#so hard to nail down elena's age

[honeylemonbutte]

Cautionary tale from When Life gives you Lemons @when-life-gives-you-lemonssss

Barlow I know you're 17/18 at the time but WHY!!!

More MC ramblings under the cut

OK, Elena is the MC I made for the parent path. She's gonna be the MC for the Barlow, Wyatt or other parent routes (ex w/ adoption???). My other MC (J.J) will be taking on the sibling + Fiffer and Monroe routes.

She has things together, but things always seem to go wrong when Barlow is involved.

For instance! When she looks good normally vs. when Barlow comes by randomly at night and she's in her Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack pajamas???

[bijouxcarys]

𝐓𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 (𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧)

Masterlist

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Description: Sometimes the pain of what should have never been, opens your eyes to what can be.

Tags: @celestial-dragoness @whothefuckisanja @callmethehunter @tangerine1969 @angrychicksposts @firethatgrewsolow @ourshadowstallerthanoursoul @chromations ((if you want to be added to the list, just let me know!))

Being 19 is the perfect age. Not quite young enough to be treated like a child, yet not old enough to accept complete responsibility for your mistakes. It’s the bridge between coming of age, and the gruelling prospect of a life kids are conditioned to navigate as robotic entities.

Not Robert. No, Robert’s 19th was exciting for him. Even more exciting to know he was closing in on his 20s, and then eventually his 30s, 40s, 50s… So much life ahead of him, he could hardly contain the excitement. Well, there was that, and the fact that she would be there to celebrate with him.

Somehow, he had managed to work a conversation in the direction of celebrating his birthday, naturally offering Elena and John to attend. Nothing big, he assured them, just a gathering at the house he had been staying in, along with some old school friends. He wasn’t that thrilled about it being in the centre of Birmingham, but when he learned it was somewhat closer to where Elena’s recently rented flat resided, he could overlook the concrete jungle outside his window everyday. Though, deep down, he longed for the tranquillity of nature; almost as much as he longed to be in Elena’s presence 24/7.

There had been multiple times, since he and John visited Elena at work, that Robert had made sub-par attempts at approaching her. Flirting without it being too blatant, too embarrassing, and too damaging to the dynamic the three of them had formed. If he had an ounce of control, attempts would be next to none. Robert eventually, reluctantly, accepted the fact that Elena had a hold on him, unknowingly making it next to impossible for him to keep his distance.

And there it was: the crux of it. Robert was completely fixed on this feeling. Elena was everything. Elena. Elena, Elena, Elena… Everything he did, he thought of Elena. I wonder what Elena would think of this… I bet Elena would like that… I hope Elena’s having a good day today…

The only moments he found himself void of these thoughts were those in which he could inadvertently tell her how he felt through performing, and actually being with her. Just her presence was enough to temporarily curb the craving for something a little more.

Now, here he was, a can of Carlsberg down by 7pm, as he awaited her arrival with John. Despite it being his birthday celebration, his attention was entirely devoted to the house. Making sure it would be okay enough for Elena. I may live with unkempt idiots, but I promise I’m not one of them, Elena! So many friends surrounded him, unearthed opportunities to lose himself in the joy of being 19. Yet all he cared about… was Elena.

What is she doing to me?

Robert was busying himself with unveiling a brand new Little Richard record his mum had gifted him, savouring the fresh vinyl and the glisten across the grooves the low lighting of his living room provided, when three hearty knocks against the door broke the casual murmur.

On the other side of the door, Elena and John stood patiently. Elena was trying her best not to pick away the black nail polish she’d meticulously applied earlier, wanting to maintain the appearance she’d worked hard on crafting for the evening. She rarely dressed up to go anywhere; a small bit of mascara and a nice shirt was usually the perfect ensemble for a drink or two. However, tonight inspired a nagging need to make a little more of an effort.

Flares were making a bold entry in the world of fashion, and Elena eagerly embraced the trend, revelling in the opportunity to showcase her latest wardrobe addition. Tonight, she had chosen a striking pair of orange velvet flares, their fabric hugging her curves before cascading into a classic flare silhouette past the knee. The vibrant hue added a pop of colour to her ensemble, a welcome departure from the subdued tones of her usual attire.

Selecting a shirt was a breeze for Elena, as she boasted a diverse collection of button-ups in her wardrobe. She had settled on a brown and white short-sleeved button-up adorned with an intricate swirling pattern. Tying the hem at her waist, she effortlessly accentuated the beauty of her trousers while infusing her look with a touch of casual elegance.

Her chocolate eyes sparkled with the smoky allure of meticulously applied eyeshadow, their depth accentuated by subtle artistry. Framing her face, her deep brunette hair had been carefully styled with rags into gentle waves that laid comfortably over her shoulders and down to her chest. To complete her ensemble, she’d slipped into a brown corduroy jacket and matching boots boasting a chunky heel.

“You are such a girl.”

“Shut up, I need to make sure the ‘tache is perfect.”

“Why? Who are you tryna impress?”

“Myself.”

“I’m sure you’ve got a fucking vagina…” Elena mumbled, watching John as he leaned into the door, fixing his moustache in the reflection of the frosted glass panels.

Just then, the door swung open, leaving John face-to-face with Robert, who pulled his head back in a jarring motion when he realised how close he was.

“Bloody hell, I know it’s me birthday, an’ all, but I don’t need ya to kiss me.”

“I was fixing me bloody moustache!” John groaned, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Elena laughed, bringing her hand to her mouth and leaning forward a little. Robert grinned, pushing the door open further to allow the pair in, fixing his gaze on the little brunette and her bright giggling. 

“Hi,” he said softly down at her as she passed him, placing a hand on her arm as he leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. She responded likewise, planting her own gentle peck on his bearded cheek, or at least as close to his cheek as she could reach.

“Happy birthday,” she stepped back to allow him to close the door behind him. As he thanked her, she dug into her pocket and glanced down the hallway to check John had moved into the living room, greeting some of the people he knew.

“What do you want to drink?” Robert asked, seemingly making his own way into the other room. But Elena’s hand shot to his wrist, gently stopping him. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she looked down at her pocket, scolding her packet of cigarettes that had gotten in the way of what she was trying to retrieve. “Guess who got you something?”

“Oh, God…” he almost whined, crossing his arms, but still smiling giddily. He watched as Elena pulled out a small green box, not much bigger than the pack of Marlboros she yielded.

“I, uh… Sorry it’s not wrapped or anything…” She handed him the box. “I would’ve done that, only it took the stupid shop ages to actually get what I asked for… They only got it in today.”

Robert eyed her curiously, taking the box from her with care. “Y’know you really didn’t have to get me anything, Elena…” he told her as he gently pulled open the lid.

“Shh,” swiftly shushing him, she slipped her hands into her pockets, nervously watching as he unveiled his gift. “I just… hope you like it.” She looked down at her feet, shuffling against the carpet.

Peering up at him, she struggled to hold back a smile as she saw Robert’s mouth practically drop open at the contents of the box. He snapped his head up to her, gobsmacked.

“You didn’t.”

“I did…” she answered with a breathy laugh, the smile finally cracking through her suppression. “D’ya like it?”

“Like it?!” He looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. “I’m never gonna take this off, luv.”

Moving with the utmost care, Robert lifted a silver Kingman ring from its protective foam, intricately adorned with carvings of archer’s arrows and snakes, all encompassing a large turquoise stone in the centre.

“It’s the, uh, the B–”

“The Black Mountain one!” His eyes lit up further, and his grin only grew wider. The moment, to him, seemed to stretch on beyond the interaction. She’d taken in so much information from the year of knowing her, clearly noting his love for Wales, and traditional jewellery. There was a slight mystical element to the ring, something that spoke of a world untouched by mortals, yet he was somehow worthy enough of wearing such an item.

She believed he was worthy enough of such an item.

“Thank you. Seriously, I love it…” he said earnestly after slipping the ring onto his right hand’s third finger. Not being able to hold himself back any further, he stepped forward and enveloped Elena in a warm hug, arms wrapping securely around her. Heart skipping a beat, he was sure she could hear it banging against his ribcage—feel it in his neck as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

Their embrace enveloped them in a cocoon of warmth, igniting a flicker of something deep within Elena’s soul. As their bodies melded together, a sense of familiarity washed over her, as if she had found a rightful place in the curve of his arms. With her eyes gently closed, she surrendered to the intoxicating sensation of his touch, losing herself in the comfort it brang.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, a whispered melody of contentment as she basked in his warmth. Her thumb brushed against the soft curls at the nape of his neck, a tender caress too gentle to will the rest of her hand to do the same.

For Robert, each moment with her was a fleeting treasure, a delicate balance between cherishing the present and fearing the uncertainty of the future, as much as he eagerly awaited it. He breathed in the scent of her hair, committing it to memory with a silent vow to carry it with him always.

But their sanctuary was shattered by the sudden crash of breaking glass from the living room, jolting them back to reality. With a sigh, Robert reluctantly broke their embrace, his gaze darting towards the source of the disturbance.

Left breathless and bewildered, Elena found herself adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions. A spark ignited within her, a stirring in the depths of her being that left her both exhilarated and unsettled. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite name, yet one that lingered in the recesses of her mind, silently begging to be explored as urgently as it faded with each soft thud of Robert’s departing steps.

Elena’s daze was fleeting. But it didn’t stop her from experiencing a similar jolt every time he looked at her throughout the night. Every time they’d be at opposite ends of the room, engaged in completely different conversations with other people, and they’d lock eyes. It happened then. When a song they knew they both enjoyed started playing through the stereo. It happened then, too. If John did something silly, it would be an instantaneous glance at one another. Yep… there it is again.

And the more alcohol they ingested, the more unavoidable it became.

By the time the party had moved over to the local pub, Robert and Elena became inseparable from one another. Virtually joined at the hip. If either one of them lagged behind, the other would wait for them to join. Even though the streets of Birmingham teemed with lively youths, adorned in vibrant colours, Robert’s attention never wavered. It was all Elena. Everyone else around them faded to a black and white hue, whilst she was doused in full technicolour. 

With a watchful eye, he observed the ease in which Elena interacted with his friends—people she’d never met until that night. It didn’t take a genius to notice the charm she possessed, not only as a woman, but as a human all around. Now that she was a few pints and three shots deep into the night, her confidence was more prominent than ever. 

Elena had a mischievous glint in her eyes as she clasped a sixpence between her palms, moving her hands around in a circular motion to disorientate her onlookers as they eagerly attempted to keep an eye on where the penny was. Then, with a swift and light-speed motion, she smacked her hands onto the table.

“Right, who wants to go first?” she asked with a smirk.

The row of lads in front of her, all with varying amounts of amber liquid in their pint glasses, drunkenly switched their gazes between each of her hands. Finally, Steve took the plunge, hesitantly pointing to her left hand.

“You sure?” she tested.

“Not really, no,” Steve huffed, taking a gulp from his drink.

“Steve says left… Alan?” she turned her attention to the man next to Steve, raising an inquisitive brow.

“Gunna go with Stevie boy,” he shrugged.

“Alan says left… Interesting…”

“C’mon, don’t mess with us!”

“I’m commenting on your guess, don’t get ya kegs in a twist.”

“The fuck are kegs…?” Alan mumbled as she turned to ask each lad down the line, most of them willing to throw poor Steve under the bus and go with his answer. Somebody to blame if they were wrong, really…

“Bon-Bon!” she chimed, a grin taking over her features as she rocked side to side giddily to the beat of the song playing in tandem with the pub’s lively atmosphere. I’m A Believer by The Monkees… It hit the chorus as John mulled over his decision, and the two of them instantly bopped their heads, laughing as they sang out the small key hook after the words ‘and then I saw her face.’

“Bon, come on, which hand is it under?” she coaxed him out of his musical trance through a giggle. The two of them shared an intense gaze, locking onto each other as though he was trying to read her eyes. He knew her. He could read her eyes. Easily. When sober.

“Ah fuck it, I’ll go with the left one as well.”

“Aw, you don’t want to risk the right hand, eh?” she pouted, tilting her head to the side. “Don’t be so scared of a right hand, boys, it happens to be my strongest,” she addressed the rest of them with a cheeky smile. Robert, positioned beside her throughout this whole game, stiffened as he went to take a drink, hearing her provocative jest. Eyes widening, he stifled a chuckle, rocking back on his heels. 

Each of the lads let out a rambunctious “ayyy” in response, some of them clinking their drinks together. Aside from John, who instantly grimaced at his best friend’s implication. And then there was Robert, who simply stayed quiet, somewhat glad that he stood out of her eyeline as she had herself bent over the table.

“Alright, don’t get ahead of y’selves…” she snorted, shaking her head, before finally turning her head to the side, looking over her shoulder up at Robert. “Robert?” He took a step closer, drunk eyes gazing down at her. “Which hand do you want?” 

The question was innocent. It was one she’d asked everyone else that stood around the table. But it was the drop in her tone, the delicate cadence. Like it was only the two of them, talking in a booth in the corner of the pub, away from the chaos. After that joke… I’ll take whichever hand you want, Elena.

However, the competitive streak in him wanted to win this little game, no matter how insignificant it may have been, and he, too, leaned forward on the table with one hand, squinting his eyes as he stared into Elena’s. With a gentle sigh, he reached out and placed his index finger on the back of her right hand, letting the light touch linger as he gave his answer.

“I’ll take your right hand…”

With a bright smile, she looked down at her hand, catching a glimpse of the ring she’d gifted him as he pulled his hand away.

“Okay… so Robert chooses the right…” She looked up at everyone. “At least one of ya ain’t afraid to take a risk.”

“Hey, I chose right, too!” Roy defended, swaying forward.

“Okay, you and Robert are the only risk takers here, it seems,” she chuckled. “Right, are we ready, lads?”

“Don’t keep us waiting, luv,” Robert encouraged.

Building the tension, Elena intentionally waited a moment before lifting her hands from the table. She crossed her arms as a majority of the group groaned, all turning to Steve to relay the blame, whilst Roy and Robert let out cheers, clanging their glasses together in celebration.

“I literally hinted at it the whole time,” Elena laughed, picking up her drink and finishing it off. The dramatic reactions from the guys amused her greatly, bouncing on her heels as she put her empty glass back on the table.

“See, some of us are just more vigilant, darlin’,” Robert laughed, before boldly holding his arm out to wrap it around Elena, pulling her into him. He gave her a small squeeze, akin to a side hug, but proceeded to keep her there. She continued to laugh, wrapping her own arm around his waist as they remained in this casual embrace.

She was more than certain she was imagining things in her drunken state when she felt the pressure of Robert’s lips pressing against the side of her head. Yet, she found herself resting her weight into him, closing herself into him as much as possible.

Sober Robert would never have made such an audacious move on Elena. But as she stood there, tucked into his side, temporarily his, he couldn’t restrain himself. Worst case scenario, she hated it, and he could blame the alcohol the day after. But she didn’t. She only held onto him tighter. 

However, the feeling wasn’t satiated. Her hair, as perfect as it was, wasn’t enough to satisfy the need to be near her. So, after a brief moment of contemplation, Robert lowered his head to plant a kiss on her cheek. 

He wasn’t expecting Elena to move her head at the last minute, his lips landing at the very corner of her mouth. 

“Shit, sorry,” he immediately apologised, pulling his head all the way back. “Meant to…” he gestured to his own face. “Cheek…”

The spot blessed with Roberts lips tingled, as if he’d unloaded some of his energy onto her with the swift, accidental, action. Elena looked up at him in slight shock, her eyebrows raised. Thankfully for Robert, she just shook her head and laughed it off.

“You’re alright, it’s fine…” she reassured, letting her own eyes dance around his flushed features. “Do you want another drink?”

Stop talking like that, Elena, I’m on the verge of crossing a boundary here…

Still somewhat embarrassed by his sloppy approach, he nodded. “Yeah…” He placed his empty glass on the table beside Elena’s, reaching for his pocket.

“No, no,” Elena stopped him, grabbing his wrist. “I’ll get it…” Noticing the unconvinced expression on his face, she continued. “It’s your birthday, Robert, I’m buying your drinks tonight.” No shift. With a small huff, she stepped closer to him and clumsily took his face in her hands, his coarse beard scratchy yet heavenly under her palms. “Seriously…” Upon his reluctant nod, she smiled gently. “Another Carlsberg?” she asked in a whisper. He nodded again. “‘Kay…” Dropping her hands, she gave him a small wink as she passed him, heading to the bar.

Robert let out a long exhale, closing his eyes briefly. He ran his hand through his hair, silently begging his heart to slow down. John’s voice calling him over for him to take a look at Alan’s work-induced scar on his hand brought him down just enough to get through the rest of the night. Fuckin’ Elena…

At the bar, Elena tapped her nails idly along the surface, watching as the bartender darted back and forth. She had jammed herself between the hoards of people waiting to be served. Patient. Be patient, Elena. After a while, she found herself getting agitated, and it became clear that her attempts at getting the barman’s attention were all in vain. I’m gonna have to wait here until everyone else pisses off… Ugh…

“Uh, ‘scuse me, mate, this lady’s been waiting here for a while.”

Lifting her head from her hands, she met the most strikingly green eyes she’d ever seen. She looked over at the bartender as he approached her with an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, love, we’re a bit chock-a-block tonight. What can I get for you?”

“Uh,” she glanced to the side. “Two pints of Carlsberg, please.”

As the barman turned to fulfil her order, Elena turned to look at the man next to her. He was sipping on a bottle of Double Diamond, gazing up at the vintage artwork behind the bar. “Um, thanks.”

He turned his head to look down at her mid-swallow, and shot her a charming smile. “No worries. Started to get a bit restless there, didn’t ya?” He nodded down at her feet that had now calmed from the relentless tapping.

“Yeah,” she breathed with a shake of her head. “Guess that’s what you get for being smaller than a man.”

“Yer not from around here, are ya?”

“No, uh, I’m from up North. Just outside of Manchester.”

“Ah, Manchester!” He nodded slowly, his smile growing. There was a silence as he took another sip from his bottle. “So, are you at university or somethin’?”

“No, no, I’ve lived here since I was, like, 4-years-old. Moved down to Redditch, and I’ve recently just got me own flat in the city.”

“Independent woman, then, eh?”

She snorted. “Not much choice for an 18-year-old other than to spend thousands on uni or go to work.”

“And you chose the work option, I assume?”

“You’d be assuming correctly, yeah,” she nodded with a smile. “Me friend owns a pub, so it wasn’t that hard to find a job.” She shrugged, standing upright as the bartender placed her two pints in front of her.

“That’ll be thirty pence then, love.”

Elena went for her pocket, but was stopped swiftly by the mystery man next to her. “Let me.”

“No,” she rejected politely, looking back over at where she had left Robert and the lads. “It’s my treat for my friend’s birthday.”

“Fair enough…” he watched her as she paid for the drinks. “Well,” he turned his body to face her properly. “If you won’t let me buy you a drink or two tonight, perhaps you could give me the honour of buying you one another night?”

Elena simply stared at the man, trying to pick apart his brain and search for any hint of deception. Nobody had ever been so straight with her before… It was alluring. A nice change of pace. What could go wrong? Just say yes.

“Alright,” she accepted with a confident nod. “I don’t see why not.” Biting her lip, she watched as he grabbed one of the pub’s feedback cards along with the pencil next to it, quickly jotting down his number and his name.

“Just call me when you get the time,” he handed it to her, but didn’t let it go until he added, “I’ll hold you to that… Sorry, I never got your name?”

“Elena,” she responded softly, looking down at the card once he’d released it. “I’ll make sure to give you a call.” Another glance down at it. “David Henning.” A shy smirk played upon her lips as she folded the card in half and slipped it into her pocket. “Uh, see you around.”

With that, she grabbed the two cold pints, heading back over to where Robert awaited her presence, once again.

[nebulousmistress]

An Anatomist's Notes on Abomination

Written less as a story and more like the Scrolls of Banastor as snippets of research that might be found in some later game.

Also tonight has been a Night so idk how much of this I'm going to keep. All hail posting drafts on tumblr like this.

This one was written right after Justice and Anders Entwined in Abomination during Come Into My Parlour. This is Anders trying to reassert himself by falling back on what he knows best: anatomical study.

We shouldn’t have stopped. We shouldn’t be writing this but we have to.

No, not we. I. I have to.

When did this get so hard?

If we write this down it’ll be easier. I used to study like this. Healer Elena had me examining my own hands and feet and limbs and everything to feel the movement of muscles beneath the skin, the slide of joints, the structure of it all. She made it easy.

This can be easy. This can be the same easy. I am an Anatomist, I know how to do this.

It’ll help. It’s something I know. It’s something that’s mine. He doesn’t know this, not really. If I can do this then I can still be me when I need to.

Yes. Me. I. I can do this.

Starting with the obvious. The claws.

The fingers are unaltered. My hands are still my own. My fingers were always long for my hands, dexterous, skilled at magic. My constant use of healing magics keeps the stiffness of age from affecting my fingers. The smoothness of my skin is unaltered as well, none of the veining or wrinkles in the skin that one might expect at my age. This is also likely due to the healing magics that smooth away all mars and marks and lines as I use it. The skin is softer than it should be given the work I’ve been doing for the past year - killing darkspawn and traipsing about the Storm Coast and Deep Roads is ugly work that should have left me with rough hands. But it hasn’t.

I have no tools but a feather quill and my own hands but I’ll observe that I can.

The nail beds are shaped the same, elongated semicircles with a quick halfway to the knuckle. There is a feeling of robustness to the nail bed as I palpate around it. The nail itself is no longer shaped like a fingernail. Rather it rises from the dorsal skin of the finger, curling in a gentle curve to a pointed end. The curve isn’t the sharp curl of a grasping predator, neither a dog nor a cat. Rather it is a long triangular claw with a gentle curve that seems more for general use than for grasping prey to bring them to my teeth. I’ve not seen claws like this in my studies.

Yes you have

Justice, please, let me have this

The claws are translucent white, like the white tips of an overgrown human fingernail. Their thickness makes them hard to see through but I can make out the pink quick within. The quick is triangular, running down the middle of the claw as in a cat or dog. This seems to be a universal in claws, likely related to how they grow. I will have to experiment later with them to see if I can wither the quick by clipping the claws back repeatedly. There is a limit to how far back I can wither the quick, same as any quick, but any grooming I can accomplish with these claws will be an accomplishment.

If I cannot file them down to the fingertip the way I used to clip my nails, I fear I will have to perfect barrier spells specifically for my hands. I am a healer and a midwife. If I am to use my skills to pay passage on whatever ship we can arrange, because yes it’s a better option than whoring myself out, Justice why would you even consider that

Those were not my thoughts, Anders

Oh Void

Should someone find this writing of ours and forward it to the Wardens, please convey a message. I am sorry, Nathaniel. I was not strong enough. I was granted Sight and was forced to See the Injustice of this world, even as I Felt the bite of the blade in Anders’ chest. Now I stand two steps from Falling and we wear the feathers of Vengeance upon our mantle. I know my actions deserve no mercy, that there is no atonement beyond my sacrifice that can save Anders from what will happen to us both. It may take years but it will happen. Slowly.

But I am grateful the first image I Saw as I laid sighted eyes upon in this Realm was you.

--

Question for the class. HOW?! HOW!! How am I rarepairing again?! Why are there only FOUR Nathaniel/Justice fics on AO3?!

[acourtofquestions]

No. No, it couldn't have been a dream The escape, Rowan, the ship to Terrasen—

A dream. An illusion. Her escape from him, from Maeve, had been another illusion.

Had she said it? Had she said where the Keys were hidden?

Then a cool, cultured voice purred, "All that training, and this is what becomes of you?" Not real. Arobynn, standing on the other side of the altar, was not real.

"Even Sam held out better than this."

Fenrys snarled.

You could get out of these chains, if you really wanted," Arobynn said, frowning with distaste. "If you really tried."

No, she couldn't, and everything had been a dream, a lie.

"You let yourself remain captive. Because the moment you are free..." Arobynn chuckled. "Then you must offer yourself up, a lamb to slaughter."

Only hearing the King of the Assassins, unseen and unnoted beside her.

"Deep down, you're hoping you'll be here long enough that the young King of Adarlan will pay the price. Deep down, you know you're hiding here, waiting for him to clear the path." Arobynn leaned against the side of the altar, cleaning his nails with a dagger. "Deep down, you know it's not really fair, that those gods picked you. That Elena picked you instead of him. She bought you time to live, yes, but you were still chosen to pay the price. Her price And the gods'?"

Arobynn ran a long-fingered hand down the side of her face. "Do you see what I tried to spare you from all these years? What you might have avoided had you remained Celaena, remained with me?" He smiled. "Do you see, Aelin?"

She could not answer. Had no voice. Cairn hit bone, and—

Aelin lunged upward, hands grasping for her thigh. No chains weighed her. No mask smothered her. No dagger had been twisted into her body. Breathing hard, the scent of musty sheets clinging to her nose, the sounds of her screaming replaced by the drowsy chirping of birds, Aelin scrubbed at her face.

The prince who'd fallen asleep beside her was already running a hand down her back in silent, soothing strokes.

A dream. Just a dream.

She twisted, setting her feet to the threadbare carpet on the uneven wood floor.

"Dawn isn't for another hour," Rowan said.

Yet Aelin reached for her shirt. "I'll get warmed up, then." Maybe run, as she had not been able to do in weeks and weeks.

Rowan sat up, missing nothing. "Training can wait, Aelin." They'd been doing it for weeks now, as thorough and grueling as it had been at Mistward.

She shoved her legs into her pants, then buckled on her sword belt.

"No, it can't."

A gathering storm to the north had forced their ship to find harbor last night—and after weeks at sea, none of them had hesitated to spend a few hours on land. To learn what in hell had happened while they'd been gone.

The answer: war.

Everywhere, war raged. But where the fighting occurred, the aging innkeeper didn't know. Boats didn't stop at the port anymore— and the great warships just sailed past. Whether they were enemy or friendly, he also didn't know.

Aelin scowled. "What." It wasn't so much of a question as demand.

His gaze was unfaltering. As it had been when she'd returned from her run through the misty fields beyond the inn and found him leaning against the apple tree. "That's enough for today."

"We've hardly started." She lifted her blade.

Rowan kept his own lowered. "You barely slept last night."

Aelin tensed. "Bad dreams." An understatement. She lifted her chin and threw him a grin. "Perhaps I'm starting to wear you down a bit."

His canines gleamed. "You need to eat."

"I need to train."

She couldn't stop it-that need to do something. To be in motion.

No matter how many times she swung her blade, she could feel them. The shackles. And whenever she paused to rest, she could feel it, too—her magic. Waiting.

Indeed, it seemed to open an eye and yawn.

She clenched her jaw, and attacked again Rowan met each blow, and she knew her maneuvers were descending into sloppiness.

Knew he let her continue rather than seizing the many openings to end it.

She couldn't stop. War raged around them People were dying. And she had been locked in that damned box, had been taken apart again and again, unable to do anything.

Rowan struck, so fast she couldn't track it. But it was the foot he slid before her own that doomed her, sending her careening into the dirt.

"I win," he panted. "Let's eat."

Aelin glared up at him. "Another round."

Rowan just sheathed his sword. "After breakfast."

She growled. He growled right back.

"Don't be stupid," he said. "You'll lose all that muscle if you don't feed your body. So eat. And if you still want to train afterward, I'll train with you." He offered her a tattooed hand.

But Aelin said, "People are dying. In Terrasen. In-everywhere. People are dying, Rowan."

"Your eating breakfast isn't going to change that." Her lips curled in a snarl, but he cut her off. "I know people are dying. We are going to help them. But you need to have some strength left, or you won't be able to."

Truth. Her mate spoke truth. And yet she could see them, hear them. Those dying, frightened people. Whose screams so often sounded like her own.

Rowan wriggled his fingers in silent reminder. Shall we?

Aelin scowled and took his hand, letting him haul her to her feet. So pushy.

Rowan slid an arm around her shoulders. That's the most polite thing you've ever said about me.

Elide's eyes widened. Widened further as he opened his mouth, and took a bite. His swallow was audible. His cringe barely contained. Elide reined in her smile at the pure misery that entered the Lion's tawny stare. Aelin and Rowan had been finishing up a similar battle when she'd entered the taproom minutes ago, the queen wishing her luck before striding back into the courtyard.

Elide hadn't seen her sit still for longer than it took to eat a meal. Or during the hours when she'd instructed them in Wyrdmarks, after Rowan had requested she teach them.

It had gotten her out of the chains, the prince had explained. And if the ilken were resistant to their magic, then learning the ancient marks would come in handy with all they faced ahead. The battles both physical and magic.

Gavriel met her stare, and Elide again restrained her laugh.

She felt, rather than saw, Lorcan enter. The innkeeper instantly found somewhere else to be. The man hadn't been surprised to see five Fae enter his inn last night, so his vanishing whenever Lorcan appeared was certainly due to the glower the male had perfected.

Indeed, Lorcan took one look at Elide and Gavriel and left the dining room.

They'd barely spoken these weeks. Elide hadn't known what to even say. A member of this court. Her court. Forever.

He and Aelin certainly hadn't warmed toward each other. No, only Rowan and Gavriel really spoke to him. Fenrys, despite his promise to Aelin not to fight with Lorcan, ignored him most of the time. And Elide ... She'd made herself scarce often enough that Lorcan hadn't bothered to approach her.

Good. It was good. Even if she sometimes found herself opening her mouth to speak to him. Watching him as he listened to Aelin's lessons on the Wyrdmarks. Or while he trained with the queen, the rare moments when the two of them weren't at each other's throats.

Aelin had been returned to them. Was recovering as best she could.

Elide didn't taste her next bite of porridge. Gavriel, thankfully, said nothing. And Anneith didn't speak, either. Not a whisper of guidance. It was better that way. To listen to herself. Better that Lorcan kept his distance, too.

Whether the others knew what propelled her, they hadn't said a word. Aelin sheathed Goldryn and loosed a long breath. Deep down, her power grumbled. She flexed her fingers. Maeve's cold, pale face flashed before her eyes. Her magic went silent.

Fenrys sat in wolf form at the edge of the nearest field, staring out across the expanse.

Precisely where he'd been before dawn.

She let him hear her steps, his ears twitching. He shifted as she approached, and leaned against the half-rotted fence surrounding the field.

"Who'd you piss off to get the graveyard shift?" Aelin asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.

Fenrys snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "Would you believe I volunteered for it?" She arched a brow. He shrugged, watching the field again, the mists still clinging to its farthest reaches. "I don't sleep well these days." He cut her a sidelong glance. "I don't suppose I'm the only one."

She picked at the blister on her right hand, hissing. "We could start a secret society-for people who don't sleep well."

"As long as Lorcan isn't invited, I'm in."

Aelin huffed a laugh. "Let it go."

His face turned stony. "I said I would."

"You clearly haven't."

"I'll let it go when you stop running yourself ragged at dawn."

"I'm not running myself ragged. Rowan is overseeing it."

"Rowan is the only reason you're not limping everywhere."

Truth. Aelin curled her aching hands into fists and slid them into her pockets. Fenrys said nothing didn't ask why she didn't warm her fingers. Or the air around them. He just turned to her and blinked three times. Are you all right?

A gull's cry pierced the gray world, and Aelin blinked back twice. No. It was as much as she'd admit. She blinked again, thrice now. Are you all right?

Two blinks from him, too. No,

They were not alright.

They might never be. If the others knew, if they saw past the swagger and temper, they didn't let on.

None of them commented that Fenrys hadn't once used his magic to leap between places. Not that there was anywhere to go in the middle of the sea. But even when they sparred, he didn't wield it. Perhaps it had died with Connall. Perhaps it had been a gift they had both shared, and touching it was unbearable.

She didn't dare peer inward, to the churning sea inside her. Couldn't.

Aelin and Fenrys stood by the field as the sun arced higher, burning off the mists.

Aelin shook her head. Another dream, or hallucination. "If she's on our heels with this army, I'm just ... trying to understand it. Her, I mean."

"You plan to kill her." The gruel in her stomach turned over, but Aelin shrugged. Even as she tasted ash on her tongue.

"Would you prefer to do it?"

"I'm not sure I'd survive it," he said through his teeth. "And you have more of a reason to claim it than I do."

"I'd say we have an equal claim."

His dark eyes roved over her face. "Connall was a better male than—than how you saw him that time. Than what he was in the end."

She gripped his hand and squeezed. "I know."

The last of the mists vanished. Fenrys asked quietly, "Do you want me to tell you about it?" He didn't mean his brother.

She shook her head. "I know enough." She surveyed her cold, blistered hands. "I know enough," she repeated.

[zorlok-if]

Meet Ciel

Name: Ciel Renault

Gender: Nonbinary (She/They or He/They)

Identity: Asexual, panromantic, polyamorous

Species: (Unknown, inhuman)

Status: Alive

Age: 25

Occupation: Phlebotomist and Monster Hunter

Adjectives: Intense, Mysterious, Acerbic, Cynical, Passionate

Appearance

[ID: a young white person that has yellow eyes and short black hair with white streaks in it. They are pictured with a couple of their piercings including an anti-brow bar on their right cheekbone and a brow bar through their left brow. Beneath the outer corner of their left eye is a small black tattoo of an upside down star. /end ID]

Original artbreeder by me, edited by the incredible, wonderful, and talented @lapinlunaire-games ❤️

Height: 5'4" / 161 cm

Body Type: Very thin with wiry muscles

Hair: Long bob, straight (1/1B), black hair that's turned white around the front of the face and underneath and behind the ears

Eyes: Angular, piercing, yellow (pupils become slits when in a heightened emotional state)

Skin: Unnaturally pale, many tattoos all over their body (only two large pieces are a snake curled around their shoulders and the back of their neck and a thigh piece depicting Howl of Howl's Moving Castle; rest of their tattoos are smaller and seemingly unplanned)

Other: Pointed ears, short fangs, black nails filed to sharp points, several scars on limbs, neck, and back (most appear to be incisions like surgical scars), many steel facial piercings (anti-eyebrow bar on right cheekbone, left eyebrow bar, septum piercing, left nostril piercing, close to a dozen asymmetrical ear piercings between both ears), small black tattoo of an upside-down star high on their right cheekbone under the outer corner of their eye; they have a scar from a bite mark (like a wild animal ripped into them) at the base of their neck on the right side

Style: Androgynous punk with gothic influences: mostly black with some white and really dark red accents, lots of leather, chains, buckles, fishnets, and lace. Practical silhouettes with impractical adornments. Hard to tell if they bought their clothing distressed or if it has actually been torn up. Always wearing platform boots/shoes to appear taller than they are. For more on their piercings, tattoos, cane, and more, click here. For more on Ciel's sense of style click here.

Ciel's Pinterest Board

Random

MBTI: INTJ - A

Birthday: October 31st

Zodiac: Scorpio

Hometown: Montréal, Canada

Speaks: Québécois, English, French

Connections

Family: (Unknown)

Lucía: Member of Ciel's monster hunting team

Ainsley: Leader of Ciel's monster hunting team

Picrews:

Top: elena-illustration, nase_nikyuu; Middle: poika, sooooosau; Bottom: baydews, alohasushicore

For more on Ciel, check out these links:

More Facts About Ciel

Some Ciel Stuff (Appearance and Accent)

On Ciel's Style

Fanart of Ciel

Art of Ciel

A Spicy Ciel Prompt

A Spicy/Angsty Ciel Prompt

A Theory About Ciel

Ciel Is So Gender

All Cast List of NDs/Disabilities/Etc.

[thelonewolf48]

Listen... I wrote this right after season 1 ended. I was so sad for not finding any posts in here about the series and I saved this piece for when I felt like posting it.And, finally, Tumblr is catching up!! And I feel like I must give you all this!

All grammar and punctuation errors are mine! Hope you like it!

-------

Mariana doesn't remember how she got to the hospital. Her brain didn't register beyond Ceci's words.

“They took mom to the hospital.”

She feels the phone slip from her hand, doesn't heart it hit the floor. Pablo approaches her, and everything becomes a blur. Flashes of reality are the only thing that moves Mariana. She grabs her purse, takes a cab, and tells the driver the hospital's name. Arrives at the reception and almost shouts 'Ana Servín' to the nurse.

Everything stops when the nurse asks her, 'are you a relative?'

A yes is ready in Mariana’s lips. But in this circumstance, is she a relative?

A friend?

After living for months at Ana's house. Caring for each other, the babies, and their families. After assuring Ana that neither the babies nor the children would be alone. That Mariana would be attentive and would take care of them as if they were her own.

After everything, they've been through. What were they?

Of course, love is there.

Mariana loves everything about Ana. From her controlling temperament to her obsession with appearances. It’s inevitable not to love someone like Ana. A successful and beautiful woman. Ready to give her everything for her family and job. Ana seems cold and snob, but once you get close and gain her trust, she gives her heart without second guesses.

In the end, Mariana suppresses the desire to say yes, we are family. The thought of lying crosses her mind. She could even say Ana was her mother. But that's not fair to Ana. Much less to her family. It's still not fair to anyone.

Once in the waiting room, she calls Ceci. Knowing how scared the girl must feel while trying to assure Ro that everything would be fine. Ceci's cries break Mariana's heart.

"Ceci. Ceci, I need you to calm down." Mariana wants to sound kind, but she also needs her calm. "Have you talked to your dad yet?"

“No,” Ceci’s voice cracks, “I thought of you when they were taking her away an-and…”

"I understand, Ceci." Mariana chokes back a sob, "but now I need you to be brave. For Ro, Regina, and Valentina. Alright?"

Ceci answers with a sound of affirmation, which sounds more like a sob.

"Call your dad. Tell him what happened and tell him I'm waiting for him here. They only allow her relatives in."

“But, you’re part of the family too.”

The sentence warms Mariana’s heart.

"I know. But our situation is hard to explain." Mariana wants to hug Ceci. "Talk to your dad. I'll wait here, and if anything happens, I'll call you. Don't worry. Your mom will be fine. Do you think Ana Servín is going to let them keep her in this place?”

The little giggle Ceci gives her soothes Mariana's anxiety a little. Yet, the worry won't pass until she sees and makes sure that Ana is okay. Until she talks to the doctor who treats her.

Juan Carlos arrives about an hour later, and Mariana doesn't know what to feel or say. He approaches her with fast and long steps. Mariana repeats what the nurses told her after she made a fuss at the front desk.

'Mrs. Servín is stable and out of danger.’

As Ana’s husband the nurses attend him immediately.

With a glance, he apologizes to Mariana before following a nurse.

While he is with Ana, Mariana ruins her nails with her teeth. She tries to distract herself. Calls Pablo and asks him to take Valentina to Ana's house. Asks him to stay with the children for a day. He replies that he already has Regina's bag ready and texted Elena about the incident. Sometimes Mariana forgets that Pablo is reliable.

Wonders if she should call Tere too.

Would that be inappropriate? She decides to send her a text. After all, Altagracia is with the kids, and Pablo would be there too. Her message is short and direct. Only to inform her mother that Regina and Pablo will be at Ana's house. That she and Juan Carlos are in the hospital because Ana had a little accident.

“She’s still asleep.” Juan Carlos sighs as he plops down next to Mariana. “The doctor said it was most likely stress. He asked me if she had been eating and sleeping well.” He rubs both hands over his face. “It's my fault.”

Mariana places her hand on Juan Carlos' shoulder as a sign of support and understanding. He gives her a sad smile.

“I’ll ask the nurse to let you in.” He holds her hand. “thank you for being here.”

He walks a few steps before turning around.

"She loves you, Mariana. She's just hurt." Mariana bites her lower lip. "If she didn't love you, she wouldn't have reacted the way she did." She tries to understand the meaning behind his words. He shoves his hands on his pants pockets.

"She needs you more than she could ever need me," he adds without looking up from the floor.

 Seeing Ana in the hospital bed feels familiar and strange at the same time.

Familiar because that's how they met. In a small hospital. Ana looking as elegant and powerful as always. And if not because her round stomach, Mariana wouldn't have known Ana was about to have a baby too.

Strange because, now, Ana looks older than she is. She looks as if she had aged ten years in few days. Dark circles under her eyes and pale skin. Her short hair unkempt.

That was the consequence of the lies three people in Ana's life kept from her.

‘It’s my fault.’ Juan Carlos words repeated in her head.

It was all their fault.

Taking Ana’s hand, Mariana leans and kisses the corner of Ana’s lips.

 Ana feels worse than she did when she accompanied Mariana to Elena’s gig. The day when her life started to go to hell.

That must be where she is now. Hell. Her punishment was to make her feel like this. It's a reasonable punishment, she thinks. Not only did she sleep with her ex-boyfriend, but she also had feelings. Feelings. For a woman much, much younger than herself.

For God’s sake!

The voice of her mother, berating her for all her mistakes, didn’t help at all.

That's when she noticed it, the weight in her right hand. Covering her eyes with her left hand. She tries to get used to the light, the dizziness, and the headache.

Once her focus on the wall didn’t make her feel sick, she turns to her right.

The machine monitoring her heart captures the exact moment when her heart skips a beat and quicken. Mariana is sitting next to her, her face propped up on the bed, one hand holding her own hand. Ana blames the painkillers for clouding her mind. For making the first coherent thought be how beautiful Mariana looked while sleeping. With a loose ponytail and bare face.

Ana moves a lock of hair away from Mariana’s face, her thumb moves of its own volition and caresses the girl’s cheek.

Tears fall like raindrops.

Ana missed Mariana.

 At first, Mariana thinks the little sobs are coming from Valentina. It takes her a whole minute to remember where she is and why. She sees Ana trying to suppress her crying.

"Ana." Mariana sits up. "Are you alright?" Her voice sounds hoarse, the product of waking up and the air cooling the room.

Ana tries to calm down, Mariana sees the pain and desperation in her eyes when she fails. Her crying increases when Mariana caress Ana's cheek. Ana pushes the hand away, tries to punch or slap Mariana in the shoulder and arm as hard and as many times as she can.

The entire floor hears their combined screams of 'I don't want to see you here' and 'Ana, calm down, please.' The screaming makes the nurses call security. And by the time they arrive, it seems like a tornado formed inside the room. Ana throws everything within her reach. Mariana tries to cover and avoid all the projectiles.

Everyone in the room rushes to help Ana when they see her body falling against the bed.

The security men leave the room, moments later, as Mariana apologizes.

"She needs to rest." The nurse emphasizes before leaving too. As if blaming Mariana, who can only reply with a guilty smile.

"I want you to leave too," Ana says as she massages her temples.

"Please, Ana." Mariana begs. "Someone has to stay with you."

Ana looks at her with so much anger that Mariana feels it pierce her soul.

"You already made me look terrible to the staff of this hospital." Ana's mouth tightens into a pout that indicates anger and indignation. "What more do you want? Your mother takes money from my husband, you live in my house for months. You even won my children's affection. Changed my life. What else do you want from me? Do you want my money too?"

"Don't be unfair, Ana. You proposed me to stay at your house until Valentina stopped breastfeeding." Mariana approaches the bed with a firm step.

Both women look at each other, challenging the other, as they have always done since they met.

"I love you, Ana," Mariana whispers after a while, averting her gaze.

"Please." Ana snorts.

It's the frustration that drives Mariana to lean into Ana's personal space. To press their lips together. She finds resistance, and Ana struggles, trying to push Mariana away. But Mariana continues kissing Ana. And when she nibbles the edge of Ana's lower lip, Ana stops struggling.

Cradling Ana’s face the kiss turns desperate.

Wild.

Mariana wants to convey all her love and admiration for Ana with each kiss. With each nibble, she wants to promise Ana that she would never make the same mistake.

“Ana.” Mariana sighs between kisses.

Once the desperation passes, the kisses slow down until they're little peaks. Both know that they would have time to talk about how their feelings change everything. Mariana knows this is the right time to give some explanations – while Ana is silent, for once.

 When Mariana starts to walk from one side of the room to the other, Ana's brain shuts down for a moment. She dedicates herself only to look at Mariana. Regina and Valentina's mother. To remember all the moments they spent together. Their fights, their talks. The times Mariana made her understand that one couldn't control life sometimes. To live in the moment. No rules, no pretensions.

Mariana cries while trying to explain her side of the story.

"Ana," Mariana takes her hand and kisses it, "please. Forgive me." She presses their foreheads together and squeezes Ana's hand.

The weight she felt on her chest disappears. Ana feels whole again.

In control.

"I already did." She sighs. "I can't live without you anymore." Ana chuckles.

In those lonely days, Ana realized that the anger passed from Juan Carlos to Tere and, finally, to Mariana. It was then that the anger turned into sadness and then regret. She regretted not having Mariana and Valentina by her side.

The disappointment when Mariana confessed knowing everything and didn't tell her was still there. But to a lesser extent. Ana knew it was not going to be easy. Ana was not one of those people who forgave fast. She knew that.

But for Mariana, she would push that part of herself and try.

"I love you too, Mariana."

 The sound of Marian’s phone interrupts the comfortable silence they created.

"It's Ceci."

Ana snatches the device. Talks to her daughter, instructing her to pack a bag with a few clothes, her phone and tablet. And when she finishes, she dials Cynthia's phone next. It makes Mariana roll her eyes. Of course, Ana acts like she owns the phone.

“You do know we still need to have a very serious conversation, right?”

Mariana smiles and nods. “Later,” Mariana holds Ana’s hand again, “right now you need to recover.”

Ana smiles.

They will talk. Scream at each other.

But Mariana trusts they will find a way to move on.

After all, Regina and Valentina need both their mothers.

[juniorgman187]

Bratty (Spencer Reid Imagine)

Summary: Reid must supervise Camille, who makes Reid’s job anything but easy for him.

Category: Soft angst Couple: OCFem!Reader x Spencer Reid Word Count: 2.6k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

“You’re being ridiculous.” Camille huffed. 

“No - what I’m being is a good uncle.” Cruz retorted while handing Camille a jacket.

“It’s literally midnight!” 

“Exactly. I’m not leaving you alone this late at night.”

“You’re seriously gonna make me go all the way to Quantico with you right now?” 

“I won’t be able to leave work after I’m there. If you come with me, I can work and take care of you.” He explained.

“I’m an adult! I can take care of myself.”

Cruz completely dismisses this. “I already told JJ that you’re coming. She’s excited to see you again. You can meet the whole team, too.”

“If I go, will you please stop acting like I’m a child?”

“I can’t make any promises.” He shrugs.

Camille groans in mild frustration as she reluctantly readies herself to leave with her uncle for Quantico. 

As soon as Camille enters the BAU, she’s showered with love from JJ. 

“Hey, you! How are you holding up?”

“Well right now, I’m really wishing I didn’t give Uncle Matt a key to my apartment.” Camille quips.

“Yeah, maybe when he’s distracted I’ll grab his keys and remove yours.”

JJ’s joke makes Camille smile. JJ winks at Camille before turning away to talk to Matt. 

“How’s Elena?” Elena is Camille’s mother and Matt’s sister.

“Reception’s shoddy where she is, but when I drove her to the airport, she couldn’t be more excited. She’s always wanted to travel to an underdeveloped country and teach English as a second language. That’s why it wasn’t even a question if I would take care of Camille while she was away.”

“Good for her. I guess it runs in your blood to want to help people, huh?”

“No,no she’s more selfless than me. I can tell you that. She’s so patient with her students. Probably developed that skill when she had Camille. I love her to death, but kid’s feisty. Just like her mom when she was her age.”

JJ grimaces in preparation for a hard question she feels obligated to ask. “You know, it’s none of my business, but what’s Camille - 21, 22?”

“21.”

“I know you told Elena you’d watch her, but helicopter parenting her like she’s a teenager isn’t the way.”

“Forgive me if I’m not comfortable leaving her alone with a serial killer on the loose.”

This statement alone is enough to shut JJ down. On a lighter note, the team greets Camille. 

“Welcome. I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner.”

“Camille de la Vega. Nice to finally meet you.”

“You’ve met JJ. This is Agents Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, and David Rossi. She’s our technical analyst -  Penelope Garcia. And this is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Camille goes down the line shaking everyone’s hands, but then she reaches Reid. 

“A doctor in the FBI?”

He corrects her instantaneously. “Not M.D. PHD. Three of them actually.  Chemistry, mathematics, and engineering.”

“Good to know.” She nods.

Camille extends her hand to shake his and everyone notices that he obliges. 

“Hey, Reid what’s with the handshake? I thought it was safer to kiss.” Morgan teases.

Camille shyly laughs. 

“Yeah, why the exception, kid?”

“Don’t listen to them.” Reid timidly tells Camille, making her grin from ear to ear. She’s already taken a particular liking to him. And from the looks of it, he’s done just the same. 

“Although I’d love to catch up with you, Camille, we have to start working immediately. Anderson will show you to your uncle’s office.” Hotch gestures towards Anderson who’s waiting in the doorway to lead Camille out of the round table room. 

. . .

Notably, the clock reads 4:10 a.m. Camille is reading a book at her uncle’s desk, when there’s a knock at the door. It’s Spencer. 

“Oh, hi. Did you need to grab something from his desk? I can move if you need me to.” She politely offers.

“No, no I actually came to bring you food. I thought you might be hungry.” 

Camille thanks him and accepts the paper bag of food. 

Reid notices she’s reading a book. “What are you reading?”

“Little Women.” Camille says, flashing the cover. 

“Have you read it before?”

“Mhm. It’s one of my favorites. Have you?”

“My mom read it to me when I was younger.”

Camille sees an opportunity to mess with him and takes it. “Wasn’t it crazy how Laurie set the March house on fire and all of them died?” 

Spencer furrows his brows in confusion. 

“I, um, I don’t remember that part.”

Camille immediately registers Reid’s discomfort. “I was just messing with you.” 

“Oh.” Spencer nods and forces a laugh. “I should, um, probably get back. Do you want anything before I go? Coffee, water, maybe?”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

“Alright, I’ll be back to check on you.” Reid scrunches his lips into a small smile before closing the door behind him.  

As he makes his way back to the round table, he smiles so widely, that when Morgan passes him, he notices. 

“Stop it right there, Pretty Boy.”

Reid stops in his tracks. 

“Now turn around.”

Reid obeys. 

“Why do you look like a kid in a candy shop right now? What did I miss?”

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

For someone that studies behavior, he’s not too good at lying. Morgan sees right through Reid. 

“Come on, man. You can tell me.”

Penelope passes by. 

“Tell him what? Whatcha hiding, Boy Wonder?”

“Nothing. I’m not hiding anything.”

Morgan and Garcia look at him with skepticism. 

“Did you hear how his voice did that thing? His voice only gets that high when he’s lying.” Garcia notes.

Reid clears his throat to deliberately speak in a lower pitch. “No it doesn’t.”

Garcia squints her eyes at him. “What do you not want us to know?”

“Guys, seriously. It’s nothing.”

“Is this about Cruz’s niece?” Morgan asks, hitting the nail on the head. 

“Ooh, I knew something was fishy when you shook her hand.”

“It was just a handshake, okay?”

“Well, excuse me, but I’m having a hard time believing you.” Morgan cleverly retorts.  

“I don’t like her. If that’s what you’re implying.”

Morgan smirks. “Oh is that so? Then riddle me this Pretty Boy - where were you just now?”

Reid loosens his tie, feeling like it’s a noose. 

“Oh did you see that? His body language is speaking for itself. And it’s saying A LOT.” Garcia giggles.

“Go get em, tiger.” Morgan leaves Reid to his devices with a pat on his shoulder. 

“Shut up.”

. . . 

No longer reading, Camille is scanning her uncle’s shelves - looking at the pictures and the books, and opening and closing different cabinets or drawers in his desk. A knock on the door startles her. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just checking in. How are you?”

She frowns. “Incredibly bored. I finished my book like thirty minutes ago.”

Reid checks his watch. 

“How long was I gone?”

A small laugh leaves her lips. “I was basically at the end when you left.”

Reid’s lips shift to one side of his face as he thinks of something to help Camille out. “Um, I - I have newspapers. With, with crosswords on them. I can bring them to you.”

Reid rushes out of the room and comes back awfully quickly with a stack of newspapers. Camille laughs delightfully at the sight of them. 

“These are scans of ones I’ve already solved.”

“You’ve solved all of these? What are you? Some kind of genius?”

“I don’t believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified. But I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

Camille is in awe. 

“Uh, yes, I’m a genius.”

“So what I’m hearing is, if I get stuck on a word, I could just ask you and you’d remember what the right answer was?”

“Kind of takes the fun out of solving it yourself, don’t you think?”

“Not if it means I get to see you again.”

Reid laughs uncomfortably. “Uh, so how will I know if you need help?”

“I’ll text you.”

“You don’t have my - Oh got it.”

Camille makes a face and hands him her phone to take. He makes a contact for himself and hands her back the phone. 

“Great. See you in an hour, Laurie.”

Reid’s caught off guard. 

“If I’m Laurie, are you Jo or Amy?”

“Well that depends. Am I the best friend or the love interest?” 

Reid raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

“I resonate more with Amy - if that’s what you were asking. I’m young and driven - like her.”

“I always thought Amy to be sort of a brat.”

"She knows what she wants. So do I.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you want?” This is a newfound display of confidence coming from the Doctor. It catches her by surprise. 

Camille doesn’t play into it, just to tease him. “What I want is for you and your team to catch this guy, so I can go home.”

“I should, uh, I should go back now. See you in an hour.”

“Looking forward to it.” She says sarcastically. 

. . .

Reid is working on the geographical profile when he feels his phone buzz. Without even needing to see it, he knows it’s Camille. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You’re late for your check in, Doctor. 

Reid looks at his watch. He’s only three minutes late. 

REID: Sorry, I’m busy. And you’re only supposed to text when you have a question. That wasn’t a question. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Fine, here's a question - when are you gonna make your hourly check in?

REID: A question pertaining to the crossword. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Los Angeles Times. 64 down. Clue is “Dr. Reid is late for his check in. When should he be expected?”

REID: The ‘Amy’ in you is showing. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER: The brat part of her or the love interest part of her?

REID: Former. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER: It’s fine. I can wait. Nowhere else I have to be anyway. 

REID: I’ll be there when I’m done.  

. . . 

Reid is walking through the hall and entering Cruz’s office. Camille works diligently on the crossword.

“Not so fast. You have to stop by the main office and get a tardy slip.” She quips.

“Funny. How’s the crossword?”

“I’ve finished two of them since you’ve been gone.”

Reid glances at his watch. “That doesn’t make any sense. The average time to finish a puzzle is 21 minutes. I’ve been gone for 88.”

"I got distracted.”

“Really? By what?”

Camille fights a smirk. “A little birdie who stopped by.”

Reid shakes his head and exasperates. He needn’t know more to figure out what she meant by this.

"Which one - Garcia or Morgan?”

"Does it matter?”

"What’d they say?”

"Enough.”

"Enough to?”

Camille gets up from the chair and walks around to the front of the desk. This places her right in front of Reid. This is the closest they’ve been yet. 

"Enough to let me know whether I’m the best friend or the love interest.”

Camille draws back and grabs her coat from off the chair. She puts it on.

"So who are you? Jo or Amy?”

"Don’t play coy. You know the answer. You are a genius after all.” 

Camille grabs her purse off the desk and begins to leave the office. 

“Where are you going? I thought you were supposed to leave?”

Camille exits the office and begins to walk into the hallway toward the elevator. The worried doctor follows close behind. 

"I’m going for a walk to a cafe. No offense, but I’m not a huge fan of the coffee you’ve got here. Plus, I could use the fresh air.”

"You shouldn’t leave. Especially not alone.”

"Not you, too. Come on. You know I’m not a target. From what I saw in your little conference room, all the victims are blonde. And unless I bleach my hair between here and the time I reach the sidewalk, I think I’ll be okay.”

"Are you at least going to let your Uncle know where you’re going?”

She shoots him a deadpan stare. “What would be the fun in that?”

Camille presses the button near the elevator. 

"Anderson can order coffee for you. He’ll bring it back here so you don’t have to leave.” Reid suggests. 

"Mmm, no thanks. I’m a big girl.”

The elevator door opens. 

“Are you sure about that? Because right now you’re acting like a -”

He hesitates. Camille steps into the elevator and turns on her heels so she can face him before the doors close. 

She provokes him. "Say it.”

"You’re acting like a brat!” 

"Oh I’m sorry - is my ‘Amy’ showing, Dr. Reid? Well, I am your love interest after all - Laurie.”

Camille winks and the doors close. Reid lets out a frustrated sigh and shakes his head and he begins to jog to the stairwell. With speed and caution he only exhibits when trying to apprehend an unsub, he flies down the stairs. His slender figure can’t support this kind of cardio, but nonetheless, he runs. 

When he finds himself in the parking garage, just beside the elevator, he sees Camille several feet away, walking out of the structure completely. He runs as fast as his feet can take him. Eventually he reaches her before she’s on the main sidewalk. 

"Camille, wait!”

He’s breathless and red. Camille walks back over to him with a devilish grin. 

"Did you actually just run all the way here?”

"What gave me away?”

This earns a hearty laugh from Camille. 

"I’m coming with you.” He breathlessly explains.

"Why didn’t you say so earlier? Would’ve saved you the marathon.” 

"Yeah, yeah, be quiet.”

“Swallow your pride. Occasionally, it’s not fattening.”

“Frank Tyger. Touché.”

She’s even more impressed at his knowledge of the quote she recited. This makes her more keen to starting an actual dialogue with him instead of just provoking him. 

“So why’d they leave you behind?” She asks. 

“They didn’t leave me behind. I just choose not to go. I’m notorious for being prone to gunshot wounds, so I choose to stay where I know I’ll be safe. What about you? Why’d Cruz bring you to the office?”

"For the same reason you stayed back. He wants me somewhere I’ll be safe.”

"You’re a little old for a babysitter, don’t you think?”

“You would think, but Uncle Matt has this gift where every time he looks at me, he still sees his helpless 8 year old niece.”

“What happened when you were 8?”

Camille doesn’t even realize what she might’ve accidentally revealed. “Freudian slip. Nothing you need to worry about.”

"You sure?”

“All you need to know is that what happened to me motivated him to work in the field. Ever since then he’s been working to get to the top.”

"So how old are you anyway, little woman?”

"Oh, is that my nickname now? An outright juxtaposition of “big girl” and a reference to the book?”

"Mhm.”

"21.” 

"Wow, you really are a little woman.” 

"Better than being an old man.”

“Old man? I’m 32.”

"My point exactly.” 

"You’re welcome by the way. For doing this.” He adds.

"Oh please, I didn’t ask you to walk me to the cafe.” 

“But you wanted me to.”

"Oh wow, you know about reverse psychology. Congrats you’re with the other 98% of the population that does too. Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor. You wouldn’t have followed me if you didn’t want to come.”

"What I want is for you to be safe.” 

"Like I said before, I don’t fit the victimology. He has a type and it’s not me. I’m fine going by myself.”

"You know something? You’re really stubborn. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Aww, I’m so hurt. Boo hoo.” She sarcastically remarks.

“You think you can be just a little bit nicer to me? I am babysitting you after all.” 

Camille halts. 

“I’m gonna ignore the babysitting part, but yes, I can be nice, but right now, I’ve spent 6 hours cooped up in my uncle’s office bored out of my mind.”

"So what? You’re only toying with me because you’re bored and I’m your only entertainment?”

“Oh congrats! You finally figured it out, genius.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 29

The FBI agent reclines the front seat in the big black Tahoe and gives me a look like I’m a little girl being stubborn. My nose is still a little stuffy from all the crying I’ve been doing, and my leg feels swollen and crooked and wrong, but the time for all that is past now. I take a deep breath and let it out and refuse to meet his gaze, glare out the tinted window at the fading afternoon.

Outside there are two more FBI men in big baggy blue windbreakers, chatting casually. One of them is smoking a cigarette, and as I watch him bring it to his mouth I feel a little gnarled pang of want, for it really has been so long since I last had one, and after everything I’ve gone through –

“How’s your leg?” the agent in the SUV with me asks, and I look round at him but don’t answer. He’s a big, broad man, probably somewhere in his forties or maybe his late thirties. His tone is calm and mild but his voice is deep enough that it feels like it ought to be accompanied by a rumbling vibrato I can pick up in my bones.

My leg is okay. Makado knew exactly where and how to kick me, it seems; after the FBI agents picked me up and carried me out of the gondola Makado got them to take me straight to the infirmary where a small, stone-faced woman looked it over and tutted at how they were treating me, saying that it probably won’t heal right, but they got her to just shoot me full of painkillers and throw a boot on it. After that I was able to walk, at least a little bit; I found to my immense surprise that with the boot I was actually able to put some weight on my right leg without it folding under me or my calf snapping in half. I examined it as best as I was able on the walk over to the parking lot and discovered that instead of the mangled wreck I was half-expecting there was just a rough scrape from the cleats on the bottom of Makado’s boot and only the slightest misalignment of the broad flat bone there. I could feel, I discovered, the part where my bone melded into the synthetic replacement the autodoctor had put in, a little ridged scoriation dividing the two.

“I have some ibuprofen,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his windbreaker, “if you need it.”

“I’m fine.”

My voice is dry from lack of use. I lick my lips, make a little cough in the back of my throat. He shrugs, puts the bottle away. “Suit yourself,” he says.

Another five minutes or so go by. I pointedly ignore him. Eventually he clears his throat. “It’s going to be a lot easier on you,” he tells me, “if you talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, I disagree,” he says. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. Ever since Miss Veret gave us a call and told us what you were up to, we’ve had a lot of questions for you. I think you’ll find that you’d prefer me to be the one asking them.”

“Is that a threat?” I ask him, and he laughs.

“It is whatever you make of it, Miss Dzilenski.” He stumbles over the frontloaded jumble of consonants, overemphasizes the ‘e’ sound in the middle. Duh-zil-een-ski. Almost makes me wince.

“Alright,” I say. “What did Makado say I had been up to, then?”

It would probably be smarter not to talk at all, but sitting here in the blasting a/c in the back of the Tahoe is making me sleepy. It feels like I haven’t had a chance to actually sit and rest for what feels like ages, even though just earlier today I was just waking up from a day-and-a-half nap after surgery. I’d gone through the pumped-full-of-energy phase and then the ballast had worn off and I’d gone through the splitting-migraine phase on the way up and now at this point I just feel hollow and brittle and empty. Even though it’s cowardly I try not to think of Elena and how I’ve abandoned her, I try not to think of Makado and what she’s done, but it’s futile. Rage and despair course over me in alternating waves and I haven’t a clue as to how to adequately deal with either.

The FBI man offers me a tissue and I realize with a start that I’ve nearly begun crying again. I wipe at my eyes as best I can with my cuffed hands and leave him there, hand outstretched, until he sighs and takes his hand back, tosses the wadded tissue on the floor. “How’d you end up here?” he asks me. I stare back at him. He reaches over, takes a slim manila folder from the center console, leafs through it. “Not a lot on you in here,” he says. “Except for that whole thing with your father.”

I stiffen.

“Must have been hard,” he says, neutrally.

I know I’m being baited and I ought to stay quiet but I can’t stop myself. “You don’t know the first thing about it,” I tell him, “so you should just shut up –“

“On the contrary,” he says smoothly, turning a stapled, glossy page and squinting at the next. The first page hangs over the edge of the folder and I can see through it to the other side, see the painfully familiar mugshot that’s been etched into my brain, little fourteen-year-old me, her eyes red from crying, trying hard to keep a stiff upper lip, staring defiantly into the camera, still wearing the lumberjack shirt she’d begged her dad buy for her as soon as they made it to Illinois and the nights started to get cold. “I know a lot about it,” the FBI man continues. “I’ve got the entire report right here.”

“If you read the report,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, “you know that by now it’s ancient history. It happened twelve years ago.”

“Yes,” he says, “and now twelve years later you’re in another mess. I suppose you’re going to blame somebody else this time as well?”

The words strike me with about the subtlety of a sledgehammer but I still stiffen in the backseat, my fists clenching so hard that my nails dig into my palms. “Fuck you,” I blurt. He continues on as though he didn’t hear me.

“I don’t know what exactly they’re planning on charging you with, but I know it’s at least a few dozen counts of manslaughter, and possibly a couple of murder charges. Then there’s all the human trafficking you and your partner Peter Caum were doing. Did you really think you’d be able to get away with that?”

My mouth dropped open about halfway through. “So that’s how it is,” I say. I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning; my heart is going about a million miles an hour and all the hair is standing up on my arms. I feel claustrophobic suddenly, here in the back of the SUV, my hands cuffed together, my leg throbbing in time with my heartbeat.

The FBI man’s eyes flash beneath his glasses. “That’s how what is?”

“Makado is trying to blame all this on me,” I tell him, knowing that it’s futile, that maybe it’s even actively detrimental to say anything, but I – I can’t just say nothing, I can’t just –

“Are you saying that she’s the one responsible for this?”

I swallow and nod.

“That Makado Veret,” he says, tossing the folder to the side and fixing me with his full attention, “the Chief of Security for the Permian Basin Recovery and Superorganism Containment Corporation, that Makado, has really been trying to smuggle people inside the Pit, with the help of a disgruntled ex-Park Ranger and mental patient, for…no real apparent purpose other than to fleece desperate people of their money?”

“Yes,” I say softly. It’s pointless. He isn’t going to believe me.

“And you are,” he continues, “the same Roan Dzilenski who has a documented history of lying to law enforcement authorities?”

“I was fourteen!”

“So you aren’t denying it? That you have lied to the police before?”

“I –“

“I mean,” he says, speading his hands, “it was a juvenile offense. And it was overturned. You got off scot free.”

“I did not get off scot free,” I tell him. “I’m tired of this. You’ve got the fucking report, you can read it. Either arrest me or don’t.”

“Fine,” he says. “If that’s what you’d like me to do.”

I lick my lips. “Look,” I say, trying to think of how to phrase it, how possibly I can tell him and get him to believe me. He gives me an expectant look. “Look,” I say, a little more softly, “this is all fine, but right now there’s someone down there inside the Pit who’s hurt. Someone who might die if I can’t get to her. And if you arrest me –“

The FBI man laughs, cutting me off, and rolls the window down to signal to the other two men in windbreakers. The tall, thin one with the cigarette tosses it on the black asphalt and grinds it out with his foot, and then he gets in next to me. I can still smell it on him. And then the other gets in the front seat and, after a quiet, murmured conversation with the man who’d just been grilling me, pulls us out of the parking lot and onto the curving road that reaches around the back of the ranger barracks and over to the main road back to Gumption. I feel as though I’m going to be sick.

The sky is terribly blue and for a long while I have a hard time recognizing it, I stare at the clouds passing by outside the window and wonder at them. The world feels strange when it isn’t pitch-dark and smelling of meat.

And, god, Elena –

I’m done crying. I can’t do anything for her now. I – I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t see it coming, I didn’t see that Makado was just using me.

I suppose I will process all of this later, in a jail cell somewhere. Right now I don’t have the ability to handle any more. I lean my forehead against the cool glass next to me and shut my eyes. I’d rather think about something else.

 * * *

 “Now remember,” my father is telling me, “it’s going to be hard to pull that trigger, but if you just squeeze it steadily it’ll be okay.”

“But daddy,” I start, but he just ruffles my hair like he always does and adjusts the revolver so that the two little legs stuck to the barrel sink a little deeper into the berm we’re both laying on.

“Now go ahead,” he tells me, his voice gentle, “and line up those two little bits there with this one in the front.”

I close my left eye and peer down the ridged metal spine of the thing. Just holding it makes me nervous, it’s like holding a power tool, like holding the big reciprocating saw he keeps down in the garage for his woodworking. It’s heavy and weighty and purposeful. “Okay,” I murmur.

“You’ve got them lined up? The one in the front should be in the middle of the rear two, and it shouldn’t be higher than the rear two.”

“Yes.”

“Alright, now, line the whole thing up with that beer bottle over there.”

“Which one?”

“The Blue Moon bottle over there on the left.”

I shift the gun over a little and then line it up again. “Okay,” I mutter. The little green bead in the front rests just above the label, but now it’s up too high, it’s poking above the line made by the back two bits.

“Remember to focus on the sights, not on the target. If you focus on the target you won’t be able to tell whether the sights aren’t aligned. Keep your eyes right here,” my dad tells me, pointing to the front of the pistol. I nod.

“Got it.”

“Okay. I’m going to move the cylinder now so that the hammer is over the chamber with the live bullet in it. When you pull that trigger the gun will fire. Got it?”

I swallow hard. I can see the back of the cartridge in the little cutout for it on the left side of the gun. My dad told me it was so you can see whether it had already been fired but I don’t know how that works. As I watch he reaches down and moves it so that it’s in line with the barrel. “Daddy,” I say, “I don’t know if –“

“Hey, it’s going to be fine. Now, it’s going to have a hard kick, but I’m going to be right here holding it with you, okay?”

“Okay,” I say again. Down there, maybe about fifty feet away or so, the sunlight is glinting off the darkened glass of the Blue Moon bottle. My father places his hands loosely over mine; his skin is calloused and rough. He is a carpenter but only during the day, at night he writes, holed up in the den with the door cracked open so if I want to I can sneak up and peek in, see him tapping away at the enormous computer with the cathode-ray screen, the big stuffed buck’s head on the wall just behind him, angled just like his, echoing his. I want to write like he does when I get older.

His hands are just over mine. They’re very warm, and so big compared to mine. I still have a band-aid on the ring finger of my left hand from where I tripped and cut it open on the ground outside the motel yesterday. Dad was proud of me for not crying about it but I wouldn’t have cried about something like that for a long time. Even this young I’m serious, more serious than either of my parents. Right now my father is being very serious and it isn’t something I’m used to. It makes me feel nervous, like I’ll do something wrong.

“Whenever you’re ready, keep the sights lined up and pull the trigger back slowly. It’s got a bit of a weight to it so you’ll have to squeeze hard, but it’ll shoot.”

And so I pull the trigger back slowly. My hand is shaking a little but that’s just from how hard I’m holding the gun. As the trigger moves the little metal lever on the back of the gun moves too, and I glance over at my dad. “Is that supposed to –“ I start, but he’s already nodding at me.

“That’s the hammer, that’s what actually hits the cartridge to make it fire. It has to drop down onto it to do that, so when you pull the trigger what you’re doing is bringing the hammer back and then dropping it. Go ahead and shoot, baby.”

I keep pulling and the hammer keeps going back and back and back and what I realize is going to happen is that there will be a point where it’s all the way back and then it’ll fall and the gun will go off and scare me half to death, and I keep anticipating it and it doesn’t come and eventually it’s too much and I ease off of the trigger. My dad stares down at me wondering if something’s wrong, takes his hands off of my hands and starts to lean over, and the thought of having to explain all this to him is far too unpalatable for me, so instead I squeeze my eyes shut and jerk the trigger back as far as it will go, and the gun roars so loud that for a moment I wonder whether I’m even wearing the big bulky earmuffs my dad handed to me.

The pistol leaps out of my hands and then something slams into my face and I cry out and clap my hands to my nose. The revolver is lying there on the berm, kicked over onto one of its little legs, and my nose is bleeding. My dad looks like he doesn’t know whether he wants to yell at me or cheer for me. Instead he just hugs me to him before I can start crying and points down at the beer bottles. “You did it,” is all he tells me, and when I look I see that the Blue Moon bottle, amber-hued and glossy, has disappeared, and even though I’ve gotten blood all down the front of my new plaid lumberjack shirt, I can’t stop staring at the place it would have been, can’t stop grinning at the knowledge that I did that.

 * * *

 The glass jostles against my forehead and my eyes flick open. I’d drifted away for a second there. Then the noise begins and the man driving slams on the brakes, sending us screeching to a halt. “What the fuck was that?” he cries.

I know what it is, of course – it’s the Pit. What else would it be? What else can open its gaping mouth and scream like that, scream from its belly, miles and miles and miles deep, channel the sound out into a pinprick-tiny orifice and make it shriek for kilometers? The noise is throbbingly deep, rattling into our bones and setting my teeth vibrating unpleasantly, but also somehow manages to screech upwards into a high keening wail that drags on and on and on…

The FBI men look shaken, at least. I’d heard groans and moans and shrieks like this down in the Pit, but none quite so angry, and definitely none as loud. It makes me wonder if there’s something different about this or if the sound is muffled, down there in the Pit, muffled by the flesh everywhere. Maybe it carries differently.

There is another low resounding thump and again the ground shakes. I freeze. If we can feel it here on the surface –

The FBI men glance at each other, and the one in the passenger seat, the one who’d been interrogating me, nods. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he tells the driver, who puts the SUV back in gear and starts off again down the road, moving at a faster clip than before. He isn’t quite gunning it but he’s getting close. The one in back sitting next to me leans forward.

“Did they say anything about this?” he asks. “Is it like a test or something? I heard –“

I never hear what he heard, though, before the ground erupts like a bomb maybe two hundred yards to our left and a vast stream of – of something hurls upwards into the sky. The driver cries out in shock and for a moment all of us are just staring out the left side of the SUV, watching as a nauseatingly pale pillar of flesh hovers there, sticking out of the ground at an obtuse angle, quivering in the waning sunlight. It must reach a couple hundred feet into the air at least, and it’s as thick as a redwood, or maybe even a couple of redwoods, it’s hard to tell from this distance. It curls inwards on itself and slams into the ground and begins scrabbling around on the ground, splintering trees and bushes and rocks, crushing them beneath itself.

“Makado was right,” I breathe, watching the tentacle writhe like a blind, pale worm. “She was right, it is waking up.”

“What did you say?” the man in the passenger seat asks, but before I can repeat myself there is another echoing roar and another tentacle, a smaller one this time, bursts out of the ground just before us. The driver screams a profanity and tries to turn but the big fat SUV is too damn slow. We strike it at an angle instead and it is just enough to flip the car.

It all happens incredibly quickly. I’m very lucky that the man who got in next to me buckled me in; he neglected to do the same for himself and got tossed around the cabin like a ragdoll, slamming into the ceiling and then falling through into the back and rattling around back there like a roulette ball. The two in front are a little luckier; they both had buckled up but I see the one in the passenger seat strike his head hard against the window next to him, hard enough that the window cracks, and when his head reels back I see a flash of bright red blood mottled in his hair and dripping down his forehead. The driver is still tugging desperately at the wheel, his instincts screaming at him to do something at least, but it’s useless – we flip end over end three times before the car settles onto its side and comes to a halt.

Aside from nearly being strangled by my seatbelt, I come out of it okay. I knocked my leg against the front seat a few times but with the boot on it isn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, and then when the front windscreen burst inwards I did end up with a few cuts on my face, I think, and the same bruised spot on my cheek where Klaus struck me is aching like hell.

I think I screamed, that’s all; it’s like my brain shut down as soon as we flipped and I was simply running on automatic, no conscious thought required. I remember bringing my hands, still cuffed together, up to protect my face, and I remember clenching just about every muscle in my body tight enough to leave me with a lingering ache in my abs once we rolled to a stop, but somehow I haven’t done myself any lasting damage.

It takes me only a couple seconds to realize that this might be my big break, and then I spring into action, slamming my fingers down on the release for the seat belt and rocketing out of the SUV as quickly as I can. The driver yells at me, apparently still conscious as well, and I snap a terrified glance back at him, but he’s trapped – I can see now standing on the outside that his door is crumpled inwards and jammed into the frame, and what’s more it doesn’t look like he’s able to undo his seat belt, although I can’t tell whether it’s because it’s jammed too or because the man is injured.

Behind me the roars continue unabated. There is the faint ratcheting wail of a siren coming from the facility, over the lip of the hill, just there to my right.

The man with the glasses who cracked his head on the window, he has the key to my cuffs. I sprint around the back of the truck, tear the passenger door open as quickly as I can. He falls out, lands on his belly in the dirt, and then I am rummaging through his pockets; not here in the jacket, not on the other side of the jacket, not in the left back pocket…

I can feel my panic mounting as I rifle through his things, trying to ignore the angry cries of the man in the driver’s seat, telling me to stop, telling me that I’m going to be in really fucking big trouble if I don’t come around and help him get out of the damn truck. I shut him out, I don’t even look at him. Where is the fucking key? If I can’t find it, if it’s fallen out of his pocket somewhere when the SUV flipped –

There is a raw, wet noise next to me and I glance over. The tip of the tentacle, glossy with slime and bleeding from a dozen skin-deep cuts, from rocks and sticks and just abrasion with the ground, is nuzzling at the deflated rear tire of the SUV. It’s insane how normal it seems to me. A month ago I would have figured I was going insane if I had seen something like this grubbing around on the ground like someone trying to reach a potato chip they’ve dropped on the floor. Where is that fucking key? Goddam it –

I take a step, dragging the FBI man with me, or at least trying to, because the fucker is heavy, and immediately the tentacle jolts in my direction. I feel a scream catch in my throat but I manage to clap a hand to my mouth and stop it. The sound? No, that doesn’t make any sense, the thing’s skin is smooth and clear and bereft of anything close to being an ear. Vibrations then, that must be it.

I eye the thing. The end is blunt and about as narrow as a baseball bat but it widens out to about as wide around as a tree trunk a little further down. It’s obviously very strong; rippling bands of muscle shift beneath its thin skin. If it got wrapped around my leg –

“You fucking bitch!” the driver curses at me. He’s still yanking fruitlessly at the seat belt. I see the tentacle’s skin twitch with each word, and then it snakes its way under the SUV. “You bitch! I swear to god, if you don’t come over here - !”

I have one last pocket to search. Rear right. Wallet, what feels like a package of breath mints or chewing gum, a piece of paper…no keys. I shove my hand in deeper, all the way to the bottom, and then I find it, the tiny metal key brushing against my fingers. My heart jolts in my chest and I pull it out as quickly as I can and then try to unlock them myself, but it’s no use, I can’t reach it. “Fuck,” I murmur, out loud, and then glance carefully at the tentacle. It’s wrapped itself all the way around the SUV. At this point the man inside has seen it. It sounds like he’s having a panic attack.

I start to back away slowly, just as the tentacle flexes and lifts the SUV into the air. “Holy shit,” I murmur before I get a grip and shut up. The tentacle seems satisfied with its prize, though – it doesn’t pay any attention to me. There’s more commotion inside the SUV and then – I jump – a few gunshots. I see them slap into the tentacle’s flesh, puffing out sprays of blood, but it’s entirely futile. The tentacle flexes and crushes the SUV with the ease of someone crushing a can of Coke and then it whips back down into the dirt, still clutching the SUV, and then they both are gone.

My heartbeat is very loud in my ears. The enormous tentacle off in the distance is still scrabbling around someplace else, pointed off in the other direction from me. My hand have gotten very sweaty and I’m scared I might drop the key someplace, but I haven’t got anywhere else to carry it. I take a step tentatively, cringing in anticipation, waiting for another tentacle to burst out of the ground and scoop me up, but when none are forthcoming, I break into a hobbling sprint and make for the facility. I have to find someone who’ll be willing to uncuff me, who might be willing to help me get back down into the Pit so that I can find Elena –

The thoughts die in midstride. I crest the ridge and stare down at the wreckage below me. There are three more tentacles of roughly the same size as the first rooting around the wreckage of the administration building, which looks as though it’s been peeled open like a tin of sardines. Before me, down on the road, a Humvee speeds by, and then another. There are people rushing all about the sedative plant, and I wonder if they’ve done anything, if there even is anything they can do. Can they turn it up to 11, pump even more sedative into the thing? Would that even work, does it have a tolerance for it?

The exclusion plate, at least what I can see of it from this vantage, is cracked into three pieces, and beneath is just pale skin basking in the orangey sunset.

As I watch, one of the tentacles shudders and flops to the ground. I can feel the impact throb through my soles all the way from here. A dust cloud rises from beneath it.

I scan the line of intact buildings nearest me and then slowly, unwillingly, I grin and start to make my way down the slope.

For there, just down the hill and across the road, is the ranger barracks. And there, in the third window from the left, a light shines, and I can see Fumi’s unmistakable shaggy silhouette outlined in it.

 * * *

 When he opens the door after about five minutes of knocking I push in past him and scan the room. “Roan!” he blurts. “What the fuck are you doing here – “

“Fumi, there’s no time. Are we alone?”

“Well, yeah, but –“ he says, and then he breaks off. He’s glimpsed the cuffs around my wrists and I give him a little sheepish grin. “What’s going on?”

“I should be asking you that,” I tell him. “Why’s the Pit freaking out? And why are you in here and not -”

He blows his breath out, and glowers. “Firstly, Makado’s taken a Tunneler down to get that crystal. Those always piss off the Pit and I guess after 2007 it decided to grow some extra appendages near here that we weren’t aware of and now it’s putting them to good use. And secondly,” he shrugs, “I think they just forgot about me. I’ve had my radio on and I’ve been waiting to respond but I never got a call. Not really complaining.”

I hold up my hands. “Sorry – Tunneler?”

“It’s what they used to make a lot of the bigger tunnels in the Pit. You ever seen those big digging machines they use to dig train tunnels and stuff through solid rock? Think that but bigger and grindier. It’s got vacuums to suck away the dead flesh, cauterizes as it goes, the works. Pisses the Pit off like crazy, though, and now that it’s hungrier these days I guess it got mad enough to pitch a fit about it. They still have two or three of them in a hangar, sitting around from the old Anodyne days just in case they ever need them.”

“Jesus Christ,” I murmur. “And they – Admin or whoever – they let her do that?”

Fumi laughs. “I guess,” he says. “I heard she stormed into Admin and raised a huge stink about the crystal, told them this was their last chance before the Leechman vanishes with it, and they signed off.”

“Fuck her,” I growl. Fumi looks a little taken aback at how bitter I sound. He starts to ask something but I shake my head. “There isn’t time. Help me out of these. Please.”

Fumi mutters a curse under his breath and takes the key. The cuffs fall away from my wrists and clatter on the floor and I am so relieved I don’t know what else to do but hug him. He smells of sweat and cigarette smoke but at the moment I don’t care. His hands flutter, startled, before they close around me and he holds me gently. He pats me on the back after a moment, and I draw away from him. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “I was just –“

“I get it,” he says. “Look, why don’t you just get out of here? With all this chaos it’d be easy to –“

“No,” I tell him. “I can’t, I can’t just leave. I have to get back down there.”

“Roan,” he starts. Something about his tone puts pressure on some place in me that’s been bending and bending and finally I snap.

“Fumi,” I say, my voice harsh, “Elena is down there. Maybe she’s already dead, but if she isn’t, she needs me. Nobody else is going down to get her, especially not now.” As if to punctuate my argument, there is another crash from nearby as a tentacle slams into the ground. Fumi nods, explaining that they’ve probably upped the sedative dosage and it’s finally taking effect. His face grows more serious.

“Do you know if she’s still alive down there?”

“No,” I admit. “But if she’s dead I – I have to know. I just have to. Now you can either help me or not, but if you don’t, I’m probably going to end up dead,” I tell him. I marvel at the perfect calmness in my voice. “One way or another, because I’m not experienced enough, because I don’t know the landscape, whatever. But I’m going down there, and that’s final.”

I stand there staring up at him, my hands balled into fists on my hips, and am relieved when his shaggy face breaks open in an unwilling smile. “Alright,” he says after a moment. “But I hope you know a way down, cause there’s no way we can get in through the main orifice now. When the Pit bucked it cracked the plate and wrecked the gantry up here.”

I bite my lip. “Couldn’t we use whatever hole Makado made with the Tunneler?” I ask. Fumi shakes his head.

“No, it’ll be practically vertical. You could maybe rappel down it if you had a whole team to support you but we won’t.”

I utter a mumbled curse. I feel like punching something. If I’ve come all this way and I can’t go back down and get Elena because Makado bored a hole into the Pit and it threw a fit about it –

I stop. Fumi raises his eyebrows. I look over at him and grin. “Fumi, I know how we can get in.”

“Okay, but how - ?”

“There’s no time,” I tell him. I grab his hand and drag him over to the equipment locker in the corner. “Get a suit on and then help me with mine,” I tell him, crouching down to take the boot off. “We’re going to save Elena.”

Continue with Part 30

Back to Table of Contents

[sytycdinternational]

Eurovision 2021 pre-show ranking #26 - #1

I know the rehearsals are already out but I’m not gonna take them into account for this ranking since I might as well just do a ranking of the actual broadcasted live performances then. Ideally the following songs would be part of my dream final on Saturday. #39-#25

26. VICTORIA - Growing Up Is Getting Old - Bulgaria 🇧🇬: I begrudgingly accept Victoria's decision choosing this over "imaginary friend" (she seemed to have visible troubles singing it live after all) but gosh, it’s kind of hard for me to warm up to this. "imaginary friend" figuratively moved me to another plane of existence. I do think this song has the perfect set up for some amazing staging. (2020/2021)

25. Blind Channel - Dark Side - Finland 🇫🇮: Yesss Finland, give me that darkness. I wish I could unhear the lyrics tho because it’s teetering pretty close to edge territory. Okay, I guess it has crossed that threshold long ago, but still, rock songs are a rarity on this show that I will cherish no matter their flaws. (2020/2021)

24. Hurricane - LOCO LOCO - Serbia 🇷🇸: They’ve come to slay like a tropical weather phenomenon. I can already see the shreds of their fellow competitors lining their path. (2020/2021)

23. Blas Cantó - Voy A Quedarme - Spain 🇪🇸: It took a tone-downed, more intimate acoustic version for  this me to connect with this song, but somehow it managed to flip a  switch and now I get incredibly emotional even when I listen to the  official version. I’d definitely prefer the acoustic version to be performed on the actual show though. (2020/2021)

22. Jeangu Macrooy - Birth Of A New Age - The Netherlands 🇳🇱: The lyrics feel refreshingly meaningful. It fills me with real warmth and good vibes as a whole. (2020/2021)

21. Anxhela Peristeri - Karma - Albania 🇦🇱: Albania is bringing drama and I’m living for it. Very effective revamp to make the song more memorable. (2020/2021)

20. Samanta Tina - The Moon is Rising - Latvia 🇱🇻: What’s up with that dreadful “eh EH eh EH” background track?? It’s driving me up the wall. Still, I’m floored by Samanta’s powerful vocals. It’s a pity the final misses the actual blood moon occurence, the lunar ecplise on May 26 by a few days. Oh well, it’s not like it can be seen from Europe this time anyway. (2020/2021)

19. The Roop - Discoteque - Lithuania 🇱🇹: The Roop really took their song from last year and turned it dark and in order to balance it out they changed the colors of their outfits to bright yellow. During all this some of the hypnotic qualities of “On Fire” was lost but the new song is still lots of quirky fun. (2020/2021)

18. Ana Soklič - Amen - Slovenia 🇸🇮: Simply glorious. What a woman, what a voice. The way the song develops is bombastic. (2020/2021)

17. Natalia Gordienko - SUGAR - Moldova 🇲🇩: The refrain and the rest of the song sound so mismatched to me lol. Still, the contrast between the bright sugary visuals and somewhat darkish, even sinister tone of the music is doing it for me. (2020/2021)

16. Montaigne - Technicolour - Australia 🇦🇺:  I can’t stand “Don’t Break Me”, so Montaigne doing a 180 degree turn  was well appreciated. This sounds sooo difficult to sing so total props  for that. Hope she nails it during the liveshows. (2020/2021)

15. Lesley Roy - Maps - Ireland 🇮🇪: This gives me enough energy to travel the Irish plains all on my own. Gosh, I miss travelling. (2020/2021)

14. The Black Mamba - Love Is On My Side - Portugal 🇵🇹: Never got the hype  for “Dancing in the Stars“, so if Portugal had to send a song in English  I’m glad it ended up being this one. I love Tatanka’s raspy voice and  the song just oozes style as a whole. I was surprised how bittersweet the lyrics actually are after listening more closely and that makes me like it even more. (2020/2021)

13. Måneskin - Zitti E Buoni - Italy 🇮🇹: F*CK ME UP. I have high hopes for you, Italy. Also  I’m totally over the fact that Irama was not able to perform live on  San Remo this year due to Covid-related issues and thus surrendered any  realistic chances of "La genesi del tuo colore" taking the win and  competing on ESC, I swear I am *sobs* (2020/2021)

12. Daði og Gagnamagnið - 10 Years - Iceland 🇮🇸: That bait and switch at the start kills me. I also unironically like this a lot more than “Think About Things”. (2020/2021)

11. Manizha - Russian Woman - Russia 🇷🇺:  Are my ears deceiving me? A Russian entry that is NOT an inoffensive  pop ballad in English playing it totally safe? I guess Little Big for  2020 was not an anomaly after all. I LOVE the traditional-sounding  chanting used for the chorus and the energy is infectious. (2020/2021)

10. Efendi - Mata Hari - Azerbaijan 🇦🇿: Another entry, another banger. I love her harsh pronounciation of the lyrics. (2020/2021)

9. Destiny - Je Me Casse - Malta 🇲🇹: Talk about a glow-up from last year. Malta is absolutely bringing the funk and the sass. (2020/2021)

8. Vasil - Here I Stand - North Macedonia 🇲🇰:  This song is FEELINGS and I totally feel it! Ugh, I’m such a softie for  heartfelt, breaking-down-your-emotional-walls-type of songs. (2020/2021)

7. Eden Alene - Set Me Free - Israel 🇮🇱:  The revamp catapulted this song from the very bottom of my list to this  spot. It’s little things like the inflection after “on my own” among  others that make this song such a joy to listen to. So many little  details to explore. (2020/2021)

6. Elena Tsagrinou - El Diablo - Cyprus 🇨🇾:  Another year, another powerhouse of a song by Cyprus. This is my favorite by far out of the last few years though, even surpassing  “Fuego”, judging alone by the song itself. The drop literally takes my breath away. (2020/2021)

5. Albina - Tick-Tock - Croatia 🇭🇷: Who knew Croatia would deliver the catchiest beat this year? (2020/2021)

4. Stefania - Last Dance - Greece 🇬🇷:  Say hello to Dua Lipa “Physical”’s long-lost sister. And just like the  former I have the latter playing non-stop. I have yet to get sick of it.  It gets me so pumped up, I love it. (2020/2021)

3. Gjon's Tears - Tout l’Univers - Switzerland 🇨🇭: Sensitive.  Sublime. Majestic. It was like witnessing the ocean at high and low  tide. At one moment deceivingly calm, the next I’m swept away by a  riptide of thundering sounds and delicious falsetto. (2020/2021)

2. Go_A - SHUM - Ukraine 🇺🇦: I literally spasmed out in ecstatic bliss when I first listened to this. I think it was some kind of combination of Kateryna's piercing vocals that strike right through my hear, the intoxicating ethnic elements and droning bass, all delivered at an ever increasing speed that drove me into a literal ethno-rave-fuelled frenzy. (2020/2021)

1. Barbara Pravi - Voilà - France 🇫🇷: The first time I saw Barbara’s national final performance I was transfixed. I was clinging to every word escaping her lips, my heart almost stopping at each moment my ears weren't filled with her angelic voice. I was flooded with all kinds of emotions, particularly with an existential longing for something I couldn’t possibly describe.  Excellent use of monochrome lighting and costumes as well which I’m sure was supposed to emulate the feeling of black-and-white films of the past. (2020/2021)

Predicting the results:

Qualifiers #1 Semi-Final:

Australia

Azerbaijan

Cyprus

Israel 

Lithuania

Malta

Norway

Russia 

Sweden

Ukraine

Belgium

Croatia

Ireland

North Macedonia

Romania

Slovenia 

Qualifiers #2 Semi-Final:

Albania 

Bulgaria

Finland 

Greece

Iceland 

Portugal

San Marino

Serbia

Switzerland

Austria 

Czech Republic

Denmark

Estonia

Georgia 

Latvia

Moldova 

Poland

[bellemorte180]

Just Good Business

Caroline Salvatore, married into one of New York's most brutal crime families. Niklaus Mikaelson, a notorious mob boss who is hell bent on taking down the Slavatores.

It's an affair for the ages.

Written for Day 5 of Klarolin week- Smut.

Thank you, @klaroline-events!

She shouldn’t be doing this. She knew it was wrong, but she honestly didn’t care. She was a married woman and the man she was straddling in the back of his limo as it drifted down New York’s busy streets was most certainly not her husband. Granted, the life they all lived, what could be considered right anymore?

“Are you sure these windows are tinted?” Caroline hissed out, pushed down upon his clothed erection. It wasn’t the first time it happened. Her affair with New York’s most notorious mob boss began months ago. It started out as a power play for him and a way for her to try and feel something; anything. Neither one of them could have imagined that it would have become more than just sex for them. “Klaus?”

Niklaus Mikaelson, the most feared man in the entire city; one who ran not only drugs, weapons, and woman but had more blood on his hands than anyone else, was in love with her. It was an intoxicating feeling.

“I would never let us be seen, Sweetheart. Not yet at least.” Caroline smirked at him and kissed him hard; her teeth nipping at his bottom lip. Her hips rotated again, searching for some friction in order to relieve that pent-up tension she was feeling. It had been far too long since he had been able to touch her. It wasn’t easy for Caroline to sneak away in order to meet her lover, especially when she and her husband are well known in the city; that and in the last few months Stefan had been having her followed.

The marriage between Stefan and Caroline Salvatore was an arranged affair. They both came from very old families who wanted nothing more than an alliance. So, the corrupt Chief of Police married her only daughter to the brother of an even more corrupt "businessman". It did not take Caroline long to realize that her husband was dull, horrid in bed and was in love with his brother’s wife, Elena. Stefan looked at Caroline as nothing more than a possession and barely spoke to her.

Klaus’s finger tips traced up Caroline’s spine while her black backless dress bunched at her waist. His fingers sent shivers all over her body. When he went to lace his fingers through her impeccable up-do, Caroline stopped him.

“Not the hair. I can’t go home looking freshly fucked, now can I?” Caroline replied, nipping playfully at Klaus’s lips. “We still have to let Stefan think that I am his faithful and dutiful wife, don’t we?”

“I can have you widowed by morning, love. Just was the word.” Klaus replied, his hand slipping under her dress. His fingers graced her clit, her panties had been long forgotten on the limo’s floor. Caroline hissed out his name again. He added a slight pressure to that sensitive bundle of nerves just as his lips graced her throat. His tongue peeked out and licked her pulse point. “He would be dead and I could easily make you mine.”

“But your plans?” Caroline whimpered. Klaus slipped a finger inside of her and pumped lightly. Then he added a second finger before curling him, his nails scraping the side of her walls. His thumb touched her clitoris and began drawing circled on it while his fingers slowly fucked her.

“Fuck my plans.” Klaus hissed, his fingers pushed in roughly, causing Caroline to cry out. “I don’t like that he gets to touch you. I don’t like that he gets to fuck you when you’re mine. I want his head on a stick and my plans already changed once.”

It was true. When Klaus and Caroline started sleeping together, he was using her to get intel on the Salvatore family. He originally planned on revealing his affair with Caroline to Stefan in due time after getting everything he needed in order to take down Damon Salvatore. Caroline knew this and in truth she didn’t care. She hated her marriage and screwing over Stefan and Damon was enough for her; even if it meant getting herself killed.

However, when Klaus started falling for Caroline, he shifted his plans. He did not want to risk Stefan getting enraged that his wife was fucking his brother’s rival and killing her; they didn’t call Stefan the Ripper for nothing. So, they changed course.

“He hasn’t.” Caroline whimpered out, grinding down on Klaus’s fingers. He looked at her in question, a smirk playing upon his lips. “Stefan and I haven’t had sex in months, not since I caught him in bed with Elena.”

“Really?” Klaus hissed. He removed his fingers from her and Caroline cursed at him. He just grinned at her, bringing one finger to his lips and licked it clean before doing the same to the other. “You wouldn’t just be saying that so I will go easy on you, now would you?”

“No.” Caroline weaved her fingers through Klaus’s hair, gripped and pulled his head back. She looked down at him, peering into those pearly blue eyes she adored. He kissed him slowly, tasting her juices on his lips. “He said that he was glad I knew and that he didn’t have to pretend with me. He made his opinion very clear. Stay the pretty little wife on his arm while he fucked Damon’s behind closed doors. In return I get to keep my head upon my shoulders.”

“He threatened you.” That was unforgivable to Klaus. “The increase of bodyguards?”

“Just to ensure I don’t spend too much alone time with Damon. Can’t have his brother learning his dirty little secret.” Caroline tossed him a sinful smile and Klaus bucked his hips upward, rubbing roughly against her core. “Pity Enzo is employed by someone other than Stefan.”

“Good man Enzo.” Lorenzo St. John, Caroline’s personal bodyguard and double agent. Klaus hired him to infiltrate the Salvatore business. When he was assigned to guard Caroline, even better. The problem was that Enzo was only one of Caroline’s guards that was Klaus’s man; the rest where loyal to the Salvatore brothers. “And what are you and Enzo up to tonight?”

“Dress shopping.” Klaus chucked at that.

“Such a pretty dress.” His one hand running over the dress, touching her erect nipples through the silk. “It would be a shame if it got ruined.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Caroline ran her hands down Klaus’s chest, slowly inching down farther and farther. When she reached the top of his pants, she bit her lip as though asking for permission to continue. Klaus nodded his head and Caroline unbuttoned his pants, allowing his member to spring free. She palmed him, causing him to hiss at the contact. She gripped his penis and stroked him, picking up the pace as she went. Klaus grabbed her wrist, stalling her movements.

“I want to be inside you.” His tone was rough and harsh, causing Caroline’s arousal to seep down the inside of her legs. She lifted up on her knees ever so slightly, giving Klaus enough room to align himself with her entrance. Slowly, Caroline lowered herself down on top of him; seething him into her heat completely. “Fuck Caroline.”

“That’s the general idea.” She braced her hands on his shoulders and began raising herself up and down on top of him. The feel of him, sliding in and out of her was a feeling she missed the last few weeks. Ever since Caroline had concrete proof of Stefan’s affair, it was harder for her and Klaus to meet; Stefan’s paranoia driving him to do drastic things to protect his secret. But, the feel of Klaus fucking her was worth the wait. “God, I love you.”

“And I you.” Klaus’s hand reached down between her legs to touch her clit again. Caroline cried out his name, loudly. She began to ride him faster and faster, chasing that relief. His name slipping from his lips like a prayer. The sound of the honking horns of New York’s traffic fell away and she could care less if Klaus’s driver knew exactly what they were doing in the back of the limo. All that mattered was finding that release. “Klaus!”

Klaus felt her walls clench around him, sending him spiraling. His release came hard; spilling himself inside her. Caroline let out a long breath and rested her forehead against his. Slowly, once their hearts stopped beating rapidly, Caroline moved off of him and into the seat next to them. Klaus tucked himself away into his trousers while Caroline pulled a handkerchief from her purse to clean the inside of her thighs. She shifted in order to drape her legs over his lap and Klaus immediately began drawing small circles on her skin; sharing smiled between them as he did.

Soon enough the limo pulled to the side of the curb and the driver knocked on the window separating them from the front of the car.

“I suppose that this is my stop.”

“You’ll be safe?”

“Don’t worry.” Caroline leaned over and kissed him gently. “Damon is in a board meeting tonight” which was code for murdering someone “while Stefan and Elena are probably at the house fucking each other while I’m out spending Stefan’s money. By the time they realize I’m home, I’ll be in my bubble bath, drinking a nice glass of Pinot Grigio. Bags and bags of my shopping spree littering my room.”

“Thinking of me I hope, while you’re all naked and wet.” Klaus’s eyes traveled over the length of her and Caroline just giggled. She leaned up and kissed him, before grabbing her purse on the floor. Klaus grabbed her wrist before she could open the door. “Soon Caroline.”

In the end, things came to a close far more quickly than either of them expected. Within the next three months, Caroline would discover she was pregnant with Klaus’s child. Knowing that she would not be able to pawn the child off as Stefan’s, not that she would want to, Klaus had to act quickly. Photos of Stefan and Elena in an intimate position surfaced, causing Damon to go off the rails. He murdered both his brother and his wife, brutally. By the time Damon spared his sister in law a thought, she had already left and was in Klaus’s protection-handing over all of the secrets Damon worked hard to keep buried.

Damon was dead within the week.

[theladyspooks]

In Morte, Aerternitatis Ch. 4: What’s In A Name?

(special notes for this chapter: for extra emphasis, play “Pan’s Labyrinth Lullaby” during Anya’s dream sequence as linked in the song title)

______________________________________

“Now remember, moya lyubov’, never ever and I mean NEVER say that name five times.”

“But Mama, all the other kids said I’d be the coolest kid in school!”

“Net, if I ever hear talk of this nonsense again I’ll homeschool you myself.”

A 10 year old Vadim sat dejectedly at the table with his mother, her expression stern yet concerned.

“Mama? Rodnoy brat?” A seven year old Anastasia rubbed her eyes in confusion at being woken up by her brother’s complaining. Vadim never knew how to master his inside voice.

“Anya, moy rebenok” Elena cooed at her youngest, “What are you doing up, moye ditya?” She scooped her daughter into her lap.

“I heard Vadim talking about The Candyma-” Elena put a firm hand over her daughter’s mouth.

“Anastasia Ilyena Fyodorov, if I ever hear you say that name again you will spend a week in your room” Anya’s eyes widened, “That goes for you as well, Vadim. Have I taught the both of you nothing?” Vadim stood up.

“But Mama, why can’t we say it?” Her hand dropped from Anya’s mouth as she placed her next to Vadim, squatting down to place her hands on their shoulders.

“There is power in a name, moi deti. To say it out loud is to acknowledge. Once you do this there is no going back, you forfeit any and all say in what happens. Words are powerful and a name is a word. Remember this and promise me you will not say that one, no matter who tells you to do it.” Elena smiled as her children nodded in understanding.

Anya had been too young to fully understand what her mother had meant. At that age, her brain understood that Candyman was a bad word that would result in punishment if she said it. Bad words were a no-no in her house growing up and Elena Fyodorov always made good on her punishments if need be.

Now though, standing in front of her best friend of six years in a hospital bathroom, she finally understood what her mother had meant.

Annie had performed the silent dare so to speak, she had stared a mirror down and uttered a forbidden name five times for all to see. Normally she’d find the whole idea insane, wouldn’t believe it if she didn’t see it.

The problem was she had.

She’d seen the hook in Paul’s back, watched the tall stranger stalk towards; smelled the distinct scent of honey and blood emanating from his very pores. Most importantly though, she’d felt his touch as clear as day. The metal of his hook was terrifying enough, but the skin of his other? That was bone and muscle and blood all wrapped in flesh that put the night sky to shame.

He was real. He was real because Annie had made him so.

“Oh god, Annie…” She rubbed a hand down her face. Paul had paid the price, but only barely as a result of Annie’s need to reassure her kids.

“I know! God Anya, I know! I’ve been tearing my hair out over it all night” She turned the faucet on and splashed her face with cold water, “He could’ve killed you, hell he almost killed Paul! If you hadn’t come along…” A shudder ran through her spine as she watched Annie dry her face.

“He could’ve killed you too, Ann. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t try if you’re the one that called him.” That had been a big thought in her head. The way the legend went, whoever spoke the name five times in a mirror would be split from groin to gullet; yet he’d seemingly spared Annie.

“He spoke to me in my bathroom when he first appeared” Now that caught her attention, “He said that I had a journey to make with him and then when you passed out-” She looked at Anya and shook her head, “He caught you and just stared at you for what felt like hours before putting you down. When he did he told me that I- we were his.” She felt her throat close.

“We? As in you and Paul?” She knew the answer before the question left her mouth.

“No. We as in you and I, Anya.”

“That makes no sense!” She yelled as a nurse wandered into the bathroom, promptly turning back the way she came at the sight of the irritated Russian before her, “I didn’t say his name into a mirror, not once! How is it that he wants me? Why would he leave me the fl-” Annie’s head perked up.

“Anya? What were you going to say?” Annie attempted to make eye contact with Anya, watching her eyes widen.

“It really was him” She whispered in shock before looking up at Annie, “The day we went to the shrine, I left a flower as an offering; a gardenia. After hearing about Purcell’s story I just- I don’t know, I felt sentimental about the man behind the legend.” She scoffed and looked at Annie’s bewildered face.

“When I was done at work I heard a knock, but by the time I came to the door there was no one there except-” She reached into her purse and pulled out the first amaryllis, “-except this.” Annie took the flower from her and studied it as if she’d find the answers she was looking for. “It’s an amaryllis, it means something along the lines of beauty and worth. Then just last night I woke up with another in my hand” She pulled out the second bloom, “The hand he held before I fainted.” Annie relinquished the flower back to her confused companion.

“As creepy as that is, it still doesn’t make any sense. You didn’t say his- wait, you didn’t say his name right?” Anya nearly barked out laughter at that.

“Jesus Annie, of course not! My mother instilled the fear of god into me as a child about even saying Candyman in conversation!”

“So what, you give him a flower and suddenly he wants to be your best friend?”

“I know how it sounds without you repeating it, Annie Tarrant! He may have left me flowers, but he never appeared to me; not like he did with you” She strained to keep her voice leveled, “Have you seen him since last night in any way?”

Annie’s eyes widened slightly, her breathing becoming deeper as she nodded.

“When Paul was still in surgery I was in his intended room waiting. I looked up at the windows and he was there, in the reflection just looking at me. He told me that I’d brought him here, that I needed to come with him and there was this...this painting? I don’t know, but then-” She closed her eyes as if to block out the memory, “-then there was a vision of him slitting Mom’s throat.” She could no longer hold her tears back at the reminder of what she’d seen.

Any irritation Anya had felt before evaporated at the sight of Annie’s vulnerability, her maternal instincts took over as she embraced the shaking blonde. Annie would never do something she knew would bring harm to the people she cared for, it just wasn’t in her nature. As much as Elena had always warned them of names and the power they held, it was ludicrous to think that actually performing a childhood dare would make him flesh. Vadim had performed the Bloody Mary dare on more than one occasion unbeknownst to their mother and he had always come out laughing, no vengeful ghost to speak of.

Yet while Annie had uttered the infamous name, Anya had not and yet- and yet she could still sense him; sense his now unmistakable presence. As long as she didn’t say his name she’d be safe, hopefully, long enough to help Annie. Now that she knew Candyman was indeed real, it made more sense as to why Ethan had been acting so odd. While he’d still been an arrogant fool in the face of help he clearly had been trying to protect them, tried to keep the idea of Candyman a dead man’s tale.

That had backfired spectacularly.

“Anya, I don’t know what to do. What if he tries to hurt Paul again?” Annie clutched Anya’s back as if a lifeline.

“The only thing we can do is figure out what he wants and how to stop him. The sooner we do that the longer we can stay alive.” She pulled back from the hug as Annie calmed herself, but one question remained.

“You still didn’t fully answer my question” Anya cocked her head in confusion, “What does he want with you if you haven’t said his name?” While it wasn’t something she wanted to think about, Annie had a point.

“That’s something I intend to find out.”

______________________________

She was insane, nutty, absolutely bonkers for wanting to go back to that shrine. It wasn’t a good idea in any way, shape or form and really how could it be? Going there in the first place was purely academic if not a tad sentimental, but wanting to go again after everything? No sane human being in their right mind would dare.

Alas, here she was, standing before the screaming mural alone.

Something about being alone in here this time around felt more dangerous. Perhaps because only the night before her friends had nearly died at the hands of the man she’d paid her respects to; the man she thought to be a myth long buried. The only comfort she had was that she had not used his name in front of the mirror, rendering him unable to physically manifest in her presence. Even with that thought she could still feel him there with her, as if he was waiting in the shadows hoping she’d call to him properly.

“I suppose we’re past the point of formalities at this rate” She crossed her arms and kept her gaze on the lit candles before her, “You did try to kill my friend, after all.” No response greeted her as she bit her lip.

“I don’t think Annie knew what she was doing when she called you, it was purely selfless. That’s Annie for you though, putting her life at risk in order to calm down a few rowdy boys- boys that were up in arms over you I might add!” If someone were to come in at this moment, they’d most assuredly be calling the psych ward at the sight of a crazed redhead talking to a wall.

She started to pace and rake her nails through mussed red tresses, eyes wandering from mural to mural in agitation. She finally settled on the one that showed Candym- Daniel being restrained by jeering dandies in preparation to saw off his hand; his mouth agape and eyes wide in fear.

“I won’t pretend to understand what you went through, be hard pressed to find anyone that could I think” She once again found herself reaching out to touch his restrained hand, “To die for love- die for loving someone that society deems against the norm isn’t quite as romantic as philosophers make it out to be. My uncle learned that the hard way…” She trailed off, letting her fingers slip down the wall and back to her side.

No, she wouldn’t share more of herself with this man after what he’d done.

“Look” She turned with a new found ferocity back to the shrine, “I don’t know what you want with Annie, you would have killed her already if you had no use for her. Say the name and end them groin to gullet, right? Well whatever you’re planning, I won’t let you have her so easily; she’s had enough taken from her” Her eyes bore into the mismatched painted ones as if daring him to come uncalled, “And so have I.” With one last long look at the mural Anya turned to leave with the setting sun, long lit candles extinguishing behind her only seconds after with a strong gust of wind.

______________________________

That night found her in her bed with Philip Purcell’s book, trying to absorb as much information as she could.

Daniel Robitaille...

Born to slaves…

Educated…

Artist by trade…

Fell in love…

Died for love…

The pages turned rapidly as she attempted to learn more about this man, eyes not moving fast enough for her liking. If it wasn’t for the manner in which his story ended, his life almost could have been the perfect romance. Two people from different worlds falling into each other's arms thanks to a commissioned painting, a child as a result of their passions.

Unfortunately tragedy and hatred presented at the forefront of this story. Never would their love have been allowed to continue due to their statuses in life; the different color of their skin.

Yet Daniel was the one who was punished- was the one who paid with his life and, evidently, his soul.

Of course, that wasn’t entirely fair of her to think. The thought of having to watch the man you love die as his child grew within you, knowing he’d never get to love them the way they deserved to be loved; the way he deserved to be loved.

Maybe a good night’s rest would clear her mind enough to do more research in the morning. She placed the book in the top drawer of her nightstand, her eye catching on the two red flowers that still lay on the surface next to her lamp.

“Worth beyond beauty…” Her fingertips grazed the petals of one as if in a trance before shaking herself out of it and switching the lamp off.

She felt her body begin to relax as the darkness pulled her under and dreams filled her mind.

The field in front of her was blanketed in the purest snow and lit ethereal by the full moon above. Her feet bore no shoes yet she could not feel the cold, it was her dream after all. The distinct sound of a melody flowed around her, a violin’s beautiful yet melancholy cry and the keys of a gentle piano following in its wake enticing her into a dance.

Her movements were slow to start, gradually evolving into a sure yet slow routine to match the song all around her. Moon beams danced off her fiery hair as the tender breeze blew snowflakes to kiss the flowing tresses, her simple pale pink dress touching just to the middle of her knees over and over again as she moved.

The footprints she made filled in almost as quickly as they were created as gleaming crystals replaced them in the wake of the moon. Every night she wondered why it was always snow, why did her mind immediately take her here? The mind could imagine many splendored images, fireflies over a lush meadow where Puck lay hidden and uttering at the foolishness of mortals; Rapunzel’s sunlit tower surrounded by stained glass and old books.

Yet deep in her soul, she knew why here; why snow.

The last and only memory she had of her time in Russia was a happy one, something she kept close to her heart and always would. She and Vadim had made snow angels as both of her parents stood within a few feet of their children.

Both of her parents…

Not only was this the last and only memory she had of Russia, but also that of her father. Ivan Fyodorov was a name that had not been uttered in what felt like decades yet he haunted her just as much as the thought of Candyman did. His salt and pepper beard riddled with snowflakes and his body wrapped in a dark brown fur, arm laced with Elena’s much more delicate one.

She remembered how his whiskey brown eyes never strayed from his two children and his mouth in what appeared to be a permanent straight line. Her younger self had caught his gaze and smiled so wide that a flicker of something akin to warmth passed through his eyes before her memory went blank.

Maybe that was it. The snow held that memory, froze it in an eternal loop for her only.

Her body went into a few quick pirouettes before halting with one hand stretched before her and the other gently grasped in a warm hand from behind. Hear senses heightened and raised at the hackles, never before had anyone else ever joined her dream; not this one.

Red hair flew as she whipped her head around, her lips parting in an attempt to take in more air that her lungs couldn’t seem to find.

There he stood in all his broad glory just the same as she had seen him at Annie’s. His hand once again grasping hers gently as she stood in her final pose, wide blue eyes intertwining with intense brown that seemed to keep her in place.

“It’s you…” Her voice was but a mere whisper, “How?” His lips parted ever so slightly as his fingers tightened around her hand gently.

“This place that you’ve created does not exist on a physical plane” His voice only seemed to have gotten deeper since last she saw him, “Therefore, I am able to come to you without a proper calling.” His arm began to tug softly as if he was keeping hold of a frightened doe, her own body slowly twisting fully towards him and willingly following his pull.

Once their chests were within inches, the hand holding hers raised slightly as the other came to rest at the small of her back in a waltz position. She had expected to feel the sting of cold metal at her spine, but was instead surprised at the warmth of a large palm. He smirked as if reading her mind.

“In dreams, we can be whomever we so choose” The music still played on a never ending loop around them as he began to sway with her gingerly, “We can perform tasks that one only yearns for in the mortal world.” His voice almost seemed to mesh with the music perfectly, as if the song existed only to be in sync with him.

He spun her delicately, her hair caressing his coat in a stark contrast of flame dancing in the night sky. They moved effortlessly around and with each other in a way that frightened her. He was attuned to her movements and she to his more so than any dance partner she’d ever encountered. Yes this was a dream and things were obviously different in this reality, but she had a feeling that his grace and agility was something that carried over into the real world just as hers did.

His hand remained a constant reassurance at the small of her back through every dip and twirl while the other engulfed her fingers entirely. They were larger than any she could remember yet long and elegant in the fingers with no calluses to speak of, an artist's hand through and through.

“In the world of the living this hand remains a grizzled reminder of my death, a cruel tease that numbs touch. But here?” He dropped the hand holding hers and slid the other around her waist so that it squeezed her securely into a one armed lift, their bodies chest to chest with her one arm wound around his neck as he spun her a mere two times; stopping gradually to slide her back down to their starting position, “I can feel you with both as if I still lived.” His voice gentled to a whisper and tempting her body into the desire for another dance.

Her breath was labored in a way it shouldn’t have been, years of physical fitness and training allowing her a high stamina and control of oxygen. He had an unnatural effect over her and perhaps that was the dream blending with his own supernatural aura, she couldn’t be sure, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

“The flowers” She suddenly remembered, her hand sliding down from his shoulder, “Why the flowers? Why me?” His hand left her waist and caught hers as it lay just above his heart, keeping it pressed there.

“You bestowed unto me the same, did you not? More than that, you’ve done something no one has managed to do in a very long time” His other hand once again dropped her hand in favor of cupping her cheek, his hand so big and fingers so long that he almost cradled her entire head, “You’ve intrigued me- enraptured my attention.” He dipped his face closer to hers as her eyes fluttered at his proximity.

“You, Anastasia, are an enigma that I long to discover. A lone woman who leaves the first shred of kindness I’ve felt in centuries as an offering and calls me by my name” Her eyes fluttered back open, “My true name.” His own eyes drifted down to her lips and lingered there as she finally felt able to conjure words to her tongue.

“Wh- what do you want with A- Annie?” Vadim would laugh at how pathetic she sounded right now.

“Quite the question, one for another time. For now?” He leaned in as if to kiss her, thumb tracing her bottom lip, “I think it best if you...wake up.” She felt the music around her stop as the dream melted away into a mixture of snow and honey, the bright morning of light greeting her in a warm caress.

She opened her eyes at the ever persistent sun beams, a gasp leaving her throat as she felt around; sighing in relief when she touched the blankets of her bedding. A dream, a very realistic dream, but a dream nonetheless. Truly it had felt as if she never fell asleep at all. The feel of his hands, the brush of snowflakes on her face, his breath on her cheek; it truly was the most realistic dream she’d ever had.

He’d been so brutal in his pursuit of Paul that she almost believed he had some sort of alter ego. Dream be damned, to be so savagely harsh yet delicately soft was a conundrum. Maybe something he had said would resonate with Annie, she’d need to tell her right away. She sighed and stretched her limbs, shaking the sleep from her bones and letting her eyes drift over to the nightstand where her red blooms now held new company.

There in plain view was a sprig of what looked like sweetpea.

She sat up and snatched the white flower as she threw the covers off; padding over to her book case in concentration. Her fingers skimmed the well used spines until they settled on a manual of botany and began to flip through  the pages until she found the letter ‘S’.

Saffron

Sage

Snowdrop

Ah! There it was, sweetpea. Derived from the Geek word “lathyros” of which translates to ‘pulse’. In terms of its own language, the sweetpea can mean delicate pleasure, blissful pleasure, a declaration of thanks for a lovely time and adieu.

Oh.

She let the book slip to the floor as she brought the flower towards her face. That dream was, in a way she didn’t understand, seemingly- well, real. He had come to her without the call, but how was that possible? Was it true how he described it? The thought of dreams and the unconscious plane having different rules than that of reality didn’t seem that crazy; especially with how much she’d been thinking of him subconsciously. Now that she knew this it was imperative that she talked to Annie about it.

Well, maybe she would keep the part about dancing with him private for now.

____________________________

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to run that by me again.” An incredulous Annie crossed her arms at what she’d just been told.

Her reaction to Anya’s dream would have been humorous if it wasn’t for the fact that the blonde had summoned the very same hooked specter through a mirror and encountered him in her home.

“You heard me, he somehow found a way to communicate with me and...that just happens to be through my dreams” She rubbed her temples at Annie’s furrowing brow, “Look, I know it sounds weird-”

“That’s an understatement-”

“-but it’s real. He may not be able to come to me like he has you, but he sure as other ways. For what purpose...that’s what I’ll need to figure out.”

“Did he say anything of interest last night?” The question was innocent enough, but it also brought a light dusting of red to her cheeks at the thought of their dance.

She hadn’t been able to resist him, as outrageous as that sounded. This man- this ghost had nearly killed her friend the other night and was now stalking the other for reasons she couldn’t understand. Even with all of that in mind, she had not been able to fight him.

There was something so alluring and calming about the man even with the bloody hook embedded into his wrist; he had an aura that could pull you in and never let go.

She’d need to work on resisting that if she ever wanted to get straight answers.

“Not really, just a bunch of cryptic bullshit.” She didn’t like lying to Annie, but now wasn’t the time to tell her she waltzed with her husband’s almost killer.

“Dammit, I was hoping you’d have good news to balance out mine” Anya quirked her head, “It’s Matthew, some of the kids came by mom’s this morning. He’s gone missing.” Annie began to pace, anxiety practically dripping from her pores.

“Missing? What would-”

“I said his name in front of Matthew. I said Candyman five times in the mirror just to calm him down, show him there was nothing that could happen and-” She sighed deeply, “-and now he’s missing, that can’t be a coincidence.” Anya bit her lip thoughtfully.

“What about his father? He’s a Pastor just up the road, right? He may not know where Matthew is, but maybe he has some insight.” As long as they could get him to speak to them at all.

“That might work” Annie retrieved her keys from the counter, “Let me just make a quick trip to check on Paul and we can head over there.” She motioned Anya to follow, the red head already making strides to follow before something out of the corner of her eye stopped her.

There in the reflection of one of Annie’s windows was the silhouette of a very familiar man, hook raised in greeting. She turned to look where the reflection would be coming from with a gasp...only to see nothing.

“Anya? Yah comin’?” Annie called out.

“Yeah! Sorry-” She turned back to the window to see the reflection gone with only a small bee buzzing around in place from outside, “-I forgot my bag, coming!”

The little bee buzzed around after the red head, watching as she entered the car; its small body softly landing on a nearby bush of sweet pea as the car drove off.

[supremeuppityone]

Written for Klaroline Valentine's Day Bingo 2020 @kcvalentinesbingo

Prompt: Massage oil

Author’s note: This is the much-requested sequel to Chapter 19: The Red Light Special, found in my Klaroline series, A Beautiful Symmetry. I know it’s been ages since I wrote the first one, so I hope it lives up to your expectations!

Warning: Sexy times!

Please review here.

           Perhaps it was a mistake to add the laudanum to the ritual bath without first explaining a few things to Klaus. He kept lazily blinking up at her, an easy smile nearly sliding right off of his handsome face as he playfully kept poking his big toe in the porcelain soap dish. However, laudanum had been a part of the ritual since time began for her kind, and Caroline was nothing if not a firm believer in ritual. The fragrant olive oils infused with Phoenician juniper, saffron, cardamom and cinnamon flooded their senses, sending Klaus into a blissful euphoria while it sharpened Caroline’s appetites, making her ache with want. Klaus was hers.

           “That feels amazing, love,” he sighed sleepily, leaning his curly head back into the warm water with a sigh of contentment.

           “The massage oil will feel even better,” Caroline promised, pouring the last of the ritual ingredients into the bath, rubbing her palms over his bare chest to infuse his skin.

           “Massage oil?”

           She grinned at his eager tone, and she placed a soothing kiss to his damp forehead as she told him, “I’d love nothing more than to indulge in a bit of debauchery with you, but first we have things to discuss. Things you need to understand.” When Klaus favored her with another gentle, lazy grin, she reminded herself that his mortal physique would need to be sober for this conversation. Her kind didn’t take the unwilling.

           She leaned forward, the beast within warming her touch as she laid her hands on him. She carefully fed on the intoxicants rather than drain his energy, noting the instant Klaus was coherent. He sat up a bit straighter in the bath, gray eyes regarding her with confusion. “Sweetheart, how did I get here?”

           “I brought you,” she began hesitantly, wishing she’d asked Elena for advice on the best approach. Lilith only knew how many times Elena had thought to claim a hapless human. “Klaus, do you recall anything unusual from our time together?”  

           “Only that the moments we’ve shared have been incredible.” He caressed her cheek, brushing aside a blonde tendril. “You are incredible.”

           She allowed herself to smile, hating the flicker of fear she felt at what might happen next. How would he react?“You unwittingly wandered into another world. A dangerous one. My girls and I are of a separate origin than you. Than humans.” At his politely puzzled look, she pressed forward, anxious to make him understand. “The succubus myth has twisted the truth over the years, but we trace our roots to Lilith, said to be the mother of all monsters.”

           Klaus shook his head, lightly kissing her lips as he swore, “You could never be a monster.”

           From his indulgent tone, it was clear he didn’t believe her. With a small sigh, she allowed her monster to slightly bleed through, from the unnatural glow of her blue eyes to the rows of razor-sharp teeth. She steeled herself for him to recoil from her, the inevitable look of disgust crossing his face. And yet it never came. Instead, she could sense that while his thoughts were chaotic, he wasn’t afraid. If anything, he seemed aroused. Men were peculiar creatures.  

           “Heavens, you’re even more lovely than before. How is that possible?”

           Caroline felt herself warm — how long had it been since she’d blushed like this? She giggled, poking one of his dimples as she said, “You’re far too charming to be a human. I’m fortunate to have claimed you when I did or all of my girls would fight over you.”

           Before she let herself become too distracted by his inviting form in the soft candlelight, she added, “Speaking of my claim, it’s important that you understand what it means. Earlier, you said in jest that you claimed me, but it’s a bond not to be taken lightly. I initially claimed you to ensure your safe passage at The Red Lotus. My girls don’t permanently harm humans, but they do feed on sexual energy and I didn’t want you in their thrall.” She shrugged her bare shoulders, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain as she confessed, “I like you.”

           Klaus’ eyes widened, threading his fingers with hers as he told her huskily, “I like you too. And the only ‘thrall’ I wish to be under is yours.”

           Her pulse quickened, and she pressed her lips to his, lightly nibbling on his lower lip. At his tiny sigh of pleasure, she slipped into the bath to straddle him, their bodies sinking together in the delicious heat. She reached down to palm his erection, delighting in every pleasurable twitch. Spying the slender clay amphora on the ledge, she grasped the clay handle, pouring a thin stream of cardamom and cinnamon-infused massage oil. His flesh came alive under her touch as she rubbed soothing circles along his shoulders and chest, the oil paving a sensual path that made them both groan.      

           His kisses grew more urgent, fingers clutching at her back as he encouraged her to rock against him. “Your thighs tremble, love,” he panted in her ear, “what do you crave?”

           “You,” she demanded, her nails delivering a pinch to his aching tip. He cried out in ecstasy, surging forward until he joined their bodies. Dipping his fingers in the spilled oil, Klaus brought them to her breasts, tweaking her nipples until they were hard little points beneath his teasing caresses. Water churned as they writhed together, urgent need clashing with seductive strokes until they were on the precipice of release.

           With a frantic burst of energy, he moved Caroline along his cock, the sensual split causing her to clench around him. They rode out their passion; Klaus stealing kisses as she snuggled against him, lazily sliding her palm along his softening member.

           Mine, her monster whispered.  

           Caroline acknowledged that laying claim to a human was cause for celebration, but The Red Lotus was still a business that required her attention, so she sent Klaus off to photograph her girls while she tended to her responsibilities. He’d initially approached her brothel to showcase her girls’ humanity — a desire which amused her to no end — but he’d been so charming and earnest that she couldn’t resist inviting him into their world. Hopefully he would want to stay.

           She reviewed the books, lightly tapping the pointed toes of her boots to the jazz band playing in her parlor. Finally, she set down her pen, confident that she’d distributed the correct number of incentives to key individuals. She handed Enzo the stack of envelopes she’d addressed to each member of City Council, the bribes enough to secure their votes against upcoming rezoning ordinances. Lilith only knew why humans felt the need to legislate until  

their pleasure was in a stranglehold. Fortunately, Caroline and her kind were around to guide them toward a much more satisfying release of their pent-up energies.

           After her loyal houseman had left to secure their alliances, she decided to observe Klaus’ latest photography session. The enthusiasm he brought to his craft gladdened even the most jaded of hearts among her girls, and they’d become quite protective of her human. She was puzzled to see Katherine in one of the main rooms performing a sensual dance with Elena in her transformed state, as the twins were supposed to be posing for Klaus.

           “Where’s Klaus?”

           “Victoria insisted he photograph her first,” Katherine pouted, rubbing her cheek sensually along Elena’s diamondback scales.

           Caroline frowned as she said, “Victoria is visiting her brother.” Something was wrong. Not bothering to wait for Elena to shed her skin and morph back, they raced upstairs, scuffing the pine floor with their boots as they screeched to a halt in front of a closed bedroom door. Someone had burned silencing sage.

           Furious, Caroline slammed open the door, the brass knob breaking off in her hand. Klaus whirled around in surprise, almost dropping his camera case. “Sweetheart? Is something the matter? I was setting up for Victoria’s session.”

           She took in the smirking brunette posing provocatively on the bed in little more than lacey black garters and a strand of pearls. Scoffing, Caroline replied, “That’s not Victoria.”  

           Wavy red locks suddenly bled into the brunette curls, overtaking them while the girl’s features became more angular as she shed the cheap glamour spell. “Spoilsport.”  

           Elena snorted derisively from the threshold. “Oh look, it’s the wicked red bitch.”

           Nodding in agreement, Katherine stomped forward, her voice pure venom as she said, “To help you remember to stay away from Klaus, I’m going to rip out every bit of your stringy ginger hair, Genevieve.”

           To Klaus’ credit, he seemed to be handling his introduction into witchcraft fairly well. “Has she harmed any of the girls,” he asked Caroline in a low growl.

           “Of course not, darling,” Genevieve cooed, “I came for you.” She coyly looked up at him from beneath her lashes, “At least I hoped to come for you.”

           Caroline’s monster angrily rose to the surface, tired of the witch’s games. “That’s enough.” Glowing blue eyes cut through Genevieve as she told Klaus, “This is one of the girls from White Oak House down the street. She tried to trick you into committing a flesh dishonor.”

           “No sad little ginger could ever steal from Caroline,” Katherine hissed, linking arms with Elena as they glared at the witch.

           Caroline’s forked tongue flicked across needle-sharp teeth, savoring Genevieve’s horror as her spells failed to harm them. She commanded the twins, “Bind the witch and return her to White Oak House with a warning to her sisters. Come for me and mine again and we’ll consider the fragile peace broken.”

           It was only after they left that she realized Klaus had grown unnaturally quiet. Had she frightened him away by revealing too much? A forked tongue might be hard to accept.

           “Your tongue is forked.”

           She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the look of terror that must be on his face.

           “I’m intrigued by the possibilities,” Klaus purred, caressing her cheek as her eyes flew open in surprise. He kissed her slowly, with a possessiveness that left her reeling. As though a claim was being laid.  

           Tomorrow she’d need to arrange a summit with the Quarter Coven’s regent, to determine if Genevieve acted alone or if the coven had declared war. Caroline’s kind never sought a war. But they damn well would finish one.

[elenaxever]

( Chloe Bennet, 25, cisfemale, she/her ) Have you seen ELENA EVER around ? I hear they’re a SINGER AT EDEN/HACKER who can sometimes be HEADSTRONG & RECKLESS. But I also heard they can be COURAGEOUS & COMPASSIONATE if you catch them on a good day. they’re usually hanging around FATES in their spare time. i sure hope they’re alright !

hello hello, claire (she/her, gmt+1) again i know you’re getting bored of me but here’s my third bby and the ‘normal’ one out of the three, though that’s relative too if we’re being honest... anyway if you want this stubborn little thing to plot with her, give this a ❤ and imma come @ you 

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STATS: ➤  NAME: Elena Ever ➤  AGE: 25 ➤  DOB: 6th of May ➤  BORN: New York City ➤  HEIGHT: 5′5′’ ➤  SIBLINGS: unknown ➤  MBTI: ENFJ ➤  ORIENTATION: bisexual ➤  OCCUPATION: singer at Eden, freelance hacker ➤  EDUCATION: high school education  ➤  TATTOOS: yes, a tattoo that was placed on her by the brothel, she hides it obsessively ➤  SCARS: yes, various ➤  AESTHETICS: leather jackets and combat boots, her phone and a cup of lukewarm coffee always in her hand, a flat full of computers, a raging motorcycle between her legs, leather fingerless gloves, nails painted black, skirts and dark stockings, a laptop in her bag, always going somewhere ➤  VICES: tobacco, alcohol, sex, drugs (before)  ➤  PETS: yes a shiba inu and a hedgehog (idk man) 

HISTORY: 

➤  She was born a bastard to a mother that didn’t want her and a father that never knew. Her mom was an dancer and a prostitute in New York, a young woman trying to get by to whom the pregnancy happened by accident. Elena grew up among the women who worked at that club, and though her mother was far from thrilled by her - she still cared for her, as did the other women. There were a few kids like her there, but she was hardly aware that a life they were leading was far from ideal.  ➤  During her teen years she started showing interested in computers, and had a mind for coding - able to see things and connections most others didn’t. It was a way to connect to other people of similar interests and she soon found a place where she finally fit in. She started running with that crowd, but it was far from ideal and Elena was desperate to keep her status now that she’d found a place where she was finally seen and respected.  ➤  Out of some rebellious teenage stupidity, Elena ran away when she was barely 16. Though her family situation wasn’t ideal, it was a far cry from what was expecting her out there in the real world. She just didn’t realise that yet.  ➤   As her notoriety grew in the community, people started showing interest. Chief among them being the man running and underground crime business that dealt exclusively with black-hat hacking. Hungry for a place to settle, and a stable community to call her own after 2 years on the run - Elena accepted the proposal. They’d give her a place to stay in the base, all the resources she needed and all she had to do was do as she was told.  ➤  Elena trusted the man, she trusted everyone there and she would soon learn that people are rarely trustworthy, and she’d learn it the hard way. She was young and he enticed her, he was her idol - a notorious hacker in the business, brilliant and fascinating. How could a young girl of 18 not fall for that?  ➤   Betrayal came like a bucket of cold water dumped on her - a field mission gone wrong, the enemy closing in without anyone to get her out. No one even tried. She thought he’d come till the last minute, but as they dragged her away into a dark van, there was no one to be seen, no one to catch her when she fell.  ➤   Turns out the man who took her was a mobster from New York, running an illegal prostitution ring, and so he dragged her back home - but it looked nothing like the way she thought she’d return.  ➤   They broke her spirits there - and don’t get me wrong, she put up hell of a fight. But there’s only so much a human can take, before they’re broken seemingly beyond repair. She became numb, distant - there were places in her mind where she’d go to hide, lines of code she’d go through over and over again until it was done.  ➤   But even then, at her lowest, darkest moments - a spark was enough to light a fire within her. There was a person there - she never learned who they were exactly - but they offered her a chance, a split second to make a decision and run for her life. She got out. So many more didn’t. It would haunt her for the rest of her life.  ➤   Once out, she found her mother again - she was beaten and bruised but still standing. A realisation came to her a few days later - was this all there was? This life? It couldn’t be. She’d been through so much - the world swallowed a girl and spit out a woman - it was about time she took things into her own hands. After all she was free again, and she would never let anyone own her again.  ➤    On a whim, like she does most things, she decided she’d find the person that had offered her a chance at escape, she decided she couldn’t let this rest, she decided she would have to learn to fight so she would never feel so helpless again. So she followed the leads - back to Chicago.  ➤    She knew the bare minimum about this person, only that they were involved with the criminal world of Chicago, the seedy underbelly of the city - but horrible odds never stopped her, so why would they now?  ➤    She settled in Chicago, finding work at Eden as a singer - it was a small win for her, to take this part of her and piece it together. It reminded her of what was done to her, but it also reminded her that she was her own woman now, and no one was controlling her. On the side she still works as a hacker, but a freelance one - not involved with any syndicate and making sure she’s covering her tracks so they wouldn’t find her again.

PERSONALITY:  +  courageous, compassionate, kind, determined, clever

-  stubborn, reckless, impulsive, addictive, idealistic

HEADCANONS: 

➤   She owns a tiny apartment, but it’s enough for her needs. She doesn’t want to get greedy and expose herself too much just to get some more money. What she earns she spends mostly on her hacking equipment - it’s basically her baby.  ➤   She spends a lot of time on her laptop at the Fates, downing coffee after coffee until her heart is in a wild tachycardia (it’s not healthy and she knows it). She likes being around people instead of just always locked at her apartment.  ➤    Singing is a thing she has loved since she was a kid, it lets her get lost in the melody and the words, it’s almost like she’s someone else. This is why she’s working at Eden - it lets her couple work with something she loves, and it also allows her to face the fears from the past. After all you cannot always be strong, but you can be brave.  ➤    She loves movies, especially the old kind - they’re idyllic, a much-needed escape from reality. So if she likes you don’t be surprised if she drags you to her place or the cinema to watch something.  ➤    She absolutely adores her motorcycle and takes it everywhere, claiming it’s simply a more practical way of transport than a car is. Truth is, she just likes the thrill of it - the way she’s dancing with death when she’s speeding down the street.  ➤   That’s another thing about her - she’s a reckless creature. She likes the danger, the thrill, and she’s always the first to jump into trouble if it means protecting someone. She’s big on being on the side of the underdog, and regardless of the situation, she just can’t let things slide even if it means getting her ass kicked in the process. It wouldn’t be the first time.  ➤    She struggles a lot with ptsd and survivor guilt, but has never had enough sense to get some help. It’s mostly because she feels like she’s alone in the world and there’s never anyone to stand up for her - so she can do it on her own, she has to.  ➤    She has like 20 leather jackets, a good 80% of her closet is just leather jackets. It’s unhealthy. And also combat boots and heeled combat boots, there’s just nothing in between except when she’s working and she has to dress appropriately.  ➤    Her cigarettes of choice are Lucky Strike, and she has an old beaten-up zippo that a friend once gave it to her (the same one whose criminal syndicate she’d been working for). She hates him, yet she still keeps the lighter, a creature of habit.  ➤    She’s an energetic person, always hell-bent on helping people (maybe because she feels no one ever held a hand out to her) so it’s not weird for her to approach people if she senses they’re not in a good place. She’ll talk to them, or offer them a cigarette or drag them out to have some drinks, but whatever it is she will be there.  ➤    There is a tattoo on her forearm that she obsessively covers and hides with sleeves and arm pieces, it’s back from her days of prostitution when they marked her as theirs. She hates it but lets it stay there as a reminder never to give up her own agency like that again. She also has some scars and burn marks from that time but they don’t bother her as much though she hides them too.  ➤    She can be seen taking self-defence classes and going to the shooting range to practice. It offers her peace of mind and some semblance of a hold on her sanity - a thought that she could defend her self (badly though probably) if something were to happen. ➤   She WILL try to befrend you count on it. Also I’ll come up with more random hcs I just wanted to give her an introduction :)  wanted connections: i’m currently making a wanted connections page for her but honestly everything and anything is welcome!!! like she could’ve been a runaway kid with your charrie or smth (i would LOVE those connections), maybe people who were also in the syndicate with her? or people who were abused like her and managed to get away? also she’s sneaking around looking for clues about gangs and although she’s just trying to reach out to say thank you and all that jazz, it looks suspicious (she never thought of it that way cause ya know... the girls a genius for hacking but can be clueless), also fwb she has a thing for that because she has trust issues etc. but also likes to have fun, and friends just in general she needs her squad  for more specific ones i’m gonna post like a wanted connection, like that guy from syndicate who left her behind, and also someone involved with gangs (doesn’t matter in which way) who helped her escape (i left that purposefully vague af)  SO basically ALL of it?? 

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

Like Sun On The Rise

Domestic fluff requested by a sweet friend, @literal-ray-of-sunshine. I hope this makes you smile.

Penelope learns Schneider never experienced the joys and terrors of sleepovers as a child, and decides to fix that. Secret talents, Truth or Dare... and feelings that can only be avoided for so long.

Penelope x Schneider, One Day At A Time. Also on AO3.

He hesitated. “Just to clarify...what are the rules? Off-limits stuff?”

With her feet practically resting on his, Penelope shrugged. “I can’t think of anything. We know each other. And we’re both sober--with my kids down the hall. Basically, we’re playing Truth or Dare: Grown Ups Edition.”

“You know, if we were really going to play the grown ups edition...” Schneider grinned at her, more than a little bit flirtatious, and she swatted him on the arm.

“Ugh.”

“Just saying.”

“Not funny.”

He kept smiling, until she started to feel a little self-conscious with him staring at her so freely. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he wasn’t kidding.

The knock came while Elena was playing video games on the couch.

“Elena, could you get the door?” Penelope called from the kitchen. “I’ve got my hands full in here.”

She heard the squeal with her back to the living room and smiled. Apparently the reunion was starting early, and the scene in the living room when she turned around was a heartwarming one.

“I thought your flight wasn’t until seven,” Elena said, hugging her best friend while shock turned to elation. “I was supposed to meet you at the airport. Schneider was going to take me,” she added, shooting him an accusing look over Carmen’s shoulder.

“My flight changed. Figured I’d surprise you,” Carmen replied with her familiar deadpan tone. “Surprise.”

“She swore me to secrecy,” Schneider added.

Elena emerged from their hug to beam at Carmen. “I’m so glad you’re back. Tomorrow you and I and Syd are all going to hang out and I cannot wait for you to finally officially meet them. I know you’ve seen them, like, a lot, but video chat is not the same. Oh my god, I’ve missed you so much!”

Elena’s excitement rushed her words together and made Penelope smile. When she realized Schneider remained near the couch, grinning fondly at the girls too, she headed over to him.

“Elena told me this was your idea,” Penelope said as her daughter pulled Carmen toward her bedroom, still talking non-stop.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it was my idea,” he hedged, looking like he might bolt for the door after all. “She was talking about how much she wished Carmen could visit over the summer but how Carmen’s family didn’t have the money for a flight. I just mentioned that I’d be willing to buy Carmen a ticket, if that was all it took. And if you were on board, obviously!”

“Calm down, Schneider. I’m not accusing you of anything. You knew I agreed to this weekend. I’m trying to thank you for helping make it happen.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.” His grin mellowed into something softer when peals of laughter floated their way and his eyes met Penelope’s. “Listen to those two.”

There was a hint of parental guilt in her nod of agreement. “Elena never exactly had an easy time making friends. I know how hard it was for her after Carmen moved. Tonight’s sleepover is just what the landlord ordered.”

“I didn’t order it,” Schneider insisted. “I couldn’t recommend it based on experience--I’ve never even been to a sleepover.”

She sat on the couch, frowning at him.“What do you mean you’ve never been to a sleepover? At some point, before you were the pampered man-child you are today, you were an actual child.”

“Your point being?”

“It’s a thing. A thing kids do. You’re telling me you never went to a single sleepover in your whole life.”

“I’ve had the adult kind,” Schneider argued.

“Doesn’t count. I’m talking pajamas and ghost stories and junk food, that stuff. Rite of passage, essential childhood experiences.”

“My childhood wasn’t like that,” he said with a shrug. “The thing about sleepovers is you need a place where your friends can come over, to sleep at. I went to boarding school.”

“So really, your whole childhood was one long sleepover.”

Schneider shrugged again, but this time it was more like a wince. “The other thing about sleepovers is you kind of need friends."

When he didn’t elaborate further, she decided not to push. “I'll see you later,” he ventured into the silence that followed.

Penelope listened to the faint sounds of Elena and Carmen catching up and watched as Schneider turned to leave. She took a leap.

“Hey, Schneider?”

He faced her expectantly. “Yeah.”

“What have you got planned for tonight?”

“Netflix, woodworking. Maybe some yoga. Why? You need something?”

“No. I was thinking that if you didn’t have big plans, you could come over. We could hang out.”

“You and me?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Mami’s out of town visiting my cousin, the girls are having a sleepover, you’ve never had one. We could watch movies, eat too much popcorn, stay up late playing games and gossiping and painting each others’ nails...”

Penelope raised her eyebrows at him to make him laugh. “Anyway, it could be fun.”

“You’re serious.”

“Absolutely,” she declared with more conviction this time. “I used to love a good sleepover. And I didn’t have anything planned other than hanging around listening to those two. Why should they have all the fun?”

"Okay!” Schneider’s face lit up like a kid getting offered a gift--which wasn’t too far off, in a way, Penelope thought.

“I’d love to," he added. "I’ll bring snacks.”

****

When Schneider came back after dinner, her laughter was so loud it carried to Elena’s room.

“You said you would bring snacks, Schneider...not all the snacks.”

“I wanted us to have options!” He had toted up four recyclable grocery bags full of them and had been proud of himself for the effort--until now.

“We definitely will,” Penelope agreed. “For the next month. Even if the kids help, there’s no way can we eat all this stuff tonight.”

“Then I’ll leave the rest and you guys can have it later.” Shaking his head, Schneider moved the bags to the kitchen counter, waiting until she joined him to start unpacking.

Along with name brand chips and microwave popcorn and fancy soda, he had gotten her favorite snacks, which made her feel bad for making fun of him. How did he even remember the Ben and Jerrys flavor she liked when they only sold it at Target?

Did he shop at Target just so he could include it?

“You really went all out,” Penelope said once the drinks were in the fridge and the ice cream was in the freezer.

“I wanted to.”

“Yeah.” She paused as the thought occurred to her. “I know you got the Ben and Jerry's for me, and I recognize that frozen yogurt thing you like...but what’s the other ice cream for? You definitely got more than we need. It barely fits in the freezer.”

“It won’t need the space for long,” he predicted with a wink, lifting a can of whipped cream out of the last bag along with jars of chocolate and caramel sauce and fresh cherries.

“Schneider.”

She’d already let the girls order pizza for dinner. Carmen being there at all was a treat. Sundaes, on top of that?

“C’mon, Pen.” Ever so casually, he pulled the last item out of the bag he was holding and slid it her way.

Damn it.

“Cookie dough. Seriously?”

He knew her too well.

“Elena, Alex!” She rolled her eyes toward Schneider when the kids emerged from their rooms. “Guess who decided to splurge on do-it-yourself sundaes tonight?”

“Yes!” Alex was excited enough that Penelope couldn’t help thinking he didn’t need the sugar, but she watched Schneider pass the girls the ingredients to form an assembly line and was reminded of her own childhood.

This was exactly the sort of thing that Elena would hopefully remember one day, those bright, happy memories that were wonderful because they were small and random. Honestly, it was lucky her daughter was still interested in things like ice cream all-nighters with her best friend at this age.

“You guys get started,” Schneider said, resting a hand on Penelope’s arm and pulling her aside. “I’ll make mine next.”

In the relative privacy of the hall, with the kids’ conversations providing cover, he let his concern show. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Schneider shook his head. “Talk to me. I saw something on your face, and it was not fine.”

“No, it’s--I’m okay. I’m good. I just had a mom moment. You know, Elena’s got her first girlfriend, Alex is practically dating too. How much longer do I have with them before they’re too old for sundaes and sleepovers and...well, me?”

“Psh!” Letting go of her hand, Schneider squeezed her around the waist while Alex teased Elena a few feet away. “They’ll never be too old for you.”

He stayed hugging her as they watched Carmen bury her chocolate ice cream in chocolate sauce with severe focus. “And nobody is too old for sundaes,” he argued. “I’m forty and I’m about to fix a triple-layer one for myself.”

“That’s true.”

“Plus you and I are having a sleepover!” He grinned at her. “Age is just a number.”

“Mom, we’re gonna eat in my room,” Elena said, sliding past them with her bowl and spoon. Carmen and Alex followed, leaving the sundae supplies strewn across the counter.

“Besides,” Schneider said in the sudden quiet. “This is my first sleepover, Penelope. Now is not the time for melancholy. It’s party time!”

“Okay, okay.” She shook off the mood and pointed at the open cartons. “Make your sundae before the ice cream melts.”

“You’re not having one?”

“No way.” Penelope shot him a grin, plucking the yellow package off the counter. “I’m making cookies.”

****

Trying to be a good example for the kids and not get sick, she only had a couple of cookies at a time. And maybe she stole a few spoonfuls of his sundae, but they were just tastes--they didn’t count. Especially when Schneider ate four cookies out of her first batch.

“Honestly,” Penelope told him from where she was curled up on the couch. “I have no idea how you can have that much sugar at once and not die, when your usual diet is obsessively healthy.”

Sprawled out next to her, he filled more than his fair share of the available space. They were both too content with the sugar high to feel weird about it.

“Obsessively is the key word.” Schneider smiled at her a little. “I told you I have an addictive personality--sugar is addictive. Having a reasonable amount is the hard part for me."

Penelope frowned and reached for his hand. “Should we not have...I didn’t mean to encourage--”

He turned his palm over, cutting her off with the surprise move of lacing his fingers through hers. “It’s fine. Tonight won’t kill me. I came to have the classic sleepover experience, and so far it has been a blast.”

“All right. If you’re sure.”

“Yeah. But, tomorrow morning, if you catch me trying to get Lydia to add extra sugar to my coffee...cut me off.” He offered her a sheepish look that was also somehow charming. The softer side of Schneider--quieter, open about his flaws--never failed to tug at her.

She did her best to cover that with jokes, though. The last thing she needed was for him to realize that his vulnerability was even more attractive than seeing him suited up for a quinces.

“Anyway,” Schneider continued, oblivious to her thoughts as he released her hand. “What’s next on the classic sleepover agenda? Movies, games?”

“Movies are a must,” Penelope agreed. “But I think I’m too close to a sugar coma for one now--unless it’s a horror movie, and we can’t watch any of those until later.”

“Because of the kids?”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s cute. I’m sure they’ve already seen all the ones I’ve banned in secret screenings with their friends. No, I meant we should definitely watch a horror film, but after dark--for maximum terror.”

“Oh. Great,” Schneider offered up after a slight hesitation. The wobble in his voice made her smile. She knew he was kind of a scaredy cat just like her, but fear was a time-honored part of sleepover tradition.

"So we should play a game,” she decided. “Unless you really do want to go for makeovers.”

“I...I don’t know how that would even work.” His brow furrowed. “Plus I kind of like my look the way it is.”

Penelope held up her hands reassuringly. “Kidding. Like I said then, game time.”

“Which means what? I used to play a great round of Monopoly.”

Laughing, she shifted closer. “Not board games--we can play those any day. Sleepovers have their own games, though I have to admit all the games I remember are for teenagers. Truth or dare, seven minutes in heaven, spin the bottle.”

“I may not be a sleepover whiz, but I know spin the bottle,” Schneider said. “We would need more than two people for that one. What’s seven minutes in heaven?”

“Also made for more than two people,” Penelope replied. “It’s the worst. You go into a closet with somebody else and then everybody assumes you kissed. Just hormones raging, and gossip.”

“So I guess truth or dare it is, then.”

She nodded. “We’ve got at least an hour to kill--pun intended--until we can pick a thriller to watch. But god, the idea of truth or dare flashes me back to junior high. Have you played before?”

“I have not. Surprisingly, my nannies wouldn’t take me up on the invitation when I was a preteen. Seen it in movies, though.”

“Okay...I should probably go first.” She waited, then nudged his foot with hers. “Ask me!”

Schneider blinked at her. “Oh. Right. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

He hesitated. “Just to clarify...what are the rules? Off-limits stuff?”

With her feet practically resting on his, Penelope shrugged. “I can’t think of anything. We know each other. And we’re both sober--with my kids down the hall. Basically, we’re playing Truth or Dare: Grown Ups Edition.”

“You know, if we were really going to play the grown ups edition...” Schneider grinned at her, more than a little bit flirtatious, and she swatted him on the arm.

“Ugh.”

“Just saying.”

“Not funny.”

He kept smiling, until she started to feel a little self-conscious with him staring at her so freely. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he wasn’t kidding.

But he had to be kidding--Penelope had made it clear years ago that she didn’t think of him like that. It was her own fault that she went and became interested after all.

“Okay,” Schneider said, ending the charged moment between them. “Truth. What’s one thing you desperately want right now, but don’t have?”

Penelope thought it over for almost a full minute before she nodded. “A spa.”

“A spa.” He blinked. “Out of everything you could wish for in the entire universe, you just want to go to a spa?”

“What can I say, I like the simple pleasures.” She gave him a look. “And I didn’t say I wanted a spa day. I said a spa. As in, my own spa. That I can escape to whenever I want.”

“Oh, right, right, right. That makes much more sense.”

“Your turn, Schneider. Truth or dare?” Penelope relaxed back into the couch cushions a little further. She was enjoying their impromptu night more than she had expected to.

“My first turn! Exciting. Wow.” His eyes widened. “Which do you think I should pick?”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“But this is important!”

“This is a game, Schneider.” She gentled her tone. “This is a party game for twelve-year-olds. It’s not the end of the world, no matter what you pick.”

“But--”

“Whichever one you pick now, just pick the other on your next turn. Okay?”

“Alright.” He shook the tension out of his shoulders, jiggling the spot where she sat. “Truth.”

“Okay. My question for you is...who’s your favorite family member?”

“Lydia.”

She frowned. “I didn’t mean my family. I was talking about yours.”

“Lydia is my family. She saw me through a lot of rough patches over the last fifteen years, Pen. I love her like the mother I never had.”

“But what about the mothers you did have?” She felt like shaking him a little, though she knew she didn’t have any right to be frustrated. Now it was her turn to breathe out the stress.

“I was trying to find out more about the family you come from, Schneider. You talk about them only in really vague terms, and they never visit. You’ve met practically everybody related to me at this point, so...I’m curious.”

Schneider sighed and moved back so he wasn’t encroaching on her side of the couch anymore. “You’re right. That’s fair. What exactly do you want to know?”

Watching him carefully, Penelope wondered if stretching her own limbs out toward him would be weird. She missed the friendly warmth they’d been sharing.

“Anything. What’s your happiest memory from growing up? Did you have a favorite holiday? What did you do for fun?”

“Wow, okay. That’s more than one question,” he pointed out. “I feel like we’re breaking the rules of the game.”

“If you don’t want to do it,” she replied with raised eyebrows, “you can always choose Dare instead.”

He frowned. “That feels like a cop-out.”

“Totally valid loophole,” Penelope assured him. “Though if you’re going to do it on every Truth you’re better off just starting with Dare in the first place.”

“Dare,” he decided without further hesitation. She was left wondering what about his family and his childhood he was so desperate to keep secret as she moved on.

“Sure. I dare you to...sing your favorite song backwards.”

Schneider’s brow furrowed in the center but he complied. Though she gave him points for effort, his attempt was as loud as it was nonsensical, bringing the girls into the living room to stare.

They were harsh critics.

“Go back to your party,” Penelope said, raising her voice over the boos, “and leave us to ours. You’re not invited.”

Elena led the way out, laughing with Carmen until bedroom doors shut them in.

“They should be crashing soon from all the sugar,” she told Schneider reassuringly. “If you want, we can wait until they’re asleep.”

“No, I’m good. Your turn,” he reminded her. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

This time, he thought about his question for a long time. She reached out and tapped his leg before he finally asked it.

“Earth to Schneider.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He nodded to himself. “If you could go back in time and change one decision you made, what would it be?”

Penelope had a painfully clear flashback to a bed behind a curtain, and the liar she married seducing her into trusting him again.

If she were being completely honest, she wasn’t sure if she would go back to stop herself from giving Victor another chance...or to stop herself from finding out the truth in such a vulnerable moment. That weakness in her, the not-knowing, was something she was too ashamed to admit, especially to Schneider.

“Dare,” she said instead.

Though he was visibly surprised, he didn’t press. “I dare you to...show me a hidden talent you have.”

“Hmm.” That was a pretty good dare, she had to admit. Creative. She pressed her lips together, trying to think of something Schneider wouldn’t already know about.

“Got it.” Penelope stood, leaving him on the couch while she disappeared into her room. When she returned, she was carrying--of all things--a hula hoop.

Schneider couldn’t stop grinning at her, but he did hold back the laugh that wanted to escape at the very idea of Penelope hula hooping.

“Was this some kind of trendy exercise thing?” He asked as she stood near the front door, planting her feet clear of the furniture.

“No, this was an ‘I have kids’ thing,” she countered. “I wasn’t big into it when I was little, but as a mom, it turns out I rock a hula hoop.”

“Okay then.”

Squashing his amusement as best he could, Schneider watched Penelope start to move...and instantly realized nothing about her secret talent was funny.

She didn’t just sway the hoop--she moved with it in a rhythmic circle, like she was dancing. He’d never thought about the mechanics of hula hooping before, but after watching Penelope, he was pretty sure it was all in the hips, because he couldn’t take his eyes off hers.

Hula hooping should not be sexy, he told himself firmly. Clearly he had a problem.

“Very nice.” Schneider clapped politely when she stopped.

“Hey, you asked for it.”

“Yeah. No. I did, you are correct.” She misunderstood his discomfort, but he was glad--he definitely preferred Penelope thinking he was experiencing anything other than a vivid fantasy right now.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” she said, setting the hula hoop by the door and rejoining him on the couch.

“Dare.”

“I dare you to...” Her smile was wicked. “Show me your hula hooping skills.”

“I--I don’t have any.” Schneider shook his head. “I’ve never hula hooped in my life, Pen. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Want me to teach you?”

Somehow, he had a feeling that lessons with the hoop would involve closeness. Or touching. Or both. Hard and fast, he shoved back against his feelings until they were locked down where they belonged. Then he nodded.

“I mean, you can try. I can’t say I’ve ever thought of myself as a future hula hooping pro.”

“Yeah, but it could be fun.” Penelope stood and reached a hand out to him. “Come on, Schneider. Live a little.”

“Remember who you’re talking to,” he warned her cheerfully. “I live a lot!” As she passed him the hoop, he took her spot near the door. “Does this count as my turn, for the dare?”

“Not a chance,” she answered just as cheerfully.

“But I will be showing you my hulaing skills. They just happen to be a work in progress.”

“This isn’t part of the game. When we’re ready to go back to Truth or Dare, I’ll give you a new dare.”

Schneider sighed dramatically, but his good-natured shrug was the reaction she’d expected.

“And I’m going to tell you the secret to hula hooping,” Penelope told him, “so you can get the hang of it way quicker than I did. What you want is to focus on moving individual parts of your body.”

“Like this?”

Schneider attempted to take her advice, but the hoop only swung around his stomach twice before it clattered down.

“Well, no.” She laughed as he gave it back, then nudged him aside. “Watch me.”

Penelope made it look easy, aiming a grin at him when she tossed her hair back. “See how my hips are moving and keeping the hoop going,” she asked, “but my legs and knees are barely moving at all?”

“Yep.”

That was a serious understatement of what he noticed, of course. The way her hair bounced and caught the light of the living room; her eyes warm with amusement at the silliness of their night so far, even while she was also watching him intently to see if he was getting the hang of it.

Her fingers, flexing a little where she had them raised above the hoop like she was itching to dance and couldn’t fully hold back. The curve of her lips and how soft they always looked; the way her breathing barely changed as she casually kept the hoop in motion.

And above all else, the way her hips were moving, as she had so helpfully pointed out. He hated feeling like such a stereotypical guy around his best friend, but his reaction was less thoughtful than it was primal. He wanted to remove the hula hoop from the equation entirely and close the distance between them.

Swallowing audibly against that thought, Schneider nodded at her. “All right, time to see if I can do that.”

His second attempt was better, though compared to Penelope it still looked nothing like hula hooping. But after a few tries, he managed to keep it circling his waist for more than a full minute.

His proud grin was definitely a highlight of the evening, she decided. She snapped a couple of pictures of him holding the hoop when he wasn’t looking, just so she could hold on to it.

Schneider was grateful that he was done actually using the hoop before Alex came out of his room and spotted them, grabbing a cookie with one hand and a handful of chips with the other.

“Whoa,” Alex said, smirking a little as he put the pieces together. “What’s happening out here?”

“We’re having a sleepover and you’re still not invited,” his mom told him firmly. “And don’t get crumbs in your bed.”

He lifted his snack-filled hands. “I’m just saying, finding Schneider out here with a hula hoop is pretty weird.”

Alex left, and Schneider stared after him more solemnly than she thought was called for.

“Hey, come back to the party.”

“I’m here. Do you think I’m weird?”

Penelope blinked. “Yes.”

“Oh.”

The furrow in his brow was back, and the downturn of his mouth made her sad along with him, so Penelope skipped past teasing him like she normally would. She cast aside her careful distance to try and fix whatever had just gone wrong so quickly.

“Do you think that’s a bad thing? Schneider, weird people become scientists and artists and change the way the rest of us see the world. My kids are weird, and I hope they find a way to hang on to that for as long as possible.”

She tilted her head, trying to figure out if he understood her. “You’re genuinely yourself, and that’s something to be proud of. If you weren’t weird, you wouldn’t be the guy who makes my Mami feel young, looks out for my kids when they need it, or who thinks a sleepover with me sounds like more fun than your normal plans on a Friday night.”

Taking the hoop from him, she smiled at Schneider and was relieved when he smiled back. “I for one am grateful you’re this weird, because I’ve been having a really great time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So let me put this away before one of us breaks something--hula hooping indoors eventually becomes an invitation to injury--and we’ll go back to the game.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt myself,” he protested as she left, raising his voice to follow her through the hall. “I know your apartment better than I know my own.”

“And that’s supposed to convince me?” Her words floated back to him. “Last week you nearly broke your toe in your own kitchen.”

“Well, there was a bee, and I was in a hurry.” He was still waiting by the door when she returned.

“Okay,” he asked. “What’s my dare?”

“Right.” She had almost forgotten about that after watching him try to imitate her at hula hooping. How was tonight more fun than she’d had in weeks?

Penelope looked at him thoughtfully, then around the apartment. “Since you brought it up, Schneider, I dare you to walk from that spot to the kitchen with your eyes shut, and make yourself a snack.”

Though she expected an argument, she didn’t get one.

“Alright.” He squared his shoulders and shut his eyes, lashes fluttering behind his glasses, before she stopped him.

“Wait. With your glasses on I won’t be able to see if you peek.”

“I’m not going to cheat!” The insult in his tone was, frankly, adorable, but she acted as though she didn’t hear it.

“Yeah, because I’m not going to give you the option.” Ducking her head into a closet, Penelope lifted out a handkerchief and quickly folded it in half, then again. “Bend down a little.”

“What?”

“Lean towards me. Come on already.” Penelope reached up and tugged on his shirt until he was more at her level.

Schneider huffed out a breath, blinking hard when she carefully removed his glasses and set them on the couch behind her.

“I did not agree to this,” Schneider protested as she laid the cloth against his face, smoothing her thumbs over his skin. Both of them ignored the fact that he was twice her size and could stop her at any time if he really wanted to.

Once she was satisfied that the handkerchief was flat enough, she tied it behind his head and regarded the result.

He looked so shocked behind the blindfold, Penelope couldn’t help the pang of sympathy. She lifted her hands again and cupped his face. “Trust me, Schneider. You’ll be okay.”

Unable to see her, or expression as she watched him, Schneider leaned into her palm, everything about him softening.

Under different circumstances, Penelope might call the look on his face longing. She ran her thumb over his cheekbone for an indulgent moment of her own before stepping back and clearing her throat. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” He straightened and nodded. “You’re not gonna put anything in my path, or get in the way, right?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she reassured him with a quirk of her lips that was lost on him. “Not after you let me blindfold you to make sure there was no cheating.”

“Good point. Okay. Then it’s just a straight shot to the kitchen,” Schneider declared, and she watched from behind the couch as he walked in the right direction.

If Penelope were the one in the dark, she would feel her way there slowly, even though she had her own home memorized. It was just practical, to keep from bumping into furniture and collecting unnecessary bruises. But Schneider didn’t.

He also didn’t slow down, walking at the same pace he would if he had stopped by for coffee in the morning. Once he neared the kitchen, then he reached out to feel for the doorway, but up until that moment, she had expected more fumbling.

“Wow, Schneider, I’m impressed,” she admitted as he stepped into the kitchen.

“By that?” He asked, still unable to see anything, but carefully feeling his way along the counter until he found the snacks he had brought with him earlier. “That was nothing.”

“Not from where I’m standing.”

“Well, you’re forgetting that I’m pretty blind,” Schneider said as he ran his fingers over the surface of a box of microwave popcorn.

Penelope was pretty sure that a blindfolded Schneider plus microwave anything was a recipe for disaster, but she couldn’t find her voice to protest--she was too fascinated. He opened the box, took out one bag, and set the rest aside with the box flap neatly closed again.

The protective plastic seemed trickier for him, but she held her tongue while he finally gripped it the right way and opened it with a satisfying pop. By the time he unfolded the bag and turned toward the microwave, she was starting to think maybe he just had secret x-ray vision.

“What does your terrible eyesight have to do with it?” she asked as he set the bag down, flaps up, measuring with his splayed fingers to find the center of the glass turntable.

He shut her microwave door and hit a button that had to be at random–he didn’t even feel for it–then turned toward the sound of her voice and smiled.

“I don’t sleep in my glasses. I don’t wear them every second of the day, and I hate contacts. So I’ve gotten pretty used to life in the dark.”

“Huh.” The dull popping coming from inside the microwave filled the silence between them, and she watched Schneider run his finger down the buttons while he waited for the cue to stop the process.

Settling on the correct button--seriously, how did he do that?--he listened to the slowing pops, and then tapped the button and turned around. “Penelope?”

“Yeah.”

He turned back toward her, leaving the popcorn in the microwave behind him. “Can I take off the blindfold now, or do you want to risk me dumping it in a bowl sight unseen? Because I’m happy to try, but if my aim is off, it won’t be a small mess.”

“Good point.” She crossed the kitchen and stepped behind him, reaching up to carefully untie the handkerchief instead of letting him do it himself. She had to stand on her toes, but it was worth it to enjoy the way he visibly tensed up once he knew she was there.

What used to be normal for them made her needy now, and though he wasn’t uncomfortable for the same reason, his reaction made her feel a little better anyway.

“Hey,” Schneider stage-whispered after Penelope had brought him his glasses and he could see again. She enjoyed the moment before that when she got to look at him without them, his wide, unfocused eyes as blue as the sky.

“What?” She whispered back.

“Listen.”

“I don’t hear anything,” she told him with a frown.

“Exactly,” he said, letting his voice return to its usual volume. “Me neither. I think the kids hit their sugar wall earlier than I expected.”

“Maybe it was all the excitement.” Penelope smiled at him. “So, what do you want to do now?”

Schneider had the briefest thought that he acknowledged was stupid, where he wondered if maybe that was an invitation. Something about tonight made it hard to hold back the impulse to flirt, to push things a little too far, to test their dynamic.

She was just so relaxed with him like this, so open and beautiful and happy. He wanted to answer honestly, and tell her that the only real answer to that question was Kiss you, but luckily the logical part of his brain was still in charge of him and he could hold back those words.

“Movie time,” he offered instead, and Penelope looked down where he had shoved his hands into his pockets before she nodded.

“Okay. I got a new one that’s supposed to be really scary,” she told him, “and really good. Let me get my own snack ready? And I’ll join you on the couch.”

Schneider dumped his popcorn into a plastic bowl and went to wait, his nose crinkling as Penelope worked in the kitchen. “What are you doing in there?”

“Making my own movie snack, like I said.”

“It smells...interesting.”

“You can try it if you want.” She shut the cabinet behind her and hit a button on the microwave, taking the next three minutes to clean up her kitchen from sundaes and snacks.

“Hey, Penelope?”

“Yes?”

“How scary is the movie exactly?”

“A lot. Or so I’ve been told.”

She shot him a grin through the cutout, enjoying the way he almost looked like he might be blushing in response. “Don’t worry, Schneider. If you get too scared, you can hold my hand.”

****

She let him get away it with while the trailers and FBI warnings played, but eventually enough was enough.

“Stop,” Penelope hissed as the opening music began to sound.

Schneider didn’t reply, focusing on the movie as though he never heard her. His silence quickly turned into an “Ouch!” when she kicked his foot.

“Stop stealing my popcorn!! You have your own.” Penelope yanked her bowl out of reach.

“Mine was made blindfolded,” he argued. “Yours is delicious.”

“Well, I offered to share, and it’s not my fault you didn’t believe me and try it then.”

“You have to admit, Penelope, lime-sugar popcorn is a pretty hard sell.”

“I don’t have to admit anything.” Setting the food back in her lap, she lightly slapped his hand away when it snuck toward her again. “I’m the one with the bowl.”

“Oh God,” Schneider whispered a few minutes into the film. “Oh God!”

“Shh.” She ate another handful of popcorn and tried to drown him out.

“But the--”

“She’s just a kid, Schneider. Calm down.”

A half hour later it was Penelope reaching for his forearm without thinking about it. “Oh my god!”

“I know!” He whispered back, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again.

“This is not what I expected the movie to be,” she admitted, letting go of the death grip she had on his arm and patting it in apology.

“Well, me neither!” Schneider opened his eyes a little and then shut them again with a shudder. “This is really scary.”

“That has to be the worst of it,” Penelope offered up hopefully. “It can’t get creepier than that, right?”

They grabbed each other at the same time when the movie hit its climax. “Their heads!!” Schneider said, squirming in his seat next to her. “I--”

“I know, me too,” Penelope admitted, shifting closer to him on the couch. “I am going to have that burned into my brain for a long time.”

“Oh god,” Schneider murmured, his eyes glued to the screen now. “Oh god oh god oh god...:”

Penelope moved over the rest of the way to shut him up, tucking herself under his arm so her hands could hold his. “It’s only a movie, calm down.”

“It’s my first sleepover!” he reminded her with a squeak in his voice. “And that was a lot of blood.”

“I think it’s almost over,” she reassured him.

By the time the closing credits rolled, Schneider’s arm was wrapped around her like he never wanted to let go, and she was still keeping a bracing hand on his knee.

“Well.” He blinked in the dark living room, and she suddenly realized how close they were...and how it would look if any of the kids had come out and seen them like this during the movie.

“Right.” She reached for the remote control to stop the movie, but didn’t get up.

“That was certainly an experience.”

“It was,” she agreed. “A…”

“Gruesome one?” He finished her thought.

“Yeah. I mean, it was a good horror movie,” Penelope admitted, “but for tonight, it was maybe a little much.”

Schneider chuckled and ran a hand over the back of his neck, where actual goosebumps refused to go away. “Maybe.”

She was about to reach for his hand again when he stood, and left the couch to turn the light on. They both heard the click of a door after that.

Elena went quietly into the bathroom, stopping by to see them on her way back to bed. “Goodnight, Mom,” she said through a yawn. “G’night, Schneider.”

“Night, baby.”

“See you in the morning, Elena,” Schneider added with a smile, and Elena nodded.

Then she came back, looking slightly more awake, and whispered in Penelope’s ear before leaving again.

The grin that spread slowly across Penelope’s face in response was almost as terrifying as the movie they’d just finished watching.

“Pen?” He ventured. “What was that?”

“Oh, my daughter was just reminding me that there’s one more sleepover game we have to play. The night won’t be complete without it--and after that movie, it’s the perfect time.”

Schneider shifted on his feet. “What is it?”

“Bloody Mary.”

“Uh.” He took a step back automatically, and Penelope smiled even wider. “Uh, that sounds kind of…”

“Scary? It’s supposed to be. But Elena was right, it’s a truly classic sleepover game. We should play it.”

Figuring nothing could be worse then what they’d already watched, Schneider offered her a small smile. “Okay. What do we do?”

“It’s pretty simple. I’ll grab what we need. Go wait for me in the bathroom, it’s got the biggest mirror,” Penelope declared.

Schneider was bewildered by that detail, but he followed her to the hall and then stood in the bathroom. When she followed him, she turned the light off and closed the door, plunging them into darkness. He froze, surrounded by black. “What’s happening?”

She was silent for a while, letting the tension build, just like the moment called for. She could sense Schneider growing more nervous as the darkness stretched between them with no sound.

“Penelope?” She felt his fingers brush her arm, seeking her out.

Penelope laid her hand on top of his so he would know she was close, before she began telling the story in a quiet voice that echoed against the tile in the bathroom.

“According to the legend, there was once a woman named Mary…”

She couldn’t remember at this point who had first told her the version of Bloody Mary that she knew, but like old commercial jingles, it was a remnant of childhood she had no reason to appreciate until now, with her hand resting on his in the small, dark space.

Listening to Schneider’s breathing hitch and speed up as she did her best to make the tragic tale of a murdered young woman as terrifying as possible, Penelope was glad it had lodged itself in the recesses of her brain.

If she played her cards right, she might even get a scream out of him, she thought with wicked satisfaction as her storytelling came to an end.

“So...is that it?” He asked hopefully when her silence filled the room again.

“Now,” she told him, moving close so that he would be able to hear her whisper, “we call for Mary to come to us.”

“What?” Slipping his fingers out from under hers, Schneider closed the distance between them, finding her with his hands.

“That’s the game.” She steadied her own breathing, hoping to avoid embarrassing herself once his hands were lightly holding onto her shoulders. Under different circumstances, this would be a perfect romantic moment. They were so close that all it would take was him leaning down, or her raising herself up on her toes...get it together, Penelope.

“We stand in front of the mirror using only this flashlight, and we say her name three times. According to the legend, saying Bloody Mary three times in front of a mirror in the dark will summon her spirit.”

“Cool, cool, cool,” Schneider said, trying to seem not at all concerned. “Sounds fun.”

Penelope flicked the switch on the flashlight, both of them blinking as it illuminated them standing face to face next to the shower. Schneider let go of her, they both turned toward the mirror and she tilted the flashlight up between them.

“A candle would’ve been better,” she told him as the steady beam of light moved in her hand. “The flickering creates atmosphere.”

“I think this is fine,” he replied, staring at her in the mirror.

He refused to look anywhere else. Not at the shadows surrounding them or the things in the bathroom that were now foreign and vaguely menacing--even his own face looked more villainous in this light. But Penelope was safe.

She was always a light in the darkness.

“Okay, so we just say her name three times?”

“Yes. We’ll take turns,” she decided, her eyes on his in the dimly lit mirror. After a slow, measured breath, she looked away to an empty part of the wall behind them, inside the mirror.

“Bloody Mary.”

Nothing happened.

Of course nothing happened, Schneider corrected himself immediately after the thought hit his brain. What could happen? It wasn’t like he actually believed in vengeful ghosts.

But still, when it was his turn, he hesitated. Penelope nodded encouragingly, and he responded with a quiet “Bloody Mary” directed at the mirror between their heads.

“You’ve played this game before, right?” He asked before she could take her final turn. “When you used to have sleepovers, that’s how you know it?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Nothing--nothing ever happened, right? You never saw her.”

“Well, it was a long time ago, now.” Penelope grinned when her evasive reply resulted in an audible gulp from him. “No, I never saw her. That doesn’t mean some of us didn’t pretend we did. It’s a sleepover game, remember? Made for impressionable preteens--and apparently, sensitive 40-year olds,” she added.

“Okay. Okay. Sorry. It was just a really scary movie,” he said in a rush. “Let’s go.”

“You’re ready?”

He stood a little taller beside her, pinning his gaze just above her head in the mirror. “Ready.”

“Good.” Penelope straightened up too, looking to the right of their reflections and letting a hush descend over them again.

Once things were so still she could hear Schneider’s breathing rise and fall like a distant ocean, she watched the mirror, unblinking, and said firmly, “Bloody Mary.”

As if on cue, the flashlight in her hand flickered and went out, dropping them back into darkness.

Schneider didn’t scream, but he did start to nearly hyperventilate next to her. “Penelope?” He sounded like a kid again, which was the exact point of this sleepover idea of hers. It felt like a success now.

“I’m here,” she replied, matching his whisper with her own.

“Oh, good.” He reached out, this time brushing her bare arm with his fingertips and letting them slide down until his hand found hers.

His fingers along her skin left warmth in their wake and she tried not to read too much into the fact that Schneider was holding her hand now. He must just have a fear of the dark she didn’t know about, to match his fear of spiders.

“Did you do that with the flashlight?”

“No! God, Schneider,” she replied, more harshly than she meant to. She could feel his pulse next to hers and her skin was tingling in the most ridiculous way.

“So it just...died.” Like Bloody Mary, she could imagine him mentally adding, and she held back a chuckle.

“I’m sure it was just a fluke,” she told him.

Schneider was frozen beside her, his hand hot in hers, and breathing a little shakily in the dark. She faced him without letting go. “Anyway, we played the game. No Bloody Mary. Just a flashlight malfunction.”

“Right.” He shifted toward her too, their bare feet nearly touching on the chilly bathroom floor. He made no move to leave.

Just for a second, she let herself pretend. Her kids weren’t asleep down the hall, and Schneider wasn’t somebody she had known for so long that she could never be more than a friend to him. Instead, he was a guy standing so close to her in the dark that she could practically feel him breathing, the rhythm of his heart matching hers where their palms met.

She couldn’t see him, not even in shadows. She could only feel him there, too close for her to pretend she didn’t have feelings that went way beyond being best friends.

In that moment, the one weak moment she allowed herself to have before she cleared her throat and let go, Penelope just wanted to jump him and see what happened next.

Schneider wasn’t sure exactly how they came to be holding hands in the dark bathroom, even though he was the one who had reached for her. It was a reflex, something he regretted as soon as he calmed down enough to realize he was crossing a line.

She didn’t get mad at him, though, and that was when his panic got even worse, because he and Penelope were holding hands. They were just standing there, holding hands. She wasn’t saying anything, and he couldn’t think of an explanation or an apology that wouldn’t sound super lame, and he somehow couldn’t manage to let go either...and she just kept standing there holding his hand.

He was too busy mentally freaking out to wonder why she didn’t say anything. When she let go, he breathed out his relief and was grateful that she moved away from him to turn the light back on.

Not that he was still terrified of the darkness surrounding them.

He was scared that if she hadn’t moved, he would have--and it would not have meant putting distance between them.

If not for Penelope snapping him out of the moment, he might have done something really stupid.

“I’m going to turn in,” Penelope said as they returned to the living room, her voice overly casual. “We managed to fit a lot of sleepover fun into one night.”

Tired was the last thing Schneider could claim to be, but he nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll see you in the morning?”

Penelope frowned at him, wondering why he said it like it was a question. The plan had always been for him to sleep on the couch; it’s not like it would be the first time. “Yeah,” she said after a long pause. “See you in the morning. We’ll make the kids breakfast.”

He settled on the couch and she went to her room, wondering how the night shifted so quickly from fun to awkward.

Schneider had been too close for too long, she decided as she drifted into sleep. Once he went home in the morning, everything would go back to normal.

****

Penelope woke up just after 2am, warm and thirsty. The last thing she wanted to do was disturb Schneider where he slept, but her dry throat was trying to turn into a coughing fit and she had no choice.

She made her way to the kitchen using the dim light from the window, and soundlessly retrieved a glass. There was nothing she could do about the noise of the water when she turned on the sink, though, and she almost dropped the glass when she heard Schneider’s quiet words float her way.

“Penelope, is that you?”

Sipping her water, she went to where he was sitting without his glasses on, looking flushed and sweaty. “Schneider? What are you doing up?”

“Had a nightmare. Well, several nightmares. Lots of headless children,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut like he could will the images away. “It wouldn’t stop, and I just…”

“You couldn’t get back to sleep?”

“No. I didn’t want to. Not after that.”

“Understandable,” she said, setting her glass down. “You want some water? Or a cookie?”

The corners of his mouth tipped up, but it wasn’t a real smile. His eyes remained haunted.

“You know,” he told her softly, “the hard part isn’t even the creepy nightmares. Everybody has nightmares, and once I’m awake I should be fine. Right?”

“I guess,” she said slowly, wondering where his train of thought was heading.

“Well, I’m not fine. I am so very far from fine.”

There was a bitter edge to his voice, one that worried her because it sounded nothing like Schneider. Not her Schneider, who was so easygoing and optimistic. Somehow she doubted this was really about a movie.

“Schneider, what’s wrong?”

“Waking up from a nightmare is like getting a phone call from Father, or finding out my ‘80s Aerobics instructor quit to move to Portland. Big or small, anything bad that happens, the first thing I think is always, ‘Wow, I really need a drink right now.’”

“Oh, Schneider.” She moved in to hug him, and he let her, but he was rigid and didn’t hug back.

“No matter what I do, Pen, for the rest of life, I will never not be an addict. And being reminded of that is worse than whatever made me remember. So no, I’m probably not going back to sleep. Not for a while, anyway.”

He ran a hand over his shadowed face and she shifted so that she was half-cuddling him, trying to offer whatever comfort she could. Schneider rested his forehead against hers and took a deep breath. Slowly in, count to seven, slowly out.

“Should you call your sponsor?” She pulled back to search his face. “Not that I’m not here for you, you know I am, but I want you to be okay.”

“I texted him. I’m okay,” he replied. “I’m just gonna...hang. Here, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind! You’re not going anywhere,” she declared, taking his hand and gripping it as though she could anchor him with it. “What do you want to do until you’re ready to go back to sleep?”

“Huh?” He blinked at her.

“Should we find a board game after all?” She smiled at his baffled expression. “Or maybe watch a movie, one with a happy ending?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture,” he said seriously, “but you should go back to bed. Both of us don’t need to be exhausted in the morning.”

“It is the morning,” she pointed out. “And I’m not going anywhere either, until you can look me in the eye and not be seeing your nightmares.” Or your personal demons, she added silently.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but it only took a few seconds of her staring him down for Schneider to relax back against the couch and nod. “Yeah, okay. A movie sounds good. Something funny.”

They kept the volume low so they wouldn’t wake the kids, and tried to do the same with their voices, but they talked their way through most of the first comedy that Penelope put on. Schneider picked the next movie, and she raised an eyebrow at him when his selection was Dirty Dancing.

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve just always liked it. It’s fun.”

“Yeah, it is.” She grinned at him and settled in, wishing that she had the right to move over and tuck herself under his arm. If the moment they'd had in the bathroom was charged with an intense energy she didn’t want to think about too much, this one was somehow more intimate than that.

Watching a classic romance while the world slept around them, hyperaware of everything about him while he sat next to her on the couch--it felt a lot like a date.

****

Despite the fact that she actually liked Dirty Dancing, Penelope fell asleep halfway through it.

In her defense, it was 4:30 in the morning and she and Schneider had settled into a comfortable silence. She didn’t realize it had grown too comfortable until she woke up, her face pillowed on his shoulder while he watched the movie as though everything was normal.

“Hey,” he whispered when she turned her face to him, swimming back to consciousness. Schneider smiled, looking like himself again, and she couldn’t decide between smiling back and apologizing for sleeping on him.

When she started to sit up, he took her hand. “You don’t have to move,” he told her, his eyes returning to the screen.

“But--”

“It’s nice,” Schneider said simply. There was such vulnerable sincerity in those two words that Penelope couldn’t make herself do what she knew she should.

Instead, she laid her head back down, watching the movie while his thumb began rubbing gentle circles into the back of her hand.

He still seemed alert, in that anxious way that had less to do with really being awake and everything to do with trying to avoid something. She understood that on a level so deep that it hurt, and wondered if he had trouble sleeping this way a lot--like she did. Little hints he dropped into conversation sometimes, underneath his cheerful demeanor, made her think so.

Maybe that was why it felt like the most natural thing in the world to tip her face up again, memorizing the laugh lines around his eyes and the way his lips curved in response to a joke onscreen.

With the flickering light beaming out from the television, Penelope studied Schneider like he was a map to some place she had yet to see but desperately wanted to find. When he looked back, his irises absorbed the darkness around them until they were almost violet.

“Pen?” He watched her watch him, waiting for an explanation. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly, biting down on her bottom lip and seeing his gaze flick to it. “What about you?”

Schneider wasn’t sure why she was looking at him like that, but he answered her question as though it made perfect sense. “Can’t say I enjoyed the nightmares, but otherwise it’s been a pretty perfect night. I’m good.”

She smiled. “So you enjoyed your first sleepover?”

“Definitely.” Penelope was still resting against him, her big brown eyes on his, and the words just slipped out. “Especially this part.”

She let out the tiniest breath, almost like a gasp, and he couldn’t have explained why but it felt like the ground beneath them shifted. Just a little, just enough to make her hand in his more than the comforting gesture of a friend.

“You like Dirty Dancing that much, huh?” she asked, and he realized her face was even closer to his. Usually if she was only a few inches away from him, she was angry--from this distance, he had never gotten the chance before to appreciate the arch of her eyebrow or the way she had a hint of dimples even when she wasn’t smiling.

And she wasn’t smiling at all now, her eyes dropping to his mouth before she gripped his hand a little harder. He wondered if she even realized she was doing that.

“It’s-it’s a really good movie,” he managed, trying desperately to figure out what was happening. He knew what it felt like--what he would assume it was with any other woman looking at him that way, her body so close to his that he was starting to feel flushed again.

But this was Penelope.

How badly he wished it were true made him even more certain that it couldn’t be. He squeezed her hand and let go, hoping that distance would settle down the feelings that had risen up to nearly blind him.

Penelope removed her head from his shoulder, but she didn’t move back to her couch cushion. Instead she stayed pressed into his side, tilting her head as she looked at him.

“Schneider?”

“Yeah?”

“Truth or dare?”

He was about to laugh, but she wasn’t kidding. As a dance montage played in the background, he considered it. “Truth.”

“What are you thinking about in this exact moment?”

Things I can’t have.

“Dare,” he replied out loud, and Penelope nodded as though that was the answer she expected.

She took a deep breath before she gave him his dare, and then delivered it with a smile. “The last thing you wanted to do, and didn’t? Do it now.”

She couldn’t know, he thought, his heart speeding up. There was no way she knew what she was asking of him.

But it wasn’t just the last thing he wanted; it was still what he wanted. It had kind of been what he wanted for a long time now--and Penelope was still smiling at him, sharing his personal space, waiting.

If only he was better in a crisis, he would have already thought of an easy lie to tell. Anything else. A way out. Instead, his mind was completely blank, wiped clean by the scent of her, her smooth curls brushing his neck.

Penelope’s lips parted softly while she waited, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring. Her voice when she spoke again was warmer than he had ever heard it.

“Schneider...I dare you.”

****

He kissed her even though he knew it was a terrible idea, even though he couldn’t believe she was inviting him to.

She was softer than she looked, sweet in a way he thought he could get addicted to more easily than gambling or snow globes. Penelope kissed him back with her whole body, her hands in his hair and her chest pressed to his, moving against him like she’d been craving him for a lifetime.

It felt as though they went from tentatively exploring each others’ mouths to making out on the couch in record time, but somehow an hour passed and they were still kissing.

She was breathless when she finally pulled away, running her fingers down his neck to enjoy the ripple of muscles in his back. He arched into her hands and she grinned.

“We’re going to be so tired in the morning,” Penelope told him, biting down on a moan when his teeth found her neck. She would feel embarrassed about the intensity of her reaction to him, but honestly, she had been keeping her feelings bottled up for too long; what did she think was going to happen?

“It already is morning,” Schneider reminded her, tracing the mark he left with his tongue. Her hair would cover it as long as she wore it down, so he tried not to feel guilty, though he hadn’t intended to leave a mark at all.

Penelope almost lost her mind when he ran his hands up her stomach, his fingers on her ribcage, curving just below her breasts. God, it had been way too long since...and Schneider knew her so well it was like he had a sixth sense about what she wanted.

She only stopped herself from straddling him and upping the stakes because she never knew when a teenager might be opening a bedroom door...and because it didn’t matter how good he'd turned out be with his hands, and teeth, and tongue. It was too soon.

She sat back after a few more heated minutes, leaving his mouth pink and the sensitive skin below his right ear with a bruise of his own. “You’re right,” she said. “Look, the sun’s coming up.”

Schneider tangled his fingers with hers, watching them link and unlink. “Will the kids want breakfast soon?”

“Yeah, probably pretty soon. An hour, hour and a half.” She caught something cross his face and tugged on their joined hands. “Why?”

“Oh. I just wasn’t sure...if you still want me here. When they get up. For breakfast and all that.”

Penelope’s eyes flashed, and when she seemed like she might actually smack him, it was more comforting than her words, because it was evidence of just how much she cared. “Don’t be stupid, Schneider. Of course I want you to stay.”

The doubt in his eyes didn’t completely clear out, leaving them stormy and watchful.

“Come here,” she murmured, pulling him into a long, slow kiss. By the time they came up for air again, Schneider was too dazed to remember what he’d been worried about.

“Now, I figured pancakes,” Penelope told him. “Or maybe French toast. Something you can handle helping me with.”

“Hey,” he protested, “you make it sound like I can’t cook! I can cook. Especially breakfast.”

“Yeah, okay, Schneider. You’re a master in the kitchen. Sure.”

“I didn’t say I was amazing, but I can make some things. Breakfast’s kind of important if you want to impress overnight guests,” he pointed out.

“I guess you’re right.” She kissed him once more, this time teasing his tongue with hers until he was the one who needed to hold back from taking things too far. The sun was truly rising now, washing over them on the couch. Casting everything in a different light.

“After we tell the kids, and my mom,” Penelope said, resting her hand against his cheek, “we should go out to dinner or something.”

His whole face lit up, brighter than the golden glow spreading through the apartment. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

The brush of her lips over his was so light, it wasn't quite a kiss. It was more like a promise.

“Then maybe you can make me breakfast.”

[antoineroussel-archive]

better at leaving - taylor hall

summary: Elena is a free spirit. She always comes back but never for long.

warning: this contains smut. if you are under the age of 18, back away now.

word count: 2,220

The person lying beside him moved suddenly, limbs bending and stretching until they were taking up most of the bed.

It wasn’t normal of his time in Toronto to wake up with another person in his bed, especially not when he had gone to sleep alone. But he knew who it was before he opened his eyes because the second he turned towards them, the scent of orange filled his nose.

“When did you get in?”

“Just before three.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I tried. I thought you were dead.”

Taylor’s eyes shot open when his boxers were pushed down and a hand wrapped his semi-hard cock.

“Elena,” he moaned, meeting her eyes and the devilish twinkle in them. “How long do we have?”

She rolled her eyes and started to move down the bed, her hand never leaving him. “Long enough. Just enjoy it, Tay.”

It wasn’t exactly comforting. ‘Long enough’ was never very long at all, in his experience, but Elena’s lips were closing over the head of his dick and his body relaxed into the mattress.

Elena looked up at him, and never once broke eye contact, as her head began to bob and her hand wrapped around the base.

Everything she did was perfect, in Taylor’s mind, and giving head was no different; the suction, the grip, the way he hit the back of her throat every so often and irregularly enough that he was never expecting it. It had taken a lot of patience and exercising of self control to not come the second she had her mouth on him.

He looked up at the ceiling as he reached down to grab her hair. A moan joined the sounds of her moving up and down his cock and Taylor had to clench his eyes and his fists to stop himself from bucking his hips violently.

“Come on, big boy,” she said, pulling away just to speak. She squeezed at the base and paid more attention to the head. He looked at her to see that her eyes were closed and it was only then that he noticed that her other hand was tucked underneath her and she was, undeniably, trying to reach her own climax.

He reached for her arm, tugging it away from her body and she whimpered but Taylor was no slouch; he wasn’t going to make her get herself off.

The thought of touching her, of her touching herself, really, was enough to send Taylor over the edge with an unintentional buck of his hips that caused Elena to gag before she closed her mouth around him and swallowed every last bit of his cum.

Taylor wasted no time coaxing her up his body. Nothing felt better than her smooth skin moving against his, especially not when she was breathing heavy and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“You gonna get me back, Hall?” Elena asked just before she pressed her mouth to his.

He moaned into her mouth as he felt her grind down onto his thigh. He groped her ass before he slipped a finger into her, causing her to grind against his leg again. She was wet—soaking, really—and it was easy to slip in another finger even at the awkward angle.

Elena started to press sloppy kisses to his jaw and they were getting less and less cohesive the more her pushed in and out of her. She was still writhing against his thigh and she whimpered when he withdrew but moved pliantly onto her back as he rolled them over.

He trailed his wet fingers down her stomach, his mouth following the trail left behind. Elena writhed underneath him and curled her hands in his hair, trying to push his head further down her body.

Taylor did as he was told, preemptively pushing his forearm over her hips before he pressed his mouth to her clit. Elena gasped. Her hands tightened. Her hips tried and failed to snap up. A hand moved from his hair and grasped at his wrist. Taylor could feel her nails digging into his skin as he parted her with his fingers. She was trying to pull his arm away, desperately trying to grind up into his mouth.

It didn’t take long for her to come, the writhing getting stronger and her moans getting louder and louder until she was all but howling. Taylor lifted his head, only when she started to twitch underneath his tongue and smiled up at Elena. He could feel the wetness around his mouth.

“Your mouth is magic,” Elena breathed.

The sight of her leaving his bed, naked and lazy, had Taylor burying his face into his hands. She disappeared into his bathroom, only to stick her head out a few second later and ask for help with his shower. She hadn’t been to his place in Toronto before, he realised, must have found his spare key in his garden (had he told her where that was?) but it felt good to have her there with him.

Later that morning, when Taylor was just finishing up the dishes from their light breakfast, Elena appeared in the kitchen with her handbag and suitcase.

“You’re going?”

“I’ve got to meet with the director for lunch.”

“Come back after?”

“Lunch isn’t ever just lunch,” Elena said with a pout, dropping her things and stepping closer. “I’m sorry. Call time is 9am tomorrow, I’ll probably get there before 8.”

“When are you gonna come back?”

“I’ve got nearly three months of shooting, babe.” Elena cupped his cheeks, her palms feeling impossibly soft even through the stubble. “You’ll be back in Jersey before I have any time to spare.”

“The season will be started when you’re done.”

“I’m sure we can work something out. Let me know when you’re in Cali and I’ll make sure I’m free for you.”

The night had already been dragging on too long for Taylor. There were too many people that he had no interested in talking to. There was a game going on that he should have been watching. He was daydreaming, looking around the room while only pretending to be listening to the conversation happening around him, when a deep red dress caught his eye from across the room. He excused himself so that he could meet the woman across the room, his hand settling on her lower back when he was able to.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna be here.”

“You’re supposed to be in Chicago,” Elena said, turning around. Her fingers were drawn to the button of his suit jacket which she did up. “You’re also supposed to do the button up when you’re standing.”

“My hand’s fucked.” Taylor lifted his dominant hand to show the splint. “That’s the reason for both of those.”

Elena pouted and patted his chest before she stepped back, putting a more respectable distance between them. Her hands didn’t leave his lapels and he could almost feel their heat through his clothes.

“It’s really good to see you again, Tay.”

“It’s always good to see you, Elena.”

The night went by without Elena leaving his side and it was giving him a strange sense of pride that he had one of Hollywood’s leading ladies with him and they looked like the real couple they never had been.

Only once in the evening did Elena react to him in a way that showed they weren’t actually together, she took a step sidewards and let go of his arm when they were talking to one of her co-stars. Taylor didn’t let his good hand drop from the small of her back, however.

“She was flirting with you,” Elena said as they watched her co-star walk away.

Taylor scoffed. “She was not.”

“Babe, you aren’t that stupid. She wants you to take her home.”

“Oh. Well—” Taylor’s thought ended when Elena leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“So do I.”

She was looking up at him with an innocent smile, letting nobody nearby onto what was being said.

“Then why are we still here?”

A plan was concocted, Taylor would leave first and then Elena would leave ten minutes later so that they weren’t photographed together. Taylor maintained that nobody cared who he left a party with while Elena reminded him that everybody cared who she left with.

It took self-control that Taylor wasn’t sure he had to not point out how little he was worried about anybody finding out about them. Or to admit to her right then and there that he wanted to tell the whole world that she was the most important part of his.

That wasn’t what they had, though, and he couldn’t bring himself to ruin the good thing they had going.

The door opened to his apartment without so much as a knock and Elena rounded the corner, a small carry-on over her shoulder and her phone pressed to her ear.

Taylor wasn’t listening to the conversation she was having—they never made much, if any, sense to him—he just took in how natural it was for her to walk in without warning. It caused something in his chest to tighten when she dropped her bag in his bedroom and sat down right beside him on the couch.

She was pressed up against his side and tucked up underneath his arm. She made a point to roll her eyes at him, and mime with her free hand that whoever she was talking to would not shut up. He smiled at her and began to lightly massage her head.

“No, no, I really have to go,” she said after a few more minutes, during which she had been mostly silent anyway.

The very second she put the phone down, Elena turned to Taylor and pressed a long, hard kiss to his mouth. He moved his hands to her hips and moved her so she was straddling him on the couch.

“How do you always taste so good?” Taylor asked, his mouth barely leaving hers.

Elena rolled her hips, gasping softly. She countered, “How do you always feel so good?”

He moved his hands to the backs of her thighs and slowly pushed her skirt up around her waist. He brought his hands back to her ass, his fingers slipping beneath the lace of her underwear. She rolled her hips again and delighted in his desperation as he moaned and pulled her even closer to him.

It was almost embarrassing how fast he was getting hard but that embarrassment was quickly replaced by sheer want as Elena started to push her fingers underneath his shirt. They brushed over his abs, causing him to twitch and thrust, adding to the already unbearable friction.

Elena lifted her hips and Taylor took the hint to push her panties down her thighs. There was some manoeuvring required to take them off but Elena decided after she had taken one foot out of them that it was enough and she knelt back down. Her mouth met his and her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close. Taylor gripped her ass again before drawing back for a quick slap. She arched her back, pressing her chest against his. He slapped her ass again.

She unbuckled his jeans, pushing them down as best she could before he cooperated and they ended up around his knees, his briefs going with them.

“Fuck me,” she moaned, lifting her hips only to lower them and move slowly against his now bare cock. “Please, Taylor. I need you to fuck me.”

Taylor put his hand to his cock and lined it up against her, breathing deeply as she lowered herself down onto him. Her own breathy moans got louder and were accompanied by a squeal when his open palm met her ass cheek once again.

In retaliation, Elena began to mouth at the back of his jaw, her teeth biting down every so often seemingly just to hear the grunt that left his mouth.

She ground down onto him, holding his hips to the couch and stopping his thrusts before she started to move her own, bouncing on him. She threw her head back and Taylor’s eyes were drawn to the long line of her neck, down to her still clothed breasts. He wasn’t having that.

He pushed his hands up under her shirt, lifting it, and her bra, up so that he could mouth at her hard nipples and draw them into his mouth.

Elena’s bouncing got quicker and Taylor started to thrust again, meeting her halfway every time.

He groaned, stilling inside of her as he came, his hands squeezing her ass and holding her close to him. She circled her hips, reaching a hand between to rub at her clit before she came, too, and sagged down on top of him.

The next morning arrived quickly—it always did—and Taylor was awoken by his bathroom door opening and Elena walking out with her hair done and a full face of makeup. She walked toward him, kissed him gently, one hand cradling his cheek.

“You’re leaving already?” he asked, his hand covering hers. “You always leave so quickly.”

“Maybe stop looking at it like I always leave and start looking at it like I always come back.”

note: This is based off of Jordan Davis’ ‘Tough to Tie Down’ from his debut album Home State.

There is a sequel - i just keep coming back to you

Please consider leaving feedback - reblog and write in the tags or send an ask, I’m not fussed. I just want to know what you’re thinking!

[bellemorte180]

Just Good Business: Chapter Three “the drabble”

Caroline Salvatore, married into one of New York's most brutal crime families.

Niklaus Mikaelson, a notorious mob boss who is hell bent on taking down the Slavatores.

It's an affair for the ages.

A/N: this is a re-posting of the drabble from Klaroline week. I am re-posting it because of how it lines up in the timeline. I made slight changes to it but nothing major (other than taking out the ending for obvious reasons). 

Chapter Three: the drabble 

She shouldn’t be doing this. She knew it was wrong, but she honestly didn’t care. She was a married woman and the man she was straddling in the back of his limo as it drifted down New York’s busy streets was most certainly not her husband. Granted, the life they all lived, what could be considered right anymore? After the incident with her husband, Caroline cared less and less for the fact that she was cheating on him. Her body was just now beginning to heal.

“Are you sure these windows are tinted?” Caroline hissed out, grinded down upon his clothed erection. It wasn’t the first time it happened. Her affair with New York’s most notorious mob boss began months ago. It started out as a power play for him and a way for her to try and feel something; anything. Neither one of them could have imagined that it would have become more than just sex for them. “Klaus?”

Niklaus Mikaelson, the most feared man in the entire city; one who ran not only drugs, weapons, and woman but had more blood on his hands than anyone else, was in love with her. It was an intoxicating feeling.

“I would never let us be seen, Sweetheart. Not yet at least.” Caroline smirked at him and kissed him hard; her teeth nipping at his bottom lip. Her hips rotated again, searching for some friction in order to relieve that pent-up tension she was feeling. It had been far too long since he had been able to touch her. It wasn’t easy for Caroline to sneak away in order to meet her lover, especially when she and her husband are well known in the city; that and in the last few months Stefan had been having her followed. And the media closing in on them due to Stefan’s arrest.

The marriage between Stefan and Caroline Salvatore was an arranged affair. They both came from very old families who wanted nothing more than an alliance. So, the corrupt Chief of Police married her only daughter to the brother of an even more corrupt businessman. It did not take Caroline long to realize that her husband was dull, horrid in bed and was in love with his brother’s wife, Elena. Stefan looked at Caroline as nothing more than a possession and barely spoke to her.

Klaus’s finger tips traced up Caroline’s spine while her black backless dress bunched at her waist. His fingers sent shivers all over her body. When he went to lace his fingers through her impeccable updo, Caroline stopped him.

“Not the hair. I can’t go home looking freshly fucked, now can I?” Caroline replied, nipping playfully at Klaus’s lips. “We still have to let Stefan think that I am his faithful and dutiful wife, don’t we? And with Elijah’s men watching the house day and night, can’t have them thinking I’m a tramp.”

“I can have you widowed by morning, love. Just was the word.” Klaus replied, his hand slipping under her dress. His fingers graced her clit, her panties had been long forgotten on the limo’s floor. Caroline hissed out his name again. He added a slight pressure to that sensitive bundle of nerves just as his lips graced her throat. His tongue peeked out and licked her pulse point. “He would be dead and I could easily make you mine.”

“But your plans?” Caroline whimpered. Klaus slipped a finger inside of her and pumped lightly. Then he added a second finger before curling him, his nails scraping the side of her walls. His thumb touched her clitoris and began drawing circled on it while his fingers slowly fucked her.

“Fuck my plans.” Klaus hissed, his fingers pushed in roughly, causing Caroline to cry out. “I don’t like that he gets to touch you. I don’t like that he gets to fuck you when you’re mine. I want his head on a stick and my plans already changed once.”

It was true. When Klaus and Caroline started sleeping together, he was using her to get intel on the Salvatore family. He originally planned on revealing his affair with Caroline to Stefan in due time after getting everything he needed in order to take down Damon Salvatore. Caroline knew this and in truth she didn’t care. She hated her marriage and screwing over Stefan and Damon was enough for her; even if it meant getting herself killed.

However, when Klaus started falling for Caroline, he shifted his plans. He did not want to risk Stefan getting enraged that his wife was fucking his brother’s rival and killing her; they didn’t call Stefan the Ripper for nothing. So, they changed course. Klaus’s main goal was taking down the Salvatore brothers not just because they murdered his brother, but because he needed Caroline safe.

“He hasn’t.” Caroline whimpered out, grinding down on Klaus’s fingers. He looked at her in question, a smirk playing upon his lips. “Stefan and I haven’t had sex in months, not since I caught him in bed with Elena.”

“Really?” Klaus hissed. He removed his fingers from her and Caroline cursed at him. He just grinned at her, bringing one finger to his lips and licked it clean before doing the same to the other. “You wouldn’t just be saying that so I will go easy on you, now would you?”

“No.” Caroline weaved her fingers through Klaus’s hair, gripped and pulled his head back. She looked down at him, peering into those pearly blue eyes she adored. He kissed him slowly, tasting her juices on his lips. “He said that he was glad I knew and that he didn’t have to pretend with me. He made his opinion very clear. Stay the pretty little wife on his arm while he fucked Damon’s behind closed doors. In return I get to keep my head upon my shoulders.”

“He threatened you.” That was unforgivable to Klaus. “The increase of bodyguards?”

“Just to ensure I don’t spend too much alone time with Damon. Can’t have his brother learning his dirty little secret.” Caroline tossed him a sinful smile and Klaus bucked his hips upward, rubbing roughly against her core. “Pity Enzo is employed by someone other than Stefan.”

“Good man Enzo.” Lorenzo St. John, Caroline’s personal bodyguard and double agent. Klaus hired him to infiltrate the Salvatore business. When he was assigned to guard Caroline, even better. The problem was that Enzo was only one of Caroline’s guards that was Klaus’s man; the rest where loyal to the Salvatore brothers. “And what are you and Enzo up to tonight?”

“Dress shopping.” Klaus chucked at that.

“Such a pretty dress.” His one hand running over the dress, touching her erect nipples through the silk. “It would be a shame if it got ruined.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Caroline ran her hands down Klaus’s chest, slowly inching down farther and farther. When she reached the top of his pants, she bit her lip as though asking for permission to continue. Klaus nodded his head and Caroline unbuttoned his pants, allowing his member to spring free. She palmed him, causing him to hiss at the contact. She gripped his penis and stroked him, picking up the pace as she went. Klaus grabbed her wrist, stalling her movements.

“I want to be inside you.” His tone was rough and harsh, causing Caroline’s arousal to seep down the inside of her legs. She lifted up on her knees ever so slightly, giving Klaus enough room to align himself with her entrance. Slowly, Caroline lowered herself down on top of him; seething him into her heat completely. “Fuck Caroline.”

“That’s the general idea.” She braced her hands on his shoulders and began raising herself up and down on top of him. The feel of him, sliding in and out of her was a feeling she missed the last few weeks. Ever since Caroline had concrete proof of Stefan’s affair, it was harder for her and Klaus to meet; Stefan’s paranoia driving him to do drastic things to protect his secret. But, the feel of Klaus fucking her was worth the wait. “God, I love you.”

“And I you.” Klaus’s hand reached down between her legs to touch her clit again. Caroline cried out his name, loudly. She began to ride him faster and faster, chasing that relief. His name slipping from his lips like a prayer. The sound of the honking horns of New York’s traffic fell away and she could care less if Klaus’s driver knew exactly what they were doing in the back of the limo. All that mattered was finding that release. “Klaus!”

Klaus felt her walls clench around him, sending him spiraling. His release came hard; spilling himself inside her. Caroline let out a long breath and rested her forehead against his. Slowly, once their hearts stopped beating rapidly, Caroline moved off of him and into the seat next to them. Klaus tucked himself away into his trousers while Caroline pulled a handkerchief from her purse to clean the inside of her thighs. She shifted in order to drape her legs over his lap and Klaus immediately began drawing small circles on her skin; sharing smiled between them as he did.

Soon enough the limo pulled to the side of the curb and the driver knocked.

“I suppose that this is my stop.”

“You’ll be safe?”

“Don’t worry.” Caroline leaned over and kissed him gently. “Damon is in a board meeting tonight” which was code for murdering someone “while Stefan and Elena are probably at the house fucking each other while I’m out spending Stefan’s money. By the time they realize I’m home, I’ll be in my bubble bath, drinking a nice glass of Pinot Grigio. Bags and bags of my shopping spree littering my room.”

“Thinking of me I hope, while you’re all naked and wet.” Klaus’s eyes traveled over the length of her and Caroline just giggled. She leaned up and kissed him, before grabbing her purse on the floor. Klaus grabbed her wrist before she could open the door. “Soon Caroline.”