#the earl cries again and throws things

[konigsblog]

"earl grey, please" ghost x reader (ongoing story)

warnings: mentions of simons dad, abuse and angst, reader comforts him as he talks through his old memories.

masterlist

chapter three, old memories.

your shift ended, 7pm. simon was sat a table close to the till, you both were snickering and talking about your workers and judging other peoples orders. somehow, simons dad came into the conversation.

you took your apron off, throwing it over the back of the chair before sitting down to listen and engage in the conversation with simon. he was mumbling about the fact that he'd never be able to live a completely normal life because of his dad.

three knocks at your front door came, your mum and dad were sat on the couch. one asleep the other not paying attention and hypnotized by the tv. you squinted as you looked through the peephole. seeing simon with a big bruise in his cheekbone.

immediately, you unlocked the door rushing him inside and away from the rain. although, it was dark and past your siblings bedtime your parents always sighed and made an exception for him. seeing how difficult his home life was, your parents tried their best to welcome simon with open arms. "oh my god simon! what happened?" you muttered, he didn't answer. he didn't answer because he knew that you both knew. his eyes glistened as he faced away from you, both of you sat at the dining table, you looking through the first aid kit for disinfectant wipes and bandages.

"simon.." you held his face in your hands, he again said nothing. shame and guilt flooded his thoughts, he was interrupting your time alone. he stood up to leave but you quickly sat him down, reassuring him that he was no bother and that he was welcomed. he did this a lot; standing up and trying to leave because of his guilt.

you cleanes him up, as he pulled you in for a tight hug, his eyes made your shirt wet with his tears. he usually never cried infront of you, not wanting to show emotion incase of being ridiculed or hurt. but he trusted you, hugged you tighter and you rubbed his back and played with his hair, cooing at him. "it's okay, pal. you're not going home for a couple days, you're staying here." your dad spoke whilst putting a hand on your shoulder. "thank you, sir." his voice muffled by his mouth covered by your shoulder. that night you cuddled into him as he rested his head on your chest, you played with his hair. taking care of him like he was the only thing that mattered. but the more you think about it, you realized that that was the only thing you cared about. you café never meant too much to you, but simon? he had you in tears because of how much you missed him. more than once.

when simon and you woke up you were in the same position as last night, the smell of buttered toast drove you both awake. you looked at eachother, you were so much alike. you were soulmates.

you opened your eyes, wide, he remembered that? that was over a decade ago. you stood up wrapping your arms around his shoulders pulling him in for a tight hug, "those memories will never become a reality again i promise, simon." you rubbed his back the same way you did that night. he held you tight, not willing to let you go.

and you weren't willing to let him go, not again.

(sorry this is short :(( im uploading chapter 4 soon!)

tag list:

@lauraliisa

@bittersw33t-lotus

@thedevillovesflowers

@thriving-n-jiving

@kiruoris

[robbierants]

my thoughts on Alois Trancy

TW: mentions of child/sexual abuse

Alois Trancy, a.k.a Jim Macken, is a very notable character in Black Butler. A lot of people hate him and also a lot love him. I used to hate him due to him being bratty and abusive but then I started seeing the good in him. His personality was so unpredictable that I didn’t bother to understand him. Just a few minutes in Episode 1 and I was like, “Where is my precious Ciel? I demand for the better master and butler pair to come back!” But when I watched Episode 8, I was mind-blown. I felt empathy towards the poor boy. I finally understood him. And then, Claude tap-dancing Faustus ruined it all. (I don’t hate Claude but I mildly dislike him) When Claude crushed my poptart’s head, I had to repeat the scene over and over again. I couldn’t accept he died. After that, I cried a bucket of tears.

Now, most people hate Alois because they think he whines a lot. In contrary to popular belief that men have to be strong, cunning, and independent even in the most difficult circumstances, Alois debunks that belief. He is considered as a whore, needy, and abusive. I personally think that Alois was already mentally ill back then. Stating that everyone should drop dead for throwing a rock at your little brother is not normal for a young child. But Luca managed to keep his older brother sane. When he died, Alois was forced to survive on his own until meeting that old pedo man. These unfortunate events worsen his mental condition.

I also think that “Alois” is just his persona to cope up with his current life. The real “Jim Macken” was compassionate when it comes to his brother and would stop at nothing to ensure their safety. Somehow, the old man transformed him into someone new. Wanting to be stronger and able to cope, Alois left “Jim” behind. But of course, his Jim personality wasn’t truly gone. It would always manifest itself through his fear of the dark and the need for constant assurance he won’t be abandoned.

He is considered as vulgar and scandalous for a fourteen year old kid, often hinting a sexual innuendos. Being SA'd by the Earl, Alois got influenced by him. He only submitted to the Earl because it depended on his survival. He had no other choice.

He is messed up, yes, but he only wanted some love. You would probably say, “He has no right to act abusive and bratty despite his awful past. Ciel had an awful past too but he didn’t turn out to be like this.” Ciel’s parents taught him good things before they died. Perhaps Alois never got the chance to be taught because they died early. In the end, Alois never had the love he deserved. He had to die just for Claude to acknowledge him. I mean, Ciel still has his relatives but Alois absolutely had no one. The only person who understood him (Luca) died before his eyes. He was deceived throughout Season 2 just for the sake of spicing his soul up. He only wanted to make a contract with Claude because he’s had enough of the torture being laid upon him.

Alois is the only anime character that I could ever relate to (I also suffered from Being SA'd by people I depended on) He is one of the most realistic characters I’ve seen and I’ll always love him.

[kritischetheologie]

time travel + wedding, lewis

[to the tune of "shave and a haircut, two bits"] stuck in a time loop: best man

Lewis wakes up on the morning of his best friend's wedding, on the pullout couch of the honeymoon suite of the mountain chalet where the whole wedding party is staying. Seb's fiancee was sleeping somewhere else, for luck, and Seb didn't want to let Lewis go when their bottle of whiskey ran dry. They order room service, a tofu scramble and a ham and cheese omelette and a pot of earl grey tea with two teacups, and Lewis helps Sebastian put the finishing touches on his vows, before ducking back into his own room to get changed. He ties on his lavender bowtie, straightens his cummerbund, and returns to make sure nothing disastrous happens to Seb's hair. He's surrounded by family and friends, by then, Norbert and Fabian clucking nervously in German, Jenson sharing cheeky nips from the flask in his tuxedo jacket, Daniel smelling suspiciously like a joint he didn't think to share. Probably for the better, all things considered. Seb's cheeks are flushed from the heat of the room as Lewis stands behind him to help him get the bowtie done right. They all head out to the ceremony site, a beautiful mountain vista, the sky so bright it brings tears to Lewis's eyes. Seb cries when the bride walks in, and again when he says his vows, and for a third and final time two hours later, when Lewis gives his toast. Lewis raises a glass of champagne, to the happy couple, then drinks whiskey with Jenson for the rest of the night, and tries to keep him from seducing the bride's little sister. He catches Seb's eye a few times across the crowded dance floor, watching him cling to his fiancee-- wife, now-- when the songs get slow and throw his arms embarrassingly overheard when they speed up. He even joins him for the last song, throws his arms around Sebastian and screams his head off to Wagon Wheel like they're still in college. Seb and his wife parade out to cheers and sparklers, back to the honeymoon suite, and Lewis finally collapses, still in his tux, on top of the bed of his own room.

He wakes up on the couch of the honeymoon suite, on the morning of Sebastian's wedding.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

AYYY it’s open! Ok so I have this funny little request,headcanons of the reactions on ciel,Alois and Sebastian on the situation that a modern looking person shows up in front Of there manor with there dead sibling who is now revived and has there souls back ((luka for Alois,real ciel for our ciel)),the person is like “Heh I found this outside your house.does this belong to u?” ((Luckily real ciel knows what happend and understand his brother,even helping him by switching also his identity with his original identity in his case-,Ik this messes up the manga timeline and I’m sorry if you can’t write this! )) Sebastian feels also strangely more hungry ((bc ya know soul is back somehow))

me, smacking Sebastian's hands away from real!Ciel like a scolding mother smacks a child's hand away from a tray of freshly baked cookies: THAT'S NOT FOR YOU!!!

Really, can’t people ever leave him alone?! Whatever it is they’re selling, he doesn’t want — uh. Wait… wait, what’s going on? Is that…? No… no, it can’t be. It’s some sort of trick, isn’t it? But… but it looks just like Luka. It’s him, all grown up, although when Alois looks at him, all he sees is the small, round-faced, bright-eyed little brother he lost so long ago. He doesn’t even really have words; it’s like his mind can’t make his mouth say anything at all, despite the fact that there are a million and one things running through his head. He just… takes a step forward, and his voice comes out in a whisper when he can finally speak: “Is it… is it really you, Luka?” When he receives confirmation that this is his brother, all Alois does is throw his arms around Luka, sobbing, and saying how much he loves him and that he’s sorry. Even when Luka tells him he has nothing to be sorry for, he keeps crying. It’s debatable whether or not Alois is ever going to let go again. He can barely get himself together enough to look up at this mysterious person and thank them for giving Luka back to him. Though he’s not sure if this person wants any kind of reward, they’re welcome in the manor at least for the night. If they do need anything, Alois is so grateful that as long as it’s possible, he’ll make it happen. He has his brother back. He doesn’t need anything else.

Lovely — can he not have a peaceful evening to himself? Whatever business this person has here, he suggests that they finish it quickly. Before he can inquire about their business, however, he sees the man they have with them. It’s… it’s his brother. The one that he knows died back when the two of them were put through that horrible cult. He saw the life fade from his twin’s eyes, and now here he is in front of Ciel, just as real as the earl is. He’s seen plenty of supernatural bullshit in his time, but… this is different. It’s not the same. His twin has come back to life, and he has so many questions. How? Why? Is he… he’s got his soul back, too? This is so mind-blowing, he almost feels the need to sit down. Instead he takes his brother’s hands, and in short order the twins are hugging each other tightly. Ciel cries on his elder brother’s shoulder, murmuring that he thought the only time they’d see each other again is when he dies. Once they’ve had their moment and he’s assured that they can both assume their original identities again, he visibly relaxes. It’s been… hard, existing the way he has, with so many secrets and so much weight on his back. The both of them don’t hesitate in inviting the oddly-dressed person in, if only for the night. The former earl is particularly thankful, because although it’s going to be an adjustment, he can have a little peace back. He doesn’t have to be Ciel anymore. He gets to be Astre again.

Well, well… isn’t this a strange turn of events? Just as well, the earl’s life has been strange enough that nothing really seems strange anymore. Anything is possible, he supposes. He’s quietly curious about the whole thing, mainly because it should be impossible. There are so many factors here that should have halted something like this from happening — the Grim Reapers, for example. When the original Ciel died as a child, should a Reaper not have come to collect his tortured little soul? That’s the order of things. So, what did this bizarre person do, steal the soul back from wherever the Reapers keep them once they’re collected? … Steal it from heaven or hell? Is such a thing even feasible to do? Or is something else going on? He has endless questions, none of which he will voice until this person gives up some information themself or until his master starts asking. And of course he’s twice as hungry now. He guesses that he’s expressly forbidden from forming a contract with the other twin… but he can’t stop thinking about just how much a once in a lifetime meal it would be. A soul which has been ‘dead’ for some time, only to suddenly burst back into life and be thrust into their restored body, and the soul was beautifully tormented and deliciously dark in the first place? He’ll have to exercise some absolutely monstrous restraint to keep himself from doing something… unwise.

[rubberduckswriting]

Nightmare •|black butler|•

Summery: Ciel Phantomhive has a nightmare and is comforted by Sebastian

Ships: PLATONIC sabciel, dadbastian.

Tw: slight angst, fluff, might be poorly written

It was a calm night at the Phantomhive estate. Pale moonlight shined gently through the clouds as the rain fell in quiet pitter patters on the windows of the large manor. It was the perfect night to get comfy under blankets and get a good night's sleep, and that's what the majority of the people in the mansion did.

That was everyone except the earl himself. Ciel tossed and turned under the thick covers of his lavish bed. It was another nightmare. He whined softly in his sleep as he relived the events in his head.

"Please stop! I beg of you stop it, stop it!" A ten year old Ciel cried out as he struggled against the tight hold of several cult members. He had cuts and bruises and dirt all over him. There was nothing else except him, the bitterly cold golden table he was held down on, the cult members around him, and darkness shrouding everything else. The harsh cold of the table under him almost felt like it burned as he tried to get his bare back off of it to no avail. He tried to use his feet to elevate himself from the table but only managed to get his lower back away from the sickening chill of the table.

A person in a white hood loomed over him with a sinister grin as they slowly lifted up a black and gold dagger in their left hand and pushing Ciel down back into the table with their right.

"no! Stop it!" Ciel screamed and cried in a desperate attempt to escape. The hooded person snickered slightly at the young boys fear as they tightened their grip on the dagger and brought it down harshly plunging it into ciels stomach.

Then everything went black, and all Ciel could hear was screaming, his screaming.

Ciel shot awake with a scream and an instinctual screech for sabastian as he looked around frantically. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead as tears streamed down his face. He felt like he couldn't breathe and he started to dry heave from all of the panic, eventually throwing up from it.

He coughed and let out another broken sob before raspily yelling out for Sabastian again. Sabastian didn't take long to get to ciels room, knocking softly three times on the door when he got there. He then slowly opened the door and gave a pleasant look at the young earl. "Young lord, is everything alright?" Sabastian tilted his head ever so slightly as he walked  into the room. Sabastian stopped for a moment when he saw ciels horror stricken face, looking at him with wide teary eyes and vomit on his shirt and corner of his mouth. Sabastian sighed and slowly continued into the room, he had a procedure for when this happened. "my lord, you are in your bedroom in your manor. You aren't at the cult anymore. Nothing can hurt you here. You are okay." He smiled softly at ciel when he got to the side of the young earls bed. Ciel only cried more at sabastians words, he needed to hear them more than anything even if he didn't know it. He sobbed and hiccuped and reached for sabastian as if the butler would disappear if he didn't, it was pathetic really.

Ciel Phantomhive, earl of the Phantomhive estate, leader of the criminal underworld was reaching for his butler like the battered beaten boy he was three years ago reaching his little dirty hands through his cage. Of course he didn't know what he was really doing at the moment, and quite frankly he didn't care. Try as he might to be the great head of the Phantomhives and juggle all of the things he needed to, at the end of the day he's still a child that needed a parental figure, as much as he denies it.

In this situation that parental figure just so happens to be sabastian; and sabastian knew it. Sabastian reached out and gently wiped the little bit of vomit on ciels cheek off with his glove. "Let's get you into some clean clothes, yeah?" Sabastian spoke softly as if speaking to a frightened animal. An almost indecipherable expression flashed on ciels face. Some mix of rage and fear and sadness, maybe rage at his fear and sadness, Sabastian couldn't tell.

Suddenly Ciel threw himself at Sabastian and clung to him. "Why?! Why must these cursed nightmares happen to me?! Why Sabastian?! Why!?" Ciel hissed through his teeth, banging his fists against sabastians back with pitiful sobs. He didn't know how to process the emotions he faced, he didn't even really know what emotions he faced at all. The hits on sabastians back slowed and the spiteful sobs turned into soft sorrow filled sniffles and hiccups. Sabastian gently pulled Ciel away and Ciel reluctantly let go of him as sabastian sat him down on the side of the bed.

Ciel glared at sabastian as the taller male opened his closet for another clean night shirt. He didn't exactly know why, but he felt angry. He sniffled softly and rubbed his nose with his sleeve as he watched the butler. Sabastian turned to face the young earl, meeting the younger males gaze. Sabastian knelt down and unbuttoned the dirty shirt and sat it down gently on the floor next to him before putting the new shirt on and buttoning it up. Ciel sniffled and sleepily glared at the butler, all of the crying and fear had truly worn him out. Sebastian took notice of his masters sleepiness. "You should get back to bed, young lord. I have kept you awake long enough." Sebastian then stood up as Ciel began to lie down. "I suppose your right," ciel spoke with a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment as he got settled in bed. Sebastian gave a pleasant smile and grabbed the candle he had brought in there for light as he began to walk towards the door. "No. Leave the light. And...and stay with me until I fall sleep," ciels voice was soft and fragile. "Yes, my lord." Sebastian gave a small bow and stood patiently by the bed as Ciel slowly fell into a dreamless sleep.

[annaphoenix1994]

Masterlist:

If I Was the Devil

"I'll take you down and put you in my house; Keep you nice and close; Teach you what you don't know; I'll take you from the Holy Ghost if I was the devil; You might not believe in me, but I'll make you believe; And you'll know my name."

"If I Was the Devil" by Justin Townes Earle

October 20th, 2022

Laurie tapped on her phone impatiently as it rang - the long hum of the line attempting to reach Corey's phone drug out for agonizing seconds, eager to share the news of Mia and Michael's whereabouts. 'C'mon, Corey. We don't have much time!' She thought frantically.

'The caller you're attempting to reach has a voice mailbox that has not been set up yet. Please try again later. Goodbye.'

"Fuck!" Laurie shouted, setting her phone next to her laptop as an intense wave of writer's block consumed her thoughts matched with adrenaline and anxiety that her plan was actually working. Except for this time, her plan will be executed.

Successfully.

She sighed, opening up her iPhone to check the live location of the AirTag, careful not to check it too regularly in fear of Mia's phone, whether it was an iPhone or not, notifying her that an AirTag was detected near her. Although she did not worry about the fact that she could not disable the AirTag if she could not find it as well as not being able to disable it with her own phone due to her not being the owner. Checking that the location of the AirTag was recently at a Texas Roadhouse in Billings, Montana, she then noted it in her notebook, listing down all possible and frequent locations. 

Sighing, she began to wonder how she was going to make this work. How would I lure him here? How can I finally end this all? She thought. 

The possibilities were endless as so many ideas rummaged through her head. That was, until the smell of the burning pumpkin pie filled her nostrils, jolting her back into realization. "Fuck!" She shouted, getting Allyson's attention from her bedroom, and causing her to come running. "What is it?" Allyson questioned, running down the stairs.

"It's my pie! I put a pie in the oven! Oh, shit! I must've forgotten to set the timer!" 

"I can get a pie from the store!" Allyson bargained, rushing to turn the oven off before grabbing the in-house fire extinguisher. 

"No! I wanted to bake you a pumpkin pie like I did last year! I want us to make new traditions!" Laurie cried, throwing the now-burnt pie into the sink, and dousing it with water as if she were baptizing it. 

Allyson couldn't help but crack a smile at her grandmother, thinking she was just the cutest thing. 

"I-"

"I'm late for work," Allyson giggled. "I'll pick up some ingredients tonight on my way home and we'll make one together, alright?" 

Laurie smiled, adjusting her glasses on her nose, "I'd like that. So, have you and Corey figured out what you're going to dress up as at the party?" 

Allyson shrugged, "I still don't know if we're going or not. Corey said he doesn't have a costume and Deb showed me this stupid cat mask and - I don't know if I'd want to wear it. It just screams slutty."

"Well, if it's coming from Deb, it's definitely slutty." Laurie scoffed, winning a scoff from Allyson. 

"You're not wrong. We have a few days left. I'm sure I can think of something."

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

Although it was late October, the day was rather warm - high seventies. Instead of riding his motorcycle, Corey decided to take his bicycle on his way to his regular nine-to-five at his father's repair shop. Dressed in his worn coveralls - the knees stained with grease and the collar stiff from sweat during the long days in the sun, Corey was your average grease monkey. He didn't mind getting dirty, though - he felt rather rewarded once finishing work on a car or moving other machinery with the skid loader. He had ignored Laurie's phone call earlier, knowing exactly what she would want, but he was still indecisive on a job that she had offered and began to wonder if he should just back out or find someone else to do it. Desperate to rid the thoughts (and curious ideas) from his head, he jammed his headphones into his ears, tuning in to WURG 94.9.

If he were honest, he thought Willy the Kid's comments were about as arrogant as Howard Stern, but the only thing he would give Willy the Kid credit for was playing good music, but his opinion of him and his radio show still stood the same. 

'WURG 94.9. Giving you the Urge, with Willy the Kid. Haddonfield's home for rock!'

'Can you believe it? Just less than eleven days until Halloween. It's time to lock your doors, grab your knife for the fight. You ready? You ready in case the boogeyman decides to come out and play? I know I am! Like I talked about last week, it's time to retell the tale of the Haddonfield Boogeyman. Let's talk about that Michael Myers for a minute - How does one man get shot at, stabbed up and then he fall down the street and get back up to scare the piss out of everybody in Haddonfield? Let me tell you how -- 'cause this isn't a man. This is more than a man. This is a beast. One that doesn't bleed--"

"Oh, fuck!" Corey gasped as he had scraped his tire against a curb taking too sharp of a turn, nearly wrecking himself into oncoming traffic. He sighed, blaming himself that he didn't have his glasses to help guide him as he was naturally near-sighted. Shaking his head, he then gathered himself before continuing along the sidewalk that led to his father's junkyard, somewhat dreading what vehicle he had to work on that day. 

With Laurie's proposal still on his mind, he typed a simple message to her in his phone:

'At work. I'll call u later'

Immediately going to work on removing the driveshaft from a GMC Jimmy, he was soon startled at Ronald's deep voice. "Corey!" 

He jolted, removing the protective goggles from his eyes, "Yes?" 

"You have someone here to see you." 

Tilting his head in confusion, he looked concerned for a brief moment before following Ronald out into the yard, seeing Allyson standing next to her car, her arms crossed. "Allyson?" 

"That's me," She smiled. "Remember you said I should bring it in?" 

"Oh, y-yeah?" 

"Well, here it is. I'll just need a quote to take to my insurance." 

"A quote?" Corey asked, genuinely confused as it was now clear he had never had to work with an insurance company before in regard to a repair. 

"I'll have a rental until you can get my car fixed, but my insurance company just needs a quote for the repair so that they can cover it." She explained. 

"Okay. Um, how are you going to get your rental? Do you need a ride?" He asked, concerned. 

"No, I was planning on walking from here back home so my grandmother can take me," She explained, smirking at the concern on Corey's face before leaning in closer, "Just kidding. Deb is going to pick me up on her way to work and drop me off at the rental place close to the hospital."

"Okay, good." 

"So... I know it's only Thursday, but the bar is having a little party tonight. Would you...Would you want to go?"

Corey looked over his shoulder to ensure Ronald wasn't listening, "Sure, but I still don't have a costume." 

"I got you covered. My grandmother and I were going through our Halloween decorations and found a simple little scarecrow mask. It's cute and you wouldn't need a costume for it - just wear a sweater and some jeans," She suggested. "I'll pick you up." 

He then began to nod, "Okay." 

"Okay, so...See you around seven?" 

"Seven is fine. Uhm, can you just pick me up here? I really don't want to hear my mom's opinions on me going out." He sighed. 

"Sure," She smiled, reaching for him to give him a friendly hug. "I'll see you at seven. I'll be in a black car." 

"Okay. I'll get that quote to you as soon as I can. I have a few cars I'm having to work on right now." 

"Take your time. I'll be fine with a rental for a while, trust me." 

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

The party was euphoric - erratic young adults jumping and whaling to the music playing throughout. Although it wasn't a place of choice for Corey, he was glad he was there with Allyson. "There you are!" Deb smiled, dressed in a devil costume as she approached Corey and Allyson as she had arrived roughly an hour after Allyson and Corey. 

"Well, it's not exactly the Halloween party, but I figured we'd come out and enjoy the night." Allyson replied, adjusting the cat mask on her face as she and Corey were still coming down from their adrenaline high after a few vodka-sodas and a rough round of dancing.

"Well don't you look like the scary killer!" Deb smiled at Corey in the cartoon-ish scarecrow mask Allyson had picked up from the grocery store. It was a rather cute mask. She then did what no other woman would do if she had respect for another woman's date - she pressed her back to his chest as if he were hers. 

He instinctively backed away, not liking the gesture unless it came from Allyson. 

"He's not supposed to be," Allyson reminded, jealousy coating her voice. "Not everyone needs to be scary for Halloween." 

"I'm going to go get us a beer," Corey told Allyson as Deb seemed to be pulling her away to the dancefloor. 

"O-Okay!" Allyson said over the music. "I guess I'll be dancing!" 

He nodded, smiling at how happy Allyson seemed to be, given how hard she had it over the last few years. He guessed that was something they both had in common. "Hey, man, can I get two Budweiser's?" He asked the bartender, setting his scarecrow mask aside and still presenting the natural smile on his face. 

"Hey." A voice sounded from next to him. He didn't recognize it at first, thinking the greeting was meant to be directed to someone else until the same voice repeated itself. "Hey!" 

Mrs. Allen. 

'Oh, shit.' 

"You're just here dancing and having a good time?" She spoke.

"I'm sorry." Corey panted, looking every which way except for right at her. He couldn't handle looking at her as he knew she never believed a word he said since the accident.

"You're sorry? Oh. Sorry? Sorry for killing my son? I wake up every day and I can't get past the pain. It kills me. Do you understand? You think you can come here -- no, you think you can come here and take off your little mask and have a good time with your friends? The judge might have said you're innocent, but I know you. I know it was no accident! You pushed my little boy because you got mad and you lost your fucking mind! Innocent people don't do that! No! Evil people do! I'll show Michael Myers more pity before I do you!" She shouted, each sentence becoming more and more agitated and hoarse as her voice strained with desperation for answers, watching Corey back away toward the rear-side exit, leaving his scarecrow mask on the bar as well as his sweater he wore along with it. 

Allyson watched the altercation from afar, her jaw dropping at what she had just heard. She had heard about the accident with Jeremy Allen and that Corey was labeled "worse than Michael Myers himself", the "New Haddonfield Boogeyman," and "The Psycho Babysitter." 

She rushed to the bar, grabbing Corey's mask and sweater before rushing out through the same door, pursuing him as it was clear he wasn't welcome at the party. "Corey!" She shouted, watching him walk towards the parking lot, seeming to not see or hear the oncoming truck leaving for the night. "Corey! Watch out! Corey! Stop, please! Talk to me!" She begged.

"Why'd you even take me in there?" He yelled. "This is exactly why I don't go out."

"You wanted to go in there, Corey, I-"

"Where were you?"

"I didn't know what was happening in there. I-I-I was just trying to help you!" 

"I'm not some little project of yours, Allyson!" 

"I just -- Corey, I know! Okay? I know what it's like to have everybody looking at you, thinking that they know you, thinking that they know what you've been through, but they don't. But when I look at you -- when I saw you the other day, I just saw a person just trying to figure it the fuck out. Trying to not wake up every day scared and alone."

"But the difference, Allyson, between me and you, is that people look at me like "who is this monster?" and they look at you like -- they see a survivor." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"I get it. You and your grandmother survived Michael Myers. You're a hero with your struggles, and ask anyone. I'm the psycho babysitter. I'm the fucking kid killer. And you think you can fix me, but you can't. I'll spare you the heartache, Allyson."

"I am not a hero, Corey! I never once said I thought I could fix you -- I just thought that maybe if you and I did more things together, you'd realize that whatever those people say should just go through one ear and out the other-"

"That's the thing, Allyson. No matter what I've done to prove myself around anybody that I'm not a bad guy, I'm always reminded at how maybe, just maybe, they might be right." 

Allyson whimpered softly, trying desperately to hold back the tears. Corey hated seeing her like this, knowing that she suffered through her own nightmares at home. He bowed his head in shame before he spoke again, "I'm just going to walk home. I just need some space right now, Allyson, please."

"I-I can help you-"

"I don't want your help right now. I don't even know who I am anymore," He said sternly, beginning to walk away. "I'll send you a quote for your car in the morning."

Walking away towards his trek home, he then made his decision.

Unbeknownst to Allyson, Corey had just done her a favor in the long term.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

It was now well-past midnight when Corey arrived home, destraught and cold from his hike. As he expected, his mother was beyond worried about him, rushing down the stairs to unlock the front door to let him in. "Corey! Where have you been?! I have been worried sick!" 

"I was at a party, Mama," He sighed, pushing past her to go up the stairs into his bedroom, Joan hot on his heels. "I'm fine." 

"No, you're not fine!" She shouted, her hands all over his shoulders to search him for marks. 

"Yes, I am!" 

"Where do you think you're going, young man?" She scoffed, watching him pack a duffel bag. 

"I'm going to stay the night with some friends. I don't want to be here." He replied, stuffing a few shirts, pants, and underwear into his bag before walking to his bathroom to retrieve his toilettries before rushing back down the stairs to say his farewell to his father, who was sitting in his recliner enjoying the television show. 

"It's that girl, isn't it?" Joan scoffed. "I can smell her on you. She's trying to take you away from me, isn't she? That's where you've been going every other night, huh? Well, I say go. You go right now! Get out of my house!" She shouted, staring a hole into Corey's eyes before smacking his cheek, immediately regretting it. 

Goddamn, were you in a psych ward or something?! You're crazy! Corey thought about his mother. 

"Corey, I -- I'm so sorry-"

"Save it," He huffed, pushing her away. "If you want me to go, then I'll go. Don't wait up." He said sternly, watching her frown before walking past him. 

Corey then turned his head to look at Ronald, who had opened a beer. "I hope you find love, son."

"I have." 

"Then chase it. Don't let it go. Because you don't want to end up like me someday...look at what I have to deal with." 

Corey nodded. "I'll see you around, Pop." 

"I'll be just a phone call away, son." 

Nodding, he picked his duffel bag up from the floor, grabbing his motorcycle keys as he exited the house, looking back at it one last time before strapping it down. Mounting the bike, he then called Laurie's phone.

Ring...Ring...Ring...

"Hello?" She sounded, groggy. 

"It's me."

"Oh, Corey?" 

"I'm going to Montana."

[howardlinkedin]

Group Project: Part 5

Running Title: Group Project. Part 5 Part 4: Here Part 6: Here Sequel to Shelter Summary: The Walker-Link family are adorable as kittens while the Mafia leader cries about it, and Cross gets love advice from a ten year old. 

At the adoption signing, Lala looked at her name, scripted on the dotted line of the very thick cut of paper.

WALKER, Lala.

Directly after, she would write and re-write the name dozens of times, until all the paper in the suite was used up.

She never had a last name before.

---

Adam D. Campbell, the Don of the Noah, was crying on the floor.

His assistant, Lulu Bell, ignored him for favor of setting his desk back into order, while his son and heir looked on unimpressed.

Just yesterday the man had chopped off fingers and auctioned on the Black Market.

Ah, the duality of man, Neah mused.

Tyki Mikk slouched into the room without so much as a knock. “Hey boss I-” he stopped and stared. “Why did he break this time?”

The heir passed on the file he just exposed his father to. His cousin flipped it open and whistled, impressed. “Damn, the boy’s been busy! Another kid already?”

“She’s a lovely PRINCESS!” blubbered the Don.

---

Allen’s tattoo started at his fingers, and traveled all the way to his shoulder, where it tapered off into something that was part elegant and another part roguish.

His hand was painted like a glove of mandala’s, red scarred fingers still visible, and wrapped up to the wrist before shifting into curves of black. Waves of it wound up and up his forearm until reaching the shoulder, where the ink exploded into a crown.

In early mornings, because of his tendency to wake before the sun, Link would trace the ink and thank anything that could hear his thoughts for not taking Allen away all those years ago. 

(He thanked clowns and red haired Colonels for finding him, ensuring the two would eventually meet.)

The only downside to being a famous singer/songwriter, was that  everyone and their pet parakeet found you to be the most interesting creature in the world. Things that made Allen who he was became plastered all over tabloids and blogs.

What happened to that arm? The world suddenly was very interested. Is that hair natural? Where did Allen Walker come from?

---

“Link, I don’t think the loft above the bakery will be big enough.” Allen stated out of the blue, while the little family finished packing.

With two additional tickets, passports and a slue of documentation proving that, yes, these two lovely children are ours now, thanks for checking, it was time to head home. The tour was over, and Link had to return to his bakery.

The blonde looked at his husband, eyebrow raised, and wordlessly handed Allen a handful of printouts.

Oh boy, the singer thought. Houses!

“You’re the best husband, ever.”

---

The third time he fell in love, it was with a woman who held herself like royalty and had a smile that made kings throw crowns at her feet.

Cross realized it one night from work, passing the center of town to home, and noticed Anita’s Cafe still had it’s lights on. As if on autopilot, he parked his car and knocked on the entranceway. 

With her hair a cascading mess and falling out of her bun, sleeves rolled to her elbows and covered in dust, Cross thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. From the independent set of her shoulders, to the elegant and easy way she moved about the room, he could feel a familiar stutter in his so-called heart.

“Marian!” Anita exclaimed, both surprised and pleased at seeing the officer at the current hour. She smiled her beatific smile and Cross felt double damned and freedom all at once. “What are you doing here?”

“Saw the light.” He shrugged, feigning nonchalant and that he was definitely not having a mental breakdown behind his mask of charm. (Which he most certainly was.)

The cafe owner let out a short laugh, and wiped her hands on her dirtied apron. “I was doing some cleaning. Then I found myself redecorating. And after that, well.” It was her turn to shrug. “Tables needed to be moved.”

Marian kind of wanted to move onto a table with her at this moment, but kept that to himself.

“Would you like to come in?” She opened the doorway wider.

It was tempting. Beyond so. Every bit of himself wanted to say yes, please, and spend this lovely quiet night in the presence of this amazing woman. But.

She was so damn beautiful and the last time he thought this of someone, they ended up gone, gone, gone.

“Sorry.” He lamented. “I don’t think I can.” And he leaned to kiss her forehead before getting back to his car and running away, away, away.

---

He was scared. It tasted like ash and left a burden between his eyes.

To let go so easily? How could he?

Damn his guilty and weak heart.

---

“So, Allen!” The Talk Show Host elated. “Everyone’s been wondering, what’s with the arm?”

Backstage, Lenalee began to seethe and considered throwing the stage director through the curtain just to cause distraction. Said stage director looked at the pretty bodyguard nervously.

In his bakery, Link squeezed an entire tube of strawberry icing all over the floor and frowned at the television.

At the city police department, Colonel Marian Cross barged into Commissioner Tiedoll’s office and asked, loudly, if he could arrest an asshole please and thank you.

Blinking and tilting his fluffy white head to the side, Allen, at 18, lifted said hand and wiggled the scarred fingers. “This arm? I had an accident as a kid.”

And that’s all he said on the matter. He wiggled his digits again, if only to make his engagement ring catch the lighting and attention of the host. “Hey look I’m also engaged!”

“Also, my hair is naturally white and I like to sing and write music. I’m thinking about being a singer one day, what do you think?”

The audience tittered at the humor in Allen’s voice, obviously charmed by the young man, while the host tried to cover his bewilderment with a weak laugh of his own.

---

There was something terrifying at the idea of a family, Lala concluded.

For as long as she could remember, she never had one. What do you do with a family? What are the rules and expectations? Some days, the young girl felt out of her depth and the unsure footing her life had taken was distressing.

The idea of a family was also something her lonely little self desired. There was a warmth that she couldn’t describe and it made the proverbial gears in her head that had once stand still, whirl and rotate. A song rose up, and the usual notes inside her head shifted into something different.

But what do I do with it? Lala wondered.

How do I know this is where I’m meant to be?

A family meant love, but for the life of her, Lala didn’t believe she knew how to recognize such a thing.

---

On the table, Allen’s cellphone began to chime. Faster than a blink, Timothy snatched up his father’s phone. “I got it!!”

He looked at the caller I.D and answered. “Hi grandpa!”

Lala poked her head from around the corner, her new clothes half folded in her arms from packing. It seemed very odd that the Colonel would be calling them. Usually it was their father who did the calling.

“Where’s your dad?” Cross questioned around a mouthful of cigarette.

Little Timothy looked around the suite before shouting to his aunt in the living room. “Hey auntie! Where’s Dad?”

Looking up from painting her nails, Lenalee bid, “He and your Papa went out.”

“Dad’s out being gross with Papa right now.” The boy translated to his grandfather. “Do you want to talk to Lenalee?”

“No.” God, no. Cross shuddered at the thought. The girl herself wasn’t awful to talk to, but he doubted coming to her for his emotional crisis would go over well.

Especially since he was 100% certain Komui would somehow find out about it and Cross did not want to deal with that mess.

He sighed and pinched his brow. “Never mind kid.” What was he thinking, anyway? Calling in the middle of the night to bitch for advice like some kind of lovesick protagonist.

Marian Cross did not do lovesick.

The grandson scrunched up his nose. “Why do you sound so sad?”

“What?”

“You sound like, really sad and junk. Well, more sad than usual.”

“Excuse the fuck out of you goblin child.” Cross grouched, now determined more than ever to hang up.

“You owe me so much money old man.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Lala rolled her eyes. “Tim, don’t harass grandpa.”

“I’m not! He just sounds lame right now and I want to know why!”

The redhead felt his whole face twitch. So he was lame now?

“Did you break up with the pretty lady?” The blue haired goblin child asked, well, out of the blue. Cross almost swallowed his cigarette.

“Listen, kid, there’s nothing to break up when we’re not even...unbroken in the first place!”

“That’s dumb, why?”

Goddamn, Cross had forgotten how nosey kids could be. “Because. I’m hanging up now.”

“Dad says you’re in love with her.”

Silence. The Colonel went to his alcohol cabinet. “Yeah, and how does he know that?”

In a packed up suite in Barcelona, Timothy sat on the kitchen floor and blew a raspberry. “That’s easy!”

---

“She makes you feel safe, right?”

Lala leaned against the wall and listened to her younger brother, slightly awed.

“Like, you don’t feel scared to be yourself and and she doesn’t make you feel bad for it. That’s love, I think.”

How cool, Lala thought. She had gotten herself a cool little brother.

---

After seeing what the media papers had to say about Allen Walker, newest young singing sensation, the Godfather threw them all at the wall. “Disgusting?”

Lulu watched, bored, as her boss threw his tantrum. Sometimes the man needed to have one in order to function properly after. Regardless, someone was going to need to clean up the mess, and it wasn’t going to be her.

“Lulu Bell! Did you read this nonsense! They called his arm disgusting!” He wailed and threw a chair.

Media outlets were also becoming too curious. They began snooping and trying to dig into Allen Walker’s life. To be fair, Lulu thought, the boy did practically come from nowhere, with too much amazing talent and too many secrets.

One photo in a magazine depicted Allen from grade school! Outrageous! The Don was beyond furious.

“What do you want to do about it, sir?” Lulu inquired, because her boss never simply complained about a problem. He got rid of problems.

“Get Tryde here!”

---

“Hello Mister Walker, I’m here to cover your interview.”

Allen started at the overly serious looking man in his living room. “Uncle Tryde?”

“This is my photographer and assistant, Chomesuke.” The uncle in question billowed right on, as though the young man had said nothing.

“Hello Master Walker, cho!” The peppy assistant waved, setting up her camera.

Link hovered in the entryway like a protective, yellow haired shadow and gave the woman a look at the “Master” comment.

He may never get used to Allen’s family at this rate.

---

After his very titillating conversation with his ten year old grandson, Cross tossed his phone on the counter and uncorked a wine bottle.

He wondered if this is what his life had come to, finding advice from kids he’d never met in person and then getting drunk afterwards.

“Safe, huh?”

He sat heavy on the piano bench. Allen hadn’t been able to take it with him, with the bakery apartment being too small. Cross thought it was just left as an excuse to bother him.

Closing his eyes, Marian pretended he didn’t feel a familiar weight lean against his side. A memory of dark curls tangled with his mess of red hair while the weight would tuck into his shoulder.

“What am I going to do with you?” The memory would grouse, half whine and half sigh.

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

“Too late for that, I think.”

The memory vanished the instant the doorbell rang.

On the other side was Anita with her hair down and apron gone. She gazed up at the Colonel, eyes clear and seeking. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Cross found himself giving out an uncontrolled, throaty chuckle and leaned on the doorway, suddenly exhausted. “Want to come in?”

“Well, I didn’t come all this way just to be stared at.” Anita sassed, pushing her way through.

Closing the door, Cross didn’t notice a familiar image under the lamppost. With the click of the door, it flickered and disappeared.

---

Timothy squirmed in his sister’s sudden hold. “Hey, Lala what the heck?”

First Grandpa was being bizarro and now Lala? What’s the world coming to?

The blonde girl shook her head and gave the boy one last squeeze. “Thank you.”

“For what?” The boy squinted, confused. Lala ruffled his wild blue hair and left to finish packing.

Man, Timothy thought. Girls were weird.

Lenalee glided in like a swan and planted a noisy kiss on the boy’s cheek. “You’re a good kid Tim.”

Said good kid squawked and slapped where he had just been kissed, turning red. “AAAH!”

---

Soon enough, candid photos of Allen Walker made it to magazine spreads. Full articles about his life, but still vague enough to not daw too much gossip made it to media blogs.

Everyone learned about the boy who was adopted by the Colonel, who married his childhood sweetheart. Who always had a talent for music and also had an adorable corgi that smiles for the camera.

Link has a stack of magazine covers, featuring Allen in much more lovely light that he preferred seeing his young husband in. He kept them if only because he believe the white haired young man to be madly attractive, and it would be a shame to get rid of them.

One day Allen would come home, giddy as can be and shove a new magazine heading into Link’s face.

“Delightful! Sweet Barker, an Even Sweeter Husband!” With Allen and himself on the cover, arm in arm.

The blonde baker stared at it, incredulous. “Where did they get that photo? Isn’t that from Alma’s birthday?”

“I gave it to Chomesuke to use.” His husband said, innocent as can be.

Link stared at his husband.

Said husband grinned his damnably charming grin and kiss the other man soundly. Pulling for air, he states, “Now everyone knows how good of a man I have.”

Link stuttered, face flushed.

---

Going through the stack of homes for sale Link had handed him, Allen came to the last one and gasped.

Link knew which one he had found.

“This one! Link this one!” The singer waved the paper in the air, eyes glittering with delight.

The baker huffed to hide his smile. “If you insist.”

---

Anita ran her hand over the grand piano’s white base, admiring.

“It belonged to Mana. Gave it to Allen eventually.” Cross said, like a confession.

“Tell me about him.”

---

Another new morning, and Allen, bed head and still in his pajamas, found himself a lapful of teenager. “Lala?”

Snuggling into her father, Lala bid him a pleased “Good morning.”

“Good morning!” The father laughed, equally pleased, because if his kid wanted to cuddle, then she could as long she wanted.

Link, who was watching from the kitchen felt his heart grow fond.

“Papa!” Lala ordered. “You too! Here, here!” She patted the space on the couch where she had trapped Allen in.

“...Alright.”

“Me too, me too!” Shouted Timothy, not wanting to be left out.

Setting her suitcase in the foyer, Lenalee snorted at the family piled together. “You’re supposed to be getting ready for the airport you saps.”

Allen, a giddy and joyous mess, could only blubber.

Oh, whatever, thought Lenalee. They were a cute family.

Lala, sighed with contentment. 

She felt safe.

[draconic-ichor]

Comfort

Matilda and Lír smut

Smut dabbles

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, pegging, handjobs, cumshot, praise kink, use of toys, hurt/comfort

Summary: After s long hard day, Lír just needs to be taken care of

Feedback appreciated, 18+. This is after they have been together for a while

Lír stumbled into Matilda’s and his shared room, pulling at the buckles of his armor as he went. He took the time to carefully set the armor down on a bench near the door, instead of throwing it and possibly denting it like he truly wanted to do. Once free of their bindings he kicked his boots off, moving to sink down onto the bed.

He sat heavily at the foot of the bed, hunching forward and putting his head into his hands. His face was pinched, willing himself to stay calm. He heard the door click not too long after, Matilda off duty as well.

She could sense he was home, instantly flinging into normal conversation. As she took off her jewelry she began to tell him about her day. Lír didn’t move, he simply listened, face hidden away.

“Earl Markus is hounding my mother again, had to sit through him prattling on about unfounded land ownership claims.” She explained.

Lír gave a small nod of acknowledgment, not realizing she would be unable to see the gesture.

His silence was uncharacteristic, Matilda turning towards the bed. A long moment blanketed over them.

“Lír?” She asked, voice searching.

“Yes?” He finally lifted his head, voice sounding dull.

“Are…Are you alright?” She asked, stepping closer.

Lír’s mouth a thin line, amber eyes flicking downwards. His lack of an answer caused the concern to grow.

“Lír…?” Her voice dipped, coming to him. She reached out a gentle hand, his cheek eagerly leaning into it.

She pulled him closer, squishing his face into her chest as she hugged him. He sighed into her warmth, melting into the embrace. His walls cracked, tension beginning to ebb as he nuzzled her.

Matilda stroked through his curls, humming a bit.

“I had such an awful day.” He spoke with almost a whimper, becoming putty in her hands.

“Do you wish to talk?” She offered softly.

He huffed, thinking for a moment before answering, “….no.”

“It’s alright.” She bent forward to place a kiss to his forehead, “You don’t have to.”

Lír closed his eyes as she pressed another kiss to his skin, holding onto her like a lifeline. They stayed like that, Matilda softly running her hands through his curls and Lír being lulled into comfort by the little rumble of a purr in her chest.

Finally he spoke again, small and meek, “Matilda?”

“Hm?” She paused her petting.

“W-would you do…that thing?” He swallowed down a lump on his through.

A smile spread over her face, “I’d love too.” She pulled away from him adding, “I’ll go get ready and fetch some oil, you just get comfortable. Alright?”

He nodded again, face already starting to get flushed, thighs pressing together.

~

Lír bounced on the crystal cock, biting his lip to stifle the cute sounds that threatened to spill. Matilda covered the back of his neck and shoulders with kisses, whispering praises into his ear. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands softly tracing up her lovers sides. She let him fuck himself fully on the toy, hips moving like a well trained whore. His cock bounced with every sink of his hips, tip leaking pre down the strained length.

“You’re doing so well.” Matilda cooed, moving some of his mahogany curls behind his ear softly, “Such a good boy.”

She smiled with pointed fangs at the moan that broke free at her words, Lír moving faster. The toy reached places deep in him, angling his hips in such a way for it to bang against his prostate.

Lír gripped onto Matilda’s thighs in an effort to ground himself, stilted cries starting to fall from his swollen lips. His cock felt almost pained, wet with need.

She felt him tighten around the toy, playing with his curls as she purred, “Tell me what you want.”

He made a sound, more of a force of air than a word, mind scrambled with the pleasure and the sounds of clapping skin.

Her soft hands ran up his thighs, beginning to raise her hips to meet his thrusts now, “Let me take care of you.”

“P-please!” He finally begged, saliva wetting the corners of his mouth. His amber eyes were blown out, tanned face flushed a dark shade.

He had a hard day, Matilda deciding not to force more please from him now. Her hands ran up, finding his weeping cock and encircling it. She pumped his member in time with the snap of her hips, taking extra care to the sensitive head.

Her free hand drifted up his chest, toying with his nipple and smiling at his reaction. Lír begged and chocked, hips becoming sloppy.

“It’s alright.” Matilda purred,

Lír gave a quick nod, done for.

He spurted out rope after rope of hot seed, Matilda continuing to milk him for every last drop. He was whining now, back arched into her chest. When he truly started to squirm she showed mercy, letting his cock free and stilling her hips. Lír gave ragged breathes, heart hammering in his chest.

“You did so well.” She praised, kissing his shoulder.

They cleaned up, both getting into soft night clothes. Matilda lay along the bed, her arms open in a silent offering. Lír crawled in next to her, burying himself into her warmth.

She cuddled him, a soft purr in her chest.

“…thank you.” Lír murmured, holding her closer. She kissed the crown of his head in response.

[pregnant-piggy]

Jo’s play

March sisters x reader

words: 1.4k

warnings: mention of a fake death

A/N: i would literally to anything to join one of Jo’s plays

The curtains around the homemade stage were closed, letting very little light in on the side behind the curtains. On the other side sat a dozen or so young girls, silently waiting for the promised spectacle to begin. 

On your side however, it was not quiet as the very last preparations were being made and people were put in their place. The loud thuds of Jo’s boots were almost deafening your ears as she was walking up and down on the ‘stage’. 

‘Amy, go back! They can see you like this! Beth, please don’t forget your lines again. Meg, do not fret about your dress, you look fine. y/n, remember to make your death realistic, I won’t be accepting your lousy attempts from last time!’ 

You rolled your eyes and crept back in the shadows, waiting for your first appearance. Amy was sitting next to you, silently mocking Jo and making you giggle. You loved Jo dearly, but in moments like these she could go a tad crazy. 

Jo and Beth were hiding opposite of you in the shadows and Meg was the only one on the stage when the curtains opened. As soon as the lights hit her, she turned from Meg into Hester, the lonely queen who had lost her husband in the war and had no children to follow him up. Hester sang a melancholy song about her loss and her problem and received a great applause when she finished. 

Then a sweet, little servant walked on stage, telling Hester that a young boy had arrived at the gates. The servant left again, and Hester started pondering about the possibilities this brought her. 

In the background you crept on the stage, Hester’s nephew, Fabian. You were wearing a beard around your chin and a long men's coat that fell over your knees. 

‘If this youngling has no family, I could take him on on my own!’ Hester thought out loud. ‘I could raise him to be the mightiest king this land has ever seen!’ 

Hester left the stage and you walked forward, exclaiming that this strange boy could never become the king, for that was your duty already, and you would do anything to stop him. 

The curtains closed on you and a quick palace was built before act two opened with Jo as the strange boy standing in front of Hester. 

‘Tell me, my boy!’ Hester said, taking the boy’s hand. ‘What is your name?’ 

‘My name is Marvin, Your Majesty! I am but a mere poor child from your capital city, robbed from his family and now seeking a place to stay for the night.’ 

‘Do not worry more, young child! I will give you a place to live,’ Hester spoke and she called the servant to her. ‘Take this boy to his chambers, I will call on him later this night.’ 

The servant took Marvin away from the stage and the queen was left, content with herself and her plans. At that moment, you walked back on stage, with on your hand a lovely young lady, named Katherine, whom you had intended to marry once you were king. The young lady was played by Amy, who adored her part for she could dress up like a ‘real, proper madame’. 

‘Oh, Earl Fabian!’ Hester said as she noticed you and your lady. ‘Just the right person! I need to ask you for a favour, my dear nephew!’ 

Queen Hester asked you to take on the lessons for Marvin, as he had to learn the rules of kingship. After a moment of thought you agreed and walked off, just as the curtains closed again. 

Act three opened in your chambers, where you spoke with your lady about your plan to make her your queen, telling her that you would teach Marvin all the wrong ways. Katherine was delighted and promised to help you wherever she could, before the young boy walked on stage, for his lessons. 

‘Come here, my boy,’ you said and noticed the glitter in Jo’s eyes at the words. ‘I will teach you all you need to know about being a king, for I know what the Queen’s plans are for you.’ 

Then you and Jo performed a song as Fabian and Marvin, the first teaching the second all the things you oughtn’t do as king as though they were the right things. 

‘And that, my child, is how you become a great king!’ 

The next act was a love scene between Katherine and Marvin. The stage had been rebuilt to a rose garden, with real and paper roses, leaves made of papers of Jo’s old books, and Amy’s drawings of flowers. On a bench, that was actually just two chairs with a sheet over them, Katherine sat and Marvin dropped to his knee, confessing he had fallen madly in love with Katherine and could not live without her love. 

Katherine, being so charmed by Marvin, told him of the plan Fabian has for him, and decided that she would marry the man who turned to be king. Marvin was satisfied by that answer and vowed he would do anything to stop Fabian and protect Katherine from his danger. 

The dramatic scene ended in laughter when Marvin, who meant to sit down on the bench, sat right in between the two chairs and fell through the sheet on the ground. You and Meg quickly closed the curtains and helped Jo get up. 

‘Jo, are you alright?’ you asked worried, but Jo jumped right back up and shook the accident off. 

‘Never been better!’ she laughed. ‘Come on, we’ve got a show to put on!’ 

You built the stage to the inside of the palace again, where Marvin was telling the queen about Fabian’s plans. 

‘I knew that man was no good!’ Hester cried out, throwing her arms up in frustration. ‘He has wanted to take my husband’s place on the throne ever since I married. I never should have kept him here!’ 

Then Queen Hester ordered her servant to fetch Fabian, so she could have a word with him. Beth returned with you on the stage and quickly disappeared in a corner. 

‘How can I be of aid, Your Majesty?’ you asked, bowing for the queen. 

‘Do not put up those airs with me, nephew! I know of your plans!’ Hester said, staring down on you. ‘’Fess up!’ 

‘I have nothing to confess, My Queen,’ you lied. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about, I am afraid.’

Hester stepped aside and revealed Katherine holding Marvin’s hand tightly. You stood up and stepped closer to the woman you had once loved. 

‘I knew I should have never trusted you! You wicked,—’ 

Marvin cut you off by pulling his sword on you and stepping in front of Katherine. You took your own sword and so a battle between the two men began. Circling around the stage, you hit and blocked and Marvin blocked and lashed out, while the women on the side gasped and screamed at the right times. 

For a minute you fought with Marvin, until he stabbed you in your chest. Jo stuck her sword under your arm and you held it there as you fell to the ground. In much agony you shouted until you fell dead silent and as you lay on the floor, Marvin bent over you, retrieving his sword from your chest. 

‘Three hoorays for our new king!’ Hester exclaimed and Marvin kissed Katherine happily on her cheek. 

The girls in the audience started to applaud and cheer as you and the sisters gathered on the stage and bowed. In the back of the room Mrs. March and Hannah stood, clapping their hands with proud faces. 

‘Refreshments are downstairs, thank you very much!’ Meg announced and the curtains closed again. 

Darkness filled the stage again and for a second it was silent. 

‘Jo, that was incredible! You all did so good! Meg, your voice is wondrous! Oh, Amy you looked so pretty in the light! Beth, you were amazing! y/n, your death was so dramatic!’ 

It was a mix of little screams of delight and praises all around, everyone hugged the other. You and Jo were jumping with excitement and you flew around her neck, making her fall over, taking you and the curtains along in her fall. 

Meg stood over you and shook her head, but she had a smile on her face. ‘Are you two boys done messing around?’

- - - - - - -

taglist: @natashxromanovfreads​​ @tommy-braccoli​​

[ragingbookdragon]

Of Nights So Hollow, Of Legends So Great

Night Culture AU!Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: Angst, Uh..Scary? I guess?

Author's Note: This is based on the wonderful @bunnvoid Night Culture AU and I felt compelled to write this at midnight because I couldn't stop thinking about it. Bunn, I hope I did your ideas justice! Honestly, I keep going back and forth between the drawings to make sure! I had fun writing it! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It was said that at the heart of every legend there was a grain of truth. Legends are just pieces of history fabricated beyond wildest belief, built upon by centuries of retelling, each story sewing a new thread into the tapestry from whence it came. But that’s all that legends are. Threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable.

***

The old castle was a legend. Perhaps not the castle itself, but what supposedly resided inside. Supernatural creatures that skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out fresh blood in the night. That was one form of the legend, if you believed it. The other form was that of creatures who skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out evil and destroying it where it plagued innocence.

The chateau lied in the midst of the Devilwood Wilds, just outside the City of Old Gotham. Even during the days when the sun would peek through the gray clouds, it appeared gloomy, blackened stone walls, charred shingles and shutters. The giant Devilwood and Shadow trees prevented sight of the doors of the castle; only the top could be seen, to get the real view, one would’ve had to go into the forest. There was another legend: the horrors of the Wilds.

Whispers on the school-grounds told of a creature, big and terrifying that could be summoned with ritual stones and fresh bat blood; those that summon the beast are never seen again. The adults were less convinced of the idea, though they still forbid their children from reaching even the edges of the forested area. Whilst they believed those that went in were never heard from again, it wasn’t from a creature eating them, but a lack of guidance. Starvation. Wild animals. The freezing fog that made your breath turn to frost.

Timothy remembers hearing those whispers when he passed the old schoolhouse. His mother and father didn’t let him interact with the common children, instead his lessons were taught by private tutors from the wealthiest lands, paid for with the Drake treasure of gold and gemstones.

What more so Timothy remembered was the inhuman being that appeared in his father’s manor, striking down his mother with a slash of black magic, his father following. He remembers the way his father’s eyes rolled back in his skull, fear spreading through his body as he hid in the corner of the room, whimpering and crying. And he most certainly remembered the cold hand of the demon sliding between his shoulder blades before it dug into his skin, piercing his flesh, laughing as he cried out in pain as pricks spread out along his back and down his arms.

Warmth bled down his back as black feathers pushed from his skin and Timothy panted as his fingernails grew in length, sharpening as they darkened. He remembered scrambling to his feet, darting away from the creature as he ran. Forgetting the corpses of his family and staff around him, throwing the door open, bursting into the night, and sprinting down the street, leaving a trail of bloody, black feathers in the direction of the Devilwood Wilds.

***

The first night was the least remembered but the darkest. Violent and corrupting nightmares slithering inside his head as he tossed and turned along the frigid ground in a feverish deathlike state, the wings at his back only growing in size.

The second night was less nightmare-ridden, but much more painful. Timothy had pierced a wing on a stray Devilwood tree, the syrup like poison only infecting the wound. He was hungry and cold. Exhausted and scared. He tried to remember all the books he read as a child of the knights facing the elements for a week in order to ascend knighthood; he couldn’t seem to recall a thing.

The third night seemed to be his last. He lay huddled up against a raised Shadow tree root, the ebony wood providing stability for his wounded wing. Timothy sniffled, dragging his knees to his chest as he lay his chin on his arms, ignoring the grumbling of his stomach as it ate itself in hunger.

A tree branch creaked above him, and he craned his neck up, eyes widening when he saw the glowing eyes of the masked creature. The legends were right. The creature’s head twisted sideways, reminding Timothy of an owl, then the other way, like it was observing him. It made a noise and he scrambled to the floor of the forest, curling his injured wing above his head and over his body to protect himself.

THUNK!

Timothy whimpered, ready to be torn to shreds, but when no vicious claws or snapping teeth came at him, he carefully peered between his open wing. There lie a satchel, as long as his forearm and as wide as his middle was. He looked up towards the tree branch to where the creature had sat, but there was nothing there anymore; he glanced around, it wasn’t in sight.

He blinked and shuffled towards the satchel, untying the drawstrings with fumbling clawed hands. Inside lay a pair of thick wool socks, a small blanket, and another small bag. Timothy pulled it from the satchel and opened it; half a loaf of bread and a chunk of meat the size of his hand were stowed inside.

Timothy forewent the etiquette he was taught as a child, giving into his ravenous desire as he devoured the meat. It was tender and juicy, the glaze a mixture of honey and cinnamon.

A memory flowed to his mind, the dinner after the rising of the first star, his family and staff all surrounding the dining table, a divine feast laid before them. The smiling faces of his mother and father stilled his hunger and he placed the food back in the satchel, uncurling the wool blanket. Timothy lay underneath the raised Shadow tree roots, one wing curled around him, and he fell into a restless sleep with tears frozen on his cheeks.

***

When he awoke the next morning, his wing was no longer torn and infected. A new feather had appeared where the wound had been. Timothy wanted to learn to fly. He’d owned a bird once. A Ruby Firebird, with long, crimson-colored feathers and big ruby eyes. It had been his only real friend and he’d watched it a lot. It couldn’t be that hard.

He stretched his wings out, unable to fight the urge to touch them with a single black claw. It tingled. Timothy blinked and beat them, unsure. He beat them again, this time a little harder, keeping at it until with each beat he was able to blow the long grass flat against the ground. A giddy smile came across his lips when the tips of his toes grazed the ground.

What he had not counted on was how tired he was going to get after only a few brief minutes of trying. His wings felt sore. Timothy would try again tomorrow to rise above the tall grass.

***

The creature would appear at odd times during the night and Timothy had stopped feeling the cold fear in his gut when it did. It never came near him; it just watched with the cocked head, back and forth, then would drop the satchel again and disappear. Sometimes there were scribbles inside. He didn’t know what they meant; but he knew the language. Thaatisgani. An old language his writing teacher had shown him one day. A language long died out amongst the common and even the elite folk.

Timothy wanted to know what it meant. He wanted to know what the creature was. His determination drew him to the front of the castle during the night of the harshest season storm. Lighting crackled across the sky, the thunder rolled along the clouds and the rain came down in torrents. He was freezing and soaked to the bone and the weight of his wings had him crawling up the steps, collapsing at the door.

He weakly raised a clawed hand, one nail scratching the black glazed door and he descended into darkness.

***

His mother liked to wear scented oils. They smelled of Queen’s Briar and Golden Belladonna. Before he was older, she used to let Timothy sit beside her when she would apply them to her wrist and ears. She would smile at him and tell him stories of far away lands.

Warmth spread across his eyes, and he rolled over in what he thought was his dream, only to roll onto the ground, landing awkwardly on his wings. Timothy whined and unfolded himself off the ground, rubbing his eyes, only to see the creature a hair’s breadth away from his face.

Timothy choked on his fear and scrambled away, only for the creature to grab his shoulder.

“Stay.”

He halted, looking back at it. “You speak the common tongue?”

The creature stared at him. “You are Timothy Drake. Son of Earl Drake.”

“I am,” Timothy responded, then looked at his hands. “But my family is…is dead.”

“Killed by a slithering demon from the Farstead realm.”

Tears prickled Timothy’s vision. “It killed my parents and cursed me.” He looked at the creature. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re cursed to believe what you think you are.” The creature waved a glowing hand and Timothy blinked in shock as the wings disappeared and his hands turned to normal. “It’s merely an illusion. You’ve only been tainted with cursed magic.”

It was much too complicated for Timothy to pull apart now. “Can I be healed?”

The creature blinked its glowing obs. “Cursed magic cannot be healed…but it can be trained.” They leaned forward, getting in his face. “I can teach you to control and transform.”

“You’re not going to eat me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“…Yes.”

“You hesitated just a bit right there.”

A bottle rolled out from the corner of the room and the creature sighed, turning its head to it. “Richard. Jason. Come here.”

Two young boys, not that much older than Timothy appeared from behind a corner, guilty looks on their faces as though they’d been caught eavesdropping.

The creature nodded to Timothy. “Take him upstairs. He is dirty and tired.”

The tallest one, Jason, crossed his arms over his chest. “Just like that, Bruce? You’re going to take the witch boy in?”

“Pot-kettle,” Richard coughed, smiling when Jason elbowed him.

The creature, now known as Bruce, sighed. “Take the boy. He is tired.”

Jason and Richard obeyed, each hauling Timothy up under the armpits, leading him to a dimly lit staircase.

“Are you two going to eat me?”

“Yes,” Jason replied without hesitation.

“Jason!” Richard barked. “Stop.” He looked down at Timothy. “We’re not going to eat you Timothy…we’re going to help you. And that includes having a warm bed to sleep in and hot food to eat.”

Tears once again gathered in Timothy’s eyes, and he lowered his head as he sniffled. For once since that night, he felt safe.

These were the legends that prowled the city streets. They were supposed to be vicious and dark, evil and bloodthirsty, not ribbing and warm.

But then again, what are legends, but threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable?

[thewatercolours]

38 and/or 46?

NUMBER 46: SHIMMER

Maddy dipped a toe into the shimmer of moonlit algae on the water’s surface, cringed, and swept it back up onto the safety of the rickety pier. She let the silence hang a moment longer. Then she sighed and asked the question he’d known she would ask since she’d spotted him here by the lakeshore. “But – why not Daventry?”

All Graham's jumbled answers of the last few days spilled out at once. “Because, well, it’s like at least four days travel from here, and since Anisette’s leaving, it would just be you and Mom, and the farm’s already too much for the three of us! And Daventry’s too small – it hasn’t got any earls or counts or anybody to take service under except the king himself, and he could have any knight he liked!”

“Like you, for example.” She managed the squeeze the remark when he stopped to breathe.

“Not really. Not likely. King Edward was kind of a hero himself, and he’d probably take only the really top-notch knights.” His sentences sped up and got louder, but he couldn’t quite seem to reign them in. “And, and do you know how many times I’ve been turned down already since I graduated? I should have known better – my final results from the Academy were awful - ”

Maddy laid a hand and his shoulder and gave it a slight shake. “Graham – your professors passed you with distinction, and the headmaster literally wrote ‘Saved more lives in the course of three years than I did in my knightly career’ on the top of your evaluation.” She raised her eyebrows as though to say, “Answer that one back if you can.”

Graham looked back down into the spinning kaleidoscope of algae. “Yeah, but a lot of that was on … loopholes and stuff… And everybody knew I was too clumsy to get very far outside a practice situation. I wasn’t even allowed open the supply cupboard of bow and arrows after the thing with the jujubes. If I did get a job as a knight I’d probably shoot myself in the foot the first day. Literally. If it was even my foot I shot and not my lord’s - ”

“Graham.” Maddy clapped a gentle hand over his mouth.  “You’re catastrophizing.”

He stuck his tongue out to make her move her hand.

“Augh!” She flinched back and dove her hand into the water. “That’s disgusting! Brothers.” She shook the water off, and half of it sprinkled on Graham.

“Hey! That’s lake scum!” cried, throwing up his hands in front of his face. She stopped, but he pulled his green hood up defensively nonetheless.

“Turnabout is fair play.” She smirked, but a wistful look came into her eye. “If you ask me, the fact Daventry is small makes it worth considering. Probably not so much competition, easier to rise through the ranks in a smaller court. They’d get to know you more quickly, probably trust you sooner with important missions or what have you. And you love Daventry.”

Graham drew his knees up to his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve never even been there.”

“You’ve read all the writing out the guidebook.”

“Yeah – but guidebooks always make you look at things with rosy coloured glasses.”

She turned her body to face him, but he only saw her in the periphery. He was looking out at the moon, and the stars twinkling round it. A very clear night for this part of Llewdor.

“Nothing wrong with rosy-coloured glasses,” said Maddy. “That’s Mom’s motto, and it’s always worked for her, hasn’t it? Who knows? Maybe glasses are all you need to right that aim of yours. Say.” Something seemed to occur to her. “Is it because it’s not just an application to get in with Daventry? They’ve got a tournament, right?”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“And that’s what’s eating you?”

Graham closed his eyes. “Not… exactly. I’ve won a couple of mock tournaments anyway. It’d probably be the usual kind of thing – races, one-on-one duels, that sort. I’m decent at them. But I just – don’t want to have to prove myself again. Start at the bottom and have to make them all see.”

Maddy considered a moment. “That’s fair, but what if this was the last time you’d have to do that? Win this once, and have your place secured? And even if you lost – hey, at least you’d get to visit your favourite place. I wouldn’t mind seeing that Floating Island in your shoes. And don’t worry about the farm – the only reason we have so much work is because we can’t keep up with how fast you eat everything we raise!”

He shot a smiling glare her way.

She ignored it. “Seriously though, Graham, you have worked so hard for this. What’s one more shot? Or, er, one more try?” She stole a sister arm round him. “If you set out first thing tomorrow, you’ll make it before Tuesday.”

Slowly he nodded, and smiled again, this time without the glare. “Well… Four days really isn’t that far a journey, I guess.”

[sunlightandsuffering]

I LEAVE FOR A WHILE AND I HAVE SO MANY UNREAD BESTIES TO LOVERS ANONS!!! Imma answer them when I get back from boating but Jfc y’all want this AU bad so here, theres no smut per se but this is the first part of the first chapter from Mikasa’s POV I hope I characterized her okay, I’m trying to stay true to the collective vision 😂

So without further ado Besties to Lovers 💕💕

Her and Eren have always been friends, but she wants the benefits, God does she want the benefits. She’s nineteen, in her second year of university and she’s still a virgin and has done absolutely nothing outside of kiss a boy, and that boy was Eren, in the eighth grade. Meanwhile the very object of her affections has a new girl in his room every fucking night. She doesn’t understand where he gets his stamina from or where he finds all of these girls.

They’ve been best friends since the third grade when he forced her to eat a mudpie because he told poor sweet naïve Mikasa it was chocolate cake. When she’d cried after having her face shoved into the mud, he’d told her to suck it up before giving her the lollipop from his lunchbox as penance. She’s loved him ever since.

And unfortunately, his selfish antics have only gotten worse over time.

Mikasa is aware she’s unbelievably sheltered, it’s not something new to her, that’s what happens when you live with three ex-cops for most of your life and the only friend, you’re permitted to hang out with on a continual basis is Eren. As a result, she’s spoiled rotten and she loves every moment of it, especially when it’s Eren doing the spoiling, but she’s trying her best to be less sheltered! She even finally got a job recently and Eren had told her how proud of her he was.

The job might also be part-time at Levi’s mechanic shop but well a job is a job it doesn’t matter if she got it through nepotism.

She’s excited about it, it means she gets to see Eren even more than usual because he works there part time as a mechanic while he puts himself through medical school.

She knows logically she should be fed up of the boy she’s spent almost every waking moment with since she was seven, but she’s not, she loves living with Eren.

He spoils her almost more than Levi, Hanji and Kenny do, which is impressive because they’re all a little crazy.

She’s also a little in love with Eren if she’s being entirely honest with herself, she lives for when he calls her ‘baby’ and his fingers trail up her thighs and he pinches the curve of her ass, telling her the gym is paying off. He’s always touch, touch, touching every part of her he can get his hands on and she loves it.

Once, Jean had tried to have her sit on his lap too when Eren hadn’t been around and although she’d felt a little weird about it, she’d complied because well he was her friend and it was okay when Eren did it, so why not Jean?

Eren had not been pleased.

Mikasa hadn’t liked it either if she was being honest, it wasn’t the same, he didn’t hold her the same way Eren did and she didn’t have the same pleasant little flutter in her tummy the way she did with Eren when his hands would dip between her thighs and along the seams of her underwear beneath her flowy dresses.

She always felt happy and warm whenever Eren touched her and if she ever felt uncomfortable he’d stop, but he was also more than happy to soothe her back to happiness, he’d kiss her neck or tell her how good she was being for him and she’d be content once again.

Sometimes she’d wriggle around in his lap and he’d hold her tight, and give her a little nibble to her ear as warning. Sometimes she’d heed his warning and sometimes she wouldn’t but when she didn’t that’s usually when Eren would take her home and she loved being alone with him much more than at a boring party while he flirted with a bunch of girls.

When she had him entirely to herself, that was when she was most happy. But these days it wasn’t often, it seemed somehow her best friend had become even more of a man whore since she’d moved in. It’d been a year and still he hadn’t cooled down, he had more sexual partners than an emperor with a harem, it was ridiculous.

The revolving door of girls was getting old for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was that she was fed up of having to explain where the coffee was as the girls pranced around their kitchen in underwear and Eren’s t-shirts. It was irritating, they didn’t understand that she would be the one to make Eren coffee or tea in the morning and that she had exclusive access to his wardrobe. The pretty blonde bitch she was glaring at right now should NOT be wearing her favourite t-shirt.

She sullenly continues to steep Eren’s tea for him, knowing he’ll need the caffeine when he wakes up while she watches the pretty little blonde march around their kitchen like she owns the place. She grabs all of Mikasa’s iced coffee ingredients from the fridge, drowning two cups of scalding hot coffee in sugary sweet. Syrup, whip cream, sprinkles, everything Eren buys Mikasa because he understands her ice coffee obsession. Meanwhile Mikasa knows for a fact Eren loathes the stuff, he tells her it’s too sweet all the time, making faces every time he steals a sip, as if it will taste different than the last time he drank it. He always gives her little cheek kisses after, awfully close to her lips or on her nose, tells her she’s sweet enough for him, that he doesn’t need anything else.

And without fail she’ll squirm and blush under his praise just like she always does and he’ll get that look in his eye, the one that’s dark and hungry that she knows usually precedes some manhandling. A slap to the ass, a pinch to her waist, something that allows him the excuse to touch her and she lives for it, sometimes if she’s really lucky he’ll tuck her into his lap and let her drink the rest of her coffee from her favourite seat there.

She’s startled out of her thoughts as the blonde girl drops two spoons onto the counter and they clatter against the marble with an angry noise, leaving spills of coffee in their wake.

“Can you be a doll and clean that up for me?” Platinum blonde asks her before she picks up both mugs and starts towards Eren’s room.

Mikasa frowns but wanders towards the sink to grab a washcloth for the mess.

Platinum blonde doesn’t make it two steps out of the kitchen before Eren’s bedroom door opens and shuts and he’s wandering into the open expanse of their kitchen wearing nothing more than a pair of plaid pyjama pants and rubbing his eyes.

Mikasa smirks at the sink, now is her favourite time of the morning, when Eren will kick out the little blonde rather brutally.

“Eren, hi!” The girl tells him breathlessly, and Mikasa turns to watch her hold out a coffee, “I made you a coffee, wasn’t sure what you liked.”

Shit, Eren’s tea! Mikasa drops her wash cloth and quickly removes the tea bag from Eren’s typical Earl Grey, thankfully it’s not too oversteeped. She wanders to the fridge to grab the cream, pretending not to be gleefully listening to the conversation next to her.

Eren takes the coffee from the girl, looking down at it as if it’s going to explode, sprinkles and chocolate shavings floating around the milky brown mixture. He raises an eyebrow up at the girl before placing the coffee on the counter, “Thanks, but I don’t like coffee.”

The girl’s eyes go a little wide and she places her mug on the counter as well, “Oh I didn’t know, tell me what you do like and I’ll make it for you, I wanted you to have a little pick me up, you know after last night,” She sends him a little smirk as she finishes her sentence but Eren remains looking unimpressed.

“I like tea, but don’t worry about it, I already have some being made right now, isn’t that right Miki?”

His eyes finally slide to hers and as usual her heart skips a beat as those intent viridians watch her so intensely, all of his attention is on her, he pays absolutely no mind to the blonde girl as he makes it to her side in a few steps.

She nods softly, she doesn’t want to reply, not in front of this girl, she’s too shy, it’s why she’s barely said three words to her yet. She hands Eren his cup of tea and he grins mischievously at her, before taking it from her hands. He winks at her before leaning in to kiss her cheek, murmuring into her ear softly, “Thanks Miki.”

Shivers erupt all over as his breath hits just under her ear, where he knows she’s most sensitive.

He pulls away and she’s left wide-eyed as he steals his tea and turns back to the blonde girl.

“Sorry what was your name again?”

The blonde’s face scrunches up in irritation, “It’s Katrina.”

“Great, Katrina I’ll walk you out.”

He takes a sip of his tea before leaving it on the counter and grabbing Katrina by the arm and dragging her towards his bedroom. They stop briefly to grab Katrina’s things before making their way to the door, Eren likely hoping to avoid her impending meltdown.

Mikasa doesn’t see it but she hears the irritated whines that turn into pleads as Eren tells the girl not so gently, to leave. The door slams and she hears footsteps as Eren follows the girl outside. Mikasa may or may not scoot a little closer to the main hallway and press her ear to the door to listen.

“But we had such an amazing night—”

“It was okay.” Eren throws in his two cents and Mikasa fights to keep in her giggle, this is her favourite part of the mornings, it’s almost worth all the pain of the night before just for this.

“What do you mean, it was amazing, Eren I think we really have something, it was so amazing—”

“Listen, I don’t do relationships, I do one-night stands and that’s it.” Eren tells Katrina firmly and Mikasa gives a little fist pump, damn right, she never sees the same girl twice and she’ll never admit how happy that small tidbit of information brings her. If he’s going to have someone else, at least she knows he has no feelings attached to it. The day he gets a serious girlfriend is the day her heart really breaks.

“What about the girl in there, Miki you called her, don’t tell me you’re not fucking her.”

Mikasa is shocked, her cheeks turning red at the assumption, how vulgar.

But also a small part of her wishes Eren was, ‘fucking’ her that is. She’s a virgin, completely innocent in every conceivable way, she’s never even touched herself, nineteen and still totally clueless with all things sex. It’s not like she hasn’t considered it or wanted to try before, she’s not a prude, she just has no idea where to even start.

Not to mention, ANY male love interests are squashed like bugs the second Eren gets wind of them, and if it’s not him it’s Levi, Kenny or Hanji.

But lately she’s considering at least buying a vibrator or something, maybe taking her own virginity, Sasha and Annie never shut up about it, she’s curious about what all the fuss is about. Every time she moves her fingers down her stomach, she heats up a little, blushing bright red and wondering if it’s wrong, if its weird.

She usually makes it to the line of her panties, concentrated on trying to figure out what she should do and imagining what she thinks will turn her on, and of course it’s always Eren. Always, always him. Unfortunately, that’s usually where her fingers stop because she feels awful, dirty for imagining her best friend touching her, thinking about his large frame looming over hers and laying kisses on her lips instead of her cheeks. Eren would never want her like that, she’s not his type, small blonde, perky and experienced. No bad Mikasa! She cuts her thoughts off before they can descend into negative territory, she’ll never have Eren romantically but at least he loves her platonically and she’ll take what she can get.

“Leave.” Eren tells Katrina in a tone that brokers no argument, the one he reserves specifically for people who insult her, and it happens often when his one night stands see a girl in Eren’s apartment that’s not them, the jealousy is real. However, what they fail to realize is that she is the one girl he actually gives a shit about, she has a special place reserved in his heart as his best friend, and all the sex in the world has nothing on that.

She continues to listen, waiting for more, but this one surprisingly kicks up little fuss and the next thing Mikasa knows she’s scrambling to move away from the door as Eren opens it, falling swiftly onto her ass in the foyer.

Eren raises his eyebrow at her as he shuts the door, leaning back against it, arms crossed and still delightfully shirtless. Looking up at him, he truly is an attractive figure, arms corded with muscle from working with cars all day, handsome chiselled face with a slit in his right eyebrow and a few tattoos placed randomly along his arms. Mikasa, understands better than anyone why girls flock to Eren like moths to a flame.

“Watcha doing down there love?” He asks, his tone deceptively sweet, she knows he won’t be happy she was listening in, especially since the other girl sort of insulted her. She plays dumb, or attempts to at least.

“Just cleaning up,” she grabs a shoe from the shoe rack next to the door, “Wanted to make sure everything was in order.”

“Uhuh,” he says doubtfully, crouching down to her level where she’s splayed out, legs askew and leaning back on her hands.

“So you were’t eavesdropping on me outside?”

She looks away, she can’t lie to him, she’s terrible at it, he knows all her ticks, and she always inevitably caves and tells him anyway.

“Miki,” His voice is chiding, a hand coming up to grab her chin and turn her in his direction. Her full bottom lip sticks out in a pout as she confesses, “I just wanted to know what you’d tell her, she wasn’t very nice to me.”

He leans in closer, edging his way into her personal space and she’s forced to lean back further on her hands as Eren kneels over her, placing his own hands on her thighs, his face getting closer and closer to hers. Her breathing comes quick as his face finds her neck, “You’re not being a very good girl today Miki. My tea was a little oversteeped and now this,”

She gasps a little, her heart thundering in her chest, theres that phrase, ‘good girl’, every so often Eren slips it into conversation and she doesn’t know why but she absolutely loves it, she adores it when he praises her. She wants to hear him say it all the time, wants to be his everything, wants to be the best.

And sometimes she’ll hear him whisper it to the girls he’s fucking, their bedrooms are right next to each other and the walls are paper thin, how could she not? And those are the times she wants to touch herself the most, when Eren tells the girl he’s with she’s being a good girl in that deep raspy voice of his, in the tone he only uses when he’s at the height of his pleasure, gravelly and filled with desire as he fucks some girl so hard the wall of their shared bedroom shakes.

Her face heats anymore at her train or thought, doing her damndest not to let her eyes follow the V of his abs down to the waist band of his pants.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I’ll be better,” she responds quickly, she doesn’t want him to be mad at her, not about this, she didn’t mean to eavesdrop, she’ll never do it again as long as he’s not mad at her.

It’s the worst when he’s mad at her, he wont talk to her for a while, won’t touch her and that’s the worst part, no little touches. She’d never realized how totally attached and needy for him she was until they were watching a movie and he wouldn’t let her sit in his lap, wouldn’t lay his head on her chest and hum into her sternum while she fought back shivers because her breasts are so fucking sensitive.

“Eren please, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me.”

His face is stern for a moment, dark strong eyebrows scrunched up and lips set into a line, tears prick her eyes at the thought of him giving her the silent treatment for a week again. She can’t do it.

As a tear escapes one eye, tracing a path down her cheekbones, Eren’s large calloused hand comes up to cup her face, moving from her chin, his thumb darting out to catch the tear before he brings his thumb to his mouth, licking the meagre drop from his finger.

His face settles back into a neutral expression before he buries it into her neck, leaning his whole body weight on her, and pushing her to the ground, lying across her front.

“Oh fuck Miki, what am I going to do with you?” He sighs into her neck, before leaving a little bite there that makes her squeak. Then another, and another and she knows this is her punishment but it feels so nice, bites interspersed with little kisses along the column of her throat, they’ll probably leave marks later if she’s lucky.

He pulls back when she makes a little whimpering sound as he hits a particularly sensitive area of her skin, breaking the quiet atmosphere and they both come back to themselves. She’s immediately sad because she loves it when he gets carried away like that, almost feels like she has a chance.

Eren moves away, leaving her cold and bereft on the floor as he stands up.

She stares up at him, quicksilver eyes wide and needy, she needs something, she doesn’t know what, zings shoot through her core and she’s unbearably hot, she needs something. It’s the weird feeling again, the one she only gets when he’s around and being touchy, he must see it in her eyes because a pained looks crosses his face and he almost moves to grab her again but he bites his lip and settles on holding a hand to help her up, “Come on Miki, I’ll make you breakfast love.”

She pouts but takes his hand, following him to the kitchen and sitting herself on the bar stool while he makes her favourite waffles.

It’s always like this, he’s always taking care of her, he can’t help himself and sure sometimes he’s a little mean, well most of the time, and more often than not he’s teasing her, but he takes care of her so well, she trusts him implicitly.

They’re on the cusp of something, she doesn’t know what but she can feel it building, ever since she first moved in, the tension has gotten worse. Eren is like a caged panther waiting, watching, restraining himself, his eyes are always hungry when she walks around in her pyjamas, which consist of only his old shirts and panties, but she can’t quite figure out for what.

He gives her a little wink as he slides her waffles onto a plate and cutting them up for her, before he feeds her delicately, little bites of chocolate chip and syrup. He catches little dribbles of the sickly sweet mixture that stain her lips, bringing his finger to his mouth, just for a taste. He pulls a face at the overly sweet treat, and she laughs which makes Eren smile her favourite smile, the genuine one with all his teeth only she can pull from him.

The next dribble of syrup she loses, Eren feeds it right back to her, holding out his thumb for her to lick but she does him one better and takes the whole digit in her mouth with ease, sucking the syrupy chocolate up happily. She watches him the whole time and his reaction is everything, his eyes glow greener, he leans in just a little closer and there is that intent hungry look again. It’s beginning to be her favourite look on him, something about it is just attractive.

She releases his finger with a pop, smiling at him before she sticks her tongue out, “All clean!”

Eren’s gaze is so intense she wants to look away as he moves his hand to tuck a few stray locks of hair behind her ear. He exhales before he speaks, his voice quiet, like he doesn’t mean to say it at all, “You’re such a good girl aren’t you Miki?”

“What did you say?” She asks because she wants to hear it again and again, but Eren doesn’t oblige.

“Nothing baby, finish your waffles, you haven’t been eating well lately, I don’t want anything left on your plate.”

He takes care of her so so well. How could she ever need anyone else?

But evidently Eren does, to satiate his more carnal needs, the ones she’s clueless about and the one’s she longs for him to use her for. He gets a call halfway through her breakfast and he departs from alternately stealing bites of her waffle and letting her eat by herself. It’s a call from a regular girl, Selena, she’s pretty sure her name is, a beautiful Brazilian exchange student with blue eyes and a perfect olive hue. He kisses Mikasa goodbye, a swift peck to the cheek, before he tells her not to wait up, he’s going to work this afternoon shift and afterwards he’s going ‘out’.

She’s may be naïve but she’s not stupid, she knows what ‘out’ means, he’s going to spend the night at Selena’s and tomorrow he’ll come home with mussed hair and hickeys, he won’t need anyone to make his morning tea, won’t be home to make her breakfast.

She’ll be all alone in the apartment once again and not for the first time, she wonders if maybe she should be doing the same. Just what is she missing out on that’s so good that Eren can’t go two days without it, what is so great about sex that Sasha and Annie will spend hours discussing it over dinner?

She drops her breakfast dish in the sink, scowling as she watches the water run over the remains of her breakfast, filling the sink with bubbles, maybe she should try it too. Maybe sex is what she needs from her life, maybe Eren is onto something.

[holdinbacksecrets]

Baked With Love

AN: Written to ‘my tears ricochet’ by Taylor Swift (please stop by if you want to scream about folklore lol) 1.3k

Summary: When the missing hurts enough to bake banana bread.

angst/fluff/established relationship

❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊❊

It’s just that you missed him. Even though he was close by, on the other side of a painted wall, with no idea that you were feeling so alone. Because even when he was back home and it made sense to look forward to spending time together, it didn’t happen in the way you expected it to. His headphones covered his ears, leaning over the computers and production devices you still barely knew anything about, despite his attempts to teach you. And you wanted to learn, you know? Because it was important to understand everything about him, but maybe you wanted to know those things more than he realized.

You woke up on the third morning, keeping your eyes shut as your hand ran along the cool sheets beside you. Where he had been laying. But his body had been missing long enough for the space to grow cold, and you peeled your eyes open, sinking your face further into the silk pillowcase beneath it.

You heard his music through the wall, but the smile that usually came with the sound was missing from your mouth today. Instead, you felt yourself hugging your arms around your body, craving his touch instead. Wondering if you did something wrong, if it was you that had caused this distance- the space and wordless interactions. It must be you, right? It has to be you when you hear him on the phone, while you make dinner, laughing with Hoseok.

When you finally gathered enough energy to throw the covers back and place your bare feet on the soft carpet, they carried you to the kitchen. You pulled down bowls and measuring cups, gathered ingredients, tied your wild curls into a lousy bun. You started making the recipe that had been planted into your mind after countless occasions sat at your childhood kitchen’s island. The banana bread that coaxed you from your bedroom, relieved teen angst, brought smiles and laughter to Christmas mornings.

You hoped the smell might do the same for him. A reminder that you’re still here, still loving, still wanting his time.

You make yourself a cup of tea while waiting for the timer to impede the morning silence, enjoying the earl grey on the patio. Your view of Seoul accentuated by an awakened sun. His t-shirt barely covers the tops of your thighs. The cool air scatters goosebumps across your bare skin, but the warming drink overshadows the chill running up your spine and across your chest, nipping your cheeks.

You stand there for what could’ve been seconds or hours. The time didn’t matter, not when the beautiful city was below, with luscious greenery in the background of a picturesque view. There are so many places you still wanted to see with him, but the journeys often fell on your shoulders, instead of being shared by his. So you went alone and took pictures, organizing them into the photo album you never shared. The plan was there, too, but the missing glimmer in his eyes when he came home left you swallowing the words.

The timer rings, and you walk through the doorway, sliding the glass closed behind you. The empty mug is placed on the granite, and you’re searching for the polka-dotted oven mitt to retrieve the golden loaf. It smells like your childhood, and you wish every slice, and every bite could tell him all the things you’ve been holding back.

It takes a while to cool, and you find yourself pacing in front of his studio door, raising your small fist multiple times to knock, before feeling like an idiot: I shouldn’t have to knock. You never did before. You would peek your head in, and Yoongi would catch your reflected silhouette in the window before taking off his headphones. You’d mouth hello, hoping you weren’t interrupting. But he always held out his hand for you, guiding you down to the open space on his lap. You’d stay there all day if he’d let you, with your arm around his neck and your fingertips massaging his scalp. You’d chat and laugh and share pictures or videos that reminded you of one another, until he went back to work: a moment that left you pushing away to leave, but Yoongi held on tighter. “You can stay. I work better when you’re here.”

You slice through the bread, met by waves of steam, blurring the memory behind your eyes. White plates meet the countertop; A slice for him and one for you, lathering his in blackberry jam, leaving yours plain. You pour espresso over ice, too, for good measure.

You shake off the nerves, balancing the wooden, breakfast tray in your arms as you stand outside the studio. “Yoongi?” His name is barely above a whisper, and you know he hadn’t heard.

Your shoulder falls against the door, promising yourself to open it, but your palm never touches the bronze knob because you look up to see your boyfriend standing in the doorway instead. Your mouth gapes, and you look down at the breakfast displayed on the tray. He had bought you a set for your birthday. A present you hadn’t asked for, but he looked through your online cart after you fell asleep one night, your head in his lap.

This one is engraved with cherry blossoms. Their vibrant colors emphasized against the dark wood.

“I made breakfast, but I don’t.. you may not be hungry.”

Yoongi side steps and you walk across the floorboards. His studio smells like the candle you purchased habitually. The closet was stocked, awaiting the moment a lit match failed to catch the wick aflame.

Yoongi takes the tray from your arms, placing it on the round table beside his workspace. The distance between each other is closed in short steps as his arms embrace you. You gasp against his chest, taking a moment to let yourself lean into him- let him hold you. Hot tears fall, catching on cotton, as you hold him for the first time in days.

Your name leaves his mouth with worry, and it’s the single syllable that makes you realize he had no idea.

He fell back into his routine of comfort, knowing you accepted it- accepted him. He held you in the dark when you were fast asleep, wondering what he’d accomplished in a past life to make him so lucky. He was laughing on the phone with Hoseok because he loved you so much he couldn’t put the feelings into words. He had been waking up early to spend time in his studio because the undisclosed song on his file had a special title, for a special girl, for a very special day: your anniversary.

“I’ve just missed you. You’re so close, and I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” His palm smooths down your hair; you feel his lips flutter against your skin. Your fingertips trace shapes along cotton-clad shoulders, reveling this feeling. A feeling you crave on your solo journeys and evenings at home staring blankly at novel pages. When you couldn’t think about anything else but the phone call coming later that evening, his inevitable return, or the chill that accompanied every thought of his voice calling out your name with a suitcase in tow.

“I made you bread, baked full of love and …tears.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re always so creative in the kitchen.”

Your laughter breaks up the dying cries, breathing deeply before finally pulling away. Yoongi’s thumb catches the wetness on your cheeks before tracing your lips.

“I think we should do something fun today, get out for a while?” His eyes search yours, and the agreement rings true in your relaxed expression.

“There’s a spot I’ve been wanting to show you, actually.” Your lips finally curl upwards, and his eyes lighten with love.

“Then we have to go.”

You rest your head against his chest, feeling ok again. “Can we eat first?”

Yoongi’s laughter vibrates throughout his entire body, and if you had to live without medicine for the rest of your life, you’ll do fine right here, with the banana bread that solves everything and the man who loves you just as much, or maybe more than you know.

TAG LIST: @xetherealbeautyx 

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

can we keep talking about how fucking nasty and sexy Clyde's dirty talk is? like my whole body just went limp at the thought of Clyde determined and angrily fucking you, growling and panting as he pounds into your pussy hard enough to leave you feeling bruised and he blurts out some wild shit like, "Gimme yer honey, Darlin'. Let it go for me baby, I want that sticky sweet stuff spillin' outta ya and make a mess all over my cock, baby please." welp gtg :)))

@ohdamnadamm I CANNOT EVEN HANDLE YOUR ASKS THESE DAYS BITCH LIKE I HAD TO CHANGE MY PANTIES TWICE YOU ARE THE WORST (BUT ALSO, NEVER STOP SENDING THESE ASKS EVER, ILYSM) 

PLZ SALIVATE WITH ME ON THESE CLYDE THOTS....

- He’s never been this pissed in his life. Watching as some asshole sidles up next to you on the bar top, gettin’ a little too close for comfort. 

- He’s over tending to another group on the other side of the bar, carefully listening as he smooth talks his way to get by you. Clyde side-eye’s your hands on the top, watching as you move to cover yourself, knowing you were feeling a little uncomfortable too given that he was basically sitting on your lap to ask you dumbass questions. 

- You try to look disinterested, shifting your body weight over to the cusp of the stool as his ragged whiskey breath tainted your safety bubble, looking away to wretch as his stupid words penetrated your ears and nostrils. 

- He nails the final prong in his coffin when he moves to grip your arm, the moment you pulled away in shock sending Clyde to slide in front of you as he bored into the drunkard’s eyes. 

- “If ya were a smart man, ya’d get yer hands off ma wife,” he growled out, his raging stare seeping into the man as he began to cower slightly from his hulking body leaning towards him, “ya heard me, get yer filthy fuckin’ hands off her or I’ll shove that shot glass in front a ya up yer ass.” 

- The man stepped back, stumbling as he tried to stifle some of his dignity. Avoiding your big bear’s gaze at all costs as he turned with his tail between his legs to head to another part of the establishment. 

- He snapped out of his reddened haze momentarily to look back at you, hand clasped at the necklace between your supple tits, heaving breaths as you had witnessed the fear in that poor sap’s eyes. 

- “Darlin’,” he whispered, to which you turned, still in shock from his manly performance, “ma office, now,” gritting lowly as he whistled to have Earl watch the front while he followed you back through the dark hallway. 

- He slammed the door behind him to have you jump at the sound, “holy fuckin’ shit Clyde! What the hell big bear?” furrowing your brows as he stalked over to you, his figure causing you to instantly sit on top of his large desk, a gulp leaving your mouth as you gazed up at him looming over you. 

- “Open yer legs baby girl,” he commanded, watching as you did what you were told, “well, well, well, look what we have here,” noticing your bare folds as you parted your thighs for him. 

- “Did ma baby doll forget somethin’ ‘fore she left the house tonight?” reaching a huge paw to spread your lips open as he rubbed the slick that had built up over the evening. 

- “Mhmmm, what am I gonna do with ya baby girl?” he tsked, watching as you sighed and moaned from his tender touches, leaning yourself back on the desk as you tried to push your hips to meet his fingers. 

- “Gah,” he gasped out, pushing his metal hand to make your ass flush with the desktop, “jus’ tickin’ all the bratty boxes ain’t we darlin’?” soaking in the mewls as you begged for more. 

- “I ain’t gonna touch ya unless ya behave fer me,” watching with black eyes as yours welled with tears, “use yer words baby girl,” he taunted, fingers still ghosting your folds as he waited. 

- “I-I’m g-gonna be a g-good g-girl d-daddy,” you moaned, desperate for his digits to penetrate your hole, “p-please d-daddy!” raising your voice an octave to beg for it. 

- “Well, when ya sound like that baby girl, how could I not give ya what ya need?” smirking as he shoved two thick fingers into your soft cunt, curling them to meet your spot as he’d done over hundreds of times in your relationship. Feeling as you ate his digits with your desperate pussy, velvet walls enclosing on him as he watched your head roll back from the pleasure. 

- “Ya so wet fer me baby girl,” he mused, drinking in your face as he coaxed his fingers on you, “so fuckin’ wet,” feeling them flutter as his own tent was building in his jeans. 

- “I don’t wantcha cummin’ on ma fingers baby doll,” he gritted out, feeling the vibrations change as you neared your release, “yer gonna cum all over ma big cock like a good lil’ girl, ain’t ya?” watching as your half lidded eyes met his. 

- “G-god y-yes daddy!” screaming out as he removed all stimulation, your cunt gasping for something to fill it. 

- He went to quickly remove his jeans, watching as the built up slick seeped from your hole, licking his lips as he fished his throbbing cock out from it’s confinements. 

- “Ya bein’ such a good girl fer me darlin’,” he marveled, lining his veiny cock with your pretty slit, nuzzling the head in your juices as he pushed himself into you inch by thick inch. 

- The speed of his entrance causing another round of writhing to commence, the tears running down your cheeks as you cried for him to fill you to the brim with him. 

- “Awwww now darlin’,” he pandered, pushing his metal hand back down on your lower belly as you stifled another moan, “what did I say ‘bout misbehavin’? You’ll get yer daddies cum when he’s ready,” chuckling out as you protested his slow motions to slide in on your begging walls. 

- He stilled inside you once he’d pushed himself flush with your mound, drinking in the remainder of your moans and groans as he began to push himself in and out of you. The roughness of his jeans brushing against your clit in the best way as he watched your tits bounce with every push he made into you. 

- “See what happens w-when ya b-behave?” he panted out, speeding up his gyrations as he still had his hand stifling your hip thrusts, the pleasure from it all building in steady waves between the both of you. 

- “Good g-girls always g-get ta c-cum,” he groaned out, your walls vibrating on him in the best way as he neared his release and yours. 

- The texture of the denim still hitting your spot, sending waves and waves of built of warmth throughout your body, signaling you were just on the brink, “d-daddy I-I,” you could barely get the words out as you spilled over, the combination of things causing you to squirt your spend all over the front of his jeans. 

- “That’s m-ma b-baby g-girl,” he panted, throwing his head back after seeing you project your release on him, sending him into a feral frenzy as he fucked into you, “give d-daddy all t-that good s-stuff!” he growled his hips stuttering to a stop when he felt his wave come crashing over him. 

- Stilling himself flush as you wailed into the room, feeling his baby gravy cover all your nooks and crannies as he squirted your walls. 

- He panted in front of you, holding his limp cock in your hole as you pulsed around him, the overstimulation causing the both of you to shudder as your breaths began to even again. 

- “Gah damn darlin’,” he chuckled out, removing his cock from its hiding place to look at the mess you’d made on him, “Imma hafta change ma jeans now,” smiling with absolute pride as he watched the slick dripping out of you. 

______________

WELL, I THINK WE ALL LEARNED A VALUABLE LESSON HERE... AND THAT IS DON’T POKE THE BEAR OR YOU’LL GET PUNISHED..... THE MORE YOU KNOW 💫🥴

🖤, 

ray-nal-beads

oneshot taglist: @maybe-your-left, @safarigirlsp, @clydesfavoritegirl, @emeraldsiren20, @thepalaceofmelanie, @bpdbensoloblog, @hopeamarsu, @caillea

(plz lmk if ya wanna be added to my oneshot list or any other list for that matter!)

[alicesimblr]

CHAPTER 3 PART I

beginning / previous / next

Ann was reading her favourite novel when the door rang.

'Nobody lives here,' said Ann.

'I thought i could teach you a thing or two about self-defence' shouted Helena.

Ann's eyes lit up as she heard the offer from her friend who she hadn't seen since the fire incident.

'Password accepted' Ann said as she opened the door with a smile.

'I know you wanted to be alone, but i thought a girl's day would lift your spirits' Helena said, shaking her hand. Although Ann was happy to see her new friend, the embarrassment of the fire situation still gnawed at her insides.

‘A girl's day? Is that what you call teaching me self-defence?' asked Ann, raising her eyebrows.

'Of course! Perhaps you've been taught to be a lady, but I've been taught to be the opposite. Maybe we could exchange knowledge,' said Helena, laughing.

Helena suggested to Ann that they fight in her dress. If she was attacked, she would have to know how to defend herself with any kind of garment. Ann didn't understand why they would attack her though. they never had.

'Any news from our brothers?' asked Ann as they moved around the room without starting a fight.

'Yes. They closed the deal last night, they'll come back first thing tomorrow morning' replied Helena, tapping Ann lightly on the shoulder.

'Last night? What kind of deal closes at nightfall?' insisted Ann.

'The kind of deal my brothers close. And now yours too.' she replied, landing a second blow that Ann couldn't stop either.

'Wouldn't that be illegal? The last thing i'd want to do is endanger my bro...' Ann began to say, before being interrupted by Helena so they could practice a specific move.

'Don't worry, Ann. My brothers and i would never put Christopher in danger. Nor you. You are part of the family' she replied at last.

'Yeah... I don't think Jonathan feels the same way' said Ann, just before she tried to kick Helena.

'Jonathan is somewhat withdrawn, he doesn't like meeting new people. But that doesn't mean he dislikes you' said Helena once she had pinned Ann to the ground.

'How long have you been training?' asked Ann, getting up from the floor.

'Since I was born. I knew how to fight before I could talk' replied Helena, laughing again.

'I've never met anyone like you' said Ann with a chuckle.

'Anyone, or a woman?' asked Helena 'Well, in my family we're very unconventional. Ahead of our time, Jonathan would say. He's very modest'

'Tell me, what does your father thinks about you not being married yet?' asked Ann, still panting from the fight.

'My father has no opinion. He never has and he never will' replied Helena curtly.

'Jonathan!' shouted Helena after hearing the door bang.

'Jonathan? Wasn't he closing a...' Ann groaned. The last thing she wanted was to see Jonathan, for it was him she had been avoiding since the incident. Although the thought had only been in her head for a millisecond, Ann thought that maybe Jonathan had manipulated her mind to see a fire that never happened.

'No, he stayed in the manor' shouted Helena as she opened the door for her brother.

'I thought I wouldn't see you until Monday' said Helena.

'You thought wrong, as usual' replied Jonathan. He looked angry, as usual.

'What's that on your arm, brother?' asked Helena, raising her eyebrows.

As Ann walked through the door, Jonathan turned to her and held out the book without saying anything.

‘For me?' asked Ann, realising instantly that the question was unnecessary 'Thank you very much! Is it a book you have read' she asked.

'Helena told me you liked romance books' he said, and was silent for a few seconds. 'I don't.'

Helena persuaded Ann to accompany them to a bookshop that had opened a few days ago.

'The library is Jonathan's gift to the city' said Helena, smiling.

'Not exactly. The idea came from a friend who likes to read even more than i do' he replied almost in a whisper.

'How is it possible to surpass someone who has read more than 1,000 books at the age of 20?' asked Ann, who had to pick up the pace to catch up with the tall Cannadine brothers.

'Well... being 25′ replied Jonathan.

'Wow... how come i haven't seen this place before?' asked Ann in amazement at the sight of such a huge building.

'I don't think it's the sort of place a bourgeois lady goes to spend her evenings' said Jonathan, biting his lip to keep from laughing. The bookshop was in the poorest part of town, which made its size and beauty all the more strange to Ann.

‘Nor does it seem to be that of an Earl who owns half the manors of the United Kingdom' she replied, stepping forward in his footsteps.

‘Looks like we've lost my brother... tell me, which section do you want to snoop in?' asked Helena. Jonathan practically ran out as soon as they entered the bookshop, almost as if he had been waiting for that moment to run away from the situation.

‘Crimes. If Jonathan thinks I'm just into romance...' said Ann, laughing.

Helena held out a book to Ann with a black cover and a small signature on the bottom of it.

'What do you think?' asked Helena a few minutes later while still looking for a book for herself.

'Who wrote these stories?' asked Ann, confused. Helena approached her. 'According to the writer, they are all true. But how can the write be in so many different places?' insisted Ann. The stories told of brutal murders that would not have been punished but for the brave writer.

'A wizard never reveals his secrets' replied Helena, turning away again.

'Did you write it?' asked Ann.

'Are you mad? My thing is fighting, not writing.' replied Helena.

After a few hours of reading, Jonathan gave his sister a sidelong glance to start to leave and put the books away.

‘Why do we have to walk here?' asked Ann. It had only been a scant 15 minutes from her house to the bookshop, but the manor was on the outskirts, too far from everything to walk.

‘We have given up all our carriages temporarily,' Helena replied, biting her lower lip.

Once Ann began to glimpse the manor from afar, she noticed the many carriages lying parked at the entrance.

'What's going on?' she asked at the sight. But she got no answer. 'Helena?' she insisted.

'Don't worry, Annastasia. It's just a formality,' she replied, not looking her straight in the face.

'Believe me, Annastasia, no one dislikes this more than I do' said Jonathan, sighing.

At that moment, Ann had no idea what could be waiting for her in there.

As soon as the front door of the manor opened, a bunch of faces unknown to Ann peered in with wide eyes and began to talk incessantly.

'Dear Annastasia, it's a pleasure to finally see you in person!' shouted one of them.

'Yes... I... 'Thank you' replied Ann, not quite sure who to turn to or where to look.

'Please ladies and gentlemen, make room, we don't want the poor girl to be crowded.' said Helena, taking Ann by the hand and leading her down the corridor.

'Darling. I didn't think i'd live to see something like that' repeated one of the guests for the third time.

'I assure you i didn't think so either' replied Helena as she realised that she would not stop repeating that phrase if no one answered her.

'Even if it was your idea?' asked Jonathan, smiling half-heartedly.

'Your idea?' asked Ann, almost choking on her food.

'I only suggested it. I didn't force anyone' replied Helena, throwing up her hands.

'You certainly make a lovely couple, it's about time the boy settled down.' said one of Helena and Jonathan's aunts. Ann couldn't help but wonder where their parents were and why they hadn't visited them since they moved to Southampton.

'I don't see why anyone should ever settle down. Marriage is just a piece of paper' said Jonathan, annoyed.

'Jonathan! Why don't you eat and be quiet for the rest of the lunch?' said Helena, giving a murderous look at her brother, who had begun to smile as he realised how much it annoyed his older sister. Ann couldn't help but smile too, it reminded her so much of the relationship she and her brother had, although Christopher was undoubtedly much more affectionate.

When dinner was over, Helena escorted the guests to another of the many rooms that were only on the first floor of the manor. As soon as Helena and Jonathan began chatting with distant relatives, two women approached Ann, looking down their noses at her with meanness. They just wanted to laugh at her, no one in that family understood why Jonathan would want to agree to such a wedding.

‘I didn't think Jonathan would like them so thin,' said one of them smiling.

'Nor so pale. You look a bit sick, are you all right?' asked the other, trying to feign distress as she put her hand to her heart.

'Excuse me, ladies' cried Helena, throat clearing as she saved Ann from the horrible situation. 'I need to speak to the future Countess Annastasia' said Helena, causing the two women to turn away without another word.

'You're my guardian angel, aren't you?' asked Ann, smiling again.

A few seconds later, Jonathan was crossing the wide room straight to Ann with a hint of amusement and annoyance in his eyes.

'Annastasia Winsdor, will you marry me?' he asked, getting down on one knee.

'How hard would it have been to tell me earlier about today's plan?' asked Ann. Cordelia had taught her to answer with questions when she got too nervous and didn't know how to make decisions. But this decision had already been made for weeks, she couldn't back out.

'Is that a yes, or a no?' insisted Jonathan, who had already stood up and was holding the ring almost as if he wanted to throw it away.

'A yes... I guess.' replied Ann at last.

[dreamer213]

Profiles

For the sake of continuity and simplification before I actually start this fanfic book/series I’m putting out some basic bios and head cannons on our two main characters and characters through out depending on their importance to the plot and how much I deviate from the cannon.

Name: Whitley Schnee

Age: 16

Gender: Male

DOB: December 21

Eye color: Blue

Hair color: White

Favorite foods: No preferences

Favorite drink: A cup of Earl Gary

Likes: Reading, Art, classical music, flowers, and small animals

Dislikes: His family, his home life, and his lack of freedom

Allies: Klein, Mary Shellor ( a manor maid) and Father(?)

Enemies: Weiss, Winter, Mother, and Father(?)

Personality: (outward) Cold, Brass, Charismatic, and Eloquent (inward) Scared, Weak, Lonesome, and Affection Starved.

Abilities:

Perfect Recall: Remembers everything he’s ever hear, seen, read, or done.

Strategic Mind: Can form plans with the information available to him and execute them with precision.

Persuasive Tongue: Is very good at talking his way in and out of most situations and can lie flawlessly even under pressure.

The youngest in family Whitley has often been forgotten by those in area him, especially his family. After years of trying to gain any attention from the people around him, he finally gives up when his older sister Weiss leaves home to become a huntress like their older sister Winter. And just like Winter, she leaves him in the care of their abusive Father and alcoholic mother with no intentions to contact them or to be contacted. Left abandon and hurt Whitley is forced to rely on his Father, the man who treats him more like a trained dog than a son, for support and instead becomes the sole focus of his tyranny. But after the fall of Beacon Weiss return but not for too long as after an argument with a guest Weiss causes such a ruckus that she is disinherited and locked in her room. She escapes later that same night, not before accusing Whitley of wanting all this to happen as if she knew him well enough to even think that, leaving him and the manor staff to deal with Father’s rage when he founds her gone…….again. One week later everything’s been swept under the rug and Father is hosting another party to apologize for the last, as if he hadn’t broken three vases, smashed a window, and thrown an antique clock a mere inch from his son and last heir’s head in a fit of rage. After another event of being Father’s mouth piece and apologizing for the sins of others Whitley is left jaded and retreats to a secluded balcony to get some air. He stood there hopelessly lost in this prison of silver and marble, he leans against the railing and looks up to the stars wondering if his life even worth living. During his introspection his leans back too far and falls into a two story drop. Luckily for him there was one kind soul at this party who seemed to hear his short scream and silent prayers. Before he drop to far he is grasped by a soft hand and sweet voice cries out for his attention. He looks up to see what he could only describe as an angel draped in colors of summer.

Name: Penny Poledina

Age: Appears To be 16

Gender: Female Android

DOC: June 19

Eye color: Green

Hair color: Orange

Favorite foods: Having only recently obtained the ability to eat and drink when her restoration included the addition of a state of the art artificial nervous system and a bio fuel converter, Penny still has too many types of food she hasn’t tried yet to decide a favorite.

Favorite drink: Root beer for some reason, she doesn’t really know why?

Likes: COMBAT! Scrapbooking, Sewing, Fairytales and Helping others

Dislikes: Working overtime, bad people, and not being able to make her own decisions

Allies: Her Dad, Team RWBY(?) Team FNKI, Winter(?) Ironwood (?)

Enemies: Robyn Hill, The Happy Huntresses, and Salem

Personally: (outward) Sweet but stiff Caring, a bit clumsy and social unaware (inward) Overworked, Insecure, and Unsure of her place in the world.

Abilities:

Retractable Swords: Sword hidden in Penny’s back that she call pull out and control at will

Rocket Boots: Removable Rocket boots that propel her through the air giving her the ability to fly and can be removed to and clasped into an inconspicuous handbag leaving Penny with normal legs when not in use. She carries a pair of socks and shoes in a backpack she takes everywhere.

Super Strength: Can lift objects several times her size with little effort and throw objects with intense strength and speed.

Lethally Adorable: If you weren’t told or saw it yourself you wouldn’t believe she was a military grade weapon.

After being brought back from the brink of death Penny is rebuilt better then ever. Her sense are heightened, she’s gained new ones like taste and smell, and has a more durable and polished appearance. This was issued to her not as any form of payment for her trauma or pity for her but instead was to make her easier to use in undercover operations and lessen the chances of her allowing herself to be damaged again. This becomes all too clear to her when after only a few hours of being up and functional again she sent straight to training then and back to the field for her next assignment. From there now her life becomes a set schedule protect Mantle, train with military hunters, fill out daily reports, and go home to recharge. With the addition of Robyn Hill and her Happy Huntresses the job quickly grows tiring for Penny. Having no life outside of work the only comfort Penny has is small talk between training sessions, mostly with Team FNKI Winter doesn’t like to talk much, and the warmth of coming home to a meal for two and some family time with her Dad. But Penny can’t help but want more. To hang out with friends, go to cafes, parties, maybe even attend one of Team FNKI’s concerts! Like a normal girl, one whose not a soldier, whose life isn’t ruled by the military, one whose body wasn’t made from metal and wires and paid for with government funds. But Penny can’t be that girl all she can do is dream about it. That’s just how things were for her until Ironwood showed up at her home, dressed in formal wear with a car, a dress, and shoes. He tells her to get changed then get in the car. After she’s dressed and they leave he informs her of the new information they have just verified. There is a mole amongst the Atlas elites feeding Robyn Hill information on the supply shipments. In order to catch the mole he’s excusing her from training and reassigning that time so she can infiltrate Atlas high society to find and capture them. To begin the investigation they are attending tonight’s Evening Party at the Schnee Manor and making introduction with the elites. W-What! Why her! Why was Penny of all people chosen for such an outrageous mission! Simple put it’s because Penny is the strongest hunter they have without an off putting appearance or any connection to Atlas, a perfect nobody. Once they get to the manor they split up to cover more ground, for a moment Penny’s in awe of the manor it was as though she walk into a castle from a storybook. She’s so caught up in the scenery she doesn’t notice the group behind her until she bumps into one of them. She tries to greet them but quickly gets a taste of Atlas upperclass hospitality. Terrified Penny retreats to an empty table at the furthest part of the ballroom. She sits there for hours contemplating how she could complete her mission until she hears a shout from the balcony next to her. Knowing a citizen’s cry for help. With a person in peril Penny waste no time and rushes to save them. And when she does what she finds is the most gorgeously doll like human she’s ever seen.