#and then there’s a small shelf of old fragile books from when i was little that were passed down to me

[wikibutch]

just revealed SUCH a fact about myself in the tags to a random post. childhood jasperism that absolutely nobody is surprised about

[slasherbish]

A Jack in the Box Part 2

The ember of hope turned into a roaring fire of joy as the woman picked up the box and brought it over to the register to be bought. He would finally, after three years of sitting on that shelf, be able to get out. He was jumping for joy in his prison. 

“Hi, we would like this please.” She told the clerk. He looked at her with a quirked eyebrow. “You want that dusty old toy? I’m not even sure if it works” He said. Jack froze, no no no please don’t put me back, he said even though no one could hear him. His silvery gray eyes switched from the woman to the clerk as his heart raced in panic. He could almost feel the cold water that had been dumped on the fire of hope and joy in his chest. 

“I want him, even broken things should have homes” The small child spoke up, crossing her little arms. This both caught Jack off guard but also made him smile. (y/n) smiled at her child “You heard the girl, ring it up” She told the clerk. The clerk sighed and rang up the box. Once paid for the woman gave the toy to her child with the warning to be careful. Happily the child held the toy to her chest and whispered “I’ll take very good care of you” 

The entire ride home the child held her new toy. Jack couldn’t wait to make his first big appearance tonight when the child opened his box. He hoped his skills weren’t rusty after all this time. While he didn’t like children all that much he still had to act like her friend until she pissed him off enough to kill her in some theatrical way. He was almost giddy at the thought. 

The car stopped outside of a modest smaller home. Both humans hopped out of the car and walked inside, the smaller human still held onto the toy protectively. Once inside Jack saw that antiques were a common thing in this home. “Alright kiddo go put him in your room. Make sure he isn’t too close to the edge of the shelf please.” (y/n) told her child. With that the child ran off to her room which had many older vintage and antique dolls and toys, from porcelain dolls to an old wood rocking horse, this child clearly loved toys that had a long life. She gently placed him on a shelf that was low enough for easy access for her. To the right of him was what looked like a handmade old teddy bear and to the left an ornate music box that sat open. The music box looked very fragile and the monochrome clown wondered how it was still intact being in a child's room. 

His attention was drawn to the child who sat on her bed with an older children's book, her dress covering her legs and her little feet swung back and forth. He was perplexed by this child. She couldn’t have been older than seven or eight and yet understood the fragility of things. It was something new for him. (C/n) had been raised to care about objects and she had a love of antiques from a very young age. It was common for her to treat them as if they were their own people. Because of this she took impeccable care of her belongings. 

“(C/n) come on it’s dinner time” (Y/n) called and with that the child ran to the kitchen.

[mywifeleftme]

365: Patti Smith // Horses

Horses Patti Smith 1975, Arista

There’s a man named Nicky Drumbolis who lives up in Thunder Bay, Ontario, in an apartment that doubles as perhaps Canada’s greatest bookstore almost no one has ever seen. The septuagenarian Drumbolis is short and nearly deaf, a master printmaker and eccentric autodidact linguist. For years he ran a second-hand shop on Toronto’s Queen St. called Letters, until push (the size of his collection) came to shove (skyrocketing rent) and he went north, where he could afford a sufficiently large space to spread out. Unfortunately, Thunder Bay has little market for antiquarian books and micro press ephemera, and his shop is located on one of the most crime-ridden streets in the country. And so, the transplanted Letters has no storefront—in fact, the building looks derelict, its windows boarded up and covered with what at first glance seems to be graffiti but on closer inspection resembles a detail from the cave paintings at Lascaux. Letters’ patronage is limited to the online traffic in rare first editions that brings him a small income, and the occasional by-appointment adventurer willing to make the long, long 1,400 km drive from Toronto or further abroad.

When you enter, you find yourself in what appears to be a well-kept single room used bookstore, the kind there used to be dozens of in every major city. Books of every type and topic line the shelves, neatly arranged by category, and a long glass display features more delicate items, nineteenth century broadside newspapers and the like, some so fragile they seem on the verge of crumbling into dust. But this is not, Drumbolis warns you as soon as you attempt to take a book off of the shelf, a bookstore: this room is a facsimile, a tribute exhibit to as he calls it, “the fetish object formerly known as The Book.” The real bookstore lies in the chambers beyond this front room, the full catalogues of bygone presses, the one-of-one personal editions he’s assembled over decades of following his personal obsessions, the stacks which crowd his own modest sleeping quarters.

To Drumbolis, the original utility of the book as a container and mediator of information is now effectively passed; virtually every popular book in existence has been digitized, their contents instantly available in formats that are better-indexed, more easily parsed, and more readily transferrable than the humble physical book ever allowed. To desire a book is to desire possession of the thing rather than its contents, this edition, this printing, perhaps this particular copy that once passed through the hands of someone significant. He can show you the copy of John Stuart Mills’ On Liberty that was owned by Canada’s founding father John A. MacDonald, and argue convincingly that this object helped set the course of a nation’s history; or a set of Shakespeare’s complete works bearing Charles Dickens’ ex libris, which sets off a long anecdote about how Dickens liked to troll his houseguests with a collection of fake bookshelves. Drumbolis’s collection is threaded through his life like an old wizard in a fantasy novel whose flesh has fused with the roots of a tree: he eats with his books and he sleeps with them; collecting fuels his arcane research and dictates where and when he travels; 25 years ago he uprooted his life when his collection bade him, and though he’s starved for company in the frozen city it chose for him, he abides.

My own case of collectivitis is not so advanced, though Lord only knows what I’ll be like when I’m Old (I’m currently 47). And despite the conceit of this blog, I’ve seldom spent much time in these reviews dwelling on the physical properties of my records, evaluating the relative merit of pressings and the like (or even mentioning which one I’ve got). But as I sit here listening to my copy of Patti Smith’s Horses for the first time, I feel a small but definite sense of wonderment. It’s an early ‘80s Canadian pressing, so near-mint I might’ve stepped back in time and bought it new, still with what I take to be the original inner-sleeve, pale azure (to match the Arista disc label) with a texture almost like crepe paper.

It’s a delightful, surprising contrast to the iconic black and white cover portrait of Smith by her former paramour Robert Mapplethorpe. Generations of fans have stared at this image as they listened, not simply because Smith is hot (though this is undeniably true) but because the music’s visionary qualities demand an embodied locus. That a record, unlike a book, can speak aloud, has always primitively fascinated me; that this one contains what I can only describe as rituals makes it magical, this physical copy that is unique because it’s this one that is speaking to me in this moment. 

 Smith writes on the back of the sleeve:

“…it’s me my shape burnt in the sky its me the memoire of me racing through the eye of the mer thru the eye of the sea thru the arm of the needle merging and jacking new filaments new risks etched forever in a cold system of wax…horses groping for a sign for a breath…”

“charms, sweet angels,” she concludes. “you have made me no longer afraid of death.” The record becomes an extension of Smith’s body as it existed in that time—I think here of the physicality of the moment in “Break it Up” where you can faintly hear her striking her own chest with the flat of her palm to make her voice quaver. It makes me wonder how anyone could sell this thing once they have it: not because it is particularly rare or difficult to acquire, but because it’s hard for me to imagine the experience of slipping the lustrous black disc from its dressing and setting the needle down upon it as anything but a personal one. It is poetry and waves; the subliming of the idea of a rave-up; Tom Verlaine shedding his earthly mantle in an explosion of birds; John Cale; Kaye, Král, Daugherty, and Sohl; one of my boys from Blue Öyster Cult; the pounding of hooves and the Mashed Potato.

I suppose what I’m describing is a fetish, my pleasure in acquiring these things and writing these reviews the hard and strange work of finding life’s joy in its dusty corners. This year has run through my fingers like water, as it seems they all do now. But on my good days, all these words behind me and the records in front of me seem like a document of abundance.

365/365

[curiousskelekitty]

My childhood has broken today.

Way back when, I had attended a ceramics class with my best friend, @eternalevecho. Some of the first things that I made were a groudon, a shiny Luxio, and a Mew. I was so proud of them and still had them to this day.

But crisis struck.

They were sitting on the top of a small book case that my fiance had scavenged from his old job and a local grocery store.

I'm not sure what happened, but all I know is that he tripped and tried to use the bookshelf to catch himself. This crappy thing was very unstable and so the first shelf fell off. Damages were done, but nothing that a little super glue could fix. The Groudon was known to be fragile for I made his spikes and tail too thin, so this was nothing new for him. Mew had a habit of losing her legs time from time. Luxio had never been broken. Groudon had his tail fall off for the first time, but it was in one piece. Mew had lost a leg and was still trouping. Luxio had lost one of his head spikes and was horrified. My fiance puts the shelf back together and we plan to buy super glue when the store opened.

Then my fiance had to get ready for work, and he had made a terrible blunder:

He had used the bookshelf for support

The shelf falls again, and the damage is even worse. I gasped, knowing this would have set off my very sleep deprived fiance being forced to help open on his day off. Silence fills the room,

I dare not breath

He finally speaks

"Name..."

I whisper "yes?"

"Can you clean this up? If I touch it, I will go mad."

I walk over to see the damage. My eyes see the broken parts of my beloved creations among a mess. My heart beats.

Once

Twice

I show no emotion. I can't set him off. If I cry, he'll cry. I know he feels guilty, but there's no time for that. He has to go to the store to help open.

He apologizes, again and again. I tell him it's not his fault with very little emotion. I, myself, am not trying to cry. Not trying to think of it.

I push him out the door so I can cry and pick up the pieces of my childhood.

My friends

My creations

My babies

My childhood

Broken

And I'm left to clean it

In memory of

Mud the Groudon

Shiny luxio

And Mew

The damage

[writingdumpster]

photographs

pairing: Robert Floyd (Bob) x reader

warnings: non-graphic injury mention,

word count: 1,400

summary: Your favorite photograph gets ripped and Bob assures you he'll replace it.

masterlist

You had never been a particularly graceful person and that had been proven once again. You were returning an old novel to your bookcase and the top shelf was just a bit too high. You had gotten on your toes and pushed with the tips of your finger, jumping slightly to push the book up onto the ledge. Unfortunately, you’d knocked the picture frame you had sitting beside the books down, the corner of it jabbing you in the forehead and leaving a small cut before clattering to the ground. Now you were sitting on the bathroom counter with Bob standing between your knees. He took your cheek in his hand and tipped your head up slightly, examining the cut in the light. 

“Why didn’t you just come get me?” Bob chided as he reached down for the rubbing alcohol. 

“Didn’t want to bother you,” you mumbled. You had the broken picture frame in your hands. The picture in it was torn from where the glass had shattered. It was a picture of you and Bob at the beach outside The Hard Deck at sunset. His arms were around your shoulders in the photo, pulling you so that there was no space between you. You were kissing his cheek, one hand resting against his chest as he grinned at the camera. He had just gotten back after two weeks away and everyone who was in town had met the two of you at The Hard Deck to welcome him home. Phoenix had taken the picture just minutes after you’d been reunited with him. It was your favorite photograph. It was also one of your fondest memories. 

“You never bother me, darling,” Bob said, interrupting your thoughts as you stared at the torn picture. He took a cotton swab and dabbed it in the rubbing alcohol before bringing it up to your forehead. “Little sting now,” he warned as he rubbed the alcohol along the cut. You winced slightly. “Sorry, sweetheart.” He made a few quick strokes with the cotton swab before he was satisfied that the wound was properly disinfected. He grabbed the band aid he’d placed on the counter and carefully laid it over the small cut. He topped off all his care with a tender kiss over the band-aid. You gave him a half smile and turned to look over your shoulder in the mirror. You touched the band-aid. 

“Now I’m going to have a scar,” you said sadly.

“It’s not too bad,” Bob said. His hands fell down to your hips, giving them a soft squeeze over your leggings. “It’ll heal up in a week or two.” Your hands stayed on the picture frame sitting in your lap. Bob looked down at it when he noticed you weren’t meeting his eye. “I can have Phoenix print me another copy of the picture and mail it. She has a photo printer at her place in Virginia,” he said. He never needed to ask to know what was wrong.

“It’s okay. It’s just a picture. She doesn’t need to go through the trouble,” you said. “It’s not like I don’t have it on my phone.” Bob smiled with a gentleness that only he could achieve.

“It’s your favorite picture though. You should have a copy framed,” he said.

“I didn’t say it was my favorite picture,” you replied quietly. Your voice sounded fragile, like if a breeze came through the window it would just dissolve the sound into the air. You hated to ask for anything, which is what had gotten you in this situation in the first place.

“It’s my favorite picture,” Bob told you. You smiled softly and looked up from the torn photograph to meet his eyes. Their stormy blue color was the first thing you had noticed about him when you first met. His eyes were beautiful even behind his glasses.  

“Mine too,” you admitted shyly. Bob chuckled. He took the broken frame from your hands and put it on the counter beside you.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll get the picture printed and I’ll buy you a new frame.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you said, reiterating your earlier feelings. 

“Told ya,” he said as he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re never a bother.”

“I feel like one,” you confessed. Bob took your face in his hand and stroked your cheekbone with his thumb. 

“You aren’t, honey. What can I do to make you believe it?” He asked. 

“You do more than enough,” you said. “Just hard for me to believe you’re mine sometimes.” Bob smiled. 

“How do you think I feel?” He joked, his accent sweetening his words. You let a smile spread across your lips. “There she is,” he murmured. Your cheeks warmed and you raised your hands to hide your face. “Hey, none of that,” he said, grabbing your hands to pull them away from your face. “I wanna see that pretty smile.”

“Don’t make it worse, Robby,” you said. Bob smirked. He released one of your hands to tip your chin upward. He leaned forward, catching your lips in a kiss as he moved the fingers on his other hand to wind between yours. His lips were soft and you had become addicted to the way he tasted. Sweet and warm and something distinctly him. You gave an audible sigh of bliss into the kiss. Bob chuckled against your lips at the sound. 

“You’re so cute,” he muttered, moving the hand on your chin to cup your jaw before pressing his lips against yours again. It could’ve been years or seconds before he pulled away, there was no way of knowing. 

“Love you, Robby,” you mewled as his hands slid beneath your shirt to land on your waist. Bob smiled and kissed your nose. 

“I love you too, honey,” he said. “Promise me you’ll come get me next time you need help?” You nodded. 

“Okay,” you agreed. 

“Say it, sweetheart,” he said. You sighed but smiled at him. 

“I promise, Robby,” you assured him. Bob squeezed your hand. 

“Oh!” He exclaimed suddenly. He released your hand and dug his hands into his pockets, pulling out his wallet. He pulled out a polaroid that he had taken of the two of you last Christmas. 

Bob bought the two of you matching plaid pajama sets and you were wearing them in the photograph. He had been given time off and he took you on a trip to a small town in the mountains of California. It was snowing outside that morning and you had a fire going while you were curled up on the couch opening the presents you had gotten for each other. You gave him a polaroid camera to take with him when he was deployed so he could have pictures. 

The very first thing Bob did when he got the film loaded was pull you into his arms so that your back was to his chest. He rested his chin on top of your head and then held the camera out in front of the two of you to take a picture. It ended up being poorly framed and his eyes were almost entirely shut as he squinted from the flash. You’d been more careful when you took the one that you kept, but he had insisted that he liked the photograph he took. 

“You can hang on to this one. I’ll put it where the frame was till I can get you a new copy,” Bob said. 

“You keep that in your wallet?” You asked bashfully. He smiled softly.

“That way I always have you with me,” he said. You shook your head lovingly. 

“You’re too good for me,” you said. He scoffed. 

“Guess you can’t say that you’re always right anymore,” Bob teased you. You giggled. 

“You’re my favorite person,” you said as you raised your arms to drape them over his shoulders. He kissed your nose softly and then grabbed your hands, pulling you from the counter. He walked over to your bookshelf and took the polaroid from you, placing it in the empty space and propping it up against the book you’d been trying to put away. 

“How’s that, sweetheart?” Bob asked, looking down at you. 

“Perfect,” you replied with a sweet smile. 

“Yeah. Maybe this is my favorite picture,” he said as he looked up at the picture. Your eyes were only on him. 

“I wasn’t talking about the photograph.”

[plush-rabbit]

The Dateable's Making You Flustered

Request: Flustered scenarios with the dateables

A/N: Sorry for the bit of delay!! I really need to work faster with these (1k each)

-

Barbatos:

It’s been such a long time ever since the butler has felt some sort of attraction towards somebody. It surprises even himself and he’s able to see into the future. Yet, when he was given- or rather forced- into a day off, the first place where his mind had wandered had been to you. It was you that he thought of first. He didn’t have a clue on what he wanted to do, but when he was told that he had the day off- no exceptions- his mind had automatically gone to spending time with you. Barbatos wonders what changed that made you so important to him- he wonders when it happened, how it snuck past him and caught him by surprise.

He invited you on his day off, had sent you a quick message asking you’d like to accompany him around Devildom to pick up a few things for himself rather than the usual outing to the market. You had graciously agreed and now he stands beside you, his hand on a book and you peering to see what’s written on it.

“What’s the book about?” You ask, haven given up on trying to figure out what it was that had gotten his attention.

A few demons reach around and pull a book away from the shelf, talking excitedly to one another and he moves to stand closer to you. He smiles at you and holds the book close to him, already deciding to purchase it. “It’s an old tale from Devildom, similar to your Hansel and Gretal but this one is a bit more heavy.” You give out a hum, pleased at his answer and nod your head. “If you’d like, I could lend it to you once I’m done.”

“Oh!” You gasp, grabbing at the same book and holding towards you. “I’ll just take one with me,” you offer and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed that you didn’t want to take his. “This way, we can read at the same time and then discuss. If it’s supposed to be similar to Hansel and Gretal, I’m sure that I’ll enjoy it. Plus-” you look up at him, your smile kittenish the book pulled to your chest- “it can be like our secret book club. I’ve been needing an excuse to go to the castle and visit, so this will be perfect,” you say excitedly, see-sawing between the tips of your shoes and back to your soles.

“You don’t need an excuse to visit the castle.” He hooks his arm with yours, slowly pushing you away from where a growing crowd of demons appear. “You know you’re always welcomed. The Young Lord would never dare to shut the door in your face.” He stops near the corner end of the store, his eyes attracted to a few trinkets where he reaches for.

The book is lowered and you shift your stare to where you both once stood. “And you?” His attention is grabbed immediately and he looks at you with a confused stare. You meet his eyes for a moment before you pull away. “Would you mind if I came over?” You clear your throat and look down, your bottom lip pinched between your teeth. “I wouldn’t want to…” you trail off, clearly unable to find the proper words. “I wouldn't want to distract you or make your work any more difficult than it already is.”

He can feel the back of his neck grow hot. He can’t be mistaken by what your words mean. You want to know what he thinks of you, if you’re welcomed in his eyes. His shoulders lower and he smiles at you, his hand reaching out to take your book from your hands. When you look up at him, he has his gaze kept on the title of the book, following the rise and fall of each letters.

“You’re always welcomed.” He takes in a small breath and fixes his gaze back to you. “You could never be a distraction for me. If you wish to have a secret book club with me, then I am more than honored to be your guest.” He clears his throat and looks away from you, his smile slowly growing but wavering as he lets out a shaky breath. “You make work easier. I enjoy my job, but I must say that when you’re around, the only thing I can think of is finishing in order to spend more time with you. Being around you is… nice.” He returns his stare back to you. “I’ve been around for a very long time, but when you’re around me, well, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so young. I’m not sure what it is about you-” he raises a hand and holds your cheek- “but I find myself happy whenever I’m with you. So please, never think that you are a bother towards me. You’re always free to visit- whether it be for our secret book club-” he returns the book to you, smiling when your fingertips brush against his- “or just because, I’ll always make time for you.”

It might be cruel of him, but he can’t help but smile and let out a quiet chuckle when you press your face against the book. “Barbatos,” you say in a hushed whisper. He only hums in response, glad that his words had such an effect on you. You look up at him with a faux pout and furrow of your brows while he stands there with a wide grin. Your eyes turn away from him and you finally let a smile appear. “Thanks for the reassurance,” you mutter.

“Of course. Nothing that I said was a lie, so it was quite easy to let the words out, you know,” he teases, grabbing the book from you before you have another chance to hide yourself. “Now, is there anything else you’d like to see in the store, or do you wish to go somewhere else?”

“I uh-” still flustered, you rub your cheek where his hand once was- “can we check out the manga section?”

He hooks his arm through yours, his body close enough to where he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume. “Lead the way,” he says, following your footsteps through the store. He isn’t sure when his feelings towards you had changed, he doesn’t even recall the giddiness of when it all started, but he doesn’t mind it. It’s a nice change of pace. You’re something unpredictable and reckless, and something soft and fragile, and he welcomes having you so close to him, to where he could lean over and press his lips against the crown of your head and keep you protected under his touch. Barbatos welcomes the change that you brought and while the change wasn’t originally for him, he enjoys that it is for him now, that you’re the one that gets to be close to him and that gets to have the pleasure of having you wanting to visit him.

Simeon:

Who could have ever thought that he, an angel, would fall in love with a human? The very thing that an angel had created a war for, the very thing that caused him to lose those close to him, and the very thing that had shown just how different he was from someone he had considered a brother, he now commits the same unholy act. He must be a hypocrite. He is a hypocrite. The very thing he turned a blind eye to and here he is, so undoubtedly in love with a human that he fears his wings will be ripped from him, his blood staining his clothes and his halo broken beyond repair. Terror makes his blood run cold and yet, he cannot look away from you. Simeon keeps his gaze upon you with a mixture of hesitation and melancholy and you just smile back at him, the phone in your hand shared between the two of you as you watch a parody of a teen romance on an application.

“It’s amazing how much people have grown to like this er, show?” He asks, still unsure of what to call it. “It’s considered a show, right?”

Your shoulders raise in a shrug and you give him a small, tight lipped smile. “I guess. I think most people refer to it as a series.” The phone is lowered and it returns to your lap. “It isn’t wrong to call it a show, but since they’re short little bursts of episodes, I think people find it easier to call it a series, but it can go any way.” You move away from him, scooting until your thigh is at an angle and your knee is pushed against his. “Anyways, to answer your question, yes people do like it. I think since it’s like a parody but also suspenseful with the cliffhangers, it keeps people entertained.” He nods his head slowly, and he tries to ignore the rush of cold that is now at his empty side. “Did you like it?”

His eyes slightly widen, and his lips pull into a thin smile. “I- Well, considering the fact that it’s written and done by one person- I- It certainly is different than the things I usually consume, but-” He struggles to find a way to finish his thought without offending you in any sort of way and ends with a stiff nod of his head.

It’s a tense moment that doesn’t last long enough to linger on when you suddenly laugh. Your laugh is loud as it effectively gets him to snap his mouth shut. Your hands are waved in front of you and your knee leaves his as you curl onto the couch. “You don’t have to force yourself to like it, Simeon, I only wanted to show it to you, because you asked what I was watching.”

He appreciates you giving him an easy out, and he releases a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. It’s a slow release and suddenly he can breathe again. “Well thank you for sharing it with me. I appreciate that from you.” Silence lingers and it isn’t like before where it’s tense, it’s lighter now, but it still feeds him an odd sense of air where he’s stuck between a breath, his eyes stuck on you.

Once more, your laughter fills the room and it’s short and sweet, a gift given to him for just the moment. “Of course, Simeon. I like spending time with you, and I especially like sharing my interests so I guess, thank you for allowing me to do that.” Your hand reaches towards his and he sees the slightest pause from you, the way your fingers twitch until you allow yourself to hold his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

Warmth returns to him, something akin to a summer’s day in the Celestial Realm, and even though all air has left him once again, he is breathless in a way that matters, weightless and joy illuminating him. When he meets your eyes, he cannot look away and he cannot help but return your smile. The clock ticks onwards and he’s left with a heavy heart. He’s read about the perfect moment, thought about writing something so trivial and false, and yet, the perfect moment sits before him with their hand in his.

“I have to be honest with you,” he murmurs and his eyes feel hot, a lump forms in his throat that makes his words sound tighter. “I- I don’t-” How could he ever phrase what he wants to tell you? How could he drop that sort of confession on you? You know the story, would you ever want him to actually confess to you, to repeat the past mistakes and know the horrid outcome? He frowns. His eyes are stuck on the floor, running along the edge of the carpet and he can feel your gaze on him, your eyes that are heavy with concern and ever the angel, Simeon spares you and gives you the easier answer. “I’m thankful to have met you,” your name is a sweet whisper on his lips, a taste of sweet peach that makes his heart full and heavy. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as wonderful as you. I see you and I think that I’ve found something even more pure than an angel.” With every word, his hand turns to slip into yours, his gloves thin enough to feel the small crevices and calluses on your hand. “Even if you are human and you’ve committed sin, I still think that you are the most pure of them all with your kindness and generosity.”

He isn’t sure what he had expected, but he hadn’t expected to have you plant your face against the soft back cushion of the couch, your face held there for moments. Your hand slips away from his and he’s left holding empty air. His hands fret over your body and when you pull away, your face is flushed, your hands covering the lower part of your face as you look at anywhere but him.

“Simeon,” you whine, closing your eyes tightly. “That’s really sweet.” Your voice is high-pitched and your eyes open once more, as your hands finally lower. “I think I might actually die, that was really nice and something that I don’t hear often.” You finally look at him and your smile is ever growing. “Especially from an angel,” you say with a half-hearted chuckle.

His smile is soft and to him, it dulls compared to your brilliance. As if you were a puzzle, he fits into your hand with ease and grace. “Well if you were to die, I would return you in any way that I could.

Solomon:

He’s human, ageless and immortal, but human. He’s lived and loved, lost and grieved, and he’s gone numb and distant to emotions. He didn’t mind it, he welcomed it. He hated losing and hated the people that he lost and the empty space that they left. He promised that he wouldn’t ever want to feel that sense of sadness ever again. Then you came into the picture. He’s been called shady and worse words than that, but you don’t call him that. You hold his hand and you welcome him into your arms. You go on and on about the human in him and how you love that he’s there with you. Solomon isn’t sure when it was that he broke his own promise, but when he looks at you, he’s willing to love again and again.

The kitchen is a mess and powder covers the counters. His hands knead the dough and the smell of garlic and onion sizzled with oil is heaven in the air. You measure the ingredients and whisk at the eggs. It’s domestic and it’s something that leaves a storm of butterflies in his stomach. He could watch you forever, in the kitchen, with an apron tied around your waist, flour in your hands and the tip of your tongue peaking past your lips as you concentrate on rereading the cookbook. It’s domestic and it’s something he had long forgotten that he wanted.

“I have the ingredients memorized, I could simply tell you what to add,” he muses, returning to forming the bread into its shape.

“Knowing you, you’ll add something in there,” you quip, your smile now directed at him, with your tongue still pinched out. “Plus, it’s just reading. I can read,” you say with a defensive tone. “Just start dressing the bread with garlic and then we can get on with breading the chicken.” You jerk your head to where the chicken rests on the cutting board, the flour beside it.

“Okay,” he sings under his breath, returning his attention to the dough before him. The room is filled with a song from the Human Realm, a classic that has him feeling warmth in a kitchen that is not his, but with a person that is. It makes him long for another time, but when he catches you in the corner of his eye, he’s glad where he is. “I like your song choice,” he says, instantly biting the inside of his cheek once the words had left his mouth. It’s been so long since he’s ever tried to have an actual connection with someone, and he’s sure he wasn’t ever this awful at it.

“Yeah?” You step close to him, holding your hand out. “Care for a dance then?” Your smile is crooked and eyes gleaming with excitement as the song is replayed with a touch of your hand.

He’s frozen for a second, stuck in time, and rooted into place, his hand moving through thick amber as he lets his hand rest in your palm. The room is spun, colors mixing with each other and slowly blurring until he stands still, pushing you away and pulling you close, laughing and letting his hand rest against your side, his hand feeling the soft curve against your ribs. Your hands are powdered and his smell like bread, and your laugh is young and youthful. He can’t help but follow, letting his smile break out and hand slipping out of yours, to encase you in a hug where he traps you into a swaying motion.

The song fades and he’s forced to pull away, to step away from you and there’s hesitation is his steps and movements. His hands linger for a second too long, his eyes still stuck on you and his smile much softer than it was before. It’s a few seconds of silence where you take in deep, heavy breaths, and sway lightly to the song that approaches.

Your name is said and it’s sweet like honeysuckle and addicting like a drug. It’s a night where he invited you over, and now you two are busy making dinner in the kitchen and you’ve given him instructions and kept a close eye on what he does. Your perk your head and nod, allowing for him to continue. “Thank you for coming over,” he says with a tight smile on his lips.

“Anytime, Sol,” you respond, coming beside him once more. You bump your arm into his, leaning to look at the garlic mixture in a bowl. “You know I like spending time with you, so anytime you need a cooking partner, you can always call.”

He doesn’t say anything, only nodding and trying to keep the butterflies in his stomach at bay while his heart beats frantically against his chest. You move away from him, returning to where the powder rests in a bowl and he’s left without, and while the distance is short, it’s something that is unwelcomed. He’s left with dough in his hands and you’re away from him, and loneliness settles.

“Can I call you whenever?” He asks, an easy smile on his lips, but there’s a plea in his words. He’s never been the needy type, but he needs you.

“Of course, you can,” you respond and you’re as kind as ever. You turn away and close the bag of flour, pushing it aside to clear the space at the table.

Like a drug that leaves his mouth dry and heart racing, feeling as if he’s about to die, he calls your name. You’re so close to him and yet, you aren’t close enough. He needs you. He needs you beside him. And he takes the first step, standing in front of you with a red kissed face as stares at the cabinets against the wall. You call his name and your hand is tender against his neck, leaving a white stain that snows onto his shirt.

“I just wanted to thank you. I know how busy you can get and I just-” he can feel the telltale sign of tears and he wonders when he’s gotten so emotional- “I like spending time with you. I like your music choices and I like it when you cook with me- even if it’s just you giving me instructions- but I like it.” His tongue touches against his lips and he looks at you, fiddling with the end of his shirt. “I think you’re great and I just need you to know that if you ever need anything, I’ll be more than happy to help. I would do whatever it would take to make you happy because you have a really nice smile and I don’t think you should lose that.” His heart echoes and his smile is gentle and nervous. “Thank you for being with me.”

You stare at him and he wonders if he had overstepped only to gasp when you bury yourself against his chest, patting at his shoulder and pulling away with a hand covering the lower half of your face. “Solomon,” his name leaving your lips sends a jolt of electricity through him, “I’m glad. Thank you,” you whisper. Your hand reaches to pull his away from his shirt and you hold it in yours. “I like being with you too. Us humans have to stick together, right?” You say softly, letting your fingers run over his scarred knuckles.

He nods silently and leans over, his lips pressed against your forehead. “Yeah, us humans have to stick together,” he whispers against you, smiling when he feels your own lips against his knuckles. He’s with you, at this very moment, he stands in a kitchen with music playing, holding you close to him, and for a moment, he can pretend that this won’t ever end, that he won’t ever have to move away from you and risk losing you.

[astaroth1357]

Lucifer? I Shrunk the MC…

I thought of the title and was like, “And I’m gonna not do anything with that?” Experimenting with format. Feel this one is a hot mess but, oh well, it was fun to write and that's what I care about.

Scene: 

Satan scrambles around his room, knocking over stacks of books and flinging others this way and that. All the while he can't quite stop himself from rambling, "Okay, don't panic. I know I can fix this. I have a spellbook around here somewhere… No, not this shelf… Hold on."

Meanwhile, MC is sitting on the pillow to his bed, practically engulfed in it because they're now only 3 inches tall. The result of yet another enchanted book mishap. This time it was an old tome left on the ground that they happened to trip over. As they watch Satan shuffle urgently through his bookshelves, they sigh and prepare themselves for yet another misadventure. It took five days for the last enchantment to wear off so they may as well get comfy…

"Take your time…"

Reactions:

Lucifer

His immense displeasure about the whole debacle cannot be understated.

Honestly, why doesn't Satan take better care of his things?? He should at least try to keep the powerful items out of the walkways!

Gets into a 3 hour screaming match when he sets Satan's punishment as giving a fourth of his book collection to the school library. Fully expects to find his things "mysteriously" cursed for the next few months.

He does find tiny!MC pretty amusing though.

If he thought they were fragile and helpless before well… now they can hardly lift a fork.

Makes triple sure that his brothers understand that if they're not careful with them, punishments will be extra severe.

Quadruple sure with Mammon.

Doesn't mind carrying tiny!MC places, mostly on his shoulder.

Lets them whisper jokes and funny asides in his ear during particularly dry meetings.

Mammon

First, he laughed because this shit is funny. Not only did Satan fuck up but the MC is now the size of his index finger! He could punt them like a paper football! (not that he ever would)

Next, he immediately starts trying to figure out how to use their new size in his schemes. He's talkin' infiltration baby!

Whether or not tiny!MC goes along with his less-than-legal ideas, he sort of loves that they're so small now anyway.

1) He can carry them around on his head or on his shoulder which is just convenient AND highlights that they're his to other people even more.

2) Watching them trying to do normal things is just hilarious! They get winded from just trying to use a pencil to write a sentence on normal sized paper.

3) Will never admit it, but the feeling of their tiny little arms hugging his cheek is one of those things he never knew he needed until now.

Leviathan 

Almost choked on his drink when Mammon plopped tiny!MC on his computer desk.

It was like someone made a little figurine of them! But this one could also walk around and say nice things to him!!

A little disappointed that it's practically impossible for them to play games like this, I mean they're smaller than the controllers.

Totally makes up for it by getting them to pose with his figurines. He never thought he'd be able to get a snapshot of MC and Ruri-chan together like that! It almost makes his figure look life-sized! If only… 

Lays a pillow on his lap and lets them nap on it while he games. Can never bring himself to wake them up so he'll stay in place long past the point of being comfortable just so they can sleep soundly.

Didn't notice he accidentally knocked them over into a Beel-sized popcorn bowl (which is more like a popcorn cauldron) while they were having an anime marathon. It took five minutes to hear their little shouts and he had to fish them out. Thanked their father that Beel hadn't actually joined in that night because they may have been gobbled up….

Satan

Is really, truly, genuinely sorry that he shrunk the MC...still thinks it's bullshit that he has to give away his books though.

Tries to make up for his mistake by helping them with whatever they need. He'll take notes for them in class, prepare finger food so that they have more manageable portions, and does all the "heavy lifting" for them when he can.

Continues to assure them that the spell is only temporary but also consults Solomon and pours over as many books that he can find on the subject just to make sure. He loses a bit of sleep over this.

Is the first to step in if he feels like his brothers aren't being careful enough around them. He already feels terrible that he got them into this mess, the last thing he wants is to see them get hurt over it too.

Treats them extra gentle, like they're made porcelain, the entire time. He won't hold them with a clenched fist so he lets them sit or lounge on his palm when they travel.

Chucked Levi out a window and into a tree after he heard about the popcorn incident.

Asmodeus

Adores tiny!MC, they're so freaking cute like this!!

Takes it upon himself to help them with the more intimate things, like how are they going to bathe or change clothes??

Goes out and buys a bunch of doll furniture and tiny outfits like this whole thing won't just wear off in a few days.

Pretty much sets up a little dollhouse in his room for them to use when they just want to be around things their own size.

Takes a shit ton of pictures though, them trying on the outfits, using the furniture, just being super smol and adorable, it doesn't matter he is all over this!

Lives for tiny kisses. It's like getting brushed by a feather on your cheeks, nose, and fingers!

Beelzebub 

Would die for tiny!MC in a heartbeat and is not ashamed to admit it.

He saw them happily chowing down on a grape about the size of their head and that was it. He was done. Ready sign his life away to this bite-sized human being.

Loves to bring them tiny snacks or break off a piece of what he's eating and watch them try to eat it. All food looks so much bigger in their little hands that he briefly considers having Satan shrink him too. Belphie talks him out of it, something about the blackhole in his stomach collapsing in on itself...

Was really cautious with them at first, though, considering he was already a lot stronger than they were to start with and suddenly they got a lot more fragile. But the MC eventually assures him that they have faith he won't hurt them.

Still the most anxious of the brothers about it. He always makes sure to watch where he's going, triple check beneath his feet, and slow the pace of his eating down enough to process what goes in his mouth BEFORE it gets there.

Is also glad he wasn't there for the popcorn incident. And got Levi out of that tree.

Belphegor 

Very conflicted about it honestly. On one hand, they're too small to sleep with anymore. He could roll over and suffocate them. But on another they're just so… cute.

...And so terribly easy to mess with now. He could knock them over if he blows hard enough, never mind poking them.

One morning he was feeling particularly malicious and put their little shoes at the other end of the dining room table. That amounted to like a two-mile jog for them. He couldn’t help but laugh at their tiny fists hitting his palm when they finally got there.

After Satan cursed his favorite pillow to scream every time he put his head on it he stopped being so mean.

Made up with the MC by sacrificing some of his pillow stuffing in order to make them a tiny bed he could carry around. If he couldn't sleep with them, he could at least sleep near them.

When that wasn't enough they made him do laps around the House with Beel. It was around the time that he was about to collapse into the flowerbeds that they found Levi dangling from that tree. He'd have laughed if his sides weren't already splitting… So much... running...

[erismerald]

𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕 (Jacob Frye x reader) 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 1

Hello, my lovely assassins, I've been away from writing for a while but I'm back! And I bring you a story of our beloved assassin Jacob Frye X F!reader, I don't know yet how many chapters this story will have but I hope you like it and have fun with it, I just want to remind you that I am open to requests if you want to send me a message!

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Some fluff and Near Rape

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔: 3306

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎

You just got off the plane, you look around you, a feeling of excitement and euphoria fills your chest in a comfortable warmth, your gaze fixed on the incredible sight you had, you are amazed, it was your first time in London, and since you were a little girl you wanted to visit that wonderful city, You listened to the bedtime stories your grandmother told you, about the city, about what happened before it became as free a city as it is now, since you were 5 years old you have tried countless times to convince her to come with you to London, it was just you two against the world, she raised you in place of your parents, since they never cared much for you and your well being, and now you had just turned 18, and on this school trip you finally have the chance to make your greatest wish come true, you were so excited that it was hard to breathe, until you felt a hand lightly resting on your shoulder, it was your best friend F/n, she was looking at you with a huge smile, she knew how much you had asked your nanny to allow you to make this trip, In fact, you smiled as you remembered the conversation you had with her:

𝑭𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌

"Ahm nanny, can I talk to you? "You said leaning against the frame of the glass door of the living room, the atmosphere around you, was nostalgic, you loved the rain and the cold, your grandmother was sitting in a small brown armchair, old with time, in front of the big fireplace, the glass roof that both of you had built some summers ago allowed you to see the rain falling, even during the night, it was really calming, in her fragile hands was a book, you knew that book well "Ah that book ...." You approached slowly, and like a child you sat on the carpet looking at your grandmother with a gentle but mysterious smile.

"I know that look my dear, do you want to tell me something?" she asked already knowing what your look meant, you sighed through your nose and gave her permission for the trip "Y/n...." she said with a sweet smile, but before she could say something disapproving, you interrupted by putting both your hands on her lap on top of the book.

"Nanny you have told me so many stories about that city, why don't you let me explore, I.... I have saved enough money to be able to afford the trip, besides F/n will be there with me, can I go? I promise to draw everything I see, to show you nanny, but I want to find out who I am, so far I don't know where I belong..." you said sadly, it was true, you had a family legacy that tormented you for nights on end, your grandmother said it was a brotherhood that helped people but in your view they stole people's lives, to protect? It wasn't right, and you never accepted it, and preferred to believe it was just another bedtime story made up by your grandmother to make you a stronger person.

"Y/n... I wouldn't deny it dear, I encourage you to go, I'm too old to keep you here, besides it's only a month, what could go wrong? I just want you to be careful, and not to be fooled by anyone, and take this" she got up from the chair and walked to a wooden box hidden in the shelf, from there she took out a necklace, made with a coin? "This necklace belonged to a very important person, one that you know and that will make you know a better world and discover who you finally are" she gave you the necklace with a smile and let you enjoy it on your fingers.

"Who did it belong to?" you asked, curious about the small necklace that had been handed to you.

"Jacob Frye. That necklace belonged to Jacob" She said would be, but confident, you laughed a little, she looked at you confused.

"Nanny, you know I don't believe in bedtime stories anymore, Jacob Frye and Evie Frye are just characters in your stories, that you told me to put me to sleep, but they didn't exist but thank you for giving it to me, I will wear it proudly, even if it didn't belong to Jacob, it belonged to you and that's worth a lot, and Thank you for letting me go, I'll be eternally grateful," You said kissing her hand and smiling at her "Well now, how about I make you some tea and you read me some of your book of tales, remind me who was who?" she laughed and nodded, watching you disappear into the darkness that surrounded you.

𝑬𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌

"So excited huh?" she smiled and put her arm over your shoulder, as you laughed a little, it was a strange but warm feeling that you were in a place you had dreamed of so much.

"Of course, I am, you've seen the atmosphere! Can you imagine the adventures we'll have in a month here? I'm so excited I can feel my body energetic, I want to know, I want to visit, being here is just a demonstration that my journey to find out who I am, is going to go well!" you said excitedly as you picked up your bag and moved it to your classmates.

"I like seeing you like this, ever since you found out you were coming here, you've talked about nothing else" she laughed, you smiled shyly, grabbing the necklace your grandmother had given you before you left

"Where does that necklace come from anyway? Did your grandmother explain it to you?" F/n asked as she sat in front of you waiting for the teachers and the rest of the class to arrive.

"Well, she told me it would be useful to me in my future, I didn't quite understand, she said it belonged to one of the Frye twins, the ones she tells in the bedtime stories when we were little" you explained watching and twirling the pendant chained around your neck.

F/n smiled and thought for a moment before speaking, she seemed amused in her own thoughts, it was funny to see her like that you thought to yourself as you heard the teachers calling you to go to the bus.

"Do you think it could be true?" She asked getting up, and following the others, you stopped for a small moment, looked at the necklace, and smiled, Nah... it couldn't be true, could it? Since you were little you knew the story of the Frye brothers, their fight to save London from corruption, their adventures, your nanny loved to tell you those stories when you were younger, when she left the room you stayed awake for hours looking at the stars in the sky, closing your eyes and trying to feel the emotion they had, they were your heroes, you always admired them, but they were just bedtime stories, right? it couldn't be true, maybe your grandmother just said that to remind you of old times? You shake your head and go on your way.

*Time skip*

When you arrived at the hotel you were informed that you were going to make a night tour of the streets of London, you couldn't be more excited, you looked at F/n and she noticed your look immediately.

"I know that look," she said a bit teasingly "tell me what do you want to go and see?" you grabbed her hand and stormed out of the room "ahm calm down young lady, you are going to rip my arm off" you laughed a bit as you got into the elevator.

"You know I'd like to go see Big Ben at night and walk around there, what do you think? we could have dinner nearby, I want to draw the streets at night, to show my grandmother" you answered, going through the small backpack you had, confirming that you had everything there, pencils... sketchbook... wallet... watercolors... phone... you got scared when you heard F/n calling you, you were too lost in your thoughts.

"Hello? land call Y/n I've been calling you for 5 minutes" she looked at you with an amused smile on her face, you looked forward and finally noticed that you had arrived embarrassed, you looked to the side and smiled trying to disguise it "Come on let's go I'm hungry" she pulled you out of the hotel while signaling for a taxi.

As you walked through the streets of London, you imagined what it must have been like in 1850, you were always connected to history and literature, you loved to draw and your grandmother always fascinated you with her stories and her adventures here in London, it was here that she had met your grandfather, would the future also await you with unexpected adventures and romances?

*A few hours later

You were in a cafe near the big ban drawing the environment around you, in a way it seemed magical, it seemed that it wasn't real, you sighed happily while you put back the watercolors and your notebook in your bag, you looked at F/n and a group of friends that were with you.

"I'm going to the bathroom, I'll be right back!" you said, getting up and picking up your backpack, heading for the cafe's bathroom.

"Okay, try not to take too long, we'll be going to the hotel soon" F/n warned you as you walked away.

The bathroom was very rustic, it looked like it was from 1880, that was an interesting thing, when you finished doing what you had to do, you went to the small sink and looked at yourself in the mirror, your hair was tied up in a clumsy bun, and your eyes were more sparkling than usual, a small shade of pink adorned your face, you felt free, inspired, you were ready to have this adventure.

you made a little shell with your hand and took some water on your face to refresh it, when you looked in the mirror you saw a shadow behind you and the light had failed for a few seconds, suddenly you looked back afraid, but... there was no one there, could you have imagined it? Were you so tired that you imagined someone behind you? You took a deep breath, picked up your backpack and headed back to your friends' side, but something unexpected happened, when you left the cafe the atmosphere had changed, it didn't even look like the same cafe you had visited, the people were dressed in an old way, they spoke old English, what had happened? You felt fear invading your mind a little, still quite confused, you approached the bartender in an attempt to get an answer, but he seemed a little surprised to see you, he looked at you from top to bottom, with a disapproving look.

"ahm sorry, but what happened to the cafe? And did you happen to see a group of students on the outside terrace, do you know where they went?" He looked perplexed by what you had said.

"I'm sorry miss but, who are you? and what are those clothes you are wearing? And the student girl? I don't know where you come from but I don't want prostitutes or liars in my pub, if you can get out of here, I would appreciate it" you looked at him outraged, what does he meant by a prostitute? Clothes? Ahm you were really lost, but you respected the gentleman's answer and left, when you left you got an even bigger shock, the environment had changed, there were no cafes, the streets were badly illuminated, the people dressed differently, feeling a wave of fear invading your body you started to run like crazy, looking for someone who could help you, after many panicky minutes and without getting any answer you just sat down in an alley and started to cry, where are you? How could you have stopped there? Not even 10 minutes ago you were with your friends, and now you were alone.

You felt the raindrops wet your body and taking advantage that the rain disguised your tears, you hugged your body and tried to breathe, doubts and fears went through your subconscious until you heard the footsteps of someone approaching you, a feeling of hope invaded you but was soon replaced by fear.

"Hey there doll, want some company for tonight?" a man in his forties approached you, and crouched down beside you, he looked you up and down and examined your body, you tried to get up but he pulled you down and pinned you against the wall.

"You look strange, you don't look like you're from here... but I don't care, you'll do for tonight," he said trying to remove your clothes, you screamed and cried, while that pig undressed you and pinned you to the cold wall, the memories of your grandmother, your friends passed in your eyes while you felt your body being abused, you wanted to escape, you wanted to go home, you weren't ready for this... you should never have come .... out of nowhere you felt his body leave yours, he had fallen unconscious on the floor, you looked forward and saw another man, this one looked to be in his early 20's, his costume was different more hidden, he looked at you and helped you to pull yourself together, when you finally finished you looked up at him, his almond colored eyes bewitched you, he put his thumb on your face wiping the tears that were falling.

"I... I don't know... help me..." You fell to your knees on the ground but your body was held by the mysterious man who had saved your life, you felt safe and somehow protected in his embrace, but you weren't strong enough not to cry once again.

"Shhh love, it's ok" he hugged you tightly and pulled you closer to him "You look a little heated, do you have somewhere to stay?" His voice was husky but mesmerizing, but you couldn't answer as you had collapsed in his arms passed out, the fear, the cold, the pain had overcome the last thing you heard was him asking your name.

𝑱𝒂𝒄𝒐𝒃 𝒑𝒐𝒗

With a sigh the assassin took your face lightly, noting every feature of your face, his eyes slid down your body, it was true what he had heard, the rumors that there was a strange traveler roaming the streets was true, but your clothes looked nothing like what he had seen so far.

The rain fell on your bodies, he was afraid you would get sick, even though he didn't know you he couldn't leave you on the street after what had happened, in one movement he gently picked up your body and took your backpack, and went towards the streets calling for a carriage to take you to the station to take refuge on the train, and take care of you.

Getting into the carriage slowly, so you wouldn't be woken up, not that it would be possible to wake you up because you were fainting from exhaustion, but to prevent it, Jacob put your body on top of his, and with his coat wrapped around you, to warm you up.

"Evie will freak when she sees me... what the-" Jacob stopped his words as his gaze was drawn to the necklace that adorned your neck "How come she has this?" he said holding the necklace in his fingers and looking intensely at you "You really are an unexpected traveler."

The streets of London were bustling, the fight against Crawford Starrick, had not been won yet and there was still a long way to go, but still the streets of London was mesmerizing and agitated, the rain was a strange charm of the city, Jacob knew the streets well, he spent most of his time on the streets freeing people from the clutches of the templar.

But he was curious about this strange traveler, during the early evening some Rooks had told him about this mysterious girl who desperately asked crazy questions to people, some even theorized that she had escaped from some asylum, but Jacob had to see with his own eyes this strange girl who had stopped the city with her unusual appearance.

When he arrived at the station, he saw Grennie carrying some boxes of groceries into the train, and when he approached him with a girl in his arms, Henry ran to meet him helping him out.

"What the hell have you been doing now Jacob? Who this girl?" Henry placed his palm over her face, the heavy breathing and the heat she was eradicating were just signs of a strong fever "This girl is burning up we need to get her to a doctor" He said trying to pick up your body but Jacob refused.

"I am sorry my dear Grennie but unfortunately we can't take her to a doctor, she isn't from around here... I found her because of rumors of a strange traveler in town, but I didn't believe it until I saw her lying on the ground with a Blighter on top of her undressing her, the poor thing was terrified, I couldn't leave her there, but look at the way she looks" Jacob removed his coat a little from over you revealing the clothes your real look. "I don't know where she is from but inside her bag, there is some evidence that she isn't from here, I think it might be useful to us, on our mission... just..." Jacob looked at grennie's face with an abandoned puppy dog look.

"I...I don't know Jacob, Miss Evie will freak out about it, but since she might be useful, we can try to wait until she wakes up so we can ask her who she is" Jacob smiled at the answer, Henry opened the door to Jacob's wagon and helped him lay your body down on the small couch, where Jacob use for sleeping.

"Jacob I just got some news... What is going on here?" Evie said abruptly entering the "room" she looked at Jacob with a disapproving look, she walked over to your body examining you, you are burning up with fever.

"She was helpless with a Blighter on top of her doing God knows what, I wasn't going to leave her there alone, besides she's sick, I felt obligated to bring her here, besides Evie.... She is the girl of the rumors, if what they say is really true that she is not from here, she can be useful to us in this fight." Evie stood up and faced Jacob, she knew he was right but she didn't want to admit it, she knew well that her brother sometimes acted before he thought but at this moment he had the right thing to do.

"We'll take care of her until she recovers and we can get answers from her, we won't leave her on the streets, it's really dangerous, but try to consult me before you bring anyone else here, remember that we have a mission to accomplish, and "personal feelings, can compromise the mission" ". Evie said stroking your hair, "Now both of you get out of here, we can't let her sleep in her wet clothes or she'll get even sicker, and Mrs. Green can call a private doctor to come here to examine her?" Evie smiled sweetly in Henry's direction, who replied just as sweetly, walking off with Jacob, leaving you and Evie alone.

[violetsoju]

page 30彡★

kageyama tobio · fluff · 3.2k

a/n: came up w this idea based on a tiktok vid of this trend that randomly popped up on my feed (which i can't find anymore T_T) do let me know if you enjoyed it! ❤️

“Hey, Tobio.”

The mop of raven hair doesn’t look up to you, eyes fixated on the jiggly onsen tamago on top of the curry tonkatsu.

“There’s this new trend going on.”

He hums in response, fingers gripping onto a pair of wooden chopsticks, manoeuvring the fragile soft lump towards the spoon. Just a few more steps till being cradled snugly in the deep end of the cool ceramic spoon.

“And we’re gonna learn the moves and film it right here after this.”

His fingers twitch. One of the long pointy chopsticks loses its cool and stabs the tamago right in the core, streaks of yellow bleeding across the crisp golden brown tonkatsu. Its counterpart desperately tries to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, but too much yolk has been lost, and more jabs were made in the frantic rescue mission. Not even the string of ‘shit’ muttered could save the day. So long, dear onsen tamago.

You’re finally met with piercing blue eyes glaring at you.

“No. And look at what you did to my onsen tamago.”

“You should’ve scooped it up with your spoon instead of pushing it with your chopsticks. Common sense much?” You thank the waitress for the hot steaming tempura udon. “Plus, you’re supposed to break the yolk and coat the luscious essence over your rice, unless you’re a freak and eat it in one go.”

Kageyama’s scowl softens when a piece of fried tempura lands in his bowl in exchange for a piece of tonkatsu. A glint of delight gleams in the two pair of eyes at the first bite of delicious food, taste buds tingling in satisfaction.

It’s a rainy Wednesday night. And rainy nights call for warm comfort food to make up for the gloomy wet weather brought by the pitter patter parade of fat rain droplets. So after a spontaneous text message, here you are, with an old close friend of yours, inside a small cosy shop hidden in an alleyway without any prior arrangements.

“And let me repeat myself. I’m not going to do any dumb dance trends with you again.” Kageyama restates his point firmly.

“Come on, you had so much fun the last time! Even Tsukki sent a good job sticker in the group chat.” You reason.

“You mean he enjoyed seeing me almost tripping over my feet.”

“That was the highlight, to be honest.”

He smacks your chopsticks away with his at your attempt to snag another piece of tonkatsu, not giving in into your pout.

“Anyway, I was just kidding. You’re in luck this time because it’s not a dance trend.”

Kageyama raises an eyebrow at you suspiciously, tilting his head to ask you to continue on.

“This time it’s a trend where you grab your nearest book, turn to page 30, and the first sentence will describe your love life. Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Just when I thought you’ve outgrown these ridiculous nonsenses.”

“Says the one who still insists on drinking a box of strawberry milk before matches.” You jab your chopsticks towards his direction accusingly.

“That’s different because it actually works. And it’s good.” He counterattacks by returning your gesture.

“I hate to say this but, point taken.”

He triumphantly snickers as you sigh in defeat.

“Aren’t you curious on how my love life is described?” You question, blowing off the steam from your spoon full of udon.

Kageyama chomps on another piece of pork cutlet, unamused at your question. “If you’re generous enough to share, I’d be honoured.”

“‘He smiles’”

“What?”

“That’s the first sentence on my page 30. ‘He smiles’.” You reply matter-of-factly, taking a sip of your hot green tea.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” His brows knit in confusion, hands momentarily forgetting the spoonful of curry rice in hand.

“Use your imagination, Tobio. Awaken your romantic cells.” You gesture with your hands dramatically, earning a deadpan look from the boy seated across you.

“Does it mean whoever’s smiling is the love of your life? Or someone who’s always smiling?” Kageyama rests his cheek against his left knuckle, trying to connect the dots together.

“Well-“

“Wait a minute! Don’t tell me it’s Suga-san. Because if it is, I won’t allow it because Suga-san is way too good for you.”

He yelps as you not-so-accidentally dip your chopsticks stained with broth into his green tea.

“Shush, we both know how much Suga-san adores me. And everyone else.” You smugly take another bite of your fried tempura as he frowns in disgust after drinking the now broth infused green tea.

“I guess it’s feeling of love at the sight of his smile? Like feeling all warm and fuzzy seeing him smile.”

“Is there someone who makes you feel that way with their smile?”

You swirl the udon with your chopsticks mindlessly for a moment. “Maybe there is.”

You look up to the pair of blue eyes staring back at you, holding the intense gaze firmly, neither side backing down to break the tension.

“Do I know him?” Kageyama falters, a hint of anxiousness cracks in his voice.

“Since when were you so interested in my love life?” You laugh awkwardly, hoping to conceal your nervousness.

Despite the surrounding bustling chatter, the world suddenly falls painstakingly silent, with the irregular beats of two young hearts thumping deafeningly and out of rhythm.

The raven-haired boy succumbs first, looking back down to his half empty bowl. You continue swirling your bowl of udon, mentally slapping yourself at your answer and cracking your head to come up with something to save the mood.

“Well, I could help to scan him for you, if you want. Boys know boys better after all,”

You snap back up to look at the boy seated across you, eyes not meeting yours. This is a surprise.

“Plus, you can save the tears and snot to yourself because I might not be free to attend to your midnight crying sessions. If it really happens.”

A surge of warmth radiates throughout your body at his words. Definitely not from the hot bowl of udon.

Kageyama still has his eyes on the bowl before him, looking anywhere else but you. He tries to keep himself busy by scooping more rice, groaning as he further destroys the onsen tamago, unaware of the faint blush painting his cheeks. Definitely not from the hot bowl of curry, too.

“Don’t worry, he isn’t a jerk. I’m sure you’ll like him too.” You chuckle, adjusting your chopsticks to pick up more udon.

Oh, Kageyama Tobio, what exactly should I do with you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───

Scroll. Refresh. Switch apps. Repeat. Sigh.

You’ve been stuck in this constant loop for the past hour. Instead of getting much needed sleep for the next day, you subject yourself to the chains of the device held in your hand, despite the drooping eyelids and strained arm muscles.

What’s so fascinating about social media anyway? If it’s not friends or random acquaintances posting sinful food pics of ootds, it’d be someone ranting about either their work or love life, or memes you’ve already seen before. Sometimes you wonder if you’ve been casted a spell by social media.

Crying out a yelp as the gadget lands right in your face at the slip of your hands, you massage your nose bridge and forehead from the impact, grimacing in pain. It’s not easy being a slave to social media, huh.

Tossing your phone to the side, you roll over to lie flat on your back, sprawled like a star fish on your bed. A long sigh escapes your lips, eyes staring blankly at the bare celling above. Maybe you should really call it a day.

A beep from your phone tells you otherwise.

Tobio [23:17]

I did it. You owe me one box of strawberry milk.

[23:18]

IMG_20210402_961222

You immediately plop yourself up to sit cross-legged on your bed, tapping on the notification to open the message. As expected of Kageyama Tobio, it was a full-page picture of a book, with a small number 30 on the top left-hand corner. But unexpectedly of Kageyama Tobio too, the page wasn’t from those volleyball books or magazines stacked in the corner of his room. Looks like the mini ramble session you gave him on the way to the metro station worked.

“I know volleyball is the love of your life too, but we’re talking about your actual love life here! So no volleyball books or magazines, go rummage Miwa-san’s book shelf for one random romance novel. Just one. She’ll thank me for taking care of your love life.”

Sliding both your thumbs outwards on the screen to zoom in, your lips press together to form an ‘o’, brows arching in fascination at the first sentence.

She knows.

Interesting.

Your fingers dance across the screen swiftly.

me [23:20]

Ohhh interesting. See, it’s exciting, isn’t it?

Tobio [23:21]

I guess so

me [23:22]

Do you think it describes your love life well?

To actually imagine Kageyama Tobio having something that he loves as much as volleyball is, an odd and foreign feeling.

Tobio [23:24]

I’m not sure tbh

me [23:25]

Well spill the tea so I can help you analyse it

Tobio [23:25]

No

You swear you would throw punches at him if he was beside you now.

me [23:26]

Tsk tsk, so who’s the girl you’ve been hiding from me

Tobio [23:27]

Since when were you interested in my love life?

The use of your own words against you has you clicking your tongue in amusement.

You were contemplating between a civil or sarcastic remark when a new message bubble pops up.

Tobio [23:29]

But do you think she knows?

me [23:30]

About what?

Tobio [23:31]

Nvm, forget what I said

Seriously? This conversation is by no means, ending like this. You tap on the video icon on the right-hand corner of the screen hastily.

It takes a few rings for the familiar face to appear on screen, face a little too close to the camera, brows furrowed, lips pursed.

“What the heck, do you know what time it is?” Kageyama huffs in annoyance, running his fingers through his dishevelled black hair.

“Says the one who sent me such juicy information at this hour.” You bend your legs up, resting your hand on your knees for a better angle.

He throws his head back exasperatedly, muttering something inaudible along the static noise from the speakers, resting his head on a wooden frame you recognise. He still hasn’t changed his bed that he has long outgrown, complaining about soreness in his legs and arms that dangle off the edge every night.

“How do you expect me to go to bed with you hanging me like this? You have the worst timing ever.” You raise your hands in protest.

Kageyama buries half of his face in his palm. “I shouldn’t have listened to you.”

“But you get a box of strawberry milk from this! It’s worth it.” You gesture a finger gun to him knowingly.

He moves two fingers away from his face, peeking to see you through the screen like a child. Heaving a long, heavy sigh, he shifts his weight to sit up properly, half of his face still cradled in his palm.

“So, ‘she knows’, huh. Back to your question. What do you think she knows?” A tinge of excitement and fear bubble up your throat.

Kageyama avoids your gaze, looking to the side. “Well, I mean, about my, er- my feelings, I guess?”

“You mean your heart.”

The sentence has his eyes back on you, vivid blue eyes clouded by the shadows of dimly lit room.

“Yeah, uhm, well, I guess.” His voice trails off.

“Well, have you told her before?” You keep your voice steady.

“No, of course.” His words come out like a whisper.

“Then how is she going to know without any words or actions?” It comes out like a blunt statement, but somewhere deep down, a wave of relief washes over you.

“But I’m always there for her. Whenever she needs me, wherever she is, I try my best to be there for her,” Passionate flames ignite across the vast blue ocean. “I know something is on her mind when she bites the insides of her cheeks, when she flicks the tip of her thumb with her index finger constantly, or when she plays with the piercings on her ears. I’m not one with words, but I stay by her side when she needs me to, listening to her rambles or vents, or wiping away tears that stain her cheeks soft like mochi.

“I set notifications the night before to give her morning calls during her exams or important days because she tends to snooze the alarm on days like these. I always have extra band-aids ready on hand because she always somehow cuts and hurts herself, which hurts my heart too. Heck, I even learn ridiculous things that would be the death of me just for her, because nothing compares to the sparkle in her eyes when she flashes her precious smile, brighter than the sun that takes my breath away every time. I-”

Kageyama stops midway, face painted with horror as if he just let out a million-dollar secret. Panic flares in his eyes, mouth agape in incredulity as his body rigids, dumbstruck with terror by what rolled off his tongue so smoothly. You wonder if the line got disconnected because he turned into a static image, with a full-blown flustered look on his face.

You wave at the screen. “Tobio, you still there?”

It takes a few seconds for the raven-haired boy to snap back to his senses and regain his composure, coughing awkwardly in attempt to calm himself down. Small patches of blush blooming furiously on his cheeks peek out from his hands covering his mouth.

He looks cute.

No, he’s cute.

He’s always been cute.

“I- Er- Ye- Yeah, I’m still here.” Kageyama struggles to find words from his tad-larger-than-average vocabulary vault that has seem to disappear into thin air.

“Gosh, breathe Tobio, breathe. Come on, take a deep breath with me. One, two, three.”

He exhales deeply at the count of three with eyes shut close, hoping that all his jitters have been expelled away in the air.

“There you go. Feel better now?” Your lips tug up gently as the boy on the screen visibly relaxes, shoulders loosening from the tension, face free of creased lines.

He opens his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust his vision before returning a soft smile to you. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

A tranquil silence blankets over the both of you. This time, the steady beats of two young hearts thump in tune like a metronome. Two young souls gaze at each other, basking in the calmness and comfort of the sincere warm smiles that felt so much like home; but too proud to admit they were like lovesick fools, brushing off the feelings that were screaming loudly to be heard, feelings that they were afraid to face.

“Do you think she knows?” It’s a genuine question, one that takes a mountain high of courage to come up with.

“I’m sure she does.” It’s a genuine answer, one that takes a of couple hundred meters of might to emerge from the deep ends of the sea to come up with.

And you both hope that you’re on the same wavelength.

“So back to square one. Who’s the girl?”

“None of your business.”

“Another piece of crap from you and I’ll leave without you at the metro station tomorrow.”

“Sorry.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽.* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you reach the designated exit of the metro station the next day, a pair of eyes as blue as the day immediately catches your attention among the crowd, feet shuffling on its own accord towards them. As if there was a detector sensing your presence within him, the owner of the beautiful pair of orbs turns to you, raising a hand in greeting.

Kageyama gives you a smile, a smile that says, ‘I hope my smile makes you feel warm and fuzzy’.

You smile back at him, with a smile that says, ‘I hope you know that I know your heart’.

It’s hard to shake off the pride to be damned, but the two lovesick fools find themselves discarding it slowly, bit by bit with each step taken, together.

【☾】

Kageyama is a creature of routine. He always has his day planned out in detail and hates it when it doesn’t go according to plan, or when something pops out of the blue. But there are a few which he can make exceptions for. So when he receives your text asking for dinner after his training session, he agrees in a heartbeat.

He felt his heart sink deeply in his guts when you said there was, indeed, someone who made you feel warm and fuzzy with their smile. But who was he to have his say when his status was merely just a close friend?

Miwa thought he had lost it when he barged into her room without notice that night, scanning her bookshelf for novels, specifically of the romance genre. It was more nerve-wrecking than retaking exams back in high school with Hinata while flipping through the pages, and it didn’t help much when he finally found the particular page, with the first line inked in black staring back at him in doubt.

He doesn’t know why he sent the picture of the page to you. What exactly was he expecting?

Worse, he doesn’t even know why he started blabbing about how he was always there for you, how much he cares for you, and how much you mean to him. It all just came out so naturally that he could actually score an A+ for impromptu speaking.

But when your eyes were filled with concern while calming him down instead of making fun of him or pestering him for more, something flutters in his mind. Maybe it was from the rush of adrenaline from before, or maybe it was his heart that had leaped out from his chest taking over. He brings up the question once again, with more confidence this time.

He knows you’re not one to lie with your eyes. And he sees the kindness and honesty in them.

A ray of hope flickers in him.

So today, Kageyama musters up every ounce of courage he has, and tells himself it’s now or never: to close the gap he has longed for so long between two hands that swayed side by side. Instead of retreating his hands away when they brush against yours, he curls the tip of his fingers with yours delicately, as if your fingers would melt at his touch.

He hopes that he made the right decision.

And when your fingers curl back, intertwined with his, he knows he has made the right decision, and that his question has been answered.

She knows.

And the fact that he’s the one behind the smile that makes you go all warm and fuzzy, he swears it feels like he could run for miles and miles without running out of breath, soaring even higher than the clouds in the skies. None of the perfect sets he has set in his lifetime could compare to the satisfaction and bliss he was feeling right now.

Because you had set his life ablaze the moment fate brought the both of you together, and you’re his end game.

[jackson--t]

🎃 Spooktober 🎃

Bloody Boneless - Pt. I

Welcome to my favourite time of the year and my month of spooky stuff! I will create some short spooky stories - if you want to join me, feel free to tag me! 🎃

Summary: Heahmund talks about old sagas and legends in his classes - and tries one game out for himself at home. With a frightening result that makes his blood run cold...

Words: 2.6 k (AO3? Here.)

Spooky Friends (so far): @youbloodymadgenius @jadelynlace (if you want to be tagged, feel free to send me a DM or stuff!) 🖤

Heahmund looked around at his students and grinned a little; his bright eyes wandered over the curious eyes of the teens, who were all talking; some were already coming forward to share their ideas and stories.

It was October, and it wasn't long until Halloween; Heahmund had specifically chosen the last history lessons to get into a little spooky subject matter, about ghosts and folklore, about old tales and myths, and things you'd tell yourself if you wanted to scare someone. Outside, the rain pattered against the window, and the class had been decked out in autumnal red for several weeks, decorated with collected leaves and chestnuts. Heahmund grinned for a moment, then pointed to a student.

"Anna?"

"When I was a child, my mother told me that witches could be found in many bushes and along roadsides. We had a bush in our backyard back then, and it was so opaque that you could only ever make out black structures that looked so spooky..."

"And you must have been afraid of it?" Heahmund said, and Anna nodded.

"Who knows any more sagas? Does anyone maybe know games that involve old Halloween traditions?" Heahmund asked to the group, and several students came forward.

"Tim."

"My big sister once got a Ouija board with her friends on Halloween, and they... tried to call a dead friend through the board. They've never touched it since. She told me things moved around the room and the lights suddenly went out," Tim recounted; several girls in the room looked at each other aghast and began whispering excitedly, while Heahmund pressed his lower back against the desk.

"Stories like that scare you, of course, but it can also be fantasy. There are so many ancient legends and customs that, because of their history, already grasp the origins of fear. For example, the superstition that you should never look in the mirror at the stroke of midnight," he explained, and the teenagers fell silent; they looked at their history teacher intently.

"Why not?" Irina asked, and Heahmund grinned slightly.

"They say it makes you see your inner monster, or your inner witch. There are various games you can try in the dark, but they mostly play with your seventh sense, or simply your perception. The basic idea of fear plays a central role in this. Does anyone know of anything else?"

It took a moment, but then suddenly, quite hesitantly, a finger lifted from the back row; Heahmund's eyes met the shy Natalie, who always spoke very little, even though she had good grades. The others did not like her so much; however, to Heahmund she was a nice girl who was just a little quiet. He nodded to her with a smile; she looked around shyly, then said softly, "You told us once about the Vikings, and about their age. I know a saga about it."

Heahmund raised his eyebrows; he had always loved the subject of Vikings and didn't even know until now that there were customs here, too - or at least ghost stories that the young people told each other. "Really? Ah, very nice! Of course, when someone includes real history, it's always exciting. Tell us more, Nathalie!"

Nathalie hesitated for a moment; her fingers buried in her sweater.

"You told us about Ragnar Lothbrok and his sons back then. And I know a... legend. It says that at the stroke of midnight you are supposed to stand in front of the mirror, and if you... well, if you say Bloody Boneless three times, the Viking tyrant Ivar the Boneless will appear in the mirror."

Heahmund felt a slight chill run down his spine; he had gone over the subject very carefully with the students, and he was fascinated by how much had stuck with her; he looked at her for a moment, then asked, "Have you ever tried it?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No, I wouldn't do it either. The stories about him are too scary for me."

"With Bloody Mary, after all, the legend goes much the same way, except she pokes your eyes out. What do you think Ivar the Boneless does, Nathalie?" Heahmund said; the class watched intently as Nathalie bit her lower lip softly.

"They say that he... that he kills you. With an object he finds on you." she whispered; for a moment, icy chills ran through the class, and the abrupt ringing of the bell elicited a cry from some; Heahmund laughed.

"All's well, we'll see each other again on Wednesday. Until then, please read up on the customs about the Salem Witches' Night and do assignment 10 on it."

Heahmund waited until the class was completely empty; he smiled at the students, then scratched his chin lightly. Ghost stories, what nonsense. Of course, he knew none of these things were true; even though he loved seeing the shocked faces of the teenagers.

Bloody Boneless, what a nonsense....

 

§---§---§

 

It was late in the evening when Heahmund stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom; for a moment he looked at his dark hair, and then got his toothbrush ready. The clock on his shelf showed just before midnight; so, he still had some time.

Something on the back of his neck prickled as he brushed his teeth and walked slowly up and down the hallway; the rain was still casting gloomy shadowy shapes on the windows in his house, and the wind was clearly audible. If he wasn't mistaken, he had also heard a thunderstorm coming from a safe distance - a terribly cozy autumn night that he was about to end with a good book in his bed. Yet he still carried his student's words from today in his ear; that strange story about Ivar the Boneless.

Heahmund had devoted much of his studies to the Viking field, and it was still his favorite part of history. Perhaps he could joke with the children and pretend that the story about the mirror was true. He was sure that the teenagers - at least a couple of them - would not be able to sleep for nights if Heahmund continued Nathalie's story. He grunted softly in amusement before standing back in the bathroom and washing out his mouth.

When he lifted his head, the clock read 11:59 p.m., and Heahmund fixed his bright eyes on the mirror; his own reflection was staring back at him, albeit still with a somewhat wet beard. As the digital clock read midnight, Heahmund exhaled deeply. His hands clawed tightly into the porcelain of the basin, and he said softly in his deep voice:

"Bloody Boneless."

Once, and the rain whipped harder against the window; it was nothing unusual, for the storm had been predicted. Heahmund snorted softly; he felt a little crazy and silly, but he took another breath and said:

"Bloody Boneless."

Far away in the dark of the night there was a low rumbling; but the storm was still too far away for Heahmund to hear it clearly. Nothing happened; Heahmund grinned slightly at his own image in the mirror, and then quietly muttered a third:

"Bloody Boneless."

It happened all of a sudden; the lights in the bathroom began to flicker all at once, and with a ripping thunderclap, it abruptly went dark; just once, the light of the bathroom mirror still flickered on, causing Heahmund to let out a scream.

For a millisecond, the gruesomely contorted face of an angry young man had appeared in it, that undoubtedly belonged to Ivar the Boneless. But the lights came back on, and Heahmund stared perplexedly into the mirror; his hands trembled, and he wore white marks on his knuckles, so tightly had he clutched at the basin. When his bright eyes fell on the mirror again, he could see only his own face in it. No trace of that grimace.

Heahmund exhaled deeply and ran his hand over his forehead, shivering slightly; it was just as he himself had said in his lessons: the brain knew it was seeing something, and imagined it. The thunder had been a coincidence, of course, and had contributed to that brief anxiety -but it had been a horrible experience.

"Amazing, a brain like that.", Heahmund muttered to himself, slightly breathless, before turning off the bathroom light and turning towards the hallway. Just for a brief moment, for the fragile blink of an eye, he imagined that he saw a black, crooked shadow in the mirror that clearly could not belong to him. But it could just have been the shower curtain.

Heahmund hurried to get to the bedroom; the mirrors in the hallway suddenly didn't seem so trustworthy, especially since a bright flash additionally illuminated the hallway. Heahmund had never really been the fearful type; never. He didn't believe in ghosts and stories; he believed in the measurable reality of people. But this experience had given even him a deep goose bump on the back of his neck that he couldn't shake off. When he arrived in the bedroom, he closed the door behind him; the hallway was silent, however, as he took one last look inside before turning out the light there as well.

He had another mirror in the bedroom that he had a good view of; normally he loved it, especially for certain evenings; but now a strange feeling came over him. He looked at the mirror slightly critically, and yet decided against taking it down - he wasn't that anxious now. Everything was explainable, really everything. The blackout, the flickering, even his hallucination. There was nothing to worry about or be afraid of.

He turned on the small light on his nightstand and leaned back against the end of the bed; he covered himself lightly and began reading his book. He loved this atmosphere while reading; there was a storm outside, and he was inside with a book in a warm bed, and he didn't even have to get up early tomorrow, since he didn't have class until the last period. He enjoyed such evenings very much; only sometimes he felt lonely.

The house was only blanketed by the sound of rain and thunderstorms; however, as Heahmund was turning a page, his eyes caught something out of the corner of his eye. It was a dark movement, a quick, barely visible movement, but it shot up the back of Heahmund's neck so quickly and tinglingly that he could not have imagined it.

His gaze went up to the mirror; it was still standing there motionless, and nothing but the room was reflected in it; this weather was playing tricks on his eyes, he was sure of it. And those damn children's stories. He shouldn't have done that shit with the mirror.

Heahmund averted his eyes again; he continued to read in silence when suddenly he heard an unfamiliar noise - it sounded like something hitting the ground sharp and hard, like some kind of knife or axe; but it was almost too heavy for that. Heahmund raised his head and stared around the room, but he could see nothing; yet he could have sworn that this strange sound had come directly from his room. He wrinkled his nose slightly; the sound appeared again, only this time it was ten times louder. And it was almost as if a dark shadow was creeping out from under the doorframe....

Heahmund jumped out of bed. Maybe it was a burglar! He went towards the door, saw exactly the strange shadows on the wooden floor, which looked as if someone with crutch was standing in front of the door - his neck tingled wildly, and he suppressed the fantasy in his head - when with a sudden movement he tore open the door.

"Ha!" he cried; but there was no one in the hall. Heahmund stared open-mouthed into the hallway, and then at the floor - the shadow was gone. He took a deep breath in and out, as he closed the door behind him with a soft sound. He needed to calm down, his imagination was starting to run away with him. It was nothing more than a scary fairy tale that teenagers told each other at their Halloween parties.

When he turned around, however, his body suddenly froze.

He couldn't move an inch even if he wanted to; his muscles seemed frozen, frozen like an icy body in deepest winter. His mouth was slightly open, and yet neither words nor air came out to breathe; for his bright eyes fell on the mirror.

There, in jet-black leather armor, leaning on a pointed, metal crutch, stood a young man with the brightest, bluest eyes Heahmund had ever encountered. He simply stood there in the mirror, no one in front of it, staring motionless in Heahmund's direction; his dark hair was braided in Viking splendor, and his face revealed that he had been through a lot; a small but legendary scar adorned the young man's face.

It took a while for Heahmund's body to release its rigidity; he took a deep shocked breath, and stared in disbelief at the image in the mirror. It was as if frozen; the young Viking in it did not move a bit, but only stared stubbornly in Heahmund's direction. It looked like a statue; Heahmund dared to come a little closer and walked with slow steps towards the large mirror.

A flash of lightning lit up the room, and the rumble of thunder gave the whole thing an impossibly creepy atmosphere. Although Heahmund's body was wrapped in icy cold and thick goose bumps, he walked forward until he was standing right in front of the mirror; the young man was a little shorter than him and stood slightly bent over by his crutch. But he did not move, not even when Heahmund touched the cold pane of the mirror with a slight swallow.

"You're not real. This isn't real. I'm dreaming.", Heahmund muttered darkly; the mirror felt normal, and nothing moved except for the flashes in the background.

It had to be a bad joke. Maybe someone had traded his mirror for a TV? Maybe this was a show? Those damn kids...

Heahmund hissed softly as he looked around the room; but he could see no cameras in the corners, and no feet or anything behind the curtains. There was nothing there...

He turned his gaze back to the mirror; still the young man stood there, but his eyes had changed direction. They were staring Heahmund right in the face now, and Heahmund had to swallow hard against his own horrible fear. He took his fingers away from the cool glass, and stared at the Viking as well.

"You are not real, Ivar the Boneless," Heahmund said darkly.

And suddenly, with the bright light of a flash of lightning and the cruel, violent thunder of the thunderstorm close by, he moved; the face moved jerkily, and his jaw cracked slightly before bright white teeth showed, looking almost like sharp knives in the flash of the thunderstorm; the corners of the young man's mouth lifted, and the bright eyes stared at him like the devil's face made flesh.

„dauði, Kristr.“ A high-pitched, strangely soft, yet scratchy voice shattered the silence of the bedroom, mixed with cruel cracking sounds; and Heahmund froze to ice again.

He took a shaking step back, but his eyes caught perfectly how the pointed end of the crutch pressed against the mirror from inside, and a thousand shards suddenly pattered on the floor; and with a firm and sweeping pulling motion, Ivar the Boneless pulled himself out of the mirror, incarnate.

„dauði, Kristr.“ - "Die, Christian." (correct me if it's wrong!)

[midnightkens]

To Know

The first time Natasha has the thought, she’s seven years old.

The dress is stuffy; the collar feels like a weight around her neck and Mama scowls when Natasha reaches up to tug at it. “For God’s sake, bambina,” she sighs. “Can you give it a rest? You can take it off in a few hours. You know what your father will say if he catches you playing with it again.”

At seven years old, Natasha already knows many things. She can create circuit boards, mentally solve equations that send adults running for their calculators. Yes, she knows many things, but the first thing she ever learned? Howard Stark isn’t a good father. As far as she’s concerned, Jarvis is her father. Natasha knows better than to say all of that. Instead she allows her gaze to wander around the room, taking in the sights of all the other girls in dresses and the boys in their suits.

“I wish I could be a boy,” Natasha tells Mama. “They get to wear suits and I have to wear this dumb dress.”

Mama laughs, and Natasha’s heart soars, though she’s not quite sure why her mother is laughing. She doesn’t laugh much, but it’s one of Natasha’s favorite sounds. “Don’t be silly, sweetie,” Mama says, readjusting her hair bow. “You’re such a pretty little lady.”

Pretty little lady. The words leave Natasha feeling nauseous, and for the first time in a long time, she can’t figure out why.

**

At eight and a half years old, Natasha cuts her own hair. It’s short, a mop on her head, and when Mama shrieks that she looks like a boy and what have you done to your beautiful hair? Natasha grins in satisfaction. Jarvis fixes it and gives her a soft smile. Jarvis doesn’t care that Natasha prefers jeans and t-shirts over dresses, doesn’t care that she cut off her long, curly hair. He loves her just as she is.

When he takes her to the full length mirror to take a look, Natasha’s heart flutters happily and she can hardly contain the rush of excitement. Yeah, she thinks. This is right.

**

Natasha gets detention for refusing to wear a skirt when she’s eleven years old. Pants are more comfortable, she insists. The boys get to wear them!

Dad shouts at her over the phone, hisses that she’ll never be a boy. Natasha aches for the ground to swallow her up, drag her down to the endless void where she doesn’t have to be anything. The words rise in her throat, I’m not a girl, I’m not a girl! But they die as quickly as they rise. At eleven years old, Natasha knows many things. She’s in high school at eleven years old, nearly on her way to college coursework. Natasha doesn’t know how she knows this, but it’s the most important fact that resides in her brain.

Natasha Stark is not a girl.

**

Her body is wrong. When her voice should begin to deepen it remains high pitched, a soprano note that Jarvis and Ana gush over and that she wishes desperately did not exist. Her body begins to grow and change in ways that Ana had told her it would, but Natasha had just snorted and not paid attention to any of it. Her body begins to curve and her chest begins to grow and she bleeds. Natasha spends more time locked in her bedroom, absorbed in her robots so that no one can look at her and her horrible body. Her dainty, feminine, wrong body.

Jarvis and Ana whisper about her. They’re worried. Whenever they ask her about it, Natasha comes up with an excuse. I miss Mama and wish she would come home. Dad was being a jerk again.

Rich families are cutthroat. If Natasha doesn’t conform, behave exactly how they all want her to, she’ll be an outcast. She’ll be sent away to one of those horrible camps a girl at school was talking about and Dad would make Jarvis and Ana stop talking to her.

Keeping Jarvis and Ana was almost worth all of the wrongness.

Almost.

**

That same year, Natasha comes across the word transgender in a book she’s reading. It’s not often that she has to look something up. On a Thursday afternoon, after days of contemplation, she makes the trek down to her school’s library. The other students giggle when they spot her, Natasha the freak, and she sneers at them before turning to the card catalog. It takes what feels like hours to find what she’s looking for. LGBT 306.76. She follows the numbers, dives deep into the nonfiction section and frowns. It’s a small section, but she’ll make do. There she spots a book, She's not there : a life in two genders. Natasha pulls it off the shelf, reads about this person who everyone assumes to be a girl but really is a boy. There he defines the word Natasha saw, the word transgender: a person whose sense of personal identity and gender does not correspond with their birth sex.

It comes in waves, the realizations and relief and all of it. Everyone around her thinks that Natasha’s a girl, but something inside of her screams wrong! That’s wrong! She’s never had a word for it. And there are more people just like her? Natasha takes the book to a table and reads feverishly, taking notes.

She’ll never be able to do anything about it, but the more she reads, the more Natasha’s convinced of it. She’s transgender. Not wrong or horrible or broken.

Transgender. Natasha has more research to do.

**

She’s thirteen and alone in her room, staring at herself in the mirror. Mama says that she’s turning into a beautiful young woman, albeit not as proper as she would like. The last bit is always said with a tiny smile, so Natasha knows that Mama is joking. Mostly. And dear old Dad? Well, that bastard isn’t even around, so what does he know?

The bruises on her ribs scream in agony, but Natasha swallows down a hiss of pain. Howard isn’t here, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could break her someday. She may be broken, but at least she has Jarvis and Ana.

Jarvis and Ana, who teach her how to cook. Jarvis and Ana who don’t hit or shout when she burns banana bread and nearly starts a fire, who laugh with her and choose her.

Ana bought her these clothes, these jeans and a black t-shirt that’s just a bit too big on her petite frame and brand new Chuck Taylors. Alone in her bedroom, Natasha pulls her hair back grinning at the sight in front of her. She doesn’t see Natasha, or a pretty little lady or a proper young woman. The image in front of her is young, and a bit too earnest, and dammit, Natasha, why are you crying?

The image in front of her is a boy. He looks about two years younger than her, but she can work with it. Weak, fragile Natasha is gone. In her place stands a boy, an exuberant, funny, genius of a boy. The boy and Natasha reach out; their fingers touch, and Natasha feels more at home than she has since she was eight and a half, her waist-length hair clumps on the floor.

Natasha knows what her name should have been. Mama told her years and years ago, and it felt like it was hers. Anthony. Anthony Edward Stark. “Anthony.” Natasha whispers the name, crossing that line at last. After this there’s no going back. No more Natasha and dresses and bows and heels and skirts. There will only be Anthony and his jeans and t-shirts and sneakers, Anthony and his deep voice and his rightness.

Anthony moves his fingers away from the mirror, lets go of his long hair and the illusion shatters. In front of him stands a girl, a weak, broken girl in boy’s clothing. Who is he thinking? He can’t be Anthony. His mother would never speak to him again; Howard would toss him out on the streets. He’d be all alone. He wouldn’t even have Jarvis and Ana.

He’ll call himself Anthony, he decides. Or maybe even Tony. Anthony’s too posh, too formal, everything Howard loves and all things he hates. Yes, Tony. Tony sounds good, sounds right. He’ll answer to Natasha and wear the frilly dresses and play the part of a nice young woman. The thought sends waves of nausea so fierce that his knees buckle, but Tony can do it. He’s going off to MIT next year. Just one more year and he can be free.

**

Tony doesn’t last a year. Before his fourteenth birthday he’s in jeans and t-shirts, long hair pulled into a ponytail or braid. Howard hates it, tells him he looks like a rat and a slob, but what does he know? Mama’s away on longer and longer trips, which means longer stretches where he doesn’t have to wear those horrible dresses. Everyone still calls him Natasha, and he bites back a snarl and an My fucking name is Tony every time, but he manages. The masculine clothes don’t ease all of it, but they help.

**

MIT is a godsend. For the first time in his life, Tony is free to create his robots, live out from under Howard’s thumb, and finally be himself. The media hounds him, but for the first time in his life Tony doesn’t care. He cuts his hair again and rumors about him being a butch lesbian circulate and he just laughs. If only they knew.

There is just one thing wrong, other than himself. He’s younger than everyone else, smarter and he doesn’t know when to shut up. It’s nothing that Tony isn’t used to. He survived boarding school, and he’ll survive this too.

Then he meets Rhodey.

**

At first, they’re Jim and Natasha. Jim is older than Tony by two years, but they’re in the same year. They share the same general education class, Sociology 101, and they get paired together for a project. They both have single dorms, but two months later, Tony has practically moved into his room.

Jim is now Rhodey, but Tony is still Natasha. He yearns to tell him, stops and starts, the words dying in his throat. In a short amount of time, Tony’s become attached and anyone to whom he attaches himself winds up leaving. Tony’s too loud, too smart, he stays up too late and hyperfocuses on his robots. Rhodey doesn’t care about all of that, but Rhodey will definitely care if Tony tells him I’m not a girl, don’t call me Natasha, please call me Tony. Tony can practically see Rhodey recoil in disgust, shove him away and kick him out of his dorm.

Tony can’t, won’t, risk that.

**

Howard pays for an off campus apartment next year. Tony and Rhodey live in their own apartment, almost in their own little world. Howard doesn’t know that Rhodey’s living with him. Tony had mentioned it, but Howard had just grunted, not even paying attention.

It’s better that way.

**

Tony only binds his chest when Rhodey isn’t home. He knows he’s not supposed to wrap with ace bandages, but he has nothing else and he’s desperate. What he doesn’t count on his Rhodey coming home early, seeing Tony in the living room with nothing but his jeans and an ace bandage binding his breasts.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other, neither speaking. Then Rhodey opens his mouth and Tony bolts, locking his bedroom door behind him.

Goddammit.

**

Tony waits anxiously for a few days, almost begging Rhodey to say something and get the conversation over with, but he never does. Rhodey is good like that. Everyone else thinks Tony is weird, but Rhodey loves him for who he is, not in spite of it as so many people think. That much Tony knows to be true. But if Rhodey knew this about him, then Rhodey wouldn’t love him anymore.

Rhodey is everything. He’s friendship and love, late nights and delirious mornings, comfort and safety, and Tony aches desperately to hold onto him. They sit together in the living room, Rhodey doing homework and Tony fiddling with DUM-E’s arm. Rhodey is calm, but Tony is so tense that he can hardly stand it, and before he knows it the words, “Why won’t you call me a freak?” slip from his mouth. Rhodey looks up at him in surprise and Tony continues. “You walked in on me and you haven’t said a word! Go on! Call me disgusting! Call me a freak! Just get it over with. Dammit, Jim, why can’t you just get it over with and stop stringing me along?”

Rhodey sighs and shoves his textbook away. “I haven’t said anything because I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“Bullshit,” Tony hisses. “I’m a fucking freak and you know it! Everyone else already thinks it, so go on, have at it. Tell me something I don’t fucking know.”

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. “Are you done?” Tony’s face flushes with rage, but before he can retort, Rhodey’s up and crossing the room, standing right in front of him. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it was a big deal. Nat, you stay up for three days at a time. You leave circuit boards and wires all over and forget to do your laundry. You’re loud and funny and one of the kindest people I know. This? The, what is it called, binding? It’s not even the weirdest or worst thing I’ve caught you doing.”

Tony deflates and stares at his friend for a moment. It’s not often that he’s speechless, and judging by Rhodey’s smirk, he must be thinking the same thing. “I guess you’re right,” he says slowly. “You really don’t think it’s weird?”

“Cross my heart.”

Rhodey doesn’t think he’s weird. Rhodey doesn’t want to toss him away, discard and abandon him like the trash so many other people believe he is. Tony doesn’t deserve Rhodey, doesn’t deserve his kindness, love, or friendship. But with Rhodey, he feels the safest. If Rhodey doesn’t think he’s weird for binding, maybe he won’t care about the other stuff? Tony’s heart hammers in his chest, his palms sweat and he sits on the floor. Rhodey sits across from him, reaches out and squeezes his hand.

“Rhodey, I have to tell you something.”

Rhodey waits patiently while Tony collects himself. Tony’s never said the words out loud before. Saying them feels like the end of a chapter, one more piece of Natasha gone. The idea of saying goodbye to Natasha is exciting, exhilarating, freeing. Tony takes a deep breath and looks into Rhodey’s eyes.

“I’m transgender.”

** Rhodey has questions, of course, he does, but he holds onto Tony tightly as he explains everything. How he never felt like a girl, how he doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows that he’s a boy. He’s a boy and he wants to die every time someone calls him Natasha, how he wants to burn every dress and makeup palette he owns, how he feels like himself in masculine jeans and t-shirts and suits.

And then Rhodey does something that shocks him. It’s a question. A simple one, really.

“What’s your name?”

And for the first time he gets to respond, “My name is Tony.” Everything falls into place, and Tony sighs, leaning into his friend. Rhodey pulls him all the closer and Tony affirms, “My name is Tony.”

“Okay, Tony,” Rhodey says with a wide grin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

**

A few days later, Tony unlocks the door to the apartment and kicks off his shoes. Midterms suck, and he thinks he might actually eat dinner and go to bed early tonight. He stumbles into the kitchen, eyebrows raising curiously at the package on the table. There’s a note on top of the brown wrapping.

Tones,

Sorry if this is weird, but I just wanted to do something for you. I did research and everything says not to bind with ace bandages, so I got this for you. Let me know if it doesn’t fit.

And I know I didn’t say this before, and I should have, but thanks for trusting me.

--Rhodey

Tony opens the package and gasps when he sees what’s inside. He’s heard of these, but with Howard snooping through his credit card statements, it’s never been safe enough to buy one. The binder is lighter than he expected, but it feels like he’s touching gold. Tony rushes to his bedroom and puts it on, relieved when it actually fits. Then again, Rhodey knows everything about him. This is no exception. He puts his t-shirt back on, messes with his hair and looks at himself in the mirror. For the first time, he doesn’t see a girl pretending to be a boy. He sees himself, Tony Stark, and tears well dangerously in his eyes as he reaches up to touch his reflection. He’s still not exactly where he wants to be, he won’t be until he turns eighteen and can transition without Howard’s input, but the binder helps ease an ache inside of him, the ache that screams you’re wrong!

Tony doesn’t feel wrong, not with the binder, not with Rhodey calling him Tony and using masculine pronouns. No, for the first time in his entire life, Tony feels just right.

[rose7420]

It All Works Out In The End

A request from @laurenandloki!

Loki is trying to be a better human from the guidance of Tom Hiddleston and he messes up when he finds a borrower.

“I have to leave for a few hours, please don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Tom informed Loki. Loki looked up from his novel, his long-form curled comfortably on the couch in the living room. He only spared Tom a glance in his general direction before focusing on the bland words of the page. Truly the book wasn’t worth his attention, yet, neither was Tom. Tom grabbed his backpack, dressed casually in dark jeans and a navy blue shirt, and closed the door behind him. He was neither impressed nor disappointed in Loki’s progress at becoming a “better” person. As long as he didn’t commit any serious crimes he would be relieved.

Loki closed the book when Tom left. He stood and ambled aimlessly around the large apartment. It was a good size living space, not comparable to that of Asgard but still admirable. His steps echoed on the hardwood floor as he arrived in the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, looking for what the mortals called ‘strawberries.’ He had taken a liking to the sweet fruit after he had tried it out of curiosity one day. They hadn’t had any type of treat like that on Asgard.

While searching, he heard a small noise come from beside him as he hunted the second shelf. He put back the carton of milk he held and shut the door. His eyes searched the counter. He heard another sound, which was easier to make out now. He could now tell it was some sort of squeak. His gaze flicked to the jar on the end of the counter. Slowly, he approached and slid the jar over revealing a very tiny creature. It was humanoid and appeared to be female by the curve of her waist and long hair. As he took away her barrier she whipped around and let out another squeak. This time it was fearful as her head craned back to look at his face. He couldn’t make out her face and ached for a closer look, he instinctively reached for her. She backed up as far as she could, stopping when she reached the edge of the counter. He knew she was cornered and had nowhere else to go. That drop would certainly kill her should she jump. He smirked as he knew he had won this short chase and wrapped his fingers around her capturing her in his fist.

She struggled, twisting to escape his hold but it was futile. He was much stronger and bigger. He opened his hand letting her breathe for a few seconds in an open palm, sensing her trembling form as she was on hands and knees. After, letting her believe she was free for a moment, he closed his fingers over her entirely, marveling at the fact that he could no longer see her. He felt her tiny fists hit the inside of his curled fingers as he walked to the dining table set in the middle of the kitchen. He opened his fist and let her fall the short drop to the table, hearing her squeak as she hit the hard surface. He lowered his head onto his arms to see her better, watching as she raised herself to a sitting position.

“Aren’t you a little thing?” He teased, reaching out to pinch her thin arm. He twisted it carefully, minding the fragility of her tendons and joints. Despite his gentleness, she whimpered, attempting to tug her limb out of his pinched grip. He loosened his grip, allowing her to think she’d won this match. Her small victory gave her the courage to stand in hopes of running away. With a single finger, he pushed her chest and forced her to fall back onto the tabletop. He was unaware that he had caused all the breath to leave her lungs as he picked her up by the middle with a pinched forefinger and thumb. Another cry escaped her from the sudden elevation. He pinched her jaw to keep her head still trying to gain a better look. Tears escaped her eyes but he paid no attention to that. Releasing his hold he prodded at her form. His finger aimed for her cheek but he accidentally poked her nose. A simple prod to him, but a full punch in the face to her. Her nose leaked blood, dripping from her chin to her shirt. And right at that time the front door opened.

“I’m back, didn’t take as long as I thought it would,” Tom shouted, Loki heard him drop his keys in the dish on top of the table in the hallway. Loki looked down at the tiny girl struck by the blood on her shirt his fingers reaching for her. She cried in horror and pushed his fingers away, tears streaming down her face. His heart rate elevated and he lifted her to his face to examine where the blood was coming from.

“What is that?” Tom exclaimed from behind him. Loki felt him lean in closer and flinched at his voice right next to his ear.

“Why is she crying, and bleeding?” Tom asked worriedly, then looked at Loki suspiciously.

“What did you do?” He questioned. For once Loki was at a loss for words. He truly had meant for no harm to come to the tiny being, he only wanted to tease her a little. She had done nothing to him, and he had scared her immensely and hurt her in the process.

“Give her here Loki,” Tom ordered, holding out a raised palm. Loki did as he asked and watched as the little lady backed away in fear from the new giant. She whimpered audibly and cried loudly when she hit Tom’s curled fingers.

“Shh, you are in no danger here Little One,” Tom coed and reassured. He tentatively rubbed a finger upon her back when she did not flinch away. Tom walked to the counter and went to set her down, but she clung tightly to his finger and wouldn’t let go.

“It’s okay, I’ll be right back. I just need to set you down here.” She shook her head and held steady.

“Alright, I think I can manage with one hand.” Tom kept his voice low and soft as if speaking to a child. He tore a piece of paper towel off and wet it under a stream of water. He handed off the damp towel to the girl.

“Here you go, use this to stop that nose bleed. Make sure to keep your head down and pinch the bridge of your nose. There you go, great job.” He rubbed her back again and looked up from his palm to Loki who stood a few steps away. His face was sad, downturned to the floor, and sneaking glances at Tom’s hand every other minute. Tom knew he felt guilty and was disappointed in him but not angry.

After her nose had stopped bleeding the girl looked up at Tom. He raised her to his eye level so she wouldn’t have to strain her neck. He instantly noticed the bruises on her arms, legs, and one dark one on her cheek.

“Were those bruises there before?” Tom asked.

She shook her head, eyes glistening with fresh unshed tears.

“I’m so terribly sorry Little One.” He apologized but also realized he had no idea what her name was. So he asked for it.

“I-It’s Y/N.” She said meekly. Tom nodded, “My name is Tom, and that’s Loki.” He gestured to the moody god. Loki walked closer, keeping his steps light, attempting to make himself less menacing.

He felt utterly terrible. He had hurt her, made her bleed, marked her skin, and caused her to cry. Standing beside Tom he cleared his throat nervous to speak. He watched Y/N back away from his imposing frame and huddle next to Tom’s thumb. She clung to it like a lifeline, terrified of Loki himself. He imagined if it was quiet enough he could hear her tiny heart pounding in her chest.

“I would like to apologize for my actions earlier. And the harm that I caused you.” Loki wasn’t very familiar with apologizing and the words were awkward, but he deemed them necessary. Y/N said nothing, practically ignoring him, only clinging to Tom’s digit. He walked away, back to his room to clear his head.

Tom had found out that Y/N had lived in his house for years. And he hadn’t even noticed. She was looking for food today and had been trying to get the lid off the jar when Loki had found her. Tom had cooked a nice, hot dinner for them to eat especially after finding out she had never had a hot meal. He had managed to calm her down enough to sit on the counter while he cooked, being extra careful to not knock her down in the midst of the process of cooking. Tom had called for Loki to come to eat but Loki ignored him, locking himself away in his room. He sighed in frustration but made sure to not think too much about it, afraid Y/N would think he was mad at her. The poor thing had been through enough already today.

After eating, Y/N was happily full. Tom let her sit on his shoulder as he cleaned up and talked to her like an old pal. He went into the living room and turned on the television.Y/N had never seen the moving screen up close, and was mesmerized by all the colors and sounds.

“Do you want to watch a movie, Y/N?” Tom asked.

Y/N nodded enthusiastically. Tom laughed from her excitement and set her on the coffee table promising he’d be back soon. After a few moments, he returned with Loki. Their footsteps were hard to miss and vibrated the ground beneath her. She stared up in fear at Loki, backing away from his presence.

“Loki has promised not to touch you, Y/N. Isn’t that right Loki?” Tom explained. Loki grunted his agreeance. Scooping Y/N off the table, Tom let her settle on his shoulder. He scrolled through a bunch of different pictures and settled on one that looked scary. Tom asked if it was okay and she hesitated. Y/N didn’t really like being scared on purpose but she felt like a wimp after today and how pathetic she was with Loki. So she said yes.

A few minutes into the movie she knew she was completely screwed. Five people had already been brutally murdered and it wasn’t stopping anytime soon. She huddled closer to Tom’s neck and buried her face into the warm skin trying to shield her eyes from the screen. He assumed that she was cold and raised a hand to blanket her with.

“Is she alright?” A deep voice asked, Loki’s voice.

“I think she’s cold,” Tom explained.

A second later Tom was handing her a woolen blanket of her own size.

“H-How?” She asked astonished.

She looked over at Loki who winked and settled his back against the cushion wordlessly.

“Hey Y/N I need to go switch out my laundry so I need to put you down. Don’t worry Loki won’t mess with you.” He assured her and plucked her up effortlessly blanket and all setting her upon the middle cushion on the couch.

She looked up at Loki who had his eyes trained on the screen, paying her no attention. She copied his action and regretted looking at the screen at all when a particularly gory scene happened. She whimpered quietly, not noticing how Loki looked down at her worriedly. A loud scream broke through the silence frightening her out of her wits. She dropped the blanket around her shoulders and ran to Loki’s lap. She stayed close to the outside of his thigh and attempted to climb the fabric. Loki looked down at the ticklish sensation and saw the cause. He slowly reached down and boosted her onto his lap letting her rest upon his thigh. She scooted backward burying herself in the bunched-up fabric of his shirt and nestled herself in the soft cloth.

“Are you scared Little Miss?” He asked, feeling the nod of affirmation against his abdomen. He reached over and picked up her blanket and draped it over her dainty shoulders. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hand, so he cupped it around her serving as a barrier from the screen and her sight.

“I’ve got you. Nothing can hurt you now. You’re fine.” Loki repeated, calming her. Soon her breathing slowed and she stopped trembling. He peeled his hand back to view her sleeping form curled into his shirt. Loki smiled with relief as he realized she no longer viewed him as a bad guy.

Tom stood in the corner smiling as he realized his plan had worked perfectly. KnowingY/N didn’t like scary movies, got cold easily, and leaving at the right time. The only thing that had gone wrong was how long it had taken Y/N to seek Loki out for comfort.

[3laxx]

Late Night Visits

Set after the events of "Young Blood, Old Souls"

After the Owl House went into hiding for a week, Luz can't bear not seeing her friends anymore. Disregarding any risk of getting arrested, she decides to visit Amity to tell her what happened.

It's basically just tooth-rotting Lumity fluff xD

Ao3 / FF.net

---

Amity rolled her eyes at the loud voice of her mother echoing through the wide halls. The twins had gotten into trouble again, and mother had had enough.

The third time this week. It seemed the closer the twins got to their 17th birthday the less they cared what their parents had to say.

She turned another page in the book she was not reading, sighing. She couldn’t concentrate anyway.

Ever since Luz went into hiding, she hadn’t lasted an hour without catching her thoughts sneaking away to the human.

The book was tossed aside when Amity ran a hand through her hair. It was down. The strands fell into her face and she leaned back on her bed, against the headboard.

Something terrible had happened the day when Luz had saved Eda. Nobody knew what had happened, only what Willow and Gus had done on live TV, and then Lilith had been thrown into the cage with the Owl beast Eda. And suddenly Luz had appeared. Amity had held her breath in fear when Luz had stopped the Petrification process, wearing a cape and frankly, looking amazing. But then the guards had attacked and Titan, Amity had wished she could jump out of the bed and fly there and help.

She sat up again and slumped forward this time, rubbing her ankle. It was still in a cast, healing quickly, but not quick enough for Amity’s taste. She still couldn’t put weight on it. Nothing went quickly enough after Luz had vanished. And with her the Owl House, Willow had texted her.

As soon as Willow had come back from the Petrification ceremony, she had hoped to catch Luz and had made her way to where the Owl House had stood before, only to find an empty hole.

She had hoped Luz would show any sign that she was okay, that she was gonna come back. Though, maybe Eda had sent her away to the human realm again.

Amity’s heart ached at that possibility. She wouldn’t go without saying goodbye, right?

The young witchling sat up and grabbed the book she had read, Azura Book 2, to put it back on the shelf about her nightstand where it belonged. Her room was spotless as always.

Sometimes she wished it looked more like the Owl House around here. Messy, dirty, homely.

Her heart stung again. Luz wouldn’t just leave like that, right?

Titan, just stop thinking about her, Amity chastised herself. She had to be logical. Luz was a human, she was fragile (but not weak!) and a criminal. Just a few hours after their escape the emperor had announced Eda, Lilith, and Luz should be treated as public enemies and be arrested at sight.

A lump formed in Amity’s throat. Luz would be better off in the human realm. Maybe Eda, Lilith, and King even went with her.

She shouldn’t still be thinking about Luz. She should be thinking about all the homework she had already completed, and the spells she had already trained and perfected, and about putting on a mask for the guests her parents would be welcome on the weekend. She shouldn’t be thinking and crying after a human.

Her heart ached again, now at the thought, she had just had. She didn’t see Luz as a human, on which most witches of her class looked down upon. Instead, she saw the cutest, most skilled witch in her that she had ever seen. Her magic was unique, unlike any others.

Why didn’t Luz contact Willow at least?

They were close, she should’ve contacted her. But she just had to go and leave them in uncertainty, for an entire week. It had been a week already, Amity realized once again.

Groaning, she leaned against the shelf and rubbed her face. This was hopeless. Trying to get her thoughts away from Luz was impossible.

 ---

“Please, Eda!”, Luz begged for the hundredth time already, following the older witch around through the entire house.

“Luz, for the last time, I will not let you borrow Owlbert and visit the school or your friends. You know exactly that Bonesborough is crawling with guards!”

Huffing and grumbling, Eda pulled her hair around her ears, not drone out the desperate Teenager bugging her.

“I know, but I’ll be super sneaky! I’ll be in and out, whoosh, and they never see me!”

Eda entered the kitchen in the hopes of finding some Apple Blood but thanks to her sister not stealing it, they didn’t have any here. Curse her sister and her healthy lifestyle. Not even Apple Blood was in it for Eda anymore.

“Kid, no. For the last time.”

“Pleeaaase, Eda?”, Luz tried the puppy eyes and Eda graced her with a short glace, her eyebrows cocked, but she wouldn’t give in. She knew exactly that the kid was about as sneaky as a Griffin in an Elixir stand.

She had tried ignoring her before, that had only made it worse. Playing the authority card had lasted for the past few days but it seemed Luz was more desperate than before. And reasoning wasn’t as effective anymore as well. Eda knew that the isolation had hit Luz the hardest of them all, but she knew just as well that she couldn’t give in, not at all.

The life of her apprentice was at stake, and the lives of her friends as well.

“You can’t just fly to Bonesborough and visit some friends like in old times. You’ll endanger them and their families and you’ll risk getting them thrown into the Conformatorium.”

“I’ll be super quiet!”, Luz insisted in them.

Eda’s heart wasn’t in it. She knew the young witchling needed her friends. Damnit. But they were defenseless. Luz was the most powerful member of the Owl House right now, without counting Hooty. Even if Eda would never admit that out loud.

Finally, her mentor sat down on the sofa and buried her face in her hands. Luz came to a stop in front of her, then she flopped on the floor. Ah, to be young again and just, fall all over the place.

Eda risked a glance. Luz immediately pulled her puppy eyes again.

“No.”

The teenager whined and fell backward, sprawling on the floor.

“Edaaa!”, she cried, putting her arm over her eyes and pouted.

After some much-needed silence, the older witch finally leaned back and looked up to the ceiling. She definitely couldn’t let the kid visit that Park kid or the small one. They lived in Bonesborough and guards were patrolling there all the time, it was hard enough to steal some food.

“You can’t go to Bonesborough, kid. I know it’s hard but contrary to before, things got serious.”, Eda hated serious talks, but Luz had to understand that she was not only endangering herself, “I can’t let you run in headfirst and be captured.”

Luz sat up then, still pouting.

“So, if Willow and Gus are out, can I at least visit Amity?”

Eda thought about that. It’s been a week now. Maybe their time to lay low was enough. And honestly, the Blight kid lived a little off the radar. Her parents had a manor up in the woods, maybe they didn’t hire as many guards. And besides, she had noticed the Blight kid and her kid getting along well. Maybe it wasn’t as off-limits as she thought.

“I won’t bother you anymore after this.”, Luz grinned, sensing that Eda was considering the option.

“Alright kid, it’s a deal!”

The teenager squealed and got up to jump around, then she ran back to Eda to hug her, crushing her against the sofa cushions.

“Why, why are you constantly doing the parallel arm thing?!”

 ---

Amity was just hopping her way to her dresser, to get changed into her pajamas when a small knock startled her. A knock? Her family never knocked when they wished to speak with her.

Her mother usually just barged in, as did the twins. And her father never came to her room.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she grabbed her crutch tighter and hopped to her door, slowly opening it. Nobody was there.

Her imagination must’ve fooled her. Shrugging, Amity closed the door again and turned back to get her pajamas, but then it knocked again. Okay, she heard that one. Furrowing her eyebrows, she listened intently, then she heard another knock again. What…?

Looking to her window, she almost had a heart attack. Someone was out there, flying on a staff it seemed, and-… Was that Luz?!

“Luz!”, she exclaimed in a whisper, then she rushed to the window as fast as she could with her foot in the cast and pulled it open, to allow Luz to climb in.

“Hello!”, the human said in her usual dorky way, a wide grin on her face. Amity couldn’t believe it. Why was Luz here?!

The human slightly stumbled on the windowsill and bumped against the window which Amity had held onto not to fall, which caused her to flail and fall forward, yelping slightly just before Luz turned and caught her in time. Looking up, Amity realized the compromising position they were in.

“Ah, just caught you in time! You okay?”, Luz asked cheerfully and she already felt a heated blush creeping up her cheeks so she did the first thing she could think of when Luz straightened her up again. Out of reflex, she punched her friend’s shoulder, earning a small ouch, then she glared at the human.

“Why do you decide to show up now, after a week of nothing?!”

Luz grimaced as she rubbed her shoulder, shrugging helplessly.

“Better late than never!”, she tried, but Amity merely huffed and rubbed her face before leaning against the wall. Her head was spinning. This was happening. Luz was in her room, in her room, and she had just touched her and heard her and-…

“Do you need help getting back to your bed?”, the other girl softly asked and Amity shook her head, grabbing her crutch and making her way over on her own, to sit down on the edge.

The mattress next to her sunk in and she felt Luz’s weight, then she allowed herself to glance over to see Luz kneading her hands in her lap. Titan, why was she so adorable?

“… I’m sorry, Amity… Everything went so fast when we fled. I couldn’t say goodbye to you all, we had to go immediately not to endanger you guys and risk our freedom.”

Amity sighed at that, feeling so much turmoil inside her. On one hand, she was really mad that Luz thought just showing up after a week would just be okay. On the other, she could understand why Eda didn’t let Luz get in contact with them. She didn’t have a scroll and she most certainly would’ve endangered them all.

Amity sighed.

Eda had been right to isolate them from each other.

Luz reached out for her hand and Amity almost let her take it, but instead, she jumped up, almost dropping to the floor again before searching her balance and propped her hands up on her hip, furrowing her eyebrows. She supposed she looked like an idiot, standing on one leg, but holding Luz’s hand was definitely too scary.

“I-I know that! But how can you just be here?! Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

Luz got up as well as if to soften down Amity. Titan, it worked.

“I know! But I just had to see at least one of you guys and you were the safest option.”

Amity just wanted to melt on the spot. Luz had acknowledged the danger, and she had still come here. To her house, to speak to her. Sure, because Willow and Gus lived in way more dangerous waters, but still. Luz had come to her. Why couldn’t she just melt into Luz’ arms and sigh and-

No. No, she was a furious girl. She was furious. She had to chastise Luz or her stupidity, yes.

Amity was about to continue her rant again but Luz started talking before she could.

“Listen… I know I left you guys without so much as a notice, and I’m so sorry about that. But at least let me talk, okay? You need to tell Willow and Gus as well. And-… Sit down, maybe, I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Amity slowly nodded as the tension left her body and she returned to her bed, her face colored in a blazing blush, then she sat down and patted next to her. Okay.

If Luz had already come all the way here, why not let her talk to make the way worth it.

The Latina happily bounced, then she plopped down next to her and kicked her shoes off, squealing.

“Girls night!”

Amity blushed, but she honestly liked the sound of that. So, she sat back against her headboard and propped up her cast on a pillow, watching Luz cross her legs and lean against the other side of the bed.

“So…”, the young witchling awkwardly began, twirling one of her green strands of hair. She hadn’t even noticed she had kept it down, “What exactly happened at the Emperor’s Coven after Willow and Gus told Eda? Our stories kinda cut off there.”

Luz gulped. Coming on strong, Blight, she thought to herself.

“Well, right after Willow and Gus left, Lilith put me in a magic bubble prison and waited for Eda. She seemed super tense about that, and she was right to be because they had a witch’s duel against which ours looked like a kindergarten fight.”

Amity had to giggle at Luz getting into the story. She had always admired the expressive human, but she motioned Luz to keep it down a bit, fearing her mother might hear.

“And then, oh man Amity, you should’ve seen Eda! She fought so well and ferocious! I was even a little scared of her!”

The more the human reexplored her memories, the more she started to play out the story. At first, she just gestured wildly, but at some point when Eda and Lilith had upped their fight, she had jumped up on Amity’s bed and motioned the movements, letting her hands clash together whenever their mentors had done and let Amity see the memory through her body language.

She jumped down to the floor and moved in bigger motions, telling Amity how she had gotten free, motioning the bubble and how she had popped it, and then how Lilith had thrown her off the bridge just to drain her sister.

Amity gasped at that.

“Aren’t there spikes on the bottom?!”, she hissed, suddenly starting to see her former idol a bit differently, but Luz grinned at that, nodding excitedly.

“So many spikes! But Eda caught me and held me up for as long as she could, even if Lilith used her magic to push me down! A-And then-…”

Luz visibly deflated.

Immediately, Amity felt bad for asking. The human remained silent for a second, then she crawled back on the bed and pulled her legs close, suddenly looking so small and vulnerable.

“W-Were you injured…?”, she tried carefully, but Luz shook her head.

“Eda used up all her magic for me. She turned into the Owl Beast and saved me, but got herself captured… And then Lilith just shut me out. She told me to go back into the human realm.”

Amity slowly pulled her leg close as well, this time mirroring Luz, and propped up her chin on her knee.

“I’m so sorry, Luz…”

“It’s not that bad.”, Luz already smiled again and shrugged it off, but she could see the pain in her eyes, and the tears welling up. It must’ve been a painful thing to watch.

“And what happened at the Petrification ceremony?”, Amity finally asked, hoping to let go of the bad memories, and sure enough, Luz lightened up a little again.

“I kicked some Emperor butt is what happened!”, she exclaimed, and already stood on the bed again, making Amity chuckle and loosen up as well.

Luz began telling her about how she let herself be caught by stepping on grass, coaxing out another laugh from Amity, then she started retelling how she escaped the guards with her glyphs and beat them all up before making Eda recognize her again and her giving up the portal to the human realm.

Once again, the human gulped, but she continued telling her about how she faced Lilith and they both stumbled into the magical door.

“Luz, you okay?”, Amity asked once Luz went silent again, pulling out the key from her shirt. She didn’t recognize that key, but she supposed it unlocked the portal to the human realm.

“Have you thought about going back there for good since that incident?”

For some reason, Luz's face fell at that, then she continued in a small voice.

“Lilith, King, and I went through the portal and I got up in the forest behind my Mami’s house… I recognized it. And I swear I could almost see the roof.”, Amity felt there was a final note to her voice, “She then told me she had betrayed the Emperor and had come back to save Eda.”

Amity gasped at that and looked back at the poster of the Emperor’s Coven that her mother had put back up again after Amity had ripped it down after the Emperor had announced the human to be a criminal.

“Lilith really changed sides?”, she couldn’t believe it. First, her mentor tries to kill Luz cold-blooded, then she betrays the Emperor, all within 24 hours?

“Yeah. She didn’t want her sister petrified. She actually just wanted Eda to be healed because the Emperor had promised her to do that. She felt really guilty after the emperor didn’t heal her.”

Amity nodded slowly, then Luz continued, curling in on the bed again.

“We went back. I-… I looked back into the human realm and I-… I really miss my Mami, you know? But-… I had such an awful feeling about that.”, Luz pulled up her shoulders, “After that, the Emperor showed up and sent Lilith and King up to be thrown into the cage with Eda.”

Amity subconsciously held her breath.

“And what happened then?”

Luz's face split into a well-known smug grin. In an instant she jumped up again and pulled her cape around her, acting out the Emperor challenging her, and her fighting back. She told Amity how she battled him, and he had defeated her with ease of course, but she was smarter than he had thought.

“And then he had me on my knees and was all high and mighty, but I had hidden an ice glyph under my hand and chipped his mask! I even got the piece here, look!”

Amity stretched out her hand and Luz dropped a piece of what looked like bone into her hand, making her shiver. This was the piece the Emperor had lost, then.

She looked back up to Luz with respect.

“You actually injured him?”

Luz giggled.

“He was actually super pissed about that.”, then she immediately sobered up again, furrowing her eyebrows, “Now that I think about it, he could’ve very well killed me for that. But he was just amused.”

Amity shuddered again, handing back the piece Luz had broken off his skull. She suddenly felt very, very uneasy about the witch she had always looked up to.

“Well, and then he told me that he wouldn’t have cared for Eda, but because I showed up, he realized she must’ve had a portal.”, once again, Luz twisted and turned the key in her fingers, and Amity didn’t understand, but she let her friend continue, “He wanted it… He pressured me into giving it to him, saying he’d only let me go to Eda and save her if I gave him the portal. So-…So I did.”

Amity scooted closer to Luz and gave her a sympathetic gaze, almost reaching out to her but she refrained. Unless she wanted to blush all night.

“But that’s your way home, Luz…”

The girl nodded as she hugged her legs, pressing her chin against her knees and looking down at the key that now laid between the two girls. Sighing, she collected herself again and Amity saw a little tear rolling down her cheek before wiping it away.

“But I couldn’t let him win. I couldn’t let him have a way to the human realm. My Mami is there. I didn’t want him hurting her. So, I placed a few fire glyphs on it and destroyed it.”

Amity gasped at that, the horror of Luz’s situation finally settling in. She had willingly destroyed her way home to protect her mother. She had destroyed the only link to the human realm, and now she could possibly be staying here forever.

Amity’s own feelings almost betrayed her, but she didn’t let them. Luz was hurting and she had to be there for her.

“I’m so sorry, Luz…”

“Me, too…”, the girl mumbled, then she breathed through and shrugged, “I was able to save Eda. That’s something I won’t regret. We flew back to the Owl House after I freed them and Lilith shared the curse with Eda, so now they’re both in their human form and can’t do any magic, but I’m teaching them glyphs. Hooty then relocated the house, you know, he has legs.”

Both shuddered for a moment when they remembered the Moonlight Conjuring when they had seen Hooty’s awful giant legs, but Luz was able to chuckle again.

“I can’t tell you where we went, but we’re safe there. And I had quite a week, actually!”

The following half an hour was well spent with Luz telling her all about her adventures, about her teaching both her mentors' glyphs and about trying to find new spells and even encountering some monsters a few times, the downsides of living in the wild, while the two experienced witches didn’t have any magic.

Amity cringed from time to time when Luz showed her some new scars from the adventures she had, and she was once again reminded of how fragile her friend was.

Of course, witches got hurt as well, but they healed faster and they could handle a lot more than humans. Plus, witches had souls tethered to the astral planes, they could sometimes come back. Meanwhile, for humans, sometimes it was enough to receive a hit on the head and they’d die. Amity shivered at that. She didn’t want Luz dead and it was honestly a miracle already that she had survived the Boiling Isles that long, especially with her tendency to get hurt.

Titan, that felt bad. Without Eda and Lilith being able to protect her, Luz was the most capable of defending herself against stuff like monsters and injuries and other disasters. She didn’t like that at all. With Eda’s powers that was another story, but now, looking at Luz made her feel so helpless.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t impressed with how fast the human had learned and how impressive her magic skills were, but she just felt uneasy about Eda not being in commission to protect Luz whenever she needed it anymore.

The time came for Luz to go home again. She couldn’t risk staying for too long, she had a long journey ahead to the Owl House (or a short one, Luz insisted, you’ll never know!), and she had to get going now. They both got up and Luz walked to the window that Amity had closed again after she had arrived, grabbing Owlbert and turning back to her friend. Amity shivered at the cool breeze from outside, then she turned back to Luz.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to come by, okay?”, she clarified and Luz nodded, “And greet Eda and Lilith from me. Tell them I won’t say a thing.”

Her friend nodded again, but Amity couldn’t take it. Titan, she looked so childish for a public enemy, with her big brown eyes and her goofy grin. The colorful band-aid Amity had watched the entire evening on Luz’s jaw reminded her again how vulnerably her crush was.

Blush be damned.

Amity stepped forward and wrapped Luz in a tight hug, pressing herself against her. Luz stuttered at that, then she returned the hug and wrapped her arms around Amity.

Weak nerd arms my butt, she thought to herself when Luz pulled her in tightly.

“Don’t be too reckless.”, Luz merely chuckled, but Amity huffed and squeezed her a little, hiding her face in Luz’s neck and letting one hand slowly slip into her hair. If she was already hugging her, she might as well explore it. Luz didn’t seem to have a problem with that, anyway, “I mean it, you can’t just run into danger headfirst.”

“If I didn’t, you’d be sewn into a book by now.”, Luz smugly replied and Amity stopped tousling her hair to smack her softly, before going back to playing with her soft locks again.

“And whose fault is that?”

“The twins?”, Luz replied, even more smug than before, but Amity let her have this. After all, she could hug her right now.

They stayed like this for another moment, and another, turning into minutes and Amity didn’t wanna let go, she didn’t want to, because she knew she probably wouldn’t see Luz for another week again, or maybe even longer, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that, so she only pulled her tighter.

“Stay safe, Luz…”, she finally mumbled around the lump in her throat but still didn’t let go, only pushing her head closer against Luz’s neck and keeping her arms wrapped around the girl, afraid of letting her go and not seeing her again for so long. Titan, what might happen to her? The stories Luz told of the week alone were already scary enough as it is, and she didn’t want to get the message one day that Luz was-

Amity felt a shiver running down her spine as she didn’t dare to finish that thought. She wouldn’t lose Luz, not again. The human was too smart for that, too skilled and too fast. She had seen her in action. She had seen what Luz could do. Not only did she help her defeat Grom, but she also fought the Emperor and lived to tell the tale! Not many witches could claim that for themselves, but Luz had succeeded. Amity sniffled again and felt Luz tightening their embrace.

“If you get hurt, I swear I’ll smack you so hard you’ll be seeing bats flying around your head for days.”, the Latina smiled at that and nodded, then they slowly broke their hug and she loosened her fist that she had subconsciously clenched into Luz’s shirt, “Take care of Eda, Lilith, King, and that bird tube thing, okay?”

“I will, Amity. And you better tell Willow and Gus that I’m okay.”

The witchling smiled at that, then she helped Luz up on the windowsill and held her hand for a little longer, “If you need any school material, I can give you copies of my notes and I can ask the twins, Gus and Willow, as well.”

Luz gave her some weird sort of gesture, maybe a human one, where she showed a thumb up, an excited grin on her face. Amity decided not to question it.

“Now that sounds like an amazing plan. I’ll be back for that as soon as Eda lets me again. That might be a few days… But even Lilith said we laid low for enough time now, and Emperor Belos hasn’t shown any bigger attempts to search for us, so maybe I’ll be back by the end of the week.”

Amity didn’t allow her hopes to be up.

“And you better figure out an abomination glyph so you can become an actual witch.”, Amity winked, her insides feeling hot. Was she flirting?!

“You can count on me, Blight!”, with that, Luz jumped off the windowsill and onto Owlbert who spread his wings and carried her in the air.

Amity almost wished Luz would hover by the window, not wanting to leave, say anything else. Flirt a little more, banter some, fly closer, and caress her cheek. Maybe they could even kiss, Titan…

But the human had already pulled up the hood of her cape and began flying higher, above the trees and into the darkness.

Amity looked out into the night for some time still, wondering where the Owl House had found a new hidden spot where it’d keep Luz safe from the emperor’s grasp, then she closed the window and took a few steps into her room. Her body felt so cold where Luz’s had pressed against her, colder than before. She sighed when she wrapped her arms around herself again, closing her eyes. She could almost feel their embrace again. Titan and she could feel her throat closing up again, hear her voice cracking. Against better judgment, she hoped Luz had understood what had happened there. But she had also gotten to know Luz as the dumbest smart person she knew.

She doubted Luz would see her any differently. After all, they were friends and Amity hadn’t even been that nice to her at the beginning. She had been downright mean.

Who would wanna be with Amity, anyway…?

She was just a spoiled rich brat, like Boscha and all the others she had hung out with.

The missing warmth in front of her stayed missing and she bit her lip. If only she could’ve kept Luz here for a little longer. Just a little longer. Maybe even long enough for her to confess to her.

Or just to keep her scent here.

Amity dropped down on her bed and shuffled over to where the pillow was that she had handed Luz at some point, for her to lean against it. It was still propped up against the board at the other end of her bed. Hesitating, she picked it up and sat back on her knees, mustering it.

Maybe…

She felt so stupid for trying this, but after a quick reassuring glance that nobody was looking, she lifted the pillow to her face and buried her nose in it. Sure enough, it smelled like Luz.

Hmmm… A little like lemons. And sweet.

Amity smiled and sniffed again, then she put the pillow down and shook her head at herself. No, this was not happening. She did not just sniff the pillow her friend had leaned against. She did not just do that and she wouldn’t do that again ever and ever and ever-

The scent filled her nose again when she squealed and hugged the pillow close, before letting herself fall back onto her mattress, her face deeply buried into the softness she was hugging. It was almost as good as hugging Luz. Honestly, Amity couldn’t even remember the last time she really hugged someone. Had she ever? Like, genuinely, held for minutes without end?

Maybe that was her first real hug and she shared it with Luz!

Still smiling, Amity changed into her pajamas and crawled into her bed, her hands quickly finding the pillow again that Luz had leaned against. The scent was fading but still there. Amity sighed as she lied down on her stomach and nuzzled her nose into the pillow. She couldn’t help but enjoy this super embarrassing moment. But she was alone, too, so she wasn’t too worried.

After all, nobody could say anything against a little fawning.

She didn’t even feel herself falling asleep to the scented pillow, but when she dreamt, she dreamt of Luz and hugging and seeing her again. For the first time in a week, Amity slept well.

 ---

Once again, Amity saw Luz jumping up on the windowsill, her brown eyes twinkling with amusement. Amity’s heart jumped at the wink the Latina shot her, and she couldn’t help but feel her chest swelling with warmth at that.

Following her to the windowsill, Amity felt so weak to her knees, seeing Luz starting to lounge on the board, both knees pulled up and her elbows resting on them, her hands hanging.

She looked so careless while she watched Amity, only making her heart flutter more.

“Will you come back?”, she heard herself asking, her voice shaky but luckily, Luz didn’t notice. Amity stepped closer, hugging her arms around herself when Luz looked down at her with a relaxed look on her face.

“Of course, I will. I couldn’t make it through a week without visiting you.”, she replied, her voice suddenly so husky that Amity felt herself swoon. Instead, she leaned against the side that Luz was facing, smiling back at the girl watching her every movement.

“Please stay safe, Luz. It’s dangerous for you to be here.”, she tried, but Luz just turned and let one leg hang out the window, leaning to her and softly nudging her jaw so she would look at her.

“I will risk everything for you, Amity, you know that.”

Once again, Amity felt herself melting, but she grabbed Luz’s wrist and carefully cradled her hand with both of hers, sighing, “Luz, my parents or the guards could find you at any minute. It’s not safe for you to visit me as often.”

Luz shrugged that off, giving into Amity’s hands and bringing up hers to add to their hold, reassuringly cupping her hand.

“I don’t care, I will escape in time. But seeing you is worth the danger.”, she said before bringing up Amity’s hands in hers, kissing the base of her thumb, “I don’t care what they say.”

The witchling rushed forward and tightly hugged Luz, feeling the girl safely catch her and hold her close.

“You need to be okay, please. I can’t lose you.”, she cradled Luz’s head close and braided her fingers through her dark locks, while Luz softly rubbed her back, holding her close.

“You won’t, Amity, I’ll always be right there.”

After hugging, Luz grabbed Owlbert and jumped off the windowsill, onto the staff. This time, she flew back up to Amity on her window and smirked at her.

“You better be safe, Blight.”

The girl felt her cheeks burning up and her heart skipping when she reached out to Luz, interlacing their fingers when she got the chance.

“I will be. You, too, you understood?”, Luz nodded, then she flew a little closer still, their faces now getting closer to each other, “I wish I could come with you to the Owl House…”

But Luz shook her head at that, flying even closer, their faces getting really close now.

“You can’t, it’d be too dangerous for you…”, she whispered and somehow, Amity worrying for Luz only made her swoon more.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”, Amity breathed and Luz chuckled at that, lifting another hand to softly caress her cheek.

“It’s both…”, she whispered back, and Amity felt drawn to her but not quite, always not quite, “You need to stay here, Amity, where I know you’re safe and sound. I need you to be safe for me to function.”

“You couldn’t otherwise?”, Amity’s heart fluttered at that and Luz sighed, softly shaking her head.

“I couldn’t focus if I didn’t know you were okay…”, she argued and Amity almost couldn’t hold herself up on the windowsill, her elbow threatening to give in.

“… You’re such a sap…”, she breathed again, before Luz gave Owlbert a nudge upwards, catching her lips. Amity leaned into the kiss and sighed dreamily, feeling Luz’s warm face pressing against hers and her soft, sweet lips moving on hers.

Without thinking, she grabbed Luz’s collar and pulled her in, pressing against her while nuzzling her nose. Titan, this was nice.

Amity heard footsteps outside of her door, then the voices of her parents echoed through the hallway and she broke off the kiss, but Luz chased after her and caught her again, making Amity melt momentarily, before leaning back.

“Luz, you have to go, you have to go now.”, she panted, still holding her hand. The girl kept holding on and shook her head, but Amity pushed her away, parting their hands and looking back to her door where she could see her parents’ shadows.

“Amity, I need you to know-”

“No, Luz! You need to leave, now!”

Some guards that had been stationed in front of her parents’ estate came running over the grass, but Luz didn’t care. She flew closer again, cupped Amity’s cheek, and kissed her.

“… I love you.”, she whispered, pressing her lips to Amity’s again-

 ---

With a start, Amity shot up in her bed and stared at the window. No Luz.

Then she looked back to her door, standing in the darkness, unmoving. No parents.

Sighing, breathing through, she calmed herself down and again and pressed a hand to her rapidly beating heart. It had just been a dream.

Softly, her hand wandered up to her lips and she smiled, still feeling her heart beating rapidly. No kiss.

But it had been a nice feeling, at least, kissing Luz in her dreams. She let herself fall back into her sheets and rolled to the side, cuddling herself in while voicelessly squealing.

That’d be so nice, having Luz pull a knight in shining armor and kiss her like this. Her dream had overdone it on the dramatic parts, but she had loved every second, even if the memory slipped from her mind more and more the longer she thought about it.

How she wished that had actually happened earlier, but the actual memory of Luz visiting her was a lot sweeter than her dream. The girl sighed before lying back down on her back and looking up to the ceiling, smiling to herself.

She had actually come here and talked to her and told her everything she had seen. And she had allowed Amity to hug her.

Well, she knew Luz liked hugging people in general, but she had felt so warm and safe in Luz’s arms. She wanted that again so badly, she could barely wait for the end of the week.

 ---

Let me know if you liked it!

[gentlemancrow]

Continuing on with the Emotober prompts! UM THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME A BIT OOPS! And I originally even said I might do a different prompt since the two for today didn't resonate with me at first then BAM SUDDEN INSPIRATION and I had to make this exist?? I whumped on Jon yesterday MARTIN'S TURN TODAY HURRHURR! Please enjoy!

Oct 4th: History/ “I quit”

Sometimes, in the hush of the night when the institute slumbers, a coiled marble dragon exhaling the fog attended by rheumy-eyed yellow streetlamps, when sound is swallowed up into the cosmos by distant and shivering quasars invisibly ravenous in the silent blanket of dark, when the hands of the clocks linger at their apex, afraid to plunge into their littlest, loneliest hours, Martin allows himself a single vice. No more than ether, a gasp of fear, a lovelorn sigh into a silk pillowcase, he descends to the pit of the archive, a billowing, weighty vapor, to indulge in the gored-out ache of history. Nothing could quite compare with the exquisite oaky-aged sadness of history. With its long dead thinkers and scholars and heroes, consigned to books and busts and paint, its artifacts, entombed in glass with the last fingers to leave their marks, to touch them, mold them, hew them crumbled to dust and bone, with its voices lost to stardust and stretched out radio waves radiating out into eternity, it is a dram to sever the very tethers of one’s soul from their moorings.

The archive is a museum now of sorts, Martin likes to think, rather than a mausoleum. Even though everyone is dead and gone and only he is left to walk the place where they walked, where they laughed, where they lived, they have left themselves behind everywhere he goes.

The ancient chipped mug covered in spidery veins of cracked ceramic stained tobacco brown with tea that no one ever wanted, that always came out last, that always served as the short straw for whose unlucky turn it was to wash dishes finally, is still there in the cupboard. Though no one uses it at all anymore. No one drinks much tea anymore. The trio of electric pink Nerf darts from one of the many neon bright weapons Tim had smuggled into their lair are still stuck to one of the flickering, buzzing fluorescent lights. Martin wonders if the small pool of cash betting on when they would finally fall down is still stashed somewhere in what used to be Tim’s desk. He passes by it, but he only gets as far as the basketball hoop still hung over his rubbish bin before he has to move on.

Sasha’s old desk had long been taken over by Melanie, but her computer rig, loaded with all her various tricks of the trade, as well as her copious electronic volumes of research, had proven invaluable on more than one occasion, and still sits on a rickety folding table pushed up in a corner amidst file cabinet monoliths. Her ratty, pulpy old paperbacks with the cracked and broken spines still gather dust atop them like taxidermy ravens perched in funereal formation. Faded corners of post-it notes peek out between the dog-eared pages with scant snatches of her loopy cursive from her enthusiastic dissection of even the trashiest of literature. Martin is sure if he looks where he once sat, there will still be a few with post-its with his name on them and a cute little doodle of a pleading face, begging him to read it next so she could dish with him about it.

But the museum tour always ends at the Head Archivist’s office. At Jon’s office. It must. It rings with the hollowest, emptiest whispers of the past of all. If he pushes the door open so it squeaks just so, Martin can still hear the hiss of the tape recorder, of the flustered indignation in Jon’s voice at being interrupted and the endearingly drawn-out frustration in the way he would enunciate his name. He is everywhere in his office, from the last cup of tea he ever brought him still sat upon the dark ring where he reliably put every cup of tea without a coaster, to the half-full ash tray shamefully tucked on top of a shelf where he hoped no one would see it, to the organized chaos of notebooks and tapes and boxes threaded neatly together in his brilliant mind alone, to the inside-out umbrella that had betrayed him one morning, got hung up on the coat rack, and never managed to find a bin. Their laughter over it haunts the silence, from once Jon managed to be less of a wet and spitting cat and more accepting of one of Martin’s spare and very much dry jumpers for the morning. At least until his dried. The charcoal gray cardigan still hangs over the back of Jon’s chair that is still twisted at the distinct angle of someone leaving it, never to return. The arms look ready and inviting as he walks over to it and ghosts his fingers along them, like any moment he’ll barge in, sidle his willowy form into it, and start barking orders and jabbing long fingers decisively in the air. Only Jon has faded to the annals of history, too.

Those scarred fingers are quiet now, laid out on starched hospital white for education, a placard reading Hands of The Archivist propped in front of them, twisted up in tubing and gauze. Those are lips sealed in a museum box of plastic, a relic of bombastic passion and stubbornness, of secret gentleness and fragility. A heart that no longer beats is entombed inside the shrine of his very body, a dusty monument to everything that never was, and everything that would never be. Martin allows himself to pick up that cardigan, to lace his fingers into the fine cashmere and bury his icy, unfeeling face into the warmth it does not provide anymore. He is so far away, he’s always been so far away, and he is fading ever still. It still smells like him, like sandalwood and cigarettes and parchment paper, but that too, is a ghost. That too, is only a memory, growing dimmer and colder as the dragon wakes, the streetlights close their eyes, the stars drink their fill and the clocks sigh in relief as their freefall ends and their upward ascent begins.

But Martin revels in that space, that perpetual loneliness, that nebulous cold weapon that is his and his alone, the only way to make sure no one else has to be lost to the stone relief of history. He doesn’t even feel the tears anymore as he replaces a wet cardigan on the back of the chair, and if sobbing takes the place of laughter, it at least resonates at the very same wavelength as it reaches back to touch the cold and bloodless fingers of the past.

“Did you hear something?” Basira asks as she sets her bag down at her station.

Melanie sneers bitterly.

“Don’t you get going. It’s a manky old building. Just because we deal in spooky bullshit doesn’t mean every little thing is spooky bullshit.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Basira relents with a sigh, “Probably just the wind…”

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter two.

wc: 2,337. original publish date: october 3, 2020.

"'And oh, Aunt Em! I'm so glad to be home again!' The end," Van Gogh finishes, closing the children's book and setting it on the table.

"That wasn't a bedtime story!" JFK protests.

"I didn't know that!" Van Gogh volleys.

"What do you mean you didn't know that? Everyone knows The Wizard of Oz!"

Van Gogh shakes his head, almost apologetically. "Clearly not everyone," he mumbles.

Kennedy sits up, a bit taken aback. "You mean you've never read The Wizard of Oz?"

Gogh shakes his head, sliding the book off the table and stroking the cover. The yellow finished cardboard is bumpy beneath his fingernails, and it makes a low scraping sound.

"Surely you've heard of it?" JFK asks, eyebrows furrowing.

"No," Van Gogh admits, feeling defeated.

Kennedy unwraps himself from the blanket and sits up, scooting across the bed to console his best friend. He puts a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, but it is only shaken off. His kind gesture and caring attitude deflate like a released balloon.

"I thought every children's book was a bedtime story."

"Nah, but every children's story has a moral," JFK offers.

"How do you know that? Can't imagine heartless ol' JFK reading a picture book. I can't even imagine him as  toddler."

Kennedy graciously ignores the first part of Gogh's comment. "My dads used to read them to me when I was a kid."

Van Gogh's smile falls, but thankfully JFK can't see because he's looking down at the book. He runs his fingers over the words, printed in accented letters, shiny and blue. "I bought this book when I was fourteen years old," he admits.

"You bought it for yourself?"

Van Gogh nods, still entranced by the golden-yellow cover of the children's book. "I liked the artwork," he explains, looking up at his best friend now.

Kennedy scoots away from Van Gogh, falsely assuming his work as Supportive Best Friend is through. "You would. It's all oil pastels and shiny objects -- very girly."

Gogh rolls his eyes. "Not all artwork is girly."

"No," JFK agrees, "just the artwork you like."

Van Gogh shoves the boy, not sorry when he hits his head on the wall.

"Hey!" He bellows, rubbing the back of his head vigorously.

"You deserved that," Van Gogh snaps, standing up to slide the book back into its rightful place on the shelf. "Do you ever get tired of your own voice?"

"Um... no?" Kennedy replies, laughing at his own answer.

Van Gogh runs a hand through his vibrant orange hair in exasperation. He snaps the pristine white bandage wrapped around his head, tied there to put pressure on his self-amputated ear in hopes to relieve some of the pain. It works most days, except when there are loud noises -- like on Friday nights when there are sports games and the streets flood with intoxicated teenagers who insist on letting their excitement out through violence. JFK used to be amongst those alcohol-ridden invalids. He's not anymore, but Van Gogh can't figure out why he changed.

But he's still an arrogant, egotistical asshole nonetheless.

Van Gogh scoffs, tempted to shove the boy again, but decides not to because it may escalate into a fight. Gogh would lose. He loses against everyone, his five-foot-five stature doing him not favours. He knows Kennedy could pin him to the ground in three seconds. His shoulders tense just thinking about it and the illusion of pain makes his bad -- or rather, nonexistent -- ear throb. He raises his hand reflexively, rubbing the side of his head over the bandage.

"Does it hurt?" JFK asks, suddenly dropping his macho-jock façade.

Van Gogh bats his best friend's hand away almost instinctively. "I'm fine. Sorry. It just rings sometimes. No big deal."

"Sounds like a big deal."

"Well it's not, okay? I said I'm fine, so I'm fine," Gogh replies.

JFK holds his hands up in surrender. "Jesus Christ, I was only trying to help."

"I appreciate that," Van Gogh sighs. He looks up at Kennedy and opens his mouth like he has a follow-up, but nothing comes out. He closes his mouth and looks away. JFK raises an eyebrow, having noticed the boy's jaw, but doesn't press. He wouldn't want to push his best friend over the edge. God knows he's already so close to the cusp of a fall anyway.

"Your parents coming home soon?" Kennedy asks, reaching for small talk.

Gogh shrugs, eyes fixed on his shoes. He wears black Keds with white toe-tips. The laces are tied in tight bows and are as pristinely white as all of his other possessions -- he'd expect no less from himself. "Who cares?"

"You can't stay here alone on a Friday night," Kennedy says.

"That's why you're here, dipshit," Van Gogh rolls his eyes.

"No, I mean-" JFK sighs. "The whole night. You can't sleep in this house all by yourself."

"Why not?" Gogh asks, looking up at JFK now. The rims of his eyes are red and his jaw is tensed.

JFK huffs, sure the boy is just being difficult now. "Because."

"Because why? Adults do it all the time."

"You're not an adult, Gogh. You're sixteen."

"So?" He spits. "You're sixteen and your dads let you do whatever -- whomever -- the hell you please!"

"This isn't about me, Van Gogh, it's about you and your apparent abandonment issues!"

"I don't have abandonment issues!" He means it to come as an angry denial, but it comes out as a scared protest instead. He tries again, steadying his voice. "I don't have abandonment issues."

JFK shakes his head and raises himself off the bed. "I don't have time for this. Do you want me here or not?"

Van Gogh pulls his socked feet onto the chair and crosses his arms over his chest. His absence of an ear throbs again and it skews his hearing, but he doesn't let on. He's so tired of this up and down with JFK -- they fight, Gogh falls into a vulnerable state, Kennedy drops the argument to console him, Gogh says he's fine, and the cycle repeats. Either they're fighting or they're not. I can't be held hostage by my mental illness, Gogh thinks. I won't be made into a fool.

"Not," he swallows the word, his voice nearly cracking.

"Gogh..." Kennedy says, dropping his attitude.

Gogh wipes at his face, trying to play it off as swiping away mucus from a cold-caused runny nose. "I'll be okay, Kennedy."

Kennedy stands in the doorway, one hand on the smooth white trim -- as pristine as the rest of the room -- and the other hand limp by his side. He turns around to look at Van Gogh, who won't meet his gaze, and thinks of crossing the room to him. He looks so small on that wooden chair, his plain bed made up with hospital corners and brand-new-car-tidy floor filling up with absence. JFK wants to stay with his best friend to make the room feel smaller, to make the house feel fuller, but he knows when to stop pushing. Sometimes it hurts to be edged out of Van Gogh's life... but then again, he's used to it. He's used to being treated as the boy's second choice because sometimes it's easier to confide in a stranger than a lifelong friend. Kennedy doesn't know, but he understands, and sometimes that has to be good enough.

JFK drops his hand from the trim of the doorway and turns back around to face the hallway. He walks between the walls as they close in on him, creating a suffocating ocean with their murky blue hue. He exits the house without glancing back at Van Gogh, forgetting to wonder if he'll be okay. He hates sports games because they make his ears ring, Kennedy reminds himself. Being there won't stop that.

***

John F. Kennedy walks through the door of his house at precisely 8:32pm. His foster dads are both sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket with each other, watching a movie that must be pretty damn entertaining with the way they keep giggling. John hates it when people giggle -- the sound reminds him of butterflies, light and airy and so fragile it can't help but be crushed. "Giggle" is a gross word, too. It's made up of all the letters that no one likes to read to form sounds that no one wants to hear. Well, actually, that's not true -- plenty of people like the letters; they're just too predictably common for JFK to enjoy.

"Dads, I'm home," John announces halfheartedly. His parents are so absorbed in the television show that they barely look up -- maybe that's for the best. Arguing with Van Gogh never leaves Kennedy in a very chipper mood.

He sulks up the stairs to his bedroom, gripping the wooden railing firmly in his ascent. He tries to make a point of stomping just so his dads will turn his way -- he's not in the mood for talking, but he's accustomed to demanding attention.

John flops down on his bed -- it's king-size which means it takes up the majority of the room, but Exclamation!'s biggest playboy has got to decorate his bedroom for the aesthetic somehow. Kennedy's phone buzzes and when the screen illuminates with the name Cleo printed in thin white letters, he almost smiles, but remembers he's still blowing her off. He can't figure out why; most nights he would be ecstatic to whisper sweet little nothings in her ear. He starts to feel bad about ignoring her, but then remembers that she isn't his girlfriend -- he doesn't owe her anything. And even if he did, everyone's expectations of him are so low that even the bare minimum is seen as a prayer answered by god themselves.

He means to only flip his phone over to hide the screen, but he accidentally pushes it off the edge of the bed. It bounces on the carpet, landing corner-first, but JFK is too tired to care about whether or not the screen is cracked. He rolls over onto his back, folding his arms over his stomach and staring at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused. His head starts to rush -- possibly from the cold air intruding his bedroom from the open window, or more likely from emotional strain. He replays through the day, memories of Cleo's hand grasping his bicep and him leaving her alone to go help Van Gogh. Everyone always wants a piece of John F. Kennedy. He never meets anyone's expectations, and yet, everyone religiously seeks his approval.

"Fuck them for relying on me as their source of entertainment," he mutters up at the ceiling. "I wish no one in this goddamn town knew me at all."

And yet, there's still one person exempt from the statement. Sure, everyone in Exclamation! is mushy-headed and smooth-brained, but going to high school here is a pit stop in JFK's life, and a vital one. Because while 99.8% of the Clone High student body give Kennedy a stomachache, there's still 0.2% to be taken out of the perfect whole.

JFK rolls -- no, literally rolls -- off of his king mattress to reunite himself with his phone. He taps the screen, lighting the machine to life. He slides away the "missed call" notification, erasing Cleo's name from his home screen. He unlocks the device and taps on a contact, which speed dials a certain someone wallowing in their room on the other side of town.

The phone goes to voicemail once, twice, but Kennedy doesn't give up. He knows the boy is receiving his calls -- it's not like he wants to be alone on a Friday night.

But then again, he might be drawing or painting or reading a book or doing homework or-

Van Gogh picks up on the second ring of the third call. "Leave me alone, JFK. I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

The line goes silent as Van Gogh fishes for an answer. He comes up short. "Look, I told you to leave because you upset me-"

"Let's go on a trip," Kennedy suggests, intentionally cutting off his best friend to avoid an uncomfortable conversation that would probably result in tears, yelling, or both.

"What?"

"Let's leave Exclamation!. I'm tired of it here, and I know you're not too crazy about it either."

The line goes silent again as Van Gogh hesitates. "Kennedy, that's absurd."

"How do you figure? It's not like your parents would miss you," he replies without realising how it sounds.

Thankfully, Van Gogh doesn't comment on it. If he's hurt by his best friend's words, he doesn't let on. "But we have school..."

"I don't care about school."

"But I do," he says, icicles freezing over his voice.

"Please, Gogh? I need a break from it all."

"What do you need a break from? You're everyone's favourite jock. Scudworth loves you. You're somehow pulling straight As even though you never do your work... I'm betting you're banging one or all of your teachers."

"I am not banging all of my teachers!" Kennedy exclaims defensively.

Van Gogh smirks through the phone. "But you are banging one."

JFK shakes off the boy's words. How does the point always manage to get away from him? "I know you're unhappy, Van Gogh."

"That's an understatement," he scoffs.

"Right. Well, don't you want to explore the world?"

Van Gogh doesn't respond.

"Draw? Read? Write?"

JFK still isn't selling him.

"Paint?" Kennedy tries one last futile hope.

Gogh's ears -- ear -- perks up. "Paint the whole world?"

"Well, we'd only be visiting a little at a time-"

"Okay," he replies too hastily, cutting off his friend. He swallows, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down as if the boy can see him through the phone. His fingers snag on the bandage again. He gives up. "Okay. Let's go on a road trip."

"You mean it?"

"Sure." Van Gogh can hear Kennedy smiling through the phone, his expression melting like honey and dripping down the line. "Why the hell not?"

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Pt 37 - Rough

“You want me to lie down on my back and spread my legs and let you fuck me until you cum in me like a good little girl, huh?” she continues. There is a wildness, an unconstrained craziness in her eyes.

You want to say something, want to snap back and tell her that you were more than willing and plenty able to do more than just that; but her hand pumping up and down your stiff cock, and the wild look in those eyes, has you incapable of coming up with the right words. Your cock begins to leak pre-cum, and she spreads it over your weeping slit and sensitive head, eliciting a soft moan from your lips that you do your best to stifle.

Seulgi sees this - sees that she has the upper hand - and the devious smile on her lips widens.

Seulgi grabs you by the cock and pulls you towards the bed - something that would have been painful were it not so fucking hot; the promise of sex with such a wild partner was an effective painkiller, it seemed.

Placing both hands flat against your chest, she pushes you down onto the old, small bed. She quickly undoes the button and zipper of her denim shorts, and strips it off her hips. Her short crop top soon follows it to the bedroom floor, and suddenly Kang Seulgi is naked in front of you, her slim, toned body tensed and ready to pounce.

“Too bad I’m not a good little girl,” she hisses, before climbing onto the bed, straddling your head with her thighs, and sitting on your face.

---

“So this is it, huh?”

“This is it,” Kang Seulgi repeats as she takes the first few steps into the apartment, reaching out to the wall to flick the lights on. Most of the furniture in the small, nondescript unit was covered with white sheets, although here and there an odd appliance or decoration was left uncovered to gather a layer of dust. The sheets and dusty atmosphere meant it was unlikely anyone had been there in awhile.

“I’d expected SM staff to be able to afford better housing,” you admit. The apartment was modest at best, being on a middle floor in a lower-middle class neighborhood of Seoul. It was far from being an unlivable place, but it was still a ways removed from the hyper modern, massive apartment buildings that dominated most of Seoul’s hipper, newer neighborhoods.

Momo and her team had picked you up from the JYP offices about an hour before; the other girls were doing some scouting and recon of the premises ahead of Seulgi’s meeting with Irene, which was scheduled for the next day. You’d volunteered to scout out Red Velvet’s old apartment with Seulgi, where the actual meeting was going to happen.

“This was all we could afford when we started out,” Seulgi replies, “when we were just paper pushers at SM. Before Red Velvet was even a thing.”

Seulgi reaches out to the refrigerator, which still had polaroids, takeout menus, and other miscellaneous junk attached onto its front door with magnets and scotch tape. Her eyes, normally cold and aloof, are far away, lost in thought and memories of days gone by. She plays idly with the edges of a series of polaroids - and though you were too far to see the subject of the photos, you knew it had to be the members of Red Velvet in their younger, more carefree days.

“When we started living here we decided as a team that we would each take turns cooking. We didn’t have a lot of money and we figured cooking our own food would save us a few won here and there,” she says with the hint of a smile on her lips, “but it turned out none of us could cook. Joy almost burnt this place down a couple of times. We ended up just taking turns ordering delivery.”

Her fingertips trace the corner of a well-worn delivery menu held to the door with a magnet. She touches the magnet briefly, as though she were reliving a moment that might have happened years ago, when she’d grab the menu off the fridge and ask the girls what they wanted to eat. But reality soon sets in for the suddenly sombre girl, and with heavy steps she leaves the kitchen.

She flicks on another set of lights, revealing the relatively small living room. An old, small flatscreen TV sat on a simple wooden stand against one wall, with a cheap fabric couch opposite it covered in white sheets.

“Only two of us could fit on the couch at once, so the other two had to sit on the floor. We took turns,” she explained, as if reading your mind. There must have been a lot of sharing going on - the apartment might have been cramped for two occupants, let alone four young women.

“Only one tiny little bathroom, too,” she continued. “Man, the fights that we had over who was taking too long in there…”

You are happy to let Seulgi reminisce about better days for a moment. This was the first time you’d spent any length of time alone with her, and you didn’t mind learning more about Red Velvet and how they began.

“Irene would shout at us if we were taking too long,” she continues, her tone wistful, “sometimes she would bang on the bathroom door so loud we’d get complaints from the neighbors.”

You are hesitant to broach the topic of Irene, given the noticeable thawing of Seulgi’s usually icy exterior since you’d arrived at the apartment. You were thankful it was Seulgi who brought her up.

“So the bitchiness started early,” you state.

Seulgi smirks. “At the time, yeah, we thought she was a bit of a bitch. But we couldn’t deny that she was driven, and that she wanted to go places. It was her that had the idea of forming Red Velvet - of working together as a team to make something of ourselves at SM. She was a bitch, but she could be a real leader, too. I suppose her bitchiness is also what made her so successful.”

“So how exactly did you four meet?”

“The four of us started at Red Velvet at the same time - we were recruited right out of university. We met at the SM orientation, and when we learned that we would be working in the same division we decided, hey, we may as well live together.”

Seulgi steps over to a bookcase filled with framed photos, old books, and other keepsakes collected by young people in the prime of their youth. Her hands reach out to graze its simple wooden frame, her eyes drifting from one item to another on its shelves and reliving a memory with each one. She doesn’t touch any of the photos or other things on the shelf, as if she were afraid of what would happen if she did.

“We started off just pushing paper. But one day Irene was promoted to be the executive assistant of some middle management type dude at SM. He was a bit of a perv - always hitting on her and shit, touching her like she was his girlfriend. Anyway, one day he was assigned to go to this convention in Europe and scope out what the competition was doing, and then report back. Irene went with him. Guy was drunk as fuck the whole time, treating it as a company paid vacation.”

Seulgi’s gaze finally settles on a framed picture, and with hands that appeared almost nervous, she reaches out and picks it up off the shelf with a delicacy that you didn’t know she was capable of. Her slim fingers play gently along its frame, as though she were handling some precious, fragile artifact.

“Irene ended doing all the work. And what’s more, she ended up getting some pretty juicy info on a competitor; info we ended up using to… convince them to sell us their tech.”

“So the blackmailing started early, too,” you say under your breath. Seulgi smirks.

“We prefer the term ‘corporate espionage,’” she says with a sly smile on her lips. “Irene was promoted for her work. The dude was demoted to the dungeons of SM where he fucking belonged. Irene took us with her, and soon we were climbing the ladder at SM.”

“Surely you were paid enough to buy nicer digs.”

“Yes,” Seulgi admits, “but we always kept this place. It was like a hideout for us, almost. We got up to some pretty shady stuff in our line of work. But we’d always come back to this place to relax, hang out, and just be girls again. No one knew about this place but us. It felt safe. It kept us grounded. It kept us together.”

“So what happened, then?” you ask, satisfied that now was the time to bring up the YG incident, “what happened on that day, Seulgi?”

Even without asking, the young woman knows what day you mean. She puts the picture back on the shelf and lets out a sigh; you experience a pang of regret as she does so, knowing that you were probably bringing up some bad memories. Seulgi takes a few deep breaths to compose herself. 

When she begins to speak she’s still turned away from you, moving from the bookshelf to stare out the window of the living room, towards the skyline of downtown Seoul in the distance.

“YG was our biggest competitor back in the day, as I’m sure you know. Wendy and Yeri were assigned a few operations to try and get dirt on them. But they never had any luck. Soon enough SM brass decided to give the assignment to Irene. Irene, of course - she didn’t waste any time. Before a month was out she had already established a relationship with YG’s CEO. More than that - she had him wrapped around her finger.”

“Damn,” you say, impressed.

“Anyway, her mission was to get the dirt on YG’s R&D division - they went under the codename Blackpink. She used her relationship with the CEO to dig up everything she could. But the more she found out about Blackpink, the more passionate she became about bringing YG down.”

“What did she find?”

“She wouldn’t tell us,” Seulgi says with a soft shake of her head, “she kept everything to herself at her own insistence. We usually shared everything we knew with each other, but this was different. She said it was because she didn’t want us to be in danger in case YG retaliated. She wanted to give us plausible deniability, I guess. Yeri thinks that by not telling us anything, she was trying to protect us. But I don’t believe that.”

“What do you think it was?” you ask, sitting down on the covered couch.

“I’m not entirely sure. I just know she must have had a reason for not telling us what she found. Either way, one day she came to us and proposed we infiltrate YG HQ. Apparently there was something there that we couldn’t retrieve via hacking. It had to be done the old school way, as I’m sure you’re familiar with,” Seulgi says with a smile, turning her head slightly in your direction. 

“A little too familiar,” you answer, knowing she was referring to the near disaster of Nayeon’s infiltration of SM.

“So we went and got pretty deep into YG HQ. We expected that we’d be doing some hacking into a secure mainframe or server and retrieving some confidential company data. Instead what we did was break four girls out of a goddamn dungeon.”

“What?”

“It turns out the whole thing was a rescue mission. The Blackpink girls were the target. No one knew this except Irene, of course, so you can imagine that when she told us we had to get these four girls to safety, we kind of freaked out. Wendy - she was Irene’s second, back in the day - she almost wanted to walk out on the whole thing and take the other two of us with her. But Irene convinced us that we had to get out with the girls - so we did. She was our leader. We trusted she was doing the right thing.”

“Except you didn’t all get out,” you say, realizing even as you said the words that you could have been more considerate with your choice of words.

“No, we didn’t,” Seulgi says, her voice dropping slightly. The girl takes a few deep breaths to compose herself, her hands bracing her weight against the windowsill. She had always seemed so tough and confident, but to see her vulnerability now made you feel bad for even bringing up the subject. Her very posture had changed; she was usually so proud and haughty, and now she seemed small and defenseless.

“You saw the tapes. You know what happened. YG captured Yeri and I on the way out. Irene took the girls and ran. Yeri and I… YG fucked us up.”

“Seulgi…” you say, not quite knowing how to best comfort her.

“Whatever. That doesn’t matter now. A few months later Yeri and I escaped that hellhole. And now all I want to know is why I had to go through that. I want to know why Irene left us there to die. And I’m going to ask her that tomorrow.”

A few seconds pass in silence as you digest Seulgi’s story. You’d known that Irene had left her and Yeri behind during the YG incident, but that was the extent of your knowledge. Learning the history of Red Velvet right from the source had given you some much needed context. 

“I’m sorry, Seulgi. It must have been terrible.”

Seulgi lets out a dark chuckle, as though she’d just heard a joke.

“Terrible is a vast understatement,” she says, “it was the worst few months of my life. But what they did to us physically - it didn’t matter. I healed. It was the betrayal that hurt the most. The relationship we’d built here, in this very room - to have it thrown away like that; that’s what really hurt me.”

Seconds pass in silence.

“It’s one thing to have your boss betray you,” Seulgi says with a wavering voice, “it’s another thing to have someone you’re in love with do the same.”

You are surprised somewhat at Seulgi’s confession. You’d known she’d had some sort of physical relationship with Yeri, and that their shared experience at YG had likely made them close, but you’d had no idea she’d had any sort of feelings towards Irene.

“What, you’re surprised?” Seulgi asks, a mocking tone in her voice and a sly smile on her lips as she finally turns around to face you. Her soft, sad eyes belay the cold, detached persona she was trying to return to. “Are you really surprised though, considering what Yeri and I did in front of you at the coffee shop last week?”

“No, that doesn’t surprise me. I just had no idea you and Irene-”

“Whatever, it’s in the past,” Seulgi snaps, “It doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters now is bringing her down. Who I fuck takes a backseat to that.”

“I suppose,” you say with a nod.

“Anyway, the bedroom’s that way. Come on then,” she says, stepping away from the windowsill to take you by the wrist and drag you towards a closed door.

“Uh, what?” you stammer as you are dragged from your seat.

“All this talk of the past has me all sad and shit, and I need a pick me up. Besides, you owe me one from the coffee shop. Oh, and you should know - this is going to be rough. I hope you’re not a pussy.”

---

Seulgi was right - it was rough.

From the moment she dragged you into the bedroom it was a bit like being caught up in a storm; one that pushed you around, one that hit you, one that caused you occasional pain. But instead of giving into her anger you found yourself wanting to fight back - wanting to show here you weren’t going to be pushed around. This was a wild animal you wanted to tame, a storm you wanted to weather.

As you cross the doorframe of the bedroom Seulgi grabs you by the collar of your shirt and quite literally shoves you up against the bedroom wall, rattling the walls and causing a few of the items on the nearby cabinet to fall over. Before you have a chance to react she is on you like a cat, quickly crushing your lips with her own before her tongue quickly invades your mouth. She tastes like mint - sweet, but with an underlying sharpness.

As you make out her hands find your collar again and she tears it open - sending buttons flying to the floor with small clinks. She tears her lips from yours momentarily as she forcefully undresses you. There is a hunger in her eyes as she takes in your newly exposed chest, like a predator salivating at the prospect of delicious prey.

Her lips return to yours in a torrid kiss; her hands quickly strip the torn shirt from your torso, and you are happy to help her remove it from your arms. You aren’t one to let her just get away with something like that, though; you want to fight back, want to show her that this wasn’t just a one way street - and so you grasp the light pink jacket she is wearing and pull it down her shoulders, leaving her in a short crop top and denim shorts.. 

As soon as Seulgi divests herself of the jacket she slaps you - across the cheek. You’d been slapped before, of course, even a couple of times during sex - but never that hard. It stung. She wasn’t holding back.

“Every piece of clothing you take off me gets a fucking slap,” she hisses. There is a wildness in her eyes that both scared you and intrigued you.

“Then I guess I owe you a slap for my fucking shirt,” you snap.

“Then do it! Fucking slap me. I want you to. I want it to hurt.”

“...I’m not gonna fucking slap you, Seulgi.”

“Because you’re a fucking pussy? I fucking knew it. I fucking knew you were a-”

She is silenced mid sentence by your open palm; even before you realized what you were doing, you’d hit her across the face. You are momentarily frozen by your own actions - you’d never hit a girl’s face before - but the crazy glint in Seulgi’s eyes, and the wild smile on those lips, meant that your slap not only didn’t piss her off - it turned her on.

Her hands reach for your jeans, fingers working quickly, almost frenzied in her desire to undress you. As soon as she undoes your belt she pulls them down, hooking her thumbs in your boxers and dragging them down along with your pants, leaving you naked. She takes a moment to admire your newly stiff cock as it springs free from its cotton prison.

“I see now why you have all those fuck toys in your office,” Seulgi says, licking her lips as though she were about to dive into a delicious looking meal, “and why Momo is always so fucking wet around you.”

“Maybe you should find out first hand,” you snap back.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Seulgi hisses, reaching down and grasping your stiff shaft. The skin of her fingers and palm are soft and warm, but her movements are rough and frenzied as she begins to stroke you up and down - you let a soft sigh escape your lips at the first spikes of pleasure, although you do your best to keep from doing any more than that. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“You want me to lie down on my back and spread my legs and let you fuck me until you cum in me like a good little girl, huh?” she continues. There is a wildness, an unconstrained craziness in her eyes.

You want to say something, want to snap back and tell her that you were more than willing and plenty able to do more than just that; but her hand pumping up and down your stiff cock, and the wild look in those eyes, has you incapable of coming up with the right words. Your cock begins to leak pre-cum, and she spreads it over your weeping slit and sensitive head, eliciting a soft moan from your lips that you do your best to stifle.

Seulgi sees this - sees that she has the upper hand - and the devious smile on her lips widens.

Seulgi grabs you by the cock and pulls you towards the bed - something that would have been painful were it not so fucking hot; the promise of sex with such a wild partner was an effective painkiller, it seemed.

Placing both hands flat against your chest, she pushes you down onto the old, small bed. She quickly undoes the button and zipper of her denim shorts, and strips it off her hips. Her short crop top soon follows it to the bedroom floor, and suddenly Kang Seulgi is naked in front of you, her slim, toned body tensed and ready to pounce.

“Too bad I’m not a good little girl,” she hisses, before climbing onto the bed, straddling your head with her thighs, and sitting on your face.

It must have been only a few minutes since she’d pulled you into the bedroom, and already she was almost too much to handle. With the other girls there was at least some preamble, a healthy amount of foreplay, or both; with Seulgi there was none of that. A quick, torrid kiss, a stripping of clothing, and now your face was between her legs.

Your determination to fight back returns, having been lent strength by the fact that she no longer literally had your cock in her hands. And so you quickly dive into Seulgi’s slick, juicy pussy, darting out your tongue and giving her a slow, hard lick from the bottom of her opening to the top, delighting in the taste of her wet flesh. Seulgi quivers at this first lick, although she quickly settles down - evidently she was fighting the same battle you were, neither of you willing to show the other that they had the upper hand.

Her right hand reaches down to your scalp, her fingers digging into your skull.

“Stop fucking around and eat my pussy,” she orders, her tone sharp, although you notice, to your satisfaction, that her eyes have softened due to the pleasure of that first, quick taste.

You smile to yourself as you dive back in, your tongue darting out and giving her another broad lick, this time swirling your tip around the top of her opening, searching for and quickly finding the stiff little bud that is at the centre of her pleasure. Seulgi quivers slightly at this first contact between your tongue and her clit.

You are determined to not give her what she wanted - and it was clear what she wanted was a quick orgasm. So instead of returning to her aching clit you dive deep into her opening, pressing your face against her hot heat, penetrating her as much as you could with your tongue. You drink in Seulgi’s slick juices as they flow freely into your mouth, delighting in her bittersweet taste as you eat the writhing young girl riding your face. The moans that leave Seulgi’s pursed lips become a little louder with each dive into her depths, and the quivering of her soft thighs around your face become a little stronger as the young woman slowly, gradually loses control.

For a few delicious seconds you tongue fuck her, thrusting your tongue in and out of her opening, swirling your tip around with each entry and exit, savoring the taste of her body like some delicious meal. Her fingers dig deeper into your scalp as she continues to grind her crotch against your face, the pain in your skull and the delicious taste of her pussy mixing into a heady cocktail that quickly intoxicates you.

“Fucking… fucking make me cum.. Oh! Make me cum already,” she hisses.

You are unable to answer her with words, your mouth filled with her pussy as it was, and so you answer with action. You bring your hands up, cupping and squeezing her toned, round ass from behind, pressing her crotch closer and deeper against your face. Giving her pussy one more lick and driving your tongue as deep inside her as it could go one last time, you finally move upwards to her needy clit.

Seulgi’s reaction is instant, having been driven to the edge by the tongue fucking you were giving her. When you capture her bud between your lips and swirl the tip of your tongue around it she cums almost immediately, her body going rigid for a split second before becoming a pile of jelly, the pleasure taking the young woman by surprise as her body succumbs. Her mouth is frozen in an open “o” for a few seconds as the first wave of her orgasm crashes against her, but soon she lets a long, drawn out moan escape her lips as she rides it out, enjoying every crest of pleasure that hits her.

She is gyrating her hips as she cums, grinding her wet, drenched, hot crotch against your face for a few beautiful seconds. It’s almost difficult to breathe, your mouth or your nose or both covered in her wet, hot flesh. You are clutching her ass in an attempt to hold her down, doing your best to lap up the plentiful juices leaving her slick opening, drinking up Seulgi like she were a fountain and you hadn’t drunk in days.

When Seulgi finally comes down from her high and releases your head from between her wet thighs, you are almost upset when her pussy leaves your face. You lick your lips, gathering her juices from the mess she’d made on your mouth and chin.

When you lock eyes again her face is wild - flushed with her orgasm, but still undiminished in that intimidating craziness that had taken her over.

She slides her body down, dipping her head and kissing you roughly, tasting herself on your tongue as your mouths lock in frenzied battle once more. To Seulgi, kissing was not a show or display of affection - it was a battle, a display of dominance.

“Not fucking bad,” she admits when she finally breaks the kiss, “now let’s see how you fuck.”

You were surprised at her lack of foreplay, lack of build up before she forced you to eat her out - but you were still expecting some sort of lead up to actual sex. But you should have known better by now, should have known that Seulgi wasn’t that type of girl.

In the space of a couple of seconds, Seulgi moves her body down until she is straddling your waist, and after reaching down to point your aching tip at her slick, dripping pussy, she takes you inside her and begins to ride you.

No build up, no slow gradual rise in pace or tempo - soon she is riding you hard, as though she were atop some bucking wild horse in some sort of race to a finish line only she could see. Her pussy is tight and wet and slick and hot and every possible adjective you could possibly use to describe the pleasurable feeling of her body - and it took you all at once, the sensations hitting you all at the same time, like a tsunami hitting the unprepared coastline of your brain.

It is all you could do to hold on to her bucking hips as she throws herself again and again into your cock, taking you in and out of her body at a pace that held no regard for your pleasure or even your comfort - all she wanted was to get off, and you were the tool she was going to use to get to her destination.

“Mmmm…. Argh! Fuck! Fuck, yes… Mmm... !!”

Even the sounds she made were different; aside from the odd pleasurable moan or hissed profanity, she sounded like she were searching for something, or working away at a project. The other girls sat back and let themselves come across the pleasure they were searching for; for Seulgi it was as though she were actively searching for it, looking for it amidst the sensations and pleasures emanating from between your bodies.

It took you longer than you cared to admit, but eventually you are able to at least get used to the torrid pace Seulgi has set as she rides you roughly on the creaking, protesting bed. She clutches the headboard above you, and as she does so it finally gives you a good look at her slim, svelte form, all tight muscle and lean limbs, her abs tight and sculpted, her small breasts tipped with delicious looking nipples stiff with pleasure. 

Above it all, though, was that face of hers - surely capable of much beauty and grace, but now twisted in wild abandon, the craziness of her need and lust twisting those perfect features into a mask that was equal parts intoxicating and intimidating. Hey eyes, even half-lidded in pleasure, are still bright and wild, fixed on you even as the rest of her body bounces up and down.

Rather mercifully, it is her that ends up approaching orgasm first; lucky for you, because you’d have hated to see what could happen if she were disappointed by sex. The gradual tightening and pulsating of her already tight, slick tunnel tells you she was quickly reaching her peak.

Seulgi ups her pace, impaling herself again and again on your cock as though she were nearing the finish line to a race and wanted to finish strong. The determined look on her face begins to crack, as the pleasure of your stiff cock pumping in and out of her finally overwhelms her senses.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna fucking… fucking cum… fuck!”

She cums like you expected her to, like she did minutes before on your tongue - like a violent storm breaking upon a shore. Her body goes rigid, her fingernails dig into the wooden headboard, and her thighs clench around your waist as the pleasure overtakes her senses. Her pussy pulsates and quivers around your cock as she buries it as deep inside her as it could go. It is all you could do to hold on to her tight, shaking body as she rides out her pleasure for long, beautiful seconds.

When she comes down from her peak she is still slowly grinding herself against your crotch, your cock fully embedded inside her body, as though she is chasing the last vestiges of pleasure before she comes down to earth. Breathing heavily, skin flushed, she finally gives you her appraisal of your performance.

Her appraisal is a slap across your face. When you recover enough to look back at her, your cheek stinging with sharp pain, the wild look in her eyes both scares you and turns you on.

“You think I have to thank you for making me cum, when all you did was lie there? The only credit you get is for not cumming in five seconds like a fucking virgin.”

You are a little stunned by Seulgi, and more than a little unsure about how to react. You’d never been with a woman so wild, so crazy in bed before - only Chaeyoung came close, and even then it was more playful than angry. Seulgi was a storm, a tornado that came in, tore down your house, and didn’t care what you thought of it.

You want to reach up and choke her. You want to turn her around and pull on her hair hard as you drill her tight little body from behind. This part of you wants to fight her - wants to show her you were just as capable of dominating her as she was of you - but another, darker part of you wants to let her have her way. Because deep down, it kind of turned you on.

“I suppose you can cum too, then, I guess,” Seulgi says, as nonchalantly as she could, given the circumstances - as though she weren’t naked, fully impaled on a man’s cock.

“Where do you want to cum, you little bitch?” she asks, with a look that you would have thought was threatening if it weren’t so fucking hot.

“I want-”

Another slap, this time to your other cheek. This one stung more than the other. The gradual increase of pain in her slaps would have concerned you if they weren’t so fucking hot at the same time. You should have known better. You’d think you’d have learned.

“I decide where you cum,” she states, a little edge in her tone. She says the words matter-of-factly, as though she were to brook no complaint or argument, would accept no alternative. A storm, after all, cared little for the complaints of those in its path.

She slides off your cock - and you lament the loss of her tight wet heat wrapped around your cock as it slips out of her, shiny and glistening with her juices. Before you know it Seulgi is curled up into a ball between your legs, and soon she is taking you in and out of her mouth.

Again - no build up. No preamble, no teasing or foreplay. Only the replacement of one hot, wet orifice with another. Only the wet, hot cavern of Seulgi’s mouth, those lips wrapped tightly around your shaft, her tongue swirling around your sensitive head each time she reached the apex. You should have been ready. You should have known by now. But again, the tsunami that was Kang Seulgi’s body finds a coastline unprepared.

She is rough, lacking in the patience and technique of someone like Sana or Seolhyun; but Seulgi more than makes up for it with sheer determination, as though she were using anger and hate to fuel her work between your legs. And you were in no position to complain, not when her hot little mouth was already bringing you close to cumming after only a few seconds of work.

She must have felt you nearing your peak - because you were certainly in no position to tell her so, given the near paralysis you felt as she worked fiercely on your cock. Just moments before you finally cum Seulgi lets your cock pop out of her mouth.

Your orgasm overwhelms your senses, but you force your eyes open to watch as thick, glistening cum erupts from your tip to land on Seulgi’s face, on her cheeks and nose, painting her soft features with white semen. You continue to cum more than you think you were going to, as though your body were responding to Seulgi’s abuse by painting her face with as much thick, hot white seed as it could. The look of utter lust on Seulgi’s needy features is breathtaking - mouth open and tongue out, she looked as though each rope of thick cum that landed on her face brought her to a new level of perverse pleasure.

After letting the first few streams of cum land onto her wanton face Seulgi slips your spasming cock back inside her mouth, and the feel of her tongue on your sensitive shaft, mid-orgasm, is almost too much to handle. Your hands grip the sides of her skull in a grip that is almost too tight for the girl; but she bears it, accepting the last few streams of cum into her needy mouth to splash against the back of her throat.

Your hands keep her there - you had involuntarily buried your cock into her mouth with a thrust of your hips and the grip on her head, it seemed. Not that Seulgi seemed to mind, if the swirling of her tongue around the sensitive underside of your pulsating cock was any indication.

An indeterminate amount of time later, when you finally release her head from your grasp, Seulgi lets your now half-softened cock slip out between her pink lips - along with a thick stream of fresh semen. She is almost embarrassed by it, and she quickly darts out her tongue to collect it all, as though it were some expensive drink that she didn’t want to waste a drop of. You watch as her throat works, gulping the thick ropes of cum down into her body.

You are barely cognizant enough to watch as she sets to work cleaning your cock, using her hand to keep it straight as she licks your combined juices from your tired, weary shaft and balls.

All the while she does so with your warm cum still dripping down her face, a wicked smile on her lips, and those crazy eyes locked on yours.

---

It’s half an hour later when Momo and Yeri arrive in the apartment, thankfully enough time for you and the former member of Red Velvet to get yourselves dressed up again and at least somewhat presentable, even if you had to deal with a shirt that had its buttons torn off. The sight of your torn shirt was an obvious giveaway to Yeri and Momo; Yeri reacts with a sly smile, as though she’d expected it to happen, although the dark look of barely hidden disappointment in Momo’s eyes stings you a little.

“Our work downstairs is done,” Momo states, seeking to change the subject as the four of you stand in the living room, “We set up cameras at all the entrances and in the parking lot. Seulgi will be wearing a camera and a wire to capture her meeting with Irene here in this room.”

“And I’ll be in the bedroom with a recording device of our own,” you state. You knew you had to have your own copy of the recording; not only to ensure redundancy in case of equipment failure, but also as a backup plan in case Irene tried something unexpected. “Jihyo and Nayeon will be with me, ready to arrest Irene once the time is right and we’re sure she won’t try anything.”

“Fair enough,” Momo admits, “Now if you two are done with your… work, we can leave.” She gives you another sharp look, then turns and leaves the apartment. Yeri follows, but only after giving the apartment one last quick glance; unlike Seulgi, she seemed to have no desire to relive days gone by.

“Seulgi,” you say, stopping the girl as she makes to follow Momo and Yeri out.

“I need to know you won’t do anything stupid tomorrow,” you continue, as straightforwardly as you could.

“Stupid? Like what?” the girl asks, crossing her arms and facing you.

“Like kidnapping Irene. Or worse. Jihyo and Nayeon will be here to arrest her. All you need to do is get her inside the apartment. That’s all. I know you want to get back at her for what she did to you, but she’ll be prosecuted for all her crimes, I promise you. We’re going to do this the right way. We’re not going to hurt her.”

Seulgi smirks, as though she were offended by your insinuation.

“What makes you think I want to do that?”

“She betrayed you and Yeri. Left you behind to be captured by YG. You said you wanted to ask her why. That’s fine - but I need to know that you won’t do anything stupid, especially if her answer isn’t what you want to hear.”

“I just want to ask her why she left us there. One way or another, I’m going to get my answer.”

Seulgi turns away and begins to walk out of the apartment.

“Remember what I told you last week - don’t get in my way,” she states, each word cold as ice, as she steps out of the apartment to leave you alone with your thoughts.