#just not in my body wandering around downtown and going to the river

[barkingangelbaby]

I'm screaming!! sometimes I'll listen to the old audio recordings I have on my phone when I'm bored and there's a decent amount from 2014-2016 where I'm just.. CHOMPING on some cheezits and saying the slowest sentences while high/tripping.. so thankful my friends still enjoyed my company bc what the fuck was I saying???

[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 7

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol, smut.

Emily had called rather late; you hadn’t been expecting it but welcomed the phone call anyway. She thought the team was still going to be out on a case over the weekend but it turned out she’d be back in D.C for just enough time to meet up before having to take off for a conference in New York. She’d told you to meet her at The Salamander in the lounge, where she currently was sat at the bar nursing a Paloma. She felt a hand slid across her upper back and was happy when she glanced up to see you, a small smile gracing her cheeks.

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting.” You greeted, slipping onto the stool beside her.

“Oh don’t worry about it.” She waved you off, “it was sheer luck you were even still awake at this hour.”

You laughed softly, thanking the bartender for your drink before you took a sip and turned back to her, “it’s not that late. Last I checked I didn’t have a curfew.”

“I only hope I didn’t drag you out of bed and all the way downtown.”

“Even if I was, it won’t be for nothing.” There was a sparkle in your eye as you glanced at her that made her body tingle, “besides, you actually pulled me out of a hyper focus worm hole of work. I should be thanking you.”

“Work?” She grimaced, “on a Saturday?”

“Yeah.” You let out a sigh, “there’s a rally coming up on Tuesday we need to be cracking down for, Heather’s got a couple of bills she wants to push through to congress and we’ve got a big thing down in Iowa coming up. I’ve been up to my eyeballs in research and proposals.”

“You did at least pause for dinner, right?”

“Course.” You laughed softly, “nothing a pizza delivery can’t fix.”

“Good.” She took a larger sip of her drink this time, “because unfortunately I don’t think I have time for food.”

“Just a drink is more than acceptable.” You took a sip of yours, “not to mention I think I’m more interested in what comes after the drink.”

“You and me both.” She laughed back.

“We can take these upstairs, yes?” You tapped your glass and the bartender nodded, “perfect. Thank you.” You dropped a twenty down on the bar top and slid off your stool, your free hand wrapping around Emily’s wrist, “lead the way.”

The suite was gorgeous, French doors leading out to the balcony with a stunning view of the Potomac River. Emily stepped out of her shoes and you followed suit, your purse finding a home on one of the small tables as you continued to sip on your drink.

“It’s nice.” You commented, glancing around as Emily moved further into the room, flicking the television on to a soft jazz music channel.

“Ehh… I think I like the Waldorf better.”

“The food selection was excellent.” You replied, stalling as marble flooring caught your eye and you detoured into the bathroom, “have you seen this shower?!”

“No.” She called back, wandering towards your voice, “I only came up to drop my bag off.”

“Talk about stunning.” You glanced over your shoulder to her with a wicked grin and she felt that familiar heat start to pulse within her.

“You’re not wrong there.” Her hands found your hips, squeezing softly as her lips brushed against the bare skin of your neck, “you have an idea?”

“I have plenty of ideas.” You replied, your eyes sweeping through the room before placing your drink down on the basin.

The shower was huge, floor to ceiling glass walls encasing it, a waterfall head built into the ceiling and a large bench built against one of the smaller glass walls. You started to realize that you definitely didn’t need the bed at this point in the evening, Emily’s hands sneaking under the hem of your shirt, nails tickling across your skin.

“I do always like a nice steamy shower after a long plane ride.” She murmured, her lips continuing to dance along the column of your neck.

“You were in Richmond.” You laughed, “that’s a fifty five minute flight. And you’ve got the bonus of your own jet, flying commercial is the nightmare.”

“Yeah?” She nipped at your neck this time, “and when was the last time you flew commercial?”

“Fair point.” Chuckling, you turned in her arms, letting her remove your shirt before she captured your lips in a kiss.

Emily cautiously backed you toward the shower, blindly reaching in to turn on the water while her lips continued to dance against yours. The two of you took the time while the water reached the perfect temperature to adjust the light in the room to a warm glow, the pile of discarded clothing on the floor growing until you were both naked and Emily was tugging her hair up before dragging you into the shower.

Water streamed over both of you, warming your cooled skin as Emily’s hand’s ghosted up your sides, cupping under your tits before her thumbs brushed over your nipples, flicking gently at them before she groped at your chest. Her tongue sunk into your mouth, rolling with ease against your own as one of your arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to you as your back hit the wall of the shower. You couldn’t help but let out a little moan into the kiss, your back arching into her touch and she chuckled, nipping at your lip when she broke the kiss. Her lips traced across your jaw before she found your neck again, pressing messy kisses into it as she continued to toy with your chest, listening to the way your breathing was picking up and your pants were beginning to come out as whines. She made a home in the crook of your neck, sucking at your supple skin and it was your turn to pinch at her nipples. She groaned into your skin, teeth sinking in a little bit harder this time in retaliation as her skin began to prickle in the best way.

Your hand cupped her chin, redirecting her lips to yours as your hands sunk down her body and she was quick to follow your lead, her hands mimicking your movements on your own body. Your fingers began to slowly rub her clit, randomizing a pattern of when you’d press harder until she let out a gasp, her body jumping toward you and your lips curved up into a grin. Emily’s hips rocked toward your touch, her pussy pulsing as it ached for more and she figured the fastest way to get it was to not hold back or tease you too long. Her hand easily found its way between your legs, the heel of it pressing on your clit as her fingers slid back and forth through your folds. You let out a breathy sigh at the sensation, your eyes fluttering shut as you copied the movement, your fingertips barely dipping into her dripping pussy, coaxing out her juices. All you needed was another small groan escaping Emily’s lips and you sunk two fingers into her, her pussy fluttering around you while her forehead dropped to your shoulder.

You started lazily pumping your fingers, matching the pace that she was rocking her hips down toward your touch, her fingers quickly sinking into your cunt and you moaned, your head dropping back against the wall. You began to match each other’s rhythms, fucking the other with ease, fingers beginning to curl on random thrusts. Pleasure began to build within you, your cunt tight around Emily’s fingers while her lips brushed over your shoulder, her breath hot on your skin as she started to pant. Her free hand pinched at your chin, pulling you back into a breathless kiss as her fingers sped up. You whined against her lips, your free hand groping at her ass as the two of you continued to rock in tandem to chase your peaks. Emily’s fingers curled again and you broke the kiss with a gasp.

“Oh god.. right there.”

“Mmm…” She replied with a smirk, thought it was one that quickly vanished as her lips parted, letting out a moan when the heel of your hand pressed against her clit, jolting her body toward you. “Fuck!”

She could already feel herself clenching down around your fingers, each thrust of your hand pressing harder against her clit as you picked up the pace. Her body was burning and it certainly wasn’t from the water, her thighs slick with her juices. She began to falter in her movements, unable to keep up the rigorous pace of fucking you but in return you were able to focus, fingers fucking faster into her wet cunt. Twisting and curling with each push, your free hand coming up to toy with her chest, pinching at her nipples, your mouth latching onto her neck, sucking and kissing at her tender skin.

“Don’t stop.” She moaned, her thighs starting to quiver, threatening to slam shut around your wrist as your fingers continued to disappear into her. Her head fell back, lips parted as her chest heaved and she leant against the wall for support, unable to focus on anything but the pleasure shaking though her. Her hand slipped from between your legs and came to land between her own, quickly rubbing at her clit while you continued to fuck her, pinning her to the wall. It only took a moment before she was letting out a loud swear, her body trembling while her orgasm shot through her. “Oh fuck!”

You slowly slipped your fingers out of her pussy, a cocky grin on your lips as you thought you’d wiped her out, only for her to take a single breath before pouncing on you. Emily’s lips were back on yours and you were pinned to the wall with her fingers deep in your cunt before you could even blink. Her hands moved with skill, picking up right where they left off and you were putty in a matter of seconds, your words reduced to whimpers and moans while your pussy fluttered around her. Fingers curling right where you wanted them, your thighs shook, body grinding down onto her hand.

“Please…” you whined, “oh god please.”

“Come for me princess.” She husked into your ear, nipping at the lobe and you were crying out, pussy juices dripping down her hand, your body shivering with pleasure.

“Fuck..” you muttered, your eyes slowly opening as you felt her pull her fingers from you. It was your turn to catch her by surprise when you caught her wrist in your hand, pulling her fingers to your lips to suck them clean of your juices.

“Fuck indeed.” She chuckled, “here I was thinking I’d get a taste of that delicious pussy again.”

“I think it’s about time I return that favour.” You replied with a smirk, “don’t you think?” Your hands grasped her hips and she was quick to move one of them, placing it back on your own body between your legs.

“As long as you keep touching yourself.” She prompted, “you’re so pretty when you come, I want to see it again.”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded, sinking down so your mouth was level with her cunt.

Both of your hands soothed up her thighs, spreading her legs wider for you, lifting one of them off the ground, pinning it to the wall. After a quick glance up at her you leant forward, your tongue making a broad strip through her pussy, flicking at her clit.

“Fuck.” She muttered, her head falling back against the wall and once you were sure she was stable you moved your hand from her skin to back between your legs, lazily rubbing at your swollen clit.

Your mouth wrapped around her pussy, sucking her lower lips into yours, tongue tracing patterns through her folds, nose nudging at her clit. It only took a second or two of your mouth moving on her cunt for Emily’s hands to tangle into your hair, holding you close to her needy pussy. As her body relaxed into the wall her leg draped over your shoulder, pulling you deeper in between her legs.

“Christ you’re good at that.” She murmured, a little gasp escaping her lips when your tongue flicked her clit.

Your tongue slid through her folds again, groaning over the taste of her, sucking as much of her juices into your mouth as you could. The tip of your tongue sunk into her pussy, massaging the best you could as her hips rocked toward yours and she let out a little whine. You surged upwards, blowing cool air onto her clit before your lips wrapped around it and she let out a low groan.

The hand you hand between your own legs sunk lower, thrusting two fingers into your dripping pussy as your free hand ghosted up Emily’s thigh and slipped inside her. As you sucked on her clit, tongue drawing patterns against it your did your best to match the pace you were fingering her with the speed you were riding your own fingers. Face buried in her cunt you hadn’t realized she’d managed to open her eyes, gazing down at you between her legs, little whines and moans vibrating against her pussy as you ate her out, fingers curling in both of your pussy’s at the same time.

“Fuck you look so pretty like this.” She panted out and your eyes cracked open, lips curving up into a grin as you looked up at her, tongue not daring to leave her body, you’d never be able to get enough of her taste.

“Mmm?” You gave a particularly powerful flick of your tongue, your lips brushing against her as you spoke, “yeah? You like it when I eat your pussy?”

Your lips wrapped back around her clit right as your fingers curled into her g-spot and she was at a complete loss for words as her head dropped back again with a louder swear. You could feel her pussy clenching down around your fingers, her body trembling, clit throbbing between your lips and you knew she was close. You groaned loudly when your fingers hit the pulsing spot inside your pussy and Emily’s fingers clenched tighter into your hair, a dribble of her juices leaking down your wrist.

“Fuck I’m close.”

Your fingers fucked faster into her, working your dominant hand with ease in tandem with your tongue, Emily’s pants getting closer together and heavier above you. Any attempt at stringing words together was now reduced to incoherent mumbles and swears before she cried out, her back arching off the wall, clinging to you to keep upright. The hand between your legs quickly returned to her thigh, pressing her back into the wall and keeping her spread open while you fucked her through her orgasm, eagerly lapping up the stickiness smeared between her legs.

The fingers tangled in your hair loosened, a hand softly stroking down your cheek as her leg gently dropped from the wall as she was finally steady on her feet again. You pressed a kiss to her inner thigh as you rose back to your own feet, slowly backing toward the small bench, your hands ghosting across your own skin, fingers sneaking between your legs.

“Such a sweet tasting pussy.” You murmured, “that’s enough to keep me going all week.” You sat down on the bench, spreading your legs wide for her, “but I do believe you wanted to see me get off again.”

“Mmhmm.” She nodded, her eyes darkening as your fingers spread your pussy lips wide for her.

You were throbbing around nothing, practically begging to be filled so you wasted absolutely no time, three fingers sinking into your waiting cunt. Your head dropped back with a moan, your other hand pinching at your tits, rolling your nipples between your thumb and forefinger before gliding down to your clit. You fucked yourself fast, squelching sounds coming from your pussy as the whimpers leaving your lips got louder with each thrust of your hand, the pressure on your clit getting harder with each circle. The taste of Emily still so apparent on your lips and your tongue more than enough to drive you wild, combined with the feeling of her eyes on you. She wanted to memorize every inch of your body but could barely pull her gaze away from your pussy, eyes flicking upwards every time you made a particularly interesting noise. It didn’t take very long before your thighs were shaking and your second orgasm was shooting through you, your chest heaving. Your eyes flickered open, catching Emily’s gaze as you pulled your fingers from your dripping cunt and sucked them between your lips, mixing the taste of yourself with hers on your tongue.

“Jesus Christ.” She muttered with a wicked grin and a small shriek left your lips as she nearly pounced on you.

The bench was the perfect height and size that Emily was able to cage you into it with one leg while the other one remained on the floor. She managed to angle it just right that her throbbing clit was pressed directly against yours and you let out a moan at the sensation, still so sensitive. Her tongue delved into your mouth, massaging yours as she moaned over the combined taste of your juices. Her hips rolled hard and fast into you, your hands clutching at her ass, grinding her body down onto you with each thrust.

“Fuck…” you groaned and she nipped at your lip, “gon’ make me come again.”

She knew she wasn’t that far off either, pressing her pussy harder against yours as one of her hands began to play with your tits again. “Let me see you baby.”

A little bit more of Emily’s coaxing praise was all you needed to come a third time and the feeling and sight of your body shaking underneath her was enough for her orgasm to wash through her.

Her face fell into the crook of your neck as your hands soothed up and down her back while she caught her breath. She kissed the side of your neck softly, a hand ghosting up your side before she tilted your head toward her, watching you for a moment before you gave her a small nod to indicate that you were more than completely alright. Standing from the bench she helped you up, guiding both of you until you were properly under the stream of water, adjusting the temperature again to make sure it wasn’t running cold so you could wash off.

You wrapped yourself in a ridiculously soft and cozy robe, leaving Emily some privacy in the bathroom while you meandered through the suite. You grabbed a bottle of water from the mini bar before scooping up the remote and flicking through the channels to find something to watch.

Emily came out a bit later, ruffling a smaller towel through her hair as she approached the bed and you glanced up at her with a curiously raised brow.

“You’re dressed?”

“I can’t stay, my flight leaves at six a.m.”

“So you’re just gonna leave me looking like your everyday call girl.” You teased and she huffed, rolling her eyes with a grin on her face as she dropped the towel onto the other bed.

“A common call girl doesn’t get a hotel room like this.”

“Fair point.”

“And I expect to see a charge for breakfast on the room bill.” She practically scolded, “if Heather’s working you to the bone you need to make sure you’re eating.”

“She’ll make it up to me.” You shrugged, taking a sip of water, giggling at the near glare Emily shot you, “but yes, I will take full advantage of the amenities before heading out.”

“Good girl.” She pinched your chin affectionately before scooping up her phone, “I’m in New York until Thursday, I’ll call you when I get back?”

“I’ve got a banquet on Friday and a fundraiser running all weekend but my schedule next week looks clear.”

“Perfect.” She grinned, “I was hoping to check out the Willard.”

“Just ticking off one luxury hotel at a time, I see how it is.” You smirked and she laughed, leaning in to kiss your cheek before she slipped her coat back on.

“Get some rest princess.”

______________

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[the-fiction-witch]

Moon Elf

REAL LIFE FANTASY COUPLE TBS X READER RATING: SEXY

I was as quiet as a mouse, as sly as a fox making sure my movements and travels were undetected. I held my house luna's rains in my hand as I walked making sure my boots made no sound upon the grass and moss. The only sound was the hoots of owls in the trees, the trickle of water by the babblings Brooke that ran through this area of the woods, and the small almost inaudible flickers and cracks of flame. The crescent moon is high in the dark starless sky. I moved to make sure to stay quiet as I found where I had been looking for, I saw the small blue tent against the ground of the clearing, a fire built cracking and breaking away the wood laid in it, various things scattered about to he clearing to indicate someone living here, clothes hung over a tree branch drying, food cooking on the fire, boots by the tent. I tied Luna by the side so she could reach the river for a drink. I held my knife close to me as I moved to the tent peeking inside, a bed lay there empty but made. The backpack and other travelling items lay on the rug floor but the tent was empty. I moved to stroke the doorway of the tent feeling the curve in the earth from people walking in and out.

A week. But by the looks of this place, it was set up for longer.

I watched the earth closely seeing the various tracks from boots trying to see where the damn creature had wandered off too but then noticing the boots on the side by the river itself, I made sure to track again and noticed they ended there with the boots.

It was then the gently flowing water erupted with sound, I looked seeing the slim figure above and below the water his head popped out of the water spitting out the water in his mouth in a long stream like a fish before chuckling to himself. His hair flat where it was soaking wet, his body naked above and below the water, but only his shoulders and arms exposed completely the rest hidden in the murky waters below the moment I saw him basked in the moonlight I knew he was indeed the one I was here for.

I stepped over not even drawing his attention from washing up and down his body

"There you are" I spoke up making him jump he looked and the moment he saw me he turned as white as a sheep the colour draining from his face as panic set across it

"Oh no no no no" he began trying desperately to swim away but I grabbed his wrist firmly locking my chain around his wrist

"No. You're not going anywhere" I warned "Out." I ordered tugging on the chain as I went sitting by the fire giving the rabbit that was on it a turn, He shook his head "now. Or I won't be so nice" I told him pulling on the chain so he was against the bank giving him little choice but to get out, he sighed and climbed out making a point to stand by the water edge looking at me, the moonlight bouncing off his pale thin body every inch of him exposed to water dripping gently to the ground, His feet on the grass his body slender across every inch of him the water still running down his legs, his slender cock hard stood tall, his chest moving slightly with his breath, his hair still soaking set, a wicked smile on his lips as he knew I was looking at him

"Hello" he smiled moving his hands gentle behind him

"Sit your cock down. Or I'm marching you back downtown like that" I warned, he grabbed a towel wrapped it around himself and sat on the rug across the fire from me

"I know why you're here." He spoke up

I didn't answer simply checking his jug and there was ale so I had myself a sip "town paid you off didn't they. To get rid of me"

I didn't answer simply checking the rabbit on his fire "well, speak then"

"You're right. No point me lying to you" I answered "no point me wasting my breath telling you something you already know"

"I don't know. I just assumed."

"Well, you're right. Bunch of the town's council paid me off, said there was a moon elf on the woods and to please get rid of him" I explain

"So you’re here to give me a choice, I fuck off out of here again or you'll kill me"

"Ummmm" I shrug "close enough"

"Why enough?"

"I usually give other options" I shrug

"Such as?"

"Well, you can fuck off out of here, pack your little tent up and go someplace else. I can kill you and give town your head." I explain "or you can tag along with me for a while till we get somewhere comfortable for you, or just travel if that's what you want" I shrug

"Really? You're nicer than most other stalkers" he smiled

"Enough vicious killing things in the world I don't need to be one of them" I shrug "may I?" I asked

He thought a moment but smiled wickedly "of course" he smirked

I took one of the rabbits from the fire checking it was done and taking a good bite letting the warmth fill my stomach he seemed to watch me evilly as I ate but seemed visibly confused when I finished

"What- how- oh… you're, you're her. Aren't you?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked

"That rabbit was stuffed with toxic gallatin mushrooms, you should be dead."

"Should I now, so you tried to kill me"

"I may have, yes! But that doesn't change that fact you bloody well should be"

"Yeah nice try" I smirked slipping my Jacket off as being so close to the fire made me too warm to need it he looked me over better without my jacket in the light of the fire and a small smile crawled across his lips

"You are her. Aren't you? That stalker they talk about. The old world one"

"Yes. I am. Happy now"

"Your prettier than they said you were"

"Sweet talking is not gonna make me undo the chain," I told him "what's your name anyway?"

"Thomas. And I know. I just wanted to say so" he smiled, "and you?"

"Y/n"

"Y/n. That's a nice name."

"Are you gonna make up your mind or just sit here all night?" I asked

"Well I was planning on heading off in the morning, If it's all the same to you I wouldn't mind tagging along with you"

"How far?" I asked a little suspiciously

"As far as you'll take me" he shrugs

"Alright" I nodded

He took the other rabbit from the fire and began nibbling at it

"Expecting me?"

"Somewhat, I knew they'd send someone out eventually"

"So when did you stuff the rabbit?"

"The afternoon, that actually wasn't for you. They both are. I just like the twang of gallatin mushrooms" he shrugs

"Moon elves are weird" I sighed, grabbing my bottle from my load on Luna "What are you doing out here anyway? Far far from the nest"

"I never liked the place, it was too busy. I like the quiet"

"Moon elves rarely leave the nest"

"As I said. I like the quiet." He answered

"What are you doing this far out? Into human territory? I know you're a stalker but figured you'd be in Galloway's with the other witches"

"No. I pop back every so often but. Galloway's always felt far too small for me" I answered, "you know what one of the council said to me?"

"Let me guess. That damn moon elf's been terrorizing the whole town have him seen to in the quickest quietest way possible"

"Well one of them did."

"Same story everywhere I go" he sighed

"Humans aren't fond of moon elves"

"Nobody is fond of moon elves. The sun hates us. Humans hate us. Don't even wanna go asking around the orcs and the bloody wildlings. And anyone wondering around Galloway's doesn't come back and gets chopped up into six million pieces for potions" he explained "the only place I'm welcome is the nest and I burnt some bridges in there"

"Ohh who'd you piss off?"

"No, literally I burnt a bridge. So people would stop damn bothering me"

"Seems fair. I know how you feel know one wants stalkers till they need you for something"

"You sure you don't mind me tagging along with you?"

"Not a problem, I could do with the company." I shrug "one of the council asked me to double-check he's alone, he was convicted he'd seen a beautiful girly bathing in the river and wanted her to bring her back for him to keep"

"Should I tell him that it was me? Or should we just leave it and laugh at the stupid fucker wanking to me having a bath"

"You don't seem phased?"

"No. As horrible as it is, we're pretty used to it by now. Most girls end up as pets or whores at some point in their lives something about moon elves people find so irresistible" he sighed

"It's the mystery. And immortality. And the tits"

"That's fair."

"Your rare thought" I smirked "boy moon elf"

"I know, we're rarer. The other way round for sun's girls are rarer. Don't know why" he shrugs

"Who knows. Right get some rest well pack up and get off at first light"

"Alright, can you uhh?"

"Not for a week. You wanna tag along with me no problem but you tried to kill me your staying locked for a week at least."

"That's fair" he sighed

When I woke up everything was as it was when I went to bed I got up had a drink and packed up my things, Thomas was still fast asleep in his tent so I just simply began taking it down packing it all away, getting his rugs and various things packing them all up onto the cart he had parked behind the tent I threw my own in there too trying to loosen lunas load but putting her on the cart Along with the sweet white horse he had, letting them get acquainted gathering everything but his bed as he was still laid in it. As I returned I noticed a small squirrel sat watching him inches from his bed I smirked a little sneaking over gently petting Thomas's fluffy hair

"Ummmm" he groans seeming Happy with my strokes

"Thomas…." I gently cooed

"Ummmm, what is it y/n? You wanna crawl in my bed you can just ask" he smirked

"Wakey wakey" I giggled before going back to packing regrettably he opened his eyes expecting to see me but was visibly taken back by the squirrel sat looking at him

"Uughhh… y/n?" He asks "ah! Where's my tent?" He asks noticing his lack of tent

"I packed it" I laughed "first light means first light Thomas, not half-past nine," I told him

"I was tied" he complained sitting up "hu. You really picked up didn't you"

"Some of us were up to when we were meant to," I told him taking his pillow and blanket and throwing him some clothes "did you think I was a squirrel?"

"For a minute yeah" he nods getting his clothes on as I packed his bed up and I glared "what? Your a witch? And a stalker I don't know what you can do," he says

"I can't turn into a squirrel"

"Alright good now I know." He sighed "hello Samus at least you got a little help to pull the old cart Along hey? You got a friend?" He asks petting his horse

"How is he?"

"Fine. He's a good boy. Gets spooked easily though so be careful, what about yours?"

"She's good. Nothing phases her" I smiled as I finished up and kicked the remnants of the fire away and climbed on the little cart

"So…. suppose we best get cosy" he smirked sitting beside me moving as close to being as he physically could moving his arm around my waist

"Take it off. Or I break it off"

"Yes ma'am." He gulped moving his hand away

[mego42]

please enjoy this snippet from the upcoming ch 12

--

Three weeks earlier

It’s not a nightmare that wakes her. Not exactly. 

After two relentless months, Beth’s become something of a connoisseur in the finer points of that particular psychological phenomenon and this definitely isn’t that, though it’s kin to it. 

It’s a rattling echo in the cavern of her lungs, hollow and aching where they’ve been scorched by fire and smoke. It’s the acidic memory of Annie and Ruby’s faces, tears streaking through ash smeared across their cheeks, the screeching violin of their ragged, terrified gasps clawing at her ears. 

It’s a caustic, venomous hatred boiling in her veins that rouses her.

She surfaces, caught off guard by the unfamiliar sheen of the deep, velvet darkness. The angle of the bare hint of ambient light is subtly...not wrong, but strange in a way she can’t place immediately.

Her burnt hand throbs like a beating heart held in her tightly swaddled palm.

It’s the pain that drives her the rest of the way from sleep, and as she crashes all the way into full consciousness, she thinks Rio. 

The darkness is strange because she’s in his bed, not hers. The light comes from downtown high rises, not suburban street lights. She's in his loft, not her house. 

She’d almost died two nights ago, and he’d brought her home. 

Blinking, she turns slowly. He’s stretched out next to her, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off of his body, warming her side. 

He’s asleep; she can tell from the slow rise and fall of his chest, from the soft sound of his breathing, steady and even.

Her own breath hitches, a cough bubbling up, and she buries her face in the pillow, trying to smother it. She shudders once, twice, swallowing hard to try and quell the jagged, broken glass feeling in the back of her throat. She breathes deep, letting the spicy cedar scent permeating the fabric overwhelm her, steady her and wash away the bitter taste in her mouth.

Rolling back on her side, she studies Rio. Still sleeping. 

Beth rolls again, onto her back this time, moving slow in an attempt not to wake him. Now that her eyes are adjusting, the dark isn’t quite so complete, and she can see the faint lines of the exposed ductwork snaking across the ceiling. The difference between city and suburbs—when she’s at home, her bedroom is pitch dark on nights with no moon. 

Her hand’s still throbbing, more insistent now, and her throat aches; she feels itchy, restless. That roiling, burning mass of feeling that woke her up sits heavy on her chest.

She looks back over at Rio. The sheets are pushed down, draped over his waist. He shifts slightly, and she can see a pale hint of ridged skin on his shoulder, just below his collarbone.

Suddenly it’s so much harder to breathe than it was a moment ago.

Beth pushes up, sliding out of the bed as quietly as she can, shivering a little as her bare feet hit the wood floor. She gropes around until her fingers hit fabric, and she snatches up the t-shirt. It’s Rio’s, she realizes as she tugs it over her head, cast off from when she’d peeled it off of him earlier. Hers is around here somewhere. She feels around again, searching the floor until her toes find the briefs she’s borrowed from him, flushing as she pulls those on too, making a mental note to go back to her house for some pajamas and underwear, if nothing else, sooner rather than later.

There’s a three-quarter wall shielding the bed from the open loft, and the night’s brighter when Beth grabs her phone and steps around it, heading down the stairs to the main floor, marveling at the sparkling city lights visible through those giant windows. 

She pours herself some water then wanders over to one, leaning her forehead against the cool glass and looking down at the sprawling nightlife below her. The loft isn’t in the center of downtown, but it’s close enough that even now, in the middle of the night, there’s sporadic traffic. She isn’t so high up that the cars look like toys or anything, but she still feels on top of the world. Removed from it, really.

It’s lonely at the top. 

Setting her water down on the window ledge, Beth thumbs open her phone and taps out an Are you awake? text to Ruby.

She hasn’t even locked her screen before Ruby’s picture lights it up.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Ruby’s voice is quiet. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Ruby makes a soft, understanding noise but doesn’t say anything, just waits.

Beth props the phone between her ear and her shoulder, dragging a finger down the window, squinting an eye as she presses the tip against the glass so it blocks out one of the streetlights down below. 

Beth wonders where Ruby is. If she’s in bed with Stan or down in the kitchen. Hopefully not in bed, Stan doesn’t need any more reasons to hate her. She pictures Ruby perched at her island, her bible open in front of her. Or maybe cooking. Making a batch of lasagna to ward off the stress. Both thoughts sit uneasily in her stomach. 

“I almost died,” Beth says, finally. 

“You did.”

“So did you.” Her voice wobbles a little on the last word, and there’s something metallic and bitter in her mouth.

“Yeah,” Ruby says, and there’s a funny weight to it that has Beth closing her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says, forcing the words out through the thick, aching mass in her throat.

Ruby’s response is immediate and sure. “It’s not your fault.”

“I mean—”

“We were all in it,” Ruby interrupts. “This isn’t just on you.”

“I made it life and death, though,” Beth says, hearing the echo of the shotgun booming in her ears, seeing Bruno stagger back, feeling the warm spray against her face as his chest—

Beth’s eyes snap back open, staring out the window at nothing.

“I don’t want to take away from whatever you’re working through here,” Ruby says after a moment. “But it kind of already was for me, Beth. I got into this because otherwise, my kid was going to die.” 

Beth’s breath gusts out, a new layer of guilt settling over her shoulders, adding to the weight already draped across them. Of course she’d known that, known that of all of them, Ruby had the least choice. But in the rush of everything else, she’d—not forgotten, but pushed it to the back, and from the faint censure in Ruby’s tone, Ruby knew it too.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

Ruby sighs. “That’s not your fault, either.”

There’s another long, silent beat. Beth rolls her head against the glass, finding the dark stretch of river a few blocks away, a lightless void peeking between the buildings. 

“What am I supposed to do now?” 

Beth says it so quietly that she can barely hear it herself. Isn’t sure her question carried over the phone until Ruby sighs again, longer and heavier this time. 

“I don’t know,” Ruby says, and Beth hears the thump of a book closing. She smiles faintly. The bible, then. “Mia, she’s...she’s not going to stop, is she? Not as long as…”

She trails off, but Beth can fill in the rest of her sentence. Not as long as Beth’s alive. She drops her hand from the window to the ledge, running it along the rough concrete, remembering the feel of the loose gravel from the parking lot behind the store under her nails. Remembering the way Annie had clung to her, sobbing into her bruised and battered chest. Remembering the way she’d screamed Beth’s name in that wobbly, grainy video.

Mia won’t stop. Not as long as Beth’s here. With him. 

“I know,” she whispers.

They both fall silent at that, absorbing the options that truth leaves on the table.

“Thanks for picking up,” Beth says eventually.

“Thanks for texting,” Ruby responds, and Beth can hear the smile in it as she hangs up.

Beth gulps down the rest of her water and sets the glass in the sink before padding back upstairs. It’s not until she’s slipped back into bed, tugging up the bunched sheet, that Beth realizes Rio’s awake and watching her. 

“Hi.”

“‘Ey.”

His voice is a soft, sleepy rumble, and Beth feels it roll down her spine like he’s caressing every vertebra. 

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she whispers, settling in on her side, tucking her hands under her cheek and facing him. 

“Didn’t.”

What did, Beth wonders. 

[ssamie]

eleven. “get your girl!”

kozume kenma x fem dazai!reader

(bsd x hq)

tw: mentions of suicide

masterlist.     suicide freak!

"was our sleepover fun, kenma-kun?" she chirped

"no. your place had suicidal traps and schemes littered all around" kenma sighed

she laughed at him as he continued to put on his shoes. kenma was forced to stay with her last night as per her request. and, of course, true to her word, they had loads of fun.

"it wasn't that bad" she pouted playfully

"there was a toaster in your bathtub, so i couldn't take a proper bath. and the only 'food' you have is a bottle of muriatic acid and candy" kenma deadpanned

"hey, i offered to feed you a full course meal!" she defended

"y-your body does not count!" kenma argued back. a faint pink hue was sploched on his cheeks as he refused to look at her.

"well whatever, let's go meet the others before we head out" she said. as the pair made their way to the agency's office, atsushi was already there along with kunikida. kenji was sleeping while ranpo was just munching on his snacks, like usual.

"good morning!" she chirped out in a la-di-da tone

"good morning, y/n-san" atsushi greeted back with a warm smile

"goomorwing" ranpo mumbled back, though it was muffled by the snacks in his mouth

"hehe, kunikida-kun~" she cooed out "were gonna head out now, kunikida-kun! we're borrowing your wallet for some pancakes on the way~"

kunikida clicked his tounge and stood up from his chair. he stomped over to her and snatched the wallet that somehow made its way into her hands. "no way in hell, you bandage-squandering-machine!" kunikida exclaimed

kenma simply stretched his arm out for her to fall onto as she dramatically screamed and stumbled back  "agh!" she exclaimed as she recoiled into an unamused kenma's chest

"n-nice nickname there, kunikida-kun" she let out a strained laugh "that stung... just a little"

"tch, if you got so much time wandering around then you might as well write a report about your capture by the port mafia" kunikida said

she chuckled lowly and spun around, only to be found sporting a serious and aloof expression "atsushi-kun." she called out

"yes?" atsushi perked up, his dual-toned eyes sparkling with determination

"write the report for me." she commanded in a serious tone

"hah?" atsushi huffed out

"well then, kenma-kun and i will be going! bye-bye~" she cooed as she waved them goodbye. kenma waved at them as they stepped out of the agency's office.

"oi! you better be back here after school, brat!" kunikida shouted. though his words were faint since they were already running off.

"well then, ready for school kenma?" she cooed

"no, i just wanna relax" kenma grumbled

"wasn't last night enough relaxation, pudding?" she mused with a sly smirk

"no, it wasn't" kenma shuddered "i told you i wasn't down to have ˢᵉˣ and yet-"

"oh, look at that! isn't that chuuya~" she cut him off with a playful grin "it seems he's not alone, akutagawa-kun is looking real tall compared to him" she hummed

by now kenma was just confused, frustrated and lowkey scared. "literally what?" he muttered "akutagawa..?" kenma muttered. "wait- isn't that the port mafia guy in the news?!" he whisper shouted

"he's still coughing up his lung like its no one's business" she chuckled as she waved her hand around "that boy really needs to invest in an inhaler or something.. or maybe some water will do.." she muttered to herself

kenma chose to ignore her as he simply tugged her arm and ran away towards the station. they scurried away all while trying not to be seen by the two men. "are you crazy?! weren't those the guys that took you?" kenma whisper shouted

"i remember you mentioning an akutagawa last night" he sighed "and not to mention that chuuya guy was there too."

"they're harmless" she reassured with a smile

"they're in the port mafia." kenma deadpanned "actually, can we please discuss the fact that you're affiliated with the mafia-"

"no." she said with a smile

"anyways, we should go.. nekomata-san said something about cleaning out the gym lockers"

kenma gaped at her as she started walking further, leaving him behind. all while sporting that goofy grin, acting as if she didn't just come across two mafiosos.

"fine, whatever.."

"what happened to you yesterday , y/n-senpai?" lev asked with a small smile

"oh nothing, lev" she chuckled dismissively "i just had a psychic tell me that if i jumped into the river near the village, my death would be guaranteed." she hummed out with a nod “so i decided to try it out" she grinned

"woah!! so did it work?" lev asked back

"lev you fucking idiot" yaku sighed

kuroo watched them and laughed along, leaving lev to fend for himself as yaku kicked his back. kuroo nudged kenma with his elbow, smirking suggestively as he wiggles his brows

"what kuroo." kenma sighed "soo.. how'd it go with your lady? hm?" kuroo grinned teasingly

kenma flushed a bright pink and buried his face into the collars of his jacket, so only his eyes could be seen. "i-it was.. yeah-" he stammered

"oya oya~ what's this supposed to mean?" kuroo sneered

"it means kenma here is a real treat in be-" she was cut off as kenma slapped her with the mop "no!" kenma shrieked flusteredly "were going away now!" was the only thing he said before dragging the girl into the lockerooms

"WHAT THE HELLSNKAKAJA" the team laughed and hollered as kuroo burst out into his hyena cackle

"wow kenma! you could've killed me with that mop" she laughed "do it again!"

"KYANMA IS ALL GROWN UP NOW!" kuroo laugh-cried "KYANMAAA HOW COULD YOU?! I WAS GONNA MARRY Y/N-CHAANN" yamamoto cried out

"stop teasing him guys, he'll get mad" kai sweatdropped as he tried to ease the team down

"yeah...so how's it feel to be one-upped by your best friend, mr.chemistry nerd?" yaku sneered as he held in his laughs

kuroo immediately stopped laughing as he sent yaku an unamused glare "HAH?! SHUT UP YOU GENETIC ANOMALY!" kuroo yelled at him

completely ignoring their loud voices, kenma and y/n arrived in the lockeroom and proceeded with the cleaning "i can't believe that just happened" kenma shook his head disappointingly

she chuckled and patted his back as they started cleaning out the lockers. "aww, don't be so down kenma-kun" she cooed

"i'll help you clean the lockers if that makes you feel better" she said as she hugged him from behind

"stop hugging me" kenma hissed at her "and that doesn't make me feel better because it's your job in the first place"

"anyways, look at lev's locker!" she said with an innocent whistle as she opened the locker.

"oya oya" she mumbled "lev is truly adorable.. but kind of.. strange, per say"

"what is it?" kenma asked. she snickered and pulled out an ungodly amount of cat food packed in tupperwares.

"what the hell." kenma sweat dropped "does he eat that or something?" kenma muttered while scrunching up his face

"i'd hope not, but let's leave this here" she chuckled "any ways.. how about checking out my locker?" she suggested with a smile as she skipped over to the locker in the furthest row

"aren't you curious to see what's in my locker, kenma-kun?" she cooed tauntingly

kenma sighed but followed her anyways "sure. part of me is, part of me isn't" he said

"here we go.." she paused dramatically as she pulled on the handle "tada!" she exclaimed as she slammed it open, presenting him a noose tied to a piece of wood which was stuck at the top.

"what the hell?!" kenma shrieked

"its a y/n-style suicide corner locker!" she announced excitedly

"i thought so, but that's creepy!" kenma exclaimed "not even the lockers are suicide-free"

"why?" kenma grumbled

"well you see, it's actually very convenient" she said "tip it over once you're done, and it instantly turns into a coffin!" she giggled menicingly

kenma sighed as he eyed her locker and her awfully enthusiastic grin. "please don't try to sell it to me like some time-saving product" he said

she then huffed out a breath of air and slyly smirked as she pushed the locker close "geez, im getting bored.. aren't you, kenma?" she said with an exaggerated sigh

"you show off your locker and now you're content?!" kenma scoffed in disbelief

she grinned mischievously and skipped away "why don't we ditch this place and go have some ramen?" she proposed

"we just got here like two hours ago" kenma said "and im pretty sure nekomata-san won't let us go just like that"

"aw, cmon! come with me, kenma-kun~ i wanna eat with you~" she whined out

"fine, fine" kenma groaned "just cover for me if i end up getting scolded"

"of course!" she beamed at him. she then threw away the unused cleaning supplies, confidently striding out the door, leaving the locker room as dirty as it was before

"oya oya~ did you have fun in there?" kuroo asked teasingly

"yup!" she replied "in fact, we had so much fun that we decided to expand our dopamine-inducing activities all the way into the ramen shop downtown!"

the team sweat dropped as she started shamelessly marching off to the gym's exit, dragging along kenma, who now had his nose buried in his game

"wait, y/n-san" nekomata stopped her. she froze mid step and slowly turned back around, sending the coach a nervous smile "yes?" she asked

"before you go, we need to discuss a few things for future tournaments" nekomata said "were gonna need some new tactics, so maybe you can suggest something?" he said

"hmm, i'll do some research later on" she hummed out

"but we're gonna be playing against fukurodani and nohebi then right?" shibayama chimed in "oooh~ i've never heard of this 'nohebi' you speak of" she cooed out in amusement

"i would've guessed" kuroo said "daisho's face would be enough to kill you, it's crazy!" he chuckled

y/n's eyes glimmered as she shook kenma's shoulders excitedly "seriously?!"

"no, and that was supposed to be a bad thing" kuroo chuckled, a fond smile resting on his lips as he watched her deflate at his words

"oh, i've got it!" she piped up "i know what we should do!" she smirked up at the team, her eyes basically sparkling as she looked at them as if she held all the answers in the world.

"let's just give up and die" she exclaimed

nekoma looked at her with blank smiles, nodding along as her confident smile never leaves her lips "let's not do that" nekomata butted in "instead, we need to practice more"

"so kenma, y/n.. since you two are going out anyways, go ahead and buy the team some snacks when you return"

while nodding enthusiastically, she practically bolted out of the gym, dragging kenma along by his collar like a cat

"y/n, let go of me" kenma grumbled as he struggled to play his game

she simply ignored him and took one of his hands anyway. she intertwined their fingers while she swings their arms back and forth

"i lost" kenma sighed in defeat as he pocketed his phone he looked down at their hands and smiled, letting her swing their arms around like a child while she sings some strange 'suicide song'

"are you sure you're supposed to be wandering around after what happened to you?" kenma asked "i mean, i didn't believe you at first about the mafia thing, but obviously you weren't lying.."

she chuckled and shook her head "oh please" she sneered "what do you expect is gonna happen? you really think they'd approach me in broad daylight-"

she cut herself off as she saw chuuya and akutagawa walking towards their direction

"nevermind. they are indeed approaching me in broad daylight"

kenma didn't react much, but his hand squeezed hers tighter and he ducked his head down in a way of hiding himself. y/n glanced worriedly at him before meeting eyes with chuuya

"kenma, is running from mafiosos perhaps listed in your bucket list?" she asked playfully

"no.. why-"

"well then cross that shit off because we're gonna need to run"

"i wanna go back" kenma panted out "all this running isn't good for my teenager body" he whined

"we ran like three blocks, kenma" she laughed softly

"thats too much" he pouted

they finally arrived at their initial destination, the ramen shop which they planned to eat at. "im so tired" kenma muttered as he rested his head on the table. while, across from him, y/n was sat, playing with the ends of his faux blond hair while she waits for their food to arrive

"ma'am, sir, here's your food!" the waitress announced as she stands before them, holding a tray of two ramens

"thank you, belladonna~" y/n cooed at her, making the girl giggle

"damn. didn't know girls like her were your type" kenma commented as he loudly slurps at his noodles. he narrowed his eyes at her, grumbling to himself while y/n unbotherdly eats her food

"well, i like all women kenma-kun" she said "but she, especially, looked like someone to agree on a double suicide"

"what about men." he asked

"it depends" she shrugged "for example, you would probably never say yes to a double suicide proposal.."

"but i bear with it because you're cute <3"

"oh okay."

a wave of comfortable silence washed over them as they continued eating, with y/n blurting out jokes here and then

"kenma-kun.." she suddenly piped up, her tone was guarded, almost as if she was on edge "yes..?" kenma answered back hesitantly

"it seems there's something inevitable in my agenda" she sighed

"huh? what is it?" kenma asked worriedly

she then stood up and smiled sheepishly at him "i gotta go to the bathroom!" she exclaimed. kenma deadpanned, though he sighed in relief as he watched her make her way to the comfort room

just as he was about to pull out his phone, somebody had cleared their throat. well, it was more like coughing for half a minute straight, but let's not get into that.

"so it's you." akutagawa muttered in a low tone

"um.. can i help you.." kenma muttered back nervously

he gulped as he fiddled with his twitching hands. it was no mistaking that the man dressed in all black was akutagawa himself. he's made quite a name for himself after appearing in quite a few news articles and headlines.

"i don't get what y/n-san sees in you" akutagawa scoffed

kenma furrowed his brows but didn't say anything back. his glare alone was enough to leave him shaking in displeasure and anxiety. kenma could feel akutagawa's hatred, anger, and jealousy practically eating at him.

"tch. first that wretched tiger, and now you. as far as my respect goes for her, this is just sad." akutagawa said with a scowl "her standards in subordinates and companions have gone down the drain." akutagawa sighed

kenma took in a breath of air and opened his mouth to speak. "um.. are you-"

"dont speak to me, you pest" akutagawa snarled at him "your existence is not only a disgrace to society, but your presence around me is displeasing and disgusts me to the core."

kenma didn't speak after that. why would he? this actual criminal just called him a pest and a disgrace, after all.

in all honesty, all kenma could think about was:

'what is with that vocabulary?'

"oh my, couldn't you tell this was the ladies bathroom?" she chuckled as she made eye contact with chuuya through the mirror "or were you too short to see the sign?" she teased

chuuya scoffed and locked the bathroom doors, making sure no one was inside and that no one could enter.

"what do you want, chuuya?" she asked, her bubbly smile dropping as she leaned back against the sink

"isn't it obvious?" chuuya replied

"no not really" she shrugged, laughing under her breath as she eyes him suggestively "is it because you wanna make out? go for a quickie? or-"

"SHUT UP! as if i'd wanna do that with you!" chuuya yelled at her

"oh please, you act as if i'd want to as well" she scoffed "the only thing i actually like about you is maybe your taste in shoes" she hummed

chuuya blinked dumbfoundedly at her words, as he looked down to inspect his shoes. "you think?" he muttered quietly

"just kidding, ofcourse" she sneered

"you-!" chuuya yelled in aggravation as he went in to kick her head, but sadly missed as she ducked down

"give it up" she sighed "just tell me what you want and let's leave each other be" she said

chuuya clicked his tongue and pulled out a back envelope sealed with wax. "boss wants to give you this." he said, handing her the envelope "said something about claiming back your place as executive"

she smiled in amusement as she inspected the paper. "is that so.." she trailed off. she turned around to turn the tap on, letting the water run as she placed the envelope under it, letting it soak and slowly break away.

"well, tell mori-san that i appreciate the welcoming invitation, but i'd have to say no" she said

chuuya's eye twitched at her answer, feeling himself feel dissatisfied and angered. "tch, what the hell, asshole?" chuuya exclaimed as he grabbed her by the collar of her nekoma uniform

"oya? is something wrong, chuuya?" she asked calmly

"why won't you come back?! you're gonna waste your damn life rotting away in that agency!" he exclaimed with gritted teeth "you'll have everything back in the mafia! why won't you come back!"

"we can be partners again!"

she didn't answer, but simply stood still, letting him crumple her shirt in his balled fists as he let out ragged breaths. the sound of the still running water filled the air.

"chuuya.."

she sighed and pried his hands off of her, turning around to turn off the faucet before facing him once again. "i joined the agency in accordance to a dear friend's advice." she said "i was told i'd find a my reason to keep living, and more so the path to clear my mind of evil and good."

"being with you again would most definitely be wonderful"

chuuya looked up at her, his throat drying up as he watched her take off a small golden star pin from her school tie. he didn't stop her as she started placing it on his coat. nor did he stop her when she placed a small kiss on the back of his hand.

"but maybe in another life, we could be partners once more" she chuckled

"that pin suits you" she said "it matches with your hair. keep it on, alright?"

it was all she said before walking off, opening the door and closing it behind her, leaving him alone with the faint sounds of dripping water. chuuya looked in the mirror, fiddling with the pin with his hands.

"tch. another life, my ass" he scowled, wiping off the tears that brimmed his eyes

"why the hell do i have to wait that long?"

as she stepped out of the comfort room, she walked back to the table she and kenma were sitting at, only to find him literally itching to run off. as kenma made eye contact with her, he immediately grabbed her arm and pulled her out the door

"woah woah! calm your horses, pudding" she chuckled "what's wrong?"

"what's wrong is the fact that akutagawa came up to me and literally started degrading and insulting me???" he exclaimed

"what?" she asked with furrowed brows

"he was badmouthing me with really deep words and insults! like, i didn't even know what some of the words meant.." kenma grumbled "im so glad he left after like five minutes"

"also, what took you so long?" kenma asked her "i got caught up in a conversation with an old friend, that's all" she answered nonchalantly

"right.." kenma nodded, though he wasn't convinced. he took notice of her crinkled shirt and collar, as well as the lone pin that she always wears, which was now missing.

"y/n? can we just go back please?" kenma pleaded

"of course, kenma" she said with a smile "im sorry you had to deal with akutagawa-kun"

"its fine.. i just wanna go back" he said in a dismissive tone

the walk back to nekoma was quiet. they had stopped by a nearby gas station for some snacks to give to the boys, but other than that, no one really talked.

"im gonna ask kuroo something" kenma said before he walked off

she simply nodded with a raised brow as she watched the pudding head march up to his best friend

"y/n-senpai!" inouka called for her. shaking her head, she disregarded kenma and rushed over to the first years.

"kuroo, i need advice." kenma blurted out "oya oya? what kind of advice?" kuroo asked back

"the y/n kind" kenma groaned

"we went out to eat but at some point she went to the bathroom.." kenma started

"i asked her why she took so long, and she told me she talked to a friend. but im pretty sure it's that chuuya person"

kuroo crossed his arms as he looked at his friend questioningly "what makes you say that?" he asked

"we ran into him for a quick moment, then i saw the guy with him at the ramen shop" kenma answered vaguely

"well.. i dunno much about what happened but.." kuroo trailed off "i think theres really only one thing you could do" the bedhead captain said

"and that is?"

"confess your feelings, duh!" kuroo whisper shouted

"i-i don't have feelings for her!" kenma whisper shouted back

"you did not just say that, oh my fucking god" kuroo groaned out in aggravation "you're literally asking me for love advice because you got jealous over an old acquaintance of hers" kuroo deadpanned

"i never said i was jealous.." kenma muttered sheepishly "you don't need to say it, i could already tell" kuroo laughed at him "but seriously, kenma.." kuroo mused, a huge grin creeping up onto his lips as he slapped his hand on kenma's back

"go get your girl!"

[northernindigenousbeautyhailey]

TAMRA JEWEL KEEPNESS.

FEW CHILDREN IN CANADA JUST VANISH. Fewer still stay gone for longer than a couple of days. Some are found alive, others are hurt or killed, but rarely does a child simply disappear. The RCMP’s National Centre for Missing Persons and Unidentified Remains database lists 147 missing children, in a country of more than 35 million people. Of the sixty children under the age of twelve, a quarter are thought to have been abducted by their parents. A large portion of the others were lost to apparent accidents or misadventure, falling through ice or swept away in the pull of wild rivers, their bodies never recovered. The database shows twenty-four children in the past sixty years who have inexplicably disappeared. Because there are so few, we know them. In Edmonton, there is Tania Murrell, six when she vanished while walking home from school for lunch in January 1983. In Toronto, Nicole Morin, eight when she disappeared from a condominium building in July 1985. Michael Dunahee was four years old when he went missing from a playground in Victoria in 1991. In Regina, there is only Tamra Keepness.

THE LAST TIME anyone saw Tamra, she was five years old, with bobbed black hair and soft, round cheeks. In one picture, she wears a T-shirt dotted with flowers, standing against the colourful collage of a classroom wall. Her smile is broad and open, her eyes lively. She was so smart that her mother called her “my little Einstein,” so feisty that when a little boy pushed her once, Tamra shoved him right back, and harder. She liked playing Mario Kart on Nintendo and climbing her favourite tree, down the block from her house.

July 6, 2004, was the first time Sergeant Ron Weir would hear Tamra’s name. He was getting ready to leave on vacation that day when he got an urgent call back to the police station. Weir was a veteran cop with the Regina Police Service and head of emergency services, which included search and rescue. In a meeting, officers from the major crimes unit laid out what they knew: sometime between the night of Monday, July 5, and the morning of Tuesday, July 6, a five-year-old girl had gone missing from her home in central Regina.

Weir had been a police officer for twenty years. He knew that kids often went missing and turned up safe a short time later. Sixty-five percent of missing children and teens are located within the first day, and almost 90 percent within the first week. But Weir also knew that Tamra was too young to get far as a runaway. Patrol officers had already checked the neighbourhood to make sure Tamra hadn’t wandered away or ended up at the house of a playmate or relative, as was often the case with missing children. They’d found nothing. Even in the early hours of the investigation, Weir suspected this case would be different.

TAMRA LIVED with her mother, stepfather, and five siblings at 1834 Ottawa Street, a shabby brown-and-white two-storey with a windowed porch at the front. The house stood between 11th and 12th avenues, just east of downtown Regina. The neighbourhood was a mix of long-time elderly residents, young families drawn by low prices for heritage houses, and ramshackle homes where residents struggled with poverty and addiction. The area was sometimes known as the “low stroll,” a place where women and girls sold their bodies for drugs or booze and men drove around looking to buy them, circling the neighbourhood in trucks and station wagons. Many of the women and girls who lived or worked in the area were First Nations, like Tamra. Long before calls for a federal inquiry into missing and murdered Indigenous women would dominate the political conversation, women were going missing from those streets. It was from that same area that nineteen-year-old Annette Kelly Peigan disappeared in 1983, followed by eighteen-year-old Patsy Favel in 1984 and Joyce Tillotson in 1993. Two years later, two young white men picked up a woman named Pamela George, sexually assaulted her, and beat her to death.

The last public development came in November 2014, when a Reddit user posted to the website a scrawled map with the words: “Location of Tamra Keepness, check the wells.”

Tamra’s house was less than a block from the Oskana Centre, a halfway house for federal parolees, and not far from the Salvation Army’s Waterston House, a residence and shelter inhabited by former inmates and men struggling with drugs, alcohol, and psychiatric issues. Residents of both facilities had been responsible for serious attacks in the past. Just four months earlier, convicted violent sex offender Randy Burgmann had lured a woman into his room at Waterston House with alcohol, before violently sexually assaulting her and leaving her beside a dumpster to die. The Oskana Centre had previously been home to both serial rapist Larry Deckert and Billy John Francis Whitedeer, who began committing violent sexual offences on children when he was ten years old. A few blocks farther was the Ehrle Hotel, one of the worst bars in town, from which patrons spilled soggy and staggering onto the sidewalk, and which appeared regularly in police reports and court testimony.

Police also had serious questions about what was happening at 1834 Ottawa Street. There was a broken window and blood spatter in the porch. Social Services had been involved with the family since not long after the oldest child was born in 1993, and there had been more than fifty reports made to crisis workers, most often about Tamra’s mother’s use of alcohol and drugs, and neglect of the children. Her mother’s boyfriend had a history of violence and domestic assault. In most cases, investigators knew, children are hurt by people closest to them.

POLICE STARTED with a thorough search of the area immediately around the home, then cast their efforts outward in an expanding grid. As the sun rose on the morning of July 7, 2004, the search effort intensified. First, there were ten officers, then twenty, then more. Some officers accompanied trained volunteer search teams; others questioned family members and potential witnesses, going door-to-door gathering leads or chasing down tips. The RCMP training academy provided cadets, and members of the public soon began arriving on their own to help.

Police set up a command-centre bus in the parking lot of a nearby church, from which Weir co-ordinated the search. Though it was an urban environment, the terrain posed serious challenges. The area was filled with overgrown yards, empty houses, piles of garbage. Tamra weighed forty pounds, and stood three foot five. There were so many places a child could hide or get trapped or be held, where a child’s body could be concealed or dumped. Searchers in orange vests worked in grids, knocking on doors, inspecting junked cars and crumbling garages, peering under discarded mattresses and piles of wood, looking down manholes. Police stopped garbage pickups, checking all the bins in the neighbourhood, the trash putrid and reeking in the summer heat. Some bins had already been emptied, so plans were made to search the dump as well.

And what if she had been taken farther? Not far away were industrial areas, large abandoned lots and buildings, Wascana Creek, and beyond that, the vast Prairie. With a thirteen-hour head start, someone in a vehicle could have had Tamra in Vancouver before she was reported missing.

When they were not speaking to police, members of Tamra’s family waited anxiously on the fringes, watching the searchers, eyeing the growing assembly of reporters and news crews holding out microphones and pointing camera lenses. “It’s not like her to go off by herself,” said Tamra’s father, Troy Keepness, sitting on the front steps of his ex-wife’s house, his voice tight with worry. “We’re trying to do our best to get her back.”

Weir worked in the command-centre bus, surrounded by maps and whiteboards. A scribe logged every aspect of the search in real time, recording ideas and progress. No one wanted to break, not for food or rest. Everyone knew the situation grew more serious with every passing hour. As the heat of the day gave way to evening, Weir stood outside and looked up. A strong wind had come in, and storm clouds were spreading, darkening the Prairie sky.

The next day, police strung crime-scene tape around Tamra’s house and the one next door, drawing it through the back alley and across six garages, long slashes of yellow dividing the street. Officers guarded the perimeter while forensic investigators went in and out of the house in boots and masks. “While we don’t have any direct evidence that Tamra has come to any harm, we also don’t know where she is,” police spokeswoman Elizabeth Popowich told reporters. “And if, in fact, this comes to a point where we determine that she’s come to some harm and it’s because of a criminal act, this location could potentially be the scene of some evidence.”

THERE WERE three adults in the house that evening: the children’s mother, Lorena Keepness; her boyfriend, Dean McArthur; and a family friend named Russell Sheepskin, who had been staying with the family. All three had come and gone during the night, and investigators were starting to question their movements. There were no signs of forced entry to the house, and there were gaps, inconsistencies in their timelines that didn’t make sense to investigators.

The story the three told publicly, compiled from various interviews, was that Lorena and McArthur got into an argument while watching a movie on Monday evening, and McArthur and Sheepskin left the house around 8:30 p.m. to go drinking. The men returned briefly to drop off a bottle of formula for the baby, then left again. Lorena went out around 11 p.m, kissing Tamra goodbye before she went. The oldest child in the house was ten-year-old Summer, the youngest was Lorena and McArthur’s nine-month-old baby. Lorena returned briefly to check on the children and then left again around midnight. At about 3 a.m., Sheepskin returned home drunk and saw Tamra sleeping on the couch. Not long after, McArthur got back to the house and assaulted Sheepskin on the porch, punching him through a window and then stomping on his head. (Both men later said the fight had nothing to do with Tamra.) Sheepskin walked alone to the hospital to get stitches, and McArthur went to stay at his aunt’s house a few blocks away. Though it should have been a short walk, he said he got lost and kept passing out as he walked there. He didn’t arrive for at least two hours, until 5 or 5:30 a.m. Meanwhile, Lorena got home around 3:15 or 3:30 a.m., climbed in through a window, and passed out on the couch. She said that she got up to undo the latch on the door for her mother around 8 or 9 a.m. and that the two eldest children, Summer and Rayne, left on their own in the morning to attend a summer day-camp. Lorena didn’t realize Tamra wasn’t there until about three hours later, when the five-year-old didn’t come downstairs. At 12:16 p.m., a family member called the police and told them Tamra was missing.

Rayne, who was eight, said he had gone to bed squeezed into the space between the wall and mattresses piled on the floor in an upstairs bedroom. He told his mother he felt Tamra get up at some point, the slight movement of a child’s weight. All he could remember was that it was light outside.

FRIDAY WAS hot again and wet from the previous night’s rain. An odour of decay hung in the air around Ottawa Street. Tamra had been gone three full days and become national news. Her picture seemed to be everywhere, hanging on street poles and store windows. In news stories, she became “missing five-year-old Tamra Keepness,” but more often she was just Tamra, as if we knew her. The front page of the Regina Leader-Post spoke directly to her, asking, “Tamra, Where Did You Go?”

Tips flooded in to police. On the street, there were rumours that Tamra had been seen at a dollar store with an older woman. Business owners in the neighbourhood said detectives had been looking for a middle-aged white man named Roch or Rocky, but police wouldn’t confirm whether that was related to the search. Lorena and McArthur said they gave police the names of five people they thought could be suspects, including a man who had befriended Tamra and later been discovered to be a pedophile. For a while, there was even a theory that Tamra had never existed at all, that she had been a scam to get extra money from Social Services. (Hospital records proved that was not the case.)

Searchers were coming from around the province to volunteer, streaming into the city from towns and First Nations communities, motivated by the faces of their own children or grandchildren to help in whatever way they could. “I’ve got a boy, and he’s twenty-one,” said Jerry Scott, one of the volunteers who joined the search. “And if he left, I’d go nuts, too.” Around the city, people organized vigils and barbecues, brought water and snacks for the searchers, wrapped ribbons around trees to show their support. Some left teddy bears and angels on the steps of Tamra’s house. Days of intensive searches had turned up lots of items that seemed as though they could be connected—clothing, a child’s shoe—but none of it belonged to Tamra. “I’m starting to go on different conclusions, like maybe someone took her, I don’t know,” Troy Keepness said. “I just hope nobody would hurt my daughter.”

WHEN Tamra had been gone a week, police announced they were suspending the ground searches. At a press conference, Regina police chief Cal Johnston announced a $25,000 reward for information and vowed, “We will find Tamra.” Police questioned sex offenders living in the area and obtained surveillance tapes from convenience stores, bars, gas stations, and the Greyhound bus depot nearby. Johnston confirmed that “criminal interference with Tamra is a distinct possibility” and drew attention back to Tamra’s house and family. “There were comings and goings from the house that night that remain not fully explained to our satisfaction, and we continue to ask those questions,” he told reporters. He would not elaborate.

Tamra’s family was growing increasingly angry at the police, and the strain of the situation was starting to show. Lorena told reporters she’d signed consent forms for police to search her house and had given her DNA, but still she felt as if they were focusing too much on her family and not enough on trying to find Tamra. She was angry that police hadn’t closed the highways out of the city and that there was no Amber Alert because police said it didn’t meet the criteria. “I’m fed up,” she told reporters. “They are wasting time. This is my little girl we’re talking about.”

The family was growing frustrated with the media, too. Lorena’s mother yelled obscenities at reporters one day, and on another, members of the family nearly came to blows with a TV reporter doing a live update from the front lawn. They had been watching the news inside the house when they heard the reporter imply what many in the city were already wondering: If not someone in that house, then who?

On July 19, two weeks after Tamra had been reported missing, police charged McArthur with assaulting Sheepskin the night Tamra disappeared. McArthur told reporters he had been interrogated for twenty hours, not about the assault, but about Tamra and about what had gone on inside the house that night. “It was always the same questions, and they were assuming that I knew the answers to those questions, but I didn’t know the answers, and I still don’t know the answers,” he said. “I would never hurt a hair on that little girl’s head.”

Two days later, Tamra’s brothers and sisters were removed from the home by child-protection officers. Tamra’s twin sister wore messy pigtails and clutched a colouring book and a yellow blanket as two women led the children away down the front steps of the house. Neither government officials nor police would say whether the children’s seizure was related to Tamra’s disappearance. When the children were gone, police searched the house again.

One night late that summer, Tamra’s father, Troy, showed up at the house with a baseball bat and confronted her stepfather, McArthur. Troy was charged with assault, though McArthur later said police “got things misunderstood.” “Everybody’s looking for answers,” he said. “We more or less talked.”

LORENA KEEPNESS was fourteen years old when she ran away from her home on the White Bear First Nation, 200 kilometres southeast of Regina. She had been in residential school for about three months, but that wasn’t what did it. For her, it was the same ugly stuff at home. She found her way to Regina. When her mom tried to take her home, Lorena wouldn’t go. She lived on the streets instead.

She had her daughter Summer Wind when she was twenty, her son Rayne Dance not long after. It was after the ultrasound for her third baby that she walked home in a daze and told her husband, Troy, “We’re having twins.” She kept repeating it until it sunk in, and then they just stood together in the kitchen and laughed. Her mother said “Way to go!” but Lorena told her, “They came from God. Not like I planted those in me.”

The babies were born on September 1, 1998. Fraternal twin girls, each weighing more than six pounds, carried almost right to term and curved around one another like pieces of a puzzle. Lorena and Troy split up when the twins were little, and after that, the girls stayed sometimes with their mother, sometimes with their father or with other relatives. Lorena and Troy each struggled with substance abuse, and their lives were sometimes too troubled and unstable to have the children with them. At five, Tamra was bold and courageous, and protective of her twin sister. Once, Lorena heard a soft knock in the middle of the night and opened the door to find the twins standing there. The children had left their father’s house and walked four blocks back to Lorena’s in the middle of the night, Tamra leading her sister by the hand as they found their way through the dark. REGINA POLICE received more than a thousand tips in the first six weeks after Tamra’s disappearance. At one point, a Volkswagen van that had been stolen the night Tamra disappeared was found burned outside the city. A jail guard told police she and a former inmate had stolen it, picked up Tamra, and then dumped the child’s body in a ravine on the Muscowpetung First Nation. Ron Weir led a week-long search on Muscowpetung, draining multiple beaver dams with compressor pumps, while searchers slogged through water up to their hips. The jail guard later confessed she had made up the story. She was charged with mischief and wrote a letter apologizing to the police. In court, her lawyer said she had been trying to get her abusive boyfriend locked up again.

Returning from medical leave to the police department in the fall of 2004, superintendent Troy Hagen could feel how Tamra’s disappearance was weighing on his colleagues. Hagen noticed it in everyone he spoke to, from the police chief down, whether they were involved with the case or not. Sergeant Rod Buckingham, one of the lead investigators, was among those who felt the growing frustration. “It’s a mystery,” he would say. “And I don’t like mysteries.”

Officers had spoken with more than 6,000 people by then, but there had been no arrests, and leads were drying up. Shortly after, a special task force was struck to re-examine the case, to see whether anything had been missed. The name of the project was iskwesis ayishowak e mamayahi, a Cree term meaning “little girl bring people together.”

TWELVE YEARS LATER, Lorena Keepness spends her days doing odd jobs and picking bottles, trading them in at the depot for cash. She is forty-three and lives with her eldest son in a rundown shack of a house on Victoria Avenue, a fifteen-minute walk from Ottawa Street. Lorena’s children were never permanently returned to her custody after the disappearance, and the three babies she had after that were all taken by Social Services, too. Tamra’s twin sister is seventeen now. Lorena says she is an athlete, smart and beautiful. Lorena lost her family pictures when someone threw all her stuff in the garbage a few years ago. The only photos she has of Tamra now are the ones on missing-child posters.

Tamra’s twin and her older sister, Summer, don’t want to be interviewed. Neither does Tamra’s father, Troy. McArthur couldn’t be reached. Lorena needs a six-pack of Black Ice beer to talk. She doesn’t really want to be interviewed either. She has never liked reporters or their questions, and it hurts to talk about that time. “But part of me wants to,” she says, as her face crumples. “Part of me needs to share what the fuck happened. Someone stole my child.”

Lorena has heard many theories about what happened to her daughter. Some believe Tamra wandered away and was abducted by a driver cruising the area or that she got lost, then crawled in somewhere so small she has never been found. Other theories focus on the adults in the house that night. Some officers will say off-the-record that they think Tamra is in the dump but that they just couldn’t find her in the mountains of debris. Many in the city believe that Lorena and McArthur sold or traded Tamra to pay off a cocaine debt. Lorena has heard that one the most. One night, she was at a bar and heard some women talking, loud enough so she could hear. “Yeah, she sold her kid for dope. She has a whole bunch of babies. She has kids just to sell them for drugs.” Her friend told her not to listen, but Lorena couldn’t ignore it. She swore at the women, promised she would get them for even thinking she could do that to her child. They met at the same bar again the next day, and that time they fought, a tangle of hair and fists. One of them had a knife and slashed her twice on the back of her arm. More scars to wear for life. It wasn’t the only time. One night, she was attacked in Moose Jaw. Not long ago, a woman shouted “Baby killer!” at her across the street.

Lorena and Dean McArthur are still together, on and off—“more on than off,” she says. Police tried hard to turn them against each other, but she always believed him in the end. He may be all kinds of things, she says, but he’s not a baby killer. “If I thought he did something to my daughter, I would have killed him myself,” she says. “I think the police were just so sure. They figured, ‘These guys are a bunch of nobodies. She did her own child.’ They already had their conclusions drawn before they even tried to look for anything.”

The suggestion she could have had something to do with her daughter’s disappearance still pushes Lorena to the point of violence. You can see her eyes flash, her muscles tighten at the question. But she holds back— it’s not worth going to jail. She’s had enough of the police, has grown used to the accusations. In the past twelve years, she’s repeated her story publicly many times, and it has never really changed.

REGINA POLICE have never released full details about the investigation into Tamra’s disappearance, on the grounds that it remains an open case that they still hope to solve. In an interview, Troy Hagen, now Regina’s police chief, would not speak about any working theories or confirm any specifics of the investigation, including whether one of the people questioned about Tamra’s disappearance had failed a polygraph test. Instead, Hagen echoed what police have said since the beginning: That there remain important unanswered questions about the comings and goings from the house on Ottawa Street that night. That they will continue to investigate every tip. That they won’t stop looking for Tamra until they find her. He pointed to cases in the United States where children have been gone for years, sometimes decades, and then been found alive. In Canada, twelve-year-old Abby Drover was held in an underground bunker in Port Moody, British Columbia, for six months after being abducted by her neighbour in 1976. There was an intensive search of her community—including by her abductor—but she had been only feet away from her house the entire time. She was found alive. It seems impossible, but it happens. “I refuse to lose hope,” Hagen says.

The years since Tamra’s disappearance have exposed the epidemic of missing and murdered Indigenous women in Canada. Suspected serial killers are facing charges in the Prairies, but there has been no public indication that Tamra’s disappearance may be connected to any of those cases. Hagen said police have also explored a possible connection with thirteen-year-old Courtney Struble, who disappeared from Estevan, a city 200 kilometres from Regina, four days after Tamra was last seen. Investigators initially believed that Struble was a runaway, and she had been gone for seven years before RCMP announced that her case had become a homicide investigation. No one has ever been charged, and her remains have never been located. Hagen says it’s strange to have two unsolved missing-children cases linked so closely in time and geographic proximity. He says the possibility of a connection was “very much” explored by police, but there doesn’t appear to be a correlation. The police investigation into Tamra’s disappearance is one of the largest and costliest in Regina’s history, but Hagen says it has never been about the money. If there were more leads or work for investigators, the police chief says he would reconvene the task force “in a heartbeat.” But the flood of tips has slowed. The reward for information that leads to finding her, now $50,000, sits unclaimed. The last public development came in November 2014, when a Reddit user with the name MySecretIsOut posted a scrawled map with the words: “Location of Tamra Keepness, check the wells.” The person later wrote that the map belonged to their grandmother and had come from a great-aunt who had visited an inmate in Alberta. “We, like many others, haven’t forgotten about you, Tamra, and continue to search and hope you are found,” the person posted. Police searched twenty-one wells around Muscowpetung but found nothing.

Sheepskin died on January 1, 2009, “with his family by his side,” according to his obituary. Many of the police officers who worked on Tamra’s case have retired or moved from the department to other jobs. Hagen says he thinks of Tamra whenever he is walking through the forest, not looking for her but always half expecting to see her there. Sometimes he looks at people he passes on the street, examining their faces and imagining what Tamra might look like now.

THROUGH THE YEARS, Lorena has developed her own theories about what happened to her daughter. These days, she mainly wonders about a drifter who used to stay with them, a woman Lorena knew from when she was a girl. A woman who sometimes told people she was pregnant even though she wasn’t, who Lorena knew by one name but whose medical documents said something else. The woman was around so much that Lorena’s children called her Big Auntie. Big Auntie had been staying at the house before Tamra disappeared, but left after she and Lorena had a falling out. Lorena says it took a long time to realize Big Auntie wasn’t coming around any more. When she did, she put word out on the streets, but no one there had seen her either. Big Auntie didn’t even show up for her own sister’s funeral in Regina a few years back. Lorena says she told the police about Big Auntie many times, but doesn’t know whether they ever found her, or whether they even looked. “She’s just gone now,” Lorena says. “Same time as my child.” Maybe it’s something. Or maybe Big Auntie is missing, too.

When I ask Lorena whether she thinks Tamra will ever be found, she struggles for an answer. “I don’t know,” she says. “But can I tell you about a dream I had?” There are two, both so vivid it’s as if they were real. In one, Tamra is inside a big house in a city Lorena has never seen. There are silk clothes draped around, and broad windows, and Tamra is upstairs, sitting on the edge of a bathtub putting on stockings. She is grown, with dark, shiny hair like her mother’s but cut straight all around. In the other dream, Tamra is still a little girl, running into her mother’s arms. “There you are!” Lorena says. “There you are!” She picks up her child and holds her, until Tamra wriggles free and is lost again.

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Shrike - Geraskier [E]

[Gif isn’t mine]

Warning(s): Smut (Rating E); Mild Violence

Originally posted to my AO3

Mob Boss Geralt is brought to the Rosemary and Thyme Bar, where he meets with an alluring Jaskier; who has a new work proposition.

In hindsight, he should have just punched Lambert in the jaw and left it at that.

But here he is, in the back of his own car, heading towards downtown. Gods only know what time it is, but Geralt’s eyes are already starting to sting. A tight pain runs up the side of his face. He’s clenching his jaw again. There isn’t a moment where he isn’t. But after catching himself going it, he manages to flex his jaw and wring the pain out.

The red-haired man laughs, mostly to himself. He’s sitting in the back of the car with him, letting Coën do all the driving. He can only assume the other man didn’t have much of a say in it, with how grimly he’s glaring back at Lambert stretched out along the backseat. “You work too much,” he lilts, looking out on to the changing cityscape.

Gods alive, he hates downtown. It’s busy and bright and desperately loud, assaulting every sense that he has. Work might lure him down here every so often, but that’s why he has Lambert and Eskel and Coën. If he can send them in place of him, then good. They’ll go. But more often than not, people want to meet the White Wolf personally. Even if it’s the last meeting with him they’ll ever have.

It’s not that he works too much. It’s that there is so much work to do. Vesemir retired and overnight Geralt found himself in charge of all of this. People underneath him who know who he is, knows that the Old Wolf raised him personally to take over. But he still watches those with uncertain eyes. Whispers of a coup have been brushing his ears ever since Vesemir fucked off to the countryside and left the title of boss to him. An argument could be made that they had talked about it. Vesemir was getting greyer, and young bucks were popping up all around the boroughs, crowing and fighting amongst themselves. It was only a matter of time before they ran their antlers through the Old Wolf and took over.

Best to get someone like Geralt in before any of that unpleasantness started. The White Wolf may have been a shy pup, quiet and always keeping to himself, but he could level anyone with a stare, enough to knock them over and have them scampering from the offices. Eskel, gods bless him, is too kind-hearted. Lambert is too much of a prick. Geralt has the perfect temperament; but is easy to anger.

And he can feel that very anger starting to bubble up now, just as downtown’s bright and irritating neon lights stream in through the dimmed windows of the car.

“Stay for an hour,” Lambert reasons, tilting his head to the side. His brother might be a prick and a degenerate, but he knows how to look at the elder in a certain way to get him pliant enough to do whatever he asks. That’s how he got Geralt to fight all of his battles for him when they were boys. Lambert was often the one to get them into trouble, and Geralt got them out. That’s how it worked. And then there was Eskel, wearing an ever-suffering expression on his face wondering why in the name of all of the gods their father put Geralt in charge in the first place.

Lambert splays his hands. “Stay for an hour,” he repeats, “and if you hate it as much as you think you’re going to, then you can leave. I’m sure Coën would drop you back home if you asked. Isn’t that right, Coën?”

There’s an illegible huff from the front of the car. Coën keeps his glowering eyes on the road, muttering something or other under his breath.

It isn’t directed at Geralt, that’s all he knows. So he allows it. If Coën had his way, he would be home in bed too. Geralt’s ache bleeds for them both.

Lambert slaps a hand on to Geralt’s shoulder. He leans over, lowering his voice. “It’s my job to make sure you don’t look so fucking grumpy all of the time,” he lulls, only sitting back when the bar comes into view. Geralt tries not to roll his eyes. Of course. Of course he would bring him here.

The dazzling, irritating lights of Rosemary and Thyme glare at him. A bar and club frequented by just about anyone who can slip in through the small army of security posted to the front doors. Just as Coën parks them in front of the door, Lambert slips out and has a word with the burly men. They nod and stand aside. Lambert looks back at him with a brilliant smile. “Come on, Geralt!” he calls out.

Coën offers him a sympathetic look through the rear-view mirror. “I can hang around, if you like?”

If you want to bolt after a minute.

Geralt grunts. “Might be an idea,” he rumbles, but steps out of the car all the same. He’s used to it; having security come up to meet him. Despite everything, even though they’re contracted by the bar and they could call the police on someone like him, they know to lead him past the queues formed outside and get him into the building as quietly as possible. He catches a few faint whispers, all about the White Wolf. He tries not to let his eyes roll. He’s had enough of it, to be honest. But Lambert laps it up. Sticking close to Geralt’s side, he gets anything he wants. A completely different world to the one he grew up in.

They’ve barely stepped into the bar before a woman meets them. Armed with a clipboard and armoured in a suit, she points to some secluded rooms to the side of the bar. “If you would like to come with me, Mr. Rivia?”

Geralt grunts and follows. Lambert makes idle chatter with the woman; always polite when he wants to be, laughing when he should be keeping the swearing to a minimum. But as soon as they’re shown to the rooms, Lambert turns on his heel and whispers something into her ear. They have a quiet conversation, one that Geralt can’t hear through the din of music.

She nods. “I’ll see if they’re available.”

“They’ll be available,” Lambert says firmly, palming some gold into the woman’s hand. She nods curtly before disappearing.

Geralt watches Lambert stride into the room. It’s a far cry from the main bar; chrome-lined and with a dance floor already heaving with people. Even the booths lining the sides of the room are full, with parties of people keeping to themselves. Curious glances had followed him while they walked through the floor. Now, shielded away, at least he doesn’t have to deal with them anymore.

But he still has Lambert, which is a problem. The man makes himself at home within the room; letting the door click shut behind them and tossing his jacket over the back of an L-shaped couch pushed to the back of the room. A well-stocked bar lines the walls, something that has grabbed Lambert’s attention.

“You work too much,” the man lilts, pulling some bottles from the shelves. “You need to loosen up a bit.”

Geralt grunts, stalking over to the couch. It’s plush and just soft enough for him to sink back into it. He leaves his jacket sprawled beside him, still within an arm’s reach just in case he decides to leave early. He thinks of Coën, driving aimlessly around downtown, or maybe grabbing something to eat while Geralt ponders when it would be an acceptable amount of time passed for him to leave.

“Then let me go home and sleep,” he sighs, burying his face into his hands. Lambert...is a lot. The only reason why Geralt hasn’t flung his body into the nearest river is that he’s family. And Vesemir will come out of hiding or retirement to make sure Geralt’s body joins his.

Not that there haven’t been moments. His fingers itch for the trigger, but not here. If he’s going to kill Lambert, he’ll make it look like a damn accident.

The man plies him with alcohol, setting a familiar drink down in front of him. Geralt’s glare softens slightly, but doesn’t disappear completely. He reaches out, taking a measured sip. It’s strong, whatever he’s concocted, mostly whiskey that burns the back of his throat. But it’s enough to start unwinding the tension from his muscles.

There’s a knock at the door. Lambert, midway through knocking back a shot of something, eyes the door. He sets his glass down and the same hand moves to his waist, to the sheathed gun resting there. Geralt’s eyes narrow. If he’s smart, if he can keep a hold on himself, then that gun will stay where it is.

Lambert cracks the door open just enough to glimpse at who’s outside. Geralt’s ears twitch as the man grunts, stepping outside for a moment.

There’s a short conversation, one that he can’t hear. He reaches for his glass, taking another measured sip of whiskey and letting it sizzle on his tongue. If he’s going to be dragged this far away from home, he’s not going to weather the night sober. He thinks briefly of fishing his phone out of his jacket pocket, dialling Coën’s number and getting the man to come back. He has enough drinks lining the bar in his own home. Who’s to say that he can’t get what he wants at home? At least his ears will be spared from having to endure endless thumping of music beyond the walls.

Lambert steps back into the room before he can make his decision. He’s as comfortable as he can be; his jacket set to the side as he lounges back against the plush couch. His legs drift apart from each other, but only because the day’s work finally starts coiling through his muscles and tensing them.

A devilish smile starts to curl along Lambert’s lip. Another man joins him, and Geralt blinks. He’s not a man he would expect Viola to have in her employ. He’s certainly not dressed like it. Hair that sweeps over and dusts his eyes, a luring smile that rounds his cheeks and highlights the faint flush of colour. Geralt’s eyes wander. His visitor is made up in tight-fitting pants – leather, if he were to guess – and a shirt that dips low enough into the middle of his chest.

Lambert just about manages to swallow a delighted laugh. “My dear brother works too much,” he lilts, nodding to the other side of the room. He turns his eyes back to the man. “He’s been terribly stressed lately. Be a good lad and make sure he enjoys himself tonight. He’s an awful bastard when he’s pent up.”

He’s going to fucking kill Lambert. Screw making it look like an accident. He might just have Coën drive by one of the biggest rivers in town just so he can hurl Lambert over the bridge and into it. So fucking what if Vesemir appears at his door tomorrow, glaring daggers at him.

But it’s either the whiskey or the man’s eyes slowly drifting over him, the urge to kill his brother is slowly fading. Geralt grunts.

He eyes his brother, watching the mop of red, curly hair try and disappear around the corner. Despite that, Lambert is loud enough for him to keep track of, even when the door clicks closed and he’s left alone with his guest. He turns to the man. “How much did he pay you?” he rumbles.

The man tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. Scrutinising whatever words perch on the tip of his tongue. If he’s one of Viola’s, which Geralt doesn’t think is likely with the more he stares at him, he’ll hold that tongue.

Geralt sighs. “I’ll pay you twice as much to turn around and leave me alone.”

The man’s face lightens. A delighted smile suddenly stretches over his lips, and just for a moment Geralt thinks that he might be free. There aren’t many things he can’t worm out of with money.

But this doesn’t seem to be one of them. Geralt notices the man holding a drink in one hand. He brings it up to his lips, resting them against the rim. “That’s a shame. If you don’t want me to do anything, fine,” he lilts, taking a measured sip. It’s bright and shines slightly when it catches the lights. Geralt can practically taste how sweet it must be. The man hums. “But company is free. We can talk. Or sit here in silence, since you don’t seem to be the talking type.”

Geralt stares at the man. “It’s bad manners to refuse a boss’ offer.”

“It’s bad manners to come into a whore’s bar and turn him down,” he replies just as easily, tilting his head again.

Geralt isn’t unused to having people try and read him. Ever since a grubby-faced, shaggy-haired pup appeared at Vesemir’s side one day, he’s had eyes watch and regard him. He’s learned how to shake them all off; to keep himself measured and in control, unreadable. Even when his temper flares, he can keep it to himself. He’s used to people trying to burrow under his skin.

But this man, with eyes the colour of oceans and a smile as bright as the sun, burns right through his skin and reaches into his muscles and bones. Geralt sighs. He grabs his drink and takes a mouthful, not even wincing at how the whiskey burns and stings the back of his mouth and his throat as he swallows it.

It’s suddenly not enough. He could pad over to the bar, down the whole bottle of whiskey sitting on one of the shelves. Or he could get his company to do it. He seems to know his way around a bar and its bottles.

Geralt’s jaw tightens. “Listen, you don’t want me for company,” he grounds out. It’s more words than he would normally gift anyone. Usually, if his patience starts to wear thin, or people annoy him just enough, he leaves. No reason to give any excuses. But his company is the responsibility of someone else, and if they see Geralt leaving as quickly as he plans to, words might have to be said to the man.

He has a certain soft spot in his heart for those who find their work in sex.

The man lifts his chin. “I know who you are. You don’t work here long before you start picking up names.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow. “And who is trading those names?” It’s all well and good having the right kind of people knowing your name in the boroughs; but it’s dangerous to pick up on whispers. People can be talking about you for all the wrong reasons.

“Everybody.” The man lifts a shoulder. “Everyone wants to be the White Wolf. Or in his pack.” The man’s eyes venture down. Brave things that linger on the open folds of Geralt’s shirt. His neck bobs as he swallows, taking a measured breath. He can feel his skin starting to flush from the scrutiny. “A few want to be in his bed.”

“And what about you?” Geralt’s voice rumbles out of the centre of his chest. “Do you fall into any of those groups of people?”

“I didn’t give it much thought, to be honest,” the man replies, lowering his voice to match, “until now.”

It’s almost lost to the thump of music. Even through the walls of the secluded rooms, broken off from the main bar where wandering eyes stop, it still worms into him. Before long, his heart matches the beat of the music, thumping in his chest and rattling his ribcage. Geralt swallows the last of his drink before setting his glass away. The couch underneath him is just plush enough to let him sink into it.

The moment he sits back against the couch, splaying an arm out to the side, sure fingers suddenly explore his chest. The fabric of his shirt is pulled at and scrutinised. A nice paying job means nice things. And even though he spent most of his life preferring to keep to simple clothes, Vesemir insisted on looking the part of the head of a pack. Pressed black slacks and a crisp white shirt, the top buttons always undone to reveal a portion of his chest. A simple silver chain sits around his neck, pooling in the hollow. Blue eyes investigate, spanning over everything fingers map out. “I knew you were the White Wolf the moment you walked in,” he lulls. Blue eyes glance up at Geralt’s hair. A tell-tale shade of white. “And not because of the obvious. But you hold yourself in a certain way. You want to walk a head higher than everyone, because that’s what someone taught you to do. But you want to blend into the walls, too.”

The man tilts his head, his gaze softening. “Have I caught myself a shy wolf?”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Are you a therapist?” he asks, not helping the small smile that quirks the corner of his lip. This one...this one is peculiar.

The man laughs. It’s a light thing, and the smile that stretches over his lips rounds his cheeks and crinkles his eyes. Too many strangers have batted their eyelashes and dazzled him with sweet smiles, while none of it was at all genuine. This man, though, Geralt likes. His smile lures a small one out of him, and he’d very much like to hear that laugh again.

Inquisitive fingers only get braver as they catch one of his shirt’s buttons, fidgeting with it. The man hums. Within seconds, Geralt’s lap is full.

The man moves surely, slinging his leg over Geralt’s thighs and perching himself on Geralt’s lap. Arms slowly wind around his shoulders, crossing at his nape.

Geralt’s hands go to the man’s hips, settling over the arches and feeling the soft swell of muscle underneath. He’s dressed just as well as Geralt; in a soft blue shirt that brings out the colour of his eyes, slacks that ride up and bunch around his thighs, showing off the muscle gathered there. He isn’t a small or lithe man by any means. Not in the way Viola’s people usually are. His fingers are sure in what they’re doing, as are his lips.

Geralt grunts as he’s caught in a kiss. The man dips down and the arms around Geralt’s shoulders tighten and draw him closer. The man’s lips are warm and plush and flavoured with tequila and something searingly sweet. Below it all, Geralt can taste him.

The hands on the man’s thighs tighten, with his fingers delving into any bit of muscle he can find. They eventually travel, slipping around and kneading the globes of the man’s ass. A cut-off groan is muffled against his lips. With that, hips roll and grind and the arms around his shoulders gather him closer—

There’s a firm knock at the door. It cuts through everything and almost scalds the both of them. The arms slung over his shoulders tighten, drawing Geralt closer, and the hands he has on the man’s hips firm too.

Geralt parts from those plush, reddening lips, barely swallowing down a growl. “What?” he calls out. It could be someone from the bar, it could be Lambert. Though, Lambert would just barge in and make himself known. He wouldn’t bother with doing something as polite as knocking.

He keeps his jacket in the corner of his eye. One hand parts from the man’s thigh, resting just beside his jacket, ready to draw his gun if he needs to. The man stiffens against him, probably seeing the movement too.

A woman’s voice cuts through the door. “Apologies, Mr. Rivia,” she calls in through the door. She doesn’t come in, and it’s probably from the sharpness of Geralt’s voice. That’s fine. The fact that she’s even here, taking him away from the body on top of him, annoys him to no end. But she continues on nonetheless. “None of our regulars are available. I’m afraid I don’t have anyone for you.”

The words take a moment to settle with him. He remembers Lambert palming gold into her hand, the mutterings of someone being available. He isn’t stupid. And he knows what his brother is like.

The body on top of him doesn’t even stiffen. But a small sigh is puffed against his lips. Blue eyes blink open, watching his, scrutinising. Waiting for Geralt to say something, either to him or the woman outside.

He muses over his words for a moment. Sly thing, he thinks, regarding the man on top of him.

“That’s fine,” he grunts, sitting up a bit. He moves them both, letting the man lay back slightly. The arms loosen from his shoulders, but still sling over them as if they always belonged there. And he finds himself loath to actually part with the warm body perched on him.

But the warm body isn’t meant to be there at all.

At Geralt’s quirked eyebrow, the man sighs. “I saw you come in,” he says, reaching up to brush some of Geralt’s hair back from his face. He curls it around his ear. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Geralt grunts. “You’re not one of Viola’s, are you?”

“I’m a whore, among other things,” the man corrects, but he muses over his words for a moment. Whatever he says next could earn him a death sentence. When he’s decided on what he’s going to say, his hips move. A slow roll over Geralt, keeping his attention. As if Geralt could focus on anything else but the enigma on top of him. “But I don’t work for Viola.”

Geralt hums, lifting his chin. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself,” the man replies. The same fingers that explored his chest now skim over the ridge of his jaw, sending slight shivers through Geralt as his skin scalds. The man’s touch is too much, even now. “Though, I’m currently looking for some new business ventures.”

Geralt huffs a short laugh. People have asked things of him in the past. And he has had certain people be more forward than others. This isn’t the first time he’s been straddled and kissed and plied with gentle touches, and suddenly a business plan is placed in front of him.

But this man may be the only one Geralt hasn’t shoved off of him yet. His hands settle back on the man’s thighs, feeling a gentle tremor shiver through them.

The man perched on Geralt’s lap straightens, pulling himself just out of kissing range. Brave little thing, Geralt things. “I heard a rumour that you’re looking for a new hitman,” the man lulls, letting his arms fall from Geralt’s shoulders. Sure hands map down his chest, lingering slightly over every swell of muscle they can find.

Geralt blinks. Letho’s death isn’t public knowledge. His own people haven’t been told yet, just because Geralt can’t be bothered dealing with the fallout just yet. He needs to gather everything he has, resource-wise, just because the Vipers might not be too pleased one of their own has fallen. He’s been keeping an eye on Lambert. One more outburst and Geralt will have run out of rivers to dump bodies in.

The man’s dexterous fingers linger on the buttons of Geralt’s shirt. He plucks one open, revealing more of his chest. It stops there, though. Geralt wonders vaguely if the man can feel how his heart hammers in his chest. He’s caught. And he could very easily shove the man off and go home. But this man knows about a vacancy in his house. How he knows about Letho’s death, that’s another matter.

For now, the man has his attention.

The man tilts his head. “I want to be a member of your house,” he murmurs, his gaze flickering up to meet Geralt’s. “I’m done with working by myself.”

Having the man within his house would keep him close. Wolves could keep their eyes on him; and tear him apart if he became too brave. Geralt hums, musing. “You know your way around a gun, I suppose?” Even though he doesn’t work for the woman, he knows that Viola teaches those on her payroll how to use one and a blade, if it ever calls for it.

The man nods. “I’ve known how to kill someone longer than how to pleasure them,” he counters.

Geralt’s chest tightens. He lifts his chin. “What’s your name?” he rasps.

“Jaskier,” the man replies.

A single name shouldn’t mean much, but when it’s Jaskier—

A slow smile slowly curls along Geralt’s lips. Of course. “The same Jaskier who dealt with one of my irritating problems in Cidaris?”

Jaskier laughs. The same laugh Geralt wants to hear more of. “I didn’t know that you considered Valdo Marx an irritating problem, but he was certainly irritating to me, and causing problems.”

“Well, I guess I owe you a thank you.” Without the pompous bastard strutting around like a peacock, making far too much noise about anything and everything, Geralt’s men can work a lot easier within the streets without being bothered by a man who’s far too brave for his own good.

Jaskier hums. His fingers pluck at the buttons of Geralt’s shirt, seemingly struggling between undoing them and revealing more of his chest, or leaving them be. Geralt hopes for the former. “I can think of a few ways to repay me,” Jaskier lulls. Those fingers venture further down, deftly catching and undoing Geralt’s belt.

At the clink of the buckle, a low moan slips out of Geralt’s throat. He reaches up, catching Jaskier’s chin between his fingers. “Careful, little lark,” he rumbles, delighting in how the man’s eyes shimmer. His attention is solely Geralt’s, already wrapped around him. The voice that rumbles out of him is deep and rasping. “Wolves are dangerous.”

A shiver shakes up Jaskier’s spine. “Good,” he replies, dipping down to lure a kiss out of Geralt. He hums against his lips, breath hitching when Geralt snags his bottom lip in his teeth and tugs.

A clever and sure hand slips down the front of his pants, reaching into his briefs and curling around his cock. He’s already half-hard. The man peaked his interests. Fingers coil around it, slowly pumping up and down. Geralt’s breath catches in his throat when Jaskier twists his hand around his head, gathering a bead of precum in his palm to slick his way back down. It’s dry, but the pressure and coil of the man’s fingers around him is just enough to keep his interest. And the squirming thing in his lap, plying him with kisses and luring words, has him very interested.

Geralt slides his hands into Jaskier’s pants, kneading the globes of his ass and rolling their hips together. A thrum of pleasure rumbles through him. A lithe groan slips out of the other man.

He pauses when he feels metal.

Geralt quirks an eyebrow.

Jaskier, for the first time all night, actually blushes. Though, he smiles his way through it. He pushes his hips back against Geralt’s hands, wanting them to keep going in their explorations. He’s a hopeful thing, if he expected Geralt to say yes. Or an incredibly self-assured one. Geralt isn’t sure which one he’d appreciate more.

Geralt’s finger traces around the man’s rim, following the edges of what he can only expect is a plug. He leans up, plucking a gentle kiss from Jaskier’s lips. “Stretched out already?” he hums, lounging in the way his lips tingle after kissing Jaskier’s.

The man doesn’t answer. It could be the blush that’s warming his cheeks giving him all the answers he needs, but Geralt delights in any sounds he manages to lure out of the man. He grabs the end of the plug and tugs it gently. The body on top of him shivers.

He sets up a gentle rhythm, delving the plug in and out of Jaskier’s hole. He can feel how wet the man is, and the images that flash in front of Geralt almost catch his breath. He might have spotted Geralt coming into the bar, or known that he would have come this way. To be as bold as to assure himself of a night with the White Wolf, to go into a bathroom stall or the back rooms of the bar, lube and plug in hand, readying himself.

Geralt’s growl rumbles through his chest. “Has anyone else had you today?”

Jaskier’s mouth falls open, a moan slipping out. “No,” he manages to breathe.

Geralt nips at his jaw. “Good,” he mutters against the skin. “Because you belong to me now.”

Jaskier’s moan is a gorgeous thing, just as beautiful as his laugh.

He isn’t a possessive person. He sees other masters of their guilds hoard people in their beds, and while these people walk around the boroughs draped in silks and gold, people know who they belong to and wouldn’t dare look in their direction, let alone touch them. He’s never been like that. Those who have fallen into his bed have had their time and have gone with the changing wind.

And then there’s Jaskier, who he’s known for all of thirty minutes now, and he wants to keep him forever. He slowly works the plug in and out of Jaskier, languishing in every small choked-off sound that he wrings out of the man. Eventually, the man’s hand tightens around his cock. If he can tease him, then Jaskier can tease right back.

Geralt sets his teeth to the ridge of Jaskier’s jaw, slowly working the plug out of the man’s hole. There’s a broken attempt at Geralt’s name, followed by a high-pitched whine when the plug slips out of him. As soon as it’s gone, and Geralt sets it on to the couch to be forgotten about, he delves in with two fingers.

Jaskier did a good job of stretching himself, but he still tightens and clamps around Geralt’s fingers. He curls just enough to search out that spot inside of the man, and when he brushes it with the pads of his fingers, one of Jaskier’s arms coils around his shoulders and hauls them flush against each other. “Geralt,” he breathes.

The heat around him is hot and warm and wet. Geralt’s tongue sits heavy in his mouth at the thought of burying himself into it. His cock twitches in Jaskier’s hand. He nips at Jaskier’s jaw. “Get us both ready,” he rumbles.

Hand scramble and pull off what they can. He’s desperate, Geralt can tell that. And he is too. The more time Jaskier spends squirming in his lap, bunching their slacks down as far as he’s able too before perching back on his lap, the more fidgety he becomes. When Jaskier is close enough, he winds a firm arm around the man’s waist and holds him in place.

It shouldn’t sear his blood as much as it does. He’s lost count of the number of people falling in and out of his bed. Some appear more often than most, while others are gone by the time the sun decides to peer over the horizon. But this one...

Geralt reaches down, guiding the man’s hand on his cock. It’s tight and quick, and if he’s not careful then this will all be over with too soon. Jaskier’s hand eventually falls away. He squirms on Geralt’s lap, trying to roll back on to the other man. The noises that slip out of him Geralt will commit to memory. If he’s as serious about this new proposition as he thinks he is, Geralt will be hearing those noises for many nights to come.

He sets the head of his cock against the man’s hole. A small chuckle escapes him as Jaskier whines and tries to roll his hips back. Geralt tights his old on him. “I’ll give you everything, darling,” he rumbles, delighting in the shiver that shakes through the man’s body. He sets his lips to the ridge of Jaskier’s jaw, hints of teeth scraping, as he slowly pushes himself into the man.

He struggles to keep his breath. Jaskier might have stretched himself out, and Geralt might have played with him for as long as he could have, but the heat that surrounds him is hot and tight and already lures depraved sounds out of him. Jaskier’s moan is choked and stuttering as he lets his hips fall flush against Geralt.

He’s perfect. Geralt moans against Jaskier’s jaw. Short puffs of hot breath ghost the man’s ear, making him shiver and tremble against him.

Jaskier’s arms coil around his shoulders, tightening their hold on him and bringing him closer. “Fuck me,” he sighs, half into the air above them. He lets himself feel Geralt for a moment. He’s big, and there isn’t a lot of space inside of Jaskier that he isn’t flush against. Every twitch of his hips has the tip of the man’s cock brushing his prostate. And this could all be over too soon.

Geralt has his hips trapped. He might allow the small quivers and rolls of movement, but he can’t lift himself. The hands around him tighten and fingers dig into the arches of his hips. Jaskier whines against Geralt’s lips. It’s too much and not enough. His cock leaks between them, the first few drops of precum already beading around his tip. He needs a hand on it. Or the man below him needs to move. Or something.

The man laughs, mostly to himself. It’s a rumbling thing that comes from the depths of his chest. Geralt leans back against the couch. His hands don’t part with Jaskier’s hips, but his hold loosens, just a touch. Lain out in front of him, Jaskier’s eyes wander over any stretch of bared skin he can find. “Come on, little songbird,” Geralt rumbles. “Take what you want.”

Jaskier’s moan is the only thing he can hear. The thump of music worming in through the walls, the shitty fluorescent lighting overhead, the hum of alcohol buzzing in his veins. It all slips away the moment the man’s hips roll and lift and fuck down on to him. Jaskier’s breath hitches and his eyelids droop. There’s a struggle in him. To close his eyes and lean back, languishing in how Geralt feels inside of him. Or to watch the man underneath him, make those golden eyes meet his and see what he’s doing to him.

Geralt bites the edge of his tongue. The same war starts to unfurl within his own mind.

His hands do nothing more than guide. Jaskier’s thighs work and warm as he lifts himself up and down, slowly riding Geralt. The heat around him tightens and quivers. One of Geralt’s hand slips down to his thigh, feeling the muscle work. He pets skin and mumbles sweet, worshipping words. “That’s it,” he tries to steady his own voice. “Look at you, little bird. Taking my cock so well. You were made to be there, hmm?”

Jaskier’s eyelids flutter closed as a moan slips out of him. One of his hands moves, curling into the hair at the back of Geralt’s head. He grunts as the man’s hold on him tightens. He might be enjoying himself, but he isn’t as naive to lose himself completely. Surely he must know what kind of effect he’s having on the man beneath him.

And he does – if the smirk curling along his lips is anything to by. Geralt tries to keep his breath. In and out. Settle.

Jaskier leans down, setting his forehead against Geralt’s. Their noses brush and warm air is shared between them. The smirk doesn’t budge. “Do you say that to all of your whores?”

Geralt pushes back. They’re close. The man’s lips are just there. He could lift his chin and steal a kiss. And he’s sure the other man is betting on it. His lips are plump and bitten already, luring him closer. “No,” he hums. “Though my hitmen tend to have excellent bed-manners.”

A laugh lilts out of the man. That’s it settled then. Jaskier works for him. And if he has his way – and if the other man is amenable – he’ll litter marks all over Jaskier’s skin so people get the message. Having a bird-like Jaskier perched on his shoulder, ready to go and hunt those undesirables he has out in the other boroughs, it tightens the coil in his core.

His hips lift and fuck up into him. He meets Jaskier thrust for thrust, and it lures the most divine of noises out of him. The smirk slips off of his lips as they stretch around moans and half-formed attempts at Geralt’s name.

Sweat starts to bead on both of them. Eventually, Jaskier’s thighs warm and give out, and he’s moved along with each of Geralt’s thrusts. He sags against the man’s chest, tightening the hold he has around his shoulders. “Fuck me,” he breathes against Geralt’s ear. “I want to feel you for days.”

He grabs the backs of Jaskier’s thighs and stands. The man’s arms tighten around his shoulders as he’s lifted and carried and eventually set down along the length of the couch. With the firm cushions underneath him, he rolls his head back. Blearily blue eyes watch Geralt; hovering above him and setting a hand next to his head.

His hips roll, driving himself deeper and deeper into the body below him. Jaskier’s breath thins and his whines grow higher and wisp. Every thrust fucks out one more sound Geralt can’t get enough of. He wants to hear more. He wants his name falling from the man’s bitten, plump lips. He wants to see what those hands can do; in his bed and for him out on assignments.

The people he hates most in life won’t know what hit them when he lets the songbird out of its cage.

Well-toned legs move, hooking around Geralt’s waist. Feet cross and heels dig into the small of his back. “Come on then, White Wolf,” Jaskier lulls, stretching his arms up and over his head. “Thank me properly.”

Geralt grabs his hips in a sure grip. Even through the shitty lighting, he can see the beginnings of marks form. He’ll leave more, when there’s time. When he has his little bird at home and in his bed, he’ll mark every stretch of skin he can find. And from the way the man watches him, his lips curling into a satisfied smile, he’s sure he feels the same.

Jaskier’s moans thin as Geralt snaps his hips. He’s close. He can feel beads of sweat starting to trail down his back. He fucks into the body beneath him with all he has, chasing down the edge that he can see in the distance. Jaskier’s legs splay around him, hips opening up, inviting him to delve deeper. If he could get any deeper, he would. The heat around him trembles and tightens, and it’s so wet and hot Geralt wonders if it has truly just been him to fuck the man tonight. He’s so spread open and inviting.

One of Jaskier’s hands moves. He watches it trail down, palming over his chest for a moment before it ventures downwards. Geralt quirks an eyebrow. “Did I say you could touch yourself?”

Jaskier holds his gaze. Fiendish thing, Geralt thinks, watching a small smile curl the corner of his lip. “You can take your time with me later,” he wisps, not bothering to hide the moan that slips out of him when Geralt’s cock brushes his prostate. His hand curls around his cock and gives a slow pump. The heat around Geralt tightens. His pumps start to match Geralt’s quickening thrusts. “When I’m in your bed – fuck – you can do what you like. Your mouth, fingers, hands, cock. Whatever you like, darling. And when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll have a few less problems to deal with.”

His words rasp as he stumbles closer to the edge, but they lure the more depraved of sounds out of Geralt. His hold on the man tightens as his hips start to stutter. Jaskier lifts his chin. His breathing thins and he moans Geralt’s name better than any of Viola’s whores. “Are you close, darling? That’s it, oh gods. Fuck it into me, Geralt. Harder, good—Geralt—”

The man’s breath catches as Geralt thrusts deeply into him, his hold on him turning white-knuckled, as he comes. Bowing over the man, he catches the first splattering of cum across Jaskier’s abdomen. Geralt moans at the sight. He trembles around him, hole fluttering, as come starts to pool around his cock and spill out.

Jaskier’s chest lifts and falls, every breath heaving.

Geralt has danced with enough of Viola’s payroll to know when they’re genuine or not. And though this little songbird might not be one of hers, he’s sure that he’s been in enough beds to know how to play people to his advantage. And Geralt has been careful. This bird might be his, but he’ll keep an eye on him. Any creature can turn against their masters; especially when a better offer comes along.

But he watches the man below him, fingers slowly trailing up Geralt’s abdomen and chest, feeling his sweat-beaded skin. Hooded eyes follow where his fingers go, slowly taking him in. Even through the shitty lighting overhead, he can make out just enough of him to hum. Geralt’s breath threatens to hitch when blue eyes blink up and meet his.

He’s too soft to stay in the man. He bites down on a small whine as he slips out of him, already missing the warmth. Jaskier’s brow twitches in a small frown, but it’s gone within moments. Geralt sets a hand on the outside of the man’s thigh. “Did I hurt you?” he asks.

Jaskier blinks. “No,” he says, after a time. “No, no. Just...You were good.”

Geralt meets his gaze for a moment, holding it. He hums. “Well,” he rasps, “as you said; I can take my time with you next time.”

It lures a smile out of the little bird. Jaskier stretches out, lounging in how his muscles groan and protest the movement.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Geralt manages to gather enough energy to slip away from the couch, fixing his trousers up and around his hips and doing up his belt. Sweat starts to cool and he just about manages to clamp down on a shiver. His jacket lies nearby, tumbled to the floor after he had placed Jaskier along the length of the couch.

Geralt fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket. Numbed fingers are barely able to tap out Coën’s number. The man answers on the second ring. “Bring the car back,” Geralt grunts, glancing over to the man still stretched out on the couch. He’s brought a leg up, splaying it to the back of the couch. Geralt’s breath threatens to hitch at the sight: the man reaching down and trailing a finger around his hole, feeling wet heat slowly trail out of him.

Coën hums. “Are you alone?”

“No,” Geralt replies, lowering his voice. He leaves it at that, because he’s sure that even if he doesn’t say anything, Coën will take one look at them both in the backseat and know everything he needs to know. He can already feel colour start to warm his cheeks.

Lambert will be given a wide berth. Gods forbid if he knew that his plan for the night worked – in a way. He’s sure this isn’t what the man planned, but he’ll lord it over Geralt for weeks on end if he finds out that Geralt did in fact have a good night.

He hangs up with the knowledge that Coën will be here in moments. His ears twitch at the sound of clothes shuffling.

Jaskier pulls down his shirt, and Geralt mourns the loss of a bare chest to look at.  He’s managed to fix himself back into something more or less presentable; though his hair is distinctly out of place and a colour flushes along the heights of his cheeks. He doesn’t look much better, he guesses. He can feel wisps of hair dusting his face, fallen out of his ponytail. He should fix it, try and run his hands through his hair and fix it back into something normal. But blue eyes flicker up to his face. Jaskier smiles, reaching up to curl a stray strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear. “Ready to go?” he asks. His voice is still rasped and nothing but a gentle rumble. His hand gentles down the side of his face, trailing gooseflesh in its wake.

Geralt hums.

Jaskier’s smile is a devastating thing. He lifts his chin. A silent request.

Geralt bows, brushing a light kiss on to his lips. Jaskier moans into it, trying to chase it even as Geralt pulls away. A sure, firm arm coils around the man’s waist. “We have a lot to discuss,” he rumbles, already leading them both out of the room. No one waits outside for them. Lambert will have taken up a space at the bar, probably having lured someone into his lap. He already made his promise to Geralt to keep himself out of trouble and make his own way home. And Geralt, knowing better, knows that at least one of those things is true.

Rosemary and Thyme has secret, more shielding, exits for certain patrons. Viola, catching Geralt’s eye just as he passes her, blinks at the man curled around him. Jaskier buries his laugh into Geralt’s shoulder, but winks at the woman all the same.

Coën and their car sit out in the alley. The man is still in the driver’s seat. He isn’t their driver, but often finds himself there because Lambert drives too recklessly and Eskel is never around enough. And if Geralt could drive himself, he would. But with a certain man starting to paw at him again, he clambers into the back of the car and shuts the door behind them without a word.

CHAPTER II

[justjeonday]

Remedy | jeon jeongguk

After a disappointing call from his manager, Jeongguk opens up to you about his life as an idol for the first time. No longer the happy and energetic boy you’re so used to, he lets everything out - and his words make your heart heavy with sorrow. 

— 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤; jeon jeongguk x reader

— 𝔴��𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 1,808

— 𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤; PG

— 𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢; angst, ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ, idol!au, jeongguk and reader are friends for now

— 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; none, just sad jeongguk to make your heart ache :(

— 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰; this is a repost cause I accidentally deleted the original one -.- anyway, this fic is inspired by the meaning behind jeongguk’s solo my time. This was also meant to be a scene in a longer fic I’m planning so if you like this please let me know! I’m really proud of this piece so please enjoy <3

(gif above is not mine!)

Your eyes fall down to the reflection of the city in the black abyss of water beneath you, arms laying against the cool metal railing of the bridge as Jeongguk stands beside you with his shoulder brushing against yours.

The atmosphere had been light all night until just a few minutes ago, when he got a call from his manager. He had suggested for Jeongguk to discontinue with his midnight adventures he’d been having with you, preferably before someone notices it’s him hiding under the bucket hat and black oversized jacket. Jeongguk understands the reasoning of course, knowing it’s only to keep everyone including himself safe - but still he can’t help but to be disappointed.

“What’s on your mind?” You ask as your eyes land on his figure beside you, gaze falling down to study the way he fiddles with his hands.

He sighs, looking up at the sky. “I don’t know, I’m just a little gutted I guess.”

The two of you stand there in silence for a small while, then he speaks again - his voice breaking the silence in your shared bubble.

“Doing this,” he says, gesturing with his hand between the two of you. “It brings some sort of normality to my days in a way, and when we’re out like this I just forget how crazy my life actually is, and it feels so nice to just be with you like this. It feels like I’m just Jeongguk. Not anyone or anything else, not Jeongguk who’s on stage, not the guy who’s good at everything - just me.” He has a small smile on his lips as he finishes, eyes meeting yours.

“I’m happy to know you feel that way,” You smile back.

Yet again, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence - and despite the big city you’re in it actually feels silent, peaceful.

Seoul is never really silent. Behind you on the bridge, outside the walls of your bubble, there’s still plenty of cars driving by even though dawn is slowly approaching. Groups of friends still pass you by, loud from the exciting buzz a Friday night out brings. The city never sleeps and there’s constant sound filling the atmosphere.

However with Jeongguk next to you, every noise, every person fades into the night - and left is just the two of you and the stars.

You tune back in with reality as he speaks again, his tone suddenly a little different than before. “I just get lonely sometimes… living like this.”

Your look up at him, his smile now nowhere to be seen. You watch as he lets his gaze wander over the night sky, the lights of Seoul reflecting in his eyes. His dark orbs create galaxies of their own, stars shining in them just like the celestial bodies in the dark above you. And without realizing, you’ve come to prefer stargazing into them rather than the sky.

He exhales, his parted lips making way for a shaky breath before he continues speaking. “It almost feels like I exist in a different time and space than everyone around me.” He gathers the courage to meet your own gaze, voice weak as he talks.

A feeling of concern starts growing in your chest and your heart starts to ache as you see the sorrow in his eyes, a sight you’ve never seen before. The man in front of you, whom you’ve spent almost every day with for the past month, suddenly feels foreign to you. There’s no playfulness hidden in his features, no witty comments lingering on the tip of his tongue - waiting to be said just before the two of you break into laughter. His warm, dark irises almost seem sombre to you and the dimple you’re so used to seeing next to his bunny smile is now visible in a different emotion as his lips press together into a line.

It breaks you to see him like this.

“It all happened so fast, you know?” He says along with a sigh, looking out over Han River again as his fingers curl around the railing in front of him.

You turn towards him slightly, wanting him to know he has your full attention. You admire his features as he searches for words to say, deciding not to interrupt and just let him speak his mind.

“I started working to fulfill my dreams at such a young age I missed out on so much, and even though I’ve come so far - to a place I never even imagined I could reach - there’s still traces of losses, like something’s missing in here,” he lays a hand over his heart, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he fists the fabric of his hoodie. “It’s a strange feeling to miss something you’ve never known in the first place, something you might never know. I never had the chance to do all the things other guys my age have done, like dating or spending time with friends downtown at an ungodly hour and just messing around and being a normal teenager. Even just the simplest things, boring things, like studying for an exam along with other students and going to study groups.”

You feel your heart shatter into two as you notice his eyes becoming glossy, the stars in them shining brighter before they start fading - the fuel keeping them alive slowly disappearing.

You can’t even begin to imagine what he must feel like, not knowing mundane experiences that close to everyone his age has experience - things that most people experience daily. How lonely it must get when you can’t relate to anyone around you no matter how much you might want to, and the only one who’d really understand what you’re feeling being yourself. No one to turn to who’d be able to help or give advice.

You feel your eyes starting to sting as you stand beside him, but you’re quick to blink the tears away - wanting to stay strong for him when he’s weak. Knowing Jeongguk, if you’d let a tear fall he’d immediately put you first and do everything in his power to comfort you and make you feel okay. But he needs you now, more than he ever has before.

You reach out and take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his. This makes him look down at them, a subtle smile tugging at his lips as he sniffles quietly.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful because that’s so far from what I am, the life I’m living is more than I ever dreamed of and to have met the six people who now mean so much to me, and have raised me, makes me feel so lucky.” He smiles, eyes still glossy. “And the fact I have so many people supporting me in what I love to do means more than anything. It’s all just bittersweet in a way, but I’m sure my time will come someday.”

Your gaze moves from your interlocked hands to his eyes, and only then you realize he’s crying. Worry blooms in your chest and your hand leaves his to rub over his bicep as you search for his gaze.

“Hey,” you say softly, the volume of your voice barely above a whisper.

He looks down, wanting to hide his face from you but your hands come up to cup his jaw. This makes him look up and turn towards you, a pained expression painting his features. With eyebrows scrunched and his lips quivering he shakily inhales.

The stars sparkling in his eyes just minutes ago have turned liquid, swimming in his eyes before they spill down his cheeks - leaving his eyes dull and empty, like how you imagine space would look like without its galaxies.

“Sorry,” He chokes out, eyes closing to avoid meeting yours as more tears run down his face.

“Stop, just look at me,” you say. After a few seconds of no response you proceed to wipe the wet paths on his cheeks with your thumbs before whispering, “Jeongguk, please.”

At your soft pleading voice, his eyes flutter open.

“It’s okay not to be okay,” you tell him. “It’s okay to cry.”

He nods as you wipe his tears away, only for more to fall as he bites down hard on his bottom lip - his breath erratic as he inhales.

The pad of your thumb comes up to his lips and soothingly skims over the pink of them, making him release the sore skin caught between his teeth to let you caress it softly.

The sight of him like this breaks your heart a little more for every tear that escapes down his cheeks, and all you want to do is make him feel okay. You’ll do anything.

You’d put every single star up in his sky if he asked you to.

Removing your hands from his face, you put your arms around his neck and pull him into your embrace. Before long you feel his arms around your waist, your body ending up even closer to his as he hugs you tightly.

You softly run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and you feel him relax against you at the touch, his head falling to your shoulder as he inhales and exhales deeply to calm himself down and steady his breath.

“I wish I could take it away,” You say quietly, tears yet again stinging in your eyes as you think of his words.

In all your life, you’ve never met someone like the person in your embrace. Jeongguk, in spite of his success and achievements, is the most humble person you’ve ever known. No matter where you are, or what situation the two of you have stumbled into, he never fails to be kind and polite to those he meets.

His heart is so big he apologizes for anything that might be an inconvenience to others when he hasn’t done anything wrong in the first place. Just like right now, how he felt the need to apologize for crying. You’re certain his heart is made of pure gold.

You feel him pause for a moment, trying to figure out what your words are referring to. “Take what away?” He asks, pulling away to look at you while keeping his arms around you still.

“The pain…, the loneliness.”

His eyes linger on you before he pulls you against him again, his cheek pressed against your temple.

“You being here with me is more than enough,” He says, and you sense the small smile on his lips.

You feel warmth spread through your body as you hear his words, hugging him tighter. You shiver as he leans down to rest his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath making goosebumps appear on your skin before he whispers;

“You’re my remedy.”

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 10: The Meaning of Pack

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 3318

Content warning:  Contains racial assault on an interracial (human and changeling) gay couple. Singh doesn't mention homophobia iirc in the series, so I left that possible element out because I felt that I couldn't include both adequately. I wrote Stian as submissive because I'd like to see more of them- and a dominant would've pounded the humans into paste- not because he's gay.

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the transcendent pandabearer

      “Lo’el!”  A cheerful cry pulled her from daydreams of apples crisp, tart, and bright green baked into galettes and strudels.  She turned from the pie display she was re-stocking in time to catch a tiny whirlwind in her arms.

      “Hi, Jojo.”  The girl’s deep brown skin was flushed with excitement.  Her black hair was pulled back on either side of her head, French braids running along the top, and terminated in two high bobbly buns that looked somewhat like ears.  Operating on deep-seated instincts, she hitched the girl on her hip. The warm weight of her little body tucked against her own felt right in a way she’d never experienced before and she allowed herself to take comfort in the sensation.  “What’re you doing down here?” she asked.

      The small downtown park was bustling with shoppers looking for fall produce, pumpkins, or in the case of the highly organized, holiday gifts.  It seemed like the whole town came out to enjoy one of the last open-air markets of the season before moving to a smaller indoor version for the winter.

      “Pun’kins!”  She flung her arms in the air like gourds were the best thing ever and Lorel quickly put a hand on her back to help steady the girl, but she needn’t have worried.  Jojo was a cat and had the requisite balance.

      “Are you here to get pumpkins or were you hoping I’d giving you something that looks like a pumpkin?”  As she talked, she turned to check on her newest employee, Irena, who was already competently handling the steady stream of customers.  Her predecessor, a cousin of the blonde Madison, had quit after the Incident, as Lorel was calling it, in solidarity with her relative.  Crows weren’t considered birds of prey and therefore exempt from the rules regarding predators sharing territory.

      Jojo’s eyes slid to the sugar cookies cut in the distinctive shape and decorated accordingly.  Long, angelic lashes batted beatifically up at her and she had to fight a smile even as her heart melted in the face of such cuteness.

      “Careful, if you feed them they’ll never go away.”  Angel, the unbelievably handsome man from RainFire, strolled up in Jojo’s wake.  A boy not much older than Jojo orbited him, looking like a miniature version of the man in matching jeans and a red flannel shirt.  He even had tiny coordinating work boots. The combination of gorgeous man and darling munchkin was too much for one poor bystander.  Lorel winced in sympathy when the other woman walked into a pole.

      Taking the teasing warning as permission, she gave cookies to all three of them, received unprompted thank yous, and she happily participated in the routine exchange, knowing that consistency was important for cubs.  It took her a second to correct her mental wording to the more appropriate “kids.” Hanging out with changelings was giving her bad habits.

      “No cookie for you?”  An adorable frown from Jojo.  Lorel’s poor heart couldn’t take it, she cast about for some excuse that wouldn’t plant the seeds of body image issues in a young psyche.

      “I don’t want to spoil my lunch.”  That appeared to mollify Jojo, finally taking a bite of the treat, and she jumped out of her arms.  Lorel’s heart stopped for a moment. The organ stuttered back to life when the girl landed easily and lightly on her trademark purple boots.  She and her friend wandered to investigate the blown glass suncatchers at the booth a few feet over; Angel turned to keep them in sight, his stance relaxed, but she had no doubt that he’d turn lethal in an eyeblink at the sign of any danger.

      “Did you come down for the market?” asked Lorel when she could properly breathe again.

      “The pack has a booth.”  Angel nodded his head towards what she assumed was its general location.  “Jojo had to come say hi to you, probably because she’s figured she can scam you out of cookies.”  He shot her a smile that would have made any other woman swoon, but Lorel liked her men a little rougher, less pretty and more rugged.

      “I’ll have to be careful in case she tells all her friends and they decide to gang up on me for the mother lode,” she laughed.  The ocelot, which was sedate to the point of laziness for once, laughed at the idea of being swarmed by cubs nearly as big as it was, and they’d probably love it, too.  “What do ya’ll sell?”

      “Pumpkins, mushrooms, leafy green stuff, things people have made.  You focus on local vendors?” She followed his gaze to the sign on the table that proclaimed as much.  “If you’re looking for a supplier, we have berries, too: blue, black, elder, currants... I’m sure we could cut you a deal.”

      Damn cats were worming their way into her life.

      The boy wandered back and tugged on Angel’s pant leg, who crouched to hear what he had to say.  A man across the way stared at what must have been an exquisite derriere because he spilled the sample of apple cider he was pouring for a potential customer.

      “Can we go play in the water?”  The boy twisted his body back and forth the way that kids do when they need to lay the cute on thick to get what they want.

      “I suppose it’s the quickest way to clean you cookie monsters up.  Or I could just toss you in the river.” Using his thumb, he wiped an orange crumb off the boy’s chin, who giggled at the teasing

      “Can Lo’el come, too?” asked Jojo.

      “Oh honey, I have to stay here and help Irena,” she began, gesturing at the crow who was refilling a sample plate

      Twin pairs of innocent eyes stared up at her in appeal.  Seriously, they should be considered deadly weapons and she was looking down a double barrel.  Looking to Angel for help did no good, he just tucked his hands under his armpits and shook his head with a grin.  It looked like she was on her own.

      “And who are these cuties?”  Having come over at the sound of her name, Irena eyed the trio of cats, stopping on Angel and then coming back for seconds.  Apparently, she preferred her men pretty.

      “Irena, meet troublemakers one, two, and three.  Known aliases are Jojo, Angel, and peeshwank,” Lorel pointed at each of them in turn.  She didn’t know the boy’s name, but she’d overheard Remi call him that the other night.  Sometimes having acute hearing was actually useful.

      “I’m Darin!  Only Remi calls me peeshwank,” he giggled and revealed a missing front tooth.

      “They’re trying to get me to play hooky.”  Hands on her hips, she mock scowled. None of them appeared the least bit fazed.  If anything, the kids turned the charm factor up a notch, something she wouldn’t have thought possible.

      “Go play with the cublets, I’ll be fine here.  Like you said, the breakfast crowd’s already come through so I won’t have to beat off the ravening hordes,” the traitor smiled reassuringly and made shooing motions with both hands, then leaned in close to whisper, “As long as you get me his phone number.”  The slender brunette pulled away with a wink.

      Lorel sighed in feigned resignation and held out her hands like she was about to be handcuffed.  Two soft, little hands took each of hers and dragged her into the throng of shoppers, Angel close on her heels.

      “Don’t worry, I won’t give her anything without your say so,” she said to him over her shoulder.  Bumping into someone, she had to return her attention to where she was going.

      “Thank you,” came the quiet response.

      Where the kids’ smaller size allowed them to dodge easily, she was pulled into obstacles, but she didn’t let go for fear of losing them.  The thought that they might get lost or hurt had her tightening her grip and bracing herself against the jostling.

      While she was just over five feet tall, she was far from slender and never would be, to her grandmother’s chagrin.  She was acutely conscious of her ample hips knocking into people and she did her best to make herself as small as possible.  Each bump, no matter how brief, had her ocelot snarling in irritation and it took all of her concentration to remain in control.  The crowd pressed in around her until all she could see was Darin and Jojo in front of her. Her palms grew clammy, but the kids didn’t seem to mind.  A dull roar filled her ears, allowing only the loudest sounds through, and those were sharp and intense. Throat tightening, she fought for each breath.

      The ocelot pressed hard against its cage, sandwiching her between it and the pressure of the crowd.  How she managed to arrive at the splash pad, even though it was only fifty meters away, without going clawed, she had no idea.  More than anything, she was glad that her tiny guides didn’t have so much as a scratch on them. Angel probably would have torn her to pieces for harming them.  And she’d let him.

      The kids stripped down to swimsuits underneath their clothing.  Darin was so eager he forgot to unbutton his flannel shirt and ended up stuck with it around his nose.

      “Help!” he pleaded, turning to Lorel, his arms above his head and his face obscured by red-plaid.

      Moving automatically despite the strange sensation of not feeling fully present in her body, she crouched and carefully helped free the boy.  Once released, he beamed and wrapped his soft arms around her neck. She froze with one hand tentatively curving around his back. A wet kiss against her cheek and he was off to run through the water spraying from colourful flowers sculpted from metal.  Some of his packmates were already there and greeted him with shrieks of welcome, their happiness no longer piercing to her senses.

      A large, warm hand settled on her shoulder.  It felt strange and soothing all at once and she couldn’t bring herself to shrug it off.  Angel helped her to her feet and opened his arms wide in an offer of a hug.

      The leopards were so relaxed and comfortable with one another, sharing platonic hugs and kisses, casually holding hands.  It hurt to look at them like they were a blazing fire and she was stuck out in the cold darkness, looking in. And now one was extending that comfort to her.

      Although she wasn’t raised to accept casual physical contact, even platonically, from men, she stepped into his arms.  It was like a long, cool drink of water after working for hours in the hot sun without a break. The sudden absence of a deep-seated pain she’d learned to deal with long ago made her nearly sag in relief.

      This had nothing to do sex.  She didn’t feel any attraction either to or from him, yet she needed the chaste affection and she soaked it up as long as he would allow her.

       “We aren’t meant to be alone.  Sure, some of us are more solitary than others, but we’re not meant to be cut off from our kind entirely.  I can’t think of a worse life for a changeling.” He rubbed large circles on her back and she fought back a purr.

      “Maybe it’s a nature vs. nurture thing.  If you’re raised in a pack, of course you wouldn’t do well on your own.”  Even she didn’t believe her own words.

      “And how do you know you won’t be better off in a pack?”

      A knot of packmates moved out of Remi’s way as he burst into the emergency room.  The triage nurse took one look, recognized him, and hit the button that unlocked the security door that led into the depths of the department.  The door shut behind him with a metallic click as he strode down the sterile, off-white hallway to where Theo stood guard outside of a cubicle.

      A lean blonde man lay on a narrow bed, his normally bronzed skin was ashen and spattered with carmine.  Catching sight of Remi in the doorway, he gave a crooked smile around a split in his lip and raised his hand in greeting.

      “What the fuck happened?” Remi growled at the sentinel.  The bad-tempered demand earned him a sharp look of reproach from Finn as he worked on the injured male in the treatment room; the wounded non-dominant didn’t need any more stress, least of all from his fucking alpha.

      It seemed like his vocal chords were stuck in a semi-shift for the past two weeks and everything came out a snarl.  That was part of the reason why he’d been running along the eastern border, channelling excess energy and inspecting the new security precautions, instead of sleeping.  

      Taking a deep, calming breath, he forced his voice into a more normal register.  “What happened?” There, that sounded a little less like he was about to go on a murderous rampage.

      “Stian and Leandro were leaving Acapella when they got jumped.”  The lounge was popular with most segments of the population, even the psy who were exploring life outside of the emotionless discipline of Silence.  While the telepathic race couldn’t drink since alcohol wreaked havoc on their abilities, Acapella was known for their extensive mocktail menu. The trendy venue was hardly known for drunken brawls.  As far as Remi knew, the most violent incident that had occurred there was a spat two years before between a couple of drag queens over stealing someone’s routine.

      “There were four or five human guys.”  All RainFire members were trained in at least basic hand-to-hand combat.  Five human men shouldn’t have been able to take a leopard, even a non-dominant.  And Leandro, while human and untrained, was bigger than Stian.

      “First one jumped out of the alley and hit him in the face with a baseball bat, breaking his nose.  The wind was blowing the wrong way for him to catch a scent.” Claws pricked at Remi’s fingertips, the urge to hunt boiling to the surface.  

      “This was planned.”  That time he didn’t bother to keep the cat out of his voice.  “A group of drunks looking for a fight don’t use tactics designed to circumvent our sense of smell.”

      “And they weren’t playing baseball at one in the morning, either,” agreed Theo.  The man who was gentle with their most vulnerable and loved to play with the cubs was gone; only the lethal predator remained.  A passing nurse started to admire him until they caught the dangerous aura he emanated, then quickly scuttled past even though his eyes hadn’t even flashed cat.  The hindbrain of every creature knew how to recognize a predator no matter what skin they wore. “They took him down while he was stunned. One kicked him, possibly with steel-toes, while the other used the bat, and the rest went after Leandro.”

      “Leandro, he ok?”  The human male wasn’t one of his, but he was important to Stian.  Finn did something that eased the grimace on Stian’s wan face and Remi’s urge to kill something eased down a tick.

      “A little beat up, but he’s ok.”  Theo blew out a breath and scrubbed an eyebrow with a thumbnail, then his quiet bass dropped to barely a whisper too quiet for Stian to hear.  “You know his family wasn’t thrilled he was dating a changeling? This was too much on top of that, apparently.”

      Remi turned the air blue.  “Any witnesses?”

      “No descriptions, either,” Theo shook his head.  “Dark, non-descriptive clothing and hoodies obscured their faces on CCTV footage.”

      More cursing.

      “Thanks.”  He clapped the sentinel on the shoulder.  “We’ll talk later, this shit ain’t your fault.  Go, be with the others before they storm the place for an update.”

      “It’s not your fault either.”  He fixed Remi with a firm look and then strode down the hallway, pressed the button that released the door for those exiting, and went to give an update to the waiting packmates.

      Maybe not, but he could’ve at least fucking been there when Enforcement was getting his statement instead of brooding in the woods in the middle of the night like a fucking wolf.  Next thing he knew, he’d be howling at the goddamn moon.

      Cell reception could be spotty in the mountains, texts were the best method of communication once he was within range.  Theo’s message had come in when he was on his way back, which meant Remi made it to the hospital soon after Stian’s statement had been taken.  The distance, the adrenaline, and the fact that there wasn’t a bloodbond between the two of them combined meant Remi hadn’t felt the assault. Although he definitely felt it when Finn pulled energy from him to heal the worst of Stian’s wounds.

      An alpha was supposed to be there for everyone in his pack.

      Comforting others didn’t come easily to him; it was difficult to give something he didn’t have much experience receiving.  With the cubs it was easy since they were easy to love and care for, the same way he’d been loved and petted when his mother was still alive.  Steeling himself, Remi rapped on the door frame of the cubicle as he entered.

      “How ya feeling?” he placed a hand on Stian’s shoulder, grounding him with the touch of pack, of his alpha, while Finn continued stitching up a cut on the other man’s side.

      “Like hell.”  A faint smile that didn’t disturb the deep purpling bruises that mottled his face.

      “You look like it.”  Yeah, it was definite: when it came to compassion, he definitely was the worst.  “But you’ll be back to your pretty surfer boy looks in no time.”

      Snorting, Stian scratched at his close-trimmed beard where a patch of dried blood stained the blonde hair rust red.  Pale, almost colourless, eyes dropped to the blanket tucked around him.

      “I’m sorry about Leandro.”

      “Yeah, well, other fish in the sea,” he shrugged, then winced when his body protested the movement.  “I can’t really blame him, the garbage they were spewing…” He shook his head. “Those assholes called him an ‘animal fucker’ and ‘race traitor’ like it’s 1982 and not 2082!  But I can blame him for breaking up with me in a text message.”

      Remi placed his other hand over the male’s, which was fisted in the blanket; small nicks, scrapes, and more bruises from defending himself marked his lightly tanned skin.

      “I can’t even tell you what they looked or smelled like.  I’m s-sorry.” Big fat tears that he’d been holding back spilled over to roll down his face and soak into his beard. The salt in his split lip had to hurt like a sonuvabitch, yet he didn’t wince.  “T-they were wearing d-dark hoodies.”

      “Hey, look at me.”  Keeping his tone gentle, Remi moved his hand from Stian’s shoulder to the side of his neck.  Those icy blue eyes filled with anguish turned to him. “They used tactics to avoid identification, they were prepared.  You survived, that’s all you had to do.”

      “I c-couldn’t protect him.”

      “That bastard didn’t deserve it anyway.”  A laugh that was part sob. “At least, tell me they messed up his face, too.  Lark’s coming to keep you company. I told Angel to stay home, having him around right now would be adding insult to injury.”  More shaky laughter in nervous relief.

      “Whatever you need, you ask for it, ya hear me?”  Remi clasped Stian in a careful hug and wondered how he was going to hunt down the fuckers who’d done this.  He fucking hated feeling helpless, especially when one of his people were hurt, but he could do nothing less because otherwise that meant he couldn’t protect his own.

      And an alpha who couldn’t protect was no alpha at all.

[dougrobyngoold]

March Madness - Tucson, AZ

The above picture was taken from one of the cafeterias at University Hospital in Tucson, where I had breakfast while Doug was in surgery.  I think the surgery lasted a couple of hours, the surgeon talked to me after the surgery - all went well and the atrial fibrillation should stop.  After a one-night stay, Doug was sent on his way.  We were grateful to have the surgery over with and to be on the road to recovery.  Activities were limited for a week, then Doug was free to resume normal activities.  Onward we go!

A week after his surgery, Doug was back on the golf course, awesome!

HOWE TIME FLIES

About 10 days after Doug’s surgery, our friends Art and Donna Howe came to visit us.  It was their first time in Tucson, so we planned a whirlwind tour to give them a little taste of desert living.  

On their first day in town, we headed south to the Titan Missile Museum, we managed to arrive in time to sign up for a tour (they fill up fast!)  We have been on the tour three times now, we still love it.  I would recommend a visit when you are in the area, it is just off I-19, about a 30 minute drive from downtown Tucson.  After the museum, we drove further south to Tubac.  We wandered around town, taking in a few of the artisan shops and some of the local artwork:

One of multiple painted javelinas in the village of Tubac.

Donna made a new friend in Tubac.

After a lunch stop at one of the local restaurants, we meandered back through the village for a little more exploring.  Getting our fill of Tubac, we continued southward to the Santa Cruz Spice Company.  We did a little spice shopping and then made our final stop of the day at the Tumacacori National Historic Park.  It was a gorgeous spring day, which made for some fantastic photo ops at the mission.

Look at those spring flowers and the magnificent sky!

We stopped at the tortilla and beans stand inside the park - yummy!

Crystal-clear day, the Santa Rita Mountains in the distance.

The craftsmanship on the buildings is amazing.

This moth was on one of the sidewalks at the mission, such pretty markings!

What a fun-filled day!  We headed back to our trailer for dinner and games.  More adventures planned for tomorrow!

We filled the morning of the second day with a trip to Barrio Bread, a short walk along Pantano Wash, and then lunch on our patio.  We went out to Saguaro National Park East to show them a crested saguaro on the Loma Verde Trail and for a sunset from Javelina Rocks.  We ended the day with a trip to El Molinito for take-out and then went to the Arizona Beer House to enjoy our food and a few brews.

Day 3 - we headed to downtown Tucson.  We walked along the Turquoise Trail, checking out the history of the area.  We enjoyed adult beverages at The Congress Hotel Bloody Mary Bar and even found some ice cream for Art!  We ended the day at the trailer, perfect weather for outdoor entertaining!

Day 4 - after a breakfast of sausage gravy & biscuits (vegan-style), we went to the range to whack a few golf balls around.  We love the driving range at Fred Enke - the view of the Catalina Mountains is wonderful!

After golf, we made our way out to the Desert Museum.  At this point, we were experiencing a mild shut-down and a few restrictions due to Covid-related concerns.  A few of the exhibits at the Museum were closed and they were not doing the Raptor shows.  However, we ran into a family on our way into the museum and they gave us 4 free passes.  We had a great time wandering around the museum, it is always beautiful out there.

Brittle brush was blooming and the views to the west were spectacular!

Caught the javelinas during naptime.

March is usually a great time to visit the museum, the temperatures aren’t too hot and the cactus are starting to bloom.  We were not disappointed:

We completed our exploration of the Desert Museum and made the long drive back to our place.  Happy hour, dinner, and then more games wrapped up our final night with the Howes.  We are so happy that they finally came for a visit, we hope they will make it an annual thing!

Thanks for coming to see us!

COVID INTERRUPTUS

The week following our friends visit things became more serious around the Covid virus.  Restaurants and indoor spaces were closed down and we were forced to limit our activities with friends here in the park.  Luckily, outdoor activities were a good option for us - we took lots of walks and bike rides.  The weather was gorgeous and the flowers were blooming.

Pretty blooms along Pantano Wash during one of my many walks.

More desert colors!

Some evenings the sky just explodes around here, we feel pretty lucky to be in a place where we can be outside enjoying nature most of the time.

Photos from our 15 mile walk along Pantano Wash - the weather was cool, but we didn’t get wet, just a little wind-blown!

A nice rattler I came across on a bike ride up Harrison Greenway - yikes!

I was very grateful for my new e-bike, lots of great rides along the bike path here in town.  Kept me from going stir crazy!

TANQUE VERDE RIDGE HIKE

During March Doug started training for his planned 2022 trip on the Continental Divide Trail (CDT).  The CDT runs 3100 miles from the border of Mexico to the border of Canada, staying within 50 miles of the Continental Divide along its course.  He is doing 3 consecutive days a week of 15+ miles each day with his backpack, just to see how his body holds up.  Friday and Saturday he does his miles along the Pantano River Park path, then on Sundays he does an actual hike.  I am joining him for 2 of those 3 days, my feet need a day off!  Today we hiked around 16 miles on the Tanque Verde Ridge Trail.  The hike is fairly steep and I think it is an understatement that my toes were REALLY happy to be done with the descent.  Pretty sure I am going to need a few recovery days after this hike!  In spite of the physical discomfort, it was a beautiful day in the desert and things were blooming along the ridge and Doug grilled us Beyond Meat burgers for dinner. Perfect end to the day!

REALITY HITS

By the end of March, we had come to the conclusion that our trip to Europe for this summer was going to have to be canceled.  We had reservations to fly to England on May 9th and had planned to be over there until some time in August.  Our plan had been to stay at AirBnBs, we were very disappointed to have to cancel all our plans, but Europe was closed down due to the spread of the Covid virus and things here in the United States were not looking any better.  A large portion of our Canadian friends here in the RV park had already headed north, due to recommendations from their government.  Social gatherings were frowned upon and we were doing our best to follow all of the social distancing guidelines in place.  We decided that our best option is to stay in Tucson for the time being, as many RV parks and campgrounds are closed in the U.S. at this point due to Covid.  We feel fortunate to have a place where we can wait this out.  Guess we will just have to hang around for a few more Tucson sunsets.

[theyearoftheking]

Book Forty-Nine: Black House

“Here is a true American loner, an internal vagrant, a creature of shabby rooms and cheap diners, of aimless journeys resentfully taken, a collector of wounds and injuries lovingly fingered and refingered. Here is a spy with no cause higher than himself.” 

After almost fifty books, The Talisman still stands at the top of the leader board as my favorite Steve book. It’s richly layered, full of memorable characters and horrible villains, with a satisfying conclusion. It’s the type of book fantasy and horror lovers alike are eager to escape into. 

It’s sometimes hard to embrace the sequel to a book you love so much... I mean, I can be bought, but my criteria are stringent:

Consider setting the book in Wisconsin... perhaps the beautiful, sad, remote, desolate western part of the state right along the Mississippi river.

Maybe a Dahmer reference? 

Scratch that. Instead, go with an old-school serial killer no one really talks about anymore. How about... Albert Fish? He’s pretty gross. 

On second thought, reconsider a Dahmer reference. Maybe an evil spirit that links Dahmer and Fish together? 

TONS of Dark Tower references. 

If Steve and Pete were to consider writing a follow up to The Talisman with all these elements, I might consider reading it. 

Spoiler! 

Dark House contains all this goodness, and more. 

It’s so fucking dark, y’all. I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to drive past a long-term care facility and NOT think about an old man inside wanting to eat the buttocks of small children.

Oh hey, trigger warnings for cannibalism, and violence against children. 

So, Dark House is set in fictional Coulee County, Wisconsin (not a place). But Steve and Pete (I need to start giving Peter Straub some shout outs as well) describe the western part of the state magnificently. Not too long ago I had a sales job that required me to travel the entire state, and I always loved my jaunts west. I’d park right along the Mississippi, eat my lunch and just soak up the isolation. I’d much rather make the drive to Pierce county than the Quad Cities, which my current employer is asking of me. *Silent scream for help*

Despite Coulee being fictional, the actual Wisconsin references are thick:

De Pere (where we recently found out Steve spent a few formative years)

The Brewers 

Miller Park 

Kingsland Ale- while fictional, it’s a nod to Wisconsin’s rich brewing history, and favorable climate for microbreweries

Dahmer (several times, actually)

Racine. Y’all. I have no idea what Steve’s obsession is with Racine... it comes up in multiple books. It’s really not that great. Take that from someone who spent a brief period of time working there. Honestly, my favorite thing about Racine is the authentic Thai restaurant right in downtown, Sticky Rice. If you find yourself in Racine, please go check them out... their red devil curry is amaze-balls. 

So, yes... lots of Wisconsin. Also, lots of Dark Tower:

Eye of the King

Crimson King

The Tower

Red roses

Breakers

Little Sisters 

Gunslingers and their weapons

Roland and the ka-tet

Monos! Blaine and Patricia

Chief Breaker Brautigan- who allegedly tells hilarious stories about his escapes. I miss him already. 

I have questions about how Steve convinced Pete to include so many Dark Tower elements into this book...

Steve:  “Pete, bud... I know you might have a different vision for how this book plays out. Buuut what about if we make it part of the Dark Tower universe?”

Pete: Stares for a long minute. “Um, I thought that series was dead in the water. Do we really need to use Dark House to resuscitate it?” 

Steve: “Remember the car accident? You know, the one that almost took my leg?” 

Pete *Oh fuck, he’s bringing up the car accident as a bid for sympathy, and to convince me to make this a Dark Tower book...* “Of course I remember!”

Steve: “Well, it shook some things loose. I’m about ready to finish the series. I just thought it might be fun if we make this book a lead-up to the finale” 

Pete: “It’s intriguing, but I’m not really sure it’s the direction I want to go in. I was thinking more-”

Steve: “I ALMOST DIED IN THAT ACCIDENT!” 

Pete: “Cool, Dark Tower book it is!” 

I should write fan fiction. I’ve obviously got a gift. 

Black House is told from a birds-eye narration view. Literally... there’s this fat, evil crow named Gorg flying all over town, giving us the lay of Coulee County. Bad stuff has been going on: little children have gone missing, and only a few of their bodies have turned back up mutilated and broken. 

The chief of police, Dale Gilbertson, knows he’s in over his head, and keeps trying to convince his pal, retired police detective, Jack “Hollywood” Sawyer to come consult on the case.

Jack isn’t having it. He retired young and moved to Coulee County from Los Angeles after tracking down and arresting serial killer Thorny Kinderling. The majestic beauty of western Wisconsin caught him by surprise, and he happily invested in reasonably priced (read: cheap) real estate with a view. 

Upon moving to Wisconsin, Jack befriended Dale’s blind uncle Henry Leydon; who voices several radio programs, including The Wisconsin Rat, which plays indy screamo bands and has plenty of shock-jock antics. The two hang out together, listen to jazz music, and sometimes Jack reads to Henry. Henry was able to use his elevated senses to study Jack’s speech pattern and figure out Jack’s mom was THE Lily Cavanaugh; the Queen of the B’s. 

While Jack and Henry are reading Bleak House, Charles “Burny” Burnside is wandering around the Maxton Elder Care Facility, pretending to have dementia, and dragging children into The Territories for Lord Malshun to either use as Breakers, or for Burny to snack on if they have no Breaking skills. So, Burny’s a bad dude who did some suspicious things in Chicago; but an evil spirit (the same one who invaded Albert Fish and Jeffrey Dahmer’s bodies) is what’s causing his kidnapping and cannibalistic urges. I know I say this every ten books or so, but Burny might be the worst King villain ever. I was not upset later on when his intestines were violently ripped from his body.

A sweet little boy (with strong Breaker powers) named Tyler Marshall goes missing outside the Maxton Elder Care Facility. While he was being pulled into the bushes by Gorg who kept repeating his name; his mother, Judy receives a taunting package and letter from The Fisherman, which sends her over the brink, and she’s institutionalized. 

Tyler’s disappearance really amps up the town outrage, and Jack agrees to help the police department out. He’s starting to suspect there’s some Territories nonsense going down, and he can help. 

From here, the book goes at break-neck pace and includes everything from micro-brewing bikers, a dog bite that causes one to dissolve into a foamy puddle on the couch, our old friend Speedy Parker showing up as a gunslinger, the world’s most annoying newspaper reporter, plenty of flipping between worlds via the creepy old black house hidden in the woods, and a happy(ish) ending. Honestly, there’s a warning at the end of the book, which allows you to choose your own ending. You can stop reading five pages before the end, and enjoy a happy ending where the good guys win; or you can get the real world ending. Both are satisfying... I recommend reading all the way to the end. 

So, just a few quotes for you... 

“Wolf died of a disease called America.” 

This line gutted me. I didn’t realize how much I loved Wolf as a character, until I had to read a follow-up that didn’t include him. His soul was too clean and beautiful for a fucked-up world like the one we currently live in. 

“He doesn’t like the cell phone to begin with- twenty-first-century slave bracelets, he thinks them...”

No explanation needed. 

“Why must life always demand so much and give so little? Parkus answers her question with a single word: ka.” 

Again, no explanation needed. 

Was this book as good as The Talisman? 

No. 

Did I want more? 

Absolutely.

But was I satisfied with the end?

You bet your (un-chomped on) ass.

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 33

Total Dark Tower References: 50

Book Grade: A-

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

Storm of the Century: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers: D-

Now I move onto From a Buick Eight. I’ve had an advanced reading copy since the book came out, but never had the urge to actually read it. That should tell you everything you need to know about my level of enthusiasm right now. I’m hoping it’s not a Christine 2.0. 

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights, Rebecca 

[annie-banks]

Adore You - Harry Styles (2019) // you’re wonder, under summer sky // All About That Bass – Meghan Trainor (2014) // every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top // Alone Again – Betty Who (2014) // when it rains it pours and you drown me out // Anything Could Happen – Ellie Goulding (2012) // letting darkness grow, as if we need it's palette and we need it's color // Bad Girls - M.I.A. (2012) // leaving boys behind ‘cause it’s illegal just to kill // Bitch Better Have My Money - Rihanna (2015) // your wife in the backseat of my brand new foreign car // Blank Space – Taylor Swift (2014) // darling I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream // Bloodbuzz Ohio – The National (2010) // I was carried to Ohio in a swarm of bees // Bo$$ – Fifth Harmony (2014) // boss. Michelle Obama. purse so heavy gettin' Oprah dollas // Boy Problems - Carly Rae Jepsen (2015) // I think I broke up with my boyfriend today and I don't really care // Boys - Charli XCX (2017) // I wish I had a better excuse like I had to trash the hotel lobby // Butterflies - Kacey Musgraves (2018) // I was hiding in doubt till you brought me out of my chrysalis // Call Me Maybe – Carly Rae Jepsen (2011) // before you came into my life I missed you so bad // Call Your Girlfriend – Robyn (2010) // don't you tell her how I give you something that you never even knew you missed // Canyon Moon - Harry Styles (2019) // doors yellow, broken, blue // Chandelier – Sia (2014) // I'm gonna fly like a bird through the night, feel my tears as they dry // Cherry - Harry Styles (2019) // I confess I can tell that you are at your best, I'm selfish so I'm hating it // Circles - Post Malone (2019) // we couldn't turn around, 'til we were upside down // C’mon - Panic! At the Disco and Fun. (2011) // feels like I am falling down a rabbit hole, falling for forever, wonderfully wandering alone // C’Mon – Kesha (2012) // feeling like a saber-tooth tiger sipping on a warm budweiser // Cruise (Remix) - Florida Georgia Line ft. Nelly (2012) // she was sippin' on southern and singin' Marshall Tucker, we were falling in love in the sweet heart of summer // Daddy Lessons - Beyonce ft. Dixie Chicks (2017) // it’s your song // Dark Fantasy – Kanye West (2010) // too many Urkels on your team, that's why your wins low // Death of a Bachelor - Panic! At the Disco (2016) // the lace in your dress tingles my neck, how do I live? // Demons- Sleigh Bells (2012) // They're gonna stand em up six by six by six // Diane - Cam (2017) // And all those nights that he's given to me I wish that I could give them back to you // Diane Young – Vampire Weekend (2013) // you torched a Saab like a pile of leaves // Downtown - Macklemore & Ryan Lewis ft. Eric Nally, Melle Mel, Grandmaster Caz, Kool Moe Dee (2016) // neighbors yelling at me like, you need to slow down going thirty-eight, Dan, chill the fuck out, mow your damn lawn and sit the hell down // End of the Day - One Direction (2015)// I told her that I loved her, just not sure if she heard. the roof was pretty windy and she didn't say a word, party died downstairs, had nothing left to do just me, her and the moon // Fireproof – One Direction (2015) // riding on the wind and I won't give up // ***Flawless – Beyonce ft. Nicki Minaj (2013) // mayday, mayday, earth to bitches // Follow Your Arrow - Kacey Musgraves (2013) // if you save yourself for marriage, you're a bore. if you don't save yourself for marriage, you're a whore-able person // Formation - Beyonce (2016) // always stay gracious, best revenge is your paper // Forrest Gump – Frank Ocean (2012) // my fingertips and my lips, they burn from the cigarettes // Freaks and Geeks – Childish Gambino (2011) // I have worked all winter, I will not fail summer, in the back of the bush, like Gavin Rossdale's drummer // Gay Pirates - Cosmo Jarvis (2011) // and I hope they didn't tie up your hands as tight as mine. I'll see you on the bed of this blue ocean, babe, sometime // Get Lucky – Daft Punk ft. Pharrell Williams (2013) // the present has no ribbon, your gift keeps on giving // Glory - Bastille (2016) // and then you put your hand in mine and pulled me back from things divine, stop looking up for heaven, waiting to be buried // Good Grief - Bastille (2016) // caught off guard by your favourite song, I'll be dancing at a funeral, dancing at a funeral // Green Light - Lorde (2017) // I whisper things, the city sings them back to you // Grown - Little Mix (2015) // no regrets, it's a lesson learned 'cause what you think ain't my concern // Hayloft - Nickel Creek (2014) // young lovers with their legs tied up in knots // Holocene – Bon Iver (2011) // and at once I knew I was not magnificent // I Believe - Original Broadway Cast (2011) // and I believe that the Garden of Eden was in Jackson County, Missouri // I Like It - Cardi B, Bad Bunny, and J Balvin (2018) // I like those Balenciagas, the ones that look like socks // I Love It – Icona Pop ft. Charli XCX (2012) // you're from the '70s, but I'm a '90s bitch // Judas – Lady Gaga (2011) // I'm just a holy fool, oh baby he's so cruel, but I'm still in love with Judas, baby // Juice - Lizzo (2019) // I be drippin' so much sauce got a bitch lookin' like RAGÚ // Just Hold On - Steve Aoki ft. Louis Tomlinson (2016) // feels like you're standing on the edge looking at the stars and wishing you were them // Laura Palmer – Bastille (2013) // what a year and what a night, what terrifying final sights put out your beating heart // Lemonworld – The National (2010) // I gave my heart to the Army, the only sentimental thing I could think of // Love on Top – Beyonce (2011) // I can see the stars all the way from here, can't you see the glow on the window pane // Make Me Feel - Janelle Monáe (2018) // it's like I'm powerful with a little bit of tender, an emotional, sexual bender // Making the Most of the Night - Carly Rae Jepsen (2015) // baby I'm speeding and red lights, I'll run // Meet Me in the Hallway - Harry Styles (2017) // just let me know I'll be on the floor, on the floor // Menswear – The 1975 (2013) // well, who's this? going for the kiss, I'm probably gonna yosh in your mouth // Mirrors – Justin Timberlake (2013) // if you ever feel alone and the glare makes me hard to find, just know that I'm always parallel on the other side // Monster – Kanye West ft. Jay-Z, Rick Ross, Nicki Minaj, and Bon Iver (2010) // you could be the king but watch the queen conquer // The Mother We Share - Chvrches (2012) // I'm in misery but you can't see, as old as your omens // My Church - Maren Morris (2016) // I just keep the wheels rolling, radio scrolling 'til my sins wash away // N****s in Paris - Jay-Z and Kanye West (2011) // Prince William's ain't do it right if you ask me 'cause I was him, I would have married Kate and Ashley // Oh, What a World - Kacey Musgraves (2018) // did I know you once in another life? are we here just once or a billion times? // Old Town Road (Remix) - Lil Nas X ft. Billy Ray Cyrus (2019) // cowboy hat from Gucci, Wrangler on my booty // Otis – Jay-Z and Kanye West (2011) // luxury rap, the Hermes of verses, sophisticated ignorance, write my curses in cursive // Pineapple Girl - Mister Heavenly (2011) // I am besieged by the vagaries of power. I'm all alone and lonely in this tower // Primadonna – Marina and the Diamonds (2012) // I know I've got a big ego, I really don't know why it's such a big deal though // Pumped Up Kicks – Foster the People (2010) // he's got a rolled cigarette, hanging out his mouth he's a cowboy kid // Radio - Lana Del Rey (2012) // pick me up and take me like a vitamin 'cause my body's sweet like sugar venom // Raising Hell - Kesha ft. Big Freedia (2019) // hungover, heart of gold, holy mess. doin' my best, bitch, I'm blessed // Rivers and Roads - The Head and the Heart (2011) // been talking 'bout the way things change // Royals - Lorde (2013) // we don't care, we aren't caught up in your love affair // S.O.B. - Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats (2015) // I'm going to cover myself with the ashes of you and nobody's gonna give a damn // Satisfied - Original Broadway Cast (2015) // it's a dream and it's a bit of a dance, a bit of a posture, it's a bit of a stance. He's a bit of a flirt, but I'm 'a give it a chance. I asked about his fam'ly, did you see his answer? his hands started fidgeting, he looked askance? he's penniless, he's flying by the seat of his pants // Sex – The 1975 (2013) // and she said use your hands and my spare time, we've got one thing in common it's this tongue of mine // Shake It Out – Florence + the Machine (2011) // our love is pastured such a mournful sound, tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground// Shut Up and Dance - Walk the Moon (2014) // my discotheque Juliet teenage dream // Silly Love Songs - Darren Criss (2011) // how can I tell you about my loved one // Some Nights - Fun. (2012) // this is not one for the folks at home, I'm sorry to leave, mom, I had to go. who the fuck wants to die alone all dried up in the desert sun? // Someone Like You – Adele (2011) // we were born and raised in a summer haze, bound by the surprise of our glory days // Sorry - Justin Bieber (2015) // *dolphin noises* // Spaceship - Kesha (2017) // I knew from the start I don't belong in these parts. there's too much hate, there's too much hurt for this heart // Stars - Fun. (2012) // some nights I rule the world with bar lights and pretty girls, but most nights I stay straight and think about my mom // Stitches - Shawn Mendes (2015) // needle and the thread gotta get you out of my head // Sunflower, Vol. 6 - Harry Styles (2019) // *gasp* your flowers just died, plant new seeds in the melody // Super Bass - Nicki Minaj (2010) // and he ill, he real, he might gotta deal. he pop bottles and he got the right kind of build. he cold, he dope, he might sell coke. he always in the air, but he never fly coach // Take Me to Church - Hozier (2013) // I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins, and you can sharpen your knife // Thank u, Next - Ariana Grande (2018) // she taught me love, she taught me patience, how she handles pain // The Pachanelly Canon - Gentleman’s Rule (2012) // I'm getting pages out of New Jersey, from Courtney B telling me about a party up in NYC. can I make it? damn right I be on the next flight. payin cash. first class. sittin' next to Vanna White // The Wire - Haim (2013) // I just know, I know, I know, I know that you're gonna be okay anyway // Theme From “Cheers” - Titus Andronicus (2010)// I'm sick and tired of everyone in this town being so goddamn uptight, but don't you worry, I'll do all the talking when they turn on the flashing lights // Thieves – She & Him (2010) // I'm not a prophet, old love is in me. new love just seeps right in and makes me guilty // This is America - Childish Gambino (2018) // tell somebody, you go tell somebody. grandma told me, get your money, black man // Trouble - Neon Jungle (2013) // lights up let's have a toke, pour more whiskey in my coke .. Truth Hurts - Lizzo (2017) // you coulda had a bad bitch, non-committal // Uma Thurman - Fall Out Boy (2015) // and I slept in last night's clothes and tomorrow’s dreams, but they are not quite what they seem // Wetsuit – The Vaccines (2011) // with a cool, cool breeze and dirty knees, I rest on childhood memories // What a Feeling - One Direction (2015) // when the air ran out and we both started running wild, the sky fell down // Wilson - Fall Out Boy (2018) // I'll stop wearing black when they make a darker color // Wolves - One Direction (2015) // I feel the waves getting started, it's a rush inside I can't control // You Need Me, I Don’t Need You - Ed Sheeran (2011) // melody music maker, reading all the papers, they say I'm up and coming like I'm fucking in an elevator // You’re in Love With a Psycho - Kasabian (2017) // I'm like the taste of macaroni on a seafood stick

Songs that would have made the list were they on Spotify: We Can’t Stop - Bastille // I Love Clothes (Deadbeat Summer) - Childish Gambino //  G.O.O.D. Friday - Kanye West ft. Common, Pusha T, Kid Cudi, Big Sean & Charlie Wilson // Driving in Cars with Boys - Lana Del Rey // Blurred Lines - Vampire Weekend // a number of mashups (Office Musik, What Makes You Da One, Live While We Die Young, Brush Your Bittersweet Shoulders Off, We Are Complicated)

[papitocarlositothirst]

HAHAHAHA LEWIS TUESDAY IS GONNA FUCKING DECK ME ANYWAY HERE’S ANOTHER ONE

It’s funny to think that something so simple as a text message could change the course of your young, mundane life so easily, so significantly. A Pandora’s text box, if you will.

I don’t know exactly what compelled me to send that particular text message on the night in question. And to this day, I still have not been able to figure out if it was the best or worst decision I could have made in that moment.

Let’s set the scene: I had just finished a long shift at the restaurant. My feet were throbbing and were positively rank from being wedged in my dilapidating black flats all day long. I tossed my bag onto my bed and clumsily wiggled out of my little black work dress.

The great debate - Do I take a shower now? Or skip straight ahead to the pass-out stage and let personal hygiene be a tomorrow’s problem?

Deciding that I didn’t even want to make that decision yet, I lay back on my bed in my underwear and began to scroll through the infinite nothingness to which my little smart phone was the portal. My eyes blurred over, not focusing on anything in particular while my thumbs danced familiar lines through its regular evening routine.

It wasn’t long before I gave up and locked the screen, extinguishing the light burning into my tired retina. I closed my eyes for a moment and felt my phone rise and fall on my chest as I took a few deep breaths in and out.

Suddenly, as if a ghost of inspiration had swept right through me and taken temporary possession of my body, I sat up once again, revived the sleeping screen in my palm, and swiped through the sea of contacts.

One of the names stood out among the rest. LEWIS. Without giving it much thought, I typed up a simple message.

> If you were serious about getting together for drinks sometime, you should let me know.

Send.

Not anticipating anything to actually come of this little virtual game, I got up with the intention of going to the bathroom. However, before I could even reach the threshold of the hallway, I heard a soft buzz come from somewhere in the air behind.

Unexpectedly, my pulse had elevated. I picked up my phone and saw his name there, just waiting for me to reach out and touch it.

• This is me letting you know.✓

My stomach did a little somersault. It was in that moment that I realized that perhaps I liked him a little more than I had initially allowed myself to appreciate.

• When were you thinking?

His response came immediately.

• How about tonight. 9:30?✓

Now, that made me nervous. I hadn’t anticipated a response, never mind immediate plans to be made. It’s too late now though. Go big or go home, right?

•That should work. Have a place in mind?

Confession: Indecision is one of my major weaknesses. Whenever possible, I will pass the responsibility of making a choice to the other player.

•I know a place. I’ll pick you up. Address?✓

No nonsense, straight to the point, and a free ride. Perfect. With my final response sent, I put the phone down once again and looked around the room, as if waiting for someone to give me to the go ahead to get ready for this impromptu outing. “Fuck,” I said out loud. “Well, I guess I should shower now.”

As the minutes counted down, I found myself pacing around my room. I checked my phone. I looked out the window. I checked my phone. I paced some more. I put on my shoes so I had a reason to sit down. I checked my phone. I took my shoes off. I put boots on instead. My palms were sweating.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Since he hadn’t warned me with a customary arrival text, his knock startled me. I jumped violently and nearly tripped as I hurried to answer the door. I took a deep breath before palming the doorknob to reveal myself to my doubtful guest.

“Hello.” His voice was melodious without singsong. “How are you.”

A matter-of-fact statement more than an actual question.

“I’m good, thanks.” I sputtered. I’m sure it came out fine, but in that moment, I felt like I was melting into a puddle at the foot of the pedestal on which I had suddenly and inexplicably mounted him. Despite having made his acquaintance years prior, I had never noticed until then the sultry charm that radiated from him. All at once, I became a poor, foolish moth, ensnared by his hypnotic dark flame.

As I stood there face to face with this familiar stranger, I remember very clearly wondering: What kind of trouble am I gonna get into tonight?

“Shall we?”

I stepped out into the warm evening, and he offered me his cool hand. He guided me to his car, where he opened the passenger door for me, beckoning me forth into the mysterious unknown of this misadventure I was about to embark upon. The dewy grass licked at my toes. In the end, I had ditched the ankle boots in favor of sandals.

He closed the door gently behind me and I watched as he stalked around to the driver’s side. He carried himself with a subtle air of showmanship. How have I never noticed him before?

He took his place in front of the steering wheel and, right before putting his key into the ignition, he paused to look at me.

His crow-black eyes feigned an inconspicuous softness. Fully beguiled, I dropped my defenses just long enough for him to slither down into my soul. Like a hungry snake, his concentrated stare coiled around my heartstrings and swallowed me whole from the inside out.

He flashed a coy grin in my direction, and then his engine revved.

We found ourselves in a cozy booth at his favorite hole-in-the-wall martini lounge. He sat across from me in our dimly lit alcove and two cocktails - a dirty gin martini and a bourbon concoction garnished with a poached pear - magically appeared. There was a candle on the table between us that contoured his face, cutting his cheeks with dancing shadows.

The spark in his eyes matched the twirling flame. My legs were crossed tightly, nervously beneath the table, and I felt a surge of anxious heat swell between them.

After taking a sip from one of the glasses - we shared both drinks between us - he would place it aside, as if to reduce the barriers between us. Resting his forearms on the edge of the table, he folded his long fingers delicately in on themselves and looked well beyond my pupils as he spoke. The conversation was a blur, but I hung on his every word.

The dried up cocktails were replaced with two new ones, and before I knew it, those glasses were empty too.

“Let’s make a move,” he said. A command, not a suggestion.

The bartender insisted we take a shot before we leave. An herbal liqueur of sorts - bright green and rather potent. It was like freezer burn sliding down my throat. I tried my best to maintain my composure, knowing that he was paying close attention. It was harsh at first, but the discomfort eventually subsided to a curiously enjoyable chill in my chest.

To this day, I am still conditioned to believe that I genuinely love the sensation of that drink assaulting my senses. Maybe it was meant to serve as a metaphorical warning for what was to come. If so, it failed terribly.

He thanked the bartender with a firm, yet friendly handshake and ushered me towards the door.

We strolled arm in arm through the quiet downtown streets. I can assume we talked about something, but between the apprehensive buzzing in my head as well as my loins, I found myself somewhat distracted.

Our wandering led us to the river’s edge where the great iron skeleton of an old bridge - looming vestigial remains of an industrial past - stood ominously before us.

We followed the steps down to a path that ran beneath the bridge. Without a word of warning, hidden by the shadows of this imposing steel specter, he took me in his arms and pressed his lips to mine. They were soft and deliberate. I felt my entire being swoon into his.

We pulled away for a moment. Our eyes found each other in the darkness and began to adjust. The details of his face slowly appeared piece-by-piece, line-by-line in the subtle glow of the moonlight. His pointed gaze complimented the deliberate angles of his face, and his dark hair fluttered softly in the breeze around his ears and across his forehead. As his eyes drank me in, my chest tightened its grip to keep any butterflies from escaping.

His hands found their way to the small of my back and held me firmly in place. Our hips lined up and I felt his excitement rise and press into me. I moved my mouth back towards his. My kisses were hungrier than before, lips ravenously grabbing at his like a small child who was still too young to understand the point of dinner table etiquette. His tongue teased at mine in the spaces between my greedy reaches, and his vampire smile latched on to my bottom lip. It lingered there for a moment as his hand moved up the flesh of my spine beneath my shirt. I felt every drop of my blood flush to my groin.

Taking me by the hand, he led me to a natural bench of rocks and moss just off the path. He sat down and invited me to stand between his legs as our lips found each other once again in the darkness. I rested my hands on his shoulders for support and felt my fingers dig deeply into his flesh as my passion rose.

We heard some kids on bikes coming up the path. He wrapped his arms around my waist as if to conceal me from these intruders as his mouth moved away from my lips and down the length of my neck. His breath was hot and I felt hairs all over my body stand at attention. A fiery shiver, much like the one I had just swallowed at the bar, ran down my spine, and the clamor of the bicycle gang dissipated as quickly as it had arrived.

His tongue traced a line from my neck to my clavicle, leaving a snail trail of saliva in its wake, which invited the cool breeze to take part in the action. He unbuttoned my shirt and buried his face into the valley between my breasts. He then found a nipple with his tongue, which he nibbled gently before exploring in the other direction for its partner. One hand slipped in front to palm the wetness he had left behind.

An overwhelming undulation rippled through me and my head dropped back, my hair sweeping the back of his hands. I pressed my pelvis into his chest as he continued his oral investigation of my body.

Then he stopped, gently backed me up, took my hand, and guided me up the stairs.

At the top of the staircase, we found ourselves at the former entrance to the old bridge, a chain-link fence now barring entry to the road that still led to the other side. A sign warned that trespassers should dare not cross. But tonight was a night to be bold.

I took the lead and climbed several feet up to the top of the fence. With as much grace as I could muster, I stuck my landing on the other side. I took a few slow paces down the middle of the faded asphalt before I heard him begin his clanking ascent behind me.

His feet connected with the pavement. I turned around to greet him, and he moved swiftly towards me. Like magnets, opposite poles pulling together with unhesitating intention. In a lip-locked tango, we moved a few paces along the dotted line towards the center of the bridge. I then pulled away to face forward for the rest of the walk. Though I was slightly ahead of him, he wouldn’t let go of my hand. In that instant, he was in control, and I didn’t care to question his authority.

In the middle of the bridge, the sounds of the city all but faded away. We stood in that space, disconnected from reality, literally suspended in our own private corner of the universe if only for a moment.

I sat down on the pavement in front of him, leaning back onto my hands as he calmly scanned our surroundings. He then got down on his knees in front of me so that our eyes were on an equal level. Leaning in, he caressed my jawline with his hand and kissed me with a gentleness that matched the breeze skimming over us.

Wordlessly, he proposed I lay back on to the pavement behind me. As I reclined, he mirrored my movement with his own body, pressing his whole self gently on top of mine. He cupped the back of my head to soften the landing as he lowered it slowly to the ground.

He buried his face into the crook of my neck and I gazed up into the stars above us. His hand moved along the side of my body down to my hip as my hand slipped under his shirt to feel the strength of his torso.

Eyes closed, our lips blindly reached out to find each other again. I moved one hand between us to carefully unbutton his shirt while our tongues lapped voraciously at each other.

He leaned back onto his knees to remove his shirt. The amber glow of timeworn lamps above highlighted the topography of his noble body and a light spread of dark hair across his chest.

The hungry panther leered down at me about to strike. But first, he placed his shirt under my head as a sort of crude cushion. Satisfied, he unbuttoned my jeans and tugged them down, peeling them slowly off my legs.

This new level of exposure caused me to erupt with goosebumps, and again tasted the hot-cold echoes of that powerful shot. I suddenly felt shy as his eyes drank in every inch of my body, lingering on the lacy black panties he had uncovered.

He flashed a fiery smirk at me once more before diving down between my legs. Laying on his front, he leaned his head on my inner thigh as he explored the other with ginger fingertips. With two fingers, he traced the line of my groin and hovered over my vulva. I could feel the warmth of his breath on me as his fingers magically coaxed shivers out from somewhere between my shoulder blades.

Kissing gently at me over my panties, he moved up to my swollen clit. A surge of electricity forced my eyes closed when his lips finally made themselves known to my flesh. He teasingly retreated from the apex of my groin and nibbled at my inner thigh. It almost hurt, but it only made me yearn for him more.

Yearning. That’s what I felt with every fiber of my being that night. My depths yearned to meet his.

He continued his calculated teasing, kissing, stroking, biting… I became completely overwhelmed.

All at once, I pushed him off of me and rose to my knees, anchoring myself as I unbuttoned and unzipped, tugging feverishly at his jeans. He followed my lead and tore them off along with his boxers, revealing an eager erection.

I pushed him down to lay on the ground where I had just been, taking but a second to admire his strong yet vulnerable form in its nakedness. I crawled on top of his upright cock and slid it slowly inside me.

I let out a primal moan as I felt him expand the ridges of my vaginal wall. He placed his hands on my hips as I arched back in worship to the dark heavens expanding above us. I ripped aggressively at my top, pulling it overhead and adding it to his makeshift headrest.

Bowing myself over him, my forehead touched his as I slowly moved my wet lips up and down the length of his shaft. Despite the cool summer breeze swimming between us, perspiration formed like a subtle morning dew on our faces.

He growled in my ear and bit my earlobe as I brought him in even further, tapping into my impatient depths.

The pebbles on the pavement were starting to dig into my knees. I rose on to the flats of my feet and squatted over him. He looked up to watch him move in and out of view from between my legs as I consumed him anew with every thrust. With one hand on the ground to stabilize myself and the other entwined in his hair, I pulled myself closer to him.

I wanted to lose myself completely in this man. This man I hardly knew. I wanted to taste his hunger, to feel his passion, to become his pulse, his blood - the same blood engorging his voracious cock, which was thrusting vehemently ever deeper inside me.

Snarling, I bit into his shoulder. He moaned violently and flipped me over onto my back. For a fleeting second, he towered over me with angry desire while I lied spread eagle on the ground in front of him. He then plunged back into the pool of passion still flowing freely between my lips.

I felt tiny stones perforating my scalp as my nails carved love scars into his back. My moans grew in both intensity and volume as his pace gradually increased. The pulse in my clit was deafening.

He grew even more rigid inside me as his testicles pulled in close to his body. His whole form pulsated with a burgeoning energy; I felt euphoric as it seeped in through my skin.

Clinging to him as if I would fall into the earth if I let go, I felt his release. His thrusts simultaneously slowed and deepened as he succumbed to his pleasure. I reveled in the moment, feeling the energetic overflow reverberate through my own body.

Swooning a tiny death rattle, he collapsed on top of me. I held him as he breathed into me, feeling the deep swell of each respiration as it swirled to mix with the tender zephyr that had embraced us throughout our expressions of bliss.

I gazed once again into the stars above, consumed all at once by both a reverent bliss and an intoxicating sense of foreboding.

[aivaehdaevis]

The More Things Change: Ch 2

The More Things Change

by Aivaeh

Disclaimer: Familiar characters, plot elements, and settings belong to L.J. Smith, Julie Plec, and the CW. The author of this work of fanfiction has made no money from it. Summary: I have no idea how it happened, but one morning I woke up in the world of The Vampire Diaries. Which, aside from the insanity of waking up inside a television show made real, might not be so bad—if I weren't stuck in the body of vampire magnet and doppelgänger herself, Elena Gilbert. Pairing(s): OFC x Damon, OFC x Stefan, OFC x Elijah, OFC x Klaus Rating: M Warning(s): Graphic descriptions of violence on par with the show itself. References to sex and drug use. Mind control and all the issues of consent that go along with it. Character death. Master List External Links: AO3 | FF.Net | Wattpad

Chapter Two

The rest of the car ride was filled with innocuous chatter on Bonnie's end. She kept everything light, as if she feared the talk of magic and witches had summoned the crow. Most of it was gossip based. Since I knew of none of these people, I kept my responses monosyllabic when I wasn't nodding.

It wasn't far to the school from what I'd mentally dubbed as 'downtown' Mystic Falls. Less than five minutes, max. Bonnie's Prius joined a mix of cars that looked older to my eyes, but the show had started years ago. For the teens themselves, they had to be nice. I knew there was supposed to be a poorer side of town, but I wasn't seeing much evidence of it in the Mystic Falls High School parking lot.

I grabbed my bag from the backseat and met Bonnie's smile with a less than enthused one of my own. Her brows lifted. "First day of junior year."

"Yeah."

She pocketed her keys before pushing her door open. "Wonder how many committees Caroline's already signed up for."

Bonnie's droll delivery startled a laugh from me as I followed her out. Well. A soft chuckle, really. But it was genuine. "All of them?"

"Please. She's probably started a few new ones." Bonnie shook her head as she paused at the trunk and pushed it open. Her own bag appeared in her hand a moment later. She closed the trunk before slinging it over her shoulder. "And you know she's going to rope us into each and every one."

"Yep." I fell into step beside her as she continued on the topic of Caroline and her obsession with planning committees. A lot of 'remember whens' occupied her side of the conversation as we matriculated with the growing tide of students. I again smiled and nodded, but kept my sights sweeping out across the Mystic Falls High School grounds.

I noticed a lot of curious glances tossed our way, along with a few smiles and the occasional wave that Bonnie—and belatedly me—returned.

Right. Elena had been that girl before her parent's were killed and she descended into vampire drama. My hand tightened on my bag's strap. I was not that girl. I was a girl. I blended. The prototypical wallflower. Which I liked.

Before I knew it, my eyes were sketching the seams between the sidewalk, Elena's long hair sliding past my shoulders and hiding my—her—face. I tried to remind myself to keep my head up. That would be more in character. But whenever I'd catch another person looking, and then turn to talk—ugh. Sidewalk it was.

Bonnie didn't seem to notice. Or, more like, care. She carried on the conversation as if she kept up one-sided chats with her quiet friend all the time. It was probably a more recent development, though. What had Elena been writing about at the start of the series? Convincing everyone she was fine? Which meant she hadn't been doing a good job of it prior to the start of the series.

I wondered how often Bonnie had to shoulder the bulk of their friendship since Elena's accident. Hell, going by how often she'd done it on the show, way too much.

The impromptu consideration of Bonnie and Elena's friendship, and how one-sided it had seemed, occupied me all the way into the main building. It wasn't until my feet struck tile instead of concrete, and I caught a heavy glass and metal door before it could hit my face, that I zoned back into my surroundings.

From the loud cacophony of teenage voices, the banging of lockers, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum—it felt like being thrust back in time. I kept close to Bonnie as the river of students parted around her. And me, I suppose. "Where—"

"Gym." Her brows canted. "For our schedules?"

"Oh." I fixed my sights ahead. "Right. Like last year."

"Mhm. So, Ashley was driving Caroline insane. Like, she just could not get the landing. Care being Care starts to think that, maybe, she's doing it on purpose. To sabotage her chance at getting captain, you know? Which is crazy talk. Which I told her."

The trials and travails of Caroline and Bonnie at Cheerleading camp continued all the way down an absurdly long hall. We weren't the only ones. Seemed like the whole school was headed in the same direction.

Eventually we all flowed into what could only have been the prototypical high school gymnasium. Big open room with a tall ceiling and a basketball court painted onto the floor. The bleachers were folded up, pressed against the wall into a giant wooden jigsaw puzzle. Several tables had been set up under one of the basketball hoops, each seating a couple of staff members. Long paper signs were taped behind them, each one proclaiming a year and a part of the alphabet. Lines of students were stretched out in front of them.

I looked for year eleven and almost hunted for S before remembering it was supposed to be G. Unfortunately, this was where Bonnie and I would have to part. The G's were mixed in with the F's.

"Meet you at the doors?" Bonnie offered as we both wandered towards our respective tables.

"Okay." She could probably hear the relief in my voice.

We parted at the lines and I stepped up behind a tall red headed boy dressed in a polo shirt and khakis.

I fiddled with my bag strap, waiting for the line to move, when there was a slight commotion further up the line. A blonde head of hair appeared around the side, and a familiar face from my television screen lit up. "Elena! Hey!"

Holy shit. Caroline.

I couldn't help but smile back, the blonde's enthusiastic grin was so infectious. "Hi," I called, though not very loud and immediately glancing to the side to see if anyone noticed.

Of course they had. Caroline wasn't head of the cheerleading squad for nothing.

A flick of her head sent her immaculate blonde curls over a shoulder before she waved me towards her. "What are you doing?" she laughed. "Come here!"

Another glance around me revealed considerably colder looks than before. I swallowed before aiming a far thinner, close-lipped smile back. "Don't want to cut in line."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "No one cares." She aimed the most potent Bitch Look I'd ever seen at the girl behind her. "Do you care if my friend stands next to me?"

The girl, skinny and pale with a bad case of acne—which gave me an instant connection of deep empathy with her—startled. She quickly shook her head. "No."

"See?" Caroline returned, dismissing her existence. She motioned for me to join her again. "Get over here, Elena!" That tone would brook no argument.

I glanced around me, uncertain, before sidling out of place and nervously moving up. I was careful not to look at the faces of the students I passed.

Caroline pulled me into a hug the moment I was within arm's reach. "Oh my god!" she squealed. "I can't believe it. Feels like forever!" She pushed me back before I could do anything but be shifted about like a rag doll. "How are you doing? You okay?"

There was something kind of… performative about the sympathy. Then I remembered that season one Caroline was still a slave to her insecurities. The most major of which being Elena Gilbert. Great. "I'm fine."

She gave me a pursed lip look of disbelief. "Really?"

I drew in a breath and adjusted the strap of my bag, which was now threatening to fall down my arm from all the jostling. "Yep."

She gifted me another big, bright, beauty queen smile. "Great!" Her voice went slightly lower—though that wasn't saying much. "Have you seen Matt yet?"

"No."

"Wait till you do. He's so obviously pining."

Okay. Not sure what to say to that, I nodded.

"I hear he's been like that all summer."

More gossip. Great. "Oh."

"Yep." Caroline seemed disappointed I wasn't more into this tidbit of information. But, never one to admit defeat, she rebounded with another smile. It looked forced. "We missed you at cheer camp."

"Bonnie was just telling me about it."

Caroline's smile wavered. "She was?" She blinked. "What about it?"

Crap. I searched through the dazed haze that covered my mind throughout the fog of madness that had been the entirety of my day so far. "Ashley? Sabotaging you?"

Caroline's eyes narrowed to slits, her arms crossed, and she leaned into her hip. "Either that, or she's completely incompetent. I have no idea how she got on the squad in the first place." She glanced off to the side in thought. "Maybe it was a pity thing."

"Pity thing?"

"Yeah. Because of the divorce." Her voice screamed, 'duh.' She scoffed. "As if that's so special. My mom and dad divorced. You don't see me fumbling every landing." A frightening sort of intensity lit up her face. "I actually practice so I don't look like an idiot."

"Practice is good," seemed like something neutral to respond with.

"Which is why I'm concerned about you, Elena," Caroline's transformation from wrathful bitch to anxious friend happened so quick, I got whiplash. "You missed so much." She gave another doleful put. "I'm worried."

Yeah. She ought to be. Running was one thing, and I enjoyed cardio. Jumping and spinning and being all 'Rah Rah!' though? Nope. Not happening. But didn't Elena quit cheerleading? In fact, wasn't this conversation supposed to happen with Damon around? And didn't Elena meet Caroline back at school for the first time at the lockers?

While the questions settled uncomfortably in the back of my mind, the student in front of Caroline finished. "We'll talk more later," Caroline promised. At my nod, she gave a final smile and turned around, striding up to the table with more confidence then I think I've ever experienced in the entirety of my life.

I mulled over the differences between what I remembered and what had just happened until Caroline finished receiving her schedule. She gave a rippling finger wave to me as she strode off to the doors. I smiled back. Already my cheeks were starting to smart from all the faux grins I was pulling this morning.

Stepping up to the table, I discovered all I had to do was give Elena's name and they were rifling through a stack of papers. I had my hands on her class list and a padlock for a locker before I could give much thought to the change I'd already wrought. So I'd run into Caroline early and had a minor conversation about cheerleading? What did it matter?

I returned to the doors and leaned against the wall as I waited for Bonnie to get her schedule. By the time she joined me, another ten minutes had gone by. Apparently our first period class wasn't going to do much in the way of work. Which was good, since it was Trig.

Nothing like math first thing in the morning.

On the positive side of things, Bonnie was in the same class. As we compared schedules, we walked side by side through the halls and searched for our lockers. Bonnie spotted hers first and dropped off her bag. Mine was next, not that far from Bonnie's, but I chose to keep my bag with me. Call me weird, but I liked having something capable of carrying all my crap around with me.

Task complete, we were on our way to our first class when Bonnie grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop beside her. "Hold up. Who's this?"

Bonnie stared down the hall through a set of open doors into what looked like some administrative room. I doubted she meant the woman seated behind the desk, flipping through a folder of papers. More like the tall guy in the leather jacket standing in front of it. Broad shouldered. Wide stance. Brown hair. Sunglasses…

I squeezed the strap at my shoulder, hard enough that the stiff leather bent with a creak. "No idea," I lied.

"Too bad." Bonnie's ran an appraising eye from top to bottom. "He's hot."

And with his enhanced senses, he'd heard that. Uncomfortable, I watched as Stefan took off his sunglasses. The shades dangled from his fingers as he stared down into the administrator's eyes. Still as stone, she stared back several seconds before starting to move again.

Compulsion. He'd compelled her. Mind control was an actual thing that happens here. That man was an actual vampire. And not just any vampire, but a Ripper. The hair on my arms rose.

Oblivious, Bonnie added, "I'm sensing Seattle, and he plays the guitar."

She mustn't be witchy enough yet to pick up on his—aura, I suppose. If I remembered right, she'd have to touch Stefan before she felt anything off. "Not really into the grunge thing, myself," I muttered. And while vampires were fun to read and watch on the screen, standing a few feet away from one... Well. Ironically, my heart was starting to pound.

Bonnie grinned. "You're doubting me."

"Never." I mustered a wan smile.

"Jeremy, good batch, man."

The off-hand remark from a voice behind us that I didn't recognize, shouting a line that I sort of did, drew my attention. Searching over my shoulder, I found Jeremy. Apparently, he hadn't lied about the ride. He grinned somewhere into the crowd before ducking into the boy's bathroom. Frowning, I turned back around.

Right. Elena had followed her brother into the bathroom and chastised him. Tried to talk sense into him. It didn't work, because of course it wouldn't. But it was as she'd left the bathroom that she'd run straight into Stefan for the first time. Spoke to him.

Alone.

Yeah. No. That wasn't going to happen.

Bonnie was still studying Stefan's back. "Please be hot."

I shifted my bag further up my shoulder before glancing around at the other students still walking the hall. "Shouldn't we get to class?"

"In a sec."

Standing in front of a random doorway, staring at Stefan, waiting for him to turn around? Not weird at all. But I could hardly leave Bonnie. Not to mention I didn't know the way. So there I stood, awkward as hell, as the rest of the students streamed around us like we were rocks slicing apart the currents of some rushing river. "Isn't this kind of creepy?"

"Shh."

I pressed my lips together with a single, short nod. Right then. Creeping on the new guy it was.

Fortunately, it wasn't too much longer before he finished and turned around. He had his head tilted down, hooking his sunglasses to his collar. Of course, Bonnie had already started drawing in a startled breath. Even though I knew what he'd look like, that he was basically a supernatural predator, I was tempted to join her. He raised his head, putting the chiseled splendor of his face on display for all to see. Stefan Salvatore was a sigh-worthy sight to behold in person. Especially when those brooding eyes landed on me, widening slightly as his thick but perfectly groomed brows lifted.

His stare stayed pointed at me—or Elena—as he strode by. Going so far as to turn his head slightly as he passed us to keep me in his sights. I caught a hint of expensive cologne as Stefan came near enough that our sleeves almost brushed. The surreality of the moment almost sent me floating off into some mini version of astral projection. But all my nerves had woke up at his passing, anchoring me to my borrowed body as it tingled all the way to my toes. I did manage not to spin completely around, like Bonnie did, as he moved further down the hall. It was a near thing.

"Oh. My. God." Bonnie rounded back. "Worth it."

I swallowed. Why couldn't he look like a monster? "Class?"

She snapped her sights to me and stared as if I were crazy. "Your dedication to academics over ridiculously cute boys is inspiring, Elena." She shook her head. "But also? Kind of sad."

"Yeah." I shrugged, adjusting my bag's strap again. "So?"

Bonnie rolled her eyes but smiled. "If we must." Her arm threaded through mine and she tugged me back into the flow of students. "Let's go."

My mind stayed stuck on Stefan Salvatore as I followed Bonnie to the classroom, and well into the start. So did Bonnie's, if her sighs and constant wondering about the 'new hottie' was anything to go by. Unlike Bonnie, I wasn't just musing over his insanely good looks. Not entirely. I was only human, and holy shit Stefan was a beautiful monster. But he was a monster. He wasn't an early Damon, Katherine, or Klaus, but he wasn't innocent, either. There was as wall with a list of names in Chicago. Not to mention the asshole he became after Klaus got his claws into his head.

And I was stuck in the body of the girl who looked exactly like the woman who'd turned him. Worse, the Amara to his Silas. Fan-freaking-tastic.

I tried to put my mind off it. I felt pretty de-whammied by the time our introduction to Trig was over.

So of course, there he was in my next class. English.

I scurried in because it'd taken forever for me to find without Bonnie backup. He was already seated near the back—next to a very pleased Caroline. He watched me hurry towards the only vacant seat left at the very front. To be fair, everyone watched me rush in and interrupt the teacher.

I swallowed as I sat down, kept my eyes staring straight ahead at the chalkboard.

I could hear him, though. Well, I heard Caroline mostly. Hard not to. Occasionally there would be that mellow voice answering. God, how did a person sound gorgeous? It wasn't fair. Serial killer wall. Eater of bunnies. Ripper of people.

Of course, reminding myself of all his gruesome deeds wasn't exactly helping me to keep calm, either. I was a mess however I chose to look at it. Either I was another girl drooling over his stupid perfectness, or I was terrified he was going to snap and eat the whole class—though that last was foolish of me. I knew he wasn't that bad. At least, he wasn't on the show. He wouldn't be now. 'Course not.

Maybe if there had been anything interesting going on in the class I would've had an easier time keeping my mind off the vampire seated in the back. But all that happened was a lecture on the syllabus and class expectations and blah blah. The most exciting thing was when the books were passed out. I'd always enjoyed any subject having to do with reading, in high school or college. But the problem with high school lit classes is the list doesn't change. A glance and I knew I'd be re-reading a lot of 'classics,' only a few of which I liked.

Great. Stuck in this world, and with a boring stack of books to boot.

I raced out of class as soon as it was over, letting Caroline manipulate all of Stefan's attention. Also, I didn't want a repeat of being the last one in again. This time I stopped someone in the hall and asked where my next class was. After dropping my books off at my locker, which was on the way, I managed to make it to Biology with minutes to spare.

Unfortunately it was a class I shared with Tyler Lockwood.

He was never a favorite of mine on the show. From my first impression in real life, he was even more of a jerk. The entire time he talked and laughed, even blew spitballs at one of his teammates. The poor teacher didn't do anything but smile and nervously laugh along. Being a star football player and the son of the Mayor, I guess no one besides vampire hunter Ric Saltzman was interested in disciplining the kid.

I was thoroughly annoyed by the end of the class and could tell it was going to be a regular occurrence if this weird—situation—didn't end anytime soon. On the plus side, I wasn't alternatively daydreaming and fretting over Stefan Salvatore while I was fuming about Tyler Lockwood.

It wasn't until fourth period that I met up with Bonnie again in History.

I was so relieved to be sitting beside her, listening to how her classes had gone so far, that I didn't pay much attention as the other kids trickled in and sat down.

Not even when a somewhat familiar voice said, "Hey, Elena."

Bonnie's eyes widened, chin jerking towards the space behind me. Blinking, I remembered Elena was now me and swung about. Matt Donavan hovered near my desk, a strained smile on his face. "Matt. Hi."

"Been a while." He spun a pencil around his fingers. "How was your summer?"

Seeing as he thought he was talking to Elena, I had no idea. Bad, if I had to guess. Given her parents had just died. Still, I summoned another smile. It was getting easier. Ironically, it seemed I was as stuck playing the 'I'm just fine and dandy,' game as she'd been on the show. "Fine. Yours?"

"Alright." He shrugged and glanced down before lifting his sights back up to me. He obviously had something on his mind. I waited. "You still on for the Grill tonight?" When my brows scrunched together, he was quick to add, "Y'know. Everyone's usual meetup after the first day back."

"Yeah. 'Course. Wouldn't want to mess with tradition." That'd draw attention. Something I was trying very hard not to do.

His smile turned more genuine. "Cool." He cleared his throat and nodded. I nodded back, smile growing strained as I held it for a longer beat than the usual. He seemed to decide to just leave then, moving back to sit behind Bonnie. The two shared their own hellos.

Drama. I blew out a breath, slipping further down the hard back of my chair, wondering if the day could possibly get more awkward. The universe chose to answer by having Stefan Salvatore stride into the class at that moment. Naturally, like the earth pulled by the inevitable gravitation of the freaking sun, his gaze flew right to me.

I straightened back up, trying to smooth away any traces of annoyance. Just like the hallway, his stare stayed rooted to mine. I had no idea how he managed to find an empty desk, given he kept staring at me rather than looking for a place to sit. Maybe some sort of vampire sense, like listening for heartbeats or pulsating necks.

I hardly had room to judge. Even after the class started, I watched him too. I did try to keep it to don't-mind-me-just-bored-and-gazing-around-the-room peeks. Hard to do, given his gaze was constantly directed my way. But I couldn't help but look for some sign of—inhumanness. Apart from being a shade or two paler from the rest of the class, nothing stood out.

No, that wasn't true. He stood out, alright. But as far as creepy vibes? Nothing. If one could manage the herculean task of setting aside his amazing looks, he seemed normal. Apart from constantly staring at me, anyway. That was definitely off. Or, rather, the real me. I suppose someone as gorgeous as Elena wouldn't be surprised by the attention. Not that I'd never been on the receiving end myself, but not by anyone who looked like a freaking model.

Just to hammer in the point of how obvious he was being, my phone vibrated. Checking that the teacher wasn't watching, I flipped the older style case open to find a text message from Bonnie.

HAWT-E STARING U

Yeah, thanks. I'd have to be blind not to notice. Or focused on the lesson. Which, for once in an academic setting, I wasn't. Right now, I couldn't give a damn about history. Another first.

Thankfully, the class was the same welcome back here's your syllabus do your homework etcetera that the rest had been. Bonnie caught up to me after the bell signaled the end of our torture. She shared a look of girlish conspiracy as we walked out ahead of Stefan. "The whole time," she said quietly.

"Noticed."

Bonnie grinned. "Lucky."

The insane urge to burst into tearful laughter swept through me. I held it back with a non-committal hum. "Lunch?"

"Lunch."

The rest of the day was Stefan free. I don't know where he went to eat. The woods that seemed to creep around every few blocks in this town? Caroline joined Bonnie and I at the table. A few other girls, Madison and Sarah, along with a guy named Aaron, sat with us too. Which surprised me. But when I thought about it, it made sense. Elena, Bonnie, and Caroline could hardly have only each other as friends. They were just the closest and what the show must've chosen to focus on.

I couldn't get much of an impression of the other three. I gathered the girls were cheerleaders and Aaron was on the team with the other guys. I did pick up that he and Madison were a thing, which explained why he was sitting with us rather than over with Tyler's wolf pack.

Either way, I was able to sit back and let the rest of the table control the conversation. They seemed fine letting me stay quiet, joking back and forth and listening to Caroline's plans for the upcoming festival. Which I was roped into—flyer duty. I didn't fight. Some fates are simply inevitable.

The rest of my classes were a rotation of the various other characters, but no Stefan. By the time the end of the school day had crept around, I was left loading my books into my bag, a light load of assigned reading to do for tomorrow but not a lot else.

Bonnie was back, leaning up against the neighboring locker. "Sorry I can't give you a ride to the cemetery."

I paused. What? Why the hell would I—

Oh, right. Grieving girl. "It's fine." Well, hell. No way was I going to the cemetery. I could find my way back to Elena's house. Sure.

I struggled to remember where all the turns Bonnie had taken were. Main street, as I'd come to think of it as, would be easy enough to get to. I could find my way from there. Probably.

I hoped I didn't look as freaked out as I felt as I smiled at Bonnie. This must've been one of those things the two girls had arranged before. "Thanks for taking me this morning."

Bonnie gave me a look that said, 'don't even,' "'Course." She gave me a one-armed hug before straightening back up. "Say hi to your mom and dad for me."

"I will." Nope. Not going to happen because you couldn't pay me to go to a cemetery with vampires lurking around every corner. Mostly because that's where Elena first 'encounters' Damon. And runs into Stefan. While bleeding.

Yeah. No. Nope.

Bonnie and I separated with waves and promises to meet up later tonight at the Grill. I was curious where she was off to but didn't know a way to ask without making it clear I didn't already know. I had a feeling it was one of those things Elena shouldn't need to ask.

Instead, I hitched my bag up and set off for the 'main street' of Mystic Falls. If I could get to the corner where Damon had scared the crap out of us, I figured I could find my way back. After all, I knew where he and Stefan were going to be. Exactly where I wasn't.

No freaky fog or bloody knees for this girl!

Fortunately, it was a nice day out, and Mystic Falls was a beautiful town—when it wasn't being overrun with supernatural creatures. There was a ton of greenery around, even in the paved business district. Granted, it was mostly maintained greenery, but it was still lovely. Especially with the woods never further than a stone's throw away.

I found the main road easily enough. Learned it was Washington Street. Following it, I found it led right to City Hall and the infamous clock tower. The park that had been featured on quite a few early episodes was only a few blocks down. And then, there was the Grill. Its green banner flapped in the afternoon breeze. I stood for a few moments to just—soak in the wonder. I'd actually be visiting later tonight.

Of course, since I wasn't going to the cemetery, that meant I wouldn't lose Elena's journal. Stefan wouldn't have a reason to stop by. Which means he wouldn't know about the gathering and have no reason to go. That was good.

It was.

Frustrated that I didn't feel like it was entirely good, I huffed at myself and sped up, no longer so enamored with the kitschy little town. But the longer I walked, the more I wondered if I'd missed the turn Bonnie had taken.

By the time the shops were behind me with houses sprouting up to either side of the street and the ever-present woods on the horizon, I wondered if I should just go back. Visit one of the stores and ask for directions. Wasn't everybody supposed to know everybody in a town like this? 'Course, if anyone should know the way to the Gilbert's house, it would probably be someone who'd lived there her whole life. Be odd to ask. Wasn't sure if I wanted rumors of Elena spacing out or acting weird getting around.

Blowing out an annoyed breath, I pulled the phone from my pocket. A vague notion that I might find someone to give me a ride. With the occasional glance up to make sure I didn't stray off the sidewalk, I navigated my way to the contact list. Most of the names were unfamiliar. Bonnie's was the first I recognized, but obviously couldn't call. I had nearly made it through the 'E's, wondering how on earth this girl had so many numbers—just my luck to Quantum Leap into an extroverted popular cheerleader—when a, "CAW!" startled me.

I spun around, sights sweeping around the street. Perched on a nearby streetlamp was the crow from this morning. Or so I assumed. I suppose it could've been an entirely different crow but—c'mon. What were the chances? It cocked its head at me, beady eye gleaming, before it cawed again.

My heart sped up, gut clenching in dismay. Damon. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be waiting at the cemetery! I know I remembered that part of the pilot. I looked around, wondering if I'd wandered near the graveyard by accident, but there wasn't a headstone anywhere nearby. Another insistent, "CAW!" demanded my attention. Giving in, I found the damn bird watching me.

Damon—if it was Damon, and I had no reason to believe it wasn't—had to be stalking me. Elena. Whoever.

And Stefan was probably lingering around the cemetery, right where he was supposed to be.

I swallowed. Like Stefan, Damon was the real-world equivalent of a serial killer. Unlike Stefan, at the start of the series, he didn't give a damn if Elena lived or died. Nor did he share Stefan's diet that only threatened small woodland creatures. Damon reveled in his violent nature, gave in to his murderous whims. A temperamental thrill seeker who had no fear of getting caught.

I turned, noticed how thin the traffic was. I'd managed to get far enough from the business district that I'd past the last of the shops a block back. Another, "CAW!" made me jump. I drew in a breath, lips falling into a frown, before I doubled back for the shopping center behind me.

He wouldn't attack me in broad daylight, in front of a store full of people. Right?

I hurried down the sidewalk, the crow's relentless caws chasing me the whole way. It felt as if I could feel someone's stare crawling over my skin. My heart rate skyrocketed and my blood pounded in my ears. It had to make for a siren song to the vampire watching me.

A loud flutter of wings beside me had me looking down towards a bench anchored to the sidewalk. The crow had perched on an armrest and cawed up at me. I turned away, fixing my gaze back to the approaching stores.

I sped up to a near sprint and rushed into the first shop I saw.

Once I was safely past the door, I spun to peer back through it's glass display. Heart still hammering, I pressed my hand to my chest, willing it to slow down as I searched for the bird stalking me. And fuck my life for making that a thing I had to worry about now. Finding nothing outside, I gulped down a breath and stepped back around.

Hands grabbed my arms. I gasped as I found myself staring up into pale blue eyes, freezing me in place. The corners of those eyes crinkled as Damon Salvatore grinned down at me. "Whoa." He let go, holding his hands up with palms out as if to prove he was harmless. I knew better and stepped back.

How? I'd just been at the door! I'd been staring through its damn window!

I risked taking my eyes off his long enough for my gaze to dart around the rest of the store. Antiques. Lots of places to hide but... No, there. Another door at the back of the shop, drifting shut.

It had to be over a hundred feet away!

I refused to believe that it was possible anyone could move so fast. Weirdly, it was easier to accept the man could control a bird than flash across the store in the blink of an eye.

My sights snapped back on him, watching every move he made. As if I'd ever get enough warning. Futile or not, I couldn't help it. It was if some primal instinct was in control. And right now, it was screaming danger!

His head tilted, eerily reminiscent of the bird he'd been puppeting. His bangs were long—and messy—enough that a bit fell over his eye. His handsome face fixed into a mien of nonchalance that didn't quite quench the excited sparkle in eyes. Like sunlight reflecting of a frozen lake, it was almost blinding staring directly into them. All of him was as picture perfect as a winter landscape, and yet, as remote. Cold and barren.

The sensation of wrongness I'd sought earlier in Stefan I found in Damon. In spades. I felt it right in my gut, where it squirmed like a tangled ball of worms. Made me itch to find an exit. Get away. Even as he asked, "You okay?"

I wasn't alone. The shop keeper, an older man, stood behind the counter. Unaware of the danger, he sent me a polite smile before turning back to the computer sitting beside the register. The rest of the place was a claustrophobic nightmare. Display tables packed narrowly together, covered in every kind of knick-knack imaginable. It'd be a mess to try and run through. Despair threatened to squeeze the air from my lungs. He was the only other human in the place. That wasn't going to stop a vampire who could compel him to forget. Or kill us both before we even knew what was happening.

Heart thumping so hard I was surprised my ribs weren't rattling, I summoned the steadiest smile I was able to and nodded. "Yeah. Just," a drew a breath through my nose, "startled. Should have been paying attention." Like that would've helped.

The bastard's mouth curled into a playful smile. "Sorry." He didn't sound it. At all. His tall legs brought him a step closer. Fully in the center of his attention, I couldn't help feel like a mouse under the bobbing head of a snake. "You ran in here so fast, I thought you were in trouble."

I squeezed the strap on my book bag, holding the smile on my face before shaking my head. "No." I lied. "It's—I'm fine. Really."

Damon leaned to the side, pleasure slipping into those animated eyes. Too animated. Like he was exaggerating his expressions. "That's a relief." He smiled as he took another step, putting him within arm's reach. "Pretty little thing like you," the curve of his lips turned thin and wicked before he added, "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something…bad…happened."

Knowing what I did about him, I couldn't help but hear an implied threat. The corners of my already brittle smile tried to slide right down. I willed them to stay up, though it probably came off as a tad bit rictus.

He didn't seem to notice. Or, more likely, care. "I'm Damon, by the way." He held out a hand.

I didn't want to take it. Would it set him off if I didn't? Make him suspicious that I knew more than I should about him? But the moment was stretching towards too long. My mind gave off an inner scream I slipped my hand into his. He had to have noticed my palm was clammy as it met his. He didn't seem bothered by it. On the contrary, his eyes darkened.

Bothered by the implications, I focused on the softness of his skin. I'd expected him to be colder. Stiff like my grandmother's hand had been when I'd tried curling mine over it as I'd stood by her coffin. Damon's felt very alive. The muscles and bones all shifted as he gave a gentle squeeze, the borrowed blood in his veins warming his skin. "Elena."

"Elena. Hm." His eyes narrowed. "Sure you're okay, Elena?"

"Yeah." I made to pull my hand back, relieved when he didn't try to hold on. "I, um. I saw a bird." His brows flew up. I inwardly cursed him to hell. Since magic existed here, I hoped it'd work. Recalling a line from the show, I said, "It was very Hitchcock."

"A girl who can make a classic horror reference. Nice." Seeing how well known The Birds and Hitchcock were, I didn't think it was all that impressive. I couldn't decide if he was trying to flatter me, or if his opinion of teenagers—of humans in general—was that low. "If you're worried, I'd be happy to walk you home." He leaned closer, and it took everything in me not to draw away. His voice lowered as if he meant to share a secret. "I make a great scarecrow."

Oh hell no. "That's... really nice of you to offer." My bag's strap let out a tortured creak as my hand flew to it and squeezed. "But, I'm—waiting. For my aunt. She's picking me up soon."

"Mm." His smile stretched a little wider before he looked straight into my eyes and said, "But she's running late, isn't she? It'll be a while before she gets here."

I blinked, glancing around towards the window as I realized, "Jenna's probably running late, though. I don't know when she'll get here." Especially as she had no idea where I was. Or that I'd need her to pick me up.

Damon smiled. Soon as our eyes met, he was speaking again with that same intense stare, "You want me to walk you home."

Given all the dangerous things lurking around Mystic Falls, who better to keep away the monsters than a psycho vampire that had already killed several people since coming to town? "I want you to walk me home." Wait, that didn't seem right. After a moment, I added, "If you don't mind." There. Shouldn't assume things. That would be rude.

Damon's answering grin was all sunshine. Cold, wintry sunshine. "Of course not." He swept out an arm in an old fashioned, gentlemanly gesture. "After you, Miss Gilbert."

Had I told him that? No. Damon must've been stalking Elena well before this morning. He'd know where she lived, then! I smiled at him before leading him through the door.

[hahahadas]

some ramblings

I’d like to write about my relationship with food. I don’t think I’ve done this, ever. I have complained to my old therapist  about how I don’t eat enough, have talked about it with my personal trainer - how I must eat more if I want to be able to lift heavier weight. Even with my roommate, we both stand before the open refrigerator or pantry wondering, “What should I eat? Am I even hungry? I should be hungry,” her guzzling a beer and me dipping almonds into chocolate hummus and popping an Eggo waffle in the toaster, calling that dinner. It helps to know that she doesn’t have a great interest in food either. But something about me doesn’t enjoy eating large quantities. Whenever I finish the serving in one sitting at a restaurant or even at a friend’s house, I feel uncomfortably full. I have probably trained my body to subsist on less than what is healthy. I know this. But there is something I enjoy about it. I enjoy the resourcefulness of making every $12 meal I eat out last 2 meals. It makes me feel like I am stretching my dollar. I even enjoy the slight fuzziness that comes when I’ve only eaten a breakfast of yogurt, granola, and waffles and suddenly it is 2pm so I have some spring rolls and suddenly it’s 5pm and woops that fuzziness is starting to turn into dizziness. Then I know it’s time. But for some reason I enjoy it, everything seems more urgent. Every book at the library seems interesting, more interesting than going home and eating. Even when I ate the spring rolls, finishing the book I brought with me was more important. My second cup of tea fueled me until it didn’t. I don’t really know what to make of this. It happens more on the weekends - during the work week I feel I am constantly eating or looking for something to snack on to pass the hours. Maybe that makes it okay. Though ti perturbs me that when I have more time to myself I choose not to spend it on nourishing myself. It is also interesting how angry I would get at my ex boyfriend when he didn’t eat properly. Because it made him irritable and lazy. I don’t think it does that to me, however. Sure I can get grumpy but it takes a long time for that to settle in. And if I’m alone, I almost get more productive. Food becomes something subtle in the background, a fly that buzzes by my ear every now and then, that I shoo away eager to finish the book or keep browsing at the library or keep wandering the streets of downtown Portland, wanting to save my money instead of satiating a need that I don’t even feel that prominently. On Yom Kippur it is traditional to fast. I’m not saying that it is enjoyable to abstain from food/drink for 25 hours, but the sort of half-version of it I did today almost absentmindedly now reminds me of the holiday. I feel I relate to myself differently if I haven’t eaten for a while. My thoughts become quicker, more muddled, I am hit more intensely by the blue of the sky and the long branches intersecting and the noise of the farmers markets tents being broken down. I see the display of fruits and vegetables more clearly, the red of the bell pepper, enjoying their tumble from the basket. Even now, I have eaten something but I can still feel the remains of the fuzziness that makes me feel freer, somehow. It’s like how people experience insomnia, I think. Is it good for you? No. Can it sometimes produce an interesting state of mind, more interesting than that of a well-rested or well-fed person? Yes. I know I am speaking from a place of great privilege here, that we can choose how much we eat or sleep. Nonetheless, I wanted to write about it. My relationship to food, my sometimes disinterest in it, my avoidance of it, even. My concern of the vicious cycle between “I don’t want to spend money on eating out” and also “I don’t want to go home yet.” I sometimes talk to my body when I know I should have  meal and I don’t, because I’d rather go swimming. “It’s ok, you can last another 2 more hours. It isn’t that bad.” The thing I sometimes have a hard time distinguishing between is “is this actually unhealthy or am I just experimenting with a mindset” again, I don’t think I do it often enough for it to be that bad. But that isn’t to say I shouldn’t be more vigilant about it. I am beginning to enjoy being single. Although we still send texts here and there, I’m beginning to experience that peace of mind of only worrying about myself. I don’t have to think about another person with every decision I make anymore. i can come and go to any event as I please. I can change the course of my day at a moment’s notice without letting anyone know. I can only watch half the movie if I want to. I can spend hours reading and staring off into the distance wondering about what I just read, and then lose my place in the book, and then find it again. Life has such a different rhythm and flow to it when you’re single. Yes, including that loneliness, the worried thoughts of how long will this singleness last, useless thoughts of “Maybe I should’ve stayed”, but these thoughts are abating in their frequency. It is fun to have every day unfurl, especially weekend days, just for me. This sounds selfish but my therapist would probably say that it isn’t, it is really cultivating an independent lifestyle that I construct everyday, tweaking things to my liking, decorating and furnishing the new space I’ve created by breaking up. There is a lot of change coming up. The change from summer to fall - warmth and sun and shorts and biking and street fairs and glistening Willamette river to clouds and rain and wind and cold and coats  and darkness. I know it is more gradual a change than I realize, but its imminence causes me to be apprehensive. The change of age - from 27 to 28. It is my golden birthday, 28 on the 28th, and yet I feel the same apathy I always feel when thinking of what to do for my birthday. Unsure of who to invite or what to do. The change of leaving the family I currently nanny and jumping into a brand new career head first. At leas it feels head first. A residential treatment center for children suffering from mental illness/abuse/neglect. I have been reading books about mental illness and addiction for as long as I can remember, mostly in the memoir vein, and I always experienced such empathy and curiosity and wonder at people who suffer from such conditions - and now, in some form, I will get to be around them every day and help in whatever way I can. That is a huge change, on top of all the other time/season changes, I just wonder if it’ll be too much at once. Though I guess, again, my therapist would say, it is really all at once? No. I turn 28, then the new year happens, then Yom Kippur a whole week after that. Then another week - that may sound short but a lot can happen in a week. It’s not like you turn 28 and it’s the high holidays and you start a job all in one day. Chill out. Life can only move at one speed. By the second. There are so many seconds from now until tomorrow, until next week. Relish in that. LIfe is good. Thus concludes my ramblings for now. Thank you for reading if these words have any readers.

[virginiacreepervine]

A body washed up on Bell Isle this morning. Average height, average build. White guy with pierced ears, a few tattoos, shoulder length hair. Wouldn’t stand out in a Richmond crowd. Calloused hands and the slight beer gut suggest a blue collar job...in fact, he was a plumber. He was my brother. In a sense. People always looked at us funny when I told them; there’s no resemblance whatsoever, and we’re clearly pretty close in age. When you’ve been close with someone for twenty years, I figure you’re either family, or lovers, and our parents being married would’ve made the latter more than a little awkward. People hate it when I make that joke, makes ‘em real uncomfortable, but hey, that just makes it funnier for me.  The cops are ruling it a suicide on account of him being full of liquor, with no other wounds to speak of, and my idiot mother admitted he had a history of self harm. Now I know the guy had some troubles earlier in life, but getting drunk, driving to a bridge and throwing himself off? Not his style. Dude was impatient, and I’ve had to take guns from him before. Drowning is too slow, especially in that part of the river this time of year. Dude could have stood up and stumbled to drunken safety, right next to the moonshine distillery. Shouldn’t he have broken something in a fall like that? People tell me denial is just part of the grieving process, but I know bullshit when I smell it. My grandpa has a farm.  Steph is just beside herself. Literally. Ever since that accident with truck filled with ooze of dubious origin she’s had a double inches from her at all times. It doesn’t speak and it isn’t fully corporeal, but its there, standing, mimicking Steph’s expressions and movements. She’s real easy to see driving down the street too, but people learned to deal with it. Anyway, she’s (they’re?) in my bar, saying she believes me. I tell her what everyone tells me, its the grief, but she says that he hadn’t drank anything that night. More importantly, he fell asleep on top of her and she would’ve noticed if he moved. That’s not what I’ve heard, but I didn’t say that out loud. What kind of guy would tell a grieving widow her deceased husband was hung like a field mouse? Don’t answer that, I know. He was my brother though, so I couldn’t bring myself to shit on him, lest his angry ghost fuck up my bar. “So,” I muttered, “what do you want me to do about it? The fuzz had their say, case closed. This ain’t a mystery I can solve. What do I look like, Scooby Doo? Don’t answer that.”  “No, asshole, you don’t look like a fucking cartoon dog. But I know when weird shit happens, you’re the guy to talk to.” She starts crying something fierce before continuing. “That’s what Mike always said at least” “Alright, fuck you. First of all, Scoobert Doobert is a legend, beloved by all, and I will not have you reducing his existence to ‘cartoon dog’ in my establishment. Second, how DARE you come at me while I grieve, trying to use my dead brother’s name to guilt trip me into something.” We stared at each other a long while. She’s crying, I’m crying, it’s a mess. I don’t know if it was the grief or the extreme need to get this crying woman (women?) out of my bar before the usual drunks start wandering in, but I caved. “Fine. Fuck it, fine. Let me make sure I have the facts straight; Y’all do the deed, he passes out on top of you. Next, he gets up and has a little drink, drives down Belvedere and parks by the memorial center, and jumps off a bridge.” “Yeah, but we know that last part didn’t happen, I would’ve noticed him move.” “Okay, fine, but that just makes it sound like you did it. How long until you woke up and noticed he wasn’t there?” She doesn’t look happy at that one. I’m a real charmer, I know. She goes on. “Around 11 A.M., when I got the call about...” she drifts off, starts crying again. Either a great actress killed my brother, or she’s trying really hard to keep it together. Her double hovers by, a mourning mirror making me feel even worse about not trying harder sooner. I interrupt, eager to get this over with. “And what time did you fall asleep?” A solid minute later, she wipes away the snot and tears. How come its always snot? Really makes a person feel worse about themselves when a booger is sliding down their face with the tears. “Oh, about ten p.m.” “You laid there for thirteen hours and still think you would’ve noticed? I’ll level with you, this whole thing seems fishier by the minute. You’re wrong, or lying, but I’m gonna be a fool and believe you for his sake. Go home and get some rest, I’m gonna head out and ask a few questions.” She thanks me and heads out, leaving a trail of tears and snot in her wake. I call my staff, tell them not to come in tonight. After the final “Fuck you, I need my hours!”, I head into the storage closet where I keep my “Closed on account of Some Bullshit” sign, grab it and walk towards the door to hang it up. Only I don’t. There’s someone behind the bar, and they’re naked. “Not again,” I think, before  getting a closer look at the creep. There he is, tiny pecker and all. My brother.

“Man if you’re gonna haunt me could you at least haunt me with some clothes on? I don’t need ghost pubes around the joint if a health inspector shows up. Don’t you dead assholes usually have, like, some rags or a sheet or something?” Much to my annoyance, he responds. “Nah, the sheets look too much like the KKK getup. Makes people uncomfortable.” A startling realization. Old timey ghosts are super racist. Also, he’s very clearly alive. Ghosts ain’t got much of a sense of humor. “You asshole, you’re fucking alive?! Tell ya what, after I whip your naked ass, you’re gonna call everyone and apologize. This is ridiculous.” The supposedly dead streaker backs into the shelf behind the bar, hands up. In a shaky, scared voice he says “N-no, you can’t. No one can know I’m alive! I got people after me, Conner, I had to fake my death.” I pinch the bridge of my nose so hard that I’m sure I’ve left a bruise. “Fuckin’ okay, what the hell was the body they found?” “I had that hoodoo woman that was always screaming at people on Broad Street hook me up with a little something. You don’t know what its made of, but the people at the morgue are gonna be in for a surprise tomorrow.” I don’t ask any questions about that part, everyone knows that old bat had some weird shit going on. “Sure, but whoever is after you is gonna find out too. Now to the important question, why in the fuck are you naked in my bar?” “I put my clothes on the thing so it’d look authentic, then I creeped in here through that back window you always forget to lock.” “So,” I start, pinching the bridge of my nose again. “You managed to creep two and a half miles in the dead of night, through downtown Richmond? And no one saw you?”  “Oh some people saw me. I’m just too fast, the cops could never catch me.” As he explains, I hang the sign up. Can’t have some poor customer catch me arguing with a naked ghost, would really hurt the business. Then, I lay into him for a good twenty minutes about what a moron he is, as this plan is garbage from start to finish, almost like some hack writer couldn’t think of anything better. I also hand him some clothes I keep in storage in a bin labeled “lost and found”, as if anyone ever comes looking for the stuff. You’d be amazed at the shit people leave lying around here and never come looking for. Clothes, wallets, a weird book with a lock on it that I haven’t had the balls to crack open yet. Sometimes guns, sometimes pictures of people I’ve never seen. All doomed to life in a closet. He tells me the people after him are part of the same gang I ran with as a teenager, the Pale Horse Motorcycle Club. That makes things less complicated. I’d talk to John, the boss of the gang, and get it all sorted out. That asshole owes me a few times over anyway. I let the dead prick use a few padded bras from the lost and found (seriously, who in the fuck leaves those on the ground and how didn’t I notice?) for a pillow and let him rest. My apartment is only a few blocks down the street, so I walk on home. I open the door and notice something feels off. The place is smoky, which isn’t super out of the ordinary, but the smell is way worse than normal. I take a deep breath and place the heavy, cloying scent as cigar smoke. “Look,” I say to the black abyss that is my home this time of night, “if you’re that guy from the other night, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. You just seemed like you’re into freakier shit than I can deal with.” The person in my armchair strikes a match. I catch a few features; Bushy black beard, oily tan skin, glasses. “Hey John, thought you’d be stopping by. Didn’t have to-” “I did have to. You know we’re all about imagery. Now sit down, lets talk.” Instead of humoring him, I pull a knife on him. This isn’t some Hollywood picture, can’t take any chances. Mistake on my end though, as the last thing I remember of that night is getting hit in the head, hard, and feeling my carpet rush up to meet me.