#i say jean is an exception because i do think by virtue of watching them unfold in real time kevin does hurt for jeans woes

[dayurno]

asking w much love for kevi day in my heart but: can kevin be cruel? whether intentionally or not ! hes v multilayered n i must admit some of my fave parts of aftg were when he was being scathing. i liked how he balanced his immense ability to empathize w literally anyone w his more cutting side yk

oh absolutely!!! kevin can be and is cruel especially when it comes to exy!!! he’s ruthless!!!! he sees the beautiful clear line from point A to point B and he does not care about anything else except for how to get there. i dont even think kevin is much good at empathizing at all; i think the good things he does are not so much out of any empathetic feelings but rather a logical conclusion in his head that they are needed to achieve a certain goal

for example, ive never taken kevins promise to give andrew something to build his life around as kevin Empathizing with andrew — i think kevin genuinely believes andrew is worth the effort and finds it a waste of potential if andrew doesnt live up to it. he doesn’t really hurt for andrew’s woes, but he wants andrew to overcome them because it is a step needed for andrew to achieve the life kevin believes andrew deserves

i would say this is a constant theme for him with most characters except for jean (who is always an outlier whenever kevin is involved and shouldn’t be counted anyway). kevin believes in greatness and hard work and commitment and he will be cruel if he thinks you are not working hard enough to achieve it, no matter what the circumstances are. he’s very cutthroat and ruthless :) no sense of compromise at all! my princess

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Her Minor Thing (Henry Cavill x Reader)

Summary: things are going so well between you’re and Henry, you just need to confess one tiny little thing: You’re a virgin. At 28 years of age.

Author’s Notes: this was requested by an anon who wanted Henry finding out his girlfriend was a virgin on her late twenties.  I feel like I should say that I truly believe virginity is a social construct that shouldn’t have so much power in the lives of women. With that said, I know it can have heavy weight in several cultures, especially in religious contexts. So I drew this from my own Latin background and I had especifically a latin!reader in mind for this. Feedback is always greatly appreciated.

Wordcount: 3875

Warnings: smut (oral, fingering, unprotected sex)

As much as she hated to use such a cliché turn of phrase, he did stand out like a sore thumb. Not only he was one of the few men in a crowd women, but the way he lingered at the back, tall and broad-shouldered, hoodie pulled over his head and sunglasses covering his eyes while inside the small and cramped bookstore, just managed to pull her focus to him.

He was trying so hard to blend in, but everything he did, undermined his efforts. She wondered why bother to come to a reading of an erotica novel if you were going to be like that as if it was something to be ashamed of. She hated that sort of behavior because she never wanted to feel her books were something to embarrassed about. She was very proud of the moderate success she achieved writing them.

So, she made sure to keep her voice loud and clear as she read through the except chosen. A very steamy sex scene between the two protagonists. And while she did it, she kept her attention squarely on the man in the back, watching as he shifted his stand every so often, the sculped cheekbones taking a bright shade of pink at every word that passed her lips. And even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she knew he was staring right back at her.

The world seemed to fall away and it was like she was reading it just to him, whispering the dirty deeds that populated her mind straight into his ear. She shifted in her own seat and cleared her throat, gaze returning to the page because even though half of his face was hidden by the shade of his hoodie and the dark lenses of his glasses, she knew he was a gorgeous man.

Throughout the Q&A, her eyes kept flitting to him against her will, hoping that he would say something, grace her with the sound of his voice. She bet he had a smooth, velvet-like baritone that would feel like a caress to her ears. However, he stayed disappointingly quiet and by the time of the signing section, he had disappeared from view.

It was a little disheartening since she quite enjoyed watching him the entire afternoon, but there were people waving books in front of her and asking for pictures and the mysterious man quickly slipped from her mind until the very end, when tired and with a sore wrist, another book was pushed in her line of sight, the pages yellowing and cramped from being read way too often.

“Who should I make it to?” she asked, without looking up.

“Henry.” His voice was low and rumbling, sending a thrill to her spine and when her gaze finally met his, a gasp escaped her lips and comprehension downed. The real reason why he was trying to hide. “I love your books.”

“Really?” It was all she managed, her voice squeaky with shock and he chuckled.

“Yes.” His smile was gorgeous, and her heart skipped a beat. She was full of clichés today. “And I would very much like to discuss them with you, but…” he looked around, wetting his lips and her breath caught in her throat. “Maybe in a more intimate setting.”

Before she even considered the implications, she scribbled down her number right bellow the autograph and Henry’s smile widened as he pulled the book back and nodded his goodbye.

She didn’t think she would actually hear from him again. He was, after all, a world-famous actor and she was an author of a mildly popular erotica series. However, that night, Henry did call and they met from dinner and spend the night talking and laughing, and here they were, one month later, an unlikely couple as the pressed liked to say.

She and Henry fit on all the things that mattered. They were both very passionate about their work, but very devoted to each other. He was very insightful about her books and she was very honest about his parts. They were both goofs and geeks and she hadn’t been this happy in a relationship in a very long time.

With the exception of that one minor thing that she had been struggling to come clean about from the moment she noticed this thing with Henry was turning more serious than she thought it could ever be.

“Henry, babe?” she called, voice trembling with hesitation. “We need to talk.”

Those were never good words to hear in a relationship and she definitely didn’t feel good about saying them because she had no idea how Henry would react, but she this thing had been eating away at her each passing day Henry proved to be everything she could ever want in a man. She knew it was time to come clean.

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier and for a moment she considering just not telling him at all. Just let things proceed like they had been doing, but in the back of her mind, she would feel like she was deceiving Henry and she loved him too much to do that. So, it was time to buckle up and tell the truth, no matter how embarrassing it might be.

“Should I be worried?” he asked, blue eyes shining with doubt as Henry looked away from the script he had been studying and met her uncertain gaze.

“No,” you replied, biting your lip and working up the guts to say it.

Who knew confessing to a man she was a virgin would bring her so much trouble? Usually, she didn’t bother to say it. In her past experiences, whenever a guy got a hint of this fact, they suddenly got this predatorial glint in their eyes, like she had suddenly become a territory to lay claim. Either that or they would question how she might have made it to 28 years old without having sex. Regardless of what their approach was, it turned things awkward or right down disgusting and she ditched them as fast as she could.

However, things had been different with Henry. He was patient and gentle and kind, never pushing her farther than she was ready to go and never looking bothered by the wait. In the month they’ve been together, he hadn’t complained once that the farthest he got with her was a messy halfway handjob over his trousers.

“You know I come from a very catholic family, right?” she started, twiddling her thumbs, and Henry nodded.

He had met her grandmother after all. Abuela had loved Henry because he was so polite and a perfect gentleman, but he was terrified of the woman. To be fair, she was terrified of her Abuela too. A woman that raised two children by herself and put them all through college working as a caretaker was a force to be reckoned with.

“Well, I sort of made a promise to her when I was 13,” she said, tasting blood on her tongue. She bit on her lip so hard she just broke through the skin.

“Does that promise has something to do with waiting until marriage to have sex?” Henry asked, one eyebrow cocked, and a tiny smile on his lips as she stared at him in shock. “My Spanish might be a little better than I let on.”

“So, you knew? This whole time?”

“I didn’t want to push you into telling me or doing something you weren’t comfortable with.” He shrugged, before taking her hand and entwining their fingers. “I love you, you know? And I want to be with you for you not because of sex, so I don’t care if we don’t do it.”

“That’s sweet,” she smiled at him and squeezing his hand. “But I want to do it. I… uh… I want to have sex. With you.”

“Love,” Henry started, a hint of hesitation in his voice as he met her eyes. “I think you should keep your promise.”

“Wait, what?” All she could do was stare. All of the possible scenarios she had envisioned this conversation ending, this wasn’t one of them. “You want me to keep my promise… Henry, are you not attracted to me? Don’t you want to…”

He cut her off by catching her lips in a heated kiss. One hand behind her nape, holding her still, the other still holding her hand as he pushed past the seam of her lips, tongue tangling with hers. That was all it took for her to feel her body responding, arousal pooling in the pit of her stomach.

“Trust me, I definitely want you,” he mumbled against her mouth, bringing her hand to the prominent bulge in his pants and sucking on her pouty lower lip. “You have no idea how you drive me crazy with those little dresses and tiny shorts.”

“Oh!” she smiled, rubbing him through his jeans to make Henry grunt. “So, what’s the problem? Let’s just get this over with.”

“I made a promise of my own,” Henry said, pulling away from her. “To your Abuela.”

“What?” she looked at him with wide eyes, wondering exactly when could Henry had made such a promise to her.

“She showed up in the set the day after our dinner together,” he confessed with a grimace. “She loves you very much, you know? And she wanted to make sure I wasn’t just after…”

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, face flaming in shame. She could not believe her grandma would do this. “I’m so sorry, Hen. I can’t believe…”

“It’s ok.” He offered her a reassuring smile, bringing her knuckles to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against them. “I thought it was very sweet of her and yes, I did promise to be respectful of your virtue.”

She let out a snort of laughter, shaking her head. The entire thing was a completely new level of absurd, but what could she do?

“So no sex?” she asked, unable to keep the disappointment off her voice. Henry grinned.

“No sex,” he replied, tugging her closer until she was on his lap. “Doesn’t mean we can’t do other things, though.”

“What other things?” she asked, once again biting her lip, but this time it was with expectation and excitement and Henry’s smile turned absolutely filthy.

“How about I show you?” he pulled her close for a kiss, his hands falling to her ass to grind her against his waking erection.

---

Her chest felt tight, her lungs barely managing to expand enough to gather oxygen under the constriction of her white dress. She was dizzy, half of it was excitement, the other half the effects of all the sparkling wine she consumed that night. One of the happiest of her life.

Henry’s fingers slowly worked the row of buttons on her back, pulling them out of the little cases as he kissed and nipped at her neck, dragging small giggles and shivers out of her, which he replied with throaty chuckles, his thick fingers less than coordinated against the small pearl buttons.

“You look stunning,” he whispered against her temple, making her smile. “But you’ll look even better without this dress. Can I just rip these fucking buttons?”

“No!” she exclaimed, batting his hands away.

He had undone most of the higher ones, which she usually struggled with, so it was just a matter of working the lower buttons, which she could do it without looking. She wanted to keep the dress along with all the memories of this day.

Once the last button was undone, she pushed the straps off her shoulders, letting the dress pool around her ankles in a sea of tulle and silk while she stood in her white lace underwear, garter belt, and stockings.

Henry’s gaze was dark and heavy as it traveled over her curves, the blue of his iris sudden deeper than before, his chest heaving beneath the crisp white shirt of his tuxedo as he finally returned his eyes to hers and smirked.

“I told you, you would look better without it,” he said, coming closer and lifting her from the circle of her skirts and into his arms. “Wife.”

“Husband.” She grinned at him, heart thundering in her chest.

It had been a year since she met Henry. So little time, but she couldn’t picture spending even a second without him. Most of their friends and family thought they were moving too fast, but what was the point in waiting when she knew she found the man she would love for the rest of her life? She was just glad Henry thought the same.

He settled her in the middle of the bed, kneeling between her legs as he contemplated her. There was lust in his eyes, yes. They had been waiting for this moment for too long. There was also that familiar shine that she had grown to associate with love and it never failed to make her breath catch in her throat and warmth spread through her chest, her affections clear in her smile as Henry leaned closer, his lips meeting hers for a sweet kiss.

“If you’re not sure just yet…” he offered, tone careful and she chuckled.

“Honey, I think we’ve waited long enough.” She brushed her fingers over his smooth cheek and jaw, smiling up at him. “I want this. I want you.”

He smiled too, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, before he straightened up again, undoing his bowtie, shirt, the cummerbund, finally his trousers. She had seen Henry in several states of underdressed before, both in person and in movies and tv shows. However, there was something about watching him undressing for her, on their wedding night, that just set her heart racing, made butterflies flutter in her belly, and heat rush through her veins. This was all hers. He was all his.

Other people might admire from afar and wish they could have Henry. They could even play pretend with him for the cameras, but this? That hooded stare and parted lips sucking a desperate breath as he pushed his boxers down, freeing his cock? That was hers and hers alone.

She sat up, letting her hand explore the plains of his chiseled chest; fingers running over the coarse chest hair, moving lower as they followed their path to the bush of nesting around his shaft, still only half-hard, but slowly coming to full erections as she stroked him. Her thumb brushed against the head, gathering the pre-cum and smearing it over his thick and generous length, enjoying the tiny little grunts escaping his lips as Henry threw his head back and thrust against her fist.

“Fuck! That feels good,” he sighed, blinking down at her. “But you know what will feel even better?”

Instead of answering with words, she shifted her position, laying on her stomach, head coming to face his cock, and Henry groaned combing his fingers through her soft curls as she looked up at him through her lashes. They had touched each other and even came to completion rubbing against one another, but she had never done this.

Her tongue snaked out, running up his hot head and he sighed again, gripping tightening only slightly as she tasted him, her nose scrunching up at the flavor. She ran her tongue over the vein on the underside of his cock and Henry groaned.

She might be inexperienced, but she knew what she was doing. She wrote plenty about it and from the dirty things she whispered in his ear while watching him jerk off, she knew what Henry would like.

She wrapped her lips around his head, sucking lightly and Henry sat back on his heels, hand holding onto the duvet to keep himself from thrusting into the delicious heat as she took him inch by inch into her mouth, her nails digging on the muscle of his thigh as she steadied her breathing and paused as his head brushed the back of her throat.

“Fuck!” he hissed, meeting her doe eyes as she stared up at him, mouth stretched wide with his girth, cheeks hollowed as she sucked hard, bobbing her head up and down on his length.

Part of her wanted him to come on her tongue, discover what he would taste like, but they would have time for that. Right now, she wanted to feel him stretching her cunt just as he had done with her mouth.

Just the thought of it was enough to make that ache between her legs increase. She pressed her thighs together against the wetness gathering on her panties. Pulling back from his cock, she gasped for breath and brushed off the saliva dripping off the corner of her lips before she met Henry’s hungry stare.

She had seen that look before, the desperate want in his eyes as they went a little too far and had to stop and regain control of themselves so to keep their promises. Not tonight, though. Tonight, they didn’t need to stop themselves.

Kneeling in front of him, she let Henry pull her forward, claim her lips for a wild kiss that was all teeth and tongue and made that ember in her center burn bright, the flames growing and licking the rest of her nerves-ends as his fingers dipped into her panties, stroking her folds and spreading her juices.

Henry swallowed her keening cries in a kiss as he pushed two fingers, working her loose and driving her to the edge. The heel of his hand pressing down on her mound, rubbing her clit, his other hand playing and teasing her breasts, pinching and pulling at her nipples until she was quaking in desperation and making her see stars as her first orgasm washed through her.

“You’re going to feel so fucking good around my cock,” he said against her lips, as she recovered from the brink of her pleasure, heaving and shaking against his torso, his fingers still buried inside her cunt while her walls pulsed and quivered, squeezing him tight.

“Henry...” she whimpered, meeting his eyes. “Can I be on top?”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.

Maybe it was the high of endorphins, but she didn’t feel nervous at all. She had wanted this for so long, pictured it in so many different ways, positions, and results, but in the end, she just wanted to become one with Henry.

Pushing him back until he was lying down, she got to her knees and reached for the clasp holding her stockings, but Henry caught her hand, making her stop.

“Leave them on?” he asked with a smirk. “You look so hot like that. My pretty little virgin, all in white.”

“Ok,” she smirked at him, straddling his stomach, rubbing her covered slit over his erection, making Henry feel the mess of fluids he left behind when he made her cum in her panties. “Is this how you want it, babe?” she asked, pushing the fabric aside so she could bring his cock to her entrance.

“Yes,” he grinned, grip tightening over her thighs as she rubbed his tip over her folds. “Fuck, you already feel so good.”

Oh, so very slowly, she sunk on his cock. Henry was huge, she knew from the very beginning. She knew it might hurt because he was so big, but she didn’t expect it to be like this. The burning discomfort as he stretched her cunt, making tears prick on the corner of her eyes, her fingers digging on his abs.

“Breathe, love,” Henry encouraged, rubbing soothing circles on her thighs, the little frown of worry deepening as he watched her face scrunching up and listened to her low whines. “You’re doing so good, we’re almost there.”

She paused once he was fully sheathed in her heat, her walls tightening around him almost painfully as she rested against his chest, trying to adjust to the intrusion. Cheek pressed against his heartbeat, as Henry ran his fingers up and down her spine, making her shiver and melt against him as she relaxed.

“I think I’m ready,” she spoke after a few moments, the discomfort receding and leaving one the alien feel of being so full. “You can move.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, thumb under her chin, making her look up. “We can wait.”

“I’m sure, Hen,” she smiled at him and he nodded, slowing rolling his hips and she gasped as she could feel his ridges and veins rubbing against her walls, creating delicious friction.

Henry took his time to pick up his pace, listening to her noises to guide him through it, bringing her lips to his to distract her from any leftover discomfort as he started broadening his movements, pulling almost all the way out to push back in, making her mewl against his mouth as she grew so wet again, her hips rocking back against his.

“How does it feel?” he asked with a smirk, the bliss out the expression on her face answer enough, but Henry wanted to hear her.

“So, fucking good,” she gasped, raising her torso and starting to bounce on his cock, meeting his thrusts. “Don’t stop.”

With a grin, Henry increasing his speed, meeting her thrust for thrust until she was panting and moaning, her head throwing back, one hand on his chest for support, the other on her breasts pulling them out of the lace of her bra so she could play with them.

“Harder,” she whimpered, lower lip between her teeth and Henry complied, snapping his hip up in salvage thrusts as she cried out, a wide smile in her lips especially when he brought his thumb between them, working her clit.

She could feel the building pleasure in her center again, all-consuming, pushing all thoughts aside from her mind except the desperate need for release. Her entire body felt taut and tense in expectation as the tendrils of ecstasy started growing and spreading, taking hold of everything until she was pulled too tight and, like an elastic band, it snapped and she came with a shout of Henry’s name.

Blood rushed through her ears, stars busted behind her lids. Her entire body felt surrounded by static and each touch of his skin against hers seemed to drag out her high even longer and she couldn’t focus on anything else. She felt sleepy and boneless as Henry kept fucking her, chasing his own release, his grunts barely registering in her foggy mind.

Not until he stilled again, groaned her name, pulling her tight against him and she could feel his cock pulsing and twitching inside her; the warmth of his cum coating her walls it strange but arousing the thought of having Henry so deep inside her.

They stayed wrapped together, catching the breath and recovering from their highs when Henry spoke:

“Aren’t you glad we waited?”

“Not really,” she giggled, tilting her head to look at him. “We could’ve been doing this for the last 11 months.”

“True,” he chuckled, bending down for a kiss. “Guess we have to make up for the lost time, then.”

“Good thing we have two weeks all to ourselves,” she said. “And we’re not leaving this bedroom.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cavill.”

xxx

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[365days365movies]

April 5, 2021: Arsenic and Old Lace (1944) (Recap: Part One)

Yeah, so...Spectrum exploded last night.

So, I'm unfortunately a little behind. BUT NEVER FEAR! I'll get back on time before you know it! So, uh...where were we last time? OH RIGHT! Let's talk about black comedy. And I don't mean black-and-white comedies, or comedies prominently featuring African-American culture and demographic. No, I mean dark comedies.

The "black comedy" functions off of macabre or taboo humor and jokes, and is often closely associated with biting satire and commentary in film. That definition is loose as hell, I know, but it's all about the subject matter. The most common subject matter for dark humor is death, of course, and related subjects to death. War, murder, strife, madness, and violence are also common topics here.

Some of the best comedies are black comedies, though. For example, Brazil (1985; dir. Terry Gilliam) focuses on themes of depression, dreams, terrorism, totalitarian governments, and madness. And it's GREAT. How about The Death of Stalin (2018; dir. Armando Iannucci)? The title ALONE should tell you everything you need to know about the tone and topic, AND YET...

It's HILARIOUS. And also informative! If you haven't seen it, I definitely recommend it. And again, that film is about, well...the death of Stalin, and the fallout of his disastrous and murderous regime. Dark, DARK topic, but very funny movie.

Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb is about war; Fargo is about murder in North Dakota; Heathers is about a toxic relationship and the death and murder of teenagers; Birdman, or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance is about an actor's existential crisis and complete mental breakdown; and Trainspotting is about the devastating effects of drug addiction and features a DEAD BABY FOR CHRIST'S SAKE...and yet they're all full of laughs! Except for the baby scene. Fuck me, the baby scene in Trainspotting.

So, yeah, these are a diverse group of films, that's for sure. But where does it all start? There's 1942's To Be or Not to Be (dir. Ernst Lubitsch), which is about a Polish theatre company who need to escape in the midst of...well, 1942 Poland. If you don't get why that's dark, you should probably look up some history, bud. Charlie Chaplin would dip into the role in 1947's Monsieur Verdoux, which I mentioned last time. And there's the seldom-talked-about Kind Hearts and Coronets (dir. Robert Hamer), a 1949 film about murder for status, essentially.

But it's hard to argue that the most prominent early black comedy is 1944's Cary Grant vehicle, Arsenic and Old Lace.

Directed by Frank Capra, this film was based on a 1941 stage play, and is about...well, we'll get to it. While its prominence as a black comedy is one reason I'm watching this movie, the other is...well, to be honest, this is a movie I heard about CONSTANTLY from my Mom, as this is one of her favorites. And yet, like Dirty Dancing, I've somehow never seen it! Let's remedy that.

So, without further ado, let's get into it! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

The film starts off with a BANG, as a man calls me a “big simp” to my face! Actually, he’s screaming at a Brooklyn Dodgers game, where a massive fight breaks out. This fight quickly transitions to a city hall, where a line of people are waiting to file marriage licenses. Amongst the line is Mortimer Brewster (Cary Grant) and Elaine Harper (Priscilla Lane).

Brewster is hiding from the press, as he’s a famous reviewer, and author of the Bachelor’s Bible, and it would be quite the scandal for him to get married. And yet, he’s head over heels in love with Elaine. After going through an existential crisis about the whole thing, he gives into Elaine’s sweet demeanor, and the two file their marriage license officially.

It’s Halloween day, and we move from the city to the suburbs of Brooklyn, where two policemen, O’Hara (Jack Carson) and Sanders (John RIdgely) are on patrol. Sanders tells O’Hara of the kindly Brewster Sisters, the sweetest women on Earth, both of whom live in the neighborhood. Currently, they are being visited by Reverend Harper (Grant Mitchell), Elaine’s father. He’s speaking with Abby (Josephine Hull) and Martha Brewster (Jean Adair), the kindly aunts of Mortimer. 

Also living there is Mortimer’s brother Teddy Brewster (John Alexander), who apparently believes that he’s Teddy Roosevelt, which is...hilarious. Dude is hilarious, seriously. The cops come over to visit the two, and collect some clothes and toys for local charity. Also, Teddy only leaves a room by screaming “CHAAAAARGE!!!”, and running up the stairs, and I love Teddy a lot.

Reverend Harper and the cops leave for the night, and the sisters settle down for the evening. Abby and Martha state that their plans for Elaine and Mortimer should go as scheduled, which is probably talking about their marriage. Abby also mentions that she’s done something while she was away, to Martha’s delight and surprise. They tell Teddy that he’ll soon be digging a new lock for the Panama Canal...whatever that means.

Martha’s about to go to the basement to see what Abby’s done, but she states that because she was all by herself, the surprise is in the window seat. As she’s about to look at the surprise, Elaine shows up in the window, and the two arrive to give the happy news that they’re married. Elaine goes to tell her father of the news, while Mortimer goes to tell his sweet aunts. Afterwards, the two will be on their honeymoon, going to Niagara Falls. And I should say, they’re quite a sweet couple.

After telling the news to his aunts, he asks them where his notes are for his new controversial book, Mind Over Matrimony. They go to look for it around the house, and Teddy comes downstairs, dressed up in attire to “go to Panama.” Aunt Abby comes across a childhood picture of Jonathan, Mortimer’s brother and apparently a violent sociopath or some sort. She goes to burn the picture (geez), and Mortimer continues to look for the notes. He goes to the window seat.

Yup! It’s a body! Looks like Abby and Martha’s sweet old lady act is a guise for some myurder! Which I know, just because it’s the most famous thing about the movie. However, Mortimer thinks the murderer is Teddy, and tells his sweet old aunts about the body, asking that he gets put into an asylum. But Abby notes that Teddy didn’t kill the man, and they already know about the body!

Which, yeah, surprises Mortimer, obviously.

Abby cheerfully admits that the man, Mr. Hoskins, was poisoned by a tainted glass of elderberry wine, and that they did so on purpose, hiding the body before the Reverend came for a visit. The whole thing isn’t a big deal; it’s just Abby and Martha’s little secret!

After they leave, and brush off the whole thing as easy as needlepoint or macramé as a hobby, Mortimer, is completely broken by the whole affair, and is partially convinced that he’s dreaming. All the while, Elaine’s trying to get Mortimer to come over and speak with her father. But Mortimer can’t exactly forget about this whole silly murder thing, and goes to confront his aunts about it. He learns that Teddy’s digging not a lock, but a grave in the cellar. As he’s done with 10 other bodies. Or maybe it’s 11 others?

After picking up a phone call from Elaine, then hanging up abruptly (and understandably), Mortimer finds out how this whole thing started. See, the two have a “Renters Wanted” sign in their front lawn, and the neighborhood thinks that it’s there so the two sweet old ladies can offer help to anyone in need, even though they aren’t actually renting to anyone. In reality...well, they do it for another reason.

See, an older gentleman stopped by a bit ago, and he had a heart attack right there in the living room. After seeing how peaceful he looked, the two decided to bring in other lonely old men and bring in the same kind of peace. And from there...well, yeah, you get the general idea. They’ve been poisoning them with arsenic, strychnine, and cyanide mixed in with elderberry wine. Apparently, Martha’s got the mixture just right so that it tastes delicious. With all this explained, they offer Mortimer a sip of wine. Which he’s understandably nervous about.

But with all of that done, Elaine comes over to check in on him. But he’s not able to tell her anything, which greatly (and understandably) confuses her. He basically kicks her out (which enrages her, once again understandably), and calls a judge with the intent to frame the whole affair on Teddy, who’s always been.unstable. Which, for the record, is not even SLIGHTLY going to solve the problem.

But as he’s on the phone, a man named Gibbs (Edward McWade) comes in to rent an apartment. He’s all alone in the world, with nobody to care for him. And of course, this leads to the women trying to poison him with the wine. It’s a funny yet tense moment as he stops just short of drinking the wine, distracted by Mortimer’s freakout over the phone. But Mortimer gets off the phone JUST in time to scare Gibbs away and stop him from drinking the wine. And it is...VERY funny, goddamn.

As Mortimer tries to tell the aunts exactly what’s wrong with what they’re doing, the phone rings. It’s a call from Witherspoon (Edward Everett Horton), who runs an asylum that Mortimer wants Teddy committed into. However, they don’t quite have room for him, as they have too many Theodore Roosevelts at present. However, they do need more Napoleon Bonapartes. I love this goddamn movie.

Still, Witherspoon agrees to take him in despite that, and Mortimer head out to get the paperwork done. However, he asks his aunts to not do anything until he gets back, and he also proises that he’ll attend the “services” for their latest victim. He leaves, and kinda steals a cabbie’s car in the process (I love this movie, I’m telling you), and Abby and Martha start shutting things down for the night. However, as they do, they get a mysterious knock on the door. They pretend not to be home...only for a man with an ominous scar to enter the room regardless.

Let’s pause here, shall we? See you in Part 2!

[anthonyed]

day 4 of @stonyweek : secrets (Ao3)

Tony asks him to get ready, get in the car and refuses to tell him where they’re heading.

“What is it?” Steve tries for the nth time. Each time, the evasion varies; this time it’s a mischievous smirk with a little tilt to his head so Tony could regard him over the rim of his sunglasses.

He looks great, as usual. Dressed in smart casual; white V-neck with a black suit jacket and a pair of dark jeans with black and white sneakers. And as usual, Steve feels inadequate in his own too casual wear; just a white tee and blue jeans. But what’s new with that except he got used to it and, hey! Look on the bright side; they kinda match.

“You’re unnecessarily secretive,” he says, goading Tony. Unfortunately for Steve, Tony has gotten used to all his tricks and he just shrugs, looking ahead at the road.

Sighing, Steve goes back to watching the scenery outside; mostly greenery now that they’ve passed the city. He’s growing more and more curious, restless from it and he gnaws on the edge of his thumb until Tony gently pries his hand away and secures it atop his thigh. Steve lets out another sigh.

“For someone who’s known for upholding virtues, you’re very impatient,” Tony hums, thumb rubbing small circles over Steve’s knuckle. 

“You’re testing my virtues,” Steve huffs. 

Tony laughs, a soft bark that dims into a low chuckle, and he brings Steve’s hand up to his mouth to press a kiss. Eyes still on the long winding road as he murmurs, “Whatever floats your boat, darling.”

There’s a warmth that blooms in Steve’s chest, the feel of Tony’s lips along with the coarse brush of his moustache tickling a smile which he bites back out of childish petulance. But of course, Tony senses that, and Tony smiles for him instead.

“Ten more minutes and you’ll get your answer,” he promises with a squeeze. 

Steve flips their hands over so he’s on top and he gently coaxes Tony’s fingers apart to wedge his in between, and he returns the squeeze. 

Ten minutes later, as promised, Steve gets his answer.

They drive through a large set of gates into a gravelly driveway that ends at an enormous mansion.

“What’s this place?” Steve asks, craning his neck trying to look at his fill from inside the car. Tony comes to a stop in front of the building, doesn’t even bother to park before he offs the engine. Wordlessly, he opens his side of the door and gets out; Steve watches him go with a slack jaw until the passenger side door is opened and Tony holds out a hand. 

“Welcome,” he says grandly. “To my childhood mansion.”

Steve takes his hand, still processing the information. He walks with Tony up the staircase and right before they reach the landing Steve stops. 

Tony stops with him, one step above and Steve tugs him closer so he could lean and whisper it like a dirty little secret, “I thought you hate it here.” 

And he’s sure, he knows this like he knows the color of Tony’s hair is not black but the darkest of brown. So he feels precarious where he stands; if Tony denies this fact, that would mean Steve doesn’t know who Tony is at all. 

Tony falls back in step with him, standing side by side and he assures gently, “I do. But there’s one spot I adored. The one thing in this hell which never failed to keep me safe and I want to show that to you.”

Okay, Steve thinks. Okay yeah, he can get with it. He nods. Tony smiles and squeezes his hand lightly before starting to lead again.

They don’t even go through the house. Instead, Tony takes a circular route around it and at one point they have to crawl through tall hedges when Steve prays to all higher forces to not get him stuck and makes it through.  

Tony takes his hand and breaks into a light jog before Steve could even stand straight. "I've always dreamt of doing this," he giggles, exuding happiness so much so that it’s infectious. Steve laughs with him. 

He realises they're running across a backyard - a well kept lawn telling Tony's still paying for the mansion's maintenance - towards a grand fountain. 

The closer they get, the clearer Steve sees; all the details in the carvings and the statues. When they reach it, he has to touch it to confirm that it is indeed marble. "Wow," he exhales, transfixed and understandably in awe. 

Next to him, Tony's still clutching his hand, giving a few seconds break before tugging Steve to go around the fountain. Inspect its architecture at all angles. 

"Wow," Steve repeats. 

Tony chuckles, clearly amused but he's got the same look as Steve's on his face as he confides, "I used to sneak out here sometimes. It was my secret hideout. Exactly, this spot."

Steve follows his gaze and finds himself looking at a small square inlet at the base of the fountain's behind. He imagines a smaller Tony, scrawny and short squeezing himself into that tight space and feels all the awe sucked out of him at once. 

He looks away from that spot to Tony, squeezing his hand and he smiles back when Tony smiles at him. Something amiss in that tilt. Then he huffs a little laugh, giving a short swing to their clasped hands as he gazes wondorously at the lawn. 

"I used to dream of bringing a friend. Or a companion," he adds softly. "And it's always us running across the lawn like we just did and it'll be night with too many stars in the sky to count and we'll kiss right here." 

"Hopeless romantic, then," Steve hums flatly, teasing.

"As if you weren't." Tony scoffs, light hearted, hands still swinging in between them and he looks brilliant under the evening sun. 

The golden ray spilling from west, setting and in it's brightness, it teases out the browns from Tony's coiffed hair. Some of them look like gold glitters and Steve inhales sharply, falling in love with him all over again. 

He steps into Tony's space, cutting whatever sentence spilling out of his mouth short and with his free hand, he tucks a stray strand behind Tony's ear. "You weren't even listening," Tony shakes his head at him. 

"I can't," Steve admits, still entranced by the moment, enchanted by Tony and he tells him truthfully, "I'm too busy looking at you." 

He catches the small stutter to Tony's breath. The short and sharp inhale which he masks with a too loose shoulders and an impish smile, "Like what you see?" 

"Love," Steve corrects, thumb curving along the shape of Tony's lips and he leans in, low voice murmuring, "I love, what I see," before he tilts his head and fits his mouth snuggly around Tony's. Starting slow and soft and he presses closer, moves the same until they're all that they can feel. 

The evening Sun is warm on their backs, birds chirping in the distance and Steve pulls away a little only to stamp soft kisses all around Tony's mouth before going in again. Right then when the fountain starts, spewing water into the air, some of it sprinkling onto them and Tony laughs into their kiss. 

Later, when they're driving back home, Steve turns away from the night sky and asks him, "Why did you want to show me that?" 

The road's clear but Tony makes sure before he glances at him, the soft smile on his face from when they left the place still unwilted and he shrugs as if it's obvious; "Because you make me feel the same."

The one thing in this hell which never failed to keep me safe. 

[clumsyclifford]

dearly depressed and brokenhearted (i’d like to let you know that boys cry too)

it’s been a hot sec since i’ve properly posted a fic on tumblr but whatever i have the time and this one isn’t too long

anyway shoutout to @httpsgfg for the idea for the so much therapy playlist, which i somehow got through the entire three and a half hours of whilst writing/posting this. also shoutout to @rotten-candie for helping me pick a title & summary

to be perfectly clear: this is a gen fic. it is centered on a friendship. i’m not in charge of you and if you’re so inclined to read it as pre-slash then i can’t stop you, but if it’s all the same to you, it’s a friendship fic to me

tw i guess for angst, possibly hints at depression, crying, etc there are better tags on ao3 if you need them

title from how do you feel? by the maine

read here on ao3

-

It’s Saturday, or maybe Monday. Luke has stopped keeping track.

Rain is coming down, slowly but surely. Going outside is sure to end in getting soaked to the bone, probably shivering. Especially if Luke doesn’t bring a jacket.

He goes anyway.

The chill in the air wraps around him like clingfilm, settling under his skin. For a moment outside it would be bearable, but Luke plans to be outside a bit longer than that. He’s going to be cold. He is probably going to lose feeling in his fingers. It would be best to go back inside. Grab some gloves. Maybe a warm coat. Drizzling rain follows the wind and sprays in his face. Luke takes the front steps, one, two, onto the damp grass, which gives under his footsteps. Another. Another. Water soaks through the front of his shoes; his socks are going to get wet and soon he’ll lose feeling in his toes as well. 

He’s not trying to go numb or anything. Maybe he’s a bit of a masochist, but who isn’t? It’s not like the cold is going to give him permanent damage. He’ll go back inside when he can’t handle it anymore, but he has time before he reaches his threshold. Outside is the only place Luke can possibly fathom being right now. Everywhere else is wrong. Too bright or too loud or somehow otherwise just wrong.

Here, in the elements, his hoodie barely protects his face from the biting wind. Sleeves over his hands only do so much, even if he curls the ends of them into his palms. Jeans are not the right trousers to wear when it’s below freezing. The rain is only making it all worse.

Luke keeps walking.

He keeps his head down, watching his feet as they carry him forward, one in front of the other with no clear destination except away. Away will eventually circle around and lead him home again — he’s not trying to permanently escape. Something about the rain feels like a reset button, and that might be exactly what Luke needs. 

The thing is, this walk is supposed to be clearing Luke’s head, not weighing it down. Not weighing him down. Nothing is really wrong. If Luke tries to parse through his day, or the last couple of hours, he could probably single out a couple of things that might be to blame — calling home always makes him a little more fragile; call ended digs into his chest every time in a way that feels tragically, unjustifiably final — but he’s tired of having a reason for feeling heavy. Sometimes life is just hard. That’s the issue with the question what’s wrong, Luke thinks, blinking at the lights reflecting off the glistening road. Often, nothing is wrong. Does something have to be wrong for me to feel bad? he wants to say, except nobody has even asked him, and this entire conversation is happening inside his head.

Even in his head he’s creating problems where there aren’t any. Awesome.

A chill has taken up permanent residence in Luke’s body. He curls inward, trying to pretend like the wind isn’t blowing around him, like the rain isn’t stinging his face and the exposed strip of his ankles that his jeans and socks don’t quite meet to cover. It’s starting to come down harder; Luke’s hoodie is sticking to his shoulders and back and he might as well be wearing nothing at all for all the protection it’s providing him from the cold. He knows that this is the wrong thing to wear in this weather, but that had kind of been the point. It feels right to be doing something wrong on purpose. It certainly feels better than doing it wrong by accident. Or by virtue of it being beyond his control.

He’d expected to be cold, and he is. A sick sort of comfort arises from having predicted that cause-and-effect.

Luke’s mental clock is rubbish, and though his phone is in his pocket he can’t take it out and check it or it’ll get wet, so he has no idea how long he’s been out when it rings. Buzzes. Luke sighs. He digs his phone out of his pocket, cradling it to his chest to keep it out of the rain, and answers the call. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Luke waits for Michael to say anything. Eventually: “Where are you?”

“Outside,” Luke says. He looks around. “About five minutes away.”

“Away? Where did you go?”

“I didn’t — I was just walking.”

“Oh.” Michael pauses, and Luke knows what he’s going to say before he says it. “In the rain?”

“Is it raining?”

“...Yes?”

“Then yes, in the rain.”

“Okay. Well. Um, are you going to be back soon?”

Luke sighs again. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Are you, uh…” There’s a moment of silence. Luke glances around himself, turning his back to the wind. The constant motion of his walk had been the only thing keeping him from becoming a glacier of a man, and now he’s lost that.

“Don’t worry about me, Mike,” Luke says. “I won’t be out too long. Promise.” He can’t, or he’ll get hypothermia or frostbite or something.

“Okay,” Michael says. Luke can tell he’s struggling not to ask if Luke is okay, and it makes Luke feel inexplicably affected. That Michael wants to ask, but knows Luke well enough to know that Luke won’t want him to. 

“I’m okay,” he says as a compromise. It’s not really true, but it’s what he would have said if Michael had asked him anyway.

“Okay,” Michael says again, more quietly. “Love you.”

“Love you.”

There’s a long silence. Then Michael hangs up.

The hand holding Luke’s phone slowly lowers, shoving it back into his pocket. Luke stares down at the ground. He blinks back tears, but they come faster than he’s able to stop them. There’s no mistaking tears for rain, actually, not in this weather, because these tears are hot and salty when they slide down his cheeks and into the corners of his mouth. The incongruity of warm tears on his freezing cold face almost makes him laugh, except when he opens his mouth to laugh what comes out instead is an unsolicited sob.

Shit. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to cry. He really hadn’t wanted to cry. He’s not going to become a blubbering mess in the middle of the road at midnight. Being sad is acceptable when nothing’s wrong, but crying when nothing’s wrong is crossing a fucking line. 

Why, why is it that hanging up the phone just stabs him in the heart? What the fuck is his problem?

One minute, he tells himself, crouching down because the smaller he is, the warmer he’ll be; one minute of crying and then you’re going to stop crying, because there’s nothing to cry about. One minute.

And for one minute he cries.

After one minute, he’s mostly out of tears anyway. Sniffling, he wipes under his eyes with his damp sleeve. That’s enough, he thinks firmly, sniffling again. Enough. It’s enough.

Before he stands up, he closes his eyes and takes a deep, deep breath. It doesn’t alleviate the weight on his chest, the weight of nothing being wrong, but blocking his vision allows him to tune into his other senses. It’s freezing cold and he shivers, listening to the rain softly hitting the pavement. This isn’t a panic attack, but Luke always finds it helpful to zero in on his senses. Quiet rain like static in his ears, the denim of his jeans creased behind his knees in his crouch, lingering salt on his tongue from the last of the tears, tight skin on his cheeks, his shaky inhales and exhales as he fights for a steady breathing pattern.

He’s okay.

Five minutes from home. Luke straightens up, hugging his arms around himself. His fingers and toes have all but frosted over by now. The world is awash in pale yellow and ashy grey, punctuated with almost-black in dark, unlit corners. On either side of him, familiar houses urge Luke onward, promising one more familiar than the rest if he just keeps walking.

So he does.

Five minutes feels very long, though Luke’s sense of time is, of course, warped beyond recognition, and for all he knows it’s ten minutes before he sees their house. Or two. 

Luke stands at the curb before the walkway. It’s freezing cold. He should go inside and warm up. He should make a cup of tea. He should take a hot shower.

Through the window it’s bright, though, so bright, far too bright for the gloomy mood still clamping down on Luke’s shoulders. Even if he went through the living room and shut himself in his room with the lights off, it wouldn’t be the same. The mood is uninterrupted and he doesn’t want to break it with anything.

As Luke stands there, shivering and indecisive, the front door opens.

“Luke?”

“Hi,” Luke says again, like he did on the phone. 

“It’s below freezing,” Michael says. “Are you coming in?”

“No.” He’s not. He can’t. Not yet, anyway. Maybe in five minutes. He can go five more minutes before frostbite becomes a real possibility.

“It’s cold, you’ll freeze,” says Michael.

“It’s not that cold.”

“And it’s raining. Cold and raining.”

“I’m not really cold,” Luke lies. “I’m okay. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Michael stands on the stoop, watching him. From this distance it’s hard to see his expression, but Luke can pretty much guess it’s a mixture of disapproval and concern. Michael has perfected it.

“Be right back,” he finally says, then slips back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar, before Luke can tell him he really doesn’t need to come back. Luke waits, though he contemplates just leaving for another walk. He’s not a dick. Although if Michael returns with Ashton or Calum, Luke will probably be annoyed. He’s not a child and he doesn’t need mothering, which Ashton is sure to do, nor is he in the mood to be cheered up, so Calum won’t be any help either.

Michael returns. He’s wearing a jacket and a beanie and there’s a blanket from off their couch in his hands.

“Michael,” Luke says. 

“Please,” Michael says. “I’m obviously not going to convince you to come inside, but I don’t want you to freeze.” He takes the steps, footsteps falling where Luke’s had, and comes close enough to Luke that when he offers up the blanket, Luke reaches out and takes it. “I know you don’t wear jackets,” Michael explains.

It feels like cheating. The masochistic walk should be all-or-nothing. But Luke can’t bring himself to refuse it. It’s not about the blanket, is the thing, really; it’s not about being warm. It’s about the gesture, about accepting the love and concern of a friend when Luke obviously needs it.

The blanket unfolds in his hands and he wraps it around himself. Some of the chill subsides. A new warmth blooms cautiously from within, starting in his sternum and spreading outward. It moves slowly and with difficulty, thawing the ice that’s formed inside Luke’s chest from all of his internal insistence that being cold had been the solution, but it doesn’t back down.

“Can I stay?” Michael asks. “You can say no.”

“Stay for what?” Luke glances around. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Yeah, I know. I just. Thought you might want to do nothing but…with a friend.”

Luke considers saying no. Michael would shrug, eyebrows drawing together in more concern, probably. Okay, he would say. Come inside soon. He would probably shift on his feet, trying to determine whether or not it would be okay to hug Luke, and ultimately decide against it. The door would close behind him and Luke would have the big, empty, glacial outdoors to himself. That had been the goal, when he’d left. To be alone. To have all the room in the world, with the hopes that attempting to fill it would spread his sadness too thin to hold weight. Except that hadn’t really worked. He’d just grown dense, stodgy instead of risen. The rain must have iced his sadness in. 

“Would you?” Luke says quietly, swallowing.

Michael nods. He does a very good job pretending like he hadn’t desperately wanted Luke to say yes, although Luke knows he had. “Are you still walking?”

“I think I was going to sit,” Luke says, glancing down at the curb. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind,” Michael says, and Luke really believes that. Luke takes a seat on the curb, even though the frozen rain seeps through his jeans, and Michael sits shoulder-to-shoulder beside him. They both stare out across the street. 

After a moment, Michael speaks quietly out into the air. “What — uh — I don’t really know what question to ask. Or if I shouldn’t ask anything.”

“Just as long as you don’t ask what’s wrong,” Luke says wearily. “I’m sick of what’s wrong.”

“Fair enough,” Michael says. There’s a beat of silence. “What are we doing out here?”

“You’re keeping me company.”

“And you’re…?”

Luke shrugs, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. It’s still raining and even the blanket is going to be soaked through soon. Luke’s hands are inside his sleeves, which are inside the blanket, but they’re still numb. “Wallowing.”

He really is wallowing, the most self-indulgent kind of sadness. Hardest to let go of, easiest to drown in. 

“Oh,” Michael says, a soft edge in his voice. “That makes sense.”

“It does?”

“I don’t know, yes?” Michael reaches out with his converse, tapping the side against Luke’s calf. “You’re a wallowing kind of guy. Sometimes that’s what you need.”

For the second time tonight, Luke feels abruptly like he might cry, but this time he doesn’t. “Uh. Thanks. I think?”

“I can wallow with you,” Michael says simply. 

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Yeah. Aren’t you?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Luke’s lips. “Yeah,” he admits.

“Yeah,” Michael says, like he’s just made a point. “But you shouldn’t wallow alone. You should at least have company.”

Luke takes a deep breath. He pulls his hood further over his head and glances over at Michael, who’s just watching his own feet with interest. 

“Okay,” Luke allows, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Just a couple more minutes. Then we can go inside.” He wonders if this had been Michael’s ploy, to guilt Luke back indoors by offering to freeze for him. But he’s pretty sure it isn’t a trick. Michael isn’t manipulative. He’s just loyal.

“Whatever you want,” Michael says, kicking carelessly at a loose piece of asphalt.

Luke hesitates, lingering in the bubble of silence between them that almost seems to mute the rest of the world. Michael looks over at him finally. When he meets Luke’s eyes, he quirks a transient smile. The warmth defrosting Luke’s insides grows hotter.

Luke leans his head on Michael’s shoulder, and Michael only shifts to accommodate him. “You can wallow with me. We can wallow together. If you want to. If you don’t mind.”

Michael tilts his head against Luke’s and hooks his foot around Luke’s ankle. “Yeah. Wallowing together. I can do that.”

It’s bitterly cold, and the icy rain and wind are doing them no favours. But when Luke closes his eyes this time, the only sensation that seems to matter is Michael’s shoulder solid under Luke’s weight, and he doesn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

[arsnovacadenza]

Jean d’Arc Route Summary and Translation Chp.4

Disclaimer: This is an unofficial translation based on my somewhat serviceable Japanese skills with the aid of various kanji dictionaries (and some Google Translate). As I’m doing this mostly for practice, progress will be relatively slow and there might be changes to formatting in the future. Thank you for your patience and understanding

The italicized words in brackets are the comments I made throughout my playthrough.

 As promised, here’s my summary and translation of Jean D’Arc’s route in Ikemen Vampire. Obviously, there will be SPOILERS.

Before we jump right into Chp. 4, let me give little bit of context from chapter 3 since I didn't think to translate Jean's route from the very beginning:

Comte called a meeting with other vampires in the mansion to explain their entire situation to MC. So far, they've told her about their vampiric nature and their diet. Aside from Arthur, nobody else drank blood directly from humans. Even so, Napoleon told her to at least have some caution (although he can promise that nobody was going to bite her in the future).

MC asked where Jean was since he wasn't present in the dining room where they held the meeting. Mozart asked her to come along with him to Jean's quarters on the second floor (surprise, surprise, he didn't live in some ominous tower detached from the building).

Mozart point-blank confronted MC about her bite mark, which he guessed was Jean's doing. In case you haven't read up on Chp. 1 spoilers, Jean bit MC on the first night she arrived as a mansion, afterward telling her that she should've been more alert because she WAS living among stronger creatures that COULD potentially prey on her..

(Our boy sure loves to emphasize the monstrous side of vampirism and how it changed him into a predatory creature far detached from his previous human self. There's just so much to talk about here).

MC, of course, is overwhelmed by the whole situation, including Jean's reasoning for biting her. So, she asked Mozart about Jean's possible logic for doing it since they seemed to be close friends.

And that brings us to the beginning of Chapter 4.

MC, of course, was overwhelmed by the whole situation, including Jean's reasoning for biting her. So, she asked Mozart about Jean's possible logic for doing it since they seemed to be close friends.

And that brings us to the beginning of Chapter 4. 

Mozart retorted, "To think that I can talk about his feelings on his behalf just because we're friends is a ridiculous assumption."

MC is taken aback by his sharp words, but admitted that he's right anyway.

He continued "In other words, go talk to him yourself and use your head."

And just like that, he opened a door and pushed MC into a room, sending her barreling on the floor. He then closed the door and called out to her from outside, basically saying. "Your misunderstanding of our relationship is wack. Come back after you talk to the guy himself."

She thought about the absurdity of the situation as the sound of Mozart's footsteps grew distant. Suddenly, a shadow fell upon her, and she followed to where it led.

In front of her was a figure gazing at her with empty eyes.

It's Jeanne. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

She stood up and apologized for suddenly barging into his room while averting her eyes from Jean's. Then she continued.

"As I'm going to burden myself upon everyone in this mansion for a month, I thought about paying my respects again." To which Jean only answered. "Is that so."

MC tried to give him an excuse as to why she wanted to go to such lengths just to greet him, which Jean didn't seem to care about. (Boy, he's rude let me tell you.)  All the while, she kept thinking about how she'd soon be saying goodbye to everyone in the mansion without coming to terms with this one guy.

As MC fidgeted under his unwavering stare, she suddenly remembered her earlier talk with Mozart. She needed to confront Jean about the biting incident and understand his side of the story. 

Piecing together the information she obtained from the morning meeting with everyone else, especially about their mealtimes and regarding Blanc and Rouge, she concluded that he didn't bite her out of starvation.

And she also looked back to Jean's words on that fateful night.

"If you want to return to the safety of your world, you better have a sense of danger."

"Think about how you should act to protect yourself."

(So basically Jean's telling her "If you ain't strong enough you ain't gonna last long, bitch")

But MC decided to press him more, anyway. "Why, on that night, did you bite me? Can you tell me?"

Jean answered, "If I told you the reason why what are you going to do with it?"

(Jean, that is not how you talk to ppl)

An awkward atmosphere hung between them, but Jean continued. "You weren't aware that we're vampires."

"Your wandering aimlessly around the mansion is an eyesore—"

"If you think I'm an eyesore, won't it be better if you're free of my presence?"

"Even if you said I was just an eyesore," she fired at Jean. "You didn't exactly see me as prey, do you?"

And Jean basically just answered, “Quite the carefree woman, aren’t you?”

My arms were pulled, and fingers encased in a white glove tilted up my chin.*

"Regarding that night, it doesn't matter to me however you interpret it,"  he murmured. "If you think of it as me being kind to you [for giving you a warning about the true nature of this mansion's residents], so be it."

"Don't approach me anymore outside of this, and get out of here this instant."

After Jean gave her the boot, MC broke down and thought about the entire confrontation, her heart racing. However, she managed to collect herself and left Jean’s door. Unbeknownst to her, Mozart had been watching the entire scene from afar. "Alas, it's no use, is it?" he sighed.

“Indeed. It is an impossible feat to unlock Monsieur Jean’s heart, especially for a newcomer like MC”

That surprised Mozart pushed MC into Monsieur Jeanne’s room.

The butler asked Mozart if he was worried about Jean. From the time they first met, Jean had been “rejecting various things, and at the same time absolutely gives up on everything.”

"The reason for that, I don’t know….. That's Jean's way of life. He can do as he pleases."

"But as his friend....it does concern me a little."

“A friendship between beautiful people, how precious!”

(That’s not what you should be focusing on, you idiot).

“Herr Mozart, if you give up, then that’s when everything is truly over.” Sebastian beamed. “Please leave it to me as this mansion’s butler, for I have something in mind.”

Mozart shrugged his shoulders as he gazed at the eccentric butler’s smile.

(This part is more dialogue and screenshot-heavy as I want to avoid misinterpretation as much as possible)

A quiet night descends upon a moonlit church at the foot of a forest, far away from the mansion. Inside, a lone man walks under the moonlight, reflected on the stained glass patterns. He narrowed his orbs*, whose left and right colors are different.

“Master, do forgive me for not paying my respects as of late.” He greeted another man.

“Ah, Will. Have there been any changes lately?”

Will proceeded to tell ??? about a young woman stumbling through the door from another world and into the mansion. He also notified Vlad that the Comte has allowed her to impose on them for a month.

The white-haired man smiled amusedly. “Ah, the most intriguing things do occur, don’t they?”

“But what I can’t comprehend,” Shakespeare frowned. “This woman is seemingly an ordinary human of no virtue.”

“As if an impurity has mixed in with the brilliance of the great men.”

Shakespeare hoped that she wouldn’t be a hindrance to his plans, and I quote:   “A creature that only invites tragedies instead of comedies. And I have no use of such mediocre tragedies.”

After some exchange, ??? said,  “A creature that only invites tragedies instead of comedies. And I have no use of such mediocre tragedies.”

"Indeed," Shakespeare concurred. "I strive for the finest tragedy with the most exquisite cast."

"The great men who are set to dance on the stage you've set up," His master smirked. "They make the finest marionettes, don't they?"

"That is why, Master, I've decided to join hands with you."

"With you, who carries the same power as the Count....."

"What is it you desire, Will?"

"Can you lend me your power and arrange for a livelier cast?"

"The greater the obstacle they face, the more exceptional the tragedy that ensues."

"I'll think about it," his master replied. 

Smiling elegantly, the red-eyed man looked up at the moon. Behind his eyes shone a glint of a power that can move the entire world.

(In KennieJD’s words: “You both deserve each other cause y’all crazy as hell”).

*1: I nearly fell off my chair translating this part

*2: The original kanji says “双降”, which doesn’t come up if you search on any kanji dictionary. I asked Asha about this, and she said it’s a typo on Cybird’s part. It’s supposed to be 双眸, which means ‘a  pair of eyes’

I didn't intend this to be this lengthy and dialogue-focused, but I realized that I really enjoy writing lines for bitchy characters. Jean and Vlad's were especially a delight to work with! I couldn’t do much for Shakespeare’s lines tho. I haven't been an English Literature student for two years.

Tagging @hokkaido-fox​ for now. Let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming summaries and mini-translations!

Credits to @ashavazesa​ for her tremendous help with some of the kanji. 

[gildedmuse]

So I seem to remember promising more Sora: Warrior Of The Sea Beach Episode. And by "seem to remember" I mean, it's in writing and thus hard to ignore. So despite the fact that none of you care, guess what? You're getting more of this ZoLaw AU.

First off, every member of the cast and crew understands the purpose of a beach episode: to waste time at the beach. Which means that everyone pulls up with swim trunks, blankets, grills and umbrellas. They are basically there to have a beach vacation.

I say everyone. Not Law. Law does not come prepared to party, he comes prepared to be pissy. But like everyone else (Yes, even Mihawk. Though technically only due to Shank's influence. Shanks forces him is what I'm saying. "Hey, even Beckmen is joining in the fun!" / "Benn always joins in these ridiculous games." / "What? My Beckmen? No! He's usually so mature and serious." / "He only seems that way compared to you. Because you are a child.")

The resulting shoot is pretty much pure chaos. Perona and Hancock are more interested in sunbathing than acting. Killer is kicking everyone's ass at volleyball. Franky and Ace are having a grill off to see who makes the better hamburgers and hot dogs (Sanji would totally win except that Pudding-Chan is right there and in a bikini and look, at some point it's difficult to care about things that aren't that.) Zoro and Luffy, meanwhile, are pretty much exactly the children you expect them to be, much to Robin's amusement. Look, she wrote a scene where Sora and Daichi "play wrestle" in the sea, but it has nothing on the actual thing. Because Zoro can often be oblivious and because, you know, Luffy she is sure they don't mean for it to look so homoerotic. It's just a shame Nami isn't here to capitalize on this. She could definitely sell Zoro pinning Luffy to the sand or Luffy wrapping around Zoro like he's made of rubber for more than a few quid.

Law is not enjoy this shoot.

Even when Benn finally gains enough control to start getting actual work done (you'd be surprised how authoritative Mihawk can be even in purple swim trunks) it soon becomes clear that this is going to be a longer than normal shoot. Not because the logistics, just people are not even trying. Ace will just start smiling in the middle of a scene where he shouldn't be smiling, and because Zoro really takes his cues on acting from Ace he'll immediately start smiling regardless of the line. Then Sanji will get angry with them both, which Pudding will think is adorable, thus leading to Sanji forgetting the script entirely to pay attention to her. Perona will tell Zoro off and get too close in his face, which will make Luffy jump in to "protect his virtue" (on order from Nami) which will make Boa jealous because how dare another woman be so close to her Luffy. Which will make Ace and Zoro annoyed which will make Robin giggle, which will distract Franky which will ultimately lead to the effects not working like they should, which will cause Shachi, Penguin, and Ikkaku to huddle up (definitely not them just laying on the sand and enjoying the day out) which of course gets Shanks and Mihawk's attention. Shanks tries to separate Perona and Luffy while Mihawk gives Zoro and Ace The Look which, despite his still authoritative aura is SLIGHTLY less effective when he's standing there in just swim trunks. Curse Shanks. So in the end, with a heavy sigh, he has to go train instruct Zoro in what he should actually be doing in the scene which somehow ends up with his hands at Zoro's bare waist as he goes through it all yet again.

Law HATES this. Fucking. Shoot.

Which is why he is so close to just leaving, as per Robin's suggestion. They don't need him there. Clearly. They can all get along quite well without him. It's obvious now that Law's real job is babysitting and at this particular location all attempts to be an adult are fruitless.

So Law is all set to leave but then Zoro gets out of the ocean, dripping wet, and heads towards his drink which Law happens to be standing beside. Not watching. Definitely. If anything, glaring. And he tries to keep glaring out at Luffy and Ace messing around as Zoro takes a nice long drink, eyes clearly focused on Law.

Which isn't distracting.

Zoro: Aren't you hot?

Law: *Takes a second to process what that actually means, covering by his continued glare* These are work appropriate clothes, Zoro-ya. Not all of us have forgotten why we're here.

Zoro: *Snorts* RIght. You can't be seen having fun, isn't that so Torao?

Law: *Turning his glare towards Zoro which is maybe a mistake because skin and water and mouth and eyes* I'm only being practical.

Zoro: That sounds boring *Reaching out to grab the end of Law's shirt* You should come have fun with us, Torao. You might even enjoy it. *Sideways smirk that is far too dangerous in nature, anyone with self preservation instincts would run*

Law: *Doesn't run* I… *Is older than Zoro and more experienced than Zoro and always the one to make suggestive comments to Zoro so how is it Zoro has currently got his hands wrapped in Law's shirt while Law seems unable to speak?* I didn't even bring-

Zoro: *Stepping closer, raising Law's shirt up a few inches to show his intent* It's just the crew, it's not like anyone will care.

Law: It wouldn't be very appropriate, Zoro-ya…. *Come on! He's half stripping you down! Be flirty or clever or mysterious or hell just step back and make him stop if you can't come off as at least competent. What the hell is wrong with you? Fuck, he's so close. And there's this trail of water falling from his hair to his lips. Fuck.*

Zoro: Look around. No one here is trying to be "appropriate" Torao. *Steps closer, feeling safe. Feeling cocky. Today has been all sword fights with Killer and sea fights with Luffy and Ace. Can you blame him for being in a good mood? And Law needs to join in, obviously. He's standing up here on the beach looking so miserable and serious. What he needs is to be dragged into the water and force to actually have some fun.* Unless…. *Cocks his head, looking Law over* You can swim, can't you?

Law: I - *It'd be nice if he could swallow right now because it definitely feels like he's going to start drooling. That damn water is curving up on the underside of Zoro's lower lip and he's so close. Law could lap that up for him. Could pin Zoro down and just….*

Zoro: *Beaming* It's alright. Luffy can barely swim, either. *Nods out to the water where currently Luffy is splashing around, riding on Ace's shoulders*

Law: *Eyes go to Luffy and Ace for once second and when he looks back Zoro seems so much closer.*

Zoro: *Still smiling even as he starts to peel off Law's shirt* Come on. *Tugging him by the arm, despite the fact he's still in his jeans and no wait he didn't agree to this!* We'll go together.

Law: *Manages to get Zoro to stop long enough to peel off his jeans so he's down to his boxers, which Zoro flushes at and isn't that what he meant? He can't be so inexperienced. Fuck, Law just wants to ruin this boy, he really does. But then Zoro is back to shoving him towards the sea, happily announcing to Ace and Luffy that he has a fourth and what does that even mean? What has Law gotten himself into?*

It turns out to be an overly competitive game of chicken (both Ace and Zoro really take it far too seriously while Luffy is clearly there for fun but also will break Law's nose if it comes down to it). Which means Law has his legs wrapped around Zoro, whose hands are curled up around his thighs and this could not get any worse.

He thinks.

Totally unaware that Robin has her phone out and is capturing this entire magical moment. And when Franky sits beside her asking why she's filming them fighting she just gets this smile that makes him want to unask because he knows Robin.

Mihawk has to eventually call the boys out to shoot a scene. He stands at the edge of the water with his typically displeased look. Law would feel so much more ashamed if Zoro hadn't chosen to just drop him slightly so Law's legs are wrapped around his waist, and carried him out of the water like that. Law tries to give his boss an apologetic look but it's difficult when he's so wrapped around Zoro, and Zoro's hands keep finding new places on his legs to hold him up. (And maybe Mihawk shouldn't look at actors who work for him that way. And maybe Mihawk should spend less time instructing Zoro. And maybe Mihawk can go to hell because Law has called dibs on this one. This one is his.)

(Also, thank you for this opportunity, Mihawk-san)

(Also, did Zoro really need to flash that smile at Mihawk? Did Mihawk's face just soften slightly? Isn't he like twice Zoro's age? He should really-)

Then Zoro drops him on the sand, and he's leaning over Law, practically on top of him. All other thoughts basically stop.

Zoro: *Beaming* See? Wasn't that better than just sitting around?

Law: *Forgets how breathing works for just a moment, and is way too out of breath by the time he recalls the process. So his mind goes into default Defensive Mode. He frowns* You just wanted a chance to beat Mugiwara-ya.

Zoro: Well… *Shrugs, like obviously. That isn't really the point, is it? Since he chose Law?* You did well Torao. For a beginner.

Law: *Crossing his arms across his chest, which is difficult with Zoro right there. Looks to the side, determined not to give a single inch* I don't like being used Zoro-ya.

Zoro: Right. *Frowns, pushing away from Law* It was Luffy's suggestion anyway.

Law: *Carefully glancing back* What was?

Zoro: *No longer looking at Law* To come get you. Tch. Like I would ever want to pair up with you, Torao. *Pushes off the sand, stalking off towards Mihawkk and the shoot*

Law: *Pushes himself up onto his elbows, watching Zoro go. Can't help feeling like he really messed up.*

Robin: Perhaps you should be more careful with our stuntman's feelings.I suggest next time you be more honest with him.

Law: *Doesn't jump at Robin's sudden appearance next to him. Totally.* There won't be a next time. This is a pointless waste of an episode and the studio will see that.

Law: *As an afterthought* And I was honest.

Robin: *Sets a hand on Law's shoulder in a quiet moment of commiseration*

Also Robin: I have it all on tape if you wish to watch it back. *Leaves*

Law: *Hates this fucking episode*

Law: ….. *Maybe wants to examine that tape.*

[faerune]

personality for Vera! (either all or whichever you feel like answering, don't want to overwhelm you!) :D

thank you so much ryley you’re the best 🧡 also asked by @solasan who is a bitch and needs to get out of my ask box (jk mol ilu)

alignment Chaotic neutral! Veers toward chaotic good most often much to some teasing from Judy who told her she expected Vera to be this big mean merc and how wrong she was.

MBTI Originally, I thought she was an ESFP but I think ESTP fits her far better — bold, original, direct, sociable, impatient, risk-prone, defiant.

tarot card The Sun — warmth, positivity, vitality, success, overly optimistic - for her life up until the end of Act 1. 

And then the Wheel of Fortune — destiny, a turning point, breaking cycles, resistance to change, good or bad luck, karma - for everything after!

zodiac Baby’s a Leo!

enneagram The Enthusiast — spontaneous, distractible, versatile, scattered

element Fire is absolutely her element and also matches her being a Leo!

color(s) you associate with them Bright orange, neon pink, the color of a sunset where it’s pastel pink, purple, orange and yellow, black.

theme song sushi for breakfast by BAYLI has been my Vera jam for a week now.

five positive traits

charismatic

confident

bold

loyal

clever

five negative traits

materialistic

stubborn

calloused

impulsive

tunnel-visioned

what heavenly virtue would you assign them? Diligence!

what deadly sin would you assign them? Greed or Pride!

what is their biggest fear? Poor thing just wants to matter. To be important. She saw so much death and anonymity of it that it terrified her. Kid in Heywood die early, get fucked up young, fall into debt with the big sharks of the city or sell their souls to a corp. She doesn’t want to end up like everybody else. 

Vera ultimately fears dying a nobody, just some Jane Doe in the morgue whose ashes they scatter into the Pacific without a thought. Mostly, because it confirms that nasty, heavy, sharp voice in her head that has told her since she was a child (one that sounds suspiciously paternal) — Night City doesn’t give a shit about you. Nobody gives a shit about you. That she has a choice of dying in the gutter or dying in a blaze of glory.

what is their biggest weakness? Prior to the game, she’s a little...too trustful of people from Heywood and those she admires. It’s why she gets involved with Dex because she’s so excited and starstruck that she doesn’t stop and think to consider the potential he’d fuck them over.

Other than that, she’s too impulsive and stubborn like I said in another ask. Bitch can’t sit still and think something through for 2 seconds because she’s so far up her own ass with “Well, something bad happened to [x] but I’m smarter and can handle this.”

do they care about their appearance? do they like it? Vera cares about her appearance a lot! The Valentinos strike me as a gang that really cares about their appearance (the aesthetic...chef kiss) and growing up in Heywood they were and influential part of what Vera wanted to grow up to be. She learned early that the way you present yourself affects the way people treat you and most important to her — how much attention they give you and make you remembered.

She really likes her appearance and puts time into it! Even clothes she wears to jobs - usually a jacket, a plain black croptop and highwaisted jeans - is carefully considered. Vera puts on a front in all aspects and fashion is of course no exception.

Also, if anyone fucked up her nails they are dead. Because she pays good money for those every two weeks. It’s kind of goofy but when she wakes up from being shot, her nails are all broken off and jagged and raw and because appearance is such an important thing to her it’s like...a thing she focuses all her upset on? Like she was dehumanized and dropped off in a dump just like she always feared she would be as a nobody Heywood kid.

are they confident in their abilities? Yes! Too confident that it often borders dangerously cocky but she does have the skills to back all her talk up. People aren’t afraid of facing her in a shooting competition for nothing. Or rather people aren’t afraid of her in general for nothing. Her papa crafted her to survive those streets and that’s about the only good thing he gave her. 

what is their opinion on cybernetics? Vera thinks it’s normal and that it’s weird when someone is completely ‘ganic. She sees it as leveling the playing field or rather playing at the level everyone else is at with implants since Heywood is chock full of them with the Valentinos about. Vera takes whatever advantage she can get!

Cyberpsychos and Maelstrom admittedly...scare her shitless because it’s another thing she has to watch out for both them physically and the possibility of that happening to herself.

do they have a good sense of humor? I’d say so! It’s a little dark at times (not as dark as say Johnny’s but she grew up around some real fucked up stuff that became normalized) but she’s a master of knowing how to tune it to the people she’s around. Little manipulator (even though she doesn’t see it that way).

how do they laugh? Fairly loud and very cute! She’s got a great smile and it’s admittedly easy to make her laugh if you know what gets her. It’s infectious and disarming - admittedly, she’s good at faking laughing too and uses it to her advantage because she knows that. That laugh is just a little bit more toned back and controlled - anyone who heard her real belly-laugh where she’s got tears in her eyes would be able to spot it.

do they smoke? Vera started up pretty young, maybe around 13, but she’d quit just after her mother’s funeral (~22 years old) and was in the years she was in Atlanta. Until Johnny’s engram rubbed off on her and she gave in and started smoking. She was under a lot of stress and the pressure caused her to pick it back up.

do they drink? Yeah! It’s pretty much the only vice she starts with at the start of the game. Vera grew up around in Heywood too. Deals were done over drinks and when she was a teenager everyone would sneak whatever they could from their own houses and they’d head up onto one of the roofs. Just drink and shoot the shit while the sun set. She loves going out and clubbing. It’s kind of just part of the culture. Vera only really starts drinking “by herself” during the game.

what kind of drunk are they? Fun loving drunk! Very flirty, loves to dance, the life of the party. It’s like Vera dialed up to 11. Her general habit of making bad decisions becomes very prominent when she’s drunk because the very reasoning and her cleverness flies out the window.

do they take any drugs? Noooo. Definitely not. She stays away from anything except w*ed on the rare occasion. Her mother struggled her whole life with addiction and Vera does not want to repeat her mistakes.

[lucindarobinsonvevo]

@theneverendingblakefanfic chapter 3 - The Long Discussion 

word count: 4,433, rating: T (for one (1) swear), warnings: canon compliant violence

a/n: sorry I’m late, I didn’t anticipate having so much school work on my plate when i signed up >.> anyway. Here’s my chapter, and I’m tagging @funkybetsy for the next installment. 

Matthew graduated from the police academy a very long time ago, but there was one thing that always seemed to crop up when it came to missing people's cases. That was how long you can work before you start to get sloppy. Matthew knew his limits, and he liked to think that he knew that of his men as well. That was why he sent Charlie home even though he would have preferred for him and his Bonehead training to be here. Charlie, like all the other men at the station, was fallible and exhausted.

Not to mention he had to help wrangle Blake.

He set his pen down and ran a hand along his face to clear the bleary spots from his eyes and focus on the paper. He’d put a rush on the handwriting analysis but he didn’t think that was going to lead them anywhere. He had a map of town by his hand, every Church circled. He’d sent men out but they could only do so much...And he didn’t think Jean was being held at a Church. He didn’t think she was dead. For one, you can’t believe that in a missing person case you’d never get anything done. But also because the only reason someone would want to kidnap Jean, someone professional like this would be to get to Lucien and they couldn’t get to him if she were dead. But...Two days was a long time to not make contact if they wanted a ransom, but he didn’t think that they wanted a ransom either. If he was being honest, he had no idea what the point of this was and that...That worried him.

At first, Lucien had pointed out that the scrap of paper had said ‘the Church’ so clearly it must mean Sacred Heart. But it wasn’t Sacred Heart; they’d rushed over and in and...No dice. Father Emmery, for all he got on Lawson’s nerves, let them search the place without asking them for a warrant. That was not the norm for any establishment, religious or otherwise. If the worried crease in the man's brow was much to go by, it was a testament to how much the people of Ballarat cared about Jean. And they did care. People had been showing up day and night to ask if they could help in any way. Women who used to bring Jean their dresses to be tailored now brought his men sandwiches and biscuits. Young men who used to be friends with her sons offered to go on searches but he had nowhere to send them. As far as anyone could tell the last place she’d been was the house. He’d tried to arrange a press conference earlier in the day so Lucien could appeal directly to the kidnappers, such was his instructions from the brass while they sent him more detectives. But he knew the whole thing was not going to help. But Lucien still could have shown up.

He sighed and pinched between his eyes, hoping that inspiration would strike him. Nothing happened. He turned his wrist up to look at his watch. Just past midnight. Bill would be back on shift at four am, and then he’d go home and go to bed for an hour or so. He didn’t think he’d get much sleep but this wasn’t useful. Jean’s earring sat in an evidence bag on his incoming letters tray.

He was exhausted.

Outside, a rumble of thunder caused him to jump in place. He turned his head to the closed curtains as if he could see the cause of it. A storm was on the way. A summer storm, meaning lots of lightning and thunder.

“Move it, Doc!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

A yell cut through the quiet like a hot knife through butter. He’d know those voices anywhere. Charlie, drenched, and Lucien, not much better, stumbled into the bullpen, Charlie dragging Lucien all the way. He also noted that Charlie was now sporting the beginnings of a black eye and that Lucien was drunk. He would have had to be to lose a fight to Charlie. Matthew was not one to comment on Charlie’s skill in the ring, but Lucien was a trained professional. Or, he’d always assumed he was anyway.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” He demanded as Charlie deposited Lucien into the chair in front of Matthew’s desk. He then noted Cec a step or two behind them, holding an umbrella as well as Lucien’s coat and hat. It seemed like his evening was about to get much longer. “I told you to go home and rest.”

“I know you did Boss but -”

“I called Sergeant Davis to the club,” Cec said, quickly, and somewhat unsurprisingly, coming to Charlie’s defense. Lawson could feel a thumping headache behind his eyes pressing on his optic nerve. He’d managed to go the last fifty-something years without committing murder but right now he was starting to see the virtue of it.

“Let me guess.” He said, “Someone was drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” Lucien protested though the glazed over look in his eyes and red face were quite to the contrary.

“And I assume it wasn’t you who punched my sergeant?”

“We’re losing time!” Lucien insisted, “We have to go get Jean.” Matthew looked at him for a moment, then looked expectantly at Charlie, who was dabbing at his split lip with the side of his hand while Cec looked at him worriedly.

“What happened?” He asked, dryly. He wasn’t as surprised as he supposed he should have been; Lucien wasn’t exactly known for his impulse control. Still, he liked Charlie, and it had mostly been Charlie in the last few days who’d been trying to get him to help out more and find Jean.

“We were at the Club.” Charlie began, before thinking better of it. “The Doc was at the club, and Mr. Drury called me to come pick him up because he was too drunk to drive.”

“Alright. That doesn’t explain your fat lip, though.”

“I’m getting to it. I went to the club, and we got this call, It was from Hanam, about Jean.” If Matthew’s headache could have gotten any worse, it would have. Just like his night, he supposed, taking in and letting out a deep breath.

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know, Lucien had the phone and he won’t tell me so I thought he’d tell you.”

“What aren’t you telling us?” He deadpanned, not in the mood to beat around the bush when a woman's life was at stake.

“I heard from Hanam a few days ago.” Lucien finally admitted, looking like a child who got caught eating a second piece of pie rather than a man who had inadvertently put his wife’s life at stake. If Matthew had one less ounce of self-control, he would punch the bloody drunkard’s face out. But, he resists the urge, even though he would be justified and let out a breath of air between his teeth.

“And what did he say to you?”

“Not much. Just wanted to taunt me with the fact he got out of custody. I didn’t think anything of it, anyone with half a brain would know that the military police would be all over him and he’d just leave the country. Take a boat to Indonesia or something.” Matthew glanced at Charlie who scurried to his desk to call his contact in the Military police. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Lucien, it was just that quite frankly he didn’t believe Lucien and he was ruddy well sick of the man’s mysterious past interfering with their lives.

“What did he say to you tonight?”

“If I ever want to see Jean again then I would need to bring a copy of my army file to some old church. Said he was giving me two days to get it.”

“Can you get it in two days?”

“No idea.”

“Did he let you talk to Jean?”

“No, but he did play me a recording. She seemed...Distressed.” No shit, Matthew thought but didn’t voice it. He seemed marginally more sober now. For a minute or so the only sound in the room was Charlie talking on the phone to his friend in the military police, and Lucien’s breathing. Cec had wandered over to look at the large map on the wall of town with all the churches circled.

Matthew lowered his head into his hands and shut his eyes, just thinking. Thoughts came in waves, washing over him before he had the chance to process them properly. He heard the sound of a phone clicking into the receiver and looked up to see Charlie standing by, a frown on his face.

“No Hanam?”

“Apparently he ‘escaped’ custody a week ago,” Charlie said, suggesting that he did not believe Hanam escaped at all and Matthew didn’t blame him. He’d been a soldier once and the only people soldiers tended to look out for were other soldiers. They were a bit like coppers in that regard.

“What else did he tell you?” Matthew asked, changing tact and looking back to Lucien. “Anything at all.”

“Nothing of any substance, other than that we hadn’t followed through on his clue about the Church, and if I wanted to see my wife again I better figure it out."

“Not like we haven’t been trying.” Charlie said, leaning against his desk, “And they said Adelaide is the Church City.” Matthew followed his gaze to the church map. It was true. In the last two days, they’d probably searched every single church in town and hadn’t even found a hint Jean had ever been there, except for Sacred Heart, which confirmed that she hadn’t set foot in the building since she was married.

It was all frustrating and confusing.

“Superintendent?” Cec asked, getting his attention. Lawson looked up, frown still deep-set in his face.

“Hm?”

“Have you considered visiting Living Hope?”

“Where’s that?” Charlie asked, confused.

“It’s a burned down Church near Peach Road.” Matthew replied, “You know where Peach Road is?” Charlie nodded his assent, Matthew turned back to look at the wall and the map. “Last time I was there it was a hangout for vagabonds. You think Hanam is crazy enough to hang out there?”

“If he’s on the run than he might blend in?” Charlie offered up, “Look like one of the group.”

“And no one would see Jean there and call the police?” Lucien asks, face looking like he’s finally managed to put together what the conversation happening around him was about.

“The homeless aren’t great fans of the police.” He said in reply, turning back to the map. “But I’m sure there’s plenty of places to hide out if you were looking to keep someone prisoner.”

“Are there any phones nearby?” Charlie asked, back to confused, brow drawn up in a crease and split lip bleeding sluggishly down his chin. He looked like he came back from a homeless encampment.

“It’s in the middle of nowhere.” Lawson says, “But there is a farmhouse about three kilometers away. Did you hear anything that might indicate he was on a farm or anything that might suggest a location?”

“Not really.”

“Not really you heard something and are too drunk to know or not really you didn’t hear anything?” Lucien looked away, at least having the good sense to seem ashamed of his conduct so far. He wished Charlie had grabbed the phone from him and listened, maybe they would have avoided this situation. Grunting, he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and tossed it to Charlie, who caught it with a startle. “Wipe that blood off your face, you look like a robbery victim.” Charlie did as he was told, but the blood was starting to try, leaving the skeletal outside of the mark on his face unmoved by his scrubbing.

This conversation was going nowhere, fast. Charlie was dead on his feet, Lucien was drunk off his ass and Cec wasn’t even a police officer, not to mention a persistent ache was beginning to form in Matthew’s neck. No one was going to solve this mystery in the state they were in, he could tell that much. Their best hope was to send an officer over to the burned church, wait for Lucien to sober up, and send Charlie to bed before the lad keeled over. If only they had the time.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Drury.” He told Cec, “We’ll call you if there are any updates.”

“Of course, Superintendent,” Cec replied, and took his leave, probably glad to be away from the whole rotten mess. He looked back at the wall map.

“It sounded hollow.”

“What?” He asked, looking at Lucien whose brow was furrowed and tight.

“The recording of Jean. It sounded hollow.”

“Like?”

“Like it was taken in a room with bad acoustics.”

“That could be almost any room in Ballarat.” Matthew sighed, watching as a young constable returned from his patrol and took up a seat at his desk.

“But it could be from a burned-out church,” Lucien said, hopefully.

“No, it couldn’t.” Said Charlie, frowning.

“Why not?”

“A tape recorder is a bloody massive.” Charlie replied, “Rose had one, back at the Courier. The thing was the size of a handbag and if it got bumped then the whole thing was ruined. Anyway, the church is full of hobos, you’d have heard them on the tape. If it was hollow, wouldn’t they have had to be alone?”

“What about the farmhouse you mentioned?” Lucien asked, looking back at him.

“It’s a farmhouse, the people who own it are the Montys, they’ve gone interstate for a month.”

“How do you know that?” Charlie asked, confused.

“They wanted me to send someone to check on the place every few days, I told them that’s not what the police are for.”

“So the place is unattended, probably has a cellar of some kind, is near to a church and private enough to carry around a tape recorder!” Lucien says and leaps to his feet. “We have to go!” Witheringly, Matthew looks at Charlie and tilts his head in Lucien’s direction. Charlie comes over and pushes Lucien down to sit with one hand.

“That’s conjecture, honestly it’s barely assumption.” He said, “And we can’t go marching onto someone’s property without a warrant.”

“We could get a warrant?” Charlie suggested.

“At one am? From what judge?” He asked sarcastically. It ticked over in Charlie’s head what time it was and his face fell. His dreams of an easy solution to this case were once again dashed. Matthew is beginning to feel a weight settling in on his shoulders.

“Okay. Here’s my plan,” Charlie, Lucien, and the other police officers who had begun to mill around during the conversation looked at him. “I’ll call Bill Hobart, and get him in here to assemble a team of officers who will investigate the burnt-out church near Peach Road. Under no circumstances will anyone be going near the farmhouse, got it? If Hanam is there we don’t want to spook him into doing something rash and if he’s not then we can’t break-in.”

He received nods in reply from other various policemen.

“Will I be going with Bill?” Charlie asked, confounded by the suggestion that he won’t be leading the charge.

“No. You’re hardly fit to walk let alone traverse a dangerous structure at night. You, along with anyone else who has been on the job for more than sixteen hours will be going home to get some rest and coming back at seven am tomorrow.” Charlie opened his mouth to complain, Matthew raised one hand to stop him. “That includes me, so I don’t want to hear it, Davis.” Charlie shut his mouth but looked unhappy at the suggestion.

“What about the Doc?” Harrison, who Matthew has shortlisted for Bill’s team asked.

“The Doc will be spending the night in the cells while he sobers up,” Lawson said, a cruel little smile playing along his lips at the idea of finally getting his own back over Lucien, who protested of course, but he’s still drunk enough Charlie can push him down without incident.

“Why?! It’s my wife we’re looking for!” Lucien exclaimed.

“And you think you’re a great use drunk?” He asked back. “Not to mention you punched one of my officers. No, I think it’s best you spend the night where someone can keep an eye on you. Charlie, Harrison, put him in the middle cell.”

“Yes, Boss.” The two replied, practically in unison. Lucien didn’t even bother to put up a token resistance as he was led downstairs. Matthew meanwhile turned his attention to getting Bill Hobart in to run the station in his and Charlie’s absence. He didn’t like the idea of leaving but he also knew that clumsiness in a life or death situation more often than not led to death. He already knew Bill’s number by heart and plugged it into his phone, the noise the rotary makes gets on his nerves more than usual and he wishes for a phone that was quiet to dial.

Bill’s end rings once, twice, then he answers.

“Hobart.” He says, in place of a greeting.

“It’s me. I need you to come in.”

“Have you found her?” He asks, and he can hear the sound of blankets shuffling on the other side of the line as Bill gets out of his bed.

“No, but we have a possible lead. I need you to take a team of men to the burnt-out church on Peach Road.”

“The burnt-out...You think Mrs. Blake’s hanging around with the hobos?”

“No, we think it’s Hanam’s original clue. How soon can you come in?”

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Bill says, and with no further pleasantries, hangs up the phone. Matthew sat back in his seat letting his thoughts roll around in his head before shaking them loose. No point in focusing on that right now. The new goal was to get home, get a few hours of sleep while they waited for Lucien to sober up, and take Bill’s report when it arrived.

Charlie and Harrison arrived from the cells, Charlie looking more and more like he’s about to drop with every passing moment.

“I’m sure this goes without saying but no one let Blake out without my express permission,” Lawson ordered the gathered officers, each nodding in tandem. Finally, he grabbed hold of his bag from his desk and shifted to his feet. Charlie looked at him warily as he did so, before hurrying to hold the door for him as they walked out.

Matthew’s car, kindly bequeathed to Charlie by Rose sat where he’d parked it what felt like light years ago. He slid into the passenger seat, allowing Charlie to drive. They didn’t speak as they set off, and Matthew turns off the radio which, curiously enough, Charlie has set to a station that plays rock and roll almost exclusively.

The drive to the house is only twenty minutes but it feels like hours, or maybe that’s because his back is sore from the seat at the station. He doesn’t want to get a new chair but maybe he’ll have to if this keeps up. He took in and let out a deep breath, studying the way that street lights cast shadows. He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t even know if he believes what he’s told Bill either. As far as anyone knows the church is just the burned-out husk of a church and they’re wasting time they could be using doing something else but the truth is there is nothing else. This is the closest thing to a lead they’ve had in over twenty-four hours.

He wants this investigation to go faster but he can’t push it more than he already is. He can only hope Hanam has further need for Jean and will keep her alive long enough for them to find her.

“What am I going to tell Mattie?” Charlie asked, not taking his eyes off the road, sadness colouring his voice. “If we don’t find Jean in time?”

“You haven’t told her already?” He asked, surprised. Charlie was usually the one who kept Mattie up to date on the Ballarat gossip, from his promotion to sergeant to any woman who happened to glance in the direction of his dear old boss.

“I haven’t had time, and even if I did I don’t know what to tell her.”

“Well, she’s not arriving for another few days, I’m sure we’ll have this sorted out by then.” Perhaps Matthew was getting soft in his old age but Charlie seemed to be at the end of his rope as much as everyone else, and if he needed a couple of white lies to get through the night then Matthew wouldn’t hold it against him.

“But if it’s not? What will I tell her? Sorry, Jean died because I had to take a nap?”

“Jean won’t die because you have a human need for sleep.” Matthew said, “I’ve seen good men make terrible choices because they haven’t slept and you’d be no different. A few hours will make all the difference.” Charlie sighed again and they kept driving, the house now visible on the horizon. “What time is it in London at the moment?”

“Probably like four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Why don’t you call her, then? Might do you some good.”

“Maybe.” Charlie agreed, but he didn’t seem too enthused by the idea. Even so, they pulled into the driveway and Matthew’s bed was calling him like a siren song.

…

Truth be told, Mattie O’Brien had spent the last few days walking with a spring in her step. Not to suggest that she was happy to be leaving London but she was very happy to be going home. She loved adventure, but the adventure was coming to an end and the Blake house in Ballarat seemed like an excellent place to get back on her feet and find another nursing job while she was at it.

Of course, she would stop in Melbourne first to see her parents. Her father hadn’t approved of her great London adventure but that hadn’t been news to her; he rarely approved of anything she did but it would be good to see them. They were still her family even if they argued sometimes. She doubted she would stay the night since Charlie was meant to be picking her up later that day.

It would be good to see him, especially. She’d always felt like there was some kind of unfinished business between them, and the longer they stayed in contact the more powerful of a force it became. She found herself looking forward more and more to his letters and occasional phone call as the time passed, and spending a whole drive to Ballarat with him would give them time to work it all out before arriving home and potentially having things be awkward while they fuffed about and tried to sort it all out.

She looked back at the trunk full of belongings that was coming along with her by boat. It would be a while before she saw any of this stuff again and she was trying to figure out what should come with her. She was selling or had already sold most of her furniture except for her decorated and antique bedhead, a couple of footstools she was fond of, and an almost new coffee table.

So far she’d packed enough clothing to last her a few weeks, socks, stockings and underwear (and a set of lingerie she may or may not have brought with Charlie in mind), her important documents, some books, a series of magazine’s featuring various members of the monarchy for her mother...Actually what about the gifts she’d brought to give to her friends? She’d intended to send them in the trunk with her linen, cutlery, plates, some candlesticks...But what fun was gifting if she couldn’t give them right away?

She looked over at the things sitting atop her coffee table. For Lucien, she was planning to buy him a bottle of whiskey from the airport so she could take it back with her on the plane. For Jean a set of lace gloves purchased on a trip to France she took with a housemate. As well as a set of silver and crystal earrings that were just modern enough to be fashionable enough but also simple enough that Jean would see fit to wear them. She hoped they would double as wedding gifts. She felt guilty about not going and wanted to make sure that they knew she was sorry about that but it couldn’t be helped. For Danny, who she intended to see in Melbourne, she had the ticket stub to a cricket game she’d attended where London and Australia had tied. For her mother, the magazines, for her father some fancy looking tie pins. For Matthew Lawson, who she didn’t know that well but assumed would be at the house when handing out gifts she’d settled on a box of fancy chocolates. For Charlie, someone who she’d always found difficult to buy for, she’d settled on a bottle of cologne and hoped he would like it.

As four pm rolled around, she found herself thinking about what she should do for dinner. She could go out somewhere, she thought to herself...She wasn’t much of a chef after all and her roommate was still at the hospital so she couldn’t fob cooking off onto her. She was in the process of picking out something to wear to a small Italian place nearby when her phone rang. She abandoned the powder blue dress she’d been considering and grabbed the phone off the hook.

“Hello? Mattie O’Brien speaking!”

“It’s Charlie.” Said a very tired sounding voice on the other end.

“Why on Earth are you calling me?” She asked, “It’s like two am!”

“Yeah, I just got off work for the second time today,” Charlie said, and Mattie noted a note of underlying...Something in his voice.

“Is something going on?” She asked, confused, and starting to become a little worried. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Charlie sighed, and there was a rustling sound; probably him running his hand through his hair. “It’s Jean.”

“What about Jean? Charlie, tell me.”

“She’s -”

Charlie didn’t even finish his sentence before devolving into something akin to a breakdown.

[bestillmyslashyheart]

My contribution to the RNM Remix was a role reversal of @caitlesshea‘s The Way You Wore because clothes sharing is 100% a thing malex does and there aren’t enough fics of it (you should totally go read hers first because its amazing and she’s amazing)

1.

Contrary to popular belief, Michael could be subtle. He stole Alex’s clothes all of the time but Alex could never prove it. His clothes always disappeared when he was moving or when there were other people around to blame and Michael never wore them when Alex was around.

Alex, on the other hand, was anything but subtle. One might even call him shameless.

“Is that my shirt?” Michael’s voice was still groggy from sleep.

“No,” Alex lied blatantly, not even bothering to look down at the UFO Emporium logo on his chest. He’d given it to Michael after he’d quit his job there and he knew for a fact that the other boy slept in it all of the time. Except last night when neither one of them had bothered with a shirt at all. 

“Looks like my shirt,” Michael commented as he shifted in the bed. Alex glanced over to see him with his head hanging half off the bed in order to get a good look at where Alex stood in the tiny kitchen. 

“You need your eyes checked,” Alex remarked idly as he reached into the overhead cabinet for the granola bars he’d stashed there during his last visit. Michael let out a strangled groan as the shirt rode up.

“That’s just cheating.” Alex hummed, thankful Michael couldn’t see his face and so he didn’t have to hide his grin. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to even if he tried. “Come back here.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Eat later. Come here.” Out of the corner of his eye Alex saw Michael’s hand outstretched, his fingers squeezing shut as he grabbed at the air. “You can’t just stand there in my shirt and nothing else and expect me to wait for you to eat.”

Alex paused and glanced over his shoulder. “But you expect me to come to you?”

The ensuing silence last maybe half a breath before Alex heard the blanket get tossed aside and Michael’s feet hit the floor. A second later Michael crowded him from behind, his fingers dipping under the hem of the shirt to grasp at Alex’s bare hips. “You’re a tease, Alex Manes,” he whispered in wonder. 

“Not my fault someone ripped my shirt last night.”

“I promise to rip your shirts forever if it gets me this.” Michael kissed him just behind his ear.

“Don’t you dare,” Alex warned. He started to open the packaging on the granola bar only for Michael’s hands to come up and rest over his.

“Eat later.” He kissed Alex’s shoulder. “You’re leaving in a few hours,” he reminded him, as if Alex wasn’t also counting every minute.

Alex dropped the bar with a sigh and turned in Michael’s arms. “Fine. But we do actually have to eat at some point.”

Michael hummed and nodded even as he leaned forward to capture Alex’s lips. “Later.”

2.

“Alex.” Alex hummed questioningly without looking up from his computer. “Is that my jersey?”

“Hmm? No.” Alex still didn’t look up even though he’d already lost track of what he’d been doing. “It’s mine.”

“Oh yeah?” Michael slid onto the couch behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Is that why it says Guerin on it?” 

Alex pretended to think about it. “Pure coincidence.”

Michael’s fingers dug into his ribs just enough to tickle. “You stole my jersey,” he accused. “I was looking everywhere for that.”

“First of all, I didn’t steal anything. It was on my bedroom floor, therefore it’s mine.”

“Uhuh,” Michael said disbelieving. “And second of all?”

“Second of all,” Alex looked over his shoulder at him. “Are you really complaining about me having your name on me?”

“Nope. Nuhuh, not here, not now,” a new voice interjected. Alex rolled his eyes and looked over as Patrick sat down next to him. “Game’s about to start and I am not giving up my couch to you two.”

Michael’s head perked up as Patrick changed the channel just in time to see the Eagles kick off against the Dolphins. Instantly he shifted from boyfriend mode to fan mode, his grip on Alex’s waist going lax as he moved out from behind him to get a better look at the TV. 

Alex grabbed his computer and stood up with a shake of his head. “Go Fins,” he muttered, just to be contrary.

3.

“You realize we’re lost, right?” Alex let his head roll to the side to give Michael a scathing look.

“You realize that’s half the point of a road trip, right?” Michael shot back.

“Not if we’re in the middle of nowhere and almost out of gas!”

“Eh, we’ll be fine.”

“Geurin.”

“Just keep an eye out for a gas station.”

“An eye out, huh?” Alex flung a hand at the window. “At the fucking desert?! There’s nothing around us for miles.” He dropped his head against the seat and closed his eyes. Michael’s truck had a few redeeming features but good gas mileage and adequate air conditioning were not among them.

He cracked an eye open and looked over when Michael didn’t respond. Both of his hands were clenched tight on the wheel, his eyes flitting between the road and the dash in increasing frequency. “Hey,” he said softly. Michael didn’t react. “We’ll find a gas station.”

“I should have filled it all the way up before we left.” He shook his head. “I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“It’s not,” Alex tried only for Michael to spare a glare at him. “Okay, fine, it might be a little bit of a problem, but we’ll deal with it.” He put his hand on Michael’s thigh and squeezed gently. “It’ll be fine.”

As Michael drove, Alex fished his phone out of his pocket. They hadn’t had any reception for the last hour but it couldn’t hurt to check. After another thirty minutes, the gas tank now firmly in the red, Alex’s phone beeped with a new message. He sat up and swiped away the text from Maria without bothering to look at it in his hurry to pull up Maps. “Aha!” He crowed. “Nearest gas station is 3.2 miles ahead.” 

The truck made it 2.3 miles before sputtering to a stop.

The two of them stared at the fuel gauge then at Alex’s phone before sighing. “Guess we’re walking it.” They got out without a word and walked the last mile to get gas just as the sun started to set. By the time they got back to the car, it was dark and Alex was feeling the chill in the air. As Michael filled the tank and made sure the truck was running okay, Alex dug around in his duffel bag until he found one of Michael’s flannels. For some reason, Michael tended to wear his flannels a little bit to big so Alex didn’t bother buttoning it up, he just tucked it in as he wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned against the door frame. 

Michael slid in the driver’s seat and paused. “Is that my shirt?”

“No,” Alex denied as he shifted to get more comfortable. “It’s one of my many many flannels.”

“Uh huh,” Michael smiled as he shifted the truck into drive. “Well your flannel looks very comfortable.”

“Oh it is,” Alex agreed easily. He fell asleep soon after, waking up only when Michael pulled up to a cheap motel, the bright neon lights burning through his eyelids. That night, he didn’t bother changing for bed, opting instead to sleep in Michael’s shirt.

Two weeks later, when he was unpacking back on base, he found Michael’s shirt balled up at the bottom of his duffel.

He didn’t bother sending it back.

4.

Alex didn’t think too hard about which clothes he was grabbing when the knock came. He’d tried to ignore it at first but it didn’t stop. Eventually, he scooped up a pair of jeans from the floor and slid them on before grabbing his crutches and hurrying out into the main room. The jeans dragged on the floor a little bit but he didn’t pay it much mind.

“I’m coming!” He called as the knocking persisted. “Jesus Christ, what?” He yanked the door open, narrowly avoiding Liz’s fist in his face.

“I figured it out!” She yelled, her smile splitting her face wide. 

“What?”

“Max!” She half yelled, half laughed. “I figured it out!”

“What?” Michael asked as he came into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist and his skin still wet from the shower. 

“I can wake Max up!” This time it was more a laugh than a yell. “I need you and Isobel and about twelve hours to prep but then we should be good to go.” 

Michael’s face did a weird thing as he wavered between being ecstatic that Liz had figured it out and guarded against false hope. Alex watched the two emotions war on his face and turned to Liz. “That’s amazing, Liz. Just tell us what you need and you’ve got it.” 

Liz nodded profusely. “Yeah, yeah, it’s kind of a lot so I’ll text it all to you. I just- I just really needed to tell you and I didn’t want to do it over the phone or wait or-” She stopped and shook her head. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening.”

“Don’t apologize,” Alex told her. “This is good news. I’m glad you came out to tell us.” He looked her over with a careful eye. “When was the last time you slept?”

Liz waved a hand. “I’ll sleep later.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think Max is gonna be happy to wake up to you dead on your feet? Get some sleep and then we’ll wake Max up. Text us what you need.”

It took a few more minutes but eventually Alex wrangled a promise to nap out of her and sent her on her way. As soon as the door shut behind her, he turned to face Michael who hadn’t said another word. “Michael?”

“Is it bad that I’m not happy yet?”

“Of course not. Nothing’s happened yet.”

Michael nodded slowly and rested his free hand on Alex’s hip as he stepped in close. His other hand still held his towel up on his waist. Alex stayed quiet as Michael took a few deep breaths, his mind obviously whirring with Liz’s news.

“I’m really upset with Liz right now.”

Alex lifted his head to stare at him. “Why?”

“Because you’re standing there in nothing but my jeans and all I can think about is Max.”

Alex looked down at the faded jeans hanging off of his hips, the hem just dragging on the ground. “What are you talking about? These are my jeans.”

Michael’s lips ticked upwards. “Liar.”

“I never lie,” Alex sniffed. “I’m a paragon of truth and virtue.”

“Paragon of sass and bullshit more like.” He nudged his nose against Alex’s as he leant their heads together. “12 hours?”

“That’s what she said,” Alex reached out slowly to grab Michael’s hand, careful not to dislodge his crutch. “Why don’t we get some sleep? Make the time go by faster.”

“I won’t be able to sleep.”

“That’s fine, just lay down with me while I sleep.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

Michael fell asleep two hours later. Sixteen hours later he pulled his brother out of his pod and watched as he took his first breath in months.

5.

The loud crash of a stool slamming into the floor shocked the bar into silence. “Where is it?” Michael asked frantically. No one answered. “Who took it?!”

“Yo DeLuca! Stop cutting him off so early! He gets crazy,” some guy laughed in the corner. Michael held up his middle finger in response without bothering to look over. 

He leaned over the counter, puppy eyes out in full force. “Maria, light of my life, apple of my eye,” 

“Stow the shit, Guerin,” she cut him off.

“Where is it?” He continued as if she hadn’t said anything.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe try your boyfriend.”

Alex stifled a laugh as Michael frowned and practically crawled on top of the bar to check the space behind it as Maria walked away. 

“What is he looking for?” Kyle asked.

Alex shrugged, unwilling to answer. He watched as Michael searched around for another few seconds before turning to their table with a dejected look on his face.

“You!” He yelled as soon as he saw Alex, his finger pointed at him. “You stole it?!” 

“Wait, is this all about-” Kyle started to ask.

“Yes,” Alex answered, unable to hold back the laugh this time as Michael fell into the chair next to him. 

“You stole my hat,” he accused.

Alex reached a hand up to touch the brim of said hat. “This old thing? Nah, some idiot left it on the bar so I scooped it up. Finders keepers and whatnot.” He cocked his head to the side. “I think it suits me.”

Michael stared at him, hurt etched into every line in his face, before a smirk found its way onto his lips. “It’s alright.”

“Just alright?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

Michael hummed as he lifted the brim. He leaned in and kissed Alex lightly, pulling back just far enough to take him in. “Maybe a bit better than alright.”

Alex smirked and kissed him again, harder this time. 

“You know what would make it better?” Michael asked softly. Alex shook his head. “If you didn’t bother wearing anything else while you had it on,” he leaned forward and whispered into his ear. 

“Ew,” Kyle scoffed. “That was not nearly as quiet as you thought it was, dude.”

Alex really couldn’t care less. He stood up and tugged Michael after him as they escaped to the exits, the hat accomplishing exactly what he’d intended it to.

+1

Alex looked up from the letter as Michael pulled up outside. He dropped it onto the table and hurried into the bedroom as Michael’s footsteps crossed the deck out front. It only took a few seconds for him to find the shirt, he’d put it on top of everything in Michael’s drawer even though the other man refused to wear it yet.

“Alex?” Michael called when he came in. Alex didn’t answer as he pulled off his own shirt and tugged on Michael’s. “Alex?” Michael’s voice was closer now.

Alex tossed his own shirt into the hamper on his way back to the kitchen. He paused in the doorway when he caught sight of Michael, the letter in his hands as he stared at it.

“Congratulations, college boy,” Alex remarked quietly. Michael looked up at him slowly, his face frozen in surprise.

“This-” he looked down at the acceptance letter briefly before his eyes snapped back up to Alex. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

Alex looked down at the MIT logo emblazoned on his chest. “Well look at that, so I am.”

Michael dropped the letter and crossed the room. “That’s my shirt.”

Alex smiled slowly. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“I’m going to MIT.”

“You’re going to MIT,” Alex grinned, Michael’s lips finally spreading wide in a smile of his own.

“I’m going to college!” Michael wrapped his arms around Alex’s waist and lifted until Alex’s feet dangled just off of the ground as he spun them in a circle. “I’m going to college,” he repeated, his voice a wonder even as Alex kissed him. 

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 14 of 29)

 Paul was still trying to remember the times he’d slept with her even as he looked her over. Brownish hair in a grown-out shag, that sort of dirty light brown color that made it obvious she’d probably been towheaded as a kid, blue eyes, freckles in heaps across her nose and cheekbones. Icepick scars ran down one cheek on close inspection, reminiscent of Ace’s, pitting up her complexion. The remnants of measles or acne. She was very small, easily at least a head shorter than him, even now. Skinny figure, accentuated in a pair of jeans and a halter top. So much for the dress code he’d rambled about that morning. Younger than him, if he were going to take a guess. Not—not substantially so, maybe three or four years. She wasn’t beautiful at all, but she had that blandly cute girl-next-door look about her that sometimes was its own ticket of admission.

He’d been working towards this for days, and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to approach her. The doorman had already backed away, disappearing as soon as he’d realized Gene saw the girl. Paul’s palms were sweating worse now than during the dance; he felt like he was about to sing at Shea Stadium. He felt Gene’s hand on his back, urging him, and finally he stepped forward and spoke.

"Hi, Carol."

She didn’t recognize him. He could tell by the way her eyes flickered from him to Gene, measuring him up. She was probably thinking that Gene was adding up girls for a threesome. She smiled in a distant, vague way, holding her hand up in a wave.

“Hi.”

“We need to talk,” Paul said, but she shook her head and turned to Gene.

“The guy at the door said Paul Stanley wanted to see me, too.”

“I do.”

“What?”

“I do want to see you.”

She looked at him. Really looked at him, staring him dead in the eye. Her mouth opened. She looked—she almost looked afraid.

“Oh, my God.” A breath. “Paul?”

Paul nodded.

 “It worked? It really—” Carol stopped herself. Her gaze inched down from his face to his chest, Paul’s stomach curdling as her focus moved further down—it had never felt that bad before, being looked at, but being looked at by her felt absolutely awful, like he was a specimen or an experiment. “Did it go all the…”

“Do I look like I’ve got anything else there?”

She actually flinched, shaking her head. He hadn’t expected that. Thought sure she’d be gleeful as soon as she realized who he was.

“We want to talk to you.” Gene, still next to him. Paul glanced at him briefly. The lipstick smeared on his mouth and neck had to make him seem far less threatening, but Carol seemed at least a little cowed anyway. “You know exactly why.”

“I… I don’t want to talk to you. I only want to talk to Paul.”

“That’s too damn bad,” Gene snapped, but Paul raised his hand.

“No. That’s fine. We’ll talk privately.”

“Paul, I don’t think—”

“Gene, it’s okay.”

He didn’t really think it was okay, being alone with this girl. No matter how small and timid she was, that didn’t change what she’d done, what she was capable of. But he thought he’d stand a better chance of getting the curse removed if Gene wasn’t there staring daggers into her. Whatever he’d done to Carol, however he’d hurt her, it was up to him to try and smooth over, not Gene. Gene, who still hadn’t withdrawn his hand from Paul’s shoulder.

“Paul, don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not being stupid.” He turned to Carol. “Look, we’ll go to the basement and talk this over there, all right?” He’d almost bet she was familiar with that basement. Mary-Anne had said she wanted to be the next Pamela des Barres, hadn’t she? She’d probably gotten with dozens upon dozens of rockstars.

Except that didn’t feel right. There wasn’t that—Pamela’d been before his time, but Connie Hamzy, even Bebe Buell, and the weird entourage of girls he’d almost started to recognize when he’d tour parts of America over again, they all had some sort of—charm and self-confidence propping them up, at least for as long as it took to come. This girl seemed totally devoid of that. This girl reminded him, uncomfortably, of—

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay. We can go downstairs.” Carol glanced, haltingly, at Gene. “I won’t hurt him.”

Gene’s expression was wary. Paul couldn’t blame him. He clasped Gene’s arm, briefly.

“I’ve got to do this myself, all right? I’ll be right back.” He squeezed Gene’s arm; for a second, just a stupid second, he wanted to kiss him. Like they really were together. Like they’d… like they’d really shared something beyond an evening and a few dances and a few kisses not five minutes ago. Something in Paul’s stomach felt all mangled, whether because he couldn’t manage to do it or because he wanted to, he wasn’t sure. Gene inclined his head in a slight nod.

“You’ve got twenty minutes.” Gene was directing the words at Carol, not Paul. “I’m coming down there if he’s not back by then.”

Paul started to say he didn’t have a watch, but Gene was unlatching his own and putting it in his hand before he could. The silver felt heavy in his palm, heavy and warm from Gene’s skin. It was just as well that he hadn’t tried to put it on him; it would’ve been loose enough to be laughable. Paul nodded.

“I’ll see you, Gene. C’mon.”

--

It felt weird, going anywhere without Gene at his side. Made him feel bare, somehow. Two girls walking together down the VIP floor, without anything recognizable about either of them, was ironically enough to garner quick glances from the people around. Paul sped up his steps more than he needed to, dimly satisfied at the way Carol was having to scurry to keep up with him, heading down the stairs to the main dancefloor, and then past that, to the basement.

He’d thought a doorman might be there to block the way for non-VIPs, but there was no one at all. Maybe Ace had been right when he’d said Rubell’s workers were as loaded as he was. Maybe they were just lucky. He wouldn’t question it, holding the railing in one hand, Gene’s watch in the other. Twenty minutes. He stood at the foot of the steps, waiting on Carol, and then, once she’d descended, started knocking on the doors that lined the basement. A whole hallway full of them. He didn’t stop knocking until he came to a door where he didn’t hear an answer back, and he opened that door, turning on the light, looking the room up and down before gesturing for Carol to come inside, and then shutting the door on them both.

The room was small, the carpet dirty and full of ground-in glitter and smeared stains. There was a coke spoon on the floor, a box of tissues, and a bare king-sized mattress. Studio 54’s luxury basement suites, tawdry and disgusting as a tenement. With nowhere else to sit, Paul lowered himself onto the mattress next to Carol, sitting on one corner while she sat on the other. Her knees were bent, ankles up against the side of the mattress. His legs were stretched out but closed on the floor, more from concern about what might be crawling around on the carpet than any lousy efforts at ladylike fakery.

It wasn’t the way he’d wanted to confront her, in a grimy little room, wearing a dress that made it seem, maybe, like he wanted to be like this. Odd as it was after what she’d done, she seemed almost like she was the one afraid of him. She didn’t say a word at first, just looked at him, gaze right on his face now, hands resting her knees, watching him as he put on Gene’s watch, having to clasp it several inches below his wrist just to keep it from falling off. He wondered what she was seeing, if she had a better idea of what was under the surface than Gene did, just by virtue of having done this to him. He wondered if she was disappointed, when she finally spoke.

“You look nice.”

Paul didn’t answer.

“I didn’t think you’d look that nice.”

“Did you think I’d come out here in a sack?”

She bit her lip, flinching, shaking her head. For a bizarre moment she looked like she was about to apologize to him, and then she seemed to steady herself.

“I was just surprised. I didn’t really think it would turn out.”

“Well, it did.” Paul couldn’t manage to catch himself. He was scared, sure, but he was pissed-off, too. He’d counted on her crowing over the damage like some corny Batman villain. That would’ve been so easy to smart back at. But this fragile slip of a girl that still seemed cowed by him—this girl, instead, at the crux of all his problems—there was no satisfaction in snapping at her, any more than there’d be from tearing a piece of paper or blowing out a candle. “Carol—what the hell did I even do to you to deserve this?”

Carol shook her head again, rubbing her hands up and down her jean-clad thighs, like an anxious athlete, like she was trying to gear herself up, almost. The words seemed to tumble out of her throat, like pebbles and shells pushed out by the tide.

“Y-you don’t even know. Mary-Anne said you wouldn’t. She said I could try whatever weird hex I wanted, and you’d never know who did it to you, or why. I guess she was half-right.”

“Are you going to tell me? Look, Carol, whatever it was, I’m—”

“You’re sorry?” She shook her head. Her face was starting to flush, body stiffening. That weakness to her, that fear, seemed to be fading out, blue eyes narrowed. Every sentence seemed to be fueling her, getting louder and louder. “You think you can just apologize and I’ll reverse it for you? Y-you can just stare at me real sad and I’ll feel bad for you?”

“I can’t apologize if I don’t know what I did!”

“That’s your whole damn problem! That’s all of it!” Carol reached over, grabbing his arm. He was too surprised to jerk away. She let go for him, after a squeeze that, even now, in this body, was hardly tight enough to hurt at all. “You don’t know anything! You aren’t anything! People—people wanna be like you! Girls wanna sleep with you! They think there’s something you’ve got that they can get at, but there’s not!”

“What are you talking about?”

Her lip was wobbling, her face completely red, all the way to her neck. He was hoping she was high, hoping he had some leverage, somehow. He didn’t think she was.

“You know what they say about you in the magazines?” she blurted. “They say you’re so, so sensitive. They say you’re shy. That you’re wanting to commit to someone, but you just haven’t found the right girl yet.”

“That’s—”

“I believed it.” Carol bit her lip. “I believed all of it. W-why shouldn’t I have believed it? What the hell else did I have going for me? I was flunking out of college.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all! You’re just sorry I did this to you!”

“I—” Paul started, then swallowed the rest. She was right. But more than that, he wasn’t in a position to argue her on anything. She could make him a girl permanently. Or do something even worse to him. Better to try and let her get it all out.

The funny thing was, the sad thing was, he wasn’t sure how. He wasn’t used to anyone spilling on him. Peter, maybe, in the early days, but besides him… people didn’t confide in him. Even Gene didn’t. Luckily, the girl didn’t need any prodding.

“I was flunking out of college,” she repeated, quieter now. “My dad had just died. That’s how I got into the occult. I’d try and contact him. But I never got him. That was two years ago.”

Paul opened his mouth to apologize again, then, figuring she’d yell, he reached over, hesitantly vying for her hand. Her mouth wobbled, and she yanked her hand back before he’d even grasped it.

“My mom was… trying to get me to withdraw from all my classes and come home. But I didn’t. I just kept skipping them. I’d go downtown, watch movies, go to the record store. That’s when I saw you.”

“Were we doing a signing?”

“Yeah. But I hadn’t heard of you. I was just there to buy an album.”

“What album?”

“Have You Never Been Mellow.”

Oh, God. Paul managed a tight smile.

“Olivia Newton-John.”

“That’s right. I-I wasn’t going to get your album, ’cause I didn’t know who you were, but… you were all at the front of the store, and—I was holding her album, and… you waved at me.” Her voice had softened up as she kept going, that hard edge whittling to nothing. “It’s stupid.”

He wanted to agree. It was outstandingly stupid. If every girl he’d ever waved at hated him half as much as this chick did, he’d have been hung, drawn, and quartered years ago. But the look in her eyes was so miserable, and his body was so heavily on the line, that he couldn’t manage a word.

“That’s not why I did this to you, anyway. I got your album and all of you signed it. Dressed to Kill. You were right at the end—then you… you said you had a show tomorrow. So I went and—”

“And I picked you up after, right?”

She snorted.

“No. I was too far back. You didn’t even see me.” Her hand was on the mattress now. “But that’s what got it started. I’d get all the music magazines. I kept looking out for KISS. I-I wanted to know all about you.”

“Just because I spoke to you?” Paul swallowed, shook his head. “Carol… Carol, KISS was nothing back then. If Alive hadn’t been a hit, we—”

“You were something to me. I didn’t care what you were to anybody else.” Carol wasn’t looking him in the eye. She was staring at the floor, or maybe at his heels, her voice almost on the verge of wobbling again. “My… my roommate, she—she still had that old Mark Spitz poster on the wall. The one with where he’s wearing all his medals, you know? So why couldn’t I want you? At least you were around! At least I knew I could get you, if I kept trying!

“So I kept trying. I had lots of time. I got kicked out of college the end of that semester. My mom’d given me some of the insurance money after Dad died. I spent that whole summer chasing musicians around.” She took a ragged breath. “I saw Lynyrd Skynyrd twice, I saw the Stones at the Garden, Fleetwood Mac, Aerosmith… all those guys. I figured out how to get backstage. And then… that next year, when KISS was back in town—I got you.”

He was starting to remember her now. She hadn’t been any prettier then, their first time together. He remembered opting for her because she seemed to want it most, the way he tried to aim guitar picks at the fans that seemed most desperate for them. But he’d only noticed her at all on the outset because she was very short, the shortest girl in the entire Coop that evening. It had appealed to him, in some weird way—kind of made her endearing. Just a little bit of a chick.

“I picked you up. That was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one I carried out of the Coop.”

She looked a little startled, but she nodded.

“You’re the only one I ever did that to.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I…” Paul hesitated.

He’d been in a good mood that evening, really good. Gene had gotten to the Coop first, as was typical. Then Ace—he knew because he’d passed him in the hallway, face halfway made up and a girl on his arm. He didn’t know about Peter. He’d seen the girl, he’d seen Carol, staring at him with a look that was practically beatific. Like those weird Catholic icons. It should have turned him off, but paired with her height and build, it had just given him an idea. He’d pointed at her; she’d started to walk towards him, and then he picked her up bridal-style, carrying her past one hotel threshold and to another. The other girls in the Coop just about lost it. And Carol, Carol was giggling.

It hadn’t been hard to carry her from the Coop to his hotel room. She probably didn’t weigh much more than ninety pounds. He hadn’t had to sit her down once until putting her on the bed. He remembered being a little pleased with his own theatrics, remembered thinking that it was too bad his taste usually ran to taller girls; otherwise, he might have tried the trick again.

But that was the only thing he remembered from that first evening with her. He couldn’t remember tears or her having trouble getting off or anything; it was just a typical night. He exhaled, trying not to be intimidated by the look in her eyes, the disgust there, the bitterness.

“Carol, I—look, I don’t understand. What was the problem? What didn’t I live up to?”

Carol looked at him. Really looked at him, blue eyes watery.

“Nothing. You were just like all the magazines said.”

“So—”

“You were really good. Well, I thought you were. It’s not like I could compare.”

“You said you—”

“I said I figured out how to get backstage. I didn’t say I slept with all those guys to do it.” Her mouth twisted acridly. “I wasn’t that cheap. I was just waiting on you.”

“Waiting on…” There was a prickling down his spine as it hit him. “Wait, you… were you a virgin?”

Her mouth opened like she was about to speak, or about to sob. She closed it and nodded instead, tears dripping down her cheeks. Paul’s stomach started to churn. He didn’t know how to answer.

“Carol, if I got you pregnant, if you—caught something, I—”

“You didn’t get me pregnant!” Her voice cracked. “You didn’t give me anything! Y-you just slept with me!”

“Then—”

“You took my virginity! Then you got up and took a shower! Asked me to leave like I was a whore! It didn’t mean anything to you! A-all the time I’d spent! All the money I’d spent! Reading about you! Figuring out about you, how t-to get to you—and it didn’t mean a goddamn thing! You only wanted me long enough to get off!” She was crying now. “I-I wanted it to be different! I wanted to mean something to you!”

“Carol, stop—”

“A-and I knew I wouldn’t! I knew I’d be like e-every other girl, but I didn’t want… I-I thought if I could… if I could have you, just once, it’d be enough for me. Just once. But having you made me feel even worse than before!”

He sat there stunned, without a word. One hand shifted awkwardly again, but he didn’t reach for her this time. Instead, he grabbed a tissue from the box next to the mattress, placing it on her thigh. Her fingers clamped around the offering, but she didn’t bring it to her face at first.

“I wasted myself on you. I knew that before you told me to leave. Y-you’d be in some other city the next night, fooling around w-with some other girl.  Your breakfast meant more to you than I did.” She rubbed the tissue against her eyes, streaking her eyeliner. “I couldn’t stand it. I threw up as soon as I got out of the hotel.”

Paul’s throat felt dry. He couldn’t say she was wrong, because she wasn’t. He couldn’t say he hadn’t ever thought about it, because he had. He had wondered. He did know he slept with virgins on tour sometimes, just from body language and, sometimes, from the blood. He thought they knew what they were in for, assumed they’d made their choice with just as much awareness as any Butter Queen or Sweet Connie. He didn’t drug girls; he didn’t fuck drunk girls, and he didn’t try to hurt them. But he didn’t give a damn about them, either. He hadn’t in years and years. They came with the tour. Pick the girl like a room service entrée. Never think about the after, or the kind of place she lived in, or the things she wanted—because thinking about that might stir his conscience, might make her matter.

“Then I went home a-and just went to pieces. I even called up my mom.” She sniffled, wiping her nose on a clean edge of the napkin. “I didn’t tell her what happened. But she told me to come back home. I did for awhile, but… it didn’t help. I just kept thinking about you. Going through all those girls l-like we were toilet paper. You and all your stupid bandmates. You and all the other rockstars. Claiming you were looking for the right one. All that bullshit. I wanted to hurt you like you’d hurt me. And I figured out how to do it.”

Paul swallowed thickly.

“It took months to get it all worked out. Marbas is so particular.” Her eyes closed. “I had to make all these offerings just to summon him right. He thought the whole thing was… was funny. That’s why I didn’t really think he’d done it.”

“So you did conjure Marbas.”

She looked a little surprised he knew the reference.

“Yeah. Marbas told me what I needed. How to get to you. I knew you’d come before you walked into CBGB that night.” Her lips tilted up. “You were better that second time, you know. Maybe just ’cause he told me what you liked. You didn’t carry me anywhere. But you offered to let me shower with you, after. I almost changed my mind about cursing you.”

“I wish you had.”

“I don’t.” She wiped her eyes on the tissue again, seeming to recover a little. “It didn’t turn out like I thought it would. You haven’t had it that bad.”

“How the hell can you say that to me? You ruined my life! How can you have the… the nerve to—”

“What’s happened to you?” She twisted the tissue in her hand, crumpling and tearing it. “You’ve got a nice dress. You’re pretty. Y-you’re still getting the VIP floor at Studio 54. You didn’t even have to do anything nasty for it.”

“I’ve got a tour I can’t go on. I’ve got family I can’t see. You can’t—”

“How come you’re even here, Paul?” she interrupted, as if she hadn’t even heard him. “It’s ’cause you just got Gene to take care of you, right? I bet that’s how it’s been this whole time.”

Heat seemed like it flooded his throat. Got him to take care of you. Like… like he was just some dog with a limp, scurrying into the house for comfort and petting. Like he wasn’t capable. Like he had to have Gene there, like he was screwing around, just screwing around with what he knew Gene wanted out of him, just to get ahead, just to get his body back. His guts felt like they were twisting and coiling inside him. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t like that. He wanted to burst into the truth, as lowly as it was, and he couldn’t get the words out. Easier to let her think he was rotten than to own up to—

“Gene—”

“I saw you kissing him.” She said it slowly, still tattering what was left of the tissue. “It’s not just the girls you’d hurt. You’d use anyone to get what you wanted, wouldn’t you? Even him. Y-you really did deserve what I did.”

“Carol, it’s—”

“I won’t take it off.”

Paul stared. His heart felt like it had dropped somewhere down into his twisting guts. He was breathing hard through his nose, mouth twitching. He hadn’t even asked yet. He hadn’t even asked yet, and she’d decided. His gaze drooped, unbidden, to his hands, fingers still long, wrists too thin to even hold Gene’s watch on them, not his hands at all, not really. He didn’t want them. He didn’t want to be like this. Not for forever. He didn’t want to face—

“You’ve got to!”

He hadn’t touched her since that ill-fated reach for her hand earlier. Still trying the time-worn ways to get a girl’s attention, even though it couldn’t possibly work now. Still not really aware that he didn’t have the presence he’d taken for granted his whole life. He turned on the bed, legs splayed out to the side of the mattress, and grabbed her bare shoulders. She bit her lip, drawing back a bit, but didn’t try to push him away.

“You can’t leave me like this! I-I can’t live the rest of my life like this! I don’t want to!”

“I don’t think you’ll have to, Paul.”

 “What are you—” Paul stopped, eyes widening, hands shifting down from her shoulders. “Carol, please. I’ll—I’ll pay you, I’ll do anything, all right? I’ll—what do you want? Do you want to fuck me again? Date me? I’ll do that. Whatever you want. I can’t—please, you have to—”

“You think I’d be hot for you when you’re like this?” She snorted. “You caused it. You can fix it.”

“You caused it, damn it! You can fix it!”

She shook her head.

“You weren’t paying attention. It took months to summon Marbas. He won’t want to come back to undo it for me. Not this fast.” She exhaled. “If you want to break the curse, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

“How?”

“It won’t be hard on you, Paul, don’t worry. I’m surprised you didn’t get there already.”

He didn’t hesitate. Even her slight got shoved to the side in his eagerness.

“What do I need to do?”

She shifted, leaning back and resting most of her weight on her arms, against the mattress. Posture that shouldn’t have seemed stiff at all but somehow did.

“Depend on somebody else the way I depended on you. The way all those girls depended on you. Give yourself up just like they did. That’s fair, right?”

Paul sat there stunned. His palms were sweating.

“Give myself up. You mean—”

“Give up your virginity. Get fucked, Paul.” Her mouth was unsteady again, twitching at the corners in her effort not to cry. “You’re still a guy, so maybe you won’t even care. But I hope you do. I hope you feel like I did. I hope you feel like you wasted it on someone that didn’t give a damn. T-that’d be enough for me.”

“That’s what I need to do?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s all?”

Carol took the pieces of tissue, wadding them up and pushing them into her pocket. Then she stood up, biting her lip.

“Yeah. That’s all.”

He started to get up himself. His throat still felt hot, heart and guts all out of alignment, utterly uncertain. Whatever sparks of anger she’d had before were gone already, and she seemed smaller now than ever, like a battered kite, flimsy, forlorn. Someone who’d put all her hopes in something that couldn’t pan out.

He knew who she reminded him of. He’d known the whole time.

“Carol.”

“This is one room you’re not showing me out of,” she said quietly, and walked out the door.

[theworldofsisi]

The Dangers of Love Chapter 1 ~ The Jig is Up

Since you had joined the force, paranoia had seemed to follow you around like a dark cloud, reemerging and suffocating you every time you got to a semi-stable place in your life. Your current predicament was no exception, and the terror that it brought with it was far from a foreign feeling. By this point in your career, you wonder if you should be immune to it. As that thought passes through your head, a man calls out to you, reminding you of where you are. You’re undercover for the SPD, sent on a top-secret operation to infiltrate the most notorious gang in South Korea, Bangtan. The man calling out to you is your love interest, Jungkook.

It hadn’t taken long for the gorgeous man to get under your skin. He got to you in ways that no one ever had, made you feel things that you never imagined were possible. Within a few weeks of being undercover in the gang, he had gotten through the barriers of your academy training and stolen your heart. You’re paranoid that Jungkook will find out who – what you are. You know that even if he claims that he loves you now, that will change in a heartbeat if he knew that you were betraying him and his gang.

Loyalty was like a root so firmly ingrained into JungKook’s skull that you didn’t think that anything could change his mind. He’d kill you without hesitation if he found out. The man in question came into your field of vision, sauntering his way to where you sat in the living room chair.“Y/N,” he said, gently caressing your chin in his hand “it’s late, you should come to bed.“

“I’m not tired yet, Kookie. I’ll come to bed after I review the security footage from the last heist. I need to make sure that the camera didn’t catch NamJoon’s face.” You said, putting a hand on JungKook’s chest to push him away. Rather than moving, he grabbed your hand, holding it against his chest. His heart was racing. Slowly, you raised your gaze to his. The look in his eyes was smoldering, making your body heat up instantly.

Goddamn, he was hot.

It soon dawned on you that his invitation to come to bed wasn’t because he expected you to sleep, at least not yet. You weren’t sure how it happened, but one second you were sitting in the chair and the next, Kook was slamming you against the nearest wall. You gasped as the impact knocked the breath out of you.

JungKook took advantage of your opened mouth and attached his lips to yours, kissing you. His tongue found its way into your mouth, and you moaned. The sound seemed to encourage him as he removed one hand from its position on the back of your neck, lowering it down to the hem of your black skirt.

“Y/N,” he ground out between clenched teeth “don’t leave marks, the other guys will joke.”You pulled away from his neck long enough to utter two words.

“Let them.” You went back to sucking on his neck, this time harder.

Seconds later, you were falling. You gasped and opened your eyes as you landed on JungKook’s bed. You looked around for him, and when you finally saw him, he was staring into the bedroom mirror, assessing the damage you had done to his neck. Even from a few feet away you could see the red blemishes that were hickeys scattered across his tanned neck.

He turned to face you, and you noticed immediately that the look in his eyes had shifted from predatory to purely animalistic. He made his way over to where you laid, sprawled eagle across his bed and unceremoniously popped the button on your skirt, albeit ripping it from your legs.“I told you not to leave marks, Y/N,” He said, voice low and threatening “You didn’t listen.  Now, I have to punish you.” Any normal person would be terrified when they heard a member of a violent gang threaten to punish them, but his words only left you soaking wet.

“Punish me, daddy.” Your words spurred him into action as he pulled down your underwear.

He held you underneath your legs as he shifted your position so that your legs were hanging off the bed and your pussy was facing him. He knelt on the ground and began licking below your clit, purposely avoiding the area. The anticipation made his motions even more electric. Your excitement soon turned to desperation as he continued to torment you, not giving you the pleasure you so desperately craved.

“Kook, please.” You begged.

JungKook paused, raising his eyes to meet yours. “Please, what, baby girl?” he questioned, smirking. “this is punishment, remember? You don’t get to make requests.” Despite his words, he finally began licking your clit. You desperately raised your hips, attempting to buck against his mouth, but he held your hips down with his hands.

“Patience is a virtue, baby. Just lay back and let daddy take good care of you.”JungKook went back to eating you out, and you did your best to be patient, but damn was it hard.

You wanted him to give you more pleasure than he already was, you were greedy, you knew, but you needed to feel more of him. Kook seemed to sense this as he removed one hand from your hip and placed a finger at your soaking entrance.“Are you ready?” he questioned, and you nodded.

He gently inserted the first finger inside of you, using your juices as lube. He allowed you to adjust to the feeling before adding another finger and scissoring the digits together. You bucked your hips against his slender fingers, desperate for more friction. You needed it. You needed him, preferably inside of you. Somewhere in your pleasure induced haze, you became aware that this entire time, Kook had been giving you pleasure, never asking for anything in return.

You knew it was selfish.“Kook, stop,” you forced yourself to say.

JungKook did as he was told, staring up at you in confusion as he slowly removed his fingers from your opening.

“Are you even hard?” you questioned as you sat up on the edge of his bed, grabbing his hand and pulling him down to sit beside you.

You stared down at the bulge in his tight black jeans that assured you that yes, he was indeed hard if the straining fabric of his pants was any indication.“Are you kidding me, Y/N? I can get off just by listening to the sounds you make when I’ve got you moaning from my fingers alone,” he paused, allowing a smirk to form on his face.“ imagine the sounds you’ll make when it’s my cock.” The words got to you, you couldn’t deny that,  but you wanted to please him as much as he had pleased you.

You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him onto his back in your previously vacated position on the bed. Jungkook didn’t object, not seeming to mind you stepping up and taking charge. Based on the way that his pants seemed to get just a little bit tighter, you’d wager that your dominant side turned him on even more.“Spread your legs.” You commanded.

JungKook did as instructed, and you sat on your knees between his legs. Slowly and sensually, you began popping the buttons on your shirt one by one, letting the garment slide off your back. You undid the clasp of your bra and threw it onto the floor alongside your shirt, giving JungKook a perfect view of your body. You knew that just looking at your body turned him on just as much as touching you did. Licking your lips, you lazily began rubbing your hand over the bulge of JungKook’s dick, making him moan.

The fabric of his pants was impossibly tight, and you were surprised that he hadn’t ripped through them yet. His cock was straining against them, and you knew that the constraints were probably painful to him, but you were still feeling a bit vindictive due to his earlier “punishment” and weren’t quite ready to take mercy on him. You continued to rub his dick through his pants, hardly using any pressure at all.

JungKook groaned in frustration, eyes snapping open to glare at you.“Fuck Y/N. It hurts. Fucking unzip my pants or something.” he demanded, and you smirked. “This is punishment, baby boy. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Rather than unzipping his pants, you straddled him, sitting directly on his hard member. You began grinding your pussy against his clothed dick, causing JungKook to moan in pain and pleasure. This time, he didn’t open his eyes when he spoke, seeming to have given up.

“If you make me cum in my pants, I’m going to make you fucking scream louder than you’ve ever screamed in your life.” His voice was calm, but you sensed the promise of his words.

Once you finished toying with him, he was going to fuck you through the mattress until your throat was raw from screaming, or sucking his cock, whichever came first.“I’m not going to make you cum, baby. I’m gonna bring you right to the edge; then I’m going to stop.” You said as you began pushing up his black t-shirt to reveal his abs while still gently grinding against him.

You traced the lines of his defined abdomen, smirking at the way his stomach tensed at your touch. You didn’t spend long on his abs, however. You had something that you wanted to try. You hitched his shirt up higher, revealing his nipples. You grazed your hand across his chest, just below them, watching for his reaction. JungKook didn’t move, though his body tensed, almost like he was anticipating what you were about to do. You took that as your cue to take the left one between your fingers, pinching it gently. JungKook bit his lip, attempting to stifle the moan that was fighting to escape.

You craned your neck downwards towards his chest, taking his other nipple into your mouth like he had done to you so many times before. This time, he couldn’t hold back the moan, instead letting it out through clenched teeth.“Y/N. I’m – I’m close.” He forced the words out, you released his nipple and lifted your head, kissing him passionately before sliding off him.

Finally, you took mercy on him and unzipped his pants, helping him kick them off his legs. Precum soaked through the front of his boxers, and you knelt down, sucking him off through the fabric. Before JungKook could complain, you pulled his underwear off, finally allowing his hard erection to spring free. He hissed when the cold air hit his hardon. It was red and oozing precum that looked too delicious for you not to get a taste of. You lowered your head again and took the tip into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks. You gradually took more of him into your mouth, silently thanking whatever god had blessed you with a limited gag reflex.

Once you had taken as much of him into your mouth as possible, you began fondling his balls. JungKook gasped and tensed, and you could tell that he was so close to sweet release. Exactly where you wanted him to be. You stopped, just as you had told him you would. Your goal wasn’t to get him off, no, it was to bring him right to the edge and then back off, allowing him to finish inside of you so that you could both experience that pleasure. 

You released his dick with a loud ‘pop’ and stared up at him. He was looking at you through barely open eyes, long eyelashes obscuring his vision.His lips were slightly parted, allowing rapid breaths to escape past them as his chest heaved.“Kookie,” You said as you got off of the bed. “do you have a condom?”JungKook nodded, pointing to his bedside table, apparently too fucked out to respond verbally. You reached into the drawer, pulling the last condom out of the box, making a mental note to get more, then tearing it open with your teeth.You got back on the bed, once again sitting between JungKook’s spread legs.

You rolled the condom onto his dick, smirking as he winced a little from the friction.

Once the condom was on, you shifted your position on the bed, so you were again hovering over him and reached down, holding his erection still. You met his eyes once more, waiting for permission. JungKook nodded, and you sunk onto him, moaning as his full length entered your tight heat. For a moment, you just sat on his dick, getting used to the feeling of having him inside of you. JungKook’s eyes closed, and his mouth went slack.

He was laying impossibly still, and you knew that it was because he was trying to make sure you were comfortable before he started moving. He was always considerate like that.

For someone whose job was to hurt people for a living, he was always so careful to make sure sex with him was as pain-free as possible. That was another reason why you had fallen for him. He didn’t love many people, but those who earned that endearment were loved immensely familiar pang of guilt overwhelmed you once again as you realized that he did love you.

The feeling was mutual, but he wouldn’t understand that if he found out that the only reason you had gotten with him was to get information from him. Well, that had been your original intention, but that had changed. Over the last few months, you had genuinely came to love him. You had broken the first rule of being undercover, becoming attached to the people you were infiltrating. By this point, you weren’t sure what decision you were going to make as far as staying with the gang and betraying the force, or vice versa.

You hadn’t reported back in weeks, and even when you had, it had just been vague reports stating that you hadn’t discovered any helpful intel yet. That had been a lie, of course.

During your time with them, the gang had carried out numerous heists, heists that you had actively participated in. At some point, you had stopped acting and genuinely began caring for the safety of the members. Hence why you had been so dead-set on editing the security footage to make sure that the security cameras hadn’t caught NamJoon’s face.

Despite this, you had been trained by the SPD for years, and everything about your current situation made you want to scream. The little voice in the back of your head reminded you daily that these men were criminals, yet you still wanted to protect them. Mostly, you wanted to protect JungKook. Not long after the thought passed through your mind, JungKook grunted, bringing you back to the present. You were still sitting on his cock, not moving.

Although, you noticed, that he didn’t seem to mind. The grunt had been one of pleasure, not frustration. You smirked as you realized that JungKook was turned on just by you sitting on his dick. You momentarily pushed your guilt to the back of your mind and decided to toy with him.“Are you getting off just from me sitting on your dick, Kookie? You don’t even need me to move; you just like having me warm your cock, right?” You questioned, biting your bottom lip as JungKook tensed beneath you.

He didn’t answer, but his reaction was answer enough. You decided to take mercy on him and teasingly moved, bouncing up and down softly. JungKook moaned, grabbing onto your hips hard enough to leave marks.“Faster, baby. Fuck yourself harder on my cock."You did as you were bidden, rocking your hips down harder onto JungKook’s length, causing you both to moan in unison. JungKook thrusted his hips upward, intensifying the feeling as you rocked on his dick.

Sweat was dripping off of his brow as he fucked you, and the exertion on his face had to be one of the sexiest things you had ever seen in your life. All too soon, JungKook’s hips stilled."Gonna. Cum.” He said, enunciating his words with a moan deep in his throat. Seconds later, JungKook grunted, and his expression went slack as he released his load into the condom.

You were nowhere near cumming, but you knew that the overstimulation of still being inside of you would be too much for him, so you stood, letting his now limp dick slide out of you. JungKook glanced at you through one open eye as you laid down beside him. He felt fucked out, which was obvious, but that didn’t stop him from being the caring person that he was.

“You didn’t finish.” He said matter-of-factly.

You shook your head.“I’m fine, though. You should go to sleep, NamJoon wants to have a meeting about the next heist in the morning."JungKook stared at you disapprovingly as he sat up on the bed.

"Y/N, baby. You know that isn’t how I operate. If I finish, you sure as hell do, too. We’ll sleep when we’re both exhausted.” He leaned forward, planting an almost chaste kiss on your lips. “Spread your legs for daddy.” You did as you were told, spreading your legs apart, revealing your dripping pussy.

You could have cum right then and there when JungKook licked his lips like he was anticipating devouring his favorite food. JungKook shifted his position on the bed, reversing your previous positions as he situated himself between your spread legs. He ducked his head between your thighs, using a finger to separate your folds, revealing your clit to him. He started with gentle, kitten-like licks on the sensitive bundle of nerves, then gradually increased the pressure. Your legs shook as his tongue lowered, delving in and out of your entrance. You could feel the vibrations against your pussy as he hummed. He soon replaced his tongue with a finger, inserting it inside your entrance.

You moaned when the digit pressed against your spot, making you squirm.“Daddy!” You stuttered, and he stopped, sitting up to look at you with a smirk. Sensually, he retracted his finger and while making eye contact with you, began licking it clean of your juices.“Mhm.. you taste delicious. My favorite drink.” he enunciated his point by returning to his position between your legs, once again abusing your clit. You were so close, you could feel it as your cunt tightened and your breath began coming out in quick, strained pants.

JungKook seemed to notice as well as he began sucking on your clit and fingering you simultaneously. You pinched your left nipple between your fingers, intensifying the pleasure.“Cum for me, baby girl. Show daddy how good he makes you feel. Show me how much of a slut you are for my tongue.” That did it. You came with a scream of his name, legs ceasing up and then going limp.

JungKook sat up, licking his lips before reaching out, brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead.

“Such a good girl."You threw your arm around his neck, making him lay down beside you.

You lazily kissed him before snuggling against his chest. You felt him shift slightly, then felt the warmth of the blanket as he covered both of you up. He kissed your forehead, and that was the last thing you remembered before falling asleep. 

You woke up to the warm feeling of being pressed against JungKook’s chest. You blinked your eyes open, looking up into his face. His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow.

He was still asleep.

Despite being asleep, his arms were still wrapped securely around you, making it impossible to move without waking him up.You glanced over at his bedside, staring at the numbers on the electric alarm clock. It was 7:30 - he’d have to wake up in thirty minutes to get ready for the meeting, anyway. You shifted in bed, slowly sitting up.

JungKook’s grip went lax, and his arms slid off your waist, allowing you to move freely.“Kook,” you said, nudging him in the ribs “wake up, baby.” He groaned, grabbing your hand and pulling you down onto his chest.

“Five more minutes?” he slurred, and you shook your head against his chest. You broke away from his grasp, sitting back up.

“We have to get dressed, NamJoon said not to be late to the meeting.” JungKook opened one eye and then the other, blinking sleepily.

Groggily, he reached up and caressed your cheek gently.“You look beautiful in the morning.” You barked out a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Are you delusional? I have crusty eyes, and I haven’t brushed my teeth. God, not to mention how my hair must look.” You argued, running your fingers through your hair in a fruitless attempt to comb through your bedhead.

“You’re still beautiful,” he said, more firmly and coherently this time. “so fucking beautiful, Y/N.” He bit his lip seductively, staring at you with something other than sleepy innocence in his chocolate eyes. He pulled you down once again, and you shared a leisurely kiss.

The kiss became heated, however, when JungKook’s tongue entered your mouth.“JungKook,” you said warningly, pushing him away from you “meeting.” you reminded him.

“Mhm,” he responded, sitting up and once again, attached his lips to yours “I didn’t forget.” he said as he laid back, pulling you down on top of him. You were both still naked, so you could feel his hardening dick perfectly as it brushed against your inner thigh. You couldn’t deny that the feeling made wetness seep between your legs. You gave in. You were sure that the two of you could fit a quickie into your schedule if you rushed to get ready for the meeting.

Or maybe it was the sudden horniness you felt that was turning your thoughts to mush. Whatever the reason, you reached down, grabbing JungKook’s dick, stroking it to full hardness. You kissed him, softly at first, then you allowed him to lead the kiss. His tongue found its way into your mouth, curling against yours in an intricate war for dominance. You let JungKook lead, matching his movements as he began rutting his hips, grinding his dick against you as you laid on top of him.

You were already wet; it never took long for JungKook to turn you on. You wanted more, though. You broke the contact of your lips against his, rolling off of him onto the other side of the bed. JungKook seemed to understand what you wanted, sitting up and smirking at you."What do you want Daddy to do?” he questioned, voice still gruff from sleep, making the question sound even sexier. “Do you want me to eat you out?"You nodded, blushing. Normally you didn’t get embarrassed during sex, but you could tell that Kook was playing a role. He wanted you to be flustered.

"Please, Daddy.” you said, biting your lip as you stared up at him through half-lidded eyes.“Such a naughty girl,” JungKook said, tsking as he grabbed both of your legs.

“Spread em’ for me, baby.” You did as you were told, spreading your legs to reveal your dripping pussy to him. JungKook wasted no time, situating himself between your spread legs and immediately nestling between your thighs. First, he teased you by blowing cold air onto your sensitive bud, causing you to squeeze his head between your thighs. You crossed your ankles over his back. As a result, the added pressure pushed his face closer to where you wanted it to be. JungKook took that as his cue to stop his torturous teasing, instead opting to lick your clit once.

He stopped, as if tasting your juices, then he took another, longer, more drawn-out lick.

Your legs shook as his tongue delved in and out of you, making you cry out in complete ecstasy.“Oh god, JungKook.” you moaned, clenching your thighs together as JungKook’s tongue wrecked you.

“Yes, baby?” JungKook said, stopping and pulling away from your dripping pussy with a cocky grin.

“Don’t be an ass.” You choked out, grabbing his hair and forcing him to resume his previous ministrations.

He did, but not without a final snarky comment. “Oh, stop pretending you don’t love it when I tease you. You can deny it all you want,” he said with a smirk, licking a trail from your dripping entrance all the way to your clit, “but your pussy.. it doesn’t lie.”

“Stop - talking,” you said, forcing the words out along with a broken moan. “we-don’t have much time.” as if to enunciate your point, noises could be heard coming from the rooms of the other members of the gang as they all got ready for the upcoming meeting.

JungKook hummed, increasing the speed of his licks. You could feel your orgasm approaching rapidly, and you clenched your legs together, encasing JungKook’s head between your thighs as you cried out, your back arching off the bed. He continued eating you out, reaching up to pinch one of your nipples between his fingers for extra stimulation. The added pleasure was too much as your body tensed up, and you grabbed hold of JungKook’s hair to ground you as you came with a cry of his name.

JungKook sat up on the bed, leaving you panting on your back in the throes of your orgasm. He reached into his bedside drawer, most likely rummaging around for a condom.

“The box is empty,” you said helpfully, the words still coming out in strained gasps.

Jungkook frowned, reaching for your purse sitting in the floor by the bed. As his hand clasped around the strap, your mind made the connections your post-orgasm brain had failed to realize.

Your badge was in your purse.

You had left it in there after your last meeting with your superiors, the meeting where you had decided to stop reporting in. Due to sentimental reasons, you hadn’t been able to throw it out, not to mention that one of the boys might have spotted it when taking out the trash. Now, JungKook, the main person you didn’t want to find out about your double life, was about to discover your true identity.

He was only looking for a fucking condom.

All because of stupid sentimentality.

You barely considered yourself a cop now, why the hell did you need a stupid piece of metal to prove to yourself that you had once thought differently? JungKook was already digging through your purse, searching for one thing and not realizing that if he continued his pursuit, he would find much more than he’d bargained for. Your badge was at the bottom of your purse, covered by all of the other shit you carried with you, but you were sure that was where the condoms were as well, considering how your luck tended to run. You grabbed hold of your purse; attempting to rip it out of JungKook’s grasp, in your desperation of protecting yourself, you didn’t realize how suspicious you looked. Instead of going slack like you anticipated it would, JungKook’s grip on your purse tightened and he pulled it away from you, giving you a look that you couldn’t quite read.

“Y/N, is there something you feel like you need to hide from in here?” JungKook questioned, halting his search for a moment to stare into your eyes. You laughed awkwardly, and the sound seemed hollow even to your own ears.

You’d never been a great liar.

You could act with a well-rehearsed script, but on the spot, when your defenses were down, you were obvious, and you were sure JungKook could see right through you.

“Why would you think that? I just don’t like people going through my purse without permission.” you said, hoping he would believe you and that would be the end of it.

Of course, you could never be so lucky.

“Because you usually don’t care if I go through your purse.”

“Yeah, but usually you have my permission to go through it!” you cried in desperation. JungKook’s jaw tightened, and his gaze moved back to the purse in his hands.

“Is there any particular reason why this time is different?” he questioned, and you couldn’t answer.

No matter what happened, you’d be fucked. You couldn’t lie to him on the spot; he’d see through your facade and keep looking through the purse because it’d prove to him that he had a reason to be suspicious. The result would be him finding the badge. On the other hand, you could tell him the truth, which would have the same result .With tears forming in your eyes, you realized that the jig was up.

“I’m so sorry, JungKook,” you said, your voice cracking as tears streamed down your cheeks.

JungKook didn’t answer but began his search through your purse anew. You knew the exact moment when he found the badge. You’d been trained to watch body language, and when JungKook’s body tensed up, you knew that his hand clasped around the piece of metal that signified the ultimate betrayal. He pulled your badge out of the purse, letting the bag fall to the floor at his feet. He turned the heavy badge over in his hand, gripping the edges tightly enough that you were sure it would draw blood.

An eternity seemed to pass before he finally looked at you, but when he did, his eyes were dead, devoid of emotion as his tongue pressed against his cheek. JungKook didn’t say a word as he stood up and turned his back to you. You couldn’t see past your tears, but you heard the crash as he threw your badge against the wall, chipping the paint and leaving a small dent.

“JungKook, please let me explain!” you begged, jumping off the bed and throwing your arms around his waist. His muscles were tense, and being this close to him, you could hear how fast his heart was beating.

“Let go of me,” he ordered after a moment of strained silence.

You didn’t listen, moving from his back to the front, so you could look into his eyes for any signs that you could reason with him. The normally chocolaty brown orbs were nearly black, and you could see no trace of the man you loved so dearly inside of them. Most of all, you saw none of the love he normally had for you. Still, you had to try.

You threw your arms around him again, laying your head on his chest as near incoherent apologies spilled out of your mouth. He didn’t push you away, and for a moment, you wondered if he was willing to listen to you, but then, his next words made you realize that you couldn’t have been more wrong.

“For the last fucking time. Let.Go.Of.Me!” he yelled the last word, and you jumped, genuinely scared of him for the first time. You backed away, allowing him to maneuver his way past you to his closet. Shit, you’d forgotten all about the meeting that he had just moments to get ready for. You watched as he slipped on a pair of boxers, followed by his normal black get-up. He didn’t look at you again until he was fully dressed, however, when his eyes finally met yours, you wished that they hadn’t.

“Pack up your stuff, and get the hell out of here. If one of the others finds out that you’re a rat, they’ll fucking kill you. I’ll tell them that we had a huge fight or something.” JungKook commanded as he walked towards the door. You began crying even harder when you realized that despite everything, JungKook was still trying to protect you.

“Why don’t you want them to know? I thought you’d want me dead. I betrayed you, JungKook.” you reminded him. He turned around to face you, a humorless smile on his face.

“Because, Y/N, I loved you. I tried so fucking hard not to fall for you, but I did anyway. And, what’s worse?” he questioned, shifting his eyes to the floor. “I know I still love you or this wouldn’t hurt so much. You’re right, anyone else, I probably would have let the others kill you or done it myself. You’re different. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you on my account, no matter how badly you hurt me. So, I’m telling you for the last time, I want you to get out before that changes.”

Without another look in your direction, JungKook left, slamming the door behind him. As soon as the door slammed shut, you collapsed to the floor, your legs no longer possessing the strength to hold you up. In a matter of minutes, your world had come crashing down. There was only one more thing for you to do, and that was to add fuel to the fire. You had to tell the rest of the members of the gang the truth, even if it meant they’d kill you. You couldn’t stand the thought of making JungKook lie to them for you when lies were what had gotten you into this mess in the first place.

You had to come clean, even if you would burn for the truth.

[faunaflanaganarchive]

Wearing Pink: Sauna

Who: Fauna Flanagan & Sawyer Hudson @sawyerhudson Where: The Projection room When: 18th August 2020 What: On day three of their week of scenes together Sawyer gets a visit from his favourite Queen Bee Regina George, who learns a lesson about who follows who’s rules. Content/Trigger Warnings: Smut, light humiliation I guess?

Sawyer waited in the projection room, long after production club disbanded for the day. The basket he won from Lisette in the auction was placed on the table beside him as he waited in a swivelly chair, memorising the contents. He got out each item to examine in, only putting them back in the basket out of convenience to carry them with him. He smirked when he heard the door open and turned to find Fauna in full Regina garb, wig in place and a bratty scowl to boot. "Hey babe," He greeted with a wink, running his fingers through his hair so she'd notice his slicked back style, "Miss me?" Fauna had always been taught by Collin that brat equalled bad submissive. If someone called you a brat they meant that you were out of line, thus she’d always shied away from behaviour that might be considered even remotely bratty. Regina however had no such qualms and there was something very freeing in that. In playing the mean girl, she’d spent the morning listening to the musical and now with her wig in place and the iconic black sweater on her shoulders she eyed her boyfriend with a mixture of anger and arousal. “You think being hot is going to make me any less angry that you’ve kept me waiting all day?” She asked, closing the door behind her and advancing on him. “Do you know how hot I am? Your peppy little girlfriend might be willing to moon around all day until you ready to see her. But I am not the kind of girl who’s needs you ignore.” She accused poking him in the chest with one freshly manicured nail. Sawyer's smirk didn't falter when Regina lashed out at him, and he couldn't help but chuckle. He knew there was something freeing about being in this persona to Fauna, to help her let out more bratty tendencies in a safe way where she wouldn't feel an actual punishment following. And there was something about Sawyer that loved it when she bit back and showed a bit of attitude and, if she felt her most comfortable doing it as one of his favourite movie characters, well, he wasn't exactly going to complain, was he? "Patience is a virtue," He cooed, "hey, I thought we agreed to not talk about the boyfriends and girlfriends when we meet up, or are you feeling extra rebellious today?" He lightly grabbed her wrist. "If you keep being like that, we'll just fight and I don't get to give you your present, do I?" He asked, nodding towards the basket. “Don’t patronise me Hudson.” The little submissive demanded as he cooed at her, even though her stupid heart still skipped when she saw him. “I think that I’ll mention whatever I want-“ She started, before he grabbed her wrist. Her wide brown eyes eyed the basket, weighing presents against her annoyance. And in true Regina fashion she  shifted from the scowl, to something more seductive. Slipping close to him she pressed breasts against his  body. “You got me a present.” She purred. “You should have lead with that handsome... god you do look sexy with your hair pushed back.” The blonde added sliding her arms up to loop around his neck. Letting out an involuntarily moan at the feeling of her breasts against him, Sawyer snaked his hands around her waist, pulling her in closer. He rolled his eyes at Regina's obvious fakeness when it came to the presents, but smiled at her nonetheless, especially at the compliments he was getting. "Presents, all pink for it being Wednesday and all. It's a bondage themed basket." He played with a strand of her blonde hair, "How do you like the idea of that, cuffing your wrists together whilst I fuck you in every position possible on every surface of this room?" The blondes eyes glinted when he moaned, only shifting herself closer to him as his arms went around her waist. She liked seeing him want her. “It’s so considerate of you to remember that I wouldn’t put anything that isn’t pink on my body.” She responded, dragging a hand down his chest and palming his cock through his pants. Regina wanted to play with him a little before she gave up her control. “Sounds hot, I’ve been thinking about you inside me all day. It’s why I was so desperate to see you, because my mind has been on nothing except ripping your clothes off.” "Hmm, maybe one day I'll coerce you into another colour?" He asked, letting out another breathy moan at the feeling of the pressure of her hand against his cock. That's what he enjoyed about the Regina personality; she wasn't scared to just jump in and do what she wanted, no matter the consequences (although they both knew she almost always got away with it). "Strange minds think alike," He agreed, taking back some of his control by once again grabbing her wrist, although a part of him really didn't want her to stop."But if you want to rip my clothes off, you're going to have to ask nicely babe. Or there'll be consequences." “I don’t think so Hudson, on Wednesday I wear pink, those are the rules.” Regina responded, a smirk passing across her face when he let out a moan. She wanted to hear him moan for her again. “Maybe so, but it seems like I’ve got you a little hot and bothered Hudson.” She pushed, letting out her own little moan as he grabbed her wrist. “Please Sawyer.. please let me rip your clothes off and fuck you.” She purred, rocking her hips against him in an attempt to produce more of a reaction. His hand that wasn’t gripping his wrist snaked around her waist, caressing the curve of her ass. “Aren’t rules meant to be broken?” Sawyer then asked with a cheeky smile, letting out a groan as she rocked against him, his own hips bucking forward. He managed to catch himself in time, both of his hands snapping down to catch her hips. “I believe you call me Sir, sexy.” He reprimanded. “Try again. Because I have no qualms using the fluffy handcuffs to tie you down and work the vibrator over you again  and again as you beg for my big, hard cock to fill you up instead.” He warned, a dangerous glint in his lust-blown eyes. She hooked her leg up around him the best she could despite their height difference, pink heel digging into him. "Oh but Sir I'm pretty sure you're insisting I follow your rules, so can't you respect mine?" She purred, meet his eyes and raising one freshly shaped eyebrow. "You might not have any qualms, but you would be ever so disappointed if you didn't get to put that cock where you want it." She teased, taking his hand in hers and guiding it into her panties so he could feel how wet she was. "You know how much you want me." Sawyer let out a hiss at the pressure of the heel in his skin, giving in to letting her guide his hand, groaning at the wet heat between her legs. “I mean if I want to put my cock in something I do have a girlfriend, you’re just my pretty little plaything.” He told her, fingers teasing her folds before sliding one in and curling it. “I think you should bend over for me now and shut that smart mouth up before I do it for you.” He warned. She knew that she looked like a cat who’d got the cream when he hissed at the pressure from her shoe. Wriggling against his hand a little, and rolling her eyes at the mention of his girlfriend. “A plaything with the best cunt in this entire school, there’s a reason you keep coming back to me. Because nobody fucks like Regina George.” The blonde declared, bucking against his hand again. There was something empowering about getting to say things she would never say normally. She tried to always be kind and never fall into the bitchy girl stereotype but god was it fun to play. She made eye contact with him as she stripped off her clothes before she bent over slowly, putting her hands behind her back for him. He watched as she got herself in position for him, eyes never breaking from her. God, it was so fun to play against this role. He went over to the basket, getting out the pink fluffy handcuffs and the pink ball gag, showing them to her. “Since you took a while to listen to me, I’m just gonna do what I want to you.” Sawyer declared. “Plus, since you have the best cunt in this school, allegedly, better prep it well.” He cuffed where her hands met behind her back, attaching the ball gag around her head, making sure it was tight but not too loose. “God you look so hot with your mouth full.” Sawyer teased, heading back to the basket and pulling out the pink vibrator, moving her legs for her to spread them open wide, turning on the toy and pressing it against her sex. She made sure to look over her shoulder at him with a glare when he declared that he was going to ‘do whatever he wanted to her’. By the time she had formed a clever a response he was putting the gag in, so she settled for a single quirked eyebrow that she hoped he would read as ‘try me’. Him spreading her legs for her was hot, she’d give him that. The vibrator started and her hands clenched in the cuffs, the pleasure a sudden jolt to her system. Though she was to determined to hold back her moans for now, still playing power games despite her current predicament. He chuckled at the quirked eyebrow and almost reached to flick her nose, remembering at the last moment that it was something he did with Fauna, not Regina. So instead he did something much more sexier, he reached over and tweaked her nipple. "Got something to say, babe?" He taunted, in a very Chris Abrams manner, flicking the vibrator up to a higher setting. Whilst he was dying to give into what they both wanted, he refused to give in until she did, desperate to hear the gargled moans against the ball gag. "How are we feeling?" He asked, pressing against her, his free hand unzipping his jeans in preparation. She bit down on the gag as hard as possible as he tweaked her nipple so that she wouldn’t squeal and give him the reaction that he wanted. She shifted her legs a little though, to show him she wasn’t fucking having it especially not him calling the almighty Regina George babe. It was even harder to make no noise as he pressing against her. If she’d been playing as herself she would have just begged him, pleaded for him to just fuck her. But not Regina, she still wanted to win, to prove how much he wanted her. She wanted to give in, that much was obvious. And Sawyer had all the time in the world to make her admit it. He continued playing with her nipples, alternating between them with one hand as the other steadily held the vibrator against her cunt. “Babe, you look so good like this, why don’t you just give me what I want and I can give you what your want?” He growled in her ear, taking the vibrator away, turning it off and putting it on the side, his fingers sliding through her folds. “Fuck you’re so wet,” He confirmed, his breath hot and heavy against her skin, his digits slipping inside her, “you feel so good around my fingers, and we know it’d feel better if it were my cock instead babe. You show me you want me and I’ll even take the ball gag off so I can hear you scream my name. So everyone at this school knows that Regina George is Sawyer Hudson’s little bitch.” Her body was on fire with pleasure, between his fingers playing with her already hard nipples and the vibrator on her cunt it was a near impossible task to keep quiet. Inside her head she had to keep counting from one to five, one to five so that she didn’t just squeal for him to fuck her. Her hips strained involuntarily as he leaned down to growl in her ear,  and she couldn’t help but let out a little noise of frustration when he turned the vibrator off. The addition of his fingers was torturous. And she did look over her shoulder at him, considering just giving up and admitting what she wanted. She wasn’t sure why it was hot when he said she’d be his little bitch but it was. “Fine.” She tried to say around the gag. “Fuck me?” The words were mumbled but she was pretty sure he’d be able to tell what she was saying. Making sure his face seemed as innocent as possible as his fingers played with her, he shot her a wink as she turned to once again glare at him. He smirked when she finally gave in, and the hand playing with her breasts dropping so he could remove the gag. “I thought you’d never ask. But I’m debating whether or not to let you come because of your attitude. You really need to impress me.” Removing his fingers from her, he sucked on them. “And honestly, just on the way you taste, you’re on your way back into my good books.” Grabbing a condom from his jean pocket, he got his cock out of his pants and boxer, ripping the condom out of its foil and rolling it onto his erect length. There was something about him fucking her whilst he was still basically fully dressed and she was unclothed before him. Rubbing his cock against her folds for one last teasing moment, he eased inside her with a groan. “Fuck, you feel amazing.” He complimented her, dropping all pretense for a moment. Normally she would have giggled when he winked at her, but as Regina she simply rolled her eyes. She moved her jaw a little dramatically as he removed the gag, though inside she was buzzing with excitement. “I’m always impressive Sir, but I guess I can be extra impressive if there an orgasm in it for me.” She conceded, letting herself moan as he pulled his fingers out of her. Shifting a little as she heard him rip the condom, god did she just want him to fuck her at this point. The blonde whimpered as he dragged his cock through her folds, letting out something akin to a sob as he slid inside her. “Please God fuck me Sir.” She begged, more Fauna than Regina in that moment. “Fuck me hard.” She added, shifting back into character. It was interesting, hearing the shift of tone between Fauna and her Regina persona. It had Sawyer aroused even more, which was slightly confusing if he took time to think about it, which, right now, he couldn't even, too focused on instead fucking the beautiful girl spread out before him. He chuckled when it seemed that Regina won the battle, and he slipped into her with not much warning, body enveloping her, gripping her by the hair but careful enough to not loosen the wig. "If you insist." He murmured in her ear, pulling out and thrusting back in hard, picking up his pace quicker than he usually would have, not giving her the moment to get used to the feeling of him filling her up. As he began to fuck her the blonde couldn’t have stayed quiet even if her life had depended on it. He was impossibly big inside her, and she dug her fingernails into her palms as he pulled at the artificial hair. “Don’t fucking stop.” She begged, there was something so sexy to her about how roughly he was fucking her and she almost wished she could see his face while he was doing it. She knew that with all the teasing and the waiting she wouldn’t last that much longer. “Fuck I’m close Hudson.” She managed to tell him. He grabbed her by the hips, fingernails digging into the skin, angling them both so he was hitting her just right, thrusts hard and heavy and quick, hips snapping with each moment. Her begging went straight to his cock and whilst he would normally reprimanded Regina for her lack of manners, he was too far gone to care. He pulled her head back by her hair, gripping it tightly, biting at the exposed skin on her neck. "Come for me," He commanded, growling low in her ear, "Cry out my name, let everyone know who gets you this needy and desperate, the only person who knows how to fuck you right." His own orgasm was close, but he was focused on her right now, hands loosening from her waist so his thumb could rub her clit as he kept pounding into her. She let out a sob of pleasure as his fingers dug into her skin,  his cock was slamming against her gspot and she was more than ready to fall over the edge for him. Still half moving her hips back to meet him, but sloppier now that her brain was less focused. The coil was ready to explode and she fell over the edge. “Shit.. Sawyer, Sawyer. I’m Sawyer Hudson’s little bitch.” She screamed, feeling herself release her orgasm and falling boneless against the desk. Her whole body sweaty, and spent. The noise echoed through the room and Sawyer cried out as she screamed, riding through their orgams together, pounding hard and sloppily. "Yes you fucking are!" He commended, pleased she did what she was told, crying out over what he did to her, which only made him keep going, despite how oversensitive the pair were. Once he slowed and calmed down, getting the aftershocks out of his system, he pulled out with a hiss, disposing the condom and buttoning up his jeans, before unlocking the fluffy handcuffs. "I think that was the hottest thing we ever fucking done." He told her with a chuckle. "What do you want to do now?" Him adding that yes she was his bitch made the whole thing hotter, and she lay satisfied beneath him until he pulled out. She steadied herself internally, and then once the handcuffs were undone, she stood and began to gather her clothes. “Oh did you think I was going to stick around and tell you how pretty you are Hudson? No I don’t think so.” She responded, flattening her hair, and pulling on her clothes sans panties. “If you want someone to hold your hand, call your girlfriend.” Reaching down she scooped up her hot pink panties. “Oh and hold onto these for me won’t you?” He couldn’t help the snort that left him, but it was Regina so he couldn’t be surprised. He gladly snatched the panties from her hand, tucking them in his jeans pocket. “Anything for you, Regina.” He said, “See you around sometime?” She smirked at him as she headed for the door. "Sure Hudson." The Fauna part of her wanted to run up to him and give him a proper kiss goodbye, but Regina said no dice and instead lingered in the doorway for a moment. "You really do look sexy with your hair pushed back." She added, and then exited.

[bitch-markus-stan]

Blame the YK500s

this idea was the idea that made me ship rk1k enjoy...

"Please try, please, Mr. Manfred, pleeeeeeaaaaassssseeee."

And how could he say no to that? How could he say no to the 10 or so pairs of eyes looking up at him imploringly?

Not for the first time, Markus curses Cyberlife, but this time only because the YK500s are too cute to ignore. 

How could anyone? All they want is to play and he couldn’t say no that. 

They're truly too cute and North, Simon and Josh, who are watching him, don't seem to think it's a bad idea. North even looks amused. 

He needed this. Last week had been rough, and the week before that and the week before that one too. It was hours of emails and phone calls and being far away, being a shut-in. He didn’t want to seem unapproachable, like he was too busy for anyone in New Jericho. 

This was all for them. Everything he did was for them too, he never wanted anyone to forget that. 

The last thing he expected was to get accosted by a horde of YK500s and demanded to skateboard. 

“Alright, alright, let me see,” he pretended to be exasperated. 

Markus reaches out to it. He has half a mind to ask someone if the little ones had stolen, but he didn’t. He accepts it into his hands. It wasn’t new by any means, but it’s sturdy. The bottom had the design of the Great Wave Off Kanagawa, for a moment it reminds him of Carl. 

Markus smiles. 

“This is going to be fun,” Simon says with a light smile. 

If it were Josh or North who said it, he’d think it was sarcasm, but Simon is being genuine. This is going to be fun. 

“Hurry up!” One of them yells. The other children giggle excitedly, some of them laughing behind their hands.  

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Markus chuckles. “You know patience is a virtue?” He places the skateboard on the ground. 

How hard was this going to be? They wanted him to what? Do a little flip? Skate around a little bit? He lead a whole goddamn revolution. 

Preconstruction is a thing not many androids have, but as an RK series Markus does. He could blame it on his own deviancy that he didn’t think to use it or days behind a desk, after all, the only time he’s had to use it during revolutions. 

He could also blame his deviancy on the fact that he wasn’t looking where he stepped...or rather, misstepped. It didn’t take a whole lot of processing to realize he stepped on the skateboard in a bad place, too much weight without anything to balance it. He was flung back and the skateboard went flying forward. 

Connor was distracted. He was distracted by a feeling he knew was called nervousness. In particular, fear of rejection. 

Hank said he looked like a kindergartener on their first day of school.

Connor wondered if Hank was thinking of Cole on his first day of school when he said that and then he wondered if that was overstepping his boundaries 

New Jericho was coming along nicely, for human standards it was a dump, but no human eyes had seen what it originally was. He wondered if he belonged, although Markus said he did with a kind smile and caring eyes. He said explicitly he was welcomed, all androids were welcomed. 

Unfortunately, Connor was going to be the one to put that to the test. 

He was thinking about this when he felt the ground underneath him shift. He was unbalanced, uprooted on one foot like a plant. A sudden blaring alert, the closest thing androids have to pain, crossed over his HUD and then the world went black. 

North is howling with laughter when Markus sits up. 

“Way to go, Markus!” Is all she can get out between genuine laughter. If there’s anything that can get all Josh, Simon and North to laugh at the same time it’s slapstick, he guesses. 

A few of the children giggle too, but the others look behind them with wary glances. Markus’s eyes went to the unconscious android. 

“Shit!” 

“Poor guy,” Josh says watching Connor lay in the infirmary. “He was right by the front gate, he must’ve just walked in.” 

Markus glowers at him. His stress level is at 79% 

“I didn’t mean to--” He is cut off by the sound of laughter. North and Simon are huddled together laughing shamelessly. “C’mon,” Markus sighs. “Stop playing that.”

“No,” North says with a grin. “It’s funny. Shows you’re human, you fall just like one of them would.” 

Androids fall, Markus thinks petulantly. 

Simon only keeps laughing, his cheeks are tinted blue. 

Markus turns to Connor. His LED a gentle, soft yellow, before it was a bright red. The technicians say he’s fine, that it was probably a good thing for him to be in stasis, he hasn’t updated for a long time and now he can. 

Markus hears North repeat the video again, the sound of wheels spinning and his ass against the grated floor. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to be patient. 

“You don’t have to stay,” he says through clenched teeth. 

“I know,” North says, “I just wanna see you grovel.” 

He looks over at Josh and Simon who don’t say the same but they look guilty, it’s an answer without really being one. Markus pouts and shifts in his chair. He turns to look at Connor, he looks the same, still has his LED, hair still combed back except for that one piece that falls onto his forehead. His clothes are different though, somewhat. He’s wearing black jeans and a red sweater with a collared shirt underneath. 

The color looks good on him. 

If he saw him coming, he would have told him he looks great. 

He would know, he’s looked at countless works of art. 

“Stop it with the sad eyes,” Simon says. “I doubt he’ll take it personally. It was an accident.” 

It didn’t mean he didn’t still feel bad. 

North let out a frustrated noise. “I take it back, you’re depressing me. I’m going to see if I can get the Jerrys to choose a name besides Jerry.” 

Markus nearly smirks. That is an endeavor that takes more patience than North has, and besides, so far there are only 20 of them. There is Jerry A through T. 

Without North to keep him more or less entertained Simon follows her out shortly after with a gentle pat to his shoulder. 

Josh lingers after Simon. 

“I just don’t want him to wake up alone,” Markus finds himself saying when Josh’s eyes don’t leave him

Josh smirks. You’re transparent he says through their comms. 

“I’m not!” there’s static in his voice. “I’m just being nice, and I feel bad.” 

Josh’s grin turns easy, “suit yourself,” he says finally. He turns around to go through the thick plastic sheep separating them from the rest of New Jericho and leaves. 

Markus spends the time studying Connor over. He lives with a human now--his partner at the DPD, it was the last thing they talked about before Connor disappeared. His partner must have a dog because there are dog hairs on Connor’s clothes. 

His socks have dogs on them. 

He likes dogs.

Connor’s face shifts slight, that peaceful look turns into a hard blink and then his eyes open. 

“Hey...Connor,” Markus says gently. The caretaker in him can’t stop himself from helping him sit up even though he probably doesn’t need it.  “How do you feel?” 

“Markus,” he sounds surprised, like he didn’t expect to see him. “What happened?” He’s clearly in their infirmary, he’s just not sure why. A trickle of fear spears through him, did he try to hurt Markus again? 

“I...knocked you out by accident--” 

Markus stops at the way Connor turns to look at him so abruptly, eyes squinting, not narrowing Markus notes. “You did what?” 

“I knocked you out,” Markus repeats. “But it was an accident, Connor, I would never...I...It was an accident. The kids wanted to see me on a skateboard and I fell and then you, I don’t know, I guess it hit you or you tripped over it and hit your head pretty hard.”

“Oh,” Connor seems to be taking this all in carefully. He blinks and turns again to look away from Markus. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Connor swings his legs over the side of the table facing him. It shouldn’t surprise Markus when Connor gets straight to the point, but it does anyway. 

“I came to tell you I intend to be here more often, if the others will let me,” he says, rushing. “And since you attacked me with a skateboard, I think it’s only fair that you show me around.” He pauses. “Also I forgive you, it was an innocent accident.” 

“That’s…” Markus feels the rush of thirium coming to his cheeks and ears. “That’s more than fair, Connor, I--we’re happy to have you.” 

“Good, I think I’d like to stay.” 

[littleangel4996]

My Fate pt 4

The face you can't say no to

Summary:  You find Michael standing in front of the one house that everybody died in and what he asks you...Wells let's just say you were like fuck no

Warning: Breaking and Entering Murder House, language, you unlock a power of you're own, captured

Y/n's P.O.V

It's been 3 days living with Michael and we've have been pretty well. There were bad times where Michael would leave his clothes on the bathroom floor, fights about taking turns in the shower or watching TV, toothpaste in the sink, drinking from the juice/milk container etc etc etc. But we've learned how to talk it out and taking turns. I was just coming home from dropping off an application for teachers aid at an elementary school that's 30 minutes away from the house. The lady, named ms.Solomons said she would give me a call this week or next. I fished my phone out of my pocket skirt to check the time and see if anybody called till I saw Michael standing outside of an very old house.

“Michael?” I called out but he stood there like a statue. My eyes followed what was Michael gazing at. An old classic Victorian house that looked like it was built in the 1920’s.

“They call it murder house” I turn my attention to Michael as he turns his head towards me.

“My grandma told me a story about it. 36 deaths have occurred and been documented in the house from 1922 to 2011."

I never knew that. Well how could I know, I lived in New Orleans my whole life and this is the first time I'm living in LA.

“ Michael, maybe we should go inside”

“To murder house” he asked almost excited. Serious infact. I hope that was a joke. “No, I meant our house" I pointed.

"Okay maybe later tonight after dinner" he asked.

"No way" I scolded.

"Oh come on (y/n) please, I really-" I cut him off putting my hand up.

"No, no no no no no no no and end of discussion. I had enough madness for almost a week, so let's go!” I grab him by the hand as walked to our home. Plus that place is gated. Yes I know how to pick locks but I still don't want to take the chance of me and Michael getting in trouble or worse, killed.

-

Tonight it was homemade lasagna with Cesar salad and garlic bread. I called Michael down for dinner as he strides over to the kitchen.

“Oh great my favorite. You are an awesome chef” Michael complimented me, I know something smells fishy going on and I don't like it. I hope Michael doesn't bribe about the house again. I take my seat across from Michael as we dig in.

“Is this lasagna homemade” he asks with food stuffed in his mouth. Yep I knew he was going to do this, he's going to talk me into it.

“Yes Michael it is. I know what you're doing it's not going to work” I tell him as I take a bite as he takes a bite of the garlic bread.

“ You know there are ghosts living there” he eggs on and I rolled my eyes.

“Michael, end of discussion now eat”.

“Fine..prude” he huffed. Did this shit head just call me no fun? So I threw a crouton at him as he looked at me dead in the eye having Selene hissing at the both of us and we went back to eating. He started it.

-

After we finished cleaning the kitchen he still kept pegging on about that goddamn murder house next door. I've made it clear to him if he talks to me about murder house one more time I'm making him sleep outside of the backyard.

Michael knows I won't do it but still he keeps it up I'll turn him into a mouse if I have to. Hey Selene is a cat and Michael would be the mouse...Tom and Jerry. I laughed at just the thought of that a little. Picking up the brush as I sat in front of the mirror brushing the knots out of my (h/l) (h/c) hair after blow drying it. Selene hops on top of my vanity table, purring against me as I give her kisses on top of her snowy white head.

KNOCK KNOCK

Probably Michael going to bother me about murder house. I slammed my brush down, marching my way to the door and opening my door harshly.

I expect to see Michael in his pajamas but instead he is dressed in all black hoodie, jeans and boots. Is he planning on going to that house alone? He can't be serious, can he?

“May I please come in” with seriousness in his voice. I nodded my head as he walks into the room where he takes a seat on my bed along with him.

All was heard were silence until I spoke first.

“ Michael, why do you want to go to that house so bad? Is it about what your grandma told you about the history of that house?” Michael kept his gaze on the wooden floor, hands on his lap.

“Michael, please.” I place my hand on top of his as he looks up at me. I need to understand why you feel like you need to fulfil that duty”.

He says “ I believe my grandma is in that house.” I made this quizzical look at Michael.

“ But Michael you don't even know if your grandma died, she could be in Hawaii drinking pina coladas not giving a damn about you”.

“You don't understand, (y/n)” he pinched the bridge of his nose already irritated. 'well join the club Mikey'.

“ On what? please enlighten me because I am dying to hear this!” I snapped.

“I SAW HER ALRIGHT” he shouted. I’m not so sure if I heard this one right but did he just said that he “saw her” like in the flesh saw her. “ Michael are you sure you saw what you saw?”

“You’re a witch right” he retorted.

“ Michael just because I’m a fucking witch that doesn't mean i've spoken nor seen ghosts” I retorted back. But I get what he's saying, I would want to know if anyone I known are either dead or alive.

“Plus this was my grandma's bedroom, the fireplace was always her favorite part of her room,” he said. Goddamnit, I can’t believe I'm going to do this.

I got up from my bed walking to my dresser taking out socks, pants and a long sleeve.

“ Michael get out I need to change please.” Michael turned around with a smile plastered on his face and eyes litting up.

“So that means-”

“GET OUT BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND!”

-------

The time was 10:45 pm and so far the neighborhood is clear. God, Michael better appreciate this because I just might get killed.

We stopped in front of the house. Just by looking at it gives me the creeps, it's even more creepier during night time. I look around my surroundings to make sure it's clear. I wouldn't like it if my neighbors found out that i'm a witch, even though Ms.Goode addressed to the world about witches.   

“Okay Michael, I need you to take my hand”

He turns around with a questioning look as I annoyingly sighed.

“In order for me to get into that goddamn fucking murder house I need to teleport us inside”. He finally got the memo, holding on to me as I concentrate on where I want to land.

As I take a hair pin out of my hair, fiddling with the lock. I could use my magic to unlock the door but it's only one lock so it shouldn't be a problem plus anything simple doesn't always needs to be solved by magic.

"Can you just unlock it with your magic. You know, it'll go a little bit faster" .

"Patience is a virtue" Michael is anxious I know, hell I'm scared out of my pants but I felt so bad for Michael and wanted to do this for him.

'just a little more and-'

WHAM

I jumped, covering my mouth from screaming when Michael kicked the door open.

Giving him my death glare he did a kind gesture as he bowed saying " After you m'lady" and I walked trying to stay angry at him but I couldn't. The house was so dark and dusty I felt like I was going to sneeze. Plus it felt really cold, cold as death. Why did I agree to come here oh why didn't I put my foot down and said that beautiful word "No"?

Oh I know why because Michael guilt tripped me that's why. Michael tapped me on the arm and saw he had a flashlight in his hand passing it to me as I thanked him, turning on the light.

The inside of the house looked more beautiful than the outside of the house, damn I think would have picked this one instead if it weren't for the bad vibes I'm getting, the very spooky kind.  

"Hey, let's go there" Michael's ready to storm to the right room but not before I caught him by the hoodie, dragging his goofy ass over here.

"Look, I already feel the dark presence of this spooky pretty house. So we must stick together, capiche?!" I whispered harshly and Michael nods his head looking almost hurt.

"I'm sorry. I just don't want anything bad happening to you Mikey, I've known you for 3 days and I don't want you out of my sight." I finished. Michael gives me a sheepish smile as we moved on to what I believe is the living room. Every piece of furniture and sofa had been covered, except for that record player and laid a bottle of whiskey, pills, and a bright red lipstick. That's odd. Michael strides over examining the things on the coffee table.

" This was my grandma's favorite lipstick" he picks up the make-up product handing it to me.

I take it then something weird started happening like I was pulled to a different timeline.

There was an old caucasian woman who had short beehive blonde hair wearing a blue flowy dress dancing as the music was playing in the background, applying red to her lips and swallowing the pills with whiskey. Oh my God. Wait, oh no that's...that's Michael's grandmother.

Third person's P.O.V

Michael's friend stood there like she saw a ghost, shaking. He said her name to get her attention then put both of his hands on his shoulder and shook her lightly to make her snap out of it. Finally she came back to earth.

"(Y/n) are you ok, what happened?" He asked, worried that something triggered her.

"Michael this was my first time seeing the past. Oh my God Mikey I'm sorry" she choked a sob.

"You're grandmother, I believe she killed herself"  

"What?" He gasped. But before they can continue their conversation, someone attacks them from behind covering their mouths with a handkerchief as the two breathed in the smell of chloroform. They finally lose consciousness as their unknown kidnappers drag them up the stairs to the Masters bedroom for now and when morning comes the complicated couple will interrogate the trespassers for breaking into their home.

A/n: uh-oh. Finally here's part 4.

I have 2 questions for you guys

Should I re-edit My fate pt 123?

2. How do I make a master list?

@barbie-solecism

@sodanova

@wvntersldr

@kylolangdon

@theghostoflangdon

@miskwaadesiwag

@whysosadmcfly

@creativedogs

@kaccatus

@goddess-of-inferno

@captainskyline

@gracethegeek9902

@castiel-saved-me-from-myself

@amortentiaxo

@langdonsdemon

@poisedphantom

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme

If you like to be tagged please let me know and if you change your user name and I only have your old one please let me know as well.

[volturialice]

red line

Mike Newton catches a train. Oneshot.

rating: T

pairings: gen

warnings for: minor character death, violence, slight xenophobia and sexism, bad language

read on ao3

The sun was just beginning to emerge from behind the clouds as Mike Newton stepped onto the escalator. A few final raindrops plopped half-heartedly onto his head and shoulders as the metal steps bore him sluggishly down into the vast concrete pit, its walls perfectly circular and perfectly useless against the elements. What a stupid way to build an escalator. If the sun hadn’t made its timely appearance, he would have been steadily soaked the whole way down into the bowels of the subway system.

He paid little attention to the weekend tourist bustle around him. He was playing out the usual Saturday morning mental debate over whether to stop and get presents for Chloe when he was already running late. Would it be worth the headache of Jessica pitching another fit, accusing him trying to buy their daughter’s affection and undermine her parenting? Mike couldn’t decide. On the one hand, it was fun to piss Jess off now and then. On the other hand, her voice got so damn shrill.

It was kind of a drag, Mike thought as he stepped off the escalator, that Chloe would only ever know them like this. That she would never be able to remember a time when her parents didn’t hate each other. He and Jess really had been happy for a while, when Chlo was a baby. He imagined trying to explain those college years of giddy freedom and first love to a teenaged Chloe someday, How I Met Your Mother-style, and came up empty.

He needed to get the hell out of this city, Mike knew. It was getting nastier by the day. Chloe should grow up somewhere with fresh air and wide open spaces. He swiped his fare card, pushed through the turnstile, and let his mind conjure up somewhere better—not a lame white picket fence scenario, but maybe a nice condo or something, with gleaming modern architecture and a pool someone else cleaned. There would be a playground for Chlo and a decent bar for him, where the cute girl mixing drinks would ask if he was new in town…

A crowd of fashionably dressed teenagers rushed past, carrying those heavy umbrellas meant to block out UV rays rather than rain and chattering in rapid Japanese. Mike followed them down the stairs to the red line platform at a more leisurely pace. An LED sign announced that next train wouldn’t be arriving for another five minutes—couldn’t they read?

The lower platforms always felt oddly claustrophobic compared to the cavernous upper ones with their vast, inverted ice-cube-tray ceilings. Mike pondered his chances of getting the last car to himself for once. Usually it was a long shot, but today things were looking up: the crowd had gathered on the far end of the platform, where a man with a bass guitar was plucking out the opening bars of “Superstition,” his grin a white flash in the subterranean gloom. He was having a good day, by the looks of it—as Mike watched, one of the tourist kids tossed a few bucks into the open guitar case at the busker’s feet, already full of more bills than coins.

In the lull between trains, the acoustics weren’t half bad down here. The twangs of the bass cut through the air, somehow sharper and cleaner in the dark, without the distracting visual clutter of the aboveground world. Moving closer, Mike switched the water bottle he was carrying into his left hand and pulled out his phone to take a video for Chloe. She was still too little to pay much attention to lyrics, but she loved to dance. Bringing her a video instead of a present would be a good compromise. This way he wouldn’t have to stop and make himself even later to pick her up. And it wasn’t like Jess could object to dim iPhone footage of a Stevie Wonder cover.

He was so focused on the screen that he didn’t realize how close he was to the edge of the platform until he nearly tripped over the little warning bumps they put there for blind people. Oops. Close one.

His stumbling recovery meant he happened to be looking down at just the right moment to notice the stiletto-clad feet strolling along the very lip of the platform, coming down left, right in time to the beat of the music.

Seven years of bad luck, good things in your past…

Mike looked up and felt his breath catch in his throat.

Holy fuck.

Two women were striding up the platform. Two stunningly, unbelievably beautiful women.

The first, the one in stilettos, was petite and Asian. She wouldn’t have looked out of place among the trendy Japanese teens, except that she would have looked out of place anywhere by virtue of sheer attractiveness. Her dark hair was cropped short and slicked boldly back as if to say, look at me, I’m so exquisitely feminine that long hair would be superfluous. Her short, black dress was tight around her slim thighs (Mike swallowed.) The rest of her lithe figure was engulfed in an oversized coat—a strange choice in this hot summer weather. A pair of oversized designer sunglasses completed the look, hiding her eyes.

Like the Japanese girls, she carried a large black anti-UV umbrella, though her skin was such a pale blue-white that it looked like she could’ve used some sun. In her other hand dangled a bag from Saks Fifth Avenue, swinging back and forth in time to the twangs of the guitar.

And a few steps behind her trailed her companion.

If the first woman was inhumanly gorgeous, this one was…indescribable. Where the first girl was an appealingly slender nymph, the second was a full-figured Amazon in leather boots, jeans, and a motorcycle jacket. Instead of dark hair cropped short, magnificent blonde waves cascaded down her back, glinting bronze in the red floor lights. Her features had nothing in common with the first girl’s except for their flawless, airbrushed symmetry—and that her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.

How could she see? It was dim enough down here even without tinted lenses. Why didn’t she take them off? Mike’s brain filled in the gaps: beneath the glasses she’d have big blue eyes with mascara-commercial lashes, of course.

The red lights at his feet began to flash. Mike felt a shiver of longing as the women passed within inches of him, equally unconcerned with him and the oncoming train. He couldn’t resist checking out the taller woman’s ass as they passed (sure enough, it was as magnificent as the rest of her.) The petite woman’s ass was regrettably shielded from view by her giant coat.

Without thinking, Mike swiveled his phone around to follow the two women.

By now the crowd around the guitarist had begun to disperse along the platform, ready to jockey for seats. Amid the commotion of flashing lights, whooshing air, rumbling train, and the busker’s voice belting out lyrics over the noise, no one else seemed to notice the two mysterious supermodels.

WHEN YOU BELIEVE IN THINGS YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!

Ding ding! Doors opening. Step back to allow customers to exit.

THEN YOU SUFFER!

When boarding, please move to the center of the car.

The two women stopped a polite distance from the busker, who looked up at his audience and immediately missed a note.

Ding-ding-ding-ding! Step back, doors closing.

The back of Mike’s mind prickled uneasily as the train began to pull away. Never mind, he’d catch the next one in seven minutes. He was already late anyway, what were seven more minutes? Right now he was exactly where he wanted to be: in the comfortable darkness of the station, listening to a guy sing about the devil, taking a video for Chloe, and harmlessly ogling two of the hottest girls he was ever likely to see.

The busker had recovered quickly and was strumming with extra gusto, hamming it up for the pretty newcomers now that he was seemingly alone with them on the platform (none of the three had noticed Mike, who was mostly obscured from their sightline by a person-sized billboard ad for grocery deliveries.)

The brunette turned to murmur something to her companion, and as the noise of the train died away, Mike was able to catch a few words.

“—understand, but can’t…until nightfall? …too public.” her voice was as lovely as her face.

The blonde shook her magnificent head. “Easy for you…already fed…stuck down here anyway, and I’m thirsty.”

She was thirsty? Oh, perfect! Mike’s hand tightened around the bottle of water he carried—thank fuck it was unopened. How should he approach and offer it to her? What would be the best, least creepy angle to take?

The busker had evidently had the same idea, because he paused in singing (but not playing) long enough to call out over the music, “You ladies thirsty? I got some Gatorade right here. Help yourselves!”

Mike’s insides seared with jealousy at having been beaten to the punch. The blonde’s face broke into a smile of such dazzling radiance that she almost seemed to glow, a white-and-gold apparition wreathed in shadow.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, and disappeared.

Or that was how it looked to Mike. One second she was standing beside the brunette at the end of the platform, and the next she had reappeared fifteen feet away, beside the busker, who had no time to be astonished before she sank her teeth into his throat.

There was an awful, choking gargle and a discordant cacophony of twanging strings as the music cut off.

The busker’s arms flailed in a spasm of shock and pain, striking feebly out at his attacker. She casually pinioned them to his sides. There was a sound like crumpling plastic—had his bones just snapped?

The little brunette had not moved, but was watching these events with an expression of detached resignation. “Oh, Rose,” she sighed, crossing her delicate arms as if her friend’s behavior was just so typically embarrassing.

From where Mike stood, hidden behind the free-standing wall of the advertisement, he could see the creature called Rose in crystal clear detail: her long fingers, gripping the busker’s dirty T-shirt. The twin lenses of her sunglasses, peering blankly over his shoulder. Her perfect pink lips, fastened on his neck in a profane parody of a kiss.

But most of all he couldn’t look away from the muscles of her elegant white throat, pulsing beneath her skin as she swallowed.

She was drinking. Drinking the man’s blood. Holy fucking shit.

It was around this time Mike became aware that he had frozen in place behind the ad, his feet rooted to the tile, his hand still outstretched and still holding his phone, which was still recording.

Right on the heels of the realization that he had just witnessed a murder came the realization that he had captured it all on video. Oh, God. Had they seen him? The light from his phone screen suddenly seemed blindingly obvious. He snatched it back, clutching it and the water bottle to his pounding chest as he pressed himself against the billboard. From this angle he could still see the brunette, but not the blonde—Rose—or her victim. How long did it take to drain a body of blood, anyway? Oh, God. Why hadn’t he just boarded the train?

He checked the LED sign that announced when the next train was coming: five minutes. Five minutes before he could move from his hiding place.

The sound of a train arriving on one of the upper platforms seemed horribly distant, as though he heard it from underwater. To think there were people, regular people going about their days, so close, just up the stairs…if he called for help, would they hear him? Would they make it to him in time?

He remembered the way Rose had seemed to teleport across the platform, and the sound of the busker’s bones snapping, and doubted it.

Above him, the train pulled away. Mike struggled to calm his breathing in the quiet that followed. Cold sweat seeped through the back of his shirt. Four more minutes.

A soft sound floated its way to his ears: someone was humming the melody to “Superstition.” The little brunette had picked up where the unfortunate busker had left off. She was once again swinging her shopping bag back and forth, back and forth, radiating bored impatience as she watched her friend’s sick tableau unfold.

Mike nearly jumped out of his skin as the busker’s body collapsed into his line of sight with a soft thunk. He choked back the scream that wanted to claw its way from his throat as the man’s blank, staring eyes looked right through him.

“You could have waited until the song was over,” scolded the brunette.

“I was thirsty,” came the angelic voice of Rose.

“Then clean up,” ordered the brunette. “We’ve got three minutes.”

The body disappeared from Mike’s view. He heard a horrible wet thump as it hit something—the tracks on the opposite side of the platform? He didn’t care, as long as it didn’t interfere with this next train—his train.

Three minutes. He only had to last three more minutes. Then he could blend in with the crowd, casually board the train. The doors would slide shut and he’d be home free. He could get off at the next stop and go straight to the police. He didn’t need them to believe his whole story, just to watch the evidence on video…

“Did you leave blood on the floor?” came the brunette’s voice. “I’m still seeing an investigation.”

“That’s usually what happens when a person throws himself under a train, Alice,” said Rose.

The water bottle clutched in Mike’s left hand, slick with sweat and condensation, was beginning to slip. Gingerly, hardly daring to breathe, he bent down. Had to put it somewhere he wouldn’t trip over it. Had to set it down slowly, silently, before it could fall and make a noise.

He did it. Not a sound as the plastic touched tile. Mike straightened back up in equal silence, allowing himself a slow exhale of relief. Two minutes. He only had to last two more minutes.

Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzz.

The vibration of his phone, still clutched against his chest, jolted violently through him like a shock from a defibrillator.

Stupid, fucking phone! He shut it off before it could vibrate a third time. Jessica’s smiling face winked out on the screen.

Silence. Mike held his breath. Maybe they hadn’t heard it.

There was a light breeze, a rush of air in the dark.

“Well, well. What have we here?” She was standing before him.

Seen up close, the brunette—Alice, the other one had called her—was tiny. Even in heels, she didn’t reach Mike’s shoulder. Her smile was open, friendly, and devastatingly beautiful. It reached all the way to her eyes, free of sunglasses now. Eyes that were not the brown he’d imagined at all, but a lurid, vibrant crimson.

Rose appeared in the shadows behind her, wiping her mouth. “Is that who was breathing so loud?”

Alice tilted her head, appraising. “I thought he did rather well, all things considered. I’ll take that.” She reached up and slid the phone from Mike’s boneless hand, which offered no resistance.

His arms and legs had turned to useless jelly. His Adam’s apple throbbed as he swallowed, trying to moisten his mouth enough to speak:

“P-please…I have a daughter…”

Alice’s red eyes unfocused. A little crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Oh, she’ll be fine,” she told Mike. “Your ex is about to be promoted and transferred to the suburbs. The schools are much better out there, you know.”

“Quit dawdling, Alice,” scolded Rose. “The train will be here any second. Just snap his neck and let’s go. You already fed.”

Alice looked thoughtful. “Hmm, yes, but I’m not full yet.” She grinned again, exposing back teeth.

Mike’s instincts kicked in. The synapses in his brain fired, commanding his body to bolt for the stairs.

Before his muscles could stir, a little hand clamped around his arm, as hard and cold as iron.

“Sorry,” said Alice. “But you know, ‘waste not’ and all that.”

On the floor, the lights began to flash again, staining her white teeth red.

She leaned in.

Yes I’m AWARE that I have a ton of WIPs but in my defense I was minding my own business waiting for the next train when the muse descended from on high and ordered me to write evil!Alice and Rose before I could finish anything else.

anyway I hope you enjoyed this installment of Evil Cullens Jukebox Hour! Might write more pieces for the other cullen kids if I can come up with Concepts. So far I’m thinking Jasper&Edy and Eleanor&Bells. Lmk who you think they should murder via my askbox