#I swear this is a very very new muse; she's not even inspired by an inquisitr or anything but I feel like I know her already :o

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 9: Why Don’t We Go There]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (+18), beef cattle, drugs, alcohol, smoking, Walmart, vegan baking, David Archuleta, mental health struggles, pregnancy, pigs, bodily injury, death, miscarriage, Jace acting vaguely human, angst, Southern Baptists, Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

Word count: 8.6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @lauraneedstochill​ @wintrr13​ @r0segard3n​ @seabasscevans​ @tsujifreya​ @helaenaluvr​ @hiraethrhapsody​​​

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The last day of summer, the first day in Kansas City: emerald seas of soybeans, cornstalks taller than you are, massive tractors rolling laggardly on the shoulder of the road, red-tailed hawks perched on utility poles, cloudless cerulean skies, sunlight that beats down like soft rain. There is a long, rambling dirt driveway that leads from Route 210 to your parents’ farm. When you climb out of the Escalade, you cannot hear traffic or voices or some playlist of bygone pop hits or ice cubes jangling in misty glasses or the roar of jet engines. You can hear only the sounds of the Midwestern earth: wind in the leaves, cicadas humming, the distant mooing of black angus cattle. For a moment, Comet Donati just stands there breathing in the unhurried, golden air like the atmosphere of a new planet, their lungs acclimating, their eyes wide and peering around. Where have we landed? Any signs of intelligent life?

There are footsteps and then the squealing creak of the screen door as your dad throws it open. Along with your parents pour out five Australian cattle dogs. They bark uproariously, herding the new arrivals like errant calves. Aemond laughs and crouches down in the dust of the driveway to pet them. Rhaena screams and clings to Luke.

“Belmont! Bel, you git down!” your dad scolds, pulling her away from Rhaena by the collar: pink, so everyone knows she’s a girl. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart, she don’t bite none.”

“Unless you’re a cow, of course,” your mom adds, tittering merrily. She starts handing out glasses of sweet tea, already dripping with condensation. Outside it’s 80 degrees even.

Your dad whistles as he studies Aemond’s scar, his sightless left eye like a pool of blue fog. “That must’ve hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Jeff!” your mom objects mildly; she abhors swearing.

Aemond considers your dad: a man who doesn’t flinch away from him, who doesn’t bury truths under the cover of night. “It did.”

“My uncle came back from ‘Nam with something like that. Was never right again.” He taps his own skull. “You must be tough as nails to be carrying on like you are, son. What happened to you was a damn shame.”

“Jefferson, please!” your mom says.

“The man’s been to New Jersey, Carol! I think he’s heard worse words than bitch and damn!”

“Her name’s Belmont?” Rhaena says, frowning nervously at her canine tormentor: rust-orange, brown-eyed, tail wagging eagerly at the prospect of making new friends.

“You betcha.” Then your dad informs Aemond: “That’s Lone Jack you got there.” He points to the remaining dogs. “And the others are Carthage, Kirksville, and Island Number Ten. We call her Tenny.”

“They’re all named after Civil War battles,” you tell Comet.

“Civil War battles in Missouri,” your dad says. He turns to his guests. “Were you aware that over 100,000 Missourians served in the Union Army? Ulysses S. Grant’s first military assignment was in Missouri. He met his wife Julia here.”

“Daddy, they’re English. They don’t know what the Union Army is.”

“Were they for or against staying colonies?” Aegon asks, and Criston covers his face and groans.

Your dad spots the motorcycle Aemond rode here from the airport, weaving between the Escalades until Criston stuck his head out a window to yell at him. “Lord almighty, is that a Gold Star?! Made by the Birmingham Small Arms Company?”

“Yes sir,” Aemond says, smiling down at a delighted Lone Jack and scratching his long pointy ears.

“An ingenious piece of machinery! ‘55?”

“1960.”

“Remarkable.” Your dad admires it. He’s wearing red flannel, Wrangler jeans, the UChicago hat that you bought for him your freshman year of college.

“We’ve been told you don’t eat meat,” your mom says to Aemond, with a gentle, sympathetic tone like she’s conscious of some bad luck that’s recently befallen him: a grim diagnosis, a storm that carried away his house. “So I’ve got some chicken soaking in buttermilk to fry up for supper.”

Aemond chuckles uncertainly.

“No, she’s serious,” you tell him. And then: “Mama, we went over this on the phone. He’s vegan. That means no animal products at all. No meat, no poultry, no fish, no dairy, no eggs, nothing that came from an animal.”

“Well I’ll be, what the heck does he eat?!” your dad says. “Carrots? Acorns? Sticks and leaves? He can graze out in the pasture if he likes.”

“We’ll find you something,” you promise Aemond.

Your dad surveys Aegon (white cargo shorts, neon pink tank top, sparkly matching Crocs) and then Jace (black skinny jeans and a violet sequined blazer with nothing underneath except a mosaic of tattoos). “I suppose you two will be wanting to share a room. Well, it ain’t my place to pass judgement, I reckon. But I don’t want to overhear nothing that couldn’t be done in church.”

Jace is confused. “Huh…?”

“No, Daddy, they’re not gay.”

“What, me?!” Aegon exclaims. “Gay?! For Jace?!”

Jace says: “Sir, if I ever start looking at Aegon that way, I give you enthusiastic permission to take me out back and shoot me dead like a horse with a bum leg.”

Your dad guffaws, a deep gruff rumble like an earthquake. “I don’t think I could oblige you, buddy.”

Your mom gestures to the front door. “Y’all go on in and make yourselves at home. We got a few extra bedrooms and a nice big den if anyone’s willing to sleep on a couch. But be warned: you’ll probably end up having a dog or two snuggled up with you.”

“We are guests here!” Criston shouts at the band as they begin dragging their luggage inside, suitcase wheels bumping up the creaking wooden steps of the wraparound porch. “You will not humiliate me! You will not break things! You will not cause any problems whatsoever or you can stay at the Hilton with the security guys and I’ll have them handcuff you to a bed!”

“He will,” Aegon warns the others. “I’ve seen him do it before. To…um…somebody.” He disappears into the five-bedroom farmhouse: mint green paint, white accents, two rambling stories plus an attic and a cellar.

Criston waves to the security detail as the Escalades turn around in the driveway—stirring up dust like a parched cough of earth—and then head back towards Route 210, towards the light pollution and acclaimed barbeque joints of Kansas City. Now Aemond is standing by the barbed wire fence of the pasture and looking longingly at the black angus cattle grazing on tall swaths of windswept, green-gold switchgrass. Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville are all bounding around him hoping to elicit praise and scratches. Tenny has taken a liking to Baela and follows her and Jace into the house. Belmont, still held captive by your dad, whines and struggles.

“Aemond, you can’t pet the cows,” you say. “They’re beef cattle. They spend most of their lives out in fields, they don’t get handled very often, they’re not used to people. They can be aggressive.”

He is disappointed. “Oh, okay.”

“You can pet the pigs though,” your dad says.

“Pigs?” Cregan perks up. “There are pigs?”

“Sure are. Well, they’re pigs now…come Thanksgiving, they’ll be hams! Hahaha. They’re right ‘round the back of the house. You’ll show ‘em, chickadee?”

You reply: “Yeah, Daddy. I’ll show them.”

As the rest of the band claims sleeping spots and unpacks their suitcases inside, you lead Cregan and Aemond—and Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville, all blue speckled with random splatters of white markings like stray dabs of paint—to the pigs. They have a large, muddy enclosure surrounded by a wooden fence that stops at your waist; pigs, fortunately, cannot really jump. They immediately come trotting over to their visitors, tails swishing and snouts twitching, spewing a chorus of guttural oinks. Aemond leans down to pet them, beaming, then takes a Ziploc bag of raw cauliflower out of his jeans pocket and starts dropping pieces into the pigs’ gluttonous, slobbering, gaping mouths.

“Wow,” Cregan says. He’s grinning broadly, something that’s rare for him. He slips out his phone and starts taking pictures. “Iris is going to love this.”

On the second floor of the farmhouse, a window slides open. “Aemond!” Aegon calls. “I need help! It’s an emergency!”

“What’s your problem?” Aemond snaps.

“Tell Jace I need the bigger bedroom!”

“Please go away.”

“Aemond! Do not betray your favorite brother!”

“Hey!” comes Daeron’s muffled objection from inside.

“Aemond! Threaten to break Jace’s face again!”

Aemond exhales in a loud sigh and then makes for the house.

Still taking pig photos, Cregan glances over at your belly: ten weeks. Not enough to be properly showing, but enough that you can feel a difference, an extra inch here and there, a heaviness that settles in you like stones plinked in a jar. Your parents don’t know. Nobody knows but Aegon. “So,” Cregan says. “Have you told Aemond yet?”

Your attention jolts to him, a lightning strike, a surge of adrenaline. “What?”

“I remember what it looks like when someone’s trying to hide the fact that they’re pregnant.” He smirks. “And I remember that night at Club Camelot.”

People are going to start figuring it out eventually. Aemond is going to figure it out. “Do you think he’ll take it well?” you ask hopefully.

“No,” Cregan says.

In your chest, a sinking like dead weight: “Oh.”

“But he’ll probably come around to the idea eventually.”

After he’s said something unforgiveable. After he buries another knife in me, spilling blood and scraping marrow. You stare down into the pigpen, observing them root around for remnants of cauliflower and blink their awfully intelligent eyes, too clever for the fate they’ve been assigned.

Cregan lights a cigarette and puffs on it, taking advantage of a rare moment out of Criston’s line of sight. “When I first found out about Iris, I did not behave in a way that I would consider to be honorable. But fortunately, nature gives everyone time to adjust to these things. I had my head right by the time she was born. If I had to guess, I’d say it will be similar for Aemond. Then again…” He takes a deep, meditative drag. “I’d like to think I was never as fucked up as he is now.”

You study Cregan. “So you’ve been watching me. I’ve been watching you too. You haven’t been partying as hard. A few vodka shots, a secret cigarette on occasion. But no more disappearing with Aegon to do lines in the bathroom or arranging drop-offs with drug dealers.”

He shrugs. “Someone has to be the adult. Someone has to help Criston look out for the others. It used to be Aemond, but not anymore. He’s different now. One day he’ll figure out where he’s supposed to be and he’ll stop touring with Comet altogether. So I’m going to do it. There are people who need me.”

“Comet is your family,” you say. “Just as much as your mother and siblings and Iris. They love you. They belong to you, and you belong to them. And that will never change.”

He smiles; his greyish eyes are teasing but kind. “Good luck, Stargirl. You need it.”

“Thanks, Cregan.” And together, you leave the pigs and join the rest of the band inside.

Your parents’ farmhouse, the same one you grew up in—a different world, a different you—is painted in shades of gold: late-afternoon sunlight, chicken thighs and drumsticks browning in canola oil, mashed potatoes wet with cream and butter, corn cut from the cob, an enormous pan of baked macaroni and cheese, homemade rolls, a butterscotch pie cooling on the windowsill. You find a vegan alternative for Aemond in the pantry: a box of Barilla spaghetti, a jar of Ragu marinara sauce. Criston insists on cooking it so everyone else can enjoy their supper. Cregan asks your parents about tips for raising pigs; Rhaena asks about the history of the farm; Aegon eats butterscotch pie until he has to roll out of his chair and lie sprawled on the hardwood floor for a while, Australian cattle dogs licking at his pink palms and cheeks. And when Aemond finally receives his spaghetti and marinara sauce, you think: That’s the same thing he was eating in Rome. And you remember the razored sting of the comet tattoo, the nightscape motorcycle ride, the incomplete truth about Aegon, the realization of what you felt for his scarred, perfect, brilliant, haunted younger brother.

“I didn’t know the weather would be so nice here,” Baela says as she scoops herself a third helping of macaroni and cheese. Tenny lies by her feet under the table, her muzzle resting on her paws.

Your dad nods, but his words hold a warning. “It can turn quick.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“He could be a stay-at-home dad,” Aegon suggests. It’s the next day and you’re up in a hundred-year-old white oak tree, killing time until the Escalades arrive to shuttle Comet to soundcheck and their first of two shows at Arrowhead Stadium in downtown Kansas City. You’re sitting on a colossal, sturdy branch only four or five feet off the ground, your feet dangling; Aegon is a few limbs above you, alternating between swinging like a monkey and lying on his stomach so he can peer down at you with those large, oceanic eyes.

“No. If he chooses to, sure. But not because he has no other options. A baby is not something to paper over a quarter-life crisis with.”

Aegon thinks, then is struck with inspiration. “He could work for your dad on the farm!”

“The beef cattle farm?” you say. “You want the traumatized vegan to spend the rest of his life as a cog in the blood-drenched machine of American industrial agriculture? Besides, I’m sure he hates Missouri.”

“I don’t know, I mean I thought I hated Missouri too. But lowkey it kind of slaps.” Aegon closes his eyes and smiles as the warm, sunlit breeze breathes through him, tousling his hair. It’s long again, it’s almost down to his shoulders. He smells like sunscreen and Axe body spray and the homemade waffles your mother made for brunch, soggy with dollops of butter and a river of amber-colored maple syrup. Something’s missing. It takes you a moment to realize it’s the scent of beer. Your parents don’t approve of drinking, the house is bone dry. Aegon hasn’t complained about that yet, a miracle, Moses turning the Nile to blood. Maybe Missouri is good for him after all. “How’s Starbaby?”

“Good, I think. I’m not nauseous anymore. Now I’m just super hungry and horny.”

“Oh my God, you can’t say stuff like that around me, now I’m having immoral thoughts.” He squeezes his eyes shut, frowns mournfully. Goodbye forever, pornstar pussy. “When are you going to tell Aemond?”

“Soon,” you say noncommittally, like a coward. Not a coward: someone who’s been hurt before. Not just hurt: slaughtered, buried, exhumed, robbed for the jewels on the bones of her fingers. You’re finally whole again. You’re in no hurry to imperil your resurrection. “Cregan knows.”

“Rhaena knows too.”

“What?!”

“She asked me in Dallas, but she waited until I was sloppy drunk first. Smart girl. I tried to deny it, but honestly she already had it figured out.” Aegon looks at you meaningfully. “If you wait much longer you’re going to lose control of this thing. It’ll get to Aemond before you can. And I think it will be worse if he finds out from somebody else.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’ll tell him, Aegon, I promise. Before Comet flies out of Kansas City.” They’ll be leaving you here, though no one except Aegon and Criston know that yet. Their private jet will take them to New Orleans, and then Miami, and then all the way to South America: Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo, Bogota, Buenos Ares, Lima, Santiago.

Now someone is trekking across the field behind your parents’ house and towards the centenarian white oak tree. It’s Jace. He’s wearing a rather understated outfit today: a lavender polo, denim shorts, boat shoes. His dark curls whip and tangle in the wind.

“Ugh,” Aegon says once Jace close enough to hear. “Why don’t you go try to pet a rage-filled, 2,000-pound mound of unprocessed cheeseburgers?”

“I’m here for my complimentary therapy session.”

Aegon stares at you. You stare back. The only sounds are made by the earth and the sky and the animals, air in the leaves, the low mooing of cattle. You both wait for Jace to rescind his request. He does not. At last, you relent. “Okay. Fine. Aegon?”

“You want me to leave you alone with this inked-up ogre?”

“Confidentiality is important. I’ve always given it to you, Jace deserves the same.”

“Does he really?” Aegon flings back; but he obediently climbs down from the tree and walks to the farmhouse. Your parents have no booze, no internet, a landline telephone, and a single tv with basic cable. Everyone else is in there playing Uno, doing animal-themed puzzles, and baking apple cider cookies in honor of the first day of autumn. You’d think Comet would be losing their minds after adapting to months of nonstop, breakneck excitement, but they seem to be enjoying themselves. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. You don’t miss the jet, you don’t miss the bars or the five-star hotels, you don’t even miss your apartment in the city that is still being sublet by some grad student with a Flemish Giant rabbit. You wonder if you ever wanted to leave the farm at all, or if you only wanted to leave the way you felt about yourself the last time you called this place home.

Jace grins and hauls himself up onto the tree branch to sit beside you. “Want to see my new tattoo?”

“Comet has definitely already been to Kansas City.”

Still, he’s acquired one, left wrist, black ink: a single star the size of a quarter. “For you, Stargirl. So I don’t forget about you. So I don’t lose you in the sea of gorgeous women I have marooned myself in.”

“It looks like a pentagram,” you say. “That’s appropriate, since you’re basically Satan.”

He’s not offended. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I want to talk about?”

“I already know.”

“Do you really?”

“You’re happy, but you feel bad about it. You wanted to be the leader of Comet, but you wish it could have happened a different way.”

Jace opens his hands and offers you a crooked, wry smile. “I might jibe at Aemond, but I don’t hate him. Why else would I let him knock out four of my teeth without expecting any penance in return?”

“No, you certainly don’t hate Aemond.”

“And what happened to him…it sucks. I mean, obviously, it was life-ruining for him. Not ruining, I shouldn’t say that. I’m sure he’ll get a new life someday. But it wrecked him in ways I’ll never be able to understand.”

“You’ll have to let him go when the time comes.”

“Yeah,” Jace says, unusually somber, gazing out across the field of white wild indigo, prairie dropseed, blue star, yarrow.

“And if Baela gets into ballet school, you’ll have to let her go too.”

Now Jace turns to you, startled. “I can’t. I’d miss her.”

“Yes, but you aren’t right for her. Sometimes we have to give people the freedom to realize they want something more than us. It’s the greatest act of love we can do for them.”

He laughs, a disdainful little snort. “That’s what everyone says. If you love someone, let them go. But then nobody ever really does it. They cling and they manipulate and they beg. Nobody helps the people they love leave them. Nobody escapes the indignity of becoming a regret.”

Please don’t let that be true. Please don’t let Aemond regret meeting me, touching me, maybe even loving me. “Why do you think that is, Jace?”

And he says, like it’s obvious, like you should already know it: “Because letting go is too fucking painful.” He hops off the branch and drops into the tall grass below. Then he extends a hand to help you down. “Come on. I bet those apple cider cookies are ready.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You see glimmering dresses, incandescent string lights, neon signs, the winding reptilian sheen of the Missouri River in the distance, faint dots of stars muted by the city’s synthetic luminance. You taste your faux Bramble: ice, cranberry juice, a sliver of lemon on the rim, sweet and tart and cold. The speakers are thumping out Prayin’ For Daylight by Rascal Flatts. Aegon is in neon yellow. You almost wore the same, but the flowing yellow gown you bought in Reykjavik suffered an unfortunate Australian-cattle-dog-related incident before Comet left your parents’ farmhouse for the concert. You opted for the short sparkly black dress embroidered with silver stars instead…and hurried out the door before your parents could catch a glimpse of your comet tattoo.

“No way!” Baela cries as she checks her phone. “Look, look!” Liam Payne has just posted a selfie on Instagram. Cuddled up next to him on a beach in Ibiza is Shelby, tan and with her long blond waves flying everywhere. The comments are a smorgasbord: Cutest couple EVER! Aww, did you and Aemond break up again :( Enjoy your vacay, girlie! Guess love really can’t conquer all. You are stunning, Shelby! I’m still hoping you guys get back together. You deserve better! What is Aemond even doing these days?? Is this why Comet took A Girl Named After A Car off their tour setlist :(((

“Damn, poor Liam,” Daeron says. “Should we warn him?”

Aegon replies: “Bruh, this is so tragic. That dude has enough demons already.”

“Good luck, Liam,” Luke says, toasting his Mai Tai against Aemond’s fully-alcoholic Bramble. “Thoughts and prayers.”

“Maybe he’s dumb enough to sign up to be her boy band baby daddy,” Aemond quips. You and Aegon exchange an uneasy glance. Then Aegon gets an incoming FaceTime call. It’s Taylor Swift. He beams—he lights up, he glows—and rushes away to find a quiet spot where he can talk to her. Criston chases after him, extra vigilant since Aegon’s overdose in Las Vegas.

You gulp down the rest of your not-cocktail cocktail. The bartender calls over: “Another cranberry juice, ma’am?”

“Cranberry juice?!” Daeron says. “That sounds…healthy?”

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Baela asks you. It would be a rude question if you didn’t know each other so well. Though not quite as well as she thinks. Cregan and Rhaena peer awkwardly down into their glasses, eyebrows raised.

“Because. Um.” You hesitate. Aemond looks over at you curiously. “I’m an alcoholic.”

Baela blinks. “You’re what?”

“Um. I was developing an alcohol problem so to be safe I stopped drinking altogether.”

“How mature of you!” Rhaena chirps, then drags Baela towards the dancefloor. Luke and Jace go with them. Daeron and Cregan depart to charm some potential paramours: a flock of Kansas City University students for Daeron, a bachelorette party of flattered, giggly soccer moms for Cregan. You procure another cranberry juice from the bar and then return to Aemond. You are alone together, a strange combination of adjectives: solitary, secretive, appreciated, known. You migrate towards the edge of the roof and sip your matching drinks, wearing your matching black clothes, wind in your hair and the sounds of late night traffic on the streets below.

“So this is the place,” Aemond says, playful, wistful. “Where you and Aegon…met.”

“It feels so different now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look out over the city, breathing in humid night air and a verdant, ancient wildness. “You know how when you’re a kid, you’ll go somewhere and it feels endless and magical, and then you go back five or ten or fifteen years later and you’re disappointed? Like, that’s it? Is this even the same place?”

He swigs his Bramble. Ice clinks; the glass is frosty in his hand. “I know what you mean. But it hasn’t been that long. A little over a year.”

“I guess I’ve changed.” More grounded. Less restless. Less aimless. More pregnant.

“I hope Comet hasn’t traumatized you.”

You laugh, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only two people at this rooftop bar, in this city, on this planet: one river blue eye, one pool of sightless otherworldly mist. He hasn’t worn sunglasses since Shelby’s deportation from the band’s retinue. “Not yet.”

He is mischievous. “There’s still time.”

Not much of it. Aemond’s iPhone rings, Mr. Brightside. He checks it. “Is that Shelby offering you ten thousand blowjobs if you take her back?”

Aemond smiles. “No. It’s Helaena.” He answers and puts it on speakerphone. “Hi, LaeLae. Can I call you tomorrow? I’m at a very loud, very crowded rooftop bar.”

“With her?” Helaena asks, delighted.

“Yes, actually.”

“Okay. Call tomorrow. I wanted to tell you about the praying mantis I found in the garden. Check the weather. Goodbye!” She hangs up before Aemond can.

“Weather…?” he muses, then shakes his head and slips his phone into the pocket of his dark jeans. He returns his attention to you. “Ten thousand blowjobs, huh? I think I’d rather have another ten minutes in a bar bathroom.”

You are so game. It’s humiliating how game you are. Dear Starbaby, today I had slutty bar bathroom sex with your slutty dad, the same place I hooked up with your super slutty uncle. “Really?”

“No,” Aemond says sheepishly. But the corners of his lips are curled up in fond nostalgia. “That’s not my usual style.”

“What is your style?”

He drains his Bramble and turns to you. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You want few things more. “Yeah.”

You leave your empty glasses on a tray by the edge of the roof. Aemond lets Criston know that you’re taking one of the Escalades back to the farm. Aegon pauses his conversation with Taylor Swift just long enough to wink at you. No need for condoms, he mouths with a grin. And then he shouts, as the opening notes of Starboy blare from the speakers: “Stargirl, it’s our song!”

The Escalade makes one pitstop: the Walmart just off Route 210, the same one you always shopped at growing up. Aemond piles the requisite ingredients for vegan chocolate chip cookies in the screechy-wheeled cart, flour, baking soda, salt, white sugar, brown sugar, dark chocolate chips, rice milk (Aemond swears it tastes like Rice Krispies), vanilla extract, coconut oil. You wander down the aisles together talking, joking, finding excuses to touch each other, hands on wrists and collarbones and waists.

As you scan the items at one of the self-checkout kiosks, two guys buying frozen pizzas and White Claws peek over at you and start snickering. You grab snippets of their conversation like fireflies from the air: critiques of your body, critiques of your soul. You ignore them. This happens sometimes when you’re home. Someone from high school will recognize you, someone will remember.

Aemond is staring at them. Not staring; glaring, seething, mentally splitting flesh and dislodging teeth.

“Aemond, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m not upset. Just ignore them.” He walks away from you. “Aemond, don’t!”

He grabs the closest man’s shoulder and spins him around. “You got a problem?”

Both men gawk up at him, mouths hanging stupidly open and eyes inane like fish. The one he’s clenching sputters: “I’m sorry, are you…are you…are you Aemond Targaryen?!”

“I’m the guy who’s about to go to prison for second degree murder if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

He puts both hands in the air. “Hey man, I am actively shutting the fuck up. You have a nice evening.”

Aemond releases the man with a shove that sends him staggering back into a rack of tabloids. He returns to you, puts the bags in the cart, starts pushing it out to the parking lot.

The man turns to his friend. He is starstruck, elated. It might be the best day of his life. “Bruh, I just got assaulted by Aemond Targaryen…!”

The Escalade glides through the dark to your parents’ farm and drops you and Aemond off in the dirt driveway before zooming back towards the city. Aemond insists on carrying the shopping bags…but he doesn’t go inside. He stands near where his Gold Star is parked and gazes up at the night sky: moon, stars, the hazy white shadow of the Milky Way, all unmarred by the arrogant, buzzing radiance of electricity.

“Aemond?”

“You can see everything out here,” he says. “Maybe Kansas isn’t so bad.”

“Missouri.”

“Missouri,” Aemond agrees. “But you’re still the best thing about it.”

You smile. “I don’t know the names of any of those constellations.”

He points to show you. “Ursa Major. Ursa Minor. Perseus. Draco. Hercules.”

“Heroes,” you say.

“And animals.” He ascends the steps of the front porch. They creak beneath him, weight that will soon be gone, to New Orleans and Miami and South America and God knows where else.

Your parents are watching the 11:00 news in the den. The weatherman is issuing tentative warnings for tomorrow. Summer is gone, storms are coming in. They politely ask what you and Aemond are up to and then try not to look repulsed when you mention vegan cookies. You’re actually pretty excited; you love cookie dough, and because it will have no raw eggs in it, you can eat as much as you like without endangering Starbaby.

On the kitchen counter is the same CD player that your mom has owned since 2008. You press play on whatever she has currently spinning around in there. MercyMe? TobyMac? Danny Gokey? What you hear instead is Crush by David Archuleta.

“That’s a throwback,” Aemond notes.

“My parents love David Archuleta. He’s Christian, he’s cute, he’s gracious, he doesn’t swear. I remember them incessantly calling in to vote for him when he was on American Idol. They put in a prayer request at church to help him win the competition. I guess God used his executive veto power.”

“Do they know he’s…?” Aemond draws an invisible rainbow in the air with his fingers.

“No, they don’t use Google.”

“We won’t tell them. He needs the record sales.”

You and Aemond mix the cookie dough and then portion it out on a baking sheet. He slides the sheet into the oven, sets the timer, and then notices the reserve of dough you’ve left in the bowl. You dip your pinky finger in and then lick it slowly, savoringly: sweetness, chocolate, fats obtained without the sacrifice of a soul.

“Looks good,” Aemond says, a little hoarsely.

You swipe your index finger around the curve of the bowl and then offer it to Aemond. He holds your hand still and licks your finger clean, his tongue dragging over your skin, goosebumps rising on your arms, heat stirring up everywhere. You’re transfixed by him; you can’t stop watching. Then he closes the gap between you and cups your face in his palms and kisses you, not in some glittering city or on a stage or for an Instagram post but in the kitchen of a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, the home of nobodies. His lips are sweet, swift, seeking more. He only pulls away when the noise of heavy footsteps approaches the kitchen.

“Smells great in here, chickadee! Even if they are vegan cookies.” Your dad says the word vegan like someone else might say the name of a tourist destination halfway across the globe. He can’t quite get the pronunciation right. His eyes snag on the bare skin between your shoulder blades. “Lord almighty, what is that on your back?!”

Your comet tattoo, that’s what. “Uh, Daddy—”

“It was my idea,” Aemond says quickly, seamlessly. “They’re my lyrics. Lyrics I wrote before the accident, I mean. And I was feeling just…purposeless, and useless, and really doubting myself. She wanted to show me that my work still mattered. So when the band was in Rome, Jace got a tattoo and I suggested she get one too. It’s entirely my fault.”

“Huh,” your dad replies uncertainly. “Is that right? Well, I suppose there’s not much to be done about it now.” He chuckles and moves your hair so it’s covering your tattoo. “Let’s not mention it to your mother. She’s already got high blood pressure. Say, can I try one of them cookies when they’re ready?”

Criston and the rest of the band arrive back at the farmhouse just as the cookies are coming out of the oven. Miraculously, no one is drunk enough that your parents are aware of it. Everyone samples the vegan chocolate chip cookies and agrees that they are nearly as delicious as the cruelty-enhanced version. You and Aemond watch each other from across the kitchen that’s now crowded with people, hearing them but also not, wanting more and knowing you can’t have it, here in this place with little privacy and very few remaining secrets.

Comet scrambles to get ready for bed, racing to claim bathrooms and banging on doors to peer pressure people into finishing their showers faster. Back in your bedroom, clean and alone and wearing an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants, you rearrange your pillows over and over again and try not to think about the band leaving in two days. Strangely, you don’t really want to go with them; you don’t want to board the jet, you don’t want to sightsee, you don’t want to be surrounded by people ingesting poison in all its forms. But the thought of being away from the band—from Aegon, from Aemond—is impossible, unbelievable, horrifying. You’re humming something as you crawl into bed. You don’t even realize what song it is until you’re under the covers and sinking into sleep: The Man Who Can’t Be Moved.

You’re only asleep for ten or fifteen minutes. When you wake your eyes are watery and you can’t remember your dream—you almost never can—but you know that Aemond was there. Now he’s here in your room as well. He’s gently stroking your cheeks, your forehead, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he’s murmuring, only a silhouette in the darkness. But you would recognize him anywhere. “You had a nightmare. You were crying, I heard you.”

“Were you lurking outside my door or what?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he asks: “What were you dreaming about?”

“You.”

And when you reach for him, he meets you without hesitation, his hands in your hair and his lips on yours, blankets thrown aside, his weight between your thighs, your fingertips ghosting against his face, reading his past and future like braille. He bites your lower lip, nips at the curve of your jaw, kisses a path down your throat like the contrail of an airplane. You yank off his t-shirt. He lifts away yours. He’s touching you everywhere, fingers beneath your pajama pants, smothering his moans against your neck so no one else will hear.

He whispers breathlessly: “I don’t want to rush this time.”

“I’m yours for as long as you want me.” Forever, I hope. And then: “Can I turn on the light? I want to see you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. And then he reaches out to click the lamp on. The nightstand is cluttered with your souvenirs: refrigerator magnets, snow globes, figurines, cosmetics, snacks, crochet celestial objects, the frisbee from New Jersey, your plushie sika deer nestled together with the hammerhead shark from the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay. In the weak golden lamplight, you study Aemond like a painting, a marble statue, a comet you’ll only see once in a lifetime.

You say, softly like a prayer if you believed in such things: “You are so fucking beautiful.”

He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t stop. He wants to see you too. Your clothes are gone, every scrap of fabric and concealment; if he is cognizant of any minuscule changes in your body, he is not suspicious of them. Now he is bare for you as well, now he is pushing your thighs apart so he can marvel at you, taste you, drench his mouth and chin in your wetness, bring you to the edge of a cliff with no bottom, no rocks to rupture against. Now he is inside you, tremendously big but also careful, listening to you, watching every line of your face, slowly, so exquisitely slowly, his tongue darting between your lips and his palm against your cheek. And you remember how Aegon felt—always so simple and yet transient, soothing and welcome but never necessary—and Aemond could not be further from that. Nothing about what you have with him is simple. It is profound and intense and singular, and the thought of it not lasting forever is agony.

Afterwards, he retrieves his vintage metal lighter—small, square, Targaryen etched into one side—and a shimmery gold pack of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes out of the pocket of his pajama pants that are crumpled on the floor. He lies on his back and takes deep, drowsy drags, smoke like opaque morning mist in the air, one arm draped across you as you rest your head on his chest, lungs and heart and bones and blood.

Secondhand smoke isn’t good for the baby. You get up out of bed and sneak across the treacherously creaky hardwood floor. “Let me open a window.”

“So your parents won’t know?”

“Yeah.” You push the window open and then turn to him. “You should stop smoking. It’s really bad for you.”

Aemond smiles faintly. “Why would I care about that?”

“It’s bad for the people who love you too.”

He looks at you for what feels like a very long time. “Come back,” he says at last.

You do: to Aemond, to his warmth and lust and tenderness, to the space he occupies that will soon be empty like the vast expanses between comets, between stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I would like to say something.” You rise from your seat at your parents’ long dining room table, perfect for hosting judgmental-church-people gatherings and family reunions. Lunch for Comet Donati is steak and baked potatoes, lovingly prepared by your mom just before she and your dad left in their Ford F-150. It’s Sunday, and your parents will be at church socializing with their friends until late afternoon. Aemond is suffering through another meal of boxed spaghetti and Ragu marinara sauce. He doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite; not for food, anyway. You take turns glancing at each other and then looking away, smiling, flushing. Now he is intrigued by your announcement. His brow knits into thoughtful little grooves. The Australian cattle dogs scuttle around under the table for scraps. The television is on in the den. A tornado watch has been issued for the greater Kansas City area; no big deal, they get alerts like this once or twice a week here sometimes. It rarely amounts to carnage. Outside the sky is a tumultuous grey but not especially sinister at the moment: no greenish hue, no cloud rotation.

“You agree that Aegon hooking up with Taylor Swift would be disastrous for everyone involved,” Jace jokes.

“No, I know what it is,” Aegon says. He pokes at his baked potato with his fork, melancholy.

“I want to thank you for giving me this amazing opportunity,” you tell Comet. You have perhaps not dressed for an occasion of this significance: flip flops, a tie-dye One Direction hoodie, an old pair of shorts you found in your bedroom dresser. You like the way Aemond watches you when you wear them. “And I’ve experienced so many things, and learned so much from all of you, and I sincerely hope that we’re going to be in each other’s lives forever. But for right now…for this tour…Kansas City is my last stop with Comet.”

“What?!” Baela cries.

“No!” Rhaena gasps, her dark doe-like eyes glistening.

People are asking you why, people are asking you to reconsider. Aemond only stares, a sharp hostile look, menacing like storm clouds.

“I really, really appreciate everyone’s concern. But it’s been over three months, and this was never intended to be a permanent arrangement. Right, Aegon?”

“Right,” he reluctantly agrees.

“And it’s time for me to figure out what the rest of my life is going to look like, because I can’t just follow Comet around the world forever.”

Cregan nods to Criston. “Did you know about this?”

“I did, yeah,” Criston confesses. “We finished up the paperwork last week.”

“But we’re going to miss you,” Baela says. She sounds shockingly close to tears. Jace tries to soothe her and she shrugs his hand away.

“I know,” you concede. “And I’m going to miss you too. But we’ll still talk all the time, and I’m always willing to help you guys with anything, and maybe in the future I can visit—”

Aemond stands, his chair squealing against the hardwood floor, and flees from the dining room.

“That went well,” Jace says.

Aegon points towards the doorway Aemond left through and asks you: “Do you want me to…?”

“No, I’ll do it,” you say, and go after Aemond. He’s outside by the pigpen, his hair and t-shirt whipping wildly in the strengthening gusts of late-September air. Sparse raindrops fall from the sky. The pigs are agitated, pacing, oinking, scampering in and out of the shed they have for shelter. Aemond is smoking, embers glowing on the end of his cigarette; you purposefully stand upwind from him.

His voice is stunned and dazed and beneath that dangerously angry. “You’re leaving the tour.”

“Yes.”

“When we get on that jet tomorrow, you’re not going with us.”

“No, I’m not.”

“And you told Aegon and Criston but you didn’t tell me.”

“I had to tell Criston. And Aegon…” What can I say? What is the truth? “Aegon is easier to talk to about things like this.”

“So you feel like you can’t talk to me?” Aemond demands.

“Well, yeah, because sometimes you’re kind and patient and the single most incredible man I’ve ever met, and then something rattles your demons awake and you’re this…this…this vengeful, mistrustful, irrationally insecure person, and I can’t do anything right because you’ve already decided what my intentions are.”

“I want you to stay with Comet,” he says suddenly.

“I can’t, Aemond.”

“In Tokyo you asked me what I want, so now I’m telling you. I want you to stay.”

“Why, so you can sometimes love me and sometimes hate me, and refuse to build a new life for yourself, and relive what happened at the Budokan over and over and over again because that’s the background noise of everything you do now? Why?”

He gestures vaguely. “So we can figure things out.”

“I’m figured out, Aemond! You’re the one who isn’t and I can’t help you anymore, you have to do it for yourself, you have to want it!”

“You’ve never wanted to stay with me. You’re a liar, you’re a user. I’m glad Comet could fill that gap in your resume.” He takes a forceful drag and exhales smoke that the wind snatches away. “All you do is keep things from me.”

Venomous, violent disappointment blooms dark and scarlet in your veins. “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You watch him, mourn him, commit him to memory for when you can’t see him anymore, every thread of him, miraculous and doomed. Saint Jude, you think, a man your parents as good Southern Baptists do not pray to. You tell Aemond: “You’re a lost cause.”

“And you’re a nobody.”

You turn away from him like ripping a page in two. You don’t want anyone to see the tears welling up in your eyes, escaping down your cheeks, marking you as someone who was weak enough to believe you could save him. You know that’s not the way it works, you know people have to be willing to accept the truths you help them uncover like prehistoric bones. Still, you believed in him. Why? Why?

Because I wanted to. Because I love him.

Your flip flops pound against the soil of the driveway, raindrops leaving spots like freckles, dust flying everywhere. You swipe at the tears that blur your vision. When you are far enough away that nobody can see you from the farmhouse, you rest your trembling hands on your belly. The life in progress there is half-built of Aemond, you carry pieces of him around with you like coins jangling in you pocket. You can’t forget him. You can’t forgive him. It shouldn’t be possible to be so close to somebody and yet so far away.

There’s no one out on Route 210. Your flip flops cross from a dirt road to black pavement. You lose track of how long you’ve been walking. Five minutes, ten minutes, it doesn’t matter. What are minutes when your mind is years away?

How will I keep Aegon in my life without tabloids finding out about the baby? What will I tell my child when they ask who their father is?

A vicious wind, so strong it snaps branches from trees and almost knocks you over. And then you hear it, that sound that every inhabitant of the Lower Midwest knows: a deep rumbling like a train. You peer up into a sky that is dark and murderous and glowing a strange sickly green. And above your head, spiraling with increasing speed: a funnel cloud, an emergent tornado.

~~~~~~~~~~

Criston is herding everyone towards the cellar, bellowing, waving frantically: Aegon, Luke, Rhaena, Jace, Baela, Cregan, Daeron, five yelping Australian cattle dogs. Through the window, they can see the tornado approaching the farmhouse, a column of shadowy atmospheric fury, unpredictable and unstoppable, here and then gone, the meteorological version of a comet.

Aemond slams the door as he sprints inside from the field behind the house. He breaths heavily, his chest heaving as his clear right eye studies the band’s panicked faces. “Where is she?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘where is she’?!” Aegon pitches back. “She was with you! She’s with you, right?!”

Aemond looks at Aegon, looks through the glass at the tornado, grabs the keys to his 1960 Gold Star off the dining room table.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re running, but you can’t see; there’s dust and debris everywhere, there are pieces of trees and fences careening through the air, when you breath you choke on airborne earth. The wind keeps pushing you off the road and then you have to fight your way back. You have to find your parents’ driveway. You have to get to the house. The sun is gone, and the roaring like a freight train is louder, louder, louder. And now there is another sound too, a different sort of growling, mechanical and familiar. Punching through the haze like a bullet, Aemond and his Gold Star screech to a stop beside you.

“Get on!” he screams over the storm, then helps drag you onto the seat behind him. You link your arms around his waist and then you’re flying together, just like Rome, just like before Reykjavik or Paris or Singapore or Tokyo or East Rutherford or Las Vegas or any of the other cities happened, back when you believed you could cure him like a witch with a spell, back when you wanted him in a way that was unburdened by truths you wish you didn’t know.

The Gold Star rockets by trees, utility poles, fence posts seconds before they are ripped from the ground by 200 miles per hour winds. Aemond steers roughly onto the dirt road of your parents’ driveway. You cling to him, breathing him in: smoke, cologne, memories, nightmares, dreams. In the rearview mirror is a maelstrom of dark, churning grey peppered with wreckage.

Something collides with the motorcycle, a pence post, a tree limb, you don’t know, it doesn’t matter. The Gold Star is knocked off the driveway like a bloodied tooth from a jaw. You sail off of it as it begins to roll; you hit the ground hard on your back, loose a pitiful wounded howl, try to start crawling towards the farmhouse.

“No, stay down, stay down!” Aemond is saying over the roar of the tornado. He covers you, he shields you, he pins you to the ground, he puts his hands over your eyes. The last thing you see is the Gold Star lying on its side a few yards away, its wheels still rotating. It’s over 400 pounds, too heavy for Aemond to lift even if you helped him, even if that couldn’t hurt the baby.

The baby?? Your own hands go to your belly. You try to ascertain if the heat throbbing in your back has traveled anywhere else, reached with blood-red, needle-sharp talons to your child, to your future.

The wind is letting up; is that your imagination? No, the tornado is receding, the debris fall to the earth, the deafening runaway train made of rogue air evaporates. Cautiously, Aemond rises from you. When you look at him, the right side of his face is riddled with shallow, bleeding gashes; but his eye is mercifully unharmed.

“Aemond,” you say, pained, reaching for him, trying to clean the blood from his face with your sleeves, a hoodie with some boy band on it, men you don’t know and don’t care to meet, fantasies that pale in comparison to the reality that stains you like rust.

“I’m fine, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so…”

They come stampeding down the driveway: Criston, the rest of Comet, the barking Australian cattle dogs.

“Oh my God, they’re alive!” Jace exclaims, and soon everyone is there, surrounding you and Aemond like a circle, a ring, an orbit, something that goes around and around and might fade but never ends.

You aren’t worried about the baby. There’s no cramping, no pain except the throbbing in the curve of your back, blood loosed and then trapped, indigo bruises tattooed under your skin like ink. You press your palms to the earth and brace yourself so you can stand. No one is helping you get up; why is no one helping you? Why are they only staring, gasping, covering their mouths with shaking hands?

“You’re bleeding,” Aemond says, a panicked voice through fog. Slowly, like trying to run in a dream, you look down. There are thin rivulets of scarlet snaking their way down your thighs, calves, shins, ankles, painless ruinous tributaries, constellations unraveling until the patterns cease to exist, no myths, no monsters, no men, just senseless pinpricks of distant light you’ll never know the names of.

“No,” you whisper, like you can stop it from happening if you refuse to believe it, like it’s a mistake you can talk yourself out of. You gaze up at Aegon. Knowledge flies between you, something shared like an heirloom or an oath.

“Call an ambulance,” Aegon says to Cregan. “Tell them that she’s…” His eyes dart to Aemond and then back to you. “Tell them to hurry.”

Aemond is holding you, he is touching your face, he is asking: “Are you cut, do you need stitches—?”

“I’m alright, it’s nothing, it’s—”

“What are you talking about?! It’s not nothing, you’re bleeding, why are you bleeding?”

“Aemond, it’s nothing—”

“Tell me what to do, tell me how to help you!”

“It’s just…” And a sob breaks from your throat, and your words are brittle and splintering, and you can’t lie to him anymore. You’re out of time in so many ways. “It’s just the baby.”

[thatbanditqueen]

Smash!

An Elvis Presley fan fic one-shot

Summary: Eadie is walking up the canyon to her uncle's house when a beautiful stranger almost runs her over, out on a car ride to clear his mind. Inspired by a memo from the amazing Hal Wallis before Easy Come, Easy Go, complaining that fans and movie theater owners think Elvis looks bad, his hair is too fluffy and black, and he "doesn't look like a Navy frogman...."

A response to the writing prompt to write a scenario involving Elvis and a car/

WC: 2.7 K

Warnings: None, a non-deadly car crash, and probably typos. I tend to leave these writing prompts to work on during the day Sunday, and I am not sure this one turned out very well... but oh well I said I was posting it.

Tagging my compatriots @vintageshanny @be-my-ally @arrolyn1114 @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @shakerattlescroll @peskybedtime

Friday, September 9, 1966

Countyline Beach, the very edge of Malibu

It was getting harder to read in the evening light, and Eadie decided to give up, placing Valley of the Dolls down on her blanket. Setting back, she lingered on the beach, watching the orange and pink hues follow the sun and dance across the water in a rainbow of reflections just for her. It was lonely back at the empty house, but also a welcome reprieve from the hustle and bustle of Jakarta, which had been home for the last three years. Los Angeles was its own foreign terrain, a fact she had discovered after stepping off the plane last week, and she had yet to learn the rhythms and practices of its natives.

Looking out at the water, she stood, and wiped the sand off the bottom of her thighs, readying herself to walk back across the highway to canyon where her uncle lived. Eadie covered her eyes and looked over at Neptune’s Net, the run down, biker bar on the other side of the highway, and considered going for a beer and maybe some human contact. But she still didn’t yet feel confident using US money, and the line of Harley Davidsons out front gave her pause.

So, instead, Eadie slipped her sandals back on, threw everything in her bag, and walked leisurely across the empty two lane highway that stretched between the burnt, brown  foothill of the Santa Monica mountains to the beach. Looking over her shoulder as she started up the hill, she mused at how lucky she was to be here in the first place, housesitting on the beach in America, and made a mental note to ask how she could help out more when Uncle Ian returned from New York.  She wanted to be the kind of useful, grateful, houseguest he would invite to stay as long as she liked.

The sun was almost completely gone as she trekked up the hill, and Eadie startled when, lost in her own thoughts, she saw a large, chocolate poodle running down along the other side of the road. She walked to the middle of the lane, slapping her thighs and whistling, then slowly taking another step. Her stomach was a ball of nerves thinking of the highway 30 yards down the canyon, and what could happen to the dog if she didn’t catch it.

“Come here, boy, come here.” Eadie whispered in a slow, friendly voice.

The dog paused and quirked its ears up at her, and the recognition in its big brown eyes made her smile.

“That’s a goooood boy.”

Confident she was gaining its trust, Eadie slowly stepped towards the animal, and was just about to take another when the sudden loud roar of a car engine bounding down the canyon startled the dog into the brush. Eadie jumped back and fell down in the wake of the black convertible that swerved into the big rock on the other side of the road.

Eadie opened her eyes. The sounds of metal crashing and tires squeaking, followed by a stream of steady expletives, filled her ears. The swearing got closer as she heard a rush of footsteps that brought a tall, dark-haired man into view above her. She rubbed her eyes again, trying to focus. His blue eyes were terrified, and his face was pale, drained of blood, as he leaned down to prop her up from the dirt.

“Hey, hey hey hey hey, now, baby. You’re ok, you’re ok.”

Eadie put her arms around him, instinctively, before looking over at the crunched, smoking engine. Still in shock, she slapped his chest several times before realizing her palm was skinned and she was smudging blood all over his blue shirt.

“What the devil! Do you have any idea how reckless you are? You bloody fool, you could have died, or killed someone, driving down the canyon like that.”

The man shook his head, wiping her hair out of her face.

“And I s’pose where you come from, standing in the middle of the street is considered safe, huh?"

Then she remembered why she had been in the middle of the road.

“Wait, wait, I was in the- it - was - there was - oh no, there was a dog, there was a dog, put me down, we have to go save it.”

Eadie tried to stand, but stumbled, leaning on the man as she tried to walk another step, turning and looking around for the poodle. She almost went down completely on her next step, and so she didn’t protest when he scooped her up into his arms, but she continued to look around anxiously. Her stomach was tight again as she imagined the dog running out into one of the roads nearby.

“He was just here, please, I cannot bear to think of him running around loose, he’ll get run over, please. go see if you can catch him.”

The man shifted, his arms fixed around Eadie as he swung around in a circle, unable to ignore the intense urgency in her voice.

“Honey, there ain’t no dog here, wouldn't know which way to go.”

“Please, you’ve got to go look for him, I’ll never forgive myself, just set me down on your boot. There. He went off that way.”

The man looked deep into her eyes as he set her down on the trunk of his car, and walked over to grab her missing sandal and her other things laying in the middle of the road. He knelt down, wiped off her foot and slid her shoe on, in an almost maternal manner, then rubbed her calf before he standing all the way back up. He stared at her expectantly, as if he was waiting for her to say something. So she did, gesturing toward the brush

"Please."

“Listen, I can’t go chasing after some dog, lil girl, but I bet you dollars to donuts he's gone on home. Dogs are smarter than we give 'em credit. But I can't go a wild goose chase, baby, I gotta  figure out what I’m gonna do about this goddamn mess.” He kicked the front wheel of his car.

Eadie frowned, a wave of guilt washed over her. The dog, his car, the evening had turned into a fiasco in the blink of an eye. She bobbed her head in agreement, the guy was right, and she felt even worse noticing the smoke that was still coming out of his smashed hood.

“Oh, and your car. Think it will run?

“Oh sure, it'll run, alright. Run right into the junk yard. Ya not a mechanic, are you? The engine's gone, but also once a car gets all smashed up, it ain't never drive right again. Needs to be put out to pasture. Gonesville."

She watched as he looked past her, out the ocean, and his eyes got a sort of far away look, as if he were no longer talking about the car, but something deeper. His voice was so melancholy, Eadie's face crumpled in sympathy and a whimper escaped her throat. She wiped her eyes.

"Ugh, I think I'm in shock, still. But I'm sorry about your car, I really am. I feel so horrible."

The guy forced a half smile. "Aw, don't cry ,baby, I hardly had a chance to get attached.”

As if on cue, one of the gaskets popped and another furl of smoke went up from the engine.

“Oh it was new, that's even worse. And such a lovely car, though the steering wheel still seems like it’s on the wrong side, to me.”

“English?”

“Mhmmm, I’m Ian’s niece, I just got into town. You one of his neighbors?”

The man put his hands at his waist, or rather right below, and tapped his fingers over the top of his thighs as he leaned forward. He paused, lip hanging open, as he looked up from under his eyebrows at the road he had just come down and the handful of houses jutting out from the hills.

“Am I one of Ian’s neighbors?” He repeated back, the hint of an indignant smile curled at the side of his mouth. As if she had asked the set up to a joke.

“I haven’t met all of you, just Sarah and Mack, across from him. I’m Ian’s, niece, Eadie.”

She stuck out her hand, waiting as he hesitated, shifting and clicking his tongue before he shook it.

“Huh. Yeah, I think you might still be in shock honey, maybe you hit your head. How many fingers am I holding up?”

He passed his forefinger in front of her eyes, watching as she tracked it.

“Two. Look, I , I  - I think I’m ok to walk back to the house. How far up are you?”

The man shifted, mumbling something to himself under his breath that she couldn't make out. “Well, that sonofabitch mus really be right, people ain’t even recognizing me.”

He met her questioning eyes, and spoke up.

“Ugh, nah, I don’t live up there, jus took a turn off Mulholland to go for a drive along the coast, blow off some steam. It’s been a rough week, boy, been a rough week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, what line of work are you in?”

Eadie pushed off the car as she spoke, testing her balance and pulling her sun dress down over her scraped knees. She was just beginning to really feel the sore twinge running through her back from the fall. Looking over at him, it struck her that the stranger was standing in a way that almost suggested he was posing for her, and it made her giggle inwardly. He coughed again, running his hand through the tuft of black hair hanging over his forehead.

“I - I’m an actor.”

Eadie patted his shoulder, apologetically.

“Ah, right, well, that it explains your rough week, doesn’t it. I imagine it can be very hard going out here for you.” She looked up the hill, then back at his car. “Listen I’m not really in the habit of inviting strange men over. But, I, well, I feel somewhat responsible for your car. Is there someone you can call for help? Maybe a garage you can hire to come tow your car?”

“Huh, yeah, I reckon I know a guy or two I can get to come help me.”

“Promise you’re not an insane killer. Or rapist. Or burglar?”

The man grinned, looking down. “Whoo boy, no, no, no ma’am. You know women have asked me a lot of weird questions over my lifetime, but that one takes the cake. How do I know you ain’t the one trying to get me alone, so you can pounce on me, huh?” He winked at Eadie, grabbing his black satin sports coat from the back seat before setting out to follow her cautious gait.

“Is that something American women do? Go about attacking men?”

“Uh, well, lil girl, you’d be surprised. ”

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

Eadie had her misgivings as she led him into her uncle’s house, but there was something about his eyes, and the quiet way he mumbled inaudibly into his shoes that made her trust him. She changed into a nice pair of grey linen capri pans and a silk blouse, fixed her blonde hair neatly back with a headband, then looked around her uncle’s closet for some clean clothes for her guest.

Coming back downstairs, she stood for a moment at the landing, watching his tall, lanky silhouette shift back and forth in front of the large, open windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He held the phone cord in his hand, twisting it, before he turned, at the sound of her footsteps, and grinned, still speaking into the mouth piece.

“Yeah, I know it’s a new one. Nothing doin’.  Better get someone to come tow it, and then you come and pick me up too, huh? I’m on - where are we, honey?”

Eadie put the clothes down on the bar in front of him.

“Decker Canyon, just above the Pacific Coast Highway.”

“Got that Joe? We’re 'bout a mile off the PCH, street is Decker Canyon, right below Mulholland Drive. S' a ways out - anything round here?”

She gave him the only landmarks she new, the bar and a gas station a few miles before it, then bounced over to  see what she had in the fridge.  At the click of the phone, she turned back to her guest.

“Hungry? I can make us some omelets? Or bacon and egg sandwiches?”

“Sho, whatever’s clever, baby.”

Her eyes shifted over his body, noting the dirt all over the knees of his tight, white pants, and motioned to the clothes.

“I think you might be more trim than my uncle, and more stylish. But I brought you some clean clothes, if you want them. Your belt will probably do the trick.”

“Trim, huh?”

Eadie paused as she cracked some eggs, frowning at the wounded look on his face.

“Look, you don’t need me to tell you you’re handsome, I’m sure you know it or you wouldn’t be out here in Hollywood, trying to break in to your field. Right?”

He shook his head, and laughed as he strode over to her. Suddenly Eadie’s knees felt weak and it wasn’t from the crash. She dropped the egg shells she was holding.

“So you think I’m handsome, huh?”

“Well, from an objective view point.”

“Don’t think I look too fat?”

She shook her head, unable to speak, because she was too overwhelmed by the proximity of his body, his smell, the mix of sweat and spice and burnt rubber from the car crash.

“Or that my hair is too fluffy?”

Eadie forget all of the etiquette she had learned from the foreign finishing schools she had been to in India, Ceylon, Indonesia. She confidently ran her fingers through his hair, as if they were old friends or lovers, and not strangers who had just met.

“Whoever told you that is crackers. It’s just perfect.”

He grinned, and stepped back, walking off to change.

“You’re sweet, baby, know that?”

He hardly spoke when he came back in Ian’s clothes, mainly asking her about herself and what it was like to grow up as the child of an ambassador. Eadie answered his questions as they ate simple cheese omelets and drank the very sweet screwdrivers he had mixed for them.

“Ever get to the movies?”

There was a sly edge to the way he looked at her as they spoke, and she kept getting this eerie feeling of deja vu. As though they had met, perhaps he had been sitting in front of her on the plane and in the midst of jet lag, she had completely forgot about some small conversation they had. Something about his blue eyes poked at the back her mind. But she shook it off, and tried to summon all the charm she could muster.

“Sometimes they bring things in English for the Embassy, but it’s often drek. Or out cheap, British stuff. Everything from here, it takes a year of more to make its way around the world, and the dub it into Mandarin, Hindu, French, Jawa. I just saw West Side Story for the first time last month! Boy, that was a good one, dontcha think."

He pursed his lips, nodding as he ate.

"Everything in Tanzania was in French, but I that was always my worst class at school. They haven’t even got television in most of Africa yet. They set up the first station in Jakarta.”

He slid his hand over hers, and she stilled, feeling a swarm of butterflies take flight in her tummy as his thumb rubbed over her knuckles.

“American's liable to bore you, after all that.”

“Oh no, everything in America is so beautiful.” Eadie blurted out, then blushed at the smirk that grew on his face. “I - I mean the ocean, the landscape. It’s all so.” She inhaled, trying to give herself time to think of something more clever than just the same word over and over again. But she couldn’t. “Beautiful.”

His knee had just grazed hers, causing a whole other swarm of butterflies to flitter across her chest, when the doorbell rang, and Eadie jumped up to find a short, balding stout man with a wide grin, a big fancy car behind him in the drive. And before she had the chance to say beautiful ten more times, the stranger was kissing her on her cheek, his fingers linger on her neck for a beat, before bidding her farewell.

Eadie did the dishes, and wandered through the house, watching the lights of what must have been the tow truck take the black convertible away.  As she made her way upstairs to bed, Eadie noticed that he’d left his dirty, tight white trousers in the downstairs bathroom. Unsure what to do, she picked them up, and realized his wallet was in the back pocket. You could hear her shriek echo through the canyon when she looked at the driver’s license. His name was as well known in Asia as it was back in England.

“Elvis bloody Presley. I asked Elvis blinking bloody Presley if he was a rapist.” She let her head crash against the glass shower door. “Ughhh, Edith Elizabeth Isaacs, you are the idiot to end all idiots.”

She went to bed wondering if she should try to return his wallet for a chance to see him again. Or keep it as a memento to remember how Elvis Presley almost ran her over one time.

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

thanks for reading,

xoxox

norah

tagging as always @literally-just-elvis-fics

[missvelvetsstuff]

Just a Number

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader meets Bucky at a party and the attraction is more than either one of them wants to resist.

Reader is 47 and has adult kids who aren't sure about her new beau.

Chapter 8

Notes: it feels like it's been forever but I'm still alive. The holidays were rough, we were all sick and broke but my family is together and that's what's important. The husband and oldest are both working full time now and it's gonna take some time but life is heading back towards our normal level of broke.

My muse is very slowly waking up and I'm hoping to find the inspiration to get back to work on my other wip's and even have an idea or two for new stories.

I just realized that I've gone over 1000 followers and can only offer my shock and gratitude to y'all.

Hope this is worth the wait.

Warnings: swearing, angst

Y/N was too busy for the next few days to do more than work and sleep. Contract disputes arose in Malaysia which meant 3 nights away from home. It wasn't so bad, Pepper always had the best of everything and wasn't stingy.

She struggled to sleep with the time changes and late night meetings, only wishing she could go home to her own bed and sleep for at least a day straight.

That might not help her dreams. They started sweet before turning sexy and she never had the chance to get any release when they went bad. In one dream she let Bucky tie her up and he quickly went from teasing to torturing. If she was lucky she woke up screaming but sometimes she couldn't wake herself up and was trapped by the Winter Soldier, who then morphed into John, until something woke her up.

The first night home from Malaysia she woke up crying and went down to the kitchen for some tea, only to find Dawn waiting with her mug and the tea kettle whistling.

Dawn spoke softly.

"Come have a cuppa and talk to me Sissy. I feel like I haven't seen you in ages"

Y/N scoffed softly "Don't be so melodramatic I've only been gone for a few days."

Dawn shrugged "It's not the same here when you're gone. Maybe I'll get a dog."

Y/N smirked "Fine, as long as it's not some yappy purse dog. Pits and Shepherds are good."

Dawn's smile grew "You said fine, I'm getting a puppy next Saturday. You want to come to the shelter with me?"

Y/N smiled and nodded "I'm in."

Dawn poured hot water in their mugs "Now that's been settled. What's going on? I heard crying."

Y/N shook her head "Nothing. I'm just severely jet-lagged and can't sleep. My schedule is all fucked up. I'll be alright, just need some sleep. Luckily, Pepper gave me tomorrow off."

Dawn looked at her pointedly "None of that equals crying so tell me."

Y/N shrugged "Weird dreams involving James and John, I don't know how to sort them out. I miss James, was looking forward to seeing him and now I don't know when that will be. I don't miss Johnny but do hope he's alright."

Dawn nodded "Some sleep will help. And a puppy. Definitely need a puppy."

Y/N chuckled "So we can fight over who he sleeps with?"

Dawn smirked "So we'll get two puppies."

Y/N rolled her eyes at her sister and drank her tea before Dawn gave her a hug and she went back to her room to try and get some sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the other side of the world things weren't going much better. John hadn't stopped complaining since he saw Bucky that first day. Bucky had been getting some amusement over Johns whining but was ready to put him down after the three of them got into it with some small time organized criminals who accused them of dealing on their turf.

Or that's what they thought until Sam realized one of them was enhanced.

Instead of focusing on taking the men down, John spent most of that fight trying to get the shield from Sam who ended up hurt pretty badly over it.

Bucky had enough and was giving John a piece of his mind when John tried to sucker punch him.

Unfortunately for John, he was still adjusting to his enhancement from the serum, while Bucky had been fighting with the serum for decades and caught John's fist with his vibranium hand.

He glared at John but couldn't help smirking when John realized he was caught.

Bucky squeezed John's hand "You gonna stop acting like a bitch or do I have to break your fucking hand?"

John whined "No, you can't you'll lose your pardon. I'll say you started it."

Buckys grin grew as John fell to his knees "You're on thin ice with the govt already, sure you want to take that chance?"

John cried out "Fine! Fine. Shit!!" and clutched his right hand to his chest when Bucky released it.

Bucky offered a hand up which John slapped away, making Bucky laugh out loud before he went to check on Sam. They took a day to let Sam rest and recover.

By the end of the week looking for the power broker, nerves were frayed. Sam was ready to let Bucky have at John and just turn his head.

Friday night found the three men and Sharon drinking mini bar shots in a hotel suite in Croatia.

Sharon was all over Bucky even after he repeatedly and politely asked her to stop.

Sam was practically passed out on one of the chairs, mumbling out comments at the game of Cards Against Humanity they had been playing for 4 hours.

John was a little better off than Sam but likely only because of the serum.

Sharon had been going in and out for at least an hour but her occasional snores made John and Bucky giggle.

Bucky downed 3 tequila shots in quick succession, wishing for even a slight buzz for his efforts, before elbowing John in the ribs.

It didn't occur to him that he was inebriated and spoke in a slurring stage whisper "Hey" he tapped John's shoulder "Hey!" John mumbled then snored so Bucky slapped him across the face, 'gently' with his flesh hand "JOHNNY!!"

John sat up abruptly "What? Goddammit Olivia why are you waking me up. Stupid bitch."

He looked around for a moment before realizing where he was when he saw Bucky staring at him. John scoffed "What the buck do you want Fucky? Keep bugging me and I'll make sure you never get near my sister again."

John looked around some more until he saw Sharon "Sharon!!" When she groaned and rolled over he mumbled again. "Fucking cunt better wake up so we can....."

Bucky listened to his mumbling, trying to figure out what John was doing with Sharon. He couldn't understand why he felt drunk all of a sudden but blacked out before he could figure it out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the week flew by and on Sunday Y/N was preparing tacos for dinner with her kids.

Jessie arrived early and helped while discussing work and a guy she met on her lunch break.

Michael showed up late and Y/N could smell the alcohol on his breath. She wasn't pleased with that but knew it would make it easier to get his secrets out of him.

Y/N heard her phone dinging in her bedroom and left Jessie to watch the meat.

When she looked at the text there was no number listed and a bunch of dark pics with a nude couple, obviously mid coitus. She gasped when she saw the glint of gold on Bucky's left arm and her stomach fell when she saw the woman on top of him had long blonde hair that was definitely not hers. Her eyes filled with tears and she quickly shuffled to the bathroom to splash some water on her face and put her phone away to be dealt with later.

Jessie scoffed at her brother "What is wrong with you Mikey?"

Michael smirked at her "Just celebrating, my dear sister. Getting rid of some dead weight." He laughed at his comments and Jessie growled at her brother.

She grabbed his collar "You better not be screwing with mom or Sargent Barnes." She stood on her tiptoes and looked him in the eyes "I will fuck you up if you hurt her, Mikey. I'm not playing."

Michael scoffed "A little heartbreak today will spare her from much worse later on. Now can we eat yet?"

Y/N overheard Michael but couldn't understand half of his words. She shook her head, knowing he was up to something because he almost never drank, and walked up to her kids.

"Michael, can you set the table please. Auntie is out so it's just the three of us."

Michael scoffed "She's gonna end up with AIDS or something, as much as she whores around."

Y/N bristled and tapped him upside his head "MICHAEL DAVID! What the Hell is wrong with you? You will not speak of your aunt like that."

He rolled his eyes "You talk about uncle Johnny like that all the time. What's the difference?"

She sighed "Jessie, can you make some coffee for your brother?" Then turned on her son "The difference is that Dawn helped raise you and has always been there for all of us while Johnny disrespected me and your father every chance he got. Or did you drink so much you forgot about that? I don't know what's going on but you better think real hard about the next thing you say to me."

Michael looked in her eyes and spat "If you cared so much about dad then why are you disrespecting him by fucking a war criminal?"

His head was turned before he realized she had slapped him. His hand flew up to his cheek and he looked at her in shock.

"You know I loved your father and more importantly he knew but he has been gone for over 5 years. Do you expect me to live alone for the rest of my life? I'm almost 50, not almost dead and I deserve to be loved, dammit."

She paused to take a sip of her wine "And James is a good man who was forced into fucked up circumstances. The government has pardoned him and you don't need to make his life any more difficult than it already is." She shook her head "I don't know how you ended up such a selfish and judgemental prick but your father would be ashamed. Now help your sister bring the food in."

Michael just stared at his mother before walking away muttering "That assholes life will be real simple when he's locked up on the Raft."

He pulled his phone out and didn't realize Jessie was listening until he ran into her "What have you done, Michael? I can't believe you would sabotage Moms happiness."

He scoffed "She'll get over it. Be easy for a slut like her to find another guy."

Jessie punched him in the stomach and took his phone away when he doubled over. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the messages from their uncle and she shoved Michael to the floor before hurrying to the dining room

"MOM!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Early morning that same day, Bucky woke up feeling hungover, in a strange bed. It took a few minutes for him to sit up and remember where he was. He held his head and groaned, jumping when he heard a moan right next to him. He looked over and practically fell out of bed trying to get away from his bed mate. When he hit the floor he realized that he was naked. Grabbing the blanket he stood up awkwardly trying to cover his nudity. As he pulled on it he saw it sliding off of the person in his bed, who he definitely didn't want to uncover.

She groaned "Jimmy, baby what's wrong?"

Bucky shook his head "Sharon? What the fuck are you doing in here? I told you to leave me alone."

Sharon giggled "Yeah you started that way but as the night went on you got much friendlier. Come back and I'll show you." She invited as she uncovered herself.

Bucky closed his eyes and shook his head "Nononono, Sharon you need to go. I don't want this, I don't want you. This didn't happen."

Sharon pouted "It definitely happened. Wanna see the pictures?"

"What? Pictures? What did you do to me Sharon? I remember drinking, playing some crazy card game and waking up just now." Bucky felt his heart speeding up and felt light headed "No, this didn't happen. You and John did something to me. You drugged me."

Sharon smiled wickedly "Aawww, how could little ol me do anything to a big bad super soldier? I think you wanted me and took what you wanted. Nothing wrong with that." She shrugged. "I definitely enjoyed it and the evidence says you did too."

Bucky could feel a panic attack coming on and felt his knees buckle before he dropped to the floor, his head fell into his hands "No. This can't be real. Please God don't let this be real."

Chapter 9

@supraveng @cjand10 @440mxs-wife @kandis-mom @dtba-grey81 @calwitch @ozwriterchick

[n-evermores]

This Love is Ours (2/2)

A/N: This was a request from an anon. I was so excited to get it. I never thought of writing a part two for my first Alden Parker request, and honestly, I didn't even name that story! So I decided to give it a name now that it has a part two. Thank you anon for the request! Hope you enjoy. (This can be read without reading part 1) I was a little inspired by the chorus of “Ours” by TS for this one.

Pairing: Alden Parker x fem!reader

Summary: You and Parker swear you're keeping your budding romance a secret, but it's starting to become a little obvious to those around you. Especially Parker's dad, Roman.

Genre/Warnings: Romance, fluff, May-December romance

Word Count: 1500+

Part One

With your budding romance growing ever so swiftly, it was hard holding back, but you couldn’t say you didn’t put any effort into keeping your hands off your boyfriend. When he was in touching distance it was all too tempting to hold his hand, twist your arms around his waist, or simply kiss his cheek in passing.

Alden must have felt the same way because your elbow or the small of your back was his go-to spot to touch you when in close vicinity. He tried to make it look inconspicuous, but people were starting to notice, and by people, you meant your team.

The first person to notice was Kasie. You were standing in her lab with Alden. You both were listening to her long-winded spill when you felt Alden’s hand touch the small of your back. It was a subtle gesture, and you half wondered if he even noticed he did it. His hand slid up and down your spine as he leaned closer to Kasie’s screen. That's when she saw. Her curious brown eyes flickered down to his hand. Her eyes met yours and you offered her an uneasy smile.

“What was that?” She asked as soon as your boyfriend left the lab.

You just shrugged it off, shaking your head, “I have no idea what you're talking about.” You said.

Kasie wasn't the only person you had to gaslight. Jess was the next person to see something between you and Alden. You were in the evidence garage gearing up. He was struggling with a particularly stubborn strap and you reached out to help him with his bulletproof vest. He watched you eagerly as you tugged it down, fitting it to his body. He smiled, his eyes lighting up as your hands grazed his waist. You smirked, knowing what was going through his head.

“Down boy, we have a case to solve.” You murmured. He thumbed your cheek quickly before moving aside to finish putting on his gear. You could feel the weight of someone’s gaze and turned to see Jess gaping at you.

“What?” You asked, feigning ignorance at her gawking stare.

“Did I just hear and see what I think I did?”

“Depends what do you think you heard and saw?”

“Were you two flirting?”

You gave her an incredulous look and scoffed, “What? No. Never.” You shook your head before walking past her, “that’s crazy.” You added before heading toward the elevator.

Tim and Nick noticed you two flirting one day while out on a crime scene. Alden playfully took a picture of you with his personal camera. He brought it for the birds, but you were his real muse. You placed your chin on his shoulder, watching him scroll through the pictures of you, telling you his favorites. You glanced up and immediately removed yourself from Alden. Tim and Nick were staring, and instead of saying anything to you, they just exchanged a knowing glance with one another.

You may have been careless with your team, but you both tried very hard to keep it from his dad. At least for now. Your romance was new, and you enjoyed keeping it to yourselves for the time being. But considering Roman was kicked out of his retirement home, he was staying with Alden which meant keeping your little love affair a secret was starting to become a lot more difficult.

You sat next to Alden on the green couch in his greenhouse, while Roman sat in the chair across from you. You were eating pastries from one of Alden’s favorite places. Roman didn’t outwardly question your presence there, but you knew he silently wondered why you were always with his son. Alden couldn’t always use the same excuse as before, but his dad treated you kindly regardless.

“How do you like bird watching?” Roman asked you, although you couldn’t help but think there was an agenda behind his question.

“I enjoy it!” You grinned, your eyes meeting with Alden’s briefly. “I learned a lot. Your son is quite the encyclopedia sometimes.” You giggled.

“Yeah if he would have put all that energy into a navy career, he could have become a fine officer.”

“I lov—like him the way he is.” You said suddenly. You didn’t want to step on Roman’s toes, but you would defend Alden at any given chance. Your near slip-up didn’t go unnoticed by either of the Parker men. You ignored Alden’s glance, knowing he would bring it up later. Neither of you said “I love you” yet, but in truth, you did love him.

Roman gave you a closed-mouthed smile, his eyes flashing over you curiously. You knew he was very aware of your crush on his son. The day he realized was the very day Alden found out too. You could never quite tell from their conversation if Roman approved of it or not. You had your suspicions that he felt Alden was too old for you.

“I do too. Believe it or not.” Roman said just as Alden escaped to the kitchen. You smiled at his dad, knowing he really did love Alden for who he was despite his disappointment in his career choices. He probably wouldn't admit it, but it was obvious he was proud of him regardless.

“Still no boyfriend?” The old man teased you again. “As I said before–you won't find one hanging out with Alden all the time.”

You adored Roman, but it was so typical of men his age to ask about a young woman's love life. As is having a boyfriend was the be-all and end-all. You did have one, but that wasn't the point. You let a small sigh escape your lips as if to respond accordingly.

“Dad, stop with the nosey questions.” Alden chimed in as he moved in to sit next to you again. You threw him a thankful glance before Roman gladly changed the subject. The three of you talked about a lot of random things and you found yourself feeling more comfortable as the conversation went on. You glanced up at Alden as he laughed between stuffing his mouth with more sweets. You smiled fondly at him, watching the corner of his eyes crinkle with every smile and laugh.

Suddenly as if you forgot Roman was in the room, you reached out to brush your thumb across the corner of Alden’s mouth. He was talking to you and that's when you noticed a little pastry crumb there. His eyes locked with yours as the warmth of your hand grazed his now-flushed skin.

You both simultaneously tore your eyes from each other and you immediately dropped your hand from his face. When you looked Roman’s way he was giving the most bombastic side-eye you've ever seen. In fact, it was so obvious, one would swear he invented the entire concept.

Not wanting to embarrass either of you, he continued with the conversation as if nothing happened. You knew the embarrassment was written all over your face, but you carried on anyway as if Roman didn't just witness what he did.

Alden gathered everyone's plates before making his way into the kitchen. You excused yourself and followed not far behind him. You entered the kitchen to see Alden washing the dishes. You bit your lip, smiling through your teeth. He shook his head before drying his hands and reaching for you. You moved closer, allowing him to wrap his hands around your wrists.

“Two slip-ups.” He chuckled.

“I know, I didn't mean to—” You paused, your eyes dancing with curiosity. “Wait two?”

“Mhm. You almost said you loved me. Or did I hear that wrong?”

You released an uneasy laugh, “Um well, I—” You exhaled a shaky breath. Alden’s eyes gentled with love and darkened with lust all at once.

He leaned into your neck, his nose brushing against your throat, “Well, is that true?” He murmured against your flushed skin.

“I–” You began, but you couldn't bring yourself to say anything. Instead, you exhaled a shaky breath in response. He chuckled, before placing an open-mouthed kiss against the side of your neck. You melted against him and his hands slid to your waist.

He leaned back enough to catch your gaze. “I love you too.” He said before placing his lips to yours. One of his hands moved to cup your face while the other slid around your back and you found your body flush against his.

“I knew it.”

You pulled apart, both of you turning to see Roman standing there. He didn't seem surprised and there was no judgment in his voice. He just wanted you to know he knew. He shook his head in amusement before walking out, muttering something about “bird-watching and getting the ladies,” but you weren't entirely sure.

You glanced up at Alden and he scoffed, “Well, looks like we've been found out.”

“Good because I don't want to stop doing this.” You said before reeling him back in and kissing him again. Your kiss deepened and you suddenly felt the counter behind you and Alden’s hands on your waist. He lifted you onto the counter, never breaking apart from your mouth.

“I'm still just right here, y'know!” You heard Roman shout from the greenhouse. You both pulled back into laughter, knowing you had to stop anyway. Alden gave you one more little kiss on the lips before the two of you joined Roman in the greenhouse once again.

At the end of the day, you didn't care what anyone thought. This love was yours and no one else's.

[angclnumber]

𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑳 !

here to say that i want even more sapphic stuff so i want to get some thing going with the muses under the cut ! if you are interested in a starter from any of them then please like this post ! ♡

𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑺 .

DAWN MENKEN LIAW / director / bi / she + they / chase sui wonders

born in amsterdam and ( mostly ) raised in new york and has the weird accent to prove it, brought up by the world’s grumpiest old man and it shows, mother owns one of europe’s most successful talent agencies, guitarist in all girl punk band called atomic boob as a side gig, painfully pessimistic, a tortured artist trying to make it in the film industry, has an attitude problem tbh, janis ian coded .

HAVEN MAURY LIANG / weather girl / queer / she + they / havana rose liu

local weird girl who will flirtatiously read your palm at a party, has big dreams of joining cirque du soleil as a trapeze artist and is simply forecasting the weather until then, in love with love and everything to do with it while simultaneously being a commitment-phobe, victim of the perfect little rich girl to quietly disowned pipeline, the vibe of a drunk girl in a club bathroom, a lil ty lee inspired .

ROMINA ESCOBAR / reality tv star / lesbian / she + her / camila mendes

a part of a family reality show inspired by the kardashians, deeply codependent and therefore painfully loyal to those she deems deserving, more than kind of bratty, vain, and self absorbed, hates men and is loud about it, is probably the last one to figure out her sexuality because doesn't every gal just want to makeout with her bffs sometimes ? mildly inspired by jennifer check .

RUTH RANSOM / actress / bi / she + her / kristine froseth

daughter of a washed up rockstar and his groupie, mommy and daddy issues ( double homicide ), ran away from home at seventeen, energiser bunny adjacent girlie who never shuts up, the world's biggest flirt with the world's biggest commitment issues, stumbled into the world of acting half hungover and still in last night's glittery makeup, manic pixie dream just a girl inspired by penny lane.

SLATER KATZ  / rockstar / lesbian / she + they / ruby cruz

born and raised in australia, replacement child to an incredibly well off couple who wanted to save their marriage , has had a prodigious talent with music from childhood, has daddy issues, mommy issues, and anger issues, painfully obtuse with feelings, does not know how to talk to people, tends to hit first and ask questions later, never has an empty bed, billy dunn and daisy jones coded .

𝑻𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑺 .

ELM MOSSBACH  / museum tour guide / queer / she + they / taylor russell

works for a small museum in a small town in the middle of nowhere, generally the kind of place that people stop by for gas on their way to somewhere better, very much suburban gothic inspired in terms of environment . does she work at an oddities museum ? maybe so . longs for adventure but feels stuck, wants to get out of this town .

FELICIA 'FLICK' RELF / actress / bi / she + her / madelyn cline + meghann fahy

was in a mystery inc crew when she was a teenager and is the star of a limited series inspired by their exploits, is seen as a sellout by the other members of that crew but does it really matter if she's famous ? grew up in a motel as the daughter of the deadbeat parents who owned it, swears all the supernatural stuff in their stories is all fake, but was it really ? semi inspired by scooby doo and the x files .

KINSLEY 'KIDNEY' BEAN  / petty thief / bi / she + her / abigail cowen

raised by two parents who had too many kids to truly give a fuck about all of them, the only girl in a hoard full of brothers, has the accent of a southern belle and the charm to match, will use that charm to walk away with your wallet, has never been single for more than a few weeks in her life, responsible for more than a few gas station hold ups, inspired by villains ( 2019 ) and bandits in general .

LORENA FONTBONA  / grad student / queer / she + they / jenna ortega

drenched in dark academia vibes but exclusively the weird ones, family owns a successful board game company that a lot of them are convinced they made a deal with the devil for but ren has their doubts, a legacy in a secret society, game theory student who reluctantly plans to take over the family business, a natural cynic, april ludgate coded and semi inspired by ready or not .

OCTOBER 'TOBI' CRAFT  / f1 racer / lesbian / she + they / margaret qualley

white trash golden retriever, grew up in a trailer park without a lot of prospects so even she's surprised that she got this far, raised by a father that specifically always wanted one of one of his sons to race ( surprise, dad !), got discovered by chance while street racing ( allegedly ) and hasn't looked back since, can't go to a gay bar without running into at least five girls that she's slept with .

RAVEN ZHAO  / gas station attendant / bi / she + they / courtney eaton

final girl of death valley, nevada and no one will let her forget it, born as the child of a obsessive occultist and his lovesick wife and was abandoned by both respectively, spent most of her adolescence living in an abandoned 'cursed' church and ergo was the town's very own social pariah ( and the first scapegoat ) for it, refuses to go to therapy even if the killer ended up being her own mother .

WREN 'OZ' OSWIN  / athlete / lesbian / they + them / brigette lundy paine

raised by a couple of zoologists who named all of their children after animals and dragged them around the world for their work, one of seven kids, grew up homeschooled and therefore chronically online in search of community and it shows, a goober who just happens to be tall and surprisingly athletic, the world's biggest romantic but they try to keep that on the low, in the wnba .

WYATT KILMER  / student / lesbian / she + they / sophie thatcher

was the favourite child of the worst father in the world which sucked but happens to come in very handy in the zombie apocalypse, was taught to hunt under the guise of bonding, lost almost their entire family at the start of the apocalypse but is searching for their little brother, was the first person in their family to go to university but does that matter now ? deeply ( and reluctantly ) protective .

ZIAZAN 'ZI' DERIAN  / mortician / lesbian / she + her / angela sarafyan

grew up working in her family's funeral home and always knew she would inherit it, has a passion for her work that was also inherited, deeply romantic in an only mildly creepy way ( most of the time ), almost always finds herself going for the crazy ones, writes gothic literature under a pseudonym, vaguely inspired by morticia addams and lisa frankenstein .

[chaosinkest1996]

In The Graveyard with Lilith Rose Shelby (and Jack Nelson)

This work is inspired by @zablife and her 2K celebration: An Evening at The Arrow House. The OC of Lilith Rose Shelby is my own. The characters of Scarlet Shelby, Aurora Sabini, Heaven Shelby and Eva Smith belong to @zablife, @evita-shelby and @call-sign-shark. I only mentioned them because they inspired me. Eva is only mentioned by name but I did my best to do Scarlet and Heaven justice. Thank you for inspiring me.

TW: Violence, Sexual Content, Swearing.

Lilith Rose Shelby was all grown up. She’d flown the coop and (unlike most members of the Shelby clan) had miraculously escaped the clutches of Tommy’s schemes. Some suspected that her untapped freedom had to do with her immense luck in life… but for those who knew better….it was because Thomas Shelby loved no one more than his youngest sister. No one held such an influence over the greatest gangster turned MP in all of Great Britain (and its dominions) than Lilith, no one else had the keys to his smile or to his heart. You might ask Why, then, she was allowed to roam free? Not shackled to the Arrow House as Ada had once been to the shithole in small heath. Not obligated to attend every family dinner or family meeting that Tommy threw whenever he felt like it.

       “Why?” The new Mrs Shelby kissed up Tommy’s back as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Will she not meet me?” Of all the people she desired to make a friend of in this family, Mrs Shelby wanted to make the best first impression on her mysterious good sister. Everyone spoke of her with reverence. Lilith’s name was the very essence of sorcery. Once spoken, even whispered in corridors and in dark corners, a shiver danced up one’s spine…or one’s blood spiked with adrenalin and excitement.  

Thomas bristled and stiffened, not responding. Mrs Shelby paused, a pout forming on her nervous lips. In truth, she had expected for Thomas to be eager for his new wife to meet Lilith. The siblings were so close, that she’d expected for her to have been the first person he’d have introduced her to. Instead she was met with a cagey Thomas.

       “Lilith doesn’t like Arrow House.” He deflected easily, lighting a cigarette as he stood up and wandered to the window, looking out into the foggy grey autumnal morning. He exhaled some smoke in the way that had her swooning, before he spoke again. “It reminds her of Grace.” Mrs Shelby’s heart dropped. Grace, the woman whose shadow she was forever enshrouded by. She didn’t openly wish to express her dislike of Grace or Lizzie, but she was beginning to despise them. She knew their spirits were mourned and honoured in this house…. if only by the staff and the children. It was complicated. But she hated being compared to them, hated the way the children refused to acknowledge her but would gaze in awe at the portraits of their respective mothers. It made her feel like a replacement…. nothing more. Perhaps Lilith would think the same of her. She chewed on her lip.

        “She must have loved Grace a lot.” She mused. Tommy scoffed.

        “On the contrary, Lilith hated Grace.” He licked his lips, glancing at his wife. He’d put it politely for her, spared some of the details. No one hated Grace more than Tommy’s beloved little demoness. “She disliked Lizzie as well, but for different reasons.”

        “Oh.”

        “Grace betrayed me. Lilith refused to forgive that. The only reason she refrained from dancing with joy when she died was that she loved me too much.”

        “And Lizzie?”

        “Lizzie broke John’s heart.”  Tommy spoke casually, remorselessly as though he’d had nothing to do with it.

        “I’ve not done anything to hurt anyone.” Mrs Shelby sulked, looking at the floor. Tommy strolled back over to the bed and took her into his arms.

        “Quite right.” He kissed her forehead. “Perhaps it’s not such a bad idea to invite her this weekend.”

        “But she hates the Arrow House.”

        “She’ll come for the family, and for me. The kids will be delighted to see her”

        “She’s good with them?” Her interest was piqued. Perhaps Lilith could shed light on the way to Charlie and Ruby’s hearts.

        “She dotes on them.” He smiled, a real genuine smile. “They’re mine, after all.”

*****

Mrs Shelby skipped towards Tommy, her letter filled left hand raised in triumph. Her sparkling sapphire engagement ring sparkled in the light.

     “They’re coming.” She kissed him joyously. “They’re all coming.”

     “All?” He chuckled.

     “All.” She confirmed. “And they’re all staying. Scarlet and Luca will stay in the room opposite Finn and Aurora. Alfie and Ada will stay in the room opposite Polly and Aberamma.” Tommy smiled as she babbled out her arrangements. He imagined it was a good idea that Alfie and Arthur should stay in separate wings of the house…. otherwise Ada and Heaven would be forced to intervene, and no one wanted a mess. Gina and Michael would go next to Ada and Alfie. John and Tatiana would have to be kept in the room next to Tommy and Mrs Shelby so he could keep an eye on that mad bitch. Speaking of that insane Russian duchess…. she’d have to be kept as far away from Lilith and her beloved husband, Jack Nelson. Last Christmas had been a disaster when Tatiana – having had way too much to drink – announced that herself and Lilith had been lovers for the entire year before Lilith had met Jack. Jack had hated her guts since. The children would have three whole rooms to themselves. Something Mrs Shelby wasn’t sure was appropriate, but something Tommy had insisted was necessary.

     “They all love being together.” He insisted. “And it’s not like we’re giving them the entire house.”

     “I’m still so shocked they’re all coming.” She smiled dreamily up at him. “I’ve always wanted a big family.”

     “Well, now you have one.”

     “You never told me Lilith was married.”

     “Ah.” Tommy looked sheepish. “I didn’t think she’d bring him.”

Two years ago she’d eloped with Jack Nelson, the last man on earth Tommy had thought suitable or good enough for Lilith. Jack Nelson was everything Tommy (ironically) hated. He was unfaithful, violent, a fascistic Irish American and he was the most obnoxious, ambitious, cunning bastard he’d ever encountered…It was like looking in an ever so slightly warped mirror. His dislike of the American hadn’t stopped Lilith marrying him though…And yet somehow, the marriage worked. Jack followed the little Shelby witch round like a lost puppy, salivating whenever she looked at him. It was like she held some sort of magical enchantment over him. The loved up pair made Thomas feel a little bit sick. Mrs Shelby smiled teasingly.

      “You can’t stand him, can you?”

      “He’s not good enough for her.” He grouched. “But for some unfathomable reason, he makes her happy. That’s enough for me.” From the way he gritted his teeth it seemed like that hardest thing he’d ever had to say.

      “Everyone thinks you’re a big bad gangster…but I know you’re really just a big softy.”

      “Don’t go telling everyone, ey.” He laughed, “I have a reputation to uphold.” Wrapping his arms around her waist he hoisted her up onto the table, taking her lips with his own. Someone coughed. Tommy turned to see Mary, the maid.

       “The house is all prepared for the guests, Mr Shelby.”

        “Thank you, Mary. That will be all.” She nodded, turning to leave but not before she eyed Mrs Shelby with frigid, calculating eyes. Thomas didn’t seem to notice though as he shifted his attention back to Mrs Shelby as his fingers slid beneath the hem of her dress.

*****

They were nothing like she expected. None of them. Polly arrived first, gliding in like the image of sophistication, barely glancing at Mrs Shelby. Aberamma following closely at her heels. He grunted in greeting, simply tilting his head after removing his hat. Arthur and Heaven arrived at the same time as Scarlet and Luca. Arthur’s greeting had been sweet. He seemed to like her, spluttering over his words to greet her. His hands shook and his eyes looked a little wild. But he meant well. Heaven waltzed in behind him, looking like an angel in her white fur coat. The snow haired beauty’s presence seemed to ease Arthur’s nervousness. He wrapped his arm around her waist as she held out her hand for Mrs Shelby to shake.

     “You must be Heaven.” Mrs Shelby stuttered, transfixed by her crystalline eyes.

     “Pleasure.” Heaven’s eyes slid to Tommy and her expression instantly shifted to a predatory one. “Bastard.” She acknowledged with a cat like smile.

      “Yes. He is.” Scarlet stated as she sauntered through, pushing her way past them and following Polly into the drawing room.

      “You’re not going to say hello, Tesoro?” Luca paused in the hallway, smiling at Mary as she took his hat and coat.

       “There’s no point in greeting Tommy’s latest victim. Knowing him, she won’t last the year.” Scarlet called back. Tommy watched Mrs Shelby’s confidence dissipate momentarily. Headlights glowed in the driveway.

       “Heaven, why don’t you take Arthur and Luca into the drawing room.” Tommy suggested. Heaven’s icy eyes hardened before narrowing at him. Her lips parted in order to respond in a somewhat poisonous manner but Mrs Shelby stepped forward and whispered to her.

       “I wouldn’t normally agree with Tommy but Alfie’s just arrived.” Heaven observed the mouse like woman Tommy had married for a moment before she nodded, escorting her husband and brother in law to the drawing room. Music blared as the door opened and Mrs Shelby could see the reflection of Scarlet in the large mirror as she turned the gramophone up.

       “SHALOM Thomas!” Roared the bear of a man as he wandered in. Ada rolled her eyes beside him. She hugged Thomas tightly before embracing Mrs Shelby, much to her surprise.

       “I hope they’ve not been too scathing to you.” She whispered. “Don’t worry, they’ll warm to you with time.” She pulled back and smiled. “This is my son, Karl, my daughter, Elizabeth and this,” She brushed her hand over her swollen midsection as Alfie beamed with joy. “Is baby Solomons.” Tommy paled as she spoke, only just noticing the pregnancy.

        “Jesus Christ.” He muttered beneath his breath.  Mrs Shelby held his hand and gave it a squeeze as she spoke.

        “You’d better head on in before he has a stroke.”

Tommy had just about recovered when the door to the drawing room opened and he heard Arthur exclaim.

         “Fookin’ hell Ada! You bloody kept that quiet, din’t ya?!”

Finn and Aurora Sabini arrived next. Polite and jovial as ever, though Aurora didn’t appear to like the way the youngest Shelby boy looked at his new sister in law. John, Tatiana, Michael and Gina all arrived together. Lawrence ran in from the cold, zooming in circles around Tommy and Mrs Shelby before running past them to the drawing room, banging on the door and yelling “Granma, Granma!”

       “My boy!” Polly called in joy as she came out and greeted him, swooping down and collecting him in her arms before slipping back inside. Gina made a noise of disgust.

       “Thomas.” She acknowledged.

       “Regina.” She scowled as he full named her.

       “So this is you’re newest whore?” She studied Mrs Shelby with critical eyes. “She doesn’t look like much, I’m surprised you’re so taken with her.”

        “She’s worth ten of you, Regina.” He snapped.

       “Michael.” Mrs Shelby smiled warmly. “Thank you for coming.”

        “It’s nice to see you again, love. I hope he’s treating you right.”

        “He is. Very Much.”

        “I took the liberty of bringing a wedding gift. It’s out the front.”

        “That’s very generous of you. Really, you didn’t have to.”

        “Yes, Michael. You didn’t have to.” Gina snapped before stalking off to the drawing room and loudly demanding a drink. Michael winked at Mrs Shelby, smirked at Tommy and left them to it. He turned to greet John and Tatiana and froze.

      “Fuck!” He fumed. “What the fuck are you wearing?!” He looked at John. “What the fuck is she wearing John-boy!”

      “Don’t worry, Thomas.” Tatiana purred sensually. “It’s not for you…or your wife.” She stepped around him, the thin scrap of material she called a dress clinging to her figure. “Tatiana Petrovna Shelby, delighted to make your acquaintance.” Mrs Shelby blushed and stepped closer to Tommy as the Russian duchess invaded her space. Grabbing her jaw, Tatiana kissed both of Mrs Shelby’s cheeks.”

       “She’d got a beautiful neck, Thomas. I can see why you like her.” She paused. “And that ring!” She snatched Mrs Shelby’s hand, admiring the sapphire encrusted in diamonds. She tutted. “I would have thought you’d learned your lesson with sapphires.”

       “They’re a particular favourite of my wife’s.”

       “Grace liked sapphires too.” Tatiana smirked, her dark eyes flickering madly in the candle-light. “Is Lilith here yet?” She changed the subject.

       “Is she the reason you’re dressed like a whore?” Tommy took a swig of the amber liquid in his tumbler. “You not bothered by this John?”

       “As long as I’m the only man she fucks, doesn’t matter to me.” He joked.

       “It’ll only ever be you Johnny.” Tatiana turned and kissed him.

       “Aye, John-boy. As long as you’re a Shelby, she’s not picky.”

       “What’s that supposed to mean?” Mrs Shelby asked, nervously glancing at Tommy.

       “It means that before she chose me, she was fucking Tommy…until she got bored of him.” John answered. 

         “Are we interupptin’ somethin’?” Came Uncle Charlie’s deep gravelly voice. He stopped short to shake Tommy’s hand, flanked by Johnny Doggs, Isiah and Curly. Curly smiled bashfully at Mrs Shelby and handed her some flowers. She blushed.

         “Thank you Curly.”

         “How’re you findin’ us so far, petal?” Johnny Doggs asked loudly.

         “So far I’m struggling to find someone who likes both of us. Polly, Aurora and Gina dislike me, everyone else has a gripe with Tommy.” Johnny Doggs barked out a laugh. “Welcome to the clan!”

          “Families.” Isiah scoffed. “Who’d have em?”

*****

Lilith Rose Shelby was the most beautiful creature Mrs Shelby had ever seen. So beautiful, that the air rocketed out of her lungs when she first saw her. They heard Jack first as he escorted her up the steps and held the door open for her. She looked like a goddess, draped in silk. Tommy was fascinated that Jack never once looked away from her. His only greeting to the new Mrs Shelby was a nod and a smirk. He sneered at Tommy before his attention gravitated back to his wife. She had the most beguiling dark eyes Mrs Shelby had ever seen. They were like pools of endless night. Lilith catapulted herself into Tommy, who embraced her tightly and inhaled her scent. Pomegranate and dark amber. She relaxed into him. Releasing her, Tommy cupped his baby sister’s face in his hands and looked at her for a moment.

     “You grow more and more beautiful every time I see you.” He smiled.

     “Brother.” She spoke quietly….and she sounded like magic. Soft and sensual. “You look well.” She beamed at him. And Mrs Shelby’s heart fluttered at her smile. Jack snaked a hand around Lilith’s waist and pulled her back against him.

      “Shelby.” Jack acknowledged. “Married again? You can’t seem to get em’ to stay, can ya?”

      “Nelson.” Tommy spoke evenly. “I can keep women just fine. In fact, I’ve never had to cross a continent and steal a woman away to make her mine. I suppose that means I have better luck than you.” Lilith covered Jack’s hand with her own.

     “Or,” She interrupted loudly, “It simply means that I was special enough that he had to travel all this way to find me.” Mrs Shelby watched, fascinated as both men melted at Lilith words. Jack kissed Lilith’s forehead and Tommy smiled.

    “Could be.” He agreed. Lilith stepped away from Jack and turned her attention to Mrs Shelby. All the noise fell away. She couldn’t hear anything. Apart from the sound of her blood pulsing through her at a rapid speed. She glanced at her husband, and watched his beautiful lips move as he spoke to Lilith and Jack. She watched Lilith study her, eyes raking over her in an unreadable manner. Mrs Shelby’s finger twitched as Lilith’s eyes pause over her engagement ring, her full soft lips quirking into a small smile for a moment before it vanishes. Mrs Shelby gasped, startled when Lilith unexpectedly stepped forward and smiled at her. Lilith took Mrs Shelby’s left hand in both of hers. Her thumb brushed over the sapphire. Her eyes pierced into Mrs Shelby’s hypnotically and Mrs Shelby found herself transfixed as Thomas brushed a hand up and down her back, comfortingly…. obliviously.

      “Sister.” Lilith tested the word on her tongue as she surveyed Mrs Shelby. “You’ll be good to him, yes?” She sounded so innocent. So angelic. Her eyes held no malice. Mrs Shelby stuttered.

      “Y-Yes. I shall try to be all that he deserves.”

Lilith beamed at her and released her hand. Mrs Shelby’s ring finger throbbed momentarily as she watched her fascinating sister turn and enter the drawing room with Jack. She saw through the reflection in the mirror as Polly embraced her niece tightly and was startled to see Lilith’s reflection gazing predatorily through the looking glass at her.

*****

Dinner was a fucking disaster. It had been nothing like she had hoped. Perhaps she was just projecting her own fears but it seemed that none of them liked her…. even the ones who appeared to. It seemed as though they were watching her every move with a pre-existing negative judgement. She was guilty to them, of something. The problem was she didn’t know what and she didn’t know how to change that. Tommy had enough to deal with, especially after Tatiana had goaded Jack into a row and she was swearing at him in Russian. Arthur had had way too much to drink. Scarlet was screaming at Tommy for something he’d done years ago and Luca was trying desperately to calm her down. She turned to look at Michael, who was in a heated discussion with Gina…and Aurora kept throwing her dirty looks.  In the end she’d left the table, claiming to check on dessert. She’d just found a quiet alcove to take a few moments when someone touched her shoulder. She jolted and turned to see Lilith.

    “Feeling overwhelmed?” Her voice was so soft, sympathy swirled in her onyx eyes.

    “A little.”

A lot. I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

    “I know. We can be a lot to handle.” She looked out into the darkened garden. “Why don’t we go for a walk.” She suggested. “Take a moment to ourselves.” Mrs Shelby’s heart soared at the prospect of having a moment alone with someone who might actually like her and in doing so, might sway the opinion of the others. She nodded and took Lilith’s offered arm as the two of them stepped out into the cool autumn air.

It hadn’t been long since they had returned from their honeymoon and so Mrs Shelby hadn’t yet had time to explore the grounds of the Arrow House properly. In the dark murkiness of the evening she couldn’t really see where she was going and clutched on to Lilith’s bare arm a little closer for security. She smelt dizzyingly alluring. Away from all the smoke and whiskey the magic of her perfumed the air in a wonderful way. 

    “How did you meet my brother, if you don’t mind me asking?”

    “Da’s one of his employees at Shelby Company ltd. I met Tommy when I brought Da his lunch.”

    “How…. quaint.”

Mrs Shelby wasn’t paying attention. She was too bust staring at the purple love bites littering Lilith’s creamy throat. Lilith flushed and giggled when she noticed.

    “I’m sorry, I should have covered up more, Jack can get carried away some times.”

    “He’s very fond of you.”

    “And I, him.” Lilith patted Mrs Shelby’s hand. “I never expected to find Jack. But he’s my better half. As Heaven is Arthur’s and Luca is Scarlet’s. We were worried Thomas would never find someone….worthy.” Lilith stopped her movements and released Mrs Shelby’s arm. For the first time, Mrs Shelby noticed her surroundings. Lilith had brought her to the churchyard close to the Arrow House. She turned, only just able to see the outline of it looming in the moonlight. She shivered, looking back to Lilith who was now staring at something in front of her. “Thomas has very specific needs.” Her voice had lost all of its warmth. Mrs Shelby’s mouth ran dry as she read the names on the gravestones in front of her.

Grace Burgess Shelby.

Daughter, Mother, Beloved Wife.

Elizabeth Stark Shelby

Mother, wife, friend. Lost to childbirth.

Something rustled behind them. Lilith turned and smiled adoringly as Jack stepped out of the shadows. Mrs Shelby wondered how he had known where to find them. “You have to be a certain kind of person to survive in this family. Don’t you, my love?”

    “Ya got that right. It’s an honour to love a Shelby…to be prepared to kill and die for them.”

“Thomas needs a fighter.” Lilith reached out and caressed Mrs Shelby’s cheek. “You didn’t fight tonight. You fled, little mouse.” Lilith tutted and stepped closer, so close, Mrs Shelby could feel Lilith’s sweet, warm breath burning against her flesh. “How can I trust that you’ll fulfil him?” Lilith shook her head, looking sad, disappointed even. Jack brushed his wife’s hair off her shoulder, exposing her flesh. He pressed a kiss into the crook of her neck. Mrs Shelby watched Lilith relax a little. “You’re not good enough for him.” Lilith purred softly, Jack’s lips and tongue trailed down Lilith’s neck as she spoke. “Neither of them were, either.” She glanced to the gravestones behind her. “I was lucky with Lizzie; God took care of her. But I had to intervene with Grace.”

  “B-but we’re happy.” Mrs Shelby spluttered, fear creeping into her voice every second longer that she spent in Lilith’s presence.

   “For now. Until he realises that you’re not enough for him.” She paused, relishing in the look of despair on Mrs Shelby’s features. “Don’t worry. He’ll be happier than ever with Eva. They’ll be perfect together.” Jack hummed in agreement with his beloved and imprinted his teeth in a perfect love bite into her neck as she slid home a beautiful carved and somewhat bejewelled blade into Mrs Shelby’s sternum. Mrs Shelby gasped in pain, a sharp sound leaving her soft lips. “She’s earned him, you haven’t.” Lilith continued as she twisted the hilt, a horrible tearing noise was heard before Lilith let go. Mrs Shelby staggered back and fell back against the willow tree overhanging the makeshift graveyard.  Lilith looked down at her blood spattered fingers. Lifting them to her face she licked one, smearing her lips in the substance. Greedily, Jack took her fingers and painted his own mouth with them. Lilith spun in Jack’s arms, giggling and moaning as their lips fused, unbuckling his belt. She murmured something to him and he acquiesced without question, sitting and leaning back against Grace’s headstone. Lilith slipped her dress over her head until she was wearing barely anything in the coldness of the autumn night. She straddled Jack, kissing him deeply before sliding down onto him in the ghostly glow of the full moon.

Mrs Shelby heaved, opening her mouth. She tried to call for help but no sound emerged. Instead she found herself mute, only coughing and spluttering on the crimson blood as it tried to liberate itself from her mouth. Her vision grew blurry for a moment as tears gathered and obscured her sight.

And then she saw them.

The ghosts of Grace Burgess and Lizzie Stark, both completely drenched in blood and staring in horror, not at her but at Lilith and Jack, as he flipped his wife over and took her like an animal. Lizzie’s expression was melancholic. Her hair loose and wild, eyes ceaselessly spilling tears and her mouth agape in silent cries of agony. Her body had been slit open from chest to lower abdomen and still, even in death, she was bleeding. Grace stood beside her still in the gown she wore the night she was murdered. the bullet wound on her chest still wept even though she didn’t. Her face was curiously, disturbingly calm. The sapphire around her neck pulsed and throbbed and pulsed and throbbed. And suddenly Grace wasn’t looking at Lilith and Jack anymore, her pale grey eyes locking onto her second replacement. Mrs Shelby found herself growing shivery and yet unable to move, unable to scramble backwards as the sapphire whispered to her over and over some kind of spell in Romani. The curse…. she recalled hazily as she forced her limbs in an attempt to move. Tommy believed it had been cursed by the Russians. Mrs Shelby’s fingers dug into the soil as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Every movement was excruciating in both pain and in effort. Her eyes fluttered closed in exhaustion and the spell of the sapphire seemed to sing louder and louder, it’s feminine voice echoing seductively in her ears. She realised it was coming not only from the necklace Grace’s ghost wore, but also from the ring on her engagement finger. Struggling, she tried desperately to remove it. But to no avail, it was as though it had fused to her flesh, strangling her finger.

Mrs Shelby’s eyes snapped open. Just in time to see the ghost of Grace stood over her.

“I should feel sorry for you.” Grace whispered. “You’re a victim of this family, just like me.” She paused, licking her discoloured corpse lips. Grace heard it too. She heard that it was Lilith’s voice cursing her inside the blue sapphires, not Tatiana’s. “And Tommy does love you.” There was a moment of silence. “But… I’ve come to realise something.” Grace leaned down and kissed Mrs Shelby’s lips, her ghostly fingers coming up to wrap around Mrs Shelby’s throat. “If I can’t have Tommy…” Grace murmured as she pulled back looking deeply into Mrs Shelby’s eyes.

Her grip tightened...and tightened…and tightened. Mrs Shelby choked and spluttered, her body convulsing. The last thing she saw was Lilith’s dark eyes staring at her over Jack’s shoulder, her nails digging into his back as he held her to him. And Grace’s hoarse voice looming over her.

“Then no one can.”  

[juliasdowntonstuff]

Intoxication

I've written a new one shot (it's slightly too long to be considered a drabble, I think)

This one was loosely inspired by James Blunt's song “Bartender” and takes place a few weeks after the entire Bricker-incident came to a head that evening in Cora´s bedroom.

This is also the first time I've written something as explicitly M-rated as this (please let me know what you think of it). The second half of this contains said explicit parts and I will try to divide that off with that line feature for people who might not want to read that.

For now, I hope you enjoy some drunk Cobert on a night out in London...

It was a cold, yet still rather pleasant, evening when Robert and Cora walked along the pavement in London Mayfair. Their destination, the grand hotel and restaurant Robert had chosen for them that night, was already in plain view ahead of them. He had not told her where they were headed, but the familiar sight of the red brick facade with its many nooks and balconies was all she needed to see to know. He had selected their favourite restaurant, Claridge's - a decision no doubt influenced by the last time he had tried to take her out to dinner and failed because of a stupid decision she had made. 

What was supposed to be a nice surprise on his part had turned into a night both of them regretted, or at least she hoped so, for she certainly regretted every aspect of it in hindsight. He had said quite a few things she found hard to forgive when she had returned to Rosamund's house in Belgrave Square and found him waiting there for her, but she and her behaviour were the reason he had uttered them, she knew that.

Their entire exchange from that night was still very much present in her mind as they silently walked in the direction of the grand entrance. It was unusual for them to talk so little, they always found it quite easy to talk to each other about anything and everything. Cora would have been more than happy to listen to him rant about the next problem the estate was going to have to face or what the farmers had said the day before when he had visited them together with Mary on his rounds, but he stayed silent and kept to himself. They were not on good terms, that much was certain. He had even taken his hand back after he had helped her from the motor, letting it fall back to his side instead of holding it out for her to put her hand in the crook. Things had been amiss for weeks now, months even, and she did not know what to do or say to get her Robert back. They had talked about it and things had seemed to be looking up, but that had been an illusion.

She looked over at him and saw his eyes fixed on some point ahead of them, almost as if he were ignoring her entire existence next to him. She could almost swear that she even saw his jaw clench when he saw her face turning to him out of the corner of his eye. Cora felt as if she was still not forgiven, even though weeks had passed since that night, and he had apologized for his behaviour with a beautiful set of pearls the last time they were in London for Rose's wedding. Things had returned to normal in the weeks after that - apart from the aspect of their marriage that she usually described as terrific fun. They had been better, or maybe she had just thought they were. The palpable tension between them as they walked to the restaurant was almost too much for her to bear.

Cora was shaken from her musings when they were greeted by a young man in uniform and she suddenly found herself in the restaurant that held so many happy memories she shared with her husband. But she couldn't help but feel a slight disappointment well up inside her while they waited for the young man to find their reservation in the book. The prospect of a rather frosty dinner - if their journey here had been anything to go by - did not seem too enticing to her.

“Excuse me, Mister Crawley, but I can't seem to be able to find a reservation made under that name.”

Her head snapped up, looking at the young brown-haired man in uniform, who was somewhat frantically running his finger down the list of names with reservations for that night. He must have been rather new to this post, judging by the sheer nervousness his entire being exuded.

“Please check again, I definitely called in a week ago,” Robert said calmly, even managing a small smile. It was clear that he was not at all used to being in a situation like this one. He had never had any problems at restaurants or hotels to find reservations. The mention of his title would always be the winning argument, even though he tried to refrain from using it too much. 

When the young man still couldn't seem to find their reservation in the book, Robert sighed and decided to play his trump card: “Try Lord Grantham then, maybe whoever put it down used the title instead of the family name.” He was getting impatient and it reflected in his tone, even though he still stayed cordial and polite.

It only took a few seconds and another run of his finger down the extensive list for the young man to look up again with a smile and exclaim:  “Ah yes, there we have it, Lord Grantham, sir. I am very sorry for this hold-up. If you please want to follow me to your table, milord, milady?”

Robert had to put a lot of effort into not wincing at the younger man's wording. Proper etiquette must have been a lesson taught in his no doubt costly education he had missed for one reason or the other. Or maybe the war had changed more things than Robert could fathom. 

Cora wasn't sure if he had truthfully spied their title on the list of reservations or if it was the mention of said title that did the trick, but she was grateful nonetheless. The situation was becoming quite embarrassing the longer it had seemed to stretch. 

The mutual silence continued well into their main course, only disrupted by Robert ordering their food and drinks and some pleasant and rather polite small talk about the food in front of them, which was an unknown sensation to her. This might have been more than acceptable for most couples in the peerage - couples who did not love each other. But Robert and Cora did - they had for more than three decades until their relationship had taken a turn for the worst without either of them seeming to be able to find a way back to the other. This evening proved it. The last time they had had a shared dinner with just the two of them in an atmosphere as uncomfortable as this one must have been on their honeymoon, while they were still trying to get to know the other.

The lack of talking, however, caused a spike in their intake of alcoholic beverages with their food, each of them taking a sip when they would have usually said something that could potentially interest the other. Cora couldn't remember the last time she had this much to drink with her dinner or in general, and she could already feel the inebriation starting to get the better of her judgment. The background noise droned on, washing over her repeatedly and in combination with the wine was making her feel slightly dizzy.

Robert might have been more used to drinking alcohol than she was, or at least he could stomach it better, but the alcohol slowly got to him as well by the time their dessert arrived. The music playing in the background was not quite to his taste - jazz was too modern for the traditionalist in him - but the longer the dinner stretched, the more he couldn't help but want to take his wife's hand and guide her to the dance floor in the middle of the classy dining room with the art deco interior.

She looked beautiful that night - not that she was ever anything but beautiful to him - but something about her dark hair in that intricate coiffure and the different shades of blue fabrics of her dress complimented her features even better than usual. 

He reached out his hand, waiting for a response from her. All he got, however, was an arched eyebrow in question, her gaze flickering between his big hand and his face.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked when he realised she had no idea what his outstretched hand was alluding to.

“Really, Robert? Here, with the jazz music you hate?”

He nodded his head yes. Some part of him was aware of the hesitance in her question that offered him a chance to retract his invitation, but his slightly intoxicated conscious mind couldn't care less. 

Hesitantly, she abandoned her bombe glacée that had just arrived together with his Eton mess and gingerly put her much smaller hand in his, letting him guide her to join the handful of other dancing couples.

He had never experienced a dance feeling so foreign and yet so familiar in his more than 50 years of existence, not even when he had not yet been taught all the different traditional dances a future Earl had to know. The music that softly filled the vast room lacked any sense of regular and danceable rhythm, at least according to him at that moment, and he struggled to think of steps that fit this particular piece of music. The tall and slender figure in his arms, however, was most familiar to him. He had spent hours upon hours twirling his darling wife around so many different ballrooms over the course of their long-standing marriage. Robert had never enjoyed all these grand balls, had hated the need to socialise with other Earls, Barons and Dukes whose names he could barely remember at the end of the night while his wife was at the other end of the room, talking to the wives of other members of the peerage. Many a night was spent like that, him nursing his drink while listening to the boastings of the other men about their last successful hunt or the new mistresses they had found to keep them happy and occupied in their loveless marriages, while he could only stare at the source of all his happiness across the room, waiting for a chance to excuse himself from the situation. It was their way of finding the joy in these long nights that always seemed to stretch incredibly long, twirling around the room to the familiar rhythms of waltz after waltz. 

At first, Robert stumbled around the dance floor more than he danced, Cora merely following his lead, or rather lack thereof. However, at some point, she must have taken over and started manoeuvring them skilfully around the floor under the grand chandelier illuminating the equally grand room, without it looking too obvious to anyone who might have been watching them. Robert should have kept an eye on their surroundings to prevent them from bumping into other dancing couples, but he could not get himself to drop his gaze from her face. He studied it even though he knew her features better than the back of his hand - he knew her mouth that formed a hint of a smile at that moment, and he knew how her lips felt pressed to his in a fiery kiss. He knew her elegantly sloped nose and how it scrunched up when she was not holding in her laughter at something, completely disregarding etiquette and propriety when it was just the two of them. He knew her brilliantly twinkling blue eyes and how they always conveyed her innermost emotions, no matter how hard she tried to be stoic upon his mother's countess' training she had had to undergo after their wedding. Her eyes were not simply blue, but Robert couldn't name all the shades of that colour represented in them. Cora, or any other woman for that matter, probably could have. 

He couldn't care less about the names of the hues present in her eyes - what he cared about was the love for him he always saw reflected in them. It had been a while since he saw that love, and this time it had all been entirely his fault. He had pushed her away and into the arms of another man. Nothing had happened though, and for that he thanked God and whoever else might have listened, but it bugged him beyond belief nonetheless. How could he have been so incredibly thick? 

Maybe it was the dancing, or maybe it was the amount of alcohol they had both already consumed, but he could have sworn that he saw that love in her eyes again as they danced on the black and white checkered floor.

Before long, the current song came to an end and gave them the chance to return to their desserts. While they were gone, a waiter had refilled their glasses without so much of a question.

“When did you learn to do that?” he asked before taking a bite of his dessert. He relished in the sweetness of the meringue combined with the fine acidity of the berries. How anyone could prefer some heavy chocolatey dessert to the lightness and freshness of his chosen dessert was beyond him. Cora had, years ago, tried to explain to him that she just preferred the heavy sweetness of a chocolate cake or mousse after all the savoury dishes of earlier courses, but her point had never stuck with him - they had simply agreed to disagree.

“Do what?” she replied, cutting into the small dome covered in chocolate on her plate.

“Dance to this sort of music?”

She looked up from her sweet and chocolatey ice cream-filled cake at his question, a forkful of it coming to a halt mid-air.

“Do you remember Rose's stay with us and her surprise for your birthday? Well, I asked her to teach me one or two things afterwards. It never hurts to stay up to date with new things, be those fashions, foods, or dances.”

“Quite right. Rose did a splendid job then. I do not know why I asked you to dance when I had no idea how to do it, you saved me from quite some humiliation, my dear.”

The words slipped from his mouth before he could think. He had not used any term of endearment for her in months, given their strained relationship, and he had no idea how she would react. This evening was planned to hopefully bridge the deep divide between them, to mend what had been broken for too long and he knew he could not afford to take a wrong step. The fact that she had agreed to dance had signalled him that he had chosen the right path, but would this jeopardize it? He waited for a response with bated breath, deciding instead to stare down at his plate.

“I should like to think you asked me to dance because you wanted to.” Her tone was hard and matter-of-fact, it was an unfamiliar sensation to hear her speak to him like that. 

He looked back up at her, a slight blush on his cheeks, while he finished the last of his dessert.

Robert saw her cheeky smile and the twinkle of mirth in her eyes. She was mocking him, he should have known she was. She was his wife, and he had spent more of his life with her by his side than without. Of course, she would find a way to lighten the mood with her humour.

Her gaze changed, no longer challenging him. Instead, her eyes softened further and she smiled gently at him. Her enticing, disarming smile that brightened even the darkest of rooms enchanted him. It reminded him of the smiles she used to give him while they were sat around a dinner table when his mother had once again made everyone feel uncomfortable, most especially the two of them. No matter how crude his mother's remarks had been, she would always make sure that he knew that she supported him and would take in stride whatever was thrown at her.

“The rest does not matter, Robert, not to me. And I could not care less about what the other people thought of me leading the dance - if they noticed at all, which I doubt. People are rarely interested in things that do not involve themselves.”

She finished the last of her dessert, followed by another sip of her wine.

Robert felt the tips of his ears warm further, no doubt they must be flaming red by now, much like his cheeks. After gulping down the last of his beverage, he said: “Would you like to go home?”

Not long after, they both found themselves in the back of the motor taking them home to Grantham House in St. James's Square. It would have only been a twenty-minute walk from the restaurant, but both knew that they had had too much to drink to think it sensible to walk the entire way.

The butler had taken their coats and bid his goodnight upon their late arrival, locking the grand wooden doors behind them as they made their way up the many steps. Both, Robert and Cora, stumbled one or two times as they ascended the stairs leading to their rooms in their London home, giggling quietly while trying not to garner any more attention in the mostly empty house.

Cora was still holding his hand, which he took as a good sign. She had taken it in hers on the short ride home from the restaurant, letting it come to rest in her lap. He had chosen not to comment on that gesture, afraid he could ruin that understanding that seemed to have formed over the course of the evening.

They walked along the scarcely-lit, long and narrow hallway leading to both, her bedroom and his dressing room, with her walking slightly ahead of him, almost as if she were dragging him. When they had reached the door to her bedroom, however, he rather forcefully turned her around, hindering her from reaching for the golden doorknob. She gasped slightly at the suddenness of his action, her entire body stiffening in shock.

The next thing she saw was her husband's face mere centimetres away from her own, his blue eyes staring at her intently. She could feel his hot breath on her face and she saw his dilated pupils, her hand still firmly held in his while his other one found its way to her waist, pulling her closer to him. Before she knew it, she felt his lips crashing down on her own in a hot kiss that knocked the remaining breath out of her. Soon, his hand let go of hers and found its way to her face, caressing her jaw as he continued to kiss her hungrily.

The sudden sensation of his touches and kisses made her entire body tingle, it awakened a desire for him she had not felt this strongly in months. Cora wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself even closer than before, her body now pressed flush against his as she stood on the tips of her toes. Her hands wound themselves into his grey hair, playing with the slight curls at the back of his neck, tugging at the locks ever so slightly. He always kept his hair nice and tidy, mostly shorter than this so that it would not curl, but she had always adored his curly hair and the boyish charm it had added to his appearance.

Robert broke their kiss, drawing his face back a few centimetres to look at her flushed face while she was gasping for air. His hands were still on her neck and waist, with seemingly no intention of letting go and he smirked naughtily at her, aware of the effect his ardent kisses had on her.

“Maybe we should go inside before someone finds us out here,” she whispered in response.

Robert did not respond in so many words, but kissed her again, pushing her backwards closer to her bedroom door so that she was pressed firmly between the white lacquered wood and his body while he tried to find the knob to let them in without looking.

He kicked the door shut with his foot once they had entered the smaller room that was already tinged in warm hues of orange and red emitted by the crackling fire in the hearth. After turning the lock on the doorknob to keep any possible intruders outside, his hand once more encircled her waist, the other one running over her back, fumbling with the top buttons of her dress, trying to pry them open without tearing them off. 

She pushed his dinner jacket from his broad shoulders before her nimble fingers quickly worked on his already crooked bow tie and waistcoat, discarding the items in a pile on the bedroom floor. His kisses became even hungrier, his tongue exploring her mouth, dancing an all too familiar dance with hers. He could still taste hints of the red wine he had ordered, mixed with sweet notes of chocolate left from her dessert of choice.

Cora broke their kiss again, turning around in his arms while pantingly whispering: “This should make it easier. I do not want to have to explain any ripped-off buttons to Baxter in the morning.”

Robert only chuckled lowly in response, thankful that she made the hard work of undoing the countless buttons of her dress just a tiny bit easier. Once he had undone all of them, his hands ran up and down the sides of her body, coming to rest on her waist and shoulder. He bent down, placing a trail of soft, feathery kisses on the exposed skin of her neck before he started to take out the many pins holding her hair in place. While he was amazed by the sheer amount of pins stuck in his wife's hair to make her elaborate coiffure stay in place, she let her dress fall to the ground, her arms reaching for his head behind her back, pulling him closer to her, urging him to continue his kissing ministrations on her neck.

He also made quick work of her undergarments and chemise that joined his already discarded jacket and waistcoat on the floor.

Her hair now let down from its prior intricate up-do, she turned back around to face him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Before he knew it, she had unclasped his cufflinks faster than he ever could have - he had always struggled with them and was thankful for his valet who always did the fastening of them for him -  and just as quickly undid the buttons on the front of his shirt, which then piled on top of the rest of their clothing.

He bent down to kiss her again and he was met with her wandering hands roaming his chest, arms, and back before she broke their kiss yet again. Robert had to suppress a groan of annoyance at the interruption, only to be pleasantly surprised when she walked to the bed, her hips swaying from side to side. He couldn't help but stare at her naked form. If she only knew the effect she still had on him. Well, she must have had an inkling of it, otherwise, she wouldn't have tried to tease him like that. 

Gulping, he quickly rid himself of his polished leather shoes and discarded the rest of his clothing and joined her on the canopy bed. 

Robert kissed her, his mind feeling hazy as his hands wandered over her delectable body and hers ran over his chest, only to find their way back into his hair, further mussing it. He knew that whatever this was they had started was not going to take long to finish that night - he turned them over so that he was hovering above her, stilling his kisses to look at her, silently asking for her consent, just like he always did. No matter how intoxicated he might have been or how much she had teased him up until that point - he would always ask, not wanting to force her to do anything she might not want. It was a remnant of the early days of their marriage when he had had trouble distinguishing between his desire for her and his duties as a husband while not taking advantage of his wife.

She knew he would ask, he always did. When they were younger, she had thought this to be his guilt making a reappearance every time they shared the bed, which had annoyed her more than anything. But she had grown used to it and had come to find it very endearing, she had realised that this was just his true, gentle nature and it was another aspect of her husband that made her feel like falling in love with him all over again every single time.

Cora's back arched upwards, her chest pressed close to his, when he finally entered her. Her arms came up to keep him close as he filled her out, waiting for her to adjust to him again. It had been months since they last shared their marital bed in that way, but it felt so good and familiar, the both of them quickly finding their shared rhythm in bed again.

Their heavy breathing filled the room, joined by moans and whispers of endearment by either spurring each other on. Her hands continued to roam his upper body and ruffled his once-tidy hair, while he alternated between kissing her mouth hungrily and nibbling at that sensitive spot on her neck, which he knew to be one of her weakest spots. 

They moved together as one as he sped his rhythm up, knowing that both of them were close to their highest high. He softly kissed and nibbled at that sensitive spot just below her ear and heard her moan his name in response. When he felt her walls convulse around him, he couldn't help but get undone himself, kissing her fervently as his motions stilled.

He opened his eyes a few moments later, panting from their exertions, and looked down at his beautiful wife lying still beneath him. Her chest was rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath herself. She looked so serene with her eyes closed, and her long wavy hair splayed out on the pillow beneath her. Robert would almost describe that view as angelic and it hit him yet again.

He had been so blind, Bricker had been right - it pained him to acknowledge that fact given the history, but it was true. Robert had all he could ever wish for and more, and he had taken her for granted, had passed her over and ignored her when she had started to get more involved with the things she truly liked to do, simply because he was afraid of what might or might not happen. And in all his caution of changing things too much, he had almost destroyed the very thing he cherished the most by not trusting her like she had always trusted him. He had been such a fool to ignore his wife, his darling Cora, and had almost lost her and her love in the process.

Cora opened her eyes as he let himself fall to her side. She watched him, her eyes still darkened by desire, as she turned on her side to face him.

“You know, I almost forgot what this feels like, to share a bed with you in this way. I almost forgot why I told the girls ahead of their weddings that things like these between two people who trust and love each other can be the most terrific fun, but tonight reminded me of that. Tonight reminded me of how much I love you and miss you, and that extends to before as well. The dancing reminded me of our little sneaky routine to get out of socialising at balls, it reminded me of easier times, when we navigated calmer seas, and I am sorry for ruining that for u-”

His hand came up to still her hand, which had been drawing small circles on his chest while she spoke softly into the quietness of the room.

“Cora, I told you before. There will never be a single thing you could ruin for me, never. I did not trust you when I should have. I know that I apologised before, but I will do it again and again and again until the end of my days if that is what it takes. I am truly sorry for the way I acted, for pushing you away and for saying those nasty things - I did not mean any of it. Tonight, I promised myself, was to be my last try to get the affections back I know I lost months ago. You accepted my apology and we got back into our daily routines, but I still felt that the fissure in our marriage had not magically disappeared after that simply because I uttered the words I'm sorry. I wanted tonight to make up for it all, I wanted to put this chapter in our lives behind us, once and for all. Maybe it was the wine or the food, maybe it was the dancing, or maybe it was just that sparkle in your eye that hinted that you still loved me, despite all my previous shortcomings. I do not know what it was, but it gave me the courage to be bolder than I probably should have been. Nevertheless, I am glad it led us here, back together, at last.”

Cora giggled, it was rare for her husband to talk this much about feelings and the reasonings behind the things he did or said. “Well, if this is anything to go by, then I would say that the wine played quite a big role. And I want to thank it from the bottom of my heart for giving me back what I cherish most in life - my darling husband.”

“I quite share that sentiment, my dear. But I think we will both be talking differently about our gratitude for the wine influencing our decisions tonight come morning. I suggest we both ask for some powder first thing, God knows we shall both need it.”

Cora nestled into his side, after which he pulled up the blankets to cover their bodies. They both started to feel the effects of everything that had contributed to their present situation: the late hour, the vast amounts of alcohol consumed that evening and the most terrific fun they had had - it all made them feel quite drowsy. 

Robert pressed another light kiss on top of her head, murmuring: “I love you, my dearest one.”

“I love you, Robert,” Cora replied, her voice starting to slur considerably more than before.

Just when she had finished that short sentence, she fell into a deep slumber. He could tell by her deep and even breaths, even in the darkness that had fallen over the room since the fire had died, that she was asleep in his arms.

With a satisfied smile on his face, Robert, too, fell asleep, knowing that they finally bridged the divide that had kept them apart for far too long. Things would finally all look better in the morning - if one was to ignore the imminent pounding headaches they would surely be experiencing.

[lananiscorner]

The Sandman rewatch - Calliope

So I like to do this thing where, if I didn’t consider a show a complete waste of time and if it does have an actual arc spanning the season, I watch the season twice–once as a binge watch and then once more episode by episode, because it helps me notice things I didn’t notice at first, especially in cases like this where I’m almost entirely unfamiliar with the source material.

I apologize that the second part of this episode is coming so late—I got a new PC and had to set everything up again properly, so I didn’t have time for it until now.

Trigger warnings: mentions of sexual abuse and rape beneath the cut.

Also, lots of swearing because this one… is kind of personal for me.

Well, we’re starting off with a statement that’s very relatable to any writer: the character comes first.

Wow, way to crush the soon-to-be doctor’s writing dreams, Richard.

Yeah, this Erasmus Fry guy is not suspicious and unlikable from the start AT ALL.

Ok, so Erasmus desperately wants a bezoar for it’s detoxing qualities. Can I infer that he’ll be dead soon? Good.

So not only does this old bastard keep a muse locked up against her will—he keeps her locked up in a dusty old storage room. The actual fuck.

Ah, the old “I’ll set you free before I die” promise. Yeah, I don’t think that one’s ever been upheld by anyone.

She is literally |this| close to decking him in the face. I wish she had, but there’s probably some kind of spell preventing her too.

And we can add “victim-blaming coward” to the list of descriptors for her captor. Fuck you, Erasmus Fry.

“But I must say I found force most efficacious.” Holy. Kangaroo. On. A. Pogostick!

Alright, so actual props to the writing team for saying “rape” without saying “rape”, but what the actual fuck… Erasmus deserves whatever nastiness is coming to him.

Oh, and we’re using the “she’s not human, so it’s ok” defense? Fuck you, Erasmus Fry.

That little smirk on Calliope’s face though, when he says that all his work is out of print now. We stan.

“Little cow”? What the actual hell…

Wow, this guy even negs his fellow writer. What a specimen.

Okay, Richard, this is where you say “you know what, I don’t like this, you can go”.

But nooo, instead we’re installing a second lock on the door! That will surely inspire trust and collaboration!

“Do you think you could… help me first?” Dude, you literally just took slave ownership of an immortal being AND INSTALLED A SECOND LOCK ON HER DOOR in a clear sign of your lack of trustworthiness, what the fuck do you think? Do you even have a brain?

Calliope’s not buying it. Good for her.

Blinking Cursor Of The Empty Page is honestly the most relatable character in this so far.

Yeah dude, don’t open Reddit, Twitter or Insta when you’re trying to write. That way lies the devil of distraction. You should know better.

Okay, so, I can’t believe I am writing this, but I will give him credit for making an ATTEMPT at the entire wooing thing at least. Should he have asked her first what “wooing” exactly means for a muse? Yes. But an attempt was made. He gets a D for effort.

“An artist prays to the muses. He offers vows of service and devotion to the goddesses in exchange for divine inspiration.” Memo to myself: build small altar to Calliope.

“You gave Erasmus Fry what he wanted.” DUDE… Which fucking part of of the word “force” do you not understand??

Dude… your lack of creativity and poor financial choices are NOT comparable to decades of captivity and sexual abuse. Get your head out of your fucking arse.

Daaaamn, Calliope all but saying “yeah, I hear you and I’ll help you, just free me”. She is way too good for this dude. I would have been like “fuck off back to your empty pages” already.

And fuck you too, Richard Madoc.

Once again, props to the writer and director for making very clear what’s happening without being gratuitous about it—that fade to black, the sound of the lock, Richard’s half-buttoned shirt and the scratch on his cheek are really all we need.

I love that they are referencing the 3 OG muses here in Calliope’s prayer (meditation, remembrance and song). They are so much less known than the 9 Calliope belongs to.

Oh hey, it’s the fates! Please don’t give her some cryptic bs advice that won’t help her at all. She’s already dealing with enough shit.

Alright, so I know that this exposition dialogue about Calliope’s relationship with Dream is supposed to be very tragic, but imo the real tragedy here is that Calliope and Morpheus had a son and named him… Orpheus. You are a literal muse and the king of dreams! You have literally endless inspiration and THAT is what you name your child? I can’t.

Well, at least the fates were not being super cryptic or vague this time.

“I think it probably speaks to the author’s pretension.” YOOOOOO! Go off, random lady!

“I do tend to regard myself as a feminist writer.” FUCK YOU, RICHARD MADOC!

Okay, but this line hits pretty hard upon rewatch, because in my current active franchise (FE3H), we literally just witnessed two users getting bullied off social media by a bunch of Reddit dudes who use their “defense of a feminist icon character” as a moral shield, painting themselves as feminists while harassing RL people, some of whom are women. Like, this is just so fucking vile.

“From the women in my life.” That’s a very nice way of putting “from the woman I am locking up and raping in the room upstairs”, Richard Madoc. God, I wanna strangle him and Erasmus.

And of course he’s now four successful novels into his career and STILL not letting her go.

“Can you not allow yourself to enjoy our success?” Oh, you mean “can you not allow yourself to enjoy me getting rich off of literally raping you for inspiration?” What a pretentious fucking prick.

That tiny smile of hers when she sees that the sleeping sickness is over and puts 1 and 2 together. <3

Ooh, and it’s the melody of the Dreaming making its comeback as she goes downstairs to look for pen and paper! <3

Bwahahaha, he said the name for her. Congrats, Richard, you just fucked yourself.

Richard about Erasmus: “He was… very kind.” As kind as a chain saw to the nuts, you mean.

Ahahaha, he poisoned himself! Serves him right, old bastard. Good fucking riddance, Erasmus Fry!

Alright, now this scene with Calliope and Dream… this fucking scene. There is so much goodness here, especially if you have personal experience with being an SA survivor, which I unfortunately do, so here’s a numbered list before I start screaming into the void:

Note how Dream, who was imprisoned for longer than Calliope, lost his beloved raven, and then had to deal with Joanna, Lucifer, John Dee, the Corinthian and a fucking Vortex to get any semblance of normalcy back into his life, instantly, and without hesitation, states that he thinks that what Calliope went through was worse. It is SO freaking common for men to not take SA seriously, so to hear someone who’s canonically a bit of an insensitive prick who went through plenty of trauma himself STILL acknowledge it for the absolute fate worse than death that it is is just so… validating? Tearjerkingly heartwarming?

“Comparing our suffering only compounds it.” What a raw line from Calliope! No, we’re not here to play Suffering Olympics. We both went through awful shit. The best we can do is try to move on.

Calliope, who said that she despises Dream, still acknowledging that what he went through was awful and she’s glad he’s free (even though she literally is not, right now). No jealousy, just relief. What a queen.

Calliope to Richard: Please free me? Richard: lol nope. Calliope to Dream: Please inspire him to free me? Dream: All that and more. -- Absolute legend.

Calliope pointing out that no punishment could be enough—and you can see in Dream’s face that she’s got a point that he hadn’t considered, because no matter how awful he thinks Richard treated her, at the end of the day, he knows nothing of her pain, her loss, and vengeance will not bring back what he took from her. I wonder if he thought back to his conversation with Death in that moment—about how all he had been able to think about during his own imprisonment was vengeance, but when he finally got it, it wasn’t satisfying at all.

Calliope: Why? Because I was once yours? Dream: Because he hurt you. -- Do I have to explain this one? Like, honestly, one of the worst things about SA is how demeaned and devalued it can make a person feel, and I could only imagine how sharply Calliope must have felt that, given that neither Erasmus nor Richard considered her worthy of being treated with humanity simply because she is more than human, and here is Dream saying “you are enough—I don’t need a selfish reason to want to hurt the bastard—he hurt YOU, and that’s more than enough.” ;_;

Dream asking PERMISSION from Calliope to let him help her. She is the one who called for him, so one could say consent is implied, but after 60 years of her consent being denied, Dream realizes “implied” no longer cuts it and instead asks for her EXPLICIT consent. With a “please” on top! I’m not sure we’ve even heard him use that word in any other episode. Absolute legend.

That look of ice cold murder when she asks him what he’ll do to Richard. CHILLS!!!

And one final word in this scene: note how Dream does not touch Calliope. They were married once. They had a kid. He’s made it clear he still has feelings for her even though it’s been thousands of years and she said she never wanted to see him again… but he does not touch her. It’s such a small detail, but from the perspective of an SA survivor, that’s HUGE.

I just love every second of this entire fucking scene. Brb, gotta find and murder whoever is cutting onions here.

“Be quiet.” Jesus… Tom Sturridge does “unnervingly polite, tranquil fury” so fucking well!

“I will not call any HUMAN agency.” And that is when it probably dawned on Richard that he had fucked up.

The way Dream rose without blinking when Richard tried to weasel his way out of this—perfection! The sheer disgust with which he spits the word “defiled” (for anyone who hadn’t put 1 and 2 together yet)--sublime!

Dream here with the classical punishments—like, this is the kind of stuff you’d legit see in ancient Greek myth. Oh, you wanna see the future? I’ll let you see the future, but I’ll also make sure no-one will ever believe you. You want ideas? I’ll give you too many to handle.

Calliope’s smile when Richard asks her if she’s giving him nightmares now. <3

That moment when he sees Dream in the audience—perfection.

Okay, but most of his ideas are actually rubbish, which is understandable, give whose brain they are springing from, except maybe for the one of a city where the streets are paved with time. I would read that.

Imagine you’re a woman attending a reading by your favorite author and then he starts scribbling stuff on the walls in blood and talking about how he’s keeping a woman locked up in his mansion—like, at that point I’d just leave. Maybe call 911/equivalent on my way out.

And just when you think Erasmus Fry cannot get any worse since he is… you know… dead for several months at this point, we find out that the book he was particularly proud of and wanted to go back into print, was the one with the byline “She was his muse… and the slave of his lust!” FUCK THIS ASSHOLE!

Awww, Calliope’s back in her normal clothes with her traditional hairdo!

And just in case we think Dream’s thoughtfulness was a fluke, when Calliope says she’ll work to rewrite the laws she was bound by, because neither she nor her sisters had any agency in those, Dream assures her he’ll make sure to make those changes in his realm as well. Legend!

“I will not forgive what he has done, but I must forgive the man. Not for him. For me.” Translation: “I do not want to spend the rest of my eternal life feeling angry and hurt every time I think of this dude—I want him to become worm food like he deserves and let his memory fade into the sunless lands.” Kudos, Calliope.

And again, Dream being like “I don’t get it, I think you’re too nice, but it’s not about me, it’s about YOU and if that’s what you want, sure I’ll let him go”.

Meanwhile, in a nice little parallel, Richard Madoc is STILL not listening to a thing the women in his life are saying (i.e. not bothering to answer Nora’s questions).

Also, on one hand, yes, it’s very… Dream… of Dream, to stop the punishment he inflicted, but to do so in a way that’s even more punishing, but I think there’s another reason he did it too: at the end, Richard doesn’t even remember anymore who the woman he kept locked up was, which means he won’t be able to go after her and try to capture her again, he won’t be able to publicize what he did to her as some kind of vengeful, victim-blaming BS (see Erasmus wanting that one particular book to go back into print), and he won’t be able to try to go after her sisters either. He will no longer be able to reap any further benefit of the “gifts” he already took from her either, because he’s in no further condition to coordinate sequels, adaptations, interviews, whatever. Dream has made sure that Richard no longer has any avenue to hurt Calliope further or get further gains from the hurt he already inflicted.

Dream be like: okay, that was enough of an emotional roller coaster for now—the talk about our dead son will have to wait.

And at the end of it all, it is Calliope who touches him, not the other way around. ;_;

Finally, I love that we end this episode not with Richard or Dream, but with Calliope, happy and free. Perfect place to end it.

[mayajacson]

( tristin mays, 31 , cis woman , she/her ) wait , did you just see who got off the london eye? i swear , it was MAYA JACKSON. how do you not know them? i hear they roll with the NARCOS as a TRAFFICKER but what can you believe these days. most know them as a OWNER OF THE SEVEN SEAS RESTAURANT with a reputation of being REALISTIC + CLOSED OFF. i guess we’ll find out who they really are and why they hum the lyrics to 212 by AZEALIA BANKS in public soon enough.

Birth Name: Maya Jackson

Nickname(s): May (for close friends), Jack (in the organization)

Age/DOB: 31

Occupation: Owner of the Seven Seas Restaurant (neutral territory) / Former Paramedic

Organization: NARCOS - trafficker

Maya has been adventurous as a child and not afraid to get her hands dirty. She never imagined herself as a grown-up being surrounded by wealth, paperwork, and family dinners. Instead, she was driven to things that let her heart skip a bit, filling her body with a rush of adrenaline and excitement. At the age of 18 when she started looking for a job, she did her best to get into the fire department. Despite the fact, that everyone told her it wasn’t a good fit for her, making jokes about her slim arms, she didn’t give up. With the time of proving everyone wrong, she developed an obsession with fire, to the point when it became dangerous for her as she never knew when it was the right time to step back, and always pushed forward to finish what she started, not fearing getting burned. In the end, she didn’t get the license but instead got recommended to try becoming a paramedic which she did. It was the job that was meant for her all this time, surrounded by happy, exciting, tough, and gore moments.

It all took a big turn when she surrounded herself with someone of bad influence, which led her to be involved in the situation that caused her to lose the paramedic license — her true purpose in life. Lost and unsure of what path to take next, she decided to risk it all and opened a restaurant inspired by one of her favorite movies “Pirates of the Caribbean”, naming it The Seven Seas. It wasn’t an easy investment as her bank account didn’t show the digits she truly needed to make it happen, that’s when she fell into debt. Causing her to pour everything she got into keeping it going. As it was getting tougher to do, during her travels to look for new menu options, she got offered to make some extra cash as a trafficker for the nacros. It was a decision that let the adrenaline run through her veins once again, gaining a new purpose in life. Unfortunately, the money wasn’t able to cover everything that was necessary so to ease her mind, she started taking a small amount of drugs while taking care of their transportation. She started doing it not long ago and the amounts are really small, but whenever she tries a bit, those worries of if she will get caught, if the transportation will go wrong — always disappear.

DETAILS.

she provides medical care in crucial situations

she knows nothing about running a business.

she learns based on her own mistakes.

is obsessed with fire, so she can be seen playing with a lighter or matches.

she loves traveling and trying new things.

she loves all sorts of games not minding losing before they even start

tba (muse under development)

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

— the villain; it would be a person from the same or other organization (which Maya didn’t know existed at the time) who caused her to lose her paramedic license aka her dream job. This is the person that is the #1 on her black list, she cannot stand in any shape or form. I’m very open to discussing what situation she was involved in with your character for this to happen and what sort of relationship we will work around now (whatever could fit your wc/bio/plots/development I’m all ears!) They could feel sorry try to make it up/feel sorry deep inside but hide it/not feel sorry and even rub it into her face/avoid her at all cost/ etc.

— the secret; this person knows about her using drugs which she takes to ease her mind. She takes some portions from the transportation she takes care of for the narcos. The organization doesn’t know about it (yet) but this person does. They could feel responsible to let the organization know but they hid it for so long, that they were afraid she could take them down with her. They could let her know they know/want something in return/feel sorry for her/feel obligated to keep it a secret (aka maybe an extra friends/coworkers connection) up to discussion!

— bad influence; this is a person that talks her into doing all the wrong things and she loves it

[awhoreforeddiemunson]

The element of suprise

Chapter five

Summary: There's a new girl in town named Marley. She's very shy, but once you get know her she can suprise you. She has a hard time fitting in at school. Marley has the personality of a fairy. Meaning she has a light heart and speaks in a soft voice. Maybe that's what's in her element of suprise when certain people find out who or what she really is.

Mentions: Bullying, PTSD, mentions of panic attack. Intimidating behaviour. Fluff

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Class was such a torture, who knew that Ms. O'Donnall's class could be so boring. Everything was so monotone about her. Besides, Marley always had a hard time when it came to math.

Eddie tried to keep his focus to the lesson but thanks to Ms O'Donnall it was almost impossible.

He looked towards Marley and saw her deep in thought. Her mind was somewhere else.

To Eddie she was a muse, his muse. Ever since he first saw her, wich was three days ago, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Her beauty gave him inspiration. It was hard to believe that she liked spending time with him.

When he saw her crying and on the verge of a panic attack this morning he took it upon him to do everything in his power to make the girl smile.

She was fragile with her emotions and that made Eddie's protectiveness over her even bigger.

Eddie knew himself as quite cynical so these emotions were new to him. But he liked it.

Eddie kept his focus on her, still admiring her from a distance.

Marley turned her head towards Eddie and gave him a little smile. Eddie could swear his stomach did cartwheels. He smiled back and held up his hand as if to secretly wave at her, making sure the teacher didn't see it. Marley returned the gesture and took her focus back to the teacher. Or atleast she was trying to focus on the teacher.

"How cheesy" he muttered quietly under his breath, but he was still smiling.

---------------------------------------------------

Finally lunch came around, after two bloody hours of Ms. O'Donnall's class it was obvious that when the bell rang everyone stormed out quickly, not wanting to take anymore lectures from the boring subject.

Marley took her time gathering her stuff and Eddie waited for her by the door.

"Hi Eds" the nickname Marley gave her really grew on him. But it could only come from her and no one else.

"Hey Princess, I heard it's mystery meat day at the cafetaria, care to go on a quest to find out what the mystery is?" He was such a dork, but Marley liked that about him.

"I would love to oh brave one, show me the way"

They arrived at the cafetaria and stood in line for whatever the lunchlady would serve them.

"I bet it's leftovers from yesterday" Eddie's face made a sour expression by thinking about lunch yesterday. He had off-texture hamburger meat with a very dry bun and the most saltiest Mac'N'Cheese that even his kidneys were crying for mercy.

Once they reached the food, it indeed looked like the leftovers from yesterday but only this time the hamburger meat and Mac'N'Cheese were mixed together.

"Well, luckily it's Taco Tuesday tomorrow"

He chuckled.

They paid for their lunch and walked their way to the table where the rest of the Hellfire club was situated.

"Guys, this is Marley, she will be joining us for lunch today." Everyone gave her a welcoming smile and they did their introduction. Everyone was so different character-wise and they seemed to value each other no matter how different they were from one another.

How could people despise these dorky boys? That was a riddle even Marley couldn't solve. If people would just take their time to get to know them. They might even find them to be the most loyal friends out there.

"Marley here, will be joining us tonight for Hellfire."

Gasps left their mouths as Eddie said those words.

"What?, you never just let anyone join" Gareth said, still in disbelief.

"Do you play D&D Marley?" Dustin asks.

Marley felt a bit awkward, maybe because of the reason that she had no clue what D&D was.

She looked around the table as everyone's eyes were on her now. Eager to know what her answer would be.

"What is D&D?" it sounded like a whisper. But none the less, the boys could hear her.

More gasps left their mouths.

"D&D, Dungeons and Dragons, it's only the best fantasy roleplay game ever!"

Eddie looked amused by the boys excitement and even a bit proud.

"Guys, it's okay if she doesn't play, or doesn't know how to. She can spectate, and maybe that will convince her to eventually play along with us, we can teach her, if she wants to ofcourse"

Eddie's eyes went towards her as Marley nodded.

Gareth smiled knowing exactly what Eddie's intentions were. But he had a feeling that Eddie didn't even know his own intentions, Eddie could be so oblivious. Especially when it came to his feelings.

"Wow, you must be a very special girl Marley, because Eddie would never let someone spectate"

If only these boys would know about Marley's true identity, because she indeed was very special.

---------------------------------------------------

School was done for today and Marley was very excited for Hellfire. The last class for today was Economics. And just as math it was dreadful, even more so because Eddie wasn't taking the class. But Jason and Brad did.

They threw little pieces of paper to her when the teacher wasn't looking. They would whisper Freak to her, but they also would say such mean things about Eddie.

Marley was walking towards the exit, eager to leave because she knew Eddie would be waiting for her at his van, ready to take her to his home before Hellfire would start. They would eat something at his place, she didn't know what, but Eddie told her not to have high expectations.

But before Marley could walk out, the enterance was blocked by none-other than Jason and his group.

"Alright, now you have to be real honest with us. Did Eddie blackmail you into hanging out with you or are you really stupid?"

Marley kept her head down, why wouldn't they just leave her alone?

"She's so shy, I bet it's all an act" Brad snickered. He was the worst actually. He would step into your own personal space and stare at you like your his next prey.

"I bet Eddie is just going to use you"

But Marley still didn't say a word, instead she tried to walk away. But she was stopped by Rachel. "How rude of you to walk away when we are talking to you" Rachel gave her a judgemental look.

But as if Marley's prayers were heard a soft voice was speaking up. It didn't sound confident but atleast she was trying. It was Chrissy interrupting the whole happening.

"Guys, we should go"

But sadly the others didn't listen. They just continued on with the harsh comments. Each comment becoming more hurtful.

"Bet you do it for the drugs"

"You are such a Freak"

"That little Virgin act doesn't fool us"

"What did you do before Hawkins? Bet you were a freak as well"

The last sentence, that was all it took for Marley to break. Everything about her past life was a sensitive subject for her.

The girl had tears in her eyes, and she wanted to disappear, if only she could fade away from this moment, but she couldn't.

"Awhh she's crying, you should have picked us over that freak."

Rachel seemed to enjoy her tears as they were now on Marley's cheeks full on streaming. Her eyesight blurry from the salty tears.

Chrissy had sympathetic look on her face and seeing all this bullying happening made Chrissy feel guilty. But she couldn't stop her friends, they just wouldn't listen. Chrissy felt guilty because as much as she wanted to be there for Marley, she was afraid that she might become another target for bullying. She felt like a coward.

Marley put her hands to her ears, she couldn't take it anymore. All she wanted to do was to hide. Brad reached for her hands and forcefully pushed them down.

" I want you to hear these words Freak, listen to them real nicely" Brad seemed to enjoy the power he had over her.

And if his action wasn't enough he grabbed her chin and forced her eyes on him, he made sure to make her look into his eyes.

"Look at me when I am talking you bitch! We want you to know how worthless you are, such a pretty face, but such a shame"

Brad's words were laced with venom and every word he said made his grip stronger on her chin.

"Alright Brad, cut it out, that's enough" It was Jason putting a stop to Brad's behaviour.

"Wouldn't want this freak to go tell on us" He then turned his head back to Marley, "And if you tell anyone, we will make your life a living hell"

Brad released her and huffed "I was just getting started, maybe for next time"

They all turned around and walked away. Chrissy was still staring at her as if she wanted to say something but she was called by Jason to come with them and then she followed.

Poor Marley, she could never just enjoy the happy moments, they would always be interrupted by pain. She slid down the floor her hands on her head, she couldn't handle her pain anymore. She needed to release her emotions, even if it was in the middle of the hallway, she didn't care anymore.

She was so done with everything, she felt like her whole body was on fire. And as she looked at her palms her eyes grew wide. Her hands were glowing and hot. But it didn't seem to hurt her. She knew what was happening. "Not now, please not now" she muttered.

From the hallway she could hear her name faintly. Someone was looking for her. The voice sounded panicked and worried. Marley tried to control the situation by calming herself down. And it worked, her hands returned to their normal state, but she was still distraught as her cheeks were stained by her tears.

Someone came running around the corner and the person sounded relieved.

"Marley? Are you alright? What did those fuckers do?" It was Eddie.

He ran towards her and checked her if they hurt her and then his eyes landed on her face. A broken girl sat in front of him on the floor. His hands reached for her cheeks carefully as he held her gaze.

"I am so sorry I couldn't be there for you, Alex distracted me from getting to you, I was on my way to my van when Alex came up to me. I guess it was just their plan, to keep me busy. I am so sorry Marley."

Everytime a tear rolled down the girl's cheek, Eddie's heart would break a little more.

Marley tried to say something, but her words never left her mouth, only a quiet whimper could be heard.

"Okay, you know what? No Hellfire tonight, we are just going to relax tonight, we could even rent a movie at Family Video, how does that sound?"

Marley reacted "But Eddie, you can't just cancel on your friends." Small hiccups left her throat as she was speaking.

"Oh please, they can wait another day or two"

---------------------------------------------------

Eddie's van came to a stop near his trailer.

He turned the keys and took off his seatbelt. Marley followed his last action and opened the passenger's side door.

"Welcome to my humble home, it might be small but it sure as hell is cozy" he spread his arms showing his home.

He opened the door and let Marley in first. Marley looked inside, it indeed looked very cozy. Various of caps were nailed to the wall ,there were still some dirty dishes laying around and there was an ashtray on a small side table next to a sofa.

"Sorry for the mess, I haven't had the time clean yet" he chuckled while he grabbing few mugs to put them in the sink.

"It's quite alright Eddie, no need to clean up just for me"

Marley was now standing next to Eddie, mindlessly fixing the collar of his denim jacket.

Eddie seemed to notice the small action, her small fingers grazed his neck for just one second but it made him smile none the less.

"So, i have tv-dinner and tv-dinner, what would you like" he opened the fridge. It was almost empty besides the two tv-dinners, but the bottom was stocked with beer.

"Uhhmm so much to choose from but I think I'm going for tv dinner" Marley said Jokingly.

They both finished their tv-dinner, it wasn't the best but it also wasn't the worst. Yes, it was a bit bland but luckily they had their trusty tablesalt to season their food.

Marley stood up to throw away the empty plastic boxes and moved to the sink to do the dishes.

"You don't have to do that, let's just watch a movie, and if we're quick we can still make it in time before Family Video closes"

But Marley didn't listen, she already let the hot water stream in the sink and grabbed the dishsoap.

"Would it be rude to say that I'm not really in the mood to watch a movie?" She said while working on the dishes. She just wanted to stay inside.

"Well, what do you want to do instead?"

Marley thought for awhile. But then she got an idea.

"What if you read me a story, you know the book in your van? Why don't you read me from that book?"

Truthfully Marley was just tired but she hated to admit it to Eddie, because she enjoyed spending time with him.

"Alright, let me get the book "

Eddie stood up and left the trailer.

As Marley cleaned the dishes and her hands were in the hot soapy water she thought back to the moment when her hands started glowing hot. The feeling of fire burning in her veins. This was her reality, the reason she had to run from her hometown. When the people from her hometown found out about her powers they all made their assumptions of her being the devil's child. A disgrace for humanity and a danger for the world. They wanted her contained and locked away. Not caring that she was just an 18 year old girl, who had emotions and dreams just like any other 18 year old girl would have. But they just didn't see that 18 year old girl. They saw a curse, a monster.

"Are you ready?" Eddie came back with his book in his hand. The book looked tattered, like it had been read a dozen times. Because of the better and brighter light Marley only seemed to notice that now and not before when she read a small part in Eddie's van.

"I am so ready, ready for the adventure!"

"Well then my fair lady, let's start"

Marley and Eddie sat down on the couch. Eddie on the left side and Marley on the right.

Eddie started reading, his voice was soothing, but when something exciting happened in the book he would change his voice. He also had a different voice for each character and he would mix it with some dramatic hand gestures.

He sure liked dramatics.

Soon Marley felt herself drifting off after thirthy minutes. The story taking her to the land of dreams.

---------------------------------------------------

A/N: And here's Chapter five as I Promised. For an unknown reason I had a difficult time writing this chapter. But here it is, pleaseet me know what you think.

[dragonspirited]

{ GUIDELINES }

Hi! I’m Luna!

I’m 26 years old as of writing this, I live in Canada & my timezone is EST. I've been writing in various RPC fandoms for 11 years now, & have been doing so on Tumblr on & off since I was 19. I'm cis (probably) & use she/her generally but I'm also totally okay with they/them used in a general sense if you’re referring to me. I’m Pagan & have been practicing sporadically for about 12 years now, so you could say I’ve always had an interest in religion, folklore & mythology of all different kinds which may explain the weird assortment of fandoms I’ve participated in (DC, Marvel, MCU, Arrowverse, Historical, Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel, Lucifer, Glee, Twilight, True Blood, Greek Mythology, Yū-Gi-Oh!, Death Note, Supernatural, PJO & more in no particular order).

I have ADHD, depression, anxiety & a handful of physical health issues on top of working a part time job which causes my online activity to be pretty random but frequent, but other than that, I don't think there's anything else important to say. If you'd like to learn more about me feel free to reach out, I'm usually pretty receptive to new conversations even if I’m sometimes shy about reaching out first!

That out of the way, here's a few things to keep in mind when following me:

This is a sideblog for my BSD OC, Kisara, heavily inspired by a character of the same name from the YuGiOh franchise, & all follow backs will come from @moonrisenmuses​. Now, I understand that multimuse / hub blogs aren’t for everyone, & there’s absolutely NO pressure to follow, interact with or look at my main blog! I’ll only be using it to send asks from my sideblogs, & only if you happen to have anonymous asks off! Seriously, I wont be sad or offended if you aren’t interested in my other muses.

My blog is 18+ only as well as multiship, multiverse, & canon divergent. As a general rule, I strongly prefer my RP partners to be 18+ regardless of the fandom simply due to my age & the sort of content I tend to write. Graphic & disturbing, I use swearing somewhat liberally OOC, sexual content, etc. If there's no age to be found on your blog somewhere I won't RP with you, sorry. Even a general idea is okay, it's for my own comfort & safety as well as yours; a 14 year old for example really shouldn't read the type of writing I'll likely be posting. Thank you.

I do tag triggers! Almost all the default triggers (child abuse //, violence //, murder //) etc will be tagged. If you have anything you need tagged that is less common, don't be afraid to ask me to tag it, I'm happy to do my part to make you comfortable!

On Triggering Material: I will not write any of the following on the dash: graphic animal abuse, graphic sexual assault/rape (allusions/references are fine as it's sometimes part of a character's background including my own). This may be in the form of flashbacks, discussions of trauma, recovery threads, etc. I just won't write scenes of it, I'm also fine with 'close call' threads where my muse rescues yours from assault or vice versa since that’s a very real thing that can & does happen IRL. I’m just not willing to post such content blatantly on the dash as I know it’s a deeply upsetting subject, & I have no desire to romanticize sexual abuse. I will not write anything to do with pedophilia or any sexual content with characters or muns under 18, bestiality (as in actual animals, not ability users who are able to become animals), necrophilia, etc. basically the 'main' major things that would squick out most people. For my own & my mutuals comfort PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT WITH ME IF YOU THINK ITS OKAY TO SHIP MINORS & ADULTS.

I do tend to format my replies using small text & customizing with bold & italics for the sake of the aesthetic/emphasis, but I don't expect you to. If you have any issues visually or language wise with how i RP come talk to me & we can try to work things out. I will also be using icons at some point, but not constantly, mostly just to dress up a reply now & then.  

Don't force shipping with any of my characters. If a ship happens, that's great, & you're 100% allowed to just come & ask me if I'd like to ship but don't just go ahead with it without asking. Especially if your muse doesn't fit into my muse's sexuality on one of my blogs. example; I write Chuuya as almost exclusively masc-attracted on his blog (the exception being for shapeshifter/genderfluid characters whom he already has a strong romantic love for); so it would be uncomfortable & unfair to try to force a ship on him if your muse isn't what he’s typically inclined towards. That being said, all of my muses are open to unrequited romances as well, & in fact you don't even need to ask. It's okay for your muse to have feelings for mine, but they might not always reciprocate!

Finally, my blog is absolutely drama free! I will not share callouts of any kind unless someone is an imminent danger. I've been roleplaying for 10 years now & frankly I'm just here to have fun without getting into fights.

If you made it to the end of this congratulations! There's no passwords or anything here, please feel free to follow me if you think we'd click, & welcome!

[class1akids]

BNHA 331 - Thoughts

So the manga I signed up for was about Deku going to this school full of kids with normal superpowers like having a tail or explosions or super-strength or a demon-siamese twin, with stuff like dorm room competitions and dance performances, and sometimes getting caught up in villain fights. 

I have no idea wtf this thing is where the fate of the world is suddenly riding on “Kathy” from the US

whose (very magical) power’s limits are explained as such:

1. She can do literally anything except harm ShigarAFO in any way

2. What she does doesn’t have to make sense as long as it manifests some weird fetish of the mangaka. 

Hence: Giant Naked Aura Woman who uses fighter-plane lasers to make an oversized Light-Saber to pin Shigaraki (I’m not kink-shaming, but that is kind of very... specific??)

Horikoshi in this chapter: Is this even a quirk? .... probably not. 

Also Horikishi in this chapter: Did I break my own world-building? Probably... but (1) I don’t give a fuck   (2) look at them giant titties...

Shigaraki in the meantime manifests his ultimate super-powers:

1. A full on identity crisis (I swear they read the fandom comments and were like, here is the explanation of this stupid quirk that makes no sense)

2. His ultimate GAMER-Skillz to deduce all of Cathy’s highly classified quirk’s limits in as much a time as it takes her to clap her hand (Shiggy has “Search” and could just use that to figure out her weaknesses, no?)

Suck that up Pentagon, Classified doesn’t mean shit to a Gamer who passed every bossfight in Dark Souls...

Yes, the ultimate showdown of this manga will be:

 Otaku-Powered Deku vs Gamer-powered Shigaraki

Anyways, the best part of Shigaraki’s long-ass monologue wondering if he could revive Mon-chan with New Order:

Tenko is definitely alive and well in the identity soup, because his priorities are certainly right. If I was a mass-murdering first-grader who accidentally pulverized his entire family, I’d also pick the family dog to revive... Mon-chan would just lick him all over and not send him in his room without dinner. No brainer really. 

While Shigaraki is musing, Kathy gets a bit testy, because not knowing his real name is one thing, but why doesn’t he share his hair saloon secrets?

Is that really the highest priority right now, Kathy???

Reflecting laser beams is one thing, but nobody, I repeat NOBODY gets to outdo Kathy’s All Might inspired hair-tufts.... Shigaraki is declared a fucking GLOBAL THREAT.... (she just turned into scary mom from Toddlers & Tiaras)

Hence the Giant Naked Aura and the pinny Light-Saber move. 

She’s talking to the Star-War reference commander (dude, wrong fandom), who simultaneously threatens her with her license being revoked (hahaha) and assists her in her casual war crime attempt...

Am I supposed to like Kathy? I’ don’t think so. I don’t like Kathy.

Anyways, the obvious next step to surpass the Symbol of Peace is to ....

 ....nuke Japan???

Wait, I think I know how this story goes - they drop the nuke, and Shigaraki mutates into a giant Godzilla???  🦎

(OK, Horikoshi gotta be taking the piss out on purpose - this is just so over the top. This must be a 331.5 chapter, and we’ll get the real one????)

Anyways - the most relatable person in this chapter is this poor pilot dude who just realized that he’s signed up to be a suicidal skate-board to this bat-shit crazy, reality-warping chick with EIGHT FUCKING TUFTS:

Good grief indeed my dude. 

Can we go back to the dorms and watch the kids make cupcakes or something before the siege begins?  I can’t take this anymore...

[dyns33]

Full moon

Flufftober 14 - Adam x Eve x Reader 

Adam had a special relationship with the full moon.

Eve had known this for a long time, but Y/N discovered it one night, getting up to join her lovers in the living room.

Like almost every night, Eve was on the couch, reading while drinking a cup of blood, smiling when she saw her, getting up to hug and kiss her.

Adam had his guitar and his notebook, composing a new song.

The only thing different from usual was that the curtains were open, and the vampire had taken a seat by the window, looking up several times to the sky, admiring the round white star shining above him.

           "She came back." whispered Eve, still with a big smile.

           "Who ?"

           "His muse."

Adam had always been fascinated by the moon. Even before meeting his wife, and she turned him.

He drew a special strength and inspiration from that pale source of light, and on evenings when it was full, he could compose for hours without stopping, except to contemplate it.

He had panicked a bit a few years before, when the zombies had started to throw bits of metal and animals into space, but Adam had really cried, heartbroken, in 1969, when they had dared to defile his beloved star.

Despite this, he had continued to cherish her, never missing an opportunity to look at her.

When it rained or there were clouds hiding it from him, Adam was terribly disappointed.

It was even worse when zombies passed by on the street and they stopped wondering what he was doing. It was really a nightmare when it was his fans, looking to see him, forcing him to close the curtains. They always had to ruin everything.

Tonight there was no one in the street, the sky was clear, so Adam could enjoy his dear moon as much as he wanted.

Eve and Y/N stayed on the couch, admiring Adam, who gazed at the sky.

           "I get a little jealous sometimes." Eve confessed, resting her head on the young vampire's shoulder. "He loves us, but he doesn't look at us like that."

           "Really ? I'm sure he looks at you like that. When you dance. When you sleep. Remember this time, when you were tidying up books while reciting poems, I could swear it was the same look."

           "Hmm. Maybe he does it when we don't look at him. He's very shy after all."

           "I can hear you, you know." Adam muttered without looking back.

Laughing, they crouched behind the sofa, only their foreheads and eyes protruding from the backrest to continue to observe him, like a wild animal that should not be frightened.

           "He says he hears, but he keeps giving her all his undivided attention."

           "It's true." Y/N said, pretending to sulk. "I'm jealous too now."

           "You are ridiculous, do you know that ?"

           "Oh, he's still listening !"

           "He gets up ! Hide darling !"

Still giggling like children, the two women crouched under the cushions, although it was of course still possible to see them, as Adam approached them. He sighed, but it was obvious he found the situation amusing.

Slowly, he lifted the pillows, smiling at the sight of his lovers, entwined, who looked at him fondly.

           "Come." he said, taking their hands.

Adam set up two chairs by the window to his right, then sat back down, starting to write his next song again.

Curious, Eve and Y/N joined him, placing themselves where he wanted to, and looking at their rival.

The moon was really beautiful tonight. Huge and brilliant.

Hypnotized by its beauty, they didn't notice when Adam turned off the unnecessary lights in the living room, the starlight perfectly illuminating the room.

Then he frantically began to write, suddenly inspired. Except he wasn't looking at the moon.

Adam was hypnotised by Eve and Y/N, who seemed to have come from another world at this moment, enveloped in the moonlight. The most majestic thing he has ever seen. His only reason for living.

He wrote even faster when they turned to him, their smiles enchanting him, lighting up everything.

Y/N was right, he often looked at them like he looked at the moon, but they didn't realize it. Like the star circling the sun, they circled around him, doing wonders as if he wasn't there, and he was unable to take his eyes off them.

And when they noticed him, coming towards him, talking to him, touching him, kissing him, then Adam felt like he was in a dream. Which explained his slightly lost expression, which they found so adorable.

           "If you had to choose between the moon and us, what would you choose ?" Y/N asked jokingly.

           "Without the moon, the Earth's balance would be destroyed and the oceans would swallow us up."

           "So the moon ?" Eve sneered.

           "... I did not say that."

Even though it was tempting, they decided not to tease him any more, letting him finish his song, before getting up to fetch blood in the kitchen while dancing.

Following them, Adam thought he could very well live without the moon, but certainly not without his two perfect lovers.

[wlw-peachylsbn]

the only heaven i'll be sent to (is when I'm alone with you) (bellatrix lestrange x reader)

A/N: Okie dokie, girls and gays! So! This is going to be a sub!Bella fic. Now I know what you all might be thinking, Bella is a dom, but you know what? It's not my fault my brain is so big and sexy, and I'm on a whole new galaxy. Thanks to @bellatrixscurls for inspiring me!!!

We have some praise and degradation, a bit of a choking kink, pet play, a big ass Mommy kink, and like. A shoe kink?

Your quill jumps from one line to the next, not stopping even when your love walks into the room. You're only half done with this essay, and you still need to finish one more after this. Thanks to Bellatrix's interference, you slacked off during the weekend, preferring to share her bed and lounge about. Though, who could blame you?

So deep in thought, you don’t notice Bellatrix as she moves closer to you, heaving a deep sigh.

"Did you need something, Bella?" You tap your quill, still thinking about the right way to form this one sentence.

"Yes, I actually did.” She shrugs, taking a step closer so there's only a sliver of space between you. It's an odd position, really, and you have to crane your head back to gaze at her.

"Yes?" You reach up to tangle your feelings in her curls. When you tug lightly, a shiver runs through her body.

Oh. You pause, looking Bellatrix over shrewdly. Your weekend wasn't just relaxing; you also discovered some wonderful, nasty details about your lover. Specifically, some certain kinks she had.

“Oh, did you want Mommy, sweetheart?” you coo, tugging on her curls again.

Another shiver runs through Bellatrix’s body as she kneels before you, eyes big and soft. You can already tell that she's slipping into her subspace, an experience you both have discussed thoroughly. You haven't acted on it quite yet though, but today might be the perfect time to rectify that.

“That’s right, go get on your knees, darling.” Your hand comes reassuringly down on Bellatrix’s shoulder, pressing her to kneel completely.

God. Bellatrix is absolutely beautiful like this, with her hair wild and a curl in her face, her eyes wide with starry-eyed longing, like she thinks you hold her world up. Of course, you would be lying if you said it didn't arouse you to see Bellatrix on her knees for you, only for you. She's such a dominant, tough personality, which leads people to assume she would be in charge in the bedroom. Sometimes she is, but she also confessed that playing with submission would be incredibly arousing for her. You're the only one she trusts with her secrets, which infuses the scene with more tenderness than you expect.

“Am I doing okay, Mommy?” A whisper, light as air, settles in between the two of you.

You know how deeply Bellatrix needs reassurance. Mainly praise. She didn’t say such a thing in as many words, but you know her. A kind word or a light touch makes her clingy, but praise, full, unrestrained, lengthy praise will make her … well. You don’t know yet, but you can’t wait to find out soon.

“You’re doing amazing, sweetheart, being such a good girl. Just sit there for Mommy, alright? I want you to relax a bit.”

“But, Mommy, I feel fine, I don’t want to—”

“Quiet. Now. Do not question me.” Steel enters your tone just as quickly as Bellatrix whines. She sticks out her bottom lip, scowling in a rather cute manner, you admit. But you wipe away any trace of amusement from your face. “If you act like a brat, you can go back to your room and pout there instead.”

Another scowl, this one deeper, crosses her face, but she grudgingly nods and lowers her eyes. You resume looking at your paper, pretending to work, but your mind races, returning to your little brat at your feet. Should you keep her in suspense for a while longer? Or really draw it out until she pleads?

“Mommy?”

Well, that didn’t take too long at all.

“Yes?” You keep your tone purposefully neutral.

“Are you mad?”

“No, just disappointed.”

Bellatrix pouts. Again. “I hate when you say that.”

“I know, darling, but if you were good, I wouldn’t have to say it so much.”

“ ‘m sorry.”

“What was that?” You raise your eyebrow, not ready to drop the matter yet.

“I’m sorry, Mommy. I just …” Bellatrix has never been one to conceal her feelings. You can see the hesitance warring with want, clear as day, as she ducks her head, avoiding your searching gaze. “I …”

“What is it, honey? You know you can tell me anything.” You lightly grab her chin with your hand, tugging until she’s facing you. “You know I would never judge you.”

“Can you be really Mommy? And make me feel like your little girl again?” Heat blooms in her pale cheeks, and when she hides her face again, you let her. “I just wanna … be good for you. Please?”

The tenderness from earlier returns, and you coo, “Oh, I see now. You want me to tell you what to do? Do you crave my firm hand? My harsh touch? Come now, good girls use their words.”

“I want you to be nice, Mommy. To make me feel really good. But I want you to be mean, too.” To anyone else, Bellatrix’s words would sound like a convoluted mess. And they are, to some extent. But you can always soothe her mind and untangle her web of feelings.

“I see now, darling. Of course, I’ll do that. You just be my good girl and let me take care of everything, alright?”

“Yes, please, thank you, Mommy.” She looks up finally, and you can see the self-awareness leaving her body. There’s no more shame, just that adoring look you aim to see. It’s just you and her. Mommy and baby girl.

“That’s right. You just want to be my perfect little slut, don’t you?”

You watch carefully as Bellatrix gasps, eyes slipping shut as she leans forward. “Yes, Mommy, thank you, Mommy.”

“That’s right, you just sit still and be a good little toy for me.” You hum almost absent-mindedly, reaching to grasp her chin again, turning it this way and that. You appraise her, eyes lingering on her pale throat. Even her neck is beautiful, all exposed skin and deep hollows. “Would you like a collar, darling?” You slowly move your hand as you talk, effectively choking her, though you don’t apply much pressure.

“Oh, Merlin, please, Mommy? Yes, yes,” Bellatrix says, eyes pleading. “I’ll be good.”

“Would you? You want to be my little pet so badly, hmm? I think I’ll arrange for a nice thick collar, a pretty one, too. A dark red, since I know you love that colour so much. What do you think, pet?”

Bellatrix downright whines. She scoots as close as she can, practically sitting on top of your feet. “Please, I want to be your pet, and I want your collar too!”

“Yes, a collar sounds very nice,” you muse. Then you tighten your grip around Bellatrix’s throat a moment later. Her eyes slip shut, her hands reaching to steady herself on your leg. “You’re always my pretty whore that I can use, yes?”

“Always, but can you please touch me now, Mommy? I need you.” She tries a pout again, and although you want to kiss it anyway, you don’t budge.

“I thought you were my toy, though? I don’t recall you having the control here. So be a good little girl and be quiet.”

“But I’m so wet for you, Mommy. I can’t wait any longer.”

You sigh and click your tongue. “Don’t test me again. You’re my pet, remember?”

“Always.”

“But since you want to come so bad …” You cock your head to the side, a smirk forming on your lips.

“Yes, Mommy? I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.” Her dark eyes are lightened with trust. Complete, absolute trust as she waits patiently for your orders. You could make her do anything, you know that. But you only have one thing in mind.

You extend your shoe, laying it flat on the floor. The confusion that sparks in her eyes is downright adorable. Bellatrix cocks her head to the side, looking very much like a confused pet. “Needy little girls like you don’t deserve my fingers or mouth. If you want to come so bad, you can use my shoe and prove yourself.”

“Mommy?”

In a flash, you lean down, pressing your forehead to hers. Bellatrix’s hands come up around your shoulders, balling your shirt in her fists. She falls silent, taking a moment to breathe as you ask, “Baby? Is everything alright? If you want this to end, you know your safeword.”

“I’m okay, thank you, Mommy. Can we continue, please?”

“Of course, sweet girl.” You press a quick kiss to her forehead before pulling back, falling easily into your role again. “Or should I say, you little brat? I see you, trying to distract me.”

“I didn’t mean to, Mommy. How can I make it up to you?” Bellatrix peers up at you through her eyebrows innocently.

You say nothing, choosing to hold your shoe out again. For the second time today, Bellatrix blushes, a pink hue rising in her cheeks and chest. However, she doesn’t hesitate any longer and straddles your shoe.

It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. Honestly. She hitches her skirt up, tossing it behind her with a flick of her wrist, never losing her flair for the dramatics. Her hands caress your thighs, slowly coming down to grip the back of your legs. And finally, she lowers herself onto your shoe, an obscene moan escaping her mouth.

“How does it feel, Bella?”

“Fuck. So good. So good, Mommy,” Bellatrix rasps, head tilting towards the ceiling in blissed-out pleasure.

“Watch your mouth, pet.” You slap her cheek lightly, which draws another choked moan from Bellatrix.

“Sorry, Mommy.” Even as she apologies, her hips rock back and forth.

“Yeah? What are you apologizing for?” You make sure to keep your tone casual and airy, though you can’t help but start to tease her. You flex your shoe upward—but only but an inch or two. The cool material presses against her most sensitive area, drawing another whispered swear.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, Mommy, I’m sorry, please, please—”

“Aww, is my baby too flustered to talk? Be a good girl and tell me what you need.”

“Mommy, please, I can’t, I need you so bad—” Bellatrix shifts again, and when she meets your gaze, you see tears brimming in her eyes.

You frown, wiping a stray one away. While you hate to see her cry under any circumstances, there’s a small sadistic part of you that roars with heat, wanting to see how long she can withstand your (pleasurable) torture. You stay quiet, thinking about the best move before you say, “Oh, darling. You need to cum that badly? Well, alright, honey. You can have a reward.”

“A reward?”

With great debilitation, you raise your shoe all the way, so it’s firmly pressed against her. You don’t hold back. She moans, her hips rocking even more. “Here’s your reward, baby. But I’m not going to do all the work. If you’re not crying and screaming like a little whore for me, then I won’t fuck you again for a while. So you better thank me, pretty girl, and get to work.”

“Oh, Merlin, thank you, thank you so much.”

“I prefer Mommy, baby, but you’re welcome either way.”

You watch with a smug smile as Bellatrix rubs herself all over your shoe. She moves slowly at first but moves quicker and quicker. Little pants and hitched breaths fill the room.

As she keeps chasing her high, you play with one of her curls, twisting it around your finger. “Soon, I’ll find a perfect collar for you, so everyone knows you belong to me. Then I’ll put a tail in your ass, too, baby girl, and have you kneel for me like a good kitten.”

“Oh, Mommy, yes, I’ll be your good kitten. Merlin, please, fuck me, fill me up.” By this point, Bellatrix is fully in her subspace, all tears and whiny begging that make you want to fuck her harder or wrap her up in your arms. But you go with the former and lean forward, your breath brushing her half-lidded eyelids.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

You start moving your shoe again, flexing it, and dragging it back and forth. This time, you don’t give up on the pressure, instead aiming directly for her most sensitive spots. Your shoe grinds against her clit, causing her to moan.

“Look at you, my pretty darling. Making such a mess, rutting all over my shoe like a bitch in heat.”

“Fuck, Mommy, I’m going to come, please?”

“Go ahead, baby.”

Not a second later, she says, “Thank you, Mommy, coming for you, Mommy—”

Bellatrix’s orgasm is a wonder to witness, and you can only stare, like a galaxy is exploding in front of your very eyes. It comes as a trickle at first, minuscule shudders that shake her once, twice. But as she’s urged on by your whispered praises and hands tugging at her hair, her pleasure turns into a river carrying her away—until her orgasm crashes against her again and again, like a tidal wave threatening to drown her, promising to carry her out to sea forever, to never let her come back to shore.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Tears start to spill down her cheeks, but there’s no sadistic jolt this time. That side of you quietly leaves, replaced with the urge to care and protect.

“I know, baby girl, that’s it, you’re alright.” You keep a firm grasp on her shoulders as she shudders the last of her orgasm on her shoe, then tug her up. She crawls into your lap, tucking her head into the crook of your neck, sniffing. “Shh, darling, you did so well. You were so good, my perfect, good girl. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Was I really good?” Timid eyes peek at you from between strands of hair.

You smile, reaching to brush a curl away so you can better see her. “You were perfect.”

“Thank you, Mommy. I really liked everything we did.” Bellatrix sniffs again, pressing closer to you.

You chuckle. “I could tell, baby.” You run your hands up and down her spine, feeling the heat radiating off her. All the while, you keep cooing the sweetest praises and words of devotion into her ear.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, pretty girl?”

“Do you think we can try fisting next weekend?”

A true, genuine laugh escapes you. Oh, Bellatrix has the most unique, one-track mind. “Why don’t you rest up for a bit first, okay? We can talk about it later. Just relax now.”

“M’kay, Mommy, I will.”

Tomorrow, next weekend, the future all stretches before you, eager to be shaped by your hand. Anything you might want to do—and the ideas bloom in your mind—you can. But right now, you’re focused on the lovely, needy, flawed soul in your embrace. It’s you and her against the world.

You start to hum and resume rubbing Bellatrix’s back, allowing her to snuggle closer. Her eyes, though sleepily locked onto you, slowly flutter close. You smile indulgently, whispering, “Mommy’s right here, darling. Shh, go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[glowingbadger]

Hey, strange ask, but that ask that compared Dimitri to a retriever inspired me to request either headcannons or a drabble of Dima magically being turned into a dog but his S/O doesn’t realize it’s him but he still follows them around and is super protective of them and hijinks ensues.

Y'know what, Friend Anon? This is fucking adorable.

This really ended up as more 'fluff' than 'hijinks' lol but I had fun with it, so there you are~

SFW - Gender Neutral Reader

What to make of this situation. Not only are you completely unable to track down Dimitri, but when you go to check his quarters, one of the monastery dogs has gotten into his room and is making an absolute scene. He's a lovely golden color, with blue eyes the likes of which you've never seen on a dog, and the moment you enter the room, he bounds up to you and circles around your feet until you're practically dizzy.

"Woah, hey there! How in the world did you get in here I wonder..." you mutter as you lower a hand to pat his head, "Have you seen Dimitri around, buddy? I can't seem to find him anywhere..."

Having only taken a moment to nudge his head into your touch, he rapidly becomes alert once more and begins an absolute fit of barking. At this rate, he'll disrupt the whole monastery.

"Hey, hey! No need for that, sshhhh, come on, everything's okay-" you try to soothe him, speaking softly as you kneel down to pat his head. He whines softly, but his tail is twitching back and forth just a little, so he must be at least a little comfortable with you. "Listen," you say, standing upright and straightening your clothes, "If you can behave, you can come with me while I look for Dimitri, okay?"

He barks once, and comes to stand directly beside you, almost throwing you off balance. You smile and scratch his ear for a moment, glad to have a companion on your quest.

And it quickly becomes evident that your companion took this quest very seriously indeed. On your way out of the dorms, you see a shock of red hair ahead, and wave down Sylvain to ask for any leads.

"Hey- I haven't been able to find Dimitri all day, have you seen him?"

"Hm? Not recently, sorry to say. Who's your friend?" he says with a smile at the dog beside you, "What a cutie! No comparison to you though, of course."

You slide past that last bit and say,

"Yeah, he was in Dimitri's room when I went to check for him, and he's just kind of... fond of me, I guess?"

"And who could blame him?" Sylvain says, smirking as he leans against the wall beside you, "Say, if you're still looking for Dimitri, why don't we go look for him together in town-"

He doesn't get to finish his suggestion- your canine ally is on him in a second. Up on his hind legs, he jumps against Sylvain, nearly winding him and sending him stumbling back a couple steps. The dog barks and snarls relentlessly, even as you do your best to calm him.

"Sorry, Sylvain! I- I think I should just keep going for now- thanks anyway!"

"Yup- yeah, no problem," he replies, doing his best to regain his easy smile, "Man, your new friend is a protective guy, huh. Take care of Y/N for me, alright?" he tells the dog as you two part.

It's not long before you run into Ingrid on her way out of the dining hall, an admittedly delicious looking meat skewer in hand. The dog trots ahead of you and barks to her- though not aggressively, so you figure she must have made a good impression on him somehow. Once again, you ask about Dimitri, and once again, you have no luck. Ingrid does slide a piece of beef off of the skewer in her hand and hold it out to the dog. He glances back at you. You nod, as if to tell him it's okay, and yet he looks hesitant. With some goading from both you and Ingrid, he very carefully takes the meat from her hand between his front teeth, then chews at it slowly.

"What a strange dog," Ingrid says with a furrowed brow, "I've never seen one so... reticent about food."

"Yeah, he's an odd one," you muse as he finishes his treat, "He's a good boy though, so it's nice having him along."

Maybe all he understood were the words "good boy," but regardless, his tail is now wagging so fast it seems to blur before your eyes.

You bid Ingrid farewell, and continue on your search.

By the time you think to check with Dedue, you've spent an embarrassingly large portion of your day aimlessly wandering and questioning guards and knights. Frankly, he should have been your first guess. Meanwhile, your canine friend has become a comfortable fixture in your day. You find yourself mindlessly chatting with him, and maybe it's just because he recognizes that you're speaking, but he tends to bark back in reply. But when you finally muse aloud that you ought to check in with Dedue, the dog circles you, letting out excited little yelps and barks.

"Okay, okay, I'm going!" you say with a laugh, and head towards the greenhouse side by side with your companion.

And yet, you're not expecting the darkened expression that crosses Dedue's face when you explain that you've lost Dimitri. Sure, you could understand a bit of concern- you're plenty concerned, and the longer this goes on, the more you worry that this could be a serious matter beyond a mere missed connection. But Dedue's voice and bearing are grave as he sets down a watering can and says,

"His highness had offered to help some of the magic students this morning. If anything has befallen him as a result of this..." he trails off, but the malice in his eyes is plain to see. Only the dog whimpering beside you breaks the uncomfortable silence that follows. He pads forward and nudges Dedue's hand with his snout. This small gesture seems to lighten his expression just the slightest bit- but it's something. Dedue sighs and looks to you again,

"I will help you search for him. You continue to look throughout the monastery grounds, and I will check likely classrooms and inquire among the mages. We will cover more ground this way."

You nod, but your canine friend seems agitated. Perhaps it's only Dedue's sullen mood- this does seem like a uniquely empathetic dog, after all. You pat his head gently and say,

"Well, let's try to think of anywhere we might've missed."

You say that, but reflecting on it, it's hard to imagine anywhere you haven't checked and re-checked. You'd done well to bolster your mood thus far, but the more time goes on, the more insidious anxiety starts to take root in your heart. Absently scratching at the dog's furry ears, you let out a sigh, which he seems to respond to by whining softly and nuzzling his face against you.

"I know, I'm sorry, I just... what if something's happened to him?" You say softly, barely more than a whisper.

You're merely wandering at this point, letting your feet aimlessly take you where they will. Eventually, you've found yourself at the training ground, and figure you may as well check here again. Unsurprisingly, Felix is here, among a small handful of other knights and soldiers. Careful to skirt around the edge of the grounds and not get in anyone's way, you approach him, and do your best to greet him cheerfully. Felix huffs and sheathes his sword, wiping sweat from his brow as he scrutinizes your expression.

"You look like a mess." he says, blunt as ever, though you know this is his way of expressing concern.

"Yeah, I- I can't find Dimitri anywhere- I feel like I've looked everywhere twice by now, and no one's seen him since morning, and-" you can't help rambling a bit, a hint of a crack in the back of your throat, "I just couldn't forgive myself if something happened to him- so..."

"I haven't seen him, if that's what you're getting at," Felix says with a hand on his hip. Then, he sighs at your crestfallen expression, "Cut it out, will you? You look ridiculous when you sulk like that. And if the Boar sees you like this, I'll have to watch him sulking too."

You manage an awkward half-smile,

"You're right- thanks, Felix."

You hear your name from across the plaza and turn to see Dedue with Annette in tow. As you turn to meet them, you could swear you hear Felix say something to the dog that trails a few feet behind you. While you're none the wiser, he mutters,

"If you're planning to hang around Y/N all day, you'd better look out for them, got it? They look more like a lost puppy than you do. That stupid Boar had better show up soon."

The dog gives a soft little whine, and gently nuzzles Felix's hand. With an exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes, Felix in turn scratches at his neck, his expression softening just slightly.

Then, those golden ears perk up at your voice,

"Dimitri?!"

He turns and immediately bounds towards you, jumping up and licking at your face with his tail wagging at full speed. You laugh and ruffle his fuzzy head, then turn back to Annette and say,

"Well, he responds to it, so maybe you're right! But... you're sure the only thing we can do is wait for it to wear off?"

"I'm afraid so..." she replies, coming to stand beside you, "Say, Dimitri- if this is really you, could you please walk in a circle around me and then Dedue, then come back and stand in front of Y/N?"

He follows her request without question. Her instructions are far too complex to follow without extensive training, and with no gestures or encouragement to guide him, it seems almost certain that this dog is in fact your lovely Dimitri. You're eyes burn with the threat of tears, and it only now occurs to you how worried you'd been all day.

"Well, Dimitri, it seems we've had quite a day together," you say fondly, kneeling down to wrap your arms around him, "You make a really cute dog, but I think you'll be cuter when that magic wears off- so come back soon, okay?"

[miss-smutty]

Ma’am I heard your requests are open.. could I request a fluffy smutty imagine with Thor Odinson. I don’t actually have a storyline in mind so I leave that to you, but my point is,

Sex on the balcony!!

Immortal

A/N- Thank you @mostly-marvel-musings for the request! I hope you like it. I had a fic in mind when I saw the gif of Chris on the balcony so this was a perfect opportunity. It's alot different to anything I've done for a completely new AU

Summary- There's something different about the man across the room, something Aria can't quite put her finger on but she's more than willing to explore deeper.

Word count- 1420

Pairing- Thor Odinson x OFC

Warnings- Smut, Swearing, Unprotected sex (all the usual)

18+ only!

Taglist- @innerpaperexpertcloud

@pandaxnienke

@chickensarentcheap @longlostinanotherworld

Posted: 22nd May 2021

Aria couldn't peel her eyes away from The God of Thunder, the way he held the attention of everybody in the room , it was mesmerising. She was fascinated by him, how he barely seemed to notice the girls around him, throwing themselves on him. The way his face lit up when he spoke, how his whole aura shone brightly. Aria was rare in existence, a human who could see people's aura's just as clearly as the clothes they wore. A intuition so on point she knew everything about a person before they even spoke a word. This man's aura was unlike any she'd ever seen before, she knew he was  immortal as soon as she saw him. Still learning things about herself and the world she existed in, everyday she would be fascinated by something new.

Being new to town, Aria had arrived at the ball alone but had spent the night fighting away her own fair share of attention from eligible bachelor's. They were drew to her like moths to a flame, and were just as irritating. Not one of them had piqued her interest until she'd seen the mysteriously tall, broad, blonde statue of a man.

She stood by the back of the room by the buffet table, routinely replacing her flute of champagne everytime it emptied and watched the beautiful man intently. Studying him.

There was no doubt in her mind that the reason he turned around and caught her eye was because he felt her gaze upon him, only when their eyes met he looked just as intrigued as she did.

"Do you want to dance?" The eye contact with the mysterious God was broken when a small, slightly balding, weaselly man approached her, breaking her line of sight frustratingly. Aria tried to look around him, fighting the urge to shove him out of the way.

"In your dreams, mate." She replied to the highly confident middle aged man, paying no more attention to him and instead scanning the room once more, searching for the man she actually was interest in. Disappointment etched on her face when he seemed to have vanished from her sights.

She tried to mingle, to join in with the conversations but all she could hear was his bassy voice echoing around the busy room. She couldn't block it out, It was as if he had consumed her entire being but she still couldn't see him. It was distracting.

Aria needed to clear her mind, to block out the inner voices of the other guests and focus on that one voice. More than that, she needed air. It was stuffy, the atmosphere clingy. Too many aura's fighting for attention. She couldn't think straight. It was, Claustrophobic. 

Fighting her way through the groups of people, heading towards the side of the room and ducking behind the floor length curtains. She knew it was there, could sense it. A small, private balcony. No one else would know it was there unless they looked behind the curtain. Finally she could be alone for a minute to gather her thoughts.

Leaning out over the glass balcony, admiring the view of the valley below her. It was absolutely breath taking. Awe inspiring.

"Beautiful." She said out loud, into the night.

"My thoughts exactly." Came a deep voice from behind her. She turned around too quickly, not expecting anyone to follow her and tripped over her foot. Falling into the very arms of the man she'd been watching all night.

"I was talking about the view." She blushed. Looking up into his deep blue eyes, his otherworldly scent filling her nostrils. Fascinating her senses.

"I wasn't" He continued to stare into her eyes, his face emotionless making her blush deeper. "-What are you?" He asks, his eyes narrowing as the words left his mouth.

"Erm… A girl." Aria replied, realising she was still in his arms. Feeling his blood pumping through his veins and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. Whatever it was made her body tingle with electricity.

"No, you're a woman but not that, there's something more." He furrowed his brow as he studied her closer. The look on his face stirring something inside of her, something deep inside of her, a tingly presence she hasn't felt before. Reaching up to touch his face with her fingertips, she felt a pull, like a magnet. Thor's eyes widened when he felt it too, pulling her against his body tightly.

"You're different, I can feel it. I'm drawn to you unlike anyone I've ever met before." He whispered, his lips lingering close to hers, an unknown force pulling them together.

"I've never felt anything like this before either, what are you?" Both her hands came to rest on his broad chest as she spoke. The way his heart beat was different to anyone else, faster, a different rhythm all together.

"I am Thor, The God of Thunder, my love. Son of Odin." She could sense the pride in his voice. Aria didn't want to tell him she already knew he was a God, she didn't know how to answer the questions that would follow. Not when she still didn't understand how she knew herself.

"Now that is a title." She smiled, still looking up at him through her lashes innocently.

"You're beautiful." He muttered staring deeply into her soul and smoothing his thumb over her cheek tenderly. When her lips parted suggestively, he took the cue, leaning down to attach his lips to hers.

The kiss was deep and passionate, his lips even softer than she imagined. She loosened his black tie and left it hanging around his neck. The kisses becoming more ferocious with a deep and hungry need. A feral need that consumed the both of them simultaneously.

Pulling him back against the wall by his tie, his thick-set body crashing against her heavily. Pinning her between him and the wall. His cock pressing against her through those deliciously tight, fitted trousers. Reaching down to fumble with his zipper messily, lips still locked while a primal thirst.

Thor caught her hair in his hands, running his fingertips up her scalp, clasping her hair within both his fists. He pulled her head back gently, exposing her neck, a deep animalistic growl emitting from his throat before he buried his head into her neck. Gripping his teeth gently into her soft flesh until her knees became weak.

Fumbling to try and pull her dress up, the fabric clinging to her curves, he groaned ripping the fabric up the side and pulling it up to her stomach. Thor pulled her up into his arms, resting her back against the wall while he guided his cock to her opening. The feel of his smooth tip against her slit made her moan, a moan that came from deep within. The sound spurring him on as he pushed himself deep inside of her while she clung to his back.

Lifting her higher, her back scraping against the wall painfully. The pain and the pleasure making her walls tighten around his thick cock making him growl instinctively. He pounded into her relentlessly, her fingers gripping his hair tightly, pulling his head towards her with every thrust. Gutteral moans coming from them both as their release builds. It's quick but oh so intense. Something she's never been able to find before, especially with a stranger. Someone who can match up to her, who can take control and fuck her like this.

Aria can't quite put her finger on it but it feels different. Like it's meant to be, like fate had drawn them both here at this exact time. 

The way his eyelids hang heavy with lust, his breathe panting as he give her everything he's got, drives her over the edge. She screams out loud, her legs going rigid, every inch of her body alight with sensation. She'd never come like that before, it takes a while for her to recover. Her head resting against his shoulder as they both try and catch their breath. Aria's dress torn and Thor's hair dishevelled.

"Why do I feel like I've met you before?" He asks, moving a stray hair from her mouth tenderly.

"I have no answers but I feel the exact same way. That was the most intense thing I've ever felt." She replies.

"Why didn't you question me when I told you I was a God? These clothes I'm wearing to fit in don't exactly make me look like one." He moves over to the edge of the balcony, the way he looks standing there in the moonlight is breathtaking.

"I could sense it." She says without thinking, immediately wishing she could take the words back.

Thor thinks about it for a second. "What are you?" He asks again.

"I have to go. I'm sorry, I have to… I've said too much." Aria mumbles, straightening out her hair and dress before turning to flee.

He catches her hand before she turns, as she fights every urge in her body, all of her senses telling her to stay and she runs. Aria runs and she doesn't look back.