#why are there two johns this is so confusing

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Revisiting this idea because I need to round it out. This intro text is orange so you already know it's J Price focused

John doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth and questions it. Instead, he looks at the angel in his and his boys' home and goes, "How can we keep her because the boys like her?".

He doesn't like her presence, but he likes that his boys seem calm and interested in her.

She has been a fixture in his home for two weeks, going on three now. He takes notice of how Simon follows her about like a specter. Always watching her and asking questions about people that have died, wanting to know if his own seat is reserved in hell. He notices how Johnny goes out of his way to ask questions about God, and each time, she squints her eyes at him. She isn't confused about the questions, but she is beholden to some rule about not speaking God's name or saying what they look like. Johnny normally shrugs and then starts asking questions that really stem from Catholic guilt, John has heard him ask once, "That time locked in the church confessional, am I going to hell for not telling Father Morris that I did kiss the boy on my football team?"

She had laughed at him and only pressed a kiss to his forehead, saying something about "You didn't commit a sin."

He is not sure what Kyle gets out of their angelic guest. Most of the time, he pulls her close to him and spends hours just holding her. Kyle is the one who most often enjoys her quiet company, and if he happens to sniffle and cry? Well, she makes no comment on it.

The vulnerability that he sees in his men scares him. It's why he doesn't go too near her. Her patience and sweetness seem to be easily corruptible. He would ruin her, sink his teeth into her body, and taste her. He is almost certain that angels help fight demons, and he knows he filled with them, and he doesn't ever really want to confront them. He's been in the military since he was 16. He's seen things, and he's done things, all terrible in nature. He's had to play God himself and decide if a civilian was worth more than his men who had people to go home to. He is not proud of hurting innocent people for the sake of taking down more egregious monsters that took advantage of innocent people.

He's got issues with how his mind is muddy with what's right and wrong. He still doesn't believe in a higher power. He never will after the life he's lived. He does believe in peace, though, a quiet life for him and his team. But back to the higher power thing, he can't believe in God even if proof is sitting in the living room being fascinated by the Angel Hierarchy Deep Dive that Soap put on to see if any of it is true.

John sits down in his recliner, lighting a cigar. He's halfway paying attention to the show. "Soap, why are you showing her this?"

Johnny grins at him, "Just wanna see how close we are! Not all of the books say the same thing."

The angel laughs, and it's music to John's ears, and he looks at her. Her wings are kept tucked close to her body, and the injured one is healing up nicely. His eyes trail down her body, and he knows it's wrong, but he isn't a blind man. He can appreciate her shapely legs, smooth skin, and her plump lips with the almost exaggerated cupids bow. He doesn't think it's all that bad, really. He's not the only one struggling with a soft body in the house.

(He's caught Simon hugging her close, his face pressed into her neck. Kyle, when he thinks nobody is paying attention, enjoys resting his head against her breast. Johnny really needs a muzzle because he kisses her all over her face, always just shy of placing one on her lips.)

"You'll die that way." Her soft voice cuts through the drawl of the telly. She is staring at him. "I know that is bad for humans."

Johnny laughs, "Aye, scolding tha man won't work, lassie." He nudges her with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"It still isn't good." She keeps her eyes on John, and he feels like she is staring right into his soul. "Why do that when you could just face your issues?"

To say he's shocked is an understatement. The ash from his cigar lands on his lap as he tries to figure out what to say. He doesn't smoke and drink from any issues. He happens to like it.

"Don't lie and say you like it. You humans do everything to feel numb except heal." She shakes her head.

"Aren't you just a ray of sunshine?" John finally bites out, "And if I do it to feel numb, it's not your problem or concern." His eye twitches a bit in irritation.

"You smoke the same brand your father smoked and drink the same whiskey he drank... He didn't make it to Heaven if-"

"Enough." John growls out. He hasn't had to think of that particular demon in years. Not since the man shot himself and left his mother destitute and with four kids to look after. He's a strong believer that he wouldn't have run off to the service if his old man just got his shit together.

Johnny is quietly stuck on the outside of the confrontation. "Bonnie Birdie." He whispers, "Let's not talk about that." He tries to get her attention back on the video. "What type of angel are you?"

She only smiles and shakes her head, "I am a being that does what they are told."

John only huffs and looks back at the telly.

It's a few hours later, when John finds himself in his office. He's going over work and papers that need to be turned into Kate. He wants his mind to leave the sad image of him finding his father slumped in the basement. The splatter of blood and brain matter, the limpness and somehow stiffness of the body. His poor mother could not even have an open casket or see her husband. John had made sure of it as the eldest and now man of the family. He had an undying need to protect his mother from the man even in death.

"Let me look at you, John." His mother said he had been avoiding her most of the week of the funeral. "You have his eyes, and I just want to see his eyes again."

Those words are forever engraved in his psyche. He left for the service nit even two weeks later and only sent home money to keep his family going. The office door opens, and it is Her. She stands there quietly with a tilt of her head.

"I didn't mean to upset you." She said quietly. She doesn’t avert her gaze and stares into his soul again.

"It's fine." He gruffs out.

She approaches him and makes herself at home by perching herself on his desk. Her nimble little fingers brush through her feathers as she grooms herself. "No it's not...you are still hurting."

He doesn't say anything and doesn't plan to.

"You are afraid of admitting your first ever transgression is you running away from your mother." It's said as a fact and not as a question.

His eyes snap up, and he's staring at her, all six of her eyes, and a few on her wings are open. It is a hellish vision but also gorgeous in a way. There are so many warm colors, and it feels like he's falling and floating, and he hates it. It's a struggle, but he does look away from her and breathes deeply.

"Your mother, she would love to see you or even hear from you." She says, and when John looks back at her, the extra eyes are gone. She leans towards him, and he feels frozen as her fingers brush through his hair. It's a familiar and greatly missed comfort that he hasn't had in a long time. The proximity between them both makes the heat in his body rise. Without thinking, he pulls her into his lap and holds on to her.

He won't take her advice today, but maybe some other time.

This got long and I got carried away. I'll do Kyle next! Also I added that video because it was the video that inspired this blog post

Sigh 😕 (changes font to bonnie Johnny blue)

Here's a thought. Fallen angel reader.

Johnny was surprised when he found her. He was taking out the trash, rolling the bins to the curb when he heard the sniffling. It was strange, how the security system didn't pick up on any movement. That was neither here nor there.

What was important was that it was freezing cold and there was a naked woman on the side of his house. She had wings on her back and one of them was bent at an odd angle, the scent of blood in the air. Those wings, he thought, were beautiful. They matched her skin tone, brown, and dispersed in them were a multitude of pretty colored feathers. Little trinkets and small gold chains hung from her ears.

"Hey- wot ye doin' behind me and mah mates' house ma'am?" Johnny is trying to look anywhere but at her heaving breast that shakes with her hysterical crying. He opts to stare at her eyes, and it's like looking into the universe. There's so much fire and color, but he's thrown off by the number of eyes. She's got all six of them trained on him. He startles, and she seems to realize it, and four of them close and disappear.

She hiccups and sniffles and cowers away from him. Her nose scrunches up, and she looks like she is thinking. Johnny looks her over again, and certain alarm bells ring in his head. He knows he needs to go inside and get the others, but he does not want to leave her so soon without taking her inside. Every time he inches closer, her body shivers and curls into herself.

"Donnae be afraid lassie." He whispers quietly, "I jus wanna help."

That seems to make her perk up, and she stares at him, wide and teary-eyed, her sniffles calming down. "Be not afraid?" Her voice is soft, "yeah, be not afraid." A bit of life comes back into her.

Johnny holds out his hand for her, and she takes it. A shiver slithers up his spine, it doesnt feel bad, but he does feel the change in the air. "Let's get ye inside lassie."

More ideas from my mind I guess as I flip through my wips and write. It would be the Catholic that finds the fallen angel. Like this would eat ngl. Like them trying to nurse an angel back to health and unfortunately that makes them face their inner demons.

[reiwanwan]

Sweet mourning lamb Part two

When Tommy Shelby sits alone by the fire, haunted by the weight of war and business, an unexpected visitor steps out of the darkness—his sister, Delilah. But Delilah is dead. As she delivers a chilling warning, Tommy is forced to confront a truth that defies logic, setting both him and Delilah on a path where revenge and fate collide.

A/n: Sorry that this part is shorter than the first!

Content includes: Dead bodies, Murder

Part one

Tommy couldn’t sleep after the incident with Delilah. She looked so pale, so sad, and bloody—never the way he would have wanted to see any of his siblings. He remembered vividly the amount of blood that had soaked through John’s clothes when he died, the image of his brother lying lifeless on that cold metal still burned into his mind. Now, he sat alone in his study, head in his hands, desperately trying to make sense of the situation. Was Delilah truly dead, or had he hallucinated her as he’d done with Grace? Grace, who always seemed to appear when he was in deep trouble, when he needed something to assure him that he still had control over his mind and his actions.

None of this was supposed to happen. Delilah was meant to come home from church and give him a call to let him know she’d returned home safely. He wondered bitterly if her failure to call that night before he left for the woods had anything to do with what had happened.

As Tommy’s mind spiraled further into confusion, the telephone beside him rang sharply, jolting him back into reality. He stared at it, hesitating, unsure if he should even answer in his current state. Eventually, he picked it up.

“Thomas Shelby speaking,” he said, struggling to steady his shaking voice.

A male voice answered calmly, almost pleasantly. “Good morning, Mr. Shelby. I assume you’re wondering why your little sister hasn’t come home since last night. Well, I’m terribly sorry to bear such news…”

Tommy’s hand tightened around the phone. “What news? Who are you?”

“I am Lucas Woods, from the church. I’m so sorry, Mr. Shelby, but Delilah Shelby was found dead by me in the church last night.”

Tommy clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. Lucas continued smoothly, “Not to worry, Mr. Shelby, her body will be delivered to you. The church had planned to give her a normal burial, but I understand if you wish to give her your traditional send-off.” He paused deliberately. “Though I must say, Mr. Shelby, I never understood your Romani Gypsy traditions. However, I suppose it suits a man like you. If you’re going to burn one day, you’ll make sure others burn with you. Some might call that selfish, but you see—I think it’s quite beautiful. You simply don’t want to be alone, do you?”

Lucas’s voice carried a faint mocking laugh, and Tommy could feel himself losing control, ready to scream. But before he could react, Lucas spoke again: “Well, please don’t let your sister wait long outside your door. It would be inconsiderate.” The line clicked dead, leaving Tommy alone in the silence.

Thomas moved toward the window, glancing outside to see a wooden box resting ominously at his doorstep. His head spun, feeling increasingly lightheaded. He didn’t want to open it because he already knew exactly what was inside, something that would haunt him for the rest of his days. But he knew he had no choice.

With heavy steps, he walked to the door, pushed it open, and stared down at the box in front of him. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat, knelt slowly, and lifted the lid. Inside was a large bag, roughly five feet in length. With trembling fingers, he pulled a small knife from his pocket, slicing away the ropes holding it closed. As he tore open the fabric, his breath stilled, confirming what he already feared.

Delilah lay there before him. Her brown doe eyes, once vibrant and full of life, were closed forever. Her cheeks, once rosy and soft beneath sunlight, were now hollow and tinged blue. Delilah, who had always been full of life, lay silent, her life violently taken away.

Tommy clasped a shaking hand over his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. Despite his efforts to contain himself, a desperate, soft sob escaped. He reached down and lifted her lifeless body, cradling her gently against his chest, holding her exactly as he used to when she was small and afraid of the dark. He wished more than anything that he could pull her out of this darkness—but how could he, when he himself was trapped within it?

“I’m so sorry, Delilah,” he whispered through his sobs, his hot tears falling onto her shoulders. “Your big brother’s here. Don’t be scared.”

Tommy brushed aside her messy hair, desperately looking upon her face one more time. Once again, someone he loved had slipped away from his grasp. And, just like always, it was entirely his fault.

[biosillystims]

Stimboard of They Might Be Giants, requested by @dingleberry940, enjoy! (Sorry for the wait)

🌈 | 🎠 | 🌈

📛 | 🪗 | 📛

🌈 | 🎠 | 🌈

i didnt really know what to put in this stimboard since it wasnt clarified so i just tried to capture how i envision the colors and music

[sarcasticslytherin-sassyserpent]

Harry Potter x DC x Danny Phantom prompt idea

Okay so I haven't seen Danny Phantom in years but I've gotten big into Danny Phantom x DC crossovers lately thanks to tiktok (r.i.p), anyways before that I'd gotten big into Harry Potter x DC crossovers. I've even written a couple myself on ao3.

Anyways, last night, I got this idea for a 3 way crossover with Harry, Jason, and Danny. Harry would be the Master of Death, and Danny would be the Ghost King. Both of them would, for some reason or another, end up in Gotham and come across Jason, whether when he's a civilian or as Red Hood would be up to you. Whether Danny and Harry met first and then become friends before Jason comes in, it's up to you, but I do like the idea.

Maybe they're roommates at university and then are dancing around the sexual tension between them or something when Jason or Red Hood appears, and both are sold instantly. They need to drag Jason in and make themselves a throuple. Bonus points for both Harry and Danny looking like unassuming small twinks while Jason is the absolute tank of a man utterly besotted with two guys who honestly look a bit like drowned wet rats or something compared to him.

Danny, of course, would be doing a degree with aerospace engineering or any other space related degree you want to give him. I'm not sure on Harry, but I also want to throw out like over half of the bullshit from the series. He'd actually be smart and, for one, not have taken divination. I personally prefer the fics where he's in runes and arthimancy too but especially runes. Honestly, come up with whatever degree you want but I'd have it where he'd also managed to get his muggle education along with Wizarding one, he could do that after the war and before coming to Gotham if you want.

Honestly, I just really want a Harry, Danny, and Jason fic of three fucking nerds in love and stressing out Bruce because what do you mean his other son has two boyfriends as well as both of them are fucking eldritch beings that scare John Constantine who does everything in his power to avoid the two. Bonus points if you have Tim, Kon, and Bernard decide that it has become some sort of game between the two throuples to cause Bruce so much stress and panic. Oh, even more bonus points if both Alfred and Damian are aware of the Wizarding world so Alfred ends up dotting a little extra on Harry while Damian tries to work out how Harry ended up with an idiot but at least it's not Tim.

Just an idea. If you happen to write it, tag me and let me know. I'd love to read it.

[thanergetic-hyperlinks]

I always thought that guideline was simply so that Ianthe couldn't tell anyone (including herself) about The Work. Leave no witnesses (no witnesses who can speak). That way Ianthe can't blackmail her either.

This is the same reason she wrote letters to herself to silence Coronabeth and Judith, and warn Camilla.

Interestingly, Ianthe says:

When Ianthe says this, the curse is preventing her from telling Harrow why God gave her the two-hander. This was very confusing to me, until I realized Harrow's plan demands having the two-hander by her at all times, so it's very likely she told Ianthe to convince Jod to let her have the sword.

Now, re: Harrow's other mysterious letters, it makes me so mad that they're lost in the River forever along with her exoskeleton. She never opened In case of your imminent death, or In the event of the Emperor's death, or If the Ninth House is in mortal danger, or Upon the death of Harrowhark Nonagesimus, even though they all have applied by now. (Ianthe's death is the only one that hasn't come true… yet.)

But let's revisit the known content of those letters:

Harrow hopes to play a part in Alecto's resurrection?!

I mean, yeah, Harrow decided to live “in case she ever woke up”, but still?!

Her oath to Ianthe cannot supersede her obligations to the Body, but they DO come before her allegiance to the Emperor? Whom she describes as “lesser than the Holy Corpse”, or at least equal but not superior?!

This is interesting. It seems that the Tomb doesn't get much interest outside the Ninth, and so most people don't think about the Prince Undying truly having a weakness, but—just what do Ninth cultists think makes the Holy Corpse special? She's got to be powerful. Why? How? What do they think of her?

But yeah, the question remains: even if she's lived her life in hope that Alecto might wake up, and she knows that might mean the Emperor will die, and she's ready to let God die so long as her frozen corpse paramour can live…

but

what does she need to tell herself about that?

I have one hypothesis. In House religion, Jod is explicitly a guy who became God. But his letter to the Ninth also speaks of “honoring their love for the Creator”. I've long taken this to mean that House religion considers a Creator God who kicked the Universe into existence, and the Emperor was blessed as the First Necromancer through a miracle and now acts as a proxy for divinity. Citing Abigail, “he never claimed omnipotence”.

Now, Tamsyn has said that, in TLT, the divine is feminine. Part of Alecto's untombing will be, I think, about revealing the true source of divinity here: Gaia/Earth. John stole from her and usurped her place.

People have already written about Ninth religion having parallels to Christian sects who worshipped Mary as a goddess. I think here we see the first inklings of it.

did we ever find out what this was about??

[demon-witch-cat]

I like to think that back when Branch was still grey, whenever Keith heard someone talking badly about Branch, he'd immediately find them and bite them, much to his parents dismay. After Branch got his colors back, and started integrating back into the village, Keith stopped biting people.

However, as soon as he sees this strange troll (who looks an awful lot like one of the trolls on that weird album Branch had hidden) go up to Branch, with Branch immediately seeming uncomfortable, all bets were off. Neither his parents nor Branch himself could stop him, as they were too distracted by John Dory's entrance. Branch can't help but feel like it was deserved.

[buddietommys]

"Why not?"

"I wish you were a girl."

[bookinit02]

why is everyone insisting that francesca loves john romantically when it is so clear that like. she loves him and appreciates him as a friend? and she was soooooo relieved to find one (1) man that she could stand being around and actually wanted to be partners with even though she didn’t feel anything for him romantically, so she latched on immediately and rushed the wedding so she wouldn’t have to worry about courting anymore.

i haven’t read the books and i have no idea what happens next (regardless of if they choose to follow the original plot or not), but as a lesbian who experienced severe comphet around francesca’s age, it was incredibly clear what she was going through. if they choose to make her bi, obviously that’s completely fine, but i’m just confused as to where it’s coming from?

[inexpressiblybeautiful]

Sherlock and Irene: *are going through emotional turmoil*

Mycroft:

[beloveds-embrace]

Chubby reader x monster!141…. Chubby reader where you are at all-time-low after your ex cheated on you with the woman you had always been insecure of (she was everything you were not), so now you are just done. Done with him, with her, with your terrible work that forced you to come in even while sick, done with life.

So you go to a bar, and intend to fully drink yourself and all your sorrows away. You don’t even care enough to ask any friends to accompany you- they knew. They fucking knew. Calling them friends anymore is just stupid- and you don’t care enough to look around at anyone; you know you aren’t anyone’s preference either.

When a man, big and burly, curling horns and two big ass wings (maybe one of those dragon shifters? You know harpies have feathers, but the rest of your brain is too muddled) sits down next to you, you just ignore him and continue nursing your drink, trying your best to bite back the tears in your eyes.

“That’s enough now, love,” he croons, and much to your confusion, he takes the glass away from you. His voice is rough and rumbling, like thunder. Too hazy, too drunk, you don’t even care enough to get angry at him. No, your eyes fill with tears instead. “No, no, calm down. Let’s get you out of here, alright, little love?”

Another man joins your other side, just as big and burly but shorter than the dragon man who is making you tear up by holding your drink, your source of solace tonight, hostage in his hand. This one is a werewolf, his ears flicking in your direction much like his grin and his tail eagerly thumping to and fro against your chair.

“Sweet lass,” he croons, your teary eyes flicking towards him. You can see his hands clench in the air. Why, why, why- you just wanted to drink away. They are both so handsome, such a shame they clearly don’t like you and are just bothering you for the sake of bothering you, a fat woman in a miserable corner. “Enough tears and enough alcohol, aye, hen? Yer aff yer heid!”

His words are so strange, your tears momentarily pause. “What…?” You wonder outloud, shivering when you feel a warm breath across your neck, warming your skin. The dragon. His hand settles on your lower back, nudging you to get off the chair with them, and you feel like crying again. He probably can feel all the fat there, how horrible-

“Careful there, little love.” Dragon steadies you with two hands when you get dizzy, and with weak hands you try to swat at him, try to move away, but the werewolf is at your other side and keeping you pressed between them.

“S’op… stop callin’ me that,” you mumble. The tears roll down then. “Not- not funny, not at all-“

Two other hands on your back, a tail thumping against the back of your thighs, you are still led outside even as you babble about everything. Your size, your ex, the one your ex cheated, your work, your ex-

You want your damn drink back.

For their part, Price and Johnny didn’t think coming out for a drink tonight would lead to finding their last soulmate. The second they had entered the dinky bar, John had expected to need to puff out a deep, smoky breath to keep his nose clean from all the overwhelming smells and Johnny had prepared to to keep his nose happily pressed into John’s skin.

They hadn’t expected to smell you, something like the smell of stepping into a warm home after spending time out in winter, something like watching soft, golden sunlight stream into the nest room on a morning they spend sleeping in with Kyle and Simon. Like soulmate, like the last link of John’s hoarde and Johnny’s pack, and he has no doubt that you are Kyle’s nest and Simon’s. Simply his. A part of him just as you are a part of them.

Driven so wholly by instincts, seeing you drunk and crying pushing them even more into said instincts, they easily you herd along with them, back to their home. All explanations, everything else can wait until tomorrow. You are so soft to the touch, all tender and squishy, they already think you so perfect. In the back of the car, it doesn’t take seconds before you are dozing off and dead to the world, already so trusting.

By tomorrow morning, Simon would be easily able to track down where you live and get all your items. And also find that shitty ex of yours. John hasn’t yet decided if he wants to thank or beat him.

Watching the way Johnny holds you in his lap from the rearview mirror while he drives, hands squeezing your lovehandles with a low groan, mumbling about how much he already adores you, soft bonnie hen, all theirs- John decides he doesn’t give a single fuck about your ex at the moment. He needs to hold you between his arms and wings, in the comfort of his nest.

Fuck, he might end up breaking more than just a few speed limits.

Part two

[honeyjynxxed]

DeadTired Draft

"You're very good at pretending to be a shadow."

Tim's voice shook Danny from his quiet note taking and he looked up at his study partner with furrowed brows and confusion on his face. "I'm sorry?" It was as much a question as it was an apology which meant it was neither really.

Electric blue eyes pinned him in place, and Tim looked at Danny as if he had just said the sky was green. "If I had not been partnered with you in our ecology class I wouldn't know you exist. No one at this school knows you exist besides the staff and even then you're a name to a face to a grade. Nothing else. You're very good at pretending to be a shadow, a bodiless thing gliding along the edges of society."

Danny bit his lip slightly, mulling these words over. Tim was right of course, he never allowed himself to make waves, he stuck to the background of any place he was in, and really he was surprised that he wasn't more noticeable with how often Tim Drake-Wayne was his study partner. "I guess...I've never really like attention anyway. Why, you stalking me, Drake?" He raised a brow at the other boy, attempting to hide his confusion behind snark. He hardly ever used Tim's last name, either of them, but this seemed like an appropriate time to do so.

"Hiding something, Nightingale?" Tim snarked back but there was a bit of genuine questioning under his tone that had Danny tensing up in his sit, gripping his pencil a little too tightly in his left hand. "I can only contact you through your student email, you don't have a phone number or a phone period as far as I can tell, you have a laptop that barely works and seemingly requires a blood sacrifice to do the most basic of tasks. You live on campus but you never let me see your dorm, you never agree to meet me anywhere but the library on campus and I just-" He lets out a heavy sigh and runs his hands through his hair and suddenly Danny is a lot less tense in his seat. When Tim's eyes settle on him again there's genuine concern there and it breaks his heart. "I am worried. Daniel Nightingale doesn't exist outside of this college and it makes me think you're running from something or someone. If that isn't the cause then by all means please tell me I'm overstepping but Danny..." Tim reaches across the table that separates them and grabs at his free hand. "If you need help I'm here, ok?"

And oh...oh Danny's core positively sings in his chest at the admission. Protection was a major obsession for Danny and the way Tim talked, the way he explained his thought process, it made Danny feel warm and fuzzy inside despite the permanent chill in his body. Tim wanted to protect him and wasn't that so sweet? "I-" Danny stuttered before a sad smile was spreading across his lips and he gave the boy's hand a gentle squeeze. "I appreciate that but unless you have a way to somehow get an entire government organization disbanded and legislature revoked then I'm afraid this is out of your ballpark."

And really, Danny should've known better than to open his fat mouth. He should've known that the Fenton luck would bite him in the ass with his first real friend since Sam and Tucker. Tim may have dropped the conversation after that but by no means had he dropped the topic entirely. No instead apparently he had somehow gotten into contact with the Justice League because less than two weeks later Batman, Red Robin, Superman, and John Constantine of all people were waiting for him inside his dorm when he got back from a late night of studying.

What.

The.

Fuck.

[j-jared]

This is why you don't sleep with the Tyrant King - The consequence is children

Constantine avoids involvement with the Infinite Realms for two reasons.

Who wants to deal with all those Ancients in the first place?

He’s avoiding yet another unhinged ex of his.

Of course, hooking up with Pariah Dark wasn’t really an actual relationship, more like a one night stand via dream walking (Nocturn owed Pariah, but seeing as it would be insane to release the Tyrant King from his endless sleep, he’d give him a dream partner every couple centuries) - regardless, Constantine doesn’t want to deal with that.

So yeah - the fact that the Justice League is attempting to summon the High King into the Watchtower has him wanting to drink more than usual.

Of course he gave warnings, but they’re dead set on doing so. A green folder had appeared in the secure “cursed artifacts” vault with no trace of whoever left it there. How else were they gonna find out how it got there?

So Constantine’s stuck there to set up wards, and is trying to find his way out of this one.

When the summoning circle worked, no one expected the teenager to pop out of it. 

Instead of Pariah Dark, or even the sarcophagus showing up, there was a white haired ghost boy with glowing green eyes the same color as the flames of the Crown of Fire. Except he didn’t look exactly like the others ghosts. He had a human skin tone, his proportions were exactly like a human teenager’s, and he was wearing a black and white hoodie with black sweatpants, for God’s sake. 

… Were ghosts able to reproduce with humans?

Before any of the Justice League can get into questioning, Constantine speaks up:

“You’re not the Ghost King.”

Green eyes settle on him, lighting up with recognition - Danny knows exactly who this is, with the amount of complaints on his desk about the blonde. Clockwork also informed him (he didn’t want to know but now he does) of the man’s stint with Pariah. 

Daniel “Commit to the bit” Fenton chooses to do just that.

“Of course not,” The confusion crosses the face of the heroes present- “That’s just because I haven’t had my coronation yet! I’m the Crown Prince, it’s practically the same thing!”

Oh, and the dread and realization crossing Constantine’s face is almost enough to make his core purr in amusement. 

“Now I will gladly answer all your questions, but first!” His eyes swept over the heroes before raising his hand and pointing accusingly at the British warlock.

“John Constantine,” his voice boomed, the temperature of the meeting room dropping as his face stretched with a smile too big and too pointy, “You owe me fifteen years of child support.”

[spurbleu]

johnny doesn’t talk when you eat dinner.

at first you didn’t take offense to it. you knew early into your relationship that he ate like he talked. constantly. food was his mistress and he indulged in her whenever he could.

and you had no issue with it- your cook books needed to be dusted off anyway. you enjoyed kitchen lamp evenings in his arms while he kissed that spot behind your ear. cooking new favorites for the ox that lived with you. relishing the kiss on your temple and the “thank ye bonnie” that followed after every meal.

but in between that? nothing. it was almost eerie how quiet johnny got.

it got particularly unsettling after John Price invited his team and you to a dinner party.

last time you met his colleagues, they didn’t strike you as the conversational type. you dreaded the table silence, thinking that your chatter box of a boyfriend was going to bring his odd ritual to his captains doorstep.

but you were shocked to find he couldn’t stop talking for the whole evening.

he ate here and there, finished two plates, but it took him an eternity. kept them and their birds entertained with nonsense you didn’t pick up over your own confusion. it was like a switch had been flipped.

the drive home was quiet, and you barely registered his nervous tapping on the steering wheel until he cleared his throat and called your name.

“yes?”

“everytin alright?” he stops at a light and takes the opportunity to look you in the eye. “ye aren’t talkin’ much.”

bitterness flares beneath your collarbone. “yeah well you talked plenty.”

his brows rose before settling over his eyes slowly. “wot do ye mean by tat?”

you sink into his car seat, and the acid that you had been swallowing with your wine folds at the corners of your mouth when you speak.

“seems to me like you’re perfectly fine talking while you eat with them. I thought it was just a thing you did when you ate but now I realize you’re only quiet with me.”

Johnny’s brows draw together. “bunny im still not under-“

“you never talk when we eat together Johnny!” you throw your hands in the air to emphasize the point, “it’s just dead quiet. but you talk with everyone else! it sounds silly but I like talking with you and I don’t get why when we eat together it’s just-“

laughter interrupts you and for a moment you forget you were even upset. he was so busy laughing the car behind you honked for you to move forward. the car jerks and he laughs, before he sighing and shaking his head.

“bonnie, i don talk cos i like yer cookin’.”

all the venom subsides. “what?”

“john’s is jus’ fine, and so are tose restaurants ye like so much,” his voice still shakes with laughter. “but never as good as yers. puttin magic in it, I swear,” he looks at you and smiles, “i don talk cos im too busy enjoying my girls cookin.”

your face grew to be every shade of your embarrassment, your blatant pettiness and insecurity bleeding like a deck of cards. but he simply caressed your cheek and kissed you at the next red light, and assured you he’d try and talk more, but

“I cannea make any promises, not wit tha way ye cook.”

you didn’t question him on it again.

[rosiereveries]

Part three of CEO!John Price

Part one | Part two

CW : smut, oral sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, mating press, little power imbalance, reader is a female

After you read the note that John left for you on your table, you are left feeling quite nervous but also excited. You were prepared for this. When you were getting ready for work this morning, you put on your favorite underwear. Lacy pink panties and matching bra that made your tits look great. You put on a lot of perfume, the one John had bought for you. You wore your best outfit, and you felt sexy and confident. You wanted to impress John, yesterday took you by surprise, but now you were in charge. When the time for his lunch break came, you were ready, so when you went to his office you knew what you wanted. You wanted him.

You find John sitting behind his table, working on his laptop. He looks good, so fucking hot without even trying. When he realizes that it´s you, who just walked in, he immediately shuts up his laptop and his full attention is on you. “Suddenly my day just got a lot better” he says and walks to you.

He gently places his hand on your cheek, and he kisses you. It’s nothing like the kiss you shared yesterday. This one is soft and gentle, like now he has time to taste you properly. He takes his time kissing you. When you try to touch him more, he pulls away. “Not now sweetheart, we have plans don’t we”. John walks out of the office with you. His hand on your back walking you through the whole floor like you’re his wife and not his secretary.

You’re confused. You expected a quick sex in his office, just like yesterday, you expected him to just pull your skirt up and fuck you on the desk. But now he is taking you somewhere in his expensive car and you’re wondering what the hell is going on.

You don’t know how John is feels about dating. You always thought that he was the type who just had casual sex with different partners. Since you started working for him, he didn’t have a girlfriend, but you heard from your colleges that he enjoys a company of beautiful women. Sometimes the relationship lasts longer but mostly there were a few weeks hook ups.

You stop in front of some Italian restaurant. He opens your door for you and like a true gentleman he helps you to get out of the car. The restaurant is lovely, there are only a few people inside and it looks really cozy. After you order your food he asks about your day, how did you sleep and what are your plans for the evening. He acts like you’re on a normal date and not on a business lunch. “I can see that something is bothering you, you don’t like it here?” John asks you after he notices how out of the place you look.

You tell him that you don’t understand what is going on, why are you here and what are you doing. “Well, I know that you don’t go out for your lunch break, so I wanted to take my girl out, take care of you.” He says it is not a big deal. “Your girl?” you ask. “What did you thought that I’m just going to fuck you in my office, when I am will be bored? John asks and your face goes red. That is exactly what you thought he would do. “I take care of my partners. I want to spoil you. Since you started to work for me you have been such a good girl, making my life so much easier. Now it is my turn.” You’re left speechless.

After the lunch, he takes you back to the office. His hand is on your thigh while he drives and it’s making you insane. Yes, you do like that he took you out but you’re so horny. The whole morning you imagined what he would do to you, and you were excited. And now he is teasing you with his fingers lightly brushing over your skin and each time he goes higher and higher.

At one moment when John’s hand is almost all the way under your skirt you moan. He looks at you with a playfulness in his eyes. Now he is teasing you on purpose. He continues to drive while his hand is slowly making its way in your panties. “Fuck love, you’re soaked, you could tell me that you wanted me so much.” Gently he starts to circle your clit and you’re opening your legs more for him.

He slowly puts two of his fingers inside you and after a while he starts to move them. You’re almost at the office building when he makes a turn and starts to drive in a different direction. “Where are we going?” you ask. “I made a promise to you yesterday, haven’t I. Were not fucking in my car. I am taking you to my place, so we don’t have to worry about some of your colleagues catching us fucking. We would want Janice from finance to see how good you take my cock. Am I right?”

To be honest you don’t care if Janice saw you. You’re so close and you can feel your orgasm approaching. John still casually drives while his fucking your pussy with his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you’re desperate, you just need a little bit more and you know that he knows it too. “You will come on my face in a minute don’t worry” John says.

And he is right the drive to his house is short and you both quickly get out of the car. When the door to his house closes behind you, he is immediately on you. Kissing you passionately and lifting you up so your legs are wrapped on his hips. He walks with you up the stairs not letting you go.

 “Everything off, I want to see you” he says when he lays you on his bed. You’re quick with your clothes and now you lay before him in nothing but your panties. “Fucking beautiful, and I bet you taste even better than you look.” “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart, let me see you” he gently pulls your panties, and he shows his head between your thighs. You’re already so wet and when he finally starts to lick your pussy your gone. You arch your back, and you can hear him whisper fucking perfect for me.  

When his tongue finds you clit you’re gone. He looks up at you and you can see your wetness on his beard and it’s the hottest thing you have ever seen. He quickly brings you to your orgasm and as he promised you to come on his face. When you finally come down from your orgasm you can see him taking his shirt off. He unzips his pants and quickly takes them off. He is on you naked, and you can see his hard dick leaking precum.

“I want to see your face this time, I want to see how pretty you’re going to look when I make you come on my dick.” He slowly pushes in you. “You were made for me honey, youre going to be the death of me.” he growls, and he starts to move in you. John is a big man and the way his stretching you is amazing. You can feel him everywhere and you are full.

It’s completely different than the sex you had yesterday. This is slow, his thrusts are hard, but it’s not rushed like the last time. He plays with your nipples, and you can feel that your second orgasm is approaching. “I am going to cum” you tell him, and you can feel that he is close too. He pushes your legs to your chest in a mating press and you can feel him so much deeper. “I need to come in your sweet pussy, please sweetheart be a good girl and let me” he says and you just nod. His fingers start to rub your clit and your orgasm hits you. He follows shortly after you spilling his seed into you. When he pulls out of you, he pulls you to his chest and he holds you so tight. You just lay there and you on his chest and his hands holding you.

You don’t go back to work that day, you stay at his place the night and the next day he drives you to your apartment. He tries to convince you to take the rest of the week off, so he can enjoy your company, but you tell him that he is the boss, and he needs to work, and he can’t take a vacation just because he is horny.  You go to work and when you go to your desk you see a note there, just like yesterday. But this time it says: My office now! And loose your panties on the way.

Masterlist

[synvil]

light as a feather // bf! rafe cameron

synopsis : you hesitant to ask your boyfriend to try a trend your friends show you, afraid of being too heavy, but he proves you wrong. mentions of insecurity.

“have you seen this trend around, [name]?”

tilting her phone towards you so you can view the screen better, a tiktok compilation began to play.

it’s a compilation of various couples with pretty much the same thing, all the boyfriends lifting their partners onto their shoulders, while an audio edit of rihanna’s breakin’ dishes plays in the background.

“uh, i think I’ve seen one or two of it. why?” you ask, pulling your cup to your lips and taking a sip through the straw. “have you considered asking rafe to try it with you?” kie asks and you furrow your brows. “why would i do that?”

“because it’s fun! you can see if rafe is strong.” kie laughs as sarah pulls out her own phone and the two girls scroll through their device. “we did it too!”

in sync, the two turn their phones your way and the audio plays, with john b lifting sarah while she crosses her leg and flashes a confident smile, while jj does the same for kie, with the two grinning proudly and laughing in the video.

the sight makes you smile as you chuckle and pull away. “how cute.”

“c’mon, you should try it with rafe! make a video and send it to us and we can post it on our socials~!” sarah beams and you sigh, swirling your beverage. “i don’t know, rafe isn’t really into the stuff.. and besides i might be too heavy for him.”

“don’t be silly, rafe is probably stronger than both john b and jj, honestly.” kie grunts out, not particularly thrilled about her compliment to rafe but you laugh at that.

“maybe, but still.. we’ll see.”

“hey, rafe?”

“yeah, baby?” glancing up from his phone, his eyes travel to you standing from the doorway of the living room entrance and you smile faintly, taking a stride towards your boyfriend seated on the couch.

instinctively, he opens his arms and you climb into his lap and pull out your phone. “have you seen this?” you show him the same compilation video from earlier.

rafe watches it and scrunches his nose briefly before returning to his normal neutral expression. “yeah, what about it? topper told me about it. he struggled lifting ruthie a bit.” he scoffs.

“can we try it?..” the hesitance in your voice makes him confused. “why are you being so shy about it, baby?”

your lips unconsciously curl into a small frown as you rest on his chest. “I don’t know.. I might be too heavy for you.. but kie and sarah want me to do this tiktok thing and-“

rafe suddenly brings his hands to your hips, firmly gripping the flesh before standing up and lifting you with ease into the air, high up making you squeal and clutch onto him. “rafe!”

your boyfriend grins at your reaction as he carefully places you onto his shoulder, hand resting atop of your thighs while the other holds yours to steady you.

“don’t underestimate me again, sweetheart. you’re light as a feather.”

bonus : you managed to convince rafe to do it for a tiktok video, even though he wasn’t particularly excited about recording himself doing it, he did it anyways to make you happy.

as the audio plays, rafe tosses you up and lands you in his shoulder without so much of a flinch, and he’s smirking while you hide your flushed face in embarrassment.

sending the video to kie and sarah, the three of you posted your individual videos to your socials and garnered quite the view count.

rafe who saw, hums curiously. “i suppose doing more to expand your followers couldn’t hurt.”

a/n : hope you enjoy! i’m tryna think of tiktok trends lol these short things w rafe seem so cute :)) let me know your thoughts! <3

[criminalamnesia]

Traitor part 8

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

here it is everyone :)) took me forever but it’s finally here! now I can disappear in peace lol. I’ll proofread everything later, but I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. thank you all for the love you’ve given this series. I hope this gives you some closure.

let me know if you want any drabbles from the series <3

thank you again!

after kyle finally leaves you alone, you slink back against the door, shutting your eyes so tightly stars dot your vision.

it never ends, does it?

apologies. worry. sympathy. pity.

it was in each of their eyes— the one-four-one. each of them trying to mask their pity for you behind sickening sympathy. you were exhausted of that look— not just from them, but from everyone you had walked past or looked at since everything had happened.

you open your eyes, scanning the room. what once had been a haven had become a hell. shattered glass sprinkled the floor near the mirror. clothes were still strewn about. you hadn’t bothered picking up what had been disturbed.

you’d be gone too soon for it to matter.

your phone rings then, the screen lighting up in the dimly lit room. you let the ring tone play for a second longer before you’re moving, reaching for the device on your nightstand.

it’s kate, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“hello?” you say as you answer the call.

“it’s kate,” comes the woman’s familiar voice through the speaker. “im on my way to base. should be there by tomorrow.”

you startle, eyebrows raising in confusion. “you’re coming here? why?”

you hear her sigh. “we can talk about it tomorrow. I need to meet with john, anyways. two birds, one stone and all that.” she tells you.

“can you at least tell me if the paper work is all set for my transfer?” you ask.

she doesn’t answer for a moment, and then:

“we’ll talk about it tomorrow, sergeant. get some rest. you sound like you need it.”

you hear a click, and then the line goes dead. you furrow your brows as you look down at the phone in your hand.

why on earth would she come all the way here just to talk?

your mind is moving a mile a minute, and suddenly, it clicks.

laswell is coming here to do damage control.

you huff a mirthless laugh, dropping your phone as your hands come up to run through your hair.

you weren’t being reassigned. you were being discharged.

but was it at her insistence, or someone else’s?

you whip around, wrenching open the door and storming down the hall to price’s office. those you pass in the hallway give you bewildered stares, and suddenly you’re aware that you’re still in that damned robe, but you’re on a mission.

and when you start something, you see it through.

you don’t bother knocking as you reach price’s door. instead, you barge into the office, effectively interrupting an argument between price and simon. their voices die off, heads turning to appraise who had barged in.

price’s eyes widen at the sight of you, but simon’s face is as unreadable as always. the door clicks shut behind you, and you stalk towards the two men, your fists clenched as you seethe.

“you motherfuckers,” you hurl the words at them, “you fucking knew. you knew.”

“love, what are you talkin’ about?” price questions, his brows furrowed as he turns to you.

“laswell,” you say, and price’s eyes widen. he knows. and now he knows you know.

“whatever she told you—”

“she didn’t tell me shit,” you huff. “I figured it out. why the fuck else would she come here just to talk? she’s playing fucking babysitter, isn’t she?”

price doesn’t speak. your gaze flits to simon’s.

“I’m sure you were rooting for this outcome, weren’t you? couldn’t finish me off in that fucking room, but hey, this is just as good, isn’t it? sending me back to fucking nothing.”

“this job is my life,” you turn your attention back to the captain. “and you fuckers just can’t stop ruining it, can you?” your voice is raising, and tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’re becoming hysteric.

“all because of a fucking lie!” you’re yelling now, jabbing a finger into the chest of your former captain.

“calm down,” the sound of simon’s rough baritone leads your head to snap toward him. your eyes are wide, fury and terror blazing in them.

and he expects you to let loose. scream and hit and scream some more. but you don’t.

you stand there and you stare at him with those wide eyes. the rest of the room— hell, the world falls away— and it’s just him and you.

like it was on patrol during countless nights, your bare fingers dancing over his gloved hands as you prattled on about a show you liked.

on countless nights curled up in his bed, your back to him, pressed so close he could feel the beat of your heart in his own chest. his arms wrapped around you, one of your fingers lazily tracing the ink on his forearm. no words spoken, yet so much said.

in the field, when you and johnny bicker over comms and he takes your side. when you take a bullet to the shoulder and he holds pressure on it until evac arrives.

when he makes eye contact with you as you pin kyle to the training mat, finally able to overcome his strength. when price tells him you’re the rat and he doesn’t want to believe it.

it’s just him and you. a lieutenant and his sergeant. but it’s more than that.

it’s a deep understanding of this job being your life. of losing everything and everyone you hold dear. of finding family again in this team, and doing whatever it takes to keep that family safe.

and he fully realizes, then, what you have been condemned to.

what they condemned you to.

what he condemned you to.

he breaks from his thoughts as you slam your fist into his jaw.

price’s eyes widen, his feet carrying him forward to intervene, but simon waves him off as he cradles a hand to his jaw.

“let ‘em,” he grunts out, and price looks bewildered, but he nods. he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides, and he lets you strike again.

“fuck you,” you seethe, and despite your best efforts, your voice cracks. emotion seeps in, and your eyes are wet as you swipe a leg out from under him, forcing him to his knees.

he falls with no grace, knees hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. you’d cringe if this were any other circumstance.

instead, you deliver another blow, cracking his nose with the force of it. blood sprays out and wets your robe.

“ghost—” price begins from somewhere off to the side, but simon just shakes his head.

“fuck you, simon! fuck you!” you scream at him, and your fists are flying blindly as tears cloud your eyes.

and he just takes the hits. you subconsciously register the sound of the office door squeaking as it opens and quickly closes. price didn’t want to be a bystander any longer, it seems.

but he still didn’t jump in. was it because of ghost’s insistence? or because your captain didn’t want to watch one of his soldiers finally snap?

you finally stop yourself when blood drips from your knuckles. unsurprisingly, they’ve split again. there’s no doubt in your mind that there will be little scars between each of them once they’ve healed.

more to add to the reminder of everything. god, at this point you knew you’d never forget it even if you wanted to. even if you tried to. even if you did for a brief moment, those little white lines— discolored and jagged skin in the place of what should be smooth and unmarred, would be your reminder.

blood pools on the floor, a mix of yours and simon’s. you pay it no mind as you wipe the backs of your hands on your completely ruined robe. good— now you had a great excuse to throw the damned thing away.

you would’ve thrown it away anyways.

you bring your hands to your eyes, wiping away tears that had freed themselves their cage. you see simon clearly then, his face bloodied and yet still beautiful in that way of his. his nose is obviously broken. lacerations above his eye and on his cheekbones.

his eyes are staring back you, the icy blue of them never more intense than now.

you heave in your breaths as you look at him. his split lip cracks further as he opens his mouth.

“done?”

and you don’t have anything left to give, so you nod. then you slump to your knees, down onto his level, and you don’t look away from what you’ve done.

it’s no different than what you did to the doctor, or to countless enemies in the field. but, at the same time, it is different.

because it’s him, and he let you do this. he could have easily stopped you. he’d shown his strength against you numerous times on the sparring mat, picking you up and tossing you around with ease.

and yet he didn’t stop you.

“why?” you ask him, and it’s a loaded question. your voice is a watery tremble, and the word comes out as a whisper, but he doesn’t shy away.

he shrugs. “you needed it.”

he’s focusing on one aspect of the question— on why he let you hit him. you open your mouth to respond, but he surprises you by speaking again.

“least I could do,” he says.

you close your mouth, your chapped lips pressed into a thin line. why is he doing this now? saying this now? what changed?

“is it your fault, then? that I’m being discharged?” you find yourself asking, and you’re not sure if you want to know the answer.

maybe you just want a reason to hate him more.

“no,” he says, and you know he means it.

he never lied to you, regardless of any pain it may have saved. it was one of the things you had loved about him.

he sighs. “I didn’t want you to go.”

that surprises you. simon was never one to freely speak on his feelings. he had opened up to you during your relationship, but it was as if there was always an invisible line he could never cross. never did he utter the complete truth to his thoughts or feelings. and you had accepted that— because that is who he was.

and you would take him with all his walls if it just meant that you could have him.

“I don’t want you to.” he corrects himself.

the room falls silent around you. the part of you that still holds love for him yearns for his embrace at this moment. but you push that side of you down. you will not go crawling back, not after what happened.

“you’ve been an asshole,” you say, and he gives a curt nod.

“probably.” he concedes. “but I wouldn’ take anythin’ back. I told you, I meant what I said.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask. god, he has a horrible way with words.

“no,” he tells you. “nothin’ I can say can do that.”

you snort. you fall back on you haunches, your hands in your lap as you look at him.

“I am never going to forgive you,” you tell him, words full of so much hurt.

he nods again. “I know. I don’ blame you. don’ expect you to, neither.”

“but I’m…” he starts, and his lips crease in a frown. “im sorry.”

you just look at him. perhaps you had wanted an apology at one moment in time, but now? now none of it mattered.

“I hope so,” you tell him. you move to stand, and he remains still. he hasn’t moved an inch since you’d finished your assault.

“I hope you feel this way for the rest of your lonely life. I hope that you never forget what you did to me, and I hope that it keeps you up at night. because I can tell you with certainty that I will never forget. and I hope the others remember, too. I hope it tears you all apart from the inside. that it follows you around for the rest of your career.”

you breathe in, then out. “and I hope no one ever gives you the chances I did,” your voice is soft. “because I would never wish what you did to me on the next person you think you love.”

his face conveys no emotion other than the small frown still on his lips. his eyes, so cold, have softened the tiniest bit. you used to love when you could bring out that softness inside of him. when it was just the two of you, your hand in his, his eyes on you.

those memories would suffocate you if you let them. what could’ve been will suffocate you. you refuse to let it.

you turn and stalk towards the door, not bothering to spare him another glance. you open it, stepping out into the hallway, coming face-to-face with the rest of the one-four-one.

their eyes are all wide as they take you in. your bloodied hands and robe. the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. you pull the door shut behind you before you speak.

“i don’t care to speak to kate,” you say to price, your eyes meeting his. “fuck her for not giving me a chance. and fuck you for laying down like a damn dog and not fighting for your fucking team.”

you turn to johnny next. “you shove your sorries up your ass, mactavish. I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t want your pity. I hope your regret eats you alive.”

finally, kyle. “and you,” you glare at him. “if anyone other than simon should’ve defended me, it should’ve been you. I met you first, kyle. you were my closest friend, my brother. and you turned out to be just another fucking lap dog.”

you shake your head, blinking away hot tears. “I want you to get me temporary housing and a car because that’s the least you owe me, after ruining my life. and I don’t want to hear from any of you ever again. if I do, I guarantee you I will not show you the mercy you think you showed me when you had me tied up in that chair.”

none of them spoke, and you didn’t give them a chance to as you pushed past them, heading back toward your room to change.

a yellow cab retrieves you from base the next morning before kate arrives. it’s still dark outside when you leave the shelter that had once been home. rain pours down around you, a raging storm hanging overhead as it had all night prior. perhaps it was a reflection of your mood. you liked to think that it was.

you toss your duffle bag into the trunk, shutting it before climbing into the back seat. you hadn’t bothered to pack anything other than a few pairs of clothes you’d recovered from the floor of your room. everything else could be trashed, especially anything the boys had given you.

the driver doesn’t speak— price had given him all the information he needed— and paid him— before he’d fetched you. it seems your final outburst— and beating simon to a pulp— had finally put some urgency in his movements.

none of them had seen you off, per your request. you thought it was the least they could do for you after continuously disrespecting your boundaries.

(unbeknownst to you, simon had watched you leave through a window.)

the driver turned up the music— some pop song you didn’t know the name of— and you slumped in your seat, your head turned toward the window as you watched the rain race down it.

you found yourself drifting off quickly, and you didn’t try to fight it. you’re finally free of that place and the men you thought were your family. free of the anxiety of seeing them around every corner. free of the hate that sparked in your heart every time you heard their voices.

you sleep, and for the first time since before everything, it’s peaceful.

you wake to the taxi driver talking to you.

“we’re here,” he says, knocking on the glass separating the front and back seats. “can you get out now? I gotta get home. it’s my wife’s birthday.”

you blink the sleep from your eyes, nodding before you even register what he’s saying. “sorry,” you mumble as you fumble with the seat belt.

you slip from the car, your boots splashing in a muddy puddle. you grimace as the murky water seeps in, wetting your socks.

you trudge around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and retrieving your bag. you’ve just shut the trunk and stepped back when the car is driving off, kicking up mud that further dirties your boots and jeans.

you pay it little mind as you look at the small cottage before you.

nestled between some trees, it’s beautiful. a shingled roof. light blue paneled siding. a small front porch with a rocking chair and a bench swing. a beautiful dark blue door.

your favorite flowers live in the flower beds surrounding what you can see of the house. it makes you wonder if its a simple coincidence or if simon or price planned it.

how long have they known that you would have to come here? that you would have no where else to go except for where they put you?

you vowed that this house would just be temporary. you would get away from it as soon as possible, putting the rest of the one-four-one behind you. you didn’t want any of them knowing where to find you.

the rain slows to a sad drizzle. drops prick your skin as you make no effort to avoid puddles, splashing carelessly to the front door. you can hear birds beginning to chirp, slipping out of their hiding places as the sun’s rays begin to illuminate the earth once more.

a new beginning, you think.

you reach a hand toward the door knob, twisting it open and pushing inside. it’s a cozy little place with wood floors and a brick fireplace. it’s furnished, but there’s no personality to it. it clearly hasn’t been somebody’s home.

the door clicks shut behind you as you toe off your boots and drop your duffle by the door. as you nudge your boots out of the way with a foot, you notice an envelope on the floor.

eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you lean down and scoop it up. your name is written on the front in a scrawl you don’t recognize.

who else knows you’re here?

perhaps you’ll need to leave sooner than you thought.

you push your thumb under the seam, ripping it open with little finesse. inside is a typed letter. it’s an offer, you realize. a job offer.

its got an american stamp on it, and its signed by a phillip graves.

a new beginning indeed.