#like actually moved a cup with her mind in broad daylight and no one gave a shit

[jamethinks]

Was working on a story where Anya enters a paegent at school and for the talent section she decides to do magic and fucks up the entire time before she reaches the last part which was the mind reading section and obviously she ate down and ended up losing because everyone was convinced she faked it and she couldn't come up with a lie on how she did. No one even considered the possibility that she could read minds lmao

[silvermoonflowers]

Moonflower Act IV

Priestess!Reader x Demon!Bucky

Summary: Just a cute little date between you and a handsome demon

Warnings: Lots of fluff, James being a relentless flirt, and the Reader being a bit feisty

Act III

You smiled happily as you pulled out a tray of freshly baked cream puffs from the stove.

Everybody, except you, was out for the day. A High Priestess from the Moon Temple had arrived and asked Nicole to come over so she could help her out with her spiritual powers. Although you wanted to be with Nicole so you could assist her too, the High Priestess gave you a sharp reprimand about performing your duties first. Meanwhile, Sam and the others were in a meeting with the King (for knights only apparently), leaving you the only one at the residence.

Oh well.

So far, you haven’t sensed any bad omens and there weren’t reports of demon sightings. You would’ve taken a walk to see Emily, but at that moment, it began to rain heavily. Great, just great. You glumly sat in the kitchen for a while before your eye caught a jar of flour. Since you didn’t know how long it would be before your family returned, you thought you would make some pastries as a welcome home gift for them.

As you waited for the pastries to cool, your mind began to wonder back to a certain demon.

You were still a bit wary of James due to his true nature. And you only saw him a few times, with those meetings being short and somewhat cryptid, which still mystified you. You suppose it because he was a demon. He probably didn’t want to stay around without a knight or demon hunter noticing him and then trying to kill him. 

And yet…

You sighed. In spite of his true nature, James was certainly beautiful and charismatic. His deep, smooth voice did wonders to you and you longed to be in his arms again. Just being with him gave you so much comfort in a world filled with grief and suffering.

I wonder if my family is alright if I let James stay at our house?

You frowned deeply. That was one of the few things that was in your mind all week now. No matter how much you wanted James to stay with you, you knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Because of so many past incidents, you and your family were distrustful of all demons, whether they were noble or not. But all James had ever shown you was kindness, which made you change your mind a bit. You ran a hand through your hair in frustration.

Now was not the time for confusing thoughts. 

You swiftly turned to a cabinet, intending to get a large plate to put the cream puffs on when the temperature suddenly became cold. That was surely a sign that a demon was going to appear. But the chilling presence was more comforting than threatening, which made you know who it was. You shuddered from delight as he made himself known.

“My, my what a sweet scent,” James purred as he leaned against one of the walls.

You didn’t turn around at first. Instead you took your time to get the plate. You weren’t actually ready to face him yet. 

“James, hello...you could’ve knocked, you know…” You muttered as you pushed aside stacks of small bowls and small plates.

There was a chuckle. “Hello to you too, my dear Priestess. And I would, however it’s raining. So I’d rather not get myself wet.”

“Yeah...true...well..umm...w-what the - hey!” When you turned around, your face began to burn with embarrassment almost immediately.

James had already grabbed one of the cream puffs and was casually munching on it. However, that wasn’t the only thing that made you seethe. Now that you met him again, but this time in broad daylight and without a cloak covering him, you could clearly see what he was wearing. He was wearing rather tight clothing, which made you wonder how he could move in them considering how muscular he was. Well, his shirt must’ve been that tight, since he didn’t bother to button up, exposing his well-built torso to you. 

You huffed. He had to have done that on purpose.

“J-James, I don’t mind if you eat the food, but you should’ve asked first!” You hissed as you tried so hard not to look at his chest.

James merely smirked at you as he took another bite. “Sorry dear, they just look so delicious. Do you need help by the way?”

“Oh no...thanks, I’m fine…”

The audacity of him...first he entered your home, (no, you weren’t counting the first time since he was there to save Nicole) while revealing his torso to you and then he took a pastry without asking you first. Well...James was a demon, so being mischievous was not uncommon to him, but still…

“Alright, if you say so. Do you mind if I take another one then, please?” James grinned, revealing a pair of sharp teeth, a hint of his true nature. You narrowed your eyes at him. But it wasn’t so much of his demonic features scaring you. No, he would never hurt you. It was more of the fact that he was teasing you.

“Yeah...well...whatever,” You mumble as you set the plate down and began piling the rest of the now cooled cream puffs on it. “But you better not eat them all. Save some for the family, too!”

“Thanks,” He purred as he plucked another pastry from the plate. “You’re such a doll.”

At the affectionate nickname, you nearly dropped the plate in shock. You had to bend down awkwardly in order to balance the plate. Thankfully, neither the plate nor the pastries fell to the floor. But now you just realized that you made a fool of yourself in front of James. His snicker obviously confirmed that.

“Wow Priestess, you sure are clumsy~~” “Shut up!” In your frustration, you threw a cream puff at James. He caught it with ease while you scowled. You didn’t mean to throw the pastry at him. You just wanted to get rid of James’ teasing smirk off of his beautiful face. 

“Another one? Aww thanks~~”

You sucked in a breath while setting the plate of pastries down a little too hard on the table. Why were you even acting irritated in the first place? You did want to see James again and your wish was indeed granted. Even if he did come into your house unexpectedly...

It was probably because James was practically shirtless that threw you off.

“James,” Your shoulders sagged a bit. ”...I’m sorry for being...mad at you just now. I really am glad to see you, you know..”

“Nah,” His voice suddenly became soft. “I think I went too far in teasing you.”

“I-it’s fine…”

There was now an awkward silence between the two of you with you clasping your hands together rather tightly and James finishing off the pastries. The rain was the only sound that filled the silence. You hoped James wasn’t too upset with you because of your fiery outburst. 

“S-So, uhh...y-you want some...t-tea?” You wanted to cringe at how much you were stammering, but James didn’t seem to notice as he nodded.

While you prepared two cups of jasmine tea, you kept sneaking glances back at James who was now staring off into space. Now would probably be a great time to start an actual conversation. 

“So…” You trailed off for a second before the words came into your mind. “James…you need me for something?”

He smirked. “I just want to see if you’re alright, my dear Priestess~” You blushed. “Oh well...thank you. I’m glad to see you’re alright too. So w-where do you uhh live?” It may seem like a strange question, but even demons had to hide somewhere.

“Ah, I actually live in an inn not too far from here.”

“You’re okay with living among humans?” You looked at him incredulously while handing him a cup of tea. It’s a wonder for him to be staying at a place where both mercenaries and demons hunters would often hang out.

He shrugged. “It’s better to be there than to be at my...uh...old home?”

You weren’t even going to question what James referred to as his “old home” as you already had the dreadful idea of what it was. 

“However, the owners do know that I’m a demon.”

“What? How?”

James gave you a rather sheepish grin. “Let’s just say I accidentally revealed my true form to the owners when I saved them from a close encounter with a demon. But the owners don’t seem to care about that though. They just endlessly thanked me for saving them. They promised to keep it a secret and let me stay at their place for as long as I want. I kinda felt bad that I was staying there for so long. So I decided to get rid of any demon that came too close to the inn, even though the owners insisted that I don’t have to.”

“Oh, that’s nice. But what about the mercenaries?” 

James scoffed as he took a sip of his tea. “You mean the ones who are so arrogant and are only doing it for attention than actually helping their fellow humans? I don’t even come near them. All they do is constantly brag about their victories and demand for more money. It’s irritating as hell.” 

You let out a giggle and then quickly pursed your lips. But more giggles erupted. You had to set your teacup down so the drink wouldn’t spill on your dress. The way James looked so grumpy was such a contrast to his handsome, charismatic self. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips formed a cute pout. However, he did have a point about certain mercenaries. You had only fought alongside them at least three times and all three times nearly ended in disaster. Two of them even demanded for yours’ and Nicole’s hand in marriage, much to your family’s chagrin. 

As you recovered from your giggling fit, you heard a teacup being set down. You looked up, only for your eyes to widen. James’ chest was suddenly right in front of your face. When did he get so close to you without you even noticing?

Your eyes trailed down to his abs. Oh, his abs looked nice enough to touch. And damn, those dark pants really are tight on him. But before you could look any further, a cold hand tilted your chin.

“Ah-ah, eyes up here.”

There was a twinkle of amusement in James’ blue eyes and you felt both shy and a bit of fury rising within you. Shy because of what you assume is James going to kiss you and fury because of how relentless he was in teasing you. How long was this guy going to make you blush?!

His hand slid up to your cheek and stayed there. Then his long fingers began to gently caress your skin and you had to bite your lips from letting out a breathy sigh. The sensation was cold, so cold, and yet...so nice.

“I have something for you,” James’ voice was a mere whisper now. His hand disappeared from your cheek as he pulled out a small box from his pocket and gave it to you. The box was wrapped in what seemed like expensive gift paper and it was pretty lightweight. 

“W-what is it?” 

James only smiled. “Open it.”

You set the box on the table and unwrapped it. A gasp left your throat when the gift was revealed. It was a beautiful ring and a very expensive one at that. The band was made out of rose gold. Resting on top of the band was a shining diamond, surrounded by crystalline petals that appeared to be in the shape of a moonflower. A moonflower ring. The same ones that you saw whenever you and Nicole visited the jewelry market. You swallowed hard before turning to James, whose smile grew.

“Oh...J-James...thank you. But...how can you afford it? This is really expensive -”

James winked at you. “I’m a demon, remember? I can summon money out of thin air.”

Yeah, but for a price… You thought bitterly as you remembered trying to save someone who was foolish enough to make a deal with a demon. But James definitely wasn’t that cruel to do something like that…

“Oh, James...thank you so much.” You closed the box and held it close to your chest. “But you didn’t have to…” You didn’t know why, but you felt bad that James bought something that cost so much.

“Oh, come now, dear Priestess,” James said in a low voice as he took a step closer to you. His hands slid over your shoulders and pulled you into his bare chest. With your cheek pressed against his cold skin, you nearly fainted. Dammit, just why was James so handsome and sultry?!

“This gift is a symbol of my love for you. So I hope you enjoy my gift. Please, cherish it forever.” At the word “love”, your heart nearly skipped a beat. You felt James press a kiss to your forehead, making you blush even more. “Thanks for the tea and pastries, doll.”

Then just like that fateful night from before, James took a few steps back, never taking his eyes off of you. But this time, you took a step forward, your free hand outstretched towards him. He smiled and brushed his fingers over your hand before he took one last step into a shadowy corner.

“I’ll see you again, my dear Priestess.” Before you could say something, he disappeared. For a while, you stared at the spot where he disappeared, with your face burning hot and the box clutched tightly in your hands. 

“Hey, we’re home! Boy, is it raining hard!” Sam called out from the main corridor, startling you. “Oh what’s that sweet scent?”

You quickly hide the box behind a shelf before going into the corridor to greet your family. 

“Welcome back, everyone!”

                                                                             *~*~*

There was only darkness when the demon entered the old mansion. But he didn’t mind. The darkness felt like home to him. It’s a relief from the annoying sunlight that had peeked out from the clouds now.

“Master,” he called out. “I have returned.”

Footsteps echoed and in the sliver of sunlight, another demon appeared. He looked much more ancient compared to the one who stood before him.

“Welcome back,” his master said. He then frowned rather deeply. “However next time, use the mirror to enter through here. You don’t want to get the attention of the humans, do you?”

The demon scoffed, but then shook his head quickly when his master gave him a look of disapproval. 

“So...” the demon began when his master continued to stare at him.  “I’ve done it.”

His master’s normally cold expression lightened. “Oh? Good. Very good.”

The demon could see the eagerness in his master’s eyes and he couldn’t help but feel a bit prideful.

“Then your next task is to try to find a way to get as close as possible to the Priestess and her sister.  But remember, you must be very, very subtle about it. The slightest mishap and it could be your downfall. Then when they truly put their trust into you, kill them both. Ran’s lineage ends with their deaths. The Kingdom of Larissa will finally be ours.”

Already tasting the glory of victory, the demon smirked and gave a rather mocking bow to his master. “As you wish.”

[bold-writing]

The One With Silver Scars || 4 || The Moments Between

Summary: Adelais Benoit knew that she wasn't normal. Her upbringing, her sanity, her reaction be being abducted by the monochrome man; it set her apart from what the world would consider normal. However, her abnormalities may finally play in her favour for once in her life. Blackmailed into her cousin's birthday party, she will soon realize her differences.

Words: 3000

Warnings: Swearing, violence, descriptions of abuse.

Previous || Next

~4~

Adelais stood in front of the mirror of the small bathroom they had been provided. A tiny shower sat off to the left, a sink and mirror in the center, and a toilet to the right. It was a tiny bathroom, and there was no lock on the door to provide any kind of haven. However, Adelais needed to get away from Claire and Marcia for a few minutes before she lost the last of her patience and sanity.

 Taking a calming breathe, the blonde leaned her hands on the edge of the sink as she looked down into the pristine, shining porcelain. Everything was so meticulously cleaned and tended to, decorated with a single flower to match the one on the pillows of each cot. Tracing her thumb along the surface of the sink, a faint squeezing sound was created. The bathtub had been messed by Marcia when she cleaned her tights in the tub, but everything else was still mostly untouched.

 Raising her attention back to her reflection, Adelais almost flinched at her unkempt appearance. Her mother would be livid when she saw her; hair messed up, makeup either gone or smudged, and her shoulders hunching forward in emotional exhaustion. A disgusting disappointment to look at.

 An embarrassment.

 Pulling her hair away from her face and holding it with one hand, she used the other to turn on the cold water and leant low over the sink. The first handful of water against her eyes was frighteningly cold, but refreshing all the same. Wiping at the remaining makeup around her eyes, she continued splashing water against her skin to remove anything that had survived until that point.

 It almost felt liberating, like shedding armor after a war.

 The makeup her mother forced her to wear had served its purpose around the teenagers of Claire’s party, but it was useless here. This was not the place that appearances would save you.

 Releasing her hair, Adelais gave no care as it fell into the stream of water and soaked the tips. She continued splashing her face with cupped hands, rubbing at her skin to make sure none of the irritating cover-up remained. Only when her cheeks began to prickle uncomfortably from the chill did she finally turn off the tap and straighten up.

 Water dripped from her chin and nose, landing on her shirt and leaving dark spots across the fabric, but she ignored the sight in favour of meeting her eyes in the mirror. Skin slightly reddened from the cold and scrubbing, areas of her hair wet and stringy around her face, Adelais felt clean. The cold had helped to wake her slightly, as well as bring down the hot anger that had been settling under her skin from sitting and listening to Claire.

 Wiping her hands back over her hair, she slicked it back with the water that remained on her palms.

 The shadows beneath her eyes from lack of sleep were now visible, as well as the few little freckles she had inherited from her mother. The rest of her skin was as pale as ivory, having been cast out of the sun for so many years. Tracing a cold fingertip beneath her eye, the skin frail and thin, Adelais wondered if her sleep would be better or worse while in the clutches of this strange man.

 The man who sought contact. Affection.

 The soft knock on the bathroom door caused her shoulders to tense abruptly before she forced them to lower and turned toward the door. Claire was standing on the other side, looking frazzled and high-strung. “What?” Adelais asked tiredly, ignoring the cold water that remained clinging to her skin and dripping from the tips of her hair.

 “We’re trying to come up with a plan,” Claire explained, motioning for the older woman to come forward. Adelais heaved another sigh before shaking her head.

 “You’re idiots,” she muttered, turning away a second time and closing the door. “Leave me alone,” she added on, knowing that if they wanted to come in they could. She wished there was something she could push against the door to keep it shut.

 “Adelais!” Claire whisper-yelled through the door, turning the handle to open it.

 “Let me go pee,” she hissed back, knowing that Claire would be too embarrassed and shy to burst in when someone might be on the toilet. Thankfully, she was right and the door handle turned back into place as it was released from her cousin’s grasp.

 Deciding to use the brief time she had to herself to actually tend to her needs, Adelais went to the washroom and took her time washing her hands afterword. She refused to look up into the mirror again, knowing that her present state would just bring back the haunting shriek of her mother, scolding her and belittling her.

 When she emerged from the bathroom a second time, Claire gave her a heated look similar to a glare. It was easy to ignore her. Moving to the cot that Casey was sitting on, Adelais took up the free space behind the brunette—closer to the pillow and back corner—before she looked to Claire. “You could help us, you know,” Claire snapped, finally, as she marched slightly toward the oldest of the group.

 “With what?”

 “You’re the oldest one here! Take some responsibility!”

 Adelais nearly scoffed. “Just because I’m older than you doesn’t mean I will take credit for whatever stupid decisions you make. I’m not an expert in abductions, I don’t have some secret knowledge to offer that will save any of us. Aside from…don’t piss of the guy that can kill you. I thought we’d already established this?”

 Claire bared her teeth, fighting the urge to yell, and made a motion with her hands like she wanted to wrap them around Adelais’s neck. Casey watched the exchange from the corner of her eye, wondering how Adelais seemed so calm over the entire thing. Had this happened to her before? Was that the secret that Casey could see hidden in her actions?

 No, that was something different.

 The way Adelais acted didn’t match up to a controlling male figure.

 So, a controlling female figure.

 A mother.

 It made sense when one thought on it—Adelais was entirely uncomfortable in the heels she was wearing, and her meticulously put-together appearance was the kind that would please a woman, someone who held appearances in high-regard. She’d washed off the makeup, revealing a natural beauty that Casey fully believed deserved to be seen on its own, rather than hindered with eye-makeup or cover-up.

 “We can’t just sit in here and wait for him to come back—which could be at any second. The only chance all four of us stand a chance against him is if we work together. Okay, I took six months of kempo karate class and you distract the assailant with pain-”

 This time, Adelais did scoff. It cut off Claire, who looked both started and enraged. “That man is pure muscle, and I’m going to guess he knows how to use it. Hitting him, even in a soft spot, would be like punching that wall,” Adelais explained, jerked her head toward the back wall composed entirely of stones. “He’d put you down in a heartbeat and you wouldn’t even see it coming.”

 “She’s right,” Casey agreed calmly. “You guys keep thinking that everything is so easy. You do one thing and can predict the next thing,” she elaborated. “That’s not how it’s going to be in this situation.”

 Marcia stood up this time, rushing over to the cot that Casey and Adelais sat on, crouching between the two. “Please, we need you two to work with us. Claire is smart, let’s listen to her-”

 “Claire was just trying to push responsibility onto me because I’m a few years older. Her idea of a plan is to blindly rush at a man who successfully took down your father and us. All in broad daylight. All by himself. Does this room, this set up, look like he’s someone who’s new to this?” The other three turned to look at her with a sudden realization. “You really think this is a first? That we’re something new and unique that he had to have? This was planned. Very carefully. But there’re only two beds—he wanted only you two, Casey and I weren’t a part of that plan. But here we are; because he knows how to adapt when things go wrong.”

 Marcia finally shook her head. “What other option do we have? To wait to die? Or be raped?”

 Adelais shook her head tiredly. “If he wanted to rape one of you, he’d have done it while you were unconscious on the bed.”

 Marcia grabbed at her hair in frustration. “We could win, Adelais, if we just tried! We could get out of here!” Realizing that the older blonde wasn’t going to help, Marcia turned to look at Casey. “Please, Casey, we could win-”

 “He’ll hurt us,” Casey countered, stopping Marcia from continuing. Her tone had taken on a sharp edge. “No.” Shaking her head, she turned to look between Claire and Marcia. “Shut up. Both of you.”

 Adelais glanced at the back of Casey’s head, sitting behind her as she was, and relaxed slightly knowing that she wasn’t going to agree to help the other two with some foolish plan. She’d been concerned that Casey was susceptible to manipulation from others, but she appeared to have a bit more backbone than that.

 “You’re going to pick your miserable-self up, and help us get out of here,” Claire ordered in a low, calm voice. She was trying so desperately to take control of the entire situation, she was becoming increasingly agitated with Casey and Adelais refusing her at every turn. In her mind, she was on the right track—the two silent survivors in her midst knew otherwise.

 Casey just shook her head again. “Blow me.” Adelais raised an eyebrow at her sudden outburst, calmly stated but just as powerful. “And your six months of karate at the King of Prussia Mall can blow me, too.” She had wanted to say something similar to her mother many times, she wished she had worked up the nerve. However, it was still entertaining to hear Casey say it to her spoiled cousin.

 “No, no, no, you-you can’t do this today,” Claire snapped. “You can’t do this right now. Why do you do this? Why do you act like this? Why do you act like you’re not one of us?”

 “One of you?” Adelais repeated in a slow drawn, sounding agitated but bored. “The stuck-up princess, who considers someone like Casey to be a mercy-invite? One of those?” Claire’s face reddened in embarrassment at her cousin’s words, forgetting that she had been there for that conversation with her father. “People like you, Claire; the ones who step into the real world and realize it’s not all makeup and selfies. What, all the friends or popularity in high school will elevate your social standing in the real world? Is that what you think?”

 Casey glanced at the enraged blonde over her shoulder, registering the slight raise in Adelais’s voice the more she spoke.

 “You’re a pathetic little girl who’s never had to work for anything in her life. This is the real world, Claire, where the actions you take can and will get you killed. Now, would you kindly climb down from your imaginary pedestal and shut the fuck up?”

 Claire and Marcia could do no more than stare in horrified shock as the reserved, quiet cousin they had been exposed to all through the party completely crumbled away. They couldn’t look or listen past the words being said, disregarding all else as they were distracted by the insults being thrown at them by the older woman.

 Casey, on the other hand, was focused on the sudden change in tone. Adelais’s voice had dropped, deepening slightly, and taken on a slower and more controlled gate. Blinking in shock as she concentrated on the different nuances of the blonde’s tone, Casey began focusing on Adelais for a new reason.

 Her posture had changed, less reserved and drawn in as she had been up until that point. It was more…defiant, like she had gone on the offensive. The look in her eyes were a challenge, sharp green glaring at the teens across from them like she was daring them to speak; daring them to accept the masked challenge in her words and actions.

 Knowing Claire, she would be stupid enough to accept without knowing the challenge had even been issued.

 “I’ll let you know when I hear something that makes sense,” Casey spoke up, drawing Claire’s attention back to her. She did not like Claire, but something about Adelais—the abrupt shift in behaviour—suddenly made her feel like a wild card. “We don’t even know what this is yet.”

 Claire’s attention shifted between Casey and Adelais, the older blonde appearing to calm as she leaned back into the corner with her eyes directed to the stone wall. It was similar to how she had stared at it before the man had come back in and snatched her up. Focus solely on the wall, as though it held secrets that she was able to decipher from between the brick and mortar.

 Gradually, Adelais’s posture reverted back to how it had been—she wrapped her arms around her torso and lifted one shoulder as though to defend her neck from exposure to the rest of the room, her hair was pulled over the other shoulder as a sort of cover to replace her missing scarf, and her legs tucked in close to her body. Silence fell over the room as the other three wisely remained quiet about what had taken place.

 As the other two turned in toward one another and started whispering in low levels, Casey situated her back against the wall to watch Adelais a bit more discretely while resting her cheek on one of her bent knees. Soft and quiet—easily blending into the background, submissive—turned to low and strong—wrought with challenge and domination.

 It was like she had become a completely different person.

 She didn’t remember saying it. It was the one word she had never said to her mother or father before, not since she was too young to know the consequences or it.

 No.

 When the word had slipped passed her lips, she wasn’t sure. But she knew that her mother had been ordering her to start on dinner—a dinner she would not be allowed to eat—and then she was suddenly on the floor with the agony of her mother’s slap burning the tender skin of her cheek. Thin as she was, the strike had caused her mother’s ring to split the skin over her cheekbone when there was nothing to cushion the blow.

 “Don’t you ever say no to me again, you useless brat. When I tell you to do something, you will do it without question and without comment. Am I understood?”

 Unsure of what had just transpired, since Adelais knew better than to ever tell either of her parents no, the young adolescent could do no more than nod dumbly as she placed a hand over her bleeding cheek. The only thing she could do to make the situation worse would be to bleed on the floors, or the clothing her mother had provided her with.

 Trying so desperately to remember when the word could have slipped out, Adelais could come up with nothing as she scrambled into the kitchen to begin on her parents’ dinner.

 Unfortunately, it was not the only or last time she lost control of herself and was left with no memory of the event. When being around her mother—and it usually was her mother, though sometimes her father as well—became too much and she could feel the cold, silent rage beginning to boil over, everything just disappeared. It was similar to a blink, one that seemed to carry her from one moment to the next with no recollection of the in-between.

 Then, after she had woken to enough bloody wounds or bruised limbs, the opposite occurred. When she felt on the cusp of losing control of her anger, or was witness to her mother’s mood spiralling downward to end in a devastating climax for Adelais, she was suddenly waking in her bed. Not a single mark or bruise marring her body as she stared up at her ceiling in confused awe.

 Sometimes, it wasn’t enough. Sometimes, nothing could save her from the wrath that festered within her mother. However, the bruises and scars had lessened over the years thanks to the odd moments of waking-sleep. That is how she began to think of it—her body was awake and some part of her consciousness remained alongside it, but she—Adelais—slept.

 “We’re here! We’re in here!”

 Adelais jolted awake at the sudden shouting, her eyes snapping open dazedly as she was left to stare across at the wall with the other cot in front of it. After falling asleep in the corner, she had eventually laid down in her sleep and curled tightly in on herself near the pillow. It left room for Casey, but not much.

 Lifting her head to look toward the door, craning her neck uncomfortably in the process, Adelais watched as the three teenagers rapidly stepped away from where the door was being unlocked.

 Propping her body up on one arm, Adelais didn’t even have time to swing her legs off the cot before the door opened with a quiet shriek of old hinges.

Previous || Next

[alirhi]

I can't believe I'm doing this lol...

I might throw up. I almost never post the stuff I write just for me. I'll occasionally send a funny chunk to a friend or whatever, but not open myself up to public scrutiny. I'm aware I've said all this before lol but bear with me, okay?

It's lazy writing (as is... literally all of my fanfiction XD) but I feel like it's coming out fairly decent for what it is, so I thought I'd share a little bit. If you hate it or aren't interested, just ignore it, 'kay? if for some reason you don't hate it, lmk. there's more

Pairing: Sebastian Stan/author (hey, can't say you weren't warned. yes, it's self-insert) Warnings: 18+. I will always mark my writing 18+ even if it never gets explicit. Adult themes, smut is mentioned (but no, not explicit), Seb does something dumb and OOC for him but it served my purpose so whatever XD

After arriving in Manhattan - and eventually finding a place to park; fuck, she hated New York! - she'd ducked into a Starbucks to collect herself and psych herself up a bit. Instead, she was psyching herself out. This was the dumbest, craziest idea she'd ever had, in a thirty-plus-year string of dumb and crazy ideas. This was never going to work. She was never even going to find him! There were millions of people crammed into this putrid petri dish of humanity. There was absolutely no chance she would-

For fuck's sake, was that really him?! Ever vigilant as a lone woman in unfamiliar surroundings, she'd taken a seat in the far corner of the shop, facing the front door. She wasn't looking for anyone in particular, not in here; she was simply making damn sure no one could come up behind her. Still, her position gave her a perfect view of most of the room, and especially the door. Her eyes widened as she watched a very familiar figure in a blue baseball cap enter and head for the counter.

As he neared, she got a clear look at his handsome face, and her heart felt like it suddenly stopped. Yep. That was him. Sebastian fucking Stan had just walked into this random-ass Starbucks she'd only come into to get out of the overwhelming bustle and noise of the city so she could think. She knew he lived somewhere in Manhattan, but wasn't Manhattan rather...large? It was certainly daunting to drive through; all of NYC was.

"Hey."

She flinched, blinking rapidly as she realized that not only had she been staring, but her eyes had dried out. "Hi."

Sebastian smiled, glanced around the busy shop, and asked somewhat tentatively, "Mind if I join you? Just til my coffee's ready."

Like she would say 'no' to anything this man asked of her! With a soft smile she hoped looked less nervous than she felt, she moved her bag off the other chair and gestured. "Of course. And you don't have to leave right away, unless you have somewhere to be. I don't bite." Jesus, that was smoother than she'd ever thought herself capable of! Where the fuck had that come from?!

His smile widened as he sat down, sharp blue eyes never leaving her face. She hoped she wasn't blushing. "Thanks. I don't actually have anywhere to be; I just got home."

"How was LA?" At his look of surprise, she flashed him a wry smile. "I can't just sit here and pretend not to know who you are. It feels creepy and manipulative."

Laughing and making her feel like her heart would burst with joy, Sebastian shrugged and nodded. "I appreciate that. And I really appreciate you treating me like a normal person."

"If you were a normal person," she teased, "I'd have told you to fuck off. I don't trust attractive men; they're usually narcissistic douche bags."

"I can't tell if you're calling me ugly or a douche bag."

She laughed, grateful for the playful glint in his eyes that showed her he wasn't actually offended. "Neither! I'm just saying, if I hadn't seen clips of you on youtube being all awkward and sweet, I'd be afraid to let you near me. You're way too gorgeous." With a wink that made him laugh, she added, "You're in your own separate category."

"So that's how you categorize all the men of the world?" He grinned, nudging her foot with his own. "Ugly, jerks, or awkward?"

"It's actually even more general than that. In my experience all humans are either ugly inside or ugly outside." Smile softening from mocking to a sort of wistful fondness, she told him, "From what you've shown the world, you're neither. Makes me wonder if you're even human sometimes."

"You caught me." Sebastian laughed again, joking even as he stood to get his coffee, "I'm an alien."

"So that's why you're so in love with space! Homesick?"

"Yeah, I guess so!" She loved how freely he laughed, and when he invited her to leave the crowded café and go for a walk with him, she readily agreed. "So what's your deep, dark secret?"

She blinked, staring at him. "What do you mean?"

His mischievous grin made her heart race and heat pool somewhere she didn't want to be thinking about with him standing right next to her. "You torture puppies, or are you an alien?"

He was calling her beautiful. The second she got the joke, she could feel her face turning bright red and she giggled, hastily looking away. "I definitely don't torture puppies."

"So you're an alien."

She could feel him looming over her as they both stopped and moved over to let other pedestrians move around them. Though she was afraid to, she forced herself to look up and was immediately entranced by those captivating blue eyes. "Maybe I'm a fairy."

"You're certainly pretty enough to be."

"Fucking hell, Sebastian, if you get any closer to me I will not be held responsible for what I do to you." She smirked, trying to lighten the mood and take the charge out of the air between them before she made too much of an ass out of herself. "Even with the coffee breath."

He laughed, but the tension didn't dissipate. If anything, the charge and the heat between them only increased. "Maybe you should put something else in my mouth, then."

Damn, this man could flirt! She accidentally knocked the hat off his head as she got a grip on that luscious dark hair and tugged him closer; he didn't seem to notice. He set his coffee down on a nearby window ledge. One hand cupping her jaw and the other grabbing her ass, he yanked her tight against him and thoroughly plundered her mouth with that long tongue she'd spent months fantasizing about. He did taste like coffee, which was a little off-putting - she'd bought a bottle of water in Starbucks; she hated coffee - but she didn't even care. The most perfect man in the universe was holding her tight and kissing her breathless, and she wasn't about to let anything ruin this moment.

Someone else ruined the moment when they cleared their throat. When she saw she had their attention, the fidgeting girl held Sebastian's cap out to him in a slightly shaking hand. "Sorry... Is this your hat?"

Finally realizing they were out in public in broad daylight, the pair sprang apart with awkward chuckles. Sebastian thanked the girl and crammed the fallen hat back onto his head, took a selfie with her when he realized she knew who he was, and sent her on her way. "That moment's gonna be all over the internet."

A nervous giggle bubbled up from her chest, somehow making it past where her pounding heart was lodged in her throat. "Hopefully just the selfie." His cynical scoff caught her off guard and she flinched, glancing around. "I hate that paparazzi shit. No one has any right to be taking pictures of you that you don't consent to and pose for, just like no one should be spreading details about you or your life that you didn't make public, yourself."

The look he gave her then was strange; almost as if he was calculating, or trying to read her. Unsure what that was all about, she simply looked right back at him, being as open as she could. Apparently reaching a decision, he told her softly, "I live like two blocks away."

That seemed random to her. She shrugged, offering him a slightly perplexed smile. "Okay...? That explains why you go to that Starbucks, I guess."

Sebastian laughed and hooked his arm around her waist, tugging her down the sidewalk. "You're adorable. And I'm trusting your adorable ass not to tell anyone."

...Oh. Eyes so wide they hurt, she stared up at him as he guided her down the street. He was taking her back to his place?! The more logical part of her brain was flabbergasted by the idea of this man just casually bringing a total stranger home, while the rest of her was just eager to get him behind closed doors and tear his clothes off. Obviously, the primitive, horny part of her brain won by a landslide, and she didn't say a word.

She noticed that Sebastian was chugging his iced coffee as they walked, and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. He was going to have to pee so bad when they got to his apartment. Plus, she'd seen him hyped up on caffeine; it was hilarious.

"Make yourself comfortable," he told her as he closed the door behind them, already making a hasty beeline through the place. "I'll be right back."

Yup. She snickered as she settled on the edge of the couch. Straight to the bathroom. She tried not to fidget as she glanced around, but his apartment was just so sterile. Aside from the books on his desk, it didn't even look like anyone lived here, really. The blank white walls hurt her eyes and were starting to set off her anxiety; she dropped her gaze to the sofa and felt the tension ooze out of her muscles as her overactive brain took in the soothing dark gray color of it and slowly relaxed. At least he had a thing for dark furniture.

"You look so rigid all of a sudden."

She shrugged, glancing up at him. "I don't know what I'm doing here. I mean, I think I know why you brought me here, but..."

Oh gods, and there was that soft, kind smile she'd only ever seen in pictures. It, like the rest of him, was so much more beautiful in person. "Having second thoughts?"

More like first thoughts. "Aren't you? You don't know me; literally the only thing you know about me is that I know you're famous."

"And that you're a cynical introvert," he told her with a grin, settling on the couch beside her. "And that you're respectful of boundaries. That all seemed like a pretty good start to me. Hey-" He nudged her, making her smile. "Alien to fairy, I didn't bring you here to push you into anything. Pretty sure that would push me right into the douche bag category."

Giggling a little, she shook her head. "Nope. I'm too big a fan to ever think that about you. You can do no wrong in my eyes, alien."

"Hey, even aliens can make mistakes or do some fucked up shit. I mean, have you seen Independence Day?"

She laughed outright at that, poking his side. "Fair enough. But I somehow doubt that you're planning a genocide, so..."

"Nope." He shook his head, still grinning impishly. "No genocide on my calendar. Just hanging out with this beautiful, really cool fairy I met at a Starbucks today. Maybe satisfying her every carnal desire before she leaves, if she's up for it... Maybe just talking for a while or watching a movie. We'll see."

She could feel her face heating up again, but when Sebastian leaned in for a kiss, she eagerly let him. That was when it finally dawned on her that his mad dash for the bathroom had actually been to brush his teeth. He'd taken her coffee breath joke to heart and sucked his drink down so he could kiss her with minty fresh breath. Gods, he was so sweet it hurt!

That settled it in her mind; anxiety be damned. If he wanted it, there was no way this man wasn't getting laid. How many men would go this far out of their way to make a total stranger more comfortable when he shoved his tongue down her throat?

"What do you want," he whispered against her lips, stroking her hair, "my pretty red fairy?"

"All of it." She pulled him back with her as she stretched out on the couch, biting her lip when he automatically settled between her long legs. "Whatever you're willing to give."

"Tap out any time," he assured her as he reached under her dress, fingers dancing feather-light up her thigh. "I promise I won't be a dick about it."

"Same for you, gorgeous." With a slightly evil smirk, she rolled them over and straddled him, yanking her dress up and off. "I've been told I can be a little intense."

She squeaked before she could stop herself when he yanked her down with one strong hand on her back and drew a nipple into his mouth. She felt his tongue swirling against her flesh and shuddered, growing wetter by the second.

"I can handle it, princess." And then he was surging upright, and then to his feet, never releasing her from his grip. With her still clinging to him like a barnacle in nothing but her panties, he kissed her again and started heading toward the stairs. "But we're not fucking on my couch when there's a perfectly good bed right up there in the loft."

"Probably wise," she agreed with a giggle, tangling her fingers in his hair. "I'm already soaked. Wouldn't wanna ruin the infamous couch."

Sebastian groaned, but he was grinning. "Oh, don't bring him up now, girl!"

"Your couch is a dude?" She could tell he knew she was joking, but the glint in his eyes promised retribution if she didn't drop it... And then he dropped her like a sack of potatoes onto his bed, and she shrieked, startled.

From there, the day passed by in a blur. They cuddled and talked for hours, they paused once or twice for food, and, of course, they fucked like rabbits. She quickly learned that there was nothing Sebastian wasn't fucking amazing at. Typically, she was the quiet type in bed, but there were moments this talented bastard had her nearly screaming. The things this man could do with that tongue alone...!

But the moments she cherished were the quiet ones. When one or both of them needed a break and they would just lie there in each other's arms, and she could hear his pounding heart and knew he could feel hers. Once their breathing became less labored, they would begin to speak; voices low, as if afraid to shatter the silence and bring the outside world crashing down on them. They talked about everything and nothing, sharing past hurts never forgotten, and secret desires, dreams they were afraid to chase or simply knew were forever out of their reach. By the time night fell, she'd lost count of how many times one or both of them had broken and dissolved into tears in the other's embrace.

"You're so easy to talk to," he murmured once, the teary smile she couldn't see in the dark audible in his soft voice. "I know it's dumb, but I feel like I can trust you."

"You can," she was quick to assure him, kissing his jaw and loving the way his stubble rasped against her skin. "Nothing leaves this space, Sebastian. Anything you tell me stays right here. I promise."

He flinched then, as if suddenly remembering something, and nearly dislodged her. She settled herself more comfortably on his chest and waited. "You still haven't told me your name." They both laughed at that, and she felt a hot blush creeping up her face. Thank the gods it was dark. "I've just been calling you random pet names all day."

"Princess and Kitten were my favorites," she told him with a grin, licking his nipple. "But if you must know... My name is Ali."

"Ali." The way he said her name made her shiver, and then he was on her again and her last semi-coherent thought was holy shit, does this man ever run out of energy? Not that she was complaining.

In the end, they both fell asleep before she could even think about the long drive home ahead of her, much less the astronomical parking fee she'd be facing... or the reason she had actually come to New York in the first place.

[captainkurosolaire]

Re: Vital

A bristling light cast of the purest form luminescence broke throughout the psyche after the dealing with the Tormentor had been resolved. Calling the Captain by name repeatedly to attain attention. His fist still sizzled from how much he had left his ‘Undeserving’ side as curb roadkill and disfigured the disgusting three-piece suit bastard that represented everything he opposed against; in himself. The scoundrels pocketed in his overcoat as he strolled inward. An eye refracting off that which was positively enchantingly… “Well, I b’ a Red-District Whore... “ Revelations came matching thumping in rhythmic audibility. A finding and discovery of oneself would be uncovered here. However, It’d be cut-short from rejoicing in this recreational discovery. As the Trip -- was about to end! -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now if anyone ever suggested you take psychedelics or anything that may influence your reasoning, never, ever. Do it alone or least be responsible. Unfortunately. The Captain on the other hand didn’t realize this being, his virginity speaking for drugs or ‘product goods’ he merely smugged, so while his visage almost had a fished-shroomed out expression and he was zonked. Many events had unfolded in reality! He had gotten himself hitched with a small rowboat named Delilah! The lipstick had seemingly been smeared throughout over, possibly from a making out. Roped and collared her and he found himself in the midst of the Shrouds lent against a tree. “...Ugh…” He’d say while constantly hearing the nagging or was that just common-tongue? He couldn’t be clear, his vision blurred. Boots slowly began focusing on viewed vision. “Get up.” “Get up.” Constantly a stern voice with authoritarian pitch rattled out of a caged chamber. The Captain in haze snarked back, ‘Five more minutes.” Attempting to rehash himself into a doze before a hot-fist would be felt against his cheek making him face-plant into soils. It finally made him react back with a propping, “Alrighte what’s th’--” He’d be in the presence of his recent advisory in The First or better known Captain Parabellum formerly recognized as yet a switch-knife being juggling between his fingertip’s imposingly.

“You know why I’ve come. It’s time for an end. Don’t you agree?” Tension began to stir while he was implored to begin his ascension up the bark as his bare-back shredding against. “Like mate, can’t you buy me dinner before you kill me? But if that’s what you want.” He’d say nonchalantly before his face settled from relaxed to his own intensity fired-up. Reaching for his scimitars but recognizing they were no longer in his possession… Wait, did he even get dressed before this whole shenanigans? His mind-circulating trying to place catch-up within that headspace. The Midlander intimidatingly now points his knife towards the direction. Was this to be just another mindless battle? How many of these did this pirate have to get himself into? He couldn’t have foreseen what came after his discovery, was that the discovery itself was beginning to unravel itself for the Captain. Almost like responsible aetherial energies that had come into Captain’s existence would begin shaping and molding themselves into materialization's. This was but the journey the chapter dubbed one. The tension felt as Captain loosened and accepted his fate. Well, he was bested. If he was worthy enough to be somehow tracked and scoured through all this stuff he couldn’t even remember or repeat. He wouldn’t oppose it. The former First loosely drew an ilm closer threatening and imposing as he paced. Before discarding more knives and tossing them towards the sides of the tree’s trunk diagonally in corners of the Seeker’s hue. He didn’t flinch there was resolve or sheer admittance towards a no-win situation. But a duel seemed to have been given in equalization. Given room to move. He noticed around them this meadow had become a battlefield or a one-sided one. As poachers remained arse high and stacked all unconscious all the Captain’s belongings scattered throughout the flowery meadows. What was the meaning of that? His thought surfaced internally. Interruption in harsh gravel voice, “Captain Kuro Solaire… You’re a dead man. At-least so is rumored. It doesn’t answer how you stand before me though... I understand why you tracked me down but to leave yourself exposed this vulnerable. It’s foolish. To spare me when you’ve reclaimed your vengeance? Your thoughts are unsettling.” For piracy, the Midlander spoke clean and fluent Eorzean despite being a sailor himself. A sign of diplomacy and strategic it was no-wonder this man became the Captain’s First. Tension surfaced throughout the atmosphere. It caused imaginative humidity in the Shrouds. As if they were scorching. This was the result of separated and broken strings that once connected. Unspoken messages of impossible love for their era. Hatred festered but yet… Love was it’s counter shadow. Weight of arrayed emotions that are felt is dictating how deeply in depth’s someone is carried to your heart. “I see my beating didn’t jog your memory, perhaps, I failed. Or maybe you need to search th’ truth.” Parabellum’s hand quivered afraid. “Aye. You spoke with want.” He glossed softly. “Want?” Captain questioned, “Try need.” The scoundrel gave a dispatch to his equipped arms into fearlessness a startle broke through. As an embrace clutched and wrapped tightly around the Midlanders. A hug that broke and transcended and sealed a past wound.

Acceptance quaked the foundations. This was no longer a pirate who steered blindly or without unspoken. In losing and attaining the strength and beauty of a world clutched in those dastardly palms. He had seen unlike ever before. To act under frightening convictions. …. Silence broke out. The Switchblade was still held by the handle as they came to the bareback of the Captain. Would the Betrayer or the snake take a bite of Lion’s head remaining in breathless revelations, The Seeker muffled everything and grinned goldenly as was taught as his chin cupped over the broad shoulder. The hurt, pain, screeching of the Midlander traveled throughout impulsive streams to end what harmed. Nothing hurt this man more than betraying someone who was held, dear. Who he defended for his dreams when the Captain couldn’t do it for himself. He could end the Seeker right here. But it’d go unheard. And why he tread would remain. This… Captain proved even in losing the parley to being cast out, exiled, to being scarred, he could stand against the test of time. He was a difference. One that if pride’s skin was shed. This may be the beginning path. On the owner of this heathen Midlander was a man of many reasons and weights but when he donned the mantle and became his own Captain he was only scavenging to stay afloat. Even unfortunately slowly resulting in a decline by becoming just another atypical slave trader. But who embraced him here, was the opposite. Even unfortunate was replaced for making his wealth. He was unrelenting and daunting, free, vast. Did he rumble, did he swallow to despair? Of course. Plunges were necessary to uncover troves. This was no longer a dreaming young man anymore. Whoever touched the Captain in their parting had forged this man into stone. That didn’t break to the Void. That didn’t flinch to the unparalleled Depths of Empires. That survived curses and being of Living Death. What was the Crimson vessel merely by the Founding Captain he transformed into a Phoenix that was remarked and recognized until it’s last rising death, however, in the ashes… Came this of holding. His grip was lost as his own weapons disengaged from his person. As he retorted in the brace. “Never again.” Was only uttered suspiciously. “If we do this again, you can’t be the person who loses. I won’t let you. I’d rather stab you in the front myself than see you give another monster, that victory. You can’t go on and act as the main character to a story, you can’t do this without your crew. If we embark… You have to become reliable.” Autumn fell between them.“...Aye. Never again. Shall I ever stray from course, and if I do, I’ll supply you the knife to do me, n’.” Here in this unmarked location. The Golden Crosses reunited. To be empowered to prevail, to truly understand harsh compassion. To overcome true tyrants, from juggernauts that were unbeatable that pirates were more warmongers, pirate’s that shaped existences, to one’s that crossed every murk seas, sand, sky, space, time. This joining had to take place. A bond that together could puncture the past of regrets, slip-ups. This was daylight. “...From now on I return to my following with my new lease and name. Judas Caesar.” As their brace ended, “Sounds edgy and ominous, mate. But It’s got a ring. I take it yer whole Betrayer Mates won’t be any form ov’ happy, eh?” A firm nod stiffened from the Lander, “Aye. They’ll not take kindly to the disappearance and me erasing myself. It’s but another enemy against us if ever found out. Which I believe leads us to think we should return to the cabin and prepare accordingly what sort of dangers and threats are out there. Which conflicts we can quell, avoid, or outright exterminated.” The Seeker smirked as the situation resolved, “Hmm, I concur. Don’t remove yer authoritative leading cap’ just yet…” As plans on a cog steered as the Miqo’te revealed somewhat an inkling he gambled and put everything at stake to this arising. Still playing with the wenches of close-calls. A more serious question caught the attention of Judas, “Uhm, You should change first though, Cap’n. As well, those bands of poachers nearly held all your belongings. I’d refrain from ever going on some sort of loose trip or whatever you were under as well, least if you do it, ensure someone is watching you. I take it you had yer reasoning's behind actually getting into ‘shipments’, I strongly know you’ve disagreed beforehand to those dire motions.” “Aye. I found everything possible I could ever need t’ uncover and resolve. Let’s chew th’ rag elsewhere.” Feeling completely fine and unnervingly comfortable in the get-up that was donned over him ever striking a pose. For these confrontations in briefness taught him, never again, never again... Would he ever have to halt from expression. This was it, the signed  /glimmer/  that could change the tides direction, despite, the grim current and challenges it foretold!

       (Previous)  — References  —   ♫ ‘Hold your Heart’ — (Next Page)

[elizabethemerald]

would you be interested in writing morgana/barbara fluff? Them cuddling for movie night (or something equally as soft and sapphic)?

Here you go! You said movie night and my brain thought to gay couple meeting their partner’s kids. Thanks for the patience!

Please Reblog if you like it!

Jim breathed out in relief as he rounded the corner. No matter how far he traveled, no matter how long he's gone, turning this corner always felt the same, like coming home. His bag was slung over his shoulder, as he walked up to the house he had grown up in. It would be nice to see his mom again. He rang the doorbell, but didn't have to wait long before the door was flung open. 

"Jim!" His mom cried out in joy. She immediately wrapped him in a tight hug. "Why didn't you call me? I could have driven you home."

"Hey mom." Jim said, holding her back just as tightly. When he finally pulled back his mom had a wide smile on her face and looking closely at his face. "I like walking in the twilight. Especially in this town. It's relaxing."

Barbara pulled him into the house, closing the door behind him. Jim set his bag down inside the door and carefully looked around his home. Things were much as he remembered, though he was happy to see that there wasn’t any excess dust or clutter. He had been half afraid that his mom wouldn’t think to straighten the house since he had always done it. 

“So it’s just you tonight?” Barbara asked. 

“Yep. Toby’s still on Akiridion-5 talking with Eli about his latest movie idea. Blinky and Aaarrrgghh are spending tonight together. And Claire wanted to go on a date with Darci, but it turned into a girl’s night with almost every girl from our class. So it’s just me.”

Jim smiled and held his arms out. Then he glanced over his mom’s shoulder. The Amulet of Daylight immediately flew to his hand and his lips curled back in a snarl. A growl rumbled out of him. Barbara turned to look at what had alarmed him. Morgana! The former Eldritch Queen had just walked out of the kitchen. 

“Jim! We talked about this!” Barbara said putting her hand against his chest. 

Jim struggled to rein in his emotions. He had known she would be here, it was still a surprise to see her out and about after all the hurt she caused Claire. He breathed in and out a few times and the light of the Amulet faded. 

For her part Morgana hesitated in the doorway for the kitchen. She had a tray of cups balanced on her good hand. A welcoming smile was frozen on her face. Her eyes flicked rapidly between Jim and Barbara, for a few seconds before forcing the smile to brighten. 

“Welcome home Jim! I thought it would be nice for us all to have some hot cocoa to warm up. Sorry it wasn’t done before you arrived!”

Jim stared at her, then nodded. “Would you mind if I have a word with you, alone?”

“Jim…” Barbara started, but Morgana walked past her, handing off the tray of drinks. 

“It’s quite alright dear, I’m sure it will just be a moment.”

Jim opened the door to the garage and ushered her in. He closed the door lightly behind her. Jim noticed she had replaced her former emerald prosthetic with a regular human one. Morgana fiddled restlessly with the long dress she was wearing. 

“I’m sorry to hear that young Claire wouldn’t be able to join us tonight.” Morgana said, once the door was closed, trying to force her voice to be cheerful.

“Claire is uncomfortable being in the same state as you, much less under the same roof.” Jim said shortly. He was surprised to see her drop her gaze in guilt. 

“I am … sorry to hear that.” Morgana paused. “I know it won’t mean much to her, but I am also sorry for … well everything I did to her.”

Jim arched his eyebrows. Even though his mom felt that Morgana had turned over a new leaf, he was still surprised to hear her apologize. Some of the anger he had walked into the room with cooled. He took a moment to resettle his thoughts. 

“I guess this is the shovel talk everyone goes on about so much?” Morgana said before he could say anything. 

“Yeah, except my shovel has a bit more weight.” Jim said, holding up his amulet. 

Morgana flinched back from the amulet that had been forged from her hand. Jim saw and quickly put the amulet away. He leaned forward and held his horns. 

“I just really don’t want my mom to get hurt.” He hadn’t expected the conversation to go this way. He hadn’t expected Morgana to be nervous, or remorseful, or to flinch from his amulet. 

“She’s been hurt before by her partners.” Morgana said, it wasn’t a question. His mom must have told Morgana about what she went through. 

“Yeah. By my dad and Strickler. And I promised that I would always be there for her. That we would take care of each other. With how much time I’m spending in New Jersey, I know I can’t always be there for her.”

“I know you have every reason to distrust me, but I promise you I have no intention of harming or allowing any harm to come to her.” Morgana paused, she fiddled with the gold bracelets on her wrists. “Even if I could ignore my personal feelings for her, she has done so much for me. Caring for me both before and after my fall from power, arranging for this hand, letting me stay in her home.”

Jim nodded. “I’m willing to put aside our past differences for the sake of my mom. I’ll give you a chance.”

“Thank you, Jim.” 

Morgana awkwardly offered her hand, then switched to her non prosthetic hand. Jim moved forward to accept the hand and she moved to offer a hug instead. Finally she settled for patting him on the shoulder. Then she laughed. 

“Did you get a version of this talk from Claire’s parents?” She asked. 

Jim laughed as well. “Yes. Several times. Once when I trashed her house trying to chase a changeling, once when they found out about Trollhunting, and once again when we got engaged. Honestly the first one was the worst.” He laughed again at the memory. “The scariest was Toby’s Nana. She had actually had a shovel.”

They laughed and returned to the house. Barbara had set out the cups of cocoa on the coffee table. She stood near the couch, unable too nervous to sit down, but relaxed as they both continued laughing. Jim smiled at her to show her the conversation went well. 

“Hey mom, I’m going to head upstairs and shower real quick.” Jim said, grabbing his bag from the entrance way. 

“Aren’t you going to have your hot chocolate before you do?” Barbara asked. 

Jim looked at the cup a little sadly before shaking his head. 

“I created the changelings. Do you not think that I could modify your recipe to appeal to trollish tastes?” Morgana asked.

He hesitated for just a moment. Then set his bag down and walked over. He took a small sip and to his surprise the cocoa was delicious! It even tasted like chocolate. Jim hadn’t had something that tasted like chocolate since before his transformation. 

Morgana must have seen his obvious delight as a broad smile split her face. She leaned forward and took a big sip of her own and so did Barbara. 

"I found one of your cookbooks when I was here recovering." Morgana said. "I love that you wrote your modifications to the recipes in the margins. Your mom always loves the cocoa when I follow you recipe."

Barbara giggled and sat down on the couch. "Is that why it's always so good? Because you're following Jim's recipes?"

Morgana sat down next to her. "Mmhmm. I had to make mine sweeter to match my tastes, but it's clear you've already nailed your mom's tastes down. Why do all the work again?"

Jim drank his down quickly. "I might have to get your recipe for this. It's so good."

"Are you sure you want to know?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Claire and I agreed, no socks. Other than I'm getting more and more used to troll dietary needs."

"Good to know." Morgana said with a smile. 

The smile widened as Jim happily crunched the porcelain of the mug and ate it too. His eyes widened as he realized what he had done. Morgana forestalled the apology that was on his lips with a wave of her hand. 

"I gave you one of the chipped mugs we were talking about getting rid of." Morgana said. 

Jim smiled at that. He stretched, then stood up. 

"I do still need that shower. I swear the gyre tunnels are just filled with grime." He said. 

"Of course honey! Take your time. I'll pick out a movie that we can watch together!"

Jim nodded to his mom and hurried up the stairs. The shower was exactly what he needed. He had the water up hot enough that it would have boiled a human. But it was perfect for his troll hide. 

Once he was finally clean and relaxed he turned off the water and threw on some clean clothes. He would have to wash his travel clothes before he wore them again. Finally he was ready to head back downstairs. 

At the top of the stairs his ears perked up. His mom was laughing loudly in the living room and so was Morgana. Jim was surprised to find out she actually had a pleasant laugh when she wasn't cruelly laughing at the pain she was causing. Jim walked quickly down the stairs to join them. 

"Oh there you are! I thought I was going to have to call the city warn them you were going to drain the reservoir!" His mom laughed while she talked. 

Jim laughed as well and hurdled the rail skipping the last couple of steps. Then he flung himself down on the couch next to her. Barbara was leaning on Morgana's shoulder her hands entwined with her good hand. Barbara pressed play on the movie and Jim hopped up to dim the lights. 

It had been a long time since Jim had a simple movie night with his mom. Morgana's presence seemed to improve Barbara's mood immensely. 

Though Jim noticed Morgana didn't seem to be enjoying the movie very much. She kept untangling her hand from Barbara's to adjust her prosthetic. Jim realized the limb was probably much worse than her than her old magic one. 

"You can take that off if you want to." Jim said in trollish, when he saw her slip a finger under the cup of the prosthetic again.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Morgana replied in trollish. 

"I've been around amputees before." The three wars had not been kind to their combatants. Humans, trolls and Akiridions had all suffered from the fighting. Draal, Toby, and Zadra were all amputees. 

"While I'm glad you two are talking, it's a little rude to have a conversation I can't take part in." Barbara said with a small huff. 

"Oh I'm sorry mom, I was just…" Jim hesitated. 

"He was inviting me to make myself more comfortable." Morgana said as she undid the straps holding her prosthetic in place. She set the limb aside. Then she leaned around Barbara to address Jim again. “You speak trollish very well. You are improving quickly.”

Jim laughed. “I have to! Some of the troll tribes spoke English but not most of them. And I can’t rely on the amulet to translate for me.”

“Shh you two.” Barbara said softly She entwined her fingers again with Morgana’s good hand. She was leaning on the other woman’s shoulder more and more as the movie progressed. 

The rest of the movie passed without incident. When the credits were scrolling up Jim stood and stretched again. He looked down and noticed his mom had fallen asleep against Morgana during the movie. Morgana looked like she didn't want to move at all. 

"I can carry her upstairs if you want." Jim offered in a soft whisper. 

When Morgana nodded, he easily picked his mom up, her head resting against his chest. She followed close as he carried her up the stairs. Jim set his mom gently in her bed. Morgana fussed, taking off her glasses and tucking the blankets in around her. 

Jim decided to withdraw, he still needed to set up the couch downstairs to sleep on. He paused for a second at the door to his mom’s room. He watched as Morgana gently brushed his mom’s hair away from her face. He had never in his memory seen someone look at his mom that way. It was the same way he looked at Claire, Toby and Aja. They were his everything. And it was obvious, Barbara meant the world to Morgana. 

He softly closed the door as Morgana climbed into bed alongside his mom. It was clear his former enemy loved his mom, he didn’t have to worry about Morgana ever letting his mom get hurt. She really truly loved her. 

[cake-writes]

Lifeline (Part Three)

Pairings: Rebekah x Reader // eventual Elijah x Reader // eventual Kol x Reader // eventual Klaus x Reader (it’s gonna be a literal train wreck, folks)

Chapter Warnings: Blood & Gore, 18+

Lifeline Master List  //  Spotify Playlist

The shrill sound of an obnoxious ringtone ripped you out of what was once a peaceful slumber.

You blearily fumbled with your cell phone in an attempt to send the call to voicemail, but instead you accidentally hit the 'answer call' button. Even without holding the handset up to your ear, you could hear the loud, irate voice of your girlfriend start on you for not calling her the night before.

"Bloody hell, say something, would you? And do spare me your awful excuses."

You dropped your phone on the pillow next to your head and shut your eyes again, already feeling a headache coming on. "What time is it?"

"It's morning," she hissed at you on the other end. You squinted at the phone again to confirm that it was, indeed, morning. Half past seven, in fact. "And where, pray tell, have you been?"

"Out," you responded dryly, draping an arm over your eyes to keep out the bright morning light streaming in through the curtains. You were in no mood to fight with her. "With Josh. I'm home now."

"Oh, good, you're home now. Would you like to know where I am?"

You sighed. "Okay, sure. Where are you?"

"Your apartment," she told you, "and you are absolutely not home, darling, so let's try that again, shall we?"

Immediately, your eyes shot open. No, upon second glance you didn't recognize the maroon pillowcase upon which sat your phone, and when you yanked back the covers, you paled at the sight in front of you: bodies, too many to count, littered the floor next to the bed. It was their blood that stained the originally white sheets such a deep red.

You swallowed thickly and rasped into the phone, "I'll be home soon."

Then you ended the call, and when she tried to ring you back, you switched your phone to silent.

You had no idea where the hell you were, and worse still, how any of this happened. The last thing you could remember was Josh walking you to the stoop of your apartment building.

There was no moment better than the present for you to appreciate the fact that you now knew that Josh was a vampire. He was just a quick phone call away, and like always, he didn’t mind helping you out of a bind. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite seem to comprehend exactly how many dead people were in the creepy old house until he actually arrived and found you pacing back and forth in the kitchen, leaving behind a bloody trail of footprints in your wake.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen such a gruesome scene before – except, well, you hadn’t. Not in reality, anyway. Your dreams were pretty terrible on most nights, so of course the one night in recent times that you’d actually slept well, your nightmares had played out in real life instead.

“I thought you said there were a couple of bodies,” Josh began, staring in morbid amazement at the pile of corpses. “Not a baseball team.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I lied.”

At your unnervingly calm response, he eyed you warily. “How are you not freaking out?”

“I don’t know,” you told him honestly, chewing your lip in frustration. “I remember walking home with you last night, and then…” You frowned. “I woke up here.”

After you’d gotten over the shock of your current predicament, you’d somehow managed to figure out where you were by peering out the large, decorative windows. It was a rich neighbourhood, judging by all of the old colonial-style houses down the block, and a quick look out the front door gave you an address.

You’d somehow ended up in the Garden district, leagues away from your apartment in the Quarter.

“Do you think you were compelled?”

At Josh’s question, your brows furrowed. “What?”

“If you don’t remember, you might have been compelled, yeah? That’s the only other explanation.” That was when Josh crouched down to study a tattoo on one of the corpses’ wrists. It wasn’t a very distinctive one, you noted; just an infinity symbol. Those were all the rage these days. “I remember walking you home, too. You weren’t that drunk.”

“Well, that’s comforting, Josh, except I don’t know what you mean by ‘compelled’.”

Josh dropped the dead girl’s wrist and stood, again, before looking at you strangely. “You know about vampires, but not about compulsion? Man, you need some better friends.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, not particularly pleased that he was talking shit about your witch friends. He rolled his eyes.  

“It’s basically, uh… mind control. Kind of. Here,” Josh explained, stepping closer to you. When his eyes met yours, you suddenly felt entranced by him, unable to do anything at all, let alone look away like you so desperately wanted to all of a sudden. Your body almost felt frozen in place, until he spoke again, softly, “Touch your nose.”

When your hand moved on its own, your finger coming to rest on your nose just like he told you to do, your eyes widened in fear. You couldn’t control your body.

“Now touch your ear.”

And as hard as you tried to resist, you still brought your hand to your ear.

“Josh, stop it,” you pleaded, your voice wavering. No matter how much you trusted him, you didn’t like this. It was terrifying, not being able to control yourself no matter how hard you tried. If Josh was about to do this so easily, what would happen if some other vampire decided to make you their toy?

Josh held his hands up in a show of surrender, and then, suddenly, you could move again.

“What the fuck was that?” you bit out, giving him an angry shove.

“That’s compulsion.”

“Yeah, well, it sucks.” You briskly rubbed your upper arms as if to warm them, but you weren’t cold; you just needed to feel like you could control yourself again. It was such a bizarre, unsettling feeling, one that you knew certainly wouldn’t go away anytime soon. “So some dickhead vampire could, uh, compel me to forget, and I would?”

“Yeah, basically.”

You let out a soft hum of disapproval in response.

Josh picked up another dead girl’s arm, then, and when he turned the underside of her wrist toward you, you saw the same infinity symbol sitting there.  

“That’s not good,” you said uneasily. It was a common tattoo, but not that common.

“No,” he replied, letting her arm drop back to the floor. “It’s not.”

After Josh helped you clean up the mess – in broad daylight, thanks to his creepy compulsion trick – and you’d stolen some god-awful clothing from the house to change into, you finally made your way back to your apartment.

Your keys jingled noisily in the lock. When you dropped them, you let out a groan and stooped down to pick them up.

The front door of your apartment was yanked open before you could try the lock again. In the doorway stood your lovely, albeit furious, girlfriend.

While you’d been together for the last two months, neither of you was particularly serious about the relationship. You were something between friends with benefits and exclusive, but that didn’t mean she didn’t worry. You’d given her plenty of reason to, after all.

You pressed your lips together in a grim line and greeted her casually, “Bekah.”

Rebekah was, as always, a vision, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulders in waves. She wore a soft grey sweater, along with a pair of dark-washed jeans. Unsurprising was the fact that her feet were bare; considering the time, she would have been waiting here awhile for you and she’d already left her leather boots in the foyer.

The two of you were almost polar opposites: she was beautiful, delicate, the single ray of sunlight in your dark, stormy world.

When Rebekah saw the distressed look on your face, she didn’t say a word as cross as she was with you. Instead, she stepped aside so that you could come in, but you caught her off-guard by wrapping your arms around her neck. Then you finally broke down.

The entire time you sobbed into her neck, she held you in a comforting embrace and gently stroked your hair, whispering soft, soothing words into your ear, sweet things like, “It’s alright, love,” and “Let it all out, I’m right here.”

At first, you tried to explain everything to her through your tears, but she was patient and let you take all the time you needed to calm down. As your sobs began to subside, she gently led you to the sofa. Once you were seated comfortably with a warm knit blanket over your lap, she went to the kitchen to make you a cup of tea.

It was a small comfort, hearing the familiar sounds of Rebekah boiling the kettle and the gentle clinking of her teaspoon against glass as she stirred through your preferred amounts of milk and sugar. She returned shortly thereafter with two mugs, one for each of you. You accepted yours gratefully as she took a seat beside you on the sofa, curling her legs under her.

“Bekah,” you started again, your voice rough from crying. Your first thought was to tell her everything, but then it hit you that she was human, too, like you. You didn’t want to scare her by telling her about all the creatures lurking in New Orleans. She was a normal person, and normal people would have gone to the police about what you’d just witnessed. Clearly you weren’t normal, because instead of doing exactly that, you had instead called your vampire friend to help you dispose of some corpses. When you spoke again, you willed your voice not to waver this time. “I’m so sorry. I should have called you last night.”

Rebekah placed a gentle hand on top of your own and squeezed gently. “You’re bloody right you should have. Now tell me what happened.”

God, you didn’t want to lie to her, but you didn’t have much of a choice. You couldn’t tell her the truth.

“Josh and I drank too much, and I wound up passing out at his place,” you explained hurriedly, making things up as you went. “I wasn’t planning on that at all yesterday, but then I ran into him on Bourbon Street, and he wanted to catch up, and things just… spiralled. I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“That doesn’t explain why you were so upset,” she said plainly, looking quite unimpressed even though you knew, deep down, that she appreciated your apology.  

You felt your cheeks flush, having been caught off-guard by her comment. You hated to lie, especially to her, because one little lie always turned into a web of them as was happening right now. “I just… I really hate it when you’re mad at me, you know? I was worrying the whole way home, and my phone died, so I couldn’t call you, and—”

Rebekah’s soft lips met yours, then, effectively putting an end to your bumbling excuses. Her hand came up to caress your cheek as her mouth expertly worked yours, lighting a fire within you in an instant. Her tongue trailed along your bottom lip, and you parted your lips for her, allowing her to dominate your mouth in exactly the way she so seemed to enjoy.

Then she pulled away, leaving you breathless and wanting, your disaster of a morning quickly forgotten.

“I may be tempted to forgive you,” she drawled, her fingers teasing the hem of the plain black tee shirt you’d acquired this morning, “if you make it up to me.”

“I’ll do my best,” you breathed, leaning in to kiss her again.

[zankivich]

Cocoa Butter Kisses: A one shot

Prompt: Shawn with a black girl just living life and hanging out with his family.. I don’t know duck 😅😂

As a bi-racial baby very in touch with her blackness this was a pleasure to write. the lack of representation in shwnblr for black women is genuinely annoying as hell. Add on that the lack of representation in popular culture as a whole of these pop boys ever even thinking of being with black women, I just ain’t got time sis. Black women are too iconic, we ain’t got time to not be celebrating them tbh. Enough rambling, hope you enjoy!!!!! 

*Shawn’s point of view*

He thinks yellow was invented for her. And not just the color but maybe the sun itself. It’s the only way he can explain how beautiful she is. Her skin is this brilliant hue of darkness. It’s rich like espresso and there isn’t an imperfection in her entire complexion. And then she’s standing there in that bright yellow sundress that grips her bodice like a glove and flows out to to smooth legs that he could spend all day caressing. She’s got braids in for the summer, and they’re piled up on her head in a bun that looks more like a crown. She is beauty and she is grace. She is sunshine and warmth and the earth simultaneously. And he’s never been so gone in his whole entire life.

It’s the first time all of her family and his are together. They’d been dating for over a year, and as soon as he’d finished the tour, she had insisted on the get together. He may have gone a little overboard insisting on an entire vacation, but family was just as important to her as it was to him and he wanted to make a good impression. The second he watched her mother hugging every single one of his family members within seconds of meeting them he understood more about who she was and why she was that way. And maybe he fell just a little bit harder.

She catches him staring finally and her thick, full lips spread into a grin to show off teeth that glint against her beautiful skin. He is pulled to her without question, and when his hands slide up against her waist it takes everything in him not to pull her closer.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He murmured tongue wetting his bottom lip.

She beams at him.

“This morning alone? Twice.”

Her hands come up to rest along his neck and everywhere she touches him, his skin feels like it's on fire. It’s been a year and he still feels so deeply into her. It’s that smile, and those eyes that are so brown it feels like he could get lost in them--and he does, and that laugh of hers that seems to come from her gut and rattle her whole body. She is a force in the world and he’s just so goddamn happy to have stumbled into her orbit.

“I think I mean it more right now.” He tells her pulling her in for a kiss.

She hums against his mouth and pulls his bottom lip into her mouth. She has a wonderful way of seeming graceful and orderly in public while also destroying him sinfully in broad daylight. And those lips are so fucking thick that when she kisses him it’s like a cloud is dominating his mouth.

“Mmm...my momma cannot see us like this. She used to tell me about boys like you.” She giggled.

“Boys like me huh?”

“Yes, boys like you with your big doe eyes and your megawatt smile. You’re bad for girls like me.”

He frowns and tightens his hold on her hips helping to lift her onto her tiptoes so that he kiss her better.

“Well I’ve met your momma, and while I simply adore her, did she ever tell you about boys who might just want to love you, and take care of you, and give you everything they have to offer?”

His smile smoothed into seriousness as his hand trailed up to cup her jaw. He wanted her to believe him, to see his heart on his sleeve, and know that there could never be any other motive than to love her fully and completely.

She shook her head softly, her big ole eyes capturing him once again.

“No I don’t think she ever got around to that.”

He grips the back of her neck softly, his thumb running along her pulse point. She is mesmerizing to him even now, even just standing there before him.

She’d been running back and forth all day trying to keep the masses happy. She was playing both attentive, innocent girlfriend to his parents while also making sure her family wasn’t killing each other. He hadn’t actually been alone with her all day and it finally felt like his chance had arrived. He loved his family, and was learning that he loved hers as well, but the urge to be near her, with her, and only her was one that was difficult to fight.

“Do you want to sit down for a minute?”

Her eyes swept over their combined families on the property he had rented for the vacation looking for a reason to keep moving, keep making sure things remained perfect. She was always trying to go, and he’d made it his mission in life to get her to stop and smell the roses whenever he could. This often times meant not giving her a choice, which always lead to a very sassy raise of her eyebrows before she gave in to him. She was so fucking cute he couldn’t stand it.

“C’mere.” He murmured gently, tugging her towards the plush couches on the deck.

He pulled her into his lap, nose immediately nuzzling into the soft skin of her shoulder. She smelled of cocoa butter and this sweet perfume of hers that smelled of flowers. She was as intoxicating to him as ever.

“Do you think things are going okay?” She asked pulling his arms around her the way that she wanted.

“I do. Our mums haven’t stopped talking since we introduced them. Our dads are out fishing right now, and Aaliyah absolutely adores you. I don’t think they could be going better babe.”

“Do you think we should tell them...about us moving in together?”

He could see the worry on her face at the thought and squeezed at her hips in reassurance.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to do, y/n.”

She nodded. “I just come from a different kind of family. My mom is very traditional. I don’t think she knows how to wrap her head around your career, and the fact that I’m a grown woman now. I want her to like you. I mean I… I’m so in love with you, I want them all to see that.”

He knows that she’s serious, and this is genuinely stressing her out, but he can’t help the smile that blossoms on his face at her words. Shawn knew with every ounce of his being that she was his world, and that his love for her was something he hadn’t ever quite felt before. But, he couldn’t always be sure she felt the same way. Something about the strength of his feelings made him self-conscious sometimes, and it was moments like that, when she was just being honest with him about her heart that he truly felt swept up in everything that they had become together.

“We’ll show them.” He promised bring her fingers to his lips to kiss. “It’ll all work itself out, I promise. If you’re unsure we can wait. I just...I love you baby, and I want to share that with the world. I think your family is a good place to start.”

Andrew and he had already had a conversation about the publicness of their relationship. As long as she was comfortable, he had refused to hide his life from his fans, and more than that she was such an important part of his life that he couldn’t dream of keeping her hidden. But he loved her more than he did himself, loved her enough to put all of his selfish feelings aside if it’s what she needed, even if he wanted the exact opposite.

“I know you’re right...I’m just scared, I guess.”

She let her head tilt down and that was a vulnerability he had never gotten to see until maybe six months into their relationship. She had been plagued with the burden of the world resting itself on her shoulders as if it was an expectation for her to carry. She had come from a culture that told her standing tall was the only option, that her duty was to be strong a hundred percent of the time. And maybe that’s why she had looked so tired when he’d met her, like she had been waiting all her life for someone to take a little bit of that burden away. Since he’d first laid eyes on her he knew he’d take the whole damn thing on his back just to see her smile.

His fingers tugged at her chin coaxing it up gently so that their eyes met as he placed a kiss as gentle as a whisper upon her lips.

“That’s okay. We can be scared together, baby.”

Sometimes she looks at him like she’s confused by his every molecule, like he shouldn’t want to give her the world. This is the look she gives him now, but he just smiled at her as dopey and optimistic as he ever could be, and somehow it gets her to giggle.

“Okay.”

The weight of the moment gets interrupted by the speaker over in the grass turning to a song that her whole family seems to feel in their bones. He only notices it as all because her whole body perks up at the sound of the base, and before he knows what’s hit him she is grabbing his hand and pulling him into his worst fucking nightmare. The first time she ever tried to get him to dance he had to explain to her the complexities of his whiteness. That not only was he white, but he was a Canadian, and not a Bieber Canadian--because where the hell did they find him at--but a true, klutzy, no rhythm having, pasty ass, Canadian. This conversation seems to completely leave her mind as the cupid shuffle comes on though he tried desperately to remind her.

“Baby I--I can’t!” He whines as she pulls him into what already looks like synchronized lines.

She rolls her eyes. “Boy, relax! The steps are word for word in the song, and nobody is looking at you.”

“You don’t understand,” He exclaimed to her over the music. “I fall on flat surfaces.”

Eventually she seemed to remember that he really was truly helpless and decided to take pity on him. She grabbed his hand and stood directly beside his body as the song began its famous steps.

“Watch me babes. We’re gonna start by going to right.” She explained as the song told them just that.

He stumbled after her as she lead his body in the correct direction, one foot after the other. Then it’s to the left, and he thinks maybe it isn’t so bad.

“Now kick, now kick, now kick, now kick.” She smiled kicking one leg out then the other and alternating.

But then she’s “walking it by herself” and it instantly becomes too complicated for him. He’s in fucking skinny jeans; he plays guitar, dancing is not his forte. Add on to that that every single other person on the damn grass seems to know what they’re doing and he just knows he looks like a newborn fawn who can’t control their legs at all. At one point he swear he sees his sister filming and knows that the whole world--or at least the world of instagram--is going to see him making a fool of himself.

The problem is that her face really does light up when she’s surrounded by her family on the makeshift dance floor, and she seems to like his flailing limbs and general incompetence even more. He would do anything to keep that smile on her face, even his least favorite thing in the world.

When the chorus repeats for the sixth of seventh time, and maybe he got the hang of it, and maybe he didn’t, she treats him to the one of the many things she knows drives him wild. Her hips start to move in tiny, tight circles, and she’s backing it up against him in a way he’s still not quite sure what to do with. One of her hands slid to her knee, a slight arch appearing in her back that is genuinely sinful, and the other wrapped around the back of his neck keeping his chest plastered to her back in a way that is not at all family friendly.

“That’s not so bad now is it?” She asked, a wicked glint in her eye.

He let his hands slide to cup her hips and pressed his lips to her ear from behind.

“I will not let you give me a boner in front of both of our families on my first day of meeting them”

“Then I suggest you think cold thoughts, sweetheart.”

Ironically, it’s a not so cold look from her mother that has them separating quicker than they came together. Crisis--and boner-averted.

Eventually a slower song came on and he wrapped his arms around her waist in a much more socially acceptable manner. She pressed her head upon his chest and let him hum in her ear as they swayed in the breeze. Maybe she’d feel comfortable enough to tell them that day, maybe it would stay their little secret for a little while longer. He’d be okay with it either way. Just as long as she still scrunched her nose up when she laughed. And as long as she still smelled of cocoa butter and flowers. And as long as she let him love her as hard as his body insisted that he do. Just as long as she loved him back. He’d be just fine with that.

[spycethra]

Title: Love Hack (Part 1) 

Pairing: Gavin Reed x RK-900

Relationship Level: Dating for over a year / A bit rocky

Rating: Fluff 

Story Summary: RK-900 gets hacked and loses his normal inhibitions. In turn, he’s become far more jealous and lovey dovey than ever and ironically more humanlike. But with only a few hours to experience this unbelievable version of the investigator, what’s Gavin to do after RK-900 resets back to his normal composed self?

Chapter Summary: Mission -> Survive the Coffeeshop Date

Gavin Reed did not know what to do.

He sat at a table of a local corner coffee shop with a scowling RK-900 seated just across from him. He’d been that way for nearly twenty minutes now. Normally the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans was enough to keep anyone upbeat.

But it was damn a shame that same effect didn’t manage to roll over to androids.

Richard tapped indignantly at the table’s slightly sticky surface with his index finger, appearing absolutely incensed.

“You know why we can’t go back to the office today.”

“No. Quite frankly, I don’t.”

Gavin stared at his partner in exasperation to which the android gave a conceding growl before resting his chin in his palm, still on the lookout for god knows what. It was like having a snarling pure breed that was utterly nettled by anyone (and anything) that wasn’t the man sitting across from him.

“Fine. By your horribly flawed human logic,” Richard began, sounding more vexed than ever as he proceeded to recollect the details for disaster of that very morning, “the department assumed that some amateur coder managed to successfully compromise the integrity of my programming.”

RK-900 placed his hand over his own chest with great emphasis for his state of the art configuration - still years ahead of all the rest.

“I am the RK-900, Reed. Top of the line of my series, equipped with enough security measures that with the very power to topple even the most ardent of minds. Through utilizing the Cephilax Firewall 22-78-3SR...”

And then the act of tuning out all the techno babble began…  

Gavin did well not to roll his eyes as he instead just pursed his lips into a thin line, trying hard not to fall for old habits by needling the android. RK-900 just left himself so wide open that it was hard to resist teasing him. Instead, he nodded at all the right moments, allowing the android his moment to rant away his problems and boast of his higher tier qualities all at the same time.

It was what a good boyfriend would do, right?

But as far as the detective was concerned, the RK unit could keep defending himself until he was blue in the face, they still weren’t going back to the office.  

“Does this crude summary seem accurate, detective? I have far more advanced capabilities to speak of but after analyzing the amount of time it would take to verbalize each and every one to you, it would appear the work day would be over,” Richard concluded with a little less edge in his voice than before.

Gavin mentally winced at the mention of work. RK-900 was still under the impression that they’d be going back.

“Richard, there’s no way I’m taking you back today.”

The android visibly stiffened, sitting straighter than before with his arms crossed in front of him as though he were suddenly on trial.

“Do I have to repeat myself, Reed? I already gave you conclusive evidence that I am operating at optimal capacity.”

This isn’t getting us anywhere. I have to be direct with him… Gavin thought, trying to keep things as cool as they could be.

He’d already witnessed what happened if RK-900’s stress levels increased a little over half.

And it wasn’t pretty. Hell, it got them kicked out of the station for the remainder of the day.

Fowler’s orders.

But Gavin wasn’t so much of a jerk as to torture his partner with that information. Richard was staunchly dedicated to maintaining an unblemished record.

Taking a breath, Gavin’s stone grey eyes flew up to meet with the sharpness of arctic blue. He tried staring back about understandingly as an asshole like him could for someone he actually gave a damn about. Not that he could hold the stare for very long.

It was terrifying how well Richard’s eyes seemed to dig into him so well. Averting his gaze, Gavin nervously interlaced his fingers together, a cheap attempt at buying time, while leaning forward with a small rise in heartbeat. It wasn’t even that warm in the cafe and yet beads of perspiration were already beginning to form along the contour of his neck.

Relax. This’ll either go really well… or with Richard throwing me through this very nice display window. He carefully eyed the android with a weak smile… who provided none in return.

Well, if I’m lucky and he hurls me far enough, a speeding driver might end all of my troubles for me right then and there. ...Considering that the RK-900 series doesn’t have the capacity to resuscitate the dead.  

Gavin slowly raised his head again to his now glaring partner, whose neck and shoulders had tightened with considerable impatience.  

“Reed.”  

Fuck. Moment of truth.

“Rich... You, uh, you do remember putting Connor’s chair through the wall, right?” He reminded the android carefully, while making note of RK-900’s every move.

Fortunately, the RK unit merely narrowed his eyes as though insulted by the memory.

“...It wasn’t even a very good chair anyway. It made all sorts of infernal noises when I was used it,” he argued flippantly.

“...Before or after you broke it clean in half?”

Gavin quickly raised his hands in deference after practically feeling the slicing movement of RK-900’s frozen stare. The robotic investigator’s hands were balling in fists just between them atop the flimsy wooden tabletop. One strike from the overpowered cop and it would no doubt become kindling.

“J-Just getting the details, Nines. It was actually pretty impressive that you did that with just your bare hands. You know, if you ask me,” the detective added anxiously while keeping a very close eye on his partner’s hands.  

The remark seemed to settle the matter for the moment, but android was still shifting awkwardly on the ridiculously uncomfortable stool. Why did coffee joints insist on keeping these terrible things? Gavin almost wondered if he might toss it through a wall too...

“It doesn’t matter. I said it was in poor condition. I merely… emphasized its natural state.”

“Of... being trash?” Gavin offered perplexedly, not entirely following if RK-900 was making a joke or just acting childish.

“Why are you on his side?” came the cryptic question that sent a fresh bead of sweat gliding down the detective’s throat.

“Ah… I don’t really know what you’re referring to-”

“Oh hey fellas!” The peppy barista had suddenly arrived in her green apron and cherry lipsticked smile, both highly unwelcome considering RK-900’s frightfully intolerable mood.

His sharp cold gaze flicked to her, seeming to size her up, before returning back to Gavin with an inscrutable countenance that left his partner uneasy.

Please don’t hit this girl, Nines… Gavin pleaded the android mentally despite knowing the other couldn’t hear him.

Somehow she failed to notice the thick tension entirely as she removed a coffee cup labeled ‘Gavin’ from the tray she was carrying, handing it personally to the detective. He struggled to provide a friendly smile back but upon feeling the death glare directed straight for him, he immediately gave up .  

“Here you goooo, Gavin! I hope you enjoy it, sweetie!” she chirped cheerily while purposefully brushing their fingers together with a final decisive wink that he prayed didn’t just put him in his grave.

“A-Ah, yeah. Thanks.”

The girl was barely gone when Gavin felt a bone crushing grip atop his hand, squeezing ever so slowly like an anaconda with a cold vendetta. He could almost swear he could hear violins trilling his never ending misery in the background.

“Nnnnrggh… N-Nine… What-” He started to yell but quickly bit his tongue.

Gavin could barely say anything without instinctively screaming at the insane android to get the fuck off him. But he knew that this wasn’t RK-900’s fault. Yelling wasn’t going to fix anything. This just wasn’t Richard’s doing.

He wasn’t in control.

His mind flicked back to roboticist tech’s debriefing just before Fowler gave the order.  

“Detective Reed, please bear in mind that though Richard may mostly act normal, his inhibitor locks have been… Well, to make it easy to understand, he’s going to be irrational and far more sensitive than you are accustomed to. Situations normally addressed with calm reason will instead be handled haphazardly on the first whim. ...Please be careful.”

They explained that the hacking was committed by a disgruntled employee; and even those idiots at Cyberlife were still debugging the RK mainframe, they had said it might take till long into the evening before effects could be taken care of. 

...But a whole nine hours of this felt like it was going to be a very, very long time.

“R-Rich… Pain. Lots. Of pain,” Gavin ground out as tolerantly as he possibly could through the amount of duress his android was hurling at him in broad fucking daylight.

Long story short.  

“Who is she to you?”

Oh my god. Gavin’s mind groaned as he tried not to make any further eye contact. If he did, he knew that he was done for.

The hacker somehow made his partner into an obsessively jealous highschooler.

And he found this notion to both as equally terrifying as he found absolutely hilarious.

And his sick sense of humor was probably going to get him killed as he kept his lips tightly pursed as humanly possible to keep from laughing.

“Reed, don’t you dare lie to me. I saw your fingers touch. Did you enjoy that? Were they soft and filled with tender memories of your boyhood?” RK-900 accused bitingly.

Gavin bit his lip so hard that it nearly bled as he vigorously shook his head from side to side.

Don’t feed into it. Doooon’t do it. He warned himself, wanting nothing more than his asshole side to be let loose.

There were so many ways to bother his partner and get a rise out of him that it felt almost impossible to resist.

You’re gonna die. Make a crackshot at any of this, and make no mistake, RK-900 will kill you.

“I don’t. Know. Her,” Gavin barely managed to squeeze out, still containing his need to make light of a terrible situation while his hand was still very much prisoner to the android’s steel grip.

“Really? And how did she know your name?”

What the fuck kind of hacker shit is this!? Holy shit... This isn’t fair. Gavin felt his mouth fall open, absolutely stunned by the insane question. If only I could pull out my phone right now. Richard isn’t gonna believe any of this shit when I tell him.

The employees of Cyberlife may have also mentioned that the RK unit was going to have a soft reset which would return him back to yesterday’s state, but it would also erringly erase the dozen hours of pure gold from his memory.

“Rich,” Gavin started, trying so very hard not to say anything stupid, “Rich, you were standing right next to me when she asked me for it. You know, when she needed a name for when I ordered this coffee?”

“A likely story.”

No fucking way.

Obviously, Richard wasn’t convinced and his hand squeezed even tighter, causing Gavin to cry out but immediately muffle the sound into his arm. Okay, this wasn’t as funny as he’d thought. His squeezing was threatening to crush the detective’s knuckles into dust.  

“Tell me why she’s so familiar with you. Tell me or you can consider learning how to live the rest of your life left handed.”

“H-Hey, better idea! H-how about we do that thing I said we shouldn’t do because I am an idiot and you are obviously the smarter one,” Gavin offered desperately while trying to sound as normal as possible amidst contorting from the immense pain.

In an instant, the hold loosened. As if having never happened in the first place, the android’s once ruthless touch suddenly became more gentle and affectionate as he caressed the back of Gavin’s poor hand with a tenderness only a shy girlfriend would do.

He looked up to find RK-900 smiling bright and the image nearly gave him a heart attack.

“Do you mean it, Reed? You’ll hold hands with me as we walk home together?”

Home was over a two hour walk away.

But considering how uncharacteristically docile and adorable RK-900 had become on account of the hack… how could he possibly say no?  

AN: So it became longer than expected? Sorry, @frog-batter ! But hopefully you enjoy this segment. I like the next bit more though since they’ll both be out and about. So much to interact with! Especially with a jelly robo bf. I hope everyone else enjoyed it too! Let me know if there’s maybe something in particular you’d like to see lovedrunk-RK-900 do and I might incorporate it! 

Also, there’s a Connor mention in part 2 (since he is also hacked.) Stay tuned, lovelies! <3  

[danieldavidwriter]

Gateway

Nisha Drake stood on her balcony overlooking the city and took several deep breaths of air. It had been a long night and she really needed to straighten her head. There was always a good breeze up here, cool and clean, so she turned her face into it and flopped her head backwards to stare up into the brightening sky. She would leave today, she knew it.

The feeling had been growing inside her all week, unplanned and unexpected really, but she knew that today was the day she would go. A smile crossed her face, followed by a little laugh in her nose and a shrug of her shoulders that looked like a quiet sneeze, but was in fact a delicious burst of joy, relief, love and contentment. She spun on her heels and headed back inside, immediately kneeling down at the coffee table to scratch out another line as thick as a boot lace.

Nisha lent forwards over the drug smeared and cup strewn plastic table with a short black straw to snarl it up her nose. It stung as it clawed it’s way towards her brain in brambly clots, whilst the familiar acrid slime slid and gagged down the back of her throat, making her reach out to gulp down more warm champagne. Not the best gear in the world, more MDMA and aspirin than coke, but she liked the trashy, trippy hit it was giving and at this time in the morning anything would do. The sound of birds singing from the shadows drifted in through the balcony door, counterpointing her shame with their delicate trills and chirrups, as the first light of the day added a faint wash of colour to the greyscale streets outside.

As she massaged her nostrils to hurry the drug along on it’s journey into her blood, she felt her body prickle with anticipation and her spine judder and spasm a little deep inside the flesh of her neck. She glanced up at the guy chewing his lip expectantly opposite her. The magic was melting off him as the dawn light took hold, but she’d hoped he would stick around and here he was, looking jaded and day old like a party sandwich that was still essentially the same, but giving off clues that it should’ve been enjoyed 12 hours ago.

He was young and keen though. Full of the bravado every twenty-something first job guy had, and he had great tits. Great sirloin steak tits and broad, action-figure arms. Arms that she’d fantasised about more than once since she’d hired him and that undoubtedly made him more memorable than he should be. She obsessed endlessly over the pale and solid curve that burst out from his cotton sleeve, that fattened and stretched the fabric each time he picked up his drink or self-consciously cupped his chest. Her fingers could sense the tautness of his skin, daydream the weight of him as her hands cupped his chest and pushed up against him.

He’d worked for Nisha for two weeks already, but she still couldn’t remember his name. Nick? Ned? Nevin? It began with an N, she was sure of that, and it was his first job since graduating. A decent job as well. She was paying him way over the odds just for the sake of it. He probably had serious money in his account for the first time ever, a job that you almost couldn’t fuck up, and the effortless under-thirties looks that you don’t know you have until they’re gone. Not that that would ever happen to him, of course.

She carved out another line and gestured the straw towards him. She’d been here before, tediously role playing the crazy night crawler to build a temporary sense of camaraderie with some guy who most likely cared about her as little as she did. For the briefest moment she would feel less alone, before the daylight came back and a brutal despair rampaged into her mind with the vicious deprecation only a hard-earned comedown can generate.

He leant forwards to snort the gear and she took the moment to play with a curl of hair that fell from his fringe and danced like a seahorse in front of her. From there, she ran her hand across his cheekbone and down his neckline, over the broad, bulging muscle in his shoulder and down the vein in his arm, before jumping left to brush under the heavy curve of his chest. The music had stopped, although she hadn’t noticed at the time, and she heard his breath quicken a little and his nylon t-shirt crackle under her fingers.

I feel like fucking - she said.

Since the Gates of Heaven had opened, every night went by like this.

Nobody that was still here really cared anymore. Nobody had anything to lose, so the ritual of determined debauchery and oblivion had become the afterwork activity of choice, whilst afterwork was getting earlier and earlier every day. For Nisha, sometimes just sending an email over breakfast meant the after work fun could begin all over again.

Of the people who remained, some were squeezing the last few drops from their physicality before going upstairs, others were exploring ever darker corners of their imagination, whilst some - like Nisha - were exploiting the situation and making huge amounts of money. She didn’t need it anymore of course, she could leave whenever she wanted to, but this was the first time in her life that she’d had an idea that actually made money. Real money. More money than she’d ever imagined. After years of mediocre businesses that seemed cool enough, but in reality just about scraped along - working 70 hour weeks but earning half as much as her friends; travelling on business trips but only ever economy; pitching at investment events that felt like begging but with slides and artisan coffee - this business was next level. She only had to do about one hours work a day, and even that was really just checking that the server was switched on. After that, the money kept rolling in.

Nisha had created an app called Gateway. Gateway monitored local weather stations for the changes in air pressure that always preceded the Gates opening. The geolocation in your phone would tell you if you could get there in time, and through a few links to transport services it would even tell you the best route to take. Simple really, but she’d made twenty million in the first two weeks, and every single day since then her bank account had filled back up as fast as she could empty it.

She’d never felt the energy of a good idea working well before. A winner! An indisputable, surefire, class A hit. Gateway was the sort of thing that people wrote about in Forbes magazine, or shared motivational stories about on LinkedIn. In any other time she would’ve had investors crawling all over her, offering crazy sums for a piece of the action. She’d have been featured in one of those nauseating ‘top females under thirty’ lists, giving talks on women in tech and proclaiming how ‘anyone can do it if they believe in themselves’. But not in this time.

This time no one cared about her future plans or market share, her growth curve or exit strategy. They all used Gateway just once, to get out and never look back. The irony rubbed, but she forced it out of her mind, focused on the here and now and each night drank, snorted and fucked the tragedy of her hopeless success out of her mind.

Besides, she had told herself she wouldn’t leave until she was ready. Things were getting more fucked up the longer she stayed, and she had kind of like it. It was messy, exciting and very cinematic.

Nick or Ned or whoever it was, looked up at her as he inhaled his line and tried to look shocked by Nisha’s bluntness, but as he straightened back up his face confessed that he gave as little of a shit as she did, and he smiled a wasted and disinterested smile as he brushed a few crumbs from the stubble on his top lip.

Sure, why not - his voice croaked as the coke brought him to the edge of a sneeze.

He squeezed his nostrils and held his breath before moving up to kiss her, the stale smell of champagne advancing towards her in hot blows. His lips felt surprisingly soft and warm and in the brief moment that she was lost in their tenderness, Nisha felt a lump appear unexpectedly in her throat as a great wave of sorrow and loss, swelled and broke in her chest. Was she going to cry? In a panic, she flipped it. Flipped it to anger and pushed him backwards with her mouth, rising up from her knees and biting on his lip until he recoiled, sliding awkwardly off his chair. His body twisted underneath her onto the floor and his legs buckled up behind him like a corpse.

She stopped for a moment and raised herself up to look at him, her back arched and her arms locked solid.

Want some viagra?

No - he sounded shy all of a sudden, so young - I’m ok, thank you.

In heaven, Marlon was watching. He watched her often because he still loved her despite everything. He loved her even though he had to keep reminding himself that this person, this stranger who drank and snorted and fucked away every day and all of their memories, was not the same Nisha that he knew. This was another Nisha, born out of this extremely fucked up situation. She was confused, surely. Frightened, maybe. Lost? Stressed? Traumatised? Maybe a little bit of all of these things, but it didn’t matter. He knew who she really was, and that she could still be saved.

***

For Marlon, everything was wrong. Every day and every moment.

This wasn’t how it was meant to be. They’d walked to the Gates together hand in hand. They’d thrown a party the night before, to celebrate going up. She’d told him that she was giving Gateway away, making it open source so anybody could use it. She’d told him that they would be in heaven together, with no more work and no more stress. No more problems and no more stupid mistakes. But it was all a lie.

He often day-dreamed back to their leaving party, when their remaining friends had piled into their new apartment and drunk shots and jumped around wildly to Rage Against the Machine and Sum41. Lampshades were broken and drinks were spilled on their beautiful carpet, but this new life of theirs was so fresh and unmade that there was precious little else to break. No pictures, no furniture, no best glasses, no sentimental objects. Somebody broke the arm on the Technics turntable, but since they weren’t using it nobody cared. It was still revolving silently the next morning when they left.

Most of their guests that night were much like their expensive new apartment. Picked up in the last few weeks they were still strange and unknown, a little empty perhaps, gorgeous but generic, and only theirs as a result of the money they now had. The money that came in so fast they didn’t know what to do with it all, apart from rent expensive flats, cheap friends and meaningless good times. Marlon could see the fakery now, he sort of knew it then, but it had still felt amazing.

They were a strange bunch, those still here.

The most moral and virtuous people had gone within the first week of the Gates opening, racing eagerly to get to the afterlife that their childhood had promised them. Whether raised on old testament brutality or glossy Sunday school pamphlets, whether they wore a cross or a hijab, carried a knife or rosary beads, now was their moment of truth and excited validation and there was no reason to delay.

Your average person went up a few weeks later, reassured by endless 24 hour news items and social media discussions that the Gates weren’t an alien trap or some kind of government conspiracy, and deciding that the chaos that was rapidly taking over the non-celestial world was now by far the worst option. A quick re-read of the bible, a few Wikipedia searches in case there was a quiz and they were gone. Delivered from evil, for ever and ever.

Others stayed back to do some good amongst the orphans and lost souls of the growing bloodshed, the refugees caught in the rising tide of revenge attacks and lustful tourism, but eventually even they left, electing to save themselves and leave the rest of the population to whatever personal fate they had chosen.

Those left behind now were fanatical non-believers, the guilty and guilt ridden, hoarders and mercenaries, those who cowered in the face of change and those for whom pain and pleasure and death were far more attractive than infinite paradise. How strange it was, that with the promise of unqualified salvation, the cruelty and deviance within even the gentlest soul had been awakened in a counter-reaction, that quickly spilled beyond even the most extreme moral boundaries.

Marlon could still feel the butterflies that danced in his belly for that whole night and into the morning when they left. On that day, the morning was fresh and clear. The crisp night air lingered in the shade, whilst the rising sun beat down on their bare skin as they began their purposeful but apprehensive walk to the Gates.

They were both in T-shirt’s and shorts, hand in hand, enjoying what might be their last touch. Perhaps this was the last warm breeze to ruffle through the soft hairs on their arms, or the last rays of sunlight to warm their heads and shoulders.

Nisha had her phone out with Gateway open, calling out directions every once in a while as the app wound them through alleyways and parks. They passed a supermarket with every one of it’s windows broken. Apples and wine bottles lay amongst the broken glass, a burnt out SUV with a ‘Jesus loves you’ sticker sent thin trails of black smoke into the calm air as it smouldered, and bodies lay crumpled on the ground in the shadow of a tower block - an increasingly common sight. A couple holding hands over here, a child lying alone over there.

At one point they startled a dog that was scratching through rubbish, piled ten feet high against a wall in a school playground. It looked up with a start, blood dripping from the tin-can cuts on it’s jowls, before skittling off with it’s tail between it’s legs when Marlon stamped his feet.

Crossing a deserted junction, the faraway bass of the Neverending Rave, a 24 hour party that had been running non-stop since the first few appearances of the Gates, thudded gently to a lost melody before being cut off again the moment they turned the next corner.

Eventually, the familiar halo in the sky came in to view, first behind the skyline a few streets away and then rising high overhead. Nisha put her phone away and they both gazed up at the wonder that swirled overhead.

It was an awe inspiring sight. Gentle waves of colour danced about in the air and across every surface like mother of pearl, whilst a warm and constant breeze spun around and around in a huge circle of leaves and dust directly under the Gates. There was hardly any sound, a few hushed voices from the handful of other people standing around, but nothing more.

The strange calm reminded Marlon of his one and only sailing adventure. As a boy he and his father had set sail for France together, but in the dead off night the wind had failed and they spent hours bobbing vulnerable and hopeless in the dark. Hanging over the stern with his head resting on his arm and his finger tips trailing in the water, the cold black sea had slowly warmed into peach and rose ripples and eddies as the day brightened and the wind finally returned to them.

In the centre of the Gates, a bright white beam shone down like a search light and every now and then the softened silhouette of a new leaver raced up and away into the sky.

Marlon and Nisha walked in together, hearts pounding and their fingers digging tightly into each others palms. Marlon led the way and as he entered the light, he felt a roar of energy and incredible weightlessness that lifted his feet gently from the ground. He began to laugh and turned around to smile at Nisha next to him, but she wasn’t there. Her hand was stretched out as far as it would go whilst her feet remained firmly planted on grey pavement. He could barely see her face through the blinding light and had to twist his neck as far as it would go to keep her in view, as it slowly but inescapably turned him upside down. His hand gripped hers tightly now and his feet flapped wildly in the air. He held onto her as hard as he could, but he could feel her fingers wriggling and he was so stressed that his palms were sweating and he could feel her sliding out from his grip.

What’s wrong? - he yelled at her through the roaring.

Nisha! What’s wrong?

He couldn’t see her now. His eyes were streaming from the intensity of light and his inverted state made focussing almost impossible.

Sorry! - he heard her shout out through the wind, just once, before her hand finally slipped out from his and he flew up and away from her, tumbling like street litter in a storm.

And so, that was how this came to be. Another day of longing and anger and sadness, in this place that was meant to give the opposite of all those things.

Marlon felt uneasy about this contradiction. Had he done something wrong? There had been no pep talk when he arrived, no one to greet him or induct him into this new world. Had he missed it somehow? He’d gone back to where he arrived to check, but there didn’t seem to be anything special about the place. No door or desk, no greeters or receptionists or whatever you might expect to find on the other side of the Gates. It was much like every other place up here, a meadow on a warm day with a few people hanging around.

He felt guilty, disappointed even, that he seemed to have messed this up somehow. He spent his days with as good an impression of bliss on his face as he could conjure, whilst constantly thinking about Nisha, When he was sure he was alone, he would relax his face and guiltily watch her through the clouds, yawning his mouth to relieve the cramp of endless smirking.

He had no idea how he was meant to behave or feel. He slept on the ground, as that’s what everyone else seemed to do. He ate fruit from the trees and drank water from the pools that seemed to be everywhere. Too many, he had thought. All around him people strolled peacefully about or lay around in a state of bliss. They exchanged smiles but never spoke, they embraced but never kissed. They ate and drank and slept and he wondered enviously how they knew what they were supposed to be doing.

Every now and then he would hear the unmistakable sound of an angel flying overhead and hurriedly begin admiring a branch, or dreamily wafting his fingers in a nearby pool of water. He hadn’t met an angel yet, but their dark silhouettes soared overhead regularly, casting long shadows which cooled the ground and flattened the ripples on the water. Once, one had hovered overhead, it’s wing feathers twitching rapidly as it hung in the air almost motionless, before diving down with terrifying speed on the other side of an orchard. Marlon couldn’t see what happened, but he heard the most terrible shrieks and decided that it might be better if he never met one.

Nisha was sleeping now. He liked to watch her as she slept. He ignored the fact that she was partially clothed, that she was surrounded by empty bottles and detritus, that her phone had rung about a dozen times and she still hadn’t heard it. Instead he watched her face. It made small twitches and ticks as she slept, sometimes with the hint of a smile. Sometimes her lips moved almost imperceptibly as if she was whispering a secret. She had always done this and it told Marlon that, no matter what was happening now, the old Nisha was still there and she would come to him eventually.

A noise behind him made him start from his daydream and turn around abruptly. It was so instinctive that for a moment he forgot entirely where he was, or to imprint the bliss back onto his face.

There was a girl standing just a few feet from him. A young girl, maybe late teens or early twenties, in a blue pinafore dress with a buttercup hem that fluttered about her knees in the breeze. She had mud on her shoes and her hands picked at each other nervously.

He had no idea how long she’d been there. She stared expressionless directly at him, not in bliss, not in horror, just staring into his eyes, frozen in the moment. A moment which seemed to stretch on forever and made Marlon blink inexplicably several times. He kept expecting her to speak, but she never did and several moments passed when he wished he’d thought of the right thing to say and said it already.

As he decided that he simply must say something, anything, he noticed a tear had appeared like a pearl in her eye. It dropped out and ran fast down her cheek, etching a pale streak in her blushed skin. It was swiftly followed by another, and another, and before long her face and neck were wet with tears as they stared at each other in silence. Marlon felt sick as an understanding grew from nothing into everything inside of him, and the truth exploded out of both of them and crawled it’s way across the wilting grass and putrifying water.

***

Nisha woke to the sound of her phone buzzing on the coffee table next to her. Her eyelids peeled apart and the sunlight burst in to sting the surface of her eyes and cause a sharp pain in the nerves that tied them to her head. She was sweating. As she sat up her head pounded even more and she cradled it in her hands to soothe the pain and resist the sudden urge to throw up.

She swiped her phone awake and saw she had dozens of missed calls, all from Nick. She called him back.

Hey - she said, her voice still asleep.

Why are you calling, aren’t you here?

No, I left hours ago - he said - Have you just woken up?

No - she lied - why, what’s up?

Have you not seen Gateway? - he sounded freaked out.

Why, what’s up? - she said again, holding the phone at arms length and refocusing her eyes.

She swiped up and clicked on the Gateway icon as she searched around for a nearby glass of water. She found champagne.

When Gateway opened the map was going crazy. Little blue markers were all over the screen, so many that the route finder clearly wasn’t sure what to do and was conspicuously empty.

Wow - she said more quietly than she expected - We’ll have to fix that route finder bug later. How many are there?

Too many to count, - said Nick - but that’s not it.

Oh?

There was a pause.

They go down Nisha. Down.

Another pause.

What do we do?

[elizacornwall]

Vengeance is an Idiot's Game - Chapter 34 - Clemens Point

Read all the published chapters here. -------------------------------------------------- Pain. It was all she knew. Pain in her hand, her head, her whole body was screaming with the sensation. She was trapped in her own mind, within she felt pain there as well. It consumed her like a deep, rushing maelstrom, while the world seemed to be shaken by an earthquake. The soft surface beneath her rattled like it was the end of the world. But so what if it was…? Her entire being was enduring the worst torture she had ever felt in her life, death wouldn’t be so bad right now. Feeling nothing was certainly preferable to whatever hell she was in right now, this was unbearable… She welcomed the dark abyss that once again swallowed her.

The uncomfortable sensation of burning liquid running down her throat brought her back some time later, at least halfway. The burn was lingering and the apocalypse was still going on outside. How long could the end of the world even last? Every shake of the ground she was laid on sent another stab through her whole body, adding to her misery. She coughed, her stomach felt like it was on fire, so did her hand. Dimly she was aware of someone touching the limb that caused her so much pain, but she couldn’t think for the life of her why that would be. They needed to leave her alone, whatever they were doing was keeping her from the comfortable emptiness in which she couldn’t feel anything. Voices rang in her ears, but she wasn’t able to understand a single word that made sense to her. The girls were safe. The camp was safe, her father lost. They won. She had failed to kill that man though…. Dutch did. He came to her aid, finished what she couldn’t do. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Pressure on her hand made her jolt, she tried to pull it back but something kept her in place. She felt as if it was ripped apart once again, agony shooting up her arm to her head. The excruciating pain sent her into the darkness again.

So soft. Her head was floating in the sky, supported by clouds. Finally, the world was stable. No shaking or rocking, just sweet, reliable stability. She was warm, comfortable. Was this heaven…? No, surely she wouldn’t end up there. But if this was hell, she’d have to have a word with Father Davis. “Why’d ya have to be so stupid woman”, a familiar voice asked. Were they speaking to her? She hadn’t been stupid, had she? She was just laying here, enjoying the warmth and softness of the ground beneath her body. Wasn’t she floating just a moment ago…? It didn’t matter. No, she certainly wasn’t stupid. Maybe the world had ended but it hadn’t been her fault. Everyone that mattered was still alive. She slipped away again.

He was tracing the shape of her features with gentle fingers. The touch was soft, patient. He drew along her brow, nose, caressed her lips. Oh how she’d yearned for it. Why had it taken so long…? It didn’t matter. He cupped her cheek and whispered in her ear. She couldn’t understand what he was saying, but she didn’t need to, words weren’t important right now. Pressing in close, his strong hands were now exploring her neck, shoulders and trailed down her back, following her spine slowly to the base of it, then he pulled her in even tighter. The feel of his warm hands on her naked skin made her shudder. Every touch sent out a burning hot sensation, but unlike the painful heat she had felt prior, this was a nice burn, it was desirable. His face was cradled between her neck and shoulder, his hair tickling her collarbone made her giggle breathlessly. She slid her hands underneath his jacket, exploring his broad, muscular back. He was so strong. Her breath went quicker as his hands slowly traced along the curve of her waist; before they pressed her hips against him, with determined force. She could feel his pulse quicken – or was it hers? She wasn’t quite sure. The heat of his body kept her warm, exposed as she was. She held onto his back, trying desperately to get closer to him, the bulge at the front of his trousers pressing against her lower abdomen made her inhale in a shudder. She wanted him, needed him. He wasn’t to be rushed though, his fingers slowly discovering every inch of her skin. His thumbs brushed past the side of her breasts and she shuddered again, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She could feel a dull ache between her legs, building ever stronger. The electricity that spread from his fingertips into her body made her head spin, she started to tremble. This had to be heaven, she was sure now. The rough skin on his hands was in stark contrast to the smooth surface of her arm, he came to hold her hand and intertwined his fingers in hers, stepping away. Suddenly cold, she looked at him, wondering if she had done something wrong. His lips moved and she heard him say something, but couldn’t understand the words. He spoke again. “You with us girl?” The voice in wasn’t his. She blinked, and he was gone. Suddenly it was dark and everything was out of focus. Eliza blinked again. She was looking up at a canvas ceiling, keeping the tent only dimly lit. How did she get here? She moved her head, trying to make out more of the unfamiliar surroundings. There was someone sat next to her, she now realised they were actually holding her hand. “Aah finally, welcome back to the living Miss Cornwall”, Susan Grimshaw sighed. Eliza stared at her, utterly bewildered. She had just been in his arms, Arthur’s – oh. Reality dawned on her and all of a sudden she was terribly ashamed. Of course it was a dream you stupid girl. The old woman was working on her hand, wrapping it with a soft cloth. Eliza jerked back as she brushed against a particularly painful bit, there it was again, the stabbing heat that shot up her arm. “Keep still, we’re almost done.” Grimshaw didn’t pause in her movements, only held her wrist tighter while she fixed the end of the bandage. “Here, that should hold. You were lucky there, you shouldn’t have any lasting damage from the wound.” Eliza only looked at her, trying to shake off the haziness in her head. That was right, she had been shot. Her right arm pulsated painfully, it felt swollen and heavy. How long had she been out for? Grimshaw laid Eliza’s hand back at her side and raised her voice, calling towards the entrance of the tent they were in. “Mrs. Adler! She’s awake!” Someone dropped something outside and a second later the canvas flaps flew open, revealing Sadie. She was wearing the biggest grin on her face. “Well hello there little doe! How ya feelin’? You’ve been sleeping for days now, about time!” “I’ll leave her in your care Miss Adler. Just don’t you go encouraging her to more wretched stupidity!” The old matron heaved herself up from the little stool and shot Eliza a warning look. “Don’t

try and move that hand yet, likely you’ll lose some mobility if ya try too early. I’ll be back in the evening to change the dressing.” Sadie plopped herself down onto the chair as soon as the tent flap closed behind the woman. “You gave us a real fright back there. Thought you were a goner at first, whole damned floor was red and you were white as snow”, she said, a slight chuckle in her voice. “How long was I out for?”, Eliza asked, her voice was hoarse. “Few days…? Maybe a week, I weren’t counting exactly.” The blonde woman looked at her, slight concern written on her face. “How much do ya remember?” Eliza closed her eyes, trying to gather her memories. “The shootout… I can’t recall all of it, it’s a blur. But I know I got shot, Bill caught that man…“ Her voice cracked and she stopped. Tears burned behind her closed eyelids, the shame and disappointment of her weakness was still raw. She sniffed before she continued, blinking the moisture in her eyes away and lifting her head to face Sadie. “Dutch killed him. After that I don’t know much anymore, you said everyone survived – is it true? Is everyone safe?” She remembered crying and hitting Arthur, and him holding her close. Or had that been part of a dream too? Eliza wasn’t sure. Sadie cackled and nodded. “Yes, everyone is alive and well. Part from you no one got proper injured, Marston caught a stray bullet in his leg, but that’s just the usual for him.” She let her head fall back onto the soft pillow and exhaled. It was alright then. No one got killed because of her. She felt sorry for John, but he’d survive. He already looked as if he got into a fight with a particularly nasty cougar, a scar more wouldn’t do much harm. She tried to prop herself up, leaning her weight on her elbows when Sadie moved her arms to stop her. “Whoa, easy there girl!” She was too late. Eliza froze in place when the blanket that had been draped on her slid off her chest; only then she realised that she was butt naked underneath. Sadie laughed as she let out a little undignified cry and hastily tried to cover herself with her left, fumbling clumsily with the thick wool. Finally she managed to pull it up to her chin and shot Sadie a dark look. “This isn’t funny!” “Kinda is though”, the blonde replied, cackling away while she helped her friend into a sitting position. Eliza soon couldn’t help but smile too. “Good to see a bit of colour in your face again. Careful, don’t overdo it so soon.” The younger woman had a look around. It was dark inside this tent, the canvas kept much of the daylight out. She was on a cot next to a wagon, but it wasn’t hers. There were some pictures fixed to the wood, although it was too dark to see them properly. “Where are we?”, she asked. “Well”, Sadie started, “Dutch had us move out ‘soon as you were carried into my wagon. We’re somewhere south east, state’s called Lemoyne. Was a good day’s trip away from Horseshoe on them wagons, reckon we should be safe here. We ain’t been followed at least.” Her eyes scanned Eliza who was still not entirely satisfied with the answer. The woman seemed to know what she was really asking about and her lips curled into a slanted smile. “As to whose bed you’re sleepin’ in, naked as day… It’s Morgan’s.” The girl felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She prayed it would be too dark in here for Sadie to see, the woman’s voice had an already much too taunting note to it she found. She couldn’t know about her feelings towards him, could she…? Surely she just enjoyed teasing her. “W-why Arthur’s?” “Was a question of practicality, really. He’s the only one with a tent this big to himself and Grimshaw wanted you to have some privacy. Yours don’t have enough canvas. Also”, she added with a sigh, “he insisted.” Eliza was confused. Why would he insist on her taking over his cot? “Where has he been sleeping?” The only free bed in camp would be hers, surely. Sadie looked at her, observing her for a moment while she seemed to think of the right answer. “Well… He hasn’t, not proper anyway.” She cleared her throat, sitting

up and leaning her back against the table behind her, still watching Eliza intently. “He’s only just started talkin’ to us again. Been in here with you for most of the time, said he wanted to make sure you’d be alright. Stubborn fool”, she added in a low grumble. Eliza was stunned. The sudden feel of guilt threatened to crush her. He had been with her for days? She let herself slide down a bit in her – no, his bed, fumbling with the scratchy blanket in her left, trying to avoid Sadie’s eyes. She didn’t know what to say, part of her was overjoyed that he had sat in her company all this time, but she felt incredibly selfish and hated herself for that thought. “But… Why?” she asked weakly. Sadie sighed. “I don’t know. Hosea said something ‘bout him feeling responsible and some such, but he weren’t very clear. Suppose it’s the man’s own business, you better ask him yourself.” “Responsible? But he didn’t – He saved my life when he pulled me to the floor just before that gun went off”, Eliza protested. Sadie just shrugged. “Don’t know, he ain’t been saying much, I’ve barely seen him until he started to be about more a couple days ago. Hosea’s been talking to him, think the old man was worried.” The girl closed her eyes and rested her head against the wood next to her. It was suddenly all too much and she yearned for the peaceful emptiness of deep, dreamless sleep. After a minute of silence Sadie granted her wish. “You should try rest some more. Your colour still ain’t right.” Eliza heard her get up and opened her eyes, watching her. She nodded. “Thank you Sadie. For everything.” The blonde woman smiled. “I ain’t done nothing. You were the one that saved us all.”

[araminia16]

Of Kisses and Couches

So. PSA they are 16/15 in this. I cut off the warning on accident when I posted it.

XxOxX

 It had all started out perfectly normal and innocent. It was those few occasions that it was just the two of them alone. One would think that if two people were dating for as long as they had been then they would have plenty of times where they were alone. But that was definitely not the case. From double dates to movie nights and arcade games the group was together more often than not. Not to mention school. That took up most of the week and there wasn’t really any place there that you were truly alone.

 Saturday. In March. Today was one of those days that Hopper had actually let Eleven come over to his house and also just happened that his parents and sisters were both gone to different events. It was just the two of them alone. They both fondly remembered the first time they were in the house alone, that week that had started this grand romance between them.

 Eleven loved to watch romances and comedies. Right now was one of the latter on the TV and she had taken up her usual spot glued to Mike’s side with his arm around her. His free hand and her right one were laced together with his thumb rubbing small circles into the spot between her thumb and first finger.

 She giggled and he gave a chuckle at the TV show and he took the opportunity to glance down at her. Even after three years he couldn’t get over how absolutely beautiful she was all the time. From wild curls in the morning to her styled and gelled looks for formal occasions each day she shone with absolute beauty. Eleven looked up at him and he blushed slightly, caught looking. She gave him a wide smile before he dipped down to give her a brief kiss.

 His thumb pressed the slightest bit harder on her flesh and she snuggled closer.

 Kissing her had been an experiment in itself. Their first was awkward and too fast. Each time they perfected their technique and timing. Handholding was old news, as was their current position.

 Eleven stopped paying any attention to the television and continued to stare at Mike. He had the warmest eyes she had ever seen and so far she had quite a few eyes to compare it to. They were always filled with wonder when she managed to catch him staring at her. It made her heart beat faster and bubble up with a slow and soothing kind of heat. More lately she had been getting other feelings, warmth and achy feelings and not only in her chest, some were in her belly, like her period cramps but these didn’t hurt.

 Sometimes when she was restless and she felt that soft heat in her blood she ran her hands up her arms and on her belly, sometimes to other places that she wasn’t supposed to talk about. Joyce had suggested that some time ago.

 Now that liquid heat was starting to build up and tingle through her body the more he stared at her. A force that she only had a passing understanding of beckoned her to rise up and kiss him again. Their hands were still clasped between their bodies as she coaxed his lips to move softly with hers. They paused, pressed and backed off in a slow dance and she could feel her blood continue to heat.

 She felt his hand at her neck, curling around to the back of her head, burying itself in the mass of her brown curls and the sensation of his fingertips running along her scalp prompted the smallest of sounds to pass her lips, a gasp.  

 Mike heard it and the sound went straight south, filling his blood with pressure and heat of his own. He used his nails next, just the softest scrape and she gave him another sound, just a puff of air on his lips and he devoured it.

 Eleven pressed her body closer and Mike turned to make it easier for them to continue their activities. She rose above him and they continued to kiss. The released each other’s hands and Eleven put both of her hands on his shoulders, not knowing what she should do but knowing that she needed to touch him and keep balance. Either way he seemed fine with it.

 Mike’s other unoccupied hand settled onto her hip, a rather neutral territory for now. This was still new and fresh and he didn’t want to screw it up.

 Eleven leaned down into him and one hand slid from his shoulder to hang off the side of the couch and curl around his head and neck to bring their chests in contact.

 Mike let out a surprised sound at the feel of her breasts pressed to his chest and she broke off the kiss to look at him. Brown eyes narrowed in concern he gave her a smile and brought the hand from her hip up to brush her cheek, “I love you.” He whispered and she gave him her brightest smile, the one that her eyes lit up and her entire face glowed.

 “I love you too.” She whispered back and dove back in with fervor.

 Mike was trying his best to keep her lower half off of his because he had no idea what would happen if she came into contact with the part of his anatomy that very much wanted to be in on this activity. So he let his hand from her cheek drift downward to her neck, down her shoulder and shoulder blade, then clench and release the muscle and flesh from her midback in a mimic of a massage before sliding down to her hip once more.

 Eleven’s body where he was touching her felt like it was on fire, but in a good way. Her head was spinning with new sensation, new thoughts, new everything and she took it all in the way she did everything. She could feel their hearts beating, his was pounding in his chest where they touch and she knew he was breathing faster, but these were all good things. She was doing it too.

 His hand drifted a little too far down and his next handful was of her backside and she let out a squeal into his mouth, much like a giggle and she pulled back.

 “Sorry.” He half panted.

 “No. Do it again.” She ordered and he almost groaned. The look in her eye. That was something he had never seen before. It was darker, and full of what he would come to learn was arousal. He complied quite willingly and gave her backside another squeeze. This time the sound was breathier and she rolled her hips in a way that did not make his own problem any better.

 He took his hand away and used some sort of magic of his own to push off the couch and change their positions without breaking their kiss. She let out a puff of air when her back hit the soft cushions and he pulled back to hover over her. He wasn’t looking long because she yanked him back down for more kissing. Now he could control things better from this angle.

 Feeling better and more adventurous he started once more from her backside and hip, giving both a healthy feel and swallowing her noises to drift further up her side, giving it a wide sweep of his thumb and his hand drifted up to her breast and his thumb brushed it in a stray motion and she had to wrench her head back to gasp at the electric feeling that coursed through her. Mike knew somethings about how this went and so he moved from her lips to her cheek and the line of her chin, then dropped down to her neck.

 Eleven gasped right next to his ear and let out high pitched whines as he continued to drift down her neck. Her lower belly clenched and that liquid fire flowed from everywhere he touched down to that spot. She was almost too sensitive and shifted her thighs to relieve some of the ache.

 Mike was having some trouble thinking with El panted and squirming under him like she was. It was all he could do to not think about how fucking hard he was listening to her. His next move was to open his mouth and suck on her sensitive skin and she nearly came unglued. Her eyes popped open and she gave a loud gasp in response. His grin was hidden against her skin and he did it again. Her hips rolled and she gave a plaintive whine, not knowing what she needed but knowing that if she didn’t get what it was soon then she might catch on fire.

 “Are you okay?” He panted softly in her ear.

 “Yeah.” She nodded. “I…need…I need. I don’t know.”

 “Shhhh.” He soothed her and continued his attention to her neck again.

 “Mike.” She panted and the sound was pleading.

 “Do you want to stop? Is it too much?”

 “No.” She shook her head fervently. “Not enough.” She articulated that much at least. The point where she ached the most was that place between her legs. The one that only she had really touched and it hadn’t felt anything like this when she had. That must be what he needed to touch. He had such nice hands.

 Instead of trying to tell him what she wanted she reached for his hand and when she found his wrist she practically yanked it downward to the ache.

 Mike pulled way back and his breath left him in a rush. “Uhhhh.”

 “Please. I need. I need.” She begged him.

 “That’s a lot, El. Are you sure?”

 “It aches. I need fixed.”

 “We should just cool off…” They had talked about sex like a year ago and that conversation had been awkward to say the least but he knew that they were definitely not ready for that yet. Firstly because he didn’t have any condoms and secondly because --.

 She took his collar in her free hand and yanked him down to where they were only an inch or two apart and nailed him with that scary stare she reserved for very few. “No.”

 Mike could only nod and hope that he survived the next few minutes. He felt only marginally better with her consenting demand and knew rudimentarily what he should do, but there was no way they were going to have sex on his parents couch in broad daylight.

 He knew that the other guys bragged about certain things that they had done with their girlfriends and so he resumed kissing and sucking on her neck. He started bringing them back into the moment that he broke and she was making so many new and mind bending noises that added to his own fever. Instead of going down directly his hand made a winding and wayward path up and down her body.

 His hand cupped and soothed her breast and she whimpered and whined, and he could feel the peak hardening under his hand. Each sound and swipe and he felt it down his body. If he wasn’t careful he would have an embarrassing situation of his own.

 Finally after what seemed like years to Eleven he moved his hand past her stomach and downward to cup her heated flesh. She was thankful for the loose pants instead of jeans when his fingers made a clumsy motion over her but any stimulation was better than none.

 Mike lifted up and watched her face while his hand moved and dipped around slowly. He had no idea what he was doing so the best thing he could think of was to look for queues. Further down and she was quieter, when he moved his hand up she was more animated. When he pressed down with just the right amount of pressure she shuddered in his embrace. Found it. “Fuck, El.” He hissed out when she moaned.

 Eleven was going to die, or something. She was sure of it when he found the source of her heat and ache. She had the simultaneous urge to close her legs and force him to touch her harder. He was using just two fingers now and rubbing them in a slide over her clothes and she twisted and tried to force her eyes open to watch him but the sensations were just too much. It felt so much better than when she did it.

 Mike slowed down and she gave a whine in protest but he silenced her with a kiss while he lifted his hand and in a daring move that she would than him for later he delved under the sweatpants and his fingers resumed their massage over soaked panties. She shrieked into his mouth and her hips rolled in tandem with his hand. She was getting dizzy and hot all over like her nerves were on fire. Tighter and tighter and hotter and hotter until she was sure that she would combust when it felt like something in her snapped but in an amazing way and she was overtaken with such an intense feeling that she screamed, “Mike!” into his mouth and shuddered as her orgasm washed over her in soothing and pounding waves. He continued to work her through it until she was finished shaking. Her whole body was covered in sweat and her heart was beating faster than it ever had before. She was floating on a bed of clouds and secure in Mike’s arms. Brown eyes opened tiredly to find Mike’s cheeks flushed, eyes wide and he was breathing as fast as she had been.

 She smiled at him and hummed her satisfaction, “I love you Mike.” It was the only thing she could think of saying mostly because he was staring at her again with those eyes again. The ones that made her heart beat faster.

 “Love you too, El.”

 “I feel like taking a nap.” She snuggled further into the couch.

 “Can you walk? You should sleep in bed. Not the couch.” His voice was even shaky.

 “I be okay here.” She muttered sleepily.

 “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

 He left her dozing and shakily walked to the bathroom, surprised that his legs actually worked with how hard he was. Jesus Christ. The way that she looked when he had……Eyes closed, cheeks flushed and red, puffy lips parted as she cried out his name. His vision sort of started to tunnel then and it didn’t take him long with that image of her in his head to call out her name in a hushed whisper as he came. The orgasm nearly knocked the wind out of him and as it was he had to sit down or else he was worried that he would fall down.

 This wasn’t the way that he thought the day would go but he hoped that they would be able to do that again sometime. Many more times. He wanted to find every place on her that sang and he wanted to make sure that she knew that she was loved every single day of his life.

 He stood up and made his way back, calmer now and picked her up from the couch. Navigating the stairs was tricky but he managed to put her down in his bed and went back downstairs to turn off the TV. That was when he noticed that several items had been shifted. Pillows, the chair and even the couch. How had he not noticed that?

 Mike put everything back in its place before walking back up and pulling Eleven into his arms as he settled into bed. He brushed an errant curl from her cheek before laying his head down for his own nap. He couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her and that day would hopefully be sooner rather than later.

 XxOxX

[was-gryff-whitehills-apologist]

So, with a lot of encouragement from the amazing people in this fandom, I finally got the courage to contribute some written material to it, namely - my take on the fate of Gryff Whitehill following the events of the ttgot season 2 au, made by the amazing @badgershite & @littlpeggy, as well as other contributors. You guys are awesome & I never would’ve done this without you!! :D

This is merely the first part of the prologue, that, I hope, will be just the beginning, but it’s still kind of a big deal for me to put up my first serious work. Idk what else to say, I hope this doesn’t suck & somebody may even enjoy it, same way I’ve enjoyed all the great fanfiction by other ttgot fans.

Minor spoiler alert, so that people don’t get their hopes up - there is no Roslin in this part. Yet. As I’ve already said, I plan to write more of this & the best stuff is still ahead. ALSO, the thing might be rather cronologically weird, it has a specific structure, that I thought of when I wasn’t planning to split up the prologue. It’ll make more sense when both parts are out, so for now I’d like to clarify - it is basically Gryff’s flashbacks about two days: the day of him being sentenced to the Wall, and the day of his arrival there. They are divided in parts & going one after another. Hopefully, this will not be too confusing.

Being put on watch alongside Carn was a lesser evil in Gryff’s eyes. At the very least he could count on the man not to start any small talk, and that was enough for him to tolerate the sour expression the other wore like his face had frozen this way. As the cage slowly dragged the two of them up, the second watcher felt like a constant, relentless presence behind his shoulder, and Gryff could practically feel his sad, watery gaze glued to his back without any particular purpose. Clenching his teeth together & hands around metal bars in annoyance, he tried to distract himself by looking down, in the darkness. Ground had long since disappeared in thick mist – now it felt like they were just floating through nothing, and he honestly wouldn’t mind just staying this way, never really arriving anywhere, simply enjoying the darkness & silence, that soothed his sight & ears. Even Carn’s presence would be tolerable this way.

Only atop the Wall, equipped with their torches, the two of them parted ways. Normally, it would be sworn Night Watch brothers, rangers, tasked with patrolling, but things scarcely ever went normally at Castle Black lately. Actual rangers were even fewer in numbers than they used to be, and some of their usual tasks fell onto the newcomers – it didn’t take much skill or brains to drag yourself back & forth with a torch in your hand, ready to holler if you’d see something approaching from behind the Wall. That, unless you weren’t even capable of doing that without slipping down – but such men would not have lasted long here either way.

Gryff walked off in the opposite direction from Carn before the man could say a thing to him, and soon couldn’t even hear his steps anymore. Torches lit up the icy corridor for many steps forward, but darkness, where their light didn’t reach, was still almost tangible. When he reached a wooden observation deck, walking close to the edge, the light of his torch, that seemed bright before, could barely dispel it. That night there was no moon, neither stars in the sky to shed at least some light on the view in front of him, and it took some adjustment for Gryff’s eye to make anything out.

The Haunted Forrest, when you looked at it from high above, was reminiscent of sea – height & darkness making it look akin to deep waters at the bottom of an enormous cup. In broad daylight, it used to present quite a sight, but now it was just black, distant and… ominous, for the lack of better word. It spread for as far as eye could reach, it’s another edge hidden in the dark nightly fog & the very clouds, that touched mountains’ white peaks at the horizon. Endless, deep and silent, but in the back of Gryff’s mind always sat the realization – the seemingly peaceful view in front of him hid more, than it gave away.

Even half a minute of not moving out here, in the cold, made one feel like the freezing wind was getting under their skin, stealing the last bits of warmth. However, Gryff remained standing, gaze locked where the clouds met mountain tops. He knew, if he were to look down, at the very edge of the deck, the sheer sensation of height would become overwhelming and make him feel unsteady on his feet, his head spin & hands tremble. Despite everything, being up here was… special, and not necessarily in a bad way. It took his mind off the shit that was happening literally all the other time, off his own torturous thoughts, which made quite a bit of sense, actually. Things were different up here – even air he breathed in was not the same one he was inhaling the rest of the time. Life could continue to go to hell, both around Gryff & inside his own head, but on this small, unsteady platform atop the world, he did not need to be bothered. Just a few steps forward laid the edge of that very life – where it would no longer have any power over him.

It was still the forest though, that he kept going back to in his mind. Similar to that damn grove near Ironrath, in a way – the only places where he had ever witnessed trees grow that tall. Even some ironwoods grew the other side of the Wall, but he was long past caring about those, and now his thoughts were occupied by something different – what he had first witnessed at that very keep, what the wilderness further north hid, and what he hoped he would never face again – until it became apparent he might actually have to.

The undead.

It was quite a surprise to find out, that not all men of the Watch actually saw wights as a threat – despite the number of people, who had run in them, growing significantly. Many of those who never had the chance, however, remained skeptical or simply indifferent. Stories of dead men walking grew in numbers, but for many, remained just that – stories. What happened to the previous lord commander made quite a few waver in their disbelief, but was soon reduced to nothing more, than one more story. Confined in a black keep at the edge of the world for life, most men here fell into an odd pattern of reacting strongly to whatever unusual thing happened – only to go back to almost complete tranquility as soon as it was over. Few things mattered in the big picture as long as snow still fell, crows were still in black & the Wall still stood. The rest came & went & made no significant change. There was nothing to be done with it, other from turn it into one more story & then slowly, day by day, forget it.

Such way of life correlated well with the numbness in his mind, but Gryff still remained sharp about some things. He’d avoid whatever talk about wights other watchmen would start – just as he avoided most of their talk – but he still knew. The sight of corpses of the people he used to know standing up would flash before his mind eye every now and again, but he’d then just clench his teeth & move on. He ran from them once, and paid for it, and if fate would wish for another walking corpse to try & kill him – it best be prepared for him not to repeat that mistake. Back in the muddy & bloodied courtyard, they filled his whole being with such dread, that he thought nothing could replicate, but he was wrong, as always. There were things so much more worse, viler, and he was a fool for ever allowing himself to forget that. Clenching the torch harder in his grip, teeth gritted together & eye narrowed, Gryff looked in the darkness, where he knew more monsters were waiting for their time to come. When they would, he knew what had to be done – and he would be ready. No creature from stories, no wildling, or wight, or Other would scare him off again

Not after he had already left all the real monsters behind.

Hardly feeling a thing, he got up from his place, then passed the woman, looking directly at her, but failing to keep a picture of her face in his mind. In the back of his head, he understood lady Whitehill looked sad, almost childishly hurt, but that was it. She left zero impression, just some figure that was there & then vanished the moment he left the Great Hall. Gryff even had trouble recalling what she was doing during their “conversation” – looking at Torrhen… probably, or maybe at him, he wasn’t sure.

As the bars clanked when the door closed behind him, he froze for a moment, simply staring in front of himself, his fogged mind struggling to process what just happened. He was not dead, that much was clear, but such an unexpected occurrence rose another question – what the hell was he supposed to be doing now? Instinctively, a step-by-step course of action was forming – he needed to get to his room to fetch the things he was not going to leave here, no, not a fucking chance, visit his father’s crypt to say goodbye, and then- leave?

Yeah, genius, that’s what it was all about. That’s what he was told to do a fucking minute ago, that’s what was going to happen – he would leave. And this time, going back wasn’t a part of the plan – no, Torrhen has made a bloody decision, and there was no coming back from those. This was final.

Gryff had imagined it thousands of times, Torrhen towering over him, smirking & spitting out his death sentence in one way or another. In his fantasies, he was never supposed to abide by that – he would grab the sword & charge forward, knowing fully well he’d hardly deliver a strike before he’d be dead, by Torrhen’s hand or one of his guards’ arrows. If he happened to be tied up, restrained, all he’d be capable of would be struggling to break free, to maybe deliver a final punch or some shit, before being put down like a dog. But that didn’t matter – he always knew, that he could never win. The point was not winning – the point was going down on his own terms, going down fighting.

Or has it turned out, that he wasn’t even capable of that?

It felt like his head had been put underwater – Gryff was all too familiar with the sensation, even if right now there was no hand on the back of his neck to hold him in place. The world around him starting to swirl, noise filling his ears, suffocation grasping his lungs. A tiny still-functioning piece of his brain screamed for him to turn back & do what had to be done, but his instincts knew better. Cursed self-preservation, too strong to fight, that had so many times caused him not to strike back, and instead cower, uselessly try to shield himself from the beating, trembling & waiting for it to end. For all he knew, perhaps it was the only reason he still lived. Perhaps it was saving his life right now, by immobilizing him, making his limbs heavy & head light. Just accept it. It is the only way.

He was fucking done with accepting things.

For some time – seconds or minutes, he could hardly tell – it felt like his mind had almost floated from his body, leaving him with little perception of reality, outside of what the subconscious part of his self was trying get through to him. He was brought back abruptly, when Gryff’s hand slipped down to the pommel of his sword – at first feeling it, like he struggled to recognize the object, but a second later clenching the hilt tightly. His breath slowed down again, blood pounding as he unsheathed the blade, feeling the hard handle, the heaviness, those sensations that were bringing him back together. Steel was bleak & covered in blood & it’s sight made whatever bits of strength he had left concentrate in his arm, so that he almost felt like he could manage one last blow.

Perhaps it was still not too late.

Castle Black’s courtyard was big, white enough for his eye to start hurting & almost completely empty on the day of their arrival. Several men minded their own business here & there, polishing swords or carrying something, & none seemed particularly interested in showing the three guests around. Darrin – a soldier as tall as an oak, as thick as one, & with an intelligence of the said oak, from Gryff’ point of view – remained standing by his side like he was ready to grab him by the scruff if the Whitehill decided to run off; meanwhile, his second supervisor went on, likely to search for someone, who’d finally take Gryff off their hands for good.

Taking a chance to look around, he observed his soon-to-be home with the same sour expression, that hasn’t left his features ever since the departure from Highpoint. The place certainly looked more presentable than Ironrath ever had, at least under his rule, but at the same time gave an impression of being somewhat desolate. Gryff had, of course, heard, that the Watch had seen better days, but was not sure of the extent. It was still early in the morning, after all, and perhaps the courtyard would become more crowded in daytime. Those who were up already barely paid them attention. Here, behind the walls, wind was not as severe – Gryff had grown used to the cold through the last few days either way. It was likely he’d get used to whatever this new life had to offer the same way, albeit without any enthusiasm on his part.

“I’m goin’ to handle him, don’t worry.” The voice came from some watcher, walking in their direction alongside Arvin, the second Whitehill soldier. “Ser Raffard’s supposed to be handling the recruits, but gods know where the bastard is now. Forgive the inconvenience – things have been, well, disrupted here after all that happened…”

Gryff paid no mind to the explanations the stranger was giving – something about the former Lord Commander, the bloody Snow, who apparently couldn’t be found here any longer. Instead he observed the man himself, with the same sulky grimace. Watcher did not stand out in any way, clothed in dark, thickly built, bearded; only a small, but sincere half-smile distinguished him from the rest of the lot here.

Arvin was exhausted & annoyed, same as he had been throughout their whole journey. He got up at dawn that day, eager to finally rid himself of the burden his lord’s brother was, & now was barely suppressing the urge to yawn widely. Watcher’s words seemed to escape his attention, but he would not interrupt, likely afraid that the stranger would refuse to handle the newcomer & they’d get stuck here, looking for someone else. He clearly was more eager to turn back & have a longer stop at the Mole’s town than they did on their way here, celebrating the parting with his troublesome ward.

“Aye, and he” the soldier nodded towards Gryff, earning himself a scowl in response “is not going to make things any easier for you here. You sound like a sensible man, so I’m warning you – keep a closer eye on this one. I will not be surprised if his head rolls for desertion within the next month. He’s tried to escape several times on our way here – and he’s going to fight back when caught.” He concluded mercilessly, paying no mind to Gryff, who’s been shooting him dirty glares the whole time he spoke.

“You really need not worry.” Man’s half-smile did not falter & he looked at Gryff with an expression, that was almost encouraging. “We handle far worse here all the time, you know. Besides, you can never know a man from other’s words of him.”  Last words were directed at Gryff rather than anyone else, it seemed.

“I’ve got trouble imagining what could be worse than this.” Despite the sourness, it was possible to tell, that Arvin was being ironic, merely a tad. “By the way” he hastily reached in his pocket, getting out a small envelop which he offered to the crow. “Here are some… Clarifications from our lord, as well as, I assume, advice on how to handle him.” Shit, it flashed in Gryff’s head, would’ve been nice if someone ever gave him a clarification letter on how to handle three bastards, whose purpose in life was making him miserable. “I would recommend you listen to whatever it says. Lord Torrhen had always been one of the few, who could truly rein this man in. He knows what he is talking about.”

“You think lowly of me, ser.” With a slight roll of his eyes, black brother accepted the piece of correspondence carelessly. “I’ve always managed to keep my men under control without a written guidance, believe it or not.” He casually pocketed the letter, yet the moment the Whitehill soldier turned his gaze away from him, he winked at Gryff, suddenly & swiftly, causing the fourthborn’s eye to widen in confusion.

Arvin simply shrugged it off. Muttering some words of gratitude & farewell, he hurried back towards where their cart & horses were left without sparing Gryff a look. The latter heard Darrin utter some goodbyes, but didn’t as much as turn to look at the man. His assessing stare was kept firmly at the watcher. The Whitehill wondered what the other has been told about him during the part of their short encounter with Arvin, that he did not hear, but he sure as hell was not going to ask, or in any way make the man feel like he cared what he thought of him.

“So, Gryff Whitehill,” The watcher finally greeted him directly, reaching to shake his hand. “It’s Astor Greyson, and although you hardly feel the same way, it is good to meet you.”

He simply stared at the hand offered uncertainly. There was no reason not to greet Astor properly, not really, & it would not change a thing – yet Gryff just felt stubborn, stubborn & spiteful, as usual. He did not need any of this shit, did not need anyone pretending like something good or even normal was happening. This man could smirk & be friendly all he liked – Gryff did not care, not in the slightest. They could both be watchers, equals now, but that was just pretense. He would not be his, or anyone’s brother here – just a prisoner, someone to keep an eye out for & keep in line.

His arms remained locked across his chest & he kept silent, gloomily looking the other right in the eyes.

Astor waited a few seconds before taking the hand away. Half-smile did not go anywhere, on the opposite – it looked a little like he has been expecting this to happen.

“You’re lucky not to have to deal with Raffard right from the first moment here.” Greyson went on like nothing has happened. “You’ll still meet him rather soon though – you’re not too late for his sword training with the rest of the newcomers. You’ll meet up with the rest of them there, perhaps get to know some a bit. Seems like I’ll have to show you around today, huh?” Turning around, Astor motioned his hand, gesturing for Gryff to follow. “Let’s find someplace to drop whatever things you have, get you properly equipped and then we’ll have to get back here. Our new master-at-arms is not the type to excuse you for being late – even if this is your first day.”

He’d never been a fan of that bloody bunch of portraits, adorning the Upper Halls. His own one frankly sucked, from Gryff’s point of view – he had a dumb smile in it. There was no pleasure in witnessing the faces of his gone brothers more often than needed either, and, if the tapestry was not fucking enough, there were two more images of that woman. He had outlasted all three of them at Highpoint, but they still weren’t gone for good, as long as their memory, held in these pictures, lingered like a bad smell.

Well, it looked like, in the end, it was Torrhen who had truly outlasted all of them.

He had almost passed the corridor without taking another look, heading directly to his former chambers, but, out of the corner of his eye, spotted something unusual on the wall. Observing more closely made Gryff smirk sarcastically against his own will – my, it seemed like brother dearest had begun the process of getting rid of him long ago. He should’ve expected that – remaining holed up at the shitpile of Forresters’ stronghold could only work for so long. If only he had enough brains to have at least tried to do something about it earlier- fuck, there was no point in thinking about that now.

Gritting his teeth, he measured the damage done to the picture. Just because he himself hated the thing did not mean that arsehole had any right to touch it. Making it was a pain in the ass, Gryff recalled – he’d avoid posing by any means available, until both the artist & his father got fed up with it, and the former was told to simply draw him from memory. Perhaps that’s why his face ended up looking so unnatural, with an expression Gryff never actually wore in real life.

In a swift, jerky motion he tore the painting from where it was hanging. It gave an impression of an animal’s head on a hunter’s wall to him; a winner’s trophy. It was likely the way Torrhen viewed it as well, hence why he just tore it up instead of getting rid of it for good. It was all for the best, Gryff told himself, getting back on the way to his room & observing the thing in his hands with little remorse. He would need something to start a fire any way, and he knew, that canvas & paints burned brightly.

He had a dumb smile in it anyway.

The room felt exactly like he expected it to – cold, dusty, filled with that weird frowsy smell, that all abandoned rooms had. He threw the frame into the long-empty fireplace & then got a sudden urge to sit down, which he did, lowering himself on the edge of his bed.

The effects of his handicap were most apparent in situations like this – when he had to approach something old in his new state. His chamber seemed smaller than before, & now he had to turn his head around to observe it fully. The bloody eye. Gryff used to believe he’s gotten used to it, but was still reminded now & again what a difference it actually made. He rubbed his forehead a little, trying to collect his thoughts, but the helpless anger rising in his chest wouldn’t let him concentrate. The Whitehill got up, starting to pace back & forth in annoyance. He was supposed to be doing something, collecting things, saying goodbyes, some shit like that – but every inch of his being refused to comply. The concept of this being his last visit to the place, that used to be his haven, refuge, that he guarded from them by any means, was as unreal as… As unreal as having his whole line of vision split in two. They couldn’t be compared, he’d exchange the room for an eye, obviously – but the feelings were still eerily similar.

There wasn’t much left here after his departure to war – Gryff had never been the one to hoard many possessions, not with his brothers constantly trying to get to him by breaking or stealing what was his. Whatever item of importance he could not take with himself had been locked in a small chest by his nightstand. The key – hell if he remembered where the key was, but he had probably left it among the rest of his belongings, at Ironrath. After a short consideration, he unsheathed his sword & tried to force it under the chest’s top.

A few minutes later, the lock was broken & Gryff observed what was inside sarcastically. A thin bunch of letters, tied together with a piece of rope were probably the most important ones – he had a habit of burning most of his correspondence right after reading it, to prevent the bastards from getting their hands on it. Those would not take up much space. A wooden toy sword, an old thing he hadn’t tossed away by some earthly reason – perhaps it was given by father? After a moment of hesitation, it joined the portrait in the fireplace – better than having Torrhen’s servants discard of it when they’d start cleaning up the place. There was a small dagger he attached to his belt – his own had been lost during the cliff fall; minor items of clothing, an old book, some things, that he couldn’t even remember what purpose they were supposed to serve – most of it went to the fireplace. He wished there was some way to burn every fucking thing remaining here – the set of heavier armor, whatever clothes have been left in the wardrobe, that there was no point in taking – those were not black. Gryff could only destroy some of it, but it still gave him an odd sense of satisfaction. The least personal this place felt, the easier it would be to leave it behind.

He started the fire, then sat down on the fur in front of it & simply watched the flames for a little while, trying to concentrate on something other than the twinge of pain in his chest, that watching some of these things burn caused. Only now had he realized how cold he’s been this whole time – he got used to it, but when the short-lived warmth from the fireplace reached his frame, the contrast made shivers run down his spine.

Gryff couldn’t bring himself to think about anything particular, could not figure out what he felt. The prevailing sensation, now that he wasn’t moving, became low ringing in his ears & dizziness. Pain in the bruises & cuts, that he almost forgot about, was returning – not sharp, like it used to be, but still perceptible. He’d have to visit the maester, the Whitehill had to admit much to his own displeasure. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to even get in saddle if he didn’t at least wash the blood off. It’s smell & the feeling of it drying on his face was becoming sickening on its own.

Just a few minutes. He’d get going, as soon as he’d get warm, he was promising himself, even though every last cell in his body begged for rest. As an addition to the pain, sitting down made him realize just how tired he was – enough, that he felt a wish to lie down in front of the hearth & sleep for a day. Aside from being unconscious for some time, he had not slept since before yesterday, he was now realizing. Everything after that – the battle, the fall, the ride, the talk – was mixing into a blur in his head, becoming difficult to tell from one another.

Seriously, what harm would… say, just half an hour, do? Or a whole hour, for that matter… Being in his old room was likely affecting him this way. He’d usually crawl back here to bolt the door & lick his wounds, try to feel safe for a little while, give his nerves some rest. Sometimes he’d end up being holed up here for days, when the mere thought of going out made him break out in cold sweat & gave him an urge to vomit. He’d still have to sneak outside every once in a while, to fetch some food from the kitchens – and, if he was unlucky, end up getting caught by Karl, or Torrhen, or both.

Torrhen. The name was like pinching yourself on the arm to stay focused. He had to remain alert, for as long as he wasn’t out of the bastard’s reach – the humiliation of having the man just grab him by the scruff & frog-march him out of Highpoint’s gates wasn’t something Gryff would be able to handle at the moment. The thought floated in his skull, that became heavier by the minute, as if something hot & thick, like melted iron, was being poured into it. His neck grew achy from having to hold it high & was giving in, until his chin would hit the chest & cause him to jerk, half-awake, but only for a second.

Vision blurred, his only eye narrowing further & further, until the only thing he could even make out were the orange flames – and even those, just as another blurred, moving spot. Bloody fire, he was realizing it now – should never have started it in the first place… The warmth was too lulling, as well as the sound. Soft, rhythmic cracks, with practically intangible sough of flames poured over those. They were almost like some weird speech in an unknown tongue, with calming intonation, soothing melody to it. He could swear, he even recognized bits from that tone – like he’s heard those before, just in another manner. Instead of being yelled, over howling wind & clashing, someone whispered them to him kindly.

Room floated before his eye one last time, before it slid shut. Last thing Gryff perceived before slipping into oblivion was a sensation of unseen eyes locked on him, of another’s presence somewhere by his side – but those got lost the moment he drifted off to sleep.

… Awakening was even faster than falling asleep – he just felt himself sliding to the side, on the floor, and that jolted him back to consciousness. Blinking rapidly, first thing Gryff looked at the fireplace – coals were still red & small tongues of fire would flicker here & there. That meant he had not been out for long – but he would be, if he allowed himself to repeat that mistake.

Memory of the sensation he got before dozing off nagged him slightly from the inside, but he pushed it away, getting back on his feet, helping himself by grabbing the edge of a headboard. He was unsteady still, but the quick sleep seemed to have given him a bit of short-lived strength. It wouldn’t last, likely, so he had to catch the moment & finish some business – probably the most important thing left for him to do here.

He had not been given a typical crow’s cloak yet – just a set of black armor, that, in all honesty, was better than the one he arrived here wearing. The latter has not aged well at all & has not been repaired or even cleaned much since the siege. The new one was also warmer, far more fitting for the harshness of weather this far north – it wasn’t all that bad, Gryff had to begrudgingly admit.

He & the rest of the recruits – about a dozen & a half of them in total, from what it looked like – flocked in the courtyard, waiting for the master-at-arms to signal the beginning of the training. Man in question – ser Raffard, from what Gryff recalled – did not seem to be in any rush, comfortably seated on a barrel near the rack, that held training swords & polishing his own, barely paying a small crowd in front of him any mind. He looked like a real crow – black-haired, dark-eyed & sharp-featured, he fitted the environment around himself perfectly.

Only when small talk among the soon-to-be crows died down to almost complete silence, the man looked up at them & got up from his place.

“Those of you, who have never trained here before – two steps forward.” The Whitehill made another mental note of the other’s voice – a voice & tone of a man, used to giving orders. “The rest of you, two steps behind.” Aside from Gryff, four men came forward – some balding elder, who stood leaning on a long wooden staff, tall & broad-shouldered lad with a dreadfully serious expression & a face of a lowborn, boy that looked like he wasn’t above thirteen, & a barrel-shaped individual, who stared in front of himself phlegmatically. Watchman observed his working material with an unreadable expression, but Gryff highly doubted, that what he saw left him satisfied.

“The Watch lacks men desperately, so even those of you, who’ll end up as builders & stewards” last words were spoken with some special scorn “are going to have to learn which end of the sword to hold & how to fire a bow. That means you will all be spending time with me, no matter how hopeless your case is. There are, however, some exceptions even to that rule.” Raffard’s gaze stopped on the old man. “Did whoever send you here lack any kind of mercy? All would be better off if he just snapped your neck for whatever horrendous crime you’ve committed. If you can’t even walk on your own, what makes you think you’ll be anything but a burden with a sword?”

“This thing” the elder lifted his staff slightly, “is more of a sentiment to me, than a walking aid.” Gryff cocked an eyebrow, feeling a slight twitch of curiosity – the other recruit, with his scrawny frame & dirty greying long hair on the sides of his head, could look like a lowborn, but certainly did not speak like one. “Put me to a test, my lord,” old man did not seem offended, quite the opposite – his lips tucked into a disarmingly friendly smile. “Perhaps I will not disappoint you.”

“We’ll see about that. Drop your item of sentiment & grab yourself a sword then.” Master-at-arms motioned towards the rack.

“If I could be so bold” there was something smarmy, intentionally non-threatening in the old man’s voice that made Gryff shift uncomfortably for some reason. “I’d rather stick to my own weapon, my lord.” Gryff recalled being told in the passing by someone, that staffs were used as weapons by some of the mountain clansmen – perhaps that was where the stranger originated from. “It does not look like much, but there are many uses to it.”

“I suppose, you could be so bold.” Ser Raffard’s cold, emotionless stare gave out nothing. “I suppose, I could be bold enough to break your stick against my knee & send you to scrub chamberpots till the rest of your time here, if you don’t stop wasting my time & start following orders.” The message clearly got through – shaking his head a little, with the same smile, recruit lowered the staff on the ground carefully & went to fetch himself a blade.

“A real charmer, is he not?” Gryff turned to the sound of a voice, discovering, that it was one of the other newcomers speaking. He didn’t seem to address anyone in particular, but seeing that Gryff has reacted to his words, graced him with an amused smile.

“I’m talking about Raffard.” Recruit continued in a low voice. “If you think he’s being an arsehole now, you should’ve heard the stories they tell about him here. They also say the man who dealt with newcomers before was even worse – till he went to hunt down some deserters & perished north of the Wall… Think we’ll get just as lucky with this one?” He chuckled & winked to Gryff, before turning his attention back to the fighters.

Unsure of what the other meant to accomplish by telling him this, the Whitehill just shrugged & turned back to look in the same direction. Old man was holding his own decently enough, to his surprise. His movements could be defter & he clearly couldn’t strike as hard as a younger man would, but by moving constantly he dodged & parried most of the hits, even though he made no attempt to go on the offensive himself. This went on for a couple of minutes, before the elder was careless enough to leave himself open & his opponent’s sword struck right in his kneecap, causing him to drop on the other one with a gasp. Raffard used the moment to aim for the wrist of his sword hand, knocking the blade out of it.

“At least you wouldn’t be dead in the first minute of battle – for someone like you, that’s encouraging.” After letting his opponent have a breath, master-at-arms grabbed his hand & helped the man back up to his feet. “We’ll see what can be done about you. Perhaps, with some training, you will actually do the Realm a service by killing a wildling.” The last words almost made Gryff laugh. Apparently, even the crows still believed it were wildlings that they all needed to fear – while he, a bloody newcomer, already knew better than that.

The trial carried on, the young boy & the sulky lowborn demonstrating their skill one after another. Kid fought fiercely, uttering almost animalistic growls as he’d jump back up on his feet over & over after being knocked down & charged forward. The lowborn, whose name turned out to be Ayden, fared even worse, making it clear to everyone, that he’s hardly had any sword practice before – at least not with a knight as his opponent. Ser Raffard’s expression hardly changed once throughout the short fights, but it seemed like he wasn’t too aggravated & his mocking remarks sounded rather passionless.

“You’re a lordling, is that right?” He inquired as Gryff was picking himself a blade, trying not to linger by the rack any longer than needed. Standing here, in the spotlight, grated on his nerves & he could not wait to get this over with. Last time he had used a sword seemed like it was months ago – but the memory of how it ended stuck with him for good.

He jerked a shoulder & nodded. “And a fourth son, that is.” His opponent added in passing. “Not that I’m expecting excellence from someone, who’s disposable enough to be sent here, but a lord’s son should’ve at least received better training than this lot.” As Gryff turned to face him, flash of irritation in his eye, the man had his own sword at the ready. “Come at me.”

The fuck was he getting at, the Whitehill wondered idly, circling the patch of ground between him & the man. With the rest of recruits, he always took initiative in his own hands, as opposed to now – it seemed like he was expecting Gryff to take charge. His train of thought was interrupted as the watcher swung his blade at him, swiftly changing the direction of the hit at the last moment & barging through his hastily established block. Sword was knocked from his hand & Raffard simply sent him to the ground with a heavy thrust of his shoulder into Gryff’s chest.

For a few seconds, he just stared back at him, stunned. This has been swifter than any of the fights he has just witnessed – even though in the back of his mind Gryff knew, that he’d be subdued either way. All that needed to be proven about him as a fighter has been proven before. He could hear a couple short laughs from the crowd & a sympathetic sigh, that, as he correctly guessed, came from the guy who’s been talking to him before. Getting back on his feet, Gryff simply shut those out of his mind. He did not care about what they would have to say, he really fucking didn’t-

“Sleeping with your eyes open, Whitehill? Or, should I say, your eye.” Raffard looked almost bored by this point. “Did you not hear what I told you? The part about attacking me.”

“I was thinking.” At last, he was forced to speak, picking his blade up from the dirt.

“I hope me chopping your sword hand off and slitting your throat did not interrupt the thought process, your lordship.” The man already took another stance. “Your blind side is the most vulnerable, keep that in mind. And get your head out of the clouds, recruit. I can accept it when someone simply sucks, but not when he isn’t fucking trying.” With the same idleness in his gaze, Gryff followed another’s movements, at this point not even bothered by what would happen next. There was that slimy feeling inside of him, that made even trying seem completely worthless. Strike, their blades clashed, again, and the next second his traced an arc in the air & landed back on the ground, while his opponent’s was directed right at Gryff’s throat.

It took some effort to force himself to look the man in the eyes – and their coldness made him flinch. Raffard had been distant & snarky throughout the whole training session, but this was different – and almost frightening. That piercing gaze, that felt like it was directed into his very soul, reminded Gryff too much of another pair of eyes – one, that he believed he would never have to see again.

Unable to bear it, he bit in his lip & looked away.

“What is the matter, Whitehill?” Raffard’s voice was not angry, or irritated – it was plainly empty.

“What?!” Gryff attempted to bite back with what little anger he felt. “If I suck, just bloody say so. You didn’t ask the rest of them what was wro-”

“You are not the rest of them. You are not a lowborn, who’s never held a weapon deadlier than a meat axe.” The watcher would not take the sword away from his neck. “I’ve been told about you, Whitehill, about who you were and what you got sent here for. So don’t expect me to buy it, that you’ve fought under Roose Bolton and then led your own men, but now somehow can’t parry the simplest strike.”

Who the hell told him, flashed through Gryff’s mind – was it that Astor Greyson son of a whore?! And the fucker even seemed like a decent man to him at the beginning… Silently fuming & with no idea of how to respond, he stood, eye lowered to the ground, flashing angry looks to the watcher each few seconds.

Realizing, that he would not get another word from him, Raffard finally lowered his blade.

“I don’t know what the deal is with you, Whitehill,” he spoke quietly, calmly & distinctly. “Whether you pretend to be worse than you are because you want to be assigned a safer position, don’t deem me worthy of your effort… I honestly don’t care. What I know, is that under me you will work to your fullest potential willingly – or be forced to, if that’s what I have to do. Pick you sword, recruit.” He stepped back, moving his body into a steady fighting stance. “This is just the beginning.”

It was never warm this far down, under Highpoint. Not a candle or torch in your arm, no amount of layers of clothing you'd wrap yourself in would make significant difference. The moment you descended down the steep stony stairs & take a breath of air, still & cold, it would settle at the bottom of your lungs & remain there until you had a chance to re-emerge & sit by a fireplace, or have rare northern sun touch your skin.  He had spent quite some time in this place back in his day, in the cellars, crypts & half-abandoned & ruined tunnels, and not always willingly. From his brothers' perspective, shoving him down the stairs & then locking the door behind him, so that he would remain in complete darkness, was a fun thing to do. The realization, that barging through the door was not in his power came to him quickly — shortly after realizing, that begging them to let him out was in vain just as well (it was early, very early when he realized, that begging them to leave him be would always be in vain, & would not even try – until a particularly harsh beating would force a plea out of him).  At first, he'd just sit with his back pressed to the door, staring in the darkness of the corridor in front of him, too terrified to blink or make a sound — even his short breaths seemed to echo against the cold walls in a hollow sound, that made his blood curl. It always felt like something— someone was lurking there, watching him, ready to strike if he'd fail to see the attack coming. Soon enough, the obscure figures, born in his imagination, formed into an only one, that felt so real, Gryff could swear he could make out it’s shape in the darkness sometimes. A pale female silhouette, whose face he could not make out, that moved slowly & deliberately, almost clumsily — due to having to support her grotesquely protruding middle with a pair of thin hands... Hands, that she, undoubtedly, wanted to grasp his neck with till he wouldn't be able to breathe — if she ever managed to catch him.  Blackness where the light of his candle did not reach still did not fail to fill him with unease, but now Gryff merely clenched his teeth & walked faster towards the crypt — something, that, in his childhood, took many hours of bracing himself to accomplish. Step by step, he'd move further down the corridor that it now took him half a minute to pass. His past self then journeyed further — in the cellars, in the old tunnels, where every noise made his chest clench painfully from terror, as he forced himself to continue walking no matter. That day though, he needed not go further — his destination has been reached.  It was stunning that he was only doing this now — visiting his father's last resting place for both the first & the last time. He did not have the courage to come following the siege, Gryff could at least admit that when nobody could hear. Just one more reason for self-loathing. Even now, he was hesitant to approach the tomb — stupid childish memories affecting him far too much. That's where the tapestry lady was laid, of course they'd make sure her & his father would be by each one's side in afterlife. It was her domain, her lair. He was long past believing any actual harm could harm from her, anywhere aside from his nightmares, but it didn't make visiting the place feel any better. He could not fight off the feeling of being watched from behind. This place never became any better to him — he just learned how to cope with being here when it was unavoidable.  The candle was placed carefully on the floor, in a way that'd make it light up the cell in the crypt's wall where he made out the silhouette of the tomb. Gryff meanwhile lowered himself to sit on the floor, facing it — the place wasn't really meant for sitting, but standing still for longer than a minute made him dizzy. Complete silence fell, making him hear his own blood pounding distinctly. It was fitting the situation, the cold, the quiet, the peace — except for how horribly wrong it was for Ludd Whitehill, a man, who was anything but those things, to end up this way, in his son's eyes. If he had not witnessed the disemboweled body with his own eye, he would hardly believe his father was buried a few steps from him. Nothing about it felt right. Nothing here reminded Gryff of him in any way.  He forced his mouth open, thinking of something, anything to say — and closed it after a moment or two. It was too damn quiet here — the sound of his hoarse, weak voice would not belong. Gryff himself felt out of place, despite trying to force the thought out of his head — This is your right, you idiot. Your duty. Nobody cares what bloody Torrhen has to say. He does not matter. Your father is the only one that does, so speak, while you still have a chance, or— "I..." He forced through the lump in his throat, and just as expected, it felt horribly unnatural and wrong. Deadly quietness made it feel like his voice could be heard everywhere, even if Gryff knew, that stony walls wouldn't let the sound go further. The knowledge did not help. Feeling like he was being listened to from the dark made talking almost an impossibility.  "I'm b-back." After clearing his throat, the Whitehill lowered his voice to almost whispering, and that was better, just a bit. "From Ironrath. It was— I— " He already had nothing to say. Nothing to report, but his failure. Facing Torrhen, he could pretend not to care, to make indifference into his armor, but now sickening shame washed over him like hot waves. Ludd wasn't even there anymore, not really, yet he understood perfectly what he would have to say. How he would look at him. The mere thought made him wish he had broken his damn neck in the fall, like the horse did.  "I'm sorry." And that was true. The only reason to hold onto the forsaken keep — aside from having nowhere else in the whole world to go — was honoring his father's wish. Spiting the people, that killed him. At least he could hope, that all of them were already dead — slaughtered by their own army turned uncontrollable. This way there would be at least some justice left in this world. Just enough to believe it even still existed.  "There was nothing I could do." A stupid, weak, pathetic lie. He sort of leaned forward, hands clenching his arms just above the elbows, desperate to keep warm. The truth was that he ran — ran when the realization hit him, that he was a step from getting killed to protect a place he loathed & would rather see burned to the ground. Getting killed & not having a single soul to mourn him, or even care enough to bury what would remain of him. Now, you are alive — see how much better that feels?.. Gryff wasn't sure whether those words, ringing in his ears, were his, or if his father had found some way to get them through to him from wherever he was now.

The one thing lord Whitehill would never stand for was weakness.  Part of Gryff wanted to believe father would've understood — like he did when his last son was dragged before him, covered in blood from his mutilated eye & barely standing, so Grag had to literally hold him up. Whatever words Ludd had prepared for him seemed to escape him at the sight of Gryff in that state. He barely even recalled what he was saying, overcome with nauseating pain & dizziness — furiously growling something about fetching a bloody maester right fucking now. The next time he had a chance to approach father, the latter did not speak a word of what had happened — his first gesture was offering him the eyepatch Gryff would wear for the next months, all without saying a word. It was only then, when the disgusting, lousy feeling of weakness he's been carrying inside ever since getting maimed by Rodrik, suddenly eased up.  But now Ludd wasn't there to ease his worry the same way anymore. All Gryff had were his own thoughts, and those were merciless. It was different now. Rodrik had only managed to defeat him by deceit, with the help of his whore & her archers. This time, he had lost in a fair fight. This was it for him — as a lord, as a warrior, as a man. What Torrhen's soldiers would escort to the Wall was nothing but a sack of meat & bones. Was Ludd still alive, even he wouldn't be able to argue or defend him like he always did. Just one more way in which he had failed him. He had always cared more for him than for Torrhen, Gryff recalled, his throat clenching treacherously, always trusted him more — and he had repaid him by submitting to the thirdborn's rule, by accepting his power, instead of keeping fighting for what his father stood for.  As if he couldn't get any more pathetic.

“You know I don’t’ want to.” Gryff himself was shocked by how whiny that sounded. He couldn’t just break down here, he had to be a man for one last time, to say farewell with at least a shred of dignity – and instead he spoke like a hurt child, a feeling from many years ago, as real as ever. “You know he is forcing me to, that I would never- never leave if I could. I wouldn’t, I just- I just can’t…” His voice trembled, eyes burned, but he knew, that tears would not fall – it’s been so long since he cried, he barely even remembered how that was supposed to be done anymore.

“You would never send me away. Right?..” What kind of bloody response was he expecting? “A Whitehill is still a Whitehill. It doesn’t matter what his-s, his orders are – he can’t… He fucking can’t…” The shaking was getting out of his control, it was like a hand tightened around his throat, making it hard to breathe. “A Whitehill’s a Whitehill. He can’t change it. He is nothing. You always knew he was fucking nothing – only you, and nobody else.” Or did it just seem to him? No, no, the thought was too fucking bad to even contemplate. His father bloody hated Torrhen, and that was the only comfort Gryff has had for many days. He sent him away to rot at the Bastion. He didn’t even trust him enough to meet without the presence of his guards. He hit him. He fucking punished him for the shit he was doing, the only one who ever did, Torrhen still had a scar on his face from those beatings, because Ludd saw through him, saw what a piece of scum he was, because he fucking hated him, like that coward deserved-

“I fucked up.” Gryff’s voice evened. “I… fucked up so badly, you couldn’t even imagine.” It was so… so pathetic of him, to sit by the tomb of the only person who ever believed he was worth something, & whine about his sorrows, even though he knew well enough nobody listened. “I don’t know how I can ever make it any better.” Some part of him was glad his father wasn’t there to hear this anymore – he couldn’t bear the thought of Ludd starting to despise him for it. Another, bigger part, simply cursed the day lord Whitehill had been killed, knowing fully well it was supposed to be him instead. It was always supposed to be him going down to defend him – doing something worthy with his life & spitting in Torrhen’s face by depriving him of a chance to be lord. Now all went wrong, his father dead, him, regrettably, not, and Torrhen winning the day.

This would never have happened if only he fulfilled his duty.

He didn’t know what to say anymore, or what to do. When he was heading here, he had some good, right things in mind, but now half of those were forgotten & half seemed too stupid to voice. A simple “I love you” – something he never had it in himself to say when Ludd was alive, now seemed even more dumb & embarrassing. The need to get going pressed down on him, but he was scared of doing that at the same time. This was his last chance, but Gryff couldn’t even force himself to speak. Deep inside, this just added as one more reason to hate Torrhen, for turning this moment for him into such a mess. Of course though, this was still his failure, first & foremost – failing his parent in life & death all the same.

He couldn’t handle this any longer.

Swiftly & out of nowhere, he stood up, causing his head to spin. His eye burned like a hot coal, but remained dry as ever, and Gryff looked around, shaky movements akin to those of a hunted down animal. Out, get out of this place. You had your chance. It was almost like he somehow became a child again, frightened by the darkness. Black corners & cells of the crypt hid something sinister. It wanted him out. This place did not want to tolerate him any longer. He was ready to run back, to leave the candle & just turn & run, until he’d see light again – but he could not take the gaze away from the stone late lord Whitehill rested under.

For one last time. Be strong. Be a man.

Shakily, Gryff reached with his hand until it rested on the tomb’s cold surface. The unknown behind his back set a tickling, panicky sensation in his stomach, but he would not take the hand away – not if the woman from the tapestry were to lay her thin, pale hand on his shoulder right in this moment. Touching it brought no peace, no warmth, no sense of connection or presence of his father’s spirit or whatever the hell was supposed to be here – but just knowing, that he spoke to someone, who maybe did not listen – but would’ve, if he was there, was enough. He searched his mind for something to say, something that he would’ve wished for somebody else to tell him if he was dead, or dying, and out of all possible things, one stood out for Gryff:

“I won’t forget you.” He forced the words to be confident, clear, not caring if someone was to hear them or not. He was saying it, and he meant it, and if there was any way for a dead man to hear what the living had to tell him – he would hear Gryff now. “I’ll never, never fucking forget you… And I won’t let anybody else forget.”

When he walked back, through the corridor & up the stairs, the feeling of being watched never let go for a second, but he walked slowly still, with every deliberately long stop giving the thing in the darkness another chance to get him, if so it pleased. Nothing happened, of course, not a weird sound, or movement, or a mysterious blast of wind to blow his candle out – he was no fucking child anymore, and he should’ve known better. What he felt down in the crypt was nothing but a moment of weakness, foolery of his sickly brain. Real monsters had no need to hide, in cellars, under beds, in the woods, or wherever – they had all the needed power to do what they pleased in broad daylight & stand by their deeds proudly, with their heads held high.

Only at the last stair did he finally look back. The candle had burned out, leaving him with a mere thread of grey smoke, but his eye had gotten used to the lack of light by this point. If Gryff closed it, he would be able to imagine the silhouette of the tapestry’s lady, like the little boy used to do – but not the man. He looked in the dark with his own impaired gaze, and saw nothing – just as he was supposed to. He’d meet her again – in feverish dreams, in nightmares, or when he simply wouldn’t be able to keep his eye open any longer & would clutch it shut in fear – but never in reality. Never. For all that has happened, for all that was eating away at him from the inside, there was one thing he still had not been robbed off –

He still lived, still breathed, & walked, & spoke, and what mattered wasn’t that it brought him no joy anymore – it was that she didn’t. No matter what, he would live to see the light again, while she’d remain down here, in the dark, where she belonged.

As he shut the door behind him tightly, that thought, for the first time today, warmed up some tiny part of his soul.

[moosebehaving]

It’s Raining Men

Don’t worry, Lydia’s dad, whose greatest wish is to marry us off to the gentlemen of his choosing. You still may get your day in the sun.

We’re both still single. Painfully single. Like we spent last weekend sitting in our home office eating pizza, collecting beverage glasses on our desks, and watching ten episodes of a Korean drama online. That’s how single we are.

#noregrets

However, we can’t seem to keep the men at bay.

This all started about a year ago, after Naomi had gotten married and settled into life with her new roommate (who seemed like a downgrade from living with us awesome people, honestly) and it had been a long while since she’d come back to our once shared house. So Lydia and I invited her to come over for supper after work one evening and stay for a movie.

We had a delicious meal and went downstairs to start the movie right away. It was like 7pm. Kids are still up at 7pm. It was summer, and the sun was still out.

We got about twenty minutes into the movie, and we heard a knock on the door in the garage, which is right at the top of the stairs. Then the door opened, and a man’s voice came down the stairs “Hello!”

All three of us had the same assumption - it had to be Lydia’s brother stopping over for some reason or Naomi’s new husband looking for her. Lydia went to the steps and started with “We’re downstairs” and ended with “...can I help you?”

Naomi and I, still sitting on the couch, looked at each other in utter confusion.

“Uhh... um... is Lisa here?” was the man’s response.

Lydia set him straight and he quickly backed off and left. We spent the rest of our movie trying to track him down on Facebook by looking for Lisas (this was successful, just FYI) and over-analyzing what kind of idiot just walks into unknown houses under the assumption someone they know is inside. We decided Lisa was his wife, judging from the profile pictures Lydia could see on Facebook, that he had to be looking for her in our neighborhood for some reason (LuLaRoe or Thirty-One, if I had to guess) and he assumed with the two cars in our driveway and the open garage door that there was a party happening at our house.

Crisis averted. We haven’t seen him again. All’s well that ends well.

Scenario two:

It was nine p.m., later that same summer.

I, like most sane people in their own homes after the sun sets, was wearing pajamas and minding my own business.

In fact, I was being a responsible family member and Skyping with my sister. She was telling me about her dress for homecoming and I was giving her a hard time about a writing project of hers. We were paused, inbetween conversations, when my doorbell rang.

Amberly and I stared at each other, via webcams, in utter confusion. I quickly calculated through the (very) short list of people who could possibly be ringing the doorbell after nine p.m. on a Saturday night.

The doorbell rang again. I sprang into action, which was basically running around the house in the dark trying to figure out how to keep from giving up my location in the house while trying to find jeans because there was no possible way I was opening the front door wearing my moose pajama pants.

Exhibit A:

(Painfully single, remember? #noregrets )

I was trying to be quiet, because it was a nice night so every single window in the house was wide open. I caught a glimpse of a pickup truck parked on the street, confirming that whoever was ringing the doorbell was indeed a complete stranger, as I know only two of the pickup truck drivers in town, and they each have exactly zero reason to go to my house. Amberly was super helpful in my attempts at covertness, as she basically screamed through my phone speakers “WHO’S AT YOUR DOOR? ARE YOU ALONE?”

I ducked into the furthest room from the front door and hissed a quick “I’llcallyoubackbye” at Amberly and hung up the Skype call.

I ducked across the hall into my bedroom in an attempt to find real pants in the dark. The doorbell was on its third ring by now, and as I located a pair of jeans and debated whether or not I needed to change my shirt as well, Lydia stepped out of the bathroom. She was also decked out in pajamas, but they were a touch classier than mine so I guess she thought it was suitable to answer the door in them.

She turned on the lights and opened the door despite my intense whispers. “It’s someone in a TRUCK. DO YOU KNOW ANYONE WITH A TRUCK?”

Creeper With Truck at Door After 9 P.M: “Hi, I’ve got your pizza.” Lydia: “…we didn’t order a pizza.” Pizza Delivery Man With Truck: “…. West Spring Street?” Lydia, gently, with great concern for his navigating abilities: “…this is Edgewood.” Pizza Man: “Oh, crap! I’m sorry!”

Incident 3:

I’m home on Fridays. It’s nice. Today I had a couple cups of coffee and read for a while. Then I psyched myself up to work on a huge writing project. A few minutes in, I realized it was a beautiful 73 degrees and I needed to have the windows open.

Sitting at my computer in the office, I have a straight view out onto the street in front of the house. My car was parked there.

It was nearly noon when this green Taurus pulled up across from my car. It was right there in my line of vision, plain as day, literally in broad daylight. A skinny punk in a snapback got out and headed for my car.

I watched with something between

and

But I was not about to wait around and let him just climb in my car and do whatever it was he wanted to do, be it drive around the block or steal my highly-coveted 18-pack of paper towels in the back seat. So I bellowed out the window the first semi-threatening expletive sentence I came up with in the most disgusted I-could-come-out-there-and-beat-that-stupid-hat-right-into-your-skull tone I could muster.

The kid slowly backed off and got back into his car and made a phone call as he left.

I was livid. I stormed outside and immediately put my car in the garage for safe keeping. I wanted to drive the block and find this punk and sit him down in front of his mother and make him explain to both of us just what he was doing.

Lydia told me to call the police department, which was obviously my next step. After hiding the goods and trying to track down the offender, my next knee-jerk reaction would have been to alert the authorities. Obviously.

So I called the police department, which up until that moment I had successfully avoided in my adulthood. The lady took down all my information and I explained what had happened. That was really all there was to be done. I had nothing to give her that would help find this kid, he hadn’t actually done anything, and he was gone. 

However, her parting words to me were “I’ll send someone over right away.”

This was the scariest part of the situation for me, honestly. I had no makeup on, hadn’t brushed my teeth after my pot of coffee and sausage and egg breakfast, and had zero comprehension of how much time “right away” gave me to change these things.

I scrambled with my eyeliner and brushed my teeth like a madwoman. The doorbell rang before I was finished but I still high fived myself for my skills. Also, high five to the Waupun Police Department for being so responsive to a nothing phone call. 

The officer had me relay everything I had already told the dispatch person to him. He asked to see my car, which I had oh-so-helpfully moved into the garage. Which of course kicked my anxiety into overdrive and I immediately assumed probably made me look guilty and could potentially be as stupid as moving the dead body after you find it in the woods. I was probably going to jail.

So I led this officer through my house and let him see my sad little rusted out car that was no help to him. While he was looking it over, two. more. officers? showed up at the front door. I heard them but I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to abandon a police officer when he was asking me questions, and they let themselves in. Through my house and into my garage they came, and suddenly three Waupun PD officers were in my garage inspecting my car.

I was a model citizen, doing my part for society. 

WPD: “What was he wearing?” A: “Um. A snapback.” WPD: “Shorts? Pants?” A: “Uhh... shorts? Maybe?” WPD” “How old was the car?” A: “It was green.”

Look out, snapback kid, we’re coming for you.

The three officers paraded back out through my house and parted ways with mentions of some Beaver Dam hooligan they’d crossed paths with before, how to canvas the immediate area, and that they’d be in touch with me if they came up with anything.

But really, there was nothing to come up with. The kid was either stupidly mistaking my car for a friend’s, or stupidly trying to steal things in the middle of the day with landscapers working outside right up the street. And my intense yell out the window put the fear of God into his heart, and he was long gone. 

So in conclusion, The Ladypad, as we affectionately named our house before we moved in, is far from a boring residence. The list of uninvited guests on this property has grown considerably more than I ever expected or desired. 

I will say, however, that the three officers who came to my aid at the drop of a hat were the most welcomed uninvited guests on the list. 

[gwenore]

His Eyes. Chapter 1.

Summary: Belle is tormented by what can only be described as nightmares. Not only that she has a stalker, one she is convinced is not human... not after seeing his eyes.

Notes: This came about after talking to @thedarkestdearie and was encouraged by @poca-staks and @dekujin, so this is dedicated to you three. This is also a Beneath the Skin AU. Contains smut... and a lot of weird shit.

Belle sat herself up in bed with a great startle, her heart pounding against the ribs so rapidly that it hurt. Droplets of sweat was running down her back and beading on her forehead.

Pressing her legs together she felt just how wet she had became from her… wet dream was not correct… wet… nightmare?

She fell back onto the bed and let out a long breath, glancing up at the ceiling as she concentrated on her breathing.

Because… it had to be a nightmare…

Those dreams… those dreams of feeling so warm… down on her knees like that feeling him… no it move behind her and…

It always ended like that, her giving in to its wishes and letting it in.

Not only that she was certain it wasn’t human as in her dreams she had been looking into those glowing eyes… she found herself surrounded by them…

Beckoning to her… calling her in.

In those dreams she hardly felt fully human herself… she could not explain it in words she just felt… different.

Her blue eyes then wandered over to the clock which was placed on her nightstand.

03.00 am.

She sighed… knowing well that she was not able to go to sleep again. Slowly she moved out of her bed, walking inside her bathroom, removing her night gown and her panties, standing there in the nude for a minute as her shower reached the right temperature for her to step inside.

Feeling an odd itch at the back of her neck she absent mindedly scratched it… but she was far too sleepy to actually pay attention to the fact that a patch of skin there had gained quite the different texture to the rest of her creamy pale human skin.

Letting out a soft hum to herself she stepped inside, the water so hot that it was steaming. She let her long hair be rinsed though by the water, her eyes closed and letting her body relax, trying not to let her mind wander over to the dreams that had put her in such a state.

  Holding a cup of tea she was sitting by her window, looking out at the night sky as she waited for the dawn to come. Normally she would put on some sort of noise to convince herself that she was not alone in the small apartment located just above the library.

But… for the last couple of weeks… she had not been alone.

Belle French had a stalker.

Though she had not seen him… other than a shadow in the distance… she knew he was there. It scared her yet… he had made no move to hurt her… nor did he feel… malicious. It just felt as if he was… waiting…

She had not told anyone about it… what could she say?

That every evening that she walked back home from her work she felt someone following her, but when she turned around no one was there? That even in broad daylight she felt someone watching her every move?

Even if they somehow would believe that… if they asked what this man looked like… she could not answer them because she had never seen him.

Still feeling a sort of unbearable heat in her body she leaned over and opened the window, letting the chill air in.

Then… just as she was pulling her body in… she saw him.

Standing there across the street looking up at her. Though she had never before seen him she knew her stalker at once.

Though it was dark and he was hidden in shadow she could see he was dressed in a log coat which reached him almost to the ankles, his hands having leather gloves and he was wearing heavy dark shades to hide his eyes as his half long hair was gently blowing in the night wind.

He was just standing there in the middle of the street… looking straight at her.

Because she could tell that even with the distance and the shades which covered his eyes. She knew that he knew she was looking at him too… that she had finally seen him.

A slight grin came upon his hidden features as he casually lifted his hand and gave her a short wave. Belle, hand still resting on the window was so shocked she did not know what she should do nor what to believe.

It was so strange… having felt that she was followed so long by what would only be described as an unknown force… there he was… just… standing there…

Unknowingly she felt her own hand rise and simply waving back.

“Who… who are you?” she asked, knowing well she should shut the window and call the police… but such rational thought was far beyond her in this moment. It was however not like he could hear her… nor give her a response.

The man simply cocked his head before he then rose his hand to his shades and removed them.

Belle nearly knocked her tea out the window as she scrambled back in utter shock and horror.

His eyes… his eyes…

It was impossible.

Even with the distance between them Belle knew those eyes. She had been seeing them in her dreams for so long… since he… no it… had started to stalk her. Those eyes that it was impossible for any human to posses.

Because he was not human…

No rational thought in Belle’s mind telling her that this was impossible, that surely it must be some trick… or that she was still asleep… could convince her that this man was human.

Her eyes then lifted and she saw dozens or more eyes glowing from the ally, not able to make out the shape of them, but she was certain that they must be far less human than the man standing there.

Snapping out of the state of disbelief which had rendered her motionless she flung herself back and shut the window, closing the curtains.

Her tea was spilled all over the floor, yet she could not care anything about the mess that she had made as she hid herself under the blanket, covering her head as she shivered.

There she remained… not daring to move or breathe until somehow… she fell asleep.

  “Rough night?”

Belle perked up her head as she saw Mr. Gold behind the counter. She had found his small shop… which no one else seemed to know about… a couple of weeks ago, just before the dreams started. He was a middle aged man with graying hair, though dressed always in a suit and Belle found that she enjoyed the look upon his face.

She had never seen anyone else in the shop and he had claimed it wasn’t a shop… just a clever way to store his things. She had discovered it when she had walked in there by accident to shield herself from the rain.

The shock when she saw the man behind the counter was still fresh in her mind, but he had given her a reassuring smile and offered her a cup of tea to warm herself up.

After that she had came each day she did not particularly want company, but not wished to stay home all alone.

She and Mr. Gold weren’t friends… or… she did not know… he would constantly have a cup of tea for her or something to eat… but never charged her. In fact she would go so far as to say he seemed offended by her offering him money… so she had stopped.

He did however never come out from behind the counter and his shop… or place… Belle was not certain if shop was right as he did not seem to want to sell anything. The counter also blocked off the back room where she at times could hear something move and skitter.

She had asked him if he had a cat or the like.

At that he had simply smiled.

“No… though cats sometimes come into the store… I assure you that they do not stay long.”

She never could make sense of that one, nor was he seemingly willing to share what he meant by that.

They very seldom spoke, but Belle felt at complete ease being in his company… her reading in a book and he… doing what ever he did in the backroom.

“It is that obvious?” she answered his question with a chuckle. The man behind the counter simply cocked his head gently, blinking his eyes.

“A bit… doesn’t look like you are getting enough sleep…” he said as he was momentarily distracted by something making noise in the backroom, as if something was knocked down. Belle furrowed her eyes slightly at the sound.

“Um… yes… I have been having… nightmares. Mr. Gold… I know I have asked you before… but… just what are you keeping back there?” she asked with wonder. He let out a slight chuckle as he moved the curtain slightly just to check, but even as Belle leaned over to see he closed it again.

“Oh… it is a little secret of mine,” he smiled towards her.

“Will you tell me what you are hiding?” her curiosity was burning within her. She had always been the curious sort and Mr. Gold with all his… secrets… intrigued her. She knew next to nothing about this man and by just knowing that he existed she knew more than anyone she had mentioned him too, as they had never heard of such a man.

It made her feel… happy…

To have this little place which no one seemingly knew of by her and its rather strange inhabitant. The fact that he was the only place she knew was opened in the early hours or the mornings also helped.

He let out a low chuckle as those dark eyes bored into her.

“Well, Miss French… perhaps one day,” he grinned slightly before he glanced up at the clock. “But if I am not mistaken… someone is getting late for work.”

Belle’s eyes immediately shot up towards the clock, finding that the man was indeed correct.

“OH! You are correct. I need to be going! Thank you so much for the tea, Mr. Gold! See you soon!” she said in a hasty tone as she rushed out the door, leaving the book she had been reading behind as she proceeded to run down the street.

It was only just before she reached the library that she realized…

She had never told Mr. Gold her last name…

  This thought remained with her as she was working… clearly distracted as her friend Ariel noted, though refusing to speak about it, telling her that it was nothing and that she was just a bit out of it because she had not had the proper amount of sleep last night. Which… was true.

Belle felt her hands shake and finding herself looking over her shoulder every time a sound was heard.

Just what was going on…?

Surely the insanity of the situation must be getting to her. It could not be that Mr. Gold had been stalking her for weeks could it?

Thinking back on last night it was true that the silhouettes of Mr. Gold and her stalker was the same… the same length of hair and just…

Even the sharp grin that her stalker had given her fit eerily well with the one Mr. Gold could give himself.

But then… the eyes… those glowing unnatural eyes. Gold’s eyes though dark was not… inhuman.

But he had a lot of secrets… like what he had hidden in the backroom… the fact that no one had even heard of this man’s existence.

Belle wondered if she could ever feel safe to return to his place again…

At lunch she excused herself to go get something to eat, though rummaging through her bag she lamented that she had forgotten her book… though she was certain that she had known where it was. Though… when she would dare to go back for it…

That was a whole other matter.

For as even if Mr. Gold turned out not to be her stalker… she was not sure she had the bravery to return to his shop with these thoughts in her mind.

  Belle finally was walking home from having been out drinking with Ariel, Mary Margaret and Ruby. Normally she hated going out drinking and if she could avoid it she did. However this day she did not want to go home after work…

She was too nervous and the company of others… not to mention the couple of drinks that she swallowed down… would help her take the mind of her stalker.

It hadn’t done much, but so far she had never felt his presence unless she was alone and as the evening progress she was assured that she was not being followed.

Still he would not leave her thoughts…

She feared him, but… she also wanted to know why… why had he chosen to follow her? What made her so special? Why had she been chosen?

Then there was the knowledge that he could not be human… so what was he. Those eyes…

After a while her thought started to wander over to the strange Mr. Gold. What was he hiding…? If he was her stalker… if he wasn’t human… then…

And what was he hiding in the back room? Something living? It had to be with her having heard something moving around back there… it sounded like more than one though. Thinking back it almost sounded like several creatures. It certainly did not sound like the way a humans would move.

What was behind there? If Mr. Gold indeed wasn’t human then… it could be anything.

With such thoughts it was understandable that Belle had not been able to pay attention to anything that her friends had been talking about, simply staring into the air.

She realized that she had never seen the lower body of Mr. Gold… could it be that he could not hide his true form from the waste down?

Even to her drunken mind that just sounded odd… then again…

It was this thought that made her realize that it was about time to head home. Holding her head as she unlocked her door she hoped that she would not have a massive hangover in the morning. She was a lightweight and she had a feeling that the last drink would cost her.

Inside her apartment she removed her high heels and ran her hands through her hair before putting away her purse. Heading to the bathroom she removed her dress and got into her less than flattering sweatpants with an oversized t-shirt as she went to get herself a drink of water before she would head to bed.

However the sight upon her table made her freeze in place.

On the table in her living room laid her book.

The one she had forgotten in Mr. Gold’s store.

  Belle was sitting under her blanket with a kitchen knife and a flashlight. She had thought about calling the police, but what would she say? Even though she knew both Emma and Graham, how could she explain that she was stalked by a man which she was convinced wasn’t human, who had gotten into her home, her home which had been locked and showing no sign of a break in… more over the door had been still locked when she returned… to return a book?

It did not of course help that she had been drinking.

She must be going insane… she was utterly convinced that there could be no other explanation for it…

This just could not be happening!

However something had come out of this. She now knew that it had to be Mr. Gold… the book had been left in his shop.

She at least now could be certain of that fact… even if she could not be of anything else.

A resolve then rose within her.

She would return to his store… and she would confront him. She would demand to know just what was going on and what he was hiding.

  This resolve did not waver even as the sun started to rise over the town of Storybrooke and after having taken a quick shower to was away the last of the drinks last night again failing to notice that something was… different with the skin on her neck which her hair conveniently hid.

Belle did however notice that her skin was a bit itchy… well the weather had been unseasonably cold lately. Absentmindedly she thought about picking up some lotion from the pharmacy soon.

Quickly she then got dressed and with book in hand she walked with determined steps towards where Mr. Gold’s shop was.

That this could be insanely dangerous did not cross her mind even as she was walking to confront her stalker whom she thought wasn’t even human.

The cold morning air was chilling her, settling in her bones and she found herself pulling her jacket closer around her as she walked.

Usually the cold did not bother her that much, but now she could not stand it… wanting nothing more than to curl up into bed… someone laying beside her… several curled up against her… wishing to feel the many heart beats and slight shuffling as all of them forgot the coldness outside waiting for the sun to warm them.

Belle had to stop and blink.

Where had those thoughts came from?

It had seemed so vivid… so real…

As if she could feel the presence of those… creatures because it certainly was not human skin that she could almost feel laying beside her… it was rougher… smoother. Scaly…

She was however not able to dwell long at these thoughts as her feet had found their way to Mr. Gold’s small shop.

No one was on the street so early in the morning as it was a Saturday and she had seen several of the town’s populace out drinking last night. Besides such a town as Storybrooke it was little to do in the morning hours… or ever really… so people took the time to sleep in.

The door to Mr. Gold’s shop had never looked so intimidating. Belle had to swallow down her nervousness as her shaking hand grabbed around the handle of the door and she pulled it open and stepped inside.

To her astonishment the dark little narrow store had been totally abandoned. Every little thing which she had spent so much time staring at and admiring was gone.

Mr. Gold himself were no where to be seen. Rushing forward she went behind the counter and into the backroom. It was dark back there… but it did not matter as there was nothing really to see there.

Just a pair of empty shelves and a pair of blankets strewn on the ground.

He was gone.

Belle did not know how to feel. Standing there in the empty backroom she felt that she had been so close to find out the truth only to then realize that her stalker was several steps ahead of her. She was following his lead and he had only let her see the things he wanted her to see.

She bit her lip as she slowly walked to the front of the store again, finding that it had not been so empty as she had first thought.

On the table she had always been sitting and reading was a tea cup with a note under it.

Slowly she approached it, finding that the cup of tea was filled… and still warm…

He had been here recently when she picked up the cup she felt that it was just the right temperature for drinking… though of course she did not drink it.

Her eyes then moved down to the note which had been written in one of the most beautiful handwriting she had seen, written with an ink pen… though the words chilled her.

It is cold in the morning, my dear.

  It had been a couple of days since Mr. Gold had vanished from the surface of the earth and since then… she had not been followed.

She still looked over her shoulders when she was alone or keep watch from her window…

But he had left her alone.

Belle did not know how she felt about this. She knew she should be overjoyed… but… she never got to know what he was thinking. And what more… she was certain that this was far from over.

With a loud sigh she put down her book and leaned her head back. It was impossible for her to concentrate as she was scratching herself.

The itching which seemed to be crawling all over her skin had simply persisted. She had never really had such issues with her skin before. It wasn’t bad… more like a slight tingle which made her notice it. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant… it felt rather… nice. But it did make it hard for her concentrate… almost as if there was an persistent unease to her body…

Sleeping was different, though she felt that she was constantly cold… she would be walking up drenched in sweat.

No doubt that the events which had enveloped her life for so long and that had grown to a crescendo not long ago was the cause.

Again her eyes wandered over to her window. The street below was empty… a couple of parked cars, but none that she did not recognize or gave her any cause to believe that her stalker was there.

She sighed softly as she stood up and wandered to the sink and started to clean out her cup.

Was this it? Were she supposed to just go back to her normal life with not having any of the answers?

Scratching her chest slightly she yawned. She had been having trouble falling asleep lately, the unease in her body because of the slight itching had left her rather tired.

Having a day off tomorrow she decided not to put an alarm so  that she could sleep in. Feeling unreasonably warm she only wore a light nightgown, only going to the middle of her thigh. Moving under the blanket she settled down and draped it over herself.

Even the nightgown seemed like too much to wear, and though she was not one to normally sleep in the nude, she removed it and tossed it on the floor.

That made the strange tingling in the skin ease slightly and she was able to relax slightly, closing her eyes and after tossing and turning for what seemed like forever she was able to fall asleep.

  However her dreams were not easy… was it even a dream.

Looking around she found herself in a room which was… breathing. Yes… the room was breathing. Lightening was cracking above her head and the floor below her was… bone. Glancing around she found herself in a cathedral dedicated to some god of flesh.

She was not alone… all around her she could hear crawling and skittering… eyes peering at her from every dark corner which her line of sight could not reach.

She herself felt a heat burn within her… finding herself panting loudly.

Her body felt so… different… her hands caressing over her chest, her skin now rough… scaly… laying down on the bone floor, her body writhing as her tail curled around itself… wait… tail…?

She was however distracted as she heard clawed feet moving towards her.

She knew him far before she saw him… her breathing growing more and more excited as her eyes met those glowing eyes, moaning softly as her chest quickly rose and lowered as she met those glowing eyes.

He was standing above her… looking down at her… he… whatever he was had the shape of Mr. Gold… his skin… scales… gleaming in the low light. He was absolutely stunning and she was excited, her legs parting as it was impossible for her to look away from those glowing eyes… but she knew that he was excited.

His breathing was heavy… a low hiss emerging from his sharpened teeth as his long tongue ran across his lips.

He wanted her… she knew this, desired her with a burning passion and even the world sees to start to burn with a fever because of his intense passions…

But he did not get any closer.

Simply standing there, gazing down upon her with those glowing eyes of his… not giving her the touch of his dangerously clawed hands that she was craving.

A loud moan excited her lips as the heat in her body seemed to rise, writhing before him… begging and pleading for him on that warm bone floor.

She showed him everything… beckoned him… groveling at his feet … but he did nothing to alleviate her suffering.

A sound of desperation passed her sharpened teeth.

She needed him… why would he not…

“Please…” her voice having to be forced out as her panting was growing louder. “I want you…”

He gently moved his head, his tail slowly flicking behind him a sharp grin emerging on his face. Slowly he started to move towards her, getting down on his knees before her, still not touching her, but matching her movements, so that no matter how she was attempting to move her body against his, he denied her.

His face were now mere inches from hers, she gazing into his intense amber eyes, she felt his breath against her face.

Slowly she moved her face closer… this time… he was not moving away…

  Belle sat up in the middle of her bed, the blanket tossed down on the floor, her mattress soaked by her sweat. Her breathing was getting caught in her throat as she was gasping for breath. She could feel how wet she was between her legs, feeling her sex throbbing almost painfully.

Her hand ran through her hair… wet with sweat, sticking to her back. She could not go back to sleep in this state, standing up… her legs trembling slightly and feeling the cold air against her skin.

Turning on the water of the shower she turned the heat of the water far higher than she normally would, as the cold air of the bathroom was making her tremble even as she almost felt as she was burning.

Slowly as the water had reached the right temperature she stepped inside and let the water warm her, feeling it run over her form. Though this did wonder to warm her, blocking out the cold… but the heat coming from within was far more persistent.

The dream was still playing in her mind and her hand started to lower as she imagined it. Her sensitive body startled slightly as her fingers touched her. Her fingers started to explore, rubbing against her clit as she started to moan loudly.

Never before had her body been so… sensitive…

Never before had she felt so… good…

Though she got release, the heat in her body remained. Carefully she stepped out of the shower, drying her face… feeling a peculiar feeling on her spine. Blinking her eyes she lifted her hand and brushed the fingers against her spine. A chill went down her spine as her the tips of her fingers moved over across her humid skin, but then… the skin became… rough… yet… smooth. Nothing like human skin at all. More like…

Scales…

Her blue eyes widened.

Shivering she turned her nude back to the mirror a startled sound, too low to be a scream echoed of the tiles in the bathroom.

Down her spine her skin was decorated by a slightly aqua colored silvery scales.

This cannot be real… these things cannot truly happen… how… how was this happening?!

She let out a frightened whimper, before she dashed toward the window, caring not to bring her towel, her mind in a state of near panic as she rushed over to the window. Opening the curtains she looked out into the street.

There stood Mr. Gold, his golden eyes glowing towards her in the dark as he slowly lifted his clawed hand, giving her a slow wave. All around him were these small… creatures… skittering and gleaming in the low street light, their eyes glowing up at her, all of them stretching up their small hands towards her.

Welcoming her…

… as one of their own…