#charles wasn't as close to her but i still think he'd care

[lemonycranberries]

kinda agry at the last dbd episode, not gonna lie. even if a character is actually alive in some way after going through the "gratuitously killing the sweetheart traumatized character who was finally starting to get the thing they've wanted for years, right when they were so close to making it out alive and getting some happiness and closure" trope IT DOESN'T MAKE ME NOT HATE IT!!!

[intimacyequalsdeath]

heyya!!!... Beautiful💐.

I see requests are currently open, so if you don't mind... can I request a sexy wife s/o who loves to cook and will always make slasher food? And prepare all their needs (you know like a good wife in general🙃),My twin sisters really like their slasher Especially for Bo, Lester, Vincent, Thomas hewitt,Charles Lee Ray and Michael Myers...

Oh, I also think it would be great if they had obedient children with the wife s/o. They know how their father is and they choose not to worry too much about it. Please....I'm sorry if I requested when your requests were closed, but, I've been looking for a blog for a long time whose requests are still open and finally I found your blog 😭.

My twin sister is sick and I want her to be able to read the story you made from my request 🙏.

Love you dear

Thank you so much for the request sweet anon! <3 I hope me deciding to do Headcannons for each story was ok to anon. Sorry this took so long, I worked on it in chunks over the course of a few different days.

Also I hope you sister feels better soon Anon <3 <3

Slashers with a good little wife and good little children: The Sinclairs. Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt and Charles Lee Ray.

Also not my gifs, not of the gifs I use are ever mine and full credit goes to the original creators <3

Notes: Minors DNI, Written with AFAB in mind as per request, suggestive themes. Story under the cut. Request centers around "traditional" wife roles. Talks of pregnancy and children.

<3 : Bo loves the idea of having a good little wife and good little children to boot. He just never thought living in Ambrose and as a man with his hobbies he would get to experience that, until he met you.

<3: You instantly took over cleaning and cooking, even some of the spots in Ambrose no one even went into anymore. You had no idea how the boys had managed to survive so long with living like they were raised in a barn.

<3: Bo also liked how you liked to steer clear of anything having to do with his business and what went on at the gas station.

"it ain't your place" He murmured once into your hair when you asked him about it when the relationship was still relatively new. That was the first and only time he ever had to tell you that.

<3: Bo was thrilled by your want to stay out of his and mind your own that it was surprising when you ultimately fell pregnant after only about a year being in Ambrose. As if he'd let you leave.

<3: Bo let you take care of all the child rearing duties, with him being gone usually all day it was just easier plus the last thing he wants to come home too is crying children after a long day.

<3 As the children grew you had to teach them about what their father and uncles and explain why it would be inappropriate to ask anyone about it. All they needed to know was that they were safe and their daddy loves them.

<3 The sight of you being rounded with HIS baby also does things to Bo, So don't be surprised if he makes it a goal to keep you pregnant as often as possible.

<3 Bo would be a in and out father I think though, not that he means to be he does love the children. His relationship with his own father affects how active he is a lot of the time and since that's the only father figure he has to go off of he doesn't wanna turn out like him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Papa!' The children yelled as they ran through the door of the gas station to their father. You had a free instance of free time so you thought you'd bring them down to bring Bo some lunch.

"There's my babies" Bo said opening his arms to catch all 3 of them up in them. He turned to you poised and ready for the kiss you planted on his lips as you set the basket of food down on the counter.

"We made you lunch papa!" Your youngest girl said as he placed her back on the floor. Bo smiled at her.

"You did now didya?" All three children nodded as you opened the basket and began to explain to Bo what you made him. It wasn't long before your family bubble was interrupted by a car pulling up outside.

Bo's gaze hardened as he turned to look outside the station windows he then turned to you and the kids before barking an order.

"You four need to go on and get back to the house now" He said, The children having been through this before nodded before falling in line behind you to head back home.

"I'll come get ya'll when I'm done" Bo said planting a last kiss to your lips before you waddled out of the gas station, giant pregnant belly and all three little ducklings in tow.

<3 Soft mushy Vincent is soft and mushy.

<3 You are his doting little wife and he is your doting husband. His heart swells every time he sees you coming down into the basement with a plate of food and a drink.

<3 At first he was a bit nervous about you growing board of Ambrose since he wouldn't let you be involved but when he saw you begin to clean literally anything and everything he figured you were alright.

<3 Vincent loves your cooking and it actually helps rouse him out of the basement to come and sit at the table with you and his brothers.

<3 When you fell pregnant the first time, He was stunned. Like truly stunned. He never thought fatherhood more or less being a husband was in the cards for him ever.

<3 To know have both he couldn't believe it. A cute little house wife and a baby he hoped would look just like you.

<3 If the baby isn't twins expect to start trying for a sibling right away. Vincent like his brothers adores the sight of you pregnant with his baby. It awakens a primal instinct inside of him to be the provider and keep you safe at all costs.

<3 Vincent would be afraid that the baby would be afraid of his face or his mask, no matter how many times you assured him other wise he couldn't help but worry.

<3 If the children grow up to question their fathers face or what he does in Ambrose, you and Vincent will tell them the loose truth obviously omitting a lot of detail. At least until their old enough.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Vincent, your her daddy. She'd never be afraid of you" You told him softly, reaching out in an attempt to hand him your daughter.

Ever since she was born Vincent refused to hold her as he didn't wanna scare her off with his mask or his face.

He looked into your eyes as he went to shake his head, before he could though you had shoved your baby into his arms and positioned his hands in the proper places to hold her.

Vincent jumped at your sudden action but was never the less quick to cradle his daughter. He looked down at her once she was settled and when his eyes met hers that matched your perfectly he felt his breath leave his body.

Vincent had never experienced a feeling like this in his entire life and doubted he would ever feel it again. He was head over heels in love with this little human the two of you had made together and from that day he vowed that anyone who tried to come in-between him and his family would have him to answer too.

<3 Lester is used to cooking and cleaning his own space so it takes him awhile to get used to you doing it for him.

<3 He appreciates it greatly but he doesn't fully understand why you would want to clean up behind him like you do though. Like he picks up roadkill all day who would want to smell that?

<3 He doesn't complain about you cooking though, He thinks your food is amazing and it's great to come home to a warm cooked meal every night.

<3 You do so much for him so don't be surprised if Lester comes home every so often with little gifts he's collected for you. Some of them may or may not come from victims but as Lester's good little wifey you never question it, you just press your lips to his and thank him for the thoughtful gift.

<3 When you fall pregnant, again like his brothers, Lester is thrilled. He can't be in the same room as you without running his hands up and down your swollen belly while trying to feel the baby kick.

<3 Lester wants a football team of children, so be prepared to make many renovations to the cabin the two of you share to accommodate all the children.

<3 Lester loves bringing his sons out on the road with him when their old enough and with your permission of course. He'd never let them participate in anything Bo or Vincent do but helping him with roadkill is just fine by him.

<3 If any of the kids ever questions what their uncles do in Ambrose and why Lester doesn't usually want them around it, He'll tell them that it's because of Vincent's delicate projects and that answer is enough for the kids.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Nah sweetpea, you know why you can't go to Ambrose" Lester softly told your son after the fifth time he had asked to go see his uncles. Your son sighed and pouted slightly before speaking.

"I know uncle Vincent's art is easy to break but I promise I won't ruin anything"

"My love, I've told you it's rude to question your father" You piped up from your chair in the living room, running a hand over your slightly swollen belly. "Why don't you go join your brothers outside for a bit before dinner, and stay where we can see you" He gave you a sad look but nodded and went through the front door outside.

"I know the boys love Vinny and Bo, but I just want em to be safe" Lester told you sitting on the arm of your chair and putting a hand over yours sitting on your belly.

"I know Les, but when their older they'll understand why we have rules" You shot him a smile and he gratefully returned it. He was so lucky to get someone so understanding of the "Family Business"

<3 Thomas was raised to be a family man. Luda Mae had always told him growing up that one day he would need to find a wife to continue the Hewitt family with.

<3 Enter you, ending up at the Hewitt farm like so many others, but not meeting the same fate as them.

<3 Thomas would've easily put babies before marriage but Luda Mae insisted that you two do it the traditional way and get married first.

<3 You were quick to win her over with your affinity to help out with cooking and other house chores. Especially when it came to taking care of her darling boy Thomas. She was thrilled he had found someone who loved him so much.

<3 In the Hewitt house hold with Monty and Charlie both breathing down your neck, it's easy to be reminded to leave the mans work to Thomas and just focus on helping Luda with whatever she needs.

<3 When you fall pregnant with the first baby, the whole house hold is thrilled.

<3 Luda, Charlie and Monty all never thought they would see the day that Thomas would continue the Hewitt family tree so it was a very big deal when you fell pregnant with Luda's first grandchild.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Now darlin' you know your not supposed to be doing anything in your state" Luda reprimanded as she walked into the kitchen to see you doing dishes.

"I know mama but laying in bed all day everyday is driving me nuts" You told her drying off a plate you were washing. Luda joined you at the sink grabbing a cup to wash it before handing it to you to dry.

"When I was pregnant with Charlie I almost got driven up a wall myself. Just don't let Tommy see, You'll never hear the end of it" She said giving you a small smile before heading back to the living room.

You stood at the sink and continued to wash until you heard familiar footsteps heading up the basement stairs, you tried to pretend like you weren't washing dishes but it was too late, Tommy was on you in an instant.

"Tommy hun it's ok!" You pleaded as he took the dishes out of your hands and herded you towards a chair. You couldn't help yourself but the laugh of how your giant husband could be turned so soft and attentive with you.

You grabbed Tommy's hands before he made you sit down and placed them onto your rounded belly. His eyes met yours instantly and your foreheads pressed together.

"Tommy we're fine, I promise honey." Tommy looked at you incredulously before rolling his eyes and huffing at you, you laughed. If there was one thing in this world Tommy couldn't say no too it was you.

<3 Now Charles I could see being a bit different. Sure he adores having someone cleaning and cooking since he's out doing what a serial killer does most of the time but when it comes to kids he's a bit hesitant.

<3 He loves that you love to cook for him. It's nice having warm meals to come home too for once, Brownie points if their his favorite foods.

<3 Doesn't so much like when you get on him about tracking blood through the house or getting one too many stains on his clothes.

<3 If you really want a baby start telling him how lonely you are when he leaves for long periods of time to go kill people. He'll give you want you want as long as the baby stays out of his way.

<3 He'll be a good dad though don't get me wrong and he'll love the kid or kids just as much as you but he's a busy guy that's got shit to do so he mainly sees them as your responsibility.

<3 Might get jealous of all your attention going to the baby though, he understands it has too but that doesn't mean he has to be happy about it all the time.

<3 Your never going to be the picture perfect family but for your Charles will try his best to give you and the kids everything you'd ever need.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Charles! what have I told you about tracking blood in the house!" Your voice echoed through the house. You heard a muffled laugh as he rounded the hallway with your 3 month old in his arms.

"Babe I'm sorry, you know I never mean too sometimes it just happens" He said adjusting your bundle of joy in his arms.

"Whaddya think kid should mommy forgive me just this once?" He asked your child you babbled in response.

"You said just this once the last three times chuck" You deadpanned before breaking a smile when he did.

"Just a hazard of the job toots" He laughed, You joined him before your eyes were met with the deep red splotches on the blazer he was wearing.

His eyes followed yours before his froze and turned to walk away with the baby in tow as you yelled out behind him.

"Charles! The blood!"

<3 The only inkling of what a normal family functions like that Michael has ever gotten was from his childhood, and to be honest I think his memories of that are very few and far between.

<3 You want to do what for him? Cook and clean ? why on earth would you want to do that for? Michael is confused.

<3 Though preparing to go out and finding a nice fresh out of the dryer jumpsuit all nice and warm and clean for him is quite nice. Michael thinks this is something he could get used to.

<3 On those late nights where he comes back late and finds plates of dinner wrapped in tinfoil ready for him to either heat up or eat just like that is also something he could get used too. It tastes way better then what he usually eats (Totally not dog, totally not)

<3 When kids get brought up though, it's a different story. I could honestly see him not really being all for it at least not at first.

<3 He's really like Charles but more so into the you can have kids as long as they stay far out of his way.

<3 His feelings towards them also aren't the most parental either. He loves them ? At least, Michael feels an emotion he could probably equate to love about them.

<3 But yeah I think for Michael it's best you just keep the kids clear of him. It's not easy when your father is the shape of Haddonfield.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Welcome home Mike!, your dinner is wrapped up on the counter love" You greeted him as he came home after a night of terrorizing the town. Placing a kiss to the cheek of his mask.

Michael nodded wordlessly, as always, and turned to go into the kitchen. Tonight you had made his favorite, or at least what you only thought was one of his favorites by the way he every so slightly changed reactions every time you made it.

You gave him a second before following him into the kitchen and sitting next to him at the island. You watched as he lifted his mask up for each bite of food before lowering it to chew.

You made the mistake of questioning him once as to why he didn't just take the mask off. It was early on in the relationship and his hand instinctively went to his knife before you even finished asking. That was how you learned it's better to just not ask Michael questions at least not about the mask.

The two of you sat in silence, a routine you repeated pretty much every night unless you were already asleep when he got home. You would spend all day cleaning and making sure everything was ship shape for him then you would greet your monster of a man when he came through your front door.

You were brought out of your thoughts when Michael's plate crashed into the sink and broke into pieces. Michael still didn't understand how to not hold the plate too high and just to sit it in the sink.

Looks like something you'll still have to work on. No one said the shape of Haddonfield was smart when it came to chores anyway.

[zanazirafanfic]

@agoldengalaxy, I wrote a second fic for your prompt yesterday too (surprise!) My brain went off on a more comedic modern-Charthur tangent while I was halfway through the first one, so I ran with it.

Two fics for the price of one! 😁

(I couldn't send two answers to one ask, but the prompt was "🩸patching up a wound with charthur!")

~RDR~

"Charlie, I really think we should go to the hospital and get you checked out."

"No. It's just a little goose-egg, nothing serious."

Arthur frowned, dabbing gently at the gash just above his hairline with a cotton ball dipped in antiseptic. "If you could see the amount of blood in your hair right now, you might disagree."

Charles grimaced. Wonderful. And he had just washed it, too. Or, rather, he'd let Arthur wash it, the man carefully lathering every strand in Charles's favorite tea tree shampoo while the two of them worked themselves into a lather in other, more entertaining ways.

Shower sex wasn't something either of them had a lot of experience with, but they still indulged in it from time to time. And seeing as they'd had a little extra free time this evening, and the combination tub-shower in their new apartment had yet to be properly broken in... well. One thing very predictably led to another.

Everything had been going fine - fantastic, even, in Charles's opinion - until he lifted his foot up onto the soap holder embedded into the wall to try and give Arthur a better angle to work with. Whoever had designed this bathroom evidently never planned for the soap dish having to support the weight of a man his size, because the porcelain lasted all of about three seconds before snapping clean off, sending Charles toppling face-first over the edge of the tub with Arthur - and the shower curtain - close behind. The landing hadn't been gentle.

"Head wounds bleed a lot, you know that."

"Yeah, especially when you nearly brain yourself on a tile floor."

"Arthur," he huffed, glaring up at his husband through the wavy curtain of his still-damp raven locks. "I'm fine. I'm not seeing spots, I'm not dizzy, and I'm not vomiting. It's a cut, not a concussion."

"At least let me call Abigail."

"Hell no, that's even worse!" Charles cried, his voice rising an octave and a half in horror. "If I don't want to tell an ER full of strangers how this happened, what makes you think I want to explain it to your brother's wife?!"

"She's a nurse."

"An obstetric nurse."

"Yeah, and how the hell you think all those kids get made, if not for people doin' exactly what we were doin'? She ain't gonna care, Charles, she sees worse every day."

"Jesus Christ..." Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the hot flush rising higher in his cheeks by the second. "Fine. Call Abigail, if it'll make you feel better. Just... keep the details to a minimum, please?"

Arthur snorted, rolling his eyes. "Nah, I figured I'd regale her with every detail of our sex life just for the hell of it."

Charles didn't bother to dignify that with a response. While Arthur dialed their sister-in-law's number, he went into the bathroom and ducked his head under the faucet, drowning out whatever mortifying things they were undoubtedly discussing in favor of rinsing the worst of the blood from his hair. He wrung it out and patted it dry, then combed and wove it into a loose braid, careful not to pull too hard and risk reopening the gash. After tying it off with his favorite powder-blue satin ribbon, he made his way back to the living room sofa and settled himself on the far end, legs tucked neatly beneath him and phone in hand.

He was still scrolling idly when Arthur walked back in, looking sheepish. "She didn't laugh, for what it's worth. Said you're probably fine, since you ain't dizzy or nauseous, but to bring you in if you get a bad headache or your pupils look weird. Otherwise she said you should just rest and keep the wound clean."

"So, exactly what I already told you," Charles huffed, not looking up from his phone.

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry," Arthur sighed, looping his arms around Charles's neck and pressing a scratchy kiss to his temple. "I was worried, alright? You know how bad I'd feel if you'd really gotten hurt just 'cause I wanted to get my rocks off in the shower?"

"First of all, yes, I understand you were worried. If the situation were reversed, I'd be worried too. But you've got to trust me when I tell you I'm alright. When have I ever not been completely honest with you about that?"

"... Never," Arthur admitted quietly.

"Right. So what makes you think I'd choose tonight to change that? And secondly, don't give yourself so much credit. You weren't the only one enjoying himself in there, cowboy. Considering the circumstances, death by shower wouldn't have been a terrible way to go."

"Not funny."

"I'm the one who almost cracked his skull open, I get to decide if it's funny or not," Charles chuckled, opening more tabs on his phone's web browser. "Now come on, stop stewing and help me narrow these down."

"Narrow what down?" Arthur asked, climbing over the back of the couch and plopping himself down next to Charles with a quiet grunt. "Gettin' another of those fancy collars for Taima?"

"No." He angled the screen to show Arthur the items in his cart. "Next weekend I'm putting in a reinforced soap dish."

[nuria-schnee]

Hi everyone! ❤️ In this week's sneak peek, I bring you a bit of one of Crystal's scenes in the first chapter. She seems to be onto something...

Crystal almost fell asleep in the lift. She’d had to escape a swarm of monstrous iron-stinger wasps and neutralise a poltergeist that night, and Jenny scolding her had been the last thing she needed. Not that she exactly disliked it. She knew it was her way of showing she cared about her well-being. This was the part she hated the most. Facing the door of her flat, getting the keys out of her pocket. It shouldn’t fill her with dread, but it did. She always hesitated for a second before opening the door, fighting against the delusional hope that bloomed under her skin. What Crystal wanted was to open the door and find someone waiting for her inside. To be welcomed by the sight of a warm, cheerful smile, one she couldn't help but miss. Instead, only the silence and the obvious emptiness of her new home welcomed her when she returned. Everything was as she'd left it, and she hated it.

Read the rest of the scene under the cut!

[...] Crystal stepped into the flat, closed the door, and collapsed back against it. Letting out a tired sigh, she closed her eyes and dropped her bag on the floor. She was cold and every part of her body ached after such a long night of running around solving cases. The feeling was gratifying, even if it wasn't physically pleasant. It reminded her for a little while that she wasn't alone, that she had a purpose now. That knowledge kept her sane when she was by herself. Made sleeping much easier, considering how plagued by nightmares and fears her nights were since Niko died. A continued feeling of loneliness had taken roots in her mind, every empty corner of the flat a reflection of it. She hadn't bothered about buying furniture and decorations yet and still hadn't the energy or the time to do it. In the end, she had more important things to take care of at the moment. She breathed in and out, and pushed herself away from the door. Dragging her feet, she crossed the empty living room. Jenny had blamed the boys for her lack of energy and sleep, but they weren’t truly at fault. They weren’t forcing her to come along at night, or asked more than she could take. It was another thing entirely, what had been exhausting her. Because— The most logical thing to do after such a night was collapse on the bed and sleep. And she didn’t do the most logical thing most nights. That flat only had one other room, aside from the bedroom. It was narrow and dark, without windows, probably meant to be a storage room. She liked to think of it as her own private study, her little agency, if only to make it less bleak. She was working on a case of her own, in the end. Her investigation, the process of trial and error, was probably taking longer without the boys’ help. Even so, Crystal couldn’t tell them what she was doing. In fact, what scared her the most was Edwin finding out. Charles might be excited, would want to help, no doubt, and would worry too much, for sure. Edwin, instead— She had got to know him pretty well, in all those months since they’d met, and they still argued and metaphorically head-butted most of the time, but Crystal cared about him. He was her friend, and she wanted to be a good friend to him. So, she was worried Edwin might stop trusting her, or resent her, if this didn’t go well. When they met, she wouldn’t have guessed she’d end up craving his acceptance. Not in a million years. In the security of her mind, she didn’t mind admitting it, since it was the truth. The thought of breaking Edwin’s heart perturbed her greatly. Even if she couldn’t read him, being a ghost and all, she didn’t to. Not to know he had suffered losing Niko more than he’d allowed them to see. He'd busied himself with work, was all day thinking, pondering, trying to find the reason for the influx of missing ghosts' cases that had been flooding the agency. So, it was in brief moments, easy to miss if she didn't pay attention, that she could see the sadness in him. So, for now, this was her secret.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Sacrifices ( Book 2 of 3 BTR Series) a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 30: California Mountain Snake..

Flashback: March 23rd, 2019

Rhea stood outside the back of Vices, the cool night air mingling with the thick smoke of her cigarette. The weight of her conversation with Morris hung heavy on her shoulders. It wasn't the deal that bothered her, not really. She had navigated shady deals before, but this one felt different. Too much risk, too many moving parts.

She needed a moment to think.

She took a long drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs before exhaling slowly. What had she gotten herself into? She wasn't sure if she was ready to go all in with Morris-hell, she wasn't even sure she trusted him. But something in the way he looked at her, the way he'd spoken, made her wonder if stability was worth the cost.

Before she could dwell further on her thoughts, she heard the words that snapped her back to reality.

"Fucking bitch."

Rhea didn't have time to react before she felt a fist collide with her jaw. She staggered back, nearly dropping the cigarette from her hand. The stinging impact of the punch was enough to snap her out of the haze. Her eyes narrowed as she regained her footing, recognizing the person who had just assaulted her. Valerie.

"Valerie, what the hell?" Rhea growled, wiping the blood from her lip.

Without hesitation, Valerie lunged at her again, fury and jealousy radiating from her every move.

Rhea didn't have to think—her body moved instinctively, drawing from grueling training in hapkido from Charles.

As Valerie swung another wild punch, Rhea sidestepped it effortlessly, using her opponent's momentum to her advantage. A sharp palm strike caught Valerie's chest, sending her stumbling back. The anger in Valerie's eyes only seemed to fuel Rhea's precision.

Rhea's foot snapped out in a swift roundhouse kick, connecting squarely with Valerie's side, knocking the wind out of her. Valerie staggered, but before she could recover, Rhea closed the distance between them, flipping her opponent to the ground with a perfect hip toss.

Valerie gasped as she hit the pavement, trying to scramble to her feet, but Rhea was already there.

In a fluid motion, Rhea pinned Valerie's neck to the ground with her foot, applying just enough pressure to make her struggle for breath.

"You think you can take me down?" Rhea hissed, her eyes cold as she looked down at the woman beneath her. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

The words were a warning, but Rhea wasn't done yet.

“Wanna know a fact about the Black Mamba?” Rhea asked, not caring if Valerie answered or not, Rhea pushed her foot deeper into Valerie’s neck as Valerie gasped for air, "The black mamba's venom is highly toxic and the venom is fatal unless antivenom is administered," Rhea continued, her voice steady and calm, a walk in the park compared to the chaos of the moment.

"Whereas the California mountain snake is completely harmless."

She held Valerie's gaze, her foot still pressing down with just enough force to keep her pinned but not causing any permanent damage. "You're the California mountain snake, Valerie. You're harmless. All bark, no bite."

Valerie's eyes blazed with fury as she tried to breath, but she couldn't break free. Rhea had proven herself in that instant swift, decisive, and dangerous. The venom in her words and actions was enough to send a message.

Rhea stepped back, releasing Valerie from her hold and allowing her to roll over, gasping for air.

"Get up, and get out of my sight. I don't have time for your petty games."

Valerie's face was a mixture of pain and rage, but she didn't make a move to attack again. She knew she was beaten, for now. Slowly, she pushed herself off the ground, wiping the dirt from her face and glaring at Rhea with a mix of hatred and grudging respect.

Rhea didn't have time for this. She had bigger things to worry about than Valerie and her jealousy. The world she was stepping into with Morris was more dangerous than anything Valerie could throw at her. She had to stay focused, and she couldn't afford to lose control.

As she walked away, she heard Valerie's voice behind her, weak but venomous: "This isn't over, Black Mamba."

Rhea didn't turn around. She didn't need to.

—

The atmosphere in the car was suffocating, a quiet storm brewing between Rhea and Demetri. The tension had been building all night, and now, it was about to explode. As the car came to a stop in front of their apartment, neither of them made a move to get out. Instead, they sat there in the silence, the weight of unspoken words filling the space between them.

Demetri finally broke the silence, his voice sharp and filled with a dangerous edge. “Do you still love me?��

Rhea turned to face him, her face calm but her eyes betraying a flicker of unease. “Of course,” she said simply, her tone even.

But it wasn’t enough for him.

Without warning, Demetri’s hand shot out, slamming her head against the car’s window. The sound of the impact echoed through the car, the glass cracking under the force. Rhea let out a sharp gasp, her vision blurring for a moment as pain radiated from the side of her head.

Demetri leaned in closer, his face twisted with rage. “Why do you keep testing me?” he hissed, his voice low and venomous as he grabbed her arm with a tight grip.

Rhea, swallowing the pain and forcing herself to stay composed, met his gaze with steely defiance. “I have to make sure Morris is happy,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice steady despite the situation. “Because if he’s not, your little fentanyl runs won’t stay on the hush. Remember that? The runs you promised to stop doing for him after we both got arrested.”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. Demetri’s grip on her arm tightened as he processed what she said, his nostrils flaring with barely-contained fury.

“You think you’re so smart,” he spat, his tone dripping with mockery. “Always playing the game, always making moves like you’re ten steps ahead.”

Rhea didn’t flinch, her gaze locked on his. “I’m not playing, Demetri. I’m surviving. And if you want to keep your operation intact, you’ll back off and let me handle things the way I need to.”

For a moment, Demetri just stared at her, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with anger. Then, without another word, he released her arm and sat back in his seat, his breathing heavy. The silence between them was deafening, but Rhea didn’t dare move or say anything else.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Demetri reached for the door handle and got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. Rhea took a shaky breath, her head still throbbing from where it had hit the glass. She glanced at the cracked window and then at her reflection, the faint outline of her face distorted by the fracture.

She couldn’t afford to let this shake her. Not now. Morris had made it clear what he expected from her, and she couldn’t afford to fail. Demetri’s anger was just one more obstacle she had to navigate. But deep down, she knew that this game they were all playing was becoming more dangerous by the day. One wrong move, and everything could come crashing down.

Rhea gathered herself, forcing the pain and fear into the back of her mind, and stepped out of the car. The night wasn’t over yet, and she had to be ready for whatever came next.

Rhea opened the apartment door, and the tension in the air hit her immediately. Demetri sat on the couch, leaning back casually, but the malice in his expression was unmistakable. Her eyes dropped to what was next to him—her money. A sick feeling churned in her stomach as she saw him flick open a lighter, holding it dangerously close to a stack of hundred-dollar bills.

“You don’t think I know what you do with your money?” he said, his voice dripping with mockery.

Rhea felt her blood boil, her fists clenching at her sides. “Whatever you’re doing,” she said through gritted teeth, “don’t fucking do it.”

Demetri’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. “You think I don’t know, huh? Mrs. Bennett has aggressive breast cancer, and your dear old daddy, Mr. Bennett, can’t afford the treatments. That’s why you’ve been so busy playing Morris’ lapdog, isn’t it?”

Rhea froze, her heart pounding in her chest. The walls she had carefully built around her secrets were crumbling, and Demetri’s words struck like a dagger. How the hell did he know? She had done everything in her power to keep her family’s struggles hidden from him, to keep her two worlds separate.

“Shut up,” she spat, her voice cold and sharp. She crossed the room, her anger boiling over as she raised her hand to strike him.

But Demetri was faster. With ruthless precision, he kicked her mid-motion, sending her sprawling backward. Rhea hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the wind out of her. She struggled to get her bearings, but Demetri was already towering over her, his presence suffocating.

“I brought you into this world,” he sneered, his voice filled with venom. “And I can take you out, Black Mamba.”

He threw the stack of money at her face, the bills scattering around her like fallen leaves. Rhea stared up at him, her body aching and her pride bruised, but her eyes still burned with defiance.

Demetri stood there for a moment, as if daring her to make a move. When she didn’t, he scoffed and grabbed his jacket. “You should’ve known better than to cross me,” he said coldly before walking to the door.

He paused in the doorway, looking back at her one last time. “You think you’re untouchable, but you’re not. Don’t forget that.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Rhea alone in the wreckage of their confrontation. She sat on the floor, the scattered money around her a bitter reminder of everything she was fighting for—and everything she stood to lose. Her body throbbed from the impact, but she refused to let herself cry. Not here, not now.

She slowly pushed herself to her feet, her hands trembling as she gathered the money from the floor. Every dollar, every ounce of effort she’d poured into keeping her family safe, felt like it was slipping through her fingers. But she wasn’t going to let Demetri—or anyone—take it from her.

As she stood there, battered but not broken, she made herself a promise: once her mother was better, she would find a way out of this.

—

March 30, 2019.

Morris stood with a satisfied grin as his shipments were unloaded into the warehouse. The efficiency and precision of the operation pleased him, and he turned to Rhea, his Black Mamba, with pride. He leaned in, planting a firm kiss on her lips, and said in Polish, “You have done extremely well.”

Rhea closed her eyes, the weight of the past week pressing down on her like a stone. She nodded, but the usual confidence and fire in her demeanor were absent. Morris, ever the observer, caught the subtle shift in her body language.

“What is wrong, my beautiful Mamba?” he asked in English, his tone softer than usual, though still edged with authority.

Rhea hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her leather jacket. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Morris frowned, his sharp eyes scanning her face for answers she wasn’t offering. “Come to the car,” he said firmly, taking her hand and leading her away from the warehouse.

Rhea followed him silently, the tension between them palpable. Once inside the sleek black car, Morris closed the door behind her and leaned back in his seat, studying her. The quiet hum of the engine filled the space, but the air was thick with unspoken words.

“Rhea,” Morris began, his voice low but commanding, “you know better than to hide things from me. Whatever it is, you will tell me.”

Rhea looked out the window, avoiding his gaze. She could feel his eyes boring into her, demanding the truth. Finally, she sighed and turned to him, her voice trembling as she said, “It’s Demetri.”

Morris raised an eyebrow, his expression darkening. “What about him?”

“He… he found out about the money I’ve been sending to my parents,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “And he… he hurt me.”

Morris’s jaw tightened, his hand clenching into a fist on the armrest. “He hurt you?” he repeated, his voice dangerously calm.

Rhea nodded, her fingers brushing over the faint bruise on her temple. “It’s fine,” she said quickly, trying to downplay it. “I handled it.”

Morris let out a low, humorless chuckle. “No, my Mamba, it is not fine. That scum laid hands on you? He thinks he can disrespect me like that?”

“Morris, please,” Rhea said, her voice urgent. “Just leave it alone. I can handle him. I don’t want things to escalate.”

Morris turned to her, his dark eyes gleaming with an icy determination. “You’re mine, Rhea. And no one—no one—harms what is mine without consequences.”

Rhea felt a chill run down her spine. She knew what Morris was capable of, and while a part of her wanted Demetri to pay for what he’d done, another part feared what Morris’s version of justice would look like.

“Morris,” she began, her voice steady but pleading, “just promise me you won’t do anything reckless.”

He reached out, cupping her face gently but firmly. “You’re strong, Rhea. I’ve always admired that about you. But there are battles you shouldn’t have to fight alone. Let me take care of this.”

Rhea closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. She knew there was no arguing with him when he made up his mind. “Just… don’t kill him,” she said softly.

Morris smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’ll make no promises, my Mamba. But for you, I’ll try to be… merciful.”

Morris leaned in closer, his hand still gently cradling Rhea's face. He kissed her softly, his lips lingering on hers as if claiming her in a way only he could. Rhea hesitated, her mind spinning, but she didn't pull away.

When the kiss ended, she looked at him, her voice trembling but curious. "Why do you kiss me, Morris?"

Morris smiled, his expression a mixture of possession and affection. "Because, my Mamba, I take pride in the things I own. I cherish them. I cherish you."

Before Rhea could respond, Morris leaned in again, his lips capturing hers with more intensity.

This time, Rhea gave in, wrapping her arms around his neck as the kiss deepened. Morris pulled the twenty two year old drug pusher on to his lap as his hands roamed her body. The weight of her troubles seemed to dissolve, if only for a fleeting moment, as the car began to move. She had unleashed something she wasn’t sure she could control, and the line between protection and destruction was growing thinner by the second.

The two continued to make out as the city lights blurred outside the window, the sleek black car carrying them off into the night.

—

After Morris dropped Rhea off at her and Demetri’s apartment, he made his way back to Vices. The city’s underworld heart beat loudly here, and it wasn’t just the music echoing that kept the place alive. Morris stepped into his office through the back entryway, the familiar scent of cigar smoke lingering in the air. But he froze when he saw her.

Valerie, aka California Mountain Snake, leaned casually against the desk, her eyes narrowed as she assessed him. “Where have you been?” she asked, her voice dripping with an edge of suspicion.

Morris stood still for a moment, his jaw tightening. “Now, Val’, you don’t get to ask questions,” he said coolly, his tone laced with an authority that made it clear this conversation was about to turn.

Valerie stepped forward, a smirk playing on her lips. “Are you with that bitch?” she sneered, eyes flicking to the direction of Rhea, her name a venomous whisper on Valerie’s tongue.

Without a word, Morris moved so fast that Valerie barely saw it coming. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the throat, lifting her off the ground with a strength that belied his calm demeanor. He slammed her against the wall, his eyes burning with fury.

“You don’t talk about Mamba like that,” Morris growled, his grip tightening. “Understand?”

Valerie’s eyes flared with both anger and fear as she clawed at his hand, struggling to break free. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, but she managed to force out through clenched teeth, “You’re a damn fool if you think I’m gonna let her control you.”

Morris didn’t flinch. “No one controls me, Val’,” he spat. “But she’s my creation, and you’ll never disrespect my creation again.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was Valerie’s labored breathing, her fear now apparent. Then, with one last squeeze, Morris released her, letting her drop to the floor. Valerie coughed, wiping at her throat as she stood up slowly.

“Don’t forget who made you,” he added, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t need to remind you what happens when loyalty’s questioned.”

Valerie glared up at him, her pride still unbroken, but she knew better than to challenge him further. “You’re losing your touch, Morris,” she muttered under her breath, but she kept her distance now.

Morris didn’t respond. He simply turned and walked to his desk, his back to her. “Get out of my office.”

—

March 31st, 2019.

“Viper… before you go… sit down,” Morris’s voice cut through the thick air, sharp and commanding.

Demetri’s eyes flicked toward Brent, Thomas, and Adam, signaling them to leave the room. Without protest, the men filed out, knowing better than to question their boss’s orders.

Demetri sat down in front of Morris, his posture tense, as he watched Morris slowly light his cigar. The flicker of the flame illuminated Morris’s face, casting long, deep shadows that made his expression even more menacing. The scent of tobacco filled the air as Morris exhaled a thick plume of smoke, his gaze never leaving Demetri.

“Mamba tells me you’ve hit her,” Morris said, his tone unhurried but cold, like a slow-burning fuse waiting to explode.

Demetri shifted slightly in his seat, the tension in the room palpable. His lips curled into a small, almost indifferent smile as he replied, “I’ve been known to correct her from time to time. And so what?” His voice carried a sense of arrogance, as though he didn’t fear the consequences.

Morris’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a barely noticeable sneer. “So what? You’ve got a temper, Viper, and she’s mine. You don’t lay a finger on what belongs to me.”

Demetri scoffed, leaning back in his seat, looking at Morris like he was nothing more than a nuisance. “Why do you care, Morris? You have Valerie at your hand and lap every night. Why the hell do you want my girl?”

The question lingered in the room, sharp and biting. Morris’s eyes flicked with something dangerous, and for a brief moment, it seemed like the weight of Demetri’s words hit him. But then, without missing a beat, Morris leaned forward slightly, his voice low and ominous.

“She’s my creation,” Morris said, his words deliberate and heavy. “I’ll be damned if I let you kill my creation because you can’t stand the fact that she’s better than every single snake I own.”

Demetri’s jaw tightened, but his eyes never wavered. He wasn’t going to back down. “She’s my girl, Morris. You don’t control her like you think you do.”

Morris inhaled deeply from his cigar, his expression unreadable, before exhaling with a slow, calculated breath. “I created the Black Mamba,” he said quietly, almost to himself, but loud enough for Demetri to hear. “And I’ll make sure she stays mine, no matter who tries to claim her.”

Demetri’s fists clenched, but he didn’t respond immediately. The silence between them was suffocating, thick with the weight of the threat that hung in the air.

Finally, Morris broke the silence, his voice colder than ever. “You think you can keep her in line? You think you can control her? You’re mistaken.” His eyes burned with an intensity that made Demetri feel small. “She is untouchable..”

The words were a promise, and Demetri could feel the chill of them sink deep into his bones. The room felt colder, heavier, like the walls were closing in.

“You.. however you are not untouchable, Viper,” Morris added, leaning back and taking another drag from his cigar. “And don’t think for a second that I’ll let you ruin my creation because of your own insecurities.”

Demetri stood up, his hand brushing against the edge of the desk, the tension between them crackling in the air like electricity. “We’re done here,” he muttered, turning to leave.

Before he reached the door, Morris called out. “I brought you into this world, I can take you out of it.”

Demetri froze at the door, his back to Morris, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to.

The door swung open, and Demetri stepped out, his mind racing as the weight of Morris’s words settled in. He didn’t fear Morris, but he knew better than to ignore a man like him.

As Demetri left, Morris sat back in his chair, the smoke curling from his cigar like tendrils of a dark promise. His eyes glinted with cold satisfaction. There was no doubt in his mind that the Black Mamba would remain his—one way or another.

—

As Demetri stepped out of the office, the weight of the conversation with Morris hung heavily on his shoulders. His thoughts churned as he made his way through the club, the lights flashing and the music thumping around him. He felt a fleeting gaze from across the room, and when he looked up, he saw Valerie.

Their eyes locked for a moment—silent, but full of understanding. Valerie’s lips curled into a smile, one that seemed to carry an unspoken invitation. Demetri’s expression remained unreadable, but he quickly broke the gaze, his mind still heavy with the conversation he’d just had. He turned and walked toward the exit, his thoughts pulling him in different directions.

As he stepped outside, the cool night air hit him, but it did little to clear his head. He climbed into his car and started the engine, the rumble of the engine barely cutting through the fog in his mind. He shifted the car into drive and began to pull away from the club.

But just as he was about to merge into the street, a knock on his window startled him. Demetri glanced over, and there she was again—Valerie, standing just outside, her hand waving in the air.

With a reluctant sigh, Demetri rolled down the window. “What’s up?” he asked, his voice still laced with the remnants of tension.

Valerie leaned against the car, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Mind if you give me a ride?” she asked, her tone casual, though there was something more in the way she said it.

Demetri hesitated for a second, but his instincts were already pulling him in a familiar direction. “Sure,” he replied, unlocking the door.

Valerie slid into the passenger seat, her perfume lingering in the air as she settled beside him. The drive to her apartment was silent, the air between them charged with unspoken words. The streets blurred by, but all Demetri could think about was the tension that had built up between them ever since that first glance.

When they reached her apartment, the car came to a halt. The engine hummed softly, and for a brief moment, neither of them moved. The silence hung between them, thick and heavy.

Finally, Valerie turned to Demetri, her expression softening. She reached for him, pulling him into a kiss that was intense, passionate, and without words. It was as if the kiss spoke for everything that had been building between them—everything they hadn’t said, everything they hadn’t acknowledged.

Their lips met with a hunger, a desire that neither had fully admitted to before. The kiss was fiery, reckless, and full of the kind of passion that could only come from a hidden affair—one that neither of them could resist.

When they pulled apart, breathless, Demetri looked at Valerie, his heart racing. Without a word, she slipped out of the car and walked toward her apartment, her hips swaying with a sense of seduction.

Demetri sat there for a moment, his thoughts a whirlwind, he then reached over in his glovebox and grabbed a condom and exited his car. That kiss and night marked the beginning of something he knew would be dangerous, something he couldn’t quite turn away from.

And so began their two-year affair—one full of secrets, lies, and the kind of forbidden passion that neither of them could resist.

—

April 2nd, 2019.

Rhea stretched her arms above her head, yawning as she shook off the exhaustion from another long night. The fluorescent lights of the Performance Center cast a harsh glow on the ring where she had been training with Liv and Tegan. Liv, always the one to notice, raised an eyebrow.

“Long night?” she asked, leaning against the ropes.

Rhea nodded, letting out another tired yawn. “Yeah, could have used some melatonin to sleep,” she replied with a small chuckle. She moved to the side of the ring, rubbing her eyes.

Before Liv could respond, a familiar voice interrupted. “Rhea, can I talk to you?”

Rhea turned, recognizing Bayley walking toward her.

“Sure,” Rhea said, offering a polite nod as she slid out of the ring. Liv and Tegan exchanged a curious glance but didn’t press further as they continued their own conversation.

Bayley followed Rhea down the hallway into the locker room, where the two were alone. The air was thick with the silence of the quiet space, a contrast to the energy of the training floor outside.

“I need somas,” Bayley said bluntly, looking at Rhea with a mixture of seriousness and desperation in her eyes.

Rhea sighed. “How many?”

“Twenty,” Bayley replied without hesitation.

Rhea rolled her eyes but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she reached into her gym bag and began pulling out the pills. She counted them carefully as she spoke. “Two hundred.”

Bayley dug into her pocket and pulled out two crisp $100 bills, handing them over to Rhea without a second thought. The exchange felt transactional, cold even. Rhea handed over the pills, the transaction complete.

Bayley paused, looking at Rhea for a moment longer than necessary, almost as if she was trying to read her.

“Thanks,” Bayley said, her tone softer now, though still carrying a hint of something more—something Rhea couldn’t quite place. She took the pills and turned to leave, but not before pausing at the door. “You know, sometimes people get too caught up in their own shit. But you seem to always have a way of handling yours.”

Rhea’s eyes narrowed slightly, unsure whether it was meant as an insult or an odd compliment. Before she could respond, Bayley was gone, leaving the door to swing shut behind her.

Rhea stood there for a moment, pondering what had just transpired. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something more was at play—something deeper than just a simple transaction. Bayley’s words stuck with her, lingering in her mind.

But for now, Rhea shook it off, turning back to rejoin Liv and Tegan. She had more important things to focus on—like the grueling training that was waiting for her, and the chaos of her life outside of the ring.

—

Flashback April 13th, 2019.

Rhea rolled her eyes as the call came over the loudspeaker, signaling the next round of drug tests. She had been through this routine countless times, but it didn’t make it any less annoying. She grabbed the plastic cup from the nurse, walking with an air of impatience toward the bathroom stalls.

Inside the stall, she quickly relieved herself, filling the cup as needed before wiping it off and washing her hands. The sound of running water echoed in the small, sterile space as she prepared to hand over the sample. Once done, she opened the stall door, grabbed the cup, and made her way back toward the waiting area.

The doctor didn’t say much as he took the cup from her, inspecting it briefly before nodding. Rhea sat down, her eyes scanning the room of NXT Superstars and recruits who were all waiting for their turn.

Across the room, Shawn Michaels, the Heartbreak Kid himself, stood with his arms crossed, eyes sharp as he surveyed the room full of talent. His voice rang out with a level of authority that commanded attention.

“The sooner the person is caught,” he said, looking over the group, “the sooner these tests end.”

Rhea kept her expression neutral, but inside, a wry smirk tugged at her lips. She knew what Shawn was implying—he wasn’t exactly thrilled with the frequency of these tests either. Still, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of the truth in his words. The people who were guilty of using would eventually be exposed, and there was nothing they could do to prevent it.

Of course, Rhea didn’t get caught. She was far too careful for that, even though she was the one supplying drugs to both Tegan and Bayley. It was something she kept close to her chest, a hidden part of her life that not even the most perceptive eyes could pry into. While others might think the tests were a nuisance, Rhea simply saw them as an inconvenience—a small price to pay for her control over the others, especially Tegan and Bayley.

As the testing continued, Rhea’s mind drifted, thinking of all the ways she had managed to keep the truth hidden. No one suspected her—she had perfected the art of playing the game.

—

March 23, 2021.

Rhea stood in front of Morris, her gaze steady but filled with a certain edge. She had been feeling the pressure for some time now, and she knew this conversation couldn’t wait any longer. She needed to secure her position.

“I need your help,” Rhea said, her voice low but demanding.

Morris glanced up from his desk, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her words. “Speak, Mamba.”

Rhea paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts before she continued, the weight of the situation evident in her expression. “I don’t feel safe anymore,” she said, her voice steady, but there was a flicker of concern behind her eyes. “These shipments… moving product from Arizona with Demetri… it’s getting too risky. People are starting to talk, and I need to make sure you’re still giving me the stability I was promised, it’s been almost two years and every year I feel like it’s getting worse.”

Morris didn’t respond immediately, his gaze hardening as he considered her words. He knew Rhea didn’t come to him unless it was serious. He could feel the unease in her voice, something he wasn’t used to seeing from her. But he wasn’t about to show vulnerability. After a moment, he exhaled, leaning back in his chair with an almost predatory look in his eyes.

“How about I make you a deal?” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge that matched hers. “I’ll protect you from whoever—whoever’s after you—and you just focus on moving my money and my toys.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. “I thought I was already doing that,” she responded, crossing her arms as she leaned slightly against the edge of his desk.

Morris let out a quiet chuckle, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Different toys, different money,” he said cryptically, clearly not just talking about the regular shipments they’d been working with. There was something more to this, something more dangerous.

Rhea frowned but didn’t say anything, waiting for him to elaborate.

“You have an Australian passport, don’t you?” Morris asked, leaning forward slightly as he locked eyes with her. “I need you to take flights to Australia and then from there to Switzerland. There’s business to attend to. Sensitive business.”

Rhea’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Switzerland—she knew that was where some of the bigger operations were run, the kind that involved laundering money and handling international transactions that were too clean for anyone to trace.

She studied Morris for a moment, his expression unreadable. The deal sounded like it would give her a bit of breathing room, but at what cost?

“Why me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Why not send someone else? Someone who’s expendable?”

Morris looked at her, his smile disappearing into a cold stare. “Because you’re Mamba,” he said, his tone hardening. “And I don’t trust anyone else with this. You’ve proven yourself, and you’re in too deep now for anyone else to get involved. You’re the only one who can handle it.”

Rhea considered his words for a moment, her mind racing. The stakes were higher than ever. But she had come this far, and backing out now wasn’t an option. She had built her place in this world, and she wasn’t about to lose it.

“Fine,” she said finally, her voice steady. “I’ll do it. But I’m going to need a lot more protection than just your word, Morris.”

He stood up and walked around his desk, placing a hand on her shoulder in a gesture that was both intimate and possessive. “You’ll have it,” he said. “And when you come back, you’ll have more than just your stability.”

Rhea met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words sink in. She didn’t trust him completely—she never had—but in this game, she didn’t have the luxury of trust. She needed control, and this deal, dangerous as it was, might be the only way she could secure it.

As she turned to leave the room, Morris called out, his voice tinged with a promise. “I’ll be watching, Mamba. Don’t forget that.”

—

August 1st, 2018 - Orlando, Florida Airport

Rhea’s heart skipped a beat as she heard the voice of the airport security officer behind her. “Excuse me, ma’am, will you come with me?”

She glanced around, feeling the weight of the moment press on her. The terminal was crowded, but the eyes on her made it feel as though she was the only person in the room. Calmly, she turned to face the officer. “What is this for?”

The officer didn’t answer directly. Instead, he simply motioned for her to follow. Rhea knew better than to resist. There were too many eyes in the airport, and too many consequences if things went wrong.

They walked through the busy terminal, past the food courts and stores, until they arrived at a small, secluded room. It felt like a scene out of one of those old crime movies. The officers who followed her in were quiet, scanning her every move as they informed her they had reason to believe she was carrying drugs from her recent flight from Arizona.

Rhea kept her face neutral as the words hit her. She had been smart. She had switched bags with the other runner before leaving the airport in Arizona. The bag she carried now wasn’t the one that could incriminate her. She just needed to keep her cool.

They proceeded to dump her belongings onto the table. Rhea’s eyes locked onto her suitcase as the officers tore it open, rifling through her things. They weren’t looking for clothes—they were looking for something much worse. They opened the briefcase next, spilling out papers, checks, and a few personal items. But there was nothing that could get her caught. They found no drugs.

After several minutes of searching, the officers exchanged glances and then turned to Rhea. “You’re free to go,” one of them said curtly, clearly frustrated that they had come up empty-handed.

Rhea’s expression remained composed as she nodded and grabbed her things. As she walked out of the small room, the weight of the close call still felt like a tangible presence around her. But just as she was about to pass through the door, she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. It was the other runner—the one who had been part of the plan. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, and Rhea felt a chill run through her.

The runner’s gaze was filled with suspicion. He knew. He knew she had switched the bags.

Without hesitation, Rhea acted on instinct. She quickly darted back to the bag she had just been cleared of and switched it once again, making sure she had the right one this time. She didn’t trust anyone in this game—not even those who worked alongside her.

Rhea slipped through the door, making her way toward the taxi stand. Her pulse was still racing, but she pushed the fear down. She couldn’t afford to make a scene now. She needed to get out of here before anyone started asking too many questions.

She jumped into the first available cab, gave the driver a quick address, and watched the city blur past her as the cab sped toward her apartment. Her mind raced with the close call she had just dodged. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone else figured out her trick, but for now, she had survived.

The taxi pulled up in front of her and Demetri’s apartment, and she quickly paid the driver. Rhea grabbed the bags and headed inside, relieved to be back in a place where she could catch her breath.

Demetri was already home, and she handed him the bags without saying a word. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask any questions. He knew what she had been up to. He always did.

“These go to Morris,” she said, her voice flat. Demetri didn’t reply, just nodded, taking the bags from her hands.

Rhea stood there for a moment, watching him leave. Her eyes drifted toward the window, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

She had been lucky today. But next time? Who knew how close she’d come to being caught.

Rhea turned away from the window and sat down on the couch, the weight of the close call pressing down on her chest. She had been in the game long enough to know how dangerous it was, but something inside her was starting to shift. Maybe it was the anxiety of nearly getting caught. Maybe it was the constant tension of living in this world.

But tonight, she knew one thing for sure: she was done. The close call at the airport, the fear that had surged through her veins—it was all too much.

She needed to speak to Morris.

—

October 26th, 2018

Rhea sat in the passenger seat of Demetri’s car, staring out the window, her nerves frayed. The air felt thick with tension as they waited. The man they were about to deal with had just pulled up, his old, weathered car screeching to a halt on the side of the road. Rhea couldn’t shake the unease that crawled up her spine. Something about him just didn’t sit right.

“I don’t like this,” Rhea muttered, her voice low but heavy with concern.

Demetri, leaning back in his seat, glanced over at her with a reassuring smile, though his eyes were watchful. “Babe… it’s not like we haven’t done these a million times before.”

Rhea shook her head, still feeling that nagging discomfort. She glanced back at the man approaching them, his steps slow but deliberate. “He looks funky,” she said, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Demetri let out a soft chuckle, trying to ease her nerves. “Trust me, Mamba, he’s just another buyer…… How much?”

The man came to a stop next to the car, and his eyes met Demetri’s. “50,” he said, his voice calm but cold. “I need 50 of them.”

Demetri gave a quick nod, signaling Rhea to grab the bag. “Got it,” she replied, her fingers already moving to the backseat, reaching into the duffel bag that sat on the floor between them. She pulled out the bag filled with the pills and she handed it to Demetri.

He took the bag, counting out fifty fentanyl pills with expert precision. The man’s gaze didn’t waver as Demetri passed him the pills. But as soon as the exchange was made, everything went sideways.

Without warning, the man pulled out a badge from inside his jacket, flashing it in front of them with a swift motion. He followed it up by pulling a gun from the waistband of his pants, leveling it at Demetri. “Orlando Gang Enforcement,” he declared, his voice firm and commanding. “You’re under arrest.”

Rhea’s heart stopped in her chest. She hadn’t seen this coming. Everything had happened so fast, so quietly, but now there was no escaping it. The sense of betrayal hit her like a punch to the gut. She looked at Demetri, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What the hell is this?”

Demetri’s face hardened, a mix of shock and anger flashing in his eyes, but he didn’t make any sudden moves. He knew the game was up. The weight of the situation was sinking in, but Rhea’s panic was still rising. Her mind raced with thoughts of how they had just been set up, how it was all too perfect—too calculated.

“Hands where I can see them,” the officer ordered, his voice unyielding as he kept the gun trained on Demetri. “You’re both under arrest for trafficking, distribution and conspiracy to distrubute. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Rhea’s hands trembled, but she kept them still, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She wanted to argue, to fight back, but she knew better. There was no escaping now.

Demetri didn’t say a word. His jaw clenched as the officer cuffed him, his eyes flashing toward Rhea, trying to communicate some kind of reassurance. But Rhea couldn’t read it. She didn’t know if he was angry, scared, or just resigned to their fate.

The officer then turned his attention to her, jerking her out of her seat by the arm. “Move,” he snapped, as he shoved her toward the back of the car, the lights from the surrounding vehicles flashing in her eyes.

Everything happened in a blur of flashing lights, harsh voices, and the weight of the cuffs around her wrists. The last thing Rhea remembered as they both were shoved into separate cars was Demetri’s eyes, angry and defeated. She felt her heart pound in her chest, her mind spinning. The calm life they’d tried to carve out in the midst of chaos was crumbling, and Rhea knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just another close call.

This time, they were caught.

—

October 27th, 2018

The drive back to their apartment was long and silent. The lawyer, who had arranged for their release, kept his eyes on the road, glancing in the rearview mirror occasionally. Demetri sat in the back, his face unreadable, but Rhea could feel the tension radiating off of him. She sat stiffly beside him, her body sore from the night in jail, her mind still reeling from the encounter with the Gang Enforcement. The charges they faced were serious, and despite the lawyer’s confidence in getting them off, Rhea couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had settled in her stomach.

As they pulled up to their apartment, the lawyer turned around, offering a brief nod. “You’re free for now, but don’t get comfortable. The DA will want to see you both in court. Be ready,” he warned before pulling away, leaving them standing in the dim light of the parking lot.

Rhea and Demetri didn’t exchange a word as they made their way into the building. The weight of the situation hung heavily between them, and as they entered the apartment, the door barely shutting behind them, the tension finally broke.

“That was your fault,” Demetri said, his voice cold, almost flat.

Rhea’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you talking about?” she snapped, her body stiffening as she turned to face him.

Demetri stepped toward her with a dangerous calm. “If you hadn’t been so careless, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now. You couldn’t keep your cool, could you? You just had to get caught, didn’t you?” His words stung with venom, each one carrying a deeper resentment than Rhea had ever seen in him before.

Before she could react, Demetri grabbed a baseball bat that had been leaning against the wall. The room seemed to slow down, and Rhea’s breath caught in her throat as she realized what was about to happen.

In one swift movement, Demetri swung the bat toward Rhea. It hit her with a sickening thud against her neck and shoulder, the impact jolting through her body. The pain was immediate, searing, and Rhea gasped, her knees buckling as she struggled to stay upright.

“You’re nothing but a worthless wrestler,” Demetri spat, his words cutting deeper than the physical blow. “Morris’ prized Mamba, trying to be a big and bad drug dealer. You couldn’t even handle that.”

Rhea staggered backward, her vision blurring slightly from the pain, but she didn’t fall. She clenched her teeth, fighting to keep her composure, despite the hurt that ran through her body.

She had expected a lot of things from Demetri—anger, frustration—but this? This was a denial in its purest form.

“Demetri,” she said, her voice strained and shaky, but her eyes were cold. “You better believe I didn’t get caught on purpose. You want to blame me for all of this, fine. But you know damn well that we were both in this together.”

Demetri’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the bat as he took a step toward her. “Don’t talk back to me, Mamba,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “You made a mistake, and now you’ll pay for it.”

Rhea stood her ground, her body trembling but not from fear. The fire inside her had ignited. She wasn’t about to let him break her. Not like this.

“I’m not the one who messed up,” Rhea retorted, her voice rising. “You were the one who got sloppy. You were the one who trusted the wrong guy. So, don’t you dare blame me for everything that’s gone wrong.”

Demetri’s eyes flashed with rage, but something in his expression faltered as he took in her defiant stance. He didn’t say anything more. Instead, he dropped the bat, letting it fall to the floor with a loud clatter. Rhea didn’t move, still watching him carefully, her hand pressed against her neck, trying to quell the burning pain.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence in the room was thick with unspoken words, anger, and unresolved tension.

Finally, Demetri turned away, his back to her, and Rhea knew in that moment that things were different. Whatever bond they had before was shattered, replaced by something darker and more dangerous.

“I’ll deal with Morris,” Demetri muttered as he walked away, his voice cold and distant. “You stay out of it.”

Rhea didn’t answer. Instead, she allowed the tears that had been threatening to fall to stream down her face.

[newtabfics]

Diluc x Alone Time ;)

Triggers: Wank/fantasies. Enjoy

Silence was finally settling over the empty tavern as Charles closed the door behind him.

Diluc let out a sigh of relief. Finally. Alone.

Cleaning was easy enough, easier without Charles chatting his ear off. Nothing against the man. He provided a lot of information regarding any regulars but at the moment, Diluc couldn't care less.

He could only think about Y/N, the new girl. He had only hired her own because Charles was begging for an extra hand and she happened to just move to Mondstadt, looking for a job. She didn't care too much about the details, just rent.

The way she smiled at everyone. The way she beamed up at him.

The way his jaw clenched when one of the regulars whistled playfully. She had brushed him off, but Kaeya angered him.

"I see you like the little bird, hm?"

He gripped the bar he'd just been wiping, taking slow breaths to calm himself.

He irritated him to all Chasm and back, but he wasn't incorrect.

"Damn," He cursed as he thought about her again. The way her eyes glimmered when he praised her. The way she almost danced across the tavern easily. Hell, the times he'd scolded her for using her Anemo vision to slow her fall when she'd jumped from the second-floor balcony.

"Well you said be fast and that was fast," She giggled.

She was so beautiful.

"Fuck," He groaned when he realized he was aroused by the thought of her. It felt like he was being strangled from the waist down.

After a number of complicated belts, he was finally in the back storage with his hand wrapped around his swollen length, biting his knuckle to keep his voice low.

It wasn't like he thought anyone would come in during the late hours after closing but he still wanted to have the upper hand just in case--

Focus, he told himself as he closed his eyes.

He could imagine it. Her smiling lips wrapped around him, her cheeks flushing every time he moans and tells her how good she was doing. He wondered if she had a thing for being told how good she was.

Or maybe she liked being scolded. The amount of times he's gotten onto her for jumping so suddenly.

"Shit!" All too quickly, it was over. There was a mess over his knuckles as he panted and tried to calm the rushing in his ears...

...until he heard her voice.

"Oh, hey, Diluc. I forgot my notebook and--Oh!"

Shit, shit, shit--

"Need help with that?"

[300yearschallenge]

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4

Laura was seething.

She worked her way around the cow pen, brushing down Majros' fur and trying to dislodge the worst of the muck.

Lately seeing the cow had made her think of Charles Elias and by extension improved her mood, but now it only served to make it worse.

As if the cow wasn't bad enough on her own.

She dropped the cow brush into a bucket and sighed, turning away from her to stare out towards the woods.

She felt so stupid!

Of course the moment she let her guard down just a little Alfred and his lackeys would swoop in.

She wasn't ever sure why she was angry with Charles Elias over it either.

Of course he'd pick the healthy well-adjusted people instead of her.

She should have seen it coming miles away.

In fact she had! And she had kept him at arms length for more than a year because of it to make sure this exact thing didn't happen.

But obviously it still did. She hated herself for ever being so naïve.

She hated herself even more when she spotted the figure of Charles Elias making his way home, head bowed as if in thought.

Once he was close enough to home to spot her he waved slightly, and then jogged the last bit to reach her.

"Hello," he said, giving her one of those small, timid little smiles of his. The ones that he probably gave everyone, because he was friendly and approachable and good.

She hated his smiles, she decided.

"Hey…," she said, "How was… Everything?"

She grimaced slightly, bracing herself for a wider smile and some breathless enthusiastic story of how wonderful and sociable and approachable and fun Alfred and his friends were.

Instead Charles Elias's smile became a little strained.

"Oh," he said, "It was… nice. I think."

He didn't sound sure.

Laura picked at her nailbeds, ripping at a small hangnail with a frown. It was the opposite of what she'd expected. Wasn't that supposed to make her feel better in a way?

She was angry at him, and she hadn't actually wanted him to like Alfred. And yet it also made her feel bad.                                

She tried to think of how to respond.

What did people say in situations like these anyway?

She panicked a little, and picked the first response that came to mind.                        

"Well, it's to be expected of Alfred and his friends," she said and what she meant was that Charles Elias shouldn't feel bad that it hadn't been nice, but from the way his smile went out she knew it hadn't come out correctly.            

"Oh…" He said. "Right."                                                  

She began ripping at the skin surrounding the hangnail.  

"Dinner should be ready in an hour," she said, "It's uh… Fish… stew."    

"Right," he said, "I suppose I'll see you then."                                              

He began to turn away and she felt like she'd somehow kicked a puppy.                                  

Even though she shouldn't care. Didn't care. Definitely not.

And yet she couldn't keep herself from calling out to him.                  

"The uh-- The cow's been a lot more cooperative since you helped," she said.                          

Charles Elias looked from her to the cow and then back to her, and then his face erupted into a small smile.

The kind of smile she told herself she hated.                          

"I'm glad to hear that!"

He walked away with a small wave, looking happier already, and the moment he was out of sight Laura buried her face in her hands.

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if Carlisle had turned Esme before Edward?

Interesting question. Let's look into the details.

Carlisle Turns Esme

I mean, there is the problem that this would be Esme in her teens in order for Carlisle to meet and turn her before Edward which is... well...

It wouldn't happen, especially as at that point Esme was doing relatively fine by all appearances. Charles didn't happen until a few years later.

So, we'll pretend Esme's a little older and that Carlisle had had the same sort of meeting with her all before Edward's set to die of the Spanish flu.

There's always the question of if he would, and I do always think the man needed that little push of Elizabeth begging him on her death bed to save her son, no she doesn't care how, just do it.

Carlisle had had many ill patients before this point, many he likely could have spirited away to turn without being noticed, and yet he didn't until Elizabeth's plea and then he was turning quite a number of people until Emmett and he probably realized with Rose that maybe not everyone wants to keep living if it means becoming a vampire.

But he could turn Esme for much the same reasons he did in canon. He's still desperately lonely and seeking companionship, he meets thing young woman and then sees her near death around ten years later, just left as a Jane Doe in a morgue to be unmourned and unremembered, and he can't stand it.

The only problem is at this point Carlisle wasn't sure the diet was actually possible for others. Everyone he'd met had said no, people who were otherwise very friendly and perfectly civilized, he hadn't met the Denali yet and when he first turned Edward he recreated his own turning in the hopes that that, somehow, was what made the difference with him.

It turned out the difference was "get them while they're young" and just immediately put them on the animal diet so that eating humans isn't even an option... except that of course Edward left for four years.

But anyways, we'll say Carlisle's out of his mind with loneliness (which he canonically pretty much was) AND ALRIGHT HE'S TURNING HER, and he recreates his own turning which I imagine he later feels really weird about as his turning was very long and painful and he's now tortured this woman on a theory he had that turned out to be wrong.

Woops.

Esme has a similar reaction to canon. This beautiful perfect man she boyband fantasized about in her late teens is back, turns out he's a blood sucking demon and she's one too, but it turns out aside from that he really is perfect.

The weirdness comes in in that there's no Edward so Esme doesn't slip into the position of mother (which in turn helps with the grieving of her own child).

Ultimately, I think this is better for Esme as she has to really work through the death of her son, not immediately fall into a romance with Carlisle and instead find out who she wants to be as a person and what she wants to do.

I imagine they pose as brother and sister (and no one quite believes them, even with the shared vampirism they don't look close enough alike, and think they're having an affair but after what's happened with Esme, Carlisle's not going to pretend to be her husband even in public)

Carlisle Turns Edward

There's the question of if Esme would have good enough control for this or not. I'm leaning towards no, we're given a lot of hints that Esme's control is not so good in canon and that she only ever reached a certain state of control. Since Esme came first this time, not Edward whose control is stupid good, I imagine Carlisle would spend much longer in the wilderness and perhaps might even give up the human charade to an extent in order to help her. He's either always a very rural doctor or else "lives outside of town".

This could mean no Chicago in 1918, very likely wouldn't in fact.

But we'll say it does, as Carlisle would want to work in an urban hub during an epidemic.

Elizabeth may not get as close to him, as Carlisle is now married, but we'll say she does, and she makes her plea. Now, Carlisle might not be as emboldened as he was by Edward. Edward's control was amazing, he had virtually no issues after a very short amount of time, and so Carlisle turned Esme with the belief that the animal diet wasn't only possible but easy to follow with no slips.

However, this time, Esme's first and her control is nowhere near as good, she struggles in human company and really can't go into town (we don't see her in town much in canon, and that's after nearly one-hundred years at this, this is her after only a few), and while she wants to be on the diet she basically can't live a human life the way Carlisle can and if she tries she risks murder.

There's a chance Edward would be the same way that I imagine would make Carlisle very hesitant to turn him even at Elizabeth's pleas.

So... I'm sorry, I'm going to cop out, I don't think Carlisle does it.

[elisysd]

Ho Hey - The Lumineers

Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter

I belong with you, you belong with me You're my sweetheart

Weeks went by and Lyanna could see Charles making fast progress. It wasn't long before he was fully able to move again, and even the doctors were impressed by his recovery. Towards the end of November, as she was cutting up a butternut squash to make soup, a half-smiling Charles burst into the kitchen, coming back from his last weekly medical appointment.

“Lyanna… baby, guess what?”

“I don’t know but it must be good since you are smiling like that.”

He took the keys to his Pista out of his pocket and waved them in front of his girlfriend.

“The doctor told me that I could drive again!”

In surprise, Lyanna almost cut herself. She put the knife to the side and looked up at Charles with wide, joy-filled eyes.

“That’s amazing news, Charles! I’m so happy for you!” she said as she almost jumped on him.

“Careful, I still have to take things easy.”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just that I know how much you missed driving. Did he tell you anything about racing in F1?”

“He said that it’s something that I must see with our medical team at Ferrari but to him, it should not be a problem. I’m going to finally be able to work on my simulator. It was collecting dust; I can’t wait to use it again. So this was the big news. On the way home I thought about something and I would like to have your honest opinion on it.”

“Shoot.”

“I was thinking that since I missed driving, I don’t have to be to the factory because technically winter break is about to beginning, you’ve been playing nurse with me for the past three weeks and you haven’t seen your family in a while… I was wondering if you wanted to visit them? It would be a nice and long road trip. Perfect for me to get back to driving in a really relaxing way.”

“Charles Leclerc, are you asking to meet my family?”

Charles shrugged and tried to pretend that it was just an idle idea and not something he'd been thinking about for days. He really wanted to meet Lyanna's family. It was one more step in their relationship but he was ready and he hoped Lyanna was too.

The young woman thought she detected a flicker of doubt in her boyfriend's eyes. She moved closer to him and put her arms around his neck before sealing her lips with his. Charles grabbed her around the waist and lifted her onto the counter. He pulled away from her and rested his forehead against hers, playing with the knots of the apron the actress was wearing.

“I have to call my mom to see when she would like us to come.”

“So it’s a yes?”

She nodded as she put her hand against Charles's cheek and kissed him again. Now she had to find a way to tell her mother that she was coming to visit and that Charles would be with her.

A few days later, the couple were ready for the trip. Charles was trying to wedge their bags as best he could into the trunk of his Pista, while Lyanna was on the phone to her mother.

“I’m telling you mom, if it’s too much for you, Charles and I can always go to the hotel.”

“No, darling, it’s fine. I just want the house to be clean and perfect. I still have to go grocery shopping. Is he allergic to anything? Does he have to follow a special diet?”

Lyanna rolled her eyes. She knew that coming with Charles would be stressful for her mom. She always had a hard time mingling with people that had a superior lifestyle to her own, being ashamed of being a single mother from the working class. Her mom was not a jealous person, she had just developed a strong inferiority complex. So meeting Charles who was a millionaire was a tough experience for her mom. She was scared he would judge her, something that Lyanna found really stupid. But she was her mom and she could not change her.

“All good. We are ready to go, love!” exclaimed Charles as he closed the trunk.

“I have to go mom, see you tonight.”

“Be careful on the road, okay. Remind Charles that the motorway is not a F1 track.”

“Don’t worry mom, I’m safe with him. The only thing you should be scared of is his capacity to not park right.”

Lyanna had deliberately said the words a little louder as Charles walked past her. He shook his head and stuck his tongue out at Lyanna, who responded by doing the same. She finally hung up before getting into the car and fastening her seatbelt. She looked at Charles, who looked like a child on Christmas Eve. He was happy to be behind the wheel at last. A painkiller for Charles before setting off, and they were on their way. To get to Lyanna's family, they had to travel for almost seven hours. Lyanna had therefore prepared a long playlist of her and Charles's favourite music, as well as snacks, although they had planned to stop off at a restaurant to eat along the way.

The journey was punctuated by laughter and singing off keys to their favourite songs. Even if the grey and cold November weather was not ideal for driving, the young couple managed to make the trip a moment of complicity. They ended up stopping several hours later at a restaurant on the border between Switzerland and France. From what Lyanna could see, it looked like a farmhouse inn. She glanced at Charles, trying to find out implicitly whether he was tempted by the restaurant or would prefer to stop elsewhere.

Charles parked the Pista and they headed for the entrance. It was a warm, friendly place with panelled walls et checkered patterns on the chairs. The waitress took them to a small table with a magnificent view of a lake. It must have been a beautiful place in midsummer, with the sun shining, Lyanna thought to herself. They were served quickly, the restaurant having very few customers, and out of the corner of her eye Lyanna noticed a little blonde girl who couldn't have been more than four years old, watching Charles attentively with big blue eyes.

“I think you have a fan…” whispered Lyanna to Charles.

He questioned her, and Lyanna beckoned him to look to her right. The little girl saw that Charles had noticed her and hid in the arms of her father, who was too busy chatting to what Lyanna assumed was his wife to notice his daughter's little antics.

Charles smiled broadly and waved at the child, who tugged at his father's sleeve to get his attention. He leaned over to his daughter and whispered a few words in her ear. He then looked away to concentrate on Charles. Then he gave the child a gentle push in the direction of the pilot. The little girl approached shyly, twisting her fine hair around her fingers.

“Hello, little one.” Said Charles as he stood up and immediately crouched to the kid’s height.

“Hello, mister. I like your hair. They are pretty.”

“Thank you?” chuckled Charles not expecting it. “And I like your dress. What is your name, beautiful?”

“Lizzy. And you?”

“I’m Charles, and this is Lya.”

Lyanna waved at the little girl.

“Is she your wife?” asked Lizzy.

Charles was taken aback by the question and stuttered, at a loss for an answer. As for Lyanna, she could feel the blood rushing to her face and burning her cheeks.

“Uh, well… no. She is just my girlfriend. But maybe one day, she will be my wife. I don’t know.”

“She is pretty.” Complimented Lizzy while looking at Lyanna.

“That, she is. And what are you doing here, Lizzy?”

“I’m bored. My daddy and my mummy are ignoring me. I’m feeling lonely. Do you want to play with me? I have a colouring book but I can't colour without crossing the lines.”

Charles looked at Lyanna to see if she minded. She indicated that it was okay with her and Charles nodded in Lizzy's direction as she hurried off to get her pencils and colouring book.

“I think someone has a little crush.” Teased Lyanna as Charles shrugged.

Lizzy came back quickly and put her things on the table, then came and sat on Charles's lap. Lyanna watched them in silence as Charles gave Lizzy instructions and advice as best he could, making her laugh as he bounced her on his knee.

Deeply moved by the scene, Lyanna discreetly took out her phone and snapped a few photos, which she sent to Pascale. The young woman began to think that Charles really was very good with children and would probably make a good father one day. The thought gave her a warm feeling in her lower belly.

“I’m sorry about Elisabeth. She has the habit to annoy people.” Lizzie’s father came to them with his wife behind him.

“She did not annoy us at all!” defended Charles “You have a really sweet daughter.”

“Oh thank you. And you guys make a beautiful couple.” Added the mother.

They said a quick goodbye and Lizzie put her little arms around Charles to give him a hug before kissing Lyanna's cheek and following her parents.

“Well, that was cute.” Lyanna said as they were leaving soon after the restaurant and as they set off again.

“Definitely. I know it’s early in the relationship to have this kind of discussion but, do you want kids? Because I want some…” asked her Charles which took Lyanna by surprise. She had never really thought about it.

“Um, I don’t know… I mean. I love kids but do I want some? I…guess? At some point? Not tomorrow that’s for sure but in a few years, maybe.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m not saying that I want to be a dad tomorrow. I would like to win a championship before.”

“How many would you like?” asked Lyanna. She liked to see his face lighting up when he talked about having a family.

“Three! It’s the perfect number. Ideally, two boys and a girl. That would be the ultimate goal.”

“I think two for me is enough… I don’t know how I could manage three. And you do know that you can’t chose the gender, right?”

“I know, it’s just… in a perfect world, I have a world champion title with Ferrari, three amazing kids, an amazing wife and a house with a big garden in the heights of Monaco. What does your perfect world look like?”

Lyanna looked out of the window; she had never given it much serious thought. She lived from day to day without trying to project herself. She closed her eyes for a moment and let her mind wander.

“A house, not too big and not too small. A cozy atmosphere. I would love a big fireplace for when it’s cold during winter. And… you. I’m going to sound cheesy as fuck, but honestly my definition of perfect world is wherever you are.

Charles looked at her with a smile and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. He then intertwined his fingers with hers and spent the rest of the journey like this.

It was late when they arrived outside Lyanna's mother's house. The neighbourhood was quiet and Charles was able to park his Pista out of sight. He was the first to get out of the car and hurried to open Lyanna's door as she tried to delay seeing her mother as long as possible. She loved her mother more than anything and wanted the visit to go as smoothly as possible. She didn't know what she would do if her mother didn't like Charles.

Just then, a figure emerged from the house and came towards them. The first thing Charles noticed was how Lyanna was the spitting image of his mother. The second was the way she looked at him as she took her daughter in her arms. With one look, she'd made it clear that she had her eye on him and that he didn't have her wrapped around his little finger.

Well, Charles thought, it was time for him to bring his A game.

=====================

author's note: A pure fluffy chapter to celebrate Charles P2 woop woop! As usual I can't wait to read your thoughts about the chapter and theories about what's going to happen between Charles and Lya's mother 👀

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[avastyetwats]

You weren't going to hurt us.

The wolf sounded so damn sure about that and it only added to the guilt and shame he felt because of it. "I was going to. I... I wanted to." At first he did, anyway. Just Charles. Not the children. He'd tried to kill him before, after all, and continued to chase him down in hopes of finally one day succeeding. But then he found out he was a father, he had children, and suddenly he couldn't bring himself to do it. Then the truth came out. Or so they claimed, but surprisingly, Flint didn't feel much doubt. He didn't disbelieve their words that Charles had nothing to do with it. For some damn reason, Flint felt as though it were true.

"So what stopped you, then?" Anne asked, then grinned. "'sides me, of course."

Flint sighed hearing that question, but he knew it was coming. It was basically the same question he just asked Charles. He then raises his head to look down at Ivy who was still sleeping soundly curled against his side and he so gently ran his fingers over her soft fur. That seemed to be answer enough judging by the scoff she let out followed by silence. Thank fuck because he really was tiring of her voice, but he let himself focus on Charles's touch again and his soothing voice that was helping to relax him further. He wasn't wrong when he called him broken. He wasn't wrong at all.

But god, his words about not killing unless absolutely necessary got to Flint. He was merciful and kindhearted and compassionate. More than most humans, even. But humans were a fucked up species. They were quick to judge and condemn and even quicker to punish. That included Flint. He thought Charles responsible simply because he was the alpha, the leader of the wolves - of Singleton - without thinking that he tried to stop it. That he wanted nothing to do with it. Flint had been so quick to condemn him and wanted nothing more than to punish him. To take his life the way his pack took Thomas's.

"Guess we know who the monster truly is, then." He sighs, clearly speaking about himself.

Charlotte scoffs. "No shit." She freezes at the look her father gives her. "What? Dad, he tried to kill you! He almost went crazy and shot all of us! Humans are so messed up."

"She isn't wrong." He chuckles, closing his eyes again. "I just... I wanted to avenge Thomas. I wanted to-..." He squeezes them shut when he feels them fill with tears. "I cared for him." He mentioned before that he was his best friend, but judging by his reaction and how hurt he was, he cared for him far more, but nothing ever came from it. He turns his head then, forehead pressed to Charles's hand now. It was obvious how comforted he was by the wolf, how he was relying on his soothing touch, to help him. How much he was enjoying it. Craving it, even. He was so touch starved and it showed.

"I say we throw him outside," Anne speaks up again. "He's done with us, we're done with him. So really be done with it,"

Flint growled then. "Don't you fucking touch me." He glares at her, his hand remaining on Ivy's body. It wasn't that he didn't want Anne to lay a finger on him, he just didn't want anything, or anyone, to disturb Ivy. He was going to stay right fucking here until she woke up.

“ He was trying to fucking kill you, Charles. “ Anne had returned to her human form and was standing with Charlotte.

Charles on the other hand was sitting on the floor of the cave, the human’s head in his lap. Ivy was snuggled up soundly against one side of his unconscious form. He sighed heavily, looking back down at the bloodied head on his legs. “ He wasn’t going to pull that trigger. He couldn’t. This wasn’t necessary. “

“ A Hunter tries to kill you and your pups and you don’t think what I did was necessary? ‘ch. it’s shit like this that got you kicked out as alpha. “

Even Jack winced beside her when she said that, and Charles looked at her with absolute rage. “ Jack, you better get your bitch in line or he won’t be the only one knocked unconscious. “ He growled.

Charlotte was watching with disapproval. “ We should just go. Who gives a damn about him? “

“ I do. “ He muttered quietly, bringing his fingers to curiously run through that messy red mop of hair. It was beautiful. He always thought Anne had the most beautiful hair. Hell, he’d asked Eleanor if she had redheads in her family. It was all quite fitting. “ He’s as lost as we are. Hamilton was his best friend. “

Jack scoffed. “ No wonder he tried to kill you then. “ He looked down at Flint, his arms crossed. “ I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but have any of you thought that this man is clearly a hunter? He might not have wanted you, Charles, but he would try to kill us anyhow. We should put him out of his misery. “

Charles shook his head, continuing to gently pet at him. “ No one lays a hand on him. We are a pack and my rules still abide. No meaningless killing. “

[hahahax30]

A Son Dressed in White

@ the anon who pushed me to write this. I'm also going to post this on ao3 but it's almost 2am here in Spain and I'm tired. So I'll do that tomorrow

Cecily and Gabriel find out Christopher is dead. A fic

Cecily Lightwood hadn't been to any trials in her life; neither before her life embodied her shadowhunting heritage, nor after she'd taken runes to her skin, forever sealing her fate. She found she was rather glad about that fact, for trials were very, very, very boring.

Her older brother Will stood on a dais with as somber an expression as she had ever seen him don. Left and right and before him and behind him were shadowhunters gazing intently at Will, yet he was only looking at one person: Maurice Bridgestock.

"Did you confabulate with Belial, your father-in-law?" the Inquisitor spat.

"When was a madman elected Inquisitor?" Cecily's husband wondered through gritted teeth.

Cecily squeezed his knee to let him know she agreed with him: this was ridiculous. Inquisitor Bridgestock was ridiculous.

The Mortal Sword lay balanced on Will's outstretched hands. Under its Raziel-born influence, he would be compelled to tell nothing but the truth. "I never confabulated with Belial," Will said.

"So you never cooperated with him to let Leviathan ravage the London Institute?" the Inquisitor pressed.

"By the Angel, my brother helped fight off Leviathan," Cecily protested. Her voice came out higher than it should have, which made little Alexander squirm on her lap. She could've left him in the care of his favorite maid, but after Tatiana Blackthorn had kidnapped him, she wasn't ready to leave her youngest out of her sight.

"Mummy?" Alex asked.

"Nothing. It's nothing, Alex bach."

Cecily turned her attention back to Will.

"I never cooperated with Belial."

"Are you saying that–"

Whatever it was that Inquisitor Bridgestock had wanted to say got cut off by a dozen shadowhunters swarming into the meeting room. Gabriel stood up promptly, and so did his brother –Gideon– and her wife and daughter. Soon everyone was standing up, thus blinding Cecily, still on her seat due to Alexander, to the new arrivals.

"Gabriel," she called out "Who is there?"

"Martin Wentworth," her husband said, a hand on her shoulder "Thoby Baybrook. I think I see Charles, too. He's talking to the Inquisitor– no, he's pushing Bridgestock away. It was about time he stopped being Bridgestock's lapdog, I say."

"What else can you see?" before Gabriel could reply, Cecily gently ushered Alexander down from her lap, took one of his tiny hands –from the corner of her eye she saw Gabriel taking the other one immediately thereafter– and stood up.

Charles had indeed seemed to push Inquisitor Bridgestock: Maurice was on the floor with a half-disgusted Flora Bridgestock fretting at his side. The petty part of Cecily, which had shrunken with age but not entirely been driven to extinction, wished he would break a knee or a rib or whichever other bone would keep him confined to a bed in the Silent City. Inquisitor Bridgestock ought to pay for having questioned her family's goodness.

In any case, the Inquisitor was on the floor, but Charles was nowhere near him. Instead, Cecily found him making a beeline towards her, Alexander and Gabriel.

"Order! Order!" Charles thundered as he elbowed people out of the way "Let there be order!" he reached Cecily's side "Gabriel. Cecily. May we talk?"

Cecily exchanged puzzled looks with her husband. This close, Charles had a certain panic to himself. His skin had a ghastly undertone to it; he clearly hadn't brushed his hair in over a day.

"What is the matter?"

Later on, Cecily would remember her husband's voice as impossibly faraway. Odd, she knew, for he'd been standing next to her. Always. He hadn't detached himself from her side.

Charles led them through a narrow corridor into a small room whose entrance was guarded by Piers Wentworth and Catherine Townsend. The young shadowhunters nodded once before scrambling off Raziel knew where. As did Charles. "I'm sorry," he murmured right before striding back to the ocean of shadowhunters they'd left.

Those two words reached Cecily's ears, but she didn't register them until much later. Until she found herself inside the small room and had contemplated the corpse of her son and understood she'd lost him forever.

Time halted to a stop.

Christopher lay on a bier. A white cloth covered his whole body but for his neck and face. An equally-white blindfold rested over his eyes.

Cecily began shaking. As if from afar, always as if from afar, she heard and felt herself emitting a low, guttural sound. She had to fight to keep on her feet. Cecily Lightwood couldn't break apart like every piece of her body was screaming at her to do: she had to go to her baby.

Her son's brown hair had lost its smoothness. It had become dry and brittle –just like his skin had grown cold and inhumanly pale. Cecily put her hands at either side of Christopher's face and massaged his temples. "My love," she murmured, frantically; her voice didn't sound like it belonged to her "My love, my baby, wake up. We'll fetch a Silent Brother. Jem, we'll get Jem to you," she turned to Gabriel "Ask for Brother Zachariah."

Gabriel looked at a loss of words. He'd frozen before the bier little Christopher lay on; his eyes were fixed on a particular spot. Cecily knew it to be Kit's chest.

Her hands shaking, she pressed a palm to her son's left pectoral. Cecily knew how this went.

When Anna and Christopher and Alexander and even Gabriel slept, she always felt compelled to stare at their chests. She needed to make sure they rose and fell steadily, for Cecily had lived in a family in which Death had ripped her older sister away in the blink of an eye. Ella had been asleep when she died, and Cecily had grown paranoid that those who were the most dear to her would also die in her sleep. That's why she needed to check that her children's lungs still worked, that their hearts still beat.

"They always breathe. Their hearts always beat," she told herself. She repeated those two sentences as a mantra as she first posed her hand lightly against Kit's chest and then pushed with a bruising force against that spot where his heart out to be.

Christopher's chest didn't rise; it didn't fall either. Cecily couldn't feel his heart beating.

"No," she whispered. Then, louder "NO."

She screamed her throat raw. She screamed so much, with so much pain and devastation and fury and sorrow and loss that Gabriel shook out of his stupor and finally went to her. Alexander began crying.

Gabriel's arms wrapped around her back. Her husband sat up on the floor and drew her to himself. He rocked them back and forth as Cecily sobbed loudly against the crook of his neck. Her tears were soon in communion with his own. Gabriel was shaking, and though he wasn't making the noise that Cecily was making, his pain was palpable, acute, there.

Tatiana. Tatiana is responsible for this, Cecily thought. That madwoman had taken Barbara from Gideon and Sophie, she'd captured Alexander, and now she'd murdered Christopher.

Cecily gripped Gabriel's arms. She took a deep breath. Two. Three. A small body crashed against her: Alexander. Through her tears, he looked like a black-haired Christopher when he was only three. It only made Cecily break down further.

Oh, the riches she would give to have her baby Christopher back with her. Now she could never see one of his experiments succeeding and the whole of the Clave praising him. Now she could never collect him late at night from the Fairchild's house. Now she could never see him at the breakfast table while he talked about elements and mechanisms and all those things Cecily didn't understand. Now she could never kiss him goodnight or chastise him from ruining yet another piece of furniture or wonder at how beautiful his lavender eyes were.

Now she could never see her son smile again, for Christopher Lightwood was gone forever.

"Cecy?"

Someone had opened the door, and now Will and Tessa, Gideon and Sophie, Henry and Charlotte were streaming into the room. Cecily heard one of them draw in a sharp breath.

"Who is that?" Henry asked. Of course, the bier was too high for him to see Christopher correctly.

Cecily didn't know how she did it, but she stood up, left Alexander with his father and faced the rest of her family. "It's Christopher," her words were directed at Henry, yet she was looking straight at Gideon "Tatiana will pay for this."

[deadendtracks]

How do you think Lizzie's marriage to Tommy came about?

Like personally I believe there were many factors and not one like Ruby ofc, she was good- person wise, sexually compatible, someone had written he was afraid to be alone(which I feel might be true since Charles also saw him during his breakdown in s4 and stuff). Though I don't feel it was for political purposes.

But I would love to know what you feel...also I've been following what you write for some time, and I like reading what you put up.

Thank you, that's very kind.

It seems like the generally accepted take is that he married her purely to be more politically acceptable for running for office. I wouldn't rule out that being some part of the decision; but given what Moseley says in s6 about magazine covers or whatever, my guess is it wasn't a particularly politically expedient move given Lizzie's past, which wouldn't have been hard for anyone to dig up. If Tommy had wanted to marry someone solely to be more politically acceptable, he'd have married May. It would have been the smarter move. Having a bastard daughter on the side whom he supported would have been downright upper class of him.

On the other hand, maybe he shrewdly thought marrying Lizzie would go well with his working-class constituency, over May. Even given that idea I'm not sure, still, about her past being a net positive in an election, given the way Polly and Arthur laughed about it in s1.

There's the other point that it's pretty clear his first election at least was probably fixed in his favor. If it was, why would he feel the need to marry Lizzie for political purposes?

We also don't know when Tommy and Lizzie married and if they were even married at the end of s4 when he won his election, so it's hard to point to that scene at the end of 4.06 as proof, though I've never looked at it closely enough to see if they're both wearing wedding rings, etc.

So if politics wasn't the biggest drive, what then?

One interesting aspect of s4 is that he doesn't suggest they marry when he finds out Lizzie is pregnant -- he doesn't "do right by her" in that way, though he promises to buy her a house and implies he'll take care of her and the child. I don't necessarily think he makes this choice because of Lizzie's reputation/past, but maybe that could be part of it. If it was, why then marry her when he gets into politics? It's a bit contradictory.

Instead I think it's possible he was aware at least on some level that he couldn't give her what she wanted from him -- couldn't be in love with her. And this was probably his way of trying to be fair to her the way he tried to be fair to May in s2. He tries to maintain this distance, where he's not making promises he can't keep.

But then he does end up marrying her. I think to me this makes the most sense if he and Lizzie *aren't* married at the end of s4, when he's elected. If he starts spending time with her to be able to see Ruby. I do think Ruby would be a big part of it -- Tommy loves his children very deeply, despite his difficulties as a parent. So one possibility is that he starts spending time with Lizzie to see the baby, and things go from there.

Which does lead into one of the points you brought up: it's definitely possible he was afraid to be alone -- this is a more likely motivation than wanting someone to be a mother to Charlie, because he had plenty of maids for that, and Lizzie was not playing that role in s3-4. When she says she got Charlie Christmas presents in s4, I think that was meant to be read as the actions of an executive secretary-type role -- powerful men usually have someone who takes care of things like that for them.

But Lizzie had already seen him emotionally vulnerable at that point -- 'it was you who kept my heart from breaking' -- even if it wasn't in the form of him being open about it with her, which I doubt. And I do think he trusts Lizzie quite a lot.

He is a very lonely character, and a character who finds it hard to trust, and a character who does need people even if he comes across as if he doesn't. Combine that with the fact that he does deeply love his children and you can see how he might have eventually decided he wanted to marry Lizzie even if he felt he could never love her the way he did Grace. Especially if you consider that the end of s4 was probably less than 2 years after Grace had died -- that's not much time to get over a traumatic loss like that. But maybe being around his child with Lizzie made him realize he might be able to make a marriage work.

Canon doesn't give us anything definitive and I think you could write a range of believable explanations of how they ended up married. I'd never wholly rule out politics as being part of it; but at the same time, I'm not all that convinced.

[ma-gic-gay]

Settling into any form of a routine that involves a change scares him. One that involves a change in the one stable thing in his life, him and Carly, that downright terrifies him. Forget about the fact that half the town knows they hooked up, now he's got... Feelings coming up that involve her. Feelings that he'd buried fifty feet into the ground and covered in cement.

At least, he'd thought he did.

Clearly, they've resurfaced now. He can't help but laugh to himself at that, the knowledge that of course Hurricane Carly lands without warning, yet again. Changing everything and not meaning to whatsoever. Destroying every defense he builds in between landfall and wrecking the stability he manages to get.

In an attempt to ward off these feelings that could complicate everything, he thinks of times she's hurt him. Probably not the best defensive strategy, but he gives not a damn. Whatever works.

Nothing really works until he remembers the time she broke his heart. The last time he'd loved her that way, had any feelings of romantic love towards her. She'd slept with his best friend, who'd manipulated her into thinking he was in love with Elizabeth Webber.

It destroyed him, the betrayal of not only Carly but Sonny's role in it. The fact his supposed best friend had done that to him, knowing how he felt about her and knowing it would hurt him. Half the time, Jason wasn't sure how he'd managed to stay in town so long after it happened, even for Michael's sake. The bullet wound he'd gotten the same night hadn't managed to hurt him as much as seeing her come down the stairs of Sonny's penthouse in his t-shirt, smelling of his cologne.

And the bullet had a good chance of killing him.

So he got on his motorcycle and skipped town, numbing the pain by getting adrenaline highs. And it worked, he was able to process everything and fall out of love with her as she fell in love with Sonny.

Finding out that she was pregnant with Sonny's kid stopped whatever healing he'd done for a solid few days as he allowed himself to go back to drowning the pain in whatever, or whoever, he could find. It was a terrible, self destructive thing, but he'd become like that by then, so it didn't matter anymore.

Getting back to Port Charles had been one of the most difficult things for him to ever do in his life. It took months for him to be over her enough to dare step foot within the limits of the city.

But he did, he was able to get over her. He'd attempted to build up walls around her, but as always, she tore those down. They were never in love again, or even close to it. Aside from a single "the world is ending" kiss, they'd been friends. Best friends. The type who defend each other when everyone else hated them and were, without question, always there for each other.

They trusted each other with their lives, still do, after a certain point. He'd even stopped futilely trying to build up defenses against her and it reached a point they always dropped whenever they were talking. She had a way of breaking down all his walls without any energy that no one else he'd ever known did.

Still, thinking about this as she's answering a text hasn't gotten him to lose the feelings or shove them down again. Dammit, he was very much hoping he could.

This is a bad sign.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Carly asks, noticing he's lost in thought.

"Nothing interesting," he responds. "Just business stuff."

"You're lying," she presses. "Did I miss something?"

"No, I'm just not thinking of anything important." Jason counters.

"I know when you're lying to me, Jason, so just tell me the truth."

"I'm just thinking about this whole kidnapping thing," he says, which isn't a lie; he had been thinking about it as well.

"And?"

He shakes his head at that, a small smile playing on his lips at how easily she can read him. "And I'm thinking about Sonny." That's the truth, but he's thinking more of the hurt Sonny caused than the man himself. Still, thinking about the man.

She nods before letting out a loud sigh. "I've got to get out of this room. Can we go on a walk around this boring hospital?"

"You wanna walk by yourself? Alright, let's see that," he quips.

"If I feel like I'm falling, I'll just have you catch me," she counters, smiling as she shifts under the covers to get out of the bed. "After all, you always do."

"I still think this is a terrible idea."

"Just go along with it. I've had worse," Carly orders, standing up and wincing.

"You're in pain."

"I don't care, I'm going to get out of this room."

"Do you want a wheelchair? Or a walker?" Jason offers, knowing better than to ask her to stay in the room.

"I will do this myself, with your help," she declares. "So get out of the chair and help me do a lap around this hospital floor."

Sighing, he stands up and follows her lead. "See? This isn't so bad, is it?" Carly beams at him through her pain. It's written all over her face, but as usual, she expects it to be covered with a smile.

"Not for me, but you're going to hurt yourself, Carly," he counters. "Please, let me get you a walker."

"No," she says stubbornly, "I'm doing this myself."

"Excuse me, Amy, can I please get a walker for my friend here?" Jason asks the nurse, who agrees peppily, despite Carly's protests.

"Jason, I'm fine. I don't need a walker."

"Then humor me and use one."

"I'm not doing this."

"You don't have a choice. Unless, of course, you'd like a wheelchair," he responds with a knowing smirk.

"I'm only doing this for you," she sighs, giving in as Amy hands her the walker. "This is so embarrassing, god."

"It's taking care of yourself, it's not embarrassing."

"Maybe everyone will be too caught up gossipping about us to realize I'm using one of these things," the blonde grimaces, though she's walking better with the assistance of the walker. "Little Lizzie might've done something good with her big mouth, for once."

Rolling his eyes, he says, "You know, most people would be enjoying their oppirtunity to relax."

"Have you ever considered me a regular person?" Carly asks, a glint of defiance and pride in her eyes. "Seriously. Ever since we met at Jake's, have you ever thought that I'm typical?"

"That night at Jake's, I thought you looked good. That's pretty much all I thought when it came to you that night," he answers. "But if you're asking if I consider you normal now, no. I consider you Carly."

"I can't tell if that's an insult or a compliment."

"Then you get to pick which it is."

"You know, sometimes your refusal to answer my questions is a pain in the ass," she says, wincing in pain yet again.

"And sometimes your stubbornness is a pain in mine. Like right now, when you're clearly in pain and pretending not to be," Jason tells her as they round the corner to the nurse's station.

"I'm not in pain," she protests. "I'm just sore. Really sore."

"Do you want a wheelchair?"

"I can walk, Jason."

"And it hurts when you do. Come on, you don't want to be all hopped up on painkillers when Wiley comes to visit later," he counters.

"When you put it like that-"

"Hey Willow, can I exchange her walker for a wheelchair?" Jason asks when they near the brunette at work.

"Of course," she smiles, finding one and bringing it out.

"Thank you."

"They pay me the big bucks to do this, no thanks necessary," Willow smiles again as Carly sits, defeated, in the wheelchair and allows Jason to push her.

"This is worse than the walker," she complains. "At least then I was walking on my own. Now I've got to be carted around by you. Which, don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying the VIP treatment, but I also don't want to be here, in a hospital. And I want to be at court tomorrow."

"We'll talk to the doctors and see if they say you can go tomorrow," he compromises. "But they might say you've got to be in a wheelchair when you go."

Groaning as they reach her room, she says, "I guess I could live with that. It'd probably make the judge give Cyrus a longer sentence, seeing me in the wheelchair, too. He could get life in solitary!"

"I'll pull some strings and he'll end up in solitary no matter what," Jason agrees as she gets out of the wheelchair and into the bed yet again. "But I think you need to rest before Wiley comes, or one of the doctors, or a lawyer, or someone else who needs your attention."

"If this is your way of saying I'm annoying-"

"It's not, but I want you to be healed."

"I'm healing!"

"You barely made it ten feet without wincing, Carly. That's not healed, that's in pain," he reminds her.

"Which is a part of healing."

Sighing, he says, "I want you to heal fully. Then you can go back to running the world. The best way for you to heal is to sleep and rest up while you can."

"Fine. But I'm doing this for you."

"I know."

To be continued after school probably lol I hate America

@ryleighjosephine

[avastyetwats]

Maybe Jack would be up for some fun tonight.

The grip on his glass tightened, to the point where he nearly shattered it. The sound of it cracking had Flint setting it down, but his jaw was tight. Clenched. His other hand on his lap balled into a fist, fingernails digging into his skin, close to making himself bleed. Jack fucking Rackham. Quartermaster and fuckbuddy to Charles Vane. He looked at Flint, yet thought about fucking Rackham? Not that Flint was surprised by that given they were enemies and no more, but it still pissed the redhead off. What the fuck was this? Jealousy? It wasn't something he's ever felt before, not until Charles, and he hated it. It made him feel angry. Vindictive and petty. It made hi want to piss Charles off even which was always fun and amusing for the vampire... but how exactly would he do that now? He could simply walk up to him and talk shit, but that wasn't something James Flint did. He didn't start shit, he preferred to finish it. Or at least add to it for his own amusement.

He didn't even notice the crewmate he'd been targeting was successfully lured away by the whore, he was much too focused on Charles and trying to think of something to really tick him off. To grab his full attention and take it off of his Quartermaster. Hmm, what should I--

The double doors on the highest floor opened and out came Eleanor Guthrie.

Perfect. Flint mused with a victorious grin, knowing how protective Charles was over Eleanor. They used to be a thing. Hell, sometimes they still were. They had some off and on fuck around relationship, but eventually a lot of her attention went to Flint. Not just for business, and because he was a formidable Captain, but her feelings, too. Feelings that were unrequited. Flint felt nothing for her. Maybe some respect for the way she ran things, or tried to, but other than that, he didn't give a fuck about her. He just wanted to remain in her good graces and keep her as an ally, and a means to fuck around with Charles which worked more often than not. So, he looked up at the blonde just as she looked down at Charles, making eye contact with his human, and he focused all of his thoughts on her. His gaze remained on her - hard and focused - and he silenced all other noise from around him. All other thoughts. Just Eleanor. Only Eleanor.

"Come to me."

She looked away from Charles and over at Flint, her smile widening the second they locked eyes, which he returned, knowing he had her. She made her way down the stairs, completely ignored Charles, and made her way over to Flint where she practically batted her eyelashes and leaned against the table. "Always wonderful to see you here, Captain Flint." Oh, her voice was so sweet.

"Always a pleasure to see you as well, Miss Guthrie." He greeted in return with a charming smile, one that conveyed a 'fuck you' right at Charles without even looking at him. "Would you care to join me?" He gestures to the empty seat next to him which she doesn't hesitate to take. Then he offers her his drink. "Can't let the lady go without a drink. Here."

It makes her laugh and she takes it into her hand, taking a drink from Flint's glass and only then does Flint look over at Charles, flashing him a shit-eating grin before returning his attention to the woman he felt so strongly for. He took his glass back when she was done and placed his mouth right over the spot she drank from and took a drink himself, his middle finger extending outward for Charles to see.

Vampire AU Starter for @fornassau <3

—————

“What about him, Captain?”

Golden orbs looked in the direction his Quartermaster had gestured, taking a moment to observe the man in question. He stood from the table he’d been sat at with some other men and a couple of whores, and the second he stepped forward, he stumbled. He grabbed onto the table for support and laughed while his men laughed at him, clearly inebriated which had Flint grimacing. “Too intoxicated.” Which he was not in the mood for tonight. He was fucking starving, but not enough to make himself drunk. Or high. Which many of these men currently were. If not incredibly aroused thanks to the whores scattered about. Their minds were filled with nothing but filth and it disgusted the Captain to the point of silencing them.

“That one?” Gates nodded to another that just walked by them and Flint followed his line of sight, watching.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Smells as though he hasn’t had a bath in days. Weeks, even.”

He heard his Quartermaster sigh. “Captain, most of these men, if not all of them, have likely not bathed in several days.” Why did he have to be so damn picky? Oh right, because he was a vampire.

Flint shoots him a glare. “You think me picky, but would you not want to enjoy your meal? Or would you be content with molded bread and meat?”

Gate huffs. “I hate when you do that.”

Flint grins, knowing he was talking about the mind reading. “A habit. Forgive me.” He chuckles and Gate rolls his eyes, but there’s a smirk there now. He was the only man - the only human and, quite honestly, being - that James Flint trusted. They’d been friends for years now, sailing together for just as long, and he was the only one that knew of his Captain’s… condition. He’s kept his secret for this long and was always good at removing any suspicion among the ship that Flint may not be human. He was simply a different Captain from all others. Both highly respected and feared. His name was known far and wide and here in Nassau, especially.

He wasn’t the only Vampire, of course, but he was the only vampire pirate Captain. There was no other like him.

The doors to the tavern open and in walk some more men, more pirates and Flint’s hums, nodding in their direction. “Him.” He mutters, eyes darkening as his hunger grows, following his target - his soon-to-be-meal - as he takes a seat at one of the empty tables with his mates.

Gates groans. “Really, Captain? Him?“ He clearly wasn’t approving of his choice. And for good reason. “Captain Vane has already taken notice of some of his crewmen goin’ missing and because you’re his favorite person,” that was said with heavy sarcasm. “He’s sure you’ve got somethin’ to do with it. Now, if you could please explain to me, as to why you’re so keen on making that worse?”

Flint heard his Quartermaster’s words, grinning the entire time but not bothering to look at him. Especially not when he walked in. Charles fucking Vane. Flint’s grin grew wider, fangs almost bearing. Gates was right. Flint knew that and that’s exactly why he wanted that particular man. Because he enjoyed fucking with Charles Vane. His greatest rival, his biggest threat, and the most powerful of Captains and men, aside from himself, of course. They’d been enemies for a long while now - always trying to one up the other and trying to take the biggest prize. Trying to become the biggest and baddest name in Nassau and on all the seven seas.

But there was more to it than that… more to them. Though neither would ever fucking admit it. But deep down, Flint knew. And the way his cock hardened from the mere sight of him sometimes made that obvious, but only to himself.

Finally, he looked to Gates, his eyes even darker now and his voice a low, hungry growl. “I want him.”

[writingfish]

"He never says a word to Master Kaeya anymore," he hears Charles tell the Traveler.

Normally, Diluc would feel something at Kaeya still being called Master, but the numbness surrounding his heart seems to be permanent. He takes a breath, continues mixing the latest cocktail and tries to ignore the conversation happening behind his back.

"I see," Paimon says. She sounds subdued.

She hadn't been as loud as she normally was, but then both of them had been rather quiet around him lately. The Traveler was normally quiet, but there was something different about her silence lately. His stomach turned at the thought and his skin ached. He didn't have the right to talk to Kaeya, to anyone anymore not after he made Klee think-

The cocktail spills over the glass. It's overmixed. He gives it to the asker anyway. It was just Venti. He wouldn't notice or care even if he did.

"Are you ill, Master Diluc?"

The bard had stopped strumming his lyre and was looking at him with unreadable look. Diluc stared back.

"You haven't asked me about paying my tab," Venti continued. "Have you finally forgiven it?"

He opened his mouth. The word stuck in his throat, sliced it open until he could almost see the blood on the floor. He closed his mouth, vehemently shook his head instead.

The word burned in his throat. He pushed it down. He couldn't say it. He'd agreed to this.

A thrill broke into his thoughts. Venti leaned against the counter. He had resumed strumming his lyre.

"Thank you for agreeing to repayment in song, Master Diluc!"

Immediately, he broke into a rousing song. The rest of drunken patrons attempting to sing along. Diluc turned back to preparing the drinks. It wasn't the ideal payment, but it was payment nonetheless.

[ma-gic-gay]

It took a few too many hours to take care of the Florence situation, but he was confident that she would be happier in her room at the long term care facility than she would be at a safehouse.

He was much less confident with what would happen next. On the one hand, he knew that Cyrus knew that Carly had taken his mother - as much as he loves her, she needs to start thinking her plans through before she ends up dead - and that she was the reason he was alive. On the other, Florence had remained unharmed and been returned within ten hours. That doesn't erase what had happened; kidnappings are always a terrible, traumatic thing and not in his worst moment had he hoped to kidnap someone or, worse, have someone get kidnapped, but it did make it a bit easier for him to sleep at night.

In short, she was pretty much the biggest target at the moment. An even bigger one than him, which seemed impossible maybe fifteen hours ago.

Yet another reason having her in Port Charles was something he'd been concerned to do. Even though she swore she'd stay at home, she'd promised the same thing before his meeting with Cyrus earlier and that was a promise she didn't end up keeping.

Maybe this time, though, since Josslyn was home with her, she'd stay home.

That would explain the fifty seven voicemails he has from her and at least one hundred texts. It was honestly less than he had been expecting, mainly because she had been incredibly worried he'd get killed, moreso than normal.

Probably because not even an hour before he left, Cyrus had tried to kill him. It definitely didn't have anything to do with last night.

Right?

He shakes his head to get that out of his head; it's been a long night and probably why he's thinking about it. Willing himself to think of anything else, his mind wanders as he drives, thinking of the possible kidnapping targets.

Maybe thinking about last night will be a better alternative.

Glancing at the clock, he realizes that it's almost time for a call from a hopefully still at home Carly.

"Like clockwork," he chuckles, answering the phone. "Everything okay on the home front?"

A laugh he instantly notices as Cyrus's leaves his phone speaker. Quickly checking the caller ID, it's Carly. "Well, Mr. Morgan, I'm not doing well right now, considering your organization took my mother. Though I suppose your question wasn't directed towards me."

No shit, he thinks, containing his anger and quickly switching to a business tone, "I already told you, I don't have your mother. What the hell are you doing with Carly?"

Chuckling evilly again, Cyrus says, "I'm just spending some time with Mrs. Corinthos, Mr. Morgan. Calm down."

He's dead. The second that Jason gets back in town and sees his stupid, ponytail clad body, he will die. And if he puts a hand on her-

Focusing on the call instead of the growing anger in his blood, he asks, "Where is she and what have you done with her?"

"She's being taken care of very well, don't worry. In fact, I think that she'd agree I'm being quite a polite host, especially given the fact she had my mother kidnapped."

Maybe he should torture him before he kills him, that sounds appealing. Very appealing.

"I actually just looked into it and your mother is at her care facility. So tell me where Carly is, now," the former assassin demands.

Killing him looks more and more appealing by the second and making it as painful as possible does too. He deserves it for doing anything to Carly. Where exactly will kill him the fastest and make it painful? Maybe being shot in several places at the same time would help.

Clearly enjoying this Cyrus continues, "Is she? Well, I received a call earlier that she had been checked out of there."

"They must've been wrong."

"Well, still, I think she's getting even more delightful as time goes on. In fact, I'm finding her to be quite beautiful. What do you think, Mr. Morgan? Should I seduce and make love to her?"

Anger is the only emotion he feels right now, combined with disgust at the thought of that. "I wouldn't recommend it."

"And why is that?"

To lie or tell the truth, that is the question. The answer is lie. "She's a terrible lover. Absolutely terrible. Believe me, I'd know. We were involved at a certain time and I'm not sure anyone should have to go through that."

"You two have been quite close in the year since her husband passed. Are you sure you don't just want her for yourself?"

This sleazebag is going to be in hell when Jason finds him, he swears on his life. "Yes, I'm sure. Now, where is she?"

Chuckling again, he says, "Mr. Morgan, I'm not stupid. You think that since you've returned my mother, I'll return your friend in exchange for her. But, you see, Mrs. Corinthos isn't just someone you can take as you please. I'm truly seeing her beauty in this light and I find her to be quite intriguing. Perhaps I'll go against your advice-"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Now, last time I'm asking, where is Carly?"

"Why don't I let her tell you yourself?" Cyrus offers before handing the phone over to who he can imagine is the blonde. A scream is emitted in the background, probably from a gag or something.

The second he lays his eyes on him, that man is dead.

"Jason?" A scared Carly asks. "Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm right here Carly. Can you tell me where you are right now?"

"You remember that little room above Jake's, where we got our start? I miss that room sometimes. Especially now that the Floating Rib isn't even really a working building."

"So do I. It was plain and undecorated. Now, where are you?"

"I love you and my kids, you know that, right?"

"Yes, yes I do. You know I love you. Are you okay?"

"No one else will probably ever be in that room again. Kinda sad, don't you think? I kinda like that we'll be part of the last people to be there, but I think it's a damn shame that room won't get better use out of it." Carly continues, clearly not getting his point.

Wait. The room above Jake's. That's where she's being held! She's been giving hints. God, sometimes he thinks she's do dumb but others she's practically a genius.

"Has he laid a hand on you?"

"Yeah," she says and his blood boils. This bastard is going to die, just for thinking about doing this.

"I'm going to go down memory lane," Jason says, changing the topic but hoping she'll read his signal. "Drive around some spots I used to go. I'll be home to check on the kids in twenty minutes."

"Have fun with that journey, Mr. Morgan," Cyrus says, having taken the phone from a surprisingly silent Carly. "In the meantime, I'm going to tell you what to do to get her back. You will meet me at Pier 57 at noon tomorrow. Until then, I think that the two of us are going to be spending some quality time together."

"You so much as lay a hand on her-"

"I'm going to advise you to stop speaking if you ever want to see her alive again," Cyrus chuckles. "Goodbye, Mr. Morgan."

Just like that, the phone is hung up and the call ended. "Fuck!" Jason screams, driving faster.

He's got to get to her and fast. She doesn't have much time before Cyrus rapes her and he'll be damned if he lets her go through that. Not if he can stop it, and he knows he can.

After all, if there's one thing his men have told him that he remembers, it's that Cyrus suffers from erectile dysfunction. If he had to pick one dude who would never be able to get it up in their life, without a doubt, he'd pick that sleazebag in a heartbeat. Especially now, given the situation his best friend is in.

He can make it there in ten minutes if he breaks a few traffic rules.

Fuck traffic laws; he's got to go save her, he thinks as he speeds up, taking every turn too fast and going straight through at all the stop signs and red lights.

It's a minor miracle he doesn't get a ticket as he pulls into the parking lot of the Floating Rib, which has been abandoned ever since the explosion that sent Lulu into a coma and killed Dev and Dustin.

Deadly explosions don't exactly appeal to buyers.

Gun drawn and loaded, he finally realizes that there is no plan here. Call the cops? No, then Cyrus gets to walk away alive and this son of a bitch needs to die.

Kill him and then call the cops? Not a bad idea, especially with Carly as a witness. She's not a perjurer, no one would ever accuse her of that. Especially when she's newly traumatized from a kidnapping. Besides, it's self defense. But bullets can ricochet and she could be killed or comatose. Whatever happens, it could be really bad.

Fuck.

Going in without a plan is the best option and that scares him more than anything he's ever faced.

Bounding silently up the stairs, he kicks in the door and sees an almost nude, terrified Carly and the sight of an aroused Cyrus. Fuck. Guess those erectile dysfunction pills work for him.

A sparkle appears in his eyes when Cyrus realizes he's there. "Mr. Morgan, how kind of you to join us. Though, I don't believe you were expecting this."

Bastard. He deserves to be killed, the most painful death one can ever suffer. Acting as though he's a fucking host of a party, not a kidnapper who's about to rape his best friend. How many other women has he done this to?

The thought of it makes his blood boil. "I'm only gonna say this once, get away from her and you might live."

"Was that a threat?"

"It was a promise."

"Mr. Morgan, Mrs. Corinthos and I are having a moment here and you're being rather rude, intruding upon it."

Carly's been suspiciously quiet this whole time. She's planning an escape, he can feel it. No use trying to explain how he can feel it, but he can.

That's new.

Refocusing his attention to the ponytail clad piece of shit in front of her, he says, "You two aren't, because she's most certainly not into this. I know what she looks like when she is and let me tell you, that's not what she looks like right now."

"Ah yes, your past. Well, her face may have changed."

"From last night?"

With the mobster stunned enough to do a minor double take, Carly kicks him right in the balls. That's gotta hurt, especially considering that he's got his dick out and everything.

Jason snaps into action, undoing the handcuffs she's in and removing the duct tape, wincing when she screams in pain. That hurts his heart.

"I was right with my suspicions, wasn't I? Mr. Morgan, what are your feelings towards Mrs. Corinthos?"

"None of your fucking business," he answers, kicking Cyrus in the balls himself as he calls the cops. That felt good. Not as good as killing him would, but it does give a rush of dopamine. "I'm above the Floating Rib, in the little apartment with a kidnapped Carly Corinthos and her kidnapper and attempted rapist Cyrus Renault."

"An officer is being dispatched there and will arrive in five minutes, sir. What is your name?"

"Jason Morgan."

"Well, Mr. Morgan, can you stay at the scene with Mrs. Corinthos?"

"Trust me, I'm not leaving until this son of a bitch is behind bars on death row," he growls at the operator. For someone who's normally so good at controlling his emotions, right now it's all he can do to not pull the trigger and take him out himself. His walls have fallen as his best friend softly cries next to him, minorly breaking his heart.

"I wouldn't count on that, Mr. Morgan," Cyrus snickers, "after all, I could just kill you two."

"The dispatch is going to be there in under one minute now, sir."

"Cyrus, if you so much as grab that gun and point it at me, I can kill you out of self defense. So I guess if you've got a death wish you could grab your weapon," Jason counters him.

"PCPD! Put down all weapons!" Chase shouts. Of course he's the lead detective.

"Up here!" Jason shouts and he finds the staircase before walking into the room.

"Mr. Renault, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?" Chase asks, cuffing him.

"Damn you, Morgan," Cyrus says before another cop escorts him out and into a cruiser. Thank god, he was afraid if he saw his stupid, smirking face one more time, it would be the last thing that Cyrus ever did.

"Mrs. Corinthos, can we bring you and Mr. Morgan down to the station and have you two recount what happened tonight with Cyrus?"

Words don't leave her mouth, a sob does. Jason pulls her gently out of the chair and into a tight embrace, for his benefit as much as hers. "She's in no shape to be giving you the details."

"Mr. Morgan, it's better if she tells us what happened sooner rather than later."

"I'll do it," she agrees, though she's still visibly shaking in his arms. "If Jason's there, I'll do it."

Pressing a kiss to the side of her head, he agrees, "I'll be there."

Attempting to inform then they can't, Chase says, "You can't actually be in the interrogation room together; it's a very rare occurrence and not one I'm sure I can get permission from the commissioner to have right now."

Glaring daggers in his direction, Jason informs him, "You heard Carly's terms. If you want her to tell you what happened, I'm going to be there."

Finally giving in, Chase agrees to let them go in his car before leaving to call Jordan.

"Do you think you can stand?"

"No."

"We're getting you to the hospital then," Jason declares. "Detective!"

"Yes, Mr. Morgan?"

"I'm taking her to the hospital to get checked out before the police station."

"Could we question you two at the hospital? It's really important we get your testimony before Cyrus's. He's smart enough to ask for a lawyer and we'll do our best to have one take their time, but it's possible if she goes to the hospital she could end up giving it second."

"Do you feel up to getting questioned at the hospital?" Jason asks the sobbing woman, feeling a combination of emotions he can't push away.

"I guess," she agrees uncertainly. "You'll still be there, right?"

"Of course. I'm not leaving your side unless you tell me to," he reminds her. "Ambulance or my car?"

"Oh god, not an ambulance. I don't need all that fanfare," she groans.

"Okay. Detective, will you meet us at the hospital?" Jason asks to his own chagrin. He can't believe this dude has the audacity to ask a woman recently traumatized by an attempted rape and kidnapping to tell him what happened in detail.

Chase nods and leaves the two alone again, offering a tissue to the sobbing blonde in Jason's arms.

Scoffing, Carly takes the tissue and resumes her sobbing. "I was so, so scared you wouldn't get here in time and he'd kill me. I know, I broke the only rule, but in my defense, I had to work and I got taken there."

"I'm sorry I didn't get here quicker," he says, "and that you feel like you're to blame for this. You're not. Cyrus, that sick son of a bitch, is the only one to blame."

"You told me to not go out!"

"I didn't think he'd move in so fast... If I had, I never would've left the house."

"Hey, you are not to blame for this."

"Neither are you."

"Yes, yes I am. He-he kissed me, Jason. He started making out with me, and he hit me when I didn't kiss him back and when I said no. That's when I got the duct tape to my mouth."

To be continued when I can write this and not feel like crying (aka after I watch the Sharkboy and Lavagirl movies because they're BOTH on Netflix now and that's pretty fucking cool.)

@ryleighjosephine