#he fancies a woman and a nice aged wine

[bunnithechubs]

Meet Demitri Pruett for @acuar-io's vampire GP. Will he be a lover? a foe? friend? or super hot background actor?

[hcfiles]

Some people here think they go on with this because they have a future goal. Yes, they have a goal, but that accomplishment is not in the future. Proof is that they are staging this according to comments they are reading on the internet.

They, especially Henry, didn't expect this would go so far. But, he had decided to continue for stubbornness, immaturity, resentments and all the wrong reasons. Because, it's imperative to make people believe he's the persona he created, the AVATAR. Otherwise, he won't be able to sustain it.

The goal is not to be achieved. The go is happening right now. This is Henry and his team working to hide the fact:

1) He's far from being that self-confident and secure man he portrays.

2) He's actually puerile and naive, without much experience with women.

3) He was made a fool and trapped, probably by someone who felt rejected and dumped in a past.

4) He has low emotional intelligence and maybe, Peter Pan syndrome.

5) He's an ingenuous dude who was fooled around.

Why do I believe so? Many are the signs he gives in different occasions. And letting him speak freely in interviews, for example, shows how immature and unexperienced he is.

The comments on a colleague's breasts were totally unnecessary, but he was moved by his manly Ego, while exposing his pride for enjoying women's breasts and for seeing a pair as if a nine year old, who sees a naked woman for the first time.

The comment about being aroused during a sex scene was another example of unnecessary comment in which he exposes his manly pride as if a boy talking about the first time having an erection because of a woman.

Not to mention the ideas he has of a perfect date: A nice dinner on a fancy restaurant with a great bottle of wine or champagne. That's not a perfect date! That's a celebration with your pimp-manager for the wealthy PR contract you closed with a h**ker to escort her.

Many are the rumours he actually needs help to approach women and has a "helper" for that. He's always surrounded by baby sitters, not only bodyguards, but friends and family. Or the stupid answer he gave, based on childish logic, about the Grammy Award.

And during the last TW premiere his dad wasn't present for pics, but he was surely there, caught on cameras, and it was clear as water he was worried as hell with his son as if Henry was nine years old who needed the protection from his dad.

Sometimes I question myself if this guy isn't, actually, emotionally a nine-year-old deluded with a celeb status in this brothel called Hollywood, trying to stage an older age, while trapped in the body of a man.

[silent-raven13]

Hobie is in love

(AU: Hobie (23 years old) saw Miles (30 year old) meeting up with his ex, and it got him feeling some type of way. I was inspired one of @heiibo art where he had 30 old Miles and Hobie. This is a continuation of the idea.)

Hobie grumbles through the sky swinging from building to building, "Can't believe I'm dis fucking late, man!" He sucked in his teeth being super pissed off he had to fight the Green Goblin all the way in Queens and now he's late.

Super late!

"Fuck, man!" He cursed the damn villain till death, because he wanted to be there early. He wants to see him, be with him, be alone together with small chat.

Spider-punk did a flip and twist before landing down a dark alley, quickly changing into his nice dressing collar shirt with his own twist into it. He ripped the sleeves off and add some patches, then got his favorite pairs of Converse. He grabbed his backpack filled with his Spider-man clothes taking it with him.

Going to an Art gallery called, 'Sensual', there's a lot of people coming in on opening night. Hobie awkwardly walks inside to find so many of Miles' close family and friends and- DAMN, does he have a lot of family members.

When he would hang out with his crush at his place, he would look through Miles' photo album and learn all about his family. Hobie hearts flutter when he finds anything new on his beautiful crush like Miles has a sister that's the same age as him. It's kinda of crazy to learn that he loves going to old buildings to tag when he was young or played bass guitar.

The more Hobie finds out about his crush doing the most adventurous stuff, the more his hearts pounds. He's fallen in love and it's hard.

"Do you want me to take your bag?" The receptionist asked the tall young man, "We don't allow large backpacks in the art gallery, there's a chance sculptures can be knocked out."

"Um... sure." He gave his backpack at the receptionist. Seeing how crowded it was, he may knock something over. He's a bit clumsy at times.

The young man slithered his way through the crowd hearing loud chattering and wine glasses clinging against each other. His dark eyes room around the gallery to find his crush, there's so many people.

"Miles! Come over here for a photo!" Hobie quickly snap his neck to a young woman's voice. His eyes quickly landed on his crush dressing so handsomely. Miles wore a maroon suit with black collar shirt and black dressing shows. His tie the same color as his suit. Then, he wore gold earrings, and got a side fade.

God, he looks so fine!

Hobie could feel himself blushing, he quickly took a glass of sparkling water to quench his thirst. Then quickly check at a sheer metal sculpture revealing his reflection, he fixes his hair. His hand dip into his pocket to pull out two breath mints, popping them in his mouth.

Slowly he made his way to the small group where his crush is at. The twenty three year old saw Miles taking a photo with a teenage girl and two middle age adults that were much older than Miles. The older woman and older man were wearing a formal attire.

The older woman happily hugs Miles with her cheek pressing against his own, having a loving smile. Miles hugs her with joy.

Are they his parents?

Hobie tries to connect the dots, the only way he can know is to introduce himself. As he kept walking up to them he could hear the teenager girl in a pretty light blue sparkling dress said, "Wow, bro. This is so cool. Check you out being a Brooklyn Artist."

"Hahaha, really? I feel like I got a lot to prove still." The thirty year old artist gave a weak smile.

"Oh come on, have more confidence!" His little sister playfully punch his shoulder, giving a big pout.

"Si, mi vida. Necesitas tener más confianza!" His mother place her hand on her son's shoulder. "You always been timid with your dreams."

"Yeah, son. This is amazing!" His dad nodded having a glass of wine in his hand. "This place is so fancy."

Hobie almost reached them until a woman wearing a pink dress, Ganke with his fiancee beside him, and a muscular man wearing a vest suit showing off his muscular arms. Well, more than one muscular man, there was three in the same outfit showing off their muscles. They stood with dark brown skinned going from dark to brown skinned like a gradient of the three.

The darkest muscular male had long dark brown dreads, the middle one had long twists with blond hair, and the last one had braids with brown hair. They were greeting Miles by hugging him and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Hobie stood being jealous, his eyes staring looking unfazed yet he is annoyed. Who's touching his crushes like that? Finally got up he heard the three men talking all at once. "You did amazing work. I never knew my body can look this hot." The one with brown braids happily said.

Hobie glance at one of the art to find the guy is one of Miles' model. Oh, it's the same model he saw in those very detailed drawing from Miles' social media. Only this time the model is in a sexual posed wearing robes with flowers in a large painting. It's a beautiful painting to show beautiful in this man's hair with his body is the accent to it.

The young man slowly went up his way seeing how the women in pink keep being touchy with his crush. He did not like that at all. Why does his crush have to be so damn likable!

"Awe, Miles! Look at you having some cuties at your side and I thought you don't date younger men." The woman in pink had her wavy dark brown hair sways from every movement, she hugs Miles' left arm having the prettiest smile.

It disgust the punker. Normally, he isn't the jealous type, but this is the man he's fallen for. Miles is someone he never felt before, he wants him so bad. Bitting his bottom lip, then licks his lips before going up to greet Miles. "Um.. hey?" Hobie awkwardly went up to his crush.

The group looks at him wondering if he mistaken them for another group around his age. Miles perks up with his big eyes gleaming, "Hey, Hobs! Glad you made it. A bit late, huh?" Miles asked going to him to give him a side hug.

"Sorry... I was held up at work, someone called in sick." Hobie painfully lie to him, yet he didn't like to lie to his crush.

Miles maintain his wide smile, "Okay, it's cool as long as you're here." He pulled him to meet his friends and family, "This is my friend from college, he helped me out in music class. Hobie meet my friends and family." The older artists introduce him to his parents, "This is my mom, my dad and my baby sister, Billie."

"I'm not a baby anymore!" The teenager with the sparkling blue dress pouts cutely, "I am sixteen years old!"

Her dad guff and chuckles, "Hmph, still too young in my book." His mustache would wiggle when he grumbles.

Miles' mother giggles, "Jeff, let her be independent. She's a young lady."

Miles frowns, "You'll always be my baby sister!" Then he turns his head back to Hobie and his friends, "Anyway, these are my friends. You met Ganks, but this his fiancee, Danika. Then, my good friend Barbara, and Judge. These are my models from my gallery, Trey and his partners' Adio, and Rodrigo. Hobie saw the muscular man with brown braided hair with a wide smile being Trey. The other man with dark umber skinned with dreads being called Adio and the other brown skinned man with blond hair named Rodrigo.

"Hello," Hobie felt overwhelmed to see Miles' friends. Normally, the punker always makes people jaw dropped or make them tongue twisted. Somehow he expected Miles' to have fewer friends and maybe be more shy- God, why did he think that? Of course, he would get along with anyone, he's too damn likable.

"Hi, Hobie." Barbara wearing a pink dress flashing her high end jewelry, "So, what did you think of the gallery?" She arched her eyebrows then turn to her friend, "He's a bit young to be your friend, Miles."

"Come on, Barbs. Don't think like that." Miles chuckles, "Hobs, is a cool dude." Miles talking to his friends.

"Awe, he's so young, papí." Rodrigo smirks at the young man, "He reminds me of myself when I was a kid." He had a Dominican accent with more of feminine touch to it.

"Teh," Adio chuckles with a thick Jamaican accent, a bit deeper with one hand on his hips. "He's cute tho. Miles, don't you think he's a bit too young!"

Hobie hates at how they were picking at him for being young. Billie puff her cheeks going up the models, "So what! I'm sixteen and grown! He's grown, too!"

"Billie, stay out of grown folks business." Her dad mumbles.

His wife's giggles, "Awe, leave them alone, mi amor." She tug on her husband's arm, "Let's finish looking at the gallery!"

"Miles watch your sister." Miles' dad said while being pulled to finish the gallery.

Billie huffs and puffs being cutely adorable like Miles. She got the same likable softness with her big dark brown eyes. Barbara coos, "Awe, so cute! I could eat you up!" She snuggles her friend's sister.

Trey chuckles, "Awe, it's great to be young, again." He had one hand on Miles' shoulder, which Hobie stares at it almost like daggers.

Ganke patted Hobie's back, "Don't mind them. They're always like this."

Danika giggles, "Always!"

"So Hobie, how old are you?" Billie faced the punker, even though she was only five foot seven inches.

"I'm twenty three."

"Awwwee, he's so young." Barbara and the three model jokes.

Judge snorted, "Not that old. So Hobs, what's your major?"

"I'm majoring in Music. I like to write songs and make them." Hobie simply say, "But I'm thinking about Engineering..." He has been looking into Stark Industries for their amazing technology. He needs to make a new high tech suit instead of easily ripped spandex.

"Ohh, see you should focus on Engineering. That's where the money is at." Judge said.

Miles said, "He can do both I know he can."

"Awe, you're so sweet, sir." Adio playfully hugs Miles with his head resting on his shoulder. "You watch out for him."

Hobie stares at them being incredibly jealous. Why are they fondling his crush so much and why Miles is letting them touch him? It makes him wonder what's going on during their art session.

"Stop it, you guys. Anyway, let's enjoy the gallery." Miles happily said, "There's still a lot to look at."

"Haha, okay. Okay. We'll like the kiddo alone." Trey patted Hobie's back.

"Let's get some wine." Barbara said to the gang as they went back to where they stop before the speech Miles gave. Hobie saw Billie still with her brother and felt like she should leave too.

Miles saw Hobie giving him a look with a sad pout. Then he understood, "Oh, Billie!"

"Hmm?" His sister turns to her older brother.

"How about you go to Ganke and Danika for a bit? Hmm, tell Ganks to get you some candies. He owes me one let him know." Miles asked his sister.

"Ohh! Okay! I will be back though!" She giggles as she rushes over to her brother's best friend and fiancee.

Miles and Hobie were all alone together, "You good, man. I never expect you to dress up for me. I'm touched." Miles' big eyes on the tall slim young man.

"It was your big day... sorry, I wasn't there for your opening or speech." He rub his hand feeling his rings, another frown formed on his beautiful sculpture, "I wanted to be here- I really did try..."

"Awe, don't worry about it. Look on the bright side, I can give you a full tour." Miles said, "I know you would come, and I'm happy you did. I don't care if you were late, it's New York man. Who's ever on time?"

Hobie took Miles' left arm, finally being pleased to have his crush all to himself. "Man, you must be tired from work, huh? Okay, I'll be short and simple. You don't wanna hear me yap."

"I do." The punker quickly said.

"Oh... okay!" The artist happily took him to the first painting of the gallery, where the entrance is at. "Okay, so I called this 'Mi Gente!', My people in Spanish. I noticed in our art world there's been a few artist, who happened to be Black or Brown showcasing the beauty of Blackness or their culture. I know growing up being a Black Puerto Rican, I got to see how colorism affects views on beauty. Though, I didn't want to focus my works on just my culture... I wanted to enhance beauty in the specific models I pick. I did pick them for a reason."

Hobie looks at the first drawing of a beautiful detailed of a Black woman in the nude holding her new born. The attention to detail with the soft stroke of pencil to highlight the woman's features like her wide nose and lips in shut a delicate pressure. It's in a profile position with her eyes softly glancing on her baby while wearing a head wrap to protect her hair, her skinned glistening. Every stroke is an important decision to her beautiful face, yet... The attention to the silk blanket in extreme detailed being wrapped around the baby with so much love and care.

The punker could feel the mother's love, and her baby boy with full of curls, his eyes closed being in comfort. It's the trust he's placed on his mother that makes him look so comfortable in his sleep. The soft pencils gradient gives a lush soft skin of the baby showing he's well fed. Those cheeks shows he doesn't miss a meal. When Hobie finally noticed the mother holding a Rosary necklace neatly tuck almost hiding in the fancy blanket.

His eyes saw the description of the art work, Miles called this work, "Madonna and Child". The punker said, "Interesting."

"Heh, you think?" Miles smiles, he prefer to stay quiet about his meaning of his work.

"Yes, it's very good."

"Really? My mother and grandmother weeps at the painting. I believe the models are around here, her husband burst into tears." Miles rub his chin thinking out loud. "I didn't see it, but my sister told me."

"You don't seem excited about it." Hobie said.

"As an artists, you always gotta punish yourself. I know my work is good, but I still the mistakes I've made and I want to improve it." Miles admits, "It's a curse of an artist, I suppose."

"Well, for what it's worth I think it's fucking amazing." Hobie admits trying to hide his flustered cheeks.

Miles' smile grew wider with his eyes showing a glint of joy, "I'm glad, Hobie." He took his friend's hand to show him more works. Hobie got to see big beautiful works; Miles added his friends in his paintings. One got the slim punker chuckling, it was a painting of Miles and Ganke as teenagers being at a birthday party.

Ganke got cake on his face and head, while Miles stares in deer in headlights at the viewer. The painting is meant to replicate a photo of Ganke's sixteenth birthday, yet Miles put a massive twist to it. The background of the painting had a group of homage to the Korean Americans and Black American figures, then a lot of mainstream and graffiti overlapping. It seems to show the gentrification of the location of the area and it started off from people of color that built the culture of New York.

Well, this is what Hobie took it for. "What's so funny?" Miles asked.

"It's just..." Hobie squint his eyes, "What the fuck are those?" He pointed at Miles' big Nike shoes. "You're lookin' rather Goofy."

"I didn't grow into them. They were my uncles." Miles chuckles, "I'm surprised you didn't shit on my outfit."

"You're being engulf in clothes, man." Hobie snickers. "What Y2K is this?"

"Hey, me and Ganks were rockin' it. We were trending." Miles playfully wave his suit with a proud huff.

"Whatever you say, lil Bow-wow."

"Wo-oo-oow, cold man. At least call me, Nelly. I got swag like him." Miles grins.

"Swag? Man, you are an oldie." Hobie looks at his crush with giggles coming out of his mouth.

"Hey!"

As the two continue through the gallery, they were laughing and talking about their day. When Hobie got to see a large painting of Spider-Punk, he automatically froze. Miles paused along with him, "Like it?"

"Yeah, it's-It's so fucking awesome." Hobie let out a wide smile, his eyes shimmering with delight.

"Really? I thought I need to add more purple." Miles judging his own work very harshly.

"What are you talking about? This gotta be your best one." The twenty three year old's thick short locs wiggle in joy.

Miles playfully said, "Nah! You really wanna see my best work? Come on, this was my last piece and I thought this one is my best. I would never sell it."

"Oh yeah, what makes it better than Spider-punk?" Hobie scoffs, before taking a quick picture of the large mural of Spider-Punk. He finally loosen up being more care free with his poses, more chill than before with his crush's friends.

The slender man had one hand on his hip following Miles to the last art work. For the moment, Hobie thought his body stopped, time had stopped from what he saw on the white wall. Miles giving his friend a giddy smile, "You like? This is my greatest work."

He couldn't believe it. Hobie had to blink a couple times before his face went bright red. His hand shyly cover his mouth trying to hide his flustered face. "Wha? Stop. You must be joking, eh?" Hobie finally asked feeling difficult to accept this kind of gesture.

The painting is him wearing his favorite headphones sitting in some brick fence with a flat surface wearing his cool style of Punk and Streetwear. His eyes painted looking hopefully while the area of his birth home in Harlem. He remembers him and Miles had a project to go to Harlem into a popular Jazz performance, they spend the day hanging out. Hobie likes to think it was their first date, to his surprise he didn't expect Miles to take a photo of him.

One time, Miles did ask him to model for him. To his disappointment he didn't get naked for him, but only had to make head poses. Hobie swallowed hard as he looks at the name of the art work, 'El Barrio' He had to look at the background painting to see how it's the ghetto part of Harlem yet Miles was able to give it a unique charm with selective color palette of Gold, culture, and richness. It's the good and the ugly of Harlem, Hobie knew its apart of him.

"You say this is your best work..." He finally said.

"Yeah."

"I could see it. You put your soul in it... but" Hobie's eyes sparkles at the large work, "I think all of them are beautiful. I see the love, the passion- you put all your trust in your work. I hope you be kind to yourself, because all of these are fucking amazing."

"OH yeah?" Miles being content with that. "I'll try as long as you keep being my muse."

"Hahaha, fuck off. I ain't shit."

"Come on, Hobie." The thirty year old man nudged him, "You are my muse."

"Alright. Though, I am happy you think I am worthy of being one." He never felt beautiful in that sense. All his life he had to fight, be alone or casually search for someone to be desirable in the way Miles seems him.

Fuck, I do love him.

This made him love the artist even more. How is this possible? Why he's falling for him so hard? Is Miles truly a wonderful person? He's kind, gentle, playful- Not a fucking lustful twit the punker sees at bars. Can his crush the one for him?

"Oh, you are." The older man said, "Oh before I forget, do you want to do to dinner with me and family and friends? We're going to celebrate after this! I wanted to ask you earlier, but I forgot with all the setting up. We found a good restaurant where they make Vegan, vegetarian food! I remember you were one of those right?"

That's right. Hobie started his life as a Vegetarian, he's not ready for Veganism seeing how he's fond of certain dairies. His heart pounds against his chest, "Ye-yeah, I'm vegetarian."

"Oh perfect! So you're coming?"

"Yeah!"

Miles happily grab his arm giving a hug, "Awesome! How about a selfie?"

"Sure." Hobie saw his crush pulling out his phone to take a selfie. The pure joy of him being with his crush made the day so worth it. Hopefully, he can confess to Miles later on.

[supermarine-silvally]

💙 + Portada!! -🍂

tysm as always for the prompts, my dear Alvita!! Apologies that this took awhile to get to, hope you enjoy! 💕

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy

Yara carefully lifted the sides of her long white dress as she ascended the stairs of the Moby Dick, reaching the upper deck. It was far quieter up here, away from the noise of the party still going strong on the summer island that the massive ship— among many others— was anchored at. She pushed a strand of hair out of her face from where it had come loose from the ornate pins that bound her long violet locks into a bun, interwoven with little silk flowers for added decoration— sakura blossoms, at Izou’s insistence; a nice little nod to her Wano heritage on this very special occasion.

As she stepped onto the deck, however, her brow furrowed. Just ahead of her, she could make out another silhouette, illuminated by the moonlight reflecting on the open ocean. Someone had apparently beaten her here. Quietly, she moved across the wooden boards, stopping about a metre away from them, her arms resting on the gunwale as she gazed out at the calm sea.

“Come here often, gorgeous?”

The sound of the smooth voice made Yara’s lips twitch upwards. “Every now and again,” she replied. “Though it’s not usually occupied.”

She could feel warm hands press against her waist, sliding sensually down to settle on her hips. Gentle kisses peppered her neck, trailing down to her collarbone.

“Just my luck, then, to run into such a beautiful woman in this place.”

“Careful,” she murmured. “My husband is nearby.”

“You have a husband?”

“Mm-hmm. Just married, too.”

“What’s he like?”

“Oh, he’s very handsome. Soft black hair, the cutest freckled cheeks…”

“Sounds like a real dreamboat.”

Yara couldn’t hold her amusement back any longer, letting out a giggle. “You’re enjoying this way too much, aren’t you?”

Ace kissed the crook of her neck again, his arms wrapping around her chest. “Can’t help myself,” he admitted.

“What are you doing alone out here, anyways?”

“Waiting for you. I know there’s only so much party you can take before you need a moment to yourself, and I thought I’d grab the opportunity to steal you away for a bit. …Look.” He grinned, detaching himself from her and bringing her attention towards two fancy glasses sitting on a barrel beside him. “I brought drinks.”

“How thoughtful,” she hummed appreciatively. “But are you sure you wouldn’t rather be at the party? You might not see Luffy again for a while.”

“Eh, Luffy understands.” Ace smiled, lifting up the glasses. As he stepped towards her, she could see that his shirt was fully unbuttoned, exposing his bare chest. The tie had come off ages ago, lost sometime in between the dancing and the cake-cutting. Anyone else might have considered it uncouth, but it was so him that Yara couldn’t find it within herself to care.

“You’re certain?”

“Yeah. Besides, I’m sure Usopp is keeping everyone entertained with the fiftieth rendition of his goldfish story.”

Yara laughed, shaking her head. “I adore your brother’s crew to bits, but those stories do get a tad repetitive after a while, I’ll admit.”

“That they do. …Here you go.” He handed her one of the glasses. “This is yours-- It’s white wine. I know champagne messes with your stomach.”

She received it from him, staring at it. “Are you sure we should be drinking any more?”

Ace shot her a lopsided grin. “Hey, it’s a special night. Our special night. I’m sure one more drink wouldn’t hurt.”

“Marco might disagree.”

“Pssh, who cares what Birdbrain thinks? It’s not his wedding.”

She let out a soft laugh. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Here.” He leaned his glass towards hers. “To us?”

“To us,” she agreed, clinking them together.

Yara tilted the glass back, downing its contents in one go. Her head buzzed as she placed the empty glass down on the gunwale, then turned to glance over at Ace, meeting his dark, sweet eyes. He was looking right at her, as if all the stars had coalesced to bask her in their heavenly light.

“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow

“Nothing.” He grinned. “Just… admiring my gorgeous wife. …Heh. My wife. I get to call you that now.”

“You’ve been calling me your wife ever since we got engaged,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but now it’s official official.” He held up his hand, showing off the golden band on his ring finger. “No takesies-backsies. …Unless you get sick of me in a few years and want a divorce.”

Yara couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t have married someone I could so easily get sick of.”

Maybe it was the alcohol buzz, or the fatigue, or just the silly, lovestruck grin on Ace’s face, but all of her inhibitions suddenly faded away. Draping her arms over his shoulders for balance, she leaned forwards, pressing her lips to his. It was a slow, uncoordinated kiss, her sense of timing dulled by the multiple glasses of wine she had consumed over the course of the evening. She could taste the champagne on his lips as he kissed her back at his own unhurried pace, mouths sloppily melding together as his hand slid around her waist, then slowly moved upwards along her spine to toy with the zipper at the back of her dress.

“Ace…” she murmured, breaking the kiss and pushing his hand away.

“What?” He tried to look innocent.

“We’re still technically in public. Save it for later.”

“Aw.”

tagging: @auxiliarydetective @daughter-of-melpomene @box-of-bats @starcrossedjedis

[pantsaretherealheroes]

for @cal-daisies-and-briars and @jeeyuns this is for fuck-it friday (saturday but) new thing!

buck: hey you guys still in for coming to the winery this weekend? tommy promises if I hate everything else at least I can get tipsy 😂 and marisol likes wine, right? Eddie groans and sets it down on the bar. Right now, the thought of that seems like actual hell. “Cheer up, might never happen,” drawls an accented voice to his right. British, but very thick and nasal. Probably from somewhere with a lot of sheep. Fuck if he knows any types of British accents other than the fancy-sounding ones in the Jane Austen adaptations his mom and sisters used to watch all the time.   “What?” he asks, confused. He turns, to see a strikingly beautiful woman to his right –  probably around his age, dark skin, dark curls, septum piercing, and round glasses. Wearing a very loud, 80s-kind of sweater that’s cropped, the kind of thing he can imagine his youngest sister wearing. She smiles at him. Her teeth are so white and straight they look like a row of shiny gravestones in her mouth. “Sorry,” she continues. “Just something you say to someone who looks like they’re stressed about a difficult situation. Means, it might never come to pass.” He frowns. “Well, thanks. But it has. It continues to.” She smiles, rueful. Understanding. “You need a friendly ear?” He blinks. “Um, that’s – that’s really nice, but you don’t wanna hear about my problems.” She continues to smile at him, which should maybe be unsettling. But he feels kind of calmed by it. “Try me.” “How long have you got?” he deadpans. She chuckles. “My flight got cancelled and moved to tomorrow afternoon. So, I’m stuck here until then, and I don’t really know anyone here. So, I’ve got a bit of time to kill.” He smiles, just a little. “What are you here for?” “Work,” she says, and doesn’t elaborate. “So, what’s going on?”

[ediyo-15]

Warm with Wine (also on ao3)

Arthur laughed. Merlin wanted to gag.

To her credit, the young lady was beautiful. First daughter of a repubale lord, she was donned in fine jewels and layers of fabric. But Merlin believed, even without all of her coin, she would’ve been gorgeous. Not enough to rival the Lady Morgana, no, but enough to catch the eye of most men.

Enough to catch the eye of Arthur.

She’d arrived with her father to the council gathering, along with several other young ladies of the court. Uther had arranged it for something or another, the crop yield had seemed very profitable this season, but it seemed that the lords had all seen another opportunity. Many of their fair daughters had come of age this spring, and Prince Arthur wasn’t getting any younger.

“They make a fine pair, don’t they?” Gwen claimed, coming to rest by Merlin’s side. They waited along the edges of the large dining table that had been drug in earlier that morning. It was decked high with food, roast duck and boiled vegetables, fruit and warm bread. Uther sat at the head of the table, as was expected, but Arthur had found himself further towards the center, forced to make pleasantries with the visiting nobility.

He did not seemed forced now, however. His eyes were alight in a way that showed focus and intrigue. Merlin new nothing of the lady besides her looks, he barely recalled her name, but her father had seemed as bustling and pigheaded as most country lords. It seemed his daughter did not hold his same demeanor. At least, she didn’t with Arthur.

“I set Arthur up with some books on dress making,” Merlin grins. “It seems he took quite the fancy to it.”

Guinevere chuckled and pushed roughly on his arm, “Hush now.”

“It was opt time he learned to dress himself.”

“Women can know more than the latest fashion, Merlin,” she scoffed with an exasperated smile.

“I know. I’ve met you haven’t I. I’m sure she had a marvelous library at her estate. One her father should take an interest in.”

Across the table, the maiden’s father let out a loud and obnoxious laugh.

“Quite,” Gwen frowned. “But an intelligent and beautiful woman would make an excellent consort for the prince.”

“Talk of marriage already, Gwen?” Merlin smirked. “Always the romantic.”

“Of course it’s far to early,” she said. “But Arthur is on his second cup this evening. And I hear the blood runs hot in the days before summer.”

“What are you implying?”

“Just make sure you knock in the morning.”

“Stop.”

She laughed at the horror on his face and pushed his arm once again. He pushed back.

“It would be nice if he could settle down though,” she said as they sobered. “He’s always so high strung.”

Merlin scoffed, “Don’t remind me.”

“His father puts a lot of pressure on him. I would love to see someone with wish he could share his burdens. Someone who would help carry his load.”

Merlin hummed.

“Does it not bother you?” he asked. “The expectation for him to marry noble?”

Gwen gave him a confused look, before her face suddenly grew red. “No, no. Of course not. Perhaps once upon a time, but I do find myself having moved on, as of late.”

“You’re as red as Arthur’s cape, lovely lady.”

She pushed his arm harder, “Because you speak of embarrassing things!”

“You just insuated Arthur would have a warm bed not two minutes ago!” he protested. She glared and wrinkled her nose childishly in his direction.

They watched on for a bit more. The young lady leaned in, not enough to touch but enough to be personal. Arthur fought to keep his face neutral. Merlin fought to keep his magic in check. A swooning Arthur was always disturbing. To imagine the prince reduced to a melting puddle over a random woman was always annoying.

Especially with the probability of an assasination far too high for Merlin’s weary bones.

“He’ll always have time for you, though,” Gwen remarked.

“Huh?”

She simply smiled as Morgana called for her and she left his side. Turning back to the prince, Merlin found Arthur’s attention on him. The young lady had received the attention of another across the table, and Arthur had taken the chance to glance at his manservant. He raised his eyebrows in a crudely boyish manner. Once, twice. Merlin rolled his eyes. Arthur did it again before returning his attention to the woman beside him.

The dinner carried on into the evening. Merlin was called to refill the prince’s cup one more time before he remarkably turned to his goblet of water. The noise in the hall grew louder as food was completed and wine came to sit deep in bellies. Merlin found himself fighting a headache as the stars grew higher, wishing he could step out for a breath of fresh air and a glance above. A glance at something that wouldn’t be plain and smoke-hazed stone.

He closed his eyes and breathed.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself once again in Arthur’s gaze. The prince was smiling, a broad grin stretching between crinkled eyes. His nosed scrunched in a happy and charming matter, and wine dusted his cheeks pink despite the water. He looked directly at Merlin, a laxed and carefree look about him, his blonde hair backlit by the fading candlelight.

He was glowing. He shone as he smiled at Merlin, who couldn’t resist a small smile back, looking a bit heavy on his feet but light in his heart.

He shone. Like a star.

Oh.

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Starfield

Rating: T

Pairing: Sam Coe x f!Spacefarer

Word Count: 1241

somewhere close to me

Sunset washes the balcony in warm orange hues where Sam leans against the railing, sipping from his glass of Chandra Melbec. Wine isn’t his regular go-to. But this one isn’t half bad. The waiter’s description—if he’s remembering correctly—was a full bodied red wine with notes of chocolate and fresh earth.

Apparently he likes the taste of bittersweet dirt.

The sight of Shepard’s hand lingering on a very tall and very bald man, he does not like so much. Not that he blames the man for doing so. Shepard is a sight to behold and it isn’t fair.

“Hey, you look just like Sam Coe.” Everything in him wants to ignore the comment. But he plasters on a charming smile and turns to address the gala attendee. Just a kid, maybe pushing twenty, probably not unlike him at that age. Most likely being dragged around and forced to attend fancy events, riding the coattails of his wealthy parents. Sam softens.

“You know, I get that a lot.”

“Huh, weird. You’re not him though, right?”

“What if I told you I am?”

“Nah, you look too old to be him.”

Doing his best not to laugh he tells the kid, “well, we don’t all age gracefully.”

The kid stares at him a little dumbfounded but then his eyes light up and his mouth kinda hangs in an O as he processes the information.

“You are him! Can I get a selfie?”

Sam obliges, setting his glass of wine on a nearby table. Smiling big, the kid pulls out his phone and snaps a shot of them side by side. “My grandma’s going to love this! Thanks man!”

He wanders off and Sam sighs. Honestly, he never considered he might be popular amongst the elderly. Learn something new everyday.

Sam grabs his wine again. Takes a sip. Swirls the glass and watches the kid move on to the next conversation. Then his eyes drift back to Shepard where the tall man’s hand is settled just above the swell of her ass. His fingers barely graze the exposed skin on her back and he practically chokes on his next sip of wine.

It’s none of his business but his feet are already carrying him over there.

Shepard is all smiles, more than she usually is. “Oh, Sam, this is Dalton Fiennes, Ryujin’s Chief of Security. This is—“

“Akila’s very own Sam Coe,” the stoic man says while sticking his hand out.

Sam switches the wine to his other hand. There’s a little surprise that this man—Dalton—would be familiar with the Coes. Maybe his fan base consists of more than just grannys. Or, more likely, it’s his job to know anyone and everyone worth knowing. His job to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong. He extends his hand to Dalton. Of course, the guy’s got a firm grip. It’s crushing but at least Dalton’s large and surprisingly soft hand isn’t on Shepard’s back anymore.

“So how did you two meet?” Sam asks, trying not to be too obvious as he flexes his fingers.

Shep says, “you know when you and I first met and I had just started working at Ryujin to make ends meet?”

Sam nods.

“There was a bit of a security issue which required us to work closely together. I was able to become well acquainted with Dalton through that.”

The emphasis isn’t lost on him nor is that smile that’s thrown at Dalton.

“Have to applaud her. Without her assistance, Ryujin would have had an insurmountable mess to clean up. She’s truly a unique and remarkable woman.”

“I wholly agree,” Sam says.

“Keep the praise coming, it’s nice to have the ego stroked every now and then,” Shepard says with a small laugh.

“I would gladly give you well deserved praise all night.”

Sam nearly chokes again, the wine burning as it goes down. They don’t notice. He watches as the two of them exchange a meaningful glance and then she looks away, taking a sip from her own glass of wine. Sam wants to tease her and he would if they were alone. Or maybe with their friends. Certainly not as the third wheel to whatever dynamic he’d found himself in.

The half beat of silence is interrupted when Dalton says,”excuse me. It appears I am being summoned.” He’s looking past them, listening to someone speak on his earpiece. Then he gives Shepard a charming smile and brushes his fingers down her arm, briefly squeezing her hand before letting it go. “It was lovely seeing you here tonight, Zero.”

Her name is a number and Dalton makes it so intimate and personal. Sam practically has goosebumps on his arms and he’s not even the intended audience.

“Hopefully, I will have the pleasure of crossing your path again.”

“Likewise. Have a wonderful evening Dalton,” she says.

Sam’s heart is in his throat. He downs the other half of his wine in an instant and follows Shepard back to the balcony.

“Was it just me or was there some heat between you two?”

It’s not some and there’s no question. But how else is he supposed to ask if she’s taken and that’s his competition?

Shepard’s cheeks are a lovely pink and he doesn’t remember ever seeing them like that before. She’s not really the blushing type. Usually she’s the one causing the blushing.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Sam leans over the balcony railing, though his attention is fully on Shep. “So you two—uh—“

“Do you really want to go there?”

“We don’t have to. But I would like to remind you of a certain someone who was really pushy on the subject of Jacob Coe.”

“Fair point.” She sighs. “It’s a yes—after I stopped working there. I—he, well.” She clears her throat, lost for a moment in what he can only assume is a memory. The blush blooms brighter, and she chuckles a little.

There’s a moment of regret as he hangs onto her every word. Not sure if he can handle the details that she might lay on him but to satisfy his curiosity, he needs to know.

“The simplest answer is we were—something but weren’t cut out for that something long term. Mostly myself to blame for that.”

He silently thanks whatever gods might be out there for sparing him.

She breathes deep and meets his gaze. “I realized that it wasn��t fair to be with him when I’m madly in love with someone else.”

“Oh.” Sam deflates.

Who the hell is she in love with? Someone from Constellation? Another random person that he has yet to meet? Even though a tiny voice in his head hopes that someone is him, he doubts it could be. But he doesn’t ask and she doesn’t tell. Everything about her is unreadable. Still, he thinks of the kiss on his cheek earlier. Makes him wonder. But he’s seen her kiss Walter on the cheek too. Something like that isn’t enough to go on when making bold and grandiose declarations of his—feelings. Not to mention—oh no—the revelation dawns on him. Did she see him as another father figure?

Though time suspends for him, everyone around them is shuffling to their seats. The gala performances are to begin. There’s more food to eat, wine to drink.

“Come on, let’s go find Walter and Issa.”

Sam follows, setting his muddied mind aside, hoping for something stronger than a glass of wine.

[weebsinstash]

Don’t even get me started on fairies 💀 like have you seen the folklore? Just stealing people for eternity into their realm, screaming in front of their houses, tricking them, drugging them, hypnotizing, treating their lovers like dolls, completely unaware of human sensibilities/limitations so they could force you to dance for an entire night non-stop and find it funny when you’re fainting from exhaustion, I could keep going.

I’d place them above werewolves in the “how fucked would you to have them as a yandere” but definitely not above vampires. They have some similar abilities but I’ll still say fairies are less dangerous when compared to vampires because:

1) No blood-sucking (although that is debatable lmao)

2) Seemingly limited to their natural habitat based on folklore, aka fairy realms/forests, rural or isolated areas. You probably won’t have fairies following you if you leave the country and their powers will likely lose effect.

3) Very oblivious to the human world!

Though if you’re on their territory or anywhere accessible to them and they get a hold of you you’ll definitely have a hard time escaping.

I DUNNO MAN, I think in terms of "how powerful are these creatures usually depicted in media" fairies and the fae and whatnot are like literally probably the WORST, besides outright literal demons and gods, because not only are they often depicted as powerful magic users but they're usually described as psychotic little freaks who dont even bother developing or caring for a concept of humans or human emotions or time? You're just a young woman attending your first harvest festival since coming of age and the nice man you danced with for a few minutes breaks into your home and snatches you away to a magical realm because he liked your eyes and when you finally convince him "just let me go home, if even just for a visit" you go back and it's been like 300 years and all your friends and family are dead and your little cottage is an IKEA now

You get offered a drink by a cute funny little man in the woods and you're both drunk and giggling and sharing stories and even though he's really nice it's getting late and you go to leave and he stands upright suddenly two feet taller than before and growing horns like as a stag adorned with lichen and honeybees as he's all " well actually sharing that drink was a ritual and we're like married now? So imma need you to come home to the fae kingdom with me"

You lend aid to an old man struggling to load his oxen cart and he shape-shifts into some bishounen 30yo pretty boy lookin shit with golden hair down to his ankles, "AND AS MY THANKS FOR THIS DEED, I SHALL TAKE YOU AS A MATE, KIND MORTAL" like calm down bro I basically just helped you load a moving van like what is this entrapment going on here?

God there was a writer on here who eventually deactivated that was writing some real god tier yandere fae king stuff and like i think one thing they wrote was the Reader kept having recurring dreams of getting really freaky and nasty and having fun with this guy and being at these weird fancy little balls/parties and it turns out yeah uh he was actually just really legitimately bringing you to the fae realm in your sleep and you actually were legitimately getting fucked on a throne by a full room of faeriefolk while drinking sweet berry wine that made your head empty"

Like absolutely not, you get a fae after your ass and you might as well be being chased by an evil wizard or fucking demon 💀 sure it could be fun, but the potential to be absolutely horrifying is ever present

[stephy-gold]

60th years of G-Woman

Happy 60th years SCULLY!!!!!!!!!!!!

the night before her birthday Mulder had a beautiful surprise for Scully. he planned a night out In fancy restaurant with a ball room for dinner and dance. A couple of weeks ago when he was thinking how he would celebrated her this year because he forgot the past two years, he playfully blamed it to age. 

Mulder selected a fancy Italian restaurant he found on Instagram after asking William for help to surprise his mom; the restaurant has a gorgeous aesthetic resembling a Italian village, in the middle of the room is a dance floor and a stage for the musicians, the comments on the instagram feed are great; Mulder saw the menu online at it had the favorite dishes of Scully and also her favorite wine. He made the reservation for Friday night; he planned to take her the day before her birthday and celebrate at midnight together in the intimacy of their bedroom. 

Now the next step is buying the gift, for his one in however how many millions are in the world right now; he did one of the things he hated more in the world, go to the mall, he spend a whole day looking for what to buy, he enter a jewelry store an the young woman help him to choose. 

Woman (smiling at him): hi sir, welcome, can I help you find anything?

M (not understanding that the woman was talking to him): oh yes thank you, I’m looking for something for my partner. 

Woman: tell me about her and the occasion so I’ll help you sir found the perfect gift. 

M: well hmm we’ve met 31 years ago when she start working with me, she is the most beautiful woman I´ve ever met, we been together for more than 20 years now and the occasion is for her sixtieth birthday. 

Woman: it’s obvious how much you love her sir, now tell me about what she looks like. 

M: she is petite, with the bluest eyes you ever seen, her hair is red thanks to the dye these days, not that she needed it but she doesn’t relent to the fading red of her natural color; her smile is beautiful, she doesn’t like to wear big jewelry or very visible just simple but elegant pieces. 

Woman: I think I know the best piece. (She goes to the glass and took out a set of necklace, earrings and ring with diamonds and emeralds, not too big or obnoxious)

M: it’s incredible, I will take it. 

W: perfect sir, I’ll arranged the set and it’s yours. Do you want any inscription or a card inside of the box?

M: I didn’t think about it, the card will be fine

W: what do you want me to write sir?

M: to my constant and touchstone, happy 60th birthday G-Woman. Ps: you are ageless Ly <3 

Then the woman gave him the gift and he left. 

At Friday night 

Mulder was getting ready he was wearing his tuxedo, a rare sight these days in his retirement from special agent to teacher in Quantico like scully. He told scully they were going out on a romantic dinner to a place that requires black tie; scully chose an emerald green long velvet dress with sleeves and a nice pair of heels. Mulder couldn’t help but smiled when he see her. 

At the restaurant the evening unfolded with charm at the candlelight in their table and the soft twinkling lights creating a romantic atmosphere, the band started to play soft melodies to the couples dinner. 

Scully: mulder this place is enchanting, how did you manage to find it?

mulder: a little bit of faith scully (feigning hurt) but yeah actually Will taught me to look on instagram for venues. 

Scully: I love it mulder (she gave him a kiss) 

After dinner mulder stood and took scully to the dance floor, the swayed to the rhythm of every slow song and dance to the ones with a much rapid rhythm, a photographer took their picture while dancing it was a beautiful one were scully was leaning on mulder chest and mulder was looking at her like she was the only woman on this earth, and for him that she was. 

Scully feet started to hurt and they return to their table, mulder order another bottle of her favorite wine and give the waiter a note when scully didn´t see. Minutes later the waiter appeared with a new bottle of whine and a dessert with a candle light and the number 60th in it, the other waiter handed her a flower bouquet mulder order previously from a florist. After the dessert and half bottle of wine he decided to give her the special gift he bought at the jewelry store. 

M: Scully I only wanted to thank you for the amazing life you decided to live with me, I’m so grateful to be celebrating with you and I hope you like it. 

Scully: mulder I wouldn’t have it any other way, you’re and always be my constant

Mulder: even when I´ll be gray and old? (He said teasing her)

Scully: what do you mean with when? (She laughs) you already are my silver fox, Mulder and you’re not old 

Mulder: well thanks for the boost G-woman

He then took the gift bag where the jewelry set was. “And finally my last gift scully”. She opened it and the first thing she saw was the card “to my constant and touchstone, happy 60th birthday G-Woman. Ps: you are ageless Ly <3” “Oh, Mulder" she retrieve the card and was left without words the gorgeous set of jewelry was astonishing and perfect for her outfit, she looked at mulder who saw her with love and awe. “Mulder this is omg beautiful” he kissed her. “Let me put it in that neck of yours, you mind?” She grab her hair and put it aside so mulder could put on the necklace and then he kneels, with a few cracks of knee, to put on the ring on her well manicured finger. She also put on the earrings. The photographer ask them to stand to take a picture of them, they agree and the picture is taken. 

The dance floor called them again so they keep dancing and swaying to the rhythm. When the music stops Mulder look for the first time in the whole evening his clock, it marked 1:00 am, they had dance the whole night. 

“Well well well my cinderella it appears that our magic dance is ending” 

“mulder what are you talking about?” Scully gave him her raise eyebrow and disbelief look 

“well its 1 am scully you’re officially 60th, happy birthday” Mulder put his arm on her waist and kiss her “how does it feels, anything aches?” He ask her teasing. 

“You tell me mulder I’m not the one who woke up whining because of his back and refuse to go to the urologist” she replied, 

“Oh that was a low blow scully, not fair; in my defense the urologist isn’t necessary” mulder said with a playful tone. 

“Mulder seriously I can’t believe we danced the whole night, my feet are going to kill me tomorrow or well in the morning” 

“so what scully you had fun, I’ll be happy to carry you the whole day tomorrow if your feet hurt much” they were walking to the door out 

“oh mulder your are sweet, but no your back wouldn’t like it”. 

The photographer stop them and give them the pictures. 

“Thank you so much” said mulder to the man and gave him 20 dollars

At the unremarkable house they enjoy each other comfort and intimacy, despite scully teasing about his stamina, they did great in the bedroom.  

@today-in-fic

[abdlextra]

ABDL Micro-Fiction December 14th 2023

Prompt: Wife Daycare

Being the wife of a sports journalist was often frustrating. Karen wanted to spend more time with her husband and accompany him on his travels. However the boy’s club of sports reporting often meant that she wasn’t welcome in some of the exclusive box seats and parties he got to attend for some of the games. However, this time Karen’s husband had proposed an alternative. Apparently there was an exclusive club all of the other journalists dropped their wives off at where she could be entertained and spend time with other women while her husband attended the game. Karen wasn’t quite happy at the idea of getting dropped off at “Wife Daycare” however, a concept which had made her husband laugh. But regardless, the exterior of the building looked nice. Just a nondescript clubhouse in California. Karen walked through the doors and was greeted by a perky looking young woman in a crisp, baby-blue polo shirt. “Oh hello Ms. We’re happy to have you spending time with us today.” The young woman took Karen by the hand (which was odd but she ignored it) and took Karen out into a large central room, reminiscent of a fancy modern ski lodge. However, once Karen saw the room she let out a gasp of horror. The room was full of women of various ages walking around, speaking to each other, and engaged in various activities. All of them were smartly dressed, similar to Karen, with the one difference being that none of them were wearing anything below the waist besides thick, puffy, adult diapers. Some of them were simply standing around holding wine glasses, engaged in conversation, others had pacifiers in their mouths while they played games with childish toys on the floor, and although she couldn’t be sure, Karen felt herself cringe as she thought she saw one women in the corner on the other side of the room with her legs in the air having a dirty diaper changed by a muscular young man who looked about ten years younger than her. Interspersed throughout the room as well were attractive young men and women in blue polo shirts attending to every need of the diapered female guests. It was all far too much for Karen to take in at once. Her mind reeled but she felt appalled. “What is this?” She demanded. “This is the wife daycare.” The perky young attendant responded with a smile. “While your husbands are at the game we make sure all your needs are taken care of and you can be happy and secure and socialize with other women in your position.” Karen wanted to gag. “But this is wrong. It’s highly offensive. How dare you infantilize all these women like this.” The young attendant seemed to either not hear or not comprehend Karen’s words; however, she simply kept smiling at her and indicated that Karen should walk out onto the floor. Karen considered turning on her heels and bolting out of the room but she knew that she was stranded here without a car and oddly something compelled her to want to see what sort of madness was going on. A slightly older woman with curly orange hair and thick makeup approached Karen, wine glass in hand, and lazily greeted her. “First time?” The woman asked. “Trust me it’s not so bad. In fact, this place is great.” She spread her hands out to indicate the whole area, her grandiose gesture made somewhat ridiculous by the fact that she seemed to be wearing nothing except a silky purple slip and a thick plasticy white diaper between her legs. “Think of it as a spa vacation. They wait on you hand and foot. You do nothing for yourself. Honestly it’s the ultimate relaxation.” The woman took another sip of her wine as Karen looked at her skeptically. The strange lady did seem to be having a good time. “But… What about the diapers?” Karen asked. The orange haired lady didn’t say anything, pausing in conversation as she closed her eyes and a look of contentment washed over her face. Karen looked on in horror as she could suddenly hear a loud hissing sound and the orange haired woman’s diaper swelled and sagged and yellowed right in front of her eyes. She groaned slightly. “Mmph. Trust me dear. These are the best part.”

[rowsandrows-of-roses]

I Do, I Do, I Do --@ [Claybela]

In which Clayton and Isabela celebrate Valentine's Day...[takes place: February 14, 2023]

@vcnatorr

[tw -- none!]

[isabela's outfit] [clayton's outfit]

ISABELA: Dinner was perfect.

Exactly what Isabela had imagined. Clayton had picked her up in one of his sexy, sporty cars. Right on time. He had given her flowers (which, despite being able to create them with a wave of her hand, she still appreciated getting.) Remy’s was crowded, but they still had a lovely, intimate, candlelit corner all to themselves. Perks of dating the town Sheriff. 

She had been given free rein to order off the menu. Anything at all she wanted. 

All the boxes were checked. Isabela had never had such a picturesque, perfect Valentine’s Day. It was almost overwhelming. The whole thing felt like a dream. Like something you saw in a movie. Down to the handsome date, who said all the right things. Who made her laugh, raising his eyebrows at the woman who’d walked by them in some bright, feathery outfit. Who listened intently as she rambled about her family and Instagram. 

Isabela felt incredibly lucky. The affection was warm in her heart. It was a nice feeling. It had taken quite a long time to grow. Months, really. She had been worried, hesitant. If the Sheriff broke up with her, her reputation would be shattered. She had played conservative, pushing boundaries only when she thought she had the upper hand. But now, she felt comfortable. Clayton had never misstepped. He always said the right things. Always paid her just the right amount of attention. Seemed interested and attentive. 

Her hand reached across the table to take his as soon as the dessert menus had been taken by the waiter and he walked away.

“Thank you for this,” Isabela said. “I know you probably find it all a bit frivolous, but it means a lot. Just getting to spend time with you.” She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand and smiled at him.

CLAYTON: He had spent a lot of money to make sure that tonight went exactly according to plan. Time had been spent picking the perfect table, out of the way enough to feel intimate but still in plain view of everyone, because he wanted an audience for this. He had made sure that Isabela’s favourites, in fact everything on the menu, was kept in reserve so that she could order what she pleased – he even paid for the staff to get in extra ingredients lest she decide to go off menu. He had reserved a bottle of the best champagne for when she inevitably said yes, and he had gone over earlier to drop off the ringbox. Everything was in place.

And the night seemed to be going smoothly. Service was impeccable, as one would expect, given the amount of money he’d dropped on tonight, and Isabela seemed to be having a good time. Conversation flowing as well as the wine, the two of them comfortable, relaxed. It was exactly how Clayton had planned it.

He glanced down at Isabela’s hand on his, the gentle brush of her thumb over the back of his hand. Hard not to look at her very empty ring finger, but he didn’t want to give himself away just yet. It wouldn’t be long now, anyhow. The waiter would come back with their very special desserts, and after that…

“I don’t find it frivolous,” He told her. “Not if it’s something that makes you happy.”

Not entirely a lie. He really would do whatever he had to, to make her happy. To keep her that way. To keep her, end of. And he didn’t think a fancy dinner was frivolous - he loved a fancy dinner.

ISABELA: Isabela smiled wider. She couldn’t help herself. When around Clayton, Isabela did her best to be as mature as possible. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was too young, too immature to be with him. She didn’t mind that he was older, really. It just meant that he was established. He could treat her the way she wanted to be treated. He understood how to treat a lady. It wasn’t so hard, because Isabela had always felt mature for her age. Especially for the last few years. 

But right now, she felt giddy and girlish on champagne. This was the nicest date she’d ever been on. It was the exact sort of thing she’d always imagined. Every detail just like all those girlish day dreams she used to have when thinking about the prophecy foretold about her life. 

Not many people got told that in no uncertain terms they would get the life of their dreams. 

And here it was, playing out: the handsome, rich man whose attention was only on her, the expensive restaurant  with amazing food prepared just for her, the lovely outfit she’d been gifted by one of the brands she modeled for. There was not a single thing out of place. 

“Well, it does,” Isabela said, squeezing Clayton’s hand. “Though, just for the record: you make me happy. That’s all I need, really. Not that I’ll say no to all this.” She chuckled, putting her elbow on the table, her chin on the back of her free hand.   

CLAYTON: Clayton smiled gently, looking down at their joined hands. If he wasn’t so selfish he might’ve considered it a shame. Tying Isabela to himself, a man he wasn’t sure was even really capable of loving anyone enough to say the words and mean them. Many would argue that she deserved at least that — but then again, those people weren’t about to offer her a stately home and a centuries old fortune. Clayton was allowed to be a bit selfish, he thought, with so much on the table.

He chuckled at the remark, looking up at her again, studying her for just a moment with that same small smile. It had taken time for Isabela to soften, for them to get to here. A part of him worried whether or not this would be too much too soon, if she would spook. Clayton had never liked horses. He was a skilled rider, just like anyone in his family ought to be, but he had never got along with the beasts. The skittishness, never knowing what was going to set them off one day because it could be different to the day that came before it. That was how he thought of Isabela, sometimes. He would have her all sussed out, he thought, then something like this would come along, and he was back to square one.

“I’m glad to hear you say that. Both things — because truly, I do love to spoil you, whether you need it or not.” Was this the right moment? Clayton had never proposed to someone before. Not with the intent to go through with it, anyhow. “And in fact, there’s actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

ISABELA: Isabela preened a little at that. It was true that this whole arrangement was because Isabela needed someone to take care of her and her family. But, it was just a bonus that he did like to spoil her. She had always adored the finer things in life; sparkling diamonds, silk chiffon, couture, caviar, champagne. She deserved these things, in her opinion. Isabela was a creature of comfort and Clayton could provide it. 

There was nothing wrong with it. No shame in it. Isabela loved him in her own way because of it. The way a dog loved its master, because it depended on it for every meal. 

So, if she had to answer Clayton, she would say she did need it. She needed spoiling very, very badly. Especially after the last five years of her life, which had been more horror than she ever wanted to experience again. 

“Is that so?” Isabela asked, smiling wide, but suddenly, she felt her heart fluttering intensely in her chest. Thrumming fast and loud. She wondered for a moment if Clayton could hear it. She hoped not. It made her feel like a rabbit with its foot caught in a trap. That wasn’t Clayton’s fault. Isabela just hated anything that made her feel out of control…like nerves. There was always a chance that you could mess up when you were nervous.

And Isabela was--wanted to be--perfect.

“You can ask me anything.” 

CLAYTON: He smiled, feeling very much like he had won. He couldn’t imagine any way she could say no; there was a small possibility, he supposed, but he would’ve had to have wildly misjudged the situation for that to happen. No — no, he was quite positive that she was going to say yes. 

His timing was impeccable. The waiter brought out their desserts, held aloft on a silver tray. It wasn’t anything on the menu; he had gone into the kitchen ahead of time to discuss the options with the chef. The amount of money he’d spent on the ring concealed inside of it, he didn’t want it getting covered in chocolate fondant or god knows what. 

And with the waiter, of course, came the string quartet. Just moments after the waiter had set Isabela’s plate down in front of her they appeared, as if from thin air, just across the restaurant. Playing something classic and romantic, because Clayton had told them to choose something classic and romantic. The waiter disappeared, and Clayton smiled a little. On her plate, which was carefully decorated with rose petals and swipes of some sort of raspberry sauce or something, the chef had really outdone himself, was what appeared to be a ring box. A ring box made of chocolate, of course — he’d told the chef to have a little fun with it.

“Open it,” he urged her, gesturing for her to lift the lid.

ISABELA: It would be a lie for Isabela to say she hadn’t expected this. 

It was also the truth. 

Somehow, these things coincided within her. The shock and the certainty. Her nerves fizzled and popped and she wished she’d had more of the champagne. The violins in her ears sounded harsh, discordant—surprising. 

The little blue box sat in the middle of the table. A gauntlet thrown down. 

That wasn’t how it was supposed to feel when you got proposed to, Isabela imagined. And maybe it was just because this wasn’t how she’d pictured it. Clayton? He was perfect. These circumstances? Not so much. 

When Isabela thought about her proposal, she always thought about it somewhere quiet. Maybe on a beach (in Avalor, of course.) Secluded and quiet. Just the two of them. She’d never told Clayton this, obviously. She would never be so bold. But it was a sudden, sharp reminder that they didn’t know each other all that well. 

He didn’t even know her real name. 

Isabela stared at the little blue box and wondered if Clayton had spoken to her father. Or Abuela. 

And then—she wondered why she was wondering about any of this at all!

It was perfect. Because it was Clayton. Because Clayton was perfect. Exactly what she wanted. Mature. Rich. Powerful. He had already proven he was more than willing to take care of her family and she was so eternally grateful to him for that. Her family was suffering less because of him. Her sister was happy because of him. They could all be happy because of him. No one more so than Isabela herself. 

So, she smiled and rose petals showered around them as she reached forward and lifted the lid. 

The ring inside twinkled and winked in the low light. It shimmered just like the tears in the corners of Isabela’s eyes, that she had managed to summon from somewhere. 

A perfectly manicured hand went over her mouth. 

“William—is this—?” she managed, even though she knew the answer. And she knew what hers had to be as well. 

CLAYTON: No, he hadn’t spoken to her father, nor her Abuela – he didn’t want anything getting in the way of the thing that he wanted.

Clayton had always gotten his own way. Not from his parents, no; he was rich but not spoiled, at least not until he’d gotten wise enough to learn how to get whatever it was he wanted, whenever he happened to want it. Admittedly, getting someone to agree to marry him was probably his biggest undertaking yet, but he had been nothing if not confident in his own abilities. 

He had already thought it all through. There would be an announcement, small, a dinner just for the family where he would apologise for not doing things properly, but it had all been so spur of the moment! Just that very morning, consumed by adoration and Valentine’s Day and all the rest of it, he had decided he would do it. Oh, of course, he had been thinking about it for a while, really he had planned to do it properly, but he had been so taken by how romantic it would be – how romantic it was!

Easy enough lies to spin to settle any qualms anyone had. Not that he thought they would have any, really. Not with who he was, what he had done for them, what he could do for them. They would be fools to stand in his way.

Clayton smiled softly, shifting so that he could lift the ring oh-so-gently from its confectionary container, and then moving to the side of the table, getting down on one knee. He had the sudden urge to laugh, the very idea of himself being down on one knee truly the funniest thing he’d thought of in a long time, but he didn’t. He held Isabela’s gaze, smiling up at her, as he held the ring aloft. 

“Isabela, my love, will you marry me?”

ISABELA: There were many times in Isabela’s life where she didn’t feel as if she had any control. Where she couldn’t make a decision. She simply had to accept her fate and move forward. The inertia of her life had been pulling her forward since she was a little girl. 

Perfect Isabela. Beautiful Isabela. Kind Isabela. Talented Isabela. 

The life of her dreams was promised.

And here it was. Exactly as it should be. Handsome man. Down on one knee. A large ring, sparkling on a plush cushion. 

There was nothing else to say, was there? 

“Yes,” she said with a brilliant smile, sparkling like the diamonds. 

She leaned forward in her seat, cupping Clayton’s cheeks in both of her hands and kissing him once, softly. She tried to summon tears, but nothing happened. Perhaps that was for the best. Clayton loved her because she was poised and elegant and restrained. 

At least, she thought he must love her. Considering neither of them had ever said it. 

Around them, there was a smattering of applause. And the sound of camera shutters from someone’s phone, taking a picture. 

When she sat back, Isabela wiggled her hand in Clayton’s direction so he could slide the ring onto her finger. It was slightly too big. She had to hold it between her pinky and middle finger so it wouldn’t slide, but that was alright. She could get it adjusted. 

“It’s beautiful,” she sighed, admiring the glitter of it. “Thank you.” She looked up at him and smiled, giggled just a bit--more of a nervous breath. 

CLAYTON: Of course, that was exactly the reaction he had been expecting. Her smile and her breathy sounding answer, leaning forward as she pulled him into a gentle kiss. A small, almost chaste thing. He stayed settled on one knee even as she pulled back, waiting for her to hold her hand out before he slipped the ring onto her finger.

He didn’t notice the size, only that it looked as glamorous and ostentatious as he had planned for it to be. It wasn’t an antique or anything, he��d had it sent for specially. Perhaps his mother would’ve given away one of her baubles if he’d told her his plans, but his mother didn’t even know that Isabela existed, never mind that he was going to marry her.

He smiled as he stood, kissing the back of her hand. The ring was cold and solid as it caught the edge of his lips, but he paid it no mind; he simply sat back down in his seat, and reached for his glass.

“A toast, then? To the bride to be?”

A waiter was already hovering over them, ready to pour a bottle of champagne.

ISABELA: It was real. This was happening. 

It felt like a dream. So strange. Everything moving so slowly. Everything in sharp relief. Isabela could smell the innocuous burn of the candles on the table. Clayton’s cologne cloying the air. There was the sound of people slowly returning to their meals, the tinkling of expensive utensils against expensive dishware. She didn’t know how she’d gotten here. It felt like she’d simply woken up in this restaurant, on this date. 

Well, she had been told that her life would be a dream. Funny to think this might be what Tìo Bruno had meant. 

The ring was heavy on her finger. Cold too. It hadn’t warmed to her skin yet. 

She smiled at Clayton as he stood and settled back into her own seat, lifting her glass to watch as golden liquid spilled into it. 

“To us,” she replied and clinked her glass against Clayton’s, before taking a sip, sealing the deal.

[teriwrites]

The Fatal Choice: Part 5

My Live Reactions to Reading Through My 2013 Novel

Delroy’s taking to the streets to get info on his friends!

Random street urchin child pops up to answer his questions - for a price, ofc. It’s giving Gavroche from Les Mis lol

One of them is named Benny???? Teri, what are you doing reusing names like that??? You just HAD a Benny in Below’s second draft!

Ugh I’m getting really tired of finding fatphobic rhetoric in shit like this

“However, in this day and age nobody is completely loyal to one another. Everybody is backstabbing each other. Didn’t you hear about how that one Governor, Cedric Boyd, had the Prime Minister murdered and then put in place another?” i think the lore changed between drafts bc you’re telling me that man pulls that move TWICE???

The solution to saving his friends being simply bribing the executioner leaves a little to be desired ngl

Implied that the executioner is essentially a state-sanctioned serial killer

Delroy hates Adriana in this draft and it’s so funny lol she just keeps popping up and he’s like ‘ugh not Her again’

She’s been literally nothing but nice to you, dillweed

“In case you’ve been wondering why you’ve seen me both during the daytime and at night, I am one of the few people that can remain perfectly healthy with only three hours of sleep with them.” that’s definitely the way that works, for sure

‘[Adriana] had taken him by the arm and was leading him through the streets at a quick pace that Delroy found, surprisingly, hard to match. For somebody who was often so quick, Delroy had a very difficult time keeping up with Adriana.’ this is what I mean about the mediocre midsection of my writing, it’s a lot of redundancy and rephrasing the same idea multiple times in a section. But it’s also a natural growing pain, and shows a level of care that wasn’t as present in the craziness of my previous WIPs

15-year-old Teri was very envious that she was less than a year away from legally drinking. I have no other way to justify the absolutely rank way I handled writing about alcohol and people who drank it

Like girl, go sip a nice wine and chill out

This brought to you due to these two sentences I wrote: ‘There were still a couple people trickling out of the pub, stumbling around like the hideous drunkards they were. Delroy had no respect for these kinds of people, for they didn’t seem to have any respect for themselves anyways.’

Absolutely heinous way to write about people seemingly struggling with an addiction, or who simply enjoy a stiff drink, but! That said! It’s possible that I was writing Delroy thinking this so intensely bc of a later point in his character arc, in which he finds himself as one of said ‘hideous drunkards’ (I don’t think we get there in this draft, but I’ll cover it later)

He’s also a very judgmental character in general

‘He was a large man with [insert hair description].’ FIRST CASE OF IN-DRAFT BRACKETS LET’S GOOO

Adriana has a brother?? Honestly forgot about that lol

“[The Governors are] Monsters thriving off our well-earned pay and work,” Adriana interrupted. She had flushed a light shade of red in her rage. “My family is helping to organize a rebellion.” good Lord woman show some restraint, you barely know this man!!

‘Without thanking her for the advice,’ Delroy!! Manners are your whole thing!! Go back there and thank her!!!

Even Ardeai has to deal with Karens, rip

‘Delroy realized that he didn’t feel any remorse like he normally would when telling off someone older than him. In fact, he felt a bit rebellious.’ growth 🌱

A 20-something climbing a tree isn’t That weird, guys, y’all are being dramatic

Rural boy who spent his adult years in a small town suddenly finds himself lost in a big city, cue panic

‘The streets were flooded with the peasants of Diaga’ AHA I’d named it!!

Delroy’s solution for finding the rich part of the city, where the executioner lives, is to simply sprint off after a fancy looking carriage

The governmental building being ten stories high and considered gargantuan (fair, for the vibe of this setting) is reminding me of the way my college’s administration building was often touted as ‘the tallest building in the county!!’ (reader: it was 7 stories tall)

We’re like 80% of the way through this document and we have just now seen our first sapient fantasy creature: a faun working in a bakery

‘Who was this, a baker, to look at Delroy with such a doubtful look in his eye? As though he had been caught hammered, stumbling through the streets mumbling incomprehensible nonsense to himself.’ you’ll get there, Del, don’t worry! It’ll be your punishment for the classist and apathetic BS you keep spouting

‘Had he been lied to? Had the Isolates known that the city was more than just the rumors told about it? Or had they never visited the city and truly believed that it was a place of evil and low life?’ I love the start of an existential crisis

WAIT

HOLD ON

‘The woman in the carriage wore a large dress with a low neckline. It was red - which Delroy knew from his studies with Keegan, was a symbol of royalty in Doureka. She had a veil covering her face, but Delroy thought he could see pointed ears sticking out of the sides.’ I THINK IT IS!

“Madame Ghislaine,” Delroy overheard the young man leading the lady tell the guards. One stepped sideways in a movement so stiff it was as if he were a statue. The Lady Ghislaine followed after the young man in the building, and immediately after, the guard returned to his position.’ I DIDNT THINK SHE MADE AN APPEARANCE IN THIS

Okokokok, if the name Lady Ghislaine sounds at all familiar, it’s because she is the main character of a WIP I’ve discussed here and will again for my 2022 novel, The Lies in the Legend. Her initial creation dates all the way back here, to 2013, where she appeared as an elven noblewoman and diplomat to Ardeai in the Abernathy Chronicles. The unfolding events of The Lies in the Legend were even somewhat based on a spiel she gives in book 2 of this series. Now, none of this series is canonical - Ardeai doesn’t exist in LITL, she represents the Principality of Sha rather than the nation of Doureka, etc. - but this was her origin!! She bounced around in my head so much over the years that when I was worldbuilding Irim (the setting of LITL) for fun, I decided to toss her in there and wound up with a whole novel idea

Can’t believe she’s here!! I thought her introduction was in the next book

I also am remembering this scene but thought it happened in the second draft of this book?? Weird

Huh, I wonder who this personable, clearly rich man could be, making chitchat with our MC? Surely nobody important

‘Surely, the guards were becoming suspicious of this man dressed in a suit that needed to be ironed and hair not even tied back.’ yk, if he’s an overly critical asshole, at least he’s also applying those standards to himself

Anyways he found himself a place to stay for the night in the same city square as the government building and the adjacent jail, so all his antics will have to wait for tomorrow

Ending Thoughts:

This project is really bringing to light an interesting question of writer vs. character's worldview. I remember some of the plot details of this story, I remember the characters, things like that, but we're far too removed from the time when I was actually writing it for me to remember how much intent I put into certain aspects of the writing. Delroy is a 'prim and proper', traditional, somewhat prissy type of guy. The rebels that he found himself holing up with for the past near-decade are clearly of a higher class and seem happy with upholding traditions that would've been present prior to the governmental coup that rendered some of those privileges obsolete. If the Isolates truly had their way, it's very possible that they would've simply crafted Ardeai into essentially a caste system that would've allowed them their freedoms without actually changing the system for the poorer classes. With that in mind, Delroy exhibits a lot of disdain and superiority over people who step outside of what he considers to be 'proper'. Appearances are everything, so someone allowing themself to get drunk at a bar is distasteful to him. But even going farther, poverty in and of itself is treated less like a systemic issue and more of an unfortunate classification that often stands hand-in-hand with amorality. Not that the nobility are treated as moral figures - far from it - but the amorality amongst nobles are tied more to political figures and influential individuals, rather than washing over the entire upper class with a singular brush the way it was with the lower. Not a great outlook. The question it really brings is, are all of these truly horrible takes meant to be coming from Delroy as a character, or were they my own unintentional biases and views of things spilling through? And the answer is: I have no idea. Obviously, I'd like to think that, by my sophomore year of high school, I wasn't so entrenched in this line of thinking. I'd prefer that this was written intentionally, and would shift as Delroy found himself more aligned with these impoverished characters and understanding them better over the course of the beginning of the series. Finding the flaws in his own lines of thinking. But the truth is, I can't say definitively that that's what it was. And that's pretty uncomfortable to sit with. But it's important to recognize it for its blurriness, because simply deciding that this was all Delroy's problem, actually, could absolutely be a revisionist look at my own history with social issues instead of addressing it. And now, with the longest ending thoughts sequence done, I'm going to go start digging into the last section of this book!

[kenneth-carson]

It's Just Business || Self Para

Set: December 15th The demon finds who Ken has been looking for.

Triggers: actual murder this time! descriptions of violence and death, both the physical kind and the soul eating kind

The demon found Josie Hallender. 

She was more beautiful in real life. Her hair was no longer blonde, but cropped short to her head, the natural coils on display alongside her architectural features. She was sitting at a table opposite Marcus Trough, the guy who everyone went to if they needed newspapers to cover a story that needed to be swayed a certain way, her hand wrapped up in his, dark eyes watching him with interest as he spoke and laughed. 

Or feigned interest, as the demon would describe it. 

The demon was seated at another table alongside Kenneth’s uncle, having told him of George’s connection to the woman. And wouldn’t you know it, that dinner Kenneth had been invited to on Sunday was the grand opening of Samuel Knowles’ niece’s new restaurant. 

But everyone in their line of business knew what a restaurant meant. Especially when it was located outside of your territory. 

Barton did not know the demon suspected Knowles. He only knew that they were there to observe and, should the opportunity arise, see what this woman knew of George. As far as Barton knew, Kenneth had gladly accepted his invitation to attend a family friend's social gathering and celebration.

“Look at this pillock,” Barton said, suddenly drawing the demon’s attention away from the woman. The man was staring down someone over Kenneth’s shoulder. The demon turned Kenneth’s body to look. “Wearing a hat in a fancy place like this. The fuck’s he thinking?” 

A man, around Kenneth’s age probably, was indeed wearing a baseball cap upon his head. Everyone else was dressed rather well, in suits or dresses, nice trousers and skirts. There were slight nods to the upcoming holidays in the colors or textures of the fabric. This man was out of place. He was in a t-shirt, baggy jeans, and, apparently the worst offender, the baseball cap. The woman he was with was out dressing him but she was laughing and carrying on at his side, both leaning into one another in an impolite display in, as Barton had put it, a fancy place like this. 

The demon watched as other patrons and guests also shot the couple annoyed looks, glares over wine and water glasses. The couple did not seem to care. It darted Kenneth’s eyes over to Knowles. 

He also did not seem too happy with the display.

The demon turned back to Kenneth’s uncle. “Allow me.” 

It stood Kenneth up, crossed the floor, folding Kenneth’s hands behind his back as he approached the couple’s table. It placed Kenneth close to the man’s chair so that it loomed over him, using Kenneth’s average height to its advantage. 

“Excuse me,” the demon said. Both parties looked up. “You shouldn’t be wearing that in here.” 

“What?” the man asked, loud and obnoxious. 

“Your hat,” the demon explained. “Take it off.” 

“No,” the man scoffed, glancing back to his date. The woman’s smile had fallen off her face but as she exchanged a look with the man, she tried to replace it, as if to show that she was in support of his defiance. He turned back to the demon. “I’ll wear whatever I want wherever I want.” 

“Not in here.” 

They stared at one another for a long, tense moment. The demon narrowed Kenneth’s eyes a touch but did not blink, keeping his expression neutral. Unwavering. The man, again, turned to the woman for support. This time he did not find it, she merely blinked at him, only offering a gaping mouth and widened eyes. 

He conceded, reaching up to take the cap off of his head. 

The demon nodded and returned back to the table with Barton who laughed a little as the demon sat down. 

“Thank you,” said their waiter as she appeared to pour more water into their glasses. 

“No problem,” the demon replied. As she went to step away it reached Kenneth’s hand out, a finger touching her arm. She turned back. “Send them a bottle of whatever you have left? On me, of course.” 

The waitress smiled and nodded before she continued on her way.

Barton chuckled. 

Half an hour later Knowles was standing at their table, a hand on Barton’s shoulder. “Barry!” 

“Oh Sammy boy,” Barry grinned in return, standing to gather the other man in a hug. They clapped one another on the back before parting. “Good to see you, mate. And this place–!” 

“Good, eh? You enjoying the food?” 

“Of course. Best steak I had in a long time,” Barton chuckled, tapping his round belly. Knowles turned his head, eyeing Kenneth. The demon stood from the seat. Barton put a hand out toward it. “You remember my nephew Kenny, don’t you? Daniel and Amy’s first born.”

“No shit,” Knowles smiled, stepping forward with a hand outstretched. The demon took it, taking care to keep Kenneth’s grip weaker than the other man’s. “Look at you. You’re a man! Last time I saw you, you were still just a wee thing.” 

“Thank you, sir,” the demon smiled, ducking Kenneth’s head as if to be embarrassed by this. 

“Sorry to hear about your mother,” Knowles continued with a disappointed tick of the head. “She was a fierce woman. Hard to believe she was just taken like that.”

“Thank you, sir,” the demon repeated, tone entirely different, learned from listening to Kenneth. 

“Seems you took after her more than your father,” Knowles continued, lifting his chin to gesture over Kenneth’s shoulder. “Thanks for doing that back there. It was really burning me, the disrespect to my niece. But that’s her best friend who brought him, so I knew she’d be upset with me if I kicked them out the fucking door.” 

“Of course,” the demon nodded in understanding.

“You here for long?” 

“He’ll be visiting,” Barton stepped in to explain. 

“Really? After what happened with your mum, I’d think you’d want to be closer to home to look after things there.”

“My father has it under control,” the demon said. 

“...right,” Knowles nodded but the demon knew he was calling the bluff. This man had known Kenneth’s father before he had married into the Carson’s, when he was growing up. He knew that Daniel Armstrong was not someone who sat at the head of a table and ran a business that would succeed. He was not like his brothers, Barton and George. But then Knowles was smiling and patting Kenneth’s arm. “Well, good! I’m sure we’ll be talking a lot more now then.”

“I look forward to it.” 

Knowles made a gesture of some sort as he pulled his hand away from Kenneth’s arm. It did not make sense, the sort of snapping motion without the sound. 

Then it suddenly did, as Josie Hallender stood up from her table and made her way over. The dog had been called.

Oh, humans. They made it all far too easy. 

She approached, smiling, before leaning close to Knowles who bent to let her say something into his ear. He smiled and turned, nodding to her before looking back to Barton and the demon. “Sorry! Barry, Ken, this is my good friend, Josephine Hallender. Josie, this is Barton Armstrong and his nephew, Ken Carson.” 

“Pleasure, miss,” Barton smiled, taking her hand to smack a kiss to the back of it. The demon merely shook her hand, nodding politely. 

“She was just telling me that dessert’s ready so, I have to head back to my table. Barry, don’t let me forget to ask you about that development Manny’s been barking at me about, alright? Actually–” Knowles glanced at Kenneth. “You wouldn’t mind if I took your uncle with me, would you?” 

The demon and Barton exchanged a look before it said, “Not at all! Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Knowles smiled. Then he turned to Josie, “Why don’t you stick around with Ken, eh? Keep him company?” 

“Oh, I’d love to!” Josie beamed. 

The two older gentlemen left the table, leaving Josie to take Barton’s chair and the demon to return to its seat. They smiled at one another, Josie’s dark skin glowing in the lighting of the restaurant around them, the candle on the table making her defined cheekbones grow sharper. Yes, the demon could see why she was effective. Even her accent, posh and far more refined than anyone who slunk along the gutters of this world, could ask questions that no one would be opposed to answering, magic or no.

“What brings you to London, Mr. Carson?” she asked, leaning forward, making it seem like she was quite interested to hear what Kenneth had to say. The demon sighed. It knew it should play this little game but it did not want to. It merely wanted to cut through the nonsense and get to what mattered. 

How did it get Knowles alone? How did it get her to tell it what it needed to know instead of dancing around anything worth discussing? 

“Family,” it replied. “Always family.” 

She smiled. “Of course. Your family is one to envy.”

“And what of yours, Ms. Hallender?” the demon asked. 

She blinked, obviously confused. “My what?”

“Family. Are they here in London with you?”

“Oh,” she blinked, as if surprised that he would ask. “No. I’m from Kent, you see. That’s where my family still resides.” 

“Then you are not close.”

“We are,” she smiled, though there was a sadness to it that she attempted to hide. “Just not in location.”

“Do you see them often?”

“Not as often as I would like. My work, it keeps me rather busy.” 

“Mr. Knowles doesn’t give you much time off?”

“No,” she said, then inhaled sharply as she realized her mistake. “But I don't mind. He treats me very well!”

“I did not say he didn’t,” the demon said to which Josie nodded. 

“I merely wished to clarify. Mr. Knowles is a very good man.”

“So I've heard. My late uncle was good friends with him. You may have known him. George Armstrong?” 

The demon took notice of the way the girl’s fingers tighten, curling closer to her palm. “Uh, no, sorry.” 

“Really? You work closely with Mr. Knowles don’t you? You must know his contacts. My uncle and he were always doing business together, surely you must have–”

“What I meant was that I did not know him very well,” Josie backtracked, the pleasant smile rooted to her mouth. “I spoke to him but not often or alone. Only in passing.”

“Of course,” the demon nodded Kenneth’s head. “It’s a shame.”

“What happened to him? Yes, it was. He seemed kind.”

“No,” the demon said, having had enough. “It is a shame you’re lying to me.” 

Josie paused, swallowing. “What?”

“You knew my uncle and you knew him well. Why are you lying?” 

“I’m– I’m not–” her eyes darted in the direction his uncle and her boss had walked off to. Then it saw something flicker in her dark eyes and felt a tingling somewhere along Kenneth's skull. "I'm not lying to you, Mr. Carson."

Oh how sweet! She thought she could use her magic on it. Well, to be fair, it was working. Only problem was that the demon did not possess what her magic actually affected. Kenneth, where he was tucked safely away, would believe her with no question due.

The demon on the other hand merely shook off the magic with a flick of Kenneth's head.

“You are. But it’s alright,” the demon placated, raising one of Kenneth’s hands to get her to cease her stammering before someone noticed her distress. Her eyes had widened, spine straightening in order to lean away from the table and back into her chair. “We’re in the middle of dinner, after all. But I am going to tell you why I'm here, Ms. Hallender. You may tell your boss after I am done, as that is clearly why he has sat you down with me this evening, but I would warn you not to. You’re already in the middle of this, I would hate for you to be sunk any deeper.”

The girl merely stared so the demon continued.

“My uncle was killed. I know Mr. Knowles did it and I know you were the reason why. I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care that you remain loyal to a man who would kill his friend and then turns around and hugs his brother here at dinner tonight as if he could hide his blood stained hands by wiping them on my uncle’s back. I don’t care that you led him into the trap. I do care about my aunt, who has cried to me countless times about how all she wants is answers about her husband, who died on his way home to her. So know that this has nothing to do with you, Ms. Hallender. Not unless you decide to intervene in any way.” 

The demon fully expected her to get up at this point. Instead she remained seated, her eyes going watery. 

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, heat behind her words. She leaned forward again, wrists pressing against the edge of the table. “You must know that, if nothing else.”

“Mean to what?” the demon inquired. 

“He wanted to help me. I didn’t- I didn’t think–”

“Help you what?”

“Get out,” she said. “I wasn't supposed to be here. I just…I want to go home.” 

“And Mr. Knowles won’t let you.”

Josie shook her head. Her mouth pulled up in a watery smile as she lifted her eyes to meet Kenneth’s, “I’m very good at what I do, you see.” 

The demon nodded. Huh. “And my uncle was going to help you return home.” 

“Yes. He…he was nice to me. He had gotten me a train ticket out so no one could follow a money trail back to me, had a plan to tell Knowles about how something had happened to me. But he figured us out, showed up where I was supposed to meet George. I had no choice. I’m...Mr. Carson– ”

“I know,” the demon said, not wanting to hear her blubbering any more. “Thank you, Ms. Hallender. The truth is so hard to come by in our line of work it seems.” 

“What are you going to do?”

“What I must,” the demon said. “And if you’d like to go home, I could use your help.”

--

After they left the restaurant the demon explained things to Barton who responded with fury. A rubbish bin took the brunt of it. 

“I’ll rip his fucking teeth out,” Barry breathed through a clenched jaw. “I’ll kill him!” 

“No, uncle,” the demon said. 

“What-? You think I won’t?” Barry turned to glare at Kenneth. “He killed my brother!” 

“Which is why you cannot,” the demon told him. “My father is a world away but you are here, leaving you the first person they’ll come looking for. I need you to go somewhere where your alibi will be cemented. A large crowd where everyone can see you, in front of a camera, I don’t care, wherever you think best. I will kill him, and I’ll make sure he knows who sent me. Please. It was what I came here for and I don’t want to lose you, too.” 

Barton blinked, surprised, and then he smiled. He reached forward to take Kenneth’s face between his hands. “Alright, Kenny. Alright.” 

“Alright?”

“Alright. You take care of that mother fucker and I’ll make sure everyone around here knows why he’s dead,” Barton promised, patting Kenneth’s cheek gently. “No one’ll be working for that family after this if I can help it.”

The demon smiled, reaching up to pat Barton’s shoulder in return. “Go.” 

It watched the great oaf leave, getting in a black car that had pulled up down the road around five minutes ago. The demon turned. 

It was starving. 

--

Josie had told Knowles to return to the restaurant to meet and that was how the demon found them. In the kitchen, the older man's hand was clutching the girl’s upper arm as he yelled curses at her, the other hand pointing his large finger in her face. She was crying. Weeping. Pleading. Her head shook back and forth, trying to get a word in but it was no use. 

The demon reached forward, yanking him by his suit’s coat and hauling him back until the man fell harshly to the kitchen’s newly tiled floor. 

“Get out of here,” it said, keeping Kenneth’s eyes on Knowles as the man groaned. Josie was frozen in her place. It reached inside Kenneth's jacket pocket, producing a ticket for her transportation out of the city. “Say nothing of this to anyone.” 

“Th-thank you,” she managed to get out, her hand plucking the ticket from Kenneth's hand. It listened to the clack clack clack of her high heels until the kitchen was silent, save for Knowles’ labored breaths. The demon knew she was a loose end, that there could come a time where it would have to find her. But it also knew that if she was as smart as it believed, that she would remain silent and simply return to where she had been longing for all this time. Whether that was truly in Kent or not.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, eh?” the older man asked, looking at the demon from where he was trying to sit up. “You gonna listen to that bird? Over me? Your uncle loved me.”

The demon frowned as the man reached for the gun in its holster that sat below his arm pit, against his ribs. It stepped forward, kicking the man in the chest with Kenneth’s heel and stepping down. It used Kenneth’s other foot to step on the man’s arm that was trying to pull the gun free. The demon reached down to take it from him. It assessed the thing. Oh, it never liked guns very much. They were too…simple. Fast. Violent. Efficient to be sure but they did not give enough time. It released the mags from the gun, letting it fall uselessly into Kenneth's hand before pocketing it, and took the bullet in the chamber, too. The gun was placed in the other jacket pocket.

Knowles released a large breath, panting echoing off the tile as he rolled to the side. 

“Which is why I fail to comprehend why you did it,” the demon said. “He did love you. And you loved him.” 

“I didn’t kill him.”

“You didn’t have to,” the demon said. “You could hire whatever loyal follower who wanted to impress you that night to do it. But I am sure you were there to watch. To let him know whose finger was really pulling the trigger. To ensure he did die.” 

“I didn’t–”

“You chose that woman over him,” the demon continued, tilting Kenneth’s head. “He was going to release her from your hold. It would have been just as easy, if not more so, to kill her instead for the betrayal. Yet you decided to kill him. Why?” 

“Fuck,” the man said, shifting as if to stand. The demon placed Kenneth’s shoe on top of the man’s calf. He stopped. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. You’re just some fucking idiot thinking they can just come in–”

“You killed a man. Did you not think there would be consequences?”

“This is my restaurant.” 

“Funny, I was under the impression this was all for your beloved niece.”

“You’re going to regret you ever talked to me,” Knowles spat. “Scum off the bottom of my fucking shoe. I built my business from the ground up and you think you can do something to me? You think there won’t be consequences for this? I’m in charge of men that will have you by the toes!”

The demon crouched down over the other man and gently placed Kenneth’s hand against Knowles’ neck. It did not grip with Kenneth’s fingers, just laid it there gently, like a lover might. It rubbed Kenneth's hand against his jugular with was pulsing with great speed. Knowles immediately closed his mouth, swallowing thickly as his expression lost a touch of that bravado the demon was sure worked on the men Knowles thought young Kenneth to be like. 

“Do you feel in charge right now?” it asked him. 

It took a moment for Mr. Knowles to scrape up the words, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I think, Mr. Knowles, that we are going to make a deal.” 

The man's eyes shifted between Kenneth's. Back and forth, back and forth, he searched. Only to come up empty. “Who…what are you?”

The demon shifted Kenneth’s hand, taking hold of the man’s collar to pull him up. It allowed itself to be seen, for the shadows of the room to draw inward around them so that darkness could envelop the pair. Kenneth’s eyes were now the demon, black and endless, reflecting Knowles’ sweat soaked face back at him. 

“Do you understand who you are speaking with now?” it asked, and it was the demon’s voice that spoke. That combination of the many it had known over its years, forming into one.

The man nodded, movements jerky. He squeezed his eyes shut until the demon shook him and they popped wide open. 

“Tell me, Samuel,” the demon said, “would you like your children to live? Your wife?” 

The man nodded again.

“And your brothers? And their children? Your sister?”

Another nod.

“Then you will take my offer. Give me your soul, and theirs shall be spared. They will all live long lives. You just won’t be around to see what they do with them.” 

“But–”

“Ah ah ah! No buts. Either you take this, or I will kill you and anyone you pretend to love anyway for the betrayal of George Armstrong. And it will be for nothing more than revenge because then I will move on to eat them, too. I will find their hopes and dreams and I will make them come true, and they will serve themselves to me on silver platters in exchange. I know you are a man who understands a business deal. I know you will understand that this is a one time offer,” the demon said. “Take it or leave it.” 

The man began to cry. They always did. Death scared them all for some reason. Yet they dealt it out to others like it was just another transaction. 

“Samuel,” it sing-songed. “Answer.” 

“Okayokay,” he cried. “Deal! Just don’t touch–”

The demon didn’t need to hear anymore. The deal had already been struck. Kenneth’s body fell back as the demon unfurled itself from the confines of its host, filling up the kitchen as it prepared its meal. 

Ken sat up, pushing himself with the heels of his feet back, back, back, until he hit the wall, trying to escape the harrowing scene in front of him. He turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut.

The demon left Mr. Knowles’ body behind but that was it. The man’s soul had been devoured. His empty eyes stared up at the ceiling, like a doll’s. 

Ken stumbled to his feet and began to run, but the demon caught him. A dark tendril wrapped around his ankle and made him fall flat on his chest, chin smacking the floor making his teeth clack together. It reeled him back in like a fish on a hook. 

Our deal still continues, Kenneth Carson, it said, voice cascading over Ken’s body as it clawed at the room like static. Unless you wish to revoke it. 

He felt a white hot pain in his stomach then, where the bullet had cut through him. 

At this he stopped struggling. 

The demon slunk back into him and he could feel the edges of where he stopped and it began, like if he got his fingers underneath it quick enough he could pry it free. But right now, with the soul heavy in the demon's gut and fear lancing through Ken’s being, his clumsy fingers would only be squashed in the closing door. The demon nestled inside his mind, satisfied. It used Kenneth’s mouth to sigh with the feeling. 

“Now,” it said in Kenneth’s voice, using the deep register of it. It moved around the kitchen, eyeing the many utensils with interest. The demon stopped as it came across a large cast iron skillet that sat on a counter. It reached forward, pulling it into Kenneth's hands, testing its weight. Then it was turning back to the man on the floor. “For the fun part.”

Ken watched. He didn’t want to, but he watched. 

He couldn’t feel the warm spray of blood that touched his face, nor the crack of bone under his hands. But he could hear it. He could hear all of it. Every squelch of blood wet flesh and organ as it caved in on itself, every agonizing breath, every ping of the cast iron as it made contact. 

The demon continued on until a mess of bone and pulverized meat lay at its feet instead of the man it used to be. It tilted Kenneth’s head at it, trying to understand how these pieces had come together to make the person that had others scared of him. Who had, only hours before, had been in control of a whole room. 

Yet here was that same chunk of matter, gone so easily.

The same had happened to Amy Carson, it supposed. And all of those before her.  

It wiped down the place of his DNA or fingerprints, methodical and thorough. What was left of the man was dumped with the rest of the garbage from that night. It fit right in among the wealth of uneaten steak and other meat that had been thrown out. Ken watched the demon walk to the back and gather the video from the security cameras, replacing it carefully with footage of the empty kitchen from before Knowles and Ms. Hallender had entered. And he watched the demon walk away from the restaurant, meeting with uncle Barton to provide Knowles' gun to him. Proof of what had been done, and a present all in one.  

Ken was left in his body when the demon had gotten them back to the hotel to finish cleaning up and to travel back to Swynlake the, as planned, and pretend like everything was fine. 

Completely fine.

[hyperfixationstation1]

TW// though this is abstract, this does concern itself with SA.

I sit at a fancy restaurant with a man I barely recognize. I served him drinks at a gala once.

There he’d smiled at me, touched my hand, and asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. In response, I smiled politely, maintaining a steady hand on the offered drink. “I don’t know.” I answered. “I’m waiting for someone to tell me what I’m good at.”

I look at him, now, across the table. He takes a sip from a glass of wine. He says he is young for his age, just as I am too old for mine. “I am too old for what is mine.” I repeat.

“You don’t need to own it anymore.” And, perhaps, I don’t need to. I have been told that I’m irresponsible. If I own nothing, there is no responsibility.

At the table beside us, a man and a woman eat dinner of pastries and crabs. A third chair is placed beside them. On it, a doll. Beautiful and stoic. Thin and curved and soft. Able to be lifted like it weighs nothings.

The women at the table turns to me. “I bought you a vibrator. It’s shaped like the man I know.” I take it politely, and hold it on my lap.

The restaurant is French. Though he will pay for me, I do not eat.

“Are you happy here?”

I look down at my lap. About 10 minutes ago, I began bleeding. Now, blood drips down my leg and pools in the inside of my shoes.

“This is a nice restaurant.” I say politely.

“Not here. Here. On earth.”

“I’m sure I will be one day. I’ll figure it out.”

I have yet to.

There is an adult standing behind me with my face. She cannot reach me. I am too far away.

“Mom is wondering about you.”

They’re all wondering about me. Everyone is wondering about me. Everyone is always wondering about me.

But I’ll figure it out.

“Quixotically.” The person behind me says. If you continue.

I frown. Quixotically. The world changes. The man disappears. I am alone again. There is nothing around me, neither light nor dark. No objects. No furniture. Nothing to guide me. Nothing to block me.

“Quixotically.” I repeat.

I take out a notebook and two rocks from my back pocket. I write the word “quixotically” beside “aleatoric”, underneath “contingent.”

I put the notebook back and begin banging the rocks together waiting for a spark.

[eideticspider]

She couldn't help the amused SNORT that bubbled through her lips and nose. "Miguel, I'm not trying to WINE and dine you with fancy French food. Honestly, I was just thinking about their turkey and SWISS croissant, but I think we could find you some SNAILS outside of the building..." Cindy grinned, arching dark brows, a glimmer of fondness dancing in her eyes.

As they approach the shelter, she blows a soft sigh through her nostrils. The people operating the shelter needed so much more HELP from the city, but they were making the best of what they HAD. If she had more MONEY...

She stops on the stoop, waiting for his now familiar gait to JOIN her when she noticed him paused on the sidewalk. Cindy watched him through carefully guarded eyes, noticing the way he PUSHED his sunglasses back up on his face, despite the moon beginning to CREEP its way through the snowy clouds.

It wasn't COWARDICE. Not to her, in any case. She could understand his reticence.

"I'll talk to Jenna and see if she'll brave the TUNDRA to come out here," Cindy offered kindly, a soft tease to hopefully put him at EASE, pulling open the screen door and pushing her way in through the front. Before the foyer, a shabby reception desk was decorated amiably, to FOSTER an environment of support. The house was silent, except for a few murmured conversations on the other side of the door next to the desk--the volunteers cleaning up from DINNER. Jenna was leaned against the desk, talking to another volunteer, hands on her hips when she realized Cindy had stepped in.

Jenna was a warm woman, SHORTER than Cindy, older than her by a two decades but Cindy found her LOVELY. She kept her dark hair cropped short and neat and her brown eyes were KEENER than one would assume for a woman of middle age. "I wasn't expecting you until Thanksgiving, Moon," she hummed, pulling Cindy into a tight, warm hug.

"Oh, I'm gonna be here," Cindy grinned, returning the hug affectionately before leaning back on her heels. Jenna smiled and tilted her head, expecting the ELABORATION. "I've got a FRIEND here with me and he wants to volunteer with me."

"Ah...he."

"Mhm. He's a really NICE man, Jen. He has a lot in common with some of the residents." Cindy's eyes met her friend's with a look of understanding, nodding her head. "He's just a little IMPOSING."

"Define 'imposing', Cin."

Her cheeks, without authorization, began to bloom with a soft warm PINK, thinking about the man, her best friend waiting outside in the snow and Cindy brushes at the coloring with her knuckles. "He's just a TALLER, bigger man. We wanted you to meet before he comes in so he doesn't scare some of the women and children here. Jen, really--he's got a HUGE heart."

Jenna observed her through her glasses and smiled, glancing behind Cindy at the closed door. "He's out in the COLD? What? Did you SCARE him off? Y'know you're not getting any YOUNGER, Cindy. Your eggs are dying, girl."

Cindy rolled her eyes and stuffed her hands in her pockets. "S'not like that, Jen. Will you come out and MEET him?" Jenna stared at her for a long moment before nodding her head and grabbing her coat off of the corner of the desk. "Alright, alright. But if he's CUTE, I have the right to flirt and/or push my daughter on him," she teased.

The younger woman didn't like the PULSE of pain or anger she felt, but Cindy just crinkled her nose and headed out the door. "Yeah yeah, Jen. Whatever you want," she hummed, a tremor of frustration in her voice.

Frankly, he'd been thinking pizza, and though he wasn't terribly adventurous with food and didn't doubt Cindy's judgment, there had to be some compromise on the menu.

"Well, we can always get some pizza if that doesn't work." He added in a deadpan tease, "I dunno if snail's gonna sit right on my stomach."

On they walked and at length came to stand in front a four-story brick building. A series of arches formed the entrance, in front of which was a flagpole in the center of the walk, and in either side of it was a small patch of grass, now blanketed in snow. The trees there, stripped of leaves and sugared in snow, more or less resembled arthritic fingers stretching out of the earth.

A lump more than a knot formed in the bottom of Miguel's stomach. Not unlike walking into a funeral parlor, the idea of what he'd encounter, the grief and states of disservice, however anticipated, roused a flutter of nausea. All too soon, he felt unequal to observe what duty compelled him to and he despised his sensibilities for yielding so easily. Still, he'd made a commitment. Disappointing Cindy on the very threshold wasn't an option.

Politely clearing his throat, he pushed up his sunglasses, though nary a blot of sunlight was to be seen, and looked toward the street—"You go. I'll wait here"—while hoping dearly Cindy wouldn't infer an attack of cowardice.

[chrisevansredbelt]

The Other Woman

pairing: dbf!frank x reader

warnings: angst!! kinda cheating kinda not?

summary: the other woman will always cry herself to sleep. kinda based off my interpretation of lana’s ‘the other woman’ <3 also based on request i got!

a/n: I AM NOT ANTI KAREN ITS PURELY FOR THE STORY 🫶

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*･ﾟ☆

You cuddled yourself tighter as you continued walking through the pain and the cold. It was a long shift- god knows why the fashion magazine editing company you intern for needs you so late. Though you should count yourself lucky, 7pm is a reasonable time compared to the others who are still there and probably won’t get out until midnight.

Plus, you couldn’t really complain. It was a job your Mom got you from a friend of a friend, you couldn’t just quit because you didn’t like it. Maybe you could. But it wasn’t all bad. Your coworkers were nice and fun and much like yourself. Plus famous people came and went and it payed generously and would be a great addition to your resume.

But still. You wished it wasn’t mandatory to wear heels.

Because now you’re walking home in the cold, wind- almost wobbling over every time a gust of air hits you. And you have a feeling it’s going to rain soon… and you don’t have an umbrella.

You take the train home, of course. Not all the way, it stops at 131 and then you take the bus that goes across the Washington bridge. You ride it all the way to the last stop in Englewood and then walk the rest of the way home. That’s usually at 5pm however when it’s no so cold and scary.

You figure you can either call your parents or catch an Uber, but you know your parents are probably already tipsy from the wine they drink at dinner and Uber’s scare you too much. It’s a long story.

Or you can call Frank. Frank usually always comes to your rescue when you need a ride home. But you remember him saying something about being busy this Friday? Something about a friend coming in from out of town. So that’s off the table.

You figure you’ll just catch the train to 131 and then decide from there. Now to actually get to the train station… if you survive.

Looking up from the ground to see how much further, you let out an exhale. You’re not far. You only have to walk one more block and then cross the street. It’s somewhat busy out which makes you feel a little safe- but not any warmer.

Looking from left to right to make sure no cars are coming, you furrow your brows at the sight of a familiar car parked along the curb.

Franks pick up truck.

You would’ve spotted it a mile away had you not been looking at the ground.

A wave of comfort floods over you and you suddenly forget all about the cold.

You walk up beside it and subtly look inside just to make sure he’s not in the car. Stopping in your tracks now, you spin all around before turning to look at the restaurant behind you. It smells nice, it’s got soft music playing and the low lights give it a really calming look.

But you don’t feel calm.

You feel cold again. And you feel sick.

You have to blink stupidly a few times to make sure you’re not tiredly hallucinating. But it makes no difference because when you open your eyes again, the scene is no different.

Frank sits idly in his chair- dressed up all fancy and hair slicked back. Did he shave too? Across from him, a blonde lady. She looks nice… his age probably. You feel like you recognise her, but nothing comes to mind. You’re too invested in the way he’s smiling at her.

Averting your eyes down, her foot almost touches his leg- and there’s a bouquet of flowers hanging out of her purse on the floor.

Almost feeling your stare burn into him, through the glass window, he flicks his gaze over at you momentarily before doing a double take- smile disappearing from his face when he realises it’s you.

You look like a sad lamb. A kicked puppy. A deer shot by some redneck fuck. A bird slaughtered by a high-speed car. A rabbit skinned alive for its fur.

He looks back at the woman in front of him before back at you. Shit, she follows his gaze to you. Putting up an act, you just offer a curt smile and small wave that he briefly returns before walking off out of view. God, even that felt painful to do.

Frank swallows thickly when he watches you leave. The glossiness of your eyes not going unnoticed.

“Oh, do you know her?” Karen pipes up from her seat and it’s only then that Frank remembers she’s there.

Looking at her, he quickly recomposes himself, clearing his throat, “Yeah, that’s um- that’s Bette’s daughter.”

“Oh, right.” Karen nods. She’d been invited to a handful of Bette and Brocks barbecues… that’s how she and Frank met. And how they are now subsequently on this current date. And he just so happens to have been fucking their daughter.

“Yeah, she’s a good kid.” Frank finds himself aimlessly mumble- rather to himself than to her. Karen takes no notice, sipping on her wine before starting a whole new conversation on desert.

Though it falls on deaf ears. Franks lost his appetite.

-

It took you everything in you not to cry. And it genuinely surprised you when you didn’t. Not when you continued to pass by multiple happy couples on dates, holding hands in front of you, sitting on the train together.

You’d made it to the train. Body now numb to any kind of feeling other than the rip in your heart. You’re certain your feet still ached and your back stung and your neck and your head and your wrists and your empty stomach. But nothing compared to the pain in your chest.

The train had stopped and started on many occasions- and at one paint you were genuinely convinced it would break down.

Your phone went flat on the train as well.

When you got off the train at 131, you stopped at the bottom of the staircase and sighed. The rain had started.

People pushed past you as they opened up their umbrellas and it was only when you looked back into the leaking underground station that you made the snap decision you’d much rather be in the rain than down there and murdered.

You crossed your arms over your chest and made the quick journey to the small bus stop that did very little to provide any kind of roof over your head. You stood in the very corner, yet your legs still managed to quickly soak and tiny droplets of rain splashed against your face.

Looking at the bus stop timetable, you internally groaned as you saw that your bus was 10 minutes away. But with the rain, you knew it would be longer.

Resting your head against the wall, you shut your eyes and willed yourself not to cry.

If your phone hadn’t gone flat, you would’ve called for an uber.

You opened your eyes at the sound of an approaching vehicle. Either a miracle had been made and your bus had arrived or you were about to get kidnapped.

The black pick up truck comes to an abrupt stop and the passenger door is swinging open to reveal Frank in the drivers seat, “Get in.”

The rain hits impossibly harder and for a moment, you forget everything that had just happened and force yourself into Franks car.

You shut the door once you’re in and Frank takes off.

“There’s a towel in the back.” He tells you and you timidly reach for the towel that’s folded on the backseat.

You pull it over your freezing body, drying the ends of your hair that drip small drops of water onto Franks seat.

It’s only then that you realise everything that’s happened and who’s car you’re in. You find yourself subconsciously inching away from him in your seat- not even breathing too loudly so as to not draw any attention to yourself.

It’s awkwardly silent. Which felt strange. It’s never been like this. There’s such thick tension in the air, but you refuse to do anything about it. You’re not the one that needs to explain themselves.

“Why didn’t you catch an Uber? Or call your parents?” Frank breaks the silence, but not to explain himself. You look out the window, rolling your eyes slightly.

“Phones dead.” You mumble, barely coherent.

Frank just purses his lips. He knows you’re mad at him right now- and you have every right to be. He also saw you roll your eyes so he’s not gonna make any effort to resolve the issue right now. Not yet, at least. It’s probably the last thing you want.

“Are you warm enough?” He asks instead, hardly waiting for your answer as he turns up the heater.

Though you only side-eyed his hand turning up the heat, you couldn’t deny that it felt nice. The warmth hitting you like a truck.

“M’fine.” You mumble again, resting your head against the window now and shutting your eyes so that he gets a hint and stops talking to you.

Thankfully, he takes the social cue to stay quiet. The only sound in the car is the heater and the low radio. You slip your feet out from your heels as you get settled in and begin mapping out how far you are from home from the movements of Franks car.

You’ve just passed the Washington bridge, so shouldn’t be too long now. Thank God. You stop keeping track after the bridge and let sleep take over you. Franks car is so warm, it’s like you’ve been engulfed in a bundle of heated blankets.

When you spring awake, it’s because of the sound of Franks park break coming up and your Dads voice yelling from the front door of your house.

“Frankie!” You’re barely given any time to collect yourself as you wake up. Your Dad heads over to Franks window while you just quickly fold up the towel and lay it on your seat. You shut the door after and tip toe your way to your house, feet aching, “You didn’t even try to fuck? You must love her!” Your Dad drunkenly yells.

Your Mother pays no mind to your soaking form as she spots Frank, joining in with your Dad on the interrogation because they somehow knew about this date. Hell, if you didn’t know any better, they’re probably the ones who set it up.

“Did you plan another date?” Your Mom asks excitedly and you find yourself stopping in your tracks before you enter the house completely. You want to hear his answer.

Franks stare burns into your back after your Mom asks him the question and his heart gets caught in his throat conjuring up his answer.

“Yeah, next week.” He says shyly, more so so that you wouldn’t hear rather than because he was embarrassed. Well, he would be lying if he wasn’t a little flustered- especially with how your Dad began hyping him up.

You just pursed your lips and slammed the front door behind you, sluggishly making your way up to the bathroom.

You peeled off every soaking layer that stuck to your skin, looking at yourself in the mirror and almost laughing at the way your mascara had run. You hadn’t cried, but it sure looked like you did.

From your spot in the bathroom, you see Franks headlights retreat from your driveway through the glazed bathroom window. Your parents loud voices can be heard from downstairs and you roll your eyes. You didn’t care that they were drunk, most of the time they were pretty funny.

But they’d probably talk your ear off about Frank and how happy they are for him that he’s finally moving on and found this other woman who’s just so perfect and has nice nails and nice, long hair and probably has a collection of French perfume that Frank will soon love and he’ll never even look at you ever again because she’s just so perfect and his age.

You hate the other woman. You hate Frank even more.

-

You could hardly sleep last night, tossing and turning so hard you had entangled yourself in the blankets. But maybe that’s what you wanted. To try and disappear. The whirl of the blankets would conjure up some black hole portal and you’d slip away and everyone would wonder your existence while you live in another dimension where everything is just the way you want it. Or you’re in some like Garden of Eden and you become one with nature and rule the place as the only living human. That would be nice.

You eventually cried. Cried yourself all the way to sleep. It felt nice to finally just let it all out. Of course, not all the way out because otherwise your parents would hear.

You woke up with red, puffy eyes and you were grateful that you didn’t have to go into work on the weekends. Even more grateful that your parents had social things to attend to today, so you’d have the house all by yourself now to cry as loud as you want.

You figure that you should still get yourself ready for the day. Just general skin and dental care and changing into warmer clothes.

Your stomach begs you for some food, having not had any dinner last night and it being well past breakfast.

So you make pancakes.

Pancakes were always Frank’s favourite. If you just so happened to stay the night, he would make pancakes. Always.

Well, no he probably never will. Not for you at least. For the other woman.

“Shit.” You gasp, quickly flipping the pancake and groaning when it looked a dark brown.

Looking at the bottle of batter, you wouldn’t have enough to make another, so you figure you’ll just slice off the burnt edge.

Fucking Frank. He’s like the root of all your problems.

You practically inhale the pancake and few bits of fruit you’d chopped up. Having not eaten last night a regrettable action. You clean off your plate and down your OJ before dumping them both in the dishwasher.

Standing helplessly in the middle of the large kitchen, you twiddle your fingers trying to think of something to do with your useless life. The place is already clean, the groceries have all been bought.

Just as you decide to head back to bed, a knock sounds from the front door. You pause in your footsteps, heart dropping to the pit of your stomach as you can see the silhouette of exactly the person you don’t want to see right now. Or maybe you do want to see him. You just don’t want him to see you.

Lingering in the foyer, you ponder whether or not you should open the door. You know he’s going to want to talk and you’re not sure you’re ready for that just yet.

But yet, you still find yourself inching closer to the door. Body taking over your mind as she wraps your hand around the door knob and opens it.

You keep your eyes to the ground, Franks boots coming into view and it’s only when the clears his throat that your eyes slowly make their way up his body, to his face.

God, why does he look so good? Why isn’t he unhappy? Sure, he looks a little uncomfortable but he clearly hadn’t cried himself to sleep.

You unknowingly frown a little when you finally look at him, and Frank shifts his feet nervously, “Can I come in?”

You don’t say anything, just quickly look out onto the street and making sure the coast is clear before slowly opening the door a little further and letting him come in.

When you shut the door behind him, you turn and notice he’s made his way into the living room, sitting one of the couches. Well, any thought you had in the back of your head of him extending his stay for an hour was out the window. Why would he fuck you? He’s got that other woman to fuck now.

Understandingly, you sit in the single chair adjacent to his, pulling your knees up to your chest and hugging your legs securely. You feel so exposed, despite being in the same room as someone who literally made you feel like the only person in the world at times.

Who looks over you a few times and every time, your heart skips a beat. He looks concerned, but probably for his own sake rather than yours.

“Look,” He starts and you realise how clammy yours hands have gotten, “Your Mom set me up with her. I couldn’t say no.”

You roll your eyes and avert your gaze from him. You should’ve fucking guessed that your Mom was the one behind this.

But Frank thinks you’re rolling your eyes at him, and quickly becomes agitated, “You do realise, we could never be together, Y/N.” You look at him with a furrowed brow, lips slightly parted. Damn…. that hurt. “Your Dad would probably kill me if I even looked at you that way, better yet if he ever finds out I fucked you and am in love with you.” You almost choke on your own heart as it rose up in your throat. He’s in love with you? Or was he just saying that as like an example? A hypothetical situation? “You know that, right?” He asks again at your lack of response.

“Just- shut up for a second.” You drop your head into your knees, shutting your eyes and imagining yourself in a much better situation. Maybe you’re out with Wanda and Natasha. Natasha has problems with Steve that you and Wanda have to do your best to give advice to. Or maybe even you’re at work. Being at work would be better than being here right now. Though, your journey to work is probably ruined now because you’ll have to pass by that damned fucking restaurant and relive every emotion that happened last night. Maybe you’ll burn the place down.

Frank shuts up like he was told. But he’s antsy as you stay quiet and process all of his words. He just wants you to say something other than telling him to shut up.

Your eyes brim with tears the more you think over his words, ‘We could never be together.’ So you quickly blink away the tears and pull your head up.

Frank frowns a little when he sees how glossy your eyes are yet again. Because it’s all because of him.

“Do you love her?” You don’t know what takes over you as you boldly ask the question. Probably delusion.

“Don’t.” Frank shakes his head, “I’m not answering that.”

“Well, you just gave me your answer anyway.” You quickly retort, shrugging carelessly despite the feeling that you’ve just been stabbed in the chest.

A lone tear escapes your eye and you’re quick to wipe it away. But Frank still sees.

He hates that he’s making you cry. He can tell you cried all night. He never wanted to make you upset. He always hoped you would both see eye to eye on this whenever the time came. Sure, for a while, he had no hope on ever finding love again and was perfectly fine with sneaking around with you until you went off and found love your own age. He’s unsure whether he’d feel as heartbroken as you are right now if the roles were reversed. He wants to say that he won’t, that he’d be happy for you and it would probably be for the better. But a bigger part of him thinks he’d be just as angry.

“I don’t… regret anything.” He timidly says, wanting to at least end on good terms. He’d hate to just no longer be able to talk to you whenever he comes around… because let’s face it, he’s still your Dads best friend.

“I do.” You scoff. You’re lying. You know it and he knows it too. Of course you regret nothing, sleeping around with Frank was the best part of your day when it happened. Kissing Frank when he had stayed with you during a snowstorm where your parents had gone on vacation was probably the best decision of your life. You still remember every part of that night. He was so warm.

“I know you’re angry.” Frank starts, mouth opening and closing for a moment as he figures out what to say. You just stare at him blankly, until he blurts out, “I love you.” You blink at him, “I do. And I’ll always love you. In any other world where you weren’t my best friends daughter, I’d-“ He cuts himself off.

You wish he didn’t. You’d love to hear all the things he would do with you if you weren’t his best friends daughter. Would he marry you? Or would the age gap be too much? It’s not the worst age gap. In any other world where you weren’t his best friends daughter, would you have even met? Probably not.

“You deserve someone your own age anyway.” He speaks again, “Go for that Bucky guy or something, he seems nice with his… long hair.” He tries to joke, but the only reaction he gets out of you is a few more tears that you shakily wipe away, “I’ll get real old soon and I’ll just be a wrinkly bag of weak bones that you’d have to take care of… Go grow old with someone else… preferably at the same pace.”

You look away from him now. You know it’s the end. You can’t bare to look at him any longer. You wished you could at least touch him one last time, kiss him, have him hold you, fuck him. But you knew it was over. It was over the second he said yes to that date.

He can’t bare to see you cry any longer. Standing up from the couch, he hesitates before he reaches down and wipes a few of your tears. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear and you still refuse to look at him.

“I’ll always look out for you.” He promises, finger just lightly grazing over your hand and it takes every fragment of your being not to reach out and hold his hand. Before he goes to walk away, he pauses before saying, “Keep the key to my house, doors always open.”

Though you don’t say anything, Frank just nods to himself before heading for the door. He hates that ended the way it did. He wished it went better. But this is how it has to be. If not now, then it probably would’ve just been more painful. More so for you than for him. He had Karen now.

When he finally leaves, softly shutting the door behind him you kick the small coffee table in front of you. Your bundle of keys that you’d placed there when you got home jangle and you feel hot, burning rage at the sight of Franks house key attached.

You grab the set of keys and throw them at the front door where Frank once was, wishing he was there to absorb the blow. And to hold you again. To tell you it was all just a cruel joke he was playing on you.

Cuddling yourself into a small ball, you just wanted to shrink away. For the couch to swallow you whole.

You’ll never forget the smile on Franks face whenever he’d see you. The same smile he gave to the other woman last night.

Well, she’s no longer the other woman.

The other woman will always cry herself to sleep.

The other woman will never have his love to keep.

And as the years go by, the other woman will spend her life alone.

You are the other woman.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*･ﾟ☆

PART TWO!

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

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