#but if you decide to stick around be aware that i still have 1 chapter of flashback to get through

[iris-nonsense]

why are you even reading one piece if all you do is complain about it? like after 600+ chapters if you still don’t like how oda writes just move on it’s not for you and that’s okay!!!!!! it’s clearly not bad writing if it’s a well beloved franchise that’s been going strong for 25+ years and has millions of fans across the world, it’s just not your speed and that’s okay!!!!!!

Anon i don't know why you're here but since i have some free time i will answer you in good faith.

First and foremost i started reading one piece being fully aware of the fact that it wasn't for me. I never particularly liked it when i was a kid, i never enjoyed the character design and looking at some panels i never found them pleasing. But, as you said, it's been ongoing for more than i've been alive and it's widely loved and i wanted to understand why, and to do that i have to read it even if it's not for me.

Now i don't think that the entirety of one piece is bad, on the contrary i enjoyed most of my reading till enies lobby. Some parts weren't as good as the others (like drum was too long imo) but overall i had a great time. Honestly i will put Skypiea and arlong's park between my favourite shonen arcs of all time, because they're just THAT good.

My main problem with oda's storytelling after enies lobby is how he seems to drag the story on just because he can. We all know that one piece's story is built on some core mysteries, but, instead of answering them organically by giving some more information when the opportunity arises, oda style seems to be telling "you would like to know" to the reader and then move on (looking at you Rayleigh) which is one frustrating and two not good writing.

When it comes to the artsyle i already said that it's not for me, but oda showed again and again that he's good at constructing a panel. He knows what to do and how to do it masterfully, so when i got to marineford and every single double page is bad (and this is not an opinion those panels are bad) i get angry because i know that he can do better than that, because it looks like he didn't try and like he had no supervision on it, which from what i understand is exactly how it went. At some point the editor had no more say in how oda did things and it shows.

Getting to luffy's flashback (which from the look of it those are the posts that made you send this ask) i think that it's bad. There's no other way to put it, that flashback is bad writing. It completely discard everything previously established about luffy's past, his island and his childhood, and it goes against everything we knew till this point, all of this just to write in a new character to replace ace (because, let's be real, that's the only reason sabo was never mentioned before this). And this is bad writing, and it's not even subtle. You can see what oda is trying to do from a mile away, the execution is incredibly clumsy and it doesn't matter if people like it, that doesn't make it good.

I think that i've been pretty fair with oda and one piece so far, i praise it when it deserves it and i criticize it when it's bad. Last night i didn't have anything positive to say about it because that flashback is bad, but i hope that it will get better going on. I know that my posts can come off as too harsh but i like to complain, in particular when it's something silly that doesn't affect my life like a manga.

So yeah one piece is not for me but i will read it and blog about it anyway because i can. If you don't want to see my negative comments anon that's fair, and you should just block me or block the tag "iris reads un pezzo", it's the one that i use for my comments on the manga and it's there for a reason.

In the end i hope you had a fantastic day anon! See you around :)

[zeyris-daydreams]

…The fox is often unnoticed until the henhouse is empty.

Yandere!Sunday x reader ! Part [1/4]

a/n; Based around a dream i had. Warnings aren’t many, spare for manipulative and cunning Sunday. The full picture develops over the course of chapters.

———————†

You haven’t had many expectations. Your legs felt weak from prolonged lack of movement, like bags of sand dragging behind you with each step. You had to wake- you had to wake up.

The ache in the back of your skull persisted, washing down your body in a steady rhythm, pulsing like a tumor. You hated that persistent feeling. The presence of the wall on your fingers was dull, texture hardly registered as you glared towards the neverending traffic on the streets of Penacony. As of now, all that remained was your overbearing urge to vomit — alongside the street light right around the corner. It still was too bright, the back of your eyes in constant pain.

You chose to remain in the alleway, deciding that it wasn’t worth risking being seen by any of the guards.

Not that you had time to spare. Each hour that passed worsened the withdrawal at the price of better bodily sensation - like a drug that you were relying on without your own consent.

Your knees nearly bent under the weight of your body, other hand clutching your chest. A hiss escaped you when your bare knees hit the unforgiving ground. You were faintly aware of the cold sweat sticking to your forehead, and the feeling of fire from the inside - it felt like a furnace in there.

Any other person within this “sweet” dream would have woken up at the hotel, but not you, no. Perhaps if you launched yourself to a driving by vehicle, maybe then-

No. If you failed, that would alert the Bloodhound guards. And then - you’d be back to square one. The clothes you donned wouldn’t help the hit much anyway - something unspecified that hung over your body, and socks. Like a mockery of a pyjama - that and underwear.

Your hair stuck to your forehead and you pushed it away to see better - surroundings blurring together.

How long were you hiding here? A day, maybe…? While you traversed a very short distance, it was as though your body was getting ready to go down. It was distasteful, to turn into such a pathetic rag after being regarded so highly once. Once.

As of now, you were deemed dead.

Your breath came in and out in short specks, chest unable to expand fully and constrict fully - akin to an experience of breathing while sleeping.

Self loathing and compassion in your mind were brought to a stop by a hand on your shoulder. The grip was firm, enough to have you tense, jerking your head back. An older man - a bloodhound - alerted you. His brown hair was brushed from his face by his hand. “You okay?”

It didn’t look like you were in trouble, but—

“Yes.” Maybe your tone wasn’t as convincing, and you gripped your head at another wave of a headache. ’You will speak when I allow you to. You will look at me when you speak.’

The man took the cigarette out of his mouth, brow raising. “I don’t think so.”

As you cleared your throat and opened your mouth to speak, the pain persisted. But you had to prevail despite it. “I’m not.. help.. help me..”

He put the cigarette out on the wall, a soft ‘hiss’ as the ashes crumbled to the floor. The item was discarded into a large bin nearby — your body nearly collapsed, and the man caught you by your arms. He didn’t say anything at first, pulling you straight up soon after. “Let’s not stay out here.”

Your legs followed mindlessly, feet scrambling over the pavement as he led you along. As you walked forward, he looked at you from the side, before continuing on. Your head hung low the entire time, only aware of how the tips of your toes scraped at the ground below with each horrible drag, and how you weren’t pulled out into the bustling street.

The exhaustion was only setting in - the adrenaline having long worn off. You found that the effects of harmony could prolong for days, weeks, months. It was like a never ending source within your mind; once a cancer sets in, it’s unlikely to ever eradicate it fully.

Maybe that’s why your perception of time was so utterly out of place, and you haven’t even realised you’ve already walked through a doorway.

As you tipped your head to look up, you squeezed your eyelids together, your mouth feeling dry. The migraine was ever-present, photophobia only serving to enlarge its effect — making everything look impossible to distinguish. The room looked white, spare for rougher edges of furniture before your vision sharpened. The shapes were clearer and clearer, and you found yourself within an office. One that Bloodhound’s probably worked from, as you’ve seen many alike months ago.

“Name’s Gallagher, by the way.”

He stepped to the desk, using his foot to pull the chair back, before lightly guiding you onto it. Gallagher stepped back, headed for the joint room of this office.

Sat like that you slouched, ignoring the way your throat tightened. ‘You ought to sit properly’, but who cared about that now? You watched your trembling hands, laid on top of your lap. The fingers shook, hot and cool at the same time. The fire of harmony raged inside you, and the coldness of the outside chilled your weary shell.

You wore close to nothing after all.

The chair you leaned against brought some comfort to your sore muscles. It took a lot of work to even get moving, and like so it took even more effort to keep in motion. The amount of energy you used on even lifting yourself up previously was taking its toll now, your limbs entirely relaxing, dragging your weight down on the chair. A weary sigh left you. All that effort, and you still didn’t even leave penacony. It must’ve been over a day-

When Gallagher came back, you didn’t bother to look behind, feeling your shoulders be wrapped in a blanket. You welcomed it, grabbing the edges to pull them over yourself properly. “Thanks..”

He murmured something to himself about ‘troublesome young dreamers’, before he sat on the chair behind his desk. Only then did you briefly meet his gaze, noticing he placed a cup of water in front of you. “Drink, kid”

While you wanted to scoff, you merely reached for the paper cup, both hands gripping onto it to bring it to your mouth. Given your expertise, you should have checked the contents. Yet your eyes closed and you tipped your head, greedily downing the contents in huge gulps. Small stream of water ran down the corner of your mouth, dripping onto your skin and some on your plan white shirt. Not plain anymore. Wandering about for hours surely made it disorderly.

Only when the cup was empty did you put it down on the table, and it was nearly weightless, almost knocked off the darkened wood of the desk. ‘Officer Gallagher’ the decor on the desk read, showing his elevated position within the hierarchy.

You were cooked. If they had found out you—

The Bloodhound leaned back in his chair, fingers intertwined together in thought. “What were you doing, out and about?“ It was a matter-of-fact question. Usually the guards don’t find people in your condition. Your eyes were growing weary, but you tried to keep your gaze trained on the desk. Yet your eyelids fell shut, and you opened them once more.

No one would believe you if you said the truth. And if they did, you’d doom yourself more than necessary. He was doing you a favour by not seeking further justice, if you exposed him, you’d expose yourself—

“I don’t-“ Your throat suddenly tightened, “-remember. I’m.. sorry.”

Gallagher thought for a moment, studying you. You couldn’t judge from his expression whether or not he bought that excuse, so you swallowed the thick saliva that pooled in your mouth. Your vision felt strange, everything swimmed. The air in your chest felt hot and dry.

As you blinked you could swear that the bloodhound’s outfit was grey for mere seconds. You were clearly losing it, your vision doubling.

”—Injury maybe, I just can’t remember.” ‘You won’t speak of it to anyone, lest it is to find your way to me.’

Before you spun more elaborate excuses, he waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing to be done about that.”

Your skull felt heavy, threatening to smash into the desk in front of you. Something was off, something was out of place—

It took all your strength to not slide onto the desk, fists tightening on your lap. Reality and tiredness blurred into one. The man stood, and your eyes snapped open again, revealing hints of his now lighter hair.

“It’s not like elaborate tales were ever your strong suit, dove.” You knew that voice, trying so hard to keep your eyes open. Your hand flew to the desk, grabbing the edge to keep you upright. Through your half lined gaze you saw the - now halovian - man regard you.

His clothes were pristine as always, yours— not so much. He oh so lightly and gracefully lifted himself from the seat in all his damned might, hand on the wood as he took a step. “Can’t even do your job right, how..”

The halovians gloved hand held his chin, and he pretended to look for a word he already knew. “..utterly pathetic. The only thing you were good at was laying in soft cushions and being useless.

His voice carried a sense of mockery. Your elbow bent, having your upper body lean onto the desk. Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Sunday walked around the desk slowly, steadily approaching your side. His words felt like spoken through a blanket, everything so pleasant and fuzzy.

”But the charade is over, doll. You’re coming back to me.”

Sunday’s hand placed itself on your head, giving it an almost mocking pet, before everything went dark.

[indigosunsetao3]

Chapter 2

Waging war over the trash bins.

AO3 (Full list of tags/warnings. Please check them.) Masterlist 3.6k Words

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

“Damn it,” Celeste muttered as she came around the bend to her cottage. Standing on the road was her elderly neighbor, who had nothing better to do than to police the neighborhood. Street really, they weren’t in a community. There certainly was no governing body about how your house had to look. So this woman had decided it was her job to make sure everything looked prim and proper for the birds and deer.

Plastering a fake smile on her face, Celeste turned slowly into her driveway and watched as the woman hobbled down the gravel a bit. She wasn’t going to risk Celeste just running into the house to avoid her, which she was contemplating as she undid her seatbelt. The woman was waving at her with an equally forced smile, reaching out to rest her hand on the trunk to block Celeste from getting far unless she bowled her over. Still an option.

With a groan, Celeste let her seatbelt whack against the door before opening it and stepping out. She knew exactly what this was about, her eyes snapping up to where the bins should have been at the edge of her drive. She hadn’t brought them back in once again. By the time she remembered, trash day was only two days away. Why risk missing the pickup when she was so close?

But they weren’t there. Had the woman gone through with her empty threats finally?

“Good evening, Mrs. Nettles,” Celeste said as she bent back down and grabbed her purse and phone out of her car.  “Something I can help you with?”

“Oh, dear, I know you are terribly busy,” the woman started as she gave Celeste a once over. Her black apron was covered in powdered sugar, she had spilled coffee down her front, and errant receipts were sticking out of the front pockets. “But you are aware it’s Wednesday, right?”

“Is it?” Celeste asked, playing into the woman’s obvious dig at her. “Working all these hours, I just…lose track of the days.” A lie. Celeste was well aware of what day it was. Especially now that she was coming up on a year, the days ticking away so quickly as if they were mocking her.

“I’m sure. I hear you come and go at all hours,” the woman started. “Even in my old age, the slightest noise wakes me from a dead sleep. I guess my hearing is still intact,” she laughed. It wasn’t a joke; it was another dig at Celeste. She apparently slammed her doors shut too loudly or played her music a little too loud for the woman’s liking.

“Is there something you need?” Celeste asked as she shut her car door and made a show of finding her house key on her car keys. She had so many things on the keyring: old broken chains, keys to things she didn’t own anymore, a frayed lanyard, and a long empty bottle of hand sanitizer. All the while, she looked around casually for her stupid bins to see if they had fallen in a ditch or were across the street in the bushes. 

“Well, it is Wednesday, and rubbish pickup is on Fridays,” the woman said as she gestured behind her vaguely. “Your bins had been at the road since last week.”

“Ah, yeah,” Celeste answered with a small shrug, catching on the word had. This miserable woman did have them taken. “It’s been a rainy week, and I forgot about them. Coming and going all the time, working doubles,” she trailed off as movement caught her eye. A man was walking around the corner of her house, and she stiffened, turning her heel to glare at him. Who the hell was he, and why was he on her property?

“Can I help you?” Celeste snapped as she eyed him up and down. “You do know this private property.”

“Celeste,” Mrs. Nettles interfered, sounding scandalized at Celeste’s tone. “This is John, your new neighbor,” she introduced as John walked up to stand near them.

This man was different from the man she had seen last week in the sling. Maybe this was the person that would be renovating the place. He seemed rugged enough for the role: well-worn jeans, beat-up work boots, and solidly built. Aside from seeing lights on inside the cottage every night, and even in the early mornings when she was leaving at four in the morning, she had not physically seen anyone in days. They kept to themselves, and she did the same thing. Something Mrs. Nettles could learn.

“I stopped by his place to remind him about trash day. I didn’t realize his poor roommate just had surgery and couldn’t manage it,” Mrs. Nettles continued with a simpering tone that she never gave Celeste. “But he graciously offered to grab your bins for you while he was at it.”

Probably because Mrs. Nettles was bitching about her bins to him to garner sympathy, Celeste thought. And to manipulate him into helping her.

“I can handle my bins just fine,” Celeste answered as she looked over at John, eyes scanning up at the sizeable height difference between him and the older woman who looked like she was itching to take his elbow.

“But dear, you don’t. They are always at the road; when it’s windy, they blow all over. One was already knocked over when John grabbed them for you.” Mrs. Nettles praised as if he had just saved a child from a burning building. Celeste felt her eyes roll before she could stop them. The woman noticed.

“If you don’t start keeping up with them, I will have to call the town.” Mrs. Nettles said with a cold finality as she did, in fact, grab John’s elbow. Acting as if he were going to protect her from Celeste, whose eyes had widened with disbelief.

John shifted his feet a bit and glanced back toward his cottage. He clearly regretted letting this older woman rope him in to help. When Mrs. Nettles grabbed his elbow, he closed his eyes a beat too long for a blink and inhaled. Celeste could tell he was too polite to shake the woman off, but he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“I’ll bring my bins in when I remember to bring them in,” Celeste snapped at the woman. If this old bitty wanted to have a fight, they were going to fight.  “There isn’t a rule for how long they sit at the road,” she gestured angrily at the road so her keys jingled in her hands. “I can leave them out there all year round if I want. I can get three more and leave them all out there. Just for you to stare at them.” She was seething and was being obnoxious on purpose, but God, it felt good to just let some of the pent-up emotion out.

Mrs. Nettles mouthed at her like a fish out of water, eyes darting to John to back her up, but Celeste turned around and headed to her cottage. She stamped angrily to the door and shoved it open hard, not bothering to lift it as it scraped the stone entryway. Samson was waiting at the door, and she scooped him up before kicking it shut hard behind her.

“Nosey old bat,” Celeste groused, perhaps an octave too loud, as she flung her purse onto the bench in the entryway.

She wished she had the time and energy to worry about what her neighbors were doing, patrol the road, note everything out of place, and harass people for not following her made-up rules. Did it look better when bins weren’t on the road? Sure. Were the cottages prettier when the landscaping was kept up? Definitely. Did Celeste have the energy to do all that or care about it? Not in the least.

Celeste paced the living room for a bit, glancing out the big picture window to see John walk Mrs. Nettles back to her house. She narrowed her eyes, watching them go. The lead glass was too warped for them to see her glaring, but she could see them slowly walking down the road.

Mrs. Nettles had lived in her cottage with her late husband, Al, their whole married lives. Celeste’s husband grew up with them every summer and winter holiday. He said they had been just as fussy then as she was now, always worried about what everything looked like. He used to joke that they were concerned the royals would parade through town and condemn them for a flower out of place. Or would be disappointed that they weren’t following all the ‘royal rules’ about rubbish bins.  

It used to be a joke between Celeste and him, the royal curb police, but now it was just an annoyance. There was no one to roll her eyes with and laugh about it over dinner or to leave to fend for themselves as the other listened with a grin as they hid around the back of the house. Instead, she was stuck with the meddling woman who took it upon herself to pester everyone on the street.

Mrs. Nettles wasn’t friendly, she wasn’t pleasant. She was mean in her own backhanded way and was on a personal crusade against Celeste. All the neighbors knew how she was and did their best to avoid her. Many would go back inside the house when they saw her coming or just make their lawns magazine-worthy so she’d leave them alone. John was fresh meat and didn’t know just how petty the woman was. He’d learn soon enough; they all eventually saw the nasty, manipulative side of her and grew tired of it.

When Samson wriggled hard enough to ask to be let down, Celeste set him on the floor and followed him to the kitchen. He sat at the back door and looked pointedly back at her, asking to go outside. He had behaved that day and hadn’t tried to get out; it was the least she could. With a sigh, she opened the back door for him to scamper out, and she spotted the bins. They were propped up against the side of her detached garage, and a vicious flare of anger went through her.

Fuck Mrs. Nettles and her stupid rules.

Walking outside, Celeste grabbed the two bins, tilted them onto the wheels, then began walking back to the end of the driveway. They bumped into one another and caught the back of her heels, making her curse; she usually brought them up one at a time. But she had come this far, and she was pissed enough that she was going to be stubborn about it. So she dragged them jerkily over the gravel, muttering under her breath until she got to the edge of the drive.

She set them out prominently around the overgrown bush and stepped back to look at her work. The bright blue recycling bin stood out perfectly against the still half-dead landscaping. Celeste stepped forward and dragged the black bin a little more prominently when she snapped her head up. John was making his way back from Mrs. Nettles' house, and he eyed her as he walked, a smirk on his face.

“Antagonizing her isn’t going to get her to let up,” John said as he got a bit closer, stopping a few feet away.

“I hope it festers,” Celeste answered smugly as she wiped her hands absently on her apron. “I hope it drives her absolutely mad when she sees them out here again. And when she calls the town, and they tell her there is nothing they can do about it, I know she’ll have a little tantrum. I only wish I could see it.”

“I take it you two don’t exchange Christmas cards,” John answered. He glanced up the road toward the woman’s house before back to Celeste.

“Hardly. She’s been a thorn in everyone’s side for years,” Celeste answered before twisting to look at John’s cottage. “She’s just playing nice with you right now, hoping you’ll clean the place up. She’s been whining about the state of that cottage to anyone that will listen for a long while.”

“She’s going to be waiting,” John answered as he spotted Kyle walk out the front door, looking to see what was taking him so long. “I leave for work tomorrow, and Kyle isn’t exactly fit to be doing anything.”

“Tell him to just ignore her,” Celeste started, “avoid her, actually. Better for everyone.”

“He’s too nice for all that,” John answered as Kyle walked out to the car and leaned against the hood, watching them talk. “But I’ll give him a warning.”

“Being nice isn’t always the answer,” Celeste answered.

Before John could respond, she headed back to her cottage, abruptly ending the conversation. She had enough for the afternoon and was honestly afraid that the woman would pop out from behind the tree line to start up another fight. For acting so frail, she was spritely. And while Celeste wanted to antagonize her, she wasn’t ready to start arguing just yet.  

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

“Making friends?” Kyle asked as John walked back over, cutting through the thin tree line that dotted the property between their cottage and neighbor. He had watched the old woman corner John and didn’t do a damn thing to help him. He just smirked and gave him a snarky little wave as John glared at him when the woman practically dragged him along.

“Don’t start,” Price replied as he patted his pants down for the car keys. They weren’t there.

“Here,” Kyle answered as he held out the keys with his good hand, the keyring looped around a finger. He grinned a bit as John took them from him, his hand brushing over his and lingering a fraction too long to be completely casual. “What’s the neighbor's name?” He tacked on as he walked to the passenger's side and opened the door.

“Celeste,” John answered as he watched Kyle and waited patiently for him to buckle himself in. He knew helping him would be easier, but Kyle felt infantile enough as it was. “She’s looking to start a war with the self-imposed street police,” his voice was exasperated, but the slight twitch of his lips gave away the amusement.

“I thought we were coming here to avoid war,” Kyle stated as he finally got the seatbelt in place and twisted back with a huff.

“I highly doubt either of them are going to be lobbing tear gas over their fence,” John replied, his gaze lingering on where Celeste’s backdoor had opened again. He hesitated as he twiddled the wheel and watched her walk out across her lawn, her little orange cat on her heels, headed toward her dock.

“If we have to pick sides, I’m taking the old lady,” Kyle answered as he peered at John, then followed his eyeline toward Celeste. She was headed back out to that dock for the third night in a row. Kyle had spotted her the evening before, sitting in the light rain before she finally gave up as a downpour chased her inside. “Probably has some tricks up her sleeve from the Second World War,” he smirked.

“Don’t count Celeste out just yet,” John answered as he watched her a moment longer. She sat in the left chair as she always did and set a bottle of wine on the small table. The right chair remained empty; not even her cat jumped into it.

“Are you going to pick up another stray?” Kyle asked teasingly as John finally pulled out of the driveway, hand deftly shifting gears. “Johnny and Simon were territorial enough when you brought me home.”

“Should have left all three if you out in the rain,” John answered as Kyle laughed and settled back further into his leather seat.

They spent a good while in town. Kyle had found a small home goods store to pick up new sheets for the bed he had ordered, which was set to arrive in a few days. After spending one night on the twin bed and waking up with a spring lodged in his back, he had deemed it uninhabitable. Next, they made a quick stop at the liquor store to stock up on the "good stuff," as John put it. John only drank beer if there were no other options, dismissing it as ‘piss water’ until someone found him a decent Scotch.

Their final stop was the grocer, where they stocked up on more than just beer and prepackaged food to fill the fridge. John had groused over Kyle’s lack of proper food while he was supposed to be recovering, masking his concern for Kyle’s well-being with worry about the team being down a man. Kyle grinned to himself for the rest of the trip, glancing occasionally at John, who seemed to avoid eye contact at all costs. The dance they had been performing for a while was picking up tempo.

“Who knew the whole town would shut down at nine,” Kyle muttered as he shifted the styrofoam containers on his lap. They had planned on eating a proper meal in a restaurant, but everything was closing down for the evening. The waitress had given them a withering look when they asked for a table at eight-thirty and offered them takeaway instead.

“I’m sure it will change in the summer,” John answered as he flicked the high beams off. The mist on the road was thick, and the light was just reflecting back at him as he tried to navigate the winding roads.

Kyle didn’t answer as he popped open the lid of his box and reached in for a chip, but John cut his eyes over to him. They were supposed to sit and eat together, none of this rush shit that they did out in the field. Kyle quickly shut the lid and held his hand up in a surrender gesture, letting the boxes continue to warm his legs.

“She’s still out there,” John said a moment later as the car lights swung over Celeste’s property when they pulled in. He wasn’t exactly looking for her, but his eyes wandered in that direction nonetheless.

“She’s out there late most nights,” Kyle answered as he looked as well.

Neither of them grabbed their seatbelts, and John let the car run as they watched. Celeste didn’t react to the lights or the sound of the car, not even peering over her shoulder. John contemplated getting out to check on her when he saw her shift. It was subtle, but he saw her hand reach to the side before curling back in again. Grabbing her bottle of wine.

“Does she sleep out there?” John asked when he finally cut the engine and climbed out. He went for the groceries in the trunk while Kyle juggled the food, hipping his door shut.

“No, I keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t fall in the lake,” Kyle answered. He caught the look John gave him. It was a curious one, perhaps a little too knowing, before he returned to gathering the bags.  “She wanders inside, eventually.”

“Now who’s looking for strays,” John taunted as he followed Kyle into the cottage.

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

Celeste rose from her chair, groaning as she stretched her stiff back and legs, her butt having gone numb some time ago. She stumbled slightly as she grabbed her blanket and the empty bottle of wine, catching herself on the back of the chair she had just left. The water had been calm that evening, with a mist dancing across the surface, shifting gently with the breeze. A few boats had drifted by, moving lazily, and Celeste had watched them come and go with a slightly vacant expression.

The lake was her sanctuary, a place where she could escape and let nature envelop her, becoming just another blip on the shore. On particularly tough evenings, when her thoughts refused to quiet, she brought wine along. Lately, she found she needed wine most nights. The approaching anniversary was making it increasingly difficult to silence her mind. That evening had been especially hard; she’d downed a whole bottle in one sitting without even getting up to eat.

Throwing her blanket over her shoulder, she carefully made her way down the dock, Samson trotting beside her and mewling for his dinner. She twirled the empty wine bottle between her fingers as she walked when a sound drew her attention. Glancing to the side, she spotted two figures on their back porch, small embers glowing in the dark as they smoked. Shit, she thought. Had they seen her stumble? She hoped they would dismiss it as the dock rocking with the movement of the lake.

She watched the figures for a few more seconds as she walked, concentrating on placing one foot carefully in front of the other to avoid tripping again. Her head was swimming, and she fumbled with the door handle twice before finally getting it open and slipping inside. The bright kitchen light made her flinch, so she quickly turned it off, relying on the dim light above the stove to feed Samson. She wasn’t hungry and didn’t think she could stomach anything anyway; just the thought of food made her feel ill.

The idea of climbing the steep stairs to bed was daunting. So, instead, she wandered to the couch and collapsed into it. Five am was going to come quickly, and as she drifted to sleep in her stupor, Celeste knew she was going to be pissed at herself when she woke up. A full bottle of wine on an empty stomach, paired with a poor night’s sleep, would result in a miserable hangover; her second one that week.

[within-your-eyes-if]

Update 9/21

Hello everyone!

I've definitely had a period of complete dissatisfaction no matter what I wrote (including all the lovely asks I've received). It hurt my soul sometimes. It stressed me out a lot and weighed me down heavily. But I've been crawling out of the mindset (your loving words and support a huge help) and I finally feel more satisfied with what I have.

I made quite a few revisions, additions, and corrections. I expanded on a few things, especially the fights and the knightly order that Gabriel and Lee are a part of. I did away with some stuff or just redid it. I overlooked some details and have corrected them accordingly. I can't tell if it's a lot or feels like a lot because I've done it all gradually over the past two months. 

Other things to note:

Tongue piercings added.

MC is less opinionated regarding the baron (There was a reason, but I decided to go a different direction in this area. Regardless, it won't really matter until Ch3).

New option on the initial character customization page (Where you choose your pronouns. (This new option won't come into play until Ch3+, but I just want you to be aware of it).

No more being dragged around. You utilize the walking stick more. The changes were slight adjustments to the text, but it's worth mentioning, even if it feels small.

Skipping Ly's explicit scene now gives a non-descriptive overview. I feel like some parts within the explicit stuff added a bit of character-building. But I repeat: they are non-descriptive (for those who prefer it this way ♥).

Declining the job actually lets you say no.

No personality check at dinner. No personality checks ever.

There are a few other things I changed and added spread throughout both chapters, but I'd say they're relatively minor, or I want you to discover them for yourself.

Anyway, I think that's all. I still don't want to give a date for Ch3 because I'm trying to take my time and make sure I'm happy with it. I don't want a repeat of the turmoil I've put myself through, which is entirely my fault. Regardless, I can look at these two chapters and feel more content with them and now peaceably move on to finishing Part 1 of Chapter 3. A lot is going on in this chapter and my personal life, so I have 100% decided to break the chapter into two parts (I said before I wasn't sure).

Thank you for reading this and my story! Have an awesome day!

Demo Link

Word Count: 110,596 (Excluding Codex)

[toiletwipes]

Whenever I'm Alone (With You) | clinic!wilbur

MOUTH SO SWEETLY TELLING LIES — PART TWO

5k words. / [Two months after the festival you're left in the dust of what to do with yourself when you've been ghosted by a really cute guy. Depression hits and it's not a good mix.] [watch out for self-deprecation, slight suicidal ideation, kind of an unhealthy relationship brewing out of pain]

Part 1 — Masterlist

fic title from Lovesong by The Cure but the chapter title is from Cut by The Cure

thank you @drop-of-void for proof-reading!! and i'm tagging some lovely folks now. @sleeby-anon @loversj0y @struggling-with-delia @l0veb0mb1ng @boiled-onionrings

xxxx

After the first month, it’d been easy to slip into the same old routine. Wake up too early, stare at the wall until your alarm goes off, manage either the longest shower ever or brush your teeth, then go to work and come home exhausted. Maybe eat. Stare at the wall a little more, go to bed. Music was optional.

And Seff wasn’t having it after the second.

“If men do this to you, then they don’t deserve you.” You grunted, listening to him ramble as you sat on the couch, arms feeling like noodles as you fold towels that sat on your bed a little too long, with Seff mopping your floor, the rugs rolled up and against the wall. The room smelt like fabuloso. “I’m serious. They don’t get to have a great night, express that they want to get to know you more, exchange numbers and then do jackshit with it.” He stops mopping, opting to lean against the length of it, eyes staring straight at you. You don’t make contact.

“Well it’s not up to me what they do, remember?” It’s hard not to be mean about this, you’re all too aware that when men do this, it’s not your fault. (...Entirely.)

“Vividly.” He says, before finishing up the last corner and putting the mop back in the bucket and putting it off by the laundry room. When he joins you, you’re halfway done. He helps you with the rest of the towels, getting you off the couch and forcing you to tuck the towels into the cabinets. When you get back almost ten minutes later, you find the living room fan turned on high and the floor drying faster, Seff himself back on the couch with gummy candy. He offers some to you when you join him on the couch. You dig a hand into the bag and pop them into your mouth, chewing on them as you let the cleanliness of the place wash over you.

“Doing anything feels like I’m moving through- through a thick goo, like tar. And I can’t get out of it.” The words come out only a smidge louder than a whisper but it was so loud between the two of you. Seff doesn’t say anything. So you continue. “It wasn’t… just him. It was all of those guys. Like, how could all of them have one night and change their mind so fast, like it wasn’t real for any of them.” But it was him. He was the last straw. He made the choice to come up to you and spend the last of the festival with you, it was him that wanted your number. It was all him and then- and then- tears prick your eyes again.

And it was him again, ghosting you, just like the others. They were so different from each other, how could they all do the same thing? There had to be a reason and the only logical one is that it was you. They regretted what they did, what they said, and they regret you.

You feel the hazy feeling wash over you, the tar-like substance coating your limbs and mind as Seff hums, wrapping an arm around you. He knew you so well, you wondered why he stayed. “They’re jackasses, don’t forget that, no matter how nice they were or how they smiled at you, they decided that being a coward was easier, it had nothing to do with you.” You nod, not really listening… but still, it’s a little nice to hear the words. Even if they didn’t stick like they should’ve.

He rubs your shoulder, offering you more candy and letting it sit in his lap when you decline. “Here, let’s finish up cleaning and then you hop in the shower. Vick wants you over for dinner tonight, she’s making your favorite, okay?” You nod, Vick was always so nice and sweet to you, snarky towards her husband. And on good days it didn’t hurt to be around them, to see them in love like crazy people.

“How’d you do it?” You don’t recognize the words coming out of your mouth, foreign and sickly tasting. He hums, sighing as he breathes out while he looks around the apartment.

“How’d I do what?” He asks.

“How’d you know it was her, I mean, you guys moved so fast, how did you- just- how?” Words failed you and you wanted answers but even on autopilot, you’re unsure of what you want to know. Of what you want to hear.

Silence grows as he mulls over the answer. Then he starts standing, getting you up on your feet with him, speaking as he pushes you to the shower, “I’ll tell you when you’re done, how about that?” He smiles as you reach the middle of the tiled bathroom floor, turning to him helplessly as you shiver.

He’s about to close the door when you stop him, reaching out with a hand. He stands there, unmoving, eyes moving up to meet yours and you gulp.

“Thanks.”

He smiles and he shuts the door with a click.

You undress, making no attempts to look at the mirror as you step into the shower, closing the curtains. The water hits your scalp and you try to picture your ails being washed away with the oils in your hair. You try to follow your old routine as best as you can but when thirty minutes pass and all you have to show for it is clean hair and nothing else, you turn the shower off. You’ll take a win where you can. You don’t entirely know it’s been thirty minutes to be fair, but when the water turns from hot to cold you can take the hint it’s time to get out.

Getting dressed and drying your hair with a shirt, you exit your room to find Seff on the couch, finishing the bag of gummy candy off. The corner of your lips twitch up as you toss the shirt at his head, snorting when he shouts and somehow falls onto the ground. “And after all that I’ve done for you!” He says as he wrenches the shirt off his head, throwing it right back at you. “I’ve rolled the rugs out AND I’ve got your bag and keys, and this is the thanks I get?!” A small smile plays on your face, wrapping your arm around his neck in a limp headlock as he continues to mumble about how unfair it was.

“Come on, you big baby, let’s get you back home to Vick,” and at the mention of his wife, he perks right up, handing your things over as he rushes to the door. You follow after him but as you lock the bottom lock, you hear a banging on your window. Your head snaps to the living room, just barely catching the dimmed blue sky of the night, nothing to be seen in the glass. You’d check it out but then you hear Seff call for your name. Turning away, you finish locking your door, following your best friend down the stairs and breathing in and out as your thoughts try to race ahead of you. Despite the genuine fear of a burglar… you couldn’t be bothered to worry too hard about it. One, there wasn’t a thing you could do now, pulling the seat belt over you as Seff started the engine. Two, and you’re sure it’s a bad thought but your mental health has never been known to be particularly okay, but you almost hope there’s somebody waiting for you. Whether they’d kill you immediately or to kidnap you, you’re clueless to which you want more, both are fine options. Maybe torture. Maybe you’d come out of this haze your mind seems to be stuck in.

You hardly notice the car parking, only when the door unlocks and you, automatically, take your seat belt off, opening the door and watching with blinking eyes as Vick, the beautiful woman she is, finds the two of you and hugs both at the same time. It’s a nice hug. Her soap smells nice. Makes you feel sleepy again.

Dinner is filled with laughs and despite your small fears, she doesn’t bring up Wilbur and she doesn’t bring up anybody and she doesn’t say that you deserve better. She just finds ways to make you laugh, make you gasp with the drama she’s heard, helps you with setting the table as Seff finishes off the toasted bread.

Wine is poured in your glass and Vick’s, juice for Seff. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he raises both in return, “what?” he asks as he lifts the fancy glass to his nose, swirling the liquid and then smelling it, with a satisfied nod.

“Pregnant?” He hangs his head in shame as Vick snorts, getting the salt and pepper from the kitchen.

“We wanted to be sure it was hers,” he sends a wink your way before beaming at Vick, accepting the bowl being passed for bread.

The night passes fast and before you can soak the warmth and happiness in for the long run, Seff is already dropping you off, double-checking that you’ll be okay for the weekend. “We’ll be at her mom’s place and you know her mom, middle of nowhere. No signal and—” you cut him off with a tight hug. He doesn’t say anything else until you let go. Until you’re sure the wine isn’t the only thing warm in your chest and belly. You’re slow to pull away but when you do, you walk backwards into your apartment, hand tight around the doorknob. The fear from before is back and though you know he has to leave, you wished he would stay. But that would mean asking. And you can’t ask that of him, not when he’s done so much for you already.

“See you when you get back.” He nods, tight-lipped.

“See you.” He starts the walk back to his car when you call out to him.

The words choke up in your throat but you manage to force them out, tasting bitter like vomit, “love you, be safe.” He parrots it back and tears blur your vision as you wave, watching as he disappears down the steps and then out of sight when his car drives away.

You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping you wouldn’t throw up on the floor after he mopped it, the fear of a familiar pit in your stomach as the door closes behind you. It’s quiet.

Way too quiet.

You turn your TV on, just loud enough to cover the ringing silence in your ears as you sit on the couch, not daring to check your bedroom or the kitchen for any intruders. You’re not sure what you want to find.

Head falling to your lap, phone open, your hand trembles as you press the icon for Wilbur’s contact. Despite him not answering before, you kept texting him and everyday it would stay on delivered, nothing would change. It felt maddening. Lonely. Desperate. You start typing a message out, speaking as your fingers moved, “Seff came over… helped clean and everything. I don’t know… where I’d be without… him.” Tears dripped onto your cheeks as you felt stupid and pathetic and- and- you couldn’t breathe, not around the sobs that escaped your mouth, covering it with one hand as you sent the message. He was just a guy and he only spent one night with you. It wasn’t even that special- you weren’t that special- why would he ever think-

It’s hard to focus but when the tears stop falling and you can breathe, at least through your mouth, you wipe the snot off with your sleeve.

Burglar be damned, you walk into the kitchen, tearing a paper towel off the roll and blowing your nose. It’s loud and it’s warm when you pull it away, groaning at the sight. “Fucking hell,” you mumble, tossing it into the trash.

The floor is cold beneath your feet walking back to the couch and when you sniff, you catch a whiff of that fabuloso again, pressing a hand to your forehead as you reach down to grab your phone. Your breath catches in your throat.

They’re- the messages- they’re not delivered anymore. He’s opened them. Thousands of emotions run through you in the matter of seconds. Air lodges itself in your throat, leaving you dizzy and unable to breathe as you think about it. Shame, humiliation. He’s seeing this pathetic, sad and lonely person vomit in his messages. Shock. Did he- did he lose his phone? Briefly angry, why couldn’t he just open it that night why did he have to wait till now? Staring down the phone screen, you can hardly recognize your thumb pressing on the call button. Without question, the cold press against your ear brings you to the moment, your mind clears of the haze as you’re forced to think, in milliseconds of a game plan. You thought of one over the last two months, wondered what you’d say to him, given the chance, but with your self-deprecating ass it was hard to think at all right now. Taking him back so quickly definitely was wrong, as was assuming he wanted you at all. Oh what to say?

As the call goes through and rings, hearing a vibrating noise outside the window you stiffen up. The one where you heard a noise from-

And the phone picks up, the vibration stops and all you can hear is the distant city noises, and perhaps the quietest panting you’ve heard. You approach the window, holding both hands at your phone, clutching as you whisper, “Wilbur?” Turning around until your back meets the wall beside it, you try to see if looking out would do anything. It doesn’t. It’s just as dark as it is inside of your living room, the only thing disturbing that inky blanket of darkness is your TV. You’re almost scared to turn it off. “Wilbur, what- are you there?” You didn’t know if you meant in general or right outside your fucking window but you can only imagine the answer when you see a phone drop onto the fire escape, a body falling to its knees, you can barely make out the silhouette. You drop your own phone when a hand smacks against the glass, dragging down as it smacks again and again. The shake in your hands makes it hard for you to flip the locks and you slide it up, just barely asking the question: just what in the hell are you doing??

But the hand falls off and a head of fluffy brown hair sticks in and he falls in with as much grace as a limp noodle, groaning all the way. You move him enough only to reach out and grab his phone, looking around to make sure nobody caught him sneaking in. You hope that in the case they do, they assume you’re only sneaking in a boyfriend— even if the assumption hurts to ache for.

“Fuck, Wilbur, what happened to you?” You hiss as you close the window, crouching as you help him sit against the wall, trying to look over him as his head rolls back. His eyes stare up at the ceiling as you look back at the window, catching sight of the red tint dragging down in the shape of his hand. Picking his wrist up, you do see the drying blood coating his skin. Your chest coils tight, thinking the worst of the worst. You try asking him what happened, where’s he hurt before his eyes drift down and find you, his face softening and a deep sigh rattles out of him, interrupted by a hiss and an attempt to press against his ribs. You need to call the ambulance, hell, take him to the hospital yourself but the way he’s sitting on your floor, already adjusting himself seems a little too… relaxed. As one can be relaxed when, no doubt, pain is at the forefront of your mind. “Wilbur, say something,” you beg with gritted teeth. You need a reason to not kick him out, to not pull him into your arms and kiss the wounds away no matter how tempting and how useless it would be. “Say something before I kill you myself.” And then he passes out.

You groan out in frustration, having caught his head in a panic when his body slumped over again and making a dive for the tile. “I cannot be doing this, Seff will kill me-” and then the sudden reminder, of oh yes, as of right now, you cannot call him. Despite more than likely being in the city together, you didn’t want him worrying over you again. You cannot keep doing that to him, he has a life of his own, Vick needs her husband and they’re going to visit her mom— and in your panic, a minute has passed and his head is still in your hand. You, out of nerves, started carding your free fingers through his hair, finding it… wet. You sniff close to his head and nearly groan again, yeah, his hair is wet with sweat.

You push his head back and reach around him, mumbling to yourself about how you should do it. Picking him up by the waist doesn’t do you any favors, neither does pulling on his arms. Bad idea in the first place. Sighing, you make a note to apologize later if he doesn’t die on you when you drag him to your room. It’s no question that he lies on your bed- after a towel has been laid out for him. If he’s bleeding, you don't want too big of a stain. You had considered leaving him on the floor… but then you couldn’t do it.

You check his arms, pushing his sleeves up and finding none of that. You check his head, nothing bleeding there. You take his shoes off but… that’s about all you do besides getting the first aid kit and setting it next to you, along with water and painkillers. If he was bleeding in the legs or chest or hell, even his feet, you needed him awake for that. And despite him literally being on your fire escape, which raises all sorts of questions mind you, you couldn’t undress him. You couldn’t.

After a few minutes, you shake his shoulder, giving his face a few smacks when he wakes up with a jolt, looking around until he finds you and then he groans, clutching at his side again, eyes shut tight. Then he tries to sit up. “Hey slow down there,” you say, holding onto his shoulder when it seemed he would stand up.

“Please, I should-” he swallows and you despise yourself for looking at his throat move, “I should go.”

“You shouldn’t be moving at all, now where’s the blood?” You speak fast, hoping to hide the shake in your voice if you were mean about it. He tried to fight you on it but when you pushed on his chest, stepping between his legs, he couldn’t move, head flung back as he tried to reel the grunts of pain in, trying to be quiet. “If you needed the hospital- or- or a clinic, you should’ve gone there first. But you didn’t, so you’re gonna tell me what’s hurting so I can help you.” He lays limp on your bed, unable to look at you as his mouth dropped open and snapped shut several times. “If you don’t tell me where it hurts, I’m going to stab you and then stitch you up myself and then throw you out my window so fucking- say something.”

It’s silent. Until it wasn’t. “Everywhere,” he rasped, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “It hurts everywhere. I can’t-” he gasps, hand coming up to where your own still processes, in the middle of his chest and over yours“-think.” You retract your hand immediately, backing up as you give him space. Space for yourself.

“Is there anything bleeding?” You ask and when he shakes his head, you think back to the clear blood on his hands, on your window. It doesn’t add up but taking it with a generous fistful of salt, you want to scream. “Okay- okay. Fuck.”

In the end, you have him sit up, half-apologizing for the pain and the other of you lets him have it, he can handle it just this once. He could’ve called, he could’ve texted, anything, but no, he had to wait until he was literally too hurt to move.

“Did you break anything?” You ask, digging through the first-aid kit while you waited for him to take his shirt off, “because with the way you’re bitching about these bruises—”

“—bitching?” He cuts you off, shirt halfway over his head.

“— yes, bitching, you’re not bleeding, if anything was broken you would’ve, surely, gone to a clinic. A healer, just, fucking anybody. No, you had to come to me.” You say, pulling out the self-adherent wrap and opening it up, unable to fault yourself in finding a battered, bare-chested Wilbur on your bed and losing your voice for it. The hair on his chest that leads down his stomach that leads further down into his pants… you breathe in as he himself is quiet. Starting at his ribs, you have him hold it down as you begin wrapping it around his torso, dedicated to ignoring the heat of his skin, how close you are to him. How you have to stand with one leg between his and lean into his space.

With each go-around, you make sure it’s not too tight, just enough to keep pressure and when you tape it down, you have him lay back down, gathering the first-aid kit to put on the nightstand. Heading into the kitchen for an ice-pack. In the middle of making one in a ziploc bag, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. You’re patching up a guy who fell into your living room after having ghosted you for two months.

You want to be mad at yourself, you want to punish yourself so badly for letting him in so easily.

“Listen, I just wanted to say—” he says when you walk in and you couldn’t help yourself, you chucked it at the bed and snatched the throw blanket on your dresser, ignoring any other attempts at conversation.

“Get some rest, don’t call for me unless that bag is melted.” You say over your shoulder, closing your bedroom door shut and you can’t help the pathetic slide down against it. Tears try to fall but you wipe them furiously. He does not get to wander in and fuck everything up. For goodness’ sake, you’ve just mopped.

Setting up camp on your couch, you lie down with the knowledge that yeah your neck will be shit in the morning, but you don’t care. You don’t care. It won’t matter in the morning because in the morning, he’ll be okay enough to get up and stand somewhat straight and maybe without help and he’ll insist on leaving. That’s just how it’ll go. He’ll say he never meant to end up on your fire escape and in the morning, he’ll apologize for taking up your bed. Because that’s just how it’ll go. And then he’ll go. And you’ll never see him again.

That’s how it’s going to be. It’ll never be anything more. You sniffle, can’t even stop crying for a night. How fucking useless. You bury your head into the throw pillow and shiver under the thin blanket. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over and he’ll be gone and you can pretend that you never intended on letting someone murder you. You can pretend that you’re normal and pretend everything is okay. Breathing out, you let sleep fall over you.

You rub the ache in your neck, grimacing as you flip another pancake, successfully burning it. It goes onto a stack of burnt pancakes. Turning off the stove, you don’t even pull butter or the syrup out of the fridge. Maybe your bitterness will fade away with time… maybe you’ll be able to look back in time and say, it’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be. For right now, you get to be petty and serve your bruised guest burnt food.

Opening your bedroom door, you halt in your footsteps; finding him fast asleep. The ice-pack is nowhere to be found. A sigh falls out of your mouth, the sound of the plate that knocks against the dresser is almost as loud as your defeat. You take the blanket you’d slept with and drape it over him, tucking the edges under him. The idiot slept on top of the cover. Standing up straight, you look at him. This is the first time you’ve seen him in two months, and you feel hopeless. He looks so peaceful, so handsome, so pretty, so helpless you can’t help but want to stay. But he’s hurt you. No matter what he has to say.

You breathe in deep before turning to leave and you would’ve made it out the door had he not reached out for you, grasping your wrist with cold fingers. You shiver under his touch as his head falls to the side, his hair falling into his closed eyes. “What you do to me is cruel,” you whisper, sliding down to the floor and letting him hold your wrist. You don’t know how much I regret meeting you and you don’t know how much I cherish meeting you at all.

It takes twenty minutes for him to wake up, two minutes after that for him to let go. You stand up, throwing a new shirt at him. This one happened to be completely oversized and old for you, perfect for him. “Get dressed and eat, I’m either taking you to a hospital or a healer you know, fifteen minutes.” You don’t give yourself time to loiter in the room, you don’t give him time to explain himself. (You know that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mean to ghost you but let’s be real, you’re you. And he’s Wilbur. The math isn’t adding up. He just wasn’t that interested.)

About ten minutes after you walk out of your room, he stumbles out, gripping onto the walls and he groans with his mouth closed. You don’t let him see your flustered face at the sound, just walking out and letting him follow you to the stairs. You pull one of his arms over your shoulders and make a point not to talk to him, even when he tries to get you to let go. Saying all about how he can walk on his own and stairs are no problem… you couldn’t resist it though, he was pretty insistent that he’d be okay and maybe you’re still upset. You let go and watch as he falls down one step, catching him before he scraped himself up even more.

“And you said you had it under control.” You mutter and you can see he wants to say more but you send him a look that has him clenching his jaw again.

“Look, you don’t need to take me to a hospital.” He begins after the two of you are settled in your car.

“So you know a healer?” You turn to him, giving him a blank stare.

“Well- maybe- I-” he stumbles over his words as you start the engine.

“You have very limited options right now. Either I take you to someone who will help you or I will dump your ass on the front step of the nearest doctor. Pick one.” His jaw sets and you make it a point to stare ahead as he gives you directions.

In no time, you find yourself in front of an apartment building, helping him get out of the car and into the lobby. You barely helped him into the elevator before turning to leave, watching as he leaned against the elevator doors. He stumbled over his words again.

“I couldn’t text you. I wanted to, so badly.” He says, with the wettest eyes known to man.

“So you’re telling me, you saw I was texting, couldn’t respond  for some mysterious reason and you expect me to tell you it’s okay?”

“I’m not saying it was.”

“Two months, Wilbur, you left me alone for two months.” You say, throwing it out there and he wants to say more, you can see it so clearly. You can see he wants to say why, wants to tell you everything. His big, sad eyes stare you down, tears close to falling. You look behind you, holding onto the elevator doors as you lean closer into the enclosed space. “And we’re only talking because you showed up at my window, bruised to hell and back with someone’s blood on your hands. Talk to me when you’re healed. Because yeah, I have questions. And if you can’t answer them when you’ve healed up, just go back to ignoring me. It worked perfectly fine for the both of us, didn’t it?” You don’t know why you said any of that, bitterness and hurt chokes you up, your words coming out stilted or too fast. Because no way in any version of reality were you okay. You wanted the truth. You wanted to know exactly what went wrong that night for him to ignore you.

And if he’s being honest with you right now, you’re not sure what to make of it.

But you’ve said your piece and the first tear falls down his cheek. So you lean in, palm smacking the button for the doors to close. You don’t wait a second before turning around and heading back to your car. Breaking down right in front of it.

You were so far from being okay, so, so fucking far.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

The Man From Y.I.L.I.N.G.

Chapter 1: "First Impressions Are Tough"

I have it on very good authority that you don't need to have seen Guy Ritchie's The Man From U.N.C.L.E. to enjoy this fic, but I'll leave the decision up to y'all 😉 Have fun!

--//--

YUNPING CITY INTERNAL BORDER – CHECKPOINT 168A [RED LIGHT DISTRICT]

1967

Getting into East Yunping City is far from the most difficult entry Jin Guangyao has ever accomplished in his professional career. The barriers around the heart of the city are thick and threatening — barbed wire, minefields sandwiched between banks of patrolled concrete walls three feet thick, and soldiers with dogs and guns posted at every checkpoint slashed between the walls, narrow gaps of supposedly safe passage. His cab driver pulls to a stop as close as he can to the barrier without finding himself staring down the barrel of a gun, and Jin Guangyao thanks him as he pops the door.

No one pays him any mind as he strides across the dirt road to the bored-looking soldier manning the checkpoint itself, ensconced inside a concrete bunker of a kiosk. The counter is covered in travel papers and assorted confiscated goods waiting to be retrieved and dispersed amongst the soldiers looking to entertain themselves with a bit of contraband. Jin Guangyao’s fingers itch to snag a few inconspicuous objects, a familiar urge that he tamps down with a friendly smile at the stone-faced man rummaging through his hardtop leather suitcase and checking his face against his identification. The easiest lies to sell are the ones that are true, and so Jin Guangyao takes back his utterly legitimate Yunping citizen I.D. with another friendly smile. He waits for the soldier to decide that there’s nothing worth taking from his case of clothing and ephemera left over from his latest travels, looking for all the world like any semi-important East Yunping citizen returning home from a business trip (only the important ones are allowed to leave, after all, as only the important ones would be able to be pressured into returning).

“Go on then, Mr Meng,” the man grunts and shuts the case again with the sharp click of the clasps returning to their place. Jin Guangyao slides the case towards himself and, in the reflection of a delicately enameled compact mirror perched on a shelf behind the soldier, he catches a glimpse of dark eyes under the brim of a wool flatcap, but when he turns to head through the checkpoint with his case in hand he’s apparently already been deemed too boring to continue watching.

Jin Guangyao’s path is not as direct as it could be as he makes his way past the walls and into the grim maze of East Yunping City. When he was a boy, it had seemed so vibrantly alive, full of light and music late into every evening and beautiful women flitting to and fro in their shimmering silks and satins, giggling as men chased after them with wicked grins on their faces. The sound of others drinking and laughing until dawn had been his constant nighttime companions until he’d left it all behind at 15. (By then, though, he’d long been aware of the sorts of things the people around him were doing to escape from their miserable lives for a few pleasure-soaked hours, and the sound of their laughter had since lost all of its charm.)

Now, the streets are grey, dim with the lingering ghosts of privation and rationing; faded posters cling to dingy walls that haven’t seen a fresh coat of paint since years before the war, and everyone’s drab, sturdy clothes are visibly much-mended when they pass him on either side. Jin Guangyao doesn’t spare them more of his attention than he must to make sure he isn’t being followed. He sticks out like a sore thumb now, gone too long and dressed too finely in his pressed suit and black leather wingtips to be anything but an outsider amongst the people he’d grown up with, but he still knows these streets like the back of his hand.

It takes the better part of the afternoon to finally reach his destination, only arriving after a few switchbacks and stops for tea in one shop and a pastry in another to give himself a few chances to people-watch…and pick up the revolver he’ll need from a particularly helpful waiter at the second spot he pops into. He tucks the innocuous little paper bag into his case before he continues on his way, out of the red light district and deeper into the more residential areas.

Yunping Music Academy is far from prestigious — in fact it’s damn near non-functional and likely a year or two away from being shut down entirely — but Jin Guangyao knows that’s precisely why his latest mark has chosen to dedicate the past couple of years of his career to it.

He steps inside just as the exhausted secretary is snapping her case shut for the night, and a polite inquiry in the local dialect that thankfully still feels right on his tongue gets him a tired nod in the right direction. An equally polite thank you earns him a tiny hint of a smile before he turns to stride deeper into the building.

“Lan Xichen,” he calls in greeting when he enters the orchestra hall. Said latest mark is currently nothing more than a pair of legs (a long pair of legs) sticking out from under a beat up old piano, and to Lan Xichen’s credit he barely twitches when his name is called so unexpectedly in the echoing space.

“I will be with you in just a moment!”

Jin Guangyao reckons he can spare another moment or two after he’d spent so long ensuring he’d be difficult to follow, and so he makes himself at home behind what he presumes is Lan Xichen’s desk in the corner of the hall beneath a row of windows in need of a good scrubbing. He flicks up the corners of a few pages strewn across the desk for a bit of a snoop but finds nothing more interesting than a few sheafs of sheet music of the sort that schoolchildren are capable of playing and a well-loved cotton cloth bearing only a few crumbs from Lan Xichen’s lunch.

There’s a loud wood-against-metal thunk from beneath the piano and then Lan Xichen is shimmying out from beneath the instrument as genteelly as one can do so, a little dusty and rumpled around the edges but bright-eyed as he looks up at Jin Guangyao with polite suspicion.

“Pardon me, I was not anticipating company this evening,” he says as he gets to his feet and dusts himself off with a few firm pats at his trousers and shirtsleeves, “though you do not look like any of my students’ parents.”

“Heavens forbid,” Jin Guangyao agrees with a dimpling smile. “I’m here for a different sort of business altogether; I’ll do us both a favor and get straight to the point.”

“You men who look important are always in such a rush,” Lan Xichen replies with a smile of his own that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he reaches for a cardigan to pull over his shoulders once he’s dusted himself off enough. “Are you an important man?”

Jin Guangyao raises an eyebrow at the other and says, a bit too flippantly, “Well, I can get you over the Wall. Is that important enough for you?”

“Less important than you might think, Mr…?”

“Meng.” Jin Guangyao ignores the way his mother’s name — his own childhood name — wants to stick in the back of his throat.

“Ah. Well, Mr Meng, I promise you I have no interest in getting into trouble, which is all that I believe our conversation is likely to bring. So if you’ll excuse me –”

“I came to have a friendly chat about your brother,” Jin Guangyao cuts in. “Certainly Lan Wangji is worth a bit of trouble, especially if I can promise to get you back out of it again, hm?”

Jin Guangyao settles a little more comfortably in Lan Xichen’s chair with a flash of satisfaction when, halfway through turning away from him, the man freezes save for a twitch of his fingers where his hand is resting on the lid of the piano.

“What about my brother?”

“Rumor has it that he’s decided to align himself with some rather…unsavory characters.”

“That does not sound very friendly, Mr Meng.”

Jin Guangyao actually smiles at that, a real one, startled out of him by the sly look Lan Xichen shoots him over his shoulder.

Lan Xichen inhales deeply and seems to center himself a bit. His hands skim along the top of the piano when he reaches for a dusting cloth to begin meticulously attending to polishing the keys, even kneeling down to eye-level with them to better clean between each one with the edge of the handkerchief. It’s far more attention than the piano likely requires, but Jin Guangyao will allow him the chance to distract himself a bit from an uncomfortable conversation.

“I regret to say you’ve wasted your time. Whatever Wangji has done or whomever he is with now, I haven’t spoken to him in a year, and I have not actually seen him with my own eyes in three.”

“Fortunately for you, I know a little of his whereabouts. He’s been working for the Jin organization’s research department on something of a…probationary period. He’s very cooperative, when he wants to be. His ability to gather information and put it to good use is almost unmatched.”

“ ‘Almost’? If I know my brother at all, he would be anxious to understand who it is that can best him in your estimation to earn him an ‘almost’,” Lan Xichen retorts. Jin Guangyao offers up an obligatory chuckle and unlatches his case where it’s resting on the desk.

“And I would be happy to inform him, though something tells me we’re both already well aware of who his better may be.” Jin Guangyao withdraws a stiff card photograph from its spot on top of his slightly-rumpled stack of shirts. It’s monochrome, a little blurred around the edges, but easy enough to make out the subjects of. He’s just about to shut the case again when he catches sight of something that definitely isn’t his — a hollow little blob of clear glass, no bigger than a coin and stuffed full of a tangled nest of wires. Two thin metal pins jut out from the bottom, and he would be willing to bet a month’s allowance that they’re a microphone and a short-distance radio transmitter. There is, in his mind’s eye, the flash of a piercingly dark gaze over his shoulder, and a soldier’s too-thorough hands pawing through his belongings — not searching, then, but planting. He focuses again on the task at hand with a renewed sense of urgency that he takes pains not to reveal. With a little readjustment of his mental timer already ticking down, his priorities rearrange themselves neatly into a new configuration — time for plan B.

“This photo was taken just a few days ago, in Yiling,” he says with only a quick beat missed in the conversation at hand. Lan Xichen steps closer and takes a moment to study the figures in the proffered photo: in the foreground, a man in black is the only figure in focus but he’s facing away from the camera. Half-visible over the figure’s shoulder, dressed entirely in white, is Lan Wangji in side profile, his elegant features startlingly similar to the man currently standing in front of Jin Guangyao even when partially obscured by the man in black. The pair are surrounded by others, two young men, one soft and one stern, and a severe-looking woman, all of them dressed head-to-toe in black and standing at military attention around the car Lan Wangji and his companion are about to enter.

“Which is meant to be my brother?” Lan Xichen jokes. Jin Guangyao offers him a little chuckle in reward for playing along.

“Funny. Your brother is one of the most well-informed men in the country, one of the brightest minds in the Jin organization. If his information falls into the wrong hands, it could be catastrophic. Things could get a bit…messy. And I know you Lans have such a reputation for fastidiousness, righteousness, all those sorts of things. Surely you don’t want to see him be responsible for the end of the world?”

“As I said, Mr Meng,” Lan Xichen sighs as he returns to his instrument and folds up his dusting cloth into a neat little square, scooping a tiny bit of wax out of a palm-sized tin with the corner of it to begin polishing the lid of the piano, “none of this is my business. We have been unfortunately separated for years, why do you think I can help you find my brother?”

“I don’t.” Jin Guangyao shrugs and leans back to cross one leg over the other like they have all the time in the world. “I believe you know someone who can.” He reaches into his suitcase for another photo on slightly cheaper paper, the edges of it already dog-eared and the cheap ink crackling in webs across the surface, though the damage can’t hide the sternly handsome features of the subject. Lan Xichen sighs and turns his head enough to look at the photo Jin Guangyao holds up between his first two fingers. “Your father’s brother, Lan Qiren. He raised you and Lan Wangji until you were forced to escape Gusu with you and your brother in tow. I can’t imagine that such a doting uncle who has worried for his nephews’ safety from afar for over a decade and a half doesn’t know where they’ve both settled down, even if they’d both like to hide from..prying eyes.” Jin Guangyao stands with a twitch at the hem of his suit jacket to straighten it — and subtly drops the planted bug from his case into the cold remnants of a cup of tea perched on the corner of Lan Xichen’s desk with a satisfying plop and the accompanying fizzle of ruined electronics.

Now that he can be confident they’re truly alone, Jin Guangyao allows a bit of genuine sincerity to creep into his voice as he adds, “I don’t think your brother has done anything wrong, Mr Lan. I think he’s been kidnapped and forced into unsavory circumstances and is simply doing his best to survive until help comes, so I’d like to help him. Why don’t you help me?”

Lan Xichen blinks down at him when Jin Guangyao comes to a stop in front of him, and it’s clear that he’s wavering even if he thinks he’s hiding it well. “Help you with what exactly, Mr Meng?”

“Ah. See, I’d like to have the time to sit and chat about it, perhaps over tea or…dinner?” Lan Xichen’s eyes widen ever so slightly and his ears turn a faint shade of pink that Jin Guangyao finds absurdly nice. “But,” he reminds himself and tells Lan Xichen, “I’m afraid we don’t have the time.” A gesture of his hand out the bank of windows behind Lan Xichen coaxes the man into turning around to see what Jin Guangyao is 98% certain will be there — a man with dark, hard eyes waiting nearly out of sight, perhaps with a crony or two to help him capture them. Or, rather, Lan Xichen. He’s probably got instructions to kill Jin Guangyao the moment an opportunity presents itself. Most people do, after all.

He could swear he sees Lan Xichen blanch slightly in the sallow glow of the single street lamp out in the alley and takes that to mean his assumption was correct.

“If I had things my way, believe me I would take all the time in the world to gently convince you that coming away with me to a lovely upscale little hotel in West Yunping is precisely what you ought to do with your night, we’d have dinner, get to know one another properly — but I don’t believe our friend out there would agree with me. As I’m pretty sure our friend is from Qishan, I think he would rather string you up from a pipe and remove your nails one at a time with a pair of rusty pliers, judging what I know of the Wen style of interrogation. Ah, that’s what I needed,” Jin Guangyao cuts himself off as he spots a map of East Yunping pinned to an announcement board at the other end of the bank of windows, nearly hidden below posters of concert notices stretching back at least two years. He crosses the room to glance over the map, the crisp road lines and cluttered blocks of buildings imprinting themselves as indelibly as a photograph in his mind the moment he studies it. By the time he’s turned around to face Lan Xichen again he’s already begun plotting their escape through the mental map, bold red lines marking the most ideal route to get them to where Mo Xuanyu will be waiting with their transportation.

“Ah..you wouldn’t happen to have a car, would you?” Jin Guangyao asks with a sweet smile up at Lan Xichen, who still appears to be in the deliberation stage that they very much do not have the time for.

Lan Xichen sucks in a deep breath, glances out the window again just in time to see the Wens begin moving in, and he nods as he snatches a set of keys off the desk. “Come with me.”

... -.-. . -. . / -... .-. . .- -.-

EAST YUNPING CITY – MUSIC ACADEMY SERVICE ENTRANCE

The car is a little thing, barely just big enough for four (so long as two of the four are child-sized), but Jin Guangyao lays down flat on his back in the back seat anyway, the high point of his bent knees carefully kept lower than the windows with the rest of him while Lan Xichen maneuvers his much lankier limbs into the front seat to start it up with a few coughs and sputters before the engine turns over. They rumble their way into the alley through the back gate of the school grounds, past where the Wen agents had set themselves up to watch, and Jin Guangyao decides that in situations such as this it’s always best to take necessary precautions.

“Could you pass me the paper bag from my case please?” he asks from his perch when they creak to a stop at the first traffic light on their route, a block and a half away from the academy.

Lan Xichen doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he reaches into the passenger seat and flicks open the latches, and when he reaches over the top of the bench seat to pass him the bag his hand is remarkably steady for a schoolteacher-turned-armed-getaway-driver.

“Are they still following us?” Jin Guangyao asks as he begins to unroll the bag and check over the contents as quietly as he can.

“He is.”

Under the chugging of their engine, there’s the distinct sound of another car coasting to a stop directly beside them, on the passenger side. Jin Guangyao uses one foot to slowly turn the crank on the back passenger window until the pane is turned sideways enough to give him room to aim — better to have one less barrier for this, should it come to what he’s certain it will.

“Is he looking at us? You can just hum.”

“..Mn.”

“Only one hand on the steering wheel?”

“...Mhm.”

Jin Guangyao can’t help but sigh a little — so predictable, these Wens. Whatever happened to nice, peaceful negotiation? He screws the accompanying silencer onto the barrel of his shiny new pistol with a deft flick of his wrist. 

“When you hear something that sounds like a gunshot, drive,” he instructs calmly, and waits until he feels the car shift a bit with Lan Xichen preparing to hit the gas before he sits up straight and takes aim, firing off two rapid shots into the car idling next to them with a shattering of glass and the sound of a muffled curse before Lan Xichen shoves the car into gear and tears off down the street with a squeal of the tires.

“Did you just kill him?” Lan Xichen asks, sounding decently alarmed as he cranks the engine through its gears towards top speed.

“Sadly, no. Let’s hope he doesn’t drive as quickly as he moves, shall we?”

Jin Guangyao’s attempt at levity is punctuated by the glare of headlights through the back window rapidly growing brighter and Lan Xichen’s hands tightening grimly on the steering wheel as he reports, “Unfortunately it would seem that he does.”

“Mn. Take a right up here, please,” Jin Guangyao requests when their tail is riding their bumper so closely the headlights disappear again behind it and the interior of the car darkens again. Lan Xichen does as requested — as does the Wen agent, swinging onto the street in tandem with them like a waltz, albeit one that’s rather more dangerous and at a much higher speed than is traditional. “And now an immediate left, if you don’t mind.”

Lan Xichen’s teeth must be clenched as hard as they can be judging by the hard cut of his jaw as they careen left under a streetlight, the glare of it slicing through the car for only a second before they’re beyond it with the Wen agent keeping pace with them neck-and-neck now, rather than behind. Jin Guangyao has the strangest urge to wave when he glances over and locks eyes with their pursuer for the briefest of moments before Lan Xichen yanks on the handbrake and sends them into a well-controlled tailspin that becomes a sharp left onto a residential side street.

The maneuver — that their new friend, of course, copies flawlessly — leaves them careening past a large pile of construction debris that effectively traps the Wen agent in a perfect gap between the piles of concrete rubble, and Jin Guangyao means it 100% when he says, “Nicely done,” while they disappear around a bend, leaving their hanger-on behind.

“Thank you. Hold on, please,” Lan Xichen replies just as politely as Jin Guangyao had instructed his turns. Jin Guangyao does as he’s asked — fingers curled around the handle just above the window — with no small amount of bemusement while Lan Xichen gives the brake another loud crank and whips them sideways again with a squeal of the tires into a particularly neat parallel parking job between two larger vehicles against the curb. He twists the keys with a sharp flick of his wrist and the headlights finish dimming a mere heartbeat before a new set of high-beams light up the street only to pass them by at a crawl. In the muted glow of a street lamp halfway down the lane, Jin Guangyao can just make out the bold profile of their new friend as he slinks past.

He ducks down to lay flat on the seat again, Lan Xichen doing the same up front, and they lapse into silence as the puttering of the engine fades down the street past their parking spot.

“Is he gone?”

“Somehow, I highly doubt it,” Jin Guangyao sighs and sits up again for a quick look around. He takes stock of his mental maps, both the snapshot he’d taken of the one in Lan Xichen’s practice hall as well as his own more on-the-ground understanding from the days when this was his stomping ground. A flash of red in the side mirror catches his eye and he purses his lips, deep in thought.

Hm. Maybe it’s time for plan C. Not as clean as he’d usually like to be, but that’s the way life goes sometimes, he supposes. It’s why he has a plan C in the first place.

Lan Xichen sits up then as well, cautious, and waits for him to come to a decision.

“Reverse down the sidewalk when I tell you to and drive once around the block. I’ll meet you back here.”

Lan Xichen looks…dubious at best, but when he faces forward again with that tension back in his jaw Jin Guangyao knows it’s impossible not to notice the telltale red glow of tail lights growing closer in his side mirror, their overly-suspicious friend reversing back down the way he’d come, so really what choice has he got? Jin Guangyao raises an eyebrow at him as if to say, ‘See? May as well listen to me’ before he slips out of the car, now idling quietly, to hide in the hulking shadows of the utility truck parked behind them and wave to Lan Xichen when he hears the crunch of tires slowly approaching. He stays well out of the way to give Lan Xichen room to execute his instructions rather smoothly — another neat piece of work in which he pulls up over the curb and reverses away at a crawl just as their Wen friend pulls up level with the spot they’d been in only moments before. Jin Guangyao cocks his gun, the click hardly audible over the rumbling of the other man’s engine.

Jin Guangyao is not very well liked by his employer. That is, he knows, to be expected when said employer is Jin Guangshan who — on top of being notorious for not liking anyone much at all save for the prostitutes he hires nearly every night — is not exactly known to be kind to any bastard children he accidentally produces with said prostitutes. Still, despite his father’s wishes, there exists far too much evidence (in very official government records across multiple continents and everything, lucky him!) that his unwanted and terribly inconvenient bastard son is one of the most efficient and fiendishly clever men in the entire world of organized crime. No matter how much Jin Guangshan may hate it, there is no one better for difficult extractions like this than Jin Guangyao.

It’s with this thought at the forefront of his mind that Jin Guangyao steps out of his hiding spot the moment the Wen agent cranks his car into drive again to follow Lan Xichen’s retreating shadow down the street, his silhouette thrown onto the buildings he passes by the street lamp at the end of the lane. Jin Guangyao steps into the middle of the asphalt, spreads his feet shoulder-width apart, and with a couple easy squeezes of his finger he fires off two shots through the rear window, aiming straight for the dark silhouette of the Wen agent’s head, backlit strongly enough to be a laughably easy target.

The car veers abruptly and crashes on a small mound of more construction debris. Jin Guangyao stays where he is, his face half-lit and half-hidden in shadow, to watch the car for any sign of movement. He’s a crack shot and he never misses the same target twice, but he’s already getting the sense that this man is something…new. Something unlike anything he’s faced before.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Lying down flat in the front seat of his car to once again avoid getting shot through the back of the head like this guy so clearly wants to do, Nie Mingjue reflects on what he’d been told during his briefing for this mission.

“This bastard is not like your typical opponents,” Wen Ruohan tells him, the fat cigar between his fingers curling lazy drifts of smoke that dance in the glow of the projector. The only thing Nie Mingjue can pay attention to is big, dark eyes and a smile punctuated either side by dimples like parentheses, unmoving on the slide fed in front of the lamp.

“Meng Yao left Yunping City at 15 years old to head for America with a group of traveling artists, forged citizenship papers and all. From there he entered military service at 17 and managed to get himself stationed in Europe, where he then stayed behind after the War as part of the occupying force.” The light flickers brighter and then dims as a fresh image is slid into place, this one of the same man helping to disperse what looks like food rations to children out of the back of an American military jeep with a ragtag group of other men, none of them white and all of them dressed in American uniforms. “Like all the Jins, he’s got a head for money and how to make the most of it, and it wasn’t long before he figured out the real money post-war was in the black market — stealing and selling priceless art and antiquities.” Another flicker, another image of Meng Yao and a different group of men all standing on the steps of what seems to be a museum, each of them looking smug in their own ways as they pose with paintings even Nie Mingjue can recognize as the work of famous Western masters.

“He’s an extremely methodical man; while in Europe he taught himself several languages, and his heists became increasingly more high-profile as he secured a reputation for himself as the best art thief in the world. His genius made headlines all over Europe, eventually catching the attention of enough authorities that four different countries created a team of their most elite forces just to take him down. And even then, they only managed it because they got lucky.”

The quick flickering between microfilms of newspaper headlines (in an array of Western languages accompanying photos of looted vaults standing open and empty walls where there are no paintings left to accompany their labels) stops abruptly on an upside down mugshot, the identification placard held up in the center and black height bars with the accompanying numbers distinctive enough to recognize on sight. Nie Mingjue nearly snickers at how far up they don’t go, obvious even in reverse.

“The story caught the attention of the CIA, who realized—”

“Ah – Apologies, xiandu,” Wen Zhuliu murmurs as he quickly tugs the slide out and flips it right-side up at Wen Ruohan’s warning glare. Nie Mingjue fights hard not to roll his eyes — does he really need to know all of this? Meng Yao isn’t even his mark, he’s just an annoying fly that needs swatting.

“—who realized that prodigious talents like his would only be wasted in jail.”

Alright fine, so this Meng Yao guy is ‘special’. They all are, or else they wouldn’t be international spies for the most powerful men in China. And he’s a criminal — what else is new? It’s not like Nie Mingjue ever feels guilty for killing people in this line of work, they’ve all got a skeleton or two or twenty in their closets and the people he kills probably deserved it anyway. He doesn’t really need convincing, but there’s not really much he can do but let Wen Ruohan continue his little demonstration. The monster has always been such a fan of dramatics, and it’s not as if he doesn’t have Nie Mingjue’s balls in a tight enough vice grip to force him to play along anyway.

Meng Yao’s smirking face — haughty even under arrest — seems to be laughing at him from the screen, a challenge in his wide, dark eyes.

Nie Mingjue’s patience gets the better of him, and he shifts in his seat to jab a finger at the screen. “So is he CIA or Jin, then?” Irrational as it may be, he hates to feel like Meng Yao is laughing at him from a photograph and he’s keen to move on. Wen Ruohan shoots him a warning glance before looking back up at the projected image of the biggest obstacle to reaching his new mark.

“The Americans were hours away from striking a deal with him — his freedom in exchange for doing their dirty work — when he suddenly disappeared from right under everyone’s noses, gone without a trace, like he’d never existed. He showed up a few months later at a Jin-hosted summit in Lanling at Jin Guangshan’s right hand. New name, new position so high up the Jins’ gilded ladder that he’s become untouchable, which basically means he’s got free license to do whatever he pleases in the service of his father’s interests. Since that day, Jin Guangyao has been their most successful and prolific agent.”

Yeah. Nie Mingjue can see that now.

-... .-. . .- -.-

There’s no movement from the Wen’s car as Jin Guangyao takes a few steps back and lowers the gun back to his side, only to be nearly run over by Lan Xichen pulling his car to a screeching stop mere inches away from his calves.

“Do you mind?” he asks the man with a wave at the whitewall tire that nearly grazed his leg, and Lan Xichen simply shrugs with a not-so-apologetic smile.

“Apologies, Mr Meng. I didn’t quite see you there.”

“Ah I see, how remiss of me to not be wearing something fashionably reflective,” Jin Guangyao replies sweetly as he reaches for the handle on the rear passenger side door. “Did you at least see —”

Jin Guangyao looks up sharply at a bang from down the street and nearly swears aloud at the sight of the Wen agent having kicked the banged-up door of his car clean off in order to clamber out of it, looking far too hale and hearty for Jin Guangyao’s tastes. He swings himself into the back seat at the same moment Lan Xichen jerks into drive and peels off down the lane, his heart hammering in his chest at the unexpected return of their not-so-little friend.

What a cockroach, Jin Guangyao grumbles to himself in the privacy of his own mind; it’s been a long time since someone he’s gone up against has managed to surprise him, and he can’t really say that he’s ever been very fond of surprises.

There’s another loud bang, an unmuffled gunshot this time he thinks, and with a deafening scrape there are sparks flying from their rear tire and the car lurches under Lan Xichen’s hands as he struggles to keep their path straight with the newly-exposed rim dragging at the asphalt with an earsplitting grind. Jin Guangyao finds himself wondering almost idly what sort of road conditions Lan Xichen has found himself contending with prior to this trial by fire that have left him so deftly able to manage driving through a labyrinthine, residential construction zone without a rear tire, and feels a bit of respect for the man tip one corner of his mouth up.

“You may wish to look out your window,” Lan Xichen says tightly when they should be well on their way to safety. Despite his hatred for surprises, Jin Guangyao finds himself on the verge of laughing at the absurdity of how thoroughly wrong this whole endeavor has managed to go.

“You cannot possibly be serious,” he manages, but Lan Xichen doesn’t deign to reply as he manhandles the car with grim determination. He is, of course, completely serious, and Jin Guangyao watches with bemused incredulity (what else can he possibly do?) as the Wen agent runs full tilt towards the car, gaining precious ground with each freakishly long stride. He hadn’t heard that Wen Ruohan was dabbling in genetic modification, but he can’t help but feel that this man must have been created in a lab somewhere, there’s no way this is a natural human being.

Lan Xichen whips around a bend in the road; the Wen agent cuts across the corner they’d rounded and somehow gains enough ground to actually grab onto the rear hatch, teeth clenched and eyes burning as he glares straight at Jin Guangyao through the back window.

“He’s…trying to stop the car,” he feels compelled to inform Lan Xichen as he feels the car jerk and begin to slow in response to the boulder they’re now attempting to tow through the back alleys of Yunping. Something tells him Lan Xichen’s zippy little car was never built for such heavy lifting.

“So it would seem, and it happens to be working. Would you like to take another shot at him, Mr Meng?” Lan Xichen asks with the politest sarcasm Jin Guangyao has ever heard.

He can’t stop staring up at the circus sideshow clinging to their bumper with gritted teeth and fire in his eyes as he muses, “Somehow, it just doesn’t seem like the right thing to do.”

It’s a moot point anyway, as it turns out, as the next moment there’s a tremendous screech of metal and the car jolts ahead with a burst of speed (and gains more quickly) while their new monstrous friend is left stumbling in their wake clinging to the rear hatch of the car, ripped off with his bare hands. He chucks it at them for good measure before he begins chasing again, the sheet of metal clattering to the pavement a few feet behind them a sailing moment later. But they’re racing away too quickly now even for him to keep up with, so Jin Guangyao puts the man out of his mind to focus once again on orienting them along the route in his mental map.

“Ah — left just ahead and then an immediate right, please, Mr Lan.”

The tires screech, sparks flying off the rim of their flat, and Jin Guangyao braces himself against the door as Lan Xichen complies. It takes roughly 5 seconds after the right turn before Lan Xichen yelps, as if startled, “This road doesn’t go anywhere!”

“It’s going where we want, don’t worry.”

“It’s getting narrower,” Lan Xichen adds, as if Jin Guangyao can’t see that, the old buildings jostling in towards the alley they’re careening down.

“All part of the plan,” he says smoothly — a single heartbeat before they grind to a screeching halt, caught suspended midair over a short flight of stairs tightly sandwiched between two redbrick apartment blocks.

“A wonderful plan.” Lan Xichen takes a deep breath in deeply enough for Jin Guangyao to see it in his shoulders before he gestures forward through the windshield at the spotlit walls and razor wire fences straight ahead of them. “Now we only have to cross two 20-foot walls and a minefield.”

“Which, if you’ll recall, I did tell you I can do for you.”

Jin Guangyao stands to lean forward over the front seat and across Lan Xichen to turn the crank of his window for him, since they really do need to be moving quickly but Lan Xichen still seems a bit stuck on the whole ‘caught between a rock and a hard place’ concept. Bless him, he doesn’t know yet that Jin Guangyao can not only get in anywhere, but also out.

In the same blithe tone of voice he’s used for the rest of their directions so far, Jin Guangyao instructs, “Take a left through the window,” once he’s leaned back out of Lan Xichen’s personal space (practically his lap, really, had the front seat not been in the way). Lan Xichen takes entirely too long to blink and most likely blush before he manages to clamber his absurdly long limbs out of the car and into the window of whatever unfortunate soul just had to hear them collide with their wall. Jin Guangyao is a gentleman and so he very pointedly does not admire the view when only Lan Xichen’s hips and long legs are left inside the car.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Over the sound of wailing sirens, Nie Mingjue barks, “Qishan Wen, out of my way!” at the soldiers that pour out of a pair of border police cars, clearly in pursuit of both parties but having just caught him purely on luck. 

The soldier in front of him barks something back at him in the Yunping dialect, and though the words are generally unfamiliar there are really only so many ways to say ‘put your hands up and don’t move’ that he’s pretty sure he’s got the right of it. Doesn’t mean he’s going to do it.

“I said out of my way!” The soldier barks the same thing at him again, so Nie Mingjue adds, “I’m running out of time!” as if that’ll persuade them into backing off. He readjusts his grip on his pocket-sized pistol to attempt to hide it from sight in his palm, but then he hears radio chatter from one of the squad cars, in thickly-accented Mandarin:

All units come in! Giant carrying a firearm in lower East side —

Time to go!

Nie Mingjue doesn’t bother waiting for them to decide that he’s fine, actually, not a threat at all to them with his gun in his hand, and instead takes it upon himself to throat punch the one closest to him in the effort of speeding this along. Snagging the gun off the downed soldier’s hip is child’s play while the man is busy clutching at his throat, and using the butt of it to pistol-whip the next two that lunge for him across their cheeks hard enough to knock them out is equally straightforward. The last man standing in his way gives up easily when Nie Mingjue holds the barrel of the 9mm to his forehead, which is sensible of him. Nie Mingjue pauses just long enough to snag a radio transmitter off one of the men currently writhing on the ground before he takes off at a dead run again, heading straight for the alley his prey had disappeared down.

-... .-. . .- -.-

In the moments between Lan Xichen disappearing into the apartment and Jin Guangyao climbing across the small gap between car and windowsill to join him, he catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye to find their Wen friend running at him full-tilt from the end of the alley. He’s a persistent bastard anyway, Jin Guangyao has to give it to him. He swings into the apartment and takes a quick second to get his bearings and twitch his jacket down flat again before he waves Lan Xichen out of the small utility space they’ve found themselves in into the rest of the apartment.

“We’re headed for the roof, Mr Lan,” he informs his companion while they skulk as quickly as possible around the edge of a sitting room and into a short front hallway. Jin Guangyao’s fingers fly over the locks to open the door to the stairwell and he waves Lan Xichen out ahead of him with a little hint of a bow to be extra polite about it, and he thinks he sees something like a smile on Lan Xichen’s face as the man slips out past him.

Jin Guangyao is glad that Lan Xichen’s legs are so long as he eats up ground quickly, striding up two stairs at a time while Jin Guangyao keeps pace beside him in their tight spiral upwards. The apartment door clatters open again behind them with an echoing bang off the wall, but Jin Guangyao just smirks as the roof hatch comes into view straight ahead of them.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Getting into the apartment building is easy enough, considering his prey left him such a convenient way to enter precisely where they had. Nie Mingjue jumps high enough to use what remains of the back bumper to haul himself on top of the car stuck suspended between the two buildings (he wonders whose bright idea that was) and slides down into the window they’d foolishly left open behind themselves. He’s out of the apartment again in a flash, the pounding footsteps overhead telling him that his suspicion that they wouldn’t simply hide in the apartment unit itself to wait for him to pass them by was correct. He begins the chase again, taking the stairs three at a time with ease to attempt to close the gap of their head start before they can reach the roof.

-... .-. . .- -.-

“What exactly are we doing up here?”

Jin Guangyao drops the roof hatch shut behind them and slides a convenient steel rod through the loops where a lock should be.

“We are looking for Agent Mo,” Jin Guangyao informs him simply as he steps up to the edge of the roof and pulls a slender flashlight from his pocket to click through the agreed upon signal at  the unmarked military transport truck reversed right up to the West Yunping side of the wall. “Step back please, Mr Lan,” Jin Guangyao requests just as the relative quiet around breaks with staccato clanging on the hatch behind them. Damn that asshole’s quick, but it hardly matters now as a grappling hook comes sailing over the tight group of about half a dozen nestled chimneys in front of them and catches neatly in the seam between two, the sturdy metal cable between the hook and the interior of the truck pulling taut.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Nie Mingjue shoots the offending locked hatch a few times (mostly to vent his frustration, though there’s also the slight chance that it might actually do something to force it open). When that doesn’t work for either intended purpose, he grabs the stolen radio off his shoulder and snaps into it, “I’m the one who just knocked your men out. Get to the wall, someone’s making an escape — but don’t shoot the teacher!”

He glances to the side at a hint of movement only to find an older woman already in her nightdress trying to hide behind her door while still keeping a wary eye on him, and Nie Mingjue hurries to keep her from shutting the door.

“Excuse me auntie, I just need your back door,” he tells her as politely as he can before he barges his way into her home to head straight for the fire escape.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Jin Guangyao fiddles with the sturdy canvas strap and attached carabiner on his belt, connecting the clip easily to the zipline so kindly provided to them by Mo Xuanyu. He’s just gotten it secured when he hears a thud and he spots the Wen agent hauling himself over the edge of the roof.

“Hug me,” he tells Lan Xichen with so much authority that the man doesn’t so much as pause to question him, he simply wraps his lanky limbs around Jin Guangyao from the front and curls up tight to hide his face in his shoulder when Jin Guangyao leaps off the edge of the building.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Nie Mingjue curses under his breath and practically rips off his leather bomber jacket to sling it over the zipline and hold on tightly to the sleeves, only hesitating for the briefest moment before he jumps off the building to follow the other two across the no-man’s-land between the walls now swarming with soldiers and barking dogs responding to his call.

-... .-. . .- -.-

“A-Yu! Reverse!!” Jin Guangyao shouts the second they’re clear of the West Yunping side’s barbed wire with a mere two inches to spare. They stumble a bit upon landing in the back of the moving truck, but Jin Guangyao keeps his feet and manages to lean into Lan Xichen hard enough to help him do the same. He turns at the last moment to watch with satisfaction as the line goes too slack to function anymore, sagging under the Wen agent’s weight to ensure he drifts pathetically to a stop in the middle of no-man’s-land, completely unable to clear the top of the wall even if he tried. He feels Lan Xichen wilt against his side as Jin Guangyao meets their pursuer’s furious eyes and pulls the pin that will release the rest of the line from the crank it had been spooled around.

The Wen drops down out of sight behind the Wall.

Jin Guangyao turns his attention to tending to Lan Xichen, getting him seated safely in the back of the transport truck as Mo Xuanyu pulls away to take them to Jin Guangyao’s nearest safehouse.

Lan Xichen looks up at him in awe. Jin Guangyao does his best not to preen under the attention.

“Who are you?” he finally asks, and Jin Guangyao simply smiles at him.

“Nobody all that interesting,” he lies. “Just the delivery man.”

Lan Xichen looks a bit taken aback, but he says nothing else so Jin Guangyao goes to check on Mo Xuanyu as his brother drives them expertly through quiet streets. Their father will be here to pick up his ‘package’ in the morning, Jin Guangyao just has to cart around his bookish companion for another 12 hours or so. Perhaps feed him. He can do that much at least, and then he’ll be more than happy to leave Yunping City behind again for another decade at least, if he can manage it.

[headfullofpresley]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 7,1K

Series summary: Elvis has worked hard to become the successful adult movie director that he is today and all that hard work is paying off by how well the public reacts to his work and how much money is coming into his bank account, despite the fact that porn is still very much illegal. Working in the adult industry is not something you saw yourself doing despite coming from a place where it always has been out in the open, but you soon find yourself swept up and away by a certain American director and right into the heart of the porn industry. The only question that remains is... will you sink, or will you swim?

Chapter summary: Elvis shows you around on set and despite your doubts about the adult industry being the right place for you, you decide to be a big girl and take part in a scene. Things don't go too well all because of that pesky virginity of yours and the ever so charming director makes you an offer you can't (and won't) refuse.

Warnings: porn director!Elvis, AU, strong language, the porn industry, sexual innuendos and all that, reader is kind of eager to lose her V-card, smut; fingering, oral (f. receiving), vaginal penetration, unprotected sex.

A/N: hi hello! honestly, i'm not too proud of this chapter woooops and i just wanted to get the smut over and done with bc... i wanna get to the angst 👀- i have ideas for this series, y'all. it won't be a very long one the way i have it planned now but like i said before it'll have heavier themes in it and y'all already know i'm a sucker for angst. so i hope you guys will stick around until the end and i hope y'all still enjoy this chapter nonetheless! 💗

read chapter 1 here | want to be added to the taglist? just ask!

You’d never been on a movie set a day in your life.

While most of the movies that were playing in theaters in your country were imported all the way from the States, the Netherlands had some passionated local directors and actors as well. You belonged to neither groups and therefor, you had never set foot on a movie set.

Let alone an adult movie set.

The set Elvis had rented out for some of the indoor scenes was located ten minutes out of the city center. You recognized the abandoned factory from the outside and the state of it made an eerie feeling crawl up your spine. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here in the first place. Maybe this had all been a mistake.

But before you could turn yourself and your bike around and leave this crazy, impulsive idea of yours behind, you heard a heavy door open and slam shut again, followed by a booming, amused sounding man.

The American.

“You’re not leavin’ so soon, are ya?”

You clenched your steerring wheel in your hands and looked up at the raven haired man, suddenly were very aware of that you didn’t really know him. You were growing more nervous, though were still trying not to show it, but it was like this man was a goddamn mind reader – at least, when it came to you.

He saw right through you.

A cigarette dangling on the corner of his lower lip, he stepped forward to you (you didn’t miss how he only had to take three steps, because he was perfectly tall) and put his hands on the steerring wheel of your bike. As you looked up into his eyes, he looked down straight into yours – the playful grin that was settled on his face, making his eyes gleam with a hint of mischief, made your heart do a sommersault in your chest.

He really was gorgeous, yet that still didn’t take the nerves that were swirling through the pit of your stomach away. If anything, it only made you more nervous.

“Who said anything about leaving? I just need to put my bike somewhere,” you quickly said, trying to sound as playful as you could and not like you were a scared little bird.

Which honestly, you weren’t. You wouldn’t think of yourself that way- virgin or not, you truly couldn’t turn back now. While you hadn’t set foot inside the building yet, and technically could still get the hell out of dodge, your brain was telling you you were already in too deep.

Elvis nodded as he took a drag from his cigarette, that grin that made his eyes twinkle still planted on his face, and he watched you put your bike against the wall near the door he just came out of. He didn’t comment on the fact that you didn’t lock it or whatsoever and you had just made up an excuse on the whim, you were trying to leave, but he was glad you decided not to. Flicking his cigarette away, he blew out some smoke from the corner of his mouth and nodded his head toward the door as he strided over to it, pushing it open for you to go inside first.

You did and immediately you wanted to turn back around.

The old factory was as old and torn down on the inside as it was on the outside. Now maybe if you were a veteran pornstar, this would’ve been fine- you would have been a professional and would know what to do. But you weren’t and you were beginning to doubt if you were made for this kind of life.

Was this even something you wanted?

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” The director next to you spoke up as he noticed the way you were looking around as if you had just arrived in hell itself. The way your name rolled off his tongue so casually yet comforting had goosebumps rising on the back of your neck. “I ain’t gonna let you do anythin’ you don’t want, ya hear? ‘M just gonna show you around a little,”

You looked at him and although he looked like the kind of man that could get anyone to do anything he wanted to with a snap of his fingers, the little smile he was now giving you seemed sincere. Perhaps you were reading this stranger all wrong, but you trusted him.

It wasn’t like you had much to lose.

He held out his hand for you and you breathed out a deep sigh, laughing a little at the whole situation as you took his hand. He squeezed it softly as he laced your fingers together and gently tugged you further along inside the building, following the hushed voices that echoed through the big, grim space.

 

Camera’s and light equipments were planted in one corner, all facing and following the male actor that had a female co-star pressed against the wall, her skirt pulled up to her waist as he was pulling out soft, erotic moans from her as he had three fingers shoved inside of her.

The sight made your heart skip a beat- you didn’t know whether it was in excitement, or because you were still so goddamn nervous.

“I thought you lost the actress?” you whispered to Elvis who was still standing next to you, looking up at him. You had no idea how the film industry worked- but was he lying to you already? Why did he even offer you the position if there was a perfectly fine girl over there getting fingered?

And why in the hell did you accept?

Elvis looked away from the scene and grinned, his arms folded loosely against his chest as his blue eyes bored into yours. His voice sounded even deeper as he whispered back to you.

“I did. She’s just a stand-in,” he said, pointing to one of the camera’s. “See that? She’s only getting filmed from the waist down. I’m hopin’ that you’ll be the one on that camera soon enough,”

You stopped your eyes from widening and looked back at him, muffling a soft chuckle in the palm of your hand before you ran it through your hair. You looked around the set once more- even though the girl was just a stand-in, she looked like she was genuinely enjoying herself. Everyone seemed professional and completely focused on doing a good job on what they came here to do. Perhaps it was your virgin mind that was a little flushed at the sight before you, but part of you wanted this despite the nerves and doubts that lingered in the back of your mind too.

You wanted out of the usual routine of normal and dull life in Amsterdam. You wanted more than waiting tables and getting smacked on the ass by men that could’ve been your father or even grandfather.

You wanted more out of life.

And you were always determined to get what you wanted. Virginity and inexperience be damned.

“Well, I asked you before,” you grinned at him, spilling the words before you’d swallow them. “When do I start?”

 

Everyone Elvis worked with was very nice. They weren’t weird, oversexed maniacs like some people often made a crowd like this seem like. They were normal people that just happened to have a job that was slightly different from others to put bread on the table and get by.

They made you feel comfortable, as if you were among a big group of friends.

And before you knew it, you were put in a similar outfit the stand-in girl, which went by the name of Tiffany, was wearing before. The production was bigger than you expected because the make-up you had so carefully put on yourself this morning was wiped off and redone by a make-up lady who was taking advice from Elvis himself.

Apparently, he liked the lead actress to have a heavier, dark eye make-up look and when she was done and you saw yourself in the mirror, you almost didn’t recognize yourself.

You liked it.

Maybe this way, you could put your true self in the background and develop a new character in front of the camera. A character that was, according to Elvis, supposed to be innocent and naive and looking for the attention of the guy she was head over heels for, which would be Tommy, the lead actor, and would do anything to get it. You don’t even remember his character’s name, because everything was going so fast.

One minute you were standing around talking and getting familiar to Tommy, and the next you were in the same position you saw Tiffany in earlier on camera.

Back pressed against the wall, skirt up to your waist and Tommy’s hand slipping into your panties.

Now as he caressed his fingertips through your folds, you winced softly and Elvis immediately called to stop filming. Tommy took his head out of your neck and his hand out of your panties, keeping his voice low as if nobody else was allowed to hear this.

“You’re as dry as a cork,”

In any other situation, maybe you would’ve laughed at his comment, but right now you were mortified. You had touched yourself before, obviously, but you’d never experienced this before. When doing it yourself, you had no issues producing the much needed moisture. But it was as if your body was shutting down due to your nerves and when Elvis walked over to the two of you, you figured this would be the end of it.

He’d ‘fire’ you and you could go home and continue on with your boring ol’ life. And maybe that was for the best.

“What’s goin’ on, honey?” He asked as he placed a hand on the wall next to your head, Tommy standing on the other side of you. These two handsome men made you realize there would probably be plenty of girls, beginning actresses in the adult industry, that wanted to be in your spot. From what Tiffany told you as she helped you get into your little clothing that was needed for the scene, Tommy Sands was a big name in porn.

“Nothing! Nothing.. truly. I just need some time getting used to all the camera’s and stuff, I think,” you lied, flashing him the sweetest smile you could muster. You had no idea why you were trying so hard to make this work, or perhaps you did- not only were you stubborn by nature and always felt the need to prove yourself to mostly… yourself, you also knew you needed money.

You were without a job and you still had an apartment to pay rent for every month.

Elvis squinted his eyes a little at you, as if he could see right through you. If he did, he didn’t comment on it.

“Best thing to do is to just relax and pretend the camera’s ain’t here. It’s just you and Tommy,” he smiled at you and you looked at Tommy, who was wearing the same friendly smile as he nodded his head. Elvis continued when you looked back at him. “Think you can do that?”

You inhaled a sharp breath of air and nodded, not knowing if you actually could, but you had to try. Elvis grinned and very softly pinched your cheek. “Atta girl,” with that, he turned around and walked back to his spot next to the camera man.

Your heart was leaping pathetically in your chest and it wasn’t because Tommy Sands’ lips were back in your neck.

 

Brown eyes, sandy blonde hair, plumb pink lips and a perfectly gorgeous Colgate smile- Tommy Sands sure was a looker.

You figured if he wouldn’t be in porn, he could easily be the kind of idol nations worldwide swooned over. Yet, he wasn’t doing much for you.

The lube that was there to help you along with the scene only did the trick for a few minutes but every time Tommy’s long fingers were prodding at your entrance, you panicked and Elvis roared out a “cut!”. You were stressing yourself out, thinking that Elvis was annoyed at you for being what you figured was difficult, but he just assured you with that sweet smile and those twinkling blue eyes every time.

You wished he could take Tommy’s place.

Still, you didn’t give up and finally, with enough lube to last a lifetime, Tommy managed to slip one finger inside of you. You were supposed to moan for the camera as if you were thoroughly enjoying this, but truth was, it felt uncomfortable. And it was showing.

Elvis stopped filming once more and Tommy walked away to the side to bum a cigarette off of someone.

“I’m so sorry, Elvis. I didn’t know this would happen, but I’m sure if we try it again, I’ll be fine and-“

“Honey, did’ya ever do this before?”

“Having sex in front of a camera?”

“No, not that. Jus’ having sex.” With that infamous grin on his face, he looked down at you as if he caught you right in the middle of the act.

Which he had. You were busted, but you wouldn’t go down so easily.

You snorted as you folded your arms, letting out a soft playful scoff to add to your theatrics. “What? Ofcourse I have. I had sex plenty of times with plenty of people,”

Elvis knew that wasn’t true. He’d been in this industry long enough to know that you’d never been touched by a man in your entire life and while that wasn’t a problem for him, he knew losing your virginity on camera wasn’t an ideal situation. And despite the lead character’s innocent-like personality, he did not want this for you.

Leaning in a little closer to you, he looked into your eyes and trapped you against the wall as his hand once more came up to be placed against the concrete next to your head. “Y/N, listen to me,” he whispered lowly, the seriousness in his voice making your heart go wild against your ribcage. “Ain’t nothing wrong with being a virgin, I still want you as my lead actress, but I jus’ wish you would’ve told me. I told you when you got here that I don’t want you doin’ nothing you don’t want and I don’t believe you’d want to pop your cherry in a movie for the whole world to see. I don’t want that for you.”

You bit your tongue as you looked up at him, not even realizing you were holding your breath until it came out in a deep sigh and a breathless laugh. You felt a little foolish.

“You’re right, I should’ve told you,” you agreed, pulling your skirt down. “I guess that sums up my porn career,”

He laughed and shook his head a little, putting his knuckles on his hips as he was still hovering over you. “Didn’t ya hear what I jus’ said? I still want you in this movie. You ain’t goin’ anywhere,”

He didn’t know what it was about you, but he was intrigued and he found himself unable to let you walk out of here. You had been so sassy and confident when he first met you at the café but he knew that was only because you needed to survive in that God awful place. Something told him that deep down inside, there was a girl hidden that had so much to offer to the world and he had decided right then and there that it was his duty to help you.

He wanted to give you the world and he wanted to give the world you.

“I know a lot of people can fake an orgasm, but virginity is not something you can easily hide in a movie like this, Elvis,” you pointed out sarcastically, though he could see by the little grin on your face that the comment was still lighthearted.

“You got that right, honey, but it is something I can help you with,”

The words came out before he could stop himself. Elvis Presley never slept with an actress, no matter how many offers he had gotten. He was purely professional and it was also because he didn’t like the fact that he had seen them get fucked on camera and then had to do the fucking himself. But with you, he found himself thinking what it would be like to be in Tommy’s shoes.

How it would feel like to pop that little cherry of yours.

And you… well, you agreed.

To you, your virginity was only a nuisance. It was stopping you from making the money you needed and living the life you wanted to life. You wanted to get rid off this pesky little thing and if such a fine looking man like Director Presley was offering himself up for the job, you’d be a fool to turn him down.

So you didn’t.

“I guess if it has to happen, it’s now or never. Besides, you’re not such a bad candidate,”

Elvis laughed at your comment, rolling his eyes as he gently bumped your chin with his knuckles.

“You got that right, kid,”

 

He was a perfect gentleman though- you spend the rest of the afternoon talking on the balcony of his hotel room, enjoying some last rays of sun before the moon would take its place. Elvis told you about his life and you told him about yours. You trusted this silly American for whatever reason and it just felt right. You learned how passionate Elvis was about his work and that he wasn’t just in it to see people screw on camera- he was a storyteller and he assured you that the sex scenes in his movies weren’t just two people going at it like rabbits. There were emotions in there, there was a story to be told. This was one of the things that made him so big in the industry, because his movies didn’t only cater to men. It drew women in just as much; because it captured women in a light that told the public, “Look here, women like to have sex. They love to make love and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

Filming was cut short for the rest of the day, which the crew and cast were happy about as they all went back to their hotel to get ready and explore more of Amsterdam. You were being swooped away by Elvis to his hotel and although the topic of him taking your virginity wasn’t spoken about between the two of you anymore, you knew it was lingering on the horizon.

Sure, it got backlash from the male viewers sometimes too, as they’d complain scenes would be too “soft”, but Elvis didn’t give a damn.

He was happy with his work, and so were plenty of other people that praised him for it.

In return to Elvis’ honesty and pretty much life story, you told him yours which was far less interesting. You were alone in the big city because your parents passed when you were younger- you were raised by an aunt in a neighboring small town but as soon as you started working and saved up enough money, you went back to Amsterdam and started a life of your own. Or at least, you tried to. Jobs were hard to come by these days but you ‘lucked’ out and got hired at the café, which made just enough to afford rent. By no means were you living a luxury life or even a comfortable one at that because you were working until your feet were numb only to make ends meet. And then Elvis Presley wandered in, promising you the life of luxury you’d daydream about and offering you to let your pretty little feet rest.

Perhaps there was a reason you and him met, after all.

 

As the sun went down, Elvis ordered room service while you took a shower and washed off the make-up that you were still wearing from the shoot. Not bothered by your bare face, you walked back into the spacious bedroom after drying your hair and putting it up in a high ponytail, towel wrapped around your body.

Elvis looked up as he sat on the edge of the bed, raising an eyebrow as he took a deep, long drag from his cigarette. His oceanic eyes followed your every move as you walked closer to him, taking him by surprise when you slowly dropped the towel to a puddle by your feet- he did his damnest to hide that surprise though and a grin curled the corner of his mouth instead.

“You don’t wanna eat first?”

You shook your head as you took one more step forward, standing in between his slightly parted legs. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, you took a drag from it and Elvis watched you for several seconds before his hands settled on your hips.

Above all, he was a man. And here you were, standing right in front of his nose butt naked. No way in hell he wasn’t going to respond.

No words had to be spoken as he ran his hands up your sides, making you giggle softly at the ticklish feeling. You quickly discarded the cigarette in the ash tray on the bedside table before you put your hands on his shoulders, while his hands were moving to gently cup your breasts. He looked up at you and as soon as you looked down at him and gave him a little smile, he took it as consent and suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer as his mouth was latched onto your breasts right that second.

He kissed them gently but there was a certain kind of determination hidden in his actions and you felt it as he swirled his tongue around one of your nipples, teeth sinking into the sensitive bud very lightly. Your body reacted instantly and where you had lacked in arousal earlier today, you were sure that wouldn’t be an issue tonight.

Not with this man.

He groaned softly against your skin as he felt your nails running through his hair, caressing along his scalp, and just like yours, his body responded. Before you knew it, he had you on your back on the soft, luscious bed. Your heart was hammering in your chest as his marshmallow lips were kissing their way down your stomach and to your inner thighs, being everywhere except the spot you wanted them most.

The whole ordeal barely started and you didn’t have anything or anyone to compared it to, but you already felt like you were in Heaven.

The small gasp that came from you as he slipped his fingers through your folds caused Elvis to grin and he propped one elbow in the mattress as he was laying on his stomach, face hovering above your pussy, looking up at you. He held his fingertips up, spreading them to show you the string of slick that was connecting to the two digits.

“Maybe Tommy just wasn’t doin’ it for ya, huh?” He smirked and you bit your lip as you watched him pop his fingers into his mouth, sucking your wetness off of them. A whole new wave of arousal washed over you and Elvis could see it in your eyes. Even if you had a response ready for him, he didn’t give you time to give it because as soon as he leaned his head down and you felt his tongue lick through your folds, flicking against your clit, a moan that you didn’t know you were holding in filled the room.

Tommy Sands was the last damn person on your mind- the only one you could think about was the raven haired director with the gorgeous blue eyes that was currently giving you the heavenly experience of being eaten out.

And he was good at it- damn, was he good. He knew just the right thing to do. He definitely used those pillowy, soft lips to his advantage and it worked wonders on all of your senses that were on high alert.

His arms came around your thighs to hold them spread, his long lashes caressing his cheekbones as his eyes were closed while he was moaning lowly right into your folds, sending a vibrating tingle through your bones. You could barely keep still, arching your back and hiding your face as you put your arms over it. You didn’t know what you were hiding from, you didn’t know why you were trying to get away from him when the feeling got a little too intense sometimes, but the man in between your legs wasn’t having it.

He pulled you right back, closer to his face again, and put his arm across your lower abdomen to trap you against the bed. You could feel him smirking as he looked up at you while his tongue was slithering through your slick before it flicked against your clit at an ungodly speed. You propped your elbows into the bed and looked down at him, moaning and squealing as if you had lost all control of your own body. You found yourself simply unable to keep quiet and Elvis encouraged this by moving his hand that was on your thigh lower to prod a finger at your entrance.

He could feel you tense up immediately and he pulled his head back in his neck a little, licking his lips.

“Relax, honey,” he whispered with a deep, raspy voice, sweet smile planted on his face. “Ain’t nothin’ to it. Just gotta prepare you for somethin’ bigger,”

The thought of that something bigger was already making you want to jump out of your skin, in the best way possible.

You watched as Elvis planted a soft kiss on your inner thigh as his other hand came down across your lower abdomen to let his thumb rub your clit, very slowly and gently. He collected some of your slick on the middle finger of his other hand and looked up at you as he slowly pushes it inside of you. The feeling was foreign and strange, but it didn’t make you nor was it as uncomfortable as earlier today when Tommy tried it. You didn’t know whether that was because of Tommy himself, the camera’s, the fact that you had never experienced it before or all things at once, but right now you couldn’t get yourself to worry about it. Because Elvis had managed to easily snuck in a finger knuckle deep and when he pulled it back until the tip of his finger lingered inside of you before pushing it back in all the way, something of a gasp and moan combined tore through your throat. You willingly spread your legs further as he slowly fingered you, getting you ready for what was to come, and he grinned.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised as he shot you a wink, which made you grip onto the sheets as your elbows were still pressed into the mattress, keeping yourself up because you wouldn’t miss a sight like this for the world.

Elvis’ finger started to pick up pace after a little while and when he was distracting you by switching between sucking on your clit and rolling his tongue against it in waves, he added another finger. You threw your head back as you arched your back a little and squealed softly as your toes curled- it was like your walls molded perfectly around his digits the longer he kept them inside of you and you had grown used to the feeling of his fingers pleasuring the hell out of you.

When he fingered you at a steady but comfortable pace, his tongue still latched onto your clit, you knew your orgasm was nearing. The only person who ever made you cum was you but you quickly realized that when it was done by a man, a man who knew what he was doing, it felt so much more intense. And so, so much better.

“Elvis!” you squealed as you reached a hand out to tangle your fingers in his hair, your hips trying to move along to the rhythm of his fingers which turned out to be rather difficult because his large hand was placed on your lower abdomen to keep you down. “I’m g-gonna.. gonna.. c-cum- oh fuck!”

He grinned smugly right against your clit but his actions never faltered. He didn’t pull back from your clit until you moaned loudly and he felt your muscles clenching visciously around his fingers and your thighs tremble. He pushed his two fingers inside of you, keeping them there for a bit as he looked at your facial expressions- now that was a sight he didn’t want to miss. As your hand came out of his hair and down the side of his face, he kissed the palm of your hand and grinned, slowly pulling his fingers out of you before he once more licked them clean.

“Startin’ to think I gotta change the cast of the movie to jus’ you and me,” he joked as he licked his lips and crawled up to hover above you. The necklace he wore with a large silver cross attached to the chain dangled in your face and you let out a breathless laugh, looking up at him with stars in your eyes.

Although, they might as well be hearts.

“If you want to capture a true, authentic female orgasm on film, you might as well,” you mused, catching the cross between your thumb and index finger as it swung back and forth. You looked at the diamonds adorning the piece of jewelry and ran your thumb across it, looking back at him with a smile. Elvis grinned and leaned down, softly pressing his lips against yours.

As he slipped his tongue inside your mouth, you could taste yourself and it only made you want him more. Just as you let go off the cross pendant and moved your fingers to the buttons of his shirt, there was a loud knock on the door and a voice announcing room service had arrived. You told them in Dutch to leave it at the door and Elvis raised an eyebrow at you as he laughed when he heard the person on the other side of the door walking away.

The last thing on your mind was food and if you were feeling any kind of hunger, it was for the man above you.

And it seemed Elvis felt the exact same way.

 

Within the span of seconds, Elvis’ shirt was flung across the room by your doing and you had never seen a man pull down his slacks as fast as you saw the director doing it now. You realised he wasn’t wearing any underwear at all and the sight of his cock springing free in all its glory for you to admire caused a wildfire to spread throughout your chest. You’d never been this turned on in your life, but at the same time your nerves were slowly but surely crawling their way back into your veins. As Elvis situated himself in between your legs, letting the weight of his cock resr against your folds and placing his hands on either side of your head, he could see the realisation of the situation in your eyes.

“Sure ya wanna do this, honey?” He whispered as he pressed a kiss on the corner of your mouth, the feeling of your hands gripping onto his upper arms sending a shiver down his spine, as well as the feeling of both your intimate parts connecting this way. “I don’t want ya doing any-“

“I’m sure,” you interrupted him, your voice coming out breathless already. Just the feeling of him being this close to you was already making you nearly lose your mind. You realised that losing your virginity was not something you just did and although you wanted to get rid of it, you’d always imagined it to be with someone you were actually in a relationship with. Someone you actually knew inside and out, but then again, your life never went the way you planned it.

And as you saw Elvis smile down at you as he placed one of his hands on the side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheekbone, you figured this wasn’t such a bad deal. Perhaps it wasn’t the way you imagined it, but maybe it was going to turn out even better.

You weren’t in a relationship with him, but for some reason you felt there was some sort of emotional connection. Whether it was a platonic or love connection, you hadn’t figured that out yet, you wanted this with him. They say you'll never forget your first time and as you looked up into his eyes when he gently caressed the tip of his cock through your folds and over your clit, you doubted the possibility of forgetting Elvis Presley even existed.

“Jus’ hold onto me,” he whispered as you gasped when he circled the tip of his cock against your clit, your nails softly digging into his flesh as you were still holding onto his arms. “I’ll be real gentle,”

You nodded your head, looking up at him in awe and not bothered one second by his necklace that once more softly swung against your chin. Elvis moved his hand down to wrap it around his length, situating himself at your entrance- looking back up at you, he couldn’t stop the small grin from breaking through on his features. The fact that you were digging your nails in deeper didn’t bother him and he slowly pushed inside of you, taking all the time you needed for him to bottom out and when he finally did, that grin was wiped right off his face.

The way you were so incredibly tight around him had him curse under his breath and he placed his forearms next to your head, fingertips caressing through your hair as he put a little more weight on you. He looked down into your eyes as he gasped softly, gently pressing his forehead against yours as you squeezed your eyes shut. He could feel your walls fluttering around him repeatedly and your thighs trembling as you had them wrapped around his waist. He shushed you softly, trying to distract you from the sting by planting soft, open mouthed kisses all over your face.

“Relax, baby, relax,” he cooed. “Ain’t gonna feel good if you don’t.”

You opened your eyes to look at him again and when he noticed a stray tear roll down your cheek, he quickly wiped it away as he frowned in concern. Worry filled his chest.

“Shit- I didn’t mean to cry,” you quickly turned your head and wiped some more tears that you couldn’t hold back away. You felt like an absolute idiot- when you first met Elvis, you had seemed so confident and like you knew what you were doing, but here you were, crying about losing your virginity.

Compared to a man like him, you suddenly felt small.

Inexperienced.

Which was the truth, but still- you hated this feeling.

“Hey, hey,” he gently grabbed your chin with his thumb and index finger, turning your head back to look at him. He smiled down at you and pecked your lips. “'S okay to cry, Y/N. This ain’t nothin’, just… as long as you tell me if it hurts or if ya wanna stop, alright?”

You let out a little laugh as you wiped a last tear away and nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He leaned down more and hid his face in your neck as his fingers were back in your hair to soothingly caress your scalp while whispering sweet nothings in your ear. As you gave him the green light to move, he pulled his face out of your neck as he pulled his hips back as well, slowly thrusting forward. You gasped as you held onto him for dear life, the sting was still very much there but the longer he was thrusting into you, the more the pain turned into pleasure.

Slowly but surely your body was starting to relax underneath him and he was pulling more and more moans out of you that didn’t sound so panicky anymore. You were starting to enjoy yourself and obviously, this didn’t go unnoticed by Elvis.

Raising himself a little by putting his flat hands next to your head on the pillow again, his thrusts gained pace as low grunts rolled off his tongue, a grin curling back on his face.

“Feel good now, baby?”

You bit your lip as you looked at him, your eyes a little more sultry this time as your ankles hooked together behind his back, nodding frantically. You were unable to keep yourself quiet just like you experienced when he was eating you out and you didn’t even care if the people in the neighboring rooms heard you.

“Y-Yes! God, Elvis- it feels s-so good,” you groaned, your mind spinning with the sound of his skin connecting to yours as he thrusted into you, the melody of his deep moans and grunts being one that you wanted to play over and over again. He smirked and crashed his lips against yours, kissing you hungrily as one hand came down to grab onto your thigh. As he rolled you around and you were suddenly on top of him, you looked  down at him and admired the way his raven hair was messy and adorable, yet still so manly at the same time.

The cross pendant attached to the long necklace was resting on his chest which you found yourself obsessed with to run your hands up on, feeling his chest hair tickle under your fingertips. He grabbed onto your hips and slowly made you move onto him- all you knew to do was follow your instinct. He had no complaints as you kept your hands placed on his chest while thrusting yourself onto him, picking up the pace every few seconds. Elvis’ moans got a little louder and he moved his hands up, squeezing your breasts in his big hands.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he smirked as he sunk his teeth into his lower lip and moved his hands back to your hips to guide your moves again, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts bouncing along with your thrusts. He made you go even faster, knowing that you were feeling the same kind of pleasure as him because of the sound of your moans. “There’s a little fire cracker hidden inside ya, ain’t there?”

You laughed softly as you grabbed onto his forearms, throwing your head back as you moaned while concentrating on moving your hips which was a lot easier because he was helping you with it. Perhaps he was right and your wild side was awakened, but you figured that was exactly what was needed. For your future career, and all.

 

Your second orgasm was even more intense than the first one. Elvis had sat up and wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you pressed tightly against his chest as you went through it- you nearly choked him out as your arms were wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangled firmly in his locks. He grunted in your neck as your thighs trembled and your muscles clenched around him so tight that it had him spilling over the edge as well. Before he did, he quickly lifted you off of him and playfully threw you on the bed which made you squeal softly, sitting on his knees as he quickly jerked himself off the rest of the way, spurts of warm seed landing on your lower abdomen. You were still moaning despite the fact that he wasn’t even inside of you anymore, riding high on the post orgasm bliss. Elvis groaned lowly as his hips stuttered forward in his fist a few times before he let himself fall down on the bed next to you, both of you easily and comfortably slipping in the afterglow portion of things as you looked up at the ceiling, catching your breath.

“God, I need a cigarette after that,” you breathed out, laughing as you pushed some loose strands of hair out of your face, your ponytail an absolute mess right now.

Elvis thought it looked adorable.

“You and me both, kid,” he chuckled, slowly sitting up and swiping his pack of cigarettes from the bedside table, putting two in his mouth at the same time. He lit them and handed one to you, which you gratefully took before you took a long drag from it. You exhaled the smoke up to the ceiling and then turned your head to look at him as he laid on his side next to you, leaning his head in the palm of his hand. “How was it?”

“It was… amazing,” you grinned at him, rolling onto your side as well to have a better look at him. You rolled the cigarette that was in between your fingers along the rim of the glass ash tray that he put in between you before taking another drag. “I guess losing my virginity to a porn director is one for the books,”

He laughed at the grin on your face and blew out some smoke, shaking his head a little at the way your playful nature was showing once again. He liked that about you.

“As long as you credit me for giving you your first and second orgasm in your little book, all’s fine with me,” he joked back as he shot you a wink and kissed your cheek before rolling onto his back and taking a long drag from his cigarette. You laughed and nodded- obviously it was all jokes. There wasn’t going to be any book, ever.

Your life simply wasn’t interesting enough for that. Neither did you figure it ever would be.

 

“How about that room service?” He asked as he killed his cigarette in the ash tray when he smoked most of it. Before he could get up, you stopped him and got up from the bed. Fishing his shirt from the floor, you put it on and grinned at him.

“I’ll get it,”

“Atta girl,” he smirked as he playfully smacked your butt before you walked over to the door.

The thought of stepping out of a world where your butt was smacked on the daily and stepping into another one where the same thing was happening made you giggle.

The universe surely bends you in funny ways, but you’d take that kind of attention from Elvis Presley over any other man any day.

taglist: @notstefaniepresley @powerofelvis @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley @ccab @whatstruthgottodowithit @dkayfixates @lettersfromvenus @elvisalltheway101 @that-hotdog @robinismywife @jaqueline19997 @raginginkedslut @joshuntildawn13

[vendetta-if]

Chapter 6 Part 1 Sneak Peek (Pt. 1)

Hey guys 👋 Time for the very first sneak peek at Chapter 6 Part 1. I still have one more sneak peek for Chapter 6 Part 1 that I will release as we get closer to the public update date on 22nd of April (GMT +8).

This sneak peek is a little unique because it's mostly written in text chat message format 😄 As some of you might already be aware, you'll be able to choose a group chat name for MC and the gang or input your own. Below is some snippet on the choices 😆

Chapter 6 Part 1 Early Access demo is now up on both Patreon and Ko-fi!

* * * * *

The annoying sound cuts through the silence, anchoring you more and more to the waking world. Trying to block it is futile as it continues. After a few more times, you finally turn back around and reach for the source—your phone that is charged beside your bed. Unplugging the charger, you bring the phone close to your face, eyes squinted as you check the notification tray.

Oh, it's the group chat that you made last night, being active. Quickly opening your Whazzapp, you backread the chat.

Today [12:27 AM] You: "Hey guys, are you free to meet up tomorrow? Maybe around noon or so? I've got something important to share."

[02:01 AM] Santana: "I'm always available to work on the case. Just let me know the location like half an hour before at the least because I'll need some time to walk to the nearest subway station."

[09:05 AM] Rin: "I've cleared up my schedule for the day, so I hope it's for something urgent and important."

[10:03 AM] Skylar: "Sure! I'm free today. Where are we hanging out, gang?"

[10:10 AM] Skylar: "You know what, we should totally find a name for our newly-made group chat. Saying 'little investigation group' is kind of a mouthful. I've been brainstorming some names these past few minutes, and I think I've got a good one. How about 'Fabulous Four'?"

[10:12 AM] Rin: "I don't think it's a good name, but at least it's different enough to avoid copyright infringement."

[10:12 AM] Skylar: "Glad we're of the same mind."

[10:13 AM] Rin: "Same mind? I doubt that. I literally just told you that it's not a good name. I think it's a bit cheesy tbh."

[10:13 AM] Ash: "Jesus Christ, can you guys shut up for another half an hour or what? Some people are still asleep. Well, I was until I got woken up by all the buzzing."

[10:14 AM] Ash: "Also, 'Fabulous Four' is a stupid name. And can't you count? We're a five-people team now."

[10:14 AM] Skylar: "Wait, five? So, if you're the grumpy redhead I met yesterday, then who's the other person I've been talking to? I can only see your phone numbers."

[10:15 AM] Skylar: "And no problem. We'll be 'Fabulous Five' instead! The more the merrier."

[10:16 AM] Rin: "I'm not introducing myself over a group chat message. We'll do a proper introduction in person later on."

[10:16 AM] Skylar: "Fair enough. I'll see you later then!"

[10:17 AM] Ash: "Ngl, 'Fabulous Five' still sounds dumb."

[10:18 AM] Skylar: "Clearly, you're just a hater. Instead of casting the first stone, how about you try coming up with another name then?"

Well, it seems like Ash is ignoring Skylar because that's where the chat ends for now. Checking the time, you see that it's already 10:24 AM. Well, maybe it's time to reply to some of the messages in the chat before doing anything else. Plus, it's an excuse to stay in bed a little bit longer.

* * * * *

Okay, next order of business, the group chat name that Skylar and Ash were arguing about. You kinda agree with Skylar that 'little investigation group' is far from the best or the catchiest name ever. Although, you're not really sure how you feel about ${sky_his} suggested name, 'Fabulous Five', right now. Maybe you have a better name in mind?

CHOICE

#I'll stick to 'Fabulous Five'. #'Elysium Cleanup Crew' #'The Vendetta Project' #'The Revengers' #'The Justiciars' #'Justice Squad Chat' #None of these.

* * * * *

#I'll stick to 'Fabulous Five'.

After pondering more on the name Skylar suggested, you decide that it's actually good enough and you actually like it. It's growing on you in the past few minutes of contemplation. Tapping on ${sky_his} message, you reply:

EMOTIONAL MC [10:32 AM] You: "'Fabulous Five' actually sounds awesome. Let's go with that!"

STOIC MC [10:32 AM] You: "'Fabulous Five' is not so bad. Let's just go with that."

[10:32 AM] Skylar: "Hell yeah! I knew it! I knew it's an amazing and genius name."

[10:33 AM] Rin: "…"

You can practically feel Rin judging you through the screen just from the three dots.

SARCATIC MC [10:33 AM] You: "Okay, calling it 'genius' might be pushing it a bit too far. Let's dial it back a bit."

GENUINE MC[10:33 AM] You: "I wouldn't really use the word 'genius' per se…"

[10:34 AM] Skylar: "Aww… Alright. I still think it's a compliment tho."

You navigate to the group chat setting to change the group name to 'Fabulous Five' before going back to the group chat.

GENUINE MC [10:35 AM] You: "Okay, there. It's done."

[10:35 AM] Skylar: "Whoo 🎉🎉 We're officially 'Fabulous Five' now. No complaining 😉"

[10:36 AM] Ash: "Fuck! Fine…"

SARCASTIC MC [10:35 AM] You: "There. We're officially 'Fabulous Five' now. No complaining."

[10:35 AM] Skylar: "Whoo 🎉🎉 You hear that, you grump?"

[10:36 AM] Ash: "Fuck! Fine…"

Chuckling quietly to yourself, you lock your phone and get off the bed in one smooth movement.

[purefandomonium]

It's The Thought That Counts-Chapter 1

***Monday Night***

Vince had said his favorite food was lemons. Not lemon meringue pie or lemonade or lemon cake. Just... raw lemons. Rody was no chef—hell, he couldn't boil water without starting a fire. He was unfit and unqualified to be telling someone such as Vincent Charbonneau how to eat. The man obviously ate well enough to stay alive, so Rody really shouldn't have felt so obligated to stick his nose into Vince's lifestyle choices.

As he removes the fourth failed baking attempt from the oven, all smoldering char and dust, Rody starts seriously contemplating his. He lets out a tired groan as he sets the ruined baking sheet aside to let it cool so he can dump the contents into the trash with all the rest. Maybe he should just save up and buy something from a local bakery. 

The thought is dispelled immediately. The whole point would be lost if he just went out and bought the chef dessert. No. He needs to make it himself. He has to surprise Vince with something special. He wants to show the chef his appreciation with a homecooked meal. It's the least he can do, after being given the job and fancy leftovers at the end of each shift. Even if they were a bit on the bitter side. So he flips back to the start of the recipe and gathers up the necessary ingredients once more.

***Wednesday***

Rody can barely hide his irritation anymore. It's not terribly obvious to the customers, but by the end of the day any pretense of friendliness has been drained from him and he's been a tad snippy to the cooks and even Vince himself on occasion. He's stayed up late every night trying to get the hang of this whole baking thing. Cooking isn't worth it; he tried it after screwing up countless baking attempts and after two close calls with a pan fire he decided it would be best not to work with open flame. 

He wants to tear his own hair out. He's bought a bunch of cook books and supplies, learned how to use a mixer, and has put so much time and effort into this and he still can't get it right. The lack of sleep and immense frustration is really starting to catch up to him. Maybe he can pry Vince for alternative recipe ideas and try those. They might be easier than baking lemon-flavored dishes. Or maybe he should just buy a basket of lemons and slap a bow and a 'thank you' note on it.

Ugh. No, he can't do that either. He's already spent the money on the kitchen utensils and books, he might as well make the most of them. He just needs more practice, more time to get this right.

***Friday Afternoon***

Vince still can't bring himself to question Rody about his strange behavior as of late. Whatever has the waiter so high strung, it's clear he's taking it to the grave. The most he can be bothered to do is shrug and remind him he should be working when the questions become a bit too personal. So long as it doesn't affect his ability to do his job, Rody can stress about it all he wants. Even if Vince feels a little uncomfortable seeing the youthful man so restless and tired.

Locked in his office, the chef hums as he goes over this month's budget. He hates this, really he should just hire an accountant. If it weren't for his stubbornness, he'd have found one already. However, he's nothing if not meticulous, which is why the moment he sees something odd with inventory he's lighting a cigarette and cursing.

***After Closing***

"Lamoree."

Rody yelps and spins around to see his boss standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and frown looking a little deeper than usual. Unease bubbles up. "Uh, yeah?"

His voice is firm. "I need to speak with you about something."

Painfully aware of the time and bummed he can't head straight home after a long day, Rody nods and follows the chef. He's quick to realize they're the only two left in the restaurant; all of the cooks must've rushed out as soon as the last customer of the day paid. He can't blame them, both he and Vince were especially short-tempered today. If his stiff strides are anything to go by, whatever's got him so irritated is still present.

"Um... What did you wanna talk about?" Rody says as they stop at the prep counter. Several papers are laid out atop it. There are a lot of numbers and hard to read scribbles that must be Vince's writing. If this is supposed to mean something to him, Rody doesn't get it.

Vince takes note of the blank look Rody gives the papers. Uncrossing his arms, he points to one. "This is the budget for this month. I was going over it and the estimated inventory costs when I noticed something."

"...Ok?"

"It seems we've been going through certain ingredients faster than anticipated."

"Well, it has been pretty busy lately." What is he getting at? Does he expect him to help budget? Rody glances at Vince and decides that, no, that is not the face of someone looking to give a promotion.

Vince pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to sigh too loudly. "None of the dishes this week have featured lemons, copious amounts of sugar or," he checks one of the papers, "almonds. Those are for next week's menu. As you know, we make everything fresh here. There's also quite a bit of flour missing. More than expected. It seems someone has been 'borrowing' ingredients..."

Rody hopes the heat in his face doesn't turn his cheeks too red. Awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding Vince's intense glare, he stammers, "O-oh... Funny that... M-maybe it went bad and one of the cooks... threw it out and ordered more?"

"Lamoree..."

"Or-or maybe it was rats! Yeah... We should, uh, call an exterminator."

Vince has to resist the urge to slap the idiot. The annoyance makes him momentarily choke on his words. "Y... You're not seriously going to stand there and suggest that my restaurant is full of rats and old food."

Oh... Shit. There's no way he's going to come out of this unscathed and still employed. The words begin pouring out before he can make them coherent.

Vince brings up a hand to silence Rody's panicked backpedaling. "Since it isn't obvious enough, I'm asking you about this because one of the cooks saw you shuffle off with eight pounds of lemons this past Monday. I noticed the weird discrepancy with the supplies and costs and asked around." Nevermind how in the hell he'd managed to ride his bike all the way home like that, or how or when he smuggled everything else out. It would've been more impressive if Vince weren't so annoyed at the blatant theft. Does the fool have no shame?

"I can explain!" Rody blurts out.

"I'm listening." He leans back on an adjacent counter and waits for the explanation he's sure will get the idiot fired.

Rody's face feels like the sun. "Ah... Well, it's kind of stupid now that I think..."

"Keep in mind your job is riding on this," Vince supplies, lighting the proverbial fire beneath him. He's almost amused at the way Rody sputters and trips over his own words. Almost. The faint smile vanishes in an instant.

Rody sucks in a deep breath, halts his wild thoughts, and says, "It was for a surprise for you." It's hardly above a whisper. When Vince lifts a brow and leans in with an ear turned to him, Rody curses the universe at having to repeat himself. He forces his voice to be a little louder this time. "I was trying to make something for you. Like you always do for me?" His ears are burning now. He has half a mind to drown himself in the nearby sink.

Vince blinks. Once. Twice. "I... beg your pardon?" Rody wanted to prepare something for him? He can't even remember the last time someone wished him a happy birthday, let alone made something for him. Not that he cares; no, it's just...  The fact that Rody would go through all the trouble. Still...

The awkward squeal he lets out isn't much of a reply, but the poor waiter can hardly save his words from the embarrassment. "Do I really need to say it again?" he manages, hugging his arms tightly across his chest. "I just... thought that I could return the favor. I know you're a chef and all and you don't need me to cook for you and you probably do just fine on your own and-"

"But why lemons?" The look Rody gives him make his chest feel funny.

"...You said they were your favorite."

Oh.

Oh...

OH.

That... well, it did make more sense but... Ok, it was still stealing. He should... He should... Well he should definitely not be feeling...

Why does Rody have to look at him like that?

Fuck.

Cursing, Vince throws a hand over his face at the ridiculousness of it all. He hates the way hope blossoms in his chest. "Let me get this straight," he begins, the appendage still covering his features. "You stole ingredients from the kitchen to take home, all so you could cook something for me?"

"...Yes?"

"Lamoree..." The sigh isn't angry or indignant, only mildly disappointed. Like a parent annoyed their child jumped into the mud because they thought it would be a fun idea. Somewhere beneath that, however, is a small twinge of endearment.

"I'm sorry! Please don't fire me! I promise I'll stop. It was stupid anyway, I can't cook to save my life."

Vince removes his hand to meet Rody's nervous gaze. "What did you try making?"

"I-huh?"

"Forgive me for being curious as to what one could do with eight entire pounds of lemons in the span of a single week."

"Well, burn them mostly..." Rody rubs his arm as he recalls the many molten piles of former food he's pulled out of his oven these past several days.

Vince shakes his head. "You really are something."

"Man, cooking is hard! And baking too! You have to mix everything a certain way or it just ends up gross. Not to mention lemon pies. So many steps to make sure it turns out right..."

A small chuckle comes from the chef as he shakes his head again. "It usually helps to follow the steps, you know." Knowing Rody, he likely skipped a few key parts of the process due to his impatience. 'What's the harm?' he probably thought.

"Ugh... Well you don't have to worry about me stealing anymore ingredients," Rody says with a small groan.

"No. It seems not."

The two stand across from each other, one with an unreadable expression and the other slowly growing worried.

"Wait... Are you gonna...?"

Vince thinks about it, sighs, and pushes himself off the counter. "I'm not going to fire you, Rody," he says to the other man's wide-eyed terror. "I think whatever state you left your apartment in is punishment enough."

It did smell like burnt lemons and sugar in there. He's pretty sure it's seeped into some of his clothes by now.

"However... I do have one condition in exchange for your employment." He lets himself smirk at the waiter's bewilderment.

"...What's that?" Rody questions the sudden look of mischief.

"I'd like to see something by Tuesday next week." His smirk turns into a rare smile at Rody's shocked expression.

"I... I mean, I can try?" Vince... isn't mad at him? Looking back, eight pounds of lemons, a large bag of almonds and several bags of sugar and flour smuggled out of the restaurant probably is a lot of money. And yet, Vince isn't just letting him stay; he also wants Rody to bring something in for him?"

"I think it's the least you can do after you raided the supplies, no?"

"You're not gonna be upset if it's terrible?" While he hasn't made a successful batch of anything as of yet, he can at least say he's gotten better with his failed attempts. Tuesday is a bit of a stretch but maybe he can pull a rabbit out of the hat.

Vince shakes his head. "Just... don't steal anymore ingredients, got it?'

"Yes sir!" He turns to leave.

"Lamoree?" He waits for the waiter to face him once more. "Perhaps try cookies this time. I think you'll find they're much simpler than a pie, especially with your inexperience in the kitchen." He watches Rody nod before exiting through the back door. His mind drifts back to the lemons and he imagines the young fool pedaling down the street, bicycle swaying awkwardly as he tries to keep his balance. Vince supposes he is fit enough to manage.

...The idiot.

***Tuesday Morning***

"Hey, Vince?"

Vince jumps at the sudden call, dropping the chair with a thud. He lets out an annoyed grunt in response and goes to pick it up before positioning it at the table. He'd been too lost in his thoughts to hear the door. "You're awfully early today," he says as he turns to face the waiter. He quirks a brow and glances at the small aluminum tray he's holding.

Rody chuckles uncomfortably and lifts the tray. "You wanted me to bring something, remember?" He tries to settle the shakiness in his arms so the contents stop rattling. "They're lemon cookies. You were right; it was a way easier recipe to follow once I found one." He swallows the lump in his throat as Vince approaches. "They're not the best," he blurts as a hand reaches for the foil covering them. "They're still a little burnt. And I didn't really know how much lemon you liked but I added more than the recipe called for so you could maybe taste it more."

Silencing the rest of his nervous rambling, Vincent lifts the foil off and inspects the cookies. A dozen of them are stacked neatly in the tray. On the top they look completely fine. As he picks one up, however, the bottom is an almost-black that suggests too dark a baking sheet and far too much time in the oven. Still, the consistency is fine and as he takes a bite there's the faintest tingle on his tongue. He can't tell what it tastes like but knows it's lemon because that's the only thing that's ever given him the sensation. Burnt bottom aside, the cookie is chewy and somehow the perfect level of moisture.

To think, the young waiter did all this for him.

If Rody has to stand here and wait for Vincent's thoughts a second longer, he thinks he might explode. Watching him swallow the final bite, he speaks. "Well? How is it?"

For the first time in a long while, Vince smiles warmly. "It's good, Lamoree. A little burnt, but you did very well otherwise. I'm impressed. You did this all by yourself?" Something like happiness fills his chest.

He stands a little taller at the praise. "Yeah! I bought some cookbooks and just kept trying different things. I went through a lot of failed attempts though." And a couple ruined baking sheets.

"That's to be expected. Nobody learns anything overnight and practice makes perfect." The smile doesn't fade as he grabs another treat. This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for him.

"So?" A confused hum is his answer. "The cookies, can you taste them?" He highly doubts that his miserable baking is enough to spark Vince's long-dead tastebuds, but part of him hopes it's true. He's never seen the chef actually smile before and his heart buzzes at the fact that he was the cause.

Ah, right. The entire reason to all of this. Vince's good mood deflates a bit as he contemplates how to break the news to Rody. The waiter is just so proud of himself that he feels bad about having to crush his joy. He takes his time finishing the rest of the cookie. "...Actually..." He buys himself a couple more seconds as he swallows the last bite. "I almost can. It's not entirely there but... I can discern there's something compared to the nothingness I usually get." Perhaps he doesn't need to be fully honest. As Rody's face lights up with glee, he can feel his own face grow warm.

"Really?! You mean it?"

"Yes, Rody, it seems not all hope is lost on your baking skills." A startled grunt escapes him as Rody hugs him tightly. He'd been so quick to set the tray aside and close what little distance there was that Vince had no time to react. By the time his brain catches up to what's happening, the waiter's already releasing him and gushing with excitement.

"I'm so happy you like them! I'm gonna keep practicing until I make something perfect! I'll bring in all my good attempts and maybe you can even put one on the menu!" He pauses as his brain processes what he just said. "I mean... If that's ok? I'll be buying my own ingredients, of course." He hopes he didn't upset the chef again. The look he's giving him is... indescribable.

Vince spends several seconds staring at Rody before realizing he has to respond. The gears churn as he formulates his reply. "I'd be fine with that," is the best he can come up with. Rody seems to take it fine, if a little more subdued than before. Still, he wants to see the excitement decorating his features once more. Even if it's for a moment.

Rody says nothing as Vince picks up the tray of cookies, letting him walk away. He's glad he likes them.

"I'll tell you what, Rody," Vince says as he carries the tray to his office. "If you keep practicing in the kitchen, I'll let you take a few ingredients here and there." For half a second, he debates teaching the newbie baker/cook himself. The thought of working alongside him, helping him, is alluring. But he's not so foolish as to think it would work out. 

He's thankful his back is turned so that the blush remains hidden. It seems Rody isn't the only idiot present today.

"Seriously?" To say he's stunned would be an understatement. He can't believe Vince is being so generous about it, and all because of some cookies? He can't help but wonder if there isn't more to it, but the thought is easily dismissed. Surely, Vince isn't... doesn't...

Nah. He's just happy to have something he can taste for once.

"If you've got time to stand there like a lost puppy then you have time to help get things ready," Vince says to the statue that is the waiter.

Rody snaps out of his thoughts and it's only now that he realizes they're the only two in the restaurant. They had another ten minutes before the cooks shuffled in and another thirty before opening. He should take the time to help get things in order and plan out the seating arrangements, should they get hit with more big parties like the last couple of days. The garbage probably needed to go out too; he'd forgotten last shift.

***

Vince spends most of the day in his office, no doubt gorging on cookies, while Rody spends his time between customers deciding what he should bake next.

Despite the not insignificant amount of ingredients missing, Vincent is quite happy Rody went through the trouble. If it were anyone else, he'd have half a mind to pin them to the wall with knives. But Rody isn't just anybody and the gesture is as sweet as he's sure the cookies are.

He can't wait to see what else his waiter brings.

[jessicas-pi]

DIRECTOR'S CUT ON COMMIT TO THE BIT but only like the first two chapters i am so far behind 😭

girl I wish I had been as productive as you think i've been 😭 there's only two chapters so far-

(But, hey, good news! Chapter three is verging ever closer to probably being done! And it's only taken me about... eight months... hahaha *dies on the inside*)

Anyway, i'll do what I did with the other ask and just go through it and talk about stuff!

Okay, so this fic was originally called "The Con" because it involved winning a lot more bets via subterfuge and holding hands. That changed and so I renamed it!

Oh yeah! And so, this fic was partly inspired by the song Summer Nights from Grease, where the guys and girls are enthusiastically listening to completely different stories of the same event. I flipped it around so they had completely different reactions to the same story and Sabine and Ezra were very UNenthusiastic and that was what the scenes with their friends were based on!

Aylan (the vostress kid) definitely heard some obitine stories from his dad and finds the parallels very amusing.

I know i've said it a few times before, but it always delights me to mention that the three Togruta sisters (Chisica, Am-lee, and Khenna) are based on me and my sisters.

OHHH fun fact! Originally the conversation where they split up the profits from the bet and the conversation where Sabine brought up fake-dating were two different conversations! The first one was as-is in the fic, but the other one happened like a week later when Sabine was hanging out in a tree coral with some of the girls and watching Ezra doing lightsaber forms and maybe drawing him shirtless a little bit and they hype her up to "ask him out again" and she goes over and interrupts him and they end up having the fake-dating idea conversation while he's not wearing a shirt and she's blatantly checking him out (and at one point actually half-reaches-out to touch his abs before she catches herself) and he's just "????" the whole time. It was funny, but I decided it was too early in the (fake) relationship for her to be so obvious about it, and I needed Fenn Rau to overhear the conversation and that was easier if they were on the Ghost, so I combined the scenes.

Oh also! Originally, both Vinn AND Tarik were gonna get kicked out of the friend group for being nasty but then I decided to make Tarik less nasty and give him a redemption arc.

ok, reading on, la de da...

The post-stargazing scene! So, I had to keep dialing things back because my shippy writer brain was moving their relationship ahead WAY faster than it was supposed to go. For example, in this scene, originally, they were going to share Sabine's bunk and definitely not cuddle or anything, it won't be weird at all, but again--just too soon. I made up for it with excessive cuddles in the end of the chapter & in chapter 2.

KATKA CAMEO!! Ok so for those who don't know---katka is an OC from my Teenage Rebellion AU. She's Gar Saxon's niece but she's utter sweetness (with a slight twist of crazy) and totally on board to stick it to the Empire. In the TRAU, she also has a massive raging crush on Ezra (albeit an Inquisitor iteration of him), so when I needed a random character to be envious of Sabine here, I figured I'd reuse her lol.

Oh yeah! Another condensed scene! Where she tells him about the Mandalorian ways of saying "I love you" and where she asks him to fake marry her used to be two different scenes! Like with the other one, I added the second one to the first. I went through a few versions of the fake-marriage-proposal, including one where Aylan came along with Ezra to Mandalore and was the one to suggest they tie the knot, apparently unaware it's all fake (but actually 100% aware it's all fake because his psychometry revealed it)

not to brag or anything but "Ezra did not regret fake-marrying into money" is one of my favorite lines i've ever written.

(btw, I still crack up when I remember that in your comment on chapter 1, you called Ezra a repressed victorian maiden for panicking over being able to see sabine's arms and legs. and I think everyone should know that You Are Right, Ezra Is A Repressed Victorian Maiden.)

OK ON TO CHAPTER 2!

i had so much fun with this chapter because they're both full to bursting with love for each other and neither of them will admit it until the last possible moment. I think that might actually be why Chapter 3 is taking so long--they're not hiding their feelings anymore so there's no more poetic internal monologues about how much they adore each other lol

Ah yeah on the topic of repressed feelings--the line "Kanan is fairly sure it’ll take at least five years and possibly a child for Sabine to admit that she’s actually in love with her husband" was supposed to actually be what happened. Sabine and Ezra were going to go on pretending the marriage was fake for years and finally one night when they were cuddled up, Sabine blurted out that she was in love with him and he was like "Yeah. I know." and she was like "wait what?? how did you know?? I was so subtle about my feelings!!" and he was like "Sabine, you kissed me good-night ten minutes ago. you're constantly calling me extremely romantic pet names in mando'a. we have two children and only one of them is adopted. your feelings are about as subtle as a paint bomb to the face." and she was just like "....oh." and then that was the end of the story! BUUUUT then I decided to do a love confession during the Lothal arc, and that led to the... surprise... at the end of chapter 2, which led to there needing to be a THIRD chapter!

OH HAHA OK MORE FUNNY STUFF. So the part with sabine's nightmare that leads to the "two besties chilling in a bathtub...?" scene was ALSO split up into two different events! I've been thinking about doing some edits of both chapters of CttB because I didn't really stop to edit either of them before posting (and a good chunk of chapter 2 was literally written the day before I posted it), which I mention because I was considering reverting the two scenes back to their original versions because the og tub scene was pretty funny. It's hard to describe in brief words, but basically... yeah it's too hard to describe, just take my word for it, it was pretty funny. (it involved Ezra singing along to We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together with a shampoo bottle for a microphone and Tristan playing a petty revenge prank that goes sideways.)

The cut between Ezra worrying about Sabine being upset about his feelings for her and thinking "what would she think if she knew??", and sabine's pov opening with "Sabine can't stop thinking about kissing his stupid face" never fails to make me snicker.

Oh hey I just got to the thrawn pov and that reminds me. at one point I was thinking about having a scene including Ezra and Thrawn's conversation aboard the Chimaera and thrawn REAAAALLLY pushes his buttons about Sabine, using the information that he figured out about their marriage. Actually, if I do that edit, I might write that scene.

Poor Hera--she keeps unintentionally being responsible for all of the sabezra relationship development lol.

OOH SOMETHING ELSE! So, originally, the love confession was WAY different. First of all, it wasn't in their room--it was in one of the caves. Sabine still went looking for Ezra, but she found him by following a Loth-wolf. And he actually confessed his feelings first! In this version, he was afraid he was going to die and impulsively blurted out that he loved her. Then he got nervous and started rambling a little and she shut him up with a kiss. But I changed it--I wanted her to be the one to take the leap and 'fess up, and if I set it in her room, I could have the funny Ketsu scene afterwards.

And then True Love's Kiss woke someone else up! (aka kanan got yoinked out of his comatose state by telepathic TMI)

oh yeah and to anyone wondering, that "another dawn breaks" line from the Kanera scene was ABSOLUTELY a reference to A New Dawn.

Oh and that Ketsu scene---that was actually a scene I saved and reused after cutting it from a different WIP of mine! There were two variations--the one I ended up using, and one where she accidentally interrupts the very first kiss and they're both like "OH COME ON!" because they've been waiting for this moment FOREVER and like ten seconds in, it gets interrupted, and Ezra decides that, darn it, he's been waiting for this for so long, he's not going to wait any longer! and he just pulls Sabine right back into the kiss and uses the Force to shut the door in Ketsu's face. I did this version so that I could include dialogue!

I'm just now realizing that I actually skipped over the entirety of Family Reunion and Farewell, I went straight from Jedi Night to Happy-Ever-After. But in my defense, plot-relevant episodes don't matter much when it comes to crack fix-it fics.

And... I think that's all my thoughts I have on this! Thank you for the ask!! :)

*roll end credits*

[hanniiesuckle17]

Chapter 70: Boca Boca

A/n: so um thank you to one of my dear readers for making me aware of this. Apparently today is the 1 year anniversary of SMIY and I’m still not fucking finished with it….wow….anyway….happy anniversary guys. Series is coming slowly to an end soon and I’m so glad you guys have stuck with me all this way🥹 I love you guys and hope you guys will stick around after❤️ Tag List is Open <3

Tag List: @ashisparanoid @mini-meanhoe @leggomylino @hanstagram @desertofdessert @hoes4hoseok @jeongqin @mrsunshine999 @jisungsjheekies @hannie-squirrel00 @cotccotc @yangs-jeongin @binniebutter @orangegyu @little-precious-baby @raethethey @sofie296 @love-letters-2-jisungie @bluejayboys @bunnyjaycheoluwu @mingiholic @doom-fics @justhere4kpop

SMIY Tag List: @sanccharine @txt-yaomi @lyramundana @pink-hwaberry @butterfliesinthenightsky @billboard-singer @exololyunho @atinytinaa @honeyhotteoks @hijeongguk @aloverga @aestheticsluut @hwaightme @layzfeelit @honey-lemon-goose @alyssajavenss @minkyuncutie @yunho-1999 @lonewolfjinji @mrowwww @bxffietheblxxdy @soupbinlily @hwakay329 @pariissleepy

Pairing: Jeong Yunho × Reader

Genre: Series, Fluff, Angst, Comedy, Idol au, Secret Relationship

Updates: Wednesday 8 PM CDT (Hopefully)

Warnings: Cursing, Privacy Invasion, Dieting, Overworking, 18+ Themes (eventually), Intense threats, Mention of suicide, Mention of violence

Summary: Privacy. Normalcy. Love. Y/n was ready to give all of that up when she became an idol. She was more than happy with the absence of those qualities in her life until a certain six foot mountain of sunshine and chaos was cast opposite her in her first drama. Confronted with the fact that she no longer knows what she wants; Y/n must decide if he's truly worth giving up the life she's dreamed of... and how much damage she'll let happen before she makes a decision.

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[flamedraco]

Day 3 of Writing a Minecraft Diaries AU

I made an attempt to use lore forge to help me keep track of things but my brain recoiled so hard at information overload that I decided I'm going to stick to my tried and true method of just writing shit down in a notebook and hoping for the best. It'll help visualize family trees better if I can actually draw diagrams.

Finally finished the outline for the plot of season one, now it's just a matter of figuring out relevant information and outlining chapters, then starting to write them. Also most of the characters have been decided and their stand ins accounted for. So I'll include the cast list down below tho do be aware this could change later once I actually get around to the chapters. Again, if you don't recognize the names listed it's probably either a really obscure member of the DSMP lore, an OC, or a name I came up with for an obscure member of the lore.

If I'm going to do this I'll probably break up the seasons into their own books unless I manage to reduce season 1 down into fewer chapters. But I don't think that's going to happen since I'm already working on the outline for the seventh chapter and we haven't even gotten to the part where the werewolves are supposed to be involved. And I cut the werewolves out for fucks sake.

I'm still debating on if I even want to continue into season 2 or not. Diaries lore is massive and has a lot of moving parts, things set up in season 1 specifically for season 2 and things that I might need to remove or add. I have the plot summary but depending on what I decide to do regarding season 2 and the potential of another book...I guess that really depends on how the chapters are received and if my brain decides to stay DSMP hyperfocused for another year or so. Because if I'm trying to convert the ENTIRETY of Diaries into an AU that's probably going to be three multichapter books just on it's own and I'd probably rewrite the entirety of Season 3 since it was never finished and only had 37 episodes. This kind of project could take me an entire year, probably longer.

I do know that I want to try and do this first book tho. That's the only reason why I rewrote major plot points, have an overview, am creating chapter outlines, and have the series pulled up on my phone, two tabs of the wiki, and my doc open as I take notes with my notebook close by for if I need a new name for an OC.

There's a lot going into this planning right now. Converting Diaries into an AU is proving difficult. Especially with how certain characters change the plot and characters I'm having to cut out (if you see a certain handful of characters not mentioned I probably cut them out due to story changes). I've already had to rewrite a lot of things regarding the finale due to how I've changed the plot and the characters that are involved. Because keep in mind, just because these characters take on the role of another does not make them the same character. Wilbur is going to act as a completely different protagonist from Aphmau. Quackity is not the same type of person that Garroth is. Also if you don't see your favorite DSMP character mentioned, don't worry. There are places for them to show up if I continue into the next season with another book. And if they aren't here it's probably due to them not fitting into the roles that I needed. My choices aren't meant to offend anyone, they were made for the sake of the story and who I feel fits better where.

Take the cast list with a pinch of salt because this could always change later as I work on the chapters. And the lists themselves are taken directly from the Season 1 Character List from the Minecraft Diaries Wiki. If someone important isn't mentioned here than they'll probably still show up in the fic it's just for some reason they're missing from the Wiki. Unless I cut them. Because I did cut some characters. There's also the chance that the character mentioned in the list was NOT mentioned in the overview on the Wiki so they're a minor enough character for me to not have included them here due to not having a stand in yet. Some characters might also just be listed as unnamed because I feel like I might not mention their name.

Again: List is subject to change in the future.

ALSO: Relationships between characters may be changed due to the characters now standing in their place, for example: Kenmur and Emmalyn are a ship in Diaries, but I am not shipping Phil and Techno together in any form other than PLATONIC.

WARNING: Some characters in the cast list placement below may contain spoilers for both MC Diaries and, as such, the fic I am going to write, specifically in regards to the Shadow Knights section. Proceed at your own risk!

Cast List: MC Diaries Character Name - DSMP/OC Name

Phoenix Drop Aphmau - Wilbur Garroth - Quackity Laurence - Sapnap Nicole - Karl Emmalyn - Techno Lucinda - Hannah Brendan - Foolish Zoey - Nox Cadenza - Ena Kawaii~chan - Tina Donna - Tiffany Brian - Darius Kyle - Tristan Logan - Elderic Dale - Frankie Emma - Rosella Molly - Lydia Levin - Miriam Alexis - Alanna Zenix - Purpled Dante - Puffy

Scaleswind The Lord of Scaleswind - Unnamed Matilda - Lethia

O'khasis Zane - Dream Katelyn - Niki Jeffory - Ciaran Garte - Unamed

Bright Port Lord Burt - Lord Dawn Azura - Aliara Visher - Caradoc Paul - Johnson

Meteli Hayden - BadBoyHalo Kenmur - Phil

Wyverns Ungrth - Sgaeyl Raven - Crow

Shadow Knights Zenix - Purpled Gene - Schlatt Sasha - Samantha Vylad - Tommy Laurence - Sapnap

Other The Stranger/Aaron - Sally

If I missed someone there might be a reason for it, or I just missed them. Either way, this is the general cast you can expect to see in the book at some point or the other. Some of these are minor characters, some of them are major characters, and some are just side characters.

I think I might start work on the first chapter soon but I'll try to get more chapters outlined before I start working on the first. I want to try and get a picture in my mind of how many chapters this beast will have and how many things I can cut.

[anderscim]

Big fan !!! I have been reading. A lot of your things they make me smile.

may I ask for your thoughts on rose and eden because I think they’re the top sanest despair time characters . which is. which is pretty fucked up considering eden’s has at least two girls she had crushes on DIE and rose is. i can talk about rose for hours. love her but also she suffers from nightmares and is constantly haunted because she never ever forgets. but like also those two are probably the most normal characters despite that because everyone else minus whit has at least one fucked up little sprite… and I know the definition of normal is vague I do think they’ve got something going on but also they haven’t totally lost their marbles with a breakdown sprite yet so that’s something .

first of all, thank you so much for the compliment! i’m honored that you enjoy my miscellaneous musings (^^)

and thank you so much for the ask! i’m writing this as i’m on a road trip, so this may be a bit disorganized—sorry about that. i might add specific details in a future reblog.

either way, let’s just get right to it!

//spoilers for drdt up to chapter 2 part 1

okay, let’s talk about eden first:

first off, eden is a fantastic character and i really like the direction the dev is taking with her. there’s just so many components that develop eden past the “naive and optimistic” trope i see very often in many series—for example, like the fact that she specifically chooses to be kind, despite everything that occurs.

i think we all know that eden’s been getting the short end of the stick in terms of her relationships with others. arei and min both died, two people she was incredibly close to, and we see in the series that she is still very affected by this. and yet, she still decides to open up and trust others even if it means experiencing grief because of it.

and this may be me reading too much into this quote, but i find it interesting how she doesn’t seem to assume that the killings will stop immediately—rather, i think she is aware that people will still die despite her efforts (which is honestly what happened in the first chapter), and that the world isn’t as forgiving as to just make everyone get together and live in peace in a situation like this. but yet, through expressing the grief that comes through that loss and opening up with their emotions, she believes that they can work things out over time.

this is partly why she’s so open and willing to trust other people, despite the consequences that it may bring in a setting like this.

what i find the most interesting though, is eden’s narrative role as a direct foil to teruko.  as we already know, teruko was essentially backstabbed by xander, min, and everyone else in the cast during chapter 1–which is exactly what caused her to close up and decide not to trust anyone anymore.

however, that’s not the only thing there is to it. the other main reason that teruko blocks herself from developing a good relationship with anyone else in the cast is not just because she doesn’t want to be betrayed, but also because she doesn’t want to deal with the grief of having someone she’s close to die in front of her eyes.

i personally think that’s what makes eden a powerful foil to teruko. she trusts and stays by teruko the entire time, even when she’s being accused during the trial—but not only that, eden is willing to open up and clearly express her grief and other emotions to those around her.

so yeah, despite the number of scarily convincing ch2 culprit theories about eden, i personally don’t see her dying until very late into the series (and likely after teruko goes through significant character development). eden is almost like the “opposing message” to teruko’s self-destructive thought process and behaviors, so i feel like it would only go downhill if she dies at this point. (sorry this is somewhat short. i will likely add more to this later)

okay, now for rose:

i know i literally never talk about her, but rose is actually my favorite character. i feel like her overall concept is really interesting—she’s literally a criminal (/lh), has photographic memory (which is both a strength and a source of trauma for her), has a wide range of knowledge, but is also absentminded and always sleepy (just like me fr). (her backstory is also very sad—and what would basically be one of my biggest nightmares, to be honest. her conversation with teruko when she was talking about that… ough.) rose’s personality combines many different factors together, but in a way that makes a lot of sense when you look at her from an outside perspective.

i’ve always personally seen her absent-mindedness as a way of coping—especially with her photographic memory. she essentially can’t forget anything, even if she wants to; which obviously, includes the memories of her classmates’ deaths.

which is why i personally feel this cutscene shows a lot about her character:

her body language is closed off and she’s burying her head in her knees, so she can’t see anything—which on its own is a very nice detail. rose has said before that she only remembers memories and information if she sees them (i think? sorry if she didn’t say this), so by blocking her vision and preventing herself from seeing the corpse and any part of the investigation, it really goes to show that rose doesn’t want to remember what happened. after all, if she doesn’t see anything, it makes it easier for her to forget. this matches up perfectly with her dialogue here. her photographic memory haunts her in some ways, and she would really not want to remember arei’s death in the way she remembered xander’s and min’s.

but at the same time, rose’s way of coping through absent-mindedness, as well as her general behavior, could potentially lead to her downfall. after all, that’s exactly what allowed nico to steal the turpentine from her (given that it actually happened). for rose, her lack of attentiveness is almost a coping mechanism for her inability to forget—and even though she doesn’t want to remember and keep everything in her mind forever, doing the exact opposite of that led her to a situation she probably regrets. and, though rose likely doesn’t remember nico stealing the turpentine from her, she sure as hell remembers teruko telling her about it.

i feel like a lot of other things—such as her extensive knowledge and attention to detail—can be attributed to her photographic memory, but her absent-mindedness despite that is what really makes her character come full circle. rose is attentive and is actually a great source to rely on when it comes to information and certain details—as long as she remembers them. however, her memory could also prove to be a downfall, as she remembers everything—including things that would traumatize her and continue to haunt her. but in trying to cope by staying inattentive, she ended up being exploited—which makes me wonder how she’ll act after this trial. she might try to remember and see herself stuck in the same loop again. or do something entirely different. it’s a very interesting cycle, all things considered.

sorry this took so long. m(_ _)m this is pretty disorganized so i might have to adjust some parts of it later, but for now, this is all i have.

thank you again for the ask!

[mikaela-granger]

The Long Wait Chapter 23

Woman in Black Part 2 (Sean’s and Lorelei’s POV)

Fandom: Grimm

Pairing: Sean Renard/OFC

The Long Wait Masterlist

A/N: This is the last chapter of Part 1, or as I have taken to calling it Season 1. I have already started working on Season 2. First chapter of that will be uploaded tomorrow or even sometime today. Thank you to those of you who have stuck with it so far. Season 2 will see a shift in Sean and Lorelei’s relationship, especially as Lorelei and Nick find out about Sean’s true nature. What Grimm season 2 moments do you want to see included? Let me know in the comments.

***Sean’s POV***

It was a rare day when Sean was able to head home early. Although there were active cases, he knew he could trust his people to work without him hovering. As he headed to his car, he pulled out his phone, deciding to invite Lorelei over for dinner. He hadn’t seen her much lately, despite living in the same building. They were both busy people. He had seen her in the elevator several times, getting the chance to meet her new dog, Molly. However, no prolonged one on one time. It was annoying him, being so close yet so far. By the time he reached his car, Lorelei had responded affirmatively. A smile crossed his face as he climbed in. He knew his housekeeper would have just restocked the kitchen; he would surprise his soulmate with a home-cooked meal.

To his surprise, he ran into his soulmate leaving the parking garage in their apartment building. “Hey, fancy running into you here.” She joked, a big smile on her face as she approached him.

Sean smiled at her, feeling his heart warm at the sight of her. “Indeed.”

“I’m just going to take Molly for a walk, have a shower, and then I’ll be right up. Should I bring anything?”

Sean shook his head. “Take your time. And just your charming personality.”

Lorelei laughed as they stepped into the elevator. “I don’t think Nick would agree with you about that.” She commented.

“Yes, well, you are his annoying younger sister.” He joked, pressing the buttons for both their floors.

They went their separate ways and Sean continued to his apartment, still contemplating what to cook. He should have the ingredients for spaghetti. His plans were changed when he entered his apartment to see it had been trashed. Quickly, he withdrew his gun and slowly entered, sweeping the area quickly. He placed his phone down on the side table and entered the living area. Sean spun around to face the kitchen and paused as he saw a pair of feet sticking out from behind the kitchen island. Dread filled his gut, as he cautiously moved forward. He stared in surprise as he recognised the person. He knelt beside the body. It was his housekeeper. “Oh no, Patty.”

Just then his phone started ringing. He looked towards it, as someone stepped in his line of sight. He heard a roar, before he was attacked and knocked out. His last thought was hoping Lorelei took Molly for an extra-long walk.

When he came to, the sun had set. Sean was in pain and had a hard time focusing. Sean shifted slightly and realised his hands were bound. He became aware of someone in front of him. They seemed to be asking him something, however he couldn’t hear properly or move. It didn’t take long for Sean’s vision and hearing to clear up. There was a man standing in front of him. Asian, Sean wasn’t one percent sure which part. And he was asking him where the coins were. The man continued beating him, even after Sean gave in and told him he longer had them. Apparently, Farley Kolt didn’t have the coins either. The man grabbed a large knife from Sean’s kitchen and walked towards him, asking him again where the coins were. Just as he went to slit Sean’s throat, there was a knock at his front door. For a moment, Sean felt his stomach drop, praying it wasn’t Lorelei. Immediately, he felt relief when he heard it was Sergeant Wu. The man went and peered out through the peephole. Sean couldn’t quite make out what was happening outside the door; the man returned to his side mentioning something about it being his lucky day and then everything went black.

When he came to, Burkhardt and Griffin were there. He was seen to by medical personal and his apartment was filled with police. Once he felt well enough, he started to fill them in on what had happened.

“He wanted the coins that were stolen from the jeweller.” He was explaining to Nick. “I told him that Farley Kolt had them and he said that he found Kolt in Los Angeles, spent three days with him, and was sure he didn’t.” Sean paused to press an ice pack to his cheek. “You might want to check with LAPD if Kolt’s body has been found. I doubt he left him alive. If he didn’t end up with the coins, who did?”

“Maybe he got rid of them before this guy caught up with him.” Burkhardt suggested.

Griffin piped in. “I don’t think this guy thought so, that’s why he’s here in Portland. He had photos of all of us. Me, Nick, you Captain, and even Nick’s sister.”

Sean froze slightly and glanced at Burkhardt, who had tensed up at the mention of his sister. “He had photos of Lorelei as well?”

Burkhardt nodded and Griffin continued. “They were taken by a private investigator from New York. His body was found this morning at a downtown hotel.”

“Yeah, and we found a camera in the trunk of a rental car, downloaded the photos. That’s why we came after you.” Burkhardt explained.

“Lucky for me. He had no intention of leaving me alive.” Sean said, glancing at Burkhardt. “Is Lorelei, ok? He didn’t visit her first?”

Burkhardt shook his head. “No, she’s at her place. Officer DeMarco is with her. Wu says they met her at the elevator as she was heading out.”

Sean felt relieved. She was safe. He was grateful Wu had arrived before Lorelei made her way up. He had no doubt that if Lorelei was on his list, this man would have grabbed her had she shown up at his door.

“You get a good look at him?” Griffin asked.

“Yeah. Asian, mid-forties.” Sean told him before looking toward Burkhardt. “He had a tattoo on the side of his head.” Sean gestured to his temple.

Burkhardt glanced up at Griffin. “Sounds like the picture of the guy up in New York.” Griffin said.

“What picture?” Sean asked in confusion.

“Akira Kimura.” Burkhardt answered.

“Who is he?”

Before Burkhardt or Griffin could answer, Wu approached them. “Uh, Baby Burkhardt is on her way up. DeMarco tried to hold her off as long as he could, but…she wants to know what is going on and to check on the Captain.”

Sean felt a warm feeling fill his chest; his soulmate was concerned about him. Burkhardt, however, sighed in exasperation and stood up. “I’ll get rid of her Cap.”

“No, its fine. Let her in. She’s just being a good neighbour. And she also may still be a target.” Sean assured him, even though he wasn’t fond of the idea of his soulmate seeing him in such a state. However, he needed to see with his own eyes that she was ok. Furthermore, there may still be a chance that this Kimura could still go after her.

Burkhardt nodded before walking toward the door. “Hey, what the hell is going on?” Sean heard Lorelei say.

“Well, you’d know if you answered your damn phone.” Was Burkhardt’s reply.

“I left it at home charging when I took Molly for a walk.”

And there she was, Sean’s soulmate. He had to work hard to keep the smile off his face, the one that was meant only for her. She looked beautiful, although her face was filled with concern. Her long dark hair was tied in a low bun, and she was wearing a light blue sundress. He hadn’t seen her in a dress before. Had she dressed up for him? For their dinner? He internally cursed this Kimura. Tonight, may have been a turning point in his relationship with Lorelei and it had been ruined. Not only had he ruined their date and threatened Sean, but he was also a threat to Lorelei. He was going to kill him.

Lorelei’s gaze fell on Sean and her eyes widened as she took in his appearance. “Oh my god, are you ok Captain Renard?” she asked, taking a step closer to him. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it seemed like Lorelei was trying to stop herself from running to him.

Sean offered her a smile, not his usual, he did have an image to maintain. “I’ve been better, but I am ok. Thank you for your concern, Lorelei.”

Biting her lip, she turned to her brother for answers. He and Griffin began filling her in on what had happened, the threat Kimura posed to all of them, including her. “But why me? I don’t know anything about these coins.”

“He might try to get to me through you.” Burkhardt told her. “It might be a good idea for you to stay somewhere else tonight.”

“This place is crawling with cops. Do you really think he’ll come back? Besides, where would I stay? If he does come after me, whoever I’m with is at risk. He killed Captain Renard’s housekeeper and attacked two police officers.” Lorelei pointed out. “I’ll just stay at home. You were going to have officers watching me anyway.”

It was decided Lorelei would stay in her own home with two officers. Officer DeMarco and Officer Chen escorted Lorelei back downstairs and would be staying with her overnight. With his soulmate safe for now, Sean cleaned himself up and got changed, heading back to the station with Griffin and Burkhardt. He was determined to catch this guy.

“Yeah. That’s the same guy.” Sean said, looking at the picture provided by Burkhardt. “Akira Kimura.”

“He was somehow connected to my case at Roth and Flynn.” Hank told him.

“The guys who came for the coins.” Sean stated and Burkhardt confirmed. “God knows those coins aren’t healthy to be around.”

They entered his office. “We did a little more digging and found out Kimura is tied to a secret organisation called the Dragon’s Tongue. It was founded in 1901, connected to the Japanese Imperial Army.” Burkhardt explained.

“It went underground after the Japanese defeat in World War Two.” Griffin continued.

“But it appears the organisation has resurfaced with ties to the Yakuza.” Burkhardt added.

“We got a report that Kimura was identified by state police in Hamburg, Germany three months ago. Now he’s here.” Griffin finished up.

“I want you to tear this town apart and find this son of a bitch.” He told the pair. They both nodded and left his office. Sean looked down into the face of the man who had attacked him, who was a threat to his soulmate. The only person Sean cared for, apart from his mother.

***Lorelei’s POV***

When Lorelei returned to her apartment, escorts in tow she decided to order a couple of pizzas, figuring she might as well feed her guests. Ben and Lucy, she had gotten their given names from them because she wasn’t going to keep calling them Officers DeMarco and Chen, had tried to tell her not to worry, but she insisted. Once the three had eaten, Lorelei decided to retreat to her room for the night but told her guests to make themselves at home. Molly followed her in; however, Daisy had decided that Lucy’s lap was the best spot for a nap.

Lorelei moved around her room, changing into something more comfortable before settling on her bed, Molly curled up next to her. She had her laptop playing a documentary in the background. If she was honest with herself, the whole situation had her worried. This guy had broken into a police captain’s home, killed his housekeeper, beaten him, and knocked out a cop. When Lorelei had first seen Sean, it had taken everything in her not to run to him and take him in her arms. Seeing him looking so vulnerable…it did something to her. She wanted to be out there, tracking this guy down. Not only had he hurt someone she cared for deeply, but he may have been involved in the death of her parents. However, she couldn’t do anything, not with her protectors outside. There was no way to sneak out. And she had no doubt her brother would want her to sit this one out.

Lorelei sighed, absent mindedly running her hand up and down Molly’s furry back. She heard the chime of her phone, indicating she had received a message. It was Monroe, checking in on her. Nick had filled him in, and they were currently looking for a way to apprehend Kimura. Nick wanted to question Kimura about their parents. After replying, Lorelei decided to message Sean and check in on him. He confirmed he was alright and still at the precinct. Putting her phone down, Lorelei laid down and tried to focus on the documentary. There wasn’t much she could do right now. Hopefully tomorrow she could move around without her guards. She made note to contact her supervisor in the morning; she didn’t think she would be able to focus on work.

Lorelei jumped as her phone went off. She sat up, feeling groggy. She must have fallen asleep. Glancing at her beside clock she saw it was just after midnight. With a slight groan, she reached over and grabbed her phone off the nightstand. It was Monroe. She answered it, and Monroe started talking straight away. His words were a bit jumbled. Something about Juliette, hospital, a cat, Adalind Schade, and the spice shop. After getting him to slow down, she finally understood that Juliette was unconscious in the hospital. Apparently, she got scratched by a cat that Adalind had brought it. He and Nick had the cat in question and were on their way to the spice shop to figure out what Adalind had done to Juliette. Lorelei told Monroe that she would meet them at the spice shop.

She got up and quickly got dressed. Molly was dead to the world, dreaming about whatever it was that dogs dreamt about. Lorelei slipped her phone into her pocket as she walked to the door. Then froze. There was no way she was getting out of this apartment without the police officers in her living room finding out. She groaned in frustration debating what to do. Lorelei couldn’t exactly stroll out her front door. Moving quickly and quietly, she tiptoed out toward her living room. The TV was on. Lucy was where Lorelei had left her, Daisy still in her lap and Ben was watching the TV, clearly trying to stay awake. No way to slip by without him noticing. She went back to her room, trying to come up with another solution. Climbing out the window was not an option. There was a vent, but she wasn’t sure where it came out. She suddenly remembered something she had bought from the spice shop. A powder that according to Rosalee acted as a powerful sedative. Lorelei thought it might come in handy one day. She quickly checked her bag and yep, there it was. Digging it out, she kept it in her hand as she made her way back toward the living room. She dug a handful out of the pouch and approach the resting officers. Ben glanced up; however, she quickly blew the powder in his direction. She watched as it settled over the pair. It worked fast, Ben was out before he knew what hit him.

After checking their pulses, and Daisy’s as well, Lorelei left.

Lorelei arrived at the spice shop, both surprised and a little grateful that Nick had already left. She wasn’t sure how he would feel if he knew that not only did, she slip protective custody but also drugged his fellow officers. Rosalee was mixing up something, hoping to knock the aggressive cat out. It was currently in a carrier on a bench in the side room.

“How’d you get out?” Monroe asked. “I thought you had two cops hanging out at your place.”

Lorelei bit her lip and glanced sheepishly at the floor. “I may have…sort of…drugged them.”

Monroe and Rosalee looked at her in surprise. “With what?”

She looked at Rosalee. “You know that powerful sedative I bought from here?”

A look of understanding crossed Rosalee’s face as she continued mixing the ingredients she needed. “They should be fine. They’ll be awake in a couple of hours.” She said, referring to the officers.

Lorelei walked over and peered into the carrier, jumping back when the cat screeched and threw itself against the carrier door. “Wow, that is one angry kitty.”

Monroe chuckled. “It certainly is. Although we aren’t sure if it���s the effects of whatever Adalind did to it or, you know, how the cat is.”

“You’re sure this is going to knock that feline out?” Monroe asked, returning to the side room, a steaming pot in hand.

Rosalee followed him in. “It won’t knock it out, it will paralyse it for about 30 minutes. That should give us enough to check its claws and saliva.” She answered, placing the mortar and pestle down on the table. Lorelei joined them. “Ok, lift the cover.” She said, referring to the cover they had placed over the carrier. Monroe did so, while Rosalee added the final ingredients to the steaming pot before sliding it to sit beside the carrier. They quickly dropped the cover, allowing the steam from the pot to do its work.

THE END OF SEASON 1 – STAY TUNED FOR SEASON 2 – CHAPTER 1 NOW AVAILABLE

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[dynamic-power]

The Happiness We Deserve

I've just uploaded the first 2 chapters of a multi chapter gallavich fic that I'm lowkey excited about. Here's chapter 1!

Read it on ao3 here

Mickey Milkovich does nine years for attempted murder. While he's locked up, Ian Gallagher gets himself out of Chicago.

It's been almost 15 years since they've seen each other when Ian decides it's time to come home and visit.

Mickey is in a relationship. He's got a boyfriend, he has the Alibi, and the Gallaghers who still live in Chicago are his family. He's happy. Really, he is.

Right?

Rated: E

CW: excessive use of the word fuck, no sex just fade to black (but it will eventually earn that E rating)

Mickey ended up doing nine years for the attempted murder of Sammi Gallagher.

When he got out, he managed to wait for a whole week before he found himself pacing on the porch of the Gallagher family home. It was Lip who answered the door when he finally got the balls to knock on it.

“Mickey.” Lip only looked mildly surprised to see him standing on his doorstep. Holding a hand out, he pushed Mickey back gently, just enough to step out of the house and close the door behind him. He regarded Mickey for a moment. “You look good.”

Mickey had only just turned 21 the last time he’d seen Lip. He’d changed quite a bit since then; packed on a bit of muscle and covered almost all visible skin below his chin with stick-and-poke tattoos.

Lip had changed, too. He didn’t seem as restless as he used to be; that had been replaced with the ease of a man who had accepted his lot in life. It was a good look on him, Mickey decided. “You do, too.”

They stared at each other for a few moments. Mickey knew they were both aware of why he was there, but it was clear that Lip was waiting for Mickey to say it out loud.

“Is he here?” he finally asked.

“No,” Lip replied simply.

“When-” Mickey started, pausing when his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, swallowed, tried again. “Where-”

“He left, Mick.” The words felt like a knife in Mickey’s stomach. “He got out of Chicago, 6 or 7 years ago. He hasn’t been back since.”

“Oh,” Mickey managed to say around his pounding heart and sinking stomach. “Right.”

Part of Mickey wasn’t surprised. He’d known that Ian wasn’t really going to wait for him. That part of him was proud, even, that he’d gotten out of the south side.

But another part of him, the part that had allowed his heart to crack a little more with each month that had gone by without a visit from Ian, shattered entirely.

He stood there, feeling a strange mix of desperation and finality, for nearly a whole minute before Lip finally asked, “Do you wanna come in for dinner?” He opened the front door again and Mickey heard the sound of voices coming from within over the rush of blood in his ears. “The rest of the family is here. You can come meet all of our significant others and the hellspawn that we’ve produced.”

“Uh, sure,” Mickey said, shoving his hands in his pockets and forcing a smile on his face. “I think I’d like that.”

-----

5 years later

Liam was the first Gallagher to walk into the Alibi that afternoon, and Mickey wasn’t really surprised. Carl had a great mind for plenty of things, but punctuality was not one of them.

“Where’s my brother?” Liam asked as he sat himself on one of the bar stools.

“Dunno,” Mickey grumbled. “I’m not his fuckin’ keeper.” He reached over the bar and put a hand on Liam’s head, shaking him fondly. “Want a drink?”

“Sure.”

Mickey flipped over a glass and pulled the tap. “What d’you need Carl for?”

“Lip wants a head count for dinner Monday night,” Liam said as Micey slid the beer across the bartop. He took a few large gulps and sighed, wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve.

“Why?”

Liam shrugged. “Said he had some big news. Dunno what, though.”

“Huh.” Mickey wondered what news Lip could possibly have that required them all to be present for dinner. It must have been important; even his engagement and the conception of his last child hadn’t warrented quite this much buzz.

“You gonna be there?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Bringing Jay?”

“Nah,” Mickey said as the front door opened and Carl came barreling in wearing a sheepish grin. “He’s gonna be in California on business. Hey,” he snapped, turning to address his business partner, “the fuck you been?”

“Sorry, I-”

“You gonna be at dinner Monday?” Liam interrupted.

“Oh. Uh, yeah.”

“You have any idea what news Lip has for us?” Mickey asked as Carl passed him behind the bar.

“News? No.” Carl pulled out two shot glasses and filled them both with bottom shelf whiskey. He passed one over to Mickey. Mickey accepted it, tossing back their traditional Friday afternoon pre-open shot and clicking the empty glass twice on the bartop. Carl followed suit. “Is that why he’s been buggin’ me about it?” Carl asked through the burn of the whiskey. He passed behind Mickey again and opened the till.

“Guess so,” Mickey said. He pointed to Liam as the teen finished off the last few swallows of his beer. “Another?”

“Nah,” Liam said, slapping his hands on the bar and standing. “I’ve got plans tonight.”

“Oh, yeah, hot shot?” Mickey sneered.

“Yeah,” Liam answered with a shit-eating grin. “Meetin’ a girl at a party.”

“Shit.” Mickey waved him towards the door. “Don’t let us keep you.”

“Need a rubber?” Carl asked without looking up from the money he was counting out. “Last thing you need, college boy, is to knock some poor girl-”

“I’m fine, jackass,” Liam snapped back. “I’ll see you losers Monday.”

“Be safe, kid,” Mickey called after him as he disappeared through the front door again. “Hey, count that shit out again,” he snapped at Carl. “I don’t trust it when you try to fuckin’ count and talk at the same time.”

-----

It was nearly three in the morning before Mickey finally made it back to his apartment. He sighed heavily as he shut his front door behind him, tossing his keys in the bowl and kicking his shoes off without caring where they ended up. As he turned towards his kitchen, he nearly jumped out of his skin as someone came out of his bedroom.

“Jesus,” he breathed, clutching one hand to his chest as his boyfriend, Jay Flores, grinned goofily at him from the hallway. “Fuckin’ scared the shit outta me.” He crossed the living room quickly, stepping into Jay’s open arms. He pressed his face into Jay’s bare shoulder and pulled him closer by the hips. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

“I wanted to wake up next to you one last time this week, querido, ” Jay said into his hair, voice thick with sleep.

“Fuckin’ gay.”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“What time is your flight?” Mickey asked, pulling back just enough to peer up at Jay.

“Too fuckin’ early. Eight, I think. Taxi is gonna be here at five thirty.”

“There’s lots we can do before then.”

“I should really sleep a little bit more-”

“Sleep on the fuckin’ plane.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jay agreed easily. He leaned down and pressed his filthy grin to Mickey’s in a poor attempt at a kiss. They were both smiling too wide to really make it good, but neither of them really cared as they pushed each other back into the bedroom.

------

Part 2

[iamvegorott]

Meeting A Magical Man Pt. 6

Part 1: Link Prev: Link Next: Link

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Marvin wouldn’t say he was nosy, which he was, but he’d claim to be curious. That supposed curiosity was currently having him make his way through the city to a construction zone to get a look at Chase’s job. Chase had texted that morning, pretty damn early, about how he got to relax but still didn’t sleep. At least it was something. 

After that text from Chase, Marvin asked Henrik where Chase worked, wanting to know what the man did for a living since it seemed like those YouTube videos he was talking about weren’t fully paying the bills on their own. He might have lied and said he needed to know for the potion, and that’s how he convinced Henrik to tell him where he was. Marvin had started growing bored of just writing down what would be needed to gather. Plus, he would need to travel soon and wanted to play some more if he was going to head off on his own. Maybe he’d find a way to bring a travel buddy. 

He slipped past some ‘do not enter’ tape as he entered the construction zone, casting a quick spell to ensure no one could see him. He was technically invisible but a little more complicated since he could let select people see him. 

“There he is,” Marvin said softly, sitting on a spare piece of metal to enjoy the show. 

Something about muscular, sweaty men picking up heavy things like they weighed nothing was a great way to start the afternoon. All Marvin needed was a cup of tea and to decide which man to convince to come home with him when the shift finished to make the day perfect.

Most of the men he looked at gave off that annoying ‘I’m big and strong, so I know everything’ energy, and Marvin was not in the mood for that. While he knew he shouldn’t be judging a book by its cover, there wasn’t anything wrong with being a little cautious. And for unknown reasons wanted to stick around with Chase some more. He was only a few pages into that book and needed more chapters to quench that claimed curiosity of his. Marvin could also see that Chase’s muscles weren’t just glamor ones. He had some strength to him and had been holding back. Now Marvin was determined to see just how much he could do. 

“Lunch time.” A man who had been working with Chase said with a chuckle. Marvin had to admit he was good-looking, but his energy seemed too musical? Or at least that seemed to be getting from his aura. Sweet man, but not really Marvin’s type. At least not what he usually looks for. He was always willing to try everyone if they were interesting enough. 

“Maybe we could invite the foreman to come eat with us?” Chase asked, voice teasing as he and Yancy sat on the same piece of metal Marvin was on, ending up between the two. He knew he should move and get out of the way, but he wanted to know why Chase was teasing. He was too weak for some good gossip. 

“Yous need to cut that out.” The voice that came out of the other man was not what Marvin expected.

“But Yancy, you know you’d love it~” Chase laughed when Yancy flipped him off. 

“I will break both of ya kneecaps,” Yancy warned as he popped open his lunch box. 

“You’d risk going back to jail because of a crush?” Chase opened his own lunch box

That got Marvin to raise his eyebrows. Jail? How the hell did that man get sent to prison? Did he misread his aura? Was there something hidden beneath the surface layer?

“I think my probation officer would understand.” Yancy chuckled. 

“Would Illinois~?” Chase had that teasing voice again. 

“Shut up.” Yancy blew a raspberry, and it took everything in Marvin's existence to not slap him since he got some spit on him. He didn’t mean to. He wasn’t aware Marvin was there, but still. 

“You know I wouldn’t give you shit if it wasn’t obvious that you like him.” Chase unwrapped his sandwich. “And you know it’s very obvious if I caught on to it.” 

“Yous are a bit clueless.” Yancy popped his lips. 

“I’m not that bad.” Chase rolled his eyes. Marvin again had to bite his tongue to disagree with Chase. He was indeed that bad, and that was what was cute about him. 

“I could start telling some tales~” Yancy sang, and his voice confirmed the musical aspect of his aura. Marvin was also hoping he did get to hear some tales. 

“Don’t you-” Chase went to give Yancy a playful shove, but his hand thumped the air instead, hitting Marvin without knowing it. 

“The fuck was that?” Yancy asked. 

“I have no idea.” Chase looked at his hand and reached out again, unknowingly tapping Marvin’s arm. Yancy blinked and started doing the same thing, lightly slapping Marvin’s other arm. 

“This is now how I like getting pounded between two men,” Marvin said, getting both Yancy and Chase to flinch away in shock. He adjusted his spell and allowed the two to see him. “Sorry for the scare, darlings~” He giggled. 

“Marvin? What are you doing here? You’re not allowed in this area.” Chase said. 

“How did yous do that?” Yancy asked.

“First, I can go anywhere as long as no one sees me, and second, magic dear Yancy. Fun little tricks I can do.” Marvin did a little shimmy. 

“Why are you here?” Chase looked around to make sure no one else was paying attention. 

“They can’t see me. You two are the only ones, so don’t draw too much attention to us, baby.” Marvin clicked your tongue. 

“I thought yous said you ain’t got a partner?” Yancy gestured at Marvin. 

“I like pet names for everyone, sweetie. Part of my charm.” Marvin took a gentle hold of Yancy’s chin. “And no one can tie me down. Me and Chase are fucking, and I’m helping him with his sleeping problems. I’m more than happy to give you a taste, too~” He winked and saw Yancy’s face going bright red. It looks like he gets as easily flustered as Chase did. Cute. “But!” Marvin let him go and bounced to his feet. “I overheard that you have a crush, and I’m going to see if I can play matchmaker.” 

“You’re going to what?” Chase asked.

“Bye~!” Marvin was gone in a blink. 

“Chase?” Yancy stared at the spot where Marvin had been at. 

“Yeah?”

“The fuck was that?” 

“Long story.” 

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Tags: @brokentimewatch @bookwormscififan @d-structive