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crimsonwolfie · 4 years ago

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Fortuitous Love — Theo Raeken x Werewolf!Reader

Prompt: You (the reader) are a werewolf in London who live with Jackson and Ethan. You all travel to Beacon Hills to help Scott’s pack fight against the hunters, only things happen unexpectedly...

Warnings: occasionally swearing, trigger of dying/pain, fluff and general happy ending

Word count: 4,799

Masterlist

“You know, you’re asking for your death certificate by doing this.”

“I’m part werewolf, part kanima, darling. They’ve got nothing on me.”

“What about us, my love? We’re only werewolves. Sorry for not having the intolerance to wolfsbane unlike you!”

Carrying your head in your hands, you sigh dramatically at the two loverbirds in the front seats. Jackson and Ethan have been your friends (more like parents) for the past 2 years, after they found you alone and scared on the night you turned. Ever since then, they’ve taken you under their wing like their own and helped you control yourself - they were there for you when no one else was. During those 2 years, they’ve confided in you completely, telling you about Beacon Hills and their friends back there like Lydia, Stiles, Scott and Derek Hale. Being in London, you don’t really make any run in appearances with other supernaturals so your knowledge of them is remotely vague...but ever since your date took you out on a walk through the woods and bit you, you’ve wanted to know everything you can about all of it. If it wasn’t for Jackson and Ethan walking home from a dinner date and heard you scream, then you wouldn’t even be here to tell your story.

A cold, refreshing breeze hits your heated pink cheeks as your hair is swept back from the car window being down. Peering up through the sunroof, you see the moon full and as bright as the heavens above, bringing a small smile to your lips. As the reflection of the moonlight appears upon your glossy eyes, your mind wanders into reminiscing what your life was like before you changed...how you couldn’t hear everything in a 3 mile radius, how you had to ask how people were feeling instead of smelling their emotions...how you didn’t have to be weary of people hunting you down just to kill you for personal gain...

“How’re you feeling, Y/N?” you’re snapped back to reality by Jackson turning around in his seat, his eyes soft and his dimples merry.

“I’m okay, a little nervous i guess” you reply, shifting in your seat slightly whilst tugging the sleeves of your hoodie onto your hands “but hey, what about you? I mean...you haven’t seen these people for 3 years”

“It’s okay, not like they’re strangers. It’s just a shame it’s not under better circumstances” Jackson drops his head slightly in guilt. You know he thinks he should have visited them at least once a year, but with so many supernatural occurrences that have happened in Beacon Hills over the years, he knew it wasn’t the right time. And you knew that too.

“Look, you couldn’t see them before this. It was too dangerous, okay? You’re not in the wrong.” You place your dainty hand over his large one, gripping it tightly in a way to say “it’s going to be okay.” He returns this with a gentle squeeze of your hand and a small smile, before letting go and turning back to the front.

You, Jackson and Ethan were on your way to Beacon Hills to help the pack fight against pretty much the whole town, who have been turned by their own fear to fighting and killing all supernatural creatures. Hunters had been sent to London to hunt down you three, obviously they didn’t succeed but you guys were absolutely pissed. In a way, this is all a blessing in disguise to you, as you’re now on your way to meet people who are meant to be like a second family to you. You’ve heard so much about them all, that you feel like you have already met them...it’s...weird.

“Don’t be scared, darlings” Ethan disturbs the comforting silence with a soft tone “i can sense the fear from both of you, it’s thicker than a bowl of oatme-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” you lean forward poking your head between the two seats in front, glaring at Ethan with beady eyes. Both men wheeze as you breathe out a slight laugh.

“-and anyway...i’m not scared.” You retort, placing your hands on your hips and tilting your head slightly whilst staring into Ethan’s eyes in the mirror. He stares back at you, crinkles on his eyelines and cheek bones high as he cackles softly at your words

“Yeah right princess”

“It’s true! I’m not!”

“It’s okay if you are, sweetie” Jackson pouts sarcastically, earning a middle finger from you. “Hey, don’t be mean little lady!” Jackson wiggles his finger at you whilst tutting your choice of actions.

“Love i will not hesitate to bite your finger off and throw it out this window” you hiss as your eyes glow a bright golden colour. Since you’re London born and raised, you have a british accent coating your words, making it all that more humorous for the two americans in front of you. Your accent has always been something they find both fascinating about you, but also a way to tease you about how you say certain words. You look up to the window reflection to see your eyes are glowing and quickly look down and shake it off.

“You know, i think you’ll get on very well with Theo Raeken” Jackson pipes up, you look up to see him smirking, knowing it’ll wind you up even more.

“Who is this Theo Raeken guy, anyway. I thought you said you both left town before he appeared?”

“Oh we did, only it’s a pretty small world and that guy gets around..” Ethan side eyes Jackson, wearing a confused “just tell her” expression

“...okay maybe because Lydia calls me every week to tell me what i’ve missed.” He sighs as he rolls his eyes. You smirk sweetly, quite enjoying the view in front of you.

“So what’s he like?” You ask, intrigued to know more about this ‘Theo’ guy

“He’s a dick”

“And a liar”

“And a snake”

“Wait how’s that even possible?! I didn’t even think you could have a snake hybr-“

“-no not literally silly, you can’t trust him. He’s a snake that way”

“-oh.”

...

“Is he fit though?”

“Y/N STOP”

—

The car comes to a sudden halt outside an old, abandoned building. The night sky darkens your surroundings, taking away any sort of comfort you had before. Had you reached your destination? Or was something stopping you from reaching it? Remote darkness surrounds you all with not a glimpse of light in sight - no street lamps lit, no lights in the buildings and no cat eyes in the road. It’s almost as if you’re standing in the middle of a ghost town, or even a graveyard.

“This...this can’t be right?” Ethan begins to fiddle with the satnav displayed in front of him “it’s saying ‘route malfunction. No route calculated?”

“It was fine when we got here?” Jackson retorts whilst rubbing his eyes of tiredness. You can feel it too...the fatigue. After an 11 hour plane ride, you’re surprised you’d lasted this long without any sleep. But there’s something else your senses are picking up on...fear? Or even anger?

“Let me try my phone” you hesitate as you open the car door, stepping one foot out ever so cautiously. Picking up your phone from the seat, you hold it up in the air in hopes of getting a signal - nothing. No bars at all...weird.

A cold shiver runs down your spine, causing your entire body to cover in goosebumps. Pulling your hoodie over your body more and bringing your arms up to hug yourself, you get back in the car, rolling the window back up. As if by magic, the air turned from a cool summer breeze to a winter snowstorm with an unsettling feeling running around in the air, and you nor your wolf side liked it.

“Do...do you feel that?” You ask

“I don’t know what it is but...yeah i feel something”

“It’s called love dumbass”

“Jackson this is not a time for your sarc...” Ethan trails off suddenly, sticking his nose up in the air and sniffing. “It’s blood...i smell blood”

“What are you...wait, yeah i smell it too” you retort, opening your car door up once again and stepping out “i’m gonna go and follow it, stay here” you say

“Y/N you’re basically our child, it’s YOU who should be staying put, safe” Ethan replies, his hand on your shoulder

“Eth, it’s okay...i can handle myself” you flash your eyes “if i’m not back in 10 then get the hell out of here. Don’t look back.” and with that, you stalk off, following the scent of fresh blood. Using your wolf vision allows you to see more in your path than you would normally, and with your senses heightened due to a completely unfamiliar setting, you know you’ll be okay.

There’s tall brooding trees everywhere around you, but no sight of life of any kind. Running faster and faster you start to gain a stronger track of the scent, seeing a type of clearing ahead of you. Just as you’re about to leap forward, you hear something flying through the air, only you have no idea where it’s coming from. As you stop and stand behind the tree bark, your vision starts to blur and your muscles begin to weaken. You feel this sharp sting in your side, looking down to reveal an arrow sticking out of it. Panic overwhelms you as the thought of dying here in the darkness, in the cold all alone, scares the hell out of you. A hot, single tear drops on your rosy cheek and into the corner of your mouth. You want to scream, to rip someone’s throat out, to run and hide, but you can’t move. The sound of more arrows flying through the darkness surround you, until all you can hear is the same swooshing sound of this death trap.

“Hunters” you moan under your breath, squinting your face in both pain and anger. The blood is oozing out fast, and you’re not healing. You lift your hoodie up to see the damage whilst wincing...and it’s bad. I mean...really bad. If you’re not healing, then it can only mean one thing...

“Oh for fuck sake, wolfsbane?” You growl as blood seeps into your leggings, painting your once grey hoodie now a tie dye of a piercing crimson shade. The pain begins getting worse as beads of sweat drip from your forehead, mixing with your salty tears. Red laser beams strike through the darkness ahead of you, searching for your body. Scrunching up into a ball on the floor, you try to rock yourself to ease the pain, but it’s useless. You’re looking around for any sort of plan, and start to think of Jackson and Ethan, hoping they’ve gone and are out of harms way. ‘If anything ever happens to them i swear to god i will kill anyone and everyone who inflicted harm their way’ you think to yourself, as you tug the arrow out of your body with a heartbreaking cry. So many emotions are crossing your mind right now to the point you don’t know what is right to feel and what is wrong. Killing someone? It feels fucking right at the moment. Especially the son of a bitch who hunted you.

You know you couldn’t howl to alert the others as they would just race towards you, not away. You have no choice but to face the hunters to get to the clearing, to find someone to help, and with that...you get up. It takes all your strength, but you do it, determined to escape alive.

“Cmon Y/N, you got this” you whisper to yourself in a brittle voice, chin trembling from the pain you’re enduring. Your golden circles glow brightly with determination, as you step forward...but as soon as you do, you look down to see a red laser beam pointed directly at your stomach. Luckily your adrenaline instincts kick in as you grab the flying arrow mid-flight before it hits your body. Breaking it into two pieces, you look up, anger and rage boiling inside you. Your fangs rip through your gums as a ground-rumbling growl leaves your throat, cutting through the space around you like a thousand knives. Running towards the clearing, a dozen more arrows fly around your body...some missing...but also some hitting. Taking a few arrows to your chest, back, legs... your vision gets blurrier, fading by the second until you can’t take it anymore, the wolfsbane kicking in a lot quicker than before. Collapsing on the ground of dried leaves and fertile soil, you reach your hand out to the clearing, trying to grasp at it one final time. Gripping a handful of soil in your blood soaked palms, your eyes brim with tears. ‘This is it’ you think, your fear of a painful, cold and lonely death becomes too realistic. The sound of arrows flying from all directions starts fading away as your body slowly starts giving up on you. As you’re about to give up completely, you see a small blurry blob in the distance getting bigger and bigger the closer it comes. The last thing you see is a hand reach towards your body, then pitch black.

You awake with a gasping breath, back shot up straight and eyes wide. The last thing you remembered was being on the brink of death in the woods, yet now you’re in somewhere that looks like a clinic...an animal clinic maybe?

Looking down at your hands, you see dirt and blood still dug in-between your nails...but there’s white bandages wrapped around your arms. Your bare back shrieks in pain as your skin burns underneath, screaming to be ripped apart. The steel table is cold to your touch as you sweep your legs off onto the side, examining your body for injuries - you’re patched up with bandages everywhere instead. As you’re about to get off the table completely, you hear footsteps approaching the room. Quickly, you decide to grab the needle to your right side for defence, only freezing once seeing the figure walk into the room.

It’s a boy, roughly the same age as you, only he seems a lot more muscular, taller and maturer than you. His hair is a dirty blonde, with longer bits at the front that fall in front of his face Leonardo Dicaprio style. His complexion is dashing, with eyes as blue as the sea and chiseled jawline, his nose pretty much perfect and his lips...oh they look succulent. Upon seeing you, he smirks with perfect lips, as his brows raise.

“And what do you think you’re going to do with that?” He asks, his voice deep but attractive. He places the clipboard in his arms down on the counter next to him, bringing a hand to his hip.

“I...you could have been the hunter” you reply, captivated by his features still

“So i try to kill you, patch you up here and then try to kill you again?” His lips part as a chuckle leaves his throat

“You never know.” You snap, pouting your lips as your brows furrow in defeat.

“So...you must be Y/N?’” The boy asks, tilting his head slightly whilst scanning you up and down. You step back suddenly, surprised he knows who you are, as if he’s been expecting you.

“Wait how’d you know that?” You ask, slowly placing the needle in your hand on the table. He steps forward, closing the space between you two slightly

“Well for one, the accent” he points towards your mouth with a single finger, “and second, Lydia never stops talking about the ‘girl who Jackson saved’. It’s pretty obvious.”

“Well you’re acting like i’m not what you expected..”

“Because you’re not.” He smirks whilst getting closer, closing the gap between you two more. You can’t help but stare into his eyes, then look down at his luscious lips and think of what they’d feel like pushing against yours, moving in synchronisation-

“Hey, stop thinking about me” you snap out of your trance, looking up to see him winking at you with that famous grin of his that everyone talks about, granted he is who you’re thinking he is...

“I-i’m not thinking about you” you push him away

“I can smell the attraction on you” he scoffs.

“I take it you’re Theo Raeken, then.” Sighing, you look up at him, crossing your arms across your chest.

“The one and only” he says as he comes closer to you, bringing his face inches away from your own.

You understand what everyone means when they say Theo Raeken is no good - The guy reeks of selfishness and cockiness. He went against Scott and his pack, even killed him at one point and spent a year in hell...if you could see red flags then he’d be drowning in them. But that’s your problem - you go for the bad guys...you always have. Jackson and Ethan knew this already, which is why they knew you’d get along with him when no one else does.

“So what brings you to Beacon Hills, gorgeous?” Theo takes a few small steps forward, which is making you take small steps back until your back hits the wall of the clinic, your frame pressed against the hard surface. Theo raises his hand and presses his palm against the wall, leaving you nowhere to escape...that is...if you wanted to (but hey, being sandwiched between a wall and a really hot - actually insanely hot guy, was not that bad).

“It’s the hunters, we came back to help.” Your eyes glimpse across his face once again, as you bite your bottom lip. You lean on the wall with your feet planted into the floor, keeping you completely still.

“You’re willing to risk your life for complete strangers?” Theo’s face falls in concern, his deep blue eyes squinting slightly in disbelief. ‘What kind of girl would do that?’ He questioned himself, starting to get more intrigued by you each second.

“They’re not strangers, kinda?” You reply, looking away as you try to explain “they’re Jackson and Ethan’s friends, so i trust them.” Scratching your neck, you look back to him. Theo stares at you as if he doesn’t believe what you’re saying. “You don’t need to stare at me like that”

“Like what?” Theo questions

“Like you can’t trust me. Because you can...and anyway who’s to say you’re the one to be trusted? You don’t exactly have the best representation” you retort, earning a scoff from the boy in front of you

“I saved your life; you should be grateful?” He hissed

“Gee, thanks for not killing me like you did with Scott Mccall, you’re my hero.” You say sarcastically, rolling your eyes and shaking your head.

“I do not like your attitude, pretty” theo scoulds, his eyes glowing.

You flash your eyes back at him, growling “i don’t like your loyalties.”

“Yeah well maybe if you went through what i’ve gone through you’d understand”

“You don’t need to pity yourself, Raeken. Some people are just born monsters. Accept it.”

“You don’t even know me!” He’s practically screaming now, with his teeth gritted and fangs shining in the moonlight from the windows above

“I know enough to know you’re a no good, rotten waste of space!” You hiss back, as you go to swipe at him...but he blocks you, gripping your wrist in his hand.

You both stand there facing each other with your fangs dripping and eyes golden, faces inches apart and heavily breathing. You can practically feel his chest on yours, his breath tingling on your cheeks. Staring into each other’s eyes, neither of you move. His hand is still wrapped tightly around your wrist...only after around 10 seconds of staring into each other’s golden orbs, he loosens his grip. He doesn’t let go, just hovers his hand gently over yours. You yank your wrist from his touch and bend under his other arm, which is still palmed to the wall. Walking around the the other side of the table, you focus on controlling yourself...which Theo notices from the corner of his eye.

“You still have trouble controlling yourself, don’t you?..” he begins, only you shut him up by running towards him, shoving your hand over his mouth. Theo’s eyes widen, fearful for your state...but there’s something else in his eyes - sympathy? Suddenly a heart-wrenching pain tears through your side, causing you to kneel over screaming with pain. Still with your hand over Theo’s mouth, he gently places his own over yours as long, black lines start trailing through his skin.

“Wha-what are you-“ you yelp loudly “-you doing?” gritting your teeth and clawing your claws into your palms, he places his other hand over the small of your back. Theo gently moves your hand with his, off of his mouth, so he can talk.

“I’m taking your pain away” he softly speaks, his eyes soft and his touch delicate over your fragile skin. You look up to him with a layer of tears glazed in your eyes, fear hidden deep within your orbs. Theo never looks away when taking your pain. As you start to feel it going away, your eyes soften slightly, guilt clouding your conscience after remembering what you said to Theo. ‘Clearly he’s not what they paint him to be’ you think to yourself.

“You have to care, to take pain away...” your voice is shaky, wobbly. As you bring your legs together, Theo gives you a small smile, as he still holds your hands after taking your pain.

“Of course i care...i can tell you do to” he simply replies, looking down at the ground. His soft, silky hair flops with his gaze, covering part of his forehead. All you want to do is run your fingers through his perfect head of hair, feel it through your fingertips and put your hands on his cheeks...

“But you don’t know me?” You whisper, as you reach forward and place your fingers on the side of his head. He leans into your touch, replying “i just feel like i know you, already”

He brings his hand to yours on his cheek, lacing your fingers in his

“I’m really sorry for...for everything i said earlier” you hiccup quietly “it’s just i thought you were this big bad guy that everyone says you are...” your words trail off as you glance away to the side, thinking of why Theo was being so nice to you “...Hell changed you...didn’t it?” You mention, your voice barely above a whisper. Theo grunts at your words, flinching at the thought of what he went through down there.

“It would change anyone” his eyes welled with tears as he chewed on his lower lip. A sob leaves your lips as you realise what torture he must have gone through, seeing the genuine look of hurt and pain in his expressions. It makes you want to just hug him and never let go...

“...no one’s seen this side to you, have they?” you lift his head up by placing your fingers on his chin. His head is heavy, tears now streaming down his face as memories are recapped in his wracked brain. You bring both hands to wipe away his tears, sobs quietly leaving his mouth.

“No...” he begins, choking up. You pull him into your body, hugging him tightly, rocking sideways in a way of comforting him. He returns the hug, wrapping his arms around you tighter and burying his head in the crook of your neck. You both stay like this for a while, as your hand rubs his back softly and the other hand runs through his hair.

Everyone had no problem telling the bad side of Theo Raeken’s story, but they seemed to have missed out the path of redemption. The path Theo wanted to take, and with your help, he would stick to. For this, you felt anger unlike anything before, for he was a boy who made mistakes. Hell, you’ve made mistakes before...but everyone deserves the right to prove their redemption - to make things right...and Theo Raeken...was never given that opportunity.

Slowly sitting up, he wipes the rest of his face of tears, resting his back against the wall of the clinic. He never expected to meet you, and like you. He’d heard things about you, much like how you heard things about him, but he never saw sympathy as one of your qualities...especially sympathy towards him. You release him from your touch, about to get up, until he grabs your hand back in his.

“Please, don’t leave me Y/N” he begs, his state so fragile and broken. As his soft fingers lace around your own, you obey his wishes and sit back next to him, intertwining your fingers together. He turns towards you, a sweet smile on his face, his red bloodshot eyes tired. You lean your head on his broad shoulder, and just sit with him. He leans his head on your head, his breathing calming. It’s almost like you two are each other’s anchors...but it’s impossible - you don’t know each other...not really?

“Do you believe in people being anchors?” You whisper. Theo adjusts himself closer to your body, instantly creating more heat between you two

“I guess...Liam’s is Hayden. When she left, he really struggled. He still does” he hums. It gets you thinking...you never really had an anchor. You only had Jackson and Ethan telling you this motto “the sun, the moon, the truth” to help control yourself, but most of the time it never worked...

“Wait” you gasp, starting to get fidgety and panic setting in your heart “where are Jackson and Ethan? They were in the car and i left them. I left them, Theo” you turn to him with tears settling in your eyes, your face growing paler through panic. Theo quickly grabs your shoulders to steady yourself, pushing your hair behind your ears, out of your face

“Hey, hey Y/N it’s okay - they’re safe. I got to them, too. They’re with Scott and the others.” He reassures you, rubbing your arms. “It’s okay, breathe. Just breathe, you’re okay”.

“I can’t lose them, they’re all i have” you whimper, Theo strokes your cheek with thumb, pulling you into his chest.

“You have me” he whispers, making you look up at him in adoration. You two had met a couple of hours ago and it already feels like you’ve fallen for him...only he felt the same way. It’s like you two were each other’s soulmate, and that everything feels safe and okay when you’re with each other.

“I feel like...and please don’t think i’m crazy-“ you blurt out, hand on Theo’s chest “-but i feel like you’re my anchor...”

Theo smiles at your words and leans forward, crashing his lips into yours with pure desire and passion. You return the kiss by moving your lips sweetly along with his, hands roaming everywhere on each other’s bodies. Sparks run through your body and burst into fireworks as the kiss deepens. Theo places his hand on the back of your head, pushing you deeper into his lips. Your fingers trace through his hair, tugging at times. Your urge to rip each other’s clothes off increases, as Theo gets slightly aggressive in the kiss, his hands leaving imprints in your skin and biting your lip. Your breath is rigid, wanting more and more. Suddenly, the lights flicker and the sound of a door creaking open breaks the connection between you and Theo, as Jackson and Ethan walk through the door. You and Theo freeze in your position of tops half off, Theo on top of you, his hair an absolute mess and your hair tangled around your neck in sweat

“I knew it!” Jackson cackles, clapping his hands together as Ethan stares at him in annoyance. He reaches into his pocket and places a 10 dollar bill in Jackson’s hand, who smirks and kisses his teeth

“-woah woah you guys BET on this happening?” You gasp, pushing Theo off you enough so you could sit up

“No, we bet that you’d like him...we didn’t bet that you guys would actually click like that” Ethan replies, shrugging.

“Okay i love you guys but...get out.” You scowl, staring at the two men in front of the door

“Y/N we didn’t me-“ Jackson starts

“GET OUT” you flash your eyes, causing the two men to dash out of the room sniggering like two school girls. You flop back on the floor, smirking towards Theo, who climbs back on top of you, about to press his lips to yours once again

“What actually happened he-“ Ethan’s head pops behind the door frame

“GET OUT”

Hope you guys like this! Let me know if you want a part 2 or any other Teen Wolf requests! Xo

#theo raeken #theo raeken x reader #theo raeken imagine #teen wolf #scott mccall x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #cody christian #cody christian imagine

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obx-saltlife · 4 years ago

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S A V A G E

Absolutely nobody asked for this. I listened to Nicki Minaj’s ‘Get on your Knees’ (feat. Ariana Grande) the other night and thought it could be a good start for a mild sub!Rafe fic. This kinda got away from me a little bit and it was too late to reign it in.

Warnings: Smut, obviously. We’re talking like real filthy language, oral sex (female receiving), mild dom/sub undertones.

Word count: 4.8K+

Rafe x Reader smut.

If you like what you read, request something maybe? Come talk to me, idk. Also, full disclosure, the GIF is not mine. Credit to its original owner.

“Take off your clothes,” he murmured after kissing you chastely. “And crawl to my bed.”

You’d been introduced to Rafe Cameron three months ago at an Outer Banks party. You knew who he was; you ran in the same circles but never had you been introduced outright. You both hailed from Figure 8, you’d seen him around the Island Club a few times too. He was ever the charismatic, beacon of attention that exuded confidence wherever he went. It was honestly what attracted you to him in the first place, like a moth to a flame.

But this didn’t feel like that. “What?” you asked.

Rafe had called you the day after that party to ask you out. He’d been very sweet and you’d even dare to say that he had been a little nervous. Your nerves were off the wall. You agreed to meet him the next day at the Island Club for lunch. You walked around the golf course and just talked about everything. He told you about Ward, about the insane pressure he felt from his dad and the massive expectations he had for Rafe. You talked about his sisters; he even shared a bit about his mom at one point.

“Crawl to my bed,” he repeated slower this time, but his voice was deeper somehow.

“No.” You recoiled in reply, angry that he could think to order you around that way. Like you were beneath him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you high?”

He barely moved except for his hand coming to wrap around your arm just above the joint of your elbow. He brought you closer to him and you put your hands up, bracing yourself against the planes of his chest.

“No, I’m not fucking high. I just want you—“

“Oh, no, I heard you the first time, Rafe. But we don’t do that shit unless we negotiate it first and you know that.”

His face scrunched. “There’s nothing to negotiate, I want to watch you on your knees and I want to fuck you on my bed.”

“And I’m saying no!” You crossed your arms in defiance.

He yanked you forward this time, his grip barely bruising but still pretty strong. You could sense he had every intention to kiss you but before he could, you reached your palm up to his lips and pressed your hand against his mouth. He kissed the inside of your hand instead, like that made anything about this better.

Your first kiss with Rafe had actually been kind of sweet, like a lot of things between both of you. You’d been overlooking the grounds at the club and it happened just as the sun was setting. You’d both been enjoying each other’s company. It was hot, you were both covered in a slight sheen of sweat. Rafe’s hair was falling in his face due to his lack of hair product. It was slow and easy and kind of perfectly timed, if you were being honest. Almost like Rafe could read your mind, you were just that in sync with one another.

He smiled back at you and asked you “What?”

You stared into his mesmerizing blue eyes. “Why do you want me to crawl, Rafe?”

He shrugged and mouthed at your fingers. You let your hand drop and rest on his chest. He stared down between you, his hair on the loose again.

“Rafe,” you whispered. “Do you do this with all your girlfriends”

You weren’t naïve; you knew there had been others before you. You and Rafe were nearly 20.

He shook his head, not really looking you in the eye. “Not all of them.”

“So, most of them?” You asked him, cocking your eyebrows and making him look you in the face.

He lifted a shoulder in somewhat of a half-assed confirmation. It didn’t surprise you, to be honest. Rafe Cameron was someone who was used to getting what he wanted. Especially in the bedroom.

You shook your head at yourself and at him. It had already been a long night. You were out at a party with him, more his crowd than yours really. Not that you’d stayed by his side for the whole thing, Rafe’s country club groupies had figuratively elbowed you clean out of the way and you didn’t want to seem like the clingy, possessive girlfriend. You let him have his fun while you mingled with those you did know, dancing and drinking with them as you pleased.

Topper had approached you at some point, noticing the lack of boyfriend by your side. You’d gotten a drink with him, even shared half of a joint until Rafe interrupted both of you. The smile he used was more reminiscent of an angry dog, baring his teeth. It was tense and weird and even though jealousy was often a good look for Rafe, it was certainly not the case tonight. Especially not on the way back to his place, which is where you currently were.

“You know what? I’m gonna go. We’ll talk tomorrow.” You backed away slowly. “Or whatever.”

He really had no right to be jealous. You had only talked to the handful of people that you knew and he had left you alone for most of the stupid party anyway. He’d had his proverbial country-club dick sucked while ignoring you. Maybe even his literal dick sucked too, who even knew anymore. You didn’t keep track of him.

“Wait a fucking minute! I didn’t do anything wrong!” Rafe reached for you again, and you dodged his hand. “I just asked for what I wanted!”

You pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him. “You want to control me, Cameron.”

He swat at your hand and you tugged it away, or at least tried to. Before you could slap him, like you actually wanted to, he got closer. Too close to get much leverage and even though it didn’t really seem like it, Rafe was much stronger than he seemed.

You stomped on his foot with your wedged platform and fisted his Polo shirt tight around his neck with your free hand. You think he barely noticed because in turn, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pinned you to the wall of his bedroom.

“Don’t go,” he added softly.

“It’s not like I can now, can I? I’m trapped here.” You snarled back at him with a small roll of your eyes.

He studied your face, blatantly stopping at your lips. “You’re so beautiful.”

Rafe leaned in to kiss you again, but you reached up to the back of his head and fisted his hair, wrenching his head back. He gasped in return and arched his body against yours. It was like caging in his animalistic urges, all predatory reflexes and hard muscles as he clutched at you. You suddenly felt like you could do anything to him.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He was so vulnerable; you could see it in his eyes. They weren’t the usual stormy blue you had been accustomed to. They were shining pools of blue like the Caribbean in the winter. His tanned skin shone in the moonlight that seeped in from the window. You could smell his expensive soap as you mouthed at the skin at the base of his throat. You could bite him, leave a mark for everyone to see and you kind of wanted to, you liked the idea of that. You could bite him until he bled. Mark him like he wished you could do to you.

You dug your teeth a little harder around his neck and he moaned. You felt him rock his growing erection against your stomach. His grip loosening on your wrist.

“You bring me back to your room and order me to my knees, “ you spoke against his throat. “As if you own me, Rafe Cameron.”

His hands moved south, towards your hips. “I’m sorry.”

You pulled his hair again and he practically whimpered in need. “How sorry are you?”

“Very! I’m so sorry!”

“You are sorry,” you agreed. “A sorry, little boy who plays at being the tough guy, huh?”

Really, you had come to know Rafe as something else entirely. He was insightful, funny, mature and intelligent when he wasn’t losing his temper like a child or coked out of his mind. You talked your entire first date, which ended after a long ride on the back of his bike. He’d been so enthusiastic about you, beamed at you with his cheeks pink from the sun and you had smiled right back. Dishing it all out as good as you were getting it. You felt yourself falling for him right then and there.

He’d taken you home, hugged you and planned to leave. He had made you feel heard, seen and wanted for the first time in a long time. He’d felt right in your arms and he smelled so good. And god, his hair; you could go on about his hair forever if anyone let you.

Taking advantage of his silence, you continued. “Such a shame, I don’t want that side of you. If you’re feeling insecure, tell me. If you want me on my knees tell me about it. Don’t play stupid games with me.” You released his tresses and smoothed it back. “I want to be with you, but not like that. You know that.”

His eyes were filled with all kinds of emotions, different tones of blue fighting to make their way to the surface; as if the internal floodgates had been opened. He looked like he was about to yell or cry or maybe a little of both. You didn’t fell much different than that.

He spoke with a rough tone of voice. “You seem like you’re done with me.” His teeth almost clenching as he said it.

“I can be mad at you and still want you.”

“You’re not leaving,” he half-questioned.

You realized then, what he had been doing. The trademark Cameron push-away. Apparently, Sarah was notorious for it too. He was sabotaging himself and the relationship, and you couldn’t exactly figure out why.

You shook your head and looked at him. “Not unless you want me to.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Then I won’t.”

He hesitated delicately, as he moved in to kiss you. You didn’t stop him this time; you didn’t want to. You held his face and tasted the remnants of some hard liquor on his tongue. He kissed you with more desperation than you expected. It wasn’t like the giggle make-outs you were mostly used to. Where his hands went to your ass and he squeezed it before making a honking sound and while his lips still pressed to yours. There was a new sense of urgency to his kissing now. It meant something else entirely.

Rafe pushed a thigh between yours and rubbed himself against you. He was solid and strong and hot. His lips were soft and felt ready to pout at a moment’s notice but still, he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough.

He ran his hands down your sides and almost pulled you away from the wall to touch all of you. He rolled his lips expertly and groaned against your mouth. You could feel how hard he was.

“I want to fuck you – make you cum over and over – all the fucking time,” he whispered, his lips barely leaving any space between yours as he did. “I watch the way you move. How you act when you think nobody’s watching. I like your ass.” His hands squeezed your hips as he swallowed. “And I just…” he continued, “I want you to myself, all the time, always.”

You looked at his closed lids. “And you want me to crawl to your bed.”

“I think about getting you on your knees and rubbing my dick all over your pretty face.” His hands moved upwards to cup the side of your chest as he opened his eyes and looked at you. “I wanna slide it in your mouth until you’re choking on it.” His hands kept going until they found themselves under your jaw. “I want to fuck your mouth until you cry.” He tilted your head back a little and kissed your chin delicately. “And then I want to push you to the floor and slide right between your tits. I want to cum all over you.”

You grinned a little, liking the fact that he was actually telling you want he wanted. “We can do that.”

“I want to bend you over my armchair,” he nodded in the direction of what you vaguely recalled was a leather armchair in the corner of his bedroom. “I want to spank you until your skin’s red all over and your pussy’s dripping wet for me.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “Fuck, I want to take you like that. Shove you into the bed so you can’t move, finger you, fuck you harder than I’ve fucked anyone ever.”

“All in one go?” you teased and pet the muscles in his lower back with a raise of your eyebrow.

“Whenever you’d let me.” Rafe shrugged.

You could tell he was slowly slipping into a better frame of mind. No longer was he barking out orders. He was talking about permission and mutual satisfaction, which was definitely turning you on now. You decided to ask for something you’d like.

“Can I tie you up sometime?” You smirked.

He nodded and rolled his hips. “Fuck yeah, ride me, scratch me, bite me, I don’t care.”

“And you want to be my good boy, don’t you Rafe?” You reached up again and tousled his hair.

“Only if you’ll be my good girl.”

“Uh-uh, that’s not how this conversation is going, Cameron.” You warned him.

He definitely pouted right then. “What do you want?”

“I want you to let go. I want you to trust me.” You leaned into his warm hands at your throat to offer a kiss.

His eyes clouded with unshed tears and he kissed you. He pushed his fingers into your hair and held you as he sucked tightly at your bottom lip, your tongue. You couldn’t stop the train of noises bubbling out of you. You held onto him and gave it back just as good. You had to be vulnerable too if you expected him to be. After all, soft Rafe was your favorite Rafe ever.

He broke the kiss with a moan and pressed his wet lips to your cheek. “I want you so bad.”

“I want you too.”

“Let me fuck you. I’ll be good for you.”

You smiled and closed your eyes with a sigh. He was always good for you. He knew how to use his body, there was no doubt about that. His mouth, his hands; you’d come more times with him than on your own – which was a first. The chemistry between you was undeniably there.

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you had a thought. “Take off your clothes and lie in the middle of the bed for me, Rafe.”

He straightened to his full height and cradled your face. “Are you going to fuck me?”

“If you do what I ask.” You replied, cocking your eyebrow.

In a silent reply, he stepped away and pulled off his Polo shirt. He kept his eyes on you as he moved backwards towards his full-sized, unmade bed. It was a nice start. The moonlight bounced off his naked torso and glinted lightly off of his hair. It highlighted the angles of his jaw, his pointy but muscled shoulders. The planes down his chest were hidden in a shadow but you followed them down to the front of his khaki shorts.

The sight made your mouth water but you had to maintain control. You slowly advanced, step-by-step and Rafe backed away at the same pace. Further into his bedroom, he unbuttoned his shorts. With another few steps backwards, he unzipped them.

You knew he wanted you to undo the ties on your crop top but he kept silent. Somehow, that made you proud and want to reward him, even if it was just a little.

“Touch yourself for me,” you commanded, your chin raised in an authoritative manner.

He adjusted his cock in his boxer briefs and cupped it. He drew his fingertips up the thick vein on the underside of it, the tip of it wet the fabric and pulled at the waistband.

As soon as he was at the foot of his bed, he sad and got his Sperry boat shoes untied and off. He yanked his socks off and threw them in the generation of the closet without a care in the world. He sat there with the summer moonlight coming in through the window and waited.

You couldn’t make out much of his face but you felt him studying you, raking his eyes over your still clothed body.

You leaned casually back against the door. “The rest of it.”

He wiggled out of his shorts and his briefs, tossing them in the direction of his socks. He held onto the edge of the bed as his toes curled into the carpet.

“Turn on the light.” You said, and nodded to the lamp at his bedside.

He did as you asked and scoot onto the center of the bed, where he stretched out on his back. His golden skin was perfection in the soft glow. A blushed peppered his skin as you looked on.

His cock hardened further too. A glossy line of sweet, sticky precum on the trailed underside of his length. You couldn’t wait to tease more out.

You toed off your sandals and slipped out of your denim shorts. From the corner of your eye, your saw Rafe wrap his hand around the base of his hardened erection. You straightened and walked to bed, your crop top and lace panties the only things on display.

You tsked with your fingers in Rafe’s direction. “Get your hands off. That’s only mine to touch.”

He let go and writhed on the bed. His legs spread and his hips pushed into the air. “Fucking touch me then.”

“I will, when I’m damn well ready, Cameron.” You move forward to put a knee on the matress. “Hands about your head now.”

He obeyed and moved to grab the pillow under his head. You crawled close and bend to kiss a gentle line up his chest towards his neck. He sighed in pleasure and turned his head for you. His skin was clean, the mix of soap and cologne that you loved always present. You took in his beautiful profile and traced his lips with a finger.

“Why did you want me to crawl, Rafe?” you whispered in his ear.

He groaned your name and flexed against the bed. You dug your nails into his chest and scratched down his torso hard. His eyes went wide as he let out a delicious “aaah!”

You reached the skin of his waistline and gentled your touch. “Tell me why.”

“I don’t know,” he breathed and shook his head.

You hummed and took hold of his cock. He moaned and shoved his heels into the plush mattress. His cock was hot in your hand and so hard, almost painfully so. He was probably ready to blow any second.

You stroked him once and settled on just holding the wet head in your smaller fist. You watched him struggle and bite his lip. You ran your finger slowly through the underside of the head.

“Tell me.”

“I…Fuck.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

You shuffled down the soft bed and got between his legs. You pushed the further open and stroked the length of his thighs slowly. His thighs were smooth and silky, untouched by the sun mostly, unlike the rest of him.

Rafe looked down his body. “What’re you doing?”

Without replying, you leaned forward, bracing yourself and licked at the trail of his precum that had previously pooled there. His head flopped back with a groan. He was salty and thick on your tongue.

“Tell me,” you repeated.

“Fucking Topper,” he spat.

You made an interested noise and placed open-mouthed kisses down his shaft.

“He was – he was flirting with you.”

Ah, so that was what this was about. Topper keeping you company at the party.

“And?”

“He’s…he’s a good guy.”

“Uh-huh”

“I don’t want…”

You teased his balls with your tongue before pressing it against them tightly. He pushed down to your face and raised his ass a little off the bed. You pulled away and then stared straight up at him.

“Fuck, come on!” He pulled at the corners of the pillow. “Give me…” He groaned and rubbed the sweat from his upper lip with his bicep.

You almost had him. You hovered over the line of your spit and his precum on his cock and gently blew air on it. His reaction was immediate. He thrust upwards at your face and growled.

You backed off again and shot him an expectant look. Your eyebrows raised again, so Rafe definitely knew.

“I don’t want you to –“

You kissed the skin over his hipbones and that joint of muscle. You slid your palms over his sides, your nails raking over his skin. You came close to the erection laying on his stomach but never touched it.

“Fuck me, please.”

You hummed and kept peppering kisses over his tanned sking.

“If you don’t fucking fuck me…”

You sat up at his tone and placed your hands on your thighs. It was a punishment for him, yes but also it kept you from losing your focus. He sounded so needy, you were ready to give up this entire charade and just give into him. You were definitely aware of how your underwear clung to the wetness between your thighs.

“Fuck!” He bellowed. “What do you want?”

“Tell me the truth, Rafe.”

“I want you to want me like I…” His face scrunched up and he bit his lip. “I want you to only see me.”

“And what about me?” You toyed with the flimsy tie on your top. “You ignored me for most of the party.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you didn’t mean to. You intentions don’t mean shit to me, Cameron.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” He almost lifted himself on an elbow but thought better than to do it. Which was good, it meant he was learning. “Let me make it up to you, baby. Please?”

“Oh, of course you are.” You got on your knees and pulled your underwear down. “I’m gonna fuck your face until I come.”

Rafe twisted on the bed with a loud moan. His cock visibly throbbed and your thighs clenched at the sight. You wanted nothing more than to slide down his dick and use him like he was the best, most realistic sex toy ever made.

But no, Rafe hadn’t earned that. Had he?

You kicked off your underwear and crawled over him. You sat on his scratched pink chest with your knees spread wide and rubbed yourself on him. He whimpered and stared at you with darkening, sweet eyes.

“I won’t let you go again,” he offered as his hands mangled the pillow under his head. “I won’t get distracted.”

You leaned forward just a touch to grind your clit against him. You let out a soft sigh and rolled your hips. You were conflicted between coming exactly like this and leaving him wanting and taking you sweet time with Rafe.

He glanced between your legs and licked his lips. “I can make it up to you. I won’t hurt you. Ever again. I promise.”

“What else?”

He floundered for a second, utterly lost in pleasure. “I was stupid. I let people –“

“Other girls,” you corrected.

“—I let other girls sidetrack me. From you. You’re the most important thing to me, I swear.”

“Keep going.”

He made a frustrated noise. “I don’t know what you want, babe.”

“Do you care about me? Do you want me in your life?”

“Jesus Christ, you have no idea. I learned to fucking Paddleboard to see you at the Island Club every day.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

He smiled so beautifully, your absolute favorite smile. His unashamed 100% real, Rafe smile. “God! I’m so into you!”

Your heart lurched in your chest, and you shuffled down just so you could kiss him. He made a hungry, desperate sound when your lips met. He leaned up to kiss you harder. He got your mouth open and tasted you, licked and sucked at your tongue. You almost forgot yourself for a minute. His kisses were ravenous and eager, ranging between sweet and downright bratty.

You finally pulled away to catch your breath. His panting breaths fanned over your lips. You held his face and he leaned into your touch.

“I’m really into you too, you know.” You murmured.

“Good, now come sit on my face.”

You raised your eyebrow at that.

“Please?” he added cheekily, flashing you another knee-weakening smile.

“Good boy.” You kissed his nose and told him to scoot down.

With a bit of adjustment, you found yourself hovering over Rafe’s blushing face. You allowed him to hold your ass to support you at first. It also helped in keeping his hands from wandering and going to his cock.

His voice was a dark rumble: “Oh shit, yeah. Let me taste you.”

You put your hands on the wall in front of you and slowly lowered yourself. He met you halfway, his tongue already out of his mouth. His nose pressed into your mound and he moaned. His tongue was warm and slick, you cursed under you breath.

He didn’t seem to mind the pressure at all. He pushed his tongue in deeper, licking languid stripes up your slit. Each pass over your sensitive clit had you jolting at the feeling. His lips dragged against your slick folds.

It started out slow and easy. You didn’t want to rush it. His mouth felt too good, his tongue so strong and his lips plush. Plus, his stubble scratching at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs felt incredible. He kissed your clit, and your legs involuntarily quaked against his ears.

He kept going, focusing on his clit. You found your hips rocking against his tongue. He encouraged you to move with his hands, pushing at your hips and his jaw moving beneath you.

You rested the side of your head against your upper arm and really rode his face. After all, it was exactly what you wanted. You moaned as his nose repeatedly bumped against you. He moaned in reply. Each hard sway of your hips, every lick to your clit was escalating a deep, straining tension that needed to be released.

You knew that release was coming. It was coming faster than you would’ve liked.

“You’re gonna make me come,” you groaned. “So good.”

In response, he spread his hands over your ass and pressed you harder against his mouth. The growing pleasure suddenly sharpened and moved up your spine like lightening. You pushed a hand into the loose strands of his hair and fisted it as you fucked his mouth.

Like the waves crashing around outside Rafe’s bedroom window, your climax drowned out everything else. It pulsed through you in a repeating, punishing beat. You hips kept hunching forward, stimulating your already over-stimulated nerve endings , your orgasm relentlessly going and going until you felt like you were sure you were about to cry.

You tried to slow down, but Rafe sucked at your clit again. It was too much and you were already stunned from the first round. The second one punched you in the chest, as you collapsed against the cool wall. You were weakened by pleasure, you orgasm literally striking you into silence.

You felt his warm, needy breath between your legs and realized he was barely holding on too. You let go of his hair and angled your pussy away from his mouth. He groaned with a yearning, but het you drop down to the side and lie on the bed.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped and spread a hand on your lower stomach, under your top.

You were quivering, like really quivering all over. You insides were still pulsing with the last traces of your orgasm. Your heart was hammering in your chest. You felt sticky and buoyant and frankly, fucking invincible, like every other time Rafe had made you cum.

He trapped your calf against his chest with a sweat-damp hand. “Pretty good apology, huh?” he commented, his voice scratchy with a light chuckle.

You barked out a laugh. “Oh baby, you’re not done yet.”

His head shot up, his hair sticking up in all sorts of crazy directions. “What?”

You dragged your leg out of his loose hold and planted your foot on the bed. “It’s your turn now, Rafe.”

A deviant smirk spread across his lips as he leaned towards you. “Oh, fuck yeah…”

#obx #outer banks #obx netflix #outer banks netflix #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks imagines #outer banks fanfiction #obx savage #obx fanfiction #jj maybank #john b routledge #topper thornton

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Kismet {3}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot Heavy, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Flirtation, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: I did something a little different this chapter with POVs. You’ll see it toward the end. Let me know if it was confusing or if you guys liked it. Also there are Google Translations in text. If they are wrong, I apologize. I hope you enjoy this. ❤️❤️

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘 As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

***Henry Images NOT my own**

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 |

-Aliya-

A few days later, you found yourself on a flight back to LA. Usually, you’d be relieved to get home so you could shower in your own bathroom and fall asleep in your bed. Today you weren’t relieved. You were filled with a different emotion—anxiousness. Looking down, you stared at the picture of Henry in his bed with little to nothing on. You’d tried to drill into your head that you needed to end the flirtation as quickly as possible, but instead of doing anything of the sort, you continued thinking about him. It didn’t help that you found yourself looking through his pictures daily. That was what probably kept this lingering attraction to him. It had to be his looks your deduced.

Your text messages and conversations flitted through your head on a daily basis. You found yourself smiling at something he’d said or texted, and you always realized it at the most inopportune times. You doubted anyone noticed, but it bothered you that you noticed. When the plane landed, you made your way through airport security. As you did, you noticed the paps from the corner of your eye snapping away, capturing every move you made. After signing a few autographs, you climbed into your waiting truck.

The drive to your house gave you time to think about your next move. Instead of work being the most important thing on your mind, it was Henry. His suggestion was fresh on your mind. You wondered if he'd bring it up again. When your driver dropped you off and brought your bags to your bedroom, you took the time to enjoy the quiet and comfort of your own surroundings. Traveling was part of your job, and in your life, you’d seen the inside of plenty of hotels, but you always preferred being home. You felt more like yourself here.

The next hour was spent unpacking and decompressing while fighting off the jet lag. The music that you had blasting was working with keeping you distracted, and you were grateful for it. After unpacking, you began working fearing idle hands. Halfway into trying a different angle with the magazine, you heard the chime of Henry’s phone. Pausing where you sat, you waited to see if it would chime again. It didn’t, so you went back to work.

Every minute you sat there instead of looking at the phone, you were filled with such an overwhelming desire you rush across the room to look at it. It was a desire that was new to you. It had been years and years since you’d had any impulse close to this. You thought you’d had one hundred percent success when you cauterize every ventricle that could produce impulses and emotions like this to your heart.

As your legs carried you across the room, you realized you must not have been entirely successful.

MSG Your Phone: How is Firefly in Studio City?

Of course, he was still persistent. You didn’t expect anything less. Part of you had expected him to bring it up again. You stared at the text for several minutes, unsure of what to reply. The war within you waged again. You knew that if you agreed, there would be a chance you wouldn’t leave immediately. He was that charming. Deciding not to respond, you called your trainer instead, hoping that a workout would help to either distract you or help you decide.

The next hour and a half was spent sparring with your trainer. He didn’t take it easy on you, something you were grateful for. After twenty minutes, you were dripping in sweat and fully enthralled in the workout. After a sparring match, he pushed you through a HITT routine that kicked your ass. You were certain he decided to give you the athlete routine because you’d never been this out of breath. No matter how tired you were, you pushed through it. By the time you’d finished, you were flat on your back on the mat completely out of breath, but you’d also come to terms with a decision.

MSG Henry’s Phone: See you then.

After cleaning up a bit, you decided to take your chances on Rodeo for some shopping. Before you got out of your car, you pulled on a hat and some sunglasses and said a silent prayer. You’d learned long ago that if you blended in, you usually would be left alone. As you shopped, you did notice a few eyes, but they always looked away. They must have decided that you weren’t anyone special because of how you were dressed. Maybe it was a good idea to shop in your workout clothes that still had splotches of sweat all over them.

When you got home, you realized you had two hours left. That meant you couldn’t take forever in the shower, which would be impossible since you had to do your wash routine because of how sweaty you’d gotten during your workout. Deciding on a co-wash rather than a full wash routine, you saved yourself an added hour in the shower. As you stepped into your room, you saw Alicia sitting there.

“My God, I’ve been calling and texting for weeks,” she half whined and shouted.

“I have an explanation. My phone wasn’t with me,” you rushed out.

Alicia looked confused when she looked at the bed and saw the phone that eerily resembled yours. You proceeded to tell her everything as she followed you around your closet. You didn’t leave one thing out. It was only with Amaya and Alicia could you be this honest. They’d been with you through everything, well Alicia had. Amaya began as your assistant and was for five years before you decided to get another so she could achieve all her goals. Now she was doing very well as the owner of her own boutique and on track to opening another location.

“Holy Shit, lemme see.”

You showed her Henry’s phone and took the time to scroll through his pictures yet again. You were verging on a stalker now. Every picture she went to that showed less and less clothing had her gasping louder and louder.

“Oh my god. You have to jump on that.”

“Leece!”

She snickered as you shook your head. You didn’t know why you were surprised. She’d always been the more outspoken one between you. she said everything that came to mind. She also wasn’t plagued with the same tragedies as you.

“Only you would find yourself in a situation like this,” Alicia scoffed.

“Tell me about it.”

“So you’re going to get your phone back.”

“Yes,” you confirmed.

“And dinner,” Alicia added.

“What? I hadn’t planned on dinner.” You were sitting at your vanity, applying a lite layer of makeup.

“It’s night. It would be a shame just to go to get your phone back. Sit a while,” Alicia slid in with a grin on her face.

“Leece, there have been two women texting and calling him this entire time. I don’t do messy, and that screams messy.”

“You don’t know that,” she protested.

You walked out of your closet and to the bag that had the dress you’d just bought. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Which is why you’re putting in major effort.”

You slipped on the dress while shaking your head objecting.

“I am not. I like to look good.”

Alicia scoffed again. “Chic, please. You’re wearing makeup. I see the flat iron over there, which means you’re going to straighten your hair and probably curl it to since the curling iron is next to it. You only do that when you plan on doing those curls that make you look like an Egyptian goddess. Plus, the clothes everywhere in the closet says you were indecisively trying to find an outfit,” Alicia pieced together.

Groaning, you dropped your head back. “God, this is crazy. I don’t know this man at all.”

“But?”

“I don’t know. When we bumped into each other that time, I felt this—electric charge between us. Looking at him—I felt like—like I was under some spell. It’s weird,” you explained before you sat in front of the mirror, ready to use the flat iron. “Then this week, I swear I felt like I needed a release every damn day,” you confessed.

Alicia walked behind you and took up the flat iron and began the process for you. “Every day I looked at his pictures, and then he’d text almost every day and his voice,” you added before you groaned loudly again. “What is wrong with me, Leece?”

“You’re horny.”

Glaring at her you rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

“It’s either that or you’ve met the one,” Alicia added.

You nearly leaped to your feet from shock. The only thing that stopped you was the fact that Alicia had a hot as hell flat iron in your head.

“The one? Shut all the way up!”

That was when Alicia laughed, which made you grunt again before crossing your arms like a child. As she continued doing your hair, you caught up with what you’d missed in each other’s lives over the last weeks. For the next almost forty minutes, your conversation took your mind off of what the rest of the night held for you. Before you knew it, she’d finished, and you were standing in front of the mirror, fully put together. It was a beautiful dress, one that wasn’t overtly sexy, but it also wasn’t plain. When you got into your car, Alicia left you with a parting message. “Que sera sera.”

-Henry-

He said seven, but he was there at six-forty-five. He hated being late. It was probably the Brit in him. As he sat at the table, he’d requested he sipped water rather than a beer. His nerves would have him going through two or three before you got there. He found himself worrying that you wouldn’t show. After going around it for ten or so minutes, he finally decided that you would show up, but then it sent him in another mind maze on if you’d stay. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been like this over a woman. It was almost laughable—almost.

Thankfully the table he’d chosen afforded him some privacy, which meant he could fall apart in peace. He’d never been more nervous in his life, and that included the times he’d auditioned for Superman and Witcher. He remembered his mother’s words; “Nerves aren’t a bad thing; they symbolize that something or someone matters.”

He didn’t know how you mattered in such a short amount of time, especially since you hadn’t talked often, and you’d never spent more than one minute in front of each other. He flicked his wrist to check his Garrick watch for the tenth time. Seven o’clock. Instinctively, he looked around, trying to see if you’d arrived. There was no sign of you. There was no sign of you for the next five minutes. He tried not to be alarmed or discouraged, noting that not everyone was as punctual as he was. It was then he wished he’d ordered something a lot stronger than water.

When you arrived, you were appreciative that there were no paps. They always increased your anxiety, and right now, you didn’t need any more anxious energy. After the valet took your car, you walked up to the hostess with young features, including kind eyes and a sweet smile. When her eyes met yours, you knew she’d recognized you.

“Hi. Welcome to Firefly. Do you have a reservation?” You were impressed she got through that calmly without missing a beat.

“Um—I’m not sure. There’s supposed to be a guy here. He’s pretty tall, black hair, um—built he looks like he works out, oh, and the most amazing blue eyes that you’ve ever seen,” you listed off. You didn’t want to just drop his name if he’d managed to get in without being recognized.

“Of course, you’re the Aliya he meant,” she said with an excited smile.

“Huh?”

“He said he was expecting an Aliya to join him. I should have known it was you,” she explained.

You looked around, making sure you weren’t drawing attention.

“Follow me. I’ll take you back,” the hostess instructed.

You didn’t move. Your anxieties controlled your limbs now. The hostess stopped and looked at you with a concerned expression on her face. You toyed with the handle of your clutch, trying your best to calm yourself enough to move. As you followed her through the restaurant, you were pleased the route didn’t have you parading through the restaurant.

When she stopped at a drawn closed red curtain, you took a deep breath and prepped yourself. She pulled it open, revealing the man of the night.

“Mr. C, excuse me. Your party is here.”

She stepped to the side and gave you the first view of him. He looked as incredible as ever. With the lights behind him, it put him in the most romantic glow. You squeezed your clutch, feeling the butterflies flit in your belly. This was not good, you thought.

Long moments passed with the two of you just staring at each other. Every second that passed, your attraction toward him only grew, and the more your attraction grew, the more you felt as if there was a strong gravitational pull between you. It didn’t make any sense to you.

“Well, I’ll leave you now. Your waiter will be over in a few minutes,” the hostess informed before she walked off.

You still stood there, gawking at him. When he stood, you followed his height. He was tall, and that took your breath away even more.

“Hi.”

He sounded surprised and out of breath.

“Hi,” you echoed pretty much identically to him.

It felt like a surreal moment, one you didn’t have a lot of experience with in this fashion. You’d been in surreal moments before, but they were less than ideal. When he moved behind you to the other side of the table he pulled out the chair there.

“Please,” Henry said ushering to the chair.

He looked tempting and welcoming all at once. You’d only planned on getting this far. Anything past this would have you venturing into unchartered territory, somewhere you didn’t like going. Sitting in the seat, Henry pushed it in for you before he walked back around to his.

“Thank you.”

The silence returned, and when your eyes met again, anything you thought to say faded away. How could anyone think straight when looking into eyes like those?

“Hi, I’m Tamara. I’ll be your server tonight,” a new voice began snapping you both out of your daze. “Holy mother, you’re—you’re Henry Cavill. I’m such a huge fan,” she rushed out.

Henry smiled appreciatively as he slightly bowed his head. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Wow. No problem,” Tamara said as she shook her head as if trying to snap herself out of it. She looked successful, but when she looked at you, her eyes widened even more.

“Oh my god! You’re—you’re—a twofer. I’m a huge fan of yours too.”

Smiling you flicked your hair over your shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Wow, okay. Do you guys know what you’d like to drink or an appetizer?”

“Afraid not, we just sat down.”

“Okay. I’ll give you a few more minutes,” Tamara said.

“Actually, I’m not staying,” you informed.

Both pairs of eyes landed on you. Henry didn't look surprised, but Tamara looked as if you were insane and she wanted to tell you.

“Oh.” That “oh” was filled with so much judgment. You almost laughed.

“Can you give us a few minutes, Tamara?” His smile must have been his secret weapon. Tamara instantly fell under its spell, smiling back at him like an awestruck teenager as she nodded her reply.

“Sure thing,” she managed out before she walked away. That was when you took up your clutch to get the thing that brought you here.

“I only came here to give you back your phone and get mine,” you informed as you took his phone out to hold out to him. Henry didn’t take it. Instead, he looked at it then to you.

“Is that the only reason you came tonight?”

You were speechless now, and you didn’t know why. Yeah, he was gorgeous, and his eyes felt like they were actual x-ray beams that were boring into you. Yes, his aura was something that was wreaking havoc on you, and his scent was just bombarding you, overloading all of your senses. None of that should have mattered. He was not the first beautiful face you’d encountered.

“Honestly, you could have mailed it to me a week ago, making tonight unnecessary. You didn’t. You held on to it and decided to come tonight,” Henry theorized.

“To give this back to you,” you reiterated.

“If that was your only reason, you should have chosen a different outfit.”

Your smile began small but gradually spread wider and wider until you were full-on blushing. He was too damn charming. It was the accent; it had to be.

“It’s Friday night. I’m starving and have nothing to do. We’re both here at one of the best restaurants in LA that also offers privacy. Let’s stay. If after drinks and appetizers, you can’t stand me, I will have no objections to going our separate ways. No hard feeling and no strings,” Henry suggested.

You studied him for several long moments. Slowly, you licked your lips. The action brought Henry’s eyes to them.

“And if we get through drinks and appetizers and somehow make it to actual dinner and dessert, what then?”

With his smile, you realized you were in danger. No man should be this gorgeous. No man should have a perfect face, including eyes and smile that would stop any war. The shiver that rushed through you had him smiling even more extensively. Looking from him, you dipped your head to gather your senses.

“Don’t you want it back?”

Henry leaned back into his chair and shrugged. “Eh, I’ve been without it for twelve days. What’s another few hours? Hang on to it,” he replied as he lifted the menu to his face.

With his face blocked from yours, you were finally able to breathe. He had to know his effect. There was no way a man went through his life, not knowing his effect on the opposite sex. Pressing your palm to your belly, you tried to will the butterflies to calm. You placed his phone on top of the table to the left and your clutch to the right. He still held his menu up. It gave you a little more time to think about what you should do. The exhaustion you felt before your belly growled were the only two deciding factors. You took up your menu and scanned it.

Neither of you spoke for a few moments. You wondered if he was also taking notice of the things you were.

“Have you ever been here?”

“Um—no. First time,” you answered.

“I've been here once or twice. My friends love the food.”

You nodded with your head in the menu. You busied yourself with figuring out what you’d eat instead of thinking about his scent.

“You know, for you to figure out if you can’t stand me, you have to talk to me,” Henry teased.

Peeking out from the menu, you glanced at him. “What if in talking I realize I can’t stand you?”

He smiled again, which had you wanting to return it. “Funny.”

You shrugged. “ I have my moments.”

“I do have to say this before another moment passes,” Henry began. You put the menu down, giving him your full attention. He looked serious.

“You look incredibly beautiful tonight.”

That was not what you were expecting. Your heart was racing with just those simple words. In a second, everything and everyone around you disappeared, leaving just the two of you in the dim glow of candlelight. Wow, you thought.

“Sorry to interrupt the moment,” Tamara softly breeched. “Any idea what you’d like?” You quickly looked away from him. Flustered, you glanced back to the menu.

“Yes, um, a coconut mojito, please,” you requested.

“Great choice. They are to die for here. And you?”

Henry pursed his lips to the side as he looked over the menu for a few quick moments, then looked back to Tamara. You couldn’t help but stare at his lips.

“A Guinness, please.”

“Sure thing. Any appetizers?”

Henry glanced at you to take the lead.

“Uh—I’ll have the blackened shrimp with crispy chilled cucumbers,” you informed.

“I’ll have the chicken samosas, please.”

“All right. Coming right up. When I bring them back, I’ll take your main course,” Tamara said before she walked off.

Once the two of you were alone, you found your hand in your hair twirling it lost in your thoughts while skimming the menu. It took a few moments to realize it, but when you looked at him, his eyes were planted on you, and that was when you realized what you were doing.

“I’m sorry. It’s a habit I have.” Putting your hand on the table, you tried to get over the impulse to put it right back in your hair.

“No need to apologize,” Henry voiced while looking in your eyes.

You’d noticed it from the moment you saw him at the table. Whenever he spoke, he looked into the eyes of whoever he was speaking to. It was a refreshing discovery, one you liked—a lot.

Clearing your throat, you focused on the current goal of the night. “So I hear really good things about Witcher season two and the Superman movie that is being planned.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. All the comic people are excited about you reprising your role as Kal-El, and the gamers are loving Witcher,” you expressed.

“Does that include you?”

“Actually, I am interested. Superman happens to be my most favorite superhero.”

“Really, not Batman?”

You snorted and shook your head. “Batman sucks, Superman, though—more substance.”

His smirk was wide. You could tell he liked that answer.

“Is he your only favorite?”

“No. There’s WonderWoman, Aquaman, Storm, Mystique, although she lost her way for a tiny bit and Black Panther,” you listed.

“Aquaman, huh. I didn’t suspect that.”

“I like to deliver the unexpected,” you quickly followed up with a smile that Henry returned. You couldn’t help but bit your bottom lip.

“So a Guinness man, huh?”

“Yes, of course, I’m British. I was born on the Bailiwick of Jersey on the Channel Islands.”

“Really?” You couldn’t believe you didn’t know that. He nodded with a smile.

“Interesting. Isn’t that right between England and France?”

“You’ve been?” The surprise and excitement in his eyes was bright.

“No. I just know.”

“Not many people do. I’m impressed,” Henry complimented.

“Is that how you know French?”

“Yes, also my mother spoke French to me, and I learned it. How do you know French?”

He seemed genuinely interested in the words that came out of your mouth. Usually, when you interacted with men in the industry, it was different. You could always tell they seemed to be pretending on some level. With Henry, you didn’t get any air of fakeness. He seemed like a genuine person. That was rare in the entertainment industry.

“I went through finishing school, where they taught a bunch of stuff. A lot of it was useless like etiquette, how to sit, talk, and act as a true proper lady. How to speak, and the art of conversation. The proper way to set the table with the right place settings and what each fork is for and each spoon because that is incredibly important in life. Let’s see--,” you tapped your jaw, trying to remember all the useful useless things you learned in your childhood.

“Oh, How to host events, the useful skill of ballroom dancing mixed with aristocratic dances. I also learned more useful life skills like languages such as French, German, Chinese, Spanish, Gaelic, and Russian. I learned how to cook, manage a budget, even how to take care of a household and one of the best things. Ready for it?”

Henry nodded. “How to be marriage ready, so when a suitable gentleman caller comes calling, I'm ready and willing to receive him and show what an asset I am for him to marry,” you finished in your perfect southern voice.

Henry looked shocked, scared, and confused, but he also looked very amused. His expression was enough to have you laughing loudly. As you laughed, he joined in.

“Finishing school. Wow.”

“Yep. From six to thirteen,” you added.

“Wow. I would have never guessed. So you know the difference between a soup spoon, dessert spoon, and appetizer spoon?”

You cringed remembering the torturous lessons that went on for weeks about that topic.

“Unfortunately,” you blandly confirmed before Henry was laughing. In seconds you were laughing with him.

You were so busy laughing, neither of you realized when your waitress came back with your drinks. As she placed your drinks down, you troubled her for a side plate of sliced pineapples, lemon, and lime wedges. While she hurried for your items, you stirred the mojito with the spoon that was on the table. When she returned you thanked her.

“Mojito, huh,” Henry began with a smirk. Rolling your eyes, you scoffed.

“I’ll bite. Tell me what my drink choice says about me.”

Henry raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t say a word.”

“I know you have a few to say. By all means,” you laid out signaling he had the floor.

“Okay, since you you insist.” You smiled and rested your chin on your hand, giving him your undivided attention.

“Mojito screams fun, party. It also says you’re relaxed, confidant, and adventurous. Mojito also says you have a lot of intrigue and spice. You have attitude and a bold personality. You’re not afraid to tell someone off and not afraid to do your own thing. You don’t kiss anyone’s ass.”

It was easy to get mesmerized by what he said. There was something to the way he spoke, everything he said sounded almost poetic. You didn’t know if it was the accent or the tone of his voice, but you loved to listen to him talk. Smirking, you nodded.

“Sounds accurate.”

Henry chuckled, “Really?”

“Maybe,” you coyly replied. Popping a slice of pineapple into your mouth, you smirked at him.

“Go on. What do you have to say about my drink choice?”

You pinched your lips because your instinct said just be blunt, be you, but because this was technically a not date/date, you felt you should sugarcoat a little.

“Hmmmmm,” you exaggerated while pretending to think hard about his assessment. Henry snorted.

“Guinness, my dad drinks Guinness, he’s British, and my grandfather on my mom’s side drinks it too, he’s Irish. What do they both have in common? They’re both from stuffy upbringings where boring is smiled upon.”

His laugh was loud, so loud; you knew people were looking around, trying to find it. Thankfully the curtains were drawn, giving you both continued privacy. When he quieted down, you continued.

“You are not afraid of complex. Guinness, to me, is very complex. The taste is very harsh, which must mean you are not afraid of less than ideal situations or people. You have a political character, which includes having a lot of charm and poise. You know how to present yourself, and people appreciate that. You’re authentic and know who you are and what you want and don’t take shit getting it.”

As you spoke, Henry looked more and more serious.

“You also are a partier, you have to be Guinness is heavy and has a high alcohol content, and with it getting drunk is easy. That also must mean you hold your liquor well,” you finished.

He looked impressed. You knew you were right or damn close to it.

“Or you could just be a really great poser,” you added.

The sound that you were beginning to love every time you heard it started up again—his laughter. Unable to help it, your hand found its way back into your hair to continue twirling.

“Nice.”

“Thank you. Accurate?”

He glanced up with just his eyes to peer into yours, stopping your breath in the process. “Maybe. You forgot one thing.”

You audibly gulped before you spoke. “What’s that?” It was a whisper.

“I always get what I want because I don’t stop until it’s mine.” He never looked from your eyes, and that was what shook you. Man, you’d never been thirstier, you thought.

“Good to know.” It was another whisper.

You watched him take up his drink and hold it out. “A toast.” You followed his action and waited for him to continue. “To lost phones and main courses,” he finished. You smiled and tapped his glass before taking a hefty sip of your drink before popping the lime into your mouth right after. The increased burn tingled your tastebuds in an exhilarating way.

“Adventurous indeed,” Henry muttered in a way that had your belly flipping.

Keep it together, Aliya, you hammered in your head.

Through drinks and appetizers, you talked. There never seemed to be one moment of uncomfortable silence between you. Henry spoke about how he got into acting and why he continued. You shared with him how you got into singing, then modeling and finally acting. When you spoke, he gave you his undivided attention and never looked bored. When he told a story about his family during his childhood or growing up with four brothers, you hung on every one of his words. Things were going swimmingly well, so well, time seemed to stand still but speed forward all at once.

The more he talked, the more tid bits you found you liked about him. He definitely didn’t come off as the pretty boy he was made to be in the press. He was more than a pretty face, and you were attracted a lot more to his mind than his face. His looks didn’t hurt, though. You found yourself just gawking at each of his features. You watched his hands as they moved when he told his stories, he was such an animated talker.

Every time he smiled, you stared at his mouth, and you took your time there. His lips looked soft. He looked like he was a good kisser. You didn’t even bother chastising yourself for the thought. What was the point? From his mouth and perfectly imperfect teeth, you drooled over his perfect jawline. If Da Vinci was still alive, you were sure Mona Lisa would be a blip on his radar. You moved to his clean and kempt hands and exposed forearms, intentionally staying away from his sizable arms and shoulders. You knew if you fixated on them, you would probably drool.

When the waitress returned to inquire about your dinner orders, Henry didn’t speak. He sat there calmly and patiently, giving you the time needed to answer. While his body language spoke of confidence, the look in his eyes silently screamed uncertainty. Even the waitress looked to be silently telling you to stay and give him a chance. You gave your order and watched as he did the same.

The rest of the night went by in a whirl. You talked, laughed, flirted, and teased each other. He revealed he was a mama’s boy but assured there would never be a scenario where his mother would have priority over his relationships because there would be no need. When you told him that both of your parents’ opinions mattered to you, he didn’t seem phased one bit.

You loved that nothing seemed forced between you. After a little while, thanks to his down to earth aura, you forgot he was an actor and saw him as a normal man. The more you saw him as a regular guy, the connection you felt between you continued to increase. With its increase, his effect did as well. It was exhausting pretending to be un-phased by him, especially since that was not the case. You’d never reacted to any man like this before, your body was on high alert, and that scared you.

-Henry-

Things were going incredible, better than what he’d hoped. You were a dream, and it went way past your looks. You were smart, funny, snarky, and honest. With each word you spoke, he found himself hanging off every single one. How could he not? He was sure you’d noticed even though he tried to keep himself restrained. The more he tried to do that; the more your personality compelled him to break free. It was a delicate balance he had to figure out. Never had he been this comfortable with another woman or felt such a clear connection to. Before, in passing, it intrigued him. Now with you sitting across from him, it mesmerized him.

Everything you did mesmerized him. Your voice was like a sultry melody he had to hear all the time. Your laugh the one thing that had his heart racing. The way you licked your lips as if you wanted to savor the taste on them. The way you toyed with the curls in your hair dazed and distracted him. He wanted to sink his fingers into it as he gently brought your lips to his. It was an overwhelming urge that took every ounce of his energy to cage.

He’d hoped that if you came tonight that he would have answers to so many questions he had since you’d met, but after everything he found out, he just had more questions. He thought he’d find things out that would dispel this attraction he felt for you, but he had no luck in that department. By the time the bill came, he was even more attracted to you. When he handed his card to the waitress, you protested, offering to split it instead. It was refreshing. Every woman he took out expected him to pay and never lifted a finger or raised a voice of splitting the bill after they’d ordered everything that was expensive on the menu. It was laughable. With you, it was unexpected, and even that had him wanting you even more.

As the two of you walked out of the restaurant onto the sidewalk, he breathed a relieved sigh that there were no flashing cameras. Somehow, on other dates, the paps always found out where they were even with him taking every precaution. He suspected it was always his date but never voiced it. That wasn’t the case with you now. The valet handed you your car keys after you insisted you could walk to it rather than have him bring it around.

“I’ll walk you,” he offered.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do. I was raised proper, and my mother would have my ass if I did anything else.”

You snorted, nodded, then led him on the path. As he watched you walk before him, your curves made it impossible not to watch. You walked for an audience and deduced you were so used to walking a runway that you didn’t even realize when you were doing it. When you dropped at a car and opened it, he held the door.

“The food was delicious. I can see why your friends like it,” you expressed.

“Yeah, you know you’re getting when you come here. Would you come again?”

You shuffled your head from side to side with a smile. “Maybe.” That was when your hand found its way back into your hair, and there went his focus for the next fifteen seconds, at least.

“Eh-em, is it past your bedtime?”

“What time is it?”

Quickly glancing at his watch, he spoke, “Eleven-Forty-five.”

“Well, a girl does need her beauty sleep.” He could hear the tease in your voice.

“You have more than your fair share.”

You bit your bottom lip as you stared at him for a few seconds. When you looked away, he saw the soft smile tickle your lips.

“Is it yours?”

“I’m a night person,” he replied. You nodded.

“What were you thinking?

“I know a great bar. The drinks are good, and the atmosphere is even better.”

You didn’t speak right away; you watched him instead. He wanted to know what you were thinking so badly.

“Either you’re looking for an excuse to drink more Guinness, or you actually like my company.”

He chuckled, “I have Guinness at home, so it’s not that,” he clarified.

Neither of you spoke for a few moments, and each passing second he felt the draw to you intensify. He wondered if you too felt it, you looked like you did. When you cleared your throat, it brought him back to reality.

“Okay. We can do that. Where is it?”

“On Cantina about fifteen minutes away.”

You nodded and turned to your car. He held the door as you climbed into the driver’s seat.

“See you there,” you said before he shut your door.

~~~~~~~~

He was there first. It was no surprise he was sure he blew two red lights on the way. When you walked in, it didn’t take any time at all for you to pick up right where you left off. Things were that easy. You ordered Tequila with pineapple juice, which just furthered his notion that you were this adventurous spitfire that he was sure would keep him on his toes.

“So you split time between London and LA,” you guessed.

“Pretty much, most of my time is in London, though. I have a flat there. I come here for meetings mainly; then, I’m back home.

“Which do you prefer, here or there?”

“Eck, tricky question. I’m here for work. It’s easier here for work, but London is closer to Jersey and my family. The weather is better here, but privacy is better in London for the most part. I feel more me in London.”

“So you’re big on privacy.”

He took a sip of his Gin and Tonic and nodded. “I haven’t had it any other way. I’m still lucky to retain most of my privacy. I've been spoiled,” he joked as he looked at you. “I take it that’s different for you.”

You shrugged and finished your tequila then raised your hand for another. “Somewhat. I’m hounded by the paps wherever I go except Australia. I manage it well, it’s not too bad, but then again, I’ve had some time to adjust. It could very well be a hard pill to swallow for someone not accustomed to it,” you voiced.

With every tequila shot, you had the more of your personality came out. You knocked them down back to back, further confirming everything he’d guessed earlier. After four shots, that was when your silliness came out and the curse words. While this side of you wasn’t too drastically different than the one at dinner, he did note that you had been holding back then.

The two of you went back and forth, speaking different languages in full conversation, and it was the perfect way he’d want to spend any date. When he turned the conversation onto you knowing Gaelic, he admitted he hadn’t been one hundred percent successful with learning it and was at an abysmal forty-five percent you outright laughed at him. He suckered you into saying something, but when you spoke, he didn’t expect to be even more attracted to you because of it.

He also didn’t expect to let his inner geek out when he confessed his love of ancient history, Egyptology, Greek, and Ancient Rome. And technology. He expected you to look at him like he was some alien when he told you that he enjoyed building computers and putting together small technical crafts, but you didn’t. Instead, you looked genuinely interested.

After a few hours, you’d moved to a dark corner of the back, and both of you were visibly loser and were no longer holding your tongues.

“So if curiosity kills the cat, I guess I’m dying tonight,” he began, leaning closer to you so you could hear him over the music. You smiled widely. “Did you look through my phone?”

You snorted and laughed before you slapped your hands to your face covering it. That was all he needed. You brought your hands through your hair and tousled it.

“How else was I to know whose phone it was?”

He nodded and took another sip from his beer. “How much did you see?”

“Well—not much,” you timidly began. That was when he eyed you. Your adorable “yikes” face had him snickering. “A few pictures, names on texts, a few contacts,” you confessed.

He nodded and turned his body to yours. “Pictures?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t see any nudes,” you rushed out

“I don’t have nudes.”

“No, just suggestive nudes,” you countered.

He smiled widely and nodded. The look on your face said you were embarrassed.

“Bingo,” he shouted.

“Yeah. I promise I saw nothing after that picture,” you assured.

After he took a few gulps from his bottle, he shrugged. “Interesting, I didn’t think it was possible for me to feel more exposed than in my Superman leotard.”

You laughed loudly bringing the eyes of the bar patrons to which you dropped your forehead on his arm, hiding your face. That had the two of you burst into a fit of laughter for the next few minutes.

“How embarrassing,” he finished.

“I really shouldn’t say this, but you have nothing to be embarrassed about. No big deal, right? You’re an actor, you’ve been in situations worse than this.”

He nodded because it was true, but that paled in comparison to this.

“Did you look through my phone?”

With a smile, he nodded. “I did. I fought not to, but who was I kidding I couldn’t not look. One to find out whose phone it was, then curiosity got the better of me,” he fully divulged.

As soon as he said it, you began laughing at him. He deserved it.

“How much did you see?” He snapped his head forward and tried to keep a straight face.

“That much, huh,” you guessed. “I don’t have nudes, so I’m safe there.”

“Are you sure?”

You looked to think for a few moments. He saw the terror in your eyes, and the moment you began to second guess what you had on your phone.

“Some pictures, contacts, texts not the messages though just names,” he said, deciding to put you out of your misery.

“I completely get that feeling now. While I have nothing to hide, I’m not shy in any way, shape, or form, but it feels strange to have someone see me naked without me wanting them to.”

“I understand.”

Your eyes met, and that was where they stayed for a long while, and still, it didn’t feel awkward.

“Look at it this way. The mystery is off the table now and the uncertainty about seeing the other naked. Been there, done that,” he joked.

Again, you laughed loudly, which had him laughing with you.

“Interesting view.” When his straight face returned, your eyes met.

The draw to you almost had him leaning in to you.

“It’s late,” you quietly said.

“It is,” he said before he finished his beer. “Can I walk you to your car?”

You nodded, then the two of you made a move to leave with you settling the tab before he even reached for his card. When the bartender took your card, you winked at him. You were a keeper, he thought. Once you stepped outside, he saw your shiver.

“Oooh, it got colder.” He took off his sweater and draped it around your shoulders, which brought your eyes to his.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You slowly walked to your car, so slowly you barely moved. It gave him all the time to think of something witty to say, something that wouldn’t come off weird. You made him nervous, and it was a task and a half to pretend as if you didn’t. When you stopped at the car and turned to him, your smile was soft.

“Thank you for staying for a main course and a nightcap.” Your smile got wider.

“I could still stand you,” you offered with a smile and a shrug.

“Thank god, I had a lot riding on that.”

You guffawed, “I bet.” Together you laughed, making him not want the night to end.

You didn’t make a move to get into your car, and he wondered if you were waiting for him to make a move. He didn’t want to make a move, and you be offended. He watched you bite your bottom lip, and it was then he fully decided you were what I he wanted and that he would make you his. You dug in your clutch and held out his phone.

“Before I forget and we do this whole thing again.”

He took the device and scaled its weight in his hand. It felt foreign somehow.

“Thank you,” he echoed as he held yours out to you. You didn’t hesitate taking it, but you didn’t unlock it and look through it. Instead, your eyes were right back on his.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he added before you cleared your throat again and looked away.

“You should hurry and text Francesca and Abby back, they seem to be getting anxious or desperate, you decide. An anxious or desperate woman is not a good thing for a man,” you advised as you opened your car door.

“Get home safe.”

“Will do,” you answered back once inside. “You do the same.”

The draw was still there. He doubted it would go away any time soon.

“Goodbye, Henry.”

This one felt different than all the others. The others felt teasing. This one felt final. He didn’t like how it made him feel.

“See you later, Aliya.

He was not accepting this was the end. As he watched you pull out, he asserted, this was just the beginning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@dangerouslovefanfic @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @momobaby227 @naturalthrone22 @emjayewrites @chaneajoyyy @caramara3 @kikimiyazaki @sonjashuterbugjohnson @minton131 @aar-journey @sincerelyglowing @theonewithherheadintheclouds @shar74nett @mrsbarnes-rogers @livinglifeformemyselfandi @night-of-the-living-shred @munteanhorewrites @kittykatlow @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @simply-heaven @winchwm @maximumninjavoid @offrostandstarlight @angrybirdcr @sausagefest1996 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @bellaamor88 @alyxkbrl @hello-therree @mery-be @that-chick212 @smuttywriter @ljstraightnochaser @ jd-now-jq @mrsbarnes-rogers @melanicia @live-laugh-love-ki @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @deadpixie22 @asiaaisa77 @queenreignssupreme @queenoftheworldisdead @kittykatlow @helenasmirkedno @cltex84 @areubeingserved @maxcullen @petty-bitch-akira @queenshikongo3

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.***

#kismet fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x aliya #slow burn fanfic #angst fanfic

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aikrus · 4 years ago

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Another Day, Another Life (Tenya Iida x Villain!Reader)

Fandom: Bnha / Mha Warnings: Angst, amnesia, swearing, weed, coping with death, hallucinations Words: 3,456 Requested by: No one, but requests are open! Request/ Description: Casualties are expected in a war, but when a child dies no one is ready. No one knows how to react. The death of a teen can tear people apart, it can rip people into shreds to never be put together again, but is it better or worse if they’re not actually dead?

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Toga was far from an ideal friend. She was clingy and rude, she talked too much and she cared primarily about herself. She was weird and difficult to get understand, and you never really knew where she stood. She wasn’t perfect, but having her was a blessing in disguise.

“Y/n, we’re heading out, are you ready?” While she wasn’t perfect, she was pretty close to it. Himiko had a strange way with words, and she could always make the world feel smaller than it was. Her voice was like warm honey on a spoon; hazy caramel color and sweet, perfect for recovery.

“I’m ready, thanks for grabbing me,” Y/n wasn’t close to anyone. It was hard to get attached when the overwhelming threat of having friends ripped away from her grasp constantly loomed over her. She kept her distance, but it was hard not to get sucked into being friends with the blonde.

“Of course!” Her bright smile feels like it should be un-nerving, it holds malice and hatred, it’s the smile of a girl who has been rejected her entire life- but it almost makes others smile back. And so, Y/n’s face was covered with the rare grin; which had become scarce.

“It really isn’t that big a deal, but Shigarki is getting trigger-happy. We should hurry, I’m pretty sure Dabi will set his hands on fire if we don’t leave soon!” Her voice dripped sugar, and Y/n found herself hurrying. She put her phone into her side pocket, and she secured her outfit.

The pair walked out of Y/n’s assigned room, and they made their way to the group scattered around the bar. “I thought you all were ready? Let’s get a move on!” Y/n said, there was an unusual lightness to her tone.

The group had started to pass through the given portals Kurogiri had made for them, and one by one they stepped through. In the end, only Dabi and Y/n were left standing with the tall void-like man.

“Hey,” the gruff man had grabbed a hold of Y/n’s y/s/c arm, and he had lightly pulled it back.

“What’s the deal, Dabi?” She asked, not rudely, but he could tell she didn’t appreciate the physical contact. They were far from close. When Y/n woke up, Dabi could tell something was off about her. Not wrong necessarily, she just had a very unique vibe that he felt was oddly familiar.

“It’s just...” he sighed and shook his head, “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.”

Whatever it was that Dabi was going to tell her obviously didn’t matter that much, so she shook it off and went through the portal.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Kurogiri looked him in the eyes with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

Dabi nodded and walked through the portal- it would be cruel to tell her- he decided as soon as he saw her laughing with Toga. She has no memory of it, and she just recently started to act like herself again, why would I ruin that for her?

Amnesia was a tricky situation for anyone to deal with. It was dangerous to the person suffering from it, due to how trusting and gullible they become- but it is significantly worse for those of them who have their memories of the victim intact.

Dabi was one of those lucky people- so is the majority of the other people on the team. They can all think back to at least one memory of the spunky girl they have grown to care for. She was always so strong, yet somehow she was always overshadowed by her over-zealous classmates. Those stars that tried to outshine her magnificence- Dabi could only hope they would burn out soon.

He had been one of the first to meet the girl, and boy was she hard to forget. If her physical appearance didn’t grab his attention- her striking y/e/c eyes and flawless y/h/c hair- her quirk definitely did.

GateKeeper was a well-known up-and-coming hero and student at UA’s school for future hero’s, she was the receiver of the most interning opportunities, and she was respected by almost everyone. Named after her quirk, GateKeeper- or rather, Y/N, is able to access the gates between different planes.

She can visit the gates of hell, she can see the holy light of heaven, she can see the Mormon’s different kingdoms and the fields of Aaru. She can walk along the banks of river Styx with those about to be reincarnated.

She can see spirits or those who have passed, and she can comfort those who have lost love ones. With this power, she has been given the ability to have the power of those who have died where she is standing. She can call on the remaining spirits to help her, and she has the power to reap souls.

Dabi had spent countless hours thinking about the girl who froze him in place- she showed him his worst fear and didn’t bat an eye. She was fierce and protective of all the other students, she stood in front of them and, with her small undead army of soldiers who could never move on, defended them till her last breath. If only she had died.

The fight hadn't lasted long, the pros took out most of the b-tier criminals, and the students were fighting here and there. With All-might out of the picture, it was anyone's guess how the fight would go.

Who would have thought that a single girl who wipe the floor with them? Ahh yes, in a flash of light she managed to subdue the vast majority of the villains, if only she hadn’t lost consciousness- then maybe she wouldn’t have been snatched away so easily.

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It was hard to believe that Iida would skip school. For the first handful of days after the attack, he dragged himself to his classes- half-conscious and unwilling to be aware of his surroundings.

Eventually having to push himself to get out of his bed- let alone go to school- grew too much for him. He settled with walking to the canteen when everyone else was out to get food before going back to his room.

He was never one for dramatics, but Iida knew there was nothing he could do. He had failed her, the love of his life slipped through his fingers- never to be seen again.

Day after day he listened to a voicemail left months before the incident- he was never happier for his phone to be dead than when he knew he could hear her talk to him again.

And while Iida had his outlet for his sadness, his classmates were going more and more concerned with every passing minute.

Midoriya would double take when he heard her voice through his wall, and, silently, he would press his ear against it just so he could make-believe she was still with them.

“Hey, Tenya! I guess you’re busy huh? Haha! It’s so weird to talk to your voicemail- I’ve never had to before. Well, I miss you! Remember that just because it’s Christmas and I’m not with you doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to celebrate with your other friends!

I just want to remind you how much I love you! You are such a great boyfriend, and I’m glad that you’re mine. I was planing on FaceTiming you while we have Christmas dinner, but since I can’t I guess this will have to do~

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

In the lane, snow is glistening

A beautiful sight

We're happy tonight

Walking in a winter wonderland

Gone away is the bluebird

Here to stay is a new bird

To sing a love song

While we stroll along

Walking in a winter wonderland

In the meadow, we can build a snowman

We'll pretend that he is Parson Brown

He'll say, are you married?

We'll say, no man

But you can do the job when you're in town

Later on, we'll conspire

As we dream by the fire

To face unafraid

The plans that we've made,

Walking in a winter wonderland”

She cleared her throat and laughed a little, “That was really awkward, but I hope you’ll accept my mini Christmas gift! I’ll wait to open the one you got me until I’m with you again. I love you Tenya, merry Christmas!”

Once again, the shrill ring of an ended voicemail echoed through his room. Wiping away a stray tear- Iida sat down at his desk.

Everything had been going so perfect, everything was going exactly to plan. His brother had been in recovery, they had been going smoothly, classes had finally declared winter-break, and then... everything fell apart. The storm had been brewing, and brewing, and then it came- and then it destroyed everything in its wake.

It’s hard to accept a loss that you didn’t see happen. He didn’t get the goodbye, or the I’ll never let go. There was no body to hold on to, no one in the casket which was lowered to the ground. Nothing to show that his lover was gone- only the empty dorm room and phone number that gave no answer.

The school had opened it’s doors during winter break for all the students and parents to come. Some of her closest friends only ever saw her in the hallow walls of UA, and now they didn’t have the chance to see her anywhere else.

There was really no good way to deal with it. ‘It’. Iida despised that word now- ‘it’ was the only way people described the death of his girlfriend. As if death was a taboo word, ‘it’ was all people talked about and yet their words meant nothing.

Tenya was doing his best- fighting every single fucking day at a time. He hated what he had turned into. He hated the state of being that he devolved to be. Every trait she adored about her boyfriend diapered. Failing to go to class and snapping at those that came close enough to bother him. He had always gotten cold when faced with misery, resolved and retreated in himself- he had never seen himself as someone who would take up smoking to feel better.

Weed always seemed so far beneath him, it felt like something nothings did to feel better about themselves instead of working hard at bettering themselves, but now even Denki wasn’t eager to help him. Last time he visited the blonds room Kaminari rejected him, saying that he wasn’t getting high in the right way and that he was worried Iida would become a drug abuser with how things were turning up.

Tenya hated himself more that night. He hated himself and he hated everyone else. He hated Uraraka, who coped with baking Y/n’s favorite cookies and eating them to the movie they would watch during their own girl’s night.

He hated Momo too, she still got straight A’s and seemed to be just fine- pretending like we didn’t hear her obnoxious sobs at two am. He hated Mina too- she had no place wearing Y/n’s hoodie to school everyday. It was a shitty thing to do.

He’s pissed at Deku as well- Midoriya the hypocrite. Knocks on his door every day with his missed classwork and with his judgement, pressuring him to leave his room. Everyone knows his grade’s have gone down since her death so who is he to talk about attending class.

He hates Bakugo, who only ever yelled at her even when she joked around with him- who’s words she laughed at but really made her drown in her insecurities when she was suppose to be secure in her boyfriends arms. Fuck Bakugo, for glaring at her empty seat next to him like he didn’t openly mock her when she got a grade lower than him. Fuck him for screaming at 3am and breaking the school punching bags. Fuck him for feeling bad after hurting her. Fuck him for being her friend. Fuck him for giving a shit. Fuck everyone.

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Aizawa sighed once he sat at his desk. Classes would start in half and hour and he was still crying. His silent tears burned down his cheek and all he could fell was the raw aching in his throat and the headache that felt like it was killing him slowly.

He saw it then. In that classroom starring at her desk, he can see it happening.

The cold breeze had moved his hair into his face, giving the villain a second outside of his hold. One second- yet it was long enough for him to disappear into the ground.

“Dammit,” he hissed, looking around him.

He heared Mic’s screech at a crowed of them on his left, and the majority of his students stood tall on his right. Everything was chaotic, but a Nomu appeared from the forest line everything exploded.

He felt a familiar chill crawl over his skin, signifying Y/n using one of her ultimate moves ‘Fallen Heros’. AS what looked like hundreds of dead warriors of different generation’s rose from the ground- some in modern military uniform and others in ancient armor- and surrounded the giant Nomu.

More appeared- in uniquely them outfits. They were the dead pro-heroes, the ones who passed during a fight they’ll never get to finish. The ones who either dine at Valhalla or will never be at peace after failing.

A woman with black hair flew as she fought- with more ease than the others that were in spirit form. It was safe to assume that this was her quirk. The other that sent momentary shock waves through the gathering was Sir Nighteye, who waisited no time wiping out the waves of villains.

Aizawa took notice of Y/n’s body floating in mid-air. The cost of her quirk- she had to keep note of all those she called upon. If one of the fallen are out of her sight for too long her body replicates what the dead’s went through, and she would eventually die from the injury.

The dead soldiers ended the battle very suddenly, and, as their spirits returned to the afterlife, a large explosion of dust swallowed the crowed.

Once they could all see, and the hectic environment calmed, Iida’s voice cut through the air. He was screaming as loud as he could, frantically running around the field of people.

“Y/n!” He had shouted, his voice becoming horse. “Y/n!” Everyone became deathly pale and still as the horror of realization came upon them. She was gone.

“Y/l/n?” Aizawa had shouted, starting the shove peoples shoulders to get to where she was.

“Y/l/n now is NOT the time to play games!” He had hopefully prayed. His face fell along with his voice as he made it to where she had been floating. A scorched square of land had taken her place.

His mind tried to go back and see the rose dead she had summoned, he looked frantically for a scorched soldiers face, but he couldn't find one. Even then it wasn’t hard to guess at what had happened.

No one near her had heard her screams, but with the noise coming from everyone in the dust storm, it would be unlikely that they would have been heard whether she screamed or not.

He was right there. He saw her. He was less than three yards away. How did he let this happen?

He remembers looking around for a corpse of a soldier, but he wondered if, with Y/n dead, they would be able to live anyway.

He pinched the bridge of his noes, wiping away the pools of tears from his stinging eyes. Rubbing them with his palm, his vision blurs when he looks up. Yet, even with the lines blurring, what he sees is unmistakable.

“Y/n?” He asked, seeing her figure sit on the top of her desk.

“Calling a student by their first name,” she teased lightly, “how unprofessional,”

“Are you...” he stopped and starred at her, “Are you really here? Is this a part of your quirk?”

“C’mon Eraserhead, like I would know. If you’re right then you’re right. If you’re wrong then I’m just a fixation of your brain and I wouldn’t know it,” She tried to reason, hopping off of her desk.

“Damn... you’re right. I’m going batshit crazy,” he sighed, closing his eyes again.

“So,” Y/n smirked, walking up to his desk and bending over, placing her hands on her locked knees, “Wanna talk about why you’re fantasizing about your dead, female, super fucking hot, student?”

He groaned out annoyed and clawed at his eyes, “Why the fuck is that happening? I hate that, I hate this, cut this shit out!” He shouted, pushing his hand into his covered corneas.

“What shit out?” Hizashi asked, stepping into his classroom.

“Nothing Mic, just overthinking,” he responded, slamming his eyes open looking for his student.

“Alright Shouta, just remember that I’m across the hall if you ever need to talk,”

Sighing once he noticed Y/n had vanished, he wondered if this was confirmation that he was hallucinating. Needless to say, Y/n definitely responded to her situation exactly how he would expect her to when she figured out her action’s had no consequence- like a little shit who needs to be put into detention.

God, even thinking that last sentence made Aizawa feel dirty. He’ll definitely need to scrub his skin red after that.

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Breakfasts in the mornings have changed a lot since school opened back up. Y/n was always made a plate of food and a drink every morning, it varied in who made it every couple days. No one vocalized what the food at her usual spot on the couch meant, but it was an unspoken rule that it would stay undisturbed.

No one was entirely sure who cleaned it up when they were in class. They were pretty sure it wasn’t Iida, the seat was clear even when he was in class with them.

Everyone missed her voice in the mornings. Whether she was complaining about late nights (to which Denki or Mina would yell get some in her direction after) or she was cracking jokes to help wake everyone up, her voice still rung in the air leaving a hole of silence where it once was.

People’s sentences often drifted off half way through as their eyes caught themselves on her corner seat, where she once curled up into half a ball as she placed her plate of breakfast on top of a throw pillow.

As people would shuffle off to class, everyone would throw a look over their shoulder and give a moment of their time to the friend they would never get to see again.

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Taking one more look at the lock-screen of a phone she couldn’t unlock, she wondered who it was on her screen. A boy with strikingly unique features had white ice cream smeared from his noes down to his lips, and a small smirk was percent on his face. Lights from a Ferris Wheel and fairy lights lit up the dark night sky behind him, and what looked like her knuckles were in front of the camera, showing their interlocked fingers.

It was a cute photo, but it was so foreign to her it made Y/n wonder if the phone was even hers. She sighed after staring at the keypad, asking for her password. The face id had been disabled after it shut off, and all she could do was hope she would remember what is was.

“You okay?” Toga asked, placing a hand on Y/n’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she responded, taking in the forest clearing Toga had taken her off to, splitting off from the rest of the group. “What are we doing here Himiko?”

“The other members want to know how much control you still have over your quirk. They thought I would be the best person for you t be around when we do this,” She explained, a soft smile on her face as she explained.

“Huh,” Y/n had a few thoughts running around in her mind, “Shigiraki didn’t want you to tell me did he?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” She teased, a wide smile on her face.

“I dunno... it felt like someone whispered it in my ear, if that makes sense?”

“Who knows, that could be one of the parts of your quirk,”

“What exactly is my quirk?” She asked, glaring at one of the birds near them who had grown to be too loud.

“It’s kinda hard to explain. The easiest way that I know how to explain it is that you’ve got a strong connection to the dead. You can talk to them, visit them I think, and most importantly you can summon them to fight for you,”

“Fight for me?” Y/n echoed. She wasn’t quiet sure why, but that phrasing felt weird... it almost felt off...

“Yup!” Himiko cheered, bouncing slightly.

“Alright,” Y/n sighed, shaking her arms, “Let’s give this shit a try,” she declared, moving her arms slowly from beneath her hips, struggling to get them above her waist.

In front of her, a muddy figure rose from the ground, it’s shoulders cracking as it took a deep breath of clean, fresh, air.

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daikini-in-the-twilyhtmist · 3 years ago

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Oracle of the White Rabbit

I was recently quite excited to learn about the newest Matrix movie, which was kind of weird for me, as I haven't been much into tv & movies for quite a while now. To my surprise, it was the soundtrack to the preview that immediately captured my attention - almost more then the preview itself... and then it got stuck in my head - for DAYS, on repeat.

**Cue the Morpheus voiceover: "What you know you can't explain, but you feel it.... You don't know WHAT it is, but it's there - like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad."** Yeah, that song was dead set on getting my attention.

When I finally got rid of it, I started realizing a few days later that I understood it beyond the surface meaning; and basically, I decoded the story that it was telling - it turns out to be all about right NOW. Is it prophetic? Subconscious social engineering? Quantum entanglement between the life and the art, so that they mirror and reflect each other? Who knows...

It appears to me to be a sort of trigger, or a reminder of what to do when the time comes, of what you NEED to do - and yes, I realize that this sounds very MK ultra secret agent-y; but it is what it is. I assumed it was probably just a message for me, but then I had 2 separate YouTuber's basically confirm the message in their own unique way, and then supplied additional info that is... quite compelling and pertinent to keep in mind, and utilize. So I'll link those two vids below the song decoding portion, but please watch them as they have some VERY helpful info in them - especially the 2nd half of Naughty Beav's vid, the Alba Weinman part. Anyways, here's the song with lyrics, and the decode I got for it:

https://youtu.be/YE3ZXm92CJ0

Preface: The story overall is describing the multidimensional aspects of the human being, and how certain "controllers" have manipulated the general population into thinking that we are only ONE SINGLE aspect (i.e. this linear 3D realm template of a human) of our various extended selves - and have waged war (and still are) to maintain that control over us to keep their positions power.

Song: White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane

ONE PILL MAKES YOU LARGER AND ONE PILL MAKES YOU SMALL These “pills” are alternate dimensional perspectives - the actual embodiment of them from a larger and smaller POV - Annunaki are generally around 10-16 feet tall, and the Fae are considered to be tiny little elemental beings; BOTH sizes make you visit WONDERLAND though! You can SEE & FEEL that there is MORE beyond just this vessel and life viewpoint, more to YOU that goes on to other places where this particular body-ego cannot. AND THE ONES (pills) THAT MOTHER GIVES YOU DON'T DO ANYTHING AT ALL The world perspectives and programs installed in our parents are for a different agenda, time and place - they've since expired and are therefore useless to us... those POV's just don't do anything, except stagnate you. GO ASK ALICE (<your inner child, direct connection to Source Creator) WHEN SHE'S 10 FEET TALL (<in her Annunaki 5th dimensional or above form) Oh yeah, I'd LOVE to see you try and argue those belief systems with THAT version of her/YOU, that'll be fun! Good luck with that, BwahahaaHaahaaa!!!

AND IF YOU GO CHASING RABBITS This "You" ISN'T YOU - it's a hypothetical scenario. As in: If YOU were part of a group of dark, nefarious beings, who CAN'T timeline jump to higher realms on their own, but wanted to... wouldn't YOU chase those 'rabbits', to sneak in after them, (or somehow piggyback on them) to go thru the (portals) tunnels that they naturally create? Well... wouldn't you?!!! AND YOU KNOW YOU'RE GOING TO FALL These beings know their time is limited; as the energetic frequencies of the earth raises - LITERALLY - we have to ELEVATE with Earth (or die, as it’s not compatible); but they can only FALL since they cannot follow us - their heavier energies & choices aligned with that vibe basically anchor them down. When the Earth sheds those lower energies, they appear to “fall’ - Earth rides a sine wave up and down in a continuous cycle; right now the rollercoaster is ascending. TELL 'EM A HOOKAH SMOKING CATERPILLER HAS GIVEN YOU THE CALL Say it with me: COVER STORY!!! So just tell them that you've contacted extraterrestrials, or "Ashtar Command" in a higher dimension, who relays "guidance" to you while you're in a channeling state of mind... exchange your religious/guru worship programming (it’s SO last year) for an unvetted channeled source to worship and obey blindly instead. Pick your poison, ‘cuz dying is fun (whether that be literal, spiritual or otherwise).FYI: I am anti-establishment regarding religions; your connection to Source Creator is meant to be direct & personal, always growing - those outside things are GUIDEPOSTS for consideration and participation when you deem it useful. Not necessary, though, and CERTAINLY not mandatory... they can be helpful though, nevertheless. CALL ALICE WHEN SHE WAS JUST SMALL No doubt they WOULD try to contact you while you were young and vulnerable (and they might have already) - train a child up in the way they should go, and all that. It applies whether it be physically done or in the astral/dream state - it's also prime alien abduction time, in both cases, too: it happens most often around the 3-10 years old timeframe, generally. **Alternatively, this could mean that YOU need to recall your inner child/younger self, when you were more pure - and RECONNECT to (the true you, prior to life’s enforced programming) yourself from there, as a means of counteracting and recognizing any false “messages of light”.**

WHEN THE MEN ON THE CHESSBOARD This is the Masonic, Illuminati and other controller group factions (alphabet agencies included) - The chessboard is primarily associated with the Masonic lodges, though, like the ladder - it's their way of bypassing the middle path (opening the 3rd eye, spiritually evolving through kundalini awakening and such), but still attempting to climb up to 'higher planes'... through magickal rituals and workings of one sort or another, I think. The Sun and Moon pillars are on either side, the battle of fire and Ice. THEY are the ones that "play the game" with humanity, as it were, and “set the stage” on the gameboard in many ways.

It’s like this in their art and iconography...

But it’s like THIS in the physical body structure, see:

Side Note: I learned this and wrote it down/drew it up by watching and following Lavette's channel on YouTube - her channel is under this (her real) name, so if you want to understand & decode the esoteric symbology and all that, check her out, she has a wealth of knowledge to share... it's great stuff!!!

Anyways, moving on with the decode...

>> when the men on the chessboard << GET UP AND TELL YOU WHERE TO GO Or where you CAN'T go, or things you can’t go DO - lockdowns, anyone? AND YOU'VE JUST EATEN SOME KIND OF MUSHROOM Or taken some kind of drug, to check out (with alcohol, pharmaceuticals) as a means of coping; or perhaps just a medically coerced and/or forced untested injectable... that shall remain unnamed. (a la Voldemorte) AND YOUR MIND IS MOVING LOW Because your consciousness and/or interdimensional capacities are capped, having been anchored down into lower frequencies due to your choices. ASK ALICE I THINK SHE'LL KNOW Ask your inner child/spiritual connection WHAT TO DO

WHEN LOGIC AND PROPORTION HAVE FALLEN SLOPPY DEAD That's RIGHT NOW, with the media, the actions of the government, corporations & the alphabet agencies - everything from them is WAY out of proportion, (they're self contradicting) and illogical... it's “fallen sloppy dead” is about as literal of a description as you can get. AND THE WHITE KNIGHT IS TALKING BACKWARDS Is this Biden? Maybe Trump? Could be whomever you deem to be our hero, or fixate on as a knight "in shining armor" charging to our rescue, I suppose. AND THE RED QUEEN'S "OFF WITH HER (THEIR) HEAD!!!" The red queen is the sentient A.I. computer located under the airport in Colorado from what I understand... so this could be indicating the weather warfare or DEW, the internet consciousness battlefront, or a whole host of other things that could be directed by that (besides the jabs), which seeks to kill off a great swath of humanity. The Red Queen could also be a means to direct the jib-jabbed peoples like zombies when they're "turned on" like antennas, once the graphene in the injectables does its work. It would certainly explain all the “zombie apocalypse” protocols and policies that have been made by certain corporations and agencies - all of which was done in a serious manner... so here’s that.

So, now THIS is where it gets interesting (for me, anyways).

Every. Single. Time. That I hear this next verse, I hear it spoken a DIFFERENT way, like a glitch that simultaneously layers a different version on top of the other one, so that they are both communicated at once. This is the 'secret key', the ANSWER - remember, this part of the song says: When this & that happens, and when this person and that ‘person’ are acting THIS WAY - THEN:

REMEMBER WHAT THE DORMOUSE SAYS Dormouse - a tiny squirrel-like mouse, that is rather famous for being able to HIBERNATE for EXTENDED PERIODS OF TIME - sometimes 6 months of the year, or more, if the temperatures stay cold enough. The lower the frequency, the cooler the temperature, usually. (The Sleeper MUST Awaken! ~ Dune) << This word - Dormouse - transforms into DHARMA. So the verse: "Remember what the Dormouse said" turns into "Remember what the DHARMA SAYS". For more on dharma, see here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dharma

The dormouse speaks of the head - waking up and remembering mentally; but when it morphs into dharma, it speaks of the heart waking up; and returning to it’s inherent wisdom, returning to the spirit-soul self. So that is the key message that keeps coming thru on this:

Remember what the dormouse/dharma Says: FEED YOUR HEAD-HEART CONNECTION (and stack your dharma)!!! Spiritual GAINS, baby!

The final verse is repeated twice; I believe this indicates that the areas to apply it to are your outward actions here in the outer world, and your inner realm locals: your thoughts and feelings. FEED the CONNECTION on each level, to be and do good, and to stand up in integrity and defend that sacred space on EACH LEVEL whenever it's needed. The mind-heart connection and coherence part is actually mentioned specifically in The Naughty Beaver video linked below, too... but there will undoubtedly be internal emotional and mental attacks that only you can recognize and shield against, or fight back against to maintain your inner calm and wholeness of spirit. The stronger the mind-heart coherence is, though, the higher you vibe naturally; so it grants you a certain level of protection automatically - I feel that's why they push the jab-berwocky so hard through social/economic pressure, and emotional guilt and gaslighting; to block that potential before you ever reach it, so you can still be "hacked", or locked down, energetically.

Feed your head = higher mind = higher perspective. Maintain THAT, then ACT FROM THERE. (Faith without works is dead, yo) See the other two vids below, and thank you for reading thus far. You/We’ve got this - Be Excellent to (yourself and) Each Other... and Party On!

The “Naughty Beaver” confirmation, perspective & guidance on this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHeDnhc8Jfg

The “YellowRoseforTexas” standpoint and confirmation:

https://youtu.be/tmYdSFj3WYE

As a final thought... look how unbelievably FREAKING CUTE dormice are IRL! ! ! ! KAWAII ! ! !

#matrix ressurections #naughty beaver #yellowrosefortexas #white rabbit #spiritual gains #highermind #jefferson airplane #dormouse

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zombiesbecrazy · 5 years ago

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clark and dick, tol and smol hug? love your writing!

(Umm. This got quickly Out of Hand.)

“Superman.”

Clark turned his head a few more times than he’d like to admit, looking around to see where Batman’s disembodied voice was coming from, before he remembered the communicator on his wrist. It was a standard Justice League issued tech.

Standard JL tech that Batman had never once used to contact Clark. As far as he knew, Bruce hadn’t used it to contact anyone outside of a pre-authorized mission, ever.

“Batman?”

There was a delay and Clark wondered if maybe Bruce had changed his mind or maybe if he had imagined the call all together, when the link came to life again. “I need your assistance in Gotham immediately,” said Batman gruffly before the telltale click telling Clark that the line had been disconnected, without even giving him a chance to respond.

Clark simply sighed and took off into the sky, headed towards Gotham. Bruce wouldn’t have called him if it wasn’t an emergency.

***

As soon as he came into view, Clark knew that something was wrong. Bruce was pacing back and forth across the roof, an unusual movement of nervous energy while his shoulder were coiled and tight and ready to jolt. It was a weird combination of behaviour for someone who prided themselves on being a bit of a stoic enigma.

Clark landed on the rooftop beside him, but Bruce ignored his arrival, instead choosing to pause his restless walking and look downwards to the street below. A soft grunt escaped him, disappointment evident in even the smallest of sounds, before he turned around to finally acknowledge that Clark was there.

“I need another set of eyes. There is a young boy, approximately nine years old, who went missing earlier tonight. Last spotted on Clifton Street, headed due west. I can’t find him.” Bruce lifted his chin in the direction of the street in question. “His guardians are concerned.”

Clark tried to remain impassive, but it was such a strange request for him to be called into Gotham on even the worst of nights, but to be called in for a single missing child was unheard of when things like that were handled on a nightly basis by Batman and the GCPD. He would absolutely help, he always had told Bruce that he was just a call away if he was needed, but this was never what he expected to be brought in for. “I can take a look but I need a little more to go on. Description? Name?”

“Short for his age. 129 cm tall. Black hair. Blue eyes. X ray scan may show evidence to healed fracture to his left wrist, from approximately two years go.” Clark was about to lift off the roof to start his search when Bruce lowered his voice to continue. “Wearing a red tunic, yellow cape and a domino mask.” His lips thinned as he pressed them together, obviously not wanting to share anymore, but knowing that he had to now that Clark was the one helping. “Answers to Robin.”

What?

“Br-.” Bruce shot him a sharp look and Clark corrected. “Batman, what have you been up to?” Now that Clark thought about it a little more, Batman had been distance from the League lately, always too busy in Gotham to assist with volunteer missions but yet the crime rate hadn’t seen any sort of spike that he knew of.

Had Bruce taken a child into the streets of Gotham to fight crime? He couldn’t have. That would be impossible and no one would do something like that.

Except that all the evidence that Clark had made it sound like it was absolutely what he had done.

Even further, was Bruce now a dad? Who had put his own child at risk?

Clark wasn’t sure which he liked less.

Batman crossed his arms across his chest, giving an irritated look that had no effect on Clark now that he was listening to the way that Bruce’s heart was pounding beneath the armor. Fast, like he was at full exertion. Beads of perspiration on the edge of the cowl. If Clark were a betting man, he would have said that Bruce was doing his best not to have a full on meltdown. “It was a training exercise.”

“What was?”

“Hide and seek. Robin was to hide to see if he could evade me for an hour. Once the hour was up, if I hadn’t found him he was to meet me here. His previous best had been 52 minutes.” Bruce looked back towards the end of the building, fingers tightening around his own arms, Kevlar bending ever so slightly under the stress. “It’s been two hours.”

Clark stared at Bruce, unable to come up with a single word to say to him. Bruce had thought that it was a good idea to bring a kid on patrol with him. To turn it into some sort of game. A nine year old, loose on the streets of Gotham at night, where the worst of the worst lived and a place that frankly gave Clark bad dreams when he spent too much time there. Part of him wanted to yell at Bruce, to try and knock some sense into him, but it was clear that Bruce was already panicking about what was happening, even if it was mostly internalized. There was a child missing, one that was apparently under his charge, and he didn’t know what to do, so he asked for help from the one person he could trust to find him fast. Just doing so was an admittance that he knew he had made a mistake. “I’ll find him.” He eventually settled on, not knowing what else to say. “And when I get back, you and I are going to have a very serious discussion.” The cowl eyes stared at him unblinking, but said nothing in return. Clark floated off the rooftop “Any other ways to narrow it down?”

“He was to stay south of Park Row.” Bruce started to pace the rooftop again, message clear that he was planning on staying put in case the boy, this Robin, appeared unharmed at their meeting place. Batman froze mid step. “The code word is elephant.” Clark raised an eyebrow and Bruce turned back towards the street. “If he asks you. He’s not supposed to go with strangers if they don’t know the code word.”

***

Clark hovered above the city, closing his eyes to try and filter through the sounds of Gotham at night, which unlike most cities somehow seemed to become more alive after the sun was down. Cars driving below. Occasional planes overhead in the distance. As he narrowed his focus he heard families in their homes, parents ushering their kids into bed. He heard drug deals and plots of robberies that had yet to take place. He heard restaurants and bars serving their clientele. Pushing the extra noises aside, he listened for sounds of kids in distress, kids where they shouldn’t be.

There were far too many of them and Clark’s heart tightened at their cries as Gotham filled his ears.

He was going to have to narrow it down and to do that, he had to follow every lead.

The first two children Clark found were homeless, curled up together under a bridge but looked warm under their blankets and sheltered from the wind. He had tried to take them to a shelter for the night, but they adamantly refused, loudly insisting that their mom was getting food and would be right back. Clark wasn’t sure if he believed them or not, but promised that he would be back later that night to check on them.

He didn’t think they would run. Children rarely lied to Superman.

Similar events happened three more times. He found kids in places where they shouldn’t be late at night. They turned down his help. He said he’d be back to check on them later. They waved as he flew away.

It was a frustrating experience to be asked not to help and he was starting to commiserate with the struggles that Batman faced on a nightly basis.

He stopped in a cold, dark alley that was filled with dumpsters and while he couldn’t see them, he could hear dogs barking behind gates nearby, threatening anyone who came too close to their claim. There was the faintest of sniffles that had his attention. Clark slowly followed them, not wanting to scare the child off, when he found the source curled up in a ball and wedged between two of the bins. He would have been impossible to see unless someone was specifically looking for him, face down but with a mop of dark hair and skinned knees curled up to his chest, yellow cape wrapped tight around him.

“Robin?” Clark asked quietly, making the child startle, head raising and a domino mask blinked up at him, tear tracks clear as day splashing down his cheeks.

The small boy wiped his cheeks quickly, doing nothing to hide the evidence of his panic, and took in Clark’s appearance. “S-superman?”

Clark crouched down as small as he could, careful not to block Robin in completely, and nodded. “B sent me.” The child’s eyes widened in a way that was usually comical to Clark when kids saw him in the flesh, but tonight it just made him sad. Had the boy thought that no one was coming for him? Or was he just surprised about who it was who had. He hoped it was the latter. “You hid too well and he couldn’t find you.”

“I got lost. I didn’t want to be scared because I knew he was coming but...” Robin sniffed, pulling the cape taut and trying to cover his bare legs completely. “I don’t know this part of the city very well and the dogs and…”

“It’s okay. Getting lost scares me too.” It was true. As a little kid, probably not much older than Robin, Clark had gotten lost in a corn maze at the fair. It felt like hours that he had wandered the paths, until his dad came in and found him. He had never felt more relieved than he did in that moment. The helplessness of the situation stuck with him, clinging to his memories and liked to slink into his thoughts late at night from time to time.

The small boy hummed in agreement, taking it in stride the idea that Superman could be afraid of something, but if Robin had a close relationship with Batman, with Bruce, he would know that there are always just people behind the masks and people could have fear, mask or not. “I kept waiting for him but he was taking a long time to find me.” Robin whispered, more to himself than to Clark. “Is he mad?”

“Not at you. I think he might be mad at himself. And he didn’t say it, but I think he was a little bit scared too when you didn’t find each other.” Which was an understatement based on what Bruce’s heart rate had been. “Can I take you to him? We can walk or we can fly. It’s up to you.”

“We can… you’d fly with me?” For the first time Clark got a glimpse at a child who wasn’t scared or lost, but rather one presented with a birthday cake on a summer day. The idea of flying had chased away the shadows of the alley, at least in Robin’s eyes.

“If it isn’t too scary. It’s faster than walking and I know my way around Gotham better from the sky.”

“I’m not afraid of flying.” With that confirmation, Clark stood and took a step back and held his hand out to Robin. Robin slid out of his hidey-hole, and reached for Clark’s hand before pulling his back at twice the speed. “Code word?” Robin asked in the most serious tone that Clark had ever hear from someone so young.

Clark chuckled at the idea that a kid dressed in a costume to fight crime was questioning the safety of going with Superman, but not flying with Superman, but he clamped it down quickly based on the unimpressed look starting to appear on Robin’s face; eerily similar to the one he had seen on Bruce’s more than once when Clark has done something that had been deemed silly. “Elephant.” Robin nodded in affirmation, like Clark had successfully worked out at difficult math problem to acceptable success, and took Clark’s hand.

It was so small in Clark’s grasp.

Clark crouch down again to Robin’s height. “We have a couple of seating options of Air Superman for you this evening. You can hold onto my neck and ride on my back. There is the ever popular bridal style carry.” He looked Robin over carefully. Besides the scrapes on his knees, he seemed unharmed, but he was trembling all over, still shaken up from his adventure through the streets. “But the recommended method for a tough night like this is the Super Hug. Tight and secure and the best for when you are feeling a little down in the dumps.” Robin’s eyes widened through the mask and nodded firmly.

Clark had barely extended his arms fully when Robin launched himself at him, arms around his neck, legs trying to wrap his waist but not quite reaching all the way to lock his ankles, and chin resting on his shoulder. Clark gave him a gentle squeeze and rubbed his back in what he hoped was a soothing way, and instantly felt Robin relax into his arms, stress from his night melting away now that he felt save. Long ago, Clark had been nervous with children and babies. Always afraid that he would squeeze too hard or drop them but his Ma had laughed him off.

“Everyone is worried at first, but everyone knows how to hold a child once they are doing it. They’ll help you figure out what they need.”

For the first time, Clark really understood what she meant as he hugged Robin securely in place against him.

“Ready to see Batman, Robin?”

“Yes, please.” Clark felt Robin yawn into his shoulder, settling down further into his arms as the adrenaline from the night leaked from his small frame. “Up, up and away, Superman.”

Despite the claim that he wasn’t afraid of flying, Clark had expected Robin to react as they left the ground. Almost everyone did. They either tensed up or yelled or gave some sort of reaction of surprise, but if anything the boy someone relaxed more, cuddled up to Clark as the ground got farther and farther below them.

As they reached their destination, Bruce watched them approach. To an outsider, it just would have been Batman scowling on a rooftop but Clark saw so much more. His heart rate slowing down, muscles relaxing, jaw unclenching and a slow, shuddering sigh with each foot closer that they got. They hit the rooftop and Robin scurried out of Clark’s hold and ran to Batman, leaping into his arms. Clark did his best to try and ignore the whispered apologies on both sides and the tears that were now flowing freely from Robin as well as the ones that he suspected might be forming under the cowl as the two hugged each other, yellow cape mixing with black. He was going to skip the lecture tonight and just let Batman be reunited with his Robin. The child was safe and sound and they just needed to be together, not hear about their mistakes that they both had made. Discussions and questioning of sanity could be had another time; this was a time for comfort.

He took off from the building again, no longer wishing to intrude on this moment, but Bruce caught his eye, message passing between them.

Thank you.

Clark nodded in return and took off into the darkness that was Gotham. He had other plans, other children of Gotham to check in with on his way back home now that he knew this one was going to be alright.

Hug Drabble Prompt List

#bruce wayne #clark kent #dick grayson #hug drabbles #i don't know how to drabble and this got out of hand

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

Text

Mickey and the Roadster Racers: “Mickey’s Perfecto Day” and “Daisy’s Grande Goal” review or “I think i’m going out of my headcold”

Saludos Amigos! I”ve been sick, and as such have had no energy or state of mind to continue my look at every apperance of the CABs in the us, concluding with a look at every episode of legend of the three caballeros.

And today’s stop is one i’m only passingly familiar with: Mickey and the Roadster Racers. MATRR.. wait really that’s what it spells?

No Larry the Cable guy on this blog thank you. Anyways, Roadster Racers is surprisingly complicated for such a simple show. For starters it’s the successor to “Mickey Mouse’s Club House” another CGI Disney Junior show, Disney’s equivalent to Nick Jr because their clever like that. And to continue the theme of ripping off other properties, the show was Disney’s stab at following the big fake interactivity craze started by Dora the Explorer. And it’s annoying as that sounds with a lot of pasues and an annoying recurring hot dog song that’s obnoxiously catchy. It was mostly just slice of life shenanigans with the mickey mouse crew and when retoolling it they decided to drop the now dated fake interactivity, turn up the slice of life and add some of those nitro burning funny cars vroom vroom. IN a sense genral g rated soft boiled mickey shenanigans with a racing theme.

Not a terrible series but not terribly intresting hence why i’ve never covered it. It’s a bland inoffesnsive cartoon for toddlers. Enough effort is put in for me not to hate it, as even a toddler show can have effort, but not enoguh so that I really care. I’ve seen better, i’ve seen worse. The only intresting things are the racing gimmick and the fact that as said gimmick diminished they switched names to “Mickey’s mixed up adventures” in season 3. Hence the complicated part as it’s not counted as it’s own series but unlike other disney title changes they aren’t just slapping another label under the logo like the marvel shows. This is a full on retool. But it still has the same cast and prodcution crew and is counted as part of mickey mouse. Point is it’s weird and not relevant since our boys didn’t show up in that season. Oh and as a final note I learned while writing this/ there’s a THIRD Mickey Mouse Disney Junior Series, Mickey Mouse Funhouse, coming next year.

But with so little to cover I ended up throwing in a freebie. See normally I charge the same for 11 minute and 20+ minute shows. It’s fair as most 11 minute shows these days pack in as much character as the ones that use the full half hour. It’s just a diffrence in tactics is all. But here I felt obligated to do at LEAST two diffrent, but cabs related, 11 minutes here, so if I had nothing to talk about I could pad it out and If I had everyhting to talk about.. eh I still tried to do the right thing. I regret nothing. But yeah i’m sick, this series is eh, let’s gooooo.

Mickey’s Perfecto Day So Mickey and Friends are preparing to drive to spain.

No i’m not making a joke. Wish I was would be one of my best but no, Mickey and Friends are just.. casually going to drive to Spain. To explain why this hurts my head a map, on which i’ve drawn the route they’d have to take to get to spain from, let’s say Calisota, the fictional state where Mouseton, Duckburg, New Quackmore, and thus probably Hot Dog Hills, the show’s setting, reside.

This is a crue map, they oculd’ve gone down through mexico or central america.. but the point is THEY DROVE ACROSS THE OCEAN. And I genuinely do not know if their cars can do that but apparently they can. So either the writer didn’t know where Spain was or didn’t care and either way it’s bad. LIke at least give their cars a plane or boat mode. Go full DKR up in this bitch, give em diffrent racing vehicles. But it wouldn’t be as aggrivvating or bizzare if they MENTIONED how they were driving to spain, like maybe Donald’s car that’s also an old boat and goofy’s that’s a tub have aquamodes and can tow the rest. I get 5 year olds don’t care about this.. but still? I guess? Also MIckey is either the sorcerer supreme or jesus at this point. He can cross oceans by car, astral project, cross into other dimensions.. the only thing missing is raising the dead and he already did that in the 30′s.

So as for why the sorcerer supreme and his buddies are going all the way to Spain, Donald has a concert with the three caballeros and this time they all remember him as a memmber and Daisy’s a huge fan. Which is sweet. Then we hear donald duck talk and...

Yeah, Daniel Ross is not the best Donald. Now I will cut the guy some slack here: He’s a voice actor more known for doing bit parts who just got the role in 2016, since racers aired in 2017 and animation lead time and all that. He’s not going to be nearly as good as Tony or Clarence out of the gate. Even Tony wasn’t. He also had a valid reason for picking up the role as Tony likely had two series in production at that time, Rise of the Three Cablleros and Ducktales, and thus had to split his time between both. And having Chris Diamaptolus do mickey in the new shorts instead of his usual voice actor Bret Iwane despite Iwane not being in any serious danger of dying soon has worked out super. So having multiple actors isn’t the problem. Hell after the tragic loss of Russi taylor and with how bad the world is, having an understudy in mind for such an important role is a grim but understandable necicisty. While I belivie tony can go on for decades, he’s only human.

So my issue is not on Donald’s voice being diffrent or new.. it’s that it’s not very good and the second episode featuerd here shows Daniel Ross really hasn’t improved despite now having worked as the character for a while.I can forgive taking some time to grow in but being this sloppy after a full season is just unacceptable. He’s BETTER but he’s still just not very good and doing the bear minimum. I don’t doubt he’s a good va in other rolls, I don’t want to hate on the guy, but I can hate on aperfomance when it’s bad and it’s not good here. It’s just not. Not in either episode not in any way shape or form. It just feels like a lazy donald duck impression. Disney can do better and Ross can hopefully find better work in the future. But for now this just hangs like a wet fart on his resume.

Moving on, thankfully, we have our three stories split pretty evenly and all stock plots. “Horay”. Mickey and Minnie: Mickey tries to have a “perfecto” day, hence the title with Minnie, but instead gives her a rose a baby bull likes.. or maybe it’s SUPPOSED to be full grown but while Mickey and Minnie treat him like a grown bull and react to him like one.. the boy dosen’t look at all, even in the series style, like an adult bull. he looks like a calf. Mickey.. is initimdated by a small child whose horns aren’t sharp enough to hurt him.

It’s just REALLY distracting and takes me out of the plot which itself is as bland as plain toast and twice as dry. They flee him till the end where Minnie figures out the rose thing at the concert and they make an ew friend. NOt TERRIBLE but not great. Goofy and Cuckoo Loca: Okay first off who and what is a cuckoo loca? Well she’s a wind up bird that lives in Daisy’s Cuckoo Clock and makes sarcastic comments in a brooklyn accent because nikka futtterman voices her. Still makes more sense than driving to spain. She’s not a bad addition to the cast.. not even that weird as most kids based franchises have an adorable animal sidekick to market. Goofy wants to try some “flamingo dancing” while in spain, with Loca going along to make sure he dosen’t die somehow.. which would be unjustifable for anyone but goofy. Also.. Flamingo Dancing...

But yeah Goofy goes up against ... world famous flamingo dancer horace horsecollar?!

Now apparently this is a common thing for him in this series, apparently, but still it feels like if one of those weird variant ninja turtle figures from the 80′s was a plot point in an episode. Like if we actually had an episode based around birthday magician raph.

It feels just as odd and out of place for down to earth if showy horace to suddenly be the best flaminco dancer in spain, despite being very much white coded, as it does for the angriest ninja turtle to be pulling a rabbit out of kids hats. Now Rise of the TMNT raph I could totally see as a party magician but any other? He’d probably break his wand over some kids head.

Goofy ends up winning anyway because he’s stupid, though Flamingo dancing should be a real thing even if this joke is bad and it shoudl feel bad. What an ODD subplot Okay one more then i’m free of this prison.

The Three Cablleros Plus Daisy: Okay finally we get to what I came here for. The Three Caballeros! And..they look a tad off. Not terrible but clearly the animators weren’t as skilled with non duck beaks as both of them look ready to do this to donald.

While Panchito’s color varies. Sometime’s it’s a deep brownish crimson, sometimes it’s poop brown and there’s no classy way to put it. When he’s in this cheap cgi, he looks like a shit chicken. This gets to a larger issue though... the animation here is not great. It’s not TERRIBLE.. but it’s pretty freaking sub par for disney. And i’ve SEEN their other cgi shows around the same time due to having a young niece and nephew. Sherieff Callie, Doc McStuffins, MIles from Tommorowland, and after this T.O.T.S. and Rocketeer. I’m not saying these are masterpieces of the genre, but they have more effort in botht he animation and writing put in. Here it just feels like they do the bear minimum which feels really fucking wrong. These chracters deserve better and have thankfully gotten better. YOu can make a show for preschoolers that’s cutsey and harmless and still have it at least be creative god dammit. It’s why I don’t like covering this show. It just feels so.. lifeless. They try a bit here and there but outside of cuckoo, there’s nothing really new or intresting to really make kids love these characters and it bothers me. it bothers me a lot.

Moving on thank god, the plot is bare bones as is the boys characterization. So far at least their character has been pretty consitent across all mediums. i’ts something I haven’t really touched on but their seen as world traveler’, Panchito being a Gaucho and Jose being such a ladies man this will probably happen to him eventually.

youtube

I swear to god that was the only part of this movie I can remember. I’m better off that way. But yeah without Panchito’s pep or Jose’s smooth talking ways, there’s just nothing for disney junior to work with so their just.. friends to donald who are nice to daisy. Which is very nice to see, but isn’t very intresting or gives me a lot to talk about. Donald eats a food that’s too hot, continues to talk poorly, and Daisy has to fill in. He gets back in at time and they sing probably the most forgetable cabs song yet. It’s.. not much honestly. This was worth covering for completions sake but it dosen’t really add much. If nothing else it at least made me realize so far each mile of the ride has added something fresh to the characters: The original was the foundation, rosa gave them depth and made them feel like real people, and house of mouse made them feel like a big deal to other characters and made donald’s history as a cabllero part of his legacy as it should be. Each one so far has felt like it added.. this one just made me realize that and that is all. It builds on nothing adds nothing and there’s really nothing here other than MAYBE the brown/crimson design for panchito that carries over from the looks of it. The next two versions build on what rosa, the movie and to a lesser extent the house of mouse built. This one adds nothing. This plot is just.. inconqueintal. not bad for kids to know about them but even then it feels like a disapointing introduction. I fondly remember hte cabs episodes of house of mouse and even on rewatch they mostly held up despite some weak parts. This .. this will just be forgotten and I only hope legend and ducktales have done a better job keeping my boys alive in kids minds. God i’m depressed. Well at least this is over right.. right?

Daisy’s Grande Goal

Okay as I said I was doing two, and rather than do this episode’s paired episode I decided on Season 2′s “Supercharged: Daisy’s Grande Goal”.. and cut the supercharged out of the title for the most part because why would you put the sutitle in your actual title. And only in some episodes. But yeah this season had a new gimmick, SUPERCHARGING... which basically means our heroes roadsters can go into super sayian tron super sayian mode and go real fast. They look real nice though and it has it’s own neat theme tune so there’s that. Otherwise the only other change is the animation which improves greatly. Seriously look at that shot above. That’s quality lin line with the ohter disney juinor shows. It’s still not as CREATIVE, but it’s not as slipshod as it started and I have to give them credit on that.

So our heroes are in Brazil.. and as far as I can tell they drove there again.. but the diffrence is 1) you can actually DRIVE to brazil and 2) they have super fast super cars now, meaning even if the super charge mode has a timer, it can help with the commute. It’s also one of the boys actual home countries this time. I mean the episode isn’t built around the cabs.. but neither was the last one. Seriously I almost missed that: it’s three unrleated plots and really you could’ve just lenethed the bull and goofy plots a bit and left donald and daisy out. If your not going to use the cabs right hten don’t use them at all. Here though their used BETTER.. still not in the lead unforunately but at least them being on the brazilian soccer team makes sense as jose is from brazil and while panchito is it he’s his best friend, sometimes lover and always there when he needs him. So spending some time in brazil to play soccer/football isn’t a stretch. But that’s about it for their involvment: they say a few lines, are part of the brazilian team our heroes face, and we get Not-Donald saying “No Way Jose”.,,,

Sadly I can’t leave but the main plot is about Daisy’s Cousnt Almonda. She was in the previous episode which I did not watch but I do like both there being a valid reason why our heroes are here, and connection between episodes. While this season isn’t MUCH better.. it’s still better by some metric. The plot is very basic: Almonda always wins at soccer ever since she and Daisy were kids, and it’s your basic “hero gets overcompetitive to finally win plot and learns to just have fun and to use teamwork heart of the cards and all that” It goes how you’d expect with Daisy hogging the ball and causing disasters and then a ten car pileup before cucoo yells at her, she realizes she was bad and also realizes Almonda had to practice hard to beat her, and ends up beating her through teamwork and you get it. IT’s not much But yeah ten car pile up.. that’s where it is intresting and rediculous as their playing soccer with cars. Which given i’ve always been an advocate for card games on motor cycles, seriously it’s not more rediculous than Yugioh was before that: in the anime and manga before 5ds we had table hockey but the puck is ice with nitrocylcrine in it, a battle with an escaped convict involving vodka and only using one finger, a chinese puzzel box that devoured souls, a dueling monkey, a whole hogwarts style school for dueling, duel spirits, our heroes childhood creations coming to life to help him, our hero merging with his androgynous childhood friend to fight the light of all evils, and on top of all of that, kaiba building a giant murder theme park soley to kill yugi and, even with how rich is he is, not even going to prison for the two months he’d get for that. My point is Yugioh is fricking weird and I love it so and card games on mortocyles is awesome. Soccer with cars is alright. The teams are mickey, minnie, daisy and donald, for the US and Almonda, Jose, Panchito and.. Pancho Pete for the Brazilian team. Pete’s cousin. He apparenlty has a lot of em. Eh as long as we don’t get petkeem the african dream we’re fine.

Why why did I make this. Why. But yeah it’s fine, not the best action ever adn the supercharge segments as I said look nice but as I also said ther’es just not a lot here. Daisy’s cousin is intresting, but likely more in the other segment. Here she’s more of a plot device to make daisy into an asshole for the episode so the plot can happen. There’s just not a lot to talk about> Hence me doing two of these. I will say it’s a better episode than the other one: it felt like more actually happened, it was more cohesive, had way more enerjgy and it had billy beagle... the series resident overexcited and loveable announcer voiced by the far from loveable jay leno of stealing conan’s job he gave him and last man standing, for some reason, fame.

Overall these episodes are.. eh. The first one is kind of a mess, the second one is slightly better but these clearly werne’t meant for adults, let alone older kids and it shows. But I found some material here and made a horrifying combination of a terrible racist wwe gimmick and pete so.. I win/ I guess. I dunno, until next time, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

#mickey and the roadster racers #mickey's mixed up adventures #disney #disney junior #mickey mouse #donald duck #goofy goof #daisy duck #minnie mouse #cuco loca #Jose Carioca #panchito romero miguel junipero francisco quintero gonzalez #panchito pistoles #pete pete

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demoncryptspanties · 5 years ago

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Time After Time

Part 5

Masterlist, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

A/N Sorry this a day late, I didn't realise how busy I would be x. Also, thank you so much for the kind messages and support. Also due to linking issues just type in time after time and you should find the rest of these if the links don't work.

Warnings: This chapter does contain smut so yeah.

<<<<<<<<

You had prepared to visit the aunties a year later. There were things you needed to finish up here, and a couple other places you wanted to visit. At least that’s what you told yourself. It was more of you weren’t ready, but you didn’t want to admit that to anyone, most of all yourself. When you had gotten ready to come there was an issue. Ambrose’s uncle, the head of the coven had been caught in a scandal. It was a huge thing and the aunties thought it was best that you didn’t come until it had been sorted out.

It had gotten worse once they had found out that his mortal wife had gotten pregnant and even worse after that as both parents had died. After the funeral, Zelda had asked you discreetly for help. You had always been good with children and although both aunties were midwives, they weren’t the best with babies especially newborns.

You had been talking to Ambrose every week, same as the aunties. You had been on better terms; one could say you were friends. Sort of. It was complicated. The amount of history between you two had meant that you were teetering on this weird line. You knew too much about each other, had been too close to start again and yet you both tried to stay on this line of not becoming too comfortable. You relayed practically every detail of every conversation with the girls.

Lilac had changed her tune. According to her, you were happier, brighter in some way. The women of the coven which you had become close to notice the same. It felt like home here, but you also missed your home there. Although your relationship with your dad was fine you kept your conversations monthly, it was weird dynamic you two had. You were angry at him, now older, now more mature, his actions and passivity was an issue in your childhood, and you had recognised that.

Once you arrived at the aunties house, you stood outside for a second or two. You spotted Ambrose sitting quite comfortably on an old trunk. You decided not to call him and instead knocked on the door and entered the house. How you couldn’t hear the baby crying from outside you would never know. Hilda was rocking the baby while Hilda sat with a cup of something a very annoyed look on her face.

She perked up at the sound of you entering the house, Hilda practically dropped the baby on you and went to the kitchen to stir something. You bounced the baby on your hip who seemed to settle down pretty quickly. The moment she stopped crying Zelda let out a sigh of relief and gestured for you to sit opposite her.

“I don’t think I have ever been so happy to see someone in my whole life.” Zelda held her cup tighter and the baby babbled a little.

“It’s good to see you too.” You started to coo at the baby who settled into your arms and fell asleep all in the space of about 10 minutes. Hilda set a brew of something in front of you which you accepted with a satisfied hum and brought it to your lips. It was something with cinnamon, extremely sweet but not sickly.

You felt a level of comfort with the aunties sitting across from you, all you were missing was Ambrose with his arm around your shoulder and a cup of tea in one hand.

“I would tell you about my journey and stuff but there is little to tell. Instead, who is this little cutie?” You shifted the baby into your other arm.

“So, this is Sabrina. You remember Ambrose’s uncle Edward. Well, I’m pretty certain you met once but yes; this is his child. He unfortunately as you know died in a plane accident with his wife. A mortal woman. This is their offspring.” She said all of that with a feign of annoyance which you knew well enough was a faced. She already adored this kid.

Ambrose came in not shortly after, the lack of crying baby seemed to draw him in. You could hear him sigh the minute he walked through the door, stopping short and cocking his head when he saw.

“Y/N, I didn’t expect to see you here, nobody told me you were coming.” He gave a pointed look at the aunties.

“I didn’t know that you didn’t know. How are you, Ambrose.” You tensed up at his surprise, Sabrina stirring in your arms.

“I’m fine.” He clearly didn’t know where to place himself, the only seat left being next to you. Selene ever protective of you crawled out of your arm and instead of doing what she was about to do, settled herself on top of the baby who grabbed her lightly. The picture of the three of you was endearing and by the time you looked up Ambrose had made his decision and settled next to you.

The feeling was odd like everything was back to ‘normal’ but also off. Like there was something on the edge of your conscious that you couldn’t place. He seemed to stop himself from doing something and refused to meet your eye.

“So, how long are you staying?” His tone had a feeling you again couldn’t place. He had changed so much over the years that you couldn’t read him as easily as you use to.

“Well, I’m not actually sure. I was asked to help with the baby. I suppose when you’re settled, I’ll leave again.” He seemed to ponder something before nodding his head slowly.

It turned out to be 8 months. You and Ambrose acted as you could, almost as if close friends. Angelica visited twice and Lilac once. Everyone meeting Lilac was probably the highlight of your 8 months stay. She had gotten on extremely well with Zelda and the havoc that they wrecked made everyone in the house chuckle.

Above all, you had become extremely close to Sabrina. You weren’t sure of what it was about the child, but she stuck to you like glue and you were happy to have her around you. She provided a distraction for the odd dynamic between you and Ambrose and for that, you would always be grateful.

You and Ambrose talked a little but often were not left together alone, by alone you meant without Sabrina or the aunties. It was sort of bittersweet when you left. You had filled 4 notebooks during the duration of your stay with all sorts of ramblings that you were ready to look over properly when you got to your other home.

You had promised to visit at last once a year to watch Sabrina grow up. Now that you had already come back, the thought of visiting again, of seeing him again seemed less daunting.

The years went by as normal, or at least somewhat normal. You visited your friends and your sister and Sabrina as often as you could. She knew you as auntie pumpkin for the first couple of years thanks to Ambrose and then shorted to pumpkin until she was 9 where she started to call you by your actual name. That year also was a weird time for you. Although you and Ambrose were okay, or at least friends there seemed to be something lurking beneath the surface.

The day started off as normal, you were due to leave and go back to central America a week later. You had gone to his room in the attic and for some reason decided not to knock. Both aunties and Sabrina were out. You had a book in one hand and the doorknob in the other. What you were going to do was ask whether he wanted to drink some tea and maybe watch a movie or something but instead, you got the sight of him with a wooden box in his hands, eyes towards the ceiling and a thoughtful look on his face.

His eyes widened the minute he registered that you were there, but he made no rush to hide the box on his lap. “Y/N.” He couldn’t bring himself to say anything more than your name and instead opted to wait for your response.

“Ambrose, why do you still have that.” Your voice was soft, shy even. The music that was playing on some antique record player you had given him filling the silence.

“I don’t know.” The answer was raw and soft. It had been the most truthful thing he had told you in a while. You had refrained from talking about your feelings and him, his. The conversation felt wrong, something was going to happen, and you would regret it. Everything seemed to scream at you to close the door and leave him be, you aren’t sure why, but you went in and closed the door behind you.

Your breathing seemed to get deeper, and you chewed on your bottom lip. “Why didn’t you ever give me that, when we were together. I mean you tried to once, just after your sentence but why didn’t you try again. For years.” He was still unable to meet your gaze.

It was in this moment that you wished the aunties would come back, or Sabrina or Selene was with you. Anything to stop this moment. You decided you didn’t want to know his answer, except you did. Maybe his answer would make everything make sense. Maybe this line you stayed clear of could disappear. Maybe the two of you would be okay, if for a moment.

“I felt like I didn’t deserve you. That I never did. That I still don’t. If you weren’t tied to me, you would find someone who deserved you.” The air was thick, he seemed to feel it too but didn’t say anything. Or do anything for that matter. You were both too afraid to move towards each other, why, you didn’t know yet.

“I don’t know why you would ever think that. I loved you.” You said that as firmly as you could, but it came across a little shaky.

“Loved?” You took a step towards his bed, the tension thick in the air. There wasn’t a point in lying now. You know he knew; you couldn’t hide it.

“No. No, not really. I love you. I thought it would be easier to pretend I don’t feel anything but it’s still there. It’s still there. I couldn’t get rid of you if I tried.” You took another step forward, it was dangerous. You couldn’t go back now. You were too close. It was like you could feel his own body heat. Neither of you knew what to do from here, this was uncharted territory. Long past that line, you tried to avoid.

You stole a look at the box in his left hand. The wood seemed like it was recently carved. Like he had taken good care of it. Because of this, you missed the flash of emotion on his face. The small curve of his mouth and then the sudden furrow of his eyebrows.

You had moved forward; this was something you wanted right. He stood up, slowly, testing. It was bad and he tried hard to stop himself. You both were in front of each other now, if you or he moved any closer, that would be it. You didn’t want to look at him in the eyes, so you made the mistake of looking at his lips instead.

“I love you too.” He had tipped the scales. You weren’t sure whether it was you or him that moved first but the two of you kissed, passionately but not quite desperately. It was testing, would one of you pull away. Did either of you want this?

Hands moved in a flurry, not quite pulling on clothes but deciding where to place themselves. Your head was fuzzy, and you weren’t sure why. You only knew that this is what you wanted, and that consequences and feelings could be a problem for a later time.

He pulled away first, looking at you in the eye. He was afraid that if he said anything it would ruin the moment. You answered his silent question with a tug of his shirt, he let out a breath and returned the favour. A hand traced shapes on his skin as your mouths explored each other. It was gentle, careful and calculated. Your head only cleared up a little when he moved from your lips to your neck making you moan quietly. The sound of your voice seemed to make him pause. He was asking again, and you answered again, a hand moving to the waistband of his trousers.

It must have been a minute before the two of you were completely bare to each other. His hand went further down your chest and back, exploring the curve of your breasts and ass before moving to your outer thigh. His right hand drew small circled there until he paused again to take a breath. You wanted to believe that this was wrong, but you couldn’t, your brain wouldn’t let you. It felt right, normal like this was meant to be. You chalked it up to fate that you chose that exact moment you decided to walk in when he was willing to share when you were willing to share.

He moved so that you had your back to the mattress and pushed you down gently. His mouth moved past your neck and he nibbled on each of your breasts. Your nipples were already hard, so he spent little time there, leaving a trail of opened mouth kisses down your stomach eventually getting to your thighs.

His left hand gently groped your breast and you laid your head back, completely engrossed in the moment. He kissed up both of your thighs and nibbled gently until you let out a soft whine, shifting your legs a little. His left hand left your breast and instead joined the other on your legs to hold them down. He stopped for a moment and looked up at you, you looked down at him and gave him an encouraging smile.

You felt his hot breath against the insides of your thighs for a second until you feel is tongue meet your clit. The pressure was perfect, he knew exactly how it worked with you, that seemed to be one thing that didn’t change. He started off with kitten licks, eventually his tongue moving to small circles around your clit. The rhythm matched that of his thumbs against your thighs. It was perfect. The air just seemed to get hotter and hotter the more worked up you got.

He licked a long line from your entrance to your clit and the sensation of his mouth was replaced by his thumb which had moved from your thigh to your clit. The circles were small and slow, but it had your leg twitching, you were close to bucking upwards for some sort of relief. He seemed to sense this, and two fingers entered you. It was slick and his pumping had you gasping, what was previous quiet moans and groans was replaced by the sound of extremely heavy breathing. You were trying hard not to lose yourself, but it was near impossible with how good that felt.

You let this continue for a moment, he was focussed, and it felt so good, he knew all the right angles and pace. He knew your body probably better than you did. He looked almost determined, you thought at first to make you cum but that seemed too obvious, then his face would have a lazy smirk and he wouldn’t look at you. His gaze was instead intense, watching every movement of your body. Your hand moved from your side and stopped him.

You pulled his fingers towards you and sucked lightly on them, swirling your tongue and pulling them out with a soft pop. He seemed mesmerised by your action. You sat up slightly and shuffled backwards, pulling him towards you. He waited for a moment, you weren’t sure what for, you practically whimpered a soft “please” looking at him straight in the eye. Your eyes were wide, innocent like there weren’t issue with what was happening. Both yours and his pupils were blown, whatever colour they previously had replaced with black.

He traced your lip with his thumb and then kissed you hard, entering you at the same time. You both groaned, louder than expected but at that point, you didn’t care. For whatever reason, you were holding back didn’t matter anymore. It was done, it was happening there was no reason to stop. You didn’t want to say no and deep down you knew that at any point if this had happened at any point before now you would have let it.

Everything was hot and sweet and blurry, you weren’t sure if it was the feeling of him on top of you, the hand on your thigh, the other caressing whatever skin it touched, the feeling of his lips or the way he felt in you. Maybe it was all of that, but it felt perfect, you weren’t supposed to be anywhere else at that moment. This was supposed to happen. Any reservations you had were completely thrown out the window at this point as one hand moved from the back of his neck to where his shoulder met his back. With the way, you were squeezing there was no way that you wouldn’t see red crescents for days.

Your other hand went between your legs, the moment your fingers met your clit your head tipped back. That was it, everything was perfect, the coil in your stomach tightened quicker than you anticipated, you slowing down the pace of your fingers but his thrusts were the same. His breathing got quicker at that point, thrusts more erratic, his head bent down, so his mouth was at your ear. “Go on pumpkin, I know you want to,” You let out a deep drawn out moan just as his thrusts got sloppy, he let out a similar groan and then stills pushing himself away and settling next to you. “You’re so perfect.” You chose not to respond to that.

Neither of your heads was clear enough to have the conversation that needed to happen, that was about to happen. If there was a way to make this moment not end, then you wouldn’t let it. “I don’t know what to say.” That statement was truthful enough.

“Neither do I.” He couldn’t look at you. You got up pretty suddenly. Nobody was home so you went to the closest bathroom as you were. You cleaned up and sat on the toilet for a moment. The image of you in the mirror seemed to sober you up. You had seen this you before but instead of a loving and satisfying feeling, you were unsure. You didn’t know where to go from here, you didn’t regret it, but you also didn’t welcome whatever happened, whatever you were feeling. As unsure as you felt, you had the feeling that it was supposed to happen, it was fate or the result of longing.

You came back and threw a washcloth at him, deciding not to move any closer. He mumbled a “thanks,” but like you had no clue where to go from here.

“What does that mean, for us.” You felt brave up until you finished, then the question seemed stupid.

“I’m not sure. You could stay, for now.” The invitation was closed off, he hoped you would say no. It would be too awkward.

“I don’t think that a good idea Ambrose. You broke up with me. I didn’t willingly let you go.” Your ton wasn’t supposed to be as soft or sad as it sounded but your previous activities had completely killed your façade for the moment.

“I know.” He didn’t say anything more than that and turned away from you. His mind was screaming at him to say something, to explain, but he didn’t know how to phrase anything or what to say so he let you leave. He let you walk out the door again.

He decided that he was going to explain something, his actions seemed so dumb after everything. Everything he told himself about him not being good enough, about you losing your freedom seemed like complete bullshit now. He was wrong, he was so wrong. He couldn’t change anything now, but he could change what happened. He made the decision to talk to you at some point but with his mind, completely gone sleep came to him too quickly. He, therefore, missed your knock on the door, the subsequent letter you left on the bed and the soft kiss to his forehead. You were gone, again, before he had even opened his eyes. You hadn’t taken the box with you, deciding to leave it under your letter.

It took him a day after you left to read the letter. He tried to bring himself to, but it was a lot more difficult, he couldn’t help but feel that there was an ending of sorts inside of it. He was right in that aspect, his indecisiveness, indecision, it was too late for him.

Dear Ambrose,

I’ll keep this short because I’ll say too much if I go on. I know this won’t be the end for us we seem to always find our way back to each other. Life is long and we always seem to be subject to coincidence and fate. I’m happy, now. Not that I wasn’t before, I am happy, being independent, visiting being a part of your life. Us teetering on this line that we just crossed it's not good. Not if you still have doubts, not if you don’t want me completely. I can’t find myself again, my place in the world if we try again and it doesn’t work. Once was enough for me, maybe I’m scared, well I am scared but I have to protect myself. That’s what I’m doing. I love you and I always will and that’s why I need to keep a distance, I’ve too long inhibited you from being happy and I can’t do that to you anymore. You thought the problem was you and your sentence and my want to travel but it was me, I wasn’t enough, and I won’t be. You deserve anything that makes you happy and I know now that, that isn’t me. I want you to remember me fondly, remember all the happy moments and just that. I want you to forget the longing, I want you to forget the mistakes. I was selfish and it cost me the best thing that ever happened to me. I should have stayed but I don’t get the chance to make that decision anymore. I want you to be able to find something that is enough, and I want you to feel like you deserve it. I will always love you, also, you should throw away the box, there’s no space for it in our lives now.

Yours truly,

Y/N

He read it over three times and threw it straight into the fire. It was clear he was wrong, all those years ago. He was still wrong to not say anything now and now its too late. He told himself you would be better without him and threw the box into the fire as well. The flames were a bright red and he watched it, sat there until the flames fell to a soft yellow. It was an ending to something.

#ambrose spellman #ambrose spellman x reader #ambrose spellman imagine #caos imagine

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clansayeed · 5 years ago

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Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 18: Let Me Do You This Kindness

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Fate intervenes.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“You were there — you were watching us at Prytania Street.”

“In a way, yes and no.”

“It can’t be both. I saw you there.”

“Yes, I was witness to the events of which you speak. But no, I was not there as you were there; on the physical plane. I bear witness to all things. That is my purpose and my burden.”

“You could have done something.”

“You are mistaken, halfling child.”

“Bullshit. That’s—That’s bullshit. Its an excuse to justify doing nothing!”

“If that is what you choose to believe I cannot stop you, only try to sway your mind.”

“Well you won’t.”

“The world’s belief that I am capable of more than giving testimony is a false one. I cannot change the course of what is to be, no more than you can. I see every outcome, every possibility — every path from the moment it is built reaching out into oblivion.

“Who walks those paths — who has the ability to forge them new or break the chain — that is up to the individual. Certain roads will always be taken, yes. But the forces making those decisions were here long before me and will exist long after I am gone.”

He’s angry. And because he’s angry he’s indignant — he doesn’t want to believe them. Not when they speak in the voice of a forgotten child or a lost lover or someone whose time has come yet they find themselves filled with only bitter regret.

Always with the same golden eyes.

The weight of his breath sends Taylor’s body into tremors of emotion. Things he knows all too well — despair, guilt, self-blame — and things he has no name for; might never have a name for in any human language.

They overwhelm him until they don’t. Until he can look at each and every face of The Fate and speak.

“I don’t remember. Why don’t I remember?”

It’s his voice, his tongue curling around the words formed on his lips. But they aren’t his. They’re just sort of pulled out of him like they were trapped deep in his belly on a string.

Words that come not from the mind but from some place deeper. Those dying embers he thinks may have once been called his soul.

The Fate turns their wrinkled face away.

He knows this emotion. Shame.

“Why don’t I remember?” he asks again.

Doesn’t know where he is, or how he got here, or what it all means. But like hell he’s going to move or be moved without an answer.

“I thought it would be kinder.”

Their new voice wavers. A new face looks back at Taylor — creases in a frown that will settle into lines of age eventually, but not quite yet; thinner lips, yet hands still youthful. They look so much like his mother it hurts.

Thought what would be kinder? What happened? Where is everyone? Where is Nik?

All very important questions. All answers he first wants, then craves, then needs in order to remember how to breathe.

Instead he just whispers a weary “please,” because they both know what it is he’s pleading for.

But The Fate is reluctant — that much is obvious. “I would rather you understand before I did.”

“Understand…?”

“That I am merely the storyteller. Not the book, not the author, just a voice reading from the pages.”

This again. Can they blame him for being skeptical? For thinking someone with a name like The Fate might have a say in the order of the universe, in who lives and who dies?

“If I tell you I believe you, will you give me back my memories?” Will you explain? Will it all make sense?

“Would you be lying to me, Taylor Hunter?”

“You’re The Fate — wouldn’t you know?” Then, met with only silence, he does the only thing that feels right. He just shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t — I don’t, okay? I’ve been asked to believe in a lot of impossible things lately, but this… this is more than that, and that makes it harder.”

Because if The Fate really has no say in the way things have been then that means they have no say in the way things end.

The Coven Elders do.

His friends do.

He does.

But not someone who could make it all better.

And that’s terrifying.

“So I don’t know,” he repeats, “and that’s my final answer.” Not the right or wrong answer, but the final one.

He’s met with a chilling reality when The Fate reaches out their hand and he takes it and feels home. The Fate doesn’t just look like his mother; they are wearing her face.

It’s a useless epiphany though.

Because he remembers.

What’s an extra hour or two?

The difference between life and death.

By the time he notices the familiar figure of The Fate standing just off stage left it’s too late.

The screams, the crackle and POP of a spotlight sending sparks showering down onto the stage, the heat and flames and smoke choking the breath out of him — those all came later.

First came the explosive bang of double doors opening at the back of the theatre. If there was ever an apt time for an actor to fumble their lines it was then.

He still hated Antoni, the prick, but gave credit where credit was due — a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it beat in between stanzas and Oberon was right back in the depths of his monologue.

Second was the gust of wind that turned heads — Taylor’s included — to the draft coming through the gaping doorway. It reeked of revelry and jaegerbombs with just a hint of despair.

Taylor was convinced that last bit was his imagination having a last-ditch effort to try and ruin his happiness. Stupid, stupid boy he was; turning back to the stage like that.

Third came thunk. thunk. thunk.

He could recall, if only vaguely, the rehearsal where Daphne suggested imitating the Globe Theatre in London. She wanted to engage with the audience as Puck and the director loved it.

Her last big entrance was from the back of the theatre, right — he’d forgotten.

Thunk. thunk. thunk.

Daphne came barreling down the sloping path — collided with the stage with wet noise.

Or… her head did.

And it rolled in classic horror-movie gothic to stare lifelessly at the audience. Eyes milky white, veins blackened and bulging under tissue paper skin.

What came next doesn’t matter. If the curtain caught fire before or after Theseus fainted from terror didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered was the wretchedly familiar grotesque hovering in the entryway — the shadow it cast stretching long, mangled limbs out towards them.

The bloodwraith let out a screeching howl that shattered glass, incited fire, sent the entire space into a pitch darkness only to glow and flicker with hungry flames.

I’m sorry. His first and only thought.

Nothing else The Fate gave back to him mattered.

“Holy shit — am I dead?!”

Taylor uses the thought to grapple back onto the present and pull himself together. Doesn’t even think about whether or not he should be using that kind of language in front of a very very old supernatural being but okay maybe he’d been a little premature in the ‘nothing else’ department.

If he was dead that definitely mattered. Because if he was dead Nik was going to kill him.

When The Fate readjusts themselves — a refined and more calm way of saying ‘recovers from whiplash’ — they reassure him with a small shake of the head, silvery wisps on a balding head shaking out to perfect and natural curls. “No, you are not dead.”

“Oh thank god,” he whistles low, but its the relief that catches him by surprise. And not just because he doesn’t have to worry about being chewed out by a surly Nighthunter.

He’s actually relieved to be alive. Or at least not dead. One of those things he wouldn’t normally perturb the semantics over but given everything that’s happened it only seems right.

“Am I alive?”

“In a way.”

“That’s a yes or no question. Please let that be a yes or no question.”

It takes Taylor a moment (his brain is catching up as quick as it can, yeesh) but when it becomes clear The Fate, powerful ethereal being witness to everything until the end of time, is amusing themselves with his reactions he tries his best not to give any.

He fails, of course, but he tried his best.

“Yes, halfling child, you are alive.”

“And —” Nik? Elric? Vera? Cal-Kathy-Cadence? Garrus-Krom-Ivy? “— everyone else?”

“Is there one for whom your concern is greatest?” It sounds almost clinical; doesn’t help that they now sound eerily similar to his hormone therapy physician.

Maybe they hoped Taylor would have to think about it. Maybe they wanted to see what makes him tick.

Too bad. “I’m not picking which of my friends I care about the most, if that’s what weird all-knowing trope you’re going for.”

“Not even your father is placed above them?”

“I barely know the guy. That answer it for you?”

The Fate gives a “hmm” and a nod. “Forgive me, I have never had such luxuries.”

“Family, friends?”

“Those as well. I see the bonds of the material made; thousands, millions in the spaces between heartbeats. But I do not feel them. I wish that I could.”

It rings wrong in his bones. Makes his blood curdle in his veins. “If you’re trying to justify preying on my fears to learn emotions, I’d say stop.”

“Is there a threat to be made?”

“No.” He’s not stupid — but he’s not just going to stand there and take it, either. “You didn’t answer my question. Are my friends — all of them — alive too?”

He can tell The Fate hesitates as one last test of wills. Still it doesn’t stop him from clapping a hand over his mouth when they finally nod.

“Thank god…”

They’d thought it would be safe. That they had time—however brief—to try and make the most of things; time together, the city in all her glory.

Taylor doesn’t realize they’ve been walking together, a simple man and Fate, until he stops and looks out of one of the large windows lining the hallway.

Outside is beautiful. It’s a lacking word but the only one that comes to mind. It’s the kind of sunset that people write entire poems and songs about because they can’t think of a simple one-word description either. So it’ll do.

He drinks it in — the vibrant sunset that reaches long tendril fingers of pinks and oranges across the sky and continues on and on and on into an endless horizon. Bright enough to illuminate dust motes hovering practically immobile in the still air around him. Even his heavy and awestruck breathing doesn’t disturb them.

Like he isn’t even there.

And it occurs to him like an afterthought that if he left this place to commune with that sherbet sky he’d never find the end. There’s a peace in that.

He could ask the obvious; where are we, how did we get here, what does it all mean, but instead he focuses on the things he does know rather than what he doesn’t. “You brought us here.”

“Yes.”

And he hadn’t planned it at all; the trap The Fate has so willingly fallen into. But there it is.

“That means you intervened.” He turns away from the world beyond only because he has to. Catches their ever-changing face in the sunset’s light. “I thought you couldn’t intervene.”

When they finally answer the words are chosen with care; careful not to reveal too much, careful not to make promises unable to be kept. “I did not change the course of what is to come; that is beyond me. But it is not beyond you, and so the lines blur. If you could be guided, or given more time, or protected from a death thought previously inevitable, then perhaps you could enact that change with your newfound advantages.”

His mouth twists ruefully. “You’re telling me you found a loophole in destiny?”

“Of a sort.”

“And you choose now to do it? That’s…” For once in his life Taylor thinks before he speaks; to his benefit. “Unless this isn’t the first time you’ve done it.”

The Fate looks at him with the eyes of a child again; a disturbingly profound wisdom looking him over as if in a new light. “There are very few places in the puzzle of time where I may fit.”

“So all that stuff you said about being an observer — what you’re saying is that’s a load of crap.”

“Would I have told you then what little I could do, would you have believed my interference so small?”

They’ve got a point. “No.”

“Then you see why these revelations take time.”

Maybe he does. That doesn’t change the truth, though. Doesn’t change the thoughts racing through his mind; thoughts of the dozens, hundreds of things that have happened that could have been changed in some little way. Changed had they had more time, or if they’d known more.

Or if he hadn’t been protected.

If Nik hadn’t been in the graveyard, Taylor would be dead. He was there, and at the bar, because…

“You hired Nik to protect me. You were the one on the other end of the phone line.”

“Yes.”

“Did it make a difference? No—No it couldn’t have. You said you couldn’t change it. You —”

“All that is meant to unfold still will. If not as swiftly as the witches had hoped.”

“So all you did was prolong the inevitable.”

“All I did?” his question played back to him in a voice rusted with time, incredulity on The Fate’s new leathery features, “You think so narrowly. What have you changed, what have you incited?”

“The Elders are still —”

“What. have. you. done.”

“I —” Is it any wonder he falters under the intensity of that stare; the weight of their words bearing down on him heavier than anything he’s tried to carry before?

Fine. What has he done?

He’s hurt Garrus by bringing Elric to the show.

He’s brought Garrus and Krom closer.

He’s put Vera in danger.

But given her a chance to reconcile with her mother.

He’s the reason Cal was cast out from his pack.

And the reason Donny is still alive.

Stop it, Taylor wants to say, because there’s no way that annoying voice in his head contradicting everything he’s thinking is him. It’s them — they’re in his mind.

But he’s heard dozens of voices from dozens of their lips; none of them have sounded like him.

And only his voice is ringing between his ears.

“If I’d died in the cemetery that night — would any of those things have happened? Be honest.”

“I see all outcomes; the realms in which they did happen and those where they did not.”

“Okay, so —”

“But because of you, Taylor Hunter, they did. And that cannot be undone.”

Taylor reels at the very thought of it. Talk about daring to disturb the universe. But all those things — they’re speaking of the past, of the present.

What about the future?

“Was it enough, though?” Was it enough to make a difference? Enough to save them? Enough to win?

Instead of answering with words The Fate reaches up, out. Doesn’t let up even though Taylor recoils (for good reason) at the weight of permanence that hangs around them in an unseen aura. According to The Fate themselves there are versions of this story where he dies; is already dead.

And knowing that doesn’t scare him nearly as much as being touched by someone who has seen it happen.

“Those who seek to change destiny always fail,” — something so morbid and hopeless shouldn’t sound so reassuring — “because it will always lie out of their reach. They never understand how to bring it closer. Now you do.”

The warmth of the sunset beyond prickles the back of Taylor’s neck. But even basking in the glow as they have been The Fate’s fingers are cold as ice.

Cold with the weight of the sorrows they’ve seen.

Wherever they are stretches out infinitely on either side of them. He hasn’t seen another soul this entire time. Knows somewhere deep inside himself that no matter how many halls he sees, no matter how many doors he opens, they reside here together. Alone.

So why then does he whisper? Who the hell knows.

“If you’ve seen all the terrible ways this could end… why do it? Why try?”

“Because,” they smile and suddenly Taylor sees why every other part of them is cold; to compensate, “I have hope.”

How, how can they have hope when they know what’s coming? “Hope for what?”

“Hope that you will prove me wrong.” You can change what is to come.

“Talk about your unrealistic expectations.” How?

“It has been done before — however rare.” You already know how.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t.

He —

He watches Cal with his arm over Vera’s shoulder — holding her close, pressing his mouth into her hair more a gesture of comfort than a kiss. To remind her the warmth of another body is close. That she isn’t alone.

A bright light flashes in front of his eyes, blinds him. Taylor tries to pull back but the EMT squeezes his shoulder and keeps him in place. “Not yet, bud, just try and follow the light okay?”

It doesn’t really make sense to keep staring at the thing that makes it harder to see but he does what he’s told. Follows the pen light left to right and up to down because that’s what they need of him right now.

“Your friends said you took a pretty hard hit.” He can feel the gloved hand on the back of his head feeling around for a lump, a cut, blood — anything.

Definitely more than the nothing he gets that’s for sure.

“Do you remember anything like that?”

No, he doesn’t. He only remembers silvery curls and an insistent understanding that he’s capable of more than he thinks. But those thoughts aren’t his.

It’s with reluctance that the EMT lets him jump from the back of the ambulance with the closest thing to a clear bill of health.

“Rook!”

Thank god he hears Nik only when there isn’t a stethoscope on his chest because surely his heart stops beating.

Taylor turns, doesn’t have the time to brace himself before he’s inhaling leather. Isn’t smothered by it at all — in fact it helps calm him more than expected.

Then Nik’s looking him over — touching the back of his head and holding up his arms; looking for cuts and bruises and any sign that he’s less than one hundred-percent okay. “Did you get checked out? Why the hell would they let you go? If they’d seen the way your head bounced off that concrete wall they’d be thinkin’ differently. Fuckin’ hell, they…” Just like the EMT he feels nothing, though. But this time Taylor isn’t let off the hook so easily.

“What the hell? There ain’t even a bump.”

“I hit my head?” he asks; realizes it’s the wrong thing to say when Nik’s eyes widen.

“You don’t remember? Shit — we’re gettin’ you to the hospital.”

“I don’t need a hospital.”

“I beg to differ!”

“If you’d —” Taylor actually has to smack the flurry of Nik’s concerned hands away, “— just stop for a sec’? Please!”

Even in the chaos of grief and seemingly fruitless attempts to restore order Taylor is loud. Manages to get more than a few heads turned his way — some that look between him and Nik in rising suspicion. He takes the man’s hand and pulls him off to the side before any of it becomes a thing.

They find the one police car without the overhead lights flashing. Away from the crowd swarming, from people who secretly wished they could be paid to learn what happened and grieve for it. Despite being entirely removed from the situation they are moths; the cruisers that bathe them in reds and blues are their flame.

Nik wastes no time. “You’re starting to scare me Taylor,” and he believes it with or without Nik using his name, “if somethin’ happened to you, somethin’ medical, we gotta —”

“Nik,” he insists again, “stop talking.” Cups his hands along a chiseled jaw and brings the man down to kiss him like that’ll explain everything. In a perfect world, maybe.

But even annoying as he’s being right now Taylor can’t hold it against him. He cares — in his own weird way sure — but he does.

They part for air but he allows strong hands to keep him close.

“I only just got back,” he mumbles almost breathlessly, “I don’t need you jumping down my throat.”

“Wait—what?”

“I —”

There’s a tickle on his forehead as Nik’s brow furrows. “No I heard ya. But you didn’ — we were here the whole —” Lucky for them both when, somewhere in the middle of those half-formed explanations and racing thoughts, he remembers that he’s Nik Ryder; Nighthunter.

“Got back from where?”

“Not here.”

“Yes, here.”

“Nik.”

Taylor would like to believe he relents because of trust, but knows the far more likely explanation is exhaustion. But he does and that’s what matters. “Okay Rook, okay. Your turn to call the shots.”

“First we need to get everyone together. I saw Vera and Cal, but…”

“Kathy an’ Cade were still givin’ statements last I checked. Iv’, Krom, and Garrus hightailed it before the cops showed up. Wait—you’re really sayin’ you don’t remember any of this?”

“Stay focused. Where’s Elric?”

“With them. He was out cold, hurt bad from the looks of it.”

Taylor’s heart straight-up stops beating. “Did the wraith —?”

“No Rook, no he, uh, he took a fallin’ rigging for you. Pushed you right outta the way and that’s how you hit your head. I really don’t like —”

“Later. We can’t go back to the Shift.”

“Well there we agree.”

“There’s my place, but —”

“No, nowhere connected to any of us. The Elders could’a hexed the place.”

“Suggestions, maybe?”

“Well damn Rook — not like I’ve got a map of secret warded places I can just pull outta my ass—actually…” Nik changes his tune so fast Taylor gets whiplash. But he knows the thoughtful look in those dark eyes well enough by now that he dares to have just a little bit of hope.

Why try?

Because I have hope.

By the time he’s pulled out of his brief recollection of The Fate, Nik is pulling him by the hand back into the crowd. They spot the beacon of Cadence’s towering head over everyone else and find the others still recuperating on the curb where he stands guard.

Cal spots Taylor and immediately tries to stand — but he’s leaning far too much to the right to be moving so fast. Katherine catches him, eases him back down with admonishing words.

“What did the EMT just say?”

“Yeah yeah, I ain’t a cub Kathy.”

“Then pay attention next time — to what they’re saying, not to their asses.”

Vera reaches for Taylor like a source of comfort. He takes her hand and squeezes; feels the warmth of her through blue medical latex in a way her usual silk doesn’t allow. Wordlessly she holds up a long scrap of familiar fabric as explanation.

Whatever Cadence had planned on saying, it catches on his tongue to be swallowed back down. Something makes his face turn away with a crinkle in his nose.

“No offense Taylor, but you smell like mold on vellum.”

“Huh?” Cal sniffs the air and comes to a similar conclusion. “Reminds me of the shed Kristof keeps his pelts in — like… dust and mothballs.”

“Uh…” what the hell does somebody say to that, “I’m sorry?”

“Just thought you ought to know.”

“Actually — speakin’ of all that research you do, Smith,” everyone looks at Nik like he’s grown a second head, but no one can match Cadence’s bewilderment; since that has less than nothing to do with the attack that’s left them reeling.

“What about it?”

“Any chance you know if the Saint Louis has still got that, uh, preservation sigil still in the stones?”

“Sure. That whole block of Chartres does.”

Katherine’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Ryder, what are you thinking?” But he ignores her carelessly.

“Includin’ your office?”

“Yes but — Oh.” Epiphany crosses his face and makes his glasses slide down to the tip of his nose.

And though it may be just as annoying to be on the outs of something Nik, Cadence, and even Katherine with her slow nod of understanding seem to know that the rest don’t — there’s a comfort to it. Like they’re all back in the Shift shotgunning ideas on a chalkboard and not scrambling for a place to hide.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” the way Katherine says it though — it’s like a self-directed insult, “why didn’t I think of that?”

“Think we’ll all fit?” asks Nik.

Cadence gives everyone a calculating look, seemingly taking measurements. “I don’t see why not, so long as you don’t mind a bit of clutter.”

Kathy doesn’t even bother covering her snort, the derisive “Ha!” that earns her something like the vampire version of a pout. She remains unfazed. “That’s putting it a little more than lightly…”

“It’s not that bad. You’re making me out to be a hoarder.”

“Let’s just hope no one’s claustrophobic.”

“Kathy!”

Admittedly Taylor doesn’t know a lot about vampires besides the basics; immortal, super fast, super strong, blood-is-life. But there’s more, isn’t there? There has to be.

For example — werewolves are pack animals. He can guess that vampires are less so. So what fills the void?

Because from what he’s seeing before him… they’re nesting creatures.

This is a nest, right? Please someone say this is a nest, that this is normal behavior. That somewhere else in the city Isadora de la Rosa is just chilling in a giant pile of stuff like some sultry dragoness and Cadence is just following some sort of undead instinct.

Otherwise this guy needs help. Like — Hoarders-level help.

Ryder’s reaction does nothing to ease his discomfort; giving an impressed nod as his eyes sweep the room; the piles… and piles… and piles…

“You’ve cleaned up,” he moves an old filing box with little ceremony to rustle himself up a place to sit; apparently its every butt for itself here, “and is that two walls I can see?”

There are two seats not actively serving as storage and Katherine beelines for it. Cal gets there first with some semblance of victory — though it’s short-lived.

“You’re in my spot.”

“Grow up. First come first serve.”

She repeats herself in an actual growl. “You’re in my spot, Lowell.”

Arms crossed over his chest, he snorts a derisive “I don’t see your name on it,” only to fumble for purchase when she grabs the chair-back with both hands and spins it around.

Her name actually is written on the back. And in very large, blocky permanent marker.

She doesn’t need to tell him a third time. Settles in like it didn’t even happen. Out of everyone gathered, Cadence included, she’s the only one who looks like she really belongs.

“Three guesses why that is.” She says to Nik. It doesn’t take the man long to connect the dots.

“I’d’ve given some money to catch a glimpse of spit-shined Raines in this disaster.”

“Enough!” The vampire groans; finishes clearing up the last of what appears to be an outdoor patio table for the rest of them to prop against. “Unless by some miracle my—admittedly disorganized—attempt at scouring centuries’ worth of documentation in my so-far fruitless pursuit of an identity is the key to vanquishing the threat at hand.

“If so then by all means, continue on!”

It doesn’t help that the awkward silence is broken only when a towering stack of loose papers slides passed the tipping point and collapses somewhere unseen.

“Fuck.”

He accepts his defeat and takes up the chair beside Kathy with a surprising amount of dignity.

But his tirade served more than just a single purpose. It reminds Taylor of why they had to find somewhere to regroup, why it had been necessary in the first place.

You already know how, The Fate had said. And with a surety that had blurred the boundaries of whatever reality they had been in while talking outside of time and space.

Cadence’s mess isn’t the answer.

But someone not-Taylor in the room just might be.

“Vera…”

You already know. And the first thing he sees when he comes back to himself is Vera crying on the curb. That’s not a coincidence. In fact he feels a sharp, almost icy clarity when his train of thought switches tracks.

When he remembers the last time she cried and knows — just knows — that everything going forward isn’t random chance. It’s all meant to be.

Wordlessly they clasp hands. If before they were only doing this together and for Kristin, the same can’t be said now.

Taylor begins with a soft “I’m sorry,” because what he’s going to ask her is hard but there’s no way around it; he tries to be kind because she deserves that much at the very least, “but I’m gonna need you to tell me… tell us, I guess… what exactly you meant when you said you, uh, recognized the bloodwraith.”

Where’s a falling stack of papers when you need one?

Directly following another attack isn’t the best time to ask something that heavy. Everyone’s thinking it, but either lacks the guts or has enough brains not to speak it aloud.

The longer they wait the less time they have. If their minutes in the hourglass aren’t borrowed already.

Taylor can’t imagine the amount of courage it takes for her to share. She’d already been one sneeze away from “no no never mind, I don’t wanna bother you with it, let it go please; for me” back in the apartment. He recalls a brief flash of relief when they were interrupted. Though that didn’t last long given the news.

He’s there, you know, if she wants a hand to hold. Hesitates that hand over her shoulder as he watches the woman close in on herself… and lets it fall.

By the time she’s ready Cadence has ducked out and returns with a tray of water glasses and steaming mugs of fragrant teas. Three sleeves of soda crackers once abandoned are now their equivalent of a replenishing snack after a long journey.

All of it a little too mundane for the conversation at hand.

Vera gives herself a few shaky breaths — and begins.

“You ever been to one’a those big family reunions; the kind where you don’t know more than half’a the people showin’ up but it’s a birthday or a funeral or the like and you don’t really have a say in the matter?”

Literal crickets.

Even when she looks at Cal for backup he shakes his head and offers a shrug as an apology. “The Pack may be big but we’re tight. It’s impossible not to know someone, even if it ain’t a face but a scent.”

“But we can imagine.” Katherine makes a ‘continue’ gesture without bothering to mask the haste. “Keep going.”

Vera does.

“You’re wrong there, Kathy. No’ne who ain’t born a Reimonenq can really get what happens when you get more than a dozen’a us in the same room. All with the same blood in our veins but any opportunity to marry out the family, to change the name with somethin’ more bindin’ than just a court order — they take it.

“Last one I went to was ma Mémé’s funeral. Nawlins funerals, you know how they are —” only this time Taylor’s the sole sore thumb but no one stops to explain, “— and since she ran the Reimonenq Clan everyone who once carried the name or could have done was bound by duty to attend.”

Wistful memory clouds her eyes for a long moment. Whatever memory it is can’t be a happy one, not by the tick in her brow. “Met my uncle for the first time there. I didn’ even know Momma had any siblings — and here come up walkin’ two. They could’a been any random strangers on the street but they were huggin’ me and tellin’ me about seein’ me as a baby and…”

Katherine makes a not-so-subtle noise and shifts in her chair until it squeaks loud enough for Cal to flinch. It’s her chair, bears her name. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

Before she can say anything Cadence tactfully intervenes.

“So sorry about that; the chair drowned Kathy out. I could be wrong — but I think she was about to ask the relevance of this story and the wraith.”

Vera nods with a startling lack of apology. “If I could skirt around it I would. But every way I’ve thought about… about how I felt when I looked it in the eyes? This is the only way I can make it make sense.”

“It’s okay Vee,” says Taylor, “say what you have to.” And if he doesn’t mind her taking her time because it gets him a better chance of reading her inside, of understanding not just the words on her lips but the ones on her soul, he definitely isn’t going to mention it.

“I could see that they were my blood. Hell they were the spittin’ image of Ton—of Momma before she took over ma Mémé’s operations. The shady… smoky kind. But I didn’t know ‘em. I was five weeks away from my move to New York—I didn’t want to know ‘em.”

“Did they have the…?” She looks at Ryder sharply, watches him mime his hands without rhyme or reason. Her nostrils flare in anger.

“No. Turns out the Reimonenq Curse is a picky lit’le thing; picks the first born — or the only born, in my case. I got why she didn’t keep in contact when I found that out.

“I didn’ know why it bugged me s’a much until later. ‘Cause I just couldn’t give rhyme or reason to how I could see so much’a myself in stranger’s eyes.”

A hush falls over the group. Within it — an understanding. No longer with the need to ask Vera to tie her story together because she’s actually a lot more intuitive than even Taylor previously gave her credit for.

And now those tears of hers — always justified, always — they’re more than that. They’re understood.

Vera had looked into the eyes of the bloodwraith. What she had seen was far worse than simple familiarity.

She’d seen a part of herself in the rotting void of its skull. Recognized something hereditary in scraps of rotting flesh stuck in the gaps between its mouthful of fanged teeth.

And she’s still fucking standing, she’s still sane?

Not that there was any competition but Vera Reimonenq was definitely just crowned the strongest of them all in a landslide victory.

She gives them each individual looks. As if daring any of them to try and play Devil’s advocate. But why would they? You don’t fake something that soul-crushingly awful.

“There’s more.”

Cal kicks back on the floor with a groan. “Any chance there isn’t?” He’s the only one who could get away with it though.

“I wish that were the case. I’d been tryin’ to find the right time to bring it up — turns out it just needed to be brought up for me.”

I’m sorry, says way Taylor pulls her in for a one-armed hug.

It ain’t your fault, replies the last weary quirk of her lips.

“I ain’t the only one.”

“Tonya,” supplies Cadence, and Vera’s wobbling bottom lip breaks all their hearts in unison.

“Yeah—Yeah Momma she… she felt it too. I could see it in her eyes. She won’t spare it a thought but I don’ believe in coincidences anymore. She an’ I both feelin’ the way we did, then that thing’s touch takin’ away her Curse —”

“Mary Mother of Christ!”

The vampire stands so fast his chair goes flying into a stack of boxes — lucky for them all whatever contents are heavy enough to stay standing.

At first Katherine looks worried beside him, though it dulls quickly into exasperation. “Folks and faes I give you the Drama King…”

“Not the bloody time.” The look in those ruby eyes is almost manic — just like they had been when Cade had tried infodumping on them at the Shift. Only this might be slightly more relevant — hopefully.

“Care to share?” Cal drawls.

Cadence pays him no mind; focuses only on Vera and gets her attention in turn. There’s almost anticipation in the way he whispers, “You figured it out, didn’t you?”

“Well I wasn’t sure — not until now. You knew him?”

“I had the misfortune.”

“And you were… around when the Coven retaliated.”

“Like I said,” he wipes the lenses of his glasses with such convenient timing he could only be avoiding meeting her eyes, “I had the misfortune.”

It isn’t long after that they realize no one else is even close to catching up to them. A silent back and forth emerges Cadence as the lucky soul burdened with explanation.

“We’ve been so focused on the what of the bloodwraith,” there’s no possible way he knows what stack to dig through, it has to be a diversion to remove himself from the heart of the matter; doesn’t stop him from nudging Nik aside and rifling through an open filing cabinet, “what it is, what it seeks, what it can do.”

Nik grumbles at Taylor’s side. “And that ain’t important?”

“No no — it is. But it… it gave us tunnel vision. Made us docile; we stopped asking questions. Aha —”

Cadence pries free a packet; the contents of which Taylor can’t see even if he squints.

But the text must not matter because he focuses instead on a carefully cut newspaper article attached to the front. The same old paper as his news spread on the war — ink the same faded black.

He can barely look at it, though. Offers it to Kathy’s awaiting hand. “The fire was too great not to make the paper. Carlo personally ensured the cause of the blaze was covered up but no one could keep the deaths quiet. The city only knew three young women perished — not that they were the Garden Coven’s newest blooded witches. And because that fact needed to be concealed at all costs… there were no consequences for him to face.”

“For who to face?” Taylor’s afraid to ask but someone’s gotta do it.

Vera’s voice cracks when she answers.

“My ancestor — Derek Reimonenq. The Bloody Hand.”

“And the tortured soul the Coven used to bind the bloodwraith to this world.”

#nightbound #vera reimonenq #choices nb #playchoices fic #nik ryder x mc #cal lowell #katherine nightbound #oc: cadence smith #nik ryder #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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mugetsupipefox · 5 years ago

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RotG Secret Santa 2019

For @apropoptosis for @rotgsecretsanta! Happy holidays!

I didn’t really understand any of the AUs you requested, but I did my best!

-AU where Pitch is a cryptid, and Jack has made it his sworn duty to hunt him down-

Jack is halfway through packing when he hears the telltale creak of the floorboards outside his room. He immediately knows who it is by the sounds of deliberately quiet footsteps, as if the source is trying to be stealthy, but that’s kind of an impossible task when you’re a man as big as Nicholas St. North. Still, Jack grants him mercy and pretends he doesn’t notice, instead shoving Jamie’s cryptid book into his backpack, and then checking to make sure the batteries in the torch are still good. It might be worth bringing some spares, he thinks, just in case.

In the corner of his eye, North loiters in the doorway. He’s given up all pretences of being unheard after seeing that Jack’s lamp is still on. He looks at Jack, then to the pile of things scattered on his bed, and then to the backpack.

“You are not sleeping,” he observes.

Jack doesn’t bother to hold back his smile as he shoves his power-bank into one of the front pockets – you never know when your phone is going to mysteriously die, after all. “I’m aware.”

North makes that face he does when he’s trying to be Authoritative™, and Jack is being deliberately uncooperative. “Is nearly midnight.”

Jack doesn’t have a bedtime – and it’s one of the better things about living with North; the guy gives him room to breathe, and in return Jack does his best not to disappoint him (because there is literally no worse punishment than having North look at you with his Disappointed Face). Still, he’s normally at least starting to settle down around now, and North’s confusion is to be expected.

That doesn’t stop Jack from continuing to be uncooperative. “Yep,” he tugs the zip closed and slings the bag over his shoulder.

North narrows his eyes suspiciously, and takes in the rest of the room. His eyes land on the pile of laundry on the chair – yet to be put away – and the framed photo of the sister Jack only half remembers on the desk.

“You are not running away,” he concludes, sounding confused.

The thought is enough to put a grimace on Jack’s face. He’s been in and out of foster homes since he was fourteen, and run away from nearly all of them at least once. He’d long since given up hope of regaining anything close to what he’d lost by the time North took him in. And it’s not perfect – not when Jack is trying to compare it to an idealised life he can’t even remember – but he’s long since decided North and his... unusual group of friends are the only family he’ll ever need again. The very idea that he would take it all for granted and run away from the best thing to ever happen to him is absurd.

“And give up Phil’s cooking? Absolutely not,” he says instead of any of this. Because even after a year of living here, he’s still not very good at showing North just how much he means to him. He’s pretty sure North knows anyway, given the soft look that settles on his face.

“Jack,” North says, exasperated and entirely fond, “what are you doing?”

Jack snatches a long, hooked stick from its place against the wall. He’s had it for as long as he can remember. He leans it casually against his shoulder, and grins. “I’m gonna hunt down the Bogeyman.”

North stares at him. Blinks. Stares some more. Some convoluted series of expressions crosses his face before he settles on a frown. “Bogeyman is not real.” It comes out sounding like a question.

But Jack, who has been spending entirely too much time with Jamie, is prepared for this response. “Can you prove it?”

North raises a challenging brow. “Can you?”

Jack pointedly jostles his bag and holds up his phone in his free hand. “Not yet.”

North crosses his arms. He will have to be appeased if Jack doesn’t want to climb out the window – he has completely blocked off the doorway. “How do you intend to get this proof?”

Jack shrugs. “He’s supposed to live in the woods. So I’m going to the woods.”

“In middle of night?”

“Well I don’t think he’s gonna be around during the day, right?”

“You are not going into woods by yourself in middle of night,” North says in his Dad Voice™. And normally it’s enough to make Jack give in, since he rarely uses it and when he does it’s for sensible things like ‘No you cannot burn your homework in backyard we have fireplace’ or ‘No you can’t just go around with knife in shoe you might stab yourself, here I made you holster’.

But Jack has spent all week sharing conspiracy theories with Jamie and he Will Not Be Stopped.

“I’m not going alone,” Jack says, and holds out a hand.

Baby Tooth (Tooth’s ‘pet’ hummingbird, so called because she dotes on her like an actual child) flutters over to land in his hair. He’s bird-sitting, since Tooth has a dental conference or some equally nerdy dental thing going on, and couldn’t take BT on the plane. He’s pretty sure she wouldn’t want him taking her into the woods in the middle of the night to hunt down a monster but eh. What Tooth doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

“Baby Tooth is coming. Right, BT?”

Baby Tooth chirps and fluffs her feathers. Jack decides that’s a yes.

“Jack,” North starts.

“If you’re so sure the Bogeyman isn’t real, then there’s nothing to worry about, right?” There aren’t even wolves in these woods. The worst thing he might run into besides the Bogeyman is a tree.

North very obviously wants to say no. He also very obviously knows that if he does Jack will just sneak out later. “What if Katherine-?”

“Katherine,” Jack counters, “who has a thesis to write?” She’d honestly probably say yes if he asked, and would even drag her best friend along for the ride. The only person in town who likes stories as much if not more than Jamie is Katherine. But she is also super busy with college, and the last thing she needs right now is her foster brother dragging her out into the woods chasing cryptids.

North has no comeback for that one.

“Come on, North,” Jack does not whine. “You know I’ll be fine.” He’s spent several months at a time living on the streets – a fugitive hiding from social services. He knows how to handle himself, and when to pick a fight or run.

“Is not point,” North sighs, because it’s not. It’s probably something to do with responsible parenting or whatever. “If you can find adult to go with you, I will give permission.”

Ah, a compromise. Well, Jack supposes, he can work with this. He quickly opens his contacts on his phone and starts scrolling.

Tooth? No. Dentist thing.

Bunny? Absolutely not. Probably asleep right and will literally kill him if he wakes him up.

Phil? No. Phil is with the Fun Police.

North himself? No, as much as North would probably enjoy it. He’s got that big landscaping project due in a few days, and also has about as much stealth as a landslide.

Sandy?

Oh.

Yes.

Sandy.

The little guy is the quietest person Jack knows. He doesn’t even talk, communicating solely in sign language (which Jack is slowly learning), and emojis. He’s got a mischievous streak to rival Jack’s, and, just for bonus points, Jack is, like, 90% sure the guy is nocturnal.

He quickly shoots off a text.

Jack: Hey, Sandman! Wanna hunt the Bogeyman with me? I’ll bring snacks!

He gets a reply nearly instantly: a thumbs up, and a bunch of emoji faces that tell the story of a man who is very excited for a midnight stroll through the woods. Or maybe just excited for snacks. It’s hard to say.

Jack flips the phone around victoriously so North can see the screen. “Sandy’s coming.”

North deflates in reluctant acceptance, and steps aside so the doorway is clear. “Alright,” he concedes. “Be careful. Call if you get lost.”

They both know that won’t happen. No one knows the Burgess woods as well as Jack does. Still, he appreciates the sentiment, and promises anyway.

Sandy meets him out front ten minutes later. Standing under the streetlight in his bright yellow jumper, he looks like a very tiny star. For a moment, Jack is worried that the way he almost seems to glow will tip off any potential Bogeyman they find, but the fear proves unfounded when Sandy steps out of the light and fades to a dull mustard. He waves excitedly as Jack crosses the grass to him, and then they’re off, walking the short distance from North’s place to the edge of the woods.

They pause at the tree line. Jack gently coaxes Baby Tooth to his shoulder so he can flip his hood up over his white hair, and Sandy takes the opportunity to fish through the backpack. He pulls out a blueberry muffin and starts happily munching away on it.

“Okay, Sandy,” Jack flicks the torch on and shines it between the trees. All he sees are more rows of trees. “Here’s the plan: most of the rumours say he’s supposed to be somewhere beyond the lake, so that’s where we’re going. Keep an eye out for anything out of place. Jamie said that Pippa heard that he lives in a hole in the ground under a rotting bed frame.”

Sandy takes another bite of his muffin and nods.

“You ready?” Jack holds out his phone. “You’re on camera duty.”

Sandy looks up at him, and his expression grows very serious. He quickly finishes the last few bites, wipes his hands on his pants, and takes the phone. Together, they step into the woods.

It’s much darker under the trees; the canopy blocks out almost all of the moonlight. It’s pretty much exactly how Jack hoped it’d be – the darker it is, he reasons, the more likely they are to find the Bogeyman.

The whole thing has been the favourite topic among the kids for weeks. Jack’s heard every variation of the story so far, mostly because Jamie is a walking encyclopaedia of cryptid facts, and Jack has always been an enabler of weird behaviour. For the most part, though, they share three simple facts:

1. The Bogeyman is a tall humanoid monster

2. The Bogeyman lives deep in the woods (usually under a rotting bed frame)

3. The Bogeyman eats kids’ fear

It was really no surprise when ‘Bogeyman’ became everyone’s favourite game. But Jamie isn’t satisfied with just playing pretend, not when there’s a possibility that these rumours are based in fact. And since Jamie can’t go running around in the woods at night, Jack will just have to do it for him.

Somewhere to their left, a stick cracks. Jack swings the torch beam towards the sound, illuminating a patch of grass. There’s no sign of anything that could have made the noise. Baby Tooth hunches, and chirps softly.

‘Maybe a rabbit?’ Sandy signs.

Jack eyes the darkness for any movement. ‘Too loud,’ he replies clumsily, not wanting to talk aloud and give themselves away more than the torchlight already does.

There’s another snap somewhere behind them, followed by rustling leaves. Jack and Sandy spin around, but again there’s nothing to find.

Sandy frowns. ‘A hare?’

No, Jack thinks. Something that loud has to be a lot bigger than a hare. But maybe they’re just a little jumpy. Maybe it’s nothing.

Famous last words, he thinks.

Still, there’s no point standing around wasting time. Whatever that noise was, they can’t see it, so they might as well keep going. He gestures for them to continue, and Sandy moves into step with him.

They head further in. It gets impossibly darker. Eventually, Jack can barely see a few metres ahead, even with the torchlight. The sound of unseen movement follows them the whole time, and for every disturbed bush and broken stick, Jack feels himself become more on-edge. There’s anticipation in the air, so strong that even Baby Tooth is not immune, retreating further into the folds of his hood for safety.

Then, finally, he spots something.

They’ve reached a small clearing, lined with rocks and shrubs and dotted with patches of grass. Despite being freed from the canopy’s shelter, it’s almost darker here than the deepest part of the woods. But what really catches Jack’s attention is the half-destroyed wooden bed-frame right in the centre. And under it, he can just see what could be a hole.

“Sandy,” he whispers urgently. He’d better be filming this!

There’s no response from Sandy. Jack glances back over his shoulder in case he simply missed the movement.

The torch dies.

Baby Tooth presses herself against Jack’s neck. He can feel the rapid beating of her tiny heart.

“It’s okay,” he reassures her. He smacks the torch against his palm, but the batteries are completely dead. “Don’t worry, I brought spares.”

He swings the backpack around to his front, and feels for the zip to the pocket where he stashed the extra batteries.

“Sandy,” he calls again, fumbling with the latch over the battery compartment on the torch. “Sandy? You there?”

There’s still no response; no shifting feet, no tap on Jack’s arm to let him know he’s still there.

“Sandy?”

Nothing. Sandy isn’t there. Have they gotten separated? How?

He finally slots the new batteries into place, and flicks the torch back on. It doesn’t work.

“Come on,” Jack complains, gritting his teeth and rapidly switching the torch on and off. These are brand new batteries! They should be working! “When did my life become a horror cliché?”

“Lost?”

Jack freezes. He doesn’t recognise the voice – soft, and smooth like velvet – but he knows it’s not Sandy. A voice in the back of his mind says, ‘There’s one more cliché for you’. He ignores it, rapidly darting his gaze from one patch of shadow to the next. But the voice echoed, and he can’t pinpoint the source.

“Who’s there?” he calls warily. The hair on the back of his neck stands up. Baby Tooth makes a distressed noise, and he idly raises a hand to soothe her.

The ever-present heavy footfalls that have been following them seem to pick up in number, coming from all sides, but at best all Jack can see are dark blobs, definitely not humanoid in shape. Laboured breathing, like from a horse, fills the clearing.

“Haven’t you heard what happens to children who get lost in the woods?” the voice responds, ignoring Jack’s question.

He whips his head around to where he thinks it’s coming from. At the edge of the trees, one large blob is closer than the rest, and beside it is what looks like the silhouette of a human. Only taller.

Jack tries the torch again. It still refuses to work. Where the hell is Sandy? “I’m not lost,” he says.

“No,” muses the voice. “But your friend is.”

“I guess it’s a good thing he’s not a kid, then.”

The voice hums contemplatively.

Jack’s every instinct is telling him to run. And yeah, okay, maybe coming here was a bad idea. But this is the closest he’s come to a discovery and he’s not about to quit now.

“Who are you?” he tries again.

Their tone turns sharp, maliciously teasing. “Who do you think I am?”

Jack takes in the restless shadows around him, the unnatural lack of light, the bed frame he only got a few seconds to look at, the way his torch still refuses to function. “Honestly, I’m kinda hoping you’re the Bogeyman.”

There’s a pause, then a confused, “You’re... hoping?”

Jack shrugs, regardless that it probably can’t be seen. “I mean, that is the whole reason I came out here.” He squints at the figure’s silhouette, trying to make out any features besides ‘tall’. “So... are you?”

“Do I look like the Bogeyman?” the voice asks, sounding exasperated.

As if on cue, the torch flickers back to life.

Jack wastes no time aiming it in the figure’s direction. It’s a man. Tall, dressed entirely in black so dark he almost seems to blend into the shadows. His skin is so pale it looks grey, as if it’s been years since he’s seen any direct sunlight. The only colour on him at all are his eyes; a bright gold that almost appears to glow.

“Ah, damn,” he mutters. “Just a malnourished goth.” And he had his hopes up and everything.

He turns the torch to the space beside him, and with no small amount of confusion discovers that there’s nothing there. In fact, all of the shadows are gone now that the torch is working. Had he simply imagined them?

The man looks insulted. “I am not a goth.”

Jack gives him a once-over. “If you say so,” he says disbelievingly. “Who are you, then?”

The man sneers at him, and steps back into the darkness dramatically. “Pitch Black,” once again his voice echoes. “The Nightmare King.”

“Ex-theatre kid,” Jack rolls his eyes.

“Some call me a monster,” the voice whispers in his ear. And then, from further back in the trees, “A Bogeyman.”

Ah. So the stories really were based in fact, just super inflated into something fantastical. Their exciting Bogeyman is just some random theatre goth who likes to hang out in the woods. That’s... a little disappointing, actually.

“You’re not very afraid,” the man says, sounding disgruntled and stepping out of the shadows to Jack’s right.

Jack turns lazily in his direction. “Of you? Nah. I’ve lived with people scarier than you.”

The man appraises him, and his expression is once again all sharp eyes and teeth. And wow, his teeth are actually sharp. Maybe he should see a dentist about that. He could ask Tooth.

“No, you’re not afraid of me,” he drawls, amusement returning to his tone. “But you are afraid of something.” He disappears again. “You’re afraid of being abandoned again. Afraid that the new life you’ve built for yourself will come tumbling down around you like so many pieces of a broken dream.”

Jack tenses. How does this guy know anything about that?

“After all,” the voice continues, coming from everywhere at once, “it’s happened before. It’s happening again right now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack grounds out.

“Oh? Didn’t you come here with a friend?”

“That’s different.” It is. They just lost sight of each other, is all. Sandy didn’t abandon him. Wouldn’t abandon him.

“Is it?” the man asks softly, once again standing in the shadows front of him. He reaches out, one impossibly cold hand wrapping around the one Jack is using to hold the torch. Jack finds himself unable to move as the torch is switched off. The man leans forward, whispering. “You’d best run home, Jack. While you still have a home to run to.”

Jack frantically steps backwards, switching the torch back on the second he feels the stranger’s hand release him. The light is almost blinding, and he’s forced to squint as he waves it around, searching for where the man has gone now. There’s no sign of him.

Something grabs his hoodie. Jack yanks it back, nearly dropping the torch in how quickly he points it at the cause, heart leaping into his throat.

Sandy steps back with a wince, one hand raised to shield his eyes, the other still holding Jack’s phone.

“Sandy!” Jack heaves a sigh of relief. “Where did you go?!”

Sandy is watching him worriedly. He signs so quickly that Jack only catches bits and pieces of it, but he thinks he gets the gist. Sandy had somehow lost sight of him, and has been looking for the last fifteen minutes, and is Jack okay?

“I’m fine,” he says, although he’s not quite sure it’s true. He’s feeling a little rattled, actually.

‘Did you find anything?’ Sandy asks.

Jack glances back over his shoulder, but there’s nothing to see but vegetation. Even the hole in the ground and the bed frame he was so sure he saw is now gone. “Sort of. There was a really creepy goth here a minute ago, but I wouldn’t exactly call him Bogeyman material.” Even if he did know WAY more than made any kind of sense.

Sandy does not look at all relieved by this. He’s quick to insist they head back, and suddenly feeling very tired, Jack doesn’t fight him on it.

As they leave the clearing, Jack resists the urge to look back.

He doesn’t see the glowing eyes staring after them.

#rotgsecretsanta2019 #rotg #fic #this ended up way longer than intended but hey that's not a bad thing

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dreadlock-detective · 6 years ago

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All of my 5th ed D&D characters together, by order of appearance: Adi the Paladin (Crimson Crow Campaign), Beatrice the Monk/Cleric, Cirilisa the Wizard, Dindelion the Sorceress, Elenor the Ranger/Wizard, and Adi the Cleric (Curse of Strahd Campaign) (yes that’s A B C D E, and then A again)

My characters tend to have rather large issues that would, if they were left on their own without their respective groups/getting caught up in the campaign, ensure they’d never actually succeed in their goals. As such I’ve really enjoyed distilling each of them down to a single word, an essence of what lays behind their entire psyches. And they’re all bad. Yes, even “Justice”, due to the circumstances~ Ramble about each of them after the cut~

Adi the Paladin (of the Crimson Crows) is a bit of a special case, the only one whose impediment to their success isn’t strictly speaking herself. The child of nobles who collected ancient artifacts, it is said one day they lost themselves to madness. Adi was taken in by her aunt and uncle who raised her the best she could, but as she grew they found she too was prone to bouts of madness and hysteria. One day, when the man they had hired to exercise whatever demons lay upon her mind was found upon the floor, the girl bloodying his face with her fists, she was deemed incurable and quietly shipped away to join a peace-keeping force of ex-criminals and other undesirables known as the Crimson Crows.

She always thought of herself as a hero - a warrior of good and bringer of justice. The problem lays in that she was, originally, a warlock/barbarian of a Great Old One (Nyarlathotep), which warped how she saw the world to fit how she saw herself. For example, if she killed someone, it’s because that person deserved to be killed - if not for the reasons she was attacking them, then for something else. A self proclaimed Hero of the People who’s powers came from something far more likely to destroy the world, manipulating her towards its goals.

She had a rather happy ending, though - some of the other PC’s betrayed her trust and managed to sever her connection to Nyarlathotep, afterward she became a Paladin and through the power of friendship (with a colony of Mind Flayers - its a weird story) she managed to become the hero she always thought she was, ending a war with minimal bloodshed and bringing down an ancient evil.

Beatrice the Monk/Cleric of Death The young Bea, in a desperate attempt to save her clan from a powerful and deceptive mage, ended up selling her soul to a litch, turning her into a pseudo-undead herself. As it turns out, her clan who hunted the undead as abominations and mislead by the mage didn’t take kindly to that story, and she joined the Crimson Crows instead of facing their wrath. Faced with the knowledge that she had become the thing she had sworn to destroy to save those that now cast her out, she lost hope that she could ever reclaim her soul and, even among her new family of misfits, feared they would abandon her as well.

Sadly, she never got an end to her story - she got switched out for Adi when the campaign Adi was originally in was abruptly abandoned. Later on her and her wizard friend (another PC who had left the game) who both were hunting that evil mage found themselves mind-controlled into helping him resurrect an ancient draco-litch. She was saved by Adi & co, but now was worse off than ever, having played a pivotal role in bringing back a terrible undead horror, no matter how unwillingly. If we ever play another campaign in that world, I’d love to give her a proper story.

Cirilisa the Wizard Oh precious Ciri, the littlest Drow~ When a rival house murdered her entire family she became a young murder hobo in the underdark, growing up sickly and frail. Eventually she attempted to get her revenge but only managed to steal and sell some artifact from the family, along with getting a massive scar across her midsection from a blast from the family’s matriarch. Somehow escaping to the surface, her unconscious body was found by scouts of the Crimson Crows, who brought her back to relative health and gave her a new home, where she eventually set herself on becoming a moderately accomplished wizard. Her loss in childhood had deadened her already drow heart, but living among the surface world she saw so many people with so many emotions. She didn’t understand them, but she secretly coveted what they had.

I had planned that she would start to fall in love with the first PC that went out of their way to protect or help her from a serious problem - a plan that was designed to end poorly. The three candidates were a loner dwarf who didn’t want anything to do with anyone else, a were-bear orc who was 100% gay, and a minotaur who was already in a committed relationship. But even though the feelings wouldn’t be returned, she would FEEL things and grow as a character... well...

I didn’t expect that character (the orc) to protect her from drow assassins who nearly managed to kill her... and then THE NEXT NIGHT sacrifice his soul to a revenant of a man he had killed to protect the party. Before Ciri even had a chance to start acknowledging or understanding what she was feeling the object of her affections was dead and buried along the roadside. Instead of love, she grew bitter and angry, desperate to find a way to save the orc’s soul, all without really knowing why. She died before she could - her heart ripped from her chest by a wraith of vampiric spirits in a climatic boss battle. But that group’s leader, a PC vampire named Walter, destroyed the wraith, took it’s title and powers as Blood Lord, and raised her as a vampire. She’s still a ball of piss and vinegar, but she’s in a way found herself in a new family, charging herself with constantly keeping the Blood Lord in check and making sure he never gets too full of himself.

Dindelion the Sorceress If you don’t know about Dindel you haven’t been following me long. A homeless vagabond who hides her natural born ability to heal others for fear it would be exploited, she’s internalized many negative things about herself and rarely trusts herself to make decisions that won’t end in disaster. Add in a mother that disappeared when she was young, a drunkard gambler of a father, and a city decades in decline full of poverty and abuse by those in power and she’s got more than a few trust issues for other folks as well. She also has absolutely no idea how a healthy relationship is supposed to work, and a head full of stories and romance that have absolutely not lined up with her experiences since the campaign started.

Her father, the only constant in her life and the other half of a fairly unhealthy co-dependent relationship, got taken away by essentially the mob for not paying debts and it’s up to her to find some way to pay it off. To her great luck, she ran in to the wandering soldier Vale who, apparently wanting to make up for past sins, agrees to take her along to join a new venture he heard about, leading to the campaign proper. She was actually specifically designed to have too many trust issues to actually get in a relationship with anyone, but between how Vale cares for her and how absolutely shitty she’s found the outside world to be, those issues have actually mutated into something new as their romance has grown. Its... not any healthier a mental state though. I’m excited to see where it goes!

Elenor the Ranger/Wizard Elena was once a promising apprentice wizard, learning the weave with 4 other students. Always feeling a step above the others and not content with how slowly their teacher was progressing them, she devised a plan to work with the others to impress their teacher - to show her they were ready for bigger things. They were going to summon a creature from the planes of hell! Specifically, a Lemure, a relatively harmless blob of a twisted soul. An impressive feat and without much risk from the creature being summoned. Definitely within the capability of someone as great as her.

As sharp chains lashed out from the summoning circle her left arm was torn away. A great beast emerged, tossing her across the room. As she looked up she saw her rival, a young man named Osvaldo, brandishing an axe, standing over her, and looking quite pleased with himself. And the axe came down.

She would come to in a crypt standing near a coffin bearing the family crest of Osvaldo. Her body stiff and her mind cloudy, she slowly realized she had not survived that night at all - she was now a reanimated corpse, but had somehow regained her sense of self. She also found the nearby townspeople did not care enough to distinguish between mindless undead and herself. Eventually she found the place she had once studied - destroyed, some time ago it seems, by that night’s events. Lost and adrift, the life she once knew was over, even her memories were fragmented, but she would forever remember the names of the four who had done this. Osvaldo had convinced them to change the ritual - to summon that creature, and to use it to kill her. She was certain of it. And that hatred kept her going as years of nothingness passed her by. One day she was hired by a tunnel elf, a professed seeker of knowledge, as a guide through the wilderness and though she could not stand him they soon encountered others, mostly strange folk - a tabaxi, a triton, and a snake-like dragonborn in particular - and she stuck around to entertain herself.

Little did she know they were about to be pulled into saving the world from consumption by a forgotten and terrible deity. She thinks their chances aren’t even worth mentioning, but still she cannot allow existence to end before she has wrought what vengeance she can on those that wronged her, and so she will fight with everything she has to keep the world going.

Adi the Cleric of Nyarlathotep As Adi of the Crimson Crows discovered as she worked with the mind flayers, she was not the only Adi. Not even close. Hers was a soul connected to a power outside of time and space and finds itself drawn into worlds over and over, each incarnation as much the same as they are different. Perhaps the Crawling Chaos did not want to repeat what had happened before, maybe it was just twisted curiosity, but this iteration of the girl was born through his direct influence, raised in a town he had visited and driven mad. She was his disciple, and she would spread his teachings across the land.

Through a series of misunderstandings she has found herself in the land of Ravenloft, under the watchful eyes of the vampire Strahd, and in this land she came upon a terrible, bewitched house. A house with paintings of the owners and of a woman bearing a striking resemblance to her. A house where the ghostly children said their littlest sister was named Adi. The child had died in infancy, sacrificed in some dark ritual by its father.

And down in the depths of that place Adi found it was the truth. And there, along the alter, sat a book bound in human skin that called to her. A book of rituals devoted to her god, the Faceless Father. And there, upon the alter, she left the corpse of one of those who had traveled with her, who had brought her there.

She isn’t certain why the Faceless Father has guided her to this land, but she will carry out his will or die trying, though all things considered, perhaps the world would be better off with her in the ground, the cult’s voice silenced

#Dungeons and Dragons #D&D #Dnd #5e #characters #Adi #Beatrice #Ciri #Cirilisa #Dindel #Elena #Paladin #Monk #Cleric #Wizard #Sorcerer #Ranger #dreadlock detective

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koolkvat-blog · 6 years ago

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hello loves , what’s up ! i’m super excited to be here & to finally play my precious girl , jade aka kool kat . i’m LOLA , use she / her prounouns , i am NINETEEN , & i am currently in the gmt + 1 timezone which means yes , my ass should’ve been awake for intro posting but i don’t know what time management is and ended up swamped w/ work , so ! everything you need to know about about miss kat is under the cut , & i’m rlly thrilled to be apart of such a wonderful rp with such gorgeous muses . corniness over –– if you’re looking to plot sumn out , just hit that ♥︎ & i’ll make my way on over to ur dms , or feel free to add me up on discord which i’ll give in im’s if anybody’s interested ! ♡♡♡ tw : family issues , body image issues & drug mention ( not explicit ) .

001 . SYNOPSIS . FULL NAME . jade kikuchi . NICKNAMES . kool kat . AGE . twenty - one . DATE OF BIRTH . twenty - seventh of september , 1993 / libra . PLACE OF BIRTH . harajuku , tokyo , japan . GENDER . cisgender female . SEXUALITY . ( closeted ) pansexual . NATIONALITY . japanese , now american too after successfully gaining citizenship . ETHNICITY . asian . OCCUPATION . fashion designer at katz designz , former fashion design and journalist student back in her original timeline . PLAYLIST . here ! ( + ) charismatic , enthusiastic , warm , energetic , adventurous , compassionate , animated . ( - ) deceptive , independent , emotional , territorial , ambitious , impulsive , temperamental , insecure , sarcastic .

002 . AESTHETIC . wheatgrass smoothies , 90′s anime with subtitles , chanel no. 5, speeding on a desert road with the windows down , painting your toenails on the dashboard , neon prints , cat lazing on a balcony in the sun , black lace , japanese horror films , sour cocktails with sugar around the rim , half - smoked cigarettes , stacks of fashion magazines , long hair hastily dyed different colours in a motel bathroom , thrift stores .

003. INFORMATION .

tl;dr : a flighty, inattentive adventurer: a follower of whims; personable and sociable but lacks the skills to maintain relationships because she’s entirely (and perhaps too) career focused, checks her horoscope daily and entirely relies on the stars when concerning relationships, epitome of a britney spears / gwen stefani stan back in the 2000′s, still owns a (bedazzled) flip phone, collector of vintage fashion (chanel, elle, juicy couture etc.) a subscriber to the Leonardo Da Vinci sleeping method; catch her at 2 am making soufflés or buying plane tickets to shiwei so she can really experience the culture: will tell you she loves you ten minutes after first introduction because she’s high: kind of unintentionally insensitive to those she doesn’t know and closed off but in like a cool, lovable way.

• heads up im running on like 5 hrs sleep so sry when this inevitably derails ! ok sweet let’s get into this .

• so as aforementioned this is jade kukichi, aka, kool kat. she was dubbed that by her friends due to her unique fashion style and sense of dress, and it’s stuck. lbr nobody other than her friends can use that term so if you do, she’s just going to stare at u for a quick sec before saying ‘it’s jade’.

• born in harajuku, tokyo to a cardiothoracic surgeon of a father and a politician of a mother, jade grew up traveling the world and becoming flighty af, never thinking she was going to make long - term friends and kinda being okay with that.

• her family has never stayed in one place for very long, though her aging parents eventually settled into a permanent residence in the us around the time she turned sixteen, not soon enough for jade to break the habit of wandering, but thankfully quick enough for her to meet the bratz girls who were just as adventurous and fun - loving as she. she's spent much of her teen life jumping from place to place wherever her interests are that moment, collecting people along the way, but to find friends was the only thing she was missing. jade has a brilliant mind, but she lacks patience and follow through. she needs guidance or she'll jump from idea to idea, job to job, whim to whim.

• ngl, jade pretty much hated her home life. her parents were an overbearing presence in her life, her mother wanting jade to be a proper lady who also went into a profession like theirs (entirely serious and stifling when it came to creativity, doctor, politician, lawyer etc.) while jade herself wanted to check out the latest trends and go to the mall w her friends – so she turned all of her focus and energy into getting good grades in everything she wanted to do in the hopes that she could be the most successful fashion designer, then leaving town forever.

• like she spent 7 yrs in high school graduating w honours but she barely knew what was happening in 9/10 of her classes and sometimes she just slept through classes and then wing her exams which she miraculously did well at. it was just not a good idea to send jade to a public school at 11 after being in boarding school for the rest of her life and then never really enforce any rules :~\ she has trouble with that kind of thing.. as in making logical choices instead of saying "YEAH lets go watch american psycho and smoke weed!" skipping chemistry to do just that

• she loves fun and values doing what makes her happy over most things. it's hard to pin her down and she spends most of her life chasing after ideas that don't really follow any sort of conscious order, bc she’s really got that ‘i’ve got dreams and i’m gonna do everything in my power to achieve them’ personality.

• according to bratz canon she’s worked as literally everything ? she’s one of those insufferable people who r just. good everything ig and that’s just how it is on this bitch of an earth. jade’s been a photographer, a song - writer and bass player in a rock band (shout out to bratz rock angelz the best movie w the best soundtrack ever), a student studying fashion design, a fashion columnist, a quickly fired nanny, and many other things in between.

• so when she appears in toonsville she’s kind of out of it that she’s not doing something w her skills and sets up her own business which she loves ? being her own boss suits her fine (for now) because she’s got a Real Job and she's actually trying rly hard so she can fulfill her dreams !! like suck it mom nd dad haha !!!

• jade has a lot of weird feelings TM about her body and her looks and struggles a lot with her self confidence :~( she had a shit time at school with boys saying she was too thin and she compensated by acting like she didn't like anyone at all for a while and now she thinks she isn't good enough for anyone when rly she is a cinnamon bun too good for this world too pure

• best friend ever she is so good at being a friend if u text her at 3am to go out or cry on her shoulder shes ready to go at 3:15 even if she was sleeping w lots of snacks and treats and love!!! she is sooo extroverted around those she’s comfortable w, she gains so much energy from being around people and she loves being nice and being around ppl she likes

• she becomes the mom of groups pretty easily (hence why she’s the leader of the bratz) bc she bottles up most of her own problems to help ppl with theirs!! which is toxic yea but she puts people first always so !! plz help her poor repressed soul!! rip kool kat..

• still super into the stuff of her time so like.. she loves the x files and bad reality tv shows (i want to be a hilton) and reads gossip magazines on the reg because she enjoys that stuff! also very into girl groups.. ginger spice / posh spice is an eternal mood.

• anyway yes sweet adult-child of 21 (she is in denial about that tho like she doesn't want to be childish) who is v nice v kind v loyal v baked a lot of time, v passionate v silly. idk what i'm doin hope u like it < 3

004. WANTED CONNECTIONS .

friends / best friends / ride or dies . jade genuinely loves people, loves talking to strangers and getting into intense conversations with people she’s only just met, learning other people’s way of life and bettering herself for getting. she is, however, incredibly blunt and has never once minced words to keep from hurting someone’s feelings or to ease them into a situation. she’d much rather have a one-time conversation with a stranger than make long lasting relationships. she has three very close friends – to the point of co - dependence – and honestly, she’d rather spend all of her time doing things she loves such as her hobbies, sticking her nose into the latest vogue, or searching for cute collars and treats for her cat mica w them instead of making new friends. she's also FUN and she'd be happy to go on crazy road trips or buy out a movie theater for a day or anything that she thinks will her buds happy. she's traveled all over, so she’s v well read and cultured. she loves people but she hates complication and won't deal with any sort of emotional labor. she wants to live in the moment and expects everyone in her life to do so as well. just be chill, y'all.

frenemies / enemies / rivals . please be her enemy, she needs people to antagonize shdhshd. she grew up pretty much affluent so she’s pretty spoiled even if she doesn’t want to admit it, and that rebellious side of her hasn’t died down yet. despite the fact that she is wealthy and in good community standing, she has a hard time letting go of childish grudges. in general she’s got a lot of suppressed feelings and ready to fight everyone who hurts her friends – like an irritated cat – so, honestly, come at her ? she is sometimes a little fickle and flighty and a unintentionally stuck up when it comes to art / fashion and she has definitely said the wrong thing at the wrong time and pissed the wrong people off, she can’t stand anyone underestimating her or thinking she’s dumb bc she’s interested in fashion. like gtfo !

ex’s , fwb’s , possible love interests . jade is fairly fluid romantically and is the type of person who hates labels but also just wants to be cherished and called cute pet names lowkey. she loves a lot and gives a lot to her relationships, but typically doesn't want to commit to anything important. she’s gone from one disastrous relationship to another, ending up with a boyfriend who constantly ridiculed her image that was essentially the catalyst for her cutting off romantic ties, quite a recent wound before she found herself on the island actually. worst thing is tht she’s convinced herself that she’s been the problem in these relationships – that she turns good people bad or that she is too much for people to deal with, she’s not sure what the issue is and she doesn’t really want to know. so…. fuck everything amirite ? anyway, she’s a strong independent woman who don’t need no (wo)man.

etc . pls give me people jade can give a makeover to, people she shares an apartment w on the island, people who think fashion is girly and vapid.. creatives who love what she’s doing, anything tbh << 3

#cartoons:intro #ngl making jade's playlist was the best part about this

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snarky-badger · 6 years ago

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Prompt: Reader has a shitty relationship with reality. Weird crap happens to them and things that shouldn’t happen do. Sometimes they will go missing out of the blue do it it and just show up a couple weeks later. They usually carry around a recorder with them so they can show people they aren’t insane but they forget it and go missing for a bit before coming back. Eddie/Venom FREAK the fuck out.

This is my second attempt at this, as tumblr deleted the first draft I wrote! Grr. Still, it was fun to write! Kinda more Eddie and less Venom.

Your life was weird. Which was to say, you and reality had apparently met and broken up with no chance at reconciliation.

It had started when you were eight. Now, keep in mind, you’d been born in the eighties, so it was high weirdness to suddenly be in possession of a computer the size of your hand.

You’d been playing when something had just popped out of nowhere, bouncing off your head before clattering to the ground. A little dazed, you’d picked it up and discovered that it was something called an iPhone 8. You’d played with it for hours before it had simply vanished out of your hands, leaving an odd chill and a very baffled you behind.

Things had only gotten more complicated from there.

More things appeared and vanished around you, sometimes little things, like keys or books, sometimes big things, like your parent’s minivan.

When you were twelve, you’d vanished from school. Literally. Your parents had gone insane. Search parties were sent out, Amber Alert’s announced, police canvased the entire neighbourhood. When you’d reappeared a week later, your parents had ignored your tale of meeting Robin Hood and grounded you for running away and making up stories.

Your childhood and adolescence was peppered with disappearances, your parents believing that you were a liar and a runaway, and you had suffered through numerous trips to various hospitals because of the ‘tales’ you told.

You’d started bringing a tape recorder with you to film your adventures when you were fourteen. Over time, you upgraded to camcorder, then your smartphone, and finally a hidden camera that you could bring wherever you ended up. You had images and videos saved that surpassed any CG movie out there.

It was odd, you realized, that when you ‘popped’ into new worlds, that no one there thought twice of your sudden appearance. You just blended in with whatever timeline or universe you’d slid into, as if you were supposed to be there in the first place. You’d seen dinosaurs, broke bread with dragon-slayers, saved dragons from dragon-slayers, visited far off worlds and even alternate universes just a smidgen different from your own.

It continued on until you were old enough to move out. Sure, you still vanished from time to time, visiting odd and strange places, but it was fun for you. New experiences and new adventures. The hell with your doubting parents. This was your life and you embraced it.

You’d been chased by a feathered T-Rex, nearly gotten run over by a horse drawn carriage that belonged to Sherlock Holmes - the older one not the hot one - shared mead with Hobbits, gunned down zombies, met aliens - not the probing kind - gotten bitten by a chupacabra, encountered a rather irritated Dalek that had also popped out of his universe, hell, you’d even met Captian Picard of the USS Enterprise!

Things became more complicated when you started dating.You’d originally sworn off dating because of the trouble presented when you slipped out of your universe, but Eddie Brock had been sweet and handsome and with a sparkling wit and down to earth charm that had made turning him down impossible.

You imagined he’d expected you to freak out when, a month into dating, he’d confided in you that he was bonded to an alien symbiote and that he moonlighted as Venom most nights.

You’d seen a lot of weird shit by then, so you’d merely shrugged, shaken Venom’s hand and asked him what he preferred white or dark chocolate cake.

When Eddie had moved in, things got decidedly complicated. You managed to explain your disappearances by saying it was work related, that you had to run off at any time to catch a plane or a train. Thanks to being a veteran of falling out of your dimension into another, you could usually ‘feel’ a slip before it happened.

He’d accepted it with grace - after all, he was Venom. He thought he knew strange.

You were waffling over whether to tell him what was really going on. Had practiced the conversation. Were even willing to let him see what was in the mystically locked chest at the foot of your bed.

It was filled with keepsakes from your journeys: A sword made of enchanted glass from Skyrim, a computer pad you’d stolen from the Enterprise, bits of shells from a dinosaur egg, the Hope Diamond, a Venom comic-book - that was going to take some explanation - an ‘Arum’ from the Elite home world from the Halo universe, a pile of gems and coins from Smaug himself - you’d popped out of that world before getting charbroiled - a feather as long as your arm from a Roc, a working phaser, three seashells, several sets of armor and ancient clothing, a Lightsaber you’d stolen from one baffled Anakin Skywalker before he’d gone batty, and an emerald the size of your fist - you hoped Sonic had made due without it.

You’d actually been trying to work up the nerve to talk to Eddie after a date, on the walk home, when you’d literally popped out of existence.

Shit.

You reappeared in the middle of a fight between a rag tag group of people and something called a ‘dracolich’. Which was a fancy word for ‘skeleton dragon’.

By then, you were rather used to appearing in the middle of a crisis, so you’d taken up a sword and joined the fight. By the time the undead dragon was properly dead - thanks to one of the group that had turned out to be a necromancer - you’d pretty much ingratiated yourself to the group, and no one questioned where you’d appeared from.

You spent a month with them, fulfilling quests, getting drunk at taverns, and being rewarded by kings and peasants both. You had enough gold coins to pay for your apartment for the next fifty years. Your new friends, the necromancer, a draconian, an archer and a sorceress made you the honorary ‘knight’ of the group, even chipping in to buy you a set of armor tailored to you.

It was while your friends were at a brothel - you may have been in a different universe but you did have a boyfriend back home, hence the ‘no brothel’ rule for you - that things went sideways again. You popped, appearing in the middle of a conference at the UN where there were lizards instead of people, waved, then popped again, reappearing in San Francisco.

This wouldn’t have been such a bad thing had you not been decked out in full armor, armed with numerous knives and a broadsword. The fact that you’d appeared in the middle of a wedding just made things more complicated.

You managed to weave a spiel about trying out your ‘costume’ for the next Comic Con before making a run for it.

Hoping that Eddie was still around somewhere, you trudged home, incurring various stunned looks as you went. Ignored them with long practice, even when you got on the elevator and had to ride to the top floor next to a women with two children.

Lacking a key, you merely kicked your front door in, freezing in the doorway when you spotted a very confused Eddie on your couch. He was obviously in the middle of working on a new article - papers and notebooks were scattered around him haphazardly.

“Um…. hi?” You even wiggled your fingers at him in a little wave, armor glinting in the light from the windows.

Everything went flying - laptop included, ouch - when he realized who you were. He crossed the apartment in a run before wrapping you up in a crushing embrace.

“You’re alive!”

The stark relief in his voice made you wither a little, and you lamely stayed silent, blinking up at him when he pushed you back and held you at arms length.

“Where have you been?! We searched the entire City for you! Twice! Thought you’d been kidnapped or worse–”

You rose a hand to place your fingers against his mouth when his voice cracked, the tears in his eyes making a pit open up in your stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have told you. This just…. happens, sometimes. Well, a lot of the time. I can’t control it. Usually I can feel it before it happens, but this time I didn’t have any warning and–”

“This has happened before?”

You winced a little and pulled away, walking past him and into the apartment. Waited until he’d closed the door before speaking again. “Weird things have been happening to me since I was eight. Things would pop in and out of existence around me, things that we’re from my time or our world. They’d always vanish again eventually…. When I was twelve I vanished for a week, met Robin Hood, he taught me how to shoot a bow–”

The look of disbelief on Eddie’s face made you growl. “See that? That right there. That’s why I don’t tell people. My parents had me admitted to psych wards because I trusted them. You know what electro-shock therapy is? It ain’t fun! But this shit happens to me, all the time. And you, Venom, are not the poster child for normality, so quit lookin’ at me like that!”

He winced at bit at that, then sighed and walked over to you. “Okay. Okay, we’re sorry, this just sounds….”

“Insane. I’m aware. I’m also aware that since aliens exist and that there are mutants running around and a guy in New York called ‘Spider-Man’, that this isn’t the weirdest thing in this reality.”

“Point.”

“Damn right ‘point’,” you muttered angrily, huffing as you headed for your bedroom. “There’s also the fact that I’m not stupid enough to say these things without some goddamn proof. So, c’mere.”

Grumbling a little, you stomped over to the locked chest at the foot of your bed, shoving clothes off of it before raising your thumb to your mouth and biting into the meat of it. Eddie made a noise of complaint at the sight, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Needs blood given without duress to open,” you explained as you pressed your thumb to the lock, grinning at his look of shock when the combination lock spun crazily, five numbers clicking into place before the three heavy latches popped open. “Got this thing from a wizard when I turned twenty. Best security I ever invested in.”

The flabbergasted look on Eddie’s face was almost worth it when you started pulling things out and laying them on the bed, explaining what each and every one of them were and where you’d gotten them from. His eyes got bigger and bigger with every keepsake you pulled out, right up until you pulled out the Venom comic and thrust it into his face.

“Bet you were wondering why I was so chill when you told me about the symbiote, huh? I already knew about it.”

“This can’t be real,” left him in a whisper as he took the comic and flipped through it. The symbiote that was masquerading as his shirt visibly undulated, a tendril extending to poke at the comic, as if to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination.

“Oh, it is real buster. There’s a reality where practically every weird ass thing in this world is just a bunch of stories. Spider-Man, Magneto, Wolverine, fuck, the entire X-Men School - comic-books. Every single one. There’s a universe where Batman is real, another where the galaxy nearly got it’s metaphorical balls handed to it by monstrosities called ‘Reapers’, another where crab-people try to overthrow governments. Trust me, I have seen some weird shit.“

“You never told anyone?”

“The people I did tell had me committed,” you reminded him. “I learned to keep this kinda shit to myself. I wanted to tell you. I did. But…. Well, the amount of people who have flipped out on me and left is kinda a hundred percent. I have videos, and they still didn’t believe me.”

Eddie shook his head a little, still looking stunned. “We believe you. It’s impossible not to. We’re holding the story of our own history in our hands.”

“Sorry about that. Kinda had to go for the shock value.” You paused, hesitant. “You really believe me?”

The wary hope in your voice made him walk over to you and wrap you up in a hug, leaning his forehead against yours. “You’re very convincing.”

“And the symbiote?”

“Glad to have our morsel back.” Eddie blinked a little, then cleared his throat as the symbiote released control of his voice. “We’re relieved you’re alright. We mourned you. We’ve spent the past month trying to find you.”

“This’ll happen again,” you warned him softly. “I can’t control it. I wish I could, but I can’t. And I don’t have control about how long I stay away. Could be a week, could be a month….”

“But you’ll come back? Eventually?”

“Always do.”

“Promise to come home to us?”

You smiled. “Hun, if you can put up with the insanity that is my life, you’re practically stuck with me.”

“Good,” he murmured before kissing you, and you shivered happily as you kissed him back. “Now, show us how that Lightsaber works.”

#snarky is writing #filled prompt #venom x reader #reader x venom #venom #eddie brock x reader #reader x eddie brock

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hannahharrington · 6 years ago

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CRYING IN EUROPE (postcards from italy)

I struggled with whether or not to post this; I still am, honestly, because it is very raw in every sense. This is something I wrote a year-minus-two-weeks-ago, holed up in an AirBNB in Rome, about losing my good friend Jaymee and the bizarreness of having the best and worst time of your life simultaneously. I did not look at it ever again until a few days ago. It wasn’t written to share with anyone, only because I needed to put thoughts down at the time. Any editing has been very minimal.

The last section I wrote yesterday.

CRYING IN EUROPE (postcards from italy)

1. The first time is on the first day. I land at Heathrow only to find out the express train isn’t running because of the snowstorm and the tube is beyond fucked. I nearly cry out of frustration and jet lag exhaustion but I don’t. I end up emerging from Shepherd’s Bush Market half a mile from the hotel and have to drag my suitcase through blustery snow that whips me so hard in the face it makes tears leak out of the corners of my eyes.

2. The second time is the next morning, five minutes after I first find out you’re dead. I guess the first five minutes are a mix of me just having woken up, an hour before my alarm, still on New York time as I scroll idly through my phone messages only to see it blowing up with the news; and maybe shock can be used as an excuse, even though we all knew it was coming.

3. Over the Hilton London Kensington breakfast buffet for Hilton Honors Members. I’m telling Barry how I was supposed to see you before it happened. My voice cracks and eyes overflow with tears, and I’m apologizing and Barry is being so kind about it even though I can tell he’s not really sure what to do or say, which is okay because I don’t know either. It occurs to me later that in all the years we’ve known each other, this is the first time I’ve ever cried in front of him.

You said you were terminal, and released to home hospice care, and I told you I would fly to California if you wanted and read you mean celebrity blog comment sections, like how I did for you when you visited me in Brooklyn (I’ll never forget how we laughed until we cried like middle schoolers at a sleepover). I followed your lead in trying to blunt reality with a joke because that’s what you always did. The last thing you posted on any social media was a repost of our Facebook “Friendaversary”, saying how you were due for another one of my dramatic readings. I was going to buy a plane ticket when I got back from this trip. I was supposed to be there.

4. The first cigarette I smoke.

5. And the second, all while thinking about how terrible a person I am for smoking because you hated it and hated having cancer and hated that I would do something that could make me sick. You wanted me to stop, and if this were a movie I’d quit on the spot. But it isn’t and so instead I stand chain-smoking and hating myself.

6. In the shower.

7. We go see the Hamilton matinee hours after we find out, and it’s the cruelest twist of fate, experiencing this thing you loved so deeply and brought into my life and that we shared together. You’re the reason I saw it with everyone else at the matinee Obama attended. I lost the lottery, the lone one of all of us without a way in, and I was feeling a little sorry for myself and about to leave. I went to say goodbye to you, and immediately you pulled your Jaymee magic and got me a ticket at the literal last minute. And it really did feel like magic.

When you first saw it at the Public, I tried the lottery and lost, and I joked for you to go on without me, to die a million happy deaths. You said if I were being mugged and you were the only one who could save me, you’d still make me wait until after the show. I know if I skipped it you’d literally come back to life and kick my ass. But that doesn’t seem like a bad deal. I’d never see Hamilton again, I’d burn all of my playbills, even the one from the off-Broadway run I got signed by the original cast at the stage door. I’d tear the donut bag in half, the one we joked about being good luck, the one I had Lin-Manuel Miranda autograph. I’d do all of that if it gave me five more minutes with you.

I keep my shit together more or less until the second act. When Hamilton pleads to Washington with Why do we have to say goodbye?, I start crying and don’t stop until curtain call.

8. Right before I left on this trip, I threw together a playlist for my phone. The last song I added was Eva Cassidy’s cover of “Fields of Gold”, thinking it’d be pretty background soundtrack for train rides through lush, rolling Italian countryside. A year ago I went down one of my weird little Internet research rabbit holes and read all about Eva, her melanoma, how she died and her last performance, and wondered why there hadn’t been a movie made about that particular beautiful tragedy. After Hamilton I tell Barry I feel better, like it was an emotional release, but then the next afternoon we go to a pastry café and they play a jazz standard cover of “Fields of Gold” over the speakers and my chest seizes.

9. Friday night we’re supposed to meet up with Jen for dinner before she flies back to Philly. I’m sick to my stomach in the cab ride over to her hotel, and when we get to her room I drop my purse and hug her and don’t let go. That thing happens where I’m trying not to cry and it makes me cry harder and I can feel Jen crying too. We sit and Jen and Danielle talk about their travels and the whole time I feel on the verge of throwing up. Finally I say we need to talk about you, about what we’re going to do. Jen says June told her sometimes in Filipino culture they ask for donations for the family instead of flowers, so she’s not sure what’s preferred. I don’t know why I was expecting Jen to have more information, something to make me feel better, but nothing she tells me does. I take one of the Ativans my mom gave me for the plane ride because I can’t calm down. You said they gave you Ativan at the end. You said it helped. It helps me too.

I excuse myself from their room and get lost in the dimly lit maze of their hotel, until finally I find a side exit to the courtyard, and I light a cigarette and text my mom, who happens to be around. I try calling, but this stupid SIM card I got won’t let me connect to the US, so I wait until I’m back at the hotel and Barry is out at his show. The instructions to dial out don’t tell me the overseas rates, but I call my mom anyway, and spend twenty minutes on the phone with her sobbing like a child.

When we check out of the hotel, I’ll find out the call cost me over a hundred pounds, which probably with the obscene exchange rates approximates to three hundred dollars. I rationalize that’s what I would have paid out of pocket for an emergency therapy session anyway.

10. I find your aunt on Facebook and ask her what the family wants done. An hour later she messages me back to say flowers would be lovely. Your mother is beside herself with grief, she says. You were her best friend, she says.

It feels better to be doing something, to feel productive, so I make it my mission to organize the flowers for your memorial. The whole next day between sightseeing at Kensington Palace I’m looking up florists in San Mateo, figuring out who wants to contribute, making sure everyone is included. Bridget agrees to place the order. It’s midnight my time when I run downstairs for a smoke. Bridget and I are trading texts, trying to figure out what to write on the card. I’m not a writer, she says. You should do it, she says. I start crying because I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. When I go to head back into the hotel, a British girl with blue hair sees me wiping at my eyes. She calls me love and asks if I’m okay. I’ve been in New York too long; my own public meltdowns don’t even embarrass me anymore. I’ve forgotten that the rest of the world doesn’t politely ignore you when you’re losing your shit on the sidewalk. I know how I must look, crying messily in my pajamas, walking around like an open wound just bleeding over everything.

I try to stop the tears long enough to assure her I’m fine, really, and when I stumble out the words that a friend of mine just passed away, she grabs me in a hug before the words finish getting out. She’s so nice that it makes me cry even more and I let her convince me to take the free cigarette she offers. She tells me she’s here with her gay husband and I joke through tears that I’m here with mine too. We stand and talk about Camden Market and the magic of New York at Christmastime, and when she’s satisfied I’m not a suicide risk she adds me as a friend on Facebook.

11. Things feel different in Venice. I start to feel like maybe I’ve hit the bottom of this, it’s only up from here, and even as I’m thinking it I know it’s delusional. I had the same feeling when my dad died, and I learned then that grief is not linear. There can be moments where it’s all temporarily bearable, only for a fresh wave of pain to knock you flat on your ass a minute later.

But for most of Venice I feel lighter, like the darkest clouds of the storm have passed. We get lost in the labyrinth of alleyways and eventually I duck into a Murano glass shop. Back in January when I went to Fort Myers, I took an Uber from the airport, and for the first time ever I had a woman driver. During the drive to the beach somehow the subject of this trip came up. I mentioned I’d be in Venice, and she told me how her day job was at an art gallery. They made jewelry from Murano glass, a Venetian technique. She made me promise to seek it out when I went.

The shop has all kinds of figurines, and in the back corner I discover these thimble-sized cows. Cows were your thing. Not just thing—borderline obsession. I still don’t know what it is about them you loved so much, but you did. When I was in Amsterdam I passed by an actual Cow Museum, snapped a photo of the storefront and sent it to you. You couldn’t believe I didn’t go inside. Now I’m here in Venice, looking at these little cows and thinking of you, and of course I have to get them. I scoop four of them into my palm and go to the cashier and whatever part of my heart that’s been healing over gets ripped open raw again. My throat burns too much for me to manage anything more than a cursory grazie as I watch him bundle them delicately in bubble wrap. It almost feels selfish to hurt this much, when there are people in this world who loved you longer and harder and better than I did. But I do.

12. In Florence Barry and I split up for the day. He runs off to the Duomo while I visit the Ambrogio market, the one the owner of our B&B tells me is for locals. I pick up random ingredients for my mother, whose burgeoning interest in the culinary arts still baffles me considering I subsisted on almost nothing but microwave dinners as a child, and two sweaters for myself.

I’m back at our apartment-sized suite, arranging the packaged pasta and sun-dried tomatoes on the wooden table for an Instagram photo when I click some random button that takes me to my inbox.

There’s only one message in there and I realize it’s from you, from over two years ago. I click to see it’s a video taken in Marie’s Crisis. Some pitch perfect soprano sings bars from an unrecognizable show tune at the piano, and then you turn the camera to yourself, bobbing your head along with a coy smile. I can’t believe it. I click out accidentally and have to Google for instructions on how to find it again. The video is only fifteen seconds but I watch it ten times in a row and then put my head down on the table and cry until it hurts.

13. Bucket list items have a greater sense of urgency now than they used to. At the last minute I find a woman who agrees to take me to a horse farm in Tuscany. She meets me at the Piazza Cavalleggeri behind one of Florence’s countless gorgeous ancient basilicas and takes me to meet her business partner so he can drive. He’s an old guy who speaks zero English, and it becomes evident when he climbs into the driver’s seat that he has Tourette’s. Every ten seconds his tic makes him jerk the steering wheel so the whole car swerves. We lurch our way up narrow roads that wind up huge hills, endless greenery on all sides, the woman chattering happily about vineyards and olive trees as I brace myself in the backseat, positive the guy is going to tic us right into oncoming traffic and certain death. It rains on the way there, and the woman worries it’ll be too wet to ride, but sure enough we arrive and the sky clears up just long enough for me and two other American girls to go for an hour-long trek. It’s been ten years since I’ve been on a horse, and I’m nervous about it, but the second I’m in the saddle everything comes back to me. We ride through steep hills, surrounded by the kind of scenery that’s beyond picturesque. It’s so gorgeous it doesn’t look real, like an oil painting. For the first time in days I feel a weightless kind of happiness. I know as it’s happening that this is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

When the woman drops me back off in Florence, I trip over myself thanking her profusely, holding back tears because I don’t want to explain that that was maybe the most beautiful experience of my life and I’m so grateful that for three hours the Jaymee is dead, Jaymee is dead, Jaymee is dead track stopped spinning in my head.

14. Rome is a welcome change of pace. I like big, bustling, metropolitan cities; they make me feel comfortable. Safe. Even just through glimpses out the taxi window I can see Rome is bursting at the seams, vibrant and colorful and a startling clash of ancient and modern. Our driver asks where we’re from and I say New York. He laughs and tells us he doesn’t like America, but he likes New York.

On a tour of the Vatican museums, our guide shares all the juicy stories of how Raphael and Michelangelo loathed each other, and the illicit love between Antinous and Hadrian, and we marvel at the frescos on every wall and the breathtaking scope of the Sistine Chapel and the inside of St. Peter’s basilica.

I was skeptical as I always am of anything to do with organized religion, but you liked the new Pope. You thought he was progressive, refreshing. You’d joke all the time about your “Jesus problems”, how you struggled to reconcile your Catholicism with your personal politics.

Afterward Barry scurries off to scale the bell tower. I ask our guide if there’s anywhere in the basilica to light candles, like how you can do in St. Patrick’s. She tells me it’s not allowed—it’s too much of a hazard, especially after a crazy man declared himself the second coming of Jesus and attacked Michelangelo’s Pietà with a hammer, chipping off fifteen pieces in the mayhem, including Mary’s nose.

Instead of waiting for Barry outside in the square I retreat back into St. Peter’s, to the closed off chapel. The guard asks me if I will be praying. It forces me to confront what I’m really planning to do, and after a heartbeat of hesitation I stutter out a yes, slip through the parted curtains to the pews. I’ve never prayed in my life; I have no idea how to do it. I look to see how others around me kneel and try to imitate the stance, hands folded in front of me, knees against the padded rest. It all feels clumsy and awkward until suddenly it doesn’t. Suddenly I’m just crying. I watch my thick tears plop onto concrete and absently wonder how many people before me have spilled salt on these floors. Probably a lot.

I don’t know how to pray. In my head I’m just screaming please forgive me, and I don’t know if I’m saying it to God or to you. I guess I know now what Catholic guilt feels like.

I should’ve been there. I should’ve brought Schmackary’s cookies and the good luck donut bag and flown out to California and seen you. Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was? Why did you have to make your yes a joke? (A quip about doctor’s orders, it comes as no surprise you embraced the gallows humor.) Why couldn’t you be earnest? Why couldn’t just say I need you right now, I don’t have much time, please be here? Did you even know? Because I swear I didn’t. I thought I could wait. I thought you had more time. None of it fucking matters because I can’t forgive myself, not ever.

…And that’s it. That’s where I stopped writing. I didn’t cry on European soil again after that. Not because the last cry was cathartic or healing; it wasn’t. The healing would come later, long after my plane touched down again in New York. It happened in ways I can’t explain, slowly, until one day the thought of you didn’t automatically bring me to the brink of tears or knock the wind from me like a sucker punch to the gut, where the tenderness of loving memory ran parallel with the heartbreak rather than being subsumed by it. Eventually the day came where I could think of you and how you were and what we shared, not only of the ways I failed you. A year later and I still think of those too, sometimes. And there are still tears, sometimes.

I feel like I always had this idea that you go through The Worst Thing and life just evens out after that. My Worst Thing happened when I was in my teenage years and I was supposed to be in the clear afterwards. But life doesn’t work that way. There’s no plateau, no neat ever after. And every so often we break in ways where yes, you can scrape the pieces together and carry on, but you’re never made whole again. You’re never the person you used to be. You become a new version of yourself, mismatched and full of jagged lines, and you find a way to forge ahead.

In the immediate soul-crushing wake of the 2016 election, someone created a Subway Therapy project in the tunnel of the 14th Avenue station that stretches from Sixth to Seventh. I went to see it then, a modern day marvel: the long tiled wall papered with thousands of bright post-its, each full of encouragement and commiseration from fellow grief-sick New Yorkers. The sight was a life preserver in the sea of misery I’d floated in that entire week. I was not alone in the feeling, however singularly devastating it felt.

Countless others have been here. I am not the only one to have shed my tears on ancient chapel floors, unable to imagine I would ever feel okay again. Experts painstakingly restored the Pietà after the attack, but if you were to find your way behind the bulletproof glass and touch the Virgin Mary’s cheek, you would still feel hairline traces of their work, a difference of texture; if you were to peer close enough, you would see the faint lines on marble that belie its pristine repair. It was broken once. It could not be remade exactly as it was. It’s no less a masterpiece.

That day in the 14th Street station, I peeled off a blank post-it and wrote out an Abraham Lincoln quote I’d read once: Perfect relief is not possible, except with time. You cannot now realize that you will ever feel better… And yet this is a mistake. You are sure to be happy again.

Time buffers out the rough edges. It is the only thing that does.

#jaymee

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darcyckennedy · 6 years ago

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☆— HEY UPPER EAST SIDERS, SPOTTED: d who looks just like kendall jenner. according to an anonymous source she is perfect contour, wild after parties, & teddy coats to make up for a lack of cuddles. she was last caught listening to miss you by louis tomlinson. the cisfemale is from the upper east side and attended constance billard. DARCY COX KENNEDY still lives in the city at twenty three and is currently a socialite & philanthropist. let’s see what she is going to do next. xoxo, gossip girl. ( admin tamia. nineteen. est. she/her. )

WOW okay, hi there ! i’m tamia, the admin of the group...can i just say i love you all already for applying and applying with such amazing character’s that i cannot wait to start plotting with. a little about me i guess, i’m a nineteen year old college student who lowkey doesn’t wanna be a college student...the dream is the be an actress but my mom’s all “go to college” “the only way to make something of yourself is through college” so yeah. i’m a part-time waitress at the OG aka olive garden so i make alot of Bread jokes that are really bad, i get them from the guests honestly. but that’s enough about me, let’s get to my lil peanut here who is truly a mess, i apologize in advance for her guys.

darcy was born to two elite heavy weights. her mother, georgina cox, is a american billionaire heiress the great-granddaughter of james m. cox the founder of cox enterprises. her father, john f. kennedy jr, was a american lawyer and the son of president john f. kennedy. yes, she’s a kennedy guys.

one month old. her parents broke up after a six year relationship. staying amicable to co-parent although she mostly lived with her father. staying with her mother a couple days of of the week. as her mother was often off in atlanta, with darcy’s grandmother. it was clear from infancy that she was daddy’s little girl, so the fact that she was with him more only made sense.

one year old. her father and carolyn bessette got married. darcy was the flower girl, and truly adored carolyn. the wedding is one of the few days she vividly remembers with her father.

four years old. her mom decided to bring her down to georgia with her for a family event. her dad and carolyn decided to go out to martha’s vineyard during this time where they inevitably crashed the plane and were lost at sea. she was supposed to be picked up by her father three days after but was instead brought back to manhattan by her aunt caroline.

two months later. her aunt kept what happened to her parents a secret for months, initially telling her they couldn’t leave massachussetts due to bad weather conditions, then they suddenly went to africa for philanthropic work. before she knew it darcy had become a completely different child, starting to project her her anger and fear that her father had abandoned her onto others.

the truth. during this time her mother finally stepped forward, brought darcy on a trip to martha’s vineyard and told her about her father and stepmother’s death. it became clear that the trip was specifically meant for darcy to say goodbye to them at their burial.

the aftermath. darcy was distraught for months, it was hard for a young child to wrap her head around the sole person she had attached to being gone forever. her mom immediately found her a psychiatrist who darcy saw twice a week. instead of moving back in with her aunt she moved in with her mom, the two never got close but her mom was the only person that darcy felt she could trust because she was the only one who told her the truth about her father.

ten years old. her attitude became worse. she had truly turned into the stereotypical ues child. it had become too much for her mother to bear and so darcy moved in with her great uncle ted kennedy at the kennedy compound in cape cod. he was possibly the best thing to ever happen to her, he told her endless stories about her father and grandfather which helped her feel closer to both of them. this was when she really started to grow back into the young women her father would have wanted her to become.

thirteen years old. ted and darcy set up a memorial service for her father, at the same cathedral in washington d.c that her grandfather’s service was held. the whole family was invited and because of this it became extremely publicized but darcy didn’t care, this was meant for her to say a proper goodbye to her father and nothing could ruin that for her.

fourteen years old. her great uncle had been diagnosed��with brain cancer fifteen months prior, she had stayed with him throughout the whole journey, refusing to leave his side, he had become the closest thing to her father over the years that she lived with him. he died at the kennedy compound in the summer and darcy reluctantly had to move back to manhattan and live with her mom. his death affected her nearly as much as her father’s and it’s a death she carries with her everyday.

psychiatric state: upon her return to the ues her mom once again immediately put darcy into counseling a different and more renowned psychiatrist this time. darcy quickly started to feel like her mother stuck her with a psychiatrist so she wouldn’t have to talk to her daughter about everything that’s gone on, her mother instilled this idea that you don’t talk to anyone about your troubles but a psychiatrist, to everyone else you need to come off happy and content with life no matter how hard it gets. her psychiatrist dr. hill has helped her through alot but she still struggles everyday feeling like she’s a victim of the infamous kennedy curse.

return to the ues. darcy’s return to the upper east side was a whirlwind to say the least. she came back right in time four the first day of highschool. it was a big day to say the least as no one expected her arrival. she reuniting with old friends, was swarmed by paparazzi once again, and made new friendships. she was different this time though, poised, friendly, and charismatic unlike the blair waldorf-esque self she was as a child.

constance billard. during school she was very academic. history was possibly her favorite, maybe because her family was apart of it. she participated in debate team and lacrosse, which she became captain of both by her senior year. she graduated constance with a 3.9 gpa and was accepted into columbia, harvard, and brown. she was tempted to attend brown just to feel a bit closer to her dad but decided to opt out of college all together.

socialite & philanthropy. coming out of school she decided to dive head first into some charity work, from working with unicef to the national brain tumor society. by twenty she became a unicef ambassador and started her own foundation, the darcy kennedy foundation, a nonprofit organization focusing on finding better treatments for cancer patients as well as helping children who have lost their parents due to any sort of fatal event. and of course being who she is she’s been paid to attend events, galas, and parties since she was about fifteen years old, a true american socialite lol.

publicity. as much as everyone tried, it was an impossible feet for a kennedy to stay out of the lime light, especially when you’re the daughter of jfk jr. despite the attempts made by her parents and other family members darcy was often spread across magazine covers, and webpages. as she grew older it only seemed to get worse.

personality. today, darcy is kind, caring, and charismatic. she’s the girl who walks around with a resting bitch face but will walk up to you with a bright smile and compliment your head to toe and genuinely mean every word. to piggyback off that she is extremely genuine and because of this she is also rather loyal, if she cares for you, you never have to worry about her doing something to hurt you or that could hurt you int he slightest. she is rather mature due to everything she’s gone through in life and because of this is often the voice of reason, a total mom friend but don’t think for a minute she doesn’t know how to have fun, because darcy can truly be the life of the party and is always down for an adventure; she is loud, witty, and just overall a good time think, imari stuart.

romantic life. when it comes to relationships the girl is a mess. she dated a brooklyn boy during sophomore year, but she never got past the lust phase with him and so she broke things off with him six months later (wanted connection *cough* *cough*). during junior year she started dating a guy who was everything she was looking for in the last, she fell head over heels for him almost immediately, which was really her downfall in the end. he’s broken her heart more times than one, but she can’t seem to let him go even six years later. she’s had hook ups and short lived relationships sprinkled in between while her and sawyer aren’t together but no one compares in her eyes; she’s been with girls, guys, and everyone in between in an attempt to find someone to get her mind off of her ex but nothing works.

fun facts. her first car was a used 1994 saab that was not in style or cool by any means it was her dad so she didn’t car, but now she owns a few cars that could genuinely put most cars to shame lmao (found here), loves all kinds of music and you never want to put her on aux unless you want to listen to a whole lot of classics/throwbacks like queen, frank sinatra, usher, the beatles, and britney spears, she’s slept with leonardo dicaprio (weird flex i know), she moved out when she was 18 and currently lives at 12 east 88th street (found here), if you’re ever looking for her you can probably find her at a bar with a burger in one hand and a glass of sangria in the other, she is 5′10″ and has a tendency of wearing high heeled boots with give her even more height, she’s never done a narcotic a day in her life but will drink anyone and their father under the table, her great-uncle left most of his belongings to his widow but he did leave darcy 50million dollars for her trust fund, while her father left her everything from material assets to 100million dollars that also went to her trust, when she was 18 she was given her trust found including 100million from her mother.

#upper:intro #death tw #cancer tw #« 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥. // become stronger and you wont need an easy life »

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