#have I mentioned how much I love Lucile?

[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter three)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

chapter: 3/? (MASTERLIST)

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, power play, oral sex, thigh riding, degradation, dirty talk, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

taglist: if you’d like to be tagged, leave a comment on the masterlist post and i’ll add you! 💌

a/n: thank you for your patience and condolences / kind messages over the past week i’ve been awol. i’m very happy to be back. very long, filthy and much awaited chapter ahead, so strap in and hope you enjoy the ride.

in the words of miss zegler herself: oh we are so back.

You weren’t sure how long he stared at you, smiling with a fire in his eyes that rivalled yours until it was eclipsed. A third and final time, you found yourself speechless, dumbstruck, and one final time, much like the others, you took a few shaky steps backwards, before turning and fleeing.

He knew. He’d known this whole time. How long had he been planning this? Exactly how much of this had been an act, with Snow puppeteering you as you slowly lost your mind?

You almost felt pity for the girl, because she was played just like you were. She was a mere pawn in his game of chess, where he’d toyed with you until you were backed into a corner, unable to make a move.

Well, not this time. Now you knew what he was playing, you were ready to up your game. This wouldn’t be another stalemate; you wanted to win, and you had a few ideas of where to start.

You were already up and dressed when you heard a knock at your door the next morning.

Dreading the worst – despite the fact that Snow had never actually been in your room before, but the rules had changed now and you weren’t sure quite how much – you paused for a second to prepare yourself, praying that he wouldn’t be there, ready to put a stop to your plans before they’d even started.

You fell lucky. It was one of Snow’s footmen, George.

“Good morning, ma’am. I, um.” He swallowed, not meeting your eye. “I have a message from Master Snow. He’d like for you to meet him for breakfast in a half hour, if you will. He says you have something… quite important to discuss.”

Typical Snow. Never liked to get his hands dirty. Too proud to knock at your door himself.

You considered.

“George, could you please tell Coriolanus that if I’ve already eaten, and that I’ll come to him when I see fit. If he isn’t satisfied,” you added, for his sake, as you knew Snow wasn’t above killing the messenger, “Say I have an urgent matter to tend to, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

You grew a lump in your throat from your refusal, fearing the consequences. But you’d set your plan into motion now and there was no going back. Once George had been sent on his way, you snuck down the stairs on the far end of the building and slipped out the door through the servants’ quarters, where you knew Snow wouldn’t see you leave. The one upside to the last few weeks was that you’d learned how to sneak around the manor unnoticed. You were certain there were at least three hallways he’d had never even set foot in.

You had Lucille call Henry – Snow’s driver – in advance so you could leave right away.

“Where are we going, ma’am?” He glanced at you over his shoulder as you slid into the black town car.

“Head into the city. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Henry took some convincing – and some light bribing – to finally cave and tell you what and where this gentleman’s club was. Of course, it was a risk, a roll of the dice to go there without concrete proof, but you knew Snow. You knew his little neuroses and hang-ups, and he was paranoid; in all senses, it would seem, except when it came to you. If he’d been frequenting this club for some time – some years, according to Henry – and trusted their discretion, then you highly doubted he’d play Russian roulette and pick somewhere else.

You were dropped off outside, and sent Henry to the tailor to pick up some of Snow’s things; an excuse for the outing, but a part of your plan too. He was hesitant to leave you alone in such a place, but you insisted you knew exactly how to handle yourself, and so he gave in.

You’d deliberately dressed down for what you were about to do, worn your old coat and let your hair down with a hood pulled over it. It being daytime, the place was closed for business, but you knocked on the front door expectantly.

You waited. Went over the plan, and knocked again.

This time, the door opened and a burly man now stood between you and the inside of the brothel. Your curiosity made peek over his shoulder before he cleared his throat.

“Can I help you, miss?”

“Yes. My name is Margaret, sir, I’m a maid at the, uh,” You dropped your voice to a low whisper, “Snow household. I have a message for the owner of this establishment, from my master. Is he here?”

The man cleared his throat and glanced around the nearly empty street, then beckoned you in quickly.

“Anything for Mr Snow, miss. Right this way.”

There was your proof.

The empty club was a classy one, you had to give Snow that. The bar caught your eye, silver panels lining the wall behind it in an otherwise jet-black glossy room, with dark red couches and shiny tables, booths, single chairs, a stage with shiny metal poles, and a few cordoned-off alcoves.

You took it all in, certain you’d be able to appreciate the aesthetics of it more if it wasn’t for the seething rage inside you. You were stopped at a closed door near the back, and the burly man knocked.

“Yeah.” Came a voice from inside.

“All yours. He’ll take care of you.” Your guide stepped away. You pushed at the door.

A dark-haired man sat facing a desk, poring over paperwork. He didn’t look up.

“If you’re here for a job, sweetie, it’s Tuesday after 11.”

This incensed you.

“I’m not here for work. This is official business. I was told you take care of… special clients.”

He spun around, frowning.

“I’m listening.”

“I have a message from President Snow. He has a series of requests to be carried out with no delay.”

“Ah, yes. Mr Snow. I see. And you are to him?” He prompted.

“Just a maid from the household. He sent me as a messenger.”

“Excellent. Well in that case, of course, miss. How can I be of service?”

You took a breath, hoping desperately that he didn’t see right through you.

“Firstly, the shoes your girl wore.”

“What would he like with them?” He asked.

“He’d like to keep them. He’s willing to pay, and he’s not up for a price negotiation. This should cover them.” You slipped a bill across the table, and he nodded. You learned long ago that money causes loose lips, and this man was no exception.

“Of course,” he obliged, “They’re in the lockers through that door there. I’ll bring them to you. We ordered them in specially for Veronica, he made a point for her to wear them on the first floor. Usually our girls get instructions to sneak through clients’ houses quietly, but we handle every request as thoroughly as possible.” He chuckled.

That fucker. He really had planned it all out to get in your head.

“Was there anything else I can do for you, miss?”

You swallowed thickly.

Here goes.  

“Yes, actually. As of today, he’ll no longer be needing your services, or her services. He’d like to terminate your contract, and he doesn’t wish to see her again. Ever.”

The owner blinked. His mouth moved, as if he was about to say something, but then it closed again.

“But, um,” he stammered, “It’s only been three weeks. Veronica is our best girl, and he’s her top client. She carried out his orders to the absolute best of her ability, I can assure you. Are you sure those were his words?”

You sighed.

“She’s getting off lucky with a dismissal. Take it as a warning, sir. President Snow doesn’t show mercy to thieves. If she shows her face again, I can guarantee you, he’ll have her head.”

His face turned plum-red with horror.

“She was… stealing?”

In a way, yes.

“She was caught by a maid last night.” You nodded, and the owner swallowed thickly.

“I – I understand, Miss. I am terribly sorry for this. I apologise that our services weren’t up to your master’s expectations, truly. Please, if there’s anything I can do- and I can assure you, I’ll be having some very stern words-”

You cut him off.

“There is one more thing, as a matter of fact."

"Anything." He pleaded.

"You can send word that… Veronica, is it? She’ll be paying him a visit this evening. But you are not, under any circumstances, to send her. Am I understood?”

He furrowed his brows, puzzled. But you stared back challengingly and held your ground.

A small, sheepish smile formed on his face.

“Much obliged. I can assure you your requests will be carried out with the utmost discretion.”

“Thank you.”

He brought you the heels in a shiny box, and you turned and left.

Henry was waiting outside, and you slid back into the car.

“Get what you needed, ma’am?”

“I certainly did.”

The drive home was your chance to pick up lunch, finetune your plan, and go through the suits you’d had Henry pick up from the tailor.

They looked impeccable – crisp and creaseless, the white shirts brighter than the stars, and the maroon red jackets and waistcoats deeper than blood itself. It was one of these jackets that you chose to take upstairs with you, leaving the rest to be taken up to Snow’s room later, hoping the missing item would go unnoticed.

You retraced your way up the winding stairs of the manor. Luckily, Lucille had informed you Snow had left not long after you that morning, and was expected to be gone until evening. Nonetheless, your paranoia made you glance left, right and left again before every turn. Finally, after an exhaustingly long morning, you were back in the safety of your own room.

But the work was far from finished. You ate quickly, then began getting ready for your discussion with Snow. He hadn’t sent for you again; he was too proud. You took pride in knowing he’d be positively seething at your turning him down that morning. You kept going, showering, teasing your hair, adding a little more makeup than usual – not excessive, but enough to make a difference – then finally wandered the room as you picked your wardrobe for later.

You lay out the heels – which were a little big on you, but would serve their purpose – as well as the jacket you’d stolen, taking the time to run your fingers over the smooth maroon velvet you’d felt only briefly before, when brushing against Snow at public events. You then dug through your underwear drawer, debating between a red lingerie set and a white. You picked the latter; the tones of red would blend in with the jacket and white made more of a statement.

Innocence. If only.

You checked the time. Three hours or so until Coriolanus would be expecting Veronica. You hoped that he would be back by then, and more so, that your performance with the brothel owner had been enough to hold him to his promise of sending word. But if you’d learnt anything from Snow, it was that fear commanded respect, and better yet, obedience. So your doubts were few and far between.

In all honesty, that’s what had drawn you to Snow in the first place. It wasn’t about money; your family had money, more than they knew what to do with. It was the power, the fear. Even the richest man in the world would crumble to the ground with a gun to his head. Power trumps wealth every time, and the enigmatic, newly elected President was by far the most powerful man in Panem.

It was its own kind of thrill, pursuing a man like that. The temptation to get him wrapped around your fingers, ravenous, hungry for power, hungry for him. It all blurred together at this point, the man was like a magnet. You wondered if this thirst for more, always more, was an affliction the two of you shared. Or perhaps, an affliction you’d developed a taste for because of him. And the longer you spent at his side, the louder it began to beat in your chest like a second heart. You wanted to consume it, and let it consume you.

It thrummed in your chest now, adrenaline coursing in your veins. You fidgeted as you waited for the hours to pass, your craving growing with each second. You flicked through a few books; you drafted a letter to your mother. Each tick of the clock bringing you closer to finally taking the one thing you’d wanted since the day you met Coriolanus Snow. It was almost time for your big move.

✩✩✩✩

As enough darkness crept into your room and you stood to light some candles, you heard soft footsteps pass your door.

For a change, you recognised them as Snow’s, even and deliberate. He was home. With half an hour to spare until he’d be expecting his whore.

You jumped at the opportunity to change. Slowly and carefully, you slipped out of your clothes and into the underwear set, until you were clad in crisp white lace, with a matching garter belt as a finishing touch. You slid on Snow’s jacket – which smelled like him, of his cologne – the usual fitted shape it would give Snow now hanging loose and slack around your body, falling to the tops of your thighs. You did up the first button, tracing the neckline that plunged down your chest, leaving very little to the imagination. You slipped into the heels, checked the time, and after scanning yourself over in the mirror, made for the door.

The few worries you had about being seen by the staff were short-lived; the hallway lights were dim as you wobbled in the heels, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. You weren’t sure if Snow had fallen for your plan, but what mattered was that as you turned the corner, there were lights shining from under his bedroom door. He was in there, waiting. By now, it was odd seeing it closed. You tried your best to emulate the sound of the footsteps you’d drilled into your brain, the clicks giving you a sense of power knowing Snow – apprehensive or not – would be in for at least one surprise.

Click. Click. Click.

You considered pausing before barging in, but you didn’t. When you reached the end of the hallway, seconds away from your fate, you reached out a hand, pushed Snow’s door open, and walked right inside.

Snow was there; of course he was. Facing his dresser and away from you, he didn’t flinch at the sound of your arrival. You closed the door behind you, and took a step towards him. Stared at his back, scanning his black dress pants and the white shirt he’d rolled up to his elbows, cufflinks on the table, blonde curls a little unruly as he smoothly poured himself a drink.

This, right here, was where the solid part of your plan ended. It was caution to the wind from here on out, and you could practically taste it, high off the adrenaline; off his presence. And he hadn’t even looked at you yet.

This was the moment of truth.

“Well,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “Look who finally figured it out.”

“Not who you were expecting?”

“She’d never reschedule.” he said simply, turning on his heels, eyes glinting at you. “Figured you were up to something. Drink?”

“Think I’ll pass.”

He approached you, eyes scanning your body, deliberately clad in the skimpiest underwear you owned. You figured this was as good a time as any to unbutton the jacket and let it fall open. It brushed your sides, and you watched him lower his glance, hungrily taking you in for what could quite possibly be the very first time. He wet his lips, took another sip.

There it is.

There was that power you craved, that look that you’d been aching to see in his eyes while he stared at you, and although it was fucked up, you let the pride fill your head with confidence, and stepped forward.

“Now, just where did you get that?” A slight narrowing of his eyes gave him away. At least something you’d done had made an impression.

“Borrowed it. In case I get cold.” You smiled.

“Cute. Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to take things that aren’t yours?”

“Oh, I take whatever I want, Snow.”

You raised your head in defiance. Proud of your voice for not faltering once.

“Clearly. Nice shoes. Borrow those, too?”

“Why, do they look familiar?” you quipped.

“I think we both know the answer to that, doll. Now why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

You sighed, feigning exasperation. A chill crept up your legs but you barely noticed.

“You wanted to talk to me, Coriolanus. Talk.”

“Is that really what you came here for, sweetheart? Dressed like that?” He put his drink down on the dresser, not once looking away from you.

“If this is what it takes to get your attention, Snow, then yes.”

You took another step closer, and the jacket fell further to your sides, more skin slipping out from underneath for him to feast his eyes on.

“I think you know plenty about trying to get my attention. I watched you struggle for weeks.”

“Didn’t think you cared.” You muttered.

He laughed, low, more like a scoff.

“What, your childish attempts at seduction? They were pitiful at best. I’d expect that kind of behaviour from a common whore, not a lady of your standing.”

“Thought you liked whores.” You retorted.

“They’re no fun to live with. And there you were, proving my point.”

Your eyes narrowed, and when you spoke, it was through gritted teeth.

“So what, you had to go and fuck one to prove a point? Mature.”

“Mature?” he glowered, then before you could think, he stormed towards you, grabbing both of your wrists with a hard squeeze. You gasped.

“Mature like you, with your short skirts and your fuck-me eyes, sucking your fingers off at the breakfast table?”

You squirmed. Tried to jolt yourself away but it was no use.

“I didn’t think you-”

“Oh, I noticed.” He said, moving in to corner you, grip tightening until he was walking you backwards across the room as he spoke, never once taking his eyes off you. “And it’s a real shame this couldn’t have been easier for us both, but you just had to start it. So I watched your pathetic little displays, day after day, knowing if you’d behaved better, I would’ve given you exactly what you wanted.”

You fought not to trip over yourself until your legs bumped against the ottoman at the foot of his bed and you caught your breath. His eyes bored into yours and you blinked helplessly. His grip loosened on your wrists. You tried to speak, but your mouth had gone dry.

“If you’d been good,” he continued, voice lowering, “you wouldn’t have played around like that. Good girls don’t whore themselves out to respectable men.”

Your eyes narrowed in defiance as you felt heat start to brew in your stomach.

“Respectable?” You spat, and his grip tightened again, bringing one hand up to trace your jaw, almost pitifully.

“See what I mean? You dig yourself deeper at every turn. Good girls ask nicely, and say please. It didn’t take me long to figure out you had issues with authority. It could’ve been so easy for you, sweetheart. You had plenty of chances. You could’ve asked me very nicely to fuck you, but instead you behaved like a desperate slut for weeks on end. Eventually, I knew there was only one way to shut you up.”

Your ears started to ring and you fought harder to gain composure. He’d never talked to you like this before. And now, all this, all at once, it was almost too much. Goosebumps had long covered your arms and legs, despite the heat inside you burning you up. You were vaguely aware of heat pooling uncomfortably between your legs.

Your breathing was heavy as you stared into him, his hand gripping your chin, and you couldn’t hide it if you tried. He finally backed away, letting you peel yourself from the ottoman. His hungry eyes scanned over you, suit jacket now crumpled at the wrists. You swallowed as you tried to pull yourself together.

“You knew I was watching you. The whole time. Every time. It was… for me.”

He watched you knowingly, raised his eyebrows a little. His lips grew into that smirk, that fucking smirk you knew all too well.

“We were playing the same game, sweetheart. I was just… Better.”

“A little excessive, don’t you think?” Your voice faltered and you cursed how breathy it sounded.

“Oh, on the contrary. It was very entertaining to see you struggle, but I could’ve gone further.” He mused. “I even considered fucking her on your bed.”

Shit.

A thought popped into your head, and a strange smile made its way to your face.

“Aren’t you going to ask me where I got these?” You asked, glancing down.

He frowned for a second; good. You’d thrown him off guard. But he caught up fast.

“The heels? You know, I had her walk right past your door in those so you’d follow her and see just what you were missing?”

If you weren’t so wired with adrenaline, you were pretty sure you’d be tearing up with how desperate you felt. But his words channelled it all into pure anger.

“Fuck you.” You seethed, and he smiled.

“We'll get to that. But go on, I’ll bite. What did you do to her?”

“Let’s just say she deserved much worse than what she got. Maybe you should’ve fucked her on my bed. Would’ve given me a reason to choke the life out of her.”

“You think I’d care?”

“Course not. Knowing you, it’d probably get you off.”

“Which brings us right back to now.” He stared at you, challenging. You laughed again.

“Is this you talking? You’re not very good at it.”

“No, this is me giving you a second chance. The way I see it, you made your move, I made mine. Now, if you’re a good girl, and ask me very nicely to fuck you until that pretty little head of yours gets filled with nothing but empty space, I might consider putting an end to this and giving you what you want. Maybe.” If you thought you’d survive smacking that smug look off his face, you would.

“You want me to ask nicely, Coriolanus?” You closed the gap between the two of you and glanced up at him through your lashes. He looked back at you, and no chill in the world could cool you down from the fire in his eyes.

He stepped away, paced towards the desk chair – the one he’d watched you from last night – then dragged it across the floor, spun it around, and took a seat. Once again, last night felt worlds away now. A lifetime sat between that moment and this one as he made himself comfortable, unbuttoned his collar. As if the room was now a stage, and he was the sole spectator.

“Go on. I’m waiting.”

Cocky bastard.

Another airy laugh escaped you. But you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t exactly where you wanted him. So you played into it.

“You want me to beg you? Say pretty please?” Your voice softened as you slowly stepped towards him, holding his gaze. A passing thought reminded you of your childhood, asking your mother what you’d feel when you first truly fell for someone.

Fireworks. Thousands of them, crackling, hissing, charging the air between the two of you into something heavy. Thick clouds of smoke you could almost taste as you stared into darkened eyes. You paused in front of him, fingers playing with the hem of his suit jacket that brushed against your thighs. Caught your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Take it off.” He ordered.

“Gladly.”

You slipped the jacket off your shoulders, and it fell smoothly into a pile on the floor. You kicked off the heels next, landing haphazardly to the side with a thump. His eyes never leaving you, consuming you.

“Like what you see, Snow?”

He took you in, long and hungry and shameless. Like you were simply there for his entertainment, nothing else. You wondered where along the line he’d lost all his inhibitions, at what moment in his very young life he’d decided to simply stop caring. It should scare you, but it just made you burn warmer. Maybe your wires were a little crossed, too, because it didn’t make you feel cheap.

It made you feel powerful.

You knew you looked good, too; you’d made sure of it. But he was looking at you like you were carved out of solid gold. He didn’t answer, because he didn’t need to.

“Think I like you better when you’re not acting like a dumb slut.”

You hummed, determined and unphased, moving in closer until your legs touched his knees. His words shouldn’t turn you on - nor should not knowing exactly how much he meant them – but they did.

“You like me better when I’m begging, then?” You placed your legs either side of his, straddling him, but still standing, and took his hands in yours. You ran one of them across your lips, brazenly taking a digit in your mouth, releasing it with a wet pop, then dropping your head down.

“You want me to be straightforward, Snow? Tell you exactly what I want?” you breathed, your foreheads almost touching, looking down at him from a thrilling vantage point, your hair falling either side of his face. “To beg you to rip this off me?” You guided his hands to your hips, letting them slide over the lacy fabric. “You want me to beg you to kiss every inch of skin you see and make it yours? Beg you to fuck me until I can’t think, and forget my own name?”

You ran his hands down the sides of your legs, then, inch by inch, letting him take a good long look on the way, you finally lowered yourself onto his lap. Your blown-out eyes met again, at the same level this time. You shifted your hips once, feigning getting comfortable, and hid a smile as he let out a strained sound.

You were close enough to feel his breath against yours, fast but steady, controlled. You moved closer, your head dipping cautiously under his chin to kiss his neck. He smelt clean, like fresh laundry and his cologne, and his skin tasted like salt as your tongue traced a line across it. It felt like power, having him like this. Slowly starting to grind your hips as your mouth pressed against his pulse, every shaky breath you elicited from him awakening something new in you.

“Say it, Snow.” You murmured, breath catching. “Tell me you want me to beg you, and be good for you.” Another trail of messy kisses across his jaw, and you finally heard it, ragged and coarse, words shooting through you like knives softened by the heat of his breath on your hair.

“Be a good girl, and fucking beg me.”

You hummed with satisfaction. Moved your lips to his ear, hand cupping the back of his neck, and leaned in close.

“If you wanted me to be good,” you whispered, “then you’ve picked the wrong girl.”

You felt it, his whole body tensing beneath you. But you had it now, the upper hand, and you weren’t giving it away. Your other hand came up to close over his mouth with a warning shake of the head, and you gripped the back of his neck harder with the first. Craned it backwards so he could look at you, a different kind of fire in his eyes. A fire that could burn you far worse than any other. You leaned your weight into him until you were flush, skin pressing into fabric. Tightening your legs around his so he couldn’t kick out. You felt dangerous. You felt alive.

When you spoke, your voice was a vial of vitriol.

“You thought I’d just give into you? Three weeks of torture and you call it even? No fucking way, Snow. You wanted to play? Let’s play.”

You were closer to him now than you’d ever been before, infinitely closer than when you’d held hands in front of an audience, or danced in the middle of a ballroom, or when he’d draw you in for a lingering kiss at the head of a busy table.

You were closer still because of the common denominator: you were alone, your bodies pressed together, soft and firm colliding. And your stomach ached with want, but your rage burned brighter.

When you were sure he wouldn’t move, you readjusted your position on his lap so you were sat on one thigh, your right knee pressed firmly against the chair between his legs. Slowly, you dragged your hips against it, firm muscle between your legs, shameless as you stared him down.

“I’d like to modify the terms of our agreement, as of tonight. Starting with this: I’ve made sure your little whore won’t come running back here. If I so much as hear a whisper of a rumor that you’re fucking someone else, I’m leaving. Don’t think I don’t know how to disappear. I can, and I will.”

He scowled at you, and you’d never felt power like the rush you got from seeing your hand clamped over his mouth. His own hands, now easily able to overpower you and push yours away, instead sat at your hips, digging in so hard you knew there’d be bruises for weeks. As you moved, he started to follow suit, rocking your hips on his thigh faster.

He’s allowing this.

The realisation made you pull your hand from his mouth, and yet he didn’t speak. There was a tightness in his jaw, locked down so hard it must’ve hurt as he watched you move, helped you move. It sent a shock through your core, and you ground down harder.

Who’s on top now?

This was getting to your head.

“President Snow,” you mocked. “What a title. Thinks he can take whatever’s in his sight. Thinks he has the right. Did you think I’d come crawling back to you?” Your voice lowered.

“Did you think I’d get on my knees, like she did?” You glanced down, running your now-free hand over the front of his pants, gentle at first, then pressing in firm, and he hissed.

“Did you really think, after all your little shows, that I’d just submit? Not a chance.” You spat, and his breath turned a little shaky as your hand slid up, then down.

As it evened out, and he reached for composure again, he pulled a countermove. Got in close, with words so sharp, they nearly cut through you.

“Which one was your favorite?”

You pulled your hand away. Your hold on the back of his neck tightened, and in turn, so did his grip on your hips, pulling you down harder as you got closer, panties bunching up as you became desperate.

You shook your head.

“Don’t.”

He smirked.

“I gave you plenty to go off. Tell me, was it when I sat right here while she rode me? Or when I was fucking her mouth and calling your name?”

He pulled your hips in rougher, and you gasped, barely able to think. You were sure if he kept this up, your thighs would chafe. You just couldn’t find it in you to care.

“No, I don’t think so.” He hummed. “I know which one it was. It was the second time, wasn’t it? When I was making her cum all over my tongue, wondering what you tasted like.”

You couldn’t help it – a moan slipped out of your lips. He kept up the pace, rolling your hips faster, flexing his thigh as you started losing your bearings. He laughed at the state of you.

“I knew that one would get to you. Tell me something, princess, how many times did you touch yourself after that night wishing it was me? Or did you lose count?”

You gritted your teeth, fighting the spinning room.

“Cocky much?”

He let out a breathy laugh again, as if he was losing himself as much as you were. Pulling you in harder in response.

“Look at you,” he mused, “riding my thigh like the needy slut you are. Bet you’re close, too, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Fuck.” you panted. “Stop fucking talking, oh my god.”

“You sure about that, sweetheart? You know I can feel how wet it’s making you, right?”

Your head dropped down and you whined. Sure enough, you’d soaked through your panties and dripped an embarrassing wet patch on his dress pants. You cursed under your breath as you slowed down.

“Beg me.” He ordered.

“No.” You gasped as he pulled you back again, faster, hips bucking as your legs started to shake around his.

“Beg me,” he repeated, "or I’ll stop.”

“Fuck, no, don’t fucking stop, I can’t-”

It was so much friction it hurt, but you kept chasing it.

“Yes, you can. You want to cum? Ask nicely, sweetheart. Just ask me.”

The seam of your panties got wetter as you moved, just enough to let the pain melt into pleasure instead as it caught on your clit, and you started to ride out your high. You were right at the edge, he was keeping you there, hair stuck to your face in a hot sweat as you writhed on his lap. So fucking close.

“Fine, shit. Please. Please help me cum, oh my god. Right there, please. Fuck.”

And maybe you were more like him than you thought, because you weren’t ashamed. You rode his thigh like you’d ride him, unabashedly, while he watched you starting to fall apart. He moved faster, pulled your hips hard in as if you were riding him, as if he could feel it, breath running ragged, desperate. It only brought you closer knowing this would be sending him over the edge, holding you so near and yet so awfully far away. The look in his eyes screaming danger, and you let it swallow you whole, squeezing his shoulders like you were scared you’d float away.

"That's it. Knew you'd sound incredible, asking me all pretty like that."

His lips met your neck, teeth grazing your skin and that’s what did it, your legs squeezing his as you shook through your orgasm, crying out, falling to pieces, hearing going fuzzy. The words good girl echoing through your head so distantly, you couldn’t tell if he’d really said them or not.

You sighed, glazed eyes rolling open, coming back to yourself. Your right hand was pressed against his chest, fingers curled into the creased fabric of his shirt. As you looked closer, you noticed it had opened wider, and he was missing a button. Had you done that?

When your eyes finally met Snow’s, you couldn’t look away from them. Beautiful and blue, like an ocean frozen over, staring into yours like you were all he’d ever wanted. You could get high off this feeling, live off it.

“Get on the bed.” He breathed. “Right fucking now.”

But too much of any feeling isn’t good for you.

“No.”

He glowered, face flushing even further, and as he leaned in to make another demand, you quickly stood, trying your hardest not to let your wobbling legs give you away.

“You should understand, Snow. We’re doing things my way now. And I’m going to be doing them as I please, when I please.”

You picked his jacket up from the floor, and slipped back into it, the soft fabric cooling down your burning skin.

“You think you’re funny, sweetheart? Nobody likes a fucking tease.”

You chuckled, doing up a button and brushing your hair out of your face, damp with sweat. You walked to the dresser and took a swig from Snow’s half-empty glass, then turned. He sat there, and it took everything in you not to smirk at the mess you’d made of him. You handed him the glass when you were done drinking and turned away. You felt him stand, but you didn’t acknowledge it, still fiddling with your hair, smoothing it out.

“You said it yourself, Snow. I’m no common whore. If you want me to beg you to fuck me, you’re gonna have to work for it.” You turned, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. His face was unreadable.

“But be a doll, leave your door unlocked.” You added, stepping back. “You never know when I might change my mind.”

“You’re not going to leave. You wouldn’t dare.” He seethed, the rage in his voice only propelling you on.

“Wouldn’t I?” You smiled, giving him a once over. Dropped your eyes down pointedly, first at the ruined leg you’d ridden, then at the uncomfortable-looking tent in his pants. You met his eye again and bit your lip, really laying it on thick. “Good luck with that, sweetheart. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

He huffed, incredulous, disbelief painted across his face as you made for the door, swinging it open. You glanced over your shoulder.

“Buckle up, Snow. I’m just getting started.”

You missed the way his shocked face turned almost admiring as he watched you leave, walking barefoot down the hallway, leaving the door wide open.

Checkmate.

a/n: hope it was worth the wait 😌

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii @tqmqkii @not-avery @natsgf @sleepysongbirdsings @hopebaker @darknight3904 @pemberlystateofmind @bxtchopolis @real-lana-del-rey @24kmar @louweasleymalfoy @m1ndbrand @coconut-dreamz @cosmicgyral @urfavevirgoo @mk15x @theamuz @ashy-kit @violante777 @snowlandstop @badbleep88 (more tags in the comments!)

[roadkillremi]

A better man

Negan X F!Reader

Era - S10/11

Summary: After being stuck in a cabin with Negan, things got hot and heavy. Is there regret or enjoyment?

Warnings : Minors DNI, Legal Age Gap (Negan is in his 50s, Reader is in their 30s) , mentions Reader's and her ex's having bad fights (mentions leaving a bruise), unprotected sex, language, p in V, the pet name Doll, mentions rubbing poison ivy on hickey, the whole smut is a flashback of "yesterday night".

A/N : My first Negan fic <3. Also a couple of side notes ; Reader calls Negan Carl's and Ricks killer, I know this isn't true. It is more of the way she viewed him during S7/8. There's no use of 'Y/N', Negan refers to the reader as "Doll". Italics are used for past quotes

There were no words once you went inside the house. Your brain scrabbled with the thought of him. Your backpack slid off your shoulders leaving a thud on the ground. It laid by the entrance next to some abandoned shoes.

"You're back!" Judith and RJ ran towards you giving you a hug. You smile kneeling down to their level.

"Sorry it took me so long..." You wrapped your arms around them. You heard a creak behind you, you turned around to find Michonne. She stood in the doorway looking down at you.

"I said To be as quick as possible." She muttered. Your chest wrenches with guilt, "We were surrounded.". Michonne nodded and stepped closer, she took a good look at you.

"What the hell is that?" She pointed at your neck. You quickly reached your hand to the spot she pointed.

"What?"

"That better not be what I think it is.." she walked away. Her kids followed behind her like little ducks. You quickly went into the bathroom moving your neck around.

There it was.

A cherry red spot on your neck, your heart rate quickened. You said no hickeys, you shut your eyes hoping you're imagining things. Flashes of last night just flood your vision.

His hands roamed your body, touching you so gently. It was a mistake, you didn't mean for things to build up. You were surrounded by dead sacks of shit. It grew colder and less safe for you two to head back. You two barricaded the windows and locked the doors. He placed his crowbar by the door and sat on the couch kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

After all these years I barely know shit about you, sweetheart.

That's what led the two of you to share stories. Stories you wouldn't dare share with anyone else. He knew about your shitty ex boyfriends, the shameful hook ups. The terrible fights you'd have with said shitty ex boyfriends that ended in bruises.

If they were still alive I'd beat the shit of them

In return, he told you all about Lucille and her death. Teary eyed he stared down at you waiting for a response. You weren't sure how to react, so you hugged him. You whispered sweet nothing's into his ear.

I bet she loved you so much.

Then you two kissed in a fit of passion. Your senses are overruled by the longing of a man's touch. Undressing each other as quickly as possible. He laid you down on the old couch, his lips exploring every curve. You patted his shoulder signalling for him to stop. He looked up at you his lips pink with saliva coating them.

Before we continue we need ground rules... Don't release your fucking seed in me. Don't leave marks. Got it?

Fuck yeah, doll.

Just like that he was on top of you, his forehead on yours. He looked into your eyes watching you whimper and moan. His smug smile didn't leave his face once, he chuckled to himself before speaking.

God, this pussy is so Fucking good! No man should teach you like shit..

You pulled him down by the nape of his neck. His lips smash into yours as his beard tickles your chin. He leaned down leaving kisses all around your neck. His teeth teasingly digging into your skin, him leaving the hickey...

He made sure you finished first, holding himself back until your release coated his cock. He pulled out of you before he could spill his seed. You reached in between the two of your bodies. Your hand pumped his shaft helping him chase his orgasm. He thrusted into your hand his head tilting back. You placed kisses on his collarbone and traveled down to his tattoo. His come falling onto your torso, he groaned.

Shit, Doll... Lemme clean you up.

He grabbed his t-shirt whipping your torso off. He tossed it back into the ground before laying on top of you. His head rested on your chest as one of his hands rubbed up and down your thigh.

You buried your face into your hands. You can't do this, Think about Rick, Glenn, Carl, Abraham. They saved you, you were their family, and you slept with their killer. You focused on your racing heart, he's a changed man. You had to get rid of the hickey before anyone else sees it.

You stormed out the house grabbing your ax on the way out. You head towards the gate, your heart echoing into your ears. Negan noticed you stomping towards the gate, he got up from the steps he was sitting at. He followed you with curiosity plan on his face.

"Where are you off to? We just got back." He grinned. You didn't look at him, "To find poison ivy.". He's taken back by your response, " 'cuse me?". You sigh moving any hair in the way to show your neck.

"You got sloppy last night. Will someone open this damn Gate?!" You fussed. A man rushed towards the gate opening it for you.

"Whoa whoa, doll. Slow down you're gonna rub poison ivy on yourself?!" He grabbed your shoulders getting Infront of you. He leaned down to your height, the greyness in his hair shining in your eyes.

"Yes.. I told you not to leave marks." You start walking out the gate pushing into his shoulder. He follows you back out the gate, "Back in my day girls used makeup." He tries to lighten up your mood. You sigh, "Negan.. I told you I can't.. no one can know.".

"What happened to you saying I was a better man?" He leaned on his leg a hint of hurt in his voice. You looked down, a bit ashamed of yourself.

"You are.." you whispered. He walked towards you, "I get it, I'm not a fan favorite out here. But Doll, talk to me.".

"You hurt my family. And me sleeping with you is... Like betraying them" you mumbled. He sighs, "I... I don't regret it. Hell, it was probably the best sex I've ever had... But.." you lose your voice. You look out into the overgrown neighborhood.

"I'll keep it a secret." He speaks up. You turned towards him with hope in your eyes.

"But, don't ignore me. I wanna see that pretty face of yours often." He gently grabs your chin lifting it up. You look into his hazel eyes feeling your heart flutter.

The same eyes that cherished the sight of your body. You leaned into his touch, "Alright. But help me find poison ivy-" you smiled.

"Yes ma'am." He grinned walking into the woods with you. His hand went to the small of your back as the ground became rougher. You smiled to yourself thinking of the night before, this time willingly.

[tracybirds]

Started this a wee while ago because @astranite and I were excitedly discussing astronomy textbooks and in particular BOB which is a real astronomy textbook for the undergraduate level, written by Carroll and Ostie as mentioned in the fic. We started joking about Lucille being an academic and writing the second BOB and then well... this happened :P

Many thanks both to @astranite and @gumnut-logic who have both read bits of this at some point - I hope you enjoy the finished fic!

---

"Imagine a world with no stars."

John reached down, brushing his fingers across the familiar preface, the uncomfortable weight of his mother's textbook feeling like home.

"Hi Mom," he whispered, his heart aching as he turned the pages.

Her orange highlighter was everywhere, notes in her clear, rounded hand scattered across every paragraph as month by month, year by year, she read yet another paper that strengthened the collective understanding of the universe. He knew that some of these notes made it into the second, third, and even fourth editions of BOBv2, but others lay dormant, waiting for a fifth edition that would never come.

Until now.

John took a steadying breath. He hadn’t dared to touch his mom’s personal copy of the astrophysics textbook that had redefined a generation in years. The Tracy text, with its dry wit and clear conceptual language, voiced with an undeniable love for the heavens above, similarly ignited a passion in everyone who read it. John was too young to know exactly when BOBv2 – the Big Orange Book – had become the standard text, but in doing so, Lucille Tracy had cemented her name as one of the great educationalists of modern astronomy. A companion to the original Carroll & Ostie, a text that delved with enthusiasm into every branch of space science, his mom had inspired a generation of astronomers.

His mom had inspired him.

And, as it turned out, there were people who wanted to see that legacy continued.

John scanned the email that had arrived without fanfare in his inbox that morning, though he already knew every word.

“Dear Mr. Tracy…” it began, and John knew they hadn’t meant him. Scott had forwarded the email himself, not reading beyond the subject line that mentioned only the title of the astronomy textbook he held in his hands.

This was how John learnt that his mom’s old publishing company were seeking permission to engage a new author to perform the necessary revisions for a new edition. John had never thought of Scott as being the executor of their parents’ estate, had never given much thought to any of the legalities of what their parents had created.

He glanced up as TB5 rounded the dark side of the Earth, the familiar patch of ocean his family called home slowly moving towards sunset.

His brother had gotten home less than an hour ago and it was for this reason, John told himself, that he hadn’t drawn attention to Scott’s error.

In truth, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.

Well.

That wasn’t quite true.

John’s grip tightened around the book as he steadied himself once more.

This text had belonged to everyone, that’s how his mom had wanted it, and that’s what John would want too.

He connected to Scott’s line.

With each ring, his heart sank further and further.

“Hey John, wha–”

“Don’t do it,” blurted John.

Scott’s blue face scrunched up as he peered at him through the holo. “Don’t do what?” he asked.

“Mom’s book, let me instead,” said John, his words beginning to stumble across themselves in his hurry to make Scott understand. “I can do it, just don’t let someone else take it away from her.”

“Woah, woah,” said Scott, looking more alarmed with every second. “Nobody’s going to take Mom away from you, what are you talking about.”

“They want to revise BOB,” said John desperately.

Scott’s silence rang between them, a pause that filled the distance between them before John huffed and thrust the book into the holocam.

“BOB,” he said impatiently, “Mom’s textbook, the Big Orange Book the Second.”

“Can you.. can you start from the beginning, John,” said Scott weakly.

John’s fingers twitched, struggling to steady his shaky inhalations.

“Mom’s publishing company sent you an email. You sent it to me so I read it, but it was for you.”

With every word, John willed Scott to hear him, to understand what he was asking. It wasn’t the revision that was troubling him, John had worked alongside academics too long to question the need for an updated edition as new evidence emerged and new lines of reasoning developed into discoveries.

“It’s the only link to her that’s just mine,” he said quietly. “I have to share everything else, and maybe that’s selfish of me to ask, Scott, but I want this one. I don’t want someone to overwrite her words, her passion, her memory with a fake. Someone who’s just pretending they could ever know what she would have said.”

“I can say no,” suggested Scott, but every fibre of John’s being rebelled at the thought.

What was worse, he wondered, to remain true to her memory and thus condemn his mother’s greatest achievement to history? Or to give up his claim to her and allow her work to shine anew, albeit polished with a varnish he’d never known.

Obscurity or lies?

John knew which he’d choose.

It felt like burying her all over.

“John,” said Scott hesitantly. “Would you want to do it?”

John’s eyes widened. At once a thousand reasons to say no erupted, his mind running through emergency scenarios and the intensive workload that revising a beast like BOBv2 would take, not to mention remembering the half a dozen other projects he’d made promises to look at when he got a chance.

There was no chance he would ever be able to agree to what Scott was suggesting.

There was no chance he’d ever say no.

“How?” he asked breathlessly.

“We’d make it work for you, John, you know we would,” said Scott. “We’d do it for Mom, but we’d also do it for you.”

John’s smile was wobbly, and he rapidly blinked back the tears that welled in his eyes as warmth flooded and swelled in his chest.

“Then let’s do it,” he said hoarsely.

***

“John!” shouted Alan, racing up the stairs two at a time. “You’ve got a package, Grandma picked it up on the mainland, it’s here – it’s here!”

John leapt up from the sofa, his quiet conversation with Brains and Virgil forgotten in a heartbeat as he reached out with eager hands.

“Scott, Gordon!” bellowed Alan, running outside and leaning over the balcony’s edge. “Hurry up, John’s book is here.”

There was a mad scramble, water splashing all over, but John hardly heard it, his hands turning the brown paper over and over. He could feel the bio-bubble packing material, its gentle give beneath his fingers making him doubt the reality of what he was about to find.

Alan slammed into his side, legs bouncing with excitement. John could see the amused glances traded between Virgil and Gordon out of the corner of his eye, but he ignored them, suddenly terrified that he’d ruined his Mom’s book forever.

“We all know you gave it everything,” said Scott, dripping water all across the floor as he gripped John’s shoulder with firm encouragement. “She’d be proud too. Let’s see it.”

The spine was orange, the dusky colour of sunsets as the night gave way to twilight and the field of astronomy arose. Tracy & Tracy stood out, stark white and magical. Each leaf was glossy and vibrant, full of excitement and wonder.

He glanced down at Alan, whose eyes were wide in awe, and smiled, opening the book to the dedication page.

To Jeff, who travelled my stars and inspired my heart. – L.T. 1st edition To Scott, John, and Virgil, who helped me to dream. – L.T. 2nd edition To Gordon, who gave me new adventures. – L.T. 3rd edition To Alan, for all the skies we’ve seen together  – J.T. 5th edition

John wrapped an arm around Alan, who had gone still as he read.

“It was time you were added to the Tracy text,” he said quietly.

Alan only hugged him back.

“It looks incredible, John,” said Virgil. “It’s all paid off.”

One by one, everyone gave their congratulations and wandered off, the novelty soon wearing thin. Even Alan slipped away, his video games beginning to call, but not before making John promise to get him his own copy.

Eventually, only Scott remained and he fell down on the sofa next to John, watching him quietly as he flipped through the pages one by one.

Soon enough John paused, running his fingers over the familiar foreword, every letter of Lucille’s passion immortalised once again. His foreword came second in deference to the original and, sandwiched between his mother’s words and the contents page, John had allowed himself more sentiment than he usually considered wise in a public sphere, comfortable in the knowledge that only the few who were truly inspired by what he and his mom had made would ever read them.

“She would be proud,” he said with certainty. “Of this, of what we’ve done without her.”

“She would,” Scott agreed. “They both would.”

John nodded, and closed the text, laying it carefully on the coffee table.

His green eyes shimmered earnestly, a mirror of their mother.

“Thank you, Scott,” he said. “For giving me this.”

“It’s yours, John,” said Scott. “Always.”

[panic-in-the-multiverse]

Everybody Dies

Pairings: Rick Grimes x teen!reader, Daryl Dixon x teen!reader, Carl Grimes x teen!reader, Michonne Hawthorne x teen!reader, Aaron x teen!reader, Negan x teen!reader, Rosita Espinosa x teen!reader, Eugene Porter x teen!reader, Sasha Williams x teen!reader (all of them are platonic)

Requested by: @leahsbasement may i request a teen or child g/n reader that’s really close to the twd group and during the lineup they’re one of the people chosen by negan to yknow- receive the glenn and abraham treatment💀 and like we get some reactions from the group from it🧎 i apologize if this sounds really morbid but i am dire need of some good angst and i love your writing sm it’s amazing <3

Warnings: reader death, angst, a tad bit of fluff (definitely not much), mention of character death, description of Negan doing what he did to Glenn and Abraham, blood, mention of a brutal way to die, idk what more I guess you have all seen twd so you know what might be in this. Not proofread

A/N as usual the gif is not mine, found it somewhere on the internet. This is not proofread, well half of it is.

Now I tried to do a reaction with all of the people at the line up so sorry with Sasha I guess bc I don’t like her so found it a bit hard to write her as a character that’s close to the reader, and once more thank you for the request, it gave me an excuse to write this

Anyway idk what I think of this, wrote it in the middle of the night because I couldn’t sleep, so anyway hope you like it.

Everybody dies a little when the brightest soul disappears.

A sea of red water mixed with the gravel and mud on the ground. The trail of blood — that had gone its own path from the puddle it was previously in, could be followed towards two bodies. One of a hunched man, who racked with sobs through his entire body. His hands grasped towards the body before him. Blood still oozed from the head. Or what someone would once have called a head, as it was now just remains of smashed bones and brain goo. The once familiar face was unrecognizable to anyone. No one would ever be able to pinpoint who the body belonged to, because the head atop of it was gone. It had been smashed into a puddle of goo. No one would ever be able to see your smiling face, or the mischievous smirk that pulled at your lips whenever you wanted to rebel a bit. Nor would they ever see the sparkles in your eyes whenever you talked about the things you liked.

No one of the group surrounding the three bodies wanted to acknowledge what had happened. How could they. They’d all just seen three of their family members die, because of their actions. Because of them. The teenager in which the hunched man had taken a tight grip of their hands had warned them about the attack. That nothing good would come out of it, that it wasn’t who they were. Rick had been wrong like everyone else to ignore the teenager’s warnings. In the end it was what cost them your life. Their choice of actions had been the beginning of your end.

Rick couldn’t let the image out of his head, he couldn’t even look at your body as he held you tightly. His eyes stared into the distance at nothing in particular as his mind tried to register what had happened just a few hours ago. His cries had stopped only for his eyes to glaze over once more with tears. He couldn’t help but to think that it was all his fault. He had the final vote on what to do, and his vote caused your death. It caused Negan to seek them out. To line them up. To smash your head with his goddamn wired baseball bat. His goddamn Lucille. He swore to kill Negan if it was the last thing he did, whether you would want him to or not, he needed to. Rick wanted nothing more than revenge. Nothing more than justice and revenge brought to you, Glenn and Abraham.

Not soon after Rick had stopped crying his son had walked over to you and him. His eye was bloodshot by the tears that rolled down his red cheek. And his hand went up to rub his eye off the tears as he tried to control himself, as he sat beside his father. Same as everyone else at the brutal scene he couldn’t let go of the events. How everyone got a look of dread and fear on their face as Negan announced that he’d had to kill two more because of Daryl’s little outburst. Carl had glanced at his father to see that for once under this meeting he held actual fear in his eyes when Negan’s bat had landed in front of you. It was deadly quiet as all of the group watched you stare dead into the eyes of Negan who looked at you with a scary face, gleaming with excitement as he noticed everyone’s reaction.

Negan had watched with glee as everyone went into submission after Lucille had stopped in front of you. He’d felt kinda sorry for you. He didn’t usually kill teenagers but something about you annoyed him so greatly. Maybe it was the way you didn’t look with fear into his eyes, how you held your own, even with the knowledge that you would soon be dead. He didn’t know what it was but he had decided to kill you, well he decided in a way.

Maggie who had lost her husband and father to her child, stared with emptiness at you. She didn’t know if she’d be able to take it if you died as well. She had tried to fight the man holding her down, but to no vain. Her already bloodshot eyes had filled with tears and sobbed had shook through her body as soon as she saw Negan start to swing his bat. She didn’t want to lose you, she couldn’t. But her silent prayer came to no good end.

Rosita was no better than Maggie. Since the first time you met when you and Glenn together with Tara searched for Maggie the two of you had gotten close and she as everyone else got flashes of your lives together. Of all your good and bad memories of everything you had survived. How you’d found an apple tree that hadn’t been destroyed at a random location in the forest and thrown apples at your companions heads as they hadn’t stopped when you told them to. Or how you’d draw drawings with the kids in Alexandria or help hunting and scavenging for food. Getting stuck in a building while a herd of walkers walked past. The blood and the gore of every kill. All of them comforting you while you cried yourself to sleep, all the cuddles you forced them into, especially Rick and Daryl. How you forced them to take a break so that they wouldn’t overwork themselves while doing the exact same thing. Needing help from others to make sure you actually took care of yourself and not just everyone else. It just made them all get to the brink of breaking even quicker as they thought of all your moments together. Not only did memories flash inside your head, nor only Rosita’s they flashed through everyone. You had always looked out for them and what had they given you in return, nothing but death.

Sasha wasn’t especially close to you but the previous death of Abraham and Glenn and now you had her at her breaking point. She might not have known you well but you were a good kid, you helped and knew how to survive. You didn’t take unnecessary risks and you’d helped her through her losses. So she tried nothing more than to break herself away from reality as she heard the bat make contact with your head. It reminded her too much of the other two kills and she couldn’t look through another one, not again.

Eugene only stared at the distance as sobs racked through his body not being able to watch you die. He couldn’t even bring his eyes to look at you afterwards, he’d never be able to erase the short scream of pain that had left your lips. He was at a loss of words and he wouldn’t be able to really function in a few days, much like everyone else. He was scared shitless and he didn’t know for anything in the world what to do or say in the hours that came after.

Negan had looked at everyone, gauging even the slightest reaction out of them. Michonne had watched helplessly at you, she’d tried not to flinch everytime the bat hit you among a sound she’d never wished she ever heard ever in her life. The only thing on her mind was how she taught you how to sword fight or when you hunted a deer together and accidentally fell into a puddle of mudd getting every inch of you covered in it.

Arron, who had been right beside you, wanted to crawl away as your blood splashed onto the right side of him. He remembered all the times you’d gone over to him and Eric to eat pasta not wanting to socialize with the rest of Alexandria. You’d always go to him or Daryl.

Arron felt sick as he felt your warm blood on his cold cheek, and he felt even more sick as he made a glance at Daryl who didn’t do anything else but staring with regret and anger at your body who now laid lifeless on the ground. When Aaron dared a glance at you his throat became thick and a sob threatened to come out but he didn’t make a sound instead he stared at you before he looked with fear, numbness, anger and defeat at Negan.

But it wasn’t until Negan had looked at Rick Carl and Daryl did he notice that he sure as hell picked the wrong one to kill, deep inside, he knew that he’d just started a war. A war that wouldn’t take too long to brew over to the real fight. However he was filled with glee over getting a few peaceful weeks at reveling in his power and control over Alexandria. Maybe that would make the war something never to come, how wrong he had been on that thought.

Daryl felt nothing but guilt as he looked at you and it was all he thought of when he got loaded into the car and the Saviours drove away with him. He regretted having lashed out. Regretted ever getting angry. Daryl knew more than anyone that he’d miss you when you were gone. Like Beth, he’d miss you, even more so than Beth.

Carl had held a strong front, but on the inside he was breaking he lost his best friend and the only kid that had been with him since the beginning of the disaster they now lived in.

Now in the present Carl placed his hand on Rick’s shoulder as everyone surrounded your body (except for Maggie, Sasha, Rosita and Eugene). The two Grimes hugged each other as Carl dug his head into Rick’s chest. The older Grimes, having stopped his crying once more, tried his best to comfort his son while he himself was still breaking.

Rick, like Carl and Daryl, had held a shield with spikes as defense against Negan, as they had all starred with the same thought of killing Negan running through their heads. They had let a numb shield cover them while their enemies still surrounded them. They hadn’t let go of the shield until their enemies were gone. (Or in Daryl’s case until he was alone in the cell he was placed in at the sanctuary).

That day, the day you died, was the day everyone in Alexandria died a little with you. You were the brightest soul in most of their lives and to lose you was one of the worst things to ever happen to any of them.

[katuschka]

Touch Starved Pups – Three

Jake Kiszka x f!Reader x Josh Kiszka October Special (But only because there's a Halloween party in this one. Otherwise, just a continuation of the story.) 5.954 words

Anyway, it you're new to this, welcome to Part Three of the story about what happens to two well-behaved, bored and horny romantics when a new feisty, worldly and hot social media manager enters the building...

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): expressive language, promiscuous behaviour, petting and fingering (f!receiving), some heavy fluff, kissing, sex toys and teasing in public, costumes, alcohol consumption, a very brief mention of marihuana, allusions to continuous online bullying, being in denial of one's feelings

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Whoa, you like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh yeah

It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough

You know you're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love

There are so many pleasurable things you can do on a rainy October day, instead of being stuck in a conference room. Sleeping comes to mind immediately. Or sleeping with someone. Sleeping after having slept with someone is definitely the best option. Best-served with champagne and strawberries and a Taurus on each side. Nudge nudge, wink wink.

Naughty, naughty thoughts. I promised myself to abstain from that…at least for a while, because two horny Tauruses dogging me all the time were exactly the reason why this couldn’t be just a lazy Saturday afternoon. Oh dog, how I hate conference rooms. 

But who doesn’t, right? Well, apart from the people who have a stick up their asses. And by that I don’t mean any funny silicone shit. I have yet to meet a sane person who doesn’t look either annoyed or miserable while sitting around the long table in a usually cold room. Doesn’t matter if it’s due to the air temperature or the sterile interior design. All those meetings, briefings and brainstorming sessions have nothing to do with creativity and real work. The only ones who enjoy it are those who love to listen to themselves talking, which is usually the only skill they possess. Everyone else is just waiting for it to be over so that they can go back to doing something that is actually productive. 

Like…fucking, preferably. Oh no, not again. Be for real, bitch! F-O-C-U-S. 

At least this was the GVF headquarters and not some fancy-schmancy glass tomb that reeks of Ivy League jizz. That’s why I prefer working with artists. Corporate marketing is boring and often borderline unethical. Here,we had beer. Both Sam and Jake already downed two cans each, which made it pretty obvious that they were just as happy to be there as I was. I took just a few tentative sips myself, as I had to keep in mind what was at stake. 

My job. 

Of all the reasons for summoning an “emergency” meeting, this one’s the worst. 

I tried to ease my mind a bit on my way there by blasting Lucille Bogan in my car, but as soon as that bitch started singing about enjoying two dicks the side of a baseball bat, I almost screamed with exasperation. During the past month, I had tried to avoid exactly that. And for what? I was still pretty much fucked, and not the way I wanted. Damn, how I missed those dicks. But I’m a professional, and even though both of them kept begging instead of just enjoying their much deserved break and time spent at home, I was adamant. 

See, it’s part of my job to make sure there’s no significant online drama. And I obviously failed. You can’t really avoid it, it often spreads like a virus and there’s something new every day, but just like with any other illness, there’s prevention and treatment. Anytime something lasts more than two weeks, I’m bound to report it to the management. And that’s exactly why I’d rather jump in the snake pit today, as it was me who caused the most recent major fuckup. It’s been more than a month. 

So, I submitted all the evidence a week prior and expected to be roasted. I’m no pounce pony though, and I knew very well that apart from the most recent mishap, I had done a really good job in the last six months. High on caffeine and adrenaline, I sat up straight, ready to defend my job. 

“... so, as you can see, that one-time drop on Instagram and Tiktok is counterbalanced by a steady increase of all numbers – not just followers, but also various interactions – on all the platforms except the X, which is fairly specific and…” I expected Melissa from management a.k.a “That Bitch” to interrupt me eventually, and yet I cringed when I finally heard her annoying voice coming out of the large screen in front of us. It matched the face perfectly.

“Well, that’s actually the only reason why we’re even having this conversation. Stella, you must understand that this is a problem. While we don’t believe in strict policies when it comes to mixing your personal and professional life…and you’re all adults…” She both looked and sounded quite unconvinced by her own words. “... this has gone a bit too far. We cannot really tolerate any further damage to the reputation of the band. That’s unacceptable. Thankfully for you, you have significant support who put in a good word for you.”

If clearing one’s throat was an olympic discipline, a few people, both in the room with me and on the big screen, would qualify. That offended me a bit. I’m a tolerant person, but my sex life is not a gob of phlegm, thank you very much. Fuckers.

Anyway, back to business.

“Yes, I understand that, Melissa, and I’ve already made amends.” By making amends I meant that there was currently no mixing going on and I was going to keep it that way in near future. And while I at least pretended to understand why it was “unacceptable”, I wasn’t sure about the other two whom it also concerned and who were sitting opposite to me. To be honest, I had absolutely no idea what was really going on behind Jake’s poker face and sunglasses combined. Josh, on the other hand, kept watching me sideways through his ridiculously long eyelashes while his tongue kept polishing his front teeth, which made him look like he was constantly pouting. I tried to ignore it. “The new strategic plan for the next few months before the scheduled releases is also ready. So, whenever the guys are too, we can start working on it. The three most successful recent posts both on Instagram and Tiktok proved that candid content really is...” Aaaand she interrupted me again.

“This is all very nice Stella, but I want to hear how you’re going to deal with the current issue first.”

I could feel my blood start to boil. I did all I could, even though I didn’t want to, but I just couldn’t fight the nightmare! The best thing to do now was to direct everyone’s attention somewhere else. “Unfortunately, certain things are beyond my control, and…” 

“I don’t think your reputation and your problematic past is entirely beyond your control, Stella.”

My past? MY problematic past? There it was again. It was just a pinkie at first, but I had to grab my right hand with the left one to stop it from shaking. 

“I think that’s enough, Melissa.” It was Jake. No longer leaning back against his chair and acting as if he was in the room entirely by mistake, he was now looking directly at the screen with his left hand placed menacingly on the table. I loved when he was glowering like that. Especially when… focus, you idiot! Meanwhile, he continued, only to be interrupted by Josh, as always. “We all know – including you, I hope – that you can’t really choose your parents. I mean…”

“Yeah, uh, and speaking about parents, I think that if my mother doesn’t see Stella as problematic, then you shouldn’t either.” 

Oh Joshy, baby, that isn’t really helping, and… your mother?! Well, that was a bit embarrassing, given the…well, all of it actually. I had met their mom twice, so I knew she was no prude, but still. Yikes! “Your mom knows about this?” I mewed. I certainly didn’t want to emit such a high-pitched, screechy sound, but as I said, certain things were beyond my control. 

“Well, of course, darling, she doesn’t live in a cave” he replied nonchalantly, before he turned back to Melissa. “But also because she was notified about it, no doubt by the same people who keep sending Stella hateful messages. THAT is unacceptable and problematic. And I think that, um, given wha…uh…given the band’s message and all, we shouldn’t really tolerate when our employees are being bullied, let alone participate in it.” 

The room fell quiet. Both rooms, to be more specific. I didn’t even realize I was gaping at Josh until Danny’s finger gently pushed my chip back up. I turned to my right to look at him and he smiled at me encouragingly. They were all unbelievable. Sometimes I felt like Alice in fucking wackoland. I didn’t even know why I kept denying to admit that they were actually pretty sweet. ‘People are cunts’, that was my favorite mantra and the armor I put on every morning. 

“Very well!” Melissa broke the silence at last. “But I hope we all agree that this must be sorted out. And all I want is Stella to…”

“Ok, let’s not delve into this any further, because it’s both inappropriate and irrelevant.” It was Jake again. While mixing business with bodily fluids wasn’t “exactly discouraged”, keeping anyone from finishing a sentence seemed like a cardinal rule here. Why didn’t anyone tell me before? I’m quite good at it too when needed.

Jake was still talking to Melissa when he turned to me. “... the main issue is with me and Josh having a row or something, that’s how it all started, correct?”

“Correct…,” both me and the Bitch answered in unison, albeit with uncertainty. 

“Cool, so let’s work on that.” And with that, he leaned back again, resuming his previous ‘fuck-this-shit’ posture. 

“Ok…please, do!” Melissa breathed out, pinching her brow.

“I got some ideas…” I added hopefully to break the tension, even though I had N-O-N-E at the moment, because I was very well aware that even if we posted a series of sickeningly sweet shutterstock-ish pictures of the two of them going fishing together, it wouldn’t change a thing. I was still THE problem. 

“Fine, you better make them work. I don’t care how, just fix it. You have one week to come up with a plan, because we need to start working on the RAH teasers well before Thanksgiving, and it would be fine if you managed to boost the numbers even more before that.” 

“Aaaactually, we already have a plan.” It was Sam this time. 

“We do?” I thought I only thought of the question, but apparently, I said it out loud, because Daniel gently stomped on my foot under the table in an obvious attempt to stop me from saying any more. “Yeah, Stella. That costume thing you told us right before the meeting. We actually quite like it. And pardon my amateur opinion, but I think it might work.”

“Oh yeah,” I chimed feebly. I honestly had no idea what was going on and I didn’t like it one bit, but I also wanted it to be over already and any straw I could catch was more than welcome. “Yeah, the costume thing… Ok, let’s try it.” 

 “So…can someone please explain to me what you meant by having a plan?”

We were no longer in that stifling room. Instead, Sam was playing some tune on the piano in the main room while the twins sat sprawled on the couch nearby and Daniel was helping himself to another beer. 

While still playing, Sam turned his head slightly towards me. “It’s top secret. I’ll just have to come to our Halloween party and see for yourself. Believe me, you’ll like it.”

“I really doubt it. I hate Halloween parties.” 

In fact, I hate Halloween parties, New Year’s Eve parties, birthday parties and all that shit. Parties with a small p are just fine, but these organized annual celebrations of infantility often turn to a shitshow, especially when family members are involved. I couldn’t see how replacing sleazy uncles with your actual bosses could be any different. And what was the plan, anyway?

“Told you…” Daniel called while still rummaging in the fridge. Meanwhile, Josh stood up and was now trying to dance with me to the music. Trying is really a very fitting word in his case, because it was like being thrown around the room by a drunk chimpanzee. 

„Dear sparrow, it won’t be just an ordinary Halloween party. I hereby invite you to our night of debauchery and incessant frolicking. Yeah, and the play, well…as Sam said, top secret.“ Josh chimed.

„Don’t you have your own acquaintances to keep you company now we’re back from tour?“ They kept informal, friendly relationships with most of the crew, and I was sure some other people from our team might be there as well, but I didn’t lie when I told That Bitch that I was trying to make amends. 

Josh finally let go of me and collapsed back on the couch. „Ah, no… sadly, there seems to be a dreadful shortage of pretty dicks that would be able to satisfy my refined taste and wild, wicked nature.“

Jake looked as if he would throw up soon. „Don’t listen to him, he’s just bluffing. He’s like a meek lamb when in a relationship.“

Yeah, Jakey, I know, but it’s cute how you both always try to convince me otherwise. 

The remark, however, didn’t throw Josh off the hinges AT ALL. hE kept the facade without even blinking. „…and while I’m still on the lookout for a daddy that would tame me, let’s have some fun in the meantime.“

„There’s no shortage of cunts, though,” I chimed in, trying not to look overly amused by his antiques. 

„Yeah, well, too bad. I’m quite picky,“ he winked at me. 

There was no point in trying to argue with him. “Ok, I’ll think about it.” I wasn’t going to. 

Until…

„You really should come.“

I thought I was the last person in the building, with all of them already gone. I was just collecting my stuff, ready to go home too, when Jake’s voice right behind my back made me jump.

„Jesus fuck! Alright. Convince me.“ I didn’t want him to.

But he did. „Ok, c’mon.“ He grabbed my hand and dragged me back to the now empty conference room, because as it turned out, we weren’t completely alone. One of the assistants just arrived to replenish the fridge. Once inside, he pinned me against the wall, grabbed my chin and skillfully proceeded to convince me with his tongue inside my mouth. And so we were mixing again! Oh well. 

„Ok, ok, I shall come,“ I said, breathless, when he finally released me. As I said, he had been hiding behind his shades most of the afternoon, so looking right into his eyes now was akin to electric shocks. Sometimes I really hate them, you know. 

„Good.“ He closed the gap between us once again and brushed his lips against mine, but much more gently this time.

No! Not good! This was exactly why I did NOT want to go! Oh well…

My initial plan was to go dressed as Mata Hari, because sometimes I enjoy being overly melodramatic AND I prefer to slut with class. I was also quite certain Josh would approve of the abundance of sparkly trinkets while Jake might appreciate the fact that they wouldn’t really cover much. 

The fuckers had other plans. Not only did Josh send a car for me, obviously to prevent me from leaving early as I had threatened to do, but the driver also handed me a box with another costume. Inside it was a rather hideous violet coverall, not much different from those Josh himself was sometimes wearing, and a pair of steampunk welding goggles. The fuck… I snatched my phone and quickly typed a message. 

S.: NO WAY!

Baggins: on comeon, its gonna be fun. and gregory is instructed to keep waiting until you get dressed. 

S: Well, in that case he’s gonna spend the night, because I’m not going anywhere wearing that.

Baggins: yes, you are. or else…

It was followed by a picture of him holding a huge hammer and standing menacingly next to a chair, to which he tied Jake’s Beloved. 

Ok, I have to admit: He made me laugh. But I wasn’t doing it. Having seen my vulnerable side made them bolder, but I’m no lily-of-the-valley. This blood red rose has thorns. While my therapist would tell you that it’s his fault, I see no fault in that. 

As if Josh was distance-reading my mind, the pic was quickly followed by another message. 

Baggins: im serious!

Yeah, he wasn’t, but I got the point. They’d do some other stupid shit eventually. To make me pay. So, 45 minutes later we arrived at the huge house which the guys were renting for the party. Previously notified by Gregory, Josh was already waiting at the door, wearing a red hawaiian shirt and a clown nose. 

“Sparrow! My dearest!” He greeted me dramatically with his arms outstretched. “You look absolutely fabulous…but where are your goggles? You totally need those!” he added after he smooched both sides of my face. The man was already high as a kite and the mixture of weed and tequila attacked my nostrils with brutal force. I wasn’t planning on drinking or smoking anything for my own sake, which only meant that they would appear even more insufferable than they usually do. It’s almost impossible to interact with inebriated Kiszkas while sober. I never understood how Danny could cope. Well, probably because he usually drank just as much. 

I took those goggles with me, just in case, but mainly to tell him that “I’m not putting those on my face, Josh!” 

“Oh no no no, these go on top of your beautiful head, darling.” He took them from me and carefully put them on. I secretly mourned the beautiful art deco headdress I left at home. Eyes or hair, I still looked like a fucking mechanic. 

“Hmmm, yes! Almost perfect. All you need is…” Without finishing the sentence, he started fumbling in his pocket until he pulled out a pink lipstick and smeared some on the top of my nose. I didn’t ask… Exasperated, I just rolled my eyes, as I was glad he finally ushered me inside because my teeth started to chatter. He didn’t even flinch, probably already too drunk to realize it was actually fucking cold outside. 

“So what’s this shit? You dressed as Sam this year? Oh-em-gee, don’t tell me I’m supposed to be you?!” I exclaimed, tugging at the hideous coverall. He just chuckled, snaked his arm around my shoulder and led me into a large living space already full of people whom I didn’t know and didn’t expect. Not your usual rock&roll party.   

“Oh no no no, nothing like that, darling. Ok, let me… where the hell is Jake…”

Yeah, speak of the devil, he just emerged from the adjoined kitchen, deep in conversation with some old geezer dressed as Charlie Chaplin. Seriously, these guys are unbelievable. You’d expect some hot bitches here. Instead, I ended up looking like Rosie the Riveter, in a room full of country crooners. However, my eyebrows shot up at the sight of Jake in an aviator jacket and a fedora hat. “Since when is your brother a fan of Indiana Jones?” Josh snickered again. I was getting really annoyed. The truth is, Indiana Jones was hardly ever completely bare chested and I don’t think his accessories ever included a red party balloon. Meanwhile, Jake spotted us and beelined towards us. He tried to appear serious, but couldn’t really fight off the cheeky smile that was creeping across his face. As he got closer, I could see that the tip of his nose was painted black. I smelled a rat. 

“You look wonderful, Bebe.” He gave me a toothy smile and tipped his head. 

“No, I don’t and you know it. I’m still waiting for an explanation, as your goofy brother refused to give me any. Why are we looking like…”. At that moment, I spotted Sam and Daniel, who looked like Belmondo in his prime except for the enormous, ginger, fake walrus mustache under his prominent nose.

However, my mouth fell open at the sight of Sam, sporting a red turtleneck, fairy wings between his shoulder blades and HUGE, yellow ski goggles, except – unlike me and mine – he really had them on. He looked like… and then it dawned on me… 

Jumping from behind Daniel, he also moved our way to greet me properly. He was literally buzzing. 

… and I ended up on the floor laughing my ass off. Not a rat. Fucking chipmunks! “Oh my god! We are! Oh god, this is fucking hilarious!” I couldn’t stop laughing, while pointing a finger at the two idiots grinning at me from above. “You’ve no idea how fucking accurate this is!” I howled while Jake took a swig of helium from the balloon he was holding. 

“Oh yes, we do!” he squeaked and held a hand for me to pull me back up. I landed right into his arms and collided with him, still wheezing, but as soon as I felt his heart beating against my boobs, the amusement was quickly replaced by another feeling – one which I wasn’t really keen on entertaining. 

I broke the embrace abruptly to say hi to the other two. 

I said I wouldn’t drink, but I really, really needed some whisky real quick. So, with Josh leading the way, we all moved our asses to the kitchen, where I could inquire a bit more about their real intentions. 

“OK baby, I admit that this is both funny and cute, but what exactly is that alleged plan of yours? Unless you enticed me here to fight against a fat tabby cat. I admit Mel looks like one, but… ” 

“We got a photobooth here, darling.” Josh explained, as if that was any explanation at all. He leaned playfully over the counter until he was mere inches away from my face and whispered: “We’re too cute. I think we need a group photo. You can even make a tiktok if you want!”

“And how is that supposed to make things better?” 

Leaning even further forward – literally splattering himself across the counter – he kissed and patted my head, making me feel like a dimwit for even asking. “Well, first, it will show that we’re not fighting. And second, it will make it pretty obvious that we do like you.” 

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Please don’t make me repeat my question.” 

The whisky was doing hardly anything for me. I needed more buzz. I raised my glass suggestively and Jake quickly got a grasp. Standing right next to me, he reached out for the bottle that stood on the counter to Josh’s right. While his pendants swung right in front of my eyes, there was that feeling again…oh dammit! Seemingly oblivious to my internal struggle, he answered while refilling my glass. 

“It’s not supposed to make things better for us, it should make things better for you.” 

Poor little chipmunks. So pretty and SO naive…More fuel to the fire. And I was sure Melissa was going to be absolutely delighted. But, against my better judgment, I let my bitchy, vengeful me take over my professional side momentarily and imagined the backlash with glee. It had a good potential to become viral and the idea filled me with malicious joy… 

Sam brought me back from my reverie… “Can you punks please hurry? I’ll need to change soon!”

“What is he changing into?” I asked Jake.

“Jesus,” he rolled his eyes. “Mary Magdalene will arrive at ten.”

The photo session turned out to be quite fun. True, it was like high school all over again, but this time with the people that I actually liked. And being too old to find the costumes cringy, we simply just enjoyed the moment. When Daniel shouted “cheese”, we all howled with laughter. Yeah, it was cool. Perhaps too cool. I was getting too drawn to them again. 

So, when it was over, I was ready to leave. When I found Josh in the kitchen to say bye, I tried to blame it on the lack of debauchery. Secretly, I was glad there was none. 

“Ok, Josh, thank you. Those photos will be perfect and it was fun and all, but you promised me some shameless shit, and all I’m getting is a kids' theme party, so unless you give me something to stay, I’m leaving.”

I expected him to be disappointed. I did not expect him to be able to do something about it. Actually, he wasn’t sad at all. There was this strange gleam in his eyes that I knew too well. 

“I was getting worried you’d never mention it. Here.” Reaching inside the same pocket in which he was hiding the lipstick, he pulled out a small, rounded remote and handed it to me. 

“What is that?”

“Just try it.” There was a sultry undertone in his voice all of the sudden, which got me intrigued. I pressed the biggest of the three buttons and watched how his lips parted just a tiny bit. Astonished, I watched his chest rise and fall as he kept looking at me intently. Oh god… Away from the music, I could hear something buzzing, although it was barely noticeable. My own eyes widened in realization. 

I pressed another button to increase the intensity and watched him squeeze his eyes shut and bite his lip to keep himself quiet, because we weren’t completely alone. What a sight. To help you imagine the whole picture, he still had the clown – I mean Dale’s – nose on. I took a step closer to whisper in his ear.

“You’re wicked, Joshua!”

Yeah…I stayed. 

“And it’s all for you…” I was sure he meant to sing it, but it came out as a strangled groan. I switched it off and took a step back, pondering over the power that I literally held in my hand.

Watching me examining the little pebble-like thing, he seemed to read my mind once again. “It’s your toy for the evening. But only if you stay, of course. It doesn’t really work long-distance.”

Can you blame me? 

I used it several times during the evening. It was fun watching him squirm during the most inconvenient moments. He even cursed me a few times, but I didn’t make the rules. It was his game and I just played it like a good girl. 

Lol, no. Not good at all. 

I must admit that despite my expectations, I was really having a good time. Sometime around midnight, Sam started absolving everyone from their sins, the Charlie Chaplin guy threw up in the ice bucket, Jake took off his aviator jacket and started jumping around the room while shouting “much better” over and over again, and unsurprisingly, Daniel really knows how to play the bongos. The rest is a blur, but nice. A few dances, a few stolen kisses from both of them, some touching…

Totally innocent, I swear. 

To tell the truth, I could feel my previous resolve crumbling with each new sip of the fiery golden liquid, and judging by how eager the two of them were to keep replenishing my glass, I think it was their mutual goal to keep me there. 

The huge main room got gradually quieter as the night grew thin, until it was just the three of us chilling on the huge couch at three-ish in the morning. Don’t ask me how that happened, because I’ve no idea. Everyone else had either gone back home or disappeared upstairs. I could feel the fatigue slowly taking over my body. I wasn’t exactly sleepy, I just felt like a rag doll. I should have been back home in my bed already, but I simply didn’t want it to end just yet. The place was now illuminated only by string lights, which only added to the tranquil atmosphere. Really festive too, almost christmasy. 

I closed my eyes for a sec, relishing in the moment of peace. My head was spinning just a bit after everything I had drunk that night (sometimes during the night, I switched to martinis), but it only added to the feeling. No one had ever done anything like that for me. 

“This is nice…”

‘This is nice’? OMG, stfu, bitch! This is not a tea party. 

But it WAS, even though neither of us could deny that there was a shitload of underlying tension in the air that made my skin prickle despite the serenity of the moment. Even that was nice. And I had missed it. 

“We were wondering…” 

“Which one of us is better?”

I slowly turned my head to the right to see Jake’s tilted profile. I expected him to continue and to kindly enlighten me what the hell they were wondering, but he kept staring at the ceiling as if he was looking out for God to materialize there.

“Uh huh, and what were you wondering, dear?”

Oh shit…

I took a deep breath first. “That’s almost impossible to tell, Jake. You’re different, each in its own specific way.”

“You sound like a kindergarten teacher.”

“Yeah, I guess, but it’s true.”

And it was. Jake seemed to have a degree in the she-comes-first studies, and by that I don’t mean just cumming. He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without knowing that he absolutely aced it. Sometimes it turned into a game of dominance, but it almost always ended the same way. He can call you a “cock slut” or worse as part of the game, but you always know you’re being cherished. Almost as if he…no.

I think that deep down, he was a hopeless romantic. 

And Josh? He kept surprising me every day and ALWAYS made sure I was absolutely ok with everything he did, or wanted me to do. I never felt more safe in my whole life. It wasn’t always what I wanted, because I like surprises, but I knew it would make him feel bad. After a while I even realized that I needed it, which frightened me a bit.

Well, thinking about it, they actually had one thing in common. 

See, I was used to taking the things I wanted because no one ever gave me anything and I stopped expecting it a long time ago. And I just couldn’t stop thinking about all the things they had done for me recently, even though they absolutely didn’t have to. 

It made me feel things that I absolutely didn’t want to feel.

And yet it was nice…

“You know Jake, you both excel in one thing, and yet it somehow can’t be measured. Or compared.” 

“Sounds like a fucking oxymoron to me.” 

“Ok, lemme show you.”

I fumbled in my pocket for a few secs until I managed to press the right button without them knowing (ok, ok, without one of them knowing) what I was trying to do. 

The feeble buzzing sound echoed in the silence of the room – followed by a gasp on my left – and as expected, Josh automatically snuggled closer and started nuzzling my neck. 

“See?” I smiled wickedly and increased the intensity again. Josh moaned and his hand slid down to my left breast, kneading it gently. Like a good boy. Always giving back. 

“You didn’t!” Jake straightened up to get a better view of his twin.

“I absolutely did,” the said twin breathed out against my skin, giving me goosebumps.

“The whole night?”

“Focus Jake, not the point…”

“Ok, so what’s your point?”

I tilted my head a bit more to allow Josh a better access and I also cupped his growing bulge. He moaned and snuggled even closer. I turned my eyes on his brother. “What do you wanna do now, Jake?”

“Kill him, actually.” 

Josh chuckled and proceeded to attack my earlobe, nibbling at it and breathing in my ear sultrily. I kept my eyes on Jake the whole time. 

“And apart from that?” 

He moved closer without breaking eye contact and kissed me softly. I parted my lips to allow him to deepen it, but he didn’t. Just a few more teasing pecks before he whispered: “Depends on what you want?”

“Yeah, exactly,” I whispered back. “That is the point.” I had been distant since the end of the tour, and they noticed. And while they kept inquiring and teasing and flirting, they never said that they wanted anything from me. I let go of Josh completely and straightened up a bit. And I also broke the mood completely. 

“This. I want this. I really do. I missed it so much. But…the job…”

“That’s ok.”

“Are you sleepy, sparrow? We can just go to bed. I mean, there’s a separate room just for you.” Josh asked in a low voice while playing with a strand of my hair, before he stroked it in earnest. Goddamit. Seriously.

“No…I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” I answered with honesty. “I mean I am kinda tired, but not really sleepy, no.” 

Yeah, that’s right. I had the opportunity to say that we should call it a night, and I should have done that. But I didn’t want to. And they caught that. I could see them having that spooky, silent eye-to-eye dialogue again, and after a while, Josh continued. 

“You need to rest, you know. And you also told me what helps you the most. Didn’t she tell you as well, Jake?”

“Indeed, she did.”

Gulp…

“The job is fine. You’re doing a great job, actually. And Mel knows it too well. But you've been a bit stressed lately. May I?” Josh pulled at the zipper tap teasingly, just an inch, and I whimpered and nodded. Yeah… So he opened the zipper completely all the way down, with an agonizingly slow pull. 

“No bra…that’s not surprising.”

“But no panties either, Bebe? Tsk, tsk…”

I was completely sandwiched between them and once again it was making me feel dizzy. As I tilted my head back, they both attached themselves to my neck on each side. It was overwhelming in the best way possible, and a loud moan escaped my mouth and the fact that we weren’t really ‘somewhere private’ and anyone could walk in on us made it even more exhilarating. That’s what I had been dreaming of. When I actually got some sleep, that is. 

I expected them to tell me to undress, but they had other selfless plans. Jake’s hand slid down to where there were no panties while Josh set my left boob completely free and bent down to suck on my nipple. 

“Kiss me,” I whispered to Jake and he obliged with urgency and fierceness, swallowing my moans and biting my lip every time I had to catch a breath. 

But his attention was really somewhere else. Between my wet folds, to be more precise. He slid two fingers inside me and started working his magic, with his thumb running gentle circles around my clit. 

I kept my eyes closed and completely – selfishly – gave in to the feeling. 

I could feel Josh’s palm massaging my upper thigh. I could feel his mouth travel slowly up until he reached my jaw and as Jake finally broke the kiss, Josh swiftly took his place. 

I could feel Jake’s fingers curl up against my sensitive spot and I shivered. Lightheaded, as if I was high on oxygen, I felt like melting under their touch. Dripping on them. My breath hitched and I was barely aware of Jake whispering in my ear to let go. My back arched and my whole body convulsed when everything around Jake’s fingers exploded. I could feel them holding me. I could hear them praising me. I slept like a baby until lunch. But not in my room. And not alone. Oh well…

@thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction @writingcold @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep   @takenbythemadness   @edgingthedarkness @jazzyfigz @josh-iamyour-mama @sanguinebats @cheersdannyx2 @gvfstuddedmajesty @fleetingjake @lizzys-sunflower @hollyco @emojakekiszka @gvfmarge @Dayumclarizzel @lipstickitty @watchingover-hypegirl @clownstarr @peaceloveunitygvf @gretasfallingsky @gretnavannfleet @solanjjje @musicislove3389 @i-love-gvf @blankvz @psychedelectable

[saintsenara]

no but lily evans/merope gaunt???

the idolised mother/the mother failed by the narrative??? "i died for my son on purpose and with purpose and this is what saved him"/"i loved my son but i died and he never knew how much and this is why he was lost"???

(or at least that's what the narrative wants us to believe anyway, i think voldetom is much more complicated than "can't love bc product of artifical devotion" but anyway ahem)

lily evans/merope gaunt is my point

thank you to both anons who have spotted the unhinged potential of this:

rip to lord oedipus complex, but you're different.

as anyone who's read this blog before will know, i detest the narrative treatment of merope's death - above all the idea that her death was a deliberate choice made because she simply wasn't brave enough to bother staying alive for her son:

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?” “No,” said Harry quickly, “but she had a choice, didn’t she, not like my mother -”  “Your mother had a choice too,” said Dumbledore gently. “Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Harry. She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother’s courage. And now, if you will stand...”

i get that the main purpose of this is to introduce - as half-blood prince does, after five books in which lily's barely mentioned - the idea that lily is the key to the whole mystery, and that the fact that she chose to die when voldemort offered her an alternative is the reason why. and yet it will never stop enraging me!

[since - if witches are immune to death in childbirth, when muggle women are not - then literally everything voldemort believes about muggles being, essentially, a separate, inferior species is correct. which isn't what the series thinks it's saying...]

i much prefer the recognition that merope's death is the last in a long line of failings on behalf of the wizarding state [and the first in a long line of equivalent institutional failings when it comes to her son...], which could have been easily averted with just some minor tweaks of the circumstances.

which would pretty much guarantee lily's survival, since a wee tom raised by his mam would never become lord voldemort [and i'll die on that hill].

age-gap single mams hooking up is a great premise, especially since tom would be in his fifties, trying to suppress his rage at being asked to refer to a toddler as his step-brother [we're all agreed that tom and merope would have a buster and lucille bluth vibe, right? harry's annyong].

but two dead women - taken from their children when they were barely adults themselves - coming together in the world beyond the veil, and trying to make sense of their sons' lives and how they have been bound together, and trying to understand how one woman's love for her son could create a magic so powerful it can alter the course of history and another woman's love for her son could do nothing... is a better one.

[catwyk]

tsv finale spoilers below. i wrote this during my first listen through. its long as fuck. im dead im ruined.

cull calling out to rane instead of faulkner.... rane is truly the real leader now

FAULKNER......

"katabasian rane? sister thurrocks?" im gonna be sick

"hes basically a cow" spit your shit carp

"people in my life keep leavin to serve a cause i just cant understand" BASHES MY HEAD ON THE WALL

"we must love them for fleein from our touch e must not run after them" oh baby :(

this is actually fucking destroying me right now oh poor faulkner. failed by the world.

"of course i recognize you. youre carpenter's ghost" // "yes. i am" // "that must mean that im being punished. arent i?" he sounds so small and young oh my god

"if this is my punishment, then why am i smiling?" OKAY PARALLELS TO HIS VISIONS IN S2. OKAY. IM NOT GOING TO CRY. I WONT.

his monologue is ruining me actually oh god.

"they invented their own faulkner. and they forced me to be him" THATS WHAT IM SAYIN

he called her his sister...

im sure hes gonna die

"you crashed a car??" // "yeeah. i crashed a car." i love her

"they need to fix you, they need to make you better, and ill, ill watch over your bed, ill be there, carpenter. ill pray, ill pray and pray for as long as i need to" christ alive. i need to lay down RIGHT NOW.

méabh de brún too good at acting like shes in pain im abt to dial an ambulance

EM??? EM MENTION. EM MENTION

ok this is fuelling my hc that faulkner reminded carpenter of em in some painful and undefinable way

"i should tell paige that story, if i get to see heg again"

"OUR paige?" CRYING FOR A MILLION YEARS. AND HIS "HUH" AS WELL WHEN CARPENTER CONFIRMS

twin mouths truther forever

"i hate you too, faulkner, i truly do. and i love you, too. in spite of everything" // "always on the very precipice of understanding one another"

faulkner's "DEAD, DEAD, DEAD!" is fucking me up b narr the voice actor everrr

SHES GONNA LEAVE HIM A CAIRN 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"there'll be a place for you, and itll be beside me" DRIVING STRAIGHT INTO A LAMPPOST AS WE SPEAK

NO HES GONNA TRY AND KILL HER ISNT HE

"yeah. perhaps thats it. do you?" again. coolest fucking character on the planet

"this is when the waters parted, and at last..! at last he understood!" jesus christ. jon ware the writer that you are

"say you were raised in the service of a god of fire. so you feel like the world would be a much better place if more things were on fire" i busted out laughing WHAT a tone shift

"dennis duplace helped. hayward.. dad.. carpenter.. im leaving all of you behind" i am a husk of a person. lucille valentine knocking it out of the park

"best feeling in the world, seeing you walk away" holy fucking shit this is DAMAGING ME.

i wanna write every quote thats making my heart sting but the transcript is already up so theres no real point

every single va is popping the FUCK OFF by the way. i have to keep reminding myself theyre acting so i dont like. kill myself

val saving hayward was NOT on my bingo card what the fuck

"and before she died... she remembered who she was" OHHHHHHH MYYYYY GODDDDDD

hayward doing his own rites of the cairn maiden for himself :(

no gods coming for hayward but "fuck it. this one's not... for any of you. this ones for me"

WHY IS FAULKNER BACK. NONONO ITS ONLY GONNA BE BAD. PLEASE NO

i never realized the parallel between faulkner's gardener father and his gardener god

carpenter meant so much to him :(

"Sister! I love you! Where are you going? Dont turn your back on me! Dont you dare- Sister! I need you! SISTER! SISTER! MARCO! MARCO!" FAULKNER NO NOT LIKE THIS NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

FUCK YOU JON WARE (<- COMPLIMENT)

THE FAULKNER BODY FAKEOUT. SEE ABOVE POINT

carpenter's scream...... oh god.. oh méabh de brún the woman that you are

"he could be a face from my childhood. or his" charlie.......

HES BEEN BLOND THIS ENTIRE TIME????????????? i should have fucking known

"but no matter how it starts, no matter how it turns out for us, it can end with love, cant it? it can end with love. it can end with kindness." i said oh my god out loud

the delivery of "and then i let him go" why not just drive a railroad spike through my lungs

"the river is vast, and no dam can block every channel, and ours is a world of miracles." i said jesus christ out loud

i wheezed when she just. got back up this old bitch cannot die can she

not nana glass' song............

FUCKING TAINSLEY. CHEKHOVS TAINSLEY.

oh my god. a final heartbreaking credits scene

i had to just sit and lean back for a second. what a fucking ending. what a fucking podcast. this is one of those pieces of media that takes up residence in your brain forever. im never gonna stop thinking about this

[smolvenger]

A Court of Mischief and Purpose Chapter Fifteen (Loki x fem! Reader Crossover Series)

Series Summary: Based on Sarah J Mass's A Court of Thorns and Roses series with the Tom Hiddleston characters. You are a woman of 1880's in Aldwinter in Essex, England, dying of tuberculosis. Never to be married to the local Lusty Vicar. When Loki appears to you and offers to heal you...if you spend a week of every month with him

Chapter Summary: You and Loki return from the cabin. Stella returns back home. Thomas opens up about the identity of the Weaver's form and his history. Then the cauldron's location is at last revealed.

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: Smut in the beginning (dirty talk, doing it on a table, p in v sex, use of restraints via Loki's shadows), mentions of physical and sexual abuse and violence. I interpret the Thomas/Lucille relationship in Crimson Peak as non-consensual. I choose violence. Grammar and spelling mistakes that miss my radar. But some fluff.

A/N: Wanted to get this done before my play opens tomorrow. Also...if Sarah J Maas put me through it, you guys have to go through it too. Enjoy.

DICK-Tionary: Smut begins at "Let's begin what we started last night" and ends at "You’re wonderful, my dear, truly wonderful"

Series Masterlist

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

The next morning, it was another beautiful day. You both kissed each other good morning. Holding each other as the sun rose, and the drifts of snowflakes fell. Then slow, lazy morning lovemaking. To only feel each other- greet each other’s bodies, claim each other. You could not help but admire Loki- his muscular back, wide chest, the little chest hair he had that was as dark as the hairs on his head. It almost made you disappointed when he got to change into his clothes. You followed suit with normal clothes, though a little worn and smelly from the day's change. No doubt his magic would have you all cleaned.

The cabin had breakfast. You both sat down, helping yourself to warm oatmeal with honey and eggs scrambled with cheese on them.

But how handsome, how free he looked by the fire! You couldn’t help it- you grabbed him and kissed him again. You couldn’t help but get into his lap.

He spread your legs wide as you straddled him. Continuing to kiss him, he moaned. He was panting as your hands explored him, as your hips met and you began to grind.

You reached back, touching the table, pushing aside the plates, and guiding him on.

“Let’s finish what we started last night,” you urged as you grabbed him.

He let out a smile, pulling up your skirt and petticoat.

“My- already-so much desire! And your second day…but how fortunate your lovely clothing has such…simpler access,” he said.

He leaned over to kiss you, getting wetter as he cupped your face. But his pants were still on him, you felt his hardness brush against you.

“You’re eager too. Again! My mother would tell me, that men can only finish once and then take a lot of time after to recover!” you recalled.

“My dear, you’re forgetting something…”

He undid his pants, grabbing your hips closer once he was freed. But you kept your eyes on his smirk, feeling his hard length just at the start of your entrance.

“I am not a man.”

He thrust on there, his grunts in your ear. Your laughter melted with moans. Immediately, it was intense, faster. Now this- this would be called “fucking,” you thought. He pounded into you, what little dishware shaking.

“Yes-yes-Loki- yes-please-for gods’s sake-your sake-oh-oh yes,”

His pants and grunts, his soft repetitions of your name, the table shaking as he kept on. “Yes-yes, darling- I want to want to take you on every surface here- everyone, until all the corners have felt your-your beautiful bare skin- and not one place isn’t ringing with-fuck-you scream-screaming my name when you cum.”

As he thrust, he let out a grin that bared his teeth. Then a green light shone in his eyes.

“Let’s make this a little more fun,” he voiced.

Then two shadows went up, crawling from him, they held you back. Then one reached up your leg so they were high in the air. Then the other you felt grab your wrists, holding your arms up tight. It was a deep angle.

“Oh-oh gods!” you cried as he reached there.

“Yes- and that god is me now-” he grunted. “Yes-yes keep there- keep there-darling pet-fuck-good-good little pet-”

He kept thrusting wildly. The shadows holding you close. The spin crawled up inside you, tightening everything. Ready to let go.

“Should I-I-I stop?” he teased, still that slight smile, continuing his pounding.

“Please-Please Loki- oh-oh-please no- oh gods-I’m going to cum- I’m about to-about to-”

With that, your release hit you even stronger. The world spun as it all relaxed and released inside you. You made a sound with it- Loki did as well as you felt his release inside you. Both of you stopped for a while, looking at each other as the high ran its course and then washed down. His chest heaving with the breath lost. He pulled out, pulling you up to press your forehead to his.

“You’re wonderful, my dear, truly wonderful…” he breathed out.

The shadows around the room stretched out to the walls. You looked at them as Loki smoothed your skirt and helped you back up, though keeping a hand around your back.

“Loki…how much magic does it take for the shadows?” you asked.

“Quite a bit,” he answered. “It just….flew out of me.”

You looked around to see the Shadows fixing the dishes that fell. They set them back up. Loki kept an arm around you and you placed a hand on his chest to observe. You noticed the green light still shining in his eyes. Then they shrunk, returning to him. You felt a brush past you like a cool mist. They went back to his toes and the green light from his eyes dimmed.

“Your powers are restored!” you cried.

You looked around- the safe, warm cabin surrounded by snow. A table with little water paintings. The smell of warm bread and lovemaking. The crackling, comforting fireplace. The touch of the warm blankets and embraces and reassuring kisses were as delicate and soft as the snowflakes that flew down outside the frosted windows. Then back at him.

“Then…we must go…” Loki said.

“I wish we could stay here longer…” you sighed.

“As do I, Y/N darling. Just be patient, my dear. We will complete our quest…and then we can return whenever we wish…”

Loki went to the fireplace and leaned down. You raised your eyebrows as he reached in but the fire did not burn him. He took the orange orb in his hands and returned unscathed. The fire continued to crackle as normal, though you wondered without the orb it would die and if the food would spoil.

He used his free hand to create a portal. Clutching his arm, you both went to Asgard.

At once, you were in the throne room of Asgard again. Before you were The Variants, Stella and Sif, and Thor in a circle all talking loudly and worriedly. As the portal made a sound as it closed, their heads all whipped back to you two and they were silenced.

“I hope none of you missed us too terribly,” Loki announced.

They gasped and turned to you, all hugs and smiles, reassuring words. Loki went to Thomas and handed over the orb.

“Here we are-long promised. We went through quite the trouble, so it should help.”

“It shall,” Thomas assured him, amazed that the fiery-looking orb did not harm his hand.

Thor then went up and hugged Loki so tight it almost shook the life out of him.

“How I missed you, brother! We must celebrate! All of us!”

As he let down, Loki returned to you and held your hand in his.

“Yes- took a little longer than expected. We apologize- but we are back and safe. I’ll have to tell you all about Y/N’s incredible rescue,” he boasted. He then raised your hand and kissed it. You couldn’t help but smile big.

Stella looked between you two.

“May I speak with her in private for a minute, please?” she asked.

“Oh, of course!” replied your True Love.

Immediately, Stella led you back to her room and closed the door.

“YN! Please- tell me! The way he touched you! The way you looked at each other…are you….did he…say anything!?” she asked with an excited smile, grabbing your arm.

Your eyes were full of happy tears and your smile grew.

“He loves me, Stella!” you cried.

She went up and hugged you, rocking you back and forth.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you! It finally happened!” she cheered.

She then released the hug, lighting and patting your chin.

“Well, you have spent much time surrounded by all of these handsome men! It only seems fair you should pick one of them!” she teased.

You chuckled at her and then went back to holding both of her hands, the words spilling out from you.

“I can’t stop smiling, and yet crying and I feel shaky and humbled yet alive and thrilled! I…I don’t know what to do! I’m crying and yet I’m also laughing so much…” you rambled on, tears spilling out of your eyes.

“Here, let me get a handkerchief…” she offered.

She wiped your face with her handkerchief.

“That’s much better!” she said.

She hugged you again.

“I am so glad after seeing you brave through such misery to be this happy! To see you loved and in love…” she said.

Releasing the second hug, you returned her handkerchief to her.

“I will tell you, Asgard is my home now. But Stella…what of your home?”

She fixed a few blonde hairs that fell out of place in her braid back in.

“I want to go back home. Yes, I spoke with the others but, I decided to leave after it was confirmed you were safe and returned. I miss my family… Dante playing the piano, Edith sighing about all the gloves she wishes she could buy, Elliott and Brian discussing which girls they are infatuated with, my parents on their chairs by the fire- I miss them all! I waited for you and I know you are safe.”

You nodded.

“Loki will be glad to make you a portal back home.”

“Y/N, I promise I will visit- and I will write letters and Thomas will deliver them until then. He’s nice enough to do that-i could never imagine! A baronet delivering my letters!”

You both smiled and then you clutched her hands.

“Oh, you are always welcome here! I will make sure of it. I promise you, Stella, you will always find friendship and safety in Asgard, in the palace at least- and you will be the most welcome guest of them all!” you cried.

“Oh, wonderful! Now…could you come with me to the kitchen, please? I have some things to make and I want you to tell me all about what happened with you and Loki-do not hide one thing from me!”

She revealed that she was in the process of baking goodies for a long time in the kitchen to thank everyone. You told her what happened in Jotunheim. And you did not hide from her about losing your virginity at last to the god of mischief. She blushed but kept listening, never once lecturing you about waiting until marriage. If she thought that, she kept it to herself. She said she was only happy that Loki made you so happy.

The next day was the day of her departure. She made all sorts of little cakes and biscuits to thank them all and handed them off in little baskets that the group opened to gape at. Sif sniffed her hazelnut biscuit curiously, but taking a bite, raised her eyebrows to admit she enjoyed it. Jonathan carefully nibbled his little chocolate cake, but his eyes never left your friend. She dressed in her clean dress and her blue beads around her. Her vase and flowers are in one hand. She then got out a little cloth reticule and set it on top of a suitcase. She went over to enjoy one biscuit before she left. But you eyed the purse dangling on the suitcase.

“What’s in the reticule?” you asked.

“I found all these blue pebbles in the streets and the gardens. They’ll look lovely with the rest of my collection! Oh- and I cannot wait to press those flowers into my journal!” “It does sound like an impressive collection,” Thomas remarked. “Where do you keep it?”

Jonathan’s eyes flickered to the Baronet, an uneasiness to them, and then back to Stella.

“Oh- in my boxes back home, though they are getting a little full-”

Loki conjured her a special blue box. She gasped happily and then moved the items to be placed in.

“Oh, thank you! Loki- I am only so glad you make my dearest friend happy. She truly deserves it- may you always love her and treat her well!” she said.

“Of course, dear Miss Harris.”

She looked at them.

“Thank you all. Thank you to Y/N for listening to me, and for sending help, of course. Thank you, Jonathan, for taking me out of there. I don’t know what would happen to me if you did not. As well as your gift.”

He smiled at her.

“Of course, Stella,” was his quiet reply.

“Thank you, Miss Sif, for guardian me. Mr. Lancaster, Dr. Laing, Sir Sharpe- you all have been so welcoming and warm to me- and tell the Queen and Prince Thor I’m glad to have met them too…now…goodbye everyone! I will write and return and say hello again, I promise!”

She waved them off and stepped into the portal back home. She easily landed on those brown streets and white houses. At once, her family ran through the door. You could briefly see through the family all hugging her and kissing her. A pile of happy Harris’s welcoming her back. Nothing but warmth and love. Then the portal melted back to normal.

You smiled. As much as you would miss her, you were happy for her and her family.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Later that day, Loki said he had to go find his mother to discuss something. He held it up and kissed it tenderly. You gently touched his cheek, a smile on his face. Then, almost hesitantly, he let go and went back up.

As you went over to eat with the others, you saw Hal, Robert, and, most surprisingly, Thor, at a table enjoying some ale in large cups. Your eyebrows shot up at the blonde god of thunder.

“Why, what are you doing here?”

“I much missed the company of these fine fellows- so here I am!” Thor declared. “Besides, we have something we want to discuss! I hear you and my brother are much in love, Lady YN!”

You sat down, feeling warm. Smiling at them.

“Yes. Yes, we are- and we are! And I’m happy!” you cried.

Robert leaned forward, folding his hands and smiling. Though it was smiles they all shared between them.

“Oh, we all knew about it!” the doctor teased. He took a pastry, you weren’t sure if it was one made by Stella or the Asgard cooks, and took a bite of it.

“Loki spoke of you not long after he met you from his trip to Midgard. He was already at least a little besotted. I told him to court you, and pursue you as any suitor should!” Thor recalled.

Robert nodded towards Thor.

“Oh, it was pretty clear you both were interested in each other, we just had to stand by and watch it all and wait for you both to admit it.”

Hal took a bite of his food and then looked at you.

“My lady, you should have seen the day when Jonathan came forth as a messenger, saying that Loki had brought you to Asgard after your apparent cry for help,” he recalled. He gestured to the others there. “He was already watching everything from his shadowy corners. Then he came up to us in this room as we all sat to tell us what occurred.”

There was a little repressed snigger among them.

“We asked if Loki had wooed and won his lady love, especially after her great rescue by a god,” Thor began. The corners of his lips twitched up.

“And what did Jonathan say?” you asked.

“He said you threw a shoe at him,” Robert answered.

They finally burst into laughter. Laughing so hard, Thor’s voice seemed to shake the walls for nothing about him could be minuscule. Hal dipped his head back, baring his teeth in a wide smile. And Robert turned bright red and placed a hand over his stomach.

“How I wish I could have seen it myself! Even now- we cannot help but laugh at that!” Hal chuckled.

You laughed along with them, accepting your ridiculous actions back them. Then Thor turned to you, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Nevertheless, I am glad for it. You make my brother happy and I love him. I’m glad to see him so,” Thor said.

You grinned up at him.

“Thank you so much, I will do everything I can to make sure he is happy,” you promised.

“I believe you already have,” said Thor, clasping a comforting, large hand on your shoulder.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The orb was taking time to work. And Jonathan was completing the last of the translations. He said he would take it upon himself, and he went to the library to focus on that so Thomas could focus on the device. Divide and conquer, as the old saying goes.

You couldn’t help but be curious about this little room where Thomas made his inventions. It was a smaller room. Three desks full of parts, gears, and knick-knacks cluttering all over sat in each part. You noticed all sorts of children’s toys lying about- music boxes, mechanical animals, dolls. There was one device that sat in the corner behind you. It was a lovely little room full of gears, but also little mechanical toys. Devices, miniature machines, and all sorts of things. The tracking device itself looked like a little compass attached to what seemed to be a mechanical crane with wires near a typewriter with a blank sheet of paper in it- untouched. No location yet.

But there was a figure wrapped in a plaid shawl sitting on a chair- the room could get a little chilly. His back to you. Quiet and focused on something on that desk. His dark, curly hair was so much like your True Love’s hair. He turned over with a smile.

“Oh! It’s you” Thomas greeted.

“Hello, Sir Sharpe…how is it all going?” you asked.

He looked over at the tracking device.

“It should take another day…but then it should all be ready. This device shall sense where it is and the typewriter shall write it down,” he answered.

You observed over at some of the little dolls sitting on the desk. Some of them are in cloth dresses like the ones worn in Asgard.

“Thomas- did you make all of these?” you questioned.

“Oh, yes. Sometimes for the business here. But all of my life, I had ideas. I was fascinated by how machines work. I love to make toys. Let me show you- here! This one!”

He gave you a miniature of the machine he was working on.

“This one. It digs up clay and dirt in the ground and harvests it. Perhaps it shall be useful soon after all of this. Now we have to use it to support the Asgard economy. And here…this one….this is the one we need magic for!” he explained excitedly.

“I bet you will help so many others!” you encouraged.

He nodded, setting the device down on his desk.

“Yes…yes, I will. I wish I could open a shop to sell them. Even if it were simply toys for the little children here, I would be happy,” he said.

He looked around at his various devices. And then he turned to you.

“I know you are wondering about what happened in the Weaver’s Cottage…” he began.

“Yes, I do, and I know Loki told me it is personal…” you assured him, a hand flew up before you to pause.

Thomas’s smile melted down, and you heard him take a deep breath.

“Miss, I believe I am ready to tell you…” he began.

He gestured for you to sit on a chair next to him. He removed his shawl. He then folded his hands, slightly leaning over. He rubbed his hand once, and then looked into your eyes.

“The Weaver- her form was that of my elder sister, Lucille.”

It seemed she always took the form of someone personal to your friends. If it was Munrow for Robert, you had your suspicions, from what you gathered of their stories, whose forms she took for Hal and Jonathan…and Loki too.

He looked sad.

“Thomas…you were frozen in that little cottage. And she said something about women dying and you doing nothing to stop it…did Lucille…harm someone?” you asked.

“We have known each other and have been friends long enough, I can tell you…”

He swallowed.

“I grew up under the baronetcy of the Sharpes. We lived in a grand mansion in England in the middle of the countryside. A plain field with no trees. Where the town was a long, lonely walk away. Isolated, imposing, and grand. The mansion I had known for all of my life was twelve times the size of a normal house. One would think my childhood was full of playing through the halls…but Mother locked us up in the attic. All I can remember was having to stay there. And if we snuck out or misbehaved…Father would beat us. Like he beat mother.”

You turned cold inside.

“He broke her legs. Lucille was allowed in and out then to nurse her…she did so much, there was something of protectiveness in her. Once, we were caught sneaking out of the attic and she took the beating in my place. The words my father called her. His daughter. A child…I could never repeat them to you. We would cling to each other in the dark attic. She would sing me a lullaby to help lull me to sleep. I would come up with little toys from the knick-knacks. One night she was sobbing and I embraced her. We made a vow to never abandon or be apart from each other. One we would keep- we were all each other had. Then…then…”

He hesitated. Then taking in another breath, he continued with his eyes looking right into yours, even if they began to blink rapidly.

“I was nine I think…she was already blossoming into adolescence. And she told me….told me one day to…to take off my clothes. And to lie down on the floor in the dark, I didn’t know what was happening. I felt myself crying. But I was curious and I wanted her to feel better…and she…lifted her skirt and she…she…”

He paused. You felt sick to your stomach.

“You can imagine the rest.”

Your mouth opened wide and you set a hand over it in a silent gasp.

“She continued for years. I didn’t know how I felt. Sometimes it was uncomfortable. Sometimes it was nice. I just kept being called over by her…to do it. Bring her some solace. But yet..I…I didn’t know…I didn’t even know what was happening to me when it did…”

He swallowed.

“Then Lucille had enough of our father. His cruelty. Her rage burned up inside her. Until One day, I managed to get out and his bleeding corpse was on the bottom of the stairs… and she was on top, the blood on her hands…”

“So it meant your mother could let you out?”

“No- she still kept us confined. Years passed- I was about twelve. Lucille Fourteen. Then one day she…she caught us in the middle of it.”

You didn’t have to ask what.

“My eyes were shut- they shut whenever it happened. I don’t remember my mother's face, but I remember her crying ‘Oh my god!’ and calling us monsters. But my eyes did open in time…to see Lucille split an axe into her head.”

He swallowed, blinking, and then continued.

“Then the police arrived. Had us separated- I Was sent to boarding school and she to an institution. I learned while she suffered. Part of me always pitied her. I still do, in a way. She loved me so much, and did everything for me…so when I graduated, I kept our promise and I got her out. To survive, to have the money for us, our house, my inventions…she came up with a plan. I’d marry a rich woman and once we had their money transferred to us, she’d kill them.”

“Did you enact it?” you asked.

He nodded.

“Yes. Three times. With three women. Each with little to no family, so no one would come by knocking if they were to disappear. Though I never fell in love with them, I promised Lucille I never would…yet still I…I pitied them. I would bring them here, smiling. Ignorant of their doom. And dread curled in me. And I smiled anyway. Lucille had a special tea she would brew to poison them, weaken them. I would be the one to bring it to them. Kiss their heads, tell them everything was going to be splendid. They would grow sick, and cough blood. Grow weak. They would think it was consumption..”

You felt a chill. Recalling your past illness that led you here.

“But Lucille was impatient. And eager for blood. So once they signed away their money to go to our family, I would go away. Say it was a business trip. Kiss them one last time. Then I left for town. So I would not hear the screams, their pleas for help, for me, for anyone as Lucille took her blade and shredded them apart.”

You were quiet. Thomas looked utterly white.

“I might as well have stabbed myself. I let it happen. I never once laid with them. Lucille always beckoned me, telling me she loved me, and that it was all for me as she began to do acts on me again…only sometimes my body would feel pleasure… yet I always felt…like an animal doing tricks. Doing things since my youth to please her- since it was all I knew, it was at least what I could predict. She spoke to me always harshly, making me go back to her more- for no one in this world I could rely on more than her…she broke me.”

He laid his head down, looking at his own hands. Then he looked back at you, a few tears in his eyes.

“I have so much…shame and guilt. More than I think anyone could understand…I felt like I could never say no to her. Y/N, I know you must think of me as less than a man for refusing to stand up to her-”

“Of course not! You were merely a victim of it all!”

“But I let her do everything- including murder those women. I wanted to escape...but if Lucille was alone, she would…I’d feel…guilty, she was still my sister, who took everything and did everything…then Loki appeared.”

He looked around his inventions, then back at you, wiping the tears off with his hand.

“He knew it all. He knew I…I could never refuse her, or fight her off. He told me if I did, she would kill me. So he offered me an escape, a solution. He said I could move into the palace in Asgard. To a place where the walls didn’t creak and the red clay from the ground didn’t bleed into the floors. Invent for him, for his special quest. He promised me Lucille would be safe and cared for. That there would at least be a…duplicate of me to be there with her so she wouldn’t be alone as she always feared she would be. And he would conjure enough money so that we would not harm any more poor women. And he brought me here.”

He let out a deep breath.

“…I felt bad, but I was trapped in that place. It became a prison. And Lucille and I were long dead even though we still breathed…”

He picked up the shawl and curled it over himself. There was a brief silence between both of you.

“Dear god, Thomas…” you voiced out.

“Now all I want is redemption, from my shame and guilt….from being in her bed since I was young…”

“You were a child taken advantage of!” you cried.

“Lucille was young too.”

“She was old enough to know better!” you pointed out.

He glanced out at the window where sunlight seeped through. Peaceful and joyful.

“And here- here, I can redeem myself from…allowing Lucille to harm three innocent women? From lying to them and leading them to their death?”

“Loki was right. If you refused or denied her, Lucille would have killed you next…” you mused.

He began to blink a little again, his eyes on the window.

“Lucille could have been a wonderful woman, an extraordinary woman even if the world was not so harsh to her as a child….in some ways, she was…but yet…in that haunted, creaking, broken house she was always at home. And me, I felt…felt trapped…”

You reached over and touched his hand to comfort him. His blue eyes went from the window to yours.

“You can call me a villain, Y/N. I am one. I know it,” he said softly.

“Thomas, you were hurt and abused by your entire family. Left alone with no one who would genuinely love you to respect your boundaries and wishes. Left to please those who hurt you to survive…how could I think less of you?” you asked.

He pulled the shawl further over him like a blanket

“I just…I sometimes still feel like a child. Like that little boy…helpless and alone…” he confessed.

You squeezed his hand, continuing to look at him.

“What would you say to that little boy if he was here now? The little boy. Alone and scared. Cooped up in an attic. Beaten by his parents, and molested by his sister… What would you tell him?”

He paused. Truly thinking of it. He looked around as if searching for the right words. Then when he faced you, he had tears again in his eyes.

“I would tell him…if no one would care for him, then I will. I will make sure he never has to suffer as he did…” he answered.

You hugged him and let him cry a little bit more. You then asked a servant to bring him some water and a little food. He cried a little bit more, shaking it, squeezing his long-repressed story out. You brought him your handkerchief for him to wipe off his face. You gave him a small smile, and a hand to rub his arm.

“I’m glad you told me, Thomas. You are a hero now. Helping so much. Making so many things that saved us, and will save even more people. You’re free from it all now. And you have a life where you are loved and valued and won’t be hurt…I think you’ve redeemed yourself plenty…” you consoled him.

He wiped off a few more quiet tears with the handkerchief before he returned it to you.

“Thank you…I must get back to work, but thank you for listening to me, as disturbing as it was.”

“You are my friend, of course, I shall listen to you. Is there anything else about it you need to speak of now?” you replied.

“No…I would also like to congratulate you. I am overjoyed you and Loki are together. You both found someone to love without conditions or control or hurt…”

He picked up a little from the other desk. He smoothed her hair out of her little face, Looking at her with longing.

“I hope someday the same can be said of me someday…” he wished.

“I’m sure you will- I keep noticing you at every banquet and party! All the Asgard ladies keep giggling over you! You will have their pick of them in no time!” you reminded him.

He smiled at you. His posture relaxed. Thanking you genuinely, you said your goodbyes and he continued to his work.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

That evening, you joined your True Love in the garden after dinner to watch the sunset. The roses were in bloom with yellows and reds. Trees rustled with the wind. It was the perfect temperature. Not too frigid or warm. He got out chairs for both of you, as you watched the sky melt into pinks and oranges. Smiling at it as you held each other's hands. Then he turned to you.

“Robert and Jonathan told me about these inventions they had for transportation in their time- they’re called cars! They have no horses and run completely by motors!” Loki reported.

His hand opened and conjured an image of a little car above his palm. Your eyes widened, seeing the bright green shine on it and the tires spinning like a mill wheel.

“Thomas knew of them, but he was astounded they looked like that! And there’s another one- for his great quest against Roper, Jonathan had what is called a Motorcycle! It is like a bicycle from your time, only there are motors inside it too!” he continued.

“A motorcycle!? What does it look like?” you asked.

Loki conjured an image of a little black motorcycle and it spun around. You gaped at it in wonder, partially distracted from the ambiance of the place.

“ How does one ride it? It’d make me frightened to fall off!” you commented

“He said you hop on it and push the right buttons and knobs. Then you take off!!” Loki recalled. He made it whirr into place and then drove through the air before it vanished in a shimmer of golden light.

You smiled wide. Then you held hands, watching the sun glow even brighter as it dipped into the horizon.

“To think, it all is almost done…Thomas’s tracker is going to reveal the cauldron. The dagger will be finished and the spell translated any day now,” you remarked.

Loki let out a deep sigh as he took your hand again in yours. You leaned a head against you as you both embraced.

“Indeed…all those days, and adventures…finally this- are you frightened, my dear?” he asked.

“Yes…I am…I only hope all of that training is in good use, should anything occur…”

“We’ll be ready…we all shall…and I trust you as well, my little warrior mortal,” he commented.

You shifted over to sit on his lap. You hugged each other as the sun got lower. You took a hand to smooth his curls. The sky darkened and burst into stars and planets shining above. You could feel his heartbeat soften in his chest, and feel the rumble as he breathed in.

“Whatever occurs…I am only glad to have met you, my dear…” Loki said.

You smiled at him as he lifted a hand and kissed yours.

You both continued to talk quietly. He helped you off of him and you went to stand.

“Now, my dear…I think we should walk through the city. I assure you, it’s perfectly safe,” he said.

“I may be frightened…but I feel like I can face anything as long as you are with me,” you told him.

His hand never left yours as you both started your walk there. ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next morning, Jonathan and Thomas rushed into the room as everyone ate breakfast. Thomas’s curls fell a little out of place from excitement. Jonathan clutched the book.

“It’s translated…and the device found where the cauldron lies,” Jonathan reported.

Everyone moved quickly before the Asgard royal family could ask questions. Finally, all of you went to Thomas’s workshop. The device shuddered once with the orb inside, and then its gears ran. The typewriter finally began clicking on the paper. Thomas reached and then took off the paper.

He looked at them, Hal had the dagger. Jonathan a copy of a journal with the translated spell.

He then looked at it, squinting, and reading it carefully.

“Svartalfheim- it’s in Svartalfheim in the Cave of Baldir,” Thomas said.

Everyone nodded, hearing it. The answer is finally there. The weight and yet relief washing on everyone. Thomas folded the paper and put it in his breast pocket.

“Then, let us arm ourselves, dear friends,” Hal said.

Clothes were brought for you to fight in. They matched the leathers of Sifs with iron armor for your middle body, shoulders, and knees. You were amazed at the pants- comfortable enough that you could move freely. You sheathed a sword and several daggers. Testing your hand, a bit of fire came out and then back. The ring from the Weavers cottage was placed on your finger. A reminder. A decoration. Still fitting perfectly, the emerald glittering.

Loki then opened a portal and all of you headed through silently.

Svartalfheim was a barren place. Like a desert with nothing but long dunes of tan sand and grey storm clouds. When the sky peeked out, it looked yellow and sickly.

“Now, let us not waste any time,” Loki began.

You sensed out. There was the Baldur cave- it was close! You felt it like a bell ringing in the back of your head. You pointed in that direction to the men.

“It’s there! Everyone hurry!’” you urged.

Off you ran. Then you saw the cave seeping out from the sandy, dry ground like a burrow. All of you walked inside, quieting your steps. Things became dark, only the light from the sun in the back slowly dimming the further inside you wandered. You clutched one hand on your sword.

But a few steps into the cave you already heard bubbling. You stifled a gasp of joy as the dimming light from the mouth shone on something before you-

A cauldron. Large enough that four people could sit inside and as tall as your head. Green liquid swirling about when you peeked in it on your toes. Green steam rose above it like it was a pot of soup.

Everyone smiled and nodded. Jonathan held out the spellbook as Loki held out the dagger, he began to tap it. He began to chant the ancient Norse as he touched it. You held your breath as the phrase was completed.

Nothing happened.

Loki was frowning.

“The spell didn’t work…it is the same as normal, how come?” he asked.

Then out from the shadows, arms reached over and grabbed you.

You let out a scream as well as Loki and the other variants. The dagger and book fell from their hands as they turned around.

Grendel’s men appeared from the shadows in armor just like the ones in Asgard.

You reached over a hand to shoot out the fire- but nothing happened. Loki reached out a hand, but his face fell as nothing hopped out.

And you realized- you had not sensed them. You fought against one- but they held you. Then you heard a voice, smooth, low, baritone, and confident- but it sent shivers up you.

“Congratulations, you fell for the trap, hook, line, and sinker. Welcome to this lovely little cave- there’s a special spell here. No one can perform magic here except me.”

The soldier holding you brought you forward to the voice. A man emerged from the shadows. Dressed still in a black suit like your own times. A pointed chin and sharp features. You recognized the face from your dream- dark hair, green eyes, and pale skin. He could have been handsome, but you knew what he did.

“Grendel…”

He gestured as his men all held your band of friends together.

“All of you make quite a band. Adorable…but quite pitiful.”

“What do you want from her? Don’t you dare touch her!” Loki cried out from where he was. He struggled hard, but they held him tight.

The soldier then let go of you, you tried to rush over to them, but with a flick of Grendel’s finger, an invisible wall came up. Loki struggled and got out, but he realized you were blocked- able to hear and see everything.

“Why…why am I separated from the others- what are you going to do to them?” you asked.

He folded his arms, with a wide smile.

“I made a promise. I always live up to my promises,” he declared.

“Promise? What kind of promises are you even capable of making?!” Robert cursed definitely, tugging against the men holding him back.

With a big smile and dramatic hand, Grendel gestured towards a shadowy corner of the cave.

“Mortal Lady, I upheld my end, and you shall yours…” the villain said.

You turned over to the shadows and saw something. A figure moving.

A green scarf.

Before you had time to process it, the Reverend Will Ransome walked into the light.

[nesiacha]

Letter of Madame Chalabre to Robespierre

I found something interesting on the excellent site amis-robespierre.org. It was mentioned in posts I saw on Tumblr about Madame Chalabre, a great admirer of Robespierre, who was supposedly arrested after his execution. According to Vandeplas, Bernard on the same site, some accused her of being an informant for Robespierre. Joke aside, I wonder if Stanisława Przybyszewska might be the reincarnation of Madame Chalabre.

But when you read the letter she sent to Robespierre, it’s much more than admiration; it shows a political spirit. When I see this, I think once again that some French revolutionaries, including Robespierre, missed the boat by refusing to make women equal to men.

Here is Robespierre’s speech from January 2, 1792:   "... War is good for military officers, for the ambitious, for speculators who trade in such events; it is good for the court, it is good for the executive power whose authority, popularity, and influence it increases; it is good for the coalition of nobles, intriguers, and moderates who govern France..." He continues: "... The most extravagant idea that can be born in the head of a politician is to believe that it suffices for a people to invade a foreign people to make them adopt its laws and constitution. No one loves armed missionaries..." "... Our victories by our generals would be more disastrous than our defeats..."

Here is Madame Chalabre’s response, which shows a good reasoning spirit: "No, I cannot find words to express to the admirable Robespierre the surprise and emotion caused by reading his interesting and useful speech in the latest Revolution of Paris. The patriots were right to include it, because this journal is widely read and goes everywhere. We cannot hurry enough to warn true Frenchmen against the execrable trap of war. But alas! I fear it is a foregone conclusion in the National Assembly, for the deputy Ramond (de Carbonnières) announces to us a long and beautiful report from the diplomatic committee whose conclusions will undoubtedly be for war. Just heavens! What betrayals! Unfortunate homeland. False guides still divert you from the right path with new ruses finer than those of the moderates. They do not have such a marked character of falsehood and are therefore more dangerous. Patriots are said to be misguided if they do not want war. Ah! Let us continue to be thus misguided to stifle it and save the homeland. Another speech at the Jacobins Monday played by the cruel war partisans who persist like ravens on their prey. If so, let us despair of the homeland’s salvation. Victorious even with the enemy’s power is to be defeated. That is the solution to the whole question but as you say, they always want to be beside the point. How with even a little judgment can one fall into such a trap? It seems incredible to me; instead of following nature, they prefer to reason against it. Shame, shame on eloquence in this case. Weak humans who boast of your enlightenment, the instinct of animals is far superior to your fine minds, for it never deceives them.

{} I cannot resist the feeling of gratitude inspired by the virtuous conduct and wise writings of the faithful Robespierre, despite his own advice to us not to give in too much to these transports. His touching modesty will produce the opposite effect judging by myself but it will not be dangerous for freedom, the noblest emulation will be the fruit. Greetings, friendship, Chalabre."

Thus, beyond admiration, Madame Chalabre shows great lucidity on the issue of war. I would love to know more about this character.

This makes me all the more furious about the films of the French Revolution that portray women as passive, too gentle, and groupies according to macho standards (yes, I have my eye on Heffron's films, the horrible movie "The Passion of Camille and Lucile Desmoulins," and even very good films like "La Terreur et la Vertu" by Stellio Lorenzi).

PS: I looked for Tumblr posts about this letter specifically and an analysis but did not find one. If it is already there, I sincerely apologize to the author. The goal is not to plagiarize.

[artistesoiree]

Nightfall in Sunridge Ranch

Chapter 1

{'70s Jack Daniels x Fem!OC)

Chapter 2

Rating: Mature Warnings: Mentions of blood and draining blood (she's a vampire, I feel it's a given), drug mention, mc is a bit eerie and her thoughts can be a bit troubling, Likely incorrect things about the 70s and Paris, France, as I was born in '02 and haven't been outside the PNW since I was born, Jack's too suave for his own good and probably shouldn't flirt with vampires, I hope he isn't OOC? Veronica's maker is interesting…(and is named after my favorite IWTV character) but I'll get into that in later chapters, takes place in the late 70s in a made-up Texan town WC: 3.8k

A/N:

Howdy, y'all! I wanted to write this because I've been recently inspired to begin writing again. I was inspired by Interview with the Vampire, 70s Texas, little bit of Ethel Cains Album Preachers Daughter, and my own OCs. The writing might be rough, but I'm proud of it. It's told in the first-person POV, and I hope you guys like Veronica as much as I do. She's a wreck and a weirdo .Oh, and the introduction was inspired by the beginning of The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice.

headers by @/saradika

I am Veronica Sharpe. I am a vampire who stands six feet tall. I have been blessed with my mother's black curls and my father's family's white streak in it. I have my mother's pale complexion, cheekbones, plush lips, and aquiline nose. I have my father's slender green eyes. My father gave me his height, while my mother gave me the gift of a body with feminine curves. Over the years, while I have maintained my feminine body, I have gained muscle, which has dramatically complimented my figure. I am a strong woman. I am proud of that.

I was only twenty-one when I was turned in the year 1904. I lived in Paris, France, and several lovers sought my hand. One of them was my maker, Armand Sharpe. He was a tall man with a fine figure, and he loved his beautiful clothes and long silk like red hair. He collected art pieces and hung them in his home. He had found me painting in the Jardin des Plantes and asked kindly if he could buy one of my paintings. Armand loved his beautiful women; I was flattered to be one of them. 

He always talked about how I should be grateful that I remain eternally beautiful, that I will never age like most women, and that my youthful beauty will never leave. He always seemed too proud of it. And I am grateful, his beauty is like mine, eternal.

Although I am thankful that I remember my mother, father, and sister, Armand, when we first met, had made it possible for me to have photographs of my family. While I don’t remember my family name, I remember their names. My mother was named Estelle, and my father was Laurent, and my sister was Lucille. But sadly, I don’t know the name my mother gave me when I was born. I expressed my discomfort with not remembering my name to Armand, and he thought of a name for a moment until he told me that my name must be Véronique. It is a beautiful name, a one I deserve.

As time passed, my name changed from Véronique to Veronica. This transition came in ‘64 when a waitress misheard my name and called me Veronica in a thick southern California accent. She was a lovely gal. She was a Barbie blonde wearing a baby blue uniform, which suited her tanned skin tone. Her hair was styled like Farrah Fawcett's and smelled like Adorn Self-Styling Hair Spray. Veronica stuck. The transition was freeing from the name my maker and husband had given me. The name Armand would use to beckon me to his room was the name he would call with desire. 

I am very thankful to the waitress at that Los Angeles diner a couple of years ago; she gave me a new name, and may never know what it meant to me. I am sure Armand felt the same way, it is a gift to give a name to someone.

As I make my way along the winding Interstate 10 in Texas, the sky is painted with the last hues of the sunset, giving way to the emergence of countless stars. The radio fills the car interior with the nostalgic melody of John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads." This song has been the background to my travels for the past couple years. With my hand resting on the smooth, black leather steering wheel of my 1964 Ford Mustang, I tap my fingers in time to the music. The car, painted a deep raven black, seems to blend seamlessly with the night. Despite the darkness, I wear my circular black sunglasses with their delicate silver frame. It might strike some as odd to wear sunglasses at night, but I do so to conceal my naturally eerie and unnerving green eyes, a feature that has often drawn unnerving attention. 

I’ve never understood why they were unnerving. They’re my eyes; they’ve been green since childhood. Is there something I’m missing? Green is the color of the earth, why must I have to cover my beauty.

The fuel gauge on my dashboard is hovering dangerously close to empty, and as I glance out the window, a highway sign catches my eye. It reads, ‘Visit Sunridge Ranch, Texas! The Cowboy Capital of the USA!’ I find myself humming in response, realizing that not only do I need to refuel, but it might also be a good idea to find a place to stay for the night. The sun will rise soon, and although I won't burst into flames like in fiction, its rays will still leave me with a nasty sunburn, turning my pale skin red. It’s embarrassing. Armand would scold me like a child when I would come home red. As my husband, he often acted like a father, not my own. Oh no, he decided my father wasn't useful and took him away from me.

As I made my way into town, I was struck by its quaint charm and the subtle nods to its cowboy past. Before heading to the nearby motel, I decided to fill up my car with gas. As I approach the motel, I couldn't help but notice the small sign featuring a cowgirl riding a horse and the name "Desert Ranch Motel." It seems like a beautiful place to spend a day. The sign advertised a pool I plan to enjoy once the sun had set.

I hear the soft jingle of a bell as I push open the heavy wooden door to the front desk. Standing behind the counter is a woman who seems out of place in this ordinary setting. Her immaculate appearance and bored expression tell me she'd rather be anywhere else. I glimpse her name tag and see "Barbara" etched onto it. 

"Welcome to the Desert Ranch Motel, where the Old West meets comfort," she recites in a dry, monotone voice. "What kind of room are you looking for?"

The weirdest thing is that Barbara jumps when she looks up at me and tries to act as if she hadn't jumped. Am I creepy? Surely it cannot be my eyes, they cannot be creepy in this light. Was it my staring? My eyes burning into her.

As she asked if I was interested in the suite, I responded, "I will take the suite." I respond, there is nothing fancy about the way I said it. It was monotone. Following my response, she picked up the check-in book to check for its availability, or at least that's what I assumed she was doing.

"Sure... that'll be no problem," she says, keeping her pretty blue eyes on my figure as she checks the lodging book. That will be 15 dollars for the day," Barbara says uncertainly as I hand her the cash. She carefully notes my name in the lodging book and gracefully passes me the key. "The room is 28B. I hope you have a pleasant stay, ma'am," she says.

The prominent feature of the chain is a weathered cowboy pendant suspended from it, effortlessly enhancing the town's rustic charm and Western essence. I wonder who made it; it looks like an artist had a hand in making it. 

As I make my way down the hallway to 28B, the weight of my luggage is a reassuring reminder of the countless times I've journeyed down this similar hallway. I navigate the stairs quickly. Arriving at the end of the hallway, I reach for the doorknob and swing the door open. A smile spreads as I take in the view before me.

The wooden door creaks open as I enter the room, unveiling a spacious living area. The room features a sunken seating area adorned with vibrant patterned cushions encircling a central sunken pit that could double as a fire pit. The brick fireplace is the main focus, making everything warm and comfortable. 

Large windows flood the space with natural light, offering picturesque views of the pool outside. The high ceiling is adorned with several elegant hanging lights that glow warmly throughout the room. The inviting atmosphere makes it a pretty space to spend time and relax.

Behind the conversation pit, the bed steals the attention, decorated with a striking orange comforter and decorative pillows. The bedframe and nightstands complement each other, showcasing a matching wood. The clock on the nightstand displayed 3:02 am, signaling the impending arrival of dawn. Hungry from my long drive from San Antonio, I couldn't ignore the persistent itch of blood thirst at the back of my throat. As the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, I felt the familiar hunger gnawing at my insides. It is different from a human's regular hunger pains; my stomach feels as if it’s going to turn inside out, and I might die. 

The craving for blood pounded through me, and I know I couldn't ignore it much longer. But living in this arid, desolate town presented a challenge—no nearby life sources could quench my thirst. Then it hit me: In such a deserted town, there is an option: to search for the presence of rats. Although I don't like the taste of rat blood, it satisfies my thirst for blood. Or perhaps the local diner could provide a solution. I could order a rare steak and let its rich blood juices satiate my hunger for the night. I always thrived while killing; there is something so satisfying about that iron-rich liquid spilling down my throat.

As I leave the dimly lit motel room, I check that my purse is securely slung over my shoulder. I mentally record the contents within—my wallet holding a substantial amount of cash, my ID, and the all-important hotel room key. Opening it, I make sure that my favorite perfume is safely nestled among the other items. Knowing I'll smell good despite the bloodbath I’m going to put myself through does put a smile on my face. 

I stroll across the road from the motel to The Kingsman Diner, relieved to see that it is open 24 hours a day. Knowing that no matter what time, I can always find a warm meal here is a comfort. Approaching the front door, I couldn't help but notice a small cluster of mice scurrying around towards the back of the diner.

Sneaking towards the back of the restaurant, I quickly grab a mouse and sink my fangs into its body. Draining the blood from it and tossing it into the garbage. I continue doing this to a few more mice, draining and tossing.  It is not human, but it will do for the night. I need to drink multiple in order to feel fine.

Lost in my bloodthirst, I fail to notice the creak of the back door swinging open. Suddenly, a gruff and low voice startles me from behind.

"Darlin, what are you doin’ near my garbage?" The man asks, and I freeze, realizing someone had caught me. I feel my heart racing as I quickly toss the mouse into the garbage and turned to face him. There was a little blood on my chin, and my hands are stained from the unsuccessful attempt to clean up the mess.

What am I doing? Did Armand’s lessons in cleanliness and manners exit my brain the first moment I stepped foot on American soil? I should vanish now. Wipe his memory, he never saw me.

But as I answered, "Nothing," he gave me a questioning look, and I’m grateful for the overhead light illuminating his face. He was very handsome, with a man in his forties with a strong, tall frame, warm brown eyes, and a mop of dark brown, short hair. A well-groomed mustache adorned his upper lip, adding to his cowboy appeal. He stood before me in well-worn jeans cinched with a leather belt, an apron over his chest, and a vibrant blue flannel shirt. He held a black Stetson cowboy hat in his hand, completing the look of a true cowboy. God, he has kind eyes, clean-shaven eyes, and a beautiful smile. And a confident swagger to him, Armand never really had that sort of confidence or swagger. He was quiet and foreboding. 

"Why do you have blood on your hands and chin there, Darlin?" The man asks, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brow as if trying to assess my appearance. My mind races as I desperately tried to come up with some sort of plausible excuse. "Were you drainin’ those rats?"

I stammer nervously in response, causing his brows to furrow even deeper. "I, uh, yes...?" I admit, my voice trembling slightly. "I may have taken ecstasy in my motel room. It seemed like a good idea at the time. In the past I loved to drink the blood on ecstasy, it feels lovely."

"Why in the world would drinkin’ rat blood even cross your mind as a good idea?" the handsome man asks, leaving me speechless. Incompetent to conjure a coherent response, I found myself unable to answer him. How about we forget this ever happened, and I whip up something to satisfy that hunger of yours?"

I nod eagerly, awaiting his following words. "What are ya in the mood for?"

"Can you make mashed potatoes and a rare steak? It's been far too long since I've had a meal like that, not since I left San Antonio," I tell him, wiping the extra blood on the sleeve of my black blouse. It won’t be seen anyway. His face cringes for a moment as I do that. God, he needs to stop staring at me.

As the man mulls over my request briefly, he gently scratches his chin and nodded in agreement. "Come on in. Why don't ya take a seat at the counter," he offered as we entered the cozy diner. "Maybe after you freshen up a bit..."

Pausing, I glance down at my hands and suddenly became conscious of my messy appearance. The fancy clothes I bought for myself have blood splatters on me, and my hair is nowhere near presentable. I should’ve washed up in my motel room. 

"Oh, excuse me, where can I find the restroom?" I ask, and he gestures towards the doors at the back of the diner, clearly marked 'Men' and 'Women.' 

"I'll be back. I'm sorry you had to see that, handsome stranger," I say to him with a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood. His chuckle is a welcome sound as my eyes wander up and down, finally landing on the name tag labeled ‘Jack’' "Jack, a handsome name for a handsome man," I remark, a twinkle in my eye, nervously laughing. Has it been this long since I’ve been around a man? He must think I'm an idiot. 

Jack’s chuckle resonates through the room, carrying a warmth that seems to surround the entire room. "Not a problem, darlin'," he says in a soothing, reassuring tone, his words comforting to my ears. He flashed a kind and friendly grin, and as he did, the well-earned wrinkles around his eyes deepened, adding character to his face. A rush of heat floods my cheeks, betraying the blush that crept up in response to his gaze. Sensing my reaction, he arched an eyebrow ever so slightly, his eyes shining with a knowing glint. 

Dieu qu'il est beau. (god he is handsome)

“I will be right back, Mr. Jack,” I chuckle nervously before heading toward the restroom. Mr. Jack?! Why would I call him that? Also, I says I would be back not even a minute before. Must I repeat myself like a babbling imbecile?!

I quickly went to the restroom, but the encounter was still fresh in my mind. As I stand in front of the mirror, I meticulously wash away the stains from my face and hands, taking care to remove every trace of the blood. It's hard to believe that my first impression of this rugged man was being covered in blood. I can't help but wonder what  Armand must think of me. I did always turn to him for advice. He was always a posed man; he would get angry when I wasn’t. 

But I do not remember even doing anything that vastly embarrassing with him. Did I do something wrong when I was with him? Have I always been this way, and he was helping me? Should I have not left him? I cannot act like a lady around a handsome man who saw me draining mice near his garbage. Well, not that it is a ladylike thing to do, but there are nicer ways of satisfying my thirst. But fuck being ladylike, Armand would use that word so often I never liked it.

Wait, that businessman wanted to get with me at that party in ‘71. Why am I realizing this now?  Have I always been this aloof? I need to do better.

“Bloody lady, ya doin’ alright?” I hear Mr. Jack from just outside the door, “You’ve been in there for twenty minutes or so,” 

“Sorry, I got lost in thought. I’ll be out in a minute!” I reply, and my cheeks redden due to my embarrassment. Splashing water on my face, I walk out of the restroom with a slightly embarrassed smile, rocking on my heels momentarily. “Sorry about that, it’s been a long day.” 

Mr. Jack chuckles again, “‘s alright, darlin’ you not from ‘round here, aintcha?” He asks as I sit down at the counter where he’s prepared my food. God, it looks delicious. Staring at him, a little confused, he smiles again. “You ain’t got an accent like us, ya almost sound European.”

“No, I’m not from around here. I was born in Paris, but I’ve been traveling alone for a while,” I reply, grabbing the fork he’s set out for me. He tilts his head, confused.

“Ya look lil young to be travelin’ for a while,”

“M-My…uhh-” I begin trying to find a good excuse: “My family ages well. I am in my thirties,” Okay, that’s not a bad excuse, and it’s true I do not age. Thanks, Armand; one of the only good things about this gift he gave me. He still deserves to die, though. 

"Well, I’ll be damned ya do look good, sugar,” Jack tells me with a suave smile on his face, “that white streak in ya hair is real pretty too, them eyes of yours are real pretty too. I always liked green eyes on ladies,” 

“Why thank you, Jack. You sure know how to make a lady blush,” I giggle momentarily, hiding my face behind my hand, and while taking a bite of the steak he made me, and god if it isn’t delicious. That cowboy sure knows how to make a meal. 

He and I both chat for a while and continue eating the meal he had prepared. He pauses for a moment before asking, “You says you were born in Paris, that meanin you french?” 

“I suppose?” I reply, thinking for a moment. “I grew up there, my parents were born there too. But I have not been there for good while, I am losing my accent.” 

“Clearly, you barely sound French anymore, sugar. Are you still speakin’ the language?” he asks, and I nod with a bright smile.

“Oui, j'aime toujours cette langue,” I say, and his eyebrows raise. Is he impressed? “I say, yes, I still love the language.” 

Jack chuckles as he takes my empty plate and cleans it quickly while I wait at the counter. Should I wait for him to come back? Or should I leave? This feels weird. My legs begin to sway underneath the counter, waiting for him to come back, my chin resting on the backs of my hands. 

He comes back a couple of minutes later, and I've been looking around the diner, taking in the details of it all. It’s a very cozy diner. The warm lighting adds to that. If I lived here, I would be a regular, I know it. 

“How long you in town sugar?” He asks, snapping me out of my daydream. 

“As long as I want, I tend to keep myself in different towns for a few days before leaving. But I can stay in a spot for months if I’d like. Why do you ask?”

“I wanna offer you a job, if you’d like it. It would be watiressin’ but it pays good with tips.”

My eyes widen for a moment. Is he serious? His expression says he isn’t; extra cash would be nice. I have been running out of it since I left France and stole an excellent sum of Armand’s fortune. It would be nice to stay in one spot long and not be on the run. He also did find me with blood all over me. Why is he offering me a job? Did he not find me in the back with blood all over me..he does not have good awareness.

“I like that a lot. It would be nice to have extra money and save up a good sum.” I say to him, and his lips curl into an almost sly smile. He looks too mischievous with that mustache of his, but that is a reason he’s a joy to be around. He is much better than Armand, so much better.

“Sounds like a plan darlin’ let me get ya the uniform,” He tells me, walking to a closet in the back and coming back with two things, a red dress, it has short sleeves and seems that it would end at my knees. What’s in his other hand is an apron, simple enough. “Here’s the uniform, keep your hair in a bun and simple earrings. You got shoes that could go with it?”

Pausing, I think back to the clothes in my luggage, more specifically, the shoes I’ve been carrying with me. There are a couple of options, and others that would never work for that uniform.

“Would a pair of red-heeled sandals work?” I ask, unsure if that’s what he is asking for. 

“I believe they would darlin’. You can wear those with the uniform. Have you ever waitressed before?”

“When I was in Paris, I worked briefly for a cafe. Is this similar to that?”

“You’ll do great sugar. Now go get some rest and I’ll see you here at 2pm okay?” He asks, and I nod quickly, my arms gathering the uniform he handed me in my arms. 

When I leave the diner, the sky is empty; spare it for the stars sprinkling in the sky. This town is eerily quiet. Paris was loud, and so was Los Angeles. I like quiet; I've always liked quiet. Maybe I should stay here. Until Armand uses his fledglings to find me again, then I will run. I do miss him, the chase is more fun knowing he misses me. But for now, I will stay. 

I hope y'all enjoyed it! I do plan to have more chapters, as this is just the beginning; I've got a bunch planned!

Taglist: @morallyinept @604to647

[positively--speculative]

Sorry to make this rant again, but there's more to the gothic genre than just "dark and twisted fucked up stuff." And I think the mindset that it is probably comes from being exposed to it at a time when you're not ready to consume it.

I had several friends and acquaintances in my late teens and early twenties who liked/loved Anne Rice. Only one of those friends recognized how fucked up some of her writing and approach to certain sensitive topics were. When I finally did read Interview with the Vampire and The Vampire Lestat, I found myself waiting for some sort of moment where the writing would make it clear that many situations are, in fact, unsavory and awful...but they never are. Daniel doesn't interrupt Louis about the slavery. Nothing pushes back against Lestat or Gabrielle for the incest. It just happens and the reader just has to accept it. And when you have bright-eyed teens and early twenty-somethings wanting to delve into the subject of gothic literature and vampires without having been introduced to better-written gothic stories, they just kind of accept it and pat themselves on the backs for being able to enjoy something so "mature."

I know I've mentioned Crimson Peak before, but it's amazing how it just...does such a better job at not only including disturbing things but at framing them. No, it doesn't beat the audience over the head to explain why incest and seducing multiple wealthy women into marriage to murder them for their fortunes is horrific. We see things from Edith's point of view, so we are therefore able to fall in love with Thomas just as much as she does, and we can feel her horror when she finds out the truth about him and his sister. Their incest is never romanticized. And the disturbing part is knowing that Thomas has actually fallen in love with Edith--because it shows that someone who has done such horrible things can still have the ability to fall in love with someone and hurt them. Yes, Lucille was pulling most of the strings, but he was not blameless.

Anne Rice's writing, to me, talks down to readers who are, rightfully, disturbed by these kinds of things and it seems to reward apathy. It's like she was giving gold stars to readers who can just consume gross stuff and be unphased. And I kind of wish that her writing was treated as just shock porn rather than reading that challenges her readers intellectually because they really don't do anything to challenge her fans. I'm not begrudging her the "gothic" title, but I will say her gothic books are not really good at all aside from making some interesting characters. And it was because of her interesting characters that I was actually excited when the TV adaptation was announced, but I knew as soon as it was announced Louis would be Black that Rice's fans were going to be on their shit.

I think it says a lot that the show created a better gothic story than Rice ever did, and I think a lot of white fans resent it for that, because the show is asking them to think and be challenged in a way Rice never did. Even the ones who claim to like the show resent Black fans for "bringing race into everything" when one of the show's most central themes is race and racism. Maybe it's mean to keep saying they have the media literacy of a peanut, but there's no way to talk about this adaptation *without* bringing up race. But I really don't think they get that, because they're used to racism just happening (again, Louis was a racist slave owner in the book) without being made to pause and examine it.

[justagirlinafandomworld]

June was buuuuuuusssyyyy, I'm still recovering. While I didn't get to read as much as I would have liked, I'm still very thankful for all you wonderful writers for being here, for providing all this great content. My life would suck without you.

Please show some love to your fav stories! I think I've collected quite the variety for you to peruse.

Happy Reading!

2023 reading list | fic rec masterlist

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

Marvel

Picking Up The Pieces by @gogolucky13 Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers x Female Reader (briefly) Summary: Bucky chooses to stay in his tumultuous relationship knowing you’ll be there to pick up the pieces, until finally you’re not. [Modern AU] 3 Parts. Warnings: Angst. Cheating. Smut (not explicit). Swearing. Mentions of alcohol. (18+ only please).

To Have and to Hold Chapters 4 & 5 by @indyluckycharlie Bucky Barnes x Reader: Mafia AU Chapter 4 Summary: "She wore a thousand faces, all to hide her own" -atticus Chapter 4 Warnings: Dark themes Minors DNI. Also, if you ended up here by accident and haven't read the previous parts, go back! Angst, angst, angst (tra-la-la) Threats of and allusions to violence. Abusive and controlling behavior. Forced relationship. Light nonconsensual touching. Coercion. Hints at cheating that isn't really cheating. Swearing.

The Animal Within by @navybrat817 Shifter!Bucky Barnes x Shifter!Female Reader Summary: Bucky can't help but follow you when you go through his territory. Warnings: Shifters, flirting, background character death, mention of blood, slight possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

Bound to You by @flordeamatista dark mob Bucky Barnes x Stewardess Reader concept: Like clouds dancing in the air giving the setting sun a reason to live, that is how you came into his life.  warnings: possessive Bucky, dark Bucky, dub—con/non—con, kidnapp—ing, drug—ing, desire,lust, p— in-—v, mile high club, man—ipulation — d-ubcon/non—con, mature themes, edging, fing—ering, nickname ──(Princess, Sweetheart)

Through These Crazy Times by @girl-next-door-writes Clint Barton x Reader Summary: You and Clint have been keeping your new relationship a secret from the rest of the team, but a slip up leads to Clint deciding he doesn’t want to hide any more. Warnings: Fluff, otherwise none provided

Supernatural

Not Moving by @lost-between-letters Sam Winchester x Reader (she/her) Summary: Sam doesn't want to move. Warnings: death, angst.

Go Easy by @negans-lucille-tblr Sam Winchester x Y/N Summary: Sam’s hiding a part of himself from his new, inexperienced girlfriend, but maybe he doesn’t have to.  Warnings: teasing, flirting, mentions of virginity, mentions of liking younger women, angst, mentions of BDSM, Dom/sub vibes, mild BDSM, bondage, fingering, p in v

Waiting For A Love Like This by @girl-next-door-writes Sam Winchester x Reader Summary: Sam has been in love with his best friend for so long that loving them is like breathing. He has successfully kept the depth of his feelings hidden, but there’s only so long you can hold back those three words before they find a way to escape. Warnings: none provided.

Yours to Hold by @princessmisery666 Dean Winchester x Unnamed Female Summary: Dean lives in a fantasy that isn’t that far from the truth.  Warnings: angst.

Love Misunderstood by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior Dean Winchester x Y/N Summary: The moment came and went so fast, but Y/N has regretted it ever since. Warnings: None really. Brief mention of sexy times. Angst.

His Omega by @negans-lucille-tblr Wincest Anon Prompt: Sam and Dean are getting ‘married’ in a private ceremony of friends and family that involves Sam publicly claiming Dean BUT, dun Dun DUN - Becky wedding crashes by dropping through the ceiling while Sam is about to fuck Dean and she falls on his dick instead and Sam is bound to her 😳😳😳 finger gunsWarnings: fluff, alpha!Sam, omega!Dean, A/B/O, public claiming, mentions of public sex, sex, mentions of anal, that bitch Becky

Other Characters

Offer by @softlyspector Din Djarin x Gender Neutral Reader Summary: Din is absolutely sure that you know that he’s courting you. He wants to makes the offer formally anyways.  Warnings: pining, absolute FOOLS in love, bit of grumpy x sunshine, Din thinking he's being so obvious while not showing a single emotion, self doubt and insecurity (Din), lil angst, probably incorrect lore, fluff, Mando'a (translations at the end)

A Sweeter Place by @flordeamatista Neighbor!Joel Miller x Reader concept: The world dims when our lips meet, our hearts beat faster, and time stands still. warnings: poetic loving in the sunshine morning, kitchen table s-mut, finger-ing (tiny of cum  play) ,pure poetic fluff, soft kisses, o-ral (r receiving), nickname ──(Sugar, dirty girl,)

History Repeats Itself by @hoboal87 Unnamed Male Alpha x Female Omega Reader Warnings: a/b/o dynamics, mentions of / implied sex and knotting, implied unprotected sex, angst, ambiguous ending

This Hope in My Heart by @princessmisery666 Robert 'Bob' Floyd x Reader Summary: Sometimes having hope can hurt, but in the end it all works out.  Warnings: slight angst, fluffy fluff.

RPF

Please Don't Leave by @princessmisery666 Jensen Ackles x Reader Summary: Friends to lovers to friends, that can work, right?  Warnings: angst, fluff, Jensen in his thicc Soldier Boy era (that’s a warning in itself!)

[smellingofpoetry]

Drowning

Characters: Reader, Sam Winchester (Soulless!Sam), Dean Winchester (mentioned)

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x Reader

Summary: And, sometimes, it was just too hard to keep her mind from wandering in search of him.

Square/s Filled: “Squirting” (@spnkinkevents), "Free Space" (TMAS Bingo - @supernatural-jackles), "Wap - Cardi B"(@anyfandomkinkbingo)

Warnings: angst, smut, oral (fem rec, male rec), finger fucking, sex, p in v, unprotected sex, squirting, face fucking, creampie

Rating: +18

Words count: 3173

Beta: @snowlovespie

A/N:  Hi!🖤 So, I wrote this story for the fantastic @negans-lucille-tblr and her blogiversary. Congratulation on your achievement, love! My prompt was this one: "Missing you comes in waves, and tonight I’m drowning.", you'll find it in bold. I decided to experiment a bit this time, so here we are with my first fic about Sam. I really had fun writing this one not only because I went out of my comfort zone, but also because I ended up writing something quite different from the usual with some usual plot twist, 'cause you know how much I like them. I hope you'll enjoy it. Let me know what you think. 🖤

Everything had changed after Lucifer and the cage.

She thought the worst was to say goodbye to Sam and learning to live without that giant dork. She wasn’t ready for that - nobody was.

No one told her that losing Sam would mean losing Dean too. He left that same night with a simple hug, a really too-quick goodbye, leaving her behind.

She thought that even if he stopped hunting, they could still keep in touch. She realized her mistake and felt so stupid for thinking he would have answered her. Not while he was busy living a life miles away from her and Bobby. Not while he was committed to a whole new life with his new family – with Lisa.

Yeah, that was what hurt her most. Knowing that somewhere else he was laughing and kissing and sleeping with the same stranger, someone who wasn't her.

She shut close her eyes, shaking her head to get rid of all those images.

God…she felt so stupid, still thinking about him after all this time, and the nights were always the worst because it was just too hard to keep her mind from wandering.

Missing Dean came in waves, and tonight – oh tonight – she was drowning while staring at the bottom of her half-empty glass.

She downed the rest of the whiskey and immediately asked for another round, taking the glass in her fingers with a deep sigh as the bartender served her again.

“Well, happy birthday to me.”

Y/N murmured, bringing the glass to her lips and drinking the whisky in one go, feeling the alcohol burn her throat. She slammed the glass down on the counter, shaking her head and squeezing her eyes shut.

Sensing someone had taken a seat beside her, she opened one eye to glance at the newcomer, relaxing immediately when she recognized Sam.

Right, Sam.

He was back. No one was quite sure how it had happened, but he was back, and that was what mattered - that and the fact that he wasn't a demon.

At first, when she saw him in Bobby's living room, she hoped they could just pick up where they left off. Until Bobby made her realize that wasn't going to happen. It was a very short conversation, consisting of two sentences.

Two sentences that, to that day, she didn’t know who hurt more – her or Bobby.

At least she had Sam back, which was both good and bad. Don't get her wrong: she was happy to have her friend back. Still, sometimes it was hard to look at him without thinking of Dean. Tonight, was one of those times.

“What are you doing here, Winchester?”

“Bobby told me where to find you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as Sam raised his arm and motioned for the barman to bring two more drinks.

“What do you need?”

“Why do I have to need something?”

“Because that’s how it usually works with you, guys.”

Sam smiled and raised his hands in surrender, knowing full well that she had caught him.

“Alright, alright. I thought we could have celebrated your birthday together.”

“Thanks, Sam, but I’m not in the mood.”

Sam took the drinks and thanked the barman. He kept one for himself and handed the other to Y/N.  He remained silent for a few seconds, just staring and studying her more.

“Is this about Dean?”

Y/N scoffed at his words, looking at Sam as if he were nuts to even think such a thing. Well, he wasn't, but she had to keep what was left of her dignity.

“What? No.”

Sam frowned in disbelief. Y/N glared at him, hoping he would drop the subject, but he seemed to be on a different frequency lately.

“C’mon, Y/N, I know you used to spend all your birthdays with Dean. I was there a few times, remember?”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes, and letting Sam know how annoyed she was with him at the moment.

“Okay, fine, so what?”

“So, don’t let that stop you from celebrating, just because he’s not here.”

She sighed and looked down at the glass in front of her.

“He’s out there leaving his life and, sooner or later, you have to move on, and this seems to be a time as good as any.”

Y/N glanced at him, knowing he was right, and there was nothing she could say about it. She sighed, defeated, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips.

“So…”

She paused, looking to Sam for help. He seemed to sense her hesitation, so he grabbed both glasses and handed her one, which she took.

“So, we’re going to celebrate, you and me. I know I’m not Dean, but I promise you, we’ll have fun.”

They clinked the glass together before gulping down the whiskey.

They drank, laughed, and danced until the bartender hadn’t almost kicked them out. She really had had fun, though. Y/N hadn’t laughed that much in a very long time, and neither of them was ready to end their night.

So, they kept moving until they stumbled into Sam’s motel room, and one thing led to another. She’d known it was a big mistake the moment their lips touched, but that hadn’t been enough to stop her.

She couldn't even blame the alcohol. She could only blame herself and her weakness, but a year was a long time, and she longed for someone's touch. And even if Sam wasn't the one she really wanted, he was at least the one who was close enough to her, and that thought alone had hurt. So, she kissed him harder, and he kissed her back, matching Y/N same hunger. With their mouths pressed together, they began to push and pull their clothes off.

Their shirts were the first to hit the floor, leaving them both panting. Their eyes roamed over each other’s bodies. Y/N felt too self-conscious as she tried to unbutton her jeans. She unzipped them and let’em slide down her legs. Sam watched her every move, licking his lips in anticipation.

Y/N couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her like that. She shuddered as she unhooked the clasp of her black lace bra, letting it slide down her arms and onto the floor. Sam grabbed her neck and pressed his mouth against hers. The kiss was rough and messy. He bit his lip and then ran his tongue over it. And just as he cupped her breast with his hands, Y/N wondered if Dean would have kissed her in the same way. Sam's fingers pinching her already hard nipples pushed that thought away.

She reached for his belt, unbuckled it and pulled down his trousers. The boxers were next. Pulling them down enough to free his cock, she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, stroking the tip. At that, Sam moaned into Y/N's mouth, bucking his hips against her. He ran a hand through her hair, tugging at it with his fingers to encourage her to kneel, and she took the hint.

She stroked it and, not taking her eyes off him, licked a strip of his cock, swirling her tongue around the head, tasting the pre-cum.

Y/N couldn't resist, so she took him in her mouth, closed her eyes and began to suck on his length.

Would Dean taste the same?

Would he moan the same way?

She got wetter and wetter with every lick, moan and thrust. Releasing Sam's cock with a loud pop, Y/N breathed deeply as she stroked his shaft, her other hand fondling his balls. He grunted, tightening the grip on the back of her head as his hand replaced hers on his shaft.

“Open up.”

She opened her mouth as she was told and stuck out her tongue. At the sight of Y/N on her knees in front of him, Sam growled and slapped his cock on her tongue once, twice, three times before pushing it through her lips.

She took it in, sucking as best she could, as Sam jerked his hips back and forth.

Y/N felt saliva running down her chin as he mouth-fucked her. With both hands on his hips, for balance, she closed her eyes.

She had spent several sleepless nights imagining herself kneeling, with Dean's cock in her mouth, fucking her the way Sam was doing it. And on those nights, the thought alone had made her come on her fingers all the time and one flick of Sam’s fingers on her clit would have had the same result in that moment.

Sam rocked in and out until he felt too close to the edge, so he stepped back, helped her up and quickly crushed his mouth against hers. She kissed him back as his hands moved down her body, searching for her panties. He tore them off and slid his fingers between her legs, which she spread a little, moaning at the feel of his fingers circling her clit.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Is that all for me?”

Y/N bit her lower lip, nodding at the question, her eyes never leaving Sam's. He pressed his forehead against hers, mingling their breaths, grinning.

“Liar.”

Her eyes widened, but she had no time to say anything as he slid two fingers inside her, pushing them faster and faster, eagerly nipping at her nipples with his lips, making Y/N thrust against his hand.

“Oh, God…”

Y/N whimpered, clenching tightly around his fingers while he kept moving them, working her through the orgasm.

When it became too much, he slid his digits out and brought them to her lips, and she promptly welcomed them, sucking and moaning at the taste of herself on her tongue.

When she let them out, Sam captured her mouth in a sloppy kiss and urged them both towards the bed.

He put his hands on her hips and turned her over. Once her back was pressed against his chest, Sam's hands moved up Y/N's body, cupping her breasts and enjoying every moan as he nibbled at her earlobe.

“Hands and knees on the bed.”

Sam watched as she positioned herself in the middle of the bed with her legs spread wide, making him growl at the sight of her glistening pussy on full display. Unable to resist the urge to taste it, he stood behind Y/N and licked and sucked her folds once, twice, three times.

She bit her lips and gripped the sheets so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Sam trailed kisses up the skin of her back until he reached her shoulders, sinking his teeth there and making her moan. She had never been more desperate to fill that void.

He nuzzled her neck, licking a strip of skin, holding her in place as he took his cock to rub it a few times across her wet folds, grazing her opening with the tip.

Y/N closed her eyes in anticipation, feeling herself stretch around his girth inch by inch.

Once buried inside her, he stood still, giving Y/N time to get used to his size. Panting into her ear, his hands roamed down her body to pinch her perky nipples. Sam moved his hips back, already feeling her breathing get heavier, feeling how wet her pussy was getting and how tight it was clenching around his shaft, so he pushed into her again. She tried to move, desperately wanting him to go a little faster, a little harder, but Sam was quicker, stopping her hips with his hands, slowing the pace.

One of his hands gripped Y/N's neck, pulling her closer to his chest. As he increased the rhythm of his thrusts, she humored Sam's hips as best she could, feeling the wetness slide down her trembling legs.

Would it have felt that good to have Dean inside her?

Usually, it was – in her dreams at least. Dean would fuck her that way, with his chest pressed to her back, a hand around the neck, and the other rubbing her clit just the way she liked it.

At that thought, she threw her head back, eyes closed, and slid a hand between her legs to rub the already hardened clit.

Sam lowered his gaze, shuddering at the sight, and as a result tightened his grip on her neck, loving the way Y/N instantly squeezed his cock, feeling her become even tighter than she already was.

She gasped as Sam continued to move at a brutal pace, wanting nothing more than to feel her finally start to come around him.

Which she did the moment she tightened her grip around his shaft, making him moan with pleasure.

Y/N felt the orgasm overwhelm her and she couldn't help but moan in pleasure.

“D… Sam!”

She bit down on her lips, squeezing her already closed eyes even tighter, and her cheeks turned red from the embarrassment of having almost moaned out the wrong name.

Sam had to smile at that, giving her a few more thrusts, letting her ride out the orgasm, and only when she collapsed flat on the mattress did he get out of her soaked pussy, causing Y/N to whimper at the loss.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her wild heart, and as Sam helped her turn over to lie on the bed between the pillows, she saw him towering over her with a grin on his face.

Blushing and out of breath, she let her eyes roam over his sweaty body, licking her lips at the sight of his still hard cock, opening her legs and welcoming him between them.

Sam moved closer, running his hands up and down her legs, leaning in to greedily search for her lips.

Y/N kissed him back with equal intensity, running her fingers through his long hair, pulling it tighter than she intended and getting a slap on her red, sensitive pussy.

Moaning, she grabbed his hard cock and pumped it quickly, while at the same time Sam slid two fingers into her slit and fingered her vigorously. 

She felt herself getting wetter than she thought possible as Sam continued to hit her G-spot.

Unable to do anything but lie there and take whatever he was willing to give her, she let go of his dick and gripped the sheets beneath her, her toes curling in anticipation.

“F-fuck…”

She cried out, collapsed and spilled onto his hand, legs shaking and breathing heavily as she felt the most powerful orgasm of her life.

He looked at her in awe before pulling his fingers from her still throbbing pussy, sucking and tasting them with closed eyes.

As soon as Sam opened them, he looked at her before placing both forearms on either side of her head and pushing the head of his cock against her entrance.

He swallowed her moan with his mouth and kissed her hard and deep, letting Y/N taste herself on his tongue.

She responded to the kiss with everything she had and felt him fill her again in one quick thrust.

“God, Y/N, you feel so fucking good.”

Sam groaned, pounding her pussy with deep, hard thrusts. She arched her back and wrapped both legs around his hips. She could feel his dick throbbing deep inside her thanks to this position, and with the feeling that he was close, she clenched tightly around him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up good.”

“Yeah, come for me, Sam, please.”

She felt him tremble between her legs, and with three more powerful thrusts he burst inside her, leaving Y/N whimpering as she felt Sam's cum filling her.

His groans echoing through the walls.

Minutes later he stopped in her tight heat, running his fingers along her side, noticing her chest still rising and falling slightly, he leaned down, kissing her swollen lips.

His hand reached for her breast, squeezing and kneading it a few times between his fingers. Then, he let go and stepped out of her warmth.

Y/N shivered at the air hitting her warm skin as Sam put his hands on her knees, spreading them wider and staring at her glistening slit.

She was so fucking beautiful, all spread out for him, just him, and Sam always wondered what it would feel like to have her like that and, fuck, if it wasn't worth it.

So, he couldn't really understand why he hadn't made a move sooner.

As he watched his cum ooze out of her used pussy, Sam moaned, biting his lips, trying to hold on until he couldn't.

“Fuck it…”

He leaned down and licked at her folds, tasting her and himself on Y/N's wet skin.  The moment she felt his tongue, a long moan escaped her lips, so she slipped a hand between her legs and ran her fingers through Sam's hair.

He kept on slurping at her pussy, then slid his tongue into her slit, feeling Y/N instantly buck her hips into his mouth.

She was a quivering mess, lying on the bed with her legs spread and Sam's head between them, not really sure how much longer she could hold out.

But she couldn't help imagining what someone...

No, scratch that.

What would Dean have thought if he had walked in the room just then? What would he have thought, seeing her being fucked by his brother?

Y/N bit down on her lips and closed her eyes as she arched her back, still rocking her hips to indulge Sam's tongue.

She cupped her breasts and promptly pinched the hard nipples, trying to get rid of Dean's image, his hands, his lips, but those green eyes seemed to haunt her everywhere.

“Come for me, Y/N, c’mon.”

“Uhm… can’t.”

“Yes, yes, you can. One more time, c’mon.”

Sam's tongue filled her again as he rubbed his skilled fingers over her clit, and in no time, she could feel the pleasure building again.

Her head was still so full of Dean's image as she came on his little brother's tongue that Y/N had to bite down on her own to keep from moaning the wrong name, which was right there, about to slip past her lips.

He drank all of her juices, only letting her go when it became too much for her, and Y/N's leg immediately collapsed on the bed as she tried to get over her high.

Sam rolled over in the sheets beside her, licking his lips where he could still taste her. He glanced in Y/N's direction with a lazy smile on his face, then caught her lips for one last kiss before getting up to disappear into the bathroom.

Y/N stood still, breathing heavily, and staring at the ajar door. And even if she could still feel the buzzing in her body, she forced herself to get out of bed, ad the reality of what had just happened hit her with full force.

Picking up all her clothes, she dressed as best she could and slipped out of the motel room. Once outside, she leaned against the cool wall, breathing in the night air.

What the fuck had she done?

[fanfiction-she-wrote]

Pulitzer's Daughter

A redemptive take on the confrontational scene in Pulitzer's office before the rally, as well as the rally and rooftop scene.

Word Count: a little over 9000 (I'm a fiend, I know)

Warnings: perhaps some language, mentions of potential abuse (physical/emotional/verbal) but nothing graphic or explicit

Author's Note: I do bring up Lucille, Pulitzer's second oldest daughter who died two years before the Newsboy Strike in 1897 at the age of 17 from typhoid fever, so just wanted to offer that context. Also, I'm playing with the idea of continuing this into a mini collection that includes Jack and Katherine telling everyone about her identity, the blackmail, and The Children's Crusade, as well as maybe a heart to heart about the Pulitzer family dynamic and the process of writing The Children's Crusades? I'm really out here trying to build up Katherine's character a little more so I can justify my love for her lol.

Still reeling from the excitement she felt over the upcoming rally, Katherine Plumber roamed the streets, giddily informing every Newsie she passed about it. By the time she made it to the gates of The World, the sun had started to go down and the Newsies had all scrambled to sell the last of their papes before the meeting, leaving Katherine to her thoughts. She wanted to be realistic about the odds, but she couldn’t help the hope that had stirred from within her. This just might work. Suddenly, she heard a familiar voice ring out beside her.

“Just who we’s were lookin’ for.” Katherine whirled around to come face to face with one of the Delancey brothers. She tried to take a step back, but where one brother was, the other was never far behind. In this case, it came in a literal sense as the other brother stood right behind her and blocked her motion. “Mr. Pulitzer would like to speak with you.” A slew of responses swam through her mind, every single one of them sarcastic and witty and not particularly cooperative, but they all left as she spotted a figure looking down at her from the office balcony above. Biting her tongue, she followed them silently, keeping her head down. As the doors opened and she was escorted into the room, she faced the mayor, two World staffers, and the infamous Joe Pulitzer who all looked her way.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the lady of the hour,” Pulitzer said sneeringly, newspaper in hand. He unfolded the paper as he stood directly in front of her, holding the print to her face for her to see. “Are you proud of yourself?” Katherine straightened her posture a tad.

“I am. Those boys-”

“Are none of your concern. Clearly, you’ve allowed your bleeding heart to guide your pen.” 

“But-” She went to reach for the paper and explain herself, but he retracted it with an aggressive flick, causing her to flinch.

“Sit.” She immediately backed away and obediently took a seat in the nearest chair. As soon as she plopped down, the other men in the room spoke up, clearly carrying on a conversation she had missed the context for.

“I’ve read your editorials, Mr. Pulitzer. How can you express so much sympathy for the trolley workers and yet have none for the Newsies?” the mayor asked, walking closer to Pulitzer as he addressed him.

“Because the trolley workers are striking for a fair contract,” he explained calmly, removing his spectacles from his face and studying them. “The Newsies are striking against…me.” He tucked the lenses into his vest pocket, focusing his attention on the mayor.

“Well, I’d spare you the embarrassment if I could, but Medda Larkin’s Theater, the Burlesque House, is private property,” he responded matter of factly.

“He can’t order a raid without legal cause,” Mr. Bunsen chipped in, holding his ledger book close to his chest. Katherine felt herself sink into the chair a little more, realizing she was in the middle of a conversation regarding the very rally she had just been optimistic about. Of course, he already knows about it, she thought to herself.

“Mr. Mayor, would the fact that this rally is organized by an escaped convict be enough to shut it down?” Pulitzer tried, stepping up to the mayor, who shot him an inquisitive look, though he stood his ground.

“An escaped convict?” His tone seemed to imply that he didn’t believe Pulitzer’s assertion.

“A fugitive from one of your own institutions” Pulitzer emphasized, pressing the folded-up newspaper against the mayor’s chest in a pointed manner. He started walking back to his desk, everyone shuffling on their feet to follow in his direction. Even Katherine unknowingly shifted her posture toward him, her curious nature peaked. “A convicted thief, at large, reeking mischief on our law-abiding community.” With a twirl, Pulitzer spun his desk chair around to reveal Mr. Snyder as he dropped the newspaper down on the desk. Katherine felt a sinking pit in her stomach. “Mr. Snyder, which one is he?” Pulitzer turned away as Snyder immediately leaned forward and pointed at the picture on the front page, her picture from her story.

“That is him, there.” He stood up and handed the mayor the paper. “Jack Kelly.” Katherine felt her heart stop, slight panic settling in as she tried to absorb the conversation without giving anything away.

“And how do you know this boy?” the mayor asked, taking the newspaper but not minding the picture, simply listening to Snyder speak. 

“His is not a pleasant story. He was the first sentenced to my Refuge for loitering and vagrancy,” he explained, the mayor taking a step back to finally look at the paper. Katherine’s eyes were fixed on his, watching him study Jack with anxiety crawling up her throat. “But his total disregard for authority has made him a frequent visitor.”

“You called him a thief,” the mayor punctuated, lowering the paper before turning to face Snyder once more, “and escaped convict.”

“After his release, I caught him myself, red-handed,” Snyder replied animantly, walking around the desk towards the mayor as Pulitzer took his place, “trafficking stolen food and clothing. He was last sentenced to six months, but the willful ruffian escaped.” Katherine’s eyebrows furrowed. Trafficking food and clothing? As in bringing them into The Refuge? But The Refuge is a government facility. Those children are supposed to be cared for…unless- her thoughts were interrupted by Pulitzer’s voice. 

“So, you’d be doing the city a service, removing this criminal from our streets.” Her eyes darted between the newspaper tycoon and the mayor for a moment.

“If that’s the case,” the mayor responded, emphasizing the if, “we can take him in.” She froze. Jack going back to The Refuge? “Quietly-” No, they can’t, her thoughts voiced at the same time. Her heart skipped a beat with the sudden slamming of Pulitzer’s hands against his desk, grabbing everyone’s attention and silencing her mind.

“What good would quiet do me!” He yelled, an eerie silence filling the room as he stalked around his desk, eyes directly on the mayor. “I want a public example made of him,” he said in a cold steely tone. Just as Kathrine started to catch her breath, Hannah, Pulitzer’s secretary, came rushing in, her breathing slightly erratic.

“Mr. Pulitzer- the boy, Jack Kelly, is here.” Katherine’s eyes went wide, and she immediately launched herself to her feet, fear racing through every inch of her body. What?

“He’s-” she started to whisper, only to be cut off by Pulitzer himself.

“Here?” he asked, sounding quite amused. 

“Just outside. He’s asked to see you,” Hannah added, uncertainty written on her face. Pulitzer started to laugh gleefully, a sound that made Katherine’s skin grow cold. That’s a sadistic laugh, even from him. 

“Ask and ye shall be received.” He quickly whirled around and directed everyone into their places. “Mr. Snyder, if you please.” Snyder clapped his hands with excitement as Pulitzer gestured to Mr. Bunsen over with him. Katherine’s head was swirling with thoughts and anxiety. Run, Katherine. You need to warn him or he’s going to walk into a trap, she said to herself mentally. Just as she made to move, Pulitzer put a hand on her shoulder, suddenly beside her and giving her a passing but icy glare. “Sit,” he commanded with a quiet snarl. Despite herself, she did as she was told, holding tightly to the armrests as he quickly spun her chair to face the wall. She let out a small gasp, garnering his warning glare once more before she heard footsteps enter, pulling his attention away. Her pulse was thrumming in her ears, understanding the look he had just thrown her: behave or else.

“Mr. Jack Kelly,” Hannah announced. The footsteps paced leisurely, and her chest tightened.

“Hey. Good afternoon, boys,” Katherine heard him say, his voice as cocky and confident as ever. It made her flinch, despite how easily it also almost made her heart skip a beat. We just got him back to his usual self. There has to be some way to warn him.

“And which Jack Kelly is this?” Pulitzer stepped away from the chair as she heard a small whistle, clearly coming from her favorite Newsie as she imagined he was taking in the office. “The charismatic union organizer, or the petty thief and escaped convict?”

“Which one gives us more in common? Huh?” She wished his witty comment had made her feel better, but she held onto the arm rests tighter, her brain firing a million miles a minute. The more Jack taunts him, the more likely he is to carry on the act, which buys us time. But he also doesn’t mind the theatrics of it. He still holds all the cards and time may not do us any good.

“Impudence is in bad taste when crawling for mercy.” There was a pause. Jack, don’t take the bait.

“Crawlin’?” Jack let out a chuckle. She nearly huffed out a breath before noticing Pulitzer’s staffer Mr. Seitz standing close by, subtly watching her. She bit her lip instead. “That’s a laugh. No. No, I just dropped by with an invite. No, it seems a, uh, few hundred of your employees are rallyin’ to discuss some, uh, recent disagreements. Now, I thought it only fair to invite you to state your case straight to the fellas. Huh? So what'dya say, Joe? Want I should save you a spot on the bill?” Leave it to Jack to walk into the lion's den just to gloat, she huffed mentally.

“You are as shameless and disrespectful a creature as I was told. Did you know what I was doing when I was your age, boy?” Pulitzer said, emphasizing the word ‘boy’ to get under his skin. “I was fighting in a war.” 

“Oh, yeah, how’d that turn out for ya?” Jack didn’t seem to skip a beat with his commentary as Katherine tried to casually look around. Damned chair, I can’t see any of the doors from here…

“It taught me a lesson that shaped my life. You don’t win a war on the battlefield. It’s the   headline that crowns the victor.”

“Well, I will keep that in mind when New York wakes up to front-page photos of our rally.” She tried not to smirk at his confidence.

“Oh, rally till the cows come home. Not a paper in town will publish a word. And if it’s not in the papers, it never happened.” There was a pause. Right, Pulitzer put out a ban on strike material. How were we going to spread the success of the rally, she distractedly contemplated.

“You may run this city, but there are some of us who can’t be bullied. Even some reporters,” he growled lightly. Her brain stopped for a moment as she bit her lip to hide her full-blown smile. Oh…he’s talking about me… she thought to herself for a moment before feeling the upholstery under her hand and remembering the circumstances. Focus on that later. For now, get back to looking for an escape. 

“Ah. Such as that young woman who made you yesterday’s news?” She froze in place. Forget the escape. Why is he talking about me? Where is he going with this? She could hear footsteps approaching the desk. Pulitzer was, no doubt, setting up for something.  “Talented girl.” She heard him tap on the newspaper and realization struck. This is part of the set up. He meant for this to happen. He wanted Jack to- “And beautiful as well, don’t you think?” Jack was oblivious to all of it as she tried to look for a way out without moving the chair and drawing attention to herself, her hands wringing anxiously.

“Yeah. I’ll tell her you said so,” Jack said in a scoffing manner, turning to leave.

“No need,” Pulitzer said with a smirk. She felt like her heart might give out from how hard it was pounding now as she turned her gaze to him. Her eyes widened when she saw him nod, clearly enjoying the panic in her eyes. Please, don’t do this, she begged silently. “She can hear for herself.” She flinched as he threw down the paper on the desk, not breaking eye contact with her as he made her presence known. “Can’t you, darling?” She stared at him wordlessly before she saw his finger wag. The signal was clear. Get up. With a shaky breath, she rose to her feet in defeat and slowly turned around. Jack’s back was to her, but his head was turning in her direction after seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye. “I trust you know my daughter,” Pulitzer said as her eyes started to mist, “Katherine.” He spat out her name with such venom, but she knew it wasn’t aimed at her. It was aimed at Jack. All of this was to hurt Jack. Congratulations, Katherine. You played the part perfectly, a voice in her head hissed. “Yes,” Pulitzer sang out, clearly enjoying how distraught the infamous Jack Kelly had become, her eyes never leaving his. She could see storms of emotion crashing in his eyes: disbelief, hurt, betrayal, grief. Tears welled up in her own eyes, unable to tear herself from tortured his gaze. “My daughter.” Her father sat at his desk as Jack tried to take a few steps toward her, and away from the door, his only exit. No, Jack you need to run, she screamed in her head, but she couldn’t even bring herself to say a word, much less move her legs as she stood there frozen by sheer panic. This is bad. This is very bad. “You are probably asking, why the nom de plume, and why doesn’t my daughter work for me?” Hearing her father’s gloating tone, she hesitantly glanced in his direction, distraught by how content he sounded with himself. “Good questions.” He clearly didn’t care about her opinion of him as he settled back comfortably into his chair. “I offered Katherine a life of wealth and leisure. Instead, she chose to pursue a career.” She swallowed the bile in her throat as she looked at Jack again, her eyes shining with tears. And guilt. “And she was showing real promise until-” She jumped and flinched at the sound of him slamming his hand against the desk and dragging the newspaper across the wood. “This…recent…lapse,” he said, pausing with each word. Get a grip, Katherine. You have to do something. “But you’re done with all of that now, aren’t you, sweetheart?” An opening. This is an opening to speak. Say something. Warn him!

“Jack, I didn’t mean to-” she tried to explain herself as she took a step towards him, but he was quick to step back, breaking eye contact from her as he held out a hand telling her to stay in her place. You did that to him, Katherine. Now he won’t listen to you. She could see the way he was taking uneven breaths and staring at the ground to keep it together. A part of her broke seeing him like this. 

“Don’t trouble the boy with your problems, dearest,” Pulitzer chimed in, a small smile on his face. “Mr. Kelly has a plateful of his own.” Despite her distraught emotions, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Oh no. Jack, run.

“Jack-” she whimpered, his name just barely falling from her lips as her father cut off her warning.

“Wouldn’t you say so-” No time for warnings.

“Run!” a hiss ripped through her throat as she gripped onto the chair tightly to stop herself from running at him. His eyes just barely flashed up to meet hers as her father uttered the end of his sentence to snap the door on the trap. 

“Mr. Snyder?” There was a pause as Jack’s eyes widened, staring at Katherine. He wasn’t sure what to believe anymore, but the shadow of a figure coming out from behind Pulitzer’s desk made his eyes stray from her and believe her words. 

“Hello, Jack,” he snarled. Jack immediately tried to make a run for it, but Katherine could see the Delancey brothers right behind him, ready to restrain him. She went to throw herself away from the chair to help him, but a hand landed on her shoulder. Mr. Seitz squeezed her shoulder to remind her that they were outnumbered. They had been the entire time. This was the plan from the moment Jack arrived. They beat us. She covered her mouth and grabbed hold of the chair once more, letting the wood brush against her skin as she watched Jack struggle. This isn't a fight we win, Jack. I’m so sorry. 

“Does anyone else feel a noose tightening? Hmm?” The Delancey brothers threw Jack forward. Looking back at them, he realized just how trapped he was, and Katherine watched his back as he struggled to even his breathing. 

“But allow me to offer an alternate scenario,” her father announced from his throne. “You attend the rally and speak against this hopeless strike.” Katherine dropped the hand covering her mouth to her side, biting her lip and squeezing the chair tighter. So, an ultimatum. “And I’ll see your criminal record expunged, and your pockets filled with enough cash to carry you, in a first-class train compartment, from New York,” he paused for emphasis, her hand slacking and dropping from the chair in surprise. How did he- “To New Mexico, and beyond.” Pulitzer then turned his head to his daughter, giving her a sickly-sweet smile as she shook her head in disbelief. “You did say he wanted to travel west, didn’t you?” She let out a bitter chuckle, knowing that he was implying that she fed him information. Of course, he knows about Santa Fe too. She crossed her arms and covered her mouth with one hand, some tears leaking from her eyes. She wanted to say something, say anything, but she knew the second she opened her mouth, it wouldn’t be words coming out as her nausea continued to brew. She hesitantly looked at Jack, his eyes burning into her. I didn’t sell you out, Jack. Please know that I would never do it, she tried to convey through her eyes.

“There ain’t a person in this room who don’t know you stink,” he growled. He meant it towards her father, but she knew that some part of him meant it for her too. He held her eyes with his, anger and hurt swirling in them. The moment was broken though as Pulitzer stood from his seat, demanding attention.

“And if they know me, they know I don’t care.” he responded, making his way around his desk. He stopped to lean against the desk instead, clearly confident in the circumstances. “Mark my words, boy. Defy me, and I will have you and every one of your friends locked up in The Refuge.” Jack stood tall, defiance in his stance. But she’d come to know him well enough to recognize the slight tremble in his fingers before he balled them into fists. He’s scared. But if the Refuge is as awful as it sounds, surely my father wouldn't sentence dozens of children to such a fate...would he, Katherine tried to reassure herself, though she wasn't sure anymore. “I know you’re Mr. Tough Guy, but it’s not right to condemn that little crippled boy to conditions like that.” Jack tilted his head, gritting his teeth. Katherine's head felt like it was spinning. He knew about them. He knew about all of them. Of course he did. “And what about your pal, uh…”

“Davey,” Snyder chipped in. The spinning stopped and her body snapped in his direction. Bringing the Newsies into this was bad enough, but Davey and Les?

“Davey. And his baby brother,” Jack stepped back, staring at Katherine in disbelief. She didn’t bother breaking her glaze to meet his though as fire made its way into her eyes. “Ripped from their loving family and tossed to the rats.” Her father started tutting. He’s taking this too far, she growled internally. She could see the way Jack looked away from the corner of her eye, helpless guilt written all over his face. It was enough to send her over the edge. “Will they ever be able to thank you-”

“Enough!” she yelled, her hands shaking with rage. Her father’s cold fury glared at her, daring her to say more. In shock of her explosion, she diverted her eyes to Jack who had slowly turned his head to look at her, his gaze conflicted with emotions. Katherine swallowed the bile that rose up her throat and tried to work up her courage. Enough sitting silently. I need to say something while I’m still brave enough to open my mouth. “You can’t do this.” She broke Jack’s gaze and stared at her father. His glare burned her, but she fought the instinct to recoil and continued, stepping closer to his desk in an attempt to put them on the same level. "This isn't about the strike. This is about your willingness to throw dozens of boys into a prison for something that isn't even illegal. What kind of person does that make you?" Katherine felt her chest light for a moment. That felt good to say. The relief was short lived however as she watched her father step up to her, casting down his infernal glare. The last time she had seen those eyes so close, a hand followed, the memory eliciting a reaction. Everyone in the room could see the way her assertion dimmed into a plea, her body physically shrinking back slightly with each approaching footstep from Pulitzer. “Please. They’re just children,” she whispered, all of the bravery fleeing in an instant. Despite himself, Jack instinctively clenched his jaw at the way she sounded so small and afraid.

“As are you,” he responded coldly. He raised his hand towards her face, causing her to flinch. Jack went to step toward them until he saw Pulitzer's hand simply take her by the chin and force her to meet his eyes. Seeing the fear in them, he scoffed and let her go, turning his back to her and approaching Jack, a twinkle of humor back in his eye. “Time’s running out, kid, so what do you say? Cowboy or convict, I win either way,” he hummed softly, a menacing tone to his voice. Jack's eyes were bouncing back between Pulitzer and Katherine, part of him getting over the fear he had for her as fear for himself settled in once more, remembering the trap he had found himself in, the trap she had a part in springing. Katherine stared at him, once again frozen in place. That did nothing. All of that was for nothing, she scolded herself. “Your abject surrender was always,” he broke into chuckles before sharply delivering the end of his tune, “the bottom line.” Without skipping a beat, he waved over the Delancey brothers. “Gentlemen, escort our guest to the cellar so he might reflect in solitude.” The boys started pushing Jack around just for him to throw up his hands and follow on his own will. Katherine, to her surprise, was quick to follow, her feet trying to keep up with Jack. The Delancey brothers, however, knew she would try to join them and quickly blocked her off.

“Jack,” she shouted breathlessly, trying to make her way past them. When he kept walking without even a glance back, she tried again, more loud and certain. “Jack!” She watched the way he shook his head and she processed the gesture. Oh…it was on purpose. She hurt him and he’s ignoring her. She stopped at the steps of the stairs and tried to hold it together. She was brushed aside as her father followed, leading them to the cellar. In response, she followed, though she knew there was nothing she could do anymore. By the time she had made it to the cellar entrance, her father was already turning to leave with a grin on his face. As soon as he registered her presence however, the quirk of his lip fell and he rather gruffly grabbed her arm and pulled her away. He dragged her back into the office and only released her once the doors had been closed and it was just the two of them. She watched as he went back to his desk silently, rubbing her arm where it had been grasped harshly.

“I called The Sun. You can go retrieve your things in the morning.” She stared at him blankly, hoping she had misheard him.

“...what?” He shook his head and picked up the newspaper once more, lazily glancing over the front page. Her story.

“Come now, darling, you’re smarter than this. I didn’t just blacklist you. I had you terminated. Clearly, journalism is too much pressure on you-”

“You had no right. That article was my best work, my big break-” she argued, stepping forward to be at the foot of his desk.

“The entire story was a hyperbole. There weren’t swarms of children, just a handful of Newsies. And they didn’t storm the gates, the Delanceys opened the gate for them to come in for work. You misguided your readers and gave those boys false hope.” Katherine tried not to let the hurt shine through her eyes as she stood her ground.

“Of course you’re hypercritical of the piece, you have a conflict of interest in all of this, Mr. Pulitzer,” she hissed.

“And so it seems do you, Ms. Plumber.” This time, she can’t hide the shock on her face. “What, you thought I wouldn’t know about that Kelly boy being sweet on you? I’ve been keeping an eye on you for longer than you think. You’ve clearly taken to him far beyond what your writing suggests. Dare I say you found a muse in that riffraff?" How dare he insinuate such things.

“Just because he’s a flirt doesn’t mean my nonpartisan integrity as a journalist is compromised,” she said, straightening her back despite his claim. Jack Kelly is a lot of things: handsome, cocky, witty, brash, charming, and loud, just to name a few. But he is not and has never been a distraction, she told herself.

“Maybe. But you’ve too emotionally grown attached to your subject. Luckily, I stepped in when I did before you considered anything you’ll regret.” Ignoring his implications, she leaned forward on the desk.

“Don’t pretend like this is about me. You’ve refused to so much as look at my way since I decided to pursue journalism.” He looked up from the paper and decided to put it down, waving a hand for her to speak. Finally. “This strike is happening because you up-charged the Newsies and have refused to treat them as anything more than children-”

“They are children-”

“Working class children that work for you. They should be treated as employees.” He scoffed and folded his arms. “The upcharge may not seem like much, but those boys barely have enough to live off of as is. And all of this for what? So you can pocket more money?” He rolled his eyes, agitating her a bit more.

“It’s not about the money, Katherine. It’s about the principle. I need more circulation and we need to cut costs somewhere to make more papers, so the newsies pay more for each paper they sell. The more papers they sell, the more readers I have. The more readers I have, the more people listen to my opinion. The more people listen to my opinion-”

“Then it’s a matter of pride.” Her father’s eyes harden, but she doesn’t stop. “You care more about competing with the other big names of the city and increasing the power of your voice than the livelihood of those children. And when they raise their voices, you want to stomp them to the ground.”

“Those children are gutter rats. Most of them won’t even live to become to adults-”

“No thanks to people like you.”

“I’m teaching them a lesson: the world isn’t fair.” She chuckles dryly. No, The World isn’t.

“You act as though they don’t know that. Those kids have been dealt some of the most unfair hands in life. I don’t understand why you don’t just-”

“Of course you don’t understand. You are still a child learning about the world. I made it so you wouldn’t have to face hardships, but again and again you choose to make life more difficult-”

“Because I want to understand the world!" Katherine snapped. "How am I supposed to learn anything when I’m trapped in a comfortable bubble of wealth and privilege, which I never asked for? I am 17! It’s time for me to go out and work for a living and learn about the world, away from this easy life you keep trying to impose on me!” Her father’s face turned red at her words.

“It's a matter of maturity, not age. Why must you be so difficult? Lucille understood such things and she never had these-these outbursts! She understood the price of this life, that these are benefits she could never gain elsewhere, no matter how much hard work and effort she put in, so she was obedient and grateful. Why couldn’t you be more like your sister?” The air cooled as she stepped away from the desk slowly. He really went there…he really brought her up just to get back at me.

“I know I’m not the daughter you want me to be, and I miss her too, but you don’t have to throw Lucy in my face every time I don’t measure up.” He stared at her and sighed. Instead of apologizing though, he merely picked up the paper once more, keeping his eyes off of her.

“Go home and freshen up. I want you there when Mr. Kelly gives up on this union nonsense tonight.”

“You don’t know if he will-”

“If he’s as much of a hero as you painted him out to be in your article, then I’m positive he will.” She’s silent. He’s right. Jack is the type to bite the bullet, but only for himself. For others, he'd make himself the human shield. And to add money on top of that…he’s getting paid to walk away from all of this, something he’s wanted to do since the beginning…would he? Sensing her uncertainty, he turned around in his chair so that his back was to her. “You should pick out something nice to wear. This will likely be the last time you see Mr. Jack Kelly.” She stared at the upholstery blankly, her emotions too jumbled to sort through. “You’re dismissed,” he emphasized with the crinkling of paper. Without another word, she turned and walked out the door, her eyes prickling with tears. It wasn’t until she had made it down the front steps of The World that a thought occurred to her: Jack. Is he still down in the cellar? Should I go see him? Would he…would he want to see me after everything? Insecurity crept up her spine and she decided to focus on making it to the rally. The only way now is forward. If I’m early enough, maybe I can warn Davey and them about what happened just in case Jack… Her trail of thought sputtered out. She didn’t want to think like that. Jack Kelly was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a sell-out. She knew that.

By the time Katherine made it to the rally at Medda’s, she could see the discussion was in full swing. To her reassurance, they had over triple the numbers of Newsies than what they had been working with. It seemed to be going well with all of the boroughs. She found herself a nice spot to watch Davey speak from behind a group of Newsies from Flushing up on one of the risers. It almost made her smile…until she saw Jack coming around from the backstage area with his jaw set. Oh no… she thought to herself, bringing her thumb up to her lips as she started to bite on her nail.

“You wanna be talked to like an adult? Then start actin’ like one,” Jack grumbled loudly, cutting off the applause Davey had conjured up.

“Jack-” Davey said, catching Jack’s tone and trying to ease him up. Jack however was a man on a mission, so he gave Davey a small push to let him know he was taking over, not once stopping his grumbling

“Don’t just run your mouth. Make some sense.”

“And here’s Jack!” Davey announced with enthusiasm, though his face showed some concern. The Newsies started chanting his name and Katherine could see him fighting himself. Come on, Jack. Do the right thing. These boys need you.

“Alright.” They didn’t stop. “Alright,” he said a little louder, but to no avail. “Alright!” he shouted, finally getting the boys to simmer down. He took a moment to think, his eye catching his artwork on display. Katherine followed his eyes. He could do so much with talent like that…is that what he hopes to do when he goes to Santa Fe? Katherine startled herself out of her thoughts. She didn’t mean to imply that he was leaving. It had always been an ‘if’, not a ‘when’ and something about that realization made her stomach sink. “Pulitzer…raised the price of papes without so much as a word to us, and that was a lousy thing to do.” The Newsies murmured in agreement. “So we got mad and we showed ‘em we ain’t gonna be pushed around. So we go on strike! And then what happens? Well, Pulitzer lowers the price of papes, so’s we’ll go back to work!” More murmurs of agreement came. Katherine felt a little better and pulled her finger away from her lips. Maybe I shouldn’t have doubted him. And then he held his hand up to silence them, a look on his face that brought the pit back to her stomach. “And a few weeks later, he hikes the price back up again, and don’t think he won’t. So what do we do then? And what do we do if he decides to raise his price again after that? Fellas, we gotta be realistic here.” Davey realized where Jack’s going with his line of thinking and walked up to him to try to calm him down. Katherine’s finger was back to her chin, her teeth preoccupied with her nail once more. “If we don’t work, we don’t get paid.” Jack turned around to see Davey standing right beside him, looking at him with concern on his face. “How many days can you go without makin’ money? Huh? Believe me, however long, Pulitzer can go longer.” Suddenly the crowd started vocalizing their confusion.

“What are you saying, Jack?”

“So what do we do, Jack?”

“Oh no…” Katherine mumbled to herself. 

“But I have spoken with Mr. Pulitzer!” She shook her head as the boys quieted down. Jack, don’t… “And he…” Jack was fighting himself to finish, “he has given me his word.” His voice cracked at the end. “If we disband the union-” All hell broke loose with those words. All of the boys started coming down the risers and yelling. Jack was trying to hold firm on his stance, but he was in the thick of everything. Katherine shook her head in disappointment, moving up to the railing to have a better look at the scene below. However, her eyes stopped on a figure on the opposite riser from her. Snyder. So, they made good on their threat after all. She watched as he threw his hand down on the railing in what seemed to be disappointment before he left. Katherine wanted to make sure he was gone for good before letting her eyes fall to the mess on the stage. All these boys don’t even know how close to hell they just were, she thought, her eyes prickling with tears once more. Jack was still being drowned out by the voices of the other Newsies and looked up for some relief just to meet her eyes. He froze in his place as she watched him with misty eyes for a moment before taking off, unable to stomach the scene in front of her anymore. He did it. He took the money, and will no doubt leave as soon as he can. No goodbyes, no apologies, just burned bridges. She walked the streets of New York, her emotions becoming less of despair and more of defiance as she wiped her tears away angrily. No, she thought to herself. This doesn’t end like this. I need to talk to him. I need to… Just then, Katherine remembered something one of the Newsies had told her about: Jack’s penthouse. Picking up her skirt, she hurried over to the fire escape accessible rooftop she had heard about, fully aware that if she didn’t beat him there, she may never see him again.

By the time she made it up to the top of the ladder, she could see she was alone. There were still some things lying around so she took that as a sign that she just might have beat him back. At least, that’s what she had hoped. Taking a moment to catch her breath, the first thing she noticed were the stars above.

“Jack Kelly, the stargazer. The ‘Go West, Young Man’ theme continues,” she whispered to herself. She started pacing the area before noticing rolls of paper in an air vent. Hesitantly, she picked one up and unrolled it, her breath catching in her throat. Is this…Snyder is supposed to take care of them. This…this is unacceptable. She continued to study them until she heard the metal creaking of the ladder. Turning to face the ladder, she continued to fiddle with the drawing, though her eyes were switching between the boy she had been waiting for and his art.

“That was some speech you made,” she said dryly, despite knowing she shouldn’t be too hard on him. He didn’t have much of a choice, really…

“How’d you get here?” he grumbled before he’d even made it up the steps fully.

“Well, Specs showed me.” His eyes found the papers in her hands and he quickly rushed up to her, snatching one of them away quickly.

“What, he say you could go through my stuff?” he snapped at her. She flinched away slightly as he came around behind her and rolled it up.

“I saw them rolled up sticking out of there. I didn’t know what they were,” she defended herself gently, staring at his back as he tried to ignore her. She looked down at the paper still in her hands. “These drawings…these are drawings of The Refuge, aren’t they?” Jack didn’t respond, taking the other drawings and storing them away in a poster tube. Don’t stop, Katherine. This may be your only chance to get some answers. “Is this what it’s really like in there? Three boys to a bed, rats everywhere, and vermin…”

“What, a little different from how you were raised?” he spat out bitterly, snatching the page from her hands. She jumped and looked at him in surprise, but instead of fighting back, her eyes softened. He’s processing a lot. You can’t blame him for being upset after everything, Katherine. He made eye contact with her and held it for a moment before turning his back to her one more time to roll up the paper. 

“...Snyder told my father you were arrested stealing food and clothing. This is why, isn’t it? You stole to feed those boys…” When he kept his back to her, she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Jack, I don’t understand,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. He scoffed to himself.

“’s not that surprising,” he mumbled under his breath. Her cheeks went red. Why does everyone keep throwing that back at me today, she thought to herself as she flung her hands up in frustration.

“Then help me understand! If you were willing to go to jail for those boys, how could you turn your back on them now?” That triggered his fight instinct as Jack turned quickly and shoved the tube back into the air vent to face her head on.

“Oh, I do not think you,” he asserted pointily, finger directed at her, “are one to talk about turnin’ on folks!” She took a quick breath to keep her voice level again. 

“I never turned on you, or on anyone else,” she said, but he was quick to refute her.

“Oh, no, you didn’t. You just-just double crossed us to your father. Your father!” he yelled venomously, brushing past her to get to the other side of the railing. Despite herself, she raised her voice and followed him over. 

“Despite how it sounded, I never told my father a thing about any of you. My father and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.” Jack rolled his eyes at her. That little-

“Oh yeah? Then how did he-”

“He has eyes on every corner of this city! He never needed me to spy for him, not that I would even agree to!” She stopped just short of him as he turned to look her in the eyes. He wants to believe. “And to be clear, I never lied.” His gaze shifted to disbelief, making her a bit nervous. “But I didn’t…tell you everything.” He let out a frustrated groan, the hope in his eyes gone again.

“If you weren’t a girl, you’d be trying to talk with a-a fist in your mouth!” He turned to face the railing, leaning against it. Katherine huffed to herself. What a stubborn boy. 

“Look, I told you that I worked for The Sun, and I did. I told you my professional name is Plumber, and it is. You-you never asked my real one,” she said, immediately wincing at her choice of words at the end. Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair. Jack seemed to agree because he whirled around exuding frustration.

“I wouldn’t think I had to unless I knew I was dealing with a backstabber!” She blinked and tried to manage her frustration. Keep your calm, Katherine.

“I already told you, I’m not a backstabber or a liar!” she hissed. Okay, that wasn’t very calm, she told herself, clenching her jaw to fight the desire to yell again. 

“Well, you sure as hell ain’t a fan of the truth, now are you?” She glared at him and felt heat rise up her cheeks. You know what, screw calm!

“Oh, if I was a boy, you’d be looking at me through one swollen eye!” she yelled, raising a fist up at him.

“Oh yeah?” He grabbed her wrist and pulled it under his chin, incidentally pulling her close as well. What is he- “Don’t let that stop you, huh.” He let go of her wrist and leaned forward, ready to accept an uppercut. Jack, you infuriating boy. “Give me your best shot!” He stared her in the eyes. That’s when she saw it. Guilt. He thinks he deserves this. Her breathing was just as erratic as his as she stared at his face. His infuriatingly handsome face. Her eyes flickered down to his lips as he let out puffs of air that tickled her forehead…

…you know what? What the hell. She grabbed onto the base of his neck and pulled him forward, raising herself up on her tiptoes to meet his lips with hers. To her surprise, he was quick to react, grabbing hold of the railing to steady himself and meet her lips. Her hands naturally slid down to hold his face as they melted into the kiss together. After a few moments, they pulled away, foreheads still pressed together. Did I just… Their eyes met and he leaned back in for another kiss. Katherine wanted to stop him but allowed him to pull her in by the waist for a moment to share in another kiss before she felt a thought take over. The deal. She suddenly pushed herself away with a gasp and covered her lips, taking a few steps back. In the following moments, Jack seemed just as frazzled as she was, but she felt the need to say something, unable to stand the silent tension.

“I-I…”  An apology might be a good start. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything. But I know how my father is and I just…I don’t want to be attached to him.” She turned to lean against the railing, a shadow passing over her eyes as she remembered his words. “He’s already made it very clear that I will never be enough to make him proud as a father, so why…” she hesitates with her words. “…why pretend to be someone I’m not?” Jack stared at her, trying to take in her vulnerability. 

“So…you made a fake name to make a name for yourself?” She fought the urge to chuckle. Nice word play, Kelly. 

“I…I guess so.” She hesitantly looked over at him. His eyes were still hazed over slightly from the kiss…es. Plural, Katherine. She shook the thought from her head, fighting off the blush that tried to creep up her cheeks. “I never lied to you about who I was. This is me. This…” she took a deep breath and turned to face him fully. “This is the real me. It’s the only me you’ve known, and it’s the only me there is.” He nodded slowly. She wanted to enjoy the moment, but her thoughts interrupted her once again. Ask him about the money. She shifted on her feet and looked away. “Jack, I…” he stepped a little closer to her, hanging on her words. Swallowing thickly, she looked at him again and hesitantly laid a hand on his chest. “I need to know that I wasn’t wrong about you. I…” his hand wrapped around hers, giving her the strength to continue. “I need to know that you didn’t cave for the money.” He tried to read her face before letting out a sigh and turning to the railing, leaning on it with both hands as her hand slipped out of his grasp.

“No, I-I spoke the truth,” he started, turning to face her. “You win a fight when you got the other fella down eatin’ pavement. Alright, you heard your father. No matter how many days we strike, he ain’t given’ up. I don’t…I don’t know what else we can do,” he whispered, clearly feeling hopeless. She came up beside him and leaned against the railing with him in silence for a moment. There must be something we can do. Another rally, another article, another…wait. She remembered the paper she had stowed away in her pocket when she changed at home, a new piece she had been working on before she had realized she was blacklisted. Maybe it doesn’t end here after all. With a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, she turned to him, her hand in her pocket reaching for the paper.

“Well…I just might have the solution to our problem.” He let out an exhausted groan.

“Oh, come on, Katherine. It’s-” She stopped to shoot him a challenging look.

“Really, Jack, really? Only you can have a good idea?” He drew back a bit, looking at her baffled. “Oh, I know, is it because I’m a girl?” He pointed a finger at her with a defensive look.

“Hey now, I did not say nothin’ about-”

“This would be a good time to shut up,” she cut him off, holding her hand up to silence him. He closed his mouth and tried not to let out a smile at her antics “Being boss doesn’t mean you have all the answers. Just the brains to recognize the right one when you hear it,” she says, pulling out a folded paper from her pocket and waving it in the air for emphasis, a wide smile on her face. Jack silently stared at her before dragging his hand down his face.

“...okay, I’m listening,” he felt the need to announce. She gasped playfully.

“Oh, good for you.” She could practically hear him roll his eyes as she started unfolding the page. “Look, the strike was your idea. The rally was Davey’s. Now my plan will take us to the finish line.” She held the paper up in front of his face. “Deal with it.” He snatched the paper from her hand, trying not to quirk a smile at her spunky attitude. He started looking it over, pacing around her.

“The Children’s Crusade,” he read aloud. Too excited to stop herself, she recited the words herself from memory, hands clasped in front of her.

“'For the sake of all the kids in every sweatshop, factory, and slaughterhouse in New York. I beg you…join us.'” Jack looked at her in shock, pointing at the paper.

“This…”

“With those words, your speech,” she emphasized with excitement. “The strike stopped being just about the Newsies. You challenged our whole generation to stand up and demand a place at the table.” He was silent for a moment, mulling over his words. He didn’t even realize his potential as a leader back then, she smiled to herself.

“The Children’s Crusade…” he repeated in disbelief. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was clear in his eyes every time he looked at her: this girl never stopped amazing him.

“Just think, Jack! If we publish this- my words…” the gears were turning in her head. Pictures sell. “-with one of your drawings!” she squealed, quickly reaching for his art as he stood there, watching her bounce around with hope. “And if every worker under twenty-one read it and stayed home from work…” she tossed him the tube of sketched as she stopped her words, a new thought popping up. Or we could make it a public stand! He shook his head in disbelief. “Or better yet, they came to Newsie Square for a general city-wide strike!” She broke out into giggles, feeling like a mastermind as she took her piece back from Jack and looked it over again as she twirled around. “Even my father couldn’t ignore that.” When Katherine looked at Jack, she could see him hesitating. She stepped over to him, her smile dimming. “What is it?” He sighed, trying to give her a small smile that just couldn’t reach his eyes.

“This is…I mean, it’s great, but…we have one…small problem. We got no way to print it.” She rolled her eyes with a groan. Of course that would be a problem. Stupid ban.

“Well, there has to be one printing press my father doesn’t control.” Jack sighed and leaned against the railing, deep in his thoughts before he paused. 

“Oh no,” he groaned playfully. She quirked her eyebrow, reading the stress melt off his body as a good sign.

“What?” He let out a gruff laugh, fully recognizing the irony of what he was about to propose. The sound reminded her of the Jack Kelly she’d come to know and appreciate, and it brought a smile to her face.

“I know where there’s a printing press no one would ever think we’d use,” he smirked. Leave it to Jack to find a way! she squealed in her head.

“Well, then, why are we still standing here?” she squealed out loud, skipping with excitement towards the fire escape to get to work. He watched her with a smile before feeling the need to rewind and address the elephant in the room, just as her shoulder brushed past his.

“Hey,” he tried gently, but she kept walking. “Hey, wait!” His voice didn’t carry enough as she went to take a step down the ladder. “Stop! Just…” She looked up and froze in place, surprised by his outburst. He looks flustered, she noted. He quickly put his tube of sketches back in the air vent and turned to face her fully, struggling to find his words. “Wha-what is this about for you?” he asked, gesturing between them. Katherine tilted her head in confusion, but she stepped back onto the rooftop to give him her full attention. “And- and I’m not talkin’ about the Children’s Crusade. What’s this about?” he pointed between them once more, emphasizing the word ‘this’ as he did. Her eyebrows furrowed. What is he…does he mean us? She asked herself nervously. “What-am I…am I kiddin’ myself…or is there something…” He sounds so…nervous. I make Jack Kelly nervous? she thought giddily, a small flutter in her chest. 

“You mean…us?” she asked, stepping towards him. He shyly nodded his head, afraid to look away. “I mean, yeah, I like to think there is. We did kiss, so-” she said in a slightly teasing manner, giggling to herself as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Well, don’t say it like this happens every day!” he shouted in a panic, catching her by surprise. Oh, he’s actually wound up about this. She came closer, trying to calm him down.

“Wait, Jack, I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, I’m not an idiot!” he yelled, flustered as he stared at her. “Look, I know girls like you don’t wind up with guys like me. And I don’t want you promisin’ nothin’ you gotta take back later.” She stared at him, uncertain of how to react. Part of her felt like she should look away, but she couldn’t, not when he was staring at her with such an intense look in his eye. Hesitantly, Katherine opened her mouth and started fiddling with the cuffs of her sleeves to calm her nerves, eyes still on him. Here goes nothing.

“I...I wouldn’t have come after you if there wasn’t something. Not after all that happened today. I just…I couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go without seeing you one more time.” He stood there, trying to find the words to convey his emotions. Please, say something, her heart begged.

“Standing here…tonight, lookin’ at you, I…” He stumbled over his words, but those words were enough to make her heart soar, her hands brushing her skirt and folding behind her back as she bit her lip. “Look, I’m…I’m scared tomorrow’s gonna come and change everythin’. If there was a way I-I could…grab hold of something just to make time stop, so’s I could just…keep on lookin’ at you.” Katherine couldn’t fight the smile on her lips as she watched this boy bare his heart to her under a thousand New York stars. She didn’t even realize she had tears falling from her eyes until she felt one roll down her cheek. Out of instinct, she went to duck her head to wipe it away, but Jack came up to her in an instant. “Hey, hey.” He slotted a finger under her chin and lifted it up so he could see her face. “What is it?” His hands cupped her cheeks, thumb brushing after the stray tear. She laughed softly at his concern.

“No, I just…” She stared up at him. “You snuck up on me, Jack Kelly,” her voice wobbled. “I never even saw it coming.” He pressed his forehead against hers.

“Fo’ sure?” he whispered, his accent thick. She let out a breathy chuckle and nodded.

“Fo’ sure,” she mimicked him softly. He smiled and slowly brought her lips to his, giving her a chance to back away. Not a chance, she smiled to herself, pulling him into the kiss.

[onyxbird]

I Am the Greatest Date-Planner in This Apartment

Summary: Eliot wins date night after he gets a recommendation of a sci-fi movie his “geeky friend” might enjoy and gets carried away with a movie evening complete with a themed meal. Fortunately, despite all Eliot's fears to the contrary, both of his partners are just the type of people to appreciate those elaborate efforts.

AO3 link here.

...

The first time Eliot Spencer really knocked “date night” out of the park, it wasn't even his idea.

The old army buddy he'd helped out a few weekends before had managed to draw out some (carefully vague) information about Eliot's current colleagues, including his geeky “friend” who was always into a new video game or superhero that Eliot knew nothing about, and he'd left Eliot with a suggestion. It took a few weeks to implement, not because the film was hard to obtain, but mostly because Eliot kept second-guessing his choice.

What if Eliot hated it as much as Hardison's comic-book movies? What if Hardison hated it? What if Parker was bored? What if they thought the themed dinner was stupid?

Eliot restlessly double-checked the array of toppings laid out on the counter against his mental list. Baked potatoes were almost done—they'd be ready by the time Parker and Hardison were scheduled to arrive.

Dessert would feature little pouches of freeze-dried ice cream, because Parker would expect it, alongside the main feature: a tiramisu dusted with red cocoa powder and garnished with carefully spaced upright sprigs of mint. A variety of homemade chocolate truffles, formed in silicone molds that were the one thing Eliot had to order for this project, completed the dessert assortment.

He'd been wrestling with himself about the truffles all week. They were important, because he wasn't sure how much his sugar-loving partners would love the tiramisu, but also terrifying, because they were, by far, the most overt theming of the entire meal.

The loaded baked potatoes could be justified as just a good, hearty, simple meal; the tiramisu was classic; the ice cream was a low-effort token to Parker's quirks. But there was no hand-waving the truffles.

He glanced at the clock again. No more than 90 seconds had passed.

At this rate, he might not survive the wait to die of embarrassment.

…

Parker and Hardison arrived at the appointed time, on the dot.

Eliot didn't mention that he'd seen them park Lucille 17 minutes ago, or that he'd watched them emerge 5 minutes ago for the less than 90-second walk up to his apartment.

In the absence of any information except for “dinner and movie night,” Hardison had hedged his bets on formality: Nice jeans, a dark gray sports coat, and a blue button down featuring a subtle pattern of tiny TARDISes. Parker, on the other hand, had simply topped a typical head-to-toe black ensemble with an unbuttoned royal-blue shirt. A very familiar one.

“…Is that my shirt?”

“Yup!” said Parker, cheerfully.

“Parker, I was looking for that!” (Technically, turning his closet inside-out wondering how the evening was already going wrong.)

“Oh.” She considered, tugging absently at the bottom hem. “Do you want to trade?”

“No, I don't want to—! Why do you have my clothes?!”

“We're having a date. I wanted to look nice.”

“Which you both do,” interjected Hardison firmly, pausing to rake his eyes conspicuously over Eliot's own dark-red button down and jeans and lingering on the larger-than-usual collection of bracelets on his left wrist. “So, uh, can we come in, or are we banned on grounds of clothes-stealing? Which, for the record, I have not participated in. I am wearing all my own clothes, which you can probably tell by the fact that they fit my long-ass body and have TARDISes on them.”

Eliot belatedly stepped back to allow them into the apartment.

“These are for you,” said Parker, shoving a bouquet of a half-dozen red roses and as many stalks of orange and yellow snapdragons into his hands.

Eliot's brain stopped functioning for the second time since he'd opened the door.

“Uh…”

Parker frowned at his lack of response and elbowed Hardison sharply in the ribs, eliciting an “ow!”: “You said adding the snapdragons would be fine. Maybe we should have stuck with traditional.”

“I don't think it's the snapdragons, babe. Give him a minute.”

Eliot figured out how to form words again, blinking rapidly. “Thanks, Parker. These are nice.” He stared at the flowers, aware that there had to be a next step he was blanking on.

“You got a vase or something we can put those in for you?” said Hardison, with the very deliberate sincerity characteristic of him either grifting or trying not to laugh. “Don't want to interrupt…” He gestured vaguely at the apartment. “…whatever it is you're preparing for the evening.”

“Right! I, uh…” Eliot moved towards the kitchen on autopilot, trailed by the others. He didn't think he had an actual vase—that wasn't something that generally came up for him—but a quick rummage in the cupboard produced a weizen glass as a passable substitute.

Parker and Hardison eyed the baked potato fixings as Eliot's brain scraped together the remnants of his thoroughly derailed explanation, acutely aware of the heat crawling up his face. This wasn't how the evening was supposed to go.

“So, we've got, uh, baked potatoes for dinner that you can fix however you like.”

Why had he thought this was a good idea?

“I thought we could eat while we watch the movie. It's all set up in the living room. There's dessert, too, that I was going to put out in the living room when we're ready so you can help yourselves without having to stop the movie…”

Maybe he could cut his losses and just not pull out the ice cream and the truffles? But then he had nothing as backup if Parker or Hardison didn't like the tiramisu, and just baked potatoes and tiramisu was kind of a skimpy as a date-night dinner—

“Sounds great!” said Hardison, as Parker made concurring noises. “What's the movie?”

“Well… we have options. We can watch whatever you guys want! I got one that sounded like you might like it from what I'd heard, but if you don't like it or have already seen it, that's—”

The others exchanged glances.

“OK,” Parker broke in, “but what is the movie you picked?”

“…It's called The Martian.”

Parker's head tilted quizzically without recognition, but Hardison's eyes widened.

“You got us The Martian to watch?! That's—Wait, is that why we're having potatoes? Did you theme dinner? Oh my god.” Hardison's voice caught. “Oh my god, I can't wait to see dessert. I don't even know what that would be for The Martian.”

“Oh, I, uh…” None of Eliot's planning had accounted for an actual enthusiastic reaction. “I'll get it out, then. Why don't y'all fix your potatoes?”

He'd just finished placing the plate of truffles and the packets of “astronaut ice cream” on either side of the tiramisu when Hardison and Parker emerged with their plates. Parker leaned over to study the spread avidly, nimble fingers scooping up an ice cream packet. “Hmm, not a little-green-man Martian, then?”

“That's—” Hardison eyes were fixed on the red-cocoa-covered tiramisu. “That's the Martian potato field.”

Eliot gave a hesitant nod.

“And—” He took a closer look at the truffles. “Are those Mars rover chocolates?”

Eliot shrugged sheepishly.

“And freeze-dried ice cream. Freeze-dried space ice cream! I would not have dared to bring such an item into your kitchen.”

“If we're gonna watch an astronaut movie, then Parker was gonna want—”

Eliot's explanation was cut off by a tight hug.

“This is amazing, man. I can't believe you did all this.”

Eliot slowly sagged into the embrace, still reeling from the fact that this had actually worked.

After a moment, they were interrupted by a gentle poke to each of their ribcages.

“Hey,” said Parker, “Eliot, go get your food. I want to actually watch the movie so I know what all of this food is about.”

[thewritingofspencerrose]

Mamma Masterlist

Happily Ever After

Summer 2028

"Jack! Make sure their life jackets are buckled!"

"Q, we've been bringing Ellie here for 5 years now, Cohen for 4, I think Jack knows the process on taking them out on the boat," I try to calm, although Quinn's eyes never leave his brothers and our babies, now sat together on the boat with Trevor cuddling Cohen to his chest, Cole and Alex entertaining Ellie as she giggles her head off.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, his eyes drift to mine, his shoulders loosening up as his hands grab my waist. "Those boys treat those kids like they hung the moon and the stars. They'll be ok."

"I know," Quinn assures, bashful and glancing away. "I just worry, you know? It's been 6 years and I still get nervous when they're out of sight. Afraid this isn't real," He admits, ringing our fingers together. "I do the same with you."

My heart hurts that the idea this could be a dream runs through his head at all. But every day I wake up, I can't help but feel the same.

Everything is such a dream.

"The babes and I aren't going anywhere, Q," I assure, kissing his cheek. "Not that I could run anywhere with little lady on my bladder," The joke slips, his hands moving to my stomach, where our second daughter sits, currently asleep.

"Come on you two! Get a move on!" Luke's the one to call, voice loud but smile bright. He's more excited about Lucille being born than we are, given he's taken claim over being godfather, as if we'd have it any other way.

"Why is he your favorite of my brothers again?" Q asks, eyes rolling as he takes my hand, leading us down the path.

"I don't have a -"

"Don't lie, everyone knows you and Luke are closer."

He's not wrong. Luke and I have been close since I first became friends with Q in elementary school. Little me had loved the fact that he was pretty much a human babydoll, being just a toddler at the time.

"I love both your brothers equally," I state this time, the boys on the boat catching on to the end of the sentence.

"But you love me most," Trevor corrects, knowing his flirtatious remarks irk Quinn, even two, almost three, kids and years later.

"Actually, I love Nicole the most," I correct with a smirk, the mention of Jack's girlfriend making him smile.

"You liked her?" He asks, voice shy as he inquires about the girl who had just left yesterday with Trevor and Alex's girlfriends and Cole's fiancé.

"She was really sweet, and she was great with the kids," Is my answer, Jack blushing at my compliment. "She has my seal of approval, all your girls do," I add, Quinn nodding as if he was the one asked.

"Mamma! Daddy!" Ellie exclaims, running towards me and grabbing my legs. "Uncle Jack is going to teach me how to drive the boat!"

"Is he now?" Quinn asks, scooping her into his lap as he sits, Cole taking my arm and helping me gently sit back, Ellie crawling from her father into my side, and laying her head on my bump as Cohen crawls off Trev, moving to stuff his face into my chest as a pillow.

"In a bit," She answers, brushing aside her father's worries with her hands. "I want to talk to Luce for a bit," She explains, beginning to chatter away about something that her "Uncle Alex and Uncle Cole" were doing earlier.

"See why I question it sometimes? How real this all is?" Quinn whispers, letting his brothers taking over the boat. "It's heaven."

I can't help but kiss his cheek and smile.

"And it's going nowhere."