#one time someone gave me a hundred dollar bill

[kaisdrumsticks]

ik its not hu, but i just wanted to share this before i go to bed

[unholyhelbig]

Keep the kate angst coming pls

Title: Firecrest (Part 4/???)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Bad parenting, panic attacks, possible arson, descriptions of fire, fight scenes, blood, angst, and horrible grammar (I don't proofread)

[A/n: All of my Kate Bishop stories have a tendancy to flop, but this one is for you, six loyal readers, I love you!]

Bobbi Morse refused to release her hold on the duffle bag. It was comically pink but covered in different drawings that bled into the nylon as if the item had been wounded. You hated the color, despised it, really, but defacing it with sharpie markers seemed to settle your discontent.

Her other hand gripped her daughters shoulder with her usual confidence and you knew better than to pull away from her. The woman in front of you was only a head taller than you, her face pockmarked with zits of different pustules of width. When she smiled, her lips made an uncomfortable noise against her braces.

“Miss Morse, I promise you, Y/n will have a fantastic, safe, time.”

They were playing tug-of-war with the bag now. It was subtle enough that no one else would notice. But of course, Eleanor Bishop was always the first in the room to notice subtle. She materialized out of a Rolls-Royce that had a strange purple tint to it in the mountain sun.

“Oh, Bobbi, you have to relax.” The woman gabbed your mother in the side. If anyone else had ever tried that, they’d lose a hand or possibly a heart. “You think I would really send Katherine to Target Trails if it were dangerous? These are trained professionals.”

That seemed to relax Bobbi’s shoulders by half an inch. Your mother was not worried about safety. She had ensured that you knew how to take care of yourself from a young age, much younger than the counselor in front of you now.

The idea of leaving you in the middle of the forest wasn’t a problem either. You had survival skills, you could make a home for yourself out here in the wilderness and wander back to civilization on your own in time for school to start in the fall.

Bobbi trusted you. What she didn’t’ trust, was your powers. You had become less reactive over the years, relied on therapeutic techniques to control the fire that festered just below your fingertips. But there were moments, sporadic ones, where the heat got away from you and you were too groggy to chase it.

“Jessica, dear. Can you make sure that Katherine and Y/n are in the same bunk?”

“Mrs. Bishop, the assignments have been set for weeks, I can’t just-“ a crisp hundred dollar bill was slid across her neon clipboard. Her eyes widened, narrowed, but she snatched it up all the same. “Would you look at that? We just had a bed open up in the bullseye cabin.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Bobbi was suddenly relinquishing her hold on your bag to cup both of your shoulders. At fifteen, you were nearly her height. She made a point never to bend down to speak to you. It was demeaning, and you both knew it. She addressed you like an adult in these moments.

“Okay, sweetie, remember what doctor Garner said.”

It wasn’t a question. Your coping mechanisms were drilled into your mind, tattooed against the softness of your brain. You were supposed to name five things in the room you could touch, five you could see, five you could hear, and five you could smell. By the time you’d puzzled it out, you had reached to the end of that ever-familiar heat.

There were other tools; an imaginary box to put your worries in, a safe-space that was fire retardant. But there were almost always moments you feared that nothing would work. That you’d torch a place and add more names to your ledger of misuse.

“I love you, firefly.” Bobbi kissed between your eyebrows and gave your shoulders an extra squeeze. “Send a smoke signal if you need me.”

She smiled jokingly before loading back into her jeep and expertly pulling from the gravel drive. She kicked up white dust behind her that tasted like the salt of the earth when you inhaled. Jessica smelled like sunscreen and sweat, and you stepped to the side before she had a chance to touch you in a nurturing way.

“Right, let’s get you to your bunk.”

There were four other girls in Bullseye, including Kate; America Chavez, who had somehow already found a stick to carve with a pocket-knife that should have been confiscated upon entry. Cassie Lang, a small blonde that had already claimed the top bunk. And Gwen Poole, a girl who would have loved your pink bag before you destroyed it, the tips of her hair dyed the offensive color.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s good to see you too, Katie.”

“Okay!” Jessica clapped her hands together, “Y/n, I’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner is at six and there is a mandatory campfire afterwards.”

She seemed to sense the tension and left fast enough not to get hit with the sticky screen door. She took the cabin steps two at a time and kicked up a trail of dirt much like Bobbi had. Kate had claimed the bottom bunk on your side of the cabin, leaving you with the rickety top.

“I hope you’ve curved that nasty bed-wetting habit of yours.” She said, just loud enough for the whole cabin to hear.

“Hope you packed an umbrella.”

Kate turned as white as a sheet and clutched her pillow to her chest. She could never tell if you were being serious or not. Of course, you weren’t. You’d never wet the bed. Setting it ablaze on the other hand? That wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility.

“You take that back,”

A wolfish grin moved across your face before you pulled yourself up onto the scratchy green blanket. The springs creaked as if they’d been used for years. You were suddenly exhausted and made no move to remove your boots, or unpack the duffle shoved to the side.

“Do you two know each other?” America asked, shirking a long strip of birch onto her own bed. She was sitting cross legged, getting it as sharp as she possibly could. You had a feeling you would gravitate towards her throughout the summer. “Or is this some weird attempt at flirting?”

You sat up fast enough to make your head spin, “Our parents run in the same circles. We’re obliged to be in each-others presence at least 75% of the year.”

“Obliged? Try forced” She scoffed, scowling at you. “You don’t even like archery.”

“I like being better at it than you.”

“You’re not.”

“They’re totally flirting.” Gwen whispered to Cassie, who gave an exaggerated nod, barely stifling her blinding grin with the stuffed bear she’d brought along to suffer with the rest of them.

Most of that summer had passed by in a blur. You really didn’t like archery. Your aim was there, but your form was lacking. Kate ticked all the boxes and had even split an arrow straight down the middle on the second day of camp, much to your dismay.

The two of you mostly stayed out of one another’s way, on opposite schedules by design. You’d grown impossibly close with Gwen and America, the three of you none too enthusiastic about the sport that Target Trails boasted about. You were much too interested in the lake, and spent most of your time out there.

A week and a half before the end of summer, and you had let your guard down. You would never admit this, but you were actually having fun and participating. Gwen had begged you to attend a movie night at the fire pits, and you had agreed with the promise of sickly sweet marshmallows.

The two of you were huddled up under a blanket, biting through the late-night mountain chill. You hadn’t been paying attention to the content that would be shown, nor to anything other than the slow-moving bag of puffed deliciousness that was making its way towards you.

“We have a real treat for you tonight, campers. We’ve got first hand access to the new Hawkeye documentary! It’s not releasing until this November, but he loves what we do here at Target Trails and gave us an exclusive.”

A wash of numbness fell over you, appetite suddenly gone. You were frowning, you knew, at the documentary as it played on a hung white sheet, strung up between two evergreens. Your fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.

Gwen nudged you with the bag of marshmallows, but you shook your head, too engrossed in the picture on the screen. Seeing him as a hero, you could handle. He’d been on the news, and you’d caught glimpses before Bobbi shut it off. But this was different. This was about his life.

He sat at his kitchen table with his family. A baby cradled in his arms and a woman with kind eyes at his side. There was a girl around the same age as you in the other chair, pushing yellow eggs around her plate and doing her best to ignore the camera. A daughter.

“Lila, don’t be rude, say hi to the nice film crew.”

Clint was joking, and the frame was shaky, but she gave a small wave and dazzling smile regardless. The thought was bitter; what made her different from you?

You didn’t realize that your breath had quickened and you’d wigged out of the fleece blanket that you shared. Gwen looked at you with worry, but you had the stamina to hold it together until you could maneuver around other campers to the darkness of the surrounding woods.

Far enough to stifle your sob in the side of your hand and fall to the damp forest floor. The pain that ripped through you was unbearable, and you naively dug your fingers into the dirt to see if it would extinguish the building flames.

The pressure licked at your throat and pressed down your spine like a metal rod. It hurt to hold it in, to let warm tears soak through the glowing embers that had taken over your irises. You were doing so well. You were pretending almost too well, to be normal.

Arms were around you in an instant, but you were too far gone to push them away. Instead, you folded into the embrace. It was cold compared to your body-heat, the scent of artificial wintergreen rivaled the real thing. It was Kate. You knew from the strong grip of her hands and the gentle soothing words that you couldn’t process.

A growl had escaped you, and when you peered up at her, the orange glow of your eyes shaded her features. There was no moon tonight. They flickered like a lantern used as a beacon. Kate drew in a sharp breath, but didn’t’ push.

“You need to breathe for me, y/n.” She said instead, letting you clutch onto her camp shirt and stain it with dirt. You were in her lap like an insolent child, but you would combust if she let you go. As if on instinct, she held you tighter. “Four in, six out, come on.”

You tried to follow instructions, but the pain started to roll in waves. The rolling in your stomach felt like you were about to vomit up magma. Kate was panicked, you could see the beautiful gray of her stare flicker with worry. Your hands were getting hotter.

“Fuck it,” She hissed.

Kate leaned down with fervor and pressed her lips against yours. It was not graceful, her teeth hit your own with a dull clack and her hand was gripping your collar to hold you up. Her nose was cold, and her chest heaved up and down with anxiety. It was much too clumsy, and it was glorious.

Eventually, you sucked in a deep breath and used your heels to scramble away from her, back hitting the hard bark of a tree. She had a dazed, glassy stare that still seemed to seep with worry. The worst of it was over, and you were suddenly exhausted.

Your stare didn’t glow like engine coal and your skin had returned to it’s normal pigment. You were breathing normal, almost greedy for the tinny taste of it. “What the hell, Kate?”

“Me what the hell?” She whispered harshly, “You what the hell! I was preventing a forest fire.”

“You’re not smokey the mother-fucking-bear.”  

It was harsh, you should be thanking her, but you wanted to get as far away from the archer as possible. You clambered to your feet and started to head towards civilization. You needed to get to the payphone. Screw the last few weeks of camp. That was too close of a call.

Kate didn’t’ let you get far. Her fingers wrapped around your wrist and she held you in place with an impressive amount of strength for a girl her size. “I don’t understand a lot about what happened just now. That’s not important. I don’t get why you’re so mad.”

“Because,” The first word was easy, the rest got stuck in your throat. You tore your hand away and she let you. “You… stole my first kiss.”

Her features softened for a moment before she narrowed her eyes in what you could only describe as discontent. There was plenty to thank Kate Bishop for, and plenty more that you had to explain to her. Instead, you were hung up on this. And why wouldn’t you be?

You’d been saving it. You’d expertly dodged Tommy Maximoff at a game of spin the bottle just last week. And before that, you’d gone to see a movie with Teddy Altman who seemed as worried about grabbing your hand with his sweaty one as you were. None of it felt right, and the two of you both breathed a sigh of relief when the credits rolled.

She kicked dejectedly at the dirt. “You took mine too, you know? You were freaking out and I saw it in a movie. It worked. Didn’t it?”

You blinked at her in surprise. Kate bragged on multiple occasions that she and Eli Bradley, a kid that was way too into ROTC, had made out behind the bleachers. It made sense now, why the two of you had done your awkward little dance on the forest floor.

“Thank you,” You settled, working shaking hands through disheveled hair, suddenly feeling even. “For doing that, I mean. It could have been really bad.”

 An obscure pop song crackled through the overhead speakers in the grocery store. The lights buzzed under the melody, uncomfortable and neon in their flickering annoyance. You hadn’t been able to sleep, which wasn’t a surprise, so you took advantage of the low traffic to stock up on essentials.

Bread, milk, and dry pasta. Your diet wasn’t the best, but it filled you up and the staples still maintained an easy enough price for you to justify your purchases. The basket hung from your arm, slowly filling with off-brand items.

You were busy stocking up on bandages and antiseptic when you felt an odd crawling feeling up the back of your neck. You were being watched. Your movements stilled for half a second before you continued with your task, senses becoming overwhelmed with an expensive floral scent.

“Miss Morse, strange running into you here.”

Yes, it was strange. You didn’t know that Eleanor Bishop did her own grocery shopping, and judging by the single orange in her cart, you weren’t sure she had actually decided to do so now. There was a sheepish smile on her face. She had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed.

“Relax, sweetie.” She squeezed your upper arm. “You don’t have to be so guarded. I just wanted to extend an invitation to dinner this Friday. It’s a formal event, just a chance to get to know my daughters partner a little better.”

The air suddenly felt thick. You still hadn’t produced a comprehensive sentence and now you opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish that had hopped from it’s bowl. She had a thin smile on her face that failed to hide her true rage.

“I’ll even extend the invitation to your father.”

Finally, you found your voice. “I’m sure Lance would appreciate the thought, but he’ll, uh, be out of town until next Monday I’m afraid.”

“No, no. Not Lance, silly. Clint.”

Your grip tightened on the box of bandages. It made a sad noise under your crushing fingers. Eleanor’s unwavering gaze flicked down and then back up, hardly phased by your knee-jerk reaction. You were flushed with an odd type of calmness.

Five things you can touch: The rough fabric of your jacket. The metal handle of the basket. The obnoxious blue plastic at it’s end. The crumpled box of bandages.

“How do you know about that?”

“Well, dear, people talk.”

Five things you can see: The venom in Eleanor Bishops eyes. A single fly trapped in the light fixture above. A bored clerk that pushed packs of gum around the counter. The puke-colored floor tiles under your feet. The line of green vitamin bottles just below your shoulder.

“That won’t be a problem, will it? I’ve heard through the grapevine that you and Katherine are getting quite serious. It’s only customary to meet the parents. I know Bobbi so well, but Clint is all anyone can talk about these days. We’d love to get to know him better.”

Five things you can hear: The pitiful last cries of the trapped fly. The squeak of a cart that was three aisles over. The dull hum of the frozen section across the store. Eleanor Bishop’s even, calculated, breaths. An obscure rock-song blaring from the clerks’ headphones.

“Y/n?” She prodded, lifting a sculpted eyebrow.

“That… that uh,”

Five things you can smell: Your own sweat, quickly slicking your back. The musky floral perfume that Eleanor Bishop bathed in. The sharp edge of antiseptic contained by plastic bottles. The faux citrus scent of floor cleaner. The beginning of bile climbing your throat.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Bishop.” You schooled your features into something you hoped was calm. “I’ll be there.”

She clapped her hands once, a moment of success. You were absolutely drenched in sweat with a heat that even the frozen section couldn’t cure. She went to pat you on the shoulder but thought better of it, before leaving her cart with the singular orange behind.

Shopping was the furthest thing from your mind at this point. Any semblance of productivity was morphed into shock, and then scathing anger. You set your own basket down and turned to rush from the grocery store, entirely overwhelmed in the area you’d just used to steady yourself.

The change in temperature between the store and city streets was minimal. You could feel your breath speed up, your fingers start to tingle. You had to get out of here, so you started to run. Kate’s usual haunts as a hero weren’t too far, and even if they were, you were positive that you could sprint to them.

People became scarce on the sidewalks, a humid mist coated your skin. White fairy lights adorned every other tree, and then none at all. There was a darkness, chain link fences and a dog that lunged on a short lead. The streets were empty, and your chest began to ache.

You stopped in the center of the street, shouting out “Hawkeye!”

It wasn’t certain which one you would summon. You tightened your fists, clenching your eyes shut as you tried to control your breathing. You hadn’t had a panic attack like this in years, high school, to be exact. The turmoil kept building. The memories you’d shoved down boiled up.

“Hawkeye!” You shouted again, letting the orange flames engulf your fingertips, cracking against skin. “Come out or I start torching everything!”

An overreaction? Perhaps. But part of you, a very small part, was tired of playing the hero when all of the cards were stacked against you. What was stopping you from being a villain? You had your nemesis in both archers for different reasons, and a formidable villain you would be.

It would be easy to let go of the control you’d worked so hard to build. Fires were uncontrollable, they were dangerous and deadly. There was no problem setting them. It was controlling the blaze once it’d been ignited that could bring absolute destruction.

“Five!” You called out, your boots on the ground the only noise. “Four!”

You spotted a trail of gasoline leaking form the bottom of an old Camaro that was propped up on cinderblocks, all four tires being ripped from the frame. Perfect. It was clearly abandoned, and far enough away from the brownstones to be a real risk. An attention grabber.

“Three!”

You were feeling heady now. A wash of dizziness had replaced the panic as your emotions were simmering down. You knelt, the sharp scent of gasoline filling your senses. Even the smallest touch would ignite the vehicle in a wash of flames.

“Two!”

Still, nothing. The quiet was eerie. Much like crickets and frogs in the country, the city relied on it’s staple noises. There was never silence, but it fell heavy on your shoulders now. You could cut your losses, raise to your feet, and walk away. But walking away never got you anywhere. Walking away was too much like your father.

The sharp sound of an arrow being pulled back pulled you from your thoughts. “Not another move.”

Kate was bluffing. You could see the uncertainty and fear in her eyes. Of course, you were positive that you were harboring the same thing. You weren’t obedient in this moment. The sight of her in her black tactical suit, marred in purple, was captivating. Infuriating all the same.

A rush of hot air pooled at your palms as you righted yourself. They’d gotten stronger, hotter. Blue licked harmlessly at your skin now. You clenched your jaw and lilted your head to the side. In this moment, despite the intoxicated hold she had on you, you wanted to fight her. Wound her as she’d wounded you.

“Do it. Shoot.” You called her bluff. Her aim was slipping. “Or we could put all of our flashy toys away and have it out like adults.”

She made no move to lower her weapon. “We can talk this out. Just step away from the car.”

“This car? God, she’s a beauty. It’s such a shame that it was put to waste like this.”

“Y/n,” She warned in a muted growl. “I will shoot.”

This time, you believed her. Any slack in her stance had tightened like she were on puppet strings. She aimed directly at your chest. Hawkeyes never aimed to kill, but they would. Kate would, if she was pushed far enough.

You lifted both of your hands up in a half surrender, letting the flames extinguish themselves. You’d shown so much restraint. So much leniency for an unfair situation that plagued the both of you. Kate lowered her arrow, the metal tip pointed at the ground before she placed it back in the quiver entirely, sensing the danger dissolving.

When she glanced up and closed the distance between the two of you, your breath hitched. There was insurmountable anger in her eyes. In a quick movement, she slapped you with an open palm, hard enough to make you taste metal, but not hard enough to cause a ringing in your ears.

Kate hissed “that was fucking stupid of you.”

Your head was turned to the side, the harsh sting throbbing in tune to your heartbeat. You pulled in a humid breath and let it out within the same sentence. It had been stupid of you, nearly starting another fire that could very easily get out of control. You’d never admit that to Kate.

In a swift move, you grabbed Kate’s arm, twisting it until she let out a yelp and fell clumsily to one knee. You stopped shy of breaking anything. “No, it was fucking stupid to tell your mother about Clint.”

Kate’s fist hit your stomach with a cheap shot. It was still effective, knocking the breath right out of your lungs. By the strap of her quiver, you dragged her back to her feet and slammed her against the side of the car.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re the only one that knows, Kate!” You snarled “Your mother invited me to a family dinner with him.”

Your knee was in between hers, she was panting, strands of hair falling into her slate stare. There was a smear of dark blood against the corner of her lip. You hadn’t put it there, and though she was pinned under you right now, you wanted to destroy the person who had done that to her.

Fist-fights were predictable for you and Kate. The first time she landed a punch was at her 9th birthday party. You don’t remember how the quarrel started, it was that trivial. It was a pool party with an inflatable slide that might as well be a boxing ring.

There was hair pulling and you remember Lance wrapping his arms around you while Derek Bishop wrestled to pull a feral Kate to the other side of the yellow slide. After fifteen minutes, the two of you were sitting at the edge of the pool digging into chocolate cake.

“Y/n, have you ever considered that other people heard the conversation we had at the benefit?” She sighed, letting her head thump softly against the side of the car. “My mother has ears and eyes everywhere. I didn’t even tell her we were dating. I would never do that to you.”

She shoved you off, and you went slack, allowing her to. You were close enough to a catering table that it was plausible. Kate sounded broken, and it filled you with a deep guilt that you weren’t quite prepared for. You had been so certain.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” She bumped into your shoulder as she walked past you. You turned, tracking her with your eyes. “After all these years, do you really think that little of me?”

“No, Kate I...”

She looked at you expectantly. Sadness rimmed her stare. All of your previous anger had melted away. There was nothing there but a deep dread. You never wanted to hurt her. You hung your head like a kicked dog, feeling a lump form in your throat.

“We’ll do the dinner. Keep playing the part. But after that, it’s done. I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’t.”

Your voice was tight, chest suddenly painful. She used the edge of her thumb to wipe at the wound on the edge of her lip that you’d reopened. She swiped her tongue over it for good measure.

You were crying.

But she respected you just enough not to say anything.

Tag List💕: @noturlondonboy, @slvtformaria, @pianogirl2121

[justjams2003]

Fast Pace-2

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic.Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious

Word count: 2,8k

Masterlist

Part 1~Part 3

"What? Am I hearing this right? The Carlos Sainz, famous Ferrari Formula One driver approached you, in an alleyway, during your smoke break and paid you three hundred euros to hide in a cramped bathroom with you.” One of your best friends from high school screams into your ear. You can’t help but cringe, hearing exactly just how famous he is. You blow the smoke from your cigarette and gaze out across your balcony.  

You wish you could say the view is beautiful, with the Eiffel Tower in the background with music of the people in the background. It’s none of that though. The view is another apartment block, and you so wished the man on the balcony would close the curtains. You avoid the balcony in the fear of getting treated to a view of his wrinkled body. How you wish you didn’t have to deal with the gross apartment building.  

“Um...Yes...?” You reply, not really sure what to say. “Not only that, Jasmine, but he then gave her his number and said he would make sure he would see her again!” Your other best friend, Ilsa, on the group call squeals out. You facepalm, knowing they can’t see you, but still, your embarrassment is uncontainable. “What are you going to say?” Jas asks, you can already hear her plotting.  

Your silence says a thousand words. “You are going to text him, right?” Ilsa clarifies and they go quiet only to hear your sigh. “What would I say? Hi, mister million-dollar man, I really liked being cramped in a bathroom with you, and would love to do it again!” You scoff at the ridiculousness of it all and take another puff from your cig. “I mean...” Jas says but you quickly shoot the idea down.  

“Okay, okay, how about this? Address the elephant in the room. Tell him you googled him and then ask him what exactly he wants with you.” Ilsa suggests and it actually doesn’t sound that bad. Your stomach rumbles and as you open the fridge door you can’t help but sigh. Some old cabbage, one egg and a pack of cheap tomato sauce. Another hungry night.  

“Yeah, so that you can be prepared if he just wants a quick fuck!” Jas calls out and again you can’t help but cringe. “Jasmine!” You yell out, glad they can’t see you blush. Even that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s been weeks since someone touched you with any sort of kind intent. Much less how close you two were today. 

 You’d already given the full three hundred euros to your landlord. He just scowled asking where the rest of it is. Not to mention, the electricity is threatening to shut off. Along with the student loans, water bills, phone bills, and insurance, everything is piling up and you feel like you can’t pick up enough shifts to survive.  

I hear her groan, “Come on, Y/N, this could be a really great opportunity for you.” This time it’s Ilsa encouraging you. She’s right, maybe a little distraction from life is just what you need. Not to mention you’d do anything to look at that handsome face of his one more time. The photos and videos online don’t even come close. He’s so much more even just being near him makes you want to beg him to hold you.  

“Fine, but if he gave me a fake number, I’ll ignore you guys for a week.” It’s an empty threat as always. “Yes, of course, as expected.” Jas’ voice is dripping in sarcasm. “I’ve got to go, je vous aime les gars, au revoir.” Ilsa says goodbye, and with that, the call ends. Dinner, wouldn’t that be such a good idea? You open your banking up only to see but a meek two hundred left for the end of the month.  

While you’re on your phone, you might as well text him...right? 

Y/N: I assume you wanted me to google you when you gave me your real name?  

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: And, do I live up to the pictures?  

Y/N: No, you’re much shorter in real life 

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: A dagger in my heart! 

Y/N: 😝  

Y/N: I’m glad you didn’t give me a fake number then. But I can’t help but ask what exactly it is you want with me?  

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: How about this: I’ll explain it all to you on our first date 

Y/N: You intrigue me... 

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: When do you get off from work, tomorrow?  

Y/N: I work the morning, until lunch tomorrow. So I’m free from 16:00 

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: Send me your address, and I’ll pick you up at 18:00. Wear something nice.  

What on earth am I thinking? He could kidnap me! And yet you find yourself in front of your closet picking the one nice dress you bought for your first interview. It’s a simple black, form-fitting on the top but flares at the bottom with frills on the sleeves. It looks so boring to wear on a date with someone like him, but it’s all you have. 

 Along with the only heels you have, once more plain black chunky pumps. Your hair lays right below your shoulders in your natural waves and curls.

You can’t help but groan at your situation and throw a pack of cigarettes into your handbag. It’s a bad habit, you know and everyone around you has told you so many times to stop. But it’s so hard to when living in France and not only that it’s the only thing that seems to help.  

You finish it off with a red lip, hoping to add a slight bit of colour to the dull outfit. Not that you have much time to think of something else, at exactly six, there is a knock on the door. With your heart in your ears, you open the door to Carlos holding a bouquet of pink tulips. 

Not only that but he looks ravishing in black dress pants and a dress shirt, but of course with the sleeves rolled up. You bite your lip, already wanting to jump his bones.  

That tan skin of his has you imagining him, shirtless under the hot summer sun on a Mediterranean beach somewhere. Not only that but his hair seems to fall perfectly in place. So soft and silky and voluminous. Your hand twitches, wanting to rake through his inky black strands and then, of course, ask him about his hair-care routine.  

“How did you know these are my favourites?” You ask, walking inside and placing them in the sink before returning to him. He shrugs, “I have my ways. But enough about that. Querida, you look enchanting.” He takes your hand and guides you to a spin, showing off all of you. Your dress flows and his touch is like fire lighting in your body.  

“Really? I hope it’s fancy enough, it’s all I own, and I don’t really have the money to buy something right now.” You say with a blush coating your cheeks. Why would you tell him that? Now he’s going to think you want him to buy you a new dress. Or maybe you’re only going on the date because you know who he is.  

“Of course, niña bonita, I’m honoured to have such a pretty lady on my arm.” He then takes your hand and helps you down the stairs. And his words cause a blush on the tips of your ears. He helps you all the way to his fire-red Ferrari. “Woah....” You can’t help but utter out, you’ve never been so close to such an expensive car and the fear of breaking it looms in the back of your mind. 

“You like, niña bonita? Comes with the job, of course.” He winks and then opens the door for you, which of course opens upwards. You can’t help but let out a playful scoff, “Duh, of course!” He chuckles at your reaction. “You must tell me if I’m going too fast, no? I like speed of course.” His wink shoots electricity through your skin, not only that but that breath taking smile of his. 

 You don’t have a licence, you never needed one living in France all your life. Even in the smaller town where you grew up, you could walk everywhere. And yet the way he speeds down the freeway causes a thrill to tickle your toes.

Every time he switches the gears, his forearm muscles flex and you have to control yourself. Not to mention, he doesn’t even have road rage, every move, every turn, every gear shift is as smooth as can be.  

If it wasn’t for your culinary degree you’re certain you wouldn’t have understood anything on the menu. Even so, you’d been eyeing this place for a while and some of them you’re still unsure how to pronounce. What shocks you the most is the prices, some things on the menu are half the price of your rent. “What do you think of getting?” He asks, leaning back in his seat. “Um...the breadsticks?” He looks over his menu and raises his brow.  

“The breadsticks are free?” He clarifies, those luscious brows of his furrow in confusion and you nod with a smile. You try not to show him how nervous a fancy place like this makes you. And also how you yearn to be at home in a place like this. “Yes.” He sighs, “Niña terca, I am paying, pick what you want.” That actually makes you feel even worse.  

“Oh, no, it’s alright you don’t have to. I brought my wallet.” You reply, clutching your purse as a reminder. “It is not up for discussion.” He replies, going back to the wine list he’s holding. The guilt shoots through you. You desperately need to accept the money but stil your mother’s manners creep up on you. “Then the...salad.” He rolls his eyes and takes your menu and closes it for you. 

 You go to protest, but he calls over the waiter before you can. “The lady will have the Salmon Meuniere and I shall have the steak. With the Chilled Pinot Noir.” Again, he chooses your favourite option. “How did you....” As if he knows exactly what you’re about to ask, he just shrugs, “We must have similar taste.” 

The fact of these two choices being so similar doesn’t make you suspicion. Instead, it makes you feel warm and at home almost. How similar are you two already, and how much more can fall into place? You eye him, raising your brow as he too studies you. “What is it, estimada. You want to say something.” He guides with his hand to open up the conversation.  

“How do you know?” You ask, in awe of how much detail he sees. He chuckles and then leans forward and smooths out the area around your eyes by your temples. “You get this crinkle, when you are holding something back. I noticed it yesterday.” You can’t help but blush and cover your face.

“It’s my job, estimada. To notice the small things, in the car, in the track, in the ladies I like.” His words are smooth like butter and those dark eyes of his stare you down.  

The waiter comes and pours your wine and places down your food. You take a sip from the cool beverage. “You owe me an explanation.” You shrug, the only response you give. Not trusting your throat. His jaw locks tight and he leans in a bit closer to you. He bites down on the juicy steak and the way his jaw muscle flexes causes obscene thoughts to fly through you.  

“What I tell you next is not to be known by anyone besides you and me. Let’s put it like so, my managers believe that I should, how you say, casarse ya.” He switches to Spanish so easily. You have no idea what he said but merely nod along. All while savouring the taste of the perfectly cooked salmon and expensive wine that pairs so well.  

“I turn 34 next year, one of the oldest on the grid. They believe that I should stop wasting my time and just settle down already. My publicist also believes it would get more sponsors and boost my public image. So, I am coming to you with an offer.” I raise my brow; I knew this would be too good to be true.  

I should have known that someone like him wouldn’t bother getting close to someone like me. Clearly only there to entertain the people as always. Does he want pity points from his fans? Embracing a poor Frenchwoman from the slums. Doing some sort of charity work? I cross my arms and lean back; I can tell that he sees me retracting from the conversation entirely.  

But still, I allow him to continue. “I will pay you, any amount you wish, shopping, jewels, vacations, even something more practical like the rent or student bills. In return, you pretend to be my long-term girlfriend. You come with me to the races, show up in the paddock, and tag along in interviews. The whole deal.” He bites those plump lips of his and now you wish he’d be more hideous.  

For once he actually looks a bit nervous. You can’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at this. “So...like a sugar daddy situation...?” He senses your resentment towards the idea and is careful to reply. “I suppose so,” his eyes seem to panic and you can’t believe your ears.

You grab your purse, “I can’t believe you, Carlos! I thought I’d finally met a decent well-off guy, but no. Ces foutus garçons. Je ne peux jamais faire confiance aux hommes. Jamais!”  

You can’t help but switch to your native language. The translator in your mind fails due to your anger and you can feel tears prick in the walls of your eyes. With your purse in hand, you push your seat back and in a rage go to leave. But suddenly you’re forced back down onto your chair by Carlos’ firm grasp on your wrist.  

“¡Siéntate, niña testaruda, y escucha!” His translator too, is out the window. You pout and cross your arms, shocked at his audacity. “Listen here, and listen well, little girl, because I can clearly see you are in desperate need of some discipline. Mocoso.” He leans over you and the way he speaks with such a demanding voice makes your core ache. And yet you can’t help but want to defy him more.  

He sits down again but is clearly ready to catch again if needed. He then grabs you by the chin and makes sure you look him into those swirling brown eyes. So dangerous and ready to attack if need be. “I can see it in your eyes, dollface. I can see it in the way you eye the Porche that passes, the Louis Vuitton handbag in the window and the most expensive item on the menu.” 

Has your eye really been wandering so much? Or is his attention to detail so fine-tuned? If it weren’t for his hand clasping your chin, you’d long since would’ve looked away. “You have champagne taste and I’m giving you the whole vineyard. Don’t make another stupid choice and accept the offer. I won’t ask again.”  

His voice is strong and commanding and the way he speaks makes you want to get down on your knees and open your mouth for him. He lets go of your jaw, allowing you to speak. “And if I want something more?” You ask and can’t help but dial up the charm fluttering your dark lashes. He smirks watching you go from bratty to begging.  

“I can feel the chemistry too, estimada and I can see the need burning behind those eyes of yours. If this were to become something more, then so be it. And if you want this to be a quick fling and your intro into the limelight, then so be it. And if you want it to only be an exchange of money and appearance, so be it too.” He shrugs, watching your reaction to each option.  

Then he turns serious again. “That all can be decided later. What must be decided now, is whether you’ll join me or not. I must apologize that I can’t give you much time to think about it, I have an early flight tomorrow. You’ll have to join me.” I furrow my brows, I thought he had the whole week? Anyways a choice must be made....  

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[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 6

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

Did he just say that? He just said that. Right?

I wondered if I had somehow inserted that last excerpt from Dr. Miller’s mouth into the conversation on my own. Had my mind made it up because I wanted him so badly?

He was smiling now, not at all able to fight it back. I could tell that he was attempting to without avail.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” His voice caused my knees to part under the table. I didn’t know if it was instinctual or if the muscles in my legs had suddenly just turned to Jello but I literally felt myself melt down further into the oversized mahogany chair.

“That, uh..” I toyed with a strand of my hair for a half-a-second in my nervous tic, “That makes me a lot of things.”

“Another round?” The waitress appeared out of thin air and I was about to speak but Dr. Miller responded, with a simple, “We’ll take the check.”

I wanted to stay. When he was so eager to get the check after just one drink I couldn’t fight off the look of discouragement that was written all over my face. I knew what I must have looked like and I couldn’t reel it in. And then I thought about it some more. Maybe he was getting the check because he wanted to go somewhere else.

Like his house. It was wishful thinking.

“Stop looking like someone just shit in your cereal.” His accompanying laughter made me grin. There had to be something up his sleeve. This night couldn’t end with such an obscene, suggestive comment and lead nowhere.

“Didn’t want another drink?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“It’s a school night. We both have to be up early.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock.”

Dr. Miller gave a chuckle again and then looked up as the waitress handed him a black, leather case with the tab for two drinks tucked inside. He held up a finger, slipped a one hundred dollar bill inside and then handed it to her.

“I’ll be back with your change,” replied the woman.

“It’s yours.” He looked me in the eye as he spoke to her again and then began rising to his feet as he reached for his coat.

I followed his lead and allowed him to lead us out of the place.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

Was the night really over? On that note? On that red hot amorous note that had been left with a teetering, ‘dot, dot, dot’ next to it. To be continued? Would it?

Stop freaking out! My brain was screaming, shrieking; throwing a fit like a five year old in Toys ‘R Us that didn’t get the toy she wanted to play with. On the outside I smiled, gripped my keys and tried not to stare for too long as I walked beside Dr. Miller.

“You never gave an elaboration to your response,” he said to me once we stood by the driver’s side door in front of the old church.

I looked down and back up. “Should I elaborate?”

“I’d like to know where we stand.” He looked at me with certainty but, again, there was the slightest hint of uneasiness in his posture. Dr. Miller was tense in his shoulders and it traveled up his neck into his jaw as he waited.

“So would I,” I responded, taking a breath. I couldn’t look away from those brown eyes that were swelled black around the pupil. I knew what that meant - at least I thought I did.

“Well, how about this?” He took a step in my direction so there were only a few inches between us. “If you want to discuss it further, I’m opening up my office hours during our regularly scheduled class time on Thursday. Seven-thirty, I’ll walk you into the building, myself.”

I cleared my throat. Of course I was going to go. “Thursday.” I gave a little nod, wishing I had something to say that would affect him as much as he was currently affecting me.

“Email me if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” I said right away. My chest heaved beneath my jacket and I opened my mouth to speak. At first nothing came out but then I finally asked the question that had been on my mind for the past seven or eight minutes, “Was that true what you said?”

“Which part?”

“About the elevator.” I swallowed hard now and Dr. Miller laughed again.

“Save all of your questions for Thursday at seven-thirty.” He took a step toward me and then nodded toward my vehicle, “Now get in your car so I know you’re safe.”

I looked at his lips. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to lean in and see if he reciprocated, but from what I could tell of Dr. Miller, he was a forthright individual. If he wanted to kiss me, he would kiss me. He wanted to tell me about his racy musings when we were alone in the elevator. He wanted me to meet him alone at the school on Thursday. If he didn’t lean in for a kiss that means he didn’t want one.

Yet, I told myself.

I hit the button on my key fob and heard the click as my headlights flickered to let everyone in the immediate area know I had just unlocked the car.

“Goodnight (Y/N).” Dr. Miller gave a pained smile that emphasized the crow’s feet on the outskirts of his eyes.

“Goodnight Dr. Miller.” He didn’t correct me this time or ask me to refer to him as Joel. I knew at least a part of him liked having the title roll off my willing lips to acknowledge his authority over me.

Shutting my car door might as well have been shutting the jail cell. I gave a wave and started up the vehicle before reluctantly backing away from where he now stood on the walkway.

Even as I drove down the road, I glanced in my rearview mirror until I could no longer see his figure there and then finally turned the corner to head towards home.

The next day-and-a-half had me worrying about myself. My behavior felt obsessive. I had inspected every social media outlet in search of Joel Miller but there was nothing. He didn't even have a LinkedIn. That one, I had to say, surprised me.

No Snapchat. No Instagram. No Facebook. Nothing.

For my own senseless reasons it frustrated me. I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to see a collection of pictures from his life over the course of the past decade. I decided I was spoiled for having access to just about anyone else's life I wanted to dig into.

Maybe I should put my profiles on private. It was Dr. Miller's casual piece of advice. Anyone could dig into my life and I was too concerned about getting “likes” than I was my own privacy. 

I'm a walking cliche of today's pre-thirty generation. 

Seeing as though my plan to gain access to Dr. Miller's life fell flat on the pavement, I carefully adjusted the private settings on all of my accounts. It had been a suggestion echoed to me by numerous friends and professionals that I hadn't taken seriously; yet here I was after one fleeting proposition from a man I just met making the meager change to my digital identity.

After work on Wednesday I found myself driving past The Library. My eyes scanned for the black Mercedes and I was actually satisfied in knowing that Dr. Miller wasn't out at the bar - at least when I drove by. It allowed my brain to rest rather than toy with the idea of dropping everything to go search inside for him.

Yes, I was officially obsessing. It felt like a violation of not only Dr. Miller's privacy, but also my own sanity.

It didn't stop me from repeating the action on the following afternoon after work. My amateur investigations weren't particularly thorough, though I assumed his car would stand out if he had been around, especially when my eyes were actively seeking out one specific automobile. 

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, however. It was Thursday. It was the evening I would be attending Dr. Miller's office hours.

Office hours. I was sure he hadn't actually posted any office hours. I was going to be alone with him.

In all of my years I hadn't had an off-kilter fantasy. My brain had never fancied the idea of taboo love affairs, or men in uniform or any of the typical sexual scenarios that I had heard others speak about.

Now, the idea of letting my handsome, older professor take me on his desk was enough to ignite a fire in every single part of my body - my head, my heart, my soul, my.. everything.

I wouldn't deny him. Correction, I couldn't deny him. I had created the scenario in my mind time after time. It was far too heavy a weight on my shoulders by now to just shy away from. I wanted Dr. Miller in the worst way.

Tori, my roommate, eyed me suspiciously as I exited my bedroom that evening. My clothes were casual, though rather than a sweatshirt and my white Converse sneakers I wore knee-high, brown boots and a tight, gray sweater that revealed just a bit of cleavage. 

My ponytail was replaced by perfectly straightened hair and just a tad more than the average amount of makeup I typically sported. Yes, if our roles had been reversed I would have had questions. Unless we were going out somewhere I always slummed it in the most comfortably acceptable clothes I could manage.

“Umm..” My roommate’s eyebrows pressed together, “Do you have a date I don't know about?”

I decided to meet her questions in the middle. “I'm going to a quick study session.” Tori gave me an ‘I don't believe you’ look and so I went on, “And then I'm going out with a guy I met at school.”

My professor, I added in my mind.

Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth. But she seemed to believe it and so I smiled when she offered me good luck.

“I'll fill you in,” I lied, knowing whatever happened that evening I would surely be keeping to myself - at least for the time being. Although I loathed the ‘YOLO’ expression, there was a time for everything and so I reminded myself, you only live once.

The drive to Woodbridge had my stomach in knots. I didn't know what was going to happen. Suddenly I wondered if I would even know what to do. I was twenty-seven. I had had sex before - plenty of it actually. I wasn't a nun.. but I wasn't a freak either. What was Dr. Miller expecting? He had certainly been around the block a time or two.

The faintest hint of sweat coated my hairline, a result of my budding anxiety. I couldn't wait, but then again I was so completely out of my league. I had never met a man so sure of himself. The guys I had dated, we were on an even playing field. I felt like a fan in the stands of a rock concert that was just called on stage to sing with Bon Jovi.

Stop putting him on such a pedestal, I told myself; though I truly couldn't help it. All reason had betrayed me.

The black Mercedes was there when I pulled into the lot and I saw Dr. Miller casually step out of his vehicle the second my blinker winked in favor of the parking lot on the left off the main road that cut through campus.

I parked closer to the building and slowly climbed out of the car as he approached. I knew I was a mess. There was no hiding what I was feeling. I was sure he might even be able to hear the thudding of my heart in my chest.

“I offered to walk you in,” he reminded me, to which I nodded as we walked in silence through the threshold of the academic enclosure.

Dr. Miller walked with a purpose toward the elevator in the main lobby, eagerly pressing the down button that would lead us to the basement where his office and our lecture hall sat vacant.

I thought of his words from Tuesday night at the bar as the doors opened and we entered. There were no other people in the building that I saw. There were no cameras in the elevator. As the doors shut with a resounding thump I side-glanced at my professor.

Out of my peripheral vision I could see how tensely straight he stood. His eyes were straight ahead; focused. He didn't blink or move. It almost looked as if he was holding his breath.

Please. I begged him in my mind, though I have to say when the doors reopened and we emerged to the basement level I was disappointed that he didn't immediately try to jump my bones. The opportunity had presented itself for Dr. Miller to do all the dirty things he claimed to have been craving and he hadn't even flinched on the ride. It was okay, now, wasn't it? Now that he knew I was a willing participant.

You're being ridiculous. I was currently questioning my every thought, my every word, my every move.

The stillness of the typically buzzing building heightened my anxiety. It felt as if butterflies were having a rave inside of my stomach. The only sound that gave a mild echo off the walls of the vacant corridor were the gentle clicks of Dr. Miller's shoes.

My temperature felt like it was rising with each door we passed. I counted them to maintain some level-headedness.

One. Two. Three. Four.

When the fifth door came into clear view, Dr. Miller reached a hand into his khakis and removed a ring of keys. 

Next to the oversized, wooden door was a black piece of plastic with Dr. Miller’s name etched into it. Below his name was the door number: 007.

Of course it is, I thought, almost smiling and rolling my eyes. The heat returned to my cheeks, however, when my gaze met his from just a few inches away.

I swallowed hard when the silver key eased into the door handle, glancing down for just a second, before regaining his eyes.

There was a moment of hesitation on Dr. Miller's part before he finally turned the key and let the door swing open from a little push of his forearm.

“After you.” His arm extended outward now and the light automatically went on as I crossed through the threshold. “Can I get you something to drink?” 

He waltzed in, loosening his tie a bit as he rounded an oversized, espresso desk. 

“Umm.. no.” I shook my head, “No I'm fine.”

The corner of Dr. Miller's mouth tipped up in a little smirk. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned to a chair across from where he made himself comfortable and leaned forward with both hands folded on top of the desk.

I did as I was told. On the surface I thought I appeared like I had my shit together; like I wasn't imagining him pinning me down on the desk and having his way with me; like I wasn't conflicted about whether my feelings on the matter were wrong or right; or if he could lose his job if something did happen between us.

The man had a way of building tension. The brief moment of silence that lingered was deafening. His stare was almost too much for me. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn't find the words to kick off a conversation.

“I assume you still have the question in your mind.” Dr. Miller finally spoke. “From the other night.”

My chest heaved up and down once from a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. I opened my mouth to speak but I was interrupted.

“Dr. Miller!” An overzealous young man waved a stack of papers and held an IPad under his arm as he entered through the open door from the hallway.

I held my breath for half-a-second. It was Trevor Nelson. I had had two classes with him and his sheer presence alone was enough to drive me crazy. Right then, he was the bane of my existence. What was he doing here?

His stammering repetition of Dr. Miller’s name almost led me to a physical eye roll.

“Good evening.” Dr. Miller extended his arm out and Trevor eagerly shook it. “Remind me again of your-”

“Trevor,” he more-or-less shouted, glancing at me briefly.

I could see Dr. Miller was taken off-guard, though it was his organically, suave nature that allowed him to get through the unwanted conversation with ease.

“What can I do for you Trevor?”

“I just wanted to discuss a few points from the reading if you had a moment,” Trevor said, “And seeing as though you sent out an email with office hours I suspected you had the time.”

Office hours. He did send out his office hours.

Fuck! Was I all wrong?

“Yes,” Dr. Miller motioned to a second chair beside me. “I wasn't expecting you,” he admitted, “I sent out a sign up sheet-”

“My Wifi kept malfunctioning,” Trevor went on, cutting him off. “I tried. And that's why I printed some things out. I just assumed you would be here anyway and..” He shrugged and then looked at me for the first time, “I'm surprised to see you here.”

Dr. Miller huffed a laugh now. He looked at me with raised eyebrows as if to study what my reaction would be. What would I say to Trevor’s snide remark?

His very tone and uppity attitude was the precise reason why I couldn't stand him.

“I had questions about the reading, as well.” I remained cordial. There was no way I was about to air out a petty reply that would make me seem bitter or immature in my ways.

“Well.. great. We can bounce questions off one another then.” Trevor forced a smile that, while mum, seemed to have the same whiny tone as his nasally voice. 

“I blocked off twenty minute time slots,” Dr. Miller reminded him. “I have another appointment at 7:50.”

My stomach dropped and our eyes caught one another’s. He winked as Trevor took a fleeting peek at his watch with as much disappointment as I knew my face had suddenly been white-washed with.

Despite the wink I couldn't tell if he was serious or lying. Was Trevor really fucking up my twenty minutes alone with Dr. Miller? Was there another student coming in at ten of eight?

As my classmate began his vexatious ramblings I felt a burning hostility brewing in my core. At one point Dr. Miller's foot grazed mine beneath the table but he didn't look in my direction as it happened.

I decided I had to harness my disdain, which I knew was heightened to an unwarranted degree for poor Trevor. I actively told myself to stop being a jerk.

The genuine question that I had from the reading the other night popped into my head. Hallelujah, reason prevailed.

“If it's not too morbid, do you think whoever killed the girl on campus might be suffering from Antisocial Personality Disorder?” It was my first genuine attempt to engage in the conversation. 

Typically, I truly did enjoy the subject matter. That night, however, my mind was deep in the gutter. That's why I had to run with the lone, pertinent thought that inhabited my brain.

Dr. Miller turned and a small smile formed on his face. The dimples that drove me crazy were out in full force and I could see he was intrigued by my question.

“Interesting.” He leaned back in his seat and folded one leg over the other. “Depending on the motive I could entertain it as a possibility.”

I smiled wide, enjoying his mild praise.

“That is an interesting question,” Trevor added.

My eyes shifted toward Trevor for a second as he eyed the ceiling as he pondered my question. When I looked back, Dr. Miller had tipped his mouth up in a half-smirk again.

When Trevor came back down to earth, our professor motioned to the clock above me on the wall. “I'm sorry to kick you out.” Dr. Miller looked directly at Trevor now, “I think we've ended this session with a valid question that we can open with during Tuesday's class.” He rose to his feet and extended an arm in my classmate’s direction, “Sit on that idea over the weekend. Bring some notes to class.” He glanced at me and added, “I think that was a great topic of conversation Ms. (Y/LN).”

“Thank you.” I gave a little nod and Trevor appeared appeased as the three of us began a natural shift toward the door.

“Thank you for your time Dr. Miller.” The young man smiled and tucked his IPad back under his arm before vacating the room ahead of me. He turned for a second and asked, “Do you think they'll catch whoever killed that girl?”

My gaze switched from Trevor to Dr. Miller and he sucked his teeth while folding his hands together on top of the table. “I'm no investigator,” he said, “But if you want my honest opinion..” a breath exited through his nose and he finished with a simple, “No. No, I don't.”

“Why not?” Trevor leaned an arm on the door and Dr. Miller laughed while motioning to the clock again.

“Save it for another time.”

Like Trevor, I wanted to know his reasoning; though I didn't dig deeper into it right then. As intriguing and scary as it all was, other emotions were tugging at my core.

“I'll see you in class,” Trevor said, though I didn't know if he was speaking to me or our professor. 

I wasn't so quick to leave, but I knew it was time. I hadn't expected Dr. Miller to actually post office hours so it was probable that there was another student about to arrive.

Was it a female student? Yep, sparked jealousy inside of me.

When Dr. Miller didn't immediately make a plea for me to stay, I wandered through the open door toward the hallway.

And then I jumped. It was almost inhuman how fast his arm wrapped around my midsection and pulled me back into the room with him with the ferocity of a wolf mauling a lamb.

A gasp escaped my lips when he turned me around to face him as the door closed and my back planted against it. It was all one giant obscure action; a whirlwind of tension released when our bodies were finally pressed up against one another's and I was left panting.

“I thought you had another-”

His finger found my lips to shut me up. A wicked smile advertised his true intentions and his blackened eyes could have set me ablaze right there.

“You are as gullible as your friend Trevor.”

Before I could respond his lips crashed against mine. They literally crashed leaving the back of my head slamming against the thick wood behind me. I barely felt it. 

What I did feel was a rush of adrenaline and desire and a thirst for the man that I couldn't suppress - not when his hands were roaming my body and his tongue aggressively penetrated my lips.

I could barely keep up. I had built the moment up so much and now that I was wrapped up in the middle of this avid tornado of passion it had far surpassed my fantasies.

My arms wrapped high around his shoulders, though he quickly pinned them above my head against the door with one hand. His other hand hastily fiddled in his pocket to remove a set of keys, at which time my cheeks blushed a more fiery red when I saw his arousal peaking the front of his khakis.

My eyes were the only part of me capable of moving freely. The rest of me was a willing prisoner to the force of his body against mine. I never wanted to be released.

Dr. Miller's key slipped into the slot in the center of the doorknob and a click secured us behind closed doors.

With an echoing clank the keys hit the floor and my aching, vacant lips were welcomed back with the immediate warmth of his. When his hand released both of mine on the door my arms instinctively wrapped around him again. I was on cloud nine; in a state of mindless bliss. For the first time, possibly ever, I thought of nothing and just acted without reserve.

It was only when I struggled to breathe that I took a parting breath, allowing air back into my aching lungs. Dr. Miller groaned with the brief separation though it gave him the second he needed to wrestle with the button on my jeans.

In that one swift movement of his fingers he had access to everything I had to offer. I bit my lip in anticipation of him touching me for the first time. Just before my eyes were forced shut I saw his hungry eyes drinking in every part of me.

Dr. Miller's over-pronounced sigh accompanied the sensation of his first two fingers as they made home against my most sensitive areas.

I moaned as quietly as possible, though he made the task more difficult when his lips grazed the area just beneath my ear.

I let out a louder moan when his fingers pushed inside of me and his hot breath landed on my neck, the other cupped over my mouth and my eyes suddenly snapped open.

“Shhh..” Dr. Miller gave a hushed reminder that we weren't exactly in our own private love shack while his fingers continued their exploration. “We wouldn't want Trevor to wander back here because he heard a suspicious noise would we?”

Slowly, his hand was removed from across my mouth. I reached a hand down toward his waist but he swatted it away.

“You're not ready for that yet,” he growled, still speaking in a voice just above a whisper.

I was paralyzed. Paralyzed by pleasure. Paralyzed by the thrill. Paralyzed by my raw attraction to Dr. Miller. At that moment I didn't think I could speak if I tried.

A brand new combination of nervousness and arousal made home within me when his free hand now lingered on my throat. The barely-there pressure added something to what I had been feeling all along.

“You like that?” It was closer to a statement than a question but I choked out a whispered, “Yes,” in response.

There was a shake in my legs that I couldn't relieve. Dr. Miller felt it. There was no way he didn't. I was writhing beneath him against the door as the distance between my parted feet on the floor widened with the spread of my legs.

It didn't take long to reach my climax that was induced by his fingers, his hand on my throat, and the dirty nothings he whispered as he encouraged my impending orgasm.

I struggled to maintain my composure. As the first curse word escaped my lips his hand more forcefully clamped over my mouth again, though all the same his lips found my ear again as he encouraged me to, “Let it out,” in a hiss of whisper.

That was the final push. Fireworks might as well have gone off in my lower half as my muffled moans sounded off against the warmth of his palm. My eyes alternated between open and closed in those final seconds and Dr. Miller's provocative growling voice took my right back to the dream I’d had. This was no dream.

The shot of adrenaline had filtered through my body, numbing my limbs like some type of drug had just been injected into my veins.

Fuck! For several seconds I could only focus on the pleasure as I breathed heavily in and out in an attempt to remain quiet.

When I began to come down off the high. All of my senses began to return and I could hear my own breathing as his generous hand warily crept back out from beneath my damp panties.

A smile formed on my face as he stared at him. I was hot and disheveled. My pants were still down off my waist and as I went to tug them back up Dr. Miller stopped me.

“Oh we're not done yet,” he assured me, glancing over his shoulder toward the oversized desk. When he turned back around he reached for my hand and towed me across the room. I felt like I was floating.

When he made himself comfortable in the oversized chair, I just stared at him. With the two fingers that had just been inside of me he waved for me to come to him and pulled me down in for another heated kiss before whispering against my lips. “Now you're going to get down on your knees and return the favor.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @michilandcof @morallyinept @akah565 @cesspitoflove @brittmb115

[huskynotwolf]

Convexian Hitman AU

Part 1 I guess

AU by @tibbycaps/ @tibby-art

Written by @thecrazyhusky

(I mixed in dsmp, it’s more fun with those swearing idiots :D )

Mission: Find and destroy target’s weapon supply (target’s name is Tubbo and Jack Manifold)

Cub’s PoV

“I want you to destroy his weapons.” Doc looked at us, dead serious.

We (me and Scar) were in the NHO’s conference room, listening to Bdubs rant about this new case we had to deal with. Scar had already yawned at least two times and I had grabbed every single one of their cans of carbonated drinks or whatever at the table and shook them so hard they looked like ticking bombs. Etho was also eyeing us with much suspicion, and I suspected he was up to something.

“All of them?” I asked.

“All of them.” The goat-creeper confirmed. “He was some sort of former president of a country. He’s got some ass-load of explosives. Specifically, bombs. Lots of those.”

“Ah.” Scar smiled. “Big boom.”

“Really?” I looked at him.

“And here are the conditions, since you three are definitely gonna loophole out of this.” Doc growled.

“You have to get this done by this week, which is three days. No eating anyone, and I mean anyone. You find those explosives, disable them, then leave. Nothing else. I don’t want those Snowchester people come fighting with nukes.”

I raised an eyebrow. “They got nukes?”

Scar sniggered. I kicked him.

Doc glared at my fellow Vex. “And bring Grian. He’ll be of use.”

“Grian? You sure?” I asked.

“Yes.” Doc grunted. “And you better get the job done. Go. Now.” He said.

I nodded, grabbed Scar’s wrist and dragged him out of the conference room, heading down to Grian’s “office”, while hearing Bdubs and Beef screech loudly along to the sounds of soda exploding. I allowed myself a slight smile.

“Dang it. Should’ve rigged ‘em better.” I said.

Scar gave me a look. “Don’t tell me you shook all of them.”

“I did. But I could’ve just fitted them with grenades instead.” I replied, taking a left turn down the hallway.

We found her studying a file about Tubbo.

“Hey.” She greeted us, not looking up.

“Hiya. You ready?” I asked.

Since Grian has her Watcher powers, she could technically see us coming, so I assumed she was already prepared.

“Let’s just go. Tango yelled at me earlier. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.” She stood up, then walked towards us.

“Tango? Why?” Scar asked.

“None of your concern.” She shrugged.

We headed out the door, taking the lift down, then exiting the building. As soon as we stepped out, Grian winced.

“You okay?” I asked her.

“Y-yeah,” she replied. “It’s just…overwhelming.”

“Hmm.” I shot a glance at Scar. “Scar, you got the map? Coords, at least?”

“Ask the all-seeing.” He pointed at Grian. Grian made a low growling sound.

“Wow, I though you prepped.” She muttered under her breath.

“Yes, I have the map. It’s in my head.” She raised her voice.

“Great!” Scar smiled. “Let’s go, then.”

I leaned closer to Grian. “You okay, dude?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s…” she exhaled. “Alright.”

“Good.” I said, then secretly kicked Scar. The man glared at me but I didn’t reply.

“Let’s go.”

***

“We gonna take a subway. Then a cross-country train. Then another high-speed railroad.” I said, laying down a drawn map.

“Snowchester’s all the way out there, so we probably need to either stop to eat on the way, or we have to bring food.” I rolled up the map and shoved it in my pack.

Scar rolled his eyes. “You’re concerned about eating?”

“Grian needs to eat as well.” I hissed.

I had shoved the three of us into a Seven Eleven’s, where my reason was, “we need substance.”

Grian nudged Scar. “Here’s the thing, bud. We don’t have money. How-“

I waved a five dollar bill I snatched from someone. “Steal.”

“Did you get his whole wallet?” Scar asked, his eyes glinting mischievously.

I gave a low chuckle. “Duh I did.” I held out the stolen wallet. Scar sniggered. “This guy’s got a hundred and fifty.”

Grian gave us a look of annoyance and frustration. “You know it’s illegal to steal, right?”

Scar materialised behind her, making her jump. “Nah. It’s fine.”

Grian narrowed his eyes at him but didn’t snap back a comment.

I handed Scar about thirty dollars worth of bills. “Grian, you can go with Scar to buy food.” She shot me a dirty look, got up and disappeared behind the aisles with the Vex.

I took out twenty and nabbed a sandwich and two bottles of water, in which to avoid getting yelled at by Grian, I payed for it instead of stealing it.

Though I will admit I stole a can of Sprite.

Yeah. Maybe.

Grian bought coffee and milk tea (where did she find that?) and Scar bought a bun and bottled Cola, though I could tell he didn’t intend to drink it, he’s just gonna prank me with it.

As we left that store, I searched for enough money to get us to the subway station. Six dollars to get in, then they needed eighteen. I decided not to give them the coins and bills yet, as Scar had a tendency to lose things.

Very, very often.

We headed to the subway station, while Grian kept cautiously looking around for signs of danger. However, despite this, Scar seemed extremely carefree.

“G, man, there’s nothing to worry ‘bout. It’s not like someone would just suddenly drop down and try and kill us, right?” He said to no one in particular.

“Don’t jinx it.” She huffed. “I see something. Though I can’t pinpoint where it is.”

I approached the subway tunnel, with the two nitwits trailing behind. “Yeah, something’s definitely wrong. I can feel it.”

I stepped down the stair, then halted when something whizzed past me and embedded itself into the wall with a thunk.

“Honestly, Foolish, how bad can your aim be!” I heard a yell. The three of us swivelled our heads towards the noise, and standing on the side of the street, armed with crossbows, were two deranged-looking people. At least that’s what the first word that came to my head when I saw them.

The one who shot the projectile, Foolish, looked suspiciously like a totem of undying, and it made me question whenever he’s an actual totem or not. His friend was a girl who wore dark sunglasses and had long streaks of hair running down both sides of her head. What she wore screamed pirate in every way.

Grian sighed. “Scar, you jinxed it.”

Scar glared at her. “No I didn’t!”

I slapped Scar before he could argue any further and hissed, “don’t make the situation worse, dumbass!” and marched towards the pair with crossbows. Scar gave me an offended look but I knew he was playing around for fun.

“What do you want?” I demanded.

Foolish looked at me. “You don’t have the authority to order me around.” He said.

“You just tried to kill me. Are you hitmen?” I snapped.

His friend glared at me. “You were trying to destroy our military.”

Grian and Scar came up from behind. “What do you know about that?” Grian challenged.

“I know for a fact that you were sent to destroy our nukes. We’re from Snowchester, mind you.” The girl growled.

Grian suddenly looked like he was lost in thought. Scar stared at her, then shook her to try snap her out of her trance, but did nothing except from earning a well-deserved smack in the face by her.

“Well, we don’t really care about who sent you. This is about our country’s safety. You back off, or we’ll make you.” Sunglasses Girl said, raising her crossbow.

I processed her words, then turned to Scar. “Wait, if we die, is our contract technically broken?”

He paused. “Wait…you know what? You’re right! We can just let ‘em kill us!”

“But do we like, reincarnate or something? What do you think we’d be-“

Sunglasses Girl facepalmed. “No-that’s not what I meant! I don’t want anyone dead!”

Foolish nudged her. “Whatever, Puffy. They’re not part of our nation.”

Grian shook her head. “You have your own problems. Deal with whoever the fuck Dream is first, then come back and kill us. Besides, Tubbo is a literal threat to society.” She said. “You shouldn’t be listening to that menace.”

Puffy, aka Sunglasses Girl, looked promptly taken aback by Grian’s comment. “How do you know about Dream?”

“Can we take this conversation somewhere else? We’re attracting quite a lot of unwanted attention.” Grian interrupted. “One dude who passed by thought you were a terrorist.”

Foolish and Puffy took a while to discuss, and as soon as they took their eyes off the us and Grian, I took out the stolen can of Sprite, shook it hard, opened it (but barely) then yeeted it at Foolish. It landed on the ground and the entire can burst like a grenade, spewing soda everywhere.

We bolted for it, making a beeline for the subway station, with Scar mainly being dragged all the way. By the time the pair from Snowchester realised what’s happening, we were already down the subway and had managed to get into the train already.

“Ok, that was…awkward.” Grian panted, slightly out of breath.

I grunted. “Whatever. You shouldn’t have told them about your powers.”

She shook her head. “I…sorry.” She muttered.

“Eh. We could go back and kill them both.” I shrugged.

Scar nodded. “Actually, yeah. I would love to do that.”

Grian paled. “No you don’t!” She cried. “Why must you always kill people left and right?”

Both of us Vexes turned their piercing gaze at her. She immediately shut up and sank into the seat.

“Can I kill Tubbo?” Scar asked.

“No,” Grian and I said almost simultaneously. I gave her a look but she said nothing.

“Aww.” He huffed. “I’m bored.”

“You won’t be when we reach the border.” Grian said.

“What?” I asked. “Are you talking about…the border between the city and Greater Dream SMP or whatever that place is called?”

She nodded. “You know we don’t have our IDs or passports. It’s gonna be a wild chase with the border guards there.”

“Ooo, what do they do?” Scat asked.

Grian groaned. “They would chase you down on horses and they never stop. Literally, they could hunt you continuously for days without stopping.”

“Sounds fun,” Scar said.

Grian bit her lip to prevent herself from snapping back at him.

I looked at her. “Listen, if you know about the border guards, do you think we can get past them?”

She nodded. “You can get past them, but it’s gonna be hard.”

I gave both of them a wide smile. “Alright. We have two hitmen on our trail, we don’t have IDs of any sort and we’re about to be chased down by a few border guards. What’s the worse that could happen?”

To be continued

(I did it on another platform and then tried to paste it on Tumblr but ended up with so much lag I can’t even type properly lol)

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Inside Man: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: The gang is split into two. Sam and Cas continue to look for the cure for the Mark with the help of someone who will do anything to bring you back. You and Dean face off with Rowena but this time, you're going to show her that you're the most powerful witch there is, and damn her if she thinks she can beat you.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

You and Dean walk into a nearby bar since Sam took the Impala to Wichita. You fix your bra when you walk in and smooth down the ends of your hair. Fucking makes you thirsty. You turn around and walk backward toward the bar counter, your eyes on Dean.

"Can you get pregnant while being soulless?"

"God, I hope not."

"You should have pulled out."

You smirk and turn back toward the bar. The place is busy with people who are playing pool, throwing darts, eating good food, and enjoying each other's company. You order a double for yourself while Dean orders a plate of nachos. It's amusing how hard he's trying to stay away from alcohol as if he doesn't already have anger issues. You down the drink in one gulp when you hear the obnoxious boys over at the pool table shout in victory over their win.

"Boom! Money. Now. Loser!" one of them shouts. "Give me your cash. Now. Right now."

"What's up with the Abercrombie rejects?" Dean asks the bartender when he passes.

"College kids 'slumming it'. His name is Ty. He always comes in here and does this shit."

"Slumming? What are you talking about? This is a nice joint, huh? You got those custom urinal pucks."

"Come on, bitches. Who's next? twenty bucks a game. Twenty bucks," the same man announces to the entire bar.

You and Dean look at each other and you smirk.

"I'd love nothing more than to show those dicks who's really boss."

"You know, for once, I agree with you."

Dean messes his hair to look spiker than it is while you pull down your shirt slightly to make your breasts stand out more. The bartender shakes his head but doesn't do anything to stop you from going over there.

"Yo! We'll play," Dean says in his douchebag voice.

Ty looks at you up and down before looking at Dean.

"Seriously?"

"What, I've seen enough to know how to play. I'm real good at holding the stick thingy," you say as if you're a dumb bitch who doesn't know shit.

"Dude, he's blitzed," Ty's friend says.

"No, no, no, I'm good. Let me play," Dean says.

"He's fine. Grab a stick," Ty says.

Dean is the one who plays a few rounds with Ty and his friends, bad you might add. He wants them to let their guard down. You play the dumb bitch who cheers for her husband while Ty and his friends rack in the money you're so willing to give them. After Dean loses the game, he looks at you and you smirk knowing he is about to hand them their asses.

"Okay, alright. Again?" Dean says.

"Sure. Make it a hundred this time."

Dean nods and you reach into his back pocket for his wallet. He doesn't stop you when you place three one hundred dollar bills onto the side of the table.

"Make it three hundred." Both men look at each other with wide eyes. "What do you say?"

"Give me your cash," Ty says to his friend.

He puts the cash down on top of yours and Dean tsks as he shakes his head.

"I think you're a little short there. Why don't you toss in the watch?"

"My dad gave me this watch," Ty says.

"I'm sure it's a very touching story. Got a little tear in my eye," you say with a fake pout. "Come on. Are we gonna play or not?"

"Fine," Ty takes off his watch and adds it to the pile, "but don't come crying to me when you've lost all your drug money." Ty smirks and leans in a bit toward you. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll make your time worthwhile."

It takes everything in you not to slap him. You want to see his face when Dean beats them.

"You're gonna regret saying that my friend," Dean chuckles and picks up the triangle to rack the balls.

This time, Dean doesn't let them get a shot in. He immediately "sobers up" and sinks in every single striped ball until all that's left is every single solid and the eight ball. If Ty was in a cartoon, smoke would be coming out of his ears.

"That one," Dean indicates to a corner pocket before shooting the eight ball into it.

"You hustled me," Ty says angrily.

"Well, you're pretty quick for a guy who's all hair gel and body spray." Dean picks up all the cash and Ty's father's watch. "Thanks, fellas." He looks at you. "I'll be right back."

Ty is about to go over to Dean to hurt him but his friend holds him back from doing so.

"Forget it, dude. He's an ass."

"Yeah, but my ass," you smirk and trail a finger across Ty's collarbone. "Don't beat yourself up too much, Ty. Now I don't have to cry about losing my drug money." Ty glares down at you. "Awh, don't worry, sweetheart, you definitely made my time worthwhile."

You walk away from the duo and head back to the bar. You're about to order another double when the front doors open. You look to see a very small redhead walk in. Rowena. She is definitely up to no good. The last time you saw her, you didn't have any magic. Oh yes, this will be so much fun. You side off the bar stool and hide behind one of the big wooden pillars by the bar. She doesn't seem to notice you as she walks over to the two men you just hustled. She clears everyone out of the bar but Ty and his friend. Dean comes out of the bathroom but you stop him when you see Rowena whisper something to the two men.

"Witch is here. Should you take this or shall I?"

"You already know the answer to that," he whispers back.

"I won't go easy."

"No one is saying you should."

Once Rowena is done doing her thing on the two men, she sits down at the bar and grabs someone's leftover glass of wine. You two walk into the main room and she smirks at you.

"Dean. Y/N."

"Rowena. What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" You smirk. "I'm sorry. Did I say 'nice girl'? I meant 'evil skank'."

"You say that like it's an insult," she smiles, "but nice girls, they're pathetic. Here's to evil skanks."

Ty and his friend come out of the shadows with blood streaking out of their eyes. They look like the girl Rowena spelled when you first encountered her. No matter. They won't have a chance to hurt you. Dean steps away to let you handle witch business, and you turn to Rowena with an amused smile.

"Is this meant to scare me?"

"It should considering you don't have any magic."

You look at your hands and red magic pours from your palms.

"Wanna rethink that?"

Rowena sets the glass of wine on the bar counter and stands up in fear. Ty runs at Dean but you thrust your outstretched hand at him without looking away from Rowena. Ty stops in his tracks and looks confused as to why he can't move. His friend charges at you but you thrust your other hand at him, causing him to stop in his tracks. Your magic shoots at them and encases their bodies. You pull your magic back, pulling the spell from their bodies. You move your hands toward Rowena, use the spell along with your magic, and blast her back. She topples over a table and some chairs, falling on her ass on the floor.

"Come here, boys," you say. Ty and his friend are compelled to listen to you. You stand in between them and place your hands on both of their shoulders. Your eyes shine red as do theirs so you know they're under your command. "Listen here, pets, she's your target now. Go fetch."

Both men run at Rowena quickly but she has tricks up her sleeves that prevent them from hurting her. She chants something in Latin and blasts them back into the bar counter. Both men hit their heads so hard that it severs your connection to them, and they pass out immediately. Dean takes another step back, fearful of what might happen between two powerful witches. Rowena takes off her coat to reveal symbols she has painted red on her skin. She rolls up her sleeves to reveal more symbols.

"You're no match for me," you laugh.

"We'll see about that."

She yells something in Irish this time and the symbols on her body start to glow purple. Purple magic shoots out of her body and into yours but it doesn't hurt. No, it sends you on a high like never before. You gasp and tilt your head abc as you absorb her power. When she's done, she looks confused as to why you're either not dead or on the floor crying.

"Not possible," she whispers.

"That," you moan. "I want more of that."

You blast her with her magic but instead of hurting her, you pull your magic back like what you did with Ty and his friend. Rowena's magic starts being pulled from her body and she gasps in pain. She can't stop it even if she wants to. You're too powerful for anyone to stop. She doubles over in pain the more you stay high. She chants something in Latin which forms a protective bubble around her, severing the connection. You stumble back into another wooden pillar and look at Dean with hooded eyes.

"Better do something now."

He marches over to her and pins her to the bar counter with a knife to her throat. She knows if she tries anything, he will kill her. The high you're on is already fading but the Mark on your collarbone burns with intensity. It's satisfied... for now.

"If you try anything, I will unleash all of Y/N onto you." Rowena looks at you and you wave with a smirk. "Do you understand me?"

"Fine. You win this one," she glares.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Saving my son."

"Your son?"

"Crowley," she rolls her eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me," you laugh.

"My son is a king, a God, or he would be if you didn't snap your fingers, and he comes running like a wee lapdog."

"Lady, your son is a coward at best," you roll your eyes.

"You two are a good influence on him. That's why you two need to die."

"How's that working out for you? You're no match for Y/N," Dean whispers lowly.

"Oh, I'll try again," she smirks.

"What, you think I'm just gonna let you walk out of here now?"

"I think you two are heroes." She looks at you. "You could have killed those men, but you didn't because they're innocent. Because you're the good girl and you want them to live."

"Really? That's what you think?" you smirk. Before Dean can stop you, you raise your hand and twist your wrist, causing both men's necks to snap. Rowena's eyes widen at their dead bodies. "They mean nothing to me, Rowena. You mean nothing to me." You walk closer to her and Dean and shove Dean to the side. You grip her neck and squeeze tightly, and she claws at your hand fearfully. "If you don't want to leave here in a body bag, I suggest you stay the hell away from me. I have no problem ending your sad and pathetic little life." You drop your words to a whisper and lean in closer. "You are nothing compared to me. Understand?"

You let go of her neck and she coughs violently. She does the smart thing and leaves while she still can. You look at Dean to see him looking at the two men you just killed. You roll your eyes and walk past him to get to the bar.

"Save me the waterworks, Dean. They were collateral damage."

Dean doesn't say a word as he picks up one of the men. He needs to get rid of them before the public comes back. When Dean comes back from burying two bodies, you're behind the bar fixing him a drink. You slide it on the counter and he takes it without a single word to you. He takes a sip and looks at you knowing that Mam snitched to the King. You look behind him to see Crowley standing there with an angry look on his face.

"Been waiting on you."

Dean turns to face Crowley.

"Squirrel. Witch."

"Bitch," you say. "Where's Mommy Dearest?"

"Would it make a difference?"

"Not really," you shrug. "So, are you two going to do this or are you just going to stare at each other like star-crossed lovers?"

Crowley wants to kill you and Dean for what you did to Rowena but after hearing what you had to say, that all changed. Turns out when Rowena went back to Hell to snitch, she banged herself up pretty good so it looks like you beat her ass. She wanted Crowley to kill you and Dean because she failed herself. By the end of this, you're behind the bar making drinks while Crowley and Dean sit on the other side drinking what you serve them.

"She wishes I did more to her," you laugh. "All I did was steal a little magic."

"So, she's a liar."

"What did you expect? She's the mother of a demon. She's not exactly sprouting white wings and a halo."

Crowley looks over and sees the Mark peeking out from your shirt.

"Mother says that Mark is just a curse and can be removed. Of course, she doesn't know how."

You slam the glass in your hand so hard onto the bar counter that it shatters. Blood trickles down your hand but you ignore it. Both men jump from shock and stare at you with wide eyes, Dean more so than Crowley.

"If you so much as search for a cure, I'm going to punish him," you point to Dean while looking at Crowley, "and he knows exactly what I'll do."

Dean and Crowley look at each other, and there is fear in Dean's eyes.

"Don't look for it."

Crowley takes a sip of his alcohol and decides to change the subject before someone dies.

"Mother says I've gone soft."

Dean relaxes knowing he's on safe ground now.

"You have. Yeah, maybe it's all the human blood that Sammy pumped into you, but the old Crowley would have come in here with hellhounds and demons, and he would have blown the roof off the joint. Now? You didn't want to fight. You wanted to talk. Maybe I've changed, too. Here I am playing Dr. Phil to the King of Hell. Never saw that coming," Dean scoffs.

"Maybe we're getting old."

"Never saw that coming, either. What is it, huh? Why are you letting Mommy Dearest tie you into knots?"

"Because we're family. Blood."

"That's not the same thing. A wise man once told me, 'Family don't end in blood.'," you chuckle at the memory of your father, "but doesn't start there, either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family's there through the good and bad. They got your back," Dean looks at you, "even when it hurts. That's family. Does that sound like your mother?"

"Take it from Dean to talk about family," you say. "He's sticking with me even after all I've done to try and prove him otherwise."

"I'm not giving up on you no matter what you say or do."

"You see?" You smirk. "Blind loyalty. Would your mother do that for you?"

Crowley leaves the bar soon after, and you and Dean leave the bar after him. It's time to go home anyway. You don't want to stay in your room for the rest of the night so you drop Dean off at home and take the car to be anywhere but here. Dean doesn't mind since Sam is back. He wants to talk to him without the fear of you overhearing them.

"What happened? Where's Cas?"

"Where's Y/N?"

"Out. I don't know when she'll be back so talk."

"Metatron knows more than what he was letting on. He has to know about the cure. Cas and I broke him out of Heaven."

"Broke him out? How?"

"Bobby. We needed someone on the inside and he's just as good as any to do it."

Dean nods in agreement. He wishes he could have been there to talk to Bobby but in a way, he's glad he wasn't.

"He's not going to talk," Dean sighs.

"He will now. He's human. Cas stole his Grace."

"Wow, a human Metatron. I would have loved to see that. Don't tell Y/N that or she will kill him."

"I know. We were going to kill him but he knows where Cas' grace is. He said he'd take him to it. What about you? What did you two do?"

"Went to a bar. Played some pool. Got ambushed by Crowley's mother. Rowena."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam gasps.

"I wish. Y/N killed two innocent people and almost killed Rowena. Crowley came, we talked, and now we're all best friends," Dean says sarcastically. "To be honest, I don't know if there is anything left of her to save."

"We're not giving up, Dean. We'll find this cure. You'll get her back." Dean nods but doesn't say anything about it. "I have something for you. I already read ours." Sam takes out the two envelopes from his jacket pocket One sealed. One opened. "Bobby wrote one for us and one for Y/N."

Dean takes the letters and stares at your name written in Bobby's scrawly handwriting.

"Don't give this to her."

"I know. Cas told me not to."

"No, I mean it, Sam. She'll burn it."

"I know," Sam says softly. "Put it away until she's ready to read it. I'm going to take a shower and go to bed."

Sam leaves Dean alone in the war room. He opens his letter with shaky hands and begins reading it.

Sam and Dean, So... this is weird, huh? Look, I just wanted to say that I know what you two are trying to do for each other. Cas told me everything. I'm not asking you to stop because it breaks my heart to know my daughter is a shell of who she used to be. I know about my grandbabies and I want you two to do whatever it takes to protect them. My daughter loves them with all her heart and I don't want to see them in Heaven a moment before they're supposed to be here. I'm not there to tell you what to do or to guide you, but I know you two will make the right choice. Sam, you're a good man. One of the best. I'm damn proud of you, son. I was content up here but getting the call from you has made me the happiest I've been in forever, no matter what it costs. Dean, I can't imagine what you're going through right now. I'm damn proud of you, too. I wish I could have heard your voice but I know you've got your hands full at the moment. When you feel like giving up, just remember that it won't last forever. You'll get Y/N back and your children. Anyway, I can't wait to hear what you three have done in your life when you finally do get to Heaven. Make it a long one. Stay safe, keep fighting, and kick it in the ass. Bobby

Dean lets the letter flutter to the table as tears stream down his face.

x

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[d0ll133]

~ 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘹 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘊𝘸: 𝘗𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯,

𝘋𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨,𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘱𝘪𝘦?, 𝘗𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨,

𝘗𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘦𝘹?, 𝘚𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 (1𝘹), 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 𝘏𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. ~

(𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘪 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺<3)

I looked in the mirror and fixed my mini skirt in the mirror, I made sure my make up was well and twirled infront of the mirror, some of my co workers whistled looking at me. I flashed them a smile and checked my outfit once more, I wore a short plaid skirt reaching my upper thigh and a black lace bra. My hair was loose and in curls. " And now we will present Y/S/N!" **(Y/S/N is your stage name) ** the announcer yelled and a roar errupted of cheers and claps. I was one of the most famous strippers in the busy club which was in the middle of new york and one of the most busy and popular. I strut out in tall black heels, Everyone cheered and I walked over to the pole.

One of the most important things of being a stripper would be to have a bunch of confidence which was something I had. The music started and I flew a leg around the pole starting a series of dances. I did a set of turns and the crowd erupted, I saw a man sitting in the back in a black suit, I bit my lip, fuck he looked hot, He noticed my stare and locked eyes with me looking me up and down. I blushed and I flew down on my knees and made a couple of dances indicating having sex and stuff like that. Two others girls walked in wearing similars outfits to mine but mine was way better.

We went in sync on our own poles and I went down to the finally spreading my legs arching my back showing a perfect view of my black lace panties. The room erupted and I noticed the mysterious man staring intentally. I stood up gracefully when the music finsished and got of stage. " Great job Y/n!" **( Y/N is your name) ** " Thanks" I smiled. I walked out of the back room and looked for anyone who looked in the need of a lap dance or two. I gave a couple of people a lap dance and looked around the room. I walked back to the back room and counted the money I made " Y/n! Someone calls for you in your room!" My boss walked in.

He smiled at me, we fucked a couple of times but never thought twice about it since we didn't want that I check in the mirror to make sure I looked good and walked out of the room, Once in a while you could find somebody who was good at sex and lap dancing but rarely anyone was these days. I walked in and my breath hitched. The same man that was staring at me was sitting in the shadows his face the only thing alluminated. The room was dim with only a bed in the corner, a couple chairs, and a pole in the center. I walked over the pole and he stood up. " You can't touch me" I reminded him smiling. It was a policy her at the club.

Nobody could touch the strippers without consent. The music started and Iswayed my hips infront of him swaying with the music. I did the same move I did on the stage that got everyone's attention. He stopped moving and leaned back spreading his legs. I gasped he was huge and his member was poking through his pants.

I knew that this man wasn't playing around. I realized that he had listen to my only rule, there hadn't been a single person who had followed the rule. I got ontop of himstradling his hips, I started giving him a lap dance. He was hard against my entrance and I felt myself getting wet. He pulled out a hundred dollar bill and stuffed it inside my bra.

I grinded on him harder and He held onto my hips making me stop. " Tell me what is your name?" He whispered hoarsly, his voice was deep. " Y-Y/n" I answered. He stood up and I flew back. He backed me up against the bed towering above me. I should call security and all that but I wanted to see what he would do and he was so big and handsome I wasn't going to pass this opportunity.

He pulled out a pile of money that looked to be about ten thousand dollars. He placed it on a chair nearby. I pulled him into me and kissed him, his mouth was warm and his lips soft. His calloused hands roamed over me pulling at my skirt. I lifted my hips to let him remove them. My heart started beating faster, I was really about to have sex with a guy a just met!? This felt different from all the other times.

He pulled my skirt down and threw his tie across the room. He harshly pulled me closer to him and pulled the last of my clothing off. He laughed deeply, " Look at you, already so fucking wet you slut" I whimpered at his words. He only laughed more and pulled me closer. He threw his shirt off and pants.

He had a bunch of muscles and an 8 pack, the plain of his muscles glowed with tan. He took my heels off throwing my legs over his shoulder, He knelt down infront of me getting a perfect view of my entrance. He spread my legs and pulled my entrance to his face. He laughed again and his breath tickled my entrance and I whimpered louder. He licked a strong stroke up my apex and hummed against me, The vibration of it shook through my whole body.

He continued playing with his tongue and I started whining for him to hurry up pulling at his hair. He grabbed my wrists in one hand and pulled them over my head. " Stop being a fucking inpatient bitch" He spat. I whined and he entered three of his fingered with out warning. I moaned loudly.

" Shut up" He spat pulling his hand out and slapped my ass. I groaned at the pain of the slap and at the emptyness of his fingers missing. He let me go completely and threw his boxers off revealing his proud long member. He leaned over me and grabbed my hands in one hand pulling them over my head and entered all four fingers with the other to my entrance. He pumped his fingers in and out at a quick pace and started rubbing my clit with his thumb in hard circles.

I was a moaning mess and my release was slowly creeping up on me. The tightness revealed itself to my stomach and I moaned " I-I'm going to-" I started. " No you won't" He spat. I cried out and tried harshly not to cum. I was about to release when he pulled out his fingers. I whined loudly and he slapped me harshly. " Be a good slut and keep silence" He growled. He got ontop of me and pressed his tip against my entrance.

I let out a gasp as his mouth went to my breast and he sucked harshly at it, he trailed kisses up to my neck leaving hickeys in his path. I let out slight moans at his lips. I threw my head back in the bliss and he slammed into me. I yelled loudly squirming under him. I tried to get out of his grasp needing some sort of friction since he was staying still, to still.

" P-please" I whined. " Why should I give you what you want" He spat his face hovering over mine. I looked at hima nd he connected our lips. He pulled out and started thrusting in and out of me. " I- yes!" I cried throwing my head back.

He slammed in and out of me without mercy. I felt the urge to cum again and started shaking. " Cum" He ordered. I didn't hesitate to do so and shook under him. " You won't be able to walk for a good three weeks" He growled picking up his pace.

I came about two more times before I started seeing stars and crying. I wanted him to stop but also didn't I loved how this felt. " Fuck your so tight" He groaned slamming into me again. I felt him twitch inside of me and the familiar toil on my stomach. I came all over his dick and he also came inside of me.

He moaned liudly as his warm cum mixed with mine and filled me up. He pulled out and his dick was dripping in our cum combinded. He grabbed me harshly and pulled me ontop of him. He grabbed my waist and lowered me onto his face. I looked down at him and he startedlicking me clean.

I arched my back and saw stars again. He grabbed my waist and started grinding my pussy into his face. I moaned loudly playing with my breasts. He licked faster and proader strokes. My juices dripping down his chin.

He slid me down him after I came and I looked around at the mess we made. He closed his eyes breathing heavily. I slid down him and lowered myself onto his dick. He opened his eyes smirking down at me " You sure love to play for a slut" He spat. I smiled back at him and started riding his dick bouncing up and down letting my breasts bounce with each movemnet.

He started in awe and moved his hands all over me. I rode him faster and he started helping me holding my waist. I was a moaning mess ontop of him and he helped me stay upright. I came once more and pulled out sitting up on the bed. He smirked at me watching me.

I bent down and licked his dick clean showing my ass off. He grabbed my ass and flipped us around. Damn I thought we were done. He pushed himself into my little hole spreading it open crucually. I cried in pain and he started thrusting.

I tighetned around him after a while of him thrusting into me. He groaned and went faster. I felt his dick twitch inside of me and he came into my hole filling me up. He pulled out and stood up. I lay down on the bed on my back. I watched him get dressed and put another thousand dollars with the rest.

I tried getting up and failed miserably. He laughed and grabbed my straps of clothing. He helped me into my clothes but saidhe couldn't find my panties anywhere. I looked once and frowned but shrugged it of, I had another pair and could buy a thousand more with this money. I kissed him once more in a sweet gesture and tried to stand up.

" I-I can't walk" I whispered ashamed. " what did I tell you darling?" He chuckled. " Can you have one of the security workers help me" I asked. " Of course". He grabbed his tie and walked up to me and gave me a scrap of paper with his phone number. " Wait!" I called out. HE turned around to look at me " whats your name?" I asked. " Toji" He smirked and left. I saw him pull out a black lace underwear from his pocket and yelled " Your bastard!" I yelled. One of the security workers walked in and laughed at me. " Fuck you, call Mathew" I ordered.

Mathew was my best friend and a fellow co worker here. He walked in and noticed the messy room and me sitting down. He stared at the case of money and looked at me "Good work?" He said. I looked at him confused. " You can't walk I presume" " Correct my friend" I laughed. He helped me up and to the back room. I would call Toji and who knows what.

[sodaabaa]

stolen tires, chapter five

jason returns to gotham after the world believed him to be dead. heavily inspired by the film, under the red hood.

tw: mentions of death, angst, self loathing, grief, abuse

"Well that was close." Roy said, mock wiping sweat off his brow. 

I rolled my eyes and turned to Koriand'r. 

"So what were you saying before we got so rudely interrupted by Mr. Bruce Wayne?" I said. 

I was shaken over the fact that he had walked up to us. I hadn't seen Bruce in over five years and I honestly don't know how I feel. The moment he walked in I felt as though I would start yelling at him or crying. Either way I had emotions bottled up inside me with nowhere to go.

"Right, I was thinking of forming a team of our own. I left the titans a while ago and Roy isn't Oliver's sidekick anymore so I thought we could make a little trio of misfits and fight crime together. It doesn't even have to be based in Gotham. There's so many place we could go." She explained.

I had to admit, this was a good idea. The three of us could make a well oiled team. I saw the possibilities but for right now my focus was on Bruce. I would have to decide some other time. 

"Are you in Jason?" Roy asked.

The two looked at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. I couldn't let them down but I also didn't want to make a decision I would regret later on so I said, "Give me a day or so to make up my mind, this is a serious commitment and last time I checked Roy, you're not so good with commitment." 

Roy chuckled and said, "You've got forty-eight hours to decide, otherwise... BANG! You're dead." 

I laughed along with him and Kori smiled at us and said, "Well I've got to go. I'm meeting up with Dick." 

After Kori left, Roy and I had a drink and then left the club. We said our goodbyes and I made my way to my car while Roy went to his. My car was parked out back behind the club in near a narrow alley. I walked to the parking in the back and heard a crash. I jogged in the direction the sound came from and saw my car's tires being removed by a boy who looked about thirteen with shaggy hair and torn clothes hanging off his body. He was on his knees, wrench in one hand and the other was holding onto the tire. He was stealing the tires of my car. I had to get these tires. They were in perfect condition and clearly looked expensive. I was rushing to unscrew the tires from the sleek, black car. It was a beautiful car and I almost felt bad for dismembering it but I needed the money these tires would provide me with. I might even be able to afford a new pair of shoes! Before I could finish taking off the second tire, I heard footsteps and someone clearing their throat. I froze. Shit. I had been caught. I turned around to see a tall, dark figure. It was him. It was the Batman. Out of all the tires I could steal, I somehow came across his car and his tires! Just my luck. 

"Care to explain what you think you're doing?" He said. His voice was just as intimidating as his height. 

"U-um. Sorry, Batman sir. My parents, my parents are dead and I need money and food." I stuttered. Was he going to kill me? Wait, he doesn't kill. I was at least safe from that fate.  "Come with me. I might be able to help with that." He said. So I followed. 

"Sorry mister. I needed the money and food those tires could give me. Can you spare some change mister?" I heard.

I looked down at the kid and felt a twinge of pain. He was just like me. I crouched down and pulled out my wallet. I took out three hundred dollar bills and some loose change. It was all I had with me. I didn't need it half as much as he did.

"Here you go kid, spend it wisely. I was just like you once. I did the same thing, stole tires for a living. Be strong and you'll make it through." I said, smiling I handed him the money and gave him a pat on the shoulders. He looked at me with a look of gratefulness and for a moment I thought he was going to cry. Instead, with the money clutched in his fist, he threw his arms around my torso and hugged me. I hesitated but gave into the hug, wrapping my own arms around his frail figure. He pulled away, smiled at me and turned around and ran off into the alley. I stood in the alley for a moment, wondering what had just happened. I shook my head and crouched down to restore the tires and make my way home.

When I arrived home, I plopped down on my couch. I sat there and took a breath for a second, rewinding everything that had happened so far and planning out everything I was going to do. I sighed and went to freshen up a bit before tracking the shipment that was supposed to arrive at the docks later.  "The shipment is a robot. Why would Kord Industries send a robot, and that an amazo robot to Gotham? It would be better off in Metropolis where there's actual superhumans. I mean isn't that the whole point of an amazo in the first place? Suck up all the abilities of a superhuman? Do you think there's metahumans here? Or maybe they're trying to take Batman's 'powers'." Roy said.  Since we found out what the shipment is we've been trying to figure out what it could possibly be doing in Gotham. We were keeping watch of the docks over a rooftop trying to hide from plainsight at the same time. Because of Roy Bruce knows where I'm going to be tonight so I'm trying to be a bit more stealthy. 

"Four armed hostiles at twelve." I said. 

There were four armed men. Two were sitting on the dock and the other two were keeping watch and walking in lines back and forth. 

"Shoot an exploding arrow towards the dock to get rid of them." I told Roy. 

He looked at me smiling through his mask and was already pulling back his bow with the exploding arrow. 

I counted down and he shot the arrow. The men were most likely dead but who were we to care, they were probably part of Black Mask's operations. This whole thing was probably funded by him. Roy and I were getting ready to jump of the rooftop when a batarang was thrown our direction. The batarang scraped my arm and left a small scratch. It landed in the wall right in between us. I looked back to see the Bat himself and his little sidekick Nightwing. 

"Look who decided to show up, the Bat and his trusty sidekick Robin." I spat.

"Sidekick?! I'll have you know that I am no longer anyone's sidekick bucket head." He retorted. 

I couldn't help but laugh at his remark. Dick really thought he wasn't a sidekick anymore just because he wore a new suit. 

"Who are you?" Bruce grunted 

"He speaks!" I said back. 

This whole time he had been quiet, no doubt he was trying to figure out who I am. 

"I asked you once, I'm not going to ask again." 

"Yeah I'm totally gonna tell you who I am right away. No, I want you to go crazy over this. There's no doubt you're already obsessing over trying to figure out who I am. I want you to be a clueless. And they call you the world's greatest detective. Yeah right." I scoffed.

He glared and made his way forward but by the time he took one step forward I took two back, Roy and I fell backwards off the roof, he shot a grappling arrow to the right and I shot my grappling hook towards the left. We split up to make it harder to track both of us. I ran as fast I could towards the closest building with Bruce right on my tail. I jumped up onto a wall and grabbed onto anything I could, window sills most commonly. I scaled the walls but being over two hundred pounds of muscle I had some trouble, as did he. I made it up to the rooftop and ran across, jumping onto the next and using my grappling hook occasionally to provide backup in case I lose footing. Bruce threw a nylon cord around my ankle but before it could wrap around too tightly I pulled out my knife and sliced through it in one swift motion. I kept running across rooftops and I saw a motorbike below me. I had to do it. I closed my eyes, took a breath and jumped down, landing on my side causing the impact to knock the wind out of me. Quickly recovering I scrambled to get up and ran to the bike and hopped on. I revved the engine and just as Bruce made it down I yelled, 

"You haven't lost your touch Bru-" I was cut off by a bus driving between us. By the time the bus left I was already gone and Bruce was left in the dust.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"BECAUSE I DON'T LIKE TO STOP"

(I hope you like this story! I feel that's one of the best I've posted on tumbrl so far. And PLEASE let me know if you understand the reference in the comments. Thanks for reading me!) 😊🧡

Christie finished checking in a couple who had just arrived at the motel where she worked as a receptionist. It was a quiet morning, a weekend day like any other. There weren't usually a lot of people staying during that time, except for couples who wanted to have sex.

She had several rules regarding such cases, which she applied whenever a couple wanted to stay at her motel. She didn't allow drunks or drugged people to enter, she didn't want to be burdened with rape charges that would tarnish the name of the establishment.

She looked out over the parking lot from her spot behind the reception desk, checking that the cars were properly parked, when suddenly a man opened the door of the establishment with more force than necessary, causing it to slam against the wall.

He held her hand to stop her shaking, before looking up at her. He approached slowly.

-I'm sorry -he murmured, looking at her firmly- I want a room

-Sure, for how many nights?

-A week -he indicated, taking three fifty-dollar bills out of the pocket of his tight jeans- I'll pay you for it

-I didn't expect anything less -she murmured, he smiled-

She opened the profile for a new reservation on the desktop computer to make the reservation.

-I need your ID -she said, he raised his eyebrow-

-My what? -he asked, as if he had never heard that word before-

-Your ID -he pointed at the computer- I can't save the reservation if you don't give me your name, at least

-My name is Logan -he said, taking the identification tags he wore around his neck, he showed them to her-

-Okay, Logan -she nodded- so you want a reservation for a week. Is that correct?

-Yes

-Well -he turned and gave her a key from the panel behind her- your room is number ten -he smiled- enjoy your stay

-I will do that -he answered smiling- What is your name? -he asked curiously passing the key from one hand to the other-

-Christie -he murmured while she watched his movements- one more thing, do you have a line?

-Yes, there is a phone in each room on the nightstand to call whoever you want, although it is made so that guests can call reception in case something happens

-Does that mean I could call you? -he asked- I have trouble falling asleep

-A bad experience? -she asked holding his gaze-

-Something like that -he nodded towards her- And you?

-What?

-What is the reason you have trouble sleeping at night? -she asked-

-How did you know?

-You could say it was a hunch - he muttered, looking at her intensely-

-Family problems - he confessed-

-I'm sorry

-Relax - she reassured him- after all we all have problems, right?

-True - he seconded, holding her gaze for a few more seconds- thanks for the room

He turned around to leave, but she called him again

-Logan - she said, he turned around to look at her again, he waved a fifty dollar bill in the air- the room costs a hundred, so this fifty is more than enough

-Keep it - he offered - for being nice to me - she whispered - I can't remember the last time someone was that way

-Okay, thanks - she murmured, he nodded-

Christie saw him leave the reception to go look for his room. He couldn't miss it, it was the one next to the ice machine.

The afternoon passed in the blink of an eye, and before she realized it, night had fallen. She looked outside, the sun had disappeared, giving way to the moon and the cold. She put a sweatshirt on over her tank top, before sitting back down in the reception chair.

Suddenly the phone rang. It was five in the morning, so she quickly picked up the phone so the noise wouldn't wake up other customers.

"Reception," she said following protocol.

"Hello Christie," a hoarse, masculine voice answered.

"The Canadian man," she remembered, gripping the receiver tighter.

"Hello Logan," he answered. "Are you okay?"

"Fabulous," he said, making her laugh. "I didn't interrupt you, did I?"

-No - she looked at the door - I don't think there will be any more clients coming tonight, and if they do I'll have to tell them to find another motel - she explained - the only room left was room ten, and that's the one you're in now

-So I got here just in time - he said with the insinuation reflected in his voice -

-Yes, just in time - she confirmed - Can't you sleep?

-No - he murmured - And what time do you go home?

-I don't like driving at night - she answered shaking her head from side to side - so I almost always sleep in the car

-You can sleep in my room - she said, the line went silent as if she was thinking about what she had said and what that seemed to imply - I mean, this bed is huge - she added - we could both sleep in it and we wouldn't touch each other all night

Christie thought about her proposal. She had been having back and neck pain for several days due to the positions she adopted when she slept propped up against the hard seats of his truck. She would kill to lie down on a soft mattress, and the one in that room was the newest in the entire motel, so it would still be soft enough for her to rest peacefully.

"I could use a bed for a day, like normal people," he replied. She couldn't see him but felt him nod.

"Okay," he said, "I'll set up a wall of pillows to separate your space from mine."

"So you're territorial, huh?" she questioned. He laughed, a deep, masculine sound that made her blush from head to toe.

"Only with what I care about," he murmured before adding, "When does your shift end?"

She looked at the clock above the reception door.

"At seven."

"It will be at seven then," she said, "See you later, Christie."

"Bye Logan," she replied, hanging up the phone.

Since that conversation, the minutes seemed exaggeratedly long. When she saw Miriam come through the door, a sign that it was already seven o'clock, time for the shift change, she thought it was a mirage.

"Miriam, how nice that you've arrived!" she said, hugging her effusively.

She, who was not used to Christie showing such physical affection towards her, looked at her with a frown.

"Why are you so happy to see me? Is everything okay?" he asked, she nodded.

"Yes, it's just that I'm very tired and I need to go to sleep as soon as possible." she pointed to the computer as she walked towards the door with an excited smile on her lips. "Remember to do the cash count!"

"Of course, go "to sleep" she said, making the gesture of the quotation marks.

Christie rolled her eyes before closing the door delicately and walking briskly to room number ten. She stood nervously in front of the door, breathing in and out several times before gently knocking on the wood twice with her knuckles.

Of course Logan had already heard her coming. His sense of hearing and smell were so strong that he could smell her perfume since she left the reception area, just as he could hear the accelerated beat of her heart in her chest, and the blood flowing rapidly through her veins making his hands shake.

"Come in," he murmured for her to enter.

The moonlight momentarily illuminated the interior of the room. She closed the door behind her, at the same time as he turned on the small lamp that was on the nightstand, next to the phone. Their eyes met instantly, colliding strongly.

-Logan -she swallowed hard, trying not to let it show how nervous she felt- I didn't want to wake you

The rhythmic sound of the pulse in his neck made him look away, distracting him momentarily, before looking into her eyes again.

-I wasn't asleep, babe -he reassured her- How did it go?

The name made her blood boil, which Logan heard with absolute clarity. Her heart beat faster when he called her that way, which let her know that he liked it. She took note of that information.

-Good -she murmured- no more customers came in, it's always like that -she answered-

He nodded as he patted the spot next to him, she smiled amused.

-Wow, so the pillow wall thing was true - she said, staring at the three pillows stacked in the middle of the bed-

-When I say I'm going to do something, I do it - he nodded, raising an eyebrow suggestively - unless you want me to take it back of course

Christie tried to get the images of Logan's arms gently wrapped around her, pulling her into his toned chest as she felt his breath on the top of her head out of her mind, without success. She shook her head more effusively than she would have liked, Logan nodded, noticing the internal struggle she was having with herself at that moment.

Howlett realized then that Christie was a complicated girl. That is, you didn't know where she was going to come out, as was happening at that moment. He observed the battle that was happening inside her mind through her eyes. Logan couldn't read minds like the professor, but it didn't take a telepath to know what she was thinking.

"If I tell him to take down the wall it means I don't just want to sleep with him, and if I do I know he'll accept my space and let me rest, but is that really what I want? Just to sleep?"

"Take it down," she whispered slowly, and he nodded, beginning to dismantle the small fort he'd built to separate them.

She carefully placed the pillows on the chair next to the nightstand before moving the blankets to the side, a silent invitation for him to get into bed.

Christie approached timidly, watching him with anxiety and tension reflected in her clear eyes. She entered his side, and he covered her with the blankets, momentarily closing his arm behind her back. His scent of leather and tobacco reached her nostrils.

He made sure her back was well covered before settling back into his side of the bed. Before she could regain her relaxed posture, their gazes connected again, this time with more intensity.

Christie's gaze dropped to Logan's lips for a few moments, a gesture that did not go unnoticed. Logan's dark eyes shone due to the yellowish light of the lamp.

"Logan…" the young woman whispered, almost in a pleading tone.

"Princess," he replied, looking at her mouth for a few moments, before raising his gaze to her face.

He raised his hand to trace the outline of her lips with his thumb, making her let out a silent gasp. One look from Christie was all Logan needed to bring their lips together. She placed her arms on his shoulders forming a circle around his neck while he kissed her intensely, as if he had been holding back for a long time since they had only met a few hours ago.

Logan grabbed her with his muscular arms, placing her under his body while still kissing her, leaving him on top of her. He separated for a few moments, which made Christie raise her head towards him, looking for his mouth again.

"I know you're dying for me to take off your clothes," he whispered, "I can hear the walls of your pussy throbbing," he said, she let out a sigh, making him smile.

"Are you saying we should agree on a safe word?" She smiled amused, he shook his head negatively.

"I don't use safe words," he whispered, leaving a kiss on the corner of her mouth, sending shivers throughout her body.

"Why?" -Christie wanted to know, the gleam in her dark eyes growing more intense-

-Because I don't like to stop -she confessed, burying her face in the hollow between his collarbone and chin, leaving small, wet kisses in that area- and I know you don't either

-You know too much -she replied, making him laugh against her skin-

-Enough to know that you're going to be cumming on my cock all night long

[adelaidedrubman]

wip weekend!

tagged today by @inafieldofdaisies to share a wip, thank you!! no pressure (seriously i know some of y’all just posted) tags to @henbased @unholymilf @florbelles @direwombat @socially-awkward-skeleton @shallow-gravy @derelictheretic @poetikat @roofgeese @schoute @deputyash @wrathfulrook @v0idbuggy @trench-rot @confidentandgood @corvosattano @afarcryfrommymain @sukoshimikan @voidika @strangefable @jackiesarch @harmonyowl @josephslittledeputy @g0dspeeed @purplehairsecretlair @blissfulalchemist @nightbloodbix @jacobsneed and anyone with things to share!

truly had one foot in the darkness and one in the hello kitty roller skate with writing lately, so here’s a taste of both. first, one of the (many) clunky expository bits of hl&s:

“The Admiral?” John repeated with a curious smile. “Might I ask who that is?”

Jessie’s eyes grew more dangerously alight yet. “You’re so funny, John!” She forced out laughter, eyes bulging wider than he thought possible with each sharp bark. “See how he managed to charm me so quick? He’s so fuckin’ funny.” She gave him a look that bore no hint of amusement. “Of course he fuckin’ knows who The Admiral is.”

“Of course.” Was he really catching flack from the woman who didn’t even know who the Ryes were — seemingly didn’t even know who his own family was, for that matter — for not being familiar with someone in the County?

What the hell kind of person could that level of recluse even get offended at him for not —

Oh.

Of course.

He did know.

“The Admiral is a fish,” he said, trying not to sound exasperated by the revelation.

“A fish,” Jessie laughed, slapping him on the back a little too hard. “I told you, he’s funny.”

“Well, not like anyone’s actually gonna catch him, anyways,” Adelaide sighed with a dismissive wave of her hand. “They never do. But everyone who pays the entry fee gets admission to the big ol’ Fish Fry we do after to cook up whatever they did manage to catch and get blackout drunk on party liquor.”

“I can do that at home without an entry fee,” Jessie scoffed.

“And this year, we’re co-hosting! Cook out’s gonna be over at the Ryes’ place, since they got everything set up nice from all the barbecues they hold any —”

“How much is the entry fee?” John asked.

Adelaide tilted her head to the side, pausing before she answered. She raked her eyes over him from head to toe and back up again, then allowed them to drift over his shoulder towards the boat parked in the slip behind him.

She crossed her arms over her chest, raising her chin before rattling off with ease, “Ninety bucks a person, one seventy-five for couples, three-fifty for a group of four.”

Oh, good. He was worried she would attempt to charge him something unreasonable.

He flashed her a smile; reached into his back pocket to slide two hundred dollar bills out pressed between his fingers. “Keep the change,” he hummed, holding the bills out in offering. “But do enter us as a couple.”

aaaand it wouldn’t be wip day without jessie being normcore and reasonable in wildfire:

“Hey, Jessie!” Another face materializing from the crowd — and what made them think they had the right to address her by first name? Just because they’d heard Tracey do it? Or else seen — “We were all wondering how you were gonna manage to top blowing up that statue, but you did it! I can’t wait to see how you’re gonna stick it to Faith next!”

“Gonna blow that shit up for real, this time,” Jestiny grunted with a nod as she turned on her heels to cross the length of the room, search the next set of drawers. “Can you stop gawking and help me fucking look?” she demanded, struggling to breath. She could feel the rot settle inside the wound of her arm, feel something diseased and corrupting and deadly crawling inside her that it was quickly approaching too late to flush out. “I need those fucking pills, fuck him if he took them back. How’d he even get in here? I —”

“Who’s he?”

“Deputy!” a bright and smiling face appeared beside her as she stood, fists clenched and scanning the medical supplies lining the shelves. “Is it true what folks have been saying about what you have planned next?”

“What —”

“Hey, maybe give her some space right —”

“Are you really heading back to the Valley to blow up that eyesore sign John Seed put up in the mountains there?” 

What? 

“We’ll all be sorry to lose you around here for a bit, but man does just picturing the look on John’s face make it —” 

Whatever sick, wretched thing had burrowed and coiled itself into the flesh of her wounded arm suddenly sprang to life, so that she found her hand gripping tight around the throat of the man speaking to throw him against the wall. 

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you —” 

“Where the fuck did you hear that?!” she demanded, hand tightening around his windpipe as her other shoved its heel against his forehead to knock his skull against the brick. “Who the fuck told you that?”

[dollarbin]

Shakey Sundays #36:

Trans, Part 1

She was lovely.

It was the fall of 1993, our final year of high school, and she'd already had too hard of a life: no memories of her birth mother, an altogether lackluster father and a stepmother who was all mock kindness over hard edges, the resentment covert and steady.

We had come together at the dawn of high school, two sensitive kids from opposite ends of LA who met in a summer camp glory hole. That's what you call a crumbling spot of earth in goldrush country, formed a century or more beforehand by a single stick of hopeful dynamite.

I remember the two of us scurrying down into the near darkness with a few other kids, a box of surreptitiously swiped matches in tow. A four foot high and wobbly baby pine was beginning to block off the entrance, a pine that has since devoured the glory hole in its quest for strength and water. Today that tree is well over a hundred feet tall.

But 31 years ago it gave no protest as we lit all those matches, one at a time, and talked heatedly about God knows what. Joni says it best: that's how our time began.

We were just two kids, both a bit scarred, both a bit scared. We craved reassurance mostly; we listened to Love's Forever Changes while holding hands.

Years passed. We lived far apart and her parents did all they could to block the relationship but we still managed to see one another with some regularity as ninth grade turned into tenth, then turned and turned again until suddenly it was our senior year and we'd grown up together. I validated and praised her. She did the same for me. We listened to a lot of Leonard Cohen. She sewed me a flannel shirt.

And then, after all our years of promise and worry, I was suddenly done. Everything between us was revealed to me as too grown up, too heavy and troubling. What's more, I was in love, and for real this time, and with someone else, someone who showed me an adult future that was both brilliant and steadfast.

I was 17 years old. I wanted to be more than a good boyfriend. I wanted to be happy.

And so I had to let her terribly down.

There was no point in showing her my brand new, dollar bin, version of Trans when she showed up at my parents' house on that hot fall day for our long scheduled Dylan show at the Hollywood Bowl. Santana, ridiculously, shared the bill; the only thing I knew about Santana was that Jonathan Richman told his early audiences that listening to Santana records was a general waste of one's time. I believed Jonathan, of course. I still do.

But there she was on my doorstep, flushed with excitement, her two front teeth freshly chipped from a older-step-sister-saddled-with-too-much-responsibility accident in her grandparents' pool. She had no idea whatsoever what as about to happen.

Could I have spared her from that night? Could I have written her an honest letter or made a simple phone call explaining that I was so terribly sorry but that I had fallen in love with someone else?

Yes, I could have. And yes, of course, I should have.

But the simple truth is that I craved the drama. After all, I was listening to a lot of Trans and Another Side of Bob Dylan at the time: records full of self-importance, drama and manly vibes. And, after a childhood of being chosen last with a sigh for every social and athletic event, I was ready to do something audacious, cold and rash. I'd tell her that we were done in person. In front of all my friends. At a Bob Dylan show.

"It ain't me, babe. No, no, no. It ain't me, babe. It ain't me your looking for. Babe."

Good God: this story is awful, isn't it? Happily, I came slightly to my senses and chickened out, taking her instead, pre-show, to the Mexican hole in the wall down the street from my house for tacos and truth.

Listen, I said. I'm sorry but...

She was furious. Livid. I was selfish, she declared. I was stupid. I had ruined everything.

I listened. All her assessments struck me as reasonable. My teenage fantasies about how cool the whole thing was gonna be were obviously hollow and dumb. And so I finished her taco. It was the only useful action I could come up with.

And then I introduced her to Thom Moore.

Do you know who I'm talking about? We're talking Thom Moore of Moore Brothers fame. If that doesn't mean anything to you, go listen to this:

The reckless, way-cooler-than-Beck, north LA trip hot white man music he was making at that point is not available on YouTube. Which is stupid. This song is from a few years later, after GBV had largely beat him to the punch. But Thom was, and still is, the coolest person to ever befriend me. We haven't talked in 20 years or more now but, whatever: he's so cool. Hi Thom!

It was just supposed to be the three of us that night, driving to see Dylan in my parents' armadillo cake of a Ford Tempo, which responded to heat of any kind by simply turning off. Mid-freeway? Yeah, if it got too hot the car would just stop. I figured Thom would lighten the mood between the two of us and stop her from freaking out too much. But I had a long ago buddy named Matt who always knew how to upstage me.

(We're not talking here about my best buddy Matt, whose favorite Shakey songs are Homegrown, F%^&king Up and T-Bone, in that order, but another, long ago buddy, also named Matt. He was not a Shakey guy. Rather, he was into The Rembrandts.)

Yeah, Rembradts Matt was definitely not as cool as T-Bone Matt. That's just the way it is, baby. (And for the record, I did not make myself listen to the song above while writing this; I just pasted it in so you'd get a sense of the gentleman in question. So feel free to follow my lead and take a hard pass.)

And so, anyway, Rembrandts Matt, who had caught wind of my sophomoric break up plans for the evening, decided to do me one better by dumping his own long term, also-out-of-town girlfriend immediately before the concert as well.

But Rembrandts Matt did his dumping in even more spectacular fashion. Things were thrown. Blame was cast. My famous brother remembers juvenile fisticuffs occurring between them in the small hours of the night ahead inside a donut shop. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Suffice it to say that all the men involved in this night that I'm chronicling were obviously rather childish.

And so, rather than wind up driving to the concert with just my poor, suddenly-ex, ladyfriend beside me and a surely-he'll-pick-us-all-up wit like Thom in the back seat, my long ago buddy Matt's own far less poor, but also suddenly-ex, ladyfriend wound up in my backseat as well - she absolutely refused to drive with Matt. And my own suddenly ex-lady friend joined her back there, telling Thom that if he wanted to sit beside to the world's worst person he was welcome to the passenger seat. Those two ladies' indignation filled up my parents' Tempo like hot farts after pizza in a sixth grade bunkhouse. It was going to be one hell of a drive.

"What's going on here ladies?" Thom asked, spinning around to grin into their fury as I pulled away from the curb, steering wheel gripped like a life preserver. Thom, who was a new friend to me at that point, had never met either of the ladies in question before that moment. He had no real idea what had just gone down, but he was digging the vibes.

After getting the general gist of things through clenched jaws and unprintable words, most of which began with F's, A's and Z's, Thom started riffing. He'd once spent half an hour freestyle rapping in the very same car about squeezable canned cheese; he could riff.

"Listen: ladies! Take a step back!" he declared. Whenever he spoke it seemed like someone was beatboxing in support. "These knuckleheads who let you down tonight are surely insignificant blips in what will be two very long lifetimes of romantic opportunity! We're off to a Dylan show, right? Well, there's gonna be thousands upon thousands of lonely ass, equally dumb men there for you to choose from. I mean, come on! Here, let me angle the rear view mirror a bit so you can take a look at yourselves. Uncross those angry arms and take a look: yeah, that's it! You are both, I must say, rather fetching! I know plenty of guys - hell, I am one of those guys - who'd be all too happy to take the place of either of these - or both of these! - dopes by your side."

He cackled through it all, having the time of his life.

"Shut up Thom!" they both bellowed in response. They too had never met before that night but they already spoke in perfect unison, holding each other's hands and utterly bonded in cold, dark and shimmering, feminine fury.

I won't give you every last detail of what happened next - and, I promise, Trans does winds up central to this story (just relax already: this is Part 1 of what will be a few posts dedicated to Neil's mostly cool and bizarre record) - so let's hit fast-forward:

...there we are, sitting midway back from the stage beside a guy 25 years older than us; he's describing how his life was fundamentally changed in 1974 when he saw Bob perform Ballad of a Thin Man on solo piano. (My famous brother says there is no evidence whatsoever that such a performance ever occurred)...

...and there we are, trying to have a teenage picnic post show in the parking lot. Someone's mother has sent a chocolate cake with a big butcher knife for the slicing. But Matt's ex-lady friend is whispering again in the ear of my own ex-ladyfriend and then mine is taking the knife from his and brandishing it at me in a mock-serious manner than fails to come across as mock-serious but is instead rather terrifying. I whimper and retreat. To this day I do not tend to eat cake...

... and there we are, and it's well after one in the morning, and the two of us are standing on a street corner somewhere in Hollywood, fruitlessly ringing the doorbell of some family friend of her parents at whose house she is supposed to stay the night (because staying at my own house was forever out of the question). But the damn person won't answer the bell and it's cold out and so I give her my favorite flannel - not the one she sewed for me, that one was always itchy, but my favorite flannel - because what the hell else can I offer her of any value, and then the door finally opens and in she goes, still furious, and I know we'll probably never see each other again... and, oh crap: she's still wearing my flannel!

I arrived home around two in the morning totally demoralized. The night was supposed to have been epic, the kind of thing I'd boast about and include in my congratulatory memoirs some day. But Santana had played forever like one big Joe Freakin' Lala cover band and Dylan had sung Stuck Inside of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again so incomprehensibly that I had only realized he what he was performing during the final chorus, and I'd spent the night so scared and so embarrassed and so, so, so deeply disappointed in myself. I was being a jerk to a lovely person. I had probably ruined her life.

At that point in my adolescence I pretty much only entered and exited my parents' house through my bedroom window. Doing so seemed like the cool way to do things and it exhibited the kind of cavalier independence from tradition and family ties which I craved. So I sighed and circled around back. It was time to hurdle inside and be sad and alone.

But my room was packed. Homegrown Matt was in there, not Rembrandts Matt. Plus there were 3 or 4 other of my friends. They were all wide awake, utterly uninvited and brimming over with joy.

Plus, Thom was there, working the turntable. And he had Shakey's manly panegyric for all things troubling, goofy and danceable turned up to 11:

Yes, it was true: I'd been a jerk to her. And yes, I'd let her down.

But I'd also done the right thing. And it was over. My room was now filled with unexpected joy and Neil Young. My friends had picked me first for their team.

And that's how I knew that everything was going to work out. That's how I knew that I was going to be okay.

And so was she. So was she.

[behindtheireyes]

The past few weeks have been pretty stressful and it really has killed any desire to write. I'll put everything under a read more so it doesn't clog up the dash.

So, as many of you know I went back to my old job that let me go last year around the end of February even though most of the people (mainly family) in my everyday life were against it. I mainly went back because my old store manager asked me too and promised me enough hours to make my bills and got me a wage that was only a few dollars less than I was making before the restructuring of 2023. While it wasn't enough to get out on my own it was enough so I could keep out of debt and still have some fun every now and then.

Everything was settling down and going great until the middle of March when my oldest and best friend got her heart broken by a gaslighting asshole but that's her story to tell. I have been on best friend duty trying to keep her mind off things while trying to gently steer her towards making better choices but this fucker really has his claws into my girl.

April/May things were really starting to calm down and I was still, kinda, writing and talking to people at this point. Then in the middle of May my store manager gave notice that she was leaving and going to open a new Micheal's in another town. She promised me that as soon as they were hiring she'd let me know so I could apply and work full time again.

I fully intended to take her up on this offer but things kinda changed.

At the start of June my old assistant manager got the store manager spot so his job opened up. I applied, as did our Inventory Coordinator, for the newly vacant Assistant spot and honestly thought that there was no way in hell I'd get it but it was good interview experience for when the Micheal's job opened up. I figured there was nothing to lose so why not go for it?

I fucking got it.

So you think I'd be less stressed now that I was full time making $20/an hour right? Especially since it was doing stuff that I'd pretty much been doing for the last few years?

Well, it was until the IC who didn't get the job gave their notice and said they'd think about staying if they got a sizable raise. My district manager doesn't beg people to stay and her reaction was pretty much, "Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya!" so since my IC's power play failed and they left I've been pretty much doing the part of her job that my store manager isn't doing. On my days off I barely have the energy to do laundry or go food shopping let alone write.

Add on to that there's been some stress with a couple people on my dash and someone that I genuinely considered a friend dropped me after I said I couldn't loan them a hundred plus dollars before I even got my first paycheck. I'm the type of person that will give you the shirt off my back if you need it but I also needed what little cash I had to get to and from work.

Since then any time I've really tried to write, either here of discord, my brain just fucking shuts down so I've just been lurking and kinda hiding from all but one or two people. I'm hoping after things calm down at work after I do my training week at another store, which I really don't need but it's policy I do it, I can get out of my head about writing.

Or at least manage my stress better and feel less horrible about being here than I do.

[thislovintime]

Performing in Houston on October 27, 1979; photo via RockinHouston dot com.

“The Great American Food and Beverage Company is an institution in [Santa Monica, Calif.]. […] A waiter in his ‘30s, older than the others, made his way to the podium, banjo in hand. He seemed strangely familiar in an unusual outfit whose suspenders gave him a whimsical air. He was very thin, with an angular, almost bony face and straight, mid-ear length dirty blond hair that was parted in the middle. That was all fine. But he also had a mustache and bags under his eyes that somehow didn’t seem quite right. […] Then came the memory of who he was. His name was Peter Tork, and more than a decade ago he was one of the four Monkees […]. And now Tork was a singing waiter. I assumed that few would recognize him — and that he’d probably rather not be recognized. So I decided to respect his privacy. But then, on the way out, he overheard me mention to someone that I was a writer visiting California to do some celebrity interviews, and he said to me, just a trace of bitterness in his voice, ‘Hey, how’d you like to do a story on a former great?’ Peter Tork now lives with his wife and two small children in Venice, Calif., […]. His home is a ramshackle duplex with badly chipped white paint on the outside and a gate that’s locked by a clothes hanger. Inside, the apartment has second-hand furniture with wobbly legs and sports bare wood floors of the kind it’s not fashionable to leave uncovered. An old sheepdog with a very doggy smell lies under an even older piano. In 1965, Peter Tork was washing dishes in Huntingon Beach, Calif., for $50 a week when he was recommend for the Monkees by a musician friend named Stephen Stills […|. ‘In those days we were both folksingers, and we were known as the two cats who looked alike,’ Tork said. ‘He turned me on to the situation.’ […] Today Peter Tork is 36. In his three years as a Monkee, he guesses he made a million dollars. Except for a trust he can’t touch until 1985, it’s all gone. ‘It just poured through,’ he recalled, without being at all maudlin. ‘It was like a tidal wave after a drought. The amount was so grotesque that I didn’t know what to do with it. I spent hundred-dollar bills like quarters.’ He calls himself a socialist now and says he’d be ‘philosophically and religiously prone to give that kind of money away anyway. But I dribbled it away.’ And that bothers him. ‘
I lived in Studio City in a big house that cost too much. I didn’t know how good I had it. I had no basis of comparison. I never got competent professional advice (from his producers, on how to invest his money). I’m bitter about that. They didn’t know how to handle a flash rather than someone who’d clawed his way to the top. Now I’ve been on the fringes. Now I know what it’s like to claw.’ Among other things, the fringes found him busted for alleged dope dealing. ‘It was ‘72. I was caught coming across the border from Mexico with some hash in my pocket,’ he said. ‘For a while, they thought they’d get me for a big smuggling rap. I ended up spending just three-and-a-half months in custody. I recommend it to all my good friends.’ After that experience, he worked for three years as a teacher. Then the school closed in the midst of a strange embezzlement scandal. So Tork decided to take another stab at show business. He has reactivated some old contacts and recently tried out at Paramount for comedy spots on ‘Happy Days,’ ‘Laverne and Shirley’ and ‘Mork and Mindy.’ ‘
I’m trying comedy because I know I’m glib, and I know I’m good at it,’ he said. ‘And I’m taking acting lessons. I’ll be glib one day in drama too. ‘Maybe first I can get a walk-on, then some solid comedic roles, then maybe in time a feature role in another series, then films, then maybe I can make enough to finance my music, which is really what I want to do,’ he said, the bounds of his quite sincere fantasy mushrooming in a minute. […] In the meantime, while he waits for a casting call, his show-business career still consists of The Great American Food and Beverage Company, where he has worked since last summer. ‘It’s something to do with my hands while I’m waiting,’ he said. ‘It’s a place where you’re allowed to sing, and everybody uses it to keep their chin up while waiting for their big break — like “The Gong Show” or something.’ A touch of bitterness there, again. ‘It’s just that the people don’t shut up (at the restaurant). I wish they would. You basically have to drown them out. But… it is a chance.’ With that, Peter Tork picked himself up to go to work. It was his turn to wash dishes.” - article by Steve Sonsky, The Miami Herald, February 18, 1979

“Well, what I thought was great was that [Peter] always seemed to be humble and very, very gracious in his actions and his attitude. He always treated everybody with respect. He stayed low-key until we would kick up with a group number and then he would join in. […] Everybody else has been joking about how he wasn’t Pete, he was Peter. You can tell a lot about a person when they do whatever they need to do for their family. And the only thing else that I would add is that the fact that he stayed so humble and so gracious after a lot of us had grown up with him as an icon means a lot.” - D J Barker, Tales of the Road Warriors, 2019 (x)

“I worked with Peter in the mid seventies. A kinder, gentler, gracious and giving human being you could never find. His sense of humor and positivity was a gift to all of those lucky enough to be around him. He loved his life, (in spite of it sometimes!)[.]” - D J Barker, Facebook, February 13, 2023 (x)

“There was a period where I was broke. And I called home, I said, ‘Send money.’ ‘No, sorry, kiddo, you’re on your own.’ So there was a restaurant, a two-restaurant chain, there were two restaurants — a short chain, a very small chain, two links — in L.A. called The Great American Food and Beverage Company. And the trick to this establishment was that you had to be a musician, you had to audition to work at this restaurant. And I really, really, really, really, really didn’t want to work there, but I really, really, really needed the money. Anyway, so I’m standing in the kitchen, it’s my first day, and I’m dressed in this ridiculous outfit, and a bunch of us are lined up. And the coked up manager was marching up and down in front of us like a drill sergeant. And as we’re standing there listening to this madman, the kitchen door swings open, and who should walk in but none other than Peter Tork from The Monkees. And I watch Peter Tork walk by me, take a time card and punch in the time clock and get in line right next to me. And my mouth dropped open. And it became evident at that point that he was working as a waiter at the restaurant. And this is Peter Tork from the fucking Monkees. This man was, you know, as big, if not bigger, than The Beatles in the U.S. at one point in his career. And I watched my whole life pass before my eyes.” - Matthew Wilder, Speaking of Music with Jason Faber

More about Peter's time at the Great American Food and Beverage Company in a second post.

[imapuppy5000]

Sage belongs to @theacedragon0w0 and I love them very dearly (both Sage and Ace lol)

Have some fluff. Vlk never thinks she deserves anything nice— a side effect of living with her ex and parents her whole life— but Sage is slowly helping her realize she deserves nice things on occasion.

“You only have two sets of clothes?!” Sage yelped.

Vlk gave them a funny look and deadpanned, “That’s all I need. Pj’s and day clothes. Not to mention affording extra pairs isn’t something I’m currently able to do.”

“That won’t do.” The sinner huffed, crossing their arms. “Come on, we’re going shopping.”

“What? No— I just said I don’t need—“

“First off, you do need more clothes. Not having to wash everyday will give you more time to sleep. Second off, come on, I want to spoil you.”

“You already spoil me.” Vlk muttered, ears low. She always felt bad when someone else decided she was worth something nice like a good meal, groomed fur, or new clothes.

“Not as much as you deserve to be though.” Sage teasingly grabbed her face and leaned in, hesitating and waiting for the okay. Vlk couldn’t help the tiny nod and she got a quick peck on the nose, a fox like rumble escaping her at the kiss. “So come on. We’re going shopping.”

Despite everything telling her not to, Vlk stood up and grabbed her partner's hand, blushing a little at the contact and even more so when Sage squeezed back happily.

They got to the mall fairly quickly on Sage’s bike, and were looking at stores.

“So,” Sage pressed, “Do you have a particular style?”

“Not really.” Vlk responded sheepishly. “I liked red and stripes but given the red fur that’s probably an eyesore. Maybe black? Or maybe a forest or moss green? Nothing bright… anything with a skull would be nice..”

“Alright. And do you like jewelry or hats or anything?”

The fox felt her collar and nodded. “A new collar would be nice.”

“Of course!” Sage dragged her into a nearby store and looked at all the clothes. “Do you prefer men or women’s cuts?”

“Women’s. Men’s doesn’t usually have something off the shoulders.”

“Okay.” Leading the way to the women’s section, Sage couldn’t help their grin. They actually got to spoil someone for once. They were so excited!

… maybe too excited. After twenty different outfits that Sage had picked out and Vlk had to try on, the latter was exhausted and fully done shopping. They hadn’t even left the first store! But they did have two new cute outfits, one was a black, off the shoulder, dress with a thin collar that had a crescent moon chained to it. The other outfit was a grey button up with black pants. It was sleek and frankly made her feel more professional and worthwhile. The last outfit to try on also happened to be a keeper. It was a long sleeved black shirt that exposed her stomach with a pair of dark grey cargo pants. The black shirt had a skull covered in mushrooms on it.

The bill was well over a hundred dollars and the higher the numbers ticked the more Vlk wanted to cancel the whole trip or sink into the ground in shame. She had never actually paid for clothes so she didn’t realize how expensive they were. She had assumed the bill would top out around 80 but the dress alone was easily $140.

“Sage.” She whispered. “Sage, stop. I don’t need all this, just get me the one shirt or cancel it all together.”

“Too late.” They swiped their card with a smirk, before they caught the distressed look. “Hey… I wouldn’t have offered to take you if I couldn’t afford it. You deserve these anyways. And you look great in them! Next time we’ll bring Velveete though, she’s got a better eye for fashion then me. We’ll get you something real nice then rather than just casual clothes.”

Vlk nodded and took the bag that was extended towards her.

“Now come on. Let’s go do a little fashion show for the others and show them how beautiful you look in your new clothes! You can even invite Angel if you want.”

[chaotic-super]

For Her Sake - Chapter 3

Read For Her Sake on Ao3 here!

Kara is so out of sorts from the events that have transpired that she’s barely even paying attention to where she’s going, tripping up the stairs twice on her way to the apartment.

She’s never felt more like a failure and she’s not sure whether it’s because the plan didn’t work, or because she was just exposed as a mother who can barely provide for her child to one of the richest people on the planet, someone so successful that she could just sit at home in her mansion doing nothing for the next thousand years without getting through even half of the money she has.

Either way, she should be grateful that her pride is the only thing to take a major hit tonight. Lena Luthor was right in regard to how stupid she’s been, how idiotic her plan was and how she could have very easily just deprived her own daughter, her pride and joy, of her presence in her life, of her mother.

That’s the one thing Kara can never let happen. They can lose everything but as long as they have each other, they will always be ok. Kara used to dream of her own parents after they passed and she always thought of that, of what she would be willing to trade to have them back and how she could be stripped of everything and she would be happy as long as she had them.

She didn’t get to make that deal before, after all, the dead are gone, but she can make that choice now. The choice to live with what they have and to be grateful to have each other.

She fidgets, reaching into her pocket for her keys and goes to grab them. In order to do so she passes the note from her right hand to her left and she actually looks at what had been pressed into her hand.

Kara almost drops it in fright, her heart suddenly pounding almost as hard as it did when she had a gun trained on her not long ago.

After she just tried to kidnap Lena and hold her for ransom, the woman just gave her four one hundred dollar bills, two fifties and two twenties. Lena Luthor just gave her everything out of her wallet, she just gave her enough money to pay for groceries and to get Lori a proper present for her birthday next month. Her little chipmunk will be five and she deserves to get something special.

She stuffs all but the twenties into her pocket and slides her key into the lock, tiptoeing inside so she doesn’t wake Alex and Lori.

The door gets deadbolted, this is a rough area and it’s their only real form of protection from anyone with any kind of malicious intent.

“Kara?” Alex’s hushed voice calls out, sleep still present in the way her words croak in her throat.

Through the darkness of the apartment, Kara can just about make out Alex’s form on the couch, lying across it lengthways and spread out as much as she can on the cushions.

“Yeah, it’s me. Go back to sleep, Alex.” Kara whispers, kicking off her shoes and pushing them aside with her ankle.

“Any issues helping out with the move?” Alex pushes herself up into more of a seated position, making a little bit of space for Kara to perch by her feet.

Kara takes the space, grateful to be sitting down, her knees feel weak with the adrenaline of everything happening finally starting to ease its way out of her body. “Nope, everything went ok. I’m just tired now. I got forty bucks for helping out.”

“I’m sorry, Kara.” By the tone of Alex’s voice, Kara already knows the look that must be written across her face, the one she does when she’s feeling guilty and beating herself up for something that isn’t her fault in the slightest.

Kara reaches over Alex’s legs, searching for her hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“You’ve been working overtime every day and picking up these weird jobs and being exhausted all the time. I can barely stay on my feet for more than ten or fifteen minutes and I feel so useless, I just want to help and be able to get a job again, to be able to get our lives back on track again.”

“I know. I wish we could be back where we were before too. Did you call up about the hospital bill? About seeing if you can get your insurance to cover some more of it?”

Alex’s hand holds Kara’s tight. “I tried, they said there’s nothing they can do.”

Rubbing a hand over her brow, Kara tries to think of something else to help them out, something legal this time. “Ok. I’m going to go call again tomorrow and try and put some pressure on them to see if they crack then. Let’s exhaust all of our options twice and see if we can find some wiggle room somewhere, something to work with.”

“Ok, but first, go and eat something and get some rest.”

Kara clicks her phone on, taking a look at the time and cringing, she isn’t going to get much sleep now, only a few hours until she’ll have to get up to get Lori ready for school. “Ew, tomorrow is going to suck.”

“Change your alarm, I’ll get Lori ready and take her to school tomorrow, then you can get some extra sleep.”

“Alex, it’s a twenty-minute walk both ways.”

Alex is quiet for a beat. “I’ll make it work. I’ll take my crutches just in case but I will make it work. Please, I have to do something other than watch my baby sister work herself to the bone just to come home and sleep for a couple of hours and then get right back to it.”

“You’ll call and wake me up if you’re struggling so I can come and help you?”

“I will, I promise.” Alex smiles to herself in relief, so glad that Kara is too tired to put up much of a fight so she can finally get out of this place and not feel so useless. She has a couple of resumes printed out too so if she’s feeling up to it, she can drop them in at a few of the businesses on the way back from the school, something Kara hasn’t been letting her do because she’s worried she’ll overexert herself and make her injuries worse. “Now, go and eat and get cleaned up so you can go to bed, there’s a little girl waiting to be snuggled by her mom.”

Kara snorts out a little laugh. “I don’t have to look to know that that little girl is starfishing across that bed and that I’m going to have to shove her back over onto her side to get in.”

“That little angel wouldn’t do that.” Alex smiles, looking through the dark over to the bed where a little lump is sleeping soundly beneath the duvet.

Kara snickers. “Then why didn’t you get in with her? I told you that I’d take the couch tonight.”

“She looked too peaceful to move, I’d rather you be the bad cop in that scenario,” Alex admits, fully aware of the soft spot in her heart for her niece.

“I knew it.” Kara stands, heading for the kitchen and turning on the tiny lap they have in there, the one that is the dimmest so they don’t accidentally wake Lori up with it when they are up late.

She opens up the cupboard, picks up a pack of ramen and makes a mental note to use some of the cash Lena gave her on groceries tomorrow on the way home.

Looking over at her sister, she can see that she’s falling asleep again so she gets her food ready as quietly as she can and shovels it into her face as soon as it’s done, searing off some of her taste buds in the process from how hot it is.

After a quick pitstop to the bathroom, Kara finds herself nudging Lori across the bed and wrapping her arms around the little one, eyes falling closed as soon as her head hits the pillow.

=

The buzzing of Kara’s phone wakes her up, a sound she absolutely despises.

Forcing herself to roll over and get it is only the first difficult task of the day but is definitely the hardest one she’s facing.

With her alarm off, she looks around the apartment and sighs into the quiet. With Alex and Lori gone it feels empty and wrong.

It does help her get ready quickly though, especially since she doesn’t have a child to appease or to try and follow her into the bathroom while she’s trying to do her morning business or shower.

She’s out of the door in no time, the cash she got from Lena sitting safely in her wallet ready for her trip to the store later and set for making her way to work, luckily it’s just a quick bus ride away.

Kara gets off the bus one stop early to drop into Noonan’s and get herself and her boss, Cat Grant, coffee, something she’s been in desperate need of since she woke up but to save on money, she waits for the one she can get on the company’s dime, rather than having one at home first.

She beats her boss into work with plenty of time to spare and uses the few extra minutes to get her desk looking presentable and to get Ms Grant’s schedule straightened out and ready for her arrival, masking everything that’s going on at home. If she lets on to her struggles then Ms Grant might not think she’ll be capable of taking on the increased workload that comes with being a reporter, her dream job, and it might just cost her the promotion she’s been working towards for years.

The best part about her job is that she has gaps in her work where she can fill the time sorting out her own affairs between sorting out Cat’s and so when her boss is off to attend a board meeting and requests that she stay back and to not interrupt her unless her business is crumbling, she uses the time to find an empty corner in the building and call up the hospital billing desk to try for the thousandth time to get them to agree to a lower upfront payment and to spread out the payment plan more so she can pay less each month, giving them more space to breathe.

“Hi, this is Kara Danvers calling in regard to the bill for Alexandra Danvers’ treatment, I would like to see if I can change the monthly rate.”

“Hello, Ms Danvers.” A surprisingly friendly voice greets her. She’s not spoken to anyone with such a friendly attitude in the billing department before. “I’m afraid I can’t lower the monthly rate because it looks like the debt has been paid in full, there are no monthly payments to be made.”

Kara’s jaw drops. What in the world is going on? “I’m sorry, I think I misheard, for a second there I thought you said that the bill has been paid.”

“It has, Ms Danvers. There are no bills due on your account. All debt has been paid off in full and the next six months’ physical therapy sessions have been prepaid.”

There’s a lump in Kara’s throat and “What? Can I ask who paid it?”

“I’m sorry, Ms Danvers, that’s confidential, all I can tell you is that it was confirmed as of eight AM today.”

A smile of pure relief and months’ worth of agony being released makes its way onto Kara’s face, tears welling up in her eyes. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, Ms Danvers, have a lovely day.”

“You too,” Kara replies, hanging up the phone and holding it to her chest, trying to collect herself. Alex is going to be ecstatic about this, it means that without that bill hanging over them, they will be able to catch up on bills, pay off their debts and save up for a deposit to move somewhere better. They could be out of the shitty apartment within a few months.”

There isn’t much of a mystery about who paid off the bill. There is only one person with that much money that she’s interacted with in the past twenty-four hours that knows what’s going on and that woman is Lena Luthor. She owes that woman her life at this point.

This isn’t news she can share with Alex over the phone, she needs to speak to her in person to tell her the good news and figure out how to explain why her bill has been paid without telling her why it has been paid, without telling her what she tried to do, she could never look Alex in the eye again if she knew what she tried to pull.

“Hey, Kara, you alright?”

Kara jumps and turns around quickly only to see her best friend, Winn Schott, standing behind her, a dorky smile on his face. “Never better, Alex’s hospital debt has been cleared.”

“What? Kara, that’s great news!” Winn scoops her up into a hug. “I knew you could talk those insurance people around into covering it, this means you’ll be able to move back to the good side of town, right?”

Kara grins. “Hopefully soon, I have a few other debts to pay off first but once that’s covered and I have enough money for a security deposit, we’ll be able to move somewhere better, probably not as nice as we were living before but nicer than this. Things are looking up.”

“I’m so happy for you guys, I have hated not being able to help.”

Kara smacks his arm lightly. “Winn, you changed your entire schedule to start your day early and leave early so you can go and get Lori from school and drop her off at home. You’ve done more for us than I can thank you for.”

“It’s nothing, I like spending time with my niece anyway and I like being the favourite over Alex because I get her ice cream sometimes.”

“You do what? I never knew that!” Kara exclaims.

Winn just laughs at her. “Well yeah, because you’d tell me not to.”

Kara isn’t mad at all, in fact, she’s immensely grateful that Lori is still being able to experience at least a few of the things they can’t afford to do anymore and the time she spends with Winn is one of the things that has been constant throughout everything and from what Winn has told her before, Lori really opens up to him and tells him a lot about how much she misses her dad, something she doesn’t like to speak about to anyone else.

“I don’t mind. I’m glad she has you.”

“And I’m glad to have all of you Danvers women in my life. Lori is my favourite by a mile though.”

Kara rolls her eyes at him. “I’m under no illusions that she is, she’s my favourite too.”

Winn smiles at her and starts walking back across the bullpen to his desk. “She’s a good kid, now you better get back to work before Ms Grant comes back and murders you for leaving your desk.”

“Good idea.” Kara agrees, taking a seat at her own desk and filtering through emails, getting back to work so to try and make time go quicker so she can get home and share the good news. Winn has given her the perfect excuse for why the debt is paid. She can just say that she got the insurance to cover it, tonight is going to be the best night they’ve had in weeks.

In the meantime though, between actual work and clock-watching, she does one more thing. Kara orders a bunch of flowers to be delivered to the L-Corp building, specifically to the office of the one and only, Lena Luthor. She adds a note to the order too, it’s the absolute minimum she can do but it’s better than nothing.

She wants to make it a super fancy bouquet but she’s still got to be sensible, times are still tight and she still has to pay not only this month’s rent but also that of last month that she didn’t manage to pay. She gets a simple bouquet instead and hopes it will do the trick.

There’s one main message she needs to get to Lena and the note is going to say it for her.

Ms Luthor,

I owe you and I can’t thank you enough. If there’s anything I can do to repay you, name it.

Kindest of regards,

Kara Danvers.

She wants to write more, to write a whole essay detailing how much this means to her and profusely apologise for what she tried to take part in but there doesn’t seem to be enough words to truly encapsulate the magnitude of the emotions coursing through her.

With the order submitted and the confirmation email in her inbox, she knows she can sleep happy tonight with a big portion of her stress taken off of her shoulders and a little thank you gift to Lena planned for tomorrow, she focuses on her work, being more focused and presenting the best work she’s done in a long time to the point where even Cat comments on it when she gets back from her meeting.

Kara gets into her work so deeply that Winn makes her jump for the second time in one day when he comes up to tell her that he’s leaving for the day. “I’m going to go and get the munchkin, Kara. I’ll see you tomorrow.

“Thanks, Winn. Can you actually do me an extra favour?”

 Winn is accepting before she can even say what it is, sliding his arms into the sleeves of his coat as he does so. “Yeah, of course, I can.”

“Can you check on Alex? She took Lori to school this morning and I haven’t heard from her to see how it went.”

“Good for her, getting back out there. I’ll let you know how she is when I get home.”

Kara is so very grateful for her friend. Not as grateful as she is for the woman who just paid off their mountain of medical debt but still grateful nonetheless. “You’re the best.”

“I know.”

Read more chapters early on Patreon here!

[lingshanhermit]

Ling Shan Hermit: Who Decides Your Happiness: A Beggar's Story

Let me share a story about a beggar. In the beginning, he simply sat every day at the entrance of a New York subway station, with an old felt hat turned upside down in front of him, waiting for people's alms. Passersby would sometimes drop coins or small bills into his hat. Most people, however, hurriedly walked past him. Despite only receiving spare change, it was enough for him to buy some bread to survive. The life of the beggar continued in this dull, uneventful manner, peacefully coexisting with those who rushed down the subway tunnel. This situation lasted until the appearance of a person who would eventually become a source of love and resentment for the beggar.

One day, a well-dressed passerby put one hundred dollars into his hat. The beggar was extremely surprised because no one had ever done this before. The largest donation he had ever received was just a few dollars. Because of this hundred dollars, he remembered the man's face.

The next day, the same man repeated his actions in the same place. On the third day, as soon as this man appeared in the bustling crowd, the beggar recognized him. This situation continued for more than ten days. The beggar received a donation of one hundred dollars each day. He started to plan for the future and even considered buying a car for himself.

On the sixteenth day, the beggar didn't see the mysterious man at the usual time. The beggar started to feel uneasy but still held on to hope. He told himself, "Perhaps he is sick, so he couldn't come and give me the money on time. He will appear tomorrow, no need to worry. Everything will be fine."

The next day, from the morning on, the beggar stared in the direction he expected the man to come from, practically straining his eyes. But by the end of the workday, the man still hadn't appeared. The beggar began to break down: How could he do this? How could he be so irresponsible?

What can we learn from this story? Who determines our happiness? Is it the amount of money, or whether our standards are met? Is the generous donor a benefactor or a nemesis to him? At first, when the beggar's income was uncertain, he didn't suffer much and had no expectations. He took what people gave him. At that time, he was happy because he had no expectations, no standards. He didn't think that it was normal to earn one hundred dollars a day. Therefore, he didn't experience any suffering.

But things changed. Someone started making him accustomed to something, accustomed to having an income of one hundred dollars a day, and then, he began to suffer. If we have standards, reference points, we will suffer.

Are our standards always correct? Or is it just because you're accustomed to them, and so are others, so you naturally assume they're correct? Some standards are self-made, such as the type of tea you must drink, the brand of underwear you must wear. Others are socially constructed, like the shared belief that we must wear clothes when we go out. Although no one tells you every day that you must wear clothes, you won't forget to do so because it's our common standard. We submit to these standards that seem like truths. But if you lived ten thousand years ago, the standard might be not to wear clothes. Everyone would be bare-bottomed, chasing mammoths, and if you wore clothes, you'd be the one ridiculed. Our standards are that uncertain.

Don't think you're different from the beggar. In fact, we're very much alike. We suffer over an LV backpack because others have it, so we also feel we must have it, that it's the norm. This is the standard for some people. We would also fret about becoming millionaires because we used to be billionaires. People accustomed to being billionaires naturally consider it normal to be billionaires. This shows that we're no different from the beggar. We are both driven by habits, influenced by standards, and unable to accept change — especially changes for the worse.

However, one of the core tenets of Buddhism is impermanence, which means change, for better or worse. If you don't understand impermanence, you'll suffer. If the beggar understood impermanence, he would know that not every day someone would give him a hundred dollars. Thus, on days without a hundred dollars, he would remain calm. Buddhism does not ask you not to accept a hundred dollars, but that you won't be upset when it's not there. You need to make yourself without standards.

As Master Acho has said: Do not expect when you have nothing, do not reject when it comes, do not regret when it's lost. This is the way it is. Typically, we expect a lot when we have nothing, we don't reject when it comes, and we regret a lot when it's lost.

At first, we were all that beggar, our needs were simple. Then someone made us accustomed to certain things. Then we started to become dependent on these things.

I'm not talking about heroin, of course. I'm talking about something more dangerous than heroin. You know that quitting heroin is a difficult thing. Quitting other habits is just as hard. Once you get used to something, you'll have standards. You will take your habits as standards, and then, you'll suffer.

But before you can be without standards, you must have standards. You need to know what should be done and what should not. If you have no standards from the beginning, you will never be without standards.

Translation: Written by Ling Shan Hermit on July 12, 2009.

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谁决定了你的快乐：乞丐的故事   灵山居士/文

我想讲一个乞丐的故事。在最初的时候，他只是每天坐在纽约地铁的某个入口处，前面倒放着一个破毡帽子，等待人们的布施。路过的人们有时候会往里面放一些硬币和小额纸币。大多数人只是匆匆走过。虽然他得到的都是一些零钱，但足够他买一些面包活下去。乞丐的日子就这么平淡无奇地过下去，他和那些匆匆忙忙走下地铁通道的人相安无事。这种状况一直持续到那个后来令乞丐爱恨交加的人出现为止。

有一天，有个穿着考究的过路人往他的帽子里面放了一百美金。乞丐非常惊讶，因为从来没有人这么做过。他收到的最大面额的布施也只是几美元而已。他因为那一百美金而记住了这个人的脸。

第二天，同一个人在同一个地方又做了同样的事。第三天，当这个人在熙熙攘攘的人群里刚出现的时候，乞丐就已经认出他了。这样的情形持续了十几天。乞丐每天都能收到一百美金的施舍。他开始盘算未来。他甚至开始打算为自己添置一辆汽车。

第十六天，乞丐没有在那个神秘人应该出现的时间看到他。乞丐开始感到不安，但仍抱有期待。他告诉自己：也许他是病了，所以没及时来给我送钱。明天他就会出现，不用担心。一切都会好起来。

第二天，从早上开始乞丐就盯着那个他会走过来的方向，他几乎望眼欲穿。但一直到下班时间，那个人还是没出现。乞丐开始崩溃了：他怎么可以这样？怎么可以这样不负责任。

你能从这个故事了解到什么？谁决定了我们的快乐？钱的多少还是我们的标准被满足与否？那个慷慨的布施者于他是恩人还是仇人？在最初，乞丐的收入非常不确定的时候，他并没有多少痛苦，他也没有期待。人们给他多少他就要多少。这个时候他是快乐的。因为他没有期待，没有标准。没有觉得每天必需收入一百美金才是正常的。因此，他没有痛苦。

但事情发生了变化，有个人开始让他习惯一些东西，习惯每天有一百美金入账，这样，他就开始痛苦。如果我们有标准，有参考点，我们就有痛苦。

我们的标准一定正确吗？还是只是因为你习惯了他，其他人也习惯了他，就认为理所当然是正确的。有些标准是你自己亲手打造，诸如你必须喝什么样的茶，穿什么牌子的内裤。还有些是社会大众共同打造，比如大家都觉得我们出去必须穿衣服。虽然没有人每天告诉你必须穿衣服，但你不会忘了穿。因为这是我们的共同标准。我们臣服于这种看似真理的标准。但你若生活在一万年前，那时候的标准可能是不穿衣服。大家都光着屁股追赶猛犸象，如果你穿着衣服反而会被耻笑。我们的标准就是这么不确定。

不要觉得你和乞丐不一样。事实上我们非常像。我们会为了一个LV背包痛苦，因为其他人有，所以我们也觉得必须有，有才是正常的。这是某些人的标准。我们也会为了变成百万富翁而苦恼，因为我们以前是亿万富翁。习惯了亿万富翁的人理所当然认为当亿万富翁才是正常的。这表示我们和乞丐没有任何不同。我们都被习惯驱使。被标准左右。都不能接受改变——不能接受那种变得更糟的改变。

然而，佛教的精髓之一就是无常，无常即改变，变得更好或更坏。若你不了解无常，你就会痛苦。如果乞丐了解无常，就会知道，不会每天都有人给你一百美金。这样，在没有一百美金的日子里他也能安之若素。佛教并不要求你不去接受一百美金，而是在没有的时候你也不会沮丧。你要让自己没有标准。

阿秋法王说过一句话：没有的时候不期待，到来的时候不拒绝，失去的时候不遗憾。就是如此。通常，我们没有的时候很期待，到来的时候不拒绝，失去的时候很遗憾。

在最初，我们都是那个乞丐，我们的需求很简单。然后有一个人让我们习惯一些东西。然后我们就开始变的离不开那些东西。

我当然不是在说海洛因。我说的是比海洛因更可怕的东西，你知道要戒掉海洛因是很费劲的事。要戒掉其它习惯也一样不容易。当你习惯了一件事，你就会有标准。你会以你的习惯为标准，然后，你就会痛苦。

但是在没有标准之前，你必须有标准。你必须知道哪些是该做的，哪些是不该做的。如果你一开始就没有标准，那你永远也不会没有标准。