#but helen is like. you KNOW something is wrong. shes not even hiding it. and yet somehow you still believe her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ruskaroma · 2 years ago

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ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 2: you get me closer to god.

Summary: John is a manipulator, and she, is the new subject of his obsession.

Warnings: this chapter contains stalking, mentions of large age gap, graphic descriptions of violence, and manipulation.

read the warnings. john is not only a menace, he is evilllll.

Author’s note: and we are back, baby. today, in this chapter, you are going to be witnessing a LOT of fucked up shit from none other than john wick himself. my man’s been doing a lot, god bless his poor soul.

also may i remind you all that the reader here is naive! she is stupid! she is not the brightest! she’s just desperate for attention and affection, so her decisions are always stupid and all of that. (please do not hate her, she is trying her best.)

this took me a while to write because it’s long asf and also because you know me, i always struggle with the english language, but i hope i won’t disappoint you with this chapter!

thank you so much for waiting and continuing to support this fic! really, it gives me a lot of motivation to keep writing, and i really appreciate all your sweet comments and reblogs on my last post.

i hope you also enjoy this new chapter since we’re going to have another peak of what goes on in john’s dark, dark mind. (I PROMISE THE SEX SCENE WOULD BE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER.)

and again, this is not edited so all mistakes are on me! i really do apologize, english is not my first language.

Word count: 10.6k

also read on AO3

In this business, you’d see different kinds of reactions when a man walks into a room.

They all see themselves above everybody else. They think they’re better, deadlier, smarter. That’s the kind of mindset you need if you want to survive. How will you get out of being held at gunpoint when you’re a weakling?

When a man walks into a room, they’ll take a moment to stare.

On the outside, you’d think these people have a lot of respect for one another since they all work in the same circle anyway. But in real life, you’d see the blatant lack of respect these people truly have for each other, because they’ll stare and judge.

When John walks into a room, it’s a different story.

Fear.

John is not like any other man in business they think they could just judge and get away with it, no. John is well respected and feared. He could see it in their eyes when he pass by. The extreme discomfort and alarm to be in the same presence as him. Even if they try so hard to hide it, John sees right through them.

They view him as… something but human. He’s a killing machine. An attack dog. A monster, some would even say.

Back in the days, John wasn’t exactly fond of the names they’ve been giving him. When he was still new in the game, he didn’t like how he struck fear over these people because he wasn’t quite sure how to handle the power he truly has over them.

But now, something has shifted.

John is a free man. Not the kind of free when he was with Helen, but free nonetheless. Free because instead of getting alarmed with the fact that he’s feared all over this underworld, he’s taking advantage of it. Much to the higher ups dismay. They have been having a very hard time keeping up with his recent activities.

Growing up, it seemed like John got the worst sadistic discipline in Ruska Roma.

All of them did, don’t get him wrong. All of them suffered – blood, sweat and tears. They were all forced to go through extreme discipline, because it’s the crack of the whip that gets the rats going.

But John… John got the worst of it.

He used to take the fall for his fellow students. Fingers couldn’t count just how many times he was belted on the back for someone else’s mistake. The amount of times he was starved, denied of any kind of food or water, and that’s how it’s always been.

John has always been denied for the things he wanted. The things he needed.

Now, he is not greedy. He’s not just going to take everything in his way like a kid that got away from its parents’ grip, because he doesn’t want a lot of things. John already has a house, a dog companion, enough money to last forever.

John already has everything except her.

His most happy moments couldn’t compete with the hot curl within his guts that he feels every time his mind flashes back to that night. That night when she gave in, when she gave herself away to him – willingly.

John didn’t need to give her a little push to finally get her. She practically offered herself to him, bared her neck and John’s itching to take a bite. To finally make her his once and for all, but really, he doesn’t need to do that to know that she’s his.

Like he said, he’s not going to force himself into her life. He’s going to be welcomed. By the looks of it, it seems like it wouldn’t be such a hard thing to do after all. Not when she’s already giving up information about herself to John through texts – she’s practically making it easy for him to get her.

So naive. Doesn’t got a fucking clue in the world.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Fucking mine –

John looks at his phone, reading the messages both of them sent each other the night before, and there it is again. The itch in his hands, the need to possess.

13.06.15 11:46 PM

Bambi: hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM

Bambi: also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

John changed her name on his phone. He changed it to something more… intimate. More sweet.

13.06.15 11:48 PM

John : I could never.

13.06.15 11:48 PM

John : You’re hard to forget.

He remembers – no, saw – how she responded. With a smile on her face, hopeful.

13.06.15 11:49 PM

Bambi : using my words against me, i see :D

13.06.15 11:49 PM

Bambi : good to know you’re still as slick as the last time we chatted haha

13.06.15 11:49 PM

John : Hard not to. I wanted to impress you.

13.06.15 11:50 PM

Bambi : you already did.

13.06.15 11:50 PM

Bambi : with all your brooding and intimidating look. just my type ;D

John smiles to himself as he reads the message. He remembers the look on her face when she’s typing, and hasn't got a clue that the man she’s flirting with was observing her just from across her building. John wouldn’t call it invading her privacy, he calls it keeping her safe.

13.06.15 11:50 PM

Bambi : anywho i asked for your number for a reason. i really do want to talk to you again. not just in chat, i mean, but also in real life :)

13.06.15 11:50 PM

Bambi : maybe we could get to know each other more? what do you say??? meet up again, but this time planned unlike our other previous meetups?? haha

He is not a teenager to be feeling this giddy over reading messages, but she truly brings out something shameful in him.

13.06.15 11:51 PM

John : I should be the one asking you that.

13.06.15 11:51 PM

Bambi : you were taking too looonggg :(

13.06.15 11:51 PM

Bambi : so what do ya think?

13.06.15 11:52 PM

John : Of course I’ll go. I told you I’d make time for you, didn’t I?

13.06.15 11:52 PM

John : I’m a man of my word.

13.06.15 11:52 PM

Bambi : ok that’s great! i was so worried you wouldn’t say yes.

John had averted his eyes from the phone that night and onto the little lady across the building. She was rolling around on her bed, still dressed in her pink, fluffy robe and her hair was still wet. She looks like a puppy that John wanted to pet; stroke her hair and tell her she’s his good girl.

13.06.15 11:52 PM

John : When do you want to meet?

13.06.15 11:53 PM

Bambi : aahhhhh let’s see

13.06.15 11:53 PM

Bambi : i have classes tomorrow morning BUTTT we can def meet up during lunch! i get out of school at like 12 and go to work at 3 :D

I know, John wanted to say. I’ve memorized your everyday schedule in the span of two days.

13.06.15 11:53 PM

John : How about I pick you up from your school, we grab lunch, and I drop you off to work?

13.06.15 11:53 PM

John : Or is it too soon?

13.06.15 11:53 PM

Bambi : oh my god no way REALLY?

13.06.15 11:53 PM

Bambi : nooo it’s not too soon don’t worry! you def could so we have more time to talk and everything! i just hope i won’t be bothering you or anything.

13.06.15 11:53 PM

Bambi : do you have work tomorrow? you look like a 9 to 5 kinda guy :P

God, she’s fucking adorable.

13.06.15 11:54 PM

John : I don’t, so you don’t have to worry. I’d love to talk to you more as well.

13.06.15 11:54 PM

Bambi : ok! i cannot wait for tomorrow. i should probably sleep now tho so i wouldn’t look shitty when you see me :D

13.06.15 11:54 PM

Bambi : here is the address of my school. [Address]

13.06.15 11:54 PM

Bambi : can’t wait to see you tomorrow, john! goodnight, see you soon! x

13.06.15 11:55 PM

John : Goodnight, sweet girl. Have a good sleep.

John hadn’t meant to type that. He felt his heart drop to his stomach, terrified that he somehow scared her away with the sudden affection. But then he saw her read his message, dropped her phone on the bed, and then rolled over again like a lap dog.

She’s too easy to tame, so gullible. John almost couldn’t believe how fast she folded, how desperate she really is. But then again, he could say the same about himself. Lonely and desperate, they were meant to be together. He likes to believe God had put them in this position because of fate, because he has a plan for every single one of us.

John’s never been the one to believe in Him, but he finds himself grasping to that very little delusion that keeps him from going insane.

11:55 AM, the students are already making their way out of their designated buildings.

John is keeping his guard on high alert, eyes scanning the crowd to find her. He’s parked just across the school gate, leaning against his car as he checks the time on his wrist. He’s also holding his phone in the other, waiting for it to vibrate in case she drops a message.

He’s never felt this giddy before. Hands clammy and eyes searching frantically, excited because he’s finally getting to spend alone time with her, but also worried in fear of losing her in the crowd. John doesn’t like it when he doesn’t have the upper hand. When he doesn’t have control of the situation. When she’s not in his line of vision and could be doing god knows what without his supervision.

He checks his phone again. 11:58, where is she?

John knows at this time, she should be out and about already, waiting for a cab to her apartment. His fingers itch, hovering over the screen of his phone. He begins contemplating if he should send a message, but that would make him look demanding and clingy. He doesn’t want to leave that kind of impression on her, or otherwise he’d have no choice but to abduct her and keep her locked away if she thinks about running –

He blinks, sucking in deep breath.

“Shit,” he whispers, looking up to the school gate again. This isn’t good. What the fuck was he even thinking?

John tries not to think about it. Tries to convince himself that he is not as fucked up as his mind is making him out to be. He wouldn’t stoop that low, he’s not that cruel –

Are you not?

A certain someone appears in the crowd, standing outside the school gate, already spotting John and waving at him from across the road. Her face is bright, smiling wide. John never wanted to possess something so bad.

He waves back, all his dark thoughts suddenly gone, and everything is rainbows and sunshine. John watches as she crosses the road carefully, looking left and right, seeming small with the people around her. She looks like a lost puppy.

John wants to pet.

“John, hey!” she beams, running up to him to give him a hug which catches John off guard. She’s on her tiptoes just to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, and John doesn’t want to make her upset for not immediately reacting with her affection, and so he puts his arm around her waist and bends down to place his chin on her shoulder.

He fights the urge to bury his nose in her neck, then maybe sucks a few hickeys, leaving a bite mark to show that the big, bad wolf has already marked his mate.

She’s so fucking easy to get, John thinks.

When she pulls away from the hug, John tries not to look disappointed. Her cologne lingers in his nose. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“You don’t ever need to say sorry for that,” John says, faux stern as he places a hand on her waist subtly. She looks like she doesn’t mind, that’s a good thing.

“Okay then,” she smiles politely. “Oh, and I’m sorry if I look like a mess. Just say the words and I would totally change to more appropriate clothes before we go somewhere.”

“You look beautiful,” John says smoothly, standing up straight. Even though she looks underdressed next to John who’s wearing a three-piece suit, she is still heart-wrenchingly beautiful. In fact, John likes the contrast.

“T-thanks.”

“Should we go?”

“Sure! I’m excited,” she giggles, the sound practically dancing in his ear. “I’m hungry. Where will we eat?”

“Hm, what do you like?” he asks.

“Dunno. Burger and milkshake.”

“Sounds unhealthy.”

“The only thing I can afford, unfortunately,” she jokes, though John doesn’t answer, only opening the car door for her. “We should eat in a diner. I know a good one! Also cheap, so you won’t have to worry about the price.”

“I never worry about the price, darling,” John murmurs, but still loud enough for her to hear as she gets inside the vehicle. He swiftly walks to the driver’s seat and starts the car, glancing at his little bambi who’s observing the interior intensely. “You like it?”

“It’s so cool. I’ve never been in a car like this.”

“You’re going to have a lot of firsts when you’re with me.”

As John starts driving, the girl beside him babbles. Not that he minds, of course. He listens and nods, so obsessed with her voice that he could listen to it forever. It’s amazing how John could easily hide the fact that he was just stalking her from across her apartment the night before in the back of his mind, like it never even happened. It’s amazing how he could act like he wasn’t just thinking about kidnapping her and locking her away from the public forever.

But then again, everything about his little bambi would make anyone risk it all for her. It’s not just John. Anyone would do the same if they were in his shoes.

“How was school?” John asks, averting his eyes from the road for a moment to look at her.

“Eh, it was alright. Classes always drain me, no wonder I’m so hungry now,” she answers politely. One of the few things John noticed about her. How she doesn’t run out of things to say, how she can get the conversation going. “How about you? You going to work after our lunch? You’re dressed up for it.”

“I took the day off today,” he replies vaguely.

“What? Why?”

“I have a date with you.”

She seems to be shocked by John’s choice of words, but she’s more concerned with the fact that John took the day off for her. “Y-yeah, but you didn’t have to do that. We could just go on a date next time.”

“The sooner, the better,” he explains, feeling another surge of something hot into his veins. She agreed that this is a date. Just how fucking gullible can she get? “Work is no problem for me. I want to get to know you more.”

“O-okay. I wanna get to know you more too.”

When John catches a glimpse of her bright smile beaming at him, his hands tighten around the wheel and he steps on the gas harder.

John doesn’t like how his mind isn’t making him remember about Helen.

He should be remembering her. He should feel some kind of guilt for being in a restaurant with another woman, but he doesn’t. Every single day since she died, his mind would always make him think about her. But now, it’s like John completely forgot about her existence at all.

The wedding ring on his finger is long gone. Ever since his unhealthy obsession began, he thought that wearing that while doing something so sinful felt so wrong. Helen shouldn’t have to witness all the things he had done in the name of a girl he had only met once that time.

The diner isn’t packed with people. The sizzling of the burgers grilling on the pan and the chatters seem to drown out eventually when his little bambi starts talking.

John gives her a small smile, barely there, just to show her that he’s listening, all his attention is on her.

“Time seems to pass by so fast, huh? I remember when I bumped into you the first time, I really thought I wouldn’t see you again,” she starts the conversation with a bang, but thankfully John’s prepared for this type of talk.

“So you really wanted to see me then?” he smirks slightly.

“Yeah! You’re really good looking and it’s not always I see a guy as handsome as you in my apartment complex and my school,” she says bluntly, though John could see the faint blush on her cheeks when she mentions the word ‘good looking.’ “So of course I had to take my chance when I met you again at that club! God, you were my knight in shining armor. I would’ve been crushed to death if it wasn’t for you.”

“That’s why you should always be careful on the road. You’re small, everyone could look past you if you weren’t careful enough.”

She pouts, placing her chin on her hand as she stares lovingly at John. “You’re exaggerating. I’m not small. You’re just saying that because you’re too big. And I’m always careful on the road – it was only that time that I lost balance and almost fell.”

“Then it better not happen again,” John says sharply, leaning back against the cushioned seat as he stares back at her challengingly. “But there’s no need to worry for the next time. I won’t let that happen again.”

“Next time?” she teases. “So you want to see me again next time, then?”

“Have I not made it clear with my actions and words?” John shoots back, raising another eyebrow. She likes it when he’s being stern like this. All authoritative. She might not know it yet, but her body language speaks for itself. “Do you want to see me again?”

The little bambi smiles brightly, and It hurts. It hurts John to see that smile because she’s just like the sun. But no matter how much she shines, John would do anything just to touch. Just to possess. Just to break.

“Of course! I wouldn’t have gotten your number if I didn’t, right?”

“Good.”

It’s not like she could do much anyways if she says no. Nothing will ever stop John from seeing her again, no matter how bad the procedure would be.

The food then arrives and is served on the table, and John thinks he has never felt anything like this before.

His hands have never felt this itchy before. That desperate, longing feeling to just possess the very thing that’s placed right in front of you. Everything about her is just so captivating, staring up at John like he’s the one who hung the moon, so full of adoration and hope.

Seems like John isn’t the only desperate one between the two of them. He could see it in her eyes. She’s practically begging him to take care of her.

And really, he can’t blame her.

An absent mother and an alcoholic father. No wonder she’s seeking attention from a man like John. A man old enough to be her father – if not older than her own father. John would be more than willing to fulfill the role her father failed to be when she was young. He’d do anything to protect her, morals be damned.

She looks too good to be true sitting right in front of him and he didn’t think watching someone devour a burger twice as big as her face would be so endearing. The way she licks her lips, the way her eyes sparkle every time John would pay attention to the little things she’d absentmindedly insert in her stories. No one must’ve given her this kind of attention before. No one but John.

“Oh, before I forget!” She places a hand on John’s arm that’s perched on the table. A mere innocent touch, yet he can’t help but feel a little giddy on the inside. “We’ve been talking for like, an hour now, and I still haven’t asked what your job is. I’ve been really curious ever since you told me you took a day off just for this. Are you like the boss or something?”

Ah. Of course.

A question like this is inevitable, thank god John came prepared.

“No,” he simply says. “I’m a book binder. I collect and restore books as both a hobby and job.”

“Wow,” she nods her head, now interested as she leans forward and closer to him. She smells so sweet, John feels like he’s snorting sugar. “I didn’t think book binding could earn you so much money. Considering you’re dressed pretty… comfortably. And you have a nice car.”

“It pays enough,” John replies. Sooner or later she’d find out what he really does for a living, and no doubt she’d be scared. John already has a plan of action for when that would happen, but for now, he’ll try to keep it a secret as long as he can. “Pays enough to let me spoil you in the future. In fact, I think I might just start spoiling you now.”

“You say that to every woman you meet?” She quirks an eyebrow, teasing.

“Just for you. You’re special.”

John sees the way she immediately turns shy and nervous from the statement. It must’ve felt overwhelming, having someone so much older and with more experience to hit on her like that. But John would say it brings a whole different feeling in him, like ego-lifting of some sort, knowing he just might be the only man that treated her right in her life.

Does killing one of her guy friends and storing him in his basement means treating her right? Does stalking her and watching her sleep from across the building is a way to treat her right? Different story to be told for another day.

“I believe you,” she says, smiling.

Of course you do.

John diverts her attention from him. “You’re a veterinary student and also part time in a veterinary clinic. What made you want to pursue it?”

“Uh, let’s see. I don’t really have like, a very logical reason for it. I just really love animals and I want them to be part of my job as well,” she shrugs. “As for the part time thing, one of my older friends works there and got me in to gain some experience. I don’t really do much, I help with the paperworks and watch how they do stuff around there.”

I know.

“Your unconditional love for animals is logical enough.”

“I know right. Best job in the world, I might add. I get to pet all kinds of different animals everyday, and mind you I’m not even a real doctor yet,” she giggles, then tilts her head in curiosity. “Do you have a pet, John?”

“I do. I have a dog,” he answers, taking a sip of his own milkshake. It’s sweet, it’s something he’s not used to, but it reminds him of her. “Unfortunately, I haven’t named her yet.”

She frowns. “Why not?”

“I don’t know how to. I’m not good with names,” John shrugs. This conversation with her alone just might be the longest conversation he’s ever shared with someone ever since Helen died. And even with his late wife, he wasn’t as talkative as this. “Maybe you could name her. She’s a large pitbull but surprisingly very gentle for her size.”

“Oh my god, John, I have to meet her!” She beams. “Maybe on our next date, don’t you think? Let’s bring her with us to the park, have a little picnic there or something.”

Next date.

She wants to go on another date with him and she is making this a lot easier for John.

His lips stretch into a rare smile, fingers twitching subtly around the glass as he stares right into her eyes. There’s no hidden intention behind them, just pure adoration with a twinge of hope. Probably hopes that John wants the same thing as her, but he wouldn’t let her know that she is in for a lot more than she bargained for.

“I can’t wait for our next one.”

John could still remember the little things that made him feel human.

Back in the Marines, when he first killed somebody, he felt a tremendous amount of guilt and self-hating that he couldn’t sleep for a week. He’d have nightmares of it; of holding his gun up to somebody’s head and blowing it up with just one single movement. The residue of the flesh splattered all over his face, some of them even went to his mouth. His hands shaked but he didn’t let his crew see it. In their eyes, that wasn’t the first time he had done it.

When he was recruited by Viggo and his little minions, the guilt of killing people was still there, but barely. He used to wish he didn’t feel any guilt or remorse at all every time he pulled a trigger, but looking back at it now, he wishes he could just take it all back. It was only guilt that he felt most of his life, but it made John human.

Now, he doesn’t feel very human as he stands in the middle of an abattoir holding a machete with pints of blood pooling at his shoes.

Back then, he used to kill. Point, shoot, leave. A very short routine he told himself to stick with unless he wanted to get in trouble. But now, he is not only just killing. John is fucking slaughtering people.

His eyes land on the dead body hanging from the meat hook. Naked, gutted alive just a few moments ago. His stomach is sliced open with his own intestines wrapped around his neck, and it fucking stinks.

The raw stench of human blood mixing with the already reeking smell of the slaughtered pigs hanging just besides the one John had slaughtered himself.

Really, John should feel even just a little amount of remorse or disgust. His client didn’t particularly gave him a specific order on how to fucking kill the target, John did it himself. He didn’t know what the fuck was he thinking when he was doing the wet work, all he knows is that he’s getting worse each day that passes.

The killing part took some time considering the man certainly put up a fight. He was smuggling drugs inside the pigs he was slaughtering. It works on people too, though it’s too risky. Dying with balloons of cocaine up your throat or ass isn’t exactly the way you’d want to die, nor the kind of state you want your body to be in.

John really didn’t mean to go this far, but all the pent up anger and frustration led him to do something so ugly. He feels like a ticking bomb. Every second a little part of humanity just starts fading away, who knows what would happen if all of it were gone.

This is his first kill since his date with his bambi. That was five days ago. John decided to take another job while he’s waiting for her next decision. He doesn’t want to look clingy and creepy by constantly texting her every chance he gets, so he lets her do it in her own phase. Though, waiting for her texts sure did take a lot of rampant rage on John’s side. Lots of broken furniture and a creepy amount of hours watching her sleep from across the building.

Just because John is letting her do her own thing for the meantime, doesn’t mean he gets to take his eyes off of her. It’s for the best.

Their last conversation was yesterday. It was a pretty long conversation, but not long enough for John’s satisfaction. She left it off by saying she’s going to be busy studying for her test and cleaning her apartment, which John didn’t have the time to check if she was telling the truth since he was busy himself.

John is dying to see her again but he knows he’s gonna have to wait it out in the Continental. Or maybe if he’s feeling a little bit insane, he’d ditch having to rest and spend his time sitting on a dusty chair in the same dusty room he’s been staying in for awhile; the building across from her apartment. But until then he’ll have to see where time will take him.

His phone ringing in his jacket is what snaps him from his thoughts. Bringing a bloodied hand to get it, he almost couldn’t press the screen by the slippery liquid covering his fingers. John presses the phone to his ear, waiting for the person to speak.

“Hey, boss. How’s Russia treating you so far? Hopefully not great ‘cause I’ve got some news that will cheer you up.” The deep voice of Alex echoes in the abattoir. It must’ve slipped John’s mind that he had sent Alex again to tail her again while he’s out overseas.

He furrows his brows, curious. “How is she?”

“Hm, let’s see here. Your little pet has been up and about all day with her little friends after they’ve finally noticed the disappearance of that little shit we took care of a while back – speaking of which, how is he by the way?”

“Rotting. Dissolving in my basement,” John replies, hands tightening around the handle of the machete. So this is what she’s been doing and the reason why she hasn’t messaged him all day. “I say the fucker got what he deserved. He’s a creep who preys on women to rape, I’m just thankful we got him out of the way before he got to her.”

“Yeah, well. She doesn’t know that and I doubt she’d even stop looking for her creepy friend unless they’ve found him. What do you want me to do?”

“Give it a day or two. Wait for me to get back and I’ll take it from there.”

“Anything else?” John hears loud chattering in the background, he furrows his brows.

“Yeah. Where are you right now?”

“Uhh, keeping her in my sight like you told me to?” Alex sounds particularly sassy. John doesn’t know if he should be pleased or not. “She’s at a restaurant. I think she’s having a meeting with her other friends or something – she looks upset.”

“Upset because of her missing friend, I assume.”

“Probably. Have you talked to her at all today, boss? Pretty sure I have not yet seen her pick up her phone all day.”

“No,” John simply says. “But she will. I’m sure of it.”

“I see you’ve finally gotten her dependent on you now.”

“Not enough, apparently, since she’s gone a full day without talking to me.”

“Well, you’re definitely getting there,” Alex says under his breath. “I’m going now, boss. They’re leaving to god knows where.”

John doesn’t say anything else, only ending the call and pocketing back his phone. He looks around the area, the coppery smell of blood is stronger than before. He is the reason why it stinks in here, the reason why there’s so much blood and brutality. The body that hangs right in front of him is lifelessly staring with dead, cold eyes. John resists the urge to shove a balloon of fucking cocaine into his stomach, the same thing he’s been doing with these pigs, brutalize him more if that’s even possible, but he knows it wouldn’t help his already worsening mentality.

The thought of someone seeing this body and thinking about how fucked up the person who did this doesn’t concern him as much as it should.

Instead, John turns his heels and walks away from the scene.

Unsurprisingly, getting her to depend on John isn’t the hardest task to do.

It just might be the easiest.

The moment John arrives at the Continental, he takes his time to message his bambi. It’s only reasonable, he wouldn’t come out as a clingy creep since it’s been a full day since his last message, he has every right to know what and how she’s doing despite already getting enough pictures and updates from Alex.

He asks her how she’s been, waits for approximately ten minutes before he finally gets a reply. In those ten minutes, John takes his time scrolling through the pictures Alex had sent him. Pictures of her bundled up in large, colorful sweaters and wearing a frown on her pretty face. She looks rough, but she makes looking rough look good.

Bambi : hi, john :(( sorry i didn’t text you all day. was busy with something

John : That’s alright, I understand. I’m just glad you replied. Did something come up? Was it about school?

Bambi : kind of. my friend from school is missing and we don’t know where he is. we’re worried because he hasn’t answered any of our calls for a week and his apartment is practically empty.

Reading that almost makes him resist an urge to sickly smile to himself. His fingers hover the screen, careful of what his next words might be.

John : I’m sorry to hear that. Have you gotten any updates from the police? What did they say?

Bambi : nothing yet unfortunately. no one saw him the night he went missing :(

John : I’m sure you’ll find him soon enough. I hope nothing extremely bad happened to your friend.

He sounds… manipulating. There aren’t any more words that could describe what John is doing to her. He doesn’t even know if he can still make up excuses to tell himself that everything is completely fine and normal.

The girl that he likes is currently sharing about the horrifying tragedy her ‘friend’ is facing, the horrifying tragedy being John’s fault, and he’s fucking lying about it. And what truly terrifies him the most is not about the fact that he’s manipulating her, he’s terrified because it feels normal and just… fine.

Normal, normal, normal–

Can John really win her over by going this path? If not, would it really matter?

He will still have the upper hand if this doesn’t end well. But then again, there’s a very small chance that it wouldn’t – if not none at all. John just needs to play his cards well and there wouldn’t be a problem.

Bambi : thank you john. really hope that too. it doesn’t feel the same without him

John’s jaw ticks.

What do you mean it doesn’t feel the same without that fucker? I killed him for you! He was a creep who only wanted to fuck you and take you away from me and–

A dangerous feeling suddenly surge into his veins that he wants to put back together all the pieces of that fucker just to destroy it in his hands once again.

Maybe mutilating him and dissolving him in pure acid just isn’t enough. Maybe he deserved more. Maybe John should’ve took his fucking time torturing that little shit instead of killing him instantly.

John : And how are you? I hope you’re not too worried about this matter that you start to forget about taking care of yourself.

Bambi : i’m doing fine, but a bit sad bc of it. i also miss you and i wish u’re here so i wouldn’t be too sad

And just like that, it’s like all his resentment and rage just one minute prior vanished in a snap of a finger. A small smile makes its way to his face and a surge of ego soars into his chest. She has no idea she’s got a dangerous assassin wrapped around her finger and the consequences it’d bring her.

Bambi : are u still overseas? when will you be back?

John : Tomorrow, hopefully.

John : And I miss you too, sweetheart. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I finish work.

Bambi : can’t wait to see you. do u want me to pick u up at the airport? :D

John : Thank you, baby, but that won’t be necessary. I don’t want to keep you busy when you already have too much in your hands.

Bambi : mkay. but call me or text me when u arrive, ok?

John : Of course.

John is not stupid.

If he ever noticed a man following his every step, he didn’t once care or say a word.

It’s one of Winston’s men, obviously, following him around throughout his business in Russia up to boarding the same plane as him back to New York. Considering John had managed to catch on pretty quickly at the fact that Winston sent someone to trail him, this poor guy is not doing a particularly good job.

At first, John thought about taking care of the guy himself and bringing Winston a souvenir of his dog’s fingers or even one of his eyeballs, but decided that he is not that cruel.

He could be, but knowing he holds all the power over several people under The Table makes John wants to play the game a little longer and just fucking shiver in excitement.

Obviously Winston had noticed that John is up to no good. Not that it’s any of his business, he’s more likely just scared for his own life. He’s probably thinking it was a bad idea to bring John back into the game now that he’s living up to the horrors of his reputation and giving people exactly what they wanted.

When John first returned to the field, it was only to avenge his late wife and nothing more. But now that a bigger monster has grown within him over the course of his stay, he’s now also looking for the fuel to his fire.

And boy did he find it.

The fuel being in the form of a young woman who’s unaware of how much power she has over John. It’s only a matter of time before all hell breaks loose.

10:56 PM.

“Hello.”

“Hello? John?”

“It’s me, darling. How are you?”

“Doing fine. Studying for my exam and all. Why are you calling at this hour, though?”

“Just wanted to let you know that I just arrived back in New York and see how you’re doing.”

“Oh, John, it’s so late. I was thinking earlier that you would arrive tomorrow morning or afternoon, you didn’t tell me you boarded a flight.”

“I wanted to be back as soon as possible and wanted to surprise you, but my flight got delayed so I only just arrived now.”

A soft laugh rings in his ear.

“You’re so cheeky. We can just meet up tomorrow if you’d like, go on a picnic at a park or something. I really, really wanna meet your dog.”

John hears a sigh, then the sound of paper rustling in the background. He counts – one, two, three – here it comes.

“I miss you, John.”

He pushes the curtain aside with two fingers, peering his eyes in the small opening as he watches the figure at the other side of the building. She’s sitting on her study desk in front of a laptop, freshly showered and wearing specs that John can’t help his heart to ache.

It’s been so long.

“I miss you too, sweetheart. Couldn’t stop thinking about you when I was away.”

“That’s very sweet. I hope you brought souvenirs for me, though, or otherwise I will be very sad.”

“How can I forget? I bought everything that reminded me of you when I was there.”

“Now you’re just spoiling me.” Another laugh, then John sees her getting up from the chair and laying on the bed. “I’m happy that I’d get to see you again tomorrow, John. Everything that’s been happening is just so… I don’t know. Stressful, I guess. From my friend missing and school work, I don’t even know where to start. I just wanna be with you again.”

The mention of her friend Jay ticks him the wrong way, but he can’t also help but notice the longing and desperation laced in her voice as she said the last part. John knows it wouldn’t be too hard for her to be dependent on him, he just didn’t expect it to be this easy. They’ve only met once in real life, but their constant texting and calling through the phone makes it up for it.

“Don’t let yourself worry too much on matters that don’t concern you.”

Silence, then John watches her bite her nail anxiously. “What do you mean by that, John?”

He doesn’t particularly like the way his name just rolls off her tongue like that – like she’s his age, the same way Helen used to call him. He doesn’t want to be reminded of Helen when he’s with his little bambi, it just makes him feel even shittier with the situation. It sorta reminds John how much he truly changed when he lost Helen.

“Don’t worry about your friend too much. I know it’s hard that he’s missing, but don’t put him first before your own well being,” John advises, manipulation just dripping off his tongue like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He doubts she would notice, though. “I’m sure the police got it covered by now. I’m more worried about you.”

John could still see her expression through the window despite being far away. She’s thinking about it, letting herself get swayed by his lies and persuasion. She’s too easy, she just doesn’t know it herself, but John does. And he’s going to take advantage of it as much as he can.

He counts again – one, two, three – and she’s dropping her hand to the bed and sighing softly. There she is.

“Okay. You’re probably right, I worry too much.”

John doesn’t reply but gives a silent hum that indicates he’s agreeing. He sees her taking off her glasses and putting it on the bedside table, suddenly the itch in his hands is back.

There’s a voice nagging at the back of his head and asking him just what the fuck is he doing, that he should stop this madness before it gets out of hand, but would that really make a difference? Even if John did stop, he’d still continue to live with the fact that he was a monster who stalked a young woman out of sheer obsession. He’d already got her dependent on him, he’d already laid out the plan on how this would turn out, why is he suddenly questioning now?

He had done stuff that was worse than manipulating. He didn’t feel a single drop of empathy when he was slaughtering people and shooting them in the head, but why does he feel guilty manipulating her?

“John? Did you already fall asleep on me?”

Soft voice snaps him out of his thoughts, then it’s followed by a soft giggle. John feels butterflies exploding in his stomach.

“Sorry. I was just–”

“It’s okay, John, you can sleep. You’ve probably had a long day since you’ve been on a flight and everything. I’m going to sleep now too, we have a date tomorrow, remember? Don’t forget.” The faux strictness in her voice makes him smile, then he sees her smiling just as big through the window; giddy and excited. “Goodnight, John. It’s really nice talking to you again. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hangs up first, smiling to herself before putting the phone back to her nightstand. She settles on the bed comfortably, tucking herself into her blanket, unaware of the fact that there’s a monster lurking on the other building, watching her every move like a hawk.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the old mirror on the dusty wall, dressed in black and predatory, reminiscent of the devil himself.

Might as well live up to the name.

John is aware of how dead he looks in people’s eyes. He barely smiles, he’s always dressed in black, and he always has trouble showing emotions through his face. He makes sure that he gives off that aura that shows how much he dislikes everyone in the fucking room. How much he just wants to pull out his gun and shoot every single one of them in the head.

John despises the way they look at him. Like they pity him for losing his wife, for getting dragged back to the life he had already left. Though, he can’t really blame them, really. He used to pity himself too, even now for letting himself get even worse, but he wouldn’t really call it pity. He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s not pity.

The next day is interesting, to say the least.

He couldn’t get a minute of sleep the night before, the image of her sleeping so peacefully without a worry in the world bored into his mind. It’s extremely fascinating to him just how careless and… dumb she is. Dumb in a way that it’s benifiting John – the both of them, actually – and not in an offensive kind of way.

It was around two in the morning when he returned back to the hotel, managed to sleep for an hour or two before ripping off the blankets and had a drink the first thing in the morning. John didn’t bother taking a nap after that, just walking around the room making sure all is well and everything will be according to plan.

At 8 AM, she texted John a good morning and said it would be better for their date to be at 4 PM. John then replied that it was perfect, though he doubts he can wait that long.

12 PM, for a man as calm and collected as John, he sure as hell can’t fucking sit still in one place.

He’s paranoid. No amount of texts from his bambi is enough to keep him calm. The time is ticking too slowly for his liking and he has no other things to do in his free time. Except be paranoid.

John grabs his coat, kisses his dog goodbye and decides to stop by a grocery store to prepare for their date. He should at least make them both a sandwich and buy drinks, knowing that the little gesture would be enough to put a smile on her face.

1 PM, John comes back with shit ton of paper bags in his arms. He’s doing too much, he knows it, but too much is still better than not enough.

John goes to the kitchen to prepare. The orphanage taught him how to cook – well, not really. John taught himself how to cook, because if he’s not going to cook for himself and half of the kids back in Ruska, they’d all be dead with no survival instincts to save them from starvation. Being an assassin who could withstand any form of torture all while not knowing how to cook would be the greatest joke of the century. John’s not the one to be laughed out.

2 PM, everything is settled and in place, his little bambi texts him to let him know that she’s getting ready and cannot wait for their date. John then takes his time to get ready too.

3 PM, John is dressed in a nice white t-shirt with a brown leather jacket on top. He looks civilised, no one would know a damn thing that he’s one of the most feared men in the underworld who slaughters people for a living.

His dog is quiet in the corner, chewing on her bone toy until John puts a collar and leash around her neck. Her eyes perks up in excitement, already knowing they would go outside to play. John always takes his time making sure she gets to socialize with other dogs, whether it’s in a park or just down the street.

“You’re excited, baby?” John murmurs, petting her ears softly as he kneels down to her position. “You’re gonna meet someone special. Want you to be nice to her, alright? She’s gonna be your mom.”

John hauls everything into his car in a matter of minutes. The picnic basket, the blanket, his gifts for his little one that he got from Russia, also including his dog. She’s behaved yet excited as she peeks in the mirror watching her owner work.

He slides into the driver’s seat and locks his seatbelt, starting up the car and driving away from the hotel. Earlier, John had seen a couple of his co-workers loading up his trunk dressed like he’s going on a date – because he is – no doubt they’re snitching and would tell Winston. He couldn’t care less.

He arrives outside her apartment after thirty minutes, parking his car right by the entrance. He can’t help but grimace as he looks around the place. He remembers meeting her here, the day after he killed that good-for-nothing junkie. He wonders if she ever got the news, how she reacted when someone got killed the same day John was visiting her area.

It won’t be long before she wouldn’t be living in this area no more. It’s too dangerous, filled with a bunch of goons who get themselves tangled up in petty gang wars. John knows a gangster when he sees one, and it looks like every single man who lives in these crowded apartments are either pushers or gangsters with no sense of direction in life.

She doesn’t belong here. She should be in John’s house, locked up and isolated where she’s safe under his supervision. He would treat her like a princess, give her the things she deserve.

John gets out of the car, pulls out his phone and sends her a message to let her know he’s outside her building. He leans against the car as he waits.

A minute passes and a very happy bambi appears in the elevator, dressed in a pretty sundress and a white tote bag with a text John can’t see. She’s beaming up at him as she exits the building, and John hasn’t got the time to react before she’s lunging herself forward and going on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Whoa easy,” John murmurs, immediately wrapping his arms around her waist for support, placing his face in the crook of her neck and inhaling her scent; it’s sweet, not a surprise. “You miss me that much?”

“So much, you don’t even wanna know,” she murmurs in his chest, not quite reaching his neck despite being on her tiptoes. “I hope you miss me just as much.”

John pulls away, gives her a look as he places her large hands on her hips. “I might’ve missed you more than you missed me.”

She giggles, John could see her eyes through the heart-shaped sunglasses she’s wearing. It’s cute. “That’s not possible, I will fight you for it.”

“Hm,” John hums, eyes wandering down her lips to her dress. It stops just above her knees, John has to mentally prepare himself for the worst. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she says sheepishly. “You like it? I think it’s the perfect picnic outfit.”

“I love it,” John clarifies. “Looks perfect on you.”

“You look gorgeous yourself,” she giggles, eyeing John up and down teasingly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. He isn’t so sure how to react to that, hopefully his dick wouldn’t take the liberty to rise from the dead at this moment. “This is the first time I’ve seen you not wearing any suits. Domestic looks good on you.”

“What can I say, I’m a changed man.” John means both good and bad. “And before we go, I want to introduce you to someone.”

Before she gets a chance to ask, John slides out of the way from his position of covering the car window and reveals a very happy pitbull waiting to be introduced to her mother.

Her smile is wide when she spots John’s pet excitedly wagging her tail inside the car. “Oh my god, she is beautiful! John, open the door, hurry, hurry, hurry–”

“Okay, okay–”

The moment John pulls the door open, the dog comes rushing out to jump and starts licking her face.

“Oh, lookie here, baby! You’re such a cutie! What’s your name, hm? Don’t got a name yet? Your dad can’t think of a name to give ya’?”

Her giggles are like music to his ears.

The sound of paws pattering on the concrete and her high pitched voice talking to the dog fills the empty street in a matter of seconds. When she isn’t looking, John begins looking around the area, his eyes landing on the apartment building where he preys at some nights.

There’s a person at the front desk, staring at him like he knows something, and like a switch that goes off in his brain, John recognizes this man as the same one who bumped into him a few nights ago in the hallway in front of the abandoned room where he’s staying.

They meet eyes, John flashes him a knowing look, then the man immediately looks away.

John’s jaw ticks. He’s gonna have to deal with that later.

He turns his attention back to where it’s most needed. She’s still playing with the dog, crouching beside the car while the puppy just drowns in her affection. John really hates to break the moment.

“Shall we get going?” He interjects, voice deeper than usual, still feeling a little on the edge from that man by the front desk earlier.

“Sure. She gonna be in the backseat?”

“You bet.”

John opens the door for the both of them and lets her help the puppy get inside. Before he slams the door close, he makes sure to take another look at the apartment, seeing the man already staring back at him.

Yeah. He’s really gonna have to deal with that later.

They arrive at the park around 4:25 and John is the one to set up their spot while she and the puppy play in the empty field. It’s empty, totally empty, and John couldn’t be more thankful than that since he really doesn’t want to be around other people besides her. She’s the only one that matters.

John notices that she brought her own dog toys, probably the ones she keeps to herself since she does work in a vet clinic after all. The sight of her happily running around the grass with his dog is enough to bring him to his knees, he is only but a man.

John calls her to eat and the two of them come running towards him and plops down on the soft blanket next to the basket full of fruits.

“Had fun?” John speaks, sitting beside her on the ground as he watches her get a plate of pasta for the two of them. She insists she gets to plate their food, John lets her.

“Very. Didn’t know she’s quite energetic, luckily for her I can match her energy extremely well.”

“It comes with being young, I guess. Can’t really relate,” he jokes, receiving the plate full of pasta she gives him while she snickers at the statement.

“Come on, John. You’re still fit despite being old.” John watches her take a bite of the food. He’s not subtle, he’s straight up staring at her lips as she wraps her mouth around the fork, savoring the flavor with closed eyes. “Hm, this is delicious. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“By myself,” he shrugs, taking a bite of his food to keep him from taking a bite of her instead. “I’m surprised you aren’t creeped out.”

“With what?”

“With my age,” John makes it clear. “You’re young with a bright future ahead of you–”

“Yet here I am having a date with an old man?” she interjects, wiggles her eyebrows, teasing clearly with the way she emphasizes the last part. “I can’t believe you thought I’m gonna get creeped out. You’re a grown man with a stable job and not to mention very hot, I find that very sexy.”

“You think I’m sexy?” he raises a brow.

“Yes, I think you’re very sexy. I haven’t once encountered a guy my age who has the same status as you,” she sets down the plate on her lap for a moment. “You know, experienced and mature.”

“I see,” John nods. It’s very clear that she’s always found the people who contrast her so well attractive. She wants a savior that would save her from everything, luckily John fits in the description quite too well.

They delve in a normal conversation after that. John makes sure to steer away all questions regarding him and his life, a way to learn more about her other than the pictures and videos and information he’d been sent by Alex.

John already knows a lot about her, it wouldn’t hurt to learn a little more.

Ten minutes go by, a bottle of wine has been pulled out of the basket and she’s spilling her whole life to John in a matter of moments. From lttle memories from childhood to how she moved from her hometown to New York to get away from her father. How when she was younger, she begged her toys to talk to her and she wouldn’t tell anyone. How their family pet back in the days impacted the choices she made to choose her career path – to become a veterinarian.

John listens. He’s always been good at listening instead of talking, so he listens.

5 PM, the two of them play with the dog and she decides to name her “Blue.”

“Is it because she has blue eyes?” John asks.

“Yeah. Not really original, I know, but it fits her.”

“Blue is perfect.”

It’s already 6 PM when they decide to head home. She’s still talking the moment they’re in the car and John is still listening. There’s something about her voice that just… pulls him in. It’s so sweet and soft.

When they arrive outside her apartment complex, it’s dead silent.

“I really enjoyed our date today, John,” she smiles when he opens the door for her, now standing in front of him and looking up to meet his eyes. “The pasta was delicious. I hope I get to eat more of them in the future – and oh, I really, really enjoyed playing with Blue! I’m so thankful that you let me name her even though it wasn’t really special–”

“Hush,” John jokingly interrupts. “The night might be over, but I can assure you that I will see you soon again.”

“How soon would that be again?”

“Eager to see me already?”

“Maybe.”

“You know I always make time for you, sweetheart,” John croons, placing a large hand on her chin and staring deeply into her eyes. “Is it too early for me to kiss you?”

She laughs, then wraps her arms around his waist to pull him in closer. John looks at her and falls in love for what to be a millionth time today. She never fails to take his breath away. “Not too early, I promise you. You should’ve done that sooner.”

“Well, I’m gonna do it now.”

Before she can add another word, John leans down to smash his lips against hers, his large hand finding its way on the small of her back to deepen the kiss that she can’t help but whimper into his mouth.

Fuck.

Her lips are so, so soft. John can still taste the lingering sweetness of the wine from earlier and being so close to her that her scent is shutting off his entire brain. If he won’t stop, he might just end up fucking her on the hood of his car until she can’t walk straight.

Their lips move in tandem and she’s following his head like she always does. Her small hands are gripping his leather jacket for support, so pliant and vulnerable, already trusting him enough to kiss him on their second date.

This is a sudden shift in his universe, John knows he’s already won.

He’s the first to pull away and their lips are wet and connected with saliva. She’s flushed and out of breath like expected, John wants nothing more but to break her and make her his.

Oh wait, she already is.

“How was that?” John asks, voice deep.

“I wanna do it again.”

He chuckles, rubbing his thumb on her cheeks while she’s busy avoiding his eyes. “Let’s save it for next time.”

He’s gonna control himself.

“That next time better come by fast,” she threatens jokingly. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Don’t talk like you’re not gonna see me for days, baby,” John whispers. “You know I won’t let you go that easily. You’re mine now.”

He doesn’t miss the way her pupils dilated and the way the clutch she has on his leather jackets becomes tighter. She’s already fallen deep into his trap, John wants to push his claws in even deeper.

“Say it again,” she mutters, leaning in against his warm large hand as she closes her eyes. “Say it again. Please.”

John smiles when she isn’t looking. He really won.

“You’re mine.”

That same night, 4 AM, John is back in his work clothes and arranging something in a dark room.

The stench of metallic blood hitting his nose, and he stands in the middle of the room to inhale that scent – god, does he truly miss it.

The sight of a man in front of him wakes something dangerous within John’s veins. Hands tied up behind the chair, head dropped forward, lifeless and cold. His lower stomach is open, guts hanging off the floor as the other half is used to gag him in the mouth. His eyes are missing, John took the liberty to take them out for staring at him too much, and he couldn’t be any more relieved when he did.

“What do you know?” John had asked as soon as the man woke up from his head concussion.

“Y-You!” The man had yelled, John didn’t bother finding out his name. “You fucking creep –”

John’s hands twitched beside him. He remained silent.

The man went on a rant about how he’d seen John around lurking outside the apartment complex and using the abandoned room on the fifth floor and that’s all John needed to know.

He didn’t need another pair of eyes to tell him what’s right and wrong. Winston is already enough.

The next morning, John receives a text from none other than his bambi. A picture of numerous police cars outside her apartment and an ambulance, and another picture of a dead body covered in white blanket getting pulled out of the building.

Bambi : there was an accident that happened near me, john :((

Bambi : the police said somebody was killed and i’m scared

Bambi : they said he was gutted alive

John is smiling to himself when he types his response.

John : What kind of a sick person would do something like that?

He is not a sick person. He’s just in love.

Taglist: aerangi starrgir1 heluvsvalefr danika1994 fraisejoon doggodorime ohmytate

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick chapter 4 #john wick 4 #keanu reeves #jw #my works #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves imagine #john wick smut #jw4 #jw3 #jw2 #damn there are a lot of tags

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alter-adam · 5 days ago

Text

WIP Whenever

once again, tagged by @tartadxfresa, the loml <3

once again, tagging @harlotsforcinnamon, @clotpolesonly, & @lizpaige (BUT ALSO ONCE AGAIN EVEN IF UR NOT TAGGED IF UR SEEING THIS YES U ARE)

hhhhhhhhhhokay i've never shared this one anywhere before and it's likely never getting finished because i fully would just break my own heart with it, but here's a snippet of an adansey WIP in which adam has a (likely) terminal illness and doesn't tell gansey:

It was nearing four o’clock in the morning, and Adam picked up the phone, because he had to. He wasn’t going to sleep until they’d talked, and he didn’t know that Gansey would sleep either way, but at least he’d be awake and alright.

As was typical to Gansey’s nature, the phone only rang once before there was a shy, quiet, “Hello?” on the other line. Adam was annoyed and relieved.

“Hey,” he said, casual.

“Adam,” Gansey breathed, as though he’d had no idea until Adam had spoken that it was him; as though he had no caller ID, or hadn’t checked it.

“Yeah.”

In the silence, Adam could practically feel Gansey’s breath catching every time it hung up on a word, every time he almost spoke. His own was doing the same.

Then, at once, “I just wanted to—” and “I really am—”.

Another halt, but this one less about speechlessness and more about eagerness, each of them attempting to gauge whether they were being given room to speak first.

“I’m sorry,” Gansey offered, finally. “Go on.”

Adam cleared his throat and sat up, bare back against the cool wood of his headboard. There was something grounding about it; something that reminded him that he did exist, right here, in this moment. “I can’t sleep,” was what he said, though he hadn’t meant to. He’d wanted to do this correctly. He was never the one to apologize—not first, at least—even when something was his fault. Even when he knew it was. “I, um. Jesus, Gans. When did everything get so fucked up?”

The quiet sound Gansey made was somewhere between a laugh and the choked restraint of a man attempting not to lose his bearings. “Oh, Adam. Adam, Adam, Adam. My beautiful boy. I don’t know.”

Adam clenched his teeth, forbidding the tears stinging his sinuses to rise. He didn’t deserve to cry. Didn’t deserve Gansey’s comfort. Not now. “I’m s—” A wracking, wrenching sob shook his frame and he swallowed, refusing to succumb. “God dammit. I’m sorry, Gansey. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t know h-how you’d—I didn’t—fuck. I don’t know how to say this without making it sound like I’m trying to fucking manipulate you into—into—”

“You wouldn’t.” At the clarity in Gansey’s voice, Adam felt the waters calm, just a little. “You wouldn’t manipulate me into anything, Adam. You’d never even try.”

A weight shifted onto the foot of the bed, and Adam cast his gaze downward to meet the eyes of Gwen, her quaint, black paws kneading biscuits into the cotton of his comforter. He beckoned her toward him, hand settling on her back as she lay down in his lap, comforted by her gentle purring. “I wouldn’t,” Adam agreed. “But I don’t know how to make it sound right. I just didn’t—I couldn’t—I was afraid you’d leave. It’s a lot, you know? For anyone. And I was afraid you’d just—that it would be too much and you just wouldn’t be able to take it. So I thought maybe I’d be able to hide it, at least for a while. I only told Helen because I needed someone there to know what was going on, just in case. And nothing happened; I was fine, I just had too much to drink, but she—dammit. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault but mine. I’m not blaming her for anything; she just thought—and so she told you, ‘cause she was scared, and she thought you were gonna have to know, that I’d need to go to the hospital or something, but I only threw up a couple times and then it was over and I felt fine, and as soon as I found out you knew and nothing was even really wrong, I. God. I just couldn’t stand the thought of how mad you’d be. If it had really been something, you know, I knew you’d have been too distracted and too fucking worried, as awful as I know that sounds, to be mad at me. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t anything. I was just drunk and stupid and not being careful enough, so I ran a mile down the road and then called Ronan to come get me. Waited for him in a coffee shop until they closed and then in a park for the next hour.”

“And that’s when Ronan called me,” Gansey finished, needlessly. There wasn’t a hint of anger in his tone; no hint of anything, in fact, but exhaustion. “To tell me that you were on your way home. That you were safe. That he wasn’t going to leave you, just in case you shouldn’t be alone.”

“I told him everything in the car.” In the darkness, Adam felt marginally more courageous. As though he could say anything as long as he was cloaked in the safety of the night. “He said, as soon as he picked me up, ‘You look like you’re dying, Parrish.’ And I, uh. I said, ‘Yeah. I might be.’ Just like that. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. And then I told him about the diagnosis, and about what happened with you and with Helen and just—just everything. He’s asleep on the couch right now. I told him I was fine and that he should get back to Noah, but he wasn’t havin’ it. So.”

“I’ll have to thank him in the morning,” was Gansey’s only response for a long, long while. Then, so tiredly that Adam could hear him rubbing his eyes, “You can’t keep things like this from people who love you, Adam. People you’re building your life with. I was going to—you just can’t.”

“I know.” Gwen abandoned Adam’s lap then, as if to punctuate the point that he didn’t deserve to be soothed. “Will you try to sleep?”

“No.” Gansey’s response was immediate; not rushed, but firm and decisive. “No, I’m afraid I won’t be able to. I’m on the road now, actually. About halfway home.”

*****

The sun remained uninformed that it was morning by the time Gansey made it in. Adam heard the front door creak open and shifted in bed, back against the cool plaster of the wall.

In the bedroom doorway, Gansey was silhouetted in darkness. Ronan must not have woken, Adam realized, as Gansey hadn’t stopped to speak to him.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

Adam didn’t know what else to say, so he said nothing. This seemed to be fine with Gansey, who toed out of his shoes and crossed the floor to the bed, climbing in next to Adam and slipping under the comforter.

Gansey hummed. “You’re warm.”

This made Adam braver, and he found Gansey’s hand beneath the blanket, twining their fingers together. “You’re not.”

Gansey laughed, soft, in a breath. “I’m not,” he agreed.

For an eternity of a moment, they both fell silent. Adam could feel his own heartbeat and Gansey’s beating in time, both much too quick, both still cautious and afraid. Neither of them, he knew, wanted to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing. As good as they were at understanding and supporting one another, they’d also always been fairly decent at arguing, and Adam was far too tired just now to entertain any such thing.

Eventually, Gansey’s hand slipped out of his and came up to stroke his hair instead, brushing it away from his face and gently untangling the knots as it came across them. “This wasn’t an okay thing to keep from me, Adam.”

Adam’s knee-jerk reaction was to begin his counter sentence with I just or I thought, but he bit his tongue, forcibly holding it back. Don’t fight with Gansey.

“I know.”

“Okay.”

Just like that, it was over. All the tension drained from the room and Adam felt secure in that when he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Gansey’s, Gansey wouldn’t pull away. The I won’t do it again and the I trust you remained unspoken but understood between them, wrapping them together ever closer and lulling them both to sleep.

#wip game #wip #writing #fanfiction #adansey #i'm real sorry for this one y'all #trc #the raven cycle #adam parrish #gansey #richard gansey iii

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pynkhues · 5 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/pynkhues/775096187617443840/httpswwwtumblrcompynkhues774795725379895296?source=share

All Dale experienced in season 3 was trauma, with no silver lining. Then one week later he is magically still a reporter. The whole Kay relationship dragged throughout the season while he couldn't kiss ONE man, did the rent boy even have a name? Do we just have to hope for the best and that he worked it out? Did ABC not allow it? Because that's the only logical explanation I can find, being the "80s" doesn't work when this show proved this only matters when it's convenient .

I think it was way too gratuitous. Also, no Gerry and only two episodes with Tim should have told me how this season was going to go. He never even talked about his feelings with Helen

I loved what they did to Helen and liked Noelene's arc. Just wish more thought and care was put into Dale's.

Mm, I mean, his arc was a straight line down in many respects, yes, but I don't think I'd say all he experienced was trauma at all? I think the show was pretty clear that he had a lot of love and compassion around him that he refused to allow himself access to due to his own self-loathing and internalised biphobia. Helen never wavered in her support of him, but Rob sided with him against Lindsey and tried to help him oust him, Tim was gentle with him when he really didn't have to be, and their connection to me felt maintained as a missed one as opposed to a lost one (the scene where Dale pulls Kay onto the dancefloor when everyone else leaves as Tim and Lee dance really moved me, and felt like this reminder of who he is really), Cheryl genuinely tried to help him, however briefly, and Nick, the sex worker (he did have a name!) offered him tenderness and refused to participate in his abuse of himself. Even Kay tried to help him at the end, and while I do think their relationship was underdeveloped, I also think it made sense for both of them.

The tragedy of his arc this season to me was that so much of what he was going through was self-inflicted. He's so desperate to wash out these parts of himself and be something he's not that he tries to empty himself of everything that he is, and falls apart when it doesn't work. People still think he's gay, they still think he's effeminate, fey, the one thing he's been desperately trying to hide, even more so after he was already clocked by Tim in s1, and Gerry in s2, and the fact that it's not just people with the same 'proclivities' that see it, but everyone, even when he's performing, it just breaks him.

In that sense, I think it made total sense he wasn't kissing Nick. He was trying to deny himself intimacy on every level - like you said, he wouldn't talk to Helen about any of it, couldn't really talk to his mum until that devastating scene in Helen's kitchen, could only talk to Kay about it when he was drunk, could barely talk to Tim about it either. He was paying for sex with men (a man) to make it a physical act instead of a romantic one, something to wrong that he just had to regularly get out of his system, and I think they made that really clear when Dale tried to get Nick to hit him.

I didn't think he was fine in Berlin at all either. I think Helen was giving him the chance to figure himself out on the road in the same way she got the opportunity to, and he took it. I agree that there should've been a beat between the scene with his mother and that scene of him reporting, but I get what they were aiming for. Dale wanted to be a newsreader his entire life, but briefly he was a pretty good journalist in s1 when he was on the road with Tim and the sound guy. If there's a space there for him to work and travel and live for himself in a place where people don't know him, maybe he'll figure himself out. Do we just have to hope for the best? Yeah! It's an open ending, and I think that makes sense for his character.

#helen had a great arc #noelene's i wish they gave her a bit more meat #i love her and rob though #the newsreader asks

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sashaisready · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 4 - The Ghost

Nick Fowler x Reader

Summary: Reader is a brilliant but shy and awkward CIA employee whose work is often overlooked by her colleagues…she’s blended into the background for so long that she doesn’t think there’s any other way - even if she does have secret aspirations for another life. Unbeknownst to her - a certain blue eyed agent is very aware of her talents, even if nobody else is.

Under the Radar Masterlist

<Chapter Three - Now or Never

Warnings: mild angst, reference to violence, references to sex trafficking, reader being sassy Wordcount: 3558

You were back at work the next day with a renewed sense of optimism. Everything was turning around, maybe everything would really be okay.

And no bumping into Nick for at least a few weeks. It meant you could entirely focus on throwing yourself into your new job. No distractions.

As you sat at your desk typing a few handover notes for the other Assistants covering your work, you saw Agent Leigh stumble in and plop himself down in his desk chair. His pathetic pout complimented a nasty looking black eye and bruised nose.

Oof. You couldn’t hold back your wince as you took him in. He caught you staring and met your gaze. You froze, unsure of what people are meant to say in situations like this. He seemed…different. His usual bravado muted. His shoulders slumped. You supposed a shiner would do that to even the biggest ego.

“Uh…Rough night?” You offered gently, hardly believing you felt something resembling sympathy towards him. Or pity at the very least.

He frowned but the effort of moving his face seemed to cause further pain. He grimaced.

“Something like that” he muttered.

It seemed as if his big mouth had finally got him into trouble. You were only surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.

“There’s a few ice packs in the cafeteria freezer” you offered, kinder than you should’ve been. “Might help the swelling. Speak to Helen the catering manager, she should be able to get them for you”.

He nodded. “Yeah…thanks”.

You went back to work thinking that was that, but he spoke again.

“Hey…” he said meekly.

You looked back at him.

“I’m sorry…for what I said yesterday…when Fowler was here…that was really rude. And not appropriate for the workplace at all. I apologise”.

You blinked in confusion. Someone could’ve offered you infinite chances to guess what he was going to say next and you never would’ve picked that.

“Oh….well….thank-you” you replied.

He looked at you pathetically. “So…uh…we cool?”

You nodded. Well…No. But you didn’t really want to drag this out any longer.

“Sure” your smile artificial.

He nodded tentatively. “So…if anyone…like…asks. I apologised, and we’re good now. Right?”

You frowned, somewhat bewildered. “Uh….yeah. Okay. But why would someone ask?”

He shrugged unconvincingly. “Just…you know. If anyone did”.

He started booting up his laptop then and it was clear the discussion was over. Palmer rounded the corner and arrived at your desk. He was smiling, looking good in a navy suit, his hair carefully styled.

“Hey…you all set?”

You smiled enthusiastically, picking up your laptop and notebook as you headed to the conference room with him. You were practically vibrating with excitement to begin.

“Yep! Ready”.

Palmer turned to look at Leigh as you passed by. He let out a low whistle once he was out of earshot.

“Jeez! What happened to him?” Laughed Palmer.

You shrugged. “Beats me. Guess he ran his mouth at the wrong person on boys’ night. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy…”

You paused, cringing, remembering you were at work and realising how abrupt you’d been. It wasn’t like you to say stuff like that.

“Sorry…that was rude” you whispered.

Palmer chuckled. “Not at all…you’re totally right. It was bound to happen sooner or later”.

You smiled back at him, grateful for his reassurance.

“You’re a bit of a dark horse, aren’t you?” He teased.

“No! No…I don’t…I’m not-Oh god. How embarrassing” you groaned, hiding your eyes behind your hand.

Palmer just laughed kindly. “I’m just kidding. Look, Palmer is a jerk. Don’t worry, you’re not gonna offend me by rightly calling it out. Okay?”

“Okay” you nodded with a shy smile.

As the two of you walked, you pondered Leigh’s strange question. What was he talking about exactly? Why was he so concerned with the two of you being ‘cool’? It’s not like he normally gave a shit what you thought of him. Maybe he was visited by three Christmas ghosts late last night…

Your thoughts of Leigh soon dissipated as you and Palmer got to the conference room and started to work.

He ran you through the basics of Project Cotton which was extensive and complex. Essentially, the CIA were trying to infiltrate a worldwide sex trafficking ring which had made its way to the States. There were a lot of moving parts, but it boiled down to sifting through a mixture of reliable and less reliable sources, finding ways into suspected bases and working through the chain of suspects to find out who was at the top. Palmer would be leading the field work as Walsh had assigned, but it was your job to work with him to make sense of the intel, help plan the op and collate everything into a strategy.

The scope was like nothing you’d ever worked on in all your time here. Walsh was really testing you. The FBI were assisting, as were multiple local law enforcement agencies, and you felt the weight of your responsibility to them all heavy on your shoulders. Palmer and the rest of the team were all counting on you - bad intel could expose Palmer as a CIA operative and blow his cover - the likely outcome would be his death if the mark discovered who he really was.

As anxious as you felt (and you were anxious) there was some excitement too. As Palmer ran through the summary you found yourself immediately brainstorming ideas, solutions - this was going to be tough…but you could do it. You knew you could. And you felt encouraged that Walsh thought you could, too. This wasn’t really about Nick. This was about you, and proving to yourself what exactly you were capable of. Proving that you could take a leap out of your comfort zone and succeed. Hell, it wouldn’t be perfect - but it didn’t need to be. It just needed to be enough.

And if you proved Nick wrong somewhere along the way too?

Bonus.

In a way, you should thank him, his cruelty lit a fire under you that you may never have sparked yourself.

The days turned into weeks and you and Palmer had slipped into a comfortable ease with each other. You both worked hard together, but you had clicked as people too. The content you were dealing with day in day out could be hard going, so you balanced that out with joking and a little fun where you could. You didn’t feel nervous around him like you did with your other colleagues. He had a calming presence you appreciated, especially as a newbie to this.

In short? You liked Palmer a lot.

“Call me Joe” he had said at your second meeting.

You felt a twinge of sadness as that was exactly what Nick had said to you on the day you’d been together for the first time. But you swallowed it down.

“Joe” you’d repeated, looking back at him with a smile.

You were making good progress with the research, constantly adding to a seemingly never ending report which covered all of the bases. You were just struggling to pin down the names of those at the top of the ring, a lot of leads were dead ends and pointed to ghosts, men who seemingly didn’t exist. But you told yourself that weeding out every dud lead meant you were one step closer to nailing the real perpetrators.

One of the quirks of the case was that you had boxes and boxes of historic CIA files to sift through, looking at records of convicted criminals from decades earlier who may have had links to previous rings that Cotton may have grown from the ashes of. The files were mostly yellowed pages, thick layers of dust and occasionally indecipherable hand writing when nobody had bothered to type up the reports however many decades ago.

“It’s crazy that the CIA, with all its resources, hasn’t taken the time to digitise these” you huffed, shaking your hand out after getting yet another paper cut from one of the archaic monstrosities.

Joe laughed. He had a sweet laugh. Slightly on the dorky side, but you liked that he laughed loudly and unashamedly - not caring what anyone thought of it.

“The CIA isn’t an endless money pit” he said kindly. Unlike Nick, he was never patronising when he explained things to you.

“The bosses want cash to go on the actual operations, not paying a bunch of temps to scan these old perverts’ files nobody but us has ever looked at”.

“Mmm” you conceded. “But have they considered…it would be helpful for me personally”.

Joe grinned. “No. I don’t think they have…but that’s a very persuasive argument”.

You were both sitting in the conference room Project Cotton had taken over in the last few weeks. Papers and files were sprawled across the table, endless photographs and maps were pinned to the walls as post-its and notes littered every surface.

You yawned, slamming the file shut and pulling the next box out - grabbing the letter opener to split the tape. Joe had given it to you to open the boxes. It was a thing of beauty really, a slim silver knife with a delicate ornate handle. He had unearthed it in an old storage room in the basement, no doubt an essential tool for some clerk four or five decades ago.

It has become a bit of a strange running joke for the two of you. You’d take turns moving the opener to the other’s desk when the other wasn’t looking, and it became a sort of competition to see if you could sneak it into the other’s space without them noticing.

You opened the first file from the new box, taking your time skimming the musty pages. Both of you worked in comfortable silence.

“Anything?” Joe eventually asked as he scribbled on the whiteboard.

You pointed with the blade to the file in front of you.

“Mm. Maybe. Three of these guys were all associated with something called ‘Cosmos’ - seems to be some sort of weird cult which preached peace and love…but also the kidnapping of young women”.

Joe scoffed. “Peace and love indeed…”

You peered down at the grainy mugshot of the man in the file, snarling back at you. He looked oddly familiar…but you couldn’t place him.

You sighed. “I feel like my eyes are gonna cross…”

“Let’s take a break. You need a breather. You work too damn hard” teased Joe.

You rolled your eyes playfully.

“We’ll order lunch. I’m thinking Hong’s” said Joe, grabbing his phone and hurriedly closing your file.

“Ooh. Yay! Okay”.

The novelty of expensed lunches certainly hadn’t worn off yet.

You stole a glance at Joe as he pulled up the food menu and dutifully scrolled through the options. The more time you spent with him, the more you liked him. He was sweet. Earnest. You liked that he said exactly what he meant. He never had you guessing…unlike some people.

As time went on, you began to realise how handsome he was. He had a cute dimple on one side of his mouth. His eyes crinkled a little when he smiled. He was a big guy too….broad. Strong. Sometimes your mind wandered and you wondered what he looked like under his suit…

You liked being with him.

And you liked that he liked being with you. You weren’t an agent like him, yet he treated you like an equal - not just the grunt beneath him doing all the admin. He respected you. Appreciated you.

The other night at dinner Annie had jokingly said she was sick of hearing about him. You hadn’t realised how much you must talk about him.

After lunch had arrived you sat together in the conference room, eating and laughing.

“…I’m sorry, I’m just saying I wanted Tom to win once in a while. Okay? That mouse was pushing it” Joe said incredulously.

You laughed uproariously. “What?? Who sides with Tom??”

“I just mean…Jerry is mocking him…”

“Jerry is a mouse…if Tom catches him then he’s dinner! Nobody roots for Tom, Joe!” You giggled.

You laughed more as you pushed the food around your takeout container.

“I’m working for a madman…”

Joe smiled. “True. But you’re doing a great job”.

“Thanks” you giggled.

“No…I mean it. You’re a beast. The stuff you’re pulling together is so impressive. Especially for a first timer. You should be proud. I sure am”.

You blushed, surprised at his admission. “Well…thank-you Joe. That means a lot. You’ve taught me so much in such a short space of time. I’m…so grateful”.

You both stared at each other for a few seconds. The air felt different suddenly. Charged somehow. Time seemed to slow down as Joe leaned towards you, his gaze dropping to your lips. You found yourself moving in too, leaning closer and closer until-

The jarring sound of Joe’s phone vibrating on the table seemed to break the trance. You both surged backwards in your chairs, looking in opposite directions.

“I better take this…” Joe grumbled, picking up his phone and leaving the room.

You sat in the silence, struggling to grasp what had just happened. You got to your feet, going to the bathroom and splashing a bit of water on your face to calm down. Fuck. You really needed to stop doing this with colleagues…

…but Joe was just so…Joe.

You made your way back to the conference room, sitting back down and picking at your food again as you waited for him to return. You decided you wouldn’t mention it unless he did. Nothing actually happened. No need to make it awkward when you were both working so closely.

You were fishing your chopsticks around the takeout box when you heard him come back in.

“You ate all the wontons…jerk” you joked.

“Not me, princess” came the reply.

You jolted in your seat, a small squeak leaving your lips. You whipped round to face him.

There he was. The ghost. You suddenly felt very nervous.

Nick was leaning against the doorway, his short chestnut hair neatly combed. A hint of 5 o’clock shadow that wasn’t there when he left for his Op. Still handsome. Still infuriating. Those damn eyes watched you carefully as he slipped his hands into his pockets.

“I always left the wontons for you when we ordered in. I would never leave you hanging” he smirked.

“Yeah…The only thing you were ever consistent about” you said dryly.

He laughed hollowly. “So…Project Cotton huh? Going up in the world I see” he surveyed the room, taking in all of the files and documents strewn around.

“Yeah. Walsh put me on it” you replied stoically.

He nodded. “So I hear. Guess I was wrong about that, huh?”

You glared back at him. “You were wrong about a lot of things”.

He smirked. “I probably deserve that”.

You didn’t speak. Just left his words hanging. You wanted him to sit in it. You had no desire to make this any easier for him.

“Not gonna ask how my op went? It’s been weeks”. He asked casually, but his eyes had a slightly needy quality to them.

“Well it was fine I presume. You seem to have all your limbs intact” you deadpanned.

He chuckled. “Just about…”

You ignored him, just taking a bite of your food.

“And how’s Palmer? Being good to you?”

“Absolutely. He’s a good boss”.

“Huh…That surprises me”. He ticked his jaw.

You glared at him. “And why’s that?”

“Just…he seems like one to keep an eye on. That’s all”. He shrugged.

You rolled your eyes. “Why? Because he doesn’t come out on your little boys’ nights?”

He chuckled again. His patronising laugh made you want to punch him in the face.

“No…actually he comes sometimes” he smirked.

You quirked an eyebrow. That surprised you. As Joe had said that time with Leigh…it wasn’t really his scene. Still, you wouldn’t hold it against him. Everyone needs to let loose sometimes.

“Ah, Fowler. Welcome back” said Joe as he came back to the room. His voice suddenly seemed strained. His posture uncomfortable.

Nick nodded, he also seemed somewhat tense. “Thanks Palmer. Looks like you’ve made good progress with Cotton…”

“Yup. Well it’s hard not to when you’ve got this one your team” he smiled over at you.

You smiled back warmly. If Nick’s return had thrown you off balance, Joe was a stabilising anchor who righted you again.

Nick smiled. “Yeah. I know the other agents are whining that the briefing reports aren’t being done to the usual standard now that their best Assistant has been poached”.

You shrugged, embarrassed at how inwardly gleeful you were at Nick’s compliment. “They’ll be fine”.

He looked back at you and you found yourself stuck in his gaze. Unable to look away as old feelings stirred. Shit. No! Be strong!

He cleared his throat abruptly.

“Well…I better go debrief. You two have fun” Nick added sardonically as he left the room.

Joe glared at the empty space where Nick had been standing. You saw a strange expression on his face that you hadn’t seen before. A hint of rage beneath the surface that you’d never seen a glimpse of until now. What sort of issue did those two have with each other? There certainly seemed to be a weird tension between them.

“Anyway. Let’s get back to it” said Joe, back to his usual sunny self as if nothing had happened.

He didn’t say anything about Nick, nor about your near kiss, he just picked up his notebook and resumed where he left off. You followed suit, but your head bubbled with unanswered questions as you pulled out your next file.

At the end of the day you made your way out of the building, exhausted from a full day and fantasising about a bubble bath back at home. Seeing Nick again had knocked you slightly. You knew when he left you’d have to face him again eventually, but he caught you off guard. As always.

As you strolled down the hallway to the building exit you were torn from your thoughts, quite literally, by some unseen force as you were yanked by the waist into an empty office. You let out a small shriek as your assailant spun you around and revealed himself.

“Fuck, Nick!! You trying to give me a heart attack?” You squeaked as you slugged him on the shoulder.

He grinned. “I’ve missed that fire”.

He moved to close the door.

You frowned. “I’m tired, Nick. I’ve had a long day and I want to go home. I don’t have any time for games”.

“I need to talk to you…” he sighed.

You rolled your eyes. “Can it wait?”

He shuffled awkwardly, his cocky tone now diminishing slightly. “I just want you to be careful”.

“What?”

“With Palmer. Be careful. Alright?”

You laughed coldly. “Why? He’s a good guy.”

“Just…you’re smart. Don’t let him take advantage”.

“What does that mean?” You glared.

“Just…I don’t know. Don’t let your guard down. Don’t…I don’t know… let him take the credit for your work or anything like that. Alright? Just be careful with him. I just….I don’t trust him”.

You scoffed. “I don’t know what your beef with Joe is but you have no business butting in. I’m not interested in your masculine pissing contest. He and I have been working really well together all this time. He’s sweet, and smart, and he supports me. He actually wants me to do well and get ahead! Unlike you, he believes in me! It’s really nothing to do with you. So thank-you for your ‘advice’….but it really isn’t necessary”.

Nick frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Joe? Oh God…you like him don’t you?”

You tried to force a laugh, but it didn’t sound very convincing. “What?? No! It’s all very professional…”

Nick shook his head, tutting. “Unbelievable…”

“You can talk…” you spat.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know…Ask Mace?” You narrowed your eyes.

He laughed hollowly at that. “I knew you heard her that day in my office. Not jealous are you, princess?” The shit eating grin was back on his face. He had you now.

You clenched your jaw, trying your best to retain your sense of calm as you felt the heat rush to your cheeks.

“No. You can fuck whoever you like”.

He laughed again. “I’m not fucking Mace…”

“Sure…” you rolled your eyes.

“Believe whatever you want, princess…”

You curled your hands into fists, suddenly feeling overwhelmed as all of those old feelings rose to the surface. How did he still have this hold over you? You thought you were free…

You managed to suppress it as you bit your lip and looked towards the door.

“Can I go now or have you got another lecture for me?”

He shook his head, sighing. “Do what you want. Okay? Just…remember when I said”.

You rolled your eyes. “Tell Mace I said hi”.

You’re stormed out of the room as you shot down the hallway and left the building. Ugh. What a pig!! He could see how well you were doing and was just trying to get in your head to throw you off. He clearly didn’t liked Joe for some sort of weird male ego reason and was making it your problem. He didn’t know what he was talking about…

…right?

Chapter 5 - Done

#nick fowler x you #sebastian stan #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler #the 355 #under the radar fic

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sorryseraphim · 1 year ago

Text

“Enver?”

“Yes?”

He kissed her hands, caressing them afterward as he felt Helene’s body cool, her breathing returning to its normal rhythm. Laying down the sheets after their bodies experienced a symphony of passion, their moans and gasps served music just a little earlier had died down to sighs of relief and pure bliss.

“Have you explored the entirety of Rivington as a kid?” Helene asked him, staring at the ceiling. Breathing deeply, Enver pondered for a bit. He never really explored the entire city when he was a child, nor even now that he has become a Lord; he never really had the time, and walking down the busy streets only brought back bitter memories of the family he had long forgotten after doing him wrong.

“Not really. Given the nature of your work, I know you have been there a lot more than me.” He replied, trying to jest. He expected her to respond with her usual humor, but she replied with a tender voice, almost childlike.

”Did you know there’s a beach down the city? There’s an actual beach, not just a view of the ocean. Sands and all.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at her. There are always surprises each time they lay together as if Helene is giving him new sets of keys each time, unlocking a piece of her she had kept hidden for so long. “A beach in the city? How did you stumble upon that beach?” He asked her.

“I was trailing someone once, you know, the usual. And I… saw it. I was in awe as the waves roared. They come and go violently. I had to stop for a while and sit.”

It’s moments like this that made him somehow calm. These are peaceful moments where the two of them are alone together, in the stillness of his chamber, without the world watching them, without the tension of their rivalry. Without the need for power to weigh on them. That was the beauty of it: just them and their pure, unadulterated self, knowing each other bit by bit.

“And? What of the beach?”

“I go there now every so often, I am in Rivington. To relax, to sit idly. Sometimes minutes, sometimes an hour.”

“My dear, I think there are hundreds of other places which are far better to find peace if that’s what you’re after with the beach. I cannot believe you’re choosing a cold, dirty ocean filled with trash and fish.”

She sat up and looked at him, giggling. “It’s not dirty! And it does bring me peace.” She leaned forward to him, resting her chin on his chest, looking up at him, their eyes meeting. He laughed softly at her reason, a teasing smirk forming.

“Are you sure you’re not hiding anything from me? I can’t imagine why you’d want to go to that filthy place when you’ve got me here in bed.”

Her giggling turns to laughter, a delicate melody escaping her lips, her eyes closing softly. “I’m not hiding anything from you, you know that. It’s just a place to relax. For myself. You can come with me; it might change your mind.”

“How about I convince you that the pleasure I give here, in my bed, is much better than whatever your filthy ocean can give you?”

She glanced away briefly, smiling as she faced him again. “I’m telling you this because I thought you might like the beach! Now you’re just teasing me.” It was now his turn to laugh softly, finally hitting a nerve, as he humored her further. He sat up, brushing the hair off her face. She looked radiant in the afterglow, her divinity showing as she sat before him with only the blankets covering her body. If they could always stay like this, it would be more than a miracle, more than a gift from the Gods he could never repay.

“Yes, I am. I just can’t believe something filthy like an ocean gets to have moments with you that I do not know.”

“Enver!”

“I will stop. I will. The ocean can have you sit by yourself, seeking its solitude. You can watch its waves as it crashes the shore, but you, my dear, are my ocean. How I look at you brings me immeasurable peace just by seeing how beautiful and soft your skin is to my touch. No ocean can compare to you.”

She smiled at him, biting her lip as she leaned forward, her lips meeting his: a tender union.

“Even when you said I’m sometimes too much to handle?”

“Helene, you are too much to handle all the time.” He replied with a grin, his hand slowly caressing her chin. She laughed again as she looked at his eyes, drinking him in like she would be deprived any day of his warmth.

“And you still want me, desired me even.”

“Always, every minute of every day.”

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 oc #durge spoilers #bg3 durge #gortash x durge #durgetash #durge #the dark urge #lord enver gortash #enver flymm #enver gortash #bg3 #dark urge x gortash #lord gortash

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bethanydelleman · 1 year ago

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I was thinking about your Edmund vs. Frank poll and it made me revisit Frank's arc. I'll go straight to it - this guy exhibits massive red flag behavior at times.

The worst of it was the box hill episode. The day before, Jane had refused to walk with him (for very reasonable reasons though I'm sure she was also acting more out of frustration at Frank than any actual caution there). He outrageously flirts with Emma the next day in Jane's full view knowing she dislikes it. It's obvious he's doing it for revenge - to hurt Jane or get a reaction out of her. He brings up marriage completely out of the blue, brings up their engagement and makes a veiled threat to break up with her, and - this is what I can never forgive him for - he makes the comment about women in their "own set" which I'm sure is a dig at Jane's family's poverty. (please correct me if I'm wrong). And when Jane says something along the lines of "maybe we should break up" he loses it again and makes a dig at Jane's appearance and personality this time - asking Emma to find him a wife who is "lively, with hazle eyes", the opposite of Jane basically. And he wanted JANE to apologize to him after that.

Now the whole thing is very delightful to read as a reader. We can very easily see through Frank and his actions as those of a spoiled brat who has never been denied anything in life; with very little emotional regulation or control over his reactions. But imagine how horrible the whole thing must be from Jane's perspective - to be insulted like that by someone you love and plan to marry.

Frank's greatest redeeming quality is that he loves Jane. He really does love her, there is no denying that. But you can still be horrible to people you love. I also keep thinking about Andy's comment that Frank subconsciously resents Jane for the power she has over him, which makes him act out on her - the premise of the concealment allows him to hurt her, slander her character, criticize her personality and appearance all under the cloak of hiding the engagement. The ABC game is the greatest example - he already believed that Emma knew about the engagement by then, so there was no point to it except to harass Jane with a tasteless joke at her expense that he knew she didn't find funny.

The thing is I can totally see Box hill and ABC game becoming a pattern in their marriage later on. Whenever Jane doesn't do something that Frank wants her to, I can totally see Frank going unhinged, make veiled barbs at her in company accusing her of having married him for money and making digs at her for coming from a poor family; or express regret at having married too fast and young; or even making slight fun of her with their other guests like he had done with Emma. Later he is going to apologize profusely, love bomb her and buy her lavish gifts. But that doesn't change the fact that this is abusive behavior. You may say I'm overthinking it but consider - all of the future behaviours I noted is based on things he has already said or done canonically in the book.

One of your anons said that Frank had the potential to become Arthur Huntington in the future and unfortunately I can see that. Though I agree with you that Arthur had never loved Helen and Frank does love Jane, but you can still be abusive to people you love. I think of all Austen heroes Frank has the potential to become abusive in the future - because the abusive traits are already in his personality. Although I'm sure this dark side of his character probably appeals to a lot of Frank Churchill's fans.

I know this turned out to be Frank hate rant but I do like Frank. He is super fun to read on the page, and his love for Jane is endearing inspite of everything. And unlike the actual villains like Wickham and Willoughby, he doesn't have harm in his heart and all the harm done is because of his poor emotional regulation and lack of situational empathy. But my point is that a novel from Jane's perspective would be a lot darker than Emma is, and I doubt we will like Frank as much as we do then.

I don't regret voting Edmund because he annoys the fuck out of me, but I doubt he would ever make digs at Fanny's poverty, or make deliberately hurtful comments at her when he loses his temper, or make fun of her socially.

I know you like Frank so sorry if this comes off as hate, I promise it's not. Just a new perspective on "the worst Frank did was not talk to his father." Jane loves him inspite of everything and I can also see why. I hope she fixes him and they have a very happy married life.

English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes.

Your English looks perfect to me. This question is in response to this question.

I don't know if Frank is as bad as you present him or as Andy thinks (I heartily disagree with him). Frank is a spoiled brat and he doesn't have much emotional regulation, but I think a lot of his acting out at Box Hill and the day before is due to his frustration at the engagement taking so long, not at Jane herself or her situation. He talks about how his aunt has only ever denied him a few times, one being going abroad. I think when Frank entered the engagement, he thought he would win his aunt over and it would be done and he'd be happy. The separation is wearing on him.

I think he has a bit too much fun "keeping" (he is not good at this) his secret but he also does not take the secret as seriously as Jane. He's annoyed with her because he wanted to walk her home and she said no. He's desperate to spend time with her but he can't. I think his problem at Box Hill is he takes Jane's rational secret keeping as a rejection of him (it's not). He thinks Jane's love is wearing out.

I could see them having a very happy marriage now that the moral dilemma facing Jane (secret engagement) is gone and Frank is more free to do as he pleases.

#jane austen #frank churchill #question response

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twoidiotwriters1 · 7 months ago

Text

Almighty (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Just found out the Waystation's building is real and omg I wish I lived there too it's gorgeous?? -Danny Words: 3,125 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

XXIV: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing, and None of You Can Stop Me

"So Mom could've been a sorceress?" I ask Percy after he tells me about Hecate's house. "That's crazy! It's like she was always meant to be part of our world, huh? Bet it makes you feel less guilty."

Percy raises a brow. "What do you mean?"

"You told me you felt guilty because if it weren't for you, our mother would've had an easier life and everything—but in another life where you don't exist, she's still involved in our world. So no matter what she was fated to this."

My brother leans back on the booth and swirls his Himbo smoothie. "Maybe. Yeah. Well, in any case, she said she's happier in this life, so now I'm not guilty about existing."

I cheer playfully, patting him on the back. "Let's drink to that!"

He laughs, our tall glasses clinking as we make the rims touch. I take a sip of mine, still pondering. Percy didn't ask me for help this time, but honestly? Kinda glad he didn't. He told me Hecate's dog gave him a vision of what Troy looked like during the war, and that he almost couldn't believe I had gone through it.

I had to remind him that, in fact, I had not. I don't have any bits of Helen in me, that's all in the past. I'm 100% Arae Jackson. He was pretty happy to hear that, and I supposed I should be happy too, I don't need to feel guilty about something someone else did a bunch of centuries ago.

"Have you ever asked her how she sees the world?"

"Whatcha mean?" Percy asks while slurping loudly.

"I've always wondered if it's even scarier for them, but I've never asked Rachel or Mom because I'm not even sure they'd know what to say. Like describing colors to a blind person."

"Hm," he nods. "Don't know if I'd like to know. I already feel pretty paranoid whenever I'm outside and spot something strange."

"Yeah," I chuckle. That's one power I'm glad no god ever gave me.

Ara has been stressed for so long that she's forgotten how it feels not to endure pain in her jaw. First, Festus decides to blowtorch a statue, then Calypso and Lester start fighting, and now she feels like a thousand eyes are staring at them.

She's so stiff on her seat that Leo immediately zeroes in her. "What's wrong, doll?"

"There's something going on but I don't know what it is," she looks around with suspicion.

"Well, Festus is clearly not having fun here," Lester huffs. "So maybe let's try a few miles ahead—"

"No, we're in the right spot," Ara interrupts him, scowling at him over her shoulder. "I don't need your visions to know it. Something is hiding here. Something big."

"What? How can you—"

"Morning," waves a guy at them.

"'Sup, dude," Leo waves back.

Ara's rosy cold cheeks lose their color. "Oh."

"Why was he so friendly? Does he not see that we're sitting atop a fifty-ton metal dragon?" Calypso asks, also sensing something's wrong.

"Guys, maybe we should park outside of town..." Ara says, following the stranger with her eyes.

"It's the Mist, girls, don't worry—Makes monsters look like stray dogs. Makes swords look like umbrellas. Makes me look even more handsome than usual—Ow!"

"I know what the Mist is, Leonidas—"

Ara's attention gets swooped out of the current when she hears her boyfriend's full—and secret—name. She looks at Leo pointedly and he winces, knowing what's to come.

"She knows your name?"

"Yeah, I told her."

"Oh, really?" Ara raises a brow. "Interesting."

"It's actually a funny story..."

"I actually don't care."

"You don't look very convincing."

"Much like that guy's body," Ara goes back to the main subject. "Lester, did you see that?"

The boy blinks. "The mortal?"

"That thing was not mortal!"

Festus quivers and creaks. Leo and Ara look at it with the same expression. "Aw, not again," Leo grumbles. "Everybody off!"

Ara jumps unwillingly, reaching under her cloak and holding Almighty in her fist. She turns her back to Festus to keep an eye on their surroundings, only hearing the automaton spit fire and give Leo a hellish shower for the second time in the month. "Dang it! Festus, it's cold out here!"

"There's clothes for you in my bag," she glances back without reacting to his asbestos boxer shorts. It isn't fun to think all the times she's seen her boyfriend in underwear have been purely accidental.

"You're an angel and I love you," Leo crouches and flips a switch behind Festus's front paw, turning him into extremely heavy luggage. "Man... I thought we'd fixed his gyro-capacitor. Guess we're stuck here until we find a machine shop."

"And if we find such a shop, how long will it take to repair Festus?" Calypso asks anxiously.

"If Ara doesn't get sidetracked with killing stuff— From six to ten hours," Leo's voice is muffled as he pulls a sweater over his head. "Also, did you steal these, sunshine?"

"Well, I'm definitely not carrying an American Express."

"Ara," he says reproachfully, then looks down at his sweater. "Holy 'dite, is this Ralph Lauren? When did you even loot that place?"

"While you were being chased by the Kool-aid deity."

"Hello!"

Ara turns Almighty into a sword and points it at the woman, which startles the rest of her group. "Whoa!" Leo hurries to put on his new jeans—exactly the right size—and stumbles over. "What are you doing?"

"Stand back!" She orders. "What do you want, creature?"

Lester clears his throat. "That's just some lady, General..."

She looks at them with frustration. "No, she's not!" Ara points the sword at the woman's neck. "Speak!"

"Oh, my!" The woman's rigid face doesn't flinch as she steps forward. "Aren't you children cute!"

"Alright, you die." Ara is about to jab the sword through her when Lester and Leo yank her back. "Wha—Let go!" Ara pushes them away. "What's wrong with you? Their faces are all wrong!"

"What are you talking about?" Lester scrutinises the woman with confusion. "She might be overdoing it with the makeup but she's mortal, Ara—"

"We need to go." The girl glares at the thing in front of her, specifically at the lumps protruding on her dress and where the voice is actually coming from.

"You can't go yet! We haven't welcomed you to Indiana!" The woman pulls out a smartphone, and Ara pounces again, but she's not fast enough. "It's him, all right—"

The group screams at her to stop but then they fall silent when the sword slices the head right off the body. No blood comes out, but Ara knew that would happen. "Holy Hephaestus!" Leo stares at the head wide-eyed. "The heck is that, an automaton?"

"No, dear," says the woman's torso. "I'm Nanette. And I must say, cutting off my head wasn't very polite."

"Be glad I didn't kill you," Ara growls, then uses charmspeak. "Show yourself." The body stiffens, and after half a second, unbuttons the front of her dress revealing a giant face covering the entirety of the torso.

"A blemmyae," Lester yelps. "How did I miss that?"

"I'm arresting you in the name of the Triumvirate!" At her words, every single pedestrian around them whirls around and encircles them.

"Lester, can these things be killed with a sword?" Ara asks without looking away from the creatures.

"Nu-uh," he says shakily. "Tough skin, like Pollo."

Ara curses in ancient Greek. "Leo?"

He lits up his fist while grabbing Festus's handle with the other. "I doubt my fire would do any better than 'mighty, but I can try..."

"Calypso," Ara glances at her. "Stand close, your daggers won't do any harm." The girl—unhappy about the order—obeys and steps closer to her. "I'm kachowing these guys." Knowing what it means, her three companions duck and she summons lightning through her sword, splitting it into lines that hit each pedestrian in the chest.

They fall like dominos, but Ara's just telling her friends to get moving when Nanette sits up and pushes the singed piece of fabric away from her face. "That was NOT nice. We will have to stomp you."

Ara pulls a bomb from the Octopus bag, tossing it at the creature. She turns and starts running with her friends following close. "Ten seconds of advantage!"

Ara doesn't realize she's following a trace until the ghost shows up. She trips to a stop causing Calypso to crash against her and tumble over. Lester and Leo hurry to pick them up and Ara points ahead. "Headless body—"

"Watch out!"

A large piece of a lamp post slams the girls against the ground once more. Calypso cries out and Ara pushes herself up to her knees. "What the Hades..." She grunts, pulling another bomb and tossing it at the very end of the alley.

"Girls!" Leo gets up and scrambles over to them, unsure of which one to pick up first. Lester goes directly to pull Ara to her feet, so Leo helps Calypso roll over, but she's broken a leg, so he has to hold her up.

Ara looks at the stunned blemmyae with anger. "I'll rip their bronze heads and feed them back to them..."

"You okay to walk?" Lester questions anxiously.

Ara moves out of his grip, picking up Almighty and Festus in luggage form. "Help Leo with Calypso."

They reach a plaza and Ara's eyes immediately fix on an old train station. There is a shiny tint over it, and it draws her in. "That site," she strides ahead. "You see that?"

"You're the only one having the 20/20 demigod vision," Lester grumbles, unhappy about carrying Cal when Ara is far stronger than he is.

The blemmyae are slow walkers, so even though they can still hear them, they're not close enough to harm them. Ara rushes to the building and stops, whistling soundly. "Anyone home?"

A ladder appears and a lady of about sixty comes down from it, she's sturdy yet light on her feet, and when she jumps the last three rungs, she does so with impressive dexterity. "So it's true... You're Apollo."

"H-have we met?"

"You don't remember me," she eyes him. "No, I don't suppose you would. Call me Emmie. And the ghost you saw—that was Agamethus. He led you to our doorstep." She looks at Ara and smiles. "Nice to meet you, General. I've heard great things about you."

Ara opens her mouth to greet her but the blemmyae catch up to them and Nanette's voice rings across the plaza. "You'll never gain access to the blue cave! The emperor has it too well guarded! The naming celebration is in three days, and you and the girl will be the main attractions in his slave procession!"

Calypso gestures at the creature and lets out what seems to be a rather strong insult in Minoan. Emmie steps forward and draws out her bow. "Hang on a second..."

She shoots faster than Ara has ever seen Lily aim a shot, and Nanette is quickly nothing but a golden dust pile. The plaza's floor expands circular openings from which crossbows erupt and aim at the crowd.

"That will keep them away."

Leo whistles in appreciation. "Those crossbow turrets are the bomb-diggity."

"Thank you... I think." Emmie narrows her eyes in confusion.

"Yeah, so maybe you could help us with our friend Cal?" Leo gestures at the girl he's holding. "She's not doing so well."

"Broke her leg," Ara explains.

"You said her name was Cal?"

"Calypso," Leo clarifies.

"Ah." Emmie's face falls a bit. "That explains it. She looks so much like Zoë."

"Zoë Nightshade?" Lester asks weakly.

Ara's stomach churns with guilt. She'd forgotten Calypso and Zoë were related, but now that she thinks about it, they do look alike. Ara only met the late hunter once, before she went on a quest to find Artemis, but she was quite intimidating. Calypso... not so much.

She tries hard to become a better fighter, but truth be told she isn't good at sword fighting or has a strong punch. Most of the time, Ara and Leo have to take turns looking after Lester and Calypso, and even Leo has to be looked after sometimes. He hasn't trained enough to fight with swords and can only come so far with his fire powers and mechanics.

"We need to get off the street," Emmie tells the group. "Come, I'll take you into the Waystation."

Emmie takes them into a large and well-equipped infirmary.

"Oh, my," Lester says in awe. "Your med bay is cutting-edge."

"Yes. And Waystation is telling me I should treat your friend immediately."

Leo glances inside the room. "You mean this room just appeared here?"

"No," Emmie tilts her head. "Well, yes. It's always here, but... it's easier to find when we need it."

Leo hums. "You think the Waystation could organize my sock drawer?"

A brick falls from the ceiling between the boy's feet. "That's a no," Emmie smiles a little. "Now, I'll heal Calypso..."

"Uh..." Leo hesitates. "You got snakes in there. Just saying."

"You two go ahead," Emmie brushes off the reply. "You'll find Jo at the top of the ramp."

"Jo?" Lester inquires.

"You can't miss her. She'll explain the Waystation better than I could."

Emmie closes the infirmary door behind her and leaves them there. "Snakes?" Leo presses, looking at the other boy.

"Oh, yes. There's a reason a snake on a rod symbolizes medicine. Venom was one of the earliest cures."

"Huh." Leo moves on from that quickly. "You think I can keep this brick, at least?"

The corridor vibrates under their feet. "I would leave it there," Lester says, gently pushing Ara forward.

"Yeah, think I'll leave it there," Leo replies, reaching for Ara's hand and tugging her away from Lester.

Ara pretends not to notice these actions all the time, the ways Leo places distance between Lester and her, how he never lets them sit together when they're riding Festus. As if anything would happen! Ara has lost count of the times she's felt repelled by Lester's complete lack of manners.

A kid's room opens to their right: Drawings and pink curtains adorn the place, but the room hasn't been touched in a while, everything is too still, too quiet. Ara remembers the blemmyae mentioning a girl as part of an event happening in three days. "Interesting..." she mumbles but continues walking. When they reach the main living area, Ara feels a flutter in her tummy. It's like bunker nine but... cozier.

There is an ampler variety of machines and tools spread all over and Ara's hands crave to reach and play around, she spots a woman working on a far corner and she senses them too, leaving her welding work and pushing up her visor. "I'll be hexed!" She laughs. "Is that Apollo?"

She's bigger and taller than Emmie, although around the same age. Her hair is buzzcut and gray, but just like Emmie, she has an air of might and health that isn't common in elderly women. She approaches them and thrusts her hand onto Lester's.

"You probably don't remember me, Lord Apollo. I'm Jo. Or Josie. Or Josephine. Whichever."

"Yes," Lester whimpers, pulling his hand away and massaging it. "I mean, no. I'm afraid I don't remember. May I introduce Leo and Ara?"

"Leo! Ara!" She repeats the greeting with the teens. "I'm Jo."

"Hi," Ara smiles at her. "You've got a beautiful home."

"Thanks. Where's your friend Calypso?"

"How'd you know about Calypso?" Leo frowns.

Josephine touches her left temple. "Waystation tells me stuff."

"Oooh." Leo's soul light ignites like a firework. "That's cool."

"Calypso's in the infirmary. Broke her hand. And foot." Lester explains, still looking at Jo reluctantly.

"Ah." She looks at Ara. "Yeah, you met the neighbors."

"Do you often have problems with them?"

"Didn't use to. By themselves, blemmyae are pretty harmless, as long as you're polite to them. They don't have enough imagination to organize an assault. But since last year—"

"Let me guess. Indianapolis has a new emperor?"

"Best we don't talk about the emperor until Emmie and your friend join us," Jo says tensely. "Without Emmie around to keep me calm... I get worked up." Jo's soul light comes into view, a pink-coral glow that suits her perfectly.

"But we're safe here?" Leo's hand stretches out trying to sense the Waystation.

"I don't think this place is visible for most people," Ara answers. "You guys couldn't see it."

Jo smiles. "You're the daughter of Olympus." She eyes Ara's cloak and sword, then her gaze lands on the little twigs rooted in Ara's hair and raises a brow.

The girl feels self-conscious, her side pulsing painfully with embarrassment. "Uh, yeah. Yes."

"So, did you design this place? 'Cause it's pretty awesome," Leo distracts Jo sensing Ara's discomfort.

"I wish," Jo snorts. "A demigod architect with way more talent than me did that. Built the Waystation back in the 1880s, early days of the transcontinental railroad. It was meant as a refuge for demigods, satyrs, Hunters—pretty much anyone who needed one here in the middle of the country. Emmie and I are just lucky enough to be the present caretakers."

"I've never even heard of this place," Lester mumbles.

"We... ah, keep a low profile. Lady Artemis's orders. Need-to-know basis."

"I assume this place isn't a train station anymore. What do mortals think it is?"

"Waystation, transparent floor, please." They all look down. "Our living space occupies the top of the grand hall. That area below us was once the main concourse for the station. Now the mortals rent it out for weddings and parties and whatnot. If they look up—"

"Adaptive camouflage," Leo smiles, his soul light getting brighter. "They see an image of the ceiling, but they don't see you. Nice!"

Josephine nods. "Most of the time, it's quiet around here, though it gets noisy on weekends. If I have to hear 'Thinking Out Loud' from one more wedding cover band, I may have to drop an anvil." The floor goes back to normal. "Now if you guys don't mind, I need to finish a section of a project I'm working on. Don't want the metal plates to cool without proper welding. After that—"

"You're a child of Hephaestus, aren't you?" Leo asks eagerly.

"Hecate, actually."

"No way! But that sweet workshop area you got—"

"Magical construction is my specialty," Josephine grins. "My dad, my mortal dad, was a mechanic."

"Nice!" Leo beams. "My mom was a mechanic! Hey, if I could use your machine tools, I've got this dragon here and—"

"Ahem," Lester clears his throat. Ara glares at him, annoyed that he didn't allow Leo to have his fun. "Josephine, you were about to say after that...?"

"Right. Give me a few minutes. Then I can show you to some guest rooms. These days, we've got plenty of vacancies, unfortunately."

"Thank you," Ara says kindly.

"But I still don't understand," Lester frowns. "You say Artemis knows about this place. You and Emmie are—?"

Ara stomps on his foot interrupting him. Jo pretends not to notice and Ara turns back to her. "Yeah, that's fine."

"But—"

"I probably should let Hemithea tell you more about us," Jo dodges the conversation, making her way back to the welding area.

"Hemithea?" Lester's voice cracks. "Emmie. Short for Hemithea. The Hemithea?"

"I'll handle this," Ara smiles at the woman. "Go ahead."

"Okay... I'm gonna get back to that welding now. There's food and drinks in the kitchen. Make yourselves at home."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh @ebony-reine-vibes

#twoidiots writing #leo valdez x oc #doo #leo valdez fanfic #pjo fanfic #toa fanfic

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sarcasticsciencefictionwriter · 1 year ago

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Hiya!

Helen for the latest ask thing:))

Hello! Thank you! 🥰

Helen

1.She's emotional

Helen is very often depicted as not having many emotions/disliking them/doing everything she can not to feel. But she feels a great deal, probably more than everyone else, she just feels like she has to hide because so many people depend on her. So she keeps her feelings to herself and feels them so much, but alone. She tries not to share them because she doesn't want to burden the people that depend on her. It makes for some angsty writing, sometimes, but I feel it's true to her character.

2. She makes mistakes

I keep this in mind because the temptation to right Helen as not making mistakes is sometimes kind of high. She does what she thinks is right and what is best for everyone and everything, but that doesn't mean she is. She's just as human as everyone else, even if she's had more time to make mistakes and learn from them.

3. She doesn't need a romantic partner

I love Helen + whoever as much as the next person, but she doesn't need a romantic partner. She might like to have one and it's fun to have her be happy with someone, but that doesn't mean she needs one. She's a great character that can stand on her own, the fact that she's had and will have romantic partners is a coincidence, not a requirement.

4. She can be a bitch

And she's good at it. I'll admit, it's really fun to write Helen that way (especially since so many female characters aren't allowed it!). And she is. And she's not just a bitch because someone was wrong/did something wrong, etc. She can be one over pretty much everything, but most of the time she knows how to check herself so it doesn't spread too far.

5. She collects 'strays'

Helen is always going to take in a misfit, human or abnormal, and if taking them in doesn't suit that person, she will 100% help them make it to a situation that does. They may not even realize that she's seen them and adopted them in a sense (like when she paid for Will's scholarship, I imagine he wasn't the first or the last). But she does.

#truedairship #i'm soooooo sorry this took so long to answer #my brain locked up and was being a bitch #thanks for the ask!#ask answered #helen magnus

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hs122 · 9 months ago

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Fictober 2024: "That was good work"

TW: hanging, death, mutilation of a corpse, poor writing

Original characters in unoriginal world: Vampire: the Masquerade.

I'm serious about the poor writing. You've been warned.

“So I just place this candle…”

“In between the fingers of the hand, that’s correct,” Helen said curtly. Helen wasn’t a mean person, but she was rather angry at the moment. She was angry at me, for the record, not the fledgling. Helen’s colorful pastel sundress made her pale skin seem even more pale, but it was the fact that she wore colors that was likely more the statement. It’s hard to get blood out of colors.

Helen was showing the fledgling how to use the Hand of Glory, a grisly mummified hand that was wrapped in cloth. Helen’s pale fingers placed the candle in between the fingers, and she made the motion of lighting it. The candle itself was an off-white color, and smelled horrible.

It was made from human fat though, so, you know, you get what you get. Fortunately, none of us actually needed to breath.

“Once you light it,” Helen continued, “it will cause all who are touched by its light to fall into a deep sleep. With the exception of the one who lights it.”

The Fledgling in question, Tamika, was a younger Black woman. Embraced in what seemed to be her mid-twenties, she had a very professional air about her, which was par for the course for a Ventrue. The vampiric ‘Clan of Kings’ always carried itself rather confidently, and she was no exception. The Ventrue were also cursed with a very refined palate. The dietary restrictions never made sense to me; one Ventrue could only feed from Frat Bros, one could only feed from gay men, and on and on it goes.

In Tamika’s case, it was a state of being: Sleeping people. I wasn’t sure what it was about sleeping people, but that was the restriction. She’d been getting away with it through the use of drugs and a healthy dose of breaking and entering.

But recently, it was clear that it was something of a hindrance, and the ability to just knock people out without pharmaceuticals that would also affect her was established as being very important. The clan was looking for narcoleptics, but they must have had some difficulties.

Which was when they turned to me. Eventually. As a middle man.

“I think I understand,” Tamika said calmly, in a controlled and professional manner. I could see a slight curving of her mouth, a slight increase in speed in her movements. She was probably excited. With Ventrue, it can be a little difficult to read the emotional states.

“Excellent,” I cut in. I was in something of a hurry, I still had shit to do and moonlight was burning. “You’re doing a test run later correct?”

Tamika nodded, “we are. A few of Cross’s mortal associates will participate.”

“Great, and once it’s shown that it works, we’ll be expecting payment. Be sure to remind Cross.” I said with a wide grin. I was really playing up the ‘used-car salesman’ vibe. It fit my reputation, and when Kindred knew what they were getting, business went smoother.

“He will,” Tamika said, her eyes guarded, but she couldn’t hide that slight eagerness. Cross’s childe must be very new for her to be showing this much emotion.

After she left, Helen and I sat in my ‘office’. It was an empty apartment, little decor outside a desk and chairs. It was ad hoc, which was important as I moved it often. I kept most of my stuff at storage facilities, but I never did real business there. Keep your business separate from your personal life. Boundaries are important for mental health.

“You didn’t tell her how we got it,” Helen observed.

“She didn’t ask,” I replied, “and no one wants to know how the sausage is made.”

“She’s Ventrue. I doubt she’d care too much,” Helen continued, “and it’s not exactly a secret Isaiah. It’s a known folkloric object. That it requires vampiric blood to be created is the secret.”

Helen was right, of course. She was rarely wrong. The ‘Murdering Hand of a Hanged Man’ is pretty easy to deduce. Find murderer, hang murderer, cut off hands. That you have to turn the rest of the corpse into candles is a fun addition.

“Well if she asks, we just tell her the truth,” I replied, “we hanged a Murderer and cut off his hands. Easy peasy. And I wouldn't count on her being so.... understanding. She's new, after all. I think she's been Kindred for what? A year? Maybe less?”

Helen narrowed her eyes at me. For all her clan’s fierce reputation as Blood Sorcerers, this Tremere vampire had a remarkably kind heart. Or at least less bloody minded and/or ruthless.

“I’ll tell her you got the materials,” Helen said after a minute. “Do you have your end of the bargain? I don’t work for free either.”

“You know,” I started slowly, “you could just move to Tampa. You wouldn’t have to deal with the Camarilla laws.” I pointed out.

Helen just stared at me. I knew she preferred the more neo-feudal order of the Camarilla St. Petersburg over the, uh, ‘lively’ state of affairs in Tampa.

“You can take my ‘Right of Childer’,” I said, giving a wave. I’d been given the right some time ago as payment. I wasn’t interested in training any new vampires though. Too much work to distract me from my work. “Go find your apprentice or whatever. Make your own fledgling.”

Helen gave me a disdainful expression, and I was briefly reminded that she could boil my blood with a glare. Not that she would, that is. Just that she could.

She strode out of the apartment quick enough though.

The inevitable call came the following night.

I had just gotten out of the shower when my phone rang. I hadn’t even gotten out of the bathroom.

“Speak,” I said simply.

“It’s Cross,” a deep voice said over the phone. I always forgot how hot he sounded when he spoke.

I looked myself in the mirror, trying to decided if I wanted to keep the scruff that regrew every single night or shave it off. I was never tan, so the pale nature of my skin wasn’t too dramatic of a change, but when I died I’d not shaved for several days. As a result, I have a ‘more than scruff, but less than a beard’ follicular situation on my face.

My dark brown hair was always short, since it wouldn’t ever grow anymore. Just to finish off your mental image of me, I frequently went to the gym when I lived. It wasn’t a huge part of my life or anything, I wasn’t a bodybuilder, but I was glad I kept myself in shape before I died.

“What’s up Cross?” I replied, fingering the wedding ring on my left hand.

“Where did you get the hands?” he asked bluntly. He wasn’t even bothering with coding his language. Must be secure. Or he must be genuinely concerned about something.

I smiled as I leaned against the bathroom counter.

“I don’t think I need to answer that,” I replied, “did it work or not?”

“It did,” Cross replied, “but that doesn’t answer the question. And you will answer the question Isaiah.”

You know, I don’t think I was ever this attracted to men when I was alive. I know there’s a stereotype of vampires being gay, but sometimes I wonder if that really does come with the fangs.

“From a murderer, obviously.” I replied with a slightly mocking tone to it. That wouldn’t irritate him, but it was still fun. “What, do you think I stole a corpse or something?”

“Hanging isn’t legal in Florida,” Cross growled, “they replaced it with the Electric chair in the 20’s. I pushed for that. So you didn’t steal the corpse. So. Where. Did. You. Get. The. Hands.”

He wasn’t going to let this go. Cross was probably hyperfocused on getting an answer. That’s one thing about Ventrue people don’t realize: they need to be obeyed. Clan of Kings? Yeah, because they obsess over getting people to just listen to them.

“I knew a murderer,” I replied, “a Ghoul and I used a chain and a truck to hang him. You know how mortals are with me, they always spill their deepest sins.” Being a Minister in life helped with that, I still find it funny that the Clan I was embraced into was called ‘The Ministry’. “He told me he killed his boss. Strangulation, conveniently enough.”

“I see,” Cross said, “and the entire body was used correct?”

Cross was head of a group that enforced the Masquerade, the lie that vampires are fiction. He was always wary of people killing the Kine, the mortals. If it was just a corpse or two, it didn’t usually matter, but if he heard about a killing, finding out what happened to the evidence was something he was always concerned with.

“Of course,” I said, “The fat was used to make the candles, the rest of the flesh was used to feed Anya’s garden. The bones I’m holding on to. I’ll drop the skull off in a few months so they can match dental records and close a missing person’s case. I’m thinking alligators.”

“Fine,” Cross said after a pause. There was another pause before he spoke again. “The system works very well. Tamika’s feeding will likely be far more consistent now.”

“Of course it works well,” I said. “Have I ever let you down? ”

There was a pause for a few seconds before he spoke again. He was actually thinking on the question.

“Well, you let Melissa down,” Cross replied with a bit of an edge before the line went dead.

He had to bring the fucking wife into this didn’t he?

You’re probably wondering about the murderer aren’t you? Why was I so evasive? Why not just tell him? Surely dealing with a death didn’t bother vampires to much.

Well, you’d be right. But Cross was likely concerned that I had a stable of serial killers on hand. Or he was worried that I did something stupid like break into a jail or something.

I’m not going to lie, that was the original plan.

But… well it turns out that breaking someone out of jail is a pain in the ass. We were thinking of bribing a warden into giving us the corpse after an execution, but Cross was right, Hanging was banned in the 20’s.

It turns out, when you want to make a Hand of Glory, store bought murderer isn’t an option. You have to make your own.

“Please! Please don’t!” the man shouted. I honestly forgot his name at that point. It was so easy to convince him murder would solve his problems.

I mean, he’d been wanting to murder his boss for months now. Ever since he found out the guy was sleeping with his wife. It didn’t take much to convince him that the killing was justified, and that God rewards those who mete out justice.

We were out in the middle of a swamp. It was pretty deep in, so no one to hear him. Judging by the far too intelligent looking wolf that kept watch over us, I didn’t think we had anything to worry about from humans.

Our murderer was a rather rotund individual, mid-forties, balding. He was in some kind of middle-management position. Once I thought he’d go far, that he had the will to advance, to liberate himself from the chains society had placed on him.

But no. He held onto those chains for dear life. The only time he cut them was when it benefitted him. He resisted true liberation.

“Please! No! You said it would all be okay!” the man shouted some more.

I was only half listening. I was tired of dealing with this job. It should have been easy. I mean, it was, but it was just annoying.

“And everything will be okay,” I said finally, “once you finally shut up. Cora, please, let’s hurry this up.”

Cora’s a ghoul. An aggressively lesbian ghoul with long blonde hair in a loose ponytail, has an affinity for plaid in a variety of color combinations, and loves Doc Martins. She was young when her Regnant, a Tzimisce named Anya, turned her into a Ghoul. Thus, at least 20 years later, she still looks like you need to see ID before you give her a drink. That’s the power of becoming a ghoul people: eternal youth and you still get sunlight, so long as you get your fix regularly.

“No! No! Please! I have a-” His voice was cut off as I made eye contact.

I knew what he was seeing: two vibrantly green eyes, with large black slits. Snake eyes. The eyes of a serpent. Just as the myths of gorgons, he froze, his body no longer moving. There would be no more words.

Cora frowned at me and started up the truck. As she drove, the chain tightened and the man rose into the air, his restrained body squirming as I lost eye contact for a second and he tried to free himself. At least he wasn’t shouting anymore.

“Finally,” I muttered, as I watched the squirming man.

Bob! That was his name! Bob Carter. That was going to bother me all night. His wife was Cindy Carter, a few kids. Might have to check in on them in a few months.

I knew there was still more work to do on this, but at least the end was in sight. Cora would have to go and bury the body somewhere overnight, and my understanding was that she already had a hole ready. And once that was done, it would have to be exhumed the following night, and then the candles would actually have to be made. Fortunately, I wasn’t going to have to do that. That was all Helen. I knew some sorcery, but I didn’t know how to make candles. You needed both. Helen apparently made candles as a wee child back in the 30’s.

Cora got out and walked around to stand next to me. She wasn’t my ghoul, she drank Anya’s blood, not mine. It made being around her a little… awkward. It was a bit like being stuck with someone’s kid or something. I could deal with that though. Collecting favors and boons from an up-and-coming Ventrue usually proved helpful, especially when you knew she’d be a repeat customer eventually.

“So, uh,” she started. “How long do you think?”

“Eh, give it 10 minutes or so,” I said calmly. “Just remember to lower the corpse into the bed. You know the drill.”

Cora nodded, she knew how to clean up a mess. Even one that was at least twice her size.

A few nights later, I was at Cross’s corporate office. He might have been alive when slavery was still a thing, but he kept with the times. The Masquerade enforcer had a data collection and analysis firm that worked in advertising and market research. A great cover for a group that essentially did city wide surveillance.

A beacon of the modern corporate hive, the office was all glass and modernist architecture, but it still had a strange sense of oppression. A feeling that you were being controlled, that you were under the dominion of another.

Cross was the person I needed to meet with, but, well, I have to follow up on my work.

“So,” I said as I slid in the chair that sat in front of Tamika’s desk. I wasn’t sure what she did, but it must have been very important for her to both have an office and be Embraced. “How is the Hand working?”

Tamika’s flat expression was briefly broken with a smile. It probably helped that I had turned off the ‘used-car salesman’ vibe and was now aiming for something along the lines of ‘proud artisan’.

“It works wonderfully,” Tamika said simply. “Thank you for your assistance.”

It was kind of cute, receiving an actual thank you. It even seemed genuine.

“Well I can’t take all the credit,” I said, leaning back in the chair. “Helen made the actual candles. I just collected the materials.”

Tamika’s face seemed to twitch, a bit of a suspicious eyeing. It was gone quickly.

“Still,” she said after a moment, “That was good work.”

#fictober24 #writing exercise #vtm #vampire the masquerade #I'm really serious about the poorly written warning

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charlies-letters · 6 months ago

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December 25, 1991

Dear friend, I am sitting in my dad’s old bedroom in Ohio. The family is still downstairs. I really don’t feel very well. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’m starting to get scared. I wish we were going back home tonight, but we always sleep over. I don’t want to tell my mom about it because it would just make her worry. I would tell Sam and Patrick, but they didn’t call yesterday. And we left this morning after we opened presents. Maybe they called this afternoon. I hope they didn’t call this afternoon because I wasn’t there. I hope it’s okay that I’m telling you this. I just don’t know what else to do. I always get sad when this happens, and I wish Michael were here. And I wish my Aunt Helen were here. I miss my Aunt Helen like this. Reading the book isn’t helping either. I don’t know. I’m just thinking too fast. Much too fast. It’s like tonight.

The family watched It’s a Wonderful Life, which is a very beautiful movie. And all I could think was why didn’t they make the movie about Uncle Billy? George Bailey was an important man in the town. Because of him, a whole bunch of people got to get out of the slums. He saved a town, and when his dad died, he was the only guy who could do it. He wanted to live an adventure, but he stayed behind and sacrificed his dreams for the better good of the community. And then when that made him sad, he was going to kill himself. He was going to die because his life insurance money would have taken care of his family. And then an angel comes down and shows him what life would be if he had never been born. How the whole town would have suffered. And how his wife would have been an “old maid.” And my sister didn’t even say anything about how that’s such an old-fashioned thing, this year. Every other year she says something about how Mary was working for a living, and just because she’s not married, it doesn’t mean that she is worthless. But this year she didn’t. I didn’t know why. I thought it might be about that secret boy of hers. Or maybe it’s what happened in the car on the way over to our grandma’s house. I just wanted the movie to be about Uncle Billy because he drank a lot and was fat and lost the money in the first place. I wanted the angel to come down and show us how Uncle Billy’s life had meaning. Then, I think I’d feel better.

It started yesterday at home. I don’t like my birthday. I don’t like it at all. I went shopping with my mom and sister, and my mom was in a bad mood because of parking spaces and lines. And my sister was in a bad mood because she couldn’t buy her secret boy a present and hide it from Mom. She would have to come back herself later. And I felt weird. Really weird, because as I was walking around all the stores, I didn’t know what present my dad would like to receive from me, I knew what to buy or give Sam and Patrick, but I didn’t know what I could buy or give or make for my own dad. My brother likes posters of girls and beer cans. My sister likes a haircut gift certificate. My mom likes old movies and plants. My dad only likes golf, and that is not a winter sport except for in Florida, and we don’t live there. And he doesn’t play baseball anymore. He doesn’t like to be even reminded unless he tells the stories. I just wanted to know what to buy my dad because I love him. And I don’t know him. And he doesn’t like to talk about things like that.

“Well, why don’t you chip in with your sister and buy him that sweater?” “I don’t want to. I want to buy him something. What kind of music does he like?” My dad doesn’t listen to music a lot anymore, and the stuff he likes, he has. “What kind of books does he like to read?” My dad doesn’t read books too much anymore because he listens to books on cassette tapes on the way to work, and he gets them free from the library. What kind of movies? What kind of anything? My sister decided to buy the sweater on her own. And she started to get mad at me because she needed time to come back to the store to buy that present for her secret boyfriend. “Just buy him some golf balls, Charlie. Jesus.” “But that’s a summer sport.” “Mom. Would you make him buy something?” “Charlie. Calm down. It’s okay.”

I felt so sad. I didn’t know what was going on. Mom was trying to be really nice because when I get like this, she is the one that tries real hard to keep things calm.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” “No. Don’t be sorry. You want to get a nice present for your father. That’s a good thing.” “Mom!” My sister was really getting mad. My mom didn’t even look at my sister. “Charlie, you can buy your father whatever you want. I know he’ll love it. Now, calm down. It’s okay.” My mom took me to four different stores. Each one my sister just sat in the nearest chair and groaned. I finally found the perfect store. It was a movie place. And I found a videocassette of the last episode of M*A*S*H without the commercials. And I felt a lot better. Then, I started telling Mom about how we all watched it together.

“She knows, Charlie. She was there. Let’s go. Duh.”

My mom told my sister to mind her own business, and she listened to me tell the story that she already knew, leaving out the part about my dad crying because that was our little secret. My mom even told me how I tell stories very well. I love my mom. And this time, I told her I loved her. And she told me she loved me, too. And things were okay for a little while. We were sitting at the dinner table, waiting for my dad to come home with my brother from the airport. He was really late, and my mom started to worry because it was snowing really hard outside. And she kept my sister at home because she needed help with dinner. She wanted it to be extra special for my brother and for me because he was coming home, and it was my birthday. But my sister just wanted to buy her boyfriend a present. She was in a really bad mood. She was being like those bratty girls in movies from the 1980s, and my mom kept saying “Young lady” after every sentence. My dad finally called and said that because of the snow, my brother’s plane was going to be very late. I just heard my mom’s side of the discussion. “But it’s Charlie’s birthday dinner... I don’t expect you to do anything about it... did he miss it? I’m just asking... I didn’t say it was your fault... no... I can’t keep it warm... it’ll be dry... what... but it’s his favorite... well, what am I supposed to feed them... of course they’re hungry... you’re already an hour late... well, you could have called...”

I don’t know how long my mom was on the phone because I couldn’t stay at the table and listen. I went into my room and read. I wasn’t hungry anymore anyway. I just wanted to be in a quiet place. After a little while, my mom came into the room. She said that dad had just called again, and they should be home in thirty minutes. She asked me if anything was wrong, and I knew that she didn’t mean my sister, and I knew that she didn’t mean she and Dad fighting on the phone because that stuff just happens sometimes. She just noticed that I looked very sad today, and she didn’t think it was my friends leaving because I looked okay yesterday when I came back from sledding.

“Is it your aunt Helen?” It was the way she said it that started me feeling. “Please, don’t do this to yourself, Charlie.” But I did do it to myself. Like I do every year on my birthday. “I’m sorry.” My mom wouldn’t let me talk about it. She knows that I stop listening and start to really breathe fast. She covered my mouth and wiped at my eyes. I calmed down enough to make it downstairs. And I calmed down enough to be glad when my brother came home. And when we ate dinner, it wasn’t too dry. Then, we went outside to put up luminaria, which is an activity where all our neighbors fill brown paper bags with sand and line the street with them. Then, we stick a candle in the sand of each bag, and when we light the candles, it turns the street into a “landing strip” for Santa Claus. I love putting luminaria up every year because it is very beautiful and a tradition and a good distraction from my birthday.

My family gave me some really nice birthday presents. My sister was still mad at me, but she got me a Smiths record anyway. And my brother got me a poster signed by the whole football team. My dad gave me some records that my sister told him to buy. And my mom gave me some of the books she loved when she was a kid. One of them was The Catcher in the Rye.

I started reading my mom’s copy from the place I left off with Bill’s copy. And it made me not think about my birthday. All I thought was that I am going to take my driver’s test sometime soon enough. That was a pretty good thing to think about. And then I thought about my driver’s education class this past semester.

Mr. Smith, who is kind of short and smells funny, wouldn’t let any of us turn on the radio as we rode around. There were also two sophomores, one boy and one girl. They used to secretly touch each other’s legs in the backseat when it was my turn. Then, there was me. I wish I had a lot of stories about driver’s education class. Sure, there were these movies about death on the highway. And sure there were police officers coming to talk to us. And sure it was fun to get my learner’s permit, but Mom and Dad said they didn’t want me driving until I absolutely had to because insurance is so expensive. And I could never ask Sam to drive her pickup truck. I just couldn’t. These kind of things kept me calm the night of my birthday.

The next morning Christmas started out nice. Dad liked his copy of M*A*S*H a lot, which made me so happy, especially when he told his own story about that night we watched it. He left out the part about him crying, but he winked at me, so I knew he remembered. Even the two-hour drive to Ohio was actually okay for the first half hour, even though I had to sit on the hump in the backseat, because my dad kept asking questions about college, and my brother kept talking. He is dating one of those cheerleader girls who does flips during college football games. Her name is Kelly. My dad was very interested in that. My sister made some remark about how cheerleading is stupid and sexist, and my brother told her to shut up. Kelly was majoring in philosophy. I asked my brother if Kelly was unconventionally beautiful.

“No, she’s hot beautiful.”

And my sister started talking about how the way a woman looks is not the most important thing. I agreed, but then my brother started saying how my sister was just a “bitchy dyke.” Then, my mom told my brother to not use such language in front of me, which was strange considering I am probably the only one in the family with a friend who is gay. Maybe not, but one who actually talks about it. I’m not sure. Regardless, my dad asked how my brother and Kelly met.

My brother and Kelly met at a restaurant called Ye Olde College Inn or something like that at Penn State. They supposedly have this famous dessert called “grilled stickies.” Anyway, Kelly was with her sorority sisters, and they started to leave, and she dropped her book right in front of my brother, and she kept walking. My brother said that although Kelly denies this, he’s sure that she dropped the book on purpose. The leaves were in full bloom when he caught up with her in front of the video arcade. That’s how he described it anyway. They spent the rest of the afternoon playing old video games like Donkey Kong and feeling nostalgic, which as a general statement, I found sad and sweet. I asked my brother if Kelly drank cocoa.

“Are you high?”

And again my mom asked my brother not to use such language in front of me, which was strange again because I think I’m the only person in my family who’s ever been high. Maybe also my brother. I’m not sure. Definitely not my sister. Then again, maybe my whole family has been high, and we just don’t tell each other these things.

My sister spent the next ten minutes denouncing the Greek system of sororities and fraternities. She kept telling stories of “hazing” and how kids have died before. She then told this one story about how she heard there was a sorority that made the new girls stand in their underwear while they circled their “fat” in red magic markers. My brother had had enough of my sister at that point.

“Bullshit!”

I still can’t believe that my brother swore in the car, and my dad or mom didn’t say anything. I guess because he’s in college now, it’s all right. My sister didn’t care about the word. She just kept going.

“It’s not bullshit. I heard it.” “Watch your mouth, young lady,” my dad said from the front seat. “Oh, yeah? Where did you hear it?” my brother asked. “I heard it on National Public Radio,” my sister said. “Oh, Jesus.” My brother has a very full laugh. “Well, I did.” My mom and dad looked like they were watching a tennis match through the windshield because they just kept shaking their heads. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t look back. I should point out, though, that my dad slowly started turning the Christmas music on the radio to a deafening volume.

“You are so full of shit. How would you know anything anyway? You haven’t been to college. Kelly didn’t go through anything like that.”

“Oh, yeah... like she’d tell you.” “Yeah... she would. We don’t keep secrets.” “Oh, you’re such a sensitive new age guy.” I wanted them to stop fighting because I was starting to get upset, so I asked another question. “Do you talk about books and issues?” “Thank you for asking, Charlie. Yes. As a matter of fact we do. Kelly’s favorite book just happens to be Walden by Henry David Thoreau. And Kelly just happened to say that the transcendental movement is a close parallel to this day and age.” “Oooo. Big words.” My sister rolls her eyes better than anyone.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was anyone talking to you? I happen to be telling my younger brother about my girlfriend. Kelly says that she hopes a good Democratic candidate will challenge George Bush. Kelly says that her hope is that the E.R.A. might finally pass if that happens. That’s right. The E.R.A. that you always squawk about. Even cheerleaders think about those things. And they can actually have fun in the meantime.”

My sister folded her arms in front of her and started whistling. My brother was too much on a roll to stop, though. I noticed that my dad’s neck was getting very red.

“But there’s another difference between you and her. You see... Kelly believes in women’s rights so much that she would never let a guy hit her. I guess I can’t say that about you.”

I swear to God, we almost died. My dad hit those brakes so hard that my brother almost flew over the seat. When the smell from the tires started to fade, my dad took a deep breath and turned around. First, he turned to my brother. He didn’t say a word. He just stared. My brother looked at my dad like a deer caught by my cousins. After a long two seconds, my brother turned to my sister. I think he felt bad about it because of how the words came out.

“I’m sorry. Okay? I mean it. C’mon. Stop crying.”

My sister was crying so hard, it was scary. Then, my dad turned to my sister. Again, he didn’t say a word. He just snapped his fingers to distract her from crying. She looked at him. She was confused at first because he wasn’t giving her a warm look. But then, she looked down and shrugged and turned to my brother.

“I’m sorry I said what I said about Kelly. She sounds nice.” Then, my dad turned to my mom. And my mom turned to us. “Your father and I don’t want any more fighting. Especially in the family’s house. Understood?” My mom and dad make a real team sometimes. It’s amazing to watch. My brother and sister both nodded and looked down. Then, my dad turned to me. “Charlie?” “Yes, sir?” It is important to say “sir” at these moments. And if they ever call you by your first-middle-last name, you better watch out. I’m telling you. “Charlie, I would like you to drive the rest of the way to my mother’s house.” Everyone in the car knew that this was probably the worst idea my dad ever had in his whole life. But no one argued. He got out of the car in the middle of the road. He got in the backseat between my brother and sister. I climbed in the front seat, stalled the car twice, and put on my seat belt. I drove the rest of the way. I haven’t sweat that much since I played sports, and it was cold out.

My dad’s family is kind of like my mom’s family. My brother once said it was like the same cousins with different names. The big difference is my grandma. I love my grandma. Everyone loves my grandma. She was waiting for us in the driveway as she always did. She always knew when someone was coming.

“Is Charlie driving now?” “He turned sixteen yesterday.” “Oh.” My grandma is very old, and she doesn’t remember things a lot, but she bakes the most delicious cookies. When I was very little, we had my mom’s mom, who always had candy, and my dad’s mom, who always had cookies. My mom told me that when I was little, I called them “Candy Grandma” and “Cookies Grandma.” I also called pizza crust “pizza bones.” I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s like my very first memory, which I guess is the first time I was aware that I was alive. My mom and my Aunt Helen took me to the zoo. I think I was three. I don’t remember that part. Anyway, we were watching these two cows. A mother cow and its baby calf. And they didn’t have a lot of room to walk around. Anyway, the baby calf was standing right underneath its mother, just kind of walking around, and the mother cow took a “dump” on the baby calf’s head. I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever seen in the whole world, and I laughed about it for three hours. At first, my mom and Aunt Helen kind of laughed, too, because they were happy that I was laughing. Supposedly, I didn’t talk hardly at all when I was a little kid, and whenever I seemed normal, they were happy. But into the third hour, they were trying to make me stop laughing, but it only made me laugh harder. I don’t think it was really three hours, but it seemed like a long time. I still think about it every now and then. It seems like a rather “auspicious” beginning.

After hugs and handshakes, we went into my grandma’s house, and the whole dad-side-of-the- family was there. Great Uncle Phil with his fake teeth and my aunt Rebecca, who is my dad’s sister. Mom told us that Aunt Rebecca just got divorced again, so we shouldn’t mention anything. All I could think about was the cookies, but Grandma didn’t make them this year because of her bad hip.

We all sat down and watched television instead, and my cousins and my brother talked about football. And my Great Uncle Phil drank. And we ate dinner. And I had to sit at the little kids’ table because there are more cousins on my dad’s side of the family. Little kids talk about the strangest things. They really do.

After dinner is when we watched It’s a Wonderful Life, and I started feeling more and more sad. As I was walking up the stairs to my dad’s old room, and I was looking at the old photographs, I started thinking that there was a time when these weren’t memories. That someone actually took that photograph, and the people in the photograph had just eaten lunch or something.

My grandma’s first husband died in Korea. My dad and my aunt Rebecca were very young. And my grandma moved with her two kids to live with her brother, my great uncle Phil.

Finally, after a few years, my grandma was feeling very sad because she had these two little kids, and she was tired from waitressing all the time. So, one day, she was working at this diner where she worked, and this truck driver asked her on a date. My grandma was very very pretty in that old photograph kind of way. They dated for a while. And finally they got married. He turned out to be a terrible person. He hit my dad all the time. And he hit my aunt Rebecca all the time. And he really hit my grandma. All the time. And my grandma really couldn’t do anything about it, I guess, because it went on for seven years.

It ended finally when my great uncle Phil saw bruises on my aunt Rebecca and finally got the truth out of my grandma. Then, he got a few of his friends together from the factory. And they found my grandma’s second husband in a bar. And they beat him up really bad. My great uncle Phil loves to tell the story when my grandma isn’t around. The story keeps changing, but the main point is still the same. The guy died four days later in the hospital.

I still don’t know how my great uncle Phil missed going to jail for doing what he did. I asked my dad once, and he said that the people that lived around his neighborhood understood that some things had nothing to do with the police. He said that if someone touched your sister or your mother, they paid the price, and everyone looked the other way.

It’s just too bad that it went on for seven years because my aunt Rebecca went through the same kind of husbands. My aunt Rebecca had it different, though, because neighborhoods change. My great uncle Phil was too old, and my dad left his hometown. She had to get restraining orders instead.

I think about what my three cousins, who are Aunt Rebecca’s children, will turn out like. One girl and two boys. I get sad, too, because I think that the one girl will probably end up like my aunt Rebecca, and the one boy will probably end up like his dad. The other boy might end up like my dad because he can really play sports, and he had a different dad than his brother or sister. My dad talks to him a lot and teaches him how to throw and hit a baseball. I used to get jealous about this when I was a little kid, but I don’t anymore. Because my brother said that my cousin is the only one in his family who has a chance. He needs my dad. I guess I understand that now.

My dad’s old room is very much the way he left it, except more faded. There is a globe on a desk that has been spun a lot. And there are old posters of baseball players. And old press clippings of my dad winning the big game when he was a sophomore. I don’t know why, but I really understood why my dad had to leave this house. When he knew my grandma would never find another man because she was through trusting and would never look for anything else because she didn’t know how. And when he saw his sister start bringing home younger versions of their stepfather to date. He just couldn’t stay.

I laid down on his old bed, and I looked through the window at this tree that was probably a lot shorter when my dad looked at it. And I could feel what he felt on the night when he realized that if he didn’t leave, it would never be his life. It would be theirs. At least that’s how he’s put it. Maybe that’s why my dad’s side of the family watches the same movie every year. It makes sense enough. I should probably mention that my dad never cries at the ending.

I don’t know if my grandma or Aunt Rebecca will ever really forgive my dad for leaving them. Only my great uncle Phil understood that part. It’s always strange to see how my dad changes around his mom and sister. He feels bad all the time, and his sister and he always take a walk alone together. One time, I looked out the window, and I saw my dad giving her money.

I wonder what my aunt Rebecca says in the car on the way home. I wonder what her children think. I wonder if they talk about us. I wonder if they look at my family and wonder who has a chance to make it. I bet they do.

Love always, Charlie

#charlies letters #the perks of being a wallflower

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braveclementine · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 11

Warnings: 18+ readers only, teasing, slight stimulation, pet names

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OCs: Elizabeth Silvertongue and Clementine Greenleaf. I also own Clementines' brother Donavan. The following OCs are owned by other Wattpad writers as this is a collaboration project. Their OCs are on the face claim page. I do not condone any copying of this.

For many weeks leading up to October, I would join Bucky and Steve for lunch after working on Sundays, while we slowly went through the Jurassic park movies. They loved hearing my tidbits as we went through Jurassic Park 2 and 3. When we reached Jurassic World however, Steve and Bucky had straightened up in shock.

"Is that Peter?" Steve asked.

"Maybe. . ." Bucky said slowly as though in doubt.

"Peter Quil?" I asked confused. "He's done a handful of movies, why?"

"He's a teacher we work with, that's all." Steve answered quickly. "Although he's more of a substitute so he's not here most of the time."

"Hmm so billionaires and movie stars work at this school. Interesting." I replied lightly, settling in as we watched Owen Grady train the raptors.

"Stars? As in plural?" Bucky asked.

"Oh yeah." I said. "Uh Dean Fury was in a couple of star wars movies, he was in the very first Jurassic park movie, he's been in quite a few movies. It's just a little bit of a surprise that people with so much money and could retire become teachers." Then I grinned, "Or maybe. . . maybe it's a cover. The school is a cover."

Steve looked like a deer in headlights but Bucky chuckled, pulling me closer in a teasing way. "Oh yeah? What sort of cover doll?"

Every single time he called me this nickname I needed to try and get space because I became so aroused. My cheeks burned too, so I knew he had to know he was making me flustered.

"Hmmm," I said thoughtfully. "The mafia?"

Steve chuckled softly and Bucky grinned, "The mafia hmm? You like bad boys like that?"

I was suddenly very confused and flustered, deciding it was better just to ignore him and watch the movies.

I wasn't sure why I had become so comfortable with my teachers, or when it had become so. It felt like it had been instantaneous before I remembered I spent a few weeks thinking Professor Barnes hated me. But that felt like a lifetime ago, not two months.

Bucky chuckled, "She does like bad boys."

"Shut up." I mumbled, biting my bottom lip, focusing solely on the boys arriving to the amusement park. "You'll miss the movie."

But I could feel his smug silence throughout the rest of the movie and when he drove me back to the campus.

I had also started hanging out in a very strange group which consisted of Helen, Ivy, Venus, and Destiny. Most of them had tragic pasts and Venus didn't talk much but whatever had happened to her had rendered her half-human, half-robot/cyborg and always looked like she was hiding something. The other three hadn't really shared their pasts, but from the way they constantly seemed to look around warily, there was definitely trauma.

I had also taken up therapy, which I attended every Friday after classes. I wasn't really sure if the classes were working, but it also felt just a little bit good opening up about some of the things I was feeling.

I had been wrong to an extent. Professor Wilson- or Sam as he was getting me to call him while we were in session- did not tell me things I wanted to hear. His advice was sometimes unappealing, but when followed through, I found it helpful.

And then there was John. After hanging out with him once or twice, despite my bad feelings, I found that he wasn't really bad company. He could even be funny, sometimes making me laugh.

But with all of this, I was barely seeing Clementine. We were both working, studying, and trying to balance social lives. . . but we weren't including each other in our social lives. I had tried to hang out with her friends and she had tried to hang out with mine. But her friends were all science nerds who seemed to go out of their way to make me feel stupid. And my friends were just not the right fit her.

I missed her though and I wondered if now that we were adults, we would grow apart completely.

Halloween started to roll around the corner, and the campus was hosting an outdoor movie night. I'm not sure if they just wanted us to freeze to death since the high was going to be sixty-three, but regardless, it was something the entire campus was talking about.

"Hey." Clementine said as she came into the dorm. I had just finished making a delicious salad with all the meats and stuff, putting it out on the table. I had leftover chicken that Bucky and I had cooked together one of my Saturdays over and had been able to bring home.

"Hey." I said, setting two plates down on the table. "How was class?"

"Good. I was thinking, we should go to the movie thing together. Dress up, ya know?" Clem asked, dropping her bag on the couch, sitting down as we started to eat.

"Any costume ideas?" I asked slowly, knowing that we usually paired outfits, but I wasn't sure if she was going to dress up with her new friend group.

"I was thinking Hololive characters?" Clementine said hesitantly. "What do you think?"

"Sounds adorable." I said slowly, trying to picture a costume in my mind. Gawr Gura would be pretty cute, but I wasn't sure I could pull her off. "Just us or are we including our friends too?"

"Up to you, but I'd like to do just us if you like that." Clementine said.

"Yeah." I smiled, popping a piece of sliced pepperoni into my mouth.

"Great!" Clementine said enthusiastically. "Can't wait to see which character you pick."

Yes, that was the question, wasn't it?

ꨄ︎

I finished braiding my newly dyed hair together, letting the dark strands layer in with the light gray, almost silver strands. Then I stood up, slowly and carefully getting into my outfit. It was a red plaid skirt with a gray sort've corset. It also came with a matching gray. . . almost collar sort've thing with gold edging and red string to tie it together. Clementine had helped me stitch together a slide on jacket with large, frilly sleeves that hid my hands and I had fashioned a hat to match everything. I even popped light red contacts in my eyes to finish the whole thing off.

I wore black stockings that ended above my knees, fitted with black lace, and then wore small school girl shoes. Finally, I stood in the mirror looking like Sakamata Chloe from Hololive.

I smiled and then exited the room to see that Clementine was waiting in the dorm for me. She had debated between Amelia Watson and Sakura Miko, before finally settling in as Houshou Marine.

She hadn't dyed her hair like I had, instead wearing a pink and white wig, with amber contacts in her eyes. She wore a neat little black dress that finished in a tight white collar around her neck. She wore black gloves that traveled mid-way up her arm. I wasn't quite sure what she was wearing around her legs, but she was also wearing school girl shoes.

I grinned, watching her twirl a butterfly knife in her hands. "You look great."

Clementine looked up, eyes lighting up as she saw me, "Oh you look amazing! The hair came out great!"

"Thanks." I said, grinning. "Ready to go?"

"Yes." She said, grabbing the bag of candy to stuff into her purse. I giggled, grabbing the pumpkin candy corns that for me and solely me.

We headed out of the dorm and I immediately felt giddy, seeing everyone else dressed up for Halloween. I had been a little worried that Clem and I might stand out as being too sexy, despite both of us covering up well enough. But my worries were unwarranted. Compared to half of the other girls here, Clem and I were practically the epitome of modesty.

"Let's sit near the back." Clementine suggested as we reached Central Park, the place that the College had set the outdoor movies at. "We can sit near the speakers, and we won't have to crane our necks to see the screen."

"Excellent." I said and we did just that, spreading the blanket out on the ground, making ourselves comfortable. We had even packed a small picnic and Clementine decided to set that up at the moment, pulling out the thermos of hot chocolate.

I pulled out the marshmallows and we made our cups and settled in as the first movie started, which was Nightmare Before Christmas. Then there was The Shining, then Hocus Pocus, which I absolutely loved.

"Hey girls." I heard a voice behind me as Coraline started to play. I looked up to see Professors Rogers, Barnes, and Wilson there.

"Hello Professors." We said together. I couldn't help but rake my eyes over them.

Professor Rogers was dressed as a cowboy, his brown leather vest sleeveless, showing off his rippling muscles. His blue jeans were skin tight, nearly painted on his legs, which showed off his firm thighs and fine ass.

Professor Barnes was dressed as a police officer, his blue cap perched jauntily on his head. The outfit did his thighs wonders, the muscles bulging against the fabric. His fingers played with the handcuffs that were sitting on his belt and as I met his eyes, he raised an eyebrow, lifting them, which just made me redder.

Professor Wilson didn't look half bad either, dressed as Dr. Facilier from the Princess and the Frog.

"You girls look great." Professor Rogers added and I suddenly realized that he'd been looking Clem and I over just as much as I had been looking him over. His cheeks were fairly pink and he quickly sat down next to me. Bucky sat behind the two of us, Professor Wilson taking the other side of Clem.

"Thanks." I mumbled.

"Good enough to eat." Bucky whispered so softly in my ear that I wasn't even sure I'd heard him say anything at all.

"You ever seen this movie before?" Steve asked, motioning to the movie screen. I had forgotten that we were even watching movies.

"A handful of times. Coraline is pretty good." I said. "Want some?" I asked, offering my bag of pumpkin candy corn.

He looked it blankly. "What is it?"

I gasped, "You haven't had candy corn before?"

"Good, don't, it's disgusting." Clementine called over to him, "It's literally just pure sugar and gelatin."

I huffed. "They're delicious. I don't know what you're problem is."

"Disgusting." Clementine muttered.

"You're the one who eats nuts in her candy." I muttered darkly, watching her bite into a snickers. I pretended to hold back vomit and Clementine punched me in the arm.

I placed a pumpkin in Steve's hand and Bucky reached over to pluck one out, both of them popping it into their mouths at the same time. Both of them made puzzled faces as they slowly chewed them over before Steve quickly swallowed his, reaching for his water. Bucky on the other hand, plucked a second one away from me to eat it again.

Just like with the Jurassic Park movies, I found myself getting far to comfortable, leaning against Steve's arm as the movie progressed. I could also feel Bucky moving in behind the two of us, his fingers grazing against my hip lightly.

I completely forgot that it wasn't just the three of us until Clementine coughed next to me. I jumped a little, my body jerking away from both of my Professors. I glanced over discretely to see if she had noticed, and received a shock.

Her head was rested against Professor Wilsons' shoulder, their fingers laced behind their backs on the blanket. I flushed, quickly looking away, placing my own hands in my lap.

I was feeling rather conflicted as Coraline ended and the last movie of the night came on: Pet Semetary. I had read the book and was quite confident that the movie wouldn't be as scary. . . I was wrong. They built the tension just perfectly in the movie and I had to hide my face into Steve's shoulder a fair number of times. And when the old man walked down the stairs slowly, I pressed back into Bucky and then flinched as the girl stabbed him in the ankle with the scissors, a muffled scream against my lips.

Bucky had just chuckled, pulling me into his arms, holding me tightly. I looked around, but no one was near us to care. Sam and Clem were seemingly in their own little world as Sam kissed her shoulder.

It grew colder as the night went on and I shivered, pressing into my brunette professor to gain some warmth. The movie slowly came to an end with a great finale, which I found terrifying, squealing behind clenched teeth that were starting to chatter.

"Should get inside." Steve said, as the wind picked up again. I jerked as the empty candy bag flew away, chasing after it out of instinct, not wanting to litter.

I nearly tripped over my own two feet, before managing to catch it, coming to a stop. Panting, I turned around and realized that I was in the forest bit of Central Park. I walked over to one of the trash cans, putting the bag in, before hearing a group of voices.

Out of instinct, I darted away, hiding behind a tree. It was indeed Clementines' friends, and I was glad that I had hidden, so no one could find me.

Just as I had thought that, a hand was placed over my mouth and I jumped, before relaxing at seeing it was just Professor Barnes.

"You know doll, running off like that, you could get hurt." Bucky whispered darkly in my ear. My breathing had slowed down now, shallow, anticipating what was going to happen next.

"Just didn't want to litter." I squeaked out.

"There's so many bad people out at night." He continued, his hands on my hips now, his knee moving slowly between my leg. I had never been touched by a man like this and my heart was pounding. Heat seemed to be gathering between my legs in an unfamiliar way. I hoped he couldn't feel it the way I could.

"G- good thing you're here then." I managed to say.

"Oh doll, I am one of those bad boys." I felt metal around my wrists as he closed the handcuffs around them, lifting the chain so that I was on my tiptoes, resting it on a branch above my head, pushing it back far enough so that I couldn't free myself. "But, something tells me," He pushed his knee into my core harder, "You like bad boys."

Our lips were inches apart, his blue eyes reflected in the moonlight. I felt dazed, my throat dry from the sweets and nothing to drink, eyelids tired, but adrenaline was coursing through my veins now.

"Buck?" Steve's voice broke through the air, breaking the spell and shame swelled inside of me. How could I have possibly even harbored this fantasy, how could I have even thought of humoring this, when Steve was Bucky's husband? How could Bucky do such a thing to Steve, when they said that they loved each other so much? "Bucky?"

"Right here Steve." Bucky purred, calling out. "I hope you're alone."

I couldn't understand why Bucky wasn't trying to get out of this compromising situation.

I heard Steve chuckle and say, "What are you up to punk?" I could hear his footsteps, crunching on the stiff grass as he came around the tree, stopping as he saw the two of us. Bucky ran his fingers across my chin, gripping my jaw so that I was forced to look at Steve. I could see his eyes, which darkened, a grin spreading across his face.

And I understood.

They were both in on it.

I was suddenly drenched and Bucky chuckled, slowly moving his knee in circles, stimulating something so that small waves of pleasure seemed to shoot through my body from my core, down to my toes, and up to my head.

"You look good princess." Steve purred, before coming to stand at the side of the tree, so he was behind me, and so he could whisper right into my ear. "Wanted to punch every guy that looked at you. You're to sexy in this outfit for your own good. This skirt makes your adorable little ass look so round and perfect."

I couldn't breathe. Steve didn't even like people using 'hell' or 'shit' in class. How could he be talking like this?

"You need to say something doll." Bucky whispered.

My brain finally caught up with what was happening. Before I could even stop myself, or deliver it in a different fashion, the words just slipped out of my mouth:

"I don't believe in sex outside of marriage."

My heart dropped out of my chest as they both took a step back. I closed my eyes, sighing, "Sorry. I-I-"

"Hey." Steve murmured softly, cupping my cheek. "That's alright Elizabeth. You don't have to worry, okay? We understand. Hell, that's a belief I've had for the longest time except-"

"You're already married." I grinned, glad that he was alright with it.

"No worries doll." Bucky kissed my cheek anyways. "Let me get you down."

"Sorry." I mumbled again.

"No. It's good you told us before we took it to a place you'd regret. That would be worse." Steve reassured me.

Suddenly, I thought I heard a familiar voice and I frowned. Steve went to speak again, but I held up my hands, since they were still cuffed together. They both fell silent and I listened hard.

". . . doing here?" Clementines' voice was angry.

"Happy Halloween sister."

"Get them off Buck, now!" I ordered, voice sharp and cold. The adrenaline was back, but this time it felt like I had a bucket of cold ice thrown over me. Bucky didn't hesitate, unlocking the handcuffs with a trick motion and I didn't look back as I sprinted in the direction of the voices.

"CLEMENTINE!" I shouted as I came to a fork in the path.

"Elizabeth?" Clementine's voice came from my left and I sprinted in that direction, skidding to a stop when I saw Donavan there.

"Well hello there Lizzy." Donavan grinned, dimples showing in both cheeks as he smiled. "Did you miss me?"

Bonus: