#It's the simple form of cursive so it should be pretty clear

[anglerflsh]

your handwriting looks like a letter you'd find from a great grandfather or the likes /pos

the merit goes to those famous calligraphy classes I had to take because I held my pencils weird

[kyoupann]

Please do more of the writing head canons. It’s really interesting to see other people’s ideas on the topic, so if you can be bothered, I would highly appreciate more, thanks bye <3

Y’all don’t know how happy I am to talk about these headcanons, they are my babies and I love them so much :’) thanks for asking g <3

Handwriting Headcanons

Same dynamic as before, try to guess whose handwriting it is before reading and tell me how many you got right! <3

You can find the first post here (no need to check it tho)

Quick disclaimer: halfway through making my initial notes, I remembered I had one (1) single lesson of graphology in my applied linguistics class, but that was a year ago and some information might be off. I just thought it was neat to include.

Another quick disclaimer: I don’t know much about Hylian, but I like to think it has a similar stroke system to Japanese, so the pressure and accuracy of your strokes play a major role in your handwriting (among other things, ofc.) so there are some parts where I focus more on that

(First Row, from left to right)

Sky

Our first boy is mother hen! Believe it or not, he has the prettiest handwriting out of all of them! Sky: probably has nice, even elegant handwriting because Sun forced him to practice when they were little. In the end, that paid off because his handwriting is the prettiest one. There’s no pressure, but he is confident in what he writes that his lines aren’t thin. Mistakes? what is that? this boy has impeccable grammar and spelling. No mechanic errors to be found in his letters! I’d like to think that many of Hyrule’s classic/staple poems were originally written by the firt king aka sky child. Like, imagine, after a retiring from being a Person of Power (as the first ruler), Sky finds comfort in the arts: revisits his old woodcarvings and starts writing poetry about the world he still doesn’t fully understand. wowie. tldr: sky writes poetry and you can pry it from my cold dead hands.

This is what one of his letters would look like: 

Next one is the one and only, our Hero of Time

2. Time

I’ll die on the “Time didn’t know how to read and write” hill. His handwriting is simple, not pretty but not messy. It has some grammar and spelling mistakes here and there. Can become unreadable if writing in a hurry, he sorts of forgets spaces between words are a thing/letters have different sizes and lowercase letters end up the same size as capital letters. I’m not saying he sometimes forgets to write articles: he just doesn’t want to. Honestly, he just has this dad-neat handwriting. He is a gentle dad and writes like a dad, if he puts too much pressure onto the paper, his handwriting become too sharp/angle-ish and ends up looking ugly. And as much as he would like to not care about it, in the end he does (:

Malon taught him how to write and it was quite the experience. At first he didn’t want to because he was ‘too old’ to learn and it was torture at first, but now look at him devouring his cowboy novels. 

A chunk of his handwriting: 

*sniff* such a dad quote.

3. my mansss, your  4x1 deal at Target: Four

Look, my boy is patient! He could do some nice and fancy lettering if he wanted to. He was taught that handwriting and spelling said a whole lot about him as a person, you know, like a first impression kinda thing; so he always proof reads more than twice before sending ­a letter. Super rare grammar mistakes.

The faster he writes, the more slant his writing becomes. Under stress/ when not sure how to write things down, run-on sentences are everywhere and his handwriting is inconsistent in general (I don’t headcanon each part of him having completely different handwriting because handwriting becomes muscle memory over time. It’s just slightly different variations of the same, like idk  Vio’s handwriting is neater than Green’s and Red writes hearts instead of any dot/circle and no, I do not take constructive criticism on that, jk i do.) Adding on to each of the colours’ handwriting, I’d think Red and Green write with words slanted to the right( inclined), Vio is a mix of the opposite, so reclined and straight, and my mans blue a true neutral writes straight (kinda like Time’s).

The logic behind this is that inclined writing supposedly means honesty and need for giving (and getting) affection; reclined means, as you can probably imagine,  defensiveness and repression of true feelings, but also shows great concentration; straight handwriting means self-control, observation and reflection as well as distrust and indifference. But as complete being (tm), Four just writes as in the image example which is not too straight and not too inclined, and I believe that’s a good middle for him

HOWEVER, if I’m feeling in the mood for crack, I totally accept this boy to have the ugliest, chicken scratches-looking handwriting! :’D It’s just funny to think that someone like him, who has to be precise and careful in his work, can't write neatly to save his life. 

One of his letters would look like this: 

Also I just LOVE how his hero titles look in this font ksksks

and that’s

(Middle row, from left to right)

4.- Mister Bunny Boy - Legend

His uncle taught him how to write. I’d call his handwriting pretty and neat at a first glance, but he presses too hard on the paper, most of the time staining the back or the following page. Sometimes will retrace some words if he doesn’t like how it looks (which only makes it messier). According to my notes, a thick or strong handwriting represents determination/commitment.

As I also headcanon him to know many languages, mechanical errors are more present than grammar ones; that is, weird capitalisation of words. Punctuation is somewhere in between; uses too many commas when he should just cut the sentence. he mixes punctuation from two languages or more in writing when too distracted (or too focused, because, well, pressure.); when he writes for himself, he has almost no problem following said language’s punctuation rules. Also, this is just polyglot culture, and I’m projecting a bit, but when he forgets a word in the language he’s writing, he just replaces it with its equivalent in another language because we don’t care about fluency, but rather functionality. in this household (more on that in my language hc, ksksks).

An example of his writing:

so powerful

4.-  Mr. Wolfman, howl me a song - Twilight

I don’t have much for him because 1) I don’t think he writes a lot and 2) he is a hands-on/visual learner, I’ll die by that. He only learnt how to write because Ulli insisted it was important and he was not about to disrespect his momma; he IS That Guy, but doesn’t really write enough to have neat handwriting.

Many people seem to overlook the fact that his house is filled with books and write him as completely illiterate (which if not explored properly, ends up feeling a bit disrespectful and full of prejudice, but go off I guess; and that’s on my core Headcanons for Twi); however, he sticks to simple sentences. Knowing how to read and understanding a text is different from knowing how to write them. Like, when we would see a semicolon and understand its position in the text, but didn’t understand the nature of it. Is this clear? idk i’m sorry. So yeah, boy reads a lot, writes very little.

As for his Actual Handwriting, as opposed to Legend, his handwriting is thiccc but not because he presses into the paper; he is just that messy, he has no sense of ink-flow-control, he does what he can with what he has. To the untrained eye, his handwriting illegible letters like v, n, u are very similar; when he makes notes for himself he does it in the form of doodles or small ‘icons’. But! He reads a lot, so he rarely makes spelling mistakes (: he is your go-to guy when you don’t know how to write a word.

An example of his writing:

He keeps a journal, sue me.

3. My first born- Warrior

Okay, first off... I accept this is completely biased. I saw the idea and said “That’s True”. If you haven’t, please read Effective Communication; or The Lack of Thereof by htruona, a fic where the boys reflect on the language barriers between them. It’s incredibly funny and probably what made me start making these silly notes. So, if you’ve read that fic, you know where I’m going.

My man, Warrior, can’t fucking write. I mean, he physically can, but it’s very bad. Here’s the reason for it, tho, and it’s not his fault: Technically, he knew how to write alright but he joined the military and whatever note he had to write had to be concise or in the worst case coded. He mixes capital and lowercase letters. If we consider that he joined the military at around 15, his handwriting and grammar had yet to continue developing. Just think about how after summer break, your handwriting was always slightly worse than before because you didn’t write for an entire month. Now think what 2 years can do to that. Hmm, not cool, dude. He makes quick notes, when writing he’s all gotta go fast. he is the lighting mcqueen of writing; good for emergency messages, not ideal for love letters. His punctuation also suffered a lot, he only know full stops and commas and hardly uses them. A sentence for him is either one word or fifty without a single comma, no inbetween.

His hero title and an example of his writing.

(Bottom row, or what I like to call “fuck cursive” row)

7.- Magic man - Hyrule

I’m basic and I do agree with the popular headcanon of he not knowing how to write because well, y’all know his Hyrule. He only knows how to write his name because that’s important, same with numbers. I don’t see why would he write/read except checking the roadsigns. (he can even use this as an excuse for getting lost frequently; he thought it said something different.) But I do think that because his habitual reading consists of roadsigns, his ‘punctuation’ is weird af and places full stops/points/periods at the same level of his words and his commas/question/exclamation marks below them. Yk, creative license. Sadly, I don’t have much about my magic hands man so here’s what his writing would look like if he actually wrote a paragraph:

Man, I love Hyrule.

8.- Man, I don’t understand this boy -  Wild

Cursive? ain’t nobody have the time for that. He woke up and had to save the world in his underwear while not knowing how to read nor write.  He learnt during his journey and was taught by multiple people from different regions, that explains his inconsistent spelling of things and names for them. So Wild knows language variations for many items and uses them interchangeably (even if they aren’t exactly the same). Another headcanon related to writing/language skills that I’ve been thinking about is that if the shrine was able to cause amnesia, I’m sure there were other areas in the brain affected which leads us to language disorders such as agraphia and aphasia. But that’s a story for another day ksksksk

An example of his writing (after relearning)

9.- The best of sons - Wind

I don’t have much for him and that makes me sad. Look, he’s a kid, doing kid things like stabbing dudes on the head. This boy was taught cursive by his grandma, but could never do it and no one needs it anyway. His handwriting is good enough for his pirate life, Tetra is the one to handle Official stuff, he just gotta sign. Spelling and grammar mistakes abound. He is still relatively young and can correct his handwriting if he desires. But same as Wild, with how many times he’s been thrown out and hit his head, I’m starting to consider some language disorder for him as well.

An example of his writing:

aaand that’s it.

Thanks, y’all for showing interest in this silly thing uwu it was fun to finally talk about this. If you ever want to discuss ideas/headcanons(especially if they are related to language and culture), I’m your person (: I’m always happy to hear new headcanons. Feel free to add anything to this post either in a reply or in a reblog, I’d love to hear from y’all <3<3

[jjkpls]

crayons ‘dul’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 3.7k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

> next

It doesn't take Mr Kim too long to find a way to meet you.

A week or so later, Adrianne is handing you a little post-it where her curvy cursive spells his name, with his phone number and a time. He says he'll bring Jimmy early to school in two days, to contact him if it doesn't work for you and that he cannot wait to talk to you again. This last part you wouldn't bet on the accuracy. Adrianne says he stuttered his way through a mumbo jumbo of English and another language she didn't recognize, apologizing because he didn't know how to express what he meant but from what she could gather, he was excited to have this meeting about Jimmy.

He arrives two days later, right on time. Not a minute early nor late, perfectly on time and if you don't point it out loud, you still notice it with a discreet smile.

They both look perfectly relaxed, smiling for the man and rather calm for the boy. It's funny to see him now. Mr Kim looks pretty much nothing like the first time you saw him, with the worry, the low-key panicked, agitated state he came bursting in your classroom. He looks a few years younger, with an easy grin stretching full rosy lips, dimples digging deep in his roundish honey cheeks -almost the same as his son's, you notice with delight- wearing a straight maroon coat, this time well adjusted, that's making him even taller and more elongated if possible and of which the shade compliments his complexion endearingly so.

"Hi. It's really nice to see you." You end up greeting him first, as warmly as you can.

You've been pondering over this meeting for so long, time feeling like it never ceased to stretch out and felt dreading, dreading, dreading. It was never coming soon enough and you were terrified, even if you had no reason to doubt Mr Kim's honesty, that he'd bail on you for whatever reason.

But here he is, seemingly so open to discuss and after installing Jimmy at his desk with the same tools as last time (a pile of white sheets waiting to be filled and your set of crayons) you join him a few tables away (far enough for Jimmy not to be exposed to the conversation but close enough to keep an eye on him, or more accurately, for him to keep an eye on his guardian), pressing your hands together and against your bosom to try to contain my excitement.

"As I told you last time, Jimmy is a very sweet boy. He's not doing bad with the exercises and activities, it's quite surprising -in a great way!- since from my understanding English is not his first language, right?"

"Yeah, no, it's uh- it's Korean. We just moved from Korea a few months ago, well, right before he started school. But we- my- her mother and I would try to talk to him a bit of English at home to have him pick up on the basis..."

"Oh, that's nice! Children that young do learn languages particularly easily, it's definitely beneficial for him. I can already tell."

Namjoon sends a glance his way, a fond, dad's proud one lingering on his tiny figure hunched over the desk. You can't quite tell from where you sit but it does look like he's started drawing.

"Had you planned moving here for a long time? I mean, was it the plan from the start, that's why you wanted to teach him English?"

"No, not really." The mood feels different. It switches from rather tranquil and cheerful into a very heavy, uneasy silence his deep voice hardly disturbs. There's a glint in his eyes. It's not an easy one to look at and your heart stings as the glint takes over his whole gaze hovering over his son. You understand it's something sad. Probably painful and hard to carry even for such a strong-looking, shoulder-broad grown man.

You don't want to push it. You're curious, as one gets, but too decent and you know yourself to be too soft-hearted and sensitive, for you to be snooping through sad people's luggage. But you think back about Jimmy, whose curious eyes, beautiful but wide with something reflecting like a perfect mirror what you can now find in his dad's, and you're certain that his odd behaviour must come from that.

"Mr Kim, the reason I wanted to see you," You start, voice quieter. He's startled for a second, redirecting his attention back on you, and he looks a bit guilty. As if he highly suspects, if not already know full well, where this is going. "I do meet all the parents of my students, as I told you. But in the case of Jimmy, if I was so insistent, it's that I'm really concerned about him."

His eyes draw downwards, staring at his hands. Long slender fingers fidgeting with one another, pinching and twisting a bit. I wonder if like his son, he might start crying.

"He's lovely but he cannot- he has had a really hard time uh- how could I put it?" You don't want to sound too alarmist. You know parents have the tendency to freak the fuck out for the misinterpretation of one single word. Sometimes an onomatopoeia, misplaced, send them into a raging spiral of anxiety over what terrible condition their kid might be dealing with. Not all parents are insane or simply too quick to jump to conclusions -or plain stupid. Some understand, whatever words you use. The father sitting in front of you seems worried and pained enough you wish you could protect him but you need him to understand that his situation is serious, and how important it is for Jimmy to have the tools to change now, while he still can, before he gets too old and start to take all those unfortunate coping mechanisms as lifelong terrible habits. "He's had a hard time simply being a kid." Namjoon sighs deeply. "He doesn't speak to anyone, not even me. Hardly looks at his classmates, never approaches them. I've noticed also that talking is not the only issue, any form of expression, if not made to do because it's in the course and all the other children are doing it too, he simply won't do." Mr Kim has raised his head enough for you to see him. He's troubled, upset, worried. But he seems to want to show himself more involved and you can tell he is, you can tell he cares as he listens so carefully as you explain in great details the odd incident with the papers and the crayons he refused to play with, even without a soul to watch over his shoulder.

"I feel it's a bit more than simple timidity. Or that at least, there's something significant behind this timidity. I can understand that it might be sensitive to you," You do, his eyes are screaming at you and you can't ignore them. Sort of begging for something, you're not quite sure what, you're not quite sure they, themselves, know either. It's a terrible case of a grown adult, an apparent composed grown man with a mighty balanced life, not a child anymore, actually, a dad, appearing so vulnerable and broken. It's a horrid vision. You've never been able to handle those.

"But it's in Jimmy's interest that I know a bit more. It's quite concerning. He's at an age where he's supposed to develop those skills. If we just let him be, leave him in this... unease, whatever it is, he might adopt it for a very long time until the time comes when it's become an exhausting challenge, almost impossible, to overcome.”

"I understand what you're saying." Mr Kim starts, voice low and tiny I can hardly pick up on the words. "I noticed- I mean, he's not changed that much with me. He's never been a very loud, boisterous boy, you know? But lately, he's been a bit quieter. I can see it at home, he's a bit stoic, less... expressive." You lose the man for a second. He's staring at his son longly and you don't want to abruptly bring him back to the conversation. Eventually, he does come back on his own, clearing his throat and scratching his neck. "That's- ridiculous but I even told myself the other day that I miss his tantrums. He didn't use to throw a lot of fits but sometimes he would, for more candies or something stupid like that. But he hasn't in a while."

You can't count how many times you heard overwhelmed parents jokingly wish that their kid would just turn off, stop causing scenes, stop demanding, screaming and crying out ridiculous tantrums. You remember Adrienne, saying more than once, to chastise the behaviour of one too agitated child to take a look at Jimmy, learn to be more like him, and why can't they be like him.

The thing is, a child is not supposed to be quiet.

A child should be problematic, testing, challenging. Loud and cheerful and agitated because children are like that. They are little humans just starting this whole insane experience that is Life, trying to figure themselves out, trying to figure out the people around them and the whole world along with it. They're meant to be a mess.

They're not meant to be quiet and tranquil, and bathing in a sort of slow, stoic haze. They're certainly not meant to have this expression on their face. The one Jimmy is wearing. Of deep, deep sadness. Like he's been somewhere, he's felt something, he's lost something that has left him misplaced forever. As if he's not really part of this world, this Life, or doesn't care or know why he's in it. Just letting himself float about. Embarrassed and denying all impulse that could potentially shape him and his existence.

He's only five.

"Do you have any inclination as to why his behaviour has turned into this?"

You see the gears going into labour in his head. He looks pensive, lost in a pit of thoughts he doesn't know if he can nor should share. There's a tremble to his lips, to his fingers, a telling frown to his eyebrows as his eyes very obviously decide to avoid you. The question seems to seize him like an earthquake but somehow, it's a good one. A disturbing but potentially lucky one. One that would invite him to experience something hard but liberating, something that he really needs.

Not long after you've asked the question to which you already know half of the answer, he pauses to think it over and then decides to talk. You notice the way his body slump over himself instantly, along with an abyssal years-old sigh and he starts to talk.

"5 months ago, my- his mom passed away." You hate yourself for the way you gasp, eyes wide and already blurry as if it's appropriate, as if you're allowed when you can't even imagine the beginning of their pain. It all starts making sense and you're heartbroken. You wish you didn't show yourself so reckless, sensitive but somehow naive and unhelpful.

You mouth a silent apology and condolence you notice he accepts from the way he nods, not wanting to cut him off. He's already breathless and you wonder how many more words he has in stock before the resources shut down, right before he loses it and breaks the strong persona he has to keep straight and steady for his son. How exhausting it must be. "It was hard already in Korea but I thought -naively- that if we moved here, close to her family, maybe, being around them would ease- everything out a bit. I don't know. It was stupid." He shakes his head from left to right, scoffing to himself, a hand raised to his forehead, hiding his eyes.

"It wasn't, Mr Kim. It's very honorable of you to quit everything for your son." Your words have no effect whatsoever. Unfortunately, it's blatantly obvious, he's made up his mind already. He's guilty, he messed up, and he holds a grudge against himself for this decision and nothing a dumb teacher, sensitive and half-weeping, would say could change that opinion, as destructive and inaccurate as it may be.

"It really was. It's so different here, I thought after some time it would be worth it but I think he hates it. I think he's very confused and I don't know if he's too young to feel like that, I'm not sure, but he looks like he's embarrassed about being a foreigner. Like not speaking properly. I can't even tell if he understands well or if he doesn't get it at all when people speak to him in English since he just- he can't really communicate. Even with his cousins, it's-"

Oh.

"Oh." Now that you hear him say that, it lights a small bulb hidden at the back of your head. It shines upon a whole roof-tall shelf holding all of those awkward, disagreeable memories you tend to forget actively because even reflecting on them decades later still sends a thrill of disgust the length of your spin.

It's those moments of pure embarrassment, of horrid dreading feelings that you used to be overwhelmed with as a child and this until you were not much more of a child anymore, and those memories paired with their emotions simply faded into shadows of scenes that you can only wonder if they ever were real.

You used to be filled with stupid insecurities based on very confused, distant, impossible to decipher pretend truths, sometimes, you would just feel stupid. Completely idiotic, ignorant, and unlovable. In those moments, you just couldn't dare open your mouth to pronounce a word that would give you away. Because if you did, somehow, you would end up messing up and people would laugh and make fun of you and hate you because there are so many reasons to and of course you deserved it.

Images of the little boy, hiding obviously in a corner but longingly observing his peers. Obviously terrified but curious, and most definitely desiring.

Because of course, he'd want to. Talk to them, be with them but how could he when he's not even sure he could speak the way they do.

"Mr Kim, I can tell he wants to. Even if he can't let anyone approach him, I can tell he'd like to be part of the group. That being said his fears or as you said, maybe his insecurities, don't allow him to."

"Should I- Should I seek for a therapist? He had one in Korea but I don't think he was ready for it. He just reacts very badly to strangers, especially when they try to, you know, sink into your brain and- now that we're here, I can hardly picture how that would go."

"Well, therapy is never a bad idea. It can only be beneficial for him... for anyone." You're not sure how appropriate it is for you to add this but you owe to say it. Sometimes, parents don't realize, but a child's deepest wounds are born from seeing and feeling their guardians'.

"I'd seen someone already." He explains without needing you to insist further. Seems like you're not as subtle as you thought yourself to be. "I did because- I had to. His mom and I had been separated for a while before her passing, it'd always been complicated between us and I can't lie, I did feel terribly guilty... I thought it might hurt him somehow. Maybe he could feel it and experience it too. I had to for the both of us. It fixed me but not him, so I suppose, it didn't come from that."

"Grief is... It's very complex. It comes along with a plethora of confusing, untamed emotions as an adult but for a child... It must manifest in a way we can't even imagine. I'm sorry, you don't need me to tell you that." You're a mess of stutters. Words are running away from you, the smart ones are even flying, making sure there's no way you'd catch them by the tip of the tail. You just want to ease this father's struggles, somehow. You don't know him much but you know his son, a little, and you, for reasons you don't care much to look into, deeper than simply you having a saviour complex, need to help it all resolve. They don't deserve any of it all. No one does.

It might be silly. But the thought of Jimmy, that sweet, lovely child, sensitive and precious as he is, must have a father quite special himself to have been brought up this way.

"No, it's fine. You're right." A heavy silence settles in between you. In the background, faintly, you can hear the soft rustling of the tip of a crayon against paper. You open your mouth, the fantastic memory of the other day, when he arrived late to pick Jimmy up and something you still, a week later, recalling itself back to you. He opens his at the exact same time and before you're able to utter any word, he's the one starting, "Actually, I really appreciate it. Being able to talk about it like that with someone. Since my therapist, I don't think I was able to. People only have enough tolerance for other's pain. Which I understand, it's just- hard and well, I'm thankful for you."

He stammers saying that, seemingly scrambling with his own words. The compliment is so heartfelt, like a shot from his heart directly into yours. Most of the emotions it rises probably coming from his choice of wording, maybe an error of translation, a lack of exactitude that doesn’t come smoothly. You've never heard anyone said those words to you and somehow, so unprepared for it, you can hardly handle the overwhelming burst of gratitude.

With the greatest pleasure, you jump on the occasion to bring something good to him, what you meant to say when he started first, the story about last time and how confident you are that better days are yet to come.

It brings an evident brush of light to his expression. The youthful sense he gave off when he just walked in, made of warm colours and smiles, is back. As if a weight has been lifted. As if he trusts you with his son, now wearing his hopefulness and trust and appreciation on this soft face of his, and you feel yourself blush in delight.

It’s precisely why you do what you do. Most of the times, those moments come in more subtle, almost dubious manifestations. It’s a drawing made ‘only for you, Miss’ or a kid you haven’t seen in a few years recognising you from across a hallway and beaming all his teeth your way; or maybe a present too nicely picked out and wrapped up too well to be the product of a kid’s, handed to you at the end of the year.

It's a wonderful feeling you're experiencing.

Until it turns sort of awkward. You mean, from a third party, maybe from Jimmy's eyes, it’s definitely awkward. It doesn’t exactly feel this way for you though. You're just kind of staring at each other, grinning obnoxiously. Delighted by the turns of events -even more so with the start of the conversation, which brought difficult painful shocks to an already sensitive soul, the benevolence and mutual understanding feel all the more pleasant.

Conquered by each other in a way you probably won’t be able to express very well with words if any of you tried. You see in him an ally -which is always such a wonderful feeling because as curious as it is, all parents are not always reliable allies to you, teachers- and you think he does too.

It’s just that it lasts for quite a bit. Probably too long. Until finally, the rummage going on outside brings you back to earth and school that is about to start in a few reminds itself to you.

Quickly he thanks me again, in between the bursting in of a loud, chatty-feeling Riley Donovan, and a Charlotte dragging her feet in discontent. He says something about meeting again before he’s rushing to Jimmy, whose calm demeanour has wavered when his classmates starting walking in.

It’s as heartwarming as last time. The way Mr Kim just has to lean forward to wrap his arms around Jimmy to have him melt onto his chest, face burying in his neck and tiny hands squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until the chubby fingers turn white against his dad’s neck. There’s an exchange of secret words and of gazes, special ones that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, you believe on the moment, until Mr Kim needs to depart and does so.

The gaze Jimmy had for his dad doesn’t disappear right as the later leaves. It remains and is directed solely on you in a very peculiar way, so notable that your heart starts racing when you notice.

Jimmy who usually avoids eye contact, sometimes would look at you, if you're addressing directly to him for example and those looks are systematically made of bewilderment, maybe fear, definite insecurity. Like a prey caught in a predator's radar.

But now those eyes, the round, dark wonders are lingering with something utterly different. A stillness that hits so differently. You're not sure if you are seeing things, if it’s wishful thinking. If it’s you now watching through the lens of someone beyond enchanted, purely content from the newfound trust and confidence and inspiration.

When you free your class for recess, you have confirmation that something has changed. You have no idea how he did it without you noticing but as you turn your back to the door to face your desk -and your chair, which your legs are dreading to have you throw yourself on- you see the perfect tidy pile of your crayons laid carefully on top of it. A few papers are sitting next to it, less than you gave him.

It’s ridiculous, embarrassing to an extent you would never tell that moment out loud but you end up jumping on the balls of your feet, clapping your hands together like a stupid seal, squealing before grabbing the stack of crayons and pressing it to your heart.

A/N : thanks so much for having waited for me so patiently; as always, lots of love send your way, thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoy it :)

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Nora Roberts Shit Like That

PART FORTY-THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of depression symptoms, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.4K

Summary: Ella performs another exercise in spontaneity.

A/N: We've still got the epilogue left, but this is the final regular chapter. Sorry this took so long; endings give me writer’s block. Thank you so much for reading! I have absolutely loved writing this story. I hope you like this chapter! :)

By late May, summer was blooming early and warm and fragrant in Philadelphia. Ella pulled her hair back in a low bun as she padded out onto the terrace. The sun was finally going down, painting the sky a pinkish orange. In the small view of the city past the other apartment buildings, she could see the buildings beginning to light up, tiny and twinkly. Jess was already out there, with a copy of Sharp Objects in hand. He chewed on his eraser, his brows furrowed as he concentrated on the words. There were already chunks of Ella’s messy cursive decorating the pages, and she’d insisted he read it as soon as she finished it the week before. He was already three quarters of the way through.

“This book is fucking crazy, Stevens,” he said as she walked out, not looking up from the text.

“Yeah, cutie. That’s why I like it,” she told him, smiling widely and leaning against the railing next to him.

“So unpredictable,” he deadpanned.

“Whatever, James Dean,” she replied, rolling her eyes and snorting a laugh.

Smirking, he finally shut the book and tossed it back onto one of the mismatched armchairs. Following her gaze, he saw the flaming orangey sun descending behind the cityscape. With the evening light reflected against her freckled face, he could see the green flecks in her eyes when he turned to look at her.

At first, she had not wanted to go to the graduation ceremony at all. She certainly wasn’t walking across the stage in a gown. But, she decided to go for the undergrads she had been the teacher assistant for. They clapped in the auditorium, and went out with Chris, Leo, Matthew, and Mabel to try the new Italian restaurant, which ended up being decent. It wasn’t entirely unceremonious, but there wasn’t much fanfare. Jess didn’t expect Ella to want anything more. She’d ended up finishing her finals a week before the actual ceremony, anyway.

But, still, she was finally done. Chris had even ordered a cake for the table in celebration, despite Ella’s blushy protests. She doubted it would sink in for a while. She was a perpetual student, and was already beginning to feel anxious without steady classwork and homework. But she would start teaching her summer classes in a week or two, and she was planning to fill her time with art and helping out at Truncheon until then.

For the moment, though, she watched the sunset. She felt the night begin to cool down, breezes blowing past her. And Jess could practically feel her relax. Since deciding to take the job at Penn, she’d seemed calmer. He hadn’t realized just how heavily it had been weighing on her until after it was over. She was using vibrant color in her paintings again, which he hadn’t seen in what felt like years. She was coming around to Truncheon after her classes, spending nights with their friends up in the apartment. She was playing music with Leo and running lines with Mabel.

Of course, she still had days when she felt so hopeless about the state of her life, and honestly, the world, that she couldn’t even explain her sadness. But she was working on it. She was trying. It made Jess so proud he almost couldn’t handle it. Watching her, so comfortable in her own skin, made a tiny smirk form on his lips.

As though she could feel his gaze, she suddenly faced him again. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said lightly. “Just looking at you.”

“At me?” she mocked him with dramatic batting of her eyelashes and a breathy voice.

“What can I say? You’re irresistible,” he quipped with a shrug.

She rolled her eyes, trying to brush off the flush rising to her cheeks. “You have to stop saying Nora Roberts shit like that to me.”

“Never,” he shot back smugly.

“Jackass.”

“Nihilist,” he said, then pressed a kiss to her rosy cheek. “A nihilist with a master’s degree.”

“Yeah, it seems that way,” she said, her words a sigh.

“Hey, Stevens,” he began, tilting his head at her a little.

“Yes, Mariano?” she echoed, teasing.

“I’m really proud of you,” he said sincerely.

She bit at the inside of her cheek and smoothed her hands over her simple olive green dress, fidgety and blushing once more. “Thank you. I’m proud of me, too.”

Jess’s smile widened but he felt his heartbeat picking up, stomach churning with anxiety. He felt so wholly content standing next to her, so completely enveloped by love. Dimples and Bette Davis eyes and a loud laugh. So stubborn and passionate and understanding. She was the end and the beginning of everything for him, and he almost felt out of breath at the thought of what was going to happen next. He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his mouth anxiously.

“You okay?” she asked, noticing his uneasiness.

He nodded. “Yeah, Elle...yeah.”

Sighing, Jess decided to bite the bullet, rip off the bandaid. His hands were shaky with excitement. He went over to the suit jacket draped over the armchair behind him. Reaching into his inside pocket, he grabbed the small velvet box. Ella looked on in confusion, as he turned back around and landed on one knee.

A thick shadow of realization crossed her face and her mouth fell slightly agape. “No way.”

“Look, I know you don’t like the big romantic stuff. And please stop me if this all too much of a patriarchal mating ritual for you. But I love you and you love me and we love each other,” he began, looking up at her. He had told himself not to cry, but he was already starting to. With the sunset behind her, Ella looked ethereal and beautiful. “And we’re supposed to be together.”

She rolled her eyes though they were growing tearful, letting out a scoff as he repeated back his own words from years earlier. The night he had tried to get her to come with him to New York flashed across her mind, but her heart didn’t twist in pain at the memory. Instead, it fluttered pleasantly.

“You Hemingway motherfucker,” she whispered through a watery laugh, though she blinked away the tears.

He chuckled breathily, face hot with scarlet color. “I’ll take that one as a compliment. But...I think we should get married. What about you?”

A small giggle escaped her lips before she could help it and she just couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she spoke. “Y’know, most of the time, I don’t really see the point in getting married.”

Jess’s face fell for only a second.

“But that’s most of the time,” she said. “Not when I’m with you, James Dean.”

After a moment of shock on his face, he scoffed and gave a dramatic groan. “Fuck off, Daria.”

Ella shrugged. “Just thought I should give you a taste of your own medicine,” she told him, smile turning to a smirk. “But, if you still wanna marry me after that one, then I’d love to.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “Really.”

Rising quickly, he enveloped her in a tight hug and kissed her. His lips were gentle and sweet, and almost reminded her of their first kiss so many years ago. Then again, each time he kissed her was pretty much as good as, if not better than, the first time. And, to her surprise, she felt no fear. Something clicked inside her, and she was completely certain. When she pulled away to look at him, she wiped at the stray tears which had fallen on his cheeks.

“I can’t believe you got down on one knee and everything,” she said.

He shrugged humbly. “I try.”

“That you do.”

He looked away from her intense gaze shyly and took a step back, holding the open ring box out to her. “Do you want this ring, by the way?”

“Ah yes! I almost forgot!” she said emphatically. As he had spoken, knelt down, she hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away from his own. Brown and sparkling and kind.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she saw the tiny stone. A polished light purple amethyst shone in the center, and she took it out and slipped the thin gold band over her left ring finger, staring at it. It fit perfectly, and Jess almost couldn’t believe it. After having found it in a tray in the antique store, he’d thought at least some resizing would be necessary.

“I know it’s not huge or anything, but-”

“It’s perfect, Mariano. I mean, it’s fucking lavendar,” she said, flabbergasted.

Jess smirked a tiny smirk. “Yeah, well, lavender is for luck.”

.   .   .

Sat at the island with a paper open in front of him, Jess munched on his cereal. He couldn’t help the smile which was constantly tugging at the corners of his mouth. They were getting married. In all honesty, he hadn’t been entirely sure she would say yes, given her aversion to most things traditional and romantic. Then again, she had certainly seemed to come around to his idealist ways as of late, at least a little bit. And he’d wanted to do it the way it was usually done, on one knee with a ring box open in his hand. He didn’t know exactly what had possessed him to do so, but he was glad. She deserved something normal, something just the right amount of sweet.

Padding on bare feet, Ella waltzed towards the kitchen wearing nothing but one of Jess’s t-shirts, body and mind light from the night before. The early sunshine of the morning bathed the apartment in a sparkling golden glow, made more beautiful by their own joy, it seemed. On her finger, she wore the ring, still new and foreign. But she felt her heart speed up a bit every time she looked down at it. She, too, had been surprised at the way he’d proposed. But, somehow, it managed to feel perfect. It wasn’t over-the-top, but it felt like Jess. Earnest and charming.

He didn’t hear her, too engrossed in his reading, until she pressed a kiss to the top of his head on her way by. He winked at her when they made eye contact, and she rolled her eyes playfully in response as she put on some tea and coffee.

“Hey, Jess?” she asked, leaning over the counter across from him, mimicking their days at Luke’s Diner.

“Hm?” he said, looking up from the news with eyebrows raised.

“Do you wanna get married?” She bit at the inside of her cheek, slightly anxious.

“Well, considering I just proposed to you yesterday, I’d say yeah, I wanna get married,” he replied, teasing and slightly confused.

“No. I meant today,” she continued.

He chuckled a bit, but then saw she was serious. “Today?”

A smile blossomed on her face and she shrugged. “Yeah. Why not? Let’s just go down to the courthouse. We could call up Chris and everyone, to see if they wanna be our witnesses. ”

He gave a surprised scoff, raising his eyebrows. “Pretty spontaneous of you.”

She shrugged, a small smirk on her lips. “I learned from the best. I mean, do you really wanna spend all that money? I don’t really care about having a wedding. The whole tradition seems pretty antiquated to me, anyway.”

“Agreed,” Jess replied, nodding. “Except, what about Luke and Lorelai? And Lane?”

“I mean, we’ve all been to weddings. They’re pretty much the same every time. We can send them a card or something. I just wanna do it, Mariano,” she said, eyes wide and starry with excitement. “I don’t wanna wait. I mean, we’ve been together, more or less, for like, seven years.”

“Minus about four years in the middle there,” Jess pointed out, chuckling.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Like you weren’t pining for me that whole time, loverboy.”

“Hypocrite,” he shot back. “You really wanna do this””

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” she said, with the most certainty possible. It made Jess so happy he almost wanted to start crying.

“You sure you don’t wanna plan it out and everything? I know how much you love planning,” Jess said. His heart was racing in his chest at her proposition. But, he was waiting for her to second-guess it, for her feet to turn cold. He didn’t want her to doubt her decision later, even if the idea of marrying her immediately made him beyond ecstatic.

“I love you more, though,” she said. “But I only want to do it if you want to also. What do you say, James Dean? Is today our wedding day?”

His smile grew, and he was practically beaming. “Yeah. It is.”

.   .   .

After a couple hours waiting on cold, hard wooden benches in the lobby of the courthouse, with Chris snapping as many pictures as possible on his fancy camera (which he bought inexplicably) and Mabel fussing over whether she had done Ella’s makeup well enough, the six of them stood in the air conditioning of the courthouse’s makeshift chapel. In her hands, Ella held a bouquet of thirteen yellow daffodils Jess had picked up from the supermarket on the way. Her stomach was doing flips, her smile was beginning to hurt her cheeks. Despite the spontaneity of the decision, she was beginning to feel like she had been waiting forever. The period after arriving at the courthouse when Leo had to sweet talk one of his friends from high school, who worked as an administrator at city hall, into giving them a marriage license without the customary 24-hour delay had been agony. But they had pulled it off.

They had all made an effort to look presentable, though Ella could hear her mother’s voice in the back of her mind calling them ragamuffins. Jess wore a simple white button-down with black pants, along with his only pair of real leather shoes and a belt to match. Over it, he wore the suit jacket Ella had been so shocked to see him in when she’d first come to Truncheon’s open house. No tie, of course. The only white dress Ella owned was covered in a pattern of black flowers, and she found the traditional sentiments about virginity behind white dresses to be troubling, to say the least. Instead, she opted for a plain navy blue dress with spaghetti straps, made from satin. It was the fanciest piece of clothing she owned, bought for a party at Truncheon two months earlier that had ultimately been cancelled due to a phantom March blizzard. If she had known at the time that it was to be her wedding dress, she would have laughed in disbelief.

On her feet were her old black ballet flats. She felt as though not wearing them would violate old time’s sake. Her hair was curled and pinned half-back. Her makeup was minimal, with small winged black eyeliner and muted pink lip gloss, a little less than she would have done on herself. But Mabel had practically squealed with delight when Ella asked her to put together the wedding look. Her heart swelled at the sight of Matthew and Chris standing behind Jess, and the thought of Leo and Mabel behind her. After so long feeling out of place, Ella thought she was exactly where she was supposed to be, with the exact right people. If she didn’t know any better, she would have called it destiny. But, at the idea, she wanted to roll her eyes at herself. It was Jess’s job to pull out the Hemingway bullshit.

Jess. As he stood across from her, she could see the ghost of the boy she’d met at the diner back when she was a frustrated high schooler. Back when he had been an angry kid. She thought of love at first sight, and how silly it was, and how whole-heartedly he believed in it. A jewel of fondness sat warmly in her core, and her eyes shone brightly with affection. Even back then, he had given her some sort of lively joy when her world was flat, filled with monotony, drudgery, grief. He had shown her how life could be, if she stopped holding onto her pain so tightly. And she liked to think she had shown him a thing or two, as well.

He looked so grown up. Still, it often struck her how much he had changed. The stubble on his jaw, the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled his slightly crooked smile, or, of course, smirked. His more respectable haircut and his more mature way of dressing. But there would always be a part of him that was exactly the same as it always had been. The foundation that sometimes cracked but never crumbled. The two of them against the world. She thought, not for the first time, of how wholly she trusted in him, more than she ever had before. He felt safe. She felt like she had known him for all eternity. And she felt so sure of marrying him that it was staggering. She swallowed thickly as the officiant gave his dull spiel about legal commitment, which he probably gave to some hopeful young couple every day. Blinking back the happy tears, willing them not to fall and ruin the makeup Mabel had worked so hard on, Ella did as the officiant said and passed her bouquet to Leo behind her. She and Jess joined hands. For some reason, the gesture seemed a bit cheesy, but she did it anyway, not without a sardonic smirk. He gave her fingers a squeeze of reassurance, winking at her, reading her expression expertly. She almost snorted a laugh, but bit the inside of her cheek to stop it. The officiant asked who would like to say their vows first, and Ella immediately spoke up.

“I will,” she said, looking over at the man and then back into Jess’s eyes. “You’re the writer here and I have no interest in following whatever you’re gonna say.”

Jess laughed a little, along with the rest of them, and nodded. He took in a deep breath, still shocked at what was happening. For the life of him, he could not remember a time he had ever before felt so content. The small, nagging voice in his mind told him he didn’t deserve her. She was perfect, after all. But then, she wasn’t, was she? She was stubborn and pessimistic and sometimes stuck in her ways. He loved those things about her, too, even if he sometimes didn’t like them. He had loved her the moment he saw her, and still did, even after finding her flaws. And she loved him, even after finding his. The thought made the voice in his head go completely quiet, for the first time in a very long time. The broken pieces of the puzzles which made them up just happened to fit together exactly, and that was all that mattered, he decided. And he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t nervous about her falling out of love with him. He wasn’t worried about her realizing he wasn’t enough. Instead, he felt complete. He felt ready.

Ella cleared her throat, biting the inside of her cheek again. Then, after taking a moment to compose herself, she began: “So, here we are, Mariano. I’m really happy we decided to do this today, but that means we didn’t have time to plan what to say beforehand. And, like I said, you’re the writer here. So, I’m just gonna try my best...like we always do. We try for each other. I promise I’ll keep trying forever. Because there’s not been one second since I met you that I haven’t wanted to be with you. I miss you whenever you’re gone, even if you’re only gone for a minute. Even when I fucking hate you, I want you with me. Because you are the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m home.”

Pausing for a moment, she blinked back her tears again. And she disentangled one of her hands from his, to wipe away the dampness on his cheeks with her thumb. His face reddened with embarrassment, but still, the small smile was ever-present on his lips. She clasped her hand in his once more, and continued.

“I love you, simple as that. I didn’t even believe in love when I met you. But then you came and fucked that mindset up royally. You gave me a bed when I was drunk, and you wrote notes in the margins of my books, and you showed me the Hudson River. And a million other things. I have never known a person who is more kind and intelligent and generous and thoughtful. And such a smartass,” she added, and everyone laughed.

She shrugged playfully, and squeezed his hands in return. “You’re the fucking best. You’re it, cutie. I know you know how I feel about that hopeless romantic bullshit you’re partial to. And I never thought I’d believe in soulmates. But, today, with you, I do. Because you’re mine, James Dean. And I’m yours. You once told me we belonged to each other, and I think that’s true. So, why not make it official in the eyes of the law?”

Again, they laughed. But Jess had to choke back more crying at her words. And he had to prepare himself for what he knew was coming. She had always been the better public speaker. He was so nervous he could barely contain himself, despite her beautiful vows. In fact, maybe even because of them. She wasn’t the writer, but she’d pretty much nailed it, he thought. For a fleeting moment, he felt sick from the anxiety. What if he fucked it up? But, again, she squeezed his hands.

And he felt more sure of himself as the officiant passed the torch to him. He cleared his throat, sniffed, and met her ardent hazel gaze. At once, he felt like it was just the two of them.

“I may be the writer, Stevens. But in just a minute everyone will see why I didn’t go into public speaking,” he began. She shook her head a little at him and giggled, urging him to go on. “When I came back to Stars Hollow for my mom’s wedding, all I could think about was you. You were everywhere in that town, even when you weren’t. I wanted to tell you how much I loved you, and I didn’t know how. Granted, the plan I came up with to tell you definitely wasn’t the best. But, while I was there, Luke gave me this book to help me...learn about open communication.”

She let out another laugh and her cheeks were mirthful roses.

“Hilarious, I know,” he deadpanned, and she kept giggling. The sound made his grin widen. “Anyway, I’ll spare you the details, even though you’ve been asking me for them for years. I always wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Pretty much since the minute I saw you, honey. Even if you can’t relate to that Hemingway stuff, as you so eloquently put it. But there was one part in the book that made me decide to tell you. The narrator’s talking about the divorce of these two middle-aged tragedies named Philip and Judy. The narrator says Philip would have figured out how much he loved Judy if he had asked himself a few questions.”

Pausing, he averted her gaze for a moment. “I can’t believe Luke isn’t here to see me put this shit in my vows. I’m sorry, Eleanor.”

She chuckled through the happy tears welling in her eyes. “It’s okay, cutie. It’s perfect.”

He cleared his throat, nodding slightly. Taking his hands out of her grip, he reached into his jacket pocket to pull out an old, folded book page. He opened it, looking down, and began once more. “He should have asked himself the following questions: ‘Whose phone calls or visits are never unwanted or too long? Do you see her face? Who would you most like to have in your life to ward off moments of loneliness? Do you see her face? When you travel, who would make your travels more enjoyable? Do you see her face? When you’re in pain, who would you most like to comfort you? Do you see her face? When something wonderful happens in your life, with whom would you first want to share the news? Do you see her face? Whose face appears to you?’”

After the recitation, he folded the piece of paper back up and tucked it inside his jacket.

“Did you keep that this whole time?” she asked, blurting out the question before she could stop herself. She was overwhelmed with affection at the gesture, and for the moment, she could see no one else besides Jess as he stood across from her.

“Yeah, I ripped it out before I gave the book back to Luke,” he explained, lowering his voice, conspiratory.

She laughed. “Thief.”

He shrugged, unaffected. “Que será, será.”

Stifling another laugh, she nodded and composed herself. “Just checking. Go on.”

He retook her hands gently. His joking air disappeared and all at once, he was feeling the full weight of his emotion again. Clearing his throat, he hoped to ward off the shake in his voice. “I saw your face every time, Elle. Every single time. I wanted you to be that for me, and I wanted to be that for you. Because you’re beautiful, and you’re brilliant, and you’re the most unselfish person in the world. And I don’t want to spend one more second not married to you.” Then, after taking a deep breath, he finished: “Eleanor Stevens, I have been in love with you since I was seventeen.”

A smile so wide it hurt her spread across Ella’s face. She shook her head at herself as she began to cry just a little harder. Before she could think to say anything else, she pulled him in to place an affectionate kiss on his lips.

“Hey, we’ve still got a few paragraphs to get through, kids,” the officiant scolded them gruffly, though not unkindly.

Images of a flannel-clad diner owner back in Connecticut appeared in Ella’s mind. She caught Jess’s gaze, and he seemed to be thinking the same thing. She bit her lip, and then put her head to his shoulder, laughing loudly. His arm wrapped instinctively around her waist. Standing there, leaning on each other, they shook happily with messy giggles.

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

Apocalypse After (Part 11)

Pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!reader

Summary: There was never any hope of saving Michael Langdon, never a chance to stop the apocalypse. The Antichrist was already too intertwined with his destiny when the reader met him all those years ago. But Mallory can go back and make things right and when the reader travels with her, an opportunity sparks to try and make things right after all.

Words: 2.4K

Warning: Character!Death, violence, the afterlife, religious references 

A/N: Time for another long awaited update! We’re getting into some BACKSTORY here and I hope everything is still making sense. We get some drama in this chapter hons, so I hope you are READY!  

(The Apocalypse After masterlist is up to date, so if you are new you can read the whole series there!) 

Descending is peaceful. It’s pretty much dying, except you get a sliver of hope that somehow you might return. Your body goes completely weightless, as if you’re gliding through water as you materialise inside your own hell. 

Metal pokes at me, glass rains down on my face.

I will myself to be calm.

It isn’t real. Not this time. 

The car engine whirs something horrid as I try and inch myself out of the wreck, but I’m stuck. My leg has been crushed in the fray and no matter how I scream I can’t get free and no one is coming to save me. 

Fear floods me, the claustrophobia and the knowledge that my pursuers are also dead in the backseats. Blood coats the driver’s headrest, the body-shaped hole in the glass is my biggest indicator that whoever was driving crashed. 

‘HELP!’ I shove my body weight against the steering wheel, gripping on as I try and ease myself free.

I can’t move my leg. 

The goons, sent to get me.

Fiona.

‘HELP ME!’ I scream louder, begging for anyone to come. 

I don’t know how long I try and work myself free, it could be seconds or hours. 

I could be dead again and never know. 

My magic is useless.

‘MICHAEL!’ 

‘Now this is interesting.’ A face looms in at me, through the cracked windshield. The cracked visage, those coal-red eyes that can see into your very depths. ‘Of all the people I thought would come for a visit, you are not one I thought would be back.’ 

‘Papa,’ My breath leaves me, mystified as the Loa reaches a hand through the hole and cups my chin. ‘Did…who sent you?’

‘Despite your death occurring once before, you have tried again knowing that your fate will be the same.’ He purrs, ‘Suicide? After all I did for you?’ 

‘This is not suicide.’ I say, unable to look away from those penetrating eyes.

Understanding dawns and then settles, twinkling in those eyes, ‘The boy. You follow on his command?’ 

‘I didn’t have a choice.’ 

‘You said the spell yourself.’ He warns, ‘You do not have to be here, living the worst time of your life over and over.’

I swallow, wishing I could wrench myself from his cold touch, ‘He’ll come find me.’

‘You trust him?’ Papa’s head tilts to the side, ‘He is the Antichrist, no?’

I hesitate, ‘Not anymore.’

‘No.’ Papa’s yellowed teeth appear as his lips stretch into a smile, ‘You corrected that part of him. Despite my very clear warning.’

‘I didn’t break our contract.’ I insist, ’The deal was you’d give me another life so long as I never interfere with a soul that belongs to you. Michael never belonged to you.’

‘Not to me.’ Papa withdraws his hand, ‘But to another, far more powerful than I.’ 

I hadn’t thought it through. 

In trying to keep Michael safe, I’d delivered both of us right to someone far more sinister than Mallory. 

’They want to see you,’ Papa elaborates, his hand rising. The car and our surroundings dissolve, leaving us in a white box. 

I’m paralysed, incapable of getting up despite my freed leg. ‘Where is Michael?’

‘He’s back in the land of the living.’ Papa breezes past me, towards a door I hadn’t seen before. He takes out a key ring with more keys than seem possible, glowing a spectrum of colours. He inserts a distinct white key into the door and with a clack, it opens. ‘He did ask after you, but I have orders and thanks to you, the boy is no longer in a management position.’ 

There goes my window of opportunity. 

The escape I’d been banking on. 

‘Come, now.’ There’s no arguing or fighting Papa Legba. I follow him out into corridors of polished black marble, gloomy after such stark whiteness. We walk for an indeterminable amount of time, past doors upon doors upon doors. There are no numbers, but as we travel along occasionally Papa will insert a key, open a door and peer inside. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that doors with a dark coloured key a someone’s personal hell. The screams of terror of confirmation enough. Every so often, Papa will produce a pastel key, open a door to which there is silence.

Those doors unnerve me even more.

What could make a person be completely silent in hell? 

‘We have seen the work you have been doing,’ Papa comments after closing another of these doors. He keeps the key ring in hand as we continue walking, ‘Freeing the souls of the damned.’ 

‘No one should be stuck in eternal torment.’ 

‘You no longer have voice in those matters.’ 

‘I still have my power.’ My voice stings with defensiveness, I can barely control my shakes. ‘So long as I have it I’ll defy them.’ 

We emerge into a foyer, more elaborate than the endless corridor and turn left, down a side hallway. ‘Between you and I’ Papa says, ‘I have rather enjoyed your efforts.’ That takes me by surprise as a deep chuckle emerges from the Loa, ‘It has been a long time since I saw them so…rattled.’

He raps once on a door and then sets back down the corridor, ‘I hope to see you again, Y/N. Under better circumstances.’ 

The door opens and I suck in a breath. 

                                              Manicured nails drum against a desk. I slip into the office, trying to compose myself before they turn around. They consult a whiteboard, head tilting in observation before connecting a line in red marker to another. ‘Close the door.’

I do as I’m told, but stay close enough to try and get some semblance of a head start if I need to. The marker clatters to the floor, a feminine giggle rising between us, ‘Running, you’re better than that.’ 

I haven’t seen them adopt this form in years, but we all know she remains one of their preferred physical forms. The simple black dress, the habit that hides blonde hair and the infamous, tell-tale lipstick sitting on the desk. Blue flashes orange as finally, they turn round with a face full of glee. ‘You’ve come home to us, finally.’ 

‘A pleasure.’ I say, still not moving. 

‘Tea?’ They cast a hand over the desk, where a teapot, sugar sachets, creamer and a spoon appear, ‘Or coffee?’ 

A Starbucks Frappuccino materialises and I’m almost surprised, still I walk over and start sucking on it. ‘A new acquisition?’ 

‘Took long enough didn’t it?’ Satan is pleased with themselves, perching on the desk. ‘Such a corrupt corporation, such capitalism and they only just pledge themselves to me. It will never fail to impress me how much people are influenced by greed.’ 

I know what they’re getting at. 

‘I wasn’t greedy.’ I say, ‘I love him.’ 

’Still greed.’ They counter, spinning a finger at me. ‘You could not resist meddling. My son was doing well enough on his own.’

‘I thought after four days, if you weren’t going to bother…’

Satan re-applies a fresh coat of scarlet, ‘I was teaching him to not be so fucking soft. Pathetic, piss-dribble of a boy couldn’t even tie his own shoe laces without applause.’ They take in a breath, a tight smile back in place, ‘Nevertheless, we are here.’

‘I really got under your skin, didn’t I?’ I say it as it dawns on me, Satan’s barely just restraining themselves from lashing out at me. Their grip is too tight on the lipstick, their smile so far removed from a genuine humane smile. Even my Starbucks has gone acrid, sour and makes me want to vomit. 

‘Tell me why I shouldn’t slit that little throat, set you alight and use your blood for my next bath?’ 

‘I don’t work for you anymore.’ I say, trying to remain brave despite how my voice tremors. Satan’s pushed themselves right up in my face, Starbucks shoved to the side and splattered on the chair meant for me. ‘My deal with Papa exonerated from you.’ 

‘All the fallen work for me.’ Satan snarls, ‘As it has always been.’ 

‘You’ll try again.’ I’m working towards an angle, ‘You always try again. If you’re anything it’s committed. Regardless of me, Michael would still be dead. You’d still have no Antichrist.’ 

I’ve got them there. Satan stalks back to their desk and throws themselves in the chair, those blue eyes are now a permanent orange. I can see the whiteboard now, behind which is a very detailed plan, written in cursive red marker. I follow the lines to a set of names with a black ring around them. ‘It’s happening,’ I murmur. ‘You’ve already done it.’ 

‘It will take time.’ Satan never takes their eyes off me, ‘2020 is the next prime year.’ 

‘But you still face the same problem Michael had.’ I counter, feeling a little more confident. I inspect the work laid out, following a black tangent that connects to a name I’m all too familiar with, ‘You’ll never succeed until you end the witches entirely. Especially, the Supreme.’ 

‘I am aware.’ 

‘Then do it yourself.’ I say, ‘Stop making your children do you work for you. You have the capability.’

‘Always more fun to entice men and women to their own dirty deeds.’ Satan echoes, a smile back on their face. ‘All are corruptible, even you.’ 

‘Your efforts are pointless until you finally get off your ass and do it yourself.’ I head for the door, ‘You’ve told me what I need to know, Michael is no longer the Antichrist. He’s free of you and all this.’ 

‘But you are not.’ 

The voice is a whisper in my ear. When I turn round Satan is right behind me. They seize my shoulders, lifting me a couple centimetres off the ground as if I were a feather. ‘My son is as dispensable as a fly, but you-

‘I don’t belong to you anymore.’ I hiss, feet dangling. ‘Your father saw to that himself.’ 

‘You will kill them.’ Satan murmurs. The echo of my hiss manifests, till there is nothing but hissing all around me. The floor has turned to snakes, writhing with their mouths open, fangs bared to snap at me. ‘The witches. The Supremes, all of them.’ 

‘No.’

‘And if you refuse me,’ Satan sings, ‘I will drag that fucked up, useless brat of mine beyond the veil where not even your God could find his mangled carcass.’ 

The office door bangs open. Both Satan and my head snaps towards the figure standing in the door. 

Mallory seizes my wrist, dragging me out of the room, ‘We need to go, now.’

‘You…’ My brain can’t catch up, as Mallory drags me further away from Satan. The devil does nothing but offer a simple wave, before returning to their calculations. ‘The snakes?’

‘No snakes.’ Mallory says, ‘Just magic, Y/N run.’ 

My feet start running, the two of us racing back into the foyer and down the endless corridor of torment. No one follows us, but the voices inside every room are louder, their screams and pleas for sanctuary right on our heels as we run for our lives. ‘You shouldn’t have come back for me.’ I tell her.

‘And let you die?’ She shoots back, ‘Baby Alpha is already crying, you think I want to live with that?’ 

‘Baby what?’

I collide with something so hard, we all go sprawling on the floor.

‘OW!’

‘Michael?’ I breathe, shoving my hair out of my eyes to see the Boy Wonder rubbing the back of his head. 

‘You didn’t come back.’ He’s a mess, eyes bloodshot with fresh tear tracks running down his cheeks. ‘Why did you do it!’

‘I wanted to protect you.’

‘From me?’ Mallory picks herself up off the floor, ‘I just saved your life.’ 

‘Well it’s not exactly in your character, is it?’ I snap back at her, ’Have you lost your penchant for four-wheel drives?’

Her face distorts into a snarl as Michael puts himself between the two of us. I catch my breath as Michael studies Mallory, ‘You, tried to kill me.’

Mallory puts her hands up, ‘I had to.’

Michael’s eyes blaze, but I yank him back, using his arm to clamber back to my feet, ‘Don’t.’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ He growls, ‘I never did anything to you.’

Mallory’s eyes dart to me, ‘You will.’ 

‘No he won’t.’ I say firmly, ‘He isn’t…that’s not part of him anymore.’ 

Michael turns to eye me, ‘Did she try and hurt you?’

My silence is a fraction too long. Michael’s eyes gleam with vengeance as Mallory’s chant dies, her throat clasped firmly in Michael’s grasp. ‘MICHAEL.’ I press forwards, trying to push him off her but Michael sends me flying back against the wall. He squeezes hard, but to her credit Mallory lets out no sound. I fight against Michael’s magic as her eyes bulge, bullfrog like. Colour seeps out of her, lips turn blue.

Neither of us spot the flash of silver till after Mallory’s struck. Blood seeps from Michael’s throat and he staggers back, releasing her. I move on pure instinct, seizing the knife as it falls between Mallory and Michael. I drive it into her so hard I’m sure it must be sticking out the other side. Blood sputters from her lips as I shove her back against one of the doors to hell. I clamp my hand over Michael’s throat, failing to stem the gushing flow of blood as Mallory takes a final breath. 

There’s laughter all around, shrill and deep and manic and full of such much mirth. 

Papa peers over Mallory’s body, his eyes meeting mine once more. He holds up a finger - my final chance. 

My body convulses, trying to cram air back into my lungs as I surge upwards. Faces peer at me and I push them away and wheel round. Michael too has risen, clutching at his throat as he gargles and screams. The Warlocks are all over him, trying to calm the boy down. We lock eyes, equal terror reflected back in the other. 

Cordelia’s scream is petrifying, she sinks to her knees as Mallory’s body disintegrates.

Just like Misty Day, all those years ago. 

The Supreme quakes as Zoe tends to her, wrapping her up in a tight hug. 

Myrtle remains as stoic as ever, fixing a crease in her gloves as she casts her eyes over each of us ‘Now, that’s a sorrowful turn of events.’ 

New Tag-List: @sojournmichael @duncvns @elizabethbennett @mochitheruby @dyns33 @xavierplympton @emmyrosee @brattylovee @guiltyfiend​ @lizhomitz1984 @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc​ @blakewaterxx @satansfavouritesons @dark-mei-rose @wroteclassicaly​ @ritualmichael​ @lvngdvns​ @so-langdon​ @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern​ @langdxn @fckinsupreme @xavierplympton @venusxxlangdon​ @rocketgirl2410 @sweetlangdon​ 

TAG LIST IS OPEN IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED!

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

just saw a Christmas card at the shops that said: “I want to be the reason Santa puts you on the naughty list” and am I wrong in imagining demon!Harry giving that card to angel!y/n?

“I got you something.”

The sound of a grocery bag thudding hollowly against the marble countertop of the kitchen pulls Y/N’s attention away from the kettle heating up milk on the stove. 

She’s in the middle of making hot chocolate for the second time today; she’d acquired quite the taste for it as the holidays draw closer. Her new craving is actually one of the reasons Harry had gone to the store today— she had run out of marshmallows to top her favorite seasonal drink. 

He didn’t mind going, especially when Y/N had come to him while he was watching a supernatural documentary on the couch, approaching him in such a timid, guilty manner while holding the empty plastic bag to her chest and giving him a small sheepish smile. “We ran out of marshmallows.”

Harry had glanced down at the sullen, deflated bag and then back up at Y/N, lips twitching with endeared entertainment. “I think you mean you ran out of marshmallows ‘cause I’ve barely touched the stash.” 

She had given him a pointed scowl, though she knew he was right. The amount of hot chocolate she’d been indulging lately was getting to be borderline embarrassing. “Will you just pick up more, please?”

Harry had beckoned her forward with his forefinger, patting the armrest of the sofa as a symbol for her to sit. As soon as she’d settled into the spot, he’d wrapped his arms around her tummy and yanked her down into his lap in a flurry of clear plastic and wild hair. She laid with her back against his thighs and her legs hooked over the side of the sofa, laughing breathlessly due to the random whirlwind. He’d placed a gentle kiss between her eyebrows, breathing in the sweet scent of her chamomile and mandarin shampoo. “Why don’t you just put it on your Christmas list to Santa?” 

“I think my drink will be cold by then.” She had quipped back, tilting her head with a deadpan tone, giving him an amused scoff. 

He jutted out his bottom lip into an exaggerated pout. “Tough luck then, huh?”

Leave it to Harry to be a little shit over the slightest things.

“Pleaseeeeee?” 

Harry had pursed his lips, head falling backwards against the backrest, humming thoughtfully in the back of his throat as if mulling over the request. 

Y/N had reached up and grabbed him by his t-shirt collar, pulling his head forward once again and down to her level, kissing the faint curve of one of his dimples. In return, it had pinched deeper into his cheek, his mouth jolting into a soft smirk. 

“Pretty please?”

“How can I say no when you ask so nicely?” 

He had to restock some toiletries anyways. 

Harry had treaded through the superstore leisurely, wandering through the aisles aimlessly and taking his time in choosing what shaving cream to get and searching for a new deodorant scent. 

He’d swung by the market section, picking up two packs of mini marshmallows instead of one, knowing Y/N would be extra grateful. He’d thrown in a bag of Texas style sliced bread for his famous French toast, along with a twelve pack of ginger ale and some white cheddar puffs to snack on later while watching Chopped. 

He never thought he’d ever be doing something as domestic and mundane as going to the store solely for the purpose of buying his girlfriend marshmallows— he never thought he’d have another girlfriend in general. It just hadn’t seemed in the cards for him at the time and the way Y/N just crashed into his life and completely stripped him of the brooding, deflective, unattached shell he’d built over himself for centuries was astonishing. And if he’s being honest, it was almost disgusting how soft he’d gotten since, considering his romantic side hadn’t flared up in decades. 

Harry had grown fond of it, though. The wholesomeness of simple tasks like this sat at the pit of his stomach in the form of a warm glow, putting an extra jump in his heels and a goofy, lovesick grin across the edges of his lips, exactly like the ones in those stupid romance movies he used to take the piss out of.  

The old lady hobbling down the bread aisle probably thought he was fucking mad— no sane person just smiles at the smudged concrete ground in the middle of a supermarket for no apparent reason. 

As he’d made his way towards the self check-out kiosks, the most obnoxiously sappy idea yet struck him like a punch to the gut, slamming the breaks on his steps. 

The greeting card corridor. 

He found the perfect one barely five feet into the aisle. It had a pastel green background that was strewn with laminated glitter. Off to the left of the card was the art: a set of bright red lace lingerie, crumpled as if it were sitting on the floor with a Santa hat strewn carelessly next to it, insinuating that whoever had donned the attire had gotten it off in a hastily manner. The doodle of the clothing had actual lace fabric overlaid on top of the drawing and the hat even had a miniature fuzzy poof ball at the end. The words were shifted more towards the right of the cover, scrawled right beside the image in big, loopy white cursive: I want to be the reason Santa puts you on the naughty list.

The font for naughty list was different— instead of the pretty, festive letters, it looks as if it were written on the surface with red lipstick that had been smeared down the bottom of the card, a small kiss print decorating the space beside the phrase, acting as punctuation. 

It was golden and it gave Harry a palpable reason to wear that stupid grin on his face. 

He’d jetted home, excitement sizzling his fingertips and causing them to tighten against the leather of his steering wheel. 

The steps up to the condo were taken two at a time, the elevator much too slow for his taste and he’d learned not to just flash in and out of public spaces anymore because it could result in a ruckus amongst the humans, which is publicity Lucifer really didn’t want to deal with.  

That brings him to where he is now, plopping the bags off his wrists onto the marble kitchen counter, startling a robe-clad Y/N from her spot before the stovetop. 

“I got you something.” 

His girlfriend drifts over to the kitchen island, leaning forward on her tiptoes to bend over the edge of the surface, taking a curious peek into the grocery bags. Her voice comes out soft and childishly hopeful. “Marshmallows?” 

Harry can’t resist the bubbly chuckle that her adorably excited aura draws. “Yeah, I got the marshmallows, don’t worry. But I also got you something else…and you should be grateful for it considering you’re a thief.”

He reaches forward and gently takes the collar of her lavender Sherpa robe between his index and middle finger— which is actually his lavender Sherpa robe that he treasures very fucking much— and gives it a signifying tug. 

Y/N tilts her chin down to get a glimpse of what he’s going on about and then bashful recognition washes down her face in the form of pursed lips and a blithe glint in her eyes. “Sorry, mine’s in the wash.” 

Harry begins rummaging through the groceries, moving his sensitive skin shaving cream and Old Spice deodorant out of the way with the back of his hands, retrieving the two bags of marshmallows and sliding them across the counter. 

He suddenly kinks a single eyebrow up, her comment plucking a memory string in the back of his mind. “Was it the one you were wearing two nights ago?” 

He can see her bite into the inside of her cheek, a soft blue glow just barely illuminating the ring around her irises as she nods her head wordlessly, gaze darting down to the treats to keep them from going into full headlights mode. 

Harry leans forward onto the marble stretch, balancing on his elbows, chin propped on the palm of his left hand as the other slowly fishes the greeting card out, toying the pad of his thumb at one of the corners. He’s too amused to interrupt her fidgeting by giving it to her so he’ll hold out for a bit. 

His voice comes out low and teasing through a cocky simper, eyes hooded arrogantly. “Was it the one you were wearing when you jerked me off on the couch?”

It’s like he can flip her on like a switch, a milky white light casting across the high points of her cheeks, originating from her irises. She blinks rapidly, willing it to simmer down, glaring up at him from under her lashes with sharp annoyance. 

Harry taps at his upper lip with the pads of his digits, Cupid’s Bow curling as his grin widens, the back of his throat resonating with a hummed chortle. The pearl necklace he’d recently bought sits atop his collarbones delicately, gleaming mockingly under the bright lights of the kitchen, rising and falling with his deep, easy breaths. He worries the right corner of his mouth with his top teeth, jaw clenching to keep in a full-bellied laugh. His lashes slowly dust the crests of his cheekbones with a seductive energy, a faint moan running along the undercurrent of his words, giving his voice a sultry twang. 

“Was it the one you were wearing when you undid the tie of my flannel pants, pushed them down my hips just enough to get my cock out, and then proceeded to tug me off while kissing up my throat, whispering on about how much you love it when I moan your name?” 

Y/N swallows thickly and she’d failed to notice that she was gripping the bag of marshmallows to her stomach, thankful that she was opposite to him over the counter or else he’d get a view of her slightly buckling knees. 

She abruptly tries to defuse the atmosphere of the room by clearing her throat loudly and switching topics. “Thanks for going to get these for—”

Harry isn’t having it, interrupting halfway through her attempt.

“Was it the one you were wearing when you were swallowing down the little whimpers escaping my mouth and begging me to cum for you? The one I got jizz all over when you tucked my hair behind my ear, pressed your warm lips to it and mumbled, ‘Want it so bad, Harry, please. I love how pretty you look when I make you feel good.’”

A loud popping sound punctures the tension toiling in the air, a shocked yelp accompanying the sound on behalf of Y/N. 

Their intense stare-down breaks to zero in on where the noise had stemmed— the bag pressed against Y/N’s navel. She had gripped it so tight it had burst open, spewing a few marshmallows across the coffee- and caramel-colored marbled counter. 

The blank look of remorsed surprise on Y/N’s features is what finally forces Harry to release the rib-splitting laugh he had been pushing down. 

Her head snaps up at him, eyes narrowing because this was his fault, after all. 

He covers the lower half of his face with his hand to try and stifle the giggles, but to no avail. They continue to wriggle free between the cracks of his fingers. 

Y/N sets down the bag carefully, making sure it’s positioned accordingly so nothing else rolls out. She mutters a colorful array of words under her breath as she collects the rouge marshmallows and Harry’s positive her choice of language would put her on parole in Heaven. 

He lifts his chin from his palm and reaches forward, plucking one between his thumb and forefinger and popping it into his mouth, chewing dramatically to flex his jaw because he can see her taking quick peeks up at him as she cleans. “That was the robe you were talking about, though, right?” 

She doesn’t look up, simply focusing on the task at hand, but her response carries the daggers her eyes would otherwise deliver. “Fuck off.” 

Harry decides that this moment is as good as any to give her the card, mostly because he knows it’ll either push her buttons in deeper or make her drop the grump act. 

He slides it across the smooth plain of the island into her line of sight. “Picked this up ‘cause it reminded me of you.”

Y/N squints at the card, taking in the message along with the risqué art. Her lips press into a thin line, her actions pausing as she hovers a marshmallow in her grasp above the little pile she’s made in her other hand. She blinks at the paper once, then again, and then her top lip twitches. He can immediately tell she’s trying to keep from smiling.

He feels his dimples whittle into place, a giddy burst of energy expanding in his chest now that he knows she liked it. He figured she would, but seeing it confirmed is much more fulfilling than he imagined. 

“It’s no knife to the chest like Romeo and Juliet but I’d say it’s a lovely sentiment. Plus, I’m not really looking to die again. Not a fan.”

His comment is the last piece of the puzzle that sends her into a wave of fond laughter. “God, you’re an idiot.” 

Harry returns her giggling with some of his boyish own, watching with pride as she places the stash of marshmallows back in the bag and then drags her fingers over the lace material glued onto the lingerie drawing, admiring it. 

“It’s called modern romance, darling. Get with the times, it’s not three thousand BC anymore.” 

The easy banter in his attitude causes her smile to grow a bit bigger; it’s easy to match. 

“Such a nice message. We should frame it, honestly. Show off how much of a hopeless loverboy you are.” 

Harry nods his head vigorously, rounding the corner of the counter until he’s standing in front of her, his fingers walking across the stone surface and she snorts at his silliness. His digits hike over the top of her’s, dropping flat to sift between them, feeling the light scratch of the perforated fabric as well as the sleekness of the laminated paper beneath it. 

His eyes flit up from where their hands conjoin, brows shrugging temptingly. “I think we should listen to the card first, though. We can put it up after we go through with its suggestion.” 

“Mm, I dunno…” Y/N squeezes his fingers sarcastically. “My hot chocolate’s about to be done and it’s been waiting much longer than you have.” 

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed smirk, a sound of airy delight tickling his tongue at the crudeness of her vague joke. “Did…Did you just willingly make a blowie joke?”

Y/N scrunches her brows with fake confusion, cocking her head to the side slightly as if she doesn’t have a single clue at what he’s talking about. “I don’t know, did I?”

Harry snakes his free arm around her hips, flushing their bellies together as he fully coils his fingers around the hand he’d been playing with. “Oh, I think you did.” 

He ducks down for a kiss, lips puckered and itching to caress her skin with his, only to be met with his girlfriend’s temple. She had turned away, biting along the inside of her bottom lip to maintain a cap on the little noises of glee threatening to overflow.

Harry sighs grandly, maneuvering his head to chase after her mouth, aiming for the jerking corner closest to him. She leans back a bit and swiftly jars her head to face the other side, condemning his target to be her left cheekbone instead. 

He groans in mild frustration, shifting their bodies until she ends up pushed against the edge of the counter, the dip of spine bending back over the table. Her hands find their way to his shoulders, coasting up to rest her palms at both of the curves of his neck. She thumbs over the hollow at the center of his throat, eyes flirting with his in a taunting manner. “Doesn’t taste so good when it’s your own medicine, does it?”

“You’ve taken up being the pest in the relationship then, have you?” The hand tangled with her’s goes slack, finding itself cradling her jaw, thumb tapping at the center of her bottom lip ominously. 

Y/N’s painfully aware of the way his forearm is flexing against the lower half of her back and she recognizes it’s in anticipation to lift her off her feet. Her toes curl in her pink socks and she goes a tad cross-eyed as his face draws closer. “No, that’s your job. I just thought I’d get on your nerves.”

“Why?”

“Just because.” 

“That’s a bit bratty, don’t y’think?” The tip of his cold nose feathers along the bridge of her’s. 

She draws her chin back, trying to keep their lips from meeting. “Maybe.”

Harry thrums thoughtfully deep in his chest and she can feel the vibrations transfer across her body, prickling along her cheeks and to the tips of her ears. “Well, you know what I do to brats, don’t you?”

Y/N is suddenly hoisted up off her footing and though she knew it was coming, she still reacts to it out of habit, arms fumbling messily around Harry’s shoulders to keep her from teetering. 

It had been the result he was hoping for because now she’s so close their Cupid’s Bows are knocking and he keeps her suspended for a second— a measly task courtesy of his inhuman strength. Her thighs clench around his hips, feet dangling behind him as she works to keep from slipping down, well aware that her socks would likely betray her to the smooth flooring and deposit her on her bum. 

The warm air of Harry’s low mumble makes the entire lower half of her face sting. 

“Brats get it fucked out of them.” 

Just then, at this energy-packed stand-still moment, the kettle goes off. 

Y/N has never been more thankful. 

She squirms in Harry’s arms and he doesn’t have a choice but to let her down, eyeing her with a condescendingly entertained gaze as she scrambles towards the stove to remove the shrieking kettle from its place. 

He can’t help himself.

He extends his arm forward, swatting at her ass before she’s gotten far enough that he can’t reach her. 

Y/N’s shriek is the same pitch as the kettle’s. 

She gives him the stink eye over her shoulder as he retakes his previous position on the counter with his elbows, chin in hand, the edges of a shit-eating grin peeking through as he bites into the side of his index finger. “I want some, too.”

She rubs her backside slowly as she shifts the kettle from the heated stovetop to a cool one, opening up the cupboard and bringing out two black mugs. She carefully pours the warm milk into each one, mixing in a few tablespoons of powdered cocoa along with some sugar. 

Y/N carries both over to the kitchen island, decorating the top of the mugs with a handful of marshmallows that begin to melt immediately. She pushes Harry’s towards him as she takes a sip of her own, still somewhat seething at him over the rim of her cup. 

Harry’s focuses in on the beverage, a mischievous glint flashing his eyes pitch black as he mumbles a spell underneath his breath. “Incendo.”

The powdery white candy suddenly catches alight, the royal blue fire lapping along the circumference of the mug and charring the contents inside.

Y/N chokes on her cocoa, spluttering into a round of panicked coughing; she hadn’t expected to see their kitchenware burst into flames anytime soon.

Harry’s eyes flit back to their usual juniper green, another enchantment tinging the air. “Exstinguo.” 

The fire goes out as quickly as it had ignited, leaving a very disheveled Y/N blinking dissociatively in its wake. Her sights then pin onto her boyfriend, irritation pinching her eyebrows together. “Was that really necessary?”

Harry shrugs nonchalantly, completely unbothered. “I like the smokey taste it leaves. Reminds me of s’mores.”

He brings the drink up to his mouth, blowing gently before tipping it back, feeling a soothing warmth wash down his neck and chest as it travels down his throat, the sweet, rich taste tingling his taste buds. An airy, appreciative purr rings from his chest. “S’good. Could use some bourbon, though.”

Y/N sets down her mug on the counter, still somewhat miffed, mostly because she knows he only did it to mess with her (probably as revenge for earlier). Both of her hands tighten around the ceramic surface, leeching its warmth into her body to help stifle the cold shot of adrenaline that had shot through her veins. She licks the marshmallow residue off her upper lip, tone passive. “Maybe a little warning next time? Would like a heads up before you try and melt one of our bowls.” 

“That takes all the fun away! It was supposed to be spontaneous.” Harry pauses, catching onto his unintended pun and grinning like an idiot. “Literally.” 

[foryouthegays]

Idk how to make the break thing on mobile so this is tagged long post & mc lang redesign if yall want to filter that bc im sorry

Ok! So the enchanting table language is called galactic, and it sucks. Its not actually a conlang its more of a cypher thing? Which makes this easier so let me get a pic of this horrendous alphabet

Why is this horrible, you ask? Many, many reasons.

1, none of them have any identifiable meanings. They’re all just random symbols. One thats always bothered me is h. To me, that looks like the wither. Why is on h, then? If they were basing the letters on words that already existed (which is pretty common and a p natural way for written language to progress), shouldnt the symbol for h actually be used for w?

The letters also have a noticable similarity to latin letters, I notice this most in i, w (triple upstroke, triple dots), f, x, u, and y. They aren’t super noticable, but once you see it, it’s difficult to unsee.

2, theyre hard to read from a distance. Many of them look almost exactly the same, which is a common problem but still a problem. The worst letters for this are i & j, z & y, w & u, s & c, f & u, and a few others.

3, the use of dots. Oh, how i hate dots in writing. How many people do you know actually dot all of their i’s & j’s? Not many. Its much, much faster to use one (or two) strokes when writing, and many people who write fast or take notes have a half cursive, half print handwriting, because the concept of not taking ones pencil off the paper is a faster way of writing. Having letters that use a dot is fine, but making that dot necessary and the letter common is,,,a pain. I know that the ë, ö, ä, all of those are letters, but thats only a few letters out of the alphabet.

Galactic? Four of the letters are made of dots (r, w, j, i). Could you imagine trying to write, and having to make dots in the form of a square? Poor enchanters. Many other letters require the use of dots to differentiate different letters, the most notible being n & o, and k & l. The whole alphabet has only 9 letters without a dot, and many of those (4) require one to lift their pencil when writing. Again, having parts of a letter not connect isnt unheard of, but it does make differentiate between letters difficult.

Something that makes the latin alphabet nice is that every (or, almost every) letter has an easy way of seeing how the letter should go. Theres usually a clear path that a pen could take, and many of the letters start on the left and end on the right, making writing much quicker. Galactic doesn’t have that at all. Even ignoring the monstrosity that is r, many of the letters have little to no path. Take a look at h, how is one to write that without backtracking several times? Same with b, its just an awkward shape.

Now, onto the redesign!

A few of these have meanings I think relates to minecraft.

D is meant to look a bit like a head on view of elytra/ dragon wings

E is meant to look like the eye of ender/ endermens eyes, or the elder guardians eye. Lots of eye symbolism in e

G is a ghast tear or a guardian eye, you choose

O is for ocean

P should look like a potion bottle

R is for redstone connecting together/ redstone currents

W is wither. Yes i was salty abt h having this one and put in here just because of that.

These arent all of them, but theyre the ones i remember the most. You’ll notice that a few of them do use dots (k & o) but k is not the most common of letters, and the dot above the o is 1 a feature in many languages (ö) and 2 an easy addition, start the letter at the top, do a clockwise circle, and when unreach the top again, u do the dot. Pretty simple. K is only one dot, not f o u r (looking at you, r), which means that even though it isnt perfect, its what we have and its better than galactic.

I know q & m are similar, but so are u and v in the latin alphabet. Too bad. Live mad about it, they’re different enough

This system is actually pretty easy to write in, most of the letters are easy on the hand (except for e, god i regret making it like that. But its what we have and its not too bad when u get used to it). I also have punctuation and a bit of numbers made for this system, but yea this is long enough.

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Dearest Readers,

I know I’ve been absent during this quarantine and for that I’m sorry. It’s been pretty crazy to have to do distance learning with my six-year-old, but we’re getting by. I’ll be honest, I almost messaged the amazing @thefanficfaerie​ to tell her that I wouldn’t be able to do this, but the more I realized that I hadn’t created in what seemed like forever and thought about how much I missed interacting with you guys on here, the more I wanted to complete this challenge.

So I did what I always do, I sat down with three loose-leaf sheets and played “Penny and Me” by Hanson on a loop until this came out. I didn’t intend to be so on the nose with this one nor did I intend to use our current situation with covid19 in the fic, but here we are. Thank you so so much to @thefanficfaerie​ for creating this challenge! Also, thank you so much to @italiandoll1129​ for betaing this little diddy. I hope you guys enjoy this little imagine and I hope you’re all doing well and staying safe <3

Sinceriously,

Amanda

Your life up to the point when the world stopped had largely been made up of acoustics and half note runs. Countless moments captured in a simple bar, a single verse, a reprised chorus. Music was your lifeblood, the ticking of the muscle that resided deep in your chest and then--just a few short weeks ago--silence. The world stopped turning, life as you knew it upended, and the music in your soul faded without refrain. It seemed survival had been triggered when the governor implemented a stay-at-home order and music became little more than a distant memory of better days.

   Rafael had been more than annoyed at the disruption of his carefully crafted schedule, but had it not been for his steadfast reasoning and patience you surely would have sunk deep into the dark, bottomless pit of despair and hopelessness. Your loving, quick-witted ADA was the brain that steadied the storm in your heart. Had it not been for him you surely would have crumbled into a useless mess by day two of quarantine. Not that you weren’t on the edge every second of the day, but at least you were sure that if you did fall apart, Rafael would be there to put you back together again.

   You sat on the bumped out window seat in the corner of the living room, pillow in your lap, sipping your mug of home-brewed coffee, staring at the lifeless street below. New York City had never been so quiet, but now all of its residents waited with bated breath for the virus that had halted all to pass. Even the criminal world seemed to be practicing social distancing, though an uptick in domestic violence was certainly keeping Rafael busy. For the creatives of the world, however, the coronavirus seemed to slowly poison the well of inspiration, leaving little else aside from disconnection and isolation despite the countless public figures proclaiming “alone, together.” Or whatever they were saying.

   “Mi amor?” You heard Rafael’s voice from down the hall and let your forehead gently touch the cold, glass surface of the window as your eyes closed. “Y/N, we should go to the store today and pick up a few things, what do you think?”

   You inhaled through your nose and turned your head to look back at him, offering a weak smile. “Yeah, maybe they’ll have toilet paper this time.” How had toilet paper become more valuable than the dollar bill seemingly overnight?

   Closing the distance between the two of you, your boyfriend brought the back of his fingers to your cheek, corner of his lips quirking upward. His touch had always been enough to calm the emotional tornado that stress brewed inside you. Especially lately, you had become acutely aware of his ability to make you believe that everything would be alright.

   “This is all temporary,” he would say. It never took very much convincing on his part as long as his skin was making contact with yours.

   “We still have plenty for at least a week or two,” he said as he moved to sit on the other side of the window seat, facing you.

   Pursing your lips, you nodded. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra on hand, just in case.” You tried to leave it at that instead of allowing a worst-case-scenario to form in your mind. The governor’s instructions had been clear: stay home, wash your hands, social distance until the curve flattened, remain calm. Despite your own paranoia, the world was not actually on fire...or if it was at least it wouldn’t be forever, and in truth as long as you had Rafael by your side, all would be well. Though it was times like this that made you wish you believed in God. There were moments when you envied Rafael in that sense; most of all now, when a magical sky-daddy would be a welcomed reprieve from the ever-rising death toll and unemployment rates.

   “Honey, we have to stay calm and not panic-buy, okay?” Rafael said, reaching for your hand. “You should try to keep yourself busy. You know how your anxiety gets when you sit still for too long without something to focus on.”

   “I know, I just…” You ran a hand through your hair and grimaced when you realized you hadn’t showered the day before. “I can’t slow my brain enough to create anything coherent.”

   “So create something incoherent,” he suggested with a bob of his shoulders. “Or, instead of writing music, why don’t you just play some songs you enjoy or learn to play one?” You could sense your lips trying to form a smile as your thumb stroked over the skin between his knuckles. “I just know how important music is in your life. It always makes you feel better.”

   “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” you said in a whisper as your eyes fell to your joined hands. “Maybe I could go live on Instagram,” you added carefully. “I’ve seen a lot of people talking about how scared they are, too.”

   He narrowed his eyes. “I thought we agreed you should stay off social media for now.”

   In the beginning of your self-isolation, you spent nearly every waking minute refreshing your Twitter and Instagram feeds, which in turn, had served only to fuel your anxiety and almost caused a panic attack. The logical thing was to avoid social media; the daily press conferences and videos from Philip DeFranco were more than enough to keep you updated on the situation without causing you to cry yourself to sleep because Dr-Random-Twitter-Handle had posted about his hospital’s desperate need for PPE, and how a portion of his staff had become sick, which would convince you that this was in fact the end of the world and there was literally nothing that could be done to stop it.

   So yeah, no social media had been the plan.

   However, your desire to share music had been a part of you since you could remember, and especially at a time like this, music could be the very thing to soothe people’s fears, even if only a little bit.

   “I know but I can’t help but wonder whether playing where other people can hear would help in some small way,” you said. 

    Rafael lowered his eyes as if in thought, nodding once. “What if you opened the window so the neighbors could hear?” His gaze came back to meet yours. “It’s been pretty quiet the last few weeks.”

   It had been quiet in the neighborhood since all the bars and clubs shut down, including Penny and Me’s, the bar just downstairs that normally featured live music, which would fill the entire neighborhood and carry over to the next block. You smiled at your boyfriend.

   “You don’t think people might get annoyed?”

   “No,” he answered. “I think people are reaching for as many positive things as they can get. And some music, especially when the neighborhood has been so eerily quiet, might be just the thing that makes them feel normal again. Even if it’s only for a moment.”

   You eyed your guitar in the far corner of the living room, leaning against the bookcase that held countless escapes into other worlds. Normally when reality came to be too much, a mix of other worlds and strums on your guitar would be enough to keep you from losing it completely. But right then, when the world as you knew it was forever changed, you couldn’t justify leaving it, even to save your sanity.

   “And,” Rafael added. “If anyone complains, they’ll have me to deal with.”

   You snorted, standing and opening the window before you went to pick up your guitar. Sitting back on the window seat, you took your time tuning it while your eyes periodically wandered, looking for an idea of what song to play. From the corner of your eye, you saw Rafael take out his phone, tap his screen a few times before he held it up. You knitted your brows at him; wasn’t he just trying to talk you out of going live?

   “I just realized your family might want to hear you play,” he said as though he’d been inside your head. “What are you gonna play, corazon?”

   “I don’t know.” Your gaze fell on the unlit, cursive lettering on the building across the street and the familiar chalkboard by the door that now read, “Stay home. Stay safe.”

   With a gentle smile, you began to strum an intro of chords, the beginning of a song that was written strictly as a love letter to music, highlighting the importance of a song in our hearts and how a simple, familiar melody could remind us of our favorite moments in our lives. Music, without which the world would be a much darker place, the one thing that in an instant could heal a hole in your heart, the thing that often formed fond memories of nights up late by the fireplace. Music that could speak for you with such clarity if you had trouble forming words.

   “That’s not obvious at all,” Rafael mumbled after hearing you sing the first chorus.

   “Hush, you,” you replied quickly, not missing a single strum. “Cause Penny and Me like to roll the windows down…”

   As you sang through the full chorus, a second voice joined in from below. Rafael carefully stepped closer to the window, mindful to keep his phone pointed in your direction as he leaned to stick his head out the open square.

   “Lawrence?” you heard him call out between lyrics.

   “Hey Rafael!” the voice replied. “And Penny and Me like to gaze at starry skies…”

   Your ADA chuckled under his breath when a third voice sounded from further down the building, and a fourth from above. By the time you reached the bridge, it was as though half the block joined in. Your focus was on keeping time with your strums against the strings, but your skin had prickled into goosebumps at the sound of your neighbors singing along with you. 

   For the first time since you’d been stuck inside, it actually felt like despite the fact that you were all self-isolating, none of you were alone. In that moment, the entire block of 82nd street was one, singing through their pain and loneliness, belting their affections for each other simply by joining you in a cover of an early 2000s tune by one of the original popstars of the 90s. Through the final chorus you could hear the longing, the desire to be together truly once again, going to Penny and Me’s for a drink after a long week and weaving in and out of clusters of people on the sidewalk to get home after it got late. It reminded you that New Yorkers were fighters, that you had all seen worse than this pandemic and that one day soon you would be reminiscing about where you were during the 2020 pandemic that had paused the world and forced people to appreciate each other just a little bit more. The time when music, as always, kept you connected while you distanced.

   “Do you think this is going to go viral?” Rafael asked no one in particular after you’d played the final chord of the song. 

   “I don’t think so, it’s a fairly obscure song,” you answered with a grin as you leaned back against the window sill, allowing the breeze to blow strands of hair against your face. 

   “Still,” Rafael mumbled as he tagged your parents in the post and, at your request, tagged the song and the virus for easy reference if you needed a pick-me-up later in the night. “Okay, I’m gonna head out to the store. Did you wanna come?”

   “I think I’m gonna stay here,” you answered, rolling your head to one side until your eyes met his. “I should clean the bathroom...and myself. Then afterward, I might try to work on some more music.”

   The smirk you knew all too well flashed in your direction as he closed the space between you to kiss your forehead. “Maybe without the window being open. The neighbors didn’t mind a song they knew, but the last thing we’d want is to disrupt their marathon of Tiger King.”

   “Speaking of which, they added an episode,” you said.

   “They did?”

   “Yep, Carol Baskins isn’t in it though, from what I’ve heard,” you said.

   “Fucking Carol Baskins. Okay, I’ll be back in an hour, tops,” he said, going to the door and putting on his coat. “When I get back, I think we should make dinner and watch that episode.”

   “And after that?”

   He bobbed his shoulders. “You’ve been trying to get me to watch Lost for years. Maybe now is when you do.”

   “I don’t know if I wanna watch a show about a plane that disappears to an island no one knows about. We’ll see what my paranoia level is by the time we finish the last Tiger King episode.”

   “Well, you know I’ve been dying for you to watch Catch-22,” he replied with a smirk.

   You paused a moment, grimacing at the thought of the show adaptation of a Joseph Heller novel that you hadn’t very much enjoyed in the first place. “Lost it is.”

[lets-talk-appella]

i’m nobody’s but yours

Chapter 22/25 - Beca

Summary: Beca is straight as an arrow. 100%, totally, completely straight. Except for one problem that 100%, totally, completely changes everything: Chloe Beale.

Title borrowed from Calum Scott’s “If Our Love Is Wrong.”

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: M (for dark themes, homophobia, masturbation, and eventual smut in later chapters)

TW: Homophobic slurs, hate language, homophobic behavior, internalized homophobia.

AO3, FFN, and below.

Beca groans in loudly in frustration, earning a dirty look from the store manager, which she returns with interest. Seeing this, Chloe waves at the manager in apology and steers Beca away, leaving the fifth shop they’ve entered since arriving at the mall.

“Be nice…” Chloe warns under her breath.

“Ugh, sorry,” Beca mutters, “but they had literally nothing there.”

She’s tired of navigating the mall’s endless stores, none of which have proven even remotely helpful. Though, Beca realizes, it’s not like she’s been overly helpful, either, not having any concrete idea formed for what would make good parting gifts for the Bellas.

What do you give to people who have been your family for years when you’re all about to go separate ways?

Still, she’s determined to find something. The Bellas are too important for her to give out meaningless trinkets or nothing at all.

“They didn’t have nothing,” Chloe says, “but they didn’t have anything that screamed ‘Bellas’ either, yeah.”

“Yeah, I don’t know, there’s nothing that seems right.”

“Well, what’re you thinking?” Chloe asks patiently, even though Beca knows if their positions were reversed and Chloe were dragging her all over the mall aimlessly, she’d be irritated. “Do you have a rough idea of what would be good?”

“I’m just not sure if we should do, like, individual things?” Beca answers as they walk past additional stores without any particular destination in mind. “Or eleven of the same thing.”

“Eleven? There are ten of us.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I – I thought maybe, you know, maybe Aubrey would like something, since she really… helped bring… us togeth – uh...” Beca trails off at the megawatt smile growing on Chloe’s face.

As Beca stares, Chloe’s grin widens until she looks utterly delighted. Her mouth opens and Beca’s sure she’s about two seconds from having her eardrums ruptured by a very Chloe-esque gush of excitement, and all because she’s bothering to include Aubrey.

“Stop.” Beca cuts her off seriously. “Stop that right now. I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t make it weird.”

She watches as Chloe’s expression twitches and shifts as she struggles to reign in her enthusiasm. It takes her a moment, but finally, Chloe’s smile fades and she takes on the appearance more appropriate of someone at a serious business meeting.

“Better,” Beca says cautiously.

Instantly, Chloe’s beaming smile breaks free, almost blinding Beca with its intensity. “You are so CUTE! And SOFT!” Chloe squeals with a laugh, turning several heads in their direction.

“Whatever,” Beca rolls her eyes, feeling her own lips lift in spite of herself. If someone had told her three years ago she’d be looking for a Bellas gift to Aubrey, she’d have laughed, too.

Chloe’s shoulder bumps into hers playfully, and Beca glances over at her still-massive smile.

“Anyway…” she emphasizes, ignoring Chloe’s glee as they continue walking past store fronts. “What do you think about the gift thing?”

Chloe’s fingers lace with her own and she runs her thumb absentmindedly along the back of Chloe’s hand. By now, the action has become reflexive, though it never fails to make her heart stutter. Beca swings their hands between them gently as they navigate around the decent amount of other people in the mall.

“Individual might be nice,” Chloe says slowly, “but then there’s that whole thing where you have to keep everything the same price so it’s fair.”

“Oh, yeah,” Beca agrees, “that gets hard.” She grimaces and adds, “Plus, like – whenever I think of getting something for Stacie, all I can picture is a vibrator, and – no.”

“You’re picturing Stacie with a vibrator? Should I be jealous?” Chloe looks at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Not what I meant, and you know it.”

Chloe hums, grinning in satisfaction.

They keep moving through the mall, Beca checking out every store front they pass. They pass a shoe outlet, a video game store, and a kitchen store, none of which stand out. She gets distracted, then, when she looks across the main aisle and makes eye contact with a middle-aged woman, who quickly looks away. Beca looks away too, self-conscious and wondering if maybe her hair is an issue, but a glance in the reflective glass of another store front shows that she looks fine.

“I think the same gifts for everyone is a good idea, though,” Chloe continues thoughtfully. “That way it’s, like, a, you know, like a team gift, since we’re a team.”

Beca nods. “Yeah, okay, I just don’t know what would be good for…”

Her voice again trails off into nothingness as she catches another stranger’s eye, this time, an older man. He’s seated on a bench they’re walking past, glaring in their direction with a heavy frown on his face. As Beca watches, she notices his gaze is fixed low; with a jolt, Beca realizes he’s staring at their joined hands.

Oh. Right.

Beca’s neck warms and her eyes drop to scan the floor in front of them, though she knows that rationally, she has nothing to feel bad for.

“Hmm,” Chloe muses, apparently oblivious of the man’s hostility. “Team… maybe T-shirts? Sweaters… uh, some sort of, I don’t know, memory book?”

“Wh – oh, that could be cute…”

“Beca?”

Beca runs her tongue over her front teeth, looking around carefully. “Listen, Chlo, maybe we should – oh!”

Beca stops talking abruptly when her eyes land on a piercing and jewelry kiosk in the middle of the aisle. It’s like a lightbulb turns on in her mind, the sudden idea driving everything else away.

“Okay, wait,” she says, thinking rapidly. “This might be lame, and you have to tell me if it’s lame.” She glances over, waiting until Chloe nods before continuing, “...But how do you feel about matching necklaces?”

Chloe stops dead in her tracks, her mouth popping open in surprise.

Beca stops, too, dragged to a halt by Chloe’s hand still wound around her own. “Oh, god,” she groans. “It’s lame, isn’t it? Yeah, you’re right, it’s lame. We definitely don’t need to –”

“No, Bec – it’s – that’s a great idea!”

“Really?”

“Definitely,” Chloe says firmly, pulling Beca toward the jewelry kiosk so abruptly it makes her stumble the first few steps and squeak embarrassingly in surprise.

Chloe drags her right up to the counter, moving directly to the necklace section with an excited squeal. She grips Beca’s hand even more tightly, tugging her close and peering down and into the display case happily. Beca glances up at the woman running the stand, smiling a little to half-apologize for their abrupt approach, only for the woman to smile back tight-lipped, her eyes flicking around almost furtively.

A brick scrapes its way down Beca’s throat to drop into her stomach.

Beca mimics the woman and glances around, trying to remain inconspicuous. People around them are probably making assumptions; they’re holding hands, standing at a jewelry kiosk, and Chloe had been obviously excited over something. Her blood runs cold when she realizes there are more than a few people staring over at them now with judgment in their eyes.

Beca forces herself to take a deep breath through her nose. There are “Sheilas” everywhere.  

“What about that one?” Chloe asks, refocusing Beca’s attention on the display case.

She moves closer to Chloe under the pretext of peering down into the case, angling herself so as to block Chloe as best she can from the strangers’ views.

“Um,” Beca says, her eyes landing on the necklace Chloe’s pointing at. She doesn’t want to alarm Chloe by making her aware of the electric storm of hostility surrounding them. The best thing to do would be to find something quickly and get out of the mall before anything happens.

Thankfully, the necklace Chloe has pointed out is a simple one: a standard quarter note on a thin golden chain, with the word “Belle” inscribed along its stem in cursive. It’s small, elegant, and almost too perfect to be real.

“Does that say…?”

“Yes,” Chloe smiles at her, and Beca can’t help but grin back.

“It’s perfect,” she says, grateful it was an easy find.

Chloe beams and squeezes Beca’s hand, which she takes as agreement.

Beca looks to the woman running the kiosk. She has to clear her throat to regain her attention; the woman had been staring hard in the opposite direction. “Um, hi. We’ll take eleven of these ‘Belle’ ones, please, if you have them.”

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

Beca’s watching Pretty Little Liars when she’s 16. She’s only been living with Warren and Sheila for a few months, and this show is overdramatic, but it’s a distraction.

“Change the channel. I don’t want to see that,” Sheila’s voice sounds from behind her. “I don’t like you watching this.”

“Why?” Beca asks sullenly, not bothering to twist around on the couch.

“I heard they had a lesbian on it. That’s not something you need to see,” Sheila says scornfully. “There never used to be so many gays on TV, and I don’t see why they have to have them on all the shows now.”

Beca knows which character Sheila is talking about. In truth, she doesn’t always like seeing that, either; It makes her feel weird, unexpected things that she doesn’t want to think about. She doesn’t really want to do anything Sheila tells her, though, so she ignores her and leaves the show on. With a huff of annoyance, Sheila comes around the couch, snatches away the remote control, and changes the channel herself.

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

The kiosk manager raises her eyebrows, but whether at the quick necklace choice or at the sheer number requested, Beca doesn’t know. Still, the woman nods without further comment and kneels to open a cabinet within the kiosk and starts rifling through it, presumably to check her stock.

Even as Chloe leans over the counter in excited anticipation, the back of Beca’s neck prickles and dread floods her senses.

She turns automatically, pivoting so her body fully shields Chloe’s.

“Bec, what –”

Someone tall – she catches a glimpse of a beard and narrowed brown eyes – barrels into Beca’s shoulder, sending her stumbling backward and into Chloe.

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

She’s 18 when Sheila, after graduation, tells her, “Just wait until college, you’ll meet your future husband there.”

Beca tries to feign interest, instead of acknowledging the vague disgust she feels at the thought. She wasn’t going to college to meet a husband; if she had her way, she wouldn’t even be going to college at all.

“What’s the male-to-female ratio of Barden, again?” Sheila asks Warren, who shrugs uncomfortably. Beca has to look away.

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

Beca tenses and holds her breath, waiting for a fist to appear in her gut or a shove to send both her and Chloe flying, but it never comes.

Instead, a sharp male voice hisses directly into her ear, “It’s still a fucking disgusting sin, even if you fags are able to pick out rings.”

Chloe gasps in shock and a white-hot pain slices through Beca’s chest; she might as well have been punched, for what those words did to her. The next instant, the man moves on, plowing through them roughly and leaving them staggering. Instinctively, as soon as she and Chloe catch their balance, Beca stares after the him, but can only see the back of his head moving away rapidly.

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

She’s sitting with the other Bellas, staring at Jessica’s (or Ashley’s) laptop in nervous anticipation. The livestream of the Marriage Equality decision plays as they all watch with bated breath. Chloe makes it to the sitting room just in time, the familiar butterflies stirring in Beca’s stomach at the thought of asking her out soon…

On the stream, the votes start to appear, each one sending a pang through Beca’s entire body. She watches, ensnared and terrified. It’s going to be close; her heart sinks as she realizes they probably won’t win.

But then, they do. It’s 5-4, a small margin. It’s amazing and it’s exhilarating and it’s mind-numbing.

It’s much, much too close for comfort.

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

Beca’s body goes numb with shock and fear, even as the man’s head is lost in the crowd.

She looks around; almost everyone near them is staring, wide-eyed.

Beca tugs her hand from Chloe’s.

She does it because she’s not thinking. She does it because everyone is staring at them. She does it because she doesn’t know what else to do.

She regrets it the instant it happens.

Chloe makes a small noise of protest, a hurt little cry that rips Beca apart even more than the man’s words had. She instantly knows that sound is going to echo in her nightmares.

She can feel Chloe’s eyes on the side of her face, can feel the shame warming her neck and face, but all she can do is watch the woman behind the kiosk extract more versions of the music note necklace from her supplies.

Beca swallows.

Chloe’s staring at her, her hand still dangling in the air between them. Beca can’t do anything about it.

She shoves her own hands deep into her front pockets, balling them into fists and digging her nails into her palms so she can feel something besides the crushing weight of Chloe’s accusing eyes on her face.

She wants to reach out. More than anything, Beca wants to reach out to reconnect their hands.

But it’s not safe.

They can’t act like a couple in public. Not when there are people who say things like that. Not when there are people who might hurt them.

Beca forces herself to glance over to convey this to Chloe silently – I’m trying to protect you – but Chloe looks away, her eyes dropping to the display case. She shifts, putting a few inches of empty space between herself and Beca.

A heavy lump forming in her throat, Beca looks back behind the kiosk. She watches the saleswoman messily wrap the eleven identical necklaces in tissue paper, moving hurriedly and glancing around anxiously. Heart sinking, Beca wonders if they’d somehow put this woman at risk just for shopping there. She isn’t sure if she should apologize or make some suggestion about the mall security, but her voice lodges behind the growing mass in her throat.

Chloe hasn’t moved. Beca isn’t sure if she’s even breathed.

“Here,” the woman behind the kiosk says roughly, startling Beca. It’s the first word she’s spoken since they arrived. The necklaces, all wrapped, have been placed in gift bag on the counter, with the total price for them displayed on the computer. Beca nods her thanks and hands over her debit card with trembling fingers. The woman swipes and hands it back, Beca signs the receipt without recognizing her own signature, and the bag is shoved in her hand and they’re free to go.

Before Beca knows what’s happening, Chloe is stalking away, refusing to look back. Beca can only follow, jamming her debit card back into her bag haphazardly and half-jogging to keep up. Chloe sets a breakneck pace, her feet hitting the ground – right, left, right, left – more quickly than Beca can manage to keep up with. Red curls duck and weave through people – past a group of teenagers, past a middle-aged man and woman holding hands (why do they get to hold hands?) – as if she’s trying to lose Beca in the crowd.

“Chloe, wait!”

She doesn’t look back.

Beca’s ears are ringing.

She follows Chloe on autopilot, her mind whirling and body quaking.

Time moves in odd gallops.

They’re leaving the kiosk.

They’re walking past the stores they’d already tried – Chloe hasn’t looked back yet.

They’re exiting the mall – surely, Chloe’s about to stop and wait for her. (She doesn’t stop.)

They’re at Chloe’s car – Chloe’s steps, right, left, right, left.

She wonders for a moment, as Chloe climbs into the driver’s seat, if the passenger door will even open for her when she gets there. Chloe shuts her door and starts the car before Beca even touches the handle. When she does, the door does open for her, and she swings herself in and gets the door closed only an instant before Chloe pulls forward from her parking space. Beca scrabbles for her seatbelt, clicking it into place as Chloe drives out of the lot, cutting off another driver at the exit.

The radio is off; Chloe must have turned it off after climbing into the car, because it had been blasting on their way there. They’d sung along with it. That seems like days ago, rather than barely two hours.

Darkness has officially fallen outside, making the interior of the car small and suffocating. Beca glances over; Chloe’s knuckles are while on the wheel, her form rigid in the seat, and jaw clenched so tightly Beca isn’t sure if she’ll ever speak again. Her eyes never waver from the road. A hole opening in her chest, Beca turns to stare out the passenger window without seeing. She shifts in her seat, her movements loud in the otherwise silent car.

She has never felt so lonely in Chloe’s presence.

I was trying to protect you.

Time continues to move in strange, jerky dollops, and in what could be hours or seconds, Chloe pulls up to the Bella house. Beca sees many of the upstairs lights are on, but not the main living room, and relief washes over her at the thought of avoiding the Bellas tonight.

Chloe parks the car and turns it off. Beca half-expects her to just get out and walk away again, but she doesn’t. Instead, she sits and stares down at her lap, her fingers twisting together.

Somehow, this is even scarier than Chloe walking away from her.

Beca wants to reach out, to soothe the tension she senses between Chloe’s shoulders, but she knows her touch would be unwelcome.

So, she waits, and starts counting in order to keep hold of her sanity.

She gets to thirty-seven before Chloe sighs deeply and looks over at her, making eye contact for the first time since the kiosk. The dullness of her eyes is horrifying.

“Do you still want to be with me?” Chloe asks, looking more afraid than Beca has ever seen her.

Yes. Yes, more than anything.

It’s still a fucking disgusting sin, even if you fags are able to pick out rings.

“I…”

She hesitates just a second too long, lost in her own fear of the world.

Chloe’s face pales and, in one fluid motion, she unbuckles her seatbelt and opens her car door. She steps out and closes it, then jogs to the Bella house.

“No, I – wait!” Beca shouts, but Chloe doesn’t look back. She goes inside the house and slams the front door behind her.

Beca’s frozen to her seat, staring dumbly at the house in shock. Two seconds pass, then four, then six, then her brain screams at her to move.

She rips off the seatbelt, swearing when it gets caught on her hand, and shoulders open the car door. She throws herself out, leaving behind the bag of necklaces and slamming the door closed behind her, and then she’s running, actually full-out running for the front door. She flies up the porch steps, flings open the door, and launches herself inside.

A bedroom door slams upstairs, and she knows it can only be Chloe’s. Setting her jaw against the panic threatening to engulf her, Beca bounds up the steps, taking them two at a time. She reaches the second-floor landing and rushes to Chloe’s bedroom door, hand flying to the handle to push her way inside.

Her heart stops.

For the first time ever, Chloe’s door is locked against her.

[leo-lucid]

Chapter 13: The Vampire

I was the most nervous about going on my date with Endrian. We seemed to connect the last time we spoke, but he hasn't spoken to me ever since. I haven't even seen him around the house. There was no communication on what we were going to do, what I should wear, or even if the date was still on. I just assumed that the date was still on. So, I dressed according to the weather and hoped that it was appropriate enough for wherever Endrian planned on taking me.

As I was pulling my hair into a bun, I heard a soft knock on the door. I finished doing my hair and opened the door to find no one standing in front of my oddly enough. However, there was a note sitting on the hardwood floor. On the front of the note was my name written in rather neat, cursive handwriting. On the back were simple instructions.

Meet me in the garage in ten minutes. Bring a heavy jacket. And don't eat any snacks.

- Endrian

From the instructions, I assumed that we were going to eat something on our date. I didn't take Endrian to really be the foodie type. Perhaps it was because he was a vampire that I just assumed that he only consumed food for the nourishment, not the flavor. I headed back inside my room and closed the door behind me, deciding to get ready even further.

After putting on some light makeup, changing into a royal blue long sleeve dress with black legging for more warmth, and touching up my hair bun, I checked the time and saw that five minutes have passed. I figured that it would take me a couple of minutes to get down to the garage and that it wouldn't hurt to be just a couple minutes early. So, I headed down the stairs and into the garage.

Endrian was shoving something in the carrier on the back of his motorcycle just as I walked in. After he saw me, he glanced down at his watch. Then, he looked back up at me with those serious, red eyes of his. "You're a minute early."

"Well, better early than late, right? May I ask where we are heading?" I finally asked, nervous to be asking that question in the first place. It was probably obvious that I was still kinda scared of Endrian, no doubt that he noticed my hesitance whenever it came to him.

"We're going to the cliffside to have a picnic. I got sandwiches, fruit, and even chocolate. You like chocolate, right?" He asked, his gaze not meeting mine. Hearing all the things he packed, I was actually a little excited about our date. It seemed like Endrian put quite a bit of time and thought into the date.

"I like chocolate. A lot, actually. Thank you for preparing everything for us. Can you eat any of that though?" I asked my next question.

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I?"

I blushed a little as I realized that my question may have been stereotypical. When it came to meals, I guessed that I never actually paid attention to his eating habits. All I really noticed was that Endrian finished his meals rather quickly and left at the same pace. "J-Just making sure is all. U-Um, shall we get going then?"

Endrian gave me a slightly bewildered look before rolling his eyes, dropping the topic. He handed me a motorcycle helmet before putting on his own. Hopping on the back of his cycle, he gestured for me to get on the back. I followed, getting on the back of the cycle and wrapping my arms around his waist. This action still made me nervous, but not as nervous as last time for some reason.

The garage door opened and the cycle was revved up, ready to go. Soon enough, Endrian sped away out of the garage and down the path towards the main town that would help guide us to the cliffside. It was a good thing Endrian suggested that I wear a heavier jacket. With the wind hitting me on the back of the motorcycle and just the recent changes in weather, it was pretty chilly. Even though my heavy coat, I could feel some goosebumps start to form on my skin.

We sped through the town and took the long way up to the cliffs, this time Endrian taking his time on the way up. I remembered the first time he took me to the cliffside. He went way over the speed limit out of frustration and anger and spewed out his confessions out of the same feelings. I wondered if he was still grieving or if he was healing already. I didn't know much about Endrian, but he seemed to be a strong individual that tended to bottle up his feelings until he exploded.

I wanted to help teach him not to bottle those emotions up. I knew from experience that bottling them up would only make the pain feel worse. The last thing I wanted for him was to experience more pain.

Eventually, we reached that familiar cliffside, the sun beginning to bathe the sky in purples and pinks. Endrian pulled into a parking spot and turned the engine off before taking off his helmet. I followed his movements and took my helmet off as well. Fixing my hair bun, I got off the cycle and stepped back to give him some space to hop off and fetch the picnic basket. There weren't any cars or people on the spot, probably because it was a little too cold. The only thing that kept me from shivering was the warm sunlight piercing through my black coat.

I continued to stare at the sunset and take in the warmth before it would disappear to bring the stars and moon out. Shuffling could be heard beside me as Endrian unpacked the blanket from the basket. Turning my head, I saw him setting down a blanket and bringing out the food. As promised, he brought sandwiches, fruit, and chocolate. The way everything was packed reminded me of what a little kid would bring to school for lunch. The sandwiches were in plastic bags and the fruit was in a large tupperware container to share. The chocolate was just in its plastic wrapping as well.

Despite that, however, I was really grateful that he even made the effort to organize the picnic. It made it seem like he was really trying his best to make this date a success. Once he sat down on the blanket, I went ahead and took a seat next to him, but still keeping some distance between us. I still didn't want to intrude on his personal space.

"Come on. I don't bite." Endrian huffed until he realized what he said. I remembered my first time "meeting" him and I knew that he can and will try to bite. There was a moment of awkward silence between us, Endrian looking away from me. Eventually, I cleared my throat and grabbed a sandwich to eat. I haven't eaten any snacks earlier as instructed, so I was pretty hungry.

"So, Endrian, what do you like to do for fun?" I inquired, taking a bite out of my roast beef sandwich. The lettuce was crisp and the tomato was juicy, blending well with the provolone cheese and small hint of mayo. I took another bite and gave a genuine smile as I enjoyed the food.

"Er, I like to work on my bike. Mechanical work is what I've always been good at. Cars, motorcycles, any kind of engine really. I also like to enjoy a beer every once in a while. And I. . ." Endrian trailed off, his cheeks turning a little pink. His gaze was still trained on the view ahead. The town was just turning on their lights in preparation for the darkness. It was a beautiful sight, but I wished that he would be a little more engaging.

Endrian pulled a ham sandwich out from a plastic bag and began to eat, letting his sentence end there. We fell into an awkward silence again as we ate, making me fidget in my seat. I stared ahead at the scene before us as well, trying to think about what to say next.

Before I could speak up, he went ahead and broke the silence. "What about you? What do you like to do for fun?"

"Oh, well, I like to practice and study magic. I also like to watch documentaries. I love nature documentaries the most, but any kind of documentary is good to me except for the ones that report false information and propaganda. Cooking shows are also something that I like." I answered, a bit glad that he was trying to keep the conversation going. However, as I talked, it seemed like he wasn't paying that much attention. It looked like he had his head in the clouds.

"Endrian? Is something wrong?" I finally asked. I would understand if he wanted to cut the date short due to how uncomfortable and awkward it seemed to be for both of us. But, I was a little too afraid to mention it first. I wanted to know what he thought.

"What? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking. . ." He trailed off once again. His tone wasn't as harsh as usual. In fact, it was actually pretty vulnerable sounding.

"What are you thinking about if I may ask?"

Endrian didn't say anything for quite a while. He just laid down on the blanket, facing the sky that began to show off some stars. I decided to lay down on my back with him, enjoying the view. The sound of crickets began to become more apparent and the sky was turning from a lavish pink to a royal purple to a midnight blue, stars dancing in the blue.

A sigh came from him and he spoke up. "Anise? Why am I cursed? I know that you don't know yet. I'm just thinking out loud here. Out of everyone in town, why me? Who did I piss off so bad that they forced me to stay here? I remember feeding on a person in this town and then in the next moment, I could never leave."

"Do you remember who you were. . . feeding on?" I struggled to ask my question, knowing that by "feeding" he meant sucking the blood out of someone. Who knew if he drank enough to let them die in the street or not. No matter how I looked at it, it didn't seem like a delicate or graceful act.

He shrugged. "Some lady. I can barely remember her face. All I know is that she tasted sweet like caramel. In fact. . ."

Endrian sat up a bit and leaned down closer to me, his face inches away from my neck. I froze, afraid that he was going to try to bite me. Instead, though, I heard a couple of sniffs and he lied back down in his own space. "You smell kinda like her. Sweet like caramel."

I didn't really know what to say about that. Instead, I just tried to relax again. Yet another silence fell over us both, but this time it was much more thoughtful. It was a stretch, but could the same woman that cursed the others so far be the same person that cursed Endrian? I also reflected back to what Danton said, a witch speaking with my grandmother and cursing zir. I wondered if my grandmother had any records of this other witch within her books.

"This is just a theory, but I think that you, Danton, Cassius, and Beofur were all cursed by the same witch. If that's the case, then you ended up feeding on a witch who then cursed you to this town after she came to again." I briefly explained. He didn't say anything, but I could see his brow quirk up for a moment.

". . . Yeah, I guess that would make sense. A witch would definitely be able to do something about me feeding off the people here. Funny thing is that ever since then, I haven't had the desire to feed on anyone until you showed up." He confessed like it was a perfectly natural thing to say.

I didn't respond to his comment, again, unsure of what to say. I then suddenly heard a loud rumble coming from his stomach. He sat up quickly and popped open the container of fruit, tossing a grape into his mouth. "Sorry. Ever since you arrived at the house, it's been hard to keep my appetite and desires in check."

"D-Desires?" I repeated, thinking that he could have probably used a much better word than that.

"Well, in addition to just hating you before, you also smell sweet as I have said. It's been hard to not try to feed. Why else do you think I kept avoiding you before?" He seriously asked.

"I-I just thought that you hated me. . ." I answered honestly. I didn't think that I could be blamed for my answer either. While we have reconciled since the last time we had some alone time, I still thought that a part of him hated me enough to avoid me.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I don't hate you that much, you know? What made you think that I hated you that much?"

I sat up and gave him an incredulous look. "B-Because you avoided me and sn-snapped at me all the time. . ."

It looked like he was about to snap at me until he froze and shook his head, looking down into his lap. ". . . I'm sorry. I don't hate you. I'm just. . . taking out all my frustrations out on you and trying to protect you from me."

"If anything, I should think that you hate me. After all, I came close to biting your neck before even officially meeting, I've done nothing but snap at you and even avoiding you despite talking on this cliff last time. But you. . . you kept trying to be nice to me. You keep trying to give me a chance. Why?" He questioned, turning his head to face me.

Despite how dark it was getting, I could see his red eyes glow through the darkness. They were intense like he was staring right into my soul. "I-I think everyone deserves a chance. I understand that you were frustrated and took it out on me. But, I don't blame you for it. I think I would be angry too if I was in your shoes."

"There you go again, being understanding." He actually chuckled and shook his head. His gaze returned to the stars and he ate another piece of fruit. I reached over and picked out an apple slice, enjoying its cotton candy sweetness.

"Anise?"

"Yes, Endrian?" I responded.

"This. . . This is going to sound selfish, but do you mind if I drink just a bit of your blood? This sandwich and fruit aren't cutting it for me, especially since you're around." He sincerely asked. I bit my lower lip and brought my knees up to my chest, thinking about it seriously. I knew I had trouble saying no to people. This was one of those times.

"J-Just a bit. . ." I finally replied. Endrian slowly scooted closer to me, his body heat radiating and warming me up through my coat. I closed my eyes and exposed some of my neck for him. The feeling of his warm breath hit my skin sent a shiver along my spine. I could feel and hear my heartbeat race within my chest. The last time we were this close was when he tried to bite me the first time. The only difference between then and now was that he had my consent.

Sharp teeth grazed against my skin, causing me to jump. I clenched my fists and waited for them to puncture through my skin. However, it never came. I suddenly felt a heavy weight resting against my shoulder and a sigh hit my neck. "I can't do it. . ."

I opened my eyes and got the full picture of what was happening. Endrian was resting his head on my shoulder, still sitting close to me. We sat like that for a moment, feeling more comfortable than we probably should've felt. The weight was comforting to me. I wanted him to feel that same sense of comfort. So, hesitatingly, I put a hand on his back and patted.

"It's okay. . ." I comforted, unsure of what I was comforting him about. I felt him tense up for a second before relaxing further into me. He then sat up and began to back all the food, tossing me a piece of the chocolate bar.

"Here. Let's call it a night, yeah?"

I nodded and took a bite of the piece, letting the rich chocolate melt on my tongue. After helping him back everything up, we loaded it back onto the motorcycle and hopped on before speeding away back home. Again, he took the long and slow route back home.

We pulled into the garage at a reasonable hour. Unlike my other dates that ran pretty late, this one was actually pretty short. Like he was reading my mind, Endrian mentioned it. "Sorry that the date was pretty short. I'm not good at this sort of thing. The next one will be longer though."

"The next one?"

"Yeah, if that's okay with you?" He confirmed. I found it actually pretty sweet how he wanted my permission now. He was noticeably more considerate than before. I gave him a nod and a bright smile.

"I don't mind a second date. Just write a day on the calendar whenever you are ready. Thank you for taking me on a date tonight. Despite it being short, I felt like I did get to know you better and I feel like more things are cleared up." I confessed, feeling a little heat on my cheeks.

He gave a curt nod and began to take up the picnic basket from the back. While he tried to hide it, I could see a faint blush on his own cheeks. "Yeah. . . Well, I guess I'll see you around, Anise."

And with that, I headed inside the house and to my room. He may not look it or act like it sometimes, but Endrian was pretty considerate. Or at least he was changing for the better.

________________________________________________________________ Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

[tiny-maus-boots]

The Fool

A/N: Part 4 of The Debt Collector Series, or the many bespoke three piece suits of Aubrey Posen.

Super big thank you to my bestie and beta @chloes-yellow-cup who puts up with me when I’m annoying (which is all the time), and STILL is kind enough to read and edit for me.

AAAAAND a very special thank you to @kate-harper because omgosh look at what she made!!! It is the greatest thing I have ever seen. It’s beautiful and I love and I have it saved as my lock screen so I can stare at it all day at work.

Stacie

She held up one dress in front of her body and sighed before flinging it to the side and holding up another. They were both beautiful long gowns that were light weight enough for the season but long and form fitted enough for the type of event. Stacie flung the second dress, a pale green, to the side and stood in front of Cynthia Rose in exasperation.

“I have a closet full of evening dresses and gowns and I can’t figure out what to wear to my own event tonight. I should have planned this weeks ago.”

Of course weeks ago she’d still been planning on attending by herself. It wasn’t always that way, usually Weston pretended to humor her work and attended events with her. But for the last couple of years she’d gone to each event with excuses instead of a husband. And when Aubrey had found out she asked to be her date, which was amazing, except now she had nothing to wear at the last minute. Her best friend looked up from the deck of cards she was idly shuffling and smirked then shook her head slowly. “What difference does it make? You ain’t gonna be in it but a minute.”

Stacie huffed and walked back into her closet to look for something else to wear. White was out, gold was out, green was definitely out. This used to be so easy before, any dress would do and Weston would wear the same tuxedo he always wore. It was nice of course, with classic lines, and he wore it well enough she supposed. But no one wore a suit like Aubrey and she had a feeling that Aubrey in a tux was going to make her weak. So she wanted to up her style game. Going stag was not the same thing as arriving with an escort.

“That isn’t the point. Like at all.” There was a knock at the door to the bedroom and she poked her head out of the closet to watch Cynthia Rose take something from the housekeeper. It was a large rectangular box with a bow on it. “What’s all this?”

“Georgia said it was just delivered by a strange mute woman. So I’m guessing Lil.” She placed the box on the edge of the bed and rested her hands on her hips. “You gonna open it?”

Stacie bounded over and leapt on to the bed already imaging what kind of dress might be in it. “What do you think it is? A pony?”

“I really hope you’re playing, girl.”

They had been best friends since college and the banter had always been the same. She’d be the dumb one and CR would be the cynical wise cracking one. It was a façade they both played to even though they knew each other much better than that. She pulled the ribbon off and opened the lid then let out a breath of surprised air. She shouldn’t have been surprised, Aubrey had impeccable taste, but for some reason she was blown away. Stacie reached into the box and pulled out the long deep red silk satin spaghetti strap gown.

“Guess that solves your dress problem. Damn. You gonna look hot.”

Stacie bit her lip and reached for the card in the bottom of the box and flipped it open. Cynthia Rose tried to look over her shoulder and she closed the card quickly. There were a lot of things that Aubrey would probably not care about if she told Cynthia Rose but something this personal, this romantic, that was out of the question to share.

“Nosy.”

“And which one of us is always digging through my phone to read my texts?”

“That’s different. Your sexts with that Ashley chick are awesome. Seriously. You could sell it as lesbian erotica. I know a guy.” Cynthia Rose gave her a look like she was out of her mind but it melted into something more considering after a moment. Stacie smirked and slid off the bed so she could read the card to herself. “Think about it.”

She leaned against the wall next to the window and smiled softly at the handwriting. Of course Aubrey wrote in beautiful heavy cursive script. ‘I promise to take it off you later – A’ It sent a thrill down her spine and she inhaled deeply at the thought of what Aubrey might have planned for her. Stacie gave the dress another look, holding it in front of her body while facing the full length mirror. It was gorgeous and she would look hot in it.

“You better hurry up. It’s almost time.”

Stacie nodded glad that she had already done her hair and makeup as padded into the closet to dress. Unsurprisingly the dress fit her perfectly, the slit riding almost to her hip was sure to flash a peek of her garter if her step was too long. She had wanted to tuck a gift from Aubrey into it but despite how small the lightweight the .22 caliber pistol was it was still a little too bulky for a simple black band. At the time Aubrey had given it to her the concealer thigh holster had seemed silly but as she adjusted it on her other thigh and tucked the gun into it she realized it was the perfect accessory. It held firmly and securely without ruining the line and fall of the dress. She grabbed her shoes and stepped into them, buckling the thin straps around her ankles.

When she stepped out of the closet Cynthia Rose gave her a whistle. “Aubrey’s going to love it. You look awesome, girl.” Her brow furrowed when her gaze trailed down Stacie’s body and ended at awkward way she was standing, trying to get used to the weight and feel of the gun strapped to her thigh. It would take her a few minutes to get adjust and get used to it but it was the first time she was wearing it for practical use. The other woman raised her brows in question as she guessed the problem immediately. “Oh so you ride or die now?”

It wasn’t an idle question and she could feel the current of something underneath the words. Maybe a threat, or a warning, she wasn’t sure but she gave a slow nod after thinking it through. She knew what being with Aubrey would mean if things got bad at work. She knew exactly the type of business Aubrey had, it was how they got to the situation they found themselves in now. Stacie turned to the mirror and started to touch up her makeup and hair.

“If you’re asking if I’m totally cool with how violent Aubrey can be for work then the answer is yes. I knew who she was before we started this, remember?”

Not that she herself could ever really forget the blonde’s work. This relationship with Aubrey had been so easy and almost too normal. It became harder and harder to remember that she was married to Weston and not Aubrey with all the time they spent in each other’s company. Stacie couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gone to Weston’s office to take him to lunch, then again he was rarely even there anymore. He spent more time traveling for work than he did at home which was quite frankly a relief.

But with Aubrey it was different. She found herself planning out her days so that she’d be around The Bird near lunch or dinner. And she’d dropped in a time or two at an inopportune moment. The most recent time giving her a very vivid reminder that this life was not a game.

She had hoped that it was a slow business day when she walked in to the manager’s office in the back. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that she would be walking directly into a business meeting of sorts. But she had and she’d stood frozen in the doorway as she took in the balding man tied to the chair and Aubrey with her sleeves rolled up to almost the elbow with slap jack in hand raised and ready to break a kneecap. The other woman hid it quickly but there was a flash of panic on her face that made Stacie’s heart squeeze painfully. For a second. Just a second, Aubrey had been afraid and it showed. She didn’t know how to ease that flash of fear without undermining the blonde so she cleared her throat and glanced down at the man, quietly closing the door behind her and locking it with a click.

“What’d you do?”

He tipped his head back to stare at her as if she were insane. She couldn’t blame him, this was obviously not the time for idle chit chat. When he didn’t answer soon enough Aubrey reached up and twisted two of his fingers roughly in a direction they were never meant to bend. They snapped and her voice came out with a low growl that did things to Stacie, making her body tighten with sudden desire.

“Answer the lady.”

Heat rose to her face and she cleared her throat when the man cried out. That…should not have been hot. He was a human being and he was in pain and Aubrey was the one causing it. It should have turned her stomach. But. It didn’t. She trusted that it was for a reason, because Aubrey never did anything without a damn good reason. The man lifted his head, beads of sweat dripping from his brow.

“I skimmed off my pick-ups.”

Oh. Stacie gave him a sympathetic look and patted the top of his head. “It’s going to hurt for a while, but the good news is you won’t make that mistake again.” Because she was pretty sure he was going to wind up dead. This was something she should have found horrifying but she felt strangely calm about because she knew there would be a perfectly valid reason. You didn’t steal from Aubrey Posen, and if you had the balls to try then you were risking your life and that was really on you.

She turned back to Aubrey, dismissing the man and any deeper thoughts about what went on in the back office. She knew how she felt with Aubrey, she felt safe despite the potential for so much violence. She felt safer here with Aubrey than she did in her own home. And all that dark, raw, energy so perfectly and tightly controlled took her breath away. Stacie took a few steps to Aubrey’s desk and leaned back against the edge, placing herself between Aubrey’s knees as the other woman was reclined in her office chair, watching her with open curiosity.

“So, dinner tonight, wanna eat out?” Stacie smirked at the flicker of surprise in Aubrey’s eyes at her obvious intent and stood to give the blonde a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “See you in a bit.”

Cynthia Rose gave a slow nod at Stacie’s comment, weighing it for truth. “If she hurts you…”

“She won’t. Aubrey doesn’t hurt people because she likes it C, its business. She doesn’t pretend to be the good guy but she isn’t the bad guy unless someone makes her be. I can live with that.” Stacie swallowed thickly, pausing as she was about to apply her fresh lipstick. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, dimly aware of Cynthia Rose standing behind her. “I love her.”

Her friend gave a solid nod and shrugged into an indigo blue tuxedo jacket with black lapel. “She damn well better love you back.”

“She does.” Stacie smiled and finished her lipstick before turning to help Cynthia Rose fix her bowtie. That was something she believed without hesitation and not just because Aubrey had said so for the first time the night before, she just knew that the other woman did, she felt it in her bones. “Hey, thanks for letting me host this thing at The Diamond Club. It’s kind of the perfect venue for a Monte Carlo themed event. It’s going to earn a lot of money for the shelter and that will help a lot of women in need. So, thank you.”

“I got’chu Stace. It’s a good cause and it makes me look like an upstanding member of the community.” Stacie smoothed out Cynthia Rose’s lapel and linked their arms so they could look at themselves in the mirror. “Damn. We look like we’re going to prom.”

It made her laugh and she nudged her best friend with a shoulder bump. “Yeah, a big gay prom.”

“Hnghh. I look fly as hell too. Hm. I might find me a wife tonight.”

Stacie rolled her eyes playfully and tugged her friend’s arm to lead them out the door. “Okay well look fly from the car, I don’t want to keep Aubrey waiting.”

Aubrey

Aubrey walked through the tables set out for the various games and nodded approvingly. “Get this table a bit more to the back and put the high roller Baccarat and Poker upstairs in VIP.” Cynthia Rose had given her carte blanche to organize exactly how the gaming went since she was the one supplying the set up and games. Happy nudged her elbow gently and jerked her curly head toward the entrance of the club.

The light from outside was blocked out partially as the figure strode toward them with an unmistakable cocky strut. Aubrey smirked and turned to face the woman as she finally made her way to them. “Detective Mitchell, here to gamble away your check for a good cause?”

The smaller woman looked around at the club and gave a slight nod as if she was seriously considering it. But they both knew she wouldn’t be there for more than a drink or two before crawling back into whatever hole she’d crawled out of to be there. “Maybe, lots of bored rich wives come to these things right?”

Aubrey snorted softly and gestured for Happy to take over ensuring everything went the way it was supposed to until Stacie got there. Her eyes landed on the briefcase in the Detective’s hand and she gestured toward the stairs that led to Cynthia Rose’s office. “I see you visited our friend.”

Beca followed her up and into the office, shutting the door behind them. “That guy is a fucking creep.” She put the briefcase on the desk and opened it before turning it to face Aubrey. “Also, he’s missing some teeth. You know anything about that?”

She didn’t say anything as she reached for the stacks of money to make sure it was all there. It hadn’t taken much to get Detective Mitchell to agree to blackmail Weston, she had a particular prejudice against the wealthy that Aubrey used to her benefit. Besides, she was a dirty cop that would do anything if the price was right. Aubrey counted out twenty five thousand dollars and tossed the stack lightly across the desktop. “That’s unfortunate news for him, I hope he doesn’t smile for photos.”

Beca dropped into the chair across from Aubrey and picked up the cash without bothering to count it. She trusted Aubrey not to cheat her and in turn Aubrey trusted Beca not to rat on their dealings. The cop tucked the stack of bills into the inner pocket of her leather jacket and crossed her arms over her chest, watching Aubrey with a calculating gaze.

“Hm. If I didn’t know better I would say someone knocked or pulled them out. Sounds like something someone might do to teach a guy a lesson. Especially if that guy owed that someone a lot of money.” It was getting too close to the truth for her to lie outright against. So Aubrey leaned back casually, adjusting the matching tie and vest set she wore. It wasn’t an admission but it wasn’t a denial either and Beca took it as a sign to continue. “Did you have me blackmail this guy just so you could loan him back his own money?”

The corner of her mouth quirked in a predatory smile but it faded quickly and she leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her on the desk. “If someone were doing that to our associate Mr. Whitman I suspect they would be doing it for a good reason. Don’t you?”

The brunette sat there a moment turning it over in her head. “I’ll tell you what I know. Weston Whitman is grade A piece of crap. I did my own research and he’s clean as a whistle on the surface, but there’s something wrong about him. Hookers go missing or turn up dead everywhere he goes, investors get squeamish whenever his name is mentioned, corporate higher ups start hiding behind walls of attorney’s whenever anyone asks about him.”

They were toeing a line just discussing it but Aubrey hadn’t yet said anything incriminating to substantiate what the Detective was saying. “I think that sounds about right for Mr. Whitman.”

“Jesus Christ Aubrey. This guy is a legitimate bad guy, I could have investigated this shit for real. What are we doing dicking around with shadow games like this? And please for the love of God, give me a better fucking excuse than you wanting to bang his wife like a Salvation Army drum.”

She could understand Detective Mitchell’s irritation, even if she was on the take, she was a good damn investigator and letting a bad guy get away from the law when there was a good case against him bothered her. Aubrey chose her words very carefully when she spoke.

“Let’s say you make this a case Detective. And just for the sake of argument he didn’t have enough money and lawyers to bury this whole thing before word gets out. Let’s say you manage to drag this figlio di puttana through the mud and shit where he belongs.” Aubrey stood and slid her hands into the pockets of her tuxedo trousers to keep from wanting to reach for a weapon in her anger at the very thought of Weston. “Who exactly do you think suffers the most for it? Him? You think his money can’t buy him some luxuries in prison? Who do you think the press is going to hunt and hound? Him all safe in his cell or…” Stacie.

She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to. Beca deflated a little and shook her head still upset even if she were resigned to accepting it. They both knew Stacie didn’t deserve the fallout of what would happen and there was a good chance that Weston would use his leverage over Stacie to save his own ass. And that was something she couldn’t allow to happen. So she did it her way, moving people like chess pieces until she could trap him in a corner with no one to turn to for help, no money to buy his way free, and no will left to try and fight.

“You have a fucked up sense of chivalry, you know that Posen?”

Aubrey moved to the cabinet that held Cynthia Rose’s well equipped bar and pulled out two small tumblers and a bottle of grappa so strong it would put hair on a man’s chest. She poured them each and drink and handed the Detective a glass. Beca took it and raised it with her.

“Salute.”

They clinked their glasses together and tipped them back. The harsh burn of the alcohol slid down her throat and she gave an involuntary shiver that would have had Detective Mitchell laughing at her if she hadn’t been choking on a cough herself. “Oh my God, poison. Holy shit is that turpentine?”

Aubrey started to answer but her phone vibrated against her ribs. She set the glass down and reached into her jacket pocket. Her lips pulled into a smile at the text from Stacie. A sudden rush of nerves made her pull at her cuffs and straighten her tie once more and she caught Beca watching her at it. “How do I look?”

“Like a woman in love.” Beca stood and lifted Aubrey’s hand to fix the cuff she had twisted around her wrist. They weren’t on the same side of the fence, not by a long shot. They were still cop and criminal, employer and employee even. But if Aubrey were being honest she counted on Beca in her life and thought of them as friends. It was a dangerous way to think given the business she was in but there was a certain amount of mutual trust built up over years of sometimes violent encounters. “Which is super gross by the way.”

Aubrey gave the shorter woman a mild glance but she could tell Beca didn’t really mean it by the almost wistful sigh she gave when she was done fixing the cuff. “Didn’t know you were such a romantic, Detective.”

Beca made a face and shrugged. “Honestly I’m not but...” She shrugged and Aubrey waited patiently for her to continue. “Seeing you happy like this, despite the shit we muck through every day, makes a girl wonder if maybe it could be worth it. You’re in love and as much as that weirds me out, I can’t help but think that might not be the worst thing in the world. One day.”

Aubrey chuckled softly and gestured to the office door. So Detective Mitchell low key wanted to find herself a heart to call home. If she hadn’t ever met Stacie she might have mocked that sentiment. Made a joke about Beca going soft for wanting to be loved and love in return. But it was different now, she was different now and it was apparently obvious to see. She locked the office behind her and tucked the key into her vest pocket, eyes already scanning for Stacie. When she finally found her, Aubrey almost missed a step and had to catch herself before she crashed into Beca. The other woman looked over her shoulder at Aubrey and snickered. “Smooth, Posen, real smooth.”

“You shut up.” Her eyes slid back to Stacie and she watched the easy sweet smile as she greeted a few patrons. It took Aubrey’s breath away and she chose to watch from the bottom of the stairs as Stacie maneuvered through the swiftly filling room. Her eyes trailed down Stacie’s long body, appreciating the way that dress looked on her. Almost as if she felt the weight of Aubrey’s gaze Stacie raised her head and turned unerringly toward her, flashing a perfect smile.

They were caught for a moment just staring at each other across the room. It was hard not to walk over and kiss Stacie in greeting but she managed to restrain herself. It was only obvious to the few people that knew them like Detective Mitchell and Cynthia Rose or Lilly and Happy, that they were there as a couple, for everyone else Aubrey was just another benefactor and contributor. No one really to take note of and certainly not more than a passing acquaintance to Stacie. But she knew and she had dressed the part, her vest, tie and pocket square matching Stacie’s dress perfectly. Aubrey smiled when Stacie realized that they complimented each other perfectly. Maybe she was going soft for the girl, a thing she swore she’d never do, but seeing that spark of happiness in Stacie’s eyes made it all worth it.

Stacie

“Thank you for coming, it was wonderful to see you again.” She smiled and shook hands with another guest, kissing his wife on each cheek as they parted. It felt like hours had passed and she’d barely gotten to see Aubrey. It had been a long nonstop stream of people all wanting to make small talk geared toward finding out her secrets and point out her flaws with polite smiles and condescending little laughs. She hated this part of it, the part where she had to interact with people that didn’t give a damn about anything real but always threw money at the first cause to cross their paths. People like her parents.

Not that her parents were terrible people, they weren’t, they were just too concerned about appearances to really make a change in anyone’s life. Their desire to help people was only as extensive as the amount of time it took to write a check. It was why she spent so much of her time and family inheritance trying to be better than that. Because the truth was they couldn’t even be bothered to help their own daughter out of a horrible situation and she never wanted another woman to know what it felt like to be trapped and alone in an unsafe relationship. Stacie took a deep breath before yet another person got between her and the bar where she’d last seen Aubrey. A warm hand landed lightly on the small of her back and she could feel the heat of it through the dress sinking into her skin.

“I was wondering where you’d gone.” Stacie leaned back slightly so that her body bumped against Aubrey’s and the tension melted away. She turned and smiled at the blonde, taking the time to appreciate the full effect of Aubrey’s tux and perfect smoky eye. It was sexy as hell and she had to resist the urge to run her hands down the other woman’s chest and over her ribs.

“I’ve been here with you the whole time.” Stacie reached out for Aubrey’s hand, wanting to do more than give it a squeeze. She wanted to do so much more but that would have to wait until later when they were at home together. “You want a drink?”

“Yes, please.” Aubrey smiled at her and Stacie’s heart skipped a beat. She was still lost in the memory of Aubrey’s smile moments later when another much heavier hand landed on her arm. The smile she wore faded instantly because she knew the too familiar touch as one of Weston’s friend’s from work. He was always pushy and always far too drunk and so far tonight had hit on her at least five times. The last time going so far as to squeeze her ass when no one was looking. She knew why he was so aggressive, was sure that he had seen certain movies of her, a thought that sickened her almost as much as the smell of his booze tainted breath.

“You’ve been giving me the dodge Stacie, c’mon, let me buy you a drink and take care of you since Wes isn’t around.”

She tried to carefully extricate herself from his grip but he held tighter, pulling her a little closer to his body. The smell of whiskey on his breath so strong she had to turn her head to get away from it. “You’re drunk Phillip, please let me go.” Her mother’s voice rose up in a frantic roar in her head. Don’t make a scene Anastacia, it is better to suffer in silence than endure a scandal! It was so hardwired into her brain that she caught herself trying to hide his rough grip on her so no one would know.

“I thought you liked it like this.” She had suspected of course, but having that confirmation made her stomach wind in knots. If one person knew then others could and would eventually find out. People would know about her, about what Weston did to her. Bile rose up in her throat and she elbowed him hard enough in the gut to get him to let go so she could get as far away as she could.

Stacie scanned for Aubrey and headed in her direction but a hard yank to her wrist pulled her to a short stop just feet from the bar. Aubrey turned just then, sensing more than seeing movement over her shoulder and green eyes narrowed in malice as she took in Stacie’s situation. Phillip pulled her over to a smaller table that had been pushed to the side to make room for the servers coming in and out with trays champagne and hors d’oeuvres. She didn’t recognize the two men sitting at the table but she didn’t have to know them personally to know what kind of person they were.

It was obvious from the sly smiles and complete and utter lack of concern for her wellbeing. They were like Phillip, and like Weston. The type of men that preyed on women because they were rich and powerful and had been born with a sense of entitlement bigger than their trust funds.

“I don’t think the lady wants your company.” Aubrey’s soft voice came out with the echo of a threat and Stacie shivered at the sound of it. Phillip let her go and she stepped out of his reach before he could think about grabbing her again. Aubrey gestured with a small wave at a server and gave the girl a fifty dollar bill as a tip. “Bring these gentlemen a round from the top shelf.” The girl nodded and hurried off away from the darkened corner to the full light of the bar and well away from the dangerous vibe in the air.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude but who the hell do you think you are?”

Aubrey raised a brow and turned her head to take Phillip in, judging him for threat level. When she didn’t find one worth worrying about she pushed forward and rested her hands on the table top. The nearest man, reached out to grab her but Aubrey was faster that he was and far more vicious. Her hand came up to the back of his head, slamming it into the table hard. The second man started to stand but Aubrey lashed out with a quick jab to his throat that buckled his knees and had him silently gasping for breath. In one smooth motion she pulled her gun from the small of her back and placed it on the table directly in front of Phillip with a heavy thunk. She thumbed back the hammer and leaned in so her eyes were level with his and Stacie was sure he had just peed on himself.

“No. Means. No. Are we clear?”

Stacie bit her lip when Phillip nodded a little too quickly in agreement. She held his gaze a moment more before she stood up and tucked the gun away as smoothly as she’d taken it out, the server none the wiser for the for the display. Aubrey turned to Stacie and gently stroked her fingers over the already fading red mark from Phillip. Her voice was low but so much softer than when she’d spoken to the man at the table.

“Hey, you okay?”

She could only nod, afraid of what might come out of her mouth right then. Aubrey gave her a slow nod then turned back to the table to pin them each with a hard look. “Enjoy your drinks gentlemen and get the fuck out of my house.”

All three of them got up without so much as glancing at the drinks, two of them helping the third to the closest exit. Like magic Lilly appeared at Aubrey’s side and the blonde gave her a short nod, watching as her right hand man disappeared back into the shadows to follow Phillip and his friends. She turned back to Stacie, eyes soft with apology but none of that was necessary for Stacie.

There were no words to express how she felt right then. Stacie stood there staring at Aubrey wanting and needing to be anywhere but there in front of so many people. Aubrey opened her mouth to apologize and Stacie pulled her in by her lapels for a quick and hungry kiss. She honestly didn’t care if anyone was watching or had noticed anything out of the ordinary at all. She couldn’t care less if every single one of them saw. Aubrey pulled back from the kiss in confusion her breath coming out in a fast pant.

“Wha…”

“We have to go right now.”

“Wher…”

Stacie took Aubrey’s hand and pulled her along the wall to the edge of the bar. She had to wait as several servers spilled out of the door to the back area before tugging Aubrey behind her to the delivery door at the back. It was too busy with the hustle of bodies and she pushed out into the cool evening with an exasperated sigh. She spotted the other woman’s black Escalade parked next to Cynthia Rose’s Mustang. She turned and slipped a hand into Aubrey’s pants, her fingers tracing the seam of the pocket as she dug for the key. The blonde’s hips jerked once before she found what she was looking for and clicked the lock open.

She couldn’t even feel herself take the steps to the car, only the feel of the cold metal and glass against her overheated back as Aubrey pushed her up against the side and kissed her as if she could devour her right there. Stacie struggled to open the door behind her, breaking away only long enough to lift her dress and scoot into the backseat. The other woman climbed in after her and Stacie reached for her tie, tugging her closer for another kiss. Her hands scrabbled to peel the jacket from Aubrey’s shoulders, needing to get closer than the layers of clothes between them would allow.

Aubrey’s short nails grazed over her hips as they tugged her panties down the progress stopped when the blonde encountered the thigh holster. She looked down at it then at Stacie with a raised brow. “That’s so hot….”

Their lips crashed together again and Stacie swore there wasn’t enough air in the car, maybe the universe even. Aubrey tossed her underwear over her shoulder and pulled Stacie onto her lap in a straddle. Fingers grazed along her heat and she bucked wildly needing more than the tease of foreplay. Oh God she had never needed anyone as badly as she needed Aubrey right in that moment. Her fingers worked with frenzied intensity as she pulled the tie loose from its knot and worked the buttons open on Aubrey’s shirt and vest enough to reach the lace of her bra and the soft creamy skin of her chest.

One hand reached out to brace against the window when Aubrey filled her and Stacie could only think that she’d never felt this much anything in all her years of living. This much desire, need or love. She had never felt this safe in such an out of control life. This was everything for her and Aubrey was everything to her. Stacie brought their lips together in another desperate kiss, her words barely a whisper against Aubrey’s soft lips.

“I’m so yours.”

[khadij-al-kubra]

Thomas In Wonderland (ch 2)

Characters: Thomas (fictional), Virgil, Roman, Patton, Logan, Remy, Emile, Joan, Talyn, Deceit, Nate, The Dragon Witch, fan adopted short vid characters

Pairings: None (some implied Prinxiety)

Words: 1993

Summary: Thomas takes a long fall and has some snacks

Author’s Note: Hey friends! Ya girl is back at it! Not much to say in the ways of notes except now i have an actual Beta reader! Yaaaay. The awesome and talented @fuck-my-life-i-want-food. I have to thank them for catching all the little errors and typos I miss and that WordDoc failed to point out. (digital dummy) As always I am open to any writing critiques or tips you may have, and any likes, comments or reblogs would be immensely appreciated! Also please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters for this fanfic or any of my other future writings. I am so happy everyone’s enjoying the story so far, and i’m having a lot of fun writing it! So now, where were we? Ah yes...

Down the Rabbit Hole

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH”

Thomas’s echoes screamed as he tumbled down the rabbit hole. Which if he wasn’t so busy falling he might’ve noticed was much larger than a normal rabbit hole might be. Not that he had seen the insides of many rabbit holes, but it didn’t take someone with a degree in chemical engineering to take an educated guess that most weren’t the circumference of a very large albeit dirt covered swirly slide. Nor were they probably as well lit or furbished with homey brick-a-brack here and there.

But then again, nobody in their right mind would be expected to notice these things while falling down said hole screaming their lungs out. So you could hardly blame Thomas’s momentary laps of attention to detail.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH *cough cough * AAAAAAHHHHHH”

Thomas had never been so scared in his life. Not even that one time his uncle had taken him out on a fishing trip and they got caught in that rainstorm out on the water. He didn’t know how long he’d been falling but surely it was only a matter of time until he hit the ground harder than Wile E Coyote. And his body did NOT run on the kind of cartoon logic where he could survive such a fall. His anxiety was going through the roof and his voice was growing hoarse from his shouts. Plus it was dark and dirty and humid and oh my gosh, why didn’t he just stay home!?

“AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaah?”

Huh…jeez this tunnel is deep, Thomas thought. Now that he wasn’t so focused on screaming, Thomas had a chance to let his logic catch up to him. He realized that the less he panicked the more his decent slowed down.

Okay Thomas, just remember your breathing exercises. In for four…Hold for seven...Out for eight… As Thomas worked to count, hold, and release his breath he felt himself slowing like syrup. His spinning body settled into a calmer upright position, and finally his heart rate was back to a comfortable comforting rhythm.

Phew! Taking a break from his tiring terror, the young artist got a look around him. It was dirt brown for obvious reasons, but for less obvious reasons he also spotted old-fashioned gaslights along the walls. As well as a half stuck leather love seat, a mirror, exactly three different pride flags and a toaster oven. One thing he did not see however was a pitcher of water, which Thomas wished was around because his poor dry throat sure could’ve used something to drink right about then. Oh! He just remembered there was half a packet of gum left in his pocket from his last run to CVS. Too bad I didn’t keep the receipts, or else I could’ve made myself a rope to climb up or something. Oh well. Thomas took a piece of gum and chewed on it gratefully.

As he coated his throat in minty sweetness Thomas wished that he had a wristwatch so he could know exactly how long he’d been falling. I mean it’s gotta be a solid five minutes at least since I tripped. Stupid laces. Thomas bent down to tie his laces so he wouldn’t trip on them into any more holes. That is if he ever landed on solid ground again. The momentum caused him to flip around once or twice but eventually he made the two rabbit ear knots. Down and down Thomas went, yet still no sign of a light below or any below at all beyond the shadowy black. Who would’ve thought slowly falling down a hole for so long could be so boring! Thomas hated being bored. Almost as much as he hated writers block, but definitely more than muggy weather. And he still had no clue what time it was.

“Such a weird thing to want while falling down a deep hole,” Thomas said. “A watch of all things. Then again, I’ve definitely had stranger thoughts…Have I always talked to myself this much?”

Before he could answer his own question, Thomas spotted a glint of something from below. A light? Or maybe it was a ladder or something useful. As he went down the item came up to meet him and he snatched it form the air. It was the silver pocket watch the Black Rabbit had on him.

“Poor thing must have lost it on the way down here.”

He opened the watch to check the time, only to find that the hands were not only ticking oddly fast (Thomas would’ve sworn it was the same counts as a waltz) but also moving counter clockwise. Well that’s a lot of help, he thought. Only now did he see there was also an inscription written on the inside:

‘V- I go mad for you, every time. – R’

Thomas wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a compliment or a weird threat, but either way it was clear from the inscription and well-worn look of the silver that this watch meant a great deal to the Black Rabbit.

“Poor little guy must be going nuts without it, especially if he was in a hurry for something,” said Thomas. “I’ll try my best to get it back to him. If I ever touch ground again, let alone—Oof!”

His whole body suddenly jerked to a halt, like how it did at the end of rollercoaster rides. Thomas looked down and to his great relief saw he was floating a foot above solid ground. A second later he was dropped down and tasted said solid ground.

“Ow…” Despite the taste of twigs and leaves that he picked out of his mouth, Thomas was relieved to have reached a bottom at last.  

It looked like he was in another tunnel- only this one was long ways and had a clear warm light at the end. Moreover, he saw up ahead of him a rather large shadow on the wall with rabbit ears and could hear anxious mutterings of, “I’mlatei’mlateafucki’m SO late! Where’s my watch, I’m so LATE!”

“Hey, Mr. Black Rabbit,” Thomas called out.

The shadow turned to his voice, ears shooting straight up, only to scamper out of sight. He really was a jittery little fella. Thomas ran down the tunnel in the hopes of catching up. Not only to give him back the pocket watch, but also he was honestly still pretty curious about where the Black Rabbit was going.

As he ran Thomas passed a few wooden doors and portraits of upside down selfies, but he kept his eyes ahead. At one point he saw the Rabbit’s cottony tail and turned that same corner. At the end of the hall was a door left ajar. Thomas opened it and found himself in a spacious room, nearly bare save for a round glass table and lamps along the walls. The Rabbit seemed to have vanished.

“Boy he’s really good at popping in and out of places suddenly,” Thomas said, scratching his hair. “But where could he have gone?”

Just then he spotted a spec of blue to his right: a small pair of curtains low to the ground. Thomas knelt down and pulled them apart. Behind it was a simple door with a brass handle and keyhole. This was getting curiouser and curiouser by the minute. He stooped even lower, practically laying on the wooden floor now and peeked through the keyhole. What he saw took his breath away and made him smile for the first time all day. Beyond the door was the most gorgeous garden he had ever seen! Filled with gardenias and tulips, roses and violets, sunflowers and daffodils…he really liked flowers. There were even ones in colors and species he didn’t recognize.

“Oh I gotta check that out! But how am I going to get through this teensy thing?”

Thomas stood up and walked around the room, hoping there might be another him-sized door he’d maybe missed. He saw no door but when he accidentally knocked his hip into the round table (Ouch) he saw there was a small glass bottle with a tag on it that read DRINK ME in Arial font, and a plate with a single large sugar cookie on it. On the cookie in pink colored icing were the words Eat Me in lovely Cursive. It wasn’t every day that Thomas came across food that was so bossy. Then again, he hadn’t eaten or drunk much today, and he was no good on an empty stomach. He left the bottle alone because a) the font wasn’t too nice and b) the blue liquid inside looked like Gatorade but could also very well be poison or liquid drainer or something. He remembered what happened in Heathers.

The cookie on the other hand a) had a sweeter font and b) well, he’d always been weak for cookies. So he pocketed the bottle for later, took the gum that had long ago lost its flavor out of his mouth, put in in the wrapper (because he wasn’t a barbarian), picked up the big cookie, and took a bite.

Aaaand he immediately regretted it. Not because the cookie tasted bad, it was actually delicious. But because he felt himself getting slightly compressed and saw the room getting even larger, until Thomas found himself to be the size of an ant.

“Oookay. So big cookies here make you small. Duly noted.” For some reason he felt like that should be reversed, but he could mull one that more later. Thomas turned to the door. “Say, maybe I’m small enough to fit through that door! Even if it’s locked, which it probably is and I didn’t see a key anywhere…I could probably fit through that keyhole. Ha!”

Thomas jogged on his teensy legs over to the door. He was certainly small enough to fit into the hole. Unfortunately he was too small to actually reach said hole no matter how high he tried to jump. Thomas gave a sigh.

“Okay new plan.” Thomas thought for a moment and then took the DRINK ME bottle out of his pocket. If the cookie made him small, then it stood to reason the drink might make him big. “Well, here’s hoping is not liquid cleaner.”

With 50% hope and 50% anxiety, Thomas uncorked the bottle and took a swig, downing the whole thing. Not that there was much to begin with. It was a small bottle after all. Thankfully it wasn’t poisonous; actually it tasted like grape soda. Or  some kind of berry maybe? Definitely something fruity. Also thankfully, Thomas felt himself being stretched big and bigger. Not so thankfully his head knocked into the ceiling. Now he was too big. Thomas groaned. At least now he knew what it was like to be tall. That was kind of nice.

“Okay, new-new plan.” Thomas took out the rest of the Eat Me cookie and this time only took a nibble. “Take two.”

Thomas once again felt that compression like before. This time however, he was more like the size of a mouse than an ant. He jogged back to the wooden door again and this time found he could just reach the rim of the keyhole. He pulled himself up (good thing he’d been going to the gym lately) and through the hole. Finally he was on the other side.

“Woohoo! Thank you size changing snacks!”

His mood improved greatly with the treats and the new scenery. The garden was even grander up front than through a keyhole. So many vibrant colors, and the sweet earthy perfumes seemed to wrap around him like chiffon. Thomas relaxed for the first time all day. Still, he didn’t know where exactly he was or where the Black Rabbit in the purple waistcoat had run off to. What Thomas did know was that he had been very distressed about something and that he had the bunny’s missing pocket watch. There was still a chance that Thomas could help the poor fella, or at least give his belonging back to him. He could still do something. So Thomas moved on in the only direction he was sure of- forward.

<=PREV

NEXT=>

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[tigerwalk3]

Kindred Spirits

Thanks to @nattah-gudgrrl for this idea!

“I’m stuffed,” Rick said, rubbing his palm over his flat stomach, and pushing it outward for effect. They stepped out of the cozy bar and grill into the brisk, January air, and he stood in front of Michonne to block the wind that was whipping specks of snow around like confetti, as she fastened her coat.

“Me too,” she said, letting her eyes roll back to exaggerate her sated state. “That was amazing.”

“What do you want to do now? The night’s still young.”

“Let’s walk off that meal,” she said, slipping her arm through his and pressing against his side for warmth. “We can window shop, really do the tourist thing.”

They started down the cobblestone sidewalk, no particular destination in mind, and Rick allowed himself to be led from jewelry store, to antique shop, to bakery; rows of storefronts still decked out cheerily for the recently passed holiday. She pointed out numerous treasures, and he pretended to be interested, all while his gaze fixated on the way the cold brought a rosy tint to her dusky cheeks and nose, and her brown eyes gleamed with contentment. They walked until the winter sun began to prepare for its evening rest, dimming the light and pulling up a blanket of horizon to retire behind. Rick noted the neighborhood was getting less handsome as the sky became more murky, and he began to think better of their self-guided tour.

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” he said, leaning in to run the chilled tip of his nose against her ear as he spoke.

She smiled, about to agree to his proposition when something caught her eye. “Look!” She pointed to a sidewalk sign with a woman’s name written in scrolling cursive on the chalkboard finish, and a hand drawn image of a crystal ball. “A fortune teller!”

“Michonne…” Rick groaned, tightening his arm around hers and planting his feet to keep her from rushing toward it.

“Oh, please!” she begged, holding in a chuckle at his expense. This was exactly the type of thing he would hate on principle, but it could be fun. “Come on. She can tell us what the new year has in store.” She batted her eyelashes at him and he was useless to resist.

Rick hung his head in defeat, and followed her for a few more steps until they stood before a purple, velvet curtain where a door should have been, a small windchime hanging in front of it, in lieu of a doorbell. Michonne looked at Rick and shrugged, lifting her gloved fingers to brush them across the metal rods, making them ring. As if beckoned by a Siren’s song, a dark haired women appeared, wearing flowing robes and gold bangles around her wrist that jingled as she walked. She pushed aside the curtain, squinting as if they had woken her from a nap.

“Welcome,” the woman said, in a thick Eastern European accent. “You have come for me to read your good fortune?”

“Of course,” Michonne answered, with a beaming smile.

“How much is it?” Rick asked, with considerably less enthusiasm. Michonne nudged him in the ribs with a soft elbow and smiled at the woman.

“It is thirty for your reading,” she said, unmoved by his attitude. “Well worth it, I assure you.”

Rick rolled his eyes, pulling his wallet out of the back pocket of his worn, black jeans, and thumbing out two twenties. He held them up to Michonne with a shrug, indicating his lack of exact change, and she plucked them from his fingers gleefully. “A tip,” she said, handing the cash to the woman.

She nodded, then jutted her chin over her shoulder and turned to lead them into the small room where she had just emerged from. Their eyes adjusted to the dim, yellow lamp light, filtered by a scarf draped over the shade, and they both scanned their new surroundings. There was a small wooden table in the shape of a circle, with three folding chairs set around it and a glass orb on a stand in the center of it. The set up almost filled the closet sized room and Rick had to shuffle between a chair and the wall to find a seat. Soft, twangy, instrumental guitar music floated from an unseen source throughout the space and the dark walls were decorated with black and white photographs, featuring groups of people with their hands joined around a table and lights glowing in odd shapes above them. Rick pulled out the chair he had passed up, offering it to Michonne and she removed her gloves and slipped her arms out of her bright, teal pea coat, hanging it on the back of the chair before taking her spot.

“I am Madame Rose,” the woman said, taking the last chair. “I am a clairvoyant.”

“What’s that mean?” Rick asked unzipping his own suede, shearling lined coat that was far too heavy for the overwhelming warmth emanating from a tiny wood stove in the corner of the room.

“I can see your destiny, but also your past. I can read your soul’s journey and decipher it for you.”

Michonne glanced at Rick with a look of sudden apprehension. “Is that always a good idea?”

“The knowledge and insight I give you is yours. It can be good or it can be bad, but it is yours, whether I tell it to you or not.”

Michonne nodded at the response, settling into her chair while Rick leaned back, looking skeptical beside her.

“Each of you lay a hand on the table,” Madame Rose instructed, “palm up, then join your other hands together.” The woman hurried them along with a wave of her fingers when Rick hesitated, and Michonne urged him with her eyes to comply.

She felt him squeeze her fingers in his beneath the table and she grinned, her shoulders loosening a bit. Madame Rose closed her eyes and tipped her face to the ceiling, an almost imperceptible hum vibrating across her pursed lips as she exposed her own palms to them on the tabletop. Michonne chanced another glance at her boyfriend, while the woman was occupied, finding an incredulous squint framing his clear blue eyes. She mouthed for him to stop and he begrudgingly adjusted his facial expression to one of simple disinterest before Rose opened her eyes again.

The fortune teller reached across the table, tracing her index fingers along each of their palms, exploring the unique creases and indentations for what seemed like an eternity, until she finally spoke. “You’ve been together for a long time,” she said.

Rick’s face curled into a cocky smirk instantly. “Zero for one,” he said. “We’re here celebratin’ our one year anniversary.”

Madame Rose’s lips twitched ever so slightly into her own smile, before returning to a thin drawn line as she continued to trail her fingers across their open hands. “Ahhh,” she said. “But your souls have been dancing for lifetimes.” Rick rolled his eyes again, as Michonne leaned forward, intrigued. “Mmhmm,” she hummed, nodding to herself. “Yes. They are drawn to each other like the waves to the shore.” She stopped her feathered touch suddenly, gripping both of them tightly with a small gasp. “I see you meeting...your eyes meet from afar...through a window...no...a fence.”

“We met at a friend’s barbeque,” Rick said, not attempting to hide his chuckle.

“You did open the gate for me when I got there,” Michonne offered.

“That’s a stretch, Michonne.”

“This meeting was not the first,” Madame Rose said. “You’ve met a multitude of times, all different, all like lightning striking.”

Rick leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out beneath the table, his face wearing his disbelief proudly. “I only remember the barbeque.”

“Rick,” Michonne said, shushing him.

“The fence is around you both, a prison of your own making,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Oh.” She gasped again.

“What?” Michonne leaned forward further, riveted by the tale the woman was weaving.

Her face contorted then, a look of agony washing over her drawn features stretched with thin, pale skin. “Oh, dear.” She squeezed Rick’s hand hard, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his seat. “The pain in your heart...it’s so heavy. Guilt...sorrow. Your soul is wailing and your mind is lost in the thicket of grief and misery.” Tears started to form in her eyes and her mouth parted again, a silent sob wracking her.

Rick looked at Michonne who suddenly looked pained as well, as if she was really buying this act.

“And you,” the woman said, turning toward her. “You are a shadow. You are hidden from the world. You’re alone...wandering...carrying your own pain like a weapon on your back.”

“We’re actually pretty happy people,” Rick interjected, annoyed that Michonne seemed to be disturbed by this nonsense. He didn’t pay the woman to upset her. Her eyes bounced around Rose’s emphatic features, searching for the meaning behind what she was saying.

“You became friends,” she continued. “Partners.” Her eyes went wide, focusing on Rick. “She saved you.”

He opened his mouth to deliver a smart retort, but it got stuck in his throat. He lived a pretty uneventful life; a responsible, Southern man who did what was expected of him, but the woman beside him had certainly changed him. Maybe, in a way, she had saved him from the boring, predetermined path he would have ended up on, if she hadn’t walked into his life that day. He had built a life around duty, obligation; she showed him a deeper fulfillment.

She turned to Michonne now. “And this man revived you,” she said. “He took your shadow and gave it depth, life!”

Michonne looked at Rick and smiled. Maybe she was a shadow before she met him. She lived for her career, her independence; he sparked a different side to her, one that felt things, that giggled at corny jokes and got lost in the gaze of a man.

“You traveled together on a desperate road, lost but no longer alone, until one day you recognized each other and, when you looked into each other’s eyes, you saw all of the planes across which you were seeking each other.”

Rick swallowed a lump in his throat, swiftly overcome with a love for the woman beside him that was so rich, it ached in his chest. He pulled his hand back from Madame Rose, joining it with the one that already held Michonne’s. “This is ridiculous,” he whispered to her, his wide eyes saying the opposite. The old woman was a charlatan, he told himself. She was making it up as she went along. She was bound to get a few things right.

“It’s silly,” Michonne said quietly, her breath hitching on the words she didn’t quite believe.

“No, child,” Madame Rose said. “It’s not silly at all. It’s actually quite amazing. Some people search through all of their lifetimes and never find their soulmate. You’ve been with yours in all of them.”

Rick watched the words sink into Michonne’s expression, as she shrunk back into her chair with a sharp breath. He squeezed her hand again, leaning into her ear. “You done?” he asked her, avoiding Madame Rose’s gaze.

She nodded and released his hand so he could stand. Rick reached for his wallet as Michonne pulled her coat back on. He found another five dollar bill and tossed it on the table, then placed his hand on her back to lead her out of the room. “Thank you,” he said carelessly over his shoulder, as they exited onto the cold street, now bathed in darkness.

“That was crazy, right?” Michonne said, stepping to his chest as he joined her on the sidewalk.

“Of course it was,” he said, forcing a playful grin. He grasped the lapels of her coat and pecked her cheek with a comforting kiss. “If you're a shadow, you're the loudest one I've ever met.”

She chuckled, timidly. “And you only lose your mind during football season.”

“You make me lose my mind sometimes.”

Michonne nudged his arm again, then slipped underneath it as they began the walk back to their hotel. “It was strange, though,” she muttered.

“Hey,” he said, stopping her and bringing his hands to her face. “I love you. Right here, right now.”

“Me too,” she said. “In this lifetime you’re mine.”

“Forever.”

[wesleybates]

The Most Prevalent Web Design Mistakes to Avoid in 2020 and Beyond

Web design as we know it today focuses on deftly combining form and function, all to provide users enjoyable, interesting, and usable visits.

In other words, web design is now all about enhancing the user experience. Today’s web designers strive to fulfill what Internet users need, whether they’re creating a site with minimalist and simple web design or one that’s visually stunning.

Still, mistakes are not uncommon in the world of web design, most of which don’t do the user experience any favours. Let’s take a look at some of the most prevalent mistakes web designers should steer clear of in 2020 and the years to follow.

Pages That Take Forever To Load

There was a time when a page loading fully within 10 seconds or so already makes users happy.

That time is long gone. In 2020, the norm is three seconds or less.

Anything beyond that and people will label a page as one that takes forever to load. Yes, four seconds is already “forever” to many users, which speaks volumes about our ever-shrinking attention spans.

Slow page load speed is something web designers must address. Sure, some other factors may be causing the lag, like web hosting or the Internet speed of users, but web design is often at the top of that list.

Unoptimized images, heavy use of custom fonts, excessive ads, social media script overload, and other factors contribute to slowing down your pages. All of them are web design issues, which means you should avoid them when you can.

Random Use of Stock Photography

Let’s make it clear that there’s nothing wrong with using stock photography per se.

While it’s true that stock photos have nothing on original photography when it comes to setting your brand apart, some businesses simply don’t have the budget to commission a professional photographer.

For them, it’s almost always a choice between mediocre original photos of their staff and high-quality images of impeccably-dressed people in staged situations wearing smiles that come across as fake.

If you have to resort to stock photography, choose images that somehow represent your brand, not a random photo set that seems like something you just put together for the sake of featuring pretty pictures on your site.

If you want to present a polished image for your brand, you should at least pick stock photos where the lighting, the technology being used, the models’ outfits, and other small details are consistent.

Navigation Issues

For Internet users, few things are more frustrating than being led on a wild goose chase while exploring a website.

A bad website navigation structure can easily ruin the user experience. People have very little patience for issues like links that lead to the wrong page, far too many navigation options, and a search feature that doesn’t work, among other things.

You can’t expect people to put up with navigation problems. They will just drop your site like a hot potato, and you’ll end up with a much higher bounce rate.

Navigating your site should be easy, so tweak your web design and do stuff like adding clickable navigation elements, checking all links to make sure they lead to the right place, dividing categories clearly, and linking the logo back to the home page.

Animation Overload

Every year, web design trends come and go. Some trends, however, seem bent on staying. The use of animation and video in web design has been trending for years now and shows no signs of ever leaving.

Animation and video are great, but some web designers tend to go overboard with them. Add the fact that a growing number of web designers are now toying with moving elements, and they eventually end up with websites so distracting that focusing on one thing can be difficult.

Animation is particularly good at drawing the eyes of visitors. Instead of trying to impress them with an animation overload, try placing elements in an area where they will lead people to contact forms, live chat, offers, and other critical elements of your website.

Using Barely Readable Fonts

Video may be getting a lot of attention from users, but people still typically read the written content.

Sometimes, however, web designers use fonts that are either too small or difficult to read.

Ideally, body text should be at 16px, which is quite easy to read regardless of the device you’re using.

Also, avoid using cursive fonts, hand-drawn scripts, and other typefaces that look pretty but offer little in the way of readability.

Use no more than three fonts as well. And if you’re going to use colored typefaces, don’t torture readers with low-contrast text, like yellow fonts on a white background.

Too Many Colors

Colors play a very crucial role in making a website look great. Sometimes, however, web designers go to town and use as many hues as they want.

You don’t need to use a multitude of colors for your work. Ideally, websites should only have two to three colors, although some could reasonably go up to five or even six. Seven or more colors on one website can be uncomfortable for the eyes and confusing for the brain.

Zero Mobile-Friendliness

When users access your website on a mobile device, and they end up doing a lot of pinching and zooming and scrolling sideways just to read anything, don’t expect them to hang around. They will exit your mobile-unfriendly site without hesitation, and you will surely miss out on leads, conversions, and even sales.

Not being mobile-friendly is no longer an option for websites these days, when mobile users far outnumber desktop users.

You have to make your website easier to read, and its buttons easier to tap on mobile devices. Switch to responsive web design, and Google will also love you for it

Stuffing Pages With Too Much Content

A web page filled with quality content is okay, but cramming in too much content—even when it’s of high quality—on one page only makes the whole thing look cluttered.

Go easy on the content stuffing and make sure your web pages look clean and organized. It would also be great if you could leave plenty of whitespace, which allows your content to breathe and make the whole page look more professional.

Too Many Ads

Websites are a business, and ad placements are an integral part of that business.

Some overdo it, though. Too many ads on a page tend to be distracting—even annoying.

Aside from annoying visitors, a plethora of ads can end up undermining the web design in general.

Practice some restraint in this regard because visitors will likely leave if you bombard them with ads every single time.

Autoplaying Videos With Sound

This may be news to some web designers, but many people hate the idea of opening a web page only to be greeted by an autoplaying video with the sound on.

If you have to put that in for whatever reason, the least you can do is turn autoplay off or mute it. That way, you won’t be giving visitors wearing headphones a heart attack when they access your website.

Missing Contact Information

It’s odd that many websites have no contact information, or don’t display them as prominently as they should.

If you want prospective customers to reach you, make sure that your contact information—from your business phone number to social media account links—is displayed in a highly visible spot on your website, like the header or the footer.

Creating a dedicated contact page would also be great.

Ill-timed Pop-ups

There is nothing wrong with pop-ups. They can help encourage visitors to engage with your business more, among other things.

Pop-ups, however, can quickly turn annoying when they appear at the most inappropriate times.

In most cases, pop-ups urging visitors to subscribe or sign up to their mailing list appear the moment they open a page before they even get to read the content they were seeking.

The most irritating part is when the pop-up box is big enough to block the content visitors are about to read completely.

It’s preposterous to assume that your pop-up can convince a visitor to do its bidding without having read a single word of your content.

The right thing to do is give your visitors some time to explore your site before showing that pop-up.

More than twenty years in, web design as a science or art is still at its very early stages. The level of work today’s web designers are capable of turning in may be a far cry from how websites looked and functioned during the 1990s, but it’s still easy for them to make a mistake.

Web design is still evolving, and what may be considered good practice now may no longer be acceptable in the future. Nevertheless, following current best web design practices and steering clear of the mistakes listed above remain the right path to take toward achieving your business website’s goals.

To get more details on web designing please be in touch with the expert Web designer in Denver, CO.

[chocobabyporcelain]

Monochrome Ward

And so comes my time.

As you may have seen yesterday, @nemo-ne-impune-lacessit has rounded together @insomniasix and myself for a spooky little Halloween special.

Today’s entry is by me, a little Versus!Prompto-centric, based loosely on the Yugami-P song, Monochrome Ward.

Tagging: @itsmootothecow @mp938368 @ffxv-milkshake @bespectacled-girl @insomniacapples @expectogladiolus @bluechocobo 

The two scientists had assumed that both boys were still asleep. He’d learned pretty quickly to be damn good at pretending.

He could hear his little brother, in his own bed just shy of three feet away, breathing deeply, unaware of the chatter around them. That was for the best.

“Unit NH-01987 0006-0204 is developing almost as he should be. His readings fall a little short of the other subjects, but I’m confident he’ll be able to catch up.” The scientist’s tone was flat, monotonous. He, like the rest of them, held no care for the well-being of the children he called his ‘Units.’ No, they were only kept alive by the prospect of their use in the future. “Unfortunately,” he continued, “Unit NH-01987 0006-0203 has fallen so far behind, I don’t think there’s much hope for him. He may have to be destroyed.”

At those words, the boy in his bed, barely aged 13, pretending to sleep, felt his blood turn to ice in his veins.

They were going to kill him. Due to a handful of failed cognitive tests, the scientists that had raised them from infancy were going to put him to death.

No, he wasn’t going to let that happen.

The scientists left the room, one muttering under his breath about the wasted resources that had been poured into the boy who had fallen behind.

Once he was sure they had gone, he opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh light of the white room, and slipped out of his bed. He placed his hands on his brother’s sleeping form, shaking him gently.

The other groaned, pushing himself up with one hand and rubbing at his puffy eyes with the other.

“We have to go,” the elder whispered with a force one would would typically put behind a shout. “Now, Prompto!”

The younger boy, Prompto, at the urging of his brother, threw his legs over the side of the bed and eased his feet into the simple, white daps by the side of his bed.

Velox, the older brother, had rushed over to the door, where he’d pressed his ear close to the crack, listening for any footsteps. The coast seemed to be clear, the scientists seeming to have moved onto the younger test subjects. He stretched his arm back, extending his hand for his brother to take.

“Vel, what’s going on?” Prompto took hold of Velox’s hand, allowing himself to be yanked through the door and down the sterile, white hallway.

He got no answer, left to struggle along behind as Velox lead the way.

The more corners they turned, the more Velox’s heart leapt into his throat. He didn’t know when the alarms started blaring, but he did know the scientists had revisited their room and found their beds empty. He swore under his breath, pulling Prompto down another corridor.

He collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily. He cursed under his breath, sliding down the wall and resting his forehead on his knees.

“Velox?” Prompto knelt down next to him. “What’s going on?” he asked again.

Velox looked up at his brother, who was staring at him with knitted brows. He sighed. “We have to run, Prompto. I heard them say they’re gonna kill us.”

“No,” Prompto shook his head, “They wouldn’t.”

“I heard them, Prompto!” Velox got back to his feet, looking down the narrow hallway. “Where the hell is the exit?!”

Prompto fell silent, face devoid of emotion as his brother’s words processed. While it was true the scientists rarely showed them true care outside of what was needed to keep them healthy, would they truly want to kill them? Why? It made no sense.

The exit? Where was…?

“Here.”

Velox, who’d been wandering down the halls, turned at the sound of his brother’s voice, monotone, like he’d never heard before.

He turned his attention to the door Prompto was pointing at, and his heart stopped.

Before him was a black door, bolted, with a plaque which said, in red cursive, Incinerator.

Velox’s chest tightened, he could feel his hands begin to shake, his vision blurring. “We have to go.” he whispered, grabbing hold of Prompto’s wrist and starting to run off in a different direction.

But Prompto’s arm simply slipped from his grasp. His brother was staring at him with that same blank expression, not moving. Slowly, he drew his hand up to his chest, tilting his head to the side. “Where are you going, Velox?”

Velox didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t leave his brother behind, he was all he had left, but he could hear the scientists’ footsteps getting closer and he wasn’t about to let them kill him. Not like this!

With a curse, he took off down the hall, not looking back. He could hear footsteps, but he wasn’t sure if they were Prompto’s or a scientists and like hell was he stopping to find out! He kept running, fists clenched, chest burning. His stomach felt like it was collapsing in on itself, he wanted to throw up, he wanted to give up. He felt wrong in every way, but still, he kept running.

He turned corner after corner, down blinding white corridors, past black painted doors, searching for any sign of an exit he could find. He didn’t know if it was the footsteps of the scientists or his own accelerated heartbeat ringing in his ears, but the sound did nothing except heighten his anxiety.

The alarms had woken the other residents, their open palms banging loudly on the glass of their doors as they watched Velox sprint past. They screamed at him, their words becoming an overwhelming roar that echoed through Velox like thunderstorm.

He turned another corner, skidding to a halt when he saw him. Prompto, standing in the spot Velox had left him. “Prompto,” he panted, leaning over himself, his hands on his knees. “What are you still doing here?”

Prompto swung back on his heels, frowning at his brother. “We need to go back to bed, Velox.” he muttered. “We can’t leave here. Where would we go? The gravel is too noisy, they’d hear us, anyway.”

Velox surged forward, grabbing his younger brother by the shoulders. “Listen to me! If we stay here, we’ll die! The moment we stop performing well in those damn tests, that’s it!” he hissed.

With a subtle shake of his head, Prompto laid his hands on Velox’s wrists. “We’ll be okay.” he whispered. “We can do the tests, no problem!”

Footsteps could be heard, fast approaching from the opposite end of the corridor.

“Prompto,” Velox sighed. He could see, just behind his brother, the group of scientists catching up. He was about to be caught. Even if he could keep up with the tests, they’d never forgive him for his attempted escape. “I’m so sorry.”

Before Prompto could react, Velox shoved him into the group of scientists. “Let go of me, Velox!” he yelled, glaring down at the boy who lay struggling in the arms of the scientists.

It hurt.

The look of betrayal in his brother’s eyes as he was dragged away, kicking and screaming, tore through Velox like a serrated blade. He felt almost every emotion at once, wondering how he could have possibly done this to his sweet little brother, all the while, to his shame, feeling relief flood his body at the thought that, even if all he did was buy himself a little more time, he was still alive.

He was frozen, staring deadly ahead as he watched two scientist pull his brother around the corner. A hand landed on his shoulder, but he paid it no mind, his consciousness beginning to shut down. “You did the right thing, Prompto.”

[sugas-kookies]

Of Lust and Blood (Pt. 1)

Summary: You never were much of a party girl, but you reluctantly agree to go with your best friend Jimin to a club the whole town has been raving about: Club Omelas. Not long after arriving you soon realize that there is something terribly wrong with the place, but what you discover changes your life forever.

Vampire!JungkookxReader

Drama with future Smut

Word Count: 3.7k

Part [1] 

There were two things that you absolutely hated: Social gatherings, and being guilt tripped into going to such events by your friend. You found yourself in that situation as you were on the phone with your best friend, Jimin.

“I’ve told you a million times, Jimin. The club isn’t really my scene…” You complained as you plopped down on your bed in frustration.

Jimin scoffed on the other end of the line, obviously annoyed at your stubbornness, “You need to get out and do something every now and then, (Y/n)! Plus, you haven’t lived until you’ve experienced Club Omelas. Trust me, you’re going to have a blast there, everyone does.”

You sighed and ran your hand through your hair, furrowing your brows at the thought of a crowded club, “Club Omelas? That’s the one that literally everyone has been talking about recently, isn’t it?” You hoped that Jimin didn’t mean to actually take you there. All you had heard about the place was good things, but that’s what made that place seem strange to you. You had never heard of a club that didn’t have some sort of bad quality about it, but to everyone else Club Omelas was perfect.

“Yeah, and for good reason. I can’t even begin to explain the atmosphere in the place, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced even when I went by myself. And trust me, I’ve been to a couple of very eccentric gay clubs in my day, but nothing compares to this place.” You could practically feel Jimin’s enthusiasm through the receiver of your phone, making you sigh again.

“I don’t know Jimin, that place sounds kind of sketch, but haven’t I told you not to go to clubs alone? I’ve been hearing rumors of some people going missing from there. You should have brought at least one person with you…”

Jimin sighed exasperatedly, “I would have gone with someone, but she never wants to go to any clubs with me. You know I’d never ask you to come with me somewhere if I didn’t check it out first. The place is clean, and I didn’t have the first obscene asshole harass me. Come on, (Y/n), please come with me? I promise that if you don’t have any fun here then I’ll never ask you to go to another club with me ever again.”

You bit your lip, thinking about your options. You didn’t really care for clubs, but it had been a long time since you’ve been to one, and you really didn’t like the idea of Jimin going by himself again. “Fine, fine, I’ll go with you Jimin. What time are we going, and how much does it cost to get in?”

He practically squealed with delight that you gave in, “Thank you so much (Y/n), I’ll pick you up at 10. And be sure to look like a bombshell, we both are going to go the whole nine yards tonight. The place is surprisingly cheap, it’s only like $25 to get in. Thanks again for coming along, I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

“It’s no problem, you’re probably right that I need to get out for once. I’ll see you at 10, Jimin.” You hung up and tossed your phone to the side of you, staring at your ceiling blankly. ‘I haven’t even started getting ready and my body already dreads this,’ You thought to yourself as you groaned and rolled off your bed to begin getting ready, ‘It’s just for one night though, and Jimin did promise that he wouldn’t bother me again if I don’t enjoy myself. There’s at least one plus side to going…’

It took you about two hours to even find something to wear for your little escapade with Jimin tonight. Since you didn’t go out very often, especially to clubs, you didn’t really have a whole lot of club worthy clothes. Eventually you decided on wearing a plain black bustier crop top with a pair of heavily distressed jeans with fishnets underneath, and accompanied with a pair of high heeled ankle boots. You felt that it was simple enough for relative comfort, and stylish enough to not have Jimin jumping down your throat for not dressing up for the occasion. Make up was another story for you though. You weren’t much of a fan of the stuff, but you figured you should at least try a little to make your appearance a little more cohesive

You were putting on the finishing touches on your make up when you heard knocking on your apartment door. You glanced at the clock by your bedside to see the glowing red numbers “10:05 PM” reflected back at you. ‘Shit, getting ready took me a lot longer than I thought,’ You fretted to yourself as you opened the door to reveal Jimin.

Your jaw nearly dropped when you saw him, he just looked way too damn good. He was wearing a dark v-necked long sleeved shirt with some skinny black jeans. A thin black choker was around his neck that only seemed to accentuate how slender it was, and Jimin had dark eyeliner that automatically gave him a seductive look. Seeing the way he looked, you knew that Jimin was set on having a good time tonight, while also getting free drinks from any man or woman who became infatuated with his appearance.

He grinned as he saw you ogling him, “I know, I know, I look amazing. You look pretty stunning yourself though, (Y/n). I was worried that you’d cop out and dress in sweatpants and a t-shirt.” Jimin dodged your playful swipes and laughed, “Hey, hey, it was just a joke! I knew you’d pull through for me. So are you ready to go, or do you have a few last minute things to do first?”

You shrugged, “I suppose I’m ready, let me just get my ID and some money real quick,” You walked back to your bedroom and picked up your ID from your nightstand and took some money out of your wallet. Tucking your valuables into your back pocket, you made your way back to Jimin, grabbing your apartment keys and locking the door behind you, “Alright, let’s go see what all of this hype is about, Jimin.”

Jimin smirked, “Trust me, I feel like even you’ll realize how different this place is,” He walked with you out of your apartment complex and showed you the way to his car. You climbed into the passenger seat and Jimin eagerly took off towards the club, edging the speed limit the entire way there.

His enthusiasm for the place actually calmed your nerves a good bit, ‘I usually don’t see Jimin this excited to show me a place, maybe Club Omelas isn’t overhyped. Maybe it’s just actually that good…’ At any rate, you sure hoped that it lived up to the expectations and that the rumors of missing patrons stayed as rumors. You at least wanted to have a mediocre time tonight at the very least.

“So…I didn’t tell you earlier but…I met someone at the club the last time I went,” Jimin muttered shyly, keeping his eyes on the road so he didn’t have to see your reaction.

You blinked a few times in shock at the sudden news, “You met someone? Like, you met someone you’re really into? Have you made any moves yet? You’ve got to tell me all about this person Jimin, I can’t believe you’ve kept me in the dark for this long!”

A visible blush began to form on his face as he giggled nervously, “Ah, I’m sorry I meant to tell you before, but I thought it would be better for you to see the man himself. He works at Club Omelas, and he is just drop dead gorgeous.”

“So have you even spoken with this guy, or are you just smitten with his appearance?” You cocked your eyebrow teasingly at Jimin, earning an eye roll from him.

“Of course I spoke with him, I know better than to let someone that good looking go. I’ll admit though I didn’t talk to him that much because it was a busy night and I didn’t want to bother him while he was working,” Jimin bit his lip in thought, likely picturing the man in his mind, “His name is Yoongi, if you were wondering.”

You hummed in response, figuring the man was probably Korean like Jimin was based on the name. Clearing your throat, you said, “Even if he is your type Jimin, you got to be a little careful. You never know who’s some psychotic asshole. The pretty ones are usually almost always crazy.”

Jimin scoffed at your lecture, “I’m a pretty face, do you think I’m a psycho?”

“Yes,” You replied immediately, struggling to keep a stony expression on your face before exploding into laughter.

“Ha ha, very funny, (Y/n),” Jimin said as he pulled into the parking lot of the club, “Now get that little ass out of my car before I decide to show you the psycho in me.”

“Okay, okay, I’m getting out,” You giggled as you opened the passenger door and stepped out, looking up at the building. In large cursive neon blue letters on the front of the building were the words “Club Omelas”, with a winding line trailing outside the building. The music could be heard from where you were, the dull pulses vibrating the air around you and creating an odd sensation. The place intrigued you and gave you some sort of feeling, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

‘If I haven’t even stepped into the club yet, what’s it going to be like inside?’ You thought to yourself as you followed Jimin into the long line, half listening to his comments about how much fun you both were going to have.

The line was quicker to get through than you had expected, given how it practically wrapped all the way around the building. You and Jimin both had paid and entered the club within twenty minutes, now surrounded by the sway of the crowd and the rhythm of the music. The lighting in the place was a dull purple, with mixes of flashing blue and pink lights on the dance floor that was in sync with the blaring music. You looked around at the other patrons in the club, seeing them dance and losing themselves in the music in a way that almost made it look like they were in a trance. Club Omelas appeared to be just like any other club, but for some reason you couldn’t help but notice the constant tingling feeling in your spine.

“So, what do you think, (Y/n)? Isn’t this place just amazing?” Jimin shouted over the loud music, his face beaming in excitement.

You bit your lip, debating on whether or not you should tell him your actual opinion or just fake it until you made it. Not wanting to ruin his good mood, you flashed him a fake grin, “Yeah, this place is pretty cool, Jimin.”

Not seeing through your façade, Jimin grinned, “See, I told you that you’d love it here! Wait right here, I’ll buy us a round of drinks!” Before you could protest, he weaved his way through the crowd, disappearing from sight and leaving you standing there, awkward and alone.

‘Shit, now I’m all alone at this fucking club,’ You complained to yourself as you crossed your arms over your chest and looked around nervously, ‘I don’t know what it is about this place, but something here doesn’t feel right…’

You stood alone for a while, trying to patiently await Jimin’s return, but you soon became fed up with waiting, ‘It doesn’t take that long to get drinks, where the hell is he?’ Trying not to let the anxious feeling in your stomach overflow, you began to try to make your way through the huge crowd towards where you figured the bar was, trying to see Jimin over everyone’s heads but failing.

Weaving through the crowd was making you more and more nervous, the close proximity of everyone was weirdly putting you on edge, something that usually never happened on the other occasions Jimin had drug you out to a random club. ‘Just find Jimin and try and give a reasonable excuse to leave,’ You thought to yourself as you continued to try and push your way through the bustling crowd on the dance floor.

You nearly jumped when you felt a grip on your arm, and you jerked your arm out of the stranger’s grip to see who had grabbed you. It was some random man who looked like he had been at the club at least for a couple hours with the state of his hair and clothes.

The man smirked at you, eyes quickly glancing over your body, “Hey baby, why don’t you come over here and dance with me for a while?”

Even though the stranger was fairly handsome, the look in his eyes terrified you. He looked at you almost as though you were his next meal. You had seen some lustful gazes coming your way in the past, but his look was nothing like those other gross men; this looked like something much more primal and menacing.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m busy looking for a friend. I need to go,” You rushed out as you tried to turn to leave, but the man grabbed your arm again.

He looked angry and almost a little confused, like he wasn’t used to ever being turned down. His grip tightened a little on your arm as he continued, “Aw come on, I promise I don’t bite.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you tried to wretch yourself free from his grip again, but to no avail. You thrashed around and tried to get the attention of somebody near you so that they could help, but they all seemed to not see or hear you. They were trapped in their own little world of the pulsating music and the feel of their dance partner’s bodies against theirs.

The man was about to pull you closer to him when suddenly another man came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, “You need to stop. We have rules for a reason, and you don’t want to face the consequences of breaking them.”

The creepy stranger blinked a few times, then immediately let you go and disappeared somewhere into the crowd. You breathed a deep sigh of relief, thankful that someone had come just in time to help you out. You turned to the guy who had chased the other man off, “Thank you so much for helping me, no one else seemed like they were even noticing what was going on…”

You trailed off a little as you continued to stare at the man who had saved you. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome; it was almost intimidating how beautiful this man was. Yet you still felt strange around this guy too, but not quite like with the man who had grabbed you earlier. This guy had a similar air to him, but it was more of a mysterious vibe than a threatening one.

The man smiled softly at you and said, “I’m sorry about that, usually the patrons here aren’t so forceful. Is there anything else I can help you with? I’m Jungkook, by the way.”

You nodded eagerly, not wanting to pass up help to find Jimin, “Yeah, I need to find my friend Jimin. He went to go get drinks and never came back, so I need to find him and make sure he’s okay. This place has been giving me bad vibes all night, and I kind of want to get him and clear out of here.”

He hummed in response, “Ah, I think I know a guy named Jimin. I suppose I can help keep a lookout for him,” The man stared at you for a few moments before suddenly asking, “Why is it that you feel uneasy here? Everyone else seems to be having a good time.”

“I just got harassed by a complete stranger, who wouldn’t be on edge?” You looked at him quizzically before going back to looking for any sign of Jimin, “But I did feel weird as soon as I stepped in here. I don’t know why, but this place just gives me the creeps.”

The man began to say something, but you tuned him out as you finally spotted Jimin’s blonde head following a dark haired man towards one of the back rooms of the club. ‘I knew there was something fishy going on,’ You thought to yourself as you dashed through the crowd to get to the door Jimin just went through.

“I wouldn’t open that door if I were you,” You heard a voice behind you say as you finally made your way to the door and put your hand on the doorknob. Startled, you turned around only to find Jungkook standing behind you. Apparently you hadn’t noticed him following you through the crowd on your way over.

“Jungkook, was it? I’m sorry if it’s against club policy or whatever, but I just saw my friend go back here. I’ll just find him and we’ll be on our way. I don’t care if you ban us from ever coming back, I just need to find him,” Without waiting for his response, you opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit back hallway.

Out of all the things you could have imagined, you never would have thought that you would see a bunch of people getting the blood sucked out of their necks. No one even looked up as you stepped inside the hall, they just continued to drink the blood out of what you assumed were some of the people from the dance floor. You just stood there with your mouth gaping, not really sure not to process what you were seeing.

“I warned you,” You heard Jungkook behind you say as the door slammed shut, making you whirl around to face him. His beautiful dark eyes were replaced with red glowing ones, and he seemed to practically tower over you, appearing way more menacing than he had before.

You would have screamed, but your voice was caught in your throat. Instead of screaming for help like you probably should have done, you chose to run towards one of the ends of the hall, not even paying attention to where you were running. You reached the end of the dark hall only to realize it was a dead end, save for a door to your right.

‘Well, it’s not like I have any other choice. Maybe if I’m lucky there will be an entrance to a back alley or something,’ You thought to yourself as you burst through the door and closed it behind you, panting heavily. You would have used that time to catch your breath if you hadn’t noticed there was someone in the room with you.

“(Y/n)…What are you doing back here?” Jimin asked through half lidded eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was drunk, but you knew he didn’t have enough time to get this wasted. It definitely had to do with whatever the fuck was happening at Club Omelas right now.

“Jimin, do you have any idea what the fuck is going on here?” You hissed as you rushed over towards him, “There’s like fucking vampires here or something, we need to get out of here now!”

Jimin just looked at you sluggishly, cocking his head to the side, “What are you talking about? Everyone here’s having a good time, just relax (Y/n). I’m waiting on Yoongi to come back, he said he’d be back in a few minutes…” As he cocked his head to the side, you noticed two little incision marks on his neck that were pretty reminiscent of a vampire bite that you would see in movies. ‘Well that explains why Jimin is so loopy, he’s probably suffering from blood loss…’ You thought as you inspected your friend’s neck.

The door behind you opened and you nearly jumped out of your skin, seeing that it was Jungkook who had just walked in. You positioned yourself in front of Jimin, knowing that if shit was about to go down Jimin currently didn’t have the capacity to protect himself.

Jungkook took a few slow steps forward before he began talking, “Listen to me, you can either try and work this out the easy way and do as I say, or the hard way, and I can assure you that the hard way is certain death for you and your friend here.”

Your muscles tensed as your mind raced through your options, trying to drown out Jimin’s confused, slurred questions. Given what you had just seen out there, you knew that these people had to be vampires, or at least something else that was supernatural. That meant that you had basically no chance of trying to get out of here without cooperating with them, the very thought making your palms sweat profusely. Still, you knew that it was unwise to trust him, but what other option did you have? You certainly weren’t going to try to go toe to toe with a man who was bigger than you, let alone a vampire.

With a sigh of defeat, you muttered, “Fine, I’ll cooperate since I don’t have much of a choice. Just don’t hurt Jimin, okay?” Even though he was the one to drag you to Club Omelas in the first place, you knew this wasn’t his fault and that he didn’t deserve this happening to him. Who the hell would have guessed that this place had vampires running around?

Jungkook smiled devilishly at you, “Good, I’m glad to see that you have some common sense about you,” He still didn’t have the same hungry look as the man who had grabbed you on the dance floor earlier; he looked deadlier, like a predator that had just cornered its prey and was now toying with it. It wasn’t comforting that you were at his mercy in the slightest, and you truly doubted whether or not you actually had a chance of making it out alive. You tried to keep a calm demeanor, but it was hard to ignore the constant loud thumps of your blood pounding in your ears.