#he's thirst trapping again that's a horrible sign

[sistertonin]

"I've got work to do."

[sohin-ace]

Dio - Stolen Dance

For immersion, listen to the Dark Waltz Music - Vampire masquerade collection on youtube. Oh boy

Especially 'Tonight Ve' Dance' that shit hits the spot for this fanfic. Trust me.

"Would you honor me with a dance, Y/N?"

'Hell no', was what you craved to answer to this charming yet cruel man. Dancing with him meant selling your very soul. You were about to dance with the Devil.

But you had no choice.

You tried to run away from him, from his toxicity, from his poison, but he always managed to get you back and trap you in his web. And now he offered his warm, destructive hand for a dance, just a single dance with him.

And you had no choice.

You could not refuse. You had no right to. It was oh-so reluctantly that you had put your trembling, cold hand over his possessive one. He pulled you towards him as the music played in the luxurious ballroom.

He laid his large hand around your corseted waist, pulling you to him and bringing your bodies a little too close for your own comfort. Way too close for a gentleman to conventionally be from a lady.

But he didn't seem to care one bit as your heart pounded heavily in your chest. He could probably feel it from this proximity. And he most definitely drowned himself in it.

You hesitantly, and regrettably put one hand over his broad shoulder in what you could only call a ghostly touch. You barely wanted to touch him and potentially show him a form of validation from his wrongdoings.

He engulfed your other hand in his own, relishing in the adorable yet terrifying size difference. If he wanted, he could just close his entire hand on yours and claim it as his. Just how he could easily close the distance between you and claim you just the same.

People were around. The ladies and gentlemen of the World. High class society, partying mondanely through the night. Couples dancing, businessmen meeting, Madames chatting.

Oh but in these decorated mansions, the families yearned to see newfound lovers, for what a sight it was.

Some were watching you in earnest and maybe even admiration, glad to see how the charming, handsome Dio Brando of the Joestar Estate was gracefully swaying in rhythm with the gentle, beautiful Y/N L/N, daughter of the Lord L/N.

Your face felt warm, burning almost and it was not a comfortable feeling. Maybe it was the close proximity between him and you, maybe it was all the unnecessary attention you were receiving, putting pressure and forcing shyness upon you.

Maybe it was the rising anxiety that built viciously within you and made yout heart pump violently in your chest, or maybe it was the pure hatred you felt towards the blonde man holding you captive within this very dance.

It didn't matter what it was, it felt horrible, suffocating. You could barely breathe, the room was spinning.

You were always taught to look at your partner in the eyes when dancing, but now your partner wasn't just anyone. It was Dio Brando. There was no way you could look up at his soul-piercing amber, no, crimson red eyes. Like gems of blood.

If you looked at them, if you even glanced at them...

"You are quite tense, dear." He released your hand briefly to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, letting cool air hitting your now more exposed cheek and temple. "Relax and follow my lead."

You wanted to scoff at his words. How could you relax when your only wish at the moment was to run away from him? Your family was nowhere to be seen, Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. No one was there and no one would help you.

"You stole this dance, Dio," You growled quietly, not wanting to gather even more attention to yourself. "But it will be the last thing that you'll steal from me. Heed my words."

You finally met his eyes to grace him with a glare and he only looked down on you with mockery and a hint of fondness. As if your anger was endearing to him. He hummed in amusement.

"Hmmm...? Do I take it that everything else will be graciously given to me...?"

Before you could even gasp at his scandalous assumptions, you missed a step and fell forward, right against his solid chest. He of course didn't waste a second in wrapping his strong arms around your small form.

You could hear the other guests whispering and chuckling, probably drinking in the sight and preaching how cute you both were. The beautiful Y/N L/N clumsily falling into the arms of the very handsome Dio Brando.

Like a princess and her prince, right from a romance story. It was really fresh to witness and people just couldn't wait to see you both engaged, you looked so perfect together. After all, in this mondane society, it was all about looks.

If only they knew the truth.

You tried to push yourself off of him as you laid your palms flat on his chest, but he held you there firmly. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and the blonde leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"Let us go somewhere more private darling. I am tired of those curious eyes."

You felt like you were about to faint and really wanted to get out of that busy room, but surely not with Dio. As you didn't have much of a say in this, you let him guide you away, to one of the many chambers in the mansion.

He opened the door wide for you and you entered the empty, cold room bathing in darkness, not sparing him a single glance and went straight ahead to the large windows that lead to a beautifully decorated balcony.

You stayed inside though, as Dio closed the door behind him and went on his way to light a gas lamp that was laid on a night stand.

You gently pushed the silky curtains aside to glance at the moon outside. You stared at her magnificent silver light, completely forgetting where you were and that Dio was still in this very room.

You sighed, comforted by the moonlight. The moon was full on this cold night, it was the end of the year and it felt like the nocturnal satellite decided to show off all of her magic tonight.

Sometimes, you envied those legendary creatures who lived solely by the moonlight. Fantastical beings who could see the moon through all her phases and for as long as they lived. Werewolves, Vampires...

"...Beautiful, isn't it?"

You gasped, startled by his sudden deep voice so close to your ear. You swiftly turned around and glared at him, offended that his appearance tore you off your pleasant rêverie.

"Oh, please do continue. The moon reflects so deliciously on your skin, it is beyond mezmerizing."

"Yo-... you're losing yourself again, Dio!" You tried to sound strong and composed, but you couldn't help the slight whimper from escaping your throat.

"Maybe..." He lifted his large arm next to your head to fully open the curtain behind you, the sudden position flustering you as you felt trapped yet again.

You looked down as you contemplated fleeing. How many attempts was it now? You stopped counting after the 20th, but you wanted to flee again.

Not bearing the sight of his broad chest in front of you, you turned slightly back to the window and side-glanced at the beautiful garden.

There was a large maze in there. The thought of maybe trying to lose Dio there was very appealing. It turned your once melancholic and lonely expression into a softer, more relaxed one.

The moonlit maze alone filling your heart with an ounce of hope, the ghost of a smile reached your lips and eyes.

"What a sweet expression you are sporting, my love." The blond devil put his large hand on your cheek and turned your head to face him as he purred. "Although I delect myself more from your despaired expression."

Disgusting. This man was disgusting. You put a hand over his large wrist as a sign to tell him to let go of you, which he patently ignored.

He leaned forward, hovering dangerously over your face as he lifted your chin up, a soft smirk stretching his lips.

"Now tell me... what could my dove possibly be thinking about to make her look so beautifully blithe?"

You looked downwards to the red brooch on his tie, the ornament suddenly more distracting than his dominating burning gaze on you.

"I was thinking of getting away from you. It gets me going." You spoke the unfiltered truth with bitter sugar dripping from your voice.

The man before you froze upon hearing those words. Were you challenging him? Him?! The Dio Brando?

You drove him so crazy. Oh you drove him to such unfathomable frustration. His blood was boiling and pumping ferociously in his veins.

His entire body cringed, his fists balling tightly. He ground his teeth as his eyes widened in pure rage. Or was it rage? No it was deeper, more twisted than that.

It was lust.

He needed to gather all his self-control to prevent himself from breaking something or rather someone right this instant.

Yes... He could break you. Oh and it would be so easy and so satisfying, too. Nothing could quench his thirst more than destroying every inch of you at that moment.

You were such a nasty pest, you were so terribly problematic, no wonder he was so infatuated with you. So obssessed with you.

You were bad, maybe as bad as him. You pushed on all his buttons like no one ever did and yet, you played the cute little perfect girl in front of everyone else.

You made him so insane, so mad. He wanted you all to himself. He yearned for you to get your revenge on him, to be infuriated with him. He craved you right here, right now. He loved that you hated him.

Swiftly, he pressed his weight against you and pushed your body flush against the window as you gasped in surprise, barely able to even react at the forceful contact.

He was quick to catch your wrist and pin it next to your head as you tried desperately to push him away, your other hand uselessly resting on his much stronger arm.

You tried to squirm away, but his body meddled with yours in an emprisonning cage. You couldn't hide your panicked pants anymore.

"You damn woman..." He breathed in a shaky hiss right next to your heating ear, his tone way darker now and his eyes half-lidded. "Do you even realize what you are doing to me?" He spat with venom but also with dripping excitement. "You are in deep trouble, darling."

He nuzzled his face in your exposed neck, drenching himself in your sweet scent and you shuddered, his hot breath on your skin making the hair at the back of your neck stand.

Your heart hammered alarmingly inside your chest as his malicious hold triggered your Fight or Flight response. This was bad. Real bad. You struggled against his grip, writhing and pushing him.

But struggling against him was futile, useless. So useless, useless, useless...

"I hate you, Dio Brando. There's not a single piece of you that is remotely redeemable!" You growled in his ears through exhausted pants. "Hear me when I say this, I despise every inch of your disgraceful being, Dio-ugh...! I hate you with all my might...!!"

"Yes!" He grunted hungrily as he put his free hand around your hips, leaving no space between your body and his, feeling all of yourself against him. "That's it, that's what I want to hear! One more time... Scream it."

"You disgusting bastard... You have no shame..." You squeezed your eyes shut, you refused to cry. Never for him. He didn't deserve it.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N... Please." He was crazed, Dio lost himself, yet again. "Sweet Y/N, let me make you mine... Be mine... I know you want this..."

Just like that, the man above you craddled your body like his most prized possession, teasing the pulsing point of your neck with his lips, tongue and teeth. He clutched your hips and wrist in a bruising grip and you knew there was nothing you could do.

"I'm going to ravish you, destroy you..."

And so he did.

[amusedyan]

Labyrinthian

This fucking thing has been the source of my fucking writer’s block for months and I FINALLY GOT THIS THING FINISHED!

Featuring cryptic Trickster Eldritch Labyrinth god Dazai

The labyrinth was unending, unyielding. The walls themselves so tall that you had to crane your neck to see the sky- it had gone dark, and the stars? Forget it. You would be so lucky to see stars in this hell.

When the king had called for a sacrifice, you had been one of the many offered. Dressed in white for the offering, and forcefully purified, you had been let loose in the labyrinth, fodder for the creature inside. Because of your sacrifice, the headman had said, you thought venomously, the kingdom would be safe, the monster sated for one more year.

And what of the next year?

“Short sighted bastards,” you spat on the ground and marched forward. Marched to your death, maybe. Probably even. But you had to keep moving. If you stopped, if you gave in, then fear and hopelessness would overcome you.

You didn’t want to die. But if you had a choice, then you’d rather die on your feet than in a crouch, crying in despair.

Already it was at your heels, following you. As you alternately hurried, walked, marched or sprinted through the stone paths you would find horrible mementos of the past sacrifices- bones, dried and flaking blood, severed limbs or shredded clothes, similar to what you wore. You prayed over each other them- not to the gods who had trapped that Thing here, but to the souls of your predecessors. May they be at rest and free from pain, fear, and the machinations of the living and immortal.

The Thing in the labyrinth was a god. Was, but now he was an immortal thing with the human hunger, cast down by the pantheon and sealed here.

Your stomach growled uncomfortably.

There wasn’t much to be done about that, though- you had been given limited rations, and you wanted to make them last, unappetizing as they were.

So on you went- with no direction and no way to mark where you’d been.

But time dragged on, and eventually your anger and your fear fled, and you had nothing but hunger, thirst, and exhaustion waiting for you and slowing you down.

It wasn’t fair, you thought. The despair had caught up with you, and you could feel your eyes burning. “I’ll save my tears,” you muttered, rounding a corner. By now you were leaning on a wall. If the monster found you, you would die for sure.

But instead of more endless stone walls, you saw trees, and water. For an absurd moment, you thought that you had found the way out. But as you stepped into the clearing, you saw more walls around it, and you understood.

This was a garden.

But it was a garden, and that meant water and hopefully food, so that was something.

You drank from the water until you threw up, and then drank some more. The water was cold and clear, and you had never tasted something so sweet in your life. You dipped your feet in to calm the ache next and closed your eyes. You couldn’t relax, but you could rest here.

It felt safe, like the air itself had taken a moment to let itself go.

“How could something so beautiful exist in such an ugly place?” You wondered out loud.

When your feet grew numb, you began to look for food. And, luckily, you didn’t have to look long.

“Fruit trees,” you breathed in wonder. All of them were fruit trees.

You’d never been much of a tree climber as a kid, but hunger bred desperation, and like a monkey you were scrabbling up and up to the first stable branch.

You ate 3 apples and dropped some more to the ground before climbing down, more carefully than you had climbed up. Your belly full and your thirst quenched, you finally succumbed and fell asleep beneath the tree. And no matter your intentions, it was a deep sleep, dreamless and dark.

-x-

You woke, completely relaxed under a late morning sky.

The sky?

And more than that- there was a smell

The smell of apples cooking.

When you raised your head you saw a young man wearing the white garb of the sacrificed. He was bandaged, but he still smiled when he caught your eye.

“You’re up.” He waved, and you found yourself wandering over. “Sorry, I just saw the garden and I was so hungry. Did I scare you?”

“No.” And it was the truth. “I didn’t see you with the other sacrifices.”

“There are several gates.” He shrugged. “One in each of the cardinal directions. I came in the West.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Your expression hardened. “If all the food comes in the same gate then the meal is all at once and the sacrifices would have to be more than once a year.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Here, I roasted a few for you, too.” He handed you a spit on which two apples were speared.

“Thank you,” you took them gratefully, and introduced yourself.

His name was Dazai, he told you. He was from a port kingdom. Over breakfast he described the sea and the ships, and you listened eagerly. Before the sacrifice, you’d never been anywhere but your home village and the market.

“Have you seen anyone besides me?” You asked, despite yourself. It felt like a cloud had passed over you both, and you shivered involuntarily.

Dazai looked down at the fire and sighed. “No one alive,” he said very quietly.

“I…was afraid of that.” You admitted, and you both went quiet. You ate your apples while they were still warm.

After awhile, Dazai cleared his throat and you looked t him again.

“Would you like to run with me?” He invited.

The idea…wasn’t a horrible one, in all honesty. In the very least, you thought darkly, you could trip him up and use him as a distraction if you were found by the monster. But more than that, you wanted company.

The two of you filled your respective waterskins and packed away as many apples as you could carry. Dazai took some of the charcoal from the dead fire. “We can mark our way with it.” He explained. It was a risk, but a calculated one; if you knew which direction you had come from then the monster surely could as well.

You and Dazai began to walk and you felt much more relaxed with someone at your side. It was as like the labyrinth itself was cleansed. It wasn’t as scary with someone else, you decided.

For lack of anything better to do, you compared notes on the creature in the labyrinth.

“My home says that the gods cast him down for his cruelty,” you recounted. “They sealed him here- once you’re in, you can’t escape.” You swallowed nervously. “But that part can’t be true. There has to be another way out.”

“He wasn’t a god,” Dazai scoffed as you backtracked, marking on the wall that the passage was a dead end. “He came Before the pantheon.”

You frowned. “There was a before?”

“Honestly,” he sounded s disappointed. “What are they teaching people nowadays. Yes, there was a before. The Old Ones were first, and when the New rose, there was war. The Labyrinth God weighed his options and helped overthrow his people.”

“Why would he betray the Old Ones?” You wondered. “Wouldn’t he have loyalty for his people?”

“It wasn’t about loyalty.” Like he was explaining things to a child, Dazai broke it down. “You have to look at the bigger picture- there was a war and it had to end. The Labyrinth God looked at the outcomes and made a sacrifice for the lesser damage.”

“And it made him cruel?”

“No. It made him a liability. They cast him out, stripped him of his divinity and created the labyrinth. And here we are.” He squinted up at the sky. “Well, at least we don’t have to deal with straight sunlight,” he grumbled.

But something made you suspicious. “How do you know so much about it? I thought you came from a port town?”

“I do. But my family were scholars.” He shrugged.

“Oh. And they just…surrendered you?”

“Well, it was only me. And it wasn’t like they liked me much to begin with.” He chuckled, and you felt a momentary stab of both guilt and pity. You had people on the outside to get back to, and Dazai just…didn’t want to die here.

Well, maybe you could bring him back with you.

But you didn’t voice that idea, you weren’t stupid. A. you didn’t want to offend him, and B. You didn’t really trust him, not just yet.

So on and on you walked. More than once you hit dead ends and had to go back, or somehow circled back around. Several times you swore you heard the growling of the god in question. Those times bot you and Dazai froze and listened, pressed against the wall, trying to judge just how far away it was. The final time, the ground shook as it passed by the next passage over, and you could feel a scream welling up in your throat.

But it passed, and you both waited and waited for ages before going on, slowly and silently, all talk gone.

That night there was another garden, this one more lovely than the night before, with animals and birds. The lake was a little river, and again you both refreshed and rested yourselves. There were pear trees this time, and pomegranates. All the fruit was delicious raw, but there was something satisfying about cooking them and eating them warm.

“Gosh the stars are pretty,” you observed, leaning back. Across the fire, Dazai looked up and softened at the sight of them.

“Yeah. They are.”

You both slept, huddled together for warmth as the fire died.

-x-

And on the third day, the environment of the labyrinth changed. The stones themselves were different, and the walls…

“It’s almost welcoming,” you breathed in wonder.

“It is, isn’t it?” Dazai reached out and touched the stone experimentally.

Remarlably, you found yourself led to some stairs. Stairs, of all things. Up and up you both walked. Why hadn’t you seen any sign of this in the labyrinth?

At the top of the staircase, you saw a palace.

You could smell food now, and your stomach growled for food that wasn’t just roasted fruit.

“Hungry?” Dazai elbowed you playfully.

“A little,” you nudged him back.

There was something strange about all this, you realized, but you were curious. “Let’s investigate.” Dazai declared, leading the way.

The palace was lit and clean, incense scented the air. It was lived in, clearly.

“Is this the monster’s home?” It was so…civilized. What sort of prison was this? One filled with art and delicate vases and décor.

You both followed the smell of food through gardens and rooms and halls, finally finding tables already laid.

“It’s like a celebration.”

Why was your heart pounding?

There was a terrible growl and you froze.

It was here.

“Relax,” Dazai laughed, picking up a goblet. “There’s nothing to fear.”

“Are you insane?” You snapped, grabbing his sleeve. “It’s here- it’ll eat us Dazai, we have to move!” This was a horrible idea, what had possessed you to come inside like this?

The palace shook under Its footsteps, you were running out of time.

He’d gone insane, clearly, but could you really just abandon him to his fate here?

Yes.

Your survival…

You ran in the other direction, and Dazai’s wild laughter was as loud as the growling, snarling, howling beast that you were trying to flee.

Deeper into It’s lair you ran, your lungs on fire. You didn’t think about Dazai, because it didn’t matter. One foot in front of the other, you ignored everything. There had to be a way out of the palace, a way out.

You burst into a garden in full bloom, but no sooner had you registered that it was grass beneath your feet then you lost your footing, and you fell. And it was hard. Dazed, you lay there, shaking. It was behind you- you could smell the crackle of ozone, hear the footsteps.

But then what you heard was clapping.

“You did so well,” Dazai singsonged, patting you on the shoulder. “I had so much fun. But the game is over, darling, and I think that I want to claim my prize.”

You looked up at him and tried to process just what the hell he was talking about over the racing of your heart.

“Your…prize?”

His kiss was not gentle. It was hungry, eager and impatient.

“You ran and I gave chase. It’s the first time a sacrifice has become more than a meal.”

“What…what am I then?”

“Mine. And there will never be another.”

[justjessame]

Starting Over Chapter 8

“How long does this dish usually take?” Bucky was glancing over my shoulder, under the open lid as I gave the contents a stir.  He wasn’t being as careful as he had been, and his body was pressed against me, creating a slight malfunction in my brain functions.

“Um,” I closed my eyes and swallowed down a rush of hunger for more than chicken and dumplings.  Think, Brooke, think.  “Around a half an hour, I think.”   It had been a long time since I’d helped my mom make it.  

He hummed his understanding, his right hand moving to my waist.  “The timer is still in the living room.”  I nodded.  “Let’s go set it.”  His lips found the soft spot just behind my ear and I was thinking for a guy who hadn’t seen this type of action for over 80 years he had a great memory for the mechanics.  Pulling me away from the stove, we were back in my living room and he picked up the little plastic owl and set it for thirty minutes.  

“Now,” I bit my lip when he turned to face me.  “What should we do for a half an hour?”  

“WWSD?”  I asked and he squinted at me.  “What Would Steve Do?”  He shook his head and reached for me.  “What?”  I teased, as he sat back in my seat on the sofa and pulled me down onto his lap.  “Surely Steve wouldn’t do THIS.”  My legs went on either side of his as naturally as anything and then his hands were carefully framing my face, our lips met and I stopped teasing, and stopped thinking about Steve Rogers.  Captain America who?

My hands finally made up their minds, sliding into his hair to hold him tight and I sighed as his left hand, cooler than his right, slid down my back and teased at the skin that was bared as my shirt rose slightly from my position on his lap.  I smiled into the kiss when he nipped at my bottom lip, happy that Bucky wasn’t going to be timid, and when our mouths broke free this time he was breathless, not as badly as me, but at least I knew he was affected.  And it wasn’t only to get air this time.  

Once Bucky got started, he was a man on a mission.  His lips sliding along my jaw, teasing as he kissed, telling me how much he loved how I tasted and how much he wanted to taste more of me.  He’d just found my pulse, which was pounding so hard I was almost certain that my neighbors could hear it, when the timer went off.  He growled and I groaned.  

I was panting, and he was still against my neck, holding me tight.  Could he feel my pulse through my entire body?  Because I sure as fuck felt like I could.  I felt him swallow rather than heard it, and then a soft kiss, softer than we’d worked up to, and Bucky worked his way back to my mouth and face.  A long, slow kiss - as if he NEEDED one more before he could let me go and then he pulled back to look into my eyes.  

He brushed my hair out of my face, smiling at me.  “Think dinner’s ready?”  I chuckled, breathless.  

“Probably,” I hoped I could stand up without falling over.  I was throbbing it seemed, with need.  Bucky was still holding me, his hands on my waist.  “We should get up and check.”  

“Yeah,” he agreed, but didn’t move.  “If I wasn’t completely opposed to a visit from the fire department -”  that got a real laugh from me.  

“That would be a pretty horrible way to end an evening, Buck.”  I got up off of his lap carefully and held out my hand.  “Come on, let’s go see if I didn’t ruin dinner.”  

He took my hand, but didn’t actually use it to get up, because that would be ridiculous.  Instead, he linked our fingers and walked with me to the kitchen.  “Not possible,” he shook his head with complete confidence in my cooking abilities.  “Besides, we can always order in and kill the time until it gets here -” another twist of need hit me at the very idea and I almost hoped that dinner WAS ruined.  

Dinner wasn’t ruined.  In fact it was just as tasty as when Mom had made it.  Bucky ate seconds, then thirds.  We told stories about our families, and our friends.  The times before, long before in his case, the Snap, and we got to know one another a little more.  

“You ended up riding home in a freezer truck?” I was staring at him like he was crazy, because I was kind of thinking he might be.  “Because of a girl?”  

“She was cute,” he winked at me.  “Delores.” He nodded as if the memory was a fun and normal one, which for a man his age, it might be.

“Wanna look her up?”  I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and sitting back.  “I mean, she might still be available.”  

Bucky licked his bottom lip after he took a drink and I was distracted for a moment.  “Your eyes are green, Brooke, but jealousy isn’t a great look.”  His teeth flashed and I tossed a napkin at him.  

“I’m not jealous, I'm just not one to stand in the way of true love.”  I stood up to gather up our dirty dishes so I could load the dishwasher.  “I mean, any guy who’s willing to ride home in a freezer truck because he spent all his money trying to win a girl a silly bear, that sounds special.”  I had my back to him and I should have remembered that he moved like smoke, but I was new to life around Bucky Barnes.  

When I stood up from putting the dishes in the machine, he was there, pressed against my back, his hands sliding down my arms and I forgot what the hell I was teasing him about.  “Dot’s dead, or she’s close to it.”  The heat of his breath against my earlobe had me wishing for a drink, of what I wasn’t sure, but something to quench my thirst.  “I want to kiss you again.”  I nodded, that sounded fair.  

I turned and our lips met, like magnets, and I sighed.  That did it.  That was what I was so thirsty for, the taste of him.  I was off my feet and in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist and he had my back against the nearest wall.  We were both smiling as the kiss deepened, his fingers growing bolder, teasing under the hem of my shirt, and mine tugging at his even as my legs worked against my progress.  

It wasn’t fair, I realized, as Bucky’s hand rose higher, finding more of my skin to touch and tempt, and I was still running into problems with getting his skin bare.

“Do you need some help?”  He murmured, pulling away as I groaned, fisting his shirt.  My gaze met his and even as his fingers were teasing at the bottom curve of my bra covered breast, his eyes were twinkling with amusement.  

Instead of my normal reaction, I kissed him, slower and more sensuously then he was expecting.  His fingers stopped teasing my skin, and I unwrapped my legs from his waist and slid down the wall, forcing him to lean down to follow my mouth.  Without my own damn trap, I pulled his shirt free, and slipped my fingers under the fabric, finally touching HIS skin.  He sighed into my kiss and I swallowed it, fed it back, and let my fingers run a path higher. 

Bucky was sharp ridges, and warmth.  He pulled away from my mouth so he could stare into my eyes as my fingertips ran along his chest, under his shirt, skin on skin.  Somehow more intimate than being completely bare before one another.  When I reached his shoulders, running over both cliffs, his mouth met mine again, hands pulling me to him, holding me tight, while my hands were trapped under his shirt.  

The next time we pulled apart, not far enough to really count, we were both breathing less than easily.  “I -” Bucky was looking down at me like he was looking at something incredibly precious, and I felt incredibly precious because of it.  “I have to go.”  I knew he was thinking I wasn’t going to take it well, but he didn’t know about my nightmares, so -

“I thought you might,” I bit my lip and watched his gaze follow the movement.  “I guess I can’t convince you that my guest room is a good alternative to the walk back to your apartment again, can I?”  

He shook his head, his thumb finding its home brushing under my eye.  “No, not yet.”  I nodded.  “I -” he was working out whether he wanted to tell me something, I was getting good at knowing the signs.  “I have problems sleeping.”  

I huffed out a breath.  “Oh,” my thoughts went to the flashes that were waiting for me when I finally went to bed.  “Yeah, I can understand that.”  Bucky was studying me, scrutinizing actually.  “Brooke?”  I swallowed and waited.  “Are you having problems -”

“I think anyone who went through what we did, the Snapped, I mean, have some residual side effects, Buck.”  I shrugged him off.  

He was looking at me like he wasn’t quite buying my bullshit, which was pretty apt, since I didn’t buy my bullshit either.  “You said you tried group therapy?”  Shit, me and my big fucking mouth.  

I pulled away and unwound myself from his shirt.  “Yeah, the ‘regular’ people all got shoved into it, right after.”  I moved to the stove to put the leftovers in Tupperware.  “Do you want to take some of this with you?  It’s not bad for breakfast - well lunch?”  

“Brooke?”  I sighed.  “Come on, I told you about mine.”  He had, and to be fair, his was arguably more fucked up.  

I turned to face him, and of course he was closer than I expected.  “Don’t make me put a bell on you, Bucky Barnes.”  He smirked and I rolled my eyes.  “I went to group therapy,” I took a deep breath and took a great interest in my socks.  “Everyone wanted to talk about how great it was to be back, even though they all didn’t realize they were gone.” Weirdest shit that I’d ever heard.  “We all look the SAME, Bucky.  Exactly the same as the day we poofed.  And everyone who didn’t looks different.”  Or they’re gone, like Mom and Dad.  “I sat there, listening to thirty people talk about the Utopia of coming home, but no one talked about where we were.  And I realized no one knew where we were, no one saw or felt anything when they were gone.”  

“Because we were gone, Brooke,” Bucky was waiting, his gaze just locked and loaded when I looked up.  “Just gone.”  

“No,” I shook my head.  “We were SOMEWHERE, Bucky, because I remember parts of it.”  He was staring at me and I sighed.  “OK, that’s a stretch, I have nightmares.  Or, maybe that’s not the right word either.  I have flashes.  Colors that I can’t name, then these horrible feelings.  Impressions of pain and suffering and terror.  And I wake up gasping and screaming every single day.”  My eyes were burning and I felt like I unloaded the worst secret that I’d ever had.  

Instead of calling me crazy and running away, Bucky pulled me to him and held me while I cried.  And I wasn’t entirely sure why I was crying, if it was because I finally told someone, or if I was finally grieving the loss of my family and my life from before, but he held me and told me that he was there that I wasn’t alone.  Not now.

[gordvendomewhore]

heyo this was supposed to be attached to a reblog of @schoolfullofmorons‘s post but it is so outrageously long and has taken several days and therefore is its own post now LMAO

because this is super long, everything is gonna be under the keep reading thingy teehee

anyway,,, i present to you: all nine preppies, and how they would act during quarantine 

(please note that these are just headcanons and honestly are pretty ooc considering the fact they’re all assholes who would protest quarantine with signs that say “WE WANT HAIRCUTS” but GOD i just wanna pretend they’re decent people for a day or two)

derby:

thinks the virus is a joke and would 100% protest quarantine, but still gets SUPER antsy and jumpy when anyone coughs or sneezes around him

wastes a bunch of water and half a bottle of soap washing his hands for ten minutes straight, but totally not because he’s scared or anything!! the virus still totally isn’t real!!!

since there’s only the household help he can boss around, derby gets bored and lonely pretty quickly, and misses feeling in control.

in attempts to fix this, he tends to call up bif or some of the other preps just to half heartedly yell at them about every little inconvenience that happens in his day to day life, but they’re really dismissive and say things like, “yes, yes, derby, whatever you say.”

(they all know derby is just expressing how he misses them in the only way he knows how.)

derby probably spends a bunch of time lounging around the house, watching the workers do their thing and thinking about how he’s sooooo much better and fancier and richer than them.

however,,,,,, he ends up watching them so often and so intently that the workers get confused and wonder if derby is interested in trying out what they do around the house (cleaning, cooking, gardening, etc.)

so they offer to teach derby, and of course, derby gets wildly upset and most likely threatens both their jobs and their lives haHa

it doesn’t stop him from watching just a tiny bit closer though, you know,,,, just to make sure that these paupers are doing everything to the harrington standard

derby pays off the teachers to keep his grades up and acknowledges school in absolutely no other way.

bif:

while bif is concerned about the virus, he doesn’t really care about school closing down.

school was never his main priority, but he’ll still make sure to tune into a couple of his online classes every week because of the sheer guilt that starts to pile up over time.

however he will NOT do anything with his assignments except read over them, and similar to derby, pays off a nerd to do his homework for him to make it seem like he’s actually doing something.

BUT you can totally bet that bif is one thousand percent upset over the boxing gym being closed down!!

he still has his personal gym in his mansion, which he now uses a lot (partially because he has so much time to kill, but also because he’s still butthurt over jimmy’s scrawny ass beating him)

but it’s not the same because now he can’t train with the other preps!!!!!

how will he know if they’re improving? or if they have the proper stance??? or if they’re swinging with the right force????? or if—

but yeah, bif makes sure to check up on the preps every once in awhile to see their boxing progress

he finds quarantine to be incredibly quiet and empty, in a literal and metaphorical sense.

he isn’t lonely per say, bif actually finds a lot of peace in the silence!

he gets a lot more time to think than he normally does and that’s a gift within itself.

...but his days are usually filled with never ending whining and the loud screaming of faux accents, so the sudden change feels strange, but not unwelcomed.

(plus he still has derby bothering him 24/7 so it’s not like much has changed anyway LMAO)

bif may not admit it out loud, but he misses his prep family clique members a whole lot. :(

gord:

this bitch couldn’t care less about the whole situation.

he spends his days at home binging every movie and tv show known to mankind, expanding on his beauty care regimen, and doing major amounts of online shopping; daddy’s card isn’t gonna just spend itself after all!

he’s actually clearing out the entire aquaberry stock as we speak.

gord is aware of the dangers of the virus, but hey, he’s not stepping a foot outside anytime soon, and he’s always been the hygienic type, so why stress over something out of his control?

this king is absolutely thriving, the outside world truly does not matter to him anymore.

(but did it ever?)

gord will admit that he misses his friends, but it’s not like he has no means of communication with them!

you can bet your ass that every single prep is being hit up with a selfie of gord‘s magnificent face every single day of the WEEK baybee.

gord would also be the time to experiment with new hobbies and activities, yknow like a bunch of random shit like knitting or wood carving just to say he’s actually done something during quarantine.

he’s also the type of person to get really obsessed with social media quarantine too LMAO he probably gained thousands of followers on twt or tiktok or some shit for thirst trapping

gord would 100% open an onlyfans too, but he doesn’t need the money

plus, the world already can’t handle him and he CANNOT be held responsible for the chaos that will ensue if he does more than mere thirst traps

with school, he skips out on the online classes for subjects he doesn’t take an interest in, but rigorously studies for the ones he does care about (especially if they’ll play a big part in law school!!!

tad:

oh poor baby, he’s stuck at home with his horrible excuse of a father.

tad, like the other preps, doesn’t care for school (“money gets you farther in life than education ever will,” derby harrington at some point), but that doesn’t stop him from sucking himself into his education.

he attends all his online classes, does all his homework, studies optional material, does extra credit, anything to keep his mind away and busy from his dad.

(idk what tad’s dad does for a living but let’s just pretend he’s an essential worker and is out of the house often because i do Not Want tad suffering more than he has to)

he’ll take lots of walks around the neighborhood, and spends a lot of time hanging in the park.

plus gord usually calls him every other day or so to keep him company and the two will just chill together and talk.

tad probably gets into some soft hobbies like keeping up a diary, sewing, painting, and maybe even slowly picks up baking again.

gord probably sent him a bunch of tiktoks of people making frog bread and tad knew in his heart that he needed to make frog bread too LMAO

tad is canonically the type of person that would bake for your bday, so he experiments around with cakes and sweet treats in general he thinks the other preps would like.

there’s an Entire Fridge in his house dedicated to his baked goods now. that’s how often tad bakes.

he also looks forward to the day he can see his friends again and plans out all the things they’ll do once they’re reunited.

the preps are more of a loving family than his real family ever was, and tad doesn’t plan to let that fact go by unnoticed in the future :))

parker:

he lowkey goes insane.

parker has no idea what to do with himself now that he’s stuck at home with his parents and sister.

don’t get him wrong, he really loves his family, and genuinely enjoys the family activities his mother forces them to bond over, but what else is there to do?

he’s bored.

plus, parker gets up in his head way too often, and now there’s nothing to distract him.

he never really had any particular hobbies, and you will never catch him doing school work (he pays off his teachers).

and even though being at school sucks because bullworth academy itself sucks, doing things with the other preps made parker forget about his lack self importance and direction in life.

it seems like the end of the world to him, more because of his life and schedule being interrupted rather than the virus itself.

when he’s not with his family, parker spends a lot of time lounging in the mansion’s garden with the garden gnomes, and talks to them pretty often too (we’ve all heard those voice lines LMAO).

parker talks about everything and anything with the gnomes, and allows himself to just rant about life.

and sure, he thinks people who talk themselves 24/7 are hella crazy, but hey!! the gnomes love to listen!!! so therefore parker isn’t crazy!!!!!

he probably ends up doing gardening as a small hobby, and he genuinely likes it!

...even if it does have him down in the dirt and covered in sweat amongst other filth.

parker’s one of the less pretentious preps, so i can see him putting his entitled behavior aside, even if it is only this one time and for this one thing.

after all, his money and status don’t exactly matter anymore; everyone’s busy caring about more dire matters.

after the initial boredom, i can see parker letting loose and maybe even becoming a more decent person while in quarantine.

bryce:

he is 24/7 anxious.

it’s not specifically because of the virus itself, or because of school closing down, but it’s just the whole situation in general that makes him nervous.

bryce is stuck at home with his mother and father, in what bryce likes to call their cozy mansion, but what derby likes to call their oversized blue collar cottage (which bryce finds dumb because his parents don’t even work blue collar jobs).

his father, even during these dire times, is still gambling and wasting their money away, so that just hella adds onto bryce’s anxiety about the situation.

golf & yacht (where bryce canonically works) closes down since it isn’t considered an essential business, and so bryce ends up losing his job.

he’s really desperate to find another place to work, and rightfully so!! he doesn’t want his family to be losing more money than they gain.

bryce probably ends up working somewhere a step above fast food (he isn’t that desperate), like a cafe, since some are still open and surprisingly busy.

because of this, most of his hours are spent split between working and sleeping, and bryce doesn’t exactly have time to think about anything else other than family and money issues (something he thought he’d never have to worry about).

but bryce hides his physical and mental exhaustion quite well, mostly so that his life proceeds without anyone wasting his time with questions of concern.

sometimes the preps that aren’t as judgmental as the others (tad, gord, parker, pinky, bif) will check up on him and even offer to lend his family some money, but bryce knows better than to accept donations of any kind.

he tries to attend the online classes that he can, and does a lot of his homework with tad.

chad:

put simply, chad is fine.

he wasn’t particularly shocked when the virus was reported to be spreading, or when school was closed down, or even when he had to say goodbye to his fellow preps and the harrington house, and leave to his home in old bullworth vale.

chad was never strongly effected by any of this, and honestly is just really relaxed.

chad’s relationship with his parents is quite well (despite their occasional nagging), and he has a lot of hobbies that filled up his time during school and still fill up his time now.

so unlike tad or gord, chad doesn’t go searching for new activities to keep him busy or give him a sense of meaning and accomplishment.

chad wakes up early in the morning, when the sun is still rising, spends his day playing with his dog, chester, jogging around the neighborhood or park, boxing in his home gym, talking with his family, attending his flute lessons (which are now online), and then he goes to sleep with a tired mind, yet a well rested soul.

the only thing he doesn’t do is his school work (he pays off his teachers like derby), but occasionally you’ll see him attend an online class or two.

he lives his life on a clean schedule, and enjoys the alone time he gets during these tough times.

there’s no significant change in how he goes by his days, and chad is perfectly content with that. :)

justin:

he’s vibing.

at the beginning of quarantine, justin probably spent a bunch of time laying in his $10,000 satin sheets, doing nothing but thinking about random shit ranging from whether or not his family should invest in a second jacuzzi, his raging insecurities, how big his muscles are, or if he’ll ever get a chance to talk to the ted thompson himself, but that all gets old REAL quick.

he’s the type of person to be like, “i’m too rich to be sulking around!” even though those two things don’t exactly correlate in this situation LMAO

(but oh well, justin is a prep after all, their whole personalities are based around money.)

similar to bif with his boxing, justin throws himself entirely into swimming!

his family owns an indoor and outdoor pool, but nothing will EVER beat the feeling of swimming in the ocean for him.

there’s just nothing that feels the same, not even a pool with saltwater will ever mimic the feeling.

so justin will often times travel from his cozy home out to the beach just to swim and chill out in the sand for awhile, whether it be for thirty minutes or a whole afternoon.

omg he also gets really into corona virus gossip

*justin the the prep group chat* “guys, i heard that if you put an onion in every corner of your house, you’ll be safe from corona”

“guys did you know that if you drink a shot of vinegar everyday it’ll clean out your immune system?”

“GUYS omg i just heard that if you bathe in a mix of egg yolks and nesquik chocolate milk powder, you’ll be immune to corona!!!”

and everyone is just so tired of him (except for parker who believes almost everything justin says and derby who encourages his behavior on because he lives for chaos)

he pays off his teachers for grades lolol mr. hattrick didn’t get fired for us to just forget these canon facts

honestly justin completely forgets school exists as a whole.

pinky:

pinky is completely sucked into social media.

she has an account on every big platform out there, each one being incredibly active, and each one having a cult following.

and now she gets to be even more active than she was before!!

pinky spends all of her time doing complex photoshoots in her bedroom, experimenting with intricate makeup looks, binging tv shows with gord, and contemplating whether or not she should give herself bangs (you can bet all of this shit and more is going onto her accs too).

pinky also spends a lot of money ordering random shit she doesn’t need and sometimes doesn’t even want, but hey!! it’s free serotonin, and pinky’s therapist says that serotonin is a good thing ahahA

sometimes she’ll even order something and just send it to random addresses just for the fun of it.

pinky is like santa, but with better fashion taste and a little less no slave labor.

speaking of therapy, her sessions are now all online because we practice social distancing in this house teehee

shits and giggles aside however, pinky is thriving!

she’s happy, and healthy, and safe in her mansion, and besides the general feeling of unimportance and lack of meaning during these times where time itself doesn’t feel like it exists at all, she’s fine haHA.

her parents keep nagging her to talk to derby and to “hang out with her future hubby while the streets are empty and there’s free time!” but pinky is NOT breaking quarantine to hang out with a boy who made her wait for a whole three minutes on their date.

(she had a nicer time with jimmy than derby would’ve ever given her anyway.)

surprise surprise! pinky also pays the nerds to do her work, but still attends most of her classes for fun, mostly so she can help tad and bryce with anything if they need it.

real queen shit if you ask me.

whew, thanks for reading all of that if you did!! sorry it was super long but enjoy your preppy food lmao

oh and my anon asks are on now so go ahead and send me some shit if you want to!! headcanon requests, drawing requests, questions in general lol anything

anyway bye byeee uwu

[hisgirlwonder]

Innocence Lost (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Length: 3.8K words Warning: Probably quite a bit (abandonment and betrayal, emotional abuse, manipulation, daddy issues, degradation, anal stuff, use of body fluids, etc) Synopsis: In your father’s eyes, you were his and his alone... until you weren’t; until he’d sold you to the Son of Satan for his own survival. Notes: Just a warning that if you are triggered by issues such as family problems, emotional abuse, abusive men in general, etc, that you probably shouldn’t read this. I wanted to try and make something really horrible since I needed a break from fluff so you’ve been warned. I took inspiration from a couple of movies and I hope you enjoy! If you want to read anything else I’ve written, you can find stuff in my masterlist. (ps. I had to make YN look like Vivien for the sake of my story.)

When you look back on everything, you realise a part of you had always known that your father only cared about himself. It all started when you were nine or ten and recall falling asleep to the sound of your parents screaming at each other. Tears rolled off your face and soaked your pillowcase while you held a hand over each of your ears in an effort to drown out the noise. One day your mother had enough, took off to go and get a pack of cigarettes but she never returned. You spent hours sitting by the front door before and after school waiting for her return – it was like this for almost a year.

A naïve belief had planted itself inside your mind as a child that he did his best to love you which was somewhat true… except it wasn’t really. Loving your child should be unconditional and yet for your father it was the exact opposite; with strict conditions. He only loved you in the moments that he didn’t see her.

The disappearing act of your youth changed him forever. It changed you, too, but this is when he began to figuratively sink himself into and under your skin. Looking at you pained him because you were the spitting image of her when they first met all those years ago; head full of long, luscious, strawberry-blonde locks and piercing blue eyes which bore through a man’s soul and found their way into his heart without even trying. His existence became like a sign at a crossroads – stagnant and unable to move and he couldn’t bear to be without you because she had already left. Your father couldn’t let you leave, too.

The name Michael had been mentioned in passing a long time ago when the two of them first met and went into business; that’s all you’d been told; no surprises if he turned out to be as corrupt as your father. The man who helped bring you into this world seemed wholesome on the surface but beneath it all he was a crook; a man who used manipulation, treachery, sometimes even force, to get what he wanted. His Devilish dealings and misdemeanours probably were the reason why when Michael came along you couldn’t jump into his arms fast enough.

Being as oblivious as you were, you gave excuses for the behaviour and never fought back because you were brainwashed into thinking his actions were warranted. Your mother, after all, gave birth to you and it was only fair for you to take over her role in the household which meant dealing with his venomous tongue.

When this new person appeared in your life, seemingly out of nowhere, he lit up your life like a firework on the fourth of July. He was charming, charismatic, and all the things your mother would have warned you about had she still been around - you imagine she would have told you a man is only as good as the company he keeps. You’d already discovered your father was bad news and you were to learn that Michael was too, despite the pretty face.

**

“Y/N, come here. There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

You’re called to come outside and meet the visitor your father has invited over. It’s near impossible to contain the excitement you’re feeling because you’ve never had your own visitors so you run as fast as you can to the door. There’s a man standing on the deck who doesn’t look much older than you standing there and hands down he is one of the most beautiful human beings you’ve ever seen.

A hand presses against your lower back, pushing you closer to this unknown person. Introductions from your father are had and you learn that this aesthetically pleasing person standing before you happens to be Michael. In a display of kindness, you hold out a hand for him to shake but he has other plans – taking that same hand in his and placing a kiss on the back of it. Your attempt to greet him is a failure because your vocal chords seem stuck; held down by nerves at the sight of this gorgeous man. Michael can feel the shyness you’re emanating and continues to hold your hand; only now stroking the palm with a couple of fingers.

“Hello, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you. F/N has told me so much about you.”

His voice bewitched you without any effort but your heart-eyes and swooning are cut short by your father interrupting, inviting Michael inside for lemonade. Michael replies with an answer that sounds as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The three of you walk to the kitchen which is fine until daddy dearest makes a comment in your ear when you’re getting the jug of lemonade from the fridge about how Michael is a good man and how he’s going to take care and look after you. You have no idea what he meant nor did you care because, for the first time in your life, a boy had awoken something inside you.  

You sit on the chair closest to Michael after the drinks are poured and are enamoured once again; intoxicated by his presence. Michael proposes a toast, to friendships, meeting you, and for you being as magnificent as described. Your skin began to flush because your father had been the only man allowed to call you that.

**

Two months have passed and what started off innocently enough has transpired into something else. Michael, of course, has nothing to do with it because he hasn’t touched you besides holding your hand or brushing your hair, but your mind works in other ways. Somehow he’s gotten trapped inside your skull and every thought and dream is about him.

One Friday night, your father decides to leave you alone with Michael. You were nervous but unsuspecting of anything, even when your father nods at Michael before he leaves. You would learn in a few weeks from now that this was more of a signal for him to start the plans the two of them had concocted.

With the two of you in the house all alone, it meant that you could give each other undivided attention without any interruption.

Your legs are draped over Michael as you usually would except instead of resting a hand on your kneecap sweetly he’s travelling up one of your thighs from the inside of your kneecap. You’re biting at your lip as he’s half way up your thigh but unfortunately his fingers don’t move any further, instead, he use them to tuck strands of fallen hair back behind your ear. Michael sweetly questions if you wanted to go to your room and play a game and, of course, you couldn’t say yes fast enough because you were ready for anything after feeling just a miniscule amount of affection.

**

You sit on your bed, bouncing legs in anticipation for what happens next. It’s only natural for you to feel this way because up until a few weeks ago you were untouched. The curiousity becomes all too much and you ask, “What game are we going to play?”

Michael takes a seat next to you and holds your restless legs still in an attempt to dispel any anxiety. Once you’ve stopped moving nervously, he cups a cheek in his hand and looks at you in a way that you’d never seen before. To any other woman who had been with a man, they’d know the look; he was holding back the growing hunger inside.

“A special game.”

“I like games,” you admit excitedly. You were a grown woman and yet a child all the same – you’d been stuffed into a box by your father and shielded from most if not all things that would break you out of his grip. In the throes of a mental breakdown, he even unenrolled you out of school and hired a tutor he trusted because he didn’t want someone else poisoning your mind or stealing you. He couldn’t lose another woman that he loved most. Once you’d finished school, there was no need for you to work because of the wealth your father had acclaimed - he forced this upon you and would use it if you ever stepped out of line. ­

“Lay down on the bed for me, will you?” he asks with eyes locked onto yours, fingers stroking at the curve of your jaw. Under his spell, you followed the instruction without a breath of hesitation. Michael slips off his shoes and lays on the bed as well; perched up on one elbow and the other hand strumming along your upper thigh.  

“Is this okay?” Michael questions you, making sure you were comfortable with what was going on. It seemed as if the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you in any way. You’re nodding but the truth is you wanted to yell out for more; beg for his hands to roam your body and take every last bit of your innocent; burn holes into your flesh from the intense fires of his want.

Then it happens.

“Would it be okay if I touched you in other places? You can say no if you don’t want me to.”

There he goes. Michael lays out the option to quench your thirst and to sate your desires but he also gives you the option to back out. As if you really had a choice.

“Y-y-yes,” you stutter. With no real understanding of how this works, you just agree and allow him to lead the way. He wastes no time getting in between the thick of your thighs and his fingertips dance over the fabric of your underwear; providing weak stimulation. At first, you jump because these aren’t your hands and you’d never felt anything quite like it before but you just went with it. Michael’s smiling at your reaction because he knows soon he’s going to defile you and turn you into his cock-hungry slut all in a matter of moments.

Two of his fingers push the layer of fabric out of the way and he traverses the slit between your legs. Michael playfully teases how wet you are, how ready you are, and you hide behind your hands. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment could only hide for so long because Michael pulls your hands down; he didn’t want you hiding anything back from him. Michael wanted, and needed, to see the way you reacted to him corrupting your body. His long, ring-adorned fingers glazed with slick travel to meet with your swollen bud, teasing it with his tips, and you feel a different kind of heat run through your veins – no longer embarrassed but set alight.

The events that conspired over that afternoon led you to believe magic was deep-rooted within Michael, embedded in his DNA. There was no other way to describe the power he had over you. What started as fingertips stroking at your bud as if your body was braille led to his plump lips devouring you; tongue lapping up the mess from the multiple orgasms he brought upon your body. After the final orgasm from his mouth, you thought that was it but turns out it was only the beginning.

When you gave him the signal, he slid inside gently and you could swear every thrust of his hips brought you closer to Heaven. You sang out in moans and your good girl image was broken when you began cursing. After the two of you had finished and you were catching your breath, the thought hit and you wondered if without your father would you have ever felt this from a man? The answer was probably no.

**

In the weeks that followed after the first time, things with Michael had heated up to the point where it could almost burn you alive. Your father pretended as if he didn’t know that Michael was fucking you in the room next door to his but anybody could have heard the noises that came from your mouth and your bedroom furniture.

For the first time in your life, you become needy for something other than your father's love. In your desire for Michael, practically ripping his clothes off when the two of you were alone. He had cast some kind of spell, turning you into someone you didn’t recognise. You became messy and had a sex drive that skyrocketed to the point where you no longer cared; allowing him to pound you into submission over every surface in your house.

One day Michael begins to touch you differently; with less passion, less care, instead just fucking you and not paying any attention to your body whatsoever. It becomes too much and you demand to know what’s changed. His all so sudden denial and strange behaviour you left you standing there in disbelief, hands on hips like a bratty child. You yell at him as he’s walking away, “You’re a liar and you can’t do this, Michael. You’ve gotten under my skin somehow and made me sick with this disease.”

When he realises he’s got you to the point where he wants you, he spins around on his heels and walks towards you. His eyes pierce into you with intent. “You want to feel something, do you?”

You step closer, pushing him back from his chest. “Yeah, but you have other things to do.”

This was the moment he was waiting for; the one to rip you in two and destroy everything you knew.

One of his hands takes you by surprise, colliding with your cheek and you’re left with a stinging that sliced through the skin because of the strength of the hit. You’re rubbing at your skin to soothe the pain and he taunts you, asking if it was enough. You bit back at his smart mouth and told him that wasn’t the kind of feeling you wanted.

“Maybe I don’t want to give you what you want.”

You were like an addict begging to blow your dealer for one more hit, offering your body up for some kind of satisfaction. “Since when did you ever turn me down?”

The push and the pull between the two of you are almost identical to how your parents would fight and that angers you even more. Michael snaps, pushing you back onto the bed; holding your wrists above your head, slender fingers digging into their hollows. He too has also become triggered; the similarities in your hair and eye colour to his mothers set him off.

“We’re going to do something a little different if that’s how you want to play.”

The way he spoke to you left you expecting hands of his to wrap themselves around your throat like you envisioned your own father doing if you disobeyed him but Michael did the opposite; dropping your wrists and leaving the room for a minute.

**

Michael returns and walks in slow, calculated steps to the end of your bed where you see him attach a pair of the handcuffs to each side of the bed frame. The thought crossed your mind as to where he would have got them but knowing your father, you wouldn’t be surprised if Michael had gone snooping and found them in your father’s drawers. He moves his fingers in a come hither movement and you crawl across the bed to the end but you aren’t close enough for his liking and so he pulls you swiftly to the edge of the bed, only to lock a cuff around each of your wrists.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?”

You could lie and tell him that it wasn’t but it was written all over your face. He smacks at your face again as hard as before, you wince in pain.

“Since you want to feel something so bad I’m going to make you feel more than just my cock inside you.”

Michael undresses, throwing the clothes on the chair near your bed carelessly before getting behind you. He rips off your clothes – your button up sundress ruined from angry hands, leaving buttons strewn over the bed and some minimally attached to the fabric. He tears the lace underwear from your body and throws the ruined item of clothing to the side.

You’re sweltering from the heat of your own lust but the same can’t be said for Michael - because of your likeness to his mother, he’s neck deep in disgust and power. He brings his aching erection to your slit, rubbing the aperture between your legs before forcing himself past your folds and inside. The thick girth filled your tight cunt in full; the ridges of him hitting the entrance in ways that sent shivers down your spine. Michael takes a handful of your hair and pulls you back as he growls, asking you if you knew what you are – obviously joking and saying you’re needing to get laid isn’t the answer because he yanks you back harder.

“You’re a pathetic bitch,” Michael snarls. The grip he has starts to hurt the roots of your hair. You whimper, unable to come back with anything because you were distracted by the discomfort. Michael doesn’t care and yells at you to look at how pathetic you are in the mirror adjacent to your bed, further adding to the degradation. His eyes are fixed on the sight of his hands hooking around your hips, pulling you into him. The handcuffs dig into your skin but you were enrapt with pleasure.

Michael is gentle only for the first few thrusts before picking the speed up and the repeated collision of hip bones on your ass become almost ferocious. The sounds of enjoyment you were making served as gratification for Michael’s inflated ego. You were so lost in focusing on Michael and how he was fucking you in a way you’d never even dreamed of that your orgasm crept up on you. It all comes to a stop when he feels what you’ve done and he scolds you for it. “You came without my permission, did you? I guess you’re just going to have to pay for it.”

You have no idea what’s going on behind you but can feel him exiting your body – he still needs to cum but he needed to make it count after, in his mind, you betrayed him like his mother did. His sick enjoyment from your humiliation reaches another level when he can see the nectar stringing from your pussy to his shaft while he removes himself. The sight of it all over his cock gives him an idea and so he rubs the tip, now covered in a muculent glaze of your own arousal, against your other hole and slides the head inside. He remains still, leaving you unsuspecting of his intent, but it wasn’t long before he gave you his entire length. Michael had trained your ass with many toys since you began having sex and so when he fully enters you, waves of pleasure roll throughout your body. He can only handle about five or six thrusts before he’s sent over the edge, emptying his seed into your ass.

“Look at you, fucked with an ass full of my cum. I bet you like being used like a piece of meat, don’t you?”

Michael pulls the weakening erection out of you and wants to take things even further. In his own twisted punishment, he shoves two fingers in your ass to scoop out some of the viscous fluid and forces them into your mouth to make you gag on the remnants of his perversion.

“I want you to hear exactly what I’m saying and shut the fuck up while I’m doing it. Don’t think you can use your smart mouth right now when I have the advantage here. You know why your father introduced me to you, don’t you? It wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart but because he sold you to me for a place in my Outpost.”

You begin to mewl in discomfort as the high begins to wear off. He’s digging his fingertips into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open and making sure you can’t say anything or move at all.

“He let me use you to my own advantage because he knew you look a lot like my mother. You want to know the reason your father and I have bonded so well recently? Because we both have women in our lives who have ruined us. When I said he had to offer me something more than money, he didn’t hesitate in giving me his pure, virgin daughter to destroy. It seems only fair too, don’t you think? Your mother ruined your father and what better way to get her back then to ravage the child she held in her womb. My mother ruined me too. It’s the ultimate betrayal to your God. ”

You’re unable to look anywhere else except straight into the eyes of Michael in the mirror before you. He was devoid of any emotion except hatred; blinded by his own rage of his mother.

"All I ever wanted was love and affection from her, and what did I get? Nothing. She tried to kill me. But now I’ve got you and you’re the next best thing. That sickness you claim to have? You’re not wrong. I have a special kind of power running through my veins which has allowed me to infect you like a parasite; burrowing itself into your organs and attaching it to most vital ones.”

Michael gets up to dress himself then walks around to the front of the bed to undo the cuffs holding you up. You collapse into your bed and rub where the handcuffs had been digging into. He leans on the bed frame, peering down at your still body; laying motionless in a state of shock. “There are a few ways this could play out. I could kill you myself, you could die from the apocalypse, or you can be my slave.”

The reality of his seriousness and your future to come begins to sink in but you don’t move. You lay there on the bed, a ruin of cum, sweat, and fear for what to do. Michael turns around to check himself in the mirror; tidying up his hair, refusing to look at you but he offers his own form of an olive branch, “If you want to play along, your father knows where I am. Otherwise have fun rotting with the rest of the world.”

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sacredlangdon @sammythankyou @taintedaffairs @langdonsdemon @wroteclassicaly @violett124 @moltenskeleton @1-800-bitchcraft @queencocoakimmie // Also adding in: @icylangdon @langdonsrapture

[vannahfanfics]

Dawn and Dusk

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff, Friendship Fluff

Fandom: Yona of the Dawn

Characters: Yona, Lily, Soo-Won

Requested By: YonaWon (Ao3)

Lily awoke with a frightened start as the shriek of a snapping twig pierced the forest air, her heart pounding frantically in her chest. Fear was all she knew these days, since she and Yona had been captured and imprisoned in Sei, and since she had escaped with the red-haired princess into the wilderness. Her sea-blue eyes frantically searched the dank forest for the source of the disturbance. She huddled further amongst the sturdy roots of the tree she had been resting against, meagerly hoping it would swallow her up and hide her from what were likely prison guards coming to retrieve her renegade self. Yona was nowhere to be seen, either; where was her friend? Had she already been taken, leaving Lily defenseless? She tried to control her shallow, rapid breathing as she trembled against the forest floor, a rabbit caught in a hunter’s trap.

“Lily, relax; it’s just me.” At the sound of Yona’s faint whisper, Lily instantly melted into a puddle of relief against the tree. The princess emerged from the greenery with a mildly serious expression. She then scurried quickly over to her to kneel beside her. She must have run off to retrieve water while Lily slipped into unconsciousness. The thought made her eyes water, and she dropped her gaze to the loamy earth; Yona was so strong and capable, while she was just dead weight. It was frustrating.

“Lily, we have to go. There are Sei soldiers nearby. They may already know we’re here,” Yona told her and grabbed her by the wrist, already pulling her to her feet. Lily gasped, probably much too loudly, as she was pulled up and dragged further into the forest by the rushed princess. In some fragile, cowardly part of her, Lily wanted just to collapse right there and have Yone run off by herself. Though she had been asleep for at least an hour, her feet and calves were already screaming in protest each time they slapped against the cold, thick layer of forest debris, and the numerous cuts across her legs and arms stung horribly as the air whipped over them. Lily’s mouth and throat burned like fire as she breathed, parched from thirst, and within minutes that burning flame spread to her lungs, which were begging for relief. As much as she wanted to give up though, she didn’t; she couldn’t, not with Yona there.

I have to be strong like Yona. I can’t be dead weight! She told herself as she squeezed her eyes shut, pouring all of her strength into continuing the feverish pace. It wasn’t to be, though; the Sei soldiers were indeed aware of their presence.

Lily looked over her shoulder with a fearful gasp as the forest behind them exploded with energy; the birds were startled from their nests, calling out to the night in warning as the bushes violently shook as the armored soldiers tromped and hacked through them. Their angry shouts echoed behind the two girls, and Lily could see the flash of their blades in the moonlight. The thwang! of bowstrings soon joined them, and Lily shrieked in alarm as an arrowhead nicked the soft flesh of her ear and embedded itself into the thick bark of a tree as she dashed past. Yona tried to throw them off, weaving through the trees as the arrows whistled by around them. To Lily’s amazement and relief, however, the sounds were rapidly retreating as the comparably lighter and smaller girls placed increasing distance between them. A strange euphoria, probably from the mixture of terror and adrenaline, filled Lily’s blood as she considered that they might actually escape.

Then Yona screamed in agony as blood exploded from the back of her heel. Her hand was ripped from Lily’s when she lost her footing and landed roughly on the ground. Lily’s feet slipped in the loose dead leaves as she scrambled to a halt and scrambled back to Yona. The redhead was whining loudly and tenderly holding her foot, which had an arrow sticking out of the back of it.  The arrowhead pierced deep into her flesh. Lily fell on her hands and knees beside her injured friend, looking wildly into the dark woods. She could not hear their shouts anymore, or maybe they weren’t shouting at all; like beasts, they were surrounding and enclosing their prey.

The air all around Lily and Yona echoed with trembling leaves and resounding footsteps; in her panic, she wasn’t even sure where they were coming from. It was like they were everywhere. Gulping, Lily looked back to Yona and grabbed her by the arm to drag her across the ground into a bushy thicket. The girl did not protest even as the pokey branches pricked her skin. The copse was not as sure a shield as Lily would like; Yona’s bright red hair stuck out brightly against the muted smudges of brown and green, and a trail of equally red blood glowed ethereally in the patches of moonlight, leading right to their location. “Lily,” Yona groaned and looked up at her with eyes scrunched up in pain. “Go on without me. You can still get away.”

“No! I won’t leave you!” she insisted hotly before looking down at the arrow, her eyebrows knit as she struggled with what to do. It was bleeding profusely, puddling around Yona’s foot, and there was no way she would able to walk with such an injury, let alone run. Lily’s hands fluttered about the shaft of the arrow, but never gripped it because she was afraid of hurting the already distraught girl.

“Lily-“

“No!” she snapped again and glared down at Yona. “I won’t leave you, Yona. Either way, we are going together!” Really, there was no “either”; their outcome was inevitable. Lily’s breath hitched in her throat as the air rang with snapping twigs again, frighteningly close. Speaking would undoubtedly alert the enemy to their location, so neither of them said anymore. Desperate to protect the girl who had done so much to protect her, Lily did her best to cover Yona’s body with her own, hoping her dark hair and clothes wound blend in better with the earthy tones of the forest thicket. Below her, she could feel Yona shuddering in pain, and so she tried not to place too much weight on her to avoid causing her more discomfort.

Lily’s eyes trained on the thin spaces between the interwoven branches of the thicket, and for a while, all she could see was the moonlight splashing across the empty ground. The forest air was now alive with the sound of leaves and twigs crunching underfoot. Then, to her acute alarm, a pair of dark boots appeared in her line of sight. Lily held her breath, but her heart did not obey despite how much she willed it to; it pounded thunderously against her ribcage, and she thought for sure that the perpetrator could hear its constant drumming. Lily watched with eyes as wide as saucers as the boots milled about only a few feet away, sliding in the leaves as their owner searched for signs of the girls. Lily prayed with everything she had that they would escape unnoticed, but they seemed unfounded.

It took everything within her not to jump violently when the stranger knelt, and she watched as his hands ruffled through the strewn leaves, picking one up. Lily saw with dismay Yona’s blood glittering on its dull surface. A second passed as the man no doubt traced the path of the blood droplets with his eyes, and a sickening feeling grew in her stomach as he stood up and came marching up to the thicket. Trembling, Lily threw herself over Yona, thinking that maybe she would just be killed on sight and her body left there, and Yona could go unnoticed hidden beneath her. Large hands ripped apart the branches of the thicket and allowed the harsh light of the moon to spill over her.

“Finally, I found you. Are you hurt, Miss Lily?” Lily’s eyes snapped open in shock at the voice who greeted her, and her head whipped upwards.

“General Geun-Tae?” Her voice was like a parrot’s squawk, high-pitched and squeaky with the sheer amount of disbelief in it. The long-haired man smirked down at her before standing up straight and cupping a hand to his mouth to shout into the dark of the forest.

“Hey! I found her!”

Lily exhaled deeply, momentarily relieved, but then just as quickly, a fresh wave of horror crashed over her. If the general was here, then surely King Soo-Won was with him, and Lily absolutely could not allow Yona to be discovered. That was just as much of a death sentence as being caught by the Sei soldiers. Resolutely, Lily remained hunkered down over the princess and warily looked up at the general. “What’s the ma- wait, who are you hiding?” he accused, and though Lily tried her best to resist, his brute strength was too much for her; with frustrating ease, he grabbed her by the shoulder and firmly but delicately straightened her up into a sitting position, and Yona came into plain view. To the princess’ credit, though her face was smudged with dirt and her hair tangled with leaves and her skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat, her expression was as fiery as her hair as she glared up at the startled general. “What-? But you’re-“

“Good job, General. We should get Miss Lily out of here as soon as possible.” The dreadful pit that had formed in Lily’s stomach grew three times bigger as Soo-Won’s voice came fluttering into the clearing. She peered nervously around Geun-Tae as he came casually strolling onto the scene with General Joo-Doh walking stiffly behind him. Geun-Tae whipped around with a complicated expression, his eyes flicking from the injured Yona to the king and back. Soo-Won’s face morphed from a small smile to a bewildered one. “What is it?”

“Er-“ Before the general could explain, Soo-Won came walking over to the destroyed thicket to investigate himself. As he did so, Yona was just dragging herself into a sitting position with one slim hand curled around her still-bleeding ankle. She tossed her sunset hair to glance blankly up at him the king’s eyes grew incredibly wide. A tense moment of silence passed. Before any of the men could decide to put Yona to an untimely end, Lily threw herself between them, throwing out her arms on either side as if it would make herself a wider shield.

“Don’t hurt Yona! She helped me escape from the Sei prison, and is my friend. If you do anything to her, I won’t forgive you!” She tried to pour malice and intensity into her voice like Yona would, but to her irritation, her throat would not obey. Her voice cracked and trembled, her arms matching the tremor, and her glare was as unsteady as the branches trembling in the wind above. Despite that, her voice seemed to rouse something inside of Soo-Won. He nodded before looking at Geun-Tae.

“General, look after Miss Lily here. Yona is hurt and needs medical attention,” he ordered. Lily could not read the expression on his face, and that frightened her.

“No! I’m staying with Yona!” she snapped hotly as the general shrugged and promptly leaned down to very rudely grab Lily by the waist and haul her out of the thicket to throw her over his shoulder like a mere sack of potatoes. “Hey! Do you hear me? Unhand me now! This is no way to treat a lady!” she screeched in anger as she beat on his broad back to no effect. As the general whirled around to begin walking towards his horse, it gave Lily a clear view of Soo-Won kneeling in the remains of the thicket behind the bedraggled, regal exiled princess. Lily’s heart jumped in her throat as she began more panicked for her friend’s welfare than irritated at her own treatment. “Let me go! I’m not going anywhere without Yona! Yona! Yoooooonaaaaaaa!” she wailed as she continuously struggled in the general’s grip with frightened tears streaming down her cheeks, washing the dirt away with them before falling into the air, glittering like diamonds in the streaming moonlight.

~~~~~~~~~~

Yona kept her expression as rigid as stone as the man who killed her father knelt in the crumpled branches and crushed leaves to bring his face down to the level of hers. As the moonlight shone down from the breaks in the canopy above, it washed over his golden hair to turn it a shining silver. His pale skin seemed to glow, making him look like an angel sent from above to deliver Yona from this fresh Hell. Yona knew much better than that, though; pretty-faced and elegant as he was, Soo-Won was no angel, but a devil to the core. His expression was as unreadable as hers as he lifted a hand to hold it out to her in offering.

“Yona, you must trust me. I will take both you and Lily to a safe place.” Lily had stopped screaming and was just sniffling miserably on the other side of the clearing, perched in front of the broad general on his destrier. The stoic Joo-Doh was watching with apparent interest from beside his own, and Yona was quite aware that his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword. Her mouth twitched as she straightened herself up, though it sent pain shooting through every nerve in her body, and made a show of resting her hands primly in her lap rather than taking the one held out in front of her.

“Trust you? I think not. For all I know, this is all a show for Lily’s sake. You’ve never cared about me, Soo-Won,” she said bitterly. Hearing the words spit like acid out of her mouth made her sad. Even now, after all, that had happened, she desperately wanted for them to be untrue. She wanted the man that she loved once to feel something for her so she could fall into his arms and be safe and wanted. That would never be, though; if Soo-Won had cared, he wouldn’t have murdered her father in cold blood. But what about that time? chimed the annoying voice in her head. He had shielded her from prying eyes once, and had allowed her to escape back to her party unharried. If he had truly wanted to be rid of her, he surely would have done so by now. Already, Yona’s resolve and stubbornness was waning, but she still refused to allow the quiver to come to her bottom lip or the tears to flood into her eyes. Her eyes burned like the dawn as she waited for his response.

“Yona,” he exhaled deeply, and with the way he tilted his head and closed his eyes, she could tell that his patience with her was already wearing thin. “I haven’t the time to explain it all to you right now. Please, if not for your own sake, then for Lily’s. You both direly need medical attention.” At the mention of her friend, another piece of Yona’s shield went splintering off. Lily was of much weaker constitution than Yona, having been sheltered in a palace and not subject to the hardships Yona had of late. Yona knew that the girl had reached her limit already. Still, she had too much pride to rise to the king’s bait.

“Don’t try to use her as leverage, Soo-Won. That still doesn’t change anything. Face it- you can’t give me a legitimate reason for me to-“

“Fine!” he barked at her suddenly, cutting her off. Despite herself, she jumped slightly at the ferocity in his voice and the intensity of his gaze when he snapped his eyes open to gaze ferociously at her. With a flushing rising into his cheeks, he spat, “How about because I love you, Yona? Is that good enough for you?” Yona was immensely struck, having expected any other reason but that. Her knee-jerk reaction was to claim it as a lie immediately. However, Soo-Won anticipated such a response and thus acted appropriately to quell her continuous rebellion.  

With his face now as red as Yona’s fiery hair, he stiffly wrapped a hand around the back of her head to jerk her forward. Every cell in her body pulsed as his lips crashed against hers, fiercely but passionately. One part of her was screaming to pull back and slap him. The other part of her strongly overpowered it, the part of her that she had tried to quash ever since that night at the castle watching Soo-Won draw the bloody blade out of the corpse of her beloved father- the part that loved Soo-Won deeply, wholly, with everything she had. Enslaved by her emotions, Yona slumped against Soo-Won, her slightly shaking hands curling into the fabric of his high-quality, kingly robes as her eyes drifted shut. “I care about you, Yona… Really, I do,” he whispered against her lips, and that sent a trembling shudder throughout her entire body unlike anything she had ever felt. No, I can’t let him get to me! she thought with gritted teeth and jerked back stiffly for a second.

“You’re a liar! You don’t care about me!” she insisted, and she hated how weak and feeble her voice sounded. That part of her tugged fiercely, drawing her body further against him though her mind tried to resist. He doesn’t… He can’t love me…

“You’re like a stubborn child,” he grunted. At once, he swept her up in his kiss again, even more fiercely than before. Her senses became dominated by the feeling of his lips moving against her own, hungry and full of desire, and his slim fingers sliding through the tangled strands of her dawn-colored hair. As he kissed her intensely, Yona could not deny it this time; there was no lie. Soo-Won loved her, despite all the twisted things that he had done. That made her sadder than anything yet. The tears began to stream silently down her cheeks.

Though she loved him, though she trusted him, she could not forgive him. Thus they could never be no matter how much either of them wanted it.

“Lord Soo-Won, the Sei soldiers will be here soon,” Joo-Doh coughed awkwardly from his spot across the clearing, and Soo-Won jerked slightly. Yona’s let out a small sigh as he pulled back from her, very hesitantly, and her eyelashes fluttered open to look up at him with faintly peek cheeks. He sniffed as he tried to resume some kind of kingly manner, sitting stiffly upright as he uncomfortably teased his fingers through his long, blonde hair. His eyes twitched slightly as he muttered, “Will you come with me now?” Yona silently nodded, wiping at her eyes with backs of her hands while she stared mutely down at her lap.

Her mind was still descended in fog. She struggled with the realization that her feelings were reciprocated and the uncertainty of her future. How was she going to keep moving forward, knowing this? She couldn’t abandon Hak, Yoon, and the others, and she just simply couldn’t forget the fact that Soo-Won killed her father. Yet, he had softened something inside of her. Now she just didn’t know what she was going to do anymore. Slightly frustrated with it, she decided that she didn’t have to conclude that now, and she was just going to face the moment.

She rested her head against Soo-Won’s shoulder as he slipped his arms around her, effortlessly lifting her from the thicket and turning around with her nestled in his arms like a groom would his bride. It was not preferred of Yona, but she was severely dehydrated and unable to walk with her injury, so she just obediently remained in his gentle hold. Both of them flushed simultaneously when they realized that Geun-Tae and Lily were gawking shamelessly, their mouths wide open. Joo-Doh, he was too serious for that, but he definitely looked floored and uncomfortable.

“But- I thought- Lily?” General Geun-Tae stammered and looked in bewilderment at the other princess. “You-? I’m so confused,” he exhaled deeply and slumped his shoulders with a tired expression. Lily had gone pale and was looking at her in deep concern, and so the princess just smiled wearily and waved a hand to indicate that she was just fine (well, fine enough) with the development. Lily frowned deeply but nodded in understanding, probably just content with knowing that Yona would be okay in the hands of the king. Yona looked up at Soo-Won, who twitched his nose with an expression halfway between a glare and a smile as he regarded Geun-Tae.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s go,” Soo-Won huffed as he promptly carried Yona over to his horse and set her into the saddle before climbing up himself. She swallowed slightly as he put one arm around her middle and held him securely against him, her head pressed right in the middle of his chest. As he turned the horse around with a whip of the reins, she resigned herself and flopped wearily back against him.

“This doesn’t change anything, you know,” she murmured to him while keeping her gaze on the shifting landscape of the forest.

“You sure have gotten stubborn, Yona,” he sniffed at her, doing the same. He knew it didn’t change anything, either. They were going to be at odds, for the foreseeable future, at least; their paths definitely intertwined, but would they ever be joined?

Yona didn’t know, and it hurt her wearied mind to contemplate it. Instead, she pondered fantasies that had been lost to her- the dawn of a romance between herself and the king. She closed her eyes, savoring the way he held her tightly, securely, like he never wanted to let her go, and for the briefest of moments pretended that he wouldn’t have to.

If Yona was the dawn, Soo-Won was the dusk, two very similar things that could never meet, and were destined to oppose each other for the rest of time…

Enjoy this story? Here’s Part II, Part III, Part IV, and Part V! Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents! 

[countryshitposts]

i swear i won’t get writer’s block while writing this

three drinks later (i hate this so much)

China wakes up in a dark room, too dark to even point out any features that are even noticeable, even to his bright amber eyes. He feels himself on an elevated standing, away from the cold hard concrete floors from below him. China holds out one hand, trying to feel it ever since that numbing feeling in the morning started, giving him a sense of security and the tendrils of sleep catching him in their traps. China feels something around his neck, a rough texture, shaped to a noose. He tries to pull it away from his neck, but in the end it only ends up becoming tighter, making it even harder for him to breathe.

"I can't believe you drank something without question", a familiar voice says in the dark. China hears the descent of steps, its sounds loud and thudding against his eardrums. His captor must be descending down the stairs while talking to him.

China frowns, dark hair covering his eyes. "And who the fuck are you?"

A chuckle in the dark, and China feels his presence from in front of him, already seeing the smug smirk forming on his captor's face.

"And I thought, out of all your creations, you'd remember me."

Then bright, white light emerges, from where his captor was standing. China closes his eyes, flinching at the spectacle of blue light dancing around his eyelids, the light a bright phoenix in charge of flying, soaring through the night sky as a second sun, giving everyone brightness they deserve. The brightness hurts China for a little while, but in the end, as all do, he adjusts.

China then gazes at his captor, and then scowls, knowing that dark chopped hair and jacket with the white sun insignia anywhere.

"What the hell do you want from me, Taiwan?", China asks, struggling from his position, trying to remain calm, trying to make his voice steady, look more intimidating with a noose tied around his neck, and his supply of air diminishing every second. "I told you to never come back."

"China, come on", Taiwan says, flipping his hair and walking towards his brother with a slight stride, like he has won - and he has never won, in all their bloody battles against each other - this round with China. China's amber eyes glints with hate, and Taiwan reflects it with general cruelty in his blue ones. "I just want to be merged with you again."

"Fuck off", China exlaims, voice raspy. "I have no absolute reason to welcome you back to my home."

"Really? Not after you and Soviet Union divorced? I heard you're quite lonely trapped inside your little room."

China stiffens as Taiwan mentions Soviet Union, yet it is short-lived and he relaxes for a bit, not wanting Taiwan to get the upperhand after the showing of his weakness. He scoffs, turning the other way around, glaring at the bland white walls, wondering if that was what his life had become; painting a wall that wasn't even his.

"I'm fine, Taiwan. I don't need you and your fucking Koumintang gang destroying the entire place."

Taiwan scowls, looking at the insignia tattooed on his arm, a symbol of membership, from his members, and a symbol of betrayal, in China's own mouth. "They're harmless."

"Please." China looks at Taiwan dead in the eye, his dark curls obscuring one of his eyes. "I've seen how much damage you've done."

"No, it's your fault we're like this", Taiwan growls out. "I want to be my own person, but you and your thirst for territory keep on growing everyday. I just want everything to be over."

"It would be over if you can just leave me alone. And why the hell did you tie me up with a noose around my neck?"

Taiwan raises a brow, "I thought you already know what I'm going to do with you."

And China does know what Taiwan is planning to do- kill him and make his murder look like a suicide, due to how it will look like China hung himself, all alone, in this cold, neglected basement. He can already feel his fingers grow cold, and he glares at Taiwan. He can feel a thousand furies relentlessly hitting him, and he tries to form a scream as the noose gets tighter. China chokes, feeling his skin imploding from inside of him.

Then Taiwan's face becomes serious, as if he can feel the thunder growing louder as they near him, the clouds darker and gray, consuming everything bright and turning them to a sadder version of themselves.

Taiwan leans over China, and China backs away as he can without his air inside of his lungs becoming limited. There was a deep pain in his dark blue eyes, no more of the mischievous glints in his eyes.

"I was the sole heir of the business", Taiwan begins, a cold settling deep inside China's veins, as he tries to breathe as the noose tightens even more, "but then you took it away from me, with your business deals, your ex-husband and your communism. I fought hard for my rights to rule the business, but in the end, I lost to my younger, better, smarter brother."

China scoffs, his scoff a strain. "You're victimizing yourself again; you really think that we won't see behind your motives?"

"You're not even China!", Taiwan shouts, spitting on China's face, and the other growls, spitting on his brother as well.

"I am China!", China exclaims, his voice steady and solid, as it echoes back to him like a boomerang coming back towards his head.

Taiwan glares, "Really? Because you're just an upstart who took my glory away, and took my rightful name. I am the real China. So, I decided to take back what was mine."

"Oh, by killing me? Because everyone will know who did it. Either Hong Kong or you."

Taiwan's face then gives off a snide vibe, a light smirk now etching on his lips, as he takes out a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket. He clears his throat, then starts to read in a mock mourning voice,

"To all of those who are reading this, I know it may come as a shock to all of you, but I had always felt miserable in my entire life, and always kept seeing the shadows of the past sneaking up on me ever so slowly, my past and the delusions of the many possible futures clouding my vision, ever so slightly. I deny my past due to the crippling feeling of nausea as I go back to its horrible clutches, like an atom bomb exploding in my mind. I had tried, and failed, to kill myself, the hands of life tying my strings so strong to the point it may never break. I can feel her strings tying it around my neck, to the point I would choke, to the point I will go limp at the hands of life as she smiles, turning me into the puppet she had always wanted.

I don't want to be a puppet anymore. I don't want to be a captive of a lie, alive, but dead, in the living's eyes and the dead. I will, after all these years, admit that I have always felt inferior towards Taiwan, my older brother, who I wrongly took the company away from him. I can't take it anymore; the business, the socialization, the delusions, me, so this is the last time I will try and kill myself. I don't care if I will dissolve to those discreet celebrities only known through death, but I can't take it anymore. Don't let neither Beijing nor Hong Kong take over. Give the business and the company over to the first-born and heir; Taiwan.

Signed, China."

Panic surges inside of China, as he shakes his head in panic, his breathing becoming even more and more ragged, a fiery inferno dancing across his body as he desperately tries to escape the noose, knowing that it will be futile, knowing that Taiwan is much faster than him if he tries to escape. The table under him is weakening, stumbling and giving out, and he feels it move as if an earthquake has struck him. The table is the earth cracking and making way for tectonics to go further apart, and he is the thousands of people being eaten alive falling so fast towards their deaths. Taiwan smiles gleefully, his blue eyes gazing at China's desperate form.

"Don't you fucking dare", China growls out, "if I get out of here-"

"If", Taiwan supplies, his lips curling into one of the most cruel smirks China will ever see in his lifetime, "only if."

And then, with a light kick to one of the table's weak legs, it falls, and China, instead of his feet touching the ground, it dangles in the air, looking as if he was levitating, trying to float, an illussion to someone's eyes. China gasps, as all of his air is blocked out by the noose tightly hung across his neck, the rope becoming taut, his windpipes being barricaded by a thousand metal gates, and him choking, begging for air, as the last thing he sees before Death, quick as ever with his scythe, is Taiwan, the new China, smiling in victory.

[golden-redhead]

Insanity

Ouma is Momota’s unhealthy coping mechanism.

Oumota, post-game Virtual Reality AU (with a twist). 2203 words. Spoilers. Dedication for @tricky-leader

Read on AO3.

Insane.

This is the only word that comes to Momota’s mind as he watches Ouma paint himself to be the villain of this season, a tablet with Team Danganronpa’s logo on it grasped tightly in his hands.

He is watching that scene after the very end of the fourth trial, just after Gonta gets executed. He watches it over and over again, to the point where he can almost trick himself into thinking that he doesn’t feel nauseous anymore. His eyes hurt and he is fairly certain that they’re bloodshot, but he stubbornly stays where he is, hands clutching the tablet close to his chest with enough force to make his knuckles turn white. The faint bluish glow of the screen hits his eyes as they search Ouma’s face when he says all those horrible things, lips stretched in a sickening smile of a madman. Momota himself isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he knows for a fact that he’ll know once he finally finds it.

Maybe he’s hoping to notice some crack in Ouma’s act.

Anything that his tortured brain would use against him to prove him that all of this was avoidable, that if only any of them noticed sooner and Saihara figured it out faster, if only someone knew… The truth is, he doesn’t know what would have happened if that was the truth. Breaking through Ouma’s endless walls of lies and distrust and deftly masked fear sounds like a mission impossible to anyone.

Sometimes, Momota wonders how would it feel to be a part of the audience of Danganronpa’s fifty-third season, just one of those people who get to enjoy the game from the outside, blissfully unaware of the trauma and the empty feeling in your stomach that haunts you long after you make your big comeback to reality. Would it be easier to decipher Ouma if he was simply watching him act like a character on a show, safe and sound on the other side of the screen?

He remembers himself from the times when he was simply one of the fans. He remembers himself from the times when the idea of this senseless suffering would excite him, make his heart beat faster, face flushed and eyes wide and fervent. He was never quite on the same level as Saihara who was one of those hardcore psycho fans who jack off while watching the executions, but he still enjoyed the show, his pulse quickening whenever he saw it airing. The more bloody the season, the better. He remembers the elation he felt when a big fat envelope with a familiar logo on top found its way into his mailbox, stuffed with a short ‘Congratulations, you’ve made it into the 53rd season of Danganronpa!’ note and a contract.

Back then, he celebrated.

The copious amount of alcohol, music blasting at full volume and girls, many girls, who would pass through his bed, moaning and writhing under him, only to be followed by another. He was at the top of the world.

None of that matters anymore. None of that is important now.

He wonders who would have ended up being his favorite character.

Akamatsu, while entertaining to watch, was just a goody two-shoes, so sweet that it was almost nauseous. The only thing that he would have found even remotely interesting about Akamatsu was her ending, but it simply happened too quickly.

Saihara also wouldn’t have been his typical choice, too meek and cautious. Too innocent. Momota was always more into the potential culprits rather than heroes. To think that he ended up being one of them… If there’s one thing he can say for sure about the writers working for Team Danganronpa it’s that they’re sick fucks. The absolute worst. He wonders if it gives them some sense of perverse satisfaction, all this twisting of their original personalities into people that they barely recognize, people who feel so distant and yet so familiar.

Then again, Momota has no right to complain. If anything, Team Danganronpa actually fixed him. He feels a shudder crawl down his spine just thinking about the Momota from before the game. This angry creature he used to be, not caring for anything or anyone. He was so full of shit back then, always ready to lash out, ready to attack, eagerly awaiting for any chance to feel provoked just to have an excuse to fight. This person is still inside him, trapped somewhere under the thick layer of ideals they stuffed him with. Still, he got lucky. Being stuck with this new identity might feel weird, but between the old and new one he would choose this new Momota without a moment of hesitation.

Not everyone can say the same thing, though.

His mind flashes to Korekiyo and he grimaces with distaste. This whole incest subplot, especially when paired with the fact that he was a murderer even before the game started, was a bit of an overkill, even by Danganronpa’s standards. He almost feels sorry for the guy. There’s no redeeming trait Korekiyo could rely on. His personality was reduced to being a fucking creep and Momota feels an intense sense of unfairness everytime he thinks about it. There’s also some relief, though. This nagging voice muttering good thing it wasn’t me at the back of his head. Even though the villain characters tended to be interesting, Korekiyo had a fairly small fanbase and would always end up at the very bottom of every favorite character poll. Momota has no idea how Korekiyo is doing now but he can’t imagine him being happy with what Team Danganronpa had done to him.

So yes, Momota considers himself lucky, at least in this one aspect.

Momota Kaito, Luminary of the Stars might be a fake name, a fake persona, but it’s the one he fully accepts and chooses to embrace, if only so he can keep some resemblance of sanity.

Anyway, now that he thinks about it there’s no way that he would choose Saihara as his favorite and Korekiyo is obviously also a definite no.

Out of his two sidekicks Harukawa seems like a much more likely option than Saihara. Old Momota would have been overjoyed. Pretty girl? An assassin? What a delightful combination. Sexy, too. Good looks on one hand and the promise of some professional and well-executed bloodshed on the other - what more could one ask for? The fans must have been ecstatic when her real talent - none of that boring caregiver or whatever bullshit - was exposed. Of course, if things went like they did in the end, he would have been pretty disappointed that ultimately Harukawa became one of the survivors and never actually got the chance to kill anyone. With how much of a deal they made out of her hiding her talent it was probably frustratingly underwhelming to never see her in some bloody action.

Well… that’s not entirely true, he still remembers the sting of an arrow piercing his arm, but that’s besides the point.

He briefly wonders what he would have thought about his own role in the killing game but quickly dismisses it. Momota Kaito from the game was way too heroic for his liking, a tragic hero who would literally let himself bleed to death just to save everyone.

Pathetic.

Weak.

Lame.

He really should have wrapped his hands around Saihara’s throat once he gained his trust.

And then there’s Ouma.

The trickster.

The antagonist.

The mastermind.

The martyr.

There are so many words that one could use to describe Ouma and none of them would ever be good enough.

He escapes all the definitions, remains a mystery even after the game is over while the rest of the participants get to go home, rest and - hopefully - heal. Even weeks after the game ended Internet forums and websites continued to speculate about Ouma’s character. It’s been quite some time since a character made such an impact. Danganronpa has been going for fifty-three seasons and even despite having many devoted fans some of the appeal started to fade. Teenagers being thrown into a world in which their only choice is between hope and despair can become boring after some time, especially with such a defined structure of the show. Unexpected culprit in the first chapter, double murder in the third one, unclear situation in the fifth … Momota knows it all.

Still, Ouma managed to do something that no character did in a long time. He brought back something that made Danganronpa so alluring all those years ago, when it was still a new concept that would provoke outrage and controversy. Hell, some people even say that he single-handedly saved the name of the entire franchise. There’s no guarantee that there will be any future seasons, but even if there won’t be - Danganronpa definitely went with a bang. And all of that because of some purple gremlin with a death wish.

The same gremlin who was now trapped in a coma with no means of escape, enslaved by the very contract he signed with his own hand.

Team Danganronpa made good use of all the loopholes in the law, exploiting any ambiguity they could find to keep Ouma in the simulation as long as they deem it necessary, possibly long enough for them to revive Danganronpa and put him in the next season. It wasn’t clear what exactly they were planning to do, but as long as Ouma was involved, it was sure that they would definitely make profit off of him, seizing the opportunity to its maximum potential.

No one ever won against Team Danganronpa, despite the fact that many tried. If what the press has been reporting was to be believed then the company was basically drowning in lawsuits. And yet, they managed to evade every single one of them and keep the biggest sensation they ever created clutched tightly in their grasp, using Ouma as leverage to achieve their goal, bending both the law enforcers and fans to their will. There would always be fans begging for more, defending the series with blind adoration, their thirst for blood never quite satisfied. They were the precious children of Team Danganronpa, the ones who didn’t know the life without Danganronpa in it and couldn’t care less about Ouma’s future as long as they got what they wanted.

Danganronpa created the society so obsessed with killing that it lost all traces of humanity.

Even though Momota was once part of it, all of them were, it doesn’t feel right anymore. None of it feels right. The fact that it took him so long to realize, the fact that they literally had to screw with his brain to make him see that… it doesn’t feel right, either.   

And so Momota watches as the fourth trial, because there’s very little besides that that he can do, watches as it comes to an end and Saihara utters his infamous line. The one that fans quote all the time.

The one that marks Ouma’s even further descent into madness.

You’re alone, Kokichi. And you always will be.

And almost as if tapped with a magic wand, Ouma’s face turns blank. For a long second he just stares at Saihara, for once quiet and still, and it’s a second that lasts a lifetime.

Momota thinks about how scary it looks.

Ouma’s blank face is much scarier than any of his masks, much scarier than those twisted faces that barely look human anymore as he slips into the role of a bloodthirsty villain. Momota has scrolled through many threads filled with screenshots of Ouma’s most horrifying expressions, but that one that shows a complete devoid of emotion is by far the most dreadful, yet hardly ever recognized by fans as what it truly is. Momota feels stupid, really, when he realizes for how long he remained blind to it himself, how he was too focused on Ouma’s intentional misleadings instead of on cold hard facts. In his defense, however, Ouma is good at this. Maybe even too good. After all, even Saihara fell prey for his act. Ouma’s a skillful liar, exploiting any weaknesses he can find and never showing his true face, always hidden behind carefully planted lies.  

It’s not a surprise that Team Danganronpa doesn’t want to let him out of their grasp.

And maybe, just maybe, Momota from before would have fell prey, too.

Maybe in all of his brashness he would have become obsessed with this boy who looked like Momota could snap his bones in seconds. Maybe he would have been rooting for him against all odds, simply to see what would happen.

Instead, he’s stuck rewatching the game until it all becomes a blur, until he has it all memorized, imprinted behind the eyelids.

Ouma taunting and lying and smiling. Ouma being the one who, in his own strange way, saved them all.

Somehow he’s even more of a mystery after the end of the game, even if the truth slowly unfolds itself before their eyes.

There’s a weird sense of insanity to it all.

And so Momota finds himself re-defining this word, insanity, because it sure as hell isn’t what he thought it to be.

[tinderthecity]

The Mountaineer

I’m not sure if this blog is a catalog of my dating escapades over the years or a catalog of the most influential dating apps as time goes by, but I guess one thing stays the same, dating apps and I are perpetually on this journey together! (slow clap).

This time, Hinge is the app of choice. A little background information on Hinge, for those of your lucky enough to be unfamiliar with dating app particulars, this one has you provide six pictures as well as the answers to three questions of your choosing from a pool of questions the app provides. You are then asked your age, height, area you live in, and you can also provide some more particulars like school, religious affiliation, if you drink, smoke cigs or pot, do drugs, have children, want children, etc.

Relevant side note: Recently a coworker of mine sent me a link to an article with her subtitle “your kinda guy.” The article was titled “I am a Pacific Northwest Man on Tinder and I will Die if I Go Indoors.” It’s hysterical and exposing the great outdoorsman facade that can become all too trendy on dating apps.

From the article:

“‘Being inside’ is for the weak, the tired, the cold, the hungry, the ‘people with homes,’ the ‘quaints.’ I’m not interested in those who cozy up with Netflix or enjoy going to restaurants or movies. Everything you could possibly need to survive, thrive, and entertain yourself exists in The Great Outdoors. You like sitting down on a comfortable couch? Gross. You like buying groceries in a store? Disgusting. If I am not constantly in some situation under the sun where my life is potentially in danger, I’m not about it. I get off on adrenaline. And nature.”

“My first three profile pics are from epic outdoor activities which showcase a level of fitness you couldn’t even begin to rival. The next three pics are of the exact same thing. The next one is a total thirst trap, which means something different when you’re just dehydrated all the time. The last photo is of a mountain that really gets me fired the fuck up. My face is blurry in each shot because I am Always. In. Motion.”

Lol you get the point (check out the full article for more linked at the bottom, it’s worth it). I died of laughter while also feeling entirely seen. I’m not a dating app girl who falls for the models or the guys on yachts who dress like fancy businessmen or have tons of photos at rooftop bars or are listed as working high-profile jobs. Ask any of my close friends and they’ll tell you that my thirst traps are the guys who seem down to earth (literally) and like to spend time outside, traveling, hiking, etc. 

It was after reading this article that I was able to put my last date into context as to why I was so excited and why it was so terribly bad. 

The Mountaineer liked me on Hinge and I immediately thought he was pretty cute, loved his answer to the question “I’m looking for....” “Someone who is upfront and honest about what they are thinking and feeling,” (swoon) and his pictures, which, you guessed it.. were all outdoors.   

Unfortunately, he lived in Long Island and liked me about a week before Christmas, when I would be going home for about a 10 day span, and afterward he would be gone for a long weekend. We decided we would just chat in the meantime, so we did, everyday. We talked about all sorts of things, but tbh he did talk/ask a lot about hiking haha.

When we could finally meet up after almost three weeks of talking, we decided he would come into the city on a Saturday and we could hit a museum and grab dinner. I chose the Natural History Museum for us to check out because he hadn’t been yet and I know it never disappoints.

The day before our date, the Mountaineer asked me if I’ll be meeting him at his train station. I live in the 150s, the museum is on 79th and his train would be pulling him into 34th. I told him we could meet at the museum since it’s in the middle. He said he didn’t like taking subways alone (interesting, Mr. Adventure) so he would walk from 34th to 79th (about a 45 min walk). Then he realized it was going to rain on Saturday and said he would walk in the rain, to which I told him (trying to be an accommodating Manhattanite) I could just meet him at 34th and take the train with him up to the museum if that’s the case.

The day of comes, it’s a bit rainy outside, as expected, and I get a text from the Mountaineer asking if we should move our date because of the rain (..really?). I basically said no but it’s up to you.

We decide to meet, I go down to 34th street to meet him. I’m running a few minutes late and of course those are the days when train delays hit.

Me: hey I’m on the express but I’m hitting some delays, 😑I’m going to be a little late, sorryyyy

Him: tsk tsk I’m quite disappointed already 😔

Me: 🙃🙃🙃

Him: Oh that’s cute, you think I’m joking

*wow, bold double dig move for not having met yet*

Me: I can just switch to the uptown train at the next stop if you’d rather

Him: haha I’m just messing with you. Would you really?

😇

We meet, he’s def not exactly what I pictured, maybe the 3 inch height difference than he listed had something to do about it or maybe it’s the ten minute first impression of salty remarks that he lead with... He refuses to take the train and has us walk 40 blocks up to the museum in the rain. I quickly realize that the museum and dinner plans we have might be a big mistake.

Once his saltiness simmers down our conversation gets better, and I thought maybe this will actually be a good time.

We get to the museum, and the lines are INSANE, so we decide we’ll go to another one. I give two options that are close by and ask which he’d prefer. I told him I’ve been to both and don’t have a preference to which he says “typical girl not wanting to make a choice” (wow, okay ew) to which I say “that’s actually not true, I chose the first museum..”

He decides on one across the park meaning another 20+ minute walk in the rain. He hops over a half wall into the park and I (not being in the parkour mood) decide I will walk to the entrance pathway about 100 feet away. He pokes fun at me and tells me to have a sense of adventure. I point out that he is wearing outdoor gear head to foot (yes, that is what he wore) and I’m wearing normal not weather proof clothing, not ideal to be jumping into mud. 

As we walk across the park he tells me a bit about himself. like how he doesn’t actually own any casual clothing aside from outdoor gear (okay..), he didn’t vote in the presidential election (a little red flag starts waving in the back of my mind), and he has kept eluding to trust issues of some sort by questioning my own honesty (red flag starts flapping harder).

He asks me a little about myself, and somehow we get on the topic of horrible dates we’ve been on. He doesn’t have much to say, but as this blog will tell you, I could go on for hours. I chose to share what I consider to still be my worst date to this day, last years Valentine’s Day post, Mr. Mindful (or as others know him, Touch-barrier). My biggest red flag of all was telling Mountaineer that story and having him respond with “Oh that’s it?” THAT’S IT!? The guy had a gender stereotype conspiracy theory complex, swore at me via text for turning him down, divulged his dating coaches advice and said he should have broken the touch barrier sooner with me, information I learned all within a 24 hour time span. And yet the Mountaineer was more stuck on my reluctance to say - no I never want to see you again - to that guy face to face on our date, because apparently that was Mountaineer’s touch point for accusing me of dishonesty.

We get to the museum (I know... we haven’t even started the actual date yet). Once inside walking around and looking at art, conversation starts to get normal again (aside from him saying that he likes contemporary art but this wasn’t quite what he meant). By the end of the museum I was like okay, I don’t hate this.

Then comes dinner. 

We choose a Thai restaurant, again on the opposite side of the park. Yelp gives the location 4.5 stars but when we walk up to the door the grade sign says “grade pending” (not uncommon) and he immediately looks for another place to go because I guess that’s unacceptable. After a few minutes of standing in the cold and probably noticing my poorly disguised apathy for this problem he decides we can go there because, like I said, it’s rated well.

The hostess seats us immediately but we’re close to the door and the Mountaineer doesn’t like that so he asks for us to be moved away from the door. We are then seated right behind the hostess stand and as we sit he goes “wow really?” and proceeds to be visibly and audibly upset about it for at least 10 minutes. He rants to me about how going to a restaurant isn’t just about the food but about the experience and how this experience is bs. (Yes, this two dollar sign Thai restaurant we’re going to because we want a quick meal really isn’t hitting my high class needs). I tell him we could take ownership and ask to move but he says no and continues to pout. As we look at the menu I notice the Mountaineer, as a non vegetarian, keeps mentioning tofu dishes and I ask why. He then bestows all of his restaurant wisdom upon me and explains how he rarely eats meat, or even seafood, at restaurants because he doesn’t trust them (here we go with the trust again), and especially not Asian restaurants. He also let me know that if he ever does order a steak, he likes his steak well-done but he orders it medium-rare and has them send it back to the kitchen when it comes out to cook it longer, because if he asks for it well-done he’s certain they’ll give him a crappy piece of meat.

At this point I am on the verge of stabbing myself with the utensils in front of me but instead I order shrimp pad thai to spite him. He doesn’t ask me a single question at dinner and is less than kind to the serving staff (the reddest flag of the red flags), I ask questions to fill the painful void for myself and when he asks if I want to go to Patagonia with him to look at some more outdoor gear he wants for himself I tell him I need to head home to my pup. 

I hugged him, I left, I haven’t spoken to him since and I couldn't be more grateful.

I will admit, I was a little upset when I left, partially because I had been excited about the Mountaineer for two weeks and felt bummed by my off point expectations, but even more so I was upset because I wasted almost an entire Saturday walking in the rain and listening to restaurant conspiracy theories when I could have been at home with my pup.

This date taught me (and hopefully you) two things:  1) You can be into Mountains without being be down to Earth 2) Never plan a multi-layered first date

Happy Love Day Everyone

<3

(For a nice complimentary laugh, here’s the link to that brief article I mentioned earlier that was obviously written about Mountaineer and his brethren.)

https://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/i-am-a-pacific-northwest-man-on-tinder-and-i-will-die-if-i-go-indoors

[luminescentlyricist]

🎲 Familia Eius 🖋️

WARNINGS : MINOR GORE, MANIPULATION, DEATH

This is an AU where Cirlun and Etoile are Rinn and Lucy's parents. Rinn and Lucy are Logan and I's fankids.

~~~~~~~

The young woman smiled, even though she realised quickly after what a cruel thing it was to do. She knew well how much her brother had suffered at no hand but her own. Lucy was aware of how pathetic Rinn had slowly become, and she thought she could take advantage of his evident melting. There was something else she had to take care of, though, because there was nothing she could do if her adoptive mother - the Empress - was in the way to prevent it.

Just as Cirlun herself had culled her Advisor, Lucy needed to follow in those footsteps. However reluctant the young woman appeared to be, she knew that it was inevitable. She had trained all of her life for the chance to be on the throne, even subjecting herself  to deep, comatose states or long, trancelike daydreams in order to train her mind for the mental strain that her magic would place on it.

Despite the fact that she was a human, through a brutal, painful process performed by the Empress, human's zodiac powers - those naturally held by trolls - could be awakened. However, there seemed to be a ten percent survival rate for it, lessened further by natural weaknesses. It itself was a severely unnatural thing, as human bodies were rarely strong enough to handle the abilities that would normally lie dormant until they died out. Nothing could be said to begin credibly explaining those magics.

Lines between troll and human blurred ever faster as time pushed forward, and the young heiress - only eighteen years old by human time measurements - trained harder. Her body was still burning as her gaze settled down on her adoptive brother, that curt smile she had worn mere seconds ago fading. Lucy's voice had grown as she had,  and it was cold and emotionless as she addressed him.

"Rinn, dearest brother, I expect you not to enter my palace unless you are instructed - directly by me, and me alone - to do so. I know well who you have become, rebel leader, and that it is likely you have double agents in the High Court and the Council of Highbloods. That is why."

Her pink eyes, normally a bright, almost fluorescent tone, had dulled into a darker shade resembling fuchsia or maroon. She normally wore contact lenses to hide it, but they were unobscured in the waning light of the throne room. Rinn's eyes were blue, and they remained sharp as ever when he spat a retort to the other. He was normally the calmer of the two siblings.

"Your palace? Last I checked, Lulu, Mom was still alive. You can't command me like that. Besides, you're the younger of us. Don't you think this empire could use an Emperor for once?"

He was becoming angrier. Lucy knew that much. They were moirails before her megalomania begun to show, before she would lose weeks' worth of sleep aggressively training, physically and mentally pushing herself to meet destructively high standards time and time again. They had been closer as siblings than they were to anyone else. But now, Lucy had become hungry for the power that she had never been given. She'd take it instead.

"So."

Her voice rang out through the halls.

"Do you mean to tell me that you want to steal this from me?"

Rinn was silent. There was no point in arguing with someone so irrational. He just glared at his sister as she moved to the back of the room. A few hushed words were spoken between she and the guards, then a shadow was thrown to the wall, moonlight illuminating the heiress and another figure, bound tightly and shroud in a brown cloak.

"I had intended to wait a few more tsweeps before my Ascension, but little has proved a greater disappointment to me thus far than a missed opportunity."

With a gentle, swift motion, she pushed the hood away to reveal no other face but her mother's. Their mother's. The woman's expression was gaunt, eyes glassy and cast to the floor. She looked near death already. Cirlun had clearly given up, even though she had many, many tsweeps to live. Would have, anyway, if she was unopposed. Lucy was smiling. The heiress had clearly given into her thirst for power. This notion was only solidified when she next spoke.

"Isn't this lovely, Rinn? We're almost all here. I never thought I'd see you again... Gog knows, we're still missing someone. Didn't Otets join your little rebel group? I suppose I can't blame him, but what I'm about to do next would have been so much more fun."

Lucy offered no further explanation for what she regarded as 'fun', and it was rather lucky the girl didn't. She turned to her 'mother', grin far too wide to be natural regarding the situation at hand. She picked a pouch full of die moulded from what looked like shards of multicoloured sea glass from a belt at her waist, holding it as if were made of gold. As the die tumbled to her waiting palms, a laugh escaped her. The noise was flat and emotionless.

"Do you like them, brother? I had them cast from the possessions of your pitiful ensemble that died from my guards' tridents. Particularly their jewels and medals."

Whether or not she was lying was unclear, but Rinn's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Don't you dare mention Otets. He was a good father to you and is still a good father to me. You're shithive maggots, Lucy. Why did you bring Mom into this?"

He wanted to take the die from her hands and smash them, to see them shatter and let her sister feel powerless. But he sat there, unmoving, waiting for the girl's response patiently.

"Because I knew that you'd never listen to me if I didn't bring a reason. I also realised that you were closer to our father, but it would have been nothing but fruitless to attempt getting him out here. Cirlun - sorry, Mom - had already given up by the time I sent the guards to get her. It was easier than I could have ever hoped."

The girl stopped talking, putting the die-pouch back around her waist and rolling the die between her fingers in an idle, bored gesture. Lucy threw them in the air, not even looking until they hit the floor. A haze of light surrounded them as she picked them up and when it cleared, Ψdon's Entente had replaced them all. The double-edged trident seemed too big for the short human, but she handled it with unprecedented ease.

Walking closer to her mother, she held Rinn's gaze, a cruel smile twisting her lips. This was a side to Lucy that he'd never seen and didn't want to see. Gently, every movement careful, she bent down and whispered something into Cirlun's ear that was enough to make the tired, half-dead Empress flinch. Lucy stood, gazing back to Rinn for a moment as if to check that he was watching her still.

Then she used her fingers to unclasp the cloak she was wearing, a fuchsia one with an infinity clasp that she had taken from her mother. Casting it aside, she drove the trident down, deepest pink coating the prongs of the weapon in a gruesome spectacle of paint. From the blood, brightest white swirled. She was grinning like a maniac as it enveloped her. enough luminescence to hurt or damage Rinn's eyes.

Yes. This was what she had been waiting for for too long.

The change was minor, but she became taller, a circlet of gold and fuchsia gems resting on her head. Her gaze was sharper, and Cirlun's corpse - as well as the resulting blood - were nowhere to be seen.

"Rinn, dearest brother, are you alright?"

She asked the other figure in the room, walking to him and kneeling at his front. He looked petrified, to say the least. However, when she reached out to wipe a tear from his cheek, he grabbed her wrist.

"Do not touch me."

His voice was monotonous, and his eyes flat blue-grey. It was clear enough that he hated her. It only made Lucy happier.

"Why, you're disagreeable today. Don't you want more power, Rinn? I am afraid I need to touch you for it... Well..."

She shrugged, backing away from him a little bit.

"I won't make you uncomfortable."

The girl had a plan, and she needed to gain Rinn's trust back if it were going to work. Despite all that had happened before, he smiled, the tiniest, trembling quirk of his lips that was unnoticeable unless one searched for it. Taking this as a sign, she stepped forward again, raising a brow as she opened her arms.

"Come on, now. I'm your moirail, aren't I? You're safe. You look like you need a hug..."

Reluctantly, the boy discovered that he missed her. So he let her hug him, grateful for the warmth. Gog, he couldn't even remember the last time they hugged, and that was concerning. But a new heat came to his skin when she released him, a fierce burning that made him want to yell. His head lurched, and blue was the only thing he saw until he blacked out.

Lucy knew it was wrong, but she directed some guards to take him to his old room, the one they had both once been trapped in by her mother that was little more than a closet. Lucy had things for him to do, and couldn't risk him getting injured. Residual white motes of light drifted around her as she finally left the throne room.

While he Ascended, she felt her brother's life ebbing away, and it scared her more than she would have liked to admit. So Lucy had given a sliver of her power away, just enough that he didn't die. After all, this was no game. She had been intending to play Sgrub, but never got around to it. Now, there were other ways of gaining power in her world. The Omega Session could wait. Why would she risk that?

The Empress turned her head when she heard a voice, surprised to see no one there. Argh. Her head felt like it was going to split apart. She walked to Rinn's room, the ground swerving beneath her feet. She felt horribly nauseous, but pushed it all away when she finally opened the door.

To her slight alarm, he was already awake, staring into a mirror wordlessly. One of his eyes had become a troll's, with four solid black irises connected by two lines, resembling a plus sign. She sat next to him, taking the mirror gently from his grasp.

"What's wrong? You feel more powerful, don't you? That's great! I knew you'd be able to handle your new powers."

Her words were empty promises, but she was a gifted liar. She seemed genuine enough, even to her brother who had known her better than anyone else. For a moment, Lucy's shoulders dropped, and she almost sighed in relief, but Rinn spoke and wiped all of that away.

"I dunno, Luce. You're confusing me."

As time passed, she knew that his willpower was waning. The Empress' influence was spreading, and she feared not her brother breaking away from under her thumb. Her mind was reeling with dark thoughts, and she was slowly ordering the rebels to be killed. A select few were kept in the dungeons. Of course, Lucy made him do it for her.

Even though she didn't have empath powers like he did, there was a deep-seated fear and plaguing thoughts of betrayal that kept him by her side. So she used him, threatening him with worse consequences, before she snapped. Her voice was harsh, back to the low growl that she had once used, a long time ago before his Ascension.

"I want you to get Dad for me. Otets. He should be in the dungeons. You know what, Rinn? I'm proud of you."

The compliment fell on deaf ears as he turned, body and heart numb after so long doing Lucy's dirty work. At first, it had fazed him. The killing. But now he barely washed the blood off his hands. Rinn wanted to be a good brother, and - still under the impression that they were that close - a good moirail. He didn't want to die above all of that, though.

When he reached the dungeons, Rinn activated Batkind, knowing how hostile many captives would be towards him, even though many had been in the ranks of the long-forgotten rebellion he had led. Since Rinn fell into Lucy's schemes, nobody had bothered to rebel. Many had tried, Etoile included, but optimism and effort had died rapidly.

Soon, a guard appeared. They were an Ascended Sagittarius, tall and stocky. It was evident that they had been chosen for the role, due to the unnatural gills on their neck that seemed to have been magically grafted there.

"Who are you here for? Did the Empress give you clearance, Guaise?"

They asked, inspecting the bat that he carried with narrowed eyes and taking it away, tugging it from his hands forcefully.

"Ote- I mean... Etoile Huudde."

Rinn replied, eyes sweeping around the dark space.

"Come this way."

The guard ordered, pushing Rinn to his knees in a cell. There, the Empress sat with the bound and scared Etoile, a curt smile on her lips. Cirlun's corpse was easily the most unsettling thing in the dull and dingy room. Lucy clapped her hands together, smile widening into a shark-toothed grin more reminiscent of their mother's. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Welcome to the family reunion!"

[fallout-4-reactions]

The Girl Once Trapped:

The steel doors of the elevator slammed shut with a loud and heart throbbing bang; the girl turned and gasp as she fell onto the hard floor in surprise. The sudden chill caused by the doors final breath crawled onto her skin, causing her to lie in wait for a moment. Just starting right back at the doors, lIke it was a response. 

Throwing her father’s 10mm pistol to the ground he shuffled herself into one of the corners to try and feel safe. Her eyes were consumed by fear and in the few moments of silence there was, she could hear her heart throb against her chest like continuous drum. It hurt, but she refused to breathe, listening for any sound, for any sign of hope. 

She gasped as the light flickered slightly; adding to the ominous atmosphere she had trapped herself in. With that, the mass of steel suddenly began to move from beneath her. She clutched the floor with both hands; digging her nails into the carpet, trying to keep herself a still as she possibly could, but it was a game that she was destined to lose. The walls soon began to creak like breaking glass and the sound unexpectedly pierced her ears with a high pitched ring. A sobbing sound escaped her as the noise almost overwhelming her mind. She covered her ears and shut her eyes tight out of desperation. However, by letting go of the one thing that was keeping her head still, she began to spin. The sickness she felt in those moments was endlessly horrible. And yet the noise still managed to loom within her head. It was impossible for her to feel any comfort with her actions and so she reluctantly gave in to her situation. Curling herself into a ball, she hid her head into her knees, clutching them within her arms tightly, and then she began to cry.   

Hours passed and then eventually, like a flick of a switch, there was nothing.

The world seemed to come to a stop, and nothing made a sound. The girl looked up from her safe place, and as she reopened her eyes… And all she found was crippling fear within this new found silence. She looked around, and in the commission it would seemed that the light had dimmed to almost nothing. All that remained was a low humming sound with an occasional flicker. As she stared at it, waiting for the inevitable to happen, sweat steamed down from her forehead and quickly sped down her rosy red checks. As it touched against her lips, desperate from thirst, she tried her best not to lick at it, as it would just make her situation even more troubling.

Still no sound came from outside the four hard walls, and once again she turned her attention back to the door. She wasn’t really worried about who or what would get in, her concern lied with her getting out. As her mind raced for answers that she just didn’t have, she thought about her mother, and the argument they’d had that very morning… 

The sigma of fear that had once surrounded her was replaced with the inner feeling of immense guilt. They had both shouted at each other, and she had stormed out an hour later without even saying goodbye. Oh, how she regretted that now, and without even having to force it, tears rolled down her cheeks once again. The girl sobbed aloud this time, not caring if anyone could hear. She wanted her mum. She wanted her mum to tell her everything was going be alright. The girl wanted to tell her how sorry she was. 

Before she could think of another thought the room shock violently, and the girl screamed as the roof of the elevator came crashing down on top of her. It was so unexpected, that she shook from the shock… and the pain. A shard of metal had cut deep into one of her legs. She panted as the pain grew to almost an unbearable level. She gasped for air as she tried to reach her leg. But a length of glass had fell onto her abdomen. She was trapped. There was nothing she could do to stop the bleeding and she was in pure agony. “Mum! I’m sorry, ok?” She screamed as loud as she could muster. “I love you… I… I love you… I–” Her vision began to blur; blood poured from her mouth, causing her to cough violently. “Not like– not like this… no.” As she vision faded more she happened to glance upon her father’s old 10mm pistol, lying beside her, and she knew a very grown up decision awaited her. 

Bleed out slowly… or end it quickly? She grounded as she reached for it. She just about managed to pick it up with one of her blood soaked hand, as she did, the girl couldn’t help but smirk, mostly to the fear she now felt beyond comprehension. Telling it simply: “You win…” She then put the gun to her temple–build up the courage that no one her age should ever have to–whispered “I’m sorry” once last time, closed her eyes tight… and fired. 

[captain-zajjy]

Solstice, Chapter 15 - A Final Fantasy XV Story

Pairing: Ignis x Female Original Character

AO3 | Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

A/N: So sorry! - I know I said I was going to post this over the weekend, but ended up getting sucked back into FFXIV... (◡︿◡)

After slipping out of the city and calling Ignis, Valeria made her way on trembling legs across the bridge that connected Insomnia to the Lucian mainland, careful to stick to the relative safety of the moonlight. With Imperials stationed at both ends, she didn’t dare turn on her flashlight in the darkness. The bridge was littered with cars that seemed long-abandoned, and Valeria couldn’t help but wonder if their occupants had ended up as test subjects at that horrible ‘research’ facility.

Knowing she was too exhausted to make it much further, and almost certainly unable to outrun anyone (or anything) else that wanted her dead, she tried the doors of the vehicles until she found one that was unlocked, climbed into the backseat, and passed out. Pure fatigue allowed her to sleep soundly for a time, but then the nightmares came, replaying the evening’s events over and over, only with her parents being torn apart by daemons in the subway, and Ignis trapped in the cage, begging her to put him out of his misery.

No. Valeria sat straight up, rubbing her face. It was only a dream. A dream, but the things she’d seen were real. Horribly, terribly real. Realizing she was famished, Valeria scarfed down one of the candy bars she’d taken from the subway station and tried to focus on Ignis’s instructions, garbled though they were. Go to Hammerhead, speak with the mechanic, and get a ride to Cape Caem.

The route to Hammerhead was vaguely familiar to her - her father had his motorcycle serviced there, so she usually met him at the diner for lunch while his bike was in the shop. But someone had always driven her to and from, and she usually sat in the backseat, sending work emails on her phone, oblivious to the road. Still, she thought, there was only one major highway out of the Crown City, so all she had to do was follow it until she made it to the station.

But first, she had to get off of the bridge. The sun was starting to rise, and Valeria was amazed she had slept so little after what had happened the night before. When she checked the time on her phone, however, she realized it was already a few minutes after ten in the morning...ten in the morning, and the sun was only now starting its ascent. Gods. It was as if the chaos and strife caused by the Empire had begun to bleed into the fabric of the world itself.

Valeria exited the car and crouched behind it, wishing she had binoculars to survey the Niffs patrolling the far side of the bridge that connected the road to the Lucian mainland. She resorted to using the zoom function on her phone’s camera; at such strong magnification, the image was blurry, but even then she could tell that the Imperial soldiers were turned away from her, focused on keeping people from the mainland off the bridge, and not concerned with anyone who happened to be on it. Even so, they were blocking the road, and her most direct method of escape.

She crept toward them, careful to stay as silent and as concealed as she could - just because they weren’t watching her didn’t mean they wouldn’t turn around if they heard some commotion behind them. That was when she noticed a sign about maintenance and followed the arrows to peer over the side of the bridge, spying water hundreds of feet below her smashing into the structure’s supports. And there, built into the column closest to the shore, was a narrow ladder for workers. It’s just like descending a pylon, she tried to tell herself, rubbing her suddenly sweaty palms on her pants. A pylon that’s really, really tall. Still, it beat trying to get through the Niffs.

Valeria secured her backpack on her shoulders, resisted the urge to hold her breath, and swung over the ledge, securing her feet on the first rundle. She kept her eyes fixed on the grey concrete in front of her, taking it slowly, one rung at a time, counting them for no other reason than to keep her brain occupied. The sound of the crashing waves and the salty smell of the sea gradually grew closer and closer, until, at a count of well over three hundred, her foot struck solid ground. Oh, thank the Gods. If she weren’t already feeling so filthy, she would have kissed the dirt beneath her feet.

The shoreline here wasn’t comprised of gentle, sandy beaches, but rocky boulders as tall as houses, made slick and smooth by the sea. Valeria might have been able to use a ladder, but she wasn’t even going to attempt to scale the face of a cliff. Instead, she followed the stony shore around until the terrain gave way to something more walkable, although she still had to take care with her footing so as not to slip and turn an ankle. Insects swirled and chirped overhead, muck and slimy moss squelched underfoot, and Valeria couldn’t help but cringe and wrinkle her nose, having always been of the mind that nature was best appreciated in a painting or photograph. She hoped that Gladio’s sister had more than just a tent set up in Cape Caem.

Eventually, she made her way back to the highway, the Imperial blockade into Insomnia at last far behind. Now, she thought, onto Hammerhead. Valeria followed the highway at a distance, remaining at the edge of the forest, ducking behind a tree any time she heard the sound of an engine. Looking down at her muddy shoes, ill-fitting jacket, and grubby jeans, she couldn’t help but wonder if the mechanic there would even believe someone who like her could be a friend of Ignis’s and Prince Noctis. She supposed she could always mention her father - her scraggly appearance certainly vouched for their relation - but she was more likely to get stuck with an overdue bill than assistance and a vehicle.

There weren’t many other cars on the road, and an Imperial transport ship only passed by once overhead, unaware or unconcerned with a solitary woman on the ground (nonetheless eliciting more than a moment of panic on her part). Valeria caught glimpses of wildlife in the woods - real animals, not monsters - but they too were uninterested in her as she made her way toward the garage.

When the sun began to set - at a mere five o’clock in the evening - she headed toward runes glowing on a nearby hill: the unmistakable sign of a Haven. She’d read about these sites, blessed by the late Oracle to be safe from daemons, and heard about them again from Ignis, as his group always used them to set up camp. This particular Haven was vacant, the only signs of former occupants the remnants of a long-extinguished campfire.

With the sun down, the night began to grow cold - bitterly so, far chillier than it ever was after darkness fell in the city. Even if she’d known how to start a fire, Valeria had no supplies, not even a pack of matches. She ate another candy bar and drank some water from her canteen, and then curled in on herself, bringing her knees to her chest and pulling her coat over her legs in a vain attempt to preserve a bit of body heat. Her stomach was still rumbling, her throat was still dry, and she was shivering violently - hunger, thirst, and cold were things she had never experienced before, not truly, never suffered through like this.

So when her phone rang, when she saw it was her father of all people calling, she felt far too stripped down to be defiant.

“Dad,” she said through chattering teeth.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” he asked.

“Everything,” she replied, shaking her head. “Everything’s gone wrong.”

“Dammit...” Her father sighed. “You know I’d come and get you, if I could.”

“Would you?” Valeria asked. Would you really ?

“Of course I would, Valeria. But they’ve shut down all the ferries in and out of Accordo, honey. I can’t go anywhere, even if I want to.”

Of course you can’t. Valeria couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped her lips. “You don’t get it, Dad...” She closed her eyes and saw her mother being shot, saw daemons tearing soldiers apart, saw Caligo’s plaster-casted fist and machine gun muzzles pointed at her face. “You never have.”

“Honey...”

“You left me alone,” she whispered. Part of her knew she was being unfair, that her father could hardly be blamed for all the horrible things that she’d witnessed in the past few months, that if he’d stayed, he probably would be dead too. But sometimes the person right in front of you was the easiest to blame.

“You belonged with your mother,” he said quietly. “The road is no place for a little girl.” After about twelve hours of it, Valeria didn’t think it was much of a place for an adult, either.

“Mom kept your ring,” Valeria suddenly said. She’d since taken to wearing it on the ring finger of her right hand.

“W-what?” There was genuine confusion in her father’s voice.

“Your wedding ring. She kept it. I found it when she died.”

“That...that old piece of junk?” Her father asked. “That’s what she used to call it, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Her mother had dismissed most things associated with her former husband as either frivolous, cheap, or downright stupid.

“Well, maybe she was going to dump it at a pawn shop or something. You know your mother - always out to make another gil.”

“Maybe she still cared about you,” Valeria said. “Even after all this time.” Even after you left. After all, Valeria, despite all her anger, and what she constantly told herself, still did too.  

“That’s...” Her father laughed awkwardly. “That’s simply not possible. Honey, listen. I’m going to come back to Lucis, okay? As soon as I can. I’m going to find you.”

Valeria pursed her lips into a grimace. “Sure, Dad.” After a decade of hollow words and broken promises, she knew better than to believe him now.

Too cold and too miserable to fall asleep, she laid awake most of the night, daydreaming about the warmth and comfort of her bed back in her apartment in Insomnia, and about Ignis, calling her to meet up for coffee, standing a little too close to her to share an umbrella in the rain. He’s going to come back from Gralea, she told herself, he’s going to come back, and you’re going to find each other, and everything’s going to be okay again.

With that comforting, albeit perhaps foolish thought, she finally drifted off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. When her eyes next snapped open, it was still dark. Oh my Gods, she thought. I slept through the whole damn day.

Valeria checked the time on her phone. Then she checked it again, and again, and again. It was just past noon...and the sun was gone.

“Dinner was positively splendid, Iris,” Ignis said, setting his fork down on his empty plate. “Thank you for the meal.” It truly was, and he tried his best not to be envious of her ease in the kitchen.

“It was so good.” Prompto let out a deep sigh of satisfaction.

“No problem!” Iris chirped. “It’s nice to be appreciated,” she added in a pointed manner, undoubtedly directed at her brother.

“I like your cooking, Iris!” Talcott offered.

It had been three weeks since Prompto (crash) landed the Imperial craft they’d commandeered near Ravatogh; Gladiolus had immediately taken off for Cape Caem to retrieve Iris and Talcott, while Ignis and Prompto made for Lestallum. To Ignis’s great dismay, there was no sign of Valeria near Caem, and, according to Cindy, she’d never made it to Hammerhead either. But Cindy had also informed him that Aranea Highwind and her men had also stopped at Hammerhead for repairs on their ship, and Valeria would have had no way of knowing that these particular Imperials were friends. They must have frightened her away, Ignis surmised - but where else would she go in the meantime?

When Gladio returned to Lestallum, the three of them reunited with the Marshal, who had relocated Hunter headquarters to the city. He and Monica and a few of the more familiar Hunters believed their story about what had happened to Noctis, but to Ignis’s annoyance - and frankly, offense - most people seemed to think they were somewhere between befuddled and outright lying.

Even worse than that, however, was the fact that daylight had vanished along with their King. No one had seen the sun in two weeks. And without the sunlight to chase them off, the daemons’ numbers only seemed to multiply, driving more and more people to Lestallum and the safety of its lights.

The Marshal and the Hunters had taken on the monumental task of protecting the city, while the women of EXINERIS had swiftly ousted the mayor and her council - a coup of which Ignis didn't know all the particulars, but the authority a power company held in a world without sunlight was frighteningly clear.

On Ignis’s right at the dinner table, Prompto pushed his chair out with a squeak and gathered their dishes, the plates and cutlery clinking in his hands. His footsteps receded toward the kitchen of the Amicitia family suite - now their permanent residence for the unforseen future - before abruptly coming to a stop.

“Uh...the sink’s already full?” Prompto said. “Like, really full.”

“Talk to Gladdy,” Iris said, her voice angled near the back of the suite toward the bedrooms. “It’s his turn to do them.”

“Gladio?” Ignis didn’t try to hide his chastising tone. Iris cooked for them; the least her brother could do was to clean up. And what sort of example was this setting for Talcott?

“What?” Gladiolus grunted. Ignis was sure he shrugging. “We ain’t out of clean forks yet.”

Ignis shook his head, preparing a lecture, when Iris walked back through the room. “I’m going to hang out with my friends,” she announced. “See you later.”

The suite door opened and shut, and then Gladio rose, the couch on the other side of the room groaning under his bulk a few moments later. Prompto rejoined Ignis and Talcott at the table.

“‘Friends?’” Ignis arched an eyebrow. “Has big brother vetted these new friends?” Iris was certainly a lovely and kind girl, and rapidly approaching the age where her brother needed to worry.

“They’re chicks,” Gladiolus said, the rustle of magazine pages coming from where he sat. “And they live down the hall.”

Nearly every empty space, including vacant hotel rooms, had been turned into tenement space for people from Lucis, Accordo, even Tenebrae and the Empire entering the city. Ignis’s own tiny apartment near the marketplace technically belonged to another man, a Hunter who’d left the city shortly before the darkness fell; after a week with no sign or word from the previous owner, the Marshal had insisted Ignis move in.

“Talcott,” Ignis said. “Isn’t it about time for your bath?” Ignis wasn’t actually sure of the time, but it was a school night - he was glad education hadn’t fallen by the wayside in light of the recent, apocalyptic developments.

“Oh, yes, sir,” Talcott said.

“Off you go, then,” Ignis replied, although Talcott was already pushing out his chair.

After the boy shut the bathroom door behind him, a heavy silence descended upon the group, punctuated only by the sound of running water from the bath. Ignis knew the other two men were thinking the same thing he was - how they had stayed here with Noctis before, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, recalling the way he and Prompto had joked with Iris, how Ignis had utterly destroyed the lot of them at card games. Even with Insomnia in ashes, with their friends and relatives trapped or dead, things had felt simple back then. Hopeful.

He’s coming back, Ignis reminded himself. He’s coming back along with the light. The thought was comforting, but it didn’t fill the Noctis-shaped void in their company tonight.

“So, uh...” Prompto finally broke the silence. “I finally got a hold of my parents last night.”

Ignis turned toward him. “Are they alright?”

“Yeah, they’re okay,” Prompto said. “Gonna stay in Accordo for the time-being, but they’re safe at least.”

“That’s good.” Ignis was relieved for his friend, but he couldn’t help feeling a stab of jealousy as well. He’d been trying to call Valeria since they arrived in Lestallum - out of all his calls, he’d connected just once, only to get an earful of static and immediately lose signal. It was enough to give him hope that she was still alive somewhere out there in the darkness, whether back in Insomnia or elsewhere, but he wouldn’t be able to rest easy until she was within the lights and safety of the city.

“So, I guess I can go there if they end up kicking me out,” Prompto said quietly, his knee bouncing rapidly against the table leg.

Gladiolus grunted. “No one’s kicking you out.”

“They’re only turning away new Imperials,” Ignis said. “Not evicting current residents. Besides, you’re a Crown citizen, with all the proper documentation.” Not to mention the decree of the King.

“Yeah, but...but what if my ID isn’t good enough?” Ignis was sure Prompto was wringing his hands.

“If that’s the case, then I’m in as much trouble as you, given the way I speak,” Ignis said.

“Not gonna happen,” Gladiolus said flatly. “Anyone messes with either of you - for any reason - I’ll kick their ass. It’s that simple.”

“You see, Prompto?” Ignis said with a bemused smile. “It’s that simple.”

“Okay,” Prompto said. The continued nervous bouncing of his leg indicated he wasn’t convinced.

Ignis decided to change the subject. “Prompto, could I trouble you for some assistance?”

Prompto slid his chair around the table to where Ignis sat. “Oh, uh...of course, Iggy. What’s up?”

Ignis held out his phone. “I need to send a text.” He was able to make and receive calls without any help from the others, but had yet to master sending text messages through voice commands alone. And he needed to be absolutely certain this one went through.

“Your girl?” Prompto asked quietly. Ignis hadn’t said much about it, not since Gladio returned from Caem, but his friends knew how desperately he had been trying to contact her ever since.

“Valeria,” Ignis corrected tersely. She has a name...and she's not 'my' anything.

“Right,” Prompto said. “So, what do you want it to say?”

“‘Come to Lestallum.’”

Prompto paused after typing it in. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Anything else could wait until he didn’t require the aid of a middle man. “Allow me to add: Lestallum is spelled L-E-S-T-A-L-L-U-M.”

“Duh.” Prompto said, but there was a lengthy pause before he added, “And....‘send.’ Think it’ll go through?”

Ignis frowned. The cell towers in Lestallum were still up and running (albeit getting increasingly bogged down by the constant influx of refugees), but outside of the city, once a tower went down - whether that was due to normal wear-and-tear or being overrun by daemons - there was no longer anyone dispatched to fix it. People had their hands full just trying to survive.

“I don’t know if it will work,” Ignis admitted. “None of my calls have gone through. But I have to try.”

“That’s right!” Prompto clapped him on the back as he returned the phone. At times, Ignis found the younger man’s near-constant optimism vexing, but at the moment it was reassuring.

She had to be safe. She had to be. Ignis was bearing up as best he could under the circumstances, but he didn’t think he could handle another loss. And every day she spent outside the relative safety of Lestallum’s lights, the greater the danger became.

Stars, please guide her. All Valeria had to do was get in range of a working cell tower to get his message. She was clever and resourceful enough to figure out the rest.

Ignis realized he had been stroking the screen of the phone since Prompto handed it back to him, as if he could somehow massage his message into being received. Fretting would get him nowhere.

Shaking the worry from his mind, he tucked the phone back into his shirt pocket and rose from the table, busying his hands and his head with the substantial mound of dirty dishes piled in the sink.

[upontheshelfreviews]

If you’re new to the blog or just want to revisit from the beginning, click HERE to read the review for “Tourist Trapped”.

Previously on Gravity Falls: Twelve year-old twins Dipper and Mabel Pines are spending the summer in Gravity Falls, Oregon, a little town where the strange and supernatural are almost everyday occurrences. When Dipper’s not trying to learn the identity of the Author of the enigmatic Journal that’s been aiding him in his adventures, or Mabel isn’t trying to start the perfect summer romance, they’re evading ghosts, monsters, zombies, and attracting the attention of a powerful demon who once sought to wreck their great-uncle’s mind. As of late Mabel’s formed a tentative truce with her former rival and rich bitch Pacifica Northwest after saving her from some murderous mini-golf balls, but things are complicated when it comes to her and Dipper…and they’re about to become even more so…

  C-can it be? An episode review perfectly appropriate for Halloween at last? Huzzah!! Come everyone, let us partake in the Dance of Joy!

We begin not with the Pines family but with the Northwests in their resplendent mansion overlooking Gravity Falls. Preston Northwest (Nathan Fillion) and his wife are preparing for a gala event they’re set to host the following evening. Pacifica enters wearing the wrong dress – lake foam green, not sea foam green like her mother requested. Pacifica insists that she likes wearing this dress, but her father rings a tiny bell that silences her protests.

Without warning, the plates, silverware and chairs begin to float around the room and smash themselves. Preston insinuates that this unusual occurrence is a strangely familiar one. With only several hours left to deal with this supernatural problem, the Northwests happen upon the one person who could save their party.

The next afternoon Dipper settles himself in for a nice long marathon of his favorite show “Ghost Harassers”. Too bad for him it’s preempted by Mabel, Candy and Grenda wanting to watch live coverage of the rich and famous arriving at the Northwest Mansion for their annual high-society gala. Only the uppest of the upper-crust are allowed in while the common folk must content themselves by tailgating outside the manor gates.

Dipper shares my thoughts on these kind “news stories”; that it’s pointless celebrity worship that nobody should care about, especially when it’s about the Northwests, who have caused them so much trouble in the past. He even says that he’d tell Pacifica Northwest she’s the worst to her face. Then Pacifica shows up at the door asking for his help. His response?

When Mabel overhears Pacifica telling him to name his price for his aid, she demands Dipper give in so she and her friends can attend the party. Dipper and Pacifica reluctantly agree and she drives them up to the mansion. While Candy, Grenda and Mabel fawn over the fanciness, Preston welcomes Dipper and has Pacifica go dress him in more suitable party attire.

The girls get a sneak peek at the guest list and learn a wealthy young hottie from Austria, Marius Von Hauser, will be attending. As much as they want to pursue him Candy says that chasing someone in that league would only end in disaster and they tentatively agree that he’s off-limits. That doesn’t stop Mabel and Candy from taking turns flirting with him when Grenda’s not around since her outspokenness usually scares guys away. But Grenda finds out, they fight, she tries the whole “your shoe’s untied” trick on Marius to prove a point and I’m just getting this B-plot out of the way rather than cutting back and forth to it so we can focus on the A-plot.

All paranormal activity signs point to a painting of a very manly lumberjack in a room decorated with hunting trophies by Gaston (though there’s a surprising lack of antlers in all of this decorating). Dipper’s not too concerned with dealing with the pesky poltergeist, though. When it comes to the Journal’s ghosts, you’ve got your Caspers, your Slimers, your Pinheads and your Freddys to name a few, and chances are a spirit that pops in and out of pictures and just floats furniture around is gonna be in the first category.

And then Sam Raimi takes over directing duties.

Flesh, skin and clothes appear on the skeleton and it takes the form of a disfigured lumberjack with a beard of hellfire. It declares its thirst for Northwest blood and chases the kids through the manor grounds and back. A quick look through the Journal reveals that ghosts from paintings can be trapped in a silver mirror and Dipper spies one hanging on the wall of the bedroom. But Pacifica refuses to let him fetch it since their muddy shoes would ruin her parents’ favorite carpet and get them angry.

While arguing they fall through a portrait into a secret room where discarded furniture and other things are stored away. The ghost follows them in, ripping dust cloths off old paintings and knocking over boxes of silverware in its haste to kill Pacifica. Dipper finds a silver mirror in one of the boxes and throws it in the ghost’s path before it can finish her off. The impact blasts them out the window into the garden, but the ghost is captured and Pacifica uncharacteristically shows a fair bit gratitude to Dipper for saving her life.

The Northwest family thanks Dipper, none more so than Pacifica, and her parting with Dipper is adorably awkward. He leaves to make sure the ghost is exorcised properly, wondering aloud that maybe Pacifica isn’t as bad as he thought. The ghost laughs ominously, saying Dipper’s naivete reminds him of how he once felt when he was alive, and shares his tale:

Years ago the Northwests asked the lumberjacks of Gravity Falls to build them a mansion with the promise that, upon its completion, they would throw a grand party for the entire town once a year. Many hardworking folk died to ensure the mansion was built, but after years of labor the task was done. Yet the Northwests refused to let the common people who toiled away for them to be a part of their celebration and shut the gates to them permanently. As they trudged off, only the lumberjack remained behind to rail against the Northwests; but the deforestation around the mansion’s hilltop caused a terrible mudslide which resulted in his death. With his last breath the lumberjack cursed the Northwests, vowing to return 150 years to the day should the mansion gates still be closed, and spill the blood of the family who could never keep their promises. And not only did the ghost keep his word, but the Northwests knew he would…somehow.

Dipper is furious that the Northwests used him to avoid responsibility. Preston is welcoming guests, including Gravity Falls reclusive and ancient Mayor Befufftlefumpter, when Dipper storms back in. Pacifica is happy he returned but he tells her to can it and accuses them of not breaking the curse when they knew how to do it themselves all along and making him put his life on the line. Preston gloats that there’s no way he could hold a party for the richest, most powerful people in the world and have “his kind” mingle among them. Pacifica tries to apologize that she couldn’t tell him the truth but her father rings the bell again and she instantly shuts up.

This convinces Dipper that Pacifica is as terrible as her whole line and declines the invitation to stay at the party to finish exorcising the ghost. The lumberjack tells him that if he sets him free instead, they can both take revenge on the Northwests and their kind; but Dipper refuses only because Mabel is still at the party and he doesn’t want anything to befall her. He does however give in to the ghost’s final request to take one last look at the forest. Unsurprisingly, it’s a trick to get Dipper to drop the mirror. Once broken, the lumberjack is freed and it flies back to the mansion with Dipper in hot pursuit. He brings the taxidermied animals to life and begins turning all the terrified guests into wood.

Overhearing the lumberjack proclaim the only way to reverse the spell is for a Northwest to open the gates, Dipper searches the mansion for Pacifica and finds her in the hidden room in one of the most striking visuals of the episode.

In an episode that features some of the darkest imagery so far in the series, these are a few brief seconds that have resonated heavily with fans. Here we have Pacifica, raised from birth to act like an adult shown as what she really is – a lonely, scared, sad child.

Pacifica shows Dipper the reason why she’s so down and out with her flashlight. Surrounding her are portraits of every deceitful selfish act committed by her bloodline, things long covered up that she once believed were lies, now sneering down on her.

You wanna know why this room was locked up? This is what I found in here – a painted record of every horrible thing my family’s ever done. Lying, cheating, and then there’s me. I lied to you just ‘cuz I’m too scared to talk to my stupid parents. You were right about me. I AM just another link in the world’s worst chain.

Dipper promises her that it doesn’t have to be this way and they rush back to the great hall, which has become a forest of humans (even Mabel isn’t saved). Dipper confronts the ghost but it turns on him and leaves Dipper screaming for his life as he is transformed into wood.

“The last form you will ever take.”

For the coup de grace, the ghost begins to set the mansion aflame with the intention of burning everyone inside. Pacifica distracts him by promising to open the gates but the ghost calls her bluff. As she reaches for the lever, her parents pop up from a hidden shelter demanding she think of their reputation. Pacifica hesitates, but presses forward.

Then her father brings out the bell.

The tiny ringing drives Pacifica crazy, though to Preston’s annoyance she won’t give in.

And finally she jams down on the lever.

As the plebs pour in, the satisfied spirit gratefully tells Pacifica she is not like her family, lifts his curse and moves on to the afterlife. Preston is helpless as the masses turn his soiree into a uncouth but lively shendig. Even Pacifica and Dipper get in on the fun, messing up the carpet without a care. Pacifica thanks Dipper for believing in her. As for the girls, Mabel and Candy apologize to Grenda and the three reaffirm their friendship. Marius then approaches Grenda, confesses he’s taken by her boldness and gives her his phone number. Everything is going perfectly for nearly everyone…

  …until Dipper bumps into Old Man McGucket, who’s been looking for him. He just finished fixing the laptop and wants to warn Dipper that something crazy is about to happen soon, something that could very well mean the end of the world. Dipper’s not in the mood to worry about that kind of thing, however, and he goes back to the party, leaving the inventor to fret over their swiftly impending doom.

  This episode is easily among my top ten favorites. “Northwest Mansion Mystery�� did to Pacifica what “Society of the Blind Eye” did to Old Man McGucket, taking a character we didn’t think could be capable of such depth and shining a light on them, with the added bonus that “The Golf War” helped foreshadow that. I’ve made no secret in the past that I wasn’t a fan of the one-dimensional valley girl bitch stereotype that Pacifica was in Season One – a sentiment shared by fans and the creators alike – so seeing her do a complete 180 while providing a peek at just why she turned out the way she did was certainly welcome. Those scenes with the bell, while not delved into, are pretty uncomfortable to watch; that on top of Pacifica’s repeated “You wouldn’t understand!” when Dipper asks why she’s so afraid of upsetting her parents brings up some unfortunate implications.

Speaking of Dipper and Pacifica, I never really took the fans shipping them seriously until this episode. In fact…it kind of made me ship them too. Their banter is fun to listen to, there’s some good chemistry, and they end up bringing out the best in one another. Sadly this is as far as a possible romance gets between the two of them, but you need only look as far as the internet if you’re not fully satisfied (just be careful when you do).

This is actually one of the very few episodes where Mabel’s subplot doesn’t really hold my attention; when it goes back to the girls arguing over pursuing Marius I just patiently wait for the scene to end so we’ll return to Dipper and Pacifica. Kevin Michael Richardson does a menacing turn as the lumberjack ghost, though there’s not much of a difference between his voice and the one he does for Sheriff Blubs. And I don’t know what it is about Nathan Fillion and douchebags but he plays them so well. As for the rest of the episode, there’s a lot of great spooky atmosphere, from the colors and strong shadows to the ghost’s haunting, which like I said is very reminiscent of Evil Dead. Much like the episode itself it manages to be both funny and scary, and like the best Gravity Falls’ adventures, is tied together with a lot of heart. And of course, there’s that ending which hints at greater and more terrifying things to come…

  And the Internet Went:

End Credits Craziness: In the midst of the ghost’s chaos, a couple hides inside a closet. That couple is none other than… Agents Powers and Trigger in disguise! Powers reports that the bureau is detecting increasing readings from the Mystery Shack, and it’s time for them to act. Then they bicker like a married couple over where Trigger put his cell phone before Tambry stumbles upon them and makes things even more awkward.

Callbacks: Now that the Society of the Blind Eye is no longer a thing, supernatural happenings are gaining more attention as seen by the newspaper in the opening. That same giant vampire bat was featured in the Journal in the very first episode. Mabel and Pacifica are still on good terms after the events of “The Golf War”. Dipper casually rubs in the fact that Pacifica’s family lied about being the town founders as discovered in “Irrational Treasure”. McGucket has kept his word to look into his past and fix the laptop as a result of “Society of the Blind Eye”, though he keeps up the kooky old hillbilly act to throw off suspicion.

And then there’s the way Dipper is frozen into wood, as prophesized by the Shapeshifter from “Into the Bunker”…

  There’s also the matter of a book I’ve failed in my duties as a Gravity Falls aficionado to mention, a large oversight considering I own a copy signed by Alex Hirsch (yes, really.) It’s called “Dipper & Mabel’s Guide to Mystery and Nonstop Fun!”, and it’s a cute little book full of activities and jokes aimed mostly for kids. Why I bring this up, however, is the inclusion of hidden messages sprinkled throughout that foreshadow certain events that were brought to light in this episode: Grenda will marry rich, the mayor of Gravity Falls is not long for this world, and the end of the world will come quicker than the end of summer…

Crowning Line of Hilawesomness: In an episode so full of good ones it’s hard once again to choose, but I think I’ll go with a tie between Pacifica’s confession and what she says to Dipper once she breaks her cute-awkward thank you hug –

“…Can I pay you to pretend that never happened?”

Mabel SWatch (Sweater Watch): Mustard yellow with a cartoon moose and hot pink pine tree border on the sleeves and hem. The pink dress she wears to the party just barely counts as a sweater since she knitted it herself.

Dear Princess Celestabelleabethabelle: Our family’s past and upbringing are not what make us, it’s what we choose to do in spite of it.

Have You Seen the Agents?

“…We really should have picked a better place to hide.”

Where’s that wacky triangle at?

  Next time on Gravity Falls –

Hey, I just realized Grunkle Stan wasn’t in this episode. I wonder where he could be…

“Hey Shelf, you finish the review yet?”

(gasp) Kitty!

“Ugh, it’s me, Cynicism. I’m trying out my Halloween costume. I’m going as Optimism. What do you think?”

Wow, I didn’t even recognize you. Nice work.

“Yeah, yeah, save it for the actual holiday. Are you done yet or not?”

Just finished.

“You made any progress with the…you know…”

I wish I could say I did but –

“Oh come ON! It’s been a month since we last talked and you did NOTHING to get ready like you told us?!”

Don’t blame me, I’ve got a life outside this blog you know.

“Yeah, some life. Some life that isn’t even gonna exist with the rest of us if you make one more slip-up. But hey, what do I know? You’re the one sitting around working on your dumb little picture books while ordering everyone else to prepare for the -“

All right, all right, I’ll see what I can do for November!

“You’d better. I know we don’t have that many readers but there’s a fair few who’ve been looking forward to what you’ve had planned since last year.”

You think I don’t know that? You think this is the first time I’ve let my readers down? Listen to me you adorable little abomination, I may be stuck right now when it comes to doing movie reviews, but no matter how long it takes, I always finish what I start.

“Good. Now quit yappin’ and get crackin’.”

I will.

But you know, since I’ll most likely be too busy to go out on Halloween, I might be more motivated to finish quicker if someone were to bring me back some candy…

“…Fine. But I’m gonna throw out the junky ones so it can form into a giant child-eating monster.”

I wouldn’t have it any other way. Gravity Falls Review: “Northwest Mansion Mystery” (S02E10) If you're new to the blog or just want to revisit from the beginning, click HERE…

[inkhound]

On the Shoulders of Giants, Don’t Laugh!

It's warm here, the heat grows in inches and feet every day— like a great beast of a thing freshly woken from hibernation. Taking its first lumbering steps out of its bed to feed and shake the sleep from its limbs. Leaving the comfort of your dorm is the equivalent of someone turning on their high beams (right at your eyeballs), and entering a large room full of condensed, muddy air— the kind brought on by too many warm bodies in too small of a space, with not enough deodorant or air flow between them.

Forever bright, and always too hot.

But they all grin in mock sympathy then tell me it'll only get hotter.

To which I cringe, bare teeth that's less smile and more a grimace as I reply;

"Don't tell me such horrible things."

I don't want to know it'll get worse, not when I'm sweating the moment I leave the dorms. When my combat shirts cling and stick to itchy, sweat-slick flesh that is being compressed by a plate-carrier made by men and designed for them; without the courtesy of taking extra chest fat into the equation for daily wear.

But that's just the weather, that's just Qatar. That's just The Deid.

We play at securing a base that's not ours, and police our own with a fervor that in my eyes, seems a bit misplaced. It's a lot like home station in spite of the pretense that this is a 'deployment'. The extent of our drama, our excitement, our gossip driven entertainment— is not from the few who roll through stop signs, vape in their rooms, or the occasional individual responsible for a minor vehicle accident (damn those fixed objects, they hadn't been their a moment ago!), no, it's none of that. It's of our making.

With heat, testosterone, and aggression not vented— we pick and snipe our own. We scent for blood and make something from nothing to make the long days pass more swiftly. We cut into each other over little things (he had dip, they were playing cards, she was reading a magazine), so that we can feel accomplished for tattling and making a nuisance of ourselves. But at the end of shift, we gossip and laugh about it. Those that feel the need to flex stripes or demand respect for perceived slight quietly hand out paperwork in the background.

That isn't to say that outsiders with too many stripes, or officers with shiny, higher rankings don't pick and fuss at us too. They need to find something fun to do with their long days at The Deid, so why not pick on those folks guarding our gates? They seemed to be enjoying themselves too much, or were not quick enough to salute me, or how dare they wear that blue stripe morale patch on their gear? And so they try, but our Commander is as witty with words as his tongue is sharp; he rebuffs and dismisses what is inconsequential while ensuring those beneath him maintain a standard that won't invite needless trouble.  

A double-edged blade with no sheath or handle. When applied, handle with care...

Our days revolve around chow relief and sharp-eyes watching strangers for entertainment, for interest, for the possibility of getting physical. Give us the opportunity to put you down, we wait for the day you get too loud, too squirrelly, so that we may escort you to the ground, and then to confinement for your ill-timed behavior.

As the heat climbs, the hunger, the thirst for all of it grows.

Some people count days or weeks, a few by work cycles, and others by paychecks. Everyone seems to count time in some fashion or other. Waiting for the day they ride the plane back out of this makeshift sandbox.

I sit though, and think of little besides taking vitamins and taping up my shins. They ache during certain hours— they pulse and threaten with warning. I'm reminded of three small fractures incurred in lackland, and the one from years prior to my service that went untreated. What good's a cop who can't carry the weight of the job?

I take more vitamins, inhale water, and sleep with them elevated. I'll need to get more tape again.

People here get frustrated and homesick when they find quiet moments on shift, between the hours they sleep, and the time they religiously devote to a gym routine. They make a point to text, call, Snapchat, and/or FaceTime as often as possible once work is over. More often than not they sacrifice their sleep and gym to do it.

Perhaps my perception of time is skewed, or I'm wired differently.... Perhaps? Who am I kidding? I am. It's a constant point of hilarity, here, honestly. Depending on who's trapped with me on shift for the day. Twelve hours mobile or static, and you can end up having some very honest conversations with people you wouldn't regularly associate or bond with. Not that you end up with a real friendship at the end of the day, it's all just temporary in the end, so why would they get invested?

That look, the one with wide-eyes and a puzzled little frown that makes you want to slap it off them. That expression followed by that statement you've heard in some variation nearly all of your life when talking with others outside of your group; 'You're a strange person and I've never met anyone like you'. I hear it a lot out here, and every time I do; it's with mild bemusement and a dash of pity.  What sort of life have these people lived to not have been exposed to a person like me before? Apparently bare-knuckled honesty is over-rated these days. What a shame.

But that's neither here nor there, I like the mixed group of assholes and decent folk on my flight— two-faced cunts and tattle-tails all. It makes for an entertaining shift, if nothing else.

And hey, I learn something new every day.