to follow, being sure to make a loud enough slurping noise that the boy realized what he had done wrong despite the disturbed look it earned him from Dean.

It was worth it to see the lightbulb go off in Jack’s head and the pleased mildly overwhelmed look on the boy’s face when he got his first taste of pop.

"Sam," Jack said a little sheepishly after a minute, dipping one of his nuggets in barbeque sauce, "can I ask you a question?"

“Shoot”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed.

Sam kicked himself mentally, “I mean, yeah, sure, of course, ask away.”

Jack nodded, still looking a little confused, “Um, my mom she taught me a lot of things, but I keep finding new things that I don’t… get?”

It made sense, Kelly only had, what?, a few short months? Weeks? Who knew how short of a window between when a Nephilim gained awareness and when they were actually born to teach her son all she could. And while Sam sent a thankful prayer up to heaven for her positive influence (and for her teaching Jack things that would be incredibly awkward to have to teach to a kid that looked Jack’s physical age) he doubted things like why McDonald’s workers wore weird topless hats made the cut.

“Like what?” Sam prompted him gently.

"Like…" Jack looked a little unsure, "why there were two different sinks in the bathroom."

Sam opened and closed his mouth, the answer felt so obvious he had to be missing something, "what do you mean?"

"Well one was normal and had a handle though it didn’t stay turned on," he described, "but the other one,” Jack looked a little uncomfortable, “ It turned on whenever it looked at me…"

Dean nearly choked on his drink.

“When it… looked at you?” Sam asked carefully as Dean hacked up a lung.

Jack nodded looking mildly concerned towards Dean, “Um… yes, and the paper towels did the same thing and so did… what I think was soap?”

“What you think was soap?” Dean said incredulously, clearing his throat.

Jack nodded, “the sink with the handle had a regular bar of soap, but it was in a cage that I couldn’t see how to open to open it so I used the foam stuff the machine by the other sink spat at me.”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed then he buried his face in his hands.

“Um… Well I think the foam was probably soap…” Sam blinked deciding to ignore the i ndecipherable cage part, “and the sink, it… it wasn’t watching you… or spitting at you, the sink and stuff like that just have a little machine inside that makes them turn on whenever something blocks the light. It can’t actually see you.”

“Oh…” Jack looked equal parts relieved and disappointed, he shrugged again seemingly satisfied and went back to happily testing sauces.

“Soooo evil,” Sam muttered in Dean’s general direction making his brother roll his eyes and ignore him in favor of his burger.

Jack for his part seemed nonplussed continuing to experiment with his fries and nugget pulling various faces.

He paused after a moment looking genuinely confused, pushing a bright orange sauce in Sam's general direction and pointing carefully with one finger, “this one it makes my tongue feel…” he screwed up his brow, “stingy?”

Sam borrowed one of Jack’s fries to test it himself, “Buffalo sauce, it's spicy…” he explained gently.

“Spicy…” Jack tried the word in his mouth.

“Do you not like it?” Sam asked.

“I don’t…” Jack tilted his head slightly in thought making Sam’s chest feel heavy, reminding him for all the world of Cas.

“I don’t think I want to feel like anything else is attacking me today…” Jack said tapping a McNugget pensively against its box.

Sam smiled sadly, “I don’t blame you.”

"Do you like spicy things?" Jack asked him curiously.

"I guess, sometimes," Sam said offhandedly turning back to his own salad

Sam heard faint rustling and looked up to see Jack holding out the partially eaten sauce to him expectantly.

"Oh um… thank you," Sam took it sheepishly, not having the heart to tell the kid he had no use for it on his salad.

Jack smiled satisfied going back to his own food.

"Okay," Dean announced after a few more minutes balling up his trash, "we should probably get going…"

“We just..” Sam muttered through a mouth full of salad pausing halfway through to swallow, ( he didn’t want to be teaching Jack bad habits early ) “We just got here.”

“You’re almost done eating anyway, and he’s…”

Jack looked owlishly up from where he was casually dipping a single Mcnugget in every one of his sauces.

Dean blinked incredulously at Jack for a long moment, “anyway… we have a lot of ground to cover and we need to get moving. You remember what happened back at the police station, until we find some way to ward the kid or get back to the bunker sitting still is painting a big blinking target on our back.”

Sam sighed but knew his brother was right, “okay, fine but we can’t wait five more minutes...?”

Dean rubbed tiredly at his face, “Whatever, I’m going to the john before we leave, you can deal with... that.”

Dean got up from the table muttering something that looked suspiciously like, “two sinks?” under his breath.

Sam wished Dean would at least stop talking about Jack like an object to his face.

He turned towards the boy and did a double-take.

“Jack stop, don’t do that you’ll choke.”

Jack stopped trying to hurry by stuffing multiple McNuggets into his mouth at once looking like a sheepish chipmunk.

“I’m not going to take them away from you Jack,” Sam told him gently.

Jack chewed and swallowed before answering earnestly (making Sam feel like he’d made at least one positive foster parent decision and wasn’t completely failing Cas) “I know… but if Dean’s right, I don’t want anyone here to get hurt like at the police station…”

Sam wished he wasn’t so physically and emotionally exhausted so he could come up with a good way to convince the kid that what happened wasn’t his fault but for now he settled on just distracting Jack by asking him what was his favorite out of his sauce rainbow.

Jack’s eyes lit up and he launched into his explanation as he finished up his nuggets and shared his fries with Sam. Sweet and Sour, Honey Mustard, Barbeque, his favorites were all the sweetest sauces to no one’s shock. Still, with the literally and figuratively hellish 48 hours Sam had had, having Jack go on and on pleased with something simple was a nice distraction for the older man to.

Sam nodded along with a soft smile, Jack helping him clean up the table when they finished, continuing to chatter like he was determined to test every adjective he’d learned up to that point to describe his most recent culinary experience.

“And I don’t know what zesty means but that one tasted very confused,” Jack waved and gave the tired late-shift worker a cheerful, “goodbye,” as they made their way out to the Impala sitting on the back bumper to wait for Dean.

“Do you think there’s McDonald’s up in heaven where my mom is?” Jack asked Sam innocently still sipping his drink.

It hurt to hear the kid ask that, but Sam was thankful Jack had at least chosen the least painful recently deceased person to ask Sam about.

“I don’t know, heaven… it’s a place where people can relive their best memories, and I didn’t know your mother well enough to say,” Sam answered honestly.

Jack nodded solemnly but then gave Sam a cheerful smile, “I think if I was in heaven, there would definitely be a McDonald’s there, this place is wonderful.”

It was such a bizarrely bittersweet thing to say, but before Sam had a chance to respond the door to the McDonalds swung open with more force than necessary and Dean stepped out staring at Jack with a look of abject horror on his face.

“Please, please tell me you DID NOT wash your hands in the urinal!”

[thepineapplejuicer]

Title: Know it all Chapter Five

"Can you find where they are?" Xavier asks as logan drives out of the mansion. I shuffle through traffic cams and display televisions across the city, "I can't find them." Then I remember. I tap into the carnival's security system and sure enough, I see Kurt and Tabetha getting off a ride, her arm in his as he struggles to stay steady. "To the carnival logan." Xavier requests from the back seat. My lip twitches slightly, "They're having fun..."

Suddenly Tabetha drags him out of the carnival, but the audio isn't picking up what she is saying.

I try to stay on them, but once they turn into an ally I can't get any more frames.

Within minutes we arrive at an empty street with dim lights illuminating the storefronts. Charles and I get out of the car to look around. Logan drives down the street to look on ahead as Charles and I look into the alleys. "There!" I whisper, seeing man's shadow leaking out the store's side entrance, glass scattered around the floor. "Wait here," Charles whispers as the wheels into the doorway.

I can hear Tabetha yelling, "You tricked me! You just used us!"

"Nothing personal, Sweetheart, just business. That rope will hold you until the cops come. Keep them busy, would ya? See ya around, freaks."

Thud.

I flinch as the voices stop after something hit the floor. I step forward carefully and press my sweaty palms to my thighs. Shadows come around the corner, huddling into a glob that engulfs the dim light from the building. My blood runs cold and the corner of my lip twitches, pulling my head to peek around the corner. Charles, Tabetha, and Kurt come into the light. " Oh thank goodness." I sigh.

Kurt approaches me on sight, rubbing his reddening wrists with a clenched jaw. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too." I place a hand on his writs, pointlessly hoping to absorb some of the pain for him.

Soon after, the police rush by and take Tabetha's father away in cuffs without question, most likely with Charles's influence. I stand with Kurt as Charles comes to scold him. "Tabetha needed help. She was scared!" Kurt defended. "I understand that Kurt, but you both should have told me what was going on so that I could help."

"We couldn't."

Their argument starts to fade as I look over at Tabetha, holding herself as she watched the police lights disappear.

My sneakers scuff the pavement softly and the wind shoots into my sweater as I come up behind her. I didn't even have to think about what to say, "You aren't your father."

"What?" she cries, turning to me as if I were a figment of her imagination.

"You aren't him. You aren't Charles. You aren't me." I take a step closer and held her hand. At that moment somehow, she knew that I've felt exactly how she is feeling. All the air sucked from your lungs, every crack in your skin aching, every lump in your throat swelling until you forget the memory of breathing.

"You are you and don't let anyone take that away. Your choices, your mistakes, and your discipline are yours. I know you feel like you owe him, like doing what he wants will make him finally happy, but it won't. There will always be one more thing he wants, one more betrayal against your own code. Don't let him have another one."

She squeezes my hand tightly and we walk back to Charles and Kurt. "I'm leaving the Xmen." Tabetha blurts out. We all look at her in shock. "Truth is, I never really felt like I belonged there. Not because of others, but because of myself. I need to find who I am and explore what I am on my own."

"But-" Kurt starts, but is stopped by Charles.

"We understand, Tabetha, and you will always be welcome at the Xmansion."

She gives each of us a personal smile and walks off into the street.

After the long silent passes I cough, "For the record, I did not tell her to quit."

Kurt chuckles and looks back to where the carnival's commotion was.

"Looks like they are still open, Kurt." Charles smiles, "Didn't you have someone you wanted to ask?"

Kurt looked at me smugly, "unfortunately, she dislikes carnivals."

"Woah, I never said those exact words."

"So?..."

"I suppose I could participate in irrational entertainment for one night."

Kurt grabs my hand and looks at me until his cheeks flare up in embarrassment.

"You forgot about the powers thing, huh?" I chuckle.

"Not... at all. Actually," he hooked my arm in his, "I think it is a great night for a walk."

Kurt flips on his image inducer and even though It felt odd at first; like it wasn't really him, I got used to it. We rode dozens of rides, played ridiculous carnival games- to which I was actually good at, even won Kurt a stuffed shark plushie- and we even ate the disgusting food they offered. We talked most of the night, just scratching the surface of our interests, likes and dislikes, funny stories, mimicking each other's accents-to which Kurt is rather good at an English impersonation- Kurt even shared how he joined the Xmen and how he discovered his powers. We spent most of the night at the Carnival until it closed near 11 pm and we decided to walk back to the mansion. Kurt didn't complain, actually he took the opportunity to ask me unique questions about myself; unimportant topics that seemed like they were the world to him; as if the answer hung on his existence. It's funny, all the monitors and hacking in the world couldn't show me who Kurt really was.

He walked me back to the sub-basement laughing at something I had said, to be honest, his laugh alone distracts me. "I had fun tonight." He smiles, his accent thick. He got closer, but I couldn't do it anymore; pretending I was okay with how he looked...

I slowly took off his image inducer and watched as the pale skin faded back to his normal blue. His straight filed teeth return to a vampire-like smile and his dark brown eyes gleam yellow once more. I stood there, taking in all he was. "I thought you hated mutants," he whispers.

I am taken back, "What? I think mutants are the most beautiful things in the world."

"It just seemed like..."

"I don't hate mutants." I assure him, "I hate when they take advantage of themselves. Their powers are a gift, but they shouldn't rely on them on a normal basis. Just as humans shouldn't take advantage of mutants, mutants shouldn't take advantage of each other. Powers shouldn't define a person and Xavier should be teaching the students here real-world interactions, not how to be heroes but to live in a world where you can choose not to be one. Imagine a world where neighbors are neighbors no matter what their DNA is composed of. " I freeze once I realize his eyes looking me over.

"And I'm giving a sermon. I'm sorry"

He smiles wide, "No! I like your ambition. It's inspiring." My cheeks heat up, but I don't look away. He licks his lips slowly, his eyes caressing my entire face. "It's late," he says barely believing it, "You should get some sleep." Even though he is telling me to turn away from him he still hasn't let go of my hips.

He is exceedingly taller than I am so I take advantage and grab the side of his face to bring it towards me, kissing lightly on his jawline.

"Goodnight." He whispers dreamily as I disappear behind the door.

I pucker my lips slightly as the feeling of his fur still lingers and makes me shiver. I think this was the first night I've actually been bold in social interaction. Saying it like that doesn't help, now I feel deprived. My surroundings start to appear and I realize I am alone in my room. The electronics in front of me hum as I make my way to the small room hoping a shower will ease my boiling skin and the thoughts of Kurt.

I walk into the room just next to the monitors and see a twin bed, dresser and small bathroom to the right. Not the king's suite, but it looked sanitary enough. I collect the towels and pajamas I had sent from Sanctuary and begin to run the shower.

PING.

I flip off the knob and lean back through the bathroom door, furrowing my brows at the familiar sound. The bedroom light stops just outside the door and a single monitor switches on like a small bubble in the middle of the darkness. I get up in disbelief and walk barefoot to the monitor, not bothering to turn on the rest of the lights in case my ears deceived me. Upon unlocking the computer I swallow hard, keeping my jaw locked and my hands hovering over the keyboard. A single email sits at the top of my screen. There is no subject and the message is short enough to be read in a preview.

'Let's meet. -Mother'

(chapter six will be posted on Monday, June 24, 2019)

[scripttorture]

I asked the restraint torture question you tagged as clean torture as well. First a minor edit to my last ask, I meant to say my character is forced between standing, squatting/crouching and leaning against wall if that changes anything. Second, if his hands were bound by shackles attached to a collar around his neck by a single chain that goes through metal rings on the ceiling and is just long enough that in order to breathe easily he has to keep his hands level with his... (1/2)

Ididn’t get the second part of this ask and only just realised thatnow I’ve come to try and tackle it.

I’llkeep this brief for now and encourage you to come back with the restof the scenario so I can give a fuller answer (I’m so sorry Ididn’t catch this earlier).

Theset up with the collar and hand cuffs makes this a lot more dangerousas does the inability to sit properly. Having a collar on in the longterm makes breathing difficulties more likely. Attaching it to thecharacter’s hands in this way (making sure the hands have to beraised so the character can breathe easily) makes suffocation a lotmore likely.

Thatcombined with the way he’s kept in this semi-standing stressposition means he’s also being deprived of sleep over this period.Which is an additional danger.

Ihonestly can’t remember if I classed this as a restraint torture ora stress position last time but going by this description I think itsounds more like a stress position. Which means the character wouldbe likely to die if kept in it for over 48 hours.

Thismight not fit with what you had in mind for the time frames or thecharacter.

That’sOK. I’m here to help you work these things out as much as possible.

Sendme over the rest of the ask. Don’t be afraid to take up multipleasks. If you feel comfortable asking off anon so that I can ask youquestions please do so, I can still post the question anonymously.

Youmight need to run over the details of the story again. I’m sorryabout that but I get a lot of asks and it can be difficult keepingtrack of every story.

Ihope this helps. :)

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

[captain-kingliamsqueen]

Where Am I?

Part 7 of Life Before Him

CATCH UP!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 

Pairing: Liam x Riley 

Summary: …Riley's life's in danger but will Liam be able to save her? 

Word Count: 2913

Tagged : @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @drakelover78 @queencatherynerhys @devineinterventions2 @jayjay879  @kawairinrin @hopefulmoonobject @flyawayblue56 @gardeningourmet @blackcatkita @syltti78 @decisso @theroyalweisme @hhiggs @mfackenthal @bruteforcebears @pens-girl-87

 ASK IF YOU WANT TAGGED! SORRY IF I MISSED ANYONE! (USED THE TAGS FROM MY “ALWAYS” SERIES LET ME KNOW IF ANYONE WANTS UNTAGGED!!!)

  I always notice every single spelling mistake or issue after I’ve posted…so apologies in advance! 

 “come on riley” Liam whispered as he leaned down and repeated giving Riley mouth to mouth.

Drake watched in anticipation, scared to lose his friend. His heart in his throat.

As Liam pulled back he waited…and watched…never blinking in case he missed it.

His heart fluttered as Riley's chest rose and she gasped loudly trying to catch her breathe. Liam was like a waterfall, he leaned down placing a kiss on her head. tears fell from Riley's eyes as she lay with her eyes shut tight, Liam held her as close to him as he possible could.

“I’ve got you Riley, its going to be alright” he whispered as he placed kisses on her head

“li-Am” she gasped half way through saying it.

“shh shhh it’s alright it’s me, ive got you” just moments later the paramedics ran in with a gurney. They placed an oxygen mask over her mouth then ask Liam to place her on the gurney. Once she was on the gurney, and they had fastened the belts and secured her to ensure she didn’t fall, they wheeled her out to the ambulance with Liam and Drake on their tail, Liam never letting go Riley's hand. He passed Drake his keys and told him to meet them at the hospital, they put Riley in the back of the ambulance, Liam climbing in after her, then they shut the doors and took off, sirens blazing.

Once arriving at the hospital, they rushed Riley to get an MRI And a CT scan along with a scan to detect her brain activity, once that was done, they moved her to a private room, Riley was then connected to a ventilator, they attached a drip to her arm then dressed the wounds she had received from the fall from the balcony. Once that was all done the doctors and nurses all left the room leaving just Liam and Riley, it was about an hour after Riley had arrived at the hospital. She lay on the bed with the blanket over her, tubes everywhere, Liam gently pressed his hand on hers, then lifted it to press a kiss on the back of it. Liam was startled by a knock on the door, Riley's doctor walked in with a clipboard in hand.

“your Majesty” he bowed his head

“How is she? Is she going to be alright?” he asked panicking

“she’s a tough cookie, she has, in medical terms, brain hypoxia, which just basically means, her brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen. We won’t know the full effects of the diagnosis until she wakes properly, looking at her MRI scan, there isn’t too much damage, I am going to keep an eye on this though” the doctor pointed at a small dark spot on the scan picture. “it’s not something to worry about just yet, it might be from her fall, but I just want to keep an eye on it just in case. Her CT came back alright. By the looks of her brain activity, she stopped breathing just a minute or so before you got there, she was unconscious for a little while before that, but she was still breathing. You saved that woman’s life, your Majesty, I want you to know that, if you had not given her mouth to mouth, her brain would have totally shut down, she would have died by the time she got to the hospital. She’s doing great for what she’s been through, ive seen worse cases of brain hypoxia that others have come out of relatively alright. I have high hopes for miss Brookes” he stated.

“when will she wake up?” Liam asked

“well, your Majesty, that’s up to miss Brookes, from all of the oxygen deprivation, her body shut itself down, until her body feels it is ready, she’ll be like this”

“So, she’s in a coma?”

“yes and no, she can wake up anytime, it’s more like she’s just in a deep sleep”

The doctor checked all of Riley's levels and IVs then he headed out of the room, informing Liam he would return shortly.

Liam lay his arm on the side of the bed, placing his head down to rest his head for the first time since she was taken. He slowly drifted into a light slumber, not letting go of Riley's hand once.

It was about an hour or so later that Liam awoke to Drake nudging his arm.

“Liam” he whispered

“Drake?” Liam rubbed his eyes as he sat up.

“hey, you’ve been sleeping for the past hour” Drake stated

“I have?” Liam asked, he hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but from the rush of everything that had happened he was done in, he stood from his chair to stretch his legs a little.

“yeah, Maxwell and Hana are in the waiting room, the doctor wouldn’t tell me what’s happening…have they spoke to you?”

“her doctor said her brain activity was good, he said there wasn’t too much damage to her brain, there’s a small dark spot they want to keep an eye on just in case but other than that, they can’t tell exactly what damage has been done until she wakes”

“did they say how long she’ll be sleeping?”

“he doesn’t know, he said it’s up to her, she decides when her body is ready to be able to function again.”

“she’s in a coma?”

“the doctor said it’s not a coma, it’s just like an extremely deep sleep”

“right” drake frowned “so we just have to wait?”

“yeah…we just have to wait”

“have you spoken to the guards from the lot? Did they find those bastards?” Liam asked

“no, they weren’t there, riley was the only person in that building, they must have locked her up then left.”

“is Bastian here?”

“he’s outside the room, his men are doing everything they can to find them”

“of course,” Liam sighed, Drake gently placed his hand on Liam's shoulder

“she’s going to be alright”

“I swear…when we find them…they’re done, and I mean fucking done!” Liam walked over to the door, asking Bastian to enter. Bastian walked in then frowned when he seen Riley unconscious.

“Bastian…what’s going on?”

“we have a lead, detectives are pulling apart the lot, my men are following the lead, just outside the door to the room that Riley was in, they found a napkin with gum in it, the napkin was from the seacoast hotel on Hillsbury, just down from the lot, if they find anything I will let you know”

“thank you, Bastian, you and your men along with the detectives have done exceptional work today, it will not go unnoticed”

“your Majesty…we were doing our jobs”

“Bastian…take the praise” Liam patted Bastian's shoulder

“of course, your Majesty…thank you”

That evening Liam was left in Riley's room on his own, visiting hours had finished long been finished. He sat in the armchair, just talking to Riley, hoping she could hear him.

“I’m going to find them…if it’s the last thing I do! You deserve so much better than this Riley…so much better, and I’m going to spend my life making it better…I don’t care what I have to do.” He whispered placing a gentle kiss on her hand. “those…those people, I’m going to personally make sure that you never have to see them again” Liam leaned down, with his head on Riley's leg.

“I love you so much…more than you know” he whispered as he slowly started to drift off.

Liam stayed with Riley every night for the next week, he slept in the chair beside her bed, he either held her hand or he lay with his head leaning gently on her legs. Liam had the whole of the police force, the best detectives in the country, along with the king’s guard, all looking for Riley's parents, after following the lead to the hotel, the guards found out that the couple had stayed there but had left earlier that day with all their things. The guards had been following the couple around Cordonia, waiting for the perfect moment to jump on them. Liam had been arriving at the same time every night, he would spend an hour so during the day to check on her, then he would return to the palace for any appointments or meetings he had then he would return to the hospital, every night was the same…until this night…this night was different. Liam arrived at Riley's room, he took his coat off, unbuttoned the top couple of buttons on his shirt then undone the cuffs, he would sit himself in the chair, and talk away to Riley as if she was awake and replying, he would talk all through the night until he eventually fell asleep.

It was about three am when he felt something pressing on his upper arm, Liam mumbled then moved his arm a little.

“Liam”

Liam had been sleeping for a good forty-five minutes when he woke to Riley's whispers

“Liam” she croaked. Liam quickly rose his head, wiping his face.

“Riley!” he whispered full of relief

“what’s going on? where am I?” she croaked

“you’re in the hospital, it’s alright” Liam smiled softly as he handed her the small cup of water he had left on the side table

“why am I in the hospital? Liam…you…you shouldn’t be in here” she croaked

“what?” he asked confused

“if someone sees you in here…we don’t want a scandal”

“Riley…why would ther-”

“madeleine won’t like it…us being so close in public”

“madeleine? riley…”

“Liam…she told us we had to be discreet.”

“I’m going to get the doctor” Liam headed for the door, he opened it and asked for Drake to get the doctor. Just a few minutes later the doctor came in.

“ahh miss Brookes did you have a nice nap” he smiled

“it was a little distressing” she frowned confused as he walked over and started shining a light in her eyes

“Riley do you know what day it is?”

“um…Thursday”

“okay, its actually Saturday”

“what’s your name?”

“Riley…Riley Brookes”

“do you have a title?”

“miss…” answered confusion written all over her face.

“miss Brookes do you know who this man is?”

“of course, that’s king Liam”

“who are you to king Liam?”

“a friend…a good friend” she whispered

“Riley…” Liam whispered

“miss Brookes…are you engaged?”

“no…” she sighed looking away from the doctor obviously upset by the question

“is king Liam engaged?”

“yes” she groaned

“who is his fiancé?”

“Madeleine!” she yelled “stop asking me all of these questions!”

Every answer Riley gave…Liam felt his heart break a little more

“miss Brookes, you have a small case of amnesia” the doctor informed her sympathetically

“your brain was deprived of oxygen and you stopped breathing for a minutes or so, you also hit your head a few times before hand, the amnesia could be caused by either one of the incidents, I can’t say how long it will last, however, it is short term memory loss…which gives me great hope that it will come back, I just can’t say how long it will take.”

“amnesia?” she asked worried.

“Riley…” Liam whispered, taking Riley's hand in his. The doctor left the room to allow Liam time to explain what Riley was unaware of

“sweetie…what’s the last thing you remember? From your memory what did you do yesterday?”

“um…we were in New York…we were at the United Nations celebration…we snuck out afterwards”

“Riley…that was a couple of weeks ago”

“Liam…what happened to me?” she asked

“should I start from the beginning?” Liam asked

“yes” she nodded

“may I?” he gestured to the space next to Riley on the bed.

“of course,” she whispered before moving up a little, Liam sat himself down beside her, holding her gently to his chest

“the day after the united nations party you, Maxwell and couple of our other friend flew to LA…you found Tariq” he smiled “you found him, and he released a statement stating that none of the scandal was your fault”

“I found him?” she sniffled overwhelmed.

“yes, the statement was released…I broke off my engagement to madeleine” he smiled

“yo-you’re not engaged anymore?”

“no…I am” he smirked “I’m engaged to you” he whispered. He felt his heart swell as the smile on her face brightened, she burst into tears.

“y-you and me?” she cried

“yes sweetie…you and me” he gently kissed her head.

“what happened next?” she asked

“well…we came back, we got engagement photos taken, we had a home coming ball slash engagement party…you had a bust up with madeleine, she said some things that really got to you…you got upset…came back stronger” he sighed

“Liam…what happened?”

“you made one hell of a speech about your childhood…about your parents…what they put you through…it was televised which I think your parents seen because a few days later…you awoke to the news that they were at the palace, demanding to see you”

“my parents?” she stiffened “Liam…I-I don’t know …who are my parents?”

“you don’t know?” he asked confused

“I-I can’t remember…a-anything” she panicked

“what’s the first thing you remember? The most distant memory you can remember?”

“um…I can…I can remember being…20…I was working in the bar…and a couple of guys came in…they had a huge bust up, I-I tried to split it up…but I ended up with a black eye and a concussion…that’s the oldest memory I have…Liam I can’t remember anything before that!” she cried

“right…um let me get the doctor again…that’s not so good!”

Once the doctor came in Liam and Riley informed him of Riley's missing memories.

“I see this a lot in trauma patients, what we think it is, is that because miss Brookes parents seem to be behind a lot of her pain and hurt, her brain is trying to block those memories out, all of her memories with them are being pushed as far back as possible, I will keep an eye on it though!” the doctor informed them then left the room.

“finish the story?” Riley asked Liam as she wiped her eyes. Liam climbed back on the bed beside Riley then he finished what he was telling her.

“yeah, so your parents, you went to see them…shouted and screamed at them then told them to get out…they were escorted out…you were really upset and didn’t want to talk with anyone…including me so you went to our bedroom and you threw some stuff around…screamed cried…then you tried to take…some pills”

“what pills?” she asked

“pain killers…and lots of them”

“I tried to…”

“yes” Liam whispered sadly

“but we got you to the doctor, he gave you something that stopped the pills from dissolving in your stomach, so they didn’t reach your blood stream, it did make you extremely tired though”

“is that how I ended up here?”

“no, you’re here for a whole other reason”

“tell me”

“they took you…against your will” he whispered

“what?” she whispered

“they got in through the balcony…I don’t know what happened after they entered the room, all I know is they pushed you over the balcony, they carried you out of the security gate at the back of the Palace, after that I’m assuming they took you to the lot we  found you at…they put you in a room…a really small room” Liam whispered Riley didn’t say a word, she just looked at him.

“it was an enclosed room, they put you in there and deprived you of oxygen…they broadcast it all over tv…they wanted a hundred Million Euros”

“they…they stole me for money…for ransom?” she sniffled

“yes” he whispered

“did you pay it? Is that how you found me?”

“no, we found you before the time was up…I couldn’t pay it…you know-” Liam tried to explain that he wanted to…boy did he want to.

“Liam…it’s okay…I know why you didn’t…I know you would have wanted to …but I know why you couldn’t”

“when…when we got to you, you weren’t breathing…your heart had stopping so I had to give you mouth to mouth…I had to give you oxygen” he whispered

“y-you saved me?” she asked

“yes…” he whispered

“thank you” she whispered then gently placed her hand on Liam's cheek, feeling his stubble beneath her fingers she leaned up and kissed him.

“I love you riley”

“Liam…you said we’re engaged?”

“yes, we are” he smiled

“did I have a ring?”

“yeah it on your- Riley where’s your ring?”

“I-I don’t know…I can’t remember anything” she whispered

“they must have taken it!” he groaned

“Liam…” she sniffled

“hey…it’s alright, we’ll get it back” he whispered.

Riley cuddled into Liam's chest, she wasn’t sure what to make of everything she had just been told…how could they do something like that to her…how could she not remember any of it? Why did they show up? how can they disappear for sixteen years then show up out of the blue and use her for money… what happened to the parents she used to know…the ones that used to tuck her in at night…the ones that used to take her and her sister on a family holiday every year…they all used to have so much fun…what changed?

A million thoughts ran through Liam's mind, his main worry though was how Riley will handle it when her memory comes back…he worried for her, he seen how she coped when all she did was have an argument with them…take that and add all the emotions of the incident, it scared him just thinking about it.

If You Like It Reblog it! <3

[charcubed]

CHAR when will you be doing your Loki ep6 lokius breakdown, I need hope to get through to s2

ANON I know I am the worst I am so sorry lmao

I wish I could promise you an exact deadline but from experience I have learned that sometimes if I do that for big writing projects I end up pressuring myself harder than I already do, and then I hate feeling like I’ve let people down by being later than I estimated. So the answer is that I don’t know!

BUT I will say this: after I get a first draft of my SPN Chuck Won meta done, this is next up on the list. I am finally on a roll with the Chuck thing, after that project has fought me for months and I’ve restarted it three times (!!!!!), and I don’t want to lose the momentum. I am very capable of switching tracks because at all times every fandom is dormant in my brain at once lmao, but if I ping pong a lot I worry I’m not as sharp in my writing. I have Sherlock meta I want to read right now and haven’t even done that for the same reason.

Once I no longer fear losing where my brain is at with what I’ve been currently writing, I will switch to Loki and push us through, despite how at this point I cannot imagine how my ep 6 thread can possibly contain anything new to anyone since it’s been so long.

I’m going to need to rewatch the episode, and tbh because I know how I am I’ll probably rewatch the majority of the rest of the season in bits and pieces to submerge my brain space back into it and make sure I’m thorough. And THEN I will go through the truly hellish process of collecting screencaps and numbering them in post order and writing in tweet drafts to meet word count and so on and so forth 💀 lmfao. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy to do it, especially for the good of the people!!! But despite the fact that it is technically my idea of “fun,” it is also… a lot of work. HA. So I can’t just like, fuck around and decide to sit down and write it off the cuff tomorrow, is my point.

The reality is that I got ~lazy~ about it without the deadline of a next episode breathing down my neck. It’s difficult to explain the levels of complete feral derangement and sleep deprivation I pushed myself into weekly in order to crank out the ep 3-5 threads as quickly as I did for everyone’s sakes, because each of them probably took around a minimum of 6 hours (when it was fresh in my head!). So I subconsciously associate doing them with exhaustion HAHAHA. God.

This time I don’t have to do it in one sitting though! And I know that! So I need to convince my brain of that.

BUT YOU DIDNT ASK ANY OF THAT! SO. LET ME SHUT UP.

ALL THAT TO SAYYYYYY:

I can’t give you a timeline unfortunately but I PROMISE it will get done, and despite what it sounds like I am not actually dreading it but I’m just explaining why it’s a big time commitment and maybe harder than it looks (?), and I genuinely apologize for leaving everyone hanging!!!

PS I am sure if you’re in my ask box about this then you’re aware, but just in case, my collection of Loki meta on Twitter does contain some ep 6 thoughts to tide you over if you haven’t read those already! Also fun fact the other day I found out that if you Google “Lokius meta” my shit is like one of the top results and that’s 🎶 a little bit insane 🎶 (in a good way)

[keepingcalmisoverratedgoddamnit]

Long post is looooong...

Ok, settle in or scroll past now because it’s time for a little #georgia speaks post. I’ve been a bit patchy about blogging about my therapy sessions so it’s about time I make a post. And a word of warning, today was mammoth so this will be long and may have triggers for some people.

I had therapy today on less than three hours sleep. I’m also babysitting as I write this so the kids are in the next room playing with duplo. So let’s start with the sleep thing. I have insomnia. Sometimes it’s pretty bad. Last night I didn’t sleep at all, I kinda drifted off around 5:30-6am ish and was awake again before 8. I did stay in bed till nearly 9am though. Then I dragged myself up and out of the house for my first 4ks since shark week started. Another miracle right after the whole “I got out of bed” kerfuffle that earned me my first gold star. I ran despite not wanting to, I wanted it desperately as well. I did not take the three shortcuts along the way there or back.

I actually took care of myself before therapy. I took a long shower, and in there I scrubbed with an exfoliating cloth, I washed my hair twice and conditioned it.

Then I babysat and helped the kids make valentines for their mums.

Then I headed off to therapy at top speed. Today, therapy was exceptionally hard. I have never voiced my body insecurities out loud. Never admitted to anyone how viscerally I hate it at times. Never told anyone how guilty eating too much food makes me feel. Or the cruel things I think of myself when I’ve eaten too much or missed a run or gain a little weight. Today I wrote it down. I couldn’t speak. It was as though this creature that is my anxiety had crawled into my mouth and down my throat. Spreading out its filth in its many talons arms to suffocate me. Filling my lungs and squashing my breath. I wrote it out. And Suraj said how proud he was. How brave I was. But I couldn’t hear over the roaring in my ears. I couldn’t look at him. I felt so small and weak and wretched. I was twisted up and so anxious I could hardly work out up from down.

But, I put on my blue and green flannel and I counted the stitches in the cuff and twisted the soft, over-worn fabric in my fingers and I settled a bit.

We worked on describing the feeling I get when I can’t give voice to the thoughts. We localized it. And by doing so made it smaller. Metaphors and imagery seemed to help.

We went deeper into writing out something called a schema. It’s sort of like separating my personality and my mental habits into different personas. Like the Sanders Sides but more deranged.

We went 10 minuets over time. A big deal for Suraj. He’s always on time.

Like I said. Rough session.

Then straight from there I got an Uber with money I don’t really have and went to a house inspection with my sister and my niece and nephew. Then to my other sisters house for lunch and to pick my other nephew up from school. And last we headed back home where my sister left for work and I took on the three kids. An hour and a half in the pool and afternoon tea while they watched Aladdin seemed to tire them out a bit. Then one of my sister came to pick up her boys (my nephews) leaving me with just my niece. Which of course meant time for more craft so she could have a Valentine for her mum AND her grandma of course. Much glue and glitter and stickers later she was back on the floor in the lounge room eating dinner and watching the end of Aladdin.

She’s finally in bed now and I am dead on my feet. I choked down a salad for dinner cause it’s Ash Wednesday which means fasting and abstinence (though there are exemptions for medical conditions like me and mum).

I’m so tired I feel sick but I know if I lie down I won’t be able to sleep. My mind won’t seem to settle. I need to do some mindfulness and re-centre myself or I’m going to start dissociating which would suck since I know how to prevent it.

Anyway, long post is long and mostly just drivel. There’s no message. No advice aside from, use sensory tools to avert panic and moderate anxiety. I know it sounds trite but the truth is that it works. It’s not always a magic fix but it helps every time. Aside from that this was just a way of emptying my head of the whole day and helping to re-centre myself a little so I’ll leave it here.

Sorry about how long it turned out but I literally did not edit a word of this. I just vomited it out onto the page verbatim for what’s in my head. Yeah, excuse my sleep deprived lack of grammar too.

[etraytin]

Fluffy Romantic Fic for Today

It’s weird not putting “of the day” in my fic post titles, but since I finished up the August Fic-a-Day (which I still need to put on Tumblr, yikes!) and WIP week, I’m not doing anything of-the-day at the moment. Which is good because I have Responsibilities. But I did take up the Never Have I Ever challenge last week, where people could throw tropes at me and I would either point to a place where I’ve already used that trope or, failing that, write that trope. Not every prompt I got from that was actually a trope, but I got some good stuff to put on the list! And I got the trope “movie night” from @actuallylorelaigilmore, which is one I haven’t really used before. 

(Continuity Note: This is a sequel to my story Timing, Degree and Conviction, but all you really need to know is that Josh became aware of his feelings for Donna before Gaza (with some help from CJ), and the two of them have actually been able to express how they feel for one another. And Colin wasn’t a thing.) 

The good thing about being in a military hospital, (well, one of the good things) was that it was easy to find a secure phone line when one was needed. That ability, along with the high speed internet, was really the only way Josh had been able to parlay his helter-skelter race across the Atlantic into a sort of working vacation. Well, that and the fact he'd been able to convince Leo of his sincerity that he would resign rather than fly home before he was absolutely sure Donna was out of the woods. Josh was sure there was a painful conversation coming up when he got back to the States, but for now it had gotten him what he wanted, more time. Even if that time did entail two-hour transatlantic conference calls more often than he'd like. By the time he hung up the phone on this one, his ear felt as though it had swelled to twice its normal size, and he was desperate to get back to the sixth floor.  

Donna had been moved into a different room once she'd left intensive care, similar to the first but on a corner so there were windows on two walls. Tonight she'd made it as far as the armchair set between the windows, about four feet from the bed, where she was resting with her mostly-immobile leg propped up. Her eyes were closed and she was pale and sweaty. Physical therapy, he remembered. Keeping his tone deliberately light, he poured a cup of water and took it to her. “Looks like they let you out of bed again. How far'd you get this time?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, and he had to resist the urge to flinch or flee. Watching Donna in pain was really not something he was good at. “Not far enough,” she muttered, her voice rough. “They're trying to get me out into the hallway, but I just can't!” Her fists clenched on the chair's padded armrests. “My physical therapist is a sadist.”

“They all are, I told you that years ago,” he reminded her, dropping into the folding chair next to her seat. “But back then it was all, “just do your damn breathing exercises, Joshua, they're good for you.” He picked up her still-clenched fist, brushed a kiss over the knuckles. “Sorry I couldn't be there.”

Her hand uncurled just a little in his as she gave him a faint smile. “Probably better that you weren't,” she admitted. “You get kind of hostile.”

“What, me?” he asked, deliberately exaggerating his denial in the hopes of getting a laugh out of her. It worked, just a little. “I'm not hostile, I'm just assertive. And maybe a little bit loud sometimes. I have opinions, that doesn't make me hostile.”

“You threatened to feed that nurse her blood pressure cuff,” she reminded him with a sly little grin. “My mom almost had to take you out out of the room.”

“She had it way too tight! She was obviously some kind of wacko sneaking in dressed as a nurse to try and steal state secrets,” he maintained, still rubbing her hand lightly.

Her fingers gradually opened under his as she relaxed. “See, hostile,” she grinned. “And bewigewent.”

He smirked. “I'm glad you've joined me in my quest to never let CJ live that down.”

“It only seems fair, since you're going to hear the story about your secret plan to fight inflation at your retirement party one day.”

“And I'm sure you'll be the one telling it. Where's your mom?”

“I sent her out this time too, it was kind of a bad session.” Donna closed her eyes again, tipped her head back against the chair. “Seeing her get upset just makes me feel worse, plus she hasn't gotten more than a few hours sleep since she got here. I made her go to the hotel and told her not to come back till breakfast time.”

“At least you're not depriving her of the famous breakfast schnitzel,” Josh quipped.

“God forbid. I told her to bring me some actual food when she comes back, I actually think I might feel like eating something by then.”

“Good plan.” Josh looked at his watch. “How long are you allowed to stay in the chair this time?”

“I should probably be getting back to bed,” she admitted reluctantly. “But the bed is boring. I'm not really even tired.” She rolled her eyes at the frankly skeptical look he gave her. “My body is tired, yeah, but my brain isn't. I'm not ready to go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, it's not exactly scintillating in here-”

“There's that verbal SAT score I know and love.”

“-but I did bring something to help pass the time. Did you know these televisions have DVD players attached?”

“Really?” Donna asked, her interest piqued. “You brought a movie?”

“No, I brought a puppet theater,” he teased. “I did bring you a movie. Get into bed and I'll tell you which one.”  

Getting Donna back into bed was a surprisingly difficult and lengthy process given the short distance, but Josh was starting to get the hang of it after a few days. The worst part was that her leg was still so sensitive that any jarring was painful, but the entire process was nothing but a series of jarring maneuvers. By the time she was back in bed and propped up on the series of block and wedge shaped pillows that held her lower body in position, there were small tears in the corners of her squeezed-shut eyes. “You know,” he reminded her quietly, “you could ask for more pain relief.”

Donna shook her head. “I'm okay. They're still giving me some and I don't want to get dependent.”

Josh understood that feeling well enough that he didn't argue, just passed her a tissue.  After carefully wiping her eyes, Donna opened them and took a deep breath. “So, what's my movie?”

“Field of Dreams,” Josh told her cheerfully, then laughed when she groaned. “It's a great movie.”

“It's a baseball movie. About corn.” She was in full pout mode now, arms folded and lower lip sticking out.

One of these days, he promised himself, he'd nibble that pouting lip, then kiss that look right off her face. Not tonight, though. They hadn't really had much chance to talk about the change in their relationship, other than that brief reiteration of their feelings when Donna had woken from surgery. Both of them seemed to sense that it would wait for a later time when they were both stronger. Instead of words they had small touches, subtle gestures, tiny intimacies that hadn't been allowed before, no matter how much the'd been desired. It was good enough for now.

He hefted the bag he'd brought instead. “Right, I forgot Wisconsin and Iowa are mortal enemies somehow. Let's see what else I've got. Hoosiers, The Replacements, Major League, The Natural...”

“Did you just grab every sports movie you could find?” she asked, disgusted.

��Don't look at me, they really seem to like sports movies around here. The English language collection is kind of limited,” he told her. When he could no longer stand her looking disappointed, he folded and reached into the bag. “Oh, and this one,” he added, handing it over.

“A League of Their Own!” Instantly the pout was erased, and even the pain seemed to take a backseat as Donna squealed with delight. “I love this one.”

“Yeah, I know,” he he told her smugly. “But you have to promise you're not going to quote the entire movie while we watch it.” She made a sober “cross your heart” gesture. “And you should feel free to go to sleep,” he added as he took the disc from her and put it into the machine. “I can always pause it for tomorrow.”

“I'm not tired,” she insisted. Josh lowered the lights in the room anyway, then came back to sit down in his chair next to the bed. He wished he could be closer to her, but her leg was much too sensitive for him to so much as sit on the edge of the bed. This would do for now. It was even better when her hand crept out to take his, their fingers interlinking as the FBI warning began to play. As the previews played, he tried to just savor the moment with the understanding of how close it had come to not happening at all.  “Josh?”

“Mm-hmm?” he asked, turning to look at her as the opening credits rolled.

Donna smiled at him. “You know I'm gonna quote the entire movie, right?”

“Yeah.” He heaved a put-upon sigh.

“Come on, there's no crying in baseball. No crying.” She chuckled, then drew his hand up to rest it against her cheek.

“One of these days I'm going to pee in your sink and call it an homage,” Josh threatened.

“Gross. Shh, it's starting.” True to her word, Donna quoted most of the movie's memorable lines for the entire thirty minutes she was able to remain awake. She also kept holding his hand, so that by the time he tugged gently away from her limp grasp, his fingers were slightly numb. He paused the movie and turned off the television, dropping the room into near-darkness. Hospital rooms were never truly dark, he remembered that much very well.

Now would probably be an ideal time for him to go back to the hotel, to the room he'd barely set foot in except to shower and change clothes, but instead Josh slumped back down into the uncomfortable chair. He figured (he hoped) that there would come a time when he could let her out of his sight and not spend every moment thinking about that first awful sight of her empty hospital room and all that blood, but it wasn't going to be just yet. Besides, the pain made her sleep restless sometimes, and he didn't want her to wake alone. His back could take a little more abuse. Sliding his hand over hers once more, he closed his eyes and counted himself to sleep by the rhythm of her breaths.

(This story is also archived at AO3 under the title What Makes it Great.) 

[peacekeeperangel]

WAFF- RP: A Chilly Welcome

Another Good RP session with @ichiwashername-o​ so I thought I’d post the transcript and let y’all follow along. Things have turned fairly dramatic

Angel: Cirri has practiced for weeks. Glad to be quietly in the background as Mettaton played both Prima Ballerina and leading man (and my wasn't that impressive) but eventually time rolled on and it was opening night. Cirri had managed to score tickets for both her Skelebros, her Dads and even her boyfriend Jasper (Who then proceeded to invite his family along, but they bought their own tickets)

a darkly dressed creature hung out on some of the higher stage lights away from the crowds but keeping a watchful eye on her target.

Meanwhile Jasper was shmoozing with the Skeleton brothers, his siblings were doing their own thing but oddly, Malachite was trading talk with Gaster, wearing the same formal uniform that he had the night of the King's Birthday bash where Jasper had met Cirri

"You guys ever been to a ballet before?" Jasper asked

Ichiko: "Never!" Papyrus said, squirming in his seat to get the best view of the stage.  "But I'm excited that my very first one is starring my sister!"

Gaster smiled wanly. <<Let's not exaggerate, Papyrus, she has a small background part.>>

"Well then she's MY star!" he cheered.  Sans happily nodded in agreement.  

"Coulda done without the fancy formal wear," Sans muttered, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt.  Though they weren't wearing tuxedos and dressed to the nines like Gaster and Grillby were, they were still wearing white pressed dress shirts, Sans with a bow tie and Papyrus with a crimson tie.  

"On the contrary, what a better time to dress up all nice and fancy!" Grillby said, adjusting his own bow tie.

<<Says the bartender who spends every day in formal wear,>> Gaster chuckled.

Angel: Jasper Shrugged, his own high-collar and sash making up for the goofy oversized sleeves to make up for his large spiked forearms. "Got to hand it to Emerald for getting all this stuff together." he admitted.

"I LIVE FOR MY ART!" Emerald squawked from a corner before having a cup of something hot and caffinated shoved in her face by Flint "You'll die for your art at his rate. how many all-nighters did you pull?"

"Three! Maybe... No Possibly fo-five?" Malachite stood beside Gaster. "Before we all go in.." he murmured just loud enough for Grillby and Gaster to hear "We need to talk. about what happened to you and Jasper a couple of weeks ago."

Ichiko: Gaster nodded, stepping aside along with Grillby.  <<What is it?  Do you have any further news?>> he asked.

Angel: Mal frowned "Something weird's going on in the Snowdin forest. Not near the more-travelled lanes near the RUINS but..." He looked over at his siblings watching as Sans suggested putting ketchup in Emerald's beverage much to the lady's sleep-deprived intrigue, both Jade and Papyrus strongly discouraging the train of thought.

"the Guard tried to investigate the area, to see who the Dogwhistle culprit could be. Instead Guards were subject to odd pranks to even downright attacks."

"No one's been hurt like Jasper was but-" Malachite shrugged. "It's bad enough with the Captain out on Indefinite Sick leave, but this spooky woods thing is making some Guards too nervous to defend Snowdin properly."

Ichiko: "Damn," Grillby hissed, sparks flying out of the jagged cracks of his mouth.  "Everything is such a goddamn mess.  What is the nature of these pranks?  More of those stupid punks?"

<<Or is it more . . . violent?>> Gaster asked, giving a worried look to Grillby.  The elemental flinched at the way Gaster was looking at him.  He looked so unsettled.  Grillby didn't like it.

"If need be . . . I am willing to help track down the culprit behind everything," Grillby said hesitantly but resolutely.  "I will dawn the mantle of Captain of the Guard again."

<<Grillby--!>> Gaster said, startled.

"I will do what must be done.  To protect my people."  Grillby was firm in his position, standing tall and determined.  But his eyes were filled with a certain sadness Gaster knew too well.

This was the last thing Grillby wanted after he retired so long ago.  But Gaster knew the elemental could be just as stubborn as he.

Angel: "I couldn't ask you to do that Grillby, even if I was in power to do so." Malachite said. "I'm just a beat cop at best. Actually it'll be up to the four lieutenants that are currently doing a... well Attempting to run the Guard." Malachite grimaced. "And to be honest I think all four are more keen to be Captain then to allow a War Vet to take up the reigns."

Ichiko: "In any case, should you need another monster in your ranks . . ."  Grillby trailed off.  His flames were noticeably low.  "Come now, the show will begin shortly."  He briskly walked into the theater, Gaster following him closely.

<<Grillby, you don't need to do this.  The title nearly ruined you!>> he protested.

"And how can I sit by idly as whoever is responsible runs loose?" Grillby challenged fiercely.  "You are not the only one who cares for Cirri and the boys.  I will do what must be done to protect them."

Angel: Mal scowled quietly to himself.  "... Getting worked up again big bro?" Jasper said cautiously.

"Sorry Jasper... I just really look up to General- ah... Grillby." Malachite said, "If there's anyone in the Underground who deserves a bit of peace it's him."

"You'll figure out the crap going on in Snowdin, I believe in you Mal." Jasper said throwing a reassuring arm over his shoulders. "Come on we gotta make sure Emerald gets to her Seat before passing out."

"To your places people!" Mettaton called- or rather Trilled , dressed up in the "Prince" Costume he had personally designed (Cirri tended to think it was a little overkill on the glitter, which was trailed up and down the stage) "Curtain call in five! Where's my Lead Attendant?!"

"We're all set MTT!" Cirri called out, dressed in a simple but classy tutu of brown and green. It was supposed to make her look like a Tree but Cirri had to wonder...

The plan was for Cirri and the "Attendants" To dance around Mettaton long enough for him to switch roles without destroying narrative flow. Honestly it was more complicated than Cirri would have liked, but she wasn't the director/leads in this goofy thing.

Everyone set their positions and the music began to play as the curtain rose up a rush of cool air coming from the seats

"What the crap is the Robot wearing?" Flint grunted quietly. "He looks like had an accident in a Disco!" Jade shushed her brother. Jasper however, wasn't paying attention- he was all eyes on Cirri

Ichiko: Gaster had to scoff at the sheer arrogance of Mettaton being so flippantly abrasive with his rendition of Swan Lake, but he reminded himself he was not here to see that pompous box of bolts dance, just Cirri.  he watched her dance with the grace of air and move so fluidly she put the other dancers to shame.  They were all quite good, Gaster admitted that, but why did Metatton have to be so hideously distracting.

Papyrus was bouncing in his seat, giddly pointing in a shout-whisper "There she is! There she is!" before his brother quietly shushed him. The surrounding monsters were glaring at them.  They were enjoying it, they seemed, as the dance told the tale.

Angel: The story quickly became more complicated as the "Swan Princess" came onto the scene (Mettaton wearing more glitter and Feathers than a Vegas Showgirl) surrounded by another group of "Attendants" in Swan costumes. this went on, several costume changes and a few brief intermissions without incident but eventually it reached the Finale- the Ballroom scene where the Prince would dance with an Imposter Swan Princess- only to find the real Princess dying of heartbreak in the hands of the Wicked Wizard. Cirri was among the crowd as a member of the court

Flint shivered slightly. "Does anyone find it oddly chilly all of a sudden?" he murmured to his siblings

"Wait Cold?" Jasper murmured anxiously. "Guys before-"

It was too late. a Dark blue shadow jumped down in front of Mettaton, wrapping a rope around his one wheel and giving a mighty tug as he was shot up into the rafters of the Stage

a Wave of icy cold fog shot through the theatre and one of the backup dancers screamed in terror- which only resulted in Pandemonium in the audience

the Icy Blue Female turned and pointed at Cirri "You." She intoned flatly.  the other dancers veering away from Cirri as they fled.

Cirri stared too dumbfounded to move.

"Lord Vulpeca requests your presence immediately." the woman said flatly, her eyes hidden under layers of cloth and hood. "You will come with me."

Ichiko: Gaster was moving faster than lightning, bounding over the rows of chairs as patrons scrambled to the exit.  Grillby was right behind him, his flames snapping in fury.  Gaster's eyes blazed with blue light, which aggravated the brands carved on his bones.  He ignored the pain, focusing on the one lone figure standing before Cirri.

He reached out with his blue magic--

A lightningbolt of pain shot up his arm, the brands activating and disrupting his magic, and he cried out in pain, falling to one knee.  Gritting his teeth, he picked himself up and continued towards the stage.  Grillby beat him there, moving between Cirri and the hooded figure.  His fire was dangerously hot, even among the icy mist.

"Who are you?" he challenged.

Angel: the Figure lowered her hand, a fresh wave of cold washed against Grillby's heat. "... I do not know." she said in the same monotone.

Jasper raced to assist Gaster. "Doc, what the hell is going on?!" he hissed helping the skeleton up "Why is she after Cirri?!"

Ichiko: <<Does that matter?!>> he snapped.  He jumped on stage, pulled Jasper up by the cuff of his shirt and joined next to Grillby. The cold was piercing, even to the temperature-resistant skeleton. And it was having a dire affect on the elemental.  Though he was strong and his flames still fought against the cold, Gaster could see him strain.  He stepped forward.

<<You are under arrest,>> Gaster said lowly.  <<But please, do make this difficult for us.  It will only end badly for you!>>

Angel: the creature of cold tilted her head, as if confused. "It doesn't matter." She said coolly before taking off her hood, the light of the stage now showing off the faint outline of a human skull in a thick layer of ice that made the woman's "Flesh."

"Can you tell me who I am?" she asked "If not, then I must do what needs to be done."

in the crowd Flint perked up. "...What?" It was impossible!

Jasper grabbed Cirri "Let's get out of here, let your dads handle it... Cirri?"

Cirri shivered, but not from the cold. "No no no no no no..." She squeaked. "Why did I think he was gone of course not-" Jasper shook her gently. "Cirri!"

it didn't do any good. she was too deep into her panic to form coherent thoughts

"I will take the girl now." the Ice skeleton began to walk towards Grillby and Gaster, the aura of cold intensifying as she approached

Ichiko: Gaster stood there, reaching out suddenly and grabbing her by the shoulder, his grip hard enough to break her clavicle.  His eyes were furious, teeth beginning to lengthen to fangs and his newly-forming claws digging into her bones.

<<Not a chance, bitch!>>

The cold was becoming too much for Grillby.  He turned, scooping up Cirri and retreating.  "Come on, we have to move, now!"

Angel: "Right!" Jasper was right on Grillby's heels but paused to call a wall of Crystal to block the path, just in case.

Meanwhile the Ice Woman barely winced as Gaster destroyed her shoulder in his process of becoming huge. "Just as Lord Vulpeca said." She intoned flatly before laying a hand on Gaster's rune-scarred wrists. Within seconds a thick frost began dancing though the scarred bones, pushing the monster-made cracks painfully wide.

Ichiko: Gaster roared in pain, dropping to his knees.  He snarled, his ever-lengthening fangs grinding against each other.  His head jerked forward, his monstrous jaws clamping hard down around her wrist, shattering her bones.  With a backhand, Gaster threw her across the stage.

The changes were so painful, especially with the runes.  He pressed a clawed hand against his wrists, hissing in pain.

Angel: the Ice Woman pulled herself up. "... You should have broken my back." She intoned. "At least that would have gotten me to stop moving." she looked at her limp broken wrist. "Hm. Easy to solve." she then held the gloved hand and yanked hard, earning a sickening crunch. then her hand glowed green as magic mended the damage. "I have suffered worse damage than this."

Flint blinked watching from the seats. "Flint we have to go!" Jade insisted tugging on her older brother's arm. "You know what Doctor Gaster's capable of!"

Flint didn't move.

"I have no time for this nonsense." she held up her reccently healed hand. "Wait here." Spikes of Ice shot up from under Gaster, not enough to cause severe harm, but close. Some sprouting between the spaces of his bones. Within seconds the Ice had grown enough that both his arms and legs were incased in Ice

"Wait here." she insisted and with a puff of icy fog she was gone, back after Cirri, Jasper and Grillby

IchikoWindGryphon: Gaster struggled in the ice, but every move was agony.  He was trapped.  He let out another loud roar of frustration, more animal than man.

Grillby skittered to a halt just as the figure appeared before them in an icy swirl.  Oh god, it was so cold.  Grillby felt his knees buckle, his flames growing weaker.  But still he clung to Cirri tightly.  

"I will not let you take her!" he said fiercely.

<<AND NEITHER WILL WE!>>

A beam of pure energy blasted the hooded figure where she stood.  Just off-stage, there stood Papyrus in his Blaster form, and Sans with a glowing blue eye and bones ready to be unleashed.  He turned to Gaster, and with a flick of his wrists, the bones shot forward, pelting Gaster's icy tomb.  He managed to break free, grunting.  He steadied himself on his feet, reigning back in his transformation.

<<.....Thank you, Sans,>> he whispered.  The short skeleton only nodded.

Angel: the icy figure stood up. "This is proving a troublesome plan." She said "I will simply have to improvise." Icy spears form out of the fog, shooting everything and everyone in sight. each one exploding into bursts of icy cold fog blinding the entire area

Then a sharp trill fills the air. Jasper, claps his hands on his head and screams but doesn't suffer the same level of damage that the dogwhistle resulted in- it feels more like something is vibrating everything in his body

Ichiko: Papyrus let out a whine as he crumpled to the ground, paws clawing at his head.  Gaster collapsed as well, slamming his hands against his skull.  Sans winced in pain, but he had to move!  He raced forward, ignoring the screeching in his head, and grabbed Grillby, Cirri and Jasper.  

"hold on!"

In a flash of blue magic, they had teleported.  Stars filled their vision and a wave of nausea hit them as they crumpled on the ground.  They were in the caverns of waterfall, but where exactly Sans didn't know.  He winced.

"Urgh . . . sorry, I . . . it was hard to concentrate, I botched the jump.  Are you guys ok?"

Angel: Jasper groaned. "I think I'm going to hurl but it's better than being shaken to bits... " he groaned wiping some of his magical blood from his nose. "Cirri?"

"I..." Cirri clung tight to Grillby but she seemed to be coming out of her catatonia

Ichiko: "Shhh, I got you, you're ok," Grillby whispered, gently rocking Cirri.  "It's ok."

Now out of the cold, Grillby's flames returned to their healthy and vibrant state. Although Waterfall was less than ideal, he could deal with damp caves.  but that cold had been so piercing . . . worse than anything he had ever experienced in Snowdin . . .

"Who the hell was that?" Sans asked the obvious question.  Grillby only shook his head.

Angel: "She said something about a... Vulpecula?" Jasper wheezed looking back behind them. "I asked Gaster but- well things got kind of crazy. We should probably find a Guard Outpost anyway. Cirri'll be safer from the Psycho Ice bitch behind a few armed soldiers- I bet Mal's already got the guard on alert too!"

Ichiko: Sans and Grillby instantly froze.  Vulpeca?!  No, it couldn't--!

Sans and the elemental shared a terrified glance.  

"The guard can't help us," Grillby whispered hoarsely.  "Gaster's lab defenses should still be functional!  He never shut them off!  We need to head to head to the lab, now!"

Grillby pulled out his phone, dialing Gaster.  He doubted he was in any state to read a text but should he have a free moment . . .

GASTER, HEAD TO LABS ASAP. THE MONSTER WORKS FOR VULPECA.

Grillby hit send.

"Sans, you need to get us to the labs!"

Sans nodded, breathing deeply and holding on to Grillby andJasper's shoulders tight.  "Ok, hold on!"

Another flash of blue and they were in the heart of the Hotland laboratory.  Sans swooned under the strain.

"Ugh, I'm going to . . . take five. . . ow my head .. ." he slumped on the tile floor.

Angel: "Dude!" Jasper scooped up Sans but the little skeleton was down for the count. "What's going on? Who's this Vulpeca guy?!" Cirri flinched and buried her face into Grillby's coat

Ichiko: "A dangerous criminal, and that's all you need to know," Grillby said fiercely.  Still cradling Cirri, he raced to the control room, verifying everything was still online.  "He's . . . he has targeted Cirri for his own sick twisted amusement.  and he is under no circumstances to be underestimated."

Angel: Jasper blinked, following along carrying Sans in the crook of one arm. "No wonder Cirri's so scared." His Soul nearly broke in two. "How long as this fuck been targeting her?"

Ichiko: "......" Grillby didn't say anything for a minute, preferring to scan the control room.  Everything was in order. Everything was online, every safety measure had been activated.

".....too long." he finally said.

Angel: Outside the lab the Icy Ninja stood staring, a thick rime of ice was both forming and melting in the Hotland heat. "This is getting ridiculous." She muttered. it had taken nearly all of her strength and a good portion of one of her coat sleeves to freeze he two blaster beasts in a thick block of ice. It would take the three...oddly familiar Stone Elementals a good long while to carve the bone monsters free though- which left only three remaining obstacles between her and her goal.

a short distance away Flint was running at top speed- He had this awful thought- and he hoped to heaven he was wrong.

Jasper found a couple of woolly blankets and brought them over to Cirri and Sans- Cirri having clung to her unconscious sibling like an oversized teddy bear.

"Here, this should help you feel better, I hope anyway." Jasper wrapped the duo in the blanket.

"Thanks Jasper..." Cirri murmured. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Jasper said plopping on the floor next to her.

"For getting you involved in this... Nightmare." she replied. "I j-just wanted-" Jasper drew Cirri close.

"You'll get it. We can beat her. You'll never see that sick freak as long as you live I promise." Jasper replied "Remember what I said at your Dad's bar? I'll always reach for you, like the Mountain reaches for the sky."

A chill began to seep into the room, followed by the discharge of energy and the random smashing of destroyed machinery

Ichiko: Grillby let out a frustrated roar.  "Goddamn it!!!" His fire filled the room with intense heat.  He turned to the controls, activating the maze of lasers between them and whatever was out there.  "All of you get behind me!"

Angel: Jasper quickly drew Cirri in behind Grillby, Cirri still hugging Sans and watching the Laser-maze with wild-eyed hopelessness

Suddenly the smashing and blasting stopped and everything was deathly quiet

"... It cannot be that easy." Jasper grunted

  a Blast of icy fog showered down onto Grillby from an above air vent

The ice woman jumped down into the fog a wedge of Ice in her hand which soon found it's home in Grillby's leg, quickly growing until it became a spear pinning him to the floor

"Papa!" Cirri screamed throwing a blast of Hotland air at the fog- which was enough to keep Grillby from being dusted from the cold, but not enough to free him from the ice

Ichiko: Grillby wretched and screamed in pain, grasping at the icicle and his hands steaming as they touched the ice.  He was panicking, desperately clawing at his leg.

With what little strength Sans had, he leaped to his feet and began clawing at the spike, freeing him.

But he was so weak now.  His flames were so cool.  Sans gasped a wheezing breath, fearing that Grillby would fade to nothing then and there.  

He turned to the woman, furious.  

"JUST LEAVE US ALONE!"

He tried to stand, but he was still too disoriented  he tried to shift, do something! But every expenditure of energy left him dizzy and sick

"Please, please leave my sister alone!"

Angel: "... I can't do that." She replied, turning away "Vulpeca wants her. Vulpeca promised to help me. this is his price." Jasper shoved Cirri behind him.  "Your LVL is pathetically weak boy. Just let her go, she will not be harmed by me."

"Get bent lady." Jasper growled sprouting spikes of jasper rock- the same rock as his horns- directly from his body "Your sick fuck boss isn't going anywhere near her."

the woman tilted her head, then raised a hand, a boulder of ice shot out of nowhere cracking into Jasper's side sending him flying into the console. there was a few sparks and snaps, and the Laser maze sputtered out and died

"That makes things simpler." the woman finally returned her gaze to Cirri. "Will you fight me too?" She asked the horrified air elemental.

"I SAID LEAVE MY GIRLFRIEND ALONE YOU BITCH!" Jasper roared his fangs fully bared, looking more like a Geode of razor blades than anything remotely monster-like

he plowed into the Ice woman charging down the hall in manic desperate rage leaving the three monsters alone in the lab

"Sans, Grillby!" Cirri stood up. "Will you two be alright?"

Ichiko: Sans hovered over Grillby, still weak and gasping for breath.  His form looked thinner, as if starved.  His mouth opened and closed several times, faint whispers leaving his lips.  Sans leaned close over him.

". . . . lava . . ." he gasped.  "t-throw me . . . in lava . . . restore my strength . . ."

Sans nodded.  He needed a source of fire; it was the only way to quickly restore his weakened state.  Fortunately the CORE had just what he needed. Slinging Grillby on his back, the skeleton half-dragged, half-carried Grillby down several long, twisting halls, to a lower floor that had a catwalk over a  pit of boiling lava.  

Sans looked at Grillby, and he gave a weak nod.

Sans then dropped him over the railing, to the boiling molten lake of fire below.

Grillby fell, hitting the fire lake just a few short feet away.  He lay there, unmoving, for several seconds.

The fire then erupted in a volcanic explosion.

Grillby, absorbing the very heat from the earth itself, exploded out of the pit, leaping back onto the catwalk.  His form was not just fire anymore, but magma and lava dripping off him like tar.  His form was larger, more savage-looking, and smoke billowed from the fissure that was his mouth.  His body radiated heat intense enough to warp the metal he stood on.

He strode past Cirri and Sans, renewed.

"Let's kill that bitch," he snarled.

The Firestorm General had been reborn.

Angel: Meanwhile Jasper had charged a few yards before plowing the Icewoman into a wall- he had seen and learned, he didn't hesitate for a second throwing blow after blow, breaking whole blocks of ice from her body, exposing bone which cracked under his stony fists until she blew him away in a gust of Icy wind- it only served to turn his green grassy hair yellow from the cold.

He charged in again with enough force to break through the wall into the street- right in front of Flint.

the Ice woman had lost a leg, a torn stump at the knee only remained, but she didn't bleed- much. a navy-blue ichor seeped quietly from the wound and a dozen others.

"Gah!" Jasper wheezed. "Lady whatever the hell you're looking for it's not worth this much bullcrap!" He panted. "Just give up!"

the woman didn't move- that last strike had in fact broken her back. "I cannot. I need to find them."

"WHO?!" Jasper shouted.

"...I don't know." the Ice woman said in her usual flat voice. "They will fix me. Make me whole again."

"I'm sure Doctor Gaster could help- yanno when you stop stalking his foster-daughter and being a huge bitch!" Jasper said standing straight again.

"He will kill me. Vulpeca has told me as such."

Jasper facepalmed. "In case you haven't noticed I'm about five seconds away from Killing you here and now!" he stomped over and squatted beside the prone ice-creature

"You must do what you need to in order to survive. I understand." Flint jumped like a pin had been stuck into him.

A wave of heat came from the lab. "I have failed. Do what you must." the Ice woman said

Jasper raised his hands forming a fist about the size of the Ice woman's head-

Ichiko: Grillby stalked out of the lab, the massive wave of heat assaulting the three.  Metal warped around him, his footprints left flames in his wake, the air steamed around his hellish form.  And his eyes blazed with fury.

He marched up to the ice woman, hand extended, dripping with lava, as a ball of fire formed in his hand.

"YOU HURT MY DAUGHTER." he said in a hissing whisper.  "I WILL NOT ALLOW THIS TRANSGRESSION TO GO UNPUNISHED."

Angel: "WAIT!" Flint howled throwing himself over the Ice woman "I Beg Mercy on her Behalf!"

"Flint what the Fuck?!" Jasper yelped. "She's not going to stop let Grillby-"

"She's our Mother Jasper!" Flint bawled

The ice woman flinched. "What- Flint have you- Mom's DEAD you told me she died!" Jasper shouted, an edge of confused hysteria in his voice

Ichiko: Grillby faltered, the fire in his hand disappearing. "....your mother is dead, Flint," he said mournfully.  "She died a very long time ago."

Angel: "No! I don't know how, but this is her!" Flint screamed not moving "This is Irelle!"

"I-I-I..." the ice woman stammered "I am... What... Irelle...!?" She yammered shaking violently

"Your name is Irelle! You Summoned me into Life on the Sixth of August! Mom it's Flint!" Flint grabbed the twitching Ice woman in his own meaty hands "You stayed behind to stop the Human army- You saved all our lives!" Flint said

then the ice woman began to scream- like a child's high-pitched scream only a thousand times sharper

Flint and Jasper grabbed their heads to block the sound- only for the Ice woman to vanish in puff of icy fog

"No..." Flint moaned

Ichiko: Grillby was at a loss.  He stared between Jasper and Flint.  He tried to think, tried to--

It hit him.

He remembered the story of Gaster's own creation.

What if . . .

Oh god, what if Vulpeca reanimated Irelle the very same way Gaster came to be?!

It was too cruel. It was too horrible to comprehend.

His shoulders heaved.

"I . . . . I am so very sorry .. ." he whispered.

Angel: "Dammit!" Flint sobbed burying his face in his hands, Jasper coming over to offer him support. "I'm going to kill Vulpeca with my own Damn hands." Jasper whispered with a frightening level of calm. "He's not getting away with this."

"Jasper, what are we going to tell the others?" Flint asked mournfully. "They.. Oh god Mom..."

Cirri watched from behind the group, her soul breaking for Jasper and Flint

Meanwhile in a dark and spooky portion of Snowdin wood, a Ice Woman is half-dragging herself through the snow, Navy ichor dripping from her stump leg.

"Looks like you failed." an Ash Grey Fox monster steps out of the gloom.

"I succeeded!" The woman barked. "I am Irelle! I have a name! a Family! a-" the fox placed a finger on her frozen lips and she goes limp. "You're hallucinating again my dear." He says softly as he scoops the Ice woman up, not even flinching from her piercing cold.

"I... am..." She murmurs in her flat voice. "No wonder, it seems you left a piece of yourself behind- I shall have to fix that"

"Why...?" she asks dazedly earning an evil chuckle from the fox

"Because I am your noble Master who will do anything for you." He says sweetly "As long as you do as I say...."

Ichiko: Back at Hotlands, Gaster and Papyrus finally broke free of their icy prison and raced to the labs, where they saw Grillby, Cirri, Sans, and the elemental brothers.  The shock and grief was all too clear on their face.  

But Gaster was staring hard at Grillby.  Even Papyrus shied away from Grillby's more monstrous, enhanced form.  The fire elemental could not meet their eyes.

<<What happened?>> Gaster demanded.

Grillby could only shake his head.  He looked at Gaster with a haunted look in his eyes.

"You are no longer alone," he said forebodingly.

[felicezhukov]

:: Dear Nicolas Jaar ::

A weeks worth of entries will be posted today, I hate writing the drafts of each piece on my laptop so my sketchbook is littered with letters to you. Its been an extraordinary week, I’m writing this all down whilst heavy rain and wind beat the courtyard outside my window.... I’m breaking them up into 3 entries, Friday, Saturday and Sunday respectively:

Part 1 // FRIDAY On Friday I was torn by sleep deprivation, frustration, chattering piercing through my brain. This feeling of impending doom was probably not helped by the impending general election we’re having in the UK this week, it feel’s like all sensible liberal people are on the edges of their seats at the moment. 

My clothes were getting to me, as I organised them and put them lovingly in to the washing machine I felt like my heart was breaking in to jagged shards, this representative fabric from my life thats given me so much joy, I couldn’t just cast off some of these pieces so easily, I know its less spartan than originally envisaged but I’m going to ditch the speakers to make room for more clothes in my suitcase. I’m sorry I hope you don’t respect me less for this...

In fact in general I’m taking a softer approach to this sale, I think an excerpt from a message I received from my dad might sum it up best:

“....you’re making a huge decision to shed your world as you know it, its cathartic but don’t loose sight of who you are, the identity you’ve stamped on this world is indelible so be kind to yourself......”

To assuage some of my deep trembling anxieties I’m going in to detail about one piece specifically:

It should by all rights be sent to the bin without consideration, its disgusting at this point, stained and ruined by my local dry cleaners is sort of off white / gold and a nasty acidic yellow in some places now. It was once a white Alexander Wang shirt. Its layered with chunky cuffs and collar, the gold buttons sprinkled down its front are hidden by a delicate panel and its made of silk, which floats on your skin and makes you feel lighter, softer, gentler. Its my go to for any fancy summertime event, paired with shorts and trainers it forgives the ease of any surrounding clothing in an ensemble just by being so graceful and beautiful, I’ve worn it to various locations in West London, on nights when a crush has become a lover, when the leaves in the tree’s are bursting forth and men in maserati’s slow down as they go past you. It was given to me by my ex mother in law and is one of the remaining relics from her wardrobe that I still own, something about this cannot be eschewed. 

So its going in the suitcase...

Friday was also the day I’d originally planned my Mermaid prom, I did send a rather wordy email to your management regarding this but later looking at your tour dates it seem’s you’d of been in Liverpool anyway, and, you would never of come, thats something I have to define as fantasy with no grounding in real life...

This is what would of happened on Friday and will happen on the 14th July, which is the date I’ve moved the event to (you’ll be in Minneapolis that day).....

I’d wake up and begin the day with yoga, yoghurt and a cigarette, then directly I’d travel to the bar (the prom venue), it was sunny on Friday so I would have chosen to walk and try to shake off some of the paranoia and stress surrounding the week thus far. In the surrounding weeks leading up to the prom I’d have fought to find time to do the prep for it and also get my endofworldsale off the ground as well, so everything would be half baked so to speak, props would be lacking, written scenes from my prom would be badly written and in terms of guidance of performers I’d probably have been less able to direct. The stress I was going through on Friday in reality, would be three fold in this speculative past, possibly I’d be centimetres from a breakdown.

When I get to the bar, laden with tape, bin bags, glitter, I’d check through the guest list and go over props. There’d probably be a fair few phone calls made to ensure the rsvp guest for the screening part were attending, then I’d blow up balloons with helium and attach gently spiralling ribbons to their tails, echoing a noise night I attended last year. 

I’d be drinking, or have just started, some black putrid deep sea punch made specially for the night.

Then I’d get ready in the disabled bathroom, taping myself up, applying a light dash of make up (the masks I’d be wearing would inevitably pull it off anyway) and bunching bin bags for my skirt. I’d await the guests, smoke cigarettes, practise my lines, without the help of my ex this time, who was so wonderfully supportive at the unicorn funeral. Then I’d sit on position below the projection.....

Once the film had finished playing the festivities would ensue, we’d open the doors to all who’d like to join us and then lash pinata’s, watch a prom king and queen be crowned, play sex scene charades, take photographs with the mer prince and virgin. A mermaid DJ would hang eerily by the decks, pretending to spin as pre recorded sound scapes would usher over the room, some of your music would be included Nicolas. 

After closing and saying goodbye to most folks a few of my closest pals and the staff would gather after wards for a night cap or two, laughing, imparting stories, smoking cigarettes. Then it’d be over, as I closed the door to my bedroom I’d think in sadness how I wished you were there to see what odd things I can achieve and silently make a prayer that one day our paths will cross.

I really hope you’re getting enough sleep at the moment Nicolas, sleep dep is such an intense thing