#i started carving the text backwards so then i had to move it and cover the mistake

[soni-dragon]

rattle the stars, digital vs. print (i should’ve used a larger block… lost a lot of details cause it was too small)

[bakingandbooks3]

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

.

.

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AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

@lovemeforever12345 @champanheandluxxury @nahthanks@perseusannabeth@queenestarcheron@silvernesta

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[writerbyaccident]

Dropping Pretense (Yandere Black Mask/Roman Sionis x Reader)

Request: Hi, can you make a Roman Sionis imagine where the reader is in the final battle scene and Roman sees this as the perfect opportunity to just scoop her up?

What the fuck had Dinah gotten you into.

When she had texted you that she needed backup helping save some kid, this was not what you had been expecting. Sure, you figured that there would be a few goons, a few guns. What you had definitely not been expecting though was entire goddamn army. And that didn’t even begin to cover the bitter cop, the kid with a diamond in her stomach, the vicious assassin, and the fucking psycho clown. From the moment Dinah had started working for Roman Sionis, you suspected that it would end poorly, but you certainly hadn’t predicted something on this level.

You had always thought that Roman was something of a creep, from the first day that Canary started working at the Black Mask club. Even before you had heard a single thing about his reputation you hadn’t liked him. He was always staring at you, refusing to look away even when he was talking with someone else. And when he was talking to you, the conversations were filled with too frequent laughter, too strong flirting, and far too eager smiles.

With most of Sionis’ army left in the dust by now, you ran beside Dinah and the others towards the ever looming Founders’ Pier. Up ahead you could hear the unmistakable voices of Harley Quinn and Sionis, though the words themselves were incomprehensible. Just as you and the other three women were reaching the start of the pier though, two hidden gunmen popped up from the ruins of a crashed car, wasting no time in shooting at your group. Launching yourself forward, you crashed onto the dilapidated wood of the pier, then rising to a half crouch to run to help Harley and Cass. Even when you rose up though, the gunmen didn’t even attempt to shoot you, just like how Sionis’ men had ignored you all night long. Even as you told yourself to just be grateful and keep moving, that fact wormed uncomfortably at the back of your mind.

Little did you know though, that Roman’s men had been given strict orders to leave you unharmed. To be precise, his exact words had been, “If you harm a single hair on my little flower’s head, getting your face carved off will be the least of your worries.”

If you had known what he had said, perhaps you wouldn’t have run so quickly. For the minute that you reached Sionis, his bloody face broke into a darkly obsessive grin.

“There’s my favorite little flower,” he purred. “I had been hoping that you would show.”

“Kid, are you okay?” you asked, forcing yourself to ignore Sionis’ creepy expression and creepier words.

“Shit!” Harley gasped, dropping her gun at your sudden appearance.

With that opportunity coming so perfectly—truly, Sionis thought, it must have been fate—Sionis wastes no time in pushing Cass away, rushing forward to grab you instead. Bashing the hilt of his knife against the back of your head, the monster gladly supported you as you fell backwards, utterly relishing the chance to hold you freely after so long of wanting to.

“Who cares about a dumb fucking diamond,” he whispered in your ear, “when I’ve got something far more precious?”

As he dragged your dazed form away, Sionis turned back to where Harley was helping Cass off of the ground. Chuckling, the Black Mask places a kiss on your bruised forehead.

“You got yours,” he called out triumphantly, “I got mine. And make no mistake, she is mine.”

[everlastingdreams]

BETA John Constantine x Reader : Heaven And Hell Chapter 2

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Summary:  The reader has been travelling alone for a while now, running from her demons. When soon she finds herself dealing with real ones. At first she appears to be just a psychic, but as time passes John finds himself wondering if that is all she is. The rising darkness is coming closer everyday, what part does she come to play ?

Notes:  This took so long and I am so sorry. I finally found a good direction for this story. 

Chapter: 2/?

Word count: 3053 words.

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The events at the house still affected you, even after almost a month. It once again reminded you that not every monster is a paranormal being. There are monsters all around, looking like your regular friendly neighbour. Or as John had put it, not all monsters hide under beds. You wondered how he dealt with these kind of things, day in day out. It wasn't the thing you dreamed of doing when you were young, but this life choose you and you were stuck with it. You closed the book you were reading and clicked off the the small reading light before pulling the covers over your body as you laid down to sleep. Soon you felt yourself drifting off .

Scratching.

That's what you heard, you could see your living room as if you were watching it all play out through a camera. It got louder. A dark form crawled out from the shadows, an arm.. no.. it wasn't just that. Long sharp nails dragged across the wooden floors as the creatures crawled from the darkest shadows. Their eyes were like fire. They moved slowly at first, then faster, some crawled on the walls, some on the ceiling as they moved up the stairwell. They begane moving faster, like a shark nearing it's prey. And that's what you were, prey. Their nails scratched the walls as they got closer to your closed bedroom door. Then they screeched loudly, like nails being dragged down a chalkboard. You jolted up gasping for air, you pushed yourself backwards on your bed until your back hit the wall. You looked around your room frantically, and saw daylight stream into your room. It was just a dream. You brushed the hair from your face as it sticked to your skin. The air inside your room felt warm, almost hot. You were shaking as you stepped out of bed, you could use a glass of water after that. You put on some clothes before walking to the kitchen. You weren't to keen on walking through your house but you weren't a scared child anymore. Dreams are just that, dreams. You poured some water in a glass and took a big swig from it before you walked into your living room, you were checking your phone when you felt something beneath your bare feet. You swallowed as you sensed it. You moved your foot carefully, as if you had stepped into glass. You looked down at the floor and your breath quickened as panic rose inside of you. Along the wooden floor were long, deep, lines that splintered the wood. You didn't have to touch that to know what that meant. You didn't bother about how you looked as you grabbed your coat and bolted out the door in one swift move. You thanked the heavens that the key of your car and your wallet was in your jacket. You had no plan for something like this, but you knew one thing. Time to find an exorcist.

You had slept in a hotel since that night, happy that you didn't wake up to scratches on the floor again. You didn't know for certain if you could trust John Constantine, you only met him once, but he was the only one you knew that had knowledge of this sort of life. This 'gift'. And after that 'problem' at your place, you didn't mind to spend some time around a guy who knew how to deal with things like this. Maybe he meant what he said, maybe he could help you learn more about your powers. Or maybe, he couldn't be trusted. But it was either John Constantine or facing whatever was after you alone. There was just one little problem in your plan, you had no idea how to find him. Let alone contact him. Really regretting the fact that you didn't take his silly card now. It was early in the day but that didn't stop you from going to a bar, for a coffee anyway. You didn't feel like sleeping much after what happened. While drinking your coffee you noticed an article on the front of the newspaper that was laying on the bar. You pulled it closer and read about the priest who came back to life and is now performing miracles. You can't help but think this would be something Constantine would be interested in and then it hits you. The priest. You quickly pull out your phone and scroll through your contacts until you find the name of the priest that had send you to help Harold. Constantine had asked you for his number so he could tell the priest that next time he should be contacted as well. There was a fair chance that the priest had John's number. The phone rang a couple of times and then you heard it being picked up. “Hello ?” the man answered. “Father Jenkins ? This is y/n l/n.” You introduced yourself hoping he would actually remember you after everything that had happened. He sounded guildridden when he spoke again “Miss l/n, I was hoping to speak to you again. I wish to apologise-” “There's no need for apologies Father. None of us knew what Harold was capable off.” you interupted him quickly. He sighed “If the need would ever arise again, I will contact the man who helped you. I do not wish to see you harmed.” You felt a spark of hope at his words “Actually, that is why I am calling. I am trying to find Constantine, I was hoping you could tell me his number ?” “I have his number in my contact list. Shall I send it to you in a text message ? Is everything alright Miss l/n ?” he sounded worried, but you didn't want him to worry about you. “Yes, please. That would be great. And don't worry Father, it's nothing I can't handle.” brushing it off. “In that case, may God be with you, y/n. Always.” he told you and you gripped your phone thighter. “Goodbye, Father.” you ended the call. It was clear that it wasn't God who was with you after seeing the scratches in your floor. You finished your coffee and at then your phone beeped as a text popped up on the screen. The priest had sended John's number to you and know you were left to think how you would handle this. Last time you saw him you had told him you prefered not to go with him and now you would have to actually ask him for help. Sighing you called the number. It clicked to voicemail and you hung up immediately. This wasn't something that should go on a voicemail. You called again and after a few seconds, someone picked up. “Heeello?” the man on the other end sounded curious, but you were pretty sure that it wasn't John's voice. “Uhm.. hello. Sorry I might have called the wrong number, I am trying to reach a guy called John Constantine ?” You heard the man chuckle “Then you have the right number, Miss. But i'm afraid John's uh... unable to talk now. He's uh.. sleeping off the drinks from last night.” You raised a brow “Oh, I see. Look, I don't want to be rude but I really need to speak with him.” You could hear that the man was walking around as he spoke “Want to tell me who you are first ? Not many people have this number, and if they do call it's usually never a good thing.” he sounded wary of you and considering who John was you understood why. “My name is y/n l/n. I met him recently, he helped me.” you explained it to him. The man was silent for a second before he let out a chuckle “He told me about you.” he was silent again before continuing “Alright, look, I'll give you the address. If you are who you say you are then I'm sure he won't mind.” He gave you the address and you wrote it down on your phone “Thank you ! I think it is closeby. Is it okay if I come over ?” “Sure. No problem, Miss. The place you're looking for is an old Mill house.” he explained. A mill house ? That was definitely the last place you would expect to find an exorcist, perhaps that is why he chose the place. “Mill house. Got it. I'll be there soon. Thank you !” you quickly said. “See you soon.” he ended the call. It dawned on you that you didn't even ask his name but he sounded genuine. You hurried to your car and started on your journey there. It was a little further then you thought it was, you even had to stop and ask some locals where you could find it. To your suprise some of them didn't even know there was a Mill house in the town. You finally found the place and yup, it sure was a mill house. You had expected it to be bigger but were suprised to see that it was actually pretty small and looked very old. A man walked out the door as you parked your car. He awkwardly waved his hand as a greeting and you walked up to him. “Hi ! I'm -” He interupted you “y/n. I remember. Glad to see you found the place. I'm Chas Chandler, nice to meet you.” he held out his hand for you to shake. This confirmed that he was the one who had answered the call. You shook his hand “Thank you for meeting me.” “Are you kidding ? I'm the lucky one for meeting you. John told me all about the woman that saved his ass.” Chas looked like he was enjoying the thought of it. You smiled shyly “It was team work mostly.” “That's what he said to me as well. But John has a tendency to make the truth sound nicer then it usually is.” he let out an audible breath “But you're here to see John, he got out of the shower couple of minutes ago. Thought I would greet you while he made himself presentable. Or at least tries to. Come on, I'll take you to him.” he nodded towards the mill house and you followed him inside. The inside of the place looked so much bigger then you had expected it to be. You followed Chas down a spiral staircase, eyes wide at all the shelves filled with strange objects and symbols carved into the wood. You were staring at the objects when John walked into the room. Chas cleared his throat before speaking up "Hey, John ! Someone's here to see you." John was putting his tie on when you walked into what looked like the living area. "What are y-" he turned to look in Chas's direction and his eyes landed on you immediately. He looked like he didn't expect you and by the way Chas was grinning at him you were sure that that was exactly the case. "It's y/n, you know, the uh.. what did you call her again ? The pretty -" John's expression switched from suprised to caught in headlights in an instant. "Weren't you going to pick up your daughter, Chas ?" John quickly stopped him from finishing the sentence. “Right.” Chas snapped his fingers before turning in your direction. “I'll leave you to it then.” He mouthed a 'good luck' at you and you gave a discreet nod. Chas left you two alone in the mill house. John looked at you intrigued and put his hands in his pockets “Wasn't expecting you.” “Clearly. I thought Chas had told you I was coming here. I tried to call you.” you explained the situation. He grimaced at that “Looks like I'll need to lock my phone with a pin next time.” John stepped closer to you “Not that I'm complaining, luv. I was hoping I'd see you again.” he winked at you before a lopsided grin grew on his face. You snapped your eyes away and cleared your throat. Oh boy, it appeared that he thought you were here for a different reason. “I was trying to contact you. I've been thinking and maybe I was wrong to turn down your offer back at Harold's place. You were right, I could use someone to guide me, to teach me in these things.” John's smile faded when he understood why you were here and he turned away from you to grab himself a drink “You made the right choice back there.” He sat down on the couch and you followed him, you took a seat next to him and watched as he pulled out his lighter to fiddle with it “Take my advice. You don't want to know what's out there.”

“When we met, you looked disappointed when I turned down your offer and now you're telling me I made the right choice.. why is that, John ?” He sighed deeply before taking a swig of his drink “Had some time to think. Not long before I met you, I met a woman. Daughter of a friend that passed away. She could see the world for what it really was. It didn't take long for a demon to see what she was, and it started hunting her." He didn't look at you as he spoke, he just flicked his lighter open and close a couple of times "We had the demon trapped inside a seal of solomon, and he reminded me what happens to people who stay around me." He clicked the lighter shut. "Nothing good ?" you carefully guessed. "The woman had all her father's gifts, but not everyone is cut from the right cloth to do this thing." He looked at you "This isn't a reversible thing. You spend too much time around evil, it starts to follow you. It will always find you." the words were bitter. At this point you realised he was trying to make you understand, maybe even scare you away. But he didn't know that those things he feared would start hunting you, had already started. "She didn't want to do what her father did ?" You guessed. He nodded and gave a small smile, his eyes not able to hide his true emotion "And she made the right call. It will keep her safe." You looked at your hands in your lap "Maybe I shouldn't have been so reckless with my gift." You murmered to yourself. That snapped his attention to you "What's that, luv ?" You hadn't told him the reason you came to find him in the first place. "A couple of nights ago, I had a vision. I never had one like it. " you confessed and started to fidget with your jacket. "There were monsters in my house, dragging their nails across my floorboards and walls. I woke up before they got inside my bedroom." He thought about what you said for a moment "Your visions.. they can be tricky I'm sure. Perhaps the thing with Harry is still troubling you." You nodded but shook your head, wishing that was true "That's what I thought. But then I went downstairs.. there were long scratches on my floor, it had splintered the wood." John's whole body turned to you instantly at your words, his brows drew together for a second before he spoke hastly "Are you sure that wasn't a vision ?" You stood up "I'm sure of it. I just ran out of there right away. I have been trying to find you since then." John's shoulders heaved when he let out a breath, but you doubted it was out of relief "That was a good call." "Is something haunting me ? Something from Harold's house ?" You tried to keep your voice steady but the fear was still audible in your words. He looked at your voice, searching for the right word. "John? "You asked impatientely. "Maybe." He looked at your face "Yes, it sounds like it." He admitted reluctantly. You drew a breath and held your form. "Whatever it is, it's not coming from that house, y/n. There were no demons there." He said before he cursed to himself. He had said more then he intended to. Your eyes snapped up to him in shock "Did you just say 'demons' like actual..." He looked apologetic "Yes. The ones that crawl out of hell." You felt sick, demons.. really ? "What do they want with me ?" He dragged a hand over his chin "I don't know yet. But we'll find out, in the meantime you can stay here. This place will keep you safe. That and the fact that you've got an exorcist closeby." He looked at you hopefull. As if he was afraid that you would turn down a safe-haven against monsters. "That sounds like a good idea." You started. He smiled and put his hands in the pockets of his trousers again "On one condition." He closed his eyes, letting his chin rest against his chest as he let out an audible groan "which is ?" You smirked and crossed your arms "I don't want to be stuck in this place, I wan't to see what it's like." He looked at you "What what's like ?" He was warry of what you were asking. "What you do." You cleared it up. He narrowed his eyes at you as if he was trying to solve a puzzle, then his eyes widened "No ! No bloody way I'm taking you along." This wasn't going to be easy. "I could get hurt here too, you know. This place is filled with stuff that could be dangerous. Besides, you just said I would be safer if I stay close.” you reminded him. John drank the last of his drink in one go as he shook his head, cursing himself “Fine.” Your eyes lit up but then.. “But I have a one condition.” he turned to you again, his expression serious. “No contacting spirits unless I'm there with you. Like I said before, it's not only friendly ghosts hearing you.” He didn't have to remind you of that considering there were demons after you now “Deal.”

Reply to the post if you want me to add you to the taglist for this series. And feel free to let me know if you want to be removed from my taglist as well offcourse. 

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[beauregardlionett]

Queens of Queens - Ch.1

AO3 Link

Putting the barbell back onto the holders with a quiet huff of exertion, Fjord ducked backwards out from under the weight and shook out his wrists. His left one still ached from working at the docks the afternoon before. Beau had wrapped it tight and firm for him before they started working out today, telling him to go easy with it for a few days. She was a damn hypocrite, and they both knew it. Regardless, Fjord had decreased the amount of plates he usually had on the barbell in an attempt to set a good example.

It ended up being a fruitless gesture. Halfway through their session, Fjord spotting Beau as she squatted twenty pounds over her max from two weeks ago, she had realized she was late for work. Fjord didn’t mind working out alone, it was just more entertaining and passed the time a little faster when she was there, too.

Sighing as he rolled out his wrist a few more times for good measure, Fjord decided to just call it a day.

As he was packing up his bag, he spotted the familiar blue hoodie that Beau always wore sitting tossed against the mirrors and forgotten. Scooping it up and tossing it overtop his bag, Fjord tugged his phone out of his pocket and sent her a quick text. 

Fjord: hey you left your hoodie here

Fjord: want me to drop it off?

Tucking his phone away again, Fjord moved to the locker rooms and dropped all his things in a locker before heading to the showers. He wasn’t in desperate need for a shower considering they hadn’t done that vigorous of a workout today, but it was routine at this point. He only remembered to check his phone for a response once he was dressed and toweling the dampness from his hair.

Beau: shit I knew I forgot something

Beau: yeah could you stop at the bar and drop it off?

Beau: drinks on me if you do just don’t let the peacock know

Snorting quietly at the last text, Fjord texted back an affirmative and got an address for the bar in response. Tucking all of his things and Beau’s hoodie into his bag, Fjord hefted it over his shoulder and made his way out of the locker room and onto the bustling streets of Queens, New York. A colorful mix of civilians walked past Fjord, and he felt a little more at ease here every time he noticed another like him among the population.

He was nowhere near old enough to remember magic, but the stories in their history books in school had been enough for a young half-Orc like himself to imagine a better world. He had once dreamt of a time when magic and gods and less sideways looks were real and present fixtures in everyday life. Fjord knew now that it was a folly dream of a child, but New York was one of the closest places on Earth to that feeling. Dense with Tieflings, Halflings, Elves, Firbolgs, Kenku, and countless other once magical races, a half-Orc like Fjord was just another passing face instead of a sore thumb.

A human woman passed by Fjord with her child, tugging the toddler closer by the hand. She shot him a dirty look as he headed for the subway entrance.

Okay, so he was a passing face to most people.

The bar Beau worked at was a five-minute subway trip and a quick walk from the gym, tucked into the homey bustle of Jackson Heights on the main boulevard. Among the throng of restaurants, gas stations, schools and homes, there perched an unassuming wooden door with an ancient deity’s symbol carved into the wood. The front window was floor to ceiling and shrouded from inside by heavy violet drapes. A tall, muscular woman sat on a stool outside the door. She had black and white hair with several intricate braids set throughout, and a leather jacket with dark fur lapels and collar to match tucked snug across her shoulders. She glanced up at Fjord’s approach, mismatched eyes giving him a quick sweep up and down as he stopped a good foot away from her. He glanced at the door she seemed to guard and then back to her piercing gaze.

“Is the bar open? I’m just here to drop something off with Beau.” Not the full truth, as he was planning on taking her up on that free drink. But dropping something off was more concise of an explanation.

The woman held out one hand, expression not changing at all. In the softest voice Fjord had ever heard, she said, “ID.”

Blinking once, Fjord’s hand moved to grab his wallet from his bag and only fumbled a little in tugging his license free. The woman gave it a cursory glance, tilted it this way and that in the dim light and then handed it back over. Fjord gave her a quiet nod of thanks as she gestured behind her for him to enter. Moving past her, the door gave a quiet squeak on the hinges; the sound lost beneath the music thrumming from the speakers and into the veins of every patron inside.

It wasn’t obscenely packed, considering it was just before nine on a Thursday night, but it was still an impressive crowd. There was a decent balance of ostentatious and raunchy fashion dispersed across the tables and bar stools, and Fjord had to admit, he was a little impressed. It took a bit of effort to force his eyes to sweep for Beau, continuously distracted by various articles of clothing that caught his attention.

After a few attempts, he found her behind the bar, a grey waistcoat immaculately fastened over a navy button up, the sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair pulled back into that signature topknot, Beau flashed her familiar sharp grin at the patrons currently fawning over her bartender flare. Making his way over to the sticky countertop, Fjord slid into a relatively empty slot, the stools on either side occupied, and waited for his friend to finish up her flexing for the swooning girls.

It took a couple minutes, but Beau noticed Fjord down the bar as she was cleaning out the shaker she had been using, eyes lighting with recognition. Waving graciously to the girls and collecting tips, Beau casually slid her way down to Fjord and reached over to give his shoulder a light punch in greeting.

“Hey, man!” she called over the music and the chatter. “Thanks for coming by. What can I get you for the trouble?”

Handing the hoodie over to her across the bar top, taking care to avoid letting the sleeves drag across the tacky surface, Fjord gave her a shrug. He hadn’t seen a menu of sorts anywhere, so he assumed the usual was available.

“What’s your specialty?”

Eyes sparking with delight as she tucked the hoodie away beneath the bar, Beau cracked her knuckles and reached for a clean shaker and a bottle of expensive looking vodka. Fjord already had regrets, but he didn’t stop her.

“I didn’t know you could sling drinks,” he offered instead. Fjord watched her with a hint of skepticism as she started mixing in something that looked like soda and lime and…was that a jalapeño? Her hands were deft, like with everything Fjord had ever seen her do. He had a suspicion, based on plenty of exposure, that Beau’s default setting was of a fluttering nature.

“Yeah,” Beau said easily, something in the curve of her lips when she said it looking a touch bitter. “Been doing it for a few years. The Peacock’s just hired a new bartender to replace Orna since she had to move for family reasons. Usually I only step in back here to cover shifts once a week, since I’m mostly out front with Yasha.”

“The lady in the leather jacket with the death glare?”

Beau laughed once, barking and loud as she started to rapidly shake the drink she was mixing. Her eyes shone with mirth as she gave a slight shake of her head.

“Yeah, that’s her. She’s really not that bad, just awkward as far as I can tell. She and I only bounce together on Friday nights when the crowd’s the worst, and I swear Fjord, she’s a challenge to talk to.” Beau looked a little pained and a lot wistful now, pouring out the drink into a glass with ice in it. “She’s got an amazing body and those eyes…mh!”

Fjord watched her clutch a hand to her chest dramatically with only a little judgment coloring his expression. Beau seemed to either not notice or not care, because she carried on as she put the finishing touches on his drink.

“I’ve been bouncing Fridays with her for almost a year now and all I’ve got out of her is that she’s best friends and roommates with the Peacock, her favorite color is black, and that she’s strong enough to pick up three drunk dudes at once.”

Sliding the drink across the counter to Fjord, Beau tossed the shaker into the sink behind the bar and wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Raising an eyebrow at her, Fjord picked up the drink with caution and gave it a quick, curious sniff. He had to try very hard to not recoil at the near overpowering scent of liquor that all but punched him in the face.

“Sounds rough,” Fjord sympathized in a monotonous tone as he stalled, swirling the drink around a little in the glass, the ice clinking against the sides.

“It is,” Beau said around a long-suffering sigh. She gestured to the drink and quickly moved on. “Try it, you wimp. It’s not that strong, just smells like it. It’s the lime that kicks up the scent.”

Giving her a look, Fjord hesitated only another heartbeat before taking a breath and daring to take a sip of whatever Beau had created for him. The liquor hit his tongue first, followed by the sweet zing of carbonation and a hint of the lime and jalapeño she had thrown in. Overall, it wasn’t bad, but Fjord wasn’t much of a drinker. Still, he lowered the glass and gave Beau an impressed look to meet the smugness she was watching him with.

“Not bad,” he granted, setting the glass down as he slid onto the barstool beside him that had been vacated.

“Thanks, man,” she grinned, sharp and proud. She gestured to the crowded floor behind him and spoke over the music with a glint to her eye. “Stick around a while longer and there’ll be some entertainment, too.”

Suspicious, but knowing that she knew he had nowhere else to be, Fjord could only give her a shrug that was basically acceptance. Beau flashed him a dangerous grin and then she was off to serve a rowdy looking trio of half-Elves. Left to his own devices, Fjord continued to slowly work away at his drink, eyes scanning over the various people crowded around the tables throughout the cozy restaurant. Admittedly, Fjord would never have pegged this place as being popular from the outside, but the inside was unique in decoration from what he could tell through the dim lighting.

“Here by yourself, handsome?”

Glancing to the side at the voice by his shoulder, Fjord blinked with surprise as he found himself face to face with a purple Tiefling. Their grin was full of sharp teeth and solid red eyes glimmered with mischief and interest alike. They wore a loose white shirt with a plunging neckline, and Fjord could have sworn there was something about the Tiefling’s chest that gave him pause. But realizing both that the flashing lights weren’t helping, and that he was all but staring at their chest without responding, Fjord was quick to look back at their face.

“Uhm, yeah.”

Stupid.

The Tiefling raised an eyebrow at him but chuckled with mirth, clearly not put off by Fjord’s awkward honesty.

“You’ve never been here before.”

It wasn’t a question, and they said it with far too much conviction that Fjord knew he couldn’t pretend it was, even if he wanted to. So instead, he offered a shrug and took another sip of his drink. He could feel the heat on his cheeks, but he hoped that the dim light and colorful flashes were enough to hide it.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” the Tiefling said, waving a hand dismissively between them. “We’re a close knit community in here, so it’s easy to spot an unfamiliar face. Just wondering if you’ve wandered in or if you actually know what you’re in for.”

“What I’m—?” Fjord started to ask, before the sound of a microphone giving a burst of static over the speakers among the music cut him off.

“Hello everyone!” a cheerful, pitchy tone drawled over the microphone, drawing Fjord’s eyes away from the Tiefling and towards the makeshift stage at the back of the bar. There stood a figure with pale green skin, balancing a wig of obnoxious size on their head and sporting eye make-up so bold, Fjord had no trouble discerning it even from across the bar. He was so preoccupied by taking in the glittering jewels and loud accessories, that the only other words he caught over the music and cheering were drag and performance.

Sliding a look to the Tiefling beside him, Fjord raised an eyebrow their way and asked over the din, “drag performance?”

The Tiefling gave him a look, grin dipping a little as they asked, “you do know you’re in a gay bar, right love?”

Fjord felt like a damn fool.

“I do now.”

The Tiefling laughed, loud and amused, as Fjord caught Beau’s shit-eating grin from down the bar. He spared her enough attention to flip her off before focusing back on the Tiefling who was speaking again.

“I’m Mollymauk, by the way. Mollymauk Tealeaf, but everyone here just calls me Molly. If you don’t mind my asking, how’d you end up in a gay bar without knowing it?”

Fjord reached out and took the hand extended his way, giving it a firm shake before saying, “I’m Fjord. And your bartender Beau over there is my gym buddy. I dropped by to give her something and she somehow roped me into sticking around a while without giving me any details.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her.” Molly’s grin was sharp and dangerous, but their words were laced with the begrudging fondness one often could associate with having a sibling. “She’s good at picking reliable company, but she’s also a little shit.”

“You know her well, then?”

“More than I care to admit most days,” Molly chuckled. “I’m her boss, as well as begrudging friend.”

Fjord had to stop himself from saying ‘you’re the Peacock?’ out loud. Instead he cleared his throat in an attempt to not laugh and averted his gaze.

“If you aren’t comfortable with this kind of atmosphere, you can always come back during our lunch hours,” Molly offered, watching Fjord carefully. They had likely mistaken his surprise with discomfort. “Much more of a chill vibe then, when we aren’t packed in with a bunch of drunks.”

Not bothering to correct Molly, he said, “Is that an invitation or a suggestion?”

“Maybe it’s both,” Molly said, wiggling their brows with a suggestive grin. Fjord felt a little flushed and quietly blamed it on the fact that he was halfway through his drink.

“But in all seriousness, Fjord,” Molly continued, leaning in a little to be heard over the pounding music as a drag queen strut through the crowd. “You’re welcome back anytime. Not every queer individual is a fan of loud music and being absolutely blasted. This is a judgment free zone, safe space only.”

Not bothering to correct Molly and tell them he wasn’t actually queer, Fjord simply smiled at the Tiefling gratefully. Taking another swig of his drink, Fjord bid Molly farewell and waved down the bar to Beau as he slipped out. Pausing just outside the door, closing it carefully behind him, Fjord took a steadying breath of cool night air. The music was duller from outside, mingling a lot more peacefully with the sounds of Queens at night.

He and Yasha exchanged a quiet look, something subtly knowing in her stoic eyes, before Fjord was walking off into the night.

--

Caleb looked down at the scribbled note that Veth had shoved at him right before his lunch break had ended earlier that day. Her handwriting scrawled and slanted on the crinkled paper, but the address matched the one on the door and the name of the bar and restaurant hanging above it. Tucking the scrap of paper away into one of his many coat pockets, Caleb hefted his bag a little higher on his shoulder and pushed into the warm interior of The Moon and Mirror.

It was cozy, a little on the dim side, and the décor was intricate in its simplicity. A tapestry hung on one wall between two tall windows, a vibrant red backdrop to multicolored symbols and patterns woven into the fabric. Each table had similar red fabric draped across the tops, lacking patterns but vibrant nonetheless. Every tabletop sported its own antique looking lamp that shed light in a homey beacon of warmth. There was one enormous glass window at the front—heavy, rich drapes held back on either side, velvet and violet in their bundles—that let the late Friday afternoon light spill across the worn wooden floor.

Behind the bar, a lavender skinned Tiefling with solid red eyes and wavy hair glanced up at Caleb’s entrance, an eyebrow lifting appraisingly. Intricate, colorful tattoos curled up one side of their neck and continued out from under their sleeve on one side, curving a serpentine trail down to their hand. They seemed to be in the middle of wiping down the surface, cleaning away the evidence of whatever had happened last night to leave such a sticky residue near plastered to the polished wood.

“Can I help you?” the Tiefling asked, voice laced with a light accent and sweet, deceivingly friendly.

“I am uh…here to see Veth?” Caleb was not nervous, but his statement came out like a question. The wound tension he hadn’t recognized in his shoulders released only when a look of recognition flashed across the Tiefling’s features. They turned as if to call back into the kitchen, silver bobbles clinking against pierced horns, before a quiet clatter was followed by hurried footsteps. From around the far end of the bar, a tiny figure slid to a stop, bright eyes latching onto Caleb.

“You made it!” Veth, his rather chaotic but loveable Halfling friend, came trotting over eagerly as Caleb knelt to greet her. Her calloused, sturdy hands cupped his sallow cheeks as Veth leaned up on tiptoes to plant a motherly kiss to Caleb’s forehead. Button bracelets clattered with familiar charm around her wrists as she pat Caleb’s shoulders, taking stock of him and beaming all the while.

“Grab a seat,” Veth instructed, voice giddy. “The chef’s just finishing up some lunch for us, my treat.”

Nodding silently, he watched her scurry back off into the kitchen before standing and glancing once again at the Tiefling at the bar. They were watching with no small degree of curiosity and fondness. Caleb felt mildly warm under the scrutiny and deflected by gesturing to the numerous tables around him.

“Are any of these taken, or may I help myself?”

The Tiefling gave a wide gesture, a flourish to the motion and something a little less deceivingly friendly in the curve of their grin.

“Be my guest, friend.”

Giving the bartender a quiet nod of acknowledgment, Caleb slung the strap of his bag over the back of a chair and tucked himself into the worn seat of the old wooden chair. His gaze roamed around, taking in the eclectic gathering of worn, mismatched chairs and wayward tables. Each piece seemed to have made its way here for the sole purpose of filling this restaurant. It was definitely one of the more interesting places Caleb had found himself in, and that was saying a lot for a person who had been living in New York City for near two years.

A glass of water slid on the table in front of Caleb as a body sunk gracefully into the seat across from him.

“How do you know Veth, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Caleb looked up from the glass of water and met the solid red gaze of the Tiefling bartender. He raised an eyebrow and took a moment to remain silent as he took in whatever this situation was.

“I work with her husband,” Caleb offered, somewhat vaguely.

“Ah,” the Tiefling snapped their fingers, grinning bright and easy. “You must be Caleb. Veth speaks highly of you. She says you’re very intelligent and working on a degree, yes?”

“You know a lot about me, but I know nothing about you,” Caleb shot back smoothly, keeping his hands tucked in his lap. He didn’t like being known without knowing in return. And while it charmed him to know that Veth seemed to brag about him, it was disconcerting to be staring down a stranger and not even have a name to the face.

“Yes, of course,” the Tiefling all but crooned, hand extending smoothly. “My name’s Mollymauk Tealeaf—Molly for short. I’m Mrs. Veth’s new employer.”

Caleb reached out after a brief hesitation, taking Molly’s hand to shake and finding himself concealing his surprise at how cool the Tiefling’s hand was in his own. Caleb had always heard and read that Tieflings ran noticeably warm, but Molly’s hand was rather chilled. He didn’t comment on it, choosing instead to just draw his hand back after the handshake had lasted an appropriate time.

“She’s very talented at bartending, I’m very lucky to have crossed paths with her. We’ve been scrambling a bit recently to fill the position.”

“Ja, she is very good. She’s a quick learner, too.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Molly beamed, polished fingernails tapping a random pattern against a sliver of exposed tabletop not covered by the cloth. Their solid eyes seemed to take Caleb in. Aware and uncomfortable, the human focused his attention on picking at an errant spot of ink staining the pad of his finger. He could be good with conversation when prepared, but he couldn’t be farther from ready for whatever this was. It felt like an interrogation, but read like an awkward attempt at friendly conversation.

“She’s been struggling a little with getting a job,” Caleb said before he could stop himself, overwhelmed by the awkward pressure. He always slipped up a little when he was nervous.

“Yes, well, most places aren’t too keen on hiring people with a record,” Molly said casually, their friendly expression never faltering.

“You are not most places?” Caleb asked, somewhat derisively as he glanced around the interior.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Molly’s grin was a little less friendly again, hands spreading wide as though amicable. “We’re a fine establishment, decent benefits, ordinary people making a mostly honest living. Just like anyone else in this city.”

Caleb’s somewhat suspicious countenance didn’t change and Molly laid their hands flat against the table and studied the human once more. When they spoke again, their tone was no longer that service type cheerful, instead low and intrigued.

“I thought perhaps with the way Veth spoke of you, she was the protective one in your relationship. It seems I’ve found myself mistaken.” Before Caleb could think to ask what they meant by that, Molly was continuing on. “I understand wanting to protect your own, more than you could fathom I reckon, but believe me when I say your friend will be looked after here. Our employees are family, and everyone in this family is a just a little of the right side of dangerous. She’ll fit in just fine.”

It was a few tense seconds later, Caleb scrutinizing every infinitesimal shift in Molly’s face for signs of deception, that Veth came trotting back out from behind the bar. She carried a steaming plate in each hand and placed them carefully on the table before taking a moment to pat Caleb on his knee as she smiled up at him.

Molly seemed to take that as their cue to leave, pushing to their feet and vacating the seat for Veth. Traipsing back behind the bar with a cheerful wave to Veth’s call of thanks, Molly went back to working at the stains on the bar with Caleb inspecting them.

“Caleb?” Veth’s shrill voice pulled the human back to his senses, blinking at the Halfling across from him. “Are you alright?”

“Ja,” Caleb was quick to reassure her, looking down at his food and feeling his stomach rumble. Right…lunch had been hours ago, and the sun was arching to the horizon now. He always was rather shit at keeping to a fixed schedule outside of work.

“How was your afternoon?” Veth asked after a pause in which she inspected him the way a mother would her child when she didn’t quite believe them. “Did you find that book on decoding ancient languages you were searching for?”

“Ah, not quite,” Caleb said, picking up his fork to appease his companion’s motherly stare. “Apparently another student checked it out a week ago. I am willing to wait, just grateful the library has a copy.”

It didn’t take long from there for the two to dissolve into idle chatter between bites of their food. Caleb had to admit to himself that it was rather tasty—warm and seasoned well. He wasn’t much of a cook himself, but he knew a tasty meal when he had one. Veth eagerly divulged details of her new gig within the bar when Caleb finally diverted the conversation away from the events of his day.

“I get to wear a mask!” Caleb blinked at Veth’s excited proclamation, wondering if perhaps he had misheard her. “To hide my identity!”

“Why…would you need to do that?” Caleb asked, glancing with now nervous fervor around the bar. Patrons looking for dinner now occupied a few of the tables, and Caleb wondered if he had missed something. This place didn’t seem intensely shady, but now he worried.

“It’s not like that,” Veth correctly assumed and waved away Caleb’s concerns. “I told Molly that I was worried about being recognized, is all. I’m fine being seen during the day when it’s just a restaurant, but I don’t want people seeing me at night and getting the wrong idea. They might use it against Yeza or Luc, and I don’t want that. Molly was more than understanding and we decided a mask and fake name might work. It’s like I’m a spy!”

Caleb studied her face quietly, eventually sighing and giving his friend a tiny smile. With a quiet consolation of, “as long as you are safe and happy here, I’m happy for you.”

Beaming across the table at him, Veth reached over to pat her tiny hand against his before going back to her food. Caleb took another moment to scan around the interior, taking it all in, committing it all to memory, before resuming his own meal. They kept on with shiftless snippets of conversation until their plates were empty and Molly came to collect Veth for continued training.

As Veth scooped up their plates from the table and left Caleb with a parting kiss on the cheek, Molly leaned their hands against the back of Veth’s vacated seat. Those solid red eyes bore into Caleb again and the human steeled his will against the urge to look away. Whatever Molly was searching for, they seemed appeased by what they found, a broad grin stretching across their lips.

“Well, lovely to meet you, Mr. Caleb,” Molly’s light accent swirled like honeyed whiskey over Caleb. They pushed off the back of the chair and waved a casual hand in a wide gesture around the interior of the bar. Turning their back to walk towards the kitchen after Veth, they called over their shoulder, “stick around a while, if you’d like. We’re open a while longer.”

Caleb had to admit, he wasn’t sure where that invitation had come from, but he had nothing better to do. He could go back to his apartment and read through the books tucked into his bag, but he and his roommate both kept odd hours, and Caleb didn’t quite feel like being entirely alone just yet. The restaurant was fairly empty, and quiet enough for him to concentrate, so he figured there was no harm in waiting around under the guise of wanting to leave with Veth.

With that decided, Caleb settled into his seat and pulled a book at random free from his bag. Nose tucked firmly between the pages, he barely acknowledged the passage of time or events happening around him as he took every word in. It was a great ability for his habits of study, but detrimental at times when he found himself in public places.

He was only reminded of the latter effect when he looked up what must have been a couple hours later. He found himself surrounded by loud music, varying stages of drunk individuals, and—apparently—in the middle of a drag performance.

[lethargic-caterpillar]

A Second Date (SFW)

Male! Wereliger x Gender Neutral! Reader

The reader does have a panic attack in this one. 

---

Xander had messaged you the day after your ‘date’ at the cafe, and you talked about meeting up again on Saturday for a late lunch. That was Monday, now after talking with him for a week your excitement had only grown. 

Right now, you are waiting for him on a bench at the entrance of the park, smoothing out the wrinkles on your pants. You check your phone again, he was running a little bit late, just by 10 minutes, but it feels like eternity. 

Someone calls your name, you swivel on the bench to see Xander waving with his free hand. In his other hand was a black bag, the food he said he was bringing, or so you assume. You stand as he speed walks down the small strip of sidewalk that separates the two of you. 

“Sorry I’m a little late, there were some unforeseen complications with the food,” Xander grins and holds up the bag. 

“I wasn’t waiting for very long, if I’m being honest I was expecting to have to apologise for being late,” you admit and laugh nervously. It felt odd to be face to face with him again after a week of just texting, but also kind of nice. 

It was awkward at first, the conversation, but soon it became rather easy. He told you about how his mom used to paint in this park before she started travelling. She sells her paintings in the farmers market on Saturdays whenever she’s back in town.

You both stopped at the fountain in the centre of a circle of trees, admiring the stone carving of three fish spewing water into the large pool.

“Here?” Xander points to a bench facing the fountain.  

“Sure,” you hesitate before grabbing his hand and leading the way. The butterflies in your stomach flutter when he squeezes your hand tighter, your face feels hot. 

The bench is warm, but not unbearably so. Xander pulls out the food; an assortment of meats, cheese, and vegetables from the deli on the corner, and water bottles. He comments on the queen-worthy quality, and his cat-like grin makes an appearance. 

Not once did you feel like you didn’t have his full attention while you shared the platter. The hours pass like minutes while you walk through the park. It was just really easy to be with Xander, you weren’t the only one trying anymore.

The breeze picks up, feeling a little colder than what you were dressed for. You rub the goosebumps forming on your arms, looking at the grey clouds moving to block the late afternoon sun. Xander trails off, glancing at the sky as well.

“Did you by any chance… check the weather report?” you laugh awkwardly. He shakes his head sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck. A drop lands on your nose, with spots rapidly appearing on the sidewalk and your clothes.

Xander leads you both to a gazebo, and you stare out at the downpour. It was like a movie, a perfect date ruined by unexpected rain.

Thunder rumbles overhead.

Unexpected thunderstorm then. Xander is shivering nearly as violently as you are, the white ears atop his head lay flat. He notices you looking and they perk back up. 

“So… wait here, or do you want to come back to my place until it stops?” he sounds hopeful, keeping his tone as light as possible. 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” you twist the hem of your slightly damp shirt and take a deep breath. The cold air was starting to hurt your nose, you sniff to fight off a sneeze.

Xander jogs through the park, keeping a hold on your hand and checking to make sure you were keeping up. His apartment wasn't very far at all. The building was just on the other side of the park’s main entrance. 

It was in fairly good condition and the carpeted stairs creaked quietly as you both trudged up them. The apartments were also fairly quiet, you wondered if anyone was even home. Xander fumbles around with his keys, the excess of them on the key ring seeming to give him some trouble.

He finds the one he’s looking for and gently places it into the lock, the door swings open and Xander waits for you to go in first. It’s a fairly small apartment, nothing too fancy. The furniture was matching shades of tan with a black coffee table and black cushions. 

“Make yourself at home,” Xander slipped past you after kicking off his shoes and placing them on a rack. “I’ll make us some tea?”

You nod and reach down to untie your own shoes. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Xander’s socks and laugh. They were bright orange with tiny pizzas wearing sunglasses printed all over. 

He looks back at you and notices what you’re giggling at. A proud smile lights up his face as well as a blush. “They’re my luckiest pair. I wore them to make sure that today went as planned.”

“I guess they don’t work as well as you thought?” you trail off, looking out the window at the endless rain. Xander shrugs and turns into the kitchen.

“I have a pretty human in my apartment, I’d say they are still pretty lucky,” it was your turn to blush. You sit down on the armchair in the corner and listen to the small sounds coming from the kitchen. 

The painting beside you catches your eye. It’s of the fountain from the park, you wonder if it was his mother that painted it. You open your mouth to ask as light flashes in through the apartment.

As it disappears, so do the room lights. Xander yelps in the kitchen and you hear a glass hit the tiled floor, shattering it, most likely. The dark clouds have covered the late afternoon sun so well that it was nearly pitch black in the living room. Vague outlines of the furniture kept you from tripping over the coffee table when you jumped up.

Within milliseconds of standing, you’ve got your phone's flashlight on and you’re turning the corner to observe the kitchen.

First, you see the broken pieces of a purple mug, which wasn’t surprising in the least. The second thing though, now that was surprising. You turn the light on to check on Xander and drop your phone with a shriek.

Where Xander was supposed to be stood a giant white tiger. The rational part of your brain reminded you that he was a wereliger and must have fully shifted in panic, but another part your brain wasn’t listening to reason. 

Your heart is going a million miles an hour and jerk backward. Tears well up in your eyes as you try to catch your breath. Adrenaline pushes its way through your veins and you start to shake. It’s absolutely suffocating, and you try to reason with yourself through it.

A powerful flashlight turns on and you squint, causing a tear to escape. “I’m so sorry!” Xander whimpers and steps carefully around the broken porcelain. “It’s just me…”

You nod and let him guide you back to the couch. He leaves you briefly and comes back with a cold glass of water, he also drapes a throw blanket over your shivering form.

“Would you like me to give you some space?” he whispers, wringing his tail in distress. Your hair falls in front of your face when you shake your head. Xander nods and holds your hand. The adrenaline subsides and you feel a crash coming on. 

“Sorry for freaking out… I knew it was you. I don’t know what came over me,” he shakes his head and looks at you with a grin.

“You don’t have to apologise for anything. I know I’m scary,” you laugh at his playful growl and clawing motion. The joy that filled you made the fatigue fade a bit, your chest felt lighter.

“Not even a little bit,” you flick his nose and watch in amusement when it twitches. Xander’s face lights up in the warm glow of the flashlight that was pointed up at the ceiling.

“I have an idea, wait right here!” He jumps up and you teeter a little bit with the disruption of the balance in the couch cushions. He skids around the corner in excitement and you hear him giggling as he shifts around in a room. There’s lots of drawer opening and clattering but Xander soon returns with his arms full.

He carefully puts them down on the coffee table and you see dozens of multicoloured tealights and a lighter. You look at him in confusion and see his tail shaking behind him, not quite wagging, but something like that. Xander lights them one by one, placing them throughout the living room, you stand up to help him. Slowly, so that you don’t place it somewhere that it’ll cause something to catch fire, you two finish setting them up.

The whole room was bathed in warm light, the small flickering flames brought back memories of a power outage in your childhood home. Your mother had brought out bowls of ice cream and read to you from a book about brave dragons saving princesses.

“Why do you have so many candles?” you nudge him as he stands beside you. 

“I have bubble baths on Tuesdays,” Xander says in a mock-serious tone that is ruined with his wide smile. “Now, let’s play crazy eights.” he lifts up a deck of cards that you hadn’t noticed he was carrying.

“You’re on,” you smirk and sit on the floor by the coffee table. 

Xander is beating you seven to two, but you’re laughing so hard that you don’t even care. His random compliments make your heart skip a beat, and it seems so natural for him. You ask him how he does it.

“You just make it easy, I really do believe the things I say,” Xander says as the last round comes to an end, another win for him, you scowl. It’s his damn lucky socks, no one can have hands that good naturally. “By the way.” he looks up at you, his dark eyes catching the candlelight perfectly.

The rest of the hour goes by too quickly, and the little bubble that you’d created bursts when orange light fills the apartment. You look up and squint, having to look back down almost immediately.

“Looks like the rain has stopped,” you snort and place your hand above your eyes to block out most of the light.

“Yeah, seems that way,” Xander sighs, standing up, his knees pop and you cringe. He laughs and helps you up. “Let’s go out onto the balcony.” you carry your shoes to the mat in front of the sliding door, tugging them on, and following him out.

The low standing buildings gave you both a perfect view of the sunset. You felt Xander poke your hand and you turn it so that he can intertwine his and your fingers. A smile tugs at your lips when he starts to purr quietly. You knew you had to leave soon, but a few more minutes couldn’t hurt.

---

Hooooo boi, this one took me a hot minute to complete... again. I’m trying to be more consistent with posting but I can’t make any promises right now!

Take care of yourself by getting a full eight hours of unconscious time!: A Lethargic Caterpillar~

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday: Dash it, Jeeves, which way’s the bedroom?

Given that I was just complaining about my inability to find a blue print to Highclere’s upper reaches, it seemed appropriate that today’s snippet be from one of the spots where I most wish I had one. And so we see Bertie Wooster, guest of Lord Grantham, enacting one of his most brilliant schemes ever despite the fact that Jeeves, his  brain clearly starting to go at last, did not see it’s genius and advised against it.

Also, I think every writer should do at least one short piece in the style of Wodehouse at some point. It’s terribly fun.

Cut text because it’s rather long.

As I predicted, Horatio took one look at me, standing in front of his beloved with a carving knife, and leapt to the most dire conclusion. As I predicted, he swiftly moved to protect the delicate object of his affection. As Jeeves had predicted, I seemed to have underestimated the vehemence of his reaction. His face turned a decided aubergine colour. His mustache bristled. I couldn’t swear but that a couple puffs of smoke didn’t go billowing out his nose.

I took a step backward.

He took a step forward. He slowly extended his hands in the general direction of my neck.

I took another step, with him following. It should never be said that Woosters are cowards, but on the third step, me retreating and this lumbering beast coming after, something broke inside me. I dropped the carving knife and bolted. There was a bellow like an irate hippopotamus and the sound of footsteps behind me and I knew, without looking over my shoulder, that the chase, as they say, was on. The halls of Downton Abbey quickly took on the semblance of the Valley of Death and I, without making reply or reasoning why, charged through them. Someone had blundered, and that someone was Bertram.

“Now Horatio, I know what you’re thinking,” I tried to reason as I hastened myself down the gallery. “That can’t have looked very well at all.”

“I’m going to break your spine in five places and then beat you to jelly!” was the well reasoned response.

I decided to save my breath for running. Downton Abbey is a very squareish sort of building. The gallery runs around the periphery so that Horatio and I could have been running in circles, or more to the point squares, all night. Given the floor we were on, that didn’t seem preux to the gently nurtured guests, so when we reached the stairs, I transferred floors as smoothly as possible with the goal of reaching my own room, sequestering myself inside, and locking the door. Perhaps the Girton-Brattle menace would be more inclined to conversation if the option was breaking down a piece of solid oak. It was a sound enough plan, but there were two hitches. The first was that I lost some speed on the stairs, putting my neck in closer proximity to those iron bending hands. The second was that while trying to make up the lost time, I inadvertently turned the wrong direction upon reaching the bachelor’s quarters, thus charging away from my room, rather than towards. It occurred to me to try and correct, but the time I realized my mistake, my pursuer had reached the top of the stairs, so reversing course would have been to deliver myself to the jelly pot.

The next step, it seemed obvious, was to cast around for a hiding place. The problem there was that Horatio was so hot on my heels that he’d see where I had stowed myself and be after me like a dog with a ferret gone to ground. Also, while there were doors aplenty, I had no idea which rooms were occupied and one does not like to simply charge in on a chap while he’s relaxing for the night. As a last resort, I started to cast about for some sort of weapon. I somewhat regretted not holding on to the carving knife. On the other hand, that was a rather short range weapon and would have involved putting myself within grabbing distance, something I was eager to avoid. If I could have gotten in one of the rooms, a fire poker or something of the sort might have been acquired which would have done the trick. As a bonus, I likely could have hidden behind a door, giving me enough cover to spring from behind. I finally spotted a niche in the wall ahead, one of those places where decorations are put to make a place look a bit dressier and, if I remembered correctly, this one housed a vase. Not the ideal means of defense, naturally, but at least something I could lob at the thick skull with enough force to do some useful damage. I could only hope that the vase was not some priceless heirloom, rife with sentimental whatnot. One really does not want to go about breaking his host’s sentimental doodads, but this was an emergency.

I had almost reached my goal when there was a sort of thudding noise behind me and the air was coloured with some less than polite sentiment. Under the oath I thought I heard a polite, “Terribly sorry, sir,” but I didn’t stop to investigate until I had reached the aforementioned niche and was hoisting the previously noted vase that resided there in. Only then did I turn around to see what had transpired. Of course, having missed the actual incident, I had to do some guess work, but what I surmised was as follows:

As Horatio Girton-Brattle had come plummeting down the hallway, intent on Bertram’s demise, Mr. Barrow had stepped from one of the side rooms. In doing so, he had impeded Horatio’s forward momentum, either with a door or his body, in full or in part. Horatio, not thinking clearly, had been so incensed by the interruption, that he had given up his pursuit of yours truly and now had Barrow pinned to the door by his neck. The room beyond that door must have been occupied, because I was aware in a dimmish sort of way of banging from the interior and an indecipherable sort of yelling.

The truly surprising thing was how unperturbed Barrow seemed to be by the whole thing.

“Watch where you’re going, you miserable little worm!” Horatio’s loving words were clearly audible, even at a bit of a distance.

“Terribly sorry, sir,” Barrow repeated. He sounded neither agitated nor particularly sorry.

Apparently Horatio picked up on the lack of true sorrow. I’m not certain, but I think I heard the gnashing of teeth. “I should beat you to a jelly, tripping me like that.”

Now, a mere mortal would have quailed at the thought. There would have been stammerings and possibly pleadings. But apparently this Barrow was made of sterner stuff than most men, because all he said was, “I wish you wouldn’t, sir. It would make a mess of the hall rug.”

It is said that the best of men lead by example. That their good deeds and gallantry will inspire the lesser men. So it was in this case. The words of this butler among butlers inspired me to gather my courage. If he could face down a raging Girton-Brattle, then why not I? It helped that the confrontation had put Horatio with his back to me. It seemed but the work of a moment to retrace my steps and, with one swift motion, bring my weapon down upon the head of this fearsome specimen, hopefully with enough force to incapacitate him. The only cause for hesitation was, as before, the inevitable demise of the vase and my uncertainty as to it’s value. I had no great desire to be thrown out on my ear at this late hour.

My decision was made for me when a noise emitted from Horatio much like I would imagine a pipe explosion in a mechanics factory would sound. That it is to say it was loud, sort of whistling, and seemed to spell doom for any and all near the blast area. Unable to simply let Barrow stand there and be jellied after he had, purposefully or not, saved me, I started forward, vase raised. Fortunately for the vase, and possibly for Bertram, if I’d not managed to connect with enough force, before I arrived a very authoritative, most vexed voice demanded, “What on earth is going on here?”

I came screeching to a halt, the vase being instinctively tucked into a safe place under one arm. I had not immediately recognized the voice. It was familiar, but something about the tone made it so I couldn’t put a finger on the speaker. I was therefore somewhat surprised when Lord Grantham strode into view, his face set with righteous anger. At tea and dinner he’d looked like a mostly mild mannered sort of old boy, perfectly happy sipping his port and playing with the dog. I wouldn’t have imagined him to look quite so much as a big game hunter advancing on an elephant that’s had the poor sense to trample the lion he was hunting, particularly as he was wearing a dressing robe. A short way behind him was a tall, broadish looking chap with an odd gate that I soon realized was due to his leaning on a walking stick. This, I surmised, was Mr. Bates. Behind Mr. Bates shimmered the familiar and trusted form of Jeeves.

If all I had to write in this piece was Bertie’s PoV, I’d probably have finished by now, novel or not. Unfortunately it also requires Jeeves’s PoV which Wodehouse only wrote once and which is really rather slippery to get a hold of. But you need that upstairs, downstairs feel for it to be properly Downton...

[crystalninjaphoenix]

The Haunted

A Horror Septics Story

(A fun thing for Halloween. Well, fun for the writer and readers, not so much fun for the character going through it. Enjoy >:) )

—————

There was a face in the mirror.

It almost looked like him. Almost. There were too many eyes. Too much blood. And it juddered and shivered, breaking into pieces like a video with bad connection. But it was real. No, it couldn’t be. As he stared at what should have been his reflection, this was all he could think. “You’re not real,” he whispered. “You’re not real.”

The face seemed to smile. His eyes remained locked with it.

It lunged forward, broken hand reaching through the class. He cried out and jumped backwards, covering his head. After a moment of tense anticipation, he lowered his arms and looked at the mirror. It was just him.

He exhaled slowly, and left the bathroom, hands shaking as he pushed the door open. He headed back towards the room he’d just left. There was a table in there, a table that wasn’t usually there but that he’d dragged in for today. On top of the table was a half-carved pumpkin and a few knives. In front of this setup was a camera on a tripod. He walked over to stand behind the table and smiled for the camera. “Sorry about that, that was just—actually let’s edit that out. Okay. Back to this. What you’re gonna want to do...”

* * * * * * * * *

His phone was vibrating violently; the sound of it clattering against his nightstand was enough to wake him up. Blearily, he blinked up at the ceiling, then turned his attention to the phone. It had stopped vibrating. He picked it up and saw a couple missed calls, as well as a text message from a friend asking him to call. So he dialed the number. “Hey what’s up?”

“Hey ŝĺňŦèŸ, were you planning on uploading a different video today?” his friend asked.

“Huh? What d’you mean?”

“I mean, I went to post the edited version of Pony Island, and there was already a video up.”

He sat up straight. “What? What was it?”

“Uh, it was something like ‘pumpkin carving unedited.’”

He threw aside his blankets and rushed to the computer, dropping his phone and not bothering to pick it up. Booting up the computer and going over to his channel, he saw a video with that exact title...except something was a little weird with the letters. The title read “pu̵m̶p̵k̀in c̸arv̕ing̛ u͡ne͟d́i͢ted.” Dread pooled in his stomach. He wasn’t going to upload that. He’d been planning to, but it hadn’t...worked out. The footage never even left the camera.

Uneasy, he clicked it. The video was over an hour long, and he watched it all. It really was unedited. Nothing was cut out. He watched with a sinking stomach as the version of him onscreen trailed off in the middle of a sentence, staring at the knife for a full minute. The part with the bleeding eye was included, when it just started leaking blood for no apparent reason. And all those morbid jokes, pretending the pumpkin was a person he was stabbing, and grinning hysterically right after that...it was all there. Up until the moment he said “I can’t do this” and turned the camera off. The reactions in the comments seemed...mixed. He read through them, his heart frozen. Some wondered if this was a joke, some thought he was doing it for attention, some wanted to know if he was okay. They were all confused.

Quickly, he stood up and ran over to grab his phone. He turned on the camera and started recording a video. “Hey guys. So you, uh, probably noticed the weird footage that got uploaded today. I just want to say...that wasn’t me. I actually have no idea where it came from.” He stammered through a short explanation, finishing it off by saying he’ll be taking a month-or-two-long break from recording anything, for his own mental health. Then he quickly uploaded that.

He glanced towards his computer monitor, which was still turned on. As he looked, the screen suddenly dissolved into static, distorted noise coming through the speakers. There was a face in the white noise.

An hour later, he was out on the street, smashing his computer and all his recording equipment with a baseball bat he’d found in his closet.

* * * * * * * * *

Despite his hopes, he had to conclude that it was real. Something was there, something was watching him. It sent him strange texts every so often, the words a bunch of scrambled symbols with the occasional threat. He kept the phone, though. To keep in contact with his friends and family.

He got rid of the TV, though. It kept switching on, making those same distorted sounds. One day in a panic, he opened the window and threw it out, watching it shatter on the ground below.

People kept asking how he was. Despite his best attempts to resist, he couldn’t help but check social media every so often. Some of his viewers thought this was a game, a fun horror-based thing to celebrate the end of the spooky season. Some of them were genuinely concerned.

Friends and family called and texted him. Some asked if he wanted to “see someone.” He considered it, he really did. Maybe he was just losing it. Waking up in the middle of the night, staring at eyes in the ceiling? That certainly seemed as though it was in his head. But he knew it was real. Because nobody could have uploaded that footage.

He got another text one day. Ŗæ¬YouareÈñħ»źmineÓŶğÙ´ÛIwillěġİťämakeĨÅęţyouþÚÆómyéªŕîijöÀ×í¸ĪºÎtoyðŦłĈForeverů¿ŭŪʼnĺĂķ=)

He threw his phone on the floor until its screen shattered and its case was broken. Then he dropped the remains down the nearest sewer grate.

* * * * * * * * *

He saw the face in his nightmares. Usually they just involved those eyes, those strange green eyes, all staring at him. He’d dream he was trapped in a box, all of them staring at him as it filled up with a red liquid that tasted metallic. Or he’d dream he was running down a street, the eyes watching him from looming buildings, his feet getting stuck as something that screeched with static grew closer and closer. The nightmares with the face were the worst. Because then it could touch him. And he’d wake up, unable to move, panting heavily as those eyes stared at him from his bedroom walls.

The lights would flicker, and more often than not they would turn off completely. His landline kept ringing. At first he’d pick up the calls, hoping to hear familiar voices. But all it turned out to be was distorted, laughing static.

He couldn’t stay here. It knew he was here.

It was a lovely spring day when he packed a suitcase and a duffel bag and headed to the nearest bus stop out of town.

* * * * * * * * *

There was a face in the crowd.

He was sitting on the train platform, waiting for the next one to come. People passed by, rushing quickly about their business and not paying him a second glance. Busy, busy, busy. But out of the sea of faces, one was staring at him.

His breathing sped up. He couldn’t look away. He was frozen, watching the figure in the crowd. People walked around it, not even looking in its direction. Nobody saw the twitching, bleeding, shuddering figure except for him. It wasn’t moving. But when he blinked, it got closer. What was once too distant to make out clearly slowly approached until he could see the green scleras of its many eyes.

“Go away!” He shot to his feet, knocking over his suitcase. “Leave me alone already!” People around him stared. He didn’t blame them. If he saw a man screaming at nothing in a train station, he would stare too. “What will it take?! Leave me the fuck alone!”

Luckily the train came before it got too close. But he stared at the station until it passed into the distance.

* * * * * * * * *

“I’m sorry young man, but t’ere’s nothin’ I can do to help you.”

It was raining outside, and he was glad the old woman had opened the door to let him inside. He sat curled up in one of the chairs in the living room, listening to her. “There—there h-has to be some way,” he stuttered. “You don’t know...anything?”

“T’is isn’ a creature I’ve seen before,” she said. “And I’ve seen plenty in my time. The best ye can do is to continue t’is path you’re on.”

Running forever? Switching from country to country at random? Always looking over his shoulder for those eyes or that face to be behind him? He shuddered. “What about the one in the forest? There’s supposed to be something there, right?”

“You didn’ see in on your way through?”

“Um...I saw it from a distance, but it didn’t get close.”

The old woman shook her head. “T’hear it didn’ approach you...when ye were all alone and most vulnerable...it doesn’ want anyt’ing t’do with you.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “You may stay here for as long as you like.”

He nodded slowly, and stared out the window. Waiting for it to appear.

* * * * * * * * *

The hotel room wasn’t one of the better ones he’d stayed in in his life. If he had to guess, it was probably a two star. But it had a bed and a shower, and that was all that mattered.

The clerk greeted him with a half-hearted wave and a monotone voice: “Bienvenue à l'historique Hôtel de la Soie. Comment puis-je vous aider?”

He stared at him blankly. “Uh...I need a room. Um...une neht—une nuit?”

The clerk scoffed a bit under his breath. He jabbed a finger at a sign hanging on the wall with the prices for a stay. An unusual thing to have in a hotel, but it worked out. He handed a stack of ten-euro notes over to the clerk, who took only a brief moment to count all of it before handing him a key in return. He nodded, and headed upstairs.

Later that night, he lay down on the bed, on top of the blankets. There was a single window into the room. Though he was on the third floor, he kept staring at it, waiting for a face to appear. He didn’t know what time it was when he finally drifted, having unplugged the digital clock and shoved it in the closet. But fall asleep he did.

Only to jolt awake barely two hours later, hearing the slightest sound of static coming from the old television speakers. He sat up straight, staring at it. The screen flipped on, showing rows of colored bars.

Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten. He grabbed his duffel bag and ran out the door, not bothering to check out. He’d never be coming back here anyway.

* * * * * * * * *

“Please! I know you can help me! I know it!” He grabbed the back of the red hoodie, clinging to the fabric.

Hands grabbed his wrists and yanked him away. The creature looked very annoyed to be bothered, but in its featureless face, he could’ve sworn he saw fear as well. “I can’t,” it hissed. “Leave me alone.”

“I know you can,” he repeated bleakly. “I-I know you...you’re much older, right? I’m sure you can—can—”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you’re wrong,” it said bluntly. “Usually you would be right. Not in this case.”

He stared at it, letting a few tears slip from his eyes. “Please...”

It dropped his wrists and walked away. He didn’t bother to follow it, sinking to his knees, watching as the creature approached someone and started chatting away. They both ignored him. A desolate feeling overcame his heart. Not even things like this could help him...

“Hey signore! Stai bene?” A teenager nearby asked him.

He looked at her. The teen was with her friends, a group of kids, all hanging out together, unaware of...everything. Then he stood up and walked away silently.

* * * * * * * * *

He was a mess. He knew it before, but staring at his reflection in the shop window across the street really drove it home. Dirty, travel-worn clothes. Wild, greasy hair and an unkempt beard. He’d lost the suitcase long ago, and decided to trade the duffel bag for an easier-to-carry backpack he’d stolen two weeks ago...or was it a month ago? It was hard to keep track, days blurring into each other.

Running his hand through his hair, it occurred to him that he’d been trying to grow facial hair for years, and it took circumstances like this to make it actually fill out. The thought was so absurd that he couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

A woman and a little girl were walking down the sidewalk nearby, presumably a mother and daughter out for a stroll. The girl pointed at him, but her mother pulled her closer, and muttered, “To niegrzeczne wskazywać. Nie gap się na niego.” He had no idea what it meant, but noticed how they crossed the street soon after.

Well, whatever. That was the least of his worries.

He sat down, leaning back against the wall of the building behind him. A yawn escaped, and he closed his eyes. Even though it was the middle of the day, he was asleep within minutes.

When he awoke, it was close to sunset, and more people were milling about the pavement. He sat up straight, searching the area. Something had woken him up.

He glanced over his shoulder, and saw it watching him, its hand extended and only a few inches away from him.

With a scream, he threw himself backwards, scrambling to his feet. “Go away!” He shouted. “Fuck off!”

Its eyes smiled, leaking blood. “×ýńŃÙĸComečŌĆĺĤÓhereĿ¾ŚĀMineŬħĩ”

He broke out into a dead run, shoving past annoyed pedestrians who yelled at him as he passed. He didn’t care. They couldn’t help him.

* * * * * * * * *

Exhaustion dragged at his feet, making him stumble. He kept his eyes open, glancing over his shoulder. It had been a day since he last saw it. Was that long enough? He collapsed on the side of the road, landing in a bush. Its tiny branches scraped at his skin, but he didn’t feel them.

He woke up with static ringing in his ears. Pushing to his hands and knees, he looked behind him, and saw it.

A sob ripped free of his throat. He was running before he was even fully upright. Its laughter echoed behind him.

Judging by how much the sun had moved, it had only been about three hours since he fell asleep. How was it so fast? It never followed him when he ran, it just...appeared. Watching him. Waiting.

* * * * * * * * *

He’d stolen an egg timer from a small store he’d run across. The woman manning the cash register had run after him, shouting “Állj meg! Tolvaj!” but he was too fast. Still, the effort of running for so long tired him out, and he staggered and fell. Staying right where he was on the sidewalk, he set the timer for forty-five minutes, then lowered his head and fell asleep.

When the timer went off, ringing shrilly in his ear, he grabbed it and sat up, looking around.

It was right there. Standing over him.

He couldn’t find the energy to scream, instead making a hoarse, strangled cry as he climbed to his feet and took off. Forty-five minutes was too long. When he next fell down, two hours later just outside of the town, he set it for forty.

* * * * * * * * *

Halfway to the next town, he had to reduce the time to thirty minutes. He’d fallen asleep sometime in the night, when the moon was high overhead. And when he woke up to the sound of the timer ringing, he rolled over and stared into green eyes.

“¿ČþިŰŭċ©ŏżBreakŴÎŐIJÚ½ÏforËúĂŤmeóʼnŎōĈĝÿ”

He shrieked and ran, adrenaline giving him a boost. It was so close, so close, and it still didn’t pursue. Was this a game for it? Was it playing with him? It must have been.

* * * * * * * * *

Fifteen minutes. He’d run for about forty minutes, then he couldn’t take it anymore, and had to fall asleep for fifteen minutes. People wandering through the town gave him strange looks, but he was long past the point of caring.

When he woke up this time, he felt something on his arm. He looked down and saw a hand, twitching, bleeding, staring. He shoved it away and tried to run. It kept laughing at him. He wasn’t nearly as fast as he used to be.

* * * * * * * * *

Five minutes. Run for fifteen, then sleep for five. Run for ten, then sleep for three. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, knowing something was watching him with an electric gaze.

Something tugged on the back of his jacket, and he jolted awake. He’d slept right through the timer. It was pulling him—! Struggling, he managed to pull away and stumble down the street. It wasn’t laughing anymore.

* * * * * * * * *

It grabbed his arm next time. He swung a wild punch and pulled backwards, setting off down the street. Static hissed. He didn’t know how long it was before he fell down. But soon he was lying on the sidewalk, staring at the yellow-lit windows of the city buildings. Next thing he knew, his eyes were opening to it grabbing his leg. A kick, and he was staggering down the street again.

* * * * * * * * *

His eyes flew open. It had grabbed his other arm. Gasping, tears leaking, he wriggled out of his jacket and ran. He made it down three city blocks before he absolutely couldn’t go any further. His legs refused to move, and he crumpled. Asleep before he hit the ground.

* * * * * * * * *

He woke up choking, his shirt collar tight around his neck. Gasping, pulling at the fabric, it took him a moment to realize he was being dragged across the ground, rough asphalt catching on his clothes. A cry escaped his throat, only to be strangled as the fabric was pulled tighter. He kicked wildly, hands grabbing at the shirt collar to try and loosen it. “Let me go!” He shouted hoarsely. His fingers scrabbled at the ground, trying to get a hold.

Static laced with laughter. As if the very idea was ridiculous.

He hadn’t really been expecting that to work, anyway. Reaching back with one hand, he tried to pry its fingers away, but kept slipping. So instead he tried to wriggle out of his shirt like he did with his jacket earlier. But it was wise to this trick now. It grabbed both his wrists, its grasp wiry but strong. And cold. Not cold like ice, cold like a cadaver. He shuddered to feel it, and tried all the harder to twist free.

There wasn’t anyone nearby. He doubted if anyone would answer, or if they could even see him, but he had to try. “Help!” He screamed. “Help! Someone, please! Help! Please!”

No response.

It dragged him to the edge of the city, indifferent to his screams and pleas. His skin was scraped, but if he could just get free, it would be worth it. If he could just run. He needed to run. He needed to—!

The air seemed to shiver, the world breaking into colors and shapes. He froze, the image hypnotizing and terrifying. It felt as though he suddenly jerked awake while falling asleep. When things righted themselves, the city was gone. Instead he was in the middle of nowhere. Twisted ground littered with broken electronics: monitors, CPUs, televisions, radios, and so many wires and cables. Static was so thick in the air, he could taste it. The sky above was black. No, deeper than black, it was a void. And there were...things crawling over the piles of scrapped technology. They stared at him. It stared at him.

No longer exhausted, he climbed to his feet and started to run once more. And it started to laugh. Laughed like it was the most hilarious joke, the kind of joke you’d hear a million times and never get tired of.

He brushed past a pile and suddenly tripped. Wires wrapped around his legs, climbed up his body to his neck. He tasted copper deep in his throat.

And then it left. He was alone. But a voice lingered in the air.

“şøëĬÕÆßĺóŸŖYouareÓĆð¬ÞmineŀĽĶ¤ĵ¿nowįýâźÉÇĖïʼnéąAndďļćÐŏÒĎŧYouwillŰæŒĞĢŃmakeÑıàĂĀŷťªŕawonderŤÊŠ÷ĕŋfulİåŅž«©¶ăšplayőĤ¦Ŵthing·ÏāĔ®öÀĈ°ŗè”

[may85]

Prompt(s): 12. "They better hope I never get my hands on them. They won't like what happens if I do." ANGST 12. "It's scary how much I love you," FLUFF

Pairing: Ben Hanscom x Reader

Movie: IT: Chapter 2

Word Count: 1680

Warnings: Assault, cussing, insecurities after an attack, fluff

With a great sigh, I flipped the sign to Closed and locked the door as I left my bakery and ice cream parlor, Downtown Derry Treats.

It had been a long and stressful week with the Derry Festival and carnival happening. I was left short staffed due to the teenagers that normally worked for me wanting to go out with their friends and have a good time.

I understood, having been there myself, but I was beyond ready to go home to my husband, Ben Hanscom.

Speaking of which, I pulled out my cell phone and sent him a quick text, letting him know that I was on my way home. Normally he'd pick me up, but I had so many orders that I had to finish, that I didn't want to disturb him.

Ben had returned earlier in the day from the next county over, making sure that his new building was being built properly and that job was proving to be stressful, so I knew he'd be in bed. 

Hurry home, pretty lady.

His reply said, making me smile.

I could hear the screams and laughter of the people from the carnival a few blocks over. The streets were practically deserted, only a few stragglers going to their cars around, so it made me jump when I heard catcalls and wolf whistles from behind me.

I glanced back, tightening my grip on my keys when I saw that it was Henry Bowers and Patrick Hocksetter. They laughed when I turned back around and picked up my pace.

"You think fat boy knows how to take care of that?" Bowers said.

I moved quicker, hearing how close they were.

"Naw, no way man," Hocksetter laughed.

I felt an arm circle my shoulders and smelt the alcohol on Bowers breath.

"C'mon pretty lady! Don't be so shy!"

I jerked from his grasp, "Leave me alone Henry,"

I walked backwards, then turned and started to run.

Henry laughed, "Let's get her,"

I tried to scream, but Henry's grimy hand covered my mouth, while his other wrapped around my torso and started to drag me into the nearest alley.

My breath was knocked from me as he slammed me against the brick wall.

"Stop," I gasped.

"C'mon Y/N… why won't you give me a chance?" He asked.

Hocksetter stood at the end of the alley as a lookout.

Henry had been delusional about us since we were teenagers. When we were toddlers, our parents had made playdates for us, but something changed in Henry around seven years old. He became mean and down right belligerent.

His dad was murdered when he was 13 and it went unsolved, but the sheriff's department knew that it was Henry; they just never had enough evidence to charge him.

I took deep breaths and tried to stay calm, "Henry, I'm married to Ben. I need to go,"

He pushed me back as soon as I tried to move. With quick movements for someone as completely trashed as he was, he flipped out his precious knife and drug it down my cheek.

That was also the same knife that he used so many summer's ago to carve his name into Ben's stomach.

"Gimmie a chance, Y/N,"

Henry's gaze was crazed and I knew that what was about to happen, would stay with me for the rest of my life.

I looked up, telling Ben that I loved him in my mind before looking straight at Henry. I leaned in close, "Fuck off Bowers!"

His lip curled and he hauled off, slapping me hard enough across the face that I felt my lip split and tasted blood.

"Henry, man! What the hell!?" Hocksetter yelled.

I moaned as Henry rolled me over and weakly tried to push away his hands as they pulled up my shirt.

"I'm gonna fuckin' finish what I started, that's what!"

I screamed as I felt the blade of his knife dig into my stomach. It wasn't long after the second letter that I passed out.

°°°°°°

It was annoying beeping that had me stirring. I groaned, squeezing my hands into fists and feeling a stinging pull of a needle in my hand.

I smelt Ben's cologne before I heard him and the beeping calmed slightly.

"Y/N, sweetheart," I felt his hand run through my hair and rest above my head, "Open your eyes for me, pretty lady,"

My eyes shot open and a gasp left me as I sat up too quickly. The beeping went faster as Ben tried to diffuse my panic 

"Woah, woah, calm down Y/N. You're fine, you're safe,"

"B-B-Bowers," I stuttered, watching with wide eyes as the doctor came into my room.

"Mrs Hanscom, you need to calm down," the doctor said, filling a syringe then injecting it into my IV.

Whatever he'd given me, worked within seconds and I'd nearly fallen asleep, but I fought the drowsiness as best as I could.

"Just give her some time. Don't rush this," A female said.

"They better hope I never get my hands on them. They won't like what happens if I do," I could feel the wrath that Ben was ready to unleash as he said those words.

"Yeah, man. Those fuckers deserve anything they get comin' to them,"

My eyes felt heavier, but I smiled when I realized that those talking to Ben were our best friends.

°°°°°°

Some time later, I woke to Ben holding my hand and caressing my arm with his other.

"Ben,"

He stood, smiling, "Hey, Beautiful,"

I smacked my lips, trying to get some moisture back. My mouth tasted like disinfectant.

"Water?"

"Please,"

He let go of my hand and poured me a drink in a small styrofoam cup and put a straw in it. He brought it to my mouth, letting me take a few sips.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, placing the cup back on the side table.

"Sore. I want to go home," I croaked.

Ben leaned over and kissed my forehead, "I know, Baby, but they want to keep an eye on you overnight,"

With his gentleness, I began to tear up. He pulled back when I sniffled and cupped my cheeks, "Hey now… tell me what's wrong?"

"Fucking Bowers," I cursed, my throat closing up at his name.

"Do you remember what happened?" Ben took a seat next to my hip, mindful of all the wires.

I nodded, leaning into the warmthness of his palm. With gentleness that only could come from Ben, he wiped away a stray tear.

"He and Patrick were following me," I started, keeping my eyes closed, "whistling at me, but I thought that if I just ignored them, that they'd leave me be,"

I took a deep breath and grabbed Ben's hands, "I remember getting pulled into the alley and slammed against the wall… he said he wanted me to give him a chance… I told him to fuck off,"

I looked up at Ben and even though his brow was pinched tightly, he managed to smirk, "That's my girl,"

"I- It seems fuzzy after that,"

"Did he…?"

I shook my head knowing full well what he meant, "No… I don't think so,"

But my stomach felt tender and I could feel the pull of stitches. I placed a hand over my stomach gently and looked at Ben.

Knowing that Ben had been through a similar situation, he teared up and cleared his throat, "He ah- he was able to get a couple letters of his name before Patrick finally knocked him out and yelled for help,"

I felt anger that not only did I have to live with the memories of Henry's possessiveness, but he physically left a reminder of the night.

°°°°°°

Weeks had passed, the stitches had been out for a while now, but I was still left with the scars of Henry's carving.

It took me a few days, but with the help of my friends and my wonderful husband, I never let what Henry did get in my way of living. 

I returned to work, and was even able to walk home by myself a few nights out of the week. Ben always insisted on either picking me up the remaining nights or walking with me.

The only problem that I ran into, was the insecurity that I felt being topless or naked in front of Ben. It was an out of sight, out of mind deal, but this particular day had me feeling down.

I stood in front of the full length mirror in our bedroom, in my underwear. I turned this way and that, clicking my tongue when I couldn't shake that drag me down feeling.

"You know something?" Ben's said, softly, leaning against the door way.

I watched him through the mirror as he came closer to me. His arms went around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder, "It's scary how much I love you,"

"Scary?" I asked.

"Hmmm mmm," his hummed, kissing my neck.

"Scary bad or scary good?"

"Scary good, Sweetheart," he replied, turning me around to face him.

His hands were warm on my back as he slowly ran his hands up and down, "You are amazing. I'm very lucky to have such a strong, beautiful woman by my side,"

I blushed, my own fingers just drawing meaningless patterns on his chest, "But the scar-"

"Does not define who you are," he said, dipping his head to look into my eyes.

I looked up into his eyes and saw the corners begin to crinkle as he smiled.

"I'm proud of you, Y/N. You're my everything and I will do anything in my power to help you see that,"

I felt Ben's words. His deep conviction touched me down to my soul and whatever apprehensive feelings I had left, vanished.

Standing on my toes, I pulled him down for a lingering kiss, "It scares me how much I love you, too,"

"My girl," he chuckled, lifting me so that I'd wrap my legs around his waist.

[johnnysnostril]

Without You

chapter fourteen

jaehyun’s pov

i sat in the hallway with my eyes closed. breathing slowly, i tried to calm myself down- processing this information.

how the fuck did he get that picture?

alonna wouldn’t send anything like that to him..would she?

“baby!” haechan yelled as he ran around the corner.

i smiled and waved, pushing my emotions down.

he always called me baby for some reason.

i gave him a hug before he walked into the studio and followed him in.

it was 5 minutes to 2pm and malcolm hadn’t come back yet.

as i took a seat, i stared over at taeyong- who was staring back at me.

i wanted to kill him so bad.

haechan jumped in the booth, slipping the headphones on and pretended to record.

minutes later, the rest of the group walked in- including johhny.

i stood up as soon as we made eye contact, pulling him back outside the studio.

“im about to fuck him up, johnny.” i mumbled.

he furrowed his brows.

“who?” he slipped his phone in his pocket and ran his fingers through his hair.

“taeyong. he has a picture of alonna in her underwear- in my fucking bathroom at the hotel.”

johnny looked down the hall to see if anyone was coming- then pulled me outside the back exit.

“don’t let him get to you, jae. he’s trying to fuck shit up for you and alonna.”

i shook my head.

“how. did. he. get. the. picture. johnny?”

he sighed.

“you have to trust alonna. she wouldn’t do that.”

“who knows? taeyong didn’t hide her, at any point of their relationship. what if she wants to go back to him, because we’re not official yet?” i countered back.

johnny chuckled and placed his hand on my shoulder.

“are you hearing yourself, bro? you sound ridiculous.”

ivy’s pov

after brunch, alonna and i decided to go visit our old hangout spot. as we pulled into the parking lot, i almost wanted to cry.

“you remember we used to come here, almost everyday after school?” i questioned.

i looked over at her as she gazed out the windshield. 

nodding, alonna reached over and grabbed my hand.

“yeah- this spot was almost like home for us.”

we were quiet for a second. this was more than just a “spot” to us.

this was where we came, when shit got tough.

“and when your dad died..”

i winced at her words then glanced down at my flowers.

taking a deep breathe, i nodded- blinking away some tears.

“yeah..”

letting go of her hand, i opened the car door and got out. alonna did the same, coming around the car and hugging me.

i held her tight for a moment.

for some strange reason, i wanted to hug johnny right now..

“let’s go see if our names are still carved into the bench.” alonna said changing the subject and pulling away.

i smiled and linked my arm with hers as we walked.

johnny’s pov

the meeting with marteen was a success. we already had a few beats lined up- but one in-particular stuck out to all of us.

although the meeting turned out great, i was irritated that i had to be in the same room as mark. of course we didn’t speak, and no one but jae really knew what was going on with us.

haechan only knew cause mark opened his mouth and told him.

but luckily, haechan hadn’t said anything to me.. yet.

after we recorded some of the song, we all decided to leave for the day.

i slipped my phone out of my pocket, checking to see if i had any messages- as i walked back to my car.

boss lady.

“alonna.” i mumbled.

opening her message and reading, i leaned against the car.

“how many times do i have to tell you to stay away from ivy, johnny? i’m not going to keep playing with you. stay the hell away from my sister. you being violent in front of her, was not okay- but, you had the nerve to follow me to our brunch date? who do you think you are?”

i sighed and shut my eyes for a moment.

i understood that alonna was just being protective. i get it.

but, i would never put my hands on ivy. i wouldn’t even think about it.

“alonna, i know what i did was stupid and immature. i get that you're just being protective of ivy. i would have never laid a hand on her. please, understand that. you have to put yourself in my shoes though. you know how mark is. he’s just trying to take ivy away from me, cause he knows that i actually had eyes for her first. and to be fair, i don’t even think that he truly likes her. he just likes the idea of her.”

“johnny.” jae said running up behind me. 

i turned around, quickly locked my phone.

“you ran off so fast.” he chuckled.

giving him a handshake, i smiled.

“sorry- just trynna get back to the hotel. i’m exhausted.”

he moved his hat on his head, turning it backwards.

“you’re not gunna come to practice?”

i shook my head, opening my car door.

“i’d rather not. not like i’m needed anyway.” i laughed.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

jaehyun took hold of the door as i jumped in and started the engine. 

“we’re a group, johnny. you’re needed just like everyone else.” he reassured me.

hearing my phone ping, i nodded.

jae started to babble on, about the importance of being a team- while i read alonna’s message.

“i’m not going back and forth with you over text. meet me at the hotel in 30.”

rolling my eyes at her message, i dropped my phone in the cup holder.

“i hear you, jae. but, im not going to practice. being in the same room with mark for a few hours, was enough for me.”

shutting the door, i strapped on my seat belt and drove off.

alonna’s pov

after sitting at our spot for awhile, ivy stood up from the bench. 

“i think i’m ready to go now.”

i chuckled and agreed.

“good- cause i have somewhere to be in like 10 minutes.” handing over the keys to ivy, she furrowed her brows.

“where?”

i placed my hands on my hips and smacked my lips.

“i’m older. you can’t question me. now let’s go! drop me off at the hotel, please.”

i laughed, pushing ivy to the car.

safety, my sister drove to the destination- pulling right in front of the lobby door.

“do you need me to come pick you up later?”

i shook my head.

“i’ll probably stay here.”

ivy playfully rolled her eyes, placing both hands on the wheel.

“you know, you do still have a room at the house. don’t forget that you live there too.”

i was quiet for a second before reaching over and hugging her.

“i know... i love you, ivy. see you later.”

hopping out of the car, i grabbed my purse- running over to the entrance of the lobby.

quickly making my way to the room, i knocked on the door.

johnny swung the door open and i pushed past him, walking straight to the couch.

johnny’s pov

“well hello to you too.” i said sarcastically as she made her way inside.

i shut the door, shoving my hands in my pockets- waiting for her to start the yelling match.

“why would you follow me?” she began.

licking my lips, i thought of the right words to say.

“i like her, alonna. and i needed to make things right, before mark gets too deep in with ivy.” 

alonna folded her arms, lifting an eyebrow.

“that doesn’t give you the right to follow me. you could have just asked me where i was going.”

i chuckled lightly.

“it’s not like you were going to tell me you were meeting up with her. you made it clear that you didn’t want me around her.”

she threw her hands in the air.

“and you didn’t listen.” her voice began to crack.

“if something would've happened to ivy that night, do you know how hard it would've been for her to bounce back from that?” alonna yelled.

“you don’t even know anything about her, but yet- you like her “so much” right?”

i was quiet. clearly, she was right.

letting my gaze fall down to the floor, i bit the inside of my cheek.

“ivy is so fragile, johnny. she needs to be protected at all times. the least you could do, is thank mark for keeping her away from your crazy antics.” 

lifting my head, i held up my hand.

“i’m sorry- thank him? that, i won’t do- ever. so, you can toss that idea out the window right now. i know that i’m better for ivy. period. and if ivy wants me around, she’ll have me around. you’re not the boss of her, alonna. she’s a grown woman. ivy can make her own decisions.”

alonna laughed, placing her hand on her hip.

“and what happens when she picks mark, huh? you gunna beat him up again, for something that ivy wants?”

i couldn’t believe her right now.

“why don’t you just worry about what’s going on between you and taeyong, okay?

huffing, i made my way upstairs.

“excuse me?” she said following behind me. “there’s nothing going on between me and taeyong. i haven’t spoke to him since your stupid party.”

i laughed at her comment, taking off my shoes.

“yeah, okay.”

alonna grabbed my arm, turning me around.

“what did he tell you?” 

i looked down at my arm then back at alonna.

“he didnt tell me anything.” i said pushing away from her.

“why don’t you go ask jae what was said.”

alonna’s facial expression changed. like she was shocked that i even mentioned his name.

“he said something to jae..” she mumbled.

i laid myself on my bed and sighed.

“i’m exhausted, alonna. i just wanna sleep.” pulling back the sheets, i buried myself into the covers.

“whatever.” alonna twisted on her heels then made her way back downstairs and out the door.

mark’s pov

leaning against the mirror, i watched everyone try and catch their breathe.

i hated dance practice sometimes. it went on for hours and hours.

walking over to the window, i leaned against the coldness of the glass.

the night was dry. no wind, nothing.

it was completely dark and only the street lights lit up the area.

“good work guys. that’s it for the day. make sure to keep practicing and we’ll continue tomorrow.”

our choreographer smiled as he quickly exited the building.

i just kept thinking of ivy. 

what she was doing, and how she was feeling.

“mark hyung..” haechan called out for me. as he approached me, i patted his back.

“does it hurt?” he asked.

i shook my head.

“don’t worry- im okay.” i laughed. 

haechan pointed at my lip and shook his head.

“johnny hyung must have been really mad. please dont fight anymore.” he whispered.

i smiled at his bad english. at least he was trying. besides, this busted lip didn’t even come from johnny. but, he didn’t need to know that.

“haechan, we wont.” i reassured him.

he smiled back and walked away, grabbing himself some water.

i sighed and pulled out my phone as it began to ring.

the number was unknown. i furrowed my brows and hit the answer button.

“hello?”

“hi, stranger.” ivy giggled.

i shut my eyes, smiling at the sound of her voice.

“hey, beautiful.” i whispered back to her.

“what are you doing?”

i could tell there was a smile on her lips.

“just thinking about you.” i replied back in a low tone.

“don’t lie to me.” shes spoke softly into the phone.

“i would never. how are you? did you get some rest?” 

she was quiet for a moment.

“can i come see you?”

her tone changed slightly.

“of course. is everything okay?” i asked.

“i just.. i- yes.”

“dont lie to me.” i repeated her line.

she breathed a laugh.

“come see me at the practice room. i’ll text you the address now.”

ivy’s pov

pulling into the parking lot, i looked up at the building. this looked sketchy. i was almost scared to get out of the car.

grabbing my phone, i called mark for him to meet me outside.

shortly after our phone call, he appeared from behind the door.

i smiled, biting my lip- turning off the ignition and getting out.

“you must have really missed me. that was pretty quick.” mark said in a playful tone.

i rolled my eyes at him comment and hugged him as he stood in front of me.

his arms wrapped themselves around my waist, pulling me into his body.

i held him for a moment, closing my eyes and taking this in.

i still needed to think about all of this. i didn’t want to play with anyone’s emotions and i didn’t want to be played with either.

mark swayed from side to side slowly, burying his face in my neck.

“you smell so good..” he mumbled.

i blushed, tightening my grip around his neck.

“thank you..” i whispered.

as he pulled away slowly, i pouted on the inside.

“everything okay?” he said taking my hands and squeezing them.

i nodded. “yeah.. i just wanted to talk.”

mark smiled and began to pull me towards the building.

“you have perfect timing, you know that?”

i tilted my head.

“and why is that?” i smiled as he continued to walk backwards, once we were inside.

looking at his watch, he chuckled.

“because, i’m overdue for some kisses.” 

[ofnifflersandkings]

Title: If Music Be the Food of Love

Character: Miles Morales

A/n: The amount of love i have for this character knows no bounds, so here’s another story for him. But i also have a Jake Peralta story started since i know you goons like them, so look foward to it!

•

Miles practically slid on the polished floors of the hallways as he slammed into his locker. He looked up and saw two girls he recognized from his algebra class giving him an odd look. He brushed it off with a sheepish grin and tried to look like he was rushing to change out his morning work for the afternoon stuff.

After locating his Physics textbook, he shuffled around the contents in his bookbag till he found his sketchbook.

He planned to show you the sticker design he had made with your name, fully intended to make a real one for you if you liked it enough.

Then he made a bee-line for the cafeteria.

•

Miles pushed his way past various students on the way to his usual table, shouting small greetings to faces he recognized.

But when he got there, the only person sitting down was Ganke. He had his stuff piled where you usually sat.

Miles looked over to see if he could spot you anywhere else in the room. When he couldn’t, he resolved to ask Ganke if he knew where you were.

Miles slid into the seat that was across from him, but Ganke had his headphones in didn’t even notice Miles had sat down.

“Ganke,” Miles began, waving his hand to get his attention. When that didn’t work, he leaned over the table and tapped his glasses. Making Ganke flinch backwards and slide his headphones off.

“What was that for?”

Miles sighed. “Nevermind that, where’s (Y/n)? Usually she’s here before us.”

“Oh, it’s Wednesday.” He said before going back to tapping on his computer, like that sentence had answered his question.

“Is that supposed to mean something or..?”

Ganke’s gaze went back to Miles and he got the hint. “Sorry, I forget you don’t know her schedule. Wednesdays and Fridays are practice days for her.”

“Practice? For what?”

“You’ll see, she should still be in there. What do you need her for?”

“I just have something to show her.”

Ganke got a knowing glint in his eye and smiled. “I get it, head to the auditorium then.”

•

Miles heard the sound of music before he saw finally saw you. The door to the auditorium had been propped open ever so slightly. So he slowly pushed his way inside, letting the door close softly behind him.

Now he could hear your playing echo off the walls

It was like nothing he had ever heard before.

The scene was quite spectacular, and if he felt a little more bold he would have captured the moment in a picture.

No one else was on stage, Miles could make out the vague silhouetts of chair and music stands behind you. The house lights had been turned off, a few overhead lights lit up the center of the stage, surrounding you in a bright amber haze.

The harp looked ginormous from all the way in the back of the auditorium. It shined in the stagelights and looked like it could kill someone if it toppled over.

But you had it leaned against you like it was nothing.

Miles was drifting further into the auditorium before he was aware that his feet were moving. Part of him wanted to call out to you, to make his presence known. But you were completely tuned into your instrument that he didn’t make a sound.

It was beautiful.

He found himself mesmerized by the way your hands moved across the arrangement of strings. They moved in this really pretty, floaty kind of way, like how a dancer moves.

Every now and then, you’d glance over to a music stand that stood eye level to you and Miles would duck behind the chair infront of him. He worried you see him out of the corner of your eye and stop.

So this is what practice meant.

Miles drapped his arms over the same seat and leaned his chin against his palm as he watched you practiced. Even at one point, closing his eyes as he listened.

Then at one point, you had messed up what sounded like a complicated section and one note didn’t quite as right.

His eyes opened just in time to see you defalte on your stool and make a discontented groan.

“I swear to God if I mess this arpeggio up one more time, that’s it. I’m quitting.”

The tone of your voice mixed with the pout on your face made Miles laugh.

But it must have been louder than he thought because your brows furrowed and you looked out into the audience.

“Hello?”

Miles jumped from the shock, and tried to sneak out discreetly before you noticed. But he failed to remember he had placed his bag on the floor next to him, so he tripped. His textbooks were impossibly loud as they slipped onto the aisle.

You shielded your eyes from the spotlights. “Miles? Is that you?”

He froze where he was, slowly letting his gaze meet yours as he laughed sheepishly.

“Hey, Sunshine. How you doing?”

You smiled, placing the harp back into it’s standing position so you could walk to the front of the stage. “I’m alright, but I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Miles blinked, trying to force his brain to think of something nonchalant to say.

“Oh, I was just passing by and saw you in here, so I let myself in. I didn’t think you would sound so good.”

Miles eyes went wide when he realized he had essentially insulted you. “I mean...That’s not what I meant to say. Just like, it sounded beautiful. I just...wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

You shook your head at his usual antics and laughed. “Come up here.”

Miles faltered for a moment before he ran to the stairs leading up to the stage.

You turned around and waved him over to center-stage where your set up was.

He walked up to your harp, marveling the detail carved into the column and soundboard. Some of the strings were different colors, and he fought back the urge to run his finger down them to make the pretty ‘heaven’ sound he’d hear in movies.

“Go for it.” You said with a knowing look on your face.

He looked up at with a boyish grin and did exactly that.

When the sound began to come out, his eyes went wide and his smile grew even more. “This is just as fun as it looks in the movies.”

That got a laugh out of you. “I can show you how to play something, if you want?” You offered, plucking one of the strings for emphasis.

Miles noticed how eager you seemed to show him, so how could he refuse? You had him sit on your stool, and you positioned the harp against his shoulder.

It was a lot lighter than what he imagined.

“Can I hold your hand?”

Miles startled and his gaze snapped to meet yours, thinking he had misheard you. “Huh?”

You chuckled. “I need to position your hand on the harp.”

Miles felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck and he laughed to cover his embarrassment. “Oh, yeah. That’s cool with me.”

He grimanced at his newfound awkwardness. God, did he have to sound like such an idiot?

You took ahold his right hand and situated it on the one side of the strings and showed him how to play a scale.

“See? It’s not too hard when you get the basics down.”

Miles, who had been slightly more focused on the way your hand still hovered above his own, cleared his throat when he finally came to realize he wasn’t answering. “Could you show me more?”

That’s how the two of you spent the rest of the lunch period and Miles had even convinced you to come back after classes were over to play some more. Teaching him to play beginner songs in between his requests for you to play for him.

Could you blame him? You looked super cute when you were focused on your music.

You took a few opportunities to impress him, playing some complicated sections of the peices you were working on. Taking a small amount of pleasure is seeing the look on his face when you did it perfectly.

After a bit, you let him have free range of the harp for a little so you could check your phone and see the time. But you noticed you had a text from Ganke and immediately turned back to Miles.

“Were you going to show me something?”

Miles’ train of thought went back to his design for you, and suddenly felt very subconscious about the idea of actually letting you see it.

Which was strange, but he shook the thought from his head. “No, why?”

“Oh, Ganke just mentioned something about it so I figure I’d ask. Maybe he meant it for someone else.”

•

You tilted your head as you watched Miles attempt to cram all of textbooks into his bookbag. You had been ready to leave for the dorms about 15 minutes ago.

“Hey, you know we have online textbooks, right?”

“...We have what.”

[writingwithadragon]

Doll Of Truth

The Night Of Horror

John yawned as he took out his phone to see no new notifications, no email or call from work, no texts from his friends, and no emails about his upcoming bills. A soft sigh left John’s lips with the steam of his breath filling the air in front of him. Putting his phone away he rubbed his eyes to get the sleepy haze out of them, he thought he was seeing things. The shadows created by the street lights caused the world around John to look bigger and much more dangerous. He was starting to wish that he had asked to stay over at Jaren’s place for the night. His face heated up at the thought of sleeping next to Jaren and how perfect it would be to wake up next to him every morning. Shaking his head to get his thoughts off of Jaren he failed to miss the door opening in front of him. With how John felt at that moment he would’ve gladly slept in until three the next day, especially with the thoughts of Jaren in his mind. His pink sweater was pulled closer to himself when he crossed his arms as he walked passed an old run-down shop. 

John had just felt a shiver go down his spine and he really would’ve rather confessed his love to Jaren than being where he was in that moment. Yet it was too late, a tall figure quickly exited the building and covered John’s mouth with their hand. Fear kicked in as John felt a gun get pressed against his back as he was quickly lead into the building. The thought of being mugged was high, but this person had another thing on his mind. Getting shoved to the ground John looked up at his attacker. They were tall, either around John’s height or even taller, and it was definitely a man. They wore a hat and a jean jacket and that was all John could ‘see’ as the lights from outside shadowed out much of the man’s features. But in an instant, John was kicked across the floor. Sliding into a chair John grabbed it and smashed it into his attacker. 

The old chair shattered at the impacted, the man stumbled back in shock. John picked himself off the floor and looked around in the darkness for a possible escape route, only to get hit in the face. The man’s fist collided with John’s face who fell backward stunned. Getting his body pinned to the ground John screamed for help as hands bruised his soft skin around his chest. This cut John off as the air got knocked out of his lungs by balled-up fists. His attacker beat him down but failed to notice John had been able to grab his phone and wiggle his arm free. Well, until the flash snapped the killer out of his blind haze. What John saw was horrifying, he knew this person, he called him a friend. Yet here he was getting beaten to death. 

John had done nothing wrong but his attacker thought something else, it was only a little fight. Flinging his phone across the room it slid into a crack and fell underneath the floorboards, it distracted the killer for long enough that John was able to get a few feet away. Then a chair came crashing down upon John, he fell to the floor as blood started to pool from his nose. Cuts and gashes started to form as chairs were continuously smashed against his body. Bloody pieces of wood were scattered all across the room as blood seeped into the old wood floors. John was crying out in help even when his pleas turned into mere whispers. Soon the attacker ran out of things to smash against John so he kicked and beat the absolute shit out of John. Bones fractured in random places. Just as John was getting desperate, he attached himself to the man’s leg and bit down as hard as he could after lifting the pant leg high enough. 

I chunk of skin was torn from his leg as John was pulled away and spat it on the floor. A kick to John’s face broke his jaw but that didn’t stop him from tripping his soon to be killer and clawing at him with his nails. Long and bloody scratches covered the man, unfortunately, when they recoiled at the attack John crawled as fast as he could to the door. He was so close to escaping, all he had to do was open the door. There were people outside, walking home from a party early. Yet his attacker was quick on his feet and grabbed John’s hair in his hand and twisted his head in one direction. The snap was sickening, yet John was still breathing, shallow but he had survived the impossible. Although it was for nothing. He couldn’t move his body, all he could do was blink and breathe. 

John was dragged by a limp leg to the back of the shop and placed on top of a cold table. Oh god, John would’ve screamed bloody murder as his attacker quickly started gutting him. Actually gutting him, just like you do a deer. John knew he was going to die soon, and his eyes landed on a doll set up next to him. Well, stuff to make a doll that is. Fabric and stuffing littered the area around them as the doll itself was about a fourth done. John looked away in horror and pain as his killer continued to degut him, his last thoughts were on Jaren. 

Next thing John knew he opened his eyes to find himself staring down at his dead body. His killer seemed to have washed his hands as they worked on sowing up the doll. John would’ve vomited if he was alive. The doll in question was being made to his likeness, he watched as cut wooden polls were placed into the doll then filled with stuffing. At first, it was the legs then the torso, the arms, and lastly the head. Brown threads were dyed in a bowl of bleach then attached to the head, John wanted to tear out his own in response. And John really wanted to die at the sight as wood carved to form fingernails were painted the exact shade of red his had previously had been. Also to John’s horror, he watched his killer pull a bone from his corpse and cut it up and grind it down to form two buttons. He watched as they were painted blue and baked as if it was a ceramic pot, then finally they were stitched into the doll’s face. 

An idea popped into John’s head as he watched his killer place the doll in a chair watching over the corpse. Possessing the doll was easy to John’s surprise, so he watched his murderer cut up his body and throw it into the furnace. At the end of the ordeal John’s ‘body’ was picked up and taken to his killer’s apartment, unfortunately, it was close by. In that time John learned how to move his new fingers. And boy was his killer in for a surprise. 

The first week John did nothing and stayed in the closet he was originally placed into. But now? His killer will now know that he had fucked up big time. At first, John moved himself while his murderer slept or was out of the house. Slowly his actions evolved into attacking them. Blood was drawn over and over again, there was no escape from John. His life was ripped away from him for nothing, and he was going to make him pay for it. It started with John’s night of horror, and it was going to end with theirs.

\|/\|/\|/

@aisle-eight

[earth-ambassador-jim]

The Missing Month Chapter 4

Loop 16

This is a fanfiction that explores what happened during the first 30 time loops that Jim was in in the episode D'Aja Vu.

Fanfiction - AO3

16.

Easy peasy, Lemon squeezy everything is fine.

Jim turned off his alarm and lay still in bed. He took a deep breath. He was doing this.

He dressed slowly, carefully mapping out his plan in his head. It was a bad idea but it would be wasteful to let this opportunity slip by. Anyway, as Toby said, what were time loops for if not doing stupid things without having to worry about the consequences?

With that thought in mind Jim slipped the amulet in his pocket and headed downstairs.

The house was quiet with his mom still at the hospital. She had called him last night to warn him that she would be there overnight. That was fairly normal, convenient even. Despite that he found himself wishing she hadn’t. It was stupid. Her being home right now would make this whole thing harder, but, well… he’d been in this loop for over a week now and he missed her.

Jim had a piece of toast and then shot a text off to Toby and Claire telling them that they should continue the search without him as he had something to do.

The canal was peaceful. The sunlight gave a cheery yellow hue to the cement. The wind chased little eddies of dust and trash around as Jim stashed his bike in the bushes and slid down the embankment.

The temperature dropped slightly when he entered the shadows under the bridge. The hairs on the back of Jim’s neck stood up. He glanced around and, finding no one watching him, pulled the horngazel out of his pocket. Opening the portal was practically muscle memory now but his movements were slow as he carved an arc. What would he find on the other side?

“For the doom of Gunmar… Eclipse is mine to command.”

The armor flashed into place and Jim stepped through the portal. Once on the other side he tensed, glancing around rapidly for an attack, but found none. There was no-one there. He flinched when the stairs lit up. Why did that have to be a feature? Now that Jim thought about it, hadn’t Blinky said Trollmarket was warded against Gum-Gums? What had happened to that?

He shook his head and began to make his way slowly down the stairs. Every step of the way he expected to be greeted by war cries and swords but the air remained eerily silent.

He reached the bottom and stilled, listening. The red light of his armor dimmed as he crept toward the exit to the staircase. Behind him the stairwell faded back into darkness. His eyes adjusted and he saw a faint green glow ahead. So there were guards. He needed to figure out where they were so he could get around without being caught.

He could always kill them, but someone might hear or notice their absence and he wasn’t quite ready to deal with that. He wasn’t picking a fight. This was just a quick in and out to check a few things, nothing more.

He hesitated a moment before releasing his armor and then, holding his breath, he moved forward.

He stopped just out of sight. Keeping low to the ground he peered around the corner. There was one Gum-Gum standing by the side of the wall closest to him and one pacing back and forth. If there was anything he had learned it was that the Gum-Gums created by the Decimaar Blade were not very smart.

He searched the ground surrounding him. There. A large stone a little smaller than his fist sat on the ground near the wall. He picked it up and tested its weight in his hand. When the pacing Gum-Gum was facing away from him Jim chucked the rock as hard as he could. It made a series of loud thumps as it bounced down an incline. As he had hoped, the moving guard left to investigate the noise.

Jim slipped carefully behind the other guard. He made it past and then another twenty yards or so before the Gum-Gum’s head shot up. Jim’s heart leapt into his throat as the troll began sniffing the air. He stilled and stopped breathing. It was getting closer. The air was burning in his lungs and little stars were starting appear at the edges of his vision. Jim was distantly aware that he stood no chance if he passed out.

He was just getting ready to say the incantation when the guard let out a grunt and returned to their post. Jim gasped in a breath of fresh air and nearly started coughing. After a minute or two of quiet breathing he was on his way.

He rounded the corner and found himself frozen once again; this time for a very different reason.

Before him stood the Heartstone. The very core of Trollmarket once a proud beacon of light and warmth now pulsed with only a weak sickly light. Veins of black ran throughout it. The crystals in the surrounding rocks also were subdued as if in sympathy.

Jim’s heart clenched and he felt water well up in his eyes. He had done this. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t ran away into the Darklands. If he had been more careful in dealing with Angor Rot. If he had been more observant… A little smarter… A better Trollhunter…

Jim drew in a ragged breath. There would be time to mourn for Trollmarket later. He was on the clock. He wiped his eyes roughly and began forward.

Dodging the wandering Gum-Gums and Goblins took far more time that he had anticipated. By the time he reached the center of the Heartstone he had only an hour and a half left. Aside from the corruption the glowing chamber was exactly as he remembered it. Even Vendal’s stone remains lay undisturbed on the floor. Jim swallowed thickly and began searching.

He was hoping to locate the box containing the stones for the amulet. If he knew where they were they might be able to retrieve them later. Unfortunately Jim could not make sense of Vendal’s organization system. He grumbled under his breath as he moved a jar of some sort of fur to the side. What did Vendal even need all this for?

He turned around, ready to start searching the shelves on the other side of the room, and found himself face to face with three large Gum-Gums. They stared at each other for a couple seconds before Jim grabbed his amulet.

“ForTheDoomOfGunmarEcilpseIsMineToCommand!”

There was a flash of red and Jim flung his sword into the chest of one of the guards. They hadn’t even finished turning into stone before he had his glaives out and slicing through the air toward the second. Unfortunately they had gotten over their surprise and blocked it. Jim resummoned his sword and charged forward.

They exchanged a quick series of blows but the mind controlled troll was no match for him. Jim sunk his sword into their stomach and jumped back as they crumpled to the ground. He took a moment to steady his breathing.

Wait… There had been a third.

Jim looked around rapidly. A loud moaning sound rang out and he flinched. He charged outside just in time to see the last of the three guards lowering a horn. Jim swore and threw his sword into them. It was too late. Shouts rose from the surrounding area and he ran.

Gum-Gums seemed to be coming out of every building. They were converging on Jim from all around. Most of them had dark armor covering their whole bodies and vacant eyes, tell tale of the trolls turned by the Decimaar Blade, but a few wore only the helmets. Those were the ones he had to look out for. They were the Krubera who were willingly following Gunmar. He dodged under a large gray arm embedded with glowing blue crystals.

Two of them were now in pursuit of Jim. They were barking orders in Troll Speak to the brainwashed solders. Jim regretted more than ever that he hadn’t managed to get much studying in on the language. He could understand a few words, but he couldn’t put them together quickly enough for it to be helpful. Slowly he was surrounded and his escape cut off. To his surprise most of the trolls kept their distance. The two Krubera kept rushing him, but they didn’t stay close for long.

He jumped backward and repelled another rolling attack from the one on the right. Vaguely he registered there was a large open area behind him void of any Gum-Gums. He didn’t have time to see why as something came thundering down from above him.

Jim threw himself back narrowly avoiding being crushed. He had a moment to feel relieved by the barrier between him and his opponents before he registered where he was. He was in Hero’s Forge. Or, more specifically, he was trapped in Hero’s Forge.

A dark thunderous laugh echoed around the arena causing a shudder to run down the length of his body. Jim raised Eclipse and looked around frantically. There. Gunmar stood staring down at him, teeth bared in a malicious smile. Jim pointed his sword at him.

“I cannot believe you were foolish enough to come sneaking in here,” The Underlord said. “But perhaps I should not be surprised, as you came to me in the Darklands as well.”

Jim’s breath was coming in rapid gasps. He had messed up. He had really messed up.

“Well if death is what you seek, perhaps I can find a better use for your pathetic life.”

With that statement Gunmar sat down.

Jim didn’t have long to wonder what he meant as something blue shot out of the shadows of the Forge. Jim threw himself out of the way, rolled, and came up facing it. He nearly dropped his blade. It was Draal.

“No. No. No!” Jim felt like he was on the verge of passing out. He couldn’t do this again. “Snap out of it, Draal!”

They circled around each other. Draal slammed his fists into the ground, roared, and charged Jim. He threw himself out of the way, parrying Draal’s blows as the troll relentlessly attacked.

“Please, Draal.” There were tears on Jim’s cheeks. Distantly he could hear Gunmar’s taunts.

“Please.”

He took another step back but there was nothing there. Eclipse vanished from Jim’s hand as he desperately flailed for balance. A huge fist closed around his chest and, for one heart stopping moment, he was suspended above the lava. Draal stared at him as Jim whimpered and clung to the fist around his waist. Something stirred in the back of Jim’s mind but before the thought could fully form Gunmar called out from beyond them. Draal grunted, pulled Jim back from the cliff and hurled him into the ground. The force of the impact drove all the air from his lungs. Pain exploded across his body and everything went black.

Jim’s awareness came back with something poking his chest. He opened his eyes. Sharp pains shot through his head as his vision slowly cleared. He wished it hadn’t. Gunmar was standing over him with the Decimaar Blade pressed against Jim’s unarmored chest. He tried to crawl away but something was holding him in place. He looked up and his eyes met Draal’s empty glowing ones.

Jim’s head was forced forward and his gaze met Gunmar’s. He was saying something but Jim couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. He didn’t really need to; the tyrant’s expression said everything. Jim struggled weakly as the tip of the Decimaar Blade came to rest against his forehead.

There was a flash of blue.

So I was going to wait to post this chapter until next weekend (as to establish an every other week schedule), but it's written. So here it is. Who wants schedules anyway? I'd rather just pop out of nowhere, throw down a chapter and then vanish for an indeterminate amount of time anyway.

I had fun writing this chapter. I'm so sorry Jim.

Next time... Fallout.

[sweettoothshipperrotg]

FrostedNature- Soulmate AU or College AU? Or whichever one you're feeling most inspired by really, I just need some FrostedNature fluff :))))

Hi! Sorry it took longer than expected, but I went to see Captain Marvel and got caught up with other stuff. ^^;To make up for it I made it a bit longer and extra fluffier

There was also this anonymous ask on my inbox: “FrostedNature- Soulmate or College AU? Preferably something with fluff :)”, so I decided to combine them. Hope you don’t mind.

(Soulmate au where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soul mate’s skin as well)

Here is some College Soul Mate Au for y’all :D

‘What’sthe answer for question 32?’

Therushed and messy handwriting that appeared in her forearm shouldn’t havesurprised her. She and Jack had been together for almost two years now.

But,really? Right now?

                                                       *****

Shehad been waiting her whole life to meet the owner of said handwriting, dreamingas many others of a sweet someone that the fates had decided to pair her with.

Emilymainly owed that to her mother. When she was a little girl she loved to hearthe story of the first time Kozmotis Pitchiner’s handwriting had etched ontoher skin; long delicate traces, as if he carefully trying to make a good firstimpression through his caligraphy.

Soit had been a surprise when Emily reached the age when she could meet her soulmate and nothing had happened for an entire year. At eighteen was when yoursoul mate could reach out to communicate.

Theyear of radio silence had been a little disheartening in the beginning, but herlife continued onwards and her college life had kept her busy enough. Shedidn’t write to her soul mate either. It wasn’t customary for girls to be onesto break the ice in this strange soul mate texting, but it wasn’t somethingthat had ever deterred her.

Shehonest to god had no idea what to say.

Shewas away from her home, knew no one, and felt like she had been pushed into adeep pool without knowing how to swim. The rhythm marked by these new settingshad her under complete uncertainty and was frankly overwhelming.

Shefelt like a mess and wasn’t confident enough to meet her soul mate just yet.

Solife had moved on and so had she. Slowly, she had adapted to her new situationand carved a small niche for her to build her life.

Imagineher surprise when on a day when she felt like crap – it was the anniversary ofher mother’s death, and she had decided to skip class and cry up a stormbecause she just felt like it –, her soul mate had decided to surprise her.

Shehad been sitting by the window sill, her body clad in pajamas and wrapped inblankets, and drinking a huge cup of cocoa with an amount of marshmallows andcinnamon that could only been described by any outsider as over indulging (asif she cared).

Emilywas almost certain that she had at least killed half a rainforest with theamount of tissues she had gone through, judging by how red and puffy her eyesand nose felt.

That’swhen the itching on her arm started. The foreign sensation wasn’t unpleasant,almost like the kind warmth that invades you when enjoying a nice book or whenfinding out that you still have a few more hours to sleep and don’t have toleave your bed.

Herforearm tickled a little and when she pulled back the sleeve of her pajama herbreath go stuck in her throat.

Gentleand soft strokes of ink started to appear all across her skin, spreading andtwisting into elaborate shapes.

However,the ink never turned into words but morphed into images of intertwined petals,stems and leaves.

Turnsout her soul mate was quite an artist.

Theywere drawing her flowers…her favorite flowers: Snowdrops, heathers, floribundaroses and freesias.

Tearsswelled in her eyes.

Soulmates felt more than saw theirsignificant other, inklings and sensations on the back of their brains ofemotions the other was feelings or things that they liked.

Despitethat she had never seen her soul mate, she knew things about them. Littleflashes and sensations that budded inside her but recognized weren’t her own.

Hersoul mate liked the cold. A deep feeling of happiness was linked to the idea offresh fallen snow. They also had quite the fixation on peppermint coffee,judging by the wave of satisfaction that invaded her and the ghost taste of thebeverage at the back of her tongue.

Theflowers that appeared on her forearm were to tell her that they were sorry thatshe felt sad and their wish for her to feel better. That she was not alone.

Asmile bloomed on her lips as she spent the rest of the day admiring thedesigned etched onto her skin, tracing it with her finger to appease that sideof her brain that kept on telling her that she was dreaming.

Sheeven took a few pictures of it. Although the markings were not permanent andwould fade eventually, a lot of people opted to tattoo the first phrase thatappeared as a memento of their first interaction – which was all fine and dandybut needles freaked Emily out.

Twomonths flew by before meeting her intended one.

To her delight, her soul mate continued todraw things. Turns out they were quite the artist.

Whenit happened, she was walking back from a class to her dorm, smiling at thebeautiful silhouette of a rabbit. It was drawn in such a way that it almostlooked that it would actually start moving and skipping across her arm. Whenshe got home she would add a new picture for her collection.

Soenraptured she was at how the traces stretched on her skin that she paid noattention to the world around her; her trance only broken when she foundherself stumbling backwards onto the ground and landing on her butt, her thingsscattering everywhere.

Alanky young man was also on the ground in front of her, a fellow victim oftheir collision.

“I’mso sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going!” He profusely apologized whilegetting up and offering his hand to help her get up.

Shecouldn’t hold back a tiny gasp.

Hisforearm sported a very delicate and detailed drawing of a rabbit in the sameplace as hers. The drawing now sported a disjointed line that the marker hadleft across the image due to them bumping onto each other.

Emily’seyes quickly scanned the boy’s face, registering each and every detail. Hiseyes were now focused on her arm, the drawing now matching his, even to theincongruent line that had been added in their little fender-bender.

Theireyes met, a smile spreading across the other’s face.

                                                    *****

Jackhad been surprised to find Emily by mere coincidence.

Hehad not tried to reach for her when he turned 18 and not after a whole year.

Hislife had turned upside down when his mother had become quite sick and he had tostay behind to help her and his sister out during a long and arduous recoveryprocess.

Theresponsibility of taking care of their house and their financial well being hadfallen on his shoulders, and had it not been for the support of his godfatherand family friends it would have certainly crushed him.

Northhad pulled enough strings for his college attendance to go from full time toonline and juggled around his papers and other homework into a more manageableschedule.

Sandywas always available to cover for him if he couldn’t make it to the hospitalwhen Jack was swamped with work at the local ice-skating rink or his homework.

Bunnyand Tooth were glad of looking after his little sister when he couldn’t. It wasalso a plus that they always brought food to his house or refused to chargethem whenever the siblings ate at the couple’s bakery.

Therehad been so much on his plate that finding his soul mate had been placed on theback burner. He had more urgent matters to focus on.

Ithad been hard, taxing every ounce of his patience, strength and spirit. He feltway older that he looked and he had come this close to giving up. But despiteeverything, he had managed to keep them afloat and pass his first year ofcollege.

Jackhad been rather apprehensive to leave his mother and Emma to finally attendcollege, but his friends at home had assured him that they would take care ofthe pair and that he should walk towards his future without feeling guilty.

Nowhe was at college full time and idea of having enough stability around himbrought back the idea of his forgotten soul mate.

Likethe rest of the world, he had learned details about his soul mate.

Thefirst impression came to him in the middle of the night while he was exiled inhis hometown trying to prepare a decent essay on how the influence of ancientart styles had evolved through the passing of time– he almost felt like he hadimagined that one due to the lack of sleep.

Thelingering smell of a floral perfume helped him deduce that his soul mate was agirl. It almost felt like it clung to his skin when in fact he knew very wellit was a sensation his brain was picking up.

Jasmineand coconut.

Judgingby how frequently she used it, it was her favorite.

Thenhe started smelling flowers. The sensation of soft petals and the fact that hedidn’t experienced them as much as the perfume lead him to believe these wereflowers that she liked.

Italso seemed that his soul mate was quite into baked goods. Out of nowhere, hewould find himself craving for scones, chocolate and pomegranate cupcakes,lemon cookies…

Hehad never tried half of the things he now felt an intense desire to eat. Itclearly had to be her influence.

Emmaand Tooth had teased him about his soul mate having an excellent taste when hearrived from his late shift with a box full of the aforementioned cupcakes(courtesy of Bunnymund at Jack’s request).

Afterhe had managed to ease himself into the whirlwind that was college, he had beenmore tempted to write to the girl that had slowly inserted her presence intohis life.

Hewas battling with the idea of what to even say when sadness struck him like atidal wave.

Itgave him an unpleasant sensation at the pit of his stomach and the need to cryalmost overwhelmed him.

Hewas entirely sure that this feeling belonged to someone else. Her emotions hadnever been so strong.

Aftereasing his breath and heartbeat into a normal pace, he sat there dumbfoundedwith his brain scrambling to analyze what was going on.

Hersadness was almost an echo of how he felt when he heard the doctor say his momwas gravely ill, when he felt the weight of the world almost crushing him down.It felt an awful lot like being drowned.

Hewanted, no, needed to make her feelbetter.

Beforehe even knew what he was doing he was grabbing one of his best and finestmarkers he had and drawing onto his skin.

Pushingdown the bout of emotions, he focused on carefully drawing the flowers thatalways seemed to cheer her up. He knew which ones they were. He had spent everyopportunity he had at flower shops trying to discern which ones matched theones that came to him. A vague shape or a tinge of fragrance had been his onlyclues and it had taken him a while to find them, but he had.

Ashe continued to spread the flowers onto their shared canvas, the sadness slowlywas dulled and eventually overcame by a sensation of warmth, happiness, andgratitude.

Bythe time he was done, a pleasant feeling of pride took over him. Not only washe proud of how beautiful it had turned out – he was pursuing a bachelor’sdegree in Art, after all -, but also of how happy it had made her.

Hesensed a ghost touch across his forearm and he closed his eyes, relishing andlingering on her contact while she traced her fingers across the petals andstems of the ink flowers.

Thisevent only served as incentive to keep on drawing. He would always have histool at the ready for whenever the impulse to draw something that may make herday easier struck. Although the desire to get to meet her and speak to her hadincreased tenth fold, he was enjoying their form of communication so much thathe didn’t want to stop. ‘Just a little longer’, he would say to himself.

Itwas an understatement to say that his heart almost jumped out of his chest whenhe saws the rabbit on the forearm of the cute girl he just bumped into.

Andthe rest, as they say, is history.

Theysay you feel complete when you find your soul mate. He had never been a fan ofthe concept, the idea that you feel incomplete and that you’re not truly worthyuntil you meet your other half sounding completely ridiculous to him.

Butnow he had to admit if life had given him a chance to meet Emily sooner, hewould have taken it without hesitation.

Itwasn’t that she made him complete. He had a life before her and it didn’tchange when he met her. But somehow, everything with her feels like more.

Beingwith her gave a particular shine to things: his hobbies, his surroundings. Itfelt more special whenever he got to hold her hand or see her smile.

Ithad been even better when they found out they were pursuing the same degree,and found it even funnier that they had never acknowledged the other’s presenceamong their classmates.

Whichnow brought them to the current situation…

                                                      *****

‘Howcan you not know? We studied this for weeks!’

‘Yeah,well we also made out in between said study. I might have forgotten the finerdetails’

Jacksmiled while imagining her blushing at the memory of said heated make outsessions. He didn’t have to wait too much for her answer, though.

‘You’rean idiot and I’m punching you once we’re out. Do you realize how busted we’reif the catch us?’

‘Maybebut think of what a bummer it would be if I couldn’t show up with you to myhouse on Christmas break.’

Afew minutes go by before she deigned to answer back.

‘Theanswer is B.’

Hesuppressed a smile in order to not bring attention to him. God, he loved her somuch.

Hefinished the remaining questions in record time and, after a quick revision ofhis answers, he handed the test to the teacher.

Onlywhen he was installed at a bench on the hallway to wait for Emily to be donewith the test, he dared to pull back his sleeve.

‘Andyou better be buying me a nice dinner after this’

Hechuckled. God, he loved her so much.

‘Asyou wish, princess.’

                                                         *****

There! Hope you enjoyed it and don’t hesitate to send more requests. It helps me flex my writer muscless ;)

[andiwantitliao-blog]

Part 3 of my first fanfic. It takes place in highschool. When kaitlyn and MC meet for the first time. (AU)

--------

The New Girl. Part 3

Charlotte rushed up the stairs to her bedroom, the whole time trying to fight off the spiraling feeling in her stomach. The blush that covered her cheeks was only getting worse as each second passed. Quickly closing the door behind her, Charlotte leaned against it, taking slow careful breaths.

'What the hell is wrong with me?' She thought to herself. Shaking off the nervous feeling that captivated her, she walked to her window, slyly looking over at the house with the blue door, just across from her. Unknowing how long had passed since she first looked, she jumped as a light switched on in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Hiding herself out of view, she sidestepped away from the window and tried to collect her thoughts. Before she could process what was going through her head, Charlotte found herself peaking back through the window as covertly as she could. In the now lit up bedroom of the house opposite her, kaitlyn stood, shrugging off her jacket and falling backwards in to a desk chair which rolled backwards as she collided with it. Charlotte could feel her heart quicken with nerves and was unsure why she was even looking at her still. Kaitlyn was an enigma. A girl who seemed to appear from nowhere and had already found a place in charlotte's mind to carve as her own. Kaitlyn pulled her phone from the discarded jacket and turned towards the window of her bedroom. As she saw her turn, Charlotte ducked out of view and sat on her bed that was still unmade from this morning.

Running her fingers through her hair, Charlotte sighed heavily, feeling unusually stressed by the last few days. Everything that was going on with Laura, and now whatever was going through her mind was pulling her attention in every direction. Falling back against her pillows, Charlotte picked up her phone, hoping for some kind of distraction. As she unlocked the screen, it vibrated along with a sharp -PING-. The notification took her to her social media account, and a new friend request from kaitlyn.

Charlotte's finger hovered over the -Accept- button, but before she confirmed it, she opened kaitlyn's profile. The page was awash with punk and gothic texts and pictures. She had been tagged by friends (probably the ones back in texas) in all sorts of macabre posts; most of which were different music videos. Without giving herself time to think of a reason, Charlotte searched through kaitlyn's pictures and was lost in looking through all of the different faces, poses and gestures that made kaitlyn look like a totally different girl entirely, compared to the timid, soft spoken girl she had met yesterday. Charlotte snapped herself out from the daze she had found herself in and moved back to kaitlyn's main profile page, hitting the -Accept- button.

Charlotte put her phone down and headed downstairs to wait for dinner to be served. As she sat at the table between Connor and her mum, Charlotte started thinking about Laura again and how she hadn't heard from her, still. Worry filled her mind as the thought of Laura's tearful eyes and uncharacteristic embarrassment swept over her. Laura would usually go to Charlotte first when something bad happened. Not hearing from her all day was unnerving.

Once Charlotte had eaten all she could, she walked toward the stairs, only to have the back of her shirt pulled by Connor. "Charlie! I think I left my Rangers plush in your room last night. Can I look for it?" He asked gleefully.

"Sure." She laughed, escorting him up the stairs. Connor burst in to her room first, quickly retrieving the soft toy. As he spun it around in the air, he suddenly stopped at her window and began waving the toy in the air with a joyous laugh.

"What are you doing?" Charlotte mused as she sat on her bed.

"Its your friend. The Renegade Ro..." he quickly cut himself off before he could say anymore. "Look..." He said, pointing out of the window. Th evening had darkened, making the light coming from kaitlyn's room all the brighter. As Charlotte stepped over to the window, she saw kaitlyn performing air-guitar which was making Connor bounce with happiness. Charlotte laughed as she watched on from the side of the window, kaitlyn hadn't seemed to notice her yet. As she stepped over to ruffle Connor's hair, kaitlyn paused, looking embarrassed, even from the other side of the street. Taking the hint, Charlotte stepped away and laid back on her bed. A few minutes had passed with Connor trying to silently communicate through the window. Charlotte turned on her tv which made her brother look over at her.

"Sorry, I'll go to my room so you can watch your shows." He mumbled.

"Its ok, do you want to watch with me?" She asked with a smile.

"No its ok. Im going to watch a movie." He said as he left the room, closing the door behind him. Charlotte turned her attention back to the tv, trying to distract herself from thinking. Unable to give in, she picked up her phone and sent a text to Laura.

-Hey gorgeous. I don't really know what to say. I just hope that you're doing as ok as possible. Talk to me when you feel ready. Love love love. Xoxoxoxoxo [sent]-

She waited a few minutes for a reply but nothing came. Laura is glued to her phone 100% of the time and she can text faster than most. She probably didn't want to talk yet. Setting the phone on her nightstand, Charlotte flicked through the channels, trying to find something worth watching. Before she could settle on something, her phone buzzed loudly against the wooden nightstand and she fumbled to quickly pick it up.

-one new message-

Charlotte readied herself for what Laura might say or might not say. Opening the text, her eyes widened to realise that it was from kaitlyn.

-Hii. Stole your number from your profile. Yur little brother is so cute. Do you know what he was just doing? Oh... its Kaitlyn btw :))-

Charlotte felt conflicted. On the one hand, she had desperately wanted to hear from Laura. On the other hand, hearing from kaitlyn felt exciting. Trying her best to not seem too eager, she text back.

-lol hi. I know, he's adorable. But no... what was he doing? [Sent]-

-he was standing at his bedroom window, waving a plushie toy at me. I think I actually convinced him I'm a superhero B^) -

Knowing that Connor's bedroom was on the other side of the house, Charlotte let out a slight laugh and got up from her bed. She picked up the dry erase board from her desk and wrote 'BOO' in large bold letters. Now standing by her window, holding the board, she quickly text back.

-No way! What's he doing now? [Sent]-

Charlotte waited just a few seconds for kaitlyn's figure to emerge by her window. As she came in to view, Charlotte could see the smile break across her lips when she jokingly placed a hand against her chest as though she had been frightened. Pulling out her phone she glanced back toward Charlotte as she typed.

-you scared me!-

-You mistook this for my brothers room. You had it coming :P [sent]-

-Oh no! Im so sorry. What can I ever do to make it up to you?-

As her eyes scanned the last message, Charlotte felt her cheeks flush. A seemingly innocent question was loaded with possibility and it made her mind race along with her heartbeat. Her fingers were still, trying to find the will to compose the next message. Looking back up at kaitlyn and with a deep breath, Charlotte typed out;

-I see a guitar behind you. Maybe you could serenade me? Lol [sent]-

She waited for the reply, already feeling anxious about the light flirtation in her message. A quick glance up at kaitlyn showed her looking exactly as conflicted as Charlotte had felt moments ago; until her phone buzzed again.

-you really don't want to hear me sing. It'll ruin my entire reputation with you lol-

-pfft. What makes you think I have such a high opinion of you anyway? [Sent]-

Charlotte was still stealing glances at kaitlyn between the messages. It was impossible to tell for sure but she was certain that kaitlyn looked at least a shade more red as she typed out her reply.

-well you did ask me to serenade you. You must like me a little?-

At that, Charlotte felt her stomach drop. Nerves suddenly got the better of her. She could feel her palms start to sweat and her breath shake.

-duhh. That's why we're friends lol. [Sent]-

With that, Charlotte tossed her phone on to her bed and speed walked to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the hanger on her way. Once inside and with the door locked; She turned on the shower and leaned back against the sink, trying to make sense of the conflicting thoughts inside her head. Other people had flirted with her in the past, her boyfriends, guys at school, even Laura (though it was always made clear that it was a joke). So why was this playing on her mind so much?

[dontshootmespence]

Beautiful Mess

A/N: An anon request for Spencer x Reader, where she is a friend of Garcia’s. In her spare time, she makes clay sculptures and asks Reid to model for her. Once she’s nearly done, the sexual tension is too much to take and they end up having sex in her studio. @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn @unstoppableangel8 @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @hogwarts-konoha @sweetg @lukeassmanalvez

                                                               ---

"I told my friend, Y/N, that I would stop by her studio on the way back,” Garcia said, proudly strutting down the street in her perfect replica Wonder Woman cosplay. From her head, the perfect coiffed black hair and near perfect headband to the corset, to the kick ass boots, Garcia did in fact look like the perfect Wonder Woman. 

Spencer on the other hand went to Comic Con as he always did - as the Fourth Doctor, Tom Baker; he’d pretty much perfected the costume at this point. “Do you really want to go there in costume?”

“Yea, why not?” Garcia laughed. What kind of a question was that? Of course she wanted to show off her perfect Wonder Woman cosplay; she’d been putting it together for two years. “Y/N loves Comic Con. It was just that she had a very expensive commission to do on a time crunch this year so she decided not to go. She’ll love our costumes. Let’s go.”

Through the throng of people exiting the auditorium, she grabbed Spencer’s hand and ran down the street, stopping momentarily for a little girl who wanted to take a picture with the “real Wonder Woman.” Garcia was too happy to oblige and then again, they were on their way to Y/N’s studio. 

Given his mathematical and scientifically-oriented brain, Spencer had always excelled in those areas, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in the more liberal arts fields. In music and art, Spencer found solace - the ability to allow his mind to roam and explore rather than focus on cold, hard facts. Facts were cold, but art in all its forms warmed his soul. 

“Slow down, Garcia! You know I can’t run!” Her friend’s studio was apparently just down the street. She’d spoke of Y/N often, but they hadn’t had the chance to meet yet. Within minutes, they had somehow made their way down the street and into Y/N’s studio. 

Knock. Knock.

“Y/N! It’s your love, your light, your life, Penelope Garcia!”

“Come in, love!”

There was something about her that Spencer loved the moment he laid eyes on her. Not a love at first sight kind of thing, but one might say he was smitten. Apparently, she worked in multiple media; right now, she was painting, but she also enjoyed clay sculptures. “Spencer!” She exclaimed, giving him a small wave. “Penelope has told me all about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You t-too,” he stuttered. “Do you mind showing us what you’re working on?” He figured that was the easiest way to get attention off of himself; if she looked at him much longer, he was going to make an ass of himself - he just knew it. 

Pulling the chair away from her easel, she ushered them in front of her so they could see what she was working on. A local millionaire wanted a giant painting of roses and lilies for his home. “Rose and Lily are his daughters,” she said. When it came to painting, her specialty was photorealism. In front of him and Garcia stood a giant painting full of roses and lilies so real Spencer swore he could touch them; he had to keep himself from doing so. 

“Y/N! This is gorgeous! When you have time and want to do something random, will you do a painting for me?” The prospect of having her friend’s artwork on her wall made Garcia giddy with joy. Spencer would be proud to have something like this on his wall too; she did beautiful work.

Y/N laughed and bent over to give Garcia a kiss on the cheek. “I’m already working on something for you for Christmas.”

“Ah!” Garcia danced around the studio, while Y/N put some finishing touches on her commission.

“When I’m done with this commission, I’m actually going to do a bit of sculpting before I start on my next commission. It’ll give me time to breath.”

While Garcia looked around the studio, taking in all of Y/N’s works in progress, Spencer stood next to her enraptured at how her hand moved over the canvas, somehow bringing flowers to life before his eyes. “You do beautiful work,” he said, blushing as he spoke.

Her cheek tinged with a similar shade to his own. “Thank you, Spencer. Penelope says such nice things about you. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”

“Well, I hope I haven’t disappointed.” He smiled. If he saw himself in a mirror, he was sure he’d have seen the dumbest of smiles. He may have grown up and filled out a bit, but he was still the biggest nerd in all of existence. For a few moments, he kept silent. “What do you sculpt when you do that?”

“Whatever inspires me. It’s normally people.” Her eyes fell on him for a few moments, taking in the sadness in his eyes despite his smile, the dimples that gave his face life, and the way his hair swept in front of his eyes. “Actually...would you be my muse?” She stumbled over her own words.

“M-m-me?” He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to sit in front of her and not act like an idiot, but he was so enchanted by her shining personality and the way her eyes fixated on her work that he said yes.

About 10 minutes later, he and Garcia got called in on a case. “We have to go. Garcia. Duty calls.”

“Oh damn,” she said. “Y/N, I will see you soon!”

“Of course, my love. And I’ll see you soon too, Spencer.”

As he and Garcia walked out of the studio, she gave him the side eye. “She wants to see you soon?”

“She wants me to model for her sculpture.”

Garcia’s eyes lit up, causing Spencer to roll his own. “I’ve always thought you two would be great for each other. Very complementary. It’s like the start of a beautiful love story!”

“Garcia...”

                                                              ---

Between cases on Spencer’s part and a quick commission that came in for Y/N, she wasn’t able to start her sculpture for a while, but it did give them time to get to know each other through quick texts and even faster conversations between cases. Y/N asked Garcia for his number, saying she wanted to get to know the man whose face she was going to sculpt, but Garcia could hear in her friend’s voice that she was interested in the man behind the face; Garcia was more than happy to indulge her. 

It was nearly three weeks before they could meet again and he could start her sculpture, but finally, Spencer was on the way to her studio. “Hey, Spencer,” she greeted as he walked in. “Glad our schedules finally decided to cooperate.”

“Me too.” Over the last three weeks of getting to know each other, his feelings had grown; now he wasn’t just smitten, but infatuated, and he found his mind drifting off to how she’d look underneath him. He quickly shook the thought. “So ahh...” he started, sitting down on the stool by her side. “Do you need me to stay still or?”

“Just for a little bit,” she said, grabbing his chin in between her thumb and forefinger and turning it toward her. “While I get the basic layout of your face and then we can talk.”

He swallowed hard, trying to block out the tenderness of her touch. His mind raced normally; in front of her, it was even worse. Once she started, carving piece after piece out of the block of clay she was working with, her eyes relaxed. Whether it was because of him or something else he didn’t know, but she had been jittery. Not anymore. Her eyes went soft, glancing between him and the clay block that was slowly beginning to take form. Time flew by. “You can talk and move now.”

“Thank god,” he smiled. “My neck was getting stiff.” He grabbed the back of his neck and cracked a bit, causing her to snort. Embarrassed, she covered her mouth and tried to hide the bout of laughter that follower. “You’re not doing a good job of hiding it,” he said. He was glad for that. When she laughed, her eyes shone like stars and her skin flushed. Something about seeing her so free and unencumbered by the outside world - just having fun - made him smile. But he needed to keep his mind distracted, or it would wander into places that it shouldn’t...

                                                             ---

After laughing like an idiot in front of him, you finally composed yourself enough to continue, focusing on perfectly the fluffy waviness of his hair before moving lower. His eyes were happy upfront with a tinge of eternal sadness behind them, and you did your best to capture that. Maybe asking to sculpt him wasn’t the best idea. Every time you looked over, you got distracted by his soft smile, beautiful eyes, and perfect, pink lips. On top of being a beautiful specimen of a human being, you’d also gotten to know him a lot over the past three weeks, and you liked what you knew - a lot. 

When you got down to his lips, it got even harder, and every time he spoke, you got lost in thoughts of how those lips would feel against your own. It had been hours - hours of lingering looks and stuttered syllables. “I think I’m almost done,” you said.

“Oh, really?” He sounded disappointed. “Y/N, I...I was wondering if maybe...you might...”

Without thought, you turned to him and pressed a kiss to his lips. After a momentary shock, he eased into you and returned the kiss.  “I’d like that,” you said. “Thanks for doing this. I really have enjoyed this.” You blushed like a schoolgirl; It was rare that someone brought out this side of you. He took you by surprise and glided his hand up your back and into your hair, bringing your face closer to his and parting your lips for a second time.

You still had a bit left to do on your sculpture, but his mouth distracted you again - yet unlike before. “I’ve been wondering how soft your lips were,” you admitted, looking backward toward the sculpture. “Better than I imagined.”

Spencer’s eyes darkened slightly at the admission. For the entire night, you’d gotten the feeling that he liked you, wanted you, but that look proved it. The previous kisses had been tentative, explorative, but this one was passionate. You dropped your sculpting tools and wrapped your arms around his neck, sighing as he ran his hands up your back underneath your shirt. 

Pulling away, you pulled the shirt up over your head and played with the buttons on his shirt. “Are you sure...?” He asked.

You nodded, gasping as he took you by surprise, picked you up and pressed you insistently against the wall. After he removed his own shirt, he kissed down your collarbone and into the valley of your breasts. The earlier nervousness between both of you eased away, his fingers tickling your sides as you removed the rest of your clothes. “I’ve never had sex in my studio before.”

Spencer laughed into your neck. “I’ve never had sex in a studio before. First time for everything I guess.” You motioned for him to move toward the door so you could lock it just in case. On the way, Spencer tripped, his hand slipping into some of the clay before nearly falling to the floor. He grabbed your side to brace you if you fell and got clay all over you. “Live sculpture,” he chuckled. 

Everything that followed was quick and frenzied, warm skin against the cold concrete floor, muffled moans resounding in the small space. Reaching over, you grabbed a condom and sheathed his length before placing him at your entrance. As you sank down onto him, you moaned at the way he filled you. “This was not the way I expected tonight to go.”

“Me either,” he mumbled. “But I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a hope in the back of my mind.” He sat up to meet you and placed his hand at the small of your back, encouraging you to grind back and forth on top of him. 

“Oh my god.”

Your movements quickened in desperation. His clay-clad hands grabbed at your skin, the cold substance practically melting against you. When you moaned, he buried your head in his neck, whispering all sorts of things into your ear to drive you wild. “I love the sounds you make,” he said softly. You trembled and moved faster, your hips having a mind of their own. “Look at me.” That kind of intimacy was always difficult for you.

“You got to look at my face before,” he smirked. He did have a point. As you bit your lip, your orgasm cresting faster and faster, you looked into his eyes and cried out. He kissed your body as it trembled above him, quickly following your release with his own. “Oh god.” He laughed and fell backward toward the floor, bringing you down to lay flush against him.

With a laugh, you looked around. The studio was a mess. The sculpture was intact, but the scraps of clay were all over the place, some stuck to the floor, the walls, your bodies. It was a mess. “We made a mess,” you giggled. 

“A beautiful mess, but don’t worry I’ll help you clean up.” He looked up toward his sculpture, noticing that there were still bits and pieces toward the bottom that needed to be done. “Maybe we can get together another day so you can finish that sculpture?”

You kissed his nose and laughed. “How about I finish the sculpture myself and next time, we meet at one of our apartments so we can do this in the comfort of a nice warm bed?” 

“Sounds great.” He reached for your head and brought you in for a sweet kiss. You really did need to get up and clean the studio; it was a mess, but Spencer was right. It was kind of beautiful, and you wanted to revel in it for a little longer.