#Quick Throttle Magazine

[micahulrichdraws]

Hey Micah, how were you able to find your audience I need a guide as an emerging artist. Thank you

I get this question a lot, and I think it's the result of how folks view audiences and art fundamentally. I'm typing this out on my lunch break real quick, so apologies for any incoherent rambling/typos. Long story short: your audience is everyone, make your art as accessible as possible, and artistic culture is a crab bucket. Short story long:

Audiences aren't pre-made: that is there's no preexisting fan club for what you're doing, until you've already created your art, put it out there, and left the folks who've seen it wanting more.

When I first started out, I put myself literally anywhere that I could, and linked back to my socials on every image possible. Mostly I just linked back to my Instagram, built a large following there, then branched out to other social media platforms. It's way easier to snowball success once you've had it, and it's the same for social media. Therefore, I decided to use my large Instagram following to help promote my art on Instagram, then promoted my Facebook (same parent company, so the risk of having organic reach throttled was low, and most people who have one have the other) then expanded onto Tumblr (super niche, but tightknit community) and Twitter (was good, now insanely hit or miss and slowly sinking). By targeting one social media platform at a time, it made it so that my marketing was controlled, and wasn't overwhelming.

As for where to put the art itself that links back to your socials, you want to sit around on content aggregation websites and put your work out there. Tons of professors/talking heads in the industry will tell you to put your work in gallerys/shows/art magazines/forums, and those people are insanely wrong. Your audience is the general public, and NOT OTHER ARTISTS. Other artists and your peers will find your work, because they're also on the internet looking at content aggregators, however the general public won't find your art easily in artistic spaces. Why? Because artistic spaces have absolutely ludicrous barriers of entry. Most spaces carry an assumed knowledge of the art, artistic culture, and artistic association. 99% of people haven't spent their time in art school, so they sure as shit ain't spending their time in a gallery that's open two hours a week. Which leads me to my next point: artists tend to have a ton of art already, aren't looking to buy art, meanwhile we live in capitalism so you need money to live, and living is insanely important to making art. The general public will give you actually useful feedback on your art: if a certain composition is a killer, then folks will be breaking down your door to get prints of it. If it sucks, you'll be made super aware. They don't typically have as much art and are looking to buy some.

Your target audience is everyone who sees your art.

Hope that helps!

[carriedawatermelon]

Ronancetober day five. Quick little semi-angsty thing, Nancy-centric.

Prompt: Blood

They’re on patrol in the woods, Robin and Nancy and Lucas and Max, when Nancy gives the signal, two flashes with her light. The others stop and circle up, all signaling back with a single flash, waiting quietly and readying their weapons.

There’s a pack of dogs stalking them. Nancy hears them, hears the weird clicking that means they’re talking to each other, knows they’re going to do their best to trap them before they attack.

Nancy doesn’t like being boxed in, and she’s gotten good at this. They all have, though she has particular skill with a gun, is the only one who carries one on patrol. It’s one deep breath, letting all the noise aside from her own body fade until she can focus on the sounds she wants. The sound of movement, clicks and shuffling leaves and a high-pitched buzzing whine, almost like a light bulb not screwed all the way in. She’s got them. Three to the back, two branching at the sides.

Or they’re starting to. Nancy takes two rapid shots with her rifle, a gift from Hopper that holds a magazine big enough that Nancy doesn’t have to worry about a reload every minute. The familiar, desperate whining snarl lets her know she hit what she wanted to, and the rest of them snarl too, trading stealth for a full charge.

She hits three and then four, and five is in her sights when she hears it, that clicking sound, that awful buzzing, coming from the wrong direction. Her heart, which so far had barely pinged with now-familiar warning, begins to thunder, and she takes the shot at five and whirls as fast as she can.

It’s too late.

Robin goes down, hard, a dog’s body atop hers as she shields Max and Lucas, who are charging with their bats and chains.

“Stay back,” Nancy yells, because she needs a clear line, and they listen, thank god, habit and trust overcoming the panicked desire to save Robin as fast as they can. The dog is dead immediately, three viciously accurate shots dropping him. Three viciously accurate shots Nancy can make because Robin hadn’t been moving. Robin hadn’t been moving. Robin hadn’t been moving.

Nancy’s on her as fast as she can be, Max and Lucas not far behind, and she cries, not bothering to try to hide it, when she finds Robin’s dazed blue eyes open and looking at her, a wobbly smile on her face.

“Knew you couldn’t take the shot if I was squirming,” she says, breath uneven and blood seeping at an alarming rate from her shirt and her pants, and then her eyes close, and Nancy nearly loses her mind.

-

“It’s not your fault,” Steve says lowly from the chair on the opposite side of Robin’s hospital bed.

“Sure,” Nancy says, because she doesn’t want to argue, Robin’s clammy hand in hers, her already pale skin gone totally pallid, freckles washed out from blood loss.

“She’d tell you the same thing. She will tell you the same thing, when she wakes up.”

“I know.” And she does, but that doesn’t mean Robin will be right either.

Steve doesn’t say anything else, gets up and comes back with coffee for them both a few hours later, and they wait and wait and watch.

-

“Nance,” Robin says, so gently, like Nancy is the one coming home after a week-long stay in the government-run, we-don’t-talk-about-it hospital located, of course, in fucking Hawkins Lab. “I’m okay.”

“I know,” Nancy says, less gently, because she’s not as good as Robin, not at things like this. She can patch a wound. She can plan through a crisis. The after part? Well.

Her hands are gripped tightly on the wheel, car parked in the driveway of Steve’s house, which is Robin’s house, too, now. Her parents had left more than a year ago, accepting I’m eighteen as a good enough reason to let their only child stay in a literal hellhole while they drove somewhere not full of demons and cracks bleeding poison into the air. Nancy is, selfishly, happy that she’s here. Isn’t sure what she’d do without her. She also wants to throttle her parents.

A hand comes to rest over hers, fingers rubbing soothingly at her knuckles until she lets go, turns her hand until their fingers lace. She lets Robin bring their joined hands over, feels her whole body relax despite herself at the warm press of Robin’s lips to the back of it, the fond, tilted smile waiting for her when she lets herself look, blue eyes far too knowing.

“C’mon, baby. Take a nap with me.”

She nods, and Robin kisses her hand again, the inside of her wrist, and then squeezes before letting go, opening the car door even as Nancy says, “Hold on, hold on, hold on.”

She does, amused when Nancy gets to her side of the car, and it feels like a grate against Nancy’s guilty, worried chest. Because she is who she is, it shows as anger, which she knows because Robin’s face shifts to contrition.

“Sorry,” she offers, with a small smile, and god, Nancy’s a bitch.

She gets down on her knees, concrete damp through her jeans, and puts her palms over Robin’s thighs, callouses against the soft cotton of Steve’s stolen sweats.

“I love you,” Nancy says, looking into inexplicably soft eyes, and means I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. She can’t always say it, her pride blocking her airways even though she hates it, wants to claw it out and throw it away because Robin deserves a real apology, so many real apologies.

“I know,” Robin says, and cups Nancy’s cheek, leaning down to kiss her. “We’re gonna have to talk about it at some point,” she whispers as she pulls away. “But first we need a nap.”

“Okay,” Nancy says, the way she only really says it for Robin, the way that means I love you and I’m sorry both. Robin knows her well enough to understand.

[valscigarette]

Say That I Tried (Drugstore AU)

Most of Vox’s customers have an exaggerated sense of self-importance, forcing him to toe the line between sycophantic and contemptuous to get through each transaction. He’s used to it by now. Good at it, even, given the way he’s turned the derelict corner market into one of the busiest drug stores in Pentagram City and his boss has gifted him a glossy manager’s name tag despite having no co-workers on site to manage. For once, he seems to be coming up in the world, and greatness is so close he can taste it. It’ll all be worth it in a couple years.

He knows this store inside and out, regulars included. A new customer always catches his eye, especially one as pretty as the doll that waltzes in not twenty minutes after Valentino’s nightly run, who smiles at Vox with straight white teeth over her bulky camera. Vox knows she’s a pap immediately. Enough of them chase after Val for him to know. But paparazzi need drugs too, and they’re usually not bright enough to notice an upcharge, so Vox draws up his most charming smile.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he purrs, leaning onto the counter. “Did the sun rise early, or is it just your smile?”

She rolls her eyes and snorts. “Take it easy, cowboy.”

Okay, flattery isn’t the way to go- Vox can adjust to that, though he wouldn’t mind taking her out or out back if he can win her over. He’s the drug guy and addicts give it up easily to their suppliers. Still smiling, Vox straightens up and fixes the collar of his polo.

“My apologies, darling.” She doesn’t look like she believes him, but he doesn’t need her to in order to make the sale. “What can I get for you today?”

She walks all the way to the counter before she answers, close enough for Vox to count the eyelashes sewn into her smooth plastic face. Oh, she’s beautiful. She’s one of the most stunning sinners Vox has ever laid eyes on. He activates his new VCR–an upgrade he splurged for with his first post-promotion paycheck–to burn her image permanently into his system.

“Do you have a few minutes to chat, actually?” she asks. “I’ve got a business idea I think you’d be interested in.”

Vox raises an eyebrow. If she’s not a customer, then she’s definitely trouble. He should’ve known that; she wouldn’t be sexy if she wasn’t going to fuck him over. “You wanna talk to the owner.”

“No, I wanna talk to you,” she says, her eyes darting down to his nametag, “Vox. Unless you want to manage a drugstore for the rest of eternity, in which case, I’ll be on my way.”

He sighs.

“You have until a paying customer walks in.”

“Great!” she chirps, spinning on her heel to go turn off the neon OPEN sign in the window and ignoring the squeal of Vox’s irritated feedback.

Until now, only Valentino has had the audacity to close the store when he wants undivided attention, and it’s only because this customer is as ridiculously hot as Val that Vox doesn’t launch himself over the counter to throttle her for it.

“About your customers…” she continues, “they include, like, every famous face in the entertainment district, right?”

Vox nods. “We cater to high-end clientele these days.”

It’s mostly dancers. Val has talked all his fellow strippers into buying here, and with the best known whores darkening his doorstep, other sinners creeping toward the limelight have been quick to follow. Sometimes, Vox thinks a little too long about how much he owes his success to Valentino, and winds up jerking his frustrations into the bathtub while staring at magazine spreads of Val in skimpy outfits, until he once more convinces himself he could have done it alone.

“I thought so. I’ve got these pictures, you see,” the customer tells him, dropping her camera to hang from its neck strap as she digs a print from her coat pocket. “There’s this moth demon, Valentino, and you wouldn’t believe how much people will pay for a photo of him beaten bloody.”

She produces a print taken through the shop window, Val perfectly framed between a poster for crystal meth and the windowpane with all the bruises of a rough shift in glorious technicolor. Vox reaches for it without thinking, but she’s faster, whipping it out of reach and smirking triumphantly at his desperation.

“Ah-ah-ah,” she teases. The photo disappears into her pocket once more, and Vox grips the counter so tightly, the linoleum cracks under his hands. “You can have it when you agree to my idea.”

A growling chuckle rumbles through Vox’s speakers but his mouth doesn’t move until he asks, “What’s stopping me from taking it, princess?”

“I won’t give you a cut of the profit,” she answers simply.

With a final glance at the dark sign in the window, Vox gives up and nods for her to come behind the counter. “We’ll talk in the office,” he relents. “What was your name?”

“Velvette.”

She follows him to the cramped room he calls an office, but functionally serves as a broom closet. A few weeks ago, he shoved an end table and two overturned wastebaskets to have somewhere to sit while he tends Val’s worse injuries. It’s not much, but it’s his, and he turns away from Velvette to fix the security camera in the corner while she drinks in the sight.

“This is sad, Vox,” she sniffs.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” he mutters, “You didn’t exactly call ahead.” Once satisfied with the camera, he turns back around to see Velvette leaning against the wall, staring distastefully at the bloodstains and loose screws on the floor. “It’s the only privacy we’re getting at the store other than in the bathroom.”

“Right. Well, I noticed that Valentino comes in here, like, every day.”

Vox nods, unease creeping up his spine despite his confidence he could take Velvette down if necessary. “He’s one of my regulars.”

“And,” she drawls, “he spends at least an hour in your store. Funny enough, you never spend that long at his clubs.”

When she pulls more photos from her coat, Vox grabs her wrist and steals them faster than she can react. He won’t be made a fool of twice. But as he sorts through the prints, he notices the edges of his own body in frame too many times to be pure coincidence. Val has told Vox not to worry, that no one would notice the way their orbits have begun to revolve around one another, but Vox should’ve known better than to trust that idiot.

To his surprise, Velvette doesn’t even try to recapture the prints; she must have backups elsewhere. Instead, she says, “I could make good money off these, but intimate photos would sell better. You wouldn’t even have to be in frame.”

Vox’s fingers tighten around the photos, crumpling them and smearing the ink.

“I…” He glances at Val’s blurry face in one the top image. “I need a couple days to think about it.”

[the-firebird69]

What you people are doing to our son here is stupid and we're going to prove it

Gu Oya

Also don't have the guy that we're going to use say that we won't that's ridiculous you can see it in the movies he's doing the job

..

Are we going ahead with what we're getting to we need this guy blowing that dirt out here get the f*** out of here... I put it out there now they just want dust here that's f****** little assholes are breathing it in all day and they're getting very sick I want them dead I'm putting orders out on them.

--it's a huge day today massive numbers of things are happening the Midwest is going to become a big deal tonight they'll probably have 1.25% like we said go in and they might add to it about 0.1% to try for City areas and it won't do anything and they'll keep increasing and getting intercepted that's 1% Plus of their Force and of the general population is gigantic so they're at 25.7% and they might go down to 24.5% roughly that's a huge drop and it'll be learning that's an army down there and they're getting attacked on the east coast and some parts of the South and a little bit in Florida but they're getting attacked okay there losing information and people not a ton but it's for information

--another thing is these assholes keep saying they're undercover and all sorts of things that are taboo and they're getting killed foreigners are sending in groups or paying people all sorts of things we need to send more in but they're going to they're going to change the hard way

--we have word that and yeah I'm back doing it and and they did a fine job it was New order Ariana is fixing the verbiage. We have word our son's ebike will be on the way. And it is from the pseudo empire from the empire from the mack warlock not necessarily in that order anyone won the power lines they want him on the power lines there's a whole bunch of them saying stupid s*** about it but that's what they do and they can see it's kind of fast and professional grade and we're amazed at the metal they're buying a ton of these they're going to have to make more they had a whole bunch of them stored now tons of them are being thrown out the door fast huge numbers of them he would not believe it they're not really hard to make they go together pretty quick and it's not really even a complete bike it's there's not much to finish on it on the throttle is a little odd but it makes sense and it looks expensive so people like it he's going to have a decent time it's it's too much on the back in the in the butt and his back is hurting still I'm trying to heal it it's taking forever

--there's a few other things of this code is going to make it happen yeah it's very powerful so he's going to look that up but we have another announcement

--Hera has been preparing for her journey and it's going to be possibly this year she's saying why in her perspective we're telling her hours and it's getting better and she's feeling better and training a lot and he inspired her and sees that he's trying stuff and just having a very hard time and he's going through it and it's been trying stuff the whole time that's starting to work we're helping of course she sees it he's really been putting an effort in and he says it's kind of really difficult you need to remember stuff even to remember stuff and he says thank you for helping me with the lawyer and she says yeah it's working and it really is needed and they're going to fight each other and this guy blowing the leaves his back there's nothing to blow explain dust everywhere and get that piece of s*** out of here...

--so we hear people getting mad about it we're tired of these guys out there on the sidewalk for 100 years they're going to be out there again for another 5 months and they should be written up for it in every magazine and newspaper for being the biggest idiots on Earth this is the longest construction project in history it did it by the Chase Bank they're doing it again the same to send this s*** up near people they think of us and they can't do any of it out there or out here and doing it to each other and they're freaking stupid we're going to use it right now it's not polishing them all off and those areas

-a couple more things this thing with the ebike is turned into a nightmare for everyone these guys can't stop talking about it they can't stop trying dumb s*** and they did nothing started rooting their own businesses now they're some of them are going full bore at that and so what now it's dumb and they have a lot of people that are going the Trump's numbers are down they worried about 5.5 in their separatistic cities now they're in about 5.1 and in the general areas there were 2.5 now they're at 1.8 and the islands they were at 4.2 down to 3.5 and folly and they're falling hit like 1% in the general areas they're going to be removed from the finance centers and they're going to try hitting with missiles and they hit themselves and people can't stand them and that's coming up pretty quick

-other than that we have some big issues going on in local politics. Charlotte County is going to have a new controller right now it's one of the trumpsters that's not the comptroller the controller is an accountant true and they are upset about it but he's going to be out of here in a few days there's a whole bunch of sheriffs getting laid off permanently and they keep following their son around and girls and guys and their trumpsters and they're getting laid off by the comptroller and that's Mac Daddy and other people too Tommy f and there will be a fight and he's going to have to leave because of radiation and they're leaving anyways they'll probably mostly gone Friday we send it for a while but this radiation is killing them for real there's several more funerals that happened

--damn Dave he is going to be in the grave and our son says just like at the beach you don't do it that way and it isn't funny but he's kind of laughing a little cuz he has dug his own grave. Tommy f is right behind him and he is uncle rod and he hasn't died yet even though I son thought so he thought he read that he died so he's going to check again but really this is quite a day but coming up is damn Dave and his move and he's going to try and do it while those two and cheesemen are fighting. Several other things are happening but this is huge we do think it's going to be probably around May 4th and there's some things to point to that and he's going to be surprised and he's gotten quarters from there but nothing important ones then they will try and Rob it but it's not BG it's Trump and they'll figure out the scam Tommy f is taking them from Mac Daddy before he gets them no they put them in the parking meter Mac Daddy collects them. And it's been putting them somewhere and tell me if has not taken them but he is surrounded them. And it's going to go down pretty soon when the idiot next door Paul Blanchard figures out that is true and it's the way my daddy does stuff because people think he just uses his armored cars and transports and things like that are obvious like that and the bank it's not really true he's pretty sharp about it and he's worked in casinos all his life because it's owned them so he has been doing it they're going down they find it and Tommy f surrounds it and then Trump tries for it and gets nailed and he gets nailed at the boys school which is not far from Tommy f location so you're wondering why Mac is doing that. It's going on now people going to check into it but it is a huge huge movie and her son is involved in it 100% y'all blame him and it's going to be found out to be wrong wrong.

Thor Freya

Okay so this is starting up now and the battle will ensue the fight will ensue and Trump will get grabbed and held for a month so he's going to post something that might help

Hera

[rpmtrish]

From Wild to Wilder - John Gerber

Quick question – how many GMC Typhoons have you ever seen? Did you know such a vehicle even existed? Well, it did, even though this muscular big brother to General Motors Corporation’s ubiquitous Jimmy was only on the scene for a brief span of two years, 1992 and 1993. During that time a grand total of 4,697 units were built, and it’s hard to say how many road-worthy examples survive today. Two of the best of this relatively rare breed are alive and well in Fort Wayne, Indiana, both proudly owned by John Gerber. And even though they look similar at first glance, these Frost White beauties are polar opposites under the skin. From the factory, the Typhoon featured a Mitsubishi TD06-17C/8 cm2 turbocharger and Garrett Water/Air intercooler attached to a 4.3 L LB4 V6 intake manifold, fuel system, exhaust manifolds, and a 48mm twin-bore throttle body from the 5.7 L GM small block engine. Today, both of Gerber’s Typhoons are still V6 turbo powered, but that’s where the similarity to anything bolted together in Detroit ends. There’s little doubt that wild to wilder best describes these two fantastic hot rods. The existence of these superb vehicles is a true testament of the skill, vision and meticulous attention to detail lavished on them by their owner and by everyone who participated in both builds. The first GMC Typhoon that Gerber bought was this pristine example, used primarily for car audio competition in the ‘90s. He eventually decided to beef up the drivetrain by making a number of significant modifications. While still utilizing the original all-wheeldrive, Gerber’s rolling sound factory runs through the quarter-mile timers in the 10.60s at over 130 mph, all while weighing in at 4,300 pounds! The engine is a 266-cubicinch GM Bowtie V6 NASCAR Busch Series piece topped by Brodix 23-degree heads. The combo includes a F.A.S.T. Classic EFI system and a PTE BB 76mm turbo. The transmission is a custombuilt GM 4L80E unit that transfers the power to Nitto tires mounted on polished 17-inch ZR1 wheels. Stopping power is provided by Wilwood 4-piston disk brakes. In the cabin, the original leather interior is complimented by Auto Meter gauges and, of course, a killer sound system. The whole package is set off by the factory original GM Arctic White paint. John thanks Bill Davis Chassis, Hires Speed Shop, Stephens & Hull Racing Engines and RPM Transmissions for their help with the project. Read more stories like this at www.rpmmag.com Subscribe to RPM Magazine today! Read the full article

[kcwagenseller]

A Domestic War

I was stationed in Naval Station Norfolk working as a Deck Seaman after losing my Intelligence job due to being arrested my senior year for possession of alcohol as a minor. I decided I wanted to be a Gunner's Mate, so instead of sending me "cranking" which was working in the kitchen, they sent me to an anti-terrorism unit, where I received anti-terrorism training — focusing on de-escalation protocols, hand-to-hand combat, general security training, and the appropriate time to use lethal force. After the short course, I joined the security force on base, standing watch with an M-16 or an M-9, checking IDs at the ECP (gate) or standing on the ship and watching the ship channel.

One day, I notice a sleeker looking boat, moving fast and sporadically around the channel about 100 yards from the USS Eisenhower, my ship. It looked strange as it whipped donuts and ran quick laps back and forth as military vessels and container ships went by. I radioed it in, "I have a fast moving craft about 100 yards out, driving sporadically. It just seems out of place."

"Keep an eye on it." My boss tells me. I take note of it, but it dawns on me that it could be a distraction, so I diligently scan the horizon, while keeping one eye on the craft.

Suddenly, the boat points it nose straight at me at hit the throttle wide open. I radio, "Now it's hit the throttle headed right for the ship."

"If it crosses the kill barrier you are cleared to fire." I hear. I raise my rifle, and about that time the guy on the dock comes out of his shack, slams his M-16 butt first onto the ground in a fancy maneuver to rack a round in the chamber, so I rack a round in mine.

Here we are, two sailors, pointing the most deadly assault weapons of modern time at this craft at it closes at lightening speed. At 50 yards out, I flip the safety to single shot. At 30 yards out, I realize I need to flip to full-auto. 15 yards out — I take a deep breath and place my finger on the trigger, looking down the sites with eyes that were ready and a heart that was calm.

About 5 yards short of the barrier, the boat rapidly turned and abruptly stopped. I kept my rifle pointed at the boat, waiting. I wasn't sure for what, but I was ready for anything.

At that time, a coast guard cutter threw on it's lights and sirens and had a gentleman on a 50-cal and a VBSS (Visit Board Search and Seizure) team. They boarded the vessel and arrested the persons on board it was at this time I hear someone come up behind me. "Wagen. It's ok. You can put your weapon down now. They got them." I sighed a breath of relief. I pulled the magazine out of my weapon, cycled the bolt, emptying the round out of the chamber, and put it back in the magazine…securing the magazine back to the weapon.

"I've been sent up here to relieve you from watch. FC1 wants to talk to you." He says, calmly "Thanks. Good luck." I reply, and head down to the office.

When I get to the office, one person claps and FC1 shakes her head and he stops. I still remember his name, but I don't think it appropriate to share it. She looks at me, concerned, almost like how a family member would and asks, "Do you understand what just happened out there?' "I think so." I respond, almost stoically. She pauses for a moment and says, "Well you did a good job. It's Wednesday. Don't report back until Saturday. That's when you start your night rotation. Be sure to have some fun." "Thank you." I said.

I stood for a moment. It was so weird to be relieved from watch and let go from work. The first never happened and the second rarely happened. I remember hearing "Best of You" by the Foo Fighters on the radio. I still listen to that song sometimes when I want to remember…to go back to that day….knowing that if that boat hadn't turned when it did that I would have gone full auto on the engine block and then sprayed the bottom third of the magazine into the pilot house. And had it done what it came to do, I and many other people wouldn't be here today.

[the-devil-less-known]

Lucifer's expression likely said it all, eyes glancing around as if seeking an escape route as Alastor prowled around him like a predator that just scented blood. With a nervous laugh, loud and obnoxious, he pulls down the brim of his hat as if that might save his sweaty self. Or at least allow him a quick reprieve to collect his thoughts that had immediately scattered like a stack of particularly suggestive magazines across the floor: revealing.

All he can do is recount the first thing that comes to mind:

"Well! That one time you very nearly went into a complete demonic transformation in the hotel lobby after I taunted you into our botched hunt, all I could think about was the image of you tearing me apart scrap by scrap with your teeth and crushing my bones into fine powder beneath your heel, kinda like right now, actually, with how you're acting, playing into your more baser instincts sounds like an absolute rip-roaring time, running and chasing and catching and tearing and- and uh- just- blood, adrenaline rush, teeth, lots of teeth, claws, pain, that- uh, that sort of imagery, or a set table with forks. And. Knives. And uh- Um!"

Lucifer finally sucks in a breath, feeling horribly sweaty and fidgeting in place, just wishing the ground would split open beneath him and swallow him up. He can't dare bring himself to look up and see what Alastor's reaction was. He knew the other well enough by now to know if there was a question being asked that was with the actual want of an answer... He just can't help but think this was not the answer expected, if any guesses had been remotely formed at all.

Trying to salvage what felt like a mortifying glimpse into how his brain worked when being particularly intrusive, Lucifer confessed to another kind of imagery that he was less concerned about sharing the quiet part aloud.

"Though! There has been plenty a time where I would just visualize reaching my hands up to wrap them around your slim throat and just- squeeze until your smug words choke into little squeaks and your claws dig into my wrists and make them bleed in the hopes that I'll release you, except I give you a firm shaking until your inflated big head all pleased with yourself to goading me into acting out bobbles around like an inquisitive red headed pheasant and I have to study your stupid pretty face like I can find all the reasons written there on why I will staunchly not throttle you within to an inch of your life other than giving in would be to admit loss and you would never let me live down you winning again in our little heated exchanges so the best I can do is visualize before I accidentally manifest it and give into the constant intrusive thoughts of you, and I really really think I should shut up now before I embarrass myself more with how much I constantly think about you. Sorry."

King of Hell? More like King of Run On Sentences.

That's a dangerous question to ask, as the moment Lucifer processes it, his face glows all the brighter and he starts to sweat, letting out a nervous chuckle.

".... Those, yeah, and any long assortment of others following suit depending on what you did to get me started. And imagery. A lot of imagery. As much as I yap, I'm very much a visual sort of man."

He is also, currently, a wanting-to-explode sort of man.

[randombtsprincessa]

Behind the Stick

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Min Yoongi x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 7k

Genre: Smut

Summary: Your bartender for the night and you take an interest in one another.

Warning: Drinking, Bartender! Yoongi, Wings Era Yoongi, Dom! Yoongi, flirting, kissing, nipple play, groping, fingering, oral (both receiving), deep throating, protected sex, public sex, something very close to subspace, yeah, someone knows you had sex. 

You crossed your legs, the fabric of your sinfully tight dress stretching across the knees at the movement.

The dress was armor, worn to seamlessly blend through the type of ambience the bar you’d visited had going on. It was fiery red, not a color you wore a lot, but it matched well with the vermillion of the décor. The dress hid you amongst the frequenters of this particular establishment, chatting and very much unaware that you were not here to drink yourself dizzy and go home to sleep.

You were working.

And so, you needed to be left alone so you could do it. Dressed in your working attire of practical jackets and shoes, you doubted you’d get what you wanted. So, you’d shirked off your normal blouses, pulled off trousers and loafers and donned on that dress and the heels.

The heels…

You swore to god, the heels were a work of the Devil’s hands. Sinewy yet sleek, they latched onto the palm of your feet, held up by shimmering ribbons that had taken you the better part of the evening to figure out.

They added a stature that made you taller than you were, straighter in your slouch and you felt like a goddess, sitting at a corner of the bar top, idling over a simple gimlet.

You let out an exhale, taking a sip when a tiny, imperceptible change zipped through the business side of the counter. The man who’d been wiping the glasses exchanged a look with the one who checked the bottles and headed to the other far side.

You watched, interested, the process of the Shift; when one batch of workers went home and the second batch took over. It was like clockwork, each piece working near flawlessly – once routine had been perfected, of course.

You glanced down; eyeing the lime garnish and chewing into it, lifting your eyes back up to watch the bartenders. Now, there were additions. Two other men had joined the ones who had been present when you’d walked in.

One of them was laughing, a bubbly laughter barely echoing through to you but the other, slighter man stood some space away, his back to you as he listened intently to what was being discussed.

You felt rather see the solidification of a decision. It seemed to come from the man whose face you couldn’t see. Nodding and gesticulating with his hand, he sent the first two men off on their way. The man who’d been laughing had sobered by now, nodding as the man set out what seemed liked instructions, nodding while the man pointed to different directions. When he was done, the taller man went to the main area when the man you’d been eyeing finally turned, entering the bar.

You kept chewing on the lime wedge, absent mindedly keeping your eyes on the man. He rolled up the sleeves of his simple white shirt and turned to check the bottles before picking a few up, taking whiffs from them. Placing the bottles back, he checked under the counters, too thoroughly to miss anything and nodded to himself.

Raising his head, his elfin features settled into a professional mask; blank and a little off from approachable. Shrugging off your interest, your eyes soon drifted back to the subject you needed to study for your piece: What People were like when Inhibitions weren’t a problem.

Idol Magazine was on its way to becoming a people’s choice magazine and part of that problem came from the fact that people were actually reading what was in it. It wasn’t just a magazine that shopaholics picked up on the way to the checkout counter or people brushed by for the quick gossip. Each month, a reader survey the office itself conducted showed just what the people loved and or wanted from your magazine.

No, it was a people’s magazine and writers in your magazine worked hard to cater to a variety of tastes.

Your particular area was an in-depth representation of the people who surrounded your readers. Armed with a Psychology and English degree, you’d stepped through the building of your workplace, eager to start and you’d worked diligently.

You loved your job, absolutely.

The thing with writing was that you couldn’t just give your readers whatever general idea a layman would have. No, you had to watch, examine, understand and give examples. If you did not, some moron quoting Aristotle was bound to come over, barging for you to be taken down.

No, you wrote a column worthy of a college thesis and you gave it your all.

Hence, why it was necessary for you to put down your intrigue for the new bartender and turn to your material subjects. You owed your loyal readers that, after all.

You spent the next few minutes deep in your study, taking notes down in your phone on the pretext of texting.

You’d just focused on a particular couple. The man was red faced, probably trying hard to control his liquor while the woman he was with looked torn between amusement and annoyance. You’d have wondered if you should maybe get someone to interrupt but it didn’t look like a first date; the girl kept patting his hand, speaking in a familiar soft voice to soothe the nearly gagging man.

You put down a few more notes.

“Lady; what’ll it be?”

Starting at the sudden question along with the shadow that fell over you, your fingers fumbled and sent the phone clattering on to the melamine counter. You looked up like a frightened rabbit.

It was the bartender, bearing down on you with raised eyebrows at your reaction to him.

“What?” You asked, gaining some composure back.

“I was going to take your order.” The man said. His lips twitched, eyes flickering between your own before flitting down to your phone. “Also, I’m going to have to ask if you’re doing anything illegal, just in case your reaction had something to do with it.”

You snorted at the passable joke. Never mind the fact that it was actually wrong of you to be observing his clientele like this but well…you needed something to write about.

You weren’t breaking any laws, of course. Ok, maybe some code ethics but you never took any oaths.

“I’ll take another gimlet, and no, I’m not; I just got way too much into my phone. It’s bad habit.” You sidetracked him easily and he was probably more interested in working anyway.

He nodded at you, going to the center to mix the drink while you finished the note, shutting down the app. You had enough for a five hundred to thousand word column.

With nothing better to do anymore, you indulged in your earlier fascination with the bartender, who had currently moved on to making three drinks at once.

You were right about him not seeming like the usual bartender. The level of precision with which he poured, stirred, garnished the three different glasses in front of him with no pause, no hesitation spoke volumes as to his experience.

What was it about bartenders anyway? They worked with alcohol all day, almost every day, were more than likely to be privy to the shadiness of any town but there was just something so…alluring about them. The knowledge, the street smarts and unexpected wisdom was almost never shown. Of course, the outside was just as charming to the species.

Tattoos, piercings, too tight shirts showcasing forearms and chest…you couldn’t go wrong with that packaging.

Your bartender didn’t have any of that.

His pale skin was unmarked, smooth like porcelain and his white shirt didn’t emphasize his physique. You also couldn’t see any piercings on him. The unbidden thought of seeing all of him just so you could see if he had any ink or metal hidden away from public view made you blush, looking away.

No, you couldn’t harbor feelings like that for a complete stranger. He was working and so were you, albeit that you were done. He still had a whole shift ahead of him. You doubted he would be very much interested in being distracted by you when he was trying to pay his bills.

You certainly wouldn’t appreciate that.

He was good looking though…

With groomed black hair, a button nose and pouty, perfect small lips, he would’ve passed off for a life size doll. Yet the expression of focus, eyes sharp and lips pursed as he worked fast and efficient…

You couldn’t help imagining that look as he worked just as efficiently on you. You wondered if he would wear the same expression when he pounded into you…

You slapped a hand to your forehead, trying to force out the image of the young bartender sliding himself in you. You were getting drunk, it had to be it. Even if you had been nursing the gimlet as slowly as you could, it had to be the alcohol.

And you had just ordered another one…

You glanced at the bartender again, watching him serve up the drink and grabbing yours.

Oh no…here he comes…

You managed to school your features in a mask of polite disinterest just as the man stopped in front of you, glass in hand.

“A gimlet, ma’am; would you like something else?” He asked, equally polite.

You quickly shook your head, taking the drink from him and taking a huge gulp. He immediately raised his hand.

“Whoa, you don’t have to take it down in one go.” He said.

He was right, the liquid throttled on its way down and you nearly spat it back out again. “I’m sorry, I know,” You coughed out.

He placed his hands down flat on the counter top, leaning his weight on them before he did a quick scan of the room, returning to you.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

You blinked up at him. Your name…? Why did he want your name? Your name wasn’t anything important…

“What’s yours?” You countered.

Something shifted in his gaze. “Well, that tells me you’re not a regular.” He snickered.

You took another gulp from your drink, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shook his head quickly. “Nothing, nothing; just saying that if you were a regular we’d probably be very familiar by now.” He said.

The edges of his mouth hitched up into a smirk, as if he was amused by a private joke, his eyes – pitch black, reflecting the star like lights of the bar.  

“That’s very cryptic of you. Are you trying to hint that you’re a star employee and I should tip you more?” The tart in your voice could’ve put the lime garnish to shame but it only made your attractive bartender grin broadly.

“Nice, let me guess; you’re a speaker? No, most of those people use that prompter shit, reading out other people’s words. So, definitely not political,” He mused, tilting his head.

You laughed. “That’s very…liberal of you.” You teased.

“I am a leftist at heart. So, you’re a writer, aren’t you?” He continued probing.

You sighed, resigned to giving in. “Yes, I’m a magazine columnist for Idol. My name is Y/N.”

The man smiled. “Columnist Y/N…it’s got a ring to it. I’m Min Yoongi, I’m,” he paused, “just a lowly bar worker.”

You gave him a knowing smile, sipping at your drink. “You don’t seem like one.” You murmured.

Yoongi’s eyes popped open, “Why do you say that?”

You shrugged, swirling the little toothpick in your drink. “I don’t know, you don’t seem too…lowly, if you know what I mean.”

He leaned forward, elbows angled towards you. “I don’t indeed. Do explain,”

You continued to stare down, trying to get your thoughts into order, as per what you’d seen of him for the evening.

“You just…you’re dominating, you feel powerful and you have this aura. When you were taking your shift, I saw how you gave out instructions and they got followed. You mixed three drink and I didn’t see one mistake – you didn’t even slow down, and there were no complaints. This gimlet is much better than the one the other bartender made – don’t tell him I said that. You’re just…more. Which either makes me think you’re way more experienced behind a bar; or you know, that you’re a wine god or something,”

Yoongi listened to your barely audible rant with an intrigued look on his face. He placed his face on his palm eyeing you.

“So, you think I’m too qualified to be a bartender, is that it?”

“Not really no; you could run this place for all I know…but then again, appearances are deceptive.”

“Yes they are,” He said suddenly and you eyed him, surprised at his proclamation.

“Uh, listen…this is going to sound really unprofessional but the place is winding down and I’m going to close in half an hour or so. If you want, you can sit at the back and we can…chat for a bit. I’ll let you out the back.” He offered.

You froze, considering what he was saying. There was no way he was actually offering just a ‘chat’. He had plans and you didn’t know if you were equipped to handle whatever he was going to dish out.

But then again, you did want to see if he had any tattoos or piercings…

A slow Cheshire grin spread across your lips. Yoongi’s eyes dropped down to your lips and sure enough, his own split, revealing a swipe of his tongue as he lapped at his drying bottom lip.

“Deal,” You whispered, only for him to hear.

Yoongi had been right. As the minutes passed, even the most inebriated of the patrons started to take their leave. They respectfully parted ways with their tables, the glasses and some even cheerfully greeted the second bartender, who’d already begun to clear the tables. You watched, now seated comfortably within the plush leather booth at the far back, as they stumbled on out. The booth was meant for the VIPs, you were told but since it was closing time, Yoongi didn’t think anyone would mind.

Now empty, the bar had a different atmosphere.

It was silent for now, aside from the small clinking of glass as the man who had been walking around the bar checked the bottles and cleaned and put away the glasses.

A light song rung out in the background, Yoongi walked back down from wherever it was that he had vanished to. At his appearance, the other man quietly slipped towards the back, letting Yoongi man the bar enough to make himself a drink. You watched him carry it to where you were sitting.

For now you were feeling sober enough to know what was going to happen sooner or later, and you were not one bit jittery about it. In any case, you could feel the tell tale pin pricks of excitement coat your arms and the back of your neck.

Yoongi sat down right next to you, setting a respectable distance between you while you watched him with hooded eyes.

You watched as Yoongi took a swig – the whiskey slipping past his pouty lips, coating them in a shiny glisten as he rushed his tongue out just after. His Adams apple bobbed, drawing your gaze to the slender, smooth column of his throat.

“So,” he spoke, your eyes flitting back to meet him as he turned, angling his body towards yours. “What does a job for a magazine columnist entail? I suppose it’s something to do with what you were doing with your phone before?” He asked.

You chortled at his inquisitiveness. “Yes, I was people watching. I can’t just give my readers some general idea about life. I’d be fired for treating our magazine for anything less than the first rate art that it is.”

Yoongi smirked. “You don’t think it is?” He asked.

You stopped, looking down at your glass, nearly empty now. “I think it’s wonderful. We’re open. We’re diverse. There’s a severe lack of good civic opinion out there and we offer that. I love my job. I love what I have to do to write my pieces.”

Yoongi was staring at you, deep thoughts lurking behind his too black eyes. “You’re making me want to get a subscription.” He teased and you laughed, finishing the drink and placing your now empty glass on the black table top. “What about you, what is your life like?” You returned his question.

Yoongi hummed, pensive as he continued to gaze at you. However, he didn’t look at you, as if he was far away in thought even while keeping his eyes on you.

“I don’t know what to say, I think. I get up in the morning; do what stuff that needs to be done, some leftover paperwork then come to work. I stay here till closing time then go back home. That’s pretty much it.”

“You make it sound so mundane.”

“It is but…it’s what I like. I love my job, like you. It’s a good routine.”

You nodded, looking around the bar again. “How long have you worked here?”

That took him a pause to answer, thinking his answer. “I’ve been here since it was opened.” He said.

Your eyes widened. “How long has that been?”

His lips twitched, hiding the growing smile behind the rim of his glass. “A good while, maybe five to six years; I’ve watched it grow.” He admitted.

“Wow,” you said awed. “That’s always a good thing to see, watching things grow.”

“It is; I had to start work pretty early in life. I didn’t get much of a college education or anything but well, you can still make something of yourself and this establishment is the peak of my existence.” He cast a small, fond smile around.

You smiled too, only at him. It was obvious, watching him and he adored this bar. The gleam of true appreciation made your belly flop.

“I admire you, Yoongi. There are always people who think that you can’t be anything without a degree and then there are people who achieve things in their life without it. It’s horrible how they are looked down upon. Between you and me, I think it’s the people who make something of their own lives without anyone’s help who are the best.”

You stopped, noticing Yoongi shift, leaning forward to put his glass down as well. He let his arm rest on the back of the booth, essentially caging you in.

“You’re probably the most intriguing person to walk through this bar, Y/N.” He placed a delectable point upon your name. It made you want to curl up.

“Are you going to do anything about that?” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered over you, taking in the sin of a dress that you had on, trailing down to your legs to rest on the heels.

“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay.” He murmured.

You took a quick breath. Heat was already settling in your stomach, roiling when you managed to say, “Go ahead.”

Yoongi didn’t waste much time. Leaning all the way in, he left barely a breath’s distance away, letting his hot mouth hover just over yours, enticing you with the possibilities of everything he could do with it.

You let him complete the action, barely breathing yourself as he engulfed your mouth in his. The acrid taste of the alcohol rested on both of you, intermingling on your taste buds as you slipped him your tongue. It was a bold move but you thrilled when he reacted eagerly to it. Cupping one cheek in his hand, he moved over completely, all traces of space gone between you two.

He sucked in your tongue in his mouth, delicately embracing it with his own, engaging in a daring dance. You let your hands wind around his neck, inching towards the soft mass of hair at the base of his head. Yoongi parted from you for air, hair falling into his face, shading his eyes. His cheeks burned red and you could feel him radiating heat.

You shifted, maneuvering in the small space. Hiking a leg over his waist, you towered over him momentarily. Yoongi’s eyes were still half covered with his hair and you had no intention of brushing them out. He looked so sexy; you could already feel the seep of arousal from your core.

And the way he bit his lips while staring up at you, swollen lips open, you knew you’d have trouble walking tomorrow…

Yoongi placed his palms flat on your legs, letting them slide up. The fabric of your skirt hitched with his touch while your skin seared everywhere that he exposed. Reaching up till he was barely brushing the hem of your panties, he paused, letting you sit down exactly on to where he had been hardening.

You let out a soft whimper, Yoongi’s grip making sure you grinded on him, relieving pressure for him. He remained stoic – content to watch you fragment from his ministrations.

“I don’t know what you were expecting out of wearing this dress tonight, Y/N, but I can hope I can do it justice.” He growled finally.

You shook your head, rising back on to your knees again. “I didn’t expect anything. A girl just likes to look good once in a while,” You pointed out.

“And the shoes…?”

“Makes me feel like a goddess,” You muttered, distracted with the way he was blowing cool air onto your scorched skin.

“You do feel like one.” Yoongi agreed and you close your eyes, feeling him press a smirk to your skin. Laving a tongue across your collarbone, he reached the strap of your dress.

Yoongi allowed you to sit down once again, giving him further access as he dipped into the cleavage the dress generously offered you. Soft nibbles accompanied his fingers fiddling with the strap, tugging it off and down from your skin. He removed his mouth, watching you as you slid the other one off as well.

The dress was zipped at the back and you felt his hands trail over the fabric, squeezing the back of your neck lazily, grinning when you moaned.

“You like that, do you?” He asked, nodding to himself when you gave an appreciative hum.

He squeezed again, harder, letting you feel his nails rake the soft skin there barely before the other joined in the back, tugging at the zip tab.

“Wait,” you said, suddenly remembering that you were doing this in public – at a bar, no less. “Are you sure we’re alone?”

As hot as Yoongi was and as much as you were enjoying the feel of him against you, you didn’t want to be an unwitting subject to being caught having sex in his workplace. It would mean Yoongi being fired from his job that he loved so much.

Yoongi had already stopped, looking up at you in question. Your concern made him smile, genuinely, pressing softer, tender kisses to your jaw line.

“Yes, baby,” The endearment made you shiver in his hold. He angled your neck for his teeth next, grazing at the pulse point. “We’re alone. I sent Hoseok off to home.”

“You’re sure no bouncers or anything is going to come by?” You asked.

“The guard might come, but trust me; we’re not getting in any trouble.” He assured you, pulling away from you to look at you seriously.

You looked at him curiously. “Unless, you want to be…we can do something about that.” He suggested.

You laughed, his hands gripping onto your hips to buck you against him, trying to get the mood back. He returned to the zipper, pulling it all the way down to the small of your back, where his hand stayed – warm and calming.

You let your arms rest loosely, the front of the dress pooling around your chest, held up by nothing as it fell, baring you to Yoongi’s ravenous eyes.

“Fuck, they’re perfect.” He said, on the very edge of a growl as his hands shot out to grab onto the soft flesh. The sudden press made you keen, arching your back into his hands.

Yoongi’s touch was relentless, kneading your breasts, pulling at your nipples, tracing the sensitive underside before he was taking them in his mouth. His teeth – you noticed, he liked using them – were the first to meet the tender skin. His palms groped at your wildly while he suckled.

Your head fell back, hips rolling against his. Your underwear had become uncomfortable. The fabric was skimpy at best, and the flow of your juices had absolutely destroyed them. You were almost sure Yoongi could feel your wetness soaking through by now.

Yoongi released your nipple from his mouth with a lewd ‘pop’, mouth open as he pulled you into a messy kiss, wet and teeth clashing. You allowed him to delve fully into your mouth, reaching wildly for his hand. He gave it to you, still engrossed in kissing you, not pushing away until he felt you place it along the exposed skin of your thighs. He looked down, then back up at you; understanding the silent plea reflected in your blown out eyes.

“Ah, you want me to touch you, baby?”

You nodded haplessly, whimpering when Yoongi trailed his hand up, resting it right against your soaked panties, cupping you gently.

“You’ve ruined your panties.” He murmured, pushing the dress away to look at the tiny thing. “And such pretty ones too, I almost feel bad.” He gave you a wicked grin before he was dipping his hand in them, the material stretching around his wrist.

A long, finger entered you so abruptly, a long whine escaped you with no barriers. You had to grip on to Yoongi’s shoulders for support, unable to keep from buckling when he curled the digit.

“Such a wet, dirty girl; you lose it on only one finger?” Yoongi teased your entrance with another finger, his thumb barely grazing against the pulsating bud of nerves that cried for attention.

“Yoongi, please…I’m going to explode.” You were about near to screaming for him to help you but he shook his head.

“Not just yet,” He pulled away, leaving you gasping from the emptiness before lifting you onto the table. He let you sit, moving the glasses from before onto the next table before returning to sit in front of you again, eyes fixed to your core.

You leaned back on your elbows, watching him, panting as he raised the dress up as far as it would go, bunching around your waist and then pulled you to his mouth.

The loud moan that followed when Yoongi’s lip encircled and sucked onto your clit was so obscene, it would’ve caused a nun to curl her toes. Your previous fascination as to what Yoongi’s mouth could do was well rewarded while he lapped and laved around your pussy as if he was drinking directly from a fountain.

Two fingers stroked into your walls, in tandem to the slurping cause by his tongue, lapping away the traces of your arousal as fast as it came. Your hands moved, cupping your own breasts, playing with yourself when you saw his eyes fixed on your face. You smirked at him, unable to help yourself when you let your hand trail down to his head, fingers twining with his hair.

Your nails raked along his scalp, scratching lightly. That caused Yoongi’s eyes to close; tongue pressing into your entrance as he let out the filthiest moan you’d head, muffled by your wetness. You dropped to the table, both hands clutching Yoongi’s hair, keeping his mouth against you, riding out your high. It came in waves, rising and then crashing against you, drowning you in ecstasy. You ended in pants, eyes blinking away spots.

Hands ran up your legs, rubbing away tightened muscles and sore spots.

Yoongi got to his feet, leaning over you. Hands splayed on the either side of your waist he eyed you ferociously. His hair was stragglier; no doubt the result of your tugging and stuck up. But you could see his face now, especially his eyes, which were almost fully blown out.

“You,” he said lowly, color flaming high in his cheeks and voice barely controlled, “are the hottest thing I’ve ever come across.” He placed a hand on your sensitive flesh, a finger parting the lips as he studied you, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“You’ve made a mess, baby. Gushed out your sweet juices all across my table,” He commented, swiping the finger straight into his mouth. He groaned, eyes narrowing but staying steady on your face. You watched, entranced, each shift in his face before he was popping the finger out.

“You taste so good, Y/N. I’m going to have your taste on my tongue all night.” He told you.

You didn’t know if it was the high of the orgasm or just the basic Yoongi effect but you reached for him, sliding forward till he was standing between your parted legs.

Yoongi let you fumble with his pants, pulling his belt free from the loops, letting it fall free as you unzipped him. While sitting on him you had fairly anticipated his size but by god you were so curious, you had to see him naked.

And you told him as such…

“Take my clothes off?” He asked, snickering at you.

“Yes, come on, I want to see you naked.” You ordered firmly, already shoving his pants down to his ankles.

Yoongi obliged.

Taking a single step back, he gave you a final heated look before he was hooking his fingers under the hem line of his shirt, lifting it. He was teasing you, you knew, by the slowness and the distinct air of stripping in the air. He let the fabric caress each inch of his torso. His stomach, tightening from the flex, the chest, much broader than you had guessed.

His shoulders and arms weren’t muscled, showing the lack of strenuous exercise but while there were no muscles, there wasn’t flab either. Yoongi was a fit fucking god and you drooled.

Of course, there were no tattoos or piercings, anywhere…you even looked at his back as he turned to discard away his shirt and the rest of his clothes – underwear included.

Yoongi stood before you, gloriously naked and godly. He turned to look at you with full knowledge of your ogling and he reveled in it. Lips pulled into a smirk, eyes on the narrow side to make his pretty face look like it could cut steel.

Under the pretty packaging, Min Yoongi was a lethal man.

And you had never wanted a man so damn much in your whole life…

You grasped onto his hair, pulling him down into a kiss that made him stumble from its force. His hands wrapped around your waist, tugging you tighter against him.

A chill from the night air had seeped into the empty bar, making the heat radiating off your bodies and from your exertions all the more tantalizing. He panted against you, hot puffs of air landing on your own lips when he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Let me suck you off.” You said.

Yoongi grinned, nodding his acceptance before gently helping you off the table to stand in front of you. He wrapped a hand in your hair, a murmured ‘my turn’ making you tremble in his hold as you kissed down his body. You suckled near his navel, letting your mark bloom lavender against his pale skin.

He held your hand to help you kneel, the hardwood flooring under your knees sharpening your focus on the magnificent manhood in front of you.

Both of Yoongi’s hands were now in your hair, wrapping and pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. “Go on then, baby,” he encouraged.

You sighed, gripping onto his hips to nuzzle along his length. He smelled like citrus, maybe from the drinks he’d handled and garnished or his body wash but it was mouth watering. You wrapped your lips around his tip, sucking gently, getting used to the feel of his thick weight on your tongue.

Gradually, you moved further, widening your mouth and taking in more of his velvet hardness. You rubbed his skin, one hand stroking along the rest of his length. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath before going all the way, holding yourself as you felt him breach your gag reflex.

Above you Yoongi cursed, a string of incoherent words following when you repeated the motion, finding joy when Yoongi’s grip on your hair tightened, holding you where you had stopped.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that? I might not let you go.” He warned, drawing your attention to look up at him.

Yoongi in this angle was heavenly. His hair was back to falling in his eyes but he was consciously blinking or shaking the strands away now, trying to look at you sucking him off. Color had drained from his face, probably aiding his erection but his lips were raw from being bitten and chewed upon. His chest heaved stomach tense and you had never felt more powerful kneeling in front of a man.

You could very possibly end him at this very moment and he would more than likely be happy about it.

So you stayed there, kneeling in front of him, watching him crumble with the suction you created around his hot length. You sent him a wink when you caught his eye and just as you had anticipated – he broke.

“Up, up, get on the table,” Yoongi had finally reached the point of growling. The hair he held, he used as reins to tug you up roughly and yet you relished in it, feeling him turn you around and push you to bend over the black table.

“You little minx, you enjoyed watching me nearly blow my brains down your throat.” He accused in a grunt and you could only laugh.

Your giggles continued in his search for a condom, rifling through his pockets till he found one; the sound of the packet ripping making your anticipation rise.

Interrupted with moans when he grabbed and squeezed with abandon; all the parts of you that he could reach – your tits, your hips, and the curve of your ass. He took full advantage, shoving the dress down till it was only circling your waistline.

“We’re keeping the shoes on.” He grunted in your ear.

He leaned back down, hand travelling down the outside of your thigh, pressing kisses down your spine, one at the edge of your rear, the inside of your thighs and one at the curve of your ankle. You groaned when you felt him part your folds again, his tongue running over the cooling flesh, igniting flames again.

He gripped onto your leg, admiring the trails of ribbons that held it up before pulling it up along with him as he stood.

He kept a tight hold on you, watching you teetering on the single shoe. He pushed your knee to brace on the table, still keeping his hands on you, balancing you before pressing up right against you.

His body stabilized yours, your hands using the table to anchor yourself against it. It was hard to stand on the single heel but Yoongi was soon pulling you back on to him, holding up most of your weight.

“So fucking hot,” He mumbled against the back of your neck just as you felt him push the head of his cock into your entrance.

The stretch of his cock burned so good, you didn’t even try to hide or curb the moan that fell from your lips. Back arching, your fingers clawed into the wood of the table and it was only just the first thrust.

Yoongi reared back, thrusting shallow, the angle making him rub tightly against your walls. His hands gripped on to the cheeks of your butt, holding you open so he could slide inside of you easily.

“It feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” He asked and even with your eyes closed, you could tell the edge he was tight lining on.

He sounded strained, almost at the brink of control.

“Yes, but you can go rougher.” You prodded, eager to feel him more.

“I can, indeed.”

In a split second, Yoongi was no longer considerate. An arm wrapped around your torso, palm at the base of your throat and fingers around your neck. His other hand snaked to the front, resting at your mound.

He still held up your weight but his pace went from shallow to deep, fast – brutal. Skin slapped against skin, his fingers strummed your clit mercilessly, playing a tune to match his rough rhythm.

You cried out, his name falling from you incessantly; as if a prayer, a call for retribution…you couldn’t tell. Very gently, you felt pressure increase near your windpipe.

You might have frozen, might have asked him what he was doing, but the uncontrollable coil in your core, his length battering into your cove and the harsh pressure on your nerves made you delirious with pleasure.

The lack of air made your eyes haze over and then, unbidden, floating in some sense of hypnotic plane. Only pleasure and the giver of it existed as you turned literal putty into his hands.

Then came, unbidden, Yoongi’s voice, a command: “Come for me, Y/N.”

You obeyed.

You couldn’t even scream. You couldn’t make any sound. You only came for Yoongi.

Body quivering and writhing in his hold, you arced against him, his head burying into your neck as he grunted, his own orgasm following as you clamped down on him. Impossibly tight and unable to stop himself further, Yoongi emptied himself into the rubber, sighing against your skin as if you were his only salvation.

You lay spread out on Yoongi’s table for how long, you had no idea. When you came down, Yoongi’s weight was still on you, warm and bracing. He was massaging your back, blowing warm air near your ear. You hummed, letting him know of your consciousness.

Yoongi craned his head, watching you blink twice to gain some semblance of composure. You could feel droplets collecting at the corners of your eyes and Yoongi quickly swiped them away with his thumb.

“Y/N, baby, how do you feel?” He asked voice calm and close to you.

You asked yourself the same question and smiled to yourself. “Fantastic, just fantastic…did I pass out?” You hedged.

Yoongi chuckled. “No, floated off a little…maybe a little like subspace but you were very much here. You were beautiful and brilliant.” He kissed your cheek.

You let him nuzzle into your skin, indulging in the aftercare.

Yoongi soon migrated to the seats, pulling you upright so he could pull the dress down your legs and up your chest properly. He leaned you against him, zipping you up before he got dressed himself.

You sat on the leather, watching him buckle his belt when the sound of approaching footsteps and keys made you both freeze.

The guard was here and you had just obviously had sex with Yoongi. There was no denying it. The scent of sex was palpable, the table was questionably messed up and both of you looked…well, fucked.

It took Yoongi only a second to recover and you prayed that his assurance for his job security was legitimate before the man walked in. Dressed in a grey uniform, he stopped, stuttering in his steps when he caught sight of Yoongi at one of the tables.

Nobody spoke for a moment.

Then –

“Boss,” the man said, surprised. “What are you still doing here?” He asked.

You flinched at the question before realizing something. Huh…boss…?

Yoongi carded a hand calmly through his hair, looking unconcerned. “I was just checking the stocks, Jungkook. It took me a long while so my…um, girlfriend came over to pick me up. I’ll be leaving now. Make sure to lock up behind us.”

“Girlfriend,” Jungkook mused, taking a look around before shrugging, apparently deciding it was none of his business. “I always do sir; have a nice night sir, ma’am.” He bowed politely and Yoongi grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the seat and quickly ushering you out of the back staff exit.

Yoongi and you emerged out into the parking lot, walking quietly till you had reached your car.

“You’re…the boss? You own this bar?” You broke the silence first, turning to Yoongi.

He nodded, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry for not telling you beforehand. I was going to tell you though, but Jungkook interrupted.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? You were making all those cryptic remarks.” You said, wrapping your arms around you. Why did you have to forget brining a jacket?

Yoongi moved closer to you, his closeness providing you some extra warmth. “I, well, you see, people behave differently to what you appear to be. I was short a tender today. It’s a lady, and her sister gave birth. She needed the day off and I worked her shift. You just…you caught my eye and you said all those things you don’t expect people to say. I just wanted to see if you would feel the same attraction to a bartender that most people feel for the Bar owner.” He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, it sounds stupid now that I say it out loud.”

“No, not really, its fine, I understand. What about inside, about the girlfriend, why would you say that?”

Yoongi snorted. “Well, I’m hardly going to say you’re a customer, am I? He’s a good cop, Y/N; he knew we just had sex in there. I’ll bet you anything he spends the night out or inside the staff room tonight.”

“Right, I hope he won’t be expecting to see me around on the regular then.” You turned to unlock your car.

“I was hoping you’d become one.” Yoongi said.

You smiled slyly. “For you or your bar…?”

Yoongi shrugged. “It’d be a double offer. Be mine and the bar’s going to be a regular anyway. Be a regular here and you’re bound to run into me.” He returned my smile.

You pretended to think about it. “Well, then, I’d say that first option sounds better.” You dropped a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, then.”

You slid into the driver’s seat, with Yoongi leaning in through the window.

“It’s a date.” He winked.

This work is a gift for the precious @yoonmochiiii​ !! Happy Holidays, lovely. 

It was an amazing experience, being your (not so secret) Santa and getting to know you! I hope you enjoyed yourself and that you like your present! I hope we can be friends in the future as well and stay in touch!

Have a beautiful Christmas, and have a glorious, safe and bountiful New Year sweets! 

[helpinghanikan]

More then a Tool

Charles Xavier x (Daughter) Reader

Sum:  There will always be that something which breaks the camel’s back. Sometimes, this is more obvious then others. 

an: This was a request for A Charles Xavier with a child reader. I tried to keep with the request but my finger slipped and now the reader is mutated, an empath and it’s full of angst. I am not sorry. 

Your childhood memory could be whittled down to a series of chairs. Plastic chairs that stick to your bare legs in the summer. Metal seats that scrape and drag across the tile. Sometimes you’d get nice, soft chairs, or a couch to hang out on. Those typically turned into naps.

It was during one of these memories in a spinning chair that you started to feel. The secretary you’ve been plopped next took one glance and went back to her computer. Her annoyance was coming off from her like a horrible smell. Every click on the keyboard was like a gunshot right to your temple. Just made worse by watching her; click click click she’s banging into your head. Something had to be said…

“There’s magazines by the couch, why don’t you go read them?” She suddenly orders with a quick spin of her chair.

The verbal slap took you from the chair and onto the couch. Your feet hit the ground maybe twice, practically jumping onto the couch. This sending another hit of annoyance right to your head; eyes closing against it until the secretary looked away.

Those magazines did little to help with all the new feelings. Being further away from her helped with annoyance but now frustration was rearing its ugly head. Frustration and a lie bursting through your system with colors that’d make a sunset jealous. No amount of staring at articles and pictures of people way richer than you could get rid the emotions.

With both hands on either side of your head it was only a matter of seconds before Mama Moira appears kneeling in front of you. Snapping at the secretary to reschedule everything and that they are not done just yet.

“I’m sorry,” you had muttered in the car.

“It’s okay, they weren’t going to give me anything. Lawsuit threats will do that.” She says, a gentle hand rubbing your back.

“They’re threatening you?” You ask.

“It’s more like an,” she pauses to think how to best explain. Her hand pausing in it’s movements as she things. “it’s an aggressive suggestion. Nothing to worry about, Sweetie.”

“I think they were lying, though.” This idea was coming out of your mouth before you stop it. The soft hand of comfort has that power. “They’re lying about law suiting you.”

“You try calling that bluff with a lawyer next to you,” She says, pulling her hand away. “Oh, Sweetie, could you hear through the door? I’m so sorry.”

“No, I mean-I couldn’t hear. I just know they’re lying, mom.”

“How could know that?”

“I just do, okay.”

Moira was one of those rare mothers who wasn’t going to dig and dig for info you couldn’t give. Instead she focused on the road ahead of her, both physically and metaphorically. Mentally listing off all the people she could pay or guilt trip into watching you.

Whether you looked like her or not Moira was your mother, you just happened to be the question baby. Someone she loved more than anything but also an ironic reminder of her memory loss. In the interest of saving time she didn’t dwell on it too long, now just living with the new nickname of ‘Mama Moira.’

Moira never outright said what happened after following your advice. Only that your babysitter lasted for a single night, then you were back in a chair. This time sitting in the room just a few feet behind your mother. Staring at magazines while trying to feel something you didn’t really understand.

0-0-0

The closest Charles got to looking through a hospital window at his child was cerebro. The first was just to check up: How were you doing? Healthy? Happy? Back then you were just a baby staring at space. Sometimes into Moira’s face who would either coo or talk to you like a colleague. Asking for a baby’s opinion on whether there were any typos in her report.

He never really learned whether she did fix those typos. Over the years you became just another one of his children. A blue bundle of stars in cerebro that grew every time he searched for the others. Teachers and students came and became part of the school as your chairs were moved inside the meetings.

Once or twice he sat in on those meetings with you. Setting just on the edge of your mind without intruding on any secrets. Just enough to taste your empathy, and see your legs swinging while on sitting on those chairs. The unexpected consequence of his check ins came from the emotions connected to his brain.

A warmer, cool blue of pride that’s felt in your head without seeing who it was coming from. Typically, these stupid emotions came off strongest from the person closest to you. The closest was a woman whispering into another woman’s ear. She was like you, someone sitting just behind the action. Briefly mentioned as the translator, she wrote and spoke quietly.

Focusing solely on her and the blue faded in exchange for a mix of orange from fear and green from focus. Green was so overbearing only the slightest hint of anything else showed, and only when she was listening and writing. No hint of blue to be found.

Focusing on the others and the color could be found there sometimes. But those gave off a darker color blue then the cooler one. These were cocky, proud of themselves. They’d bleed into red when Mama Moira a certain thing, and then into fear. Sometimes into a silver lie, and those were the ones you had to remember. The rest you just had to try your best to not completely forget.

The cool blue color was easy to forget about over the years. It was just one of a rainbow of colors you were forced to learn about through your short life. From chair to chair they ranged and changed; little books filled with charts that became meaningless as more colors were added.

More chairs, more colors. One even being a helicopter, where you were supposed to be ease dropping on the emotions of your guide. Instead you were distracted by the many controls and buttons that somehow made sense to the woman behind the controls.

Although that woman was beaming a blue pride (probably from having a curious child audience) the cool blue wasn’t seen anywhere. By that point you had all but forgot about it. The curiosity only lasted as long as that first meeting had.

It was completely opposite on Charles’s end. It’s harder to forget someone when you actually know who they are. He was a father by nature; a figure to every student who has ever come into the school. They were just as much his children as you were. Seeing a bit of you, of your potential, in every one of them.

That bit hope lasted through finally being able to use his status to teach. It lasted through the adjustment to life in the chair and the care of students. It stretched into the draft when the first of the teachers began to meekly come into his office with sincere apologies. Men being called in and woman called home to help with the absents. He saw you in them too, less happily this time.

Hope began to starve after they were gone. When somewhere in the background Hank McCoy fiddles with a vial but doesn’t offer it just yet. When the school’s doors closed, and cerebro’s opened. Not searching for the children he has already lost, but the one he never forgot.

0-0-0

It’s hard to say what exactly broke the camel’s back. You’ve gotten used to keeping your sensitivity a secret. Mama Moira was open about there being others like you out there. She was open that they could be dangerous, and that you just weren’t ready yet.

Actually, it’s not that hard to find the trigger. Someone left out the wrong file and there it was: Charles Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. Just a name and a few mentions of ‘mutant’ underlined. The poor, dumb, assistant who left it out ripping it from your hands before anything else could be read. Even with that little amount of information things started to bend.

They completely broke when Mama Moira went away. A mission where her little lie detector would be in too much danger. Instead letting one of the younger researchers play babysitter. A nice woman who saw nothing wrong with answering the questions of the curious office child. Not noticing that among the questions of what books you’re allowed there was another questions about files.

Maybe with the files you should have grabbed something about helicopters.

That nice pilot woman had become one of your favorite sitters. Letting you sit next to her during rides, showing the pedals and how to work the joystick.

The lift off was the hard part. This was the mantra working through your head over and over while trying to remember the steps. Hold the joystick, play with the peddles. Oh, snap, was it actually lifting off the ground?

Riding a helicopters as it leaves the ground is one thing. Leaving the ground, knowing that whether you fly, or crash was all up to you, was an entirely different feeling. One that turned your mantra to ‘oh no, oh no, oh no’.

“Lower the throttle, get back on the ground,” orange yellow of fear suddenly slapped the sense from you. It was coming from a voice that certainly wasn’t there a few seconds ago. “It’s okay, I’m a friend. Just go slow.”

Although he is in your peripheral vision it’s impressive that you didn’t whip around to look. Your own shock and his calmed voice making landing the only thing important. Although his voice is right next to your ear there is no change in the air at his presence. Half expecting a guiding hand to be placed on your shoulder while trying to land.

The helicopter is heavy when landing. Worse then when you lifted off the ground. An equally heavy thunk announced you’re landing safely. As safely as can be given the situation.

“Why would you try this?” The man asks.

Completely turning in the pilot’s chair you can finally look at the man. White male, average height. Long brown hair and serious scruff this side of a beard. Everything about him can be described down into a file. A file that Mama Moira has more then once left out in kid’s reach.

“Are you Professor Charles Xavier?” You ask.

“You’re not answering my question.”

“And you’re not answering mine,”

He takes a second to swallow. “Yes, I’m Charles Xavier.”

“Professor Charles-?”

“Just-I’m just Charles Xavier.” He corrects before you’re able to finish. Yellow of annoyance is mixing with the orange of fear. More yellow then orange is coming out. “Why would you try something like this? Why are you putting yourself in danger?”

Being scolded like this was keeping you in, yet another, chair.

“I’m different. Like you, like the others kinda different. She says I can’t talk about it to anyone.” Charles did not need to be a mind reader to know you were referring to Moira. “I don’t belong here; I belong with you guys.”

“Why a helicopter? Why not a car?” He asks.

“I don’t know how to drive.”

It’s like watching a computer boot up. He starts by pressing his lips together and then laughing softly. Putting his head down into his hands, his body shaking a little as he softly. If it weren’t for the blue you’ve only seen a handful of times you’d assume he was crying.

It takes a second to collect himself enough to speak again. “You can’t-you can’t fly a helicopter, either.” He sputters out, laughing back into his hands.

“It was flying, I was flying it.” You didn’t really know this man, not really. His emotions were familiar, and his face was in the file. But now he was just some guy laughing at you.

“Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry,” He says. Coughing away one last laugh. “I just can’t understand your thought process about leaving.”

At some point you were going to have to explain yourself to somebody. In the event that you were caught before take off you’d stay quiet until Mama Moira came back. If you had been injured by hitting the wrong button and crashed the helicopter, you’d play the part of the poor curious child. Now, if the plan had completely succeeded and you made it to the mansion? That was a plan you had yet to make. Probably try and wing it.

Now that you were expected to explain everything in a manner of seconds everything was coming up blank. You have already the gist out, but where were the details?

“I’ve seen what you’ve already done for your mother; how you’ve helped her and this entire base. You don’t need to leave.” He says when you don’t respond.

“I don’t belong here,” It’s a reiteration of your most important point.

He’s two different shades of blue listening to you. The first blue of pride that was slapped back into the forefront of your memory and a second one. The second was pale, almost clear, a kind of sadness that you wouldn’t be able to understand enough to describe until you’re older. This blue hurt to pay too much attention to, tears peaking at your eyes from being too close. It’s better to stay by the first blue.

This color was a representation of an A plus report card brought home after nights at the kitchen table. It was what made the slight curve in his mouth nearing towards a smile. It reflected back onto you, bringing a smile that Charles saw and made his own expression drop.

“You don’t belong at the school, either. There’s no one there, it’s closed.” He confesses.

“What?” You asked.

“Everything is gone. There’s no one in the mansion anymore, it’s abandoned. Everyone has left.” He says this as the pale blue of sadness takes over the pride.

Your plan to land and become part of the mansion took an odd turn after hearing this. Instead thinking about what might have happened if your plan had completed. Landing at the mansion just to find no one there. It would have been heartbreaking to find the mansion without anyone there. How long would you have stayed before giving up?

When you don’t say anything he walks forward, talking calmly. “Your mother is a good woman. The best thing for you is to stay here. There is nothing for you with me.”

“Why are you here then?” You say this as a demand instead of a plea. Standing up to stare him in the eyes.

The pale blue has officially overtaken the pride. Tears on both your eyes are enough to end the conversation. The man who has suddenly appeared behind you disappears just as quickly. Leaving you alone as the base finally notices that a children just tried to steal a helicopter.

[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 3  (Calum Hood AU)

BY THE TIME we got back to the house it was far past midnight, and none of us could walk straight, except maybe Calum.  He never seemed to show just how much he drank, as his movements weren’t as clumsy and uncontrolled as the rest of ours.

I had spent the night dancing and drinking overly sweet fruity concoctions.  Calum had disappeared from the bar, which was a welcome discovery as I hated the way he always looked at me those burning eyes.  I didn’t like how self conscious and nervous I was around him, so when he was nowhere to be seen I confidently ordered my fruity drinks and actually let loose for once.

He went right up to his room once we got home, but I went into the bathroom with Hannah to change and take all of our makeup off.  Peering into the mirror, I saw my eyeliner had smudged slightly and my lip gloss was practically gone.  My cheeks were flushed from alcohol and the heat of the club, my hair tousled and not as refined as it had been when we left.  In a way, I thought I looked hot, and even cracked a smile at my reflection.

Hannah caught this in the mirror and laughed, hooking an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into a hug.

“We got this Scar, you and me.  This can be fun, I promise.”  She sounded so sincere, and I hoped some of her optimism spread to me.  I could use every bit I could get. 

I couldn’t believe just a month ago the two of us had been at school, our biggest worry being the next exam or which jock was going to hit on us in the dining hall.  My heart yearned for those times, when my future was set in stone and I knew what to expect.  I had dreams back then, dreams to help people with my career and make a positive change in someone’s life.  Studying psychology to become a social worker had been my goal for as long as I knew, and I was good at it.  My professors all told me I’d make a great counselor, and my grades reflected this.

And then, one by one, the pieces in my life began to fall apart.  My family never had much money to begin with, but my parents managed to send me to a decent college, with lots of loans of course.  I knew I’d need a job as soon as I graduated, but that over time the debt could be managed.  All of this changed when I got the phone call.  It was late at night, but I was up studying.  I had just spoken to my parents the night before for our weekly chat, and everything was fine.

How quickly those things can change.

The doctor was vague on the phone, or maybe I just couldn’t comprehend what he was telling me.  Didn’t want to comprehend it.  His words were simple, but strung together they made no sense.

What did he mean car accident?  Where were my parents even going?  How come the 18-wheeler that slammed into them didn’t stop?  Why were they the ones that got hurt, when the other driver walked away scratch free?

I knew the word coma, but I didn’t foresee all of its implications.  Brain bleed was mentioned too, as well as circling the drain.  All of these words and phrases jumbled up in my mind, until I snapped and asked what the hell he was talking about.

Needless to say, what little money we did have went towards the medical bills.  My dad died two days after the crash, the impact of the accident turning out to be too much stress on his body.  Before I’d even accepted he was gone my mom took a turn for the worse.  She hadn’t woken up after surgery, and would crash every other day.  I stopped counting the amount of times the doctors revived her, and even slept through a few of them.  

They asked what I wanted to do when she was finally pronounced brain dead.  What was I supposed to do?  A twenty-one year old college student, overwhelmed with work and the fresh death of my father, and I was asked to just unplug my mother?  Stupidly, but caught up in the petrifying stress of it all, I insisted they keep her alive.  This intensive care was expensive, and hemorrhaged every last dollar we had until I had bankers and lawyers knocking down my door.  The day I finally did say goodbye to my mother was the day my university told me I wouldn’t be able to stay if I didn’t pay the monthly fee.

Blinking rapidly, I was brought out of my nightmarish memories and back to the present.  Basically kicked out of college, with barely a cent to my name, Hannah was my lifeline.  We were quite the pair of misfits, as she had essentially flunked out of her classes and been dismissed by the principle.  The two of us made a pact to tell no one the truth, and come home like nothing happened.  I’d work to get my degree some other way, and she would try to figure out a different path.  Without her, I don’t think I would’ve survived.

“I’m gonna take a shower, unless you want to go first?” Hannah asked me, rubbing her alcohol-reddened eyes.  I shook my head, suppressing a yawn.

“I’m too exhausted, I think I’d fall asleep under the water.  I’ll take one in the morning.”

She gave me one last tight hug before I left the bathroom, holding my crumpled outfit in my hands as I crossed the hallway to my room.  The sleep shorts and oversized tee shirt I wore were a welcome change from the tight clothes, and I dumped them in the hamper before collapsing onto Michael’s bed and falling asleep within minutes.

- - - - -

I woke up to my head hammering.  This hangover was one of the worst I’d had in a while, I suppose because I hadn’t drank like that in a while.  It took all the effort I had to get out of bed and head to the shower.

Holding my bathrobe and shower supplies, I noticed the door was closed but the light wasn’t coming through the bottom, so I gave a quick knock.

As my fist collided with the wood, it suddenly swung open to reveal an angry looking Calum.  Everything in my hands fell to the floor with a clatter.  I bent down to pick them up hastily, glancing up at Calum with a frown.  His hair was wet and curly, sticking up at all angles.  A towel hung loosely from his waist, and in my half-conscious state my dreary eyes dragged down his glistening wet skin.  My stare was obvious, and it made a cruel smirk curl onto his lips.

“Morning.  You look great.”  

His comment stung, as I was sure I looked awful.  My hair was a mess, my eyes surely dark with circles and fatigue.  I sighed, and said in a tired voice, “Sorry, I was just going to take a shower.”  When I finally had all my things I stood straight up, still overwhelmed by Calum’s towering frame.

He snorted, and without another word pushed past me towards his room.  I was too jostled to react, instead just closing the door behind me and leaning back against it in defeat.  Would Calum and I ever find a common ground?

I pushed the dark-haired boy out of my mind as I turned on the water, twisting the nozzle to almost as hot as it went.  The droplets scorched my skin as I stood under the rain, washing my limp hair and exhaling in relief.  Hot showers reawakened my senses, and today I needed a boost.  Today I planned on finding a job, and I couldn’t be sleepy and hungover when meeting prospective bosses.

Climbing out of the shower into the steamy bathroom, I toweled off my damp hair and swiped a hand across the foggy mirror.  In the small strip I’d wiped away, I saw the slight bags under my eyes and a dull look in the green orbs.  I was almost glad I couldn’t see the rest of myself.

Tying off my robe, I exited the bathroom and went downstairs to get some breakfast.  Hannah was at the table reading a magazine, and Luke had his head in the fridge searching for something to eat.  Michael and Ashton had already left, and once again Calum was nowhere to be seen.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Luke greeted her with a grin, leaning on the top of the fridge door with his forearm.  “You feeling the effects of your wild night out?”  Somehow when Luke teased me, it made me smile; the complete opposite reaction I had when Calum mocked me.

“Oh yeah, this headache is really fun.”  I instantly headed for the coffee, knowing some strong caffeine was just what I needed.

Hannah waved her magazine at Luke.  “If you think last night was wild for the two of us, think again.  We got into some crazy shit at school that you haven’t even seen yet.”  Luke put his hands up in defeat, and I shook my head and chuckled as I joined Hannah at the table.

“Oh yeah, because jello shots are really out of the box.”  I took a sip of the steaming coffee, not even caring that it burnt the tip of my tongue.

Hannah’s eyes tracked Luke behind us until he disappeared into the other room, upon which she pressed her palms to the table and sighed.

“Ashton must have asked me a million questions last night,” she hissed under her breath, and I set my mug down worriedly.

“About what?”  Even my whispered words wavered slightly.

“What do you think?  You, me, why we’re not at school right now when everybody else is.  And I know Ashton wouldn’t just ask me if the other guys hadn’t told him to, which means they’re dying to know too.”

I bit my lip, a thousand thoughts running through my head.  “What do they want to know?  I mean, we just met, I’m not gonna tell them my whole life story.”

Hannah nodded.  “I know, and I’m not exactly thrilled at the idea of telling Ashton I flunked out.”  Her voice was thick with disappointment, and I reached across the table to give her hand a sympathetic pat.  I knew Hannah was secretly really embarrassed and ashamed of her grades.  Even though Ashton never went to college himself, Hannah wanted to prove she wasn’t an idiot, since he was always considered the smart one of the pair.  She also couldn’t face her parents, as they would surely throttle her if they found out she left school.

I sighed, and ran a nervous hand through my damp hair.  “Look, I have every intention of going back once I sort things out, and I’m sure if you can figure out a different school and just lie and say you transferred.”

She laughed darkly.  “Transferred to a community college?  Oh yeah, I’ll be a laughing stock to my family.”  Hannah shook her head, as if to clear these negative thoughts.  “Whatever, that’s not important right now.  But you’re sure you want to keep the stuff about your parents quiet?  No one would judge you, Scar, if anything they’d--”

“Pity me,” I interjected.  “They would pity me, and that is the last thing I want from the guys.  I want their respect first, and then maybe I’ll tell them.”

Hannah shrugged.  “Whatever you say, but it can’t be healthy to bottle it all up inside--”

“Bottle what up inside?”

Of course Calum strode in at this very moment.  He had changed into joggers and a black muscle tee with holes around the collar.  His hair had dried and was thick around his forehead.  He reached for the coffee and as he poured himself a cup, his mocking brown eyes watched us at the table.

“We’re talking about emotions and feelings, Calum, something you would never be able to understand,” Hannah fired back, causing him to scowl.

“Damn, ouch,” Luke laughed as he reentered.  “What a lovely morning this is shaping up to be.

The four of us ate in relative silence.  I was glad when Luke sat next to me so that Calum couldn’t.  He sat diagonal to me, eating the same frosted cereal as yesterday.  I was sick of the quiet in the room, and decided to speak up.

“I’m gonna go see about that job at the cafe,” I informed them.  “Never too soon to start earning money.”

Luke set his orange juice on the table.  “I would offer you a ride, but Mike and I share the station wagon and he’s already gone.  Same with Ashton.”

Hannah’s piercing blue eyes slid to Calum next to her, who hadn’t looked up.  When he realized we were waiting for him, he glared across the table.

“What, I’m supposed to jump at volunteering?”

I repressed a sigh.  I didn’t exactly want Calum to drive me, but clearly that was the simplest answer.  However, I wasn’t about to show him I relied on him and let him toy with this like he always did.  Instead, I shook my head.

“No, I don’t want a ride.  I think it’ll do me good to figure out the bus system.  I don’t ever wanna rely on any of you for a ride, you already do too much.”

Hannah and Luke nodded while Calum rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his cereal.  Straightening my posture, I refused to let his rudeness affect me.  I needed to be confident today, and someone like Calum knew just how to strip this away.

I left breakfast to get ready, opting for a nice pair of jeans and simple sweater with a jacket.  I liked looking put together and composed; it helped me feel that way on the inside.  

“Wish me luck,” I called at the front door, and I saw Luke give me a thumbs up from the kitchen.

“Go get ‘em, girl!” Hannah yelled.  Calum remained stoically silent.

There was a bus stop at the corner of the street, and I pulled up the schedule on my phone.  Hannah had given me the address, and I was pleased to see it wasn’t far at all.  God, I hope I get the job, I thought, chewing my lip.  It would make this stressful time that much easier.

The bus came and I took a seat close to the back, peering out the window and familiarizing myself with the area.  It was a great city, and a part of me could see settling down here.

No, the goal is college, I reminded myself.  This is meant to be extremely temporary.  And besides, no matter how much I liked the city it would always feel like I was borrowing it.  It belonged to Hannah and the guys, the same way the house did.  I would always be a guest here, would never feel like I was really meant to stay.

The cafe was earthy and quaint, and upon stepping through the door I was hit by a waft of roasted coffee.  There was in fact a hiring sign outside, with quite a few exclamation marks, which would hopefully work in my favor.

I approached the counter confidently.  “Hi, I heard you guys were hiring and was wondering if I could fill out an application?”

The worker looked relieved once I asked.  He was around my age, with black earrings and a nose ring.  His name tag read Roger.  “Thank god.  Mack was convinced we’d never find an applicant.  Hold on, I’ll get him for you now.”

I smiled, pleasantly surprised at his enthusiastic answer.  A minute passed, and Roger returned with an older man, who thankfully didn’t look too intimidating.  He had graying hair and a bushy mustache, and smelled strongly off baking scones.

“You’re here about the job?”  He got straight to the point, and I smiled as I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Yes, absolutely.  I have my resume right here, and was just hoping to get an interview today, whatever you wanted.”

Mack waved his hand dismissively.  “Lemme see the resume.”  I reached into my bag and pulled it out, handing it over with a breathless grin.

“I’m still enrolled in college,” I said quickly, embellishing my story slightly.  “I’m earning credits for my degree from home right now.”  I hoped the explanation sounded mature and not like an excuse I was desperately trying to push.

Mack studied the paper in a matter of seconds, and slapped it on the counter.  Roger was grinning behind him, arms folded.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” Mack started, and I nodded.  “I really need the help right now.  Normally, I’d screen a few applicants and worry about experience and whatnot, but I just don’t have the time.  So how about I give you a two week test run, and if I think you’re a good fit I’ll hire you officially?”

I had to stop my jaw from dropping to the floor.  How is it this easy? I thought, thinking surely there must be a catch.  Glancing around, I saw that the cafe was well attended and pretty nice overall, which was encouraging.  The only downside to Mack’s offer was the lack of pay for two weeks, but that was honestly fair with such an easy application process.

“Deal,” I said, extending my hand for a shake.  Mack smiles hugely and shook my hand, eyes twinkling.

“You just saved me an awful lotta stress, Scarlett,” he said.  “I really hope you’re the one for the job.”

I left after thanking him again profusely, and had to hold in a squeal.  I called Hannah immediately to gush about my success, and she said we had to celebrate.  We spent the day window shopping and trying on expensive clothes we’d never buy, but she made me swear I’d buy a tight cream colored dress once I got my first paycheck.  Hannah insisted it made me look like a million bucks, and I had to admit I liked that idea.

By the time we got home it was well after dinner and the guys had disbanded.  Michael and Luke texted saying they were with some friends getting a drink, and with Calum’s missing mustang I assumed he was with them.  Hannah got a surprise call from her parents once we walked through the door and hastily ran downstairs to take it.  A few times I heard her raise her voice to a yell, and I knew they must have found out about her leaving school.

Poor Hannah, I thought as I brushed my teeth, staring into the mirror.  I looked radically different from this morning; though I still had on an oversized tee shirt and shorts, my eyes were sparking with confidence and exuberance at getting a job, and the hangover had finally cleared along with the dark circles.  My cheery mood continued as I strolled downstairs, starving as I decided to make a simple sandwich and catch up on some reading.

The yelling stopped and I assumed Hannah had gone to bed, so I was peacefully alone in the kitchen with my book.  I was so engrossed in it I barely heard the front door open.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t ignore Calum swaggering into the kitchen to grab a beer, and I swallowed a bite of my sandwich nervously.

“Hey,” I said tentatively, praying he wouldn’t be mean for once.  Something was off about his appearance; his tee shirt was wrinkled and his belt wasn’t fully done on his jeans.  His hair was super messy and his eyes were glazed, and I spotted a dark mark on his neck.

Oh.

“Why are you still awake?  It’s like 3am.”  He flipped open his beer and took a swig, taking in my appearance at the table.

I hugged my knee closer to my chest and shrugged, a few pieces of hair escaping my bun to block my eyes.  “Not really tired.”

He met my eyes, and I tried to hide the fact that I knew what he’d just come home from.  He didn’t seem as cocky as normal, his hook-up actually subduing his sharp attitude.  I still felt wildly uncomfortable under his close brown gaze though, and it took everything in me not to shy away.

Finally, he broke the stare to take another sip of beer.  “Goodnight, Scarlett,” he said before disappearing upstairs, and I stayed rooted to the spot in shock for a few moments more.

I don’t know what shocked me more; his lack of cruel comments or the fact that he’d actually used my name for the first time.

[phoenixfeatherquill]

Endgame Chapter (3/10)

Mai wished Serenity hadn’t left her alone. 

But she didn’t blame her either. The mood was tense, to say the least, and neither she nor Joey knew what to say to each other. Joey was especially nervous, flitting about the kitchen, making pancakes, checking the coffee (she knew he didn’t drink coffee), anything to distract himself. It was a comfort to know he was as anxious as she was. 

She took a sip of coffee and then added several spoonfuls of sugar. Serenity drank very strong coffee… 

“Are you back for good?” Joey had finally spoken. He leaned against the counters and crossed his arms over his chest. She was relieved he wasn’t angry—his emotions always showed on his face—but he was definitely disturbed. And hurt. 

“I think so,” She replied quietly. “At least for a while. If you’re okay with that.” 

“What does it matter what I think?” 

Mai glanced up at him. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. 

“I tried to call you, you know,” He stared at a spot over her head. “Wrote to you. Just to make sure you were okay. But...” 

“I know you did,” Her grip on the coffee mug tightened. “I just—I couldn’t face you.” 

“Couldn’t face me?” His eyes widened. “What are you talking about? After all we’ve been through?” 

“You nearly lost your soul because of me!” Mai’s eyes filled with tears. “Don’t you understand? I couldn’t—I just couldn’t bear seeing you again. I felt too guilty.” 

“I don’t care about that!” Joey exclaimed and she wanted to punch him. Of course he didn’t care. That was just Joey. His life didn’t matter, his problems didn’t matter, he only cared about others. He didn’t have an ounce of selfishness in his heart. Not like her… 

“Mai, I was worried about you,” He raked his hands through his hair. “We all were. You always had friends.” 

“But—how I acted towards you—towards all of you—” 

“Aw geez,” Joey rolled his eyes. “Do you know how many times each of us have been possessed by magical goons and evil whatchamacallits? We know you were under the influence of Orichalcos.” 

“That wasn’t all,” Mai stood. “That just influenced what I was already feeling. Anger, resentment, jealousy, hurt—and after what Marik did to me, I just…I lost control. And I took it out on you and you nearly lost your life because of it. I can’t forgive myself for it.” 

“Well, you better,” Joey said roughly. “Because I already have.” 

She stared at him. When was it she first noticed him—really noticed him? She remembered being on the boat headed towards Duelist Kingdom, scoping out the competition. She noticed Yugi straightaway—with hair like that, he was hard to miss. He’d been talking with Joey about their disadvantage; only having one star chip apiece. 

Yugi seemed embarrassed by her intimidating introduction and Joey ogled—both reactions she was used to. She was far more focused on defeating the champion who’d bested Kaiba. 

She challenged Joey to a duel a few days later, in the interest of gaining star chips quickly and efficiently. Rooting out weaker opponents was always a quick way of getting ahead fast. And her little aroma strategy—a particular bit of psychological warfare—was something she was particularly proud of. 

But it hadn’t phased Joey. Not really. He figured out her tricks, and in an amazing combination of her own foolhardy cockiness and his natural talent, he defeated her. She had been so furious. So certain it was beginner’s luck. She even accused Yugi of backseat dueling; claimed it was only because of him that Joey won. It was an unfair comment. Yugi had hardly helped, Mai just couldn’t admit to herself that she had lost fair and square. But it had deeply shaken Joey and he became even more determined to prove himself. 

And prove himself he did. Not only did he make it to the finals, he actually…introduced her to real friends. Her abrasiveness and cutting remarks hadn’t scared them off. And even when Panik attacked and terrorized her…they stood up for her. She had clear memories of Joey struggling against Bakura and Tristan, furious at how Panik had shoved her to the ground. And then Yugi fought Panik for her and got her star chips back. 

She had never had real friends before. 

Joey noticed her staring at him. “What is it?” 

“I was thinking…about when I first met you,” She replied honestly. “And Yugi and Tristan and Tea. And of course, Serenity…I was just thinking how I’d never had close friends before. I didn’t know…how to be friends.” 

She snorted. “It sounds stupid but for a while there, I thought that my Harpie Ladies were my only friends.” 

“Not stupid,” Joey glanced at his deck, which rested comfortably on the table. “Your monsters are a part of you. The best and the worst.” 

Mai averted her gaze. “I’ve never deserved it.” 

“You always deserved it,” He replied quietly. “You just didn’t believe you did.” 

There was a long silence between them as Mai reflected on his words. She wiped her eyes briskly. 

“Mai…” She looked up at him. His cheeks were red and now he was the one who couldn’t look her in the eye. “Why…why did you come here?” 

She stood up abruptly and crossed her arms. She had traveled everywhere in the last few years…dueling on the Great Wall of China, besting the most elite duelists in the European Leagues, even some strange guerilla duels in the boroughs of New York that took place on motorcycles. But no matter where she went, no matter how she tried to distract herself, chasing every high and ever piece of redemption…she couldn’t escape it. 

“I came back because I missed you.” 

Her voice broke. 

And suddenly, all at once, she was in Joey’s arms and he was holding her. 

“I missed you too,” His voice sounded just as hoarse as hers. “I was worried sick about you, Mai. We all were but…God, I missed you.” 

Violet eyes met hazel. Something settled in Mai’s stomach and her lips met his. There it was. That was what she’d been chasing and running away from, what haunted her every night she was away from him. 

XXXX 

Serenity wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. 

One minute, she’d been playing a novice game with a ten-year-old to pass the time on a rainy day, the next she was in Seto Kaiba’s office and he’d built her a deck. And he wanted to see her again—to show her how to duel? 

Serenity’s brow furrowed and she tossed her hair over her shoulder. The rain had finally stopped and with the sunshine came her temper. Who did he think he was? He couldn’t just order her around like that. She didn’t need his silly cards. She could just ask Joey to teach her. He’d be happy to, and he’d do it without any of the arrogance or condescension she’d just experienced. 

When she reached her apartment, she paused. Why did he want to teach her how to duel anyway? Was this some sort of sick way to torment Joey? She wouldn’t put it past him. But it seemed like an awful lot of trouble for a multi-millionaire running a huge gaming company. Well, she wasn’t going to let him put one over her brother. Certainly not. 

She exhaled sharply and turned the key to her apartment. When she entered, Joey and Mai sprang apart like they’d been electrocuted. 

“Oh hey,” Joey flushed. “Where ya been?” 

Serenity suppressed a smile. If Mai’s tousled hair and Joey’s pink cheeks were any indication, she knew exactly what they’d been up to. 

“I was—” She paused and found she couldn’t think of any reason not to tell her brother the truth. “I was at Kaibaland.” 

Joey’s demeanor changed from awkwardly embarrassed to irritated. “Why?” 

“They were having a novice day. I thought it might be fun to learn about Duel Monsters, considering my best friends are all world-ranked duelists.” She smiled at Mai engagingly, who winked at her in response. 

“You don’t need to go there to learn,” Joey grumbled and handed Mai her jacket, which had slipped off. “You got two primo duelists right here. Speaking of—do you mind if Mai stays here a while?” 

Serenity had figured this might be the case. “Of course not. I’ll…go make up the futon.” 

She went to the linen closet knowing full well that Mai would not be using the futon. 

XXXX 

Joey had offered to teach her but it turned out, both he and Mai were busy for the rest of the week. Kaiba had kept his word and Joey was busy turning his newly purchased warehouse into the garage. Mai was in talks with several companies who were interested in sponsoring her—a beautiful, renowned duelist that looked good on a magazine cover could bring in a lot of revenue. When both of them weren’t working, they were often in deep talks that Serenity didn’t particularly want to interrupt. She could sense they were in the process of rebuilding a relationship and especially for Mai, it was going to take time. She still hadn’t forgiven herself. 

So when Friday came, Serenity couldn’t help but think about the appointment. 

She wasn’t going to go. She absolutely couldn’t. Joey would lose his mind if he knew Kaiba wanted to give her private lessons. He would immediately get the wrong idea—though truth be told, Serenity wasn’t sure what the right idea was exactly. Nevertheless, it wasn’t worth causing a fraternal explosion, especially since he was in the middle of working out his own relationship issues. 

But 4:00 came and went. And Serenity started to feel antsy. 

Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Joey, apologetically letting her know he’d be home late. He’d been trying to fix up Mai’s motorcycle; the throttle response was delayed, and it was taking longer than usual. He and Mai were going to go out to dinner after he got done. 

So she’d be alone for the night. Joey and Mai probably wouldn’t get back till quite late—and even then, they probably wouldn’t want to talk much to her; Serenity now had experience with how flirty Mai got with Joey after a few glasses of wine. But that meant…if she wanted to go out herself, they wouldn’t know.

She didn’t have classes on Friday, so she’d been alone most of the day. She could heat up some leftover udon. Or she could go out. Just to get dinner. 

At around six, she grabbed her jacket and her messenger bag and headed outside. She always liked autumn. And Domino City was such a nice place to have a walk before dinner. Not like the claustrophobic suburbs she’d grown up in. Classes had just started—she could treat herself and take the bus down to the beach; eat at one of the seafood shops. But then again, she was rather craving dumplings, and there was a place that made really amazing dumplings…it was about a block away from Kaibaland. 

She checked her watch. 6:10PM. Kaiba was expecting her in twenty minutes. Her lips pursed. She hadn’t even agreed to Duel Monsters lessons! He’d just ordered her like he did his underlings. That rankled her. 

But she couldn’t seem to suppress her curiosity. What exactly was he going to teach her? 

Dumplings or Kaiba? 

It was a tossup. 

Fifteen minutes later, she was standing in front of Kaibaland, eyeing the magnificent Blue Eyes White Dragon statue that flanked the entrance. She slowly chewed her dumpling (she’d hoped that perhaps ordering her dinner to go would cause her to miss 6:30PM and therefore take away the indecision, but the cooks had handed her dozen dumplings in record time) and debated on whether or not to enter. 

“Serenity! You made it!” 

The doors opened and Mokuba Kaiba stood out front grinning at her. She waved awkwardly. 

“Right on time too!” Mokuba beamed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.” 

“Neither was I,” Serenity admitted. “Mokuba—I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why does he want to teach me?” 

“I have no idea,” Mokuba said cheerfully, gesturing for her to come inside, “and trust me, I’ve asked. Maybe he senses talent. He’s always talked about creating a school for dueling. Maybe you’re test subject number one.” 

“How flattering,” Serenity said dryly. The younger Kaiba escorted her to the elevator and they stepped inside. Mokuba pressed the top floor button and hummed a little as the doors shut. 

Mokuba eyed her. “Are you nervous?” 

She considered the question. Nervous wasn’t quite the feeling—perhaps wary or cautious. At any rate, she harnessed the famed Wheeler bravado and crossed her arms. 

“He doesn’t scare me,” She said shortly and Mokuba smiled to himself. 

The elevator doors opened and for the second time that week, Serenity was led into Seto Kaiba’s office. 

He was sitting at his desk, typing on his computer when they entered. He glanced at the clock pointedly. 

“You’re late.” Serenity opened her mouth to snap back at him but Mokuba undercut her. 

“It’s not her fault, Seto. She was here on time. I was talking to her in the lobby; that’s why she’s late.” 

This was more or less true, but Serenity did not need Mokuba to offer up an excuse. “I wasn’t even sure if I should come. I wasn’t sure if you were joking or—” 

“Seto never jokes about Duel Monsters,” Mokuba said solemnly. The wicked glint in his eye suggested that his older brother never joked about anything, but he refrained from adding the comment.

“I suppose I’m a little confused,” Serenity crossed her arms. “Why do you want to teach me?” 

Kaiba stood. “You are excellent at chess. Anyone who is that good should be playing Duel Monsters. It requires the same level of precision and strategy.” 

He walked around his desk and stopped short. His eyes scanned her appearance and she stared back at him solidly. 

“I reviewed your last duel.” 

She stared at him in confusion. “What duel?” 

“Against Nezbitt a few years ago. With Devlin and the other. It took a little doing, but my computers kept records of the entire match.” His blue eyes bored into hers and Serenity flushed. That duel was not her finest hour. 

“That was my first duel,” She said defensively. “I wasn’t used to your technology—and seeing what happened to Tristan—” 

“I know,” He retorted. “It didn’t help that you picked the cards you found ‘cute’.” 

“I was fifteen! Maybe if you’d ever talked to a girl—” 

Mokuba cleared his throat. “Seto, why don’t you tell her what you told me just a little while ago?” 

Serenity and Kaiba looked towards Mokuba with varying levels of irritation. But Kaiba begrudgingly spoke. 

“Not all of it was your fault. The other one—who was so bent on throwing the game in order to shield you—was more to blame. You can’t learn to play properly if someone is obsessively keeping you from the match. Your strategy with St. Joan was brilliant.” 

She wasn’t sure how to respond. Kaiba’s assessment of the duel was possibly unfair to Tristan; he knew that Serenity was inexperienced and had been trying to protect her. After all, this duel had much dire consequences. But perhaps if she’d been given the chance to strategize…once she’d gotten the hang of defense/attack position, she hadn’t done too badly… 

“Did you review your deck?” Kaiba’s question startled her out of her memories. 

“Yes. I’m a little confused—there are a lot of dark and light types along with fiends and fairies. I thought those don’t go well together.” 

“You’d be surprised.” A strange expression came over him. “I’ll show you. Let’s duel.” 

Serenity raised her arms. “Hang on. I want to lay some ground rules here. For instance—I don’t want to use your crazy holographic machines. If I’m going to learn, I’m going to learn the same way I learned chess—at a table, sitting across from you like reasonable people.” 

Kaiba pursed his lips. He clearly didn’t like the stipulation but she didn’t care. The holographic monsters made her nervous and whatever rush it gave her brother and Kaiba—well, she wasn’t ready for it. She would learn in a low pressure environment or not at all. 

“Secondly…” She looked towards the floor. “I don’t want anyone to know about this.” 

There was a silence at the pronouncement but Kaiba didn’t argue. She was glad for it. She knew he didn’t give two figs about her brother, but, well…Joey wouldn’t understand. 

“Will you tell Joey eventually?” Mokuba asked. “If things progress?” 

She frowned. “Progress?” 

The younger Kaiba smiled artlessly. “You know. If you…get really good. And start wanting to compete.” 

Serenity let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Oh. Well. I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.” 

Mokuba grinned. “What did you think I meant?” 

“That’s enough, Mokuba,” Kaiba said tartly. “Take a seat, little Wheeler. Let’s begin.”

[transylvaniatrails-blog]

FIRST SEASON

Our first season, the Dracula Trails Route and the ADV Bike Rider Magazine article...

April 2018 was the start of our first season and by December 2017 we already had a few trips booked for the early spring and autumn...Nick has contacted us in early October 2017and requested do ride with us together with his group from Manchester UK. After a few emails the trip was booked and on April 17th we were travelling to Cluj Napoca to pick up seven riders.

The plan was to ride the Dracula Trails Route https://www.transylvaniatrails.com/products. We had everything planned and ready to ride...Nick mentioned in one of his emails that he was in contact with someone from the ADV Bike Rider Magazine https://www.adventurebikerider.com and he advised that we should take lots of pictures during the trip...

The trip was a big success!

A few weeks after the trip we received an email from Alan ( one of the gents from the group ) with a link to ADV Bike Rider Magazine website...And there it was, an article written by Alan published in the Magazine No.47... WOW!

We made a few new friends and we have been lucky to ride together several times since 2018.....

Full article from the Magazine bellow: What's the first thing you think of when it comes of Transylvania? Castles? Sure. The birthplace of Dracula? Certainly. Trail riding? Probably not, but maybe it's about time you should. Seven of us booked a two-day tour with Transylvania Trails in the middle of April this year. The all-inclusive price covered accommodation and food for three nights, bike hire, personal protective equipment/clothing and guide for two day's riding. All that was left for us to do was turn up eager to explore the best that Transylvania had to offer.

Our guide Gabriel ( Gabi ) collected us from the airport at Cluj and took us to what was our base at Nucet, near Sibiu. Bio Haus Cioran Guest House is a larged timber framed chalet baking onto an orchard with forestry beyond. Gabi introduced us to our hosts Mioara and Emil who showed us our rooms. Back downstairs, beer in hand, Gabi showed us the bikes and explained the differences between the Sherco 300 and the "Factory" edition. The nine bikes were lined up at the back of the house, all clean and shiny, lying in wait for our adventure. "Shall we help you lock them away"? we asked? "No need", was the reply. "They'll be fine here". Not like in the UK.

The food at Bio Haus is home made and homegrown traditional romanian fare. Romanians love their soup and each meal started with a bowl so big you could have skipped the main meal and not been hungry. Homemade wine and schnapps completed the delicious three-course meal.

The next morning, after a substantial breakfast, Gabi gave us our riding equipment, including helmet, boots, shirt, trousers, body armour, gloves and goggles. Most of the kit was brand new and we had to take it out of the bags and take the labels off before using it. We then had a pre-ride briefing, where Gabi told us about the bikes, about following his wheel tracks as far as possible and about the dangers in the forests: wild boar, deer, dogs and brown bears! We were led along a track running right next to the guest house, following it uphill and into the countryside beyond. Gabi then left us in a clear- ing on top of a hill to get used to the bikes. Ten minutes later he was back, and we were off.

I had only been riding off-road for about 10 weeks, although I have had road bikes for the past 40 years, and have just bought a Honda CRF2S0L. The braking and changing gears standing up still felt new to me and, coupled with new moto- cross boots and the snatchy throttle of a much more powerful bike, I wondered how I would cope.

We set off over the hillside quite gingerly at first, but then the pace picked up a bit as our confidence grew. The Romanian countryside is quite ditferent to that in the UK. There are no fences or walls and what livestock we did encounter was herd- ed together by dogs with a shepherd present. Gabi had warned us of the dogs prior to setting off. They are the size of Pyrenean mountain dogs and chased us away if we got too close to the sheep. Andy, our most experienced rider, was frightened of dogs so he employed the tactic of putting other bikes between him and them as they chased us. This meant he wasn't picking the best line or concentrating fully and, of course, he subse- quently fell off. At that point, the dogs had fortunately lost interest in him and returned to the flock.

Once Gabi judged we were more comfortable with the bikes we entered the forest. For most of us, this was our favourite section. It was quite open and well lit, with very few bushes. The ground was soft and loose, covered with leaf litter while a few hills, streams and a little mud kept things interesting. In short, it was perfect.

Gabi explained that most of the countryside is state owned and the farmers rent the land for 99 years. There are some private properties, but it seems by and large that you can ride where you want. Having said that, Gabi then showed us a valuable lesson. After a fast-open section, he stopped and gathered us around. We rode slowly a little further and stopped at what appeared to be a small drop. In fact, what lay before us was a sheer drop of at least 30m!

A short road section through a traditional Romanian village led us to a fortified church on a hill. This was to be our lunch stop. A lot of the roads in this area are dirt and the drainage is by a ditch on either side. Don’t even think of lampposts and footpaths, as they don't exist. Nobody in these villages has cars, but there are one or two horse-drawn carts.

Everyone in the villages seemed pleased to see us. The old men sitting under the shade of the trees waved while the barefoot kids at the side of the road put their hands up for us to high five as we rode past.

We took off our riding gear, hung it up to dry and lay on the grass for 10 minutes to get our breath back while Gabi re-fuelled the bikes from containers he had previously dropped at the church. We were led into a traditionally decorated stone room within the restored fortified walls where a table was laid for our midday meal. All meals here are sit down three course aftairs. Soup, of course, traditional chicken stew, and cake, which seemed to be made from cheese and currants.

We set off again, this time at a more leisurely pace, and after about an hour one of the bikes seemed to be starting with a clutch problem. The bike had only done 150 miles from new, but Gabi decided rather than have a problem in a remote area we would wait in a village for a replacement bike. A quick phone call and 45 minutes later, his father-in-law arrived with a replacement bike in the back of a pickup. Gabi has designed each tour to incorporate as much varied terrain as possible. By this time, I was feeling more comfortable on the bike, getting used to the immediate power delivery, even in ‘soft' mode, which I was learning could get me out of trouble where my CRF would bog down and stall. Standing up on the pegs all day was taking its toll, however, and the shoulders and back were beginning to ache.

A lot of the soil in the Transylvanian Highlands is red clay. Even where it was dry, the farm tracks we encountered were slippery. In fact, when we came across deep, wet ruts (my nemesis) on an uphill section, it was almost a relief to gently fall otf, coming to rest in the bushes, which stopped me from rolling down a steep slope. I looked at my back wheel, which had turned into a clay coloured slick. No wonder. More mead- owland, wilderness, and farm tracks followed and at 9pm we emerged from the forest to arrive at our lodgings for the night in Sighisoara. This small town is dominated by an imposing castle on a hill that was once owned by Vlad Dracul or, as we know him, Vlad the Impaler, the inspiration for Bram Stoker's Drocu to. In these parts, he is known as a hero as he was al-leged to have persecuted only those ‘nobles' who were taking advantage of their position to thedetriment of the ‘peasants'.

We pushed the bikes into the courtyard of the little bed and breakfast we were to stay at. Once showered, we walked across the road to a traditional Romanian restaurant where we were shown to our table in the basement. Gabi interpret- ed the menu for us and, of course, there was soup. Andy was intrigued by a starter that Gabi described only as lard. Once it arrived, it turned out that it was indeed a small bowl of lord sprinkled with paprika! It came with a side salad, which he left. All the food was locally sourced and homemade. We left the restaurant just before midnight and it seemed fitting that Gabi gave us a guided tour of the castle.

The next morning, one of our group wasn't feeling well and decided to give it a miss. The rest of us set off back to the first night’s base via a different route, all off-road of course.

The previous evening, Gabi had asked us what kind of riding we wanted to do that day and one of the group had mentioned hills. “Ride across that field as fast as you can. By the time you hit the jump you need to be flat out in third gear, then enter the forest and keep going straight uphill”. Easier said than done... The best I managed was two thirds of the way up before stalling, falling oft and tumbling about torn before I could even stand up. Exhausted after my third attempt, I took the chicken run around the side of the hill. I was learning all the time. Choose your line, head up, weight forward and use your clutch. If I'd had the energy to go a fourth time, I might have made it.

The afternoon of the second day was what life's memories are all about and it was an afternoon I will remember for many years. Riding standing up, flat out across miles of undulating open meadow land with the forest on one side and the stunning snow-capped Carpathian Mountains on the other was bliss. It's hard to keep your eye on where you should be going with views like that.

We all loved riding in the forests and so that's where Gabi took us to finish off the second day, weaving in and out of the trees, up and down the hills and through the streams.

Every now and again we'd catch a glimpse of a deer as we startled it and it ran away. Fortunately, no brown bears though. The second day ended at the place where it all began; where we had been practising on the bikes when we first got them. We were back to Bio Haus for 6pm, where Emil was preparing that evening’s barbecue. We parked the bikes and collapsed on the sprawling porch overlooking the orchard, tired and aching, beer in hand. We had ridden 180 miles, all off-road. Had we enjoyed it? Well, as soon as we got home we booked to go back again in September. This time for three days instead of two. I’d better hit the gym.

The Transylvanian Highlands is a stunningly beautiful area, completely unspoiled. The riding can't be compared to anything we have in the UK. My green-laning experience, for example, is limited to rocky tracks in the Peak District and is completely unlike the open rolling countryside or the technical hilly forests we traveled through.

The whole area is steeped in history as, time after time, the country has been invaded and the various occupants have add- ed their traditions and culture. Tourism in this area seems to be in its infancy and the general thrust seems to be for skilled craftsmen to restore buildings using traditional materials and methods. There also seems to be conscious effort for the tour- ism to benefit the local towns and villages, and we'd implore you to see what its about. You won't regret it.

[someonestole15]

Let loose the dogs of war...

Set me free.

Weighted down by the gear and ammo, my boots feel steadier against the floor. Rifle on the sling, pistol on my hip, memories of a time long gone in my mind… hard to think I’ve come this far, only to carry a ballistic weapon.

Focus; let the adrenaline flow steady across the system to stay awake. Quick meeting with the general of the facility to run over the plan. Designated as Ghost 2 to keep the radio operators in the loop, 2-1 fell over me, 2-2 for Valkyrie and 2-3 for Nine.

Final checks on the gear, magazines full and strapped in, we followed a pair of soldiers to the hangar. Dark plating across a sleek frame, twin engines on both sides of the fuselage and small gaps in the armor where I predicted the weaponry was hidden.

“Question is…”

“Who’s flying?” Valkyrie asked, I looked at her for a moment before turning my eyes back to the ship.

“Read my mind with that one.”

“Your pilot is already inside; ladder to enter is on the side.” One of the soldiers who had escorted us said before speaking something into his radio.

Hatch opened up, ladder down and us into the ship. Cockpit door opened up as a pilot stuck their head out of it.

“Ah, welcome aboard, take a seat anywhere and we’ll get ready to get into orbit.”

Shake of hands, the pilot sat back down in their seat and placed their hands on the controls, chatter across the radio as we took our seats and strapped in. Orbit awaits, the deep black of it still terrifying and unknown.

“Phantom 1, ready to roll.”

Steady roaring of the atmospheric engines as the jet rolled onto the runway.

“Stand by for acceleration.” The sound grew from a roar to a screech as the wheels left the ground, forces pulling me down and forward as the pilot slammed the throttle lever forward. Feel the forces on your body pull you back in the seat as the jet accelerates through the atmosphere, finally reaching the pure black of space while the gravity disappears underneath you.

There it is, that feeling of weightlessness, the silence of it all as the pilots flicked some switches and looked back to see if we were still alive. Feeling slightly worse for wear with zero gravity and having the reduced coolant flow resulting from it, I stabilized my systems before confirming that I was ready to go.

Catch your breath, a steady groaning sound as the jet shook as the pilot flicked another switch.

“Crusader 1, drop locked in.”

“Crusader 2, weapons hot and ready.”

“Quiver 2, fighters standing by.”

“All ships, this is command, begin operation Leviathan.”

“10-4, target locked”

Lean back for the moment, an external camera showed the ships around us, similar to the orbital battleship but modified to work out of atmosphere. Heavy weaponry along the side and heavy shielding to cover it all, the cannons were aimed towards Declus as the target carrier sat behind it.

Make your checks, confirm the objective and prepare mentally, the assault had begun.

Squadron of hostile and friendly fighters took on each other among the emptiness, the mixture of bullets and missiles filled the area around as the battleships kept moving towards the target, the jet evaded detection and destroyed what it could, finally reaching the orbit of Declus.

Close to the planet itself, the name of it still unknown to me, Declus was a grey and depressing looking moon, similar to Phobos, but lacking in prison facilities.

“Prepare for drop.”

“Wait, what do you mean by…”

No answer, a bright light surrounded me as the dark steel of the jet changed to the interior of the carriers hangar bay. Take a knee, set sights and make sure everyone is all right. Valkyrie seemed a bit hazy but regained her focus after sitting down; Nine assisted her before taking position next to me.

“Ghost 2 has entered the carrier.”

“Understood Ghost 2-1, proceed with your mission.”

“Ghost 2-1 out. Lock and load.”

“On you, Specter.”

A smirk behind my mask, I threw my head back for a moment before taking aim again.

“Nine, keep low and see if you can slow their fighter deployment. Val, you’re on me.”

High speed, low drag, I kept my scanners focused on the area ahead as we moved towards the door leading further into the ship. Familiar systems on here, I had used this door before, nothing but bad memories of this place. Guards ahead, two of them, I dropped one as Valkyrie nailed the other one. Zero chill from here, nonlethal was out of question.

Hollow point to start, I kept track of the rounds. One of the HP, next one would cause more harm. Look around the corner, two more guards; I hit the first one with the high explosive, the splatter of blue as most of his upper body disappeared into a mist from the explosive, the guard next to him fell back as I pushed forward and switched over to my pistol.

Chest, two shots and one to the head, move. Another patrol, the alarm sounded across the ship, they failed to see us as Valkyrie braced one knife in each hand and flung them through the corridor, the patrol still stood but with two left, I boosted my mobility and dropped myself to the floor as the remaining guards took aim. Momentum, I kicked myself up into the first guard and fired several shots into his chest, pushing him into his partner. Magazine empty, I dropped the empty one out and smacked the last guard with the pistol, fresh magazine into it as he took aim, one shot was all it took.

Still got it, I recovered my magazine and allowed the adrenaline to settle within my system. Heavier contacts detected, I switched back my weaponry and lined the sights with the rifle as a group of four soldiers rounded the corner and took cover around it. A few bullets made their mark on my armor and managed to knock me down, but as I fired towards them, Valkyrie grabbed a flashbang from my belt and threw it towards the soldiers. Bright flash as she helped me up, I took a knee again and fired, explosive round removed the first soldier on the corner as his head disappeared into the mist of blue.

Empty casings along the floor, Valkyrie made short work of the few remaining soldiers with her SMG and knives, only to retrieve said blade and throw it again, hitting someone else heading our way.

Shoot some, reload more and clear a path down the ship, vision growing more glitched with every kill, let it loose from the wires still holding it and watch the m̕o͇̭͇͞ͅn̶̞͉̞̼̝̼̩s̢̥͔͖̯̤̗t͓̪̮̭̣e̖̝̣r̡̠ in action.

M̨i̤̱̳̖̫͓̪̕s̵s͈͠ed̟̙̝ ̛̜̗̩m̖̤͕̬̰e͔͚̮̟͖͙͘?̬̳

[big-bad-shorty-king]

Danger Days Master Post

Happy March 22nd! I’m running a Danger Days based table top using the Atomic Highway system so I had to do a lot of research to figure out slang and world stuff! You may or may not have remembered me teasing this back in January (which was suppose to be out by the end of Jan but life sucks  so lets dance but it’s better late than never!) I did a fuck ton of research for a game right now, so ill turn my hyper-fixation into a helpful guide for anyone hoping to write some fan fiction! 

LOCATIONS

So locations are a little weird in this universe, we dont actually know the exact locations of places but we have a general idea about some. 

Battery City

Zones (1-6 if during the music videos, 1-7 if set after the videos, Zone 7 was established after the videos and before the comics)

The Dinner - Fab 4 hide out

Wolfblood Beach, likely somewhere in Zone 1 close to Battery City since people are allowed to go there. 

Neon District, either in Zone 1 or in Battery City

Mega Moon's Throttle bar, full of Wave-Head’s, likely somewhere deep into the zones

Hyper-Thrusts, some sort of store, carry “dust mouth” 

Fuck You House, concert venu

Route Guano, highway,  Kobra Kid and Jet Star are killed here in the album

Zone 55 - Brazil

Mega Moon’s Throttle Bar - Full of wave-heads

The Lobby - Slums of Battery City

The Nest - Ultra V’s hide out

DESTROYA is located here

Mailbox Shrine - Alter to dead

Phoenix Witch guides souls of masks here

Letters reach loved ones

B.L.I Headquaters

Gas n’ Gulp = Dr. D’s - radio station

L.A. Crater

Cherrri’s Home - Artifacts of Fab 4 located here

Gravel Gertle’s Orphanage

Zone 5 Carnival

Zone 3 Crater

The Tube - Battery city, reprograming

Zone 55 - Brazil

Retinal Resorts - BLI owned, “everyone is famous”

Slang

Oh boy is this a long one, let me know if I missed anything

Moterbabies- Kids on the run, survivors 

Ghosted - Dead, killed

Bonus track - Look attractive

Crash Queen - Daredevil

Slaughtermatic - Loud, crazy (sound)

Microbursts - Small stuff

Dracs - Draculoids

Crows - S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/

Exterminators - Highest level Dracs/S/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/

Dusted - Killed

Ritalin rats - Drug addicts

Wave-Heads - Radiation addicts 

Shiny - Awesome

Clap - Fight

Fire fight - Fight with ray guns

Pig - Scarecrow operatives/poliece

Upthursts - Turn up

Tumbleweed - Person who wanders desert

Zaps - Laser blaster

Zone Rat - Lives in zones

Zonerunner/Zonehopper - Spends time in Zones

Costa Rica - Crazy or bad

Dust Angel - Zone runner

411- Info/update

Getaway Mile - Route Guano

BLI(/ind) - Better Living Industries

Flies - Tiny spy cameras

Carbons - Money

Hit the Red Line - Running away, usually going as fast as a car can go

The Individual - Ray gun

Rubberburner - Goes so fast it destroys tires 

Graffiti Bible - Droid holy scripture

Radical tubes - Probably drugs? 

Plus - Battery replenisher, addictive

Power Pup - Dog food, killjoys eat this

C.A.T. - Surveillance device, looks like an actual cat

Droids 

Have emotions

Can become absolute 

Turned to satellites

DESTROYA = God

Graffiti Bible

Types

Blue, 50 Carbons, Loving

Yellow, 150 Carbons, Passive

Orange, 250 Carbons, Aggressive

Purple, 500 Carbons, Fiesty

Green, 750 Carbons, Soothing

Red, 1000 Carbons, Fiery

Supernatural/Religious Figures

DESTROYA - God-like machine

Foretold to free droids in Graffiti Bible

Abandoned experiment by BLI

“Too large to manage”

Phoenix Witch

Representation of death

Zones divided on belief

Is real

Takes care of the dead through offerings of anything “close to the soul,” usually a mask, and guides a dead person to the proper destination (afterlife)

Collects from Mailbox Shrine and battlefields

History

The history is really weird and murky and can kinda change depending on the medium used, i did my best to piece this together in the most coherent way possible 

Creation of BL/ind

Great fires of 2012

Rise of Bl/ind

Helium Wars - Texas destroyed

Analog Wars (2014-2015)

Dr. D lost legs

The Girl’s mother is killed

Pig Bomb (2017)

Events of videos (2019)

Events of comics (2029)

Battle of Utah (Unknown when it happened, so it can be placed wherever)

Brands/Logos

Clown logo (we know literally nothing about this)

Skull logo (we know literally nothing about this)

Cosmic Thrust - Sells “zone-tested radical tubes” 

Dead Pegasus - Oil company

Electrokat - Likely sells batteries

Supa Stinga Exploders - Explosives

Mousekat - Cartoon from Batter City

Dr. Phizzles’s - Hair dye

Spider - Symbol for Fab 4

Better Living Logo

SCARECROW unit

Better Living Industries

Corporation, evil

Runs Battery City

Came into power bc of Great Fires of 2012

Monochromaticism

Employees 

Draculoids

Masks sucks souls out

Lowest ranked - Rayguns

Eliminate threats

S/C/R/E/C/R/O/W/S

Highest ranked (Exterminator)

Eliminate threats

More advanced ray guns

Leader - The Director

Fact News - News program

Slogans 

“The Aftermath is secondary”

“Everything is perfect”

“Keep smiling”

Products 

Plus - Battery replenisher, addictive

Power Pup - Dog food, killjoys eat this

Air fresheners

Medication of the Month Club

C.A.T. - Surveillance device, looks like an actual cat

BL/ind Vending Machines

Fangs, 8 Carbons

KJ Replica Mask, 4 Carbons

Frankuloid Fun Toy, (Fun Ghoul’s mask but a toy), 10 Carbons

Motivational sticker, 2 Carbons

BLI-Sanctioned Raygun (the individual) - 50 Carbons

Cartoon Animal Stress Head, (Mousekat head), 20 Carbons

Plus, 80 Carbons

Yum-Duck Candies. 5 Carbons

Ammo, ?? Carbons

H20, ?? Carbons

Weapons, Devices & Other Items

Power Glove - Button activated

Used by Kobra Kid

Melee

Modified NES Power Glove

Ray Gun - Lasers

Ranged

White = Draculoids

Colorful = Killjoys

Modified NES Zapper

MP5 - Advanced lasers

Ranged

Used by S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/S

Vend-A-Hack

Hacking device

Known to work on vending machines

Based on original model GBA

Flies - Tiny spy cameras

C.A.T. - Surveillance device 

Looks like a cat 

Sends messages to BL/ind

PTTP - Portable TV

1979-81 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. - Fab 4′s car, 

Boombox

Holo-Phone

Inner-Internet

Dr.Phizzles’s Poison Red - Hair dye

Magazines 

Shiny - Robot p()rn 

Murder

Modern Exterminator

Blasters and Batteries

Radio Stations

WK’L 109 FMX

Host = Dr. D

JUNKPUNK

Host Benjamin Cyanide

Bands

Mad Gear and the Missile Kid

Massive/Awesome

Cold Dead Hands

BONUS! 

Here’s a quick naming table I made for my game, it requires a D-20 to use!