#its gotten us thru a full hour of work so far but if i make it to lunch without throwing up i think they might throw me a party

[carnageacorn]

.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

A Memory Locked In The Heart - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - Requested by the lovely @overduelibrarybooks I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for!

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

Request: "could u ever write a spencer reid x reader where reader def works for the cia but more as a translator who’s kinda forced into doing agenty things in order to gather intel and on a mandated break she finds out the UNSUB before the team does so she uses herself as bait, and shoots the guy all very badass fashion n then gets interrogated bc ms girl just shot him coldblood and halfway thru she recognizes spencer bc her mother and his mom lived in the same care facility??? idk sorry my mom has paranoid too so it just hits different but u don’t have to write this if u don’t want to i love ur writing <3"

CW: disclaimer: I know next to nothing about the CIA and what they investigate so please go easy on me here. This is all made up so hopefully it makes some kind of sense. Mentions of violence and sex work, schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, some swears. Mentions of drug use and overdose. Spanish used towards the end is from Google Translate so I apologise if it isn’t completely accurate. Italics indicate flashbacks.

Plot: Eighteen years ago you met a boy named Spencer Reid whilst visiting your mother at Bennington Sanitorium. This time you are meeting under entirely different circumstances; across the table of an interrogation room.

WC: 5.3K

—————————————————————

How did I end up here?

That was a question you kept asking yourself as you rolled into your third hour of sitting in that cold, dimly lit interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.

Well you supposed you’d have to go back to the beginning to truly work that out.

The CIA and FBI joint task force for a country wide sex trafficking ring they believed to be operating out of DC.

When your team at the CIA had started investigating it was estimated that the ring had close to a hundred women who had been abducted and forced into the sex industry.

A lot of women were believed to have been taken trying to cross the border. Your job as a translator had involved spending a lot of time in Mexico, helping interview witnesses and family members who didn’t speak English.

The FBI involvement had come when women believed to have been part of the trafficking ring started turning up dead.

At last count they were up to twenty bodies. The Behavioural Analyst Unit had given their profile of the man they believed to be running the show.

White male in his mid to late forties. Bilingual. Possibly born in Mexico or an area surrounding the border but grew up in DC, they assumed based on his knowledge of the area. He’s attractive, charming and has a good level of education, he’d need to be able to charm the women into trusting him. He doesn’t have a full time job because he wouldn’t have time for one. All his time and focus goes on his girls. He was tech savvy, incredibly so, he’d have to be, to be able to set up the network on the dark web which enabled his customers to pay for his services.

It hadn’t been going well. Bodies kept dropping and the task force was no closer to catching the person responsible.

This went on for six months. Everyone was exhausted. You kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. It was demoralising.

Your boss had called for mandated time off. You’d all argued but she had been absolutely adamant. You’d all been working yourselves to the bone and she didn’t want you burnt out entirely.

You’d argued but your words had fallen on deaf ears.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see the lanky, messy haired agent who called himself Doctor Reid, sticking his head through the door.

“Is coffee an option?”

He smiled brightly at you, a smile you swear you’ve seen before.

“Coffee is always an option.” He told you. “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With that the door closed leaving you to your thoughts once more.

There was something so familiar about the Doctor. His dark yet sparkling eyes, his awkward smile and the way he dressed. You couldn’t place it. But there was definitely something about him that stirred some memory buried deep in your brain. You just weren’t sure what it was.

He returned a few minutes later, bringing your coffee into the room and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too much longer. It’s just standard procedure.” he spoke sweetly, his voice stirring the hidden memory.

“Yeah I know. I get it.” you sighed as you spoke, wrapping your hands around the coffee. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled before he started backing out of the room. You wished you could ask him to stay because you felt so much more at ease with him around. But you knew you couldn’t.

He turned to you in the doorway.

“You look cold in that.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

You’d forgotten about your outfit choice. No self respecting CIA agent dressed like you were right now.

“I guess I am a little.” You shrugged.

Spencer instantly shrugged his blazer off of his shoulders and laid it in front of you on the table.

“Thank you Doctor Reid.” you spoke again before he disappeared out the door.

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

The door closed, his voice reverberating in your ears, dragging you into a long forgotten memory.

As you slipped his jacket on, your eyes fluttered closed, his scent wafting up your nose.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes shot back open, a frown on your face.

“Spencer?” you muttered under your breath. “Spencer Reid.”

Where had you pulled that name from? And why did it feel oddly connected to Vegas?

You tried to push the thought away, you already had enough on your mind. There were much more pressing things to deal with than a vague memory from your hometown an undetermined amount of time ago.

***

You’d been instructed to switch off. Your time off should be used to recoup, relax and not to think about the case.

Easier said than done you thought.

Before you’d left the office on your mandated leave you’d taken photocopies of some files and slipped them into your bag. You knew you’d be in trouble if you were caught but you couldn’t help yourself. You wouldn’t be able to relax with this case still open.

As far as you were aware the BAU was still working on it but it provided you little comfort. In your time with the CIA you’d never gotten to be involved so heavily in a case. Your skills were mostly utilised in interview capacities and then you were sidelined.

You’d never had the privilege to work on a joint task force or investigate a crime so brutal.

You felt personally invested in this case. You thought if you could just find that one missing puzzle piece you could crack this case wide open.

And then you’d found it. The golden ticket. The smoking gun. The missing piece.

It had taken five days of your leave and copious amounts of coffee but you’d connected the dots no one else had.

You knew how to draw the unsub out. And you were going to do it tonight.

***

“Let’s start again from the beginning shall we?” Agent Rossi linked his fingers together on top of the table as he looked across at you, still slowly sipping your coffee.

“Oh goody.” You sighed. “Could Agent Jareau not fill you in what I’ve already told her?”

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

You didn’t have any ill will against him. Far from it. You were actually a big fan of David Rossi. But you were sick and tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Tell me how you managed to work out how to find him.”

You took another long sip of the coffee.

“All the pieces were there, they just hadn’t been put into place.”

“And how did you piece them together?”

“There was a pattern to where the women had been last seen. It was a guess more than anything. A lucky guess.”

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

“As I told agent Jareau,” you sipped your coffee. “The bars they were last seen in all had ties to Mexico. I’m not a native to DC but I know the area like the back of my hand. They were all either Mexican owned, had a Mexican name or were previously establishments such as Mexican restaurants. I made an educated guess that he frequented places such as these looking for his targets. I just got lucky I picked the right one.”

***

You felt incredibly exposed, but you supposed that was the point.

If you were going to get this guy's attention, you had to do this right.

It was a long shot. Just because Western’s bar was known for its famous tacos did not mean it would be the place he chose to pick up girls.

You just had to hope.

You wore a skimpy skirt that barely covered your ass, knee high boots and a crop top that accentuated your assets.

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

Your outfit garnered a lot of looks as you headed through Westerns towards the bar.

You felt men’s eyes on you from every angle, making you feel extremely self conscious. But you needed to keep your cool, exude confidence.

If your guy was here he needed to see you shine.

You ordered a soda to keep your head clear and sat at a table over the far side of the bar. From there you had a good view of the entrance and most of the room. And more importantly, the room had a view of you.

Three hours you sat there nursing your soda. It was a huge stab in the dark, you weren’t really surprised.

You finished your drink and headed out onto the cool DC street.

You made it five steps before you felt a presence behind you.

Just as you were about to turn, something covered your mouth.

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

A smell wafted up your nose seconds before you lost consciousness.

Chloroform.

***

“Why didn’t you tell your unit chief before you went in?”

“Because I thought it was a long shot.” And because she would have been furious I was working the case.

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?”

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at you.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Yes agent Rossi, I’m well aware. But I had a lead and I wasn’t going to ignore it.” You pulled Doctor Reid’s jacket tighter around your scantily clad body.

You caught his scent again. Coffee. Old books. A hint of peppermint.

Another long shut off memory wormed it’s way to the surface.

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

“Oh.” He returned your sad smile. “Me too.”

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what happened next? You were chloroformed and then what?”

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

“Can we take a break? I could really use some air.”

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

He stood from his chair and motioned you to follow him.

You got some odd looks from his fellow agents as he led you to the elevators. They all recognised what you were wearing as Spencer’s jacket.

You followed Rossi into the elevator and he pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Agent Rossi, can I ask you a strange question?” You asked as the doors closed.

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.” Rossi frowned unsure what you were getting at.

“Where is he from?”

Rossi’s frown deepened, not sure he should tell you such things about his team. But you were an agent and you didn’t pose a threat to the team.

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You chewed your lip. “I think I might have known him.”

“Oh?”

You wished you hadn’t opened your mouth. This was not the time or place.

“I’m probably wrong. Just forget I said anything.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. As you stepped out you pulled Spencer’s collar to your nose and sniffed it.

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Hi again.” You smiled at the lanky man, Spencer you’d met a few days ago. “How’s your mom?”

“Still angry at me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stubbed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“She came in recently?”

“Yeah a few months ago. I turned eighteen and I was able to have her put into care.” He blanched, clearly feeling guilty for his decision.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

He followed you through to the day room. It was late and there were only a few patients inside and a few nurses milling around.

You got two cups of coffee from the machine and the two of you sat at a table together.

“Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your mom?” You dared as you slid him the drink.

He sighed heavily, gnawing on his bottom lip as though his life depended on it.

“She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” He spoke clinically, words he’d had to say too many times in his life. It was as though he’d distanced himself from it. Like he was giving a patient a diagnosis rather than talking about his own mother.

“Mine too.” You gave him a wry smile. You had something in common, just not something you would like to have in common.

“How long has your mom been here?”

“Three years. She got really bad and my dad couldn’t take care of her anymore. She’s been doing much better since she moved in here.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nodded. “I hope my mom realises I did this for her. For her well being. At the moment she’s just so...angry.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his. He seemed a little startled by the physical touch but you didn’t move your hand.

“This is the best place for her. I assume from what you said earlier your dad isn’t in the picture?”

He used his free hand to sip his coffee with a sad shake of his head.

“He left when I was ten. He couldn’t handle mom's illness.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to look after her by yourself. It was hard enough with my dad there. Really makes you grow up fast.”

“It really does.” He agreed. “I’m not sure I ever got to be a kid.”

“I know that feeling.”

After that you spent hours chatting about anything and everything until way into the night. It wasn’t until a nurse came and asked you politely to leave that you realised how late it was.

“I’ll probably see you around?” You spoke as you stepped outside together.

“Maybe. In a few weeks I’m heading out of state. I’m working on a PhD.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually his second PhD.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to hide the disappointment from your voice.

Despite the circumstances you’d enjoyed talking to someone like minded, someone who understood. You didn’t have anyone else your own age you could talk to about this kind of thing.

“Maybe we could exchange numbers?” You blushed a little.

“I don’t have a cellphone.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“It’s not an excuse.” He sensed you didn’t believe him. “I’m not so into technology. I don’t even have email.”

Normally you would have thought it was just a bad excuse to get out of seeing you again but the look on Spencer’s face told you he was being genuine.

“Ok.” You gave him a shy smile. “Well maybe I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“I hope so.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you on the dark street.

There was an air between you, some kind of thick tension but you didn’t know what it meant.

“If I don’t see you again,” you spoke trying to ignore whatever it was. “It was really good to meet you and I hope your mom gets used to the facility.”

“You too.” He smiled so genuinely at you, it made your heart skip a beat.

And then you went your separate ways.

***

“Ok, so what happened next?” Rossi wasted no time once you were back in the interrogation room.

“Well I blacked out after I was chloroformed so excuse me if I don’t remember.” You gave him a sarcastic smile.

“What’s the next thing you do remember?” He reworded his question.

“I woke up in a large basement. It was gritty and dingy. And there were other women there too.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty.” You sighed letting your mind travel back to the basement you never wanted to go back to. Not even in your mind.

***

You woke with a start, your head pounding. You gasped for air as though you’d been drowning.

You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the dark room you found yourself in.

It was cold and damp and you could hear a pipe dripping in the distance.

You tried to roll over but your arm wouldn’t budge. You were met by a loud clanking sound when you tried.

You tugged your arm, hearing the same sound and being met with a sharp pain in your wrist.

“Good luck.” A woman’s voice scoffed. “They don’t come loose.”

You blinked a few more times, looking over to your left arm. There was a heavy metal cuff right around your wrist that was attached to a metal bed frame.

That’s when you realised you were laying on a small cot on top of a ratty, itchy blanket. You were still dressed, thank god.

You suddenly remembered your firearm concealed in your boot. You patted your left calf and sure enough you felt the hard weapon still inside.

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

You remembered the voice you’d heard before and turned as much as you could with your arm cuffed to take in the rest of the room.

There were at least forty other cots close together lining the walls, with at least half of them containing the body of other women.

The voice you’d heard belonged to a woman in the cot next to you. She gave you a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

“Delilah.” Her accent was Spanish. You were sure Delilah wasn’t her real name either.

“How long have you been here?”

She sighed, playing with a strand of curly black hair.

“What month is it?”

“September.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Not that long then. I’ve been here since July.” She looked confused as though that couldn’t be long enough.

“Delilah?” You narrowed your eyes on her. “What year do you think it is?”

“2018…” she saw your face drop and knew instantly it was no longer 2018.

“Oh gosh.” You felt for her, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s 2020.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

“It’s ok.” You lowered your voice. “I’m CIA. I’m going to get us out of here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

***

“Delilah.” Rossi opened the file in front of him. “Was that Roberta Suez?”

He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. You averted your gaze.

“Yes and please I don’t need to see it, I was there.”

“How did she end up in hospital fighting for her life?”

“You know how.” You huffed. “Look I’m starting to get fed up with this now.” You folded your arms. “Carlos Ramirez was a sick son of a bitch. If I hadn’t done what I did he would have killed all those women. I don’t regret what I did.”

“How did she end up in hospital?” He repeated.

“Good lord.” You grumbled. “I’ll talk but I don’t want to talk to you.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

“No? But I’m so compassionate.” He spoke sarcastically.

“I won’t say another word unless it’s to Reid.” You looked up to the two way mirror. You didn’t know why but you had a feeling he was there.

Sure enough it was barely twenty seconds before the door opened and Doctor Reid himself stepped in the room.

“I got this Rossi.” Spencer told the older man who stood up with a shrug.

Rossi left the room while Spencer took the seat he’d been occupying.

Did he remember you? It had been close to twenty years since you’d last seen each other. Had it not been for the olfactory memory that struck you when you put on his jacket you might never have remembered him.

But you knew the rest of his team was behind the two way glass, or at least some of them were so it didn’t seem an appropriate time to ask such things.

“So agent Y/L/N,” he smiled softly at you. “Can you please tell me how Delilah ended up in hospital?”

“You already know the answer to that Doctor but since you asked so nicely,” you leant your elbows on the table, entwined your fingers and rested your chin the little bridge you’d created. “She had a drug overdose. But you and I both know it wasn’t her who administered the drugs.”

“And who did?”

“I did.”

Your words hung in the air between you and Spencer. He knew the answer, the whole team did. You’d already told Agent Jareau everything.

This was a huge waste of time.

“I administered the drugs because he told me if I didn’t he would kill me. I needed to stay alive so I could save those women.”

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

“No.” You shook your head. “If it was Ramirez I would have shot him. But it must have been one of his right hand men.”

“How would you know that? You’d never met Ramirez correct?” Spencer had a soft tone to his voice which made his line of questioning easier than Agent Jareau’s.

“I’m not a profiler but I’ve been to enough seminars over the years. He didn’t fit the bill. He was young, scatty, he didn’t strike as much fear into the other women as I thought the boss would. I made an educated guess and I was right. If I’d shot at him I would have blown my chance at getting Ramirez.”

***

“Shit shit shit!” You pulled yourself as close to Delilah’s cot as possible with your restraint. “Delilah, keep breathing, try to breath. Fuck I am sorry.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the empty needle you’d been made to inject in her vein between your cots on the floor.

He’d held a gun to your head and said he would shoot you if you didn’t do it. You didn’t think he was bluffing.

“It happens a lot.” A woman opposite spoke up. “You’ll soon find out. If she wakes up she’ll have the pleasure of returning the favour.” She gave you an almost manic grin.

If she wakes up. It was the if you were having the issue with.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know his name. Big guy. Tattoos. Mustache. You can’t miss him.”

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

“Being down here you have a way of losing track of time.” She clicked her tongue. “But he’ll be here for you later. He has to test his new girls.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Test?” You swallowed, pretty sure you knew what she meant.

“He can’t very well expect you to make him money if he doesn’t know how good you are.”

Oh god.

Your heartbeat raced. No, it was not going to come to that. You were a CIA agent and you were armed.

It was not going to come to that.

***

Spencer’s face paled a little at your words. You hadn’t told Agent Jareau that part.

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

“No.” You cut him off, pushing the memory back down. “I had a gun, remember.”

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

The way he said it was more like he was a therapist than an FBI agent. As though he wanted you to tell him so you could get it off your chest, unburden yourself, rather than for interrogation purposes.

“Ok.” You nodded. “He came for me later that night. And that’s when it happened.”

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

Your eyes fluttered open and landed on a strong, tattooed man with a mustache standing over your cot.

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

You sat up wiggling your legs in your boots to make sure you could still feel your firearm. You could.

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

“Eres perfecta.” He grinned menacingly. “My clients will love you.”

He reached in his pocket and fished out a key chain. He reached over you and unlocked your cuff.

You rolled your wrist to try and get your blood circulating again.

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

He grasped your wrist, hard enough so you couldn’t wriggle free but not hard enough to leave a mark. He started dragging you across the room.

With his free hand he undid the four locks on the large steel door and pulled your through it. Once on the other side he took care to lock them all again, keeping a firm grasp on you the whole time.

You were dragged down a long, narrow corridor towards another steel door, this one with just one lock on.

He slid the key in and opened it, pulled you inside and locked it behind him.

The room was much smaller than the one you’d been held in and only housed a single cot.

He licked his lip as he looked at you. His large, thick fingers stroked your cheek and you had to try and hide your disgust.

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

You had to pick the opportune moment. You had to plan this just right. You had no doubt he had a gun on him so if you faltered even slightly, he would kill you.

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

You made a show of licking your lips and then dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa, feisty. I like it.” He grinned, his meaty hands going to his belt buckle.

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

While he was fumbling with his belt, you reached your hand back into your left boot, drawing your gun in one swift move.

You head butted him in the crotch, sending him stumbling backwards, crying out in pain.

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

You were on your feet in a second, your gun trained on him.

“You will never hurt another woman again.” You spat, furious tears suddenly streaming from your eyes.

He looked up at you, his mouth opened to speak.

But the words didn’t come out as your bullet hit him between the eyes.

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

“I would say,” Spencer chewed his lip. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “And I did. If I hadn’t shot him, who knows how many other women would have died.”

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Just so you know, we got word from the hospital a little while ago. Roberta Suez, Delilah, is going to be just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You felt tears brimming your eyes.

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

“You were never under arrest.” He smirked at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You got up from the chair and Spencer motioned you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you out.” He showed you across the bullpen towards the elevators. There was an awkward air between the two of you.

Did you say anything? It didn’t seem as though he remembered you, was it worth reminding him?

He motioned you into the elevator first and he followed, pressing the button.

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

“So uhm…” Spencer turned to you and turned too. “How’s your mom?”

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I recognised you the second you walked in.”

“It’s been twenty years.” You laughed.

“Eighteen years, seven months.” He corrected you. “But I could never forget your face.”

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

“My moms doing ok. Thanks for asking. How’s your mom?” You looked back at him.

“Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” He told you sadly.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. These things happen.” He shrugged. “Made it to thirty without having a schizophrenic break but now I have to wait until I’m older to find out if I’ll develop Alzheimer’s.”

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped out, Spencer close behind.

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged. “Is your mom still at Bennington? I used to see her when I went to visit my mom but I moved her out a little while ago.”

“Yeah she’s still there. She likes being close to my dad.”

You both hovered by the exit, not ready to say goodbye.

“Can I take you for coffee? If you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“I’d like that. A lot actually. But I’d really like to shower and change out of this getup.” You laughed. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you made it to the door Spencer spoke again.

“Y/N,” he called your name, his voice cracking a little. “You uh...you forgot something.”

You turned to face him curiously.

He walked closer to you and without a second thought, placed his hands on your face and kissed you.

For a second you stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

But after a few moments you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ended you were both smiling at one another.

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

“Oh you know…” he shrugged with a coy smile. “Just something that needed to be done.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours.” You told him, touching his chest briefly.

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

And with that you sauntered out the doors but not out of his life.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Spencer?” You’d only made it a few paces away from Bennington before you stopped in your tracks, calling his name. “You uh...you forgot something.”

He turned to face you curiously.

You walked closer to him and without a second thought, placed your hands on his face and kissed him.

He stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

It was just a brief kiss, Spencer was too confused to do anything but stand there dumbly.

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

“Just something that needed to be done.” You smiled. “Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

And with that you sauntered back down the street, hoping that one day, the universe would lead you back into each other’s lives.

—————————————————————

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added) -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela​

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

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

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

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

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

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

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Window. It’s a window.”

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

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

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

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

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

Yes that was it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

And now she was all his. 

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

*****

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

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked. 

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

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew then, you were in for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**** Part 2

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1 

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

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

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

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

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

Series Masterlist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes that was it.

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

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

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

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. 

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

And now she was all his. 

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

*****

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

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked. 

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

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew then, you were in for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

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

Ransom Drysdale

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

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

[lunartearrose]

hello. bestie. info about this fantasy au WHEN 👀👀👀👀👀

Aaa I can give you some right now!!!! For some reason this au comes to me whenever im working so thats why its art is all on stickynotes audjskjsj

BUT ANYWAYS uh. No better way to say this but it all started out with a modded skyrim character creator that i made skull in! I thought it was cool and going thru both main q and whatever stupid civil war to skip the broken seasons unending quest is annoyin but fun was had for maybe some hours

But! I had to make skull twice due to the first skull files getting corrupted. So that has a piece to it

But anyways context over and now this au has been in my brain with only vague skrim assets because i fucking hate that that civil war has anything to do with anything of the main questline it can FUCK. Right off

Basic storyline premise my brain had! We start out with a currently human vintage caught between a mysteriously similar civil war :) he's chosen neither side but since his home was destroyed by the stupid shit idiot war he's basically gotten really good at pissing off both sides. Sometimes he gets caught! And the good-ish soldiers will see that he is you know a still kinda baby-side teen full of anger and try to lrt him go with a talking to. But his worst encounter would be when the angy soldiers catch him and beat him up, which just deepens his hatred. And one time someone really messed him up bad!

He ends up limping away into an enchanted forest and drawn by a really good smell, he passes out just in front of this really beautiful lilac tree that was in a clearing like "ok this is a nice tree to die by. Peaceful" but ofc he didnt die. He just woke up to a nymph of the tree he chose taking him up to the center of the tree. And that's how he befriends Skull, he's recovering with him and keeps mumbling about how nice the smell is while skull both cares for him and looks around for his potion savvy friend. Once vin is healed up by aviators he realizes pretty quick that this forest is very much between the war path and figures it's highly appropriate to set traps all over!!! But ofc giving avi and skull very specific instructions on how to avoid the things he sets. He also makes good pals with omega in the town nearby bc she helps at an institude and she's been sneaking him into their library to read up on nymphs and share his own notes in return. Shes like you're my little brother and hes like fuck u (but also thank you sorry) and he gets to discover he has a high affinity for magic despite being human. Weird! Anyways now that he has a place of study he can figure out how to teach skull weapons.

But all is not peaceful for long, bc some old shitty wizard trails this knowledgeable little jerkwad, because variant nymphs are rare! And as the guy comes out of the bushes and pisses vintage off by treating skull like a specimen and taking out a pair of scissors like, "i wonder if its really true that you can take memories of one by severing branches from its tree:)" Vintage basically attacks the guy! Because no taking Skull's memories! And skull helps of course bc friend, but unfortunately this guy is very strong and seasoned. So when vintage almost gets a good life ending hit, the wizard wounds him heavily (resulting in an x-shaped scar deep on his face that got him bad in one eye) and opens a portal to basically hell! Vin is gonna fall in but skull makes the effort to try and use the roots of his tree to pull him out. But knowing he can get sucked in too, vintage just makes a promise to get out somehow and come back, sealing it by giving the gift of a small ring he was saving. Unknown to him once he falls and portal closes, skull definitely makes the wizard into plant food! But on the floor of this hellscape, vintage finds himself with some flowers and seeds that had fallen from the tree, a tail, and a new nubby pair of horms and wings. But despite this, he gets up, gathers the seeds, and thinking back on his affinity for magic, he decides he will grow the lilacs while he figures out an escape, all the while being reminded of skull every time he looks at the stuff. It takes some years, and some demons also looking for an escape love his tree and his story (mainly double who helped persuade spirits into protecting the tree and gave vin tips on horn and wing upkeep) but eventually vin has his break when he hears omega call and together they pry open a portal out of there. He's pulled along by a red sole (very excited feral magician) and now he and double are finally out. Double introduces himself while vintage, with magical hell-lilacs tied around tail, disguises his demon features and runs off to find skull.

Only to find the entire forest burned down. He's in shock for some time, wanting to know how and why. One of the last things he saw was a killing blow from skull, it couldn't have been that wizard- but then he spots a soldier's settlement nearby. Hidden amongst charred trees. They chatted merrily, loading up gathered game, and when he asked, they told him the forest was another victim of their pointless war. It wasn't even a turning point, and one of them even laughed and said they'd get "the bad guys" next time.

When the sick of this, much older teen, gets angry enough that his horn-hiding illusion falls, they all quite suddenly realize they've majorly screwed up. And vintage figures out that he has a taste for souls. Red finds him again after though with a gift, a calm pet and a gentle informing that he should be able to visit his hell lilac tree anytime he wants at least. A nice gift, but vintage is too angry at the moment to appreciate it and decides that hes ending the war himself by killing every single person directly involved with it! At times the armies had tried to work together to stop him, but with the power to morph melificent style into a dragon is a pretty solid way to make sure you're just wasting lives, and people figure out pretty quick it's the commanders he wants. Those are sacrificed, but now you just have a very powerful demon with nowhere to place his still burning grief that's very very hard to approach! But word gets around as it does and a blue group of adventurers take up the task of calming the demon and dealing with his haywire magic and deliver a hard truth - that he might have to move on with the friends he made along the way. Post fight, the vampire cruising with blue team scoops vin with some tlc plans and asks that blue team to locate the friends vintage had, and maybe even look into his older friends. And once vintage is awake in a rather cleanly and impressive vampire mansion, he's given news that emperor had heard of a wood elf taking care of a rather flowerless and purple nymph, working with a lot more potions than usual. One can't even begin to describe how relieved Vintage is by this info that his first friend, at the very least, is still alive. It may just take time to get to him with post-magic owchies and all, so emperor decides to send out a nice and classy letter to those friends he had found, inviting them over.

Oh and the only reason skull miraculously survived the warring and forest fire is definitely becausee of the lilac tree currently sitting pretty in hell

SO UH YEAH THATS MY PLOT SO FAR FOR THIS FANTASY AU YEAH VERY WILD I HATE CIVIL WAR QUESTS FUCK CIVIL WAR QUESTS

[portals-to-a-new-world]

Ignorance is Bliss (Parts 1&2)

(gif credit to @urban-trek-thru-middle-earth)

Who?: Billy Butcher x Reader

What?: Y/n discovers that Butcher sleeps in the nude

Word Count: 1820

Warnings: SMUTTY SMUT 18+!!!, Language (as I mentioned in the original, if you watch the boys you know the man has a mouth fouler than the pits of hell itself), ONCE AGAIN SMUT

A/N: Hey yall! Sorry it’s been taking me so long to get stuff out but work has been kicking my ass. Anyway, if you didn’t see the original post, this was inspired by a post I saw reminding the world that Butcher sleeps a la naked. Thank you very much to @bakerstreethound for everything she does 💜💜💜

You were tired. 8 hours on the road, chasing down a lead that turned out to be yet another dead end, and you just wanted a hot shower and sleep. Preferably in that order. You sighed in relief as you pulled into the cheap Motel the boys had been staying at. At least it didn’t look as seedy as the last place you’d stayed in. Ever since Vought caught onto the plan to bring them down, you’d been staying at a different location each week to keep them off of your scent. You grabbed the bag you kept packed from the backseat and headed towards your room. It took you a few moments of fumbling around in the bag before you pulled out the key card and swiped it through the reader. Your brow furrowed as nothing happened. You tried it one more time before you remembered that Butcher gave you the spare card to his room, just in case. You groaned and felt around your bag until you found the right card, breathing out a sigh as it worked. You didn’t bother turning the lights on until you reached the bathroom, wanting to shower and fall into bed as quickly as possible. Another groan escaped you as you began to strip down, muscles stiff from driving all day. As you reached out to turn on the shower, a voice sounded out behind you.

“Don’t let me stop you, luv, coz this is a great fucking view,” You screamed and dove for a towel as the deep voice that could only belong to Butcher continued. “But what the fuck are you doing?”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I-” The words fell dead at the sight that greeted you when you looked up. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, smirk out in full force as you were confronted with the knowledge that Billy Butcher, hunter of superheroes and badass vigilante, apparently sleeps in the nude. Your eyes trailed down his chest, following the lines of muscles, man those shirts he wore hid just how cut he was, to the sheet draped across his lap. You swallowed hard, wrapping the towel tighter around yourself before you continued. “I guess I mixed up the room numbers. It’s really been one of those days.” You said, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. Of course, this would happen. Almost get your cover blown by an ex who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Check. Waste an entire day on some bullshit conspiracy theorist pretending to have evidence about Compound V? Check. Walk in on the man who’d been invading your dreams ever since you first met? Bonus, he’s naked!

“I take it the lead was a crock o’ shite, then?” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“That is the understatement of the fucking century,” You said, moving to sit down before you remembered you were clad in only a towel. The thought of having to change back into clothes and go all the way back to your actual room almost had you in tears. “Do you uh- do you mind if I borrow your shower? I’d use mine, but I don’t think I’ll make it that far without my back seizing up.”

“Sure, one condition tho,” He said, cocking his head to one side before standing to his feet. Your breath caught in your throat as you fought to keep your eyes locked on his. You stepped back with each step he took closer until he had you backed against the counter.

“What’s that?” You managed to choke out.

“You let me join ya, and make up for sendin’ ya on that wild goose chase,” His words sent heat flaring straight through your core, and you nearly moaned when his hand began to toy with the skin just beneath the edge of your towel. “Can’t promise you’ll be any less sore after tho.”

“Butcher-” Your words were once again cut off with a gasp, this time by him grinding his hips against you. Your towel did nothing to conceal just how thick and hard he was, and you could only hope it hid just how embarrassingly wet you were. You shook your head to try and clear your thoughts. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Oh, c’mon now luv. We’ve been dancing ‘round each other for fuckin ages now,” He leaned in closer as he spoke. You shook your head slowly as his lips drew nearer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t-”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I can’t see you. Fuckin diabolical,” His hand came up to grip your jaw, not quite low enough to choke you but enough to make you inhale sharply. “Like you wanna fuckin eat me alive.” By then, his lips were ghosting yours, sending shivers down your spine. Fuck it

“You gonna let me? Eat you alive?” You asked. His resulting smirk gave you the only answer you needed before your lips slammed together hungrily. Butcher wasted no time in yanking the towel from your form. His hands immediately found your breasts, palming and kneading the soft flesh as you gasped against his lips. He took full advantage of the opening to dominate your tongue with his own, not that you didn’t put up a fight in the process. Like everything with Butcher, the kiss was rough and intense. He nearly had you in a puddle at his feet, and he’d barely gotten started. The thought sparked a new wave of defiance in you, and you thrust your hands into his surprisingly soft hair and tugged sharply as you bit at his lip. He growled in response, and his hand came down harshly on your ass. “Ow! You bastard-” Your scolding was cut off, though, as his fingers dipped between your legs. He hummed in satisfaction at the slickness he found, his trademark smirk once again gracing his lips.

“Call me a bastard all you want; you’re still soaking wet for me.” He didn’t give you a chance to snark back, thrusting two fingers deep inside you as he began to nip and suck down your neck. Your arm wrapped around his shoulder for support as your legs threatened to give out. He caught on and wrapped an arm around your waist as his other hand began to pick up its pace. His thumb moved to stroke your clit right as he curled his fingers perfectly, and you moaned his name loudly. “See now that’s what I want to hear.” You groaned and threw your head back.

“Oh, fuck off,” You said. Suddenly his hands were gone, and you whined at the loss of contact as he backed away. “Butcher?”

“You told me to fuck off.” He said with a shrug before lifting his hand and popping his fingers in his mouth. He grinned and turned to walk into the bathroom as you stammered.

“Damn it, Butcher, you know that’s not what I meant!” You stomped into the bathroom after him, but he continued to ignore you as he stepped into the shower.

“Fuckin’ hell, why’s the water so fuckin hot?” You rolled your eyes and stepped in after him, faltering slightly at the sight of him dripping wet before you. He might be psychotic, but damn if the man wasn’t good looking. “There you go again with that look,” He said, drawing your eyes back to his. This time his smirk was paired with almost predatory eyes, dark and hungering as he stalked towards you in the small space. You licked your lips and shrugged. You started to reply, but you never got the chance before he was lifting you up and pinning you against the wall. You squealed and latched onto him, ignoring his amused chuckles. “’ Fraid I’m gonna drop you?” He murmured against the skin beneath your ear. You shuddered slightly at the sensation before you responded.

“Nah, just making sure you can’t walk away from me again.” He laughed, a genuine laugh that made your heart skip a beat, before moving to bury himself to the hilt within you. You both moaned at the feeling, and he paused for a moment, both to savor it and give you time to adjust to his size. He pulled back from your neck to look you in the eyes as he started to move in slow, deep, thrusts that had you biting your lip in an effort to keep quiet. His gaze was powerful and intoxicating, drawing you in like an invisible magnet. Every wave of pleasure that crossed his face added to your own, and you finally had to break away and bury your face in his neck as he pounded straight through you. You were dancing along the brink of your climax, but you still needed more. “Butcher I-” He seemed to know exactly what you were asking before you could ask.

“I’ve gotcha, luv.” He slipped out of you and set you on your feet before spinning you around. “Fuck me, what an ass, this is.” He said offhandedly as he bent you forward slightly before sliding back in. You groaned and fell forward to brace yourself against the wall as this new angle brushed against all new spots inside of you. His hands moved back up to your throat, putting enough pressure to force you to arch your back, and down to rub harshly at your clit as he knocked you up the wall. “You gonna fucking come for me?” He growled in your ear as your moans echoed around the small bathroom. “Hmm? Gonna come all over this fuckin cock like a good girl?” His words were the final shove you needed before you were falling over the edge with a shout of his name. “Fuckin hell, (Y/N/N)” He groaned as he pulled out and came all over your back. You both stood there for a while, just catching your breath before he reached around and grabbed a washcloth to wipe you clean. At your raised eyebrow, he paused and shrugged in question. “Wot? I’m not a complete asshole.” You huffed out a laugh and gave him a pat on the chest.

“Never said you were.” He gave you a skeptical look before pulling you back underneath the spray.

“C’mon. Let’s get clean before the hot water runs out. Then we can discuss your sleeping arrangements.” He said. Once again, you raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“My sleeping arrangements? What about them?” He reached around you to grab the soap before replying.

“Well, figured you since you didn’t want to go back to your room, you could sleep here, but it’s gonna cost you.” Mischief danced in his eyes, and you couldn’t stop the smirk on your lips.

“I’m sure I’ll think of some way to repay you.” You said as he grinned.

“Atta fucking girl.”

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Tag List (Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed or if I forgot you):

@bakerstreethound​ @im-like-reallythirsty​ @rayray1463​ @waaaaaaitwhat​ @fairytale07​ @becs-bunker​ @kid-from-new-zealand​ @mblaqgi​

[longassr1de]

Honeymoon

Pairing: Taeyong x fem!reader Genre: smut Word count: 3,269 Summary: It’s your honeymoon with Taeyong and you’re both nervous to finally have sex together, but want nothing more than to become one. Warnings: Fluffy smut. Loss of virginity, fingering, sex w/out a condom, nothing too wild honestly, it’s really tame. But if you’re into some kinky shit...just stick around for my later fics ;)

  "Finally," I thought as our plane finally landed in Paris, France. Taeyong and I had just been married, and due to our common interest in France, decided upon honeymooning in Paris.

   "Hey love, are you coming?" Taeyong asked as he was waiting for me by the airport door.

  "Huh- oh, sorry sweetheart," I smiled sheepishly and followed him into the airport. We got our bags back and waited until we managed to hail one of those damn taxis. We chatted about what we'd like to do while here, but we just couldn't keep our hands off each other. Hugs and kisses here and there, man that driver must've been annoyed... but hey it's our honeymoon, not his, and he's probably seen worse happen.

   Once at the hotel, we checked in and made our way to our suite; the honeymoon suite of course. It was on the tenth floor; it was the only room on the top floor other than for a few staff accessible rooms within the building.

   The room was a beautiful mix of tan, black and red. Wow, they really went all out with these hearts. Taeyong and I put our bags by the bed and just decided to take a nap because we were exhausted from the jet-lag. I feel asleep to the warm feeling of his embrace, with one of his arms as my pillow (even though I insisted he shouldn't), and the other around my waist, caressing my back and successfully lulling me to sleep with that gorgeous husky, tired voice of his.

   I stirred in my sleep, probably a few short hours later, upon hearing a racket. "Five more minutes, mom," I mumbled groggily, unaware of my surroundings. I perked up when I heard a deep chuckle and realized that nope, Toto we're definitely not in Kansas anymore.

   When I sat up to investigate, that's when I noticed it all; the flower petals strewn all across the floor and even on the edge of the king bed, Taeyong sitting in a chair with the guitar he insisted on bringing, and that shy little grin accompanying his nervous eyes.

   "I'm glad you're awake," Taeyong said. "You may have guessed what's going on, so feel free to stop me at any time, darling," he took a deep shaky breath and picked up the guitar. I felt flustered and flattered, never before has he tried to become intimate, only going so far as making out, since we’d both preferred saving sex until after marriage. He had waited patiently all this time and even then, tried to plot something romantic for our first time. Taeyong strummed a familiar tune and my eyes watered as I realized it was the same song he and his friends were singing at the coffee shop on campus the very day we’d met.

   "Close your eyes, make a wish; And blow out the candlelight; For tonight is just your night; We're gonna celebrate all thru the night..."

   As he sang the song, Taeyong glanced over and smiled shyly, looking at me like I was the most precious thing in the world, and before I realized it, I had a river flowing from my eyes. No, I wasn't crying, my eyes were just sweating... because it was warm in the room.

  As the song reached its midpoint he stood up, and took slow steps from the far corner of the room until the song was over. Taeyong placed the guitar back in its case by the bed and sat at the edge. "So... what did you think?" He asked anxiously and ruffled his hair nervously. He was obviously blushing, and couldn't look me straight in the face. "Oh, how cute," I thought. 

   "Rather than tell you, let me show you," I smiled and hugged him, and he gave me a confused look. "Relax, Taeyong, just relax. I love you, you know that, right?" I hugged him close and rested my head on his shoulder, still half under the blanket, and pecked his cheek.

   "Well, I was hoping, since you married me and all," he joked. He let out a low groan as I massaged his shoulders and began placing kisses down his neck. Taeyong whined at the feeling and looked back at me nervously.

   "Look, honey, it's a first for us both... so let's just roll with it and see how things turn out, ok?" I mumbled against his shoulder and tried my best to keep my own face from looking too flustered. Both of us utterly in love, and yet so paralyzed at this feeling of being out of your depth.

   "Thank you, oh and I love you too, I guess," Taeyong winked cheekily and laughed. "Let's just take things one step at a time, you're right." He smiled and turned around, hugging me tightly and rubbing my back as a gesture of gratitude and comfort.

   Taeyong pulled away from the hug and looked at me with a hint of something in his eyes, an emotion I'd only gotten mere glimpses of before. He pushed me back onto the bed softly and hovered over me. "Let me make you feel good," he said as he placed his lips gently onto mine and started to move them just after mumbling against them, "let me make love to you, my beautiful wife." Humming to signal my agreeance, I began to kiss back, kick-starting the “honeymooning” process.

   Taeyong slowly deepened the kiss, parting his lips to part mine, licking across my bottom lip to ask for permission as usual. I granted him access and his tongue slipped into my mouth, gliding across mine creating friction. I let out a soft moan and ran my hands up from around his neck to tug on his hair softly.

   He rubbed circles into my waist with his thumbs and rolled his tongue against mine. It was always the same with Taeyong, he’ll take control but, doesn't like to be too rough, treating me like the most delicate of glass. He slowly moved his hands across my torso to tug at my shirt, pulling away from the kiss rather reluctantly, a thin trail of saliva connecting our mouths even after splitting. I couldn't help but overthink things, seeing as this was the first time we'd both be seeing each other entirely naked.

   "You ok, love? We don't have to if-" I placed my palm to cradle his cheek and cut him off with a chaste kiss.

   "It's fine, darling, it's just... It's really our first time already, wow." I chuckled and shook my head to dispel any negative thoughts.

   "Ah, I see," Taeyong murmured more to himself and slowly pulled his shirt off instead, tossing it away carelessly. "Better?"

   I nodded and reached my hands out to trace his abs, taking the time to revel in his smooth skin. A soft moan escaped him as I reached his chest, rubbing his nipples as I did so, swiftly working my way up to his shoulder before resting the there. "Alright, I think I'm ready," I whispered and he merely smiled down at me, full of mirth.

   He gently pulled my shirt up, slowly revealing my torso and bra. The cold air hit me in contrast to how hot my body felt and I shivered, unconsciously shrinking a bit under his strong gaze. Taeyong slowly leaned downward and placed a soft kiss on my neck, making me let out a choked sound.

   He stopped suddenly, and glanced up at me as if worried he did something wrong. "Not like I have any point of reference, but you're doing great so far, love." I encouraged him to continue, feeling myself anxious for more.

   I sighed happily as he latched his wet lips back onto my neck, placing feather-light kisses all over my overheated skin. Taeyong slowly began to suck, bite and lick, rather than kiss, and I tilted my head into the feeling of pleasure. My back arched slightly as he bit down on a spot that had me shiver, proceeding to tug on his hair in retaliation.

   I could feel Taeyong smirk into my skin, growing more confident at my reactions. Too caught up in the moment, he didn't care if he'd leave more marks that I could possibly somehow cover up later. After all, who said summer turtlenecks weren’t the new “it" thing in couture? He brought his hands around my back, fumbling to reach the clasp. I was about to tease him and ask if he needed help when it quickly came undone and it let go of its grip on me.

   I gave him a questioning look and he admitted to having played around with my bras while I was asleep so he'd know how to easily work with one for tonight. I laughed at his antics and pulled his head up to kiss his nose, enjoying how unrushed and peaceful the once nerve-wracking moment was. One strap down one arm, then the other followed suit.

   The next thing I knew, my top half was fully exposed; he softly began to kiss one of my breasts, receiving a similar gentle treatment to my neck earlier. Taeyong massaged the other with one hand as he started to suck on the nipple. I gasped them moaned loudly and my back arched all on its own, the newfound sensation of unabashed pleasure taking over my senses.

   Before long, he switched and repeated the process with the other breast. Taeyong moved his hands back around my waist and placed kisses down my abdomen, inching dangerously towards the hem of my shorts. By this point, I was unconsciously rubbing my thighs together in a desperate search for friction.

   Taeyong noticed this and chuckled. "Patience," he swooped back up and pecked my lips, "is a virtue, sweetheart." He didn't fail to bite his lip while eyeing me like his last supper, being an utter tease all throughout. He slowly began pulling his pants off and laid himself comfortably between my legs, rather than how he had previously been straddling me. "Remember, stop me at any time, I want this to be something good for the both of us," he kissed my forehead while he undid and tugged at my denim shorts.

   My breath hitched and the pleasure was forgotten, the shyness and nerves slowly returning as my matching black lace panties were revealed to the cold air of the room. Odd how one can sweat whether your body is burning or suddenly feels frozen, odd indeed. Taeyong groaned at the sight, his pupils blown out, and looked up at me with…ah yes, that must be lust. "Baby, you're killing me here, black lingerie? Spared no expense tonight, huh?" his now raspy voice certainly at least an octave lower.

   I grinned mischievously and nodded, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "I'm glad you like it, after all, it was a wedding gift from your sister," I enunciated the last word, struggling to stifle my laughter at the deer-in-headlights look he was currently sporting.

   Taeyong's hands pulled down my panties and quickly discarded them, tossing them away without a care, as with the rest of our clothes. "Are you certain?" He mumbled against my lips and I nodded, unconsciously chewing my bottom lip in anticipation.

   Taeyong slid his hands down slowly, massaging my thighs apart, as I began to relax more into his tender caresses. Slowly spreading my legs further, I soon felt something poke at my folds, just before he slid a long, slender finger into me little by little, to let me adjust to the euphoric feeling of just how wet I had never been before. He slowly pumped his finger in and out of me repeatedly, at a slow but secure pace. I moaned louder this time, as the initial near discomfort quickly shifted to a higher pleasure.

   "You sound like such a beautiful sin when you're a moaning mess, baby," Taeyong's voice was hoarse, dripping with sheer lust, and I couldn't help but feel proud of the clear effect I had on him. As I got used to the ministrations of his fingers, he slowed down only to add a second finger. I cried out at the sensation once more, desperately clawing at the sheets this time, seeking some type of relief.

   He kissed my collarbones and licked a stripe up my neck, successfully distracting me until Taeyong began to pump his fingers again. I began to moan again and he started scissoring his fingers inside me. My head flew back in pleasure and before I knew it, my hips were bucking to meet his pace. I moaned his name this time, and Taeyong smirked cockily against the skin beside my ear, obviously enjoying the unabashed state I was in.

   Uncomfortable with his growing "problem", he shifted and ended up pressing his erection into my thigh. I wrapped my arms around his shoulder and ran my hands through his silky jet-black hair, tugging at the ends of his sweaty locks. Taeyong curled his fingers, exploring parts of my body I never knew could feel this good, it would have been almost embarrassing how much better he could make me feel, if it didn’t feel so damn good. My thighs began to tremble as and I was breaking a sweat. My walls were tightening around him uncontrollably and he just kept going, not having any intentions of stopping before I had come at least once. 

   "T-Taeyong," I whimpered, trying but speak but at a complete loss of words from the pleasure. My hips surged forward of their own accord as my head flew back into the pillows with a choked sob. He hummed cloyingly and glanced up at me with a Cheshire grin. "I-I think I'm-" I tightened around his fingers as my body found the release it so desperately sought, and I cried out his name with every other breath, convulsing without control. My eyes were shut tight and rolling back as I panted heavily, but he kept pumping to help me ride out my release further.

   Taeyong kissed my face as I finally came down from my intense high and caressed my cheeks, smiling adoringly at my disheveled appearance. He asked how it was and I answered honestly once I'd caught my breath. "T-That was… amazing, to say the least." We stayed just like that, basking in each other’s warmth and exchanging kisses until I felt him reach down, and my eyes widened as he pulled down his boxers to reveal his very hard, leaking cock. Then it hit me; I'd released, but that was just his fingers prepping me for what was yet to come...

   "Are you sure?" I could tell Taeyong was clearly trying to contain himself, because he looked like he was about to fuck the nearest pillow at this rate.

   "Yes, love, I'm sure," I braced myself and clung to him tightly, nails digging into the muscles of his back. Skin to sweaty skin, we lay as he slowly lowered himself into me, hissing at my tight wetness. Taeyong looked at me to gauge my reactions before making any movements, buried hilt-deep into my walls. "Go on then, keep your promise baby, make love to me," I could just barely whisper, and we both let out moans of our own as he finally pulled back and thrust right back in.

   I thought it hurt for a while, the pain and the pressure battling one another deep inside of me. But surely enough, the pleasure had won out long before, having been stretched thoroughly by his fingers and given ample time to adjust. Sounds of the bed creaking, skin slapping against skin, a variety of groans and sloppy, wet kisses filled the room. Taeyong never moved at a pace too fast, keeping a steady rhythm as he thrust away into my heat. I softly continued to claw at his back, occasionally bucking my hips forward to meet his delectable thrusts. 

   The familiar wave of pleasure began to build down below and I started to tighten around his length now, rather that his fingers like last time. I could sense he wasn't far off either as the pace his thrusts grew faster and had turned erratic. "I’m so fucking close," I managed to whimper meekly as he shushed me then placed his lips back on mine, sloppily shoving his tongue into my mouth to try and hide his needy moans. 

   The soft touches across my body were beginning to drive me mad from all the instances of pleasure. Taeyong's hands ran from my shoulders, down my arms, and pulled my hands by my head, lacing his fingers with mine. "I love you," he whispered and kept kissing me (or trying to, whenever he hit the mark) as we climbed slowly to our releases. I replied with the same three words and squeezed his hands that held mine. I was barely able to open my eyes, moaning into one of his kisses as he thrusted relentlessly, hitting a delicious little spot inside of dead-on nearly every time.

   The mere sight of his sweat drenched tresses clinging to his sweaty body, and that handsome face all tightened with pleasure, made me that much closer to my release. My hips moved of their own accord, unable to match his arrhythmic timing. We both moaned garbles of each other's names loudly, reaching our orgasms one after the other, with mine triggering his. Thin, silvery ropes of his cum filled me as he rode out his orgasm, beginning to grow soft as he panted exhaustedly into my shoulder.

  Taeyong practically collapsed onto me, pulling out and away from my body, perfectly spent and sated. Every inch of me felt better than ever before; well-worn but closer than we’d ever been. He rolled off of me an over onto his back before hugging me into his side, pulling me closer than close. We both lay there together, in the blissful silence that followed our tiring rendezvous.

   I pecked at his sweat-slicked chest, tasting salt on my tongue before lazily raising my arms to hug him back, humming in content despite the overheated feeling in the room. "Hey, Taeyong?"

   "Hm?" he hummed, looking down at me with eyes that twinkled in the dim city lights pouring from the overhead window before placing a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose.

    "Good job.” Enjoyed his doe eyed state at the implication of my words for the second time that night, I merely graced him a shit-eating grin in return.

   "Thank you," he purred, with a surprising amount of shyness to it, especially after having just fucked the breath out of me. I ran a hand through his hair and brushed his bangs out of his eyes, stopping for just a moment to place a butterfly kiss into the light scar by his eye, as he took note of the bags forming under my eyes. "You must be tired, let's rest up then, because we have a long week ahead of us," Taeyong bit down on his bottom lip as he let his eyes wander over my body.

   I groaned, the realization dawning on me that sleep was probably the last thing on the beloved honeymoon agenda. "Good night, Taeyong," I yawned and rested against him, letting sleep overtake me as he lulled me to sleep with a series of soft hums.

   "Good night to you too, my dearest, sweet dreams," he pulled the duvet up to cover us both up well and snuggled his head just above my own, briefly following me to dream land.

A/N: Ok so I am admittedly rusty and this probably wasn’t very good, I haven’t written smut in ages. This was once a VIXX smut I wrote some time ago (just so no one thinks it’s plagiarized), but I rewrote it tonight to fit Taeyong... and I honestly don’t hate it? It could be much better, of course, but it also could have been worse, given how long I’ve been out of practice. I hope you all enjoyed this little story and will continue to support this budding writing blog. Until next time everyone!

Questions, comments, concerns or feedback? Ask box is always open! 😊

xo, Berry ♡

[myhockeyworld87]

Nervous Regrets - Tyler Seguin - Part 8

Word Count: 4726

POV: Reader

Warning: Cursing

Notes: Not really any this time. Hope you guys enjoy!

Euphoric, it was a funny word, while its meaning meant happiness or elation; it was often used to describe the effects of drugs one may consume. Obviously, that wasn’t your case at the moment, but euphoric was definitely how you felt after the last few hours with Tyler. While you weren’t one to agree with the use of recreational drugs, you could see their allure; for if this was the high one got when they took ecstasy or the likes, you’d be a junkie, hooked on one Mister Tyler Seguin.

 That giddy, light headed, endlessly happy feeling inside you at the moment was something you didn’t want to let go of; after the last few months of despair and darkness, it finally felt good to love again. It was amazing how a few days could change your whole world. You had crawled into a black hole after the whole cheating scandal; now that you were out, it felt good to be human again. You were soaring above the clouds, floating on them really; and nothing could bring you down.

Making your way through Dallas traffic, you recalled the last few hours; and how you went from sheer panic to pure elation. Seeing your baby, while the man you loved held your hand; was surreal. It was something, only a short week ago, you never saw happening; yet there you were, both of you sobbing as the life you’d created, popped up on the screen. Unconsciously your hand went to your stomach to cradle your baby.

Trusting Tyler was still an internal issue that you were struggling with; but your unquestioning nature seemed to be winning that battle at the moment. Whenever doubts would creep in, he would seem to find some way to breakdown that wall; letting you know he was all in. The baby would forever link the two of you, but if you could find a way to put your trust issues with Tyler aside and become a family; that would be a dream come true.

In order to do that though, you needed to start taking better care of yourself. So, heading home you decided to treat yourself by going through the drive thru of your favorite fast food restaurant. You’d been craving a salad topped with grilled chicken, not having access to a grill was definitely a problem; that you ordered a side of fries with it, probably wasn’t the best option. Walking into the sparse apartment, you slid your heels off, making yourself comfortable. Quickly you ate your dinner, then changed into an old V-neck t-shirt and yoga pants; wanting to get a small workout in before the Stars came on. Throwing your hair in a messy bun, you tossed the Pilates mat in front of the television, putting on a quick thirty-minute session.

About twenty minutes in to it, you realized you should’ve waited until your meal settled before you began; as your stomach started to rebel against you. Grabbing a ginger ale from the fridge and some soda crackers; you switched the television to the pre-game action. Tyler’s lack of performance in the first few games was a topic of conversation the sports announcers seemed to pay close attention to; it did nothing for bouts of nausea you were currently experiencing. You were hot, sweaty and your breasts felt like they were five times their normal size, in their restrictive bra; and in the moment you felt if you didn’t remove it, you’d either hurl all over the living room floor or self-combust. Why a female would ever invent a contraption so constricting was completely beyond your imagination, in that moment. Feeling like you could breathe again, and not actually expel the contents of your stomach on the floor; you made yourself more comfortable on the couch as the game got underway.

Tyler scored with minutes left in the first period putting the Stars on the board; hopefully that would silence the announcers about his previous point percentage. In the second he added an assist on Jamie’s goal; which had the Stars leading the game two to one. You couldn’t wait to see what the third period would bring, as it got underway. Unfortunately, the doorbell rang with only three minutes into the period. Getting up out of your warm cozy spot, your brain trying to work out who could be at your door at this hour; your friends usually called before they came over at this time of night. Peeking through the peep-hole you saw Robert, standing in front of your apartment. While this wasn’t an appropriate hour of the night, you needed to break things off with him; and so, you opened the door. “Robert, what are you doing here? It’s a little late.”

You hoped that didn’t sound too dismissing. “Hey pretty lady.” Starting to kiss you on the lips, but you quickly turned so that he would be kissing your cheek instead. “I haven’t heard from you in the last few days and I’d thought I’d check on you.”

Well that was sweet of him and here you are trying to break things off. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Work has been crazy, among other things. I did get your flowers, that was very sweet of you to send them.”

“Yeah you kind of had me wondering, since you didn’t really acknowledge them.”

Maybe because you’d also received ten other more extravagant arrangements that day. Mentally shaking yourself, now was not the time to be comparing whose bouquet was bigger. “They’re lovely. Can I get you something to drink, water, soda, wine?”

“A glass of wine would be great.” Throwing his jacket in the chair, he plopped down on the couch; grabbing the remote and turning the television off, just as Tyler was making his way to the net with the puck. Giving him the side eye, the one your grandmother used to give when one of you had said something distasteful; you poured the wine, less than what you’d normally give. “You’re not drinking?” This asked as you handed him the glass of wine.

“Umm..no, I have work tomorrow,” it wasn’t a lie, you did have work; but you also weren’t divulging the truth to him.

“You should blow it off. I’ll grab my dad’s jet and we can head to the beach for a couple days.” He was so nonchalant about it, like it was something he did every day; and that your job meant nothing. Robert was the quintessential rich playboy; daddy’s money had gotten him everything up to this point and he saw no reason not continue on this way. You couldn’t be certain he’d ever worked a full day of his life; so how could he understand that you not only needed your job, you enjoyed it. It was something Tyler never questioned.

Taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, you tried to explain, “I just can’t up and leave work like that Robert. I have responsibilities there; deadlines that need to be met.” Granted your job did afford you the flexibility to work from wherever; and they were fairly willing to let you have time off when you wanted; but this was not something he needed to know.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, he acknowledged you with a simple, “fine.” With glaring eyes, he surveyed your apartment. “Babe, why haven’t you looked for some place better to live. You know you could move into my complex, that way we’d be closer. Plus, it’s definitely more luxurious than this.”

What had you seen in this man, when he first asked you out? He was condescending and arrogant; that he’d masked these attributes in your first couple of dates was amazing. Or maybe they were just there all along and you were too blind in your misery to see it. “I actually looked at a place yesterday.” Omitting the part that it was with your baby daddy.

You went to continue, however he cut you off, “good, I hope it’s better than this place.” Mentally you rolled your eyes at his pretentiousness. “Babe, why are you sitting so far away?” He scooted closer to you, placing his hand on your thigh; while his eyes focused on your breasts. That’s when you remembered you weren’t wearing a bra; immediately feeling naked and exposed to this man.

Scrambling off the couch, you needed this interaction to come to a close. Even his use of the word babe felt wrong falling off his lips; not like when Tyler would lovingly call you it. Crossing your arms, trying to cover yourself; you began the conversation you’d been dreading since he walked through your door. “Look Robert, you’re a really nice guy. It’s just well….it’s not you, it’s me really.” God you’d been the recipient of that line so many times in your dating history; each time you’d known it had been a lie. It was a half-truth in this instance, feeling the need to be somewhat honest; you continued. “The truth is. I’m trying to work things out with Tyler and I just don’t think it would be fair to either of you; if we continued this.” Motioning with your hand between the two of you.

“Wait…You’re getting back together with the bastard that had the back-alley blow job scandal.” You winced, it sounded pathetic coming out of his mouth; that you would want to get back with someone who had treated you so callously.

“It’s complicated.” Truly it was; but you didn’t feel the need to explain any further.

Setting his half-drunk wine down on the coffee table, he stood. “You’re gonna pick that fucking man whore over someone like me? I thought you were smarter than that.” His eyes roamed up and down your body, a disgusted look crossing his face.

Flinching, you stepped back realizing you didn’t know this man at all. “I’m sorry Robert, I just need to follow my heart; and my heart just really belongs with Tyler.”

He seemed to collect himself then; striding to the door as he said, “Good luck, you’re going to need it.” With that he left; you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in, breathing a sigh of relief that the encounter was finally over. That was until you looked over to the living room and spotted his tailor-made suit coat lying on your chair. Grabbing it and your keys you headed out to return the garment to him. He was in the parking lot, getting ready to step into his vehicle.

“Robert, you forgot this.” Yelling, hoping to impede him from leaving. He stopped closing the car door as you drew closer. Handing him the jacket, you apologized once more. “I really am sorry.”

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply; when they reopened, gone was the Robert that was cold and arrogant, replaced by the caring man you’d thought you’d been seeing. “I’m sorry to (Y/N). I shouldn’t have said those things inside. I just really thought we had something special.”

Hurt was etched across his face; in that moment you felt guilty for not telling him the entire truth about your reunion with Tyler. “I hope we can still be friends.” You weren’t exactly sure that was even possible or even if you wanted friendship with this man; it just felt like the right thing to say.

“Sure, no hard feelings.” He reached out then to hug you; a goodbye gesture you saw no reason not to return. He held you a little too close and a little too long for your comfort, but you let him have this final embrace. Finally, he pulled back, and before you knew it; his mouth was on yours greedy and hungry; forcing yours open as he held you tight in his arms. Panic set in, it was late and no one was around; you pushed at the wall of his chest hoping to loosen his grip. When it tightened you did the only thing that popped into your mind. Bracing your hands on his shoulders for leverage, you brought your knee up connecting it as hard as you could with his groin; the direct hit had him doubling over in pain. You twisted out of his arms and made your way back into the apartment, as he yelled, “you bitch!”

Not looking back you headed straight for your apartment and locked the door; glancing out the window, seeing his car peel out of the parking lot. Your heart was racing and you couldn’t seem to catch your breath; tonight, had definitely not gone as planned. All you wanted right now was Tyler’s arms wrapped around you; but it wouldn’t pay to tell him what had transpired. Knowing Tyler, he’d be out the door ready to beat Robert to a bloody pulp. So instead you grabbed a blanket and encased yourself in its fluffy warmth; taking deep breaths as you calmed your nerves.

Grabbing your phone, you pulled up the highlights of the game to distract you. As you suspected Tyler had scored again in the third period, leading the Stars to victory over the Avs. Checking the time, you felt he should be home by now; you sent him a quick text.

Great game tonight! I’m so proud of you!

Part of you wished he would text you back, asking to come over; you’d gladly take him up on it. When you were together road trips were always hard; but now that you’d finally started taking steps towards reconciling these next five days were going to be hell without him. The phone beeped drawing your attention.

Thanks

That was it, nothing more; it was not what you expected. Staring at the screen, you waited for more to appear; when it didn’t you hauled yourself up and headed to bed. Maybe he was tired, it’s been an emotional day; first seeing the baby and then playing such a great game. Tyler probably went home and dropped onto the bed exhausted. He’d done that from time to time, after a particular trying game; you’d always removed his shoes and tie then, taking a blanket and covering him up. He’d eventually wake up in the middle of the night, strip naked and climb into bed with you; waking you up with feverish kisses. The two of you would make love until you both fell back asleep. Your body ached with need for that at the moment. The PA was right; your hormonal urges were becoming stronger, though it could just be thoughts of being with Tyler again.

The baby fluttered then, reminding you that your love had created this little life forming inside you. Closing your eyes, you let your mind take you to a time, not too far in the future; where you and Tyler were lying in bed, the baby on Tyler’s chest as they both slept. Smiling you drifted off to sleep with that picture in your mind.

Waking up, you put the drama of last night with Robert behind you and started your day. Work was busy, so you hadn’t really noticed that Tyler hadn’t text you that he’d landed in St. Louis, until it was well after four. He had mentioned they were leaving after morning skate, which would likely put them there around two or three in the afternoon. Pushing any uneasy thoughts to the side, that something was wrong, you finished out the day; shooting him a quick text and vowing to call him if you didn’t hear from him shortly.

When eight o’clock rolled around and you still heard nothing from him, you started to panic. Picking up the phone, you dialed his number; pacing as the phone rang. Your heart jumped into your throat when his voicemail picked up. Something was wrong, maybe there was an accident, or he could’ve been hurt in practice and be lying in the hospital. Your mind was swirling with dread. Vaguely you thought about calling Jamie; had even pulled up his contact info when the phone rang, Tyler’s face popping up on the screen.

“Oh thank god, I was so worried. Are you ok?” it all came out in a rush; like it was all one word and not sentences formed together.

“Yeah I’m fine.” There was despondence in his voice; he didn’t say anything more.

“Tyler, what’s wrong? Why didn’t you text me when you got in?” Sheer panic had taken over when he hadn’t answered; now you were questioning whether or not there was something else going on here. Doubts started creeping in; was he with someone, some woman? When he didn’t answer right away you voiced your concerns. “Are you…is someone with you?”

“What? Fuck, no I’m not with anyone.” Anger tainted his voice, but really what could he expect; it was the only logical conclusion you could draw, since he was acting so strange. Softly, he added, “I’m not the one fooling around this time.”

“What the hell does that mean? That I am?” He was making no sense at all. You thought your relationship with Tyler was finally heading in the right direction; that he would suggest otherwise had you baffled.

“Really? You’re going to just pretend like you weren’t kissing some guy last night.” Realization dawned on you, somehow Tyler must have seen what happened with Robert last night; but he had it all wrong. You started to speak but Tyler cut you off, “Seriously (Y/N), how can you go from everything that we shared yesterday, to making out with some other guy. I mean explain it to me, because I don’t get it.” He took a breath and you thought you had your opportunity, until he continued. “For fuck sake you told me you loved me yesterday. Did that mean nothing to you? Does our child mean nothing to you or our family?”

That was it, you’d had enough; Tyler had crossed the line with that last comment. “Would you shut up for a fucking minute and let me explain.” Blood boiling, you needed to calm yourself. “First off, the baby means everything to me, and I mean everything; don’t ever fucking question me about that again. Do you hear me?”

A small weak, “yeah,” was all you received.

“Secondly, I do love you and I meant every word I said to you yesterday. God Tyler, I never stopped loving you, not even after everything that happened. All I wanted last night was for you to finish the game and come and hold me in your arms; I just didn’t know how to ask you that.” Blowing out a breath you continued on, “Lastly, I don’t know what you saw, but I was not and I mean not at all kissing Robert.”

“Funny, it sure looked like you had your tongue down his throat.”

“Jesus Tyler, I was not kissing him.” He started to refute your claim again, but you were not having it. “What you saw was him forcing his tongue down my throat. He wouldn’t let me go, I had to kick him in the balls to get away.”

“What did you say? He forced you?” This wasn’t how you wanted to say any of this to Tyler; point of fact you didn’t want to tell him any of it. You knew Tyler would lose his cool, if he found out about Robert’s actions; which is why you had decided to keep this to yourself. That was until he’d misread the entire situation. “Talk to me (Y/N) or I swear to god I’ll be on the next flight home.”

He was overreacting, thinking the worst had happened. “Nothing else happened, I ran into the apartment and locked the door. He left shortly after that.”

His silence spoke volumes, you knew he was seething inside; wanting to hit something, mainly a man named Robert. You could almost see him pacing back and forth in the hotel room; hands threading through his hair, as he tried to calm himself down. “Why was he there in the first place?”

It wasn’t the question you’d expected him to ask, but he deserved the truth. “He stopped over; I didn’t invite him, I swear. He showed up because he hadn’t heard from me since Saturday, when I’d left him at the charity event to meet you. He said he just wanted to check on me. I thought he was a decent guy and I owed him the truth; that you and I were back together. I hadn’t expected him to get so angry about it, but he did. He forgot his jacket, so I ran out to give it to him. He seemed to have calmed down, so when he went to hug me goodbye, I didn’t think much of it.” You paused not really wanting to say the rest; hoping Tyler would say something so you wouldn’t have to. When he didn’t, you had no other choice, “He wouldn’t let me go and then he just forced his mouth on mine. I tried to push him away but he just held me tighter. That’s when I kicked him in the nuts. It was the only thing I could think of to do, but he let me go and I just ran back to the apartment. But I’m fine, he’s gone and I don’t have to see him again.”

“It’s not fucking fine (Y/N), he tried to force himself on you. I wanna fucking kill him. Like just rip his damn throat out. God what if you hadn’t been able to get away from him?” He paused as if he was visualizing the whole thing. “I think I might be sick.”

“Ty, babe, listen to me. I’m fine. Just breathe.”

“I should’ve stopped. I just saw the two of you together and I thought the worse. I should’ve known you’d never do that to me. I’m so sorry baby. God why didn’t I fucking stop and check on you.”

“Ty, don’t beat yourself up. I can see it from your side. I would’ve thought the same thing.” In all actuality you probably would’ve thought much worse, given the past.

“I don’t think you should stay there tonight. What if he comes back? Just go to the house and stay there, the security system is top notch and the dogs are there, they may not be fierce but they would frighten anyone away.”

His protective nature was kicking into high gear. “Ty, I’m fine. The door is locked here. No one can get in.”

“You don’t know that. What if he bust down the door or something?”

“I’m sure one of the neighbors would hear, if that happened.” He was being unrealistic now, running through scenarios that weren’t going to happen.

“You don’t know that. Maybe I should come home. I’ll go talk to Monty and catch the next flight.”

“Tyler, you can’t just leave; you have a game, the team is depending on you. Besides, I think I might take off Friday and head to my parents’ house for the weekend. If I leave after work tomorrow, I’ll be there before your game starts.”

“Well I still don’t like you staying there alone tonight. Can’t you call Jan or someone, and see if they’ll stay with you?”

“Tyler, I’m fine; I promise. Besides it’s like almost ten o’clock. I’ll be going to bed here shortly.” The last hour or so on the phone with Tyler had you mentally exhausted and needing some rest. Besides you needed to pack, especially if you were going to head to your parents’ place in College Station. Seeing an opportunity there, you decided to change the subject. “So, I thought I’d go down and tell my parents about us and the baby.”

“You sure you want to do that alone? I mean, when I come home, I’ll go with you.”

It was sweet of him to offer but you kind of had a feeling you needed to do this alone. “Thanks for offering but I think I need to do this on my own. I don’t know how they’re going to take everything and I think it would be better just coming from me.” Knowing your parents, they were probably going to try and talk you out of getting back together with Tyler; they were not happy at all, when the scandal hit. They would definitely need time to adjust to everything, before Tyler started coming around again. “Have you told your family yet?”

“I almost said something to Candace on the phone the other day; but then I thought better of it. My mom will be furious if she’s not the first to know. I’m just not sure if I want to tell her on the phone or in person, you know?”

You knew exactly what he meant; which is why you were driving almost three hours. “Well maybe you should fly them in or something.”

“Yeah I thought about that; but then it really cuts into my time with you.”

Chuckling slightly, you’d always gotten along really well with Tyler’s family. Then like a ton of bricks falling, it hit you, what if they resented you for leaving Tyler; they could carry some animosity towards you, as yours did against Tyler. While the scandal wasn’t your fault, part of the aftermath was. He had just as hard of a time with the breakup as you. “Well we could all do dinner or something while they’re here. That way we could still have time together.”

“Yeah of course. Though honestly, they’ll probably want you around more than me. They all laid into me, when we broke up. Once they find out about the baby, they probably won’t leave your side. I know my mom will want to rush out and buy a ton of baby stuff.” Smiling to yourself, you hoped your family would handle the news the same.

“Well she can buy whatever she wants. I haven’t bought a thing yet. So it would be fun to go shopping with her.” You’d been so afraid of where things would go, that you couldn’t purchase one baby item, for fear there wouldn’t be a happy ending with Tyler. Now, just talking about it, had you bubbling with excitement.

“Don’t tell her that.” He laughed then, and you could tell he’d let some of the tension from earlier go. “I’ll give her a call tomorrow and see what I can work out. I’d really like to have you there when I tell her the news.”

“Yeah we can do that.” Yawning into the phone, “I really need to get some sleep, can we talk some more tomorrow? I mean if you answer your phone.”

“Sorry babe, I was pretty pissed off. I promise I’ll answer.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry, for putting you through that. I’m glad we talked things through though. I think as long as we continue to communicate things will be good.”

“Oh, we’re not through with this conversation by a long shot. I don’t like the idea of you staying there, with that jackass being able to show up at any time. But since you’re heading to your parents, I’ll drop it till I get home on Sunday. What time do you plan on being back in Dallas?”

Hopefully within the next four days he’d have a memory lapse and forget the whole thing. “I was planning on leaving after lunch. So probably around four or so.”

Disappointment laced his voice, “Oh, ok. We should land before noon or so; that is if we don’t end up flying out Saturday after the game. It’s still up in the air. Why don’t you stop at the house before you head home and I’ll go over with you? That way I can make sure everything’s fine.”

“Yeah…maybe. We can talk about it later.”

“Alright, but I’m not going to change my mind on this one.”

Sighing, Tyler could be stubborn at times; you knew he wouldn’t relent on this issue. “Ok well I’m going to head to bed. Get some sleep, bossy.”

“You too, sassypants. I love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“I love you too, Ty.” With that you hung up the phone; glad to have things back on track with Tyler; but dreading the next seventy-two or more hours without him.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Welcome to Oblivion--Ch. 5

Chapter 5

           “So,” Drew said as we walked to brunch on Saturday, “you and the Big Dog, huh?”

           I yawned, trying to wake up. Part of me wished I hadn’t ever gotten out of bed. It was a weekend, after all, and I’d been pretty good about getting my work done during the week. Sleeping in was definitely a possibility. “The Big Dog?”

           The Scotsman chuckled. “Roman. It’s a football thing.”

           I nodded. “We used to have that back in high school. One of the tight ends used to be called Oreo. No idea why, but still. Cheerleaders did that kind of thing too.”

           “Yeah, I heard you used to be pretty good.”

           “Pretty good?” I scoffed, sticking my nose up in the air. “I was a state champ by my sophomore season and nationally ranked as a junior. If I hadn’t destroyed my ACL, I probably would have finished my senior season with an elite national title.”

           I looked up and saw Drew smirking. “What?”

           “Roman looked you up.” His blue eyes flashed when he realized what he said. “Not in a creepy way. He was looking at Lynwood’s stats and found your stuff.”

           We slipped into the student union and up the stairs to the cafeteria. Drew took the steps three at a time. I had to basically jog to keep up with him. By the time he looked back at me, I was huffing and puffing.

           “I’m going to just start piggybacking you everywhere. Short people…”

           We laughed as we swiped our ID cards and split off to grab something before it all got gone. I ran into Ember in the line, one of Sonya’s donuts wrapped up in her pocket, a piece of toast between her teeth, and a tray full of food. She tried to talk, but there wasn’t much that I could understand. I just nodded and walked off with my tray.

           Drew had two plates in front of him—piled high with country fried steak, sausage, eggs, bacon, and at least three helpings of cooked apples. I felt my jaw drop when I sank into the chair across from him. “You’re going to have a heart attack,” I mumbled.

           He laughed. “Please. I’ve seen Roman put away two extra large pizzas by himself in less than an hour. Trust me, I’ve got nothing on him.”

***

           I was stretched out in my pajamas with my headphones in and my astronomy book on my lap. Weather permitting, there was a lab at the observatory in the mountains starting at 10. Since Roman was the only person I knew in the class, he’d offered to pick me up on his way.

           There was a painful tug on the chord of my headphones. I looked up to see Sonya standing there, her hands on her hips. “You expecting a visitor?”

           Confusion flashed over my face. “Later, yeah. Why?”

           She smirked and stepped to the side. Once she was out of the way, I could clearly see Roman standing at the door of my dorm room dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a Grand Mountain Pirates tee. His hair was longer than I expected, settled against his shoulders in damp curls. He wore a faint grin.

           “What time is it?” I immediately yelped, thinking that I’d let myself get too carried away in reading and lost track of time. But when I looked, it was barely 7.

           “I thought we could grab something to eat before we headed up the mountain,” he said, leaning his shoulder on the door frame. “I texted you.”

           I snatched up my phone and saw the two messages from him. “Shit, Roman, I’m sorry. I was kind of zoned out with the book.”

           His grin began to grow into a full smile. “I got you,” he whispered. “I can head up to hang out with Drew until later if you want.”

           “No!” The word was out before I could stop it. Sonya snorted—clearly trying to stop herself from laughing at my quick response. “I mean, you can if you want. But it won’t take me too long to get ready.”

           It was in that moment that I realized where I was and what I was wearing. Roman was basically in my bedroom while I was sitting in a threadbare tank-top and cheer shorts. Panic rushed over me as I snatched a pillow and tugged it into my lap, trying to hide behind it. Sonya snorted so hard that she nearly choked. Roman smiled even bigger at my discomfort.

           “I’ll meet you in the lobby,” he said, his cheeks going slightly red.

           He slipped away, letting the door swing shut behind him. As soon as he was gone, I turned and threw the pillow at Sonya as hard as I could. “You’re horrible!” I shrieked.

           Sonya caught he pillow with ease, still laughing. “I just saved you two months of trouble, and I’m horrible?”

           “I don’t know how you can say that was saving me trouble.” I scowled as I jumped from the bed to dig through my clothes for something to wear.

           She sat on the edge of her bed, watching me with interested eyes. “I’ve known girls like you my whole life, Addy. You try to act like you’re so pure or whatever, but you’re really not. And you’re expected to be coy and play hard to get and all that bullshit. You like Roman, and he clearly likes you. So… he knows what you look like in skimpy clothes. And it looked like he appreciated it. You’ve got that over with. Now you can get on with the dating and shit.”

           “I’m not like that.”

           Sonya gave me an appraising look, her eyes a little sad. “Every girl like you is like that.”

           I turned back toward her, feeling my pulse start to rise. “What do you mean like me, Sonya? You say it like I’ve got the plague or something.”

           “I’m not trying to insult you, Addy. It’s just…” She looked away before answering. “It’s been my experience with cheerleader types.”

           “Just make assumptions about me, then. We barely know each other.”

           Before she could say anything else, I grabbed my clothes and practically stomped into the bathroom to change. I fumed the entire time, angry that she could go so far as to stereotype me like that. And she had no right to put me in this position with Roman. Even if it wasn’t really as big a deal as I was making it, it still wasn’t okay. I tugged on my jeans and t-shirt, wadding my pajamas up into a ball as I walked back to our room.

           Sonya sat at her desk, the ever-present box of donuts on one side, a stack of textbooks on the other. She barely looked up as I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my backpack, and headed out of the room.

           Roman was stretched out in the lounge in one of the huge stuffed chairs. He glanced up when I appeared, a smile on his face. The moment he got a good look at me, the smile seemed to drop.

           “You okay, Addy?” he said, standing up. He loomed over me, stepping closer into my personal space. Roman seemed to hover for a moment, almost as if he was unsure if he could touch me or not.

           I watched his chest rise and fall. Before I could think about it, I leaned into him, my forehead resting against his bicep. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

           He nodded, letting his arms curl around my shoulders. My backpack fell to the floor as I sank into his embrace. His hold tightened, pulling me against the warmth of his body. I felt my eyes burning with tears. I really didn’t understand why I was so stressed out or why I suddenly wanted to sob.

           “Hey, hey,” Roman soothed, his voice rumbling through his chest. One of his large hands settled against the middle of my spine while the other cradled the back of my skull. “Let’s get out of here, okay? Wherever you want to go.”

           Sniffling, I nodded against his muscled form. My arms wanted to go around his waist, to just ignore everything Sonya said about me.

           “We can go eat,” I mumbled into his shirt. “I don’t really care where.”

           For a brief moment, Roman hugged me more tightly against him. I breathed in deeply, suddenly aware of the scent of him. It was a heady sort of smell, the components of which I couldn’t describe. All I knew was that he smelled amazing.

           He squeezed one last time before letting go. In the next moment, he had leaned down and snatched up my backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. Then he reached out and curled his fingers around my palm. A moment later, they slipped between my own.

***

           Roman went through a drive-thru at a little place not far from campus. He ordered a couple burgers and some milkshakes before heading out of town in the direction of the mountains. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other reaching out toward me.

           A few minutes into the drive, I unbuckled my seatbelt and slid along the bench seat until I was leaned against him. He made a faint, happy noise before lifting his arm and settling it on the back of the seat behind me. For a moment, shyness welled up. Then I reached back and pulled his arm around me, my fingers tangling with his.

           My eyes slipped over the patterns and designs inked into his skin. I traced the lines, the shapes and curves. There was a turtle with a flower in its shell on the inside of his wrist.

           “These must have hurt so much,” I whispered, surprised to find my fingers caressing the outline of the turtle. “But they’re beautiful.”

           Roman’s breath hitched. His pulse thrummed beneath the pads of my fingers. “Remind me to tell you about them sometime. And to show you the rest of them.”

           I nuzzled against his side. “There are more?”

           I sensed his smile, felt it run through me like lightning. Being close to Roman made me feel light-headed.

           “You’ve got your head on the rest,” he murmured. He pressed his cheek against the top of my head. I wanted to close my eyes and just sleep there. He cleared his throat as he sat up. “Just tell me when you want to see them. But there’s no rush.”

[diguerra-moved]

🌀

Send me a number 1 thru 50 for a word that I’ll use to write either a headcanon, drabble, or starter. Send 🌀 for a random number instead.

37 - Gone

She had been told before she had seen it. Amidst dragons setting the woods aflame and chaotic bloodshed of battle, there was no doubt Quel’thalas had suffered plenty of losses. No one had had the full dimension of it until after the battle, however; but as rain reduced the fire to ashes and washed the blood of attackers and defenders into the earth, the landscape spoke only of ruin and loss. Bodies of all sorts littered the ground: grotesque green skinned orc warriors, the tall figures of trolls, humans who had lived but a fraction of her own life, elves who still sported the determined gaze of those intent on defending their land. Occasionally, one of those may be found clinging to life, breathing difficultly, bleeding too much for their survival to be likely; most were already dead, heart and lungs long ceased to work. For the fallen elves, her people, her heart was heavy with sorrow. For the humans, she held both gratitude and respect, unlikely defenders of Quel’thalas as they were. Yet each time her gaze touched the loathsome forms or Horde warriors, less positive feelings filled her; a dark satisfaction at seeing the corpses of their enemies in such great number — a satisfaction that would not compare to that of bloody revenge, after she had been made to see the entire aftermath of the attack.

She had been told before she had seen it. Alleria had shed tears for her land, beloved and beautiful, not ever before in her life destroyed so atrociously. Such tears paled in comparison to those that followed the news, shed before she even laid eyes on Windrunner Spire. Yes, they had come to her to bring the grim news, even tried to prevent her of running straight to the village, yet she had been unconcerned with who was in the way or what she was to find there. Yet even having been told before, even having had shed tears for the state of her land and fallen comrades, no words in this world could have prepared her to witness the utter ruin of her home. 

Quel’thalas was her home. Eversong Forest was one of the places she felt most at home in. Nevertheless, the Spire was truly home: where she had been born and raised, where she had grown up and played with her sisters, where she had danced to her little brother’s music, where she had practiced archery until her fingers hurt so she would honor the expectations placed upon the eldest Windrunner daughter. Although the buildings themselves were not as damaged, blood stained stone walls that had never before been touched by crimson red. Much before her steps carried her to the center of it, her gaze found the first bodies, victims of the carnage caused by the orcs. People she had known her entire life. Her stomach churned, skin turning deathly pale; Alleria was no stranger to death, but to see it so close, to see so much of it, to see it in familiar faces, it filled her with a sense of dread greater than any she had experienced before. Even as pale blue eyes scoured the scene in spite of her recoiling in face of it, she was overwhelmed with terror; seeking for what she knew she was bound to find, terrified of finding that which she sought.

Please — let it be a mistake. Let them be wrong. He couldn’t have been there, shouldn’t have there. Lirath had to be safe, it had to be a mistake. Her little brother was a young one; not even of age to be a ranger yet, though he already claimed his intent to follow the path of his sisters, a casual cheerful confidence always coloring his words whenever he spoke of it. There was always an inherent warmth to her brother’s demeanor, capable of illuminating everything around him. He was special like few people in all of the world would ever be; special to her more than he was to anyone else. 

Little sun… you have to be well. Wishful thinking did not make her heart lighter, nor did it dissolve the lump on her throat, neither did it dry her tears. He hadn’t been mentioned by name, the most hopeful parts of her whispered; the Spire had been attacked and many had fallen, but her brother had not been named as one of the casualties. But as her footsteps echoed, loud as only the sole sound amidst deafening silence can be, part of her knew there was no way he could have survived when everything else surrounding their home was dead or dying, the landscape eerily grim. 

Moonlight provided more than enough illumination for her elven eyes to see everything clearly; it gave the scene a ghostly tone, pale light reflecting on it and leaving all bathed in silver-blue shades. Even his hair, pure sunlit gold as her own, shone more akin to Sylvanas’ pale blond, night robbing it of its sunshine — night or death, she thought, even as a sob escaped her lips, grief and sorrow and despair felt tenfold. The turmoil raged within her chest, overflowing in tears as she ran towards his body; lying in a pool of blood, blood that could only be his own, blood that drenched her clothes and stained her shaky hands as they touched his face. Her little brother still wore the terrified expression he had died with, making it impossible that she even pretended he was merely asleep, that unconsciousness wasn’t now a permanent state. His chest, torn open by an orcish axe, was a gruesome sight, exposing parts of the body that should never have been on display; against one like her brother, not yet a warrior, this wasn’t even consequence of battle, simply plain butchery the monsters had delighted in doing. 

Oh Lirath — I am so sorry, so sorry, I should have been here, if I had been here they would never have gotten to you, I should have protected you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Even the grizzly wound and protruding bones were not enough to tear her away from him, copious crying shaking her body for minutes or hours or days before any would find her there, still kneeling close to his mutilated corpse; time no longer made sense to her. It could have been one second or one century, and it would have felt just the same.

She carries the ruin of his body herself, careful as if he were made of glass, gentle as if merely a brusque movement might disturb his rest; set him carefully where he would be prepared for a funeral alongside the others (she understood the words, acknowledged what was being said to her, made decisions when so requested, and yet the very concept of it made no sense within her mind, as if in spite of her sorrow and what had been made of her brother, she still did not understand the concept of death). 

He was gone, forever, well beyond this world; and yet how could he be, when his absence would make the world dark and grim and bleak and senseless? Gone; as if someone like him could ever truly be gone, him who gave the world light and meaning and joy. She had seen what happened to him with her own eyes, his blood still staining her attire and her skin, yet it didn’t matter. He could not be gone, not truly. A world devoid of the Little Sun wasn’t a world worthy of surviving in; and the world seemed much the same. How could the moon glow in the sky above, to bring light to a world her brother no longer lived in? How could rivers run and plants grow and animals live, unaffected, if he truly lived no longer? The world did not share of her sorrow; surely, then, she could only have been mistaken. Surely it was not forever, not permanent. Surely he could not be gone.

Though their bodies had not been too far apart, she only sees her lady mother when her corpse if placed besides her brother’s, her father on the other side. She knows it must be her father, both because he has the right build and because he’s so carefully laid beside her mother — but she cannot recognize his face, crushed with such strength there was nothing left of his strong jaw or high cheekbones, of his gentle smile. Her mother has multiple wounds, none as gruesome as her husband and son. The Ranger General still has about her that familiar air of strength and determination, and it is as if she will rise any minute to scold her firstborn for such blatant disregard in how she presented herself, before stern tone was laced in something gentler. Gone. Alleria had never had the chance of saying goodbye to her, departing to heed the Alliance’s call for help against the Ranger General’s wishes. Father and Lirath had received goodbyes, had been ensured of her love for them just before she went to war; but she could not have done so without the Ranger General stopping her of leaving, and so she had not done it at all. Now she would never have the chance again, her lady mother well beyond her reach in any meaningful manner; all of her family gone, in the blink of an eye, except for herself and her sisters.

“She wanted you to have it, I’m certain you know.” Alleria had known Lorveth practically her entire life, yet even her mother’s second-in-command felt like an otherworldly presence to her then. Grief should have been enough to bridge that gap, perhaps, but her grief was not of the gentle sort, did not seek kinship in one who would mourn the same losses she did. Her gaze fell to the bow offered to her, face blank; she did not reach out to it even though it was offered to her so. Thas’dorah was always meant to fall to her, eventually — everyone, even beyond her family, was well aware of that. 

The Legacy of the Windrunners had been passed down through generations ever since its creation, the legendary weapon of the very first Ranger General of Quel’thalas. Perhaps, to others, it seemed merely a bow — it was not. It didn’t have any inherent magical qualities, except for those pertaining the materials it was made of, invulnerable to time and weather, as well as a particular affinity to the enchanted woods of Eversong. A finely crafted weapon, still, near unmatched. 

Alleria had seen her mother wield it many times before, was already familiar with the bow’s curves. When she had been but a little girl, already gifted in archery but far from mastering it, Lireesa had taken the time to sit with her and tell her the story of Thas’Dorah, what it meant, what it was beyond a simple bow. Alleria had listened intently, held the bow in awe when her mother allowed so, infinitely careful in her reverence for it. Eventually, when she had proven herself both skilled and cautious enough, mother had rewarded her with letting her shoot with it. Thas’Dorah had always filled her with intense adoration and equally measured dread. It was the legacy of her family taken physical shape; and that she was to be its bearer weighted heavily on her shoulders from the moment she first learned it was to be so.

Alleria didn’t want it. She would have traded all legendary bows in the world, all history and all family’s renown, her very skills as a ranger, if only it would bring those she had lost back.

But they were gone, and there was no undoing it. 

There is nothing shaky about her hands as her grip finally closes around the bow, only the certain determination to do well by what is being offered to her now. Her gaze does not look back at Lorveth, and she cannot bring herself to even remember thanking him, then. He does not press; once the Windrunner heir secures the bow firmly, he steps back, allowing her room to dwell in her thoughts. I will wield it proudly, mother. It is a promise she intends to fulfill; and Alleria vowed to herself to put it to the best use possible: by ridding this world of the beasts who even caused her mother not to be here to wield it herself any longer. Her family would have justice, no matter what; and it seemed only fitting that she would bring it by wielding the legacy of the Windrunners. 

In the back of her mind, Alleria knew there other worries to deal with. Her sisters would not see the Spire in the state she had seen it, but neither did she want them to see what had been made of their brother and father (Sylvanas would have been strong enough to deal with it, perhaps, but Vereesa, sensitive as she was, would be devastated by the grisly sight). Moreover, her mother’s bow was not all Lireesa had meant for her to inherit. Lorveth’s words may well have been about the mantle of Ranger General itself; mother had raised her for it, always intended for her to become the General after herself, as tradition would have it. Alleria flinched at the thought, unable to guard her reactions in the state she was in. She never wanted to be Ranger General. Her skills were best employed as they were, in the field, than commanding the Farstriders. 

And beholden by leadership, she would not be able to fulfill the promise of vengeance she had just made to herself. 

There were others who would want the position, though — one other, more specifically, came to mind immediately, in spite of all that felt odd and distant and wrong in her current state. She had sought it as nothing else in the world; and Alleria knew her to have the skill for it, if temper and willfulness got the best of her at times. Willa wanted nothing more than that mantle Alleria was so unwilling to carry. She would have been a good option, if she had the wrong last name; yet that she had the wrong last name made all difference in the world then and there. Lireesa had intended for Alleria to become General, even though, skilled as the eldest was, Sylvanas was the one best suited to commanding. She had valued tradition greatly, had tried to teach her eldest daughter to do the same, if Alleria’s wildness had often clashed with even her own attempts to comply. 

She owed it to her mother to pass it on to who would surely have been next in line in her eyes. She owed it to her sister not to deny her of it, when not only was she more than skilled enough, she would thrive in the position. Sylvanas would carry that burden with more ease than Alleria could have ever done. She would not deny it if it was offered to her — she would make their mother proud in a way the eldest knew she would not. She was meant to have it, regardless of Willa’s ambitions; and it wouldn’t be right to take that away from her before Sylvanas had the chance to decide what she wanted to do with it. 

Alleria didn’t think her heart could break more, yet she felt even its pieces further shattering, knowing precisely what it would mean to pass the title on to Sylvanas. Willa would hate her. What they had, whatever it was, could not weather this. Swallowing back her tears before they begun falling once again, she braced herself for what she had to do. Even if Willa hated her, she couldn’t do it to Sylvanas — she couldn’t do it to her mother, when she already robbed Lireesa of the outcome she would have wanted. It was the least there was to be done, to give her mother peace, to let her know, wherever she was, that the Windrunner legacy was carried on as she would have wanted it to; the only compromise she could find with her mother’s spirit that would allow them both what they would have preferred, or at least the closest thing to it. 

—————————————————————————————-

Her ashen haired counterpart had been there when the Ranger Lords approached her, still lost in sorrow unprocessed, to officially give her the position. She had been there to see Alleria lower her gaze and brace herself before meeting their gaze and refusing to uphold tradition, she had been there to stare intently at the blonde, enough so that Alleria could feel the eyes upon her as if their touch had been of the physical sort. She wondered if Willa had been able to see the apology evident in the her eyes, when the Windrunner glanced at her; if she would have understood it. If Willa had understood her demeanor to be apologetic, she had given no such acknowledgement. Throughout the war they had only pushed each other away, grown more distant than ever before. Perhaps it was for the best; perhaps it would make it simpler to live with her absence, having been offered distancing in smaller dose. 

“While it would have been the Ranger General’s wishes, I do not intend to accept it.” Silent shock had been the prevalent reaction, but even without looking at her, Alleria could see the glimpse of hope in Willa’s blue eyes only through imagining it. It did not make it simpler to finish speaking her part. The blonde breathed, deep, swallowing hard, hands closed in fists, strongly enough that nails digging her palms caused discomfort. “My skills are best employed elsewhere… and my sister Sylvanas is better suited to oversee Quel’thalas’ defenses than I am.”

“Sylvanas is the next Ranger General, not me.” Before she had even properly finished speaking, furious footsteps walked away from the scene. Alleria forced herself to stare firmly towards the Ranger Lord in front of her, though she wouldn’t have been able to even name who this one was, looking without seeing; she needn’t turn to know who had departed so enraged. Voicing a decision she so entirely believed in should not have been so hard; should not feel so wrong, make her want to apologize for it even if she would not take it back. It was the right choice. The only choice. Even if Willa hated her. 

It still made her feel in the wrong; and refuse to face it as she did, deep down Alleria knew exactly the why. There was more than friendly affection in her where Willa was concerned, more than even physical desire they often had indulged in, only to push away afterwards. She didn’t want to hurt her; she didn’t want to lose her, in spite of Willa not being hers to lose. She knew what this meant to Willa; becoming Ranger General was everything she truly wanted, and robbing her of it, regardless of reasoning, would not be forgiven. If her walking away enraged had led her only meters away or to the other side of the world, it didn’t matter. Even should they stand face to face, Willa would have acknowledged her presence no more than as a nuisance. Apologies would fall in deaf ears. Living and breathing she would be, but just as out of her reach as all those Alleria had lost to death.

Gone, like everyone else. 

It would be the last memory Alleria would have of her for a thousand years.

[locke-writes]

On The Road

Author: locke-writes

Title: On The Road

Prompt: Road Trip x Tony Stark. For: @thefanficfaerie Picture Is Worth 1000 Words Challenge

Rating: T

Word Count: 2214

AN: Life got in the way and I’m immensely late but I finished it anyway.

Quickly grabbing a fry off of Tony's plate you took a bite before he could even make a comment. He frowned while you grinned in response, reaching to grab the salt from the end of the table. The neon lights reflected off the windows in the diner providing calm and comfort.

When Tony locked himself away in his lab you worried about him. There was no telling what caused him to disappear, hiding away, tinkering on a new project or perhaps an already existing one. The only thing that kept you calm in those situations was the fact that this particular vice wasn't all that detrimental to his health compared to others. But there was no telling if Tony was sleeping or eating without consulting Jarvis or running into him in the kitchen.

If working himself to death in the lab was Tony's way of calming down, you recognized that it still wasn't a healthy way to cope. It was up to you to provide another way.

There was always talk of traveling between you and Tony yet nothing had ever come of it. With running a business alongside saving the world there just wasn't any time. Truth be told you were afraid that there would never be any time, the list of cities, state, and countries you wished to visit sitting there on the page you had written them on, mocking you. 

Tony's retreat into the lab once more, the sound of him bickering with a wrench you had heard clattering indicating the overwhelming need for him to get away. And so you arranged it in secret. 

Typically secrets weren't a part of your relationship with Tony. Honesty was the best policy after all. But when the idea for a road trip came about you knew that Tony would object, he'd say he was fine, he'd try and have a mission arranged just to prove it to you. Whether he was fine or not Tony was never one to admit he needed help. Over time he'd gotten better about it yet he still wanted to be the person others relied on rather than the person to rely on others. 

Nick wasn't about to agree to not calling Tony for one full week but after a few threats and promising him a few favors he had agreed. Which meant that you had one full week without interruptions, one full week that Tony could relax without worrying. One full week in which you hoped Tony would be made to take a break from his worrying, at least if his mind would let him. 

There was never any true discussion about where you and Tony were about to go. A plane would have been able to take you anywhere around the world in a matter of a few hours, but you didn't want that. You wanted to keep Tony occupied, to make sure his mind was focused on something else rather than on any unfinished project. It was since decided that a road trip would be the best form of escape. 

California.

It's nickname was the Golden State but for many years of your life you called it home. After leaving to attend college in New York many years ago, you hadn't been back since. Or at least in awhile as you came home for the holidays when you were able. 

There were many things that you missed from home, many Cali-centric places, but the main was the beach. Yes you did live on the East Coast and you could find the time to head to the beach should you choose to but it wasn't the same. You missed the sand practically burning your feet when you went on 100 degree days and the lack of tourists when you went on days where it was 60 degrees. Lower temperatures always meant that tourists would never be there but native Californians would since it would still be warm.

Tony had taken only a few minutes of convincing. He had questions, he always did but you had answers. You didn't know where you were stopping, you'd figure that out on the way calling hotels as you came close but you knew the route, knew what states and cities you were stopping in. Once he was fully satisfied by the fact that he was going to be left alone and that you hadn't talked about the trip to anyone other than Happy and Nick, he began packing. 

Two days later and you were ready to hit the road.

Washington D.C 

The first stop. There wasn't anything much to see that you hadn't seen before. It was nice wandering around though, pretending that you and Tony were tourists. With all the conversations that Tony had to attend at the capitol, with all the Senate interrogations the two of you had to attend, you'd been in D.C more often than any other city on the road trip map. 

It didn't seem to make it any less special though. In fact the knowledge that you'd only be there for the rest of the day before taking towards the road in the morning. Walking around the monuments was refreshing, getting a chance to be somebody no one cared about was refreshing. Whether or not Tony admitted it you knew he was glad that there was no one around bombarding him for autographs. You didn't know if they didn't think Tony was the real deal or if they didn't want to bother the two of you but either way you were grateful.

Nashville

You'd left DC at eight in the morning wanting to at least have some time to sleep in but leave with enough time that you wouldn't arrive to late in Tennessee. With no time to explore the city on the first day you and Tony grabbed food and hung out in the hotel room going to bed relatively early. The schedule you had created allowed for a full day in Nashville which you planned on taking full advantage of.

Whether or not it was cliche to do you allowed Tony to drag you to the major tourist sites. Admittedly going from the Grand Ole Opry to the reproduction of the Parthenon was a little odd but it fit. In some ways it allowed you to learn more about the man than you had known before. He was like a private tour guide. Aware that he was a music fanatic you'd only ever heard him listen to everything but country yet suddenly he was spouting out facts of the top of his head. Maybe he had looked them up when you were off somewhere but with Tony's brain you truly believed that he knew everything off the top of his head.

Nashville was the first place on the road trip map that you truly noticed a change in Tony. It was the first time he was becoming calm, allowing himself to relax.

Mississippi

To keep on track with the trip schedule and get Tony back to New York before Fury broke the promise and started calling you weren't able to spend too much time in Mississippi. For the most part it was used as a rest stop. A place where you could grab food that wasn't from regional drive thru's and was actually edible. A place where you could get some hours of sleep. Not excellent sleep but a few hours on a decent hotel mattress. 

For the most part you'd been doing most of the driving. Going to Mississippi was the first time Tony had offered to take the wheel, it was also the first time he began to critique the road trip you playlist that had been created. Or well, you hadn't actually created it only pulled together a few songs from other existing playlists you'd found online.

New Orleans

Having not made plans when you arrived in New Orleans you were ready to treat the city the same as the one before, as a resting place. Of course you should have known that when Tony set his feet down in New Orleans he'd have too many ideas of what to do. Tony had friends in a wide variety of places and Louisiana was no exception. 

Despite having a need to wake up early in the morning you didn't care. You didn't care about anything after you saw Tony smiling and laughing in the bar. You'd gone along for a few drinks with the friends that he knew from college. In your head it was like you had been there for it all as well, like you had existed for all the stories that had been brought up. 

It was like a switch had been flipped. Flip it one way and you had the word weary Avenger, the man that everyone thought they knew, the man that everyone knew only by news reports and magazine interviews. Flip the switch that one way and you had a man that truly believed despite every word set against it, that he had to be the only one to hold the word on his shoulders. Tony Stark was a modern day Atlas. He was punishing himself for every single wrongdoing that was out of his grasp.

And yet flip the switch the other way and here was this Tony Stark. The Tony Stark that was laughing and was acting as if his life never consisted of the stress of being a superhero. Here was a carefree Tony Stark and perhaps this was the one true carefree Tony Stark that you had known

Austin

Stepping foot into Austin was as though you were physically stepping onto the halfway mark of the map. You knew in only a few days your feet would be touching sand, you'd be in California. You'd have one moment to officially be carefree. And Tony would have days to just be. To just exist. No worries, no thoughts of a life to get back to. There was just going to be the beach and water ever else you would end up deciding to do. 

For the most part in Austin the two of you decided just to take in local shops. It was a thing not widely known about Tony Stark but he was a supporter of local businesses. Many thought that he'd recommend franchising, selling out and expanding, but that was far from the truth. Although Tony owned and partially ran Stark Industries he knew the history of the company. Every business starts off small and every business can grow to be a corporate giant if they so choose. To give those places the option of expansion though, they still have to make money as the small businesses they'll start out to be.

Scottsdale

Being in Arizona was difficult. Not because you in Scottsdale which was mainly known for its golf courses and you absolutely hated golf, but because there were only hours keeping you from California, for a beach you hadn't been to in years. Only a few hours keeping you from sharing a meaningful experience with your closest, dearest friend. 

One of the few other things Scottsdale was known for was it's abundance of spas which you and Tony took full advantage of. Driving for hours upon hours a day leaves for barely any time you walk around and stretch. It leads to feeling sore and it leads to the great want of a massage. With the two of you always working there wasn't much time you spent being indulgence. Taking care of others was what Tony felt most necessary, rather than taking care of himself. 

In the time that you had been on the road you'd seen the weight lifted off his shoulders. And now as the two of you were on separate massage table in the same room, you knew it'd be fully eradicated from him. Every amount of stress would be fully washed away. 

Huntington Beach.

California

Home.

It took six hours to get to the beach. Six hours and some minutes due to traffic but you were smiling through it all. Tony thought you were crazy to enjoy traffic but having been away from Southern California for so long it felt like him being stuck in traffic on every freeway you needed to drive down. 

Six hours.

That's how long it had taken to get from one state to the next. That's how long it had taken to get you here, a beach parking lot. You stood staring out at the sand and the water out there before you. Tony questioned why the two of you hadn't gone straight to the hotel to rest. He wasn't angry or upset, just curious but even while asking about the hotel he was grabbing the bag you had packed specifically for your arrival at the beach. 

There was no time to waste, you'd change into a bathing suit later but now you just wanted to sink your feet into the warm sand. You grinned while Tony shut the trunk of the car.

"Step 1. Grab shitty nachos from the snack bar. Step 2. Lay out towels and claim a spot. Step 3. Admit I was right." You turned back to look at Tony.

He smiled back, "I admit it. We needed this. I. I needed this"

[landoftheoutsiders]

So I figured I would do an experiment on myself. I was already planning on doing a stream of conscious type thing tonight to try to figure out what some of the thoughts were that went through my head regarding my eating disorder... then I thought: but what if we added food? So. I have officially consumed an appropriate meal. There were many breaks, and holy fuck I haven’t been this bloated or in pain from food since being in a meal group (I’m also going to actually die if/when I try meal group again) while in treatment. I have walked my dog, smoked my two cigarettes, and I plan on being uninterrupted for the next hour or so. This, so far, is a bad idea... hopefully it won’t get any worse. This is completely unfiltered, so now is your chance to look away if you are triggered easily.

     First of all, I’m getting weighed tomorrow and this is not part of my weigh-in ritual. So I’m freaking out. I feel like most people that aren’t supposed to be losing weight who have weigh-ins regularly actually want to be heavier than they are. For some reason, I want to know what my actual weight is, and I would prefer for it to keep going down. (Also, kind of random, but I’m mad at how my Spotify put on Paint Me Black by Ben Hazlewood, and this is the verse that I just heard, “Stuck in my eye line is my one goal to make me happy, it's time that you go. I know I'm starving but I'll fill my hunger, I'll come alive and bring the thunder.” I hate everything.) Anyways, uh, so rituals before weigh-ins. I don’t eat usually around 24 hours beforehand. So I’m already panicking. I know my weight is going to be higher than what it was the week before, and I should be at the very least okay with that, but I’m not. I’m also pissed off at the fact I’m drinking soda because I normally only drink coffee or water. My “cheat drinks” are the ones I get from Starbucks, which I’m sure has more calories than a soda does, but I’m not in as much pain afterwards, and they help me feel better if I haven’t eaten that day. Basically, I don’t eat 24 hours beforehand, and I don’t drink anything until I go in the day of. I want it to be only my body weight without food or water weighing it down. I’m not even allowed to know my weight anymore, and I still do this shit which doesn’t make any sense, whatsoever. 

      I could have done all of this tonight. Crashy has been asleep since a solid 6pm, and my social media is actually fairly quiet. There was no one to make me eat tonight which is rare. I was definitely planning on it after last night too. Crashy and I went to go see Infinity War, and beforehand, he asked me if I had eaten that day. I was already laying down, so I ignored him and pretended to be asleep. Thought I was home free. So we go see the movie, I’m an emotional wreck because I wasn’t prepared to see anything that happened. I was crying and whisper-screaming no frantically at the screen. We were all a tragic mess in that theatre. We’re walking out to go to the car, and Crashy states that we’re going to Cookout. I asked him why. He asked if I had eaten that day (mind you, its almost 2am at this point), and FOR SOME REASON, just like George Washington, I cannot fucking tell a lie when it comes to this damned disorder. So now after the emotional roller coaster of Infinity War, we’re going to Cookout. I was in full panic mode, and I only got a cheeseburger, removed one of the buns, and asked if Crashy could put something on so I could at least be distracted. What comes on? The Office. Safe, right? Nope. It was the weightloss episode. And all I hear as I’m about to take a bite is Darryl saying, “y’all need to learn some portion control,” and Dwight saying, “Oh wait, Pam is on the scale,” then Michael saying, “We would love your extra poundage, but...” and I’m internally screaming. Thankfully Crashy saw the humour in it and changed the episode, but fuck me. So I wait until we’re almost home before I start eating so I can immediately get out of the car to smoke. 

     Eating has just gotten so hard recently. Like, my really disordered moments haven’t happened as often as they have recently in a while. Earlier this week, Tree and I went to go talk to Dr. B to talk to her about her book she wrote. She let us read the rough draft, and naturally we had questions. Afterwards, Tree and I waited for one of her friends to come to group so we could say hey and leave, but we ran by Starbucks first. I wasn’t planning on eating that day, but she had to and I felt like I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t eat that day too (logic isn’t the greatest here, but hey, I’m eating). We get to the speaker in the drive thru and she orders my protein box that is a semi-safe 350 calories. I can attempt to do that. (Mind you, this is the same meal that led me to call Pink the week prior to tell him that my eating disorder was in fact, “that bad” and I should probably try to go to meal groups). They didn’t have my protein box. Instant relief. Then the lady says that they have some other protein box. Instant panic. The first thing that falls out of my mouth is, “how many calories are in it?” I asked Tree several times, and she wasn’t asking the barista, so I did, and there are 580 calories in it. The barista asks if I still wanted it, and I’m speechless trying to do calculus in my head to figure out what on earth was making it that high, and before I could say no, Tree said that I would take it. What is the first thing I do when I receive my box? I put it in the floorboard. I carried it out to the parking lot where we met Tree’s friend, and it stayed on the ground for a solid 20-30 minutes before I realized that I should probably eat it at the treatment center where I had people around me, otherwise, I wouldn’t have eaten it. I couldn’t bear the thought of eating it the way it came, so I went inside to the kitchen before groups got out to wipe off all of the sauces and roasted tomatoes while praying that a therapist wouldn’t walk in on what I was doing. Once I fixed my sandwich, we went back outside and maybe 30 more minutes passed until we started the process of eating. I had my box and Tree had her goldfish which was a lovely appetizer before her dinner. After finishing, I really had the urge to purge. This is something that has been slightly concerning, but I’ve just never brought it up because I physically can’t... but there have been so many times where I have tried over and over again, relentlessly, but my reflex just won’t let me do it. So I end up sitting next to the toilet angry with a few tears, frustrated because I can’t even do that right. But that day I found myself in the hallway with the perfect opportunity to attempt. Reluctantly, I decided to try, and then one of the therapists came around the corner and scared the shit out of me. Instantly changed my mind lol. 

     We left right before the group after dinner started, and I was in a really dark spot. I felt like no matter how hard I tried, this disorder would always have a grip on me, and I was going to be like this until the day I died--constantly fighting thoughts telling me I shouldn’t be eating. I mentioned this to Tree and her friend before we left. Tree reminded me that Recovered (a therapist there) had an eating disorder. She and I have often talked about picking Recovered’s brain about what its like to work with eating disorders, how she handles it, etc. So I decided I’d ask the question that had been circling my brain for the past hour: does it ever actually get better or even just easier? Surprisingly, but not really, she said that it does get easier. I’m not surprised because it honestly makes sense that it would get easier as long as I kept fighting for recovery, but I think I was surprised at how much it comforted me to hear from someone who knows what its like to be inside my brain say that. It helped, but I was still in a dark place, so I went to go look at things for my new apartment and to look at all of the cute animals in Petco. I really want a saltwater tank, so I talked to one of the associates for almost 30 minutes about salt tanks and the types of fish there are, etc. It was nice to have a non-eating disorder related conversation. Still though, my brain wasn’t really in a better place, so I decided to go to Target. My other happy place. Long story short, I have razors again. I gave my stuff up to Pink a while ago. 

     That was one of the hardest things I think I’ve done in therapy. I’ve given up razors before, but I’ve always kept the one. It was like a reminder of what I’ve gone through. It was like my scale. I took it everywhere. It was in my wallet. It was always there just in case. Fuck. I missed having it. I missed the feeling. So I bought more. I have a whole pack now. I haven’t done anything yet, but they’re there. This is one reason why I’m planning on getting a tattoo soon because I need that feeling. It feels the exact same way. 

     Speaking of things I miss, I was looking through old pictures on my laptop a week or two ago. We’re talking about the laptop from high school at the peak of my eating disorder. This piece of technology has allll of my old thinspo pictures from the several collections I had on my phone. Then I found my body checks. Honestly. I think that the body check pictures fucked me up more than the thinspo did. Some of the stuff I’ll reblog on here, I’ll think to when I used to be that size. Its weird looking at pictures like that now because before I thought I’d never make it, and now that I have and I think about what it was like being at that weight, I feel bad for the person in the picture because I know how much they’re hurting (to an extent of course), but I also cant help but to miss it for myself. I took pictures of the pictures to show Pink if he asked what pictures I was talking about. When I was explaining what time period was that the pictures were taken, you could just see the “oh fuck” expression come across his face lol. Not that I was happy to see him at that emotion, but you have to find the humour in the mess or else I’d be more depressed than I already am. 

     Speaking of Pink though, I was definitely going to show him this because I figured that it would be helpful for him to get a glimpse of me being vulnerable for once, but now I’m not so sure to be honest. I feel like this will get me put back in iop or php because fuck did we get dark. 

     Back to the picture thing though, I think the thing that fucked me up the most was that in the beginning, I remember promising myself that I’d stop when I could see my collar bones, then my hip bones, then it got out of hand, and before I knew it, I caught a glimpse of being able to see every vertebrae in my spine and every rib from my ribcage if I bent down. I remember going to my best friend at the time, Chrisley, and completely panicking. Why didn’t he tell me that I was that small, why didn’t anyone tell me? Why did people just ask if I had lost weight? Of fucking course I had. Why couldn’t I see the weight loss? Why did I still look like I did when I started losing weight? Nothing made sense at that moment. And somehow, the torture I had done to my body still wasn’t enough. You’d think that a person would remember all of those feelings and those feelings would keep them from making the same mistake. I have completely convinced myself that I will be okay with hitting 100. Oh, and thats because I got close to 110 and quickly realized that wasn’t enough. The fucked up part is that I’ll have a “normal day of eating” (meaning I’ll eat one meal... maybe two) and convince myself that I don’t have an eating disorder, or my disorder isn’t that bad. Same thing if I gain weight. God, it feels like it creates a physical sense of ambivalence deep within me. I fear I’m wasting Pink’s time, but I also haven’t fully made the decision to go back into my disorder completely. For some reason that physically hurts to even type, let alone verbalize. I’ve said it only once to Tree, and then later that night I found myself throwing up at a bar because I drank too much to numb out the thought that I may be falling back into my eating disorder completely. 

     I think I have a problem of letting people go/accepting when people leave my life--even in a professional setting. I get attached. There was one session where Pink made the comment where he said something among the lines of, “do you think that working with me is still helpful?” I remember feeling my walls quickly build up around me and getting really upset because he said that he wouldn’t give up on me (like several others in my past have... both therapists and friends), and in that moment, I heard that he was done trying to help me. We talked about it last week I think and that isn’t what he meant at all, and thats fine, but then I wondered if I was wasting his time or not, and it sent me into a tailspin. There was something I wrote down when I was still in iop, and it was in my gigantic “fuck you” letter to my eating disorder. The line was, “I’d do anything to get rid of you, but simultaneously do everything to keep you.” Ambivalence is a bitch. My eating disorder is one of the most comforting things because it has never left me, but it has fucked me over so many times and has ruined so much. Not just for me, but for my friends as well. I mean hell. One of them I’m terrified to wake up hearing that she’s killed herself, the other I’m concerned about her kidneys failing, and there are several who have just disappeared and won’t answer any texts or calls. I miss hearing from them. I hate watching us slowly waste away. I completely understand where they’re at though, and I don’t always want recovery for myself, but I do want it for them--but I know thats how they feel about me. Its just a fuckshow, and now my head hurts and I need a cigarette. 

Anyways, I’m going to go play around on my guitar for once. I haven’t touched her in about a week. I did finally get a name for her though. Jackie. Its actually the name of my grandma who passed away almost two years ago. She was a crazy motherfucker that my parents keep telling me I remind them of. I don’t know if thats a good or bad thing, but underneath the crazy was a heart of gold, so I’ll take it as a compliment. Sorry its been so long. I’ve been avoiding almost everything for the past month and a half. My thoughts included.

--Rian Dianna

[cow3survivor]

Ep. 4: “Trying To Cover Ur Murderous Tracks” - Jones

JENNET 

nash isnt on my tribe but i cant help but feel bad for them :((( the last two days that we were together as old calumma i actually started to connect with them. they will be missed 💔

(a little later)

why am i obsessed with ethan ? *insert meme of that tiktoker just standing there*

(after building a bamboo bed)

super nervous for immunity, if we end up losing i think i might try to push for pennino bc he pissed me off the other night saying he wouldnt be available for the comp and literally SITTING THERE watching us do the comp... i really like sam and ethan (tbh more than i like lindsay and jabari) but thats only bc of how much we communicate with each other idk i do know lindsay wants to push for pennino too bc she was annoyed it too so maybe let her do all the pushing and if it backfires, just push for her to go😳

JESSICA

No song 4 today Last round we voted out Nash. That was not my ideal choice (I wanted Nicole to go) but Pete was paranoid Nicole may have an idol, that Nicole/Mikey/Nash were secretly working together, or just that something might go down. He also trusts Nicole for reasons unknown. I didn't love leaving Mikey in the dark (I think that really only helped Pete, not me) but I was nervous that if I pushed Nicole too hard as the vote, Pete would vote Mikey and then that was really the worst case scenario. If we lose this round, I am voting Nicole no question. She asked me what happened after the vote + if we could talk which I thought was great! I sent her an explanation that basically said I didn't trust Nash because they did not talk to me, I was worried OG Calumma was still a thing, and I didn't trust Nicole because she didn't start talking to me until after we lost + she left me on read a lot. And what does she do right after I sent that? Leave me on read again! I was excited to work with her when we first swapped but I don't see that happening at all now. The nice thing is because Pete lied to her, Mikey and Nicole voted each other, AND Lovelis was already initially down to vote Nicole, I'm hoping if we lose the vote is really easy. I also don't think Nicole has the idol because.... ...I found it! Okay, no I didn't. I did find a ruby though. I think that in each quadrant of the adventure, there is a gem and the four gemstones combined will make an idol. I already have 1, I have a good idea of where it could be in the north, and most importantly I am pretty sure Nicole has no advantages. I think if she had an idol, she might have played it last round, but my guess is that there is only one idol in the game and no one has it yet. However right now I'm not sharing this information with anyone. I hope that if we lose, Pete votes for Mikey out of paranoia (and that Nicole does as well) which means moving forward, Mikey really only has me and that's an alliance I can keep long term. I do also think that we are potentially swapping after this OR we will do a double tribal after this and swap then. I do not want us to lose twice because that's when things get tricky but if we do, I think I will be set up well enough that no one is coming for me.

PETE 

so my og Brookesia alliance of jessica and lovelis (plus me) they want to vote out Nicole but i reeeeaaally don’t wanna do that. Nicole and I had this talk of moving on from our past so if I just vote her out first chance I get that’d just be a huge dick move. They for some reason believe Mikey which I honestly don’t, I think he may be a little weasel. Nash doesn’t talk to me at all, so i’m hoping maybe I can shift the vote onto Nash by scaring them with the thought of Nicole having and idol

(after dropping his rice into the sand)

AAAAAAAAHHHHHH IDIDIT I DID IT IDIDIT literally i have THE biggest fucking knot in my stomach i was SO fUcking NERVOUS this is so fuckignw crazy i cant skdjdbxsjkdb i’ve NEVER been in control of a vote before like everything i told someone to do they did like i’m not gonna get all like egotistical and all that but like sjkdsxkdbsjjdjxjdkdb ive never been in this position before it’s wild i’m usually like the mikey. like i’m just there, hoping people include me but kinda just scraping by until they decide it’s my turn to leave and NOW!!!! I JUST BLINDSIDED SOMEBODYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

JENNET

trying really hard to do this comp and my arthritis is making my hands spasm :(( powering thru and hopefully we dont go to tribal. if we do im afraid that im going to be voted out :((

JABARI

So i scored for the tribe which is great but then we tie and there is tower of hanoi. Lets just say ill never play that game again but I swear im not giving up no sir....they said they wouldnt boot me because of it but ima make sure of it.

JENNET 

in love with ethan hes the best person in the world

(after staring at Ethan)

really sucks going to tribal council and i know i let my team down so now im trying to find a way- SOME WAY to remind them that old calumma wanted to go after pennino next and to hopefully keep ethan out of the fire. sam approached me about an alliance with him and ethan and tbf idc what anybody calls me or what they think but im honestly closer to the too of them than to anybody on the tribe- closer to ethan than i was to jake even😳

LINDSAY

https://drive.google.com/file/d/12YzvXBooOu3lndrE99YopPOcO4VEAYYB/view?usp=drivesdk lmk if this works also fun fact i just tried to open the camera on the computer im borrowing and the computer bluescreened lol i hate it here

SAM

https://youtu.be/M4E00bmBj0A

PETE

The way this game is going Id say that I’m probably closest with Jessica just because we���ve been talking since the start, she’s really nice & enthusiastic, and we’ve agreed so far on the things that need to happen so we share a lot of information with each other. Lovelis is a little bit of a wild card because he never really talks that much so I’m going to try to bond with him more so that he doesn’t feel like just another number.

LOVELIS

Who knew we’d pull out a win with flash games! Maybe we need to stop shitting on then and start praying for more of them to pop up here LMAO. So glad I can just have this day to speak to people a bit more and just relax a little - I feel like me Jess and Pete are in a comfortable position within this tribe so I’m praying for no more funny business with another premerge swap but I’m tryna stay on my toes!

ETHAN

Ok so tribal time: I am in a minority position right now and it is looking sketchy. I feel like I am going because of how Jabari and Jennet have not talked to me at all today and instead have ghosted me. I have something, but not sure if I want to play it. Do I trust people, or do I just full send and blow it up? Time shall tell

JESSICA 

Yay we won immunity! I love getting my Dolphin Olympics redemption arc, it's been 6 years in the making.

PENNINO

Now, it's 4 hours before the first tribal as Furcifer, and I think that us from OG Calumma will go and do a Pagong to Ethan and Sam. Since Ethan was a beast in  the comps, and we want to keep tribal lines, that puts Sam up for the chopping block. As for Nash leaving, no surprise. Honestly, I feel pretty safe and now i'm just waiting for another swap.

MADISON

I don't know how I've survived four rounds but here we are. I think I've legit gotten the lowest score in the past 2 challenges but everyone else is a beast so I get to stay safe for another round. The downside to being safe so long is that there isn't really a lot of gameplay happening over on Planet Brookesia and some of us might be a little bit too comfy so that when swap time comes or we lose the next challenge, it'll be scramble city to figure something out.

JAKE

https://youtu.be/Hz-Ix0ZeQ7E y'all when I tell you i'm manic just thinking about crazy fringe theories related to this game lmaoooooo

JONES

ok bet lets get strategic:tm: i feel like a lot of my confessionals are rlly like ,, , , ,me just talking ab "wow i rlly like this person, not this person so and so and whatnot" and i haven't rlly gotten to bare bones like ,, what i'm thinking ab game wise ? for starters - i think i'm in a rlly good spot surprisingly? LIKE don't get me wrong its fking dangerous being in a 4-2 but i think i'm set up super super well? i'm officially working with all of Daisy, Sammy, Shane, and Jake, and am in an alliance w everyone of those people besides Sammy. but sammy has vouched saying that he does want to work w me and has my back and i don't have like,, any reason to doubt that rn ? unfortunately the only way to rlly like ,, ,, have everyone prove their trust to me is by going to tribal aldksfjasdlfj but i dont rlly see a reason for them to like ,, , lie to me ? esp when we haven't gone to tribal? i don't see the point in marinating someone this isn't among us and ur trying to cover ur murderous tracks,,, but ya ? i'm in a good spot. i think based on my alliances and allies and whatnot, and i've stated this already so this isn't rlly a surprise, but madison would probs be the target if we'd have to go to tribal. and Jake has stated to me too that he hasn't rlly talked to madison that much either so it doesn't seem like an uncommon thought process. after the challenge tiebreaker yesterday , the newly formed ALLEANCHE! kind of came together as the 4 most active people on the tribe so it SEEMS like it would be madison AND sammy getting targetted and , ,, , sammy going for me isn't rlly cash money bc if sammy DOES have my back then that's me losing one of MY allies,, but i don't think we're going to enough tribals before another swap for that to actually be a thing ? so hopefully if we do go to tribal it'd be madison and not sammy, but i think i, if not i then maybe jake LOL, can make a good case for madison to go over sammy. speaking of jake i have a rlly bad gut feeling that i'm gonna have to think ab cutting him soon - or at least before merge. i've kinda been letting him take the reigns since preswap to make him kind of look like a leader ish ? so i'm rlly hoping that like ,, , hypothetically speaking. lets say i'm AGAIN put on another tribe w jake (bc lbr we're swapping again),, and lets say hypothetically they wanna split up the supposed "duo" of myself and jake,,, whos the smarter person to take out - the leader whos kinda been calling the shots and making the alliances since round 1, or the person whos proven themself to be reliable and to keep their team safe and be able to go to bat for their team ? idk IDK that's just me but i definitely think like ,, in terms of a building threat level i think jake is definitely the easier target asldkfjasd which is UNFORTUNATE like i LOVE JAKE but i feel like if it comes to me and jake and jake is putting me in DANGER then , ,, well,, :( i gotta do what i gotta DO i'm pawned as old reliable for a reason :katenails: but ya uhm,,, shane/daisy/jake/i were talking on call after the tiebreaker ab what could happen and we all basically agreed theres no way in hell that there ISN'T another swap on the horizon or at least like,, a twist or something. u can't just swap at 18 on a 20 person cast and just expect us to sit like lil ducks on sunday brunch, if anything we're probs gonna swap at like ,, , , , 15? OR hosts are cracked and swap us NEXT ROUND bc they're sadistic. but ya there's def another swap it rlly just depends on when and whos there to experience it - i.e whether or not i'm gonna have security from my allies or not ya feel? i feel. also there's definitely probs like ,, , ,a double tribal. or smth. or like, smth crazy and dumb and stupid that i don't have the brain capacity to rlly comprehend. but ya hope i win this was a good strategy talk #fruciferandcallumathrowchallenge

NICOLE

Hello!!! Nash went home and I'm sad so I am PROTESTING confessionals! You won't know anything that is happening with me! Nothing! (Just kidding nothing happened this round, everyone ignored me and then we won immunity so they had no need to)

SHANE

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1TxoVh69i2GPA-agNAfyW0G-Bu07weXyZ?usp=sharing

SAMMY

so I had to write a paper and I'm rushing to get this in...blinks...whats new anyways I have been so off in like the idol hunting and I have felt so detached from this game since I have only been to tribal once? but I think the people in danger would be like Madison or Jake? they have both been brought up to me by daisy...and in all seriousness I would be fine with that? I honestly really am only prioritizing Jones and Daisy in this tribe. I feel fine with my position in this game and I even got a point from the flash games. Luckily Daisy won for us in the tiebreaker and we were able to barely escape tribal. I really do hope I can continue to avoid tribal so that I can get as far into this to make it to the more individual stage of this game.

DAISY

https://youtu.be/3kCYnxDIdQY

TRIBAL COUNCIL

[yesthisiscrystal]

QUARANTINE HAS SCRAMBLED EVERYONES EATING HABITS

The Quarantine has gotten everyone adjusting to a “new normal”.

With social distancing rules in place some people have decided that it's time they start cooking, some have decided to throw a quick oven pizza or frozen meals is best and some have continued to buy takeout.

With social distancing rules in place supermarkets have lengthy lines of people trying to stock up on food to eat since they’re in the house more often. However everyone is stocking up rather differently and not everyone is stocking up to make full course meals regularly.

One supermarket employee noticed how many frozen dinners were being brought by older men.

Mothers of both essential workers or mothers working from home, have also resorted to a lot of frozen foods as well especially by the bulk at supermarkets like BJs and Costco. Frozen food such as Chicken nuggets, frozen pizzas, pizza rolls have become popular amongst mothers. Grandmothers on the other hand  have seemed to be cooking the same regularly like normal, leading to stocking up on ingredients to last a while to save continuous grocery trips.

A lot of people have decided that during this time would be a perfect opportunity to begin cooking for themselves. Many have said that their busy everyday schedules a lot of the time ended in them not really cooking and eating takeout because of its close proximity and convenience.

Yvana Peart says she already knew how to cook but always got too busy or too tired but started to actually love cooking and even dabbled in baking.Yvana got creative and decided to make her own rendition of the Popeyes chicken sandwich. “It's been pretty successful so far although when things don't turn out the way i plan i get upset cause then it ends up wasted”. Yvana mentions

Many people who have returned to cooking more often have actually enjoyed it and the only challenge is the upsetting part when the new recipe they’ve tried didn’t come out as planned and there’s a temptation to throw it away and give up. On social media there’s people sharing their cooking and taking pride in it.

Danika Piper had bragged about her making lemon pepper wings for the first time as she decided not to eat out so much. “I made them for Mother's Day. They are really good i thought it would go good with pasta” She went on to tell me about the process one how she cleaned her chicken and seasoned it with lots of seasoning, covered it with flour and added flour and lemon seasoning and fried it in olive oil. This inspired her to make buttermilk fried chicken and Ben salmon “ I made a lot of stuff during quarantine I definitely have more time now i ate out alot because of work or I didn’t eat much because I didn’t like my campus food” Danika explained

Because a lot of the first time cooks or returning are mostly millennials and gen Z a lot of what they’re cooking is even food that they’ve had takeout in or food from their cultures.

All us New Yorkers know our infamous New York deli classic meals the bacon egg and cheese sandwich  chop cheese and Jeremy had decided what if he brought those classics to his kitchen and tried to recreate them himself. He didn’t think it tasted the same but he did say he plans to try again since he tends to get bored.

In the very beginning of the quarantine there was speculation about ordering out and some people started cooking to avoid that. However their people who felt as if they might as well order if they want to. Now even people who are cooking frequently especially the mothers and grandmothers have occasionally not minded ordering a pizza pie once in a while.

According to “The Atlantic” People are ignoring Social Distancing. On the weekend before St. Patrick’s Day a bartender in Washington D.C witnessed several patrons coming in just over 21.

A man from Boston in the bar works as a pharmacist and said he is already at risk it’s only so much he could do.

This goes for many essential workers although dining in hasn’t been an option anymore they still do takeout because its more quick especially with many of them working longer hours .

Some people carried on with their nonessential weekend plans. A woman in Los Angeles went to a bar with a friend and she stated “this could be the last bar we go in a long time”. After recent social distancing restriction policies Americans aren’t eating out. According to “Bloomberg blog 54,000 restaurants stopped dining in.

The stop of dining in increased deliveries and take out orders. Food platforms like Uber eats, Postmates and DoorDash have seen increased stocks. The platform has no contact delivery services and no delivery fee promotions.

Take out fast food restaurants also have taken a hit with angry customers and short staffing. Alana says her restaurants are just as crowded with people coming in to pick up their food and becoming very rowdy and impatient when it isn’t ready.

Wendy's employees have noticed a significant increase in DoorDash orders and a drive thru line cutting right into traffic.

It's also been mentioned that not everyone is abiding by the no dining in rules 

Christian mentioned his coworkers being cursed out by customers when they told them of the in dining in rules because smaller local restaurants haven’t all decided to take out the few chairs they have considering they had signs thinking it would be abided by.

The “new normal” has had different effects on everyone. It allowed some to finally try a new skill that they were too busy for before, but it's also had some people who are still busy figuring out new easy out alternatives and then people who will enjoy their favorite restaurants regardless.

[textales]

“A Curious Cat”

The Egyptians had a thing for cats. They even had a religion where they worshiped the feline gods. And If any one of those elusive feline gods had been even remotely as bewitching as my childhood cat I totally understand why.

She was a Seal Point Siamese…with deep blue eyes and a shimmering coat with blonde and brown fur, and even a strand or two of blue and silver mixed in. She was unlike any “normal” cat you’d see loitering in back yards or on front porches – this cat was downright exotic and stuck-out like a fine French restaurant in a trailer park. Great Falls was a simple “all American” blue-collar town, best suited for plain cats like Morris, the fat orange thing from the TV commercials for 9 Lives. Weird cats belonged in places like Missoula or Seattle with hippies and tie-dye and lesbians. She was clearly an outsider and a total anomaly. She might have been imported from Egypt or the land of Siam - wherever that was.

We lived on the right side of the tracks….but only by a few feet.  As a matter of fact, old railroad tracks remained in our back alley, abandoned since the 1950s when trucks replaced rail cars for local delivery of freight. We were on the last street where the old residential area met the industrial zone, with a giant three-story warehouse and tire repair shop on one end of the block, and a family-owned lumber yard across the alley. Our teeny home was built in 1916 when Great Falls was a thriving metropolis.  I’m guessing it was originally occupied by workers from the copper smelter or one of the many hydroelectric dams that were built in the era. Another set of tracks, about a half-mile away between our street and the Missouri River, carried the Burlington Northern freight trains which rumbled by a couple times a day.

Sometime in the mid-1970s my dad remodeled and we got all fancy with expensive Masonite paneling and a velvety couch and love-seat combo purchased from the House of Furniture for $499. We had multi-level shag carpeting and recessed lighting on dimmers, and the cottage-cheese ceiling had shiny silver sparkling bits.  

Ours may have been one of the nicer homes on the block - but just barely. I’m pretty sure the only reason it looked as good as it did was because my dad was always trying to out-do his sister who lived across the river in a double-wide. Hers was a very nice, color-coordinated double-wide, with full skirting and tip-outs. But according to my father it was still a “goddamned trailer.”      

My dad worked at a glass shop a block away. There was a vacant gravel lot between the shop and that three-story tire store/warehouse, and two tiny old houses between the warehouse and our place. His commute was better than that of a modern day “telecommuter” – his 30-second walk provided a little exercise and just enough separation between work and home to give him a decent “work-life” balance.

The glass shop was essentially our “second garage.”  We spent tons of time there when we needed to do big projects that required more space and the big air compressor. I have fond memories of that place. We painted our old Ford pickup in that shop…twice.  We did multiple overhauls on multiple engines for motorcycles, snowmobiles and lawnmowers, and we rebuilt at least one transmission in that space - all on nights and weekends after my dad had spent a solid 40 hours working. Who knew a glass shop would be such a good place for honing cylinders and grinding valves?  

I was in that shop with my dad and friends Lloyd and Wes the day Elvis died. And it was there where my dad and I had a big one sentence talk about “the birds and the bees” after my teacher sent me home with a note to advise the class had viewed the sex education film that day.  “Well, if you need to know anything about any of that shit, you just let me know.”  Thanks, Dad. 6th grade was so awkward.

Nobody seems to remember exactly when, but a Siamese cat showed up at the shop and didn’t want to leave. She didn’t need a new pane of glass for her cathouse - she was lost. My father took a liking to this adorable thing and offered up a little food and some attention.  

An exotic animal like this must certainly be someone’s pet. Perhaps it crawled from the back of a station wagon when its human came to get a makeup mirror fixed?  “Someone will come to get her” my dad explained as he poured Friskies into a makeshift serving dish fashioned from a decorative glass block.

After a couple days and no reports of a missing cat, Red decided he’d take this thing home. It would be easy to retrieve her should the owners come looking, and it couldn’t live at the shop anymore because the manager was allergic.

I was maybe five or six years old and hardly qualified to name a pet, but for whatever reason my parents gave me the opportunity so I decided her name should be Susie.  Where that came from I have no idea…it’s not like Susie was the name of a famous movie star, super model or even a family friend. In retrospect, and knowing her personality, that name was way too plain and simple for this enigmatic feline who had few characteristics typical of a domestic house cat. Susie was my spirit animal, and honestly I think she belonged in a circus.

She was a curious cat. Susie didn’t like milk, refused to eat Tuna, and loved the vacuum cleaner.  At least once a week my dad would spend an hour grooming her with the old Filter Queen, a beige-colored canister unit the size of a modern day shop vac. She’d come running the second it was brought out of the closet and would lie down in front of him, letting him suck her tail into the tube before extending her legs spread-eagle style waiting for the suction to take away whatever excess hair she would otherwise shed onto the carpet.  

Susie didn’t use a litter box. She’d hang by the back door and would announce with a polite meow when it was time for her to do her business.  Even if it was ten below zero she’d go outside.  The smell of her fur when returning from the frozen outdoors was something I wish I could bottle – I know I’d make millions on that magic scent.

We had a clothes hamper at the bottom of the stairs where she’d hide until we walked by. Then like a Jack-in-the-Box she’d pounce and start gnawing on your Achilles tendon. You’d think we’d have gotten used to it but it was always somehow a surprise.

My father would tease Susie by wagging a finger until she exploded and jumped from the floor into his arms.  She’d purr like the engine of a freshly rebuilt Mercury Cougar until she decided she was done with it, then without warning those beautiful blue eyes turned into fire, the fangs came out and she swiped with a vengeance.  Felines are so fickle.  

Canine Kryptonite.

Susie was like one of the guys. Far from being feminine, she wanted nothing to do with girlie things and could outfox and outrun any of the dogs in the neighborhood. She was far more masculine than Lloyd’s dog, Velvet, who played with rocks. She was far fiercer than Grandma’s Chihuahua, Cubby, and she had bigger balls than Aunt Kathy’s French gay male poodle, Shante.   

Neighbor Doug had a police dog, a German shepherd that looked like Rin Tin Tin. Susie scared the shit out of him – he knew to steer clear when she was on patrol.  

Susie and our cock-a-poo Peanuts loved to watch my dad and I work in the garage. They had a favorite spot on a 4-foot-high wooden ladder. The dog would sit on the top rung while Susie hung out on the tray intended for the paint can. Peanuts usually slept. Susie, on the other hand, paid close attention.  She was probably taking notes on how to operate the equipment and would be preparing a report for her alien overlords on the mother ship.

My brother and his wife were school teachers in the far-away lands of the Tri-Cities in Washington state. Just like the Egyptians, my brother’s wife had a thing for cats.

I recall one trip when they came thru town with a bizarre hairless cat like Mr. Bigglesworth from the Austin Powers movie. This cat and Susie had a lot in common (both being exotic and suitable for the circus) and Gloria fawned over Susie.  I can only imagine how pissed-off she had to have been, having spent thousands on exotic cats imported from breeders.  And we got ours for free because she was essentially a homeless drifter, rescued at the glass shop.

“Turn Me Loose, Set Me Free…Somewhere in the Middle of Montana.”

It made little difference where we were going, but on the weekends we just had to get out of town. In the summers we’d pack-up the pickup, hook on the travel trailer and head to a campsite somewhere. Whether a forest service campground or a gravel parking lot in a town 20 miles away it didn’t really matter - my dad just had to escape. Maybe something about the glass shop and our house being so close together didn’t provide the separation from home and work that he had hoped for? Hell, I don’t know…

Susie and my dog knew the routine: they’d wait patiently near the back door at 5:15 PM every Friday after work as we prepared to embark on another adventure. Peanuts knew instantly where he would sit in the cab of the truck between my mother and I on the bench seat. Susie usually jumped up onto the dashboard where she could sun herself and enjoy the view.

Susie was a swimmer - not to be left on the sidelines when the guys went fishing, she would jump in the water, “cat paddling” to the rubber raft floating out in the lake.  A cat that swims? Yes. And she would jump in the bathtub every so often.  This cat was crazy.

Once on a trip to Canada with my Aunt Ruby we met an Australian woman who really took a liking to Susie. When we went to leave the cat was nowhere to be found and my dad was convinced that the Australian chick had stolen her. She insisted she hadn’t, and joined our search party.  After an hour of panic and calling her name we’d almost given up. All the while she was in the tree directly above us, sprawled out with her legs hanging over the tree limbs. Immediately upon hearing the truck start she started meowing. Twenty-seven seconds later she returned to the dashboard and international peace was restored.

“Too many motors.”

My mom had reached a breaking point. “We have too many motors,” she exclaimed, slamming down the glass of “Chillable Red” she just filled from the box.  She then took a drag from a Newport menthol and promptly called the Tribune to place an ad in the classifieds.  We’d be having a big garage sale that weekend, to offload some excess items with engines that included at least one lawnmower, a go-kart, and the Honda 50 mini-bike I’d outgrown.  

Other goodies for sale included a collection of my mother’s hand-made doilies - you know those round frilly things that go underneath lamps or get used as an emergency potholder just once until you burn the shit out of your hands?  And we’d be offing a ceramic cookie jar, a creation of “Kathy’s Busy Bee Ceramics,” the studio for which was in a trailer next to the one my Aunt Kathy lived in across the river. This cookie jar was in the shape of a Christmas tree.  I hated that effing thing, especially when it sat on the counter well after the season was over.  I thought, but didn’t dare say out loud: “It’s not Christmas in July for Christ’s sake – so let’s get rid of this goddamn thing.”

The Garage Sale attracted all kinds of bargain shoppers including one family who arrived in a 1971 Plymouth Satellite Sebring station wagon plucked right from a Brady Bunch episode, complete with wood grain paneling, driven by a woman with a black bouffant hairdo and looking a lot like the country singer Loretta Lynn.

Susie got bored hanging out on the paint tray on the ladder and decided she’d explore the mysterious world of the Plymouth. It was warm, with strange smells and plush carpeting.  Its humans were different, and there were “stink sticks” (incense) from the Import Depot. A leftover wrapper from Burger Master smelled interesting, but after wondering “Where’s the Beef” she quickly went to sleep in the Sebring.  Nobody took notice and Susie went for a ride for a while, cruising the Garage Sale Circuit all over town.  

Of course she woke-up and started howling. She was not for sale. The kids wanted to keep her, but she wanted nothing to do with them now. She was agitated, and wanted to get back to her native habitat where she could guard the roost - even if it had too many motors. Those motors belonged to her and she needed to watch over them.

They had to back-track, returning to all the garage sales in reverse order until they found us. “Is this your cat?” asked the Loretta Lynn look-alike.  Susie was returned annoyed and unharmed.  Like a wayward teenager busted drinking at a party and retrieved by her parents, she was reluctant to show any emotion and quietly leapt from the tailgate of the Plymouth and returned to the paint tray on the ladder in the garage.

“Houston Means that I’m One Day Closer to You.”

In my junior year of high school I took my first trip on an airplane to see my sister who lived in the northern suburbs of Houston.  It was around Christmas of 1982 and I’d finally go inside a real building taller than ten stories.  I’d go to NASA where astronauts would say they had a problem if there were one, and I’d shop at a fancy shopping mall with an ice rink inside. Everything was fascinating and I tried not to stare, but I’m sure I made a quite a spectacle and an embarrassment of myself.

When I left Montana there was snow on the ground and it was maybe in the 10s. Since I was in the blistering hot warmth of Texas, I could get a little tan before returning to the frozen tundra up north. The neighbors had to wonder WTF as they looked through the shutters at some albino kid wearing shorts and laying out on the side lawn in the middle of winter.  It was maybe in the low 60s the day I tried to tan.

At the mall with the ice rink I remember looking for stuff you just couldn’t get in Montana.  I was kind of bummed I couldn’t find the platform tennis shoes like those worn by Stewart Copeland of the Police, but I did buy a cool, slightly “off color” dark-comedy cartoon book from one of the novelty stores there. I’m not sure what motivated me to buy it other than wanting at least one souvenir from Texas, and the book was easy enough.

Later that night I called home to check-in.  I was having a great time, and I told the parents I’d see them in a week. This town was fascinating and it was fantastic to be in a “real city” with 8-lane freeways and tall buildings and radio stations that played more than classic rock or country.  

“Your cat’s been moping around, so we’re going to take her to the vet.”  This message didn’t really alarm me.  Susie was getting old, but she was bullet proof. 

When I got back to Great Falls a week later I was greeted at the door by Peanuts but no Susie. “She was sick so we had to put her down” said my father as he fought back the tears. “She had feline leukemia” my mother said.

It was a bit of a shock, but really….Susie was no spring chicken (I think she was at least ten years old at that point) and it’s not like it was devastating.  Cats die. We all die.  And it’s not like I hadn’t thought about it.

Oh, and what was the name of that book I bought at the shopping mall with the ice rink?

“101 Uses for a Dead Cat.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have bought the book?

[veliusthewanderer]

White Supremacy, Charlottesville, and Trump...or Why I’m Disgusted With My Fellow White People

(READERS NOTE: This is NOT an attack on all white people in America. This is meant to be an attack against those sicko, deranged, and disturbed white people who not only had to show up in Charlottesville last weekend armed as if ready for World War III, but who also attacked the decency of the victim, Heather Heyer, killed by one of your kind with a vehicle in what is by all definitions a hate-inspired murder. To my fellow white people who have taken a stand against the racism and hate, as well as the murder, please continue to do so. To my fellow white people who have taken no sides, believeing that its not their problem, SHAME ON YOU for not taking a stand! What kind of moral lesson are you teaching your children by sitting on the sidelines??)

I probably said the bulk of what I wanted to say in just that little paragraph, but as it is my job to rant, rave, call out and shame the conservative establishment and especially the “too-far-right” or alt-right if it helps, then obviously I will do what I set out to do.But before I throw down on the alt-right and the various hate-groups out there who likely have members with Tumblr accounts, let me first review the events of the past weekend.

In Charlottesville, Virginia it was decided by a city council vote to take down a statue of a Confederate general, very likely moving it to a museum ground for display, though information about its ultimate destination have not been very forthcoming due to the recent episode I will go into. On the day the statue was set to be removed, three groups of protestors arrived on the scene, each for various reasons. I will not go into detail about the other two groups, as they were protesting in a nonviolent (or nonviolently threatening) way. The group who arrived, and who merits this rant, a motley mix of Neo-Nazis, Neo-Confederates, and militiamen, were the ones most threatening of violence, for they came armed for a major battle. You’d think World War III was just seconds from starting as you seen they walking, brandishing army knives, pistols, AK-47s, AR-15s and other semiautomatic and automatic weapons out in full view as if daring ANYONE to tell them they weren’t allowed to the site. This was the result of the previous night’s acts of violence near the Va Tech campus. There was the usual shouting protests and counterprotests, and there were name-calling, personal attacks, and shouts of derogatory and inflammatory rhetoric by the militiamen, and on several occasions this threatened to spiral into a full-blown bloodbath. Thankfully, law enforcement was there to keep the cauldron lid locked tight.

Fast-forward 24 hours later, to the scene of the nonviolent protestors, the militiamen who remained ready for a fight, then a single Dodge charged into the crowd of peaceful demonstrators. At least 29 people were injured, which was horrifying enough, but there was one fatality: Heather Heyer. The 32-year-old was crushed by the wheels of that Dodge, driven by a teenager who had been corrupted by the doctrines of the white supremacists and under the illusion that because their chief ally Donald Trump is now the 45th president of the United States, they could get away, literally, with murder. I refuse to use the individual’s name as I feel it would give him fame he doesn’t deserve. If you thought this story couldn’t get worse, then think again...

Within 12 hours of the incident, “President” Trump is informed of the situation in Charlottesville, including the death of Heyer and two law enforcement officers who died in a helicopter crash while trying to protect the demonstrators. Trump went before the cameras to offer his sympathies to the people who were injured, the families of the victims, and to condemn the acts of violence. BUT HERE’S THE THING, he did so in such a manner that it could best be described as “half-hearted, generalized, and ignorant of the entire situation”. In simple terms, he accused ALL SIDES of having a role in the violence and the deaths, while not even making any attempt to single out the white supremacists who were truly responsible. Former KKK Grand Wizard David Duke even had occasion to remind Trump that his “election” couldn’t have been possible without the vote of loyal white Americans, i.e the very white supremacists responsible for the atrocity.

But even as Trump was sent reeling by the backlash from Democrats and even many Republicans for his lackluster condemnation, and as tributes to Heyer began pouring in thru facebook and Twitter, them damned white supremacists began to denounce Heyer as a 32-year-old “slut” who was “useless” because she was doing “what women were intended to do, reproduce”. I cannot go into more detail on the things they said about her because its just too f**king stupid to even want to relive even if for the benefit of writing this blog. Needless to say, they got a backlash almost as bad as Trump got, but the threats against family and friends of Heyer was so bad that a planned vigil at the location where she died had to be canceled out of concern those white supremacists might try and harm or kill more people. The vigil took place on facebook, though some brave people did go to the location despite the threats and hold vigil there. 

Without having this turn into a Family Guy style “What Really Grinds My Gears” foray, what actually grinds MY gears is both the way in which the white supremacists attacked the character of the person whose death by one of their own caused such outrage, and the fact that Donald Trump once again did a half-ass job of condemning the heinous actions by calling them out by name. Mike Pence (None The Smarter), Vice President of the USA actually DEFENDED Trump’s statements..or tried to at least. But the backlash had gotten so severe that in a rare moment of realization that he was in serious doo-doo with public opinion, Trump finally came out and condemned in full the actions over the weekend, even calling out the various hate-groups involved. But these facts remain: 1) an innocent person died, killed by an act of domestic terrorism more serious than anything ISIS could dream up for the very fact that the terrorist WASN’T EVEN A MUSLIM, he was as “red-blooded American” as you or I 2) Donald Trump is STILL taking flak for his abysmal condemnation Saturday despite his more straightforward Sunday statement, and 3) Alt-right shock-jocks like Alex Jones are STILL trying to convince Americans that the entire incident, including the murder of Heyer, was staged by Jewish agitators working for the liberal left and Hillary Clinton (why the hell is SHE being dragged into this horrible situation only Jones himself can answer, if you can stomach it).

So now you wonder why I hold Trump personally responsible for the incident and others like it that have happened in the last six months? Go back to the very day he started his presidential campaign, and follow it all the way through, and the answer should be as plain as the nose on your face (unless you’re such a fan of his that what he says wouldn’t matter to you at all. Hell, let him announce World War III. You’d still cheer his speeches). Many of his fans and sycophants would call that “tough talk”. There is a WORLD of difference between “tough talk” and inciting rioting on a grand scale. What Trump did was unleash the forces of racism which we’ve managed with some degrees of success to keep contained, and sat back and watched while America ripped itself to pieces. What’s worse? Many of my fellow white people either openly support Trump’s efforts because they believe it’ll “Make America Great Again” as his slogan goes, or are uncaring about the entire episode for the reason that “it didn’t happen here”, or “its not my problem.” Let me tell you something: IT IS YOUR PROBLEM! How long do you think it’ll be before that poisonous rhetoric spreads into your neighborhood? Your schools? Your communities? You do nothing by choice at the risk of doing nothing by inability because it became too ingrained to risk your own safety to speak out.

For those among my fellow white people who have gone out to protest racism, and the doctrines of Trump, I salute you. Continue to stand firm against bigotry, hate, and prejudice. For those of you who remain uncaring and/or unconcerned, maybe its time you become more caring and concerned because it could be the difference between a united America and an America torn asunder. And to those who support/agree with/endorse the rhetoric of the white nationalists, Steve Bannon and Donald Trump..I can only say...SHAME ON YOU. Maybe you should remove yourselves from this country and travel somewhere where you might be more appreciated....

...like perhaps Hell.