#it's been in the drafts for ages but I figure what better way to return?

[saucyjothoughts]

sooooo am i doing too much if i ask for a hc about who has a foot fetish? 👀

Not at all! Let's talk tootsies!

(Saucy's back with a bang baby!🤭)

Bojan: knows he has good feet and so happily shows them off to anyone that asks. Loves to get pedicures actually just to make sure they're in top form. Once had somone pay him to get a pedicure so they could cum all over his foot after. Happily on the receiving end of foot worship but not as into it himself. Has absolutely given a footjob.

Jan: has a passing interest and will absolutely use it as part of other play. He does love to be stepped on with bare feet or with shoes though. Prefers boots and bootlicking though and maybe a pair of sexy heels (for himself or a parter) Will happily lick and suck some toes to get a partner off.

Kris: loves to feel them on him as part of foreplay, toes tracing up his legs and pressing lightly into his groin and then have them up by his face as he's fucking someone one their back nice and deep. He gives really deep and thorough massages to every part of the foot, kissing each toe as he goes. He also loves a sexy pair of heels on both himself and his partner. Prefers to worship them but also enjoys having his own be covered in cum or humped. Has absolutely paid someone to get a pedicure just so he could cum on them.

Nace: not super into it but has tried a few times with past partners. More into having partners hump his feet if anything. When they cum they like to aim for his foot tattoo.

Jure: like footjobs (giving and receiving) and won't object to a footrub but is otherwise indifferent to it. Does have surprisingly strong feet and has a habit of picking things up with his toes. The most willing to do something that involves dirty feet if his partner asks.

[kindestofkings]

espresso

lando norris x reader

dets: an international pop star and a f1 driver could never be secretly dating right? right?

authors note: this is kinda chaotic but its been still in my drafts since that damn espresso song came out, how is it so good?

faceclaim: sabrina carpenter

yourusername

liked by ynfan1 and others

yourusername me laughing at all y'all trying to figure out who my hot songs are about LOOLLLLLL you'll know when I want you to know MWAH xx

melbourne tonight :)))

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ynfan1 you are so unhinged I LOVE

charli_xcx just tell them its me !

yourusername you're right sorry wifey xx

ynfan2 wait are they still around??

ynfanupdates wait whats happening in melbourne tonight ???

ynfan3 she's so secretive, I didn't even know she was dating anyone

landonorris

liked by martingarrix and others

landonorris tralia mate

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danielricciardo looking fresh mate

landonorris thanks babe xx f1fan1 landos longest relationship right here f1fan2 bahahah for real man is chronically single

oscarpiastri 👍👍

f1fan1 best of luck this weekend !

yourusername just posted to their close friends!

[caption: baby just had a great weekend at the office <3]

replies:

maxfewtrell disgustingly sweet

↳ jealousy is a disease, better get checked out xx

alexalbon ugh you two make me sick

↳ oh yeah and yourself and lily aren't worse 😐

yourusername

liked by martingarrix and others

yourusername missing tour hours, should we do it again??

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ynfan1 PLEASE COME BACK

oliviarodrigo you never rest queen

yourusername lol duty calls ynfan1 huh? hasn't she been off for ages ? ynfan3 singers can have other responsibilities you do know that right

ynfan2 I just want to know who you're dating..

ynfanupdates

liked by ynfan1 and others

ynfanupdates yourusername out in monaco tonight !

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ynfan1 huh wonder what has her in monaco? she's there alot recently

ynfan2 looooveee the orange

landofan1

liked by landoupdates and others

landofan1 firstly tell how is a man so hot?? also look at how much he's vibing to yourusername's feather remix??

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landofan1 I could take him (not in a fight)

ynfan1 he is just like me fr

f1fan1 no WAY whats he doing playing yn? 👀

ynfan1 I mean she is one of the biggest pop singers in the world rn f1fan1 orrrrrrrr ynfan2 haha you wish

yourusername oooh whos he ?

landofan1 bahaahahha girl, you are everything I want my popstars to be

yourusername

liked by chapellroan and others

yourusername pookie is away (again) so heres some pics of me looking hot for pookie, and pookie only <3

view all other comments

ynfan1 what boyfriend would ever leave you??

yourusername I know right?? poor me !

chapellroan need a sub ?

yourusername I don't know what you're abbreviating but yes. yes please.

reneerapp god DAMN

(liked by yourusername)

f1fan1 hmmmmmmhmmm away? and theres a grand prix this weekend

lando.jpg

liked by ynfan1 and others

lando.jpg returning the favour x Race weekend was gud

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landofan1 people died.

oscarpiastri such a poser

lando.jpg my lady loves it 🤷 landofan1 IS HE IN A RELATIONSHIP landofan2 since when wtf

f1fan1 I don't even care how delusional I am, he'd be so hot for yourusername

ynfan1 Ikr but they don't even follow each other :((

yourusername just posted to their story!

[caption: pookie has returned <3]

replies:

landonorris I don't know how I feel about pookie...

↳ but POOKIE I love it (and you)

↳ landonorris ugh okay fine (love you too)

charli_xcx this soft launch is mean, and I know who it is

↳ hehehhe lol its SO fun tho

f1fan1 is that papaya ?

yourusername just followed landonorris!

landonorris just followed yourusername!

yourusername

liked by landonorris

yourusername need a pick me up ?

Espresso 4/11 @ 8pm ET,

Music Video 4/12 @ 10:00am ET

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ynfan1 woooo queen is back

ynfan2 LOVE the vibe of this

landofan1 is that the JOLLY ???

landofan2 do we think lando is in the video?? cause thats defo him!

landonorris uber rating ?

yourusername 4 stars out of 5 ! missing star is because you kept making me laugh during filming landonorris always knew being so funny was a double edged sword. georgerussell sorry just confirming, do you think YOU are the funny one? ynfan1 what a random friendship, but so cute

f1fan1 finally followed each other, my delusions don't feel so crazy

landofan1 I would loveee if they became friends

landonorris just added to their close friends!

[caption: we just hard launched via music video and people are thinking FRIEnDshIP ?]

replies:

yourusername babyyyy they're so stupid

↳ told you it's crazy you're dating me..

↳ yourusername UGH no enough of that

danielricardio the landonorizz lore is to deep I'm afraid..

lilyme cons of dating a hottie

yourusername

liked by landonorris and others

yourusername guys this is my POOKIE! I just hardlaunched my muse, y'all should be blessed !

(last pic is not mine but like look at how he looks at me teehee...)

tagged: landonorris

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landonorris love of my life fuck

ynfan1 damn y'all are in love love aren't you

fan1 this is crazy to me lando and THE pop it girl??

yourusername me and THE lando norris who is a professional hottie and my pookie xx landofan1 ugh im obsessed with you two

ynfan1 you're telling me you've been dating another celebrity for at least 3 years and we've seen ZERO pap pics?

f1fan1 for real tho we would've seen her at a grand prix, theres thousands of cameras landofan1 yeah seems suss yourusername ugh guys !!! why are you making me spell everything out for you landonorris time to cook darling

mclaren finally the parents are insta official

yourusername get hyped to see me at a gp wigless xxx

ynfan1 you wear wigs??

yourusername have you worn wigs?? landonorris will you wear wigs??? ynfan1 omfg I get it now

landonorris

liked by yourusername and others

landonorris meet my three year pr relationship x

tagged: yourusername

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yourusername yes sorry guys the warming climate is all our fault !! just so fucking hot we cant help it eek

oscarpiastri you two are so unbearable already please go back to being a secret landonorris after 3 years of norizz jokes, I thinkkkk no !

landofan1 THREE yEaRs ???

mclaren wearing papaya off season? oh shes a keeper

ynfan1 heheh admin gets it

danielricciardo rip norizz it was fun while it lasted..

landonorris fun for WHO??

[finished]

hehe im working lateeee, cause I procrastinated doing assignments all day xx

[aceofstars16]

Hey look, I'm posting the next chapter! (Which means I finished the rough draft of the rest of the fic, woohoo!)

I'll be trying to edit and post the last two chapters in the next week or so, but I wanted to post this one before the end of @stanuary so...enjoy!

Chapter 4: Alone Again Dipper and Stan are on their own again, but things quickly go wrong and Stan is faced with a choice.

Full fic below the cut (in case people don't want to use AO3)

Dipper’s hand gripped Stan’s tightly. Normally, Stan would’ve pulled away ages ago, but he didn’t care enough to do so now. Ford didn’t want him around. And even if it was an older version of his brother…it showed that it could happen. Ford could hate him. Something could come between their bond. And just the thought of that made Stan sick to his stomach. He didn’t even pay attention to where he was walking, he just mindlessly followed Dipper and wished he had never met the older version of Ford.

Stan didn’t realize Dipper had stopped until he bumped into his leg, jolting him back into the present. He shook his head, telling himself that none of his thoughts mattered. His Ford was dimensions away and he didn’t need to think about an older Ford. Especially when he so clearly didn’t care about Stan.

Glancing around, Stan saw that the streets were once again crowded, like they had been the day before. He found himself subconsciously gripping Dipper’s hand a little tighter. He didn’t care to repeat being separation from his grunkle. Opening his mouth, Stan was about to ask where they were heading when Dipper quickly dragged him to an alleyway at the corner of a building. The quick action set Stan’s nerves on edge. Dipper was clearly worried, and after everything that had happened in the past day, Stan felt his own worry growing. Adventures were fun, but he wouldn’t mind a few days were nothing crazy happened – though that seemed unlikely considering the way his life usually went.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asked quietly as Dipper glanced around the corner.

“Bounty hunter.” Dipper said quietly, a small frown on his face. Stan knew that look; it meant his grunkle was trying to figure out the best course of action.

“We could go on another road?” Stan suggested, glancing down the alley that they had stepped into, it hit another road but he didn’t know exactly where that road went…or where Dipper wanted to go. Anywhere is better than here. Stan thought, pushing aside the memory of older Ford.

Dipper glanced down the alleyway as well, still frowning. When he returned his gaze to Stan, his expression was wary. “This hunter tracks by scent…If we split up, and cover out scents, we can confuse him.”

Stan froze for a moment as the words registered. “Split up?”  

“It’ll only be for a little while.” Dipper looked out at the main street again. “You head back to the last alley. I’ll go the opposite direction and find another alley to go down. Stay at the end of yours and wait for me, don’t go onto the street.”

Anxiety tried to claw its way into Stan’s chest, but he fought it back, instead giving Dipper his best assured nod. It was a simple plan; he would see Dipper again in no time.

“Good. Now…” Dipper carefully opened a crate that was pushed up against the wall. Shaking his head, he closed it then tried another, this time pulling out two bags.

“Stealing?” Stan asked, a playful grin growing on his face. Dipper had chastised him when they first met about Stan’s affinity for stealing.

The smallest smile grew on the corner or Dipper’s mouth. “Borrowing.” Then he opened one of the bags and sniffed it. With a nod, he grabbed a few leaves out of it and rubbed them on his clothes. He offered the other bag to Stan and he followed suit, though he couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose at the smell. The leaves in his bag smelled a lot worse than whatever plant Dipper had used.

Once the bags were back in the crate, Dipper nodded. “That should do it.”

Stan sniffed his sleeve and made a face. “I smell like manure.”

Dipper let out a quiet chuckle. “Well at least it should keep Freglo from smelling you.” He glanced at the main road again, a worried wrinkle on his forehead. “Okay, you know the plan?”

Stan nodded. It wasn’t that complex of a plan after all, it was so simple a baby could do it.

Dipper nodded and took one step before pausing and looking at Stan. “One more thing…If I don’t meet you in the alley in ten minutes…go back to Ford and Mabel. You know how we got here, right?”

Just the mention of Ford made Stan freeze up. He didn’t want to see the older version of his brother again, no matter what happened. It was easier to ignore the hurt aching in his chest if he just pretended that version of Ford didn’t exist and he’d never met or talked to him.

“Stan?”

“I…” shoving down the aching in his chest, Stan nodded. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Stan could feel Dipper’s gaze on him and he forced himself to meet his grunkle’s gaze and give a confident smile – despite not feeling anything of the sort. Dipper returned the smile, though his was strained, then he nodded and patted Stan’s head.

“See you in a bit.”

Then Dipper stepped out into the crowd and was gone. Stan was once again alone. But it would be fine. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the street as well, pushing his way in between aliens to make his way back to the previous alley, doing his best to look inconspicuous. He had just ducked into the alley Dipper had mentioned when he heard gunfire.  

Stan quickly ducked next to the wall and looked around, but after a moment, he realized the gun shots weren’t close enough to be aimed at him. Fear gripped his heart and he quickly looked out into the main street, the way Dipper had gone. He thought he saw some sort of scuffle and despite knowing Dipper wouldn’t approve, Stan raced towards the disturbance. Unfortunately, his speed was greatly hindered by the crowd, especially since most of the creatures seemed to be rushing away from the noise. 

When he reached the spot, the crowd was returning to normal. Stan looked around desperately, but he was too short. With a growl, he forced his way to a drain of some sort on the side of a building and climbed up, high enough so he could see above the crowd. He scanned the crowd, looking for his grunkle, despite knowing that finding him in the sea of aliens would be just about impossible.

Then he saw it, something that wasn’t quite right. A creature in all black, with a barbed tail. And it was carrying something onto its back. No, not something, someone.

Dipper.

Stan slid down to the ground, desperate to save his grunkle. But as the crowd swarmed around him, he realized it was pointless. The bounty hunter had a head start, and Stan could barely push his way through at a walking pace.

Then Dipper’s last instructions echoed in Stan’s mind. Find Ford and Mabel. It was the last thing Stan wanted to do. But…what else could he do? He couldn’t just leave Dipper to the bounty hunters. But what if Ford doesn’t want to help? Gritting his teeth, Stan shook his head. Even if Ford didn’t want to help, Mabel would. Stan could always count on Mabel.

Swallowing hard, Stan looked around and found the alley he had been in before he heard the gunfire. From there he could figure out his way back to the storage room…hopefully.

-----

“Where are Dipper and Stan?!?”

Panic gripped Mabel as she looked around the room but Ford was the only one there. Had Dipper and Stan gone to get supplies?

“They left.” Ford said quietly, not making eye contact with Mabel as he put a barrel in front of the door.

“What? Why?” Mabel tried to stand up but her whole body was weak and Ford quickly moved to put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving any more.

“Dipper saw a bounty hunter when he was getting medicine. He took Stan with him to…” Ford trailed off and shook his head.

“But they’re coming back?” They wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye, right?

“I…no…I believe Dipper was hoping that the bounty hunters were only after him and Stan, and that by leaving, they wouldn’t come looking for us.” As he spoke, Ford kept his gaze on the ground.

“But…we just found each other!” Mabel tried fighting back the fear and betrayal growing in her chest, but it was a losing battle. “Why didn’t you wake me up so we could go with them?”

Ford grimaced but shook his head. “You’re still recovering, Mabel. You...” a shadow passed over Ford’s face as he glanced at her leg. “Your leg was badly injured and your body needs time to heal. Moving around would only put more strain on it.”

“But I feel fine!” Mabel said, despite knowing it wasn’t true. She was exhausted and she could barely sit up. Her leg ached and it was hard to focus.

One look from Ford, and Mabel could see that he didn’t believe her. But instead of responding, he reached out and felt her forehead, his hand cooler than she thought it should’ve been.

“You still have a slight fever,” Ford said quietly, as if talking to himself.

“I’m okay…really! I just-” Mabel’s voice caught and she swallowed hard, but that didn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes. “We just found Dipper and Stan…I know it wasn’t…our Stan and Dipper but-” Her voice broke again as tears fell.

“I know…I…I’m sorry, Mabel…” Ford said quietly.

“How…how long ago did they leave? Could…could we catch up to them?” It was a flimsy hope, but Mabel had to know. If there was still a chance to find them…to have at least one Dipper in her life again, she’d do anything to get him back.

Shaking his head, Ford sighed. “It wasn’t too long ago but if the crowds are anything like the other day, there is no way we could find them. Plus, you need to rest your leg.”

“You could carry me?” Mabel couldn’t help but suggest, after all he had carried her in the past.

Ford pursed his lips. “I could…but we wouldn’t find them. And you need more rest.”

“I can rest later.” Sure, she was exhausted, but she could handle being tired if it meant getting to be with Dipper and Stan.

“Mabel…”

A hurried knock interrupted Ford and he quickly glanced up at the door, his hand going to his holster. He stood quickly and inched towards the door, gun at the ready.

“Who’s there?” Ford called out in a low voice. Mabel recognized it as his “trying not to sound like himself” voice.

There was silence for a moment, then a muffled voice responded. And although Mabel couldn’t quite make out what was said, Ford froze. A moment later, he pushed the barrel aside and opened the door to reveal a very welcome sight to Mabel.

Little Stan.

-----

Pain. That was the first thing Dipper was aware of. Slowly, more of his senses came to life. He was lying on something hard, his arms were tied behind his back, and he was chained to the wall. His whole body ached too, and his head felt fuzzy.

Forcing himself to listen, Dipper didn’t hear anything that gave the indication of immediate danger. As such, he opened his eyes, only to see a wall. Carefully sitting up, he looked around to find that he was in a room. A tiny room with no windows and only one door.

Slowly, the memory of what had happened came back to him. Dipper had seen Freglo, and had pulled out his gun when he realized the bounty hunter had seen him. But he’d only gotten off a few shots when something had struck him. Unbeknownst to him, Freglo was working with a different bounty hunter, one Dipper had only seen for a moment before he blacked out. Gardon. The hunter had a barbed tail, not unlike a scorpion. It was known to knock any creature out, though, thankfully it didn’t kill, as was evident by Dipper being alive and…somewhat well.

“I say we just take the bounty on this one!”

A muffled voice came through the door, but Dipper couldn’t make out who it was.

“There’s a bigger bounty if we capture the rest. I ain’t sharing just his bounty.” Freglo. The scenting bounty hunter had a distinct lilt to his voice that Dipper could make out even through the door.

“Then why don’t you move your lazy tail and track them?” Another voice, though it sounded different than the first one. Were there more than two bounty hunters?

But the question faded in Dipper's mind a the words registered. He already knew the hunters would be on the lookout for Stan. It had been known for a little while that Dipper was no longer alone. But something about the way they were talking made Dipper think that they knew about Ford and Mabel as well. And if they did…Dread pooled in his gut.

He wanted to do something, to dissuade the bounty hunters from looking for them. But he knew bounty hunters. If Dipper tried to convince them that Ford and Mabel weren’t in this dimension, it would only assure them that they were. All he could do was hope that Stan had found Mabel and Ford and that they had already left this dimension. Sure, then he would be doomed, but if the rest of his family was safe…it would be worth it.

-----

“Stanley?” The name slipped out of Ford’s mouth before he could think. He had expected to never see this or any version of his brother again, but here he was. Stan looked at him for a second, emotions flickering across his face so fast that Ford couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. But as Stan looked away, it was clear he still believed Ford didn’t want him around, which simultaneously saddened and frustrated Ford.

“Stan!” Mabel’s voice came from further in the room and Stan’s face brightened a little.

Swallowing down any of his own uncomfortable emotions, Ford glanced ouside, but didn’t see Dipper anywhere. Unease grew in his gut and he quickly closed the door.

“Where…where’s Dipper?”

Ford turned to see worry etched on Mabel’s face.

“He…bounty hunters.” Stan said, and even from his position at the door, Ford saw him swallow hard.

Ford had expected as much, what with Stan returning so quickly, but it still didn’t stop his chest from constricting as he saw Mabel’s eyes grow wide.

“What?!?”

“I…I want to rescue him but…” Stan glanced at Ford for a moment, uncertainty in his gaze. “I need help…”

“We’ll help!” Mabel jumped to her feet, only to sway and immediately sit down again, wincing a little at the pain. But instead of paying any attention to her own wounds, Mabel looked at Ford, anxiety and desperation clouding her gaze. “Right, Grunkle Ford?”

Stan stared at the wall, as if he didn’t want to know Ford’s response. It hurt, seeing how quickly Stan had gone from seemingly grateful to have Ford back, to not even wanting to look at him. But Ford tried not to think of that as he looked at Mabel and nodded.

“Of course.”

“Really?” This time Stan did look at Ford, surprised.

Ford pushed aside all of the reasoning why they shouldn’t try to save Dipper. After all, it would be a risk, a big one. But he couldn’t force himself to do what he should do to keep Mabel and Stan safe. Because he knew, if he did, Mabel – and Stan – would never forgive him. And he wasn’t quite sure he could live with that.

“Really.”

A small smile grew on Stan’s mouth, one directed at Ford.

Returning the smile, Ford pushed the barrel back in front of the door, resolution growing in his chest as he looked at Mabel and Stan. “But we’ll need a plan.”

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Rachel Daly x Reader

Part Six: Dashed Hopes

AN: I know it’s been forever since I added to this series, tbh I thought part 5 would be the end but I kept writing for it and it’s been sitting in my drafts for ages. There’s another part after this but I just gotta figure out how to end it so idk when that will be coming (do we want them to get back together?), just wanted to get something out so I didn’t feel like I’d completely abandoned writing.

In America, off season starts a lot later than in Europe meaning all your friends from back home go off on holiday while you’re still playing competitive football. By the time it was your off season, your friends would be back to work and trying to squeeze in a vacation with them was pretty impossible. You loved visiting your parents and extended family but sometimes you wish you played in the WSL with them so you could have more time together other than international breaks. You weren’t even sure if you’d get called up again but knowing England are competing in America this break gave you a better shot seeing as you’re already here.

Since returning home to The Dash, Rachel had been hard at work trying to win you over again - staying up until the early hours in the morning to be able to call you, often paired with FaceTime. You rarely gave her the same luxury, you didn’t stay up at all hours of the night so you could speak to her and everything was on your terms; every Monday she asks when you’re available and makes sure she calls you in the allotted time frame you give her. It was obvious that she was doing everything within her power to get back with you, whether that meant long distance or you eventually going back home to England.

You looked forward to seeing your national teammates in a few weeks time when England compete in the She Believe’s Cup, it meant that for once, you wouldn’t be doing the 8 hour flight to base camp and they’d all be coming to you! Rachel had been talking about the camp nonstop and didn’t hide her excitement of being able to see you again. She was happy to take what she could get, be that as a friend or even if it just meant acquaintances, at least your were speaking again and that was enough for her. You couldn’t lie that you didn’t look forward to her evening phone calls and the attention she gave you made you feel good but you weren’t allowing her to consume your every thought like before. Propping the phone up on the kitchen counter as you cooked dinner her voice floated through the speaker from another continent, “I saw you got the call up!” she beamed, knowing your fears of Sarina forgetting you existed, “I told you after your World Cup performance, nobody could forget you!” You smiled into your saucepan of steaming pasta, pleased for yourself before sitting on the sofa to eat and stream Love Island. In America the series was being aired 2 weeks behind England and Rachel had avoided all spoilers to watch it with you, she’d often fall asleep half way through and you’d be lying if you didn’t think she looked adorable. Still, you were determined not to get sucked into the facade she played and as soon as her eyes closed you hit the red button. You hadn’t forgotten what she had done the year previous but your feelings towards her had certainly softened. 

Reaching the last few games of the season you were mostly packed and ready to fly to South Carolina for the tournament next month. Tying up your boots and trotting out for warm ups ready for your game against the Red Stars you noticed louder than usual cheering when shooting practice began. “Is today something special?” you asked Ebony as you lined up to take shots at goal, she didn’t say anything but subtly nodded upwards towards the East Stand. Looking towards the source of the noise you spotted a familiar face you’d been getting used to seeing through a 6inch screen. ‘What the fuck is she doing here?’ you thought, rolling your eyes at the sight of her hyping up the crowd from her seat. Standing in the middle of the pitch in your bright orange jersey with your hands placed on your hips and an unamused pout, you waited for her to notice you and when she did you pulled a gesture that can only be explained as “what the actual fuck?!” Rushing down the stairs in excitement you’d be cancelled in a second if anyone knew you hoped she’d trip and roll down to the bottom, chuckling to yourself at the thought. “If you wouldn’t come to me, I had to come to you didn’t I!” she shouted, her grin expanding as she neared closer to you. ‘That’s rich’, you thought! “Or an even better idea would have been to not leave in the first place” you said sarcastically, one of your eyebrows raising to display an unamused look that your ex knows all too well. “Hey, be nice. I thought you’d be pleased to see me!” she jeered, acting like she thought her appearance would be like something out of a rom-com. “Shocked more like! You’re wearing my shirt” you said, arms still folded as you spotted your number under the club badge. “Yeah! Bought it at the gift shop, they’re flying off the shelves!” bouncing around to do your signature celebration by pointing at your name on her back, you couldn’t remember the last time you’ve seen her with so much energy! Shaking your head in amusement it was time to go and get changed and as you jogged away she shouted out to you “good luck captain!” smiling and waving like a fan girl which was seriously giving you the ick. You turned and stared at her smugly while walking backwards towards the tunnel, “have you seen the league table lately? Don’t need your luck mate, we got this!” Running back up the stairs to her seat she placed herself next to your parents who had agreed to also be bought along for the journey. With everything going on you hadn’t spotted them - it was either that or the fact they were hiding behind their programs! 

If you had known your parents were in the crowd you would have celebrated your goal with them but instead you celebrated with the opposite stand, desperate not to give Rachel any more airtime than she probably already had. You tried not to pay any attention to where your ex was sitting the entire game but according to other players (particularly ones that were unfamiliar with what happened between you) she was your biggest cheerleader, barely in her seat the entire game, shouting and cheering at every possibility. You pretended after the match that you hadn’t heard her but her strong northern accent boomed around the stadium; however distracting, you can’t deny that having someone from home in the stands pushed you on. 

Shaking hands and making your way around the field to thank both teams you finally looked up to see not only the blonde but... “Mum? Dad?” you screamed, shielding the sun out of your eyes long enough to see it was undeniably your parents. Launching yourself over the barrier faster than Usain Bolt you sprinted up the steps towards the back of the stands as your dad came bounding down towards you, scooping you into one of his giant bear hugs as you met in the middle. Your mum quickly wrapped her arms around you both to stop your dad from falling over from the shear force you threw yourself at him. Rachel watched everything unfold from afar, a tear rolling down her cheek knowing bringing them along had made you so happy. Surely you’d have to forgive her now, right?!

Rachel stayed until the end of the season, spending time getting to know each other again like it was the beginning. She came to every single one of your games and this time, it was her wearing your name on her back. For so many years it was the other way around when you didn’t play on the same team; you’d go to watch her but Rachel being in a higher league barely had time to show up to your games. Your walls may have been broken down easily but the team certainly hadn’t forgotten what she did to you and how they had to rebuild you after she left. It was extremely messy, it wasn’t a secret that you two were dating and the fans very quickly realised the 6 year relationship was over when Rach abruptly announced her departure from The Dash. Conspiracies and rumours flew around the internet for months trying to guess what had happened and who was the victim - Rach being the bigger name tended to get the most sympathy. You know you shouldn’t have read the comments online but you couldn’t help yourself and it nearly drowned you, if it wasn’t for your teammates you never would have made it out the other side. Now club captain, you had made your own name for yourself, no longer riding off the back of Rachel’s multi continental fame. You are (y/f/n) - striker, captain and leader. You are so much more than Rachel Daly’s ex girlfriend. 

Since her return, the rumours had started spiralling again – ‘had they broken up?’, ‘are they back together?’, ‘is Rachel trying to take her back to England?’ – it was relentless! On the last game of the season, Rachel was invited to make a speech at half time, stating how proud of the team she was and how Houston still feels like home to her. She donned a specially made jersey and given a commemorative photo album to take home with her. You couldn’t stand it and waited in the changing room until she’d dispersed back to the stand. She did do a lot for the team when she was here but it’s your turn now, you’re sick of still being in her shadow even when she doesn’t play here anymore! The back stabby feeling stuck around for a while, bitter that the fans and club still loved her, she even handed out the medals for winning the league! Having to stand there and shake her hand, accepting the trophy from her to take to the rest of the team made you want to drop it onto her foot but you saved face and smiled politely when inside you were dying. Just when you think she’s doing everything right lately, she does everything wrong… again!

Celebrating in the changing room you’d had a little too much to drink when she burst in, keen to join in the party. ‘Oh no fucking way’ you muttered under your breath, slamming your bottle down on the table a little to hard and pushing her right back out of the door she’d just entered from. “This isn’t your party, why are you here?” you slurred, becoming a little braver with your words now your body was filled with alcohol. “I just thought-” she started before you cut her off, “no, you didn’t think! This is my first win as captain and you’re here to take over!” your voice becoming louder and louder, earning you a few stares from passing staff. Even after everything that happened, you couldn’t believe that the club had asked her to be such a huge part of todays celebrations, everyone knows what she did and half of them helped her do it. They watched you for months trying to become yourself again after the worst heartbreak you had ever endured and still thought making it all about her was a good idea! “Just leave, I want to celebrate with my friends” you ended your rant, exhausted with still having to fight with her. “Okay” she nodded solemnly, “have a good night” her head bowed as her feet swivelled and she walked off. “Right!” bursting back into the changing room, “let’s get this party started!!!” 

[iknowwhatilikeperiod]

Hi, i have not been here for to long and this is my first time writing a story on this platform. This story has been haunting me for quite a while in my creative space, so i though what better way than to share it!

Shadows of the Belmont Legacy

chp. 1

1475

In the quiet outskirts of the village, nestled between the dense foliage and the towering stones of the Belmont hold, stood a small, unassuming house. Its wooden frame was aged, but the thatch roof remained steadfast, a silent sentinel against the elements. The windows glowed softly with the flicker of candlelight, casting an inviting warmth into the cool evening air. Inside, a young woman with eyes the colour of moonlit ice sat at a round table, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns of an ancient tome. Her name was Geneviève Belmont, and she had the unmistakable features of her lineage—sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and hair as dark as the night that surrounded her sanctuary.

Geneviève's eyes darted back and forth, her mind racing as she studied the arcane symbols scattered across the yellowed pages. Her long, graceful hands paused every so often to scribble notes onto a piece of parchment beside her. A soft rustle of feathers broke the silence as Persephone, her devoted crow companion, fluttered in from the open window. The bird's eyes gleamed with a hint of something otherworldly, a reflection of the chaos magic Geneviève had discovered within herself at a tender age.

"Persephone, my dear," Geneviève spoke in a hushed tone, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of her thoughts. "Keep an eye on Trevor for me, will you?"

The crow cocked its head to the side, as if in question. Geneviève sighed, her gaze lingering on the crow for a moment before returning to her work. "I know you enjoy your independence, but I can't help but worry. We haven't seen each other in such a long time, the whispers of darkness are growing louder."

With a gentle caw, Persephone took flight once more, disappearing into the night. Geneviève watched her go, feeling the weight of her solitude settle back upon her shoulders. She knew her brother was out there, fighting the very shadows that she studied, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for not being by his side. Yet, she had her own battles to wage, her own path to walk. Her studies of chaos magic, though misunderstood by many, were vital to the protection of their family and the world they knew.

The door to the small house creaked open, and a figure stepped in, the light from outside framing them in a halo of dust and moonbeams. Geneviève looked up, her heart racing for a brief second, until she recognized the weary silhouette. It was Trevor, his whip slung over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger before finally landing on her.

"Gene," he said, his voice a mix of exhaustion and relief. "It's been too long."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the years melted away, revealing the bond of siblings who had once been inseparable. Geneviève rose to her feet, a warm smile spreading across her face as she set aside her book. "Trevor, welcome back. I've missed you."

He stepped further into the room, closing the door with a thud that echoed through the house. The candle flames danced in the sudden draft, casting shadows that played upon the walls like ghosts of battles past.

"I've missed you too," he said, his voice gruff. "But I've come for more than just a visit."

Geneviève's smile grew wider, revealing dimples in her cheeks. "Food, bath, and a bed to sleep in?"

"Exactly," Trevor chuckled, his eyes scanning the cozy room filled with books and the faint scent of incense. "And perhaps a little of your wisdom."

She rolled her eyes playfully, gesturing to the pot bubbling over the fire. "You're in luck. I've made stew. And as for wisdom, I'm afraid you're out of it."

They sat together, sharing the simple meal and stories of their adventures since they had last seen each other. Trevor spoke of his battles against the night's creatures, his whip crackling with holy power as he sent them back to the shadows from whence they came. Geneviève listened intently, her eyes sparkling with pride at her brother's bravery. She, in turn, spoke of her studies, her discoveries in their hold.

They enjoyed the comfort of their reunion, the warmth of the fireplace, and the familiarity of their sibling banter.

After the stew was finished, Trevor leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. "Your place is as cozy as ever, Gene."

"Thanks to your help in building it," she said with a nod. "It's a good place to retreat and learn."

She stood up and started clearing the table of the dirty plates as trevor studied her for a moment, his gaze softening.

"How has it been..with you know..studying and all?" He asked.

Geneviève took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to the book she had been reading before his arrival. "I've been trying to understand the chaos within me," she admitted. "The more I know, the better I can control it and understand it."

Trevor laughed. "Good luck with the Church; they won't like that, but what can they do more than they have already done."

"Don't be a jackass! It's our magic, our heritage," she countered.

"Uu, what are you going to do? Turn me into a crow? Ooooo," Trevor teased his little sister as before with little remarks.

Geneviève snickered and struck a thinking pose. "Hmm, well, Persephone did seem a bit lonely lately.."

*CAW!*

They both looked over at Persephone who was cawing at them.

Geneviève laughed, understanding her cawing.

"What is she saying? She called me fat something?"

"No, she said that u are already a pain in her butt to watch over; she doesn't want u flying around with her," Gene said, laughing.

"Wooow not even a fucking bird wants anything to do with me"

-

The room grew quiet, the crackle of the fire and the silent conversation was the only sound between them. Trevor knew she was right, but the thought of his sister embracing the very power that had brought their family so much pain was difficult to accept.

As the night grew late, Trevor retreated to the bed she had prepared for him; after a long bath to scrub away the dirt and grime, the softness of the feather mattress was a welcoming feeling for his beat-up body. It really was a stark contrast to the hard ground he was used to. Soon he was out as a light with Persephone perched on the windowsill, her eyes unblinking as she watched over the slumbering warrior. Geneviève remained at her table, her thoughts racing. The whispers of chaos grew louder in her mind, beckoning her to delve deeper into the forbidden knowledge she had been studying.

The candle flame flickered, casting dancing shadows across the pages of the ancient tome. She could feel the power within her stirring, yearning to be released. But she knew better than to give in to such temptation without understanding the consequences. Carefully, she penned her thoughts and findings, her handwriting neat and precise.

Suddenly, the air grew heavy, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A chill ran down her spine, and she knew that something was amiss. Persephone squawked loudly, her feathers ruffling as she took to the air.

Geneviève's eyes snapped to the crow, and she saw through her eyes. Trevor, in the throes of a nightmare, thrashed about the bed, his whip clutched tightly in his fist. He muttered incoherently, his face a mask of terror.

With a flick of her wrist, she sent a gentle breeze to caress her brother's face, whispering a calming incantation. Trevor's breathing evened out, and his grip on the whip loosened. Geneviève sighed in relief, watching over him for a few more moments before returning her focus to her studies.

The night was still; the only sound was the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. The candle wax pooled around the wick, casting a soft glow that illuminated the pages of the book.

After another hour of studying. Geneviève, with a firm resolve, closed the book, sealing away the whispers of chaos for the night, deciding it was enough for tonight. She walked over to her room and got in bed. Closing her eyes as sleep overtook her.

-

As the morning sun approached, Trevor stirred, his eyes opening to the light of a new day. He sat up, stretching his muscles and looking around the room with a sense of peace that had eluded him for so long; walking downstairs, he was met by the sight of Gene at the table with, as always, her nose deep in a book.

Geneviève looked up from her work, her eyes weary but determined.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice soft.

Trevor nodded. "Just a nightmare," he said, rubbing his eyes. "But I've had worse."

They shared a knowing look, the unspoken understanding of the battles they each faced—both in the world of the living and in their hearts.

She gave him one of her gentle smiles, closing her book and she stood up.

"Hungry?" She asked as she reached her fireplace.

"Very." Trevor smirked as he started setting the table. His sister cooked some pork belly in a pan over the fire, and with the fat she used for frying some sunnyside-up eggs just how he liked them.

When she was done, she set the pan on the table and took a bowl, cutting some veggies that she had grown in her garden. She cut some fresh sheep cheese on a different plate, set them on the table, and seasoned her veggies and eggs with some rough salt.

"This smells amazing," Trevor said as the aroma of the food filled the room.

They ate and talked, shared stories, and enjoyed the pleasure of a hot breakfast together. It's moments like these that reminded them of their childhood, how they used to dip their bread into the runny yoke of the egg and not eat the rest of it. Truly pleasant memories before the weight of their destinies had settled upon them.

After the meal, Trevor took the plates to the bowl of water that was set on a wooden bench and began washing them as Geneviève cleaned the rest from the table.

He watched her for a moment, her graceful movements a stark contrast to the fierce warrior he knew her to be.

"Hey Trefi, why don't we enjoy the day? It's been too long since we've just...been brother and sister."

"HEY! Don't call me that! And sure, dear sister, why not..I would like to be free for a day."

Silence overtook them as they got ready for the day, changing into clean and comfortable clothes, spending the morning exploring the woods surrounding the house, reminiscing about their childhood, and climbing their old tree where they used to play as kids. Having fun pretending to be kids again.

Geneviève's magic allowed her to show trevor the beauty of the natural world in a way he had never seen before, the flora and fauna responding to her touch with a gentle grace that made him feel a deep respect for the power she wielded.

But as always the day comes to an end as the sun started to go down, they decided to rest by a babbling brook, the water's song providing a soothing backdrop to their conversation. Trevor leaned against a tree, his eyes closed, as Geneviève sat cross-legged beside him, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I've missed this," he murmured, his voice filled with contentment.

"As have I," she replied.

Their bond was palpable, the unspoken understanding between them as strong as the steel. They were two halves of a whole, each with their strengths and weaknesses.

But even during their peaceful interlude, Genevième felt the chaos stirring within her, whispering to her of the battles to come. She knew she couldn't ignore it forever.

"Trev," she began, her voice tentative. "There's something I need to tell you."

He opened his eyes and looked at her, his gaze steady and unflinching.

"I've been having...visions," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Of a great evil, something very dark..and it has something to do with Dracula."

Trevor's expression grew serious. "What do you see?"

Geneviève took a deep breath, her eyes searching his for reassurance. "I see...the end of the world," she whispered. "Of humanity..I see pain and suffering, terror and bloodshed..horrible things will happen.."

The weight of her words hung in the air between them, a silent acknowledgement of the fate they might soon have. Trevor squeezed her shoulder, his grip firm and comforting.

"We'll face it together," he said, echoing her earlier sentiment. "Whatever it takes."

Geneviève nodded as she rested her head against Trevor his neck breathing in his scent as she did when she was younger..it was her the only thing that could comfort her.

-

"You're not so bad for a slob," she murmured teasingly, her voice light and airy as they made their way back home.

"Why you-!" Trevor chuckled, getting her into a headlock while rubbing his knuckles into her head as she shrieked playfully

They laughed as they made their way into the cottage. Geneviève lit the fire into the fire place with a whisper.

As the sound of the crackling fire and distant howling of the wolves outside startes filling the cozy space. The warmth of the hearth was a stark contrast to the chilling evening air that had seeped into the cottage.

She put the kettle back on the fire with the leftover stew.

Geneviève's smiled as she looked up at Trevor who was looking around the cottage. "You really should come by more often."

Trevor nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I know. I've had my hands full hunting vampires and such.. But I'll make it a point to visit more often." He said with a smirk as she laughed quietly.

"You better."

The conversation drifted to their parents, the stories of their ancestors, and the legacy they had left behind. As the fire burned lower and the shadows grew longer, Trevor could feel the weight of his travels lifting from his shoulders. The comfort of his sister's presence was something he hadn't realized he'd been missing. He sighed contentedly, feeling the warmth of the stew, the fire, the smell of the house and her warmth was just what he needed.

As they talked, Geneviève scooped some stew with her spoon and brought it up to her mouth but dropped the spoon back on her plate as different visions started to plage her sight as she started to breath heavily.

"GENE!? IS EVERYTHING OKAY!?" Trevor asked as he stood up and made his way to her side rubbing her back.

It was Persephone, who she allow to take a flight around wallachia for the day sight that disturbed her. She was in Târgoviște, perched on the church watching a woman being burned at the stake.

"NO! PLEASE DON'T HURT THEM! THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT THEIR DOING!"

'No...No..NO. NO. NO. NO!'

"NO!" Geneviève screamed in terror, scaring Trevor much more in the process.

"GENEVIÈVE, WHAT WRONG!? HEY TALK TO ME!"

She breathed heavily as she came back to her scenes looking over at her brother.

"The..the vision I've told u about today..it has come true..in one year..humanity will be whipped out by the night creatures and vampire's."

Trevor frown as he stepped away rubbing his eyes.

"Shit."

"The church has really fucked up now."

"Why do you say that Gene?" Trevor asked looking over at his sister.

Gene just glanced over at him with a much deeper frown.

"They just killed Vlad Dracula's wife."

Trevor looked gobsmacked at that threading his hand through his hair.

"Yep.. we're screwed."

[somethingsomethingeyyymacarena]

(SCRIPT PREVIEW)

Hey ya'll. Hope you're all having a great afternoon! I'm here to bring you a little update about this post.

After watching some video essays for inspiration, I began developing a draft for a script about Robin: Son of Batman (2015). Analyzing the story implications, themes and motifs! :)

And because ya'll been so supportive of my nerdy endeavours, you guys are getting a special preview of the aforementioned draft! (criticisms accepted of course!)

Part of the script avaliable under cut

tagging in: @fancyfade @fluffykitty149 @cleoeatsit

The first issue of the comic run starts with Damiam returning some sort of cultural artifacts to their rightful owners; an order of monks in mainland China.  So, immediately, we got this Tomb Raider/Indiana Jones kind of plot point.  

(Man I sure hope it doesn’t get abandoned halfway through and pivots to portraying  the replacement of an autocracy with another autocracy where the head of state its not even from the country as a good thing)

ahem…

He gets interrupted by League of Assassins members which he fights off with the help of his pet, Goliath the Bat-dragon. He wins said fight and is lavished for returning the sacred object by the locals

All while a masked figure is observing the scene while saying: 

“(...) there cannot be redemption for the year of the blood”

This introduction to the comic is interesting because it highlights the main narrative theme and framing device of the whole story: The Quest for Redemption.

Before we even know exactly what Damian is doing and why he's doing it. We know he's looking to mend a rift. To make a past wrongdoing right. And then we find out someone wants to stop him…

This forms an interesting parallel with real life survivors of schoolyard abuse aka bullying.

Now, hear me out…

 Many kids (especially those with conditions such as autism) are manipulated by their bullies into doing bad things to other children. They generally do this by preying on their loneliness and desire to be accepted by their peers. And so said kids carry out acts of hazing to other children, perpetuating a cycle of harm.

A cycle which is hard to escape from. Because if you hurt someone, regardless of if you were manipulated or not, that person will probably not trust you after the fact. And if you add into account the environment of a school, where rumors spread like wildfires, there's a high chance you develop a bad reputation. Cause other people have no way of knowing you did it while being threatened into being a social pariah. It's a no win situation.

Damian's story is simile to this. Sure, the acts he carried out were far more extreme and he was not manipulated by an outsider but by his own grandfather, Ra’s Al Ghul.  But the effects of his psyche, development and public perception are all the same.

Think about it: His claims to being either the Blood Son or the Grandson of the Demon  are basically him trying to justify his existence  to a family that, for all he knows, could abuse him again. Which leads him to having a thought process where he has to be the best of the best in the room, cause the only other alternative is death. and for that he’s punished. Even though no one ever bothered to teach him the normal social protocols for a boy his age. 

So when you make that reading of Damian, and put into the context of a story where he, by his own volition, decides he’s gonna try and reverse all the harm he caused while being essentially groomed. You get something really powerful.

Well…kind of…

There’s a few things that stuck out with the framing of this arc. The most glaring one being: this arc takes place after he comes back from the dead. After being trapped in hell for the better part of a year after being killed by his own clone.

By making Damian’s journey for redemption take place after he’s been through literal Hell, there’s the subtle implication that he’s not doing it out of his own free will, but to avoid some sort of celestial punishment.

And that’s not a bad idea per se, if the comic acknowledged that implication. Because it does put an interesting question into the table. “Does it matter why we do good things? As long as we do them?” Does it matter if Damian doesn’t kill anymore because of “selfish” reasons. After all, why would an orphan he saves from a fire care if he used to be bad or not? Should that matter to anyone?

That last part is a testament, I think, to how much better executed some ideas that writers at DC have would be if they played them straight. If they acknowledged the implications of their writing instead of just doing something because they thought it would be cool or dramatic. 

[milkywayes]

WIP Whenever

tagged like a week ago by @serendipitys-teapot, thank you so much for thinking of me! I finally got around to it >:)

I think most everyone has already done this, but since it was a week ago maybe they’d like to do it again? lol. no pressure! tagging @gammaraydeath @kalliesa @dispatchwithlove @continuous-spec @callista-curations

from the very capricious (read: it’s been kicking my ass for months) draft of Cipher’s chapter 11. I’m making headway again and I hope I can start uploading chapters again soon on ao3! sorry for the wait everyone.

“Loitering,” he says mildly, though a bobbing mandible betrays his discomfort. “Listen to yourself. It’s not loitering… if I’m here with a purpose.” She crosses her arms. Fingers tighten around the Normandy piece that she forgot to return to the pile, sweaty in her grip. She’s probably ruining the paint job on it. “And what’s that purpose, Garrus?” “Waiting for you.” The tug at her mouth strengthens. So does the flush, which has reached her ears by now. “Intercepting, you mean.” He shrugs as if to say, same thing. “You know,” she ventures, “I’ve come to expect you to just barge right in.” “The call was… a surprise.” Garrus breaks eye contact to glance down at his omni-tool arm, then shrugs again. Sub-zero temperatures have begun creeping through the section doors at Garrus’ back, spreading goosebumps over her arms—he shivers, pushing off them and stepping around her in one stilted, stalking movement. “Had to take that one. I figured you’d come out eventually.” She turns on the spot, keeps looking at him. Tracking him. “No-comms black op?” “You could say that.” Leaning back on her heels means she gets a better look at his face; he notices, takes an additional step back to grant her the view. His shoulders point down the length of the corridor, but his head’s tilted her way, indifferent to the scrutiny. It’s odd: all this time with no answers forthcoming, and now he’s suddenly unconcerned about letting her listen in on classified communications. Holding eye contact as he does it. Every move intentional. She catalogues the angles of his face, strangely patient, offset only by the ceaseless musing and scrolling of his visor. She says, “That wasn’t just mission HQ checking in with the ground team. I don’t know Blackwatch’s command structure, but the guy’s the primarch, and he’s overseeing this personally. So either it’s of vital importance—or he’s making an exception for you.” “The thing about exceptions is they never end well. Any lapse in conviction’s a hole for the enemy to exploit—or so goes the age-old maxim.” The delivery’s joking, but his countenance is not; fingers move to pluck at the flared sleeves of his jacket, picking off lint, imagined or otherwise. “Victus loves the idea of having a protégé. I’ve found it’s best not to psychoanalyze him over it. Too risky.” Shepard, pursing her lips, has some thoughts about that. Also about Garrus, whose new-found openness appears to have hard limits—as evidenced by his answer, which wasn’t really an answer at all. She forces herself to relax out of stance. She’s been standing with her heels ground into the flooring, like this is a square-off at high noon rather than… what it is. Her finger pads dig into the Normandy’s nose, a grounding sensation, and then she’s closing the distance again. Lightly, she asks, “Scared he’d psychoanalyze you right back?”  “Absolutely.”

[nerdnag]

about words, in words

(I should be studying, but I had a huge epiphany on my way home from work and I literally can't let this go unless I write it down first. You'll understand why soon enough.)

About a month ago I saw a poll which posed the question, "what pov is your internal monologue in?"

The choices were as follows: 1st person singular POV, 1st person plural POV, 2nd person POV, 3rd person POV, Other, or I don't have an internal monologue.

I stared at the post, trying - as I'm sure many other people did - to capture my own thought process in the moment, in order to figure out which of the alternatives fit best for me. But I wasn't really able to come to any conclusion, because the words of the poll were just circulating around in my brain, muddling everything up (hah, foreshadowing). So I saved the post to my draft, deciding that I'd have to think about it and return to it later.

Over the course of the month, I've been revisiting the post a few times, but still without reaching much of a conclusion. Slowly, I started wondering whether I even had much of an internal monologue at all; but I couldn't really put into words (hah, foreshadowing again) why that was, or what my thought process actually did look like.

Until today.

On my way home from work, it suddenly struck me, seemingly from nowhere.

I only think in words when I'm thinking about words. Otherwise, I think in images, feelings, vague fuzzy concepts, or sounds.

What do I mean by that bold sentence? Well, I think in words when my thought circulate around something I've read, something I've heard someone say, something I intend to write, something I intend to say, etc. In those cases, I think the words themselves. When I was biking home from working, I wasn't thinking, "When I get home, I'm going to write a Tumblr post about how my thought process works". I thought, "On my way home from work, it suddenly struck me, seemingly from nowhere." And not because I was narrating myself in 1st person past tense; no, because I was thinking about how I was going to phrase this epiphany that I had just had a moment ago.

Other times, I may be repeating the words of a message I received; or a message I intend to write; or a line I just heard someone say; or the sentence I just read; or a sentence I am intending to say.

But when I'm not thinking about words? Well, then I don't think in words. When I think about my week, I see flashes of images; I imagine sounds around me; I smell my future surroundings; I feel a hint of the emotions I expect to feel. But never do I phrase these things into words unless I intend to communicate them in some way.

So of course I couldn't figure out what POV my internal monologue was in - all I could think about at the time was the words of the poll, because that's literally how I think about everything. My thoughts were obscured by my own thoughts.

Now, this is a pretty cool epiphany in and of itself. But after I'd had this epiphany, and thought it through for a few minutes (through this tumblr post I knew I was going to write), I realised that this might have implications and meanings that I hadn't even considered before.

I remembered how, when I started school, I was obsessed with words. I remembered how my mother bought me a notebook to save words in; I would write down words I liked on its lined pages, one word per line, with no punctuation or explanation. I would fill pages and pages of this book with words. And I would write poems about words - about how fascinating they were to me, how beautiful and fragile and full of meaning they were - in a way that was absurdly abstract for my age; almost like I was picking the words up and examining them through a microscope with a critical eye.

Then I remembered how I've always struggled to communicated my thoughts well to others; how the images and concepts that seem so clear in my brain seem so impossible to phrase into words. And I remembered how, throughout the years, I've slowly become better at this, especially in my recent professional years; how the only way to survive countless meetings and presentations and social gatherings where I'm expected to communicate with people - to communicate well - has been to train myself to think in words. To reflect in words, in phrases, in retorts and responses, so that when someone threw me a word ball, I could quickly throw it back rather than fumble helplessly on the spot.

And then it struck me that, when I do think in words, I usually do so in English; because English words make up such a large piece of my daily life. Pretty much my entire social life is in English; my interests are almost exclusively in English; I write fiction in English, I read in English, I sing in English, I talk to friends in English, I study in English, I watch shows in English, I listen to music in English, I play table top RPG’s in English, I blog in English, I do volunteer work in English. And so, naturally, I usually think in English. Only time I really think in Swedish is when I think about work (most of it, at least) or the social interactions I have with Swedish friends or family.

And then, it also struck me that, if I'm so often thinking in words that I read/heard/said or will read/hear/say... When will I ever be here and now, in the present?

... I guess the answer to that is that I'll be in the present when I don't think in words. When there are no words to think about, no words present in my mind. When I allow myself to simply... exist, and feel, and hear, and push the words out of my mind. Because the words, as fascinating as they've always been to me, do not come naturally to me.

And that also makes me wonder... If I had no words to think about... Or at the very least, much fewer words to think about... What would my thoughts be like? What would my life be like...?

[dragonjesterwrites]

Okay I've had this unique idea for Sundrop(and by extension Moondrop). What if a young adult reader entered the daycare. Not because they needed to stay there but because they want to see Sundrop who's been taking care of them since they were little. The two of them always had a huge bond. The reader's parents never really spent time with the reader and kind of neglected them always ignoring thwm or pushing them onto someone else so the reader would often find themselves spending long ours at the pizza plex after school and the reader felt like Sundrop and Moondrop were better parents then their biological ones but all of a sudden they stopped going around age 10 because they moved. Sundrop and Moondrop had a tearful goodbye with the reader. Now they're an adult and living independently they took a trip to relive the experience they had at the pizza plex and to see Sundrop and Moondrop again, going to the daycare. Sun at first doesn't recognize them but after he does it's a tearful(figurative in Sun's and Moon's case) reuinion.

Here you are, dude! So sorry this took forever, I went through like, five drafts before finally picking one 😅😂 but here it is!!

Sun and Moon as Parents (but to Reader this time)

~~~~~

"Sign there, there, and there."

The height of the stack of safety waivers you had to sign for a simple weekly pass to the Mega Pizzaplex was highly concerning, to say the least, but you elected to ignore the bad feeling in your gut. You'd basically spent your whole childhood in the Daycare, you doubted you were going to manage to, as the papers put, 'suffer loss of limb, life, or brain matter' in a single week.

Besides, you were excited. And nervous. But you pushed that second feeling down and away, too, scribbling a final signature down before handing the papers back to the robot working the passes desk.

"Thank you, paying customer. Pass is being deposited." The robot stuck out its hand, and a colorful, plastic card was printed out of its palm. "Please take your pass, and have a Faztastic day."

"Thanks, mate." You said, taking the pass and offering the robot a smile and a wave.

The robot said nothing, but indicated for you to wait with one finger, knelt down, grabbed something, and then offered out its closed hand to you. Curiously, you held your own hand out underneath, and it deposited two circular pins into your palm- Sun and Moon.

"Oh- oh, shit, thank you." You said, staring wide-eyed at the pins before back up at the robot. "How did-?"

"Next customer, please." The robot interrupted, no longer looking at you, and you blinked at it, taken aback, before shrugging and moving out of the way.

Well, that was… odd, but you weren't complaining. Once you had pushed through the turnstiles, you made your way to an unoccupied section of bench, slinging your backpack off as you sat down.

You affixed the pins to the cloth of the pack, right next to the pins of their generic counterparts. Once done, you smiled down at them fondly, before turning to look up towards the right-side escalators.

Even after all these years, you still knew all the routes in and out of the Superstar Daycare. It was so close- up the escalators, to the right, down the hall, through the shutters, and down the slide- but you couldn't go yet. It was twelve thirty-two, which meant it was snack time, about to be nap time.

Moon had always been grumpy with adults who interrupted nap time, shushing them and sending them away before returning to you all. You didn't want to bother him or Sun while they were working, and besides, you didn't have any children with you- be a bit odd to show up to a daycare as a lone adult.

Nah, you'd wait until just before closing at six. It wasn't like there was any shortage of things to do, either- you'd been saving up for this for awhile, and treated yourself to a VIP pass; unlimited access to all attractions and arcade games, and you intended to take full advantage of the offerings.

For the next few hours, you did just that, immersing and distracting yourself with lights and sounds, arcade beeps and blended crowd chatter and rock music.

At present, you were wandering around the arcade with a mess of tickets under one arm, looking for any particular game to jump out and catch your eye, when an announcement startled you out of your idle search.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the time is now five fifty, the Superstar Daycare will be closing in ten minutes. I repeat, the Superstar Daycare will be closing in ten minutes. Please come and pick up your children, if you have not already. Fazbear Entertainment can not be held liable for lost or…"

"Oh, shit, I'm gonna be late." You muttered, beginning to jog for the exit. A group of young kids emerged from between a row of arcade machines, chattering amongst themselves, and you strode towards them. "Hey guys, I gotta run and can't turn these in. Want 'em?"

The kids stopped, surprised, looked at the tickets, then amongst themselves, then back at you, faces breaking out in grins. "Hell yeah. Thanks." One of the girls said, sticking out her arms. You handed them over, then booked it for the exit, hearing them begin to squabble over the bounty behind you.

You made it to the Daycare hallway just a minute before it closed, passing a line of parents and older siblings carrying or pulling along young toddlers and babies. One toddler was fussing, reaching out with little hands to the brightly painted shutter over their parent's shoulder. The parent was ignoring their child's upset babbling, mouth drawn and eyes dull, and annoyance flashed to life as you passed them. Would it kill you to comfort your kid?

You knew you were projecting, the situation all too similar to your own- maybe the parent was exhausted, maybe this was a habit of the child, but still, you couldn't help feeling more sympathetic for the child.

You shook it off and continued down the hall to the shutters, thankfully still open. Voices floated through, and you hurried to get closer, until one voice, louder and distinct from the rest, made you stop in your tracks.

"...oh, she's always an absolute delight to have, Ms. Tilley. So creative!"

"...Sun?" You whispered as you padded closer to the open shutters, spotting him. His head turned from the woman and child in front of him, to you, making you freeze, and he tilted his head, but then the woman asked him something and his attention snapped right back to them.

"Absolutely!" He crouched down to the child's level, holding out his arms, and the little girl embraced him, squeezing him tight. "Aww. Mr. Moony and I will miss you too, Sam! But we'll see you soon, alright? Mr. Moony says sleep well!"

He chuckled and stood, taking the girl up with him, and handed her off to her mother, waving them goodbye. The pair returned the gesture and headed your way, and that's when Sun stepped forward and looked directly at you.

"Well, hi there, friend! Can I help you?" He called. "Do you have a little superstar enrolled with us, or do you perhaps need directions?"

He didn't recognize you. Made sense, it had been over a decade, and you were an adult now. But it still hurt a little- he and Moon had practically raised you, after all.

But would that mean anything to them? They'd probably half-raised plenty of neglected kids; daycares were notorious for that sort of thing, and Sun and Moon cared for hundreds, probably thousands of kids a month. This was- this was stupid. He probably didn't even remember that far back. Maybe you should just leave.

Anxiety and crushed hope left a bitter taste in your mouth when you spoke. "S-Sorry, I was just… looking for the bathroom."

"Oh, I see! Right back down the hall on your left, friend." Sun said, sounding slightly distant. Probably tired of dealing with dumb adults like me all day.

"Thanks." You said, offering a lame wave and turning to leave. You'd made it maybe ten steps before your name- your full name was called, hesitantly, quietly, but curiously.

You stopped, looked over your shoulder, a little bit of hope rising in your chest. "Yeah?"

"Is that… really you?" Sun asked, taking a step forward, then another.

You smiled, turned fully around. "It's really me."

Sun gasped, then began to hop up and down, giggling and clapping his hands. "Firefly! I haven't seen you in- in years! C'mere c'mere c'mere-"

You laughed and ran over to him, backpack thumping on your back. He extended his arms out, and you eagerly took the hug, sending you both staggering a bit and making you giggle. His arms embraced you, and he squeezed you tight, before he took your shoulders and pulled away, looking you up and down.

"Oh, Firefly, it's really you! Look at you!" Sun exclaimed, before he abruptly straightened, one large thumb brushing wet across your cheek. "Oh, oh, little comet, why are you crying?"

"Happy tears." You assured him with a wobbly smile, letting out a choked laugh before hugging him again. "I missed you two."

"...We missed you, too." Sun whispered, returning the hug.

"For a second there, I thought you'd forgotten me." You said, covering the pang of hurt with a joking tone, but suddenly he was pulling back, holding your face in his and gazing up at you from where he knelt.

"We never forgot about you, little comet. I promise." He said, sincere as anything. "Why, we watched you grow up! I just didn't recognize you at first, because, my goodness, you're an adult now! Look at you!"

"I am." You chuckled, rubbing away the tears with the back of your sleeve. "Got my own apartment, have a college degree, pay taxes, and everything."

"You do?" He shrieked excitedly, leaping up and catching you by surprise. "I'm so, so proud of you! Oh, you've got to tell us all about it, come on-"

And that's how you found yourself sitting in a colorful chair now far too small for you, in the Daycare that hadn't changed since you'd left for the last time, recounting the past decade of your life to Sun over a plastic tea set. His tea parties had been your favorite when you were little, and you found your heart swelling with appreciation whenever he poured more imaginary tea from the red teapot into your yellow daisy-patterned cup. Such a little gesture, but you'd thought maybe he wouldn't, given that you were no longer little, yet he showed absolutely no hesitation in doing so, and it made you happy beyond words.

But there was one difference that had stuck out to you since you'd first walked into the Daycare lobby- Sun, himself. His clothes were worn, with grey stains, stubbornly lingering after what must have been dozens of repeated washes. His casings and rays, vibrant yellows and oranges in your memory, were now pale, revealing scratches and smudges and even hairline cracks. It looked like he hadn't been washed in weeks, or repainted in years.

A horrible thought occurred to you. You'd done some research on the Pizzaplex before making the long trip over, and noticed the negative reviews piling up for the Daycare. Going back, Sun and Moon had always had a handful of bad reviews; typically relating either to their perceived gender or appearance (as if either one was somehow their fault), but as of late, parents had been focused on the two's worn-down casings and even behavior. If the cash flow stopped… somehow, you doubted FazCo would be putting Sun and Moon into a nice retirement home.

Your heart squeezed, and you reached out to take his hand, your previous sentence trailing off. You looked down at his fingers, seeing the scratches went all the way down to the endoskeleton knuckles. There were nicks in the wires, and some were wrapped up in electrical tape. "Sun… what are you and Moon going to do, you know, in the… the future?"

"What do you mean, Superstar?" Sun asked innocently, taking a pretend sip from his blue cornflower cup. The plastic cup rattled slightly against his silicone teeth, and you frowned as he cleared his non-existent throat and set it down.

"You know what I mean."

"I certainly don't." Sun insisted with a chuckle, though he shifted his hand in yours, and began to write something with his thumb into your palm, distracting you from his next words. "But anyway! Where were we? Ah, right…"

s… c… p… e…

He stopped, thumb circling idly thrice, before restarting.

E… s… c… a… p… e.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, and his words stuttered as he urgently tapped your palm, before writing something out much more quickly.

C-a-m-e-r-a-s.

You nodded, forcing a neutral expression and not allowing yourself to glance around for them. W… h… e… n… ?

While he chattered on about the day's activities, he wrote into your palm, giving the basics of the plan he and Moon had concocted- sneak out through the roof escape hatch they'd broken the lock on, then secure shelter and get the other animatronics out.

They hadn't found good shelter yet, though. They needed a lot of electricity, you knew that much.

You hesitated, listening to him talk a minute or two more, concentrating on nodding and smiling enough to look natural on the cameras, then switched focus and quickly wrote into his palm.

W-a-n-t-s-t-a-y-w-i-t-h-m-e-?

Sun's head snapped towards you, blinking owlishly before his rays began to pop in and out excitedly.

A…r…e…y…o…u…s…u…r…e…?

"Absolutely." You whispered, squeezing his hand before beginning to write out your address.

~~~~~

"Hey, I'm going out!"

You waited patiently by the door for a reply, gaze landing on the framed photos that filled the wall beside it. You smiled, before turning to look in the general direction of the kitchen when you heard Sun reply.

"Okie-dokie! Where ya headed to, Firefly?"

"Uh, just to the local coffee shop, meeting a friend." You replied, your face warming despite yourself.

Moon's head popped out from the kitchen- you'd brought them enough parts to build them a separate body years ago- and he looked you up and down, eyes glinting in a way you'd come to understand meant amusement.

"A 'friend', hm?" He asked, and the heat in your face doubled.

"N-" You began pointedly, but you were interrupted by Sun's excited shriek.

"You're going on a date!?" He exclaimed, bounding out of the kitchen to scoop you up. "Oh, you've got to tell us all about them! What's their name, what are they like? Where'd you two meet? At work, or-?"

"Sunny, they're going to be late." Moon said, and you shot him a grateful look as Sun set you down with a gasp, immediately taking to smoothing your outfit out.

"Oh, oh, yes, you're right. Sorry, Superstar! I just got so, so excited! But I'll save my questions for later, you go on now!"

"And be safe." Moon added, before disappearing back into the kitchen. "Text us if you need. And no fooling around."

"Dad." You said, amused and exasperated. "It's a first date! At a coffee shop!"

"Aw, he's just worried about you, Firefly!" Sun assured, giving you one last pat across your shoulders. "And so am I! Drive safely, okay? And text us when you get there, and when you're leaving?"

"I know, I know- and I will, I promise." You said, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. He hugged you even tighter, gently bopping his faceplate against the top of your head with a loud mwah.

"Thank you, Superstar." He said, before abruptly letting go and spinning you, pushing you towards the door and making you laugh in surprise. "Now go, go, go! You want to make a good impression so you cangetmarriedandgiveusgrandkids!"

"Sorry, what was that last part?" You asked, mortified, but Sun just made an unsure noise as you stumbled out onto the porch.

"Hm? Oh, I'm sure I didn't say anything. Love you, be safe, have fun~!"

You hadn't even made it to the car yet, and you were already dying of embarrassment- but you had to admit, you thought as you cast one last smile at the front door before opening the car, it was nice to be looked out for.

[an-abyss-of-stars]

✨Fic Updates!!✨

✵It's Visceral And It's Cruel✵

I'M SORRY!! Writer's block is a bitch and she has me by the throat!!! I've been stuck on this chapter for agessssss and I can't seem to move past the blockage!!

I've got like 2k words done for it and I'm struggling, I have all the plot points in my notes, I just can't seem to verbalize themmm, UGH frustrating 😭😭 I'm going to keep trying this weekend though!! It's an Aemond focused chapter, and I am excited for it, I just need to find an angle on it and then I'll be good!

I might've shot myself in the foot by not including him in the flashback/prologue parts 🤣🤣 Because now I kind of need to catch up with the feelings of his childhood that lead up into the character/man he's become...or I might just skip to his feelings that immediately occurred after his first interaction with Rhaena and deal with the rest later 🤔 we'll see.

-

☾ He Saw Her At Daybreak ☾

I'M doing a whole lot better with updating this fic! Idk what it is about smut/fluff that's just so much easier to write...well I do know...it's because there's no stress with this one 🤣🤣

Anywaysssss, I've started ch.6, there will be a couple of time jumps in this one. Without spoiling too much, this chapter is definitely the start of the preggo Rhaena arc! She's going to start *showing* in this chapter, cravings might also start!! Overprotective husband Aemond is coming into play, as well as is the horny-preggo Rhaena arc!! I'm actually VERY excited! 😌💖

-

⚜️One Shots!⚜️

I'm going to blame this on my IVAIC writers block! But I've got a few Rhaemond plots that I really do want to write and I think they could definitely work as One Shots. They're ideas that either don't really work in either of my main fics, or they're not fully fledged ideas that could last for a multi-part series. So maybe I'll drop some! I figure most of them will have at least a little smut to them, knowing me they probably will 😂😂

-

🔷Sequel Series!🔷

BUT FINALLY SPEAKING OF MULTI-PART FICS! If anyone remembers when I posted that little character bio for Vaella Targaryen from my Her Saw Her At Daybreak universe (Rhaemond's firstborn child...which by the way, I have another one ready to post in my drafts! Coming soon!) Anyways while I've been creating character art and personalities for all of their babies (6 in total at the moment) I started feeling SUPER attached to this next gen of Targ babies! And talking with a friend of mine who's been reading this HSHAD, I brought up the idea of possibly doing a Part #3 to this series!

So Rhaemond would still be the heart and soul of that fic. Except they'd be older and in a more Daemyra era position, like all 6 kids would be in their late teens/early 20s with their own shenanigans and drama, the chaos and wild love stories! We'd also have Jace and Baela's grown kids, Luke and Daenaera's (this ship will be hinted and shown during HSHAD) grown kids. We'd have grown Jaehaera, Jaehaerys, Aegon III and Viserys II too! Like I'm thinking a Bridgerton-type large family chaos mixed with GOT's general wildness, of course Targaryen incest is still a thing so expect some of those ships within this new gen 🤣🤣 but some of the kids will definitely fall for and make matches with other houses, Cregan will definitely make a return with his own son (and maybe more, if I have him marry someone and have more kids).

LIKE I can just see the potential!! 😂😂 Aemond's a very tired dad, his sons are wild, he's very overprotective of his daughters especially now that they're all of age and it's courting season 😂 Rhaena is the sweetest mom ever and she's handling courting season with their kids a whole lot better than her grumpy husband 😂😂 Daemyra stays ruling the kingdom and being the best grandparents 😂 Rhaenys and Corlys (Corlys might not be too present... I think Luke might be Lord of The Tides by this point ) will make appearances too!

So in a way it'd be like a trilogy! And I'm kinda super excited about it because it would all feel so complete if it was 💖✨💖

Idk if anyone would read this, but I hope y'all would! 😂😂

[cardiffmotorgroup]

What Factors Should I Consider When I Sell My Car?

Selling your car can be an exciting yet overwhelming experience. Whether upgrading to a new vehicle, downsizing, or just needing the extra cash, the process involves more than just handing over the keys. There are several key factors to remember to ensure you get the best value and make the sale as smooth as possible. So, if you’re asking yourself, “How do I sell my car in Newcastle?”—we’ve got you covered.

In this guide, we’ll discuss the essential considerations that will help you confidently navigate the car-selling process.

Know Your Car’s Value

Before you start drafting "For Sale" signs or calling buyers, it's crucial to understand your car’s current market value. Knowing how much your car is worth will give you a strong starting point for negotiations. Remember that your car's value depends on several factors: its make, model, age, mileage, and condition.

How to Determine Your Car’s Worth

There are multiple ways to get an accurate estimate of your car’s value:

Online valuation tools: Websites like RedBook and CarsGuide offer tools to input your car's details and get an estimated market value.

Professional appraisal: If you want a more precise figure, you can seek a professional car appraiser to provide a detailed evaluation.

By researching and gathering this information, you’ll be better equipped to decide whether to sell my car in Newcastle at a reasonable price.

Gather Important Documents

When selling your car, paperwork is key. Buyers want to feel confident that the vehicle is legally theirs to purchase, and having all the necessary documents will streamline the process. Here’s what you need:

Essential Documents

Proof of ownership: You’ll need the original registration papers to prove that you’re the vehicle's legal owner.

Service records: If you’ve kept a record of your car's service history, provide it. It shows potential buyers that the car has been well-maintained.

Roadworthy certificate: In some states, you may need a roadworthy certificate (RWC) before selling. This certificate assures the buyer that the car is safe and compliant with regulations.

Having these documents ready will ensure the transaction goes smoothly and help build trust with potential buyers. This is especially important when you decide to sell my car in Newcastle.

Explore Your Selling Options

When selling your car, there are several different avenues to explore. Each option has pros and cons, so consider which one suits your needs and timeline.

Private Sale

Selling your car privately often gets you the highest return but requires more effort. You must list your car, take photos, field inquiries, and arrange test drives. A private sale can be the way to go if you’re willing to invest the time.

Trade-In

Consider trading in your vehicle if upgrading to a new car or working with a dealership. While you may get less than a private sale, selling your car is quick and easy. Plus, you can apply the trade-in value towards purchasing your next car.

Car Buying Services

Car buying services are a great option for a fast and hassle-free sale. These services typically offer a quick valuation and immediate payment. While you may not get the best price compared to a private sale, it's an excellent option if you’re looking for convenience.

Conclusion 

Selling your car doesn’t have to be a stressful experience. By following these tips and preparing in advance, you can ensure the process goes smoothly and get the best value for your vehicle. Whether considering a private sale, trade-in, or using a car-buying service, take the time to research and plan.

When you ask yourself, "How can I sell my car in Newcastle?" remember that the right approach and preparation can make all the difference.

Source: What Factors Should I Consider When I Sell My Car?

[theycallmebecca]

18+ Drabble: Shower for Two

Today’s prompts for @the-ce-horniest-book-club​ HBC Kinky Halloween are ghoul and quickie.. so my plan is to quickly write a quickie... haha we’ll see how this goes! It was 100% inspired by a photo that @nano--raptor​ shared with my this morning. And because I’m extra...here’s a moodboard to help set the scene.

Title: Shower for Two

Pairing: Chris Evans x female reader

Rating: R

Warnings: semi-graphic, more suggestive than actual sex

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

18+ Disclaimer: This work contains sexual material that is for those over the age of 18. By clicking the keep reading link below, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and are not offended by sexual content.

It was finally lunch time.

You stood up from your desk, pushed in the chair and then left your home office, closing the door behind you.

It had been a rough morning. You’d spent the better part of it in meetings that should have been emails and the other part of it chasing down information from other coworkers. None of which had been on your mental to do list.

“Chris?” you called for your boyfriend as you headed for the kitchen. Finding the heart of the house empty, you furrowed your brow and called out another name, “Dodger?”

A distant bark caught your ear and you called the dog’s name again to figure out where it had come from.

The bedroom.

Curious, you made you way to the room you shared with Chris and found Dodger stretched out on the floor by the bathroom door.

“Good boy,” you told the dog, bending down to rub the top of his head. 

Hearing the shower on the other side of the door, you turned the handle and went into the bathroom before you considered why. It was only once you were in the steam filled room that you made a decision.

Striping your clothes off, you crossed the room and opened the glass shower door to join your boyfriend.

“Fuck!” Chris cried out as a draft of cooler air hit his hot skin.

“Sorry,” you said with a giggle. “Can I make it up to you?”

Turning, Chris raised one of his eyebrows and pulled you into his arms, so you were both under the shower spray.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

Instead of answering him, you slid one of your hands down his torso and to the thick member between his legs. 

"It’s a start,” he replied with a nod of his head. Even as he spoke, his hands sought out your breasts, making it clear that he had ideas for you, too.

Ideas that soon led to you being on the shower bench with Chris between your legs, lapping at your sex.

An hour later, you returned to your desk, hoping no one would notice that your hair was wet during your next meeting.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Northern Exposure | Something in the Air

❄ Part 1 of the mini-series ❄

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); violence, creepiness on part of our boys, predatory behaviour, Bucky’s an asshole, they’re all too lonely and too desperate, mistaken identity.

This is dark! fic and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairings: Sam Wilson x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, A Bad Time x Reader

Series Synopsis: You’re a nature photographer stationed up north but the arctic isolation comes to an unexpected and unpleasant end.

Note: I started this ages ago and finally got the energy to finish, it’s four parts and provided my life doesn’t continue to fuck around I should have em all up in the next days. Also as always, cracking away at all the other fics I’ve hooked you into.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The days were short and the nights long. So far north, time seemed not to exist as you chased the fleeting sun with your lens. Your existence was only demarcated by the fortnightly delivery of supplies left at your door as you were often out pursuing an elusive snow fox or wakeful owl. The world seemed small up here and you felt like the only person left alive.

Perched up on a branch precariously, you teetered as you focused your camera at its end. It was the perfect composition, snow blurred in the background as you focus on the scratching along the bark, the remnants of some owl or smaller critter. An abstract in your series, certainly, but interesting nonetheless. Besides, your editor would be happy enough with the close up you’d captured of a reindeer, its antlers the focal point of the shot.

Content, you climbed down, barely keeping yourself from slipping entirely down the trunk to a crash landing. Back on the ground, your boots sank into the snow, halfway up your calf, and you capped the lens of your camera. You tucked it under your parka and glanced around at the sparse grey trees.

Your eyes flew up as you heard a snap in branches not far from those you stood beneath. You held your breath and listened. It might be another opportunity. The early flight of an owl. You followed the sound, your steps muffled by the snowy carpet below. But that natural silence of the arctic returned and you ended up searching for air. Not a noise.

You sighed and turned back to look at the horizon. It was growing dark and you were best to return to your little cabin before long. It would be a moonless night and without the silver guardian above, it would make a nocturnal trek even harder. As you took a step, it seemed to echo and you stopped again. Your ears perked up and you shifted your hat to hear a bit better. 

There was nothing. You frowned and turned. Only the snow and the trees against the greying sky. You shrugged off your unusual paranoia and carried on. You took the treacherous path back to your remote habitat. It was just you and your cameras; you and the north. An assignment you’d loathed at first but come to cherish. Isolation had a keen way of introducing one’s self to them.

You stepped up onto the small porch, the aluminum roofing and the tarnished and dented siding made it seem like little more than a lost shed. There was a single room inside, a small bed with a woven blanket, a wooden counter with an old basin and a stove top run on gas. The out house was further back, hard to find in a storm, but as long as you counted your steps, you rarely got lost.

You pushed through and turned the wooden latch that held the door shut. You untied your boots on the salt-stained rubber mat and left them there as you hung your damp, cold parka and shed your thick snow pants. You took off your hat and gloves and left them on the small shelf beneath the hook.

You took out a can of chili and dumped it in the small scratched pan. You lit the burner and sat on the single chair built of logs as you waited for it to warm. The wind swept up outside the shuttered windows and you shivered. You went to the small woodstove and twisted the iron handle of the door. You carefully built a fire as the smell of your dinner filled the cabin.

You left the door of the stove open to heat up the place and turned off the burner. You moved the pot onto the counter and took a bowl from the cupboard. A distant clatter sounded from outside. You frowned and kept yourself from grabbing the pot. You sighed as the noise repeated.

Several times before the wind had torn open the outhouse door and slammed it back and forth throughout the night. One time, it had been a curious bear. You hoped for the former as you shoved your feet into your boots and haphazardly pulled on your jacket. In and out. You’d secure the door and be back for your dinner before it got cold.

Outside, the sky had almost darkened entirely. You clicked on the flashlight you kept by the door and shut it behind you. You stomped down into the snow and squinted at the circle of light as you rounded the edge of the house. You neared the outhouse and sighed as you found it locked up tight. It couldn’t have been your imagination; you’d heard something.

You huffed and turned back. You swept the flashlight back and forth as you searched for a creature sneaking around or whatever item the wind had tried to carry away. There was nothing. You followed your footprints back to the house and climbed up the steps. 

The door was open and you noticed the much larger puddled footprint on the porch too late. The fire had been snuffed and the single lantern was dead. Your wrist was grabbed as you tried to angle the flashlight around the room and you were drawn inside and pinned against the door. 

A cold barrel pressed to your chin and your eyes widened. Your arm was twisted up until the flashlight blinded you and lit the unfamiliar face before you. You blinked and shook your head helplessly.

“Quite the hiding spot,” The deep voice added to the icy nip of the air.

“What--”

“Don’t try to act dumb. It might’ve worked with Wilson but not me.” He snarled and you released the flashlight as you tried to wriggle free. “Stop!”

The light fell to the floor and bounced as he wrenched your arm up and pushed the gun harder under your chin.

“I have orders to take you alive… if I can,” he sneered, “doesn’t mean I will.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grunted as he had you on tip toes against the wall, the flash light rolled on the floor and sent shadows around the room, “I’m not… I’m not whoever you think I am.”

“Save it, Ursa,” he hissed and pulled you away from the wall, gun still taut to your skin, “0r should I say Astur.”

“No, no, it’s not me,” you pleaded, confused as he turned you away from him and angled you towards the bed, the muzzle now pressed to the back of your head. “I’m just a photographer. You’ll see. Look through my stuff. It’s just cameras and photos. It’s--”

“Shut up,” he pushed on the back of your knees with his, “on your stomach.”

You got down, barely able to see and unwilling to resist with a bullet waiting behind you. He pushed you into the mattress until you were still. He pulled back the gun and planted his knee on your back as he held you down. He holstered his firearm then pulled your arm back behind you and then the other. He used a zip tie to secure your hands there before he did the same to your ankles.

He carefully stepped back and you turned your head to watch his shadow. He didn’t bother with the flashlight as he closed the door. Then he turned and kicked the light so it cracked and the bulb died. He sat in the chair, it groaned dangerously under him.

You could see little of him as all light was gone but for the sudden glow of a screen before him. You only saw the glint of his blue eyes before he put it against his cheek. You turned onto your side and he growled.

“Don’t even think of moving,” he warned. “Hey,” he spoke into the speaker. “I just sent the coordinates. Target secured.” He listened, “by morning?”

He pulled the phone away and dimmed the screen. You could only hear the wind as he sat there and you sensed his unwavering gaze in the dark. With your jacket undone and your boots untied, you felt the draft that blew through the cabin walls. You shivered and he let out a thick breath. A snarl almost.

“I really don’t know what’s going on,” you said.

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“I mean it. You have to look. Look around, you’ll see,” you pleaded.

He snorted and didn’t move. You rolled your eyes helplessly and another chill ran through you.

“Please--”

“I already looked. When you were out climbing trees,” he intoned. “I saw the photos. Very thorough reconnaissance.”

“What? Pictures of birds and snowflakes?” You uttered. 

“You’re good. That whole innocent ploy is convincing,” you heard his boot drag over the wooden floor, “almost.”

You deflated, your wrists chafed and your teeth chattered.

“You gonna wait all night… for whoever that was?”

“I’m tired of telling you to shut up.”

“You leave me like this, I’ll freeze to death. You too.”

“I won’t,” he said, “you might.”

“You said you had orders.”

“Circumstantial,” he countered.

You exhaled deeply and bent your legs as you tried to curl into yourself. He tutted and stood, the floor creaked. The stove door whined and you heard the iron poker against the kindling. He mumbled as he relit the fire and stirred it until the biggest log caught. He rose and set aside the poker and resumed his seat. 

The fire’s amber haze limned his figure in the dark. His broad shoulders were wider than the back of the chair, his long hair poked out from beneath a wool cap, and his hand formed a tight fist on the arm. He leaned his head back and sniffed.

“There,” he said sharply, “nice and cozy.”

You wiggled on the bed, trying to get comfortable. You pulled on your wrists and ankles and only caused your hands and feet to throb. You grunted and relented, resigning yourself to lay listless atop the thin mattress.

“You’re wasting your time--”

“I’m about to shove your sock in your mouth so I suggest you shut the fuck up,” he barked.

You gulped and closed your eyes in surrender. Well, maybe his friends would realise his mistake. Or maybe they’d just add to your predicament.

❄

You didn’t really sleep, you languished. The man didn’t either. You could tell. He just watched. Frighteningly patient as the night critters made a ruckus outside. He barely even moved as you fidgeted, your shoulders sore and your legs cramping. 

Then there was a sudden change that even you felt. A heavy pair of boots climbed up onto the porch and the handle jiggled, the door stopped by the wooden latch. The man rose and crossed to the door. You heard the subtle brush of fabric and metal as he pulled out his gun. He pulled open the door slowly, at the ready, the slightly lesser dark seeping in.

“Sooner than I thought,” the man greeted his comrade. Your heart froze as another set of footfalls followed. A third man entered behind the second.

“Jesus, why are you sitting here in the dark?” The third man asked, “there a light or something?”

“She’s on the bed.” The first man grumbled. “Only a rifle hidden under there. I already disarmed it.”

The sudden electric glow of the lantern bloomed to life. Your eyes slowly adjusted as you stared at the three men. There were all big, all broad-shouldered, all stood like soldiers as they communed around the only chair. The third, the one who’d clicked the lantern on, neared you.

“She’s putting on a front, but--” the first man began and the third one raised his hand to silence him as he knelt by the bed.

He had a kind face, his brown eyes were warm, and the finely trimmed goatee lent him a sense of lightheartedness. His expression however was hard and turned to confusion then disappointment as he held the lantern close and grabbed your chin, turning your head back and forth.

“Not her,” he released you and stood, “fucking Christ, Bucky. It’s not fucking her.”

The second man snorted, “really?”

“It’s gotta be--” the first insisted, “the gun--”

“For hunting,” you said dully, “not that I do much of that. I use it to scare away the wolves.”

“Shut up.” He snarled and crossed his arms as he turned his back to you, “you’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t forget the woman who nearly slit my throat. Twice.” The other said, “and really? A single rifle? You think that’s all she’d have?”

“She has photos too. The bunker, due north. She’s got dozens.” The first insisted.

“Bunker?” You whispered.

“I’m not going to tell you to shut it again,” the man turned as he raised a hand and the blond, the one who hadn’t said much at all, caught his wrist.

“Hey,” the other man warned, “she’s innocent. She probably has no idea what she was taking pictures of.”

“Yeah, but now she knows our faces. No doubt recognizes you, pretty boy,���tThe third offered, “and idiot here assaulted her and tied her up.”

“All the way up here? Who’s she gonna tell?” The blonde returned.

“She has a radio,” The first, Bucky offered. “It’d be enough to give us away.”

“They’d believe her? If she’s been up here long, they might not.” The blonde glanced over the others shoulder, “you apologize and we can--”

“You really wanna leave another loose end?” Bucky challenged as he blocked his gaze. 

“You should’ve confirmed before you jumped,” the third huffed.

“If we’re not gonna leave her, what do we do?” The blonde asked.

They all went silent. They looked at each other and then you. Bucky raised his gun, still in hand, and the blond caught him again. He shook his head and tisked.

“Are you crazy?” He pushed his hand down, “We’re not killing her. She didn’t do anything.”

“I agree, she shouldn't die because you’re stupid,” the other chuckled.

“Well, Einstein,” Bucky snipped, “what do you suggest?”

The third man’s brows raised slowly and he tilted his head. He glanced at you again then back to his comrades. He shrugged and a grin spread across his face.

“The bunker. It’s empty. Safe.” He said quietly, “How much of a fight did she put up?”

“Enough of one,” Bucky muttered.

“She’s… not bad. She’s all alone up here. Even if someone noticed she went radio silent, it’d have to take a while,” he explained.

“What are you saying?” The blonde frowned.

“If she has the photos, if she knows where the bunker is and this moron’s blurted out some intel, I just know it,” he continued, “we can’t let her go. He’s at least right about that. So… we don’t wanna kill her, we keep her.”

“Keep her? For what?” Bucky scoffed.

The man was silent and winked at them. The blonde peeked over at you and Bucky dropped his head as he gripped his hip. 

“Come on, you guys,” he threw up his hand as the blonde shifted on his feet. “It’s fucking cold up here and it’s been awful lonely everywhere else. We’re running around with no finish line in sight and… well, I’m about to stab one of you and I’ve seen the way you,” he pointed at Bucky, “look at me. I don’t trust that.”

“You can’t mean--” the blonde muttered.

“She’s better off dead,” Bucky insisted.

“Just because you’re a monk, doesn’t mean the rest of us need to be.”

“Hmm,” the blonde tapped his toe.

“You’re not really considering this?” Bucky sneered.

“Well… why not?” He rasped, “She’s… alone and… not too bad on the eyes.”

“And I have ears!” You sat up awkwardly, “You want me to keep my mouth shut. Done. I’m up here trying to catch a few birds on a roll. I’m not here to get mixed up in whatever it is you three--” You blinked as the lantern shone in the blond’s face as the three men turned to you, “shit.”

Captain America’s eyes sparked with recognition as your head did the same. He knew you knew who he was; likely he saw that look every other day. There was no hiding it.

“I told you,” the third man chided, “that mug is hard to forget.”

“No, no, I don’t-- I won’t tell a soul. I swear. Please just whatever you’re thinking, don’t. I’m some dumb photographer they sent up here to document the snow. You really think anyone cares that much--”

“Not so much about you but those photos are pretty interesting,” Bucky neared and shoved you down and you barely kept from hitting your head on the wall, “don’t tell me you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“People go missing up here all the time. That’s why no one’s here,” the brown-eyed man said, “she’ll just be another and we’ll have a nice companion to keep us from killing each other.”

“No,” Bucky turned, “it’s my mistake. I’ll take care of it.”

“Put the gun away, Buck,” Steve Rogers ordered, “it’s not right. We can’t kill her. Even if she isn’t entirely innocent, even if you’re right about those photos. She’s better to us alive.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going along with this--”

“I’m the captain,” Steve insisted. “I’ve made up my mind and I’m giving you an order. Sam’s right. She’s more use alive. If she has information, we’ll get it out of her. And if she doesn’t well, we can find something else to do with her.”

Bucky swore and pushed his gun into his holster. He stepped away from you and shouldered past the one called Sam.

“Yes, captain,” he said dryly. 

“Sergeant,” Steve retorted and nodded to Sam, “get her up. We should leave before the sun rises.”

[sepublic]

When Boba and Cad Bane geared up for their duel near the end, a part of me was a bit... Mixed on it. From an official standpoint this is our first time seeing them duel, but from a canon perspective, it’s already happened; And we DID see the early drafts of that scene from the cancelled TCW arc, so I worried that this would just be a retread of that.

Especially since it’s always possible that cancelled duel might still be reanimated in a second season of The Bad Batch and all; And I prefer Boba winning the duel then rather than now, because it was a coming of age moment for him. Likewise, I’d only just noticed the gaffi stick on Boba’s back when he showed up to confront Bane for the last time; And naturally I thought to myself, why hadn’t we seen him use it earlier??? That’s lame. That’s disappointing.

...Needless to say I was VERY happily surprised by what the show actually did! I very much appreciate that it didn’t retread an old duel that might still be animated properly anyway; Instead, it added a wonderful new flair to it via the gaffi stick, which represents Boba’s found family and rebirth. He didn’t win via blaster as a bounty hunter; He won with his gaffi stick as a Tusken. Suddenly the training montage with the Tuskens became even MORE rewarding, and I really applaud this tasteful use of the weapon.

Just as Bane tells Boba never to look out for others, his Tusken family posthumously saves him from beyond the grave... They were his strength and saved him in that vital moment! It’s obvious and straightforward but GOD I love it, I’m a simple sucker for that type of moral! Boba looked out for the Tusken kid, the tribe looked out for him in return, his gaffi stick symbolically refutes Cad Bane’s point at the perfect moment... And from a meta sense, we go from a Western method of victory, to a Maori one; As Temuera Morrison specifically cited in his own culture in incorporating the gaffi stick as part of Boba’s arsenal. Very compelling.

Obviously the show as a whole is heavily flawed, and I don’t like how they brought in Cad Bane just to kill him off; He’d have been much more compelling as an antagonist throughout, these last second arrivals kind of bug me in Disney Plus shows as of late. Also wish it was Bane who’d killed the Tuskens after all; Would’ve made it a lot more cathartic to see him become a gaffi kebab. But all in all, I actually enjoyed this episode and this end for him!

Though... Funnily enough, for a moment I saw that mid-credits scene and deadass thought it was Bane in that bacta tank; That just to further refute Cad, Boba saved his life. And now Bane would have to deal with that in Season 2, forced to go on an arc after some humility in captivity, a parallel to Boba’s own arc with the Tuskens; Kind of a twist on the mentor-mentee relationship they had back then.

As Ashoka said last episode, the teacher also learns from the student; And I think it’d be a unique narrative punishment for Bane to be dragged into becoming a better person by Boba, kicking and screaming the whole way. Boba personally makes Bane realize that they aren’t soft by going this route, and actually makes him change his mind and take back his words of his own volition; A true ideological defeat, and arguably akin to Luke redeeming Vader. Make Bane willingly admit he was wrong; That’d be a flex!

Alas, it’s Cobb Vanth; Which I am glad for, it seemed weird how he was written off as dead from a shoulder shot. And that Mod being his medic... Wonderful choice; Dig the idea of that dude becoming Boba’s personal doctor, and the idea of Cobb becoming a cyborg like Fennec just seems narratively fitting to me, in a way I can’t explain. But I like it a lot!

Also gotta add... Temuera’s silent agony that he conveys right after killing Cad Bane, the expressions and the torment of his soul, that hint of regret; Because maybe Cad Bane DID feel like a father figure during his time reaching Boba... Not to mention that recoil at Bane’s words, that he can’t truly escaping being a killer and realizing that his victory also inadvertently validated that! Like Boba is wringing his hands with a silent and wretched What have I done... It’s just pain! And maybe he’s feeling the loss of his Tusken family at the same time, too; Further adding to his grief. He killed Bane, he lost his father Jango; Bane in a sense understood that part of him, and now Boba mourns him briefly.

Maybe he was thinking it; That Bane could’ve been saved and been given a second chance, too. Bane knew Jango and respected him, owed him and so looked after Boba; It’s like another tie to his father is dead. And in the end, Boba feels guilt at losing this father figure, even if things had already been cut off plenty of years ago... Just god, Temuera’s range and silent acting in that moment, the despair! It makes me wish even more that Bane had been properly fleshed out in this season, so we could have the necessary exposition and exploration of their relationship, to culminate with this duel!

All in all, I found this a surprisingly compelling finale! I do agree that it took us too long to get to this point; And I suppose a lot of my happiness comes from lowered expectations over how the writers would treat Boba. I’m not sure if we’ll even get a second season, ratings might be good but it’s all The Mandalorian season 2.5, the writers said so themselves. And on a final note, was anyone else confused by how Boba said he and Fennec weren’t suited for this, and she asked who would be? Was that a setup for someone else becoming Daimyo, or just a rhetorical challenge; That is to say, they can’t think of any better Daimyo, so it may as well be them.

P.S. When they showed that shot of the Stormtrooper helmets on spikes, I expected to see Bane’s hat and/or a Pyke helmet. Of course it turns out the timeline would not work since this is right as Fennec arrives, but I think a future shot with that... It’d be fitting, signifying the end of another reign.

[sundiscus]

wangxian dragon age au: ficlet

[part of a larger au i’ve mapped out + started drafting, but want to post as snippets for now! i’ve taken many liberties with the worldbuilding, and as such i think most can be inferred with context if you’re unfamiliar with dragon age.

part one now here

this snippet: the meet-ugly, ~1.7k]

✨✨✨

When Lan Wangji wakes up, he isn’t alone.

He doesn’t realize it right away. The first thing he notices is that, this time, there are no shackles. He shifts his hands the slightest bit, enough to confirm they are indeed free. The movement pulls at the little cuts on his fingers and forearms from where the shackles shattered apart, already scabbing over—so he has been unconscious long enough for the magebane to burn out of his system, which he confirms, finding his meridians free and clear. He’s lying on his back, something that feels slightly too soft to be a stone floor under him and something that feels slightly too rough to be a blanket draped over him. An odd green light pulses against his eyelids and the only sound is a muted, continuous hiss, like a distant waterfall. Wherever he is, it isn’t the cell from earlier.

It doesn’t matter. He won’t be here long.

He takes one more slow breath, listening closely. There. To his left, a few paces away, he hears a tiny, cut-off inhale. Now he knows where to aim. His eyes fly open as he launches himself upright, summoning his sword into his raised hand, and—

It’s like expecting the ocean and finding only a puddle. His sword flickers into existence for the barest moment, its glow illuminating a circle of stone walls, a pallet beneath him, and then Lan Wangji’s lungs stutter, pressure squeezing his temples, as if all air has been sucked out of the room. Bichen dissipates and Lan Wangji is left gasping, one hand still raised uselessly in the air.

From the shadows, someone says: “Ah, that’s not going to work.”

Lan Wangji is already looking to the side. He sees only a figure at first, because when his sword disappeared so had the strange, omnipresent green glow. The glow returns now, slowly illuminating a young man curled against the opposite wall, his hair a dark, tangled wave over his shoulders, wrists chained together with thick iron manacles. For a moment his eyes, staring right back at Lan Wangji, are the brightest thing in the room.

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji demands, finding his voice. “Is there a suppression array?” It must be powerful to choke off his magic so finitely. If he can see it, though, he can figure out how to undo it.

The man wrinkles his nose. “Not exactly. But—ah, ah,” he says as Lan Wangji starts to stand, “don’t move too fast, the blowback from that is going to be pretty harsh.”

Lan Wangji understands almost instantly as a wave of vertigo hits him. His knees buckle before he’s halfway to his feet and he collapses back on the pallet, bracing his weight on his elbow to keep from falling entirely. When his ears stop ringing he can hear his own ragged breathing.

Enough, he thinks, and forces himself to even his breaths. To shift focus. Clearly whatever precautions Wen Chao and his soldiers have taken to secure this room go beyond magebane and a simple suppression array. He won’t be able to escape by sheer force like last time, but this will still be no more than a brief detour on his journey. He will make sure of it.

Yesterday—was it yesterday, now? The chamber has no windows, just the eerie green glow emanating from the walls—Lan Wangji had been traveling with a retinue of junior enchanters to retrieve research texts from the Circle in Hedong, where scholars claimed to have promising studies related to fade rifts. They were nearly there when a raven alighted on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, bearing the message: Siege on Gusu Circle. Reconvene to the north. He’d sent the junior enchanters ahead and turned back before the raven even took flight.

(The note had not mentioned his brother, so his brother must be alive. Rumors were already spreading outward from Gusu as he rode, saying Wen Xu had an archdemon, Wen Xu burned the Gusu library to the ground. They did not say Wen Xu killed Zewu-jun, Wen Xu killed a mage with a glowing hand. So his brother must have escaped. Knowing this did not stop Lan Wangji’s heart from racing as he spurred his horse faster, past refugee settlements and Templar camps, toward the distant gash in the sky.)

And then: a poisoned arrow biting into his arm, his horse crumpling on a hardpacked road outside Lingchuan. The Wen soldiers, ready for him. (Not ready enough, when at least six of their bodies fell before Lan Wangji did.) One day in the first cell, his failed escape attempt.

And now: magicless, trapped in a strange room with a strange, sharp-eyed prisoner watching him struggle to sit upright, the slow crawl of time a physical weight on Lan Wangji’s shoulders.

“Honestly, just ride it out,” the prisoner is saying. He has his chained hands up and open, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. “You’ll feel better in about an hour. Maybe less, if you’ve had a good meal recently.”

Lan Wangji’s head spins sickeningly. He ignores it, pushing himself up until he can prop himself against the wall, putting himself eye-level with the prisoner, at least.

“Or sit up anyway, I suppose,” the prisoner says. His voice has a ragged edge, as if it’s scraping its way out of his throat. “Sorry, I’d offer you some water, but I drank it all before I knew I’d have company. What are you doing here, anyway?”

If First Enchanter Lan wants his nephew back, he’ll have to lend us a few books, Wen Chao had mocked from outside the first cell. And if he wants you back with all your limbs attached, he’ll have to throw in trading deeds with the eastern lyrium mines for good measure. Do you think he can deliver that before you die here?

Wen Chao wanted demonic texts, Lan Wangji had guessed, the ones hidden deep within the library. No doubt for some dangerous, power-hungry scheme, and no doubt connected to the rifts. From there, it wasn’t hard to piece together that the attack on the Circle was meant to discover which texts were critical enough to be rescued and transported away, and likely steal them in transit. There are protocols for such events, Lan Wangji knows, and his presence here means the raid was unsuccessful, and he will be used as leverage for a second attempt.

If Wen Chao meant to scare Lan Wangji with his demands, he had only succeeded in doing the opposite. Because if all they want from Lan Wangji’s family are books and deeds, it means they don’t know about his brother yet.

Lan Wangji doesn’t share any of this. “Political prisoner,” is all he says.

“Ahh.” The man nods. “I figured, what with the…” He gestures at his own forehead, chains clinking as he does. “You’re obviously a Lan. Someone will pay well to have you back home.”

“They should not have to pay at all,” Lan Wangji bites out. Something about the prisoner’s casual attitude grates at him. The world outside is quite literally falling apart at the seams, and Lan Wangji doesn’t have time to be used as bait in Wen Chao’s small-minded games.

The prisoner shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s not much choice at the moment, is there? For now you’re stuck here with me. I’m—my name is Wei Ying, by the way. What should I call you, while we wait?”

“Do the Wen soldiers enter this cell often?” Lan Wangji says instead of answering. “Is there a chance of overpowering them?”

A grimace. “Often enough. And no, I’ve tried. They’re stupid, but they’re prepared.”

Lan Wangji casts another glance over the man—Wei Ying—and carefully keeps any skepticism out of his expression. Then he looks around properly for the first time. Wei Ying is right—there’s no visible array on the floor, no glyphs on the circular stone walls. The green glow fades as it climbs the wall, leaving the ceiling cloaked in shadow and dizzying to look at, like an endless tunnel. Disturbingly, there isn’t a visible door, either. There isn’t much of anything but the one straw pallet, a lidded pot against the wall, an empty bowl next to Wei Ying, bone-dry, and Wei Ying himself.

“A Lan,” Wei Ying says when Lan Wangji is silent for long enough, pitched low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I’m surprised Wen Chao would be so bold. He has to know that won’t go over well in the long run, I wonder if his father has any idea? No, he would’ve sent Wen Xu. Maybe Wen Chao thinks that by the time someone comes for you, he’ll have—” Wei Ying cuts himself off. Blinks. “You are real, aren’t you?”

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you’re not…” Wei Ying waves a hand at the room around them. “But, ah, why would I dream up a whole Knight-Enchanter? A Lan at that? You felt real enough, when I dragged you onto the pallet, but it’s still hard to tell.” Lan Wangji must have some reaction to that—to knowing this stranger’s hands have been on him, when he was unconscious—because Wei Ying adds, defensive: “What was I supposed to do? They left you on the floor.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have an answer to that.

Wei Ying tips his head back against the wall. “Well. Your Circle, they have your phylactery, right? They’ll find you. Pay the ransom, or lay siege to Wen Chao’s little fortress here. That would be nice.” He casts his gaze over Lan Wangji again. “Looks like our captors were gentle enough in the meanwhile.”

There’s dried blood tugging at the hair of Lan Wangji’s temple, and he still has the nauseating sense that if he moves too fast he might collapse again. Gentle isn’t how Lan Wangji would describe his treatment so far. But it is also far below the threshold of what he can withstand, so it doesn’t seem like a point worth arguing. “And you?” he hears himself say.

“Uh.” Wei Ying shifts and holds up his shackled hands. “Less gentle, I suppose.”

“I meant—who will be paying your ransom.”

Wei Ying drops his hands into his lap. “Oh. No one.”

“Then,” Lan Wangji says, “why are you here?”

For the first time, Wei Ying flashes a smile. A hooked dagger in the dim light.

“I have something they want.”

[katsukikitten]

WARNINGS : N!SFW 18+ AGED UP AU! SOME SCENES MAY CONTAIN GRAPHIC CONTENT, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YANDERE THEMES GIF MADE BY ME

It started out with a package.  

Roses really, neatly tucked away in plastic and a glass vase that nestled into loud styrofoam.

Or at least that's when you started to notice it.

Actually it started with a phone call didn't it?

Just a few days ago the old rotary phone,  the one you bought for nostalgia, rang. This in itself was not odd, you picked up the aged yellow receiver and pressed the cool plastic to your ear.

But you did not speak, waiting patiently for the other line to come to life. After a few moments of silence you figure it to be a telemarketer, the automated type that doesn't start its spiel until it hears a tone, a voice. So you hang up.

The random call lost to both time and thought.

But you cannot forget this package that acted as a catalyst, to what you were not sure.

You just knew it was something.

The white box with the flower company's name on the side of the cardboard sat on your concrete steps, just past the waist high fence. You were returning from a run, huffing as you bent over, you figured it was most likely for your neighbor but it had your address. The recipient's name had been worn off from the poor handling of the package, you had figured the contents to be broken. Despite the state of the box the roses were perfectly intact. Crystal vase sparkling even through the opaque wrapping, a note on top that read.

I'll love you always.

Ah so this was not for you. You scoff, this was meant for your neighbor as you first originally thought. It made more sense that way. What with his boyfriend being long distance, it was obvious. He most likely remembered his address wrong and put yours in error. As you're haphazardly closing the box, keeping the note in hand, your neighbor waltz from his door.

"Ah, um Denki-kun" You call,  a bright smile beams on his face as he makes his way to meet you at your shared fence.

"Love!" He greets, strong hand giving your bicep a soft squeeze, "Ah flowers? Spill!"

"Well they aren't mine. I...I think they're yours. Here." You shove the box and note into his hands, stupid tears trying to prick your eyes.

Why? You were unsure.

Maybe you were a bit jealous. Thinking back you couldn't remember the last time you had even had a flirtatious comment or cat call sent your way. You lived a normal quiet life with your "abnormality". Quirkless. You worked from home, spoke to a select few and hardly left your house. It contributed to your wait gain thus adding to your small list of places to go.

The grocery store.

And the gym Denki invited you to or around the block for a run.

After a gurgling amount of time you finally achieved your dream body. Now all that was left was to maintain it.

"Wait!" Denki calls, "This isn't my boyfriend's handwriting."

Furrowing your brows, hand on the handle the answer comes to you.

"Probably just one of those fonts meant to look like handwriting."

"No, come look. It was made with a ballpoint pen." Nothing escapes his pro hero trained eye, his finger slides beneath the words, "He seems passionate! Lucky duck look at how deep love is."

He passes the card to you, giving you a wink as he passes the white box. Sure enough there are divots in the card stock, love is the deepest. Deep enough it almost ripped through the thick paper. You swallow thickly racking your brain, your job requires you to have answers to every question. Logical answers. So it's no surprise your mind wanders until it comes up with something. Your eyes shift to the right, you were lucky enough for your little house to be on the corner of the block.

The delicate roses must have been intended for your neighbor diagonal from you. You wait until Denki is halfway down the block before you rush across the quiet street to set the flowers up neatly on the porch. Throwing the box and wrapping into the trash before you speed walk into the safety of your sanctuary.

Your cats prance to the door to greet you and then sprint to the kitchen to be fed. As if you hadn't just fed them before your run a little less than an hour ago.

The rest of your night is uneventful. You curl on the couch, nestled deep within an old cardigan and the comfort of your leggings with a pile of work to be analyzed. To find the devil in the details and solve what seemed unsolvable.

The answers were always there, under your nose. Found easily by your trained eye but how could you not see the obvious answers when you had the luxury of a bird's eye view. The luxury of knowing the whole story from the shakey beginning to the bitter end.

A luxury you would not have for your own story.

The shrill ring cuts through the comfortable silence causing you to jump from your skin, the cats perk their heads up lazily to see what disturbed them before tucking their head back down.

You tell yourself it's a wrong number, a telemarketer but curiosity is beginning to get the better of you.

And curiosity is a deadly, loud thing. Louder than reason. Reason you had learned from the safety of your home, from other people's mistakes. The same very mistakes that sit on your lap with harsh red ink labeling them C L A S S I F I E D.

It rings a fourth time as you stand, the bell calling out for your attention, demanding you speak. You lift the receiver, again there is silence on the other end.

You wait patiently, is this another automated telemarketer? Had you entered your real number by mistake for one of those stupid store discounts?

You must have, still you resist the urge to tap the speaker of the phone to see if it would trigger the recording.

Instead you drop the receiver onto the base, rattling the hidden bell.

And that was that, you return to your work. Pouring over the details to find the pattern, to build a psychological profile to avoid a tragedy in the future.

Ironic how you cannot prevent your own.

It isn't until a few weeks later does the first letter find its way into your mailbox.

It seemed harmless enough you thought it to be an accident, just neatly looped words proclaiming their love. But it was never fully addressed to you and when you tried to pass it off to Denki, again he denied that the letter belonged to him.

Still, those looping letters twist into your memory, coming to the forefront of your mind every now and again. As if the paper that lies on your dining room table reads itself aloud, from beginning to end at the top of every hour.

As if the ink doesn't want you to forget.

"I am not sure when it started, but it did. I had fallen for you despite my efforts not to. A half of a year I've told myself to forget it, to forget you. And yet I cannot bring myself to stop, the more I try the more you come to mind. And the more I find myself near you. It's as if you're a bad drug I can't quit. I've been watching you. Everything you do is done in such cautious beauty. Please answer next time my dear."

Silence for weeks after that, at least as far as the rotary phone and the mailbox were concerned. You would occasionally get a text from an unknown number.

A transposed number, an error on the sender's end. Or so you assured yourself, especially when they would seem a bit too coincidental. When you were out for a jog or out at the gym at a different time than usual a text would come through.

For a second your mouth would go dry, your blood ice cold as you read the black letters atop the white screen. Huffing as your lack of breath came from a psychological response as opposed to your physical running.

Why aren't you home?

See you soon?

But these couldn't be intended for you. How could they? You could list the people you knew outside of your family and work place on one hand.

Denki.

And only because he spoke to you first!

So these texts, these little messages laced with concern could have been for an estranged spouse, a forgetful spouse or some partner who lacked the ability to properly communicate.

You just knew they weren't for you.

Or so your new mantra goes.

Paranoia didn't begin to sink it's sharp teeth into you until you noticed your cats' odd behavior.

In an immeasurable amount of time they went from lazy, happy go lucky animals to hostile even aggressive creatures. As if they were suddenly feral.

Oddly enough they only acted this way during certain times, mainly at night. Their moon eyes saw things you could not, their enhanced hearing heard things you could not, things you labeled, rat or mouse.

Would a mouse or rat cause a cat to hiss at shrouded corners? To claw at the wall with a howl that sounded more like a scream? Would it make them avoid the closet door in your room?

Maybe it was bigger? The floorboards above did groan more often than not lately. Maybe it was a raccoon even.

Yes, that had to be the cause of their behavior.

And yet there was still that one time, that one instance you sometimes dream about waking in a cold sweet.

The thing you cannot explain away, nor label as mouse, rat, not even a raccoon.

A cocktail of a tired mind and a trick of the eye but simply not vermin.

It was overcast, a sickly grey as the day wept deep into the night. The weather, naturally, caused you to melt into the plush material of your couch as you consumed comfort movie after comfort movie. You were given a reprieve from your worry as your cats seemed normal, sleepy just as you were that day. Even Nyx chose to laze on your chest as a temporary throne. Your couch is flush against the arch way that leads into the dining room and kitchen, giving it's back to part of the hallway towards the main bathroom and your bedroom at the back.

This angle always caused you great anxiety but there was no other way your luxury couch could fit in the small living room and so you always sunk low into the cushions.

Suddenly Nyx's ears twitch and her eyes snap open, waking only a cat knows how. On high alert to a sound totally lost to your draft ear. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating to adjust better to the shadowed room. The glow of the TV casts such a glow on the objects around you, flicker in soft and harsh lights. Slowly Nyx cranes her neck to see what exactly disturbed her sleep, just as her eyes lock on whatever is behind you, you see it for just a fraction of a second.

In the reflection of those moon eyes you see it. Distorted only from the curvature of her lens and the grain of the TV but there is no denying its shape.

A crude outline of a man, broad shouldered and faceless in the dark.

You freeze, mirroring your cat. Breath held as you watch the figure in the pitch black pupil. Wishing, hoping and praying that what you see is not really there.

After an eon of a moment, Nyx begins to shrink in on herself before silently slinking from the couch to find shelter beneath it.

You are not brave enough to move, to crane your head just as your cat did before you to confirm if what you saw was real. And in the milliseconds that the TV goes black you avoid the corner the figure should be standing in. Goose flesh breaks out over your skin, making you feel vulnerable and cold. While your feet burn begging you to get up.  

To run.

After a lot of mental reassurance and silence you begin to settle down. Easing yourself back into the rational world. Even becoming brave enough to stare into the TV, into the corner where the figure should be reflected in.

Each passing second as you wait for that small moment of blackness sends your heart into an irrational pace. Finally it happens and when you see nothing you sigh with relief.

Mentally giving yourself an "I told you it was nothing." talk.

That is until you hear a sound, a thump and a click from the back bedroom.

Your bedroom.

But the sound seems as if it came from within, as if it were your closet door.

Your heart explodes into frantic erratic beating.

The shrill ring of the old rotary phone rips through the dialogue of the movie but it can be barely heard over the hum of your blood.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

BRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

Tonight you are frozen in place, whether that be from petrifying fear or sheer stubborn denial you cannot say. You just know one thing.  You do not want to deal with the automated telemarketer who never seems to speak.

It rings four more times before it stops.

You chalk it up to coincidence. To nothing.

Late evening turns into late night and sooner rather than later you find yourself in the mouth of the hallway. Staring down your bedroom door as your mind plays on repeat the sound of a door closing from earlier that night.

You cannot let the boogie man keep you from sleep. Slowly you enter, flicking on all the lights.

Everything seems to be in place, the small pile of laundry still lies abandoned by your hamper, your bed neatly made, pillows haphazardly lying about the comforter. Hell even your inherited diamond drop necklace still sits snugly in the jewelry dish on your night stand.

The townhouse makes an odd sound, you jump out of your skin. Clutching your phone so hard the lock and volume buttons imprint into your palms.

No longer can you ignore the elephant in the room as the silence from this particular space screams at deafening volumes until you dare to look. Your eyes flicker to your left and there it is.

Your closet door, seeming to yawn and stretch even in the harsh hue of the overhead light. A closet is always an ominous, odd place and the sounds it may or may not have made cause a great twisting in your stomach. The shine of the knob calls to you with deadly wonder. Begging you to turn the gleaming metal to reveal the darkness behind the bland white door.

It should be inspected shouldn't it? If you ever wanted to sleep soundly you would need to reveal what may lurk in the dark.

Creeping towards the door with baited breath until finally your hand hovers over the knob.

"Open me." It seems to whisper in delighted glee, elated to see your stressed, scared features distort in its polished brass. You retract your fingers as if burned, biting onto your lip as you scrape your large armchair against the wood. Shoving it into place against the closet door.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the door until your eyes burn. You turn off the overhead light but keep the soft light of your nightstand lamp on.

You dream fever dreams of flashing lights as a storm passes overhead. Dream of the closet door laughing in the night, of cool fingers pressed into your skin.  

Jolting awake you reach for your phone as your senses slowly come to you. Your eyes fly to the armchair in the mid morning light. It rests in the same spot you left it ominously staring at your bed.

Something seems off about it or maybe you just imagine that there is a deep divot in the cushion, as if someone or something sat in the armchair most of the night.

You close your eyes and go over rational explanations. Always bringing back to yourself the same question.

Who in the world would want you?

Bringing you back full circle, that you were getting ahead of yourself. The cart before the horse in a sense and letting your mind race without restraint.

Letting the season of Fall try to creep into your bones and cause an artificial fear.

Still it's not too long after that do the cats avoid your room altogether.

While you choose to do what you've always done, push the problem aside and explain it away.

The phone rings as you're lacing up your running shoes. You pick up the receiver without bringing it to your ear and place it down gently.

It's just a wrong number anyway.

Tonight air bites at your nose, leaves crunching underfoot as wind whips around buildings and trash, carrying with it the promise of a harsh winter to come.

Your feet carry you slowly back to the direction of home as they beat down your normal, safe route.

A right from your little townhome, straight for two blocks before you would find the winding black pavement. It would snake past the backs of homes through some small trees but never a path that was fully hidden.

Always out in the open but giving you the ability to peer into people's lives as you passed. Witnessing dinners, arguments and heated moments of passion. Silently you thanked Kami you were not positioned on this route.

You keep your eyes focused ahead, the music in your ears low to listen for possible passers such as a bike or a better runner than yourself.

You pass a tree that seems thicker than normal, your phone buzzes on your arm band.

An email, it has to be an email.

Yet your mind wanders to those worried texts, lingers on the thoughts of if that tree had always been that wide, if the quickly setting sun had always cast the path in blood red. The maroon leaves flutter overhead, falling to the ground.

More crunching than what you think your feet should produce has you running faster. Forcing yourself not to glance over your shoulder. Your breathing becomes rasped as you borderline sprint home, still the crunching comes closer.

It isn't until someone brushes your shoulder as they pass do you let out a blood curdling scream. Huffing to catch your breath as you take a step back.  The jogger, your neighbor from across the street that you occasionally run into, removes his earbud.

"You okay?" He addresses you by your name and suddenly you're embarrassed that you do not know his. He takes your silence as an answer, his brow furrowing.

"I thought you'd be less skittish since your new boyfriend's been coming around." Your mouth goes dry.

"Wh...what?"

"Yea he seems so sweet. He always checks the windows to make sure they are locked at night." He takes in your response and shrugs, "It's getting late. Since I didn't see your boyfriend there yet, I'll jog you home."

The jog home is agonizing,your mind racing far faster than your feet can go.

What did he mean he saw him checking the windows? What boyfriend?

Maybe, maybe he mixed up your house with Denki's again. It's happened once before when he was returning mail. So there was a good chance he was mistaken again.

Still the closer the two of you get to home the worse you feel. A brick sits in your stomach as he jogs in place before your fence. He gives you a knowing smile and a wink as you wave him goodbye.

It isn't until you turn to face your home do you notice it, the white rectangle stark against your black door.

There is an envelope taped to the thick oak, addressed to no one but "My beloved".

You rip it from the wood with ragged breath as you bring it inside. Already you can feel the contents squirming, fidgeting as it waits to be read.

Polaroid photos fall to the hardwood floors, pictures of you running down your favorite path. Blurred images of you walking down the aisles of the grocery store, and even a photo of you taken between the cracks of the fence in your front yard.  

There are no more photos after that, at least not this time. Just that fucking letter written in long looping ink  You feel the words tighten around your throat as horror wraps its spindly fingers around your guts and yanks them towards the floor.

Your knees threaten to buckle as your eyes rapidly move along the page.

"In these moments you are the most beautiful. Blissfully unaware of prying eyes. In my time I've come to care for you I've noticed I'm not the only one watching. People gaze at you with whispered murmurs, with pitying eyes as they spin tales of your life. Speculating gossip as you prance about the neighborhood. Flaunting in those tight running shorts that hold every godly curve of your thighs and ass. Of the light jacket you leave unzipped so they can get a better view of your bouncing breasts tucked in your black sports bra. I wonder, would they bounce like that when you ride on my cock? Would your hair stick to your forehead like that as I rail you from behind. Would that angelic voice squeak out for more? For me? Ah I'm salivating thinking of it, harder than I've ever been. Please do not wear those out while running. In fact you don't have to run anymore Doll. You just need to let me take care of you God damn it. You little fucking whore. You seductive vixen with your God damned doe eyes. Just...just fucking answer please."

Rage and fear fight for control as you reread the letter for the fourth, fifth time before you finally move. Rage, for once, wins. You slam the door behind you locking the deadbolt before running to the back bedroom. Throwing the heavy chair from the closet door and ripping it open.  

Nothing lies within it, just clothes that begin to smell of neglect. Of old running shoes you didn't have the heart to throw away.

Of relief that whoever was sending these letters, these ones that weren't meant for you. Wasn't currently in the house.

The floorboards overhead groan and for a moment you have half a mind to tuck your cats away into their carrier, buy a one way train ticket to bumfuck nowhere and set your house ablaze.

Instead you move the chair back in front of the closet, grabbing things from your back bedroom to start your new life on your couch.

Time passes as the trees become more bare, their spindly fingers reaching out to tap the roof at odd hours of the night.

Tomorrow you promised yourself you would run.

And yet you find yourself dressed, lacing up your shoes before slowly opening the door. Your jacket is zipped all the way up, your hair neatly tied back and just as you step foot out the front door a heavy wind rips through the yard causing Denki's unlatched gate to slam. You jump back startled as your fear clings to you like a second skin. The letter begins to overlap in your head and the polaroid photos you had trashed a few weeks ago burn into your retinas. A faint snap and a whirl comes from close by and suddenly your stomach churns. Bile rushes up your windpipe too quickly, slamming the door shut and running to the bathroom. You barely make it as you dry heave into the porcelain bowl, huffing in the air of fresh toilet water. The smell starts a vicious cycle of nausea until finally your clammy skin begins to cool, pressing yourself to the side of the tub. In your panic your skin becomes sensitive, hyper aware of each stitch in your jacket, your sports bra and your jogging leggings. Your rip at your clothes until you peel them off of you, huffing as you scramble to get into the shower.

It does not matter that the water is not yet hot. Hell it isn't even lukewarm still you find yourself in the stream as it becomes scalding. Scrubbing at your skin with soap over and over and over. Nails pulling away already raw skin until that burning water begins to cool. A floorboard creaks overhead causing your head to snap up. The ceiling holds no secrets and yet no answers until you see it. A small hole, one you aren't sure if it's always been there, gaping from the attic over your shower and bath. It's too dark to tell if there is someone peering down at you from above or not.

Instead of freaking out your head slowly tilts away from the haunting discovery. Turning off the water, opening the curtain and wrapping yourself in a towel. As if it were every day you see something like that, as if it were nothing more than a spider lingering that you'd wish to forget.

It's fine It's always been there

But that would be the last time you would take a shower in that house.

Even though you hardly left your couch, things would still go missing in yourself. Things like the remote or one of your hundreds of phone charger cords. Even documents to cases but you didn't care, couldn't care. Otherwise you would break. Shatter.

Your days consisted of lying on the couch and consuming an ungodly amount of television. Doing so until your eyes burned although you begged them to stay open. Sadly everyone needed sleep and so you did. Giving into exhaustion as your eyes fluttered closed and your body weak, relaxing into the comfort of the couch.

Hours are lost to you so you dream and dream. Of a better time or of yourself in one of your files to dissect. Giving yourself that perfect bird's eye view and wondering how the victim never saw it coming.

In your dream you feel something along your face, smooth fingertips trace down your cheek over and over at a lulling pace.

"So perfect." A whispered serenade melding in with a snap and a whirl. A flash of lightning from a passing storm.

Except there was no storm coming in.

Your eyes snap open as you jerk to a sitting position frantically looking around the room.  When your eyes find nothing you allow your beating heart to settle back into your numbed state, more than ready to melt into the couch.

Until your stomach growls forcing you to focus on a new problem.

When was the last time you ate? Your stomach had long forgotten about food, choosing to conserve energy in case you needed to run from whatever the hell it was in your head.

Forgoing dressing you place your hand on the knob, wallet in hand. Two sets of glowing eyes watch you from beneath the couch. Twisting the metal to yank the door open you are greeted with cold fall air. The wind whips hair into your face as your mind quickly wanders. You half imagined a man to be standing in the middle of the street. Mouth stretched too far over gleaming teeth, lips parting enough as the wind brings with it the sound of your name.

Frantically you move your hair from your face, eyes searching up and down the street to find no one, nothing.

As it should be at 10am on a weekday. Suddenly the weight of going outside sits on your shoulders, despite the convenience store being a ten minute walk both ways, the thought of you going alone scared you.  Slowly you shut the door, falling to your knees before lying face down on your floor openly sobbing.

A creaking board sends you back to high alert, you remove your jacket and decide to order take out instead.

The knocking at your front door jolts you awake, the TV drones in the background with hazed over words as you quickly come to. Heart slamming into your chest before your stomach growls loudly. Right, food.

Your hand hovers over the knob as if suddenly you cannot move, as if the person on the other side of the door is an imposter lying in wait. Another knock comes at the door, he announces who he works for which eases your phobia a bit. You swallow thickly before finally opening the door, hands sweating as the anticipation of the identity of the stranger on your porch.

He seems to check out, his outfit covered in logos for your takeout restaurant of choice, car labeled as such as well. He holds the receipt towards you. His eyes wander over the face of the house, giving you sudden chills.

The question falls from your numb lips.  

"D...do you see anyone in the windows?" The delivery guy visibly jarrs, eyes darting to the windows of your room and the living room. Suddenly his face changes as a knowing smile spreads on his lips.

"This is a prank isn't it? For Halloween right?" He chuckles, but when he sees the pen shaking in your grip his face goes stone cold. Eyes darting to your left, to the bedroom windows. He taps the paper, indicating where you need to sign, you take a moment to do so.

The old rotary phone screams from the living room, making you both jump.

"Guess I better get that." You gesture, grabbing for your food. He nods affirmation before stepping off of your small porch a little too quickly.

You slam the front door, appetite washed away by each shrill of the small bell. Hesitantly you reach for it,  you have to know, need to know who could be on the other side.

The receiver is cold against your ear, the other line is quiet, although you can hear something soft in the background.

Talking, it sounds familiar, like an echo or almost as if there is a delay. It almost sounds like the same commercial that's playing on your TV right now.

Gently you set the phone down, the soft click echoes in the space around you. You sit on the couch before lying, covering yourself in your blanket as your takeout sits by the door, forgotten.

It wouldn't be too long before it begins to rot, almost as quickly as you.

The phone rings

And rings

And rings.

Nightly in fact, for the next few weeks as you cry silently trying to ignore the sound. Turning up the TV as loud as it can go, 24/7 until finally the speakers blow and you are left with nothing but that shrill shriek. The demand of the small plastic item that was meant to bring to a comforting memory from the past comes more often. Every four hours, every three hours, every hour until finally when it comes to an end it breathes again.

Screaming into the night tearing away your hearing, your sanity until finally you get up from your spot on the couch. Clothes falling away from your frame as they had grown in the time you sat. The time that you watched.

Each step is agonizing as sobs rack through your body, shaking hands making it hard to reach for the cool receiver.

You press it to your ear and for a final time your mind attempts logic. It is just an automated telemarketer, a glitch or determined program but the thought crumbles as your ears strain to hear the soft breath on the other line.

"Please…please stop." You sob into the receiver when no one speaks. The silence deafening as your mind can no longer keep with the charade.

That everything is okay and has always been okay. That the red flags you studied for a living were never there, washed away by your feigned ignorance.

"Finally got a response out of you." A velvet voice chimes, agitation lacing his syllables, "Gods, I just cannot wait to have you. It was worth it you know? Living in your walls for months."

"Why are you doing this?" Your voice barely a whisper, a soggy huff more than anything.

"I'm glad you asked." You body goes rigid, a haze blankets your mind and smothers the scream tearing up your throat.  

"Now walk out the door to me. Don't worry I'll bring your cats back to our home later."

You hang up the phone, body moving on it's own as you walk towards the front door. A door you had chosen to avoid and for good reason. But you should have known the danger lied within these four walls. Although your body feels heavy it moves normally despite you trying to fight it. Or as best you can with your worn down mind.and will. It is not as joyous as a moment for you and it is for the man in the street. His lilac hair is illuminated in the moonlight while his amethyst eyes glow iridescent. His smile is as you imagined, twisted and screwed up in such a way it makes your stomach churn. Lips stretched out almost too far over gleaming white teeth. Your face does not reflect your horror as it stays neutral, only your eyes give you way as tears fall from your cheeks.

The answer was there, under your nose, the devil in the details that you normally saw with your bird's eye view. One you didn't have the luxury of for your own story.

"Come now pet. It's time I finally teach you about what it means to be mine."

EPILOGUE

Everything is hazed over and slow, as if watching an old silent movie through the static and snow of the screen. Trying to read their lips to figure out what they are saying only for the text box to come too late.

"Perfect. Now get on your knees kitten. Open wide." You follow his orders numbly body moving on it's own as he smiles down at you. "God, you're so so perfect."

Long fingers tug at his belt before the shrill of a ring tone cuts through the silence. It is the same sound of your rotary phone at home except with an added element. The foreign sound of your whimpers and pleads for the phone to stop can just barely be heard. He looks down at the cell phone and answers.

"Denki, Baby I know I said I would come tonight. I'm just running late okay?" Amethyst eyes rove over to you and it is then that it hits you. The horror of the realization is like ice water dumped over you as you put two and two together.

The first time you saw him, visiting your neighbor over a year ago. It was such a quick exchange, eye contact and nothing more as his lips were pressed to Denki's.

Your mouth goes dry as it hangs open, slowly it becomes uncomfortable.

He changes his voice to sound like someone else's, someone with a gruff deeper tone.

"Oi quit talking to dunce face so we can finish this shit!" He removed the device from his mouth

"I'll be home after this patrol. Love you bye."

He tosses the phone before gripping your chin to spit into your mouth, his hand rests on the hem of his pants.

"Now...where was I?"