#I feel like I’m being punished for not moving completely across the country after having just moved under a year ago half across the country

[eyes-like-the-night]

I spent the past few years trying to have a better relationship with my dad and it’s currently absolutely in shambles

(My mom is kinda thriving though because she hates my dad and I get it now so when I’m really frustrated she listens and reminds me that yeah he hasn’t changed since she divorced him)

[nickcarr-scoutstories]

Where All The Houses Look The Same. (a Scout Story) The man shows me around his living room with pride, and I smile and take pictures and try my best to act as though I’m seeing it for the first time, when in fact I’ve already been in this living room three times this afternoon. I am scouting a neighborhood where all the houses look the same. It’s a modern tract home development on the outskirts of Los Angeles, built five years ago, or maybe ten, or maybe it’s impossible to say with certainty anymore because it feels like the architects have finally figured out a model that defies dating and have been churning them out ever since. In truth, the homes are not exactly identical. There are four or five models that repeat at intervals, each with its own small variations. All are a shade of beige, but some are sand-colored, some mocha. Every so often, a house design is inverted, as though it’s a mirror image of the one across the street. But as this man leads me from the dining room to the kitchen, it’s a though his home is one of a kind, the center of his universe. He tells me how overjoyed he was to be able to afford it after moving to this country from India. He shows me each of his children’s bedrooms, clearly proud they don’t have to share. In his own room, he points out his view of the scrub-covered hills in distance as though it were a vista of the Rockies. And as I take pictures, my frustration grows, because we are going to portray this man as a fool. Because you’ve seen this neighborhood, the neighborhood where all the houses look the same, in countless movies and TV shows. And in virtually every instance, it is always used to inspire one particular reaction: ridicule. In the movies, there is no more shameful place to live than the neighborhood where all the homes look the same. It is uniformly portrayed as an undeniable symbol of a character’s vapidity, their soullessness, their superficiality, their simple-mindedness. “How could anyone live in a place where all the houses look the same?” we are meant to ask as we recoil in horror at the idea. It is nothing less than a suburban purgatory, a place where the days bleed into weeks, the weeks into months and years, and all is the same and nothing ever changes and so your first hour there is indistinguishable from your last. Almost universally, if the fictional homeowner completes their inner character arc by the end of the movie as expected, their final triumph is moving out of such a neighborhood in favor of one that has been deemed acceptable: a classically unique home, situated amongst other classically unique homes. If their personal growth goes awry, the punishment is to remain. Of all the tired locations I get asked to search for, I hate this one the most. I hate it because despite having scouted countless such properties over the years, I have never once met a single homeowner who resembles the soulless, vapid, superficial, simple-minded cliché who will be portrayed as living in their home. A privilege of being a scout is that as you are photographing a person’s home, they will often volunteer intimate details of their lives with you, such as how they came to live there. And consistently, the reasons people offer for having chosen this sort of neighborhood could not be more universally understandable. The desire for as large a house as can be afforded, with lots of space to raise a family. Access to good schools for their children. Low crime rates. Centrally located. Reliable infrastructure. All are extremely aware of the copycat nature of their homes. It’s not a secret. They know. It’s not like in the movies, where the homeowner is inexplicably ignorant of the most obvious trait of their neighborhood, only to jolt awake to the monotony of design as the movie progresses. Homeowners will often make light jokes about it up front, typically followed up with a “but what are you gonna do?” shrug. It easy to tell that they consider uniformity to be a minor trade-off for attaining highly regarded benefits that would otherwise not be available to them. This is the fundamental issue that filmmakers seem terminally oblivious to. It’s not the 1950s anymore, when affordable homes were abundant, and living in tract housing was to some degree an aesthetic choice. It is 2023, where homeownership is outside the reach of most average people, certainly in cities like Los Angeles. The idea of portraying a resident of such a home as some sort of tasteless automaton is the grossest condescension I can imagine. At the very least, I can say with authority that such a depiction has no basis in reality. As my scout concludes, I thank the man for showing me his beautiful home, and then move on to the next one. Indeed, it is near identical. The only differences I can identify are an additional dormer window and a slightly different paint job. But the woman I meet inside could not be more different. She’s younger, and recently married, and as she begins to share the story of why they chose this home due to her husband’s career in the army, any hope of simplistic categorization instantly vanishes. As it always does. As it always will. -- Scout Stories is a print-only publication of personal stories and photography from my 18 years as a location scout, published quarterly. Purchase Scout Stories #1 here: www.nickcarr.com NEW Scout Stories #2 issue coming March 1.

[wehadfaces]

@warningsine this is WAY longer than i thought it was i am so sorry. it’s also somewhat incoherent and very much unedited and is the result of getting it all out after two 11 hour shifts. shaker of salt, of course, as this is from a single viewing and i’m also cinematically inexperienced, so to speak. 

i’m really selling this, aren’t i? 

Firstly, I think it a bit alarming that the majority of critics feel like the audience has been tasked with trying to be sympathetic to Blanchett’s Tar. In fact, I don’t think the film presents her as such at all, even in the end, nor wants that from us. When she’s crying to Bernstein, wearing a flimsy medal from childhood, you don’t even really pity her. You might even want her blubbering to stop. And in the end end, when she’s literally and geographically as south as she gets, where we leave her (and I mean that diegetically as well—a Western audience), it fits. I won’t say Tar got what she deserved, simply what she…earned, perhaps, though that doesn’t quite fit the bill either. I could go on about how ending up in an unnamed country in Southeast Asia as “punishment” toes the problematic line, however, I resist only because this doesn’t seem to be Tar’s punishment at all. 

She’s still doing what she loves (conducting), though it might be her worst imagined version. The film I think then asks us, what punishment fits this crime? I think the ending is a quite sophisticated foray into “cancel culture,” honestly if you can call it that: Tar conducting a video game soundtrack (“Monster Hunter,” if a bit on the nose, well-suited) to an audience of cosplayers (who we can read as the Hunters themselves). *also noting the contrast of how Berlin is depicted, streets almost always barren, and her new location overwhelmingly crowded. The conductor is no longer alone at the podium, nor alone in her corruption (massage parlor/brothel scene at the end, driving Tar to be sick when she sees the women arranged in a “fishbowl” (direct quote) in the shape of her orchestra, accidentally indicating to Girl 5 (her failure to complete and record Mahler’s Fifth) who kneels in the same place as Olga—her final attempt to seduce and her utter failure, Olga’s disinterest). 

Moving forward with the film’s “noncommittal” stance on cancel culture (noncommittal being a negative critique I’ve come across a few times, strangely), I think the scene in which Blanchett teaches at Juilliard is… good? Quite frankly, I don’t disagree with everything she’s saying. The young BIPOC, pangender student expresses their disdain for Bach, having not even listened, due to his actions and his status as a cisgendered, straight white man. I really would like to watch this scene again to get a better grasp on it and found it a bit tough to keep up with the lack of subtitles that I’ve grown dependent on, so hence the lack here. 

The brilliant! parallel! though! when Tar complains to her mentor about being more sensitive to sound, and he comments on someone who once said intelligence can be measured by sensitivity to sound, to which she replies, “Didn’t he also throw a woman down a flight of stairs?” (or a ladder or something like it, again, single viewing, but you get the gist)

Student shaking his leg, like a metronome (her white metronome, that is later vandalized? keeping time—hers?; running out?), as the student rushes out of the room. 

But back on the Juilliard scene, we hear (I think?) for the first time Tar refer to younger people as robots. Later on, we learn bits of the class had been recorded (Tar’s first dry response being “it was supposed to be a tech free zone”). Manipulated footage appears to show Tar’s behavior as crude, borderline abusive. But the audience knows it isn’t, not quite. Not in this instance. Robot name follows through the film, another concept I’d like to go into more if given the chance. 

The framing of some shots as on being filmed “live” as someone is texting someone else. It’s never revealed who this person or persons is/are. Francesca? Olga? Perhaps. if anything, I think they help the audience understand Tar is the spectacle here, not exactly the subject, and that we aren’t supposed to relate or empathize with her. 

COLOR! Olga’s blue boots, Krista (AT RISK- Tar’s own anagram of her victim’s name, which she claimed of the unstable state the girl was in with her “baseless” claims)’s red hair, Joanna’s red coat. Black and white morality? Grey areas? Not sure, but Field is doing something with color here and though it might not be much, it doesn’t go unnoticed. Contrast of her Deutsche-Brutalist shared home and Schiele-deficient side apartment in Berlin to Southeast Asia as well. ALSO w color: Tar’s constant use of what appears to be hand sanitizer throughout the film. At one moment before it all goes up in flames, her assistant Francesca offers it to her as per usual and for the first time, she denies it. 

Blanchett might be at her best in the film when she approaches her daughter’s bully, threatening the girl in a way so calm and calculating it borders on unhinged. Or when she rushes and attacks Eliot, who takes over the recording she has put everything into. Blanchett’s restrained and composed, aloof performance when dealing with her own offenses only heightens these moments and we see Tar’s unbridled viciousness really come out. I keep repeating ,,Hallo Joanna, ich bin Petras Vater” ad nauseam, the alto delivery bordering on camp lol. Her assertion to the child that if she tells, no one will believe her, because she (Tar) is a grown up, is a chilling. That scene is truly thrilling to watch, though. 

Tar asserting that the conductor’s role is keeping time, even more, it begins time, time being continually brought to the forefront throughout the film: the dying neighbor we don’t even realize is dying until she’s near the brink of death, Tar having to dirty herself to prop up the near corpse. The accordion playing (Tar’s origin and her first connection with Krista) after the decedent’s family knocks on her door asking when rehearsals are so they can show the apartment without scaring off future buyers. Tar speeding in a roundabout, nearly hitting another vehicle. When her wife says slow down or let me out, she pulls over and kicks her out of the car. In the beginning during her interview, Francesca’s ever so slightly off lip-synching to the interviewer listing of Tar’s accomplishments. And time— her brother revealing her real name is Linda, her childhood room, the constant reminder and clutter of records, scorecards, books, and VHSs that she can so easily control.

Most striking and especially early on in the film, when Tar returns home to her wife, we see Sharon having heart palpitations, who tells her she can’t find her medication. Even earlier in the film, Tar asks Francesca for “Sharon’s pills” only to be informed she has taken them all. That catches up and the two moments collide as Tar enters their bathroom, removes loose pills from her coat pocket, and delivers them to Sharon, claiming she found them in a bathroom drawer. Ah yes, proper gaslighting, for once. Tar then holds her, after making sure she downs the pills, placing her hand on her heart and says something to the effect of, “Let’s get it back down to 64 (bpm), hm?” 

Cut to another scene in the movie when the two discuss Olga, the new cellist. As their discussion flows, and contention grows, Tar asks Sharon if she took her medication. She didn’t and goes to take it. Tar wins. 

Her choice or claim to approach Mahler’s Fifth not from grief but from love, when he wrote it originally, not after the relationship with his wife ending. Francesca saying if a woman agrees to the terms she should be able to leave them, re: Alma Mahler agreeing to stop composing upon her marriage. 

The chiropractor remarking offhand “you’re a little crooked.” 

Another critique has been that this is yet another film taking place from the perpetrator’s viewpoint, or more accurately, focusing on the perpetrator. But I want to also consider how many critiques have been brought about on media focused on or from the viewpoint of the abused. I tend to agree that the world hardly needs more gratuitous footage of women being assaulted. But for the second half or more of the film, the primary victim is dead after taking her own life, and then how can we cross over? from her family’s viewpoint (who we never actually see, and Tar even trails off when being told about her death (that she had already known about— “her parents must be so…”). 

From the iPhone shots to the opening of the film being her interview, I think Tar knows she’s being monitored, before people bringing it up. We aren’t privy to her mind or view so much as we are intent vultures upon her narrative, clearly seeing she won’t make it out of this. That also makes the difference: no exploit indication of this is given, yet the audience can tell from the start how this is going to go down. 

Even the opening interview shows us Francesca, also a victim, by the way. I guess I just have less of an issue with it being about a bad person than a lot of people do, probably in part because this happens to be a fictional telling rather than an actual event. 

Another wise move is that we don’t really see people “falling” for Tar. She’s not a seductive predator by any means, she’s awkward even, and I’m saying that as someone who has had a dull but steady crush on Cate Blanchett since “Carol.” I found her not repulsive in this film, but not attractive either, despite the “idea” of Tar being someone I would consider myself to typically be definitely attracted to. Does that make sense? People see through her, even her wife hints at this with “there are some things I can forgive about you” (something like that anyway). 

Further on that, I think that definitely speaks to Blanchett’s talent. Field wrote the role specifically for her, knowing of her following in the LGBTQ community, which adds another layer to the whole film and her acting too I think. 

It was the first film i’ve seen in a long time i didn’t have a definite opinion of immediately. It didn’t prompt an option, either.  When it ended, I didn’t have a particular taste in my mouth about it and I quite liked that. 

[travelingtracy-3]

Journey to Cambodia and Vietnam

Traveling Days

The journey to Cambodia and Vietnam was an adventure in itself lasting 38 hours over 14 time zones door to door… Denver to Philadelphia to Doha, Qatar, to Bangkok to Siem Reap, Cambodia. Yes, we flew east on Qatar Airlines which is amazing - 4 delicious airline meals (not an oxymoron in this case) and great service. 

(Not many photos for these traveling days - more starting Day 1) And Doha was a cultural experience as we were about the only people who looked like us. Of course there were separate prayer rooms for women located right next to the restrooms. The clothes were a mixture of cultures from bejeweled women covered in colorful scarves and long robes with the earrings attached outside the headscarf to young girls already covered except for the face. On the plane we were next to an orange clad monk and behind a young wife completely covered in smooth black except for eye slits revealing beautifully made up eyes and her hands were carefully manicured. She was accompanied by her protective, brawny husband.

Arriving an hour late in Bangkok, we had to dash to another airport to catch the flight for our last leg. I’m not sure that I have ever seen Eric move so fast on his replaced ankle. Luckily he had arranged for a driver to meet us and take us across the city in a crazy hour long dash. Traffic is chaotic with a free for all at blinking yellow lights where u-turns compete with those going straight and scooter# weave in and out. We made it and took the last hour long flight where even water had to be purchased. Finally Siem Reap, with its connection to Angkor Wat, and the lovely welcoming FCC Angkor hotel.

Day 1 - Two temples and lots of learning

So much to learn at the temples at Angkor which was the capital of the country 9th to 15th centuries, and each king created a new temple so the development of the art is beautiful.  During this time most of Southeast Asia was Cambodia (and now the Cambodians seem to have an inferiority complex about their standing in the area. ) The kings were Hindu and later the biggest temple was converted to Buddhism, hence Angkor Wat (Wat meaning Buddhist monastery).  Except for one forward thinking king who made one temple at Angkor Thom for both Hindu and Buddhism as a way to unify the religions.  

Ta Prohm is the temple where they kept the invading trees which create a very different feeling.

In the past Westerners have taken art which we enjoy in our museums, but it does seem better that it remain where it was intended; instead we see headless Buddhas and empty plinths. In some cases, the statue has been returned and we can see the seams where it has been reattached.

Banteay Srei was the only one built of rose-pink sandstone with its intricate carvings.  Some think it may have been carved by women.

The view after climbing the steps at Pre Rup was a delight. It was also a crematory and stupa (repository for ashes).

And along the way, our delightful guide told us many things:

Petrol is very expensive so it is smuggled in from Thailand and sold along the road in small stands where owners put it into the ubiquitous scooters using a funnel.

“We eat anything that is living except human beings.” This came from the starvation of the Khmer Rouge famine among others; even fruit bats are not safe from the sling shots.

Cambodians are often smaller due to reliance on rice, and they hope the next generations will show improvement.  

Sadly we saw women with white makeup because they think whiter skin is better, and sometime get nose jobs because the European nose is seen as more desirable.

Day 2 - Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom

Morning at Angkor Wat was breathtaking. The size of the undertaking and the use of bas relief to tell stories - so impressive! It has always been an active religious site and was converted to Buddhism- reportedly the largest religious site in the world.

Fascinating to me that all religions seem to have a means for promoting civilization-enhancing behaviors and punishing wrongdoers.  Here those who are judged as unworthy are sent to Hindu hell via a trap door.

It would be so wonderful to have been alive to see the apsaras (dancers). At one point they were all kidnapped to Siam/Thailand along with the intellectuals and artists - so much fighting between these civilizations over the millennials.

We saw several wedding shoots along the way which are a big deal.  Traditional weddings last 2-3 days and still often involve asking parents for permission and even arranged marriages.

Much renovation is occurring at many of these World Heritage site temples, funded and coordinated by such countries as India, Germany, Czech Republic. So grateful for the work of these engineers who oversee local workers.

Angkor Thom was a built as the capital city by the last great king Jayavarman VII in 12th century who also funded 100 hospitals and also rest stops along the major routes. Here the smiling faces which were atop the 54 towers.

In Bayon Temple, the bas reliefs are different and show everyday life included the birth of a child in a hospital.

and the support of the Chinese in fending off enemies.   Note the different eye shape and the hair buns.  Most cities even now have a “Chinatown.”

Our guide would take us to isolated lotus ponds or open fields to talk about politics.  

It is a repressive government where the head has maintained power since 1987 in “elections” where he gets 100% of the vote.  He was once part of the Khmer Rouge but claims that he also was a victim of the brain washing.  Opposition leaders are in exile or disappeared. Corruption is rampant.  

The pool at the hotel was a welcome respite from the oppressive heat and humidity although the locals wear long sleeves because they find it so much cooler in this season and to keep skin lighter.

Day 3 - Toward the boat

Good bye to Siem Reap as we boarded the bus with a group for a 5 hour drive to our boat for a week cruise with Pandaw on the Mekong River. https://www.pandaw.com/expeditions/classic-mekong.

So much to see as we traveled through villages on paved and unpaved roads. It is the end of the rainy season here,  the waters are receding, and the rice is being harvested.  Cambodia is very proud that it just got first prize again in the SE Asia rice competition.  The fields are so green.

Many harvest and thresh by hand but some use rustic machines. Then the rice is spread out in the yards to dry.  As we saw people walking through the rice to turn it and chickens pecking away, I decided that perhaps I need to sort my rice better before cooking and certainly I need to appreciate where it comes from.

 The rice is bagged, often by hand, and the delivered to the distribution centers.

Cows and oxen are used to plow the fields with some use of a tractor variation.  “Cows are part of the family.” They are a different breed which looked very skinny to us.  They don’t produce milk which is all imported from Thailand and Vietnam.

 Transportation: Scooters everywhere darting in and out of traffic which is surprisingly quiet without much honking - and traffic signals seem to be mere suggestions.

Scooters carry 1-4 people and often lots of merchandise; usually the helmet law is enforced.

Tractors usually used for plowing are converted into road transportation pulling the carts.

Tuktuks using motorbikes are a common way to get around.

Cars vary from used, good condition, clean, often high end to a few Mercedes, Porsche.

 Health care: There are few resources, lab equipment, etc. and although it supposed to be free, people are often asked to pay to receive better care. There is a lack of trust in the doctors as one guide reported that people are told they need surgery when medicine would cure.  

We saw this mother on a scooter taking her child home still attached to his IV. 66% of pregnant women are anemic so infant mortality is high.  

Arrived at the boat at Kampong Chan on the Mekong River. There are 27 in the group for this segment and only 2 other Americans; friendly Brits, Aussies, German couple, and a group of 8 Israelis who keep to themselves. Onward down the river!

Day 4 - Village life

I awaken on the boat to the sound of gamelan music and chants of monks from the shore.  This is an immense river that travels 2700 miles and rises and falls up to 40 feet! with the annual flood cycle in the rainy season. 60 million people depend on the river for livelihood.

The Buddhist monks came to the boat this morning to bless us. One of the monks just radiated in person, and his smile was incandescent; I want some of what he has! Almost all Cambodians (or Khmers as they prefer to be called) are Buddhist, and we are almost always greeted with a bow.

We walk through a village seeing the typical houses on stilts for the flood water, and this construction also allows for a shaded living and storage space beneath.  The bamboo floor of the well-kept upper level allows for good air circulation.

A gracious woman and her husband greet us at her home which she is very proud to show with us. She and her husband were in a forced marriage ceremony with 25 others during the Khmer Rouge time. She was so happy to pull out pictures of her grown children to show us.

The husband did not want to smile big because his teeth were bad; but look at those eyes!  Both of them are 67 years old, and the elder son has come back to the village to be with them in their old age as there is not a system of pension or organized elder care.

It seems a bit surprising that there are no bad smells; everyone is clean, and laundry hangs to dry everywhere.  There is constant sweeping of dirt floors, washing scooters, and collecting leaves into a pile.  

And here two teens bathe at the back of their barge.

Visiting a silk making compound was interesting especially from my teaching experience where we raised silk worms.

There is a resurgence of interest in traditional arts among the young people, and we were treated to a demonstration of Bokator, a traditional Cambodian martial art and one of the oldest in the world.  We were so impressed with the obvious time these teens spent choreographing and practicing the close fighting; they didn’t even have an abrasion from the tumbles and contact with the cement floor.

Elaborate stupas are built by the rich to bury the family members who have died. Respect for parents is profound.  The disparity between the classes is disconcerting.

The days are full of sights, sounds, and attempts to understand this place where the smiles are genuine and the people are warm and eager to make us feel welcome.

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Love in a Hopeless World

A/N: Hello, my 🍓Little Strawberries🍓! I’m back with another fic for you! This was one of the options given to me.

Pairing: Chris Redfield x Male reader

Requested: @evansphnx12

Rating: Mature

Warnings: NSFW, smut, bottom male reader, sir kink, degradation, creampie, size kink, Choking kink, breeding kink, masturbation, and all characters are above the age of 18+

Word Count: 2355

Summary: Its turns out there weren't that many supplies in the old abandoned campus. So, you and Chris have to go deeper into the city to find more but during the little scavenge, Chris began to dirty thoughts...

I hope you enjoy it! Sorry if it’s bad! And sorry for any errors that are found!

If you like what I write, how about check out my masterlist?

Keys:

M/n: Male name.

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[1]

[2] YOU ARE HERE

DISCLAIMER!: I never played or watched any gameplay of the resident evil series. And this doesn’t follow any of the resident evil timelines, it’s on its own.

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MINORS DNI. FEMALE READERS… I’LL ALLOW YOU TO READ MY FICS BUT DO NOT FETISHIZE ANY OF MY STORIES

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Previously...

Then y'all had another round of hot steamy sex. And the others at the base had a hard time sleeping that night.

«••••••••••••••»

Your eyes twitch at the unpleasant light hitting it directly. 'It's morning already?' you moved around only to feel wet sheets. 'What happened last night?'

Then you felt a body move and a muscular arm grab you, pulling you closer. You could feel the warmth, and muscular chest pushed against your back.

'Oh! That's right!' now you remembered why you were all sticky and sleeping against Chris. 'I had sex with my superior! But he felt the same.'

Then you felt Chris move around and waking up. "Hey, baby boy," Chris said with a raspy and deep voice. "Morning." you pressed your lips against his.

"If you continue, we may have to repeat what we did last night, baby," Chris growled as pulled back, gripping your waist. You smirked before getting up.

"Come one, we have to get ready. We have important business," you said. "Ugh, can't we just sleep in and have some... Fun?" Chris complained.

"I know you haven't had sex in 5 years but we need to go get those people. We'll have fun at the end of the day," you said stressing your muscles and popping your back.

The bed creaked meaning he finally got off his ass to get ready. "We need to go get those survivors. And scavenge for more supplies," you said putting your armor on and fixing it up.

After you both got your gear and weapons, you both walked into the main area with all the others.

Everybody looked at you both and immediately looked at way. There was awkwardness in the room. 'They must have heard me last night!' Hell! maybe the whole city heard it is quiet

"Uh,- sir... We have a situation." one of the soldiers said. "shot." Chris said. "Well... it turns out there weren't that many supplies found on the campus. We need more supplies if weren't gonna go get those survivors." the soldier said

You heard listening but your mind began to wonder. You still couldn't let go of the past, you remembered one of your siblings was accepted into MIT. This was 3 months after the Raccoon City Incident.

You would see on the news- Raccoon City survivors being discriminated against by the American people. "Hey, what do I keep saying?" Chris said next to you. His conversation was done.

"Stop thinking about the past, it's long gone," you replied, mimicking his voice. Chris laughed, "Okay, baby. But we need to go get those people."

You nodded but kind of chuckled at the fact that he didn't want to do anything today but now wants to do business.

"Come on, M/n! We have to get going. EVERYONE, protect the base at all cost." Chris commanded. "YES SIR!" they all said at the same time.

You, Chris, and a few others left the confines of the base. Even though it was morning, the sky still had a grey color to it. You open the door to the back seat and closed it.

"We should be there in 20 minutes or less." the driver said starting the engine up. "Alright, let's go." the armored car pulled out before driving down the messy road.

It wasn't long before you reached the waterfront. You could see the skyline perfectly, most buildings were on the verge of collapsing. Others were burnt to where the wall showed the skeleton.

Up ahead, you saw a bridge leading into Cambridge was destroyed. 'Longfellow Bridge.' You have been to Boston before and got to explore everything before the world went hell.

The ride continued for a while. There was nothing or anyone in sight. You could see the freeway ahead but like all other ways leading into Cambridge was destroyed.

"We're closing in on Bunker Hill. They said they are taking refuge by the monument." one of them said.

And wouldn't you know it? In the distance, you could see the tall granite obelisk peaking out. It kind of looked like the one down in D.C. but this one is still standing.

What you meant by "This one is still standing" is because the capital was hit by a nuclear warhead, along with other cities across the US.

The President and other government officials were evacuated and the countries important documents were evacuated as well. So, the legacy of the US would still live.

That means the President is still alive and is in some remote area devoid of zombie life.

"I see some people! They appear to be walking around." one of the soldiers said. And the people seem to notice us because they were waving at us.

"Stop the car," Chris said, the car stopped. He and others got out. Two of the survivors looked familiar? Like you have seen them before. They both were tall and had beards.

They walked up to y'all. "Please, are you here to rescue us?" one of them pleaded. "Yes, we're here to take you to our temporary base," Chris said.

They all smiled and some hugged each other. Chris ordered the soldiers to help some things and you approached the two survivors. "Why do you two look familiar?"

One of them laughed and smiled. "Well...- are you fan of Captain America and Thor?"

Your jaw dropped and your eyes widen. "No. Way. You're Chris Evans and Hemsworth!" you were lost at speech. "I thought y'all was dead! I- how-"

"Well, we survived! I'm not too sure about the others though..." Chris H said with that thick Australian accent. You both were just talking, unknown to Chris R was glaring holes into your head.

After y'all returned to MIT Dorms, you still talked with Chris E and H. You didn't even acknowledge Chris R's glares.

He was getting more and more jealous. 'I hate those two!' Chris yelled in his mind. They were taking your attention from him.

"We have to go M/n! We need to find supplies." Chris yelled at you. 'What's wrong with him?' you thought to yourself. "Bye guys!" You waved at the two Chris.

"He was fun to talk to." Chris H said and Chris E agreed.

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TIMESKIP (To Supermarket)

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You and Chris arrived at the market. There were some abandoned cars in the parking lot. "Come on." You both walked to the doors and opened them.

The place was absolutely trashed. Lights flickering, aisles tipped over, some cans on the floor - also money, which was useless-, and the roof caved in on the left side.

"Look for non-perishables. Canned food would be good and find any water- if there is any that is." you nodded your head before going down one of the aisles.

There were some canned foods but no water. The smell of a rotting corpse filled the air, you could hear flies buzzing. "Ugh." you covered your nose and looked at the rotting corpse. "Poor bastard..."

Meanwhile, Chris was looking for the same stuff, but he was still bitter about you talking to those guys. And completely ignoring him. He could already imagine your punishment.

He could imagine you begging for more, feeling the tightness of your ass wrapped around his cock. 'Shit.' Chris was getting hard. His cock was feeling restricted by the tight pants.

"Hurry up, M/n!" Chris yelled from the other side of the store. "Okay!" you finished gathering anything you could find. 'Why are we leaving early? We have few more places to loot/raid.'

You left the aisles and made your way to the front doors. "Come on, we have to go." you both we made went to the vehicle and drove back to base.

You had found some supplies. 15 canned foods, and some water as well. It wasn't much, but it's something.

«••••••••••••••»

TIMESKIP (Arrival at the base.)

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You and Chris arrived at MIT. You were gonna go talk with Chris E and H, but Chris R wasn't having it.

"Hey-" Chris grabbed your hand and began to rush to the room. Everyone knew what was gonna happen. 'Ah, shit- there gonna go at it again.'

At the room, Chris pinned you against the wall and latched his lips onto yours. The kiss rough, his much larger body pushed against yours shows the difference in size.

His tongue pushed against your teeth telling you to open them. You slowly pushed your mouth, Chris immediately pushed his tongue and invaded your mouth.

"Mmm-" you moaned into the kiss as Chris began to grip your ass. "Up." He growled into your ear. You wrapped your legs around his waist and continued to make out.

He lifted you and carried you to the bed. He slammed you onto your back before pulling away and attacking your neck. "A-ah!" Chris found your sweet spot.

"You belong to me, M/n! I claimed you that night we had sex last night!" Chris growled. "Strip." he quickly removed his clothes, leaving him in his boxers.

You could see the outline thick meaty cock. "You got hard from just kissing me?" you laughed. "You don't talk me like that! You're the slut here." Chris growled as he gripped and slapped your thighs.

You whimpered under the touch. "Look at you, whimpering under me. And your pathetic cock got hard from me hitting you. But let's see what this ass has to say." Chris said as he put your legs on his shoulders

You then felt his thick slicked fingers at your entrance. One finger slips in, your muscles immediately clenched at the invader. "M-mm." you gripped the sheets as his finger pushed deeper.

Then a second finger went in. You clench even more as it did a scissor motion. "Aagh!" you felt his fingers touch the bundle of pleasure. "You're ready."

Chris pulled his fingers out to see your hole doing a grabbing motion. 'Fuck... that's hot.' Chris threw his head back while jerking his cock. "Can't wait to pound this slutty boipussy."

You felt his fat tip push past your tight ring. "Mmm... C-Chris!-"

Smack

"YOU DON'T CALL ME THAT! You didn't learn from last time? You. Call. Me. Sir. You got that?" Chris growled/yelled. "Y-yes, Sir... It's just that... You're so big..." You whimpered.

Then with one Thrust, Chris pushed his entire cock inside. "See? You're taking all 12 inches of me! Fuck, so tight..." Chris groaned. His cock was touching your prostate.

His thick meaty cock filled your insides perfectly. Like you were made for each other. "Y-you're... splitting m-me... in two!" you moaned as you felt it throb and twitch.

"P-please... fuck me... make me your slut." you begged. Chris smirked before snapping his hips.

He began pounding into you. His big cum-filled balls smacked against your ass as he thrusts harder. "S-sir! Y-you feel... s-so good!" You moaned as you threw your head back and gripped the sheets tighter.

"You think those guys can fuck you like I do?! Only I can give you this pleasure, only me!" Chris growled as he thrust harder, hitting your prostate repeatedly.

You used the last of your strength to get up and wrapped your arms around Chris's neck. You clawed his back as he thrust more, you were sure those were gonna leave marks.

"Maybe those guys can give me more pleasure," you smirked at your fake statement. You heard a deep growl as Chris dropped you on the bed and flipped you onto your stomach.

"You fucking slut! Only I can give you this much pleasure! Those guys don't deserve you. Bet their cocks aren't as big as mines." Chris growled as he gripped your hips.

Sounds of skin-slapping and balls slapping against your ass filled the room and the others in the building had to hear it. The walls weren't soundproof.

Your cock was twitching, ready to release a load. "You're about to cum without me touching you! Well, I'm -FUCK- about to cum too." Chris groaned as you tighten around him.

"P-please... give me... y-your load!" You moaned as you arched your back to give Chris more access. "Want me to fill this slutty ass with my cum? Gonna... cum... soon!"

After 5 more thrusts, Chris reached his breaking point, and so did you.

"FUCK! I'M CUMMING! CUM WITH ME!" Chris groaned, he wrapped his hand around cock stroking it before you released it all over his hand. That was enough for him.

"FUCK!" you felt his cock twitch before pumping his hot load inside, filling you up to the brim.

*Breathing intensifies*

Chris collapses onto the bed right next to you with his cock still inside. You felt him pull out with his cum leaking out. "I'll never leave you for those two. My heart only beats for you," you said sincerely turning over to face him.

"I'll never leave you too. We'll be together until our time runs out." Chris said pulling you into a kiss filled with passion and love.

'There is still Love in a Hopeless World.'

THE END.

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A/N: Finally this is done! I hoped you enjoy this, by 🍓Little Strawberries🍓!

[kusagrasskusa]

Michael Myers X Murderer! Reader - Headcannons - "Death Card"

Also, thank you (Wattpad Person) for requesting this :) I know your the last request I got, so I prolly should have done someone else's request first, but your's was just easiest to find. (Also, I have it bad for Michael so )

Have fun reading this! I'm writing this on my laptop instead of computer so sorry if the formatting turns out worse than usual :/

Also...someone made fun of me for putting, "eight," and, "11," in the same sentence. I guess not many people know this, but anything under ten is supposed to be written out unless their fractions or decimals.

By the way, these basically aren't headcannons lol. It's just me wanting to write out a story but not being good enough to so I just write it down in simpler terms.

Enjoy~

Not only is Y/N just another famous murder who casually takes the lives of people, but she's amazing at hiding

..........until-

Y/N was an abusive home after her parents died when she was a toddler. Her aunt and uncle neglected her but karma came back at them when their car fell off a bridge, causing the pair to drown. The downside for the young Y/N was that she was put into a foster institution. And we all know by now that foster care are full of fights, drugs, weed, alcohol, and shitty employees.

As a young girl entering such a bad place, she was always a target. You know that sense of fear, worthlessness, and loneliness fucked with her head to where she felt lashing out felt great.

She would be unable to stop herself as she plunged a sharp object in and out of this prick that held her down for so long. But once she heard voices from other kids, she ran.

The story made headlines as the next big attack from yet another child. That's right, next. There was someone who inspired her to do what she did.

Of course, she always had that memory in the back of her head. That boy's violent actions filled her with immeasurable awe when she saw the news. However, she always had something more important to think about.

With so much dissatisfaction with her past, she could only fill herself up with adding things on to her in the present, and more in the future.

Y/N would steal Poker cards from people and always use the Ace of Spades to mark her kills by sliding the card into a wound. After all, betting games were the highlight of her day in the foster institution. She was always so good at it that it became her pride.

All these headlines and stories about how evil she is became such a big deal in her head. Such an overwhelming feeling of adrenaline every time she heard the name people would call her.

"The Death Card," is another name for Ace of Spades in most English countries. It was the perfect fit for Y/N.

(Ya'll, I feel like a fucking genius for coming up with that lol)

She was so good at hiding, truly. Kill someone in Kentucky, then move to Missouri. Killing someone there and move to Georgia, and so on.

Only in her hometown was she caught.

Michael was the one who started it all for her, as their same age and hometown made her feel connected to him, and finally where he got caught would be the same place she did.

14 years of hiding and killing led her to meeting him

Michael spent these 14 years sitting in complete silence. No talking, no humming, no singing, nothing. It's like he was always in his own world of thought, too busy in his imagination to interact with the real world.

Of course, there was times when he did pay attention to what's around him.

The news was the only thing he'd really pay close attention to. After all, what if something happens to Haddonfield while's he's stuck in there, and that causes plenty of people he once knew to move away?

But per usual, there was nothing about it

But there was something that caught his attention even by a little

"After 14 years, the notorious Death Card or Card of Death has finally been caught," says the Haddonfield Police Department. "While we're unsure of her motives thus far, we have been able to learn of who she is. Y/N L/N made the headlines once in 1980 at the age of eight as one of America's biggest crime cases with children as the culprit, having brutally stabbed a 15 year old boy. This happened just two years after the Michael Myers case, when a six year old boy stabbed his older sister in 1978. All else the HPD are saying is that her frantic behavior may lead her to a mental institution rather than letting her make legal decisions in court."

Michael paid attention to all the details of the report. For this report to be made about Haddonfield, chances are they'll be meeting each other soon.

The Death Card was a violent killer Michael heard of plenty of times however he never paid close attention to.

(Holy shit these are just headcannons so why am I writing long paragraphs)

He had to say, hearing about her violent stabbings were the highlight of his week. Even if he never felt strong about hearing other people having fun with their lives like she was, he couldn't help but almost feel pushed to do what she is. Living freely and ending those who cross his path...

Saying he was jealous or inspired would be a stretch though

He would spend his days painting paper mache masks while thinking of doing what she was for sure but he hated how she would show off by using those cards as if she didn't have a goal in mind, which was annoying to him. If you have nothing to live for, then kill yourself was his mindset.

Michael watched as Y/N stepped into court. He know hundreds- no thousands- of people watched as this woman of pure evil stepped into the courtroom. Her H/C hair flowed as she walked passed everyone, glaring at them with her cold E/C eyes.

A look of slight intrigue replaced his normal dull expression as he watched the girl stand up before the judge, smiling sassily at the cameras as to tell them to fuck off. Michael can recognize that look of intrusion on her face as she was practically interrogated. Clearly, she hated it there.

He watched contently as all the mystery surrounding the Card of Death was revealed to everyone in this world. Days went by of this court case before finally, she pled insanity. After all, she was known to have some underlying mental conditions as she remained so calm when talking about the varies of ways she would kill.

It's easy to see that many felt bad for the girl. Such trauma growing up led to the creation of this unfortunate human. But Michael? He didn't feel bad at all.

He never was sad or truly sympathetic however...he did feel pity. Somewhere in his soulless eyes held pity for this sad, sad girl he was soon to meet. Not exactly sympathy, but simply pity. And with that came respect.

The day that Y/N stepped foot into those doors was the day the two would meet for the very first times. Over 63 counts of first degree murder in 14 years led to the meeting of these two serial killers. At the time, they were both only 20.

Tables were scattered across the room with people talking or simply sitting alone by themselves on them. There was TV in a few different places around the room and board games in a couple of shelves. In the back of the large room was windows that showed the outside that felt so out of reach forever.

As the metal doors slammed behind her, she felt eyes on her immediately. Y/N slowly scanned the room as she gulped back the intense fear gathering in her stomach. Her lips parted open as she began to breath heavily and press her back on those metal doors.

She was so trapped and scared when she first entered that foster institution. She couldn't help but think of karma when her aunt would hurt her so badly for those five years before she died. But 63 murders are so much worse, so what could karma do to her to balance her evil deeds with punishment?

Laughter and giggled filled her ears as she shut her eyes tightly and covered her face with her arms. Her vision was going blurry; she was having a panic attack. Tears fell from her eyes as she whimpered quietly to herself.

She may be the Card of Death however she never had to be in a large group of people in so long.

Her body jerked as she was suddenly pulled away from those metal doors. She cried out when she saw a large man, around 6'7 (204cm), pull her away.

In just a few seconds, she was pulled to a metal table and forced to sit as the large man stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

Her body tensed unimaginably as they remained still for a few seconds, quiet aside from the occasional sobs of Y/N.

Then suddenly, the pressure on her shoulders disappeared. She heard nothing until the sound of creaking from the seat in front of her interrupted.

Y/N felt eyes on her. They were so intense over her.

A minute passed before her own eyes fluttered open, meeting the man's eyes in front of her.

A shiver ran down her spine when she came face to face with stone cold blue eyes that seemed to hold nothing within them. No light, no soul, and no sympathy. Not only that, but a orange mask made of paper mache covered the rest of his face as well.

The man tilted his head before lifting his hand onto the table, sliding something over to her. Y/N looked down at what he gave her.

"Don't speak. Write."

Michael had given her a paper with these words. His handwriting was hard to read considering he nearly never wrote anything so it took a moment before Y/N got the message. When she did, she looked back up at the man and nodded just a little so it was barely recognizable.

Obviously this conversation was to be secretive so she knew to barely show signs of interactions. The camera couldn't pick up on such a small nod to what evidence is there of them even interacting?

Michael slid the paper back to him and brought a pencil to the paper after erasing the original text. When he slid it back to her, it read, "Don't let anyone know what we say Y/N. They watch everything." When Y/N looked back up at him, she saw him dart his eyes from something behind her to something on the wall between them. She turned her head slightly to the side, noticing a camera on the wall. So she understood.

Michael had dropped on the pencil on the table, meaning it was her turn to reply. She erased the previous text before writing down, "Who are you? How do you know me?" When she slid it back, Michael took the pencil in his hand again.

"Michael Myers. I was a well known case two years before you. We heard a lot about you on TV."

"As in the boy who killed his sister at the age of six?"

"Yes. You know me?"

Y/N's eyes widened slightly as she frantically wrote down a reply. Without even noticing, the knot in her stomach had completely disappeared without a trace.

"I remember seeing your case. I thought about everyday."

Michael didn't reply immediately after reading. Instead, he waited a few minutes and stared down at the table. A look of confusion remained on Y/N's features as she impatiently waited. Then suddenly, Michael erased what was on the paper and simply drew a masked person looking somewhat like himself with a knife in his hand. He drew dead stick figures around it with blood splattering everywhere.

Michael knew that this picture would cover up all the eraser marks and writings that were still slightly visible. So when the guard that walked up behind Y/N without her knowing popped up, he didn't see any text.

Of course, this did lead to the paper being taken away. Then minutes after that, both of the pair was taken away.

If there's one thing as scary as analyzing The Shape and caring for him, it's that person who cares and analyzes him finding him interacting with someone else for the first time.

Whenever Y/N got sat down in her cell, she knew what was about to happen. She was sat down in her bed as a man she'd never seen before sat down in the chair that came with her little desk in her cell with a guard next to him.

Have you ever spoken to Michael? Are you related to him? How do you know him? How does he know you? Have you ever met his family? Why did he interact to you? Why was he drawing things for you? Does he like you? Does he hate you? Did he write to you? Did you hear him talk?

So many questions were asked by this Dr Loomis in such short amount of time. "No, no, I don't, no, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, no, no," and mostly these were your responses. No matter how many times Loomis asked, you dully replied.

You simply said he sat you down and you began to draw together, both filling in a piece of the drawing together.

And eventually, you got out.

Another day went by of "talking" to Michael.

And another.

And another.

The talks were nice and casual. What goes on in the asylum? What goes on in the outside? Who should I avoid? What's the reputation of the HPD?

Do you want to escape?

But it was only a matter of time before finally the two were friends.

Y/N was kinda just in her cell one night in bed. Then she just gasped and widened her eyes. Wait, are we friends? We're friends, right!

Michael already knew of their friendship like two weeks before she did. It felt so...wrong for him. He had always been alone and silent. How could someone like her even be so likeable to him? He didn't really understand it but he knew he hated it.

One day, the two were writing to each other per usual. Michael unintentionally added a pun in one of his comments, causing Y/N to giggle. Michael cocked his head to the side in confusion, strangely feeling heat rise his face and his heart speed up. It was air conditioned so he suspected he may have gotten sick.

Whenever the two had to go back to their cells, that feeling suddenly disappeared. Then it hit him. Oh fuck-

Hell, only a week later did Y/N feel herself experiencing the same symptoms. Michael notices that Y/N would shake and fidget a lot when they interacted, making him wonder of she was cold. As a friend, it was only right for him to sit next to her and hold her close to keep her warm, right? Y/N's face went red and damn that was embarrassing. But of course, that didn't mean Y/N wouldn't hug him back.

Eventually the two were basically cuddling. The two hugging each other warmly as Y/N rested her head on his chest, struggling to stay awake as they got more comfortable by the second.

But of course, Dr Loomis caught eye of that.

The doctor had been looking deep into al the interactions these two evil beings have had. They act so casual, so normal with each other, surely more than just drawing is happening between them, right?

The doctor had pulled them into his office separately to interrogate them. While Y/N bluntly answered his questions to make him just shut up as quickly as possible, she couldn't help but think to herself. She knows that she and Michael are mentally ill, but he should definitely be fixed by now. He's smart and creative and can casually talk to people, so it's like the only thing keeping him here is that the doctors are so ill-equipped that they can't make the necessary breakthrough to save him.

Of course, just a month later, another incident happened like this. Y/N was having a bad migraine so Michael got her to just sit down and wait for him during lunch. He brought over two trays of food for them and was sure to trade with Y/N so she can eat the things she likes and he could have the things she dislikes.

Another time, a bipolar guy ran into Michael and shoved him as if it was his fault. Michael shoved him back instinctively, causing a fight to disperse between the two. As security guards took notice, Y/N was quick to push Michael away softly and ball a fist to punch the fuck out of that guy- like a, "YO WHATCHU SAY ABOUT MY MAN?" type shit. Y/N did this to seem like she was hitting back and that Michael hadn't done anything wrong.

And when each other's birthday's rolled around, they had their own celebration. Y/N was given her own paper mache mask as a gift and a small cupcake from the cafe. Michael was given stolen art supplies that were taken from other guests and also a cupcake.

Y/N slowly stopped having panic attacks, but she definitely had her moments. Of course, Michael sat with her through it.

Dr Loomis recorded all this shit so he can gather data on Michael. Then the question hit him: How would Michael react if Y/N was gone for a few days? Does he truly care about her or is he just using her?

If you think Michael hated Loomis before, wait til he pieced together the disappearance of girlfriend and the extensive eyesight on him from security guards. For the hell he raised about it, he had to get sterilized and put into a cell without being able to get out for a few days.

Y/N remained bored in her cell for days. So what better could she do than annoy the guard watching her? She would just talk nonstop for what felt like hours and hours. The dude watching her was just getting more pissed off by the second.

"Would you shut up? Crazy bitch," he hissed, hitting the cell door. Y/N giggled cockily, shaking her head. Even if she deserved to be yelled at for continuing to talk, the Card of Death refused to back down. But when the guard went inside her cell and locked the door behind him, she got a bit worried.

Y/N got off her bed and threatened him cockily, to which he responded with physical force.

Of course, Smith's Groove is ill-equipped so even with proof of being hit and tazed, Y/N couldn't do anything to get the guard fired. But Michael?

A full month without seeing each other was like a slow suicide. But when they finally got to see each other again, the two was sure to write so much about their time alone as if they were teenage friends discussing their fun weekends. However, things turned dark whenever Y/N brought up the guard.

Michael didn't show any emotions at all, no matter what happens. But Y/N learned to guess how he's feeling depending on how long he takes to respond. Slowed blinking as if he was in thought, and slower reading as got analyze her writing closer were typically bad signs.

About a year had passed since they met at this time. A year to plan to escape. By now, the two were both 21 and fully prepared to leave once and for all.

Whenever that security guard had walked passed Michael's cell one night, Michael had knocked on the door to signal him. Michael slipped a paper through the doorslot, as he was given paper since he doesn't talk, saying he found a dead mouse in his cell. The guard just huffed and let himself inside. Michael pointed to where the mouse supposedly was; and that was a mistake for the guard.

Right as that guard went to look, Michael got behind and covered his mouth before stabbing him in the neck with a paint brush that's but carved into a small blade. Within moments, the guard dropped dead onto the floor.

Taking the keys from the guard, Michael was able to let out nearly every single prisoner to this hell out of their cells. Including Y/N.

The world sister was the only thing left of the pair as it was engraved into the door of Michael's cell. And just like that, the two were gone.

How they got there so fast doesn't matter but eventually Y/N and Michael found an abandoned house to station at until the search around the area disappeared and they could move around quicker.

"I can't fucking believe it," Y/N cheered as she felt tears run down her face from happiness. She swayed across the room, taking in the smell of dust and air. Even something dirty felt so new to her that couldn't help but love it at the moment.

Michael would watch her as he sat down in an old wooden chair, cocking his head. His body was in complete shock as the realization of all that's happened in the past years came crashing down on him. This was the real world? This is what dust smells like? This is what shattered glass and broken wood looks like? This is what trees look like up close? This is what things look like without glass tinting the color?

This is what it feels like to celebrate with someone you love? Michael reminded himself that the girl in front of him changed his life so much. His urge to harm all around him was always so strong, but the thought of her being hurt felt a bad taste in his mouth.

He stood up from the chair, walking towards the ecstatic girl as she cried happily to herself and picked up random things to remind herself of what they feel like and all she takes for granted. She turned her head to him, smiling, "Michael, look, I found a-"

Y/N gasped as Michael gripped his mask and slowly moved it. Y/N watched in awe as for the first time, she saw her only friend in this world's real face. That pale skin and soulless eyes that she grew familiar with became so new to her again.

"Michael..." she whispered, stepping closer to him. Her face heated up as she felt the weight his eyes staring down at her. She lightly bit her lip, a shiver going down her spine.

He took a few steps closer as well, making the two remain inches away from each other. Now at this point, Y/N is questioning if Michael is gonna kill her or is gonna kiss her as he awkwardly put his hand to her cheek, brushing her hair away. She leaned her head into his hand, keeping eye contact with him the whole time.

In just a matter of moments, the two came together in a soft kiss. The moment was quiet as the two did their best to remain calm and together as this moment that was little way's overdue continued.

When the two pulled away, Y/N was quick to wrap her arms around him. Now she wasn't going to cry about it, but damn was that contact she needed so badly. The Death Card and The Shape were basically Yin and Yang with how one is emotional and the other in emotionless but their need for pain and each other is what kept it healthy.

Just imagine how much suffering families went through since the two got out.

[noforkingclue]

I love your dark!Zemo fics! Could I request a fic with dark!Zemo and a reader who use a single mother?

Thank you anon! I love writing dark versions of characters so send in all the requests for any characters I write!

Title: Back With Him

MCU tag list: @geocookie21

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary

You should’ve known that you could never escape him, that he would always find you however far you ran. That once he had sunk his claws in you were trapped. His precious little doll made just for him. His to dress, his to parade on his arm, his to fuck into the mattress each night. As soon as you found out you were pregnant you knew you had to leave, to run away as far as possible, to raise this child on your own. If you had any say in this child’s life you would make sure that Zemo would have nothing to do with it.

And for five blissful years that was true.

You loved your son even if he did look exactly like his father. The painful reminder of what happened to you still haunted your nightmares but gradually those were becoming rarer and rarer. You were also lucky in the fact that you could work from home most of the time, becoming a programmer for various people around the world. It was surprisingly easy to hide your tracks and it meant you could provide a steady income for you and you son.

Of course it wasn’t easy, you never expected it would be, and the judgmental stares were the worst bit. You didn’t know why, in the twenty first century, that single mothers should still be frowned upon. When the whispers and glares got too much you decided to move back to your home country. And on the way purchase a gold ring. Moving into a small English village took some adjusting but when people took you to be a grieving widow with a young son people seemed willing enough to help you.

But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.

You sat up one night with a jolt, looking out into the inky blackness. Recently you hadn’t been sleeping very well, the feeling of eyes watching you as you went about your day. It didn’t matter where you went it felt like someone was spying on you and you had a sinking feeling in your stomach when you thought about who might’ve found you. You had a life here, friends, your son was settled, and you didn’t want to uproot your happy life.

Then you heard it, the soft sound of your son’s laughter. You jumped out of bed and pulled on your dressing gown as you ran towards his room. You burst into your son’s room and froze in place. He was there, holding your son and giving him the softest look you had ever seen. Zemo looked up at you and gave you a smile although there was no warmth behind it.

“And there’s mummy,” he said, “All better now.”

“Mummy!” your son said excitedly, “Daddy’s here!”

“No,” you said quickly walking over to them, “He’s not your father.”

Your son gave you a confused look at he looked between you.

“But-“

“It’s late,” you said firmly, “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not-“

“And then I’ll take you out for ice cream tomorrow.” You said desperately

“Ice cream!”

“I promise. Have I ever broken a promise before?”

Zemo let out a breathy chuckle and you winced. You son shook his head and you pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead. He quickly got back understand the covers and you switched the light off as you and Zemo exited the room. Zemo was standing too close for comfort so you hurried to your kitchen and put the kettle on. You heard Zemo softly follow you and he said,

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out. That you could run from me and take away my son.”

“He isn’t you son.”

“I don’t remember allowing anyone else to touch you.”

You flinched at his words. Zemo was always possessive of you and now he was back you knew that you were never going to escape.

“You shouldn’t have left me,” he said, “You never should’ve taken my son, my heir, from me.”

“I wanted to protect him.”

“Did you really think that you can protect him better than I can?”

“Yes.”

You turned around and immediately wished you hadn’t. Zemo had a look of cold fury and you flinched away. Immediately Zemo’s face softened and he walked towards you. He cupped your face as you looked away and tears spilled down your face. He brushed them away with his thumb.

“Don’t cry.” he said softly

But you did. The tears poured freely down your face and Zemo wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest. You always hated is hugs, how warm you felt pressed against his body. Your hands gripped his shoulders as Zemo ran a comforting hand up and down your back.

“I understand why,” he said, “Becoming a mother is a terrifying milestone. I didn’t feel ready when I first became a father and after seeing our son I’m not sure if I’ll ever be.”

“He’ll never be your son.” You muttered against his chest

You felt Zemo tense against you and you knew that you had gone too far. He leant down and said against your ear,

“He seemed very accepting of me. So willing to have a father figure in his life that you denied him so far. Do you really think he’ll be forgiving when he finds out how you lied to him?”

“And what makes you think he’ll want anything to do with you once I tell him what you did to me?”

Zemo’s hand gripped your hair and suddenly pulled your head back. Your neck was exposed to him and he pressed a trail of kisses down it. When he reached your shoulder he pulled back and said,

“What makes you think I’ll ever let you see my son again?”

“What?”

“Did you really think that I’d let you go without a punishment?” he trailed a finger down your jawline as he openly stared at your lips, “You took my son and left in the middle of the night. You had no idea how scared I was when I woke up and you were no longer beside me.”

Zemo’s arms were backed around you and you pushed you up against the kitchen counter. One arm was around your waist, securing you to his body, while the other was laced in your hair. He buried his head against your shoulder and said softly,

“I’ve lost too much to ever let you go again. I should’ve taken better care of you, listened to what you wanted. I should’ve spoiled you when I had the chance and showed you just how much I had come to care about you.”

He raised his head and looked you deep in the eyes. His lips grazed against your and you found yourself resisting the urge to lean in. Zemo smirked, knowing the temptation he had caused you, before pressing a kiss against the corner of your mouth. You let out a soft whimper as his lips lingered against your skin before he moved away.

“One thing,” he continued in his soft voice, “That this little adventure of yours has shown me is just how well gold suits you.”

He held up your left hand and pressed his lips against the band of gold. You tried to pull your hand away but Zemo was stronger than you. He gripped your hand tightly and continued,

“If marrying e is what it take to keep you by my side than I will gladly do it. Although, I’m sorry to say, it must come after your punishment.”

“Punishment?”

“Did you really think that I allow this to go unpunished?” Zemo’s voiced dropped again and you could tell he was getting angrier with each word, “That you prevented me from being in the first five years of my son’s life. For him to see me as a stranger instead of as part of his family?”

“I-“

“Quiet.”

It is an order and you immediately shut your mouth. You shrunk back in fear as Zemo took a deep breath and rested his forehead against yours, eyes shut.

“Forgive me,” he said, “But you must understand why I am getting angry. So,” he opened his eyes, “Because I am generous I am going to give you a choice of punishment.”

“A choice,” you let out a shaky laugh, “Great.”

“Most people wouldn’t be so kind,” Zemo warned, “But because seeing my son has put me a good mood I decided to abandon my original plan and give you another option.”

“And what was your original plan?”

“To take my son away from you for the same amount of time you prevented me from seeing him.”

“No!” you said quickly, “You can’t do that!”

“But you did it to me,” he cooed with a sickly grin, “And by the time he’s ten we’ll see which parent he prefers and who he’d rather live with.”

You shook your head, desperate to not lose the one good thing in your life.

“And the other option?” you asked, dread settling in

“I’ll take the both of you back home, ahh,” he interrupted with a smile, “This isn’t your home. I’ll take you back to what remains of Sokovia and we’ll remain there. You’ll get to keep seeing my son and,” his hand moved across your abdomen, “We’ll have more children. We’ll be a big, happy family.”

“More children? You want an heir and a spare?”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t refer to my children like that.” Zemo replied coldly

You bit you lip and looked around, trying to find a way out.

“Is it really that much of a difficult decision?” Zemo asked, “I can give you everything your heart desires and in return all I ask is one thing.”

His hand slipped between your legs and you whimpered.

“To lie in my bed every night,” he continued, “To let me fill you. To give me children and be happy.”

When you didn’t reply he smiled coldly and said against your lips,

“Or would you rather never see your first born again?”

“Alright,” you said quickly, “Alright, I give in. I’ll go back with you.”

“Good girl.”

In a flash Zemo pressed his lips against yours. It was a bruising kiss and when you refused to allow him access to your mouth he bit you. You gasped as he completely dominated the kiss and you felt him smirk against your lips. He broke the kiss and your eyes widened when you saw his lips stained red. He noticed your gaze and brushed his thumb across his lips. He inspected the blood before putting his thumb in his mouth and sucking it off. He maintained eye contact with you and if it wasn’t for him holding you up you would’ve crumpled to the ground.

“Now then,” he said, “Let’s get back to bed. I’ve missed the feeling of having you under me.”

[wagner-fell]

I am still very new to this website and I don’t know how link a post but this fic is based on a post by @sandersgrey

(If someone reading this knows how to link a post please either explain it to me or link it in the comments because that post is *amazing*)

“Hmmm,” said Tessa, depositing Mina into Kit’s waiting arms and examining her buzzing phone critically. She shot a quizzical look in his direction.

Jem looked up from his novel. “What is ‘hmmm’, my love?”

Kit mimed vomiting but stopped dead in his tracks when she replied, “it’s Astrid’s mother. You remember her from parent teacher night, don’t you, my darling?” Kit swears they were being extra insufferable just to mess with him but he didn’t have the time to be annoyed when Astrid’s. Mom. Was. Calling. Tessa.

To understand why Kit was panicking as much as he was, you must know that Astrid’s mom was incredibly chill. She never got mad. The worst punishment she’d ever given her daughter was taking away her iPod for a week so she couldn’t listen to Mitski.

Was she calling about last night when Astrid, Mari and Kit threw eggs at the Shadowhunter’s that were giving Mari’s pack a hard time for no reason? No, that couldn’t be it. She’d given them the eggs.

Could the call be about the day before yesterday when Kit and Astrid got distracted doing homework and ended up snapping the coffee table clean in half while battling gladiator style with pool noodles? No, that wasn’t it. She’d just handed Astrid a twenty and told them to go to Kevin’s parents' shop and get a new one. Was she pissed because they ended up spending the money on ice cream instead? No, they ended up finding a table for free in the rubbing bin outside a fancy hotel.

Kit clutched his sister to his chest and prepared for the worst.

“Seo-yoon! What can I do for- Oh, hello Astrid!” Tessa paused briefly, presumably to listen to Astrid speak, and Kit sighed in relief.

“Kit is occupied at the moment but I can relay the message.” Another pause. “Oh don’t be frightened of me. I’m a tots rad mom. Your secret is safe with me.” Kit felt his face flush red as he heard his best friend’s laughter echo across the living room. “Okay! I’ll let him know. He has to get Mina to sleep before he can leave though. Lord knows he’s the only one who can these days.” Tessa chuckled at something Astrid said before wishing her good luck in her endeavour and ending the call.

She turned her attention back to Kit. “Astrid needs your help breaking into your teacher’s home to retrieve her cell phone.”

Kit blinked at her, dumbfounded. “You aren’t mad I’m going to go break the law?”

Because of course he was doing it. Astrid’s dad had bought it for her and he was extremely cautious about money. That was one of three things Kit knew about her dad. He was cheap, he lived in America and he loved the movie Fight Club.

Tessa ruffled Kit’s hair affectionately. “Please. I’ve raised two other Herondales. At least I know about this particular adventure beforehand.”

Mina began snoring softly and Kit handed her back to her mother. He grabbed his bag and started his journey to the door when Tessa added, “she also told me to say hi to a ‘daddy Kit’. Are you ‘daddy Kit?’”

‘Daddy Kit’ closed his eyes and wished for the sweet release of death.

“Why is Kit a daddy,” Jem asked, genuinely confused. “Aren’t I the daddy?”

Kit swung the door open so fast not even a speed rune could have aided him. But not before I heard Tessa reply, “Lily Chen certainly thinks so.”

Mrs. MacNamara clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we all go around and say a few things about ourselves?”

Kit buried his face into his hands. He’d been relieved when no other teacher had fulfilled the Disney channel stereotype of making every student introduce themselves to the new kid. But Mrs. MacNamara didn’t even seem to realize what she was doing.

All Kit’s fellow classmates groan. Expect one. Her hand shot up immediately. She was short, like smaller than Clary short. She wore a baggy pink shirt with the words ‘Queen Glimmer of Etheria’ sewed on with purple sequins and tight black jeans. Her colourful, choppy hair was in a low ponytail and she flew a few strands out of her eyes as her hand wiggled in the hair.

Mrs. MacNamara pointed at her. She stood up and smiled at Kit. “Hi. My name is Astrid. My hobbies include making my little cousin’s girl Barbies kiss, as it should be, and watching television shows where everyone is a terrible person so you can love all of them!”

“And what shows might that be?” asked Kit, already in the process of pulling out his phone and opening the Notes app.

“Grey’s Anatomy, Glee, Grey’s Anatomy again because it’s seventeen seasons as of right now. And to be fair it practically became a different show when they killed off Mark Sloan.”

“That’s enough, Miss Yang,” said Mrs. MacNamara. Astrid sat down and winked at Kit. Then she took out her phone and airdropped him a complete list of all her favorite shows, along with her number.

After Blessica’s pre-birthday birthday party, they went to Cirenworth and stayed up till four A.M. binging them.

They met outside a queer dry bar called Aries Not Welcome, the unspoken gathering place of the Merry Hoes. It was run by a poly lesbian couple in their mid-thirties. Quinn, Sydney and Aliyah may not have served alcohol but at least they were open 24/7.

“Did you bring the shit?”

Kit gave her a look. “The shit? How conclusive.”

“Shut up. You know, the shadowhunter thing.”

“The shadowhunter thing?”

“The, the, the glow stick that you draw with.”

“The glow stick that I draw wi-“ Kit closed his eyes briefly. “Do you mean a stele?”

Astrid snapped her fingers. “That’s it!” Kit shook his head in exasperation, smiling fondly. “I borrowed a torch from Quinn, let’s move.”

“Should I be worried that you know where Mr. Smith lives?” questioned Kit as he followed Astrid’s lead through the park.

“Should I be worried that your mom was fine with us breaking and entering?” she shot back playfully. Kit pushed Astrid and she fell off the path, laughing all the way.

“You called me ‘daddy’ to my mom’s face.”

She just laughed harder, slinging her arm around Kit’s shoulder. “It was over the phone, Christopher. And as I should.”

“Pffffttt. Why did you get your phone taken anyway?” She put her hands into her jumper pocket and looked at the ground. “Astrid.” She remained silent. “Astrid?”

She mumbled something under her breath. “What?” asked Kit.

“I WAS READING NINEJ FANFICTION!” she shouted.

Kit gasped. “I thought you were a die hard Kanej shipper,” he whispered.

“I’m a multishipper, okay?!” she replied, equally quiet.

“Does Blessica know?”

She shook her head. “And she will never find out.”

Kit saw the opportunity and he seized it. “She’ll never find out as long as you never call me daddy in front of either of my parents.”

She removed her arm from his shoulder and guided them out of the park, in the direction of the many apartments that lined this side of town. “I hate you.”

“Well, so does Mari. You're not special, Ast.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know Mari doesn’t actually hate you, right?! They’re just still in the enemy phase of your enemies-to-lovers romance. She only dislikes you because they feel something for you but they don’t know what so she interrupts it as loathing. In reality, her inner soul knows you’re hot and shmexie.”

Kit didn’t know how to process this so he just nodded and follow Astrid in silence to Mr. Smith’s house. (Plus, he was kinda glad that, according to his best friend, he had a little more time for Mari to ‘discover their true feelings’. If Kit screwed this up, he was out of countries to run off to.)

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What,” asked Kit, turning around to face Astrid and closing the drawer he was rifling through. “Did you find your phone?”

“Yeah. But I also found Blessica’s. She was Snapping Kevin. Platonic my ass. But he took the fucking trans flag out of her phone!”

Kit snatched Blessica’s phone out of her hand to examine it for herself. She was telling the truth. Where the glitter pride flag usually rested was just a clear purple case. Kit couldn’t believe his eyes.

“It’s one thing to misgender her every day.” Blessica had forced all four of the other Merry Hoes to sign a contract saying they wouldn’t do anything to harm him because of it. “But this is the last straw. You know what we have to do.” Oops.

“Yeah, but we don’t have any spray paint.”

Kit eyed Mr. Smith’s pink sofa, blue bar stool covers and white picture frames. “I think I have something better in mind.”

It would have been easier for both parties to just zip off the sofa cushions and tape them to the wall but by ripping them off in strips, they ensured he would have to buy new ones. And judging by the car he drove and the fiji water in his fridge, Mr. Smith could definitely afford it.

That reminded him, “I’ll finish up with this. Go put all his fiji water into my bag.” Astrid saluted him and ran off. “Wait.” She stopped and looked at him. “Steal all the remotes you can find.”

“How is he not awake?,” asked Astrid as they ripped the fabric of his seating from the stool.

He shrugged. “Don’t question it.” He shoved the bundle of cloth into her arms. “Glue this above the pink. I’ll handle the frames.”

“Say the magic word,” she sang.

“Please?”

“No. Lesbian. Come on, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Kit laughed quietly. “Can you lesbian glue this above the pink?”

She grinned at Kit. “It would be my pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hello! Sorry I haven’t written anything in so long. School just restarted and it has been…a lot.

@adoravel-fenomeno @thechangeling @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @noah-herondale-lightwood @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @maxboythedog @book-dragon-not-worm @hardlymatters

Very sorry if I forgot anyone. Lmk if you want to be addEd/removEd from the tag list.

[dadolorian]

Diamonds and Daddies Ch 2 Whiskey X F!Reader

A/N: Thank you again to @oloreaa​ for being my Beta reader despite not liking this Yeehonk bitch XD  And thanks to @talesfromtheguild​ for the name idea and letting me bounce ideas for this story in general off of you

Fandom: Kingsman the golden circle Ship: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x Cis F!reader Warning/tags: Kink and consent discussion, Possessive (consensual) language, spanking, slight choking, Daddy kink/ DD/LG/BDSM style relationship, aftercare, fingering, P/V (protected) sex, dirty talk,  reaffirming consent/ checking in with safe word, Jack being possessive/controlling but has readers enthusiastic consent on it. 

Word count: 6K + 

AO3 LINK - coming soon

Summary: Whiskey tries Tinder, and when that doesn’t work discovers a Sugar Baby app that has him most intrigued. Jack gives his Babygirl her first punishment. 

Soft light filtered through sheer curtains, you stretched out lazily, feeling your joints pop and click. Idly, your foggy brain wondered just when your bed became this big and soft. 

You fought to drift back off to sleep as memories of last night slowly came back to you, 

          Cracking an eye open to confirm that yes, you had gone home with the sexy Daddy who wined and dined you last night. You couldn’t contain the smile on your face as you remembered everything that had happened, the slight ache between your legs reminding you of the best part. 

You turned over to snuggle up to your cowboy Daddy, only to find he wasn’t there. You sat up, disappointed and confused, looking around the expansive room for him,  reaching to his side you deduced he had been gone only a short while by the lukewarm heat left on the sheets, you listened carefully, trying to figure out just where he was. 

There was muffled shuffling outside of the room, coming from downstairs, and the delicious smell that was wafting into the room made your stomach growl.

You slid out of the covers to go explore, picking up Jack’s discarded dress shirt off the floor and throwing it on before heading off in search of him.  As you left the bedroom you heard him softly humming, a familiar country tune you couldn’t quite place. Softly padding your way down the stairs there you found him, in his open kitchen, wearing a stetson, jeans and nothing else. His back was facing you, you watched the muscles there ripple as he poured batter into the waffle iron beside him, cursing when hot batter splashed back onto his bare stomach. “Careful Daddy,” you teased, as you leaned against an island counter, making him jump slightly. 

He turned to face you with a soft smile, wiping the batter off of his front with a rag. 

“Morning Honey Bee. Did I wake you?” he asked, rounding the island to give you a gentle kiss.

You hummed at the name, it was the same one you had used on the Sugar baby App, which you still needed to delete for him. 

“Not at all, Cowboy,” you teased, flicking his stetson playfully. 

“I was hoping to give you breakfast in bed,” he drawled, playing with the hem of the shirt you were wearing absentmindedly. His other hand went to the small of your back, gently holding you to his front as he rocked the two of you slowly, dancing in place to music that wasn’t there. 

“Seems that plans out the window now, you hungry?” 

You nodded your head. “Starving. I worked up quite an appetite last night,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around him and resting your chin on his soft front, looking up at him with a giddy smile. 

He chuckled,and bent forward to place a quick kiss to your forehead. 

“That you did, I guess riding takes a lot out of you huh?” he teased with a wink. 

You rolled your eyes at the joke, but your smile confirmed to him you liked it either way.

              He was content holding you just like that, swaying gently together as if you were the only two people in existence, the only thing pulling him away from your embrace was the smell of burning batter.

“Shit, shit!” he cursed, untangling himself from your arms, trying to save what he could of the breakfast. “Damn!”

He unplugged the iron and wafted away the faint smoke with his stetson, trying to thin it out enough to avoid the smoke alarm going off. 

“Sorry, Darlin, I was trying to be all romantic and make you breakfast,” he coughed, scraping burnt batter out of the machine. “But it seems my cooking skills ain't up to par.”

“I’m just flattered that you went through the effort for me,” you smiled, coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around him again, kissing his bare shoulder blades. 

“Of course, gotta take care of my girl,” he moved the waffle iron to the side and cleaned up the mess on the bench.

“How bout we just order something Darl? Since i’ve made such a mess of this?” He suggested, turning in your embrace and resting his large hands on your hips. 

“Sounds delightful” you hummed, standing on your tiptoes to give him a chaste kiss. 

“Here,” he said as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket, unlocking it and passing it to you.

“You open that ‘uber’ app and pick whatever you’re fancying Princess.” 

You took the phone and browsed through the app as he cleaned up what he could, deciding on the safe bet of waffle house, since Jack had seemed so insistent on making them for you to begin with. 

With the food ordered and on its way, you relaxed on the couch, waiting for him to finish cleaning up. You lay on your stomach, making sure his shirt was only just covering your ass as you flipped through a TV magazine he had laying around.

The rummaging in the kitchen eventually grew silent, shortly followed by warm fingers gently caressing up the back of your thigh to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. 

You hummed, pleased as you felt his weight join you, blanketing himself over you carefully, making sure he didn’t crush you. 

You giggled as you felt his mustache tickle your neck, where he peppered many hot kisses across your skin. 

“D-Daddy,” you giggled, wiggling in his grasp as he continued to tickle you with his facial hair. “Food will be here soon.” 

He growled, not too pleased at the idea of having to cut his playtime short before it had even had a chance to get started. 

“You’re right, Baby, we’ll have to have some fun later,” he sighed, burying his face into your neck for soft snuggles rather than the heated kisses, a change you had no complaint about either way.  “Don’t need to get all worked up before heading to the lobby. Might give a poor delivery driver a heart attack if I answer the door full mast,” he snickered into your neck. 

You rolled your eyes again at his immature humor but you were once more unable to keep your own smile off of your face. 

“We can play after breakfast though. Right Daddy?” You asked, running your foot over this strong calves teasingly.

“Mmhhhh, of course Baby, “ he said, placing another kiss on your neck. “You only have to ask and Daddy will play with you whenever you want. Unless you’re being a brat for me.” 

You hummed in appreciation at the implication.  Past Daddies had never been very...successful at the whole punishment and reward aspect of your usual relationship dynamic. Your string of bad luck when it came to your relationships didn’t just translate to the relationships with your Daddies failing, but also to how skilled they were with mixing the punishments and pleasures you hungered for. You had never been left completely satisfied in a relationship before. 

But, since meeting him, there wasn't a doubt in your mind that Jack’s ability to take care of you, to punish and pleasure you in the way you had been craving for years, would finally scratch that itch. To satisfy your hunger. You weren’t just a sugar Baby for the money after all. 

“I’ll be good for you,” you teased, breathlessly lifting your ass up into his hips, causing him to groan. 

“Teasing's not what a good girl does, Honey Bee,” he warned, using your moniker again. It was like he was reminding you of your place, something that should have been a red flag in any other type of relationship, but with Jack, it only served to turn you on more. 

“What happened to not answering the door at full mast?” You continued to tease. 

“Half mast...different story,” Jack joked, snatching his phone up with one hand to check on the progress of the food. 

“It’s on its way,” he hummed, getting up off of you carefully, gently patting your ass as he straightened up. “Should probably go put a shirt on then.” 

“Awww,” you pouted, flipping over to watch him walk over to the stairs.

“I’ll take my shirt back off when I get back with the food baby, but only if you take yours off first, Honey Bee,” he winked playfully at you before heading upstairs.

He returned from his room, now wearing a plain white T-shirt which showed off his biceps deliciously, and some fancy looking cowboy boots to complete his casual country look.  “I’ll be back with the food in just a minute Darlin,” he said, coming over to you and giving you a slow, deep kiss. “Be good.” 

You batted your eyelashes up at him, playing innocent as he took off, grabbing his keys and leaving you alone in his apartment. 

Bored without his attention and curious about him, you took the opportunity alone to explore. You hopped up off the couch and started to inspect his apartment. Upstairs you found an additional two bedrooms and bathroom , they were of little interest to you outside of their stunning views of the city, the interesting parts of his apartment were all downstairs, you discovered.  A private gym, a balcony with views of central park and his own pool! You were half tempted to jump in and wait for him to return but you didn’t want to get in trouble with him, at least not yet.  You headed back inside and were about to inspect the last room of the house when you spied through the glass door a heavy wooden desk and laptop sitting on top of it, it was his office. Remembering his warning, you loosened your grip on the handle, backing away slowly. 

“What did I tell you bout my office, Babygirl?” his deep baritone startled you, you hadn’t heard him return.    He stood in the open lounge behind you, one hand on his hip, the other holding the takeout boxes, quirking an eyebrow at you questioningly.  His question was a clear warning to you. 

“You said I can't go in there, and I remembered!” You explained as you turned to face him fully. “I didn’t go in, I stopped as soon as I realized it was your office Daddy, I promise.”

 He regarded you for a moment, searching your eyes. He believed you it seemed. “Good,” he purred, putting the boxes on the coffee table. He grabbed two plates and cutlery from the adjacent kitchen and returned to flop onto the couch with as much grace a man his age could muster.

 “Come here Baby,” Jack beckoned you with his finger, before he sat down and toed off his boots, kicking them underneath the coffee table. 

He held out his arm in invitation of a cuddle which you happily accepted, tucking your knees under yourself as you curled up to his side. He gave you a tender kiss to your forehead then served up the food onto the plates. 

“There you go, Baby,” he smiled, handing you a plate. “Wish i could have made it myself, but this will have to do for now. One day I'll make you a romantic breakfast in bed.” 

“I like that idea Daddy,” you hummed, digging into your food quite happily. “But i’m certainly not complaining about this either.”

You both sat, lazily cuddling as you ate your breakfast together, not in any particular rush to get on with the rest of the day. You finished first, putting your plate on the coffee table in front of you while you waited for him. “You might finish it quicker if you let go of me Daddy,” you teased, causing him to cock an eyebrow at you, looking at you as if you had just grown two heads. “Now why would I want to do that, Babygirl?” He asked, the arm around you squeezing the flesh of your exposed thigh. 

“I wasn’t complaining Daddy, I just thought it might have been easier.”

“I know Baby,” he kissed your cheek. “But i much prefer this.” When he had finally finished his food he stacked his plate on top of yours, picked up a blank notepad off the glass top then pulled you up onto his lap. 

“Now, Baby,” he murmured, playing with the top button of the shirt you were wearing, his shirt. 

“What do you say we get that little ‘contract’ sorted? Should be something we get out of the way before we have anymore fun together, don’cha think? I don't want to overstep any boundaries with you.” You nodded in agreement, looping your arms around his neck as he began writing. 

You found it really cute the way his brow would furrow as he wrote, trying his best to balance the notepad between the two of you and not get distracted by your close proximity. When he was done, he re-read the whole page, giving it a nod of approval before flipping it for you to read. 

You made sure to read it properly, to make sure everything was covered. It was a detailed list of all the rules you had both agreed to the previous night, with the important ones underlined for emphasis, safeword, exclusivity, communication. You smiled, giving him your approval. He then flipped to another page, writing down a list, you tried your best to read it upside down, curious as to what else he could be writing. Figuring out a few of the words you realized he was writing a list of kinks. 

He gave it another once over before showing you. 

“Like I said Princess, I don’t want to cross any boundaries with you, I need to know beforehand if you’ll be just as enthusiastic for these as I am,” he said, rubbing your thigh as you took the list and read it. “It's all fun and games talking punishment and rewards until I get to it and find out you don’t like what I'm doing to ya.” 

You took the pen from his hand, crossing out the hard no’s, leaving only your favorites on his expansive list.

Over stimulation Choking Bondage/restraints Throat fucking Spanking Slapping Riding crop Public sex Collars Toys- Plugs, vibrators, Dildos- others Orgasm denial Cock warming Roleplay - costumes Rough sex Ice Candle wax Degradation/name calling  Fisting Anal Spitting

“Perfect” you purred, handing it back to him so he could confirm what you had approved off. He grinned widely as he read it, his eyes growing dark from lust. You were just the same, already feeling the familiar sensation of your arousal pooling.

“Hooo, Honey Bee,” he growled contentedly, reading your amendments. “You left all my favorites on here.” He tossed the notepad onto a side table, discarding it and leaving his full attention on you. “Now keep in mind, those kinks are just for punishments and rewards...We can add more if we want to later, and we can explore other kinks any other time...I just need to know what you want when Daddy punishes you.” You nodded, agreeing with his words. You were exceptionally grateful at just how serious he was taking his role and control over you, making sure you would be comfortable and feel safe with everything he wanted to do with you, confirming to both of you he had your enthusiastic consent for some of the more...extreme elements of your growing relationship. 

“Mind answering a question for me, Darlin?” He asked, gently undoing the top button of your shirt.

“Of course not Daddy, ask away.”

“Got any toys at home?” His hands continued popping buttons of the shirt you were wearing, his voice was curious, with that hungry growl still hidden beneath it.

“Y-yes, i have toys,” you admitted truthfully.

“Get rid of them,” he ordered firmly, staring at your chest as his calloused hand slipped underneath your now unbuttoned shirt, pushing the shirt off of your shoulders, exposing you to him.

“B-but Daddy, they were expensive,” you whined, gripping his shoulders as his large, rough hands moved to cup your breasts.

He dragged his gaze away from your tits to look you in the eyes.

“What was that? You answering back to me already, baby?” He growled, giving your breasts a harsh squeeze in warning, making you gasp. “Your pleasure belongs to me now, remember? I decide when you get to feel good…And no toy is going to do my job for you.” He began rolling your nipples in his fingers, causing your head to fall back in pleasure. He gave you a growl in warning, a wordless command of eyes on me, and you dragged your gaze back to him, whimpering at his touches. You had started to get wet as you read his Kink list, just the idea of exploring them had started to work you up, but now, with his deft fingers and possessive words, you feel yourself getting wetter. 

“When you get home, you’re going to throw all those toys you have in the trash,” he squeezed your breasts together, still toying with your nipples. “Then you’re going to send Daddy a photo to prove it….And then, when i think you’ve earned it, we’re going shopping for some new, special toys we get to use together. For when you’ve been a good girl for Daddy…or a Bad girl.”

You bit your lip to hide the whimper at the implications, unsuccessfully. Once again he was proving just how capable he was at his Daddy role for you. He chuckled at how helpless you sounded, dragging one of his hands down your front to slip between your legs, fingers quickly becoming covered in your slick. “You’re very naughty baby, forgetting to put your panties on this morning...Only bad girls go about with no underwear,” he teased, pushing one, long finger inside you slowly. “B-But...You weren't wearing underwear last night!” You gasped, opening your legs wider to give him better access. The hand still on your tit squeezed harder. 

“Answering back again?” he growled, shoving another finger inside of you. His other hand let go of your breast and looped around you, pulling you tight up against his front, holding you in place so he could attack your neck with his mouth.  He kissed and licked, running his teeth over the sensitive skin there before growling right into your ear.  “Don’t you dare go around thinking that you can answer back to me, Honey Bee, or that what Daddy says don’t matter.” 

Your moniker, again, reminding you just what you were to him, what he was to you.

One simple name you had heard many times before, but coming from his mouth, his husky voice, it held so much power and control over you. 

The two fingers inside you pushed in as deep as they could go, curling back and forth to tease at your sweet spot. You tried to wiggle in his grasp, either to get away from the stimulation or get closer, you weren’t sure, but his grip on you held fast.

“If I say something makes you a bad girl, then you best listen...Don’t matter if Daddy does it too, you do as I say, not as I do...You’re not a big enough girl to behave like that…” he teased you, gently curling his fingers one minute then thrusting his hand into you harshly the next, fingering you as fast as he could in the position. “Thought you wanted to be my good girl?” he rasped, chuckling darkly when you began writhing in his hold, whining and arching your back, holding onto him for dear life, your manicured nails digging into his biceps as the obscene wet slaps of his hand thrusting into you joined your whines. 

His words and deft fingers had brought you quicker to the edge than you had ever been in your life. Something about the way he became so possessive and controlling over you turned you on so easily, you felt your core tighten up and more arousal seep down your thighs. 

Gripping his shoulders you whimpered out a warning that you were going to cum. He sped his hand up, thumb rubbing quick circles into your clit for one teasing moment, and right before you flew over the edge, he pulled his fingers free from you. “W-wha?” you asked befuddled, straightening back up to look at him. “Daddy why?” 

He stood up, tossing you onto the couch on your back before bringing his fingers to his mouth, moaning as he tasted your essence still coating them. “I’ll tell you why, Baby,” he said, pulling his fingers free and licking his lips as if he had just eaten the finest dessert. “You talked back to Daddy,” he leant over top of you so his nose brushed yours. “And then I find out you’re being a filthy little girl by not wearing panties…” He slapped your thigh hard enough to sting. “And then you had the gall to talk back to me, again.” 

He shoved his mouth against yours for a deep, domineering kiss. It was bruising. You could taste the faint flavor of the syrup from the waffles you shared, combined with your own juices, on his tongue. He cupped your jaw to deepen the kiss, then pulling away only when you had become lost to the sensation, driving you insane once again by denying you just as it got really heated. “Now, we’re both new to this...It’s going to take a while for us both to learn all the rules,” he said, straightening up and pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side, forgotten. He was back on you, kneeling between your legs before you could even admire his soft tummy again.  “But if I let this one slide, Baby, I fear you won’t learn the rules...If I let you get away with answering back to me, and being filthy now...Well you won’t learn your lesson, will ya?”

One hand slid back between your legs, ghosting over your soaked folds teasingly. You whimpered again, listing your hips for more contact, batting your eyes up at him in hopes to soften him up 

“But since this is a first offence,” Jack chuckled, gently pinching your clit between two fingers, “I’ll go easy on you. But don’t think those pretty eyes will work on me all the time, baby.” 

“Daddy” you whined, feeling completely helpless underneath him and loving it. “Hmmm? Now what do we think is an appropriate punishment for a first time offence?” He asked, pushing one finger back inside you, thrusting it in and out agonizingly slowly while his thumb circled your clit with feather light passes. Touching you and filling you up, but not enough to satisfy the burning need in you. He watched intently as you tried to seek out more stimulation, raising your hips up into his hand, but he put a stop to that quickly, holding your hips down with his free hand.  “Stay still,” he growled. “You take what I give you, Honey bee, don’t be greedy.”  He watched you with his head cocked, as he decided on your punishment.  “I think we’ll keep it simple,” he continued. “A spanking seems appropriate...Don’t you agree?”

Jack paused, and you realized he was waiting for a response, an approval and consent over his chosen punishment.  “Y-yes...a spanking seems fair Daddy,” you pouted, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Good” he rumbled, scooping you up and gently laying you across his lap. You could feel his erection pressed up against your belly.

You wanted it inside you, but you knew you had to earn it. One of his arms looped around your middle, keeping you still while the other was gently massaging your ass and rubbing your pussy. “Listen up, Girl,” he said, voice firm. “You are to say “red” if this gets too much, you understand?” he asked, waiting for your verbal affirmation before continuing. “Good, after each spank, I want you to say ‘I will not talk back to Daddy’. Can you repeat that for me?” “I- I will not talk back to Daddy,” you moaned, wiggling your hips to get more friction up against your pussy. “Good,” he praised again, rewarding you with more friction just where you wanted it, his palm rubbing up and down over your folds. 

“You’re going to get ten spanks...And then Daddy's going to give you a reward afterwards, if you’re good for me.”

You nodded, letting him know you understood. “I want you to count them out too,” was his final instruction as he raised his hand, bringing it back down against your ass with a hard SLAP! “O-one!” You yelped. “I will not talk back to Daddy!” He hummed in approval, you felt his erection brush up against your stomach again, twitching in the confines of his pants. SLAP! “Two!” I will now talk back to Daddy!” 

It continued, you tried your hardest to keep still with each slap, to stop rubbing your thighs together, but each slap only seemed to make you wetter, to make you want him more. Slap after slap after slap, you remained his good little girl. “T-Ten! I- I will not talk back to Daddy!”  you cried, tears from the pain running down your face. You were left sore and sensitive, but despite the pain you felt burning pleasure fill your whole body. Jack really was living up to your dream expectations as your Daddy, you were reminded one again just how perfect he was for you.

He proved himself more with how he treated you after a punishment.  

His hand began massaging your ass again, soothing the sting. Jack nuzzled the side of your face affectionately as he stroked the hand shaped welts forming on your ass gently. 

“Whats your color, Babygirl?” he asked softly, kissing your cheek. 

“G-green,” you panted, calming your breath and racing heart down. “Good, good,” he praised, carefully helping you stand on your feet, back facing him. Your legs felt like jelly, you were ready to collapse but his hands on your waist kept you standing. “You took your punishment so well, baby, Daddy is so proud of you!” He kissed the growing welts, praising you. “What a good girl you are, taking Daddys punishment. And look at this,” one of his hands pushed between your legs, coating his fingers once again in your arousal. “You’re even wetter than before...I’m not sure it's much of a punishment if you liked it that much, but a promise is a promise, you took your punishment and behaved...My little girl deserves her reward now, don’t you think?” You moaned and nodded, pushing back against his hand despite how sore you were. “Hmmmm, and I know you’re sore baby, but damn if you didn’t make Daddy as hard as a fucking rock through out all of that. Think you’ll be able to take my cock?” 

He chuckled when you nodded eagerly. 

“Course you can, you’re fucking soaked.” He stood up and gently laid you down on your stomach on the couch. You watched over your shoulder as he pulled a condom out of his pocket and began unbuckling his belt, shoving his pants down his hips. 

Once again, he wasn’t wearing underwear, the hypocrite, but you held your tongue. 

Daddy had just taught you a lesson about answering back, you weren't willing to give up your reward after all that delicious torture. “You’re ass looks fucking gorgeous covered in my hand prints,” he rasped, kicking his pants away and ripping the packet open with his teeth.  “I just want to stare at those pretty welts as I fuck you with my cock, might get a little sore again, baby...Tell me to stop and I will.” 

You nodded, letting him know you understood as he positioned himself behind you, he rolled the condom on, briefly wiping up the precum that had gathered at his tip onto his hand, he held his fingers to your mouth for you to taste. 

He groaned as you swirled your tongue around them, coating his fingers in your saliva and tasting the proof of his arousal. With the condom in place, Jack held himself at his base, rubbing his tip up against your soaked folds, back and forth. “Tell me you’ll be a good girl for me from now on,” he teased, you could hear that arrogant smile in his voice. You whined, frustrated he was holding your reward over your head so to speak. “I’ll be a good girl for you, Daddy...I won't answer back like that again!” you moaned into one of the throw pillows on the couch, holding it against your chest and face, anchoring yourself to something as you tried not to scream from frustration at his teasing. “Yeah? You’ll be a good girl and listen to Daddy too? Keeping still when I tell you to? Not arguing if I deem your behavior naughty?” 

At this point you were sure he was just trying to torture you further. “Yes! Yes Daddy! Please! I swear I'll be good, just please!” you begged. “I’ve been a good girl! Please, I just want your cock!” You didn’t care how pathetic or desperate you sounded as you begged him to fill you, he had manhandled you and spanked you deliciously, in a way no Daddy ever had before and if this was just a ‘mild’ punishment, it excited you further to think how he would handle something more extreme in the future. 

You had never been more aroused in your entire life. 

“Good girls don’t speak like that” he warned, you feared another punishment when you were this close to your pleasure that you actually sobbed into the pillow. “But I'll forgive you, you have been a good girl for me, taking your punishment so well....” he trailed off, distracted by the sight of his aching tip poking at your folds that were framed by his growing marks. He was so close to just...pushing in. It was agonizing having him so close to filling you up and you let him know. Pleading and sobbing harder into the pillow. Taking mercy on you, he pushed forward excruciatingly slow, making you sob in relief, satisfying your burning need, if only for a moment.   “You’re just so desperate for Daddy’s cock,” he rasped, enraptured by his effect on you. 

You moaned and continued sobbing into the pillow, overwhelmed to be finally filled with him. 

His guttural moan joined yours as he bottomed out, sinfully loud.The stretch of his was slightly painful, given he did not take the time to prepare you as carefully as he did the night before. But the way he split you open, was divine. He wasn’t wrong in saying you were desperate for his cock,  and who could blame you when he filled you up so good?

“Jesus, fuck, I don’t think I ever been inside a hole this wet before, Baby,” he grated, rocking his hips into you slowly.  “I can feel it, coating down our legs...Didn’t realize you were such a whore for punishment and Daddy's cock.”  It sounded like an insult, but the wicked grin you heard in his voice told you otherwise. He was delighted at the discovery of just how needy he could make you. 

You were about to comment back when he slowly pulled out of you and then thrust back in, hard, making you scream at the devastating pleasure of him stretching and filling you and the deliciously painful sensation of his hips slapping up against your sore ass. 

Jack chuckled again, beginning a steady, fast and deep pace thrusting into you. He grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you up enough so your face wasn’t buried in the throw pillow. “I want to hear your screams, baby,” he snarled, punctuating his sentence with a devastatingly harsh thrust.  He laughed at you, mockingly, as you screamed again. 

“Fuck, I love hearing your noises, baby, you sound so hot, makes Daddy even harder.”  You felt him twitch inside you as he said it, making you whimper. 

You had no words left, only able to focus on the way he filled you up and rammed against your deepest spot. The burning sting of your ass each time his hips met yours drove you wild. He moaned and growled in approval at the noises you were making, but you were so lost that you weren't even aware you were making them or what you were saying. He rambled on behind you, his raspy voice praising how tight you were, how good you felt around him. You could barely focus on his words.

“Rub your clit baby,” he ordered, the hand not gripping your neck rubbing your ass as he admired your marks. “Daddy wants you to cum on his cock...You’ve earned it” 

You did as you were told, reaching beneath you to rub yourself with a trembling arm. You could feel his balls slap against your fingers with earth thrust. And he was right, you were soaked, your fingers were able to glide smoothly over your bud, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body like electricity.  You felt your core clamping down on him instantly, making him moan. 

“Fuck, just when I think you can’t get any tighter,” he rumbled. “You’re close, aren't cha Honey Bee? I can feel it,you’re such a perfect little cock whore for me, come on..cum for Daddy, fucking soak me even more.” You whimpered, rubbing your clit faster at his words.

“Cum for Daddy, right fucking now!” You obeyed, you felt like you were being hit by a freight train. 

His teasing and leaving you right as you reached your peak earlier, mixed with the unbearable arousal he had caused with his spanking and dirty words resulted in the most powerful orgasm you had ever felt in your entire life. You felt the wind being knocked out of you as your core clamped down around him almost painfully and milk him for all he was worth.  Your entire body contorted with pleasure, your legs shook violently as you tried to cling to anything to ride out the powerful waves.            You heard him curse behind you, slamming into you harder, painfully so given how tender your ass was but it only added to the pleasure.  He growled out his release, gripping your neck harder.  “Jesus fuck baby that’s it! Yes! Yes! Fuuuucccck!”  His desperate bucking as he chased his own pleasure as you milked him dry simply intensified your orgasm, leaving you a breathless, panting, sweaty mess as your body shook and came down from your high.  “Perfect fucking pussy.”

Even when you were done, as you began winding down from your high, every slight movement of him behind you made your walls flutter more, making you whimper from the over stimulation. 

He groaned deeply behind you as he pulled out, cooing gently at you as you whined. “There we go baby, shhhh now,” came Jack's soothing words. 

You melted into the couch, feeling like a heap of boneless jelly as your eyes started to rift close. He got up off the couch and you heard him walk to the kitchen, disposing of his condom you assumed, you were too tired to even care. You were surprised when he came back and rolled you over gently, picking you up bridal style. You let you a whimper of pain and confusion. “Shhh baby, Daddy’s just taking care of you,” he consoled, kissing the crown of your head. “Rest, let me do all the work.” He carried you upstairs, to his room, gently putting you back on ‘your’ side.

You closed your eyes, ready to drift off as you heard him rummage about in his ensuite. He came back, and you felt him gently begin cleaning you up with another warm washcloth. “Look at my baby...so beautiful,” he murmured tenderly, wiping up and down your thighs, throwing the wash cloth to the side to clean up later once your slick had been cleaned up. “You did so well, took Daddy's punishment and cock so well...What a lucky man I am.” He continued to praise you as he gently rolled you onto your front. You whimpered, your body aching and protesting but you let him manhandle you more. You heard something else rustle, then a zipper. There was a pop of a cap followed by the soothing sensation of his hands rubbing cream into your abused skin.           You whined, the cream too cold for your burning skin but he soothed you with gentle kisses peppered along your shoulder blades. “Let Daddy take care of you, it will be done soon,” he promised. With your welts thoroughly coated you sighed in content, already feeling the stinging sensation start to fade away. “There we go,” he praised, packing up what you now knew to be the first aid kit. He went to put it away and wash his hands before he returned. He moved to lay next to you, fidgeting a bit, wanting to pull you up against him but not willing to agitate your sore ass. He contented himself by laying on his side,  watching you as one hand resting on your back, stroking it affectionately and limbs intertwined  with yours. He kissed everywhere he could reach, just as he had last night, he spoke to you gently, letting you focus on his words rather than on how sore you were. “Rest Baby, when you wake up, we’ll have a lot of work to do,” he hummed. “Gonna get'cha all cleaned up, put a nice meal in your belly, make sure you’re all taken care of.” You snuggled deeper into the plush pillow you were laying on, a smile forming on your lips at his soft promises. “Then Daddy's going to have to get ya home, gonna need to get your allowance sorted, and see you get your appointment for your implant...Daddy wants you without a condom as soon as possible.” he teased, his fingers dancing on your back gently, making the flesh jump.

You whined at the ticklish sensation and he chuckled. “Go to sleep baby, i’ll be here when you wake up this time,” he murmured the promise into your ear as you finally drifted off. 

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Taglist: 

@thats-one-tender-foot​  @luminescentlily​ @nuttybeardetective​ @ishqinbbc​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @calamity-queen​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @talesfromtheguild​

[qqueenofhades]

For the spooky prompts, "Violent Thunderstorms" for Fivan perhaps? 😳

Anonymous asked: Heyyy 2 Vampire for fivan (how to ask for the chapter 2 witout asking for chap 2)

Anonymous asked: Fivan and #2 🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️

Very well, I see what the people want, and that is a sequel to this one-shot. I have thus combined these prompts for reasons.

Fedyor spends the next fortnight attempting – with notably indifferent success – not to think about Ivan Sakharov. The Conclave was less than pleased to hear that Fedyor came back empty-handed, having not even secured a promise for Ivan and the rest of the Black Hand to leave off their mischief-making, and in fact has empowered them in their belief that there is nothing the law can do to them. Considering the earful that Fedyor got on that accord, he saw nothing to be gained from mentioning that not only did Ivan blow him off completely, he did it after he had fed on him. It’s entirely possible that Ivan accessed sensitive thoughts, memories, or plans, any scrap of useful intelligence that Fedyor did not carefully hide away in his mind before that too-distracting bite. In short, he has comprehensively botched the entire situation, the Conclave is well within their rights to be very angry with him, and to demonstrate the extent of their displeasure, they have temporarily revoked Fedyor’s right to enter their territory and feed on their drones – willing humans kept for the purpose, who are hoping to be selected for the transformation in exchange for their service. That means if Fedyor wants to eat, he has to go out and hunt an animal, or bamboozle and beguile an unwitting passerby to let him chomp on their neck. Truly, being a vampire can be such a terrible drag.

Fedyor figures that if he keeps his head down, meekly accepts his punishment, and doesn’t make any trouble, the Conclave will get over their anger and reinstate him sooner rather than later. It’s not like he has many other options. If he wants to stay in Belgrade, he will remain in their good graces, and he has no desire to get mixed up with the Black Hand. The rumor is that they were founded by the Black Heretic himself, who has remained out of sight for many decades but is now said to be active again, and the Black Heretic is the scion of the Conclave’s greatest enemy, the vampire that all other vampires fear. Absolutely no good can come of throwing one’s lot in with that crowd, and Fedyor wonders if he is going to have to find a new home. If a stupid supernatural war blows up this city, he’s out.

Most of the fortnight passes without incident, but the flaw in the plan is the unfortunate fact that Fedyor is very hungry. He’s still a young enough vampire that he can’t go two weeks without feeding, and he really hates the messy business of corralling an unwitting human. Besides, the Conclave’s headquarters and chief place of business are on Knez Mihailova Ulica, the most fashionable downtown district right in the middle of Belgrade, and what with Fedyor’s current banishment from the premises, he can’t go there anyway. Hunting it has to be.

Fedyor waits until it is dark, a soft summer rain pattering on the steep-roofed eaves and glowing streetlamps, and then, having changed into clothing more suitable for getting a lot of bloodstains, he slips out. He moves silently in the shadows, past the well-dressed gentlemen and evening-gowned ladies out at the ball or the opera or the latest society supper-party, and escapes the precincts of Belgrade proper for the low green hills that surround it. This is on the Sava side of the river confluence, to the west, and once Fedyor is out of the city, the trees close in thickly. They are only broken by the occasional tiny village: small churches with square steeples and double-branched Orthodox crosses, red-tiled cottages crowded together along narrow dirt lanes, a lantern burning here and there to keep the monsters away. Fedyor can hear human voices, sense the shadows of people moving around behind the shutters, and it gives him a pang. No wonder he is clinging so closely to the prospect of timely reinstatement to the Conclave. Without them, he would truly be entirely alone.

The rain starts to come down harder as Fedyor climbs through the thick green underbrush, and by the time he reaches the top of the hill, it is slicing into his face with a vehemence that even a vampire finds intensely disagreeable. Squinting and swearing under his breath, Fedyor shields his eyes and takes a deep whiff, searching for the scent of a prey animal. He could always hop a fence and grab a cow, but cows can kick surprisingly hard, a poor farmer doesn’t need the hassle of his one beast of burden keeling over, and maybe it is just the city-boy aesthete in Fedyor, but crouching in a muddy farmyard, doing your damndest not to get murdered by a large and angry bovine while you valiantly attempt to suck its blood, is just fucking terrible. There’s nothing to recommend it. Now that he’s out of the fledgling bloodlust, Fedyor has no intention of ever going back.

Thunder booms overhead, making him jump, and a jagged spear of lightning sears the horizon from sky to ground. A tree not that far away lights up in blinding white, and a scorched scent of ozone drifts through the pounding rain. Fedyor flinches, as he has no desire to be set on fire, and decides that either he raids a farm or he heads back home and waits for better weather. But he can catch another scent just ahead, and he’s hungry enough to risk it. He breaks into a run, almost loses his footing, dodges around an enormous dripping tree, and spots a thin crescent of lights high on the bluff ahead. Wait, is that a house? Some Serbian royal bureaucrat’s elegant country retreat, or – something else? Fedyor doesn’t recall that he has seen it before, although he has not spent much time out here alone. That, or –

He has only a split second of warning, his supernatural senses screaming at him to get the fuck out of here right now, before he realizes two things at once: first, that the scent is very definitely hostile, and second, that something is dive-bombing directly toward him, on the strength of a ferocious leap that is remarkable even for a vampire. The next second, it – he – hits Fedyor like a ton of bricks, and they go crashing down the slope, kicking and thrashing and biting at each other in a flurry of blows too fast for a human eye to see. Another enormous clap of thunder rattles Fedyor’s fangs in his head, he slams down on his back hard enough to break his bones if he was human, and then, in the flash of the succeeding lightning bolt, his eyes confirm what his nose has already told him. Of all the stupid, stupid things, he appears to have unwittingly trespassed onto Black Hand territory and tried to hunt their game, and the angry supernatural soldier determined to beat the unholy tarnation out of him is therefore none other than the one and only –

“Stop!” Fedyor wheezes, although he has no idea why he expects it to make any difference. “It’s me! Fedyor Kaminsky! From Terazije!”

The rain stings his eyes hard enough to make him grimace, just as a third incandescent bolt of lightning rattles across the sky. From what Fedyor can see, which is not very much, Ivan looks almost as startled as he feels. They remain staring at each other, their faces barely an inch apart, Ivan’s fangs bared in a way that it is really not the time to find disturbingly attractive. Then Ivan springs off and barks, “What the fuck are you doing out here, Conclave whore?”

“Sorry.” Fedyor sits up. His dark hair is plastered to his head and getting in his eyes, there is mud all over his clothes, and even for an immortal who technically does not need to breathe, he is winded. Ivan, to nobody’s surprise, really packs a punch. “I was just… hungry.”

“You have your own arrangements.” Ivan eyes him suspiciously, arms folded, rainwater running down that magnificently disdainful Slavic nose as if from a statue in the public square. “If anyone besides me had caught you out here, you would be dead.”

Well, that is (not) encouraging. It does, however, point out the fact that Ivan has already had the chance to murder him and held back, and Fedyor is not about to speculate on why exactly that might be. It’s not a good idea, but he’s wet, hungry, has just had to unexpectedly fight like the dickens, and irritated at Ivan for being the one who got him into this mess in the first place. “The Conclave demanded that I return their visiting card,” he says shortly. “I’m not allowed to feed on their drones for some unspecified length of time – which is, I might add, entirely thanks to you.”

“What? Why is that my fault?”

“In case you’ve forgotten our last meeting,” Fedyor snaps, “it was at the Golden Cross, on the Lumière brothers’ film night. I relayed the Conclave’s warning to stop your illegal behavior and associations, and you completely ignored it. As a result – ”

“What, they cut off your feeding access?” Ivan interrupts. He looks utterly incredulous. “That’s charitable of them. A good way to build loyalty among your people. Besides, what the fuck did they expect? That you would walk up and ask me nicely, and that would solve it?”

He does, Fedyor has to loathingly admit, have a point. The best he can muster is, “The Conclave is accustomed to being obeyed.”

Ivan eyes him up, with an expression on his face as if that riposte is so pathetic, he isn’t going to dignify it with the effort of a reply. He is poised on edge, as if he doesn’t consider this matter to be entirely settled by the previous bout of violence, and Fedyor is equally tense. He very much does not want to scuffle with a Black Hand hardman who looks like that and fights like that, especially in the throes of encroaching frenzy, and the attendant loss of control. His fangs dig into his lower lip, seeking out the nearest blood – his own – and Fedyor clenches his fists. “Do you have an animal I can borrow?” he asks, as politely as he can. “I’ll – pay for it.”

Ivan surveys him up and down, dripping like an undead drowned rat and otherwise looking as miserable as Fedyor generally tries not to look (after all, presentation is everything). Then he jerks up an impatient fist. “Follow me.”

Fedyor is unsure what this might entail, but shamefully – whether it is due to his increasingly desperate hunger, or something else – he is not altogether opposed to it. He trails after Ivan, trying not to slip in the wet grass or fixate on Ivan’s scent; he will just get another smackdown for his trouble, like a horse flicking aside a fly, and he is not in the mood for it. After a climb of a few minutes, they reach the top of the hill and cross a deserted lawn to a manor house, scattered lights flickering in steep gables and pointed turrets. It is otherwise entirely dark, even to Fedyor’s vampire senses, as Ivan unlatches the heavy front door and drags it open with a screech. “In.”

Well aware that this is an even stupider idea than the polite request to knock it off – he is putting himself voluntarily in the power of a Black Hand operative, on enemy territory, where nobody knows where he is or what Ivan intends to do with him. If Fedyor’s drained corpse turns up floating in the Danube tomorrow, a warning to the Conclave never to interfere in their business again, he can’t say that he didn’t expect it. He hesitates at the threshold a moment longer, and then, given permission – it’s not essential, but it does help – steps inside.

The hall looks almost exactly as you would expect a secret vampire mansion to look: dusty suits of armor, glowering paintings, a sweeping grand staircase with a gothic balcony, and a chandelier which struggles to illuminate the cracked black-and-white chessboard flagstones. Still dripping, the thunder dulling to a muted rumble, Fedyor looks warily from side to side. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here except the two of them – or at least, he certainly hopes that there are no unwitting humans asleep upstairs. In the state that he’s in right now, he isn’t sure that he could control himself. Unless Ivan is trying to make some tiresome point about the inherent monstrosity of vampires, the sort that certain factions like to use in order to argue against the Conclave’s attempts to civilize them and make them follow human-like rules and laws. Fedyor hopes not, because that would be deeply irritating, but he’s so hungry that he’s about to bite his own wrist, and it would not be his finest hour.

However, Ivan does not lead them upstairs, but through a dim warren of corridors to a small, curtained study in the back of the house. Sullen embers glimmer in the hearth; vampires don’t need fires for heat, or to see by, but the human habit is hard to break, even if it’s one of the few things that can hurt them. Then Ivan shuts the door behind them and says crisply, “I’ll make you a deal. Give me useful information on the Conclave, and I will let you feed.”

“What?” Fedyor gapes at him. That was clearly a starvation-induced hallucination. “On – on you?”

“No,” Ivan snaps. “On the davenport, you idiot. Yes, obviously on me. Or I can throw you out and send you to try your luck in the nearest village. Yes or no?”

Fedyor continues to gape at him. Obviously he does not want to go and rip some screaming innocent villager out of their bed, like the very worst of the strigoi horror stories, but he is not in a hurry to jeopardize his ticket back to the Conclave’s good graces by informing on them to Ivan bloody Sakharov. (Indeed, literally.) Did Ivan make that offer because he knows that Fedyor wants it, and remembers how much of a reaction Fedyor had to Ivan feeding on him back at the Golden Cross? It was impossible to hide it entirely, blast him, and Ivan is too canny not to take advantage of an adversary’s weakness. He’s caught Fedyor dead to rights, trespassing on Black Hand territory, and as he himself said, Fedyor is lucky to escape with his skin. It’s Ivan’s right to exploit that fact, nothing more. If Fedyor refuses, what in the hell is he going to do?

“I don’t know,” he stalls. “I’m not sure that I can – ”

Ivan shrugs, then lifts his own wrist to his mouth and bites the back of it. Slow, rich, dark blood beads up, and he wafts it temptingly in Fedyor’s direction. “So, you don’t want this, then?”

Yes, Fedyor wants it. Fedyor, in fact, wants a few other things while he’s at it, and there is no way that Ivan, with hearing and senses and smell as acute as his own, doesn’t know it. He takes a step forward, but Ivan dances aside. “Information first,” he orders. “Then you may have your reward. Come now, Conclave whore. Why is it any different from last time?”

“Don’t call me that.” Fedyor is seeing red – which, at this point, could be due to just about anything. “I have a name, remember? Fedyor – Mikhailovich – Kaminsky.”

He stumbles a little over the patronymic, as it is an ongoing debate whether proper etiquette for Slavic vampires entails the use of the birth father’s name, or that of the vampire sire. Opinion generally comes down on the side of the latter, since it represents proper respect for one’s new immortal status and supernatural bloodline; you’re supposed to let go of your human family, since pining to go back complicates the already-difficult adjustment period and is impossible anyway. But since Fedyor isn’t entirely reconciled to it, and tries to hold onto his humanity, he tends to introduce himself as Fedyor Mikhailovich, not Fedyor Dmitrievich, and the flicker in Ivan’s eyes means that he has taken note of that struggle. Then he shrugs, crooking a taunting finger at him. “Fine then, Fedyor Mikhailovich. It is your choice.”

“What do you – ” Fedyor is having trouble seeing straight. “Want to know?”

“Anything that might be useful.” If he is worried about being shut in a small room with another vampire on the verge of total frenzy, Ivan doesn’t show it. Indeed, in this paramount confidence and command, Fedyor realizes that Ivan is much older than he initially thought. He took him for one of Catherine the Great’s courtiers, from the late eighteenth century or so, but the well-worn shadow of violence that sits on Ivan’s shoulders is of considerably longer use than that. It’s something else to puzzle out when Fedyor regains the use of his higher critical faculties, which is definitely not the case at the moment. “That is, if you can bring yourself to actually – ”

At that moment, he is cut off as Fedyor, deciding that two can play this game and he is tired of being jerked around by this arrogant bastard, lunges at him. Ivan jumps six feet straight up, hissing, and they end up somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling, only to crash back down to the floor. Even vampires are not immune to the laws of gravity, and they roll around in a second deeply undignified flurry of kicking and biting, as Fedyor finally gets hold of Ivan’s wrists and tries to get his mouth as close as possible to that maddeningly enticing trickle. Then, for a crucial instant, he hesitates. He is very far gone, but there’s enough of his brain left to remember that feeding without permission is regarded quite dimly, and he is trying to prove that he is not a total savage. He gulps and gasps, fangs cutting into his lip, struggling and thrashing, not even able to properly articulate his request, as Ivan still looks – bafflingly – as if he is rather enjoying this. Then he smirks and says, “Very well, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Take it if you can.”

Now that is a challenge, and while it would be very enjoyable to throw it back in Ivan’s face in another fashion, Fedyor has only one concern at the moment. He presses his mouth to Ivan’s wrist, sinks his fangs, and sucks and licks like a man dying of thirst in the desert. Ivan utters a contented purring sound, his head falling back on the carpet, and certainly does not bother to keep struggling while Fedyor is otherwise occupied. Silence falls across the drawing room, except for the soft sounds of Fedyor feeding. He is half on top of Ivan, between his legs, and Ivan does not appear to be objecting in the least. Well. That was… unexpected.

When Fedyor has drunk enough to feel sane again, he pulls back with a jerk, remembers where he is, and fights the wash of embarrassment that floods through him. He wipes his mouth with the cuff of his shirt, then bends down and licks the bite wound closed, which is common vampire practice even if Ivan failed to do it with him. (After all, some supernaturals have manners.) Then they look at each other, and Fedyor doesn’t think it’s his imagination that Ivan’s breath is coming short, a flush visible in his pale cheeks, an enjoyment bearing a remarkable resemblance to Fedyor’s own. The silence persists a moment longer. Then Ivan groans, his legs sprawl further apart, and he orders, doing his utmost to sound gruff and commanding, “You will give me information on the Conclave now, yes?”

It is extremely tempting to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier, to pay him back for that underhanded trick at the Golden Cross, but that requires more command of his verbal processes than Fedyor currently possesses – or indeed, expects to possess in the near-to-medium future. He leans down instead, his nose brushing the hollow of Ivan’s cheek and his mouth ghosting against Ivan’s neck, his fangs tracing the line of the vein as if he might bite there too. Ivan’s hips buck, and his big hands settle heavily on the small of Fedyor’s back. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rasp in his throat. “You are wasted on those idiots.”

“Mmm.” Fedyor nips Ivan’s lower lip, with just a hint of fang. Then – although it’s the most difficult thing he has had to do in his life or his afterlife – he rolls off and gets to his feet, leaving the fearsome Black Hand anarchist vampire flat on his back on the drawing room floor. “It has,” he says, “been a lovely evening. But I will be taking my leave now. Good night.”

And with that, in the somewhat shameful epitome of quitting while he is ahead, but wanting to make absolutely sure that the point has been felt, Fedyor turns around and books it. He doesn’t dare to look back as he bursts out of the dark house, pelts across the lawn, and skids down the hill, in the thick and slippery knots of mud and moss. He doesn’t slow down until he spies the lights of Belgrade, and in a few minutes more, he’s thundering into his flat, clothes disheveled and hair a mess and mouth and head and heart still full of the taste and smell and feel of Ivan Sakharov. It’s intoxicating. It’s unbearable. But it can only be once. It will be only once.

The Conclave, Fedyor reminds himself. You’re doing this to get back to them, and you managed to get out of there without saying anything. They’ll appreciate it. They will. And it’s what you want. Keep your head down and don’t do anything else stupid, and it will work.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he –

Ah, fuck.

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Cowboy - Part 13

Summary: Leaving the city for a rural area called Blayne seemed simple enough. Your task was to convince the people to agree with selling their land for a resort redevelopment. But once there, you soon realise that your city ways are entirely different to theirs. Winning their trust was going to take some effort, and when you start to fall for a local cowboy, you wonder if you really needed Blayne more than the city life after all.

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: cowboy au / drama / romance / if you squint there’s some enemies to lovers up in here.

Warnings: Jung Jaehyun is a cowboy, need I say more? (a bit of angst and drama, and it sometimes might feel like you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, so I’m told lol)

Word count: 2450

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

“This is crazy!”

Glancing at Natalia next to you in the car as you neared the border for Blayne, you grinned. “I thought you grew up on farms?”

“The kind near the city. Nothing like this. There’s just a whole lot of land out here.”

“I would ask if you want me to turn around and take you back, but after travelling for this long, I want to just be done from being in this car.”

Laughing, Natalia craned her neck to use the side mirror. “I think the truck behind us might find that a little burdensome too.”

“I’m amazed that truck of his made it to the city and back.”

“Aren’t you glad Jaehyun came for you?” she wondered, and you couldn’t hide the genuine smile that spread out your lips immediately. “You’re smitten!”

“You’ve seen him. How could I not be?”

“Blayne’s livestock sure are made of fine specimens,” Natalia teased, and you laughed heartily.

“They do claim to have the best pigs in the nation, but I’m not so sure if that relates to all the men they have, Nat.”

“Well, the two I’ve seen…” She trailed off to kiss her fingers. “Total chef kiss.”

“Avery is single, too.”

“I never asked.”

“You didn’t need to. I could see the wheels turning from here.”

“Do you reckon he’d want a country Belle or-”

You grinned. “For Avery, I think he likes women in whatever way they come.”

“That doesn’t speak much for my chances.”

“Why not, Miss Natalia?” you chimed, and your best friend swatted your arm. “He didn’t even refer to me like that when I met him. Should I be sad?”

“Stop trying to snatch my cowboy away from me. You already have your own.”

Suddenly the truck signalled its horn behind you and you glanced up into the rear-mirror, noticing the indicator of the truck now on. Turning your attention to the side of the road, you couldn’t help but laugh at that gas station you had gone to all those months ago appearing again.

You didn’t need any gas, but it seemed Jaehyun’s truck needed the pit stop. Getting out of your vehicle, you noticed the smoke coming out from under the hood. Walking over to Jaehyun’s side, you gasped noisily. “Looks like it’s finally died on you.”

“She’s not dead,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair agitatedly after popping the hood. “She needs water.”

“And a retirement,” Avery added on, leaning on the side of Jaehyun’s truck whilst shaking his head. “You and your stubborn ways.”

“I’m not giving up on her,” Jaehyun announced, and you frowned with the level of emotion you heard in his tone. He groaned. “Though, I think I might need to leave her here tonight so she doesn’t overheat further.”

Avery nodded. “I’ll go sort it out with Mick inside the station.”

Kicking the tire gently, Jaehyun turned to look over your shoulder, not quite meeting your eye. Stepping in and placing your hands on his hips, you shot him an encouraging smile. “We’ll come and pick your truck up tomorrow.”

“We?”

“Well, I’d offer to tow it, but my car won’t handle that. I’m sure Avery’s truck will, though.”

“I’m starting to feel nervous,” Jaehyun confessed, and you blinked curiously. “At your return. People are going to talk.”

“I hope they’ve been talking up a storm. And that they are still willing to talk even when I’m there. Nat and I will rely on that talk to get things moving.”

“You’re so certain about this,” he observed, and you nodded once. “Why?”

“Because this is my project. I invested a lot of my time and energy into Blayne and found the deficit too glaring to just forget about it all when your Dad ordered me to leave. Further, I can’t just stop loving you either. You and I still have a lot to discuss.”

Jaehyun nodded thoughtfully, his signature lopsided, dimpled grin appearing. “You’re a formidable woman, Miss Adaptable.”

You didn’t make a big fuss about sitting down for that chat right away once you were back in Blayne. There was a lot to be done, especially around your new residence. You weren’t staying on the Jung’s property this time, even though you wished nothing more than to wake up in your bedroom at the homestead.

Instead, you were the first guests since 1983 to inhabit the inn.

“You sure there’s no ghost stories associated with this place?” Natalia queried as you both ate breakfast in the kitchen a few days after your arrival.

Grinning at your best friend, you shrugged. “Who knows? But if there are any more co-inhabitants here with us, they ought to pick up a broom and give things a good sweep or dusting.”

“We’ve been clearing cobwebs for days. How is this town going to be a hub of change, Y/N?”

“Nothing worthwhile comes without any effort, Natty. This place is kind of charming if you put aside its outdated décor.”

“Charming, you say,” she mentioned, pointing to the dripping tap in the kitchen. Even if the room now sparkled as best as it could from your combined cleaning, you still had repairs that were pressing.

“It could be very charming,” another voice mentioned, and you grinned at Avery’s cheeky appearance. “Sorry for intruding. The back door’s always been easy enough to get in through.”

“So it’s not just your cousin who’s good with getting in and out of places they shouldn’t be.”

“Where do you think I learned it from?” Avery admitted with an easy laugh, and after sending Natalia a wink, he placed a toolbox up on the countertop. “Leaky tap, huh? I guess I ought to fix this for you before it drives you nuts.”

“Will you?!” Natalia asked, graciously smiling in his direction. “It’s not the only one needing repairs, admittedly.”

“It’s a good thing I ran down to the hardware store a town over for some new faucets then, isn’t it?”

“Where’s Jaehyun?”

As he looked for the right tool, Avery answered. “On the ranch.”

“He okay on his own?”

“Sure, if you call being in the company of my grouchy uncle after us leaving Blayne last week caused him to get behind in work, being okay.”

“I actually have to go see Mr Jung today,” you announced and smiled at the pair who stopped staring flirtatiously at each other to look in your direction. “It’s time to get things rolling, don’t you think?”

“Will you be okay?”

“If Jaehyun’s handling his father, then I think I’ll go assist him. I’m half at fault here.”

“I don’t agree entirely with that, Y/N.”

Natalia agreed with Avery. “You aren’t at fault at all.”

“There’s a lot of things I want answers to and a whole lot of information I will need to pass on to him now that I’m here to work on the redevelopment of Blayne for housing.”

“He has a temper.”

“That much I’m aware of already, Avery,” you replied with a grin, picking up your coffee and raising it in a gesture of farewell. “Nat, you stay here and help point out the areas for Avery to work on.”

“Sure, I can do that,” she answered and turned to mouth a thank you at you.

Chuckling as you stepped outside and over to your car, you stopped when you saw Dorothy crossing the road towards you.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Everyone said you were back, but I didn’t believe it until these eyes of mine saw it in person!”

Taking her hand fondly, you cocked your head to the side. “Did you truly think you could get rid of me that easily?! I have work to do here!”

“Are you staying in the inn, Y/N? I’ll make sure to send my Jacob over to help with anything you might need repairing. Lord only knows how that place is holding up.”

Pointing to the building you had just departed, you smiled. “Avery is inside fixing some taps already.”

“Really? Well, he didn’t wait long. I thought everyone was instructed to stay put until Old Jung stopped punishing his boy for bringing you back.”

“Is that how everyone is seeing it?”

“Did I speak out of turn?!” Dorothy asked with a gasp, and you shook your head firmly.

“Not at all, Dorothy. I’m grateful for what you just said. Do let everyone know it was June Jung who I called in regards to returning to Blayne about, however. She’s the one who let me and my best friend into the inn, after all.”

“June?! She’s never the type not to follow along with her husband’s word!”

Shaking your head again, you patted her lower arm. “There’s a lot to Mrs Jung that Blayne folk seem to not know about.”

Greeting June when you arrived at her home shortly after, you grinned brightly at her. She laughed. “I was worried after a few nights in that inn you might decide to leave.”

“It’s nothing like the homestead, but I can see with some effort put in how it can help with our plans.”

“He’s not exactly thrilled.”

You nodded. “I doubt your husband is.”

“But he is listening. I told him to wait for you in his office. He gruffly headed in there five minutes ago.”

“I won’t keep him waiting then,” you assured June, smiling again before taking the same pathway you had a couple of weeks ago.

Inhaling a deep breath, you pushed forward into the office, Mr Jung looking up at you. You smiled politely. “It’s nice to see you again. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m Y/N, Blayne’s new town building specialist.”

Mr Jung ignored the hand you held out to him and cleared his throat but didn’t answer. Deciding to take his silence as not a complete refusal, you sat down across from him and pulled out the proposal you had drafted up for this meeting. And without any hesitation, you launched into it.

He didn’t interrupt your speech, even picking up the copy of the plans you had placed on the table midway through and flicked to the page you were talking about. By the time you reached the end of your planned speech, you were a mixture of relief and curiosity.

You had no idea what Mr Jung was thinking.

Heaving out a breath when you were finally done, Mr Jung nodded softly. “Very well.”

“Is that all?” you asked, and Mr Jung stared over at you. His gaze didn’t make you uncomfortable, rather, vulnerable. It was as if he was trying to pick a way into your brain and figure everything out about you.

Sighing when he didn’t seem to find whatever it was, Mr Jung looked out the window. “My family has been here for generations.”

“I looked into it when initially setting up here,” you confirmed, and he smiled swiftly.

“I suppose you know about my wife then.”

“I do. I believe it’s why she’s been supportive of my stay here.”

“She tells me that you remind her of herself. I don’t entirely see it, though I’m aged and weathered now. My son, however, he’s young.”

“We don’t have to discuss Jaehyun if you are going to berate and accuse me of-”

“My son is the next generation of the Jung family line. He’ll inherit this ranch when I leave this earth, and I hope his children in the future continue to help Blayne remain a fair and happy community. When June and I found we couldn’t have any further children, where I come from a line of ten, I foolishly believed if I shaped Jaehyun from an early age to take on this place, we would continue a successful line. My parents entrusted this ranch to me, the only son. Perhaps if I had daughters too, I would have softened. But I only had one child, and I was too harsh.”

“Why did the fire happen, Mr Jung?” you asked softly, and the man rubbed at his face before leaning back in his chair.

“I told Jaehyun he couldn’t ever leave Blayne. That kid is something else. He always has been. He’s good with the cattle, he’s even better upon a horse. His school got him into rodeo early on, and I thought it would only shape him to have a competitive streak to help our ranch. The first time I saw him do a run, I knew there was more to his riding, though. But he was only twelve then. Teenage years would come, and I assumed he would choose new interests, or feel the weight of the work around the yard. Jaehyun didn’t let go of the barrels and would train even at night if he had to. He never failed to do his chores first, and I grew exasperated that I couldn’t find a way to stop him.”

“As a parent, shouldn’t you encourage his pursuits?” you pointed out, and Mr Jung nodded loosely.

“I was real proud of my boy. He had more trophies and rosettes in that bedroom of his than he had anything else. When he got scouted, he was beaming from ear to ear. I was selfish. We didn’t have anyone to take his spot here if he was going to be away. My father preached to me about how this ranch has been handled by Jung hands for decades. What you assume I did next is correct.”

“You took him out of barrel racing.”

“I thought it was for the best. And then he ran away from home. He caused trouble for a few families here with their kids following him. Avery was almost sent to boarding school because May was worried Jaehyun corrupted him. I had a township to maintain the peace with too. So I took the wrong approach with Jaehyun and cornered him further.”

“Why a fire, though?”

“I told him his only place on earth was Blayne. He said he wished Blayne would stop existing. I didn’t think he’d actually do anything about it. But he broke into the theatre that night, and the fire quickly took hold of our town.”

You merely sat there, trying to battle through Jaehyun’s past anguish and understanding the father who carried deep remorse for his actions.

Mr Jung noticed and smiled sadly. “I tried to take the blame. After all, I had driven my son to choose that path. But the people knew better. So my only approach to Jaehyun, who was racked with guilt, was to use that to hold him here. He’s never thought of leaving or doing anything else.”

Mr Jung stared at you with an indescribable expression. “Until you arrived, Y/N.”

_________________

Part 14

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[r3almellow]

Lucien and Victor With A S/o Who Deals With Discrimination

Thank you @dummys-fics​ for the request!

As someone who is not only a minority, but is currently living in a place where they’re seen as “strange” or an oddity, I completely understand this 2000%. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to go through such things. 

I will say I did use my own experiences and the experiences of others for this, so fair warning for those who don’t want to read such a subject. I did try to make it as vague as possible so that many of us can relate. 

Warning: Microaggression/Discrimination/Racism

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Victor

Rude remarks and not so subtle stares pertaining to your appearance were things you’ve had to deal with ever since you were a child. You spent your whole life being treated different from those around you and usually, you never let things get to you. Usually....

Victor invited you to a charity event that was being thrown by one of his business associates. 

You were left alone for a while with Victor promising to return to your side after leaving to talk with someone. 

This left you open for people to talk with you. Not only were a well known producer but you were also dating the worlds most sought after CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, so this was to be expected. 

However, you felt like you were in a petting zoo and you were the animal. This wasn’t new, but after years of having to deal with this you couldn’t shake the burning hatred you had for people like them. 

“Your hair is just so different. How on earth do you manage to wash it?” These magical things called shampoo and conditioner....and water. Please stop touching my hair... “My apologies! Its so...fascinating!”

“Why did you decide to come to this country? Don’t you miss your home?” I was born here just like you. “Ah! So your parents immigrated here? That explains it! You know...I’ve always been on the fence about immigration. So many foreigners come and take ou-”

“Wow! I never thought someone like you would catch Mr. Li’s eye!” Someone like me? “Yes! Its quite surprising that he would choose someone so different.” 

In other words, what Victor saw in you was unfathomable to others. No matter how much you spoke like them, lived like them, and acted like them; you were never going to be seen as one of them. 

You had to bite the inside of your cheek for that last remark, the urge to runaway growing stronger. You couldn’t embarrass Victor in front of all his colleagues. You just had to suck it up and smile it off until he returned to your side.  

Little did you know, Victor was within ear shot and had witnessed your ordeal despite being caught up in a conversation. He knew leaving you alone would be risky, but never did he think the men and women he spent years developing professional relationships with could be so...disgusting.

You feel his warm hands intertwine with yours as he stepped forward. His hard stare finding its way to the person who made the careless statement.

“I have decided to break our contract and will no longer be doing business with you. If you have any questions please direct them to my assistant as I refuse to associate with someone who is as ill-mannered as you.” The person’s mouth hung open as did the rest of the group at Victor’s sudden declaration. “If the rest of you condone this act of disrespect then I’ll have to reconsider our future as partners as well.” And with that, Victor pulls you away, leaving the shocked group behind.

A part of you feels a little bad that Victor had to go that far over you, but the look on their faces was definitely a moment that needed to be framed and put on your wall as a great reminder of how amazing your boyfriend is.

“I honestly feel bad that you lost one of your business partners, but I do appreciate you coming to my aid like that.” 

Just like that the world stops. No music from the orchestra or the laughter from guests could be heard. Waiters with trays and wine bottles in hand frozen in place along with the rest of the people. 

Victor turns to you with a deep rooted scowl. 

“I only did what needed to be done. They have a mindset that is beyond deplorable. I will not have my name or my company be tied to people like that. I also won’t tolerate anyone who dares disrespect you in such a way.” 

Overall

Victor will never let anyone disrespect you in any way, shape or form. Now, put racism and/or discrimination on top of that? Best believe, Victor will shut that shit down quick. The way he’ll sue them for everything they’ve got on top of cut their asses up with his sharp tongue and still keep it classy?! Those people are about to be destitute and traumatized. 

Lucien

You’re at a café waiting on Lucien to show up for your lunch date. He’s running a little late due to being held up with work, but you don’t mind. You occupy your time by finding random things to do through your phone. 

Out of the corner of your eye you notice a group of people, who looked to be university boys, at another table looking over at you every so often before whispering amongst themselves. 

When they look over at you for the second time you hear a few chuckles causing your eyebrow twitch. They were definitely talking about you. 

One of them pulled out their phone, aiming it in your direction. Ah...so that’s how it is. You experienced this before, on trains mostly. Rude people trying to take a photo of you for whatever weird reason they may have. Usually it was because you were an “anomaly” to them.  And they weren’t subtle about taking the pictures at all. You’d be sitting across from them minding your own business and then snap! The loud shutter sound echoing throughout the quiet train. 

Sometimes you called people out on their rudeness, cursing them out and seeing their eyes widen and cheeks flush in embarrassment always brought you joy. They probably didn’t anticipate you calling them out and assumed you didn’t speak the language which made things all the more sweeter. 

Other times you had no energy to battle with them. You hated how people sometimes looked at you like you had grown two heads and how surprised they were to see you living your life just like them. 

This wasn’t the 5th century anymore. People in this country came in all shapes, colors, and sizes. Clearly, these people didn’t get the memo. 

Soooo, you were feeling a little petty today. 

You were ready let them know they weren’t slick with their antics by flipping them off. Was it a childish move? Yes. Did you care? Not at all. 

You make your move just as they took the picture, giving them the angriest look you can muster with your middle finger at the ready. 

You watch as the guys all crowd around their friend with the phone and grin as you see their unhappy expressions as they look at the photo. 

You smile at your little victory, but that smile quickly turned to confusion when you saw a familiar body looming over the group. 

It was...Lucien? You couldn’t hear what was being said but the pure horror that spreads across each individuals face in a matter of seconds indicates those boys were in trouble. 

A few seconds later, Lucien is before you shedding himself of his coat to take a seat, the group of boys scurrying out of the café like bats out of hell. 

He smiles softly at you as he sits down, completely ignoring the dumbfounded look on your face.

“Forgive my lateness. Did you order already?” 

Like hell you were just going to ignore what transpired. 

“Do you know them?”

You couldn’t hide your laughter once Lucien informed you those boys were his first year students from one of his lectures. Now, you know you had a bit of pettiness in you, but Lucien is a whole different monster when it comes to dishing out punishment. 

“Let me guess, you told them to write a five paged paper on how discrimination effects us and our view of the world due by the weekend?”

Lucien looks up from the menu at you slightly confused.  

“Now why would I do that? I’d like to think 10 pages due by tomorrow morning is more fitting.” 

Overall

Lucien won’t sit back and watch people disrespect you in anyway. Rest assured that our professor will have those people fearing for their lives all with a smile on his face. 

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[iiwontgiveuponmilkk]

Prison World

Kai Parker x reader

*not my gif

A/n: Soulmate au. I got this idea from two fanfics I read. Currently unedited with a horrible summary :/

Summary: Y/n can’t control her magic and with her link to Kai it doesn’t take long for the Gemini coven to find her

Word count: 2259

Warnings: none?

*1994*

Y/n never quite understood the tattoo that magically appeared on her rib cage. Just under her breast was the Gemini symbol and the initials MP in oddly neat writing. It was the mark of her soulmate. The tiny marking made her oddly curious. It wasn’t unusual for supernatural beings to have a soulmate mark. In fact, only the supernatural beings got them, but they rarely showed up at the age she received hers. She was only fifteen when it burned itself into her skin. That night was also the first night she discovered that her magic was beyond her control. The loss of her grandmother nearly flooded Mystic Falls. Twice. So of course, it didn’t take long for the Gemini coven to find her in 1994. The coven had discovered Malachai’s mark before sending him to his personal prison world. All they had to do was wait for another cosmic event to send the twenty year old into the prison world as well. 

Arriving in the prison world felt like she had been sent to hell. Y/n was all alone, and incredibly confused. She searched for hours to find someone. She even went home, but no one was there. Y/n had no idea what was happening. Was she dead? Mystic Falls was completely empty. It was just her, all alone. Y/n was so confused and slowly starting to panic. She searched the house, trying to figure out what had happened. When she entered the kitchen, her attention was immediately drawn to the cup of coffee and the morning paper on the table. Her dad always read the paper before work in the morning. She picked up the paper. May 10th. This paper was over a week old. How could she be here? She began to read through the paper. There would be an eclipse today. She looked up at the clock. It was in exactly two hours. 

*1997*

Living in this world was, well, it was hell. Y/n had spent three years alone. At first, she spent her time trying to figure out why this place had been created, who it was for, and why she was here. She had two leads. One in Mystic Falls. Another in Portland. She spent a lot of time in Mystic Falls. Partially to investigate what happened at the Salvatore boarding house, and partially so she could be close to the only thing she had left. Her family home. But eventually she convinced herself to go to Portland. She was terrified of what, or rather who, she might find there. A part of her knew she would find him there the second she connected the dots. Parker family. Portland, Oregon. Massacre. Her mark.  This world had been created by the gemini coven for Joshua’s son. Malachai Parker, her soulmate. That’s why she was here. Her soulmate had killed four of his siblings. Her soulmate mark had gotten her into this hell. She was stuck here to make sure he could never access the real world.

 Y/n had packed her things and was off to Bell’s for snacks. Then it was off to Portland. She found herself racing across the country in a blue camaro, courtesy of a Bell’s customer who left the keys on the dash. She had a road map with her. She had carefully marked the easiest route from Mystic Falls to Portland. Yet she always found herself lost. Y/n kept missing her exits as her mind raced with what was going to happen to her. What would he do to her? He couldn’t kill her. Well, he could, but she would come back when the world reset. She was worried what he could do if he had magic. If he was stronger than her, she wouldn’t be able to stop him. Her four day road trip ended up taking her twice as long. She couldn’t count the number of times she had gotten lost. When she finally arrived in Portland, she pulled into the first gas station she saw. There had to be a map of the town, or at least just the state. She dug through the maps until she found what she was looking for. She began setting up to do a locator spell. She was pulling candles out of her bag when she froze at the sound of the door opening and the bell above it jingling. She slowly stood up, turning to face Malachai. 

“Hi. I’m Kai. I’m a sociopath.” The man smirked at her.

____

When y/n woke up, she was terrified, but nothing was happening. Her magic was gone. She had no idea where she was. The room she was in looked like it belonged to a teenage boy. Y/n turned her attention to herself. Her hair was still wet, but she was in dry clothes. She panicked looking down at the shirt she was wearing. It wasn’t hers, and neither were the sweatpants she was wearing. Had that man changed her clothes? Why did he take her magic? And what did he want with her? Her head was spinning. She had to get out of here. She quietly shuffled to the window and opened it. She tried to pop the screen out, but she had been spelled in. Her heart felt like it was in her throat with how hard it was beating. She slowly made her way to the door, finding that it was unlocked. She was hoping that she hadn’t been spelled into the room, and luckily she hadn’t. But that meant she was spelled into the house, and she didn’t have her magic. She slowly moved through the house, trying her best not to make any noise. She was almost down the stairs when the next step loudly creaked. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard footsteps approaching. “G-get away.” She stuttered out. Y/n felt hopeless without her magic. Kai stopped in his tracks, looking at her. He almost found her state comical. He knew he wouldn’t have stopped if he hadn’t seen her soulmate mark. His initials. His handwriting. His “coven”. He put his hands up, sighing almost as if he was annoyed by her behaviour. Y/n stared at this man, her voice caught in her throat. Neither of them moved for what seemed like hours. Finally she spoke up. “Why did you take my magic?” Her voice was quiet and still seemed panicked. “Well, you see, I don’t have any magic of my own. And you seemed to be bursting with it so I thought I’d take some. I know, what an abomination.” He rolled his eyes, but then continued. “Your magic will be back before you know it. You’ll be all juiced up after you rest.” Kai seemed to be bored with her. “You know, I was going to keep you here as a little magic battery, but then i saw your little mark and I had to laugh.” He chuckled, his eyes never leaving her. Y/n felt like she was frozen in place. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. “The universe is so funny. Of course my soulmate would be someone who is overflowing with magic when I don’t have any of my own. And of course my coven would send you here. God, how dumb could they be.”

*2003*

Y/n had come to know Kai in ways that she didn’t think she could. She knew what he had done to his family. He was sent here to be punished for his crimes. She was sent here due to their soulmate mark and bond. She didn’t think she could grow to trust the monster she had met in 1997. She didn’t think she could ever think of him as anything but a monster, but here they were. Kai was making Christmas dinner with her sitting on the counter, and definitely in his way, but he wouldn’t tell her that. Over the past six years, y/n had learned of Kai’s past. How his family treated him for being a siphon, something out of his control. How he was seen and treated as an abomination. How he wasn’t allowed to touch anyone for his entire life. Her heart almost aches for him. A part of her could understand him, but another part, in the back of her head, clung to the fact he had done atrocious and unspeakable things. Yet she still found herself climbing into his bed when she couldn’t sleep, holding his hand when she was starting to lose control, and even almost kissing him on multiple occasions. “You know, I’m starving.” She spoke up, looking up from her book. The aroma in the kitchen was causing her to salivate. “Dinner will be done in thirty minutes. Please don’t get hangry. I’ll have to restart the whole meal if you bring this house down on us.” He joked, causing her to glare at him.

Y/n laughed at the sight before her. Kai asked if he could “borrow” some of her magic to do the dishes. She agreed, knowing it would at least be amusing to watch. And it was. It was also an absolute mess. Kai had dropped multiple dishes, shattering them. Only uttering a small “oops” each time before trying to concentrate on his task. He loved hearing her laugh, and as much as he hated to admit it, he loved being around her. He wasn’t sure why his coven had sent her here, he knew it wasn’t for him. They probably thought locking her away was the only way to make sure he never got out. He stopped wondering why she was here two years ago. That was the first time that he opened up to her. He had chosen to basically ignore her for a long time, but she almost brought a house down on them with an earthquake, crying that she felt so alone and just wished she was dead. He tried to blame the mark for how he felt about her after he started to grow close to her, but he knew that wasn’t true. Some people live their entire lives without finding their soulmate. Some supernatural beings never even got one. Some got them after being alive for three hundred years. It wasn’t the mark, but he just wanted something to blame for these feelings he was having. Kai could barely believe someone could know what he was and not think he was an abomination. But there she was, laughing as he failed at washing dishes with magic.

“You know, I got you something for Christmas.” Y/n mumbled, pressed to his side and wrapped in a blanket with him. They were sitting outside, star gazing. Y/n had wanted to sit outside and look at the stars every Christmas night. Last year, she finally told Kai that her and her parents used to do this every Christmas after everyone had finally left to go home. “I thought you said no presents?” He asked, lightly squeezing her to his side. “We both know what I said and what I meant are two different things.” She laughed, pulling herself away from him. She reached into her sweater pocket, handing him a small box that was delicately wrapped in red paper with green ribbon and a bow. Kai took it from her, opening it carefully. She watched him, almost impatiently. He could tell; the closer they got, the stronger their bond seemed to be. He opened the small decorative box to find a black velvet ring box. He smirked, cracking the box open. There was a silver ring with a hollowed line around the band. “Are you asking me to marry you?” He asked, making her laugh. “Oh god, Kai. It’s a present, not a marriage proposal. Besides that’s your job.” Y/n rolled her eyes, glaring at Kai in a playful way. He laughed and slipped it onto his middle finger before he reached into the pocket of his jeans. “I didn’t wrap it, but I did get you something.” He told her as he pulled a delicate necklace out of his pocket. He put the necklace on her without giving her a chance to look at it. He brushed her hair out from under the chain as she picked the pendant up off her chest, admiring it. There was a (f/c) gemstone in the middle surrounded by an elegant halo of diamonds. It was small, but beautifully full of detail. “Thank you.” Y/n whispered.

*2007*

“Malachai Parker! If you’re joking right now, I will kill you.” Y/n said, staring down at Kai who was down on one knee, holding a ring in his hand. “I’m not, y/n! God! Will you marry me or not?!” She could feel how nervous he was. His energy seemed to be pulsing through her, almost making her nervous. “Stop being so nervous. Of course I will.” She laughed as he jumped to his feet, planting his lips on hers, and kissing her hard. When they finally pulled away for air, Kai rested his forehead against hers before grabbing her hand. He slid the ring onto her ring finger before kissing her again.

[annabethisterrified]

Book Review: THE TOWER OF NERO (The Trials of Apollo #5)

***No spoilers until you go under the cut!***

After months in the human form of Lester Papadopoulos, the former god Apollo is nearing the end of his trials alongside the young Meg McCaffrey. All their adventures and misfortunes have landed them back in the place it started-- New York. Meg and Apollo must defeat the final, most powerful emperor of the Triumvirate, who also happens to be Meg’s manipulative stepfather. Meanwhile, Nico, Will, and Rachel have important roles to play as the final battle looms. Even if they can defeat Nero, a more terrible enemy awaits in the form of Python, Apollo’s nemesis. Still, if they can succeed, Apollo will finally be restored to godhood. But after everything he’s been through, going back to the way things were doesn’t sound so great anymore. Apollo and his friends will have to find a new way to make all the sacrifices and pain they’ve experienced and witnessed worth it. That is, if they can survive their final trial.

As both the culmination of The Trials of Apollo series and the Camp Half-Blood Chronicles, The Tower of Nero excels at bringing the complicated, moving themes of the saga into final, meaningful reckonings. Nero proves to be a chilling and impressive enemy who forces Apollo and Meg to put everything they’ve learned through their journey together to the ultimate test. New and old characters combine to see the story to its end, and long-time readers are rewarded with actualized development and a bittersweet farewell. The Tower of Nero is a fitting and robust conclusion that shines with all the heart, humor, and growth that makes this saga a worthy frontrunner in children’s literature.

SPOILER SECTIONS BELOW

Welcome!!!!!!!!! Y’all. Y’ALL. I am REELING. If you’ve been around here a while, you probably know I’ve been online here since 2012 (?????!!!!!) where I subjected by followers to weird takes and frantic excitement about the upcoming installments of Heroes of Olympus, then Trials of Apollo. Since I was ten years old, this story has been such a huge part of my life. Now I’m 22 (?????!!!!). So. How am I feeling? I’m feeling like I need to flip over every piece of furniture in my house. In a good way. Look. I gotta break this down into three parts because I’m the worst!

I. TRIALS & TRIBULATION

The Trials of Apollo, to me, felt like the inevitable conclusion to Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Heroes of Olympus. We went through two series where we intimately followed the lives of young demigods growing up through two brutal wars, dangerous quests, and personal reckonings. Gods certainly made appearances, and some were more helpful than others, but the message was always clear-- the demigods were on their own. Two wars fought, two wars won, and at what cost? For what change?

Bringing a god down to earth (both literally and metaphorically) is really the only way a story like this could be rounded out. Especially when the god in question is Apollo. He’s the son of Zeus, who punishes him by turning him mortal. This family set-up already has enormous implications in reference to the previous chain of mythological events: Zeus killed his father Kronos, Kronos killed his father Ouranos, etc. 

Prophecy is also the scaffolding of this entire saga. Everything is dictated by it-- every quest relies on it, most of the demigods we meet are led by it, and the whole Greek/Roman world seems to build their lives around it. My point is, Apollo was a great character to use as the mouthpiece of this last series. He’s been present throughout the previous two series, and he’s relatively unaffected by the Greek/Roman divide. The enemy, the Triumvirate, is also an exciting antagonist-- they’ve fueled and funded the previous two wars, and their obsession with becoming “gods” is loaded with implications as Apollo races to return to his own status as a god.

Apollo himself is also a completely terrible being. From the first pages through his perspective, there’s certainly little sympathy or commiseration with our narrator. Apollo is many things: spoiled, petulant, selfish, and arrogant. He is not good, and now, he is no longer a god. Still, his voice and struggle remained compelling and engaging throughout the series. 

His bond with Meg McCaffrey is, without a doubt, the emotional heart of the whole series. I think they both see aspects of themselves in each other, and it was a genius move to make her the stepdaughter of the enemy. Nero literally sent Meg to be Apollo’s controller and thought that she would easily bring him down; the fact that both these very troubled people cling to each other in the face of such manipulation and frightening circumstances-- and then repeatedly choose to fight their ways back to each other time and again-- is really what makes this series work so well.

With Meg and Apollo at the forefront, after The Hidden Oracle the series takes on something of a “tour” format. We discover new places and revisit old characters across the country, which was definitely exciting for long-time readers to see familiar faces undergo even more development. (This might just be me, but I don’t think ToA can really stand on its own without the worldbuilding/establishment of the first two series-- that’s not a knock on it, but so much of it picks up where the previous series left off, which might make it a disorienting read for someone new to the world.)

Of course, the obvious midpoint reversal of the series is the death of Jason Grace in The Burning Maze. A flip switches completely-- not just for Apollo, but for the whole cast. This is not an incident that just “happens” and is swept aside. In the final two installments, Jason is threaded throughout the story, showing how grief is never truly over. But his sacrifice saved everyone he loved, and had profound impacts on everyone he knew. As brutal as it was, I appreciated how Jason really changed everything through his choice. 

By the time Apollo and Meg return to New York in The Tower of Nero, they are better, stronger versions of themselves. The things they once wanted-- godhood restored, or a father’s approval-- are no longer appealing. Their development (both individually and as friends) is utterly believable and hard-won. We see characters from The Hidden Oracle return changed, too. Losing Jason has dredged up dark feelings within Nico, Rachel is warding off the influence of Python in her mind, and Will’s healer heart is put to the test in yet another final battle. (Listen, this kid played instrumental roles in The Last Olympian, The Blood of Olympus, AND The Tower of Nero. The fate of the world really is in his capable, glow-in-the-dark hands.)

Together, Apollo and team venture into Manhattan for a very intense, exciting, and profound final reckoning with Nero. (CHAPTER 20, ANYONE????) Both Apollo and Meg, once and for all, come into their own and reclaim their power and independence. The pay-off is immaculate, and it’s jarring to remember the Apollo we once knew-- the easygoing one from The Titan’s Curse, the snobbish one from The Blood of Olympus, and the self-pitying one from The Hidden Oracle. His development throughout ToA is seamless and incredibly moving, and we’re left with a protagonist that we can truly, unequivocally root for and love.

II. HAVE YOU LEARNED?

When Nero is defeated, the real enemy still lurks. Apollo’s age-old nemesis, Python, has long haunted him. Their final reckoning is one-on-one, and after everything Apollo’s learned and been through, he goes into his last battle not necessarily caring whether he lives or dies-- he just knows Python must be defeated, no matter the cost. Don’t get me STARTED on his last conversation with Meg!!!!?????? (”Just come back to me, dummy.” I LOVE THEM) 

So, yeah, I’m already crying at that point. Apollo (slowly regaining his godhood) goes into this completely by himself, assuming all risk and responsibility. He’s forced to sacrifice the Arrow of Dodona, and eventually chooses to sacrifice himself by flinging them both down to Tartarus. But we don’t stop there! Oh, no, we go all the way down to Chaos. The primordial soup of all the pantheons, all of existence. Python crumbles, and Apollo clings to the edge-- he clings to life.

This is it. This is the literal rock-bottom moment of the saga, and I’m completely unsure of how he’s getting out of this one. Who’s going to rescue him? What can he even do at this point? Genuinely, I had no idea where this was going-- and I never would have guessed that it would be the goddess Styx who shows up. She’s played an important, but also very minor, role in ToA. I was baffled at first-- I thought, what does she have to do with any of this? But then it ended up playing out in like the most breathtaking, moving way possible. It’s one of the most defining scenes of the entire 15 books to me. 

She only asks him: “Have you learned?”

This is the goddess of promises and oaths. Since The Lightning Thief, we’ve seen how oaths are tossed around like confetti. Percy’s very existence (not to mention Thalia and Jason’s) is because of a broken promise. An oath to keep with a final breath is one of the revisited elements throughout the Heroes of Olympus series. Apollo makes willy-nilly promises in The Hidden Oracle, which he later regrets. 

Then, at the end of everything, Styx only asks Apollo if he’s learned. All the talk of promises and oaths in this story doesn’t actually have anything to do with “keeping promises”-- certainly, so many promises are broken we can’t keep track. It all boils down to whether we learn from what we experience and use that to become better people moving forward. It’s about making sure we mean what we say and what we do. It’s about commitment and devotion to the people we love and the things we care about. Promises don’t matter. Only action does. 

I can’t understate how thoroughly pleased I was that this was the final reckoning of the saga. It was an unexpected and completely profound moment, and such an important scene to use as the emotional climax of the book.

III. WHERE WE GO FROM HERE

After 15 years and 15 books, The Tower of Nero had to find a way to bring the saga to a close without nailing the coffin shut. More standalone novels are surely on the horizon (I’m looking at you, Nico and Will), but as a whole, this saga did need to come to a satisfying end. 

Let’s pick up after Apollo is restored to godhood. He wakes up to his sister Artemis, and the very first thing he does? After finally returning to his true form, the thing he’s relentlessly yearned for the whole series? He just breaks down sobbing. He’s miserable. There’s no relief or joy in the realization that he’s once again an Olympian. 

I’m always a sucker for the trope of “Character does everything possible to reach Goal only to realize that Goal isn’t actually what they want or need at all”, so of course, I was moved to see Apollo learn that he doesn’t actually care much about whether he’s a god or a human anymore. (In fact, he later remarks that he envies Lu’s new ability to grow old and age alongside Meg and her foster siblings.)

I was doubly-moved that Apollo’s restoration to godhood was not an action on Zeus’s part. From what little context we get (a lot happens “off screen” and even Apollo isn’t sure), it appears that Apollo either reclaimed his own godhood through sheer force of will to return from Chaos and reunite with his friends, and/or Styx aided him. But it seems obvious Zeus wasn’t involved, which has HUGE implications for the power structure of the Olympians moving forward.

A lot of us, myself included, had certain expectations for how Apollo’s inevitable reunion with Zeus and the rest of the Olympians would go. I, for one, was excited to see Apollo either tell off his father, or possibly assume a position as the new Camp Half-Blood director or New Rome’s pontifex maximus. Instead, we got a somewhat quiet, but incredibly tense interaction between all the Olympians. The closest thing to an outburst is actually between Hera and Zeus, as she tells him off for not mourning his son Jason, as Apollo did. (Dare I say....I liked Hera for a moment?) (ALSO, I’m fully on-board with the theory that Zeus did not intervene in Jason’s death as a punishment for Jason publicly calling him “unwise” in The Blood of Olympus.)

The whole scene reads as a powder keg. Already, it’s established that Apollo, Artemis, and Dionysus (and possibly even Athena and Hera) have no illusions of Zeus’s grandeur. They do not view him as family, or even as a leader. He’s simply just the one with enough power to punish the rest of them when they get “out of line”. 

Apollo began naming Zeus as his abuser fairly early on in the series. Perhaps witnessing the way Meg thinks and speaks about her stepfather Nero made this clear for him. In either case, he begins to explicitly mirror the very same advice he gives Meg in dealing with her abuser: distance yourself from the abusive person/situation, and accept that tyrants do not change and it is not your responsibility to attempt to make them “see the light”. Thus, Apollo makes no appeal or argument to Zeus– he understands by then that it’d be fruitless. Instead, he’s concentrating his energy on doing everything he can do with what he has; he’s committed to being a protector and friend of demigods, and he sees that other gods are beginning to (if not already) see Zeus’s wrongness. (More on this here.)

Was it what I expected going into the book? Nope. But I have to admit that it was really exciting to see Zeus try to hide the very real fear of realizing that his son Apollo is no longer afraid of him, and is quite possibly more powerful than him, too. Apollo switches gears entirely away from Zeus, and focuses his energy back on the friends he’s made and the children he has. It’s a refreshing reminder that it’s often more productive to concentrate on helping others instead of harming those who harm us. 

That being said, I would have liked a few paragraphs or pages discussing what practical differences there will be for the lives of young demigods in the wake of this change. I understand that might not have worked given the very condensed timeline post-returning-to-godhood (the story ends literally the same day or day after), but I do hope and believe that Apollo’s transformation is going to change the way demigods perceive gods-- and what they will expect of gods in the future. Just look at how Apollo is received by the campers at CHB. They’re ecstatic to see him. They think of him as a hero. Apollo is coming back just to help and spend time with his kids, his friends, and the campers, and he’s going to keep coming back. The other gods are certainly going to feel some pressure to follow suit. 

Speaking of Apollo’s reunions...shall we?

I loved that we got to see all the main-players one last time. Mimicking the “tour format” of the series, we get to watch Apollo catch up with his loved ones, who helped him learn how to be a better person throughout his trials.

It was sad, but reassuring, to watch Nico come to terms with Jason’s death. I like how he outlined the differences between Hazel’s and Jason’s deaths, and why he isn’t interfering out of respect for Jason. Watching Jason appear to Apollo (ambiguously as a ghost or as a figment of Apollo’s dream-imagination) was another moving reminder of the stark differences in the ways that different demigods prioritize and think about what it is to be a hero. Jason’s idea and Percy’s idea, for instance, are super different because of the way they were raised. Percy would put anything on the line for his family and friends; so would Jason, of course, but he also has a much broader view of what’s worth sacrificing your life for...which is admirable in ways, but also painfully sad, since a lot has to change in order for Jason’s death to carry weight. Over the course of the last two books, I think it’s very safe to say Jason’s death did change just about everything for the people who knew and loved him, and even those who didn’t. 

Whew. Okay, back to Camp Half-Blood. Nico and Will are clearly now very comfortable with each other, and it’s refreshing to see how they both watch out for each other and bring out the best in one another. I’m excited for their inevitable solo book, but regardless, it’s good to see Nico getting the help he needs (from his own experiences, from Dionysus, Will, etc), and for Rachel to get some distance from her terrible parents by living out her art student dreams in Paris. 

Then, we drop by the Waystation. I simply cannot get over the fact that Calypso is at BAND CAMP. Anyway, it’s unsurprising to find out that she and Leo are still “complicated”, but I’m glad she’s experiencing the highs and lows of mortal life, and that Leo is working on helping out vulnerable youth (and has two mom figures in his life!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). Glad we get to see Thalia and Reyna both happy and healthy, too.

Next up, Camp Jupiter and New Rome. LOVE that Hazel and Frank have both reclaimed the curses that haunted them since The Son of Neptune. They really both did just...like...basically die to bring down the Big Bad and then come back better than ever. (Side note: I still obviously have issues with the fact that Hazel is SO YOUNG! There was no reason for her not to be 15/16 like the rest of the Argo 2 crew! Ugh.)

Anyway, then we say goodbye to Percy and Annabeth. Except for the annoying continuity error in terms of the timeline of them learning about Jason, I really really really loved this parting moment with them. I know some readers wanted Percy and Annabeth to stay in New York, but it always felt very natural and meaningful for me that they’d want to relocate to New Rome. That was always the Big Dream for most of Heroes of Olympus, and it makes sense to me that they’d choose to live somewhere designed for demigods to actually live and grow old and raise families. Besides, I’m quite certain they’ll frequently be visiting New York. I digress. 

It was super bittersweet to see these two finally off on their own (and basically living together, as Apollo teasingly implies) going to college! Definitely a huge sigh of relief and satisfaction after following all their exploits since they were twelve. I’m so glad we get to see them (all things considered) happy and excited for their new life together. They certainly stepped back in this series, as they deserved. But they still lose Jason, and that’s something that weighs heavily on them and likely always will. Apollo calls Jason “the best of us”, and I don’t think that use of “us” is lost on Percy, Annabeth, or anyone-- Apollo’s identity and alignment is with them now, which will hopefully lead to positive change.

Then, simultaneously the saddest and happiest (?) reunion-- with Piper. This was obviously really heavy, since the last time Apollo sees her is in the wake of Jason’s death. For me, I’m very proud and excited by the fact that Piper is the only character who basically forges a whole new life (outside of the sphere of the Olympians) for herself. She’s far from other demigods and gods, and is committed to reconnecting with her mortal family and making a beautiful life. She has a new friend, too, which is absolutely awesome. (I mean, we all KNEW, right? But it’s really great to see this confirmed on-page.) When Piper told Apollo that he did right by Jason, I definitely lost it. And I also just really loved the final beat with her-- Apollo’s stammering a goodbye, but Piper’s already turned around to walk back to her new friend and her new life.

The final farewell, of course, went to Meg McCaffrey. She’s reclaimed Aeithales, and is now foster-sibling-extraordinaire by rescuing Nero’s other adopted demigods and giving them a new chance. Meg’s really matured and grown into such a kind and strong leader, but it was super bittersweet to see how much she still values Apollo. Their reunion just about broke me. They share a bond that no one else will ever understand, and they brought each other out of darkness that nearly ended them both. I literally can’t think of a better final dialogue than what they share:

You’ll come back?

Always. The sun always comes back. 

I’m fine!!! 

Anyway, this brings me to the closing lines of the story. Just as Percy opens The Lightning Thief by directly addressing the reader, Apollo closes The Tower of Nero by bidding farewell to us. 

Call on me. I will be there for you. 

On so many levels, this line works really well as the ending. For me, and I imagine for you too if you’re reading this, these 15 books are a pillar of our childhoods. We grew up alongside these characters, and found enormous excitement and identity and magic in these pages. The story may have come to a close, but it lives on within us-- it’s something we can return to time and again for enjoyment and understanding.

More than anything, this story pulled off something I didn’t really know was possible: it makes me feel genuinely and enthusiastically glad to be human, no matter how strange or hard it gets.

____________

My fifth-grade teacher assigned The Lightning Thief as mandatory reading when I was ten years old. I picked it up reluctantly, but from the first lines, I just completely fell into this story. Twelve years since that assignment, I’m now a traditionally-published author myself...writing about what else but mythology, of course. These books saw me from elementary school all the way to post-college life. It’s hard to imagine where I’d be without them-- certainly, I’d never have achieved my lifelong dream of becoming an author, nor would I have found such an incredible online community like the one I’ve found here. I consider myself extremely lucky to have grown up alongside these characters and their incredible story. 

I know we’ve likely got more standalones in this world to come, but this is still the end of the saga. I’m sad to see it come to a close, but I’m so ecstatic with the send-off we got, and I’m excited to let the story settle and become a part of me-- something that will always affect how I see the world, something that reminds me of why I write, and something that’s always there to welcome me home.

[ask-iamnotanalicorn]

Previous: The Flim Flam Timeline

The Wasteland Timeline:

This is the story of when Equestria fell.

And this it the story of when Equestria rose again.

The trials began as they always do: with the return of Nightmare Moon. The celestial sisters clashed, and Celestia fell. Heedless of the struggle it would be to keep the Sun set with its alicorn princess banished inside it, Nightmare Moon did just that, determined that her traitorous sister experience Nightmare’s punishment.

Nightmare’s reign of Equestria was strained, but Equestria could have borne it. But within a year, the capital was attacked by the Changelings, desperate to replenish their stores of pony love that had been stymied by the nation’s state of fear and uncertainty. Nightmare Moon was barely managing to repel the threat when the Crystal Empire returned, and King Sombra began to march on her northern borders. With attacks from within and attacks from without, a distrusted leader on the throne, and economic failure rippling across the country as readily as the shifting front lines, the ponies of Equestria were more torn than ever.

So of course that’s when Discord escaped.

The upside of Discord’s release was that it temporarily stopped the fighting. Even King Sombra was smart enough to withdraw in the face of the mad draconequus on a quest of vengeance against all ponies. Queen Chrysalis and Queen Nightmare Moon (who had absconded herself at first sign of Discord’s escape, using every possible trick to keep him from finding her) formed a temporary peace treaty in order to seek a solution - for a world ruled by Discord was useless to all of them. (Granted, the Changelings could withdraw to their protected realm, but Chrysalis had tasted power and wasn’t about to let Discord have it all. She was quite looking forward to stabbing Nightmare Moon in the back afterwards.)

Their solution: a magical contract with the long-imprisoned centaur, Tirek. Tirek was more than happy to oblige. He single-handedly decimated Sombra’s troops, gorging himself on the magic of Crystal Empire and Equestrian ponies alike. It is possible that, if Discord hadn’t come to see what all the fuss was about himself, Tirek would have kept right on gorging to the very limit of the contract that bound him.

When the two titans clashed, the battle that ensued sundered hundreds of miles of landscape. Canterlot bore the greatest brunt; the castle collapsed completely from its cliffside home, the city little more than ruins. Discord’s attacks spread wildly unpredictable waves of chaos magic across much of Equestria. And when at long last Tirek had defeated him and sucked him dry, the lingering effects of that chaos magic stayed rooted in the ground like weeds.

It seemed, for the briefest moment, as if the worst problem was over. But of course, a power-maddened Tirek is a worse threat - because at least Discord doesn’t go out of his way to destroy everything in sight. Drunk on chaos magic, Tirek easily broke the tenuous contract with the queens and set across the landscape, draining ponies by the thousands and carving swaths through the countryside for the sheer wicked joy of destruction. His power was even mighty enough to destroy the changeling hive, overpowering its magical protections.

There was no choice - the two remaining rulers of any species in the land had to either defeat their own creation or face the loss of all they held dear. Nightmare Moon called upon the power of the Moon itself, drawing it nearer to Equestria in a desperate gambit. Tidal waves rocked Equestria’s coastlines, submerging Manehattan and other coastal cities entirely, and the alicorn of the night shone with deadly moonlit radiance as she bombarded Tirek with the full brunt of her power. But even Nightmare Moon at the height of her power was not strong enough to stop Tirek at the height of his, and he struck her down against the surface of the Moon itself. Some of the dislodged chunks rained down on the world, damaging more of not only Equestria, but many other countries on that side of the planet.

Tirek seemed to have won; all he had left to deal with was one small, angry changeling queen. An assured victory, no doubt.

He could not have known how wrong he was. For a changeling might give its magic willingly to a spell like Tirek’s with no ill effects, but an unwilling changeling queen will not be robbed of her power easily. As Tirek’s powers drain magic, so changeling powers drain love - and no one in all the world had such self-love as Tirek. The cycle of Tirek draining her magic and Chrysalis draining his became a self-consuming spell spiral that ultimately imploded upon itself, taking both creatures with it.

The resulting explosion could be heard across the celestial sea. For a few moments, there was something like an artificial sun on the horizon - a sun that had set directly on Equestria.

Then came the silence. After three years of war, devastation, and disasters unlike any the world had ever seen, there was silence.

And as the silence stretched, the survivors stirred.

Earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns, crystal ponies, and zebras; yaks, cows, goats, donkeys, and buffalo; gryphons, dragons, hippogryphs, minotaurs, and changelings: in spite of everything, many had survived. They rose from their hiding places to find an Equestria and Crystal Empire in ruins. No major cities still stood; borders and coastlines were unrecognizable. Large swaths of land once green and lush were barren and blasted, and spots of chaos magic lay in wait for creatures unwise enough to enter them unprotected. The moon hung wrecked in a dark sky, shining in shattered glory down on the devastation that had been the once-rich land of Equestria.

But the great destroyers were gone. None of the titans and tyrants who had brought this destruction down on the country remained. The usual monsters hardly seemed a threat anymore; those who had survived thus far had learned to cope with far worse. They could build new settlements, make new ways of life, come together or fall apart on their own merits.

And the most hopeful sign of all came the next day. The first actual day since Nightmare Moon returned and the Thousand Days of Woe began:

The Sun - weak and red in the dust-filled sky - slowly rose over the horizon.

The Princess of the Sun had not returned yet; perhaps she is still trapped by her sister’s spell. Perhaps another way of escape is being laid. But the light fills the ponies’ hearts with hope.

The Equestria they knew is gone. But the New Equestria has a future.

____

Sunday, Aug.10, 4 A.C.

Dear Journal,

It’s really strange dating things this way; but with everything that’s happened, most folks agree it’ll be easier to date our calendars starting with the fall of Princess Celestia. ‘After Celestia’ sounds so grim, though; kinda hope we change it. Maybe when the Princess returns... we’re praying she does.

Anyway, I still can’t believe we found a whole stock of blank paper in the storerooms! We’re saving most of it for bartering, but Mom thinks it’s smart for one of us to make notes for posterity, so it looks like I get to keep you. I’ll try to be short to save space, but it just feels so good to write again!

The move into the Canterlot ruins ruins is going pretty well. A few other families joined us after our last trip to Apple Fort, and we’ve shored up our defenses in case the air pirates make another flyby. Pop and I negotiated a deal with the Apples - food in exchange for books. A few of the unicorns know replication spells and are using some of the paper to make copies of really important texts so we don’t lose valuable knowledge to an accident. It still blows my mind how much we’ve lost in... was life really normal only a few years ago? It feels like another lifetime that I was in this very city, talking to the Princess, sitting at a normal cafe... eating lunch with Cam and Press...

I don’t want to forget them. Camera Shy and Pressing Matters, my best friends. Maybe they’re still out there somewhere. We run into old friends every now and then - my old traveling salespony gig has come in handy, actually! I’ve found a bunch of people who used to be clients, it really helps with forming trade and peace treaties with other groups. So it could happen. Please, Prince, keep them safe wherever they are.

I’m really blessed, though. I have to remember that. I have Mom and Pop and Black and Per and Chewie - although I’m still not used to Chewie flying and talking now. She’s such a character. Lots of ponies are missing family - so are we, we haven’t been able to find most of the extended family, but Pop got word from Aunt Pitter that she and my cousin Light Drizzle are out west somewhere, and Pitch Apple is down at Apple Fort, thank the King.

And we could be worse! We made friends with a tinkerer named Steam Punk, he made me a new wing that works as good as my old one! (Not a HUGE bar to cross, but it’s still really impressive!) I’m talking him into working with me to start a production house that can make and sell them affordably to other handicapped pegasi. And Mom got her flight back thanks to a gem Black and some other mages crafted. I think she still misses her diving mark, but she’s so brave and optimistic, it really inspires everyone. I wish we could do something for Pop’s horn, but he’s finding other ways to help out. Per is... well, I guess if you’re going to get turned into a pony-dragon, you’d want to be as cheerful about it as Per. Who knows, maybe she’ll still get a cutie mark someday! And Black is fully aware that he looks pretty boss with an eyepatch, the dork. 

There’s rumors that Princess Cadance might be alive and organizing the crystal ponies up North; lots of ponies are heading that way, but I think our group will stay here. There’s a lot of resources in the Canterlot ruins and in the castle, although Black leads the expeditions into the castle because of safety issues. I never knew he was so good at exploration and such; guess there were a few skills he was holding out on us over the years, but turns out he was working for the Princess before! What in Equus, I gave him such an earful for being all secretive about being my bodyguard or whatever. 

I’m running out of page, so I’ll wrap up today. We’re holding a worship service later, Pop and Parson Brown are setting it up. We want to keep focusing on what we have to be thankful for. We are GOING to get through this. The King, the Prince, and the Advocate have not abandoned us, and we have each other. 

~Salespitch

----

Fun Facts About The Wasteland Timeline:

- This was my favorite timeline to draw =D I HAD to get some steampunk stuff in there, although there are definitely Mad Max vibes. The convenient thing about this timeline is that it was a literal blank slate, so I could really get creative with it! I feel like this would make a neat bookmark, what do ya’ll think?

- I tried to reference all the major villains in the picture. Extra shoutout to ReversalMushroom, the patron who sponsored this Alternate Timeline Special, for giving me the ideas for the changeling goo and Tirek’s hoofprints, which were added in during the coloring phase. I think they round it out quite nicely!

- The random bit of Candy Forest over the crevice there is one of the pockets left behind by Discord’s chaos magic going wild. Most ponies avoid it because here’s WEIRD stuff in there, and ponies who go in there usually come out a little weirder themselves. 

- Black lost his eye and half his sunglasses in a fight with some Changelings. He gets on quite well with only one eye, though, and he insists his sunglass-lens eyepatch is going to be the height of eyepatch fashion. (He DOES have a sense of humor in case anyone doubted it. ;) ) Black taught everyone basic survival techniques and does most of the more dangerous tasks.

- Sales lost his wing during Tirek’s rampage; he tried to distract Tirek, but they didn’t have time to make the plan from the Tirek timeline, so he got swatted pretty quickly. On the upside, Tirek lost sight of him and didn’t get his magic. Sales can fly about as well now with his new steampunk wing, which combines technology and magic to mimic low-level pegasus flight (which was where he was at anyway, so he made a great first test subject!) Sales’ main job is  negotiating peaceful trades with other groups.

- Sales Patter (Dad) lost his horn while pushing his wife out of the way of some falling rubble. He insists he was only mediocre at magic anyway, and he doesn’t need a horn to do business! He does miss it, though. He helps their new community with allocating resources.

- Pitch Forward (Mom) lost her magic and cutie mark to Tirek’s onslaught. The gem in her coat simulates flight for her, although not quite at the level she was before. She and Sales joke about how he can almost beat her in a race now. She helps with the kids in their small community and teaches flying techniques to pegasi.

- Pitch Perfect got hit with a random blast of Discord magic that turned her half dragon. It took a little getting used to, but she honestly thinks it is super neat. She’s pretty good at sniffing out gems now, which (when she isn’t eating them) helps with family finances. Her friends Codebreak and Castle Crasher are part of their little community, and the three are constantly getting into trouble (which most everyone silently thinks of as a nice bit of familiarity.)

- Chewie ALSO got Discord’d; she has fairy wings now and she can talk. Chewie still likes Sales the best and hovers around him chattering like Navi half the time. The other half of the time she forgets she has wings and just hops around exploring. At this point she’s become less like a pet and more like another tiny sister, to Per’s delight and everyone else’s raised anxiety levels. She is VERY aware of her surroundings and alerts the group to intruders and strangers. She really misses computer games.

- Princess Celestia will eventually return, although by that time I feel that the various groups gathering together will have formed something like a decent society again. It remains to be seen if they’ll go back to a monarchy, create a government of connected micronations, or turn into something like the United States.

- And yes, Camera Shy, Pressing Matters, and Press’s husband Curler are all alive. They’ll meet up someday!

---

A/N: Thank you all for joining me on this journey through time and space to explore the seven MLP timelines and where Sales & Co might have ended up in them! I hope you enjoyed it; I had a good bit of fun coming up with the different scenarios, it was a great brain exercise. =D Thank you again to all my Patrons, and to ReversalMushroom for sponsoring this particular special! There will be a final post next week of all the pictures together, with links back to their storyline posts.

I also want to thank you for bearing with me as the regular updates continue to be on hiatus. This has been a rough and strange year for all of us, and I hope you all are safe and healthy and know that you are loved. Jesus has really been with me through this year, and even tonight as I write this; there are things I struggle with, but I know that they do not define my value, HE does. =) And I, like Sales, want to count my blessings, the biggest one (aside from my faith in God) being that I have family around me who love me and care for me. I’m very much looking forward to Christmas! =D  

Merry Christmas! May your Christmas and New Year contain joy and peace, and may Christ Jesus rest His hands on you and draw your heart to His. In Jesus’ Name, amen.

~River Babble

[spencers-renaissance]

Hear it in the Silence

Summary: A short, fluffy chronicle of Spencer realising in increments how in love with Derek he is, and navigating a real, beautifully sweet relationship that's not always smooth sailing, especially since he's been hurt before. (Based on Taylor Swift’s You are in Love.)

Tags: major fluff, angst, past abuse, hurt/comfort, fights, making up, falling in love, dev relationship 

Pairing: Morgan x Reid

Word Count: 3.7k

Read on AO3 (detailed cw in notes)

They’re careful to arrive separately but unsurprisingly, subtlety is not Derek’s strong suit. Spencer has a good poker face -- although logically he knows that a cheerful, passive expressive is the best actual poker face due to its non-threatening nature -- but Derek absolutely cannot get rid of the smug, pleased smile he’s wearing proudly. It’s a good thing Spencer looks as unsuspicious as possible because as soon as he enters the room, Emily’s teasing him about the hot date he clearly had last night. 

Derek might look smug but Spencer feels it: a soft swirl of satisfaction settling in his tummy, though he’s careful not to show it. He’s proud of himself for how smoothly the date went last night, much more comfortable than the first three, and he’s even happier that he can now call himself Derek Morgan’s boyfriend. He’d stayed the night for the first time last night and it couldn’t have been more special in Spencer’s eyes. 

He may not be grinning like Derek is, but he’s filled with a happy sort of warmth completely unmatched by any feeling that’s ever occupied his body before. It festers and grows and develops even throughout the gruesome briefing, even when discussing the profile of an enucleator, even when looking at crime scene photos. Pretty colours still ripple through his brain, comforting him with the promise of more, the promise of purpose beyond his day job.

The colours only intensify when they walk to the jet together with Emily and JJ, chatting about their weekends in vague as possible terms. They’re nearly at the door when Derek looks at him like he did last night: like he can’t quite believe what, who, he’s seeing, like Spencer’s everything he’ll ever need to be happy. If anyone caught it, they’d be found out immediately, but they don’t.

It’s a look meant just for him. 

He wants to bask in this moment for just a little longer, but they force themselves to pull their eyes away from one another and board the jet. At this point, he has no choice but to acknowledge that he will be working this case with his insides a messy, melted puddle of sentiment. And he’s not even mad about it.

⭐️

The insides of his eyelids don’t solely exist to serve their intended biological function anymore: they’re no longer just protection for his eyes but a cinema screen playing moments shared with Derek over and over again. Their first date, their first kiss, the first time Derek held him closely as he pushed slowly inside him. The looks he sends his way, the feeling of Derek’s hand in his, his broad chest and how it’s the perfect pillow for Spencer’s tired head. 

Time moves too fast so Spencer has no choice but to play it back, over and over again. 

“I’ve never been more jealous of your eidetic memory,” Derek chuckles when Spencer tells him this a little shyly on their next date. 

At first he’s terrified his boyfriend is mocking him, not appreciating just how deadly serious he’s being, but the earnest, adoring look Derek is wearing across his features tells him otherwise. His expressive face is one of the things Spencer loves so much about him; social situations and cues are hard for him to read, but one look at Derek’s face and he knows exactly what’s happening, exactly how to respond and behave. 

“It’s one of the few perks,” Spencer concedes, slipping his mittened hand into Derek’s. It’s late November and the evenings are cold, even in DC, but walking down the quiet street lit up by Christmas lights together after a delicious meal warms Spencer from the inside out. 

They pause a little way down the street when Derek points up at a Christmas light decoration in the shape of a mistletoe. “It would be bad luck if we didn’t,” he says seriously despite the playfulness in his eyes.

“Can’t have that,” Spencer hums, and he plays with the wide buttons on Derek’s double-breasted coat as he leans in and connects their lips in a soft kiss, feeling Derek’s hands come to his waist in the way he likes far too much, feeling small in his boyfriend’s hold. 

“An extra one for good luck,” Derek whispers as he leans in for one more after they pull away, brushing a lock of Spencer’s hair out of his eyes. “That’s how it works, you know.”

“It is?” Spencer laughs, eyes crinkling fondly at the look on his face. 

“Mhm,” Derek confirms, moving his hand to Spencer’s lower back as they continue their walk back to Spencer’s apartment. “I’m a Christmas tradition expert. I know more than you, probably.”

“Sure,” Spencer grins diplomatically, leaning in closer to the warm body next to him, contentedness flooding his insides.

Derek only stays for an hour before driving back to dump his stuff and repack his go-bag for the upcoming week, but it’s sort of a good thing. A lot has happened in a very short span of time and Spencer appreciates having a bit of uninterrupted alone time to really think about what’s been going on. 

They’ve had five dates by now: Derek had given him a little present to commemorate the moment, immediately making Spencer feel guilty for doing nothing of the sort, guilt which had quickly been assuaged by a gentle touch to the back of his hand. At first, he hadn’t known what to say. It was an understated necklace, a silver chain with a small triangle pendant on the end of it. He wasn’t a big jewelry person really, but on their first date, Spencer had talked at length about why triangles were his favourite shape (not his proudest moment) but Derek was so thoughtful. He could wear it all the time while easily concealing it at the same time, and it was just the most perfect gift he’d ever received.

He rolls it over in his fingers as he curls up in bed. He was falling in love with Derek, and he had absolutely no proof he was falling in love back; no proof, but he’d seen… something. Even just the present felt like statement enough. Maybe this was going to be it for him. Maybe Derek was going to finally give him the very thing he’d been craving all these years. 

It’s a comforting enough thought to dampen the doubts and fears niggling at him, and it sends him to sleep with the kind of peace in his heart he’d written off as impossible a long time ago. 

⭐️

Go-bags are packed, the case is wrapped up, and the team are saying their goodbyes to local law enforcement when Hotch gets the phone call. 

He’s wearing a mildly irritated frown when he heads back over a few minutes later. “There’s been a problem with the jet,” he informs them, grimacing at their annoyed reactions, “so you can either drive home yourself or wait. Garcia’s re-booking the hotel for the night and I’m informed that the plane should be ready to go by the morning.”

Spencer shoots a look at Derek who immediately understands and nods in return. Columbus, Ohio is a 6/7 hour drive back to DC, and the alone time after being so close but so far for almost a week sounds like heaven. It’s only 4pm: they won’t even get home that late.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Spencer muses once they’re on the road, curled up in the driver’s seat with his trusty blanket tucked around him as he admires his sexy boyfriend at the wheel. 

“What do you mean, baby?” he asks, looking over briefly. 

“Well just last week we were talking about taking a road trip together and then Hotch not only gives us the opportunity but also provides the transport,” he says, thumbing the pendant around his neck. It’s become almost a self-soothing thing now: even if it’s usually hidden under his ties at work, just knowing it’s there settles something deep inside him. 

Derek chuckles at that. “I’m not sure I imagined Hotch being quite so involved in our romantic get-away, but yes, it is one hell of a coincidence,” he agrees. “Although mark my words, I will take you on a proper road-trip one day. And I want to take you on a nice holiday, too. Paris, London, Florence. Bali, Thailand, maybe.”

Blush spreading across his cheeks, Spencer smiles over at Derek. “Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah,” Derek grins over at him, “I’m gonna treat my pretty boy like it’s my job.”

“You already do.” He feels shy suddenly, a little overwhelmed at the emotions Derek is eliciting in him right now. 

“Baby,” he says, shaking his head, mischief dancing in his eyes, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.” 

Spencer’s already thinking of counting it as their eighth date, but Derek seals the deal when he pulls off the interstate and onto a much quieter road as they near DC. It’s just gone 10 and the December night is cool and clear, but he still looks quizzically at his boyfriend as the engine shuts off.

“Trust me,” Derek says and gets out of the car. Spencer, of course, trusts Derek implicitly so obediently gets out of the car and joins him at the front of the jeep, leaning against the hood. “Look how beautiful it is.” 

They’re on a country road, surrounded by wheat and barley fields, but Derek’s looking up. The night sky is littered with stars, constellations clear as day against the inky black backdrop of mid-December. “My favourite constellation is probably Cassiopeia, you know,” Spencer explains, barely observing the sky before looking to Derek to impart his knowledge. “She’s one of the only figures banished to the heavenly realm as punishment and not in honour, and it was because she flaunted her beauty too much, and her vanity--”

He’s interrupted by a hand on his forearm. “Spencer,” Derek says softly, catching his attention and slowing his info-dump. “Look up.”

Instead of thinking about all the intellectual and academic aspects of astronomy, astrology, and physics, he takes a good while to just absorb the beauty of the night, probably for the first time in his life. He lets himself rest in that moment, sinking into Derek’s side as they shiver a little in the frigid air, staring at the bright, twinkling lights smiling down at them. 

For some reason, it feels like the universe’s blessing. The stars aligning, the inky sky approving, frozen air applauding. Derek leans over and kisses Spencer, holding his face in both his hands as their insides warm against the cold and in that moment Spencer knows. He still has no proof Derek feels the same way, but with one touch he knows that he’s in love. 

⭐️

Spending Christmas apart is hard, but they make up for it with their eleventh date, Derek driving them over to the National Zoo and listening diligently to Spencer’s info-dumping. They spend the whole afternoon walking through all the exhibits and Derek buys him a pretty steady stream of candy-floss, hot-dogs and cuddly toys throughout their time there, keeping Spencer flushed and happy, completely in his element. 

Derek cooks them dinner at his apartment afterwards, making Spencer’s favourite, a simple spaghetti bolognese with a healthy amount of homemade garlic bread on the side, and they eat at the cosy kitchen table, cheesy candles aflame as they chat easily. 

They get ready for bed in tandem, brushing their teeth together, toothpaste spilling down their chins as they laugh wildly at each other in the mirror. It’s a comfortable sort of ease, a domesticity that feels far too natural for such a youthful relationship. It works though, and neither of them are complaining as they fall asleep folded into each other’s arms. 

Spencer wakes up first but Derek isn’t far behind him, kissing his scrunched up nose almost as soon as he opens his eyes to find Spencer lazily curled up on his chest. “Breakfast?” he asks.

“Please.” 

The toast Derek puts in ends up burning when they get distracted by one another, but Derek just laughs and puts it in the bin and drives them to McDonald’s instead. “I hope you know I’m keeping this shirt,” Spencer teases as they pull on loose sweatpants and trainers and hop into Derek’s car. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, baby,” Derek says sincerely. “My entire wardrobe is open for your perusal. Seeing you in my clothes does things to me.”

“I know,” Spencer says, face full of faux innocence. “Why do you think I want to keep them?” 

“You are such a fucking tease,” Derek smirks, shaking his head disapprovingly, “but you know I love it.”

“Mm, I do,” Spencer agrees, reaching across the console and resting a hand on Derek’s thigh. 

“Oh, God, baby, you just wait until we get home.” 

Spencer pulls his hand away, satisfied smile playing across his lips. 

“Brat,” Derek mutters under his breath as they pull into the drive-thru. Spencer just smiles wider. 

Spencer lets his guard down with Derek in a way he’s never done with anybody else and you’d have to be stupid not to notice, so of course Derek is fully aware of the responsibility on his shoulders. Later that morning, after a greasy breakfast, satisfying fuck, and a shared shower, they sprawl across the sofa, nestled into one another comfortably as the TV plays some hallmark movie in the background. 

“My last boyfriend didn’t turn out so nice,” Spencer says when Derek brings up the topic of exes. It brings a heavier note to their light-hearted conversation, but he knows they’ll have to talk about it eventually and it might as well be now. “He got into it because he thought I was innocent and attractive, but when it came to actually spending time together and he found more out about me, he changed his mind.”

“Baby,” Derek murmurs into his hair, “dId he hurt you?” His voice is full of apprehension, afraid of the answer but needing to know. 

“Only once,” Spencer whispers. “I left him after that. But he was kind of emotionally cruel before that and it compounded on a lot of issues I already had from when I was little, you know, with my dad and bullies and everything. It took a long time to rebuild myself, I just…”

He trails off, not knowing how to put what he wants to say into words. 

“Sweetheart, I need you to know that I will never hurt you, not like that,” Derek says earnestly as he catches onto what Spencer’s afraid of deep down, caressing his arm softly. “I can’t promise I won’t make mistakes or accidentally say something wrong, but I will never hurt you like others have done in the past. You’re safe with me, pretty boy. And I am so proud of you for building yourself back up after trauma like that: you are absolutely the strongest person I know, and I don’t say that lightly, yeah?” 

And, yeah. That feels like proof for Spencer.

⭐️

They keep it a secret for as long as possible, but Emily finds out in late March and Rossi follows shortly after. Even once it’s out to everyone, though, they don’t change their work dynamic, they don’t give into any kind of temptation in the field, despite not having to hide anymore. They know the only way they’ll be allowed to stay on the same team is if it doesn’t affect their actions and choices one bit. So even though Derek’s protectiveness is ratcheted up several notches, he swallows it down and doesn’t comment on dangerous situations Spencer goes into. He’s sure Spencer would find that pretty hypocritical anyway; he’s constantly chastising his own recklessness in the field.

Just because Derek bites his tongue at work, though, doesn’t mean he can’t comment on it at home. So after a particularly irresponsible decision Spencer makes in a hostage situation, seriously endangering himself, he holds it in until they step into Derek’s apartment and Spencer looks at him, confused at why he’s clearly stewing in something and not talking about it. 

“What’s going on?” he asks as he toes his shoes off and makes himself at home in the same way he’s done for months now. 

“What’s going on?” Derek repeats incredulously, raising his voice ever so slightly. “You were so fucking rash and reckless today Spencer, you could have died! And you ask me what’s going on? Are you fucking kidding me?” Really it’s fear manifesting itself as anger but right now the rage bubbling up inside him feels almost suffocating. 

“I knew what I was doing,” Spencer says defensively, looking completely bewildered at the sudden outburst. 

“You know that what you were doing was seriously endangering yourself, Spencer,” Derek argues, voice rising even more. “Yes, you saved a hostage today. But you also could have gotten yourself killed, and you have to understand that your life is not worth less than anybody else’s, okay?”

“Derek, I signed up for this life, she didn’t--”

“No,” Derek shouts. “No, don’t give me that. It would fucking crush me to lose you, Spencer, and it seems like you don’t even care about that. Do my feelings even matter to you?”

“What? Of course, they do, Derek,” Spencer says, still looking caught off guard and confused as he tries to figure out the situation and why his boyfriend is so angry. He tries to temper the unpleasant feelings filling his chest cavity, like muscle memory, fingers remembering a piece of sheet music played far too many times. 

“Well then fucking prove it,” Derek yells. “You aren’t listening to me! You endangered yourself and that’s terrifying for me. Your life matters Spencer, and sometimes I feel like it matters more to me than it does to you!”

“Derek, please calm down,” he pleads, wanting to talk about this properly and not feel so ambushed. “You’re scaring me.” 

That immediately catches Derek’s attention and the anger seems to leak out of him like a stopper’s been pulled out, draining him dry for only a moment before fear and guilt fill its place. “Fuck,” he mutters, sitting on the sofa and burying his head in his hands for a second before sitting up and making eye contact with Spencer. “I’m sorry, Spencer, I shouldn’t have yelled. I just… you scared me. You went against protocol today. You know that the FBI does not mandate agents putting themselves at serious risk of death or injury, even if it would save a life. Your life matters so much, to me, to the team, to your mum. People care so much about you, baby, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, okay? You put the fear of God in me earlier and sometimes… sometimes anger is the only way I know how to deal with those emotions.” 

“I know,” Spencer whispers, and though it’s unsaid they both understand he’s acknowledging every part of Derek’s speech. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t think about how my actions would affect you. I guess I’ve gone so long as a solo act, only having to think about myself and with very little to live for, it’s just taking time to adjust to remembering that I have you and your emotions to consider now. I need you to know, though, that I can’t deal with it when you shout at me like that, if you have a problem I need you to discuss it with me because I can’t figure out what’s going on when there are lots of emotions and raised voices, it confuses and upsets me.”

“I will, Spencer, I promise. I’m so genuinely sorry I handled it so poorly this time.” 

“Thank you,” he whispers gratefully. 

“Come here,” Derek says, the beginnings of a smile playing over his lips. He pulls Spencer into a gentle embrace, relishing the feel of Spencer, alive, pressed against his body. His warm skin, beating heart, soft curls, all shared with him, entrusted to him. 

“Next time I’ll stop and think about you, Derek,” Spencer says softly as he rests his head against his shoulder. “I’ll remember to prioritise us, remember that we can’t save everyone.” 

“Thank you, baby,” Derek says. “And I’ll be more patient; remember that you haven’t had anyone to remind you properly of the worth you have in a long time. We’re good, though, aren’t we?”

“So good,” Spencer confirms, pulling back and smiling properly before kissing Derek softly. He moves down to nose at his neck slightly, pressing a few tender kisses there, too. “Shall we head to bed? You look exhausted.” 

“That sounds like a plan,” Derek agrees before a cheeky smile plays across his features. “As long as you wear one of my shirts again…”

“Oh, what a hardship,” Spencer groans, winking at him in the lop-sided, awkward way he always does. “But I suppose I’ll do anything for you.” 

Spencer stays up for a little while after Derek falls asleep, reading over some casenotes, a few consults, and figuring out a new angle for a research paper he’s working on. Quiet, methodical work -- no matter how gruesome -- helps him wind-down after the high adrenaline of a case and it feels extra necessary tonight after the argument he’d had with Derek. 

He feels his boyfriend stir only a few hours after he’s dropped off to sleep, staring up at Spencer in the soft glow of the pink lamp on the bedside table bought for exactly these sorts of nights. A strange look plays across his face as he reaches for Spencer’s hand and holds it. 

“You’re my best friend, Spencer,” he says, completely serious. “You know that, don’t you?”

Spencer’s done obsessing over proof. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, looking down at their intertwined hands before back at his face, “I love you, too, Derek.” His smile softens even more when he sees Derek’s face relax into a relieved expression, knowing that his meaning was understood. 

“Good,” he whispers, kissing the back of Spencer’s hand before lying his head back down on the pillow. “Night, pretty boy. I love you.”

As Derek drifts back off to sleep, he hears those words echoing around in the silence, a soothing, methodic rhythm of reassurance that what he’s wished for since the very first look on the way to the jet has materialised. 

Knowing it is one thing, but hearing it is another. Derek loves him. He hears it in the silence, feels it on the way home, and when he curls up next to his boyfriend, he can even see it with the lights off.