#he should be booked and busy in A-list projects

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Elementary, Finale:

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ only—i choose not to list warnings for this one as not to spoil anything but you know how we get down over here on GMNO, happy endings only. read at your own discretion.) unedited/not proofread (for now)

wc: 7k

series masterlist | joel masterlist

June, 2004

“Don’t you dare,” Joel ordered as he surprised you from the doorway of your bedroom—your former bedroom.

You stood in front of a stack of cardboard boxes labeled “linens”, your hands resting on two sides as though you were caught mid-lift. He walked over to you with a smirk, shaking his head before lifting the box for you.

“You’re already carrying enough,” he said, eyes falling to your swollen belly, six-months into your first pregnancy.

“I think I’m more than capable of carrying a box of sheets,” you countered with a matching smirk, reaching for the box that sat below the one he just stole from you.

“Uh-uh,” Tommy came rushing in, sweeping the box from your grasp. “You got my nephew to worry about.”

“How do you know I’m having a boy?” you asked, following your fiancé and soon-to-be brother in law out of your old home to watch them load the moving truck.

“I can just feel it,” he replied, earning a smile from his older brother.

“I’m still hopin’ for another girl,” Joel admitted as he walked down the rickety metal ramp to meet you as you stood in the walkway, his hands sliding over your belly to rest on your waist. He placed a sweet kiss on your lips before letting you go. “You should go sit in the sunroom with Sarah and Jessie. Make sure they’re keepin’ room for Jesus and all that.”

“Oh, let them be. Not like we have to worry about teen pregnancy—“

“Alright, alright.” Joel covered his ears, wincing at the thought. “Still, I don’t want you workin’ too hard.”

“Joel, I promise, I’m not working hard at all. You and Tommy won’t give me the chance.”

“That’s how it should be,” he countered, walking inside the house with you following behind.

“Guys, guess what?” Sarah and her newly defined girlfriend, Jessie burst into the half-packed kitchen as you stood slowly making your way through your pantry, organizing a keep pile and a donate pile. Joel lifted a brow at her as he started on taking the metal barstools that stood at your kitchen island apart so that they could take up less room in the truck. “Britney Spears is coming to San Antonio next month.”

“Praise to the heavens,” Joel mumbled under his breath, earning a chuckle from you as you rolled you eyes at his lackluster reaction.

“That’s fun!” you replied, looking at the two fifteen year-olds. “How much are tickets?”

“Like thirty bucks,” Jessie sighed, frowning. “My mom’s gonna make me work at the restaurant to earn it.”

“Well, she’s got the right idea,” Joel stood, having disassembled the first stool. “Sarah, why don’t you come work with me and Tommy this week and I’ll buy your ticket.”

“Really?” she asked with a hopeful smile before remembering her fathers line of work. “Wait—at the site? I won’t know what to do.”

“I’m sure we can find somethin’ for you to do.”

“Yeah, I mean…Britney’s worth it,” Sarah sighed and shrugged before walking back into the sunroom with Jessie in tow.

“Hey, did I tell you we got a new hire?” Joel spoke to you as he started on the second stool.

“Oh, that’s good. I thought you were having trouble finding someone?”

“We were, but she got the seal of approval from Tommy. Guess she’s a real jack-of-all-trades type’a builder. S’just what we needed.” You smiled at him proudly, his construction company having taken off this last year and a half. They were almost too busy, too booked, leaving Joel and Tommy to stay behind and work the amount of four people instead of two just so that their projects remained on time. “Hopefully might start gettin’ two days off a week instead of one.”

“That would be nice,” you hummed, walking over to him to slide your hand over his sweaty but irresistible back as he crouched down to unscrew some bolts from the legs of the stool. “I’ve been like a lonely little housewife these last few months. Holed up waiting for my man to come back from the coal mines.”

“Oh, is that right?” He looked up at you with a smirk. It had been a few weeks since the two of you had last been together, long days at the site and, for you, at school forcing you apart. Aside from a few steamy but quick makeouts, you were left longing for your soon-to-be husband. “I been neglectin’ you, huh?”

You nodded, your smile spreading wider as you played along, your voice dramatic and theatrical as you tried on an old-timey southern belle persona. “All I got is this baby I’m brewing to remember you by.”

Joel stood up and dropped his tools on the kitchen counter before letting his hands find your waist, tugging you as close to him as your belly would allow. He leaned in, pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheek that caused your entire body to light with chills as his kisses traveled down your neck.

“Why don’t I take you into the bedroom and give you that attention you’ve been needin’ so bad,” he rasped against your skin, dizzying your mind as you clung to him, breathless and wanting.

“House full of people,” Tommy’s voice sounded, reminding the two of you why you’d gone so long without each other in the first place. “Thought this would be done by now. Been, what, three years?”

“Don’t mind him, his longest relationship has been with the goddamn Longhorns,” Joel mumbled, keeping you hugged to his body. “Don’t know a thing about real love.”

“Yeah, yeah, save me the lecture, old man.” Tommy batted his brother’s teasing away and continued on packing and moving in the living room.

“Have I really been neglectin’ you, baby? All jokes aside,” Joel asked in a whisper pressed to your ear. You squeezed him closer and laid your head on his chest, Joel’s chin resting on top of it as he held you.

“No, I mean…I do miss you, and it has been a while since we last were together, but you’re not neglecting me. You still come home and hold me and talk to me and makeout with me,” you spoke softly, your voice a soothing hum against his chest. “We’re tired people, and especially now with the baby…I didn’t expect you to be clawing my clothes off when I look like a whale—“

“Excuse me?” he snapped, pulling your head from his chest so he could sternly look into your eyes. “None’a that. You’re beautiful…carryin’ our baby. Drives me fuckin’ wild seein’ you like this. M’sorry I haven’t been energized enough to show it, but I promise you, baby…you’re drivin’ me crazy walkin’ around like this.”

His hands slipped to squeeze the globes of your ass that had grown along with your belly and hips and, well, everything else.

“Tommy’s gonna see,” you scolded in a whisper as Joel’s fingers pinched the fabric of your dress until it started to lift, allowing his hands to rest against your skin and the cotton of your panties. Weaker and breathier, you exhaled, “Or the girls.”

“I promise no one’s gonna see,” he rasped, pressing his against your neck.

“Dad, come out here quick! There’s—oh my god! There’s a scorpion!” Sarah’s high-pitched squeal had Joel rushing out into the sunroom, his teasing long forgotten as he searched the room frantically. Sarah pointed in the corner and Joel spotted it, black and bigger than any scorpion he’d seen before.

“How the hell’d you get in here?” he muttered to the insect as he guided the girls inside the house before coming inside as well to grab a cup and the dust pan.

You stood in the frame of the sliding glass door, watching him as he carefully approached the scorpion as though he was Steve Irwin approaching a crocodile.

“They don’t jump, do they?” you asked, wincing as Joel started to make contact, guiding it towards the cup. The girls were behind you as though you were a shield, both of them letting out a squeal when the scorpion tried to strike Joel’s wrist, just barely missing. “Joel, just leave it! This can just be his house now, it’s not worth it.”

“Oh, hush,” Joel barked, keeping focused on the task before him. With either skill or luck, Joel managed to sweep the ground-hog sized scorpion into the glass cup and placed the dust pan over the mouth to keep him inside. “See, I got it.”

“Dad, don’t!” Sarah got gravely serious, sternly ordering her father to remain where he was with a point of her finger. Joel grinned and continued over, making both of the girls squeal and run off through the house.

“It’s so gross,” you cringed, leaning over to look at it through the glass with extreme caution and hesitancy.

“I don’t know,” Joel lifted it to his eye level to study it. “I think he’s kinda cool lookin’. Maybe we can keep ‘em as a pet.”

“Yeah, ri-IGHT—Joel!” you shrieked in terror as he pushed the glass towards you with a bark, making you jump backwards. Joel cackled as he watched you stand with your hand over your heart, your stern eyes watching him unamused. “That wasn’t funny.”

“I thought it was,” he chuckled. You watched him walk out to the backyard and set his new friend free, your heart still thumping in your chest. “Gotta get your heart rate up every now and then.”

“I don’t think you do.” Joel laughed and walked to hold you but was stopped by your hand pushing against his chest. “No, you don’t get to touch me. I almost pissed myself!”

Joel laughed again, proud of his prank. “God, it was good.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied. I can promise you that’s the only satisfaction you’re gonna get for a while, pal.” Joel poured immediately, following you as you walked through the house out to the front yard where Tommy, Sarah, and Jessie laid out in the grass, staring up at the sky. “Everybody, we’re shunning Joel.”

“What?” he chuckled, looking at you with amusement and affection, so rarely seeing you worked up like this.

“Sure thing,” Tommy replied, mellow and relaxed as he looked at the clouds, a beer in his hand.

“Sounds good,” Jessie agreed before pointing at the sky. “That’s a dragon.”

“Yeah it is,” Sarah agreed. “And why are we shunning dad?”

“He threw the scorpion at me.” You knew you were exaggerating, your smirk growing as you watched Joel scoff at the claim, a look of amazement on the entire time.

“I did no such thing,” he defended. “I jumped it at her—“

“Oh, that’s right. He jumped it at me,” you repeated, still smirking at him. “A pregnant woman.”

“Oh, the pregnancy card again,” Joel playfully sighed, earning a gasp from you.

“Pregnancy card? How dare you?” you laughed. “I rest my case, Sarah.”

“Alright, yeah. Dad’s shunned.” Joel rolled his eyes at you before walking over, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he sang, widening your already smitten grin. “I promise not to throw any more scorpions at ya. You forgive me now?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, melting into him.

“I ain’t shunned?” he murmured, kissing your shoulder innocently.

“No, but the threat’s always there. As you just saw, I have the votes.” Joel chuckled against your skin.

“Trust me, I know my place.”

A Week Later

It was a Friday, you’d been stuck at the house all alone, Sarah off with her dad at the site to earn her Britney Spears ticket money. After doing a few hours of nesting, marrying your things to Joel’s around the house, you perked up at the sight of Joel’s name on the caller ID of your cell.

“Hi,” you sang with a smile.

“Hey baby,” he greeted. “Was wonderin’ if you could pick me and Sarah up in about a half hour?”

“Ooo, I get you home early tonight?” Your smile turned into a grin.

“Yeah, but Sean’s havin’ a barbecue at his place. Invited the whole crew so I guess we should show up.”

“Well, I’m in.”

“See you in a little?”

“Sounds good, baby.”

You smiled as you flipped your cell shut, but the task of dressing yourself quickly wiped your grin away.

You felt like a whale in everything these days, and despite Joel’s eagerness for you each and every day, you felt like a stranger to yourself. Even in the dresses you’d been living in, you felt every change in the way your body used to fill them out. You quickly shooed the insecurity from your mind and dressed yourself for comfort before heading out to go pick the Miller’s up.

Rolling into the construction site, you spotted Joel and Sarah standing in the dirt parking lot out in front of the project, a woman in front of them talking. You furrowed your brows as you got closer, seeing that whoever this woman was, she was pretty—the kind of pretty that makes you wonder why the hell she’s here in a construction lot instead of on billboards and magazine covers.

Your chest felt tight with insecurity as you pulled up to them, hoping with all your might that Joel didn’t try to introduce you to Construction-Barbie.

“Alright, Meg. See ya at the party.” Joel waved to her as he opened the backseat for Sarah, a friendly—too friendly—smile on his face when he hopped in the passenger seat. “Hey baby,” Joel leaned forward for a kiss but you were still too jealous to oblige, giving him your cheek instead. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you lied, nodding as you pulled out of the lot, the rest of the drive silent besides the pop on the radio and Sarah's soft hums.

After giving the two of them time to change into nicer clothes, all three of you piled into the car again with Joel in the driver's seat. Sarah talked about her day at work, how cool it was to work with Meg, and how surprising it was that the newcomer managed to make her dad laugh. You tried not to picture the scene.

Joel stopped at a grocery store, running in quickly to grab some beer and a few bags of chips to bring to the party while you and Sarah remained in the car.

“Meg sounds great,” you spoke, unable to keep your jealousy to yourself.

“She’s alright,” Sarah replied, seemingly noticing your insecurity. “A little chatty.”

“Your dad didn’t seem to mind,” you mumbled, mostly to yourself.

“She was a little flirty,” Sarah replied. “But dad didn’t seem to notice.”

You tried to shake the jealousy, knowing that it was silly and hormone-driven. Joel loved you. But that didn’t mean that he still couldn’t find someone else attractive at the same time.

At the party, you kept mostly to yourself. You were introverted on a good day, but with this heavy insecurity weighing you down, you found yourself retreating inward while everyone else mingled and carried on.

You were inside the house of Joel’s lead plumber, his wife buzzing around the house as she tried to corral her five children under five. You sat in the living room, watching and praying yours didn’t come out like that—loud and disobedient and restless.

“So, how far along are you?” she asked, breathless as she gave up and sat down on the loveseat across from you.

“Six months,” you replied with a small but friendly smile. “Got any advice for me?”

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Besides not havin’ ‘em in the first place? I don’t know—sleep whenever you can. They’ll suck the life outta you if you let ‘em.”

“A little bleak, honey,” Sean, her husband, walked in through the patio door, Joel following behind him.

“It’s the truth,” she argued, giving him a passive aggressive sigh. “It ain’t easy. ‘Specially if there’s only one parent home to do it.”

“Alright,” he chuckled, trying to ease the tension.

You stood, ready to venture beyond the tension anf chaos of the house, even if it meant having to enter the crowded backyard.

“You comin’ out?” Joel asked, holding his hand out for you to take. You accepted it and let him walk you outside. “That was brutal in there.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. Joel’s eyes scanned you as you stood beside him, staring ahead.

“You sure you’re alright? Been awfully quiet,” he noted.

“Yeah, just…feeling a little off today,” you lied.

Spotting a familiar head of strawberry blonde curls snorting with laughter as she stood with Tommy and Sarah by the grill. They both looked comfortable around her, making your stomach curl with a new type of jealousy. She wanted your entire family.

“Joel!” she called once she caught you staring. “Come over here and join us, darlin’!”

You resented the petname. Turning to Joel, you watched as his cheeks flushed, his eyes flickering to yours.

“C’mon,” he looked to you fully, attempting to slide his hand across your back but you stopped him, swatting his arm away. “Baby,” he began, but you were already too worked up to be consoled. “She calls everybody that.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you muttered.

“Baby, you ain’t really jealous, are you?” He chuckled. Wrong move. With a furrow in your brow, you reached your hands into his pockets and tugged out the keys to the car.

“I’m going home. Call me when you wanna be picked up from your date.”

Joel called after you only once, not wanting to make a scene by raising his voice or following you out.

Back at home, you stewed. What started as hormonal territorialism quickly snowballed into justified rage. She’d clearly met your eyes, seeing you standing there beside him, and ignored you. Then, she proceeded to flirt with him right in front of you. Joel did nothing about it except for defend her, which was what you were currently most angry about.

As you aggressively turned the pages of the book you were reading to distract yourself, you were surprised to see headlights through the window. Closing your book, you got up and peeled through the blinds to see Joel and Sarah stepping out of a taxi, your cheeks heating as guilt set in. You didn’t mean for Sarah to get involved in your fight with Joel.

Hurrying upstairs, you heard the front door open, the two of them speaking downstairs but it was too faint to make any sense. As you stood in the bathroom, hurting your clothes off so that you could jump in the shower, you felt more than heard Joel’s heavy footsteps up the staircase. Soon, after you stepped into the shower, Joel found his way into the bathroom, announcing himself in the doorway.

“We’re home.” His voice was gentle, but carried a sadness to it that made you feel less angry and more guilty.

“Okay,” you managed.

“Can I come in?” he asked, the question lingering in the air for a bit before you answered.

“Yeah,” you decided.

In the matter of a few seconds, Joel was stripped and stepping in behind you, his eyes locked on yours.

“I’m sorry,” he started, stepping closer to you and the stream of water. “I told her that pet-name stuff wasn’t cool with me, but I guess she ain’t as good at listenin’ as she is talkin’.”

“She’s pretty,” you replied, desperate to keep hold of this jealousy.

“Tommy thinks so,” Joel added.

“And you?” He shook his head and rested his hands on the swell of your stomach.

“I’m too busy thinkin’ about you,” he replied. “Thinkin’ ‘bout our family.”

“I know you love me, Joel. It’s not about that,” you sighed, moving to turn around but he stopped you before you could even flinch, forcing you to look at him when you continued. “I want you to think I’m…pretty like that. To want me.”

“You don’t think I want you?” He chuckled, shaking his head in utter disbelief. “For someone who ‘doesn’t want you’, I sure seem to paw at you every minute of every day.”

“I guess you’re right,” you chuckled, finally seeing the light beyond all the dark gray that this storm of jealousy and insecurity you were caught in. “Just seeing you with someone so pretty, who does what you do—“

“First off, she’s alright. She ain’t half as good as Tommy promised me was. M’pretty sure they’re fuckin’ and that’s why he recommended her.” You laughed. “Secondly, I need you to know that it doesn’t matter who I’m standin’ next to. I’m only ever thinkin’ about the next time I get to see you.”

“You’re good at this,” you smiled, reaching to hold his face in your hands. “Defusing the bomb that is a pregnant woman’s mind.”

“You know…I think that’s the first time I ever saw you jealous,” he hummed, leaning in to press a soft, teasing kiss on your lips.

“It happens a lot, I’m just usually good at hiding it,” you whispered back, stealing a few kisses for yourself. “Think you should prepare yourself for more of this crazy. Might be this way until the baby comes.”

“I like the crazy,” he smiled.

Five years later — December 25th, 2009

“Iris, watch out—“ Your five year old daughter ran full speed through the kitchen and living room, your two year old son, Miles, clumsily chasing her with his brand new stuffed dinosaur. It was hard to be mad at either of them, their giggles filling the room along with the crunch of the wrapping paper littering the carpet beneath their feet.

“Alright,” Joel scooped both of his children up and threw them over his shoulder, earning squeals and laughter as he walked them over to the couch you were sitting on. He plopped kids onto your lap but only Miles stayed. Joel sighed and sat down beside you as Iris got up again, a mischievous grin on her face as she stood before the three of you, all eyes on her. “Well,” Joel started, lifting his hands before dropping them back onto his lap. “We paid for a show. Are you gonna sing for us, Hannah Montana?”

“Daddy, where’s the phone?” Iris asked, making a fist and then tapping it to help illustrate what she wanted.

“The microphone? Somewhere in all this mess,” you replied, gesturing to the mountain of wrapping paper on the floor. “Gotta go fishing for it, baby.”

Iris quickly got to work, making an arguably bigger mess as she searched for her brand new toy, a microphone that was supposed to be its own speaker as well, but truthfully wasn’t much louder than Iris’s voice.

“Hey, hey!” Sarah walked in the front door with a smile, two large bags in her hands stuffed full of wrapped presents. When she took in the mess, she frowned. “Ah, did you guys already do gifts?”

“Iris already had them open before we even got downstairs,” Joel replied as he walked to the door to take the bags from his now twenty year-old’s hands before giving her a tight hug. “Martin come along?”

Martin was Sarah’s boyfriend of two years, the pair meeting in her biology class freshman year of college.

“Yeah, he’s getting the bags,” Sarah replied before coming over to hug you tight.

“How are you? How’s school?” You missed having Sarah at the house but were more than proud of her for getting into the pre-med program at Stanford.

“School is school, but it’s been way easier now that we aren’t living in the dorms anymore.”

“Sissy!” Iris rushed up to her sister and waved her new Hannah Montana microphone in her face. “Sing with me.”

“Oh…yay,” Sarah forced a smile but looked to you for help.

“How about we open the gifts sissy brought instead?” you proposed and your daughter instantly agreed.

“How was the drive?” Joel spoke to Martin as he helped him carry the bags upstairs to Sarah’s old bedroom.

“Not too bad. Sarah snored the entire way.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Think she gets it from me.”

When Joel and Martin returned from the second floor, they immediately found their spots beside their partners, each of them making the same pained groan as they sat down.

“God,” you chuckled, looking to Sarah who was already looking at you. “They’re the same person.”

“Gross. Hate that.”

“You gonna pass out the gifts or what?” Joel asked, unamused by the comparison.

As Sarah and Martin sorted out the gifts, handing a few to Iris, a few to Miles, two to you and one to Joel. Joel shook his head at the box handed to him, but Sarah’s round eyes got her her way every single time.

“Told you no gifts for me,” Joel grumbled as he ripped the wrapping. “Don’t want you spendin’ your money—“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she smiled, sitting down beside her boyfriend. “I think you’ll like this one. It’s a gift for everybody, but I think you’re going to have the most fun with it.”

You watched him rather than opening your own gifts, the small black box in his hand opening to reveal a key. Joel looked up with boyish eyes, shocked and excited and near tears all at the same time.

“What is it?” you asked, plucking the key from his hand.

“This ain’t—how—what?” Joel spoke through his shock.

“What’s it a key to?” you asked again, chuckling at the tears welling up in your husband’s eyes.

“My parents used to own this beat up old ranch in San Antonio, but had to sell it off when Sarah was a kid. I always wanted to buy it back and fix it up, but I just…never got around to it,” Joel finally replied to your questioning, turning to you with wet eyes and a big smile before looking at his daughter and her boyfriend. “How did—“

“My dad’s a realtor and knew the guy who was selling it, so Sarah and I put our money together to buy it back,” Martin detailed.

“In your name, so don’t get too excited. Mortgage isn’t gonna be that bad because we got it at twenty thousand and we put down a decent down payment,” Sarah added. “So, just a few hundred a month.”

“Baby girl,” Joel shook his head and looked down at the key. “How much do I owe y’all—“

“Dad, you took care of me my whole life. You deserve this. Besides, I just signed with a publisher for my book, so—“

“What?” you practically squealed, Miles covering his ears as he sat in your lap. “Congrats, baby girl!”

“Thank you, thank you,” she smiled and bowed, bringing your eyes to the shining rock on her ring finger. Joel seemingly noticed it too because his clapping suddenly ceased.

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes shifting to Martin’s nervous stare.

“Shit—we were gonna announce it at dinner so Uncle Tommy could be here too, but…” She looked to her boyfriend. “We’re engaged.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, your hands lifting to your mouth to hide the joy in your smile. “I’m so happy. Oh my god!”

“That’s bad, mommy,” Iris scolded. You nodded but pointed at Sarah’s ring.

“I known, but sissy’s getting married, baby!”

“Dad?” Sarah spoke to her father who sat frozen in shock. You turned to him as well, studying him carefully for any signs of anger or disappointment, but instead found only pride and joy. “Please don’t be mad. Martin wanted to ask first but I told him that’s too old school—“

“Baby, I’m not mad,” he assured softly, shaking his head as his eyes welled with fresh tears. “I’m just so happy.”

“Oh, dad,” Sarah cooed, her own eyes shedding tears as she walked over to hug her father close as he stood up. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, baby girl. So much.” Joel squeezed her once more before letting her go and turning to her fiancé. “And you too by proxy.”

After a long afternoon spent beside Joel at the computer studying the state of the ranch from the pictures Martin pulled up from the realtor, it was decided that Joel would take weekends off of work—not that he usually worked them anymore, the business having taken off so much that it forced him into a more managerial role—and drive down to the ranch to work on it, the kids and you invited of course but he understood if you didn’t want to, after all, “It ain’t gonna be pretty for a while, baby”. You agreed to let him check it out in person first before coming along because it seemed a little too dangerous for the kids with the property’s long, unmowed yard and old, untouched cabin.

Dinnertime came and so did Tommy and his girlfriend of one year—who also happened to be your good friend and a successful attorney—Maria, the two of them walking into a cleaner home than the one Sarah and Martin were greeted with. She had a six year old son, Kevin, who loved to play with your babies every time he came over.

“No fuckin’ way,” Tommy held up Sarah’s left hand to stare at the ring. “You were just a snot-nosed kid a second ago.”

“Yep,” she giggled.

“Well,” Tommy dropped her hand and looked to Martin, giving him a handshake. “You know who you’re gonna answer to if you hurt her.”

“Alright,” Joel interjected as he returned to the kitchen table that the adults were sat at while the kids played in the living room, The Grinch on in the background to busy them even more. He set a bottle of beer down in front of each of you, but Marin was quick to slide her bottle away from her. “No? And I bought the good shit just to impress y’all.”

“It’s just…” She looked to Tommy for help, the younger Miller smirking as he turned to the table.

“We’re havin’ a baby,” he announced and the table roared with applause and cheers. Joel’s smile was the widest, the two brothers locking eyes. Joel lifted his beer up to toast to life and the rest of you gladly clinked your bottles together in agreement. To life, indeed.

March, 2010

“So,” Joel started, a proud but nervous grin on his face as you climbed out of the passenger seat of the car to get a good look at the ranch. “What d’ya think?”

The long, unmowed grass was now trimmed neatly, making the land look so much bigger. Joel had fixed the gate, but you noticed that when he pulled in; he made sure to have a sign placed at the entrance reading “Miller Ranch” to properly fulfill his lifelong dream. The old, rickety cabin was now renovated and converted into a private den in case Sarah and Martin ever wanted to come stay for a while. Beside it stood a brand new ranch house, modest in size compared to the surrounding ranches, but it was big enough to hold three bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen, and a living room. But the part you loved most was the wrap-around porch he built by hand, painted a soft, pale yellow to contrast to the white of the home.

“I think,” you started, a smile growing on your face. “I wanna live here now.”

“Yeah?” he chuckled and approached you at the passenger side door, pressing you against it. “Why don’t we go inside? Maybe…test it out.”

“Mm, might as well take advantage of Tommy and Maria watching the kids,” you replied, your lips ghosting over his.

Joel tugged you along by the hand up the gravel driveway, allowing you the time to admire the little details like the swing he built onto the big oak tree between the den and the house, or the sneak peek you caught of rose bushes in the backyard. With each detail, you fell more and more in love with the property, and what was once a joke now turned into a serious longing—you wanted to move here. Bad.

“Ready?” Joel asked as he opened the screen door and rested his hand on the doorknob of the main, wooden door painted that same, soft yellow. You nodded at him and he opened the house, letting you walk in first, he flipped on the lights behind you as he entered. You gasped at the living room, how spacious but cozy it felt with a fireplace built in, not that the San Antonio weather ever really called for it.

Turning to the other side, you saw the dining room that connected into the kitchen via a square archway. You started that way, admiring the hand-made dining table before walking into the kitchen of your dreams. You let out a moan at the size of it, the brand new appliances that were a surprise but don’t worry, they’re on a lease.

Back in the hall, you carried on, admiring the framed pictures he’d hung of your joined family over the years, the smiling image of Sarah’s mother and Mary and Paul and everyone you’d lost bringing tears to your eyes.

“This is gonna be Miles’ room,” Joel opened the door to a room set up for a kid rather than a toddler aside from the bed with safety rails on it. You smiled at the thought of your son growing up here.

“And this?” you reached for the door across the hall and opened it to find a bathroom, modest but new.

“Kids bath,” he replied. Guiding you to the room beside Miles’, Joel opened it and displayed a soft pink painted bedroom that Iris was going to absolutely adore. “For baby girl.”

“Which means this has to be our room, right?” you asked, reaching for the door across from your daughter's room. “Little close, no?”

“Mm-mm,” he shook his head and entered the room, shutting the door behind him. He made a lot of noise, or at least that’s what you assumed from his heavy feet jumping on the hardwood floors, but you couldn’t hear much of anything. When he emerged, he was breathless and smiling. “Hear anything?”

“Felt you jumping around, but no,” you grinned. “You soundproofed it?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Took me a while to get it right but…we can make all the noise we want now.”

“Well,” you began, sliding your hands up his chest as you batted your eyes at him. “Why don’t we give it a proper go?”

“Yeah,” he hummed, leaning down to kiss you teasingly, forcing you to seek more of his mouth in yours. “Come on,” he rasped, tugging you into the bedroom. “There’s one more surprise on the tour before I can get you naked. Go take a look in the bathroom.”

You did as you were told, leaving him by the bed to walk into the en-suite. You gasped at the clawfoot tub perched by a large bay window, looking out at the garden of flowers he’d planted.

“Joel…you—“ You shook your head, eyes now raining tears as you stood in the middle of the bathroom. Joel laughed and came over to hold you as you buried your face in his chest. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, baby,” he chuckled, amused by your reaction. “You like it, I take it?”

“Like it?” you lifted your head and shocked him with the amount of tears soaking your eyes. “I’m about to get down on my knees.”

“You can get down on your knees after I get my fill, how about that?” he husked against your cheek as he kissed your tears. “Go lay down on the bed, baby. Everything off.”

You didn’t waste any time in obeying, practically skipping out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Your shoes and jeans came off first, then your top, and finally your undergarments before you climbed onto the mattress to test it out. Joel walked in but remained patient at the foot of the bed as you laid in the center of the mattress, beckoning him closer with the curl of your finger. Joel grinned and peeled his t-shirt off before slowly, painfully slowly, undoing his belt and jeans.

“Roll over,” he commanded. “Wanna see somethin’.”

“I wonder, what ever could that be?” you joked, rolling onto your stomach and instinctively arching your ass into the air. Joel’s knees dipped the mattress as he crawled onto the bed behind you, his hands gripping the globes of your ass as he let out a groan.

“So pretty like this,” he hummed before surprising you with a broad lick up the seam of your cunt. “My country girl.”

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, just don’t stop.” Joel laughed at your plea but obliged, licking you again. He kept at it, his tongue greedily and filthily lapping up every inch of you it could find before tensing and burying into your cunt while his fingers rubbed circles over your clit.

“Mm,” he hummed as he pulled away for a moment to speak. “There’s a gift for you in the nightstand. Why don’t you have a look?”

You chuckled hesitantly and crawled over the mattress to reach into the nightstand on your side of the bed, finding a long black box inside. You pulled it out and turned over to sit, facing Joel as he sat on his ankles at the foot of the bed. “Open it.”

“Is this—“ You silenced yourself by opening the box, your eyes taking in the sight of one of those wands you’d been desperately dropping hints about wanting to try out. “Oh, baby. You’ve got competition now.”

“Oh, do I?” he smirked, crawling to lay over you, forcing your head to rest back against the pillows. “That’s alright. Gettin’ too old to do all that work anyways. Might as well take all the help I can get.”

“You know you’ll always have one thing no one else has,” you purred, reaching to stroke his cock as it rested on your belly. “They couldn’t replicate this if they tried.”

“Mm,” he smiled against you. “You’re just flatterin’ me now.”

“Uh-uh,” you shook your head. “It’s perfect. The way you fill me up, the way it feels inside. I’ll never get enough.”

“Fuck, baby,” he whined against your jaw as he nibbled there. “Turn it on, wanna get you ready to take me. So damn hard for you, can’t even think.”

You flipped on the vibrator, gasping at the power behind it while Joel simply groaned.

“Go on,” he urged. “Press it to your clit, baby.”

“Fuck,” you hissed as you lowered it to your bundle of nerves, the whir of the vibrations making your thighs tense and jerk, but Joel’s hips stopped them from closing.

“Does it feel good?” he asked against your pulse as he kissed the skin there.

“Yes,” you panted. “But I want you.”

“Not ‘til you cum,” he replied, trailing his fingers down your belly, past the vibrator, and into your soaked entrance. You let out an animalistic moan, something primal and so unlike yourself. “God, baby,” he moaned against you as he curled his fingers up towards that dizzying spot inside. “You don’t make those noises for me. Maybe I do got competition.”

“Joel,” you whined, unsure of what to say or how to describe how good it felt to have him inside you along with this gift of an invention. “Please. Please.”

“Cum on my fingers,” he ordered, low and dark and right into your ear. “Then I’ll give you what you want.”

As if your body had simply been awaiting the order, you came immediately, squeezing him as you writhed beneath his weight, the vibrator turned off and tossed across the bed. Joel slid into you while you were still clenching around nothing, your breath getting knocked out of your lungs at the force of his thrusts inside. You felt like you transcended into some sinful sort of heaven, one where only you and Joel resided.

“God, baby,” he whined, his arms slid beneath the arch of your back to hug you tight as he pounded into you. “So fuckin’ wet. God, I need to cum. Been too long.”

“Those fuckin’ kids,” you managed a joke, earning a laugh before he found his rhythm again.

“Baby, fuck,” he warned, his voice as wrecked as yours as you screamed his name into the empty home, your nails scratching down his back as you begged him to let you cum again, as if he ever denied you. “Go on,” he urged, sitting up on his knees to watch his cock disappear into you only to come out covered in your shine. “Fuck, come on. Cum for me. Right fuckin’ now, baby.”

“Oh!” you screamed, again unlike yourself, and clawed at his arms for purchase as your orgasm hit so hard it might have been painful if it hadn’t felt so fucking good. “Joel, please, please, please. Cum inside me.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his face scrunched up as he watched himself let go into your pussy, his eyes glued to where you were connected while pulsed inside of you with a deep growl. When he pulled out, he quickly lowered himself to the mattress and nestled between your thighs, fucking his spend back into you with his finger while his tongue swiped round and round over your clit until you were begging him to stop. “Too much?”

“For now,” you grinned. “How much longer do we have until we have to get back on the road?”

“I’d say a couple hours,” he replied, sated but a hint of mischief in his voice. “We could always try out that new bath.”

“God, I love you.” You pulled him up and kissed deeply. “So glad you showed up to that parent teacher conference.”

“Thank you for givin’ Sarah and I a family again,” he whispered. “I love you so much, baby. I—gonna get me all choked up. I love you.”

“I love you.”

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[hslllot]

insieme in paradiso

“together in paradise”

rated m | 2.7k words

better late than never, right? this is a short piece for my dear friend’s @harry-on-broadway​ fic challenge (the prompts used are in bold)! It is basically an extended version of this concept I wrote back in 2021... We’ve had such great latam content lately that I feel like I should have adjusted the setting of this, but I hope you enjoy anyways! As always, please let me know what you think. xx shan

———

Was this heaven?

You were certain that you’d never felt more relaxed as you bathed in the Tuscan sunlight. Lounging beside your love, you let your eyes close, the book you were reading abandoned in the sand next to your chair ages ago. Every worry, every stressor, every bit of tension in your muscles that you carried with you drifted away in the winds of the ocean breeze. 

This was the private getaway with Harry you’d been longing for. It seemed like forever since the two of you were able to spend an extended amount of time alone together. 

“Mum just posted this photo. Look. Thea’s getting so big.” Your boyfriend interrupted your daze when he reached out from beside you to shove his phone in your face.  

You opened your eyes slowly and lowered your sunglasses so you could take a proper look. Using your hand to shield the glare of the Italian sun, you saw on his screen an Instagram story his mother had posted of his cousin’s baby. 

“She’s adorable, H.” You responded, adjusting your sunglasses back to cover your eyes. “We should give Ella a call later, maybe we can FaceTime.” All you heard in response was a short grunt as he laid back in his chair, eyes still fixed on his screen.

He was grumpy and you could tell. 

One thing about your boyfriend of three years, which you found incredibly endearing, was that he loved his family more than anything. Unfortunately, when his family was gathered and he couldn’t be there, he’d tend to get a bit pouty. You’d find him glued to the group chat or Instagram to get updates on what they were up to. Sometimes you would catch him ‘liking’ or ‘reacting’ to their posts and stories (on his private account of course) in an attempt to make himself feel more included. 

Birthdays. Weddings. Babies. There was a long list of family events he often had to miss because of his job, and you knew it weighed heavily on his heart. 

A small part of you was slightly annoyed that he wished he were somewhere else. But another part of you, perhaps the more compassionate part, understood that multiple truths could exist at once: 1) He was happy to be spending time with you, 2) he was grateful for his job that took him to beautiful countries and allowed him to live a lavish life, and 3) he missed his family dearly. 

But sometimes you didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just go home and visit them whenever he felt like it. He certainly could afford it, and he had the power in all of his business relationships to take a vacation whenever he felt like it. Sometimes you wished he had more of a ‘diva’ type attitude when it came to certain things, like allowing himself to take breaks from work. However, another thing about your boyfriend was that he was a chronic overachiever and people pleaser with a tendency to overcommit to new projects. And you figured it wasn’t so bad to have a partner in life who was considerate of other peoples’ time and feelings. 

Plus, you couldn’t complain much because his commitment to a new project was how you found yourself at the beautiful, private, Il Pellicano in Tuscany. 

The two of you were finally spending some much needed quality time together. Coordinating your schedules had been an absolute nightmare and it was a miracle that you were able to take some time away from work to join him on this trip. He was technically here on business, preparing for the launch of his Gucci collection with Alessandro. But you had spent the majority of the trip together, watching him model his clothing, sitting side-by-side on the small private beach of your villa, and wrapped around one another in the bedroom.

At the moment though, Harry’s frustration, guilt, and longing to be with his family was threatening to penetrate the bubble of relaxation surrounding you. You could feel the restless energy emanating off of him. Without opening your eyes you heard the way he moved around in his chair and sighed under his breath as he scrolled through his phone and typed away messages in his family group chat. When you finally did open your eyes you found him on his stomach, his head at the other end of the chair near your feet, and his phone two inches from his face. And while this position afforded you a great view of his tanned back and taut muscles glistening in the Italian heat, clad only in a small pair of black swimming shorts, you could feel the tension radiating from him and you couldn’t ignore it any longer. 

You reached across and placed your hand on the back of his calf, rubbing your thumb back and forth against his warm, sun-kissed skin, as if to soothe him.

“Hey baby?”

“Hmmm?” He responded mindlessly, not bothering to look up from his phone. 

“Hey, look at me.” You urged, squeezing his calf to gain his attention. 

“Sorry” he murmured, putting his phone down. He twisted in the lounge chair to face you, sitting up to give you his full attention. You reached for his hand and intertwined your fingers with his. 

“I was thinking… I know we’re supposed to head back to London on Sunday, but what if we took a few days in Holmes Chapel?” He raised an eyebrow at you curiously, wordlessly asking where this had come from. You continued, “It’s been so long since we’ve seen Anne and I miss her… Plus, we’ve only seen Thea once since she’s been born. I think I can extend my vacation by a few days.”

He sat there for a moment silently, teasing at his bottom lip.

“I have a meeting with Lambert and Molly on Monday in London.” He winced, remembering his prior commitment.

“Surely you can do it over Zoom. Or just push it a couple days. You are the boss, aren’t you?” 

Something flickered in his eyes and a slight smirk crept his lips at your mention of him being the boss. 

His gears were turning and you knew him well enough to know the battle going on inside his brain. He probably didn’t love the idea of moving a meeting to go see his mum, but since it was technically your idea it was like a free pass. He could feel less guilty about it because he was doing it for you. 

(Obviously you both knew this was entirely for him… But you needn’t say it)

You thought he might pass on the opportunity, and were startled when he removed his hand from yours and scrambled up from his lounge chair. He quickly moved onto your chair, straddling you with his entire body weight pinning you down. With his forearms rested on either side of your head, he placed quick kisses all over your face. Almost reflexively, you wrapped your hands around his biceps. His hot, sinewy arms flexed in your grip. 

“Yeah,” is all he said before placing a long, slightly wet, kiss on your forehead. “I AM the boss. And I would like that very much. Thank you for suggesting it.” Unable to wipe the smile from his face, he placed one more tender kiss on your lips.

You reached for the sunglasses that sat atop his head and removed them, freeing space for you to run your fingers through his soft brown curls. “You’re welcome, H.” He lowered into your touch, eager for a cuddle. “But you have to get up. You’re squishing me.”

“Right, sorry.” He removed himself from on top of you and took a seat by your feet at the end of the chair. It was his turn to soothe you now, grazing his palm along your calf and up to your knee, which he gave a squeeze before dragging his hand back down.

“I think it’s time we get out of the sun, yeah?” The sly look on his face was all too familiar as his gaze trailed down your bikini-clad body. “You’re lookin’ a little sunburnt.”

“Am I?” You teased.

“I’ve got something I can rub on it back in our room.”

You rolled your eyes at him, feigning annoyance at his flirtation. Nonetheless, you knew where this was headed.

Gathering your belongings hastily, you were both eager to make your way back to the air conditioned room that held your luxurious king bed. You trailed behind Harry, climbing the stone steps up to the private entrance of your villa hand in hand. 

Once inside your room, you dropped your tote bag and walked over to the balcony, sliding open the curtains and the door to let the sunshine and salt air filter through the room. Looking out at the scene below, you could see the private beach where you and Harry had spent your morning and admired the way the Tuscan sun illuminated the sapphire blue ocean ahead. You took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly as you felt Harry come to stand closely behind you.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” You said quietly. Harry wrapped his arms around you from behind, allowing you to rest your chin on his forearms. He nuzzled his face into your neck where he left a delicate touch of his lips.

“Thank you for being here with me.” He responded. 

Any annoyance you previously felt toward your boyfriend’s proclivity for FOMO melted away when you realized how grateful you were to be here with him. In the chaos of his busy life, while he missed his family deeply, he chose to be here with you, together in paradise. 

You turned yourself in his arms, your body flush against his, to find his soft, yet intense, gaze on your lips. 

Harry held lightly onto your hips. Leaning in, his lips parted, and you could feel his warm breath against yours. You placed your hands on his chest, his skin burning under your fingers. With every shallow intake of breath he edged closer, until finally catching your top lip between his.

His hands trailed up your sides as your kiss became deeper, fuller. You felt like you might melt against him, heat racing down to every part of your body that was touching his. He roamed your curves and the expanse of your back, pressing you even closer to him, before finding the strings that held together your bikini. With two gentle tugs, the piece of fabric fell to the ground. 

He broke away from your kiss only briefly to study the sight of you, topless, in front of him. “Bellissima,” he whispered, his voice deep and slow. You saw the muscles in his jaw tick as his gaze burned holes through you. It was your turn, this time, to grab onto him and press him closer against you, feeling his hardness. 

It wasn’t long before Harry’s mouth started to move down your body. Your neck, your collarbone, your chest. His tongue dragged over your nipple before sucking it into his mouth and an intoxicating heat rippled through you. 

“Bed, please” was all you could muster under your breath. Harry reluctantly pulled himself off you and started walking you back, stopping when the back of your legs hit the bed. He gently lowered you onto the bed and resumed his work dragging his mouth down your body, finishing off with a chaste kiss to your hip bone.  

He stood up straight at the edge of the bed, towering over you. Eager for him, you removed your bikini bottoms and tossed them to the floor. 

“A bit impatient?” He chuckled, looking down hungrily at your naked body. You didn’t bother to respond, leaning back on your forearms, you kicked your leg out and toed at the tent in his black swimming shorts, encouraging him to take them off. “Tell me” he said sternly.

“I want them off.”

He pulled his shorts down and discarded them on the floor before climbing on to the bed. You admired the way he wrapped his hand around his cock and began slowly stroking himself, a small sense of relief evident on his face. He lowered himself over you and pressed his lips to yours. While your tongues met, the pads of his fingertips began to explore, trailing delicately down your stomach. Your body responded to his familiar touch, goosebumps racing over you and a fire simmering in your belly. 

You were desperate for him, your body begging for him to touch you as his fingers made their way down to your heat. A heavy moan left your lips when he began running circles over your clit. At that moment, you were completely overwhelmed by him. The way his lips felt against yours, the taste of his tongue, the scent of his cologne, the soft pads of his fingers on your most sensitive spot. 

“I want you,” you whined.

“You have me,” he answered teasingly, his mouth only a fraction of an inch away from yours. He dragged his finger down and dipped into your entrance. “Fuck - you’re so wet.”

“Please…”

At your begging he positioned himself between your legs, removed his fingers, and replaced them with a press of his hips against yours, the tip of his cock firm against your slit.  

Your hands grappled to hold on to any part of him you could, eventually landing on his shoulders. Gripping tightly, your fingertips dug into his skin. You wrapped your ankles around his calves and felt the way his body fit perfectly against yours.

The first thrust inside you was slow. Every inch of your body pulled tight around him as he sank deeper. Your breath hitched as a wave of pleasure raced through you. 

“Fuck,” Harry rasped as he rocked into you. The sound of his voice sent a tingle down your spine. “I love you so much,” he whispered into your skin, brushing a kiss across your jaw. 

You said it back to him as the two of you moved against each other, getting lost in the feelings of love and undulating pleasure between you. 

———

You and Harry spent the rest of the day immersed in one another in your private villa. 

The last go around, you unraveled together with his face buried in your neck while you were clutched tight around him. 

He pulled out and collapsed beside you, trying to catch his breath. 

You turned on your side to look at him, flooded with warmth and giddiness as you acknowledged how handsome he was. You used the tip of your finger to trace the lines of his face. The sharp cut of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the full of his lips. As you were about to trace your thumb over his eyebrow he grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips. 

“Thank you again for suggesting we go to Holmes Chapel after this,” he said against your hand, still pressed to his lips. 

“Of course,” You moved closer to him and he let go of your hand in order to wrap his arms around you. “You can go home whenever you want, you know.” 

He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. “I know. It’s easier to go when I know you’re coming with me.”

You hummed in understanding and pressed your lips against his chest.

“I should give Jeffrey a call and ask him to make the travel arrangements for us… And postpone my meetings.” 

As if on cue, his phone’s ringtone chimed from his tote bag on the floor by the door. He was reluctant to let go of you, but you gave him a look of approval that had him scrambling out of the bed to retrieve it. You took the opportunity to admire his naked body, silently thanking the Italian sun and his morning cardio routine for the glorious sight of him. 

You felt a warmth in your chest, though, at the smile that grew on his face when he looked down at his phone to see who was calling.

“Hey mum, yeah….guess what…I’m coming home.”

———

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think. 

[talzane]

Threading his way through the halls of Casper High seemed to get harder every week. Ghost fight after ghost fight, the school accumulated damage like Vlad should have been collecting cats, and after a year and a half of fighting, the damage had blown past the school's ability to repair it.

Danny kept his head low--mostly in an attempt to hide last night's bruises behind last month's haircut--as he carefully maneuvered to his new first period class, where Sam and Tucker waited to hear his fight card from the night before. His shaggy black hair managed to obscure most of his face, but his icy blue eyes still peaked through to carefully catalog any undue attention. His slumped posture, baggy, white t-shirt, over-sized blue jeans and ratty, red Converse' all worked to project an image of ignominy, which was perfect for slipping beneath the radar of most of the school given the rigid caste system enforced by the A-List.

Unfortunately, he was so busy watching for unwarranted glances that he failed to see the posters. When Danny finally arrived at Mr. Lancer's new homeroom--still empty half an hour before school--and worked his way through the army of desks to his friends, he was utterly baffled to find them watching his face expectantly.

"What?"

"Dude," Tucker began, evidently expecting a reaction, "didn't you see the posters?"

"No?"

"Danny," Sam cackled, "are you going to enter to win the PhantomSweeps?"

Danny's head snapped to level, "The...what?"

"You don't want to win a day with Phantom?"

"...A *day*?"

"C'mon, man," Tucker laughed, "a *whole day* with Phantom! You can ask questions, learn about ghosts...go on a date."

"No! I never agreed to that!"

"Did you, maybe, tell people you saved from Technus that, 'I only answer questions booked two weeks in advance?'"

"No! I...maybe, but they were being nosey! I just wanted them to leave me alone!"

"Well, Paulina decided to make it a fundraiser to get the school fixed."

"Oh no."

"You'll never guess who's entered to win," Tucker gasped for breath.

"Oh no!"

"Your parents," Tucker laughed.

"Vlad," Sam cackled.

"Your sister."

"I'm *not* going to THERAPY!"

"Lance Thunder."

"Why?"

"Interview," Sam answered, "and Paulina *Phantom*, Dash Baxter, Mr. Lancer, and Agents O and K."

"Don't forget The Box Ghost!" Tucker helpfully chimed in.

"How did he find out!?"

"He was in the box of posters."

"Oh crap." Danny collapsed into his seat and buried his head in his arms, "Why me?"

[blainesebastian]

little family (ccg universe)

words: 2,586 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “first time austin and ccg take their little girl out in front of paparazzi”  warnings: none  notes: part of the ccg universe, should probably know something about it before reading :)  tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylesmendeshearted, @rairaielv,

One thing you've come to appreciate and not take for granted as you move through life, your experiences, in building your family, is time. You know how lucky you are with your successes, with finding the love of your life, with having a baby girl and watching her grow up and discover things for the first time. You and Austin have had really busy careers, neither of which you've put on hold--there's nothing out there that says you can't have it all, work and being wonderful parents.

And that's exactly what you're both doing.

Sometimes it works out better than other days, it's all trial and error, figuring out how to live in both realities. It's exhausting, sometimes terrifying, but completely rewarding. You don't think you'd trade it in for anything.

But you also realize that when you and Austin find yourselves both at home, able to be with one another and Luci and enjoy time as a family? You take it and savor it, cherishing every single moment that can be taken into your hands and held. You both put pauses on projects for a few days of doing nothing...which just translates into finding the time to bury yourselves in eachother, rekindle the flame and heat between you and turn it into a wildfire. It also means doing things your daughter loves to do and she's quite easy to please as a two year old—baking lots of homemade cookies, movie marathons on the couch, making blanket forts and so many trips to the park you're beginning to be able to follow that route outside your apartment with your eyes closed.

One of the things, out of many, that you love about having a daughter is that she sees the world through new eyes. Everything is bright, incredible, an adventure. She's excited about everything, discovering herself and how she fits into the world around her. She's also, most definitely, a daddy's girl. You knew the moment you became pregnant that Austin would be a wonderful father and he's lived up to every expectation, dream and more. Luci adores him, which you can't say that you blame her, always asking Austin to sing in her own way or to read another book before bed. Luci loves animals, she loves babbling at dogs or birds when they're out and about, and Austin has this whole run-through of naming pigeons while they're in the park that Luci loves and you find hilariously amusing.

Some days he makes it look downright easy.

On this beautiful day off, the weather is just slightly beginning to become a bit cooler in the afternoons, the seasons shifting. There probably won’t be many more sunny days like this as rainy autumn days sneak in, so you’re definitely soaking up as much time at the park as possible. You’ve been here for about two hours, swing and slide time for the most part. Luci laughs any time Austin attempts to go down the slide with her, his long legs practically hanging off the end, even the twisty yellow one which has a bit more to work with. You take photos on your phone to send to your parents, capturing one with Luci between Austin’s legs on the slide to put on your Instastory.

A soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth—you’re so in love with him, your family, grateful for days where everything feels so close to perfect.

Pulling your sweater closer around yourself, you wander over to stand where Austin and Luci are seated  in the grass and she’s collecting colored leaves. She’s got a very small pile of yellows and reds, some burnt oranges. Austin tilts his head up to look at you, a soft amused expression on his face.

“Quite a collection.” You comment, watching as Luci wanders around, barely balanced on her two feet. Austin reaches up for you and tugs and because you don’t expect it, you laugh as you tumble down onto his lap.

“Hi,” You smile at him, seated sideways.

He hums a greeting, stealing your lips in a small kiss. You run your hand along his shoulder, the material of his leather jacket smooth underneath your touch. Glancing to your right, you see Luci take a tumble but she’s fearless, right back up and leaf collecting. You shake your head with a laugh, moving to sit more between Austin’s legs than on top of him. A small shiver trails down your spine as a breeze picks up.

“Cold?” He asks, rubbing your arms with his hands.

You lean back against the warmth of his chest, “A little—seems like the weather changes so fast anymore.”

“Dramatic for sure.” You can feel the heat of Austin’s breath against your neck as he leans down to press a kiss to your shoulder, “Somethin’ mother nature and Luci have in common.”

You giggle a little, running a hand through your hair. You watch fondly as Luci wanders around the grass, picking things up to examine in her little outfit—brown sweatpants, sneakers, matching brown sweatshirt and a jean jacket. Austin ironed some patches on the back of it, she’s definitely stylin’.

“Kinda crazy to think how fast she’s growing,” You comment, not in a sad way but just…surprised? In awe, maybe. “Soon we’ll be carting her to award shows and film events.” A soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth, playing with the bottom of your sweater.

Austin’s one hand lifts to brush along your jawline, encouraging your head to turn so that you’re looking at one another. “I love you.” He says, just because, and even though you’ve heard it plenty of times, it never fails to make your heart skip in your chest.

You tip your chin up and nuzzle noses before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

When you hear the patter of feet coming closer, it’s about five seconds before Luci throws herself onto your lap. You let out a soft laugh, muttering crazy girl underneath your breath as you brush her hair out of her face.

“What do you got there?” You ask.

“Leeeeves!” She shows them off proudly, Austin touching the tip of one of the yellow ones.

There’s a particularly strong gust of wind, shaking the trees above you, and you wonder if it’s supposed to rain at some point tonight because you hadn’t looked that far into the weather. It’s not too cold yet, at least, but definitely chilly. When Luci goes to put her leaves into the collection, you realize one moment before she does that they’ve blown away.

And then come the waterworks.

“Someone’s tired.” Austin announces, squeezing your hips in an encouragement before standing. He offers you a hand, tugging you up off the ground and you lean over to fix her jean jacket before freeing her hands of the leaves she’s kinda strangling as she cries.

“Definitely nap time, huh?” You smile a little, can’t quite help it because your daughter is crying over leaves and lift her into your arms. “We can collect more leaves tomorrow.”

Luci hiccups something dramatic, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she reaches for Austin. Can’t say you even blame her; you want Austin too when you’re upset.

“Want daddy?” You ask and turn towards your husband.

Austin hums and reaches for her, gathering her into his arms and propping her against his chest and hip. “I know baby,” He croons, using his other hand to wipe tears from her cheeks, “C’mon, let’s see if those family of pigeons are outside our home.” He says, distracting her from the leaf debacle.

He wraps an arm around you briefly, pressing a kiss to your temple before your hands lace, walking out of the park.

“Remember? There was a spotted one,” He begins to list to Luci, who sniffles and wipes her cheeks before nodding, “Big fat gray one.” He squeezes her, leaning down to blow a raspberry in her neck and that definitely prompts a smile. You can’t help but remember the same guy who was so worried that he couldn’t get it right when she was a baby, when all Luci would do is cry.

He’s come a long way and you couldn’t be prouder of him.

You squeeze his hand, luckily home is a few blocks over. On the way to the park, Luci was put between you both, holding your left hand and Austin’s right as you all walked. Now, about five minutes away from the apartment, she’s dozing on Austin’s shoulder.

You’re about to mention something mundane, like what you’re thinking of for dinner, when you notice a small swarm of paps outside the apartment. This happens every so often—they come in waves, it’s like they got certain celebrities on clockwork to check in with. Usually they’re respectful, just want some pics, to throw a question in. The doorman, Mike, is decent at keeping them away from the steps. Both you and Austin have been pretty good at maintaining a distance since the baby was born.

Even though it’s obvious that you can’t avoid it forever.

“Austin,” You speak up, pausing on the sidewalk.

Austin shifts Luci in his arms, “I see ‘em. C’mon, we’re just gonna have to walk fast.”

No matter how often you’re around this, you can’t seem to get used to it. One of Austin’s hands latches onto yours as you head to the entrance. You understand that this is just the dance you sometimes have to do dating Austin, by being so firmly planted in his world. You know that your film has brought you some notoriety as well, but not like him as an actor. So most of the paps direct questions towards him, a few throwing out hellos to you and she’s gotten so big! meaning Luci.

You don’t mind things like that, you even say hello back or offer small waves. But then there’s people who don’t know how not to push buttons. They’re the ones who try and insist on taking a family photo, something that’s not candid, which would require Luci to be awake or on the ground walking. Austin ignores those pretty easily, encouraging you to walk in front of him as you get closer to the steps so he can use his body to block the cameras and paps.

What he doesn’t ignore, however, is the question thrown into the air for shock value—“Y/N, still having trouble losing all that baby fat?”

It doesn’t even bother you at this point because it’s so cliché for Hollywood, the bullshit of expecting your body to automatically bounce back as if you never carried a baby for months.

Austin turns on the steps, “You got somethin’ you wanna say about my wife?” He asks, jaw clenching.

You reach out and touch his arm, shaking your head, “Austin.”

The pap lowers his camera, obviously surprised that Austin’s reacted instead of ignoring him. So he presses a bit hesitantly, “Look man I’m just askin’—”

“I know exactly what you were doin’,” He interrupts with a snap, his voice adopting that Elvis drawl leftover from years of vocal coaching when he’s upset. The sound wakes Luci, her head lifting from Austin’s shoulder as she squints her eyes and looks around.

The sights and noise are a bit overwhelming, her little hands gripping the lapels of Austin’s leather jacket before she starts whimpering. He’s already passing her to you before the crying starts and encourages you to go inside. You do, Austin’s muffled voice saying a few more things to the paps even though you can’t make it out. Mike steps out to help as Austin comes in, forcing them to back up more towards the street. The hype will die down anyways now that you both are stepping into the elevator.

You sigh softly, Luci wailing in your ear, the sound ricocheting off the small space of the elevator. Austin steps closer, rubbing her back, murmuring I’m sorry baby, daddy didn’t mean to yell.

Exiting out on your floor, he unlocks the apartment once you reach the door. Luci has settled a little but she’s squirmy, still big fat tears rolling down her cheeks and you know it has everything to do with her being tired.

“Some of them got a lot of nerve,” Austin eventually says, closing the door. He shrugs off his leather jacket and toes off his boots, helping Luci out of her jean jacket as you maneuver yours off as well.

“They know what buttons of yours to push.” You reply and you’re not blaming him for his reaction, not at all, just stating a fact.

“M’not gonna stand around while they say shit—stuff like that.”

A small, amused smile tugs the corners of your mouth, “My hero.” You tease and you can see the moment Austin relaxes, mostly in his shoulders, before he rolls his eyes and smiles back.

Luci stretches her arms out towards Austin, a very clear indication she wants him, and you chuckle lightly before passing her over to him.

“I’ll get her clothes out.”

Austin hums in response, following you towards Luci’s bedroom. You turn on the lamp on her nightstand, getting her something comfortable to sleep in as your husband dips her a few times by holding her against his chest and bending—all for the instant reaction of making her laugh. You smile, shaking your head as you turn and watch them for a few moments.

“You’re gonna get her all riled up.”

“Tell mommy we know exactly what we’re doin’.” Austin tells Luci, her hair a mess of bright and wild curls that reminds you so much of him.

“Mommm-eeee.” She grins out, kinda upside down as Austin dips her again, and you laugh.

“You look like a monkey when you do that.” You tell her, reaching to tickle her belly as she’s tugged upright and put on the floor.

Luci puts her own pjs on for the most part, with a little help from both you and Austin. He lifts her up and into his arms, planting a kiss on her cheek, depositing her into her bed in one big flourish. You smile, putting the clothes she wore to the park on a chair in the corner of her room before leaning against the doorframe, watching Austin tuck her in.

This is something that hits you hard every single time, that settles warmly into your chest and blooms outward. This is all yours, your own little family. Something that you never saw coming, that you hadn’t planned, but now you can’t imagine living without.

Luci is quick to fall asleep, the exciting day catching up with her. You leave the small lamp on that’s in the corner of her dresser, just enough brightness in case she has to get up. You smile at Austin as you both leave the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

He cups both sides of your face, leaning down to kiss you, your arms winding loosely around his waist for a few moments. Once the kiss ends, he nips at your lower lip, a small smile tugging the corners of your mouth.

“Your turn,” Austin teases and before you can even figure out what he means by that, he’s leaning down to quickly scoop you into his arms. A surprised squeak leaves your lips while you laugh, holding on tight as he carries you towards the bedroom to set you down in bed.

[gurugirl]

Tales From the Modern Incubus Part 14*

Summary: You are on the run with Harry but first you must protect him and hide him from danger. Hannah makes an appearance. Michael learns something interesting about Adam.

A/n: Remember, this is demon/incubus!Harry so there may be some triggering topics. Please read all warnings in the TFMI Masterlist before continuing.

Warning: Smut, theft, spells and whatnot

Characters List

Part 13*

Part 14*

The reality of your situation hadn’t really set in until now. You’d been so busy with all the exciting parts of your new discovery that dealing with the nitty gritty hadn’t been on your radar. You were able to do things you thought were impossible. You had magic and power in your bones and blood and it came to you, mostly naturally. Then of course Harry showed you how good an intimate relationship could be which included sex. And now you were obsessed with it. How dirty and hot it could be – the way it made you feel… It was on your mind far too much. Even before you’d technically had sex with Harry, your carnal desires became more important than almost anything else the first time you orgasmed by his doing. Letting someone else bring you to an orgasm was quite the eye opener. Though you doubted anyone could do it like Harry (and that was true – Harry was well skilled so you’d have been disappointed to let anyone else try).

Danny explained the trouble you were in. It wouldn’t be long before you were caught. Aim had been cornered and questioned very soon after visiting you two. Lilith knew he had been around you, she could smell it. Aim was right to have been worried. Aim could put off answering questions and do his best to not allow Lilith, or any of the others, to access his thoughts, but his power wasn’t up to par with the high demons and angels looking for you.

“We don’t know where Aim is. We assume he is being held and questioned. This means you two are about to be found. You have a couple of options. The first is the easiest. You will hide somewhere else. Somewhere no one knows where you are. The problem with this is that you’ll need to learn how to access time variation and use your abilities, which will be detectable by anyone who’s seeking you. It can work, but you’ll have to learn quickly and you’ll need to change locations or time often. It will become cumbersome and you can’t hide forever. It also means you won’t have access to anyone who could give you insight or information about what’s going on. You’ll totally be in the dark.

“Another option is to hide Harry, because he will be killed if he’s found, and then face them yourself, Y/n. They won’t be too concerned about Harry as long as they have you. Maybe you can reason with them, which is not something to bank on, but perhaps it could buy you time. Your mother, she’s the one you’d want to seek first. She is actually quite fond of you and even though she has a hand in all this and is looking for gain in the end, she does love you and care for you. She could sway the others to be more lenient.

“Those are your options at this point. We may find other ways for you to side-step this whole debacle but for now, this is all I have.”

You looked at Harry and then back to the astral projection of Danny with a frown, “Where should I hide Harry? In another time? How will I learn to do this? I don’t know how to use certain powers or spells yet.”

Harry nudged you and furrowed his brow as he whispered, “You’re not thinking of confronting them are you?”

You put your hand on his knee and kept your eyes on the projection. Danny shook his head, “I don’t know where you should hide him, just somewhere not obvious. And as far as learning to use spells, well, there’s a historic library museum in this town and there are old archives of medieval and even ancient texts. The books are written in Latin but you’ll find the written angelic language of Enochian and the demonic language of Xra’mban as well, which you’ll find you are able to read and understand for the most part. Harry can help you decipher. It can be a resource for you. But you’ll mostly be relying on your own instincts. I have a feeling you can travel to any place or time without much studying.”

It felt like an impossible task. You weren’t sure this was something you were up to the challenge for. You’d try but you doubted your skills here.

“Before I leave, I will mention that you two having sex is felt amongst the realms. We can’t pinpoint your location, but your emotions and your sensations are causing a vibration of sorts, and it’s pointing to an unusual bond. I am not present with you so I cannot be sure, but you would want to be very careful about the way you two seal your souls together if that’s your intention here. Harry can explain more about bonding. My time is up.”

And then he was gone. Harry kept his head down in confusion as he looked at his lap. Bonding? He thought it was possible but it hadn’t ever been something an incubus would do so he’d never considered that bonding could happen, though he’d started to wonder lately. But now that he’d met you he felt himself attaching to your soul involuntarily.

You didn’t know what to ask about first. Should you go to the library first or should you find out more about bonding. Perhaps Harry could explain bonding to you on your way to the library museum.

“Let’s get dressed and go to the library. I think I need to learn as much as I can and then we’ll discuss bonding and our plan of action.” You looked at Harry who seemed stuck in his mind. He knew shit was about to hit the fan. He could feel it.

Harry had been trying to answer all your questions, the ones he knew the answers to. There was a lot you didn’t know.

“Aim won’t be harmed. Don’t worry. They wouldn’t do anything to do away with a legion leader. He’s a Duke and powerful and it could cause a bit of a revolt from his legions if anyone were to harm him in any way. We shouldn’t worry too much about Aim.”

You’d found the ancient texts. This library was more of a museum than anything. The books here weren’t meant for being taken home on rental. The books you needed were all behind glass cabinets and not meant to be touched. Of course, this wasn’t much of a problem for you and Harry. You did have to use your powers but only for a brief moment as you were able to remove the books from their protective case and then exit the museum without anyone noticing you because you temporarily put a veil of invisibility over you and Harry as you left the museum.

It was risky and using your powers at all was going to be putting into the universe your location, but it had to be done. You had to get the books. You no longer had any choice to not use your powers.

You didn’t know Aim well but you were happy that he wouldn’t be harmed. At least that’s what Harry told you and he seemed to believe it as well.

“And what about bonding? What does that mean exactly? Like being in love?” You and Harry decided go back to the small bungalow so you could go through the books and learn about time bending or time variation.

“It’s more than love. Love isn’t eternal, but a bond is. Humans love but they can fall out of love. Love is simply a chemical reaction that the body produces when you feel happy. So when you hear humans saying something like, “He cheated so he didn’t love her.” – well that’s not true. Love isn’t so severe that it makes you loyal, it’s literally just a feeling produced by oxytocin, which is the same feeling you get during and after sex. Love is fickle so, you can love more than one person at a time.”

You nodded. That made sense to you. You’d always thought that when someone said they loved two different people as their excuse for cheating that it was a lie, but now that you were aware of things in a different way, your eyes were opened to the truth.

Harry continued as you flipped through the pages of one of the books and felt the astonishment of being able to understand the text you were reading, “A bond is something outside of your control. It happens unintentionally but is caused by the closeness of two beings, two souls. In the end it cannot be broken. It means a soul would be combined with another soul. And for us, we can live for all eternity and therefore that would mean our bond would last for all eternity. You cannot bond with more than one soul. That’s the difference between bonding and love. Bonding is eternal and it makes you loyal and there would be no way out of it. Not that you’d want it. Once you’re bonded, that’s the most important thing to you.”

You looked up from the page you were on and to Harry. You were both sitting on the floor and he had a book in front of himself as well, “Are we bonded?”

Harry smiled at you and licked his lips. You were ready to just push the books aside and ride him again. But you stopped yourself. You needed to protect him and fucking his brains out for hours on end wasn’t going to do you any good. You needed to prepare.

“I don’t think we are yet. I mean, I never thought I’d bond with anyone but my soul probably wants to bond to yours. I’m attached already. I feel an intense draw to you. It’s why I found you in the first place. I just didn’t know how powerful you were at that time.”

You thought back to when you first met him. Well, when you had been aware of it. It was that moment in church on that day that you felt something, physical almost.

You already have your eyes on him and when you see the light green eyes of the stranger on you there’s a sudden wave of heat that travels over your shoulders and down your ribcage. You noticed him as soon as walked in front of you and sat down. You could smell his clean, masculine cologne or soap. He was tall and had brown curly hair perfectly placed. He seemed very sure, confident as he took his seat and the way he sat with his arm along the back bench behind Sarah you saw his various tattoos.

In fact, the wave of heat scared you at first. It almost felt like a creature that landed on your back, right at your shoulders and then melted downward.

You had felt something change in you the moment you laid your eyes on him. He drew your power out and it couldn’t have been stopped from that moment on. His power or his soul called to yours.

“How will we know when we’re bonded? I have a feeling our souls are at work already.” You said as you moved the book away and scooted toward Harry.

Harry watched you push the book aside and nodded, “I think we’ll just know. That’s what I’ve heard. It’s not something that can be stopped once it starts. I agree that our souls are doing something and especially if the realms feel it already.”

You decided to take a short break. Just a quick kiss and then you’d get right back to it.

Michael had been revealing things slowly to Adam. Adam still wasn’t privy to what he was and Michael hadn’t revealed himself yet to Adam, but his nearness was enough that Adam had begun to learn things about himself.

It was confusing for him. He didn’t know how all these things were happening. But he knew it was happening because of something he did. He began to understand that he was not a normal person.

Michael spoke over him words of wisdom and understanding. He didn’t want to waste too much time. Everything was already in motion and their timeline was off now, but nothing could be done about that. They could still salvage their plan.

There was a slight concern, however. And that was that Adam seemed to prefer men. In fact, Michael realized that the porn he looked at and the beings he turned his head for were all men. How had he not realized this before? Now, it’s possible that Adam would find you irresistible once he met you. You were a very powerful being and his soul would know it as soon as you two did meet. Perhaps his preference would be swayed by you. But it was a concern.

Adam had gone out after work to the gym. His strength was astounding to everyone who noticed. The seasoned body builders couldn’t even keep up. Adam just thought he was in amazing shape and that the gym and his diet helped him stay that way. Well, little did he know that none of that mattered much in the end. His strength and health would not be much altered by diet and exercise. Of course a healthy regimen never hurt.

“That’s a lot of weight, there bud. Think you can handle that?” the man who volunteered to spot Adam spoke. Adam didn’t need a spotter but he liked one and this particular man kept coming around and seemed a bit flirty.

“Oh, I can handle it. Could probably handle more.” Adam sat up and turned on the bench before lying flat to begin his bench presses as he looked at the attractive young man about to spot him, “Could definitely handle more.”

The signal was out and Adam easily had the man following him home after their workout. Michael didn’t want to stay to watch it because it was his son and it just felt a bit wrong to be doing. At least Adam had good taste, Michael tried to consider the upside to his preferences.

Lilith didn’t seem concerned about this at all, “He’ll like Y/n. We can work on him, but I wouldn’t worry about it yet. And besides, they don’t need to bond or be a couple. They just need to procreate. Their heir is all we need.”

You couldn’t help yourself. You knew better. You should be reading and learning but instead, here you were on Harry’s lap, your clothes ripped off with Harry balls deep inside of you. He realized this was a bad idea, but he had no power to say no to you. None at all.

“Why does this feel so good?” You moaned as you lowered down on him, your thighs working to lift and lower yourself down on his heavy dick.

Harry whined and his balls tightened, “Because it’s yours. You own this cock.” He had his hands at your ass as he squeezed and helped you move up and down his shaft. You were slick and the sound and smell of your arousal was pushing him to his end. As always. He could never control how fast he came with you.

“Yeah? I get to fuck this cock whenever I want? Gonna come inside me, Harry? Gonna fill me up?” You were trembling at the sensation of him inside of you. He pushed into you deeply and began spurting his come inside of you and when you felt him throbbing and twitching as he came your cunt clenched his dick and you groaned into the room with your own orgasm.

It was a quick fuck session but it still should have been put off. Even fifteen minutes could mean you two would be found. Plus having sex again with the way the realms being aware of it… this was going to be an issue.

“Fuck. You really can’t resist me can you?” Harry pinched your ass and you laughed and kissed him. You couldn’t resist him. That was true. But you needed to chill out or you two would be doomed.

“I can’t. This big dick and your mouth, mmmm…” You kissed his neck and he moaned. Harry wasn’t going to soften up when you kept grinding over him and kissing him the way you were. And even if his sense told him to snap out of it, he couldn’t. You were so powerful and he was yours.

You sat back and looked down between you two. It had you horny all over again. His wide cock was so deep and when you shifted you could see the base of him wet and shiny spreading your cunt. It was beautiful. You reached down to touch the base of his cock and your fingers ran through his course hairs, wet with you. Harry reached a hand down to thumb at your clit and you gasped. It was sensitive, but you liked it.

He began to use his other fingers to circle over you and he watched your face as your jaw dropped. He bucked upward and you whimpered.

“I love you, Harry. God… just one more. Okay? Just one more and then…” but your words were suddenly drowned out by a heavy wind and the pages of the books you’d been studying started fluttering. The curtains blew in the room as if there was a window open and a storm was coming. You paused. Harry moved his hand and wrapped his arms around you and then you wrapped your own around him in your nakedness.

An intense ray of light, like the sun, shown in the room and you both had to cover your eyes. Suddenly you saw her. Hannah. Standing in the living room while you were sitting on Harry’s cock, naked as the day you were born.

“I’ll allow you to cover your bodies if you choose.” She turned away to let you remove yourself from Harry. You pulled him to stand with you and you both quickly put the clothes on that were lying on the floor next to you. Harry’s cock was still hard and he had an issue putting his pants on but he managed to tuck himself back in and cover himself.

You grabbed Harry’s hand, “Hannah. How did you find us?” Your heart was pounding. You’d just been found, and you knew it was going to happen. You’d been so dumb to not take heed of Danny’s words and act quicker.

Hannah turned back to see that you were dressed, “Easy. You kept having sex with Harry. I was able to find your frequency. The more you and this incubus (she said it like it was bad thing) had sex the more emotions you were putting into the universe. Eventually I could tune in, like a radio station. All I had to do was find it and then once you had sex again I could find you. Which means the others will too.”

Harry held his breath. He was sure this was it. He squeezed your hand as he looked at the angel, who was actually quite lovely. He hadn’t ever seen in her person but he could clearly see where you got many of your features from.

“What do you want?” You stood on the ground firm. You didn’t feel scared for some reason. Not even a little. Hannah didn’t appear intimidating, but you knew she was lethal.

“I want you to come with me. We’ll pretend you weren’t here with the incubus and let him go. I don’t have any need to hurt him because he’s useless. The others, however, will kill him. Well, I will too if you insist on associating with him. We can’t have this, Y/n. There is a plan in place for your life and he ruined it. You’ll see how much better your life can be without him.”

Harry didn’t ease his grip on your hand, and you had no intention of letting him go. Your heart did begin to race, though, as your adrenaline kicked in. You needed to act fast. Maybe if you could just quickly enter into a different year, a different place and then block your presence like Aim suggested.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you…” Hannah took a long step toward you and suddenly your will and your instincts kicked in as you took Harry’s other hand in yours and the moment his eyes were on you, you felt a sizzle in your chest and the world stopped. It was black and quiet.

Hannah reached for you the moment you and the incubus disappeared. She had trouble reading your thoughts, but she knew you were about to make a move when she felt your heart rate suddenly increase and the change in your temperature but it was too late. You were more powerful than she was, though her advantage was that she had far more knowledge. She could still find you. And she wouldn’t stop until she did. She just hoped she was the first to come across you and the demon boy. She knew that if any of the others found you they’d kill him on site and that would just cause more issues. You would certainly not be happy about that and then it would be even harder, maybe even impossible for you to come around at that point. You might plot your own revenge. Maybe even team up with Adam for revenge. She couldn’t have you be found by anyone else. Not yet.

There was a soft hum of wind and ocean nearby and when you opened your eyes it was dark. Cold. You seemed to be on some kind of carpet. Your senses quickly took over and your eyes adjusted in the dark. You were in a room. It smelled strange, like salt and sea. You could hear water trickling and then you heard breathing. You turned and it was Harry. He was across the room from you on his back. Eyes closed.

You quickly crawled the short distance to him, given the room you were in was small and shook him gently, “Harry?” 

His eyes slowly fluttered open. When his eyes landed on yours he sat up quickly and looked around.

“Where did you bring us?” He looked back at you and you pulled both of his hands into yours.

“I don’t know. I didn’t have a specific place in mind. I just…”

“Fuck. That means we’re in the Unix time zone. Which is Iceland. The Westfjords to be exact. It’s the earthly realm’s default location. What year?”

You shook your head, “I don’t know. I just knew we needed to get out of there.”

Harry nodded and pursed his lips, “I can’t remember what the default year is but today is January first around midnight and whatever year we’re in and it’s going to be cold out there. I can feel it already. I sense humans near. We can’t stay here.”

You both got up and quietly exited the dark room. You could smell humans as well. You were in someone’s home. Luckily they were sleeping on not celebrating the New Year. Whatever the year was.

It was easy enough to get out of the house but the problem was the weather. You’d be okay but you and Harry ran hotter than most beings and walking around the Westfjords in January would be quite uncomfortable. You found a blanket folded on top of a chair near a window. It would have to do. There were no coats easily found and you needed to get out of there before a human saw you. You’d just cause a commotion you didn’t want to deal with.

You two quickly exited the house and Harry proceeded to tear the blanket so you could wrap a portion around yourself and the other around himself. The sky was grey and dark and you couldn’t see clouds. It seemed that it was about to storm.

“It’s going to rain. Or snow maybe. We should probably find somewhere to take cover and then figure out what we’re going to do.”

It felt like you wandered aimlessly. There weren’t many homes or structures to be found. You were close to the ocean and in the distance you could see lights. You both walked toward where it seemed there might be more places to hide.

“Will it matter if we’re not sure what year we are in? Will we be able to travel somewhere else without that knowledge first?”

Harry sighed, “I don’t know to be honest. We are in a default time and place. Anyone who knows what the default is can find us. That means anyone hunting for us is probably already considering that we’re here. There are probably watchers here waiting for us right now. Are you able to veil us? Our presence?”

You kept hold of Harry’s hand and shrugged, “I think maybe I can. We won’t know if it’s working, though. I’ll just…” you closed your eyes and imagined in your mind that you were hidden and protected from other beings. Just like most of the other things you did that were magic, it all came from just a thought in your mind and that usually seemed to work. It’s the way you warped space and time to get to Iceland in the first place. Just a thought, a feeling.

You opened your eyes and Harry was watching you, “Did you do it?”

You shrugged again, “I don’t know. I hope that worked.”

The closer you two were to where there were more homes, the more you noticed how the vehicles were different, older. Though, there weren’t many vehicles to begin with, though. The streetlights looked antiquated as did the road signs. You continuously felt shocked that you could read and understand the words you were looking at on the signs.

Along the edge of the path you were taking you noticed a set of stone stairs descending down to the water. In the water were boats and along the edge of the water were a few smaller structures that could give you shelter.

You pointed down, “There. Maybe in a boat or one of those shacks. Just a place where we can get inside.”

As far as you could tell no one had spotted you, but you couldn’t be sure. You didn’t notice anything off or feel that anyone was watching you but you knew that if you could hide your presence, so could others.

You and Harry peeked into one of the structures closest to the landing of the stones that ended just above the water. It appeared empty. Inside was a table, a stool, a shelf with tools and gloves, an apron and leaning on the wall were fishing poles of varying sizes.

“This will do for now, but if we’re in a default place we should probably think of a better place to hide that isn’t a default. Somewhere more difficult for us to be found.” You both sat on the floor and you kept Harry’s hand in yours. For some reason you felt like if you were holding him it would be easier to protect him and have his thoughts and presence veiled like you hoped yours was.

Harry nodded, “Where do you think? Wait! You shouldn’t even speak it. Just think it in your mind instead. Don’t even tell me. Just in case somehow someone is listening.”

You brought his hand up to your lips and kissed his knuckles as you closed your eyes for a moment. You couldn’t say you were stressed out, but you certainly could recognize that things were no longer boring in your life and running from dangers unknown was going to wear you down.

“Okay. I think I know. But I want to warn you that I’m going to leave once we get there. I need you to stay safe while I go figure out how to stop all of this.” You looked at Harry’s eyes and he frowned, shaking his head.

“Absolutely not. I’m going wherever you are. I can help. I may not be as powerful as you but I have wisdom and experience you can use.” The water near the edge of the stones was sloshing around outside of the small wooden shack you were seated in. You knew Harry would disagree but he didn’t have a choice. You needed to protect him. No one would kill you, but they would kill him and you couldn’t risk that.

“I can’t lose you. They’ll kill you. They won’t kill me. This is the only way.” You got onto your knees and scooted yourself in front of Harry, still holding one hand you brought it up to your heart and put your other hand on his shoulder and kissed his lips.

April 1, 2007 – Salerno, Italy

You’d always wanted to visit Italy and now that you were here it felt rushed, which should go without saying given your circumstances. You had no time to stay and enjoy. You had a task. When it was complete you could come back to Harry and slow down with him.

“Salerno. 2007. I picked April 1st randomly, figured it might be the start of a nice Spring here.” You told Harry as you looked around. This time your time-bending included an empty house that Harry could stay in while you were away.

It was still a bit wild to you that you had this ability, but it seemed rather easy, and you’d picked it up fast, just like Danny said you would.

“Please don’t leave me here. Take me with you, Y/n. Please.” Harry begged. He was quite upset at the notion that you’d be gone. What if something went wrong? It definitely could. Then he’d be stranded in this beautiful seaside without you and wither away into nothing. He was an incubus after all. He needed your physical form with him for his needs. But more than that, he just didn’t want you away from him.

“I’ll be back before anything happens to you, okay? I promise. Look, my plan is to just tell them what I want and what I don’t want,” you held onto his hand so he could feel your sincerity, “…and then come back to you. I’ll give them time to think about it. It’ll be quick.”

Harry shook his head, “You don’t know them. Asmo…” he closed his eyes and just stopped himself from saying the full name, “your father is very difficult. He’s not going to budge on this. He’ll probably lock you up and force you and this Adam guy together for their purposes. He won’t stop until they get what they want. None of them will. Please, Y/n. This is dangerous. You don’t know what you’re dealing with here.”

Harry’s concern was deep and he felt like he was going to throw up, not a common feeling for an incubus unless they went without coitus for too long, which has not been the case with him as of late. He was sick with worry for you because he didn’t see this ending well for either of you.

“I know you feel like I’m going to be walking into a trap, and perhaps you’re not wrong, but I have this feeling, this mysterious comfort over myself that tells me I’m more powerful than all of them and I’ll be okay. And I’ll come back to you.” You had to go. You knew you had to. There wasn’t another way to do this. Well, there was, but that would put Harry at risk and you simply refused to put him in harm’s way.

Harry closed his eyes and tilted his head back, face toward the sky. He knew you weren’t going to listen to him. And he knew you might be right, but there was no way to know if you were. He felt like this was it. Doomed. You both were.

Part 15*

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[darlingvernon]

you’ve got mail! | 02.

Author: darlingvernon (prev nonrevblr)

Pairing: Chwe Hansol x Fem Reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, college au, penpal au

Rating: 18+

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 3,603

Description: The concept of Equivalent Exchange is not foreign to you, and since you need Jeonghan to participate in a Social Experiment for your Psych Thesis, you inevitably have to participate in his too. It isn’t the walk in the park you thought it would be, especially when your penpal Vernon keeps knocking down the walls that you’ve built; scratching an itch you couldn’t reach.

Author’s Note: I hope you guys enjoy! Please send me an ask if you'd like to be added to the tag list :)

“Goddamnit,” you curse, pacing the room with your phone glued to your ear while waiting on hold for the hostess to get back to you.

Grabbing the empty glass from the desk, you head over to the kitchen sink and refill it. The cool water coursing through your veins does very little to soothe you and as you resist the urge to find out how much time has passed, the pit in your stomach deepens. Frustrated, you rub your hand over your face and resume your pacing.

The invitation that your office chair offers is far too tempting, so you deposit yourself in it, drumming your fingers against the oak to the tune of the dreadful hold music playing through your phone. Almost all companies use the same standard tune and it boggles your mind, because the melody doesn’t convince you to want to stay on the line. 

Rather, it has the opposite effect, making you want to bash your head against the wall before jumping out the window. 

Okay, that’s a little dramatic, you think to yourself as you grab your pen and proceed to draw circles on the notepad that it was on. Even though you only feel this way because of the stress of current events, you promise your future self to choose a different type of tune to play as your on hold music, when you finally become the career woman you have been working hard to be.

But, you barely have time to think about that when you’re still trying to solve the issue at hand, one that may prove to derail your entire social experiment. 

As you long to hear the voice of the hostess who hopefully has some good news to deliver, you sit back and wonder how this could have happened. A meticulous planner like yourself couldn’t have made such a simple error. You made sure to check the dates twice, thrice even, before making the bookings because Crema is on the fancier side, especially with their price point still on the affordable end. They were bound to be busy, so you made sure to plan every single detail to a tee. 

“Y/N, are you still there?” Lisa, the hostess, breaks through your thoughts.

“How did you go?” you ask, making sure to cross your fingers in the process. “Is everything all good?”

“First, I’d like to apologise about what’s happened.” Lisa offers and the anxiety grows in your stomach. “The person you spoke with when you made the bookings was only a trainee, and that happened to be his first day on the job. He should never have confirmed those dates without checking with a more senior hostess or the manager.”

The grip you have on your phone tightens as you wait for her to drop the bomb that will blow up your entire project.

“Luckily, he at least entered them correctly on our Reservations system,” Lisa reveals and you almost want to reach through the phone and hug her. “So, the five dates you’ve booked for are secured and we’ll be seeing Jaebeom and Patricia tonight.”

Shooting up from your chair, you pull the phone away from your ear and dance in celebration. “Thank you so, so much,” you reply cheerily and the hostess giggles, clearly having heard your little jig but you can’t even find it in yourself to care at the moment. “I truly appreciate your hard work and I’m glad they’ll be in good hands.“

Goodbyes are exchanged and your eyes close in relief as soon as the line goes dead. Allowing your feet to carry you towards the bed, you unceremoniously dump your whole weight on it, bouncing twice on the mattress beneath you. The tension slowly releases from your body, the further your body sags into the bedding.

Before you can relax further, a familiar ring tone filters through the air, interrupting your peace. Not bothering to look at your phone, you swipe to answer.

“Hannie, if you’ve got a problem, I’m hanging up,” you desperately warn him.

“What the hell is up your butt?” Jeonghan asks incredulously.

You sigh, “I’ll tell you next time, let’s deal with this first. Do you bring good news or bad news?”

“It’s neither,” he answers and you’re thankful that he doesn’t prod further. “I’m just about to head out to meet Stephanie at Wonderland, but I’m no psychic. How am I supposed to know where to meet her and what she looks like?”

“Ah yes, I’m sorry, I was meant to send you a text but then my whole thesis was on the brink of collapsing.” You remember now. “Yes, please meet her at the ticket booth. She’ll be wearing a white shirt filled with sunflowers. What about you? Are you gonna be sticking out like a sore thumb or what?”

“God, you’re s—”

“Dramatic? Yes, I know.”

“Actually, I was going to say ‘a pain in my ass’,” he corrects and you roll your eyes, even though you know he can’t see you. “I’ve got a Spider Man shirt on, if that helps?”

“Nice! Yeah, I’ll let her know. Try to have fun out there and don’t forget to let me know all about it.”

“Yeah, we will.” He laughs. “Wait, before you go, you need to hold up your part of the deal too.”

Sitting up at the mention of your pen pal, you’re apologetic to Jeonghan. “Shit, I can’t believe I forgot. I’ll get on to it tonight as well. I promise!”

“Sounds good. Good luck to both of us, I guess.”

“Yeah, we’ll need it. Bye!”

Once you hang up, you bury your face on your pillows and allow yourself a few minutes more to relax. Slowly sliding out of bed, you trudge over to your desk where your laptop is, stretching your neck along the way to release the last bits of stress from your last predicament. 

With newfound determination, you turn on your laptop and log in to the dummy email that Jeonghan had given you, preparing yourself to get in contact with your pen pal.

As you wait for the page to load, grumbling about how your college should really have much better Wi-Fi, it dawns on you that Jeonghan hasn’t given you the topic you’re supposed to discuss, nor has he provided your pen pal’s details. Just as you’re about to reach for your phone to call and ask him about it, your laptop notification sounds off and grabs your attention.

‘You’ve Got Mail!’ it reads.

Suddenly, you remember the conversation that you had with Jeonghan back in the library all those weeks ago. He mentioned that your pen pal would be the one to reach out first and sure enough, the email is there as soon as you close off the dialogue box. Quickly skimming through, you realise that this was sent to you a few days ago and it’s probably why Jeonghan asked you to start tonight. 

Sighing, you make a mental note to apologise to your pen pal about the tardiness of your reply.

[To: gm@attaca-uni.edu] [From: bb@attaca-uni.edu] [Subject: ice cream]

hi there,

uhh, this is bands boy (*cringe i’m so sorry, jeonghan made this username for me T-T) and i’m your new pen pal

i’m not really supposed to give out my real name or anything that may reveal who i really am, though jeonghan did say that you knew that i was one of his frat brothers? 

i’m also a music major and i love anything to do with cats

how do you know him and how did you get roped into this?

jeonghan also mentioned that he’s already told you how this is all going to work with the topics, so let’s get down to business i guess. the question of the week (sorry for the spoiler in the title lol) is:

“what is your favourite ice cream?”

yeah, i know. random as fuck. i’m guessing he wants us to start off easy then he’s probably going to make us suffer later am i right? haha 

anyway, i’m super boring and i generally like all flavours — i mean ice cream is ice cream, it’s always gonna be delicious — but if i had to choose, i’m going with chocolate. yeah… boring haha. 

well, i guess it’s your turn now. i look forward to hearing from you.

bands boy, signing out

He’s funny, you think to yourself, cheeks hurting from all the smiling you’ve been doing as you read his email. All the thoughts you had about how boring this pen pal business was gonna be, can now be thrown out the window and set on fire, never to be seen again. 

Preparing yourself to write back, you reach over for your pen and notepad, making sure you jot down the important things that you need to reply to as you read his email a second time. A third for good measure. The fourth read through almost makes you want to admit something else until you remember that he’s been waiting three whole days for you to reply.

Taking a deep breath, you stretch your limbs and touch your fingertips to the keyboard.

[To: bb@attaca-uni.edu] [From: gm@attaca-uni.edu] [Subject: Re: Ice Cream 6:40PM]

well, hello there, bands boy.

i am so, so sorry that my reply has been delayed! i swear i didn’t mean to ghost you. it’s just that my psych thesis (spoiler alert: that’s how i know jeonghan) was kicking my ass this week so it completely slipped my mind to check my email. please forgive me T-T

also, if it’s any consolation, jeonghan also gave me a username that’s equally as cringe. you can call me girl magnetic *shudders* i’ll tell you all about it if you tell me what the go is with bands boy? no pressure though!

a music major, huh? that’s so neat! as i said before, i’m a psych major so jeonghan roped me into this because he’s helping me with my thesis too. 

also, i don’t view cats the same i’m sorry T-T i sure love dogs though!

so, he wants to know about our fave ice cream flavour? that is random haha. you’re probably right though and we have to suffer later… but it’s okay. i’ll just kick his ass :)

hmm… i’d have to say that i am just as boring as you because ice cream is ice cream — you’re so right — but coffee flavour is the one that gets me going. actually, coffee in general gets me going dfsdkdsfjdkj

anyway, that’s it from me. for now i guess? lol? i look forward to hearing from you… too?

kind regards, girl magnetic

Whoosh! There goes your email.

Feeling accomplished, you give yourself a congratulatory pat on the back and relax in your seat. At least, until something in your email catches your eye. “Kind Regards?” you read the offending words out loud. “Kind Regards?! Did I really just say that? God, can I be any more embarrassing?”

Sighing, you reach for your phone and quickly browse through every social media platform you use, to distract yourself from your blunder.

Several miles away, Vernon is intently staring at his laptop screen, trying to think of a way to word a particular sentence for the essay he’s working on. He’s been stuck at this point much longer than he’d like and before he can think of having a break, a dialogue box pops up, informing him of his pen pal’s response.

A welcome distraction, he smiles as his eyes glide through the words from your email. As he reads on, thoughts about who you could be and what you could look like run rampant in his mind. He decides that a second read through is required so that he can analyse your message further.

From the teasing way you started the email, to the sweet apology of your tardiness and especially the way you talk about Jeonghan, makes him more interested in getting to know you than he initially planned. He laughs as soon as your username Girl Magnetic sinks in, not because he thinks it’s funny, but because you do seem to have that aura about you, based on these few paragraphs alone.

Not wanting to waste the opportunity he’s been given, he throws all caution to the wind, typing away his response and hitting send before he can regret it.

Ping! You’ve Got Mail!

Confused, you lean back to check the time on the microwave that’s tucked away in the corner of your kitchen, squinting as you do so. Six Forty-Five. It’s only been five minutes since you sent your reply and you can’t believe he’s already responded. His swiftness takes you by surprise considering you’re still reeling from the awkward ending of your previous email. With a sigh, you bite the bullet and open his message.

[To: Girl Magnetic] [From: Bands Boy] [Subject: Re: Ice Cream 6:45PM]

hey there, girl magnetic

don’t even sweat it. jeonghan warned me that you’d be too busy to reply straight away. but, he did ask me today if you’ve already sent a reply. so if he was on your ass, sorry about that.

he mentioned that you would be contacting me tonight so that’s why i saw your message and now i’ve replied really quickly but i hope that it doesn’t make me seem eager… i’m babbling aren’t i? haha

so you want to know about bands boy? ah, it’s very embarrassing but since you’ve sweetened the deal, i’ll tell you about it. 

bands boy is the name of a song i wrote for a music project lol. if you’re keen, i’ll let you hear it once this penpal business is over and done with? over coffee? since you love it so much? haha

so, girl magnetic, what’s your story?

bands boy, signing out

ps. i’m gonna forgive you about the cats because i love dogs too!

You have to hand it to Jeonghan, he definitely chose the right person for you to exchange letters with. Not even the prospect of his smug smirk that will result from your admission, can wipe the smile off your face. Not wanting to leave him hanging, you quickly type out your reply.

[To: Bands Boy] [From: Girl Magnetic] [Subject: Re: Ice Cream 7:00PM]

oh, i am most definitely keen to hear bands boy. especially over coffee. i’m gonna hold you to it after this experiment so you better not forget!

the story behind girl magnetic is really not as interesting as yours. it just happens to be a song that a guy wrote to confess to me that’s all. the embarrassment T-T especially because i wouldn’t return his feelings and he was just… *shudder* lol

anyway, it’s a story for another time. i hope you weren’t doing something important when i sent my email?

x girl magnetic

ps. your babbling is cute

Biting your lip, you wonder if he’ll reply straight away like he previously did. Not wanting to miss it if he does, you carry your laptop with you to the kitchen, placing it on the benchtop as you scour your fridge for last night’s leftovers.

When Vernon reads your next message, his knee almost slams itself into the top of the table from its incessant bouncing. Ever since he replied to you, he’s been worried about how his curiosity came across and he’s glad that you didn’t misunderstand him. The premise of meeting you after the experiment has him reeling, especially with your added postscript, but he puts this aside and focuses on the information that you’ve given him.

“What are you smiling about?” Soonyoung, who also happens to be studying across from him in their frat living room, asks curiously. 

“Nothing, I’m just working on my essay,” Vernon replies, trying to act as cool as possible to avoid any further questions. The last thing he wants is to be the subject of the self-proclaimed fraternity gossip guru’s attention.

“Definitely not,” Mingyu counters with furrowed brows. “You were moaning and groaning about it just five minutes ago—”

“I was stuck,” Vernon attempts to shrug it off, especially when he notices Soonyoung’s eyes sparkle with keen interest. 

“And now?” Soonyoung prods, leaning forward to try and peek at his laptop.

Shutting it before his friend gets too close, Vernon neatly stacks his books on top and shoves his things under one arm as he gets up. “Now, I’m not stuck,” he pokes his tongue in cheek. “So, if you both excuse me, I’ll go ahead and work on this in my room, away from distractions.”

Soonyoung laughs, “We weren’t even the ones who distracted you.”

Vernon answers with a wave before bounding up the stairs and locking himself in his room.

[To: Girl Magnetic] [From: Bands Boy] [Subject: Re: Ice Cream 7:15PM]

what do you mean ‘not interesting’? i’m plenty interested in that story so i’m definitely holding you to it. don’t make me ask jeonghan about it >:)

hm i was doing an essay for my music theory class but i was stuck so now i’m talking to you :)

x bands boy

His message arrives just as you’re about to shove a dumpling or two in your mouth. Your eyebrows shoot up as you read it and put down your chopsticks in favour of sending your reply.

[To: Bands Boy] [From: Girl Magnetic] [Subject: Re: Ice Cream 7:18PM]

nooooooooo i didn’t mean to disturb my dear pen pal T-T

x girl magnetic

ps. if you ask jeonghan about it he’ll kill us both. unless you have a death wish? :)

Vernon doesn’t bother schooling the smile on his face as he reads, especially since he’s in the comfort of his own room now and behind closed doors.

[To: Girl Magnetic] [From: Bands Boy] [Subject: Re: Ice Cream 7:20PM]

no you’re good, i was gonna take a break anyway. so the distraction was welcome i promise :)

though it’s due tomorrow so i should probably get back to it…

but… i want to keep talking to you…

x bands boy

As tempting as it is to keep chatting with him, for a reason you can’t fathom at present, you refuse to be the reason why your pen pal fails a class.

[To: Bands Boy] [From: Girl Magnetic] [Subject: Re: Ice Cream 7:25PM]

i honestly want to keep talking to you too but i don’t want you to fail.

so i’ll make you a deal: we finish off our chat now so you can get your essay sorted and once you let me know that you’re done… i tell you the whole story behind girl magnetic.

how does that sound?

x girl magnetic

ps. i’m not taking no for an answer. good luck with the essay!

Not that Vernon needs it, but he feels plenty motivated now by the prospect of knowing more about you and an unspoken round two, one that isn’t driven by Jeonghan’s experiment.

[To: Girl Magnetic] [From: Bands Boy] [Subject: Re: Ice Cream 7:30PM]

well, that’s certainly an offer i can’t refuse. you’re on!

i’ll let you know when i’m done. don’t wait up though, i’ll be awhile (not that you would wait up lol)

x bands boy, signing out

Smiling, you close off his email and adjust your notification settings before shutting your laptop down, not wanting to miss his next message and keep him waiting again. At least that’s what you tell yourself because you’re unwilling to admit that you’re looking forward to hearing from him. It’s much too early for that.

The next few hours pass by uneventfully, with you watching a movie, cleaning up your dorm room and with you not waiting for a reply from your pen pal. Definitely not. Stifling a yawn, you grab your phone on your way to the bathroom and pull up your message thread with Jeonghan as you get ready for bed.

[10:00pm] thing 2: okay, i’ve responded to bands boy [10:01pm] thing 1: you’re welcome

This smug bastard. With eyes narrowed, you choose not to clue him in on any details about tonight’s endeavours.

[10:02pm] thing 2: i don’t know what you’re talking about :) [10:03pm] thing 1: yeah, sure jan [10:03pm] thing 2: hannie >:| [10:04pm] thing 2: anyway, are you back at the house yet? [10:04pm] thing 1: …i’m just dropping stephanie home now [10:05pm] thing 2: oh? [10:05pm] thing 1: don’t even say it

Smirking, you leave him hanging for a few minutes, fooling him into thinking he’s won.

[10:08pm] thing 2: you’re welcome :) [10:08pm] thing 1: god you’re such a pain in my ass [10:09pm] thing 2: sweet dreams hannieeee [10:09pm] thing 1: fuck off

Grinning in victory, you pat the rest of your moisturiser into your skin and tuck yourself into bed, glad to have the day end on a better note than when it started.

At exactly five minutes past midnight, Vernon submits his essay after proofreading it for the third and final time. He would’ve been done a whole lot earlier if Jeonghan didn’t come barging into his room, asking him question after question about you and he barely managed to appease him without divulging too much about his conversation with you.

Now, the only thing he needs to do before merging into one being with his bed, is to send you an email as promised. 

[To: Girl Magnetic] [From: Bands Boy] [Subject: Your Turn 12:10AM]

i finished my essay woo!

your move, girl magnetic

x sweet dreams

[ Series Master List ] - link to be added later

TAGLIST: @teapartydreams @aperson394

© darlingvernon

pls do not copy/repost my work

[thethirdromana]

Just how bad were 1890s bestsellers?

Inspired by this post, I was curious to know exactly what the competition looked like for Dracula and The Beetle. Bestselling doesn't always mean good (4 of the 5 bestselling adult fiction books in the UK from 2000 to 2010 were by Dan Brown) so I was wondering... just how not good?

Here are some bestselling books, mostly taken from 'Nineteenth-Century English Best-Sellers: A Further List' by Richard D Altick.

King Solomon's Mines by H Rider Haggard Published 1885, sold 100,000 copies by 1895 and 650,000 by 1925.

It is a curious thing that at my age—fifty-five last birthday—I should find myself taking up a pen to try to write a history. I wonder what sort of a history it will be when I have finished it, if ever I come to the end of the trip! I have done a good many things in my life, which seems a long one to me, owing to my having begun work so young, perhaps. At an age when other boys are at school I was earning my living as a trader in the old Colony. I have been trading, hunting, fighting, or mining ever since. And yet it is only eight months ago that I made my pile. It is a big pile now that I have got it—I don’t yet know how big—but I do not think I would go through the last fifteen or sixteen months again for it; no, not if I knew that I should come out safe at the end, pile and all. But then I am a timid man, and dislike violence; moreover, I am almost sick of adventure. I wonder why I am going to write this book: it is not in my line. I am not a literary man, though very devoted to the Old Testament and also to the “Ingoldsby Legends.” Let me try to set down my reasons, just to see if I have any.

This is the opening. King Solomon's Mines is lively and readable, but also profoundly misogynistic and racist from start to finish.

The Mystery of a Hansom Cab by Fergus Hume Published 1887, sold 377,000 copies by 1898.

Mr. Gorby was shaving, and, as was his usual custom, conversed with his reflection. Being a detective, and of an extremely reticent disposition, he never talked outside about his business, or made a confidant of anyone. When he did want to unbosom himself, he retired to his bedroom and talked to his reflection in the mirror. This method of procedure he found to work capitally, for it relieved his sometimes overburdened mind with absolute security to himself. Did not the barber of Midas when he found out what was under the royal crown of his master, fret and chafe over his secret, until one morning he stole to the reeds by the river, and whispered, "Midas, has ass's ears?" In the like manner Mr. Gorby felt a longing at times to give speech to his innermost secrets; and having no fancy for chattering to the air, he made his mirror his confidant. So far it had never betrayed him, while for the rest it joyed him to see his own jolly red face nodding gravely at him from out the shining surface, like a mandarin. This morning the detective was unusually animated in his confidences to his mirror. At times, too, a puzzled expression would pass over his face. The hansom cab murder had been placed in his hands for solution, and he was trying to think how he should make a beginning.

I've never read this but it seems great. Might need to download the whole thing from Project Gutenberg.

The Murder of Delicia by Marie Corelli Published 1896, sold 43,000 copies in its first year and another 52,000 when a cheaper edition was released in 1899.

As a writer, she stood quite apart from the rank and file of modern fictionists. Something of the spirit of the Immortals was in her blood—the spirit that moved Shakespeare, Shelley and Byron to proclaim truths in the face of a world of lies—some sense of the responsibility and worth of Literature—and with these emotions existed also the passionate desire to rouse and exalt her readers to the perception of the things she herself knew and instinctively felt to be right and just for all time. The public responded to her voice and clamoured for her work, and, as a natural result of this, all ambitious and aspiring publishers were her very humble suppliants. Whatsoever munificent and glittering 'terms' are dreamed of by authors in their wildest conceptions of a literary El Dorado, were hers to command; and yet she was neither vain nor greedy. She was, strange to say, though an author and a 'celebrity,' still an unspoilt, womanly woman.

Hi my name is Marie Delicia and I am an unspoilt womanly woman and a lot of people tell me I write like Byron (AN: if u don’t know who he is get da hell out of here!).

Beside the Bonnie Briar Bush by Ian Maclaren Published 1894, sold 256,000 copies by 1907.

... my thoughts drift to the auld schule-house and Domsie. Some one with the love of God in his heart had built it long ago, and chose a site for the bairns in the sweet pine-woods at the foot of the cart road to Whinnie Knowe and the upland farms. It stood in a clearing with the tall Scotch firs round three sides, and on the fourth a brake of gorse and bramble bushes, through which there was an opening to the road. The clearing was the playground, and in summer the bairns annexed as much wood as they liked, playing tig among the trees, or sitting down at dinner-time on the soft, dry spines that made an elastic carpet everywhere.

Some proper twee Victorian twaddle, now with added Scottishness!

-

I wish I could find out how many copies Dracula or The Beetle sold; all I can find is the same stat repeated that The Beetle sold more in the first 30 years of publication.

For the Jekyll and Hyde Weekly folks, that was a bestseller, selling 40,000 copies in the first six months.

[xtruss]

Why Robert Oppenheimer's Atomic Bomb Still Haunts Us

— By Richard Rhodes | Published May 15, 2013

Oppenheimer spearheaded the creation of the atom bomb. René Burri/Magnum

Robert Oppenheimer oversaw the design and construction of the first atomic bombs. The American theoretical physicist wasn't the only one involved—more than 130,000 people contributed their skills to the World War II Manhattan Project, from construction workers to explosives experts to Soviet spies—but his name survives uniquely in popular memory as the names of the other participants fade. British philosopher Ray Monk's lengthy new biography of the man is only the most recent of several to appear, and Oppenheimer wins significant assessment in every history of the Manhattan Project, including my own. Why this one man should have come to stand for the whole huge business, then, is the essential question any biographer must answer.

It's not as if the bomb program were bereft of men of distinction. Gen. Leslie Groves built the Pentagon and thousands of other U.S. military installations before leading the entire Manhattan Project to success in record time. Hans Bethe discovered the sequence of thermonuclear reactions that fire the stars. Leo Szilard and Enrico Fermi invented the nuclear reactor. John von Neumann conceived the stored-program digital computer. Edward Teller and Stanislaw Ulam co-invented the hydrogen bomb. Luis Alvarez devised a whole new technology for detonating explosives to make the Fat Man bomb work, and later, with his son, Walter, proved that an Earth-impacting asteroid killed off the dinosaurs. The list goes on. What was so special about Oppenheimer?

He was brilliant, rich, handsome, charismatic. Women adored him. As a young professor at Berkeley and Caltech in the 1930s, he broke the European monopoly on theoretical physics, contributing significantly to making America a physics powerhouse that continues to win a freight of Nobel Prizes. Despite never having directed any organization before, he led the Los Alamos bomb laboratory with such skill that even his worst enemy, Edward Teller, told me once that Oppenheimer was the best lab director he'd ever known. After the war he led the group of scientists who guided American nuclear policy, the General Advisory Committee to the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission (AEC). He finished out his life as director of the prestigious Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, New Jersey, where he welcomed young scientists and scholars into that traditionally aloof club.

August 9, 1945: Nagasaki is hit by an atom bomb. Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum/EPA

Those were exceptional achievements, but they don't by themselves explain his unique place in nuclear history. For that, add in the dark side. His brilliance came with a casual cruelty, born certainly of insecurity, which lashed out with invective against anyone who said anything he considered stupid; even the brilliant Bethe wasn't exempt. His relationships with the significant women in his life were destructive: his first deep love, Jean Tatlock, the daughter of a Berkeley professor, was a suicide; his wife, Kitty, a lifelong alcoholic. His daughter committed suicide; his son continues to live an isolated life.

His Choices or Mistakes, Combined with his Penchant for Humiliating Lesser Men, Eventually Destroyed Him.

Oppenheimer's achievements as a theoretical physicist never reached the level his brilliance seemed to promise; the reason, his student and later Nobel laureate Julian Schwinger judged, was that he "very much insisted on displaying that he was on top of everything"—a polite way of saying Oppenheimer was glib. The physicist Isidor Rabi, a Nobel laureate colleague whom Oppenheimer deeply respected, thought he attributed too much mystery to the workings of nature. Monk notes his curiously uncritical respect for the received wisdom of his field.

Monk's discussion of Oppenheimer's work in physics is one of his book's great contributions to the saga, an area of the man's life that previous biographies have neglected. In the late 1920s Oppenheimer first worked out the physics of what came to be called black holes, those collapsing giant stars that pull even light in behind them as they shrink to solar-system or even planetary size. Some have speculated Oppenheimer might have won a Nobel for that work had he lived to see the first black hole identified in 1971.

Oppenheimer with Albert Einstein, circa the 1940s. Corbis

Oppenheimer's patriotism should have been evident to even the most obtuse government critic. He gave up his beloved physics, after all, not to mention any vestige of personal privacy, to help make his country invulnerable with atomic bombs. Yet he risked his work and reputation by dabbling in left-wing and communist politics before the war and lying to security officers during the war about a solicitation to espionage he received. His choices or mistakes, combined with his penchant for humiliating lesser men, eventually destroyed him.

One of those lesser men, a vicious piece of work named Lewis Strauss, a former shoe salesman turned Wall Street financier and physicist manqué, was the vehicle of Oppenheimer's destruction. When President Eisenhower appointed Strauss to the chairmanship of the AEC in the summer of 1953, Strauss pieced together a case against Oppenheimer. He was still splenetic from an extended Oppenheimer drubbing delivered during a congressional hearing all the way back in 1948, and he believed the physicist was a Soviet spy.

Strauss proceeded to revoke Oppenheimer's security clearance, effectively shutting him out of government. Oppenheimer could have accepted his fate and returned to an academic life filled with honors; he was due to be dropped as an AEC consultant anyway. He chose instead to fight the charges. Strauss found a brutal prosecuting attorney to question the scientist, bugged his communications with his attorney, and stalled giving the attorney the clearances he needed to vet the charges. The transcript of the hearing In the Matter of J. Robert Oppenheimer is one of the great, dark documents of the early atomic age, almost Shakespearean in its craven parade of hostile witnesses through the government star chamber, with the victim himself, catatonic with shame, sunken on a couch incessantly smoking the cigarettes that would kill him with throat cancer at 63 in 1967.

Rabi was one of the few witnesses who stood up for his friend, finally challenging the hearing board in exasperation, "We have an A-bomb and a whole series of it [because of Oppenheimer's work], and what more do you want, mermaids?" What Strauss and others, particularly Edward Teller, wanted was Oppenheimer's head on a platter, and they got it. The public humiliation, which he called "my train wreck," destroyed him. Those who knew him best have told me sadly that he was never the same again.

For Monk as for Rabi, Oppenheimer's central problem was his hollow core, his false sense of self, which Rabi with characteristic wit framed as an inability to decide whether he wanted to be president of the Knights of Columbus or B'nai B'rith. The German Jews who were Oppenheimer's 19th-century forebears had worked hard at assimilation—that is, at denying their religious heritage. Oppenheimer's parents submerged that heritage further in New York's ethical-culture movement that salvaged the humanism of Judaism while scrapping the supernatural overburden. Oppenheimer, actor that he was, could fit himself to almost any role, but turned either abject or imperious when threatened. He was a great lab director at Los Alamos because of his intelligence—"He was much smarter than the rest of us," Bethe told me—because of his broad knowledge and culture; because of his psychological insight into the complicated personalities of the gifted men assembled there to work on the bomb; most of all because he decided to play that role, as a patriotic citizen, and played it superbly.

Monk is a levelheaded and congenial guide to Oppenheimer's life, his biography certainly the best that has yet come along. But he devotes far too many pages to Oppenheimer's Depression-era flirtation with communism, a dead letter long ago and one that speaks more of a rich esthete's awakening to the suffering in the world than to Oppenheimer's political convictions. He doesn't always get the science right. Most of the errors are trivial, but a few are important to the story.

Their Fundamental Objection Was to Giving up Production of Real Weapons so That Teller Could Pursue His Pipe Dream, a Dead-end Hydrogen Bomb Design.

A fundamental reason Oppenheimer opposed a crash program to develop the hydrogen bomb in response to the first Soviet atomic-bomb test in 1949 was the requirement of Edward Teller's "Super" design for large amounts of a rare isotope of hydrogen, tritium. Tritium is bred by irradiating lithium in a nuclear reactor, but the slugs of lithium take up space that would otherwise be devoted to breeding plutonium. To make tritium for a hydrogen bomb that the U.S. did not know how to build would have required sacrificing most of the U.S. production of plutonium for devastating atomic bombs the U.S. did know how to build. To Oppenheimer and the other scientists on the GAC, such an irresponsible substitution as an answer to the Soviet bomb made no strategic sense. It's true that the hydrogen bomb with its potentially unlimited scale of destruction made no military sense to them either—and was morally repugnant to some of them as well. But their fundamental objection, which Monk overlooks, was to giving up production of real weapons so that Teller could pursue his pipe dream, a dead-end hydrogen bomb design that never worked.

Julius Robert Oppenheimer (April 22, 1904 – February 18, 1967)

More egregious is Monk's notion that the Danish physicist Niels Bohr, Oppenheimer's mentor during the war on the international implications of the new technology, pushed for the bomb's use on Japan to make its terror manifest. He did not. He pushed, to the contrary, for the Allies, the Soviet Union included, to discuss the implications of the bomb prior to its use and to devise a framework for controlling it. Bohr foresaw that the bomb would stalemate major war, as it has, but correctly feared that U.S. secrecy about its development would lead to a U.S.-Soviet arms race. He conferred with both Roosevelt and Churchill about presenting the fact of the bomb to the Russians as a common danger to the world, like a new epidemic disease, that needed to be quarantined by common agreement. Churchill vehemently disagreed, and Roosevelt was old and ill. The moment passed. The arms race followed, as Bohr foresaw, and with diminished force, among pariah states like Iran and North Korea, continues to this day.

Monk's Oppenheimer is a less appealing figure than the Oppenheimer of previous biographies, perhaps because, as an Englishman, Monk is less susceptible to Oppenheimer's rhetorical gifts and more candid about calling out his evasions. He pulls together most of what several generations of Oppenheimer scholars have found and offers new revelations as well. Yet there's a faint whiff of condescension in his portrait, and the real Oppenheimer, the man whom so many loved and admired, still somehow escapes him. He misses the deep alignment of Robert Oppenheimer's life with Greek tragedy, the charismatic hubris that was his glory but also the flaw that brought him low. But maybe I'm expecting too much: maybe only a large work of fiction could assemble that critical mass.

[ohraicodoll]

Possession | Chapter 2

Chapters:  2/5 Fandom:  The Sandman (Comics & TV 2022) Rating:  Mature Relationships:  Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Original Female Character, Dream/Reader Characters:  Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Original Female Character, Matthew the Raven, Lucienne, Calliope, Mervyn Pumpkinhead Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Sexual Content, Past Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Possessive Behavior, Domestic Violence, Jealousy, Trauma Responses Tags: Complicated Relationships, General complicated feelings, Dream is an IDIOT, they both have baggage, Past Relationships, Angst, OFC: Dahlia,1st POV

Summary: Could the Lord of Dreams ever really be claimed? What was a human to a goddess?

3rd in the Fragments Series  | Read on AO3 Writing Masterlist Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5  Previous in Series: Touch Starved Next in Series: Interwoven Chapter Warning: Trauma response, mentions of domestic abuse CHAPTER 2:  LIKE THE STARS CHASE THE SUN

Nothing immediately registered as different upon my entering the Dreaming. Morpheus wasn’t present at first, but it wasn’t a big deal. I’d gotten better at taking myself around the Dream Realm on my own and he was usually somewhere in the Heart of the Dreaming, doing work, or somewhere nearby. It wasn’t that hard to find him, especially once he knew I was there. He always found me, no matter how busy he was. What did feel different was the way the palace felt a little emptier, that static charge of electricity I always felt around the Lord of the Realm curiously lesser. There was an absence to the halls, the colors just a tone less bright. The palace staff usually milled around, used to my presence at this point, but I hardly ran into any of them. The throne room lay empty, the long stone room feeling cold and barren even under the churning sky of chaotic raw dream power. The shores at the edge of the realm where Dream usually crafted new dreams and nightmares were gray and still. His chambers were blank and bare without him. I couldn’t find him and he wasn’t finding me, which was the first sign that something was off. A sharp stab of anxiety peaked before I shoved it down. I entered the library, navigating the maze-like walkways and levels to where I knew the tables and desks Lucienne liked to work at always were. The aisles converged into a crossroads, a large statue of Morpheus looking over the room and cathedral painting on the ceiling. Books piled on the table, some on a cart waiting to get put away, but it mostly seemed like a project halfway through completion. Lucienne and Merv were going over something at one of the tables, not noticing my approach while having a hushed conversation that seemed tense. It wasn’t until I was nearly at the edge of the table did they jump at my sudden appearance, caught and looking nervously between each other. I noted it, adding it to the growing list of weird things that were happening. “Hey, where’s Dream? I’ve been all over the place and haven’t been able to find him yet,” I asked the librarian, knowing she would know something out of everyone in the realm, glancing between the two and their tense forms. Mervyn chewed on a cigar, pumpkin eyes squinting nervously and ash raining down on the floor, “Uh, he’s out.” My brow raised, “Out?” Lucienne sent him a sharp glare, eyes saying something I wasn’t privy to, before turning to me, “What he means is Lord Morpheus is taking care of a matter in the Waking world. He should be back…at some point.” He was in the Waking? My eyes narrowed. It wasn’t often he had something to take care of there as he’d been more focused on getting the Dreaming situated, much less without telling me. Every time he had he’d made the effort to appear and whisk me away to somewhere private. Not only that, but we had actually planned to meet up for once with a promise that he would show me the outer dream isles. It was rare he actually set plans for anything, much preferring to keep me in his room my entire visit. “What did he have to take care of?” I asked, confused, “I just came from there and he hasn't mentioned anything. We were supposed to meet.” Lucienne was shifting on her feet now, uncomfortable knowing that this wasn’t something she could easily play off, and that made me nervous in itself. Merv scratched the back of his pumpkin head, harrumphing and shrugged, “It wasn’t exactly planned, but listen, kid. The boss just had to run real quick. He’ll wrap up helping Calliope and as soon as that's done, he’ll be right back!” “Mervyn,” Lucienne hissed, eyes wide and berating. I could see the woman next to me wince as the words sank in. Calliope? A sinking feeling was starting to hit, mixing with something like bitterness and nausea, “Whose Calliope?”

Merv realized his slip up, far less skilled at knowing what to say than this friend, and his carved face grimaced. “Oh, shit,” the pumpkinhead grumbled.

The librarian very much was going into damage control, hand gently resting on my arm as she tried to quickly divert my attention to her and away from the custodian worker, “Perhaps you’d like to wait for Lord Morpheus in the throne room-” “Whose Calliope, Lucienne?” I bit out the words, pulling away and wrapping my arms around myself. Dream had never mentioned dealing with other humans really, besides a man that he said he meets at a pub every now and then. But never a woman, that I would remember. In the same way he had branded me as his, I felt the tight coils of jealousy as the thought of mine, mine, mine rang through me. It didn’t feel like this was a normal situation, a nothing meeting that was inconsequential. We had plans and he had ditched them to help this person without even telling me or having Matthew tell me. Lucienne and Mervyn both knew who they were. That wasn’t nothing. Especially with how these two were acting. Lucienne glared at Merv from the corner of her eyes and sighed, wincing, “It is a complicated situation and one I would prefer my lord explain fully to you. But-” she caught me off as I opened my mouth to protest, “- I understand that you wish for at least some answers. Calliope is one of the nine muses and as well as Lord Morpheus’ former wife. She called for aid and he is currently helping her with a situation.” My body froze, heart screeching to silence as it clanged through me like a bullet ricocheting. Former wife. Wife. Wife. The word stabbed through me, painful and sharp, hurting in a way I didn’t want to completely analyze and hadn’t expected to feel. He had a wife, or used to, but he had been married all the same. It was a hard concept to wrap my head around, something that seemed so average to other people but he was anything but average. He was an Endless, beyond the normal conventions. Yet he had loved someone enough to marry them before, had loved this Calliope enough to make her his wife. And he’d run off, bailed on me, to go help her. The thought felt like acid on my tongue, acrid and painful. “He’s helping his wife in the Waking world,” I mumbled, the words sounding dead and eyes unseeing. “Ex-wife!” Merv tried to correct helpfully, “And it’s not like he still loves her or anything, girlie, probably just cause he feels bad about how shit ended between them! Cause oh boy was that a mess, the realm was in a state for years! I mean with what happened with their kid and everything-” My head whipped towards him as Lucienne let out a sharp curse under her breath, “Their kid?” Everything felt like it had turned upside down and I couldn’t understand. Yes, we had never talked about past relationships beyond the one from each of us. He had said he’d had past relationships but he didn’t talk about any of them and I didn’t ask. It was a line into territory that felt shaky, uncertain. Beyond fooling around and enjoying each other’s company. But this felt like something he should have mentioned, something I thought he would have divulged. Or maybe I was thinking too highly of what we were and our relationship. After all, when had he willingly shared anything personal about himself of his own accord? I hadn’t told him about Aiden, why would he tell me about Calliope? About their child? His child. What did I even know about him? “I’m gonna just go,” Merv pointed behind him, backing up cautiously as I stared at him with wide eyes, “I’ll catch ya later, Loosh.” “Mervyn-” I called, but Lucienne grabbed my arm a bit more tightly to draw my attention back, letting the dream escape into the bowels of the library. “Yes, they do have a son, but I highly recommend you do not mention him,” her brown eyes stared me down, apprehension and warning in them, “ Lord Morpheus will be back soon, I promise you. Just please do not jump to any conclusions and let him explain things.” My heart was thundering in my head, my brain completely scrambled. I could only nod, pulling back from her grasp but not really seeing anything. The words Calliope, wife, and son were ricocheting through my mind and thoughts, warring with the challenging declaration of mine. I felt numb and sick. Without saying anything, I pulled myself through the Dreaming, blinking and disappearing into Dream’s chambers. Morpheus didn’t owe me anything. Yes, while we were technically exclusive, I think, we weren’t together. He didn’t owe me a history of lovers, explanations on his whereabouts, anything. He wasn’t human, wasn’t really a man. He was the embodiment of stories and dreams and ageless. I was a blink in the span of his life, a mere entertainment. Just a human. One of the nine muses. A goddess. I sat on the edge of his bed, one that he didn’t need but had made for us, and waited in the dim light. He hadn’t changed it from the last time I saw it, curtains draped over all the walls and light catching through the thin gauzy fabric. An antique dining tray sat next to the bed and branches of trees grew through the walls, blossoms full and bright. But it felt empty, the beauty hollow, absent its creator. Time passed, though I’m not sure how long as the sun didn’t rise or fall normally. But I could almost feel the passage of night through my sleeping body, feel each tick of the clock as I waited and waited with only my spinning thoughts for company. The longer the wait, the more they tumbled down into darkness. Old scars surfaced, the memories pushing up like flowers from a grave. That feeling of abandonment, of jealousy, of not being enough. They spun and spun, telling me that I wasn’t worth the dreamlord’s time or attention. He obviously wasn’t thinking of me, hadn’t considered that I’d come looking or that we had plans. I felt dumb, pathetic, thinking that I was owed anything from a being as old as the universe. Why would he waste his time on me when someone more important had called him away? “You’re pathetic, you should be grateful for my attention.” He was the Prince of Stories, able to weave a narrative and make you believe anything. I was just the sucker. Hours passed. I thought about how this felt so similar to waiting by the phone, waiting for someone to call you only for it to never ring. Hoping you were on their mind, that they thought of you. That thought made it all feel worse.

The shadows shifted, my eyes staring blankly at my feet. The feeling of Dream’s power washed over me, caressing every inch of my skin. I watched his shoes come into view, the fire on the hem of his coat shifting and swirling almost into faces in the darkness. My heart stuttered and I smothered it, shoved down any feeling because it would hurt worse to hope only to be shattered. The soft touch of his fingers lifted my chin until I was staring into those starry eyes of his, a black pit against the paleness of his face and the shock of dark hair. His brow was furrowed and a small frown touched his lips, but he was closed off for the most part. I wondered if he was confused to see me, wondering why I was sitting in the darkness of his room waiting for him. Probably just realized I existed again. “Little dreamer,” he whispered and took in the heavy solemnness of my face, “Apologies, I did not intend to make you wait this night. I-” “Forgot?” I finished dryly, emotionless. Morpheus frowned even more, trying to take in my tone and the way I held myself. He could tell something was wrong, but couldn’t quite see the scope of it, “I did not forget. A matter I had to deal with took longer than I expected. It was not in my wishes to disregard you.” Bitterness twisted my insides and that kernel of anger that seemed to always be present, burning in the center of my being, couldn’t help but flare to life. I was jealous. I was hurt, mostly by myself because I had believed myself to be more important, less easily discarded. But that had always been my problem. I was so eager for affection, for feeling wanted, that I would take anything. I wanted to lash out, to buck against this feeling I had worked so hard to not feel again. “How’s Calliope?” the words slithered out of my mouth like a coiled serpent, thrashing and spitting in warning. And he froze, the words hitting home and his touch leaving my skin like he had been burned, as I finally shifted into being present and met his gaze fully. Icy heat crackled under my skin, burning and destroying in a reminder to myself. I knew then he wouldn’t have told me about her, about where he’d been, that he’d helped her. I was owed nothing, I never asked. We had never crossed that line until recently when Thomas had tried to claw back into my life. We had claimed each other and now were dealing with the consequences. The more you put in, the easier it is to hurt. “Who told you?” the dreamlord inquired softly, steel lacing his words and eyes hardening to obsidian. Indignation caused me to scoff, lips twisting down, “Usually asking who tattled on you that you were out with your ex-wife isn’t the best way to play off that nothing happened, just FYI.” He clenched his jaw, taking a step back further away from me that I was quick to note, and drew himself up, “You are misconstruing my words. Calliope called upon me for help, nothing more. She was in a similar situation as I once was and did not have anyone else to turn to. I would not leave her like that.” Similar situation. I swallowed, only knowing of one such situation he had been in, but wanting to be petty all the same. Yes, it seemed like a decent excuse and I wasn’t upset he had actually helped her but I had waited and waited, feeling small and insignificant. And that made me want to dismiss him, make him feel not worthy of a reaction. “Okay,” I shrugged, feigning indifference and the word bland. The twin stars in his eyes flashed red with annoyance at the dismissal, muscle ticking in his jaw, “I can taste your anger, little dreamer, do not try to hide it from me.” “I’m not angry,” I bit out harshly, “I’m…irritated and bitter that I didn’t even know you were married once and that I waited more than half the night not even hearing anything from you, only knowing you had ran off without a word to help your wife. Like what am I supposed to think, Morpheus?” The sky outside the window was darkening, the smell of rain on the wind. I stood from the bed, trying to give myself some height instead of craning my head up to meet his. His cloak was even more wild than usual, a shadow that wrapped around him and spread into the room like a living thing. Gone was the smirk and relaxed expression he wore when we usually were together. He was back to being the King of Nightmares, the figure I’d faced down in my dream months ago now. Nothing but hard lines and unearthly countenance. “I would trust you to know I would not betray you,” Morpheus bit out, “I do not take this between us as lightly or as flippantly as you believe I do. A long time ago, Calliope was my wife, yes. But that time has passed and is not something I am eager to return to. She was entrapped as I was, if not worse so I answered her call. Would you hold that against me?” I shook my head, throwing my hands in the air, “I’m not mad you helped her! Yes, that is awful and I’m glad whatever happened to her was dealt with. I’m upset because I didn’t even know she existed! I don’t like feeling jealous and insecure and like a forgotten play thing. I already feel so small in comparison to you and you bailing doesn’t help. You could have done anything, left  word, sent Matthew to tell me instead of wasting time I don’t have.” Because I was only a human. Anger was burning hot through me, at myself and him. For putting too much of myself into this. For letting myself get carried away and not laying down boundaries and rules and some sense of self. Protection. Time and time again, I forget to protect myself. Like so often, I got swept away by the magic and now I was drowning and I had only myself to blame for letting him in farther than he should have. “There is so much about you I don’t know,” I gritted out with a shrug, exasperated and hurt, “I will probably never even be able to comprehend all you’ve experienced, but I would hope that you’d share something. At least something as important as her!” Morpheus’ face was stoic, closed off as he looked down at me. He was every bit a monarch, larger than life and encompassing, “And what would you have me share? Shall I tell you of my entire existence, of every past lover and secret to give you alone to prove my word to you? To make you feel worthy?” “Now you’re misconstruing my words,” I growled back, “Like fuck, Morpheus, any mention of this would have been nice? Any mention that you had a kid with her?” I knew the moment I said it that we’d reached dangerous territory, the air sucked from the room like a blackhole. His body went unnaturally still, chin upturned and lips pressed in a thin unforgiving line. Lightning crackled in the distance and a wind bit at my skin, cold and harsh. I remember that black void in my nightmare when I first confronted him, the way only a look from him had made me feel like I could be crushed like a bug. I felt that again, the weight of his power and who he was. Not anyone, but the embodiment of so much. And I’d opened my mouth, had thought myself impervious to that look after all this time. But I wasn’t at all. My body locked up instantly. The reaction, one I hadn’t experienced in a long while, crashed into me suddenly and I knew my face had paled under that stare, anger sizzling out as if the oxygen had suffocated it. Words barreled through me, yelling to hide, make yourself small, don’t draw attention. Brace yourself, survive, apologize, beg for forgiveness. I swallowed thickly, the first hints of fear towards him on my tongue for the first time in a while. “That is not a discussion we will be having, Dahlia” the King of Dreams whispered into the darkness like a thundercloud, oppressive and terrible, and my name was acrid in the air, “In time, I may share myself with you. But do not make demands of things you do not understand.” My mind took the words in, twisted them, added the threat there. Don’t or else. Don’t or else next time he may do worse. I shriveled in on myself more and more, wanting to hide from the darkness of his gaze, the oppressive wrap of his power around my throat. “I’m sorry,” the words come out like a reflex, frantic and desperate, “I- I shouldn’t have-” I freeze up, mouth clamping shut as I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry seeps out of my pores and onto the ground. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry coated my skin, colored my eyes, as I curled in like a dead bug. My body was shutting down, closing in on itself. Old, reactive, a defense I thought I had moved on from but I had never done well with anger. I had learned to make myself small to hide, make myself small to protect myself because you never know what may happen when that anger is directed at you. I’d brace for it like one would brace for a tornado, hands over my hand and a prayer on my lips. Breaths quick and frantic, I lowered my head and stared at my feet, averting my eyes and willing the sting of tears to go away. Crying doesn’t help, crying makes things worse, crying is annoying and only draws more attention. “Forget I said anything,” my voice is quiet and choked, a clamoring rush of words jammed together, coming out in an effort to placate that anger directed at me, “You’re right, I shouldn’t have gotten mad or questioned you. I-I mean we’re not even really together, it’s not my p-place. None of it matters, just please forget I brought it up.” The words are desperate and placating and fearful. Silence fills the room, my hands clenched tightly at my side and chin pressed down into my chest to avoid looking at him. I’m a taut wire, pulled to the brink of snapping. The lightning outside the window had faded and his power still pressed against me sharp and metallic but the intensity had diminished. His pale fingers reached out and grazed the outside of my clenched fist and I flinched without meaning to, causing him to pause and register the reaction. I held my breath, waiting and waiting, bracing myself as nails dug crescent shapes into the palms of my hand. Instead, his power faded instantly, completely, and the tension vanished as if it had never been there. It was like air had been flooded back into the room, the change so startling I felt off-kilter. Dream didn’t hesitate and stepped closer to wrap his arms around me, pressing me into his body tightly as his nose skimmed my hair. I was still stiff, tightly wound and closed in on myself but he enveloped me like a warm blanket. Softness versus the hard touch I was expecting, had feared. The contrast was night and day, the Nightmare King no longer standing before me and now only Dream, the lord I had come to know. “Never think that you cannot question me, little dreamer,” his lips moved against my temple and body soaking my own frozen one with warmth as we whispered the term of endearment, “You are mine and I am yours. I meant that when we agreed. It is your place to ask these things of me and it does matter. You matter to me.” I felt that wire pulled to the bring begin to relax, inch by inch, as my body tried to calm itself from the reaction it was undergoing. Until finally, after a few minutes of him holding me like I was the world, I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my face into his chest. He relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief, and kissed my hair and stroked my back. This was the Dream I knew, the one that laid with me and showed me his realm and sometimes was a cheeky asshole. The one that laughed quietly in my company, worshiped my body, claimed me as his and gave himself to me. He wasn’t Aiden, wasn’t a monster lurking and waiting to swallow me whole. He wasn’t lying in wait, waiting to find an excuse to spring out and punish any small fault.

His arms held me tightly and I held him back, all energy leaving me and exhaustion taking hold. I could feel his apology in the way his fingers threaded through my hair and lips pressed soft kisses to the crown of my head. Morpheus’ eyes were back to sparkling diamonds, no longer hard but trying to convey that I was not worthless and that he saw me. I didn’t say anything, couldn’t form the words, only swallowed the hard lump in my throat and pushed away the sting of tears. “I will make this up to you tomorrow, I swear it,” Dream whispered in the darkness of the room, “It truly was not my intention to upset you tonight. That is the last thing I wish.”

I only nodded, eyes blank and unseeing. I let him guide us both to the bed and laid down nestled into his side, bodies stretched out against each other and legs entangled. There wasn’t much time left in the night before I’d have to wake up, but we stayed like that, quiet and fully wrapped around each other. I didn’t want to say that I didn’t fully believe him, didn’t put much faith in I’ll make this up to you. It was a line I had heard too many times to count and had never been followed through on. It had been whispered after a bottle had been shattered against a wall, after shouts had drawn the neighbors to call the police, after I’d laid huddled in a corner hearing “It won’t happen again.” I could pave the world in the number of times I’d heard I’ll make it up to you. But all I could do was hope Morpheus was different, that maybe he really did mean it. His fingers wrapped around mine over his heart and he held me firmly against him as if I’d sink through the bed and disappear from his arms if he let go. The name Calliope rattled through my brain like a warning, a thunder cloud, and I woke up with bitterness on my tongue. _________ (Author’s note: Mind you, I love Calliope. I feel bad she keeps getting dragged into fics but it does make good story fodder. So this deals with her a bit. Communication was gonna break down between the two eventually, that's what happens when you don't define a relationship. This part is where we start touching on darker topics so TW: for abuse, trauma, etc going forward on this one)

[eulchu]

As someone with ADHD and that has problems people pleasing and double booking if I falted Dream and got mad at him for trying to do more than it's realistically doable, I'd be a huge hypocrite because I do that all the fucking time!

And I'm older than him so the "he's an adult he should know better" argument doesn't fly either.

He's human, he's gonna make mistakes and disappoint people. It's normal. The only difference is that a lot more people are looking and noticing his mistakes. When I agree to be in a friend's project at the same time as a family dinner on the night before an important exam at university, I'm disappointing 5 to 15 people at most.

Dream's audience is way larger than that, but that doesn't mean his mistakes are any different than mine. And if my friends can understand and forgive me, same as when they do the same to me and i forgive them, why wouldn't I extend that sentiment to him? Just because he's famous?

"but it's his job" well, what are you gonna do? Fire him? The other stuff he's busy with is probably work related as well so yeah, squid craft is probably just lower on his work priority list. And he's still trying to attend, he didn't say he's 100% not participating. Chill

Feeling disappointed is totally normal and valid, but that's where it's stops. Being disappointed doesn't give you the right to lash out, be rude or agressive towards Dream. Because even tho his actions caused you to feel that way. It's not his responsibility to cater to it, to compensate you or anything. It's not his fault.

If you're angry and crying and throwing a fucking tantrum over some change in plans, that's a you problem fam. Go to therapy to learn how to deal with frustration, idk.

(this is all @ the crybaby anon btw)

IT'S NOT HIS RESPONSIBILITY TO CATER TO IT SAY IT LOUDERRRR ANON

[captainmalewriter]

10 Stories from the Past Year

And now, to celebrate my one year anniversary on Tumblr, let's take a look back to all the stories I’ve published in the past year. Here's a short list of my top 5 grossing stories (based on number of notes) and my personal top 5 favorite stories. Each story contains a short blurb of the storyline and the latter 5 contain a little note from yours truly about the inspiration behind the story. Every story title is clickable too, so please feel free to click and reread an old fav or read it for the first time! God, it was so much fun going back down memory lane to compile this list. I got to reread some of my most enjoyable stories (and cringe at some of my less than proud stories too...) But anyway, here’s the compilation! 

Top 5

1. Shady App - 674 notes

Don’t mess with the dark web or you might end up in a shady situation. Protagonist learns that the hard way after messing around with a strange app called “Body Lottery,” an app said to give the user an all new life with just a few clicks away. 

Extra note: it’s funny and somewhat fitting that the top story award goes to my very first published story. a little haha moment.

2. Payback - 601 notes

This cocky jock is having a bad day and is in desperate need for a blowjob to blow off some steam. Unfortunately for him, he took out his bad mood on the wrong guy during a good old fashioned Grindr hook up. Now he’s got bigger problems to worry about than simply not getting sexual relief.

3. More Fun With You - 581 notes

Protagonist is regretting his decision about telling his new boyfriend about his ability to possess other people. Instead of getting freaked over the supernatural, his boyfriend is very enthusiastic about it, even going as far as wanting to get possessed. And all for a certain reason even Protagonist can’t deny the pros of. 

4. Not So Accidental Possession - 542 notes

Protagonist has the extraordinary gift of astral projection. But one night while exploring the astral plane, Protagonist accidentally discovers he can slip inside and take control of other people in his metaphysical form when he gets too close to his dad’s body. Skip a few years later when the new neighbor Ricky moves in, Protagonist plans to have another “accidental body possession.”

5. Don't Judge a Book By Its Cover - 511 notes

There’s some shady experiments going on in the classified, top secret side of the FBI. When an unnamed intern volunteers himself to be a guinea pig, he quickly finds himself on the short end of the stick. But after taking the time to properly adjust, he couldn’t be happier with what he got from the sci-fi like experiment.

Honorable Mentions:

Side Business - 503 notes

Magic Dust - 462 notes

My Top 5

1. Happy Birthday -

Celebrating a birthday can be tough when you've got a busy life juggling work and college like me. But what was supposed to be an ordinary day turned out to be anything but when my best possession friend rolls into town with the best birthday present ever.

Not to toot my own horn, but this story I wrote as a gift to myself takes the cake on being my top favorite story. I had so much fun going all out for myself while writing it, and to this day I still reread it and go "wow! that’s hot as fuck."

2. Black Tattoo -

Miguel is in need of design ideas for new tattoos. While his roommate Cal- an artist with an orthodox style, offered a design for free, he won't give Miguel any more unless he commissions them. Broke and desperate for more tattoos, Miguel steals Cal's artwork and suffers the consequences because of it.

I can't say I remember where exactly the inspiration for this story came from. To be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if my thoughts while brainstorming this one went something like this: “Hm... What if tattoos were the reason some guy lost control over his body? Yeah, that sounds cool, let’s do that.” 

3. New Generation -

Saul has a very conservative, traditional view of what a man should be. When his son Enrique doesn't measure up to Saul's idea of what a man should be, the machista makes Enrique's life growing up a living hell all the way till his death. What came after death was something neither Saul nor Enrique could've ever anticipated.

CW: domestic abuse

This one hits closer to home for me. Growing up queer is never easy. Admittedly, this story plays into one of my fantasies of bigoted people getting their comeuppance. I believe in reincarnation, and I also believe that how a person behaves in this life will impact how their next life will go. Mix all of that together with some TF kink, and out came this story. 

4. Watermelon Challenge -

The latest trends have hit Tiktok and this one’s all about bodybuilders crushing watermelons with their thighs. Of course, a big and strong hunk like Mo Saffari just had to take part in the challenge! Unfortunately for Mo, while he was busy playing fruit ninja with his legs, the health department had issued a warning to the general public about a potentially harmful bug in watermelons with some interesting side effects if digested.

I love Mo Saffari and I wanted to write a story involving him. That’s it, that’s the story behind this one; and it just so happened to become one of my favorites over time. 

5. Symbiotic Relationship / Ocean Freak - 

Two guys who have devoted their lives to something (one plants, the other the ocean) are going through a hard time in life. As a reward for all of the love and/or devotion they’ve given, the object of their affection returns the favor by transforming their bodies and thus easing their mental and emotional anguish. 

Extra note: Each title is its own story. 

I was debating whether or not to group these two stories together but I decided to do so in the end. Both of these stories come from the early period of my TF writing career when I was still trying to find my own writing style as well as when I was in a different state of mind than I am now. What can I say, I’m a sucker for good hearted people receiving the same kindness they give to other people when they’re in times of need. Granted, the other person in both of these stories is Mother Nature, but details details.

Thanks again everyone for all the love and support on my writing! I hope you've all found a story or two or many more to enjoy from my page! Here's to celebrating one year of writing stories on Tumblr and to many more to come in the future! Cheers!! 🍾

- Captain M.W.

[darsynia]

Trust Fall | Ch 6 нарны гэрэл

ARC reactor image by Eury Escodero

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, 'terrorists made us fall in love;' IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Tony realizes that a situation where he's practically required to kiss this woman to keep her alive is a blessing and a curse-- because he really, really likes it. so much kissing omg

Length: 5,170

I’m shy as hell about saying this but if anyone wants to be tagged or ask me to write something please do! Tags: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon

Excerpt:

“Tony,” he says. She opens her eyes and looks at him, confused. “My name,” he explains. “I like to be on a first-name basis with a woman I’ve shared kisses with.”

He’s trying to charm her, and that is honestly pissing her off. She’s not here to be enticing, she’s trying to stay alive! Inside her somewhere, the place that keeps trying to get her to relive the way he’d traced her lip with his tongue the day before, a voice calls her a liar.

She suspects she’s going to get a lot of practice ignoring that voice.

“Shared, is it? I don’t recall there being much sharing. Taking, maybe,” Emory says. Only after the word ‘taking’ leaves her lips does she really examine its use, and her eyes fly up to Stark’s in a kind of horrified curiosity.

He’s grinning.

“Interesting choice of words.”

She’s committed now, so as usual when cornered, Emory stands her ground. “It’s true.”

Very carefully, Stark lifts the paper he’d been lining up on top of his palladium contraption, setting it on top of the stack of pages instead. Then he stands up, leaning his palm down on the table to angle his weight sideways. He tips his head the other way and regards her thoughtfully.

“You’re right. I’ve been greedy.”

Chapter Six: нарны гэрэл

After an hour of avoiding the book by practicing her scales at a low hum (so as not to disturb Stark’s intense focus), Emory pulls the blanket back off of her head to find that Yinsen is already walking over. He crouches down, speaking in a low whisper.

“I am concerned that if you and Stark do not interact today, your safety will be at risk. I have spoken to him multiple times, but he is engrossed.”

She sighs. “Can’t you try again? I could come up with a pretty comprehensive list of things I’d rather do than walk over and interrupt Tony Stark so I can tell him to-- Well. You know.”

“I do not think it will take much persuasion if that is your worry,” Yinsen says. His steady gaze doesn’t reveal his thoughts, but what he’s said is enough.

“Okay,” she says, biting her lip.

“Cleaning the dishes will be a loud, solitary activity during which I will be unlikely to hear anything,” he says, standing up.

“Absolutely do not imply that we need privacy. That’s-- Just don’t.”

All Yinsen does is chuckle very softly, and walk away.

That leaves Emory with the task of walking over to a very busy Tony Stark and trying to persuade him to kiss her so she can stay alive. Her life has become so much more strange than she ever expected.

Stark has the pencil in his mouth and is resting one of his pages on top of the circular metal tray he’d placed the cast palladium into. She waits nearby for about two minutes (she counts 106 seconds before he looks up, and she’d started counting pretty soon after stopping beside the table) before he notices she’s there.

“Hey. What’s up, J Rabbit?”

He doesn’t even turn to look at her.

“That’s a new one for me, but that’s probably because she’s really tall, there, Stark. Glad to know you see me as just boobs and hair though, I guess?”

“Hmm?” he says.

Emory almost laughs. He’s created the perfect situation for her to actually do the thing Yinsen told her she should do. Because if he’s not listening very intently, if he’s so caught up in his project, he probably won’t even be phased.

“I need you to kiss me for Yinsen’s quota of ‘Emory Shouldn’t Die If We Can Avoid It,’” she says.

He looks over at her with interest. “Emory, that’s your name?”

All of his attention is suddenly on her. Whoops.

“Yep,” she says briskly. “So if you could--”

“Emory Autumn,” he says. 

He looks like he’s savoring the way the words taste, and the fact that he’s been so busy all day with something he clearly cares about but is willing to pause for this is really affecting her. Emory closes her eyes tight, trying to reset her sense of what’s important at the moment.

“Tony,” he says. She opens her eyes and looks at him, confused. “My name,” he explains. “I like to be on a first-name basis with a woman I’ve shared kisses with.”

He’s trying to charm her, and that is honestly pissing her off. She’s not here to be enticing, she’s trying to stay alive! Inside her somewhere, the place that keeps trying to get her to relive the way he’d traced her lip with his tongue the day before, a voice calls her a liar.

She suspects she’s going to get a lot of practice ignoring that voice.

“Shared, is it? I don’t recall there being much sharing. Taking, maybe,” Emory says. Only after the word ‘taking’ leaves her lips does she really examine its use, and her eyes fly up to Stark’s in a kind of horrified curiosity.

He’s grinning.

“Interesting choice of words.”

She’s committed now, so as usual when cornered, Emory stands her ground. “It’s true.”

Very carefully, Stark lifts the paper he’d been lining up on top of his palladium contraption, setting it on top of the stack of pages instead. Then he stands up, leaning his palm down on the table to angle his weight sideways. He tips his head the other way and regards her thoughtfully.

“You’re right. I’ve been greedy.”

Oh holy fucking hell, Emory thinks in her own head, looking down at the floor in complete desperation. It’s as if his words have left his lips to connect to some sort of conduit in her gut that has been overloaded with electricity. Greedy, God. She could get behind greedy, not that she ever intends to let him know that.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs.

“Nothing. I’m--” she lifts her eyes to his chest, wishing she were brave enough to shift them higher. “The rabbit sparring with the fox. Wholly without the experience or the vocabulary to hold my own.”

“No one flirted with you at any of Rory’s parties? At events?” He’s coming closer, and she really is the rabbit, now. Emory’s paralyzed, knowing she has to stay still and let him flip all of her switches, even if he only needed to tap on a single lamp with the brush of a finger. She’s always been activated by touch. There has to be a way she can fake callouses for just long enough to fool him.

“Don’t you want to get back to your work?”

“I needed a brain break,” Stark says, coming closer still. He reaches over and shifts the battery as if to show her he’s committed to his course of action.

“What kind of break would you call this?” Emory asks impulsively, finally meeting his eyes.

“Nice,” he says. “I stand corrected.” He shifts his gaze to the far distance as if thinking. “They really did name her after you, didn’t they? Rory Fall, Emory Autumn. How are you not suing them for likeness rights, at this point?”

“Mr. Stark--”

He reaches out and stops her with a heavy thumb against her lips. It directly reminds her of what he’d done the day before, which is why she stays still and stares at him instead of slapping his hand away or backing up.

Well, that and she kind of needs this so they don’t come back and kill her.

That’s the only reason.

“Tony,” he corrects.

All Emory can do is make a skeptical face. He’d said she should use his given name because they’d shared kisses, after all. And they hadn’t. As she’d said.

He doesn’t have the reputation of being a genius for nothing.

“You really do work in the recording industry. You’re giving me snarky eyes because you think you’ve found a loophole, aren’t you? Think I can’t make you kiss me back? I can.”

Yep, all the switches.

She feels the blush grow up her neck and across her cheeks, with a completely different heat spreading downward. In self-defense, Emory grabs his hand and moves it away from her mouth, but Stark twists it in her grip, shifting to hold her wrist. He then uses that new hold to pull her close.

He’s infuriating as well as sexy, because the more she obviously resists him, the more persuasive he’ll be, which is exactly what they both know she won’t be able to handle.

“You are in dire need of someone to puncture your ego,” she bristles.

Stark leans over, laying his lips against her ear. “Do it with your tongue.”

Emory’s response to this is to reach out and rest her hand on his battery, pressing down on the corner that’s extending over the edge of the table. The weight of the thing starts to shift. She’s absolutely not strong enough to get it to fall before he'd stop her, but it’s not stable, either.

“Power play, eh?” he asks. “If you’re going to fuck with my wiring, sweetheart, do it at the source.” Stark closes his hand around hers and to her complete surprise, he drags it underneath his shirt. The intimacy of it is shocking, but so is the place he forces her fingers to slide against. The metal of the electromagnet housing isn’t conductive, but every other place he's compelling her to touch is. She’s slowly attuning to his charge, and it’s exhilarating.

His warm hand shifts hers sideways and flattens it out on his pectoral muscle. Emory shakes her head, overwhelmed, and that’s when he dips his head down and captures her lips with his. Instead of rough, this is persuasive, which is much more drugging and insidious. Stark’s got her touching him in a way that implies a deep intimacy they’re nowhere near actually sharing, but her traitorous body doesn’t understand that. Despite herself Emory leans toward him when he breaches her initial resistance and sucks her lower lip into his mouth.

He breaks the kiss for a second and she tries to pull back.

“No, no,” he says. “I just need--” and suddenly the hand he’d been using to hold hers to his chest slips out from under his shirt and he’s lifting her up onto the table directly beside her. Stark’s got a hand on her hips and the other resting on the table, supporting him as he leans into her.

“You don’t-- This is--” she protests, but before she can vocalize ‘too much,’ he tips his head as if he’s about to kiss her, but doesn’t.

“They can’t see at this angle, I don’t think,” he whispers. Stark’s lips are a breath away, and she’s still got her hand on his bare chest under his shirt like a lover.

“You don’t have to be an overachiever at everything,” Emory mutters, pulling her hand down and away from him. It’s difficult, with how close their bodies are to each other.

“I didn’t succeed yet, so no,” he whispers in her ear.

He means she hasn’t kissed him back. Emory’s actually relieved, because it feels to her like he’s replaced the air in her lungs and the blood in her veins with the wanting of him, and if he can’t tell that’s happening, she’s grateful.

She’s still the prey to his predator, but she knows some tricks, at least.

“There’s always next time,” she promises.

Stark draws back to look at her, his brown eyes searching hers. He nods.

Tony has to force himself to back up so Emory can get down. He doesn’t offer to help her slide down because if he touches her again, he’ll bury his hands in her hair and do just what he’d promised to do in the first place: compel her to kiss him back.

Things are getting way out of hand, he knows, but being denied something he wants always has made him dogged about getting it, and he wants her. She feels it too, whether or not it’s as strong (if there was any chance it was, they could escape this goddamned cave just with the force of energy they’d be capable of giving off, he’s entirely sure). That’s good, and not just in a selfish way, either. Tony doesn’t want to be the person he implied to the terrorist he was. He doesn’t want to use her, he wants to please her, wants her to please him in return. He’s rocketed past ‘cute girl at the party, ask Hogan if she’d be willing to drop by the hotel’ territory straight into ‘pull cute girl away from dance floor against darkened hallway and see how loud they can be before they get caught’ -land.

He walks back over to his chair and grips the back of it, pretending to look at his papers until Emory goes back to her cot. What he needs to do is come. It’s been forever, and he needs steady hands for the welding he’s going to do tomorrow. But Tony Stark is not a sexual exhibitionist, not among people who don’t want to watch. He’ll have to wait till evening, and be discreet. It probably won’t take long, not after he made the monumentally stupid decision to put her hand on his chest.

He can kind of still feel it there. That’s directly related to the need he thought about earlier, if he’s honest. Tony’s always been a heat sink for sexual thoughts the longer it’s been since he’d had an orgasm. Right now? He could probably melt what’s left of the palladium just by holding it in his hands.

Channel the energy, he reminds himself. The suit he’s designing is something out of a comic book, something out of a sci-fi novel. Something out of his most inventive daydreams. Tomorrow he’ll start making it a reality, with his father’s long-time dream of a miniaturized ARC reactor the first item in the agenda.

Tony lines up the pages he’s been sketching on all day and presses them together with a quick swipe of his hand.

It’s bulky, but its beauty doesn’t lie in the lines of metal he’s realistically represented here. This is Mark I. Its purpose is to get Tony back home where he can design its sibling, using the technology he aches to lay his hands on again.

Tony groans inwardly. Even his metaphors in his own mind are about tactile gratification. He’s the most predictable man on the planet.

Soldering goes well the next day, but his hands ache by the afternoon. The precision Tony needs is going to require that he take the second part of the day off and finish in the morning, instead of what he’d been hoping, which was to finish by nighttime. Hooking the reactor up to power will undoubtedly make the lights dim as it takes in the power the first time, and Tony doesn’t want to do that while there will be eyes on their video feed. It also means he needs to get everything to do with Emory taken care of long before evening that night, so no one will get the idea that there will be something to watch after hours.

It’s a perfect reason to establish that whatever they’re up to, it should happen earlier in the day (training the goons observing them that there isn’t anything to see once it’s night), but it’s mostly a rationalization.

True rationalizations are the best kind, anyway.

“Hey, Chenoweth, can you come here?” he calls out to her, standing beside the worktable. His soldering project is at the other end, protected by a box and a few other objects that ought to prevent it from shifting or being knocked over. Tony sets the heavy battery down on the table, away from where he’s cleared things away.

Emory comes over after putting her bookmark in, but her body language is closed-off and defensive. He supposes calling her a known petite Broadway star instead of her name might have done it.

“Sit.” He pats the table. She looks dubious. “Plan is, you sit, I scoot in close, keep my hands out of sight. They can fill in the blanks.” Tony smiles at her, knowing she’s not immune to his charm, as much as she pretends not to be. Hardly any woman is. “Just throw your head back in ecstasy every so often, and you’re off the hook.”

“Fine,” she says, taking his proffered hand to help herself up. “Why am I not surprised that the plan involves stroking your ego?”

He leans over and is impressed by the way she automatically leans toward him and tips her head sideways as if they really were kissing. “Don’t say ‘stroke’ unless you’re going to,” he says.

Emory throws her head back to laugh. Tony has to hand it to her, the expression on her face could easily be misinterpreted. He pays more attention to her when she lifts her hand and rests it on his neck.

“Spread your legs a little, scoot back,” he tells her. His voice is a bit deeper than he had wanted to reveal; he’s turned on by this, who wouldn’t be? But she doesn’t really need to know that. When Emory does scoot back, Tony rests his palm on the small inverted vee of table visible, his fingers curled around the edge of the table. Emory presses her lips together and nods a tiny bit when she realizes why. It could look like he was, well. Stroking.

“So what are you building, or are you still keeping that from us?” she asks.

“An energy source,” Tony says. His hand is getting warm. It’s distracting. “To replace the battery.”

Emory slides her own hand from his neck to the front of his shirt, pulling the fabric out and then gripping it, as if she’s holding on in the throes of passion. It’s effective.

“That’s why it’s round. You’re going to replace the whole thing, aren’t you?”

He leans over and pretends to kiss the top of her head. “Exactly,” he says. Without meaning to, Tony runs his nose along her hair. He steadies his other hand on the table beside her hip. “The design’s kind of inherited. My father built a building-sized one years ago. It powers my factory.”

“I hope he gets to see what you’ve done, when this is all done,” she says, moving her hand to squeeze his upper arm encouragingly.

“I hope not. If there’s going to be a zombie apocalypse, I think we’re safer in here,” Tony says, mentally biting down the residual pain that always springs up when he acknowledges his parents’ deaths. Her hand on his arm freezes for a second, before she removes it.

“I’m sorry,” Emory whispers. She looks like she feels guilty; she hugs her arms to her chest and closes her legs on his hand before gasping and moving them back the way they were.

Tony lifts his hand and holds it up to prove he’s not adversely affected by the move. The truth is he hadn’t thought about how his father might have felt about what he’s doing. Pride was something Howard Stark didn’t seem to glean from outward sources, particularly not from his son. Growing up, Tony had been confused by the way the other boys at school would talk happily about their fathers. Sure, he built machines with his dad sometimes, but unlike the friendly games of catch he’d hear about, the instructions on how to change the oil in the family car, and the like, Tony’s build sessions were full of admonishment and frustration on his father’s part. After a while, they’d ceased entirely.

“Don’t be sorry. He’d probably be more interested in my brain as a Zombie than he ever was when he was alive,” Tony says. He means it as a joke, but the truth of the statement sinks into his skin like radiation, against his will, with no defense available. He supports himself on the table with his fists on either side of her hips, looking down at the fabric of his black pinstriped suit pants she’s wearing.

“Oh, Tony,” Emory says, resting her right hand lightly, gently, on his left one.

He’d secretly wanted to hear her say his name. Tony had been hoping to hear it in a gasp, a broken moan, a way he didn’t have a right to want, in a context that should be abhorrent to him. He’s unaccountably angry with himself for being so very disappointed, and with her for once again setting herself aside for someone else’s comfort. He’s mostly been a pleasure-seeking asshole to her, and yet she sounds completely sincere in her sympathy. It’s not right.

“Stop that right now,” he says, his voice harsh and rough. Tony waits for her to look at him, but she’s frozen, eyes downcast, her hand snatched back. “Look at me.”

Emory shakes her head. “I won’t use it again,” she says in a frightened whisper.

Tony feels like the absolute worst person on the planet. She thought he was angry at her use of his name? He grabs her chin to lift her head, trying to be gentle even though he’s upset with her and himself at the same time.

“That wasn’t it,” he says, willing her to meet his gaze. She’s shut her eyes. “Emory.” Tony can see that she’s closing herself off, and he won’t allow it.

Tantalizingly, he knows how to get her to open back up. “Goddamnit,” he says before leaning down and kissing her, thumb stroking against her neck, lips as gentle and persuasive as he can. 

She grabs his hand as if to pull it away, and he pushes in closer, cups her face with the other hand, doubles down on making her respond.

“I was trying not to-- but you drive me crazy,” he says between kisses. At that, Emory’s whole body seems to yield to him, her grip on his hand softening as she slides it up his arm and into his hair. Tony remembers her saying she’d kiss him back next time, meaning this time, and that ramps up his desire to conflagration levels. With a rough hand he pushes her knees apart to press his hips close, fingers scrabbling against the smooth fabric that she fills out so nicely with her curves.

He’d enjoyed kissing her when she was merely acquiescing but now that she’s participating, Tony’s gone. She’s pure electricity, everywhere she touches him. Her small fingers drag energy through his hair as her mouth opens to his, her tongue teasing his and retreating, drawing him deeper. As in everything, this unexpected, lovely woman is generous to a fault. Tony knows he would have-- probably did-- overlook her in a crowd of women, and he’s not the only one. More fool he.

Emory’s brand of radiation is even more powerful than the guilt and grief from earlier, rewriting the guilt in his DNA and replacing it with pleasure. Just like before, he’s powerless, and Tony wonders if she can even comprehend how effortlessly she’s managed to consume his thoughts. With great effort, he ends the kiss, holding her face between her hands again.

He’s got her attention now, and she has to hear him.

“You are your priority, from now on. Do you hear me?” Her grey eyes confused, she tries to shake her head or pull back, but Tony holds her still. “Who are you, without someone to support?”

He lets go. Looking flustered, she scoots back away from him, up onto the table, rather than push him away.

“There, that,” Tony points out, moving farther forward. Now she is sitting on the table with no way to back up, as there is a stack of missile carapaces behind her. “How will you get down?”

“Why are you--”

“Because I haven’t seen you do a damned thing for yourself this whole time!”

“Stark!” Yinsen says, coming over.

“Tell her she doesn’t just exist to make things easier for everyone else,” Tony says, his anger rising as he thinks about the years she’s probably spent kowtowing to Rory Fall. Yinsen picks up his battery and rests a hand on his arm, and Tony allows himself to be moved away from the table.

“I get it,” Emory says after she gets down. “It’s inconvenient for you, is that it? That I care about--”

“Caring isn’t the problem. Selflessness to the point of subsumption is. Who are you? Do you know? Tell me about yourself, but leave out all the parts where you’re the caretaker for someone else,” Tony practically shouts at her.

“Why does it even matter to you? Why should you care?”

He grabs the battery from Yinsen and marches over to her and towers over her on purpose, filling her entire view with his body, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me why I shouldn’t care.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Emory protests, glaring up at him. “You’re-- you’re you. A billionaire. Why would you ever care what some random woman does?”

“You’re not random anymore, Kitten. You’re someone I have to figure out how to save. And I can’t do that if you’re not going to value yourself.” Tony points at the doors. “If they came in here with a posse of people and told you to pick someone to die, what would you do?”

She rolls her eyes. “Is this a comparison thing? You’d choose someone other than yourself, so everyone should? Yinsen has a family. You have a company to run. The choice is clear.”

“It’s not. You’re young. You--”

“Your logic goes against conventional morality and you know it!” she screams at him.

“So argue that. Not that you aren’t worth saving because you have a messed-up sense of your actual value! That’s my point.”

Emory sidesteps him and stomps her way to her cot, every step punctuated by a huge amount of angry effort. “I didn’t sign up for a fucking Ted Talk on selfishness,” she says over her shoulder.

“If you’d learned something other than selfLESSness you wouldn’t be so screwed up now!” he calls after her.

“Explain to me how you are both so angry?” Yinsen asks Tony. “Preferably before you throw your battery?”

Tony looks down to see that he’s got both hands on either end of the thing, his fingertips curling in as if he wishes he could crush it.

“I sexually harassed her in the hum-vee,” Tony says, his voice rough with frustration. “I basically told the terrorists I wanted them to keep her alive so I could fuck her. She has zero reason to comfort me.”

Yinsen flinches at his language. “Your agreement with them saved her life. You are angry with her for showing you compassion?”

“No!” Tony protests. He thinks a little. “Maybe.”

“Your bargain benefits you more than you anticipated, and your guilt is leading you to be defensive.” Yinsen’s words are blunt. “That’s personal growth, for you. It’s supposed to be uncomfortable.” He takes Tony’s battery and starts walking, forcing Tony to keep up. When Yinsen stops, it’s at their supply of beans. “You measure a third of a cup per person. Go on.”

“You’re teaching me how to make food?”

“You think it should be the girl you just said does too much for others?”

It’s as much of a verbal slap as Tony’s ever been given, and Yinsen didn’t even use anger or profanity.

Tony does what he is told.

Emory actually takes her blanket and pillow and goes to sit behind a pile of empty missile cases. She doesn’t want to see Stark’s stupid face and his stupid hands and his stupid arms that she keeps staring at without meaning to.

The man has absolutely no right to lecture her on her behavior! Of all the people in the world to object to her tendency to put others first! She punches the pillow. It hurts more than a western pillow might have, because of what it’s made of, and her knuckles start aching right away. She’s glad.

It wasn’t fair that he knew that the way to get her to listen to him is to kiss her. It shouldn’t work, but he’s good at it, and the few seconds of kissing him back still has her body thrumming with sexual energy in a way she wishes she could satisfy without him knowing about it. There’s essentially zero privacy in the cave, though, and if anyone in the solar system doesn’t need to know that she’s touching herself because of him, it’s Stark.

Emory lets out a silent groan of deep frustration. She’s lonely, and talking to him just that little bit had been great. At least until he’d decided to moralize at her. Yinsen’s conversation is too convicting for her-- he always seems to have some insight that makes her feel like she’d behaved poorly or has a lesson to learn. Stark didn’t seem that way, but then she’d mentioned his father, which she absolutely should have remembered had died many years before. Shit, Emory thinks. Twenty-five years at least.

She crosses her arms. Feeling bad about that was completely justified, in her mind. It was in no way ‘subsuming’ herself, or whatever his stupid argument was. If her memory is correct, Stark had lost his parents at 17, the same age she was when hers started their divorce. She’d had to make do with a new school and new friends, but he’d had a whole company to consider, and all of his father’s property and assets. It had probably been pretty traumatic. It was no wonder he has lived such a hedonistic lifestyle.

Basically, Stark’s parents had died and he’d indulged himself, gone overboard with it. And his argument is, what? That at some point in her past, she’d done the opposite? Gone overboard with her friend, had become the exact wrong kind of indispensable, to her own detriment?

There is a ring of truth to the sentiment, much as Emory hates to admit it.

“Ughhhh,” she groans, pulling the pillow onto her knees, covering it with her blanket, and dropping her head onto it.

“Food,” Yinsen calls.

“Not hungry!” Emory responds.

She’s worked her way through Rent’s ‘Take Me or Leave Me’ and Wicked’s ‘No Good Deed Goes Unpunished’ and is searching through her mental musical theater archives again when she sees a man’s shoes walk up into her space. Emory lifts her head to see Stark holding two bowls.

“I don’t--”

“Well I do, and I won’t unless you do, so eat it,” he says, holding out the bowl.

“I thought I’m supposed to think of myself first? If that still holds, my not wanting to eat anything should trump your attempt to guilt me into it by denying yourself, shouldn’t it?” Emory points out.

Stark sets her bowl next to her and sinks down to sit on the floor against the wall opposite her little shelter made up of rocket parts. “That’s clever. I am hungry though, so I’m happy to be persuaded.” He lifts up his spoon, then puts it back in. “Except, I don’t believe you. I think you’re hungry, you’re just too mad to eat. I’ve been there.”

 “I just think it’s rich, pun intended, for you of all people to tell me I need to be more selfish.”

“Why?” Stark asks, brows furrowed. “I’m one of the most selfish people in the world. I would know.”

Emory slides her legs down and puts her hands back to support herself. “Have you tried, like, not being so selfish?” she asks, putting on a Valley Girl accent.

“Uh, yeahhhhh,” Stark says, fully committing to the bit. He points to her bowl.

She tries not to smile at him, but it’s a losing battle. Somewhere inside her, sparklers are going off, lighting up all the reasons she could really, really like this man.

“We’re at an impasse, though,” Emory says, lifting a brow.

“Oh?”

“One of us fails at the task, no matter what. If I eat, I’m sacrificing my needs for yours. If you eat, you’re being selfish.”

“Yeah, but one of the options means we both get to eat, so it’s the superior one. Eat up.”

“Fine,” she concedes.

In the next chapter, Tony creates the ARC reactor, and Emory offers him something heartfelt, despite her situation.

[expired-bat]

we met in september - chapter 6

Another day has started, and yet Y/N couldn't get out of bed. It’s not because of another episode, surprisingly. It’s due to that conversation between her and Dee. She couldn’t get it out of her head. Why would he be interested in being her friend? Is it because of pity due to the journal? She brushed those thoughts out of her head, and began getting ready for the day.

Nearly an hour would pass when she makes it to her first class. Dee was already at his seat and prepared for the day. Y/N sat down and took her materials out. Her accessories and boots jingled as she pulled out her pen and notebook.

She was too busy to realize that her seatmate and new friend was looking at her.

Hours would pass until third hour, where Mr. Orlov has assigned a project requiring a partner. It was a presentation about a figure in Russian history. Dee and Y/N were assigned to cover Ivan The Terrible.

She’s heard of Ivan before, the man cradling his dying son after beating him in a painting she saw once. Dee mustered a cough and already has settled out a plan; they are both responsible for gathering information, he will double check the accuracy of the info. Y/N is going to design the presentation with his approval. They will both take turns speaking on whatever the next slide is. Y/N was surprised that he thought of this so quickly; well, it's been five minutes since the project was announced.

They took this time together to gather some info, writing down as they went along. When the bell rang, Dee and Y/N were almost finished gathering some facts. Dee looked at her and asked, “Do you want to finish this during lunch?”

Y/N agreed. There’s no way she wants to have more homework for today.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The day would drag on once again. Lunch was the time Y/N and Dee would have time to talk more. The duo went to an empty hallway and sat down near the lockers. They continued their research for the history project.

The silence was thick, and Dee coughed a bit. “So… what do you like to do?”

Y/N knew damn well he did not ask that question.

“You should know. You’ve read my book, haven't you?”

He puffed out some air. “Yeah, I know that you like to draw, but what else do you do?”

Y/N thought for a bit. That was something barely anyone asked her before.

“I like to watch anime.”

“Same here. What are your favorite shows?”

Y/N listed out her favorites, while Dee responded with his; Death Note, Hellsing, Vampire Hunter D, Higurashi, Elfen Lied, Attack On Titan, and Naruto. Both were discussing the show’s plots and how annoying the fandoms are. The topic then changed to music.

“I notice you’re wearing Joy Division. What’s your favorite song by them?”

“Wilderness. Do you listen to The Sisters of Mercy?”

“No, but I know someone who does.”

The conversation about music went on. They liked almost the same genres, except Y/N also liked to listen to new wave and gothic rock. Turns out, both are fans of Slipknot. They talked about their favorite songs, members, and their wish to go to their concert. Dee tried to learn guitar, but gave up because it was too difficult. Y/N can play ukulele, drums, keyboards, and melodica, but doesn’t bother to practice much. Dee had a look of surprise and a tinge of jealousy.

Pages were filled with facts and questionable trivia. Y/N put her pen aside and stretched.

“Are you finished with researching?” Dee asked.

“Yeah.”

Dee took her papers and stacked it with his. Y/N looked at him in confusion.

“... You took my papers.”

“Yes, I will look over them and compare them to mine tonight. Are you okay with it?”

“Y-Yeah man, just don’t overwork yourself.”

Y/N felt hot as she asked Dee that question. Why did she even ask that? It should be that simple.

Dee put the papers away in a folder and stood up. Lunch hour was about to be over and there won’t be enough time to go to physics. Y/N gathered her things and began to separate from her new friend.

“Hold on.”

Dee walked up to her with his phone in his hand. He then showed her his username for Discord.

“Do you have it?”

“Yeah, it’s (Y/U/N)#0000”

Dee quickly tapped on the keyboard and sent something. Y/N felt her phone buzz and pulled it out.

Discord

DarkPrinceDee sent you an image

She opened the app to see this.

She chuckled at the image and accepted the message. The bell rang and the duo went to their next class.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Y/N’s third day would end without disaster. She met Dee at the stop as she was waiting for her bus. The conversation between the two would be interrupted with a lion cub’s roar. 

“HEY DEEEEEEE!!!”

The blond’s face instantly deflated and was filled with dread. Y/N looked behind him to see a ginger kid with long, unwashed hair and a Manowar shirt sprint towards him. He tried to tackle him, but the blond managed to get him under control. They roughhoused a bit before the younger boy got Y/N’s attention. His attention span is the same as a puppy.

“Hey! Are you new here? Do you know my brother? You look pretty cool!”

Y/N’s Russian has improved, but with him speaking so fast, she couldn’t translate half of the stuff she was saying. She panicked, but the dark prince saved the day. 

“Calm down Heavy. This is Y/N, she’s an exchange student,” he said as he switched languages. “Y/N, this is my idiot little brother Heavy.”

Y/N calmed down. That’s his brother? He didn’t tell him anything about having siblings. She let out her hand to offer a handshake.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Heavy took in the handshake. He switched to his older brother and began to chatter. Y/N could briefly understand what he was saying, like when he got in trouble again for his unwashed hair or skipping algebra. The brothers didn’t look much alike, say for the noses.

Heavy then noticed Y/N’s changed demeanor. He instantly felt bad.

“Hey! Are you being left out? I’m sorry about that! I just had to tell my brother something! Say, how did you meet? Was it fate?! Huh, huh?”

She couldn’t comprehend what Heavy just said. She just chuckled and shook her head. She saw her bus and headed out. She said her goodbyes to the brothers. Dee waved back while Heavy just raised his hand in the air, shook it, and yelled a ‘bye!’

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[Dee’s POV]

Dee was close to strangling his little brother. He and Y/N were just vibing with whatever they were talking about earlier, but Heavy of course had to barge in.

His mind was on autopilot on the way home. He didn’t even know what Heavy was talking about at this point.

“Hey, do you like Y/N?”

Dee stopped his steps. He gave Heavy a dark look and continued on walking. This sent the kid into a fit of giggles and teased about his older brother’s so-called “new crush.”

“I don’t like her like that shithead!” the blond exploded.

When they entered home, Dee instantly went to his room. He dropped his bag and flopped on his bed. He laid there for a few minutes before realizing that makeup was still on his face. While washing his face in the bathroom, he pondered and thought about Y/N. She’s a sweet girl, and has a great fashion and music taste. She looked kinda cute when she’s focused on something-

“DAMN IT!!”

Dee swung and punched the mirror. It didn’t shatter (thank goodness), but it hurt and left a loud thud. Knowing that Heavy and his dad are home, they probably heard it.

The blond sighed. He has to remember to revise the notes he and Y/N took after all.

Returning to his room, he pulled out his phone and saw that Y/N sent a message. He opened the app and read it.

(Y/U/N)

hey i know we’re working on something else but i have this project for art that requires doing a portrait of someone else. do u mind being a model for me? it’s alright if u don’t

Dee nearly snapped his phone.

DarkPrinceDee

Yeah, i’m cool with it.

[shatter-song]

I think I'll just post just the 1st chs of my ongoing stories and that's it. like I'll post updates when I finish them but these will be my main examples for people at how I'm doing writing wise

so this ch 1 of my melodybeast centered fic!

Oh. This is bad.

 

Viney doesn't know why it took her this long to realize that but it did.

 

Ever since Hunter's second arrival to Hexside and telling everyone the truth about the Day of Unity, all the kids were thrown into hysteria.

 

And who could blame them? The former Golden Guard comes to their school, tells them that the Day of Unity is actually a planned out mass genocide of all living things on the Isles and only the mass believers of Belos would laugh in their face.

 

Thankfully, Viney has always been a nonbeliever.

 

She mentally thanks her parent for instilling that in her.

 

But then it was the Day of Unity. Those with sigils nearly died, her friends go missing (whenever someone is saying that they could be dead, she asks Skara to cast a silencing spell because she might end up fistfighting someone), her Nobi goes missing, and all the kids are left alone.

 

She recalls Matt saying he doesn't know whether or not Glandus is okay which led her to wonder if the kids from other schools got branded or not.

 

(Are they alone, too?)

 

Regardless, none of them are showing up.

 

A week into the apocalypse, with every adult at Hexside turned into a puppet (because of Boscha, the darker parts of her mind provides) and many more missing, the realization what's happened sets in for every kid.

 

Then came the tears.

 

Everyone not in kindergarten was in charge now for the kindergarten kids. Their parents were either missing or puppets. No one was coming to help them.

 

They're on their own.

 

Yeah. This is totally not good.

This year is going in the therapy books. If those will even continue to exist anymore.

 

They have to get supplies. The kids – Oh yeah, she's one, too – were in this for the long haul, Titan forbid anyone think otherwise.

 

Which leads to now.

 

Ordinarily, Viney would be one of the witches to stay because of her capability in healing. Kat is... not here, Emira is inexperienced with major injuries that are more common than ever and is also taking care of Edric, and Bo is good but far too tired from the past few days alone.

 

And that's just naming a few. Viney is sure she could make a whole book listing the problems healers alone have right now.

 

However, with Matt busy in staging a coup, and the healing homeroom not actually packed for once, Viney volunteered to look for supplies.

 

Like hell she would live on school lunch for the rest of her life.

 

"If I knew that the apocalypse would come last week, I would've dressed more comfortably." Skara says irritably.

 

"Yeah, scavenging around in school uniform does not bode well for days in a row." Jerbo replies with a low note of humor.

 

Herself, Barcus, Jerbo, and Skara are scavenging the hollowed out town that was Bonesborough.

 

Apparently, there's some kind of schedule with how the Collector acts – at least, that's the best way to put it.

 

The morning to the afternoon was "playtime". The night until morning was "bedtime". It's coming into conflict to what she thought the Collector to be. Regardless of those thoughts, one thing is for certain.

 

The Collector is dangerous. And very powerful but that goes without saying.

 

"What should we look for first?" Barcus woofs from the front of the group.

 

"Hang on," Skara halts. "I made a list." The bard takes out a folded sheet of paper. She unfolds it then reads outloud.

 

"Okay so, we need some clothes for the kindergarten kids after they tore theirs while hunting down lockers."

 

Jerbo groans while Viney pats his back in sympathy. "That's gonna be a common occurrence, isn't it?"

 

"Yeah... We also need food, seeds for the plant track students – any will do, and some extra sleeping bags."

 

"Okay," Viney starts, "Let's head for the marketplace then. We'll find what we need there."

 

The trek wasn't hard. They ran into little to no trouble because... well, there wasn't anything. The streets were empty and quiet. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong but now isn't the time to have a crisis.

 

She can save that for later.

 

"We should split up." Skara suggests, "We shouldn't run into much trouble but I'd rather not risk anything. You guys got invisibility glyphs?"

 

The trio nods then Skara continues, "Alright. Viney, you're with me. We'll scour the Ceilingmart. Barcus, you and Jerbo check the stands."

 

Ah. Hm.

 

Viney doesn't mind at all going with Skara but that doesn't stop this bubbling feeling in her from rising.

 

It's not the first time either.

 

"I think Skara is poisoning me." Viney says, one day. The two of them are inside the room of shortcuts except for Barcus.

 

Jerbo looks away from the potted abomination he was crafting. "What?"

 

"I think Skara is poisoning me."

 

"Why do you think that?"

 

"So, you know how when you're slowly poisoned overtime, you would feel weird in your stomach?" Viney gestures to him like this is completely normal.

 

...

 

"No, Viney. I wouldn't know." Jerbo says with a completely blank face and straight lined mouth.

 

"Okay, good."

 

"Oh my Titan, Viney."

 

"Anyways, that's what happening to me for like... a week now. I would just feel sweaty and like, I would feel my heart pounding so much faster than it should." Viney said.

 

"And you're sure this is her poisoning you? " Jerbo questions. At this point, neither of them are paying attention to whatever task they're supposed to complete. This is clearly more important.

 

"Well... no. But those are the symptoms of being poisoned, so..."

 

"Alright, there has to be more to this."

 

There is. Thank Titan that Jerbo is a good listener.

 

Viney would sometimes stare for a little too long. Think about her at nearly anytime of the day. Remember the littlest of things that just seem important to her. All that.

 

Then, Jerbo manages to develop the answer. He narrows his eyes. "That's not her poisoning you, Viney. That means you have a crush on her."

 

Oh.

 

Yeah. Oh. In hindsight, it was probably stupid to think she was poisoning her.

 

Whatever, this is where the problem comes in. What does she do about this?

 

She's never had a crush before. On anyone. What if she ruins their friendship? What if Skara hated her for it?

 

What if this wasn't a crush and she's just panicing over nothing? What if Skara actually reciprocates her "feelings" only to break up later?

 

Viney doesn't want to hurt her. She's been through enough hurt by her own friends as it is.

 

"Viney?"

 

The beastkeeper blinks, her intrusive thoughts disappearing as she takes in the present. She sees Skara looking at her in concern. Her cricket palisman is on her shoulder mirroring her witch's look.

 

"Yeah, what's up?"

 

Skara points to where Viney was originally looking. "You were just, uh, staring down those pots like it had done something to you."

 

Viney looks to where the bard is pointing. Ah, right. Since they can't go outdoors, they'll have to grow crops from pots.

 

"Sorry, just thinking about which pots to get. I'm not in the plant track so I don't know which one to get."

 

Ugh. Thinking about school romance of all things when you're supposed to be getting supplies for an entire school body? Seriously?

 

Get it together, Vernal.

 

"I guess that makes sense." The bard purses her lips in consideration. "Maybe I should've sent Jerbo here instead."

 

Viney shrugs, "Eh, it's fine. We could just come back if we need to. Not like they're going anywhere. I think." She turns to Skara, "Are pots sentient?"

 

That earns her a chuckle which in turn makes the healer smile.

 

For a moment, everything's right. This one moment they can ignore the apocalyptic setting around them and just be kids.

 

So it's only a matter of time before something goes wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They weren't supposed to be here.

 

It was nighttime. Isn't that the Collector's bedtime? Do these things just have minds of their own?

 

Skara quickly plays a few notes on her lyre and the star is shoved into a nearby building by bard magic.

 

Jerbo uses a vine as some kind of lasso and drags another star down so Barcus could destroy it with a bite infused with oracle magic.

 

And Viney? Well, she's good at defense so defend is what she'll do. Puddles is... also not here so the best she could do is conjure shields whenever the time arises.

 

The shields are hands at least so she could swat them away like vampflies.

 

But this is getting too much.

 

"Barcus, look out!" Viney shouts.

 

Barcus yips and jumps up to dodge a spy's puppet-transforming magic before Jerbo catches him in his arms.

 

"We gotta fall back!" Jerbo yells and Barcus barks in agreement.

 

Viney makes a wide spell circle and the four are surrounded by a giant dark blue dome. It immediately cracks under the attacks recieved by their enemies.

 

Thankfully, quick thinking and improvisation are skills that you need if you were to be a delinquent a few months ago. And also a survivor in the apocalypse now.

 

"Grab hands and use an invisibility glyph then run like hell into the alleyways!" Viney commands.

 

Skara grabs Viney's hand – Oh Titan, calm down, it's literally just handholding for dear life – then she grabs Jerbo's. Barcus, who is still in the grip of his fellow delinquent, pulls out a glyph from his pouch.

 

"On three, hold your breaths!"

 

The group nods. Viney's shields are about to go down due to the force of the star spies.

 

Honestly, she's actually pretty surprised it lasted this long.

 

"Two!"

 

"Wh-?! What happened to one?!" Jerbo sputters.

 

"No time for one!"

 

The shields shatter into glistening light particles and spread across the baren street. Viney's proud of how long those lasted.

 

"Three!"

 

The group breathe in their share of air, hold it in, and run. They rush down the alleyways and out, dragging each other into a new street.

 

Pieces of Bonesborough watch as the spies fly past broken down husks of buildings of the place they called their town. The confusion is oddly clear on their faces.

 

The spies aren't giving up so neither are they. Well, in a sense they are, but this battle doesn't need to won in this war.

 

Jerbo drags them into a open building before shutting the door behind them. At that point, they all take in a large gulp of air, the invisibility taken off of them.

 

Skara, not stopping for a moment, covers the window with its blinds. Viney slumps against a wall while Jerbo puts down Barcus back on the floor.

 

"That..." Jerbo panted, "was close."

 

"Too close." Barcus huffs. "It's the middle of the night. I thought the Collector was asleep?"

 

"I guess those things must be capable of acting on their own." Viney said. "When we were running, I noticed how the spies looked confused. Like, really confused. That may not sound like much but you'd be surprised at how a lot of beasts are not capable of facial expressions."

 

It'd be fascinating if it weren't for the fact those things turn people into wooden puppets.

 

"They're quite the unique beast, no?"

 

"Regardless," Skara says, gathering the attention of everyone, "it's probably best if we hide for the meantime. Let's scour the building for any supplies."

 

"Aye aye, captain." Jerbo salutes. He leaves up a stairwell with Barcus in tow. The demon sends a side eye to Viney and before she could react, he's already gone.

 

Weird.

 

"Well," Skara begins and Viney turns to her. "where we should we start?" 

 

Ah. Right. Barcus knows because of couse he does.

 

Gay. Gay. Homosexual. Gay.

 

Shut up, Barcus.

 

She feels a chortle in her mind before it fades away. What was she doing again?

 

Oh! Right, a place to start.

 

"How about a kitchen?" Viney suggests. "I know I'm hungry after that ordeal."

 

"No kidding." Skara giggles. "I hope they have some cake in here."

 

Viney laughs. "Here's hoping."

 

Skara draws a circle and a ball of light is brought to life in the palm of her hand. She smiles at her which has the troublemaker darting her eyes, uncharacteristically shy-like.

 

Okay, Vernal. Just you and who is probably the prettiest girl you've ever met scouting a random building for supplies. You got this.

 

She doesn't expect the bard to hook her right arm with her left but hey, she doesn't mind.

 

Just don't look into her beautiful silver eyes and say something embarrassing. Easy.

 

She's so got this.

 

(No, she does not.)

[foggyfanfic]

Love and Fury

Chapter Preview: Leche glanced at his owner but continued to stare at the man who promised to feed him. Bruno stared at Leandra’s father, incredibly aware of the fact that he was still half on top of the man’s daughter. Finally, Lopez stared at the young man that was half on top of his little girl, who had turned her head towards the couch back when the open door had rudely bombarded her with sunlight.

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Chapter 25 The Morning After

If Bruno was asked to classify his visions, he’d put them in three categories. 

First, there were the visions that wanted to be seen, the ones he had to hold back most of the time. Particularly stubborn visions would be preceded by a headache as he fought against them, and when he finally let the vision through, his pain would recede. Usually, if he had an involuntary vision, it was one of these. On the few occasions when he’d allowed all of the visions begging for his attention to just wash over him, he’d bought himself a week without headaches. Right up until somebody wanted a vision from him and he had to claw at time to get even a hint of the future.

Those were the second type of visions he had, the kind that he had to go looking for. Sometimes those were easy, like finding exactly the book you needed for your history project the second you stepped into the library. Somebody would ask a question, Bruno would burn some sage, look into the future, and there was the answer, just waiting to be told. However, they were just as often difficult to pull out of the sand, like walking to the shelf where the book you need is supposed to be only to realize somebody moved it when the librarian wasn’t looking. Somebody would ask a question, Bruno would burn some sage, look into the future, and spend the next ten minutes to an hour sifting around and clawing vague snatches of scenes into the present for him to puzzle over. These visions wore him out, and he often ached if he did too many of them in a row.

Finally, there were prophecies. Visions that didn’t want to be seen, but ran into him like an out of control book cart. Every once in a while he’d be minding his own business, then suddenly he’d be overcome by a cacophony of information, the future falling into and out of him with little care for narrative consistency. These were the absolute worst, they were painful, draining, confusing, and as soon as they were over people would want to know what he saw. As if he even knew!

As Bruno lay awake, still half on top of Leandra, he debated who to thank for the vision happening when he was with her and not when he was surrounded by a bunch of people. 

He closed his eyes and breathed in lavender and jasmine, in an effort to keep himself calm. Bruno had seen Cicero’s trial. He hadn’t seen the outcome, but he had seen enough.

If he was going to be honest with himself, he had kind of already known that Cicero had tried to rape Pepa, all the signs were there, and he’d been grasping at straws for a different answer. Fact was, he just hadn’t wanted it to be true. Of course he didn’t. It was horrible. 

And Leandra was right, the big controversy of the trial wasn’t over whether or not Cicero had raped Rosalie, it was over whether or not he should be punished for it. How could anyone…?!

Bruno counted his breaths, trying to focus on the feeling of Leandra’s body against his instead of the rage, disgust, and fear that threatened to spur him into action.

Cicero tried to rape Pepa, he had tried to rape multiple women and had succeeded at raping Rosalie. And now, he had set his sights on Leandra.

Oh dios, and there was a kid involved, people were actually going to argue that the guy who went on a rape spree because one woman turned him down should be allowed to raise a child. What were people thinking? Or, well, going to be thinking.

There was the click of claws on tile, then a weight settled on Bruno’s arm where it rested on Leandra’s waist. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at Leche, who let out a soft “A-woo.”

“Hey, you hungry?”

Leche made a quiet gruffing noise as his tail began to wag. Bruno smiled wearily at him, almost cheered by the gentle “A-ruff” sounds the dog was making.

“I’ll feed you, but you’ll have to show me where everything is, ok?” Bruno whispered, slowly untangling himself from Leandra in an effort not to wake her.

Leche backed away from the couch, beginning to wiggle happily as food became imminent. Bruno was just starting to think the world might not be completely horrible when the front door opened, revealing Señor Lopez.

Leche glanced at his owner but continued to stare at the man who promised to feed him. Bruno stared at Leandra’s father, incredibly aware of the fact that he was still half on top of the man’s daughter. Finally, Lopez stared at the young man that was half on top of his little girl, who had turned her head towards the couch back when the open door had rudely bombarded her with sunlight.

“Leandra,” Señor Lopez eventually said.

“Hm, sí Pá?” she yawned, her eyes opening slowly at first, then very quickly once she realized Bruno was still on top of her.

“Anything you’d like to tell me?”

“Um-.”

Bruno suddenly realized he should probably get off of Leandra and tried to throw his feet onto the floor, unfortunately they were still wrapped in the blanket she’d given him and she was still lying on top of said blanket, so all he ended up doing was falling on her.

“Ow! Bruno, stop panicking,” Leandra snapped, “Papá, give me a moment.”

She pushed Bruno aside as much as she could and began untangling their feet from the blanket. When he chanced a glance at Leandra’s father, he seemed to be trying not to laugh, which wasn’t great, but it was way better than him looking murderous.

Leche groaned loudly, reminding everybody that he had been promised breakfast.

“I-I, this is completely my fault,” Bruno rushed to say, as Leandra got herself off the couch, “she- I had a prophecy a-and Rei- Leandra was just- it hurt my head, the prophecy, I mean. Like a lot! I-.”

“It completely wiped him out Pá, it was horrible, I almost thought he was dying! I was trying to help him feel better and I guess I fell asleep,” Leandra said, stretching, she turned to Bruno, “sorry about that, by the way, I meant to go to bed once you were out.”

Bruno gaped at her for a few seconds and was about to launch into another panicked stream of nonsense when Señor Lopez thankfully cut him off, “You feeling better, mijo?”

“I uh, sí.”

“Bien,” he nodded once, then waved a hand at Leche, “come on you, you can eat with the other two. Bruno, you’re joining us for breakfast.”

And then he walked back out of the house, Leche trotting at his heels.

“Told you not to panic,” Leandra paused to yawn, “come on, let’s get the coffee ready.”

“H-he’s not mad?”

“Mad that you weren’t feeling well and I fell asleep trying to help? No Bruno, he’s not mad.”

“B-but it’s, I mean it’s not exactly… I was on top of you,” Bruno hissed, glancing at the doorway as he followed Leandra back into the kitchen.

“We’re both fully clothed and only one of us was under the blanket,” Leandra put the kettle on, “besides, he knows you’ve been looking out for me, he trusts you.”

Bruno blinked, “He… knows…?”

She gave him a look, “Well, yeah? We might not have spent as much time together as we’d like lately, but we still talk about our day and stuff. He doesn’t know the full Cicero situation but he knows I go to you when I feel unsafe.”

“Oh,” he processed that information, then frowned when it brought his thoughts back to where they had been before Leche had started asking for food, “oh.”

“You good?” she asked, turning away from the coffee pot she’d been prepping.

“I- my prophecy… it was Cicero’s trial. I-I don’t know how it ends but…”

Leandra stared at him, or rather, her eyes were pointed at him while she processed what he was saying. He waited, for once not unnerved by the weight of somebody else’s gaze. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the kettle. In a flash she had the coffee brewing, then she leaned against the counter and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Are you alright?” she finally asked.

“No. No, of course not. He tried to rape my sister, I- ‘alright’ is not even close to what I am, I’ve never felt so, so- dios. We need to keep him away from you, I-I don’t care what plan you’ve come up with, you- it’s not- he’s dangerous.”

Leandra sighed, “Bien, what’s your plan?”

“What?”

“Your plan? To keep me safe from him? To keep all of the girls and women in the village safe from him? Because we can’t just… if it was as easy as avoiding him, if it was as easy as avoiding men like him,” Leandra shook her head, letting out a huff, “trust me, if I could just snap my fingers and make this village instantly safer, I would.”

“Well, there has to be something we can do,” Bruno crossed the kitchen so that he was standing right in front of her, “I-I know you want to help the village but, but I don’t know, can’t you just maybe… put your safety first?”

She gave him a sharp look, “You mean let some other girl be his next victim?”

“I didn’t say that,” Bruno held up his hands.

“Then what do you expect me to do?”

His mouth flapped uselessly as he searched for an answer.

“I’m with Bruno on this one,” Señor Lopez said from the doorway, startling Bruno and incurring an eye-roll from Leandra.

“Well then you can help him come up with a better plan,” she sniffed.

Her father just grunted, turning away from them to dig in the pantry. He pulled out an assortment of dry fruit, then crossed over to the ice box and grabbed some cheese. It was a simple breakfast, simpler than Bruno was used to, which was good. He didn’t have the stomach for anything more complicated.

“So,” Señor Lopez said, watching Bruno set the table and Leandra pour the coffee, “that Cicero boy is some sort of brute now?”

“Sí,” Leandra nodded once and didn’t elaborate.

“I take it he’s Julio’s father?”

Leandra scowled as she sat down, “No, he’s the man that got Rosalie pregnant, but he is not a father.”

“Fair enough,” Señor Lopez took a sip of his coffee.

Bruno sat across from Leandra and floated in between his usual low level terror at being caught in an unfamiliar social situation and the mire of rage and fear clawing up his spine. He nibbled on a dry mango, to avoid being rude.

Leandra eventually sighed, “Right now, my plan is to make sure I’m never alone with him, that good enough for you?”

“No, you already rule out murder?” Lopez asked.

“Unfortunately,” Bruno blurted. He grimaced, and glanced at Señor Lopez, but was met with a wry grin instead of an admonishing glare.

“Look, we can murder him as much as we want once Rosalie’s name is cleared.”

“Rather do it before he hurts my daughter, thank you very much.”

“M-maybe we can just lock him in a dungeon or something,” Bruno suggested, “that’ll keep the village safe.”

“We don’t have a dungeon,” Leandra pointed out, “our criminal Justice system boils down to community service or exile.”

“Could build a dungeon,” Lopez grumbled, “basically just a basement. How hard can it be?”

“Do you two have anything helpful to add to the situation?” 

Bruno thought about it for a second, then he turned to Señor Lopez, “I have a shovel.”

“For a dungeon or a grave?” 

“Myeh.”

Lopez let out a gruff laugh, while Leandra just rolled her eyes and shook her head. Bruno felt himself relax a little, the rage was still there, as were his nerves, but at least Leandra’s father seemed to not hate him. 

“So, how is training going?” Leandra asked her father, moving the conversation along.

Bruno tried to follow it but his thoughts clung to his prophecy with a white knuckled grip. 

Cicero was a rapist. The village might let him get away with it. Leandra wasn’t safe, quite possibly, none of the women in Encanto were safe. The village might decide that rape is no big deal.

He didn’t realize he was working himself up until a soft hand landed on his balled fist on the table. Bruno looked up and found both Lopezes looking at him. 

If his mind wasn’t so consumed by the situation at hand, he would have been tempted to hide under the table.

“You alright, hijo?” Lopez asked.

“I-,” Bruno was so angry, he almost answered truthfully, despite not knowing Señor Lopez that well, “I’m fine.”

Leandra huffed, “You’re clearly not, is the trial going to be that bad?”

“It- people… you were right, some people are going to claim that, that what Cicero did to Rosalie is no big deal,” Bruno shook his head, “I don’t understand! He ruined her life! He tried to rape my sister! How could-?!”

He bit his tongue and turned his head away from them as his voice threatened to cross the edge into a yell. Bruno had never felt like this before, he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it.

Leandra’s thumb began slowly stroking the back of his fist, otherwise she didn’t say anything. Her father just grunted, and Bruno could see him nodding out of the corner of his eye.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude-,” Bruno started to say, but Señor Lopez shook his head.

“If there’s anything worth getting worked up over…,” he waved off Bruno’s apology.

“Better to get the anger out now before you go see Pepa,” Leandra pointed out, “her and Rosalie have enough stress on their shoulders. Not to mention you have to get through Church in a couple hours.”

Bruno paled, realizing she was right. He would have to sit through Sunday Mass, surrounded on all sides by people who would soon argue that Cicero shouldn’t suffer any consequences for his actions. He would have to be in the same room as the rapist himself, and try to keep a lid on all of this. He might even have to watch Cicero pursue Leandra.

Without his meaning to, he grit his teeth and curled his lip, a sound not unlike a snarl clawing its way into existence. As soon as he heard the sound he ducked his head and tried taking deep breaths.

“Or, maybe you should sit this Sunday out,” Leandra said slowly.

“No,” Bruno said instantly, then flinched at his own volume, “I-I mean-, perdon, I don’t feel comfortable… not being there. If he’s going to be-, I can’t stand the thought of him being around-, dios he shouldn’t be around anyone. It’s not-, I need to be there.”

“Bruno,” Leandra said gently, holding his hand in both of hers, “if we’re not careful, if we tip him off that he is being actively investigated, we have no idea what he’ll do. It’s likely he’d become even more dangerous. I… you have every right to be angry, you do, but if you don’t think you can contain that anger until we have the proof we need to take him to trial… the best thing you can do is avoid him.”

Bruno scowled, he knew she was right, and that made hearing it even worse.

“Have you been this angry the entire time?” he asked, “How have you not…?”

Leandra shrugged, “I’ve channeled my anger towards stopping him. It’s given me an outlet, and something to hope for.”

“Fine, what can I do to stop him,” Bruno held up a finger to cut her off before she could respond, “a-and don’t suggest anything that involves putting yourself in danger.”

“Here, here,” Señor Lopez grumbled into his coffee, but otherwise didn’t comment on the conversation.

She sighed, “I don’t know, I mean according to your vision, it sounds like proving what Cicero did is wrong will be harder than proving that he did it. Maybe… maybe you can work on that?”

Bruno nodded slowly, even though he hadn’t the faintest idea how to even start fixing that particular issue. Still, it was something he could do and that was enough for now.

He went back to nibbling on his dried fruit, mind now poking and prodding at the problem in front of him. Conversation didn’t pick back up, and he distantly felt guilty for inadvertently killing it. However, he was a bit too consumed by his thoughts to really focus on it.

Once Señor Lopez was satisfied that Bruno had eaten enough, he sent him home with some cheese for Alma and an invitation to come back anytime.

Bruno got to Casita just as his mother and sisters were sitting down for breakfast. He left the cheese on the table and told them that he’d been laid up by a surprise vision all night, then beat a hasty retreat to get ready before he gave in to the temptation to squeeze Pepa close and swear vengeance on Cicero.

He caught Julieta’s eye on their way to the church and deliberately slowed down. She slowed to match pace with him.

“My vision last night,” he started to say, then stopped. It was always difficult to determine how much he should say about the future, he didn’t want to say too much.

“Just tell me what you need,” Julieta prompted him, familiar with his struggle.

“I-I need- we need some way to convince people that-, I can’t believe I have to say this, we need to convince people that rape is bad.”

Julieta looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I know, I know, I didn’t think that would be a hang up for people either, b-but here we are.”

“I’m… not quite as surprised as I’d like to be.”

“Really?! I’m- I can’t believe- I mean, of course it’s bad! He ruined her life,” Bruno hissed, gesturing wildly. He huffed and shook his head. He hadn’t thought he had much faith in humanity left to lose, but people had found a new way to disappoint him.

Julieta sighed and placed a gentle hand on his arm, “We’ll convince them. He won’t get away with it.”

Bruno just grumbled and nodded. Hopefully, she was right. Hopefully, the people of Encanto were all basically decent, or at the very least, didn’t want somebody so… violent in their community.

Two little girls ran past, dressed in their Sunday best, holding hands and giggling as their mother called out for them to be careful not to scuff their good shoes. Bruno watched them, frowning. Were they safe? If something bad happened to them, would the community protect them? They were children, the answer had to be yes, right?!

“Bruno, are you alright?” Julieta asked, as they approached the town square.

“No,” he said, not seeing any point in lying, “I thought people… were just a little bit better than this. A-and now, now I’m just not sure that we’re, you know, safe. I mean it’s one thing to know there’s a rapist in the village, it’s another to realize that a good chunk of the village won’t even care when they find out. What other crimes would they…?”

Julieta just sighed and patted his shoulder, evidently she didn’t have anything comforting to say. Then again, he doubted there was anything comforting that could be said, anything that would make any of this better.

Further into the square, their mother paused to talk to some of the choir and Pepa drifted from her side to talk to Félix. Julieta and Bruno paused as well, Julieta searching the crowd for Agustín while Bruno just watched people mill about, clenching and unclenching his fist.

His eyes found Leandra and for a second his heart soared, then somebody moved, revealing Cicero standing just a tad too close to her and Bruno’s heart dropped like a dead bird. 

Bruno was moving before he’d even decided how to react. He heard Julieta hiss his name, but didn’t pay her much mind as his feet carried him closer and closer to the pair.

Leandra noticed him coming, and her cheeks paled, Cicero turned and actually took a step back when he saw Bruno. The crowd parted like the Red Sea in front of him, startled faces passing by in a blur.

When he reached Leandra and Cicero he snatched up her hand and kept walking, barely pausing long enough to growl the words “Go to hell” at Cicero. He got her to the doorway of the church before she seemed to gather her senses and tugged at his hand.

“Bruno,” Leandra hissed, “Bruno, that was the least subtle thing ever.”

“Subtle?!” Bruno turned to her, “Subtle? That monster is wandering around, drugging women and attacking my sister and I’m supposed to be subtle?!”

Leandra glanced around, and Bruno distantly realized people were staring, some close enough to hear every word he’d just said. She swallowed thickly and gently gripped his bicep.

“Bruno, we don’t have any proof that Cicero was the one who did those things, and we can’t condemn people out of pure speculation,” she said, maintaining a little more eye contact than normal. To all those listening, it probably sounded like she still thought Cicero was innocent, which just grated on his already fried nerves.

He knew what she was actually saying, it was the same thing she had been saying this entire time, they needed to gather evidence before they acted. However, it still stung to hear her defend Cicero in any way, shape, or form.

“So what? I’m just supposed to wait until he rapes the woman I love?!” Bruno asked, gesturing at her, “Isn’t the entire point of giving this village a miracle to keep it safe? What happens if he decides he wants to branch out? Try new ways of hurting people. Do we just let him and hope he slips up enough for us to throw him out?!”

Leandra didn’t respond, she stared at him, mouth gaping open. Slowly, her cheeks turned a very pleasant pink and the people around them started whispering.

“What?” Bruno folded his arms, “I- There isn’t anything weird about caring about other people.”

“The-?” Leandra paused, cleared her throat and tried again, “The woman you what now?”

He frowned, cocking his head at her, then he froze. 

“Oh.”

“Bruno-?”

Mierda. 

“Bye.”

“What? Bruno!”

Bruno made to speed walk away from her, but caught sight of Cicero standing where they left him, out of earshot but  watching the whole thing.

“Oh fuck no,” he breathed, and turned back to Leandra, only to realize that she was still the person who he just accidentally confessed his love to, “uuuuuuuuuh, h-hold on.”

“Bruno, can’t we just tal-?”

Another look at Cicero proved frustrating, as the asshole was now smirking at Bruno, apparently having noticed his panic. Then Bruno noticed Pepa and Félix approaching.

“Oh thank god,” Bruno practically sprinted over to them, he briefly grabbed Pepa’s shoulders and told her, “I blew it. Please keep Cicero away from her. Bye.”

Then he released her and took off at a run. He probably wouldn’t have been able to sit through church anyways.

[recycledmoviecostumes]

Goodness do I have a treat for all of you today. Larry McQueen, owner of The Collection has sent me a lovely sighting filled with detailed information. Because the detail is frankly incredible, I decided not to edit it and present Larry’s notes in full below:

In 1936, Travis Banton, head designer at Paramount Studios, began work on the last film he would design for his favorite clotheshorse, Marlene Dietrich. The duo had worked closely together on all her films at Paramount and created the “Dietrich style”-- a look of lavish, smoldering, hard-edged sophistication that was instrumental in creating the Dietrich legend.

 Dietrich had one final film to complete her contract at Paramount and was cast in a typical Dietrich vehicle Angel, a sophisticated Lubitsch melodrama with her in the role of an ignored wife of means who has an affair with her husband’s friend. Banton designed the most opulent dress he had ever created for the star for the under-five-minute opera sequence and preceding scenes in the film. The ensemble was to become known as the “Faberge” gown and consisted of a fitted long-sleeve bodice with peplum, a matching long skirt with train and a six foot stole bordered with sable. The fabric was solidly embroidered with gold beads, pearls, rhinestones, gold bullion, gold sequins and faux ruby and emerald stones in geometric designs. According to W. Robert Levine in his book “In A Glamorous Fashion,” the costume was cost-listed on the wardrobe records at $8,000.00, an exorbitant price in the post-depression era and a price that would be over $100,000.00 by today’s standards. The expense must have caused stirrings in Paramount’s upper management in a time when the government was asking the studios to scale back the unnecessary lavishness in costume design. Banton himself once said it was the most expensive gown he had ever designed.

 The ensemble is given credit in many film costume books as the most spectacular gown ever created. Diana Vreeland, one-time curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art said of the costume in the book “Hollywood Costume– Glamour! Glitter! Romance!” “When I think of detail, I think of Travis Banton’s marvelous beaded dress for Marlene Dietrich in Angel—like a million grains of golden caviar. That is one of the most beautiful dresses ever…”. Margaret J. Bailey in her book Those Glorious Glamour Years describes the dress “It was simple in lines, of Persian design, and looked like a piece of woven jewelry…”  and “… caused no little trauma on the set when producers refused to give it to Dietrich for her private wardrobe.”

 Dietrich had loved the gown and asked the studio if she could keep it. It is said she was so angry of being refused by the company she help save, she stormed off the set. The incident no doubt added to her disharmonious departure from the studio. She left the studio and did not return until a decade later. Acquiring gowns and props from her films- by whatever means- was a general practice of Ms. Dietrich. After her death, The German Film Archive Foundation (die Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek) and The Berlin Film Museum acquired her estate in 1993, which consisted of five different storehouses in Europe and the USA. In the collection were thousands of items from her career including fifty of her most famous film gowns. Her daughter, Maria Riva, once told the curator of the Frankfurt Film Museum, her mother was always in constant fear the studios would someday try to take back her collection and had kept the fact of its existence well hidden.

Paramount, however, retained the piece and began to put it to use. Re-using costumes was a common practice by studios to maintain an opulent look to secondary and background characters without the expense of making new ones. It is unknown exactly how many films the Dietrich gown was used in, but from photos found, it is obvious it was put to work and went through many transformations in the process. Mary Astor wore it, without the stole on the set of Midnight, 1939. The front was reworked and worn by Rose Hobart in the film A Night at Earl Carrolls, 1940. It was used in publicity photos as in that of Loraine Day circa 1944. With the sleeves removed, the stole without the fur was added to the front of the bodice as draping, it was worn by Felicia Atkins in The Errand Boy, 1961. The stole was cut in half to be used as a turban and worn with a sleeveless altered bodice by a model in A New Kind of Love, 1963. In 1974, the bodice was put back together and used by Diana Vreeland in the MET exhibition of films fashion and in 1985, the gown and stole was returned to its original configuration and worn by Barbara Hershey in the TV movie My Wicked Wicked Ways.

With all the different uses, the pieces took a beating. Many of the “re-workings” were fast and crude and some of the attempts to repair the gown involved covering damaged areas with large gold sequins. One previous ‘restoration’ involved applying glue to areas and pushing the beads back together and letting it harden. The fine chiffon backing was weak and starting to split and the patterns were separating.    The costume was so fragile, it could never be worn again, but it is amazing the pieces stayed together.

In December of 1990, Paramount put the gown up for auction at Christies New York as part a larger collection of ‘star wardrobe.’  Larry McQueen and his late business partner, Bill Thomas, who were respected experts in the field of film costumes and had compiled one of the finest collections of the medium under the name “The Collection,” were retained to help inventory, authenticate and price the collection and were overwhelmed to see, what they believed to be, the most exquisite film costume ever created. They were successful in purchasing it for a total cost of approximately $23,000.00, one of the highest prices at the auction. As excited as they were to own the gown, the reality of its condition soon set in. Due to the age of the garment, poor storage and multiple alterations, it could never be dressed on a mannequin because it would not support its own extreme weight.

 In 1999, four years after Bill Thomas died, Larry McQueen began the process of restoring the costume. Museum experts in preservation and restoration were consulted and much debate occurred as to whether the integrity of the gown- however poor that integrity was- should be tampered with. It was finally decided by Mr. McQueen that instead of leaving it as it was- a box of un-showable beads- the ensemble should be restored. Getson/Eastern Embroidery, who was then owned by Annie Dernderian, was approached with working on the gown. The firm had worked on the original costume and luckily had many of the beads, sequins and stones used on the original construction.

But, restoration of the garment proved far more difficult than planned. Even though the gown had only taken weeks to create, it would take years to restore. Every inch of the beadwork would have to be attached to new chiffon backing and the patterns pulled into shape and lightly tacked. Then the patterns had to be permanently hand stitched, replacing any missing stones or beads. Previous poor repairs would have to be removed. Missing areas or areas that had been glued would have to be replaced. Many of the original silk threads that attached the beads were breaking and would have to be reinforced with new silk thread. The stole, which had been cut in half and then stacked on top of its self and re-sewn, had to be taken apart, attached to a new backing and the beading attached and corrected.   Photographs of Dietrich wearing the costume were enlarged to determine what was an original pattern and what had been changed. Luckily, the patterns did repeat themselves, so where a pattern was missing, a template of an existing pattern was made to re-create the missing one. The task would involve going inch by inch and would involve thousands of hours and great expense. But, determined to see the gown restored, Larry McQueen had the work begun.

The gown could not be taken apart and beaded flat as it was originally constructed, so a special frame with a sling had to be constructed to allow access to the inside of the garment to work from the front and the back of the fabric. Beads and sequins that had to be removed were sorted and reattached in to same location if possible. Only a four-inch area could be worked on at one time and each area was photographed before and after to document the work done. The project was daunting.

 The entire fabric of the costume is composed of repeating geometric shapes somewhat like a paisley pattern. Each shape is outlined with small pearls or faceted rhinestones. Beads, pearls or sequins in different combinations fill the center portions of the design. Throughout, are patterns that contain a small grid work of bullion threading and each square filled with small pearls, sequins or a combination of sequins and gold beads. The background is of solid gold rocaille beads and the gown is sporadically studded with emerald and red glass beads. Literally millions of beads were used to create the fabric of the ensemble.

 After one year, only the bodice was approaching completion, most of the work done by Annie Denderian. But the expense was mounting and it was becoming impossible to find qualified people who had the patience and time to spend on the garment. Mr. McQueen decided that if the costume was to be completed, he would have to take over the bulk of the hands-on restoration. Having the background and more importantly the motivation to see the gown completed, he was mentored by Ms. Denderian, learning and perfecting the techniques to painstakingly re-attach the patterns and began work on the dress. Almost one year to the date of beginning the work- working faithfully five to eight hours a day- the skirt and the stole were completed. To add strength, bias tape reinforcing and a new silk chiffon lining was added by the costume house of John David Ridge and the stole was re-bordered by using existing sable by Judith Moss at LA Fur Center.

McQueen stated that he probably would have reconsidered restoring the gown had he know the time, patience and expense it was going to take, but then quickly adds that he would have done it anyway. It was just too important. In working that closely with the piece, McQueen was amazed how in touch you get with the people who originally created the garment (a process difficult to understand unless you have restored someone else’s creation). You could tell when someone was having a bad day and cutting corners. You could tell when someone was struck with genius. You could see the differences in workmanship and technique between the various beaders. You could see the time spent on details in areas that no one would ever see. You become very close to the garment and understand it.

The gown is truly a testament to the artistry of early Hollywood. Mr. McQueen is confident the care, attention and over 3000 hours spent in its restoration would make its original creators proud. He hopes that if he leaves any legacy to the field of film costumes, one of his main accomplishments will be the “Faberge gown” survives in the splendor it was originally created and will be shown and appreciated for generations to come.

Costume Credit: Photos, copy and all the above incredible info provided by The Collection of Motion Picture Costume Design: Larry  McQueen

E-mail Submissions: submissions@recycledmoviecostumes.com

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Note: If you’ve not checked out Larry McQueen’s The Collection, I highly suggest you do so. It’s incredible!