#and pissed off my inner seven year old self

[nnnnnnnothingtoseehere]

💖✨️💕⭐️

[goodluckclove]

I'm having a lot of fun talking with people about why they struggle in their writing, and I figure I'd share a little bit about what would keep me from writing. It's especially relevant given how soon Blind Trust is coming out - and, like I said, if you're willing to be real to me I'll be real right back.

I'll put it under a read more, as I've had the amount of alcohol that it takes me to be extra loose - meaning half of one canned cocktail. And I don't want to freak anyone out who doesn't want to see me feel a little more angsty than I tend to be online. But as I said before, I want to be honest about the craft as much as I urge others to be.

Here we goooo. Say goodbye to proper capitalization babies, Dad's getting funky.

so i started writing when i was twelve years old. i wrote carnation, a 10k word zombie novella about thinly-veiled representations of me and my two best friends at the time fighting zombies. it wasn't very good. i never wrote anything before. i enjoyed it though, so i proceeded to keep writing, near-constantly for the next fifteen years.

here's the thing, though, and it's something i don't see a lot of elder writers talk about. probably because it's not a super pleasant thing to hear, but i'm pretty sure i could pull it off.

uh, my name is clove gardener. i'm twenty-seven years old now. and i do not think i'm that good of a writer.

i don't think i'm bad. i mean, i've been published. i've worked as a copywriter and a ghostwriter. i've written for work for a few years now, so - like - objectively it must be passable. i don't hate my writing. i think it's accessible, which is cool. but if you were to ask me hey do you think you're a good writer? i would skirt around the question without answering directly until i could figure out a way to change the subject.

at this point i don't think that's going to go away. the improvement, though, has been that i barely think about that anymore. it's like there's a little dipshit in the back of my head, and occasionally he will hiss-whisper this is shit what are you doing until I find a way to shut him up.

i kind of feel like that's just the thing that happens when you're a writer. it's the camp i'd rather be in, at least. because the alternative is that i'm a really good writer who might consider themselves capable to claim authority and tell you how to do things i actually know nothing about. i'd rather have doubt. maybe less than what i have now, but still.

writers, i think, overlap with theater kids in the sense of being dramatic little piss babies. i am proud to say that i am significantly less of a piss baby than i potentially could be, especially considering that i'm in writing and theater. but you're bound to be a little dramatic at some point.

i think in the six-ish months since i've started blind trust, i've had maybe two creative existential crises. that's pretty good. that's reasonable. and they were not too unproductive either. i've learned that you can feel whiny and pitying and scared and self-loathing, and still do the thing.

i don't think you should publish your book. cool, ryan (i named my inner dipshit ryan). i'm doing it anyway.

nobody actually wants to pay money for it. yeah, ryan. maybe.

you're a terrible writer. i like it, though. i want to see how it ends. so let's keep going.

if you're wanting to publish/self-publish, and you think you don't have a chance because you aren't a beacon of self-assurance and confidence - guess what, buddy, i don't think many of the greats were. it's almost a stereotype i've seen of famous writers also being angsty weirdos who crumble into despair because the apple they ate was slightly too mealy (this is based on nothing but i can see it happening to kafka). if you think you can't be a writer because you aren't like me - friend, colleague, son, daughter, child, we are both angsty weirdos and that's okay.

last week i sobbed because riley showed me a video where a kiwi bird was sad and we had to spend the rest of the night watching videos of kiwi birds before donating to a kiwi bird charity. i make one phone call to the doctor and i have to lie down for the rest of the day. i am kind, i am fun, i am funny, and i am also like three bad dice rolls away from a breakdown. you can be both of those things. i have nuance.

i'm fine, by the way. it's been a good day. i'm just stressed about publishing because the thought of asking people to pay Human Currency for my work makes me deeply uncomfortable. but we're going to fucking deal with that, aren't we, ryan?

i don't know if this is unprofessional to reveal, but if it convinces one person to pursue a life in writing even though they sometimes take a trip to the Panic Zone, fuck it. i'm fine, you're fine, we're all going to be fine.

we should name our inner dipshits. drop your dipshit names below. ryan is your classic little goblin, but he's dressed like an e-boy. i think he vapes. i hate him.

[saltyluminaryvoid]

His Saving Grace

Chapter Two

1114 Klaus x future daughter reader

I recommend re-reading chapter one as I made some major changes. I know I promised this update two years ago, but university got in my way and when I came back to these old stories a lot of re-vamping took place.

Masterlist

The year is 2030, Y/N the daughter of Niklaus Mikaelson and Hayley Marshall. A powerful young witch which threatens the survival of Malivore. In retaliation Malivore unleashes a time fay to return to the past and kill Klaus to ensure his survival.Y/N is Hope’s younger twin, now that no one remembers who she is the job is left to y/n to stop Malivore.

                   “You still live in the silences between my thoughts.”

Y/N resisted the urge to sign impatiently as the crowds around her soared and rejoiced as the pastor preached. The loud voices screaming into her sensitive ears, highly agitating her short temperament. Y/N hated church, she was by no means an atheist but she was a witch and a woman living in a time where she could be hanged for simply defying authority. So with that in mind Y/N had begrudgingly entertained Alaric, to keep up the role as godly saints whom attended church every Sunday. 

For the past weeks tempers were high within the household, Alaric and Davina could only watch as she battled silently with her demons.  Putting up a saintly farce everyday in the village as boys swarmed for her hand in marriage and village girls scowled jealousy. As someone who was influenced by the strong women in her life, to always be true to ones self and to never shape shift into society's ideal, the pretense (and the besotted men) were killing her. Alaric was getting far too accustomed in his daily ritual of turning away marriage proposals from haughty mothers and corpse like men. 

Pulling her away from her thoughts was the strain of her far too tightly, bonded corset. Thank the old gods she was from a thousand years into the future. Now Y/N realized why her Aunt Rebekah mostly if not always bit the heads off every man she met. If I had to suffer almost seven hundred years in such a tightly wounded corset which restricted most movements I would have done the same Y/N thought impatiently. As the preacher vivaciously expelled the devil with the crowd, Y/N reaching a breaking point silently casting a notice me not charm and made her way to the exit, silently huffing as she straightened her ankle length, grey dress which carried a turtleneck-like neckline. She wore a pristine, white shirt underneath whose sleeves puffed loosely around her arms but knotted tightly below her elbows. On top of her grey dress carried a loose brown corset of sorts held together by a length of ribbon criss-crossed. This corset did not converge in the middle, rather it showcased about five inches of the grey vertical striped pattern upon the bust and midriff as to emphasise her figure. Stitched upon her grey skirt was a length of brown which stopped at least six inches above her grey ankle length skirt, but it was gauged elegantly upon her right thigh allowing an elegant stylish slide flow. After all she was her Aunt’s niece and secretly she hoped it pissed off the conservatives in the crowd. Oh yeah! that speech about playing the part was not translating so well into her everyday life. 

Finally reaching a safe distance, out of sight from zealous fanatics just upon the edge of the forest, she dropped the spell. Huffing a sigh of relief all Y/N now needed was a pack of cigarettes or some weed to make 1114 much more bearable. 

“That’s quite the trick you pulled back there, little strega.” Now that snapped Y/N from her inner thoughts. Spinning around in a quite unlady like fashion, for this period at least, more than ready to confront the intruder. Only to be left dumbfounded to the stranger standing before her. But with a practiced ease which came from years of sneaking out and around  the Salvatore Boarding School, Y/N layered on her oh so innocent Mikaelson charm. “I’m sorry, what did you just call me?, I have to say I’m not aware of that particular term!” Lies, her mind rang out. Play cool, Y/N thought, talk him up just to get close enough and wipe his memory. Now that particular trick was her favourite. The stranger smirked coyly at her, “I think you know exactly what I mean, liten heks.” Y/N paced herself now, he knew old norse. Whomever this stranger was, he was clearly quite wealthy at that judging by his smooth velvet and silks in comparison to her simple cotton dress. Now she had to thread carefully, wealth clearly meant high influence and political sway in a community as small as this one. And that meant possible exposure, this man was a threat, Y/N deemed carefully.

“Now, now liten heks, the stranger went on, I mean yours truly none harm.” My heart is void of ill contempt and malevolence for one with such great power and beauty. As he spoke he drew closer towards her, his face now completely unobstructed from the mist of the early morning. Y/N exhaled softly, the stranger a man’s whose face see had seen everyday in her New Orleans home, a demon who hunted her from birth, Finn Mikaelson. But if he was standing before her, that meant the brotherhood had not yet daggered the Mikaelsons. This younger and less vengeful ghost was still a threat to her but quite possibly an accomplice. The fae had yet to reveal itself it was either supplementing its diet with animals or news of children going missing had been covered up. 

The fae according to the texts preferred a warm tropical climate, for if their wings were exposed to cold they would simply fall apart. A fae’s lifeline was linked to her wings, losing them could kill the fae but iron to the heart worked just as well. All in all, the upcoming winter was now days away and left no time for procrastination which meant Y/N directly disobeying Alaric to seek the creature out herself. A venture she had no luck in, the fae who boasted of powerful magics was able to cleverly keep herself hidden. 

“Not one for much words I see.” Finn Mikaelson was now standing toe to toe with her. That’s quite alright, he continue as he played with a stray curl. Y/n flinched away slightly as he stared into her eyes, carefully examining the details of her face. “If I didn’t know better, I could have mistaken you for my Freya.” Finn whispered as he continued to tug upon her curl. It was low and if not for her keen hearing it would have been swept to the winds.  Y/N kept her head high and passive, thinking to herself how much of a leering creep her elder uncle was becoming. Quite unlike all accounts of the uptight, wet blanket her uncle Kol always described. As his hand came up to caress her face, Y/N instinctively jumped back, conjuring fire within her palm which she kept safely tucked behind her. Finn only smiled sheepishly, “I seemed to have forgotten my manners, in the presence of a young lady.” I deeply apologise, I do not know what came over me, my lady.

Y/n relaxed slightly and utterly confused as the man introduced himself. As he began to speak on what not, Y/N could only stare at his face in a daze. It would take her some time to sort herself out, only to realize he had disappeared only to leave behind a simple envelope in her hand. Y/N thought back to the genuinely baffled daze Finn fell into as she made her way into town. To onlookers her face was almost dreamy, as if paying much more attention to the envelope she twirled in her hands rather than her path. But rather Y/N was silently contemplating the latent abilities of the fae and just how she could manipulate Finn into helping her.The fae a creature in the future known for its deceitful ways but that though made her wonder just how much accurate Alaric’s information truly was. It was done before, the supernatural popularized lies like silver bullets and garlic to throw suspicion off of them so what if the same was done with the fae? As Y/N ventured into the town’s market lost in her thoughts many eyes followed her, women and young girls gossiped of her weird behaviours and wayward thinking.

________________________________________________________________

Bloody hell, Y/N thought to herself. Now while the young witch prided herself on being a fashionista, dresses were her absolute nightmare, well behind her murderous grandparents and malivore of course. I do have my priorities in order, thank you very much.

Somehow Davina had managed to convince the stubbornest Mikaelson into another deathtrap these humans called corsets. Y/N huffed, begrudgingly following her “parents” out of their temporary home. While she was ecstatic to receive the dinner invite to the Mikaelson home hours prior from Finn which came in the form of the mysterious envelope he left behind, she still heavily detested that damn corset suffocating her. There was just no space to hide her knives!, What’s a girl in multiple skirts and a stuffy attire supposed to do to defend herself when all her knives were confiscated on this occasion. 

But nevertheless Y/N compiled it only to see her family again while also plotting to defy Alaric once again on his no knives at the dinner table rule. I mean, its not really a family reunion if someone didn’t have a devious plan in the works. 

________________________________________________________________

Servants scattered frantically to the sides, keeping their heads bowed as the feared Mikaelson hybrid descended the grand staircase stepping onto the foyer. Holding an impassive mask, Niklaus surveyed the immediate area ensuring the preparations to his liking. Stepping to the right of the grand foyer Niklaus strolled into the grand sitting room which doubled as a music room, the soft notes of the harp eased his twirling mind. 

Taking a seat on a velvet cushioned armchair, with hands clasped elbows resting on his knees and eyes closed Niklaus thought back to the hauntingly familiar pup no he corrected himself, child. Days had passed since their first encounter and thoughts of the child haunted him. In the strangest of ways he craved her presence, but not in a way a lover does. But this vastly unfamiliar pull deep inside him yearning and pushing his self control. But if Niklaus didn’t know any better he would have called it fatherly love and as unbelievably usurp that idea sounded in his head, he couldn’t help but let his mind linger on the possibility. Barr the facial similarities and attitudes that crossed with his, perhaps it was her life that resonated with him he knew all too well the struggles of an abused orphan. 

Just maybe when he meet her today, try not to give away how he always crept away at night to watch over her. By the old gods, what would Elijah think of his stalker like behaviour. If his enemies only knew of this attachment, if he only knew. Niklaus sat and wondered of the possibilities, so lost in his thoughts he nearly missed his guests arrival. 

__________________________________________________________________

Dinner surprisingly went smoothly, Klaus was utterly entertained by the ideas and thoughts of the young woman before him. Her guardian agitated him deeply with his distrustful glances and cold demeanor. 

Y/N on the other hand was on edge for an entirely different reason. As much as she wished to truly enjoy the rare company of her family, she could not help but be worried about the whereabouts of Finn. Given the  strange behaviour she witnessed earlier from him and his sudden disappearance she could not help but ponder the worst, especially given the current circumstances. It could be entirely possible Finn had aligned himself with the fae in order to rid himself of Klaus and the others. As far as she recalled, Finn had never been too particularly fond of the vampiric lifestyle and it is certainly within his motives to fix the balance of nature and forever end the vampire lines.

The rest of the night in the company of the Mikaelsons continued smoothly, with the exception of Kol getting a little too drunk and flirting with Davina. Y/N was able to enjoy the company of her lively Aunt. Soon came the peak of the full moon and the makeshift family slipped away to trap the fae. As Davina gathered the necessary ingredients for a binding ritual and Alaric his iron weapons, Y/N shared her suspicions of Finn and him possibly knowing her true identity. Both had agreed that Finn would be a potential suspect in aiding and plotting with the fae to get rid of the Vampire Sire line, him included. With caution in mind, the trio made their way towards the woods where Y/N last spoke to Finn. Since, Finn was most likely aligned with fae, the two would track him using Y/N’s blood, a plan which quickly came to a stop when the magic revealed the family together in their manor. 

Relief didn’t last as the winds picked up around the trio and both Y/N and Davina picked up the excited whispers of dead witches. The brotherhood so it seemed had finally succeeded in crafting the daggers it was only a matter of time before they used it. Huh, maybe it was her paranoia seeping in earlier and Finn was just too ashamed of his earlier behaviour to make an appearance at dinner.

@physically-a-cheesecake​ 

@goldencassy​ 

@sujusfs14499​ 

@alyssatjuhhh​

[kazzyboy]

Andriel As Gamers (Kinda)

Andrew (@HolierThnThou03)

- Personal channel, separate from his team/exy life, so he can post whatever the fuck he wants

- And what does that mean?

- Chaos. Pure, unbridled chaos.

(Like the notes I made for this spontaneously at five this morning)

- Either shows up to stream in a complete, put-together outfit, carefully-done messy eyeliner, fresh out of the Maserati; or shows up in sweats and one of Neil’s old Jurassic Park shirts. He has three of his piercings in. One of his socks is missing. There is no in between

- Barely responds to chat, except when someone’s being fucking annoying (and not in normal fan sense, in horrible person sense) to publicly pause his game, stare directly at the screen, and psychologically demolish them for ten straight minutes. The mods (Typically Renee, Nicky, and Robin) calm everyone down and give the user a warning. If they say something horrible like that again, they’ll be kicked and blocked. No one ever gets to the second bit.

- Stares directly into the camera when he dies like he’s in The Office

- Mostly horror games, occasionally aesthetically-driven Minecraft builds

- Sort of stiffens and goes wide-eyed when he’s well and truly scared

- More often than not does story-oriented games

- Gets cancelled for saying shit like,”Disgusting. Horrible. Kill yourself.” When he gets nervous while playing horror games (except nearly everyone reacts like “he can’t be cancelled!!!” Which he can’t, because he was telling the game to kill itself, which his poor mods had to explain for several months after the initial pandemic.)

- Sarcastic, poetically-driven commentary. Gets memed for it, constantly (“Humor be like-“ picture of Andrew, blank-faced, while someone gets swallowed whole by an alien on camera,”the inner workings of my mind are an enigma”)

- Leaves randomly, midstream, for snacks. Doesn’t even pause the game. His chat goes insane every time

- Guest stars include Renee, Robin, King, Kevin, and occasionally Nicky and Aaron

- @/BetsyTheBee shows up in chat sometimes and no one knows who the fuck it is, but he thinks it’s funny so he waits till people start asking if they’re dating to tell them she is literally his therapist and basically his mother.

- Streams and posts lengthy, unedited content (bc he’s lazy, but he says it’s because his editor sucks. No one knows who it is. It’s Neil. Neil did not sign up for this responsibility.)

- Rock music constantly in the background

- Occasionally does a crime podcast with various Foxes, called Gravedigger -The High Road To No One

- Constantly the victim of copyright strikes, thanks to his posters, music, and shirts, and he wins every time. Constantly claims it’s the reason he chose to major in Criminal Law (or whatever it was, cheeky little shit)

- He purposely holds his controller weird when he uses one to piss people off

- Coffee. Just, so much coffee.

- Cries at the end of Rrdr2

Neil (@TheFoxSaysNJos10)

- Semi-professional channel, in which it was supposed to be professional but the PR managers had to fight Neil’s loud mouth and lost

- Constantly argues with chat (His mods, Allison, Matt, Dan, and occasionally Andrew ((undercover)), have to block so many people bc they actually try and start shit over his jokes. Not because Neil cared that they were insulting him, but because if they mentioned the Foxes he’d fucking kill them. And get away with it.)

- Professional exy player for Pro Palmetto State Foxes, Coached by Dan and Captained by Kevin Day (you can’t @ me I’ll die on this hill)

- Promotes stuff for the team by wearing/using it on stream/in interviews/events. To this day, it’s a mystery how no one realizes he wore Andrew’s hoodie three consecutive interviews in a row, his sweatpants in another, and Andrew’s stuff is literally all over his apartment (from random visits, made up of broken traffic laws and horrific gas prices)

- His poor, poor PR managers. ManagerS. There’s more than one. The trauma is too powerful

- Clips from exy games, interviews, and practice (Him and the Foxes sometimes react to compilations, from fails, funnies, and fights)

- Every time someone asks about his scars his story gets more ridiculous. He got smacked in the face with a flying jellyfish at the zoo when he was seven. He became self-aware before he was born and took a chunk out of god’s hand, so he was cursed. He tripped on a crack and broke his mother’s back. Neil what the fuck

- Collabs with Kevin’s conspiracy channel, posted at three in the morning somehow everywhere? There are a million mugs on the desk. Are they in a news station? A single light is on? What are they trying to summon???

- When he does post gaming videos, they have like a millions cuts thanks to all of his cursing, to the point that people think they’re actually just clips of him playing the same game

- He does randomly stream, which is beyond the power of professionalism

- He normally plays shooter games, and is deathly attached to Halo.

- No one wants to play multiplayer with him, though, even online strangers, because his insults are unnervingly accurate. How did you know I have forty eight tea cans on my desk. Lurking. Jail

- Sir!! He once devotes an entire three hour stream to playing games with Sir, to the point that he occasionally does Sir Sundays

- Plays random games out of nowhere (Wobbledogs, puzzle games, literal board games that he drags others into)

- Neil doesn’t get a mic on his headphones bc he’s too loud.

- Their fans constantly ask for Andrew and Neil to collab, thinking it’ll be a total bomb show, since they haven’t talked since college and they hated each other

- Because they are completely unaware of the fact that Andrew and Neil have been married since their third year of professional exy, thanks to one too many unauthorized hospital visits

- And no one knows that they’re waiting for Andrew’s five-year contract with the New York Lions to expire so he can move in with Neil back in Columbia and become a co-coach for the professional Foxes

- All the while, Andrew is helping Renee with a Shelter For Homeless And Troubled Youth, called The Fox Den.

[themanip]

alternate routes

SYNOPSIS — how do you go throughout life? well, you find someone you like. get to know them. start dating. break up a few times, get back together. get married. have some kids. die old. typical. fucking in a back room of an awards show, not once, but twice as complete strangers, was definitely not how most relationships start out.

PAIRING — taehyung x metzi (oc) WARNINGS — descriptions of cheating, fliphones, mentions of getting laid, really bad intros tbh, the introvert line being introverts, and girls who are rlly bad at timing, an asshole named ryan, cursing WORD COUNT — just over 3.1k AUTHOR’S NOTE — hi! i am so fucking bad at writing the first chapter or two, i promise if you can bear the beginning of this story, it gets better. i have two and a half chapters written so far but i am writing super often! once a few more chapters get published i will create a masterlist. please enjoy and if you have any comments or recs don’t hesitate to let me know!! :)))

𝟏: 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐄 

𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟖 ⇥ The universe known to man is a labyrinth—an irregular maze, a passage that cannot be routed—and to understand that took more than an average mind. The matter was far too complicated than any obsolete man to comprehend on a whim. Millenia passed before galaxies were formed, planets were created, all unbeknownst to the stars bursting just miles apart.

From early amphibians, to the ice age, to cavemen, evolution has made great strides in every species. Humans in the past were variants called homosapiens, and most likely came from chimpanzees. Great strides like this were something to be proud of, you'd think.

When Metzi Ludovic realized that birds can fly with natural evolution, while humans had to industrialize it (thanks to the Wright brothers) she was pretty distraught. As an imaginative and critical eight-year old, fifteen years later, not much had changed. Currently, she was pondering over the fact that humans are one of the few species with opposable thumbs.

Majority of animals had not yet evolutionized to create opposable thumbs. While frantic over this, she also imagined her beautiful Pomeranian, with thumbs popping out of his paws. Her thoughts were quickly subdued, thanks to her coherent thoughts making an appearance. As cool as it would be, all other animals would devour humans if they gained that ability.

Is that the only reason humans are all mighty? They can industrialize and aim properly due to their adaptations, so that they somehow became top of the food chain?

Thankfully, she was redacted from her thoughts as her manager, Emmy, let out a distressed sigh. "Wren, we cannot change your outfit again. You look beautiful," At this point, looking at Wren, she knew that she would look good. Somehow, she couldn't convince herself.

"Wren, we can switch. I don't hate green, so you can take blue if you want it. I really don't mind," Metzi smiled softly, and she knew it was the right thing to offer as Wren's face lit up, a few tears being wiped away. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, just do me a favor and loosen the ties on that, please. I have had way too many tacos yesterday to fit into it with the strings that tight," a small laugh left her mouth, and as she laid on the comfortable sofa. It was plush, but somehow offered no lumbar support. Who the hell makes a couch so soft, yet so unbearable for convenience of naps?

Selfish, she thought.

This dressing room was beautiful, so you'd think they'd have enough funds to make a decent couch. She could enjoy the aesthetics of the room, anyways. A luxurious baby pink covered the walls, and was bordered by pristine white. Plush gray carpet was under her feet, and was stain free. With Malorie in here, that probably wouldn't last long.

She was over by the double mirrors, applying powder over her face. She was so beautiful, Metzi couldn't fathom why she insisted on so much makeup. The same could be said about herself, so she kept her somewhat inner misogynistic comments at bay. She was pretty quiet, but something was off. She wasn't usually this quiet, so Metzi shot her a text.

She was very personal, and barely talked about what bothered her. Occasionally, Metzi would get her to open up, which she could physically see the relief on her face as she broke down. A brief, but to the point was written out on Metzi's phone.

you don't seem okay. wanna talk about it? Read 2:33 PM

The three dots popped up, and Metzi's attention was quickly brought to Vida, who sat down next to her, letting out a sigh. "How much longer until Olive gets here? I'm so close to taking a nap," Vida quickly put her hair into a makeshift ponytail, and leaned back, closing her eyes.

"It's only two, so I imagine not for a good hour or so, a nap sounds kind of nice," Wren commented, stood in the other corner of the room, with Emmy helped her undo the straps of her outfit. Her green silk top complimented her skin perfectly, but Metzi knew it was too late to convince her.

"Well, I'm out, wake me up when she gets here," Vida quickly blurts, and her head is now comfortably laying on the arm of the sofa. "I'll get up, I have to go to the bathroom anyways," Metzi commented, sighing before getting up.

Silence followed, and the blonde decided to take a look at her phone. A text was sent back on Malorie's behalf, and she widened her eyes momentarily. Standing still, she turned back to look at her. A face of guilt was evident, and she tried her best to hold her breath.

i have something to tell you, i'm not supposed to. i just feel so bad knowing while you don't i really shouldn't have said anything forget it

meet me in the bathroom

Read 2:37PM

Metzi's mind was in a whirlwind, and she couldn't think of anything she'd be referring to. Of course, it was useless, because clearly she wasn't meant to know about it. She hurried out of the room, the last thing she heard was Wren complaining once more about her outfit.

The hallways were empty, mostly because they'd came so early, and Metzi took her time reaching the bathroom. It was communal, so she really hoped that nobody else was here yet. The awards were meant to start in a few hours, and considering they had three faces to paint with makeup, early was a necessity.

"I hope you won't be mad at me," A small, timid voice aired behind her. The blonde turned around, and clutched her phone in fear. "I'm not, please tell me what's going on,"

As Malorie opened her phone, Metzi tapped her foot anxiously.

God, she really had to piss.

The brunette looked up at her, and showed her a photo.

"What is that?"

"That, was Ryan. On Saturday."

Ryan was her boyfriend of six years. An anxious cramping formed in her stomach at the mixture of his name and the tone of Malorie's voice. The photo she was now staring at made her want to vomit. Her stomach was now doing somersaults.

In the photo, it was indeed Ryan, in Metzi's own bed, with a mop of curly red hair under him. Most was covered by the sheets, but it was enough to come to the correct conclusion. He was clearly enjoying it too, judging by his face. Upon further inspection, she noticed something odd.

Grabbing the phone out of Malorie's hand, she zoomed in. On her nightstand, where a picture of the two usually sat, was now face down. While he fucked another woman in her bed, he turned her face down.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she took a deep breath in.

What happened Saturday? She was home mostly all day, so when did he have time to do this?

"What—how did you get this?"

"I came to give you your present, and I heard something. Y'know since you gave me keys? I figured it was okay to come in, and your bedroom door was open. I knew Ryan would try to make me the liar, so I took a picture. He told me that if I told you," Malorie pursed her lips, "well he threatened to do something pretty fucked up."

"Holy fuck," Metzi whispered, "I just—I had no fucking clue. This entire time, and who knows how long he's been fucking her?"

One lonesome tear fell down her cheek. In anger or sadness, Malorie didn't know.

Opening her phone, she opened Ryan's contact. "Hey," Malorie whispered, her voice now soft. "If he tells you anything about me, promise you won't believe him?"

"Of course, you come first. Always."

She debated on whether or not to call him, but instead opted on a text.

I hope you enjoyed fucking merida, we're done. get your things out of my house by tomorrow. delete my number.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, and a smile adorned her face. Her bladder problems now the least of her concerns, she started back for the dressing room. Emmy now sat at the vanity, on her phone, and Vida and Wren were basically cuddling.

Surprised at the sudden intrustion, all eyes landed on the pair standing in the doorway.

"Ryan cheated on me, so now we're all single." Metzi gave nobody the chance to respond, as if anyone could think of what to say, and took a deep breath in.

"I haven't been fucked in months, and now I know why. So, I'm gonna get laid tonight, feel free to join me."

All seven of them had their faces beat to perfection, their outfits tailored and steamed of any wrinkles. They looked absolutely impeccable, as if the world around them kissed their feet. Hell, some reporters actually acted like that.

The members of BTS were now known worldwide, and it seemed that they were sought after by nearly everyone. Each member was so unique—so captivating in every aspect. Personalities somehow intertwine perfectly, yet polar opposites sometimes.

Proud but humble men, they basked in the warmth of positive attention. All eyes were on them for now, and they proudly understood it. As they walked on the red carpet of the music event, Yoongi and Jungkook both hated what they would be forced to do in mere minutes. As self-declared introverts, social interactions were about to start, and they honestly would rather sit in the corner and get this over with.

They would meet a few smaller artists, an occasional household name, (which they would fawn over for the rest of the night) and then be on their way. It would probably be in a few news articles, and some artists would insist on pictures, and they would be spread around within minutes. It was the same routine, and almost every time they would speak as little as possible, save for Namjoon, and would discuss it later. Hollywood was English dominated, and they despised it.

"Right now we only have to meet one group, and then we're okay for a few hours," Namjoon spoke quietly and quickly, and they piled off of the red carpet into a building. The hallways were scary, dark and empty, but a light above them quickly lit up.

To their surprise, the hallway was beautiful. The walls were an navy blue, white accents on top and bottom. Numerous gold paintings and records lined the walls, and it seemed to go on forever.

"Who is it we're supposed to be meeting? This hallway is a bit sketchy," Jimin perked up, and Namjoon chuckled. "WB,"

"Who is that?"

"I can't remember what their name stands for, but they sing that one song," Namjoon goes on to hum the tune to a familiar song that got pretty big, and all of the members start singing along. Of course, the lyrics are completely off and the tune is absolutely horrid, but they all recognize it vaguely.  

All numbly following Namjoon, he was taking rough instructions from their manager to get there. This was not how it usually happened, but he had said something urgent came up. He had told Namjoon how to get there, and he knew that they were smart enough to make it without breaking a couple ligaments.

"Group? I thought it was one singer," Jin commented, and Taehyung nodded in agreement. "I would have never thought it was more than one. Are they American?"

"I guess we're going to find out," he snickered, and they all stopped at the corner. The door was slightly creaked open, and soft laughter could be heard. It was feminine, soft. It sounded like pure happiness was inside that door.

To double check, Namjoon eyed the sign on the door.

A large, black WB was written so even the partially blind could read. It was odd, the only dressing room out of probably at least a hundred, was all the way back, alone. They had no time to question it before Jin took a few strides forward, and boasted his English abilites.

"Come on-uh, guys."

The rest of them burst into laughter, and Namjoon quickly followed suit, knowing Jin would not be the prime candidate for introductions. He would simply utter a few English words, turn to Namjoon for help, and in panic, make a really bad play on words in Korean.

Timidly, Namjoon's knuckles rapped on the already-open door, accidentally pushing it further open a bit. "Come in!"

They were met with three girls stuffing their faces with chocolate cake, and another laying on the floor, fiddling with a.. flip-phone?

Jin grimaced at the reminder, glad it wasn't pink.

All eyes awkwardly met at the realization, and two of the three muffling down cake choked a bit. "Emmy, I thought you said 5:30?" Malorie was the one to ask, but none of the boys knew that.

"It is 5:30,"

The cake was swallowed within seconds, the flip-phone was now laying on the table, untouched. Four girls scrambled up simultaneously, and watched as the rest of the men piled in. An awkward stout of silence followed, and this so called Emmy, rose and met the boys first.

She had a firm grip, and introduced herself as their manager. The situation was humorous to say the least, these girls who could pass off as teenagers, were standing in single file in shame. The first was a beautiful girl with a large afro, and she kept a tight smile. She did not know who they were, nor did she really care. She introduced herself as Wren.

Next, was a taller woman, who seemed a hint older, with large winged eyeliner. She was Vida. Jin's first instinct was that she reminded him of him, she was definitely the oldest. Then, a smaller girl with a thick smile and soft curls was next. Soft hands, gentle grip. Her name was Malorie.

The last, was a young woman with blonde hair. Realistically, she didn't have any defining features besides her hair, she was the average American-looking girl. She introduced herself as Metzi, and to their surprise, bowed.

"It's really nice to meet you guys," Emmy let out a soft chuckle, and Namjoon nodded tightly. "Are you performing tonight?" It was Malorie who had asked, a soft question. "Yes, actually,"

"I heard you are as well," Namjoon replied, hoping to end the small talk quickly. "Yes we are! I'm surprised you've heard of us, I mean we're not huge."

She wasn't lying, but they definitely weren't small, either. Sixth biggest girlgroup of all time by album sales just behind TLC. Thirtieth on the most followed Spotify artist. Their debut album was certified Gold in six countries. Humble was the key to success, though.

"I'm not sure how big they are in the States, but aren't they pretty well known in Korea?" Yoongi spoke, but of course he wasn't talking to the girls, he was talking to his bandmates. He also spoke in Korean, which is why he nearly had a heart attack when a very feminine voice responded in Korean as well.

"We're big in Korea? I knew we were pretty well known in Japan, but I never really knew about that," It was the blonde one, Metzi. All seven members were in shock, the way she spoke it so effortlessly. If she didn't look the way she did, she could pass off as Native Korean by language alone.

"I know South Korea is very conservative and insistent upon how they operate things, and we're probably the farthest thing from it. I just was under the impression that we didn't fit the mold to do well there," Metzi continued talking, and Wren, Vida and Malorie had absolutely no clue what was going on or being discussed.

Had this been in Spanish, all the girls could have participated. Metzi just insisted on learning Korean, though.

They didn't seem too bothered, though, instead more humored.

"She's been waiting to use that one, huh?" Vida whispered, laughing lightly. "You're not wrong, Korea is known to be very conservative, however, that doesn't mean you have to fit stereotypes to break Korea or any other Asian country for that matter," Namjoon spoke in English this time, and finally the other three girls got a whiff of the conversation.

"We are the farthest thing from ideal boy-groups in America, and we broke it for the most part. Obviously a lot of it is due to our fan base, but point still stands." Seokjin broke in, the conversation now half Korean, half English.

"Good to know," Metzi said softly, a grin on her face.

"How did you learn Korean?" Taehyung spoke up in curiousity, and crinkled his eyes. "I started learning a few years ago before we kind of blew up, and when we visited Korea a few times, I just picked it up a bit. Still a lot I don't know, but I can speak pretty fluently now."

Taehyung nodded in understanding, silently applauding her ability to simply pick up on a language. He doesn't think he will ever gain fluency in English, no matter how hard he'd try. It was a lot harder than he imagined it to be.

"I'm gonna be honest, from media portrayals you guys are made out to be asshats, but you seem pretty down to Earth. Nice to know the fame doesn't get to your head, you know?"

Now it was Wren speaking, and a few snickers sounded from Jungkook and Jimin's mouth. "Asshat," Jimin repeated softly, and they broke into more laughter.

"We appreciate that, thank you. Ignore them," Hoseok spoke this time, a large smile adorning his face. "We will watch your performance tonight, and cheer you on."

"Ditto," Metzi responded in English this time, and Hobi's eyes crinkled in confusion. "Same to you," she clarified in Korean, and he nodded.

They said their goodbyes, and Metzi told all the girls to bow. Namjoon and Vida had a brief talk, and it was no time before BTS and WB were now separate, discussing the events that had just taken place.

The talk of the night was the mysterious blonde girl who spoke fluent Korean. 

taglist: @princessoftheroad​ <3

[thefreakydeaky]

Call Out My name

Part Seven Title: Pretty

Characters: Negan, Reader, A stupid little prick named Rick Grimes, Garbage pail kid Daryl Dixon, Tanya and Frankie, Gregory, Mentions of Simon, Dwight,Sherri, Amber, Ezekiel, Maggie Rhee, Wives: Tanya and Frankie, and Lucille.

Summary: You belonged to him.Try as you might to pretend indifference, Negan’s very presence has awakened feelings in you that you believed had died with the old world.Is the ruthless King of the Sanctuary still human enough to fall in love?

Warnings: Language, Canon Typical Negan BS, Canon Typical Violence, A bit of gore, Angst.

Word Count: 3,557

“What did I miss?” Negan inquired as the door shut behind him.

"I dunno what you mean.” You struggled to remove your panties.

“Sin-since when do you get into cat fights?” His eyebrows raised as he watched you hop around clumsily. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking off my bra and panties.” You huffed pulling one arm into your dress to work open the clasps.

“Stop it.Here let me.”Negan shook his head in exasperation as he came to stand in front of you.

His long fingers gathered the soft material of your dress.He lifted it up over your head and slid it down your arm.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why are you gettin’ undressed?”

“I’m too hot for clothes.”

Negan grinned. “You sure are.”

“No.That’s not what I mean.Meant?Mean?”

“How much did you have to drink?” With one deft movement, he unclasped your bra.

He made it seem so easy.You pouted, glaring down at your exposed tummy pensively.

“I should be able to do that. I’m the one with boobs!” You complained.

Negan chuckled a smooth melodic sound.His warm hands slipped the bra straps off of your shoulders, freeing your arms, exposing your breasts.

“Panties too.” You reminded.

The hint of a smile played around his lips as he slipped the waistband of your slightly skewed underpants off of your hips.He knelt down.Something occurred to you as you watched him slide the thin fabric to your ankles.

“How come you’re home so early?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.” His index finger tapped the top of your foot. “Lift.”

You leaned forward to sturdy yourself, hanging onto his leather clad shoulder as you raised your foot.

Negan unhooked your underpants from around one ankle, guided your foot back to the floor, and repeated the process with your left foot.

“Are you trying to start a mutiny of the wives or did you get bored enough in there to start shit for no reason?”

Knowing eyes looked up at you.

“I didn’t start it! Sherri did!”

“Did she now?”

“She could start an argument in an empty house.”

“You act pretty high and mighty for someone who sucks the same cock we do.” Negan quoted watching for your reaction.

“Well she does! She was being a-a-a judgey mcjudgerson!”

“A what?”

“A jerk.” You amended.

“Sherri is always “a jerk”.What was different about today?”

You frowned. “The vodka?”

“No.” He replied standing slowly back up.

“...the me?” You mumbled guiltily.

Negan cupped his hand behind his ear gazing at you expectantly.

“Me, I was different, because I got mad.”

“Mhmm.”

“I was angry so I egged her on.”

“That’s not the Y/n I know.” He admonished, taking your chin in his hand.

He tilted your face up and looked you in the eye.

“She said somethin’ mean.”

His brow furrowed. “Mean?”

“We were playing Never have I ever...”

“Mhmm...”

“And Amber said ‘Never have I ever wanted to sleep with Simon.’ Obviously I took a shot.” You recognized the spark of jealousy in his eyes.

“It’s the way the game works!”You defended. “Then Sherri said “Simon?” And I was like 'What’re you surprised?' And she said 'Not even a little.'”

Negan took a deep angry breath.

You jumped back into your case to keep him from yelling at you.

“It was the way she said it.” You emphasized.”Like like I was dirty like I was below her.”

The corner of his lip pulled back in a near snarl.

You could already see how his needless anger would play out.

“And not just me.”You back tracked, “Tanya and Frankie too! I mean how can you blame me?Honestly, she freaking implied that we were sluts or whores or-or worse just cause we’re married to you.She forgets that we’re equals and talks down to us. What was I supposed to do, let her??No no no.”

Negan ran a hand through his hair.His anger had gone down from a boil to a simmer.He struggled to adjust.

“Ugh, I knew it!You’re stuck on the Simon part.You just don’t get it.”

“You were fightin’ over another man! How the hell do you think that makes me feel?”

“It wasn’t about Simon.I was giving you context so you would know how I went from putting up with her to wanting to kick her ass.” You explained, annoyed with his one track mind.

“What the fuck is so great about that scumbag anyway? What’s got y’all so obsessed?”

You sighed loudly.

“Nobody is obsessed! Amber was making fun, cause she thinks he’s ugly.”

“At least one of my wives is smart.”

You rankled at the bitterness in his voice.

“Well I can’t tell you why Tanya and Frankie wanted to sleep with Simon! I can only tell you why I did!”

“Why did you?” He wore a guarded expression.

You rolled your eyes.

“Mostly to piss you off. He’s got the whole second man in charge thing going for him and that works for some people, but for me, it was about how mad I was at you.”

Negan blinked, processing your words.

“You wanting to sleep with Simon was about Me?”

“That’s ... one hell of an over simplification, but yes. It was.You acted like a total dickwad from the second we met to the night I almost slept with him.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you put your finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

“Yes, me wanting to sleep with Simon was about you.Ninety-five percent of the time I was talking to him, I thought of you.”

“And the other five percent?”

“You gotta be kidding me! Is ninety-five not enough?”

“Why wasn’t it a hundred percent of the time?"

“I hadn’t had sex in years!”

“Hmm...”

You interrupted his thinking with a slow languid kiss. He kissed you back savoring your affection.

“I don’t like drama,Doll.I’ll forgive you this time.You girls got sauced after all, but don’t you go making trouble again.”

“What about Sherri?”

“Collateral damage.”

You exhaled sharply at the sympathy in his voice.

“Dwight needed to learn his place and the only way to do that without cracking open skulls was to threaten him with Lucille.”His thumb stroked over your jaw lightly.

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“Sherri offered herself up in exchange for his life.That just so happened to fit my agenda.So, ‘mean’ though she may be she was telling the truth.” Negan looked down and away for a minute.The deceptively charismatic smirk he wore like armor returned to its place.

“Not for nothin’ but not one of us became a wife because we were lookin’ to put our feet up, except for Frankie.” You pointed out.

“Amber went through some really bad shit.She feels indebted to you for saving her.Tanya’s mom was sick, in a lot of pain, and needed morphine.We both know how I ended up here-“

“Sherri doesn’t know that.” He interrupted.

“That’s my point, she shouldn’t talk about what she doesn’t know.Talk shit.Get hit.Just sayin’.”

“You are impossible...Why don’t you go on and get that gorgeous bottom of yours in the shower? It’ll help you cool down.” He suggested.

“Won’t you come with me? You tried, entwining your fingers with his.

He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a small regretful kiss to it.

Negan’s sigh was bone weary.

“I’d love to, Darlin’ ,but Daddy’s got work to do.” He waggled his eyebrows at you.

Your face heated at the memory of your sarcastic remark.

“It was a joke.” You groaned.

“Not to me. I think Daddy might be my favorite nick name yet.” He taunted, watching you saunter to the bathroom to start your shower.

You heard his easy laughter receding as he left you to your own devices.

Not far from The Sanctuary, a militia made up of rebel misfits made their final preparations to dethrone the self-professed king.

Once upon a pre-apocalypse time, Rick Grimes thought of himself as a simple man.There was right and there was wrong,very seldom was there anything in between.When there was, it simply meant the situation needed resolving. Once resolved it would fall into one of those two basic categories and all was well with his world again.

However, that was before the apocalypse. Before his family’s survival twisted his morality into something neither black nor white, but a stormy weather grey. The many traumatic situations, trials and tribulations he and his chosen family had faced, forced his grey morality to stain a little darker, but no crisis had pushed him so close to the edge as Negan. Abraham and Glenn, along with so many others had lost theirs lives to the violent sociopath and his merry band of murders.He’d sworn vengeance on their oppressor.Now that vengeance was finally coming to fruition.

“...Those people who use, take, and kill, to carve out the world and make it their’s and their’s alone, We end them...” His soulful blue eyes took a moment to gaze meaningfully into the face of each member of his ragtag army.

“There’s only one person that has to die tonight”His gruff voice assured them, “and I will kill him myself.”

He could see his words already taking affect, giving their anger the justification of righteousness and their thirst for savior blood conviction.Rick kept watching, patiently as Ezekiel roused them with brotherhood and as Maggie Rhee gave them hope.Unlike Negan, it gave him no pleasure to manipulate minds like this.The ends he reminded his conscience would justify the means.

For the greater good!

His inner voice declared.He accepted the words as gospel.

The caravan barreled through the fences taking the few saviors, who weren’t out checking the far perimeter, by surprise. Four shots were fired into the air breaking up an impromptu meeting Negan was having with Hilltop’s incompetent leader.He and his men strolled out onto the platform to gauge the situation.

“Well I’m sorry” Negan apologized insincerity in his voice. “I was in a meetin’’.”

Upon laying eyes on Gregory, Rick Grimes snorted.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Negan’s sharp eyes roved over the caravan of misfit warriors, taking in the army, the battle ready vehicles, their many firearms. All of this would not have given him pause, except for one thing, the determination and fury on their faces.

“Now, I don’t see a reason why we should have us a shoot out,” He snarked, wondering anxiously if you were at the window of his bedroom right now.

Hoping you had heard the warning shots and taken cover, he resumed his performance.

“I have to look out for the safety of my people. I can’t let myself get wrapped up in playing cops and robbers just because you want to find out if my dick is really bigger than yours.” He paused like a comedian building suspense before a punchline, “It is.”

He smiled confidently. “We all know it.”

“This isn’t a game.” Rick Grimes intoned, his solemn countenance causing Simon to mutter an epithet under his breath. “This is a reckoning and your time has come.”

The shoot out that followed was a chaos of ricochetting bullets, screams of pain, and shouted orders. Minutes passed like seconds. Simon called out to Negan, they had reinforcements coming.

As it turned out, so did Rick Grimes.Of all the surprises Negan imagined the colonies to have under their sleeves, not being able to count on his silver tongue to buy time or get him out of such an impossible bitch of a situation wasn’t one, the colonies using the entirety of their separate communities, young and old, wasn’t one, and a heard of the dead filtering into his God damn Sanctuary sure as fuck wasn’t one.

Rick the Prick’s first spray of bullets missed Negan by a second.He dove out of the way and down a flight of stairs. When he reached the bottom he was a little worse for the wear, but his body was still in one piece.He was also resourceful enough to pick up the gun of a fallen Savior and stay out of the crosshairs for a bit.

His brain went into survival mode, pushing him to shoot back, pulling him back behind the dumpster before he could get himself shot. Negan’s gun ran out of bullets all too soon.

“Sonuvabitch!” He ground out, running to the nearest port in the shit storm, a rusty old trailer.

His heart beat so damn loud, he’d forgotten how terrifying a herd could be when you had nothing, but your will to live and your flight response to get you out of it.He heard glass breaking.

Y/n

His pulse jumped in his throat.Of all the days for you to drink you had to choose today.He couldn’t bear the thought of them getting to you.They could hate him all they all wanted, he’d done his share of fucked up shit. He deserved it. What he felt he didn’t deserve was for the consequences of his actions to effect you.

Another spine chilling thought circled in his brain.

“Everyone of you go to your rooms!!”

Had he doomed you all? Like he’d doomed her? A memory of bright blue eyes and a very expressive face loomed over him ominously.

Different time.Different situation.Different woman.He told himself pushing her memory away, down deep in the coffin shaped box where he kept his grief.

A newer memory arose unbidden, He took your hand in his, kissed it softly, and looked into your eyes.All trace of bravado and falsehood dissipated as he let you see him. The real Negan and the effect one night with you’d had on him.

"Can I trust you, Y/n?”

“Yes, you can.”You laced your fingers between his.

“How can I be sure you won’t think my love for you is a weakness?”He watched your face cautiously.

“You aren’t weak.Neither am I.We have both put survival above everything else.”

You were resourceful.You were unbelievably resilient. Negan resolved to trust you to keep yourself alive.At least until he could reach you.

The trailer door blew wide open.Negan fisted the black material attached to whatever dickhead had been dumb enough to enter his refuge and pulled the door shut. The wide doe eyes of Alexandria’s creepy bald clergyman found his face in the dark.

The firing of live ammunition sounded from somewhere below you. In nothing, but a bra and a fresh pair of panties you ran to the wall of windows.Simon and a few of the saviors had taken cover and were taking their best shots at hitting something other than the corrugated steel the invaders were using as shields.Your mind went into over drive.You couldn’t see Negan out there.No sign of his black leather clad back anywhere.At least you knew he was alive.He wasn’t lying on the ground or you’d surely have seen him. A borage of bullets hit some of the panes of glass below.You dove to the ground and began crawling behind the nearest piece of furniture you could.Unfortunately, the closest was a sofa.Cushions and plywood wouldn’t be enough to keep you safe.You lay as flat against the floor as you could as the gunfire reached your floor.The cacophony out there went from loud to ear splitting within seconds.

A sharp angry pain caused you to cry out, but you weren’t willing to risk getting shot again to check the wound.Soon afterwards the shooting died down.They’re running out of ammo, you thought.They must need to make every bullet count.Your heart felt so heavy.Please Lord keep him safe.You prayed.You knew he wasn’t perfect by any means nor was he innocent, but you loved him.You couldn’t fathom a world without him.A moment of quiet passed as you reflected on your husbands many sins.You found yourself struggling to maintain your composure.You wanted so badly to fall apart, but there wasn’t time for that.There was no doubt in your mind that he would eventually come for you, but you couldn’t stay here and wait.It wasn’t safe.

You got onto your hands and knees and clambered to the closet.You cursed Negan’s stupid wives club bullshit for robbing you of your jeans.You only owned two outfits.A black dress with spaghetti straps or a white grass stained sundress.You silently fumed as you pulled the dress on.You owned exactly one pair of shoes these days and they were a pair of black flats, not made for trekking through the forest. You decided to take a pair of socks and Negan’s red kerchief from his night stand.The long tube socks you used to stifle the bleeding of your wound.You tied the kerchief around your wrist. As you left your bedroom behind, you quickly began assessing the damage.You found the parlor doors were wide open. Sherri was long gone, but Tanya and Frankie seemed to be waiting around for...something.

“He isn’t coming.” The statement left your mouth reluctantly.

You knew deep inside that he would come back, eventually. However, seeing the girls fall apart spurred you to action. “We have to go.”

“We can’t leave! We won’t make it!” Tanya cried, her eyes frantic.

“We will! We can!” They looked unconvinced.

“I’ve led a group before.” You sighed exasperated with their dithering.

Frankie’s eyes darted from the room you had just left to the parlor doors.

They’ll probably drag us out of here if we stay.” She said slowly to Tanya, “and who knows what else they’ll do to us.” She swallowed nervously.

“She’s right.” You told Tanya.”We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with here and we shouldn’t stick around to find out.”

Tanya nodded slowly accepting the dire straits you were in.Trying to ignore the fear and anxiety she was radiating, you lead them to the doors.The empty hallway was not at all inviting, but you had no choice except to slip quietly into it.Frankie and Tanya followed.There was shouting and shooting in the distance.The further you walked the closer the noises sounded.You peaked around the first corner.

An arrow whizzed toward you.You ducked back behind the wall, your breathing sharp and quick with shock.You stayed as still as possible, waiting for another arrow to come, but none did. Instead there were heavy angry footsteps.The face of a man appeared, haggard sweaty and holding a cross bow in front of him.Tanya and Frankie yelped holding each other tight.

“Weapons?” He demanded.

“W-we don’t have any.” Frankie stuttered.

“Bullshit!” He barked and demanded you put your hands up.

You complied, more for the good of the wives than for your own.Stout fingers and a large palm invasively explored any place you might be hiding a gun or knife.

“Get on the ground.”He commanded and moved on to check Frankie, then Tanya.

“Who are you?” He asked suspiciously.

“We’re...wives” Tanya sniffed between sobs.“Negan’s wives.”

He grunted more to himself than to you.Static crackled from the walkie on his belt.

“Darryl, You find anything?”

“I found the wives,”He sounded disappointed. “They’re unarmed."

“Go ahead and bring ‘em with you.”A deep voice intoned.

“Sure.”Darryl replied.

“Anyone else back there?” He nodded toward the direction you came from.

“No.” You stated evenly.

“Get up.” He grabbed onto Frankie’s arm and pushed her ahead of him.

“Ladies first.” He mocked, making you go back the way you came.

Daryl stopped at every room.Checked every space a person could possibly hide.When you got back to the parlor, he tore the place apart looking for any one hidden. He found no one. He checked the other rooms found them empty and called to someone on the walkie.

“All clear.” He informed him.

“Good.Meet us on the first floor.”

[christopherjwinter]

When a mind builds an expectation for an event, it struggles to realign its thoughts once reality proves those expectations incorrect.  The more anticipated and longed for the event, often the more a mind may struggle with what feels like a profound wrongness of a situation.  Such what my state when I finally made my way to Old Jack's cottage.  Over the previous two months, I had essentially been held captive by my orphanage and the religious devotions of the church of Asmodeus.  I dreamed of spending time with Jack once more.  Of the simple joys that came from the hard labor of chopping wood, only to hear him spend hours telling me stories of the Lantern King while we shared a hearty supper.  I fantasized of seeing his deeply lined face and the pleased grin that was offered as soon as I came bounding through the Chitterwood and offered a welcome.  And though I knew it was impossible, I privately wished there would be a day when Old Jack gave a heavy sigh and asked me if I wanted to stay there with him.  That he didn't want me to return to The Home for Lost Children.  That he would take me in to look after as his own.  I wanted that so badly, but I never dared to say this desire out loud least I risk any possibility it might come true.

It was an overcast sky, threatening to rain with distant rumbles that crept overhead when I made my slow passage and came to that familiar ramshackle building.  Back aching from the still healing scars, I didn't care if I did a lick of work and in return earned no coin.  I just wanted to see Old Jack again.  I went to the front door and raised my hand to knock on the wooden frame.  There was no response.  I waited patiently, as I knew how advanced in years my friend had grown, and he sometimes rose from his chair with difficulty.  When there wasn't even a sound to be heard save from the noises of the birds and bugs of the woods, I called out.  "Hello, Jack!"  I listened, and heard nothing.  "It's Puck!"  I was greeted only with another long, drawn out silence.

Moving around his property, I wondered perhaps in my two months of absence if he'd been forced to attend to the more physical chores on his own.  That he was simply nearby and winded.  Stepping about and brushing the dark hair of my bangs out of my eyes, it did seem that some things had changed.  His weathered axe that I often used to chop wood was absent from the old stump, the dinged wheel barrel with the broken handle I was sometimes sent with to gather supplies in town was absent.  I found these details curious, but continued hunting for signs of Old Jack.  Coming to the rear door of his home, I knocked again ... and the door opened to the pressure of my hand.  It had been left open.  I didn't often enter my friend's home without his accompanying me, so my feet were locked in place while I made one final call.  "Old Jack?  Are you there?"  Again, nothing.  I reached my hand out, and pushed the door open further.

I was met with a troubling vacancy.  Old Jack had learned to live simply, so I'd noticed on the few times he brought me inside that his home was sparse save for the cluttered belongings he kept in the basement.  Except, looking into his home now, there was nothing save bare walls.  No rocking chair, no broom in the corner, even the old stove was absent with simply a narrow hole in the roof.  I stepped inside, and began to inspect further with the anxious feeling of treading through a crypt.  Nothing.  Moving to the small private room that I had never been invited to where I knew Jack slept, and all I found was an empty space.  My mind slipped away from accepting what I was seeing, even as the first tattering taps of rain fell on the rooftop.  It lasted for only a handful of seconds, then ceased.  Still, I wasn't finished.  I pulled up the latch that led to Jack's cellar, and started carefully down the crooked stone steps.

The times I'd been sent down here before, I had always wondered at the vast meandering collections that Old Jack had accumulated over the years.  It seemed he had a habit of hording every little thing that wasn't tied down, and his basement was little more than piles of oddments with a winding path between them.  A chill went through my spine as I saw for the first time the whole of the area without a single belonging.  It felt somehow smaller than I remembered it this way, the caked dirt walls and the wooden floorboards above having shrunk in response to its lessened need.  My arms clutched about myself, and before I was prepared, I felt moisture well in my eyes.

Had Old Jack left?  Had he moved, in the time I was forced to remain part of that congregation?  No.  No, that wasn't something he could have managed on his own.  Besides, that's the sort of action he would have certainly had to planned on.  Even if it was an emergency, I knew he would have left me a note.  Among the many other lessons I'd learned under Jack, he'd made sure I knew well enough how to read without stumbling and tripping over each word.  Still, I darted back up the stairs and let my eyes race over the empty surfaces in hopes of finding a message.  A single hint or sign.  Still, there was an overwhelming presence of nothing.  My heart was pounding so heavily that I was unable to ignore the sound of it against my ears.

Where was he?  Did he leave me?  I found myself reaching to squeeze against my own body again, even while I looked out through one of his shuttered windows.  Still, my inner self wanted to reject what I was finding.  Jack had to be there.  He had to be.  I had been wishing on being with Jack for so long, why wasn't he there?  In my hopes of trying to comprehend it all, a terrible suspicion came to mind.  Had Old Jack actually never been there?

The idea caused my to snap up and my plum colored eyes to shoot wide.  Weirder stories were known to happen.  I was Fey after all, and weren't my folk supposed to be notorious for this nature of trickery?  An idea came to mind, and I started to look about.  There was the patch in his roof that he'd instructed me to take care of in the first few visits I had ever managed, claiming he didn't trust himself to climb up on the rooftop.  Looking outside the back door, I recognized several split logs that I had personally spent hours with blistering hands chopping.  No, Jack had been here.  It all hadn't only been some sort of phantasm.

My mind was dizzy, so I settled down onto the splintered floorboards and tried to think.  After several more minutes, the rain returned.  Hard this time, a pounding of drops on the roof that rose a clatter which made me cringe in response to.  I worked at the problem of where Jack had gone off to, and a tiny voice in my head spoke a sad truth.  Old Jack was, by his very moniker, old.  Well matured even before we crossed paths, and I had been coming around for years.  I had been doing so very much for him, because he simply found so many tasks too challenging.  Had Jack passed in the two months I was gone?  He spoke of family who rarely visited, though we'd never crossed paths.  Had they come out to Old Jack's cottage, and salvaged all of his belongings?

The worry that Jack was dead filled me with a sharp pain, and the tears that had been threatening to spill came out in a torrent.  My chest hurt with the sobs that claimed me, ugly and untamed in the way only the worst losses can affect a body.  Jack was gone.  I would never seen him again.  I had so little, this single void nearly ruined me.  After the first wave of crashing rain, the storm had settled into a lingering drizzle all around me.  I denied the deprivation of Old Jack from my life, but the truth was too loud to be refuted.  He was gone, and he would never come back.  My insides churned and clutched.  A pressure pushed against my heart.

After about an hour, I decided that no good would be gained by remaining.  Though my feet had grown numb from how I sat, I pushed myself to standing and shuffled back through the door.  Closing it proper as I exited, unlike how I left it.  In a stupor, I move through the trickle of rain back towards Gillamoor as I wondered at the new shape of my life.

I don't even recall the distance traveled.  All I knew was that the next moment the rain was easing to the verge of not falling at all, and I was in site of the Gillamoor Home for Lost Children.  There was the aged stone wall that I'd helped construct forty years prior, now starting to spill apart where other sections were consumed by moss.  I looked over at the small horse stall us children had built just a dozen years ago, when Norwell's predecessor had needed one built for the horse he'd acquired.  Seven years after that, he'd been bucked out of the saddle to split his skull, and the new Herrod had taken over in his place.  I felt the weight of time weighing on my shoulders.  I wasn't young, and I wasn't old.  I was this singular individual removed from the spinning of the seasons, creeping through the years with the pace matched only by the trees.

Norwell was primping himself in the reflection of a glass window when I stepped inside, before generously offering one of his many well manicured scowls in my direction.  I knew how pathetic I looked, some half starved orphan soaked and with a hole in his life too big to ever fill.  I didn't even say a curse under my breath before I turned and went off to the shared sleeping hall.  There was nothing to me anymore.  I was a shade, a counterfeit version of Puck that would wilt away once brought out into the sun.  I was soul sore.  Unsure of what else to do, I curled up on my cot and closed my eyes.  Though the sun was still overhead behind the blanket of clouds, I slept almost immediately.

Lìse woke me with a hand running through my hair.  I roused with the awareness that she'd been saying my name several times.  "Puck?  He's not well, Tanner.  Puck?"  I opened one eye, and saw relief pass over the deeply freckled face of Lìse.  "Sweet merciful heavens, Puck, you had me worried."

In my pain, I lashed out.  "Piss off."  I emphasized this with a narrowing of my gaze, before rolling over to face the opposite way.  I felt a hand come once more into my hair, and I yelped as it instead of offering gentle strokes had came to clutch at its length and give a sharp tug.  I began to turn back around with my mouth open in complaint, only to be met with the fiercer eyes of Lìse Ó Broin.

"Puck, you arse, I can see something’s wrong.  But just 'cause you're hurt doesn't make it right to hurt those caring after you."  This little girl spoke with the confidence of a goddess, and her compassion for me was not tempered in the least by my breach of proper behavior.  Still, I was suffering from what felt to be a mortal wound of the heart, and I glared at her in return for a long stillness.  One of our other orphans who hadn't been chosen by the Hell Knights, Tanner, took a step away as though he might be injured in this battle of wills and rubbed his nose against the sleeve of his shirt.

Finally, I dropped my eyes and spoke under my breath.  "I'm sorry, Lìse."

"There," she said imperiously.  "That's better.  Thank you.  Now, tell me what's wrong."  Without being asked, the rusty haired girl started to push me up so that she might sit on my cot with me.  Tanner, seeing there would be no further metaphorical knives drawn, crept back closer and plopped onto the floor besides Lìse.  He almost never spoke, and followed her around with his owlishly wide eyes like a pet.  I looked at Tanner, and even though he often retreated from the slightest touch, he reached up his tiny child's hand and gave me a pair of pats on my knee.  I looked at proud Lìse's expression, easing as it was clear I had accepted my fate and would confide in them.

It all spilled out.  My history with Old Jack, how I had kept him secret from the rest of The Home.  I expressed sincerely how guilty I had felt in keeping him a secret, especially to Lìse.  There was no judgment in her face, only understanding.  I was surprised that while sharing my experiences with Jack hurt like rubbing at a skinned elbow, it did not bring me to tears as it had.  I wanted others to know of him.  Of how wonderful he was.  How Jack was the source of all those stories of the Lantern King that I sometimes shared with the other orphans.  That when I came back to The Home, it was from his campfire that I brought extra food to share with Lìse.  I didn't share each experience I had with that wonderful elder, but enough.  They could see how much I cared for him.

They absorbed my story in quiet as some of the other children started to return from whatever efforts they had spent trying to find a copper to pay for our stay.  Our lips were sealed shut, each of us looking into one another's eyes.  Then Tanner rose up to his feet, and leaning over the lip of the cot gave me an awkward hug.  The simple act of sweetness from a boy half Lìse's age had a choke rise to my throat, but he let me go before I did something awkward.  Then he was walking off to his own bedding, leaving Lìse and myself alone.  Another long silence was shared between us, and from the crease between her brows, it was clear that she had a thought to share.

I didn't know it, but this moment was a pivot on which the entire course of my life would change.  The theory that Lìse was prepared to share with me would forever alter me as a person, and give me a suspicion to wonder at through the remainder of my years.  It was only after she bit at the corner of her lip at a section of dry skin that a question was risked.  "Puck ... I'm thinking about something."  A hand reached up to tug at a curl of hair, hoping to conceal the fold of her ear.  Lìse took a deep breath, and continued to speak in a soft voice that left the conversation to be shared only between the two of us.  "it's ... it's wild and fantastic, but it also makes sense to me.  Only, you would know better than I."

Lìse put a hand on my shoulder, and leaned close enough that I could feel her breath against my cheek.  When she spoke, she both whispered and said her concept loudly enough that I didn't mistake a word.  I shot her a look of such surprise as the implications rebounded inside my skull, I don't doubt that I looked the idiot.

"Puck ... what if Old Jack was the Lantern King?"

[sugarcookiesandsins]

Charmed [Episode 5]

➰ ot7 x reader, poly!bts x reader, mafia!bts ➰ they wouldn’t notice her until she was standing above them, a smoking gun in her hand a bullet in their heart 🌡 M   🛑  just y/n being a gutsy mf, mentions of death and suicide, dark humor 🕛  4.1k+

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The next month passed relatively calmly as you integrate yourself into the lives of 7 boys who wanted nothing to do with you. You seemed to clash with them on every topic, and you wondered if you would ever be able to live here without having to test the meal for any extra additives.

True, they couldn’t harm you, but there was a lot that could be done to a person without having them die as a result. The most you were fearful of was a kind of truth serum that you knew the boys had. In truth, you were sure that you weren’t supposed to find out about it until after they had successfully managed to use it on you but fate works in mysterious ways and you stumbled upon Jin making it in their sterile kitchen, isolating the benzodiazepines from bottles of Versed. It was their own blend, incorporating higher concentrations of midazolam than the legal dose.

You had never seen it in action, but you were also not willing to call their bluff so you remained on edge, watching everything you ate and touched that could have been handled by your worst enemies. It was an odd kind of life in that high-rise penthouse; isolated, yet not? 

You had once thought that nothing could beat escaping the depression of your one-bedroom studio, but among the richest of the rich you could only feel more clearly the ice of the tile seeping into your bones. It was jarring and made your skin crawl with the lifeless feeling that the place gave you. It made you wonder if the high life was worth it to you. You were happier in that run-down noodle house with the cranky mother figure who glared at you every time you sat down at her counter. Still, she never meant it and served you your favorite without having to ask.

It seemed odd that the both of you had a connection, despite the limited conversation that passed between the two of you, there was a subliminal communication that was always accompanied by the spiced scent of bone broth.

It seemed however that whoever controlled the boys thought that the eight of you had had enough bonding time and it was time that they used you for their own dirty means. Namjoon got a call ordering all of you to BigHit headquarters promptly at lunch time. It made you roll your eyes at how particular Namjoon was about being on time.

You couldn’t help but snicker at little minnows trying to act like the sharks of the ocean. Everyone who had looked into BigHit knew that the company had undergone a coup almost 10 years ago, resulting in the death of many of the party line type members who wanted to continue the orthodox ways of the mafia.

Included in the death count were the boys fathers, but it seemed they agreed and followed the new orders down to the fine print. Betrayal by the younger generations should be expected, expecially if the older fellows refused to adapt to a modernizing international spectrum.

Walking through the front doors of the building, you worked hard to maintain the neutral expression on your face. It seemed the hatred you had for this place ached to be let out, but with the seven guard dogs surrounding you, the need was strong for placidity.

Even the silver letters that spelled out ‘Law Office’, made you shiver in frustration. That’s where your father built his life and where his workers abandoned him to get gunned down in cold blood.

[MYG]

He knew this place, intimately.

It wasn’t hard not to notice the small shiver that ran through Eli as he stood beside me. We had been walking through some of the employee’s offices when he seemed to pull into his body, hiding.

This coming from the same man who had stared 6 gun barrels and could only think about getting a drink meant something. This place meant something to Eli; I knew there was more to him than meets the eye. I know that BigHit can be intimidating, but Eli was brave to the point of being stupid and yet somehow had survived this long with the kind of detached happiness that pissed off people without trying.

It was a rare combination, but he worked with it…or it worked him somehow. By the time we had gotten to the stairs, he had returned to his old self; eyes wide with curiosity as he took in the office.

It was fake. They were all fake, but then again aren’t we all.

They continued in relative silence, save for the quiet greetings that passed between the boys and their connections within the company. Pretty soon the proverbial warning bells rang as the doors closed behind you, and you stared down the head of the BigHit mafia. Clad in his expensive tailored suit and looking way too smug behind the large glass desk, your fingers twitched to grab your semi and put a bullet between his slimy eyes.

“Welcome Eli.” The smile that broke over his face looked unnatural and you hated it. “It seems my boys have finally caught you.”

The air seemed to crackle at his words and this interaction gave you more than enough information. It seems that his boys don’t like to acknowledge failures, though that was already evident from Jungkook’s obsession with perfection. But neither were you the type to admit to something that never happened.

“They didn’t catch me. I turned myself in.” You avoided any use of honorifics or even of using his name so you would have to implement those. No one in BigHit deserved your respect as far as you were concerned. “I was getting bored of seeing them suffer and decided to be benevolent.” Casting a side glance at the men in the room, whose spines had gone stiff, you couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.

“Have they told you why?” You saw the man’s eye twitch and you couldn’t help but entertain the thought of how far you could annoy him before he reached his limit. Everyone has a breaking point after all.

“No they haven’t, but I’m sure you’re going to.” You knew exactly what he wanted out of you. But you played dumb like you always did.

“First of all, I want to welcome you to the ranks of BigHit.”

“First of all, I would like to reject that welcome as nowhere have I agreed to join BigHit.”

It was an outright refusal, but nothing less would do. The only way to leave was to die, and you really weren’t in the mood to fake your own death.

“Loyalty to BigHit would give you a lot of name in the circles.” He tried to coax you, promising higher pay and more stability; very contradictory for a mafia but then again before the incident you and your parents were very happy. The elephant in the room became part of the family having a seat at family dinners.

“I’m not the loyal kind.” Those words could be taken in one of two ways. A declaration of Eli’s independence from BigHit, which would be the safer option, or a threat that if Eli did join BigHit, that he would have no issue betraying them for his own gain. This would not sit well with anyone who ran a business as secretive as BigHit did.

The tension in the room rose to new suffocating heights. But Yoongi only saw Eli, with that aloof smile on his face; the eye of the storm and a bastion of peace. He looked happy to be the root of the tension, and on some base level, Yoongi understood that he loved causing trouble. That was his element and his strength.

Letting the words linger for a bit, you let out a laugh to dissipate the mood. “Why so dark faced,” Eli giggled. “I only mean that it wouldn’t be good strategy to tie myself down to a single company.”

The rest of them only stared. Here was a man who looked down the barrels of six guns simultaneously and only thought of his thirst. He just made a jab at the most revered mafia boss in Seoul and was now laughing it off like he was with old friends. For a moment, Namjoon didn’t know whether to fear or respect the blonde male.

“Besides,” Eli still wasn’t done with his dueling of words,” I don’t even know how good your boys are.” One side of his mouth fitted perfectly into the seams of a half-smile, haughty, arrogant and nothing less than a taunt.

The boys that flanked you on either side understood that this was your war to win with their boss and intruding would be the worst decision one could possibly make, so they kept their mouth shut. Still, their fists clenched as they silently swore to make you eat your words one day. You would see that they were not ones to be belittled.

“I’m sure my boys will show you that their previous failures are not the status quo.” He smiled, not forgetting to emphasize the possessive implications of his words.

“Now, despite your refusal to swear fealty to BigHit, we would like to hire you to help our boys with a job. The pay will be generous if you succeed, but if not I’m sure none of them would mind putting a bullet in your head for me.”

You laughed along,” They were all too willing to do it last week, so no. I’m sure they won’t mind. Then again, who says I won’t thank them for doing it.”

It was a shallow threat, but they didn’t have to know that. For now, you left the boss with the layout of the building and a vague sense of you being a suicidal motherfucker. Those were the worst, because the concept of risk did not exist to those all too willing to let death take them.

Moving forward, you made your most bold move yet. Pulling out the chair that stood on the opposite side of the desk, you took the liberty in sitting down. Psychologically speaking, you were trying to reduce his control of the space. With the room being his office, you understood that he felt some possessiveness of the room and expected complete control of the people who were in it. Taking a seat without his invitation and without asking permission was in direct conflict of his control.

“So, now that I am considering agreeing with you, who or what do you want me to steal?” Calm and collected, you propped your elbows on the desk and leaned forward, staring straight to his dark, beady eyes.

With a deep breath, he reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a folder. It was a plain manila folder with papers seemingly stuffed haphazardly into it. They seemed to be from various sources.

“The target is a hard drive that the government owns containing all the evidence they have regarding BigHit’s illegal activities.” His teeth gritted slightly as he spat the words out. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out exactly how much that fact displeased him.

The real question was why he would want to steal it. Considering the organization is still running and angry protestors, the government hadn’t released the information so what was the point in having – and then it hit you.

“They’re blackmailing you! Oh, that’s adorable!” Leaning back in the upholstered chair you cackled at the idea of the playground politics going on around you. The corners of your eyes crinkled in the most childish way but the glint cut through the boys like steel. They hadn’t learned much about you in these last few days that you had stayed with them, but what they did come to understand is that you prescribed to your own definition of the world in a way that was admirable.

The grimace that came over the boss’s face was forced. In the depths of his eyes, you could see that you had struck a nerve with him. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to show any remorse. True, he was not the exact man that had doomed your family, but considering his position, he had tom have been around for it and that still blacklists him in your book.

“So where is this supposed hard drive, or do I have to do all that for you as well,” you questioned him. From the chair, you watched as he got up and retrieved a manila folder from a file cabinet.

It was stuffed with multiple documents from various sources, some pages were torn and yellowing at the edges. Others were crisp and white, but each was carefully tucked away into the folder.

With reluctance, he handed the folder to you. In a way you expected more attitude from him, but that only proved to you how much BigHit needed you to help them. If these guys were willing to tuck their tails between their legs then this must be serious indeed.

Still, they deserved no sympathy from you; none of the men in this room deserved any empathy from you for that matter.

He waited as you gingerly opened the folder and quickly scanned through the documents in front of you to get an idea of what you were going to be dealing with. 

[PJM]

The room was quiet as Eli breezed through the haphazard scraps of paper before him, blue eyes shifting from left to right as he took in the information that the papers would have to offer. For a moment, I wondered what was going on in his head as he put together an image of the task in his head.

As much as I hated to admit it, I would have no choice but to listen to the head of blonde curls in the future. I may be able to obtain the equipment and set it up, but Eli would have the plan that would, hopefully, keep them all alive.

In the last few weeks, I had kept my distance from him, or as Jin hyung liked to call it, denial of the interloper that had made himself at home with is. This had also given him a chance to observe Eli from afar. The boy, for that was really what he was, had been boiled down to just being stupidly lucky, and knowing it. He courted death like an old friend, expecially with the workout stunt he pulled. Sure, the task itself wasn’t that hard when taking into the account the gap between the two opposite walls, but that wasn’t even taking into account the mental acuity it would take to come up with something like that on the fly.

I looked up at the quiet sigh that left Eli. He smiled softly, as if the papers were an old friend.

“It’s impossible.” 

What he was sending the boys on, was a proverbial suicide mission.

“What?” The man behind the desk paled for a moment, and you could almost see the sweat starting to grow around his hair line.

Holding back a growl, you tried to enunciate every single syllable to make it easier for him.

“It is im-poss-i-ble.” You focused your stare on him, refusing to back down. “These boys may be willing to put their lives on the line for you, but I’m not going to.”

“You have no choice,” the man spit out through gritted teeth. His fists clenched against the wood of the desk. “You either help us or you die.”

“And who’s gonna kill me? You? With the gun in your top-left drawer? Or one of the boys behind me? Who I’m gonna be keeping alive in this death trap,” you spoke, shaking the folder for further emphasis. Despite wanting to continue to push your acting skills, you let it be for now. “Still, I’ve taken a liking to them, so I’ll do it.” Getting up, you turned your back and started walking out, ending the conversation on your terms. 

[KNJ]

“He’s taken a liking to us? Since fucking when,” Jin whispered to me as we walk out of the office. It wasn’t commonplace for hyung to curse, but there was really no better way to express it. Since we had first met him, one of us had been at his throat constantly. Heck, Jungkook tried to shoot him that first night and damn near made him fall 50 stories that first morning.  

But he lied.

Looking up ahead, I watched Eli as he lead our little pack with his head buried in the back in the folder as he took a more careful look at all the information in there Behind him, Jimin kept a watchful eye on Eli as he moved on auto-pilot through the building. Then again, that is the wonder of a thief’s brain. Memorization and quick thinking tend to come easier to them.

I followed the boys into the car, waiting for someone, mostly Eli, to break the silence. He brought back that sad smile that he had on in the office before.

I shrugged out an answer for Jin as we got to the receptionist and the front door, “Who knows? For now, we just do what we do best. Play along and take precautions.” 

“I pity you all sometimes.” His voice was quiet and pensive, fingers still moving as they flipped through the pages on his lap.

“We don’t want your pity, so stop.” Jungkook’s voice was low and forceful. It made sense, he was a warrior and pity was weakness.

“You still haven’t learned, have you? I make my own decisions.” Eli’s voice never wavered in spite of the glare that Jungkook was shooting at him. “Anyways, I wasn’t lying when I said that he was sending you on a suicide mission. This is going to take a lot of training and coordination between the lot of us, so if you want to stay alive Kookie, I suggest you and Jimin start listening to me instead of fighting.”

Eli’s voice never wavered once, nor did his eyes leave the papers spread out on his lap. Despite this, the boys could see the way his eye trembled. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t seeing them. He was seeing the layout of the building and the way the operation would carry out.

The ride after that was silent, save for Eli asking for a pen from one of the boys as he jotted down notes on the manila folder. The chicken scratch was in shorthand, so none of the boys could read it, and they tried.

“Is that even English,” Taehyung questioned as he looked on over one of Eli’s shoulders.

“A variation of it yes,” Eli chuckled, and for the first time tore his eyes away from the documents. “Though I doubt you’re understand it.”

The other boys were silent as they watched the interaction between the two. Eli had always been slightly on edge around the boys, but for a bright and shining moment as he laughed, he relaxed.

Taehyung looked back into Eli’s eyes, bright and blue and clear, and smiled. It was the same smile he used on girls in the club, wide and white and big. “Teach me?”

“I can’t.”

Taehyung felt the world around him crack.

“It’s converse. Only thieves know it and none of you are thieves.”

The world cracked a little more. “I am a thief for your information. I have stolen more wallets and phone then years you’ve been alive.”

“What you are is a pickpocket. There is more art to being a con than that,” Eli mused as he gave off a melancholy sort of smile. “Material theft is nice an all, but there are far more interesting targets on a person; their thoughts, ideas, dreams.” A pregnant pause as all the boys listened despite their best efforts. “Their love.”

The seriousness with which he had thrown out that last item threw them all for a loop. Silence reigned as they all focused on the implication of his words. They didn’t have any time to respond as the car slower to a stop in front of their high-rise home.

Stepping out first, Eli did not hesitate in trudging ahead, through the doors and towards the elevators. Following him, with a more subdued pace were the boys, their conscious still turning over the words they had heard whilst on the road.

It raised more questions than it answered for them, yet that seemed to be the trend with Eli. Just when you thought you had figured him out, then he throws you for another loop or leads you by the hand down another rabbit hole of new mysteries. Infuriating as it was, somewhere deep down, the boys knew that they couldn’t blame him.

He only did what all good survivors of their dark world did; protect himself from others. If no one knows you, then they can’t hurt you. It was a hard lesson for some to learn, and those sods that didn’t, learned to face the consequences real quick.

The boys had seen more than their fair share of failures in their lifetimes, both their own and the shortcomings of others. They saw what was left of them when reality stripped them of their soul; it wasn’t a pretty sight to say the least.

The rest of the short walk to their front door was silent, each boy still having Eli’s words careening wildly through their heads. Eli immediately disappeared into his room, still scribbling his shorthand on the folder as he studied the notes in the folder.

The next morning, no one went for training or for a run. Eli hadn’t even come down for dinner the night before, choosing instead to lock himself in his room. He only deigned it important to appear for breakfast, dark circles just slightly more evident and ink blotches marring the baby soft skin of his hands.

He maintained a strict silence, maybe it was due to the stack of food, or it could be attributed to the cogs in his head that were still turning.

After mostly working his way through his plate, he took a sip of water and cleared his throat. From a silent breakfast, the others in the room turned to face him.

“It’s going to be rough, but it’s possible.” Setting down the silverware, Eli rubbed at his temples with his palms, continuing to speak into the silence with a slight muffle. “A shit ton of work, cooperation, and trust.”

“Trust,” Jimin nearly spat out. “You expect us to trust you?” Within his voice you heard all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t, but first and foremost, how could the boys trust you when that their entire lives centered around distrust.

All of them, especially Jimin, were wronged by the world until they learned to play their cards close to their chest and treat everyone as an enemy until they were proven a friend. This was the cruel reality when growing up as child of crime, expecially when being trained to reign over it.

Namjoon watched silently the showdown between you and Jimin. The tension between the two of you poignant enough to catch the attention of the others who may have otherwise been preoccupied with their breakfast.

He only sipped on his coffee silently as he contemplated what it would be like to function with you as part of his group. Being the defacto leader meant that he had the responsibility of understanding the dynamics of the others and the risks of introducing anew member. From the get-go, their bond was impregnable, having grown up together and suffered through their lowest together.

“Yes I do.” Eli’s voice was hard and left no room for argument. “Because if we don’t then we’re all going to die.” The words somehow seemed colder coming from the man that they all found to have the sunniest disposition, even when facing the leader of the local underworld.

“Let’s get to work then.” Yoongi was the last person who you expected to stand up for you, but then again it also made sense. He was the investigative genius of the group, but he also seemed to have the most sense of self-preservation among the boys. Did he want to work with Eli? No. But did he need to? Yes, so why bother wasting time.

Eli only nods in response and makes his way briefly back to his room to grab some papers before joining the others who had migrated into the living room. Spreading the papers on the coffee table, you begin to explain the death trap BigHit had assigned you all to rob.

[carewyncromwell]

Hey guys! Meet Future!Carewyn Cromwell’s “son” -- Erik Apollo! I was telling ma cherie @dat-silvers-girl​ about this boy, and she asked if I planned on drawing him at some point, so...yeah! Here he is!

His fancast is Lucas Lynggaard Tønnesen as a teenager/adult, though I also used Ryan Buggle as reference while drawing him as a boy. And of course as a teenager, he’s got longer curls, because yeah. I’m so predictable, all of my kids have long hair and/or ponytails at some point. XDDD

Erik’s full backstory is under the cut, but basically he’s a Muggle-born orphan who was rounded up by the Ministry of Magic during the Second Wizarding War and rescued by Carewyn, Jacob, and several other members of the Order of the Phoenix. After the War, Carewyn fostered Erik out of her own flat since he didn’t have a home to return to, and she singlehandedly supported him financially. Following Erik’s wishes, Carewyn has never formally adopted him or given him her name, but she is his legal guardian and Erik loves and respects her as if she were his mother. He almost always refers to her just as “Ms. Cromwell”, while referring to Lane as “Ms. Lane” and Jacob as...well, either “you,” “Jake,” or “Jacob” just to jibe him. XDD

But yes! Erik is a young wizard, born to a Muggle banker and his wife. When Erik was seven, his father was killed in a bank robbery gone wrong, and Erik took on a lot of extra responsibilities around the house to help support his mother, who was so overcome with grief that she turned to drinking heavily.

Things went from bad to worse, however, when the Ministry of Magic fell to the Death Eaters in 1997. All Muggle-born witches and wizards who were set to start Hogwarts that upcoming school year were rounded up by the Ministry so that they could be tried for supposedly “stealing” magic -- and Erik was no exception.

A group of Death Eater Ministry employees knocked on the Apollo family’s door and immediately grabbed Erik, preparing to take him away. In desperation, Erik’s mother attacked the wizard who had grabbed Erik by spraying him in the face with a bottle of insect repellent. Erik was able to pull free, and his mother screamed at him to run. A second later, she was cut down by a green Killing Curse, and one of the Death Eaters -- Thorfinn Rowle -- lashed a fiery black, rope-like curse that ensnared the eleven-year-old boy around the neck like an animal and yanked him backward so that the wizards could capture him again. The curse left a series of horrible bloody red burn scars around Erik’s neck, which never heal.

Erik was dragged into the courtroom of Dolores Umbridge, head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, and railroaded for supposedly “stealing” magic from real witches and wizards, even if the poor boy -- being born to two Muggle parents -- had no idea what was going on or what she was talking about. Despite his terror and confusion, however, Erik was determined not to let the people who had killed his mother see him cower, so he put on the bravest, strongest, proudest face he could, even going so far as to insult Umbridge to her face at one point.

“Don’t talk about my mother like that, you fat old toad!”

“You -- how dare you -- !”

“Say anything else about her and I’ll call you much worse, you -- you foul, ugly, old bint!”

Carewyn Cromwell, who witnessed the tail end of Erik’s trial, was struck by the boy’s courage, considering he was surrounded by about fifty dementors and visibly trembling. As Erik was led away, Carewyn followed covertly behind. As she had several times previously and would do several more times over, the young attorney was able to sneak several prisoners out while they awaited transport to Azkaban, including Erik. Tossing an Invisibility Cloak over the tiny boy, she hurried him to her office and magically shrank him and her other rescued prisoners so they could all fit in her white purse. After work she was then able to smuggle them out to her brother Jacob, who in turn escorted the four prisoners to several safe houses operated by other guards of the Order of the Phoenix. Erik stayed in hiding in one of those houses for the remainder of the War, and it was there that he learned more about the Wizarding World and about the magic he possessed.

After the War, Erik was one of many ex-prisoners awaiting proper compensation for the abuses they suffered at the hands of the Death-Eater-controlled Ministry. Carewyn, who never forgot the tiny boy with the curly blond hair and fiery ice-blue eyes, immediately took it upon herself to handle Erik’s case personally. When she and Erik met again, it was clear that the boy hadn’t forgotten the ginger-haired witch with the red lipstick who had helped him when everyone else wanted him dead. Carewyn represented Erik in court, fighting for proper financial compensation for the wrongful death of his mother and for the Ministry to seek out all remaining property and money in Erik’s parents’ names and place it in a Gringotts trust that Erik could access at age 17. She then filed for legal guardianship of Erik so that he could have a stable place to live and financial support while attending Hogwarts.

Despite his quiet yet blunt demeanor, Erik was deeply moved by Carewyn’s desire to help him, and soon came to see her like a second mother. He’s resisted being formally adopted or calling Carewyn his mother because of his enduring love for his biological parents and the still-painful trauma of losing his mother -- but although he, by nature, is a very reclusive, introverted, blunt, and snarky kid, he adores and deeply respects Carewyn and would probably throw hands with anyone who said a sour word about her. Erik also respects Carewyn’s mother Lane, though to a slightly lesser degree given how pacifistic she is. As for Carewyn’s brother Jacob, Erik likes to sass his face off whenever he’s around. Fortunately Jacob enjoys taking the piss out of Erik too, and so the two often end up acting like a pair of bratty, arrogant children when they’re in the same space, constantly talking smack and subconsciously competing for Carewyn’s attention. (When Erik ends up growing taller than Jacob, the playful rivalry only intensifies, because Jacob is like Edward Friggin’ Elric about his height.) Erik is also on good terms with several of Carewyn’s old friends from school, like Chiara (who, depending on how things go with how I write Carewyn in the future, might be Carewyn’s girlfriend or partner), Talbott, and Jae. He generally is still a bit of a snarky brat around them, but he does treat them with respect and is bluntly straight-forward enough that he won’t be too proud to call them friends of his.

On the note of Erik’s appearance, he started off very tiny, but not unlike Ben Copper, he shot up like a beanstalk at school. He also constantly wears turtlenecks and/or high collars to hide his burn scars, which he’s secretly very self-conscious about. Erik first started growing out his hair to help hide his scar better, as it’s more visible from the back: it’s long enough to be tied back in a small ponytail by the time he’s reached fourth year.

For his intense pride, ambition, determination, and dedication to those few people he lets into his inner circle, Erik is Sorted into Slytherin house when he starts at Hogwarts properly in 1998. Although he as a Muggle-born is pretty instantly a black sheep among his housemates, Erik pretty quickly adopts the attitude of “F*** it” and embraces it whole-hog. He’s actually quite proud of being in the same house that Carewyn was. His best subjects are Defense Against the Dark Arts and Divination, while his worst subjects are History of Magic and Care of Magical Creatures. His Boggart is a Dementor, and his Patronus is a Siberian Cat. His other talents include dueling, Healing magic, and playing the trumpet.

[svpernatvralis]

NERISSA MONTEVERDE is a 537 year old cis female fae. people say they have a striking resemblance to fahriye evcen. they work as the owner of royal jelly flowers and are part of the syndicate ( fae right hand ). people say they’re really coquettish, imaginative, & meticulous, but unfortunately also fickle, manipulative, & reticent. why are they in invictus? well, they simply wish to protect their kind. 

hey, hello, hi, bonjour! s’up buttercups? ‘tis i, your friendly neighbourhood loser chrissie and i’m super duper excited to be here among you fab human beings! this is my precious bby nerissa who is honestly quite curt sometimes tbh lmao still, she’s got a good heart deep down and is pretty much what you might say away with the fairies 99.9% of the time hsjakgkjf no pun intended tehe. plot-wise i’m open to literally anything and everything so come at me with any ideas ya got! i’m always diggity down to spit ball ideas and form some dope connections so pls feel free to invade my ims or hmu on le cord and we can brainstorm until our heart’s content! if ya wanna, go ahead and light that lil grey heart up red and i’ll shimmy my butt your way for all of the good stuff. anywho, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we?

fundamentals.

name. nerissa angelique monteverde.

age. 537, but appears around 29.

d.o.b. december 17th.

gender. cisgender female.

pronouns. she / her.

orientation. pansexual.

affiliation. the syndicate.

rank. fae right hand.

job. owner of royal jelly flowers.

connections.

birth mother. enya. †

birth father. caliban. †

step-mother. nyx. †

siblings. unknown.

significant other. n/a.

child/ren. n/a.

pet/s. n/a.

proficiencies.

spoken languages. english, turkish, german, italian, french, spanish, & latin.

negative traits. brusque, calculating, distant, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. dedicated, strong-willed, direct, honest, loyal, patient, reliable, enjoys creating order, & excellent organiser.

weaknesses. inflexible, stubborn, judgemental, uncomfortable with unconventional situations, too focused on social status, finds it difficult to relax, & has difficulty expressing emotion.

appearance.

eye colour. hazel.

hair colour. brown / auburn.

height. five feet, eight inches.

weight. 59 kg.

miscellaneous.

zodiac. sagittarius.

element. fire.

house. slytherin.

meyers briggs type. estj-a.

alignment. true neutral.

enneagram. type one.

temperament. choleric.

intelligence type. interpersonal.

background.

NERISSA ANGELIQUE MONTEVERDE     —     five hundred and thirty-seven, fae, owner of royal jelly flowers, + fae right hand for the syndicate !

possible triggers   :   adultery, infertility, execution, beheading, murder, death.

tl;dr.     alrighty, where do we start with this lil spitfire? she uhhh ... has a lot of issues and is quite distant bc of it. nerissa was the product of an affair between an esteemed fae ( caliban ) and a fire faerie ( enya ). though nerissa never had the chance to meet her birth mother as her step-mother ( nyx ) banished enya shortly after she gave birth. enya’s banishment was a result of the rage nyx held toward her. in part, due to her inability to conceive a child of her own and also due to her anger for her husband’s affair. thus, nerissa grew up under the impression that her biological mother was nyx; neither of her parents divulging the truth behind her parentage. although nerissa was not biologically nyx’s daughter, nyx adored the young fae as if she were her own blood. in truth, nerissa spent more time with her ‘mother’ than with her father. in part, caliban felt the loss of his mistress even though he refused to acknowledge her part in his daughter’s birth. basically, he never had any time for nerissa and excluded her from everything. still, she remained upbeat about it, thinking that one day she'd win his love. she did not. shocker. growing up, life was mostly positive for nerissa. her father’s guards protected her, and his warlock friends aided her with her abilities and taught her the fae ways as well as those of the human beliefs. as the years passed by, nerissa grew stronger and smarter; becoming an adored figure among her fellow fae, yet, in the background, tensions rose between nyx and caliban when their family dynamic became endangered by nyx’s threat of revealing the truth behind nerissa’s heritage. in fear of their secret becoming common knowledge ( and most importantly, ariela finding out ), caliban ordered for his wife to be executed for ‘treason.’ of course, nerissa tried to protest this due to her love for the woman she believed to be her mother but her attempts to prevent her father’s ruling were futile. days later, nyx was publicly beheaded by one of caliban’s most loyal guards. this act served to place a wedge further between nerissa and her father and as the years ticked by, until his untimely demise which was when nerissa left her home behind. soon after, she joined the syndicate where she now sits as the right hand for the fae. to this day, she remains unaware of her true parentage and continues to struggle with the haunting nightmares of her childhood. so yah, nerissa had a pretty rough childhood but she's bounced back. well, about as much as you'd expect from someone who grew up feeling unwanted and unloved. really, she just always tries her best and is a perfectionist and wants to protect her kind.

random extras.

her signature scent is chanel N°5.

she’s fearless af. throwback to her upbringing, most likely.

she’s all sweet smiles and charming words until her expression turns sharp and deadly. it’s her tactic to entice then pounce, if you will.

she loves to surprise people. most assume she’s a pretty girl but oh, she loves the look of shock on their faces when she unleashes her inner bish.

in a way, her words are like her weaponry.

an angel of vengeance in a pair of designer sunglasses tbh.

owns waaay too many pairs of heels.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

often wears suits and totally rocks them.

when it comes to whether or not she is morally decent or an extremely bad person, she is somewhere in the middle of that spectrum—she isn’t heartless but she isn’t compassionate either.

she’s v ambitious, v morally ambiguous, v self-serving and v self-involved.

she can be pretty deadly if you piss her off enough.

is truly an independent woman who don’t need no man.

loyalty means a lot to her. if you betray her trust, then she’ll freeze you out.

while she’s a major ice queen on the outside, she has the potential to melt with the right people.

may seem like she has a superiority complex and acts as if she’s better than you, but it’s just because she knows her worth and her value.

she knows her strengths and isn’t afraid to assert them.

she’s v confident. not in a cocky way, but she is definitely self-assured in her looks and abilities.

avoids violence when possible.

prefers blackmail and taking advantage of people’s pressure points.

she’s her own biggest fan tbh.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Fics where they pine over each other while the other one is in a relationship? Example: Sherlock pines for John while he's with Mary or someone else. Or John pines for Sherlock while he's with someone else. Preferably with a happy ending!!

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: Do you know of any fics where either John, Sherlock or both of them are in relationships which stops them from getting together? Idk if I’m explaining this well. Kind of like fics where Sherlock is pining for John but they can’t be together bc John’s already with Mary or someone else but there’s still a lot flirting and stuff. Or it could be the opposite where John pines for Sherlock but Sherlock is dating someone else. And ones where there’s a happy ending, and they get together! Thanks!!

Hi Nonnies!

I’m feeling like you’re the same nonny, since these came in around the same time and are worded very similarly, but I’ll assume they’re not and put these together since they’re very similar :) I for sure have fics with these parameters on these lists here:

Pining Sherlock || [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION]

John Marries and Sherlock Admits his Feelings

Mutual Pining

Infidelity

John Chooses Sherlock Over Mary

I have a couple other pining lists I’ve still to post, LOL. But let’s go through my bookmarks and see what I got for you. Some of these are like… really LIGHT on the “relationship as an obstacle” but they’re the catalyst of sorts. I’ve certainly missed a lot, these are just the ones I recall for sure that there was a relationship of sorts before Johnlock LOL. I might have messed up on one or two fics but I hope you don’t hold it against me, LOL

——–

RELATIONSHIPS AN OBSTACLE TO JOHNLOCK

I don’t mind by beltainefaerie (G, 221 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Stag Night, 221B, Post-TRF, Angst, Longing) – Sherlock is more vulnerable than he pretends. Part 4 of Bel’s Tumblr Ficlets

And Then I Fall by sherlockholmes_doctorwatson (G, 973 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Unrequited Love, POV Sherlock, Reichenfeels) – He was right. Falling is just like flying.

The Talons of Sentiment by dearcst (G, 1,463 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV, Angst, Unrequited Love, Pining Sherlock) – I promised myself long ago I wouldn’t succumb to something so degrading, something so vicious. I promised I wouldn’t let myself fall. But that was before him. That was before I met John. In sleep there is such bliss and peace, and as John slept on my shoulder, it killed me inside to know I was so close yet I could never touch him.

In Which John is Attractive and Sherlock is Angry by kim47 (T, 2,382 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Est. Rel., Jealous Sherlock) – Sherlock’s reaction to finding out that everyone wants HIS John, and how he told them to piss off and get their own Watson.

and stand there at the edge of my affection by coloredink (G, 2,683 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Letters, Clueless John) – “You’ve written love letters,” Sherlock asserted.

No Strings Attached by Elster (G, 2,714 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Fairy Tales, Love Confessions, Fae/Faeries) – To save John from being spirited away Under the Hill, Sherlock challenges the fairy queen to a fiddle contest.

Turn the key, and come home by TooManyChoices (M, 2,718 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Angst With a Happy Ending, Emotional Messes, Implied Sex, Angst and Humour, Bed Sharing, Post-TRF) – Sherlock and John have been dancing around what’s between them for years. Will John return to Baker Street, and if so, will things ever be the same?

Let Go by thisisforyou (G, 2,743 w., 1 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious / Worried Sherlock) – In the end, separating John’s things from Sherlock’s in the chaos of their sitting room is like pulling a limpet from a wet rock. Especially when the rock is clinging on for dear life, because Sherlock doesn’t want to let go. Short, fluffy h/c Johnlock oneshot.

It’s After That Hurts by jonnyluvssherlock (T, 2,791 w., 1 Ch. || City of Angels AU || Fantasy, Fallen Angel Sherlock, Soldier John, Pining Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Permanently Incomplete Fic) – Sherlock’s an angel stuck as a guardian to danger addict John Watson. Everything is fine until he gets too involved. Now he has to make the choice, eternity alone or one life time with a man who may or may not love him.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

Until the End of the World by SarahCat1717 (G, 3,049 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, First Kiss, Pining Sherlock, Oblivious John, Drunkenness) – Taking place in Season 3, John listens to an old favourite song and sorts through his memories and feelings about Sherlock and Mary.

MR# 1430155 by blueink3 (T, 3,560 w., 1 Ch. || Talks of Parentlock, Baby Watson, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Fluff and Angst) – John paces the length of the not inconsiderable hallway and glances at his phone for the tenth time since he exited the hospital room seven minutes ago. Sherlock’s last text was sent at 5:06pm. It is now 5:39pm. He should be here by now. After all, his daughter is 46-minutes-old and if John is going to share this momentous event with someone, it sure as hell isn’t going to be the woman who just gave birth to her. Part 5 of Tumblr Prompts

But Tonight You Belong to Me by esplanade (T, 4,296 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff & Angst, Pining, Stag Night, Sad Ending) – “You. It’s always you. John Watson, you keep me right.”

The Prize We Sought Is Won by deathfrisbees (E, 4,610 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Mild D/S, Oral, Military Kink, Bottomlock) – Sherlock’s in love, or in lust, or both–unfortunately, the object of his affections is not only his completely oblivious flatmate, but said flatmate would probably run screaming into the hills should he find out. John’s been invited to a wedding–unfortunately, the groom used to serve under him back in Afghanistan, and requests that John wear a uniform he’s honestly not sure he fits into. Unfortunately for both flatmates, Sherlock’s got a military kink the size of Kandahar and John wants to know if he actually can fit into this uniform or if his eyes are deceiving him. It goes from there.

You Can’t Always Get What You Want by hubblegleeflower (E, 4,804 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Sexual Tension, UST / RST, First Time) – John wants. He always has, but now that he’s living with Sherlock again, it’s all he can do to hold it back. And Sherlock isn’t helping…

No Light, No Light (in your bright blue eyes) by orphan_account (G, 5,915 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Pining, Songfic, Mutual Unrequited Love, Unresolved Tension, UST/URT) – Relates to both Sherlock’s and John’s feelings for each other and highlights select moments of hurt and inner turmoil starting from right before the fall all the way to HLV.

Recovery by thesignsofserbia (T, 5,948 w., 1 Ch. || HLV-Fix It / Rewrite, Villain Mary, Pining Sherlock, Major Character Injury, Scars, Self-Hatred, POV Sherlock, Doctor John, Friends to Lovers) – Set after the confrontation with Mary, and Sherlock’s cardiac arrest, John stays at 221B to aid Sherlock’s recovery, forcing them to confront wounds both old and new as they try to heal their damaged relationship.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It’s a perfectly normal thing to do. If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that’s no one’s business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

The Light of Day by allonsys_girl (M, 7,297 w., 4 Ch. || First Kiss, Angst, TSo3-Fix-It, Possessive Sherlock) – Rewrite of the end of Sign of Three. John actually notices Sherlock leaving the reception early, and chases after him. Angsty Johnlock. Happy ending, for sure. Part 1 of The Light of Day

On the Losing Side by missselene (E, 8,210 w., 1 Ch. || Anal / Oral, First Kiss / Time, Angst, Misunderstandings, Mild Dub Con / Drunk John) – After Mary’s death, John moves back into Baker Street, but is still upset at the loss of his wife and child. Eventually, he and Sherlock stumble into a sort of relationship, but it’s more physical than anything and they don’t talk about it. They especially don’t talk during sex. If they are going to have sex, Sherlock notices the signs hours beforehand, and he prepares carefully. The lights are off, they’re under the covers, he prepares himself using lots of lube so he can make it feel as much like a woman as he can, and he doesn’t let himself make any noise so that, if John wishes, he can pretend that he’s still with Mary.

The Engine by stitchy (T, 8,294 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, ASiP Do-Over, Sci-Fi, Time Travel) – Shortly after the events of His Last Vow, Sherlock has an opportunity to revisit the night of A Study in Pink and get some perspective on the destiny of he and John’s relationship.

Every Night I Look for You by destinationtoast (E, 8,377 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Post-TRF, Angst, Mystery, Unsafe Sex, BAMF John) – Every night, John looks for familiar hints of Sherlock in the men he meets in bars, and he does with them all the things he wishes he’d done before. Eventually, he stumbles into a situation that Sherlock would know how to handle, and John must decide whether he can handle it without him.

Matters of National Security by mistyzeo (E, 8,465 w., 1 Ch. || BAMF John, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Dating, Bisexuality, Arguing, Stupidity, Teasing, First Kiss/Time, Hand Jobs, Frottage, RST, Idiots in Love) – John starts dating a male client of Sherlock’s, and Sherlock can’t figure out why he’s so incensed about it.

To Quote Malcolm Tucker; or, Get The Fuck In or Fuck The Fuck Off by kim47 (T, 8,484 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous Sherlock, Flirting, Cockblocking) – Sherlock is cockblocker and a prick tease and John is not amused.

Never Been This Swept Away by estalita11 (T, 8,531 w, 1 Ch. || Post-TAB, Mary is Not Nice, Drug Use, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Set immediately after TAB, Sherlock visits his brother to definitely not apologize about earlier and ends up finally learning a few things that would have been nice knowing about months ago. Mycroft never wants to deal with lovestruck idiots ever again.

High Tide by stardust_made (T, 8,540 w., 1 Ch. || Jealousy, Angst, First Kiss) – A little favour Sherlock stupidly agrees to do for Mycroft leads to John meeting a handsome, affluent man, who is going out of his way to woo him. Sherlock struggles with the situation and with his own reactions to it. Part 1 of The High Tide Series

Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb (E, 8,737 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Stroppy Sherlock, Love Letters, POV John) – Sherlock asks John for relationship advice. Little does he know that it’s him that Sherlock is in love with.

All the Times Something ALMOST Happened by allonsys_girl (T, 9,049 w., 6 Ch. || POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Angst, Friendship/Love, UST) – John and Sherlock dancing around what they dance around in canon.

How To Give Your Boyfriend Who Doesn’t Know He’s Your Boyfriend the Best Valentine’s Day Ever by unicornpoe (T, 9,832 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Crack, Soft Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock is pretty sure that John Watson is his boyfriend. He’s also pretty sure that John doesn’t know it. But with a little help from a magazine, some friends, three crepes, five dates, one awesome CD, and a stalker van, John is bound to realize just in time for Valentine’s Day.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John’s identity tags around his wrist.

Paparazzi by SilentAuror (E, 10,543 w., 1 Ch. || Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Post S3) – John moves back into 221B Baker Street after his marriage falls apart and the paparazzi won’t leave him and Sherlock alone about the status of their supposed relationship. Sherlock, of course, never denies it, until one day he does…

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w. || UST/RST, For an Experiment) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by “accident”, it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua (M, 12,757 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, POV John, Phone Sex, Texting, Masturbation, Long Distance, Drunk Texting) – What am I doing? he wondered. The answer came back at once: Flirting. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there. He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes.

I’m content as we are (but) by inqui (The_Circus) (E, 13,086 w. || Jealous John, UST/RST, Pining, Victor Trevor, Minor Whump, First Kiss / Time, Misunderstandings) – In which John Watson sees something unusual, becomes jealous, and makes too much of a small thing as an old friend of Sherlock’s shows up in the middle of a case.

Say For Me, Love by MirabileLectu (T, 13,147 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Drama, Pining John, Victor Trevor) – If you had asked John this morning what the result of his quiet afternoon at home would be, discovering a truth about Sherlock’s past startling enough to shift the foundations of their friendship would not have been his first guess. So naturally, that was what was bound to happen.

The Nutcracker by Odamaki (T, 13,758 w., 7 Ch. || Nutcracker AU ||  Christmas, Dark Magic, Dolls) – Sherlock is unimpressed with Uncle Rudy’s present. A doll? What does he want with a doll?

Barricade by stitchy (M, 14,127 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix It, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending, UST, Mary’s Not Nice, First Time, Pining Sherlock, Time Skip Filler, Drunkenness) – Sherlock has been struggling to keep his feelings at bay for everyone’s sake. Part 1 of Barricade

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835 w., 1 Ch. || POV First Person Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Stroppy Sherlock, Light Humour, Friendship, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Wall Kisses, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – Sherlock doesn’t even know why he resents John’s dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don’t let that scare you off!)

Second Chance by SilentAuror (E, 15,816 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Divorce, Friends to Lovers, UST, Romance) – Now that John’s divorce has gone through and the dust is settling, Sherlock thinks that he would very much like to see if there is any possibility of moving their friendship in another direction. The only thing is, he has no idea how to go about doing that…

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John’s preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Software Malfunction by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (E, 16,679 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Android Sherlock, Love Story, Unhappy Ending, Angst, Suicide, Jealousy) – “You think I can’t love you? Just because you’re made with metal, and detailed programming?” The doctor propped himself on his elbow, and looked down at it. “I am nothing but blood and bone, and tissue. Things just managed get mashed together in a manner that made me like this. Just like you were put together to make you how you are. When I kiss you-” he did so, briefly, to prove his point. Then more deeply, and lingering, because he could. “When I touch you, or smile at you, does it make you feel different from when others have done it in the past?”

Best of Three by SilentAuror (E, 17,473 w., 1 Ch || POV John, 3G Moment, Porn with Feels, Post HLV, Rimming, Denial, Anal) – “You want to have sex with me,” Sherlock announces one evening about a year after John’s divorce. John’s vigorous denial sparks a three-day wager wherein Sherlock is determined to prove his point, and John is determined to hold onto his heterosexuality. Set well after HLV. (Canon-compliant). PORN. With feels.

Let’s Make a Bed Out in the Rain by theimprobable1 (M, 17,664 w., 11 Ch.|| Pining Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, First Kiss, Unrequited, Jealous Sherlock, Protective Sherlock) – John is devastated after his long-term girlfriend leaves him. Sherlock helps him through it.

I Think I’ve Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

John Watson doesn’t have a Boyfriend by naughtyspirit (E, 18,932 w., 7 Ch. || UST / URT, Fluff & Smut, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – John’s date has gone very well. Sherlock requires tea. John wishes he hadn’t resolved that their relationship was strictly hands off and isn’t about to address it. Unless he has to. Smut, fluff and shower time for a naked John Watson.

For you, there’s only me by shock_blanket (E, 19,557 w., 7 Ch. || Jealous Idiots, Virgin Sherlock, UST/RST, Pining, Miscommunication, First Kiss / Time, Insecure Sherlock, Masturbation) – Sherlock realizes he has fallen in love with John, but believes he is unlovable. Cue lots of pining and jealousy on Sherlock’s part, followed by our favorite cuddly marksman making it all better. Because for Sherlock, there’s only John.

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w., 1 Ch. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w., 1 Ch. || Slowburn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn’t where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson’s urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He’s charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w., 4 Ch. || Post-TRF, John has a Kid) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

Dear John by wendymarlowe (E, 23,031 w., 64 Ch. || Post-TRF, Online Dating, Pining, Epistolary, Cybersex, Long Distance Romance) – With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.) Part 1 of Dear John

Once Upon a Beast Becoming by antietamfalls (T, 24,042 w., 6 Ch. || Beauty and the Beast AU || Magical Realism, Folklore, Celtic Mythology) – An act of pride, a druid’s curse, an enchanted leaf; Sherlock’s torment has lasted an age. Hope arrives in the form of one John Watson, a man uniquely suited to break the spell. But with a single night to win his affections, Sherlock finds his carefully laid plans disrupted by a monstrous killer whose sights are set on the only thing he has left to lose: John.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they’ve made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

Tomorrow’s Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w., 4 Ch. || S3 Fix It, Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance, Humour, Masturbation, Love Declarations, Bottomlock, Brief Suicidal Ideations) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they’re both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

Dropping the Act by jadztone (T, 27,258 w., 10 Ch. || Parentlock, Fake Relationship, Mary’s Family, Post-S4, Cuddling & Snuggling, Bed Sharing, Pining, Christmas) – Sherlock and John are quite happy living together with Rosie in Baker St. They might be even happier if they didn’t act towards each other like their love is only platonic. Mycroft brings troubling news in the form of Mary’s parents wanting to know just what their grandchild’s home life is like. The boys decide to spend Christmas pretending like they are in love in order to seem more like a “normal” family. It’s easy enough to pretend when all you’re doing is dropping the act.

Don’t Leave Anything Out by lookupkate (E, 27,422 w., 24 Ch. || Letters / Epistolary, Misunderstandings, Angst, Happy Ending, Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock in Love, Pining Sherlock) – The first letter John writes home from Afghanistan is meant to go to a woman he went on only one date with. How it ends up in Sherlock’s hands is completely innocent. What happens next is not. What do you do when you find out the person you’re in love with has been lying about something as monumental as who they are? What do you do when you’re the one who lied?How on earth do you put the pieces back together?

Sherlock Holmes & The Mysterious Ex by Gatergirl79 (M, 27,942 w., 16 Ch. || Family, Romance, Holmes Family) – Sherlock and John are forced to spend Christmas with Sherlock’s family. An unsettling idea especially when John will have to play ‘Boyfriend’ thanks to Mycroft. But why exactly does Sherlock want to avoid a family party?

Another Auld Lang Syne by DiscordantWords (M, 30,234 w., 31 Ch. || Post S4, Mutual Pining, Alternating POV, Introspection, Parentlock, Christmas, New Year’s, First Kiss, Past Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending, Drinking, Sherlock Whump) – There had been years of missed chances.

The Kissing Disease by cottonballz_of_death (E, 30,856 w., 15 Ch. || Sickfic, Angst with Happy Ending, Case Fic, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Jealous Sherlock, Body Image Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional H/C, POV Sherlock, Oral / Anal, Thong, Frottage) – John brings home a boyfriend, shocking Sherlock, who long ago gave up hope that his straight flatmate would ever take a romantic interest in him. In a bid to reconnect with John, he tries to infect himself with a “harmless” virus. Neither of them is prepared for the emotional fallout that results.

Shallow Grave by SilentAuror (E, 31,672 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, HLV Fix It, Infidelity, Pining Sherlock, First Person POV Sherlock) – Starts as Sherlock’s plane is taking off at the end of His Last Vow. When he finds out that Moriarty is alive and that he’s being recalled from his mission, Sherlock decides that he should have told John how he felt before he left. So he walks off the plane and kisses him.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It’s a lot less cracky than you’re probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,690 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

That Partitioning of the Things of Youth by wearitcounts (E, 35,353 w., 7 Ch. || Humour and Angst, Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, UST / RST, Friends to Lovers, Jealous John) – Victor Trevor is in town, and nobody’s happy.

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w., 20 Ch. || Alternating POV, MollyxJohn [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon…or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn’t know what Molly’s up to…but he knows he doesn’t like it.

Classified(s) by blueink3 (E, 36,153 w., 4 Ch. || Wedding Date AU || Fake Relationship, Jealous, PIning, H/C, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending, Mary is not Nice, Escort Service) – Clara’s American father is the ambassador to some such territory that Great Britain probably used to own, but she (and Harry’s undying love for her) is the reason John is getting on a flight at 12:30pm, flying across the second largest ocean in the world, and pretending to be in a perfectly happy, healthy relationship with an undoubtedly perfectly coiffed stranger. See, Clara is not only American (and wealthy to boot), she’s also best friends with John’s ex-fiancée. Whom she’s placed in the wedding party. As Maid of Honor. And John just happens to be Best Man. Bloody brilliant.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

Malediction by MapleleafCameo (M, 36,680 w., 11 Ch. || Ladyhawke AU || Magical Realism, Romance, Curses, Eventual Happy Ending) – Cursed to a half-life, John and Sherlock must fight the forces of evil to be reunited once again.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Sherlock Has a Boyfriend) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

Act IV by SilentAuror (E, 39,707 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV Sherlock, HLV Fix-It, Infidelity, Angst, Drama) – After Sherlock is shot, John moves back into Baker Street. They spend the autumn together as John tries to make sense of his life and make some important decisions about both Mary and Sherlock. Canon-compliant, excerpts from His Last Vow.

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (M, 39,968 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It || Grief / Mourning, Victor Trevor, Friendship, Sherlock is Not Okay, Nightmares/Flashbacks/Panic Attacks, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John Comes Home) – Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

The Curious Adventure of the Drs. Watson by ShinySherlock (M, 40,883 w., 14 Ch. || BBC & ACD Fusion || Victorianlock, Time Travel / Magical Realism, Friends to Lovers, Love and Kissing, Romance, Body Swap) – What if ACD Watson and BBC Watson switched places…  “Imposter!” Hands clenching the lapels of John’s coat, Holmes shoved him anew. “Yes!” John agreed, nodding, and then grimacing. “Sort of!”

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w., 4 Ch. ||  H/C, Injury, Slow Burn) – When John’s left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she’s about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

The Soul Remembers by i_ship_an_armada (E, 43,636 w., 10 ch. || Oblivion AU || Post-Apocalypse, Movie Fusion, Science Fiction, Action/Adventure, Angst, Dreams, Bittersweet Ending) – John Watson is the lone security repairman stationed on a desolate, nearly-ruined future Earth. His dreams are plagued by a tall, dark-haired man, and when his dreams meet reality, he will be forced to question everything he believes is the truth about his life.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || Post S3 || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock’s first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

The Great Sex Olympics of 221B by XistentialAngst (E, 58,611 w., 10 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Experiments / Sexual Experimentations, Multi Pairings, Voyeurism) – John Watson thinks Sherlock Holmes should admit that he, Watson, is more of an expert on sex than Sherlock is. But Sherlock refuses to concede the point. He comes up with an experiment plan that will resolve the issue. The results will determine who wins the prize. But sometimes even the best thought-out scientific study has unexpected consequences.

Scars by SilentAuror (E, 60,493 w., 5 Ch. || Rape / Non-Con / Abuse, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Dub Con Elements, Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending, Mary is Not Nice) – S3 rewrite, showing Mary’s manipulation of John as he realizes his love for Sherlock. Mary is not having it.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes by ivyblossom (E, 62,006 w., 25 Ch. || First Person Sherlock POV, Pining, Angst, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Sherlock Learns About Himself, Happy Ending) – Sherlock struggles with his feelings for John, makes a mistake, and learns just how important he and John are to each other. Non-BBC Mary / John, but it’s a *complicated* relationship.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he’s consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

The Moonlight and the Frost by CaitlinFairchild (E, 77,289 w., 10 Ch. || Case Fic, Post-HLV, Self Harm, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Oral/Anal/Rimming, Romance, Angst, Mary is Not Nice) – John has to somehow rebuild his life in the wake of Mary’s betrayal and Sherlock’s deceptions.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w., 27 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

[anavoliselenu]

freedom chapter 4

JUSTIN POV

"Every human has four endowments- self awareness, conscience, independent will and creative imagination. These give us the ultimate human freedom... The power to choose, to respond, to change."-Stephen Covey

The alarm clock on my nightstand blared loudly in my head. I whacked my arm in its general direction, and it fell to the floor with a clatter, but still kept honking the obnoxious noise. I had to hang off of the bed to try and reach it, but that wasn't successful. I finally just ripped the plug from the wall, shutting the thing up for good.

I rolled back on the bed and threw my arm over my eyes, willing myself to go back to sleep. Never once, in the past four years, had I used an alarm clock to wake up. Now, things were different. I had obligations. Today was going to be hell.

I turned my head to see Selena sleeping peacefully beside me, and her nose scrunched up at the dream she was having. Her lips were moving with silent words and I had to admit, this sight was a rather funny way to wake up. She told me that her dreams were really vivid, but I had no idea what could be going on inside her head. How could she look so peaceful, yet agitated at the same time?

I took my hand and moved a piece of hair out of her face. She sighed and reached out for me, resting her head on my chest. I didn't move and let her fall deeper into sleep.

I kissed her soft skin…once…twice…

Selena started to stir so I stopped, but then decided to kiss her again, just for the hell of it. A smile played on her lips, before she fell back into sleep.

I, on the other hand, had a hard time sleeping last night. My body didn't want to shut down but of course, I knew why: I had to get back to work.

I was actually surprised at how well Emmett had kept my professional life afloat. I was the only one who knew the real inner workings of Justin Bieber, Inc., but he did a pretty good job. Contrary to popular belief, I actually did have legitimate business ventures in the world. Emmett, not able to handle it all himself, had to hire out. The business was doing well, but not succeeding like I wanted. Well, things were certainly going to change now that I was back.

It had been a week since Selena and I touched down in Chicago. Slowly, our lives were starting to calm down. The shock of us being back had worn off on the family. Jasper stopped looking at me funny, like I was going to evaporate, and Emmett even started telling me stupid jokes again. He was already getting on my nerves.

Esme was still in an irritated state. Carlisle said that he was still expected to move out, but he was trying hard to calm her down. It wasn't working. Alec told me that he was basically begging for forgiveness at this point. I knew the feeling. Esme already said she forgave me somewhat. Carlisle—not so much. I didn't really give a shit about what Esme's problems were. I loved her, but my allegiances were to Selena now. What she said at the funeral was completely uncalled for and until she apologized, I don't think I could ever look at my mother the same way again.

I didn't know how I was supposed to "re-introduce" myself into the world, but thankfully, the stupid media was all over it. One small newspaper out in some hick town upstate reported that Selena and I were a part of the small group that landed at the airport coming from Italy. After that, everyone was looking for some kind of verification. They called Carlisle, they staked out the house, and asked everyone who knew me if it was true. No one said a word.

Selena and I went to the grocery store a couple of days ago and a cameraman caught us. That was it. The secret was out and people went berserk. Dramatic headlines stated, "Justin Bieber Rises Like the Phoenix" and "Justin Bieber: Real or Ghost?" They dominated the newspapers. The internet was abuzz, and the local TV stations said I was some kind of fraud. Carlisle eventually had to release a statement, but it didn't give anything away about the real reasons for my departure. For the most part, faking my death was actually legal if under the heading of self-defense. That was all people needed to know.

Interestingly, the police were the only group who didn't have anything to say about my arrival. They were embarrassed and were sitting back, licking their wounds until they found some other way to get me. It was always the same story.

I was sure that by now Aro had formulated his plans to have me killed, Shinobu was plotting a way to have me run over, and James was definitely salivating for my blood. Bring it on. I was ready for them.

But first, I had to get up.

I lightly pushed Selena off of me and she thankfully didn't wake. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and blinked myself away for a couple of seconds. I stripped out of my boxers on the way to the bathroom and had the water for my shower running within a couple of seconds.

I stood under the water, trying to make mental notes about the day. I had a schedule of things I needed to do, phone calls that needed to be made, and a business that needed to be revived.

Old habits die hard and after twenty-seven minutes, I had to get out of the shower. My body wouldn't allow a second longer.

I dried myself off and went into the closet that was recently stocked with fine pressed suits, neatly folded shirts, and polished shoes. I had already set out what I was going to wear last night and meticulously dressed in a navy blue Armani suit. I was still getting used to looking so professional on a daily basis.

I fixed my tie perfectly, completing my ensemble. I combed through my hair and tamed the beast before standing tall to look myself over.

"You look good, Justin," I said to the mirror.

Selena wasn't in bed when I went back into the room. I collected my phone and wallet then went downstairs to find Selena making breakfast. Well, she was making Pop Tarts, but same thing.

"I'm so excited, Justin," she said when I came into the kitchen. "It's your first day back."

"I'm not going to school." I poured myself a cup of coffee.

"It's just like that. Are you nervous?"

"No, I'm thinking about it as just another day." I shrugged.

The Pop Tarts sprang up from the toaster and Selena placed them on a plate, handing it out for me.

"You need to have some strength." She smiled.

"You know I don't eat those. Too much processed junk. I'll be good with my coffee."

"This isn't junk. Pop Tarts are what our childhoods were made of."

"I don't think so." I sat on a stool. "With all this new equipment and a fridge stocked with food, I thought you'd be going crazy."

"I don't know what to make first. There's just so much." She sat next to me.

"So, you like the kitchen?"

"I love the kitchen. I would say thank you again, but you'd just tell me not to bother."

I had actually been building this place for about a year. I would ask Selena inconspicuously what she might want in a house one day: one story or two, a porch, patio, deck, pool in the back, large front yard; things like that. I drew up the plans and had Carlisle oversee the construction. Thankfully, it was just about done when we got here. Everything was completed to my specifications, and it seemed like I had done a good job, because Selena loved it. Every day she would tell me about some new feature to the house that she though was perfect.

Never in my life did I think I was going to be living with a woman… in a house. But then again, Selena just wasn't some woman. She was the woman. My woman.

"I'm glad you like it," I told her.

"What are you going to do today?" she asked, taking a small bite of her strawberry Pop Tart. She licked a crumb from the corner of her lips and obviously didn't know how hard it was for me to stay focused.

"Carlisle wants to have lunch with me but before that, I have to get everything back on track with my more legal ventures," I said cryptically.

"Why don't you ever tell me what you do?"

"Because it would bore you to death."

"I highly doubt that." She took another small bite. "And lunch with Carlisle? Sounds fun."

"I have no idea what he wants. I'm tempted not to go, but he'd kick my ass."

"Maybe he wants to apologize some more."

"He still thinks he's right. Nothing's ever going to convince him otherwise. I've stopped trying."

"I hope he and Esme can work out whatever's going on."

"What would you do if you were her?" I asked, really wanting to know.

"I would kill you and bury your body in the backyard." She finished up the Pop Tart.

"Nice to know." I took note to never make her seriously pissed. "What about your agenda for the day?"

"I have a job interview at a PR firm and then Alice and I are going shopping."

"Are you going to be home around five? The security people are coming to install the system. I might be late."

"Yeah, I'll be here." She nodded.

Alec stumbled into the kitchen, hair a mess, and in nothing but boxers. He scratched his balls and poured himself a cup of coffee before leaving just as sleepily as he arrived.

I shuddered at the sight of him, but kept my mouth shut. It was too early to start a fight.

"We need to get him a job." Selena went to put her plate in the sink.

"He'll be busy enough once he starts school." I checked my watch and noticed that it was time to go. "Oh, shit. I'm late."

"Wait, wait. I made you lunch." Selena dug through the fridge and pulled out a brown paper bag. "Lasagna, garlic bread, asparagus, and a thermos full of red wine."

I chuckled and took the bag. "Esme made me the same thing on my first day of high school."

"Even the wine?"

"Even the wine. Keep it for dinner. I'm spending lunch with Carlisle, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot." She placed it on the counter. "Have a good day, Justin. And try to stay on the right side of the law. I don't want to get you from jail."

"Can't make you any promises." I kissed her, but was cut short when my phone vibrated in my breast pocket. Emmett was calling, but I didn't bother picking up. "I have to go."

"Alright, bye."

Before I turned to leave, I wrapped Selena in my arms and set her on the counter, pushing myself in between her legs. I took her lips in mine for a longer, more passion-filled kiss that left my lips raw and my loins on fire.

"Justin, you have to leave now or we'll end up fucking on the table." She panted.

"I'm fine with that."

My phone rang again and I growled at the interruption.

"You should go." She pushed me back slightly, "I love you."

"I…love you too." I replied genuinely. I did love her, we both knew that. I still had problems saying it, even after all these years. I was working on that. Selena was the only person I ever said it to, but I still felt exposed; like she wasn't supposed to see my really feelings. It was complicated.

Time to schedule a therapy session, Justin.

I went through the door in the kitchen that led to the massive garage attached to the house. Gleaming cars of my favorite variety were color coordinated and I could almost hear the rev of their engines in anticipation. One of the first things I did the day after we moved in was purchase new cars for Selena and myself. Now it felt like home.

I chose my brand of choice: a precious, burgundy red, Saleen. The leather seats molded around my body and I turned the car on, feeling the rumble of the engine underneath me. I pulled out of the driveway as fast as I could and sped past a neighbor scowling at me as he picked up his morning paper.

I made it into the city within half an hour and had to navigate my way through thick traffic, but finally made it to the tall, glass tower that held Justin Bieber Inc., right in the middle of the business district. I owned the building, but several other companies were housed there as well. They all paid me the big bucks for prime real estate.

There were cameramen waiting at the entrance to the underground parking lot as I pulled in, and the security guards kept them at bay so I didn't run anybody over. It was to be expected that my first day back on the job would make social headlines.

I parked the car in a designated spot and grabbed my coffee before heading towards the elevators. It didn't take long at all for me to get to the top floor.

When the doors opened, a young, short brunette with crooked teeth stood from behind her tall desk. "Hello, Mr. Bieber. We've been expecting you. Everything's ready in the conference room."

"Okay, thank you." I started to walk off, but then forgot something. "Oh, you're fired."

Her mouth fell open in surprise. "I… I'm what?"

"You're fired," I repeated without a hint of jest.

Her eyes began to tear up and her lips quivered. "But… why? I didn't do anything."

I always hated crying people. They annoyed me. "It's not you. I'm redoing the whole structure of the company. I'm sure you're a great employee, but I don't know you and if I don't know you, I can't trust you. You're fired."

I walked off, taking a sip of my coffee, and headed down the hall to my large office. There was a college-aged kid sitting in the waiting room with a bouncing leg and trembling hands.

He stood when I reached him. "Mr. Bieber? I'm here for the interview."

"I'll be with you in a moment. Just have a seat." I then turned to the other secretary who wasn't even paying attention to me. She was flipping through a magazine. "You're definitely fired."

"Are you talking to me?" She popped her gum.

"Who hired you?" I shook my head in disgust.

"Emmett Bieber. And you are?"

"Justin Bieber. You need to pack and leave before the hour is up."

The gum fell out of her mouth onto the table, and I couldn't even look at her anymore.

I almost had a giddy step to my gait as I walked towards the conference room where a group of about twenty fresh-faced, young, talented, ambitious minds were waiting for the morning meeting. Many of them were newly graduated from top business schools, and they all had wonderful resumes.

When I entered the room, they stood and there were various forms of sycophancy as I set my coffee down on the table.

"Hello." I sat at the head of the long table and the all followed.

"We're happy to have you back, Mr. Bieber." The boy next to me smiled. He must be the higher up of the group. "We never believed what they said about you in the papers. You're a wonderful business man and we're happy to work for you."

"That's very nice of you to say that," I said. "You're all fired."

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked.

"I'm sure my brother hired you all with the promises of happy careers here and advancement in the company, but I can't have any of you working for me. You just don't fit the style here."

"You don't even know us," someone replied from down the table. I wasn't sure whom.

"I know that the quarterly projections have dipped by forty percent since I left and after the first year, they never climbed back up to reasonable standards."

"But… that's to be expected, sir. You left so abruptly and we were all brought on right after," the guy said from next to me.

"Precisely my point. If you were any good, I wouldn't have to fire you for incompetence. Employees are supposed to be able to run a business without the employer. You had four years to prove yourself and all of you came up short."

"This is bullshit," a girl screamed and threw her papers in the air. They rained down over the table as she pushed the door open and left the room. Several more people followed her with various forms of heated words.

Those who did stay just looked at me.

"Is this really happening?" someone asked.

"Yes, I'm sure Emmett would happily give you jobs elsewhere, just not here. You all have the hour to pack and vacate the premises." I got up from my seat and went back towards my office, leaving them stunned and speechless.

I checked my watch. It was already nine and I had annihilated the spirits of my entire business. They were lucky that they had me on a good day. I was off to an excellent start.

It feels good to be back.

"I can see you now," I said to the man sitting on the couch. The secretary had already left. Her letter opener was sticking up in the wood of the desk. I plucked it out and twirled it in my fingers as we walked into my office.

The entire city was below me and the dark clouds cast shadows into the room. I had been here last night to get the place ready for my arrival. The carpets were cleaned, the windows washed, and the technology switched out with newer stuff. No one had stepped in my office since the day I left.

I sat down in the large seat behind my desk and watched him stumble towards the chair in front of me. He must have been about twenty-three and was dressed in a cheap suit made of pedestrian fabric. He was so nervous the sweat was staining his pits.

"I'm sorry if I was late." He kept his head down when he sat.

"I can't hear you." I tapped my fingers on my desk.

"I'm sorry if I was late," he said louder.

"If you want to speak to me, look at me in the eyes and talk clearly."

He raised his head and nodded, shutting his lips tight.

"Do you have a resume?" I asked him.

"Uh, yes." His shaking hands dipped into his briefcase and handed me the flimsy paper.

I scanned it in all of seven seconds, learning everything about his professional past with the snap of my fingers. His name was Mario and he was from a small town in Oklahoma, coming to the big city to make a name for himself. He graduated from business school two years early and had quite the impressive brain. I had called an old professor of mine at Dartmouth I trusted, and he gave me Mario's name.

"You went to Northwestern?" I asked.

"Yes, sir." He spoke loudly and clearly.

"My wife went there."

"So I've heard. She was there a year before I was."

"Are you Italian?"

He blinked in surprise. "Uh, yes. How did you know?"

"With a last name like De Luca, I just assumed."

"Yes, my father was from Lombardy."

"Nice area." I decided that I was going to hire this man, just based on the fact that he was scared of me, but looked willing to work. He was also smart as hell. Not as smart as me, but he'd do. I just wanted to see him sweat some more.

"I haven't been back in years."

"What do you know about what we do here?" I asked him, putting his resume down.

"I know that you work mostly in real estate, not only in Chicago, but Miami and New York as well. You also import vintage cars from England and France. You used to manage hedge funds in business school and made your first million by the time you were eighteen in consulting. You prefer not working in nonprofit and rarely give to charity, but I suggest you start."

"Impressive. Why would you say that?"

"Not for the moral factor, because I know you don't really care, but the tax breaks are huge. Especially for a man making the kind of money you do." He blushed. "Sorry if that was too forward."

"Don't apologize ever. There's no time for it," I told him.

He nodded.

There was a knock at the door and a beautiful blond stuck her head in. "I was told that you wanted to see me."

"Jane, I wasn't expecting you until later," I said and stood up.

"I had a break from work so I decided to come early. You don't have any secretaries." She shut the door and pointed behind her.

"I know," I replied.

She looked almost the same as she did the last time I saw her in the Bahamas. I never thought I would see her again, not that I even paid much attention, but here she was and it was actually kind of surprising to me. Jane was in Chicago working for Rose while she went to school at the University of Chicago. I'm not exactly sure what Rosalie did, but Jane helped. When Alec found out he literally jizzed his pants. I never really got to know Jane, but from what short time that we spent together all those years ago, I could tolerate her and liked what she had to say. I felt comfortable with her. I don't really know why, though. Alice told me that Esme had basically invited her into the family, so she could definitely be trusted.

"You look good, Justin." She looked me up and down and gave me a hug. "I'm glad you're back. It was hell without you."

"So I've heard." I sat back down. Jane took the seat next to Mario, who I had completely forgotten about.

"I lied and told Rosalie I was going out to pick up some copies of something," Jane said. "How's Selena? I haven't seen her yet."

"She's good. Surprised that you're still around."

"I know; me too. I had to get out of Miami, though. My dad was driving me crazy. So I chose Chicago."

"Are you sure you didn't come here for a certain someone?"

She flushed slightly red. "Well he wasn't here anyway so it doesn't matter."

"He's back now."

"That's what Esme told me." She cleared her throat. "I'll have to go see him… later."

"I want you to come work for me," I said simply, getting to the point.

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what that means."

"I need you to come work for me as my personal assistant."

"I don't think so."

"I'll triple the pay that Rosalie's giving you."

"I want to work for Rosalie," she argued.

"As her drink girl? What exactly does she do anyway?"

"She's the co-editor of a fashion magazine."

"And that benefits you as a business major how…?"

"How did you know I was a business major?" She sat up in her chair.

I tapped my temple. "You should remember that I know everything."

"Of course." She rolled her eyes. "Well, I don't think so."

"You can learn a lot from me. I can teach you."

"Will I be able to take over this place when you die?" I think she was joking, but it was a valid question.

"Maybe. If I think you're ready. You already know you're going to take the job so how much longer do we have to play these games?"

This was obviously the better option for Jane. She had been working for Rosalie a little under two years now and hadn't done anything besides make coffee. She was perfect for me. She knew about the "family business". Carlisle had entrusted her with a few delicate tasks over the years and said she was incredibly efficient. Jane was bold and quick to come up with solutions. Plus, she could handle my shit and give it right back to me, which was what I was looking for.

She bit her lip in thought. "What am I supposed to tell Rosalie?"

"Let me handle that. Do you want the job or not?"

"Fine." Jane nodded. "When do I start?"

"Right now." I turned to Mario. "This is Jane. She's your boss."

"Hi, Jane." He shook her hand.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you," she replied.

"Jane, you'll be handling my personal life, organizing my charity events, press statements, and family things that I don't have time to deal with. Mario, you'll be dealing with meetings, clerical work, maintaining files, and anything else business related. On a good day, I shouldn't even see you. You'll be too busy with the day-to-day shit that I don't have time for."

"How much are we getting paid?" Jane questioned brazenly with a grin. "Am I allowed to ask that?"

"I would if I were you." I paused. "How about seventy-five thousand a year to start, medical and dental, and if you make it past the first six months, I'll pay off your school debts, which both of you are in up to your eyeballs."

Their breath hitched at my offer. Mario almost fell off of his seat.

"I'm not an easy person to work for so I hope you're prepared." I warned. "I think I've covered everything for now."

I pulled out my wallet and handed Mario five hundred dollars. "Get your hair cut and dye it black. Get your teeth capped and whitened. Buy a nice suit; make sure it's tailored. Actually, I'll get the suit, just handle everything else and come back next week to start."

He took the money in confusion. "Um, thank you? Why do I need all of that stuff?"

"Because you look like a kid. I need you to look professional and ready to work. The people coming through here won't waste their time if they think you're not serious. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." He swallowed.

I unabashedly pulled my Eagle out of my belt and held it up. Jane didn't bat an eyelash, but Mario shivered. "To me, loyalty is the most important thing. I need to be able to trust you both because I'm letting you into my life. If I find out that either of you have betrayed me in any way, I'll make your lives a living hell."

They both gave me head nods as if to say, we understand.

"Jane, I know I just stole you from Rosalie, but you can't go anywhere else now. You're stuck with me. If anyone comes to you with an offer, you better believe that I'll know about it and I'll nip it in the bud before you even get a chance to think. You're both here for the long run. If you can't handle it, then leave now."

They both nodded again.

"Thank you, sir." Mario's voice stammered.

"No problem. You'll start next week."

He got up from his seat and backed out of the door. I think he was still in shock.

"I thought he was fine." Jane shrugged. "His hair wasn't that bad."

"He looked like shit. He's not working here if he comes back like that. I'll kick his ass to the curve." I leaned in my seat.

"Why him then?"

"Because he's good. He's smart and has an eye for this type of work. He just needs training."

"Do I need training?"

"Of course you do. Let me see you smile."

She beamed cheerily.

"You look fine. Maybe layer and highlight your hair."

"You sure do care about appearances."

"In this business, appearances are all that matters."

"So, I suspect you want me to handle more of the family side of things around here?"

"Yes. Mario is the business assistant; you are my assistant. That involves… the other side of things," I said, knowing she could decipher what I meant.

"I can do that." She stood up from her chair and put on her coat. "I think I'll go see Selena at the end of the day." "She would love to see you. So would Alec, I believe."

"How is he?" She tried not to smile.

"Good, annoying as hell, though. He's grown up."

"Did he talk about me?"

"I'm not getting involved in your high school romance shit. Go ask him yourself."

"Is there anything you need from me?"

"I need a background check on that guy. His name is Mario De Luca." I handed her his resume. "Find out everything you can."

"Done," she said with finality. "Please call Rosalie and make sure she knows about this because I'm not getting in the middle."

"It won't be a problem."

"You'll really pay off my school debt?" She squinted skeptically.

"Yes."

"That's very generous of you. Thank you."

"You'll be working for it so don't thank me yet." I turned on my computer.

"This is going to be fun," Jane said sarcastically as she walked towards the door. "I'll be back later. Where is my desk, by the way?"

"The one right outside my office. Mario will be down the hall."

"Sounds good to me. I'll have that background check in an hour."

"Oh, and I fired everyone who used to work here. Find out who they were from Emmett and send them all a severance package."

"Will do, boss." She shut the door and left me alone.

I turned around in my chair and looked at the city below. It was starting to rain, and the skyscrapers were slick with water.

The phone on my desk started to ring. I hit the speakerphone button.

"You have about fifty calls out here," Jane said.

"From who?"

"A lot from Emmett. Some from the people who worked here. A couple from the Chicago Tribune and Carlisle."

"Put me through to Carlisle. Then call Mario and tell him that he starts work the day after tomorrow. He needs to look good by then."

"Any reason for the new start date?"

"It'll just be us three until I find more people. That shouldn't take long, maybe a couple days, but he needs to be here. You can't deal with all that alone."

"Okay, then. Will do." The phone clicked off, and then started ringing again.

Carlisle picked up a couple seconds later. "Justin, I've been calling for an hour. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I've been busy." I shut my eyes to keep the frustration inside. "It is my first day back at work."

"I know. How is that going for you?"

"Wonderful. I feel good."

"I'm impressed. Emmett called me and said you already did a full overhaul of everyone."

"Sure did. Only have Jane and a new guy now."

"Jane? You better call Rosalie then."

"Why does everyone think I'm scared of her?"

"I'm just trying to keep the peace in the family. Carry on. Don't forget about lunch. I have something important to talk to you about."

"Can I get a hint?"

"I'll see you at one, Justin." He ended the call quickly.

By midday, the full force of my workload hit me. It was apparent that I might need Mario back a little earlier than I anticipated. There was a lot of office work that required tending to and I sure as hell wasn't doing it.

He stumbled into my office right before I was about to leave for lunch, out of breath and waiting for orders.

"Let me see your teeth. Did you get them done?" I asked.

"Not the back ones. We didn't have time. I had to leave early to get back here." He smiled and showed off his newly whitened and perfectly straight teeth.

"Get that hair taken care of by the next time I see you." I couldn't even look at him.

"Yes, sir."

I set a stack of files in his hands. "These are newly graduated business majors from all over the country. I need you to weed out anyone with a lower GPA than you."

"But… I was first in my class."

"Exactly. There might be two candidates in there. Call them and set up interviews for tomorrow morning."

"I can do that."

Jane poked her head in the office. "Time to get to lunch. You can't be late."

"I'm coming!" I shouted and then turned back to Mario. "Have that done by the time I'm back. Your desk is at the end of the hall."

"Okay, thank you."

I followed him out of the office. "No one gets in while I'm out," I told both of them. "If someone wants to set up a meeting, they can call for tomorrow. I'm not seeing anyone today."

"We get it. Just go." Jane all but pushed me towards the elevators.

It was a big deal entrusting them to keep things in order, but as I glided down the floors, I convinced myself that this was why I hired them. They were both ambitious enough to want to do hard work and keep me happy.

I would normally walk to the place Carlisle liked for lunch, but with the cameramen outside, still demanding answers from me, I decided it was better to drive. It took longer than it should have, with all the traffic and stupid ass people who all seemed to have forgotten how to drive since I returned. I parked behind a small, rustic Italian restaurant down the street.

The place was empty and I wasn't surprised in the slightest, even though it was in the height of the lunch hour. Carlisle obviously needed privacy today and meant business. I didn't even see a busboy or hostess.

He was at a table in the corner and didn't even bother standing or acknowledging me when I sat down. He kept reading his paper for about a minute and then folded it neatly when he was done.

"And how are you today?" He set the paper on the floor.

"Fine." I searched for a waiter. "I need a drink."

A waiter appeared out of nowhere and poured me a tall glass of red wine. "Anything else for you, sir?" he asked.

"We'll just have our meals now," Carlisle spoke for me. "I ordered you spaghetti."

"That's fine with me." I shrugged.

After the waiter scurried off, Carlisle and I had a good ole' fashioned, Western stare off. There were no words, but I was determined not to let him win.

"Is there a reason why I'm here?" I asked, not letting myself falter.

"Of course there is. Why would I have invited you to lunch?"

"I'm not sure."

"I don't have a lot of time, so I'll just get out with it." Carlisle leaned forward, exhaling deeply. "Justin, I'm retiring."

"You're doing what?" I choked on my wine.

"I'm taking time off… indefinitely."

"Wh… what does that mean… for the family?"

"That we need a new Boss."

"Carlisle, I…"

"Can I confess something, Justin?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I've let you guys down. I know that over the past couple of years, things haven't been as smooth as they should have been and I take full responsibility for that. Between me sending you away, and everything that's been going on here, I've lost my way. I got so bogged down in minute details that I wasn't looking at the big picture. I've let everyone down."

I really wanted to assure him that that wasn't the case, but my mouth wouldn't let me.

"The Cullens need to be taken in a new direction and I'm not the one to do it, Justin. You and I both know that. My reign was exhausted a long time ago."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I'm stepping down. I've been doing this for far too long and you could only imagine what kind of shit I'm in with Esme. I need to take time off to patch things up with her. She's agreed to take a vacation with me. We need to get away and nothing's going to get done with us here in Chicago. I don't know when we're coming back."

It didn't take a genius to put together what Carlisle was saying. I just didn't want to believe it.

"How long have been thinking this?" I cleared my throat.

"For about a year," he admitted. "Things are changing out there and I know you haven't had the chance to really dive into that side of your life since you've been back, but the Cullens need a new director. We need you, Justin."

"Is that why you brought me back here?"

"I'm not going to lie to you. Yes, I asked you to return so that you could take my position. I'll be around to guide you and help you, but I won't be the head of this family anymore." He crossed his hands together in an effort to appear calm.

"That's not fair!" I slammed my fist down on the table, shaking the glasses and silverware on top. "You didn't give me any kind of warning. I'm not prepared for this, especially not now."

"Did you think all the time on that stupid island was just for you to sit around and sleep? You're more mature now than you ever were here. You know why? Because you were your own man. You weren't living in my shadow and you were able to thrive on your own. You're ready for this. I trained you for this."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Did you want to stay Il Principe forever?"

"Why not Emmett or Jasper?"

"It's never been either of them. You were always supposed to take my spot and just because you had a break, doesn't mean you can forget about your obligations to this family."

"And what about my family? Selena shouldn't have to ever be a part of this."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about that. She's in far too deep and I'm sorry about that, but I warned you a long time ago that this might happen. You should have prepared yourself for the possibility that more than likely, you'd be in my shoes."

"This is happening too quickly. I just got back. You couldn't give me some fucking warning?"

"That's what this is. You know the rules. There are certain… stipulations that need to be taken care of."

"I don't want to talk about that."

"You have to be married, Justin. You can't take over unless you have a wife."

"We were already heading in that direction," I snapped. "I don't need you meddling in my life."

"That's my job and like it or not, you have a responsibility that needs to be fulfilled."

"Do I even have a choice?"

"No, you don't. Esme and I are leaving the first week of April. That gives you a month to get your shit together. Talk to Selena, do what needs to be done, and then all of what I have will be yours."

Just then, the waiter rushed out of the kitchen with a heaping plate of steaming spaghetti, but I had suddenly lost my appetite.

"My life will never be the same," I said to myself.

I made a checklist in my head.

1. Get married...very soon.

2. Take over the largest crime family in the world.

This was turning out to be a great month.

SELENA POV

"It is easy to take freedom for granted, when you have never had it taken from you."-Author Unknown

All things Twilight related belong to Stephanie Meyer

I slipped my foot gently into the supple lining of my nude colored pump, which Alice insisted I wear today.

I had little experience in journalism, but the job description at WGN TV station didn't call for it. I would basically be a part of the production team, behind the scenes. I had already done a first interview earlier in the week and then got a callback for today.

The job title was production assistant, and I'd be responsible for cutting together news segments, preparing commercial breaks and typing things into the teleprompter. It seemed like an incredibly technical job, but when I called to inquire about an interview, the lady said my background would be fine for it. I didn't know what a bachelor's degree in literature had to do with TV, but I was excited nonetheless. Plus, there was the added bonus of Alice being nearby since she worked in wardrobe.

I stood up from the bed and checked myself in the mirror on the wall. I looked very professional in my high-waisted cream skirt and silky red top. The shoes were more dangerous than what I would have chosen, but it worked. I wasn't going to complain. I brushed my hair quickly, putting it in a loose bun at the nape of my neck, before doing final touch ups.

I checked my bag, making sure I had copies of my resume, and everything else I might need for the interview.

I made it downstairs and found Alec reading a gun magazine in the kitchen.

I sniffed the air when I walked in. "What's that smell?"

He shrugged. "I don't smell anything."

I rushed over to the toaster, which had bread stuffed inside, and pulled the plug when smoke started to billow upwards. "You forgot you were making something?"

"Oh, yeah. My peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Damn it." He took the charcoaled bread out and inspected it. "Can I still eat it?"

"Be my guest." I went into the fridge and poured myself some orange juice. "Are you ready for your first day of school?"

"I don't want to go."

"You know the rules."

"Still, I can get a job anywhere without even needing a degree. I don't want to go." He plopped back down in his seat.

"Don't be nervous. I'm sure the other kids will like you if you play nice." I sat next to him.

"Ha, ha. Very funny."

This was his first day at Northwestern and I didn't know the details, but Justin had to pull some strings. Since the semester had already started, Alec couldn't just walk into class. He had to be transferred, but Alec had never gone to school before. There was a big thing with fake records, and Carlisle had to sign a bunch of stuff; I didn't get into it. Anyway, Alec was now a college freshman, and even though he wouldn't tell me, he was nervous as hell.

I checked the clock. "Shouldn't you get going? Your first class is starting soon."

"I guess so. What if I'm not as smart as the other people there? They've been going to school for years."

"You know you have a smart brain, so use it."

He nodded and exhaled, "You're right. I'm fucking amazing."

"And so modest." I rolled my eyes.

"I'm going to rock the shit out of that place." He kissed my cheek and then bolted from the table. "Bye, Selena. I'll be back this afternoon."

I watched from the window as he pulled out of the garage in his new black Range Rover and peeled onto the street, going entirely too fast. I would have to talk to him about that later.

It still wasn't time for me to leave, so I read the paper and tried not to get too nervous. Alice said I would probably get the job if I didn't do anything crazy like burn the studio down or jump on tables. I was determined to get this job.

I wondered if I should call Justin. It was nine and he left the house to go to work at five, so I knew he was tired as hell. He had been acting really strange for the past couple of days and wouldn't tell me much, but I was hoping that he told me something soon. If not, I was going to start demanding answers. He was working hard, though, and every day, I would check the stocks of Justin Bieber Inc., which were steadily rising. The Chicago Tribune called him a mastermind in the business world. His return was causing waves across the city.

And since he was back, of course, everyone knew I was back as well. We had been photographed a couple of times, but surprisingly nothing major had happened. I was just hoping that Charlie or Renee hadn't heard anything before I got the chance to call them. I just needed to think of way of doing that.

The family was coming around, though. Rose, Alice, and I spent a couple of days just getting back in touch with each other. I liked having friends again. It was something so simple that I didn't realize I craved until I got back here. Being able to see people on a regular basis was a luxury that I wouldn't take for granted again. Esme, on the other hand, still wasn't speaking to Carlisle and I wasn't speaking to her. She was cold towards everyone else. She was furious on the occasions I went over to the house, but Carlisle said she had agreed to go on an extended vacation at the end of the month. I didn't know what he had planned, but I hoped it was something good. They had a lot to discuss and somewhere safe to do it. Preferably somewhere without heavy things that Esme could throw.

I wasn't mad at her really. I just wanted an apology for what she had said to me. I still think she hit way below the belt with her comments, but as of yet, she hadn't said a word.

After I finished the paper, I sat at the kitchen island, sipping my coffee and trying to plan out my day. Justin told me to come by and meet him for lunch if I had time, but after that, I was free. I guessed I could go grocery shopping since we needed more of everything. Between Alec and Justin, they could go through two pizzas each in one sitting, leaving me with nothing. It was scary.

I stopped drinking my coffee when I heard a slight scratching at the front door. I listened again, but it wasn't there. A couple seconds later, though, it returned. It almost sounded like branches against the house, but then there was a low whine to accompany it.

I put the cup down and made my way to the door, my heels clicking on the hardwood. I looked through the peephole, but didn't see anyone. The scratching was still there.

I opened the door and surveyed the front yard, but it was clear. The whine at my feet alerted me to the dog standing on the step, trembling. It was an English bulldog; the only reason I recognized it was because a neighbor of Charlie's had one. I used to watch him when she was out of town. He was a nasty beast.

"Oh." I stepped back a little and noticed that this dog was in bad shape.

There was a slight nip in the air, but it wasn't cold, so I assumed he was shaking because of fright. He was a big dog, but I could tell that he was just a puppy—maybe a year old. I saw his ribs through his tanned fur. There was blood on his paws, almost as if he had been walking on glass.

"Hi." I bent down and reached my hand out hesitantly. He didn't jerk away, but flinched slightly when I touched him. Then he leaned into my hand. "What happened to you?"

Those big brown eyes were what did me in.

"You can't stay here. Justin hates animals, especially dogs." I shook my head and continued petting him. "He'll kick both our asses."

The bulldog didn't seem to care. He sidestepped me and, with a slight limp, trotted into the house like it was his.

"Excuse me." I shut the door and chased after him. He seemed to know where the food was, because he went right into the kitchen. "I don't think I have anything for you."

He sat down on the tiled floor and stared up at the refrigerator expectantly.

"There's no dog food in there. I think I should clean you up first, anyway." I dampened a washcloth with warm water. "I'm not a vet, but you look like crap."

I bent down and started washing off his face. A thick coat of dirt came up, showing the white of his muzzle. I ended up having to rinse the cloth out a few times before he looked clean. The blood on his paws was a different story. I had to use the first-aid kit and just treated them like human wounds. I didn't know what had happened, but it didn't look major; just a few scrapes so I put some rubbing alcohol on them before wrapping his paws in gauze. He didn't like that very much.

He kept nipping at his feet, trying to pull the wrappings away.

"Stop it," I told him, "you have to leave them on."

I'm talking to this dog like he's a human. I really do need more friends.

I had to leave soon, so I couldn't really get creative with food. I just pulled out packaged lunch meat and fed the dog a couple pieces of ham. He drank water greedily from a bowl I put on the floor and was happily licking his chops when he was done.

"Are you potty trained?" I asked him. "You don't even know what that means."

He wanted to explore the house, but I had to go, so I pushed him outside onto the porch and left lots of water. The backyard was massive but enclosed with a tall wooden fence, so I knew he would be free to roam without running away. He just stared at me through the glass of the back door as I locked it and grabbed my keys along with everything else I needed.

Justin had bought us all cars with the only stipulation being that whatever I chose couldn't be less than twenty thousand dollars. He said that he didn't want to "muck up his perfect garage with filth". I decided on a basic BMW. The only color they had in stock at the time was red, which I found a little too flashy, but took it anyway. I had to admit that I loved driving the car. It was a lot different from the beat up Chevy back in Forks.

The ride into the city was easy. I didn't have any trouble until I hit traffic, but it only slowed me down a little. I gave myself plenty of time so I arrived at the studio half an hour before my interview. I parked in the garage and grabbed my bag before walking quickly into the sleek building. It was only a couple blocks away from Justin's office actually, but I had never been here before.

The lobby was stylish and modern with marble under my feet. I went up to the reception desk and an over-joyous woman smiled up at me.

"Welcome to WGN, Chicago's number one TV station. How can I help you?"

"I'm here for the production assistant position. I have an interview with Mr. Grandy at ten."

"Of course. He's expecting you, but he's in a meeting right now, so you can take a seat and I'll let him know you're here."

"Thank you."

I sat down in a plush leather chair that engulfed my body so much that I had to stop myself from sinking into the seat.

Apparently, the receptionist was either lying or wasn't correctly informed because almost a minute after I got situated, a tall, white haired man came out to greet me.

"Isabella Bieber?" he asked with an outstretched hand.

"Yes." I stood up and shook it.

Of course, my last name wasn't Bieber… yet. But Justin had put it on all my fake records and papers so that's what I went by now. I didn't mind in the slightest.

"You're here just in time. Let's go to my office so we can talk."

I had met with the human resources department first and they pushed me along to Mr. Grandy. I followed him into the back, bypassing frantic looking people. His office was a mess. There were papers everywhere and food containers stacking up. From the art hanging on his walls, I could tell that Mr. Grandy was a very eccentric man.

"So, let me just be perfectly honest," he began when we sat down. "I really liked you in the first interview and I think you'll work well here. Your resume is more than satisfactory, so you have the job. I just want to ask you a few questions."

"Of course." I tried not to smile too brightly.

I had a job! That was easy.

"So, have you ever worked in TV before?" he asked.

"No, but I have taken a few journalism classes in college."

"This is more of a technical position, as you could probably guess, but we can teach you all of that. Sorry it's such a mess in here, by the way. We've had a busy couple of weeks."

"I could only imagine."

"Your husband is causing quite the stir and is helping us all keep the ratings up."

I bit my cheek, stopping myself from saying something stupid. "I didn't realize."

"Well, when Chicago's favorite son returns from the dead, that's doesn't go unnoticed." He grinned.

"Is that the only reason I'm getting this job?" I asked. "I'm not going to talk about my personal life, so I'm sorry if you thought you were going to get any dirt…"

"No, no." He held his hands up. "Of course not. We're not a gossip station. I really do need to fill the position and Alice said wonderful things about your work ethic. It's just an added bonus that you happen to be somewhat of a local superstar."

"I hardly think that people really know who I am."

"Just the contrary. You've created quite the social uproar, but enough about that for now. Would you like the job?"

"Of course. When can I start?"

"Well, we won't need you every day since this will be a part-time job at first. You'll know your schedule about a week in advance, based on who else is working. You'd get here probably around five so that you can start getting things ready for the seven o' clock news. You'll be working under a man named Alistair. I'll take you to meet him in a minute, but he'll teach you all you need to know. Is that alright?"

"That's perfect."

"It's a pretty simple job once you know what you're doing, but please pay attention because there are a lot of little things that you need to know. Are you ready for the tour?"

I nodded and stood up when he did.

Mr. Grandy took me around the studio, where they were getting ready for the midday news segment. The last minute rush was exciting, and I tried to stay out of everyone's way. I met Alistair, who was a stocky man with a very focused face. I don't think I saw him smile once in the time that I watched him work. There was a girl there who did the job that I would be doing later in the week. She explained a few things and let me try out running the teleprompter. By the time the tour was over, I had a thorough understanding of my job.

I was told to come back in two days to start working. I still was kind of pissed that Mr. Grandy brought up Justin, but I knew that was going to happen. People talked about me when I passed them on the streets and pointed when Justin and I went out to dinner. I just kept my head down and acted like it didn't bother me. I just needed to get used to this. Rosalie told me it would be that way for a while until the shock wore off.

I drove to Justin's office, and the guard checked my ID before I could park. Security was tight and I didn't even check behind me for blatantly obvious bodyguards. I was sure they were there.

I rode the elevator up to the top floor and walked out into a very stylish lobby. I had never actually been to Justin's office, but he pointed it out when we drove past one day.

I went up to the front desk, where a man with black hair and pearly white teeth was stressing over his computer, typing furiously. He couldn't have been any older than me. The nameplate on the desk said his name was Mario. I knew about this guy; Justin's new protégée.

Mario raised his head when he heard me approaching. "Hi, do you have an appointment?" he asked.

"No, I'm Selena Bieber. I was supposed to meet Justin for lunch."

"Oh, of course." He stood up so fast that his chair fell backwards. "I didn't realize. I'm Mario."

"It's nice to meet you Mario. I've heard good things about you."

"Really?" His eyes went wide.

I nodded, "Justin seems to like you."

"I'm trying really hard. This is my first job out of college and this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so I'm working my ass off…Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to curse."

"It's alright. I've heard worse."

"Um, you can go back if you want." Mario clumsily picked up his chair.

"Thank you." I walked backwards, "And don't take anything he says personal. Justin is just…feisty."

Mario smiled and nodded vigorously.

I passed young-looking associates carrying stacks of papers. Everyone seemed to be on their cellphones. I strolled down the hall and almost started running when I saw Jane sitting at the desk in front of a massive set of doors.

She saw me too and popped up, grabbing me in a hug before I could even blink. "Oh, thank God. I can't believe you're really here."

I had met Jane for a quick second on that faithful trip to Miami, but even in that short amount of time, I knew I liked her. Plus she made Alec happy, so I couldn't argue with that.

"It's good to see you. I didn't think you'd stick around."

"Well, you know the Cullens. Once you're in, you're in." She shrugged. "You look fabulous."

"Thank you. You look good yourself. When Justin told me he hired you, I thought he was joking."

"Unfortunately, no. He's working me to death. All of us, really. I don't think anyone's slept in a week."

"I can see that." I looked around at the haggard employees who almost walked like zombies.

"But he pays out of the ass," Jane whispered. "He's so fucking generous."

"He can be that way sometimes." I smiled at his kindness. "Justin doesn't like to show it, but it's there."

"Well, it was nice seeing you again. I'm always around Alice and Rose so we'll bump into each other soon, I'm sure." Jane went back behind her desk and picked up the phone that was ringing furiously. "He has someone, but you can go in."

"I don't want to disturb him."

"No, he told me to send you in."

"Oh, okay. I'll see you later, then."

She waved, and began talking on the phone.

I up to the large doors and knocked. Justin answered, and I peeked into the room. He was behind his desk with his glasses on, talking to a younger man who was writing feverishly on a pad.

"This is my wife, Selena," Justin introduced me to the man. After so many years as playing his fake wife, I didn't even think twice about it now.

The guy stood up and shook my hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too. I'm sorry if I interrupted something."

"No, he was just leaving." Justin took off his glasses. "I need those shipping details before you leave today."

"Yes, sir." The man collected his things and hurried out of the door.

"Wow, I'm impressed." I sat in the seat opposite Justin.

"Do you like my empire?" He held his hands out. "Built from the ground up."

"You sure do run a tight ship."

"I have to if I want to get back on top."

"You're killing them all." I pointed behind me at the door. "They look like shit out there. You don't look too much better."

"We can sleep when we're dead." He got up from his chair and came to stand in front of me. "Would you like me to order us lunch?"

"Are you too busy?"

"Not for another hour."

"Okay, then." I stood up and kissed the hell out of him because I really wanted to. There was something incredibly sexy about watching him work, especially in his glasses.

I twisted my hands around his tie and pulled him impossibly closer to my body. His lips were filled with the urgency that I needed and the softness that he always held for me.

Justin pulled back after a couple of seconds. "My hour is slowly slipping away."

"Right." I nodded.

He sniffed the air and then scrunched up his nose, "Selena, don't take this the wrong way, but you smell like a dog."

I stopped myself from saying anything and wryly smiled. I still hadn't figured out what I was going to do about the dog at home, but I would figure it out before he knew anything was up.

"Maybe it's the fabric softener. I'll have to switch brands." I sniffed my coat dramatically. "How about lunch?"

"Good. I'm starving."

Justin called Jane and ordered food while I sat down on the sofa near the window. He hung up and stretched out next to me with his feet on the coffee table in front of us.

"Food should be here in about five minutes. The kitchen's just downstairs."

"Long day?" I asked.

"Incredibly long and it's not even halfway over yet." He rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes.

"Don't work yourself too hard," I warned.

"There's no way around that, Selena. This is my life now."

"At least you're not doing anything illegal at the moment."

"There will be more of that later. Don't worry." He chuckled, but there was something off about the sound. Almost as if it was apprehensive. "How did your interview go?"

"I got the job. I start in a couple of days."

"Well, congratulations. I knew you'd get it."

I rested my head on his lap and turned over so that I stared up at the ceiling. "My boss talked about you quite a lot."

"Of course he did. He's in local television. There's nothing else to talk about. I just returned from the grave."

"I hope it doesn't turn into a problem later."

"Just tell me if it does. I'll take care of it."

I almost felt like falling asleep, but there was a knock on the door and the smell of chicken brought me back to life. A chef rolled a cart into the room with covered trays and a bottle of wine. He set everything out on the coffee table and uncovered a nice lunch of risotto, chicken, and steamed vegetables.

"Anything else, sir?" he asked.

"No, this is fine." Justin took off his jacket. "Thank you."

"Very well, then."

Right before he was about to leave the room, Justin cleared his throat. "Excuse me. What temperature was this chicken cooked at?"

"I fired it over the grill at four hundred degrees."

"Take this back and do it again at three seventy, make sure the skin is crispy but not burned, and light on the salt." Justin handed him the plate. A smile crept on my face when I realized that I made my chicken that way.

"I'm sorry about that, sir." He rushed out of the room.

I cut my chicken and took a bite. "Tastes good to me." I fed him a piece.

He chewed on it and scrunched up his face. "It tastes like rubber and that is not how I eat mine."

"I think you're being a little overdramatic. Did you have to be so mean?"

"At least now, every time I order food, it'll be done perfectly."

"There's always the silver lining," I replied sarcastically. "Haven't you ever heard that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?"

"Of course I have, but what happens when you get the flies? Who wants them? I'd prefer bees, then I can train them to sting whoever I wanted."

I shouldn't have been surprised that Justin had that kind of logic in his head.

Once his food was brought back, we started eating and fell into easy conversation about the day. It was all incredibly delicious and I couldn't help myself as I stuffed my face. I stayed away from the wine though. It tasted…off.

Justin's phone kept ringing, but he shut it off after about ten minutes. I found it incredibly sweet that he wanted to spend time with me, even though he was busy. Of course, that didn't stop him from yelling at that kid, Mario, for asking a simple question. Justin was ruthless and, of course, I knew that, but I sometimes forgot he only had a melted heart with me. It was such a switch to see him in business mode.

I really wanted to know how Alec's day at school was going, but Justin convinced me not to text him.

"Maybe we should have waited a year," I said and played with the piece of chocolate cake on my plate.

"You baby him too much," Justin replied. "He's a grown man."

"But he's not," I argued. "He's been locked up his whole life, and then thrown into this world with no warning. He's still young."

"I know, but we need to step back a little."

"One year," I said, mostly to myself.

"That's the plan."

Justin suddenly got very fidgety, and his tics started becoming more present. He twisted his neck from side to side in an effort to crack it and his right shoulder would twitch a little; all clear signs that something heavy was on his mind.

I put my fork down. "Alright, out with it."

"Out with what?"

"Is there something you need to say?"

"No," he replied quickly. "Actually, yes. I need to talk to you about something." He cleared his throat.

"Okay." I didn't like the sound of that.

"Um, so I had lunch with Carlisle the other day."

"Right, you never told me how that went."

"It went… well, I guess. We talked about a few things."

I nodded in understanding, but kept quiet.

"So, he asked me a very important question." Justin rubbed the back of his neck.

"Which was?" I prompted.

He sighed deeply. "He wanted to know if… I was ready to lead the family."

It took me a minute to understand what that meant and all I could come up with was, "Oh."

"Yeah, he said that he's leaving me everything at the end of the month. I would inherit his legacy, and then be expected to create my own. I would be in charge of everyone, our whole cosca. I don't have a lot of time to make a decision."

"What happens if you say no?" I whispered.

"Then it'll go to Emmett or Jasper. They'll run us into the ground, though."

"We both know what your answer is." I played with the napkin in my lap. "Weren't you just talking about how you wanted to be your own man and make a name for yourself?"

He nodded slowly. "True, but I was thinking in about a year when I had my footing back."

I had been preparing myself for this day ever since I met Justin. I knew it was on the horizon. It was a common fact that Justin was to take over the family at some point. He had been "training" for almost his entire life. He was ready. The only thing that didn't sit right with me was his safety. He would be put in more dangerous situations, but I guess I would have to get over my anxiousness.

Now wasn't the time to show my discomfort with the conversation so I took his hand. "The mafia is a very intricate machine, but it needs a strong leader and there's no one better than you. You can do this."

Justin flinched at the word "mafia". He always did and told me that it wasn't the true term for what the Cullens had. He was right. They ran what was more like a small country. Mafia just didn't suit their operation.

"Selena, I need to know what you're thinking. This won't affect just my life. This is our life."

"Does it really matter what I say?"

"Yes, it does," he assured me. "I need to know that you're alright with this. Our freedoms are gone. Our life will be turned upside down and I need to know if you're ready."

"Justin, I came to terms with your job a long time ago. I know what you do and I'm not afraid of the life you live. If you're asking me to tell you what to, then you're out of luck. I'm not going to do that."

"Selena, your life will never be the same after this…"

"Stop trying to warn me. I know what I got myself into."

His forehead crumpled in thought for a second, and then the look of determination overshadowed any feeling of doubt or uncertainty.

"I'm going to tell him yes, then. I'm going to take over."

I squeezed his hand for reassurance.

He spoke quietly. "I have so many ideas and so much I want to accomplish. It's going to be a new fucking dynasty for the Cullens and I hope everyone's prepared for it. I want this…badly. I just don't want it to affect you."

"Justin, this has already affected me and I'm okay with that. I'm not going anywhere now."

He nodded, "There's not going back for me."

"This is what you want, so do it."

"I…there's also something else."

"Oh, God." I groaned. I didn't know how much more I could take today, "I think I'm more prepared for this than you are." I joked.

"Probably." He chuckled.

"So what is it?"

Justin shook his head, "Um, nothing. I'll tell you later."

"Are you sure? It sounded important." I egged him on.

He shook his head again.

I decided to let that go.

"Can I set some rules?" I moved closer to him. "I know you're going to be the big boss and everything, but there are limits."

"What did you have in mind?"

"You can't bring your work home," I said pointedly. "Deal with everything you need to here, in this office. I'm not going to have mob chiefs and drug lords running through my house."

He took a long sip of wine. "I think I can do that."

"And you have to be home for breakfast every morning; promise me." My voice held a sense of urgency for his answer.

Justin looked at me with confusion on his face.

"Well, when Charlie used to have to go out at night for work, he used to tell me that if he wasn't home for breakfast then something was wrong, but until then not to worry about it," I explained. "Every morning he was there and we would eat before I went to school. You have to have breakfast with me unless you're out of town or something like that."

He slid his hand behind my neck and brought me closer, our lips almost touching, "Those are very agreeable terms. I can do that."

"I just want to know that you're okay."

He nodded. "I completely understand, but I have a few rules of my own."

"Really?"

He thought for a second. "Just one."

"I think I can handle it."

"If I get a call in the middle of the night to handle something, you can't ask me what it is."

"Wha…?" He cupped his mouth over my hand to stop my words.

"When I get back from a job, you can ask all the questions you want and I'll answer them honestly. But before, you can't question me about a thing. Do you understand?"

I bobbed my head up and down. He slowly dropped his hand.

"I'm being generous because I know how much you want this and I won't stand in your way. Just be safe and come home to me," I said.

Justin pulled me the rest of the way and kissed me tenderly. After a second, it became more heated, his tongue pushed into my mouth and found a way to make me quiver in pleasure. His hands began pushing my skirt up on the outside of my nylons. I tried to keep things PG with the kissing, but when I heard his throaty moan in response to me biting his lip, I couldn't help myself.

I dragged him down by using his shirt until we were lying flat and started undoing his buttons so that I could feel the hair on his broad chest.

"Selena, I don't have time to fuck you right now, but I really want to." His lips moved to my neck.

"Tell me what you'd do," I encouraged. "Tell me right now."

"I'd come into the office and you're be sitting right here, on this leather couch waiting for me. Your legs are slightly parted, and with each step I take, you continue to spread your legs entirely too slowly until they are open for me completely." He was panting as if we were actually enacting this scene, and I shut my eyes to envision it, letting the fire start to build.

"You're only in your panties. Black, no blue ones with lace and I can't wait to run my hands over your fucking creamy thighs until you start shaking, begging me to go higher."

"What shirt do I have on?" I rolled my hips upwards, trying to create friction as he devoured my collar bone and popped off buttons on my blouse.

"Fuck a shirt. Just a bra and your nipples are hard," he continued. "Can you feel it, Selena?"

I nodded silently, my mouth opened to speak, but couldn't. Justin ground into me roughly, moving his kisses towards my chest.

"I stand in front of you, looking down and your legs part even wider in anticipation. Just the sight of you is making me hard and you reach out to grab my dick."

I was in desperate need of release by this point, but Justin wouldn't let me have an inch of pleasure. He would pull back and separate our pelvises just at the precipice of desire.

He took my hand and guided it down his body, from chest to waist, to cock. It filled my palm and only spurred him further.

"Shit, Selena, I like your hand on me," he whispered and nipped at my ear lobe.

"Keep going," I begged him.

"I kneel in front of you, and dip my head between your legs, trailing kisses slowly up your thighs. I got higher until get to your panties and feel the rough lacy fabric against the pad of my tongue as I lick your slit."

"Take of my fucking panties," I growled. "In the dream… take them off," I quickly amended. I was so clouded with lust that reality and fantasy were blurring.

"Alright. I take off your panties and throw them to the side so that I can see you fully. And finally I get to taste all of you. I move my tongue inside of you, slowly, trying to savor it."

Justin's cock was pushing against my hand and I tried to rub him, but he stopped me.

"Just worry about yourself. I want you to feel me," he said. "When I can't take it anymore, I throw you over the back of the couch and ram into you from behind." Justin brought his full weight down in between my legs and I gasped as his dick almost split me in half even from the outside.

I imagined him filling me from behind, inch by inch. Lights flashed behind my eyes, my skin heated to the point of fire, and I lost all form of coherent thought.

"Finish it," I pleaded.

"I reach around and rub you furiously while I'm fucking you, and you fall apart right over this couch as you cum like a geyser."

His words brought my release and I stopped myself from yelling obscene things into the air, reminding my mouth that Jane was right outside the door. Justin shuddered above me ,and I felt his release through the fabric of his pants.

Sweet baby Jesus and all the apostles in Heaven.

I stilled and had to draw in breath so ruggedly that it burned my throat. Neither of us said anything for a couple of minutes, just revealing in our post coital shock.

"For all that, we should have just fucked." Justin kissed my neck.

"No, that was so much hotter."

"I love you Selena, and thank you." He whispered against my skin.

"For what?"

"For being understanding and for…just being here. You're still here."

"I told you I wasn't running away. Have a little more faith in me." I pushed on his chest slightly, an indication for him to get up. "Everything we just did, by the way, was completely hot."

"A little afternoon delight never hurt anyone." He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Please come back anytime you wish."

I left his office half an hour later on wobbly legs, but tried to act like there wasn't anything wrong. Jane just smirked as I passed her, not saying a word. I had to take a minute to calm down in the car because there was no way I could drive in this state. My body was still reacting to that mind-blowing orgasm in the same way it did when I first met him. I prayed to God that the fire never died.

On the way home, outside of the city, I stopped off at a local grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner, and then remembered that I had an extra mouth to feed. I got the smallest bag of dog food I could find, and then put it back, opting for the larger bag instead. I decided that I was going to keep the bulldog at home. He didn't have a tag so that made him free, right?

By the time I pulled up in the driveway, Alec's car was back, and I called him out to help me with the groceries.

"Did you know there's a fat dog in the backyard?" he asked me, chomping on chips when he came to the back of my car.

"He's not fat, and yes. I put him there before I left. He didn't chew through the fence or anything, did he?"

"No, he's still there and totally fucking awesome. Where did you find him? What's his name?" Alec asked rapidly as we carried the things inside.

"He was on our doorstep. He just walked right in." I put the groceries on the countertop. Alec plopped the big bag of dog food on the floor.

"Do we have to put up signs to see if his owner will call?"

"I didn't think about that. Should we?"

"Maybe not yet. Why does he look so sick?" Alec sat on a stool.

"I don't know, but obviously whoever was taking care of him didn't want him. He looked horrible."

"I changed the stuff on his paws. They started bleeding again."

"Poor dog."

"What's his name?"

"Um… Francis," I said out of nowhere. I picked the name because I had this teacher in high school that looked like a bulldog. His name was Francis. It just seemed to fit.

"Sweet! I'm letting him in." Alec ran off to open the backdoor.

I heard the soft padding of paws and a second later, Francis licked at my ankles.

"Hi." I picked him up. He wasn't too heavy; cubby certainly, but not fat. I noticed that he was damp and smelled like my strawberry shampoo. "You washed him?"

"Yeah, he smelled like shit. Now look at him." Alec scratched behind Francis' small, floppy ears. "He's a stud."

"Do you think Justin will let us keep him?" I asked.

"No," Alec laughed, "hell no. He would rather die than live in a house with animals."

"Maybe we can hide him for a while. Just don't tell Justin yet."

The rest of the day, I made sure that Francis was okay. Maybe it wasn't that smart to keep a strange dog, but I was really getting attached. I set up a couple pillows and blankets inside of the dryer and put him in there to sleep until I figured out a better place. He went to sleep almost instantly, and I hoped he stayed that way until Justin passed out tonight. The dryer was the only safe place. It wasn't like anyone did anything in the laundry room, except me, anyway. I then hid the dog food under the sink.

Alec helped me make a large dinner of eggplant parmesan, chicken piccata, mozzarella filled meatballs, and a simple salad. If we spaced it out, this might last us for tonight's dinner as well as tomorrow's.

Fat chance!

Alec was already snacking while he set the table.

Justin walked in the door at seven and collapsed into a chair with a haggard face. We all sat down to dinner like normal people did, and I wondered how much longer we would be able to do this. With Justin's new revelations today about the future of the Cullens, I figured our free time was short.

Halfway through the meal, the phone rang, and I got up to answer it.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Neighbor!" a cheery voice answered. "Hi, this is Carrie Sed, from down the street. You remember?"

"Of course." I inwardly groaned. Alice had told me a few things about Terry and Carrie from down the street. Not surprisingly, everyone on the block tried to avoid them. They were just too happy, and the Stepford thing was aggravating. They didn't have too many friends because of it. But I was determined to give them a chance. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. We're all fine over here. Actually, I don't want to keep you long, but I was just calling to see if you wanted to come over for a dinner party we're having in a couple days? Just us and another couple."

"That's great. What time?"

"Is seven good?"

"Seven's fine. Do you want us to bring anything?"

"No, I'm handling all the cooking. Don't you worry. So I'll set a place for you guys."

"Okay, and thanks for the invitation."

"No problem. And feel free to bring Alec."

"We will. Goodnight."

"Night, Selena."

I hung up the phone and went back into the dining room.

"Who was that?" Justin asked when I sat down.

"Well, we've been invited to a dinner party."

"I can't go," he replied quickly.

"You don't even know when it is."

"I'm busy. I can't go. I can only guess who it is and if I have to sit through a dinner with those two robots, I'll kill myself."

"They're not that bad," I said, almost hopefully. "And you're going. It's later in the week."

Alec snickered from across the table.

"You're going too," I told him.

His face fell. "No way. They're so weird."

"We've been invited and we're going," I said with finality and continued eating.

Justin grumbled under his breath, but didn't say anything.

Sometime around ten that night, everyone was tired. Justin fell asleep before his head hit the pillow, and Alec was snoring like a bear when I turned out the light in the hallway. I let Francis go to the bathroom one last time before putting him back in the dryer. I still didn't know how to broach that subject with Justin. Thankfully, Alec hadn't spilled his big mouth yet.

The next morning, I rolled over in empty sheets, and the smell of cooking bacon assaulted my nose. It made my stomach churn and flip in my body. I didn't know if I liked that feeling, but the smell drew me out of bed.

I completed my morning routine before going downstairs to see Justin standing in front of the stove. He was dressed for work, minus his usual pressed white shirt and his jacket, which was slung over a chair.

"Wow, Justin Bieber cooking. I never thought I'd see the day." I stood next to him at the stove and kissed his shoulder.

"I'm not cooking. I'm reheating," he corrected me. "I had this delivered. You said you wanted me for breakfast every morning, so here it is."

"You must have done something bad." I picked up a piece of toast and took a small bite. On the counter was a wide array of fruit, eggs, and bagels. Justin was heating the bacon in a skillet and I was actually amazed that it wasn't smoking. He did have the best cooking skills.

"I'm just trying to be the perfect man," he said with a sarcastic chuckle, "That's what you wanted."

"I don't want that perfect man. You're far from it and I like that."

"Well, thank you…I think."

"How did you sleep?" I asked.

"Flawlessly. That bed up there works wonders on my back."

"I noticed." I ran my hand over his spine. "Why don't you have a shirt on?"

"I got water on it. I put it in the dryer for a minute."

"Oh," I replied. It took me a second to remember just exactly what was in the dryer. I dropped the toast and took off towards the laundry room.

I turned on the light and ripped the dryer door open.

"Francis," I pulled out Justin's shirt and stupidly looked inside. "Are you in here?"

Images of a chubby, burned bulldog ran through my mind, and I started crawling on my knees, checking corners.

"Francis, are you in here?" I moved aside baskets and unpacked boxes, but found nothing.

Shit!

I checked under everything and in boxes as well. After a minute, it was obvious that he had escaped.

I was still scouring on the floor when I was met with expensive Italian loafers and the crease of silky dress pants.

"Your dog had to pee so I let him out about an hour ago." Justin's voice didn't sound amused at all.

I looked up. "Thanks. That was sweet of you."

"We're not keeping him." He left the room and I got up, following him.

"He just showed up yesterday and it wasn't like I could turn him away."

"Why not? He's not your responsibility." Justin sat at the table to eat breakfast. "Dogs are disgusting."

"No, they're not. And we washed him last night so he's clean."

"You and Alec aren't keeping that thing. Dogs have fleas, and parasites, and bugs, and they slobber, and what about rabies? You don't even know if he has his shots." He shuddered in disgust. "Plus, he could belong to someone."

"I'm keeping the dog." I went to check the backyard where Francis was rolling around in the yard. "He's staying here."

"Selena, I'm putting my foot down. He's not staying."

"You might be the head of the mafia family, but you can't just make all the decisions for this family. He's staying and his name is Francis." I snapped. I didn't know where that rush of emotion came from, but I liked it.

Justin's lips raised in a snarl, ironically like a dog, but he didn't say anything back to me.

[ebiizaleth]

so season 8 was a shitstorm

DON’T READ IF YOU DON’T WANT SPOILERS. HUGE RANT AHEAD.

First, we need to talk about Allurance. So few were rooting for it, and so few were actually expecting it, which made it even more disappointing than it was in the pure essence of the show. It was poorly developed and made practically no sense at all. Lance was after Allura since season 1 and every time he made any romantic advance on her, she shut him down, damaging his self esteem and fueling his insecurities.

The first time she ever showed any kind of romantic interest in him (s7 ‘blush’ scene) was out of the blue, had no development, and most of all, made no sense whatsoever. So, now Allura’s agreeing to go on a date with him as the first notable event in the season, which, again, made no sense and seemingly came out of some kind of Senseless Abyss. Originally, she didn’t even seem enthusiastic about going with him until Romelle encouraged her. And then the dinner, which felt forced and gave no extra insight to the characters except that Lance felt uncomfortable with his childhood stories being revealed to Allura (again, she fuels his insecurity). Even worse, Lance dropping the big “I love you” on their first date was from nowhere and completely abandoned any sense of his character the season hadn’t already stripped from him.

Worse, Allura wasn’t what Lance needed. The show is made for children, if I’m not mistaken, meaning it should give at least some lessons to kids about how life is. In that, you don’t always get the girl, and definitely not by pining after her for years. Allura didn’t do anything for (much less ‘develop’) Lance’s character. Lance needed someone who could empower him, aid him in overcoming his insecurities and helping him to develop as a person and bring out his positive qualities. Instead, she stripped him down to a tiny part of his character and made him solely for the purpose of being a love interest. If Allurance had actually been developed and made Allura a character who checked the boxes in that she is what Lance needs, I’d be far less infuriated and more just disappointed that it wasn’t a ship I prefer. Honestly, I could go on more about how annoyed I am by the Allurance clusterfuck but I’m going to show some mercy.

Second point. The characters. I mean, the characters are what make Voltron what it is, right? The characters are what the audience fell in love with at the start. But season 8 completely ruined any idea of that. Threw it all out the window. All logic seemed to depart the writers when actually writing the characters. Keith’s character and style was just... not. He was a lot softer than he was in previous seasons, which was nice to see, but there was pretty much nothing that led to him acting that way. A random change of heart isn’t exactly Keith’s (or anyone’s???) style.

Pidge was decent this season but had no development yet did get some good ‘look-at-me-I’m-smart’ moments (which, let’s be honest, we have seen too much of before). Hunk, again, was reduced to a fat joke and ‘likes cooking’. Shiro was practically nonexistent this season, which was one of the things I was really afraid of in the build-up to the season. Shiro’s irrelevance was so obvious that it made him relevant. And just for the brownie points, they throw in a wedding scene with some random background character and a good old mlm kiss to spice things up. Then there’s Allura. Who, to be honest, hasn’t changed much as a person through the course of the show. The only real change we saw in Allura was that she suddenly started to have feelings for Lance.

The person everybody’s talking about (and who am I to break a trend?), however, is Lance. This season, in my eyes, didn’t even include Lance.  The ‘boy from Cuba’ on the screen was not any Lance I’ve ever seen. By halfway through the first episode, there was practically none of Lance left, and no clear reason for his abandonment of character other than Allura. His inner insecurity vanishes, any cockiness or arrogance disappeared, and he had little to no ‘funny’ and/or ‘dumb one’ lines. He was kind, calm, emotional and mostly collected throughout. Which is definitely a part of Lance’s character, but only a small segment.  

And the plot? Didn’t understand about nine-tenths of it. In fairness, it may have been because I was pretty much bored out of my mind and stopped focusing, but either way, it was boring as fuck. It was frustrating, confusing and made almost no sense. From the random fight scenes to the overabundance of mechas and robots, I was done from around the fourth episode. I was confused for the entire thing.

We all already knew that Altean Lance was quite a popular concept, but not like this. Never like this. First of all, for about the billionth time I’ve said in this post, it makes zero sense. Is Lance part Altean now? Does he have any special powers or just the markings, an imprint on Allura’s unfortunate permanence on his character? So he can be sad about her for the rest of his life, and never move on? And for him to go on to be a fucking farmer and his whole life to revolve around Allura? That is not the Lance that we knew for seven seasons. I call bullshit. I’m genuinely really pissed off about this because Lance was such a fan favourite and they did him so dirty, just like they did us all dirty.  

Finally, the whole thing felt so odd and disjointed. It didn’t feel like a season of Voltron, it felt like one huge mess. The characters’ interactions, of the few that actually mattered outside of Allurance were weird and felt forced. Even the Klance-y moments felt slightly wrong in that Lance went to seek out the one person on the team he’s always struggled to get along with to have a heart-to-heart. The episodes all seemed to blur into one mix of bullshit and there were a shit ton of loose ends/unexplained bits of plot from both this season and previous ones that leave us all clueless as to what became of certain characters, why some events went the way they did, etc. The rest of Voltron, for the most part, managed to lead on well and keep the characters’ personalities consistent (even if they weren’t being developed). This was a shitshow.

By the end, with all the shit it had thrown at us, like going in Honerva’s mind, the fucking Altean markings, everyone being a shitty character and Allura dying having no lasting repercussions except turning Lance into some ridiculous stagnant idiot, I pretty much lost all sense of caring. To be honest, they could’ve ended it at the end of season 7 (minus the “It’s an Altean!!11!!” thing) and everyone would’ve been happier.

While I hated a lot about the season, there were a few things I did enjoy:

- Pidge with bunchies and she looked great this season

- Keith being soft (irritatingly without reason)

- Bae Bae

- Getting to know the MFEs (and Kinkade’s vlog/passion being shown)

- Colleen Holt (and her liking ‘Plance’)

- Veronica/Axca interactions

- Matt Holt

- The animation improved a bit??

- Ponytail Keith

- Shiro did get a happy ending, no matter how shittily done

[tortoisesshells]

Top ships (Like boats. Those kinds of ships)

nonny, you know me so well!

this list is the list I made after somewhat careful considerationover lunch break, and, to save everyone a lot of handwringing, I stuck to museum ships or ships you can still see/work aboard. Therefor, this is subject to change at any one point in time,depending on where I’ve been recently, what part of my diss. I’ve been focusingon, and whether or not I think fictional representations of ships (real orotherwise) are fair game.

(1) Charles W. Morgan. mon amour. Definitely thefirst ship of note I saw, at the ripe old age of probably four (there’s someembarrassing family photos lying around somewhere of l’il baby jamesknoxpolkalying around somewhere). I’ve heard that scent is a really powerful trigger formemory, and, before she was extensively repaired by the Seaport around2009-2012(?), I swear, you could smell the whale-oil. Mystic Seaport runs a24-hour Moby-Dick readingmarathon aboard the Morgan -do you know what it’s like to be lying on the deck of the last wooden whalingship in the world, staring up at the stars at 3AM, listening to someone readChapter 96, “The Try-Works”, where Ishmael compares the Pequod to Hell and gets disoriented in the long night watch? It’snot very academic of me, but the sense of lineage, of being part of a long lineof stewards and travelers holding and passing on the Morgan gives me the chills. A+ ship, will read Moby-Dick aboard it again.

(2)HMS Victory. Avery Long Trip for your humble narrator. A Spring Break trip, so’s we’re allclear on what my priorities were in college. I stood on the spot where Nelsonwas shot, and teared up. Horatio Hornblower was my maritime history gatewaydrug, and it’s a short hop from Hornblower to falling ass over tea-kettle intothe RN during the Napoleonic Wars. Wanna know how many biographies of Nelson Ihad on my bookshelf by the time I was fourteen? Seven (7). Victory is huge and beautiful and everything my little pre-teen andearly-teen self had imagined a ship-of-the-line to be. Oldest ship of war stillin commission, anywhere! I don’t know what series of events would lead theRoyal Navy to do anything with a 250+ year old ship, but I sure as shit wouldread that fantasy novel.

(3)USS Constitution.Despite being a US American, I do not have the same attachment to the Constitution as I do to the Victory, but the Constitution has(1) a much cooler design, h/t to Joshua Humphreys for the diagonal riders(? mynaval architecture glossary is weaaaakkk as hell) and building a ship that wassturdy enough to withstand (some) cannon shot as well as not hogginghorrifically over the past 210+ years & (2) a surreptitious role asinspiring the Acheron inthe seminal Western philosophical text, Masterand Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003). Owns onereasonably bad-ass nickname, “Old Ironsides”*, has a long and kind of weirdhistory after her fighting days were over. Like the Victory, is still, technically, in commission - but, unlike the Victory, actually still afloat!* addendum re: “Old Ironsides” - Constitution isnormally on display in the Charlestown Navy Yard across the pier from a WWIIdestroyer, USS Cassin Young. Ihave heard tourist ask the poor NPS rangers if the Cassin Young is “Old Ironsides”. Twice.

(4)USS Constellation. Ondisplay in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, and, for a very, Very, long time, allegedto be one of the sainted ~Six Original Frigates~ of the United States Navy (ofwhich I can only name five at any one point in time, because I always forgetUSS Congress existed,and that’s not even a comment on current US politics). One of my favorite bitsof drama in US maritime history, to be sure! For a long time, the Constellation on display in Baltimore was supposed to have been the one built in 1797, although that’s not actually the case! The ship on display was built at Gosport in 1854 … at the same time that the old frigate Constellation was dismantled for parts … some of which ended up in the new sloop Constellation. There was something hinky going on with the Navy’s books, iirc, too - I don’t think the Navy took the old frigate off the books, and just ended up keeping the new sloop Constellation under the old listing. There’s an apocryphal story I’ve heard that the subterfuge was because Congress would fund repairs but not the building of a new sloop which, while amusing, isn’t actually the case. Anyway, I love a good historical quandary, & the Constellation checks off a number of boxes! Bureaucratic sleight of hand! The perplexing weirdness of the antebellum Navy Department! Weird pissing contests about “which ship is older?”!

(5) SS John W. Brown. Apart from the righteous name (okay, so she’s not named for the John Brown, but for an early 20th century labor organizer, so solidarity forever! ahem), she’s one of two WWII Liberty Ships (out of 2500+ built, which is just … shit.  The US built and launched the SS Robert Peary in under five (5) days just to make a point - there was a lot left to do before the ship was functional, but, you get the point?) that are still afloat & functional. As in, the engine still works. The ship still goes out once in a while. Which I have yet to go on, but, some day! Anyway, the point in all this is the John W. Brown is neat and one of my favorite museum ships because there’s literally dozens of WWII subs and other vessels, but the history of the Liberty ship - the Ford Model T of 20th century shipbuilding - is cool and generally under-appreciated.(5b - because I flip-flopped twice) SSV Corwith Cramer. Not an old ship (she’s older than me, only just), but my first real sailing experience. I don’t think anyone ever forgets the first time they realize they can’t see land, anywhere? That if you fall overboard in the night, and no one misses you, you will die alone and never be found? The first time you go aloft while underway, that electric, anticipatory feeling in your hands, muttering “three points of contact, three points of contact at all times” to yourself? My bunk was in a part of the ship called “Squalor”. I accidentally got grease pencil on my face. I didn’t sleep for over a day because I was so excited! to be there! (& also watch) I heard whales spouting somewhere in the dark late one night, and it was one of the eeriest, most extraordinary things I can remember. on revient toujours a ses premieres amours.

put “top 5” anything in my ask and i will answer ok go

[doomedandstoned]

FAMYNE

~Songs in the Night~

Interview & Photographs by Angelique Le Marchand

I am wrestling with all the crap in my pockets for ages as my mobile goes off on a London double-decker bus. I just missed a call, and it’s neither my bestie nor a robot calling to offer me PPI. It’s Jake Cook drummer for the band FAMYNE calling to finalise our plans to meet up for an interview in Camden, just before the band’s gig at The Black Heart. This proper phone call feels like such a good omen. It is refreshing to come across someone like Jake, who doesn’t solely rely on texts or emails nowadays.

As I had feared, my quest for a reasonably quiet room suitable for recording the interview is not fruitful, and the initial plan of booking a copacetic space ahead of time was impeded by the band’s busy schedule prior to tonight's show. As a result, all seven of us decide to make the band’s tour bus our "office" for the duration of our discussion. Parked outside the venue, it’s perfect -- quiet and well lit, with plenty of armrests to prop pints of cider on (the band’s drink of choice).

Famyne is:

Tom Vane (vox)

Jake Cook (drums)

Martin Emmons (rhythm guitar)

Chris Travers (bass)

Alex Tolson (lead guitar)

Justin Crouch (silent member and head roadie)

Famyne by Famyne

Origins

The Canterbury doomers were inspired by Opeth’s song "Famine" to name their band. The song is an extract from the pivotal album 'Heritage' (2014), which Famyne’s founding members have a predilection for, and although their taste in music stems from a variety of influences, all five share an admiration for the Swedish prog-metal legends.

At the time that Famyne were formed, Tom was studying the history of English as part of his undergraduate degree, which played a big part in personalising the band’s name. The spelling is a reference to orthographic variations in Old English, with the vowel "i" being interchanged with “y” depending on your geographical position across the country during the Early Medieval Period.

Like all bands, Famyne went through a great number of possible names before coming up with one that clicked. "It’s like naming a baby almost," says Tom. "You think of how people could take the piss out of it. In that case, no. Let’s not be called that." Their search had to be brought to a halt when the band was offered their first gig with Skull Tank and Death Truck Mutiny at their local bar. They already had a set put together, but they still hadn’t decided on a name. They needed to come up with one -- fast -- if anything, for the gig’s promotion poster. "Famyne seemed to fit," recalls Jake.

Famyne underwent several changes before progressing to their final line-up. The band was initially put together by founding members Jake on drums, Tom on vocals, and first lead guitarist, Wesley. Wesley departed the band after their first show in October of 2014, as he was unable to commit to an increasingly busy live schedule. Jake slowly met the other members of Famyne in local pubs, including bassist Chris Travers. Both admit having no clear recollection of their first encounter due to the consumption of large amounts of alcohol, although the legend goes that Chris may have been found headbanging on his own at either The Cherry Tree or The Foundry in Canterbury.

Jake also met lead guitarist Alex Tolson in a Canterbury bar. Alex was invited to one of the band’s practice after making a big impression at one of his early live performances. He was instantly enthused to becoming part of the project, interestingly bringing with him some amps specially built for Famyne by his father. Alex Williams and Alex Johns successively played rhythm guitar, with Johns serving as long-standing guitarist for two-and-a-half years, although he never officially committed as a full-on member of the band.

As touring and the release of Famyne’s debut album required a more permanent rhythm guitarist, it felt a natural progression for Martin Emmons to complete the line-up, and he made his first live appearance as official member of the band at The UCA Bar in Canterbury on the 29th of June 2018. Martin, who has known Jake since he was 14 years old, is another eminent musician on the Canterbury scene. His prog-punk band Witchdoctor shared stage with Famyne several times, and he stood-in for Johns at some of Famyne’s shows, enabling a very smooth transition. To date, Martin continues to play with Witchdoctor and they are currently working on new material.

Guilty Pleasures

Having a peep at somebody’s music collection is a quick way of breaking the ice and getting to know them better. But picking out unexpected pieces is even more interesting as it helps defining their quirkiness, so I am curious about surprising records that may be dotting the bandmates’ personal collections. Jeff Beck’s guitar play and the way he becomes one with his instrument are an inspiration for Alex. At the moment, he is also digging Funkadelic for their fusion of funk, rock and metal. Tom’s revelation that Cocteau Twins and The Cure -- with attention to Disintegration -- get a regular spin, is coherent with some of the discrete brush strokes of post- punk in Famyne’s outputs. In his own words, Martin likes a lot of "weird shit." Quite a range on the spectrum in fact, from math rock to Zappa and King Crimson, with Cardiacs being top of his list of weird.

Although the bandmates tease the head (and only) roadie Justin that he has no choice but to listen to Famyne, he manages to explain that he is also a nü-metal fan, particularly enjoying Korn and Slipknot. Chris cites "Voulez-Vous" by Abba as one of his guilty pleasures. A single that he does own and that gets blasted in his living room, together with a lot of doom. His disclosure is met with roars of laughter from the rest of the band, but a spirited approval from me as a fellow owner of Abba’s records. If you’re going to indulge in unpretentious pop, you may as well listen to the good shit. But Chris currently also listens to a lot of Uncle Acid and the deadbeats, as well as 1000mods, and some early Metallica. Time to turn to Jake and ask him about any records in his collection that may surprise our readers.

Jake: "I’ve become a very big Ghost fan."

The "office" erupts in a huge scream. I’m ashamed to say, I suddenly forget my place. I catch myself curled up in fetal position, repeatedly punching my knees. In stitches, Alex and Martin, have completely disappeared behind their seats, while Justin is crying so hard that he looks dangerously close to having a fit. Chris briefly recovers to come to my rescue with a sympathetic handshake and a piercing "Yesssss!!! Her, too!!!" Jake is a man who will stand by his convictions, and he calmly continues.

Jake: "I know there’s a lot..." (interrupted by more laughter).

Tom: "He’s always trying to play it at parties and stuff."

Jake: "Well, say what you will but they influence me, it’s a band I like. I can’t argue with the thousands of turns up at shows."

Tom: "Yeah, you can say that about Britney Spears."

Jake redeems himself by talking us through his boundless admiration for Opeth. Then comes the revelation that he also recently acquired a soft spot for The Darkness.

Chris: "Because you can hit those notes!"

Jake (grinning): "Of course, I’m a very impressive singer actually!"

Chris proceeds to entertain us with a superb impersonation of Justin Hawkins, beating Jake to it.

No Stone Left Unturned

It’s difficult to listen to Famyne’s debut album and pick just the one favourite song, and one that would remain such as set in stone. All of them sound so unique, yet they work harmoniously juxtaposed in an album. In just over four years in existence, the band have already created a signature sound that, within split seconds of a first listen, is capable of prompting inner-monologues running along the lines of: "Ah, I recognise this...it’s Famyne."

Describing their own sound and uniqueness is not an easy task for a band. Famyne are self-aware about revealing their personal thoughts on the subject as they are interested in their listeners’ interpretations without influencing them. "Famyne is Famyne," says Jake. "We all have one central point that we’re influenced by, and that is doom. That’s why we all come together." Doom may be the binding agent of their sound, but the bandmates’ varied musical influences prevented them from falling too rigidly within the frames of the genre.

Famyne EP by Famyne

"Everything gets thrown in and we knock each other’s ideas," adds Jake, "we’ll change this and we’ll add this, and it all gets messed around." "We do what we like to do," explains Chris. "What appeals to us and what we think sounds good. No stone is left unturned, for sure." If the bandmates agree on the importance of sounding different, their self-awareness guards them from placing this thought process before the quality of their songwriting. "I wouldn’t say we try specifically to sound different," Jake says. "We don’t do it at the expense of the song," adds Tom. "The song needs to feel right, it needs to flow."

Working in a super-tight collaborative way plays a big part in sounding unique, but Tom pushes the concept further by explaining how Famyne work as a true democratic band. "Let’s say someone is really passionate about how a song needs to be. It doesn’t matter how passionate they are if four of us disagree, it’s not going to happen."

"There is a good mixture of the heart and the head in the direction of the band," he adds. Tom’s vocals stand out as a distinctive piece of the jigsaw defining Famyne’s unique sound. "I know that my vocals aren’t the same as everyone else’s," he reflects. "It’s definitely influenced by a range of different artists. Every time I sing something, I kind of have a meter in my head saying: how predictable is this? I don’t want it to be so predictable, but I also want it to feel right."

With an imposing vocal range technically flawless on record, his precision on stage singes a lasting impression. As Tom reveals that he was stage trained, his ease suddenly makes perfect sense; he has been singing since the age of four, working in musicals in several different countries as well as in the West End. Having gained a lot of singing practice from such a young age certainly shows.

‘No one really knows the whole full story of how we got this album put together’

Famyne released their self- titled, first full- length in September 2018. The band recorded the album over four different studios, each chosen to craft a specific sound envisioned not only for the band’s vocal parts and own instruments, but also for guest string musicians Cat Ledgerwood (cello) and Karen Jolliffe (violin/ viola).

Every single detail gone into putting the album together was overseen by the band themselves. As there is a heartfelt abundance of detail, it’s surprising to hear that the album was entirely self-funded. Producing such an accomplished piece with no backing financial support strikes as a respectable tour de force, and a good measure of the passion that Famyne poured into their output.

While the bandmates pride themselves in their independence, discussing recording their new album also spurs on memories of considerable hardship. "We’ve gone to do what we do, we’ve just gone for it no matter what," says Chris. "No one really knows the whole full story of how we got this album put together and our struggle in places, especially financially, sometimes. But no matter what, we just spent the money to do it. If it needs to be changed, and that means another day in the studio for this little bit, it doesn’t fucking matter. We’re doing it."

Tom composed the lyrics and cites Neil Peart as influential on his writing process. He likes the way the Rush’s lyricist produces massive songs that develop into concept albums. Tom observes that he may be perceived as goobledegooking the lyrics, but he does in fact put a lot of thought into them. I suggest that the atmosphere and themes developed have a feel of the poètes maudits from the 19th Century, but the texts are in fact quite personal. "It’s a mixture of philosophy, and fear, and also just honesty. These three things are what are behind a lot of my lyrics, a lot of the time," says Tom.

The album comes beautifully presented with an ongoing monochrome theme. A refined band shot by photographer Phill Morgan adorns the inner sleeve, while Russian artist Vergvoktre was commissioned to create a dramatic tryptic, reminiscent of Romanticism and the engravings of Gustave Doré. Vergvoktre featured the city of Canterbury on the front panel as Famyne are close to their local roots and heritage, as well as being inspired by the Canterbury sound and scene.

This is a feel they wanted to represent in the album’s artwork. "We don’t know much about the guy," says Tom about Vergvoktre. "He’s somewhat mysterious. We had these ideas for four panels that were interconnected and when put together, provided a kind of 360 degrees feel, which is why they blend together if you put them next to each other."   "Like a Famyne lampshade!" Jake adds, prompting laughs and my comment that they could easily sell those in Ikea. "We could brand that," he adds, "We need to go to Stockholm, boys!"

On point with their natural attention to detail, the band put a lot of planning into the artwork’s commission, carefully assembling ideas and atmospheres inspired by different sections of Vergvoktre’s existing pieces. This resulted in a thorough brief emailed over to Vergvoktre, comprised of themes and pictures. "As well as stick man drawings!" photobombs Chris, with his customary wit. "If you looked at it, you’d see the difference. It’s like a very young child’s drawing and then we just said, do your thing, dude! He did it justice, I’d say."

"The best gig for me is when you see people mouthing the words as I’m singing."

Tom should be pleased with tonight’s show at The Black Heart, and both "Slave Ship" and "Grand Majesty" were particularly notable in prompting this very reaction in the audience. Slightly unusual for any band opening up on any night, but truly remarkable given that "Grand Majesty" hasn’t even been released. Enquiries on reasons why the empyrean song hasn’t been committed to record yet are met with a shroud of mystery: Famyne may have some surprises in store for us.

Film by Mathijs Kooij of VoidManiac

The band’s presence live has increased tenfold over the past couple of years, with Bloodstock already under their belt. Despite being a relative young band, Famyne are steadily growing a legion of converts thanks to their sterling musicianship combined with their trademark neck brace-inducing energy.

Over the past few months, on top of recording and releasing their debut album, somehow the bandmates found the time to play a sizeable number of dates in the UK, as well as across eight different countries on the Old Continent. Playing Into The Void last year in The Netherlands and Germany for the first time were highlights for them. "The thing that was good about the tour was playing in places we’d never played and being busy," says Jake. "Beautiful place, beautiful people -- really beautiful people. Everyone was really ready to get down. The set went really well," Chris adds about Karlsruhe. "We had space on stage so we got to do our thing a bit more." Witnessing Chris fiendishly jumping on stage twenty minutes later will enlighten on the latter detail being of importance to him. It comes as a relief that live, his bandmates have apparently become very good at dodging -- although Martin still has room for improvement.

Touring, Tiger Bread, and Transport Police

One of my favourite questions to ask a band is if they have any unusual items on their riders, as it usually prompts some interesting responses. "We like to have uncut tiger bread," Jake starts off. "It hasn’t turned up once," adds Chris, solemn. The band’s need for starchy food was once covered by their promoter in Austria. He once baked a Famyne cake for Martin’s birthday and decorated it with the name of the band. Two of the letters were missing, though, as the cake turned out to be quite small. It’s the thought that counts, as they say.

Film by Mathijs Kooij of VoidManiac

As the band’s reach progresses and their touring schedules grow, so do their riders. They are appreciative of folks putting them on in the first place, but they don’t expect anything outside of the essentials. "I think we don’t want to put people into too much trouble, as we don’t want to inconvenience them," Tom says. "It’s unnecessary crap for us. All we want is some food, we want some alcohol, some soft drinks, and a nice printed picture of Bill Ward," Jake adds, as a nod to Monolord’s response to this very question in a previous Doomed and Stoned interview. "I’ll wait for the day when we get some nice lemon scented towels," says Jake.

Famyne recently came across a band (which they will not name) who was asking for hot lemon-scented towels on their riders for when they came off stage. Although they initially laughed at the extravagant requirement, looking back some of them are finding the idea quite smart. "You know what? You’re a sweaty mess, you’re dying. Shove my face all over a nice, hot lemon-scented towel. That would be fucking nice, actually!" Chris muses. Famyne do love their cider, as I will discover at my expense while naively trying to keep up with them at The Dev in Camden following the interview. It's an experience that will leave me crucified by the cruelest hangover for three days solid. "I think double the amount of cider next time, never enough cider!" concludes Chris.   Terrifying.

Looking at the band’s social media feeds gives the impression that the band are striking the balance right between hard work and brothers-in-arms fun, especially on tour. "We’re in this band not only because we love the music, but because we are friends. We have a good time," says Jake. "We want to play music, we want to travel," Chris chimes in, "so we get to do the best of both while touring."

The band is planning to go back on tour across Europe in May, and they are looking forward to playing in front of fans who have wanted to see them live for some time. They are also planning to revisit places they travelled through in 2018, including Slovenia, where Chris and Justin famously jumped in Lake Bled in their underwear...in the middle of winter. Due to the freezing temperatures at the time, they had to abandon their plans to swim across to the picturesque Bled Island popping out of the lake, with its cliffs mounted by an opulent church and a medieval castle. But Chris is determined to give this another go. "I’m getting to that, I’m swimming to the middle man. I’ve got targets," he says, sparking laughter and cheers.

The tour went really well for the Canterbury doomers, aside from them being chased down the motorway by the Slovenian traffic police. The bandmates were unaware that they had to purchase and display a little sticker before jumping on the carriageway. As their rider was a little slower than the vehicle chasing them, it soon caught up with them, causing quite a fright with a yellow flashing sign demanding that they pull over. A distressing experience for those amongst the passengers who were chilling out by listening to some music, while consuming considerable amounts of alcohol. Fortunately, the incident drew to a close with the payment of a hefty fine then and there, and didn’t affect shows the band were travelling to.

Famyne’s album launch is one of their personal highlights of 2018. The band invited prog-doomer friends Garganjua to open up for them, and the event took place on The Golden Jubilee, a 240-capacity cruiser on London’s river Thames. Why go for the logical choice of Camden venues, when you could have a boat to doom on? Knowing of the financial struggles associated with self-recording their debut album in the months preceding the event, it is quite telling about the bandmates that they should decide to treat their fans to an unusual, lavish party. Not only did the bandmates chip in to book the boat, but they also hired a coach travelling from their home city to London, as they wanted to give something back to all their friends and fans from Canterbury.

On the trip down to London, the coach got packed with party-goers who got in the mood with a couple of drinks (or ten), further relaxed by the thought of safely returning home after the show. Karma must have heard the rumours. As the album launch was popular with fans, the memory wasn’t tarnished by a financial hangover that could have been the albatross dangling from the bandmates’ necks for months to come.

The party sounded like a hell of a lot of fun. Instead of being crammed in a stuffed venue, folks mingled around in the fresh air, admiring iconic London landmarks as the boat sailed on. It must have been quite a sight for those tourists perched on London bridges. Attracted to look over by waves of extreme music booming out of the boat’s lower decks, they were cheerfully greeted by a crowd dressed in black, partially composed of pirate-resembling hirsute gentlemen yelling at them while brandishing the sign of the horns. "We released our album in I think the best possible way," says Jake, "and we made..." "A SPLASH!" is yelled, of course, by several people at once.

I suddenly become aware that I have spent almost an hour with Famyne in their "office." The other bands billed tonight at the Black Heart are still playing, but I have lost track of time and missed most of their sets. I have become completely relaxed in the company of Famyne, to the point that I have lost the awareness that I was entrusted by our editor with a specific task. With time, folks who gravitate around lots of bands must learn to tell the difference between a genuine human interaction and a PR exercise. This is something that I am generally aware of, yet meeting the band for the first time strangely feels like catching up with old friends that you haven’t seen in a very long time. So many great stories, so much laughter -- and banter! -- some of which was at my own expense (well, most at my own expense). Also a great candeur, particularly in relation with some of the challenges that everyday life throws at folks making space to express their creativity.

In such a short space of time, the bandmates’ gentle manners and openness have enabled me to find out so much about this band. A band that, until now, had remained rather mysterious, other than through the medium of their music, and some photographs shared on their social media feeds. Jake had used these words to describe the sound of his band at the start of the interview, and as I press the stop button on my Dictaphone they resonate with a deeper amplitude: Famyne is Famyne.

LIVE & LOUD

Famyne, Serpent Venom, and Iron Void at The Black Heart

~Review by Connah Davies | Photos by Angelique Le Marchand~

The Black Heart is the scene of day two of the three-day jaunt for this ragtag gang of doom metal miscreants as they roll down from Coventry, having just played The Phoenix on the previous night. Their run finished the following day in Bristol at The Old England pub.

This is Iron Void's first London show in quite some time and it comes off the back of the release of a new album. Having originally formed in 1998, these guys are no strangers to the scene, and their 2008 reformation saw them release a string of interesting EPs and LPs. The band's latest effort, 'Excalibur' (2018), was released in October on Shadow Kingdom Records.

Serpent Venom are the only band on their home turf tonight. After regrettably having to cancel an appearance in early-October, they seem keen to get back out there and conquer the stage again.

Canterbury doomers Famyne recently concluded a spate of European shows following the release of their self-titled LP, before taking to the stage at Camden’s The Black Heart. With the venue's long history of incredible gigs, this would be a fitting place for tonight’s line-up.

Famyne

Famyne started the evening with a barrage of riffs as subtle and powerful as the turning of the tides. Drone-like at times, with subtle and nuanced variation and instrumental interplay, while at other times the riffs leap from the stage and forcibly bang every head in the room. Songs reach a level of incredible intensity before resolving, then the next song starts working its way over you.

Famyne by Famyne

The reverb-soaked vocals from Tom Vane coax and lure the listeners in, before infecting them all with the same brand of insanity he throws himself into throughout the performance. By the end of their set, one might swear the sound of his voice originated from within their own head. These guys have mastered the art of decelerating the tempo of a song in an exceptionally musical way, appearing to never really lose any steam and certainly never losing any bite from the insistently heavy riffs. This, combined with great use of dynamics across their set ensure that they never lose the audience's attention.

Jake Cook (drums), Chris Travers (bass), and Martin Emmons (guitar) are really locked in tight and allow the music to sway and swing about the room or stampede as they see fit. Famyne’s lead guitarist Alex Tolson uses his understated, but technically fantastic, leads sparingly. The ethos of serving the song could leave some listeners wanting more, but that’s quite the point. Never overstaying their welcome, the solos always lift the song exactly when needed before the weight of the riffs come crashing down again. All in all, an equally vital and menacing performance.

Serpent Venom

From the word go Serpent Venom were an altogether different beast. The guitar tones had a more metallic edge to them which, whilst being less atmospheric than the evening's opening act, did allow for more fist pumping from the crowd. The tone of the single guitar on stage added a real weight to the riffs, which came thick and fast, designed to force feed every ear in the room hot gravel. It really sounded like there was more than the one guitar on stage.

Of Things Seen & Unseen by Serpent Venom

Garry Ricketts’ vocals were well-delivered and came in a direct fashion, fitting nicely with the instrumental factions of the band. It could be said that the reverb on the vocals (ramped up to obscene levels) slightly drew away from the poignancy and edge of the vocal performance. A little less would have been a real benefit to this band. Despite this, Ricketts still commanded the attention of everyone in the room. There were a few moments where it seemed he might push into a slightly more aggressive delivery but that never came. If only to occasionally match the snarl, grunt, and crash of the guitar, bass, and drums, it would have been nice to see.

The instrumental sections of the songs often come in a relentless gallop of fuzzed-out madness. It’s during the shifts from these up-tempo moments to the slower sections where it’s genuinely apparent just how tight these guys are. This is accentuated further by the way Ricketts allows his melodies to drift around and in between the band.

One misstep from the engineer during the show temporarily took the wind out of the sails of the performance, when a request for no more strobes was mistaken for a request for no more reverb -- and for half a song that was the case. Serpent Venom didn’t miss a beat during this and the issue was soon rendered, but it did disrupt the atmosphere of the set.

Serpent Venom closed out with a Sabbath-inspired bombardment of riffs. When all was said and done it seemed that, despite being very good, they were capable of putting on a more compelling show under different circumstances.

Iron Void

Opening with "Dragon’s Breath" from their new album, you know where you stand with Iron Void almost immediately. They’ll do little to change one’s mind over the course of the set, but if they’ve got their hooks in and there’s no escape.

Jonathan Seale (bass, vox) and Steve Wilson (guitar, vox) really opened up the sonic range of tonight's show with their vocal harmonies. This lends their sound a more grandiose quality, with the vibe of Gregorian vocal chants thrown in. They use a good dose of pace throughout, with their average tempo being the fastest so far.

Excalibur by Iron Void

Wilson's blues-scorched guitar lines move both with and against the vocals, creating lifting counter melodies and sturdy reinforcements. The well-constructed riffs fit remarkably well with the lyrical themes of the material. The overall sound had a certain ‘70s hard rock twist, which is just as present on their recorded material.

Nothing bad can be said of the lead guitar parts, as they live to serve the almighty riffs they stem from. The new material was comfortably at home amongst their older songs and really added to the slew of fuzz-soaked guitar work and soaring vocals. The only thing that could be said about the performance is that it doesn’t come with too many surprises throughout. This was by no means a boring show, but perhaps with a more carefully curated setlist Iron Void could have kept heads banging more consistently.

Conclusion

All in all, a solid night of doom. With the headline act being the most niche of the three bands that performed tonight it was always a risk that they might experience some drop off in the room, but this wasn’t the case. The room stayed pretty much full, excited, and in motion throughout the night.

The only gripe one might have is the same one you would find in this venue during any gig. The FOH level is always pushed to the very limit of what the system can handle. This causes a degree of clarity to be lost during the fuller on moments. Fortunately, the roster tonight didn’t suffer too greatly from this and there wasn’t many of the issues this can cause for other bands.

Taking a genre like doom-stoner, the parameters of which are well defined, and having such different corners of it touched during a three band lineup really says a lot about the creativity of those who played tonight and love this music. With the same artists playing in Bristol the following evening, one can only hope that things went down as well there, too.

The highlight of the night came early on with Famyne. They had the right blend of strut and intensity, but also knew when to hold back. This may be relatively early days for the band, but it’s clear they’ve got an interesting future ahead of them.

More Famyne

More Serpent Venom

More Iron Void

[north-warden]

The day the sea swallowed Southshore.

(OOC notes: Kinda a long post.)

Cool winds brushed through the pastures of trees and dark green blades of grass. The trees beginning to shed their colors from green to a deep sunset orange. A plagued bird flew over Travis’s head. Pieces and bits of its wings falling to the ground as it gave a crooked ‘caw’. The young Warden squinted as his eyes set on his old home. The ruined village still coated in a thick light green fog in places. Dark green sludge beginning to harden lightly in the cold november winds as it had sat dormant for quite some time. Travis slowly brought himself to the grass below a tree. He took a brown book and a horn for ale he hadn’t poured yet. But before he could set his eyes and begin to read, this time his eyes slowly sunk inward towards the ruins of Southshore. His peaceful expression slowly thinning into that of one filled with pain. A pain he locked deep within.

It was a peaceful day in Southshore much like the rest. The birds chirped outside Travis’s small window sill. The clouds were spread out evenly in the sky, enough room for the sun and the blue sky to be seen through. The same cool wind blew in through his window. He hadn’t much of a living space, being born an orphan and not seeking much promise with any profession if it didn’t involve smiting a steel hammer into an iron anvil. Small brown leaves crept inside through the breeze and window. Travis rolled over in his small cot, even reaching to scratch his nose. His so called ‘house’ was more reminiscent of a farmer's shed. That’s because it was before the person who built it turned it into a living space for Travis. Travis ever since he was at the age of nine was learning how to wield a sword, how to use it, and the responsibilities that come with the power at his fingertips whenever it was in his hand. His steel sword rested on the leg of the bed closest to his nightstand. But it had been seven years of hard training with a man named Drake Scrimshaw, a retired monster slayer and contractor who resided within the Silver Sun before the order met its demise. 

A blood curdling screaming broke the silence of Southshore, that of a middle aged woman meeting her quick end. Travis shot up, chest beating like a drum, he tossed a gaze out the window to see the sun. His gaze turned as his door flung open, leaves flushing their way into his room. Drake standing at the door. 

“Get up boy! The Banshee Queen is making her move on Hillsbrad as we speak!” Drake threw Travis’s armor. It wasn’t made of plate or links of chainmail. If anything Travis didn’t have armor, but now he had a leather set with the shoulders, elbows, and knee pads reinforced with iron padding.

“How? Where is Wyrnn and his men?!” Travis’s Hillsbrad accent was thick at the time.

“None of that matters right now, boy! Get to the Rusakov chapel and ring their bell, tell ‘em it’s an emergency. If they’ve still got a pair of eyes they’ll let ya’ pass!”

Travis stood up from his cot and straightened his back, grabbing the leather garments from the bed. As he reached for the sheathed steel blade on his bed leg Drake walked around and placed another in his chest, Travis now with a surprised expression written on his face. Travis folded his arms to grip the sheathed blade before it could fall to the floor.

“Give me that piss poor bar of steel you call a sword. Your gonna need that, I’m afraid this is my last time I’ll swing a sword, I’d figure they’d look this piece of rubbish over Xor’roth.” Drake smiled, it was one of the few times Travis had seen this.

“Lord Scrimshaw!” Travis couldn’t fathom the idea of a man who had been like a father to him dying.

“The life you’ve chosen boy, your going to lose a lot more if you let my death hold ya’ back. Now go, evacuate as many as you can. Remember boy; you’re all that’s left now. Promise me you’ll see to the Silver Dawn..” Drake’s tone of voice was grim and full of remorse.

“Until I see the Silver Dawn.” Travis hesitated with his words, his eyes becoming filled with warm salty fluid.

Drake went for the door, flinging it back open. It swayed from side to side before Travis began to equip his new armor and weapon. Placing the ancient piece of steel on his back. He mouthed the words he just said a few times before heading out the door. From the top of the hills to the north Travis could see it. A sea of black and purple. Banners with that of a broken mask and a crow. Travis clenched his fist and ran for the center of town, yelling and waving his hands frantically.

“Get to the rafts! Stay away from the entrance of town! Get to the rafts!” Travis shouted. Travis began to notice the lack of guards in grey armor and blue tabards. He looked north to see everything that was willing to give the forsaken a rough time before meeting their demise had been doing so. Travis dashed for the Chapel as it was the closest thing in sight. He ran towards the closed doors and began pounding.

“Rusakov’s! Let me in, you have to get to the shore!” Travis shouted but there was no reply. So instead he tried to push inwards to the door roughly. Slamming the side of his body into the twin wooden doors over and over before he heard a sharp whistling. It was quick and it was coming from above. Smoking green barrels arched over the village like a plague stored within them. Travis jaw dropped as one specifically was heading for him. He dove forward off the edge of the chapel steps.

“Rusakov’s! Let me in, you have to get to the shore!” Travis shouted but there was no reply. So instead he tried to push inwards to the door roughly. Slamming the side of his body into the twin wooden doors over and over before he heard a sharp whistling. It was quick and it was coming from above. Smoking green barrels arched over the village like a plague stored within them. Travis jaw dropped as one specifically was heading for him. He dove forward off the edge of the chapel steps.

Darkness.

Travis slowly opened his eyes, pain shot up and down from his feet to the top of his spine. The feeling of his heart beat thumped into the earth below him. He reached forward and dug his hands into the grass and began to groan. Slowly pushing himself up to notice what was in those barrels would shock him forever. People of the village he knew melting away in the craters the barrels created. Those splashed by the green ooze fell to the earth screaming in agony. Almost as if hundreds of voices wailed in pain. Travis slowly stood up, walking slowly as he was too hurt, traumatized, and exhausted to sprint nor gathering the spirit to run.

His gaze slowly ran up and down Southshore, his home. The rafters had already began to depart and headed for Mithril Harbor. He could see them floating away in a hurry. Some not as fortunate as those who made it to the rafters as the barrels made it there too. Families of men, women, and children boiled alive almost and their body fluids becoming more abundant as things like flesh, bone, and tissue beginning to melt like snow in the springtime. Faces of people he knew half melted off were littered around his surroundings. He began to hear Drake’s voice in his head despite him knowing he’d be dead already. He remember he made him a promise and picked up his pace. Travis limp ran towards the end of town by the shore, hoping the shore line to Thoradin’s Wall would be safe.

He only had the guts to look back once or twice. As he limped on further he picked up the pace even further. Long and heavy drawn breaths coming from the young man. Dirt and sand began to stick to his boots as the shore line kicked up. A storm began to brew over heard, rain and thunder were quick to follow as clouds finally blotted out the sun. He finally ran up a hill and collapsed beneath a tree, the thought of what just happened quickly seeping in. Trauma ran through his veins just as much as adrenaline. He finally gathered the strength after gaining back his breath to turn around, the sight of dead men in black armor in the distance spreading the plague in Southshore until even the dirt was corrupted. Travis let his jaw hang as tears began to roll down his cheeks finally, exhaustion and fear written into his face.

Travis reeled his head back in thought of his younger self. Travis reached up to scratch his chin as the sight didn’t phase him as much over the years but the events had taken their toll. He closed his book and then his eyes trying to find some kind of inner peace. He finally looked down at the silver necklace that was hung around Drake’s now hangs around his. Travis grasped it tightly in thought.

“A Silver Dawn… for everyone.” He spoke out loud. The thought of delivering those who destroyed his home onto justice becoming more enticing. The young Warden put his things away before he had even done anything to them. He hadn’t even poured his ale yet.

“That’s enough for today.” Travis’s voice was low while he spoke to himself now.