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divinewill · 2 years ago

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Capítulo Cinco: Metacrisis Man

The entire country shut down in response to the so-called G² Impact, but it wasn’t just the United States that reacted in this way. The economic and military superpowers of the world - the USA, Russia, China, Brazil, and India - all seemed paralyzed in a state of uncertainty.

Everyone knew that the beast which attacked Japan would have to be slain, or it could crawl out of the sea and collapse another nation with its hideous strength. However, whatever it was had apparently evaded detection until it appeared on land, and there was no guarantee that there weren’t more of them out there.

Only the Global Strategic Self-Defense Operations seemed to be confident in themselves, but the world was rightly suspicious of their claims.

I was pulled out of school and made to stay home until more had been discovered, so I found myself with ample free time. Not wanting to be too idle, I spent most of my day reading and drawing. My father had a massive collection of comics, dōjin, manga, manhwa, and mànhuà, as well as an impressive collection of cartoons and anime. His love of these mediums clearly came from his love of drawing and heroism, from Beowulf to the Zafarnamah, and it’s where I inherited my tastes in storytelling and media. I always preferred the stories of heroes who didn’t just take responsibility for their power but actively chose to defend and love even those who hated them. “Protecting a world that hates and fears them” was the official summation of one of my favorite classic comic runs, one that I felt was maliciously ruined over time and long before I was born. The first comic I began reading that day was Kamen America, and the last was Ava’s Demon.

I made it a habit to pray the chaplet of divine mercy delivered to us through saint Faustina daily, for the hope of the souls of those who lost their lives because of my powerlessness during the G² Impact. It became a ritual I would continue every day for the rest of my life and would encourage others to join, not just for the victims of the G² Impact but for the lives lost in my future activities and future eldritch attacks. I never lost hope, because it was my understanding that God, being omniscient, could retrocausally apply the graces obtained through future meritorious prayer to those who had already passed at the moment of their death and grant them both the requisite knowledge, power, and freedom to receive salvation. Whether they choose to accept such an offer was theirs to make.

My father has an interesting background. He is a 100% disabled veteran of the United States Army, a former EMT, and a martial arts champion. Currently, he makes a living as the owner of a vtuber talent agency. I received a notification on my phone that he was currently streaming, so I clicked on the notification, and it opened the stream.

His avatar was a wolf bishōnen with dark skin, short, straight red hair, and a science fiction visor concealing his eyes. This persona was clad in armor blending the aesthetics of a medieval knight with properties that indicated a powered exoskeleton. His own streams mostly consisted of a combination of art and gaming livestreams, with occasional forays into political commentary and philosophy classes.

He, like all the talents he managed, viewed the occupation as a kind of kayfabe-based storytelling, with characters occupying a liminal space between actuality and fantasy. In his current stream, he was outlining the plan going forward for the talents he managed, considering the recent events.

He explained, “We will continue to make material in the upcoming weeks, but I’ve granted additional downtime to my idols so they can gather supplies and make arrangements with their families. Regarding talent in the Republic of China…”

I did not stay for the full speech and closed the stream. Then, I called my friends to check up on them. After that, I finished my reading and headed into the garage. The garage had been modified into a makeshift gym where I would practice my form on the wooden dummy and speed bags.

My father, a counter-Gramskian, believed in the necessity of entertainment as an escape and release. However, he always emphasized the importance of being mindful of my limitations. This was a lesson I had learned the hard way through a recent injury from a fight with a friend, which resulted in broken bones for both of us.

As I was practicing my forms on the wooden dummy, I heard a voice in my head that wasn’t my own say, “Hello there, Miss Trueman.”

Startled, I jumped away from the wooden dummy and started scanning around the gym. It had my attention as it explained, “My apologies. I am a telepath.”

I thought to myself, “What the hell?”

Still closely examining the room as a precautionary measure.

The voice explained, “Do not worry. I can only relay information. I can’t actually cause people to think or do anything.”

I quipped back silently, “But you can apparently read minds.”

The voice explained, “Yes, but my abilities work more like a search engine than what you seem to think. I can isolate concepts and scan people’s memories and thoughts for information without eavesdropping on unrelated information.”

I switched to thinking in Mandarin, but the voice was one step ahead of me.

“Nice try, but my ability bypasses all linguistic barriers.” It told me smugly in the language I was now thinking in.

I reluctantly considered transforming into the Lolita Princess, but the voice asked for a moment to explain itself.

“My name is Uriah. We’ve never met, but we go to the same school. I have been searching for metahumans with remarkable powers.”

I asked him incredulously, “Why?”

He explained, “A great evil is coming to the city of New Providence. Something fundamentally unlike the kaijū that destroyed Tomoeda.”

I told him, “Cut out the cryptic bush beating and get straight to it.”

Uriah agreeing with a caveat, “Of course, but before that, I’d like you to meet the rest of the team.”

“Team?” I asked

The ghostly image of four middle school girls—Chinese, Japanese, Arabic, and Hispanic—appeared in the room. They dressed in casual wear: the Chinese girl in shorts, a long sleeve stripped shirt, and tennis shoes with her waist-length hair unbound. The Japanese girl was in pants, a blue, short-sleeve shirt, and tennis shoes with short unbound hair. The Hispanic girl, with hair tied in pigtails, and dressed in a pleated knee-length skirt and cyan long-sleeve shirt. Finally, the Arabic girl with hair tied into a ponytail, wearing a red, long sleeve shirt and skirt.

The Chinese girl introduced herself, “My name is Ailing (懓鈴).”

The Levantine lass made her acquaintance. “My name is Ashadeeyah.”

The Hispanic girl revealed her identity. “My name is Irma.”

The Japanese girl extended a formal greeting, “My name is Naoko.”

Then, as if composed of some wispy fumes, his form composed itself, his arms outstretched to the side like some arrogant, but exceedingly well dressed, middle school boy, introduced himself, “And I am the man who brought us all together.”

He was a Mediterranean lad, dressed in a black, long-sleeved, button-up shirt, dress pants, and black dress shoes with red hair, freckles, and green eyes.

I asked him, “What’s with the getup?”

He explained, “First impressions are important, so I dressed up to meet each of you.”

I introduced myself, unimpressed with the theatrics. “My name is Will.”

Ailing, Irma and Ashadeeyah all seem to react to me differently than did Naoko. Ailing, with a sense of excited inquisitiveness, clasped her hands together with a smile on her face. Irma had a look of slight surprise, with her head cocking back and to the side almost imperceptibly; her right hand lazily pointing in my direction. Ashadeeyah seemed the most taken aback, leaning in with a slight head tilt and noticeably furrowed brow, as if visually inspecting me. Their simultaneous reactions bewildered Naoko, and the girls made eye contact with each other, noticing each other’s reaction.

It was like they were carrying on a conversation without me, as Uriah said, “Good, you’ve found something in common with her.”

I asked, “What might that be?”

Ailing asked, “You speak Mandarin?”

Irma remarked, “You speak Spanish?”

Ashadeeyah probed, “You speak Arabic?”

I glared at Uriah and quietly snapped at him, “This increasing breach of my privacy is not winning you any favors here, boy!”

Back in Texas, I grew up in a Chinatown where I took classes in Mandarin, learned Spanish from my adoptive paternal grandparents, and received instruction in Arabic and Hebrew from a former IDF soldier who legally immigrated to the United States. Even now, I regularly receive tutorage in Venda and Shona, but this was information that strangers could not have instinctive access to. My father did not pick these languages arbitrarily. Rather, he picked them because he wanted to help me connect me with both my adoptive and biological heritages.

Uriah explained, “That wasn’t on purpose… Anyone I connect with a telepathic relay can sense commonalities between each other, whether I want them to or not.”

Naoko redirected our focus. “With all due respect, the reason that we’ve reached out to you is your humanitarian escapades in Japan, as well as that stunt you pulled stopping those thieves, prior.”

Ailing cautiously confessed, “You seemed like the kind of person who would help us.”

I took a frustrated breath and patiently reminded them, “Y’all’ve yet to explain with what, specifically.”

Naoko explained, “Yōma are different from kaijū. They hide themselves in their own domain. A pocket dimension which can only be accessed at certain points in space, under certain conditions, and from which they can subtly influence the thoughts, sensations, and decisions of others. Yōma possess no internal organs, leave no body behind when destroyed, and can create armies of smaller minions called shōki.”

Uriah confirmed that, “Because they leave no body behind, what we know about them is extremely limited.”

I asked, “What do you mean, they don’t leave a body behind?”

Naoko explained, “Their bodies disintegrate into an evaporating ash when they die.”

I confessed, “Well, I have x-ray vision, so I could scan their interior composition while they’re in motion and report my observations… Are you suggesting that no one has ever done that before?”

Naoko, looking surprised, explained, “No. People with x-ray vision are uncommon.”

It was now that the girls and Uriah himself seemed to realize that I have no experience with superpowers outside of my own, and no experience with preternatural monsters outside of one recent catastrophe.

I politely advised them, “Listen, girls… You shouldn’t concern yourself with monsters…”

Ailing, desperately pleading, interrupted me, “What’s coming is the most powerful Yōma in all of history! One which can send the world into chaos, same as that kaijū did recently!”

Uriah informed me, “I have it on the authority of a diviner that a collection of Yōma will make an appearance in New Providence within a couple of months. One of them will bring with it an army of over thirty million deathless foot soldiers.”

Naoko stuttered at the thought, “Did you say thirty million?”

Clearly, none of the girls were aware of this beforehand.

Uriah confirmed this notion, expanding, “The thing is that Metahumans with divination abilities often suffer from communication disorders, which make their visions of hidden knowledge difficult to decipher.”

Uriah’s telepathic relay wordlessly informed me that by the term “diviner” they were not referring to a practitioner of an occult magic, but rather that the word was being used to refer to Metahumans with the in-born power to predict the future.

I simply asked them, “Do any of y’all have any experience fighting?”

Naoko agreed, “Will is right. If we’re going to do this, we need to get together and practice…”

I clarified, “That’s not what I mean… Have any of you been in a real fight? Have you ever been kissed with a fist, had the wind knocked out of you, or broken a bone?”

No one would look me in the eye after that question; confirming my suspicions.

I informed them, “Look… I got into a fight with a friend. She broke my hand, an arm, and a foot, but I broke both her forearms and one of her feet. I only recently fully recovered from that.”

I asked, “Uriah, can you transmit sensory information?”

He confirmed, “Yes, I can.”

I asked, “What about memories of sensory information?”

He confirmed again, “Of course.”

I requested him to, “Show them what it’s like to break a bone.”

The girls collapsed, crying out in pain as they grabbed at their arms.

I requested, “Now send them my experience back in Japan.”

Suddenly, you could see the devastating experience wash over their entire bodies.

I contemplated asking him to share what it felt like to lose a mother, but I decided that such a thing was too intimate a pain to share and might backfire by strengthening their resolve.

I told them, “I know what it’s like to lose a family member. I won’t be privy to you doing that to your parents and siblings.”

Naoko was the first one to respond. “You’re seriously trying to convince us to step down? You just showed us exactly why we need to prepare to fight!”

I looked at her incredulously.

Irma clarified, “We’re not talking about going off to fight in some foreign country… these Yōma are going to make landfall here!”

Ailing reinforced this reasoning, “Our family and friends are at stake here… How can you seriously ask us to do nothing?”

I told them, “Whatever your powers and motivations may be, you aren’t ready for this kind of thing.”

Irma replied in anger, “What makes you prepared?”

I admitted, “I thought I was, but I recently discovered that I’m not either.”

I continued, “My father is a martial arts champion. He taught me how to shoot. I asked him about military strategies and tactics. He explained room clearing drills to me in detail. I even got a BSL certification, and he taught me what he learned both as an EMT and Combat medic. I spent over a month rigorously testing out the limitations of my alter ego, and while I have yet to discover my limits, I know they must exist. You see, I can operate under the assumption that if my alter ego dies, I won’t… because when my alter ego suffers damage, it doesn’t translate to my real body being hurt, so I am at less of a risk doing this…”

I told them, “That bilocation ability is the real crux behind my activities. I don’t have to make the same compromises as most others. I doubt that any of you can bilocate… what happens if one of you gets hurt, or worse, killed? Are you willing to do that to your families?”

Naoko shot back, “We can’t just stay put and do nothing!”

I, careful to control my volume, returned fire with, “Why are a bunch of schoolgirls even doing this? Where are the adults?”

Uriah explained, “Most superhumans do not have the kind of powers required to fight yōma. On average, men tend towards more specialized powers and women towards more broadly applicable powers, so most people who can wield powers that simulate magic are female; even then, such abilities are uncommon. We metahumans have culturally conditioned themselves to be discrete with our abilities… superheroism isn’t common. That, combined with the fact that these things are frightfully new, makes mobilizing defensive force quite difficult.”

Naoko pointed out, “That and just because we have superpowers doesn’t mean that we aren’t subject to the same pitfalls. We wouldn’t have believed any of this ourselves if we didn’t confront fairies ourselves.”

I asked her, “Fairies? Like the Daoine Sidhe?”

Ailing added, “You could call them yōkai or yāo if you want. They’re essentially the same thing.”

I asked incredulously, “You expect me to believe that I am the first superpowered vigilante and that fairies walk alongside metahumans?”

Uriah admitted, “No. The magical girl who patrolled this district for four years disappeared months ago. And fairies are much more elusive than metahumans are. Hence why most of us do not believe they exist.”

I decided to ignore the bit about magical girls apparently being real too and further argued, “Okay, forget about the fairies… That’s precisely my point: what happened to her? What you need are people with real-world experience in a relevant field: ex-military and law enforcement officers. Not whatever this is… She had four years of practical experience. You lot don’t even have a day’s worth of experience.”

Naoko protested, “I will not wait for my family to be destroyed by monsters.”

Frustrated, I shook my head in disbelief and assured them, “Look, girls… I will deal with these Yōma. What you need is a good martial arts instructor… Learn how to fight… Cultivate your minds and bodies and your powers. I’ll even deign to spar with you and help you cultivate your powers, but I will not let you accompany me on monster hunting.”

Irma asked, “So you won’t teach us?”

I told them, “Look, just because I’ve been involved in martial arts for most of my life does not mean I am qualified to teach you what you need to know… I have no experience coaching, just in providing peer support… the kind of fighting I’ve been taught is in many ways both too much and too little… I am underqualified to teach you what you need to know to fight monsters… but maybe getting the wind knocked out of you will knock some sense into you. Also, a prodigious fighter is not made in a few months…”

Naoko attempted to protest, but I interrupted her and told them, “This conversation is over.”

Uriah disconnected me from the telepathic relay. A courtesy I honestly did not expect.

I was frustrated at this violation of my privacy, but I knew deep down, especially after yesterday, I couldn’t ignore the possibility of yōma being real. After all, I’ve been active as a superhero in secret for more than a month. I just dealt with the devastation of a kaijū attack, and I could have sworn I saw a Tolkienesque dwarf on the news with a wand.

I needed to get out for a bit, so I made my way to my room, placed a jackknife in my pocket and made my way down the street, taking a bend at a crossroads to visit the corner store. I was surprised to find that it was staffed, though barely. It was a ma and pa shop owned by an Anglo-American gentleman and his Korean wife, with a specialty as an Oriental market with some subspecialties in European culinary oddities. While this city’s majority population is Pan-European diaspora, me and my father currently lived in a Koreatown, and many of the students I went to school with came from across the country with more than a few being foreign exchange students.

I bought myself a box of jujubes, and I ran back to my house. Along the way, at the bend, a concrete wall blocked my vision, which lead to me running headfirst into a 160 cm tall Japanese high school exchange student.

We both fell to the ground, and I heard the girl, startled, exclaim, “Wiru-chan, okā-sama!”

I could tell that she was speaking Japanese because I recognized some words commonly known in the otaku subculture, but I was lost as to what she was saying. Looking up, I noticed another woman behind her. The sheer size of the girl accompanying the girl I collided with startled me. A woman with a young face, blue eyes, and flowing blonde hair standing 244 cm tall.

The giantess gently drpped to a knee and outstretched her hand with “Small lady, are you hurt?”

I come back to my senses and admit, “No.”

I immediately turned my attention to the girl I ran into and, helping her back up to her feet, asked her, “Are you okay? I should have been paying attention to where I was going. I’m sorry…”

The Japanese girl stammered, “I am unharmed, but I should have been paying more attention.”

I took responsibility for my mistake, “No, I was the one who ran into you, so it’s my bad…”

The Japanese girl had a sense of wistful déjà vu on her face and in her voice.

The giantess introduced herself. “My name is Adora Maheshwaran, and this is my sister, Asuka.”

Turning to look at her, I saw she had a blackbody piercing in her ear.

After a moment of befuddled shock, I introduced myself, “My name’s Will Trueman.”

I noticed they looked like some of the concept sketches I saw in my dream.

I asked her, “So, are you adoptive sisters, stepsisters, or are you half-sisters?”

The giantess admitted, “Half-sisters.”

I asked her, “Did you receive your name from a biological or stepparent?”

The giantess seemed amused at this inquiry. “Quite perceptive. You don’t look Germanic yourself. I’d guess you’re Chinese and Bantu.”

I lit up at the observation with the excitement. “Wait, are you studying anthropology?”

The giantess chuckled at that and explained, “Heavens no, but I guess I’ll answer your question. My sister and I share the same mother, but not the same father.”

Asuka seemed rather irritated at the forthcoming of her sister.

The giantess parted, along with her sister, with the words, “May you live in interesting times, Jeune Mère de Infinités.”

Arriving home, I went back to my room and closed the door. I looked at the palm of my hand, where I had seen a similar blackbody object held by my larger body in my dream. Then, it appeared silently, between the blinking of my eyes. My heart skipped a beat. The “All-Slayer” - I heard it called that. There was a deep sense of awe, as if my subconscious and body were responding to something that my conscious mind could not yet apprehend.

I momentarily conceived it transforming into a spear, the king of weapons, and it did just that. It leaped out of my hand and extended into a blackbody weapon so dark that the surface details were imperceptible. I reached out and grabbed it, and a power surged through my body, flooding my unconscious. It spoke directly to my consciousness.

Not in words, but in pure ideation. Upon slightly moving it, it lit up with an electric pulse, almost as if it cleaved electrons from their orbitals. I imagined it in other forms and it reflexively metamorphosed into a jiàn, dào, and māccuahuitl. I gave it a name, like how my father named his rifle in the army. Its name is Holiday Junction, and with but a thought, it vanished again. I had yet to test this out in the same way I had tested the potencies of my alter ego, which gave me something to do in the interim.

I checked on my dad with my phone, and he was still streaming; so, I went upstairs to my room, placed down my knife, and put on an audiobook of The Neanderthal Parallax by Robert J. Sawyer. I grabbed a sketchbook, sharpened my pencil with my knife, and sat down at my desk. Recalling the odd-looking soldier I saw on the news, I sketched his face from memory. I drew a rough model of the rest of his body afterwards. I continued to draw for about thirty minutes before I checked the news again.

Of course, the news about the G² Impact seemed to completely eclipse every other concern, but some of these titles were absurd: “Kraken Spotted Off Coast of Isla Grande de Tierra del Fuego”, “Giants and Halflings Among Humanitarian Workers”, and “Spartan Society in Antarctica”. I clicked on the article about giants and goblins, and sure enough, there was a video of a man of extraordinary, but natural, stature paired with a woman who was short enough to fit the description. Though it wasn’t necessarily their stature that stood out to me, much like the man with the wand on TV, but rather their faces. The giant had a blue complexion with tattoos across his face, while his friend, helping him direct people to safety, had a green complexion with a red dot painted between her brow with what looked like three petals, pointed left, right, and up, as well as two stems extending outwards between the petals.

At the time, I didn’t know that floral bindi pattern would be something I would become personally familiar with. The world was changing faster than anyone could have anticipated, and it would take time for us in the civilian world to catch up, but unbeknownst to me the people in the GSSDO had already become accustomed to all of this, and that would put them at an advantage compared to the rest of the world.

Luckily, I wasn’t going to go through all this alone; so for the time being, I should let someone else with more intimate knowledge of what is coming narrate their story.

#superhero #magical girl #kaiju #dark fantasy #hopepunk #original story #original character

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pagesofkenna · 3 years ago

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Heads up, today is Creator Day on Itch.io, meaning Itch is waiving their service fee for the day and giving 100% of profits to creators! A bunch of people have put bundles together, including a bunch of indie TTRPG folks! Here's some of my tabletop and video game recommendations:

Tabletop:

Blades in the Dark - This is a very well known title in the TTRPG community, and one of my FAVORITE games of all time. You and your friends play a gang of scoundrels - thieves, murderers for hire, cultists, whatever you want to be - trying to survive in the seedy underbelly of a city plunged into eternal night. Very reminiscent of Dishonored, Bloodbourne, Peaky Blinders, and Crimson Peak.

Golden Sky Stories - THIS IS SUCH A CUTE GAME. You and your friends play animal spirits in a quiet, rural Japanese town. You can transform from forms that look like human children to foxes, birds, tanuki, and so on. There's no combat mechanic (not that I remember) because the purpose of the game is to help out the humans in the town, or the great spirits in the forest. I wish this was more well known!

Superstition - This is the game I did a writeup of on my portfolio blog a few weeks ago, written by a friend so you should check it out! It's a solo storytelling game where you play a fake seer making up rituals.

The One - A tabletop dating sim! I actually helped beta test this a little. It's another solo game, you draw cards and roll dice to try to maintain a successful relationship in a weird fantasy city. I ended up dating and breaking up with at least ten different monsters and spirits.

Take Root - Tabletop farming sim! Like Harvest Moon or Stardew Valley? Play it with dice! Can be played solo or in a group. I haven't personally played this one yet, but I'm planning to play it soon and do a writeup for my portfolio blog.

Alone on a Journey - A collection of solo games, some of which you can pick up for free if you just want to try them out. Sort of a meditative worldbuilding exercise - you draw cards to get prompts, then write out what you discover about the world around you based on those prompts.

Thursday - A diceless, GMless 2+ player game about time loops - like Groundhogs Day! I haven't actually played this one yet (*eyes emoji*) but I've been watching it for a while and it looks fantastic.

Delve - A solo dungeon mapping game. You control a kingdom of dwarves who are digging further and further into the ground, trying to unearth riches without unleashing an elder evil. The first time I played this I... sorta got my whole kingdom killed....

Monster Mix - A 2-player game, both players create a monster character and then create a music playlist for that character. Then you each listen to the other's playlist, and try to see how many questions you can answer about the other's character. It's a cool experiment in character creation AND playlist making, which I love.

Artefact - Another solo game, but instead of playing a character you play a magical artefact, a cool sword or magic ring or whatever you want to create. Over the course of the game you tell the story of this item, how it was created and what great events it's seen, over the long, long arc of history.

(Note on Solo games for people new to them: They're a lot like guided writing prompts, but I love to use them to create backstories for OCs, or flesh out a setting for writing projects or DND games. You can journal as much or as little as you like.)

Video Games:

Oxenfree - (In last year's Itch megabundle) A 2D sidescrolling horror game about teenagers stuck overnight on an island with angry ghosts. Listen I don't love horror as a genre but this got me SO good, its creepy and unsettling and ghosty, and the music is amazing, and it's an indie fan favorite.

A Short Hike - (In last year's Itch megabundle) A cutesy short exploration game - also stuck on an island, you play a bird-person who sets off on a hike to the top of the mountain.

Arcade Spirits - Nerdy visual novel/dating sim! I think this also may have been in that megabundle. In an alternate world where arcades never went out of style, you try to hold down your job at a floundering mom-and-pop arcade, fight the capitalist megacorp, and maybe find love (but only if you want)!

A Normal Lost Phone - The entire game takes place in a phone you've apparently found on the ground. You have to snoop through the owner's texts, email, and apps to figure out how to turn on the wifi and unlock more parts of the phone, discovering the story of the person who 'lost' it. I don't wanna spoil anything but it was a very touching game.

Feel free to share some of your own recommendations!

#itchio #itch.io #creator day #i kinda lost steam after four video games lols #i know theres a TON more on Itch but I don't know which games are and arent on there yknow #i know more about the itch ttrpg community

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smuttyanimeslut · 4 years ago

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Dirty Text TicTok Trend

Honestly the tik tok trend where you text your significant other something dirty during a gathering of people has been living in my head rent free for the past couple of days so here’s this.

Pairing : Sakusa x gn!reader, Tsukishima x gn!reader, Kuroo x gn!reader, Tendo x gn!reader

Warnings: cussing, mentions of sexual activity, dirty text

Characters aged up 🥰

Sakusa

Alright so Sakusa is across from you while the whole team is playing a card game. He isn’t actually playing as much as he is drinking but that is besides the point.

That is when the idea struck you. You’ve been seeing people do the tik tok trend with their S.O. quiet a lot recently and you wanted to give it a shot. Now was the perfect time.

You waited until after your turn to begin typing the message. You wrote every fantasy you could think of that you wanted to do to or with this man and let me tell you, ya nasty but me to I stg.

Your message was so steam your OWN cheeks got red. This didn’t go unnoticed, let’s be honest every one is drinking and they’re all to the point where they have no filter.

Bokuto points it out first but you convince him that it’s the alcohol making you hot. Ya dirty lair.

You send the message and automatically grab the sanitizer out of your bag.

Let me tell you when I say his face went red underneath his mask I mean baby boy didn’t have enough blood circulating around his body his toes went numb.

By the time he looked up at you, you were already lathering the sanitizer into your skin.

That did it for him honestly he knew you mean BUISNESS.

literally this man got up from his seat, walked around the table to you very calmly, grabbed your hand and started PuLlInG you from the room.

You hardly had time to shout a goodbye to the group before y’all were out into the hall.

Trust me when I say he did everything on your list babes. And I mean EvErYtHiNg.

Tsukishima

I would just like to start off by saying I SIMP

Let’s just start off with the obvious here. Our baby Tsukki doesn’t like to go out with your guys friends to aften. They are a lot. So when Hinita mentioned a movie night you practically had to force him to join you.

Why you thought doing this trend on Tsukki would be a good idea is beyond me. Baby boy does not do well with embarrassment.

After the first movie ended, which you practically had to make Tsukki cuddle with you during (poor boy is not about PDA even in front of your close friends) everyone headed to the kitchen to refill on snacks.

That is when you decided to make your move. You know that Tsukishima likes to be the dom but you also know that he may or may not have quietly stated that he may or may not want you to take control sometimes.

That’s how you got his cheeks burning. You telling him exactly how you were going to dominate him drove him insane.

When his eyes bet yours over the kitchen island you could tell you were in trouble.

Honestly the part that shocked everyone is when he wrapped his arms around your waist and whispered into your ear. Willingly doing PDA? Unheard of.

“Is that what you want then brat.” He whispered, “then show me.”

Y’all left soon after and I stg his cocky attitude is how he ended up with your underwear in his mouth. Can’t talk now 😇

Kuroo

I wish I could draw I wish I could draw I wish I could draw

Anyways it was after practice. Kuroo had invited you to come watch him before you guys went to your study date. School is hard man.

And he didn’t mean to be ignoring you while he talked to his team but he totally was, dummy brained boy.

That’s when the idea hit you, and you knew it was trouble, but every bodies reaction on TikTok had been golden so you figured his would be to.

Wrong, this boy lives on TikTok don’t even fight me on this. For everyone video you saw, he saw 5. Not to say it prepared him for the dirty message you sent him, bc he stopped breathing for a full 20 seconds before a smirk made its way on to his face.

“Kitten if you wanted to do that you just had to ask.” He started, “there is a storage closet right there we can go to if you want.”

We hate this man I stg. You couldn’t help the blush on your cheeks as the entire team stared at you. He knew what he was doing, and he knew the team would know what he meant by his words.

Evil man.

So what did you do? You turned on your heels and left. What else were you supposedly do, you are litterally dying on the inside.

Kuroo, knowing he embarrassed the fuck out of you, quickly followed behind and wrapped his arms around your waist promising you all the snacks in the world if you wouldn’t be mad at him.

How could you be though, you had tried to embarrass him and he’s just do much better at turning that shit around on you it isn’t funny.

That’s okay though because after you studied for 10 minutes he gave you a different type of lesson.

Tendo

The absolute disrespect on this mans name I stg. Why is there no tendo content? I love him so much

Tendo knew what you were gonna do before you were going to do it. Actually he just knew something was up when you kept trying to text where he wouldn’t see it.

This man, no matter where you are, always has to be touching you. Y’all at a cafe? He sat beside you and your thighs are touching. You’re doing a study date? He has his head in your lap so you can’t study. Handing out with the team? You are between his legs and his head is rested on your shoulder. When I say he is always touching you, I mean it.

It’s his love language what can I say.

The day in question isn’t any different. All of the guys decided that while they had off of volley ball they would do a gaming contest. (I mean ALL the guys. The competition between these school lives on and off the court smh)

So with half the guys playing in one room and the other half in another, there wasn’t much room. Tv wires and gaming consoles took up most of the floor leaving little room to sit.

With all the couch spots taken it wasn’t surprising when Tendo plopped on the ground in front of the coffee table. He pulled you down between his thighs and wrapped his arms around you.

That is how the two of you stayed while he played his game.

While he was preoccupied you made your move.

Honestly it took him a while to check his phone. He forgot it had vibrated three matches ago, and had stumbled across the text when checking the time.

You felt his whole body tense up before it relaxed again except for the now hard member pressed into your back.

You could feel his hot breath on your ear.

You knew he was smiling, he always smiled.

“Is that so?” He questioned placing a kiss to your neck. “Does that mean it’s time to go or should we be quick in the bathroom?”

Honestly friend you decide my simp ass would let him do whatever the fuck he wanted to.

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squeeneyart · 3 years ago

Text

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 25

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger

Nothing to do but talk.

Martin and Jon settle in for a movie night.

The documentary, if it could be called that, was absolute bunk.

Littered throughout were vague interviews and wild assumptions on the part of the very on-screen director, all tied together with a final push for people to purchase a very specific brand of smoke detector. And the low quality of the video couldn’t be blamed solely on Martin’s internet.

They watched the thing from start to finish, though, and by the end of its 70-minute runtime (“I should’ve guessed by how short it was,” Jon had grumbled partway through) their viewing had turned primarily to Jon taking the piss out of it. Academically, of course.

On Martin’s end the film itself was bad in an enjoyable way, and while he didn’t have the context for all of Jon’s complaints it was easy for him to listen. He’d even made some jokes that got Jon to snort.

He did have to sit uncomfortably straight to keep from leaning against each other. Jon had turned it a bit so they could both see, but when viewed from too hard an angle the picture looked even worse. So, Martin did his best to give Jon space and not let the effort distract him from the screen.

All of this being true, Martin was grateful for the horrible film. Nothing filled silence better than movies and television, so the nights following they settled into a routine. Someone would make dinner (with no further… outbursts) and then they would find something to watch. Afterwards they would say goodnight and Martin would escape upstairs to decompress with his little notebook.

Jon’s original idea had been to find something related to their goals. However, after another let down on night two involving a very old retrospective on the mid-century fishing industry (“Wrong century,” Martin had said about five minutes in), Jon dropped the idea, thus opening up a whole new world of cable television and old vhs tapes on night three.

“You bought yourself a laptop but never had a dvd player?” Jon yawned, getting comfortable on his side of the couch.

“We sort of… skipped it?” Martin dug through a box of tapes for something worth watching, sifting through sappier options and 80s action flicks alike. “Dunno how, but we never got one. The laptop ended up being the first thing I ever had to play dvds, but the telly is too old to be hooked up to it. S’fine, though. I like tapes.”

“And you never get bored of it? Flipping between tapes and whatever’s on at a given time?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “I have a phone for other stuff, obviously. To be honest I don’t watch a lot to begin with, nothing new anyway.”

“Hmph. Same for me,” Jon conceded, sinking further into the couch. “Feels like there are other things I could be doing.”

“Except for now?”

A wry smile. “Special case.”

Martin’s stomach did a flip. He didn’t feel guilty, per se, but he wished he had something for Jon to work on to stave off the boredom. Everything had been so quiet with Peter gone and Simon’s waiting that no new leads had popped up. It wasn’t fair that Jon had to sit around doing nothing after wandering about in the sea for weeks. The least he could do was provide some entertainment.

“Hm. Right, how about this one?” Martin looked back and waved a vhs set. It was some old fantasy series with a group of children on the cover standing in a hallway. “Haven’t watched it since I was a kid, but I remember liking it.”

“Two tapes’ worth?” Jon glanced up at the ceiling. “It’s in episodes, right?”

“Yeah, though if you’d rather find something else…?”

Jon waved his hand. "No, I can’t spend the whole evening making up my mind. If we don’t like it, then we can find something else.”

With that settled Martin popped the tape in and took up his seat. On the other end, Jon sat with the blanket pulled to his chest. He wore a new set of pyjamas Martin had picked up at the shop along with a few other things to save Jon from having to wear the same clothes day and night.

The show was a simple series meant for children, easy enough to follow in plot that some side chatter didn’t interrupt things too much. Honestly, Martin was glad they weren’t paying a whole lot of attention. He hadn’t watched it in years and wasn’t looking to be embarrassed.

A few minutes in, the children from the cover were running up the stairs to explore a large house. “Safe to assume you don’t have siblings?” Jon asked.

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s just me. You?”

He snorted. “Even if my grandmother wanted another child running around, I was enough to deal with.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “What, were you a terror?”

“I’d use the word ‘adventurous’, but she would’ve agreed with that description. If we’d been in that house,” Jon gestured toward the screen, “she would’ve been in trouble. Until it ate me or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes?”

Jon frowned. “That’s- No, I mean if it were real it would probably mean harm. Supernatural houses aren’t trustworthy entities outside of fiction. In fiction they’re mischievous at the least.”

“Can’t imagine that, a building that likes to mess with you,” Martin said, grimacing. He really didn’t remember much about this story. Maybe that was how it went? “I’m sure they’ll be fine. I wasn’t into spooky things back then.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but I’m not letting my guard down,” Jon said. He watched as the children walked up a spiral staircase. “Would you have wanted siblings?”

Martin considered this. “I can’t imagine having them? But an older sibling would’ve been nice. Someone to know better and help me with things.”

“I think any other child would’ve found me irritating, older or younger. Best to keep to myself,” Jon said dryly. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes, you can imagine the additional worry of raising a child who could explore the ocean like it was the woods. It’s not like she could follow me in.”

“I bet… She wasn’t like you, then?”

Turning back to the television, Jon said, “No. She was from my father’s side.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t tell if the question was wrong to ask, so looked back to the show. It was luck of the draw, then, whether someone was born with a selkie skin. Perhaps there was nothing to do with genetics in circumstances like this.

Back on the screen, one of the children had chosen to wander outside into the beginnings of a snowstorm with no thought to the cold. Outside the real world window it had begun to hail, and Martin realized how frigid it had become both outdoors and in.

“Well, at least this story is right for the season,” Martin said, standing up. “I’m gonna grab another blanket.”

With a start, Jon looked at him and held up the one he was under. “Do you want this one? I don’t-”

“N-no, that’s fine!” He walked briskly out of the room, feeling rude and stupid. All Jon had offered was for him to use the damned thing, not share it. And it wouldn’t have fit both of them even if he had meant it that way!

Opening the hall closet, he tried to calm down. He peered at the pile of folded sheets and blankets, lifting each layer to search for one he liked. There was a flannel one somewhere, deceptively warm for how thin it was-

Oh.

Tucked far down into the pile, far back enough so it was hidden if the one above wasn’t lifted, Martin saw something dappled and grey and out of place amongst the linen. Jon had left it to dry completely beforehand, so the surrounding fabric was unwrinkled. Considerate. And in a decent hiding place all things considered. It was a shame Martin had gone and ruined it.

He sighed, grabbing one of the blankets at the top that he’d initially passed on. Once he reached the doorway to the living room, he stopped and stared at Jon who was doing his best to seem unperturbed.

“So, I saw it,” he started, squeezing the blanket in his arms into his chest. “I use that closet a lot, if you want to put it somewhere else.”

Jon winced and stood. As Martin let him pass, he mumbled, “Right. I’ll just-”

And then Martin was left to sit back on the couch and wait, pausing the tape out of courtesy.

When the skin had disappeared from the shower that first morning he hadn’t considered anything but Jon hiding it, and there was an awful satisfaction in knowing he was right. He rubbed his arm and stared at the blanket in his lap, still neat and folded.

After a couple of minutes, Jon returned empty handed and resumed his seat. Pulling his blanket back up, he said, “It’s nothing… personal.”

“I know.” He took a deep breath and pressed play on the old remote, letting the child continue their new solo adventure. “I figured you hid it.”

“I appreciate that you told me.” His voice was stilted and unsure. “That you found it.”

“Sure, whatever helps.” Unfolding the blanket, he pulled it up to his shoulders and leaned on the arm rest. He could feel Jon fidgeting in place, turning the blanket so it faced the right way and making it tuck under him in the right places. Martin kept his eyes ahead.

Finally giving up on any further adjustments, Jon slouched into place. “It does help. I know my caution can come off as distrust, but genuinely I just… I need to keep it hidden. I need to know where it is and to be the only one who does. For now.”

“You… don’t need to justify anything.” Martin sighed and had to fight back a yawn. “It’s your coat.”

A grunt of frustration. “No, you don’t- It’s not a rational thing. I trusted you enough to tell you the truth, and yet I was barely into my first night here before I panicked and stowed it away.” He sat upright and let the blanket fall to his lap, quiet distress written across the lines of his forehead.

Grasping for words, Martin said, “You still haven’t known me that long. It’s not wrong to be careful.”

“That’s not the point,” Jon replied quietly, resting elbows on knees. “It hasn’t been all that long in the grand scheme of things, but a lot has happened. I consider you a friend. And yet I can’t stop feeling like everything is about to go wrong if I’m not careful.”

The hail continued to slam against the window, almost overpowering the sound of the television and the faun describing the witch’s plans. On the far side of the couch, Jon remained hunched over his own knees with his face bent in irritation.

A wave of shame broke against him, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Carefully, Martin scooted over just enough to reach out a hand. His trembling fingers hovered just an inch away, brushing against the fabric of Jon’s shirt before coming to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered, massaging around his eyes with his fingers. He reached his free hand up to tentatively cover Martin’s, giving it a tiny squeeze. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Do you… want to keep watching?”

Jon nodded, shaking himself out a little. Martin released the gentle grip on his shoulder, though he didn’t move away. They both settled into the back of the couch and watched.

The child had gone back inside with the shivers, but no one was to be found. Around the halls she wandered, calling her siblings’ names with indignation that slowly turned to concern and then to fear. Eventually she was running, and it wasn’t until she was on the upper floor that one of her brothers popped out to scare the living daylights out of her.

Deep down he remembered this part making him cry. Perhaps siblings weren’t worth it with how cruel children could be.

Martin coughed. “You explored the sea as a kid, then?”

Jumping slightly, Jon said, “O-only a couple of times. And not far from the land. And it’s not as fun when you can only grab one thing at a time, with your mouth. I sorely missed my pockets and picking up sticks.” As he spoke, he resumed the more casual tone from before with modest success.

“You thought checking out the sea with no real limits was too much of a hassle?”

With a roll of his eyes, Jon said, “It wasn’t entirely that. Eventually my grandmother warned me away from it. Told me about dangerous animals that absolutely weren’t native to the coast where we lived.”

“Great white sharks?”

“Surrounding our seaside village on every watery side, ready to eat hapless little seal boys who didn’t listen to their nans.”

Martin chuckled, relaxing further into his seat and listening to Jon go on about all the ways his grandmother had tried and failed to reign him in. He could see it, a younger, scrappier version of the man next to him stomping around the woods and climbing fences.

The instinct wasn’t all that relatable to someone like Martin who’d kept to the front porch on nice days, but it sounded like an adventure. Maybe it meant he was less likely to get eaten by an evil wardrobe out of the two of them. In his position he could only hope that was the case.

They called it for the night when, out of nowhere, a man suddenly appeared at half opacity screen and let out a screeching noise to close out an episode, making Jon laugh in a way that only could’ve been from exhaustion.

Martin lingered downstairs for a while after they shut the television off. It was Friday, after all. For many reasons they couldn’t go out to a pub, but without the need to get up early he could afford to stay up a little longer and listen to a sleepy Jon talk over the tapping on the window panes.

Tim: not next weekend, but the one after i think. finally time to call it on preparation and get down to business, if this is something we can be prepared for

Martin: encouraging

Tim: look its been rough over here, alright?

Martin: i know, sorry. itll be easier to talk once we’re all in one place

Tim: yeah

Tim: things are ok over there, then? youre sounding better

Martin: ?

Tim: it was starting to get scary if im honest, how quiet you were

Martin: oh, sorry. things are fine, just didnt have a lot to say

Tim: yeah, i get it. its hard to fill the space. dont be a stranger though. in a few weeks we’ll be there to get you out of this mess

Martin: looking forward to it

Sighing, Martin looked from the private chat to Jon, who was ignoring his breakfast to type away at the laptop. “Sounds like the others are making plans to get here.”

Jon looked up briefly. “Good. It will be… nice to see them.”

“And show them you’re not dead?”

Ignoring this, Jon said, “How is Tim doing?”

He glanced back at his phone. “Worried. About a lot of things, I think.”

“Thinking of how he’s going to break my disappearance to you, no doubt,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. He avoided Martin’s eyes. “That’ll be resolved soon enough.”

Martin poked at the eggs on his plate. “He… lost someone, didn’t he?”

It was only for a moment, but Jon froze in the middle of setting his mug down. He seemed to struggle with an answer.

“It’s fine if you can’t say, but he implied as much,” Martin said gently.

With a frown, Jon shut the laptop. “Sasha knows more than I do, but yes. His brother, a few years ago.”

“Oh. That’s… really sad.” He leaned back in his chair. “He seems like he’d be a good brother.”

“I’m sure he was. He certainly looks out for us.” Jon took a bite of his toast.

“As best as he can,” Martin added sheepishly.

“Once this is all finished he’s earned a vacation.”

Yes, they’d all given poor Tim their share of heart attacks. Martin had managed to several times in the last month. But at least when the time came Tim would see that both of them were alive and themselves and able to apologize for making his and Sasha’s lives just a bit harder than they needed to be.

Once it was all finished.

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #jonmartin #selkie au

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olivinesea · 4 years ago

Text

In the Golden Dark, pt. 2

Part 1

a/n: This was already pretty much done so here you go. These parts are all rather short but that can be nice right? ~1.6k

i can’t concentrate if i keep seeing your face showing up in tea leaves lit up on my tv i can’t stand up straight under your gravity so i lay awake with my eyes closed

“Did you know 12% of people dream in black and white?”

“Wha-what?” Hotch groggily looked at the time on his phone. He had answered it blindly, autopilot kicking in to attend to the buzzing beside him on the couch. He blinked again and brought the phone back to his ear to hear Spencer’s voice more clearly.

“Yeah! It used to be a lot more when television was only in black and white but now that’s shifted obviously. Elderly people are still a lot more likely to have dreams that are—“

“Spencer,” Hotch interrupted the way the words were beginning to tumble out. When he was met with an abrupt silence he realized he didn’t have a follow up, he just needed a moment to breathe. To take in the dark living room, the flickering light of the television, its muted colors and grainy film showing a syndicated rerun, the kind only played in the middle of the night or the middle of the day, times when no productive person was meant to be watching. Something soft in its age, he found it comforting to put it on when he couldn’t sleep, woken again by nightmares that some monster had found their way to Haley and Jack. That they were suffering and he didn’t even know.

On the other end of the line, Spencer held his breath. He had been nervous about making the call, he wasn’t sure if it was too intrusive, too far across the boundaries they normally worked within. It wasn’t that he was worried about waking Hotch, he knew the other man was already awake. Even before they had started talking more, casually sharing details about the time they spent away from the office, it was obvious that Hotch did not sleep like a normal person. It was something else that they shared.

Seemingly endless minutes passed without another word from either man and his fear that he’d made a mistake grew. He told himself that Hotch was not pleased with the interruption. That he was being too assuming—why would Hotch be interested in anything he had to say at three in the morning? He’d called spurred on by the acute need to share a thought and, though he wasn’t totally conscious of it, a wish to hear that comforting voice, maybe even a quiet chuckle. He had smiled imagining that gentle sound, only he hadn’t realized it, the corners of his mouth moving without informing the rest of his mind. He touched his lips now with cold fingertips, running them over the dry skin, oblivious to the way his jaw clenched.

The silence between them hung like a bridge. There was a moment where both of them looked out at their respective living rooms, mentally steeling themselves to take a step and hope the other would meet them. Hope that they wouldn’t find themselves suspended over the water, alone as ever.

“I’m sorry for calling so late,” Spencer sounded so remorseful Hotch felt guilty immediately. He hadn’t meant cause him any anxiety with his long silence, he was just trying his best to gather his thoughts. To make sense of what he meant to do.

“It’s ok, really, I—“ Hotch hesitated, unsure how much detail to go into, how much reassurance was the right amount. He felt unreasonably awkward suddenly and twitched his fingers in irritation, “I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”

“Really?” Spencer scrunched his eyes up, disliking the eagerness bleeding from his voice. He couldn’t help it though, the prospect of having the other man’s attention, even if it was only his voice reflecting from a satellite, knowing that Hotch was listening made him feel more secure. He’d spent too many restless nights pacing his apartment, starting and abandoning tasks in attempts to distract himself from the way the night was pressing uncomfortably close, threatening to overtake his mind. To have a friend to talk to, to reflect back his own reality, was a gift he could barely believe he deserved.

Hotch grunted as he adjusted himself on the couch cushions, supporting the back of his head on the pillows, resting the phone between his shoulder and ear. With his free hand he pulled up the blanket that had tangled at his feet. “Wide awake,” he said dryly. “What were you saying about dreams?”

Spencer’s smile was so big Hotch could hear it through the phone as the man stumbled ahead with the details of some completely unnecessary study. Hotch wanted to ask what had led to him reading such a thing but he was enjoying the happy way Spencer was running through all the new material he’d learned. He adored listening to Spencer speak, how he sometimes stopped short when remembering a related detail and how there’d be a pause while he took a split second to make the choice whether to jump to the new train of thought. Hotch smiled to himself and was pleased enough to offer hums of interest at inflection points. He let his eyes wander back to the television, as the title credits of another episode of Bonanza played across the screen, the pale wheat and horses and cowboys, already a distant fantasy in the 1960s, ancient history by today’s standards. His eyes fell half closed as he continued to listen to Reid’s voice.

“And, they just published a new study about how sleep deprivation decreases the body’s pain tolerance.”

Hotch snorted softly at this. “They really had to get a bunch of scientists together to figure that out? Someone paid for that?”

“Well it is always important to gather data and scientific evidence for these types of things. Anecdotal testimony won’t lead to any developments in the care for conditions like chronic pain,” Reid paused when he heard more quiet laughter from Aaron. He grinned.

“Do you want to hear something really crazy? They’ve found a connection between a person’s favorite sleeping position and their personality. Can you imagine!”

“Hmmph,” Hotch sank deeper into the cushions, settling in for whatever came next.

The calls became as regular as the midnight pancakes. Spencer would call with some piece of trivia, every night a new topic. He had a seemingly endless well of knowledge to draw on. In truth he spent the day trying to think of new ideas to share, new information he thought Hotch would appreciate. For no reason other than his own private satisfaction, he grouped topics thematically. This week they were going to be talking about space.

Now Hotch was ready, drowsy but checking his phone every few minutes to see if he’d somehow missed it ringing. He was looking at it yet again when it buzzed. He stared at the screen for a moment before answering, letting the name that flashed send a small thrill up his spine. He was not sure how it’d happened but he had come to rely on these calls. They still hadn’t discussed it, hadn’t acknowledged what this extracurricular time spent together might mean. They were simply seeking comfort, not questioning how this might be perceived outside these invisible moments.

“Hey Spence,” he barely got the words out before Spencer launched into that night’s prepared curiosities.

“Did you know most of the visible stars are actually multiple star systems? The singular stars are so much harder to see that astronomers used to believe that it was fairly uncommon to find a singular star like our sun.They hypothesized this was a contributing factor to why we hadn’t found evidence of extraterrestrial life. It is much harder for a planet to have the stability necessary for a habitable atmosphere with the potential fluctuations of a binary star system. Without as many single stars it made sense that it was exceedingly unlikely for life to form outside of our solar system.”

“I think it’d be nice,” Hotch murmured, not really thinking about what he was saying.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, ah,” Hotch stammered, a little embarrassed to have the comment acknowledged. He felt his neck growing warm as he tried to make out a reply. “Well, having two suns. I think it could be nice."  “Why?” Spencer was genuinely curious.

“Um, I guess, I imagine it would be warmer for one,” he paused before adding on, waiting to see what Spencer’s reaction might be. He could almost hear the wheels of his mind turning with all the reasons Hotch’s logic was faulty. He hurried on before he became too self-conscious to finish his thought. “And, I’ve just never really liked the night, all the darkness. Maybe with two suns we could have a little more light in the world.”

Instead of responding, Spencer remained quiet, surprised by this uncharacteristically whimsical thought. Hotch could feel his whole neck had turned red, along with the warming tips of his ears.

“I—I don’t really like the night either,” he tried to sympathize. “It can feel…overwhelming.”

They sat for a moment, not sure where to take this or how the facts had turned into feelings.

“I’m happy I have you to talk to though.”

It was simple, but it was true and sweet and Hotch smiled, closing his eyes to better absorb the words.

“I’m happy too, Spencer.”

Now they were both blushing, the depth of meaning behind these brief statements readily apparent. For a moment, feeling the heat dancing across his face, Hotch wondered if this wasn’t a mistake. Maybe he was allowing things to become something irresponsible, something he couldn’t so easily walk back. He pictured Spencer, sitting across from him, animated and full of life, pulling further away from the shadows that teased around the edges. It didn’t matter, he decided. It didn’t matter what this was, only that they had found a hand to hold through the night.

“So, what else have you got for me?”

~Part 3~

#Criminal Minds #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #hotchreid #fluff

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

Note

for the meet ugly prompts, 38 indruck nsfw ;)

Here you go!

38: I overhear you ordering your coffee in a coffee shop and I’m trying to place your voice when I realize that you’re the phone sex operator I’ve been calling on and off for the last few months but the realization startles me so much that I accidentally spill my drink on you and you’re pissed

Indrid thought he was having a normal day. He’s treating himself to a post work iced vanilla mocha, then he’ll go home, watch T.V and draw, maybe jerk off, then go to bed and get up in time for his eight a.m appointment tomorrow.

He’s messing around on his phone when the person placing their order catches his ear. There’s something in the drawl, polite and friendly, that feels weirdly familiar. It’s not a regular at the shop, and a glance at the mans face offers no useful information; he’s a complete stranger.

The barista asks something about the second drink, and the man replies, “as sweet as can be, please.”

“Ahnngod, please, please, please say I can cum?” Indrid’s been edging himself with the fleshlight so long his wrist is sore.

“Hmmm” the voice on the phone takes his sweet time answering, “dunno, not sure I punished you enough for teasin me in the bar.”

Indrid whimpers, hoping the neighbors can’t hear (even if he’d like them too, they haven’t consented to it).

This is how his calls to the 1-800-Hot-Guys line have gone ever since his first time. He asks for “Ryan,” gets a sweet, southern greeting before the other man asks what he’s in the mood for tonight. See, Indrid’s only recently begun exploring his interest in men, and is discovering that a better sense of his sexuality makes it much easier to get in touch with his other desires. Like being fucked in a bathroom stall where lots of people can hear what’s happening to him.

Ryan always takes the ideas generated by Indrid’s desire-addled brain and runs with them. Tonight, virginal Indrid Cold went to a leather bar and found a bear waiting for him (he suspects Ryan might be one in the real world, because when Indrid first revealed that preference his moans sounded a touch more genuine). The bear made him blow him in front of everyone to make sure he was worth taking home, then told him not to cum until he was done fucking him.

“Please?”

A chuckle, “Okay darlin, you can cum.”

Indrid’s certain he hurts Ryan's ear with the noise he makes as he spurts into the toy, but all the other man says is , “Good boy.”

After a moment, he adds, “aw fuck, meant to bring some spankin or somethin into the scene because I know you like it.”

“That’s, that’s quite alright. I’m not sure you could ever disappoint me.”

“Thanks, sugar.”

Indrid whines, hoping it sounds horny and not like the noise a man who’s just realized he’ll be sleeping alone makes.

“You like when I call you that? Because it’s true; you’re as sweet as can be”

As he’s been having its slow-motion realization, Indrid’s body has been going on autopilot, picking up his cup when the young woman behind the counter calls his name. Which means that--when Indrid startles at his revelation-- the cup is in perfect position to send its contents flying straight onto the man who caused it.

“AHfuck, jesus man be careful!”

“I, I’m so sorry, here, let me-” he slips in the puddle of coffee and hits the floor, kicking the other man in the shin on his way down.

“Owfuck, fuck, okay, don’t fuckin try to help again.” The man snaps.

“Nono, right, I’m sorry, goodbye” he scrambles up, sticky with shame and vanilla syrup, and hurries out of the shop.

--------------------------

Duck keeps an eye on his burner phone while playing Plants vs Bom-Boms on his real one. It’s shaping up to be another night with only two calls.

He took up the phone sex thing during the last government shutdown; the park had to furlough them, and he needed money. The extra cash was nice enough that he kept at it even after work started back up. He isn’t the most in-demand operator; he can’t lie, laughs a little too easily, so lots of callers don’t come to him a second time.

One of the few who does is Indrid. He’s Duck’s favorite because their fantasies align well enough that he actually jerks off while on the phone with him. But the guy hasn’t called in two weeks; this is a bummer, in part, because Duck came up with a scenario involving a pool table and a biker gang he thinks Indrid would really be into.

More than that, he’s worried about him.

He worries about him so much that even a half a day later he’s wondering if he should figure out how to have someone check on him. The coffee shop is conducive to thinking. Right up until the dipshit who spilled coffee on him a few weeks back plops down in the seat across from him.

“You here to ruin another shirt?”

The man, all silver hair and angular features, shakes his head, “Nono, I, I really am very sorry about that. I came to offer to buy you another.”

Duck points at his cup.

“Some other time?”

“You come here often?’

“Since I moved to the city, yes. I was out in the suburbs up until a few months ago.”

“Fine. Next time we see each other, you owe me a drink.”

He nods, nearly sliding his red glasses off his nose in his eagerness. Then he taps on the table, “There’s, ah, something else you should know. We already know each other. In a way.”

Duck frowns; he’s never seen this guy before, he’d remember his face.

“We talk on the phone. Often.”

Oh fuck.

“My name is, ah, it’s, it’s Indrid.”

“Jesus, glad you’re ok--hold the fuck on. How the fuck do you know who I am?”

“I recognized your voice the last time we were both here. I, I wanted to get to know you more but I felt it was only right to do so if you knew I knew who you were so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable, but you clearly are, I’m so sorry” he stands up, banging his knee in the process, “I promise I won’t call any more, I didn’t mean to be creepy, I’m sorry, goodbye.”

He’s out the door in a flash of long limbs before Duck has a chance to respond.

Duck sighs, downs the rest of his coffee, and decides not to dwell on the fact he’s going to miss Indrid’s calls.

--------------------------------------------------

Indrid’s excited. He really is.

It’s just that the sex club is even more overstimulating than he anticipated.

It was alright at first; when he replied that yes, this was his first time, the guy working the counter ushered him over to a set of blue velvet seats and told him to wait. Soon, Indrid and ten others were being given a rundown of the rules, risks, and etiquette of the space, their understanding of which they signed in a neatly typed contract.

Then they turned them loose into three stories of sexual exploration and Indrid froze, totally unable to process it all. Lucky for him Lucy, there with her girlfriend Willow, helped him navigate the edge of the first floor until they came to one of the “chill out” rooms; rooms for people for whom the club was as much a place to chat with friends as it was a place to get spanked or suspended. They even have juice.

After three separate people check to be sure he’s alright, he asks the trio on a nearby couch where he should go to if he’s interested in bondage and impact play. They all agree the second floor is his best bet, and that there’s a shibari demonstration starting soon.

To reach the demo room, Indrid passes though a portion of the space that reminds him of a hotel. The nice dominatrix explained the rules for their use as: doors and windows closed, leave us alone. Curtains open but door shut? You’re free to watch, but don’t come in. And if the door is open, you’re welcome to join whatever is happening. He pauses at some open windows, but nothing really catches his attention.

The demo room is already packed, so he stays at the back. A perk of being tall is he can see the couple on the little platform easily without blocking anyone else’s view. The dom is explaining why she chose the rope she did and what ties she’s going to show everyone. Indrid listens, but his eyes wander in hopes of finding someone checking him out.

Someone is. But Indrid isn’t sure it’s a good thing.

Duck stands a few bodies to his left, looking him up and down with a slight smile. Well, at least that means he doesn’t think he’s stalking him or something.

The other man meets his eyes, tips his head towards the nearby green room and raises an eyebrow. Indrid nods, picks his way through the crowd to find Duck has beaten him there.

“Y’know, if you’d told me you were into this scene, I coulda worked with that.” He polishes off his water and tosses the cup in the trash.

“I...this is my first time. Is, ah, is it yours?”

“Nah. Came some when I was younger, decided to come out tonight because I was bored and itchin’ to get someone cute in my lap.” The casual way he says it is a hundred times hotter than the practice voice he used on the phone.

“Ah. In, ah, in that case, would you mind if I asked you a question?”

“Shoot.” Duck leans against the wall, grinning.

“Am I dressed alright for this?” He gestures to his pink and yellow tank top and black jeans.

He watches Duck catch his laugh before it starts, which he appreciates.

“You’re dressed just fine, Indrid. I mean, just look at me.”

“I am” Indrid is having such a difficult time tearing his eyes from the way Duck’s white t-shirt fits his chest or how the bluejeans show off his ass. Duck catches him mid-ogle, which is all it takes to drop his gaze to the floor.

“C’mon, sit down with me a sec.” Duck settles on a grey couch, leaving Indrid space to join him, “feel like you and I got off on the wrong foot. You know I ain’t angry with you for tellin me you were a customer, right?”

Indrid shakes his head but sits down all the same.

“Indrid, you startled the hell outta me when you admitted that. For a second, I was sure you were gonna try to get somethin outta me by threatenin to tell my boss at my regular job. But then it was so fuckin clear all you were tryin to do was be straight with me and try to be polite about the drink thing, I wasn’t mad at all. You just up and bolted before I could say as much.”

“Ah. Yes. I, ah, I can be a bit of a walking disaster so I try to get out of situations before I make them even worse.”

Duck touches his hand, “I get bein’ spooked. Happens to everyone. But, uh, guess what I’m also gettin at is, uh, if you wanna actually get to know each other, I ain’t gonna complain.”

“I’d like that.”

“Okay” Duck scoots closer, “let’s start easy; what do you do when you ain’t callin me?”

Indrid tells him about the tattoo shop, which leads to them comparing ink, which in turn leads to Duck getting on a ten minute digression about native plants. They’re debating the best Cramps album (Duck votes for “Date With Elvis,” Indrid for “Off the Bone”) when they decide to stretch their legs, Duck holding Indrid’s hand as he weaves them through rooms and clumps of people.

They end up doing laps of the second floor, people watching, during which Duck nudges Indrid playfully, “Knew you were kiddin me with the never been fucked stuff.”

“Ah, well…”

“Holy fuck, you’ve never had sex and you picked here as the place to try? You got guts, sugar.”

Indrid blushes, “Well, yes and no. I’ve never had sex with another guy, but I feel confident in what kinds of things I want to try. You helped a lot with that; you made me feel safe enough to express and explore my more intense desires.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I came here out of curiosity, and because I thought my chances were good of finding someone who shared my interests without running the gamut of dating.”

“So all that stuff about bein watched, bein roughed up and used, you, uh, you really like it?”

“Indeed. Do you like it too? I, ah, I assume you pretend to like everything when you work on a sex line.”

“You’re supposed to yeah. But I’ll let you in on a little secret” Duck leans close, whispers in his ear, “I never was much good at pretendin.”

“Oh. Oh my.” He leans against Duck, excitement making his legs unreliable.

“You want me to show you just how much I like it?”

“Please.”

Duck kisses his cheek, “Missed hearin you beg, sugar. C’mon.” He pulls Indrid two doors down to a room dedicated to impact play. People are sprawled and tied to crosses, benches, chairs, all of which look exciting. Duck doesn’t stop to consider them, doesn’t even hesitate on their trip. He stops at a table, one bolted to the floor, and digs through a nearby basket.

“Here it is” he pulls out a red blanket, holds it out for Indrid to test the texture.

“It’s lovely.”

“Good” Duck spreads it on the table, “you’ll be comfier this way. How naked do you wanna be?”

“Is just my underwear alright?”

Duck points to the completely nude person being spanked on his right and the fully clothed one being hit with a crop to his left.

“I meant with you.”

Duck sets his hands on Indrid’s hips, “as long as I get to see this cute ass in the air for me, I’ll be just fine.”

Indrid quickly strips to his boxer briefs, opts to leave them on for now. Duck licks his lips, pats the table. Indrid bends over it, feet planted on the floor.

“Gonna use just my hand tonight. Easier for me to feel how hard I’m hittin, and I wanna be able to grope you while I turn your ass red.”

He moans, tenses as Duck rubs soothing circles on his ass. The first few slaps are mild, Duck checking on him after each one. Then one comes, hard and sharp, and he gasps, hips momentarily twitching away from Duck.

“Still good?”

“So very good, more, pleaseAHgod” He clings to the far end of the table as Duck brings ten slaps down on each side before giving him a rest.

“Let’s see...how many times would you say you called me?”

“At, at least fifteen.”

“Fifteen times two, add a few extra for ghostin me…” Duck pets his lower back, “You’re gonna get forty on each side as punishment for not lettin me see you cum all those times you called. Think you can handle that?”

Indrid nods.

“Count.”

“AHone, two, th-three, Aaaah,god, fourfive…”

Indrid loses himself somewhere around “ten” on the second side; all his focus is on being good, on counting out each strike, on taking whatever Duck wants to give him. His heartbeat is loud in his ears and his skin stings from ass to thigh. Dimly, he hears spectators complimenting Duck on having such a well-trained sub.

“He is, ain’t he?” Duck lands the final blow with a grunt, keeps his hand there and squeezes. Indrid whimpers, the pain going straight to his already aching dick. Duck shifts his stance, still mercilessly groping the bruise but pressing his fly against the cleft of Indrid’s ass, making it abundantly clear Indrid isn’t alone in his arousal, “he fuckin knows who he belongs too.”

Indrid moans, tears pricking his eyes; Duck is wonderful, Duck is handsome, Duck is perfect, and Duck is claiming him instead of someone twice as attractive or experienced.

“I know, sugar, you like it when people see how good you are for me.” Duck crouches down, petting Indrid’s hair as he studies his face, “you wanna regroup and finish this at home? Or do you need me now?”

“Now?” Indrid raises his head hopefully. His voice is odd in his throat, vulnerable but not afraid in the slightest. Duck nods, helps him up, thanks the person who offers to clean-up the station since Indrid, “looks like he’ll hit the ground if you let go” and grabs Indrid’s clothes.

“No point in putting these back on. Not with what I’m gonna do to you.”

They find an unoccupied, cleaned room, Indrid flopping on the bed as Duck closes the door.

“You wanna prep yourself or do you want me to?”

“I, I can do it. And could we, ah, leave the curtains closed for this bit?”

“Course.” Duck draws the red fabric tight as Indrid fishes complimentary condoms and lube from the bowl on the table. He’s so wound up he starts with two, the stretch uncomfortable for a few instants before he gets himself to relax.

“You look so fuckin good doin that.” Duck is undressing, only taking his eyes off Indrid when his belt buckle resists him.

“I’ve had a lot of practice fingering myself while listening to you. I, I’d picture whatever person you told me to but I, none of it compares to you.”

Duck blushes as he pulls his pants off.

“I mean it. You, you’re so handsome I” he tenses, pushing the third finger in and fucking himself fast, “I can’t believe it. I,I want to be so good for you, Duck, please,” he’s babbling, decides to quit while he’s ahead, “is three enough?”

“You tell me.” Duck gestures to his dick with a flourish; it’s average length, he thinks, but combined with the dark hair on Duck’s belly and the strong curve of his thighs, it is the most glorious dick in all of creation.

“Yes, yesyes, please come over here now oh, wait, the curtains please?”

Duck whisks them open on his way to the bed, settles with his back against the wall before rolling the condom on with ease. He points to his lap, “You wanna face me?”

“Yes. I...I like the idea of people watching but I don’t think I can handle seeing their scrutiny just yet.” He straddles Duck, let’s the shorter grope his sore ass before guiding it down.

“You sure you wanna do this now?” Duck murmurs into his chest, “you don’t owe me your first time with a fella.”

Indrid kisses his forehead and sinks down in reply.

‘Fuck!” Duck grips his hips, laughs, “that’s a hell of an answer, sugar.”

“Nngh” Indrid’s whole brain goes offline at the feeling of Duck inside him.

“Dick drunk already?” Duck teases.

“YesAHGOD, god, ohmygoodness.” He clings to Duck’s shoulders as the other man fucks up into him with abandon.

“That’s just fine, ‘Drid. Got enough brains for the two of us; all you gotta do is be my cute, fucked-out toy.”

“Nffph” Indrid hides his face in Duck’s neck. His legs and ass, still sore from earlier, are reluctant to obey his mind, so all he can do is let Duck bounce him on his cock or hold him down on it to thrust up in short, demanding jerks of his body.

“We got an audience.”

Indrid tries to moan. It comes out a whimper.

“You want me to tell you what they’re doin?”

“Mmhhmm”

“Two of ‘em are makin out with one eye on you. The other three…” he nibbles Indrid’s ear, “they’re jerkin off to us. Don’t blame ‘em, you look so fuckin good on my dick they all wish they were me.”

“Duck” his cock keeps rubbing on Duck’s belly, threatening to spill before he’s ready.

“One of ‘em asks how you feel on my dick. You want me to tell him?”

“Please.”

“Fuckin’ great!” Duck yells, “it’s his first time and he’s” Duck grunts, bucks his hips, “so fuckin tight but takes it like a fucking champ. Gettin in this ass is a fuckin privilege.”

Indrid smiles into his skin at the pride in Duck’s voice and the responding whoops from outside.

“Fuck” Duck kisses his cheek, “fuck, shoulda grabbed a cock ring, I’m gonna cum way too fuckin fast.”

“Me, me too.”

“Just like a fuckin virgin.” Duck quickens their pace.

“I’m not a--Aaaahn” the noise cuts off as he cums between them, cock pulsing onto Duck’s skin.

“Fuck, fuck that’s hot, fuck, c’mon sugar, lemme cum, lemme cum right in this fuckin perfect assfuck, fuck, ‘Drid.” He holds Indrid down, groaning as he pumps his hips. Then he tips them forward, crashing their mouths together and pressing Indrid into the bed.

When they surface for air, the spectators are gone. Duck pulls out, cleans them both up as Indrid tries to remember how words work.

“So good.” Is what comes out.

“Glad you think so.” Duck gathers him into a hug, “you want me to do all the aftercare here?”

Indrid blinks, “what’s the other option?”

“We could, uh, go back to my place?”

“That...I’d like that. Wait.” Indrid cocks his head, “do you...would it really be okay if I stayed the night?”

“Yep. Kinda hopin you’d stay over plenty in the future.”

“You want to date me?’

“Damn right” Duck kisses him, “besides you, still owe me a drink.”

Indrid kisses back, grinning, “So I do.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugly

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pearlsongfromstuff · 4 years ago

Note

Hi its the oc ask anon from before! The New God OCs look intriguing and im always a sucker for dnd!

I watch Kyo's stuff too so all of that is really interesting as well, but the New God thing is drawing me in. If you want to talk about other ocs that's okay, but thats the one that has my interest atm

Have a good day pearl!

Thank you so much, Anon! I'ma nickname you Anny, Anny. So anyways, with just New God OCs (The name New God actually is name of my biggest AU that houses most of my main stories and my OCs. The name was inspired by the name Bad God but instead of a "Bad" God, there are "New" God's running the world. Fun little fact)

So with just these OCs alone we have 33 OCs, so I'ma give brief explanations for them

(Note: All the OCs with (*) are made by @chaoscorners-blog since we share these OCs but they were his original concepts)

(Also some other vocabulary you might need to know for this AU:

Minnrig- A fake Micronation near Ukraine and Romania where most of the stories take place. This place holds all the power in this universe

Red Eye Curse: Also called the 2p Disease or Madness Curse, the Red Eye Curse was a magical curse that plagued most of the 2p Universe. It drove people to madness by making them selfish, power-hungry and manipulative. It's also why the 2p Universe was known as the "Evil Side" while the 1p Universe was known as the "Good Side". It eventually disappeared 10 years as fast as it appeared)

Pearl and *Angel (He/they / He/They): The "New Gods". They run the universe and live in a castle near Minnrig. Though they may seem kind and thoughtful on the surface, they're actually not that good of people. I recommend not coming close to them.

Darling (She/Her): Adopted daughter of Pearl and Angel, she is known to have any magical powers. Not much is known about her since she rather hide in the Ancient Records within the castle

Star and Rose (He/Him, She/Her): Star and Rose are also adopted children of Pearl and Angel but unlike their older sister, they have magic. Star and Rose are probably more powerful than Pearl and Angel combined. Star is more adventurous and wants to learn about the magic in the world while Rose tries to live a more normal life, away from her godly heritage.

*Viktor and Sal (He/Him, They/Them) : Two 2ps that escaped to the 1p World, they live with Pearl and Angel as caretakers for Star and Rose. Star is the most attached to them, calling Sal "Mama" and Viktor "Dad".

Lewton (He/Him): The personification of Minnrig, Lewton is also the Detective of the town. He's also the husband of Bazarov (who we'll talk about if anyone asks about 2ps) and he's also responsible for the end of the Red Eye Curse.

*Zargon and Diablo (He/Him, She/Her): The Adopted children of Bazarov, sadly they were found around the time Bazarov had the Curse, they were taught since adoption to become soldier, and they're mainly representative of Heart (Zargon) and Mind (Diablo). Bazarov actually stole Diablo's heart for years, making her very heartless and making her a war criminal like her father while her brother always seemed to get the blame. After many years and while Lewton was working on saving the world, Zargon found Diablo's heart and they got the fuck out of there.

Deera (She/Her): The eldest sister of Zargon and Diablo, Deera kinda left her siblings for dead after the death of their birth parents. She instead headed to the Fantasy universe and kinda became a fucking villain in the stories, mainly manipulating anyone for whatever she wants.

Riley (She/Her): Another adopted child of Bazarov (He has a lot), She was raised while Zargon and Diablo were but sperate. She later on took over her father's place as General.

Abble (She/her): An (say it with me now) adopted child of Bazarov but with a twist: She's also Lewton's daughter. She actually has a nice upbringing unlike her other siblings because Bazarov was free of the curse when she was being raised. Her siblings are highly jealous of this.

Bean and Loki (He/Him, He/Him): Bean is a cat who radiated too much magic and can now turn human. Loki is a Mochi America but somehow, during hatching, gained more of a conscience than his other Mochi brethren. They're also married after many weird circumstances.

*Azreal (She/Her): To put it shortly, she's a bootleg Dr. Frankenstein. She has a never ending thirst for knowledge and uses such knowledge of other universes to bring people to life and to create life. And in one story, she kills Nevo......sooooooo-

*Mono (He/Him): During life, he was a simple manga artist with a wife and child but after horrible circumstances, he ends up dead at the hands of a gang. Azreal takes him and brings him back to life. Sadly, during the "bringing back to life" process, his soul is merged with a more evil soul, so now two personalities are contained in one body. Mono being the more awkward side and Parasite having absolutely no chill.

Pearl Song (Any Pronouns): Originally my very first cringy Marysue OC, we revamped her into being another of Azreal's projects. She has the power of the everything due to her past life and now uses that power in her current life to cause chaos with her favorite brother, Mono.

*Foalina and *Matthias (She/Her, He/Him): Another project by Azreal, they are two bunny twins that travel the world as performers. On stage, Foalina is seen as meak and weak while Matthias is more flirtatious and cunning. Off stage, they hate each other with a burning passion

*Caddy (She/They): Another project by Azreal, she is a mute traveler of the many universes. She is very excited soul that likes any good story.

*Shyane (She/Her): Azreal's first project, at first, Azreal saw her as a daughter and she saw Azreal as a mother but after time, their relationship became more strained and she became more of a servant than a daughter. She is very nurturing and caring.

*Demonic and *Ivan (She/Her, He/Him): Demonic is another project by Azreal which Azreal didn't just take a dead body and reanimate it, she actually created her. She was mainly used for experiments until she finally left. After many unfortunate events in her life, she gives birth to Ivan, her son. Ivan is the light of her life and just is an absolute sweetheart. We see more of them during Ages AU.

*Lilla (She/Her): A girl from the 1500's that left her home to become a Teutonic Knight so she didn't become a maid, after her entire crew is supposedly murdered and the enemy is after her, she starts working for a witch in the woods who eventually send her to the future to escape death sentence.

Amelia (Amy) (She/Her): Basically Amy Rose (from Sonic series) but she is an old interpretation I had of her in 2016 that she basically became my OC. Anyways, she also comes to our present and meets Lilla and after she helps her understand the world around her (which Amy sees as old technology), they actually fall in love and get married, yay!

Cosmo (She/Her): Daughter of Amy and Lilla

Amore (She/Her): Amy's past lover that basically gets in fights with Lilla a lot

Kaarlo (He/Him): Lilla's past lover that dies of hypothermia after looking for her in the snow. F in the chat

Berry, *Duke, Nicholas, and *Cole (Any Pronouns, He/Him, He/Him and He/They): Basically two femboys (Berry and Cole) and two hunks (Nicholas and Duke) in a Dream Scape

AND THERE ARE ALL MY ORIGINAL CHARCTERSSSSS. Damn that's a lot of typing for one phone. Anyways, I hope this entertained you guys! I will take any asks you have. I will also post some art of all of them later

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terreisa · 4 years ago

Text

Love Down the Line

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch. When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept. Unfortunately she isn't really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma's teenage fantasies, Killian Jones. With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn't come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

AO3

~*CS*~

Storybrooke, Maine- April 8th

The buzzing phone on the table in front of Emma Swan was a distraction she didn’t need. There were a million and one things that needed to be done and only one month to do them before her tour started. She swiped to answer it without looking, too caught up in what she was doing to bother.

“Yeah?” She asked impatiently, absently brushing the tendrils of her long blonde hair out of her face.

“I have good news and I have shit news.”

Emma sighed, albeit quietly. It was Ruby, one of her closest friends and the rhythm guitarist for her backing band who also had a flair for the dramatic. She only hoped that whatever it was Ruby was calling about wouldn’t turn into a two hour conversation over something they could easily discuss when she didn’t have time sensitive decisions to make. Preferably in a month when they were finally on the tour bus and had nothing but time to kill between cities.

“If it’s about going on that second date with Dorothy that I already talked you into once can it wait? I’m trying to finalize this set list so I can send it to Regina so she can send it to the lighting guys and the sound guys and we can stop fucking around at rehearsals and get things going almost smoothly.”

“Um, yeah… I mean, it’s not entirely about my date with Dorothy,” Ruby said with what sounded like trepidation.

Suspicion and dread immediately filled Emma’s veins. Ruby was anything but hesitant when it came to sharing information. She’d once announced at a club they were playing that she was on her period and would only accept phone numbers that were written on the outside wrapper of a chocolate bar. By the time they made it back to their motel she had a mound of candy that would have made Augustus Gloop jealous.

“What’s the good news?”

“Nah, you’ll want the shitty news first,” Ruby hummed with a grin in her voice, her confidence restored.

She groaned, “When have I ever wanted the shitty news first?”

“Never, but this time the good news won’t make sense without it-” Ruby took in a deep breath, loud enough for Emma to hear over the connection and it set her back on edge. “Okay, so I was on that second date with Dorothy and it was going great. Like, really great. She’s amazing and funny and surprising. We went to a paintball place. Paintball, me!”

“Ruby-”

“And it was actually fun. You know I’m more of a heels and cocktails kinda gal but I was getting into it-”

“Ruby-”

“Something about the adrenaline maybe or possibly the weird power trip of having a fake weapon to stalk your prey. Though that makes me sound like I’m about to go play the most dangerous game or something-”

“RUBY! The shitty news!”

“Oh, right,” Ruby had the decency to sound abashed but it did nothing to alleviate the pounding that had started in Emma’s head. “So paintball, fun and exciting and I may have broken my arm.”

Emma suddenly felt faint, “What?”

“In two places,” Ruby continued, sounding almost proud of herself. “Plus there’s some stitches and a bunch of Bandaids involved but you probably don’t care about those.”

“How long?” She winced at her harsh question, knowing she sounded uncaring. She backtracked, “No, fuck, wait, are you okay? That should have been my first question.”

Ruby laughed, “Don’t worry, after all these years I know where your priorities lie. I’m fine, they’ve got me on the good stuff here.”

“Wait, are you still at the hospital?” Emma stood up, ready to jump into whatever action was needed.

“Yup, they’ve still got to set the bones and wrap it up like the world’s worst present but like I said: the good stuff.”

“Alright, I’m on my way,” Emma dashed to her room and frantically tried to find a matching pair of shoes in the piles of crap strewn across the floor. “Do you need anything? A change of clothes? Are they keeping you there overnight? Want me to stop by Granny’s? Should I call Granny?”

“Whoa, Emma, slow down,” Ruby said, laughing again. “Dorothy called Granny when we were on our way to the hospital. She’s already here and glaring at anyone in a white coat that walks by my little curtained area. It should only be an hour or so then it’s home to rest. You can come over with pizza and I’ll bore you to death then with all the little details of my date.”

“Okay,” she breathed, dropping down onto her bed with a tennis shoe in one hand. “Pizza. I can do that.”

“Good. It’s six weeks by the way,” Ruby said offhandedly.

“Six weeks,” she repeated, confused by the non-sequitur.

“Recovery time. At least six weeks.”

The shoe dropped out of her hand, “Six weeks.”

“And then a few weeks of physical therapy,” Ruby continued. “So, more like two months give or take.”

“Ruby,” she said weakly. “The tour starts in a month. There’s no time to audition a replacement and have them learn the songs and what if they don’t get along with us or, fuck, what if they have a massive ego or-”

“Emma, stop.” Ruby said calmly. “This is where the good news comes in.”

��Good news? How can there be good news?”

“I told you there would be,” Ruby tsked, “Here it is. I already have a replacement ready! He knows most of the songs you’ve been picking, has a shit ton of experience on the road and playing the type of venues we’ve got booked, and best of all he’s available to start as soon as you tell me yes.”

Ruby’s words had started to slow but her excitement was still palpable. Emma on the other hand felt nothing but dread settling in her stomach. Ever since she’d started doing the music thing seriously Ruby had been a part of the band playing behind her. The seedy bars with tiny stages, the slightly better clubs with slightly worse sound systems, the places that could actually be called venues that held more than a hundred people and then bigger and bigger until she was finally selling out places that easily sat four or five thousand people. She’d been there for everything, had seen everything, knew everything and her not being able to be there for any part of it was starting to cause Emma’s vision to go slightly grey at the edges.

“I need to call Regina,” she gasped, trying to draw in a deep breath, “We can cancel the first few weeks or reschedule them.”

“Emma-”

“I’ll say I have bronchitis or those polyp things on my vocal chords. Or I can do the shows acoustic-”

“Emma, if you’d just-

“But then I’ll have to figure out how to pay Will and Tink-”

“Or you could just give this guy a chance, maybe?” Ruby said sharply and a bit pointedly. “I’m not letting you sabotage the biggest fucking thing to happen to you because I can’t play for a few weeks. The fans don’t care who’s in the backing band, they’re paying to see you.”

“Then they won’t mind an acoustic show, will they?” Emma snapped back.

“No, but it’s also not what you’ve been teasing on Instagram for the past few months. Not to mention all the techies and roadies that have already been hired that will be fired because they’ll be deemed unnecessary. Plus isn’t it in your contract with the label that any major changes to the tour had to be approved by them? I can tell you right now they won’t approve of anything this close to the start date.”

Emma hated that Ruby was right but couldn’t help one last argument, “And replacing you with some rando off the street isn’t a major change?”

“First off: the label cares even less about who’s in the backing band then the fans do. As long as we make you sound good and don’t upstage you they’re happy,” Ruby said flippantly. “Second: Jones isn’t some rando, he’s actually a session guitarist and has played on a few songs on your last two albums. Third: This is your best option and you know it.”

“I don’t know it,” she grumbled, “He could still be a problem, you know, personality wise or whatever.”

“Okay, sure,” Ruby conceded, “but you won’t know unless you give him a chance. So will you? Give him a chance?”

“Ugh, fine, but if he sucks I’m definitely writing a song called ‘I fucking told you so’.”

“And if he doesn’t I get to write it and you’ll have to play the terrible result at the final show,” Ruby said gleefully.

“I hate you,” Emma sighed, falling back so she was laying across the width of her bed.

“No you don’t,” Ruby paused and Emma could hear murmuring in the background. “Hey, the doctor’s back and they’re ready to get my bones a crackin’. You can complain about it more tonight. Meat lovers supreme, extra large, and bring those cinnamon sticky things too!”

Ruby hung up before Emma could utter a sound. She chuckled to herself before the reality of the situation sunk back in. For Ruby’s sake she’d give the Jones guy a chance but she had little faith that it would work out as easily as Ruby had made it sound. Nothing had ever worked out easily for her before, no use in getting her hopes up again.

#captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #ouat ff #cs ff #my writing

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phykios · 4 years ago

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people on ao3 were thirsty for this fic so... here you go, tumblr ❤

put on the red light M, sex work au, modern royalty au, no powers au [read on ao3]

🌊🌊🌊

Sometimes, she really regrets being best friends with Piper.

Said best friend still gapes at her from across the table, jaw practically on the floor. “Never?”

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “Never.”

“Not even, like, at school?”

“When I would have had the time?” she asks. “I was attempting a five-year program in four years, and then… well, you know.” And she does know, all about the very exciting drama that went down in Annabeth’s senior year.

Piper is still flabbergasted. “Not even high school?”

Annabeth takes a sip of her drink. “I wasn’t exactly a hot commodity in high school.” She’d been passively pretty all her life, but she hadn’t exactly been what some might call Girlfriend material, capital G. She’d stuck to her fifteen year plan to the letter, eschewing most social contact, working herself into the ground to overcome ADHD by sheer force of will and get into Harvard, a plan which allowed approximately zero time for a boyfriend. Not that there were even boys that she had really liked at the time.

The only boy she had ever considered liking in that way, well. She had lost contact with him a while ago.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it or not, Ripley, it’s true. I’ve never had sex. You happy?”

“I mean, if you don’t mind me asking, are you ace?” Piper asks. “Because that’s totally cool, of course.”

She shakes her head. “Definitely not ace.” She has a minor collection of personal massagers and insertable devices should she ever need to take care of an urge, and plenty of fantasies she can call on whenever the need arises--a system which has worked just fine for years.

“I just…” Piper stares, unconvincingly. “How?”

Shrugging, she takes another sip of coffee. “Just never got around to it, I guess.”

It’s not something she’s proud of, but by the same token, it’s not something that brings her shame, either. It is what it is; Annabeth, a notable workaholic, has never had sex with another person in her life. In some ways, it sucks, sure, but in other ways, it’s been a blessing in disguise. After all, no previous partners means that there’s no one to spread any dirt on the newly minted Princess Anja Elisabet of Sweden.

But Piper isn’t having it.

“Do you… want to have sex?” she asks. “Like, ever?”

As the daughter of one of the biggest movie stars in the world, she knows that Piper has had her fair share of high profile relationships, something that earned her a little bit of a nasty (and, quite frankly, racist) reputation among the paparazzi, which is ridiculous, since Piper is one of the most effortlessly gracious and classy people Annabeth knows. Piper does not go slinging herself and her partners around in the media like some of her contemporaries; instead, she likes to keep her personal details a bit closer to the chest, sharing them only with trusted confidants, like Annabeth, who knows full well how much Piper enjoys the act of sex. Sex for Piper isn’t dirty or taboo, it’s fun and it’s being close with other people, it’s liberating and exciting and intimate, and she extols its virtues whenever asked to give her opinion.

She makes sex sound really good, but never in a way that makes Annabeth feel ashamed for never having done it. Until now, of course. “Well… yeah,” says Annabeth. “I’d like to. I mean, I think it’d be kind of nice, you know, to do it at least once.”

“But then you’d have to start dating,” Piper surmises.

“Yeah,” says Annabeth, glumly.

Dating is a notorious problem for people in her line of work. Royalty, not architects, that is. Dating for architects is easy; just find someone who doesn’t mind the type A personalities and the obsession with work. Dating for royals is… significantly harder, and not really something she wants to engage with right now. She’s only been a royal for a few years, after all—she still feels like it’s a big cosmic joke, that someone is going to unearth some old documents or reveal a couple of forgeries that will bring the whole thing crashing down, and she doesn’t want to bring an outsider into all that drama, let alone deal with it herself.

Piper takes a sip of her drink, thoughtful, then lays out her next question carefully. “Have you ever considered a one-night stand?”

Annabeth stares. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not! People do it.”

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “people. Not me.”

“It’s really not hard,” Piper says, “I’ve done it plenty of times.”

“What, you want me to make a tinder?”

She laughs. “God, wouldn’t that be a riot. But no, I mean, there have to be other single royals or celebs around. Why not one of them?”

“Because they’re all insufferable social-climbing jackasses that make me want to rip my skull out of my face every time I’m forced to listen to them at a state dinner.”

“Okay, then.” Never one to be deterred, Piper pulls out her phone, then waits until Annabeth has taken a sip of her drink, presumably to keep her from immediately disagreeing, before dropping the bomb to end all bombs. “Let’s get you an escort.”

Annabeth snorts iced coffee directly out of her nose.

“Shit! Sorry!” Piper shoves a handful of napkins at her. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, do you need water?”

Wheezing, Annabeth shakes her head. “Give me a sec,” she coughs, fingers covering her mouth.

Thank God she’s got her trusty, anti-pap hat on. If anyone took a picture of her like this, her uncle would probably disown her.

“What the hell, Piper?” she rasps when she can finally breathe again.

“I’m so sorry, I should have timed that better.”

“No, I mean—” she coughs again. “The other thing.”

She raises an eyebrow. “The escort?”

“Keep your voice down!” On instinct, she glances around the London cafe, looking for any stray microphones. Satisfied that no one is listening for the moment, she turns back to her insane best friend. “Yes, the… that thing.”

“It’s not that crazy,” says Piper, turning back to her phone. “We’ll find you a really nice one, someone super high class and discreet, draw up an NDA, and then you can cross it off your bucket list. Man or woman?”

“Man, but—" she sputters. “I—I can’t see a prostitute! Can you imagine the scandal if it got out?”

Forget the iced coffee thing. The princess of Sweden, caught with a hooker… Annabeth is nauseous just thinking about the media circus.

“Not a prostitute,” Piper corrects. “An escort.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Same umbrella, but no.” She types away, faster than Annabeth can keep track of. “Pimping is illegal here, but escorts usually have managers.”

“Be that as it may,” because Piper seems to have forgotten the key part of this conversation, “I can’t have sex with an escort.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” The million and a half legitimate reasons not to go through with it all fly through her mind, getting lost somewhere on the way to her mouth. “Because!”

Piper just smiles at her. “I’ll get you a really nice one, promise. Think of it as a late birthday present.”

“It’s September.”

“Early Christmas, then.” And she grins, full of teeth. “Just trust me, okay? Let me take care of it.”

Famous last words, she thinks, popping a bit of scone in her mouth.

***

7PM, the Dorchester Hotel. Dinner first, then… whatever, later.

Annabeth can’t help but arrive early. She’d never been a punctual person before, but apparently now it’s been beaten into her with all the rest of her princess training.

Five-star hotels are still something of a novelty for her, even though she’s stayed in quite a few by now. Thankfully she’s never stayed here before; she’d be too worried someone on staff would recognize her.

She had thought that she’d show up early, psych herself up a little, get emotionally prepared, or at least have a little time to calm her racing heart before her… date… showed up.

Unfortunately, as punctual as she is, apparently, he’s beaten her to the punch.

He’s exactly where he said he’d be, wearing exactly what he said he’d be wearing; black suit, blue tie, gold watch. Her heart is beating so loudly, she’s sure he can hear it from across the room. “Um, excuse me,” she asks, a little more timid than she’d like, sidling up to the man. “Paris?”

At his name--well, she assumes it’s his name, but it’s probably a pseudonym now that she thinks about it--he lifts his head up, his lips already quirking up in a smile that she can only describe as troublemaking. “Bethany?”

Right. She used a pseudonym as well. A second pseudonym—one other than Anja. “Yeah,” she smiles in return, her shakiness easing.

“Hey!” He stands up from his seat in the lounge, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

“You too.” She realizes with a pang; he is so tall. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist, startlingly green eyes and thick, curly black hair. And… “You’re American?”

“I am,” he says, unashamed. “The accent gave me away, huh? Hope you weren’t looking for something else.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she assures him. “I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s fine!"

He grins, crookedly, and she feels her heart skip a beat. “I’ll take it. Shall we head to dinner, then?”

***

Dinner was amazing, of course. The food, the atmosphere, and the company, she fully admits—all exceptional. Paris is an amazing conversationalist, she discovers, smart and funny and attentive, even gently teasing her a little. “You’re American, too, you know,” he’d said, sipping on his glass of wine, “so you can’t give me any grief over my lack of an accent.”

“I don’t live here,” she’d retorted, pointing her fork at him, “unlike some people I could mention.”

“Where do you live?”

“Ah, well—” Covering up her hesitation by taking a bite of chicken, she’d thought quickly. “Grew up in the States, but recently I moved to, um, Sweden, to be closer to my family.”

He’d nodded. “Expat, huh?”

“Something like that.”

He’d listened to her, really listened, chimed in at appropriate moments, made surprisingly insightful comments about her job and her life, and, well, he’s kind of perfect. If he weren’t an escort, he’d make an amazing boyfriend. She tells him as much, in the elevator on the way up to his room.

“Aw, thank you!” He smiles at her, a single dimple popping out under his strong cheekbones. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Why do you do this, anyway?” she asks. “I mean,” oh God, that question is some kind of faux pas isn’t it, Christ what the hell happened to all her etiquette training, “you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to—”

“No, it’s okay,” he says as the elevator door opens. They’re up on a high floor, where the higher high rollers like to stay, and she follows him as he walks confidently down the hallway. “It’s not an offensive question.”

Still, she feels pretty shitty for asking. “I’m sure you get asked that all the time.”

“Most clients honestly aren’t all that interested,” he admits, shrugging a shoulder. “They need something, I can provide it. It can be a little transactional at times, but I’ve met a lot of really cool people, so it all balances out in the end.” Arriving at their door, Paris swipes his keycard, holding it open for her like some kind of butler. “After you.”

The room is enormous, even for a five-star hotel. It is a full-on suite, with a seating area and separate bedroom, a large wooden desk off to one wall, a gorgeous, floor-to-ceiling window that looks onto Hyde Park, full of lights dotted about like mini constellations. “Wow,” she breathes, “look at that view.”

“I never get tired of it,” Paris says, coming up behind her. “No matter how many times I come here.”

“You come here a lot?” she asks. She almost follows it up with a question on how he can afford it, but she ruthlessly quashes that down.

“My clients like it,” is all he says.

“I’m not surprised, all that 1930s deco in the lobby. The façade is a little plain, though, in my opinion.”

“Oh yeah? How would you do it better, Miss Architect?” She gets the sense that he’s teasing her. It feels oddly intimate for the situation—he’s not a friend, or a boyfriend, or even a date. He’s an escort. Providing a service, as he put it. He shouldn’t be so friendly with her.

And yet. “Well, I love Neoclassical, but honestly, I’m not super into hotels.”

“What are you into, then?” Casually, he undoes his tie, sliding it off his neck. She swallows.

“Um.” Focus, girl. “Office buildings, monuments. I dunno. I just want to… I just want to build something good, you know? Something permanent. Proof that I was here, you know?”

“Something permanent, huh?” He speaks softly, a respectable distance away, but she’s drawn in anyway, by his open shirt collar and his easy demeanor and his stupid sea green eyes that remind her so much of— “That sounds really nice.”

Then he steps up to her. His hand, warm and big, draws up her arm, fingers tracing lightly over her skin, and she shivers. He cups her neck, fingering the hair at the base of her scalp, and leans in, his lips parted. He smells like salt, like the perfume of the wine they shared, like the sea on a sunny morning.

“Wait,” she murmurs against his lips.

Immediately, he pulls back. “Is something wrong?” he asks, concerned.

“No, no, it’s fine, I just—” She swallows, her heart racing. “I just need a minute.”

“Of course.” He takes a step back, and she has to stop herself from pulling him in further. “Do you need anything? Water, champagne? They always stock the minifridge.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. It’s just, I’ve never… done this before.”

“What, hire an escort?” He grins, rakish. “I can tell.”

“Not that—I mean, yes, that too, but I mean—I’ve never—” She huffs, annoyed she has to have this conversation twice in one week. “I’ve never had sex before, okay?”

That shocks him a little. His eyes widen, taken aback. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Chuckling weakly, she rubs a hand on her arm, looking out the window. “So… yeah.”

“So, don’t take this the wrong way,” says Paris, “but, there are easier ways to get laid than by using a professional. I mean, I’m grateful for the business and all, but, well, look at you.” He looks her up and down, somehow simultaneously respectful and entirely indecent. “I don’t think you’d have a problem getting a date.”

“It’s… complicated.” Understatement of the fucking millennium. “My friend thought this would be the easiest way to… go about it.”

Paris laughs. “You don’t agree.”

“I don’t… not agree,” she says. “I’m just. A little nervous.”

He nods. “I’d bet.” Chewing his lip, he looks towards the bedroom suite, and Annabeth tries not to think about how those teeth would feel on her mouth instead. “How about this; why don’t you take a shower? It might help calm you down a bit.”

“Won’t you be lonely?” she quips, a moment of reckless bravery.

“I have a few calls I can make,” says Paris, eyes dancing. “Go on. Make yourself comfortable.”

***

She has to hand it to the five-star hotels; the shower is always outstanding. Amazing pressure, amazing heat, it definitely rivals the plumbing in some of the castles she’s stayed at. And the robes, always so soft and warm, though a little on the small side. This one just barely covers her ass, which she figures isn’t a huge problem for tonight, but still.

When she steps out of the bathroom, she can hear Paris talking. “Uh huh,” he says. “Yeah. No, it’s going great. Professor Kleio said she’d write me a recommendation. She was really impressed with the last build. Yeah.” She runs her fingers through her wet hair, pushing it back from her face. “No, the conference is next month. Probably. Pretty sure I can get Tyson to help, but I don’t think it’ll get that far before the end of the week. Uh huh.”

Paris had taken off his suit jacket at some point; she can see it hung up in the closet on a hanger, perfectly pressed. He’s still in his shirt, but he’s unbuttoned it, the sleeves rolled up around his forearms. It is effortlessly attractive, even from the back. She coughs lightly, unwilling to startle him, and he turns, giving her another up-and-down, this one decidedly less respectful than the first.

“Hey, I gotta go, I’ll call you tomorrow. Say hi to Estelle for me. Love you.” And he hangs up.

“Your girlfriend?” she asks.

He smiles, all soft. “My mom.”

Something in her melts at his tone. “Aw,” she coos. “Is she back in America?”

“Yeah. I don’t get to see her all that often, so I try to call her every day.”

It is so unfathomably sweet, sweet and… humanizing, as weird as that sounds. He’s not just an unbelievably handsome man with a jaw cut like a diamond and a five-star rating, according to Piper, he’s a person with a whole other life that she knows nothing about. It’s liberating, in its own way. She can make mistakes with him, and he’ll understand. He won’t judge her, not against his other clients, or even his other partners.

Swallowing, she slides the robe off her shoulders, slowly, achingly. Maybe he turned the heat up while she wasn’t looking, because all of a sudden, she feels hot all over, from her cheeks to her chest and down, and down. Maybe it’s all coming from him, from the heat of his gaze on her, his pink tongue coming out to wet his lips. She wants it, wants them, wants him, on her and in her and all over her.

But he stays on his side of the room, waiting for her to take the plunge.

She steps up to him, close but not touching, breathing in the heady, strong scent of him, raking her eyes up his body for a change. Even through his shirt, she can tell he’s fit, the exposed skin of his arms tanned a deep brown, thick, coarse, dark hair running up to his wrists. On his right arm, there is a black trident long and straight, crossed by an old, white scar. “What happened here?” she asks, lifting her hand to trace it, leaving visible goosebumps in its wake.

“Sailing accident,” he whispers. “Long time ago.”

There’d been a kid at her summer camp for troubled teens who’d gotten thrown off his boat and hurt like that, once. She remembered so vividly, because she’d been on infirmary duty that day, and all she could think about while wrapping up his arm was how fucking stupid he'd been, how he could have gotten himself really hurt, how badly she’d wanted to kiss him.

She'd moved across the country before she'd gotten the chance, though, and no one else had ever made her feel like that since. Until now. “Got any other ink to show me?”

But instead of answering, he leans down, and he kisses her.

She’s been kissed before. She’s never had sex, but she’s done some kissing in her life. It’s usually pretty awkward, in her experience, too much of one thing and never enough of another.

Nope, not Paris. Of course, he’s also a phenomenal kisser. Why she expected anything else, she’s not sure.

His hands come up to circle her neck again, his thumbs running against her cheekbones. He kisses her, pouring passion and intent into her, his mouth soft and sweet against hers. And then he slips her some tongue, and it’s a whole different ballgame.

“Take off your shirt,” she whispers into his mouth.

He does, effortlessly, without detaching himself from her. It’s a smooth, easy motion, and she is delighted to discover that he is as firm as she suspected he was, the muscles jumping under her touch.

Almost without her realizing it, he backs her up towards the bed, her knees hitting the edge of the mattress. He lays her out against the sheets, his bare chest hot against hers. “Before we go any further,” he says, and she can feel the vibrations of his voice all throughout her body, “tell me—have you ever made yourself come?”

She flushes at his words, the dirty talk which should sound stupid but instead comes out all sultry and sexy. “Yes,” she says, breath hitching as he nips at her neck. “Yes, I have.”

“Good.” He smiles into the skin of her collarbone, traveling down, and down, and down. “I want you to show me how.”

“Isn’t that,” she pants, “your job?”

“Hmm, you’re right.” He pushes her thighs apart with his shoulders, bright eyes staring up at her as he licks his lips. “Let me get to work, then.”

Breathing heavily, she curls her fingers into the ten thousand count sheets, eyes fixed on the ceiling pattern. She can’t look at the dark head between her legs, can only breathe in through her nose as he kisses up the skin of her thigh, higher and higher and higher until…

Jesus fucking lord almighty.

***

“I found the perfect guy for you.”

“Piper, come on.” Theses brunch dates of theirs were starting to get a little repetitive. “I let you set me up with a professional, but I draw the line at a blind date.”

“Have I steered you wrong yet, your highness?” Piper asks, knowing grin firmly on her face.

Annabeth blushes. So what if that night with Paris was the most incredible experience she’d ever had? Doesn’t mean she’s ready for a full-on relationship, yet. “No,” she says, rubbing her temples.

“Great!” Then she does something that Annabeth doesn’t expect—she starts packing up. “So he’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, so bright it borders on painful, her nose scrunching up. “I invited him to brunch. But he’s really, really nice, I promise.”

“Does he know about—”

“No, he doesn’t, but if you wanted to spill, he’s a fantastic secret keeper.”

“How do you even know—”

Piper glances over Annabeth’s shoulder, eyes lighting up, waving a hand. “Friend of a friend of Jason, he’s a grad student at Cambridge, he’s doing his dissertation on naval history, so you know the king will love him.”

“Piper!” Annabeth half-calls, half-hisses at her friend as she stands up “Piper, you can’t just—”

“Hey,” says a voice behind her. A very familiar voice. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was joining us.” She turns around. Slowly. “Nice to meet you, I’m… Percy…” he trails off, sea green eyes widening behind a pair of thick, black glasses, beneath dark, curly hair. On his arm, a black trident stood out against his skin, straight and proud.

“Percy, meet Annabeth,” Piper says. “Annabeth, meet Percy. Okay, have fun you two!”

And she waltzes out of there, completely unaware of the absolute shitstorm she left in her wake.

#my fic #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #percy jackson #annabeth chase

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h0ld0nt0m3l0v3-cn · 4 years ago

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Character Stuff pt. 3: Rando Drawins and Minor World Build

So I may start making these posts much longer- Seeing as sometimes I get a burst of inspiration and have nowhere else to put the drawings I make. (I’m also obsessed lowkey with makin a buttload of pony ocs from just minor details such as cutiemarks)

So I decided to give Crystabelle a sister- (Maybe a brother sometime in the future but probably not)

Sugar Swirl or as Cryssie calls her “Cotton Candy” She is the older sister of the family. In some photos she isn’t present because she went off to a bunch of camps to take care of her curse. More on that later.

When Cryssie finally does meet her sister, she loves her regardless. Sugar was there for her birth and was the one to give her the nickname “Cryssie” and she’s the only one who really is allowed to call her that. Her friends call her “Crysta” or “Belle” depends on the relationship and the other’s personality really.

Special thanks to my best friend ever: @ense-the-shtposter

They are the ones who made this little curse to begin with and gave me special permission to use it on Sugar. I added my own tweeks to it and made it a curse instead of a species so this version of it belongs to me. Still thanks for the idea and offer or whatever yah call it XD

Anyways, Basically the curse is labeled as “pony eater” as to not get confused with pure cannibalism, as that is usually by choice/consent.

The host has no control over it. When it kicks off, everyone must avoid them at all costs. It causes a nose bleed at first and excessive saliva build up. First hit in their life won’t hit them until they reach a certain age to be able to understand right from wrong. Then a trigger will be found and unknowingly set off. A clear difference is seen in their eyes, black whites with fading pupils of white that turn to grey with a dark jet black iris.

There isn’t exactly a known cure for the “pony eater” curse. Only precautions and boot camps to keep them in check and make sure they understand their own triggers before they can head home.

Despite this, Cryssie doesn’t hate her sister, infact in a moment she has a trigger and can’t find an escape, she ties herself up in the basement and Cryssie brings her dinner she cooked, since they were home alone.

She sat with her (at a safe distance, she’s dense and naïve but she ain’t stupid) and waited it out til morning.

Sugar Swirl was cursed at birth and her parents tried to find a cure or something to stop it before she hit that age but they are still searching.

The trigger to cause the curse is loud and fluctuating noises. I don’t mean a random unprepared honk from a horn. It has to be something like the lavender town them in slight ear-r4pe format. It needs to be repetitive and switching of the ears at a fast or even an unequal pace can definatly cause it. It also has to be loud, something that would give a headache. So she can live out a normal life as long as she doesn’t go to watch certain things. It’s like an epilepsy thing. Just gotta be careful, yah know?

Along with some other stuff, I got a little inspired by speedpaints and decided to do anatomy along with making new characters.

Elipsa- She is a silent girl who is larger than the average male, shes very tall and doesn’t need words to settle fear into someones heart. You know if she likes you or not. She is an inventor, she made it possible for ponies to use things like phones by forming a glove for the hoof that can move fingers with stylus’ on the fingertips. She gets along well with Cryssie.

Facade- The smallest of the triplets in her family, Feign and Fantasy, she shares similar cutiemarks (proven possible with the cutiemark crusader episode, forget the name) call it superstition or twin connection, dumb luck, whatever. They have similar names (all beginning with F) and similar talents. Facade tends to like putting on a show and charm the audience. Hence her winky faced OwO cutiemark. She is a vampire fanatic and a goth/punk. The only one who has the most jewelry.

Facade is the only one who can make Elipsa smile and sometimes (mostly when its just them and sometimes Cryssie) laugh.

Yes these two are dating and I’m still deciding if I want Facade to be a girl or boy (if boy then most likely trans) or non-binary. Will update on that later.

Facade is NOT a filly, she is an adult mare she is just very short. She is often mistaken as such.

I have a pic of Feign and Fantasy in my sketchbook but I need to digitialize them-

These two are Cryssies best friends since Elementary since she was very shy.

Decided to try base editing.

I like it cause it’s easier to do the designs its just a pain in the flank to do certain markings with the wait mlp has the outlines designed. I also had to give Cryssie an eyeliner kinda look because her eye wasn’t showing visible to her face. I am very proud of this tho and probably will do more.

Base here: https://www.deviantart.com/krystalheartbases/art/You-re-Gonna-Poke-Your-Eye-Out-875158608

The only thing that really bothers me is that i couldnt get her damn mane right at the top around her horn, its more...fancy??? than it should be.

Also if you notice, i switched her bandage on her front legs because it felt odd to have bandages on the same side of front and back legs, why not altercate? :3

I am gonna try and make more LN related stuff to throw in here and there. I just like buildin the main character a bit yah know?

#doodles #refs #AU #rando character stuff

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beyondconfessor · 4 years ago

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Principle Decisions [9/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: Entering a beautiful woman’s house, cold and wet, then having her clothes disappearing to where she wouldn’t be able to have access to them. Whatever was a woman to do?

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief.

Sabrina did not come down for breakfast. It was raining, heavy outside and Zelda was willing to push her anger aside to ensure her niece was taken to the school safely, but while she was drinking her morning coffee over breakfast, she heard the noise of someone trying to quietly sneak their way down the stairs, before the door opened and shut.

When Zelda walked around, an aching sensation gnawing at her stomach, she peered out of the foyer’s windows and noticed that Harvey had picked up Sabrina.

She hardly trusted a teenager to drive safely on the roads. Still, despite her frustration that her niece was clearly trying to sneak her way around her, it was nonetheless sweet to see the boy come to the door the Spellman home with an umbrella, so Sabrina didn’t get wet from the short distance between the veranda and the car.

As it was, Zelda had a meeting with Prudence that morning and needed to leave early anyway, this way at least, she didn’t need to drop Sabrina off on the opposite end of the town on her way to work.

It was raining heavily, and she pulled up at the parking lot, she grabbed her own umbrella to make her way onto campus as the rain continued to wash down.

Sometimes, with the rain they were heaving like this, the main road would flood and block her from coming in. She was already considering cancelling classes for the day unless it let up, but would review how many people actually lived off-campus before making that decision.

Setting her computer up in her office, she removed her coat and sat her umbrella aside before sitting down just as Prudence turned up. “Professor Spellman,” she said with a tight surprise. “Have you read your emails this morning?”

Zelda fixed her damp hair, opening her laptop up as she settled in her chair. “Not yet, should I have?”

“It’s just that…um, the grades you put up are wrong.”

Zelda paused, “How so?”

“You gave Dorcas, Nick Scratch’s results and Agatha now has Nick’s, which works in her favour, I suppose. But…it’s like that across your entire class.”

Zelda’s stomach clenched as she saw a dozen emails from students, questioning their marks. Flicking into the system, she opened it up and reviewed. She wasn’t sure how that had occurred. She wasn’t even sure how many it affected but knew that it was going to be an absolute pain to undo.

Once a grade had been placed up in the system, it wasn’t something easy to undo. It was far easier to screw up the system and adversely affect a person’s weighted score than it was to undo it––the easiest way to fix it would be to manually work out what everyone’s weight score should be and then add in extra credit to move the weighted score up or down, but that would take hours of work.

Literal hours that she could not place onto Prudence’s plate.

Zelda combed her fingers through her hair, feeling a wave of dizziness rush over her. On top of this, she would have to go to Faustus and advise as to what had occurred, explaining the error and what she planned on doing to fix it.

Given that she was apart of the Liberal Arts, there were fewer scholarships that would be affected, but she wasn’t entirelywithout scholarship students. After all, Prudence was one herself.

“I see,” Zelda, wishing she could scream. She swallowed back the frustration and anger, feeling it turn into a lump in her throat. She needed to fix this fast.

“Professor?” Prudence asked softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“This is my mess, Prudence. I will fix it.” She paused, drawing in a tight breath before noticing that the woman remained hovering in her office. “Do you mind if we reschedule this meeting, I need to fix this as fast as possible, before any of the scholarships are adversely affected.”

“Of course,” Prudence said. “Did you want me to take your first class this morning?”

Zelda looked to the time, and then out at her window to the heavy rain. “No, I think classes should be cancelled, given the weather. Are you okay to make it back to your dormitory?”

“I’ll probably go to the cafeteria,” Prudence responded. “But you have my number if you need me?”

Zelda nodded, gesturing loosely in agreement. The truth was, she didn’t know what was easier. A part of her wanted to double down on the mistake and affirm that it was correct––absurd as the idea was––and another part of her wanted to just up and quit, never to be seen again. The amount of work it would take felt overwhelming. She’d been stressed before, but this, after everything else, felt near impossible.

She began by putting her anxiety aside and sending out an email to Faustus to let him know what had occurred before any complaints were raised. Then she sent out a following email to the affected classes, letting them know she was aware of the error and would rectify it by the day’s end.

She cleared her schedule, pulled out her calculator and tried to remember basic maths before setting to work.

She didn’t eat, didn’t bother taking so much as a cigarette break. Instead, she had a pot of coffee made and set to work, moving from her desk only to attend the bathroom.

It seemed almost a saviour that the rain had occurred, allowing her a reason to cancel the classes and focus on the task at hand.

Once it was done, only then did she take the time to look at the clock and notice it was the end of her office hours, with nothing completed but a rectified mistake and half a dozen emails assuring the scholarship students that were any questions to rise, she would personally fix the issue herself.

Zelda packed her bag up, switched her heels for flats as a heaviness weighed on her shoulders before she made her way through the storm, back to her car, feeling as if the day was wasted. She sat in her car, sitting back in the leather seat as sheets of rain ran down her windscreen.

She wanted to cry or scream or do something, but she didn’t have the energy for any of it. Instead, she put her seatbelt on, turned on the engine, removed the hand brake before reversing out of the parking lot.

The rain narrowed her vision, and as she went to return home, she found herself notably blocked by flashing lights, warning her that she couldn’t take the main road.

Side road it was then—typical of today.

Zelda grew up by the forest. She knew forest roads better than most––though her time dating a ranger and firefighter (separately) certainly added to that knowledge––leaving her to use the mud slicken paths to find her way home.

But it was dark, and it was storming, and she was prideful, eventually finding her car inevitably bogged in a puddle deeper than she’d estimated.

She stepped out of the car, pulling out her umbrella to look at the wheels and knew there was no way in Hell she’d be able to get the wheel out herself. Especially in the rain, the mud was too thick; even now her shoes were sinking in the ground.

No, instead she was stuck having to climb back in her car, soaked from the rain and see if she had service (she did not, because of course the storm was interfering with that).

It left her with two options. Option one was to stay in the car and wait for the storm to recede, when she could go and get help. Option two was to go out and get help now.

It was likely safer to keep with option one, far more practical, but it’d been a shit day. If she was honest, a masochistic part of herself was hoping that something else would go wrong so she could truly scream out at the world and just let out all the frustration and anger she was feeling.

Pulling her coat firmer around herself, she took out her umbrella.

The flats she wore were only markedly more practical for the weather than her heels, but not by much. Zelda climbed out of her car, clicked the doors locked (though if she was going to get robbed, may as well being in the middle of fucking nowhere) and then made her way eastward through the forest on the fire trail, knowing that it would lead to one road or another, where she could try and signal down a driver.

The forest was wet, and the foliage was slippery. More than once, she slid, catching on a nearby tree to stop herself from falling into the mud. But with all the shrubbery, it didn’t seem to matter. Her stockings were soaked and mud-splattered (ruined forever, and she’d barely worn them, so that annoyed her too), her dress clung to her, completely soaked even with the protection of the coat.

It was all too much. She could feel the tears pricking in her eyes, a sob making its way up her throat.

She knew she should turn back. Go back to the car and wait for the storm to clear—however long that would take––but didn’t. Instead, her stubbornness kept her walking through the forest until she saw a flicker of light.

Gold and red, perhaps headlights, or a home. If it was a house, she might be able to request some neighbourly help and hope to God that they were home and would let her use their phone. Otherwise, she was uncertain as to what she was going to do.

The house was a cottage, alone on the old highway. But the lights were on at least.

Zelda made her way up the wooden step, happy for cover from the rain as her back spasmed with shivers, freezing as she knocked on the door.

There was a pause inside, and Zelda knew it was likely someone not expecting any company. And then the door opened, and Zelda found herself face to face with the last person she expected to live in a cottage.

“Lilith?”

“What are you doing here?” Lilith asked at the same time.

Zelda shivered from the cold, feeling the wash of warmth come through from the house with the smell of a wood fire going. “I got bogged. I didn’t know you lived here. I just need to use your…your…” she shivered again, teeth chattering and suddenly the door was being opened wider and Lilith was ushering her inside.

“Bogged?”

“The road was sh-shut due to the r-river o-over f-flowing,” Zelda said, allowing herself to be tugged towards the fire. There, she stripped off her jack, water still dripping off her in a puddle around her feet––embarrassing if it weren’t for how dreadfully cold she felt.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling it wetly stick to her face.

“Where did you get bogged?”

“F-forest road. I k-know the roads,” she said, kneeling before the fire.

“Not that well, it seems,” Lilith muttered as she took the jacket. Zelda didn’t see where it disappeared to, only that Lilith returned and began unzipping Zelda from her dress.

“I’m fine,” Zelda insisted. “I just n-need your telephone.”

“Well, the lines are down, and I don’t get service out here,” she admitted. “So you’ll have to wait, now stand up and let me undress you before I get cross.”

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“My crop is never too far away,” she warned.

Zelda turned and shot her a look, “I thought you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“You don’t listen, do you?” Lilith sighed, unzipping the black dress and helping Zelda to get out of it.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a clever girl, work it out,” the words were spoken sharply, and Zelda realised that the events still hurt the woman.

No, that wasn’t necessarily true. She was hurt by what Zelda had said.

Taking the dress, Lilith wrapped a towel over her and gave her a heavy look before she disappeared with the dress. Zelda huffed, turning back to the fire and feeling the shaking ease. Her muscles remained tight, a bone-chill holding onto her as she tried to inch closer and closer to the hearth to feel the warmth.

“I’ve run you a bath,” Lilith said, returning suddenly. “We can try the phone lines again after you warm up.”

“I don’t need a bath.”

“The fact that you’re still shaking tells me otherwise. Now it’s either this or I bend you over my knee and give you an enema to stop you from getting hypothermia,” Lilith said, her brows raised. “Is that what you want?”

Zelda rose to her feet, disgusted at the implication and allowing herself to be led down the hall, where she was shown to the bathroom. The bath was positively ancient-looking, and the water had been run halfway, deep enough for her to submerge herself into.

Zelda removed her slip and then with clumsy hands began to try and undress herself. Lilith worked faster, unclipping her garter belt and helping her to slide out of stockings before she undressed her.

It was terrible intimate, and twice Zelda slapped her hands away only for Lilith to arch a brow and step back, allowing her to fumble before she took over again.

Finally, Zelda was able to climb into the bath.

The heat scorched her body, but pushing past it, she submerged herself in the heat and felt it slip over her, watching as Lilith picked up her clothes and disappeared with a short, “Don’t get up to trouble.”

If Zelda was honest, this was traversing a fine line between fantasy-nightmare. Entering a beautiful woman’s house, cold and wet, then having her clothes disappearing to where she wouldn’t be able to have access to them. Whatever was a woman to do?

Sinking in the bath, she thought about the implications of it. Truthfully she doubted that Lilith had any bad intentions, no matter how snide her comments were. And yet a part of her couldn’t admit to hoping a little bit for wicked intentions.

She could hear the shuffling around, telling her that Lilith was up to something. Zelda felt the heart of the water soothe her aching muscles, the cold drifting from her bones at the very idea of what could occur. After all, she had stumbled across Lilith’s cottage, her sanctum, so to speak. Likely the woman wouldn’t be terribly pleased…

And yet, as lovely as the idea was, Zelda knew that realistically speaking what was likely to occur was Lilith having her clothes dried by the fire, as she tried the phone line again, unimpressed with the situation.

“Here,” Lilith said, entering the bathroom. “Your clothes were filthy––unfortunately your stockings were beyond saving, but I’ve put everything else in the wash so you’ll just have to wear this for the time being,” she said, setting down a nightgown with a dressing robe beside it and a new, fresh towel.

“Thank you,” Zelda said. “You don’t need––“

“To stop you from dying? Unfortunately, a duty of care is written into the law, and I could be charged with willful neglect,” she said. “Despite what you may wish.”

“I was hardly close to being pneumonic,” Zelda snapped. “It was a bit of rain, not a snowstorm.”

“You were half-drowned,” Lilith said, with an air of disregard, as if she couldn’t be bothered to argue. “Now out you get before you do drown.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Aren’t you?” Lilith said, her smile wicked. Though when Zelda stepped out of the bath, Lilith hands came out and patted her dry with the towel, brushing over her body in a way that Zelda felt the woman enjoyed doing too much if the wicked smile was anything to go by.

Then Lilith was stepping back, and Zelda was finally allowed to dress in the gown and dress, a warm flush dropping over her as Lilith hand her the towel to dry her hair.

The water was murky from the mud and dirt, and more than a few leaves floated in it as Lilith pulled the chain from the plug and set it aside to drain, leaving the bathroom in such a way that Zelda’s eyes followed her movement, familiar with the walk leading her up to her bedroom floor.

“Are you following?” Lilith sang down the hall, and Zelda hated how her heart skipped and an urgency to follow filled her.

Despite her frustration with her, the woman remained to hold a tight control, in a way that was utterly freeing at the best of times and entirely frustrating every other time.

Nonetheless, she followed down the hall, shutting the bathroom door behind her, its lights clicked off.

Lilith led her into the kitchen, where she’d already made a pot of tea, setting it down before her, not unlike their aftercare sessions. Zelda looked to the stove, where it was clear the woman had been halfway through cooking her tea when she’d interrupted her.

And on queue, her stomach gurgled. Zelda flushed, looking away, thankful for the tea.

“Sit down,” Lilith said, shooing her to the kitchen table. And then Zelda watched as she set out two dishes and opened the oven, pulling out a small casserole dish.

“I don’t need––“

“Don’t be impolite. I wasn’t joking about finding my crop, and if need be, I will pull out the wooden spoon if you continue to be rude,” she looked over her shoulder, giving a purposeful look. “Now sit there and wait for dinner to be served, like a good girl, and then we can check the phone lines.”

Zelda didn’t see why she couldn’t check them now, but she sat obediently at the table, her finger pushing at the fork with disinterest. She was embarrassed overall by the situation and further humiliated by the fact that she was just sitting here, waiting for this like it wasn’t her own fault for being here whilst Lilith treater her like a temperamental child.

It didn’t ease the urgency in her to apologise, and there was still a part of her that wanted to stomp off, back to the woods to find her car. She wouldn’t because that was stupid, but the feeling remained there.

Lilith took her plate and began serving the meal. “If I didn’t know how utterly stubborn you were, I would never believe such a story as you getting bogged on the fire trails. Most people would have turned back and waited until the storm passed,” Lilith said with a look.

“I’m not most people,” Zelda said, hating how the woman made her feel like a child under the scrutiny of a teacher. “The fire roads go directly to the Spellman house, and usually it’s fine. I’ve driven it through rain before.”

“But this time you were unlucky.”

“Yes, well, the hole was significant. I would argue it was man-made, but it could just as easily have been created by an animal, digging for something,” she said. “And then the rain just happened to be getting worse.”

“Yes, well, here you are. You’re lucky I live here. Not so long ago, no one lived here, and it was just an old, decrypted house.”

Zelda rose her eyebrows. “So you haven’t always lived in Greendale, then?”

“No. I moved about…oh, a year ago,” she said with a soft hum. There was a softness to her face. “But I was familiar with Greendale. I used to have a few regular clients from here and Riverdale that would pay me to come to visit them for a weekend.”

“Why?” Zelda asked.

Lilith looked at her, tilting her head, “and why not?” she asked.

Knowing she’d overstepped, Zelda felt like she should apologise, but as the woman’s expression stared at her as if waiting for her to argue, Zelda couldn’t hold back from her comment. “Why would someone need a whole weekend of sex and kink?”

“For many reasons that include the fact that it’s not just about sex and kink,” Lilith said, setting Zelda’s plate down before her as she took her own dish to her side of the table and sat down. “You should try it out for yourself and see.”

“Is that your sales pitch?”

“It is,” Lilith said, her eyes sparkling with humour. “Now, explain to me again what occurred. You were coming home from a day of work, saw that the main road was cut off and decided…to go through the fire roads, even though there was a storm?”

As if on cue, thunder roared outside with a flash of light.

“Yes,” Zelda agreed. There was little more to it than that.

“And…you had no idea I lived here?”

Ah, Zelda realised. “You think I drove through the forest road, and intentionally got bogged and decided to traverse through the storm to your cottage? That’s counting on a lot of things to occur at the right moment.”

“Your story is that you got bogged, for all I know, your car is parked a little way up the road.”

“For what purpose?” Zelda said. “Certainly you don’t think that I would be so insecure as to manufacture a moment.”

“I’m never certain about these things. Comes with the territory.”

Zelda quirked her head, studying the woman’s expression. If she had to make an educated guess about what the woman was inferring to, she’d say that there had been a time someone had come across her private residence under false pretences.

“I have better things to do with my life than chase after a woman,” Zelda advised shortly. Privately adding that she was not interested in anyone who had terminated their services because she had some moral compass to show off.

“And what does a woman like you do to occupy her time––outside of soliciting the services of a dominatrix?” Lilith enquired

Zelda smirked. “I work at the university, as you know.”

“Mm, there’s more to it than that.”

“Yes. I complete my own academic papers, but I’m behind on them at the moment.”

“What are your papers on?”

“Language. I had one on the context of language and how it shifts with religious texts, changing the meaning. But my most recent one is more-so about the development of language in cultures and how it shifts––mostly around youth culture, I suppose.” She sighed, thinking fondly upon all the academic books she’d lost when the technician had accidentally deleted all of her stuff due to a virus on her computer––though he said it was more common with university students and suggested raising it with the school.

“Sounds fascinating.”

“In a sense,” Zelda said. “Most people would advise it’s dry. And I suppose it is in their own ways. The students I have hope to become translators or work for the EU in some capacity. Few of them would ever think to follow an academic path, so what I find interesting, they very rarely agree.”

“What did you hope to be when you studied?”

Zelda hummed, realising what the woman was doing, and yet she couldn’t help herself from revealing the truths, “I had an aptitude for language and followed it for that sake alone. I wanted to travel, so I did, spending much of inheritance and earned money travelling the world and learning different dialects. Then I returned home and took up studying for a PhD.”

“Why, Greendale?”

“Because it’s home,” Zelda said, but that was a lie. “Because Sabrina couldn’t live in the city,” she admitted with more honestly. “She deserved a good school and being able to walk home without fear of something happening.”

Lilith nodded. “Understandable,” she said. “When I used to live in the city, I was mugged once. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what that felt like. Though looking back, I don’t think he even had a weapon, just the threat of one and that was enough.” She tilted her head, and her eyes narrowed as if she was scrutinising a thought.

“So why did you move to Greendale?”

“Change of scenery,” Lilith said, her smile tight as she set the fork down. Zelda nodded, dropping the question there. Whatever the reasoning, it was still raw and tight, enough that it fractured the woman’s mask.

They chatted politely over the rest of the meal, Lilith enquiring as to her work, and Zelda asking about the school. The topic remained not dissimilar to what you might have over a work conference with a stranger because it was polite to network rather than taking an absolute interest in what the person was saying.

And when dinner was finished, Zelda rose, taking their dishes to the sink, before beginning to wash up.

Lilith watched her with interest, making no polite comment that she didn’t need to. Although Zelda knew it was an expected social factor to wash dishes if the other person cooked, she couldn’t help but feel annoyed by the fact that Lilith didn’t argue.

It was like when the receipt was placed down for dinner, and the other person doesn’t make a move for it, knowing you’ll pay. It was polite to do the social dance.

“You can try the phone,” Lilith said. “It seems to be back up, but I would suspect that you’re likely to stay the night.”

“And why is that?” Zelda asked, aghast at the woman’s presumptuous way of speaking.

“Because the road remains washed out, and I highly doubt that you’re looking to get your sister bogged on the same fire road as you did.”

Zelda pressed her lips shut and looked away. It was a valid argument. Though she was sure someone she knew had an appropriate car, it was far too late now to ask for such a favour and…

…she wasn’t entirely displeased at the idea of staying the night. It would provide her with more opportunity to…

She stopped the thought there, reminding herself that Lilith had terminated those services, demanding she see a therapist first. Huffing, she stepped away from the sink, pulling out the plug and drying her hands before walking over the phone like that hung on the wall.

It was corded, which seemed all the more ridiculous as she lifted the receiver and heard the familiar sound of a dial tone. Clicking the numbers, she heard the phone ring before it was picked up.

“Spellman residence, this is Hilda.”

“Hilda, it’s Zelda,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know––“

“Oh Zelds, I was worried when I heard the road was flooded. I tried your office, but it rang out.”

“Yes, well, I’m safe, but I likely won’t be home until tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know that I was fine.”

“Wonderful news. Are you staying with the Blackwoods?”

Zelda paused, torn between lying to her sister for simplicities sake, or admitting the truth. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow, thank you, Hilda,” she said before hanging up the phone.

Lilith looked at her, brow’s raising but didn’t seem to argue either way. “Well,” Lilith said with a flutter of her eyes. “I suppose the question is…what did you want to do now?”

Zelda drew in a breath, feeling a low flutter in her belly. She knew what some part of her wanted, but there was no way she was going to admit that. Instead, she returned the question to Lilith, “And what are the options?”

“Hmm, I have some books, we could play a game. Otherwise, we could just adjourn to the living room.”

“And do what?”

Lilith smiled at her. There was demureness to it and were Zelda not so distrusting of the woman. She may have believed it to be genuine. Truthfully, the demure look only made her all the more suspicious. Nonetheless, Lilith led her to the fire and sat down on the lounge, reclining across in a way that had Zelda averting her gaze from her legs as she sat down in the armchair.

For the first time, she swept her eyes over the home. There was a strangeness to it in contrast to the other house. This house seemed smaller with the narrow rooms, though it was definitely twice as large given that it had more rooms. The furniture was old, and as Zelda’s eyes wandered over the mantle and strange collection of knick-knacks, she wondered how much of it belonged to Lilith.

Certainly, she wouldn’t have placed muted colours as a choice of the woman––especially with how modern and bright the other place had been.

“Is this your home?” she asked.

“As much as any other place I live in has been,” Lilith responded. “Why do you ask?”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

Lilith laughed. “No, I suppose it does not. I didn’t decorate it, but it suits me well enough,” she said with a tight smile.

“Did you decorate the other place?”

“Yes, and no,” she answered. “I chose the art and the bed, everything else just came with time.”

The answered puzzled Zelda. As she understood, Lilith had only been living in Greendale shortly. The wealth depicted in two homes cast a strong contract. Here, everything looked old, like it’d been owned for decades and whomever the owner was, had intentionally picked the pieces to match. In contrast, the other place had a more contemporary feel to it.

But Lilith’s answers were deliberately misleading, and Zelda knew that if she wanted to clarify, she would have done so already. Instead, she’d chosen to remain a mystery by design.

It left an awkward silence, one that provided Zelda with too much time to go over the other day, remembering Lilith’s words. Telling her that she wouldn’t engage in her alleged self-harm––and yet, she’d gone out of her way to flirt with her today, to the point that it left no mystery that should Zelda return it, the woman would happily engage in a service.

Right now, she was lying on the lounge in a way that was intended to look casual, but Zelda knew very well was posed, having done similar acts of seduction herself. While she appreciated it, it left her confused.

“What did you mean by earlier?” Zelda asked. “When you said that I don’t listen.”

“You don’t listen, what is there to interpret in that?”

“I listen quite well,” Zelda countered. “You’re just vague, which says more about you than it does me.”

“That may be true, but you don’t listen. You half listen and then extrapolate whatever answer you want from that––in this case, it seems to cast yourself as the victim.”

Zelda’s jaw clicked, a fit of furious anger rising inside of her. “And what in God’s name do you mean by that?”

Lilith smiled. “Why haven’t you booked another appointment with me?” Lilith asked.

Zelda blinked, taken aback by the comment, “You said I couldn’t.”

“I said no such thing. In fact, I offered to leave your last session as free given that we didn’t finish it, which was awfully kind on my end, despite how rudely you stormed off.”

“I was not rude, and you said that you wouldn’t complete the requested services anymore.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I said I wouldn’t engage in your self-harm; there’s a difference. We can still engage in BDSM. It just means that if I say it’s over, it’s over. You don’t get to push your limits without negotiating them with me first.”

Zelda’s chest tightened as she looked away. “I wasn’t trying to push my limits.”

“No, you were trying to punish yourself. I won’t engage in that, the only person who gets to punish you, is me. When you engage my services, you’re mine, do you understand?”

Zelda flushed, staring at the fire. The words your mine rolled through, echoing softly. She quite liked the way that sounded. “I don’t want to punish myself.”

Lilith sighed, sinking in the chair like she was terribly bored. “The therapist I gave you is good. I used her services myself.”

“And what did you need them for?” Zelda asked. “Were you punishing yourself?”

“Don’t do that,” Lilith said, looking her sharply in the eye. For a moment, all humoured had failed, and the woman was looking at her intently. “You’re better than that.”

Zelda shifted, biting back the seething comment. “And who made you the authority?”

“I did by being a dominatrix, and you placed yourself as the submissive.”

“I didn’t appreciate it.”

“No,” Lilith agreed and then she drew in a tight breath. “I will admit, I went about it the wrong way. When I went through…something similar, it was difficult to see that I needed help. You don’t need to see a therapist if you don’t want to, but I do ask that you consider it.”

“I have, and I’ve elected not to.”

Lilith nodded, her expression tight. “Then I won’t push again. But should you ever want a recommendation to a therapist, I will provide it to you.”

“Thank you.”

“And now just comes the matter of you storming off and being quite rude. Are you going to apologise for that, or should I find my cane?”

Zelda shivered and looked away to the fire again, not wanting the woman to see how intently she would enjoy such a thing. The idea of being bent over a surface and feeling the cane crack over her skin. It was enough to make her deeply aware of the lack of underwear underneath the gown.

“Unless that is something you want?” Lilith said, a low, soft laughing ringing from her lips as she sat up.

“No, I––” Zelda said, but her voice was swollen with arousal. All she could think about was Lilith’s hand running over the welts, telling her how good she was being.

Her face felt hot as she bit her lip.

Lilith was standing in front of her before Zelda was even aware of standing. And then, as Zelda looked up, into her eyes, she watched as Lilith bent before her, hands on either side of the armchair, so Zelda sat up straight and pressed back in the seat, watching as the woman’s eyes came to level with hers. “You don’t need to lie to me, if you want me to spank you, all you need to do is ask me nicely.”

Zelda swallowed, staring back, afraid that if she blinked, the woman would devour her.

She could smell her perfume––faded, but sweet coming from her skin as one hand lifted and seemed to curl under her chin, tilting it up. “Ask me nicely,” Lilith said. The words were softly spoken, but there was no mistaking the authority in the command.

“And what would ‘nicely’ look like?” she asked.

“You’re a clever girl, I’m sure you’ll work it out,” Lilith grinned, and it only fed into the situation as Zelda found herself growing bold.

If Lilith wanted to play, she could play. She’d had enough of being seduced––Lilith may have experience of ruling her authority over others, but Zelda had never had a complaint with her own techniques.

“Do I just say, ‘please, Principle Wardwell, won’t you bend me over your knee’?” she asked, grinning as she watched the woman’s smirked falter, her pupils dilating. Zelda leant closer and felt Lilith’s fingers slide down her throat. “Or should I just get on my knees and beg?”

Lilith’s eyes darkened, and she gave a wolfish grin. “I like the idea of you begging.”

“You’re going to need to try harder to get me to beg for you. I’m sure a clever girl like you can work it out.”

“Disrespectful,” Lilith said, her hand coming to slip around Zelda’s throat, holding it steady but not painfully. “You can try to wind me up all you want, but you still need to ask me nicely.”

Zelda drew in a deep breath, knowing she was already under the woman’s skin. “Please, Principal Wardwell,” she purred, and Lilith smirked at her, her fingers tightening as she leant forward and kissed her. Zelda’s eyes fluttered shut, her mouth soft and pliant as she felt the woman climb on top of her, one leg on either side, effectively pinning in her place as she used both hands to cup her face, kissing her softly, and then hard, her teeth coming out to catch against Zelda’s bottom lip before she sucked on it until Zelda moaned.

And then Lilith was kissing down her throat, and Zelda didn’t know how this was going to end up with her getting spanked, but she could feel the flickering warmth in her belly as lips kissed over her neck, each one soft and tender until the woman’s teeth sunk against her shoulder.

Zelda’s nails dug in the woman’s thighs as she rocked forward,

Lilith laughed as she pulled away, giving the spot a lick before she stared into Zelda’s eyes, flicking between them as if she was trying to read her thoughts.

“I’m going to punish you in a way that you’re not going to like,” she said. “It won’t be what you want.”

“And, pray tell, what do you think I want?”

“I think you want me to pull you over my knee and spank you until you’re absolutely soaked, and then you want me to fuck you while you squirm in my lap and listen to me tell you what a good girl you were for taking such a punishment.”

Zelda shifted at the words, feeling the flush brush over her. She swallowed the words, afraid that if she tried to deny it, she’d only make a fool out of herself.

“Don’t worry, I’m still going to spank you, but you were very disrespectful for me in my own home, and naughty girls get punished before they get treats,” she stepped away then and then Lilith was taking Zelda’s hand and tugging her out of the armchair, up the steps to the second floor and into Lilith’s bedroom.

Her real bedroom, that had a simple bed, with simple covers and a thick, fur throw strewn over it to keep the heat in.

Lilith shut the bedroom door behind her and then grinned at Zelda. “What’s your safe word?” she asked.

“Music box.”

Lilith smiled, her fingers running over the satin collar of the dressing gown Zelda wore as she pushed it off her shoulders. “I’m going to make you beg, Zelda Spellman. You came into my territory, in my home. You’re mine.”

“Am I, now?” Zelda asked, feeling her heart flutter.

Lilith’s smile only widened as her fingers played with the straps of the nightgown, pushing them off Zelda’s shoulders too, so the dress fell, catching over her hips before Zelda tugged them down, standing obediently before her.

Lilith leant forward and kissed her again, and Zelda pressed into her, her fingers settling on Lilith’s hips. She didn’t understand how the woman could threaten her and make her feel safe at the same time as if she was in complete control and giving it all up at the same time, but Zelda softened against her, mouth parting to slip her tongue over Lilith’s.

She was eager and nervous, uncertain about what was to follow.

And then Lilith was pulling away and tucking hair behind her ear before she whispered. “On the bed, in the centre for me, please.” And then she stepped back and watched her, teeth biting her bottom lip as she nodded for Zelda to get into position.

Zelda climbed onto the bed, sitting in the centre.

“Oh no, on all fours, facing the head of the bed.”

Zelda drew in a breath, her heart beating faster. It would leave her exposed. Very exposed. But Lilith just waited where she stood, eyebrows raised as she waited for her to either obey or disagree.

Those were her two options. She could do what was asked of her, or she could refuse, demand something she wanted.

She didn’t want anything else.

Zelda obeyed, rolling onto her hands and knees, back straight as she stared at the head of the bed.

“That’s my girl,” Lilith said, and then Zelda could hear her walking around the bedroom, liking admiring her position. “Scooch back a bit,” Lilith said. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Zelda bit her lip, manoeuvring herself backwards. There was no graceful way to do it, and she suspected that that had been Lilith’s plan, to humiliate her just a bit as she was crawling backwards on the bed.

“Stop.”

Zelda paused and then looked over her shoulder, feeling the heat rush across her face, down her body despite how the cool air felt against her naked body (especially to where her sex remained exposed).

“Eyes ahead. Good girl,” Lilith said, and Zelda felt her hand slip down, over her back, across her backside. “Now, stay right there, don’t move,” she said.

Zelda shivered as she felt the hand lift away, listening as Lilith walked around the room, opening up a drawer and pulling something that sounded reasonably heavy out from it. And then, Zelda felt Lilith touch over her ankle, a cuff wrapping around it but Zelda felt what was like a bar press over her other leg, and then Lilith was moving her other ankle, adjusting it, so her thighs were quite wide apart.

“A spreader?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” Lilith confirmed, buckling her other ankle into a cuff. “It leaves you so beautifully exposed before me.” And then when all was done and buckled, Lilith’s hands were dropping over her waist, sliding down her backside and thighs as she ran her nails bluntly over the skin.

Zelda shivered, but try as she might, the bar kept her legs spread and she was unable to press her thighs together.

She was just open. The woman could do and see as she pleased.

Zelda drew in a deep breath, calming her beating heart as Lilith hand’s continued to run over her, petting her softly. It was both patronising and yet calming at the same time, and Zelda wished that she could find it annoying.

“Now, I would say…five for each infraction, does that sound fair?”

“Yes.”

“Yes…?” Lilith prompted.

“Yes, Principle Wardwell.”

Lilith laughed before Zelda heard her draw in a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever tyre of hearing you say that.”

And then Zelda felt her hands running over her again, pressing across her lower back and drawing her nails down the muscles. “Five lashes for each infraction, I’ve counted your rudeness three times.”

“Three?”

“Mmhmm. Three times I threatened to spank you, so here you are. Fifteen lashes that we’ll do in lots of five.” And then she was quiet again, and Zelda was taking a deep breath, waiting for the first strike to hit.

It came sudden and firm against the left cheek, and Zelda squeaked, surprised by it but otherwise fine. The second was as firm on the other side. She bit back her sound, digging her hands in the fur throw and waited. Another strike came, low and managing to hit both of her upper thighs, stinging it enough that Zelda gasped.

Three strikes.

Was she meant to be counting them? She couldn’t remember.

Another strike came, and Zelda felt it rock over her. Her ass was warmed already by the strikes, a heat pulsating across it that paused as she felt the cane gently kiss against her. Holding her breath, she wondered briefly if that was meant to be number five.

And then she saw the shadow flicker, giving her enough time to brace as the strike hit her hard and true on her upper thigh, stinging across it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, taking in a deep breath as she breathed through the pain, feeling it pulsate over her.

“You did well,” Lilith advised, her fingers coolly pressing over the marks, running across the welted lines.

Zelda squirmed at the touch, feeling her own wetness grow slick––it was somehow all the more embarrassing to know how on show she was, how easily Lilith could see how wet she was getting it.

Zelda ducked her head, staring at the fur throw and drew in a tight breath. As humiliating as it felt, she still squirmed at the sensation, wanting to feel Lilith’s fingers continue to draw over, mixing plain with pleasure.

“Ready for the second lot?”

Zelda nodded, and then squeaked too late as she felt Lilith pinch a welt in warning, “Yes, Principle Wardwell.”

“Good, you’re learning.” Lilith stepped back and drew over her thighs. “Let’s see, shall we. I could be very, very cruel but I don’t think I will. I think I’ll be nice.”

Zelda whined.

“I know what you want, but this isn’t about that,” Lilith said, her hand running over her back, stroking across the curve of her skin. And then the next strike came, and Zelda’s eyes squeezed shut as it cracked over her ass, hitting the very edges of her vulva with deliberate intention. It stung enough that she felt tears prick into her eyes, but Zelda’s fingers curled into the throw, breathing out hard as she pressed against the spreader between her calves.

She couldn’t lie. It hurt, but it hurt good. Like she could feel the impact and the pain rolling over her, but also the endorphins flooding through her bloodstream.

“Would you look at that,” Lilith teased and then her fingers were sliding over the outer labia, and Zelda was whimpering at the light touch, feeling the woman spread her wider. “My, my, you do enjoy a good spanking, don’t you?”

“Yes, Principal Wardwell.”

“Mm, perhaps I should get creative, think of other ways to punish you for rude behaviour. Maybe make you––“ she was cut off as a ding sounded, far below in the home. “Excellent, the washing machine’s done. Do be a dear and stay where you are. I’ll be quite cross if I’ve seen you’ve moved.”

“Yes, Principal Wardwell.”

Zelda held her position, waiting, and then feel the faintest touch on her back, before she felt Lilith’s fingers comb through her hair, moving it in place. And then she was gone, feet padding out of the room.

Zelda could hear the stairs creak with the weight on them, before that too faded, leaving the house quiet.

There was the sound of a door opening, and then there was silence, and Zelda waited and waited and waited. Feeling seconds tick as the heat and sting on her skin turned cold and then faded to a dull ache. There was only quiet and her thoughts.

And all she could think about was that if anyone walked in except Lilith, she would be terribly on show. Every part of her naked and exposed for view. Realistically, she was safe. It was unlikely that someone else would make their way to the house, be invited inside and then make their way up the stairs to Lilith’s bedroom.

And yet, despite the knowledge of this, Zelda couldn’t help but feel the prick of anticipation. It wasn’t entirely impossible, just improbably. It could happen. Someone could come across the lone house and visit her.

A stair creaked, and Zelda felt the anticipation break across her skin. She was almost helpless.

What would happen if someone were to––

“Look at that,” Lilith said, and Zelda prided herself in the fact that she didn’t jump, despite her surprise. “You remained perfectly in position. Aren’t you just an obediently little woman?” Zelda could hear her steps down, listening as they stepped over her to behind her, taking the cane from the bed.

“Are my clothes––“

The cane struck low, on the side of her thigh and Zelda gasped, surprised by it. “Subordinates are quiet unless spoken to,” Lilith reminded her. “Now, where were we?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Zelda refrained from allowing a response to be pulled from her as she felt the woman walk around the bed, seeming to take her form in. “I think two more lashes should do it.”

Zelda’s brow pinched. She was certain that there was at least eight outstanding.

But Lilith’s fingers touched over the welts and Zelda hissed at the touch. Two spots were more painful than the others, and Zelda felt Lilith’s fingers glide over it, rubbing the nerves raw. It twisted painfully inside of her, and although there was certainly enjoyment to be found, for the most part, she felt the pain act like pins against her emotions, pricking her pain until she felt like she was going to cry.

“You’ve done well,” Lilith said. “I’m reducing them because your skin's a little more delicate than I anticipated. But I’m proud of you, so don’t think that’s it’s for any other reason.” And then the weight shifted, and Zelda felt her head bow. The strike came, hard and firm, pressing over one of the smaller welt and Zelda moaned, feeling it spark up her spine. Tears were pricking in her eyes now.

And she wasn’t sure if it was from the strike or the words I’m proud of you that were running through her head. It was absurd to get so worked up over the phrase. Absurd to feel them prick sharply into her, harder than any strike. Anything at all.

Proud of you.

God have mercy; she ached.

The last strike came, and like a crumbling damn, Zelda’s body bent over. She wasn’t going to cry; she was determined not to cry.

And yet Lilith’s fingers were fast, and the spreader was unbuckled and removed, and then the woman was on the bed, and Zelda was pulled into her lap. And Zelda hated it, hated how the woman’s fingers drew over her hair, how she hushed her and ran hands over her body and whispered how good she’d been.

Because it hurt, it hurt more than it should, and Zelda wanted it again. She wanted Lilith to whisper into her ear and press kisses to her shoulder, and tell her that she’d done really well, even if it wasn’t true. She wanted it so badly.

She closed her eyes and felt the combing stop, but Lilith’s hands remained on her, one settled on her head, the other curled around her body, pressing against her chest, steadying her.

And then when the pain was over, Zelda drew a breath and rose, feeling the embarrassment wash over her again, just as it had in their first session.

She licked her lips, trying to think of a dry comment to make or something to say to soften what had occurred but Lilith only looked into her eyes, and all the words died in her mouth.

“I’m going to insist this time that I put cream on it since you’ll be staying the night.”

Zelda made a noise of disagreement but shifted away, winching as she pressed against a welt. “Fine,” she agreed. “Only because I won’t have access to my own.”

Lilith gave her a look and then shifted off from the bed, going over to her dresser when she shuffled through the drawers, before pulling out a container of cream.

She returned to the bed, and tugged at a pillow, pulling it down next to Zelda, “Lie down, and I’ll place it on,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Zelda obeyed, rolling onto the stomach and resting her arms over the pillow, placing her head on it in a way she was comfortable.

And then she settled, feeling the fur of the throw press against her as the cream was unrolled and the woman’s fingers were dipping in it. “Do you do this for your clients, too?”

“I do,” Lilith answered. “Some, like you, are stubborn, which makes it harder to provide adequate care. But I usually find a way.”

Zelda hissed as the cream touched over a welt before she softened again. The woman’s touch was firm, rubbing it into the skin, and she felt her stomach twist at the intimacy of the situation. It came at no surprise to herself that sex and kink were easier than allowing someone to rub cream into the welts.

“None of them have broken,” Lilith said, as her fingers drew down her thighs, both hands rubbing over her left, the thumb firmly rubbing it in––and yet despite how intimate it was, it didn’t feel like foreplay. It felt like what it was, aftercare. As if Zelda was an invalid needing cream for bedsores. “They won’t scar, but they’ll sting for a few days.”

“Wonderful,” Zelda responded dryly.

“Oh, yes,” Lilith said. “One of my favourite things is knowing that even after you leave, you’re going to think of me,” she said, drawing the cream on the other side now. “When you get in your car, when you sit in your office when you’re at the dining table, you’re going to feel it press, and you’re going to think of me.”

“They won’t be happy thoughts.”

“They will be,” Lilith said. “You’re a masochist, Zelda. Try as much as you like. You do like this.”

She felt a bite rise in her. “And yet you said that it was self-harm.”

“Mm, there’s a difference,” Zelda felt Lilith's fingers draw away, and despite how much easier it was to relax when they weren’t there, she missed the touch, the feeling of her drawing over the skin. “What you wanted the other week was complete destruction. You were pushing yourself, refusing to stop. This was different.”

“I didn’t cry last time.”

“Crying isn’t always a sign of pushed limits,” Lilith said. “I think you know the difference between today and the other day and are trying to be deliberately obtuse, so you get what you want.”

Pushing up, Zelda felt a flare of frustration rise at the woman’s words. “Which is what?” she asked, her jaw clenching as she anticipated the woman’s indifference to her fight.

But Lilith only smirked at her. “you know what, Zelda. I’ll play with you on negotiated terms, but I’m not your partner. I can’t be the emotional support you need.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Zelda huffed, pushing up onto her hands and knees before she paused, wincing as she felt the pain sting over her. The welts hurt differently than before. This was a dull ache that throbbed, rather than the sharp sting.

But she pressed on, moving to push off the bed. Not that there was far she could go. She was stuck in the woman’s house until the storm ended––or, more realistically, until tomorrow. A part of her wanted to seduce the other woman, dominate her in a different way that she’d been until Lilith was left wet and wanton against her mouth, but she had a sneaking suspicion that sex was off the table for the moment.

Taking the nightgown from the floor, she placed it on, before pulling on the dressing gown and drew her hair over her shoulder.

Lilith remained sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with mild interest as if she wasn’t sure what might occur next.

“What time is it?”

“Relatively early,” Lilith said, “though I have some administration work to do. Did you want a cup of tea?”

“Please,” Zelda agreed.

_________________

#lilith #zelda spellman #zelith #madam spellman #caos fanfic

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eomerra541 · 4 years ago

Text

I wanted to share a portion of the first chapter of Blood and Ink with you all!! Zierra LeFay is my leading lady in this fanfiction with a two-world plotline. Middle Earth and a fantasy style Earth. Hope it draws you in!!!!

YTD 2019, October 31st

Location: Hillsboro Oregon, USA Bishop/LeFay/Boleyn Coven

"So, what do you think?" Zierra had been facing her over-the-door mirror and swiftly turned to look at Tutela, who had taken her most frequent form as a black cat. Her tail swayed as she meowed approvingly, rubbing herself against Zierra's leg. Her vibrant eyes smiled as she seemed to almost break out into a gentle grin.

"You're totally right. I look gorgeous." Running a finger through her dark curls, Zierra adjusted the waist armor that was snug against her maroon long sleeve tunic. Zierra's black pants were tucked beneath a pair of black leather boots that dawned a hidden pocket inside meant for a small weapon but she used it to hold her cell phone(she was a witch after all… Zierra was a weapon all on her own).

Moving toward her dresser, Zierra grabbed two silver wrist guards, placing them over the sleeves of her tunic before tying the leather strings. She then reached for her satchel, double checking to make sure all the essentials were still inside before readying herself to leave.

To Zierra, Halloween was much more than a chance to dress as her ancestor Morgana LeFay(though she thoroughly enjoyed that part). It was also her birthday and a day when witches, like herself, felt a sudden boost to their magic. For All Hallows Eve was one of the nights where the universe's magic was at its most potent.

Grinning, Zierra motioned for Tutela to follow. "Vamonos, let's get to the coffee shop."

With a nod, Tutela moved toward the open window while Zierra headed for the door of her one bedroom apartment. Grabbing her keys, Zierra watched as Tutela examined the area, making sure no one would see her transformation, before taking the sudden form of a blue jay, flying about and patiently waiting for Zierra to meet her outside. With Tutela outside, Zierra used to magic to close the window and made her way outside

Zierra's apartment was located near the Trimet( Tri-County Metropolitan Transportation District of Oregon) at Orenco Station, an urban neighborhood filled with decades old brick buildings as well as those with wide windows and a modern appeal.

It was within walking distance of her work as an RN at a senior living facility, and an even closer walk to her mother's coffee shop, LeFay Lounge. Orenco Station was by far her favorite neighborhood in the Portland area, and as Zierra stepped outside, she smirked taking it all in. It was a view sje wouçd admire for years to come.

Her eyes fell on Tutela before she began to walk toward LeFay Lounge. The lively street was filled with evening joggers, mom's taking their kids out trick or treating, as well as a young man playing his guitar for money. She threw in a few dollars as she passed while Tutela flew overhead, keeping her flight patterns headed in the same direction as Zierra, without looking as if she were following her.

Taking a right, she could see her mother inside the coffee house just ahead. She was nervously pacing the floor while typing some message in her phone. The sudden ping from inside the pocket of her boot made her realize Ellie, Zierra's mother, had been texting her.

Reaching for her cell, Zierra glanced toward the screen.

I thought you were gonna get here before everyone else?!

Zierra's mother had never been the controlling or worrisome type, always trusting her daughter to do the right thing. More than that, Ellie had an amazing truest gift(every witch can do most spells but every witch also has their own strength known as their truest gift) of foresight and was always one step ahead. She knew when danger was truly imminent and when to roll with the punches. Still, that didn't mean Ellie could foresee every outcome. The future was often unpredictable and depended on the decisions of others(if everything was black and white, Ellie would have been able to protect her husband from his untimely death). Nevertheless, it was because of that special gift that if Ellie was worried, Zierra ought to be as well.

"Ay dios mio." She said, quickening her pace. She gazed toward Tutela, pursing her lips. "We better get in there fast. I'll let you in from the back." Tutela made a loud chirp in reply just as Zierra took a deep breath, hoping it wasn't too serious before reaching the front door.

Inside the shop, lanterns adorned the walls along with quotes written in an Old English font. The floor was made of stone, and the arched ceiling was painted to look like the night's sky. In every way, the coffee house symbolized their great heritage of Medieval Times.

Ellie, who had been facing toward the large fireplace, quickly moved toward her daughter as she entered. "Zierra, we don't have a lot of time." Ellie's voice sounded panicked before she fixed her eyes on the large glass window that showcased her coffee house. She raised her hands as a gold mist began to emit from Ellie's fingers before floating toward the walls of the building, circling it entirely.

The Glamour Spell was used to keep those without magic from ever witnessing or hearing the practice of magic. From outside, LeFay Lounge would appear silent and still, without a soul occupying it, concealing their every action, no matter who arrived for the meeting or what magic they chose to use.

"Mom, what's going on?" Zierra asked worriedly. She hadn't seen her mother this distraught since the night their father died.

Turning to face her daughter, Ellie looked anxious. "Zierra, I've just had an awful vision. It was about you, and it's going to happen soon."

Zierra, seeing the sudden fear in her mother's eyes moved forward. Her mother reached for Zierra's hands before continuing. "In the vision you were standing before a hideous creature with flesh that looked burned. Its' fangs were long and it had stocky legs. It wanted to kill you. It wanted to eat your flesh." Ellie's breath seemed to hitch as a tear fell across her cheek. "You used your magic to defeat it but then as many as fifty came toward you, with some riding on the backs of unnaturally large dogs." Ellie shook her head as her eyes closed for a moment, carefully remembering every detail. "I- I thought at first they were werewolves but their structure wasn't quite the same. Not to mention wherever you were did not look familiar at all."

Zierra could hardly keep up. She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to comprehend her mother's words. "Mama, calmete." She placed her hands on her mother's shoulders. "What are you talking about? What creature? Werewolves? I thought they were extinct?"

Ellie drew in a breath, feeling frantic. "No, I'm saying I thought it was a werewolf." She waved her hand as if to move on. "That's not what's important Zierra, I'm trying to tell you something bad is going to happen, and whatever those things were, I have never seen in all my studies of magic."

Zierra bit her lip. This was supposed to be a typical meeting between three joined covens. Those that were direct descendents of Bridget Bishop, Anne Boleyn, and Morgana LeFay. She thought she'd get to celebrate her birthday as well as Analise Bishop's(they'd both been born on All Hallow's Eve and as such their magic was a great deal stronger than even those on the councill). She thought the two of them would finally be initiated into the councill, as it was typical on a witch's twenty fifth birthday. Instead, she began to fear for her own life.

"Have you told the council your vision? What did they say?" She asked, hoping the coven could help. Whatever her mother had seen, she strongly wished to prevent it.

Ellie gripped her daughter's hands, her eyes growing large at Zierra's question. "You can not even mention my vision! We have to figure this out on our own and be ready for anything that might happen tonight."

Zierra was growing more concerned by the second. "Why aren't you going to bring this up to the councill? I thought all visions of foresight had to be shared-"

"Not when I think a bloodwitch is the reason these creatures were created!" Ellie interrupted.

Zierra furrowed her brow. Analise had been the first bloodwitch in centuries. They were uncommonly rare and could use their own blood to spark life to inanimate objects or bring back dead things(though no matter what they brought back to life they were never entirely the same, their bodies needing constant repair). The two girls had never truly gotten along but Zierra wouldn't suspect Analise of wanting to harm her. Analise had always been full of herself but given that they saw each other a few times a year it just didn't make sense. Analise was a beautiful girl with her own damn life in Rio De Janeiro! She had money, power, and popularity and was miles away from Zierra.

"Mom I don't understand-" Before Zierra could continue, a blue flame suddenly formed within the large fireplace to her left before the stone began to expand. Then, stepping beyond what Zierra knew as Doorway Flame, a woman with red hair and pale skin gave them both a warm smile.

"Merry Hallows Eve, Zierra and Ellie." Lisa greeted. "And Happy Birthday, Zierra."

"Merry Hallows Eve." Zierra and Ellie replied in unison.

Lisa's smile began to fade, taking in Ellie's blotched face. She knew she must have been crying. "What's wrong Ellie?"

Ellie composed herself, giving Lisa a wide grin before waving her off. "Oh we were just reminiscing of when Byron was still alive." She lied.

Lisa's head tilted as she gave them both a look of sympathy. "I can imagine how hard it must be to not have him here for a day like Zierra's birthday." Lisa turned to Zierra just as the others began to arrive. "I heard about you finishing your degree. Congratulations on becoming an RN and for snagging such a prestigious job right out of the gate!"

"Thank you." Zierra answered with a smirk. "I did apply on a friday the thirteenth." She admitted, which was açeatd a day of luck for witches and wizards.

Soon each young descendent(future council women when they were of age and maturity) and council members began to arrive, totaling thirty women. There were ofcourse male descendents, but their magic was typically never as strong(an old curse caused by Mordred was responsible) and as such it was always women who led councils across the globe. They greeted each other kindly, taking seats at the many tables in Ellie's shop, with Ellie LeFay, Lisa Boleyn, and Octavia Bishop standing near the fireplace as the head council women.

"Zee!" Zierra spun around when she heard her cousin's voice, who immediately wrapped her arms around Zierra. "Happy birthday, gorgeous!"

Zierra released her cousin with a pleasant grin, momentarily pulled from her troubled thoughts. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Aliyah's costume.

"You look, muy bonita!" She exclaimed, remembering the dress as one of Regina's from their favorite TV show, Once Upon a Time (The pair loved the world's interpretation of magic and all the irony behind its hidden truth)."I think you could give Lana Parilla a run for her money!"

Aliyah slowly spun around to give Zierra a full view nodding as she spoke. "So true, cousin. So true. But it's not just the party that has me looking so spectacular." Aliyah's smile was wide and filled with excitement, she gripped Zierra's forearms biting her lip. "I'm going to ask Ezra to marry me!"

Zierra's mouth fell open. Ezra Leveau's- who was a half witch half Faery- ancestry came from Marie Laveau and his coven held a council with two other families in France. His mother's marriage to Veyro, an ambassador for the Fae kingdom, had also helped solidify a peace treaty between both parties.

Zierra had been so happy to see them together. And though it had only been six months since they started dating, anyone with eyes could see it was meant to be. "Does that mean you're asking him-"

"Tonight? Yes! And at the Festival? Also yes!"

Zierra practically screamed before giving Aliyah another hug. "Yey! I am so happy for you both! Seriously he is perfect for you! And at the festival no less! Which I get to see happen!"

The two girls sat at one of the round tables, still giddy from excitement just as Analise Bishop had taken the last chair. Zierra's smile immediately dropped as fear crossed over her eyes.

"How were your summers girls?" Analise asked quietly, looking down at her black polished fingernails. Her skin was painted green and her dark hair was fastened into a beautiful dutch braid. She glanced at Aliyah first, waiting for a reply.

"Paris was just as romantic as they say." Aliyah answered with a reminiscent grin. Despite how annoying Analise's ego could be, Aliyah had never been rude to her. It wasn't in her kind nature. But as she looked toward her cousin, Aliyah was quick to notice Zierra's sudden apprehension. Her body had stiffened and her eyes were momentarily filled with vigilance and though Zierra had been quick to recover, Aliyah was much too close to her cousin to miss it.

"I got hired at a senior care center. It's great money and I'll always have the same shift, unlike if I took a job at a hospital. It was a gig most wouldn't have fallen into having just finished school but I did apply in a day if luck, so I was bound ti get it, but I plan to stick around."

"Oh yeah, you finished your nursing degree." Analise stated. She glanced Zierra up and down as if she were beneath her. It was the same self righteous expression Analise often carried, but this time her eyes seemed sinister and it only caused Zierra's fear to grow; her mother's strange vision painting gruesome images inside her head as she contemplated whether Analise would ever want to hurt her. What would she gain from doing so? She asked herself, not able to come to a rational conclusion.

"Love the costume by the way, and happy birthday." Analise added, taking Zierra by surprise. Her smile seemed genuine and the darkness she had seen a moment before was gone "Don't I look ravishing in green?" She winked, gesturing to her costume as The Wicked Witch. Maybe I hadn't seen it at all, Zierra considered. But mom seemed really scared.

"Thanks, and happy birthday to you as well.' Zierra's eyes narrowed for a moment. She truly didn't know what to think. The two had never had any bad blood. So why now? Trying to hurt Zierra meant Analise risking her position on the council and giving up even the slightest opportunity at power felt out of character for Analise. Still, her mother's vision kept Zierra on guard. She gave Analise a slight grin before nodding, turning her attention to her mother who was about to speak..........

Here's a link if you want to read more!!!!

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13695267/1/Blood-and-Ink

#writing #fanfic #strong female characters #eomerxoc #eomer #witchlife #latinamc #fantasy #lotr #lotr fanfic #romance

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years ago

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12. On Your Side

Decided to publish what I had worked on before my hiatus, mainly for Tina and nem, as a Xmas thing. Ion celebrate that shit, happy holidays or whatever. I was hoping to have completed the story by now, but with my break for mental health, I guess it's either pushed back or gonna be abandoned. Will know in a couple of weeks or so what, if anything I intend to do with it. Its an Apex centered chapter. I'm still on hiatus. You can leave a review if you want to, but don't message me about Simon or this story. Thanks.

*The Grace St. Catherine Playlist, featuring songs used in chapter and songs that inspired the chapter*

“Even through the darkest phase

Be it thick or thin

Always someone marches brave

Here beneath my skin…” Grace let the music play in the background as she tried to do all of the things suggested to her by her “spiritual advisor,” Sunny, whenever she moved into the place. She was doing more drawing - mostly sketches of carnage and rage. She was journaling a lot, mostly in the form of a narrative told by a hypothetical fictional character, because admitting to the things that she was doing on paper was a huge no-no, so she simply projected her life through her journaling character, The Saint, whom would never be referred to by name in any of the entries. In this particular one, The Saint was contemplating calling The Shadow. What would the conversation even be like? He would tell her how bad she was for being mad at him. She would tell him that she only hurt bad people, but he hurt a friend… he hurt her. That was different. So different. But she MISSED him.

She had began to sketch him. She was more of a doodler/drew cartoons and comics on her phone and stuff… but she was shut up in this place for hours at a time and hadn’t really used a pencil and a sketch book seriously in a while. Then, it got away from her. After a few days, she had almost filled up a sketch book with drawings of Simon. She winced when she thought of his name. She had been avoiding speaking it and thinking it. “And constant craving has always been…” She stared at the phone, then changed the track. The last thing she needed was to think about craving, of all things…

Now, that the phone was in her hand, she glanced around, feeling that paranoia that she had since she left home. Nobody was watching her here, but she felt obligated to check, anyway, and upon verifying what she already knew - that nobody was fucking watching her - she went to visit his social media. Private? Since when? She checked another. Same thing. A third, same fucking thing! “UGH!!!” She threw her phone onto the couch and went to go chop wood. She didn’t really like to chop wood, but it did make her feel better to swing a tool and see destruction come out of it.

“Old wounds

Old fights

Another day goes by

I'm not playing by the rules

They can't take me for no fool…” Her phone continued singing as she went outside.

Jalicia Barrett was not the same type of watch as Grace was. She obviously wasn’t as upscale as Grace, so she wound up having much to do that was necessary, unlike Grace’s schedule of playing a typical woman. Now, to say that Jalicia was typical would be a stretch of the imagination, as Simon knew that none of Grace’s people were that and she had possibly an unreasonable amount of tiger items, but she was closer to an average person than Grace was.

She went to Seattle University, but hadn't selected a major. She was still doing general studies after taking a few years to get her GED (She began trying at 16 and only successfully received it less than a year ago), so.. a freshman in college, which wasn't bad. She was 19. She worked on campus and seemed to have other odd jobs, like being a delivery driver or personal cab, and stuff at that Infinity Foundation place.

She didn’t have rich parents. From what Simon was able to find, she was never reunited with them, whoever they were. If they had lived in Seattle when she was taken, there was nothing on file to indicate that she was reported missing. Of course… he didn’t know what her real name was. The name Jalicia Barrett only became a name for her in the year after Grace left the mental institution. He knew that was likely connected.

Maybe… she wound up in the system after Grace touched base with them? At any rate… whoever the girl who was brought into trafficking had been, she was now Jalicia Barrett, a girl who began existing when she was 13 or 14 and obviously probably didn’t know her DOB either, as it was on record as the day that her name was given, her documents were created all around the same time, so she had to either have been a baby whenever she was taken, or simply never knew her personal information like birth date and full name.

BUT, she did have prints on file, so she probably had birth records that could be matched to them somewhere. He didn’t know if he wanted to get into that… or if she hadn’t done so herself and simply decided that life was easier being the person that she knew herself to be now. He certainly couldn’t imagine separating from his loved ones and then not finding them for a decade or so and then just… trying to pretend that they were family after all or something. She had the family she wanted… Well… she lost one. He felt bad for her. It wasn’t the same, but whenever he lost Grace, he felt like his world collapsed. To even pretend to understand how this woman must feel losing her life partner after years of being together, he wouldn’t insult her like that. Instead, he looked into the details surrounding that. Whatever happened to that investigation?

He’d provided an alibi for them and the police never spoke with him again. He’d done his best playing ignorant and pretending that everything was casual. Whenever they asked him about Heath, he said that he didn’t know Heath. “I’ve only met him once and he didn’t show up to the gathering… Is he alright?” They didn’t answer, just wished him a good day.

Now, he was looking through their paperwork and he was sure that he might find something interesting, if not useful. Simon had no idea what he was looking for with these other people. Something that led him back to Grace’s trail, and he had to figure out how they worked to even presume that…

Here’s the thing… Simon wasn’t going to write himself off as wrong or going too far. For crying out loud, the things that these people did, and they felt justified in their reasonings, so he wasn’t going to allow himself to feel bad. Grace might need him, and Xander was keeping her away from him. He cursed himself over that gun, though. However, IF she would have just let him explain that he only had it to keep Xander from getting it! He didn’t know what to think when he holstered it, but it wasn’t for her! Why would he hurt her? He scanned through paperwork, trying to take his mind off of Grace’s lack of faith in him and then, he was sure that he found what he needed. If not; he’d found something interesting. “Huh.”

Grace called Sunny for more tips. She was doing everything that she told her to, and reading all these books and articles, ordering all sorts of holistic woo woo shit, and trying SO HARD just to not lose it out there… Sunny was always a mood lifter for her though. They would talk for however long, laugh, joke, sometimes get entirely too serious and cry… they hadn’t done this in a long time, but Grace had been calling her more frequently lately and, well… it was necessary for her to be available.

“It’s like… I don’t want to use this word lightly, and I especially can’t tell Xan, but I feel like I’m like… addicted… Does that sound stupid?”

“Xander doesn’t own the word addicted, Grace. He’s struggled with a few drugs over the years, but one of the reasons is because he’s sick. Some people can try things and never really become addicted to them because those things didn’t appeal to them in that way. This dude appealed to you in a way that your body wasn’t used to. He got into your mind, and most likely changed the chemical balance. Affected your hormones and shit, only to find that he wasn’t what you thought and now your chemicals gotta try to balance back out without his influence, so no, it doesn’t sound stupid. Perhaps melodramatic, but I don’t know. You could be addicted to the way that he made you feel. Going through dick withdrawals is a struggle that people don’t give enough credence, too.”

Grace snorted. “I’m… not… going through that. We weren’t like that. I don’t even know if he ever was into me that way? It was like… I don’t know… I never got the feeling that he desired me physically.”

“What feeling did you get?”

“For the most part, that he wanted me around. I don’t know why. He never seemed to be asking anything of me but to let him be near me. He was very good about not entering my personal space, and even when I got comfortable, he still never made any move on me or anything like that. He just seemed to like to be… present.”

“Okay, but what would he be doing when he was present?”

“Sometimes nothing, really. Just looking at me, or listening to me. Sometimes, we were doing our own thing - me reading a book. Him playing video games or writing, or… Idk, working on a cosplay outfit.”

“Girl, on what?”

“He’s a fantasy fanboy before he’s a fantasy writer, so he you know… makes cosplay costumes and stuff for conventions. Whenever he’s not scheduled to be on a panel at one… This is something that I’ve observed, not something that he’s said. He… doesn’t talk about himself a lot. Not at all, come to think about it.”

“Xander makes him out to be a literal serial killer.”

“Xander hates him. What about 808? What does she say? Xan seems to think that he “got to her” or played some kind of mind games or something?”

“Well… she didn’t say anything to me about him, except that he was very talkative and apparently worships you. She was pretty thrown off guard at how comfortable he seemed with being caught and held hostage. She said that he is either the most nonchalant person ever or the craziest fucking person that she’s ever drawn a weapon on, because he acted like they were buddies just chitchatting, and we all know that he knows what we do to people.” Grace didn’t reply. Sunny offered, “Well, whenever I think about the shit that I went through with Xander and how we always seem to find each other in the dark, it's usually in terms of No Angel.”

Grace said, “Beyonce’s No Angel?”

“”Is… Is there another one? Because, if there’s anything AND a Beyonce song, just go ahead and assume that I am only speaking of the Beyonce option.” Grace laughed. Sunny recited, “ I love you even more than who I thought you were before.” Grace held her breath, unsure of what to say to this. Sunny continued, “All I mean to say is that sometimes people aren’t who we initially thought. Sometimes they’re worse. Sometimes they are seriously fucked up. Sometimes, they’re absolute trash… But… you might still love their ass.”

“Damn, Sis… Is this how you feel about Xan? Because those are some hard descriptions.”

“No. Xander is definitely a hot mess, but I was absolutely describing your… thing… over there. Jimony?”

“Simon,” Grace said, trying not to laugh.

“Right. I knew it had “mon” in it.”

Jalicia didn’t know what it was about that station that made her put it on all of the time, but her streaming service generally stayed on an old r&b from the 60s and 70s station, and sometimes 80s and 90s, whenever she was at work. She had a journal with a tiger on the front that she was writing down poetry in, but she could never think of titles for any of her work, and she didn’t feel like she was that artistically creative, so she’d title everything, “(Song Title) Plays in the Background,” whether or not the song had any bearing on the poem. Today’s? Let’s Groove Plays in the Background.

Work was a little bit overwhelming, these days, but only because of the things that had nothing to do with it. The fact that she wouldn’t just receive flowers sometimes and have her coworkers wonder why her boyfriend was this thoughtful, but they never saw him. Or the days where she would pout about being broke and having to pack a stupid sandwich and he would insist on having something sent to her at lunchtime, if he didn’t just make her a different, more fulfilling lunch instead. The way that she would get a text whenever he went on his own lunch break, and it would just be some hilarious video or a new thing that they just HAD to buy. Work was overwhelming, because what she had leaned on every shift was the fact that he’d interrupt it with something nice and that she would leave there and get to see him every day.

Now, she was listening to Earth Wind & Fire, in a gray pantsuit and fooling around on her computer while she waited for something to do. She heard the tone of the doorway and she got up to see if somebody needed help. It was a college bookstore and she was often far overdressed, but all she had aside from her typical attire were the pantsuits she wore when she had to do something other than be casual - like functions and interviews or whatever, so that was what she wore to work.

The O. He looked at her like they were friends or something. A polite smile and warmth in his eyes. She stared him down and reached for her phone. “Hi. Can I just have a moment?” He asked. She texted: The O is here and hit “send” to 747. “It won’t take long, I just wanted to give you something.” The O reached into his bag and Jalicia had already identified four common objects in her immediate surroundings that she would definitely use as a weapon against him if he tried something slick. He handed her an envelope, one of the big yellow ones and she frowned.

“I’m not taking whatever that is. For all I know it’s got anthrax in it.”

He laughed and opened it himself, pulled out the paperwork and handed it to her. “I figured out a better method of tracking people down than Heath had the resources for. I know that Xander is trying his hardest, God help him, but he’s not much on a computer and some of these things are hard to find.” She took the pages and glanced through them. Simon helped her find a certain page, “I’ve guessed that you maybe didn’t know much about this part of the situation that you all walked into. The… X, I suppose you’d call him, was very paranoid that he might be on your list and he hired protection.” He pointed out a few key lines that he had highlighted. “Professional protection, and yet when the time came to protect him, Heath wasn’t shot in the arm, or hell, if they didn’t want him to escape, the leg is an option as well.”

“They killed Heath on purpose,” She said, the wind knocked out of her as she did. She tried to take a seat, but just fell back onto a table and leaned against it, knocking down several books.

“They wanted to send a message and since you all slacked up since then, I’m sure that they think that they did.” She started crying angrily and wiped her face. “Flip to the next page.” Her hands were shaking and she wasn’t sure of what she might see, but she flipped to the next page anyway. “That’s your shooter. Since he was on the job, he confessed to being the one who fired and because Heath was breaking an entering and had no family to intercede for an investigation… the cops seem to be fine with what happened to him, despite the fact that our laws state that a person may not use more force than is necessary given the situation.” She shut her eyes and squeezed out tears, her fists tightly holding onto the phot0 of the man. “Next page are his personal details. Do with it whatever you think is best. I just thought that you would want to know.”

She shivered and cried, “This doesn’t mean that I owe you anything. I didn’t ask you for this and I don’t feel indebted to you for it.”

“Jalicia… I’m on your side. Whatever side Grace is on, that’s where I am. I did this because I want to help.”

“Well… This is the most help you’re getting from me - Xander’s on his way.”

“Then, I’ll be on my way.” He had that polite smile again and she was almost terrified how easily it came to him. He left quite a few minutes before Xander arrived.

She instantly fell apart as soon as she saw him, handing him the papers and explaining to him what he was looking at. She left work and was going to call Grace, but Xander snatched her phone while he was driving. “No, what if he. like, cloned your phone or something?”

“What? This ain’t Person of Interest, Boy. What the fuck are you talking about, Bro? He’s rich but it’s not like he’s Lex Luthor.”

“We can’t chance it. He’d do anything to find out where she is.”

“Give me yours, then.”

“Just hold off. I need to check this dude out. For all we know, Simon is just blowing smoke up our asses to get us to lead him to Grace.”

“The fact that you think it’s more likely that he falsified a bunch of police documents than that he simply sneaked them away is making me wonder about you .”

“I let him get too close to her before, and I’m not doing that again.”

Jalicia snatched her phone back from him and they wrestled for it but, he eventually heard Grace on speaker.

“What is happening on that end?” She asked, laughing a little bit nervously.

“We need to talk about Simon,” Jalicia said.

“I disagree with that sentiment!” Xander said in the background.

There was a pause. Grace was panicking a little bit. Did they know that she was trying to check his pages? That she was trying to see if she could make a temporary account just to try to get to them? How would they know that, Girl?

Jalicia added, “It’s about Heath.” Xander turned red in the face and he shook his head and tried to breathe. “Oh, fuck you, Xan. You left him there to die. The least you could do is chill out while I speak to Grace about this.”

“Whoa… That’s not extremely fair. The Apex protocol is that if somebody is hit, we leave and regroup. We go in with the expectation that if we’re hit, we would slow everyone down and jeopardize everything. So, Xander and I both left him,” Grace said the last statement laced with sadness and guilt.

“He pulled you out and sped away,” Jalicia said.

Xander scoffed and then burst into tears, “I’m glad that you’re telling us how you really feel.” His voice was surprisingly calm, but the ladies knew that hurt him more than anything ever had in this world.

“Tell me what you need to say,” Grace said.

“Simon found Heath’s killer.”

“Simon found a person he alleges is Heath’s killer.”

“He had all of the paperwork to corroborate it. More than Heath has ever collected on any X.”

“He had paperwork on a man who works in security who may have shot Heath dead, but as far as we know is not a bad person. He probably was just on a security job. Somebody broke into the house he was guarding and he shot!”

“WHY DID HE SHOOT HIM IN THE HEAD???” Jalicia squealed. “I’ve been over this myself, before Simon EVER said anything about it, but WHY didn’t they shoot him to survive and answer questions about what is one of the most infamous string of serial murders to ever hit the city? Why would he risk his job to kill someone that way in security, if there wasn’t a reason that Heath needed to be dead?”

“You… you think that the security dude is old Apex?”

“I think that at best, the security dude wanted to kill a person that he didn’t HAVE to kill and he used Heath as a perfect excuse, making him a shitty person, in my opinion, and at worst, he didn’t want us saying anything to anybody, because he knew why we were there!”

“But, we did release what we had on the X. The information is out there now. Nothing was done about it,” Grace added.

“Precisely! Just as nothing was done about this trigger happy buttfuck, even though our laws state that you’re not supposed to kill motherfuckers if you don’t have to!” Jalicia said. She looked at Xander, poked him in the arm and reminded him, “You were the first one to claim you’ll avenge him”

“And you told me to go fuck myself.”

“Emotions were definitely running high, but if you’re looking for the chance to make good on your word, you’ll have to suck it up and just live with the fact that Simon gave us this, like I have to live with the fact that Heath is never fucking coming home!” She got louder than she intended. Xander wiped his tears with the back of his hand, but more just poured out. He nodded, but he was still extremely upset.

“Send me what Simon sent you. I’ll let you know what I decide from there.”

“Thank you, Grace.”

Grace sighed, paused, then said, “Heath would have wanted us to get out, but even if you had driven away and left us all, we wouldn’t have faulted you… That’s the protocol. Heath knew that…”

“Does that make it easier for you?”

“No. But, we shouldn’t make it harder on each other, either…” Jalicia sighed, rolled her eyes and let more tears fall. “I’m sorry, Jalicia. Heath was the first person in the warehouse that I ever cared about. I would trade myself for him, if I could.”

“He’d never let you,” she hung up and reached out for Xander. He accepted her hand. “I was mean to you…”

“You were honest. It just fucking hurts. Heath was the backbone of this family, and everyday he isn’t here, I lose more and more respect and control. He kept me grounded.”

“Doesn’t Sunny do that too?”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Maybe you don’t let it be. Maybe the reason Heath was your rock was because you thought that you only needed one. That’s what I did, too. I didn’t even realize how much of my life revolved around him until I was just spinning in space, with nothing to pull me back. Why do you think I moved in with your ass?”

“To split rent.”

She gave a resigned shrug, but shook her head, “I thought that it would make things better, if even just to put me in a spot where I could just not think about it and not be alone. I figured I wouldn’t get over it, but that at least I would logically be able to grant myself some peace because you’re there too, and that there would be some type of comfort. Not emotionally. That’s gonna take more time than I even believe that I have left in this world. But… at least I wanted that solid ground to stand on, to be able to say, Heath would want his two favorite people to lean on each other and find some strength in his absence.” Xander sniffled. She finished, “But it didn’t matter, and I don’t even know what to do, because I thought that being around you would guarantee some balance, even if it didn’t truly help… I still have all of my grief, and I’m..” she whimpered, “So tired. And empty. And distant. My closest living friend is sitting right next to me, and I have been so alone…”

Xander pulled the van over, unlatched his seatbelt and hugged her. She wasn’t done. She was so focused on her train of thought that she hadn’t even actually noticed that Xander was hugging her. “Heath was always in my life. Before any other human that I can remember. Like, logically, I know that Grace took care of Todd and Heath took care of me… but… I don’t even remember anybody else until maybe I was 5 or 6. I know he wasn’t the only person around, but in my mind, he was. I have NO frame of reference that doesn’t involve him. He was…” She finally realized both that Xander was already holding her and that she was crying again.

She remembered something. She was 4 or 5, her brain was never good at that part. She wasn’t in school or anything. All of her special days were simply moments and occurrences. This particular occurrence. A boy with light hair, getting hurt really bad by the stewards. Heath covered her eyes and started talking about flowers. He found a new book about them. He’d help her try to read later. The noise of the boy being beaten up was in the background, but at the time, she was too young to pay any attention to it and listen to Heath. So, she listened to Heath and the beating was background noise filtered out. Afterwards, he took her to the side of the building and let her pick flowers for their new friend. The new boy was mean. He was mean to Heath and Grace had to help Heath. Then, he was nice. She looked at Xander’s face and saw that same boy, just as hurt and just as angry as the first day she recalled a memory of him.

“He wasn’t always in mine… but he was the first person who was ever just nice to me for no reason other than to be nice,” Xander said. “There’s nothing that I want more than to punish a person who would take him away from us, but to have Simon, SIMON, give us that…” He was red in the face and shaking his head. “He’s using it to get to Grace, and I just didn’t want to give him that kind of power.”

“Then why didn’t you just say, ‘Hey, lets not tell her where we got the information?’ If you had just sent it to her with X confirmed, instead of fighting me in traffic…”

“You didn’t give me a chance!”

“I just… This ONE thing, then maybe I can move on.” He nodded and buckled back in. “I’ll get to work on the logistics. In case Grace gives us the go ahead, I want to be ready to move as soon as possible.”

Simon pulled his hair up into a high ponytail. He was going to try to get it into a bun, but it had been getting longer and thicker, and while he’d normally just pull the top part into a pony and let the rest hang, but it was windy and he was going to be pretty active, so high ponytail, it was. He had been checking out the X that he gave Jalicia, to see if they were going to make a move on him. He wasn’t positive of the typical turnaround time on an X, so he simply went to watch every night. He wasn’t going to do the car. Dude was in security. He’d probably make him.

Instead, he parked around the block and went to a big tree across the street from the X’s home to post up. He had binoculars and an awkwardly applied hunting tree seat. It wasn’t made for him to be up this high, but he situated it only to have a seat that wasn’t tree bark. He spent the time that he wasn’t watching the house on social media, checking out Sunetra’s pages… which… apparently she went by “Sunny…” which… Simon noted to himself that he had seen a little sun tattoo on Xander, and whenever he came across Sunny’s very tasteful artistic nudes, he saw that she had a little tattoo, as well, on her chest, of an “X.”

Her photos were really nice and she seemed to… possibly be a stripper? He checked a few of her posts and captions. She hashtagged #burlesque in some of them, so maybe not a stripper, but something risque. She was in the fine arts program in college, for dance and had many posts from the Infinity Foundation of her doing dance workshops, yoga, and stuff. She had a lot of witchy posts, too. Simon rolled his eyes, but kept scrolling. Several of her posts were really funny. He noticed a yoga and meditation program that she would be doing at a community center and saved the post.

He watched the X for about a week and a half when he saw the van pull up. In the dark, he couldn’t tell who people were, but two had gotten out and through the binoculars, he could tell that Xander was one and the other was Jalicia. He checked the van. That was an unfamiliar one behind the wheel, but he presumed that it was Sunny or 808, and that he simply couldn’t see them... There was a loud noise and screaming in the house. He turned to see that Jalicia had a knife to a woman’s throat while Xander was escorting the X out, with his hands up. He got him to the van, injected something into his neck and tossed him in. Jalicia unhanded the woman, but appeared to take a bag along with her and the woman ran next door.

Jalicia had taken all the phones with her. The woman had to run next door to call the police. Simon realized that she was probably doing that, and he got out of the tree to get back to his car. If he hurried, he might be able to catch the van!

He went the direction that they had, and when he came to what he thought might be them, he put on a mask of his own, but it was a medical mask, just because that was… possibly not as weird as if he wore like a clown mask or something. They had NOT handled that in the way that he expected. Something told him that they either were rushing or desperate. He wondered why.

But, whenever they pulled the van into an old train station, he parked behind the building and got out of his car. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up.

He could hear their voices, and he followed the sound of them, but didn’t come from the shadows of the building. They were dragging the bag into a field that Simon knew that he had passed several times in his life, but never paid much attention to. Nobody really did. Was this where they buried them? He wondered. He only saw Jalicia and Xander, pulling the body bag with one hand and carrying shovels in their free hands. Where was the driver? He went around the other side of the building and the van was pulling off. Where were THEY going? He couldn’t start his car. Jalicia and Xander weren’t far enough away to not hear him. He groaned and went to look back towards the field. He couldn’t see anything beyond the tall grass, but he used his phone to try to record where they were… maybe he could find it in the daytime. Besides, they were now far enough away that he could start his car without alerting him. He felt like he had enough.

Simon drove home, wary of a van behind him for a portion of the way. He took some loops and turnarounds that he wouldn’t usually take before he was comfortable that they weren’t following him and it wasn’t the van… but after he got home, he noticed at the bottom of the hill a van, and it looked like the van that they used. It looked like the van that he was nervous might be following him. But. There was no way that the van had found him after those turns. Was it one of them, just letting him know that they knew he had followed them?

He rushed inside and looked out of the curtains. They were there for a moment. They turned the van off and he took a deep gulp and reached for one of his guns. They got out of the van and stood, staring up at the house. DEFINITELY APEX. This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.

They stared, wearing a gold mask, a tam hat, and the all black outfit that he had gotten used to, but then not seen for a while. “Grace!” He said. He put his gun down and rushed out of his door. “Grace?” He called, but she rushed back into the van, tossed something out, and peeled off. “Grace…” He ran down the hill and out to the road. She was gone… He looked down to see what she had thrown down on her way off. It was a Stop sign with a red squiggly line underneath the word “Stop.” He picked it up, roared and began to smash it against the pavement, before flinging it into the middle of the road and going back into his house. He called Jalicia and she looked at her phone, not recognizing the number, so she answered it. “Hello?”

“Was that Grace?” a voice asked.

“What?”

“The person who just followed me home and told me to stop. Was that Grace?”

“No,” was all that she said. He hung up. She put her phone away.

“Who’s that?” Xander wondered.

“Non issue,” she said. It wasn’t a complete lie, and there was no way that she was about to ruin their night with… whatever that had been about. She and Xander were still digging when their third came walking up, her gold mask on her face and a shovel in hand. “Girl, where did you rush off to?”

“I knew he was gonna still be alive,” she said and pulled up the mask onto her head. Sunny. “Had to make a stop,” she said with a shrug. She and Jalicia stared at each other a moment, and Xander kept digging, oblivious to the exchange of them questioning each other with their eyes. It was short lived, because Grace was connecting for the video call. “Hey, Girl, Hey!” Sunny cheered.

“Bitch, I’m so mad that I’m not there right now.”

“Be mad at Jimona,” Sunny said.

“Simon!” Grace said, laughing. Then, more solemnly, said, “Draw a squiggle right across his face, for me.”

“Sure will,” Sunny said, pulling her knife out. “What are you listening to, Woman?”

Grace checked the info on her streaming, “Hurts by Emeli Sande.”

“That’s dope. Send me the link to that.”

Simon was at the apartment now, crying and sitting in front of the cameras. He wondered if she would return with them, but looking at the feeds he had placed to check the outside of their homes, he noted that the three entered Xander and Jalicia’s home at 3:47 am… and that… wasn’t Grace. It was the woman that he had initially identified as, “One who looks like Grace.” It was Sunny… He flared his nostrils and set an alert to remind him about the yoga and meditation at the community center.

His phone began to ring while it was in his hands. It was a private number. For a moment, he let his heart accelerate. “Hello?” He answered.

Silence. He sighed and almost hung up, but… he felt something. His tears stopped, he sat up erect and waited. She was silent, still. He was afraid to break it, but more afraid of her losing whatever nerve she had at the moment and hanging up. So, he dared to speak. He kept his voice soft and low. Gentle, like he knew she would remember him being. “Hey…” He said. He heard her sniffle and it tore at his heart. “Hey,” he managed to say even softer. “Are you okay?” She sniffled again. “Tell me what I can do to make you okay?”

“Why did you do that, Simon? Why did you?”

“I wanted to be close to you. I wanted to know you. I wanted you… I didn’t know what to do. I was desperate. I am desperate. Please, tell me where you are…”

“You let Xander catch you.” There was the longest pause since the conversation started. Eventually, she spoke again. “I feel like the kids walked in on me doing something dirty…”

“I feel like it’s none of ‘the kids’ damn business what we do.”

“They can’t see stuff like that. They can’t see me being followed and watched, obsessively. They can’t just move on from that. You have no idea the kind of people who… Why did you have a gun?”

“Because, I had just been attacked by somebody that I know is a murderer and I was on edge…” They were quiet again. “I can keep them out of sight from now on. I can keep them away from you, at all times…”

“If I come back into town, my crew is gonna get… difficult. It won’t be safe for you.”

“I can’t prove myself to them? To you? Did you see what I found for them? For Heath? For Jalicia?... For you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Jalicia told me right away…”

“You sound like you’re smiling,” he observed, daring to smile, himself.

“I can’t help it… but… we can’t… do this, Simon.”

“Don’t…”

“We’re both in really weird places and us coming together isn’t good… for either of us, I think…”

“Please…”

“We shouldn’t be together, see each other, anything. You should… get on with your life.”

“No!”

“Bye, Simon.”

“NO!!” She hung up. He bit into his lip so hard that he drew blood, trying to keep his composure. He couldn’t even go to the gun range right now! But.. He could… go back to that field. He knew where it was. He knew where the bodies were now… he… was running out of patience, but he reminded himself that it wasn’t her fault. The longer they kept her away from him, the more confused she would be. She just needed to understand that he was on her side. If she couldn’t… she would have to learn that there were consequences for going against him.

13. A Shot in the Dark Pt 1

#AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics #People Watching

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hazzastylesfanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Part 1/?

i’m back bitches

the maddness & boredom of this pandemic have finally hit so naturally i sat down to write for the first time in seven years .....

tell me if it’s shit/if i should continue !!

k thanks love u all <3

239 days. 239 days since him.

1 day. 1 day since him.

Some days I wonder if fate is real. I wonder if there really is a so-called “god” up there. Maybe there really is a divine power running my life, or maybe it’s all just one big shit show I’m struggling to keep together.

It’s 2 a.m. and I’m still pointlessly scrolling through Instagram looking at the same posts I’ve seen already. I open my profile and scroll through. Pictures of me posing with my friends, at wineries, and drunk nights out fill my feed. There’s no mention of him. I finally brought myself to delete them a few months back. I lock my phone and close my eyes. Sleep soon overtakes me.

The morning arrives far too early for my liking. Charlie is biting my hair, demanding her breakfast. I grab my phone to check the time: 5 a.m. I groan and pull the covers over my head hoping she’ll leave me alone. I just about fall back asleep when I hear a crash.

“Charlie, seriously?!” I sit up to see she’s shoved a candle off of my windowsill onto the ground and shattered it. “I swear to god, I’m gonna release you back into the wild,” I grumble.

She meows at me frantically until I give in and feed her. The thing they don’t tell you about getting a kitten is the fact you no longer run your life, the little spawn from hell does. She’s lucky she’s cute. I quickly sweep up the remains of my candle and fall back into bed.

Two hours later my alarm clock rudely awakens me for work. I feel like I’ve barely slept and one glance in the mirror confirms that feeling. A quick shower wakes me up just enough to drag my ass out the door.

I see my bus pulling away from my stop and frantically run toward it, shouting at the driver to stop. Maybe because it’s pouring rain or maybe because I look so distraught, but the driver takes pity on me and lets me hop on. I thank her as I sit in the nearest open seat. I’ve already been late to work three times in the past month and I can’t let Lana cover for me again.

The bus ride is a short one to the little coffee shop I’ve called work for over a year. It’s locally owned and loved by hipsters all around. I still wonder how I managed to get the job since I barely fit the bill of the “alternative” type that work alongside me. Lana was my first friend there. If you searched “Portland native” online, a picture of her would pop up. She’s adorable and dainty, covered in random tattoos she gets when she’s bored. She just dyed her hair blonde and cut her own blunt bangs. Her nose is decorated with a ring that she drunkenly tried to pierce herself, but I convinced her otherwise. She wears whatever the hell she feels like and exudes confidence in it all. She has the type of personality that draws you in but keeps you just enough at a distance to shroud her in mystery. I love the girl as much as I envy her.

We arrive at my stop and I thank the driver as I exit the bus. It’s still pouring so I run the two blocks to get to work. I see Lana happily chatting to a customer as I walk through the front door to the back room.

“Morning, Grey!” She chirps at me.

I drop my bag where there’s space and wash my hands before heading back out front.

“Jesus, girl, you look like hell,” Lana says as she thrusts a double espresso into my hands. “Rough night?”

“I was stuck with my own thoughts again.” I take a sip. It tastes more bitter than usual. “Also, Charlie decided my candle was much better in multiple pieces on the floor at 5 a.m.”

She laughs. “You still feel good about taking a stray in?”

“She was lonely and needed a home, okay?”

“Sucker,” Lana mumbles before turning her attention to the customer walking up to the front counter.

Thursday mornings always pass by fairly quickly. Customers are buzzing about Friday fast approaching, so most are in a pleasant mood. No amount of espresso can wake me up though. Some days I prefer zoning out and making drinks, especially days like this. Interactions with customers take it out of me. I don’t know how Lana does it so well.

“Erm, yeah, I’ll take a small black coffee, please.”

His voice instantly takes me out of my daydreams. That smooth, slow voice. I glance over at the register to see Lana helping the same guy that had captivated me two days earlier. Those chocolate brown curls look even softer than when I saw him in the bookstore. How the hell was that even possible? I stare for so long the milk I am steaming overflows onto my hand, burning me and eliciting a yelp. Lana and this beautiful man both turn their attention toward me. I laugh it off nervously and mumble something about being clumsy. Lana turns her attention back to the man, but he doesn’t break his gaze from me. He holds eye contact for another brief moment before thanking Lana for his coffee and dropping money into the tip jar. I am frozen in place, well aware that I need to stop staring like a fool.

I often visited Powell’s on my days off. It wasn’t hard to spend hours upon hours among the books, exploring each floor of the store. I rarely bought anything; I mostly came for the experience. I loved the smell of a new book. A thrill always came with picking up a random one and delving into what it had to offer between its two covers.

I was doing just that in the World Religions section when I heard his voice.

“Excuse me.”

My eyes snapped up from the current title intriguing me. There he was, clearly trying to get by me. I had absentmindedly parked myself in the middle of the aisle making it impossible for anyone to pass me. My ears grew hot as I mumbled an apology and took a step back.

He laughed lightly and glanced at the book in my hands. “Buddhism, huh? Let me know when you figure out the secret to enlightenment.” He chuckled again.

This is when I really got a good look at him. He was tall with lanky arms and legs to match, and a torso that looked like it never ended. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt that revealed many, many tattoos decorating his arms. My eyes instantly locked in on an anchor inked on the top of his left wrist. My exploration led me down to his hands, adorned with multiple rings. Finally, I brought my eyes up to his face. My god, did it take my breath away. His jaw was sharp and covered in stubble. His brunette curls sat atop his head in an impossibly perfect way. His smile though. I nearly dropped my book. If I believed in angels, they would have been singing at that moment.

I made a weak attempt at laughing and stumbled over my words, but nothing that resembled English came out of my mouth.

He flashed an even brighter smile and said, “Let me know if you need any recommendations.” And just like that, he turned the corner and disappeared. I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath until my chest started to hurt from the lack of air to my lungs. I bought the book in my hands and hurried out of the store.

He consumed my thoughts well into the night.

Now, as if a gift from the heavens above, this god is standing in my workplace. I suddenly become very aware of my lack of makeup and haphazard bun.

He catches my eyes once more before turning away from the register and walking out the front door. He was gone. I just let this act of god walk out the door and I would never see him again.

“Um, earth to Grey?” Lana playfully pokes me in the ribs.

“Huh, what? Shit.”

“You need me to finish up that cappuccino there?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I robotically step back from the espresso machine and let her take over. She finishes the drink in less than a minute and apologizes to the visibly impatient customer as she hands it over the bar.

Lana turns to me. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

I stand with my mouth hanging open, still trying to grasp the past five minutes. “Well, long story short I think I royally fucked up letting that guy walk out the door.”

“You’re telling me, babe, he was gorgeous. Do you know him?” I detect a hint of jealously in her voice.

“No, uh, not really. We had a short interaction at Powell’s a couple of days ago but it was nothing. I made a fool out of myself more than anything.”

“And how do you think you did this time around?” Her laugh rings in my ears.

“Okay, in my defense he ambushed me at my workplace so that is not my fault!” I huff. “You weren’t much help either,” I point out.

“What was I supposed to do?” She is still laughing.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “He was staring too though, right? That wasn’t my own delusion?”

“Oh yeah, babe he was staring alright. He looked like he wanted to take you right then and there on the counter.”

I bite my lip. That didn’t sound like half a bad idea. My ears grow hot at the thought.

I feel a gentle pinch on my arm and flinch away. “Hello! Grey! Hate to interrupt your fantasy but we have customers.” I glance over her shoulder to see a small line has built up.

Three o’clock finally rolls around and I’m free. Lana had gotten off an hour earlier than me, but couldn’t stay to talk more. My thoughts are too preoccupied with that handsome stranger to be much company anyway. The manic side of me wants to walk straight to Powell’s in hopes he would be there. I get ahold of myself however and make my way back to my apartment.

Charlie greets me with vigor the second I walk through the door. She seems to have gotten this idea that whenever I come home means dinnertime for her. When I don’t give in, she destroys shit. Exhibit A: this morning. It’s not like she’s starving. My neighbor had discovered this little kitty outside of the apartment complex one morning while taking her dog for a walk. The landlord only allows one animal per apartment, so she couldn’t keep her. At the time, Charlie practically sprouted angel wings and a halo so I couldn’t say no. A week into having her revealed her true nature: demon. She’s into everything all. of. the. time. She frequently digs the dirt out of my houseplants and eats it. Her favorite game is launching herself onto the screens in my windows to attack bugs. She even tries to shower with me. Despite her faults though, I can’t help but love her. Living by myself can be lonely. I find myself trying to have full conversations with her sometimes shortly before questioning my sanity.

I change into an oversized band tee and settle onto the brown leather sofa in my living room. Charlie jumps up beside me, purring loudly. I pull the yellow blanket neatly folded next to me onto my lap and try to shut my brain off. The rest of my shift exhausted me and thinking about that guy did not help much. I have to accept the fact that fate was really doing me a solid and in return, I gave it the finger. This beautiful stranger entered my life twice in 48 hours and I didn’t do a damn thing about it. Charlie climbs into my lap and curls into a ball, content.

I wake up hours later to a dark apartment. One glance at my phone reveals I dozed off longer than I intended to. Miraculously, Charlie let me sleep through her dinner. The moment she notices I am awake, she starts yowling at me for dinner. I oblige with a small scoop of food in her bowl. I then venture to the fridge and heat up leftover pasta for my meal. I sit at the small table in my narrow kitchen and stare out the window. My view isn’t much - just a look onto my neighbors’ balconies who also live in this complex. I make a mental note that the plants on the windowsill need water. I rinse out my bowl and leave it in the sink, not bothered to do the dishes tonight. I’m exhausted and welcome the softness of my bed.

I open the next morning and it feels like actual hell when my alarm goes off at 4:30. Charlie loves days I’m up this early though, she gets an early breakfast. I don’t bother to change out of the band tee I slept in and pull on a pair of ripped denim shorts. True to Oregon’s style, today is supposed to be a direct contrast of the previous day: blue skies and sunny. Summers in Portland never fail to keep me on my toes. I quickly fix my hair into messy French braid pigtails on either side of my head and throw on a coat of mascara for good measure.

I never have an issue with opening during the summer. The sun has risen enough that there is a soft morning light to guide me on my walk to the bus stop. Winters freak out because it’s pitch black and weird people ride the bus this early in the morning.

The shop is dark when I arrive. I turn my key in the lock, step in, and lock it behind me. The one time I forgot to do this, a homeless person wandered in and refused to leave. He didn’t want anything, just continued to have a conversation with himself. I always make sure to double-check the door now. I turn on the lights and flip on the espresso machine. I set up the freshly baked pastries in the front case in an attractive manner. Just as I open the register to count the till I hear a tap on the front door. I don’t look up. It’s either a customer trying to come in early or another homeless person. I quietly count each bill out loud, enter the opening total, and tap “open” on the screen. Again, I hear a knock on the door. I look up in irritation. Whoever thinks they need their coffee this early in the morning can wait another 15 minutes until I formally open the doors.

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck.

It’s him.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #one direction fanfiction #one direction fanfic #one direction fic #one direction imagine #harry styles #harry

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