#and just disconnecting the part of the cord that disconnects in the middle when my charge is full

[buggyboba]

Greetings, I hope you had a great weekend. If its okay with you I was wondering if I could please request a Dhawan!Master x reader (or you can choose another master instead if you want.) The reader is at a Halloween party dressed as Christine Daaé (from Phamtom of the Opera.) The reader sees someone dressed as the Phamtom and is almost compelled to follow the person and the reader ends up alone in a locked room with this person and a mirror but by the time the reader works out that it's the master it's too late and the reader is already hypnotised/captured

(Sorry if this is too details, please feel free to ignore or feel free to alter the characters' costumes.)

I hope you have a great day

AN 𓏧 ↳ ○ Hi hello! I need you to understand the speed in which I got out of bed to write this.You just unlocked some Buggy lore~  I also need you to know I am an ex-theater kid, (big surprise there right?) Phantom Of The Opera was the second musical that I latched on to in middle school and high school, my first HUGE special interest, so much so that I consumed every poto media I could and was allowed to growing up in my strict as fuck house. I went to some weird places, some off-broadway musical simply called ‘Phantom’, the sequel Love Never Dies, the novel, and a horror film where Robert Englud, played Erik. I used to be a first soprano, and Carlotta was my dream role, I used to be able to do her part in “Notes/Prima Donna” then I bruised my vocal cords, stopped singing for a while, and yeah as I got older my voice deepened significantly, and I am an alto now…and I am so out of practice.   Anyway my point is, yeah of course I’ll write this! The costume I had in mind was very specific, and absolutely foreshadowing. I also went a little hard, do you guys like the little graphic I made, should I start doing that? 

Trigger warning 𓏧 ↳ ○ hypnosis, but none other than that! ayo this is a sfw drabble! ✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

The Doctor had brought you back to earth for Halloween; it was one of your favorite holidays, and you were excited. You had the perfect costume picked out, and you had been working on it for weeks, putting together pieces from the Tardis���s wardrobe to get the perfect mix to make the perfect costume. You spent countless hours finding the right references to match exactly what you wanted. You wanted Christine Daaé, but from a specific scene, you wanted the costume from the Hannibal opera, leading into the Phantom of the Opera and Music of the Night. It was a very specific costume, but the ornate gems across the chest, the reds, greens, and golds of the dancer costume in that scene—every detail recreated with love and accuracy, covered by the long-sleeved white almost lacey overrobe. It was perfect, and you looked stunning in it; even if people didn’t know who you were dressed as, you knew, and it was sure to turn heads. You had invited The Doctor and Yaz to come with you, but The Doctor opted to spend it with Yaz, wanting to go to a haunted maze or something. It was fine; you wanted them to have some alone time anyway. 

You got ready, curling your hair, doing your makeup, and making sure everything was fitted properly. When you were ready, The Doctor dropped you off, telling you to be careful and to be back to the drop-off spot by midnight. You laughed and joked, "Okay, mom,” and headed off to the party. The night air was cold; you clung to the lace tighter; perhaps you should have brought a jacket, but the party wasn’t too far of a walk. When you got there, it was an old theater; how fitting. The theater put on an annual Halloween party, and it was apparently a big thing; you hadn’t recalled hearing about it before, but then again, you had been traveling sometime with The Doctor. You slipped in, and the venue was filled with people. You tried to relax some; there were definitely more people here than you were expecting; the music was loud, and there was a smokey haze from a fog machine. It was decorated, but it felt disconnected. There were some scary props and the normal fake cobwebs and fake spiders, but then there were also cheerful cut-out skeletons on some of the wall. You saw where there were drinks and some snack food, but you didn’t want to risk spilling anything on your costume, not with it being so white and how long you spent on it. Your eyes scanned the room; people were dancing and talking, enjoying merryments, and then your eyes fell on him. 

Atop the staircase he stood, he wore a bone-colored skull half mask that covered the top of his face and a heavy crushed red velvet tailcoat and pants with elaborate gold and black embroidery. Over his shoulders a heavy red velvet cape with a dark orange silk lining. You blinked; you knew exactly who he was dressed as—the phantom, but the red death costume from the Masqurade scene. It was stunning, the attention to detail was so fascinating. You tried to push through the crowd, but when you got to the stairs, he was gone. You frowned, trying to ask some of the people around the stairs if they had seen where the man had gone, but no one seemed to know what you were talking about, which was frustrating because that was not an easy-to-miss costume, the reds and oranges hard to ignore, yet no one seemed to recall seeing a person like that. 

You frowned and rejoined the crowd. You caught a glimpse of that red tailcoat again towards the drinks and moved to get over there as quickly as you could, but the man was gone again. Were you seeing things? You couldn’t be, he was stunning—his tanned skin, the clean-cut beard, his dark slicked-back hair, his costume. God, you wanted to meet him; talk about his costume. But he seemed to be as elusive as the opera ghost he was dressed as tonight. You sighed and looked around; your wrist was grabbed from behind, and you felt a heavy presence, but it wasn’t scary. The leather was cold against your wrist as you turned, looking over your shoulder, coming face to face with the man you had been looking for, his dark coffee brown eyes staring into yours, his movements graceful as he waltzed you through the people. 

You opened your mouth to speak, feeling your cheeks burning at being this close to him. “Nice costume,” you mumbled, and then felt like dying of embarrassment. ‘Nice costume, you dumbass. You had so much to comment on, but his hand against your waist and how he was looking at you made it near impossible to think. “I, um… Red Death, Phantom… It’s a good costume...very thought out...authentic.” You said trying to regain your composure. 

“And you are Miss Daaé,” he murmured into your ear as he pulled closer, dancing you closer to the stage. “How fitting… It’s a beautiful costume, accurate. You are stunning tonight, my dear,” he grinned against your ear. He pulled back to look at you again. He sounded familiar; why did he sound familiar? Maybe he just had one of those voices. He seemed to notice your thoughts and tightened his hand on your waist, bringing you back to the present. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite...hard,” he grinned that cheeky grin, but something about his voice, his look, your body started to relax. “You are a very pretty little bird,” he continued. Once he got you close enough, he pulled away, keeping his hand in yours as he pulled you towards the backstage area. You felt you should run, felt you should get away, but your body betrayed you; it was a simple suggestion, ‘Come with me’, one that your body couldn’t help but follow. “I knew you were going to be dressed like this tonight, dressed for the occasion; the red death is fitting, isn’t it?” He asked, his voice soft, whispering like if he spoke louder it would break whatever spell you were under. 

“Why is... how did you know?” You asked, your eyes still locked on his as he guided you effortlessly. He chuckled like he knew something you didn't, like the choice in the red death costume was an inside joke, like it was ironic, but he didn't give an explanation; instead, when he opened his mouth to speak, he bypassed the comment all together. 

“Of course I would know, you worked on it so long, didn’t you?” he said, patting your hand with his other hand, leading you into the cast wings. “You talked about it a lot, with her other human pets.” He rolled his eyes at the thought of The Doctor and her ‘fam’. He was annoyed that she managed to keep you so close, so hidden from him, but he still had his ways. He had fancied you since his Missy days; you were feisty and so unafraid of him–her–him. Still unafraid, you had willingly gone off on your own on Halloween; without The Doctor, it took a lot of work to set this up; every aspect of this was his doing; he did love the long con. “You put so much effort into it, your browser history, my my, you wanted it to be perfect, for who?” He mused, pausing at a greenroom. His hand moved to your cheek, his eyes searching yours. “Me? No, but it is for me now,” he smirked a bit. “Come with me,” he vocalized this time, his eyes burning into yours. You felt your resolve fading faster. Your mind tugged, but it was like he was surrounding you. You clued in as soon as he talked about the doctor; you knew why his voice sounded familiar—the one time you had met him in this regeneration, when he was pretending to be the m16 agent, ‘O’. The Master. 

You couldn’t pull away; you wanted to, you needed to escape, but he was thick in your mind; you hung on his every word, his command. “Don’t worry, pet, I’m not going to hurt you; that would be counterproductive; I need you.” he paused. “To get to her, of course, and you need to be alive for that, don’t you?” he said, almost like he was trying to convince himself more than you. He opened the door, motioning. You walked forward and into the green room. You felt him take your hand again as he led you towards the full-length mirror. 

“I’m sure you will enjoy being my companion for a while; oh, I have such things to show you.” He said, “You will love it, dying stars, burning planets, and I just know you will stay of your own free will once you see what I have in store." He said his hand pressed against the mirror; it opened to reveal the inside of his Tardis. “She doesn’t pay attention to you like I will... She has Yaz, just like she had Clara before; that one was my doing, but god, it was perfect, wasn’t it? In a way, I am saving you from the terrible things that are to come,” he mused, motioning for you to enter the Tardis. You obediently walked in. 

"Oh, we will have so much fun together.” He kissed your cheek before he closed the door and walked over to the console. He had such plans and you were going to be key in some of them; he now needed to keep you away from the Doctor and her meddling until he was sure you were on his side without the need for hypnosis. He knew he could charm you to his side; he could show you he was worth it.

[freebooter4ever]

So im still exhausted. I keep making dumb mistakes and doing stupid shit like leaving charging cords at work or at home. My coordination is gone, im tripping and knocking into things. My eyes feel sore??? All i want to do anymore is lie down and try to sleep. :/

I think i was running on pure adrenaline last week...and now that 'panic' mode is done my body is paying me back for all the stress. :( i barely slept the entire time i was traveling, i regularly drove for like 10+ hrs on next to no sleep which...yeah. I know. Dangerous. The constant tension of whether or not snow was going to make my next route passable, and worry over keeping other people's schedules. And then to get to my grandparents house and to find out they're not moving till may and the 'end of march' deadline was an arbitrary schedule that didnt actually matter. Im not mad, i cant be mad at them they're moving which is stress enough, im just...mourning my exhaustion and inability to function lol. Had they let me wait even one more month the snow and the insane storms would have been gone.

Anyway, just thinking about that feeling of 'safety' or 'comfort' and how precious a thing it is for me (and my sleep) . After my anxiety started growing worse it takes a LOT for me to feel 'safe' with someone or somewhere. My italian grandparent's house would be one, nick's sister's house would be another. And then my friends house in the mountains of oregon, who are just the kindest, most generous people. The two nights i spent there were literally the only times i slept last week.

Back in the fall of 2018, six months after grandpa died and still unemployed, i helped grandma travel by train to ohio, flew back to seattle, stayed with sanjeev for a week ish, and then started south to los angeles because i literally couldnt think of anywhere else to go. And these friends in oregon - they were off traveling at the time - let me stay in their house for over a week. I was so scared about the future, i was still grieving and feeling like a total ghost, still processing my dad's very friendly comment (when i asked him why he hadn't offered to let me stay in his house after i flew back from ohio) about how if i couldn't afford to house myself i deserved to be homeless.

(honestly that wasn't even the part that bothered me - i knew that about my dad from the time when i was a kid and he would point out homeless people to me and jokingly say 'that will be you as an artist!'. Instead of instilling fear in me though this backfired and all my charity work in high school dealt with homeless shelters lol. But no, the part that bothered me was how he tacked another comment onto the end - that life 'couldn't go back to how it was'. THAT was when i broke down crying in front of him because i think stupid me still genuinely believed that if i moved back to seattle my dad would go back to being my best friend and it'd be us against the world again.)(i saw him for five minutes in sac last week - he refused to even have lunch with us)

Instead in 2018 i was anchorless, emotionally disconnected from reality, and instead of comdemning me like everybody else in my family, my friends were like 'dont worry about it, the house is empty, please use it.' And i did! I was nervous at first. But then i started exploring the area - went to a bunch of state parks out in the middle of nowhere hidden in the high desert. Ended up LOVING one of them and collected those tacky tourist maps and just scribbled all my observations and tips on the best roads to drive/things to do/see onto the margins. And i collected all the brochures and compiled a kind of guide, and left it on the counter just in case my friends hadn't found that particular area to explore yet. And sure enough, they hadn't! To this day they still talk about how happy they were to have all these suggestions and things to see, and how that particular area is now one of their favorite places to visit. So what im saying is that's the only place i got any rest last week. Also those pancakes. I need to make those pancakes.

Anyway i'm just so fucking tired, man. This is the second 'vacation' where i've come back more exhausted than when i left, i think i need to do something differently. (also fuck you dad, five years in LA and not homeless once)

[organized-chaotic-disaster]

.

[aellynera]

Loose Change (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

LOOSE CHANGE

For this week’s Writer Wednesday hosted by the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog! Llewyn was the first thing that popped into my head when I saw this, and I really don’t know where the rest of it came from, but I just had to write it. Thank you for reading, commenting, liking, and reblogging! 💜💜

This week’s inspiration:

Word Count: 2300 on the dot.

Summary: How bad can it be when your phone rings in the middle of the night? (An alternate take on what could have happened on the way back from Chicago.)

Warnings: Angsty. Hopeful. Hopeful angst? Angstful hope? Maybe a swear or two. Sketchy phone booths. Wrong numbers. Yearning. Secrets, poor decisions, better choices.

The bed was warm but you could hear the cold rain pounding on the window behind your head. Ignoring it and staying in your cozy, comfortable cocoon was definitely your best option, and you rolled over and pulled the blankets tighter over your head. This was the right place to be and you felt yourself start drifting back to sleep.

Until your phone started ringing.

Your phone, which was nowhere near your bed, or even in your bedroom. It wasn’t even within fifty feet of you; it was securely fastened to the wall in your kitchen, by the sink, next to the pantry door. And your kitchen was clear on the other side of the apartment. 

A quick check of the clock told you that it was also the ungodly hour of 3:28 am, the red digits blaring at you angrily in the near-dark. Who in the world was calling you at this hour? For a long few minutes you thought about ignoring it. It was probably a wrong number. That happened all the time. Or maybe it was some kids having a party and pranking. In the middle of the night. That was probably it.

But a little tickle at the back of your brain, small and sinewy, kept curling around your thoughts and rationalization and it wouldn’t let go. Maybe it’s important. Maybe it really was. Maybe something happened to one of your parents or your sister or-

The phone didn’t stop ringing. So it must be important.

With an exasperated groan, you launched yourself out of bed, one quilt still wrapped around you to ward off the damp chill. Your bare feet slapped along the tile floor and your balance wavered slightly, your muscles still used to being asleep, until you finally got to the kitchen and yanked the receiver off the ringing phone.

“Hello?” your sleep-ridden voice rasped out cautiously. 

“Hey,” the voice on the other end came back. “You got the stuff?”

“The...what?”

“You know, the…” 

“The st...No! Do you know what time it is? This is a wrong number! What the hell!” You slammed the phone back down on its cradle.

Figures. It was a wrong number. You wanted to go back to bed, you really did. But now you found yourself wide awake because someone wanted stuff that you wouldn’t have day or night.

So you wandered over to the couch and tried to get comfortable on the lumpy cushions, and watched the rain coming down outside your window bounce dramatically off the fire escape.

Until your phone rang again.

A curse flew from your lips as you hurled the quilt off and stomped back to the phone. You grabbed it, put it to your ear, and shouted, “What?”

“I...are you okay?” a voice came back. A familiar voice, this time.

“Llewyn? Is that you?” you closed your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he replied. “Uh, sorry I’m calling you so late.”

You sighed. “I’m fine. It’s fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. I just...some stuff happened, and I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

Your heart immediately softened in your chest, despite your very strong desire to still be angry. Llewyn certainly didn’t sound okay, but that was his norm. You wanted to reach through the phone and hold him, care for him.

You always had a soft spot for him, ever since Jean introduced you so long ago, that day in the park when all the musician friends gathered to play at the fountain. He spent a fair amount of time sleeping on this lumpy old couch. You cooked him a hot meal when you could (and when he would let you), gave him a place to stay even if you weren’t home (on the rare occasion that he would even agree to it, which was slowly becoming more frequent.) You went to as many of his shows as you could, and you really just liked to hang out with him when he was around. He’d slowly become one of your best friends. 

And yeah, he was kind of an asshole a lot of the time, but he was sweet and you probably liked him a little more than you were willing to admit.

“Llewyn, where are you? Do you need me to come get you or something?” you asked with a yawn. You really hoped that’s why he was calling you at...3:37 am..

His laugh was short. “Well, if you feel like driving to Ohio, sure.”

“Ohio?” you cried. “What are you doing in…”

The laugh from moments before fell into a sigh and you could hear a soft thunk follow. “I’m in Akron. In a payphone booth outside of a bar, banging my head on the glass. I’ll hitchhike home in the morning, it’s fine.”

“You’re in Akron,” you repeated slowly. “Why are you in Akron?”

“Because I was in Chicago-”

“Which is not Akron, the last time I checked. Or even the same state,” you pointed out. You picked the quilt up from the floor and wrapped yourself back in it, settling on the couch again. The receiver cord had just enough reach that you were able to sit with your back against one arm and stare back out the window and the slippery wet metal of the fire escape glinting in the moonlight.

Vaguely you remembered this was the quilt Llewyn had used the last time he stayed with you.

“Well it’s on the way back,” Llewyn snapped. “And I wouldn’t be in Akron if the car I was in hadn’t broken down and…”

“Does this have something to do with Diane?” you asked softly. That sinewy tentacle of intuition was back, curling around your brain again.

The rough exhale of air on the other end of the line was the only answer you needed.

“Llewyn.” You said again, still soft, but more stern. Something was going on, and you could tell he wasn’t going to tell you without some prodding.

After what felt like hours, he finally muttered, “Maybe.”

“Llewyn, what are you doing? You can’t possibly want to talk to her, after everything that happened. Did the car really break down in Akron, or did you request a stop? Because it seems kind of suspect that you would just, you know, end up there of all places on your way back from Chicago, and what were you even doing in Chicago? I just saw you a couple days ago and you didn’t say anything about--”

It wasn’t until Llewyn broke through your rant that you noticed you’d hadn’t stopped for a single breath.

“The car really did break down,” he insisted. “And I don’t actually want to see her. Not really. But...I feel like I kind of have to, and it’s...it’s just a coincidence that I got stranded here?”

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t, and after a beat, he continued.

“I have a kid.”

It suddenly felt like all the air was sucked out of the room. “I’m sorry, what?” You knew he couldn’t see you, but maybe he could feel the way your eyebrows shot up your forehead.

“Diane,” he sighed again, ���she didn’t...I found out she had the kid. So I have a kid. Somewhere in Akron. Where I’m currently stranded, looking like a drunk bum loitering outside a sketchy bar.”

You blinked infinitely as you stared out the window. What do you say to that? How do you say anything to that? So you just said the first thing that came to mind.

“Are you drunk?”

“Really?” Now you were pretty sure you could hear his brows raise. “Do I sound like I’ve been drinking?”

“No, I’m sorry, I just...holy shit, Llewyn,” you breathed. “And she never told you?”

His chuckle sounded so morose. “No. Why would she? That was a pretty shit time, for everyone.”

“I’m listening,” you whispered.

You knew the story of what happened between them. Llewyn had told you himself, one night over coffee and an entire chocolate cake that one of your elderly neighbors had made for you for helping her fix her leaky faucet. Of course, Jean had (in her own mind) helpfully filled in all the blanks she swore Llewyn left out, but you preferred to go with his version. She only thought you knew the basics. But that night, fueled by caffeine and frosting, Llewyn admitted you were the only one apart from the actual players that knew everything.

But this part? This was something new.

“She never told me,” he explained. “I thought she went through with it and it turned out she didn’t and she’s not even the one who told me, it was...you know, never mind. That part isn't important.”

“So when did you find out? How long have you been in Akron?”

He sighed. “Just before I left for Chicago. And since this afternoon. I thought about looking them up, but…”

And he told you how he tried an old number he had for Diane’s parents, but it was disconnected. And he’d asked around at the diner he found (over something called chili which wasn’t like any chili he’d ever had and just further proved how weird Ohio was) but got no information. And how he didn’t really want to see her, and maybe he didn’t even really want to meet up with anyone, but if he could, he at least wanted to see what his own kid looked like, just to know.

The longing in his voice, the what if, the hurt. It was all laid bare from hundreds of miles away, yet you could feel it hovering next to you on that couch. Wrapped around you in that threadbare quilt.

It didn’t feel like the time to offer any advice, and platitudes, any words at all. Not now. So you simply curled up in that quilt - his quilt - and listened. It was rare for him to open up like this and you didn’t want to interrupt, didn’t want to staunch the flow of emotional honesty that he quite frankly needed.

Until the tinny, pleasantly fabricated, slightly mechanical voice broke in, if you’d like to continue this call, please add funds, otherwise this call will disconnect in three minutes.

“Shit, that was my last quarter,” Llewyn muttered. “I’ll get back to you when I get back in town, yeah?”

Oh no, you brain screamed. Well, yes, but no, no he was not just going to let the issue drop like this, quarters be damned.

“Llewyn, I need you to listen to me. Get home as soon as you can, and we can talk about this more. And get here in one piece, please be safe.”

“Okay,” he replied with a heavy exhale.

“And...and Llewyn, when you get back home, please...please come home.”

There was silence from his end, silence that lasted so long you thought the call had disconnected without you noticing. Your breath stuck in your lungs, for how long you couldn’t tell, but then suddenly his voice came through the receiver again, flustered and short.

“I...okay, yeah, I will, I gotta go, but...damn it, what is there to lose now, I lo--”

And the call cut off.

You stared at the receiver in your hand for so long the fast busy-beep of the receiver being off the hook is the only thing that snapped you out of it.

You didn’t sleep for the rest of what was left of the night.

For the next day, and the day after, you ran the entire phone call through your head more times that you cared to admit. Every word he’d said, every word you’d said, every pause and admission and what he might have been trying to say at the end. Your mind very (un)helpfully offered all kinds of ideas about what wasn’t said, what maybe couldn’t yet be said, and you just let it tumble around chaotically. 

As if you could control it anyway.

You didn’t get much sleep.

Later that night, and on the second day after, after a long day at work and a longer day of thinking, you found yourself curled up on the couch again, with a glass of wine and a record spinning quietly on the turntable. Wrapped in that same quilt. Your quilt- his quilt.

You stared out the window, this time not at the rain, but the setting sun and the soft, rich colors it was painting across the sky.

You hoped he had really listened. You hope he knew what you actually meant. You hoped he wouldn’t get sidetracked as he often tended to do and that he would really show up. You didn’t know how you were going to do it, but you would help him like you always had. Together you would figure out what to do, what he needed to do, what he wanted to do, how to do it. Together.

This wasn’t something he should have to figure out on his own. He probably didn’t want to admit it, but you hope he knew he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, and didn’t have to. You hoped Llewyn would let you.

That tickle, that tentacle in the back of your brain, took firm hold. You knew he would come back, but you prayed he would come home.

That he had listened. That he knew. That he--

Your head snapped up at the sound of a knock on the door. You carefully set the wine glass down and slowly walked yourself, quilt and all, over to answer it.

And once you opened it, saw the man standing before you, exhausted and disheveled but...grateful, maybe even hopeful, you wrapped it around both of you and pulled Llewyn in.

~end~

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[babyybitchhhwrites]

Toji x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 4562

Warnings: incest, father/daughter, noncon, manipulation tactics, degradation, choking, creampie, unprotected sex, dead dove do not eat

A/N: Heed the warnings, this one is not particularly nice. Big brother Megumi has tried his best to make up for Toji's emotionally unavailable father schtick but it just didn't work the way he'd hoped.

: ^ )

♥♥♥♥

You’re half awake and only distantly aware of the mattress dipping behind you. It feels like a dream at first, one you can’t quite shake even when you open your eyes and groggily blink into the suffocating darkness that surrounds you. There’s some kind of disconnect between your resting body and your waking mind which all too readily tries to write it off as your brother crawling into bed with you even though you haven’t slept together in ages. Even though you know in a vague, abstract sort of way that he has school in the morning and wouldn’t be caught dead sneaking into your room under normal circumstances, let alone in the dead of the night. There was too much risk involved and not enough incentive to take the chance. He’d never done this before, so why start now?

Even knowing - despite knowing it can’t possibly be Megumi for a multitude of reasons, you still want to accept this explanation and go back to sleep. You have school too, after all. There was a big geometry test awaiting you during first period. Or was it biology? You can’t quite recall, still mostly asleep and too tired to think properly. It didn’t really matter what it was though, because you’d never hear the end of it if you were too indisposed to concentrate and ended up with a failing grade. That was the very last thing you needed right now.

Deciding to take the easy route and just ream him a new one in the morning, you snuggle into your pillow with a quiet, sleepy groan and make a conscious effort to drift off again. You barely make out the gruff responding laugh over the rustling sheets and then he settles in behind you.

Your eyes immediately snap open again. That is not Megumi. The build was all wrong. Too big and too firm with hard musculature that does not match your brothers lean body composition. Whoever was behind you felt massive in comparison, as oppressive as they were imposing, and it quickly becomes apparent that you can’t turn a blind eye anymore when they snake a steel corded arm around your middle. You start to quake.

“Wha -“

“Shh. You don’t want to wake your brother, do you?”

It’s as if a rug had been torn out from under your feet.

“Dad?” You warble into the void, hardly daring to believe it was really him. He’d been gone for almost three weeks now and this was how he chose to announce he was back?

“Of course. You weren’t expecting someone else, were you?”

Although his tone is light, bordering on playful, you couldn’t have missed the hint of something far more dangerous lurking just below the surface of that question even if you’d wanted to. He was teasing you, yes. But he was also testing you.

“Don’t be silly.” You murmur, glad your voice doesn’t crack under the pressure. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I was sleeping.”

“I know. I didn’t want to wait until morning to see you though.” Issuing a soft sigh, Toji presses his mouth to the nape of your neck in a chaste but not quite innocent kiss. Goosebumps erupt across your skin and you involuntarily shudder, clutching the bedsheet in a death grip that only becomes tighter when he presses himself right up against your back. You’re not sure how you didn’t make the connection sooner when that hard muscle mass was so uniquely his. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes. I always do.”

Humming in a rare show of approval - something he kept in reserve specifically for times like this - he slowly drags his calloused hand up your twitching stomach one agonizing inch at a time. The thin tank top you’d put on for bed bunches and you find yourself arching into his touch when he not so gently palms the weight of your breast before giving it an encouraging squeeze. A gasp rattles out of you and in to the night, which he responds to with a dull groan of his own.

“That’s my girl. Always so good for daddy.”

You whimper, screwing your eyes shut against the onslaught of conflicting emotions that constantly follow in your fathers wayward path of destruction. It wasn’t that you didn’t realize this was wrong. The exact opposite, in fact. No matter how much you might have wanted to, there was simply no denying that something was inherently inappropriate about these clandestine encounters with him or that this was not a normal parent-child relationship. You knew none of your friends let their dads touch them like this. You also knew Megumi wasn’t on the receiving end of any such preferential treatment. Just you.

But there was still a very real part of your psyche that enjoyed this time together, even if it was twisted and fucked up. Fushiguro Toji was not an easy man to live with and he wasn’t exactly forthcoming when it came to affection. For as long as you could remember, you’d grown up believing wholeheartedly that he hated you. Wished you’d never been born in the first place. It was impossible not to think that way when he was so distant, both physically and emotionally, even when you were too little to understand that that's just how he was. Your older brother had been more of a parent to you than he ever had.

That changed shortly after your thirteenth birthday though, when you were well into the throes of puberty and he suddenly became keenly aware of your developing body. You’d caught him staring more times than you could count, not so subtly eying you up in every room of the apartment like a predator taking stock of its next potential meal, and even now you were ashamed to recall how much that had delighted you. He’d never given you so much attention before and you were desperate for more. Hadn’t even realized that you were so starved for his approval until you started parading around in close to nothing, much to Megumi’s barefaced horror, but you were far beyond the point of salvation at that point. You needed your father to like you in some capacity, even if it meant acting like a brazen little slut to accomplish that.

It worked, too. Of course it did. How could you have ever expected anything less when the shorts kept getting shorter and you refused to wear a bra no matter how sore your budding tits got from rubbing against the inside of your shirt? You were essentially tossing a slab of meat into the wolves den, and he’d responded in kind. Met your challenge head on and with even greater ferocity than you could ever have hoped to muster. You hadn’t exactly planned on becoming a stand in for your deceased mother but, well �� there was only so much poking and prodding an apex hunter would put up with before asserting his dominance. You’d brought it on yourself, really.

And now he was groping your chest with a steady hand, not even a hint of reluctance in his body language. He had accepted your naive, childishly issued invitation and the parameters were set in stone the moment you’d submitted to whatever maladjusted treatment he felt the need to dish out. There was no going back now, no room for hesitation. Not from either one of you. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, you knew that it was wrong but if this was the only way for him to accept you …

“Daddy!”

Toji shushes you again, yet he doesn’t let up on the nipple cruelly pinched between his fingers. He gives it a rough tweak and then a twist, clearly delighting in the shudder that dances through your body in response. “Keep it down. You know how thin the walls are.”

You do know just how thin they are, so you force your fingers to uncurl from the sheets and bring your hand up to cover your mouth. Megumi could never find out about this. Not ever. You weren’t even particularly worried about yourself but, rather, you just didn’t want him to hate dad. And he certainly would. He was protective of you in a way Toji probably should have been but even that was not enough to satisfy your miserable need for a relationship with your actual father. It was pathetic.

“You’re even more sensitive than usual,” He muses, oblivious to your self deprecating thoughts as he slowly releases one aching bud in favor of reaching for the other. “Did you spend the last few weeks wet and neglected? Huh? Poor baby. You know you can touch yourself when I’m not around to do it for you.”

Writhing when he indelicately tugs at your nipple, you outright seethe. The heavy weight of his growing erection becomes even more apparent and it twitches eagerly against your upper thigh, encouraged by the needy grind of your hips. He nudges even closer in search of more direct friction which your wriggling ass all too readily provides and he groans in approval. That low, rumbling sound goes straight to your thrumming cunt and you instinctively squeeze your legs together as a strange sense of joy floods your chest like helium filling a birthday balloon. Sometimes it really did feel like you could just blissfully float away if he gave you enough praise, whether that be verbal or otherwise, and the validation of his cock was easily the most potent of them all. You were soaring.

“It’s not the same when I do it …” You mewl into your palm, aching at how true that statement rings.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. You’re just daddy’s needy little cock sleeve, aren’t you?” Toji’s warm breath puffs against your neck when he speaks. It tickles and you shake for him so enthusiastically that your spine pops with a faint crack. He laughs, very faintly, but it sounds more like a muttered curse in the dark. His hand shifts against your breast and possessively squeezes the firm, supple swell of flesh in a pinching grip so tight that his blocky fingers sink into the skin, and you keen. It hurt, yes. It was painful enough to make your eyes water and yet it also made your gushing cunt spasm, clenching so violently it almost punched the air right out of your lungs.

Dizzy with want and teetering on the edge of delirium, you snake your unoccupied hand underneath the covers, blindly fumbling for your pussy. The pressure was simply too much - you needed relief, even if it was only temporary - but he’s just as quick to abandon your tit in favor of crowding his hand between your legs right along with yours.

The broad expanse of his palm absolutely engulfs your knuckles, pushing down and manually guiding you into rubbing the apex of your slit until you tremble against him. It’s not quite enough to shove you over the edge, the unfocused stimulation only serving to make you even more wet and desperate, but the stark intimacy of being directed to massage your sticky cunt is undeniable. The absolute, unfaltering control he had over the body he’d helped bring into this world was staggeringly erotic in its own right and you couldn’t get enough. It felt a bit like being teased, though. Your orgasm hanging precariously over your head like the sword of Damocles, a looming threat in the back of your mind, but you were more than prepared to beg for the killing blow at this point. It’s not as if you really had any dignity left anymore.

“Daddy, please ... I want to cum, I wanna’ cum so bad! I need it!”

“Mmm. You think you’re ready for my cock, princess?”

You jerkily nod your head. “Uh-huh!”

Toji draws a slow, anticipatory breath. Lets it hang in the air for a long beat before actually speaking. “Alright. Can you keep quiet, or do I need to find something to gag you with? Be honest. You know I wont put up with any lying.”

You try to give that its due consideration but it's a struggle just to get your thoughts in order. All of your focus is on the worryingly damp spot between your thighs and the shameful way your flushed body practically sings under his attention. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time your father had ever gagged you but … you’d rather not have him shove a pair of your underwear so deep into your mouth that you retch around the balled up cotton if you could help it. “I can be quiet. Promise.”

He makes a sound like he doesn’t quite believe that but relents all the same. Both of you knew the punishment for failing to meet his expectations, especially after you swore to it, would far outweigh the offense itself, so there wasn’t any reason to linger on the topic. Your ass was on the line, not his.

Pushing up on the bed, he rises over you and tugs you onto your back. Your heartbeat doubles now that you can just barely make out his silhouette through the veil of darkness, the familiar figure of your father proving a great comfort despite the ugliness of what you two were doing together. Biting your lip, you twist to help him get your pajama pants off only to flush when he clucks his tongue at the lack of panties underneath.

“You were just hoping I’d come home and pay you a visit, weren’t you, slut?” He snarks, impatiently tossing your discarded bottoms to the end of the bed.

You whimper at the degrading name but a pleasant shudder works its way down your back when he goes up on his knees so he can unfasten his slacks. The zrrt of his zipper sounds impossibly loud in the dark and your pussy flutters with sick anticipation, surely drooling all over the sheets now. He’d trained you well. Taught you that the only source of true pleasure and validation you’d ever know would come from him and him alone. Not anybody else and certainly not from yourself. You were entirely reliant on him for everything. Your sense of worth, your self confidence, your mental and emotional wellness. Toji had all that and so much more right in the palm of his hand and, as always, he wasn’t particularly inclined to be nice about it.

“God, I can smell you from here. That hungry little pussy of yours is gonna’ shave ten years off my lifespan, you know that? So fucking needy.” The rustle of pants being shoved down bare legs makes your breath come quicker. He reaches for you then, big hands winding around your calves and yanking you further down the mattress so that your upturned ass is securely slotted between his knees.

A choking gurgle of excitement rises in the back of your throat, quickly stifled, as you clamp your hand more firmly over your mouth. Thoughts briefly drifting to Megumi again, you offer him a silent apology. He’d practically raised you in Toji’s stead but, no matter how much he may have tried, a brother's love could never adequately replace that of a fathers. It didn’t even come close and now you were laying on your back, getting ready to take the very cock that had given you life. It was abhorrent.

“Daddy …”

He doesn’t even pause though. “You really like it that much, baby? Can’t even make do with your fingers or settle for someone your own age? I didn’t realize I was raising such a shameless whore this whole time, but I can’t exactly say I’m complaining.” Leaving one of your legs to uselessly flex in the air, he reaches down to fist himself. You can hear the silky slither of moving skin when he pumps his dick a handful of times before settling closer and guiding the blunt head to your weeping entrance. Breath catching, you squeeze the lower half of your face so hard you can feel nails sinking in and threatening to break the skin. He merely swirls the bulbous glans through the sticky sheets of slick oozing out of you though, coating his cock in arousal and then dragging it up higher to nudge at your receptively engorged clit. “Tell me how bad you want me inside you, sweetheart. Let me hear it.”

“It’s all I want!” You automatically blurt even as you jolt and twitch at the teasingly light contact. It’s hard to tell if he can even make out what you’re saying with the flat of your hand muffling your voice, but he doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself so you just keep babbling; obedient and embarrassingly stupid for him. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else since you left, daddy. I need you to fill me up and … and fuck me hard, please. It feels like I’ll die if you don’t. I hate when you have to leave for a job. I’m so lonely without you and nothing I do makes the ache go away. My pussy hurts, daddy … please!”

Toji softly coos at you, but it's the farthest thing from sweet. He was mocking you. “Aww, does it really? Poor thing. You just need me to take care of you, huh?”

You nod, whimpering into your palm.

“Well,” He breathes out when he redirects the tip of his cock back down to your ripe little hole. “I don’t know how hard I can fuck you right now with your brother in the other room but …” Hefting your captured leg a bit higher, he uses his opposite hand to push himself into the velvety soft folds of your cunt one torturous fraction at a time. You go ramrod stiff underneath him, holding your breath until the ridged glans eases past the first tight ring of muscle and he momentarily stills above you. A stuttering sigh rolls off your lolling tongue as Toji reaches for your other ankle, leaving just the head wedged inside as he spreads you open for him. By the time he’s got you positioned how he wants, your thighs are splayed in such a wide V that it actually rides the line of real discomfort but you don’t even think to complain. How could you when he was giving you exactly what you wanted?

Still holding your feet aloft, your father eases his hips forward and applies just enough pressure to sink in deeper. The penetration is deliberately slow and it forces you to acknowledge each individual centimeter of rockhard, silky flesh that dips inside your body and you seethe, biting back an almost hysterical wail of pleasure. Your pussy never did seem to get used to that impressive girth no matter how often he used it and the stretch was still exquisite. It made your toes curl, eyes tweaking and rolling towards the back of your skull when you feel relief in every throbbing inch of your nervous system. This was exactly what you’d been pining for since he’d left.

“Shit. You’re never gonna’ stop feeling like a vice, are you, sweetheart?”

You can hear the grit of his teeth but he doesn’t stop. Continues to work himself into you one shallow thrust at a time when your squeezing cunt puts up too much resistance and he has to pause, pull back and then try again. The sear of penetration has you gasping wetly behind your hand and you finally allow a single, faltering groan to rattle up through your chest when he eventually settles against you some time later. It’s an incredibly tight fit. The pressure almost too much to bear for as transcendental as it is. Toji’s cock was far from small and, sometimes, you could hardly believe that it actually fit.

“Oooh … daddy …” Your clit throbs impotently, alive just as if it had its own heartbeat. You were so close. So horribly, wonderfully close you could practically taste it on the back of your tongue.

“Hush. I’ve got you, princess.” He murmurs, keeping your shaking legs up in the air with a deceptively gentle grip. “Just keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut and you’ll be off to sleep again before you know it.”

Grunting softly, he gradually withdraws half of the way before sliding straight down to the hilt again. Now that the path had been cleared once and your slopping juices were thoroughly coating every hard inch of him, the friction became easier. It wasn’t quite so hard to move inside your guts anymore, and his pace steadily builds until the soft, sticky click, click, click coming from between your legs morphs into a steady beat. You squirm at every jostling thrust, biting down on your tongue to keep your groaning pleasure to yourself, but every once in a while a small meep still escapes the confines of your trembling hand. Your father laughs at each one, the sound strained and tense and coming out of him in increasingly hearty puffs. All while he continues to fuck you with a mere third of his usual strength.

Even that much was enough to make you heave around him though and you toss your head on the pillows, silently reminding yourself to keep quiet. It only takes a short few moments for the pushing drive of his thrusts to send you over the edge, the coil snapping so abruptly you actually lurch underneath him. Your father reacts quickly though and, as soon as he feels your pussy start to shudder, one of his hands shoots out to grab you around the neck. Your eyes grow impossibly wide when he pushes up on your constricting throat, mercilessly cutting off your air supply in the process. All you can manage is a croaking, barely audible groan of intense pleasure, the sound rattling around inside your skull like a maraca as you dissolve into full bodied shudders underneath him. You’re acutely aware of how your cunt enthusiastically creams on his cock but he doesn’t slow down, the quick pace of his hips milking your orgasm to the point of discomfort, and you start to panic. It’s instinctive, the way you weakly thrash against him.

You desperately needed to breathe and your face was starting to grow numb the longer he kept his fist locked around your throat but Toji was as unyielding as iron. Your consciousness just starts to blur around the edges when he suddenly releases you, air flooding your windpipe as you immediately suck in a haggard gasp. That’s all the reprieve he allows you before his palm smacks against your wide open mouth and shoves you down into the mattress so hard the springs creak.

Hot tears track down your cheeks as he leans over you and pins you to the bed with the heavy weight of his body. His once evenly tempered thrusts turn brutal and he slams into your squelching cunt viscously enough to make pain shoot out from between your legs and into the rest of your abdomen. It hurts, it hurts so bad that you actually wail into the flat of his palm, but he doesn’t stop. For a painfully long stretch of time, he just pistons into you without a second thought to the matter, even when the bed frame begins faintly rattling under the two of you. He doesn’t seem to care, clearly, and that thought terrifies you more than anything. Megumi couldn’t find out. He couldn’t.

“Yeah. Right there.” He snarls, barely getting the words out through his gnashing teeth. “Take it, baby. Take it! That’s right. You take daddy’s cock so fucking well, you know that?”

You squeeze your eyes shut against the aggressive way he spits in your face, praying that he reaches his limit before your brother stirs at the noise. While not exactly loud, Toji was certainly making enough of a scene to draw unwanted attention and you didn’t want to think about what would happen if Megumi came to investigate. It didn’t even make sense. Your father was the one who’d reminded you of how thin the walls were so why was he recklessly throwing caution aside like this?

A few minutes pass in which all you can do is lay there and take it, helplessly ragdolling with his hand still covering your mouth to keep you quiet, and you’re sure the jig has to be up. There’s no way your brother is still asleep in his room. Toji was a man possessed, flexing against you like a rutting hellbeast that couldn't be bothered with silly notions of decency. But then, as if hearing your silent pleas, his body starts to tense up and his shoulders quake. You latch onto that brief glimmer of hope, reeling at the pain as his hips slap against your ass with one last surge of monstrous energy. Once, twice, three times - and on the fourth brain rattling jolt, he stills.

His breath is ragged and quick against your face. You can feel the oppressive heat of his excitement bleeding into you, threatening to burn you up, but he doesn’t attempt to move off your shell-shocked body just yet. Rather, your father waits until his balls have finished draining into your throbbing cunt, thoroughly painting your pink innards in thick, creamy white, before he slowly removes his hand from your mouth. You gasp thickly into the darkness, practically choking on it.

And, true to nature, he quietly shushes you again. “Shh. It’s alright. I’ve got you, baby girl. Just breathe for me, okay?”

You nod, fighting back the hurt little hiccups that try to work their way up your bruised throat. It takes a prolonged moment to start coming down and, as always, he just keeps softly petting your hair until the tension finally gives way to exhaustion. Only when you’re a limp sack of flesh underneath him does Toji shift to get off you, but not before shoving a perversely affectionate kiss to your damp forehead.

“That’s my girl. I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart. Sleep well.” And he’s gone, just like that and as quietly as he'd entered. It was almost like he'd never even been there in the first place.

You shudder in the absence of his body heat, refusing to move from the spot where he left you. The splintering pain is almost too much to bear but you breathe through it, one second at a time, until it becomes a bit more manageable. Even then, you can’t quite wrap your head around his total disregard for discretion. Your father was not a nice man, and that was likely all there was to it. He could be downright mean when the mood so struck him and that had never been more apparent than tonight, but it still didn’t change the fact you were his daughter. He cared about you, surely, even if it was ass backwards and twisted well past the point of what would be considered normal. You were lucky to have him, even if you did have to put out just for a fleeting moment of his attention. At least you could lay claim to that much. Beggars shouldn’t be choosers, after all.

“Good night, daddy." You whisper into the still darkness. "I love you.”

[shyvioletcat]

could we get pt. 3 of zoom interrupted??? i need to know what happened after the second meeting.

I know I already did the part 3. So how’s about a part 4?

Zoom Interrupted Masterlist

~~~~~

Rowan was trying not to zone out for the tenth time in this Zoom meeting. But he was just so tired. He had been taking care of Elsie almost entirely by himself, Aelin was still not feeling her best and she was tired all the time so it was Rowan pulling the hard yards. He didn’t mind, he wasn’t the one creating a human life. But it just meant he had a hard time focusing on work, especially when his daughter was being adorably distracting. She was doing things like lining up small horse toys on his desk, asking him to open snacks or a packet of crayons in her cute little voice. 

Aelin wasn’t home, she had gone for a check up and a scan, and because of the current conditions he wasn’t allowed to go with her. Plus there was the fact they had a toddler who no one was really allowed to babysit anyway. So Rowan had stayed home and left the study door open so that Elsie could walk in and out as she pleased and he could keep an ear out for what she was up to. Right now he heard a dragging noise and then she came through the door, her mini backpack dragging behind her. Rowan smiled at her and she gave him a toothy grin in return. 

“Whitethorn.”

Rowan nearly jumped at Lorcan’s voice, but managed to keep his cool. “Yes?”

“I’m going to pretend this isn’t the third time I’ve asked you for those numbers,” Lorcan said, but his voice was lacking it’s usual harshness. He was the most understanding of all Rowan’s colleagues, with a hellion like Korbin running their household. 

“Yeah, one sec,” Rowan started lifting the toys on his desk to find the paper that he needed. As he did there was a screech and Rowan froze, looking over at his daughter.

She started waving her hands, her brow furrowed in her distress as she said, “No, no, no, no, no.”

She toddled over and Rowan tried to figure out what she was upset about. Then he looked at what he held in his hand. He had moved her horses. Muffled laughter sounded from his screen, they all knew that laughing at Elspeth was a dangerous game if she wasn’t in on the joke.

“Sorry, little love,” Rowan said, putting the horse back where he found it as Elsie glared up at him. “Dada just needed to get his papers.”

“Ta!” Elsie said, raising one hand and doing a grabby action. 

Rowan took a guess at what she was asking for and started handing her her horses and she put them in her backpack, one by one. When she was done she left, taking her full backpack with her. That left Rowan to go back to looking for the page he needed. It seemed that Elsie had been in his papers as well and they were all mixed up. His colleagues were chatting amongst themselves while they waited. Rowan knew if it had been any other day they would have been ripping into him, telling him to hurry up, but instead they were being lenient. Finally, Rowan found the page he was looking for, but his face fell when he saw he couldn’t read it because it was covered in thick, black texta lines.

Rowan shook his head, “Hold on, I’ll have to grab it off my laptop again.” Frazzled, he grabbed his laptop from the corner of the desk. When he opened it he saw it was almost out of battery and he didn’t want it cutting out mid sentence. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Ducking under the desk Rowan grabbed the charging cord, Elsie calling his name from right next to him made him jump and he smacked his head on the underside of the desk. He bit back his curse, not wanting Elsie to repeat it. When he emerged she was holding out a hat to him, one of Aelin’s. It was a blue felt thing with a pink ribbon around it, with a wide and floppy brim.

“Do I have to?” Rowan asked.

Elsie stepped closer, offering it to him. With a sigh he took it and put it on.

“Looking good, Rowan,” Vaughan teased. 

“It really makes your complexion pop,” Connall added. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Rowan said, not even looking at the desktop while he looked at his laptop screen.

Elsie was unpacking her horses again, lining them back up on the desk, Rowan didn’t try to stop her.

“Ok, I’ve got it,” Rowan said and started rattling off his report. The brim of the hat kept falling into his face so he went to take it off. There was another screech and Rowan’s heart just about stopped in his chest. “Gods damn it.”

“Dammit!” Elsie parroted back to him.

“Ah — no,” Rowan stammered, “don’t say that, alright?”

Fenrys just laughed at him and the others joined in. Then Fenrys lent forward, “Elsie, sweetheart, what you got there?”

She could barely see over the top of the desk but she looked up at the screen and held up one of her toy horses to show Fenrys. “Neigh,” she said by way of explanation.

“Oh, a horse,” Fenrys said very seriously. “Do you have anymore?”

Elise started to babble away, showing Fenrys toy after toy as he nodded and gushed over when he showed her, not understanding her in the slightest. Rowan gave his friend a grateful look as the distraction let him remove the hat. Soon Elsie had gone through all the horses and then pointed to Fenrys.

“‘Tay dere,” she told Fenrys and she toddled out of the study.

With the distraction gone Rowan continued to go through his report. Elsie came back in and Rowan assumed she had just brought in another toy to show her audience but then there was a choking noise, and he looked up to see Gavriel choking on his drink. Confused, Rowan looked down to Elsie and he felt his cheeks flush. 

“Ahhh ffffuuuu...dgeballs,” Rowan muttered and then could only stare.

Lorcan noticed next and snorted.

Rowan felt as though his face was burning. Elsie had somehow managed to find an empty condom box and was now using it as what looked like to be disproportionate stable for her horses. The box bent out of shape as she tried to cram them in. 

“Wait, what?” Fenrys blurted out as he registered what Elsie had. “If you had those… Oh, it’s empty, that explains things.”

“Mute him now!” Gavriel said, his voice strained still recovering from his choking.

There were murmurs of agreement and then Fenrys said, “What, wh —“ 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Lorcan muted him. He flipped off the rest of his colleagues.

“What is going on?”

Rowan turned to see Aelin standing in the doorway, a small smile on her face as she took in the scene before her.

“Why is Elsie using that box as a house?” Aelin asked, not embarrassed in the slightest. “And why is Fenrys holding up a sign with insults written on it?”

Rowan looked at the screen and Fenrys was indeed holding up a sign featuring some colourful language. Lucky Elsie couldn't read yet. 

“Want to see something?” She asked Rowan. He nodded and she pulled out a photo from her pocket. “There is our little baby.”

Rowan looked at the little black and white photo, the writing in the top corner reading 9 week + 2 days. In the middle was a little figure that was just starting to look like a real teeny tiny human, with a head and little limbs. But there it was and Rowan couldn’t help the tears that were stinging at his eyes. 

When he was done he handed it back to Aelin and she turned it to show everyone on the screen. They all ooo-ed and ahh-ed, Fenrys held up a sign that said congratulations, Connall said it was already looking like Rowan and Aelin exclaimed, “That’s what I said!” Elsie reached up, doing her grabby hands again and Rowan lifted her into his lap. Aelin passed her the photo as she then rested on Rowan’s knee and talked to her uncle, the meeting very well and truly derailed once again. 

“What dis?” Elsie asked, pointing to the photo.

“That’s the baby that’s growing in Mummy’s tummy. That’s your baby brother or sister,” Rowan explained.

“Baby,” Elsie said as she touched the photo. “Essie baby.” Then she hugged the photo to her chest. 

Aelin turned precariously so she could watch her daughter, no doubt catching a glimpse of what was happening on the screen. Her eyes were starting to brim with tears and she lent down to kiss Rowan.

“And I think we’re done,” Lorcan said and Rowan’s screen went entirely black as he was disconnected, leaving the family to enjoy this moment on their own.

~~~~~

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[delldarling]

the muddy shore | winsome i

male kelpie x gender/body neutral reader 1725 words sfw | lost memories, mild body horror, a kiss that leaves you breathless, part i of ii 

“You lured me here,” you say, barely understanding the words tumbling out of your own mouth. It almost feels like you’re speaking from somewhere far away, partially disconnected from all of your senses, because… Because you can still barely believe what it is that you’re seeing. 

You half want to blame it on the surge of bitter adrenaline, fight or flight zipping through your veins until your hearing is off, until all you can make sense of is the steady ringing overlaying every word the creature says. All you can do is stand here, frozen as he comes up out of the water. Watching him change though- watching is both frightening and utterly entrancing. You would have sworn he was a horse when you first pushed through the reeds, drawn by the buzz in the back of your skull. He is a pale horse still as he moves through the water, eyes reflective and gleaming in the fast fading light, mane twined with water weeds and flotsam. The cattails seem to part even before he reaches them, giving him a clear line to the shore. To you.

As soon as a hoof crests the shore though, as soon as he lowers it to the ground, a long fingered hand is splayed in the mud. A strange cracking fills the air as his face becomes humanoid - though far from entirely human. He smiles when he sees you watching, sharp teeth drawing your gaze before your eyes dart to his ears, still shaped much like a horse, drifting to the side of his head before they settle. When he straightens, when both his hands are human-like and his skin is pearly blue and strange, he’s eerily tall and thin. Wet hair hangs around his face, catching on his shoulders and the sharp angles of his cheekbones. Water weeds still hang from the locks of his hair, and around his hips hangs a lovely belt, heavy with trinkets and holding up some kind of loincloth. Otherwise, he’s bare, hands and shins and feet painted with dark mud. 

“You lured me here,” you say again, knowing the words are true, even if you don’t quite understand what they mean. You… Have half a memory of saying “No. No, you’ll take mine or none at all,” fierce and sharp to someone’s face, but… You have no idea when you would have said something like that. 

“Regretting your choice?” He asks, and his words are watery and jeering in tone, but- But his eyes are sad. “They always do,” he says softly, just barely loud enough for you to catch. “They warned me,” he follows it with, biting at his lower lip as he traces you with his eyes from head to toe. “But the lot of you humans-” He scoffs, though the derision breaks in the middle, and the sad tone of the sound makes you cringe. “I thought,” he says, taking slow, steady steps towards you, apparently impervious to the sucking mud trying to slow his progress, “that you would be different though.”

“I don’t even know what you are,” you bite out, still fighting with your own nervous system. Part of you wants to blurt that you are different, that you’ll prove it, but you still feel like there’s a huge gap in your memories. It’s as if you’ve forgotten something terribly important, though seeing him again, the scent of water on the air, the chill breeze weaving through the weeds… You can almost recall it, can feel it resting, just out of reach. “Let alone what choice you’re talking about.”

He pauses, just before his hand touches your face, pursing thin, wide lips as he examines your expression, your gaze. He crouches, corded muscles shifting so he’s closer to eye level, though his hand stays where it is, impossibly long fingers hovering just over your cheek. His fingernails are short, you notice, though darkly tinged, but even up close, the strange pearly blue shade of him doesn’t change or shift. You aren’t imagining it, then. 

“I made sure that memory was left with you,” he insists, tilting his head to make sure you’re looking him in the face. “Have you tampered with that? Bargained it away?” He sucks in a short breath through his teeth, glancing away for a heartbeat. “Was it too painful still?”

“Bargained my memories?” You ask, sharply, feeling your eyebrows raise. Your pulse is starting to slow, even though the back of your mind is still telling you to run, run, run as far from him as you can. As frightening as he looks, as eerie as it is to have him tower over you when he’s at full height, he’s being gentle, hesitant to fully invade your space.

“Does the name Winsome mean nothing to you?” He demands, finally taking the flesh of your cheek carefully between his fingertips and pinching. He moves his hand, making your head jostle from side to side and then lets go of you with a look of disgust. He snatches up your hand and your pulse speeds in fear again when he bares his teeth, slapping your hand against his damp cheek. “That’s me, if you haven’t realized. You don’t recall giving me the name? The crown of bulrush?”

“Winsome?” You ask, and.. It sparks a thought. Not a memory, nothing clear, but like a story one of your relatives told you about your own childhood, one that you know is missing the punch line, but can’t recall well enough to correct. “I… There was- two?” You murmur, unable to look away from Winsome’s large sideways pupils. 

He breathes out, fingers spasming in their hold on yours. “Yes,” he rushes to say, and then his long arms are slipping around you, taking you completely off your feet - though your shoes stick, sucking into the deep mud - as he presses you against his bare chest. He doesn’t seem to care when you kick, making a noise of surprise when your shoes are left behind. “You traded your memories of them,” he says, and this high in the air, your feet have nothing to do but dangle. You try to balance yourself, hands on his chest, and then you can see over his shoulder to the lake behind him. Your jaw drops. There are more horses in the water. Not many, three or four, but eyes and ears and wet manes float in the water, perfectly still but for blinking eyes. All of them are focused on you and Winsome. Watching. Waiting. 

You clutch onto Winsome purely due to fear, but his damp hand stroking down your back is comforting. You don’t care about the mud he’s surely streaking down the back of your clothes, you’ll take his arms around you, the strength in them, over getting any closer to the horses waiting in the water. 

“Of who?” You find yourself asking, and your heart aches when Winsome laughs. He leans back enough to look you in the eyes, another sharp toothed smile growing on his face when you don’t struggle, when you chance a small unsteady smile of your own. 

“Does it matter?” He asks, and that watery voice has you blinking, trying to reorganize your thoughts. “You found me again,” he adds. Winsome’s smile melts into a frown after a moment though, realizing that you’re not quite as exuberant as he is about finding one another after an indeterminate amount of time. 

“I still… I still don’t know who you are,” you tell him, holding tighter in the fear that he might drop you. You don’t know how far you are from the ground, and it’s likely that your brain is exaggerating, but the drop seems far and you have an incessant voice in the back of your mind telling you to stay well out of reach of the horses behind Winsome.

Winsome’s frown fades away, leaning close until his long nose is brushing against the crown of your head. He presses a kiss to your forehead, cool but warming the longer he lingers. “Kiss me,” he suggests. “Kiss me, and find out. Isn’t that what all the stories say?”

There’s a sharp whiny from the water, shrill and piercing, but before you can voice your doubts or pull away, Winsome is capturing your mouth with his. His lips are tepid, like kissing someone that’s been swimming for too long, but his tongue is hot and wide and after less than ten seconds of an overwhelming kiss, you have to wrench your head back to breathe. As soon as you do, there’s a sharp prickle at the back of your skull. The whiny grows louder, echoing around your brain and bouncing around your skull until your vision is hazy and- And then you see. 

Years ago, you traded away your memories of playing at the lake. You’d been young, small, too small to make a momentous decision, but all children felt that the world rested on their shoulders. You’d felt like a hero in a storybook, saving someone.. Someone from drowning. You traded away the memories of that playmate and… And part of you thinks that they might have been fae, just like Winsome is a kelpie. It makes sense, even if you’re still trying to process, even if your head feels hot and your vision is misted with stars and there’s a glaring emptiness in all the memories, pounding, pounding, pounding against the inside of your skull- 

“Winsome,” you choke out, clawing at his shoulders, pressing yourself as close as possible. He’d been smaller than, of an average adult height instead of this towering, fierce looking being. He’s always been thin, coltish legs and sharp elbows, but you remember twirling a lock of his damp hair between small fingers, of his cheeks turning purple when you asked what his name was. The three of you had spent multiple summers together, hunting bugs at sunset, making up games and laughing on the shore. None of you had cared about the thick mud always clinging to your clothes, not when you had each other, and- And the memories focus, and a face rises up, clear and cold as winter sunshine. Winsome’s family, his brother, had urged him to... bring you home.

And bringing a human home to kelpies? 

There was only one way that would have ended.

[bubbleteaa]

the letters I never sent you; kageyama tobio x reader

m a s t e r l i s t 

I.                APRIL’S SKY IS AS BLUE AS YOUR EYES

On a bright and beautiful day, you feel blue. You feel your fingers numb because of the cold water on the vacuum flask you hold, your lips are curved on a straight line while you look for a lonely spot near the gym.

It's selfish to feel like that when everyone wants to be happy. It's almost a way of asking for help. Was it obvious for someone? You were new, well, everyone was new. You let those feelings burn in your chest, falling inside your core, whispering so softly that was aggressive at nights. At those careful sleepless nights. 

The bags around your e/c eyes were part of your daily basis suffering. White nights that whispered at your ears how lonely you were, some tears help them out, some claws digging in your head trying so hard to stop thinking.

After a sleepless night, what's better that you stay alone at your secret spot?

Today is the same story, in life, or the noisy hallways of Karasuno High.

You feel blue because of that. The same thing that yesterday, the same spot that last week, the same lonely feeling encroaching your skin without a reason. 

The only difference is that someone else is in your spot. You know him. He's in your class. His cold and intimidating gaze travel around you, from head to toe. You don't mind and you sit at his side. You can feel his deep blue eyes over you. 

You feel it.

He is blue, he doesn't feel good.

He can feel that you are blue, too.

"It's weird if you keep staring at someone when they are about to eat" you start opening your bento box. You hear how he makes a little sound, something so silent that is noisy.

He is flustered.

"Your name is L/N, right?" then he speaks, you don't even see him. You can hear that he's drinking something "We are in the same class"

Ah, yes. Same class, really close to each other sits. The only problem was that both of them had weird social skills. Kageyama didn't talk to anyone and Y/N didn't know how to approach someone.

That's why she was blue.

"I can tell, Kageyama-san" that's the first time you see him at the eyes "Where's your lunch?"

"I already drank milk"

"Uhm, so you don't eat anything and only drink milk" you huffed "I can share mine with you, I don't eat a lot, anyway"

He looks confused at the moment, after staring at her for seconds, large and quiet seconds, he answered with a simple "What do you have?"

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                                                                   Miyagi, Japan, April 8th

Dear Tobio,

There is no art in art if you don't know fire. It is the same thing that hurts when we do not say anything, but what we keep quiet. We don't see each other, we see the artist, the athlete, the liar.

 Does that make sense? We live based on lies because it is almost impossible to live with honesty in a world built on fallacies. We are poor idiots, after all. We complain about what happens to us, but we created good and evil, didn’t we?

 It is too early to be too late.

After a week in silence, today I heard how your voice sounded. 

 And I still don't understand why behind what your vocal cords articulated, I could feel a pain that made me want to cry. Do you also soak the pillow late at night? Doesn't it seem illogical to feel bad about anything or something that happened a long time ago? I lose control and only think about disconnecting from others and my life to stopping crying. 

I am writing to you because the silence on your side is intoxicatingly comfortable. If I said it out loud, the words would be blown away by the wind; maybe re-reading this later I can understand how I feel.

 I will never send you my letters, why would I? 

I don't know why I'm writing this to you.

Goodnight,

Y/N

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                                                                 Miyagi, Japan. April 18th

Dear Tobio,

I've noticed two things about you since we first met: one of them is that you don't do your homework, and if you do most of the things you have written are wrong. The second is that you are very observant and it is difficult not to perceive your eyes above my figure when we are in class.

Stop staring and pay attention, please.

I think we are friends, at least that's how I feel. Before, I thought you did not belong to any club, and neither did you have friends. Now I know that you play volleyball and that if you don't buy a carton of milk for lunch, you buy yogurt.

The silences we spend together during lunch are still comfortable, sometimes you accept the food I offer you, sometimes not.

Taking away the fact that you are not as applied in class, I can say that you are in volleyball. I noticed that you love that shine in your eyes every time you approach the gym it is impossible not to observe.

It's very beautiful, you know, to have something that you're passionate about in that way.

For my part, I am still looking for a club that has nothing to do with mental overwork, I already have enough when I’m trying to explain what you do not understand minutes before starting classes.

It would be easier if you studied.

I have noticed that when it gets dark, April's sky is as blue as your eyes.

I think I like you.

I mean, your eyes.

I think.

Goodnight,

Y / N.

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                                                         Miyagi, Japan, April 20th

Dear Tobio,

Have you ever thought about what our life would be like outside of what we know? Sometimes when I see the rays of the sun sneak out the window in the middle of modern literature class, I can only think of the journey that our pupils go from the first day to our grave.

 We see so many things, so many people, so many gestures; we see fire, we see clouds, we see tears of the sky landing on umbrellas. We know combustion and freezing, chaos becoming order.

I'm digressing.

But don't you think about it? That beyond our existence there are millions of orbits, that our life rocks under the sun and the moon, trying to worship something before it disappears, like millions of souls who are afraid and hide.

After all, we will not be remembered by anyone; or at least me, you have clear goals, dreams. I always wonder what to strive for, what things are for, what their purpose is. I suppose it is part of my egocentrism, before I know it I fall into the typical human vainglory, ignoring that I can plunge into the abyss.

Again, I am rambling.

I like this class, on the other hand, you don't seem to understand it. I have already told you several times that you must read to understand, not everything is memorizing. Either way, I already told you that if you needed help, you could write to me. Yes, I also can't believe I gave you my number. 

It's just to text me if you need help! 

Although it would be nice if ... we talked more, get to know each other better.

What am I saying? 

Goodnight, 

Y / N.

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                                                        Miyagi, Japan, April 23rd 

Dear Tobio, 

Now, this is funny. You don't have a bad temper at all, just bad conversational skills. And also to express yourself without looking like you're going to kill someone.

Okay, we'll work on that too, Tobio. After all, we are partners, right?

Teammates.

As a friend without really being one. Well, I consider you as a friend.

Yes.

We are just partners.

Either way, I haven't decided which club to join yet. It's also not like I have many options, I just have to join one and ... suffer.

Being in a club is exhausting, how do you do it? You practice and practice without rest and you still see yourself as calm as every day.

Amazing.

Oh, by the way, stop staring. If you need to ask me something you just have to tell me, it scares me that when I turn to see you you are looking at me without blinking.

Your blue eyes scare me. It is as if they are trying to break down barriers that I dare not open.

Stop doing it.

But, lowkey I enjoy seeing your face all nervous when I tell you to stop doing it.

Why am I saying this nonsense?

Goodnight,

Y / N

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"It's the third time this week, Kageyama" you frowned looking at him disapprovingly "You have to start doing your homework" you shake your head and looked at him. His blue eyes looked at you, almost begging.

"I was at practice and get carried away"

"I know, practice" then you laugh, and he gets flustered. He doesn't like to ask you for the homework, but he knows that he'll fail if he doesn't "This is the last time I borrow you my notes and homework. It would be easier if we study together" you gave him your notebook and you felt his touch. Rough, warmth, trembling. You smiled at him.

"Thank you"

You look at him. He doesn't curl his lips on a smile but you know that he tries.

He tries it for you.

I don't feel anything for you. You are just my friend. I don't fell in love, I don't need those feelings. I don't like you.

Guilt spits on her mouth for a moment. A knot starts forming on her throat, why? She was having second thoughts again. She was thinking about him in that certain way. 

She tried so hard to not looked at him for the rest of the classes.

"I'm going home, Kageyama," you said, he nodded his head "Good luck on practice"

"Actually" his voice was smooth. So sweet, so intoxicating "We don't have practice today"

"Oh, then... see you tomorrow..."

"Uhm..." you can see a little blush on his cheeks. His pale skin looked  tenderhearted "I... was thinking in..."

He can't talk after that.

The knot grew more and more. 

"We can walk home together" you smiled so softly at him. He was enamored by your presence. So sweet, so unique, so his. His. Why he was thinking of it? You barely knew him.

"Then, we can get going" 

He watches you taking your things. Your movements are in slow motion in his mind. How you took your bag, how you brushed some strands of your beautiful hair away of your face, how your hands seemed so tiny against his shoulder when you said to him that you were ready to go.

He never felt this for anyone before.

The way that you walk, so carefully without being slow. The way his eyes looked so beautiful as April's sky. The way he looked peacefully comfortable with you.

"Maybe we can study together" 

"Uh..., yeah" the way his words sound. He doesn't like the idea. 

"Only if you are okay with that. I know that sometimes I can be bothering-"

"You don't bother me!" your eyes are wide open when you heard him raised his voice "I-I m-mean, we can stu-study together..."

His voice sounds so angelic, his facial expressions are so sweet, so beautiful.

You look at him, you investigate his face. His cheeks are red, again, his pupils are floating everywhere, looking at everything but you. But you do look at him. The form of his eyes, the color of his irises,  the shape of his jaw. His straight lips, his hair covering his forehead, the tiny dark eyelashes that protect his beautiful deep blue eyes.

You are handsome, Kageyama.

The words don't come out, but you smile at him.

"Okay" 

Both blinked confused when they realize that the route to go home is the same. Your heart begins to beat rapidly as they turn the same corner, saying nothing to each other.

"Uhm ... do you live around here?" he is the one who decides to break the silence.

"Yes ... you do too"

"Well, my house is a few streets above"

"Ah, mine is right here"

Tobio stopped and looked at you, his eyes studying your face.

Why did you feel so hot on your cheeks?

"I guess here we say goodbye"

"Uhm, yes. Text me when you get home" you smiled lightly and Kageyama's heart gave a resounding jump, his cheeks turned completely red and he looked away with shame.

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

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                                                       Miyagi, Japan, April 28th,

Dear Tobio,

I want to walk with you to go to school every day now.

Goodnight,

Y/N

P.D.: I think I know which club I’m going to join.

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><

PART II

✩•̩̩͙*ೃ˚ ˡˡ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˚.*ೃ [t a g l i s t]: @softforshigi​ @trashys-things​ @clowninfortodoroki​ @lauraaflores09

you want to be on the tag list? send me an ask! <3 

[thiswasinevitableid]

Rockstar (Indruck)

A friend on discord, @morganeashton, requested #28 of the meet ugly list for Indruck: I’m a famous singer and you’re the new techie who just tripped and pulled the plug out of my microphone mid-concert [extra awkward if they lip sync, extra badass if they keep singing and their voice is still on point]. This is NSFW.

A peril of high quality sound equipment is that when it goes out, it’s very obvious.

The mic goes, his guitar and Dani’s bass cut out, and the effects are gone. For a moment it’s total silence as the audience watches him. 

Then he picks up exactly where he left off, notes coming as easy as breath. After a moment Jake starts up quieter than usual on the drums, giving him rhythm. By the time he finishes, the mic and instruments are back on and the applause is deafening. He smiles to himself.

He’s still got it. 

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

Duck knocks on the dressing room door. 

He’s so fucking fired.

“Come in.”

Mr. Cold is sitting at a mirror, takes note of Duck’s reflection.

“Ah, Duck, I thought it might be you. Mama said you were the one who disconnected our sound tonight.”

“Yessir. I, uh, it was an accident, I was movin somethin in a tight space and caught my foot on the cord without noticin’. I’m, uh, I’m real sorry, and, uh, I’ll, uh-”

Mr. Cold holds up his hand and Duck shuts his mouth. The singer turns, in his chair, face now free of make-up. His features still have that alien edge to them, the strange mix of young and old that’s made his attractiveness the subject of much debate. Duck knows where he falls on it; anyone who thinks Indrid Cold is anything other than sex on legs should get their eyes checked. 

That won’t help him, he knows that.

Indrid leans back in his chair, “you don’t need to plead your case to me Duck, for two reasons. One is that I’m not the one in charge of hiring or firing the road crew. That falls to Mama and Joseph completely, and if I ever tried to toss someone out for an accident they’d put me in my place very quickly. But more importantly, I’m not angry with you for what happened. Quite the opposite.”

“You...wait, really?”

Mr. Cold counts off on his fingers, “The space was small, so everyone could still hear me. There’s been rumors I’ve been using a dub, so this ought to quell them nicely, and” he looks at Duck over his trademark red glasses, smile widening, “it was unexpected, something that’s rare for me these days. When you get to this level of fame, everyone is terrified of not having a flawlessly executed plan. But that is not how the world is; it’s not how art is. So it was nice to have the chance to show everyone that the unexpected can be invigorating. Thank you for that.”

“You’re, uh, you’re welcome?”

Mr. Cold  smiles as he stands up, “you should sit down, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“It’s fine, uh-”

The singer simply rests a hand on his shoulder and gently pushes. Duck sits. 

“Would you, ah, like a drink? The hosts here left a very nice bottle of tequila.”

“Sure.” Duck tries not to stare as he bends over to retrieve a glass and a bottle, pouring Duck a shots worth of tequila that costs more than his rent. Duck mumbles a thank you when he hands it to him, then gawps when Mr. Cold sets the bottle aside and retrieves a Capri Sun from the mini-fridge.

“I can’t stand alcohol. Used to try for the sake of fitting in but” he makes a face like a disgusted cat, “eech. One moment, I need to change.” He disappears around a corner, leaving Duck to wonder what the fuck the polite thing to do is. Mr. Cold is always polite to his crew, but he keeps to himself much of the time. Not to mention Duck’s only been with them since the tour started a month ago. 

A photo on the table catches his eye, and he scoots his chair closer to get a look.

“Was, uh, was this an alternate cover or somethin?”

“Hmm? Oh” a light laugh, “no, though you’ve got a good eye; we shot it the same day we shot the cover image for The Cryptids. That was a shot that was nixed because we looked too silly, I think Vincent had said something funny and cracked Barclay up, who set me off. I bring it with me to every show, a sort of good luck charm mixed with a reminder of where I came from.” 

From the faded photo, nineteen year old Indrid Cold smiles at him. 

“I take it you’re a long time fan, then.” Mr. Cold reappears in a pink and yellow bathrobe, the last color scheme Duck would have assumed he owned. 

“Yeah, over a decade. I, uh, I was sixteen when The Cryptids released their first album. Scraped together fifteen bucks to buy the C.D and wore the damn thing out I listened to it so much. Never heard anything like it. That’s, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “that’s not why I took the job, though. Mama didn’t tell me who I’d be crewin’ for until after I accepted.”

“If you’re afraid of looking like a ‘fanboy,’ don’t be. Do you know how Joseph came to be our manager?”

“Uh, story I always heard was he came backstage during a show on your first tour and offered.”

Mr. Cold chuckles, “he did. But what very few people know is that he came back in his lovingly homemade  ‘Bigfoot’s Boy’ t-shirt and a a lot of glitter--remember, that was the E.T tour so everyone was space themed--clearly having left the house with the intent of trying to get into our bassist’s pants, and instead proceeded to tell us he’d seen how our manager operated through the night and we could so better and here’s how.”

“Jesus.”

“He was remarkably intimidating in spite of the glitter and his argument was airtight. So we fired Hayes and hired him. He did eventually bang our bassist, but that was perhaps obvious.”

“Given that they’ve been married for like five years, yeah. Still can’t believe Barclay went from beiin a rockstar to bein’ a chef.”

“He was always an ingenious cook. He once made breakfast using nothing but the still-hot engine of a mini-van.”

“AGH, god, why?”

“We were broke and hungry and there was nowhere to buy food.”

“That’s hardcore.”

“Mostly just oily.” Mr. Cold grabs another Capri Sun, sitting down across from him, “hmm, if you were sixteen when we started, did you ever get to see us?”

Duck shakes his head, “only kinda. Y’all mainly played twenty-one plus places even after you started gettin big, then you weren’t tourin nearby. When you announced the farewell tour, my friend Juno and I drove to Richmond to hear y’all play from outside the stadium. She’s still got a picture of us from that night somewhere, all geared out, tryin to look cool enough to be there.”

“You’ll have to let me see it, so I can determine if you pass muster.” Mr. Cold teases. 

“I ask if she can send me it. Christ, I remember bein’ so fuckin bummed when y’all announced The Cryptids were disbanding, then so fuckin relieved when you said you were gonna keep makin new stuff and performin just as Indrid Cold. Your voice is fuckin amazin.”

“That’s not always the word used.”

“So you don’t sound like Bruno Mars or some pop diva, big fuckin’ deal. You sing and people listen because they ain’t ever heard anyone like you. No one in the world sounds like Indrid Cold.”

The singer gives him an odd smile, “that’s very kind of you to say.”

“Sorry, guess there’s still some fanboy hidin’ out under the roadie.” His cheeks heat up as he finishes his drink.

“I think we should both get some rest.” Mr. Cold stands, ushering him to the door, “and that we should talk again sometime. And thank you again, Duck, for your happy accident.”

‘You’re welcome, Mr. Cold.”

A famous smile that’s never stopped being weirdly captivating, “please, call me Indrid.”

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

“You sure Indrid wants me on the bus and not just to, I dunno, load it?”

“Yes indeed.” Ned, Indrid’s publicity man, gestures grandly to the open door of the tour bus, “now kindly get yourself and your bag on it so we can get a move on.”

Duck climbs aboard, awkwardly sets his bag on the carrier shelf as he nods hello to Boyd, Indrid’s driver and part time bodyguard. 

Indrid is lounging on a black couch, but sits up when he sees Duck, “ah good, you decided to join me.”

“Yep. Uh, did you ask me for a reason or?”

“I like talking with you.” Indrid cocks his head, as if puzzled by the question. Duck wants to point out that the a god of the alt scene, a musical genius, who could have anyone he wanted for company, seeming to be excited by hanging out with a roadie is a bit confusing.

Indrid, meanwhile, is shoving drawings and notes aside so Duck can sit down, “mind you, I don’t expect you entertain me or something; I’m working on some poster art right now, for that fundraiser, so if you have things you like to do on the road, you’re welcome to do them. My room is that way if you want to nap, and it has a t.v as well if you want to watch something. Oh, and we have wi-fi, of course.”

He sounds like a college kid showing off his first apartment and it wrong-foots Duck enough that he just grabs his book from the pocket of his bag.

“Thanks, uh, think I’ll read for a bit.”

Indrid grins, goes back to his drawing, pen scratching hurriedly as the bus jolts to a start and pulls onto the road. 

After awhile, Indrid glances at him and asks mildly, “what was your favorite album? Of The Cryptids, I mean, not my solo stuff.”

Duck taps the spine of the book against the table as he thinks, “I mean The Cryptids  has that whole edge by bein’ the first, because there was nothin like hearin’ your sound for the first time. But I gotta say...Unsolved. Whole thing is fuckin amazin, but your vocals on “To a Flame” still give me fuckin chills.”

“I haven’t played that song in a long time.” Indrid says softly, smiling, “it was always a favorite. I wrote it about someone I could never have.”

“You can feel it. In, uh, in the way it’s arranged, the way you sing, gives this whole feelin of someone who’s decided to love someone completely even though they’ll never be loved back.”

Indrid looks at him a moment, that same odd, small smile quirking his lips, then returns to his drawing. When the road gets bumpier, they move to a couch in the middle of the bus with a low table nearby. Duck pulls out his laptop and plugs in his headphones, pulls up Planet Earth as Indrid’s head starts drooping. Two episodes in, the singer falls asleep, flopping sideways so his head is in Duck’s lap. 

He should move him, Indrid will probably think this is weird when he wakes up. Then again, he looks so cute like this. And it’d be rude to wake him up. 

Duck’s to the episode on jungles when a slender, tan hand reaches up and plucks his left earbud out. Startled, he looks down to find Indrid putting it on and adjusting his head in Duck’s lap, clearly engrossed in the carnivorous plants onscreen.

“Do you want me to just turn the normal sound on?”

“No” Indrid murmurs sleepily, “this is perfect.”

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

Duck assumes the bus will be a one-time event, but he’s ridden with Indrid each time since. Which is why, when his phone dings, Indrid is sitting right beside him. 

“Looks like Juno found the, uh, the photo.”

“Let me see” Indrid grabs the phone from him, cackling with delight when he sees the image, “you two were really the pair of cryptozoologists, weren’t you?”

“Told you we were tryin too hard.”

“On the contrary, I love it, it’s exactly the kind of weirdness we wanted to inspire in people. And if seems you did like to collect our merch, that shirt you’re wearing was a limited run.”

“I know. I, uh, I saved up for it, way I always did if something had art of yours on it.” He slaps his hand over his mouth, embarrassed by the admission.

“That’s very sweet.” Indrid smiles at him, then lifts his glasses for a better look, “what does the collar you’re wearing say?”

“I, uh, fuck, I don’t remember, got, uh, got amnesia, collar specific amnesia, fuck, uh-”

“C, O, L...you were wearing a collar with my name on it.” Indrid’s grin takes on a hungry edge, “someone was downplaying whose fanboy he was.”

“I, I didn’t want you thinkin I was creepy, or that I was just bein nice to you because of the crush I had on you in college.”

“I don’t, I promise, though I appreciate the consideration. Here” he hands the phone back, but as Duck takes it he leans in and whispers, “but you really should wear a collar more often.”

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

“Sooooo how’s it going with Indrid?” Aubrey, Indrid’s magician opening act, sits down next to Duck at dinner.

“Good. Wait, shit, are people talkin about us?”

“Kinda? I mean, Indrid hangs out with the band, and with me, plenty, but none of us get to be on that bus. Not like I’m complaining, Dani and I have our own sweet ride.”

“There ain’t anythin goin on between us. It just...Indrid seem like he likes bein’ friends with me.”

“That’s awesome!”

“Yeah” Duck sighs, wistfully, “y’know, it’s funny. Even after I started workin here, he was still Indrid Cold in my head, the guy who sang like he was diggin down in my head, who did wild shit like kiss his male bandmates on stage, who was always so fuckin cool. And now he’s Indrid, this guy who’s kinda awkward and wears way more pink than I assumed and flaps his hands when gets excited and somehow that’s even better.”

“Awww, someone has a cruuUUshh.”

“Had, Aubrey. Had.”

“Whatever you say, Duck” she winks at him, “whatever you say.”

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

“Are these yours?”

Duck shakes himself awake. They’ve been driving all evening and well into the night, and he must have nodded off and knocked his notebook over. Which is why Indrid is now holding several sheets of loose paper.

“Shit! I mean, uh, yeah, but they ain’t anythin special.”

“I didn’t know you wrote songs.” Indrid scans the pages with a critical eye.

“Sometimes. Like I said, they ain’t anythin to make a fuss over.” 

Indrid makes a noncommittal noise and picks up a nearby guitar, tuning it, “you can go back to sleep, I’m just going to fiddle about for a bit.”

Duck lays down on the couch, and falls asleep to the sound of Indrid’s hums.

He’s shaken awake two hours later, and is thoroughly confused to find Indrid in tight black pants and silvery shirt, black boots on his feet and a deep green on his lips; that’s his stagewear, not his pajamas.

“Put on your most punk-rock outfit, and make it fast.”

He manages to get an old Cryptids t-shirt on along with black jeans that, if he does say so himself, make his ass look good, and is tugging on his boots when the bus pulls into a dusty parking lot.

“It’s the only goth/gay bar in the county.” Indrid says by way of explanation as he pulls Duck out the door, Boyd following them as Ned stays behind to watch the van (“in case we need to make a hasty retreat”).

“Wait, holy fuck, I always thought that was a myth, that you would stop at random clubs and play.”

“Not in the least, though it’s been awhile. Ooh, whoever is already playing sounds very good.” He pushes open the door, the smell of smoke and stale beer and sweat pouring over them in waves as they enter. Indrid keeps to the side of the room, holding Duck’s hand all the while, and spots the tiny merch table with “The Hornets” painted on a yellow sign on the front. 

“Wait for me here.” He kisses Duck’s cheek and disappears into the crowd. When the band finishes the song, a youngish woman waves them over to the side of the stage, strangers in the crowd turning to each other to ask what the fuck is going on.

The guitarist and lead singer reappears, giant H on their shirt,  and grabs the mic, “y’all aren’t gonna believe this, but the Hornets have just acquired a new singer and it’s gonna blow your fucking minds. Give it up for one of the gods of horror-surf, the grinning man, the mothman himself, Indrid fucking Cold!” 

The crowd screams loud enough to shake an entire coat of dust from the walls as Indrid steps on stage, beaming and waving.

“Thank you very much, Hollis. I’ve got four songs for you tonight, including something very, very new. So, without further ado” he grabs the mic, flicks his hair, “let’s prowl.”

The Hornets launch into the opening notes of “on the prowl,” the crowd cheering and hooting and singing along with so much energy that Duck can’t hear Indrid’s voice until the last verse. He claps along with everyone else as Indrid takes the mic of the stand, “and here’s one I haven’t sung in far too long.”

The bass and guitar start in a minor key, half country swing and half horror sting.

“Always on the outs, always in the dark.” Indrid shuts his eyes as he croons, “always so hungry for one little spark. Always so willing to play your game. What can I say? I’m like a moth to flame.”

Duck knows the song by heart but he’s never heard Indrid sing it live, like there was someone in the room he was hoping would hear it and know it was for them. He doesn’t breathe until the song ends; he doesn’t want to miss a single note, miss the way Indrid’s voice curls around the room as if searching for him. 

As the crowd applauds at the end, Indrid crosses to Hollis, who hands him their guitar. He loops it over his shoulder, returns the mic to the stand. 

“Now, this next song is very special, it doesn’t have an arrangement yet, so you’ll have to live with just my melodious voice.” He picks the guitar, brow furrowed in concentration, and Duck gasps. 

He knows this song, he’s just never heard it played anywhere but inside his head. Indrid sings it flawlessly, the crowd swaying in time with him, and Duck realizes he must have practiced nonstop while he was asleep. 

The short song comes to a close and he tilts his head, “what did you think?”

The audience bursts out cheering and Indrid grins, “yes, that’s about how I feel too. I can’t take credit though, it was written by a friend.”

He returns the guitar, nods to the band, and purrs into the mic, “the sun goes down and the moon comes up.”

Shit how did he know? Does he know? He can’t know.

He can’t know this is the song Duck used to jack off to. A cover of a cover, a video where Indrid growls and purrs and nearly fucks the mic as he sings. 

“You better duck, when I show up, the goo goo muck” he writhes in time with the music, “I’m a nightmare, honey, looking for some head.”

God, fuck, how could he have forgotten just how Indrid sounds when he sings this, like the monster under the bed came to life, turned out to be hot, and really wants to fuck you. Indrid is on his knees now, working the front row, dragging his free hand across his body with moans between the words.

“He must really like you, mate.”

“Gahfuck, Boyd.” Duck jumps, but doesn’t take his eyes off the stage.

“I’m just sayin’, he’s never let anyone come to one of these before. I only do because Stern’ll kill us if we let him go without some kind of backup.” Boyd pats his shoulder, heading back towards the door. 

Indrid finishes the song panting, the Hornets looking harried from keeping up with his energy. As the crowd screams and claps he bows, and hurries off the stage. In cries for an encore and the darkened house, Indrid finds him again, grabbing his hand and sprinting outside.

“God I missed doing that!” He laughs as they run, “did you have fun?”

“Fuck yeah, Indrid, fuck, you really liked my song?”

“Of course. And it seems they did too.” The bus doors close behind them, but Indrid doesn;t stop moving, “we’re both very tired, going to bed now, goodnight!” 

Duck’s about to point out he sleeps on the pullout couch, not the bed, when the bedroom door slams shut and Indrid yanks him into a kiss, tongue in his mouth and hands in his back pockets, groping him with a growl. 

When Indrid breaks the kiss, Duck’s certain he has stars in his eyes. 

“Is this alright?”

“Hell fuckin yeah it is.”

“Good” Indrid shoves him backwards onto the bed, “shirt off.”

Duck obeys, Indrid stripping his own away and tossing it on the ground. As Duck fights with his jeans, Indrid retrieves a condom and something black from a box, setting them on the bed. He notices his struggle and shakes his head as he prowls on top of him, “ah ah, we don’t have time for that.”

“Butmmmmfff” Duck gasps and moans as Indrid kisses him again, demanding and messy.

“Get them low enough for me to fuck you.” He bites Duck’s lip and sits up, wiggling his own black pants down enough to free his cock. By the time he gets them free one leg and down to his knee on the other, Indrid has the condom on.

Indrid tosses away his glasses, gives him a long once over, licking his lips, “good boy.”

Then he’s on top of him again, cock inside him and fingers tangled in his hair.

“Oh fuck, you’re soaking, god, what got you so wound up, hm?”

“You, just you, watching you, Indrid, god please fuck me.”

“Gladly, goodness, fuck, that’s it sweetheart, you take me so well.” Indrid hammers into him again and again, kissing him each time he whimpers or moans. 

Duck wraps his legs around him, manages to get his head up enough to tease his tongue along Indrid’s nipple. 

“AH! Good boy, mmmm, I knew you’d be perfect to fuck.” He adjusts so he can run his hand up Duck’s throat. There’s no pressure in the gesture, but plenty of possession.

“What do you think, shall we get you a new collar?”

“Yes, yesyesyes, Indrid, god, fuck please.”

“Oh you like that, mmm” he switches to slow, deliberate thrusts, a counterpoint to Duck’s frantically jerking hips that makes them moan in tandem, “we could get you several, would you like that? I could put them on you according to my mood and what I wanted you to be that day.”

Duck means to say yes, whines instead, grinning breathlessly when Indrid strokes his cheek.

“Good. I’d like it, too. Nnnh, god I’m close.” He stops entirely, awkwardly shifts and pulls them until he’s on his knees with Ducks ass in his lap, “but I want you to cum first.”

“I, I can try.”

“It was an order.” He reaches down, revealing the black object from earlier; a vibrating wand.

“Oh fuck yeah, fuckFUCK” his legs thrash when the vibe presses against his dick, “Indrid, sugar, ohmyfuckinggod.”

Indrid grins, wide and wanton, and turns the toy up, eyes flicking between Ducks face and cock as he cries out and bucks his hips. 

“What a good boy, getting my cock so wet” he wiggles his hips with a moan, “you feel delightful when I use this on you, perhaps tomorrow I’ll have you sit on my cock and do the same thing over and over again, edge myself with the feeling of you needy and tightening around me.”

“Indrid, fuckplease, yes, yes, fuck, I’m so fuckin close darlin, ple-fuck, ‘Drid!” He cums with groan, whole body shaking as pleasure overloads his nerves. 

The vibrator thunks to the floor as Indrid lunges forward, pinning him to the bed and fucking him hard and fast, cock thudding into him in time with his purring groans. 

“So, so good, my Duck, so very good, god, yes, yesyes” he’s moving so violently Duck is now grunting from the force of the impact, “that’s it, good boy, take what I give youAHHnnn, Duck, Duck.” His hips slow as he groans, Duck drinking in the sight of him, orgasmic and loving above him.

Indrid pulls out, condom hitting what is hopefully the trash and not his guitar case, and immediately curls around Duck, kissing his neck and face.

“Thank you, thankyouthankyou.”

Duck giggles, kisses him back, “why are you thankin me? I’m the one who just got to fuck a rockstar. You got to fuck some regular dipshit.” He bumps their foreheads together to show he’s teasing. 

“Incorrect. I got to fuck you. You, who are funny and charming and to the point, and who has taught me a remarkable amount about plants.”

“S’important to have hobbies.” Duck mumbles into his shoulder. 

“Indeed. My point is, you make me happier than I’ve been in a long, long time. And while fucking you has been on my mind has been on my mind lately, it was not actually what I planned to do first. I, ah, I” he rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, hides his face in his neck, “I wanted to ask if you wanted to be my boyfriend.”

“Hell fuckin yeah.” Duck hugs him tight as he laughs with relief, “Indrid, I wanna be with you, the real you, not the one I had the crush on all those years ago. I wanna make you happy.”

“You do that just by existing, but I have some other ideas as well.”

“Oh yeah?” Duck kisses his nose.

“Well, for starters” Indrid’s eyes gleam as he looks up at him, “how would you like to write some music with me, boyfriend?”

“I think that sounds fuckin amazin. Boyfriend.”

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 70

From: BJLCubbins

To: HCDeRobiano

Subject: Re: re: Silence is not golden

Harper,

This was never a game for me, never! I'm a little too old to be playing games, when will you finally believe me? I don't know how or if I'm ever gonna win your trust back, but I'm not giving up, no way!

Charles isn't exactly the right man to be talking to, you should be right here talking to me! I don't want to torment you, I somehow needed to put some distance between us, because in spite of what you're thinking, I too am grieving and suffering. I've lost the woman I love so much by my own doing and that is killing me. One part of me is thinking: Harper deserves better, but the other part is saying: no, I'm the right man for her and she is the right woman for me. Making sense? Probably not, I don't know anything anymore, all I know is that I'm as miserable as can be.

Scratch 'maybe' out of your sentence 'maybe I should keep in touch with you', you need to stay in touch with me, life is even harder without your e-mails, no matter how unfiltered and angry they are.

Your exhibition will be amazing, the torment has got nothing to do with that, you're the future of art and that's a fact! When is it?

About the trust issues, it's ripping my heart out that you put me on the same line as your father and Sean, I can understand about them as they always used you and never loved you, but I did..I've loved and still love you Harper. I'll always remember the day I actually met you..it was instant love..

This mail is not like me, it's not eloquent, it's got no rhythm..I'm just hurting so bad, sorry!

Jared

Woww, what? So you're the victim now? Classic! Just fucking classic!

From: HCDeRobiano

To: BJLCubbins

Subject: Re: re: re: Silence is not golden

Jared,

Really? You're gonna be the victim now? The great George Michael once sang: 'guilty feet have got no rhythm', it's the same with feet as with your e-mails then, I guess!

The day you met me? Another fine example to prove my point that you can't commit to one woman! Let me refresh your memory..at the moment we first met, I was flown in as your lightdesigner and I got so much attention from you at the time, while you were constantly flirting with the other me by e-mail. That's when I should have known that you can never be true to one woman, even though I was one and the same but you didn't know that at the time.

Tell me, Jared, who did you really fall in love with, Coco or Harper?

Just..whatever, Jay!

HC

No ‘Harper’, no ‘Coco’, just ‘HC’, just some initials like this was a goddamn business transaction, it's too late, it's too bloody late! I'm done with this arguing, close the chapter for good, lick your wounds and then move on. He swiped her mail away, he couldn't go on, a wave of infinite sadness overwhelmed him and he let himself fall back on the bed and unabashedly cried his eyes out. On the other side of the country, Harper nervously wiped a tear away, don't cry, not here anyway, besides you've done too much of that already, forget what you lost, just gather what you still have even if it's just your pride and walk away, enough fighting, enough damage done on both sides. She switched off her phone, there, the world will still keep turning without me for a few days and if Charles needs me, he knows where I live.

Days later and Jared was just about to go on stage when he got a call from Charles “Jay, have you heard from her?” his friend's worried voice had the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Heard from who?” he knew who he meant but couldn't bring himself to say her name, “Harper! I've been calling, texting, e-mailing her, I even drove to her apartment a couple of times and she seems to have vanished from the face of the earth, I needed the rest of her work yesterday” Charles sounded desperate. “No, I've got her last e-mail over a week ago and to be honest she's no longer my concern” Jared breathed into his phone while microphone wires were attached to him “I've gotta go Charles, I'm about to go on stage” he didn't wait for Charles' reply and handed the phone to Shayla who disconnected the call. Just like he said, not his concern anymore, so what if she was missing? He had banned her out of his thoughts and had gotten through the week more or less ok,  surrounding himself with friends and family, and being the center of every party of every day this week and no he had not slept in his own bed for one night but he was a free man right? He didn't need to explain anything to anyone, not anymore. He walked up the small steps of the stage, a wave of heat surrounded him, blinding stroboscopic lights, the box lifted with the pulsating, hypnotic beat of 'Monolith' and the familiar roar of the crowd tugged at every fibre of his body, his eyes connecting with a couple of blue eyes in the frontstage, the eyes of last night's nameless conquest he had fucked. Guilty feet have got no rhythm? Just fuck off De Robiano, you don't know anything about me, you were just a warm and soft cushion for the pushing, nothing more, go ahead and fuck that stupid, sissyboy Nathan, lock yourself up with him and pretend he's the chosen one, the one who understands how that lunatic mind of yours works because I don't give a fuck about you anymore.

There was an urgent knock on the door that pulled her out of her concentration, huh? She jumped off her scaffolding and walked to the door, ohhh her back ached from being in the same position for far too long. “Djeezes fuckin' Christ!” in front of her stood a swearing and cursing Charles “what do you have a fuckin' phone for? I was this close to report you missing! Do you still want that exhibition or do I give your spot to the next big thing I've been putting on hold for a long time now!” he pushed past her, she looked completely clueless, her big brown eyes had big dark circles underneath, she clearly hadn't slept in god knew how long. “Charles..I..” she nervously wiped her hands on her blouse and looked for her phone to tell her the date and the time, “don't you fucking dare to 'Charles' me, I should have had your last pieces two days ago! I've been blowing up your phone and I'm so sick of that voicemail of yours, I've even been round here and you never answer the door” he yelled at her. He stomped around the apartment, the steam was really coming out of his ears when he saw the cord of the door videophone unplugged “how much do you want this, Harper? How fucking much? Because if you're not interested in your future then you tell me right now and I walk! I've got much better things to do with my time and my money than to invest it in some careless, egotistical little wannabe artist”. Harper let herself sink down on a barstool completely gobsmacked, the last couple of days had been about painting day and night to get it all finished, without any distraction and now she had missed her window?

All the yelling he was doing hit her like a brick wall and only intensified her low self esteem of the last couple of days where she had constantly thought that she was a loser and every single one of her paintings was a joke. “I'm sorry..I am..really sorry..” she stuttered and nervously wrang her hands, biting on her lip she tried to keep the frustrated and exhausted tears at bay “I didn't mean to..”. Charles' eyes were still shooting daggers at her “are you actually going to form a coherent sentence? Oh forget it, I'm outta here” he spat and then spun on his heels and stomped over to the door. That's when she completely broke down, silent tears started rolling down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands, he stopped when he opened the door and in the corner of his eye he saw how silent sobs ripped through her body and it broke his heart. Taking a deep breath, he turned around again and put his hand on her back “don't cry, I didn't mean all that, it was just the adrenalin talking after a crazy couple of days, but I guess the days have been as crazy for you as they were for me..I was so worried..I even called Jared thinking you were with him”. The mention of his name made her lift her head but she didn't say anything, “which was a ridiculous idea..you're obviously painting him out of your system” he whistled between his teeth as he looked around the studio and saw the paintings, one of them was a heartwrenching, hyperrealistic painting of a semi-naked Jared looking right at the spectator with an expression in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. “And he's singing you out of his system..”.

Hours later in the middle of a sleepless night, Jared took his phone from the bedside table and started scrolling, the reflection of the light made the anonymous lover for the night stir, so he got up and tried to find his way around this girl's house, where was the frikkin' kitchen in this place?. “Charles, it's me..did you find her?” he breathed into his phone as he pulled open the fridge in search of a drink, “I did..” Charles' reply was short and stern, “is she ok?” he had to know, he had felt bad all through the show having cut him off like he had done. “I'm not trying to be rude or anything, Jared, but why do you want to know? you said yourself she is no longer your concern” he breathed into the phone, “I know what I said..I was trying to protect myself..of course I still..” he hesitated before the world 'love' fell from his lips “care..about her”. Charles heard him struggling and pinched the bridge of his nose “I'm gonna be honest here..I worry about her..it's not uncommon for an artist to lock himself away from the world and she needed the time alone to finish everything, but my god Jared, you should see what she has made..it's the strongest, yet most heartbreaking, gutwrenching series of paintings..you have to see it to believe it, it's impossible to describe. It's phenomenal and it's gonna shoot her to the top of the art world but..aside from all that she's just not ok, she's desperately trying to be but that's one damaged cookie”. Shivers ran up and down Jared's spine, Harper..god, Harper..you stupid, harsh, tough, wonderful, gorgeous, amazing creature, I am trying so desperately to forget you and push you away, but you're always there in the pit of my heart and right behind my eyes no matter how much I try to fuck you out of my system. “Can you put me on the guestlist?” he blurted it out before he could change his mind, “Jared, I don't think..” Charles bit his lip, was confrontation what she needed or even wanted? Hell no! “..ok, I'll tell them to add your name to the list even though I'm probably gonna regret this for the rest of my life, just for the love of everything that's dear to me, don't you dare start a frikking World War III down here, she'll hate me more than enough already knowing you're there”. Jared exhaled like he had been holding his breath for too long “I won't, I promise, I'm not coming down to confront her, besides she won't even have to know I'm there, I'll hide somewhere so she won't have to see me, I just want to see her work”.

[thatjusthappned]

Going Up?

“Shawn Mendes is trapped in an elevator with what some would say is a crazed fan. Reports say she followed him in to get sometime alone. It’s been a total of 3 hours they’ve been stuck in the elevator. A hotel representative says they’re doing everything to get them out safely.” A News lady reports

                                              (in the elevator)

“Do you have a 7?” Shawn asks as we play go fish for the fifth time since we decided that talking about our lives was getting boring. “Go fish.” I say with a smirk, Shawn shakes his head as he blows air out his mouth which fills his cheeks. “I think you’re cheating and I don’t play with cheaters.” He picks up another card “Have you ever thought that you just suck at go fish?” Shawn glares at me “Do you have a 4?” Shawn sighs and throws the card at me “So cheating.” He mumbles under his breath. “What was that?” I asked with a laugh “Nothing, all I have to say is that you just so happen to have a deck of card in your bag and you’ve won every game we’ve played. Just sounds a little fishy, that’s all.” He says leaning back against the elevator wall. “Sounds like you just suck to me.” I said laughing hard holding the cards to my chest “It’s a game for 5 year old’s! How can I be bad at it.” Shawn says trying to sound mad, but fails with the smile that plays on his face. 

“ Hey Shawn and Y/N.” The Hotel manger says over the speaker “Sup?” We both respond looking up at the speaker. “So we’re still working on getting you guys out. For some reason we can’t get the elevator to move. Quite strange honestly, but soon we’ll be able to fix this don’t worry.” We nod “If there is an emergency you know what to do.” The manger says then disconnects from us. 

I look back over at Shawn he’s looking at his cards as his phone sits next to him and a text tone goes off that I’ve learned is his moms. Shawn checks it “My mom wants to know how you’re doing.” he looks at me “I’m good, let her know that I’m winning.”  he shacks his head a little and types something to her “I think we should do something else.” I say putting my cards down. Shawn gives me a weird look “It’s just not fun when I’m always winning.” I say leaning on the wall behind me, placing my arms behind my head for some kind of support and comfort. “What should be do now then?” Shawn asks, I shrug “You pick.” I close my eyes getting as comfortable as I possibly could. “I’m just gonna start asking you questions now.” I hum to indicate that was fine. 

“How old were you when you had you’re first kiss?” I opened my eyes then close them “10 years old, 6th grade, it was a zap.” he makes a noise “What is a ‘zap’?” Shawn asks “It was something kids in my school used to do. Someone writes something on the inside of your palm. Like a dare, you can’t look look at it, you can’t wash it off, and if you do look at it you have to do it.” I explain “I see, sound interesting. Do you wanna do a zap on each other?” Shawn asks, making me open my eyes then sit up crossing my legs again. “Um I’ll have to see if I have something to write with.” I say bring my bag closer to me “If you have cards in you bag and not a pen. Then that is just weird.” He mocks with sassy in his voice. I smile pulling out a marker and a pen. “Pick one.” I hold them out and he takes the marker. 

I pick the cards up and put them way. “So how are we doing this?” He asks moving closer to me. I also move closer, we’re both sitting crisscrossed with our knees together “Um.” I think to myself then looked up at him to answer but get distracted looking into his eyes. Now clearly this man is beautiful, but being this close it just a lot to take in. I was a fan of course but I always reminded myself that he’s human also and he deserves to be treated like one. It’s just that he’s an amazing human, which just so happened to make my crush on him that much worse than before he had no idea who I was. “Well, um. Give me your hand, I’ll write on it then you can write on mine.” He gives me his hand. Which is heavy and was some where in the middle of soft but manly. “Now look away.” I say looking him in the eyes again. “Right.” He turns his head. 

I think about what to write but nothing comes to mind. then something dose. So I write it. I blow on the ink to make sure it’s dry before closing his hand. “Okay now don’t look at it.” I say as he looks back at me. I let go of his heavy hand it’s like i was letting go of a five pound weight. “Which hand is not you dominant hand?” I hold it up he gently takes it. I’m scared to look away. “Turn you head little missy.” I do but he hasn’t started writing on my hand yet. It’s making me nervous, and want to peek. So I do. “Hey! That’s cheating.” Shawn says loudly then he turns his whole body around.Taking my arm with him and because of my arm length, my body and face gets pulled into his back. I let out a small moan of pain “Shit, sorry!” he says looking over his shoulder at me “You’re okay, just write.” I say back. I’m sitting very close to him, so close that I’m trying not to lean on him. He’s just taking too long and I’m getting tired. So I find myself leaning my head on his shoulder. “How did you come up with something? This is hard.” Shawn says “Just put anything you want.” I laugh “OH! I know.” He says “I’m gonna wipe your hand off on my chest it’s gotten sweaty.” he says as  he takes my hand by the wrist and places a finger on the back of my hand to keep it in place.

I swallow the spit that’s suddenly built up in my mouth. Then I feel the markers tip on my palm and I’m trying to figure out what he’s writing. Which doesn’t work, dammit I used to me so good at that. Shawn blows on my hand to make the ink dry, then closes my hand for me like I did for him. He turns to me and lets go of my hand slowly. I look up from our hands to him. He’s already looking at me with a smile. Not in a creepy way but a sweet way, this causes me to blush and move my body back to my “side’ of the elevator. He still has the smile on his face as he moves back also. “So what’s you’re favorite song that no body knows about.” He asks and I pull out my phone and place the hand with the zap on the cold floor so I don’t look at it. “This is.” I said starting to play it.

                              (4 hours, and 30 minutes later)

we’ve been trapped in the elevator for 8 hours, I’m basically falling asleep and I’m hungry and Shawn is also. “Hey so we’ve know how to get you out. Unfortunately It’s not the safest, but it’s kinda the only option at this point, but luckily you guys are only stuck in between the 2nd and 3rd floors it won’t be a far drop and you’ll be completely safe for the most part.” The manger says scaring me “FOR THE MOST PART? What the fuck do you mean?” I yell standing up yelling at the speaker “Hey Y/N calm down it’s okay.” Shawn says standing behind me placing his hands on my shoulders. Which does calm me down and I let out a loud sigh. I still have an annoyed look on my face. “What is this option?” Shawn asks his hand beginning to rub my arms to keep me calm I’m guessing. “Well we found out the cord to the elevator has somehow jammed and broke a little bit. We can’t pull you guys up throw the roof of it because it’s more than likely to brake. So we need to cut the cable so you guys can fall down and then we can get you out of there.” Wow i’m gonna die. I let my head fall back which hits Shawn’s chest. “Okay what do we have to do?” Shawn says still looking at the speaker. One of his hands smooths down my hair and I let him. I pick my head up and he’s now moved both hands to my hair now. “You guys need to lay down on the floor stay as still as possible. If you guess remain close you’ll be okay. So just cuddle up. We’re ready to cut the cord as soon as you guys are ready.” I begin to breath heavy and I turn to Shawn. 

“This can’t be the only way.” I’m freaking out he places his hands on my head to look at him. I look him in the eyes and he waits until my breathing isn’t as heavy as before. “We can do this. You’re going to be okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Trust me.” I nodded at his words. “okay now lets lay down and you lay facing me and i’ll pull you close to me. Then we’ll be out in no time.” I nod. He lets me go and we both lay on our sides facing each other. Shawn pulls me closer like he said he would my face in his chest breathing in his smell. which is also calming. Hell everything about this boy is calming. “Are you ready?” He asks after a minute. I nod closing my eyes tight “We’re ready.” Shawn says loud. “See you soon.” Says the manger, Then in what seems like a matter of seconds we’re falling. 

——————————————————————

So let me know if I should do a second part to this, would love to do one. 

[haddonfieldproject]

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

CHAPTER TWO: ALL SAINTS DAY

1.2.1 WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 29th, 6:04pm PT‬

Woodsboro, California

‪

“Okay, let's see what we have here,” Ophelia Tate said, pulling a plastic clipboard from the little cubby beside the door and looking at the chart that was affixed to it. She skimmed over it and then looked up at her young patient. On the hospital bed, sitting atop the clean white paper, was a short and skinny little brunette girl, with big square glasses and a red beanie cap that made her look a lot like Velma from Scooby Doo. Just under the cap on her left eyebrow she was holding an ice pack, wrapped in a towel soaked in blood.

“It says here you fell and hit your head on a water heater?” Ophelia asked her, pulling the little rolling stool out from under the cabinets on the far side of the room and seating herself upon it.

“Yeah,” the girl sighed, showing a row of silver braces. “I know...I'm such a klutz”.

Ophelia looked again at the clipboard. “Yasmin? Did I say it right.” Ophelia made sure she pronounced the “Y” like a “J”, the girl did look Hispanic.

Yasmin smiled, “First one today.”

Ophelia tossed the clipboard on the bed next to her patient and pulled some latex gloves out of her smock. “Excellent. Let's have a look!”

The young girl withdrew the towel containing the ice pack and a spurt of blood shot out passed Ophelia's face, sprinkling the tile behind her.

“Whoa!” Ophelia gasped and reached over and grabbed the girl's hand with the towel in hers and pressed it back onto her eye. “Let's keep that on there shall we!”

Yasmin swooned.

“Breathe,” Ophelia said looking at her. “You look pale...are you gonna pass out?”

“I don't know,” Yasmin stuttered, “Maybe.”

“Well don't,” Ophelia smiled, “It's my last night of work here in this place and I don't want to be spending it picking you back up off the floor.”

Yasmin smiled. “I'm okay...I think.”

“I'll get you a cup of water and Jennifer, our nurse, is gonna come in here and butterfly that. Then we'll wait and see if it can close a little bit. Then we'll decide it we have to use stitches or glue.”

“Oh please glue! I don't want stitches.” Yasmin cried.

Ophelia grabbed the clipboard and began writing. “Well, I'll tell you this,” she said while she scrawled, “Glue is much easier, but it doesn't heal as well. Sometimes...a lot of times...the scar ends up jagged where the glue held better in some parts than others.” She looked up, “And where it is on your eyebrow...it might make your eyebrow look crooked. If you let us stitch it, it can heal up in a few months and you'll probably not even be able to tell it was ever there.”

Yasmin's shoulders dropped. “Then stitches.”

Ophelia folded the clipboard in her arms, hugging it to her chest. “Are you sure?”

“Hell yeah,” Yasmin exclaimed, “I have senior pictures next year. A crooked eyebrow on a guy is cute...a crooked eyebrow on a girl is the difference between a rich husband who takes you on a honeymoon to Barbados, and Joe MBA who takes you to Miami.”

Ophelia frowned, “I like Miami.”

Yasmin gave her a look and they both laughed.

“My question is how the hell you smacked your head on the water-heater?” Ophelia asked.

Yasmin rolled her eyes, “On Wednesday nights I ride the school-bus to my church for youth group after school. We basically just hang out and play games down in the church basement and...well, this guy Juan Menendez..we were...I don't know...chasing each other or something and I tripped over the leg of the ping-pong table and fell...right in to the water heater.”

Ophelia grimaced, “Ouch...right in front of him?”

Yasmin grimaced back, “Yeah....I know...so embarrassing”

“What did Juan do?” Ophelia asked.

Yasmin smiled and closed her eyes dreamily. “He got me this towel...and this ice...and he picked me up off the floor and put me on the ping pong table.”

“Is he the cute guy in the waiting room with the blue shirt and white shorts and the gold necklace?” Ophelia asked.

“No way, he's here?!” Yasmin dropped the rag, sending another spurt of blood that just missed Ophelia's smock.

“Whoa! Keep that on there,” Ophelia said laughing. “I'll go tell Jennifer you want the stitches.”

“Aren't you going to do it? I like you,” Yasmin said pleadingly.

“Sorry kid. My time at Woodsboro Family Medical Center has come to an end. Actually ten minutes ago. I'm transferring to a new hospital in Illinois and I got to get out of here and get on the road.”

“Illinois? What's in Illinois?” Yasmin grimaced again.

Ophelia plopped the clipboard back in it's spot. “Lots of corn I hear.” She snapped off her gloves and stomped the pedal on the stainless steel trashcan by the door and dropped them in.

She headed down the hall and turned to the left toward the break room. The annex area there was empty, which was odd because usually there was at least one nurse at the nurses station. She had her purse in her locker to get and she knew she had at least one frozen meal in the staff room freezer to throw away. She hated when people left their food behind and she didn't want to be one of those people. To her surprise, there wasn't anything in the staff room freezer, so she shrugged, pulled her purse out of her locker and turned to walk out the door, feeling strange that there was no one around to say bye to or have wish her luck. Just then, Dr. Holmes, a young Chinese girl who had been Dr. Yang a month ago before she married a nice plastic surgeon from Cloverdale, popped into the door, making Ophelia jump.

“Oh...sorry Dr. Tate,” she said.

“Jesus Yang you scared the shit out of me,” Ophelia still hadn't gotten used to calling her Homes. Usually Holmes corrected her...and everyone else who made the mistake, but this time she didn't.

“Dr. Shaw wants to see you in the conference room, he has some forms you need to sign before you leave.”

Ophelia groaned, “Really?! I have to get out on the road.”

Holmes shrugged.

Ophelia followed the young Dr. Holmes out of the break-room, passed a pair of restrooms and a supply closet to the conference room. The door was shut, which was odd, and even odder was the fact that Dr. Homes stepped out of the way to allow Ophelia to open the door. Ophelia frowned and pushed the handle.

“SURPRISE!!!”

The room was full of doctors and nurses, as well as balloons and streamers. On the giant mahogany conference table was a large cake, upon which was written: GOOD LUCK DR. TATE! There were also various fruit and vegetable trays and a pitcher of what looked like pink lemonade. Her husband stood there too in one of his ridiculous sweater vests that Ophelia had asked him over and over again not to wear, smiling at her from ear to ear. In the corner, sprawled out on a couple of chairs was their son Damon, but he was wrapped up in his smartphone and didn't look up. In front of him was the small TV on which there was a baseball game.

“Oh my gosh,” Ophelia put her hands to her cheeks, “You really got me..I never expected this.”

Dr. Shaw was an older gentlemen, and he was standing next to Ophelia's husband Jack. He came around the table and embraced her, kissing her cheek, “Well you should have my dear. You've been part of the team for so long, you don't think we would send you away without some kind of celebration?”

Ophelia's husband Jack approached her next and and leaned in to kiss her. Ophelia turned her head and offered him her cheek. “Surprise,” he said quietly.

“You know I hate surprises,” she said under her breath through her teeth.

“Smile and fake it,” he answered.

“That's what I'm doing,” she replied, “I thought we had to get on the road.”

“I budgeted time for this,” he answered.

Dr. Holmes/Yang came up next and hugged her. “I was convincing?” She asked.

“Yes,” Ophelia smiled, “You were very convincing.”

Ophelia's best workmate Tonya, a big beautiful black woman in pink scrubs came up next. She squealed like a middle school girl at a slumber party and hugged Ophelia's neck. “Oooooohhh gurl...I am gonna miss yooooouuu!”

Ophelia laughed and said, “I know girl...I came out of 7 and looked at the nurses station and was like, 'Where the hell is everybody?'.”

“That should have been your first clue,” said Dr. Thomas. He was a tall, sexy, black doctor who had only been working at Woodsboro Family Medical long enough to make Jack Tate insanely jealous. The young doctor stuck out his very large hand, Ophelia took it.

“Where are you going exactly?” He asked.

“I have position waiting for me as the Chief of Medicine for a small town hospital in Illinois.” Ophelia replied, moving around the table and grabbing one of the small plates on the table. She held it up to Tonya. It read: HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Tonya waved her hand and laughed, “They was the only ones we had gurl!”

Ophelia smiled and grabbed the cake cutter, carving a wedge in between the last T and the E in her last name on the face of the cake.

“Really,” Thomas said, “I grew up in Springfield, what part of Illinois?”

“It's called Haddonfield,” Ophelia said plopping the cake on her plate.

“Never heard of it,” Thomas said.

“Where is the damn remote for this TV, we need the sound on.” Dr. Shaw grumbled.

“It's right here,” Damon held it up without looking up from his phone.

“Un-mute it son,” his father said.

“Isn't this Game Six?” Thomas asked.

“Yeah,” Shaw said, “It's been a hell of a series...as a doctor I've been very thankful for my DVR.”

They all laughed.

🎃

1.2.2 PRESENTLY—SATURDAY NOVEMBER 1st 2:04 AM

Interstate 70 near Booneville, Missouri

‪

Ophelia sat up straight in her seat and looked out of the windshield. She couldn't see anything but rain. She looked over at Jack who was sitting straight up in his seat also, squinting hard, his head leaning so far over the steering wheel as he drove that his forehead was mere centimeters away from the glass.

Ophelia stretched, “Where the hell are we now?” She asked.

“Somewhere in the middle of Missouri,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road.

“God it's raining hard,” she exclaimed. She pulled her phone out from the center console and disconnected the charger cord. She looked at the time. “When are we supposed to be there.”

“I expected to be close by now,” he said, “but with this damn storm, I can't go anymore than 40. It will be closer to sunrise now.”

“How long has it been storming?” Ophelia asked, pulling up her weather app.

“Since we got into Oklahoma,” he said.

Her radar was completely red, and there was scrolling banner on the top of the screen. “Says this area is under a tornado watch,” she said.

“This is the worst storm I've ever seen,” Jack grouched.

“You've lived in California your whole life,” Ophelia laughed and opened up her social media page. There were no notifications, everyone she knew was either at work or asleep right now. She looked at the dashboard. “I can't believe this old piece of junk made it!” She said.

“This baby will never die!” Jack exclaimed, for the first time taking his eyes off the road and smiling at his wife.

“Not if we keep dumping all of our money into it,” Ophelia rolled her eyes. “I'm going to miss my Mazda,” she pouted.

“I told you,” Jack replied, “As soon as we get our feet wet in Haddonfield, we'll buy you a new car.”

“I think you should trade this in,” Ophelia grumbled, putting down her phone, “You're not going to need a car sitting at home writing a book.”

“Never!” Jack said smiling, holding up a clenched fist.

Ophelia looked in the backseat. Damon was sleeping, his bluetooth earbuds still in his ears.

Jack saw that she was looking at him and looked at her. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Ophelia waved, “watch the road.”

She looked at their son a little longer and then finally turned back around and closed her eyes. “I just hope we're doing the right thing.” She said quietly.

“Of course we are,” he said, “trust me, this is going to be a great plan.”

“Yeah yeah,” Ophelia yawned, “You have a plan for everything.”

Jack ignored her snide comment, “I'm thinking about stopping off at a truck stop to take showers before we get in to the town. The sun will probably be up by the time we get there if this rain holds up and we might be able to check out the hospital. Then we can just sleep the rest of the day before we unpack everything on Sunday.”

Ophelia nodded, “If it's all part of the plan...” she said sarcastically.

“Oh shit!” Jack breathed as the car hit a puddle and hydroplaned for a second or two.

“Please don't kill us,” Ophelia said quietly, without opening her eyes. It was better that way.

NEXT>>

[haiyuta]

Thieve | | Minho

summary: stealing the wrong jewel soon learning that the prince isn’t as bad as he appears. 

word count: 4.1k || prince!minho, lots of soft moments, soft smut, like superr soft, kissing, grinding, touching, soft prince minho, teasing 

a/n: here's something no one asked for but I have writer's block and wanted to do something royal related so here it is 

Running as fast as your legs could take you, you maneuvered through the forest dodging trees while avoiding the knots on the forest floor. Your heart pumped fast while your mind was abuzz with what you've done. In a small stack in your right hand, a beautiful jewel lied in it. A large ruby you've stolen. This stone was enough to let you live comfortably maybe start a restaurant or a farm. 

The sound of yelling and horses made you push yourself as you speed up. You felt exhausted tracking down the rich male and taking the jewel while they were in mid sleep and now running. Your mind was racing you knew a perfect way out the river disconnecting the two sides of the land.

Seeing the cliff your eyes widen in shock a few more mins and you would be across the river and be in the clear. The horses kept up with you already closing in. If you could just reach the river, you'll be in the clear. 

Closing in on the cliff you stopped in your tracks seeing the river flowing lightly in the morning light. Ready to jump you hesitated to look at the distance of the jump. This jump could kill you calculated. The horse's thuds were inclosing on you already. 

The hesitation would be the end of you before you could jump you felt the weighted net surround you. Your hand with the sack tumbled out your hand and over the edge. 

"Halt thieve," you heard the man yell. Gazing at him he looked like a guard as he got off his horse. 

You were caught.

"Where is the jewel thieve," the large guard grunted out. 

Glancing at him you shot him a smirk "hope you can swim cause it's in the river," you hissed. 

Sighing the guard looked at you "tie her up we have to notify the prince his jewel is gone." You felt the net lift off one of the men grabbing your wrist as they tie it behind your back as they added another rope to make sure they could handle you from a distance.  Leaping on their horse they pulled you along. 

The feeling of dread filled you as you walked toward the area you stole the jewel from. A small camping area between two towns. The shame of not being able to just jump filled your mind as you held your head low. Coming to the camp you were at just a few minutes ago you stopped to see the fire was out at this point. Seeing a slim male stand up seeing his guards. 

You should be ecstatic at being in the presence of a prince. The ultimate women's fantasy the prince of some random kingdom and talking to him. The overall dread of being punished for your crime was stirring. 

"Sir this is the thieve that took your jewel," the guards said as they jumped off the horses. Pushing you forward making you fall to your knees. You sent a glare at the guard. 

Looking up the prince he sighed tilting his head at you. "So, you're the filthy thief who stole the jewel," he said slowly. The look on his face was a mix of amusement and anger. He was a prince you thought to yourself. He was the stereotype gentle clear face, small features, slim the whole prince package. You couldn't place his region at all. How far have you've gone from home you didn't even know where you were? 

"I did," you admitted sending him a glare. Your eyes lingered to the sword that was on his hip.

He laughed for a split second as it slipped to a serious look in a second "did I ask you to speak," he tilted his head "Where is the jewel," he spoke slowly, "if you have it I'll let you go I don't feel like killing a lady today."

He stopped eyeing you up and down "barely a lady," he corrected himself. You scoffed at his insult. Really insulting your femininity, it made you roll your eyes. You were a thieve the last thing you thought of buying were things to make you look more like a ladylike unless it was for seducing men you had to do one or two times. 

"Your jewel is in the river," you explained a slight smile raised on your lips staring at him. 

The male frown his eyebrows at you with a slight shake of his head. He sighed putting his hand across his eyes as he felt his temple. "Aren't you a joy throwing my jewel in a river," he hissed. Looking from you to the guards he glared "and my wonderful trained guards couldn't save it," he passive-aggressively spoke about them. 

The prince folded his arms "that jewel was for my dear mother," he said moving closer toward you. The morning light reaching both of you slowly making you finally see his expensive clothing.

The aura around him was one of authority and privilege.  "And you took it and thrown it away," he spat the words out at you. In your mind, you tried to figure out how to get out of this situation, but nothing came to you. Your arms tied behind your back you on your knees in front of him. The mercy of death soon looming over you. 

Before you knew it his sword was out as it laid under your chin. "What shall I do with you," he hummed a small smirk on his lips. 

Your body shook as he forced your chin to look up at him. The blade was sharp and expensive as it touched your chin. "Sell you," he hummed "you wouldn't even be a fraction of what that jewel was worth," the prince gritted out. The ultimate distaste of being sold out bubbled within you. 

"Kill me then," you challenged pushing the sword closer to your throat. One simple twist of his wrist you're dead. Accepting death at this point was what you decided. You would rather die than to be sold off. "I'm not worth anything." 

"Kill you that sounds nice," his thin eyes stared at you. The blade touching your neck it was cold making you flinch away from it. 

"Since you want death, I will not grant it," the prince smirked at you. "We'll decide your true fate at the castle." Turning around he put his sword back on his hip. "Morning is upon us men we are only 3 more towns away from the castle," he hummed. 

"Prince," you spoke looking up at him "May I ask what's your name," you said. 

A small smirk lit his handsome face "Prince Minho 3rd in line for the throne," he with a matter of fact tone. 

"What is your name little thieve," he asked. 

Blinking you mumbled "Y/n my name is Y/n," you said not wanting to claim your old title as a noble. 

It's been months since you stole from the prince. You were lucky you got away with your life from stealing from a high royalty like him. 

The kingdom he was from was a lovely kingdom. The town was bustling with trade perfect for merchants from the fishing district and texture to trade in. A middle ground of sorts. Winding from the town were noble homes they were lovely and clean as the main castle of his home was at the end well-guarded of course. 

Coming here he explained to you to work off the jewel that equals about 10 years of your life. Or die. With that, you decided to become a servant rather than die.

Wanting to escape was a common thought but the work here was too good. Getting a small allowance for the work you did, a room in the lower parts of the castle and did have two square meals a day. Getting the servant clothing which was low quality but still a nice set of clothing. 

This was better than the life of stealing for money risking your life as a traveler while stealing. While living with the royal family wasn't awful, they seemed as long as you worked, they didn't mind the servants. 

You learned Prince Minho was 3th of this kingdom. You learned the prince had 8 brothers. The one first in line was Prince Chan was handsome the next in line and rather serious in front of people. He was friendly to you and the servants always boosting the moral of whoever was near him. 

Being a servant to Minho it was just back and forth with the prince. Whatever you said he had a comeback. What he needed he made you get it in spite of having other servants. Whenever he was bored, he would request you to do something interesting. 

Breaking you out of your thoughts you heard Minho speak. "Arrow," he said in a lazy manner. With a sigh, you pulled out the next arrow from the holder handing it to him. You've been watching Minho shoot arrow after arrow in practice. He was expertly trained you noted.

Eyeing him you got a good look at his calm face as he closed one eye as he focused on the target. His hair was slightly tousled and sweaty from being in the heat. 

Pulling back the arrow it shots out with an intense force. The arrow landed in the blue area showing it was a good shot but could have been better. "Wow prince that was a very good shot," you said sarcastically clapping. 

Minho scoffed "Can you do better than me."

Raising an eyebrow at him you grinned "I've never had proper training, but I could do about the same as you," you challenged back. 

Quirking an eyebrow, he grinned "pick up a bow then," he accepted the challenge smoothly. 

The bubble of a challenge filled your chest. "Will do," you spoke back smoothly. Placing the arrow bag down you picked up one of the bows. It was a heavy expensive bow when you picked it up. 

Glancing at him he watched you as you picked up the bow angling it. 

"Here I'll help," he shifted a small laugh. Reaching over he grabbed your hand helping you aim. Your mind buzzed with how close the prince was.  "Keep steady," he whispered. Glancing at him you tried to focus on the bow and not Minho next to you. 

Closing one eye you directed it at the target and releasing the bow. It hit a little in the red showing you did better than Minho on that one. 

Grinning you smiled "Maybe you need more practice prince," you teased out sticking your tongue out at him.

Minho stuck his tongue in his cheek and grinned "that's real cute but that was pure luck," he tilted his head. The look on his face struck a chord in your chest making you roll your eyes at the feeling. The cord making you slightly scared of the feeling. Who can blame you he was a handsome young man that called what you did cute. 

Trying to avoid eye contact you put the bow back picking up the arrow bag. 

"Get back to shooting it's hot out here," you moaned in fake annoyance at Minho. Trying to cover how shy you were with being so close with Minho. 

He gave you a small smile without words you handed him another arrow as he finished up his sets. 

Being in the prince’s present was getting easier. The back and forth was getting lighter and easy.  He was a busy prince his days packed full of training, meetings and such but always found time for himself in between. You even explained to him why you stole the jewel for his mother. Explain you were once a noble but soon your parents were requesting of you to marry an older man. Rejecting the claim, you ran away from your village never looking back. 

Minho was sympathetic and sensitive about your past claiming he understands slightly. Every year his parents would host a courting party as women from across the land would come and look for marriage. Minho said he couldn't marry anyone, yet he was too young and it was too quick for him. 

Right now, you and Minho were in the garden looking at the precious animals he loved so much. 

"This is my kitty all the way from faraway lands," he showed you one of his cats. They were very pretty you thought kind of like Minho. You blinked at the thought of the prince trying to push those feelings away. 

Looking back at the cat you noted how fluffy they were with their large blue eyes as it cuddled in Minho arms. 

"Oh, I've seen these but they're still rare," you commented looking at the small creature. His eyes sparkled looking at the cat as it cuddled in his arms. 

"May I," you asked wanting to hold the small creature. He eyed you for a second and nodded passing the small creature gently. Picking up the cat you smiled at how warm and fluffy it was.

"This kitten is adorable," you commented looking at it sit in your lap. 

Minho let out a tiny grin as he gazed at the cat and you. His eyes flickering as you let the cat grab at your finger. 

"You're adorable," he blurted out suddenly.

You straighten your back at the comment looking at him curiously. Your stomach twisted at the words "prince you shouldn't say those things," you commented at the fact. The tension rose the more he didn’t answer you.  

He didn't respond but with a kiss. You were stunned at the kiss not moving to feel his lips attached to yours. Eyes widen to see Minho delicately press his lips on you. 

Your eyes fluttered closed at the kiss as you smoothly kissed back. It was soft and needy but as fast as it came it left. Pulling away your eyes widen to look at the prince his eyes were staring at the ground in reflection. 

"I should go," you spoke taking the kitten and handed it to Minho he mumbled a light thank you. Quickly as ever, you left the garden running back inside the castle. 

Ever since the kiss you and Minho, there was a distance between the two of you. Only formally addressing one another and keeping the small talk at a minimum. You did miss him dearly, but you didn’t want to push the prince into anything he was going to get in trouble for. And kissing a servant was something he would get in trouble for.

Right now, you were running around for Chan. He was the main prince and it seemed nothing for him was done recently. 

You had to clean his clothing, go out and buy him more ink and paper for his stuff all while still juggling Minho needs like his practice and meetings. It's been so much you haven't seen much of Minho. He didn't really come looking for you either. 

With a sigh, you walked into Chan's office with arms full of paper. "Here's the paper you asked for," you said putting it down on the side table. 

He thanked you for your handwork. "Please sit I know it’s a walk from the ground floor to here," he grinned gesturing toward the leather couch in the room. 

"I really shouldn't," you mumbled looking at the attractive place to sit. 

"No please I would feel bad if you didn't," he said. 

But before you could sit you felt someone enclose your wrist. "Chan stealing my servant again I see," Minho smooth voice told you. 

Chan leaned back on his chair "just a little she's so efficient," he said. 

Minho rolled his eyes "yeah I know that's why she’s mine," he said smoothly. His words of ‘mine’ filled your mind. Pulling you out the room you felt Minho go towards his room. 

"What are you doing," you asked stopped in the hallway. It was always quiet in the prince’s area. 

"So, you're spending your time with Chan now," Minho accused. 

Rolling your eyes, you glanced at his hold on your wrist firm but still gentle. "I was helping him like he requested," you explained. This was the first time since you've been so direct with Minho in a week or so. 

"He's not your prince I am," he said weakly his small eyes widen and his handsome face slightly defeated. "You're," he paused looking at you. 

"I'm your what servant Minho," you spoke fiercely back wanting to just argue with him. Wanting to have that causal back and forth once again. 

Without words, you both came after each other for a final kiss. You just disregarded the rules and just kissed him. He pressed your back against the wall as he kissed you. It was a slow needy kiss you didn't know how much you've missed him until you didn't have him. 

Kissing him felt amazing it was filled with so much need. Pulling away from you softly breathed noting how amazing the prince felt against you. "You're," he paused "mine," he breathed. 

Processing the words, you stopped looking down reminding yourself what you were "We really can’t," you whispered with a serious tone.

"Why we know we feel this," he bites back. You couldn't even argue that after being near Minho for almost a year at this point you've grown close. From the annoying way, he would always argue back to his love of animals to the way he was passionate about his royal manners. Long days and nights with him caused the feeling to grow deep.

“You haven’t been my servant for the last month you’ve been my companion,” he said with passion. You felt your body fill with joy and your body buzz with happiness at the word. Companion. You couldn’t deny you were at this point. The talking, the teasing the playful looks.

Without words, he leaned in to steal a kiss from you. You gladly accepted the kiss.

Kissing him slowly back you enjoyed it wanting him so bad after all this time. Pulling away you gazed up at him “We shouldn't do this out here," you mumbled shyly knowing you were out in the open. He agreed pulling you toward his room. 

The moment you guys were in the privacy of his room he quickly locked the door making sure no one could barge in. The familiar room of his was large and spacious. The colors of deep brown wood and clean reds. Minho pushed you gently against the wall again as his hands roamed your body. 

"I've wanted you for so long," he said in a husky manner as his lips went to your neck to kiss it and mark it. 

“I’ve wanted you to prince,” you moaned back at the feeling of his teeth attacking your neck.

Deep inside you knew this was wrong but you didn’t care at this point. The prince wanted you and you wanted him.

Feeling him grab your hand he led you to his spacious bed. He looked magnificent. His dark hair clean yet messy he looks so alluring with his legs spread out his hands behind him. "Come," he mumbled patting his lap. 

"With pleasure," you grinned placing yourself nicely into his lap. The moments like these were priceless you thought. Coming from stealing his stuff to kissing him what time does to the heart. Kissing him, sitting on his bed being his equal for a moment in time. 

His eyes were so full of love and want as he gazed at you. "I want you so bad," he mumbled knowing he wanted to have you but couldn't. 

"We can't,” you said reaching for his hair running your fingers through it. Like you thought it was course yet still soft. Minho let out a hum from the feeling of your nails in his hair.

"I agree," he mumbled knowing that you both couldn't yet give each other fully yet. The probability of getting pregnant was too high at the moment. 

“But we can do other things,” you hummed brushed his shirt wanting it off already.

Before you knew it, he shifted you more directly on his lap your legs folding under you so you could sit comfortably. "Take this off," he lightly mumbled at the dress you were wearing. "I can't wait to get you out of these servant clothes," he said. "I can dress you in golds and silks." The double meaning of his words causes your heart to race with want. 

Raising your arms above your head you let him slip the thin dress over your head. He was gentle and needy as he touched across your body. His attentive touches driving you wild. 

“Can I,” you asked wanting his shirt to be off as well. Giving you a short cute nod, you helped him take off his silk shirt revealing his chest. He was chiseled and strong.

You moved your hands against his chest enjoying his strong chest.

Moving your hips against his in want. He let out a small moan from your movement. Capturing you in another kiss you grabbed your face to steady yourself as his hands laid across your thighs and ass. 

“You like,” he chuckled at how you were touching him.

You could already feel him growing under you from just kissing him. "You're so excited," you commented at how aroused he was already. 

"Mmh, of course, you're amazing," he praised you. 

Grinning at the words at how amazing it felt to be praised. "My prince praising a servant," you teased out staring at his deep eyes. 

Rolling his neck, he sighed "you know you're more than that," he said in a teasing tone "you're my equal the best equal I’ve met," with that he gave you another open mouth kiss. The heat of his mouth driving you insane.

Moving your hips against his you felt his erection moving against your center. "ah," you moaned in the kiss feeling his body against yours. His erection hitting your clothed center ever so nicely. You felt so close to him in this position all you wanted was him. 

Releasing the kiss, you let out a moan in pleasure. "You feel so good against me," he let out a throaty moan. 

The more you moved the more pleasure built up in your body. Your skin was so warm as you clung to Minho neck to steady yourself. His erection even through clothing was causing you so much pleasure. 

Shifting a moan, you heard Minho gentle lust filled voice say, "please come for me." "Come on I want to see that angelic face filled with pleasure," his words egging you on. 

With those words a few moments later, you came on his lap. The moment shaking your body to the core. Gripping Minho tighter you whimpered feeling him rut against you for another moment. His erection so warm and needy against you.

“Come on join me my prince,” you whispered to him. He let out a moan his handsome face twisting in pleasure as he came.

Holding on to one another you blushed at the realization of what you just did.

Feeling Minho shift you off his lap and into his bed lightly. Putting your hands over your face in embarrassment seeing Minho sweaty and still needy.

“Aw, that’s adorable,” he commented. Laying on the bed he sighed wrapping his arm around you. In the comfort of his large bed, you fell asleep.

Waking up you realized it was already morning time in the kingdom. The sun already rising in the horizon ready to fill the room. Soon the servants will come in to check on the prince. Unwrapping his arm from around you with shame you got up. 

"Y/n where are you going," he hummed realizing you were getting up. 

"Um it's almost morning I should be going," you responded looking at your barely clothed body. Shyly you tried to get up, but his strong arm still captured you. You knew he wasn’t supposed to do this he was breaking so many rules, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was you.

"No, stay with me," he hummed pulling you close to him. Sighing in defeat you let your eyes wander to his soft face. He had a calm look as he slowly went back to sleep. 

"I know I'm handsome but watching me is a little much," he mumbled smirking. 

"Oh, don't get cocky Mr. Y/n you're so pretty," you mimicked what he said last night. 

Rolling over on his stomach peaked out at you "I wasn't lying," he grinned once again. You didn't know what was to come from kissing the prince. You blushed remembering the other stuff you did together. All you knew was the prince didn't regret it and you didn't either. 

[audreycritter]

May I respectfully request some al gholsen content during this long and hard winter

You absolutely may, anon.Here is part one, with @tajmah ‘s wonderful art. Here is part two: 

A Slow and Steady Dance

chapter 2

jimmy olsen/talia al ghul

tw: blood, OC assassin deaths, violence

***

“James? You said your name was James?”

The exclamation came out with a shower of cheese puff dust.

“My name is James! I panicked, okay?” Jimmy defended helplessly. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

“Oh my god.” Jon Kent flopped back on the bean bag chair and slapped a hand over his eyes. “James.”

“Listen, pick up that controller and fight me,” Jimmy said, pointing at the abandoned console controller by Jon’s feet. The brawling game was paused.

“Uncle Jimmy,” Jon said, laughing and coughing. Jimmy nudged the tub of cheese puffs away from Jon’s reach. “I think I know why you’re single.”

“Hey!” Jimmy said, kicking at Jon’s socked feet that were floating in the air. “Listen, you twerp, when did you get so mean? Where’s the sweet Jonno who thought I could do no wrong?”

“Middle school,” Jon’s giggle turned into a grumble and an exaggerated sigh. “It makes ya grow up too fast.”

“Cheers to that,” Jimmy said, raising his can of Zesti. He took a long swig and muttered, “I have to get better drinking buddies than ten year old.”

“I’m eleven!” Jon crowed. His feet settled on the carpet again and he licked his fingers off and dried them on his jeans before picking up the controller. “So. Are you gonna go?”

“Go where?” Jimmy asked, mashing a series of buttons.

“Uncle Jimmy,” Jon said flatly. “I saw the paper in your bag when you told me to get the pop and candy.”

“You’re a little spy,” Jimmy said. He paused the game to tap the back of Jon’s head with his elbow. “You’re as bad as your mom and dad.”

Jon ducked from the teasing blow, laughing.

Jimmy sighed. “It depends on a couple things, like if your mom gets back in time. And even if she does I’m not sure, because you’re practically still in diapers and don’t need to know.”

“So yes, but I gotta pretend I’m dumb if anyone asks,” Jon said. He unpaused the game. His onscreen character flipped Jimmy’s off a floating platform in a blur of blue and orange.

“No,” Jimmy said, with a chuckle. “It means you don’t know. Remember when I used to win sometimes?”

“You mean when I used to take it easy on you?” Jon looked sideways with a sharkish grin.

They played a few more rounds that Jimmy soundly lost, even if he would have argued it was because his head was someplace else. They were in the middle of a match Jimmy was winning because Jon’s fingers kept slipping on the controller when the sound of a key in the lock jerked both their spines upright.

“Your mom,” Jimmy hissed. “Bed like you’ve been there for an hour, go, go, go.”

A whoosh of air sent the cheese puff tub wildly spinning and Jimmy slapped a hand on it to get it to stop just as Lois tossed her stuff on the entry table and rounded the corner. Jon was nowhere in sight.

“It’s a school night, Jimmy.” Lois sounded unamused.

“He’s in bed,” Jimmy said, keeping his attention pointedly on the screen while he jumped around. The other character, unmanned, merely bounced in place under a flurry of kicks.

“Mhmm,” Lois said. “You’re just playing two player all alone.”

Jimmy paused and rapidly quit the game, rising to his feet. “No, it’s a CPU, I think the system’s just buggy? It’s been acting weird all night.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate you watching him last minute,” Lois said. She ran a hand through her hair and kicked her shoes off at the edge of the room. “I do. Appreciate it, I mean. You’re a lifesaver. Clark’s got some thing in…”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said quickly. “No problemo. See you at work tomorrow?”

“What’s up with you?” Lois leaned her head back out of the kitchen to fix him with a piercing gaze. “You usually try to stay and talk my ear off for an hour.”

“Nothing!” Jimmy said, grabbing his messenger bag. “I just, I’ve got plans, maybe. Maybe a date.”

“Jimmy. It’s midnight,” Lois said, an eyebrow raised. She disappeared fully into the kitchen, her voice disembodied as she called across the space. “I didn’t make you late, did I?”

“Nah, I’m not late yet,” Jimmy said. He tipped the Zesti Cola back to finish it off and somehow managed to miss his mouth— half of it sloshed onto his button up shirt. He stared glumly at it. “Aw, cheese and crackers.”

“There’s a stain stick in the laundry room,” Lois said.

“How did you…”Jimmy tipped his head back and sighed at the ceiling. “You can’t even see me. Are you sure Clark isn’t rubbing off on you?”

Whatever Lois mumbled under her breath from the kitchen was something he thought he probably didn’t want to hear, especially since it was followed by a snort of laughter.

“It’s fine,” Jimmy said.

“Sorry. I’ve been up too long,” Lois said, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth as she came around the corner. She raised a wine glass to him. “Have fun. Be safe.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy said. The shirt he could work around. He had time. He smiled. “Tell Clark I said hi.”

“Mhmm,” Lois said. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime,” Jimmy assured her. “He’s a great kid.”

“Jimmy,” Lois said. “Take the stain stick.”

***

Fifty-seven minutes later, Jimmy Olsen knocked on the door to Room 638 on the sixth floor of the Metropolis 3rd Street Hilton. The door was propped open by the flipped security latch. He pushed it, tentatively. It opened on an empty standard double room.

“Hiya?” he called, stepping in.

His sense of danger had perhaps been dulled by years of working with Superman a yell away, because he felt no alarm stepping into the room that very well could have been a trap.

The room was definitely empty. He knocked on the bathroom door, and then pushed it open to a dark interior. Also empty.

Jimmy stood in the middle of the room, rubbed the back of his neck, and let the bottle of wine he’d brought dangle in his grip. He sighed.

“Aw, beans,” he mumbled, feeling stupid.

It had been a joke, certainly. Getting someone to prop open the door was the easy work of twenty bucks or so. He sat on the edge of the bed and tugged at his bowtie and crisp collar of the clean shirt he’d put on, then fell back onto the smooth duvet.

“You, Jimmy Olsen,” he said to the ceiling, “are a chump.”

The bedside phone rang. It rang again, and again.

Jimmy propped himself on one elbow and stared at it. It rang a fourth time and he snatched it off the receiver and held it to his ear, the coiled cord that still survived in hotel rooms stretching out across the floor.

“Hilton, room 638,” he said.

“Mr. Olsen,” the accented voice said calmly over the line. “You came.”

Jimmy sat straight up, his back rigid. He swallowed, hard, with a cough of nervous laughter. “Yep. On time, even. Are you, um, running late?”

If the wall had been close enough to bang his head against, he might have considered doing just that. He wished he could sound smart for a whole two minutes while talking to a gorgeous woman.

“No,” she said, unruffled. “Come upstairs. Room 4201.”

The line went dead. Jimmy held the phone until the disconnected tone jarred him into motion– he set it down with a plastic click, and stood, feeling dazed.

The ride up on the elevator was a long, silent minute where he smiled at the other occupants, a man in a tuxedo and a woman in a red gown with a fur shawl. The man glared at him in return, but the woman looked disinterested and avoided eye contact. They stepped off a floor before his.

“Have a good night!” he called after them. They ignored him and he shrugged, jamming the button for the 42nd floor again for good measure.

The elevator doors opened on a hallway with geometric-patterned carpet in stark black and white. The doors were further from each other than on the lower floors, but he didn’t have to walk far to the left to find 4201.

He took a deep breath, raised a hand to knock, and froze.

There was a crash from within the room, the crack of breaking furniture, and shattering glass, a scream. His worry about a date fled, and he pounded his fist on the door.

“Hello? Are you okay? Talia?”

There was a muffled snap and then the knob turned. Jimmy stepped back, unsure of who or what was opening the door. The gap that appeared was only a few inches, and Talia’s face was visible, but her head was ducked down.

“Mr. Olsen,” she said, still calm as a lake in fair weather. “It’s a bad time, after all. Perhaps another evening?”

“What?” Jimmy exclaimed, bracing a hand on the door before she could shut it. “Who was screaming? Are you alright?”

“I’m–” Talia began, her head still bent.

“You’re bleeding,” Jimmy said, staring at the dark bead of blood on her cheek. “Who hurt you? I have a friend who can help, just tell me who did this. Is he still in there?”

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Olsen,” Talia said. Rather than icy, she sounded amused. “I doubt there is anything you could do that I haven’t already taken care of alone.”

There was an unspoken implication there, about Jimmy’s ability to hold his own in a fight. He heard it and ignored it– it was a familiar dismissal, one he’d lived with most of his life.

“At least let me make sure you’re okay,” Jimmy said.

“You’re worried. You needn’t be. The threat has been dealt with.”

“Okay,” Jimmy said, fingers tightening on the neck of the wine bottle anyway. “You’re still bleeding. I can get some ice, find a first aid kit.”

“You are persistent,” Talia observed. The door had never opened more than those few inches, but she raised her chin and studied him. There was a cut by her eye, already swelling.

“Tell me to buzz off, and I’ll get lost,” Jimmy said, hoping she wouldn’t. Whoever had been in the room had done a number on her, and he didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone. “But I’d feel like a heel not staying to help, if you need anything. Gee, that looks bad. Gimme your ice bucket. I’ll run to the machine and bring it back. I don’t even have to come in. Want me to call the police?”

“No,” Talia said. “Wait.”

The door closed, and Jimmy waited, frowning at the glossy silver numbers on the polished wood. There was the clink of a sliding chain and then the door swung all the way open.

“There’s ice in the fridge,” she said, with a dip of her head in that direction. She was walking ahead of him, her back to him, and still in the green dress from earlier. “I’m going to change.”

The hotel suite was large. Plush carpet ran the full length of a long living room, lined with floor to ceiling windows on one side. The view overlooked the glittering, neon city– the Daily Planet with its spinning globe lit by bright white, the glowing blue strips up the corners of the LexCorp building, the dark reflective glass of the First Federal Bank tower lit up like a laser show.

Jimmy stood staring at Metropolis, taking it in, before starting and turning to find the kitchenette. Some of the sleek living room furniture was tipped over, a coffee table broken into a thousand shards in the carpet. A couch was slashed, cotton batting sticking through.

“Holy moly,” he breathed, picking his way around the mess.

The kitchen wasn’t a kitchenette– it was a full kitchen, with a stove and oven and refrigerator. There was a marble-top island, a few drawers pulled out and one broken off it’s tracks.

One of the open drawers held a little box of plastic baggies. He set the wine on the counter and plucked a baggie out from the roll, and went around the island to open the fridge.

There was a body on the floor, a knife sticking out from its throat. A mask obscured the face, and any horrified or pained expression he might have been making.

“Talia?” Jimmy called, feeling sick.

“Yes, Mr. Olsen?”

“It’s Jimmy, actually, you should just call me…Jimmy,” Jimmy said, swallowing hard. He couldn’t take his eyes off the knife, the pooling blood, the stained handle. “There’s a body in here.”

“Yes,” she called back. “It’s nothing to worry about. They’re dead.”

“I…okay. Dead. Dead isn’t the worst.” Jimmy tore his gaze away and pressed the bag against the ice dispenser in the fridge. He sealed it, mechanically, and stepped over the body, trying very hard not to think.

He wandered toward the door Talia had disappeared behind. It wasn’t closed, but he rapped gently with his knuckles anyway.

“Ice delivery,” he said, the words sounding hollow to his own ears.

There was a sniff and he leaned forward, quickly, just to see Talia wipe the corner of her eyes with the back of her hand, the first joint of her first finger. She took in a sharp breath and turned fully to face him, with a placid expression. Her makeup was a little smudged.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the ice.

“Are you…are you okay?” Jimmy stammered. “It’s just, there’s a body in the kitchen, and uh…did he attack you?”

“Just the one?” Talia asked, raising an eyebrow. She paused by him, and put a hand on his cheek. “You’re upset. You aren’t used to blood?”

“Uh, no,” Jimmy said, shaking his head. “I’ve, well, I’ve been Lois Lane’s photographer for a while. It’s not the blood so much as what comes with the blood.”

“What is that?” Talia asked, brow creasing.

“Suffering,” Jimmy said bluntly. If she hadn’t touched him, maybe he wouldn’t have dared, but he raised his hand and rubbed his thumb along the skin near the cut on her face. “Blood usually means suffering.”

Talia smiled, thin and uncertain, and raised the ice pack to the swelling cut. She slipped past him into the messy living room. Jimmy turned, to watch her, and didn’t notice the feet twitching behind the second low couch until she stopped behind it, standing over someone.

She hissed something low, crouched down out of sight. A rough voice, thick and gurgling, murmured something in return and then there was a wet snick. Talia rose, with blood splatter on her face.

“We have to go,” she said.

Jimmy turned and threw up in a decorative vase.

When he righted, she was looking at him.

“You should go,” she amended.

“No, I’m okay,” Jimmy said. “Just needed a second, is all. Gee whiz, did you just kill that guy?”

“He knew the price for failure,” Talia said evenly. “It was a death with honor.”

“Failure to do what?” Jimmy gaped at her. He stumbled a step sideways, tracking her movement across the room, and reached for a camera that wasn’t there. He just wanted to hold the familiar straps in his hands.

“To kill me,” Talia said, as if this were perfectly reasonable.

“Who’s trying time kill you?” Jimmy demanded. “Why?”

“It was a test. I thought my father trusted me enough that we were beyond such tests, but that was foolish on my part. The lesson has been learned.”

“Your father,” Jimmy exhaled, sitting down on the torn couch. “Your father sent…assassins…to kill you…”

“Yes,” Talia said. “And now I must leave. If you would like to avoid trouble, I advise you do the same.”

“Won’t the police…aren’t there prints? Everywhere?” Jimmy asked, looking around. Talia was standing in front of a mirror in the living room, wiping blood off her face.

“No,” Talia said. “My father’s people will be watching the ones he sent. They will come to clean everything, and if we’re still here, one might try again in hopes of securing his favor.”

“I don’t know what kind of father you’ve got,” Jimmy said. “Mine didn’t like me that much, but he didn’t want me dead.”

“Mr. Olsen,” Talia said, with a pitying smirk. “It isn’t because he wants me dead. It’s because he wants me to be the best. I am, or I’m not. It’s that simple. If I can’t handle a few assassins, then I don’t honor him by being alive. These men would not have thanked me for sparing them– Reznyek pled for an honorable death, and nothing more.”

Jimmy thought she sounded like she fully believed this, but it also sounded recited, like some sort of long-rehearsed creed. He decided not to bring it up in conversation at the moment.

“Did you give him one?” Jimmy asked, his stomach rolling again, hearing the snick once more in memory. He convinced it to calm down.

“Yes,” she said softly, not looking at him. “He failed, and he didn’t deserve it. But I gave it to him anyway.”

“Why?” Jimmy asked. He didn’t know why he was asking, anymore than he knew why picking up a camera filled him with joy, or why following Lois around while she dug answers out of stories was one of the most satisfying things in his life.

“My father may not be right about all things,” Talia said. She flicked the cloth she’d been using onto the remains of the coffee table.

Jimmy got to his feet, and squared his shoulders.

“Well. Have you eaten since the gala? Can I buy you dinner?”

“You want to buy me dinner,” Talia said, raising an eyebrow. Jimmy got the impression she was looking at him with real interest for the first time. “I will not be having sex with you, Mr. Olsen.”

“It’s Jimmy,” Jimmy said, blushing. “And I’m not asking for…that. Just some burgers, or whatever you want. You’ve had a rough night.”

“You don’t want to run screaming?” she asked, with a teasing glint. He trailed her into the kitchen, where she found a first aid kit. She rummaged through it while he spoke.

“My life is pretty weird,” Jimmy said. “I’ll give it a few more hours.”

“I will accept dinner, on one condition,” Talia said, spreading cream on the cut near her eye.

“Sure, name it,” Jimmy said quickly, taking a bandaid and ripping it open. He handed it to her.

Talia pressed it into place and then looked him full in the face. “When you regret this in the morning, you tell no one.”

“Easy,” Jimmy said, while he was screaming inside and as certain as the sky was blue. “I won’t regret it.”

[shadowdianne]

One word prompt: Vermillion. (Any pairing you want. Bonus for if it’s one I don’t know but you’d recommend. 😁)

A/N As Isaid to you earlier and for purely transparency sake I might have had asmallish fangirling moment lol. Anyway; since I’m a glutton for punishment Idecided to take two routes rather than solely one -because what’s life of a ficwriter if not that- The first take of the prompt is SwanQueen since, you know,we will always love these two ladies far too much :P

The secondis a Cissamione one, which I will reblog and add to this later so I don’tdouble tag and make this even more complicated than it’s already going to be. Thereason behind it lies majorly because it has quickly become my go-to secondship and I like the many opportunities one might take with them.  (I’m choosing to blame  @delirious-comfort  here) The fact that Narcissa has alsobecome a delight to write and read has nothing to do about this; nope, nada.

Either way,enough of the rambling: I truly hope you like my take on this Emma. Thank youso much yet again for trusting me this prompt 😉

Set on:After s7 finale. Remember the color-coding of their magic back at s4? Yes,that.

1.-Vermillion [SQ Version]

/vərˈmɪliən/

“Have this happened to you before?”

Regina eyed Emma as the blonde poured a secondhelping of her cider before sitting in the couch in front of her. The warmgolden hue of the light softened some of the sharp angles the younger womanseemed to be made of; shadows crawling up her cheeks, down the silver ofcollarbone exposed by the loose collar of the shirt she wore. There was notrick, however, for her jittery movements, the way her fingers trembled andjumped against the surface of the glass and Regina could do nothing but focuson those as she, too, swirled the tumbler, lost in thought. Careful as she wasof not letting the drink fall, Regina was able to feel the liquid through thebarrier of the glass; the temperature of the room and the cider itself similarenough for her to not dare to drink it. Gripping the tumbler as strongly as possible, she tilted her head while the younger woman spread her legs, elbows restingagainst her knees, middle finger and thumb the only connecting points that keptthe drink from falling down into the carpeted floor.

Tongue probing her teeth, Regina let out a shortsigh as she crossed her left leg over the right, the movement one a part ofherself -the one that hadn’t quite gone away after her own trip over time and magicalcurses- still found strange. Stealing yet another glance to the younger woman,Regina dived into Emma’s green eyes, at the touch of gold that, dissimilarenough from the light inside her studio, seemed to bounce from speck to speckof blue.

Gold suited her. The thought was loud enoughfor her to not be able to dismiss it quickly enough, and the brunette foundherself pushing her body away from her seat, the sound of her high-heels mutedbut still loud enough to let her breathe through her nose, nervousness takingover.

She could lie. She knew as much. She could lieand pretend so they both could feign Regina wasn’t aware that Emma would alwaysknow when she was being facetious. It would involve a far too convoluted planning;however, one Regina didn’t feel like going through. Not when her magic kept oncrackling inside of her, wave after wave crashing against her diaphragm as shetried to regain her bearings.

“Everyone owns a signature.” Her voice feltscratchy against her throat and, despite her reticence, she let the cider touchher lips for a split second while she gave her back to Emma, eyes lost now onthe paneling of the walls. There was just so much one could do, she reasoned;her mind’s eye conjuring not only the panicked look Emma had sported as she hadknocked on her door several minutes earlier but on the lack of a ring on herhands. A ring she had learned to hate the moment she had seen it sneaking itsway around pale flesh.  “A magic one.Signatures do not change: they aren’t linked to the type of magic one preforms buton what one is.”

She could hear Emma moving at her back, thesound of one hand brushing against jeans with strength enough to probably leavea faint imprint on the fabric making her swallow as her body was assaulted oncemore with the whispering heat of deep red. Red that was too vibrant, too powerful,against her usual lilac.

She had noticed the changes, of course she had;she had noticed the vein-like traces of red that had begun to appear every timeshe used her powers next to the blonde. The way dirty white had transformed intopale gold next to her; the vanilla-scented trace of it transforming into somethingdifferent, headier, the longer they went on practicing magic.

Which, she admitted as Emma sighed at her back,the sound of glass against the surface of the table one she vaguely registeredas she crossed her free hand over her stomach, fingers grazing the fabric ofthe dress she wore, magic classes hadn’t been all that strange for them bothever since she had come back. They had become a refuge from her duties as aQueen, from the constant scrutiny and vigilance. She had never asked outrightwhat Emma reason was but she still could feel it, pumping through the blonde’ssystem, fueling her spells.

And she could feel it once more now as she finishedthe remaining gulps of her drink: coming from the blonde’s body like cracklingenergy; tendrils and wisps of power that got tangled on hers. She refused to lookdown when she felt the telling signs of magic beginning to make an appearance,the red-colored glow strong enough for her to dig her fingers into her side,nails biting into her skin.

“Then why?”

Emma’s question was full of a careful nonchalance.Not exactly uncaring but cold enough for Regina to know the younger woman wastrying to feign an assuredness on their current predicament the question onitself destroyed. Pursing her lips together, Regina didn’t move when she feltEmma’s warmth getting closer, steps faint against the carpet, faux leather protestingas the woman rose her arms, the creaking sound the only thing that let Reginatime to prepare herself when she felt the tips of two fingers reaching for herback.

This hadn’t changed; touch wasn’t and had neverbeen part of their interaction. Not like Snow was with everyone around her.Their touches were just as careful as everything else; a delicate balanceRegina had found herself hating on. Which was precisely what made her shiver asEmma retreated her fingers, the point in where she had grazed her hot andholding a residual tingle that made the brunette feel drunk. Or, she thoughtwhile she glanced down at the now empty glass, stupid enough to maybe ask forit once more.

Her fingers were laced with red, burgundy andvermillion banishing lilac and mauve; electric currents mapping the veins ofher wrist before she was able to look away with a glimpse of gold making her gasp.

She knew, she berated herself as she felt Emma’ssilent presence as a second heartbeat: hers rushing through her neck. She knewthe color of magic after all, the theory behind the signature, the one she hadbeen so happy to not be like mother’s the first time she had performed somethingbig enough for it to show between her fingers. She knew what the paired colorsmeant, the fact that the red filled her vision solely when she was next to the otherwoman, heat, and darkness rendering everything else less important as she sunkinto the welcoming touch of gold. She knew.

How, however, was a thing that made her pause,afraid, unsure. Not because of the meaning on itself but of what it couldpotentially create, when there were too many gaps for her to fill. Didn’t shedeserve it, though? Licking her lips, she considered on turning, facing Emma’seyes as she spoke again, selfishness grasping her lungs as she breathed intothe ozone-like smell power left behind. She felt ravenous in a way that madeher head sway, skin tingling as she shaped the next sentence between her teethand tongue, vowels pushing through, air making vocal cords vibrate even beforeshe began to speak.

“Touch me again.”

It wasn’t an answer for Emma’s question andthere was an instant in where Regina feared the blonde would refuse. Glancingup, she wished for a reflective surface to spy the other woman’s face, the wayher eyes would probably be narrowed, sharp on their assessment of Regina’scommand. Ultimately, however, she felt fingers touching her spine, between hershoulder blades, delicately enough to make her close her eyes, lost in thoughtas she felt gold rushing through her, turning into red, deep, rich red thatmade everything else pale and grey. Back arching, lips parting, she could feeleach drop of red as blood, extending from the point where Emma kept on touchingher with child-like fascination.

“Regina.”

She heard the plea on Emma’s words, the way thewoman’s voice was strained, and Regina felt her muscles sag as electricityjumped and sparkled behind her eyelids, sharp enough to cut through her skin,embedding themselves into her bloodstream, blossoming deep inside of her.

“Look at me.”

Emma’s command held the same carefulness of before,but it was less brittle, and Regina found herself shaking her head.

“I don’t want to.” She could feel her lipsmoving but it was a faraway feeling, the kind of one she could disconnectherself from if she tried hard enough if she focused enough not only in the vermillionbut in the gold as well, in the aura,the two of them brought to her.

“Please.”

She turned, she felt her legs moving, herbreathing changing when Emma finally grasped her forearms, careful, slow. Yet,she didn’t open her eyes, not really wanting to, not ready for it.

“You know what it means.”

It didn’t come as a protest but acceptance andRegina felt her lips curve in a smile. A minute one, the kind of one that wouldnot be an answer to anyone else but the blonde in front of her. The one thatfelt closer and closer with each passing second.

“You do too.” Tilting her head, Regina finallylet her eyelids raise, the change of lighting quick as haloed by sparks no oneelse would be able to see, Emma mirrored her movements.

“I do?”

“Yes.”

Red surged forward, swallowing Regina whole. Redlike blood, like life.

Like love.

[viadescioism]

Viadescioism: Viadescioic Cosmology of Emanationism

Clearly this will be revised as new information, becomes available. This information has been gathered from my experience, and the experiences of others, along with insights from traditions, and practices. It also makes use of laws, and axioms of existence in order to produce a reality map that will hopefully be accurate to the interactions and perceptions of existence

This is a cosmology for Viadescioism that shows a basic understanding of how all of existence is laid out. This is to help Viadescioism move away from the more common, and cultural reality maps that are used in the practices of occultism, esotericism, mysticism, and religion especially those created by theosophy, neo-platonism, neo-paganism, qabbalah, and the new age.  By allowing Viadescioism to have its own unique understanding it will be more flexible, and moldable to practitioners experiences and new available evidence of how existence works.

Viadescioism has the understanding of emanationism and because of this recognizes planes of existence as levels between source, and the physical plane. None of these levels are better, or worse than any others, though constructs, and entities that are closer to source are more connected to the whole of everything, and are communal, and entities that are closer to the physical are more separate, and individual.These planes of existences are not humanistic, or morally driven, and does not suggest an existence hierarchy. All of existence is set up in a macrocosmic version of ourselves, and existence has a body, a mind, and a spirit, which will be present in this reality map.

The planes are neither above nor below one another, but interpenetrating and existing in the same space, just on different levels. This reality map can be visualized as a circle with smaller circles within it. The smallest circle being the physical world in the middle, and moving outwards with other circles until the final circle. These planes of existences are not humanistic, morally driven and does not suggest an existence hierarchy.

Here are some definitions for understanding the rest of this writing as it is written:

Planes:

Planes of existences are separated by different vibrations of matter, and are not separated by distance, but much rather states of being.

Veils:

The veils are different gateways between the planes of existences that open up based on different parameters. Between every plane of existence there is a veil, and these veils are what needs to be done in order to make it to the next plane of existence. every veil has a descending and ascending variable that must be met in order to make it to the next plane of existence.

Dimensions:

A dimension is a quantitative measurement that can communicate the position of a construct within a particular area of existence. Specific dimensions such as the 3rd, or 4th dimension uses the number to represent minimal number of parameters needed to describe the space. These type of dimensional parameters would be things such as X, Y, Z, and time.

Universes:

A universe is a specific section of existence that consist of its own specific space-time continuum.

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The Body of Existence:

The body of existence is the lower divine aspects of existence that make up all of the physical, and lower vibrational parts of existence. These planes of existence are personal, and have form.

Physical plane | Dacada:

The physical plane is home to all of the physically incarnated entities which reside there, and it is the densest plane of existence which vibrates at the slowest frequency. The physical plane is a 3rd dimensional space, and is the lowest plane of existence. All entities on this plane or greatly separated in their being. Life on this plane usually revolves around the act of surviving, and keeping the physical body alive. The physical body is gained when you incarnate physically, and is lost when you physically die.

Veil 1:

One can ascend from the physical plane into the liminal plane through the process of entering an altered state of consciousness, entering a liminal space, or once the physical body has died.

One is able to descend from the liminal plane into the physical plane if they are incarnated into a physical body.

Liminal plane | Shacada:

The liminal plane is a 3rd dimensional plane of existence. It is the plane of the mind, and can be accessed through altered states of consciousness brought on through meditation, sleep, or drugs, along with other things. On this plane of existence time works a bit weirdly, and can seem distorted at times. The dreamscape is also on this plane, and is the place in which you are when you are dreaming. This is also the plane of existence were entities such as ghosts, and nature spirits that are connected to the physical reside.

Everything that exists in the physical plane has an liminal body that is an exact replica of the denser physical body, this even includes inanimate objects. Liminal bodies must be bound, or grounded to objects, places, or people in order to stay at that frequency so they can exist in the Liminal plane for an extended period of time. You are able to be ungrounded from the physical plane and get forcibly sent to the liminal plane. Liminal bodies that are separated from the physical body are still very attached to it, and can only move so far away from it, before it is snapped back. During a dream state the Liminal body does not leave the physical body, but does perceive, and interact with projections, though skilled practitioners can also separate their Liminal body from their physical body in a process that is known as etheric projection. The forms of entities on this plane are malleable, and fluid and can change by the will of the entity.

Veil 2:

In order to ascend from the liminal plane one must disconnect from the physical plane.

In order to descend into the liminal plane one must be grounded to the physical plane.

Spiritual Plane | Nacada:

The spiritual plane is a 4th dimensional space where you are able to move through time, and are able to see the past, present, and future. It can look like the physical plane, or can be surreal. This plane of existence can be interacted through astral projection, or astral travel. People who have near-death experiences may also reach this plane during their experience, and It is usually seem to be the afterlife in most other forms of traditions.

This is the last plane of forms, and the forms of entities are  malleable, and fluid. The spiritual body is usually a reflection of your physical, and liminal body, though this form is easily manipulated, and changed through thought, and desire. The energy centers, along with the rest of the energetic body also exist on this plane. The spiritual body is attached to your physical body with an energetic cord. This energetic cord is to connect you to your physical body so that, if your spiritual body gets separated from your physical body it can return to it. Entities are able to die on the spiritual plane, which can either return you back to your physical body if you are astral projecting, or can forcibly send you to the formless plane.

Veil 3:

In order to ascend from this plane you must release your spiritual body, and become formless.

In order to descend into the spiritual plane you must take on a spiritual form.

The Mind of Existence:

The mind of existence is the middle divine aspects of existence that make up all of the abstract understandings of being, and middle vibrational parts of existence. These planes of existence are subpersonal, and are formless.

Formless Plane | Ucada:

This plane of existence is in the 5th dimension, and all entities and constructs are formless. In this dimension one can move in between different timelines, and fates, and can experience all possibilities of time from all the choices one could make. This formless being also acts as a storage device for memories, and information until they can be integrated into your higher self. Communication between entities here is done through mental willing and is also instantaneous on this plane of existence, and communication between all things is clear, and open through the power of one's thought.

Veil 4:

In order to ascend you must reconnect with your higher self.

In order to descend into the formless you must separate off from your higher self, and become an individual projection.

Higher Self plane | Sacada:

This plane of existence is in the 6th dimension, and this is where your higher self resides. In this plane of existence you become your higher self, and are connected to all your incarnations.  This is the you that has had all the experiences of the projections that have been sent down into the lower planes of existences. From here you are aware of yourself, and are a separate entity, while also being here you are aware of your divineness, and your overall connection to existence, and source. The higher self is able to see many different pasts, presents, and futures, and it has access to multiple universes, and are able to jump from this universe to any other universe with the same starting conditions. This is also the place where one refers to themselves as separate for the first time on their way down from source, allowing there to be individual entities with their own autonomy.

Veil 5:

In order to ascend you must reconnect with the all of information.

In order to descend you must detach from the all of information.

Information Plane | Lacada:

This plane of existence is in the 7th dimension, and on this plane have access to all information that resides in existence. What is saved here is everything from the known universe. All the knowledge one could ever want. Recorded, and documented by the energies that were present at the time. Giving all possible views, standpoints, and outlooks on all subjects. This connects you to an informational web, which is one of the first forms of connection between multiple entities and constructs, which during Ascension will break down your individual nature.

Veil 6:

In order to ascend you must become a collective.

In order to descend you must become a individual.

The Spirit of Existence:

The spirit of existence is the higher divine aspects of existence that make up all of the energetic, and higher vibrational parts of existence. These planes of existence are transpersonal.

Collective plane | Macada:

This plane of existence is in the 8th dimension. On this plane you combine, and connect with groups of entities, constructs, and energies, and while ascending you begin to come less of an individual, and more of a collective.

Veil 7:

In order to ascend you must become your true spiritual self.

In order to descend you must recognize the other entities, constructs, and energies that are part of you.

Law plane | Dasacada:

This plane of existence is in the 8th dimension. While ascending This is the place where you as yourself is annihilated, but transmuted into the true spiritual self, and while descending this is also where the monad gets life breathed into it, and also begins to build up energy. This is the first plane of existence that has universe specific laws that stay constant, and are fundamental to the specific universe in which they are found, because of this souls find themselves in a space that has universal laws to it that must be followed, and give them a constant state.

Veil 8:

In order to ascend you must be reduced down to your core.

In order to descend you must be defined by specific universe laws.

Monad Plane | Damacada:

This plane of existence is in the 9th dimension, and is where the pure energy from source becomes directed, and focused. This is the plane where the spark of source is used to create new monads, and the rest of the facets of the existence. The soul will be everything that extends from the monad. These monads will project themselves downwards into the lower planes of existences creating, and beginning new souls. This Plane of existence can interact with universes with different universal laws.

Veil 9:

In order to ascend you must reconnect with source.

In order to descend you must  separates parts of itself out.

Source Plane | Oxaknacada:

This Plane of existence is in the 10th dimension. This is the absolute oneness with the divine, and is the apotheosis of existence. This is the plane of being, where everything that is anything is, and there exists an unlimited unmanifested potential of energy of creation. It is all that is possible, and all that you can experience. It is everything, and it is nothing. It also encapsulates everything that exists, and is the place where the divine monad for everything is present. It seems to be inherently incomprehensible because it is outside the normal laws, and can be many things at once. All entities, and constructs of existence have some connection to the source plane.

Impassable Veil:

The separation between these two states is existing in non-existing and nothing can move in between these states.

The void | Skaknayaack:

This is absolute nothingness that does not exist outside of existence.