#he was supposed to come out last year for Halloween but i missed the deadline 😔

[climbdraws]

baby can have / a little murder, as a treat?

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela​

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela​ for @jtargaryen18 ‘s  Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide. 

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone. 

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.  

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue. 

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. 

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound 

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood. 

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you. 

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. 

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the  gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host. 

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream. 

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. 

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall. 

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne. 

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. 

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background.  And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. 

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway. 

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.  

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his. 

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes.  With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!" 

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet. 

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away. 

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask. 

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system. 

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked. 

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow. 

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with  the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission. 

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did. 

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even, 

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his 

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby. 

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. 

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his. 

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought. 

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1 

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s  Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist. 

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide. 

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone. 

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.  

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue. 

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound 

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood. 

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you. 

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places.  Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room. The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the  gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host. 

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone. With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream. 

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. “Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat “Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall. 

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne. 

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize”  you bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Aalongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background.  And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway. 

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. 

And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.  

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his. 

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes.  With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!" 

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet. 

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away. 

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask. 

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system. 

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked. 

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow. 

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness. 

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. 

His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with  the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission. 

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you Princess? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did. 

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even, 

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat. 

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his 

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out 3 vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby. 

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his. 

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought. 

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

@momobaby227 @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @nerdofthefandoms @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @what-just-happened-bro @jennmurawski13 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jtargaryen18 @redhairedfeistynerd @charmed-asylum @saiyanprincessswanie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @jhayes6984 @anika-ann @icanfeelastormbrewing @gigglegirl77 @princess-evans-addict @mes-2016 @theladybiers @void-hoechlin 

Ransom Drysdale

@patzammit @icandothisallday @capsiclewinter​ @this-is-serenaa​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @perplexed3001​ @twittytelly​ @kelbabyblue​ @maan24​

If your name appears above but the tag isn’t live please let me know.

[melodyalanaroster]

To answer some Fanfic Questions...

So, this is my response to @broxklynn‘s post... I decided to make this its own post... So that It can be properly answered.

1. How and why did you start to write? Is there some kind of story behind it?

I started writing in general when I was in elementary school... Back when I just had a Platform 9 3/4 journal, not many friends, recess, and a desire to immerse myself in the world of Harry Potter. I enjoyed writing, and even joined the Writer’s Club in High School (but I eventually left to join Anime Club and Divergent Thinking Society). As for writing MCL fanfiction, I began writing Sam’s and Alana’s stories as early as when I first got into the fandom, back in 2013. Alana’s story started out as “A Fresh Start”, had a one shot called “When I Wake”, then turned into “Let The Dawn Be Broken”, and is now “The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster”. The final product barely has any hints of the first 3... In fact, Sam’s story, “Fighting Darkness”, has been completely debunked due to what I’ve decided to canonize in “The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster”. Writing MCL fanfiction has been a major help in distracting me from the depression that was caused by family issues, severe abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, my mom’s disease and her death, as well as working at several shitty jobs. Writing has helped me escape reality and keep myself sane enough to not be a black hole of hate, anger, and sadness to my friends and boyfriend.

2. What do you struggle the most with your writing?

There are 2 major things I struggle with... 1 is Timing. I often set deadlines for myself that I never meet and it makes me so frustrated that I miss them... There are currently things in my drafts that were meant to be “Holiday Specials” for Valentine’s Day and Halloween 2020 that are still unfinished... It makes me feel like I’m letting my readers down, when its more of me letting myself down... The other thing is Inspiration. Because I hate my job, I often think about Alana’s story in an effort to not be completely consumed by the fact that I do hate my work... Due to that, I often come up with ideas for my story that I think are FANTASTIC for my story... But, by the time I get home, I’m either in too much pain or too tired to write, or I’ve forgotten the ideas...

3. What is your favorite genre to write?

I love writing Romance with a bit of Slice of Life and a hint of Action/Adventure... 

4. Slowburn or “Flame”/PWP?

Slow burn any day.

5. How do you overcome writer’s block?

If I absolutely can’t write... I work on other stuff I need to do... Typically, something around the house, or something online I need to do... I also look for cool stuff to add to wish lists... I’ll occasionally play videogames or read comic books... In an effort to subvert writer’s block, I like having multiple chapters in my drafts at once. If I’m not in the mood to work on one chapter, I can work on a different one.

6. What kind of thing you dislike the most, when reading a fanfiction? (for example: particular plot, grammar mistakes)

One thing that makes me upset (and it makes me madder when I do this) is misspelling... Especially when it looks like its almost blatant... You have autocorrect, USE IT! Or when a fanfic is so awful, yet the author acts like their work is a gift from god... I don’t mind a “bad” fanfiction... Hell, the concept of “My Immortal” is so bad that its hilarious... But Fifty Shades did a lot of damage and E.L. James acts like she’s bigger than Jesus... Seriously, she wrote Twilight fanfiction, changed some minor details and names, people who have no knowledge of BDSM ate it up, and she acts like she’s a “Sex and Relationship Guru”...

7. What’s the biggest issue for you, when writing a Beemoov fanfiction?

The biggest issue for me is finding out when to allow for Beemoov’s writing and placement to take place in my story. I don’t like a lot of the events of UL and LL, so I’m often finding myself in a position where I have to watch video playthroughs and go “Okay, how can I omit this character, but keep this scene?”. I’ve had to do that A LOT with Alexy and Rosalaya.... Although, to a certain extent, I’ll often cut their scenes out altogether. I really hate what Beemoov did to them. They were great characters in HSL, but became utter shit in UL and stayed shit in LL. To make up for Beemoov’s writing style, I’ve created my own characters, added in old characters (like Kentin and Armin), added in bits from the manga (like Viktor, Severina and their fathers), and gone off on my own storyline. The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster is close to MCL at times, but often veers off onto its own road.

8. Have you ever created a character based on person in real life? (celebrity, someone that you know, etc)

YES!!! A LOT of characters in my story are based on real people! Alana’s step-father, Nate Films, is closely based on Nathan Fillion. A lot of her family members are based on members of my own family, just changed a bit to fit the story. Lynne Roster, Alana’s mom, is what I had always dreamed my own mom would be... Hell, Alana’s cat, Sylvester, is based on my own childhood cat, Luna.

9. How do you feel about your own characters? Do you think of them as your babies or have rather love-hate relationship with them? (And, do you have favorite one?)

I love most of my characters. I do hate 3 in particular... But, you’re supposed to hate, or at least not respect, them... That’s why I poured my hatred into them... Those 3 are Carol, Kai and Azrael. Carol has aspects of my abuser in her. You’ll see more of her when I finally post the HSL related chapters... And understand what I mean... Kai is based on one of my real life cousins that I’ve not been happy with for years (the one who my bf has deemed “the family failure”). You mainly see him in the Cousin Mels chapters, and in the Christmas Special... Azrael is the one who is seen the most in the UL chapters, and she is a main adversary for Alana. She is the one who broke her the most, the one who ended Alana’s relationship with Nathaniel, the one who truly traumatized her. As for ones I love... The one I love the most is Alana... I know, she’s a reflection of me, so that’s kind of vain... But, she’s a part of me. When I do finish her story and am at the point where I need to say “Goodbye”, it will hurt....

10. Enemies-to-lovers or friends/bestfriends-to lovers?

Definitely friends/best friends to lovers. I also like toying with what happens when best friends turn to lovers, but circumstance parts them and one moves on...

11. Is it easy for you to get inside your character’s head? Can you empathize with them? Is there’s some similarities between you and your main character?

It is VERY easy for me to get into Alana’s head... Like I said in #9, she is a reflection of me. She looks and acts like how I’d like to in a lot of situations... Her life is more interesting, traumatized, and more well off than mine... But, she is still me in major ways...

12. Who has been the biggest supporter of your writing?

Definitely my boyfriend. He doesn’t really understand the game itself... But, he likes how happy it makes me and he respects how much of my heart, soul, blood, sweat and tears that I’ve poured into writing my story. He loves listening to me read passages from it to him while I’m working. He gives me advice and his opinion is highly valued... My family knows I’m writing a large story, and have seen some of the images that I’ve gotten commissioned, but they don’t really know or care about the game. They do respect the fact that I am writing. They love the fact that I’m slightly following in my mom’s footsteps in that regard (she wrote 3 books and several poems). My online friends have been very supportive as well! I’m constantly updating them on what I’ve worked on each day in my Discord Server and the words of encouragement always help.

13. How do you handle criticism?

Not well. Due to the abuse and family issues mentioned in #1, for a good amount of my life, I’ve gotten nothing but harsh criticism... So, now that I’m away from all that, at 26 years old, I’m just now getting to a point where I’m starting to take it better... But, I’ve got a long way to go.

14. Do you like giving your characters trauma? Why/why not?

I hate sounding like a sadist... But, I’m going to anyway, so fuck it... Yes. I have done awful things to Alana over the years. In A Fresh Start, she got sexually assaulted and ostracized. In When I Wake, she gets into a car crash, put into a coma, and in her dream state murdered by Francis in front of Nathaniel. In Let The Dawn Be Broken, the plan was for her to end a war. In “The Melancholy of Melody Alana Roster”, her childhood cat dies, her mom gets sick, she gets abused by Carol, her best friends get ripped away from her for a bit, she gets sent to a country halfway around the world alone, she gets assaulted and ultimately turned into a weapon of mass destruction.... I’ve even thought of killing her mom off at one point... But decided against it...

Now, granted, A Fresh Start and Let The Dawn Be Broken never saw completion, but happy endings were planned for them...

I do this, all while giving Alana happy endings in each story because “If Alana can go through utter hell and make it through, then so can I.”... I know, I’m “god” in that regard and I can control how Alana’s life is.... But, the fact that in my writing, she ends up standing tall, happy, with everything she wants, after everything she goes through does make me feel better.... 

15. Are you proud of yourself? When you look at first piece you wrote and compare it to the latest one?

Yes. If you look at A Fresh Start, you can tell it was written by someone fresh out of High School. There’s no real depth to it. Let The Dawn Be Broken isn’t much better... But, The Melancholy of Melody Alana Roster has become my magnum opus. It is the largest piece I have EVER written, and will probably remain the largest piece I write. I am very proud of what I have created... And when its last word is written, and I am ready to get it made for it’s place on my shelf, I will feel very bittersweet about it... That being said, my original plan for a sequel involving Nathaniel’s and Alana’s daughter, Aurora, has been discarded. I don’t believe Aurora could ever have as much of my heart that her parents do...

And there you have it! Some insight into my world, writing, and history!

[tyunniverse]

TXT x DISNEY Halloween Shorts 🎃 (1/5)

pairing: ot5 x reader

genre: fluff, college au

warnings: light swearing

synopsis: there's a halloween event at your uni and a few students are in the mood for misfit.

yeonjun | soobin | beomgyu | taehyun | hueningkai

YEONJUN | Tangled (1.8k)

A cloud of dust flurries around the room the moment you set one of the boxes down the floor, making you sneeze. You half expected the theatre storage room to be cleaner this time of the year due to the frequent visits and rummaging of the other students, but that sadly wasn't the case.

Your class was one of the few that had a small reenactment planned for tonight's event and you were doing Tangled. Your class president's request to gather the props and costumes needed for tonight was no match for the excitement you felt when you'd been granted to play the role of your favorite character, Rapunzel. You just didn't expect the place to look like it hadn't been cared for in years, and the props and costumes to be as heavy as they are. A little help would be nice right now.

The door creaks and you quickly turn around, sighing in relief when you saw the the chair still pressed against the old door . Your class president had warned you about the door's broken knob. The thing can only be opened from the outside, and once you get shut in, you can only hope for someone to notice and get you out. Unless, of course, you're willing to face the consequences for breaking school property.

You exercised a little caution upon entering earlier, blocking the door from accidentally closing. You check the time on the clock. The play was going to start in an hour or so and luckily you were already in costume, so that's one less problem. All you needed to do now was gather the last box of costumes and you were out. The box was placed at the far end of the room so you make your way there, carefully maneuvering around the dusty cabinets and compartments as to not soil your costume.

Another creak echoes in the room and you paid it no mind, crouching down to check the contents of each box. The chair you placed there was pretty heavy, and it'd take more than the wind to push it away. You continue to check the boxes until you hear another creak and the sound of the door slamming shut.

You frantically stood up and felt the life of you being drained out as you see the door closely shut and a familiar pink hair sticking out from the other side of the cabinets.

"Oof, the winds sure are strong this time of year." You hear the person chuckle to himself and you knew all too well who it was.

You scramble your way towards the front, fuming. "Yeonjun, what the fuck?!"

"Holy—" Yeonjun jumps, clutching his chest. "Y/N?! What the hell was that for?! You scared me." He huffs, trying to calm himself down.

You glare up at him. "Do you even know what you just did?!"

Yeonjun sighs, holding his arms up. "Yes, I know, I know. I shouldn't have entered the storage room, but listen—"

"No, you listen. Do you seriously not know what you just did?" You snap.

Yeonjun gives you a confused look. "Huh? You're not talking abour me coming inside the storage room?" He cocks his head to the side when you don't answer. Poor guy felt like he was in the middle of an interrogation. He was starting to feel uncomfortable with how pissed you looked so he turns toward the door. "Look, if you're not gonna answer me then I'll just come back when you're done and—"

"Oh." Yeonjun tries twisting the doorknob again. "Haha, is this thing broken?" He laughs it off, now facing you. "You have a key right?"

Silence.

"If the key works then I wouldn't be mad right now, Yeonjun." You tell him and the gears in his mind finally click. He just locked you both in.

An idea lights up in his head and he starts searching through his pockets. "Wait, I think I have my phone with— wait, wait— yeah, no." He chuckles nervously, eyes slowly meeting yours. "You don't happen to have your phone, do you?"

"Yeah, well that's exactly why I'm here." Yeonjun sits down on top one of the boxes. "I have to dress up as the Beast and hand out flyers later but it's at the same time as Kai's performance and you know I wouldn't miss it for the world. Plus, he threatened me if I don't show up, so I got someone to switch with me."

You raise a brow, crossing your arms. "That doesn't explain why you're here though."

"Rapunzel didn't exactly have any pockets in her outfit, Yeonjun." You give your costume a quick patting. "What are you doing here anyway? I thought your department was doing this whole Beauty and the Beast themed buffet."

"I'm getting there." Yeonjun winks or at least tries to. "We have a lot of time anyway."

"Speak for yourself." You throw a dusty old rag at him and he coughs after it hits his face. "Our play starts in an hour and I have to get these costumes to them in 10 minutes. And now we're both stuck here because of you."

"Alright, I'll cut to the chase! Let's make a deal."

You throw another rag at him and he catches it, throwing it to the ground. You huff, "You're not exactly in the position to make deals, Yeonjun. You got us into this mess."

"Well, you're not in the position to decline either since we're both stuck here." Yeonjun smirks, standing up. "Look, one of my seniors is in charge of handing us our costumes and he won't be arriving for another hour. I have to get the costume myself so I can hand it to my substitute but I can't do that when my senior's keeping an eye on me. So here's the thing," He walks over to the Beast's costume that was hung up along with a few others. "You let me take this costume and swear you won't tell anyone about it. If someone from the theatre approaches you later asking about the costume, you say you don't know anything. In return, I'll get us out of here ASAP."

You stare back at him in annoyance. As much as you'd like to rat on him as usual, you were one of Kai's closest friends and unfortunately, Yeonjun was also a friend of his, hence why you knew each other. Kai at least needed one of his friends to be there for his performance and it certainly wouldn't be you. He had told you after you'd been chosen as Rapunzel and you both understood that you had your own things going on at the same time so it's fine. You still planned on making it until his last song though.

"Fine. I'm only doing this for Kai and the fact that I'm desperate to get out of here." You agree to the compromise and Yeonjun grins. "But the moment I'll get in trouble for being caught lying, you don't even wanna imagine what I'll do to you."

"Works for me." Yeonjun reaches out his hand and you two shake on it. "Now, I'm gonna need your wig."

"What? No." Your hands instinctively rope in Rapunzel's long ass wig. "It took me nearly 30 minutes to prepare this."

"Fine, then you'll have to do it yourself." Yeonjun walks over to the small window placed up high on the wall. "There's a lot of people down there but I doubt they'll hear us screaming from the third floor. Instead," He grins, pointing at your wig. "You're gonna stick your arm out with the wig and twirl it around to get their attention."

His idea was the dumbest thing you'd heard that day but it actually might be dumb enough to work. You were pretty desperate already. What's a little wig sacrifice? "Fine." You sigh, approaching him. "Hand me the chair."

"Can't." Yeonjun shakes his head. "I moved it outside."

You frown. "How am I supposed to get up there, then? None of these boxes can hold my weight."

Yeonjun chuckles as he opens his arms. "Don't worry, I'll hold you up."

Your feel your face heat up at his suggestion. The room suddenly felt a bit stuffier than it had been a moment ago and you wish you didn't have to be in this situation. "Be careful with the dress."

"Sure, sure." Yeonjun coos, moving in closer to scoop you up.

The two of you struggle for a while to balance yourselves. Yeonjun had his arms wrapped around your legs as he hoisted you up, and you quickly gather the rest of your wig and toss the length through the window.

"Start twirling it around!"

You do as he says and starts twirling the wig around like a madman.

"Start screaming! HEE— ah wait, HEEELP!!"

You giggle when his voice cracked in the middle. "HELP!!"

A crowd gathers on the ground, marvelling at the sight of a spinning wig from the third floor. A few students heard your screams and sent someone up there to rescue you. Luckily, it wasn't the senior that Yeonjun had told you about so she left the two of you to sort things out on your own after opening the door. It still baffles you how his plan even worked to begin.

The clock catches your attention, reminding you of your tight deadline. You quickly gather the boxes of props and costumes you'd prepared earlier and made a quick stop at where Yeonjun was. "I have to go." You tell him.

"Yeah, me too." Yeonjun flashes you a smile but the duffle bag he was holding doesn't go unnoticed. He follows your line of sight and chuckles when he sees you were staring at the bag. "A deal's a deal. Don't worry too much about it, we won't get caught." He attempts another wink, and this time it actually works.

"Bye then." You nod, not wanting to waste anymore time.

"Wait!" Yeonjun holds on to your wrist and you turn around, meeting his gaze. "Good luck."

"Yeah, we both know that's not what you want to say." You grin.

"You're gonna try to show up later right?" Yeonjun smirks. "I'll save you a seat next to me."

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 24

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Halloween chapter, part 2.

A/N: Yay, an update! I think some of you are gonna be happy about the characters that are being introduced in this chapter... Also lots of Caleo dorkiness (and canon references) in it! And you'll get to see if you were right with your costume guesses :D

Also like I already mentioned last week, this is the last chapter that I have written so far (when I started posting this fic I tried to make sure I'd have at least 7 chapters ready so I wouldn't have to stress about deadlines... and here we are now) so it is possible that updates may slow down a bit, at least if the chapter wants to become long. But I am still /trying/ to keep up with the regular updates the best I can :) So worry not!

Now, enjoy and let me know what you think!! Ps. somehow we’ve managed to pass 50k words already :O

Words: 4040

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

…

“Hi, you guys!” Piper, who was dressed as Wonder Woman, greeted Leo and Calypso first when they arrived, gesturing for them to come in.

“Hello! I was afraid Argo II had decided to stop working because you guys are late,” Jason the Superman noted as he offered to take Calypso’s coat and put it in a hanger by the door.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Jason, that possibility did cross my mind as well,” Calypso said, casting Leo a meaningful look. “But no, not this time.”

“We’re only 10 minutes late!” Leo protested, checking the time from his phone. “I was busy finishing something… and Calypso took her time preparing herself as well. She probably did her wig for like two hours.” He gave her a not so serious side-eye.

“I did not!” Calypso said defensively. “Yeah, I straightened and combed and braided it but that took me maybe 15-20 minutes so he is highly exaggerating.”

“Don’t worry, Calypso, we know he does that a lot.” Piper smiled at her reassuringly. “Speaking of your wig, though, you look very cute! That hair reminds me of the style you had before my makeover. You’re dressed as the mythology Calypso, right?”

“Yes, I am,” Calypso said, pleased that Piper had figured that out so fast. “I thought it would be fun to be a bit self ironic for once. I haven’t really had a good reason to sew recently so this was a nice excuse to do that as well.” She made a small twirl to show the dress better.

“That dress really looks great!” Piper told her. “I would gladly commission you to sew me clothes; it’s so hard to find anything nice from the clothes stores these days. But Leo.” She turned back to him. “I see someone hasn’t bothered to get a costume. I wasn’t expecting that from you because you’re always so excited about them.”

“No, you got it all wrong.” Leo wagged his finger at her. “I do have it here, but as I told Cal, it would have been too difficult to wear in the car.” He dropped his bag on the floor, causing a loud thud as it hit the ground.

“Alright. Care to give us any hint what it is?” Piper asked curiously. “Seems heavy.” Calypso wondered if this was something they did every year.

“I’m just saying that it’s inspired by some movies that united us three,” Leo noted mysteriously. “But that’s all, you’ll see soon!”

“My mind is blank now,” Piper said. “Jason, what movies have we watched with him?”

“The first one that comes to my mind is Star Wars,” Jason reminded her. Suddenly both Jason and Piper’s eyes widened in realization. “Could it be?”

“Oh no, Leo you didn’t!” Piper doubled over in laughter when it occurred to her what Leo’s costume most likely was. “I can’t wait to see this!”

“I hope you took pictures with Festus!” Jason couldn’t keep his poker face either, and Calypso watched their reactions with confusion.

“Don’t worry, I will show them later.” Leo grinned, unperplexed by Jason and Piper’s laughter. “Now, where can I change?”

Piper showed him an empty room where he could get into his costume in peace, while Calypso started looking around the house on her own. Even though the place seemed rather fancy, Jason and Piper had managed to make it cozier with their personal objects. A lot of them had seen life and were worn but somehow they still fit in with the newer decorations.

As Calypso reached the living room, her focus went to the guests who had already arrived at the party. She waved at Annabeth and nodded awkwardly to Percy. Even though she and Annabeth were friends again, she wasn’t quite sure how she should act near Percy so ‘reserved’ felt the most natural reaction. She couldn’t help but smile a bit, though, when she registered their costumes: Annabeth had a Chiton just like her, although grey instead of white, with some silvery accessories and a beautiful owl shaped brooch over her chest. Perhaps the most impressive part of her costume was the Greek styled helmet that was used in battles and that hid most of Annabeth’s curly ponytail. Calypso was quite certain she was dressed as Athena, the Greek goddess that according to her was the one she identified herself the most with. Percy on the other hand was wearing sandals, shorts, a tropical shirt, and a belt with fishing equipment and he was holding a fishing rod in his hand. Calypso couldn’t quite figure out who he was supposed to be, other than some sort of fisherman.

“Hi,” Calypso greeted them as she got to hearing distance with them. “You guys look nice. You’re Athena, right?” She asked Annabeth. “Matches my theme, don’t you think?”

“Sure does,” Annabeth nodded, eyeing Calypso’s costume. “You look pretty much exactly like how I imagine the mythology Calypso.”

“Thank you. Coming from you it’s a big compliment.” She turned Percy. “I can’t figure out who you are, though. You don’t seem like a Greek god?”

“I am, though,” Percy replied. “I’m Poseidon.”

“Ooh, so that’s why the fishing gear!” Calypso realized. “But I don’t think the Greeks had tropical shirts quite yet.”

“No, you’re right in that.” Percy shook his head, smiling a bit. “But I’m basing this on the version in the Peter Johnson series. That’s how he was described in it.”

“I didn’t know you have read that too,” Calypso said, “But makes sense. Um, the Poseidon and Athena of the mythology hated each other, though. Not that it’s really my business, but I hope you two are doing fine…?” She asked a bit nervously, not wanting to be the reason for their issues.

“Oh yeah, we are,” Percy confirmed immediately. “It’s just an old joke – back when Annabeth and I were reading the Peter Johnson books I used to say Poseidon is my godly parent and Athena Annabeth’s, and that just kind of stuck with us.”

“Alright.” Calypso accepted Percy’s answer, turning her attention back to Annabeth. “By the way, where did you get that helmet? It definitely looks fancier than most of the plastic ones you see at costume shops.”

“My father collects these things,” Annabeth answered, lifting the helmet from her head for a moment. “I’ve told you he’s also a historian, right? Well, one of his friends wanted to make a replica of the ancient Greek helmets with some modern machines and dad bought this from him. I’m not saying this is 100 per cent accurate but it looks pretty cool, in my opinion.”

“It does,” Calypso confirmed.

“You came with Leo, right?” Percy asked then, to which Calypso nodded. “Where is he? I can’t wait to see his costume; he usually goes for something that is way over the top. Last year he was Hiccup from How to Train your Dragon and he had made a Toothless costume for his dog. I’ve also seen pics of him as Iron Man. Yes, with a full iron costume.”

“I can believe that of him,” Calypso chuckled, imagining Leo in the said costume. “He just went to change into his costume because apparently he couldn’t drive in it. He didn’t reveal what he was going to be, but it does sound like something extravagant.”

“I missed his costume last year but I’ll be sure to have a camera ready when he shows up this time,” Annabeth said happily. Calypso was relieved that the conversation was going this well; she hadn’t known what to expect beforehand because this was the first time she was in the same room with Percy since the ‘incident’. Talking with him now, though, made her realize that holding a grudge wouldn’t be smart and he seemed to think the same way.

“I just realized,” Calypso decided to change the topic, “that I’ve never heard the story of how you guys know Jason and Piper. So how did that happen?”

“It’s a funny story,” Percy started, smiling at the memory. “Jason and I used to be the captains of rivaling soccer teams when we were around 16. Well, one time Jason’s team was visiting us but we were playing in an arena that had just been renovated so I hadn’t been there before. I may have been a bit late from our team meeting and I was a bit lost so I decided to ask one staff lady where I was supposed to go. Somehow she got our teams mixed up and I ended up in the locker room of Jason’s team. Some of Jason’s teammates said that my expression was worth seeing when I realized the mistake but I dunno about that. The funny thing was that somehow the same thing had happened to Jason; he had also been late for the meeting because of traffic or something and he had gotten into my team’s locker room. Well, after the game we had a good laugh about it together and ended up talking about other stuff as well and noticed we have a lot in common. That’s how we became friends. When we moved into the same town, we started training together at least a few times a week.”

“Piper and I didn’t learn to know each other until Jason and she started dating a couple of years ago and they invited Percy to some party where I went with him. To be honest, I was a bit suspicious about her at first because we seemed very different but eventually we learned to respect each other’s qualities. And here we are,” Annabeth added.

“Those are some cool stories,” Calypso said. “It seems like a funny coincidence that somehow we all ended up in this city even though most of us are from somewhere else. Like Leo is from Texas, I am from Greece…” “Speaking of him,” Annabeth had to muffle his laughter with her hand, “I believe we are finally getting some answers about his costume.”

“Oh… my gods” was all Calypso could say when she turned to the direction Annabeth was looking at. “You’re really something else.”

Leo was completely hidden inside his costume, but Calypso could practically hear him grinning at their reactions. The costume looked very much like in the movies; golden (just painted, not real gold, because there was no way Leo could afford something like that) plating forming a droid with big round eyes and an ability to speak lots and lots of different languages: C-3PO from Star Wars.

“Holy shit, dude, that looks so real.” Percy gaped at Leo. “I’m starting to understand why you spent so much time in your room the past few weeks.”

“Why C-3PO, though?” Calypso asked once she managed to put her poker face back on. “Does that have some story behind it?”

“Because, duh, it looks cool!” Leo exclaimed with a mechanical voice from inside his costume. “I dunno, ever since I first saw C-3PO as a kid I thought it would be cool to be able to build something like that. And hey, his ability to translate like all the possible languages is pretty neat. Me? I just know 3.”

“Isn’t it uncomfortable in there, though?” Calypso asked. “That thing must be heavy.”

“Sunshine, I’m always uncomfortable. But this was a childhood dream of mine so I sure as heck am not backing off now,” Leo said with determination.

“A stubborn one, aren’t you?” Calypso stated. “Even I have to admit, though, that you have certainly done some thorough job with it. Hey, I should take photos before I forget! You don’t get to see this every day.”

The others dug their phones up as well and for a while Leo just made silly poses while they took pictures, clearly enjoying the attention his costume got. Eventually he started demanding that Calypso should join him for the photos but she was a bit hesitant at first.

Leo argued: “Come on. Greek mythology meets Star Wars? You don’t see a crossover like that every day.”

“Can’t argue with that, I suppose,” Calypso said and went next to him. “Well, do we have some kind of story for Calypso and C-3PO’s meeting?” she asked as Percy and Annabeth waved at them to look at the camera.

Leo considered her question for a moment. “Oh, how about this? C-3PO somehow ends up on Calypso’s island - because duh, Calypso is cursed so she can’t leave the island…”

“You seem to know surprisingly much about Greek mythology, just saying…” Calypso noted while trying to smile for the photos, resting her hand on the metallic shoulder.

“I told ya, Sunshine, you can blame tía Callida for that…” Leo reminded her. “Anyway, I imagine those two don’t really like each other at first because they’re so different but eventually they learn to respect each other’s skills; C-3PO can translate basically any language and Calypso is good at all kinds of handiworks, which is hard for a droid.”

“And? What happens after that?” Calypso asked curiously.

Leo considered it for a moment. “C-3PO doesn’t really wanna leave Calypso’s island but he has galaxies to save with his friend R2-D2 so he has to go but he promises to come get her afterwards.”

“Aw, Leo, that is kind of sweet,” Calypso commented, suddenly aware of the metal arm that had snuck around her waist. “Does he… does he ever return, though? Shouldn’t that be impossible?”

“For a human, maybe, but he’s a droid,” Leo noted. “Unfortunately during a big battle he blows up badly but the ever so faithful R2-D2 collects the pieces and finds someone who can rebuild him again. And boom, he makes it back and lives happily ever after with his goddess.”

“What’s the term you use when you enjoy a fictional relationship a lot?” Calypso asked. “Shipping?” Annabeth nodded at her. “I don’t know, Leo, to me it sounds like you ship those two. Isn’t that a bit weird?” “What, why would that be weird? I’ve seen people ship…”

“I see these two have gotten into a full on nerd mode again,” Annabeth said quietly to Percy while they were waiting for the flatmates to stop their bickering so they’d be able to take the photos. “Not projecting themselves into their characters, right?”

“No, definitely not,” Percy agreed.

Eventually Leo and Calypso stopped bickering and Annabeth was able to take the pictures. Even if Leo was mostly hidden by his costume, Calypso felt a bit self conscious about the fact that these were the first photos of them together. They did a few goofy poses because Annabeth and Percy told them to, but Calypso thought she probably looked more embarrassed than funny in them.

Once they were done, Leo went to Annabeth who was going through the photos and bowed his head a bit to see them better. “Hey, these do look pretty cool! It’s probably just the lighting but here you look like you’re blushing to some funny comment C-3PO made.”

“Show me!” Calypso yelped nervously and took the phone from Annabeth. When she saw it, she could immediately tell Leo was not wrong; she really was blushing. “Yeah, it’s definitely those candles in the background that do it… And I think it’s pretty warm in here, maybe all the people here heat this room…”

“OK, if you say so,” Leo said but Calypso imagined that he was looking at her suspiciously through his costume.

Trying to get the others’ attention to something else, she said: “So, who else has arrived so far?”

“Nico and Will. I think they went to get some snacks from the dining room,” Piper, who had just entered the room, answered.

“Leo told me that Nico is Jason’s relative, but what about Will?” Calypso asked her.

“Will is Nico’s boyfriend. This is the first time we’re meeting him but they seem very good together. At least he seems to have a grounding effect on Nico, and he actually listens to him, unlike most of us. Um, sorry, it’s a long story, one that I should probably save for another time. Nico may be a bit hard to approach sometimes but he is a very nice guy when you learn to know him. Just… been through a lot. I guess like many of us here. But he seems way happier now,” Piper said, and as if on cue, they could hear some distant laughter coming from the dining room.

“We should start a traumatized college kids’ club,” Leo attempted to joke, and the others hummed in agreement. Maybe she did belong to this group after all, Calypso thought. If only they knew, though…

“This just got cheerful,” Percy said, interrupting Calypso’s thought process. “Who’s up for blue candies? Get them before Will and Nico eat them all.”

“I heard that, Jackson!” Nico entered the room without a warning. “No offense to you or your mom but blue candies aren’t exactly my thing.”

“Hi, Nico,” Percy greeted him, seeming a bit flustered after Nico’s comment. “You haven’t met Calypso, right?” He pointed at her.

“No, I haven’t,” Nico took a quick look at her and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Alright, in that case, this is Calypso Astal. And Calypso, this is Nico di Angelo,” Percy introduced them to each other.

“Nice to meet you,” Calypso approached him, but he seemed to evaluate her for a moment before he took her hand.

“Likewise,” Nico said finally. “I think Jason has mentioned you a few times.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” Calypso said a bit unsurely, like every time she met a new person. The lonely years still had a toll on her, and even though she liked spending time with her friends, meeting new people was always a bit nerve wracking to her. “You’re his relative, right?”

“A distant cousin,” Nico answered. “Yeah, our fathers are related, but I have my mother’s last name and Jason has his.”

“I take it your mother has roots elsewhere, based on the last name?” Calypso asked.

“She was Italian,” Nico shrugged. “I lived there my first years too. But now I can barely remember those times.”

Calypso noticed the use of past tense, but she thought it was probably better to not ask about that in the middle of a party. “Oh. I’ve been to Italy a few times. I’m originally from Greece.”

“What brought you here, then?” Nico asked.

“Dad’s work,” Calypso responded in a tone that told everyone she wouldn’t elaborate on that topic more. It seemed to have become a habit to her.

“Anyway,” Leo, who had managed to stay quiet for a surprisingly long amount of time in Calypso’s opinion, stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Nico, a little bird told me,” he looked at Jason, “that your boyfriend is a Star Wars geek. Is that true?”

Nico took one look at Leo’s costume and his mouth twitched when he realized why Leo was asking. “He is, but don’t let him get started on it, or else he will never stop. Besides, he’s not my boyfriend, I prefer calling him…”

“A significant nuisance?” Will showed up from the dining room, carrying a plate full of food. “Don’t mind him, he just warms up a bit slow.”

“Yes, this is Will,” Nico sighed, addressing those who hadn’t met them before. “Sometimes he’s a nuisance, sometimes he can be quite OK. When he’s having a good day.”

“Same back at you, dear,” Will laughed. “Did I hear someone mention Star Wars, though?”

“You did,” Leo said, stepping forward so Will could see his costume better. Needless to say, Will looked beyond thrilled.

“Oh boy, here we go again,” Nico said quietly before Will even had time to comment on the costume.

“Woah, that must be the best C-3PO costume I’ve seen. And yeah, I’ve seen a few so I don’t compliment you for nothing,” Will assured.

“Thanks, man, I did spend quite a while with it,” Leo said, high fiving Will. “Glad someone here appreciates good things.”

“I still hope you’re not one of those fans who have only seen the most recent movies and not the originals,” Will noted.

“Heck, no!” Leo exclaimed immediately. “The original three for the win! Mom and I used to watch them a lot… um, when I was little. She was a big fan. But the newer ones just don’t feel the same.” Calypso had a feeling Leo had almost said something else, but he had changed his phrasing at the last moment.

“You have a pretty good taste,” Will said approvingly. Then he finally realized he hadn’t even asked Leo and Calypso’s names before getting into the geek mode.

“So, who are you two? I already met Percy and Annabeth earlier but I don’t think I know you guys yet.”

“I’m Leo Valdez, and this is my, um, flatmate, Calypso Astal,” Leo introduced. Calypso hoped there was a better word to describe their relationship than a ‘flatmate’ but at the moment it was probably the best and the safest option there was.

“Flatmates, huh?” Will repeated. “How did that happen?”

“I was in a hurry to find a roof over my head so I put in the application that I also accept mixed flats,” Calypso replied. “I didn’t meet Leo beforehand because, um, that would have been a bit difficult to arrange in this case, but it worked out OK.” Calypso noticed Leo was looking at her from the corner of his eye, and she realized she had never even talked about that option before. The truth was that she had had to plan her leaving very thoroughly so her father wouldn’t notice and she had driven to Indianapolis as fast as possible, with no time for second guessing.

“And my flat happened to have a room free because our boy Jason decided to move in with Beauty Queen,” Leo added to that story. “It’s really no stranger than that.”

“Oh, right, someone must have mentioned that you and Jason used to be flatmates,” Will recalled. “I just didn’t connect the dots.”

Jason had apparently finished welcoming the rest of the guests because he joined the group in the living room. “That reminds me, I don’t think I’ve asked you, Calypso, if Leo still leaves his dishes undone and if he has empty milk cartons in the fridge.”

“He used to do that?” Calypso asked with amusement. “After seeing his room that’s not so hard to picture, but no, he’s been pretty tidy in the common area. Although one time he bribed me to do his dishes for him in exchange for some of his food.”

“It was a good deal!” Leo protested. “You didn’t have to cook and you also got to taste some Valdez’ sizzling hot quesadillas so I’d say it was a win-win. Besides, you didn’t seem to have anything against that.”

“Alright, I will admit the quesadillas were pretty good,” Calypso conceded. “But a true gentleman offers them without even asking. Well, other than that he’s been OK,” she told Jason with a playful twinkle in her eye.

“I guess he really is able to change his habits, then,” he replied. “At least when the flatmate is someone he...”

Before Jason had time to finish his sentence, Leo intervened: “Folks, do we really have to be talking about my cleaning habits in front of people I don’t know? The first impressions are important, especially when it comes to Supersized McShizzle!”

“We’re just being honest, Repair Boy.” Calypso couldn’t resist booping his metal covered nose. Apparently she just didn’t know how to not cross the line with this boy, she sighed in her mind.

“Is that all? Where’s the feisty Sunshine I know?,” Leo said in a low tone, so the others could barely hear his comment, coming out almost flirty.

“Shut up,” Calypso answered equally quietly but held her gaze at him.

“Ahem,” they suddenly heard Piper’s voice behind them. “In case you’ve stopped with the flirting, I’d like you to meet a couple of people.”

Calypso turned to see the newcomers and as she recognized the Hunter badges both of them had attached to their shirts, something in her mind just suddenly turned off.

[jaysworlds]

Whumptober Day Thirty One (Halloween Special :)

Breaking into an abandoned (and supposedly haunted) building on Halloween probably isn’t the brightest idea Gerry’s every had, but honestly he’s in a bad mood, and at least if his mother asks he can lie and tell her that he thought maybe the rumours came from one of her stupid books.

Honestly, though, he just wants to do something vaguely spooky for tonight, even if it’s by himself.

Halloween is overrated, really, especially since he knows there are real monsters out there, but a small, childish part of him wants to dress up in a bad vampire costume and … carve a pumpkin or something stupid like that.

It’s not that he’d even want to do something like that under ordinary circumstances, but it’s the fact that he’s not allowed that really pisses him off.

It’s a waste of time, Gerard, his mother tells him, every year, I won’t have this ridiculous paraphernalia in my house.

And that’s been it. Every year. No trick-or-treating, no pumpkins, no Halloween parties, and now he’s eighteen he feels like he’s probably a bit old to ever go back and try to catch up on all the things that he missed out on.

Which is what brings him here. It’s not exactly a traditional celebration, but he’s not exactly a traditional person, and at least it’s something, right?

He’d thought there would be more people out here tonight, but maybe it’s too early, everyone else out at parties and the like, and when he climbs over the barbed wire fence and into the condemned area there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around.

He tells himself he’s not disappointed.

Still, it’s a cool autumn evening and it’s rather nice as he heads across the crunchy leaves and towards the sagging building.

He’s been in a lot of condemned and collapsing buildings before, but never just for the fun of it. He doesn’t have a deadline, or a monster chasing him through the hallways. It’s just him and the wind whistling through the broken windows.

It’s nice.

Some of the anger he’d been feeling earlier in the evening has seeped out of him, and he finds himself humming as he climbs through an already-smashed window and into the building.

There’s graffiti on the wall opposite, so he’s clearly not the first person in here, but he’d never expected to be. He leaves the room and starts walking down the first hallway he sees, deeper into the abandoned building.

He doesn’t trust the stairs, when he finds them. They look as though they’re only a few minutes from collapsing, and the last thing he wants is to end tonight in A&E because he fell through the floor and broke his leg. That would really suck ass.

So he ignores the stairs and stays on the ground floor, where there’s less chance of him falling through the floor.

‘Less chance,’ as it turns out, doesn’t mean ‘no chance,’ a fact that Gerry discovers very unexpectedly when the seemingly solid floor beneath him gives out, sending him tumbling down into a basement which he hadn’t even known was there.

It’s not exactly ideal, but he doesn’t injure himself, past a few scrapes and bruised pride, so he just stands up and brushes himself off, looking around.

It’s very dark, which isn’t exactly unexpected, given as it’s a basement, but it does mean that Gerry has to pull out the torch that he hadn’t needed to use in the first floor of the house.

The beam lights up a small, dirty room and a heavy metal door that’s pushed a little ajar. Gerry tips the torch up for a moment, looking up at the hole he fell through, but there’s no chance of him getting out of there, so he heads towards the door instead. Hopefully the staircase won’t be too far away.

The corridor beyond the door is far longer than he’d expected, and for a moment he hesitates, wondering if it would be easier to try and build some sort of scaffolding to get out of the hole.

No. It wouldn’t be.

He starts walking, shining the beam at each of the doors he walks past. Most of them are heavy metal, and the ones he tries seem to be locked. Those which aren’t just lead into small, dusty rooms, empty of anything apart from decaying furniture. No stairs, no apparent way out.

What he’s really looking for is some sort of signposting, perhaps pointing him towards an exit.

As he walks he slowly begins to realise that something’s off. Something just doesn’t feel right.

It takes him a full five minutes to realise what it is.

Up in the main part of the building there had been graffiti on every wall, the floor littered with cigarette ends, but down here there’s none of that. Like no one else has been down here before.

The floor is covered with a thick layer of dust, too, and his footprints are the only ones down here. It seems as though this place has been closed off for a very, very long time.

That doesn’t bode well for him finding a staircase, but it’s only been a few minutes, and he’s still hopeful.

When he does finally find a staircase he starts to worry, because it’s leading down instead of up, and he really doesn’t want to go down there, but what other option does he have? It seems to be the only way to go.

On further inspection there does seem to be a staircase leading up, or what remains of one, but it’s been blocked off with a huge slab of concrete, and Gerry has absolutely no way of getting through there.

Down it is, then.

The stairs seem solid as he starts down them, hewn out of stone, but that doesn’t mean he trusts them. They’re too narrow, and he nearly falls on more than one occasion.

The hallway he finds at the bottom of the staircase seems more like a cave or a mineshaft than a real hallway. It’s too uneven, and he’s walking over stone, not concrete.

This may have been a mistake, but something in him is curious, almost excited, and he keeps pressing forward, into the darkness.

It’s dark, but for now he’s not really worried about it. There are none of the tell-tale signs of the Dark, and his torch is still bright. Besides, the fears need people to fear them, and its unlikely that any of them would set up shop in these clearly abandoned tunnels. The only thing he’s really in danger from is getting lost and dying of starvation.

Which won’t be pleasant either, but at least he has plenty of time before that happens.

The tunnels seem to be sloping down, which really doesn’t bode well for there being a convenient exit down here, but he keeps walking, because why not? Maybe he’ll at least find something interesting before he’s forced to turn back and try and get out of here the way he came in.

There doesn’t seem to be anything. Just seemingly endless tunnels, hewn out of the rock, and the occasional empty room.

And then a door, heavy iron, almost like a prison cell.

Gerry isn’t a stupid man, and he’s seen a lot of monsters in his eighteen years. He knows that a door this heavy, in tunnels this deep, will have nothing good behind it.

But he’s also a teenager, and sometimes curiosity wins out over common sense.

The door isn’t locked, but it has a heavy deadbolt across it, and Gerry slowly pulls it open. It’s very rusty, and takes some tugging, but eventually it slides back and he can pull the door open to see what’s behind it.

It’s not an exit, but he hadn’t really expected it to be.

He doesn’t realise exactly what it is that the beam of his torch has caught upon until it moves, and he finds himself staring into yellow eyes.

It’s a person, or something almost like a person. Maybe if Gerry hadn’t met so many monsters he would think it was a person.

There’s a silence while they stare at each other, and then its lips curl upwards into a smile.

“Hello.”

Gerry swallows, eyeing its teeth. “Hello.”

It pulls itself to its feet, and Gerry realises that it’s a good few inches taller than him, and he’s really not comfortable with that. It looks dangerous, although there’s something in its eyes that stops Gerry from backing out and locking the door again.

“What are you?” he asks, instead.

It tips its head almost thoughtfully. “I’m not sure.”

Its voice is grating, as though it’s been a long time since it’s spoken, and Gerry feels almost sorry for it.

“A failed experiment, perhaps.”

“Do you have a name?” Gerry asks, watching as it tries to stretch up to its full height and hits its head on the ceiling.

“I had one,” it says, face twisting into something like confusion. “Once.”

“What was it?”

“Michael.”

Gerry thinks about that for a moment, fingers tapping against his leg. “Can I call you that?”

“I suppose. Do you have a name?”

“Yes. I’m Gerry.”

It’s not his full name, but its what he generally calls himself, and what he would like his friend to call him. If he had friends.

This … person isn’t exactly a friend, but Gerry doesn’t think it’s an enemy either.

Maybe it’s an oversight on his part, and it’s going to get him killed, but he doesn’t think so.

“Gerry,” Michael says, thoughtfully, and Gerry can’t deny the little thrill it sends down his back. “I suppose I should thank you. I’ve been here an awfully long time, you know.”

“How long?”

Michael shrugs. The movement looks odd on its too-long, somewhat mismatched limbs, but it’s oddly endearing.

“Right,” Gerry says, not sure what to do now. “I suppose you want to get out?”

Michael smiles, almost wistfully. “That would be nice. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the moon.”

Something about the way it says it pulls at Gerry’s heart a little more than it should.

“Come on,” he says, pushing the door further open and gesturing for it to follow him. “I suppose you can help me get out of here.”

Michael laughs softly, and Gerry watches it duck through the doorway. “We’re both trapped down here, then?”

“I know the way out,” Gerry says. “I just can’t get out on my own.”

“It’s a good thing you found me,” Michael says, and Gerry nods, though he has no idea if Michael can see him with the torch trained in front of him, on the passage he came down.

It feels like getting out takes a lot less time than getting in did, though perhaps that’s just because Gerry’s so distracted with Michael’s careful footsteps following him down the tunnel and up the hewn stairs.

The roof is probably too low for it to stand comfortably, but there’s nothing Gerry can do about that right now. It will just have to wait until they get back to the room Gerry fell into.

“This is how I got in,” Gerry tells it, when they’re finally back, and watches, fascinated, as it unravels itself to stand up to its full height, head almost at the level of the hole.

It’s not listening to him, tipping its head up to look out at the building instead, and Gerry wonders if it can see the sky from the angle it’s standing at.

“Michael?” he says, softly, and it turns to look at him. Its eyes are bright, almost joyful.

“Thank you,” it murmurs, smiling.

Gerry nods, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “Thank me by getting us out of here,” he suggests, looking away and up at the edge of the hole instead.

“Of course,” it says, suddenly amused, and he watches as it pulls itself out like a spider, all long limbs and pale skin. It doesn’t move like a human, but it seems so graceful.

It stops once it’s at the top and extends a hand down to Gerry. He eyes it for a moment, a little hesitant.

“Not sure how you’re planning on getting me out,” he says. “I’m heavier than I look.”

Michael laughs softly. “I can do it.”

It’s a little harder than Gerry suspects Michael thought it would be, but between them they manage to get Gerry out of the hole and back onto the solid floor of the building.

Michael’s skin is very cold, almost corpse-like, but its softer than Gerry had been expecting, and he finds himself not wanting to let go, as if he could somehow warm it up.

Still, he does let go, flicking his torch off. The moon is full, and there’s more than enough light to see pouring in through the windows.

“Come on, Michael,” he says, smiling a little. “Let’s go outside.”

“Yes,” Michael says, eyes lighting up, and Gerry leads it out of the building, into the pale light of the moon.

It’s cold out here, and Gerry finds himself standing a little closer to Michael than he was before. It doesn’t give off any heat, of course, but the principal is the same.

Michael seems so amazed, staring up at the stars, and Gerry wonders how long its been trapped in the dark. Probably too long.

It sits on the ground and stares upwards, and Gerry sits next to it, watching curiously. “You like the stars?”

“Yes,” it breathes and for a moment it glances down at him.

Gerry doesn’t say anything, just hums quietly and looks up as well, feeling oddly content.

This Halloween hasn’t exactly gone as planned, but he thinks he’s pleased with the direction it’s taken. Especially since his mother wouldn’t be, if she knew.

Some small part of him feels like he should be a little more panicked over the whole thing, but he ignores that part. He’s not scared of Michael, not really, and Halloween seems like as good a time as any for something so … out of the ordinary to happen.

And this is out of the ordinary, even for him, who’s ordinary isn’t exactly, well, ordinary.

He still has questions, of course, but they can wait. For now he just sits with Michael and watches the stars.

It’s a lovely evening.

[ilu-writes]

Happy Halloween!

A Solangelo One-shot

AO3 | FF.net

A long-ish one shot about Will and Nico’s first Halloween as a couple. Also, yeah, I’m barely getting this in, but really, what’s spookier than nearly missing a deadline?

“Happy Halloween!”

Will frowned down at the notes he was writing for a second, before putting the pen down and turning to look at his boyfriend.

“It’s… September. First.”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“It’s not Halloween. It’s barely fall.” Will shifted around slightly so he was actually facing Nico, leaning back against the desk as he assessed him. “Why are you bugging me about Halloween now?”

Nico’s expression shifted into one of mock pain, and he folded his arms. “September is basically Halloween-“

“It’s really not-“

“Wow.” He tilted his head up as though he’d been offended. “Fine. I get it. You hate me and you hate Halloween-“

“Woah, hey, I don’t hate Halloween,” Will injected quickly, holding up his hands, trying to keep a smile from stretching across his face. “Halloween’s great! When it’s not in September.”

“Just me, then,” huffed Nico, before flopping down dramatically onto the chair next to Will. “I can’t believe this. I came all the way over here for this.”

Will hummed and let the smile win, nudging at his boyfriends leg with his foot. “Why did you come over here? Just to unseasonably wish me a happy Halloween?”

“It’s not unseasonal,” countered Nico, scowling still, but Will could tell by his eyes he didn’t mean it. “I was being a good boyfriend.”

“Hm.” Will moved his foot so it was fully resting against Nico’s leg. The contact felt more grounding than it probably should’ve – he missed his boyfriend a lot when they both had their own activities to deal with. “Finished early for the day, huh?”

Nico shrugged dismissively, but the glint in his eye and slight twitch of his mouth told Will he’d hit the nail on the head. “Pegasi don’t like me. I think Chiron’s given up trying to force them to- he just let me off early. Not that that has anything to do with me coming here.”

Will grinned. “No, of course not,” he agreed. “But since you’re here, I’m hoping you won’t mind keeping me company? I still need to finish this.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at his notes.

“I suppose. If you don’t mind me bugging you, that is.”

Will snorted softly and leaned forward to press a quick cheek against the other boy’s cheek. “I think I’ll live,” he said as he moved away, trying not to focus on Nico’s slightly-pink cheeks. “Especially if you explain why you’re so eager to celebrate Halloween.”

Nico tilted his chin towards his chest. Since they’d been more open with their relationship, Nico had started appreciating PDA more, but he still sometimes got a little flustered by it when he wasn’t expecting it.

Nico was way too cute for his own good.

“Halloween is fun,” he mumbled, and it took Will a second to realise he was answering his question. Focus, he reminded himself. “It’s a whole holiday dedicated to ghosts and candy. It’s great.”

“It’s dedicated to other stuff, too,” pointed out Will. “Witches. Vampire. W... other general monsters,” he amended, quickly. Nico had expressed a vehement dislike for werewolves since his encounter with Lycaon – not that Will could blame him – but the other boy either didn’t pick up on his slip up or didn’t care.

“Sure, but ghosts are the best part. And-“ Nico held up his hand and wiggled his fingers, “they’re the only part that really matters to me. Along side the candy.”

“Sure, that’s fair.” Will smiled as he turned back to his notes. “Doesn’t justify celebrating in September, though-“

“I-“

“Do you even like pumpkin?”

Nico paused for a second, seeming to consider. “I don’t think I’ve ever had pumpkin,” he noted, sounding surprised by the fact. “But I’m sure I will.”

“Don’t be,” said Will, dryly. “Pumpkin sucks. It tastes like sweet potato.”

“I have no idea what a sweet potato tastes like either, but I thought everyone loved pumpkin? Isn’t that why you get so many festive drinks around this time?”

“Around October, maybe-“ Will ignored Nico’s eyeroll here- “but that’s not pumpkin, it’s pumpkin spice. It’s got nothing to do with pumpkin. And also, that does taste good – it’s like an amalgamation of lot’s of spices. Also, how can you not know what a sweet potato tastes like?”

“Why is it called pumpkin spice if there’s no pumpkin?”

“I don’t know, to make it seasonal? Because no one likes actual pumpkin?” Will shrugged. “It’s just one of those things. Also, you didn’t answer my question-“

“It’s an incredibly dumb thing-“

“Nico, seriously-“ Will put his pen back down – he’d only written about three more lines so far – and turned to give him an incredulous look. “How can you not know what a sweet potato tastes like?”

Nico blinked. “I guess they aren’t that popular?” He offered. “I’ve never had one.”

“There’s no way you’ve never eaten a sweet potato,” said Will, giving the smallest shake of his head. “You’re telling me you’ve never had sweet potato pie? Sweet potato anything?”

“Nope.”

“I refuse to believe that.” Will stared at him, dumbfounded for a second, then leaned forward.

His work ended up getting done much later that day, but the Sweet Potato Debate would end up being a notable moment in their relationship for years to come, so it evened out.

*

Normally, Nico wouldn’t care about spending the day on his own – a few years ago, he would’ve preferred it. Sometimes he still did.

But other days… he blamed Will. The blonde’s need to be around people was starting to rub off on him. Or at least, the need to be around one specific person.

When Nico was feeling more stubborn, he’d insist that his frequent visits to Will were more for the other boy’s sake than his, and that he just wanted his boyfriend not to be alone, even to himself. He never believed it, but he never needed to.

He lasted until mid-afternoon before the boredom became too much to bear, and he hurled himself out of his bed. Will would still be at the infirmary, but it was October, they didn’t have a lot of campers around, so he should be free. Free enough for Nico to bug him, anyway, and that was all he needed.

The infirmary was almost completely empty bar one person, almost completely hidden as they crouched behind a cabinet door, only their mop of familiar golden hair visible over the top. Nico slowed his walk as he entered, trying to look suave, and moved so he could see the other boy.

“Happy Halloween,” he said as brightly as possible, echoing his statement from earlier that month.

Wil jumped slightly but then whipped around, a grin already forming on his face. “It’s still September,” he pointed out immediately, straightening up. “Hi.”

“Hi,” echoed Nico, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying to supress his smile as he walked forward. “Still hate Halloween, huh?”

“We’ve been through this. It’s not Halloween I hate.” Will dropped the box of band aids he was holding onto the side in favour of tugging Nico towards him. He was unnaturally warm for late September. Nico hated it.

“Right, I forgot. It’s just me,” he huffed lightly, relaxing into the other boy and letting the heat seep into him.

Will snorted gently, tucking his arms around the other boy. Nico didn’t often seek out physical contact, but he was okay with it sometimes, and Will’s constant attempts to respect his boundaries had done wonders for making him more comfortable with it. Still, he’d sooner die than have anyone else see him like this.

He was so distracted he almost missed what Will was saying.

“-the unseasonal-ness of it all that gets me, I said that.”

“A good boyfriend wouldn’t care about that. Also, it’s not unseasonable. Halloween is literally around the corner.”

“It’s over a month away-“

“My point stands.”

Will pressed his cheek against Nico’s head and let out a soft laugh, sending a thrill of pleasure through the other boy. “Look, I get the ghost thing-“

“And the candy thing,” Nico reminded him, swallowing hard. He didn’t have to see Will to know he was rolling his eyes.

“And the candy thing, but- it’s not even October yet. It’s too early for this.”

“It’s nearly October,” huffed Nico. “That counts-“

“The Halloween candy hasn’t even gone on sale yet. No where is selling costumes. I haven’t seen a single pumpkin or fake cobweb in any shop I’ve been to-“

“Okay, but how many shops is that anyway?” Countered Nico, immediately. “You’re in camp most of the time. So, what, you’re using two or three shops as a basis for the entire country-“

“I know for a fact shops don’t start selling Halloween stuff until October-“

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” decided Nico, changing tact. “I don’t judge time by capitalist movements-“

“Oh, gods-“ Will laughed again, his breath hot on Nico’s neck, and the other boy tried not to blush. “First of all, you’ve been spending too much time with Lou Ellen. Second, what, you don’t need to funnel your stubbornness into staying alive anymore so you’re using it to try and annoy me?”

“I’m not being stubborn,” muttered Nico, his voice quiet. “And it’s not my fault you find facts annoying-“

“Oh-“ Will dragged out the sound into a moan, burying his face fully in Nico’s shoulder. Nico swallowed again. “I don’t have time to debate this with you,” he said, his voice muffled but tinged with amusement. “I’m a busy person. I’m a doctor.”

“I get it, too busy for me,” said Nico airily, trying to keep his voice even. “What’s a doctor without patients, anyway?”

“Is that your way of asking what I’m doing?” Will straightened up and kissed his cheek before letting his arms drop. Nico tried not to shiver at the sudden cold. “I’m doing inventory for the month.”

“Anything I can help with?” Asked Nico instinctively, turning to face the other (very close) boy.

Will looked thoughtful. “I guess you could write the numbers down as I count them?” He phrased it like a question, like he expected Nico to say no.

“Sounds fun,” said Nico immediately, and Will snorted in response.

“Yeah, it’s a hoot,” he agreed, grinning. “But it’s necessary.”

And it’s both of us, Nico wanted to add, but he didn’t. He didn’t need to.

*

Will turned towards the infirmary door instinctively as he heard footsteps coming towards it, even though he didn’t have to. He knew who it was immediately – Nico had taken a short trip to Camp Jupiter over the start of October, and he’d promised he’d stop by as soon as he got back.

Which was today.

Besides, no one else ever came to the infirmary after dark – on the off chance something did happen, they went to Chiron first, and he had a distinct and unmistakable gait.

Will positioned himself directly in front of the door and grinned as it swung open.

“Happy Halloween!” He said brightly, a laugh bubbling up in his chest as he took in his boyfriend for the first time in almost a week. He only just saw Nico’s expression go from startled to mock-offended before he hurled himself at the other boy, eliciting a soft oof. “I missed you,” Will mumbled, wrapping him in a hug.

“I cannot believe you stole my line,” said Nico, returning the gesture, not seeming too caught off guard.

“I figured I can’t use the ‘it’s September’ line now that it’s actually October, so this was all I had left.”

“And you yanked it out of my unexpecting hands,” said Nico, as if he was surprised and disappointed, but then he tucked his face into the crook of Will’s neck. “I missed you, too.”

“Your nose is cold,” Will mumbled in response, and Nico let out a breathy laugh.

“You’re just warm-“

“It’s cause you’re cold blooded.” Will pulled back a little. “Come inside properly. It’s freezing.”

“I repeat, you’re just warm,” countered Nico, but he came in anyway, grinning. “Since you’re now admitting it’s Halloween-“

“It’s not Halloween, it’s just seasonal-“ Will corrected him, but Nico rolled his eyes.

“Since you’ve decided to stop being a spoil sport- does that mean we can start celebrating?”

“Well, actually-“ Will tried not to focus to much on how Nico’s eyes lit up when he was excited- “I was going to mention that- the Hermes cabin is going to throw a Halloween party this year, with permission from Chiron and everything- well, I think the permission came mostly from Mr D, but y’know- they’re throwing a party,” he finished kind of lamely. Nico blinked, seeming to take a second to process it.

Will was about to add that Nico didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to, but the other boy spoke just as the words reached his tongue. “A party sounds… good,” he said, a little uncertainly, and Will couldn’t help but feel a flair of happiness. He knew Nico wasn’t great with crowds, or people in general, but he also knew he was trying, which was really the best Will could hope for.

He’d settle for Nico just becoming okay with it while still avoiding it. He just hated the fact Nico got anxious. He wanted him to be comfortable all the time, however unrealistic that was.

“You don’t have to stay long,” he hurried to add, hoping he wasn’t putting too much pressure on. “Not if you don’t want to. Besides, it’s a costume party, it’s not a lot of people’s thing anyway, so-“

“I want to go,” insisted Nico, his voice gentle. “It could be fun. It can’t be awful, anyway, not while we’re still at camp. But, uh- costume party, huh?”

“You can have a really low effort costume,” offered Will. “Like, a hoodie with the words ‘I’m a serial killer’ on it or something, one of those boring… easy ones.”

“Hm,” said Nico, thoughtfully, before waving off the concerns. “I’ll find a costume later,” he decided, stepping forward to tug at Will’s sleeve. “We can discuss it some other time if you want. But- I missed you.”

“Ah,” said Will, eloquently, stumbling towards the other boy. He steadied himself and instead leaned down to press his lips against Nico’s. “I missed you too.”

*

“Is that red syrup? Please tell me it’s syrup,” said Will as soon as Nico opened the door, taking in Nico’s costume. Nico just cocked an eyebrow and stepped out the way so Will could get in. “Seriously,” said the blonde, “that’s realistic.”

“Thanks,” said Nico, letting the door swing shut behind them. “You look great, by the way.”

Will grinned at the compliment. “Thanks, it took a while to throw this together,” he said, his voice full of mock seriousness. He was dressed as a doctor, wearing his usual scrubs but actually obeying medical regulations for possible the first time, completed with a stethoscope and a pair of sneakers.

“I can tell,” said Nico, a smile twitching at his own lips. “So, how do I look?” He held his arms out as if to emphasise his outfit. Will leaned back and pretend to contemplate it for a few seconds before answering.

“Honestly? I can’t tell the difference. This is just what you look like most days- blood aside, obviously,” he deadpanned, but he was always terrible at hiding his amused expression.

Still, Nico played along, huffing dramatically. “Wow. Why am I doing this with you again?”

“I don’t know, I was expecting to have to do a lot more convincing-“ Will cut himself off as he gave up trying to act serious, and instead tugged Nico closer by the arm. “Seriously, though, you look good.”

“Thanks,” said Nico mildly, stepping closer to him. He was going as a vampire, in black clothes (that wasn’t hard), fake fangs and dramatic ‘blood’ stains. It had taken him longer to put together than he’d ever admit, but he’d wanted to make the effort for Will. “Are we doing this party or not?”

“Sure,” said Will, linking their arms together. “But, just in case we want to leave early, I’ve got some candy in Cabin 7 we can raid-“

“I am way ahead of you,” interrupted Nico, waving his hand towards one of the shelves behind the door. When Will turned around, he saw a pile of candy probably bigger than the whole Cabin 7 one propped up there, clearly waiting to be opened, and let out a short bubble of laughter.

“Great minds think alike, I guess,” he said, tugging Nico even closer.

“Also hungry ones,” Nico noted, but he was grinning. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

The party was already in full swing when they walked in, which, to be fair, still wasn’t much. The music was loud, and the lights had been turned down as low as they could go without leaving them in darkness, but people were mostly just clumped around in groups, sipping on non-alcoholic drinks. People - meaning, the Hermes Cabin – had figured out pretty quickly that alcohol was impossible to sneak into the camp, because the barrier wouldn’t let it past. Presumably thanks to Mr D’s unwilling sobriety.

Will privately suspected Nico could probably get some in, if asked, since he seemed to be able to sneak past the barrier every other time he shadow travelled, but it was a suspicion he kept to himself.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Will was pulled away by Lou Ellen and Cecil to talk to them, and Nico shot him a quick grin before slinking off towards the drinks and food. Will knew that no one would mind if Nico joined them, but the other boy was very stubborn about the fact that Will should get to spend some alone time with his friends without feeling bad, which Will appreciated.

Still, it meant he had to wave off the usual questions about his relationship before they got to the actual conversation – Cecil talking about their ‘heist’ to go get food from the nearest shop.

“Yeah, but you paid, right?” Asked Will, raising his eyebrow as Cecil described the struggle to be subtle while doing it with only three people to carry food.

The other boy rolled his eyes. “Yes, we paid,” he huffed. “Honestly. You stereotype the Hermes kids too much. We’re not all thieves.”

“You’ve tried to pick pocket me at least three times,” Will pointed out, and Cecil just scoffed.

“Only three?” Repeated Lou, raising an eyebrow.

“That I know of,” amended Will, grinning.

“Water under the bridge,” said Cecil, waving his hand. “Seriously. That’s behind me. I’m a new man.”

“Right,” said Will, letting the disbelief enter his tone, and Lou raised an eye brow.

“And who, exactly, was it who pranked the latest Iris kid by stealing their pants while they were changing?”

“Okay, hey-“ Cecil held up his hands. “Pants don’t count, alright, they’re fair game for pranks-“

“Everything is fair game for pranks, according to you,” retorted Will, letting his eyes flicker around the room. Austin was in the corner, talking to two of the Demeter kids, and Will could see his guitar propped against the wall nearby. He knew that, at some point, Austin would pretend to be modest and flattered before grabbing the guitar and playing at least three pre-prepared pieces, like he always did. In a way, the ritual was comforting.

“Well, I’m a child of Hermes, what do you expect?” Huffed Cecil, and Will turned back to raise an eyebrow.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to stereotype?”

“You’re not. I can.” Cecil folded his arms, his drink sloshing out of his cup. “There’s a difference.”

“Right,” said Will flatly, before twisting to look at the snack table. “No offence, but I need a drink-“

“And a boyfriend?” Interrupted Lou, raising her eyebrow. Will ignored her.

“And maybe some food, so if you don’t mind-“

He excused himself as politely as possible, slipping through the crowd. He got stopped briefly by Drew Tanaka, who complimented his costume and joked that it must’ve been hard. He returned the compliment without the joke – it was a valid one, and Drew probably wouldn’t like it being deflected back. Besides, he didn’t know the singer she was clearly dressed as, so he kept it vague and moved past her.

He got stopped twice more, once by Katie Gardner, who kept him talking for a few minutes, and once by Damian White, for a little less time. By the time he managed to make it to the snack table, Nico was talking to Clovis, who looked seconds away from collapsing.

Still, that was generally how Clovis looked.

Will helped himself to a Diet Coke before he went over to join them, and Clovis nodded at him.

“We were discussing dreams,” he said, he voice sounding thick and distant. “And the in…” he trailed off, looking briefly confused.

“The intersections of them?” Supplied Nico, lightly, and Clovis snapped his fingers.

“Yes. Yes! The intersections. The Hypnos Cabin- we’re very loud. It’s confusing.”

“It’s fine,” said Nico, with a shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Still,” Clovis shrugged. “Dreams are weird.”

“That they are,” said Will, who was unsure of how to join the conversation, and Nico shot him a wry grin as Clovis yawned.

“Anyway,” said the son of Hypnos, “I should get going. I have more people to see before I go back to sleep.”

“Right,” said Nico, before turning fully to Will as the other boy left. “Good to see you survived,” he grinned.

“What can I say? It’s my magnetic personality.” Will smiled, sipping his drink. “How’s it going?”

“Fine. They have really good food here. And Clovis… well, Clovis is Clovis, but he’s fine.”

“Good,” Will bumped his shoulder gently. “I didn’t know you and Clovis were friends.”

“Well, more unwitting acquaintances more often than we try, but- it’s complicated, I guess?” Nico shrugged. “I’ll explain it later, probably – a children of the night thing. But yeah.”

“’Children of the night’?” Repeated Will, snorting. “Sorry, now you’re sounding like a real vampire.”

“Oh, shut up,” scoffed Nico, but he grinned.

They spent the next hour being pulled into random conversations with campers, most of which involved Nico hanging back, and stealing moments to talk between themselves when no one was nearby. Each conversation seemed to take them a little further away from the snack table (which Will pretended not to see Nico eyeing hungrily with every step, despite the bowl of Cheezo’s he still held), and when Will glanced around at one point, he realised they’d nearly made it to the door.

“Hey, a bat,” he observed, looking above them, a smirk already tugging at his lips. “Better kiss me under it.”

“Nice try,” hummed Nico, “but no.”

“You’re no fun.” Will pouted, but he still brushed his fingers against Nico’s as he leaned against the wall.

“You want kisses, hang mistletoe.”

“I mean, I could arrange that-“

“No.” Nico’s voice was firm, but he was grinning. “Look, we could always head back to my cabin- I have snacks-“

“Are you trying to kidnap me?” Asked Will, threading their hands together properly. “My mother always said not to trust anyone offering free candy.”

“Well, if you don’t trust me-“

“I never said that,” interrupted Will, already tugging Nico towards the door. “Come on. I want candy. And quiet, so we can talk properly.”

Nico laughed, but let himself be tugged back to the Hades cabin. As soon as they entered, Will pulled him into a kiss, supressing a wince at the coldness of the other boy’s nose.

Nico’s hand tangled in the front of Will shirt, holding him in place while his other hand fumbled about the light switch. A few seconds later, the torches on the wall flared to life, and Nico broke the kiss with a sharp laugh.

“Hang on, I was promised candy for this-“ he began, still giggling, but Will cut him off by twisting away and smoothly pulling the candy off the shelf in one movement.

“Here,” he said, tossing it on the bed. “Candy acquired. Now-“

Nico cut him off with a soft peck on the lips. “I thought you wanted to talk?”

Will considered for a second. That was an unfair statement, mainly because it was true. “Yes,” he conceded after a second, considering. “But- first, kissing. Kissing and then blankets and then talking, because it’s cold.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Nico, tugging the blonde down for another kiss.

[john-wickening]

A Treat

AN: So this little ditty is based off my head canon post. It’s more sappy stuff whoops. One day, I’ll write something that isn’t tooth rotting fluff lol. Hope y’all enjoy ^_^. 

You get busy at work, which prevents you from celebrating Halloween like you’d want to. John has a trick up his sleeve.

TW: mention of someone committing sexual assault (not shown, just mentioned) Some mild swearing

Word count: 1842

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When the phone rang and the obnoxiously bubbly ringtone filled the room, you couldn’t help but groan.

It was your boss calling.

John looked up from the book he was working on and you stuck your lower lip out in a pout. The corner of his mouth twitched in response.

Work had been an absolute nightmare lately and you knew deep down in your gut that this wasn’t going to be a great phone call.

“Hey Rob,” you huffed as you picked up the phone. You couldn’t conceal the disappointment leaking into your voice.

Rob was a gruff man. He cut right to the chase.

“I have another assignment for you.” You heaved a sigh and bit your lip. Of course he did. You stood up and crossed the room to your desk. Your laptop whirred to life when you opened the lid.

“Sure Rob. Hit me with it,” your laptop was moving glacially slow, but eventually it booted up.

“I’ve emailed you the details. Your deadline is the 31st,” he stated and you felt a pang of annoyance shoot through you.

“Halloween, Rob? Really?” you groaned “You know that’s my favorite holiday,”

“You agreed to this, chickadee,” he bit out gruffly and you had to grit your teeth together to keep from snapping at him for the asinine pet name. “You’re freelance for a reason.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” you grumbled in reply. You could hear the click of the receiver as he hung up. You rolled your eyes and tossed your phone down onto the table.

Asshole.

You pulled up your email and logged in. His lengthy message was in the top of your inbox. You chewed the corner of your thumbnail as you scanned over the details of the case.

“What’s he got you doing this time?” You were engrossed so deeply and John’s voice was so sudden in the silent room that you actually jumped a little. When you looked up at him, you could see amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Investment banker,” You replied. “He’s got me checking up on this guy, making sure his personal life is tip top.” You kept it intentionally vague. John could be a little… overprotective when he knew all the details. Knowing that this guy was a convicted rapist and had served time for beating his child would definitely not fly so well with John. He’d insist on coming with you and that made everything ten times more complicated.

John nodded and turned back to his book.

You watched him for a moment, admiring the way his thick, scarred fingers worked at the binding. You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest watching your fiancée skillfully thread the pages.

You turned back to your work with a smile on your face, which unfortunately faded fast.

The details on this man were troubling to say the least. Three convictions for sexual assault, 2 years in East Jersey State. His money bought him a slap on the wrist, basically. You frowned and shook your head in disgust. The justice system was a farce. You found yourself falling down the rabbit hole looking into this dickhead. You were so enthralled with the information that John yet again managed to scare you.

“Guess that means you finally have to leave the dog alone,” he muttered after a few minutes. You brought a hand to your chest to try to slow down your heart and shot him a glare.

“Meatball likes it,” you retorted indignantly. John snorted

“No he doesn’t,” he replied without looking up from his work. You rolled your eyes at him.

“Yes he does,” You replied. “He was dashing in his devil costume last year, thank you very much,” John chuckled quietly and you found yourself smiling.

“You’re obsessed,” he stated flatly and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“You love it,” you teased and he smirked but didn’t reply. A comfortable silence passed between you.

“I’ll find the time to dress Meatball up, don’t you worry” you said after a minute though your heart wasn’t in it. The case Rob had thrown at you was very involved. Halloween was in two weeks and this was a job that would normally take three weeks or more. You looked over at the spiderwebs wrapped up the banister and sighed. You were glad that you had at least been proactive on decorating the house.

It’s September 21st, why are you decorating already? This is earlier than last year, John grumbled as he watched you flit about the house. It already looked like the Halloween store had exploded in here.

Have you met me, John? You teased as you clipped a small plastic skeleton to the ceiling fan.

He just rolled his eyes but you didn’t miss the smirk creeping across his face as he turned away. He had always expressed his indifference for the holiday and frankly, he often teased you lightly for your minor obsession. But he never stopped you or outright discouraged your enthusiasm, and for that you were thankful

You just hoped you’d be able to get enough done on the case to at least have your annual movie night

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two weeks later, you slapped the file down on Rob’s desk with a triumphant smirk

“I really think you were trying to test me on this one, Rob,” you said cockily. “Here’s everything you need to know about the bastard,”

The older man flipped through the file with piercing eyes. After a moment, he set it down and grinned.

“Good work, kid.” You bit the inside of your cheek. You hated being called kid. To be honest, you hated every stupid pet name the man called you, but this job paid well so you held your tongue.

The man looked up at you and scratched his wiry gray beard in thought.

“To be honest, I didn’t think you were going to be able to do it in time,” he said and you felt a twinge of annoyance.

“Well then, you underestimated me,” the words leaked out before you could stop them.

The man let out a bark of laughter and you felt your stomach clench uneasily.

“I suppose I did,” he admitted amicably and the knot in your stomach uncoiled. From the drawer of his desk, he produced a thick envelope.

There it was.

“Here’s your pay, plus a little bonus for putting in the hard work at such a busy time,” he replied and passed the envelope to you. You took it but didn’t check the contents. The man had a peculiar affect and checking the amount would most likely upset him.

“Thank you, sir,” He nodded and turned his back on you, indicating that the conversation was over.

Not the most socially graceful dude, thought dryly to yourself as you stuffed the envelope into your bag.  Didn’t matter, though. Money was money. You left his office in a hurry.

By the time you got home to John, it was around 7 pm and it was just getting dark. You grinned when you noticed he had remembered to turn on the decorations on the lawn.

“John? I’m home,” you called as you walked through the front door. The house smelled strongly of pumpkin spice and you found yourself grinning.

From the other room came the skittering of paws on the floor and Meatball’s deep throaty bark of excitement. The noise almost entirely drowned out John’s response.

The skittering got closer and when Meatball eventually rounded the corner, you gasped.

“John you did not!” you cried out giddily as you laid eyes on the dog.

You don’t know what you loved more—the yellow and black jumper complete with a ‘stinger’ covering the dog’s tail, or the headband that wiggled wildly with every movement.

John had dressed Meatball up as a bee for Halloween and it was the cutest costume you’d ever seen in your entire life.

“Oh Meatball you look so good!” you cooed happily as you dropped to the floor to greet the dog. His little face lit up at your voice and the tail wag became a body wag. The puppy kisses were plentiful.

When John finally rounded the corner, you couldn’t help but grin up at him.

“Meatball hates it, huh?” you replied smugly from your spot on the floor. Meatball had crawled fully into your lap and was lapping at your chin.

John shot you a glare but his heart wasn’t in it. It was then that you noticed there was a white feather tangled in his hair.

“John… what’s in your hair?” you giggled. He stared blankly at you. You stood, crossed the room, and plucked it out and showed it to him.

He looked slightly sheepish.

“Ah… you’ll see,” he said. You grinned up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Thanks for dressing Meatball up,” you mumbled as you broke away. His smile was soft. He pressed another kiss to your lips.

“Follow me,” he said, taking your hand and pulling you into your living room. When you saw what was waiting for you, you almost shrieked in delight.

It was absolutely perfect. He had set out your regular Halloween spread, complete with your favorite bottle of red wine and rice crispy treats shaped like pumpkins. The television was cued up for a movie marathon. After a second you noticed that resting on the couch was a small set of bird’s wings and a headband of feathers, both clearly homemade.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“The birds and the bees, John?” the corner of his lips quirked up and he snaked a hand around your waist.

“I figured you’d appreciate it,” he replied simply and placed a kiss on your cheek.

For a second, you had to blink hard and steel yourself to keep your watery eyes from running over. He had clearly put a lot of effort into this despite his indifference about the holiday. The emotion that hit you was almost overwhelming.

“Thank you, John,” you breathed. You wrapped your arms around his neck and melted into him. His eyes were soft as he looked down on you.

“You’re welcome, love,” he replied.

The kiss he gave you was slow, passionate, and absolutely toe curling. It took your breath away. His stubbly beard scraped against your cheek as he deepened the kiss. You gripped his shoulders harder to keep your knees from giving out. Kissing him was like visiting the gates of heaven. You could have gotten lost in that kiss forever.

Eventually, he broke it. You sighed breathlessly and pressed your forehead to his.

“Which movie?” he asked quietly, his voice a little strained. You smiled, knowing it was a pointless question.

“Hocus Pocus, of course,” you replied, intertwining your fingers with his. “But first…”

You tugged at his hand and he started to follow you.

“There’s something we should take care of before the trick-or-treaters show up...” you cooed demurely as you pulled him past the couch and towards your shared room.

The smile on John’s face was intoxicating.

It was truly going to be a perfect night.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: This isn’t a rom-com (Keanu x OFC) 3/?

Author’s notes: once again, thank you for the feedback on previous chapters. Onto chapter 3.

Wordcount: 2845

Warnings: fluff and oblivious idiots.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 4   Part 5

Lilah bit her thumb as she stared at her phone until Keanu’s name and message on the screen became blurry. She should be reviewing her paper so she could send it to her advisor. Instead, here she was, ignoring her laptop in favor of rereading his text for the tenth time:

I’m glad you like it and I want to know what you thought of it. Coffee today? I’ll be done at five. K.

Lilah didn’t know why she was getting so caught up on it. What else she expected after letting him know she finished reading his book? After all, Keanu had said he would like to get some coffee and talk about it when she was done with it.

And Lilah wanted to do it; she wanted to talk books with him. She wanted to talk about anything with him because he was so nice and cool and funny. But also, he was freaking Keanu Reeves. She was brought back from her musings by a hand snatching her cellphone away before Jean plopped on the chair in front of her.

“You’ve been staring at your phone for the last five minutes,” she said, glancing at the screen, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Ha! I knew he wanted in your pants!”

“One: don’t be crass,” Lilah complained, taking her phone back. “Two: it’s not like that. It’s just coffee.”

Lilah could see that Jean was about to argue, as usual. So, she just sent the other woman a warning look, because this wasn’t up to debate. If Lilah accepted his invitation, she couldn’t think of it as a date.

For one, she was in her final year of grad school. There was a lot at stake and Lilah couldn’t afford distractions. Not even one as amazing as Keanu Reeves. And besides, it would be crazy to think he was even interested. Not that Lilah thought she wasn’t hopeless or anything like that. She did pretty well dating-wise.

She was just being realistic. Keanu probably had people throwing themselves at him all the time and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be one of those people. Despite her stupid no-filter mouth best attempts of making it look otherwise.

“Ok, but you’re gonna go, right? For “just coffee”?” Jean asked, eyebrows raised and Lilah could actually hear the air quotes over the words just coffee.

“Yeah,” Lilah agreed, unlocking her phone screen and typing a quick reply. Her heart did a small acrobatic flip in her chest as she hit send. “There. Done.”

Jean’s face opened into a satisfied, victorious smirk and Lilah couldn’t help but chuckle at her friend.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Lilah asked, setting her phone aside and closing her laptop lid. Because who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to get any work done before heading to class. Might as well stop pretending.

“Can’t I just drop by and say hi to my favorite person?” Jean’s smile was wide and bright and so innocent. Lilah didn’t buy it for a second.

“Alright, spill. What do you want?” Lilah asked with an eye-roll.

“Ok,” Jean started with a sigh. “Novelsy isn’t doing all that well financially and if I don’t find a way to attract more customers, I’m gonna have to close doors by the end of the year.”

“Shit!”

Worry settled on the pit of her stomach like lead, because Lilah loved Novelsy. The bookstore was initially owned by Jean’s aunt, but once the older woman passed away, Jean took over, much to her parents’ horror, since they expected her to handle the multimillion family business.

Lilah knew Novelsy started as a way of Jean rebelling against her parents, but it became her pride and dream. The last thing Lilah wanted was to see it closed, but at the same time, Lilah could only imagine how hard must it be for a small place like this to compete with chain stores and internet commerce.

“Any ideas that don’t involve me begging my parents for money?” Jean asked.

“We could start building the store’s media presence? Like a blog, social media, that sort of thing?” Lilah suggested with a shrug. “You’re the one with an MBA.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too,” Jean drummed her nails on the wooden surface of the table. “I guess I can dust off my camera, working on a few pictures, but we’re gonna need some quality content to go along with them…”

“Ah. Ambush,” Lilah joked, narrowing her eyes at Jean, who just gave her a sheepish smile. “You already considered all that and you’re just buttering me up to ask me to write for it, right?”

“Well, you are always going on and on about everything you read and watch. I just thought…” Jean shrugged, before giving Lilah a look that could only be considered puppy dog eyes. “I know you have a lot of stuff going on, but could you? Please? Just like a weekly thing would be enough.”

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed with an indulgent smile. It wasn’t like she would ever be able to deny Jean anything. “Just give some deadlines so I can fit it in my schedule.”

“Perfect! Thank you!” Jean declared, throwing her arms around Lilah for an awkward hug over the table. “You’re the best, Lih.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she rolled her eyes and started to pack her things. “You still need some short term action, you know? Because social media takes time to build.”

“I know and I decided to get some stage so we could have some bands and poetry soirées, you know, all that artsy crap.” Lilah laughed at Jean’s eye-roll, but couldn’t deny it was a good idea.

“Plus, Halloween is coming. You could host a costume contest,” she suggested standing up and shouldering her satchel bag.

“You’re just looking for an excuse to dress up,” Jean teased with a smile. She wasn’t exactly wrong on that assessment.

“Ok. Gotta go! Bye, hon!” She pressed a quick peck on Jean’s cheek.

“One last thing,” Jean called before Lilah moved too far. “You should totally wear that cute green tartan print dress for your date!”

Lilah just rolled her eyes at Jean’s smirking face and took off, because sometimes, arguing with Jean was the most pointless thing.

She stopped by their apartment above the bookstore long enough to put away the stuff she wouldn’t need for class. And after another moment of deliberation, she exchanged her jeans and t-shirt for the dress, pairing it with dark leggings, a black cardigan, and her favorite scarf. Just because it wasn’t a date, didn’t mean Lilah couldn’t look nice.  

She grabbed her bag, Keanu’s book and after a moment of deliberation, Lilah reached on her bookshelf and picked up one of her books. He had lent her one of his. It would be only fair to return the favor, right?

Lilah put on her headphones and hurried off since and she was already dangerously close to missing her train. Fortunately, the subway station was only a couple of blocks away from Novelsy and Lilah always enjoyed the walk. It gave her a chance of enjoying the city had fallen in love with and had been calling home for the last six years.

It had been the best decision of her life to move away from Florida for grad school. Not only it gave Lilah the freedom of being her own person away from her family, but there was also just something magical about New York that she hadn’t found anywhere else. Then again, Lilah barely ever traveled. She had lived most of her life in Florida and could barely remember her home country anymore.

It was one of the things Lilah wanted the most for her life. To travel the world, visit all the places books and movies had shown her. She always wondered what would be like to work with something that could take you all over the world. It must really be amazing.

After teaching her class, Lilah headed to the psychology Ph.D. offices to concentrate on her paper instead of daydreaming about traveling the world or her not-a-date with Keanu. She managed to do all the alterations her advisor suggested and added a new analysis based on an article she read last week, before sending it to her.

Once she finally left NYU, Lilah fidgeted all the way to Central Park, unable to suppress her nerves, even if she kept mentally chanting to herself that this wasn’t a date. When Lilah stepped out the station and found Keanu was waiting for her on the sidewalk, her heart felt like it was trying to bust out of her chest

He looked so handsome in jeans, a grey tee with a motorcycle company logo and a dark leather jacket. He was holding two cups in a carry tray and waving her over with the other. So as Lilah crossed the street, she willed her heart to slow down, because she could barely breathe as she walked up to him.

“Hi!” he greeted her with a bright smile. “I’m glad you could make it in such short notice.”

“It’s fine. My night was free,” Lilah replied, smiling too. It was technically true, but she was supposed to be writing her dissertation.

“I didn’t know how you took your coffee, so I just got it black and brought everything else aside,” Keanu said, handing her one of the cups before pulled out from his pocket packs of sugar, sweetener, and cream.

That was so thoughtful of him that Lilah couldn’t bring herself to admit that she didn’t drink American coffee. Not even Novelsy. Instead, she took one of the cups and dumped cream and sugar in it and took a sip.

“Thank you,” she said covering her grimace, by turning to the park. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” Keanu nodded as they started on the path. “So, tell me your thoughts on the book.”

As they walked, Lilah told him about how she felt with Neruda’s poetry, a big grin playing on her lips. She always thought fall was the best season to take a walk in Central Park. The foliage had faded from their usual green in warm hues of orange, red and purple, making them look straight out of a painting. And under the late afternoon sun, everything sort of had a soft yellowish glow, as if they had been set on fire.

As she spoke, Lilah kept sneaking a few glances at Keanu, always finding him watching her with a thoughtful expression that quickly shifted into a smile whenever he caught her looking.

When they reached the fountain, Keanu led them away from the rest of the visitors and tourists snapping pictures. Lilah wondered if he noticed a few of them snapping photos of him. Fortunately, no one came over to bother them. She wouldn’t know how to react if they had.

Keanu stopped by this huge oak tree and handed Lilah his cup so he could spread his jacket on the ground, before plopping on it and gesturing her to take a seat. She chuckled and followed, handing back the wrong cup.

“You barely touched it,” he pointed out with an arched eyebrow, looking more amused than offended. “You could’ve just told me you didn’t like coffee.”

“I like coffee,” she replied with a sheepish smile. “But that’s not coffee, that American chafé.”

“Sorry, what?” he asked with a confused frown.

“Chafé,” Lilah repeated chuckling at how adorable he looked mouthing out the word. “It just means it watered down and it tastes more like tea than actual coffee.”

“Ahhh, so you’re a coffee snob,” Keanu teased, making Lilah laugh.

“No!” she shoved him playfully on the shoulder, feeling solid muscle under her hand. “Just used to it been brewed differently. My father always says that there are two things you should never argue about with Latinos: telenovela and coffee.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Keanu chuckled, leaning back on his elbows.

“Seriously, I’ll brew it for you sometime and you’ll see.”

The offer escaped her lips before she could even register it and Lilah wanted to kick herself. Why couldn’t she actually pay attention to what she was saying?

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said with a small smile as he watched her. “And I thought I caught a hint of an accent.”

“Really?” she smiled wide at him. “You got a great ear. Most people don’t notice. I’ve moved here when I was three. My stepdad’s American.”

Lilah told him a little bit about her family, mostly just silly stories of her brother, which he reciprocated with stories about his sisters. It was nice and comfortable and time seemed to fly by. Every once in a while, Lilah caught herself staring at him, admiring how the setting sun behind Keanu gave him an almost supernatural glow or how his smile lit up his face and his brown eyes danced with mirth as he recalled some of his teenage shenanigans.

“What?” he asked, bumping his foot again hers.

“Nothing,” Lilah replied with a small smile, lowering her eyes.  

Keanu bumped his foot against hers again and she sneaked a glance his way with a frown, wondering if that was an accident. But then he did it again. And again. Was he playing footsie? She gave him a soft kick in retaliation and Keanu grinned, trapping her foot between his ankles. Lilah laughed, shaking her head.

“You’re such a dork, oh my God!” she commented with a grin, and he chuckled.

“Got you to smile, did I?” he replied with a grin of his own and once again Lilah’s chest felt like was about to burst like several butterflies were trapped inside and trying to scape.

They stayed like that talking and laughing together until the sun set completely and the temperature dropped. Lilah kept rubbing her hands together to keep them warm since she had forgotten her gloves. It helped some, but there wasn’t much she could do about her legs. Her leggings were a flimsy barrier against the cold.

“Do you want to take off?” Keanu offered as he sat up, rubbing his hands together and covering hers, offering his own warmth.

Lilah realized how big his hands were compared to hers. As a matter of fact, Keanu was a very big guy. Not only he was tall, but his broad shoulders and strong frame made him look kind of imposing, but in a good way. She realized he could probably pick her up on his arms very easily and that made her swallow hard and her breath pick up speed.

“No, it’s fine,” Lilah managed to reply after a moment.

She wasn’t ready for this thing to be over just yet, but a gush of wind blew past them again and she couldn’t suppress a shudder, earning a knowing look from Keanu.

“Ok, yes.”

Keanu helped her up and they started to make their way back. Moving usually helped to warm her up a little, but they were walking against the wind and Lilah was shivering.

“Do you want my jacket?” Keanu asked when he noticed.

“Won’t you be cold?” Lilah wondered and Keanu snorted, already unzipping it.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” He held it up so she could put it on.

“Thanks,” she replied, pulling it closer around herself since it was still warm from his body. And if she sneaked a few sniffs at the collar, no one needed to know.

Keanu walked her all the way to the subway station where he had been waiting for her. Lilah handed the jacket back to him and watched as he shrugged on.

“I had fun,” he said with a smile. “I’ve been so focused on this movie, hadn’t been able to go out and just talked about anything except work, so thank you.”

“I know the feeling.” Lilah smiled too and pulled out from her bag his book along with her copy of Life as it is and handing both to him.

“You lent me one, so I thought…” she explained when Keanu gave her a confused look.

“What is it about?” he asked, checking out the blurb on the back cover.

“It’s a collection of short stories, written in the fifties. Rodrigues was really acidic and insightful so they’re really fun,” she said. “If you want to give it a go... we could hang out again and talk about it?” Lilah offered hesitantly.

“Sure,” Keanu replied with a frown and Lilah winced. Did she push too far?

“We don’t have to…” she hurried to say. A second ago Keanu was all smiles and now he almost looked disappointed.

“No, I want to,” he said. “Really.”

“Ok then,” she replied sighing. It wasn’t like she could just grab the book from his hand and run away. “So, give me a call when you’re done?”

“I will. Goodnight.”

After a moment of hesitation, Lilah nodded and headed home, wondering all the way what just happened.

tbc

Go to Part 4

Taglist (give me a shout if you want to added or if you want to be removed)

@poisonedjoinery @ringa-starr @curly-minnie @i-cant-remember-my-old-login

@caryled @beyond-antares @kathorax @krazycags01 @meetmeinthematinee

@red-pill-blue-pill @baphometwolf666 @soarocks @imagine-the-fanfics @moonlit-raven-haven @cumberbatchbaps @coolbreezeinkeanureeves

[flowerboyethan]

Goodnite Socialite

Chapter 2: “People Like Confidence”

A month had passed, as well as the anxious episode. Not entirely, but enough to no longer be on the edge of tears. I was proud of myself to finally dull down the voice. Again, not entirely gone, but not as bad, and I could ignore it most days.

I had a lot to do today, mostly grocery shopping. I usually shopped online, but I was doing what Mark told me to do; change up my routine. It was true I had been cooped up in my house for weeks, never going outside unless I took Spencer on a walk. Besides, the late-September Californian sun felt good on my face.

I wore a smile as I locked my car outside Westfield, one of Los Angeles’ many outdoor malls. Head held high, I slipped on my sunglasses, making my way towards the entrance, patting the grocery list in my pocket.

The mall was busy, as it always is, but it didn’t seem to bother me for once. Everyone was out to beat the heat, buying pool toys or fans, little kids throwing fits after dropping their ice cream cones.

Ice cream. It’s been awhile since I treated myself.

‘Later,’ I thought to myself, walking into Gelson’s.

I had planned out dinner for the week, mostly consisting of different pastas. I felt as if meal prep would keep my motivation high and help improve my cooking. Besides, I was getting tired of only eating microwaved meals.

I checked off several things from my list; noodles, tomatoes, avocados, spices, lunch meat, ground beef, etcetera, etcetera. Pretty soon, my list was completely crossed off, my cart full.

A strong scent of faux cinnamon hit me as I passed an isle near the cash registers. The Halloween isle. Halloween was next month, no way I’m missing out on a little sightseeing. I turned my cart, taking in the smell. Skeletons, pumpkins, bats, and ghosts hung on racks or sat on shelves, some creepy and some cute. I picked up a gravestone, the words “here lies a witch of Salem” etched into the Styrofoam.

Salem. I hadn’t thought of her in so long. I did my best to block out that embarrassing interaction from my memory. Sure, she’d pop into my head occasionally, mostly thoughts of her eyes. And her smile. And the way she’d say my name.

I pushed away the gravestone. I couldn’t think about her, I wouldn’t let myself fall. I proceeded to the checkout.

As I pushed the cart to my car, I passed the ice cream shop, the smell of waffle cones and hot fudge wafting through the air. I gave in. I had the time, no need to record until tonight.

The shop had cleared out almost completely once I got back, just a short line. I ordered a cookies n’ cream waffle cone, paid, and turned to head out, only to be stopped by a familiar, singsong voice calling my name.

In the corner, sat next to the window, was Salem. She wore her wavy hair in space buns, tied with white and red ribbons, along with the biggest smile on her face. She waved me over, patting the seat across from her.

My heart started to pick up it’s pace, my hands instantly sweaty. I hadn’t seen her in so long, nor had I even planned to.  Now, she sat ten feet away from me, wanting my attention. I couldn’t say no, it would be rude, but I wanted to leave more than anything.

Yet, there was a part of me dying to talk to her. I hadn’t heard her say my name in so long, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to her for a bit, right?

I walked over, but before I could sit down, she jumped into my arms, hugging me tightly.

Salem was hugging me.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, Ethan!” She beamed, pulling away, squeezing my arms. “Please! Sit!”

I obeyed, returning her cheerful smile. “How have you been, Salem?”

“Marvelous as always, my dear Ethan.” I melted at the way she spoke. “I live for this type of LA weather, how about you?”

I shrugged, taking a bite of my waffle cone. “I’m from Maine. I’m still not fully used to the heat, ya know?”

She leaned her head in her hand. “Maine? What’s it like there?”

“Not warm around this time of year.”

She chuckled. “I bet!” Her smile faded a bit. “How are you, though? Are you still going through that anxious episode, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I waved her off. “Oh, I’m fine. It passed a few weeks ago, I’m just trying to get into a healthier routine, now.”

She reached for my hand. “I’m glad you’re doing okay, then. No friend of mine is allowed to be sad under my watch. No, sir!”

My eyebrows furrowed. “You consider me your friend?”

She gasped softly, placing a hand to her chest. “Well, of course I do! Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because of some particular embarrassing thing I said to you the first time we met.” Her head tilted. Did she really not remember? “The whole ‘making eyes at me’ thing? That was pretty much our whole interaction.”

“Oh!” She waved me off with her ice cream spoon. “Now, I don’t dwell on that, it was a simple misunderstanding. I do dwell on the fact that you are so sweet and adorable. Isn’t that all that matters?”

I nearly choked on my ice cream. Amy was right, she was so flirtatious. Too flirtatious. Was she still dating Cherry?

I nodded anyway. “I suppose that all that matters. Thank you for not teasing me about it.”

“I would never!” Her phone pinged inside her overalls pocket. She looked down, giggled, and pulled it out to answer the text. Her smile slowly formed into a smirk, her eyes meeting mine.

I gulped. “What?”

“Are you free tonight?”

“What?”

“Are you free tonight?”

Was she asking me out? I shrugged. “It depends. Why?”

She shifted in her seat, leaning on her arms. “I’ve been invited to a party. And as a socialite, I must go. Would you like to be my plus one?”

I shoved the rest of my ice cream cone in my mouth. “What about Cherry?”

“She has several deadlines to meet, her new collections come out in a month. She can’t afford to go out right now. So, what do you say?”

Was everything I had to do tonight that important? I had a video prepped for tomorrow, but was it worth recording one more on top of the two I already needed to do? Was it worth putting off going to some party filled with rich people who would most definitely judge me?

I started rubbing the back of my neck, avoiding her eyes. “I don’t know, Salem. I’m not really the big-celebrity-party type.”

She reached for a napkin from the dispenser, taking out a pen from her purse. She scribbled down her number, folding and slipping it into my shirt pocket. “Call me if you change your mind, preferably before nine.” She stood up. ‘Where’s your car? I’m parked in lot A.”

“Lot B, sadly,” I stood up with her. “And, yeah! I’ll let you know.”

“Perfect! I’ll see you tonight.” Salem reached up, ruffling my hair. “Bye, Ethan!” She called over her shoulder.

I ran my hand through my hair, watching her skip out of the shop. She was so confident that I’d go with her to the party. Confident in general, really. How confident must one be to just ruffle a near-stranger’s hair? To immediately befriend said near-stranger?

I didn’t want to fall for her. I refused to. I couldn’t afford the heartache.

Besides, she said it herself, she’s a socialite. Didn’t that mean she’s rich? I didn’t want to be associated with rich snobs so why would I accept her offer? I couldn’t accept it; it’d go against everything I stood for.

――――

I sat on my couch that night around eight o’ clock, my hands folded against my mouth, staring at the napkin with Salem’s number on my coffee table. How long had I been sitting there? I don’t know. I managed to fit in a video before this, but that seemed to be hours ago. 4 times I’ve pick up my phone to call her, only to set it back down.

Why was this so hard? It’s only a party. For rich people. Filled with expensive taste and fake emotions. I’d be so out of place. Not to mention surrounded by everyone ten times better than me. And Salem, an expert in the scene, how would she feel to be seen with a loser such as me?

She’d love every moment with you, the voice said.

Not self-deprecating for once.

I sighed, picking up my phone for the last time, typing in her number. I began to pace as the dial tone sounded, Spencer perking up as I passed him. My anxiety increased as the seconds ticked by without an answer. Finally, someone unfamiliar picked up.

“Hello?” A deep, male voice answered.

My heart dropped to the floor. Was it a fake number? “Is this Salem’s phone?”

“Who is this?”

“E-Ethan? Salem gave me her phone number and-”

“Oh, hello, Ethan.” The tension in the man’s voice dropped. “Salem-”

I heard a rustling through the phone, a few yelps, then Salem’s voice.

“Ethan!” She cooed. “I knew you’d call.”

“Hello, Salem,” I fell into the couch as I heard her voice. “Who was that?”

“Oh, just my uncle. He answers my phone sometimes, only for unknown numbers to intimidate them.”

“Consider me intimidated.”

She giggled.

“So, uh,” I got up and started pacing again. “I called to ask if you still want me to go to that party?”

“Yes! Oh, you won’t regret it!”

“Is there a dress code? ‘Cause I have no idea what to wear.”

“Just wear something nice!”

“Like, a tux?”

She laughed. “Not quite. Would you like help?”

“Desperately.”

“I’ll send you my address so you can head over. Not to be rude, but I’m sure I’ll have more stuff for you to try on.”

“I take no offense because you are absolutely right.”

She laughed again. “I’ll see you soon, then. Drive safe!”

“Bye!” I hung up, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Spencer!”

He popped up from his spot on the couch.

“I’m going to a party.”

[purplesurveys]

811

What do you like to drink in the morning? I’m not really a drinks person and I’m fine having all my meals with just water. I like coffee, but I usually drink it in the afternoon or at night. What color is your favorite hoodie? Don’t have one. My favorite sweater is gray though. Do you have a string of lights in your room? No. I remember wanting those as a teenager but I figured it was such a waste of electricity just to make my room look a little cuter, so that turned me off from the idea lol. Do you know what you are going to do today? Yeah, well today I was going to finally register for a social security number online, but given that I’m from the Philippines and the government only gives their 15% in everything they do, the website is absolute garbage and I can’t get past the first step of the process. Not surprising anymore. Other than that, I don’t have anything else to do. Does your heart hurt? My heart is missing so many people at the moment, but it’s not really hurting.

Who is not in your life that you wish was? I wish that my late maternal grandfather was still alive, if he counts. Who hurt you last? Probably Gabie. She doesn’t have a good hold of her emotions when she’s mad and tends to spit out hurtful things without thinking if it would affect me. I plan to have a talk with her about it once we can see each other again because it’s beginning to suck. Can you see the moon out your window right now? Continuing this survey four hours later, except now I’m tipsy as fuck haaaaaa. I dunno, I probably won’t be able to. It’s been raining all day and evening so I might only see clouds if I look out.

What makes you feel inspired? Seeing other people with insanely good work ethic. Are you mad at a friend right now? Nope, no reason to be. Do you have a friend who hurt you and doesn't care? I mean I’m pretty sensitive, so yeah I’ve had some friends say stuff to me that they probably didn’t think anything of, but hurt me in actuality. Is your room clean? Sure, it’s not too cluttered at the moment or anything like that. Can you see the sunrise from your window? No, it doesn’t happen on my side of the house. If you were a writer, would you have a pen name or use your real name? I’d use my real name. Idk, I’ve always found pen names to be a tad bit confusing. Did you go to Goodwill yesterday? I didn’t, and I don’t, because we don’t have whatever that is here. What is your friend's cat's name? I don’t have friends who have cats.  Do you celebrate your pet's birthdays? Continuing this survey 15 hours later because I was too dizzy to continue typing, lmao. I typically buy him a dog-friendly cupcake from the pet supply store at the mall near my school, and I serve him more food than usual for lunch and dinner. March is a busy month for me with school and stuff, so I haven’t gotten the chance to throw him a party. :( As a kid, did you celebrate your dolls' birthdays? (if you're a girl) I never liked playing with dolls. But no, I didn’t celebrate the ‘birthdays’ of my other toys. None of them lasted that long with me anyway haha. Are you wearing a hoodie right now? Nope. It’s chilly right now, but it’s not wear-a-hoodie cold. Did you ignore the last facebook post that bothered you, or did you comment? I had to ignore it because it was from my grand-aunt, and old people like to throw fits when you call them out so it was going to be a waste of my time if I commented. Do you need to go to the pharmacy today? No, no need for meds anymore yaaaaaay. Are you realizing that one of your friends isn't a real friend? Not at the moment. I’m happy with the circle I currently have. What was the name of one of your stuffed animals as a kid? I didn’t like stuffed animals either. This is more of my sister’s turf. Do you have a car? If so, did you give it a name? I do have a car but I’ve never given it a name. With my dad having plans to sell it soon, I’d rather it stay nameless for the remaining time it has with me so that I don’t get any more attached to it. If you were a famous singer, what would you want your hit song to be about? I’d want it to have an important message so I’ll probably write something about the bullshit that the government keeps pulling on us.

Did you skip church last week? No, unfortunately my mom makes us watch YouTube recordings of masses from a certain church. I usually hold up one of our couch pillows so that I don’t have to see the TV screen, but nevertheless I’m part of the audience and 30-45 minutes of my time are always wasted every Sunday. Do you have any big regrets? Just one big one. If you had to re-design an alien, instead of making them green with slanty-eyes and an egg-shaped head, what would you make it look like? I’m not creative enough for this question, so pass Do you have anyone who loves you, besides God? Do you have anyone who cares about you, besides God? Do you have anyone who you can go to for support? Yes, there’s a number of people I can think of. Do you normally write in cursive or print? Print, I write faster that way. Does your heart ache for something? Right now I’m kinda wanting pizza actually lol. Do you fit the millennial stereotype? I’m not even a millennial, dude. Would you want your first child to be a boy or a girl? Girl. I don’t want sons. If you were to write an article for a magazine, what would it be about? I’m in the mood to write an opinion piece about, again, the government. Do you have a blog? I have this Tumblr but it’s really more of a journal than anything else, so no, I wouldn’t say that I have an active blog. I did have several classes where our projects required us to make blogs and I never deleted those, so those blogs are still up albeit untouched for years now. If you were to start a blog, what would your first post be about? I can see myself starting a food review blog where I journal all the restaurants I dine in. Do you think you are good at writing poetry? I absolutely suck at it and hate when I’m required to make poems. Have you ever tried a science experiment that didn't work? I don’t think so. Have you ever had a teacher who looked like an alien? I dunno what an alien is supposed to look like but I also haven’t had a teacher who I thought looked weird. Do you take gummy vitamins? Not since I was 14 or 15. Are your feet wide? No. At least I don’t think they are lol. If you could do research right now for an essay, what topic would you choose to right about? Welp today is our Independence Day, so keeping in line with the timing it’d be nice to do a paper on something about Philippine history. What are your strongest attribute? Personally, I like the fact that I’m detail-oriented. That trait has been responsible for presentable Powerpoints, has saved otherwise careless co-workers, and has made sure that all research, written articles, etc. are free from critical errors, be it in data or grammar. Have you ever been tempted to commit a crime? Of course. I think we’ve all been tempted to do something like that at least once. Have you ever started writing a suicide letter? I’ve written a couple ones throughout the years. ...and then realized you wanted to live? No. Do you know anyone who had to evacuate for the latest hurricane? Not the last typhoon, no. But my friends in Marikina have had to evacuate for past calamities many times because they live right beside a river, and one that easily overflows at that. Do you write letters to friends? Only for special occasions, like for Christmas, retreats, if they were graduating, etc. Do you like to write letters? I do but it can get so tiring, especially because I prefer handwriting my letters. I used to write 40+ handwritten letters, one for each of my classmates, every year when we would go on retreat. The practice was super tiring though so now I typically just write letters for Gab. As a kid, did you find diagramming sentences fun? The what sentences??? I’ve no clue what you’re talking about. Whatever those are, I’m positive we never did that in school. What is your dream? Money. Where would you travel if you could? I’d go absolutely everywhere, but I’d start by finishing off Asia first. When it comes to traveling, I’ve always imagined myself taking my sweet time going local first before venturing out to farther countries. That being said, I’d love to go to Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Brunei. Do you feel all alone in the world? No. Do you own a piece of jewelry with an owl on it? Haaaaaaaaa, no. That’s such a Tumblr-in-2010 trademark. I did have owl stuff before, though. If you have a class ring, what color is the stone? Not a thing here. Does looking at the starry sky make you feel peaceful? It does. But if I’m really hellbent on feeling peaceful, I’d rather look at either a skyline at night OR into the sea during the day. Do you have a pen pal? If not, would you ever want to have one? No and no. Like I said, I’m pretty much retired from handwritten letters after writing 40+ of them every single year for around a decade lol. Do you drink hot chocolate? Only La Creperie’s San Gines hot chocolate. Sometimes I’ll drink hot chocolate at hotels too. Do you like apple cider hot or cold? I don’t drink that. Are you hurt by something a friend did to you recently? No, none of them have done or said something hurtful to me lately. Are you under 30? Yeup. Have you made a "30 Things to Do Before I'm 30" list? No. I don’t like keeping myself under a deadline. Do you paint rocks and hide them in your town? I’ve never done that before. Do you have a secret crush? Nope, am very vocal about my crush heh. What was the name of your first crush? Andi. Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? Yes, groan. Do you like parodies? Not always. Some of them can be a little too cheesy for my liking. Are you a Taylor Swift fan? Not a chance. Have you ever kissed a picture? I probably have. Do you use window clings (stickers for your window)? No. Do you decorate for fall? We don’t have fall. What do you want to be for Halloween this year? Not really sure yet...I don’t even know if we’re getting Halloween this year. Has suicide crossed your mind a lot lately? [trigger warning] Not these days, and I’m really thankful for that. I’ve self-harmed twice during the course of the quarantine and while that’s disappointing at least I haven��t thought about being dead, and that’s what matters to me. Do you have supernatural abilities? ............No. Do you get enough hugs? Definitely not these days. I haven’t been hugged since March. I think I might cry when I get my first one. What labels do people try to put on you? I don’t know. You’d have to ask others because this isn’t the sort of thing people say to your face lol. Who do YOU (or rather, who does God) say you are? Are you happy? I’m not happy with the Jesus questions on here lmao but kidding aside, I wouldn’t say that I 100% am. I just feel like I’ve only been floating or existing recently, but not fully happy. Have you asked yourself recently, Why am I here? I hate questions like that, so no. What family member did you get your hair color from? Everyone of them. Filipinos have the same features. Have you ever found a secret compartment? No. If you designed a house, would you give it a secret room? I’ve seen some interesting ones on the internet that make me want a secret room of my own, but I think it’ll stay as a fantasy. Do you read horror stories? When I come across them, sure. I don’t actively look for them though. Do you ever comfort eat? Yeah, I did it a lot before quarantine. Yabu’s a great example of me comfort eating haha. Does stretching feel good? Yesssss. Do you have your wedding planned in your head already? I have scenarios that play in my head but I don’t have the specifics – color scheme, flowers, centerpieces, location, etc – mapped out yet. Would you ever adopt a child? Not my first choice. Are you ok today? I’d say so, yeah. It’s not hot today so that’s already good enough of a day for me lmao. Was the last book you read good? It was okay. It holds a great life story with okay writing. Wrestlers write autobiographies ALL THE TIME which means that not all of them will be a home run, and AJ’s was neither earth-shattering nor bad. I definitely didn’t appreciate the unintended-but-casual sexism/misogyny in it or the extreme hyperboles, but it’s AJ and I love her work nonetheless.

[supernoondles]

2019

The last day of 2019 was also the day I fainted for the first time--a fitting metaphor for the year.

2019 was overall very emotionally taxing. This year was emotionally defined by falling intensely, deeply in love with someone (who is a very private person so I will try to be vague to respect that) and being in a lot of pain because of situations mostly outside of our control. There were a lot of intensely joyous moments, and a lot of intensely sad ones. Throughout it all I wish I had communicated better. I also made some bad decisions with another person I really loved and cared about that resulted in us growing apart. Do I think I grew from the experiences? For sure. Do I wish I could have come upon these realizations through a different course of action? Also yes. Am I fully healed from the experiences? Not really, but I've been getting better.

2019 was also very bad in terms of research. It was the 2nd year of my PhD. After I submitted my rotation project I basically felt stuck in the swamp of my advisors rejecting new project ideas for like literally half a year. This, combined with my high emotional volatility (partially due to starting birth control), made me really sad, unmotivated, and susceptible to self-blame. I definitely had high expectations for myself and became frustrated at my lack of progress and felt a lot of pressure from myself to get my shit together. I also felt incredibly bad after most advisor meetings and not supported by one of them to the point where I had to have a conversation with him about the lack of support (which was very scary)! Things started picking up, though, near the end of the year. I published a paper in collaboration with a former post-doc/now professor elsewhere whom I learned a lot from, and started finally building out another system. I also started mentoring an undergrad who at some point told me I helped him feel like he had something important to say and belong at Stanford for the first time and those words meant a lot to me. I think I'm continuing to refine what I value as research contributions and increasingly think about what it means to build systems that aren't used outside of the lab to satisfy the annual conference publishing cycle. I'm also starting to feel the pressure of doing work that follows a narrative rather than random projects that interest me.

Oh, I guess in terms of "program requirements," I did finish taking required classes, passed qualifying exams, and got a master's degree. But honestly those weren't hard at all nor do I think are externally valued in the larger research community, so I don't really celebrate them as accomplishments beyond surface level.

In 2019 I saw two different therapists. The first one was awful, I think directly influenced some of my bad decisions, and also didn't respect my gender identity??? The second one is a lot better and I'm grateful to see her, even if 90% of our sessions are just talking about my relationship (romantic/advisor) issues, which is something I want to move away from in the future. But I also feel incredibly privileged when relationship issues are the primary stressors in my life--I am grateful I feel equipped to handle other crap, like deadlines, and don't have to worry about my own health.

Those were the main things that have colored this year. We'll now move into the section of this post where I go through my photos to jog my memory of other events.

New years started a tradition of getting dim sum with Jasper, Matthew, and Michelle dear to my heart. My high school friend was also visiting and we all attended a really awesome new year's eve party. I was also going on a lot of dates and having a lot of good sex, which made me really happy, and at the same time crying all the time at work. In February I received probably the best gift anyone has ever given me and saw Panic! at the Disco, which I said in an end of the year group meeting was a good memory of my year (it was, to relive my scene days!). In March I roadtripped both to Marin (which I had never to been before, despite all my years in the bay) and LA for Wondercon; it was nice to both see high school friends and go on a trip with the boo. In April I went on a hike with my office which was probably the start of us all becoming closer (we are the social office in the wing now, which I take pride in! Also we draw a lot of Pokemon which warms my heart). In May I went to CHI in Glasgow and then to Paris afterward, and the entire experience was very weird and bad and also too many flights were canceled and/or missed and I vowed to not return to Europe for a while, but man do I love the noodles at Trois Fois plus de Piment. In June we hosted a double apartment party with my downstairs neighbors (side note: I am really appreciative of the place I live in, for the community, convenience, and large-ass space and will be really sad to be kicked out fall 2020) and I started a friendship important to me. I cat-sat for my advisor (the one who doesn't make me feel bad) twice. I went to Redwood State Park with my family and hosted a summer solstice celebration. Over the summer a friend I met in Paris back in 2017 moved in with me. I had a much needed escape from the bay to Seattle where I was reminded how abundant the world can be. I also went to Tahoe to celebrate my parents' anniversary, and really liked stumbling upon a smaller lake with a cheap boat rental. Then I became FOMO about the highly competitive Bay Area camping and did a last minute walk-in at Redwood Basin in Santa Cruz, which made me realize that I don't actually love camping (but was nice nonetheless). I ate an expensive meal at Commonwealth before they closed. For my birthday we made a friendship quilt and I served my favorite dish of cumin lamb but it was also 90 degrees in my apartment (I felt really bad and bought two fans afterwards). I started buying many cartoon frog plush after being gifted a $3.99 on sale Safeway frog (called Baby!). I went on Tinder dates (one of which was at a quaker yard sale marketed as Harvest Festival where I got a 1970s Kermit puppet for like $2) that largely went nowhere. My high school friend visited and we were both sad about break ups. I did Inktober before I went to New Orleans for a conference on Bourbon St where everything felt like it was coated in a sticky film of alcohol. I almost missed my flight home because I fell asleep in a sculpture garden but I had the most amazing Uber driver who snaked his way through traffic (oh and the flight was delayed by like 3 hours). I went to kind of embarrassing haunted houses and pumpkin patches over Halloween, but also had the most incredible bowl of ramen at Mensho. My whole office dressed up as Zootopia characters which warmed my furry heart. I spent like $120 on a Pokemon shirt. I started playing Arkham Horror and rekindled another friendship important to me. In November went on a road trip to Big Sur because again, I had to escape it all. For Christmas Eve dinner I roasted a duck for the first time (which was delicious). Shortly after I waited in line for 2 hours for a rollercoaster at Great America, which taught me the value of buying a fast pass because at this point in my life that money is worth it, and then waited 2 hours in line at the DMV to get a RealID (I had made an appointment, which was the fast pass).

Okay, now we move to the hobby section!

I got really into sewing in 2019, having received a sewing machine last Christmas. I made a Judy Hopps (which I wore to CrunchyRoll Expo) and Korok cosplay (Fanime), several unsuccessful garments, a crab bean bag, a dice bag, a fanny pack, and put hearts nipples on a jumpsuit.

Shows! I think I went to way fewer shows this year. The ones I can remember are Elephant Gym, Thom Yorke the night before I had an 8am flight, Carly Rae Jepsen over pride weekend (also, she is my #1 artist of the year, which makes a lot of sense given my emotional space), Mitski at Stern Grove, Capitol Hill Bloc Party (which was super lame, except for Lizzo, where I cried), and the National (which was a fucking surreal experience as they played on Stanford's campus, I was the only one within earshot of myself who knew the words to Crybaby Geeks, and then the white catalog moms came up to me after to thank me for singing the song).

I also started playing my own music! I started playing viola again for the first time in 7 years (lol) in both pop-up concerts with the Awesome Orchestra (one in Golden Gate Park, one at the Exploratorium) and a string quartet through my school. Sometimes I am filled with joy and delight. Other times interpersonal tensions run high and also I am very bad at being in tune. It's life.

Media! I really liked Mob Psycho 100 Season 2 and Beastars. I feel like those were the only notable anime I watched this year? I saw the Farewell three times--first in Seattle where I sobbed for like 1 hour after the movie, the second time with my parents, and the third where Awkwafina was present for a Q&A. I thought Parasite was incredible and Promare was OK. I have spent an unfortunately large amount of my time playing Pokemon Masters. I finally beat BOTW and completed my Pokedex in Shield like 2 weeks after getting the game.

Resolutions! In my draft of my 2018 end of year post (which I never polished and posted, sorry), I said my resolutions were 1. come out to my parents 2. draw enough to table at an anime con 3. be disciplined about paper reading and have a doc. I did none of these things!!! However, for 1, I feel like I am well equipped to have this conversation but am waiting for my sibling to do it first out of respect. 2 was just bad. I barely drew this year except for gifts. 3 was okay--I did have a large doc in the beginning of the year when I was looking for ideas, but as time went on I abandoned it (I also stopped reading papers, which I don't think you're supposed to do as a grad student...)

My resolutions this year are phrased as intentions (-(c) Matthew). They span several categories. Relationships: I want to open myself to and actively seek experiences of love, because I miss that. That being said, I will only date someone if 1. they have their life together 2. they love themselves and 3. they challenge me to grow. (I do think you can experience love without dating; the thing I'm after is love in an expansive sense.) Work: I want to do enough work so I don't feel guilty about not doing enough work, and also not berate myself for taking a long time to do things. Hobbies: I want to sew at least one thing a month. Chinese: I want to improve my Chinese, especially pronunciation.

Having written this 20 days into 2020, it's not been so bad so far. But I was also really happy in the beginning of 2019. Here's to no global maxima, a monotonically increasing year!

[thefandomsinhalor]

I Know Who I Am

Written for @swansongbingo

Square filled: Stanford!Sam (Season One)

Title: I Know Who I Am

Rating: Teen and up

Word count: 2,979

Warning tags: No Archive Warning

Ship: Sam Winchester x Jessica Moore (light)

Summary: Thriving at Stanford, Sam believes he is finally free to embrace who he really is.

Read on AO3 (I might turn this into a full length fic)

“Sam? What’s wrong?”

Sam lifted his eyes from his computer screen to meet Jessica’s. Holding her cup of coffee, she stared at him. She was already dressed and ready to head out for her morning class.

Sam smiled at her. “Nothing’s wrong. Um, far from it actually.” He swallowed hard and returned his focus to his computer screen to make sure he had read the e-mail properly.

“What is it, babe? Did—oh my God. Did you get it? The scores?” She stepped into the kitchen.

“Yup.”

“And?” she asked, putting down her cup on the counter.

Sam looked at her again. She was staring at him intensively and kept shifting on her feet with giddiness.

“174.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, Sam!” she cheered as she dashed towards him. With her arms wrapped around him, she gave him a warm, tight hug. “That’s almost a perfect score.”

“It’s not.”

“Stop. I’m so proud of you!”

Sam, unable to contain his smile, beamed. “Yeah?”

“Of course! I knew you could do it!” She loosened her embrace to look at him properly. Standing on her tip toes, she kissed him tenderly.

“Damn it,” she said, after breaking the kiss. “I have to leave. I’m sorry. I’m—I’ll probably be late already.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Sam.

“We have to celebrate!” she said urgently. “Tonight.”

He let out a sigh. “You know how I feel about—today.”

“I know, but—Sam, this is huge. We have to do something. Besides, we agreed to meet Luis at the pub.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek and walked away from him.

Sam groaned. “I was hoping to skip it.”

She stopped and turned around, amused. “Nah-uh. You said you would go out with us. Despite today being Halloween. And now you have a perfect excuse.”

“You mean you have the perfect excuse to drag me there.”

“Just be ready!” she said, laughing. And after a quick look at the clock, she hurried towards the door. “I love you!”

Sam’s morning was rather uneventful. He went to study for an hour at the library before his morning class as he always did.

The class was long. His mind was slightly wandering today, so he took avid notes to focus and was grateful that at least his professor was engaging.

After his class, he stopped by Brady’s place to check up on him. He hadn’t seen Brady in quite a while and he didn’t live far from campus, so Sam would have plenty of time to come back for his afternoon class.

Brady welcomed him with a broad smile.

“I was just about to eat some leftovers. Want some? Chinese food,” said Brady after shutting the door behind Sam.

“Great. I guess it will pair up perfectly with the subs I picked up for us on my way here,” said Sam, lifting the paper bag he was holding.

Brady laughed loudly. “Weird combos it is. Just like freshman year.”

“Seems so,” said Sam, sitting at the counter. While Brady was busy retrieving the food containers from the fridge, Sam glanced around the apartment.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing troublesome.

Spick-and-span.

“Sam?”

Sam mildly jumped at his name and returned his attention to Brady.

“Sorry. I didn’t hear you. I’m having issues focusing today, I guess.”

Brady stared at him quietly for a moment. “Any reason why?”

“Just tired. I just—”

“What?”

“Just had issues sleeping. That’s all.” He handed Brady one of the subs and began unwrapping the second one.

“Any reason in particular?” said his friend.

“Stress. School. I finally got my LSAT,” he said before taking a bite of his sub.

Brady froze. When Sam remained silent, he asked him about his score. Once Sam told him, trying not to feel embarrassed, Brady cheered loudly, pumping his fist in the air. “That’s terrific, Sam.” He looked down at the food on the counter. “I kinda feel like we should eat something else instead.”

Sam shook his head. “Nah. This is actually nice. What about you? Did you finally made a decision for next year? Last time we talked, you seemed undecided.”

“Nothing concrete, yet, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay too. You tell me when you do, though? And then, we’ll celebrate.”

“Deal,” said Brady, grinning. He helped himself to some dumplings and asked, “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Hadn’t heard from you in a while.”

Brady stopped chewing. He paused a moment, and then smirked at him. “You wondered if I was up to no good?”

“Brady—I—”

“That’s why you were eyeing my place earlier. Are you worried about me?”

“No. I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy. I—I just—”

“Sam, relax,” he said after taking a big bite of his sub. “I get it. You want to make sure I haven’t gotten back to my old ways—”

“Brady, I’m—”

“If anything,” he said, cutting him off, “I’m touched. But I promise I’m fine. I’ve just been busy.”

“Okay,” said Sam, nodding. “Can I ask how you’ve been busy?” he asked in a lighter tone, which made Brady laugh.

His friend observed him a moment, as if he was deciding to what extent he should share, and finally said, “Let’s just say that something is brewing in the background. Something big. Life altering big for some of us. In a way.”

“Really? And when is your big turning point is supposed to happen?”

“Oh, I didn’t say it would be life altering for me, per se. Although, it will evidently change things for me too.”

Sam frowned at him. “What?” He let out a small laugh. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You’ll see,” said Brady, smiling at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m not giving away the surprise.”

“That’s not vague or ominous at all,” said Sam.

“Any plans tonight?” asked Brady, changing the subject. “I’m sure Jess is planning something to celebrate.”

Sam pursed his lips and lowered his eyes.

“Right,” sighed Brady. “You and Halloween. I forgot. What’s up with that?”

“I just—it’s not my thing. Jess and I are meeting Luis at the pub tonight. A few of the others said they’d show up there too—you’re welcome to join, by the way—”

“I would love that, believe me, but I actually have other plans tonight.”

“All right. I’m—I was sort of trying to get out of it, but now Jess is insisting on celebrating tonight…”

“Can’t really miss that,” said Brady, amused. “Want my advice? I think you should listen to Jess. She clearly has your best interest at heart. Going out, instead of staying in to study—again—won’t kill you, Sam. Embrace it while you can.”

Sam enjoyed the rest of his lunch with Brady, discussing their options and hopes for their school years to come. Brady was enthusiastic and gave Sam a detailed list of his intensive school year schedule to meet all the application deadlines.

Much like the one Sam had to endure as well.

Soon enough, however, Sam needed to head back towards campus, so he thanked Brady for the lunch and reminded him of the night’s invitation in case his plans changed.

Back on campus, Sam hurried to his next class, swirling the ambling students around him. But as he passed by the Hoover Tower, he came to a halt when a thought suddenly occurred to him.

Dean. Dad.

His stomach dropped. He hadn’t told them about his results yet. And he had just now realized that fact.

Why would I though? It’s not like they get it.

And while he knew perfectly well that this was true, he also felt somewhat guilty that his first thought hadn’t been to tell Dean.

Dean would care. He might think it’s pointless and that I am wasting my time with Law school, but he would care. Dad too, but…

He retrieved his phone from his pocket and pondered about dialing. He pursed his lips, staring stubbornly at his phone.

All his reasons for having left, for having kept to himself all this time, came rushing back in his mind. Because he wanted to be free and lead his own life. Because he was tired of hunting. Because it wasn’t who he was.

And now, even though he wanted to share this news with them, he was worried calling might open the door for them—for John—to pull him back in.

Sam let out a sigh of frustration.

I can’t do it.

Because this isn’t me anymore. This has never been me. I’m okay here. I’m with Jess. I have friends. A future. A future that won’t end with blood. And death. And pain.

And soul crushing drama.

I already had enough of drama as it is.

This—me being a civilian who actually has a life, who is participating in society and doesn’t run anywhere—this is what I want. This is who I am.

He stared at his phone. At the contact “Dean.”

But I would still like to tell Dean.

And after a moment of hesitation, when he almost hit dial, he shook his head, shoved the phone back in his pocket and continued his route.

The number is probably not even in service anymore. And they’ll say what? Congratulations? Even if they mean it and it’s not just out of politeness, they will still probably think it’s a waste of time.

And I don’t want to hear that. Not today. Not after everything.

And more than anything, I don’t want to risk getting sucked into that. I managed to get myself out of it. I don’t want to ruin it.

I’m not a hunter. I want to be a lawyer.

And that was what he kept repeating to himself the rest of the day.

In his afternoon class, which turned out to be extremely difficult to focus on.

When he devoured his dinner at the bookstore where he worked. Especially when he overheard two students discussing doing a séance at the Holy Cross cemetery that night.

Based on what they were planning on bringing, not to mention how they intended on proceeding, Sam judged that there wasn’t anything to worry about. He kept his mouth shut so he wouldn’t sound like a complete freak.

Which was extremely difficult at times.

I’m not a hunter. I want to be a lawyer.

Words that he repeated to himself, once again, when he bumped into Mr. Gable, who lived across the hall from him and Jess, in their building’s lobby. His neighbor appeared grim, which was very unlike him, so Sam asked him what was wrong. Mr. Gable complained that “weird stuff” was happening in his apartment and when he notified their landlord, he wasn’t very keen on doing anything about it.

“What do you mean by ‘weird stuff’?”

“The lights are glitching. And the damn thermostat is broken.”

Sam frowned. “How so?”  

“It’s cold all the time. Which makes no sense, I know,” he added after assessing Sam’s expression. “I know it’s not winter yet, but it’s cold. Anyway, he came in, checked a few things and said everything was in order.”

“Did you ever have this problem before?”

“No. And I’ve lived here for almost ten years now.”

Sam swallowed. “Mr. Gable, I—I’m sure the landlord is—can I have a look?”

“At my apartment? You?”

“It’s probably just the wiring with the lights and…stuff, but I can check if you want.”

“And you’re an electrician?”

“Um, no. But I get by. I changed a few things in our apartment when we moved in. I got rid of that old ceiling fan that looked like it would just drop on our heads.”

Mr. Gable laughed. “All right. A quick look wouldn’t hurt.”

After Sam told him he needed to get a few things first, he dashed to his apartment and gunned for some of his gear he hid in the bottom of the closet. Away from prying eyes. Away from Jess’ grasp. He had explained to her that this was “hunting” gear and should be kept safely away at all times. He wouldn’t use it, but felt like he had to keep it for a weird “sentimental” value.

He knew Jess respected his space, especially in regards to anything involving his family. He also knew that if Jess ever decided to have a closer look in the duffle bag, while some guns and knifes would make sense, there was a bunch of other stuff that wouldn’t add up as hunting equipment.

Traditional hunting that was.

Sam simply grabbed the EMF and put his bag back in the closet.

Mr. Gable’s apartment’s inspection turned out to be very quick. He asked his neighbor the usual spill, trying his best to not sound overly invasive or weird. No recent deaths in the family or surroundings. No purchased or heirloom items. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.

And while the place was a bit chilly, it wasn’t like the usual ice-cold spots. Not like the ones that made the hair at the back of his neck rise and paralyzed him for a second.

He also noticed that Mr. Gable liked to have the windows open.

“Everybody needs fresh air!” he said defensively.

And while the lights did flicker, the EMF, on the other hand, didn’t react, so Sam judged it was the wiring. Sam assured him that he would mention it to the landlord next time he saw him, and that if the landlord still did nothing about the lights then, he asked Mr. Gable to come and find him again, and Sam promised to help him out.

His neighbor thanked him and Sam headed back home, telling himself that it was just bad wiring.

Besides, I am done with all this. This is just me not being stupid. Being cautious. And he figured that the supernatural was simply on his mind due to Halloween.

We’re close to—this is why I’m going there. But there is nothing.

Despite having fun with Jess and Luis, and the fact that he was celebrating and happy about his scores, keeping his mind away from the supernatural proved to be challenging on that evening nonetheless.

He was used to Halloween being the “night off,” but observing everyone’s costumes made it difficult to ignore that fact.

Luis was dressed as a zombie, which was a nice effort, Sam judged, to the real thing with the ragged clothes and makeup.

Except for the smell. Nothing can be faked about the authenticity of a rotten corpse.

Failing to solely focus on Jess, Sam noticed everyone around them. Some guy wearing a pope outfit. A pirate. Some girl wearing a silver spandex and silver wig. Another one wearing a white puffy dress. And a veil. A bride. She walked right behind Jess. And next to someone wearing multicolored curly hair with—

Fuck, no. Why? Sam took a deep breath

Why do people insist on dressing up as clowns? Why do people want to dress up period?

And it wasn’t until later that night, once he was lying in his bed, desperately trying to fall asleep that a troubling thought came to him.

I don’t like that people are dressing up for fun because I was forced to do it my whole life. My whole life I had to pretend to be someone else. I had to lie about everything. I had to lie to everyone.

Every day was Halloween for me. The bad part of it, I suppose, but still.

And I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be that person. I want to be me. Just me.

He sighed as his heart grew heavy. Feeling his arm going numb, he turned on his back.

Another thought crept into his mind.

But I’m still lying. Not like before, but I’m still lying.

And then, he made the mistake of opening his eyes.

And momentarily froze as he stared at the ceiling.

And saw it in a flash. Jess. The burning ceiling. The image imprinted in his mind from his nightmare.

Nothing. There’s nothing. Of course, there’s nothing.

He turned his head towards Jessica who was peacefully sleeping next to him.

She’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about.

He told himself this a hundred times, convincing himself that it was all a dream. Nightmare. Nothing else. And considering the time of year, it was not surprising why these nightmares—theses atrocious, paralyzing nightmares—would occur.

This is just me reacting to stress or something.

And this is exactly the reason why I should keep on track. Not care about anything else.

He took a deep breath, turned on his side again to avoid looking at the ceiling and shut his eyes. He had every intention to clear his mind.

But it didn’t work as well as he had hoped. The moment that image surfaced into his head, it was difficult to let it go. And the usual depressing hits started to rush in. His mother. John yelling about Stanford. Crappy motels. The journal. Kids telling him he was weird. Moving.

And therefore, me always being the weird kid.

And now, creepy nightmares of Jess burning on the ceiling. Like Mom.

No. This is—

I have nothing to do with this.

This is not me. This is not me. This is not me.

I know who I am. And no one can change that.  I have a say into this.

And he eventually fell asleep as he repeated his mantra. For the most part, it had worked.

Sam did not have nightmares about Jessica burning on the ceiling.

He had a dreamless sleep that night.

Until he was awoken by a sound in his apartment.

The sound that broke his sleep.

The sound that brought him back to reality.

To his reality.

A window opening.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Cuffed to an Angel - Chapter 1 (Dean/Cas Rom-Com Holiday Story)

(AO3)

Dean Winchester has a lot going for him: he's beloved by his students, he's finished writing his first book, and he's living comfortably in New York City. The only problem is... he's single. That wouldn't bother him much if his family wouldn't be visiting for the holidays. With cuffing season over, Dean has to face his family alone... or will he?

Castiel DiAngelo is a simple detective who hasn't really celebrated Christmas in over 9 years, holidays and family being a sore spot for him. But after taking Dean up on an offer, he finds that you can't really avoid the holidays.

Will these two be able to pull off a seminal holiday trope? Or will certain developments get in the way...

           “Charlie, I’m telling you I’ll have it to you before Christmas! I’m almost done… all I’ve got left to do is cross-reference a few sources and I’ll be sending it your way… Look, I’m sorry your boss is hounding you but think of it like this – you get to see more of her and her, how did you put it, ‘tight ass’… don’t you? …I think this is the perfect time to be making jokes… Whatever, I’m almost home so I’ll talk to you later.”

           Dean ends the call before Charlie could get the last word, smiling as he tucks the phone back into his pocket. He readjusts the pizza box in his arms so he can pull his key out of his other pocket and open the door to his building. It’s a small complex in Astoria on 30th street – nothing fancy, but better than a lot of apartments Dean looked at when he first moved to New York nearly seven years ago.

           And he saw a lot of apartments. Some he didn’t think should even be classified as a place to live. But thankfully he found this ‘reasonably’ priced place two weeks before the semester started.

           Now, the apartment has become a home – his home – and Dean smiles fondly when he enters. He tosses his keys into the bowl by the doorway and scrapes off the remnant of snow stuck to his boots. He unwraps his scarf and pulls off his hat before walking further into the living room.

           It’s cozy… but cramped. Now that might have to do with all the papers and books Dean has lying around every flat surface. There are even a few on his sofa – and his armchair is completely unusable. It’s not his fault though. Writing takes up a lot of the free time he used to have for cleaning.

           ‘Something I should probably get back to doing…’ Dean thinks when he steps into the kitchen, staring at the other empty pizza boxes that are stacked unevenly on top of each other on the counter. He grimaces, glancing down at the fresh pizza he’s carrying. He tries to place it down, but there’s no room. What space that isn’t taken up by the boxes is covered in empty beer bottles and coffee mugs.

           “Dammit.”

           Dean moves back into the living room and places the box on his coffee table, moving his notes and his students’ papers to the side.

           He starts taking off his jacket when he notices a small, red dot out of the corner of his eye.

           It’s his phone – more importantly, the answering machine. Someone had left him a message.

           Dean raises a brow. He moves over and presses the button before continuing undressing. He hangs the coat on the coat rack by the door as the machine comes to life.

           “You have one new message.”

           ‘No shit.’

           “Dean,” it’s his ma, Mary, “How have you been? Have you been keeping warm? I read that this year is supposed to be really cold on the East Coast and I wouldn’t want you to be getting sick before you get your break. We all know how bad you are when you’re sick.” Dean blushes, moving towards the kitchen to get a plate. He’s not the worst person when he’s sick… but he does get whiny. “Anyway, how was Thanksgiving? Ours was nice… although we wish you could have made it. There was a lot of leftovers this year what with Sam trying this new vegan diet – I don’t think it’s going to last but you know how they are out there in California.” Dean scoffs, smiling as he takes a huge bite out of his meat-lovers pizza. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? Well, to get to the point, I have a big surprise… we’re coming to visit!” Dean chokes. He’s hacking over Mary’s voice. “Some time off… want to see you… Sam’s idea… the whole family… can’t wait to see you! Call me back soon, love you dear!”

           “You have no new messages.”

           Beep!

           “…Fuck.”

           Dean slumps back against his sofa, his food forgotten on his lap. He scrubs a hand down his face, sighing.

           Dean loves his family. They were there for him when he was struggling throughout high school, pushing him towards graduation even though he wanted to drop out every other week. They were proud of him when he did graduate and, to his surprise, was accepted into Kansas State University. They helped him save money and pay his way through four years of Undergrad and the three years he spent at KU’s School of Education. And when he applied for a teaching position at New York University on a whim after graduation, helped him pack and start his new life in the city.

           He loves his family. But they can be a bit… much.

           It’s not their fault, that’s who they are. And Dean doesn’t mind it, really. But holidays are another story.

           One of the reasons he missed Thanksgiving – besides finishing his book – was because he didn’t need the extra stress. He heard from Sam that he had to bear the brunt of it being the only one there. Asking him why he hadn’t proposed to Jessica yet, when he’ll be asking for a promotion, if the two have thought about children.

           It would have been worse for Dean, seeing as he’s single.

           Seeing that he’s still single.

           Writing takes up a lot of free time.

           Dean digs out his phone, re-dialing Charlie’s number.

           “Dean?” she asks, “What’s the matter?”

           “Hey Charlie,” Dean starts, nervously chuckling, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

           “…What is it?”

           “I was wondering if there might be a way to… push back the deadline?”

           Silence.

           “Charlie?”

           “I’m sorry, Dean, you’re going to have to repeat that,” she says, “because either I had a stroke or you asked me to push back you’re alreadygenerous deadline.”

           “I-uh… I did.”

           “Do you want me to be fired?” she asks, “Do you like seeing me unemployed – is that it? Gives you a nice thrill?”

           “No, Charlie, it’s not that –“

           “Because we’ve already had to push your deadline back twice and if we push it back even further we won’t have time to get it to publishing and all your hard work will be just that, Mr. Winchester!”

           Dean winces. She only calls him that when she’s really pissed at him.

           “Look, I’m sorry Charlie,” Dean starts, scratching at the back of his head, “I just… I panicked.”

           “What’s going on, Dean?”

           “I just found out my family is coming to visit –“

           “That’s great!” Charlie squeals, “I haven’t seen Sam in forever! Do you know when they’re coming?”

           “Uh – good question, but no – and it’s not great!”

           “Why is it not great? Having your family around on Christmas sounds like the best way to celebrate finishing your book.”

           “It would be if my family wasn’t more stressful than writing this damned thing.”

           “…Is it because you’re single?”

           “…”

           “Is it because you’re bi –”?

           “Like they know that!” Dean hisses, “I haven’t even begun thinking about opening that can of worms.” Dean’s sexuality is his little secret. He went out with girls in high school, fooled around a bit – just like all the other boys. But then he hooked up with a guy dressed up as Han Solo at a Halloween party his sophomore year of College. Not like all the other boys. Still… it was awesome.

           “Maybe – and this might sound crazy – but maybe you could… try talking to them about it?” Charlie says, “I mean holidays are good for these kinds of things. Everyone’s together and drunk on good cheer and alcohol that it makes the whole thing easy and quick.”

           “You make it sound so open and shut,” Dean sighs, “When really it’s open, me trying to shut while seven different hands keep prying at it to ask questions – like… really deep personal questions. I don’t want to have to go through that.”

           “So what? Stay single until everyone you know and love dies.”

           “…You know –“

           “Don’t even start, Dean,” Charlie sighs, “Look, as much as I love helping my fellow queers sort through their shit, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes with another client and they’re even worse with their deadline than you are so I really have to unleash Hell.”

           “Godspeed, Charlie.” She disconnects, and soon enough Dean is alone again. He sighs, and takes another bite of his now cold pizza. He attempts to finish it, but can’t, and he tosses the rest of the slice. He then takes the box and does the adult thing – wrapping it up in tin foil for breakfast tomorrow.

           His mind is whirling. Dean tries to distract himself with work – opening up his laptop and doing the last few touch-ups before it’s complete. But after reading the same sentence for the fifth time he realizes how futile any chance of work might seem.

           Dean looks out the window. It’s dark, and it’s snowing lightly. He checks his fridge again to find it’s empty save for the pizza and a few Chinese delivery boxes.

           He heads toward the door, shrugging his jacket back on and picking up his keys from the nearby bowl.

           Dean’s going to do what he does best when he can’t focus: get blackout drunk.

           Castiel muses, after his sixth drink, that he should be feeling some kind of buzz. He had asked for the strongest drink in the place, but given the dim lighting, rusty stools, and half-working juke box he might have been asking for a bit too much.

           ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Cas shrugs, signaling for another, ‘I’ll take what I can get.’

           The bartender slides the small glass over to Castiel, and he takes a sip of the clear liquid. It doesn’t burn going down, but the bitter taste still has Castiel twisting his mouth and pursing his lips. He pulls at his tie, loosening it and unbuttoning the top button on his shirt.

           He slumps further onto the counter, the sleeve of his trench coat flirting dangerously close to a puddle of whiskey that was spilled hours ago.

           ‘Not like today could get any worse,’ he thinks, swirling the drink around in the glass. The invitation he received in the mail should have been an omen – truly. His brother knows he’s been banned from all family celebrations since the Fourth of July Catastrophe in ’08, but continues to taunt him all these years later. After that, the day just spiraled.

           And now he’s here – in some no name dive in Greenwich. He takes another sip of his drink and shifts to get a more comfortable position on the bar to express his misery.

           ‘Funny,’ Castiel thinks, ‘Either I’m starting to get tipsy… or that man is smiling at me.’

           He wasn’t tipsy. Through his dingy glass, Castiel could just make out someone’s face. He pulls himself up to get a clearer look and-

           ‘Wow.’

           He’s got these bright green eyes. They’re glassy, and roaming up and down Castiel’s body. He also has freckles – at least, Castiel thinks he can see freckles. It’s hard with the flush the other man’s worked up on his skin. He’s leaning on his knuckles and pursing his plush, pink lips. He takes a long drink from his glass, focused somewhere near Castiel’s stool.

           Castiel motions for the bartender, pointing, “How many drinks have you given him?”

           “That guy?” the bartender chuckles, “Ten.”

           Castiel sighs, but thanks him. He turns to look back at the other man and catches his eyes. He startles, spluttering and nearly spilling his drink. He tries to make it look like he wasn’t caught staring, but that cat is already out of its poorly constructed bag. He’s still looking at Castiel out of the corner of his eye.

           Castiel rolls his eyes, but gives the man a little wave and half-smile before turning back to the bar to ask for one more shot.

           Apparently, that was an invitation for something more – as Castiel feels someone taking the stool next to him at the bar.

           And by take, Castiel means nearly fall off and onto him while trying to sit.

           After righting himself, the man turns to Castiel and immediately props his elbow onto the whiskey puddle.

           “Howdy,” he says, deep voice rumbling in a Western drawl that’s odd for New York City.

           “…Hi?”

           “The name’s Winchester. Dean Winchester, and who might you be?”

           Castiel rolls his eyes again before responding: “James Bond.”

           “…Shit, for real?”

           The bartender bites back a chuckle, and Castiel glares at him to leave. He does, and Castiel turns back to Dean.

           “No,” he says, “My name is Castiel.”

           “Catsi… Casisel… Castle…” Dean stumbles, giggling, “That’s a pretty name but a mouthful. D’you mind if I call you Cas?”

           ‘I do, actually,’ is what Castiel thinks. But then he takes another look at Dean. He’s sitting there, grinning and staring up at Castiel with this weird glow in his eyes. It makes Castiel feel weird and… wanted. Something he hasn’t felt in a while.

           “No,” he says, returning Dean’s large grin with a smaller, softer smile, “Not at all.”

           “Great!” Dean cheers, throwing his cup to the sky and letting the beer slosh around a bit. Castiel’s smile drops and he grabs for Dean’s arm, pulling it down.

           “Maybe be a bit careful,” Castiel chuckles, “that could get everywhere.”

           “An’ you’re sweet, too,” Dean sighs, “Gorgeous… sweet… is there anything else I should know about you?”

           “I-uh… I’m surprisingly sober right now?”

           “Well that’s good,” Dean laughs, “One of us should be.”

           Castiel joins in, accompanying Dean’s laugh with his own awkward chuckle.

           “So,” Dean continues, catching his breath, “you single, Cas?”

           Dean is searching, the smile gone from his face. Castiel chokes on his spit and turns away. He’s blushing now, and glances up at Dean from between his lashes.

           “I’m – Well, I’m not… not single?”

           “Huh?” Dean starts, only to shrug and take another sip, “Anyway… me? I’m single. So single… single like… like that chip. You know… it rhymes with single… single… single…”

           “Like a Prin-“

           “Lays!” Dean shouts, slapping Castiel on the back, “Like a Lays chip, that’s it!” He takes another sip. “I could really go for some chips right now.”

           “You could also do well with some sleep,” Castiel says, eyeing Dean as he tries to shake the remaining drops from his glass into his mouth. He does, and smacks his lips in satisfaction. He holds the empty glass to the bartender and shakes it.

           “I think you’ve had enough,” Castiel sighs, pulling Dean’s arm away from the bartender.

           “But I need it,” Dean whines.

           “You don’t need it –“

           “But I do, Cas, f’real. I need it to – ” Dean continues, singing off-key, “to stop myself from thinkin’ ‘bout stuff!”

           Castiel turns to the bartender; “We’ll take the check, if you don’t mind.”

           “Spoil sport,” Dean grumbles, reaching for his wallet. He opens it up and starts leafing through the bills. Castiel has already paid for his drink when he turns to see Dean still searching through his wallet.

           “Is there a problem?”

           “…I only have $12.”

           Castiel rolls his eyes once more, pulling out the rest of his money and covering for Dean.

           “Thanks Cas!” Dean chirps, “I could kiss ya!”

           “Please, don’t, you smell like the drunk tank after St. Patty’s Day.”

           Dean blinks at him. “S’that… s’that good?”

           “Goodnight Dean,” Castiel pushes away from the bar.

           He’s not even halfway out the bar before he feels someone collapsing into him. Thankfully, Castiel catches Dean before they’re both sprawled out on the ground.

           “Yes?”

           “Am I really that bad a’company?”

           Castiel looks down at Dean and nearly bites back a curse. There’s tears starting to form, and Dean’s bottom lip is pushes out and pouting.

           Castiel looks around the bar and can see some of the patrons eyeing them up even more than they already were. He sighs, and starts to drag Dean out of the bar and into the chilly, night air.

           “Did you drive here?”

           “Wha’?”

           Castiel leans Dean on the outside wall of the bar. He’s zipping Dean’s jacket, asking, “Did you drive here?”

           “N-no,” Dean says, “Wouldn’t risk Baby out in this weather.”

           “Okay, I don’t drive so,” Castiel says, pulling out his phone, “What’s your address?”

           “Why?” Dean smirks, leaning into Castiel, “You taking me home?”

           “Yes –“

           “Oooo –“

           “Not like that,” Castiel snaps, pulling up Uber, “I’m taking you home so I know you get there and that you didn’t die stumbling into the train tracks.”

           “…You’re really thoughtful, y’know,” Dean says, smiling, “A true gentleman.”

           “I’m something alright,” Castiel grumbles to himself, “Some kind of idiot…” He looks up at Dean, “Address?”

           Dean rattles off the location and Castiel types it into his phone. It doesn’t take long for someone to accept – there’s practically no one out. He didn’t realize how late it was, but thankfully that’s a positive.

           “Alright, the Uber should be coming in – Dean? Dean!”

           Castiel turns around, finding Dean leaning far too out into traffic than he should. He has his thumb tucked out and is humming to himself. Castiel curses and grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him back and into him.

           “Mmm… warm.”

           “Could you please stay still,” Castiel says, pulling Dean closer and upright, “Our ride will be here in five minutes.”

           “Our?” Dean blinks, smiling. “Our…” he says again, as if tasting the word for the first time. By the gleam in his eyes, Castiel can tell he likes it.

           “Yes, our,” Castiel says, “Because you need to go home to –“

           “To fuck!”

           Castiel looks around, embarrassed. Dean had practically shouted, and he didn’t want any more odd looks thrown their way. The bar was more than enough for Castiel for one night.

           “To sleep,” Castiel hushes, pressing his finger to Dean’s lips. Dean smiles and kisses Castiel’s finger. He blushes, and pulls away. The feeling from earlier starts to bubble up again – with the way Dean is looking at him. Castiel wants to say something, anything, but his mind is strangely blank. Dean’s still giggling, swaying in Castiel’s arms. Castiel opens his mouth when –

           Honk!

           They turn to see a 2014 Honda Accord idling nearby. The passenger window is rolled down and the driver is leaning towards it form his seat.

           “Are you Cassiel?”

           Castiel rolls his eyes, “Something like that.” He lets go of Dean and pushes him towards the car, “Come on.”

           “Okay.”

           Dean opens the car door and practically crawls into the car as Castiel watches. Castiel scrubs a hand down his face before entering normally. He buckles and turns to find Dean having trouble with his seatbelt. He sighs and moves to help Dean.

           When he’s done, Castiel locks eyes with the driver through the rearview mirror.

           The driver jerks his thumb at Dean, “He drunk?”

           “Unfortunately.”

           “Well,” the driver hums, “if your boyfriend pukes – you’re paying for it.”

           “He’s not my,” Castiel sighs, shaking his head, “Never mind. Just go.”

           “Whatever.”

           It’s quiet for a good five minutes before Castiel feels Dean drop his chin onto his shoulder. Castiel looks over to see Dean grinning at him.

           “What?”

           “You didn’t deny it.”

           “Deny what?”

           “Being my boyfriend,” Dean whisper-sings, “Is that because you want to?”

           “Don’t be ridiculous,” Castiel mutters, “It’s not like he cares.”

           “But you do,” Dean yawns, removing his chin and relaxing more into Castiel’s side, “I do, too. I think you’d make a great boyfriend.” And like that, Dean slips into a light sleep. Castiel just stares, his heart skipping every other beat.

           Castiel practically carries Dean to his apartment. When the Uber pulled up to Dean’s complex, Castiel had trouble waking him up. The trouble was that he wasn’t responding. The driver was getting more annoyed, so finally, Castiel dragged him out of the car and threw his arm over his shoulders.

           Now, standing in front of Dean’s door, Castiel is at a lost. He can’t buzz his way into this one. He eyes Dean, and sighs. He checks his coat pockets first, only to come up empty.

           “Of course,” Castiel mumbles, “why would this be easy?”

           He has his hand in Dean’s left pocket when he finally comes to. He hums and leans more into Cas’s space.

           “I thought you said you weren’t going to fuck me?”

           “Seriously,” Castiel pulls his hand away, “You wake up now?”

           “I was asleep?”

           “Never mind,” he sighs, “Where are your keys?”

           “You were close,” Dean smirks, knocking his head into Castiel’s, “just had to go deeper.”

           Castiel finds Dean’s keys in no time, and lets himself into his apartment.

           “Were you trying to find something?”

           “Huh?” Dean asks, looking around at his mess, “Oh… no, I’ve been writing a book.”

           Castiel looks at Dean. “A book?”

           “Yeah,” Dean nods, “Almost done, too.”

           “Congratulations, then.”

           Castiel moves Dean further into the room, while Dean starts to babble.

           “-probably start cleaning anyway,” Dean mumbles, “I got m’family coming.”

           “Family for Christmas?” Castiel chuckles darkly, “Someone’s lucky.”

           “Not really,” Dean sighs, “Otherwise I wouldn’t have been drinking.”

           Castiel stops. He shoots Dean a weird look, “That’s why you were drinking?”

           “Yeah,” Dean chuckles, “Drinking to escape m’problems.” His eyes light up, “Someone should invent, like – a word for that!”

           “I think alcoholism already exists, Dean,” Castiel says, continuing further into his apartment. He finds the bedroom door and props it open. It’s neater than his living room, but there’s still a few books lying about, and a pile of laundry sits untouched in the corner. His bed is only faintly messy. Castiel flicks the light on and shuffles them in.

           “So,” Castiel continues, “why is your family coming such a problem?” He shoots Dean a sad look, “Do they… not approve of your lifestyle?”

           “If by that you mean being single then yeah,” Dean sighs, letting go of Castiel and collapsing onto his bed face first. He rolls over and kicks his legs, trying to shuck his boots off. Castiel smiles and kneels to help Dean.

           “Stop kicking,” Castiel says, “So they’re okay with you… having a boyfriend?”

           “I don’t know,” Dean shrugs, “Never asked them if they’d be okay.”

           “You haven’t told them you like men?”

           “Bingo!”

           Castiel pulls Dean’s other boot off and places the pair near Dean’s dresser. Dean is sitting up, slipping his jacket off and playing with the buttons of his shirt.

           “So they… want you to be happy?”

           “They want me to not be alone, I guess,” Dean sighs, “Which, I get. But I’m okay with being alone. ‘M doing fine… most of the time… but they don’t need to be in my business about it. If only I could get them to stop riding my ass so hard. It’s no fun when they do it.”

           “At least you’re lucky to have a family who cares about whether you’re lonely or not,” Castiel says, sitting down next to Dean and helping him with his shirt, “I haven’t spoken to my parents in years.”

           “Dude,” Dean says, “that sucks.”

           “Indeed, it does.”

           “So you’re lonely, too?”

           “I… guess.”

           Dean stares at Castiel, licking his lips. His eyes duck down to stare at the other man’s lips before looking up into Castiel’s blue eyes. Suddenly, an idea waltzes into his drunken mind.

           “We should be lonely together!”

           “Pardon –?”

           “I mean,” Dean continues, “we should date – for the holidays, at least! You can be my boyfriend for when my family comes to town! Then they’ll see that I’m doing fine on m’own and not worry so much!”

           “I don’t see what I’ll be getting out of this, Dean,” Castiel points out, crossing his arms and raising a brow.

           “Well… you won’t be alone for Christmas,” Dean shrugs, smiling, “No one should be alone on the holidays.”

           Castiel startles. He turns away from Dean, hiding his blush. But he can’t hide from Dean.

           Dean leans over and pecks Castiel’s cheek before crawling to his pillow.

           “You don’t deserve to be alone, Cas,” Dean whispers before he slips back under. Castiel stares at him, unnerved. He’s lightly touching his cheek, the press of Dean’s lips still singed into his stubble. Castiel shakes his head and gets up.

           He heads toward the door, stopping when he grabs hold of the knob. He looks back at Dean’s bedroom door. He’s lightly snoring, and Castiel can’t help but smile.

           ‘He’s going to be dehydrated when he wakes up…’

           Castiel sighs and turns on his heel, walking towards the kitchen. Navigating around the mess, he manages to find one clean glass and fills it with some water before returning to Dean’s room.

           He places it on a nearby nightstand and smiles down at Dean.

           He’s going to leave again when he eyes the dresser. Castiel moves towards it, picking up one of many picture frames that line the oak furniture.

           Dean is there – albeit younger. Behind him a blonde woman and a raven hair man stand smiling, his parents from the looks of it. There’s also another boy, with longer hair than Dean, grinning just as wide. Dean’s in a dark robe and wide-brim hat, and from the tassels it looks like a graduation.

           There are other pictures – one with a small woman with bright red hair, another with another older man in a baseball cap, and an older and younger woman eyeing Dean from behind a bar.

           Castiel puts the pictures back and looks at Dean.

           “I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

           He moves into the living room, plucking a stray piece of paper and a pen from the table and walking back into Dean’s bedroom. He scribbles something on there and places it under the glass on the nightstand.

           Castiel feels lighter than air as he leaves Dean’s apartment.

           He’s outside the complex, waiting for another Uber to take him to his place in the Village. It’s a long wait – not that many Ubers in Astoria. The wind has picked up, and more snow starts to fall outside.

           Castiel isn’t cold, though. Something keeps him warm – keeps him smiling.

           ‘You don’t deserve to be alone.’

[jrsechelon]

Trick Or Treat - Off The Charts

"Welcome ladies and gentleman to another round of Off The Charts! With Halloween right around the corner, we elected to give this week's build-up to Week 9 a frightful theme. While we don't have the honor to have Mr. Kace Sanders giving us his best impression of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as he breaks down the year so far; we do however have some sepulchral stand your hair on the back of your neck discussions."

"Isn't it spooky how coincidently some of these teams have been so spine-chillingly dreadful around a time we're all supposed to be scared? Some teams certainly will have their work cut out for them the rest of the year, there’s still enough football for teams to make late pushes for the postseason which only means playoff races will start to heat up, in earnest, now that it’s almost November. This weeks segment will focus on the some Halloween themes for teams and players, while we don't do this every year, perhaps we should start handing out our tricks and treats for the teams of the Elite Fantasy League. Would you all mind a handful of fearsomely break downs every Halloween season?"

"If you want that then all you got to do is follow these directions to compile a formula that calls for 3 ounces of mummy dust otherwise known as Adam Vinatieri, 10 hairs from big black cat Leonard Williams, 6 G.O.A.T bleats from Tom Brady, and 1 supernatural run by beast mode, Marshawn Lynch. I wish you all good luck in that endeavor - but without further ado let's take a look at some of these tricks-and-treats."

"Ghoulish goodies have been a treat for several teams this year, more specifically road teams. Maybe it’s time we soften the stance on the importance of home-field advantage. Through Week 8, road teams are above .500, with an overall record of 63/58/0. That’s the most road victories through eight weeks in EFL history. Only one team, Rainelo Hawks are undefeated at home. Only two seasons have taken place in which road teams have finished with a winning record, though none of them have happened since 2010. The team's on the road this week (The Busy Killers, Yuba City Sultans, Straight Edge Society, HellbentKronik, The Canadian Cripplers, Balls Deep, Thunderbuddy4Life, and Hyrule Empire) will hope to serve up a few tricks to opposing teams in Week 9 contests. A specific team that has caused October nightmares for opposing offenses is deserving of all the treats that they want. Pretty much everyone expects Evolution to be among the best-coached and most efficient teams year in and year out. But Hyrule Empire has been one of the biggest surprises so far, remaining one of the top teams in 2019 and having a defense that has dubbed the boogeymen, Hyrule Empire has now gone 3-1 against teams in the Walsh division, the tough division in the league so far and silenced the media fare around PURPLEHAZE. Coach Diamond is a brilliant defensive mind and has Hyrule Empire dominating in sacks, takeaways, and total yards allowed. Not only that but this offense is averaging 181.1 rushing yards per game and time of possession is up to 34:31, both of which are second-best in the league. Hyrule Empire has started to lay waste to teams finishing with an October record of 4/1/0. I'd say the last treats given should be to the players vying for the league-MVP. It seems like the consensus for the player who most deserves the most valuable player award changes each week. At varying times, quarterbacks Aaron Rodgers (Yuba City Sultans), Deshaun Watson (BroncosTillDeath), Lamar Jackson (Straight Edge Society), Russell Wilson (Hyrule Empire), Dak Prescott (The Busy Killers) or Patrick Mahomes (The Busy Killers) each had a legitimate argument. Evolution running back Christian McCaffrey and Black Hole Son receiver Michael Thomas is even getting some love in the conversation, too. It’s almost as if each player is trying to one-up the field, and it has been fun to watch."

"As for the ones who deserve no treats and have only given us tricks and unnerving play first goes to the refereeing and rule changes. The rule that coaches could challenge pass interference calls brought optimism that the league would be taking legitimate steps to correct the inconsistency associated with the enforcement of fouls. The problem has been that the rule change has been mostly for show. Just this past weekend, only the second successful pass interference call was overturned, despite there being well more than 20 challenges. In many cases, there appeared to be a clear case for a foul. That’s why the league used the “clear and obvious” language when it crafted the rule. Coaches should use the first half of the season as an indication that unless a player gets held all the way down field, they should hold onto their red challenge flags. The clear message is that unless it’s an egregious case, any challenge is going to be a waste of a timeout and ultamtely a trick from the league to the coaches. Wizardly play calling has been a treat for us but there have been a ton of plays that have encited the loudest boos beyond the grave from die-hard fans even in death. Aside from Matt LaFleur, the coach of the 6/2/0 Yuba City Sultans, and Sean McVay who has Ballsdeep at an even .500; it has been rough for rookie coaches who have combined for a 10-23 record through Week 8 this year. Two of those teams, Cripplers and Straight Edge Society, are winless and in the middle of complete rebuilds. Throw in HellbentKronik, and it’s safe to expect multiple years before any of them are legitimately competitive in their divisions. Buds Bums are a different case in that they have young talent at key positions and have fallen well below of expectations. Their schedule does lighten and become easier, so Chicago should in theory improve. But there’s no other way to paint the start of the season for Buds Bums than as a letdown. Kickers have decided to dress-up earlier for Halloween as unreliable Kickers - If it seems like it has been a bad year for kickers in the EFL, it’s because it has. This season has seen the highest number of missed combined kicks, field goals and extra points included through Week 8 since 2008 with 121 misfires. That mark is 12 more than the 109 that happened through eight weeks in both 2007 and 2017. It says a lot that even long-time kickers are going through troubles. Adam Vinatieri has battled inconsistency all year and may be time for that mummy to hang up his wrappings and call it a career. Teams who won in the offseason haven't panned out yet, geared toward VanillaGorillas and The Canadian Cripplers. VanillaGorillas made a splash by adding receiver Odell Beckham Jr., Luke Kuechly, and traded for Mitchell Trubisky and the Cripplers signed running back Le’Veon Bell, Drew Brees, and receiver Amari Cooper. Instead of seeing the infusion of talent gelling right away, both teams have sputtered. The Cripplers have dealt with injuries, but Bell’s production has been minimal. And VanillaGorillas added all those players but didn’t fix its offensive line, and turnovers and unforced errors remain serious issues. This is yet another reason why Evolution is so successful; they make quiet but calculated decisions in free agency and don’t feel the need to overpay. Haunted by their recent success Thunderbuddy4Life was expecting to compete for another Super Bowl. They have an elite quarterback in place, they have dynamic skill-position players. They have a stout defense that has star talent, including defensive end Nick Bosa. Yet Thunderbuddy4Life is 3/5/0 and in fourth place in the Shula division. The good news is that they are 3/0/0 in the division. That means that if Thunderbuddy4Life can get hot and rip off some victories they could get back in the playoff picture fast. Straight Edge Society has skill and talent all around but haven't been able to put it on the field. It has been a hell of a season so far and horrifying to watch. They could easily be 4/4/0 as their margin of losses has been the closest in the league after eight weeks. It's hard to wonder what they need to do to fix things but with recent injuries it is almost certain they will remain six-feet-under the rest of the season and look to 2020 for a bounce back."

"There are so many scares and otherworldly plays that have occured this season so far and PURPLEHAZE, Black Hole Son, and Yuba City Sultans have been bright spots in this league who has had somewhat of an upside down year. Black Hole Son a team who is supposed to be historically bad year in and year out now is slaying teams and getting the apperication they deserve. Yuba City Sultans with Rodgers is taking the league by storm again. Thrilling finishes and wizardly play - Rodgers is like Harry Potter slaying Voldemort on that field, he is magically making a difference, changing the way how this team is ran and putting them back into the talk of Super Bowl. PURPLEHAZE lost but they are still looking like a true contender and have the pieces to bounce back, they should be there when the smoke clears and the Postseason starts."

"As we wrap up this weeked Off The Chart Podcast, we have to highlight we didn't get to talk about everyone but as always we post our podcasts on our blog site and below the enscripted version will be side notes on those teams. Tomorrow we get a chance to see Thunderbuddy4Life take on PURPLEHAZE in a Halloween match-up. Two defenses that are scary strong and looking to diminate making their claim as the ones who deserve all the treats."

Side Notes

The Busy Killers - The Busy Killers have not been able to find consistency other the last four weeks and it has given way to wonder if they will be sellers toward the trade deadline coming up. If they aren't in contention around Thanksgiving time it may be a good chance to part ways with big names and secure top picks for 2020.

HellbentKronik - At 3/5/0 they have Kyler Murray treading in the right direction with a tough match up against former division rival Evolution they hope to continue their two-game winning streak against a stingy Miami defense.

BroncosTillDeath - They have found themselves on the winning column last week and a first time match-up against Balls Deep it is an intriguing match. Both teams seem to have found a formula to win and win every week if everything can come to live from the practice field to the actual field. BroncosTillDeath has some of the best players and they will look to give this young franchise a wake up call at home in Mile-High.

LilShupeScoresBIGPoints - At 4/4/0 they are still in the thick of things but it has been shaky for them with streaming quarterback. Josh Allen seems to be the guy but after a tough loss last week in dominating fashion one has to wonder will they make a change at the Quarterback position or will the muster the adversity with Josh Allen and hope for a turn around in a big match against The Busy Killers who else are in need of a W.

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